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Zhou Guanguan from Kunshan was likely a Confucian scholar. I once had the pleasure of meeting him; he was skilled in poetry and painting, and his calligraphy in the style of Zhao Mengfu was remarkably authentic. He also enjoyed entertaining guests, collecting antiques, appreciating musical performances, and playing the guqin (seven-stringed zither). I privately wondered: with such abundant spirit and energy, and so many diverse interests, how could he sustain this for long? A year later, Mr. Zhou indeed passed away. This shows that one’s preferences in life should be focused and singular. If one has too many hobbies or capabilities, it may instead exhaust the shen (spirit) and damage the jing (essence). This is perhaps similar to those who eat little but are burdened with excessive affairs.

Zhang Quanshan held an official post in the local academy at the age of eighty-six, yet retained a youthful complexion. Chen Taiyan spoke highly of his character as worthy of emulation. Though his official rank was low, he regarded it as honorable; though his family was poor, he regarded it as wealthy. When he had a son in his old age who was still young, he viewed him as numerous and robust, remaining cheerful without any trace of sorrow. Moreover, he did not engage in idle gossip but treated his inner cultivation as a personal practice. His longevity was thus well-deserved. I recalled Zhang Quanshan telling Xu Cunzhai: "Heaven’s retribution is never inaccurate." Thus, Zhang’s attainment of longevity must have had its causes.

Ma Jiantian was adept at discussing profound metaphysical principles. At sixty-five, his beard and hair were completely black. Li Shaobai, who was not skilled in such discussions, also had black hair and a youthful appearance at seventy. I once asked Ma Jiantian about his health preservation methods. He replied: "I do not consume salty foods or tea; my primary focus is nourishing jing, qi, and shen. I sit alone in a room, doing nothing." When I asked Li Shaobai, he remained silent, merely smiling joyfully every day, indifferent to worldly affairs, and showing no sorrow even in times of hardship, although he did not avoid cities. Were these two gentlemen’s paths to longevity truly consistent, or were they outwardly different but inwardly identical?

When the heart moves, the shen becomes fatigued. Those who constantly compete with others using their skills invariably shorten their lifespan. Among various arts, composing poetry and playing chess are particularly draining to the shen. Zhou Laifeng said: "In my experience, four people have harmed their lives through chess," referring to Song Yuzhai, Wang Lianchuan, Wang Fenyuan, and Guo Nanzhou. He added: "Sun Liquan composed poetry at dawn, became ill from exhaustion, and died." Chen Yuquan said: "Wang Tongxu was playing chess with a guest when he suddenly closed his eyes; calling out to him yielded no response, and he died." Chess drains the shen to such an extent! Alas, activities that harm life are not limited to wine and lust.

Lu Yuntai from Jiading suffered from cold syndromes in his youth. After recovering, he failed to take proper care of himself and developed a wang yang (collapse of yang) syndrome. The slightest sound would make him palpitate with fear, feeling as if he were dying. Medication proved ineffective for years, so Lu stopped all medicine. For five years, he simply slept and waited for death. Gradually, his condition improved slightly, and his mind became sharp and intuitive. He could predict events: announcing when servants or friends arrived, and foreseeing happenings miles away. Over a year later, he recovered fully, regaining the strength of his youth, able to draw bows that stronger men could not. However, after months of resuming social interactions, his spiritual clarity faded, unlike during his bedridden state. He was a close friend of mine and later had a son, whom he named Lanshi.

While passing Mount She, I met Gu Yuzhai. Gu valued tranquility, having built a retreat on Mount She where he stayed for a year without returning home. Regarding internal cultivation, he stated that the secret lies solely in concentrating qi and achieving softness, like an infant who makes no plans for livelihood. Only then can immortality be hoped for. Distinguishing between self and other, high and low, respect and disdain, love and hate, are matters of post-natal existence, not pre-natal cultivation. This insight truly grasped the essence of self-cultivation.

Internal cultivation secrets should not be attempted lightly if not thoroughly understood; many have suffered consequences due to premature trials. I witnessed a disciple of Xie Binshan attempting the "inner vision" technique; acting too hastily with fire, he died within a year from dysentery with five-colored discharge. A friend from Suzhou learned breath-retention techniques from a recluse in a pagoda temple; within half a year, he also died from dysentery. A certain scholar-official remarked upon the death of a fellow examinee from a carbuncle: "This must be due to prior meditation practice." Upon inquiry, this proved true. Thus, unverified methods lead to harm rather than benefit. Consider alchemical refining: a slight error in temperature control ruins the furnace. How much more so the human body, which is not a visible vessel? Let cautious practitioners beware; this is indeed wise.

Beauty easily ensnares people; even sages cannot instantly suppress desire, but only by distancing themselves from it. Hence, "remove flattery and distance oneself from beauty." Distancing naturally leads to cessation. Food also easily incites greed; hence, "gentlemen stay away from kitchens." Fine wines should be avoided, just as Yi Di’s brews were rejected. To "avoid" implies a form of distancing. Discussing the nature of food and lust, I wander into these reflections, wondering if I can discern the true method of sages in restraining desires.

The Daoist priest Xie Binshan visited me again after several years apart. He recounted traveling through Jianye, floating on Pengli Lake, visiting Longhu Mountain ruins in Yuanzhou, Nankang, and Raozhou. Later, he crossed Mount Lu, traversing Jingzhou, Xiangyang, Zhengzhou, and Wei regions. He then walked through Hejian, Zhending, and Baoding, reaching the Northern Capital. After three years, he returned, staying near Jin and Jiao mountains for over a year. Despite seeking sages for a long time, he met none. He concluded that worldly sentiments are merely about gaining advantage and harming others for profit. The rich are respected, the poor despised, everywhere alike. Even voices differ, but the sentiment remains the same. Finding an equal is difficult; willing to sacrifice self for others is rarer still. Hearing this, I was startled. To treat self and others as one is called "no-self" and "subduing the ego." Such sage realms are lofty and unreachable.

The statues in the temple on Mount She in my hometown are exquisitely crafted. Monks told me that a sculptor from Jiangxi spent over a year creating them, including those at Jinze Temple. Upon completion, he fell ill. Companions offered medical help, but he refused: "No need. I exhausted my spirit in imagination and estimation; this is why I am sick. What medicine can restore my spirit?" He eventually died. These statues remain unique among temples.

"The Dragon has nine sons, none of whom resemble the dragon, each having distinct preferences." Qiuniu loves music, seen in beast heads on huqin (bowed string instruments). Yazhi loves killing, seen in dragon-head pommels on swords. Chaofeng loves danger, seen in roof corner beasts. Pulao loves crying, seen in bell handles. Suanni loves sitting, seen in lion seats under Buddhas. Baxia loves weight, seen in stone tortoise bases for steles. Bi’an loves litigation, seen in lion heads on prison gates. Bixi loves writing, seen in dragons flanking steles. Chiwen loves swallowing, seen in ridge-end beasts. Only the dragon has no specific preference, thus becoming the dragon. This proves that desirelessness equates to immortality.

*Longchuan Jishi* records a Daoist from Xiandu Mountain discussing internal and external health preservation. Jingqi (essence and qi) is internal, not solidified by minerals. Limbs and bones are external, not transformed by jingqi. Internal cultivation requires nourishing jingqi until the inner elixir forms, preventing death. However, hermits often achieve corpse-liberation (shijie) rather than physical transformation, as the body is formed by the Four Elements (earth, water, fire, wind). Only external elixirs can transform matter and enable flight. Yet, without a formed inner elixir, consuming external elixirs often leads to death. This argument likely stemmed from Emperor Tang’s fatal consumption of elixirs causing thirst. Viewing inner elixirs merely as jingqi limits understanding of external medicinal origins; viewing external elixirs merely as minerals misses the subtlety of transitioning from being to non-being. Such views fail to grasp the profound mysteries of Daoist alchemy.