《張三丰先生全集》Vol. 10
About this page. The original text of 《張三丰先生全集》 Vol. 10 (Qing Daoist texts 清代道教文獻, 15 volumes) is shown in Classical Chinese as transmitted in the Kanripo (Kyoto University) edition. An English interpretation of the 62 passages on this page accompanies it: select a passage or press “Interpretation” to show it. All texts in English
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Source textInterpretation
The following is a plain-language interpretation of the relevant pieces from the Yunshui Collection in The Complete Works of Master Zhang Sanfeng (the reprint information prefixed to it is omitted, and we proceed directly to the main text).
Yunshui Collection
Meeting Observer Mengjiu on Mount Emei and Improvising a Poem to Give Him
He is an official like an immortal from the upper realms and also a great recluse in the human world; he has come here to pray for rain on behalf of the people—who knows on what day he will ride the wind and return? He once dwelt among rocks in a place like the immortal mountain of Penglai, and once planted immortal peaches in a paradisiacal garden like Langyuan. It is best to return after merit is achieved, and one should refine and nourish the Numinous Terrace (Lingtai, the dwelling of mind and spirit and the locus of inner cultivation) as early as possible.
Attending the Immortal Assembly at the Western Pond
The assembled worthies of the Ten Continents and Three Isles, riding cranes and harnessing phoenixes, arrive at Bicheng (Jade City, a paradisiacal realm). The sound of sword pendants reaches the distant Linque; cold incense smoke coils around Beigong. In the golden hall, Golden Registers are promulgated—the Fulu (talismans and registers) ritual procedures used in Daoist Golden Register Zhaijiao (purification ritual); before the white-jade hall, jade sheng mouth organs are played. There are thousands upon thousands of bright pearls that illumine the chamber; cultivating the self, one naturally attains long life.
From Beyond Heaven
From beyond Heaven, from beyond Heaven, not a speck of dust clings to garments and cap. On a crane’s back I overturn the clouds and roam the universe; dragon saliva sprays rain and sprinkles the mountain’s bend.
Visiting the Small Thunder Gate on Mount Emei
Walking through the wild, one goes straight into the depths of the clouds; green pines tightly lock the cave gate. On the stone cliff a waterfall pours down for a thousand zhang; the Daoist adept sits in purity and stillness upon the warm fishing rock.
Another Poem
In the depths of white clouds I stroll at leisure again; I play the iron flute sideways, and its sound echoes among the mountain peaks. The woodcutter seeks me but cannot find me; I have transformed into a wondrous stone and am still the ancient master.
Visiting Mengjiu’s Stone Hall and the Qinghui Retreat by the Stream
Green shade conceals and reflects; the gate shuts upon a Daoist adept’s home; a wisp of incense smoke curls like seal script and drifts slantwise with the wind. In the cave the fragrance of wine accompanies bamboo leaves; by the stream spring light flows past, and the peach blossoms have already faded. Only we few are left with countenances still fair; even if we encounter the dust of the world, we can screen it off with curtains. Arriving here, Heaven and Earth seem to hold another place; in the mountain forest I try to drive the five-cloud chariot (the vehicle of immortals).
Quickly, Quickly
Quick, quick, quick—beyond the red dust. Idle, idle, idle—among the white clouds. Wondrous, wondrous, wondrous—a long whistle on the pine cliff. Come, come, come—to Penglai’s immortal isles, where the flowers bloom.
Stone Chamber Mountain (Written on Stone in Five-Character Lines Using Only Oblique-Tone Characters)
All day I sit in the stone chamber; the ancient cave is naturally still and silent. The bamboo grove conceals tens of thousands of new shoots; on the green path there are few passing visitors. Bird calls awaken the noonday hour; the breath is calm, and the emerald cliff is deep and secluded. Walking beyond the water ravine, deer hooves rustle the leaves. Suddenly I meet a woodcutter, face to face (the last line of the original inscription has only the three characters meaning “face to face, two,” or perhaps some characters are missing; the sense is that the two meet).
Note: The opening phrase “Reprinted Daozang Jiyao” and similar items are publication, transcription, and collation titles from the Qing-dynasty compilation of the Daozang Jiyao (Essentials of the Daoist Canon) by Li Xiyue and others; they are bibliographic information. “Guancha” was a Ming–Qing designation for officials such as circuit intendants; Mengjiu is his sobriquet or form of address. In the poems, images such as “the Ten Continents and Three Isles,” “Western Pond,” “Jade City,” “Linque,” “Beigong,” and “five-cloud chariot” are mostly Daoist immortal-realm imagery; they have not been rendered one by one, to avoid losing fidelity.
Standing Quietly, Someone Asks My Surname and Style Name
A person standing quietly asks my surname and style name. I smile, and he can no longer recognize who I am.
Passing the Quiet Chamber at Yuantong
Tonight the spring breeze is especially clear and bright. It enters the painted pavilion, and the eave bells ring; fallen blossoms cover the ground—who can recognize them? I call for a red lamp to be lit, and it shines on the green window lattice.
Spring Wind Tonight (Inscribed in Mengjiu’s Elixir Chamber: Collected Ancient Lines)
From the tower I watch the sun rise over the vast sea; on the wall hangs a painting of Kunlun. The great recluse dwells amid court and market—in the dust, one true man.
Bitterness in the Bustle
Bitterness in the bustle—and all the more utterly desolate; in the sea of dust, a mournful song, tears falling in streaks. Worldly affairs are like chess, hard to make a move; human feelings are like gall, hardest to taste. Ask who can understand the peril of wind and waves; wandering travelers meet with ashen faces. I wish in this floating life to rest my feet often; deep in the white clouds, joy without end.
Joy in Stillness
The joys of stillness—whom shall I ask to convey them? Fish and birds come close to me, and I am wild with delight. A leisurely walk in the wild is truly a land of blessing; mountain living, so pleasant, is itself a gourd-heaven. I gather clouds to patch the peaks, where green bamboo floats; I lead water into the pool to nourish white lotuses. All is one and the same clear meaning—who knows that the secluded guest is happy of himself?
Inscribed at Tianzhu Monastery, Bestowed on Layman Ye
About to go, I stay again; for half a moment we talk of the spring wind, and the path winds back and forth. I do not know that idle flowers are falling beyond the gate; I sit in the small hut, carefully stirring the stove ashes.
Walking in the Mountains
Fine rain blurs the air; the emerald peaks lie deep. Countless lovely mountains, their shadows heavy and still. A desolate wild temple, with few human traces; grass covers the immortal altar, calming the heart in the Dao.
Self-Account for Master Wang
I have played the madman to the full and feigned foolishness to the full; returning to truth and keeping to the Dao, I stay far from the dust. Where wind and waves are dangerous, I pull myself back and turn away; in the light of water and moon, my face is mirrored. On the mountaintop I sometimes hear the primordial crane’s cry; sitting a while on a rock, I am companioned by white clouds. Who can obtain such a scene? I tell it to my fellow disciples, and their smiling eyes open.
Lotus-Gathering Song
Lotus leaves and lotus flowers fill the pond; people cool off sitting in the middle of the water. Suddenly I hear a boat poled beyond the mist; it stirs the lotuses, and fragrance fills the ravine.
Hearing Simin, Mengjiu’s Son, Read
The most delightful sound to hear is the sound of reading; coming from the neighboring courtyard, every word is clear. Willows at the window, grass covering the ground; a spring night after rain, the whole study is clear.
Song of Treading the Clouds, Bestowed on Mengjiu
Do not envy the wild goose’s distant flight or the crane’s soaring into the void; do not boast of the leopard draped in mist or the tiger roaring in the wind. Listen to a song of mine: its ... (The final line is incomplete in the provided text; it means: hear me sing a song, “Treading the Clouds,” for Mengjiu.)
The Qi Grows Ever More Blazing and Abundant
The momentum grows ever more vigorous and blazing. The Azure Dragon I ride in this life is named Tianma (Heavenly Horse), the champion among horses. It crosses the Moving Sands to the west; with a single leap of tens of thousands of li, it joins the blue clouds. The cloud road stretches far, the cloud vapor is misty, great roads crisscross in the clouds, and cloud shadows flow and shimmer. Suddenly several gusts of gang wind (fierce high-altitude winds) blow; its four hooves climb straight up, treading past one hundred thirty thousand ren (an immense height, an image of ascending to heaven) to reach the firmament. Ah, too swift to pursue, too high to reach; I only fear that an immortal is there, forever following after you.
The Song of Riding the Wind
In life I did not wish to sing “Song of the Great Wind” and harbor the ambition of a hero, nor did I wish to ride the long wind and cleave through ten-thousand-li waves. I once wished my body to be like Liezi of old (a Daoist immortal who could ride the wind)—immortal, oh immortal, such joy lies here: today, with the Dao accomplished, I unexpectedly have such a floating, clear-cool, vast bearing, riding the wind upon emptiness without knowing where I shall stop.
Inscription Left at Nengren Monastery
All day a fine drizzle mists; ten thousand trees are in cloud and smoke. The river’s sound turns with the bank; across the stream I hear a fisherman’s song. The vastness of heaven and earth is all within the poem; the towers are like a painting, and window shadows slant and divide. Where I lean by the window, I am like an immortal guest far removed from the dust of the world.
Clearing at Evening
The light rain has wholly ceased; distant mountains reveal their blue-green; toward evening the autumn air fills the courtyard. Even if bright sunlight comes tomorrow morning, it will still carry coolness as it shines into the emerald screen.
The Quiet Room
The place is cut off from the red dust and hidden among green vines; in the stillness I often hear the sound of rain. Tomorrow morning, when the rising sun clears the sky and all is one expanse of empty blue, I shall laugh and drive my cloud chariot (yunpian) up to Daluo (the heavenly realm).
Written in the Mengjiu Courtyard
Within the small heaven-and-earth there is the great heaven-and-earth; within it is our family’s gate of non-duality (the gate for entering the Dao that points directly to the original mind). I advise those in the world who seek the Dao: do not rush about muddled and confused in the sea of dust.
Early Autumn Night Walk to Qianfeng Temple, Hearing Someone Play the Qin
Fresh rain washes away the lingering heat; early autumn gives birth to a tender coolness. At night I roam Yellow Leaf Temple; someone sings of the white-cloud country. A Buddhist chime sinks in the abbot’s quarters; a shrine lamp shines on the Dharma hall. I love the way he plays the Lüqi (the name of an ancient qin); clear tones ring out.
Inscription on the Rock at Zizhi Cave
River clouds are damp; the river sky is blue-green; beyond the mist the bell has just ceased. Trees are dark green, mountains are silent; leaning on my staff, I watch idly like a standing crane. The cave gate is sealed by jade grasses; the elixir chamber is still—in that stillness, who recognizes the ancient immortal guest?
Evening Scene
The moon is dark, the mountains are deep; a tiger roars and the wind rises. A strong man passes by; sword light reflects red. The immortal gathers herbs and returns late; he hears a woodcutter’s song coming from within the water.
Changqing Abbey
Spring rain and spring mist; twice I have visited here, both times lingering briefly in the small courtyard. All things in heaven and earth are like temporary lodgings; nothing more than the idle mood of flowers and wine.
Singing the Joy of Freedom
Shown to Mengjiu
Having gained the sword, I cut off affliction;
Playing the qin, I draw forth the mechanism of stillness.
From this the Dao-mind awakens in understanding,
Like flowing water passing the fisherman’s rock.
Plainly: with the sword I sever vexation; playing the qin brings forth a pure, quiet mind. Henceforth the Dao-mind opens in awakening, like water gently flowing past the fisherman’s ledge.
Mountain Walk, Playfully Dressed as an Earth Immortal
A traveler wrapped in mist crosses Coir-Raincoat Ridge;
One who braves the rain returns to Bamboo-Hat Mountain.
Do not say dragons and snakes cannot be caught—
My long song already fills the white clouds.
Plainly: a traveler cloaked in mist crosses Coir-Raincoat Ridge; one who braves the rain returns to Bamboo-Hat Mountain. Do not say dragons and snakes—figures for spiritual transformations—cannot be grasped; I have already raised a long song amid the white clouds.
Mountain Walk: Passing Qinghui Pavilion at Night
Clapping my hands, now chanting, now whistling,
Slowly I cross the green slopes.
A thousand cliffs are washed by new rain;
Ten thousand peaks: wet clouds fly.
In the night pavilion, qin notes are still;
On autumn steps, the grass grows lush.
Cool and detached, pure inspiration reaches far;
I lean on a tree by the rock gate.
Plainly: clapping and whistling, I slowly cross the emerald hillside. A thousand cliffs have been washed by new rain; over ten thousand peaks wet clouds fly. In the night pavilion the qin sounds are hushed; on the autumn steps the grass is thick and green. With cool detachment, pure interest reaches far; I lean against a tree before the rock door.
Nine-Peak Mountain
Crossing the river, I fly up to the emerald summit;
Nine peaks, misty and graceful, melt into haze.
From beside Clear Sound Pavilion I gaze:
A crane comes from the east, like the immortal Su Shi.
Plainly: crossing the river, I fly up to the green mountain’s crest; the nine peaks, misty and lovely, fade into smoke. Looking out from beside Clear Sound Pavilion, a crane flies from the east, just like the immortal Su Dongpo.
Idle Gaze
The mountains borrow clouds and glow to hide their steep bones;
The waters take boats and ferries to send travelers on.
A single view of heaven and earth yields abundant poetic inspiration;
Creation, after all, has its own cause for everything.
Plainly: mountains use clouds and glow to conceal their rugged bones; water bears boats to send travelers on. A glance over heaven and earth is rich with poetic inspiration—the created world, it turns out, has a reason for each thing.
Early Spring
Spring wind sends me racing in a crane carriage;
Again comes the time of small gatherings at the immortal altar.
New plums first hold snow-white buds;
Tender peaches all open branches of water-red.
Parted abruptly last year, we meet again;
Today, all together, we laugh and chant poems.
No need to bind oneself strictly to plumb line and rule;
All the misty scenery of heaven and earth is worth pondering.
Plainly: spring wind sends me speeding like a crane carriage; once more it is time for a small gathering at the immortal altar. Young plums first bear snow-white buds; tender peaches open water-red branches. After a year’s sudden parting we meet again; today we all gather, laughing and reciting poems. No need to be rigidly bound by rule and measure—the misty vistas of heaven and earth are all worth thinking over.
Evening Stroll at Yueyang Tower
Insect sounds chirp through the quiet window;
A fresh coolness already feels like autumn.
I still hear leftover rain dripping from the eaves—
Do not lean on the high tower with a long flute.
Plainly: insects chirp through the secluded window; a fresh coolness already seems like autumn. I still hear lingering rain falling from the eaves; do not lean on the high tower with a long flute.
Returning Home
Returning, O returning!
In the Peng Palace the clouds scatter and moonlight opens.
Riding a yellow crane for nine thousand li,
I reach this Dantai only at midnight.
Plainly: return, O return! The clouds disperse in the immortal palace and the moonlight breaks forth. Riding a yellow crane for nine thousand li, I arrive at this elixir terrace only at midnight.
(Peng Palace: an immortal palace; Dantai: a place of alchemical cultivation and Daoist realization, also a terrace in the immortal realm.)
Daoist Gao’s Thatched Hut on Stone-Sail Mountain
On a clear night I burn incense, loving my hut;
Sitting on a rush mat, how could joy be greater?
Moonlight flies to the autumn window;
Smiling, I roll up the sparse curtain and read Daoist books.
Plainly: on a clear night I burn incense, fond of my thatched hut; sitting in meditation on a rush mat, what joy could compare? Moonlight flies to the autumn window; smiling, I roll up the thin curtain and read Daoist texts.
Again
Clouds embrace the cold mountain, the mountain embraces the hut;
The Dao-mind is clear and still, naturally thus.
A crane at leisure, a tiger lying down beneath the pine cliff;
Returning from gathering herbs, I read again.
Plainly: clouds surround the cold mountain, and the mountain surrounds the hut; the Dao-mind is clear and quiet, naturally free and thus. A crane is idle, a tiger rests beneath the pine cliff; returning from herb gathering, I read once more.
Impromptu at Weiyang: Three Quatrains
First
Autumn hills faint, waters far and long;
Setting the boat adrift, I idly chant by the Twenty-Four Bridges.
A thousand rows of green willows, ten thousand specks of crows;
Where the setting sun is red, I listen to a flute.
Plainly: autumn hills dim, waters stretching far; drifting in a boat, I idly chant by the Twenty-Four Bridges. A thousand rows of green willows, ten thousand dots of crows; where the sunset glows red, I listen to a flute.
Second
The tide at Guabu mingles with the sound of rain;
Autumn follows the wild geese to Wucheng.
Now, on this night of the bright moon’s “two parts,”
I still love the Wu folk performing on the phoenix sheng.
Plainly: the tide at Guabu carries rain; autumn follows the geese to Wucheng, that is, Yangzhou. Now, on this bright-moon night of the “two parts,” around mid-autumn, I still love to hear the Wu accents accompanied by phoenix pipes.
Third
[No text is given in the source.]
The above are all works by Master Zhang Sanfeng from his walking chants, mountain dwellings, and travels: some describe awakening to the Dao through qin and sword, some the clouds and rain on pine cliffs, some gatherings of friends at immortal altars or the scenery of Weiyang. The tone is free and unconstrained, often embodying the joy of cultivating the Dao and delight in mountains and waters, rather than being Keyi (liturgy) or classic scriptural prescriptions.
A Vernacular Interpretation of The Complete Works of Master Zhang Sanfeng
This section consists of several poems by Master Zhang Sanfeng, arranged by title as follows.
Life’s Wandering
In this world, one may roam freely wherever one is; do not let the dust of the world turn all your hair white. Holding the Golden Elixir in hand—what is obtained through Neidan (internal alchemy) cultivation—is worth a fortune of ten thousand strings of cash; openly straddling a crane, one flies out of Yangzhou.
Visiting Daoist Chen’s Chrysanthemum Studio
The path turns by the eastern hedge; leaning on my staff, I walk at a slant. Bright sunlight covers the ground, shining on the yellow blossoms. Green wine reflects the sun, like Tao Yuanming; a black cap faces the wind, like Meng Jia, the famous Jin-dynasty scholar who had his cap blown off while climbing high on the ninth day. On the three paths grass grows, and worldly traces are few; in two plots the mist scatters, and rustic shade covers the road. Where the Daoist walks with hands behind his back, singing, no mountain peaks are seen showing their topknots.
On Red Leaves, Shown to Others
Plants and trees are said to be without feeling, yet they have feeling; the red maples and black-leaved tallow trees make one love them. Climbing the tower, I laugh and point at the cold mountain, drunk; leaning on the railing, I first suspect that light snow has cleared. True Qi has already withered, leaving only color in vain; facing the setting sun, all is silent. Among the peaks I love only the plum blossom; keeping white and braving the frost, its body is naturally chaste.
West Peak Pavilion
Returning under the night moon, the guest closes the gate; at the river pavilion, flowing water echoes through the empty mountain. Leaning on the tower, I give a long whistle; a crane’s cry rises; beyond the sky, a lone wisp of smoke returns over the ridge.
Song in the Mountains
In the mountains are ancient sun and moon; within the gourd is a great spring and autumn. I wish he would soon compose “It Is Fitting to Rest”; if he does not rest, it will always be sorrow—sorrow, sorrow, sorrow, until the head turns white.
Walking at Chenlu Xiazi
The bridge is narrow, so I let others cross first; the sky is vast, so I alone fly. Two lines of new poetry transmit the traces of my heart; again I see the clear sea moon blown hither.
Play
Coming and going are originally without hindrance; going and coming, I ferry sentient beings. Drunk, I straddle a blue-green dragon and roam the jade realm; at leisure I call a white crane to the jade capital. In heaven I can sit with the high perfected ones; on earth I can walk with beggars. With tree leaves for clothing and clouds for a hat, the free spiritual powers belong to the master.
Inscribing a Rock at Mount Lu After Rain
A flying waterfall hangs from the cliff; stones fall a thousand fathoms; a sudden rain washes the mist and haze—one peak, one screen. The sea wind blows me here, mountain clouds follow me up. I pin jade-grass flowers in my hair and recite a fisherman’s song. Clapping my hands, I climb the tower; in the secluded pavilion the lute sounds bright. Writing freely like dragons and snakes, every character becomes a living image. If you wish to know who I am, look toward the top of Brush Rack Peak.
Passing by Sanxiang Pavilion: Given to the Resident
A resounding tiger’s roar comes from the mountain ridge; tap-tap, the wooden fish sounds in the Buddhist hall. Most of all, beyond the sparse moonlit plum blossoms, I read Confucian books until the fifth watch.
To Mengjiu
(The original text appears to be missing here; only the title “To Mengjiu” is present, with no body text.)
Note: Zhang Sanfeng (1247–?), a Daoist of the Yuan and Ming periods and founder of internal martial arts, is revered as the patriarch of the Wudang school. In these poems, terms such as “Golden Elixir” and “within the gourd is a great spring and autumn” mostly refer to Neidan (internal alchemy) cultivation and thoughts of longevity; “straddling a crane” and “jade capital” are Daoist images of the immortal realm.
A Vernacular Reading of The Complete Works of Master Zhang Sanfeng
I Sing of “Rootless Yet Rooted”
I sing of “rootless yet having roots”—jade flowers and immortal grasses seem about to seal the cave gate; within the cave lies a little world of its own, and as I lie asleep on the flat boulder I feel only warmth.
Nengren Monastery
Wind rolls up the withered leaves, and yellow leaves cover the mountain top; the old monk sits peacefully, his brushwood door tightly shut. A single wintersweet tree gives off a fragrance clearer than snow; in broad daylight there is no one about, and I am more at leisure than others.
Visiting the Southern Peak
The mountains are like old friends, always wanting to meet; the water is like a traveler, again and again turning back. Layer upon layer of dark green, and winding, curving waves, make one linger at every step.
Inscription on a Portrait of Daoist Chen
Rolling up the blind, we look together at the new clear sky; in the small pavilion the scent of tea smoke is clear. Reciting aloud one scroll of the Huangting Jing, the one sitting inside the plum-blossom curtain is none other than the master.
Another
The master’s bearing is inherently lofty and austere; he wears a square cloth cap and sits cross-legged. Wishing to look toward the sunlit mountain at snow and dew, he rises, takes up his staff, and hangs up his meditation cushion.
Plum Islet
The north wind blows snow, and ancient clouds are cold; the plum blossoms on the ridge are just now to be seen. From three hundred treetops, petal after petal flies and falls, then all at once dances to the forest’s edge.
Horse-Hoof Moon
Horse-Hoof Moon, Horse-Hoof Moon—human affairs rush about, toiling and busy; those who do not know the bitterness of the red dust, how could they know the joy of clear emptiness? The joy of clear emptiness: sitting in meditation on a rush cushion, burning a stick of incense, playing a tune on the qin.
Inscription on a Rock at Mount Huang
Beyond heaven the wind blows the crane; in the pool the water reveals the dragon. Today I depart with a long whistle, toward the thirty-six cloud peaks.
Stone-Born Spring (Chanting the Precipice)
Chiseling the rock, one finds a clear spring; the spring’s flow still washes the stone. Wearing a bamboo hat, I come out from the mountain; with a laugh, the empty mist is blue.
Heavenly Pavilion Mountain
Tall and graceful stands Heavenly Pavilion Peak; straddling a crane, I go up to the cliff. The empty mountain is quiet, with no one about; alone, I meet the clouds.
Inscribing My Own Portrait
Wind and sunlight are clearer than water; cloud upon cloud is pale as a poem. Sitting in a gourd of heaven and earth, this old immortal master.
Four-Character Lines
The field of nature has no obscuration; the ground of the mind is naturally bright. Mountain colors after rain are distinct and empty-clear.
Passing Taicheng Again
Again I visit the road of Taicheng, again rowing with two oars. Crows cry on the bank of sparse willows; cicadas clamor in the autumn of the Six Dynasties. Winding waters encircle Jingkou; wondrous peaks embrace Shitou. In green shoes and no black cap, with laughing eyes I face the light gulls.
Song of Play
Playing in the red dust below the green hills, the work of immortals is only compassion. With a level mind, all things are originally not there; casually, I tap the chess pieces.
Vernacular Interpretation
Poem (General Meaning)
There is no need to deliberately ponder how the “dragon Qi” unfurls; clouds come in flakes, crane calls rise high and distant, and chanting forms a poem. I wish to awaken together with others to the principle of long life. Between heaven and sea, flying chants and joyful singing follow the heart.
Inscribing “Yuantong Chuochuo Mountain Retreat”
To withdraw when one has a surplus leaves long-lasting fortune; to extricate oneself when there is nothing to do—this is the truly perceptive person. Light rain and faint clouds, the wind ripples; in the weather of orioles and flowers, one meets spring’s youth.
Another Poem
When flowers have opened to “two parts” (about fifty percent), they are especially graceful and vigorous; when the moon reaches the fourteenth night, it is already close to full. If people can grasp the two words “in time,” they may attain the heaven of carefree joy.
Preface to the Cloud-Water Later Collection
The Cloud-Water Later Collection was composed after Xiling met the Master and was written by the Master himself. The Master’s spirit roams the heavenly sea, and by nature he loves to chant aloud. Whenever he comes to the Jiannan Circuit office, he invariably has new poems to show people; these have been collected and transcribed, forming a substantial volume. On another day they will be published together with the Earlier Collection, to record the Master’s great traces, so that one may perhaps glimpse the Master’s wondrous subtlety. As for… (Respectfully appended by a Yuantong disciple.)
Reprinted: Essentials of the Daoist Canon, The Complete Works of Master Zhang Sanfeng
Recompiled by Li Xiyue, Hermit Changyi of Hanjia; respectfully written by Zhang Daoyuan, style Zishen; respectfully published by Zhu Daosheng, style Wancheng, of Langzhong; jointly collated by his nephew Ying, style Chuncheng, and Zhu Zan, style Suyuan; his son Huang, style Panxi.
Selected Poems from the Cloud-Water Collection
Climbing Mount Huabiao
Mount Huabiao is high; its bracing air invigorates. Ding Lingwei rode a crane and ascended here (legend says the immortal Ding Lingwei transformed into a crane at Mount Huabiao). At first glance the rain streaks come from the sky; surely the cloud heads cannot block my ascent. Standing alone among the peaks, my heart is broad and my aspiration far; gazing afar at the Bohai Sea, my excitement surges like galloping waves. In a future year I wish to follow in Lord Ding’s footsteps (the allusion to Ding Lingwei becoming immortal), and let out a long whistle on the first level of Pengqiu (the immortal mountain Penglai).
Written While Traveling Among the Mountains of Liaoyang
A thousand li of Liaoyang, I go and return by myself; the mountain colors before my eyes are as if in a painting. People praise the earth Qi as coming from Changbai (Changbai Mountain), but I think of refining the Great Elixir on a cloud peak. When wind passes the serried screens of peaks, pale mist stretches across; after rain the many peaks each stand high and cold. Here it is good to seek the path of long life; having entered the world, do not say that leaving the world is hard.
Written on an Autumn Visit to Yanjing in the Jiazi Year
I do not wish to climb the Golden Terrace (where King Zhao of Yan summoned worthies); I only wish to drink from the chrysanthemum cup. Drunk and muddled, I forget heaven and earth, past and present, fame and gain.
Vernacular Interpretation of The Complete Works of Master Zhang Sanfeng
Profit Is Always Dust (Poem)
Regard fame and profit as nothing but dust; there is no need to rush about in pursuit. Early on, don a straw cloak; while still in your prime, settle your worldly ties and return to the Five Peaks and Three Mountains.
Presented to Elder Lian
The Zhenren (Perfected) does not reveal his truth; the Xuanmen (Mysterious Gate) does not reveal its mystery. What sort of people are the fangshi, that they flatter and fawn of their own accord, creating endless commotion? Yao and Shun enjoyed long lives because they practiced wuwei (non-action), tranquility, and single-minded focus—when did they ever take mineral-and-metal drugs and still attain longevity?
I admire Elder Lian: his loyal heart is earnest, and he submitted memorials attacking heterodox teachings, his liver and gallbladder like iron and stone. In my tradition there are two elders who to this day are celestial immortals: Master Lü Dongbin practiced bigu (grain avoidance), and Zhang Zhihe hid himself in a fishing boat. They were on familiar terms with the Son of Heaven, yet they did not discuss mercury and lead. When their merit was accomplished, they withdrew—therein lies the hero. Emperors have their own affairs; how could these lie at the edge of the white clouds? For any minister, Confucius cautioned that rectifying names must come first. I admire Master Lian; his upright qi is like that of Mencius (contemporaries called him “Lian Mencius”).
Inscribing the Hall of Resting in the Highest Good and Presenting to Its Owner
Not the least speck of dust is allowed to intrude; all around, weeping willows cast deep shade. The owner naturally knows how to stop; nothing can shake his mind of the highest good.
When Lian Pingzhang Recommended My Name in a Letter to Grand Guardian Liu Zhonghui, I Was Moved and Composed This
The worthy draw close to the worthy; I have met one who recommends. I am ashamed that I lack the stuff of beams and pillars, yet my name has stirred ministers of the emperor. I have the intention to seek Goulou; I have no heart to occupy key posts. Declining honor, I go to expound the teaching; I wish to manifest in the body of a magistrate.
Seeing Off Lord Lian to Jiangling
I have aged parents whose hair is already white; I obtained a minor office through your virtue. You yourself cherish talent; I am not greedy for salary. When you go to Jiangling, all the people will receive blessings.
Presented to Prime Minister Zhonghui at Boling
My surname and name have troubled you to remember; this mountain man enters officialdom. In one office I may be allowed to be lazy and unconstrained; the common people are all honest and good. In the prisons autumn grass grows; a man longs for his hometown. Seek elsewhere a worthy magistrate; I will not sit in the qintang (magistrate’s hall).
Reflections
Mao Yi from this point hid himself; how could Ge Hong cling to office? I wish to seek out Li Taibai and together discuss the Great Return Elixir. Family and state are the responsibility of those people; orphaned and grieving, I alone am solitary. Tears fall pattering; flying geese cast shadows high and cold.
Reply to Prime Minister Liu’s Letter
A good prime minister for an age of peace—how many have there been in all ages? Qingnang (geomancy/occult arts) is but a side matter for you; you are not unworthy of being a minister of emperors. To receive one word from you is worth a thousand gold; when you honored me with your letter, I was moved. What you say about geomancy no one recognizes; only I silently trust its profundity.
Note: This piece consists of poetic correspondence between Master Zhang Sanfeng and Yuan-era figures such as Lian Pingzhang and Liu Zhonghui (Grand Guardian), concerning recommendations for office, the journey to Jiangling, inscriptions for the Hall of Resting in the Highest Good, and a reply to Prime Minister Liu on geomancy. The tone moves between world-transcendence and worldly engagement, gratitude and self-preservation. Proper nouns such as Goulou (Ge Hong’s alchemy site), the Great Return Elixir, and Qingnang (geomancy/occult arts) have been retained and briefly explained according to context.
A Vernacular Reading of The Complete Works of Master Zhang Sanfeng
I. A Letter of Thanks (On the Burial of Kin)
Why do you value me so highly? This kindness—you have drawn me out of hardship.
When your letter arrived, I only regretted that I had not come earlier; my relative’s remains have already been buried, and I dare not presumptuously move them again. Since youth I have buried bones in dry ground and kept them hidden across several thousand li, seeking neither fame nor profit, only that my kin might rest in a good place—a great mountain forming the tomb-city and a small mountain forming the palace, with an immortal bridge before the gate—which exactly suits my heart, and by this I repay you.
Please be understanding; it is not that this young man is arguing stubbornly. If another day I reach the road to Xingzhou or the foot of Bapan Mountain to visit you, I will ask your instruction in person.
II. Reflections on Reading the Biography of Zhang Liang
The lords of the six states vied for supremacy one after another, but in the end all were swallowed by Qin, and the Han dynasty then inherited the realm. If the Duke of Pei (Liu Bang) had been as obstinate and self-willed as Xiang Yu, Zhang Liang might not have been willing to sincerely assist the Liu family.
III. Presented to Daoist Qiu (When I Was at Home, Daoist Qiu Came to Visit; on Parting I Gave Him This Poem)
I saw you, sir, come from beyond the world;
You saw me, and your face was full of smiles.
As one without office, naturally I should go seek the Yellow Stone—
The allusion to Zhang Liang meeting an immortal;
When a guest shares a drink, what harm is there in drinking green wine together?
Fine wine.
The heart that has left the world seems to fall from sea and sky;
The inspiration for entering the mountains returns with the clouds above the peak.
When shall I wear a sword and carry a long flute,
And visit the lofty immortals at the Jade Terrace?
IV. Remote Elegy for Lord Liu Zhonghui (Early in the Eleventh Month of the Eleventh Year of Zhiyuan)
Broad learning was but an incidental matter for him; he was a great minister of the present who resembled those of antiquity. Detached and calm, he forgot his appetites and desires; lofty and far-reaching, he escaped the dust of the world. Who in the whole world recognized me? When he came to court, he repeatedly recommended men. Another day, when I pass Bapan, I shall offer clear wine to your spirit.
V. At Thirty-Two, Traveling North
Coming again to You and Ji, my feelings surge and are hard to forget;
The black gauze cap has been changed for a Daoist’s garb.
Tomorrow morning I shall wear a sword and carry a lute and go,
Then climb the Western Hills and gaze at the Taihang Mountains.
The Western Hills and Taihang are also called Fu.
VI. Shangqu
Sparse willows, dark yellow, all merge into the evening glow;
The slow-flowing Kou River cleanses away every trace of dust.
In straw sandals I alone climb to the top of Yao Peak;
Looking west toward Changshan, I see only white clouds.
VII. Mount Heng
Where the star essences of Bi and Mao gather, the atmosphere of Mount Heng is lofty and steep. Vines and creepers cling to the sheer cliffs; pines and cypresses roar like flying waves. How vast and open the northern wilderness is, as the numinous wind howls in fury. I build a hut above Immortal Ridge, and as I gaze afar my heroic spirit takes flight. On the mountain there is Wangxian Ridge, “Gazing at Immortals Ridge.”
VIII. Long, Long Song, Written at the Northern Peak (in the Jiawu Year, the Thirty-First Year of Zhiyuan)
Long, long song, long, long song—
Forty-eight years have been worn away in vain.
How long can a human life last?
I shall stay rooted at Mount Heng.
Note: In the text, “Bapan Mountain,” “Xingzhou,” “Kou River,” “Yao Peak,” “Changshan,” “Mount Heng,” and “Bi and Mao” are place names, mountain names, or star names; “Yellow Stone,” “Zifang (Zhang Liang),” “Duke of Pei,” and “Xiang Yu” are historical figures and allusions; “green wine” means wine; “lofty immortals” and “Jade Terrace” are immortals and immortal realms in Daoist contexts.
Vernacular Interpretation of The Complete Works of Mr. Zhang Sanfeng
The following are the general meanings of each piece, kept as close as possible to the tone of the original poems; proper nouns are briefly explained at first occurrence.
Eastern Journey
For most of my life I have drifted among waters and skies, traveling through the Qi and Lu region with an easy, unhurried mind. I wish to seek the immortals who dwell on Fanghu and Yuanqiao (legendary immortal isles in the sea)—since ancient times, immortals have lived on the three mountains.
To My Younger Clansman Ximeng, Magistrate of Tangyi
I came to Qinghe, where tang flowers bloom everywhere. You, old brother, come forth riding a tiger (an image of extraordinary bearing); my brother, you govern the place like “cutting up a chicken” (an allusion from the History of the Later Han, meaning that one can fulfill one’s duty even in a minor office). In government you seek those who share your Way, and in your breast you have the talent of a “chancellor of heaven and earth.” You are blameless in the “Four Knowings” (alluding to Yang Zhen’s words: Heaven knows, earth knows, you know, I know—meaning integrity), and together we sit on the Four Knowings Terrace. (Note: Ximeng built a Four Knowings Terrace inside the official residence.)
Visiting Mount Tai, Matching the Original Rhyme of My Younger Brother Ximeng
Gently drifting up to Tianmen Pass and Stone Pass, if in life one can reach this place, the heart suddenly opens. The western cliff is like an immortal mound; who leads Renzi (the name of an immortal) here from the Eastern Sea? The ancient affair of the feng and shan sacrifices of the seventy-two houses, the vast expanse of more than three thousand li. Sitting with you beneath a Qin pine, a gust of heavenly wind strikes the face and brings cold.
Rising Early at Riguang Peak to Watch the Sun
At the first crow of the heavenly rooster, the sea gate opens wide, and the sun surges out from the waves. For ten thousand li red light continues without break; above the three mountains all is green. From afar it seems as if sheng-flutes and cranes descend from heaven, while cloud-dragons carry rain and return. Another flying immortal waves a deer-tail whisk (a Daoist ritual implement), making one crane one’s neck to gaze afar at Penglai.
Written on Seeking Zhang Zhong’s Lofty Hermitage in the Mountains
Dwelling in cliffs and drinking from valleys was the old family style. Today I come seeking the old man, but do not meet him. On the immortal mound I give a long whistle, and white clouds fly in Mount Tai.
Danyan Mountain
On the summit of Danyan there is a Penglai Pavilion; one can gaze at Penglai but cannot reach it. Heavenly winds and seawater stir the heart; vast and billowing, they open and close of themselves. When I reached Dongmu, my field of vision opened completely, and poetic feeling was bold and unrestrained like a hero. The morning sun emerges far beyond Fusang; towers and terraces, shell-gates and palaces of gold and silver. Clapping hands and singing long, cloud-cranes dance, and immortals slowly come before me. I raise my cup to sacrifice to the sea and pray to the sea god, to spread brightness over a thousand and ten thousand li. My distant feeling wishes to view the sky beyond the sea; the sky floats at the sea’s edge, and the sea is boundless. I wish to drive a whirlwind chariot and fly over, but before I can undergo feathered transformation, my heart is at a loss.
Culai Mountain
Hundred-zhang wondrous peaks, a hundred pines; each pine’s ancient trunk is old like a dark dragon. Where now are the “Six Idlers” (an allusion to recluses associated with Culai Mountain)? Several times I spoke of seeking them, and only now have I come to this peak.
Hedong
Note: This piece consists mostly of poems recording travels, gifts to friends, sunrise viewing, visits to recluses, and mountains and seas. Its use of terms such as Mount Tai, Penglai, sea sacrifice, and feathered transformation belongs to the common immortal-journey imagery of literati and Daoists, not to practical alchemical formulas. Zhang Zhong and Ximeng (my younger clansman Ximeng) should be people with whom Zhang Sanfeng associated; Four Knowings Terrace, Riguang Peak, Danyan, Culai, Dongmu, and the like are all place names in the Shandong region.
Master Zhang Sanfeng's poems depict his wandering life of cultivation, traveling across the land in search of immortals and the Dao.
Carrying simple provisions, he journeys through Hedong under moon and stars, climbing mountains with bamboo staff and playing his zither by streams. He laments not knowing when he might meet fellow cultivators of like mind, nor where in this dusty world to find true immortals. Better to find a quiet place, set aside distracting thoughts, and focus on refining his heart-mind.
Walking alone by Thunder Marsh (an ancient legendary lake), he sees mist curling between layered mountains like a celestial realm. At dusk, gazing at Shouyang Mountain (a sacred Daoist site) bathed in moonlight and breeze, his heart stirs with longing.
Traveling through Zhongtiao Mountain (another sacred peak), he beholds emerald summits piercing the clouds. Wearing his green rain hat and blue straw cloak, he seems to merge with the azure sky. His spirit yearns for the celestial spheres as he arrives light as a bird, needing not wash his feet in the Yellow River, his shoulders perpetually bearing sunlight. Like two wild ducks, he glides over the stream bridge at Wangguan Valley.
Searching for the true Dao across the Central Plains, he sings freely at every ancient site he visits. He witnesses how mansions of kings and generals have turned to rolling dust, imperial tombs lying desolate in the boundless sunset. Like broken branches drifting downstream, he carries his jade zither westward in the evening light. Tomorrow he'll journey to Henei, ready to carry Mount Taihang's clouds along the way.
Mount Wangwu (foremost of Daoism's Ten Great Grotto-Heavens) remains perpetually wreathed in white clouds, guarding the immortal grotto-palaces. Music seems to echo through its rocky valleys, sun and moon appear suspended from its peaks. Here he wishes to build a hut and cultivate, refining an immortal form.
Mount Song (central peak of the Five Sacred Mountains) stands in majestic grandeur, a haven for immortal recluses. Pure as a blue lotus, he comes seeking the Dao, ascending its thirty-six peaks. Playing his zither on stone, his thoughts wander freely; watching white cranes dance among clouds. When thirsty, he cups mountain spring water to rinse his mouth; at night, the moon hangs over streamside pines as their roar echoes like thunder. Between movement and stillness he finds serenity—though meeting no true master, he leaves his footprints on Mount Song with joy.
His heart embraces all Five Sacred Mountains (Tai, Heng, Song and others)—having wandered three already, today he ascends western Mount Hua, gazing from white clouds toward Zhongnan Mountains.
Lodging at a temple in Guanzhong, he reflects on years spent wandering far from home—like Lord Ding (the immortal who transformed into a crane to return home) yearning for reclusion, or Prince Jin (legendary Zhou dynasty royal who attained immortality) longing for the celestial realms.
The following are modern vernacular interpretations of several passages of poetry and prose from The Complete Works of Master Zhang Sanfeng, kept as close to the original meaning as possible and easy to read.
First: Returning Home and Traveling
The season has come round again for returning to one’s hometown. Now in Weinan, I am like a migrating goose lodging abroad; last year in Hebei, like a gull floating on the water. By the stream I set out a small boat and seek for lines of poetry; on both banks the green bamboo—who knows how many tens of thousands of stalks.
Mount Hua
The towering Mount Hua looks down over the whole Qin region, and the strategic peril of “a hundred and twenty rivers and mountains” is most striking here. Where the clouds rise is said to be the place where the banished immortal scratched his head; where the rain has passed, it is like the basin in which the goddess washed her hair. At leisure I follow the emerald peaks to look for pine nuts; when drunk I pillow my head on the blue stone and gaze at the blue sky. I admire the deed of Master Chen Tuan (Xiyi) lying in seclusion in the mountains, and I too ought to lead later students into the Gate of Mystery.
In the Mingyue Mountains of Fufeng There Is Qingfeng Cave; Passing By, I Improvised This
On the summit of Mingyue Mountain I play with the bright moon; at the mouth of Qingfeng Cave I sit in the clear wind. Chanting to the wind and whistling to the moon, I would like to grow old here; facing the bright moon and listening to the wind, that sound of wind goes on and on without cease.
Evening Journey at Baoji
Suddenly I wandered to the Fengxiang area of Qin, then drifted on to Baoji. The road stretches far away along the flowing water; the mountains seem heavy beneath the low-lying evening clouds. Facing me three peaks stand tall; in my heart I only care for a bed on which to rest. I will build a thatched hut and pause for a while—I am old too; between heaven and earth, where can I ask about cinnabar?
Inscription on the Wall of a Small Hut
At the foot of Chencang Mountain there is a family that cultivates the Dao; they plant neither mulberry fields nor hemp. Hiding name and surname, concealed in a quiet place, they cut their own firewood and draw their own water, and so pass a whole life. Several layers of stone cliffs rise like tigers; a single thatched hut is as small as a snail’s shell. With Qi full and the body strong, though already in late years, in the vast heaven and earth where should one ask the way of refining elixirs and becoming immortal?
Willows of Tianjin
Willows of Tianjin, oh willows of Tianjin, year after year their threads gradually grow long. They tie the parting feelings of the official world, but can they tie the road of the wandering immortal as he leaves? No—with a long whistle I go out from Tianjin, my torn robe fluttering, and I do not turn back.
Dongting: Paying Respect to Master Lü Chunyang
This meeting is not without cause (adapting the master’s poetic line); for several decades I have sought the Dao and sought the truth. Elegant and graceful, he blows the phoenix flute; majestic and awe-inspiring, he wears the Longquan sword. His body has come to this place from the seas and mountains; with his hand he brushes the lake clouds and looks at the distant sky. I wish to learn from the master’s diligence in saving the world; after parting at Dongting, all the way to western Sichuan.
Leisurely Travels in Yan and Zhao: Paying Respect to Qiu Changchun, Then Traveling Together in the Western Hills
The weather is cold and the white sun is pale; in the Yan market of Youzhou I seek out the old wine tower again. The new learners are mad like drunkards; old friends and heroes are already in barren mounds. The fleeting Light of Time is not like the days within the gourd; this ant-like life is like froth on water. I met a perfected person and discussed the Great Dao; together we roam the clear snow of the Western Hills.
The following is a plain-language reading of this scripture passage, explained section by section according to the poem titles.
Holding a Long Bow and Chasing Birds (Untitled Short Lines)
With a long bow in hand, he chases the flying birds—who would know that it is the old man coming back? Verses are left on a white poplar grave; half the townspeople say they are right, and half say they are wrong.
A Confusion of Scenes, Tangled Like Hemp (Exhorting Renunciation)
Worldly affairs are tangled like a heap of hemp. Once this life is mostly over, one should leave household life early. Do not wait until “the nest is endangered while eggs are still piled in it”—fame and rank, power and profit are no more than flowers before the eyes, gone in a blink.
Written Going Down from Kuifu to Jiangling
Having toured all Twelve Peaks of Wu, I give a long whistle at Kuimen and descend to Jingzhou. At dawn I chant beneath the setting moon at Emei Shoal; at dusk I face Swallowtail Islet in the slanting sun. The mountains and waters stretch vast and dim, and I think of my companions on the Dao; heaven and earth are boundless, yet immortal companions are few. Better to mount the Liaodong crane myself, ride home, and visit the old hill.
Meditating on the Past at Red Cliff
(There are several Red Cliffs; the one at Jiayu is where Zhou Yu defeated Cao Cao.)
The stone cliff presses down by the water’s edge; the enterprise of dividing the realm into three began here. Where now are the dragon-and-tiger struggles? The moon is white, the wind clear, and I have come again. The rolling Yangtze washes on day and night; the vast battle ramparts stand amid wind and thunder. In high spirits I want to pull Poxian (Su Dongpo) along to whistle together, and, playing the flute in a boat, return with him.
Most Numinous in Making Rain and Clouds
It has the greatest spiritual power to make rain and clouds; do not mistake a dusty dream for the Perfected One (zhenren). An immortal ring faintly descends from the void—one part is the balm of grace, one part is spring’s color.
Written in a Shu Market
At dawn I hide in Qingcheng; at dusk I enter Emei. Coming and going through Shu, I have seen many people. I watch the white sun hurry past while singing Immortal Lan’s Tata song. A single gourd is a priceless treasure; the wind and moon of the Two Rivers are my nest of ease. I have roamed mountain forests and bustling markets, leaving poems everywhere—do you recognize me?
Song of the Two Lakes
(Marginal note: the brushwork resembles that of Patriarch Lü, Lü Dongbin.)
Transforming into a fisherman, I row a small boat, roaming freely through Hunan and Hubei. When the wine is dry, I want to swallow Yunmeng outright; when my chanting ends, I soar high over Ezhou. From ten thousand li away I gaze at the moon over Wu; with one long whistle, the Chu sky turns to autumn. An old man by the Xiang River meets me with a smile and, pointing at Jiayu, lowers his fishhook. (Jiayu is a county name.)
Writing My Feelings
My heart and fate are anxious and pitiable; wind-blown lamp and rain-lightning hasten the flowering years. If I do not climb to Langyuan, in the end I will be a ghost—on which cloud peak shall I first meet an immortal? Through nine deaths I have kept alive the strength to bear the Dao, yet over three lives I fear falling into dusty ties. I offer a stick of incense in advance toward Zhongnan: surely a Perfected One sits by the rock.
Presented to Mr. Fire Dragon at Zhongnan
White clouds and blue mist vanish from sight; I have already reached the immortal’s jade-green flask. Risking my straw sandals, I seek the Earth’s Lungs; only then do I behold the great Dao and the Fire Dragon’s dwelling. (The last line in the original may also be read as the realm of “Mr. Fire Dragon,” meaning: seeking immortals at Zhongnan and presenting oneself to the Perfected One Fire Dragon.)
A Vernacular Reading of The Complete Works of Master Zhang Sanfeng
Short Passage Concerning the Alchemy Chamber
The Dao is in the Heavenly Capital; the single Qi of Qian and Kun is stored in the alchemy chamber. The two pills of sun and moon shine upon the red furnace. Truly I wish to meet you, sir; I beg your compassion to soon deliver this poor scholar.
The Great Dao is in the Heavenly Capital (the immortal realm); the single Qi of Qian and Kun is hidden in the Dantian (energy center). The two pills of sun and moon glow in the red furnace (the Dantian). I truly wish to meet you, sir; I beg your compassion to soon deliver this poor scholar.
Two Poems on Leaving Zhongnan
First Poem
All my life I have loved goodness and sought the immortal elder; I let a hundred thousand in gold slip from my hand into emptiness. Deeply I thank the Perfected One for transmitting the wondrous formula; leaving the mountain, I seek companions to aid the primal work.
All my life I have loved goodness and sought the immortal elder; I let go of all my hundred thousand in gold. I deeply thank the Perfected One for transmitting the wondrous formula; leaving the mountain, I seek companions to jointly aid the work of cultivating the origin.
Second Poem
With one straw cape and one bamboo hat I descend from Zhongnan; clouds are white, mountains clear, and all phenomena are contained. Some day, when the Great Elixir has been smelted and refined, I will come again and bow my head at the immortal hermitage.
With one straw cape and one bamboo hat I come down from Zhongnan; clouds are white and mountains clear, encompassing all phenomena. When the Great Elixir is smelted and refined some day, I will again bow in homage at the immortal hermitage.
Song on the Completion of the Elixir
Deep in the cave is hidden the spring of remote antiquity; with the heart empty and the Qi quiet, I nourish the original Shen (spirit). I directly seek the thousand-year medicine beyond the world, unstained by even a speck of dust from the human realm. Sometimes I drink wine of the peaches of immortality, sometimes I gather the roots of lingzhi; as if drunk, as if entranced, blood and Qi arise. Eight ounces of true lead and half a catty of mercury; when the moon is full and flowers appear, the scene is beyond words. Catching tigers and seizing dragons is altogether easy, but the pre-heaven one Qi requires diligent effort. The firing times are distinct and the measures exact; when the ten months’ work is complete, one transcends into sagehood and true reality. Where should the ordinary and foolish seek the elixir method? This is the non-dual gate of our house.
Deep in the cave is hidden the spring of remote antiquity; with the heart empty and the Qi quiet, I nourish the original Shen (spirit). I directly seek the thousand-year medicine beyond the world, unstained by even a speck of dust from the human realm. Sometimes I drink wine of the peaches of immortality, sometimes I gather the roots of lingzhi; as if drunk, as if entranced, blood and Qi arise. Eight ounces of true lead and half a catty of mercury; when the moon is full and flowers appear, the scene is beyond words. Catching tigers and seizing dragons is altogether easy, but the pre-heaven one Qi requires diligent effort. The firing times are distinct and the measures exact; when the ten months’ work is complete, one transcends into sagehood and true reality. Where do the ordinary and foolish seek the elixir method? This is the non-dual gate of our house.
Two Impromptu Quatrains at Mount Taihe
First Poem
On Mount Taihe, in a nest of white clouds, my wall-facing practice is as deep as Bodhidharma’s. Today, having accomplished the Dao, I speak of the wondrous Dao; but talking is not as much as doing.
On Mount Taihe, in a nest of white clouds, my wall-facing practice is as deep as Bodhidharma’s (the Buddhist patriarch who faced a wall for nine years). Today, having accomplished the Dao, I discuss the wondrous Dao; saying it is not as good as doing it.
Second Poem
For nine years I have had no affairs and no poems; silently, dimly, I did not know myself. If in the world there is anyone who can be like me, I would take up the elixir formula and transmit it all to them.
For nine years I have had no affairs and no poems; silently, dimly, I did not know myself. If in the world there is anyone who can be like me, I would take up the elixir formula and transmit it all to them.
Inscribed on Mount Wudang
Among the dark green of seventy-two peaks, the scenery of Mount Wudang resembles Mount Heng. Tomorrow morning I will fly across to Hunan; among eight or nine peaks I will come and go at will.
Among the dark green of seventy-two peaks, the scenery of Mount Wudang resembles Mount Heng. Tomorrow morning I will fly across to Hunan; among eight or nine peaks I will come and go at will.
Mount Heng
Today I have completed the tour of the Five Sacred Peaks; riding a yellow crane, I pause at the summit. I first sought out the Northern Peak and did not stop until Southern Heng. Though a myriad li are said to separate Yan and Chu, the two mountains are just gathered by Kan and Li (water and fire). The natural wondrous Dao follows the same ruts; again I watch the Xiang waves flow on nine faces.
Today I have traveled all the Five Sacred Peaks; riding a yellow crane, I pause at the summit. I first visited the Northern Peak and only stopped at the Southern Peak. Though ten thousand li separate Yan and Chu, the two mountains have just been gathered by Kan and Li (water and fire). The natural wondrous Dao follows the same ruts; again I see the Xiang waves flowing on nine sides.
Climbing Yueyang Tower, Using Du Fu’s Rhyme
Wanting to climb to the summit of Jun Mountain, I came flying with poems to this tower. One lake bounds north and south; for a thousand li, water and clouds float. Beyond the sand, a few lines of geese; at the sky’s edge, a few dots of boats. Where rivers and lakes gather and store, vast and broad, they do not rush onward.
Wanting to climb to the summit of Jun Mountain, I came flying with poems to this tower. One lake bounds north and south; for a thousand li, water and clouds float. Beyond the sand, a few lines of geese; at the sky’s edge, a few dots of boats. Where rivers and lakes gather and store, vast and broad, they do not rush onward.
On the Road in Henan, Many Ministers and Nobles Had Heard of My Name; I Write This to Laugh at Them
I have cast aside fame and rank and roam unrestrained; I always look with cold eyes at dukes and marquises. Civil officials and military generals are all dust; green-black brows and red makeup are all skulls.
I have cast aside fame and rank and roam unrestrained; I always look with cold eyes at dukes and marquises. Civil officials and military generals are all dust; green-black brows and red makeup are all skulls.
The following is a modern vernacular interpretation of this group of poems and prose in The Complete Works of Mr. Zhang Sanfeng, explained in the order of the pieces.
When Adornment Is Exhausted, Only a Skull Remains; the Crane Carriage Soars High… (fragment)
When all adornment is gone, only a skull remains; the immortal crane’s carriage rides the clouds and flies high. Above the southern peaks the bright moon shines; in the wilds of Beimang autumn crows clamor noisily, and the grass has withered away completely. Beimang is Beimang Mountain north of Luoyang, often a metaphor for burial places; the whole passage writes of life and death, desolation, and thoughts of transcendence.
Xie Early Asks the Way at the Cloud Mountain
A certain Xie—or, according to another reading, “as early as possible”—has already asked the way among the cloud mountains: where is the path to becoming an immortal?
Evening Walk in Xianyang
Far off at the edge of the sky, distant wild geese rise in formation through the clouds; I too chant aloud on the ancient road of Xianyang. On the ancient road of Xianyang the grass hues blur, and the kings and lords of successive ages have all become withered remains. Traveling west ten thousand li, I am moved to much feeling—how can human life compare with the freedom of the immortals? Let the blue sea turn into mulberry fields. With a crane-like countenance and pine-like bearing, one endures long without aging.
Crossing Wugong by Moonlight, Flying to the Plank Road
In a cloth robe and with a coconut-shell ladle, my attire is not very neat; at night I flew west of the Wei River. White clouds startle and break the wild-goose formation over Mount Liang; the cool moon urges my return, while roosters crow at Lu Inn. Since leaving the world, I have often traveled the roads of Qin and Shu, and on cliff faces I look at the inscriptions left by coming and going travelers. Walking the dangerous plank road as if on level ground, only now do I understand that the phoenix carriage surpasses horse hooves.
Jin River
The river rushes from Mount Min into the capital of Shu, then flows east, emerging through Kuimen and passing through Wu Gorge. I wish to emulate Yuanzhenzi and take the sobriquet “Little Angler of Mist and Waves,” steering a single leaf of a boat.
Song on the River
Having learned the oar-song tune of the fisherman, I sing aloud and steer my magnolia-wood boat. Cloud-like sails scatter in confusion, and I lose my way in the Three Chu; misty waters stretch vast and vague, and I pass the Nine Rivers. I gather heaven and earth into a small boat, letting the years flow by like a rushing stream. This body, free and unrestrained, has no fixed dwelling—like a lone goose skimming the waves, with only its solitary shadow.
Roaming Mount Lu
Gazing from afar, the ninefold screen peaks open out; only on arriving do I know this is the land of immortals. I call back the mountain tiger and chant to the stream’s moon; I summon the cloud dragon and embrace it at the stone bridge. When the high banks roar, waterfalls fly; where pale smoke floats, the censer is full of incense. Here the Daoist adds especially to his secluded inspiration and enjoys the long days and months of Kuanglu.
Song of Wu and Yue
North and south of the great river, I let myself drift; having wandered all through Suzhou and Hangzhou, my Dao has grown ever deeper and more refined. Riding a crane over the Wu mountains, I give myself room for a long howl; flying on a phoenix at Yu’s Cave, I avoid people and seek seclusion. Vast Lize hides the fishing boat; pale Tiao Creek washes the traveler’s lapels. Elegant waters and wondrous peaks—all are the roads of Wu and Yue; airily I carry on my back a “Falling Glow” qin.
Inscribed on Meeting in Hangzhou (brief preface and poem)
Brief Preface: Jia Guangbi, given name Yu, a native of Luling, was a vice director of the Left Office of the Hangzhou provincial administration in the Yuan dynasty. When I was traveling in Hangzhou, I met him at West Lake. He said that he intended to dwell and wander among the lakes and mountains, so I wrote this poem to encourage his journey.
Poem:
You and I have met, and our surnames are again the same. Do not entrust loftiness only to the void. Nowadays the atmosphere is both expansive and bleak; since ancient times all worthy people have been thus. I wish you to practice earnestly on solid ground and entrust your feelings to mountains and waters, so as not to fail your resolve for lakes and mountains.
Note: In the text, “Yuanzhenzi,” “Kuanglu,” “Lize,” “Yu’s Cave,” and other terms are Daoist terms, landscape place names, or allusions; they have been retained as in the original with brief explanations.
Heroic Goodness (fragmentary lines)
Heroes are good at beginning and good at ending. For a thousand years there have often been recluses by West Lake. The misty willows of the Six Bridges and the old tales of the Southern Crossing—old heroes, some riding donkeys, some setting out in boats, left behind fine stories. Let me speak with you, sir, of this lineage of character.
Song of Leisurely Dwelling at Tianmu
The refined energy of Lin’an gathers at Tianmu Mountain; at dawn white clouds surge forth from the peaks. Among the rocks a clear spring pours high between the two peaks, its wave-light round and pure as the sun and moon shining together. This is the thirty-fourth Daoist cave-heaven, where jade registers and precious caskets have been transmitted through all ages. I built a hut atop the mountain for a short stay, coming and going among blue phoenixes and white deer. When idle I go to Hangzhou, laughing proudly among lakes and mountains and finding true delight, becoming a wandering monk who walks with a staff. On the Three-Life Stone, whom shall I meet? Plum Blossom Islet, Willow Embankment—jade flutes and painted boats come and go east and west. The Daoist gives a long whistle and returns to the mountain; looking back at the world, mist and rosy clouds stretch vast and boundless.
To Monk Guanghai
Deeply entering the Buddhist path, he severs worldly attachments; the practice of shamatha (the Mahayana bodhisattva path) accords exactly with his own mind. Heavenly flowers faintly manifest auspicious omens; wind in the leaves clatters, reciting the Mahayana. The room is sealed and quiet by day, with clouds forming a canopy; the courtyard is empty and still at night, with the moon as a lamp. In samadhi the myriad phenomena are no more—arriving here, who can see the old monk?
Meeting My Uncle, the Two Outer Historians (a Hangzhou native)
Seeing through floating life, far from the dust of marketplace and world; with songs and tramping steps, climbing Mount Mao. Elder brother, I give you nothing else—only the single flavor of immortal leisure.
Visiting Jinling, Presented to Shen Wansan
Along the Qinhuai River are scattered fishermen’s homes; seeing through floating clouds like evening glow. Boating under the moon, buying green wine, I am moved that you follow me to ask about cinnabar. Who understands the wondrous principle of the Yellow Center (the essential purport of Neidan cultivation)? The heroes of Baixia boast of this. I wish to devote wealth to inquiring into Daoist methods; with a whole household of wife and children, there will be no sighing.
Parting from Wansan
The rival heroes are in turmoil, all engaged in conquest and suppression; I discuss the Dao with you, sir. Today the kingly qi of the southeast is flourishing; in another year I will meet you in the southwest.
Two Poems on West Lake
First
On the lake is a red pavilion, and a stately venerable monk; before the pavilion the water mirrors the body before my eyes. What is the one in blue straw cape and green bamboo hat? I am the truth within the painting of mist and waves.
Second
People sing and laugh, filling the red boats; willows stand by long pavilions and short pavilions. Yet I love the fisherman’s great leisure and elegance—he rows his little boat himself to Xiling.
To the Daoist Jin Su
At the fine spot of Jade Mountain are lovely garden pavilions; how many visitors enter the painted screen. Suddenly bring it all and scatter it away—with clear heart and faint cares, the water murmurs cool.
Song of Returning to Shu
In the supplied text only the title appears; the body is not included. If complete lines are preserved in the full collection, they should be supplemented and translated from the original.
A Vernacular Interpretation of The Complete Works of Master Zhang Sanfeng
(Reflections on Traveling in Shu)
The Six Directions—heaven, earth, and the four quarters, meaning the whole world—are my home; the sun and moon are like lamps and candles in my palm. Though I am a man of Liaodong, traveling in Shu feels like returning to Shu. Faint are the clouds of Mount Wu, curved the moon of Emei, fresh the waves of the Jin River, and bustling the land of Bazi; everywhere the mysterious wind is expounded. I am wild and self-content—where, after all, does the phoenix carriage stop? Again I rest at Qingcheng.
Returning to Qin
I came from Shu to Qin, not to escape the troubles of Qin; having long dwelt in western Qin, I seem a native of Qin. Writing verses on the rock at Baoji, who can recognize this body roaming beyond things?
(In late autumn of the bingwu year, the twenty-sixth year of Zhizheng of the Great Yuan, after returning from seven days of wandering and simple fare at Jintai Observatory, I gave Yang Guishan a gatha.)
(The poem alludes to the end of the Yuan and the beginning of the Ming; that is, the twenty-eighth year, the first year of Hongwu.)
Primordial Qi is vast and boundless, returning to the Great Clarity; again with the Vermilion Bird it descends to the Jade Capital. Splitting the bed for seven days, the return comes—all under heaven together see the sun and moon shine bright.
Entering Shu
Sword Gate is majestic, the mountains of Shu tower high; even the immortal cranes flying to and fro feel the toil. Ten thousand dark peaks stand out distinct and scattered; a thousand layers of green cliffs wind around and around. Now and then a herdsman’s flute blows over autumn grass; everywhere the woodcutters’ wind roars like evening waves. Most I love the moon atop Emei Peak; its pure white radiance shines upon the Daoist’s robe.
Fisherman’s Song
Xiang rain and lake clouds fill the fishing cloak; fleeing fame and hiding my name, how joyful it is. New sun and moon—referring to the Ming—and old mountains and rivers—referring to the Yuan—success or failure, rise or fall, do not mind them. Sleeping at Dongting until the long sky dawns, who recognizes the lofty man Zhang Zhihe?
To Mr. Jiao Shimo
Ziling, lofty as he was, once bent before Han Guangwu; a single guest star shines through all ages. Now I see Mr. Jiao—who can match his high integrity and pure conduct? In youth he was an old friend of the imperial Ming; the wind of his reputation blew over Xu and Chao. When his old friend rose to become Son of Heaven, several times vermilion edicts came to the mountain hollow—with a pig’s trotter and a pot of wine, he went straight to see the emperor to repay my friend. He loudly called on the Imperial Provisioner to prepare mountain fare; drinking together, they laughed and clapped hands. Before the seat were three belts with horn, silver, and gold; he ordered the gentleman to take them and observe—opening and closing echo each other, wondrously natural—his heart. Forcibly holding the horned belt as a game, his hidden feelings were silently in the cloud forest. From then on the court called him a thousand-household official; the gentleman smiled coldly—what was that worth? Airily he cast it aside and entered famous mountains, like Zifang forever parting from Han Gaozu.
Vernacular Interpretation of The Complete Works of Mr. Zhang Sanfeng
I. Preface (Traveling Through Mountains and Rivers)
For many years I have traveled among mountains and rivers, paying closest attention to Mount Emei in Shu and Mount Wudang in Chu. Thus I built a cottage in each place as a dwelling for coming and going and for cultivating the truth. Going out, one may ride the blue phoenix ten thousand li; returning, one finds a nest of white clouds. On a fine, clear evening, from Qiyun Cottage on Wudang I gazed toward Liuyue Cottage on Emei and composed this poem.
II. Frequently Coming and Going Between Chu and Shu
Between Chu and Shu I come and go frequently, lying high in cottages built on two famous mountains. A sudden stir in stillness is still not true stillness; to be able to be at peace within leisure—that is true leisure. I only wait for the purple writ to arrive from beneath the palace gate, and carefully study the elixir formula to ferry the world. At night on Wudang I face the Emei moon, and from afar recall that my disciples have already entered retreat.
III. Idle Gazing from Qiyun Cottage
Clouds and trees darkly green fill the emerald slopes; / A Daoist idly gazes out, standing at the rock gate. / Fierce birds and birds of prey bear no suspicion; / Beyond the gate, brushing the mist, he returns treading on leaves.
The wind rolls mountain clouds flying over the water; / Rain scatters willow catkins as late spring falls away. / All day the pure cottage has nothing at all to do; / Two volumes of the Huangting (Yellow Court Scripture) nourish the true nature.
IV. Idle Chant
Several cries of gibbons and cranes ring at the pine pass; / Sitting cold with the lone cloud, the mind wishes for leisure. / Having left traces, one may already be deemed beyond the world; / With no mind, why need one leave the human realm? / In the shade of the woods, a chess game leaves only a ruined position; / Beneath the furnace, male and female reveal the Great Return. / Flowing water and peach blossoms lie dimly there— / One turn of the head, and a thousand mountains separate us.
V. Again
Heaven and earth stretch on, a single cloud; / Why should the mind again form sounds and fame? / Blurred and bright, red and green, three trees of flowers; / Level and uneven, high and low, a herd of deer. / Of itself the clear void communicates with the night mist; / One need not sigh over the fallen leaves by the River Fen. / In vain does one chisel at the spirit terrace in emptiness; / From the beginning, chaos is never divided.
VI. On Going to Ba and Shu, Shown to Disciple Qiu Yuanjing
With bitter heart and bitter practice, guard Qiyun; / In years to come, entrust the Great Dao to you. / Do not lightly leave my cottage and go forth, / And cause others to write a North Mountain proclamation.
VII. Inscribed at Xuantian Abbey and Sent to the Prince of Shu
Idly I have finished angling for the great turtle in the sea; / With a laugh I return, taking Jin and Tao as my ancestors. / Flowers spit forth jade peaches—spring is just right; / Bamboo shoots push up green bamboo—the joints are still high. / My heart cherishes the assembly of the phoenix gate and dragon scales; / My body lodges in Turtle City, wearied by horse hooves. / Why need one discuss Mount Zhongnan as a shortcut? / Official feeling to me is like a goose feather.
VIII. Left Inscription at the Jiang Family Home in Chengdu
Coming and going, I ferry those with feeling; / A gourd-play in the Brocade River City. / My body hides the Great Dao, and no one recognizes it; / I only love plum branches inserted in soil and growing.
IX. Song of Declining an Invitation (Hongwu 18)
(In the eighteenth year of Hongwu, the court summoned Zhang Sanfeng to the capital; Zhang Sanfeng composed “Song of Declining an Invitation” to decline politely.)
Note: Zhang Sanfeng was a Daoist figure of the late Yuan and early Ming, associated with the Wudang school and legends of internal martial arts. In the text, “Huangting” refers to the Huangting Jing (Yellow Court Scripture), “Great Return” is a Neidan (internal alchemy) term, “night mist” (hangxie) is the clear qi of night, and “spirit terrace” refers to the mind.
Flowing water and drifting clouds—let them be free; there is no need to force anything. Why should the court labor to summon me? From now on I will hide my name all the more; north and south of the mountains, I shall roam as I please.
Reading the Collected Works of Mr. Yang Lianfu, the Late Intendant of the Yuan Dynasty
Tieya (Yang Weizhen, whose sobriquet was Tieya Daoren) blows the iron flute; clear tones fill the cliffs. Though his fame in a declining age was great, his bearing amid the deep mountains was utterly detached. His writing transcends the cosmos, and he kept his integrity like an old hero. Only the moon over Huating, pure and lofty, can compare to this gentleman.
He once wrote “Eight Recluses” and composed encomia for eight men to express his admiration; I record his encomia here:
Yan Ziling
Yan Guang, open and upright, dealt modestly with Emperor Guangwu. The emperor said, “Ziling, why not assist me?” Yan replied, “Your Majesty, do not press me.” He retired to Fuchun to fish, and a single rod has been handed down through the ages.
Fa Zhen, styled Gaoqing
Outstanding Fa Zhen—how many such men in a thousand years? We hear only his voice and do not see his person. He neither angled for reputation nor was he merely a recluse lost in obscurity. Confucius would call it seeking one’s aspiration; Mencius would call him a person of Heaven.
Tao Qian, styled Yuanming
Upright Tao Yuanming was a worthy of the Jin house. With five willows he could dwell; by five pecks of rice he could not be bound. Returning with the moon, coming to gather flowers, he rested among Chaisang like a man of the ancient Getian clan.
Dai Kui, styled Andao
Lofty Dai Kui took high integrity as his calling. He dwelt embracing righteousness, and withdrew after refusing the written summons. A single memorial by Xie An settled both his person and his name. Joyful and free, he played the qin to suit his nature.
Lu Hong, styled Haoran
Transcendent Lu Hong stood atop Mount Song. A free-roaming layman, a joyous immortal. Granted office, he did not accept it; granted robes, he did not wear them. Where is his thatched hut? White clouds fill the sky.
Xuanyuan Ji
Aloof Xuanyuan Ji, a recluse of Luofu, drew far away to Luofu. He ate nuts and wore grass garments, with clouds for a quilt and stones for a pillow. The emperor questioned him about the Dao, and he used the Dao to remain hidden. He was not like metal and stone, nor did he peddle rouge and powder—that is, he did not fish for fame.
Chen Tuan, styled Xiyi
Vast Chen Tuan, styled Xiyi, kept to the upright and harbored the wondrous. He did not boast of the Way of the Elixir, nor reveal the primordial mechanism. He did not let others fathom him; he sought only to know himself. Lying high on Mount Hua, he was the teacher of my teacher.
Lin Bu, styled Hejing
Outstanding Lin Bu possessed Solitary Mountain alone. Aloof from dust and stain, his Qi was clear and his spirit at ease. He went out to seek plum blossoms and returned summoning cranes. He never entered the city, but long whistled among the peaks.
There is also an encomium on the portrait of Jiao Xiaoran, now appended here. (The text is not recorded; only the title survives.)
Vernacular Explanation
Note
The eight laudatory poems above are all the Master’s (Zhang Sanfeng’s) own self-portraits; their elegance and charm are a level above ordinary poetic quality.
Jiao Xian
Jiao Xian was open and upright, a man of high virtue and great prestige in the Han dynasty. Some called him a recluse, others an immortal. A thatched hut was enough to shelter him, and he could sleep soundly even in wind and snow. Three edicts summoned him, and each time he refused to leave the mountains—this is said with a touch of banter, referring to that “Xiaoran”-like stubbornness of his.
“About to Go to Yunnan, First Sent to an Old Friend” (with preface)
Preface
From the second year of Hongwu (Jiyou, 1369) to the twenty-fourth year of Hongwu (Xinwei, 1391), I lived at Wudang for twenty-three years. During that time I wrote alchemical scriptures, gave voice to clear whistling, concealed my traces and hid my light; clouds came and cranes went. Recently I heard that Shen Sanshan had offended the court and been exiled to Yunnan, and that his son-in-law Mr. Yu was implicated as well. The old “southwest pact” has come due again—should I set out? So I wrote this poem first to comfort those who were to be moved far away to garrison duty in the far south and along the bends of the sea.
Poem
Sun and moon within the gourd, spring light within the cave; for twenty-three years I have settled myself in stillness. Far away I think of the guest soon to be exiled to Yunnan—amid dull rain and barbarian winds, he too will remember an old friend, I suppose.
“Meeting Shen Sanshan in Southern Yunnan and Also Presented to Your Worthy Son-in-Law Yu Shishe”
The whole family is like a little band of wandering immortals; father-in-law and son-in-law live together by the Dian Sea. The Jade Stream young gentleman Yu Shishe and the ice-pure old man Shen Sanshan both brought disaster on themselves because of “elephant tusks” (a metaphor for talent and reputation or precious curios inviting trouble); before they had even touched the dragon’s scales, they had already offended the dragon’s countenance. Today I come to bring liberation together with everyone; the Way of the Great Elixir surpasses even the “great sword ring” (a metaphor for returning home and reunion).
“Presented to the Two Female Immortals Shen Xianyang and Yu Feixia”
Brief Biography
The immortal maiden Xianyang was a senior disciple of Xue Zhenyang and the eldest daughter of Shen Sanshan; she left the household at a young age. When her father was exiled to Yunnan, she suddenly came to visit him; together with my daughter she took the Great Medicine and soared away in ascent. My daughter Shishe was the wife of Mu Chun, Marquis of Xiping; she received the transmission of Waidan (external alchemy) from her mother and father-in-law. “Feixia” was the style name I gave her, and I once wrote a brief biography recording the matter.
Poem
Shishe was not without children, and Sanshan too had a daughter. The immortal maiden and the younger woman are like two stalks of lingzhi in the fairy gardens of Langyuan. They took the Heavenly Prime elixir that I transmitted and ascended at Kunming Pool. The old man opened his laughing eyes: the transmission of my Dao has unexpectedly come to rest on these two delicate, innocent girls.
“Yelang”
At dawn I take leave of Kunming and go down to Yelang. Lofty mountains everywhere make it seem an immortal land. In the fish year they join in contests of the divine chicken and jade-green (a local custom); on the bird paths I fly high, like a crane. The yellow narrow path winds far around Guansuo Ridge; the peaks encircle Wuhou Ridge. The woods here have always been dense and deep, full of secluded charm—it makes me laugh at the southerners for actually living in such a place.
“From Qujing to Qianyang”
(Only the title is visible; no poem lines are found, so its specific content cannot be translated.)
These poems depict Zhang Sanfeng's insights and experiences during his Daoist wanderings. The first describes spotting a purple luan bird soaring over Guishan Mountain in Guizhou while chanting verses through the ancient town. The second, composed at Fuquan Mountain in Pingyue (modern Fuquan, Guizhou), portrays his nightly incense offerings to the Big Dipper Deity (a major Daoist stellar divinity) - the mountain's pristine mists and waters serving as backdrop as he worships with lotus-adorned head, praying for longevity.
The third poem records his inscription at Crow Temple while passing through Sinan and Qianjiang. "The endless Yangtze" and "crimson clouds mirrored" capture the river's grandeur, while "bare winter trees" and "jade streams in picturesque hills" sketch autumn landscapes - blending a wandering poet's wine-fueled passion with pastoral scenes of shepherd boys and fallen plum blossoms, concluding with carefree laughter over lakes and skies.
The fourth, gifted to Buddhist monk Dingyi at Bayue Mountain (modern Chongqing), likens the peaks to Mount Lu's Incense Burner Summit and presents his bamboo staff as a blue dragon gift, subtly harmonizing Buddhist and Daoist imagery. The fifth praises Shunqing Prefecture's (modern Nanchong, Sichuan) North Ferry Tower as surpassing Yueyang Tower, with misty river vistas, fishermen's songs, and white-capped waves epitomizing Sichuan's beauty.
The Lingyun Peak poem (near modern Leshan, Sichuan) highlights the region's numinous mountains where phoenix songs seem to echo through Jiuding Mountain's (Leshan's别名) rosy clouds, utterly detached from worldly dust. At Heming Mountain (a Daoist cradle in Dayi, Sichuan), verses depict a recluse's life - buying wine for spring outings, traversing cliffs bearing clouds - where the Twenty-Four Caverns' (Daoist sacred sites) stone crane appears to truly cry and soar.
The final two dedication poems brim with heroic spirit. For Wanpuzi, "riding tiger-dragons" portrays his majesty while "swordplay summoning thunder" reveals a cultivator's supernatural power - the closing line "the infant must again bear infants" hinting at Neidan (internal alchemy) practices (a Daoist technique symbolizing rejuvenation). The poem for Master Wang (a former Jianwen Emperor official) lauds his loyal character - though disguised as a madman, he retains childlike purity. Self-references as "the great fool" and "naturally unadorned" underscore the hermit's transcendent authenticity.
Living Within the Hills and Ravines of Yuhua (and the Poems Before and After)
Sometimes I lived among the hills, ravines, and gullies of Yuhua Mountain; sometimes I sheltered beside the mountains and marshes of Jinhua, among the villages at the mountain’s edge, now and then mixing with scholars and officials, passing time with poetry and wine. After drinking, my spirit would go forth, and I would long for my former lord, tears streaming from both eyes as I wept toward the blue heaven. My ordinary clothing differed from others’: I wore hemp and a bamboo hat, and I told my heart’s matters only to those with affinity. The master once said to a rustic: “After my death, please tie my body to the top of a tree—is there no clean ground in this place? With my whole heart I only wish to be a crane-nesting immortal.”
Reply to Emperor Yongle
Your Majesty’s blessings and virtue are without limit. I am originally a rustic fellow, of no use to the times. Yet I have been favored by repeated imperial letters, and carriages and horses from Taihe have galloped here several times, startling the apes and cranes. I humbly wish Your Majesty to clarify the mind in governance, reject desires and exalt virtue; when the people are blessed, the ruler is blessed, and when the people have longevity, the ruler has longevity. It is best not to believe the alchemists’ mineral-and-metal elixirs. I respectfully submit one poem and beg that you grant it a glance; in addition I append three oral songs, all of which are this mountain man’s way of dispelling desires and cultivating the body. Do not regard them as strange arts, and I shall be most fortunate.
Earth and Heaven interact in peace, and the work of transformation is complete; court and countryside are all secure, and the way of governance prospers. In Huangji Hall dragon and tiger are still; beyond the clouds of Wudang drums and bells are clear. Your subject dwells among grasses and thickets and is inherently useless; the emperor asks even the grass-cutter, as if moved by affection. I venture to trouble the sage’s hearing with slight words: clarifying the mind and reducing desires is long life.
Composed for the Audience with the True (on the first day of the fifth month in the fourteenth year of Yongle, at the Southern Pole Ten-Thousand-Longevity Assembly)
In one morning the enlightened ruler again holds audience with the Origin; in the palace of the Southern Pole a beautiful banquet is spread. The red sun at the steps calls out ten thousand years of longevity; auspicious clouds fill the seats as the assembled immortals meet. The Dao penetrates the hexagram qi, and the body dwells in Dui; one’s name is ordered in the ranks of yao, while position yields to Qian. Holding the elixir writ in hand, I return to the blessed land; the intention to save beings is even more boundless.
Inscription on the Wall of Chongqing Temple, a Daoist Monastery in Nanjing
Through the ages the alchemical classics have carried the sacred scriptures; the two words “stability” and “stillness” can extend one’s years. Why seek techniques everywhere, letting heterodox books confuse the norm?
Another
A guest of mist and clouds, embracing the secret of long life; the gaunt one of mountains and marshes roams in the spring that does not age. Who will speak of this principle with the imperial house? Not cultivating the way of governance, but thinking of cultivating the truth.
Another
The heavenly net has already snared Shao Yuanjie; hell has just received Tao Zhongwen. He had a numinous elixir and should not have died; since this man is dead, what more is there to say?
Another
The clerk at the Jade Emperor’s desk has no Son of Heaven; the towers and terraces of the golden gate belong to the hidden and submerged. I wish the ruler would sit upright with folded hands; clarifying thought and rejecting desires is the mysterious sound.
Reading the Pu’an Collection
The title is retained; if the original consists only of a title and no body text, then no separate translation of the body text is given.
The Vernacular Interpretation of The Complete Works of Master Zhang Sanfeng
Seven-Character Poem (Related to Pu’an)
In Pu’an (a Daoist temple or secluded dwelling), the Daoist’s face was full and clear; whenever he spoke of the vicissitudes of worldly affairs, he would always sigh deeply. Others were willing to shave their heads and leave the household, but he refused to follow custom and wanted to restore “my original self,” so the beard still remained by his ears. He struck the bell and chanted poems, but no one appreciated his fine lines; leaning on his staff, he soared into the sky (or wandered the four directions), finding joy in himself. A cinnabar heart was hidden in his breast, like a lamp of wisdom, brilliantly bright, illuminating the dark thoroughfare.
Recitation on Reclusion (Written at South Cliff of Wudang Mountain)
This recluse Sanfeng—who can find him? In the Nine Chambers and clouded crags, the deeper one goes, the more secluded it becomes. Pine smoke is faint, like a landscape painting made without ink; the ravine water gurgles, like a lute played by no one. Dark apes keep him company, sweeping away dust-thoughts; white cranes stay near him, steadying his Dao-mind. How laughable are those Daoist priests in yellow caps, all courting wealth and honor, yet not one truly understands me.
Palace Poems of the Western Garden
Self-note: During the Zhengde and Jiajing reigns, I once received an imperial patent; at that time the palace daily amused itself with “inviting the phoenix” (planchette spirit-writing to invite deities to write). Therefore I wrote these poems as remonstrance. Do not think that immortals do not understand the proprieties of the state.
In the Western Garden the white day is long, yet there is no human trace; the emperor, solemn and reverent, summons Lü Chunyang (Lü Dongbin). The immortal has long known the measure of his reputation and will not accept that stick of incense from Fenyi (Yan Song’s native place)—an allusion to powerful ministers currying favor through religion.
A memorial written in gold pigment is sent to Yaochi, and one quietly waits for the blue phoenix to descend and form words with its brush. The imperial will harbors the same inclinations as King Mu of Zhou (who loved immortals and wandered to Yaochi); the palace ladies still want to see poems written by “female immortals”—a satire on treating spirit-invocation as court entertainment.
Both Zhang Dian (Zhang Xu) and Zhou Dian (the mad monk) were invited; cursive script filled whole pieces with phrases such as “Kongtong’s Ultimate Dao.” The Son of Heaven opens his mouth in a laugh at the Zhaijiao (purification ritual) altar: “We now confer on you the title of heavenly immortal”—a satire on casually conferring the rank of “immortal” and treating cultivation as child’s play.
Five-colored clouds support the imperial carriage as the sage arrives, and only then does one see that “communicating with Heaven” has its own separate pavilion. Here the rites of the suburban sacrifices (the state’s orthodox sacrifices) are not performed; one merely holds up a stick of incense and gazes afar toward Penglai—criticizing the emphasis on technical arts and the neglect of orthodox sacrificial rites.
Preface to Cloud and Water, Third Collection
Cloud and Water, Third Collection is a work from Master Zhang Sanfeng’s second journey through Jiannan (the Bashu region). During the Yongzheng period the Master came to this place and once gave guidance to Mengjiu the Surveillance Commissioner; after the Commissioner departed, the Master withdrew into seclusion again. Recently Old Man Yuanyang, Layman Zhuohan, and the various rustic guests of Dunyuan and Panshan have had their aspirations set on mountains and forests and their natures delighting in springs and rocks. Recluses have gathered and lived here, and the Master has come again—this is everyone’s good fortune.
The Master’s Dharma form is not lightly shown to others; even if shown, ordinary people would not recognize it. Between Qingcheng and Great Emei, sometimes one meets an old woodcutter at ease among water and rocks, sometimes an old fisherman chanting and whistling among streams and mountains; in black robes and yellow caps (Buddhist and Daoist attire) there are all sorts of transformations. Only after a long time does one realize that the Master himself is present among them.
Note: The “Palace Poems of the Western Garden” target phenomena such as spirit-writing in the Ming court, the conferral of immortal titles, and powerful ministers (such as Yan Song) currying favor through incense offerings; the preface explains the connection of Cloud and Water, Third Collection with his travels in Shu during the Yongzheng period and with the Master’s frequent concealment in the forms of woodcutters, fishermen, monks, and Daoists.
Publication Note (Original Preface/Intent)
Master Zhang Sanfeng’s words are clear and elegant, and many of his wondrous sayings are recorded in brush-talk notes. He did not discuss auspicious and inauspicious omens, misfortune and blessing, nor did he speak of the “yellow and white” often mentioned in Waidan (external alchemy)—the making of gold and silver and the like. What he ordinarily spoke of was nothing other than loyalty, filial piety, benevolence, compassion, humility and harmony, purity and quietness—the basic duties of being human. Occasionally he also wrote poetry, with lofty and resonant tones, as if able to hold down the clouds and waters. As he wandered and sang over the years, his ink traces accumulated more and more; thus they were printed and circulated, so that people might understand: the joy of immortals is no more than this, and it is not strangely different from the cultivation of ordinary people.
Bibliographic Information (Abridged)
From the reprinted edition of the Daozang Jiyao, The Complete Works of Master Zhang Sanfeng, newly edited by Li Xiyue, the Changyi Mountain Man of Hanjia; respectfully written by Zhang Daoyuan, style name Zishen; respectfully published by Zhu Daosheng of Langzhong, style name Wanchengzi; collated by his nephew Ying (Chuncheng), his son Huang (Panxi), and Zhu Zan (Suyuan). The following are pieces from Yunshui Sanji (Cloud and Water, Third Collection).
Song of Revisiting Jiannan (with Preface)
Preface: In the Jiannan region, ever since Observer Wang left his post, I had not been to Jiazhou for many years; in the blink of an eye, nearly a hundred years had passed. Recently I saw the Shaowei star shining brightly between Lingyun, Wuyou, Qingyi, and Changyi, so I composed this poem, “Revisiting Jiannan,” to record this visit.
Plain-language paraphrase: Transforming into a luan bird, into a crane, into cloud and smoke, and again into fishermen, woodcutters, and old immortals; hidden or visible, roaming at play—all depends on affinity. The Shaowei star shines on the Nine Peaks—sometimes chanting poems among cliffs and valleys, sometimes playing with springs among rocks and water, sometimes riding a yellow ox to the mountain front, sometimes holding a dark-green qin and sitting by the pines. Without knowing and without regret, he dwells in groves and gardens; without envy and without seeking, he nurtures his nature in fields and gardens. These are all recluse scholars and lofty worthies; I wish to visit them and associate with them. The peerless ancient Qingyi cave-heaven is linked by a single breath with Emei. Dragging my iron staff behind me, I seek out secluded and remote places; in the village a few people talk of “naturalness.” How delightful! I had not reached Jiannan for nearly a hundred years; coming again, I am still Zhang Xuanxuan (his self-given name).
(Jiannan: the Ba-Shu region; Shaowei star: in ancient belief, the star governing reclusion and scholar-recluses; Qingyi: the Qingyi River and an ancient famous mountain of Daoist temples; Zhang Xuanxuan: Zhang Sanfeng’s self-reference.)
White Cloud Hermitage
At noon the forest shade is cool with rainy air; a thousand tall bamboos cover the scripture hall. The old monk finishes his Sanskrit chanting as the clouds first clear; the room is small, the body at leisure, and the day is truly long.
Plain-language paraphrase: At midday, shade in the woods and a coolness born of rain; a thousand tall bamboos roof the scripture hall. The old monk has finished the Sanskrit chant, and the cloud vapor has just cleared; though the room is narrow, body and mind are at ease, and the white day seems especially long.
Xiaoxiang Song
Beyond the flowers the wind comes and cassia seeds fall; the autumn air is clear and empty. Wild geese fly high by the bend of the Xiang River; by the bend of the Xiang River, a long flute plays the joy of wandering immortals.
Plain-language paraphrase: Wind rises beyond the flowers, cassia seeds drift down, and the autumn air is clear and empty. Wild geese fly high at the bend of the Xiang; at the bend of the Xiang, a single long flute melody blows the joy of wandering as an immortal.
Fisherman’s Song
In one little boat, sitting or lying, there is room to spare; where wind and waves are dangerous, I am naturally at peace. Clouds faint, water vast—I look on Dongting’s misty rain as poetry. At dawn I sit alone below Mount Jun and see only reed flowers rushing at my fishing pole.
Plain-language paraphrase: A single boat is broad enough for sitting or lying; even where wind and waves are perilous, the heart remains at peace. Clouds are faint, waters vast; I take Dongting’s misty rain as poetry. At daybreak I sit alone below Mount Jun, and see only reed blossoms brush against the fishing pole.
Rain on the Seventh Night
Overall meaning: This group of poems mostly describes roaming among clouds and waters as an immortal and the freedom of forests and springs. It is consistent with what was said earlier—that he commonly spoke of loyalty, filial piety, benevolence, compassion, humility and harmony, purity and quietness: the joy of immortals lies not in predicting fortune and misfortune or in alchemical wealth, but in following circumstances among mountains and waters, purifying the mind and diminishing desires, and conversing with lofty people about naturalness.
Vernacular Interpretations from The Complete Works of Master Zhang Sanfeng
Untitled: Listening to Rain at Goushan
After hearing at Goushan the sound of the sheng like that of Wang Zijin—the immortal in legend who played the sheng and ascended to heaven—I again heard autumn rain pattering, clear and crisp, ringing like jade. A great wind seemed to blow the Milky Way down from the sky, yet it was not mournful and desolate like ordinary autumn rain.
Traveling in Shu
Returning from a realm like Langyuan—an immortal realm, a garden of immortals—I traveled again in the Shu region; my body was often detained and entangled by white clouds. Wearing a straw cloak and a bamboo hat, dressed casually, I simply made myself up as a farmer; what I sought was ease and freedom.
Wandering Mount Emei in Deep Winter
Hand in hand, we climbed to the summit of Mount Emei; the chill of deep winter rose from the treetops. Wind blew from the northern mountain ridges, and yellow leaves covered the cliffs and valleys; deep in the forest the mountain road twisted, and between broken stone steps lay white snow that had not melted for years.
To Dunyuan
Day after day, silently, without words; when there was a poem, I slowly intoned it; when there was wine, I slowly drank it dry. In my drunkenness I laughed wildly, and no one recognized me; with green shade covering the ground and the sun just at the railing, I sat with you on the great flat rock.
Farmer’s Song
The threshing floor and garden face the window; every part of the scene is pleasing. When guests come, we chat idly about farming together; the joy of a farming household is truly no falsehood. Spring wind and spring rain have come again to the gate of the thatched studio.
Inscribing Hanxu’s Poem on the Golden Elixir
A body of immortal bone, a single brush: when inspiration runs high, I sing aloud a hundred poems. From now on I must treasure all the more the value of the Golden Elixir—the fruit attained through Neidan cultivation—even if offered ten thousand taels of gold, I would not sell it.
The Bi River Flows Vast
The Bi River flows vast and full; in it the workings of the Dao can be seen. In the depths of the pond pavilion I watch the fish swim. A patch of white cloud drifts off into the sky; beyond the heavens, rosy clouds reflect the bright colors of the blue expanse.
Showing to Panshan
Do not be sorrowful; do not let worldly anxieties disturb your heart. The bright moon among the mountains and the flowing water in the river are enough to cleanse the breast; all things may be set down.
Harmonizing with the Bearded Immortal’s Original Rhymes at the Double Clarity Pavilion
Outside the pavilion come two or three guests; within the gourd—a metaphor for heaven and earth or the Dao of the elixir—the sun shines for a thousand autumns. You young gentlemen each rouse yourselves on the road of blue clouds; we of this generation, by contrast, ought to dwell at ease in the White Jade Tower. Laughing, I let go of Gengxin—in Golden Elixir cultivation, a metaphor for firing times and medicinal substances—all at once; who still counts the jiazi cycle from the beginning? At the gatherings on Pengshan there is joy year after year; we do not sing songs of vexation from the red dust.
Appendix: The Bearded Immortal’s Original Rhymes for “Double Clarity Pavilion”
A belly full of writings in five thousand scrolls; in the blink of an eye, already eight hundred autumns on Pengshan. Bit by bit, starlight coldly falls into the water; vast and blurred, cloud vapor far off swallows the pavilion. Countless poems have been written in the sand; ten thousand stalks of bamboo have been planted outside the pavilion. When the wind comes, all at once the sound of the sheng is heard; the Daoist claps his hands and is singing a clear song.
Winter Solstice
Yesterday yang qi lay hidden and yin qi held sway; today yin reaches its extreme and yang is born, and Yin-Yang exchange with each other on the day of the winter solstice. I saw a guest off as far as the mountain hall; beside the mountain hall the tree leaves had fallen—or, leaning on a staff, I rested my feet—it was exactly the scene of midwinter.
Vernacular Interpretation of The Complete Works of Master Zhang Sanfeng
The following is a modern vernacular translation of the poetry and prose in this section, explained section by section according to the titles.
1. Autumn Day at Dongting (Short Verses)
In the tenth month the cold frost rustles aloud; the Yin Qi (vital energy) is heavy and stagnant; wild geese faintly fly south. By the shores of Dongting I give a long whistle, and a single flute melody drifts across Sanxiang.
2. Xuanran Terrace on the Lantern Festival
At the great Lantern Festival gathering, the tower is newly bright; rivers and mountains are like a painting, and lanterns are like spring. Fine rain falls over a thousand mountains, and the dust and commotion of ten thousand li disperse. Where misty trees are hazy and the moonlight is hazy—that is where one sees the “true self.”
3. Qingyi Abbey
The Qingyi River winds around Qingyi Abbey; clear waves fill the eyes, something rarely seen even in a painting. Evening mist on the river, sail shadows gradually recede; spring rain among the trees, the sound of the chime-stone faint and fine. Who knows in what year the “Changsheng Society” was formed here; often a precious staff comes flying to this place. The old man wearing a straw cape and bamboo hat is known by no one; casually he chants, “The crane comes home.”
4. Xijiang Yue (Moon over the West River)
Beyond the clouds one completely forgets heaven and earth; within the gourd one does not reckon spring and autumn. Returning in the third month, free and unfettered, all the rivers and mountains before one’s eyes remain as before. Flowers and trees are planted in season; pavilions and terraces are places for leisurely roaming everywhere. Since ancient times, famous mountains have been our dwelling place; facing the scene, we chant poems and pour wine.
5. Occasional Pieces at a Daoist Temple
The spring gloom is heavy, guarding the temple gate; beyond the railing the flower branches are tender and finely wrinkled. All day, with the curtain lowered, I sit facing the scene, without sound or color, idly chatting about affairs in the capital.
6. Inscribing the Xuanran Terrace Plaque
Tonight the disciples gather together in one hall; the Daoist himself writes the plaque “Xuanran Terrace.” Not only do the disciples praise it as wondrous; the Daoist too boasts that his brush has divine aid: seawater and heaven’s wind move with his elbow; taking up the brush, he is unaware that dragons and snakes roam; the Five Peaks shake and soar above the azure isles. The assembled company claps joyfully—the writing will endure forever, and the terrace will also be immortal.
7. Joy of the Immortals (Using Hanxu’s Rhyme)
In the Kongqing Cave is the home of a Daoist, pure and quiet, far from the vulgar. A waterfall flies upside down amid the rain colors of the cinnabar cliffs; by the mountain pond, white lotuses are planted at leisure. Among the trees, raising wine to while away the clear day; on the rock, holding a lute and embracing the sunset clouds. This is a fine place for cultivating perfection; why need one ask afar about the spiritual cinnabar of seas and mountains?
Appendix: The Gist of Hanxu’s Original
On Penglai Island dwell ancient immortals, cultivating long life and staying far from worldly clamor; on iron trees often perch thousand-year cranes; on jade peaks they laugh and pick the flowers of the four seasons. They rouse the sleeping dragon to roam the green peaks; they ride a fierce tiger to reach the red clouds; blowing a piece of white cloud, they seal the cave; a furnace of pure fire nourishes the cinnabar.
8. Picture of the Old Wandering Immortal
The number eight hundred and thirty has long been surpassed; and now the fruits of goodness surpass even those of the capital. Marvelous traces and extraordinary signs appear frequently; bamboo staff and palm-fiber shoes (the bearing of a wandering immortal)… (This line may in the original engraving have continued into what follows; here, according to the text available, it ends at this point.)
Note: The entire text consists of common inscribed poems, ci-tune titles, and occasional pieces from a Daoist temple of Zhang Sanfeng’s lineage, with themes including landscape, cultivation, plaque inscription, and immortal wandering; proper nouns such as Dongting, Sanxiang, Xuanran Terrace, Qingyi Abbey, Changsheng Society, Hanxu’s rhyme, and cinnabar are retained as in the original, with brief explanations in the lines for ease of reading.
Vernacular Interpretation
Main Text
Wearing straw sandals, he wanders everywhere; thousand-year-old elders have all become old friends, and the ten-thousand-year calendar records the year of his long life. In recent years he has mixed among the dusty world, and from Master Fuqiu he has learned a set of skills for changing his name.
Appendix: Patriarch Lü’s Harmonizing Poem
Having long followed the sun and moon to distinguish the substantial from the empty and to reckon lifespans, he has still not received the immortal charge to fly among clouds to the Jade Capital. Among the Five Elders a Sixth Elder should be added to take a seat; the Eight Lords often invite the Ninth Lord to go out to banquet. In the mountains he often meets Master Red Pine, while the world all takes him for Mr. White Stone. Past and present affairs are all seen through; throughout the Ten Continents and Three Isles his name is known.
Appendix: Hanxu’s Companion Piece
The Ying-surnamed woman who played the flute last night yielded her youth to a young man who would walk to the Heavenly Capital. Hiding her name amid wind and dust, who could have expected that on a moonlit night she would fly through the sky and travel alone? Long ago he learned from those “loose fellows” of the human world, and he also once took the ancient Mr. Qiantu as his teacher. Reishi and poria are enough for every meal as ordinary household fare; roaming the mountains and seas, he enjoys a reputation for longevity.
Appendix: Cangya’s Companion Piece
In former years he learned from Laozi how to avoid the chaos of Qin—the age of Ying Zheng—and a hundred generations of years need not compete with the imperial capital. His ancient sideburns and long beard stream down; through the Three Mountains and Five Peaks he walks and chants. He once refined the Great Elixir, and it was inexhaustible; again he saw Fusang wither and come back to life. With a laugh, the waters of Penglai are still clear and shallow; he has already forgotten his surname and his name.
Appendix: Panshan’s Companion Piece
After taking the divine elixir, his Qi is full; freely wandering amid clouds and waters, he travels throughout the four capitals. Flowing with heaven and earth, he is truly happy; roaring at mountains and seas, he roams alone. He raised an old crane, and its embryo conceived again; having eaten the peach of immortality, the fruit grew again. A phoenix carriage occasionally comes to Pengzu’s tomb; he laughs at Pengzu’s daoyin as vainly seeking a name.
The Picture of the Old Hidden Immortal
He first entered the Peach Garden to escape the troubled world—avoiding Qin Ying—and did not follow false recluses to pay court at the divine capital. His home was moved beside the emerald peaks, and his heart grew still quieter; when it came to the red dust, he was too lazy to set out again. The old man embracing the jar, a figure from the story of Laozi, he calls his closest friend; Jie Yu the mad scholar, the madman of Chu, he bows to as his teacher. Sons and grandsons, each one, tune phoenixes and cranes; they forget the profits and fame of the dusty world.
Appendix: Patriarch Lü’s Harmonizing Poem
Transformed into phoenixes and cranes, his Qi brimming; in the years of his long life, he draws near a hundred. In the cave, mist and rosy clouds; with a long howl he scorns the world; in the mountains, sun and moon move of themselves. Planting melons, he is unlike Lord Dongling, Zhao Ping, Marquis of Dongling of Qin; in fleeing the world he can go before Mr. Beiguo, a recluse of the Beiguo Ziyi type. Stream water and peach blossoms separate him from the dusty world; he has not heard of current affairs or the fame of the times.
Appendix: Hanxu’s Companion Piece
Fleeing the world, he did not care that Xiang destroyed Ying—Xiang Yu destroyed Qin—and he forgot that Liu Bang opened the Han western capital. Ten acres of mushroom fields, he calls on dragons to plant them; a full meal of goosefoot gruel, wild vegetable soup, is enough to pass this floating life. One crane cloak, a Daoist robe, drapes him for a thousand years; one iron staff, an immortal’s staff, supports him through a hundred cities. In drunkenness the cosmos is truly vast; on waking, heaven and earth are always clear and bright.
The following is a modern vernacular interpretation of selected poems from The Complete Works of Master Zhang Sanfeng.
With one staff, following the deer into the ancient cave, the mind empty and clear, I long find contentment of myself; after many years, teeth that had fallen out grow again. By green streams and white rocks, wandering at leisure, I always bury my name and shun renown.
(Appended: a companion piece by Cangya.)
Holding a staff, I follow the deer into the ancient cave; my mind is empty and bright, and I am content for long. Teeth that had fallen out for many years grow anew. Wandering at leisure among green streams and white rocks, my whole heart is set on burying my name and withdrawing from the world.
Not learning Hou Ying’s way of hiding in office as a recluse, riding a calf and singing aloud surpasses riding into the capital. Among the ranks of apes and birds I once underwent transformation; deep in the clouds and rosy mists I flew alone. Taking plum as wife and crane as child, I have an immortal family; companions with dark hair and gray beards are my friends. Do not wonder that this old man has lofty aspirations—long have I admired the clear wind and not envied glorious fame.
(Appended: a companion piece by Panshan.)
I do not learn Hou Ying’s pattern of holding office while pretending to be a recluse; riding an ox and singing loudly is freer than riding a donkey into the capital. I once experienced transformations among the apes and birds; deep in the clouds and rosy mists I flew alone. With plum as wife and crane as child, they are my immortal kin; companions with dark hair and gray beards are my friends. Do not wonder at the old man’s lofty resolve—long have I admired the clear wind and not coveted vain glory and fame.
South Peak
Roaming the mountains as my mood takes me, I at once love the mountains; within the mountains and beyond them, I return with the clouds. In blue straw cape and green bamboo hat I walk the summit; on the fifth night the moth-brow moon is just curved.
When inspiration comes I roam the mountains, and roaming the mountains I love them; inside the mountains and outside them, I return with the clouds. In blue straw cape and green bamboo hat I walk atop the peak; on the fifth night the crescent moon is just bending.
Chaoyang Gong
Cricket chirps clamor in the Buddhist hall; in the most desolate place, it is not desolate. Idly chanting beyond the twelve railings, hazy moonlight reaches the upper hall.
Cricket cries chirp and clamor in the Buddhist hall; where it is most desolate, I do not feel desolation. Idly chanting outside the twelve railings, hazy moonlight reaches the hall above.
Night Gathering at the Mountain Studio
Clear wind scatters and drifts beyond the forest; the cool moon, slender and fine, hangs on bamboo tips. Tonight in the flower studio we drink together; discussing the profound, clapping hands, all are immortal company.
Clear wind scatters and drifts beyond the forest; the cool moon, slender, hangs from bamboo tips. Tonight in the flower studio we raise our cups together; discussing the profound principle and clapping our hands in delight, we are all like the immortal company.
Wuyou Summit
The great river comes from outside, girdling and enclosing the city; after the rain the colors are clear and bright, and tile-roofed houses open out. Looking out, merchant sails are as distant as the clouds; within, a monks’ courtyard is nestled among bamboo. Strange peaks press directly against the waves, mighty and strong; refreshing air flies far, and mist and smoke swirl back. This place truly becomes a scenic wonder beyond the world; carrying a pot and treading leaves, I climb the high terrace.
The great river comes winding from outside to embrace the city; the clearing after rain is bright and clear, and the tile-roofed houses open wide. Looking outward, merchant sails are as distant as the clouds; within, a monks’ courtyard is hidden, nestled with bamboo and trees. Strange peaks press right up to the waves, their force magnificent; refreshing air flies far, and mist and smoke swirl around. This place truly is a wondrous realm beyond the mundane; carrying a pot and treading on leaves, I ascend the high terrace.
Visiting Qingyi Mountain
After the new clearing the mountain colors are fine; I take this chance to visit Qingyi. A traveler adjusts his cloud-piercing clogs; in the village a wine-selling banner flutters. Carrying a pot, I tread the high summit; sweeping rocks, I talk of the mysterious workings. Who can compare with this scene? Swallow Rock in Jinling.
The mountain colors are fine after the new clearing; I take this chance to visit Qingyi Mountain. A traveler adjusts his cloud-piercing clogs; in the village a wine-selling banner flutters. Carrying a pot, I tread the high summit; sweeping the rocks, I talk of the profound principle. Who can compare with this scene? Swallow Rock in Jinling.
Visiting Dizhu Mountain
The path passes through thickets of strange bamboo; people walk along the summit of the high peak. For a while I sweep the moss flowers and sit facing you in talk; deep in the osmanthus grove the midday bell is clear.
The path passes through thickets of strange bamboo; people walk along the top of the high peak. For a while I sweep the moss flowers, and we sit facing each other, chatting of everyday things; deep in the osmanthus grove the midday bell is clear and resonant.
Beyond the pines from time to time I hear the voices of a hundred birds; seeking out hidden places hand in hand, we climb the high peak. For now, borrowing the meaning of the cassia palace, I write a few small lines; a mountain wind carries my chanting in the quiet.
Beyond the pines I hear from time to time the voices of a hundred birds; seeking out hidden places hand in hand, we climb the high peak. For now, borrowing the idea of the cassia palace, I write a few small lines; a mountain wind carries my chanting in the quiet.
A Vernacular Interpretation of The Complete Works of Master Zhang Sanfeng
Visiting Scenic Spots at the Flower Festival
At the Flower Festival, when the hundred flowers were in full bloom, I carried a winepot and went in search of scenic places, arriving at a mountain temple. What I love most are the extraordinary sights of Mount Wuyou, where mist and rosy clouds come swirling around.
Baolao Wenchang
Entering the green mist, leaving the green mist, white clouds fly over Mount Wuyou. Pine woods and bamboo islets entwine with one another; with a long whistle, I seem to return from beyond the sky.
At Bamboo-Embracing Studio, Listening to My Disciple Yang Panshan Read “Cloud and Water: Earlier Collection”
At Bamboo-Embracing Studio I listened to my disciple Yang Panshan recite my Cloud and Water: Earlier Collection. Young Yang was slender and lean, with a refined and free-spirited bearing, and he loved the cloud-and-water poems of my earlier years. In the clear breeze of the bamboo courtyard, on a moonlit night, hearing him scratch his head and intone, every word and phrase came out slowly.
A Farewell Banquet for Li Xilai at the Tide-Listening Pavilion, as He Goes to Langzhong
He returns and then leaves again; after he goes, he should come back early. I drink with the departing one; the pavilion has been opened especially for this farewell. The sound of the tide drives toward the far shore; moonlight makes the empty cup cold and clear. I hold the guest back and set out the banquet once more, lingering and pacing by the pond.
Written at Bamboo-Embracing Studio
A winding path leads into seclusion, far from the clamor of the dusty world; the empty studio half leans against the deep village. The tower bell comes faintly from the edge of the clouds; the railing encircles the roots of the rocks. A thousand tall bamboos are friends to the roosting birds; a single small pond raises the fish’s descendants. What I love most is pushing open the window after rain and gazing far: countless green mountains reach straight to the temple gate.
Song of Flowers and Wine
Flowers blooming are cause for joy; flowers falling are cause for grief; before the flowers, do not let the wine cup stay empty. Drinking wine and wearing flowers, one’s spirit is clear and fresh; with flowers and with wine, one goes and comes again.
On the Two Ponds, “Printing the Moon” and “Harboring the Sun”
The red railing is reflected upside down in the courtyard of the Poet Immortal; the dark green water deeply contains my Buddha’s dwelling. Best of all is to look from beneath the crape myrtle flowers: branch upon branch, the shadows of the trees stand above the fish in the pond.
Two Songs of the Heavenly Gate
Steadily walking at the Heavenly Gate, my laughing eyes suddenly open wide; gold becomes the halls, jade the terraces. Let mortals not hope for an immortal carriage to come and lead them; drive your own cloud ladder, and it will permit you to climb up.
If you would ask where the cloud ladder leads, the cloud ladder is right within your body. If you know the wonder of refining Qi and returning it to the Elixir, you will fly up from level ground into the blue sky.
The Poet Immortal Shrine, Honoring Taibai and Dongpo
With a petal of incense I constantly bow to the poetry of these two masters. Their literary brilliance and elegant bearing are teachers for later generations. If their spirits across the ages could meet, we would all ride the moon up to Mount Emei.
On Lantern Festival Night, Visiting Yang Zi’s Newly Built Panshan Thatched Cottage
I am the old man Sanfeng; before the gate lies a mountain like the character “one.” Tonight I come to your house, and the scenery has much affinity with me. Spring’s breath arrives at the new dwelling; the forest and pond enter the little bay. The Yang family’s house of pure integrity truly stands beyond the dusty world.
Xuanran Terrace
(In the original, only the title survives here; the body of the text is not recorded.)
Master Zhang sat in serene meditation atop Xuaran Platform, far removed from the clamor of the mundane world. Shadows of trees danced across crimson cliffs as temple bells resonated, their echoes seeming to ripple through the clouds. The three peaks of Mount Emei pierced the heavens, their majestic contours clearly visible from Jiuding Mountain. Most wondrous was the Yangtze River, where one could hear the tranquil sound of autumn tides on still nights.
Ascending the riverside pavilion, his spirit seemed to roam freely across the Five Sacred Mountains and Four Seas, his long whistle piercing through the surrounding peaks. The autumn air filled the tower, while high windows were naturally veiled by drifting mist and clouds.
Inscribed at Changyi Mountain Retreat:
A dwelling cannot be without emerald bamboo,
Leisurely contentment reveals hidden celestial realms.
Within thatched walls, the essence of sun and moon gathers,
Beyond the cliffs, forests and clear springs encircle.
Chanting poetry and drinking wine—a refined pleasure for millennia,
Entrusting the mysteries of heaven and earth to the seven strings of a zither.
Most cherished is this very scene:
The glow of lanterns and moonlight mingling before the gate.
The more wine he drank, the richer his poetic inspiration grew; the mountain's quiet chamber only deepened its serenity. What an extraordinary night it was—every brushstroke spoke of Daoist truth. Ancient texts of a thousand characters lay upon his desk, while a single bright lamp glowed beyond the eaves. Gazing casually at the villages below, the host's noble refinement arose naturally.
Dedication for The Eastern Commentary on the Dao De Jing:
Elder Lü's (Lü Dongbin) preface established the classic's interpretation,
Especially in opening the Eight Virtues' gate.
Again, purple qi from the west heralds the sage's arrival,
Truly, beneath the plum tree, the Mystic Gate's heirs are nurtured.
Seeking to guide later generations toward transcendence,
That the Primordial Dao may be revered ever more.
Commentators praise this edition,
Like a treasure casket eternally guarding Kunlun's immortal peaks.
Written while burning his paintings (Fire Gatha):
Celestial immortals cling not to old forms,
How could mere paintings embody the Dao's truth?
Today, departing in roaring flames,
The yang-spirit scatters as countless points of light, filling the void.
At Xuaran Platform:
From deep within white clouds, dawn's rooster crows,
The copper clepsydra marks the fifth watch.
Wild geese cross autumn's frontier early,
The Northern Dipper hangs high, illuminating the pure altar.
Boundless laughter echoes between heaven and earth,
Rainbow-hued chants drift from immortal isles.
Most marvelous—the jade flute played in mountain towers,
As the waning moon of early autumn glides silently over the river city.
In Changyi's rhyme:
Secluded in hills, no worldly matters discussed,
Beyond the gate, the Brocade-Washing River flows forever.
Everywhere grow herbs of longevity,
Timelessly, the mind-anchoring stakes are driven.
I arrive where carved rails and painted beams stand,
Pure breeze fills the seats;
When reciting the Yellow Court Scripture,
Sunlight bathes the window lattices.
Most beloved is late autumn's charm,
Singing transcendent tunes with fellow adepts.
Lament for the world's deepest sorrow:
Worldly attachments remain unbroken,
Never seeking freedom beyond the dust.
At home, the priceless treasure (original nature) is lost—
With what then to purchase passage to the Three Isles?
Vain aging, oh vain aging!
In response to Master Lü Chunyang's (Lü Dongbin) original verse:
Harmonious tones often flow from the bamboo flute,
Refining qi never parts from the zither's notes.
A message for the Disciple of Round Yang:
You must grasp the Dao's true essence.
The sky unfolds a solitary moon... (the original poem remains incomplete)
The following are vernacular interpretations of several pieces from The Complete Works of Master Zhang Sanfeng, kept as close as possible to the original meaning; technical terms are briefly explained at first occurrence.
Clouds Shining as They Rise (short piece)
Cloud-light illumines the sky’s edge, and the mountains sink into twilight; I am a leisured dweller on this separate island—why trouble you to go seeking the Great Forest?
Linked Verse at Double Clarity Pavilion, with the Flying Immortal (rhyme limited to the Fifteenth Xian category)
A banquet is set at Double Clarity Pavilion; on a cool night we enter the emerald crags. Qian and Kun are vast—we are all travelers on the road; heaven and earth are broad, as if able to hold all phenomena. A long whistle, and cloud cranes answer; a distant call, and sail shadows on the sea draw near. Sala trees cover the Three Isles; immortal geese carry letters in late autumn (“nine-autumn sealed letter” figures correspondence). My bamboo hat is wet with Yingzhou rain, my clothes draped in the mist and glow of Huohuo; phoenix flutes whisper, and a dragon carriage emerges from steep peaks. A folded invitation summons the bright moon; poems are written into crimson envelopes. Jade nectar is set in the painted pavilion, a precious staff leans on the starry fir—this place is already apart from defilement; all the perfected are separated from the vulgar. Rainbow skirts sing in the upper realm; jasper herbs are gathered on the numinous crag; laughing and talking of vicissitudes, in the stone cauldron they cook jade-like stones. Raising my head I see the blue sky; matching the rhyme, I answer with Shao and Xian music.
Winter Day, from Penglai to Shu, at Xingyun Pavilion
With a long whistle, I fly out east of the sea gate; again I leave Penglai and come to this place in Shu. A belly full of primordial Jing (essence) is refined into clarity; from the start, wondrous hands set it revolving into empty brightness. Ten thousand lines of cursive script fall from twin brushes; a thousand peaks of mist and rosy clouds glow red along the way. Look at the layered beauty of the Shu mountains; I love most the fresh leaves fading like frost-touched maple.
Hearing the Mountain Man Hanxu Play the Qin, When Autumn Rain Had Just Cleared and Wild Geese Were Crossing the Pass
After rain the mountains are still; I listen to the sound of the silk-tongued qin (ancient zither); precious seal-incense and silver lamps shine in the pavilion. I wish to merge with the “Great Nothing” (the Daoist realm of emptiness), so that all existents become utterly empty. River sounds echo far; moonlight sways the water’s shadow; mountain mist first settles, and wind enters the pine surge. What I love most is the clear heart transmitted beneath the fingers—no need to lift my eyes to follow the flying goose.
Having Gained a Line, I Show It to a Lay Devotee
Wind sends the sound of rapids up to the pavilion; clouds carry rain-laden air into the west of the mountains. On the western cliff they cut wood—I hear the sound of axes; in the northern ravine the fish-banging board sounds, and fishing tubes are set out (fishing gear). I mingle in one place with fishermen and woodcutters; who knows that an immortal elder is hidden among these mountains and waters? Laughing, I pass the lines I have gained to the lay devotee—when one from beyond the world comes seeking, the path can be found.
Linked Verse
Together we share this fine wind and sunlight (Han Qingfu); the assembled perfected sing and answer one another (Bai Ziqing). A long song empties the world (Qiu Changchun); a single laugh crosses the river tower (Sanfeng). Qi (vital energy) joins with Qian and Kun (Qingfu); the heart is as secluded as water and moon (Ziqing). How many affairs of past and present (Changchun)—forgotten in the autumn of the grotto-heaven (dongtian) (Sanfeng).
Clear Chant
Clear tea, clear incense, a clear Dao-mind; a clear vegetarian meal, a clear night, playing a clear qin. If one can avoid the turbid world and speak of purity and stillness, one leaps into the realm of clouds and rosy dawn.
Note: In the text, “Sanfeng” is Zhang Sanfeng; “Qiu Changchun” is Qiu Chuji, patriarch of the Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) Longmen lineage; “linked verse” means that several people each write a line to form a poem; “Fifteenth Xian” is the name of a poetic rhyme category. Penglai, Yingzhou, and the Three Isles are mostly Daoist images of immortal mountains; Shu is the region of present-day Sichuan.
Vernacular Interpretation of The Complete Works of Master Zhang Sanfeng
Mountains Cannot Be Sought
Early Spring: A Light Drink at Mount Pan with Li Changyi
The east wind is like a great medicine: as soon as it arrives, it revives the withered roots. Along the path the green grass grows thickly, joining together, and in the gardens it is everywhere; the rapeseed flowers are yellow as if dyed, and the water by the village is cleaner than if wiped clean. I especially love the area along the South Stream, where the green mountains have just the right atmosphere.
To Li Yuanyang
After Wanwu (a name; a disciple of Zhang Sanfeng) resigned his seal and returned home, if he should again become attached to the dusty world and descend to this realm once more, he need only nurture his nature and Heaven morning and evening, and not let ghosts and spirits know what is in his heart. Heaven and Earth are vast; play the qin three times. When breath is harmonized, blow a single note on the flute. If one wishes to cultivate transcendence within Yin-Yang, one must cultivate from beyond Yin-Yang.
On the Double Ninth, Roaming Mount Emei with Elder Hui, Lan Yangsu, and Bai Yuchan
After the rain, we soared up Great Emei and looked down on the human world, where miasmic smoke abounds. The assembled perfected ones held an elegant high gathering; across ten thousand li of clear emptiness each sang freely. Cranes cried into the clouds, and Lan kept time on clappers; phoenixes called through to the Milky Way, and Bai’s carriage passed by. Only Elder Lü (Lü Dongbin) had no song or lyric; he brandished his sword through the cliff, laughing as he carved great characters.
The Day After the Double Ninth
Smoke-wrapped village and river trees—the scene is vast and hazy; pictorial meaning and poetic feeling draw out long inspiration. Send word to all the disciples at the mountain altar: it is no harm to enjoy the rain and make up for the Double Ninth.
Inviting the Disciples to Roam the Grotto-Heaven of Qingcheng, Two Poems
If you wish to seek the immortal courtyard and trace the immortals’ footsteps, please climb the highest peak of Mount Min. In the tenth month the little Indian-summer warmth is fine; deep in the grotto-heaven we may talk at ease.
The immortal courtyard remains, its green windows open; in Qingcheng we speak in detail of scenery without equal. At dawn at the cloud gate, a single clear chime from the stone chime; the mountain moon lingers by the tower and has not yet crossed the river.
Laojun Mountain in Xinjin
With hand beckoning the immortal guest up into the clouds, Master Zhang comes to play the jade flute. Who can recognize the wondrous realm of the Great Clarity? It is only in the heart that one knows the vast, deep emptiness (a realm of open expanse and profound distance). Ha ha—hand in hand, carefree and wandering; heh heh—together we walk the heavenly bridge. Two gourds are filled with fine wine; all of us, drunk together, go to visit Song and Qiao (Chisongzi and Wang Qiao, ancient immortals).
Changsheng Palace
Where emerald trees reach the sky, clouds travel to this palace. The road winds beyond the yellow leaves; the mountain lies within the Red City. In a side courtyard, offerings are made to Elder Hui; by his lingering radiance I think of Lord Fan (Fan Zhongyan). Tomorrow I shall climb to the very summit, and with vast Qi ride the endless sky.
Drinking at Crane Nest Pavilion
The immortals take a light drink on the highest peak, right at a single point within Qingcheng. Countless white clouds surround the table and mats; sky-piercing screens are ranged east and west.
A Wooden Bridge Crosses the Emerald Cloud Stream (Anonymous Short Poem)
A wooden bridge spans above the emerald Cloud Stream; in the sound of flowing water are reflected drooping green shadows. Best is where the two mountain cliffs close together, to hear those immortal birds calling through the woods.
Linked Verses at Mount Qingcheng
With the Daoist priest—Lü Chunyang, that is, Lü Dongbin—joyfully chanting at length, we compose poems together: Flying beyond heaven, walking on the emerald peaks. Feng: In the mountains I delight to see the incoming dragon-vein open a great face. Liu Haichan: The immortals all halt their cranes and speak of one heart. Bai Ziqing: The Three Terraces (name of a constellation) faintly emerge, piercing the smoke. Zhongshan: The nine chambers, layer upon layer, enter deeper into the mist. Feng: Still I recall that year leaving the net of the world. Haichan: Drifting along the cloud road, chanting in the shade of pines. (Ziqing)
The White Cloud and Green Cloud Streams
Clouds drift and the wind is mild; the mountains are still and the water murmurs. Endless coolness comes entirely from among the springs and rocks. A Daoist blows an iron flute; an old monk closes the brushwood gate; strolling freely along the eastern and western ravines, I go and return together with the high Perfected (those who have attained the Dao).
Crane Call Mountain
When the Daoist priest comes, the stone crane calls and flies; the Divine Heaven Valley Office (the Heavenly Valley Divine Prefecture) inscribes “Long Life.” Today the two ravines flow with murmuring water, aiding the sound of my dragon chant and tiger roar.
Heavenly Valley Cave
The Heavenly Valley is originally heaven-born; I sing a long song within the stone aperture (stone cave). To settle the Shen (spirit), one must be in this place; seated cultivation (quiet-sitting cultivation) of the Great Elixir (Neidan, the Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy) obtained through cultivation) can be accomplished.
Presented to the Master of the Mountain Dwelling at Changyi
Autumn rain lasts all night, the summer heat has gone; on the fine evening of Zhongyuan (the fifteenth day of the seventh lunar month), the pictorial mood is hard to match. Stream wind and ridge moon, with immortals as friends; bean trellises and melon sheds, the hut of a recluse. We follow the method of Laozi; the mountain man can annotate the books of the Confucian school. Burning incense and reading the Yi (the Yijing), discussing profound principles: Confucianism and the Dao (the Way) share one source, at the beginning of heaven and earth.
Arriving at Yueyun Tower on a Late Autumn Evening
From the tower by the autumn river I gaze at autumn lamps; dot by dot, the autumn lamps shine bright on the water. I have come reciting poems from the Two Lakes to this place; the vast sky is broad, and the lingering sound does not cease.
At Mount Miaomiao, Playfully Summoning Yuanyang and Changyi
The Daoist priest hides his body in Mount Miaomiao; at the cave gate the wind is fine and water murmurs. The white dragon lies high, the jade pool is cold; the yellow crane returns at dusk, idle atop the pines. Twirling qihua (flowers of fine jade) in hand, leaning on a stone table; with an iron staff across my shoulder, I walk the heavenly pass. You two gentlemen, come to visit sooner or later, among the thirty-six peaks and twenty-four bays.
Visiting Chaoyang Temple
I come from the sea and mountains, bringing sea clouds with me. With open sleeves I release the clouds to fly; the clouds go and seal the mountain temple.
Visiting Mount Luofu
Playfully riding the great butterfly of Luofu, my Shen (spirit) roams vividly through the silent heights. Suddenly it transforms and reveals its true face—yet another scene entirely.
Vernacular Interpretation of The Complete Works of Master Zhang Sanfeng
I. Encountering Immortals at Yuchan Peak
Wearing a straw cape and a bamboo hat, he lingers on Yuchan Peak. Far off he sees Haiqiong (the immortal) flying toward him; the two clap their hands and let out long whistles. Dark cliffs and layered peaks rise steep and high. The Green-Haired Immortal and the Yellow Wild Man appear and disappear in the mountains; there are no few immortals and perfected beings. Why not act as host right here, sweep the rock, set out cups, and drink freely for several rounds? The sea wind blows, blowing forth the wonderland of Luofu. Delightful, truly delightful—to join hands with Ziqing and return to Penglai.
II. Viewing Emei after Rain (Beginning with a Line by Su Shi)
After rain the colors of Emei Mountain are green and fresh, the sky clear and bright. The feeling of chanting verse is like immortal lines. Gather the mountain mist into the tip of the brush and give voice to heroic spirit before the tower. There is painting in the poem—who can understand it? To be without sorrow in stillness is most rare. I love how this mist and sunset glow cover half the cliff, filling mountains and rivers with secluded inspiration.
III. Climbing Wawu Mountain
The great ridge is high and distant, overlooking Mount Min. At the summit the clouds open, and the field of vision is made new. Ten thousand trees howl in the wind like tigers roaring; after rain on the peaks, dragon deities come forth and vanish. Pratyekabuddha Cliff has snow accumulated over a thousand years; Maitreya Cave is without dust or defilement. The rivers and mountains of the great earth lie beneath one’s feet; the Western World here transcends the mundane.
Appended: Composed together at Panshan
Wawu Mountain is high, its flat summit like a purlin. Heavenly immortals fly into the City of Transformed Beings. A radiant halo sends forth white cloud-light; crisp air draws back the clarity of stone. In ten thousand ravines pines and firs breathe distant sounds; from a thousand cliffs rain and dew drip in the new clearing. Strip after strip of white silk falls from the sky—the Milky Way pours down, and there is even sound.
IV. River Rising
Rain in the northwest, clear skies in the southeast. The clear river suddenly gives birth to waves. Children all along the bank clap their hands together; mountains seem to run and water stands upright, roaring like thunder. Waves on the shoals smash open the rocks, like horses and oxen galloping forth on flying hooves. The immortal one descends from the sky; one sees only snow-white waves flying in the heart of the river, transforming into a floating raft that drifts along, following wind and waves to Penglai and Yingzhou.
V. Living in the Mountains in Early Autumn
After rain on the banana leaves, their green is naturally vivid; lotus blossoms sway in the wind, freely cool and refreshing. It is just the time to lean at the water pavilion and discuss Chan; within the pavilion drifts the fragrance of osmanthus.
VI. Viewing Fupeng Mountain in the Rain
Middle Emei is unwilling to show its long eyebrows, just when slanting wind and fine rain arrive. Before my eyes the fisherman enters the painting together with it; above my head ink-black clouds urgently urge poetry. The mountain, as if bearing a canopy, is by no means small; the peaks, by withdrawing into hiding, appear all the more wondrous. Laugh at me with one straw cape and one bamboo hat: facing you, both of us are blurred and indistinct.
VII. The Birthday of Zhang Huanhou of the Han
(The original has only the title and no main text; perhaps it was a record of Zhang Huanhou’s birthday, but the content is not preserved.)
Selected Passages from The Complete Works of Master Zhang Sanfeng: A Vernacular Interpretation
Poem in Praise of a Military General (or Heroic Spirit)
His surname in the Tang and the lineage of the Song house can be traced to Suiyang; his title was Wumu. For a thousand autumns his righteous Qi has circled back and forth, supporting Heaven and standing firm on earth. He punished traitors like surging thunder, and his elite troops moved with it. His planning was clear as ice and snow; his intelligence sang in harmony beneath the bright sun, and his voice shook Cao’s camp and left it pale (or: awed the enemy lines). With inscriptions on the diandou night-watch gong, his Han-dynasty fame was passed down; with chariots, horses, and archery, the hero was accomplished in both civil and martial arts. Once in Chengdu, drunk at a sacrifice, he waved the banners.
(This poem uses allusions such as Suiyang and Wumu, mostly referring to Yue Fei of the Song or similar loyal and righteous generals; it may also use the general as a metaphor for the “upright and firm Qi” of internal cultivation.)
Impromptu Six-Character Lines on a Scene
Sparse rain patters drop by drop on the parasol trees; in the autumn wind the willows turn pale yellow. Strolling and chanting by the smartweed-flower pool, the watery landscape before the eyes is like a painting.
Long Rain
Wind and rain continue without cease; autumn colors are dim. An immortal riding Qi walks upon the water. The bell of a misty temple comes from beyond the clouds, as if carrying moisture; sails on the river sky gather in the fog. On the jade altar one early sees the moon departing from the Bi lunar mansion (an astrological sign); the jade flute intones long, and wind fills the high tower. I wish to call the white dragon back to its cave, yet I see that Heaven’s mind and human affairs are both vast and distant.
One Evening After the Lantern Festival, Gathering with the Disciples at the Studio for Listening to the Wind and Chanting
Wind in the bamboo rustles, its rhythm filling the storied tower; teacher and students talk at night among the wooded hills. The Lantern Festival has passed; there is no need to discuss lantern affairs further; do not give time over to flowing water.
Two Quatrains for a Recluse
First: Long have I known that “Tuanyang” is a star of hidden radiance; beneath Mount Emei I nurture the true spirit. At leisure I invite rustic scholars to discuss elixir formulas; under the night moon and cold mist, the brushwood gate need not be tightly closed.
Second: Deep in the paddy fields white clouds fly; having heard the rice-planting songs through, one enters the green haze. Last night the dove’s call was unending; this morning fine rain enters the thatched door.
Inscribed at the Residence of Mr. Wang, Master Chiping
Half a window of mountain colors reflects on the eaves; the shade of green bamboo falls on the blue gauze. The old man here has no shallow delight; it is like a household deep in the Peach Blossom Spring.
Two Quatrains on Taking the Disciples to Visit Longhong (Dragon Pool)
First: Within the mouth of Longhong there are green mountains, one bay after another; when the Qingming season brings bright days and clear wind, I shall again bring my cloud shoes and try to climb.
Second: Just as the mountain bell strikes the evening sky, students, please take your seats on the straw cushions; I shall transform into a cloud immortal, coming and going in the tower, whistling in the evening mist.
Returning to Longran Terrace
Tonight I divide my spirit and descend from Taiqing; the heavenly wind blows down the sound of the jade flute. Cloud avenues open out; the Three Empyreans are silent; snow and moon exchange radiance, bright for ten thousand li. Wait for my whole body to descend riding a crane; I send you a word to wait for the cockcrow. On Qingyi Island, at the Qingyi Abbey, pavilions rise unevenly like a jade city.
(Terms such as “dividing the spirit,” “Taiqing,” and “riding a crane” belong to the context of Daoist immortals’ feasts and descents of the true; “Qingyi Island” and “Qingyi Abbey” are names of otherworldly realms in the poem or of actual Daoist temples.)
Late Spring
Today the weather is fine; the spring wind blows the green willows. Water turns with the traveler; flowers of themselves carry fragrance across the stream. Butterflies fly against the railing (or: flutter around the railing); the sense of the line may come to rest here—the whole poem describes a late-spring outing: water turning, flower fragrance, and butterflies dancing before the wind.
Most of the above poems are verses attributed to Master Zhang Sanfeng: some depict scenes, some are gifts to friends, and some are instructions to disciples. They blend landscape, elixir formulas, and imaginative immortal journeys; the tone is open and unrestrained, and they also contain the meanings “do not waste time” and “nurture the true in the mountains.”
A Vernacular Reading of The Complete Works of Master Zhang Sanfeng
Grass Mayflies Dance Past the Wall; I Observe All Creation and, Looking Back, Sigh Over the Vicissitudes of Life
Grass mayflies dance by the wall. I watch the arrangements of the Creator and, looking back on human life, can only sigh over the changes and upheavals of the world.
Qingxi Ling (a ci lyric)
Spring has gone long ago. When the cuckoo cries at the fifth watch, one must rise; even birds are diligent. I ask those sitting on the rush cushion: who can dispel this toil? If you wish the spirit to live, the heart must first die—the one whose heart has died is precisely a seed of immortality.
Impromptu on the Scene, Shown to the Disciples
Those who truly understand one’s music have always been few; mountain colors abound after rain. Bit by bit clouds emerge from the horizon and pass over towering ridges. In the woods and springs, wind and sunlight are quiet; by the rustic temple, water and mist blend. All alike are things in the pond: red lotus reflects on green waves.
Dispelling Summer Heat
To dispel the summer heat, best is the ancient Buddha tower, where mountains and waters are gathered before one’s seat. River wind fills the sleeves, cloud billows roar; with a laugh and a long chant, vast Qi (vital energy) flows.
Two Poems from Xuanran Terrace at Late Summer
The rolling sound of the rapids reaches the temple gate; climbing the tower and leaning on the railing, I see the four mountains dim. Only a single red lamp remains shining; laughing, I share the wine cup with wandering immortals.
Xiamiao: late summer.
Wind and rain rustle into the painted tower; the mountain temple is cool and already near autumn. Across the river, wild trees are wrapped in cloud and mist, as if invited into Ni Zan’s brush to be gathered in.
Early Autumn
The handle of the Dipper lies across the Milky Way; early autumn gradually points west. A sudden wind rises among the wutong trees and blows the moon past the bridge and embankment.
Early Autumn Night Rain, Shown to Tuan Yang and Chiping
Discoursing on the Dao and discussing the Origin, not counting the years, free and unfettered beyond things like the ancient immortals. When every dust mote is swept away and every root made pure, only then does one attain the highest Chan of our house.
Tuan Yang and Chiping: presumably disciples or Daoist names; here they serve as recipients of instruction.
Autumn colors come from the west over ten thousand li; wutong rain falls onto the green moss. Smiling, I take up a few lines and inscribe them on the mountain rock; when the chant is done, I smile gently over the wine cup.
Autumn Night in a High Tower
In the quiet of night on the high tower, I see distant lamps on the autumn river. Fisherfolk laugh and talk together, sitting side by side mending silk cloth.
Autumn Rain
Rain pours down as if the sky were leaking onto the flat ground; water and clouds arise vast and blurred. The three autumn months grow dark; fluttering, I walk with a straw hat. Who sees the shadow of the flying immortal? No sound is yet heard from the coming geese. I would rather ride a goose away, where Xiaoxiang meets the sea and the sky clears.
Hearing Geese on an Autumn Night
The patter of rain continues until the third watch; the bell in the wild temple sounds especially clear. Just as the geese form characters across the autumn frontier, wind and snow over passes and mountains stretch ten thousand stages. Where is that land of rice and millet, that watery country? I laugh as the flying geese cross southward. In the vast blue sky I sigh over their night journey; the immortal rides you away to Xiaoxiang.
Clear Autumn, Shown to Tuan Yang and Chiping
(The same recipients as “Early Autumn Night Rain, Shown to Tuan Yang and Chiping”; shown again on a clear autumn day.)
The content echoes the night-rain piece: discoursing on the Origin without counting the years and sweeping away dust to attain Chan; on a clear autumn day he instructs the two again. If the text contains separate lines, they may be understood as part of the same purport as the preceding “Early Autumn Night Rain.”
Note: The original is a miscellaneous collection of Zhang Sanfeng’s poems, ci lyrics, and gathas, mostly on landscapes, seasons, cultivation, and instructions to disciples. Proper terms such as rush cushion, discoursing on the Origin (discoursing on the Mystery), and highest Chan have been briefly explained where they first appear; Tuan Yang and Chiping are personal or Daoist names and are retained untranslated.
Heaven bestows gentle rain, filling autumn ponds to the brim. Birds joyfully peck at leftover red grains, while immortal chariots ride upon white clouds. All beings and I dwell in tranquil ease, as all under heaven returns to its destined course. The spirit roams freely in creation's playful dance, while vital Qi (energy) gathers before the meditation chamber. Poetic inspiration flows like the peaks of Danxia, and resonant recitations stir the emerald mountain mists. New verses arise spontaneously, carved upon moss-covered cliffs after brushing aside the greenery.
Climbing Xuānrán Terrace on the Double Ninth Festival:
This day last year we gathered at this mountain pavilion,
As heaven specially cleared the skies for the festival.
This year we follow the same tradition,
Just as the Daoist priest strikes the noon bell,
Its pure tones reverberating through the air.
Cold Dew Solar Term:
On this day of Cold Dew's arrival,
White dew congeals in the deepening chill of night.
Autumn's coolness reaches beyond the frontier,
As yellow leaves drift through the woods.
Distant mountain lights glimmer between peaks,
While high above, circling geese cry across the sky.
Laughing, I play my flute and depart,
Leaning against the tower's flying rail to gaze afar.
Autumn Night atop Ten-Thousand-Vistas Tower:
Ascending freely as my heart desires,
Celestial winds shake the towering pavilion.
Inkbrush strokes summon rising mist and glow,
While across the bay, fishing boats twinkle in the cove.
Autumn Day at East Slope Tower:
Seven-Star flowers bloom before the tower,
Most enchanting when they dawn-bloom and dusk-fall.
Yet frost-defying blossoms hold fast to their primal heart,
Specially enhancing autumn's vibrant hues.
Plum Blossoms in a Vase:
Jade pistils exhale fragrance in the cold season,
Cultivated through long winters in snowy earth.
Never confine them in bronze vessels—
Only thus can their scent fill the courtyard.
Evening Scene:
River mists faintly reveal sandy islets,
Again I hear temple bells from the monastery tower.
I long to ride the wind with one clear whistle,
But see only crows cawing through drifting smoke.
Facing the View:
Beyond the tower, the great river comes rushing,
While opposite hills open their embrace.
Emei's clouds cannot block the vista—
I've just returned from Ocean Peak.
Autumn Day Drinking and Composing Poetry with Disciples at Xuānrán Terrace:
Clapping and whistling in the wind,
My clear voice fills the gathering.
Waterlight ripples across white balustrades,
Emerald mountains seep into the tower.
Discussing profound mysteries over wine,
Reciting Daoist scriptures by the window.
The celestial deities must be laughing—
Master and disciples forget all physical constraints.
Autumn Night Gathering Again with Disciples at Xuānrán Terrace:
Fine rain drifts beyond gauze windows,
Cricket songs almost too poignant to bear.
Clouds seal a thousand trees in darkness,
In deep night's stillness—one lone lamp.
Who can voice the forbidden lines?
No predecessor knew such moments.
Selecting a banana leaf myself,
I inscribe dragon-dancing cursive script.
Such joy is rare this year—
Tonight we mustn't waste this perfect hour.
Listening to wind interwoven with rain,
Discussing the Dao, then turning to poetry.
Each chanting of rootless trees,
No need to boast of constrained rhymes.
Untrammeled by formal structures,
We sing aloud in perfect freedom.
Moonlit Rivers and Mountains:
Here depicted is the luminous beauty of moon-washed landscapes,
A realm of serene and boundless depth.
A Vernacular Reading of The Complete Works of Master Zhang Sanfeng
Landscape Poem (title missing; arranged by content)
In the moonlit landscape of rivers and mountains, it is as if I am seeking scenery in a painting; pushing open the tower window, I gather near and distant views into my eyes. Cloud layers press on the peaks, and the night is deep; dew touches the bamboo tips, and autumn feels heavy. Insects chirp on the mossy steps; lamplight flickers on the treetops. Looking far off, banyan shade is wrapped in evening mist; misty trees blur, and a high tower faintly appears within them.
Autumn Evening
On autumn nights the River of Stars is faint, and the autumn wind sounds in the cassia grove (or osmanthus woods). At dawn cool clouds spread over the path, and cold dew soaks the tower. Sparse bamboo shadows suit a lofty mood; living in the mountains, my sense of the Dao is deep. Lately I have no other words; worldly disturbances need not be taken to heart.
How Lamentable
How lamentable that people in the world do not wish to study immortality, always fearing illness throughout the four seasons. Who knows that the one Qi (the fundamental Qi in the human body that runs through heaven and earth) is originally without equal—when Qi fills the body, life can be extended.
Ha Ha Ha
Chuckling, I sing another song; romantic and drunk, I dance out beyond mist and waves. Wearing a fisherman’s straw cape, I walk by cliffs and waters; at sunset over rivers and mountains, joys abound. I pass beyond the village in slanting sunlight—who knows my staggering, drunken grace?
With Several Disciples: Settling the Rain
Today rain pours down in the southeast; locust-tree wind and plum rain stir my feelings. Heaven does not make the principle clear—here Yin-Yang combine into one Qi (rain is a natural phenomenon born of Yin-Yang interaction and the transformation of one Qi).
Hall of Loving Bamboo
White rain and clear wind arrive freely, as if from an immortal palace; jade-like flowers cover the ground, their fragrance drifting up to curtains and lattice. How can the dog-day heat and countless vexations of the human world compare with the joy of immortals—free as flying tumbleweed over the sea?
Rejoicing That Guangyu Comes to Yueyun Tower
Where there is affinity, people meet from a thousand li; with a body free of entanglements, I let myself roam far. I love Layman Li of Langzhou, who comes drifting to Yueyun Tower.
Joy, Joy, Joy
Speaking again and again, rejoicing again and again. The wind has stopped, the moon has not yet risen; the shoals and banks are clear, and the autumn Qi is austere. I have a Dao: feeling is deep and meaning is shallow (or “depth and shallowness” means cultivation proceeds from shallow to deep).
If a person can shed all worldly dust, post-heaven true Qi (as opposed to pre-heaven Qi; the Qi warmed and nourished through cultivation) will frequently nourish them. They need not fear wind-cold, will not suffer pestilence; their years can be extended and their descendants continued—all is accomplished through spirit (here meaning Jing (essence), Qi, and Shen (spirit), together with concentrated mental focus). When spirit is applied diligently, much blessing is obtained.
No need for Fulu (talismans and registers), no need for elixirs; only let the righteous Qi of the heavenly course be abundant, and sweep away all external evils and epidemic illness. Joy, joy!
Dawn Chant
At the summit of Sun-Viewing Peak, I come at dawn; suddenly I hear the mountain temple’s bell and drum urging people to rise early. Above Fusang’s peak the heavenly rooster announces dawn; a band of red clouds, and the colors of dawn open wide.
Instructions to Students Zhu and Li
You two should withdraw from the noisy ancient capital and stay far from the marketplace. To clarify and purify the mind-nature, it is fitting to have few desires; to nourish Qi, one must guard against much speech. By the banks of the Lang River, taking leave of a thousand layers of scenery... (The final line is incomplete in the given excerpt; the general meaning is to urge the two to keep quiet, have few desires, and stay away from worldly clamor.)
Note: The original consists of Master Zhang Sanfeng’s poems, gathas, dedicatory pieces, and instructions, blending landscape reclusion with inner cultivation and themes of avoiding illness and extending life. Terms such as “one Qi,” “post-heaven true Qi,” and “the work of spirit” often refer, in a Daoist context, to refining Qi, nourishing Shen, and an attitude that does not rely primarily on talismans or medicines, consistent with the Neidan (internal alchemy) thought in the Complete Works.
The following is a vernacular interpretation of this scriptural passage, explained section by section according to its titles.
Staying for a Time in Lijia Mountain; From Now On I Seek My Original Nature, From Here I Escape the Dusty Cage
After staying for a while in the fine mountains, from now on I must recover my original truth, and from here cast off the bonds and cages of the dusty world.
Inscribing the Tomb of My Clansman Dexuan
A poem inscribed for the tomb of my clansman Dexuan. In a household of filial piety and fraternal love, the Hall of a Hundred Forbearances: one who can cultivate ancestral De (Virtue/Power) will naturally leave a fragrant name. Dexuan sleeps peacefully beneath Mount Fang; beside the grave nine lingzhi mushrooms have grown, their fragrance spreading all around.
To Liu Baijiu and Li Yuxi
The rivers-and-lakes wanderers of white wine and fishing poles meet a Daoist amid the green mountains. Both look laughable—already advanced in years, yet still like robust adults with thick beards and hair. The mist and clouds beyond the world have always been like this, and the scene by the river is vast and open; in early years I delved into the gate of purity, and now only a few patches of white clouds drift leisurely.
Seeking Seclusion
By elegant waters and elegant mountains I seek out elegant scholars; with fine mountains and fine waters I feast honored guests. By chance I hear the blue phoenix cry beyond the clouds, and know that a Penglai immortal guest has already arrived at my gate.
Impromptu on Early Autumn (in the Style of Huiweng)
After the new autumn’s fresh rain, the moon rises, and a delicate coolness brings freshness. The river’s reflection holds the sky, a single expanse of blue-green; starlight shines on the ground, exceptionally clear and bright. Leaning at the tower I blow the jade flute, cross the clouds on a crane to the Jade Capital—coming and going without fixed abode, flying and whistling as I walk among Penglai and Yingzhou.
Seeing Off Langquan and Langshan as They Return to Langzhong (Linked Verses with Daoist Bicheng)
Cloud-water wanderers go like a line of geese (Sanfeng); in the new spring they return northward (Bicheng). Passes and mountains stretch a thousand li (Sanfeng); with Dao and De, the whole body is full (Bicheng). We do not ask whether the pavilion is long or short (Sanfeng); how then should we know the world’s right and wrong (Bicheng). Drifting, coming and going (Sanfeng); on the year-end bank, willows sway gently (Bicheng).
To My Students in the First Ten Days of Mid-Spring
One year differs from another; the second month flies like an arrow released from the bow. Beneath the flowers, a reunion spring banquet is just right; rousing poetic inspiration, I sing in harmony with the gentle breeze.
Flying Chant
Chanting aloud at dawn over Yunmeng, I fly past spring at Dongting; drifting with no fixed abode, I swing my arms and enter Emei and Min. Ha ha—this elegance and freedom, who can compare? The answer: Daoist Hui.
Inscribing the Painting of Immortal Ma Xiangu Listening to Immortal He Xiangu Play the Sheng Again
Following the route through Penglai Island into the clouded sky, I wish to visit the female immortal in the Qingxia Cave. A tune on the jade sheng—how cool and distant its notes; since parting from Langyuan, the immortal realm, a thousand years have already passed. (In the painting) Immortal Ma Xiangu listens as Immortal He Xiangu plays the sheng again: as if she had traveled all over Penglai Island and gone straight into the clouded sky, seeking the female immortal in Qingxia Cave; a tune on the jade sheng, clear, cold, and far-reaching—while since parting from Langyuan, that immortal land, a thousand years have passed.
The Site Where Master Sanfeng Refined the Elixir at South Cliff on Wudang (Collected Lines from the “Mysterious Essentials of Cloud-Water Poetry”)
Flowing water and moving clouds cannot be held back; a long whistle in the autumn of the Chu sky. I go straight to seek the thousand-year elixir beyond the world, and forget the human realm.
Appendix: Brief Biography at the End of the Text
His courtesy name was Shugang, his sobriquet Zhuo’an; he was a native of Hengyang and once entered the Imperial College as a scholar.
Poetry
Even if sorrows pile up in the breast like ten thousand bushels, the heart still has its own clear, vast emptiness; it communicates with the pure harmonious Qi of heaven and earth (hangxie refers to the clear nocturnal Qi, which Daoists regard as borrowed for cultivation). I always look coldly upon nobles and high officials, taking no heed of fame or merit. Within the cave-dwelling, it is as if a small heaven and earth is hidden; when the return elixir is successfully cultivated, one may ride a crane and roam free.
Another poem: Facing the wall to regulate the spirit, another nine years pass; who knows that the recluse enjoys himself, joyful and self-sufficient. A single grain of millet pearl (in alchemical lore, the “millet pearl” symbolizes spiritual clarity and the seed of the elixir) can encompass heaven and earth. An iron flute blown twice can break the dawn mist. Restraining desire and clarifying the heart, one’s spirit and thoughts become detached; burying one’s name and hiding one’s surname, one seems mad. When the great medicine is refined, one transcends the ordinary and leaves the world, letting go and departing, roaming beyond things as an immortal.
Ode to History
The Ming emperor sought Master Sanfeng but for ten years could not meet him. Rumor placed him “south of the southern mountain,” yet people went seeking “north of the northern mountain”—in truth he roamed freely everywhere. His strange name was “Lata” (Sloppy); Guangmo (the Daoist term for the far north) is my homeland, and Taihe is my dwelling. At that time, practitioners of esoteric arts offered their various paths in confusion; the Master encouraged and admonished them. In ink alone one sees the blue sky; amid cloud-sounds where the sea sinks, traces are hard to discern in the dust of the world. Flying dragon, hidden dragon—who can fathom their appearing and hiding?
Edition Note (Reprint Information)
This is the reprinted edition of The Complete Works of Master Zhang Sanfeng from the Daozang Jiyao: recompiled by Li Xiyue, Mountain Man of Changyi of Hanjia; respectfully written by Zhang Daoyuan, style Zishen; respectfully published by Zhu Daosheng, style Wanchengzi, of Langzhong. Proofread by his nephew Ying Chuncheng and Zhu Zan Suyuan; his son Huang Panxi.
Preface to “The Heavenly Mouth”
The ancients said: the sage is the mouth of Heaven. I am a foolish man, not a sage—how could I speak on behalf of Heaven? This undertaking is meant to support the Supreme Lord, secretly protect the common people, awaken the deaf and rouse the benighted, and accord with the grace of Heaven’s oversight; encouraging goodness and correcting faults is also a good cause of universal salvation. Though my tongue is dull and my speech halting, I do not decline despite my dull roots, wishing that all the multitudes under heaven will earnestly listen to a word of mine. Therefore I have written several pieces in the form of admonitions, entitled The Heavenly Mouth, to repay the deep intention of Biweng (referring to predecessors such as Lü Dongbin) in honoring the Dao. Respectfully written by your servant Zhang Sanfeng, Zhenren of Dongxuan.
“Orthodox Teaching” (Opening)
In ancient and modern times there have truly been two teachings, not a real “three teachings.” If asked what the two are, they are the orthodox and the heterodox. If asked why there are no three teachings, it is because fundamentally there is only one Dao. How is the one Dao divided? And how does division produce three? Since the names of Confucius, Laozi, and Munī (Confucius, Laozi, Śākyamuni) arose, and even as people commonly speak of Confucius, Laozi, and Munī, even at the utmost it is still not the case that there are three separate houses that can be split apart: Confucius is fundamentally Confucian, Laozi is fundamentally Daoist, and Munī is fundamentally Buddhist. Yet once there are distinct names, they seem to be three; examined in reality, there is nothing to divide, so they must return to unity—therefore one does not venerate Confucius alone, nor does one venerate the Buddha alone... (The following text continues to discuss the unity of the three teachings and the distinction between orthodox and heterodox.)
Not aging, not aging, and not seeking nirvana either; Muni (the Buddha), Confucius, and Laozi can all be called “Dao (the Way).” Confucius’s “cutting off the four” (rejecting four biases), Laozi’s “embracing the One” (holding fast to singleness), and Muni’s “emptying the five” (breaking attachment to the five aggregates) are all cultivating oneself—training one’s own person. Confucius’s benevolence toward the people, Laozi’s relief of the world, and Muni’s rescue from suffering are all benefiting others—bringing benefit to others. Cultivating oneself and benefiting others are actually the same in direction.
People divide Confucius, Laozi, and Muni into three schools, mostly because they recognize only name and status and do not look at substance, or recognize only outward form and do not discuss principle. If in your mind you first label “this is Confucius, Laozi, Muni,” then it is still not the true Confucius, Laozi, Muni; but even if one is not counted nominally as Confucius, Laozi, Muni, in substance one can still be Confucius, Laozi, Muni. Confucius, Laozi, and Muni are all ancient sages, and sages teach by the orthodox Dao; what is not the orthodox Dao is called heterodox teaching. Yang Zhu and the Mohists within the Confucian school, the fangshi (technicians) within Daoism, and the demonic monks within Buddhism also count as “one teaching” within their respective traditions, but they are all one heterodoxy. Thus: those who divide into three teachings are fools; those who distinguish heterodoxy from orthodoxy are the wise.
The Confucian Texts
Apart from the Six Classics, the established teachings that can be taken as models must be sought in the Confucian school. The Confucian school does not speak of world-transcendence and seldom speaks of mystical scriptures, fearing that people will fall into empty talk without actual practice. Confucius and Yan Hui preserved their hearts and set their resolves, only hoping that people would live in retirement to seek their aspiration and practice righteousness to reach the Dao: where the Dao lies in aiding others, mountains and forests are no different from court and marketplace; where the Dao lies in cultivating oneself, court and marketplace do not stain mountains and forests. Therefore in the words of Confucius and Yan Hui there is much profound meaning, yet it is not easy for later people to grasp completely.
The second section of the Great Learning discusses Confucius’s cultivation of the self, using the “four don’ts” (do not be arbitrary, do not be dogmatic, do not be obstinate, do not be self-centered) as the practice of benevolence. Yan Hui refined himself: when his practice was not yet pure, he could not leave the narrow lane; when his practice was mature, he still did not forget the state. Thus he could seek action in reclusion and attain reclusion in action—in reclusion there are Confucius and Yan Hui, and in action there are also Confucius and Yan Hui; even when there is no action and no reclusion, it is not that Confucius and Yan Hui are absent, but that divine clarity is in me and transformation follows the heart. This alone is the true great Dao.
Confucius transmitted the teaching to Zengzi, and Zengzi transmitted it to Zisi; the whole Doctrine of the Mean contains a profoundly wondrous Dao, and countless people who have awakened to the profound have stolen it away as oral instructions for “becoming a Perfected.” After Zisi, Mencius is foremost: by holding the mind and nourishing Qi (vital energy), neither forcing nor forgetting, the flood-like Qi fills heaven and earth, is the greatest and strongest, and is available to everyone. Silently take hold of the wonder of this flood-like Qi; its oral instructions are difficult to express. Refute heterodoxy and support orthodoxy, overturn Yang Zhu and Mozi—I wish that scholars and commoners need not go to the three islands to seek immortality, but only receive it from the Four Books: take Yan Hui, Zengzi, Zisi, and Mencius as clear teachers; take being a son, minister, younger brother, and friend (the items of self-cultivation in the Analects) as meritorious practice; take body, mind, nature, and life as mercury and lead; take refined righteousness and mature benevolence as the final destination.
Vernacular Interpretation of The Complete Works of Master Zhang Sanfeng
When cultivating the Dao and ascending, do not covet the use of ritual arts; when nourishing the Dao, do not covet practicing the Dao outwardly; only after truly attaining the Dao may one reveal the Great Dao.
The Dao must not be revealed casually; one should drift away and return, transmit the Dharma lineage in famous mountains, and cause the source and stream to endure long.
Chapter on the Meaning of Chan
What, then, does it mean to be called “Shi”? Shakyamuni said: I delight in “Shi,” and therefore I use “Shi” to establish a teaching; it takes the meaning of letting go of the myriad ties of conditioning.
What, then, does it mean to be called “Fo”? The Great Being said: I delight in “Fo,” and therefore I use “Fo” to set up a teaching; it takes the meaning of awakening sentient beings.
I have heard that what Shi principally is is the way of leaving the world; I have heard that what Fo principally is is the way of awakening the world. The entire canon, in its hundreds of collections, is nothing other than wanting people to transcend dust and defilement and to awaken from intoxication and delusion.
Therefore, Muni (Shakyamuni) is purity, and the Great Being (Bodhisattva) is also purity: Muni encompasses purity, the Great Being universalizes purity—not clinging to some purity, not destroying some purity, and not begrudging some purity; even no purity, non-purity, and non-non-purity are also purity—only this is great purity, perfect purity.
If people can recite the tidal sound (Buddhist chants, fanbai), they will surely attain a pure mind and surely attain the mind of prajñā. But once one attains a single thought of prajñā, one should forget clinging to prajñā; if one still does not forget prajñā, then it is not true prajñā; since it is not prajñā, it should no longer be called prajñā; and non-non-prajñā is precisely prajñā. One who attains prajñā may be called “Shi”—one may become Shi and possess Shi; Shi is Shi; it is not that only “having Shi” makes it Shi; Shi has its own Shi—this is Shi.
One may be called “Fo”—one may become Fo and possess Fo; Fo is Fo; it is not that only “having Fo” makes it Fo; Fo has its own Fo—this is Fo.
Muni is thus, the Great Being is thus, and śramaṇa bhikṣus should also be thus. Without being thus, one cannot become Shi; without being thus, one cannot become Fo.
Why? Shi is precisely Shi; what is not Shi is not Shi; Fo is precisely Fo; what is not Fo is not Fo. Why? Outside Shi there is no Shi; taking Shi as Shi; outside Fo there is no Fo; taking Fo as Fo.
Why? Shi, Shi—the meaning of Shi: only when there is not a single thought of the meaning of Shi is it the meaning of having been released; Fo, Fo—the thought of Fo: only when there is not a single thought of Fo is it the thought of the true Buddha. Not clinging to “Shi” and yet being Shi is the Supreme Vehicle; not clinging to “Fo” and yet being Fo is the Great Vehicle. The scriptural treasury of Shi and Fo is precisely the treasury accomplished by Shi and Fo; this is called the Treasury of the True Dharma Eye.
Chapter on the Mysterious Sound
Arcane learning takes merit and virtue as substance and the Golden Elixir as function; only then can one become an immortal. There are five grades of immortals—these will be explained in detail below.
Vernacular Interpretation of The Complete Works of Master Zhang Sanfeng
Immortal Grades (the Four Immortals and Ghost Immortals)
There are four classes of immortals. The first is the human immortal. Human immortals refine original Jing (essence) to replenish original Qi (vital energy) and have already laid the foundation for cultivating immortality; they can nourish health but do not transcend birth and death—this is the “immortal among humans.” The second is the earth immortal. Earth immortals refine original Qi and form Neidan (internal alchemy); they are free from the affliction of leakage and can travel on land without leaving the dusty world—this is the “immortal within the earth.” The third is the divine immortal. Divine immortals refine original Qi and transform it into original Shen (spirit); they already possess wondrous spiritual powers, and water and fire cannot harm them. They are also called water immortals; when they refine Shen and return to emptiness, they are heavenly immortals. Thus, below the heavenly immortals are the divine immortals; below the divine immortals are the earth immortals; below the earth immortals are the human immortals; and below the human immortals there are only ghosts, no immortals.
Ghosts are pure Yin; immortals are pure Yang. Humans receive half Yin and half Yang, and so they do not transcend birth and death; when the Yin half is lacking, one becomes an immortal; when the Yang half is lacking, one becomes a ghost. Therefore humans dwell between the possible immortal and the possible ghost—and only temporarily so. To escape from this between immortal and ghost, one should settle securely among the heavenly and divine immortals—turn back and recognize the shore, let go and leave the dust behind.
The elixir classics contain ten thousand words, but whenever one “mistakes the self for another,” one falls into heterodox paths. The writings left by former sages must also be skillfully pondered: not gold, not stone; not mercury, not lead; not furnace, not cauldron; not woman, not man; not sun, not moon; not Kun, not Qian; not male, not female; not dragon, not tiger; not crow, not snake; not female creature, not male creature—where is the mystery? The mystery is in the mysterious place. Where is the wonder? The wonder is in the wondrous place.
I possess the true transmission and dare not speak of it recklessly; if someone has true sincerity, I also do not close the door. Only by widely accumulating hidden merit does one begin to attain the grade of an immortal; only by widely practicing skillful means does one begin to establish the foundation of immortality; only by widely cultivating karmic causes and effects does one begin to plant the root of immortality. If I encounter such a person who seeks my Dao (the Way), I am willing to expound the supreme vehicle teaching and point out its subtle words; it will surely be like parting the clouds and mist to see the blue sky—then one gives a long whistle and departs.
(This chapter points out the immortal grades clearly and brightly; I only hope that people accumulate hidden merit and seek the true transmission, for then the way of the divine immortals is truly not difficult to reach.)
Chapter on the Five Virtues (Opening)
Human life has five virtues, which I have often used as analogies for the Five Phases of heaven and earth and the five vital channels of the human body: Benevolence belongs to Wood and corresponds to the liver; righteousness belongs to Metal and corresponds to the lungs; propriety belongs to Fire and corresponds to the heart; wisdom belongs to Water and corresponds to the kidneys; faithfulness belongs to Earth and corresponds to the spleen.
(If the original book contains further continuation below, it may be continued in the same format.)
A Vernacular Interpretation of The Complete Works of Master Zhang Sanfeng
The Five Virtues and the Five Phases
From this we can know that the five virtues are such that not one can be lacking, just as the five bodily channels cannot be cut off and the Five Phases cannot be missing.
Everyone says wood cannot be lacking—so why is there no benevolence? Without benevolence, there is inevitably no nurturing heart; the liver is already severed, and wood withers. Everyone says metal cannot be lacking—so why is there no righteousness? Without righteousness, there is inevitably no sense of weighing and balance; the lungs are already severed, and metal becomes decayed and dull. Everyone says fire cannot be lacking—so why is there no propriety? Without propriety, there is inevitably no radiance; the heart is already severed, and fire wanes and goes out. Everyone says water cannot be lacking—so why is there no wisdom? Without wisdom, there is inevitably no clear and pure intent; the kidneys are already severed, and water becomes murky and dry. Everyone says earth cannot be lacking—so why is there no trustworthiness? Without trustworthiness, there is inevitably no mutual trust; the spleen is already severed, and earth splits and crumbles.
From this we can know that in being human one must first have the five virtues in the mind, and only then do the body’s five channels exist: if benevolence is not cut off, liver Qi arises; if righteousness is not cut off, lung Qi is balanced; if propriety is not cut off, heart Qi becomes bright; if wisdom is not cut off, kidney Qi becomes numinous; if trustworthiness is not cut off, spleen Qi awakens.
De (Virtue/Power) encompasses the body, and the body encompasses the mind. The body is none other than the mind, and the mind is none other than the body; the five virtues are none other than the five channels. When De is lost, the channels are lost; when De is perfected, the body is perfected and the channels are perfected. Only in this way can one assist and participate in the Five Phases of Heaven and Earth.
Chapter on Filial Conduct
A couplet in the Cassia Palace says: “Of the hundred practices, filial piety is foremost; Wen Zu was able to practice filial piety, and his fragrant virtue endures for ten thousand years.” Thus, in one body, attaining the Dao is becoming an immortal; becoming an immortal is becoming a sage; becoming a sage is also to be counted among the worthy. His radiance opens the sun and moon; his love and reverence penetrate heaven and earth.
People in the world wish to aspire to filial piety; filial piety is truly the source of the hundred practices. Shun of Yu set the hundred affairs in order, yet filial piety came before his public renown. King Wen of Zhou rectified the hundred measures, yet filial piety stood before his fine reputation. Zengzi valued the three ways, but serving one’s parents was the greatest. Minzi headed the four subjects, but serving his mother was especially earnest. Since ancient times there have been many filial sons; here I briefly set them forth.
Do not look on these as mere tales of filial piety; you must look on them as models of filial conduct: some carried rice on their backs; some left behind sweet soup; some gazed at the white clouds; some wore motley garments; some wept over the staff with all their strength.
(The above lists allusions to filial sons through the ages—such as carrying rice, leaving sweet soup, gazing at clouds, wearing motley garments, and weeping over the staff—so that people may take them as examples.)
Scripture:
Someone, through reduction—by diminishing and restraining—finds the oranges held in the bosom especially fresh and sweet; someone prays and bamboo sends up new shoots; someone is moved by the clear spring welling from the rocks; someone remembers the crow’s feeding of its parents; someone prays for success like fish leaping in the deep; someone holds the An Yang proclamation; someone sets aside a mournful piece like “Liao’e”; someone stops a banquet because of filial thoughts; someone serves his parents until his face is worn and gaunt—these are all stories handed down by worthies and sages. How could they lack virtue, meritorious deeds, or worthy words? Even if a hundred affairs are good, they are not equal to the unbroken tenderness of filial piety. Only filial piety can be extended to friends; filial piety can be transformed into loyalty. Only filial piety serves as a model for one’s wife, and through filial piety one earns the trust of friends. One filial piety encompasses the Five Relationships; one should know that filial piety can transform customs. The highest filial piety is filial at heart; loving devotion reveals natural sincerity. Middle filial piety is filial in one’s person; support and care should be diligent. Though one speaks of filial piety with the mouth, being able to say it requires being able to do it; merely putting on a filial face deceives others and deceives one’s parents. The virtue of filial piety is inexhaustible: one thought gains one part; part after part, inch after inch, every inch moves the heavenly spirits. Filial again filial, sincere again sincere. I compose this Classic of Filial Piety, the great classic among classics.
Vernacular Interpretation:
Someone, through restraint and the diminishing of desires, finds the taste of the oranges held in the bosom especially fresh and sweet; someone prays devoutly, and new shoots grow beneath the bamboo; someone is touched by the clear spring gushing out among the mountain rocks; someone thinks of the crow’s kindness in feeding its parents; someone prays for smooth success like a fish leaping in the deep; someone carries the An Yang proclamation; someone sets aside reading a sorrowful piece like “Liao’e”; someone stops a banquet because of filial thoughts; someone supports his parents until his face becomes worn and gaunt, sorrowing for them—these are all stories handed down from worthies and sages. Which one of them lacks virtue, meritorious deeds, or worthy words? Although all things in the world may be good, none compares with the continuous, lingering devotion of filial piety. Only filial piety can first be extended to friends; filial piety can become loyalty. Only filial piety serves as a model for one’s wife, and through filial piety one is trusted by friends. One filial piety encompasses the Five Relationships; one must know that filial piety can improve customs. The highest filial piety is filial in the heart; loving admiration shows natural innocence. Middle filial piety is filial in one’s person; support and care should be diligent. Though one speaks of filial piety with the mouth, one must be able both to speak and to act; merely making up a filial appearance on the face deceives others and also deceives one’s parents. The virtue of filial piety is inexhaustible: one thought gains one part; part by part and inch by inch, every inch moves the heavenly spirits. Filial again filial, earnest again earnest. I compose this Classic of Filial Piety, the great classic among classics.
The Chapter on Lust and Evil
The pillar couplet inscribed in the Gui Palace says: “Of ten thousand evils, lust is chief.” Therefore evil retributions are many, but none is as ugly as the retribution for lust. Heavenly punishments are each strange, and heavenly penalties come in every form: one may seduce another man’s wife, and one’s own wife will be seduced by others; one may embrace another man’s daughter, and one’s own daughter will be embraced by others; through adultery one may bring about one’s own death, or through adultery cut off one’s descendants; one may ruin the family property and wealth, or have fame and longevity taken away; one may give birth to base descendants, or they may be led away by swindlers. The retributions for lust are utterly manifold; written discussion cannot trace them one by one. Whom does this evil spare? Why will they not turn back? Do not say that only when the lustful are replete and sins are full does retribution arrive—as soon as there is lust, there is retribution; Heaven’s mirror does not allow partiality. A single case of a lust-ghost is truly lamentable. I advise the people of this world: do not violate the precept against lust. Before seeing, do not think of it; after seeing, do not be disordered. Do not trifle with virgins; do not toy with chaste women. When encountering another’s wife, concubine, or daughter, regard her as a sister. Do not defile maidservants or slaves; do not dally with prostitutes or entertainers. Rouge and powder are a flower for a moment; vital spirit scatters in an instant. To protect oneself, one must get out of the pit; to leave suffering, one must cross to the far shore. Even with your own wife and concubines, boudoir intimacy should be moderated; if you wish to produce upright offspring, you must establish rules for children concerning respect and avoidance. On birthdays of sages and gods, during solar or lunar eclipses, on days for worshiping the stove god, on taboo days, at dark and gloomy transitions, or in violent thunder and lightning, one must separate blankets and beds, or separate beds and rooms—the heavenly spirits observe these matters in detail.
Notes: The Five Relationships are those of ruler and minister, father and son, husband and wife, elder and younger brother, and friend. “Extending filial piety to friends” and “modeling the wife” mean extending filial piety to friends and making filial piety an example for one’s wife. “Liao’e” is an ancient poem that expresses a filial son’s longing for his parents. “The pillar couplet inscribed in the Gui Palace” refers, in a Daoist context, to words inscribed on a pillar in the Gui Palace, emphasizing that “of ten thousand evils, lust is chief.” “The An Yang proclamation” is an allusion in the text related to filial conduct and official documents. “Establishing rules of respect and avoidance” means setting rules for children, teaching respect and avoidance, and separating rooms, so as to prevent occasions of lust.
Vernacular Interpretation of “The Chapter on Giving and Recompense”
If one reverently prays for blessings, blessings will descend; the heavenly immortals value one’s conduct. Seeking the Dao, one may attain the Dao and also keep far from all evils—such a person may be called a great hero.
The Chapter on Giving and Recompense
For wealthy and noble families, accumulating goodness is relatively easy, but if they expect recompense for goodness, it is instead not easy—not because goodness has no reward, but because Heaven recompenses according to measure.
For poor and lowly families, accumulating goodness is relatively difficult, yet obtaining good recompense is often not difficult—again because recompense is according to measure.
As for those who are neither wealthy and noble nor poor and lowly, their accumulating goodness and receiving recompense are likewise apportioned by weighing.
In terms of donating gold: for the wealthy and noble, donating a hundred pieces of gold counts as ten merits; for the poor and lowly, donating ten pieces of gold also counts as ten merits. In terms of helping others: for the wealthy and noble, aiding a hundred people counts as ten good deeds; for the poor and lowly, aiding ten people also counts as ten good deeds. Those who are neither wealthy and noble nor poor and lowly should naturally take the ordinary person as the standard.
The wealthy and noble must not use “I am merely an ordinary person” as an excuse; the poor and lowly even less so. Former generations gather, later generations scatter; former generations are strong, later generations weak—even so, if the wealthy and noble practice goodness appropriately, then even if only several hundred pieces of gold are given, there will surely be great recompense; they should simply expand and complete it further. The poor and lowly must not force themselves to imitate the average person, and still less force themselves to imitate the wealthy and noble—if support is insufficient there will be faults, and if freezing and hunger are severe then wife and children will resent; but if the poor and lowly practice goodness appropriately, then even if the family fortune is exhausted, there will immediately be great recompense; they should simply weigh and use their resources. Heaven fundamentally does not betray good people.
If someone occupies wealth and nobility but is stingy with money, using as excuses that “goodness is much but recompense little” and “goodness is quick but recompense slow,” and so refuses to pay attention to doing good—the disasters they invite will surely be extraordinary, and the misfortunes they meet will surely be no few; prominent clans in the blink of an eye melt away like ice, and noble households become ashes after another generation—most belong to this category.
If someone occupies poverty and lowliness but recklessly discusses merits and fruits, on the grounds that “goodness is little and recompense little” and “goodness is slow and recompense slow,” daring to treat doing good lightly—the disasters they invite are often stranger, the misfortunes they meet often more severe; amid the bleakness of war, displacement, and plague, many arise from this.
Those situated as neither wealthy and noble nor poor and lowly belong to this same category. Why? One who occupies wealth and nobility has both the circumstances for accumulating goodness and the authority to accumulate goodness; when a person’s life is in this position, even if there is goodness and for a time no recompense is seen, it should still be clear—the original book has a comment here such as “How could one find such fair words?” whose general meaning is to praise this argument as fair and to the point.
Note: Interlinear notes in the original text, such as “often somewhat unrestrained” and “How could one find such fair words?”, are mostly later printed editions’ or readers’ marginal comments. The translation above follows mainly the meaning of the main text; the purport of the notes is only briefly accounted for in the final sentence.
Vernacular Interpretation
(Domestic Matters and the Retribution of Good and Evil)
When people at home have ample food and clothing, a reputation abroad, can long enjoy glory and honor, and their descendants share in it—this in itself is a reward for goodness. Yet some people, having accumulated only a little good, presume on it to expect lavish reward from Heaven and give rein to greed and arrogance. Heaven then transfers authority to those who truly do good and shows such people no partiality. Those in poverty and low status have neither a family position nor an official position through which to accumulate goodness. When life reaches this point, upon encountering even a small good, they should do it at once—this looks ordinary but is in fact rare: cherishing written characters and paper, treasuring living things, and keeping a mindful heart in all dealings with people. If one can always be like this, earth piles up into a mountain and water gathers into a sea, and the reward for goodness will eventually come. Conversely, to know something is not good and still refuse to change while expecting recompense—one’s mind and resolve become benighted; Heaven will also deepen their poverty to punish the wicked, likewise without private protection. Reward for good is so; retribution for evil is so—whether rich or poor, noble or base, one may coolly observe the world, or bow the head and ask oneself: your wealth, your nobility, your poverty, your lowliness—where on earth do they come from?
The principle of giving and recompense is seen most clearly by sages and worthies; immortals and buddhas handle it most leniently. Chivalrous men sometimes exceed the bounds in doing righteousness; if people in the world can learn one or two parts of such chivalry, that is enough. In my youth I loved giving alms; fortunately Heaven examined me clearly, and I have seen the retribution between Heaven and humans rather thoroughly—this is not an empty, mysterious teaching; the mind of Heaven is broadly like this, only when has Heaven ever opened its mouth to speak?
On Waxing and Waning
Affairs of the realm and the state often have ebb and growth, darkness and brightness, now fullness and now waning. Ordinary people call this “Heavenly fate,” while those who understand attribute it to “the human heart.” The principle is certainly grand and upright, and the wording is mellow; why should I discuss it much more? But in the world there are times when decline is due yet does not come (these words were originally spoken for the state, but extended to an individual person it is the same), and there are circumstances and reasons why, when decline is due, there is an unwillingness to decline. I should explain this tirelessly to exhort people.
When a state’s momentum reaches its utmost height, extreme security turns to danger; often one generation creates the upheaval, and the next generation laments danger and ruin—does this count as “waning”? Yet in between there may still be a restoration, and does that not count as “not full”? Why do great disasters suddenly multiply? Because if the worthy are not kept close, wily usurpers ruin government; if poetry and ritual are not cultivated, descendants become extravagant and wild. When human affairs are in a time of peace, one should keep the thought of treading dangerous ground, think of troubles and prevent them; the noble person should always be alert, so as to fulfill the span allotted by Heaven. Yet Heaven also has no inexhaustible number.
Vernacular Interpretation
First Passage (Timing and Holding to Fullness)
When the time has arrived, if a person can day by day maintain the restraint of “full without overflowing,” ten thousand years may be expected. As for the fortune of a state, disorder must reach its extreme before it turns to order; there are also times when a declining fortune flourishes again, when momentum dips slightly and then rises once more—can one say there has been no loss? Then why is it precarious as stacked eggs? Can one say it has been utterly exhausted? Then why can it again enjoy stability as firm as rock? Because by reining in the horse at the cliff’s edge, one may avoid overturning; by turning back when confronted with the situation, one may naturally prolong the state’s destiny. Even in so slight a matter as human feasting and drinking, it is still hard to hold fast to the thought of “enjoying to the full”; from the small one may see the great, and the noble person should sharply awaken, so as to avert the calamity appointed by Heaven. In truth, Heaven originally has no calamity to manifest; if people daily fear loss and keep to the plain and balanced way, they will naturally endure. Alas, the mind of Heaven lies within human affairs—why do people not strive toward goodness!
On Criticism and Praise
Why do others criticize me? Why do others praise me? And why do they criticize or praise others? To hope for people’s praise before one’s achievements have arrived is to invite criticism; to guard against people’s criticism and be able to correct one’s faults is to invite praise. Therefore, there is no gradual cause in others’ criticizing or praising me—it is I who gradually bring criticism and praise upon myself; there is no external cause in criticizing or praising others—it is the person himself who provides the cause for criticism and praise. I respect those in the world who, without seeking praise, do praiseworthy deeds; I dislike those who, without fearing blame, commit blameworthy acts; I am ashamed of those who, ignorant of praise and blame, pass away obscure—passing away obscure, they are not destroyed by others but destroy themselves. Those who in life blame themselves for their faults will surely be praised by others; those who throughout life praise themselves for their merits will surely be criticized by others. Even so, if praise exceeds the truth, a tendency to self-advertisement will inevitably arise; if criticism exceeds the truth, the fault-finding perfectionists may be condemned. Let people of the world encourage themselves and take warning.
On Longevity and Brevity
Who should be long-lived and who short-lived? Looking down upon the world, there is originally no partial eye. If one wishes people and creatures to share in long life, the teeming multitude of the great earth must be filled. Therefore: benevolence brings longevity, evil brings retribution; merit brings longevity, fault brings diminution; nurturing brings longevity, harming brings injury. Immortals, Buddhas, sages, and worthies cannot escape the kalpas either—using song in place of speech, to call the drifting back (using song to exhort people, so that the deluded may return).
On Adversity and Success
The successful have no endless sorrow; the sorrowful have little cultivation of virtue. Glory and withering are two paths, one spring and one autumn.
In this life, whether one chooses seclusion or public service, both should be pursued with ease and freedom. Most people chase fame and fortune, yet life passes swiftly like an arrow loosed from a bow. There's no need for excessive joy in wealth and honor, nor sighs in hardship—true greatness cannot be shackled by circumstances; only by accepting fate can one live with composure.
When studying or cultivating the Dao (the Way), let the vast Qi (vital energy) within your chest surge like a soaring dragon. When playing the zither or drinking wine, emulate the refined tastes of Confucius and Mi Zijian (a virtuous scholar of the Spring and Autumn period). Just as the dragon in its lair will one day ascend to the heavens, the donkey by the lake finds contentment in its own way. Rising clouds transform into nourishing rain, while receding streams seek out the immortals Chisongzi and Wangziqiao. If officialdom holds no appeal, follow the example of Yan Ziling (a recluse of the Eastern Han) fishing or Wang Zhi (a Tang dynasty hermit) gathering firewood—why confine yourself to a thatched hut and invite needless distress?
[On Character]
Judging a person’s character requires discerning the true essence beneath similar appearances:
Some stand firm in righteousness, unwavering in their principles—the world sees them as arrogant, but I see them as resolute. Others move through life with humility, avoiding conflict—the world mistakes them for conformists, but I see them as harmonious. Some remain spontaneous and childlike—the world calls them lazy, but I see them as at ease. Some sing and laugh freely, following nature’s course—the world deems them reckless, but I see them as liberated.
Some discipline themselves strictly, upholding integrity—the world accuses them of pride, but I see them as dignified. Others are simple and steadfast—the world mocks them as dull, but I see them as genuine. Some distinguish clearly between right and profit, free from selfishness—the world scoffs at them as affected, but I see them as upright. Some aspire to purity, untouched by worldly dust—the world labels them aloof, but I see them as noble.
Some are gentle and generous, unversed in literature—the world dismisses them as crude, but I find in them the bearing of a Confucian scholar. Others cultivate tranquility, indifferent to rituals—the world thinks them foolish, but I see them as awakened. Some endure heat and cold without complaint, eating plainly—the world considers them eccentric, but I see in them the demeanor of an immortal. The wise and the ordinary may appear alike, yet their spirits differ—one must observe carefully.
Never belittle others to elevate yourself. Only by relinquishing judgment can one grasp the realm of sages. When Shun (the legendary sage-king) dwelled in the deep mountains, he seemed no different from ordinary folk. Yet when he heard kind words or witnessed virtuous deeds, his transcendent spirit shone forth like the crimson glow of Chicheng Mountain (a sacred Daoist peak) illuminating the sky.
[On True Joy]
Genuine joy lies in this:
Not letting external gains or losses unsettle the heart, maintaining an inner nature as clear as the blue sky and bright sun.
Not altering one’s principles with shifting circumstances, remaining as serene as a wild crane or drifting cloud.
A Vernacular Interpretation of The Complete Works of Mr. Zhang Sanfeng
I. The Old Man of Ancheng and Lord Weicheng
An old man of Ancheng said to Lord Weicheng (Weicheng Gong): I have heard that one born in a peaceful age should be a person of peace; whether noble or base, high or low, one should be content with one’s station, keep to benevolence, and practice righteousness. Do you also know what a happy life is? Let me recite a short fu (rhapsody) for you and make the principle clear.
The red dust rolls on, the sea of suffering surges—keep to one’s station, nurture the noble Qi (vital energy), preserve Great Harmony (Taihe), look lightly upon worldly affairs, engage in little contention, endure pure poverty, diligently cultivate learning, abstain from cravings, and dwell in mountains and forests. In public life, be a good official who creates no karmic evil; at home, be a person of understanding who avoids the cage. Instruct children and grandchildren to abstain from lust and gambling; teach women to guard the household gates. In farming, do not default on official rent; in study, do not neglect virtuous conduct. Drink community wine to cure deafness; be a pillar among the people of Heaven (tianmin). With plain appearance and full spirit, let right and wrong swirl about and cast away all resentment. Be able to release living beings and abstain from killing; this too nourishes nature and prolongs life. Discuss maxims (geyu) with village elders; summon the younger generation to speak of merits and faults. Having succeeded oneself, help others succeed; transform one person, and then ten thousand transformations follow. Spread a rustic mat in a thatched hall and push the mountain elder to the seat of honor; plant the noble lotus in the pond, the Tao Gong chrysanthemum by the fence, the recluse scholar’s plum where the mountain is fragrant, and the hidden person’s bamboo filling the ravine—settle wherever one is and be at peace; what joy is there not to pursue?
Lord Weicheng said with a wistful sigh: Alas! The immortal elder has instructed me to such an extent! I respectfully receive the teaching. He bowed deeply and withdrew.
II. The Chapter on Being Able to Yield (Nengrang Pian)
In rooms that nurture harmony and households that accumulate generosity, on the west wall and in the east hall, it is fitting to write maxims. For example, in the entry on “suffering loss”: most people feel it unfair, not knowing that being able to endure and yield is precisely nurturing harmony for oneself and accumulating generosity for one’s descendants. Now I will briefly write a few of the most profound sayings of sages, spirits, and worthies to exhort people. There is a saying: To make things convenient for others is to make them convenient for oneself; to make things suitable for others is to make them suitable for oneself. I make things convenient for others; others do not make things convenient for me. I make things suitable for others; others do not make things suitable for me. There is a saying: Those who can take a loss often have abundant fortune; when one has gained full profit, it is always a loss. There is a saying: If everyone were to win, who in the human world should be the one to suffer loss?
Notes (Proper Terms Incorporated in the Translation)
Weicheng Gong (Lord Weicheng): the interlocutor in the text; “Weicheng” may be a sobriquet or a place name.
Taihe (Great Harmony): in Daoist usage, the state in which Yin-Yang is harmonized and body and mind are at peace.
Shejiu (community wine): wine drunk after the sacrifice on the community day; in popular custom, drinking community wine also serves as an image of simple, self-sufficient contentment.
Tianmin (people of Heaven): common people who accord with the Dao of Heaven and abide contentedly in their constant station.
Chushi (recluse scholar): one who has not taken office or who has withdrawn into seclusion and does not serve.
Tao Gong’s chrysanthemums: an allusion to Tao Yuanming’s line about picking chrysanthemums by the eastern fence, symbolizing reclusive purity.
Nengrang Pian (The Chapter on Being Able to Yield): a piece devoted to forbearance and yielding, and to the idea that taking a loss is nurturing harmony and accumulating generosity for the household.
Geyu (maxims): aphorisms and admonitory sayings written on walls to warn oneself and exhort others.
Vernacular Interpretation of The Complete Works of Master Zhang Sanfeng
(Continued from the preceding) Suffering Loss and the Way of Heaven
Someone has said: In the two characters Qian and Kun, fullness and emptiness are already fixed; when one has endured loss to the utmost, the predestined calamities are removed. I too have a saying: When I have suffered loss for long enough, Heaven cannot bear it, and Heaven will surely grant me advantage. Let all of you scholars strive at this—those who suffer losses will in the end not truly be the losers.
The Chapter on Zhong and Shu
Zhong and shu are the transmission of Confucius’s “one thread running through it all.” What does “one thread running through it all” mean? Zhong is the substance; shu is the function. “The center within is zhong”: establishing the heart from within. “Like the heart is shu”: making one’s heart like the heart of others. To establish oneself and thereby establish others lies precisely here.
Zhong is what enables shu to run through: if one takes the way of shu as ren, then one can “not impose on others what one does not desire for oneself,” and the heart of Heaven will be free from the disturbance of human desire. If one conducts oneself in the world by the way of shu, then one can “when offended, not retaliate,” and the human heart will be free from the intrusion of perversity. If one governs the world by the way of shu, then one can “not impose what is disliked,” and the hearts of ministers will be free from cruel and harsh government. The teachings of the sages and worthies—drop by drop they return to the source—can truly be practiced for a lifetime.
If one only wishes to be like one’s own heart and does not wish to be like the hearts of others, the heart will inevitably give rise to this: affirming oneself and denying others, treating oneself generously and others stingily, valuing oneself and belittling others, benefiting oneself and harming others, succeeding oneself and defeating others—all these are ways of not being like the hearts of others. Since one is not like the hearts of others, how can one be like one’s own heart? Though one wishes to be like one’s own heart, craving much harms one’s own heart; being unable to be like one’s own heart, enduring much damages one’s own heart. When the heart is corrupted, the heart is lost; when the heart is lost, there is no center within; when the center within perishes, the root of ren dies—no wonder such a heart is not shu.
Therefore, those who lack zhong also consistently run through to lack of shu. I hope all scholars will seek the purport of the one thread and preserve the truth of the one thread, so that they may not be sinners at the gate of Confucius.
The Chapter on Emptiness and Non-being
Emptiness and non-being are the purport commonly transmitted by Lao-Zhuang and the Buddhist tradition. Emptiness means emptying the heart. When the heart is empty, the spirit is clear; when the spirit is clear, one’s nature becomes wise; great liberation and great awakening are born from this. Non-being means no-self. When there is no self, there are no others; when there are no others, there are no desires; great purity and great joy are attained from this.
Now you people of the two traditions do not understand emptiness and non-being; you only probe real being. The term “real being” is fine in itself, but those who ultimately fall into delusion: like counting grains, daily seeking the substantial and discoursing on gold and stone, they gain nothing at all; daily seeking existence and contemplating Chan verses, they give rise to the six dusts. In the immeasurable sands of the Ganges, who awakens to emptiness and non-being?
(Note: This passage criticizes attachment only to “real being” and “deliberate action” while being ignorant of the empty, non-being heart-nature. Together with the preceding discussions of zhong and shu and of suffering loss, as self-cultivation in a single vein, all return to the one thread of ren and the empty, non-being heart-nature.)
Plain-Language Interpretation
(Continued from the Paramita, Contemplating the Mind, and Confucian Self-Cultivation)
This is precisely the first paramita (Prajnaparamita, the perfect wisdom of “reaching the other shore”). I pity your ignorance and open wisdom for you: only by contemplating the “emptiness” within the mind can one see the clarity of the original nature; one must know that “emptiness” can take hold of “the real.” Only by contemplating “no-self” can one reach “no-desire”; one must know that “non-being” can encompass “being.” Confucius spoke of “no-self,” and Yan Yuan (Yan Hui) was able to practice the “fasting of the mind” (Xinzhai, focusing the mind in stillness). Even the Confucians were like this—how much more so should you be?
Nourishing Life
Of all things people desire most, none surpasses long life. If one wishes for long life, one must first value this life; if one values this life, one must never lightly cast it away. “Sacrificing oneself to fulfill benevolence” and “giving one’s life when facing danger” are not taking life lightly; rather, one preserves this body in ordinary times and, at the critical moment, uses this body on the right path—this is different from living emptily or wasting one’s life. Though dead, such a person still lives; only one who truly “values life” can be a loyal minister, righteous man, martyred woman, or chaste wife. If one is born in a peaceful and prosperous age, then regardless of noble or humble status, if one can fully practice filial piety and loyalty and become an elder of the state and a rare person in the world, then the way of “generating and regenerating life” cannot be understood without knowing “nourishing life.” The discourse on nourishing life differs from cultivating perfection (cultivating the Dao and becoming true): cultivating perfection can avoid kalpas and belongs to the “Dao”; nourishing life can extend lifespan and belongs to “technique.” But if one nourishes life without understanding the principles of ancient and modern times and of Heaven and humanity, ultimately there is no method that can be verified. The people of high antiquity were simple and unadorned: they had few worries and few thoughts, spoke little and laughed little, saw little and heard little, wore coarse clothes and ate plain food, and lived without knowing or recognizing; thus they could preserve their innate truth and live long. People of recent times grow daily more frivolous and ostentatious: they have many worries and many thoughts, speak much and laugh much, see much and hear much; with rich clothes and rich food they dissipate their will and unsettle their Shen (spirit), and often injure their original nature and meet an early death. The peace of the Heavenly Dao lies in its ability to return: after the sun declines to the west it again reaches the zenith; after the moon wanes it becomes full again; after rain passes the sky clears; after thunder stops, insects withdraw. Thus it can retain an unfading spirit and prolong the movement of Heaven in constant renewal. The stagnation of the human Dao lies in much stripping away: people let Jing (essence) leak, Qi (vital energy) be depleted, and Shen (spirit) be shaken; body and spirit are not guarded, so it is hard to recover an already exhausted body, and one can only barely pass the days and evenings. Therefore, in nourishing life, medicine and food come afterward, while preserving harmony comes first; one may learn from the Heavenly Dao, and one may learn from the ancients.
The Five Kalpas
Alas, how sad! All ordinary people have five kalpas. What are the five kalpas? Birth, aging, illness, death, and suffering. It is not that people need not be born; rather, they should be born upright and properly, and must not be born in vain or falsely. If one is born as a sage or worthy, Heaven still lets one be born.
(If there is further discussion after “being born as a sage or worthy” below, it should be continued according to the original book; here, according to the scripture provided, it ends at “Heaven still gives birth.”)
What this passage speaks of is this: if a heroic spirit remains in the world, if a name remains in the world, if a fragrant reputation remains in the world, how is that different from immortals and Buddhas? Only those who are vicious by nature and cruel and violent—after this one life they will surely obtain no good reward. Not to speak of their not deserving to live; rather, they ought to be made to fall endlessly through rebirth into evil destinies and suffer the punishment of uninterrupted hell, so that even if they wished to suffer no more, they could not. To be born and alive is one kalpa: thus to sink into the world and be hemmed in among men, not knowing dedication of merit, not understanding change, and drifting idly into old age—that is another kalpa. Thus, with Jing (essence) consumed and form withered, Shen (spirit) gone and Qi exhausted, when medicine cannot replenish and nourishment cannot restore, and one is unbearably sick and weak—that is another kalpa. Thus, when impermanence suddenly arrives and the final limit is at hand, where is one’s household, who are one’s wife and children?—one dies in haste, and that is another kalpa. Thus, when evil must be repaid and faults must be repaid, one is moved about the netherworld offices, weeping and wailing in extreme suffering beyond compare—that is another kalpa. If by good fortune there is a day of rebirth, whether one’s fate carries weapons and war, water and fire, various illnesses and calamities, or various poverty and hardship, one will still be tossed about within the five kalpas without end. Not to mention the hell of knife mountains: those who fall into these kalpas cannot eradicate their guilt and evil without karmic cause and effect, without virtue and merit. Therefore, in a person’s life one must cultivate goodness and accumulate blessings, return to the root and restore the origin, so that perhaps one may ascend together to the Spring Terrace and all reach Ultimate Bliss. To have life is to have long life; long life is precisely no-birth; because of no-birth there is no extinction; because of no extinction there is transcendence. Strive for this, each of you.
Chapter on Reverence for the Spirits
Shen (spirit) is what makes all things wondrous, and it is in this sense that it is spoken of. The Lord on High established his teaching through the way of the spirits, and so the spirits truly hold the authority over good and evil. All who are intelligent and upright are given the authority of the spirits. The heavenly spirits are the lords among spirits and draw all things along; the earthly spirits are the lords among the earth deities and support all things. This is the vastness of the virtue of the spirits: the common people receive it every day without knowing it. One need only fulfill the fundamental duties of a human being and thereby accord with Heaven and Earth, and that is enough. As for the sacred mountains and rivers, the suburban altars, the hermitages and halls, and the shrines and courtyards, the steles erected and images set up there are nothing other than means to rouse the spirit of antiquity. With their lofty and grand temple buildings and their radiant, awe-inspiring spiritual presence, none who gaze upon them fail to feel solemn reverence. Yet where incense is abundant, those who pray for blessings are many; where petitions are frequent, those who seek good fortune are numerous.
Master Zhang Sanfeng’s Complete Works: A Vernacular Interpretation
Gist of the Scripture
Would the highest Shen (spirit) ever be fooled by humans? The ways Shen appears and hides are not uniform, but all arise from upright Qi.
The Discourses of Lu say: When sage kings established sacrifices, they sacrificed to those who bestowed laws and teachings on the people, to those who fulfilled their duty unto death, to those who stabilized the state through toil, to those who could withstand great calamities, and to those who could defend against great disasters. In addition, mountains and rivers, the altars of soil and grain, and all others who had merit and De (virtue/power) toward the people were included among them.
“Bestowing laws on the people” originally did not expect repayment from people; “fulfilling duty unto death” originally did not seek people’s gratitude; “stabilizing the state through toil” originally did not hope for people’s thanks; “withstanding great calamities and defending against great disasters” originally did not wait for people’s prayers; “spreading merit and De through the human world” originally did not await people’s supplications.
Even when the great rites of spring and autumn and fast days and birthdays come frequently, those who enter the temple merely pray that Shen bless the ruler and the state—though this has no direct relation to themselves; pray for blessings on their parents—though this has no direct relation to themselves; pray that grace may reach the people and creatures—though this has no direct relation to themselves; and pray for the deliverance of sunken and lingering souls—though this has no direct relation to themselves.
Moreover: if one purifies one’s body, clarifies one’s thoughts, calms one’s anxieties, washes clean the heart, lungs, liver, and viscera, and reveres Shen with a reverent heart, then blessings arrive without being sought. In this sense, in the way of revering Shen, nothing is more urgent than first revering one’s own heart.
In all people, the human heart is Shen, and Shen is the heart. Only when the heart is without shame can one face Shen without shame; if one can face Shen, one can also face one’s heart. It is not that there is another Shen outside the heart. “It is present in your chamber; it is present in your heart”—it is right in your room, right in your heart.
Again: the Shen of heaven dwells in the sun; wherever sunlight reaches, what place is not bright? The Shen of the human heart dwells in the eyes; wherever the gaze reaches, what thing is not seen? Yet people wish to flatter the deities in order to erase the stains of sin—how could that be possible?
The admonition says: There are two ways of revering Shen. The base way of flattery and sacrilege is not among them.
The superior adept: keeps the heart upright and magnanimous, establishes meritorious deeds, and has profound intentions. In daily life, fearing Shen’s scrutiny, such a person attributes any blessing or felicity to Shen’s grace—though this person does not burn incense, hold candles, or respectfully bow at temple gates, they have already obtained the great way of revering Shen.
The middling adept: keeps the heart cautious and respectful; when speaking of Heaven and the supreme deity, they become more awestruck; good thoughts are encouraged by Shen, and any merit or De they have they surely owe to Shen’s protection—such a person…
(The scripture ends here; the passage on the middling adept is not completed in the given original.)
Reading Notes (not in the original)
Upright Qi: opposed to pathogenic Qi; it refers to upright, clear Qi and intention. Bestowing laws on the people: applying laws and teachings to the common people. Mountains and rivers, soil and grain: mountains and rivers together with the gods of soil and grain, broadly referring to deities beneficial to the state and the people’s livelihood. Superior adept / middling adept: persons of relatively high or intermediate level in cultivating the Dao or in self-cultivation.
Core claim: True reverence for Shen lies in revering the heart and upright Qi, not in outward sacrifice and prayer; heart and Shen are one, and self-deception cannot deceive Shen.
This scripture primarily addresses two key aspects: the proper attitude for revering deities, and the moral principles governing human conduct.
Regarding deity worship, the text states that while some may outwardly observe fasting, ritual cleansing, and pay homage to bodhisattvas (Buddhist practitioners), these are merely superficial gestures. If one harbors wicked thoughts inwardly, even when making offerings on significant days like the first and fifteenth of the lunar month, the divine guardians will say: "So you've come? I was just about to summon you!" The deities admonish us: Do not approach the divine with flattery, nor profane the sacred. Only through sincere devotion will deities grant protection. Most crucially, one must fundamentally reform one's character upon returning home—this constitutes true reverence.
The second section expounds the principle of "loving others." The scripture states that among all beings, humans possess the greatest wisdom. Since we surpass other creatures in intelligence, we should particularly cherish life. It enumerates specific behavioral guidelines: never plot against others, never harm with weapons, never poison with drugs, never oppress through power. Those committing such evils face punishment—both through visible state laws and invisible celestial retribution—from which none can ultimately escape.
Using comparative imagery, the text observes: People already cherish singing birds, fragrant flowers, domesticated animals, and ornamental fish—shouldn't we value our fellow humans even more? Thus it exhorts people toward harmonious coexistence and mutual care. Practically, this means: supporting others' reputations, achievements, endeavors, and benefits, for in helping others we ultimately help ourselves.
A series of prohibitions follows: Never obscure a loyal minister's devotion, never steal a meritorious official's credit, never slander chaste women, never defame innocent maidens; neither envy others' talents nor falsely claim their skills; neither conceal others' good deeds nor publicize their faults; never secretly block others' advancement, never casually disparage others' writings; never undermine others' benevolent acts, never ruin others' good fortune, never impair others' prosperity or longevity; never seize others' land, never covet others' wealth; never assist villains in robbing virtuous scholars of auspicious sites, never collude with scoundrels to corrupt noble youths.
The conclusion emphasizes that the Eternal Life Celestial Venerable (a Daoist deity) particularly warns: Never humiliate the virtuous, never oppress the impoverished, never estrange fathers and sons, never sever familial bonds. These principles of humaneness could hardly be exhaustively listed.
The Complete Works of Master Zhang Sanfeng: A Vernacular Interpretation
I. The Way of Conducting Oneself: Loving Others
Do not destroy other people’s marriages, and do not insult those who are deaf, mute, blind, or otherwise disabled. You should also save people in danger, relieve others in urgent need, and take pity on orphans.
Bear with others’ faults, rescue people from suffering, aid those who are hungry and cold, support your relatives, help your neighbors and friends, show compassion to widows and orphans, respect the elderly, and pity the poor—all these are ways of showing love to others.
Alas! Heaven gives birth to countless people, and this is precisely the field in which the humane and virtuous can exercise their benevolent hearts and the place where good people can accumulate virtue. If one can broaden one’s heart and protect the multitude, then those who are rich and noble and love others will surely have abundant descendants, while those who are poor and lowly and love others will surely become prominent themselves. Heaven blesses the good, and the High Lord brings fortune to people; since ancient times, this has been most widely and most quickly verified. Therefore, if you wish to understand the way of conducting oneself, I still offer you one piece of advice: love others.
II. Medicine
The art of medicine can enliven a nation, and it can also ruin a nation; medicines can save people, and they can also kill people. One must therefore be cautious in this craft. There are principles within it, learning has no end, and practice has no limit. Medicines have the roles of sovereign, minister, assistant, and courier; diseases have deficiency and excess, new and old patterns. Every physician can speak of these things, but few truly understand them.
The learning of sages is profound, yet their aspirations grow humbler; their virtue is lofty, yet their hearts grow humbler. Those who practice Qihuang—the medical art—should be the same: they must not belittle themselves, mislead themselves, or deceive themselves. To deceive oneself is to deceive others; to mislead oneself is to mislead others; to belittle oneself is to belittle others—and all the fault gathers upon oneself. Thus on this path it is easy to establish merit and also easy to incur blame; it is hard to accumulate blessings, and not hard to invite disaster. If one seeks merit without fault and blessing without disaster, one must be vigilant and self-restrained.
The principles of the pulse are subtle, and shallow learning finds them hard to know. I now advise physicians: before entering a patient’s sickbed, first ask about the history of the illness; do not test medicines on people. I now advise patients and their families: before the physician, first explain the full circumstances; do not test the physician with your life. To test the physician with your life—the blame lies with yourself; to test people with medicine—the blame lies with the physician. Moreover, one should support those in critical danger and not inflate one’s fees; save the poor and destitute without calculating gold and silver. Those who can clearly perceive the symptoms should treat them at once; those who cannot should wait for someone more skilled—this too is the goodness of accumulating steady sincerity.
I further advise Confucian scholars: investigate more efficacious prescriptions, carefully study the meaning of medicine, neither keep it secret nor act recklessly, benefiting both oneself and others. Fan Wenzheng and Lu Xuangong—Fan Zhongyan and Lu Zhi—though serving as ministers, still gave repeated attention to the medical art. How could others neglect it?
Note: In the text, the term for “relief” is used interchangeably with another form meaning “to aid.” “Qihuang” refers to Qibo and the Yellow Emperor and by extension to the medical art. “Sovereign, minister, assistant, and courier” are terms for the compatibility of prescriptions.
The chapter on physiognomy discusses human destiny and facial features. The upper class has its distinct countenance, the lower class has its own, while the middle class lacks fixed facial characteristics. The upper class has its predetermined fate, the lower class its inevitable destiny, yet the middle class possesses no fixed fortune.
The natures of those in the upper and lower strata are difficult to alter—this requires little elaboration. It is precisely you in the middle stratum, neither high nor low, potentially rising or falling, who face this dilemma. Though you may appear capable of ascending or descending, hesitation will ultimately lead to your decline. Only by completely severing ties with the lower stratum and abandoning its habits can you truly transform your destiny. Your countenance can be reshaped by your own hands; your fate can be forged through your own efforts—these ancient teachings do not deceive you.
Fortune-tellers who read faces can only observe your exterior, never penetrating your inner self; they may calculate your predetermined fortune, but never your accumulated Virtue (De). Failing to perceive the inner self means failing to discern true physiognomy; inability to calculate Virtue means inability to accurately predict true destiny. Do not be fooled by diviners' tricks—a pure heart creates the finest countenance. Do not be misled by fortune-tellers' ploys—unyielding moral character forms the best fate.
I hope people can examine themselves and master their own destinies; I hope physiognomists will guide others in cultivating mind and nature; I hope fortune-tellers will encourage the accumulation of virtuous deeds. As for bone structure and Qi (vital energy) circulation, it's harmless to discuss them conventionally, but ultimately one must return to Virtue; after analyzing facial features, return to the original heart. Infuse the art of physiognomy with principles that guide people toward goodness—predecessors like Master Mayi (founder of physiognomy) and Xu Ziping (originator of Bazi divination) will surely bless your livelihood.
The chapter on geomancy (Fengshui) addresses the Dao of heaven and earth. Heaven shelters both virtuous and wicked alike; earth supports both good and evil equally, while immortal masters (Fengshui experts) harmonize these opposing forces for the cosmos. Heaven shows no partiality in its coverage; earth demonstrates no bias in its support; neither do immortal masters dispense favors with private motives. Those harboring selfish desires cannot perceive truth. What we call earthly principles are ultimately heavenly principles. Since we follow heavenly principles, human desires cannot interfere—thus only wise and upright sages can properly explain this knowledge.
Today people recklessly discuss geomancy, profaning mountain spirits, exhuming ancestral bones to seek fortune, debating auspicious and inauspicious signs with Fengshui masters. Some hire others to search for auspicious sites; others hunt for them themselves, deceiving for wealth and chasing empty fame. With such mindsets, how could they comprehend heavenly principles? That nine out of ten Fengshui masters remain poor—is this any wonder? Immortal masters bestow auspicious land: the virtuous receive favorable sites, the wicked acquire inauspicious ground. The virtuous receive no special favor; the wicked suffer no unjust hatred—heavenly principles are inherently just, and human hearts should understand this clearly.
When I explain geomancy to others, I always connect it with karmic retribution. Because the immortal masters govern the earth's principles, and since this involves the Dao of immortality...
Vernacular Interpretation of “The Chapter on Precepts Against Licentiousness” from The Complete Works of Master Zhang Sanfeng
The Way of Heaven holds that “when things reach an extreme, they must reverse”; when matters develop to an extreme, they often turn back—this is a constant principle. People live between Heaven and Earth, are endowed with the Qi of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), and possess upright Qi in their bodies. Husband and wife each keeping to their proper roles is the constant Way of human relations; to overstep ritual propriety and violate moral order makes one no different from birds and beasts. Those with resolve should strive to abstain from licentiousness and evil.
Among all things under Heaven, none is less self-restrained than humans. The osprey, a water bird, chooses its mate without disorder; the grieving goose, having lost its mate, does not seek another companion. Humans are sometimes inferior to birds, betraying the title “the most spiritual of all creatures.” Sadly, the multitude do not understand that “beauty is fundamentally empty, like bubbles and illusory appearances,” and still crave rosy faces and dark tresses, entangled in affection and love. In fact, human hearts are largely the same; reflect in reverse and you will understand: when you covet another man’s wife or daughter, think—if your own wife or daughter were treated this way, you would surely feel thorns in your back, rage in your heart, and wish to pursue and kill the offender at once, unable to bear it for a moment. Why then do you feel proud when you debauch others?
At that moment, the gods and spirits of Heaven and Earth watch from above and call you to account from beside, glaring and gnashing their teeth, certain to devise retribution; disaster often arrives in the blink of an eye. Speaking of this, can one not feel a chill in the heart?
Moreover, there is the case of the head severed from the body and blood splashed before the steps: before the dream of the balcony tryst has awakened, the gate of the Yellow Springs is already closed. Pitiful—the fresh blood of youth is all shed for love of rouge and powder; a beauty is originally a rouge tiger—how can one not believe it? Even if it does not reach this point, the strong bring suit to the authorities, the weak endure in silence; the clan is shamed and cannot wipe away the disgrace; the hundred-year bond of husband and wife is severed; life and death are hard to predict, and calamities take many forms—some secretly plot revenge, some secretly injure and maim. As for the husband and son, a lifetime’s clean reputation is stained and forever becomes a topic of gossip. The horror of killing reaches only one person, but the poison of sexual defilement is no less than killing someone for several generations. The lustful person is himself not upright, full of tender sentiment and fawning weakness, unable to discipline himself—how can he control others?
Note: The opening line, “Rather than seeking land from ordinary people, why not seek immortality from ordinary people?” is meant to advise people not to seek only fame, profit, and fields among ordinary folk, but rather to seek the immortal Dao through cultivation; it is followed by version information and the main text of the “Chapter on Precepts Against Licentiousness.” The above is translated from the passage you attached.
A Vernacular Interpretation of the Essay on Abstaining from Lust
I
People are constantly led astray by private desire: they indulge personal passions and neglect filial and fraternal duties, abandoning parents and brothers without a thought; apart from this one “pleasure,” they know nothing at all. Thus wives, concubines, and children lose their proper place, and the defenses and restraints of the household collapse; they allow filthy disorder in the inner chambers—and the silent retribution that follows they themselves inevitably fail to perceive.
Moreover, those addicted to lust will often have descendants who die young, and their posterity will not flourish. Why? My descendants are sown from my own vital essence and spirit; now, with limited essence and spirit, to supply inexhaustible flowers and willows—this is like felling a tree with an axe: once the sap is exhausted, the fruit must shrivel and drop, and what is born will surely be thin and weak. This is inevitable; thinning again and thinning, weakening again and weakening, the overturning of the clan and the cutting off of heirs is simply the normal outcome. How can the severity of the calamity of lust be fully described!
Alas, how long is human life? A hundred years are but a moment. Even one who disregards reputation and moral integrity and does not guard body and life—there is no one who does not think of descendants and plan for the blood offerings of ancestral sacrifice. If a single thought turns there, one will scarcely have time for regret; how much less for amusement, or for still thinking of gratifying desire?
As for the pure chastity of the monastic path and the ice-like resolve of widows, these are not even to be compared with all those seductive beauties and glamorous faces—yet to speak only of what concerns moral character and the safety of one’s person and family, that such things must not be done admits no further elaboration. It depends on those with resolve: purity of heart as the foundation, a sense of shame as the application, firm endurance as the guard, and vigilant fear as the commitment; maintain it without carelessness, nurture it with deep calm. All books that teach lewdness—consign them to Zulong (burn them); friends who are improperly familiar—reject them and have no dealings with them; exert your essence and concentrate your spirit, planning only what is beneficial—then you will see what reputation will not be established, what benefit will not be gathered, and the blessings of the Five Blessings will all gather upon your person. Is this not so in principle and inevitable in fact? This is my exhortation.
(This is the original work. Sun Nianqu of Changzhou once published it in Quanren Juyu.)
II Essay on Abstaining from Lust
Heaven and Earth give birth to human beings, endowed with the excellence of the Five Phases and possessing the essence of the two great powers; husband as husband and wife as wife—this is the constancy of the human Dao. Casual dalliances amid grass and flowers are the narrow byways of vice. If one peeps over walls and bores through holes, transgressing principle and confounding human relations, this is like boars mounting or dogs coupling, like mandarin ducks in the wild or orioles and pigeons mingling their nests—then, though human, one is ranked with the birds and beasts.
Moreover, even the dullest creatures sometimes know their mates: the Guanju bird keeps its station and does not become disorderly; the phoenix, though it flies a thousand li, remains forever paired—humans...
(The following continues the original text, discussing that humans should keep the constancy of husband and wife, not fall into narrow, crooked ways, and thereby differ from birds and beasts.)
Note: The whole text is a Daoist moral exhortation against sexual license, closely associated with the Zhang Sanfeng tradition; the printed edition is found in Sun Nianqu’s Quanren Juyu. Proper terms such as “Zulong” (a metonym for book-burning) and the “Five Blessings” have been briefly explained according to their common meanings.
Vernacular Interpretation of The Complete Works of Master Zhang Sanfeng
Admonitions Against Licentiousness and Exhortations to the World (Excerpt)
Even birds cherish their own feathers; why should people make a name for themselves through the “foot” (meaning to ruin their reputation through sexual misconduct)? Sadly, ignorant common folk do not keep to ritual propriety and righteousness and often violate the precepts against licentiousness. With rosy faces and dark hair, fondly entangled in love, stealing jade and filching fragrance, their frenzy grows worse by the day. Do they not know that others have the same mind, and therefore the same principle; that others have the same principle, and therefore the same feeling? I wish that people in the realm of desire, when lustful thoughts arise and their hearts are stirred toward another’s wife or daughter, would suddenly turn back and reflect: if your own wife or daughter were seduced by someone, laughing and teasing beside the pillow and exhausting every intimacy, while you yourself were right there witnessing it with your own eyes—who could fail to have their eyes pierced and heart burned, hair bristling and fists clenched, ready to strike without a moment’s delay? Alas! People share this mind, this principle, this feeling. Defile one person, and the stain extends through several generations; defile another, and you defile yourself as well. Thoughts of lust must be eliminated as quickly as possible. As for the retributions for licentiousness and the books that warn against it, the regulations of the ancient sages and worthies are extremely numerous; I only wish that those willing to turn back would seek them out and read them carefully.
Essay on Reverencing the Sun and Moon
Heaven and Earth have the sun and moon, just as people have two eyes. What the eyes see, they prefer to be clean and upright; this is so for everyone. If someone were now to relieve himself before your eyes, you would surely be furious; if someone bathed before your eyes, you would surely be ashamed; if someone cursed before your eyes, you would surely be angry. Why is it, then, that beneath the high-hanging sun and moon that shine upon us, people do not hold them in awe? Since the sun and moon first existed, Yin-Yang have been distinguished, day and night separated, and sight made clear. When the sun sinks in the west, daylight ends, and people, though they have eyes, are dim-sighted; when the moon sets in the west, the clear night grows dark, and people, though they have eyes, see only a blur. People receive the shining presence of the sun and moon; people borrow the radiance of the sun and moon; yet people do not know the supreme virtue of the sun and moon—can this be allowed?
Now I exhort the people of the world: maintain a heart of awe and embody a sense of reverence and veneration. Do not relieve yourselves facing the sun and moon; do not bathe facing the sun and moon; do not curse facing the sun and moon. For relieving oneself before the sun and moon, a hundred thousand divine spirits (shensha) will assail the person, and they will surely contract a strange illness; for bathing before the sun and moon, a hundred thousand yin soldiers will pierce their bones with needles, and they will surely contract a cold illness; for cursing before the sun and moon, ten thousand inspecting deities will silently record their faults, and they will thereby be brought to hardship and annihilation. Therefore the sun and moon must not fail to be reverenced. May the people of the world strive in this and take it as a warning.
Background Note: Zhang Sanfeng was a Daoist figure at the turn of the Yuan and Ming dynasties and an important patriarch of the Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) school; tradition credits him with creating Taijiquan. This text belongs to the genre of Daoist scriptures that exhort goodness and warn against evil. It uses the idea that “people share the same mind” to urge people, by putting themselves in others’ shoes, to abstain from sexual misconduct. It also compares the sun and moon to human eyes, emphasizing awe toward celestial phenomena, and uses notions such as divine spirits (shensha), yin soldiers, and inspecting deities to explain retribution. This is a common style in popular Daoist ethics and belief.
On Maintaining Ancestral Graves and Geomancy (A Vernacular Interpretation)
I have often thought: houses are the dwellings of the living, while graves are the “homes” of the dead. If tiles leak rain, walls collapse, and wind and rain pour in, how can the living be secure? If the earth crumbles, the outer coffin breaks, and ants enter and insects bore through, how can the dead be at peace? Therefore I urge people each to repair and maintain their ancestral graves. Those with ability and strength should bear the task themselves; blessings have already come, and it must not be shirked. They must put forth their own effort so that the ancestral spirits rest securely and their protective blessings follow. Do not begrudge money and property; do not be lazy in heart or strength. Those whose families were originally wealthy should know that today’s glory is still the lingering grace of their ancestors; those whose families have newly risen should know that today’s prosperity is still ancestral virtue reaching the descendants—what merit is it of mine, what virtue is it of mine? In life they clothed me and fed me; their deep kindness is hard to repay. After death, thinking of them morning and night, one should especially tend and repair the springs and earth generation after generation. Descendants should treat their ancestors generously, repair the graves every year, and the good recompense of the spirits will become ever more manifest. Those who do not believe often meet with early death, poverty, and extinction of heirs; those who are sincere and faithful often enjoy longevity, wealth, peace, health, honor, and prominence. One often sees fine grave sites left cold and neglected, and then knows that later generations will be desolate; stone tablets lie in cold mist while the descendants of several clans decline; on deserted mounds buried in rotting grass, descendants who have fallen into ruin are left alone. Who among people is without feeling? Who can bear this? Now I speak of ordinary feelings; you should understand the principle.
Those who discuss feng shui cultivate the “sand and branches” and value outward appearance, yet still seek that the enclosure be tight and complete; those who repair grave foundations build platforms and lay stones, and are still unwilling lightly to damage the earth veins. Ordinary people, on the day they bury the ancestral bones, plant dense hedges on both sides; for every handful of earth and every piece of stone they diligently labor. How can it be that what was done with all one’s heart in former days is left to waste by later people? Now I instruct you all: everyone should sweep the graves and make offerings; good earth should be added thickly; when visiting and viewing, noxious trees at the grave mound should be cut away. Thus the grave will suffer no harm from defects, and the vein Qi will rise abundantly; the fine grave site will have luxuriant grass growing, tree roots will not enter, the ancestral spirits will rest securely, and worthy descendants will flourish. If you disobey my instruction, you will surely meet divine punishment.
In the space of a glance, desolation and lamentation arise; a peerless abundance of spirit.
A Treatise on Geomancy
Earth occupies the middle of the Three Powers (Heaven, Earth, and Humanity). When one discusses geomancy, the principles of Heaven and humanity also correspond. When people wish to choose a site, Heaven also appraises the person; when people wish to appraise a site, the site also chooses the person. There are indeed many in the world who discuss the principles of earth, but they should also know the mandate of Heaven.
Note: In the text, “earth veins,” “fine grave site,” and “vein Qi” are terms from feng shui and burial practice, referring to the direction of earth Qi and the configuration of the grave; “Three Powers” is a cosmological view commonly used in Confucianism and Daoism. The entire piece is a chapter from the Complete Works of Zhang Sanfeng that exhorts goodness, emphasizes sacrificial sweeping, and briefly discusses feng shui; it is not a specialized treatise on Neidan cultivation.
Vernacular Interpretation
Can One Attain the Principles of Earth? On the Principles of Earth
People should chiefly understand “the principles of earth” (the principles of fengshui, choosing sites for burial, and receiving blessings for descendants); Heaven presides over the Dao of Heaven, while Earth is comparatively hidden and unmanifest, requiring human understanding to bring it forth.
One knows that good sites are hard to find, yet to seek no site at all is unacceptable; one knows they are hard to find, yet to insist forcibly on obtaining one will also fail.
In former times Master Ziping said: The theory of geomancy did not originally arise for the sake of sheltering descendants, but when later generations properly bury their ancestral spirits, the ancestral spirits in turn bless their descendants—this is a single coherent principle. Today, discussions of sites may be divided into three grades; and those who obtain sites may also be divided into three levels.
Superior sites: Above, they correspond to astral patterns; below, they manifest as terrestrial configurations. The qi of Heaven and Earth coalesces into hexagrams, and their stability depends entirely on heavenly craftsmanship; human effort can scarcely intervene. Only sages and heroes, people of great virtue, and those who have accumulated hidden merits can obtain them.
Middle-grade sites: These too are naturally formed images, but within them there are transformations: the Bagua (Eight Trigrams) interact, the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) push one another, and a mass of true qi rumbles faintly. Only mature, loyal, and honest people with a little virtue and hidden merit can obtain them.
Lower-grade sites: A mountain or a stream is laid out wherever the land allows; seen once in ten li, again in a hundred li, they are everywhere, and there is no place where one cannot seek them. But one must understand the coming and going of dragon veins, the facing and backing of mountains, and the color of the soil; one must be good at cutting and arranging, matching mountains and streams to the geomantic compass—not forcing the compass onto mountains and streams. Only when site and person suit each other can it be considered stable. Sites of this kind can be obtained by any mature, loyal, honest person free of resentment and malice.
The above is the general meaning of the three grades; anything poorer is not worth discussing further—nor is there any auspicious site left for the unvirtuous. The so-called “auspicious ground where an ox lies” (a burial site as stable as a sleeping ox)—how could it be easily explained?
Alas, though people are good at assessing sites, Heaven is also good at assessing people; though people are good at choosing sites, sites are also good at choosing people. How can people not strive to be “auspicious people” so as to match auspicious sites? I have seen many in the world seeking sites, and so I have written this “On the Principles of Earth” (Dili Shuo) to warn everyone.
Source text: Kanripo 漢籍リポジトリ（KR5i0071）; Licence: CC BY-SA 4.0 · Report an error / feedback