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I have heard that Heaven's will can overcome human effort, yet human effort can also overcome Heaven's will. Both a capable minister and a skilled physician possess the power to reverse the authority of creation. Thus, ancient sages said, "If one cannot be a good minister, one should become a good physician." However, as social morals declined day by day and the Way of Medicine waned, truly excellent physicians became rare.

Mr. Wang Mengying is a learned and elegant gentleman. He possesses abundant talent and profound learning, with particular expertise in medicine; his miraculous healing abilities are beyond human comprehension. He authored sixteen medical treatises, elucidating profound principles with clear and organized exposition. His fourteen volumes of medical cases further clarify treatment methods, proposing insights not previously expressed and realizing understandings not previously attained. He traces back to the *Ling Shu* (Spiritual Pivot) and *Su Wen* (Basic Questions), compiles various schools of thought below, extracts their mysteries to illuminate the obscure, preserves purity while correcting errors, clarifies worldly trends, exposes hidden flaws, distinguishes confusion from orthodoxy, and eliminates ancient malpractices overnight, breaking through millennia of obscurity. His merits surpass former sages, and his scholarship will endure for future generations. Regardless of the severity of conditions, he always harbors compassion. His exceptional insight and sincere conduct are indeed beyond the reach of ordinary people.

In previous years, when he retired to Haichang, I regretted that Lan Yuan and other juniors could not follow him with books in hand, though my admiration remained uncontrollable. Now, as Mr. Wang drafts the *Gui Yan Lu* (Record of Returning the Inkstone) to express his aspirations, I presume upon my limited knowledge to write this preface.

Written respectfully by Peng Lanyuan of Renhe in the latter half of the third month of the Bingchen year.

Waving goodbye to lakes and mountains, my mind is free and natural; choosing to dwell in forests and fields, I love the secluded and remote. The method to aid the world is akin to that of a capable minister; navigating life without cunning makes one like a wandering immortal. The grand lineage of Chongqing continues old traditions; preserving benevolence, the writings enrich new compilations. Our paths seem closer than before, like taking a boat at night in the snow, following the example of Wang Ziyou.

Joyfully discussing fishing and woodcutting with fellow townspeople, the remote environment surrounded by streams is ideal for building a cottage. It is not that I indulge in leisurely affection for water and stones, but rather that I often seek aesthetic pleasure in zither and books. Having broken my arm, my understanding aligns with Sun Simiao; bitter words conform to those of Lu Jingyu. Unending worries about the times and thoughts of the past lead me to open a small garden to irrigate spring vegetables.

Continuing the benevolent heart and ancient friendship of Zhongzhou, amidst a thousand acres of waves, a single leaf-like boat. Books that save lives are often tested; talent sufficient to heal the country prioritizes concern before others. Old masters from Aixi evoke parting sentiments; elders from Xiushui sigh over past journeys. Melancholy regarding lifelong master-disciple and friend relationships requires cultivating both spiritual roots and heavenly honors.

Observing the ambiguous state of the world in tranquility, sometimes stroking lice while engaging in pure conversation. Alone comprehending the *Ling Lan Mi Dian Lun* (Secret Classic of Spiritual Orchids) can critique common customs; unexpected growth like side-shoots of sugarcane bless Mengnan. Reading scrolls comfortably lying north of the window; publishing books whose fame hangs south like the Dipper stars. One should fulfill the desire to wear black robes (become a recluse); rowing across Double Bridge to visit friends more frequently.

For years, war-torn sores have not ceased; in a Taoist utopia, I decline floating fame. High essays written freely amount to thousands of words; witty remarks captivate the audience. Immortals outside the world leave behind orange wells (symbolizing medical virtue); flavors in the mountains suffice for making soup. This volume itself constitutes a legacy for a thousand autumns, not merely returning to plow the inkstone field.

Respectfully written by Yuan Fengtong of Yichunsheng during the mid-summer of the Dingsi year.

Looking back on two years of spiritual communion, how delightful it is to be close to such a radiant character! Composing works in famous mountains to exhaust profound mysteries; expressing intentions to save the world. Content with a small dwelling for wife and children, loving my house adorned with red ink corrections. The new compilation enriches advice for contemporary times, allowing me to glimpse unseen books first.

Written by Zhou Zaishi, younger brother of the same hometown, in mid-summer of the Wuwu year.

Curved waters surround a green stream; the remote creek land is peaceful and quiet. Dwelling far from the market, indulging in singing and whistling; having library collections for collation. A capable minister saves the times with skillful hands; miraculous prescriptions resolve ailments, clearing vision. This path has been mastered through repeated experience (breaking the arm three times); bitter words act like medicinal stones.

High-minded and broad-chested, ambitions are tranquil; not valuing wealth encourages integrity. Profound efforts result in rich literary treasures; studying Huangdi Neijing takes long years. Planting apricot groves to emulate Dong Feng; retiring among pines like Tao Qian. My frail body repeatedly benefited from benevolent arts; spring returns to the valley without needing herbal medicine.

Written by Zhang Huazheng, female scholar of Gui'an, in early autumn of the Wuwu year.

If not serving as a minister, then becoming a physician to sweep away the sores of the universe. To absorb wisdom, one must exhaust the waters of Shangchi (referring to Bian Que); illuminating diseases is like burning rhino horn (to see truth). Appealing to the Supreme Ruler, the gates of heaven open, allowing those who manage life to rival deities. I observe poisons supplied to physicians; even with three or four failures out of ten, it is secondary. If diet is uncontrolled and affairs unchecked, no wonder I harbor doubts. Alas! Wealth and status drown the heart, cauldrons tilt; profit and gain make people fly like dragons and tigers; demons distort righteousness, making it difficult and dangerous; Heaven and Earth do not interact, Kan and Li separate. Worldly affairs are like clouds thus; a pill of elixir is precious as a knife-edge measure. Master Wang returns to the Shanxi holding an inkstone, wearing plain clothes and eating simple food, gladly closing his door, writing books to explore deep mysteries, surprising the world with novelty. When the heavenly rooster crows at dawn, waking from dreams, who will transmit the seat in the famous mountains?

Written by Zhao Mengling of Renhe, courtesy name Juzhai, in mid-spring of the Jiyi year.

The先生 is naturally a dragon among men, with the Twenty-Eight Mansions arranged in his heart. The art of Qi-Huang seeks to trace back to antiquity; perhaps equaling Lu Yi and Bian Que. Occasionally composing the *Gui Yan* volume, elucidating supreme truths and opening up new paths (Cancong). Laughing at those competing for fame in the world, where prosperity is like chasing a banana deer, fleeting as a white pony passing a crevice. Serene and true like Zhang Jiying (Zhang Han); carefree just like Tao Pengze (Tao Yuanming). In a flash, changes occur tragically; watching ash fly after disasters in Wu Mountains. Shentu Zhuoshi retreated early with foresight, sealing bamboo doors in Shanxi early. The Wangchuan Villa enjoys quiet spring winds; a small boat enters a Peach Blossom Spring realm. Behind the house, one often hears the sound of oars; before the door, one watches the scenery of mulberry and elm. Returning to visit old haunts after escaping chaos, still drinking wine and discussing farming. Years ago, critical illnesses were cured; looking back, ten autumns have passed. Deeply grateful yet ashamed of inability to repay, sorrow fills my chest. Past events are desolate and hard to discuss; the homeland is now overgrown with thorns. When will wars cease in the Three Wu regions? I promise to become neighbors with you. Together we will plan to farm the inkstone field, discussing classics against the west window.

Written by Hu Yaozeng, nephew of Renhe, courtesy name Rongfu, in early summer of the Gengshen year.

Building a thatched hut deep in the Shanxi; who will heal the widespread sores? Only steadfast friends can share this burden; returning to write books that save lives.

Retreating from the world, finding joy in sleep; skilled hands bring back spring, mastering Qi-Huang arts. Compiling this small record creates a legacy for ages; inheriting the fragrance of Chongqing's遗书.

Holding scrolls by the woven window stirs travel feelings; rowing on the Shanghai River with you. Thinking of home, I am already a homeless guest; bitterly recalling the days of the Bestowed Inkstone Studio.

Written by Dai Suisun, junior scholar of Qiantang, in mid-summer of the first year of Tongzhi.