Theoretical Foundations

The origins of Chinese alchemy can be traced back to antiquity. One famous episode is the avid search for elixirs by the first emperor of China, Qin Shi Huang (reigned 221–210 BCE), who dispatched scouts to the remote islands east of his empire to look for transcendents and obtain wondrous drugs that could prolong his own life, but to no avail. Elixirs during this period were usually conceived of as magical versions of ordinary edible plants, such as mushrooms and fruits, that grew on distant mountains and islands and were extraordinary-looking.¹⁴ In the Han period that followed, the attention shifted to man-made elixirs, especially those produced from gold. Emperor Wu (reigned 141–87 BCE) is famous for his passionate pursuit of elixirs. He once summoned a fangshi named Li Shaojun, who proposed transmuting cinnabar into gold and then molding the gold into vessels. Eating food carried by these vessels, Li averred, would enhance the emperor’s life. The alchemical element is noticeable in this story, but intriguingly, it is contact with gold rather than its ingestion that promised longevity. Moreover, this material touch was only an intermediate step, helping the emperor live long enough to have visions of the otherwise invisible transcendents living on remote islands. Ritual worship of these deities would ultimately result in his escape from death.¹⁵

The episodes of Qin Shi Huang and Emperor Wu are two of the few cases of elixir pursuit in extant sources of early China. In general, references to alchemy are sporadic and obscure in antiquity.¹⁶ More systematic alchemical writings emerged in the fourth century, exemplified by the works of Ge Hong (283–343), one of the most famous alchemists in Chinese history.

Ge grew up in a family in the southeast that had served in the imperial administration for generations. Ge himself, when he was young, took up governmental service during the Western Jin dynasty (266–316) and participated in suppressing a rebellion in the south. His chief interest, though, was the cultivation of long life and the pursuit of the Dao. When he was fourteen, he followed the famed master Zheng Yin, who transmitted alchemical methods to him. Later in his life, he became keenly interested in making elixirs. In 331, learning that cinnabar was found in the southern district of Jiaozhi (in present-day northern Vietnam), he traveled southward to seek the crucial ingredient. Eventually, he withdrew to Mount Luofu (near present-day Guangzhou) and died there.¹⁷

There is no evidence that Ge actually practiced alchemy, which is likely due to the prohibitive cost of compounding elixirs.¹⁸ Yet his writings on the rationale and methods of the art were central to guiding alchemical practices in the following centuries. Before he headed to the south, Ge completed a book that summarized his thoughts on a wide range of techniques of cultivating life and achieving transcendence. The book, Inner Chapters of the Master Who Embraces the Unhewn (Baopuzi neipian; hereafter Inner Chapters), is a key source for exploring early Chinese alchemical theories.

In this work, Ge makes it abundantly clear that ingesting elixirs is the best way to prolong life and the only way to transcend death. In particular, he regards gold and cinnabar as the drugs for transcendence. He calls them “the great drugs” (dayao) in comparison to “the little drugs” (xiaoyao) that are made from herbs, claiming that “even cinnabar of low quality is far better than herbs of high quality.”¹⁹ The hierarchy is based on his reasoning that while herbs decay easily, minerals last much longer, and gold and cinnabar, being the most robust minerals, hold up as long as heaven and earth.

Why can ingesting enduring substances prolong life? This is because, Ge proposes, the body seeks external things to strengthen itself, like using fat to nourish fire or smearing the feet with verdigris (the patina of copper or bronze) so they won’t deteriorate once entering water.²⁰ In a passage describing a specific formula for preparing gold, Ge further relates that “once the gold liquid enters the mouth, the whole body becomes golden.”²¹ The materiality of gold is thus transferred to the body, making it as robust and enduring as gold itself. This rationale assumes that a thing of utterly different nature can interact with the body and drastically transform it. Embedded in this belief is the ancient philosophy that stresses the changeability of all things in the cosmos.²²

Besides the transfer of material persistence, Ge notes additional benefits of an elixir on the body: “Once gold and cinnabar enter the body, they moisten the nourishing qi and the defensive qi. The benefit is not merely like that of applying verdigris externally.”²³ The nourishing qi (rong) and the defensive qi (wei) are two types of qi circulating in the body. According to The Yellow Emperor’s Inner Classic, the nourishing qi is the essential qi of water and grain, which circulates throughout the viscera; the defensive qi is the ferocious qi of water and grain, which circulates inside the skin and in the partings of the flesh. A smooth movement of both types of qi is crucial for life.²⁴ Ge affirms that elixirs, when ingested, can moisten both kinds of qi, facilitating their flow and preventing stagnation. The statement reveals a different way of understanding an elixir’s power: it averts death by sustaining the perpetual circulation of qi in the body.

Elsewhere in Inner Chapters, Ge demonstrates his broad knowledge of healing in the domains of breath control, bodily exercise, fasting, and sexual cultivation. Although Ge considers all of these inferior to elixir-taking, he believes that they are useful techniques for sustaining health and prolonging life. Moreover, throughout his life, Ge actively sought medical formulas to treat illnesses and handle emergencies. Before finishing Inner Chapters, he had already compiled a voluminous formula book titled Formulas in the Jade Case (Yuhan fang). The text is lost, but a selection of easy-to-use remedies for treating urgent conditions has survived. The work, titled Formulas for Emergencies to Keep at Hand (Zhouhou beiji fang), was influential, as many of its prescriptions were cited by later medical texts.²⁵

Given Ge’s extensive knowledge of medicine, we might expect him to offer a discussion of the harmful effects of elixirs in his works. But he does not. Throughout Inner Chapters, Ge highlights the benefits of elixirs, claiming their superiority to all other methods for obtaining transcendence. As Ge strove to persuade readers of the unique power of elixirs and launched vigorous critiques of competing methods, such as ritual sacrifice and shamanistic practice, any mention of the harms of alchemy may have undercut his goal.²⁶ Nevertheless, the potential danger of ingesting elixirs did not go entirely unheeded. In a passage on building up the bodily constitution, Ge warns, “I am worried that before a ladle of benefit has been solidified, one proceeds with a cauldron of exhaustion. Before the holding of foundation has been achieved, one attacks [the body] with potency (du) of ice and frost.”²⁷ Du here underscores the power of “ice and frost,” a particular type of elixir. Potency matches the word “attack” (gong), which implies strength and violence. In Ge’s eyes, elixirs are powerful. The robust nature of minerals promises to forge a strong body, but this very robustness can also cause injuries. To avert the danger, one must pay attention to time; only after the body is solidly built can one safely ingest elixirs. For Ge, to obtain this foundation involves first and foremost the cultivation of the body by various techniques of breath control, therapeutic exercise, and taking herbal medicines. He considers these to be lifelong practices requiring dedication and perseverance, which explains why he planned to make elixirs only in the last years of his life. He had much to do before.

Ge’s mention of du reveals that the use of elixirs is contingent on the state of the body. The context of taking the numinous drug is as important as its content. Another key factor prior to elixir-taking is the cultivation of morality. Ge declares that if one hasn’t done enough good deeds, one cannot benefit from an elixir for transcendence. Conversely, if someone performs good deeds without ingesting an elixir, although he cannot become a transcendent, he can still avoid disasters leading to sudden death. Virtuous conduct is thus another prerequisite for enjoying the full benefit of an elixir.²⁸

Alchemy in Practice

Although Ge Hong’s writing was foundational for alchemical theories in China, no robust evidence shows that he actually ever made an elixir. In the following centuries, however, the situation changed as more alchemists put the alluring idea into practice and presented their refined products to the court to gain imperial patronage.²⁹ Emperor Ai of the Eastern Jin dynasty (reigned 361–365), for example, began ingesting such elixirs at the age of twenty-four. Following an overdose, he was rendered no longer able to understand the affairs of his country. One year later, he died.³⁰ Other emperors were more cautious. Emperor Daowu of the Northern Wei dynasty (reigned 386–409) established an office devoted to making elixirs, yet before taking any himself, he would test substances on criminals condemned to death. Many of them died. Given this discouraging outcome, the emperor himself refrained.³¹ Emperor Wenxuan of the Northern Qi dynasty (reigned 550–559) was also hesitant to take elixirs, despite his great interest. He once summoned a certain Zhang Yuanyou to compound a well-known elixir. Instead of ingesting it, the emperor kept it in a jade box and declared, “I still desire pleasures in this human world, so I cannot fly to heaven now. I will wait until I am about to die to take it.”³²

Evidently, rulers from the fourth to the sixth century adopted various strategies to handle elixirs. But before they decided on what to do with one, they needed to have it prepared first by an alchemist, most of whom, such as Zhang Yuanyou, left little trace in history.³³ Fortunately, we have more sources on the practice of another adept, who also prepared elixirs for the court. This is Tao Hongjing (456–536), a key figure in the history of medicine and the history of Daoism in China.

Besides his extensive knowledge of drugs (see chapter 1), Tao was keenly interested in alchemy. A native of the southeast, where Ge Hong had lived two centuries earlier, Tao was readily exposed to the alchemical knowledge that circulated in the region. At the age of ten, he read Ge’s Biographies of Divine Transcendents (Shenxian zhuan), a hagiography of masters who had achieved transcendence, often by taking elixirs. At twelve, he read the fourth-century alchemist Qie Yin. He was greatly inspired by these works.³⁴

In 492, at the age of thirty-six, Tao resigned from his official position at the Southern Qi court (479–502) and retired to Maoshan, near present-day Nanjing, where he dedicated himself to Daoist practices and the compilation of several treatises, including the materia medica text Collected Annotations. During the first decade of his life as a recluse, there is no evidence that Tao practiced alchemy. The situation changed in 502, though, when Emperor Wu of the Liang dynasty (reigned 502–549) established a new regime in the south. Although Tao lived in the mountains, he did not entirely cut off connections to the outside world, instead maintaining good relations with the court and offering valuable advice for state affairs at the emperor’s request. As a result, he gained the reputation of being “the chancellor in the mountains.”³⁵ The new emperor was also interested in elixirs and requested Tao to compound one for him.

Imperial sponsorship was central to Tao’s alchemy, because certain ingredients were costly and difficult to acquire. Hence Tao did not start the practice until he had gained full support from Emperor Wu, who granted a lavish supply of gold, cinnabar, laminar malachite, and realgar.³⁶ With all the resources at hand and with the help of three disciples, Tao made a series of attempts between 505 and 519 to compound an elixir in Maoshan.³⁷

The elixir that Tao tried to make is called Reverted Elixir in Nine Cycles (Jiuzhuan Huandan), and its preparation involved a ninety-day operation, with seven cycles of heating. The required ingredients were the seven minerals of kalinite (fanshi), laminar malachite (cengqing), quartz (bai shiying), cinnabar (dansha), realgar (xionghuang), orpiment (cihuang), and mercury (shuiyin). Tao first made an earthenware crucible that consisted of two dome-shaped halves connected by their mouths; it could hold three and a half pecks (about ten liters) of starting materials. Near an east-flowing stream, he then built a chamber that was forty feet long and twenty feet wide, and had a four-foot-high foundation. He constructed the stove at the center of the chamber, with an iron stand to hold the crucible nine inches from the stove.

After all these preparations, he started the operation, adding into the lower half of the crucible one pound of kalinite, three pounds of laminar malachite, two pounds of quartz, ten pounds of cinnabar, four pounds of realgar, and five pounds of orpiment. He then poured six pounds of mercury over the ingredients. After this, he covered it with the other half of the crucible and luted the two parts tightly. He placed the well-sealed container on the iron stand, lit the fire underneath, and kept the fire six inches from the bottom of the crucible for nine days and nine nights. He then gradually built up the fire over time so that it reached different levels of the crucible: three inches below its bottom, three inches above its bottom, three inches above its belly, five inches above its belly, and one inch under the seal of its two halves. At each level, the heating lasted for nine days and nine nights. He then extinguished the fire and allowed the crucible to cool for ten days. Afterward, he lit the fire again so it reached the level of half an inch under the seal of the crucible and maintained it for thirty-six days. Altogether, the operation took ninety days. He then stopped the fire and let the crucible cool for seven days before opening it and collecting the product adhering to its upper half. He had made an elixir.³⁸

At the beginning of 506, Tao completed his first trial of compounding the Reverted Elixir in Nine Cycles. When he opened the crucible, however, he did not see the desired product. He repeated the whole operation once more, but still with no success. Tao blamed the failures on the unfavorable environment of Maoshan, where a recent flood of pilgrims had corrupted the sacred place. The lack of isolation from the mundane world, in his view, was a serious problem for the work of alchemists. To improve the situation, he left Maoshan in 508 and traveled around the southeast to find a better place for his alchemical mission.³⁹

The History of the Sui offers a different explanation for Tao’s failures.⁴⁰ Many of his ingredients came from northern regions, which at the time were controlled by a separate (Northern Wei) regime. The great difficulty of obtaining these materials from the north forced people in the south to use substitutes that were easier to acquire but of inferior quality. For example, one important ingredient in Tao’s operation was realgar, an arsenic compound that came from the valley of Wudu in the northwest (in present-day Gansu). Because the northern regime was powerful, the flow of realgar from Wudu was cut off, making the material hard to obtain.⁴¹ In his Collected Annotations, Tao notes that the price of authentic realgar during his days was equivalent to that of gold, due to the difficulty of obtaining it. He also observes that servants of aristocratic families often stole cinnabar and amethyst from their masters and sold the purloined goods at high prices on the market, suggesting a great demand for such materials at the time.⁴² Although there sporadically existed markets that sold medicinal materials along the border, and there is record of some drug smuggling from the north to the south, alchemical practices often demanded large amounts of substances and repeated trials, for which these unstable channels may not have offered sufficient supply. Material constraints thwarted Tao’s ambition.⁴³

But how did Tao know that he had failed to make the elixir? In fact, Tao seemed close to his goal; every time he opened the crucible, he saw a product with the color of “frosty aurora” (shuanghua), which convinced his disciples that it was a success. Tao disagreed, insisting that all supreme elixirs should radiate variegated colors. For example, the Elixir of Langgan displayed thirty-seven types of color, the Elixir of Quchen one hundred different colors. And the aurora of the Elixir of Golden Liquid of Great Clarity resembled “the falling stars that fly to the moon and the clouds embroidered with nine colors.” In the case of the Reverted Elixir in Nine Cycles, he would expect it to display nine colors of sublimated essence, with flowing light radiating brightly. But what he actually obtained after years of effort possessed a cloudy aurora whose color and shape resembled “frost and snow” (shuangxue) without variegated colors. For Tao, this was a clear sign of failure.⁴⁴

The biography of Tao further cites a text referred to as Instructions on Elixirs (Danjue) to explain his assessment: “If a completed elixir does not radiate variegated colors, it is an elixir with du. One who ingests it will ‘die temporarily’ (zansi). Then, in a moment, he will rise and disappear.”⁴⁵ Similar to its meaning in medical works, the concept of du in Chinese alchemy was also paradoxical. On the one hand, the elixir could trigger a momentary death, and the body would eventually vanish, a sure sign of transcendence. On the other hand, due to its imperfect preparation, the monochromatic elixir couldn’t enable the highest level of transcendence, a goal that Tao strove for. In 519, fourteen years after he initiated the alchemical operation, Tao received a revelation. A deity descended and informed him of the futility of his elixir-making undertaking. The deity plainly told him that no one ascended to heaven in broad daylight by ingesting elixirs. Five years later, after seven attempts, Tao halted the enterprise altogether.⁴⁶

Unlike some of his fellow alchemists, Tao never ingested a potent elixir.⁴⁷ His extensive drug knowledge, manifested in his Collected Annotations, might have directed him to take a more cautious attitude toward potent minerals.⁴⁸ More influential, though, is the crucial role that Tao played in the formation of a new sect of Daoism in fifth-century southeast China. Called “the Highest Clarity” (Shangqing), this new movement emphasized techniques of bodily cultivation, such as meditation, breathing, and inner visualization, to achieve transcendence.⁴⁹ Although they still recognized the wonder of alchemy, Highest Clarity adepts believed that the supreme level of accomplishment would be that of “the perfected” (zhenren), whose transcendence would be superior to that achieved by taking elixirs. Importantly, one could only reach the level of the perfected by practicing Highest Clarity techniques.⁵⁰ As a central figure in the early development of the Highest Clarity, Tao, after he retired to Maoshan, devoted himself to formulating its texts and practicing its bodily techniques. This does not mean that he denied the power of elixirs altogether, and it is probably not true that his alchemical practices were the exclusive result of imperial coercion. But he remained more cautious than some of his fellow alchemists. For Tao, there was no rush to ingest these potent drugs, since they were not the only means—and certainly not the best means—for achieving transcendence.

Taming Elixirs

Despite the rise of alternative paths to transcendence in Tao’s time, alchemy in China persisted and even flourished in the following centuries. This is partly due to the increased accessibility of alchemical ingredients, facilitated by the Sui-Tang unification. Easy access to minerals reduced their price dramatically. For instance, realgar, a key alchemical ingredient, cost as much as gold in Tao’s days. But during the Tang period, it could be easily obtained in the northwestern Wudu region and carried to the capital. Its price was “as low as that of tiles and stones”—not even worth the cost of transport.⁵¹ The reduced price of ingredients made alchemy more affordable, contributing to its popularity. In addition, the expansion of the Tang empire to the western regions fostered trade along the Silk Road and the importing of substances from foreign lands. New minerals flowed into the empire, some of them highly valued by alchemists. Lead from Persia, for example, was considered superior to that from China for compounding elixirs.⁵² Tang alchemists also treasured asbestos (buhui mu) from Persia, which was often used to detoxify mercury.⁵³ These new materials enriched alchemists’ arsenals, galvanizing them to explore new ways of making elixirs.⁵⁴

Because of lowered prices and the diversification of ingredients, alchemy was no longer a privileged enterprise for emperors and became possible for interested aristocrats and literati. As a result, we find writings by many Tang elites about their alchemical experience—even the famous poet Li Bai (701–762) dabbled in the practice.⁵⁵ Besides textual evidence, archeological finds also testify to the popularity of alchemy during the Tang period. Among them is an excavation from a site in Chang’an, the Tang capital, where two earthen jars containing more than a thousand items were discovered. The site has been identified as the residence of Li Shouli (672–741), a cousin of Emperor Xuanzong (reigned 712–756). Dating to the end of the eighth century, these items, likely owned by Li’s descendants, offer a rich view of the material culture of Tang aristocrats.⁵⁶

Among the miscellaneous items in the jars were dietary utensils, decorations, coins, and instruments for preparing medicines, as well as cinnabar of seven types probably for conducting alchemy. They were brilliant purple cinnabar, large-piece brilliant cinnabar (figure 7.1, left), brilliant crumbled cinnabar, red-glowing cinnabar, inferior brilliant cinnabar, cinnabar, and pit cinnabar. These fine differentiations, based on the quality of the material, indicates the rising connoisseurship of this key alchemical ingredient during the Tang period. In addition, the collection also contained four silver, pomegranate-shaped jars that were likely employed as heating vessels in alchemy (figure 7.1, right). In fact, traces of burning are still visible on the exterior of these jars. These substances and artifacts provide us with a concrete sense of alchemical practices in Tang China.

The flourishing of alchemy during the Tang dynasty led to the proliferation of texts on both the theoretical and technical aspects of the practice. These texts discuss the potency of the ingredients more extensively and present various methods to curb their power.⁵⁷ An important treatise on this subject is Instructions on the Scripture of the Divine Elixirs of the Nine Tripods of the Yellow Emperor (Huangdi jiuding shendan jingjue; hereafter Instructions on the Scripture). The twenty-scroll text consists of a core (the first scroll) on alchemical methods that was probably produced during the Han period, followed by elaborate instructions added in the seventh century. The author(s) of these instructions is unknown, but given the repeated use of the term “your servant” (chen) throughout the text, a typical self-reference when addressing the ruler, it is possible that the treatise was presented to the court to solicit imperial interest.⁵⁸

Overall, Instructions on the Scripture considers most minerals for making elixirs potent. The text claims that the various top-level minerals mostly contain potent qi (duqi). Hence things made from them would be harmful, like drinking the alcohol laced with zhen to quench thirst and consuming poisonous meat to avert hunger. One desires benefits but is instead badly damaged.⁵⁹ The statement clearly refers to the drug classification system according to which the materia medica literature was then organized. Yet while the majority of the top-level minerals in Chinese pharmacy were defined as nonpotent, the alchemical treatise regarded these materials as possessing potent qi, which could quickly injure the body. To produce a safe elixir, the text implied, one had to subdue its puissant ingredients.

Another example was cinnabar, an essential ingredient in the making of elixirs. From the Han period on, Chinese alchemists had been recognizing its potential to change into mercury and then back to cinnabar again. This unique transformation between a vermillion solid mineral and a white metallic fluid made them prime substances for alchemists.⁶⁰ Consequently, cinnabar and mercury were often discussed together in alchemical and medical sources. Collected Annotations places them one after another in the top group, stressing their value for enhancing life. Curiously, this materia medica text defines mercury, but not cinnabar, as possessing du.⁶¹ Instructions on the Scripture challenges this view:

People see in materia medica texts that cinnabar does not possess du, so they say that it does not injure people. They do not know that mercury is derived from cinnabar and possesses great du. Hence materia medica texts say: “Mercury is the spirit of cinnabar and emerges out of it.” If the branch possesses du, how does the root not too?⁶²

This appears a plausible reasoning, given how the two substances were intimately connected.⁶³

The danger of minerals prompted Tang alchemists to develop a variety of methods to mollify their potency. For example, Instructions on the Scripture offers a series of guidelines for preparing mercury, the “pivot of elixirs.”⁶⁴ First, it recommends heating. Here the technical term fuhuo invites scrutiny. Scholars have translated it as “fixed by fire,” referring to a heating technique that prevents the evaporation of volatile minerals.⁶⁵ But there is a second meaning to the term. Given the frequent use of “fiery poison” (huodu) in alchemical writings to designate the heating power of certain minerals, fuhuo may also mean “subdue fire.” The technique of fuhuo then seeks not only to preserve the ingredients but also to make them less potent. The heating often takes a long time, with assorted substances added in sequence. In one method, an adept starts with boiling mercury in a solution of crude halotrichite (huangfanshi) until the solution completely evaporates. He then boils pulverized magnetite (cishi) in water and pours the liquid onto the ashes of burned cow dung and burned asbestos. This is followed by boiling the prepared mercury in the resulting solution for one day and one night. He continues boiling the product with vinegar for another day and night, with alcohol and honey for a further day and night, and with butter for three days and three nights. Finally, he steams it with millet for three days and three nights. After this long process, mercury becomes “utterly devoid of poison, so one can use it for making myriad elixirs, the ingesting of which confers transcendence.”⁶⁶

The use of vinegar (zuowei) in this method is noteworthy. In pharmacological writings, vinegar often serves as an antidote that can “kill malevolent poisons.” Alcohol and honey could be used to similar ends.⁶⁷ But vinegar was special in alchemical practices because it was one of the three yang drugs that were deemed essential for eliminating poison in mercury and lead.⁶⁸ A central rationale for alchemy during the Tang period was to reverse the cosmic unfolding inside a crucible, and to return differentiated forms of matter to their original oneness. This oneness was often imagined as a state of pure yang, before undergoing a series of yin-yang differentiations.⁶⁹ Using yang drugs, by this logic, would add yang force into the alchemical ingredients and facilitate their return to the state of pure yang. In this regard, time was also important. Instructions on the Scripture emphasizes that one must prepare mercury at the time of yang, namely, on the odd days of the year, during the odd hours of the day. In particular, the fifth day of the fifth month and the seventh day of the seventh month were the best times for the practice, as they were the hottest yang times in the summer. If one failed to observe these rules, the poison in mercury would not be eliminated and the resultant elixir would be fatal.⁷⁰

In addition to taming elixirs during their preparation, Tang alchemists were also cautious about how to ingest these powerful drugs. In particular, they paid keen attention to dosage. Instructions on the Scripture warns that if one takes an elixir in the amount of one tip of the jade-knife (0.2 g), one will die temporarily for half a day or so and then come back to life as if waking up from sleep, a condition that the text considers extremely dangerous. To avert the danger of overdose, the text advises that one must follow formulas and instead use the size of half a millet grain as the measurement, which is one sixty-fourth of the jade-knife dose.⁷¹ This sensitivity to dosage echoes Chinese physicians’ cautious attitude in pharmaceutical practice; for example, The Divine Farmer’s Classic recommends the size of a millet grain as the starting point for administering potent drugs.⁷² The similarity indicates shared knowledge of dosage control between alchemical and medical texts.

Moreover, the term “temporary death” (zansi) merits attention. We encountered this term in Tao Hongjing’s biography, where it signals transcendence—not the highest accomplishment in Tao’s view but a level of transcendence nonetheless. In the Tang text, however, the term implies a state of coma, a condition that reminds us of the opening episode, where the general fell into a similar state of unconsciousness after taking an elixir. The amount he ingested, twenty thousand pellets, clearly indicates overdose, which led to his collapse. This change in the meaning of “temporary death,” from a sign of transcendence to a symptom of bodily crisis, reveals a heightened awareness of the danger of elixirs during the Tang period.

Elixirated Bodies

It is evident that Instructions on the Scripture relies on bodily signs to gauge the proper use of elixirs. This attention to their effects on the body was not new in the Tang period; throughout the long history of Chinese alchemy, many adepts noted the often violent impact of their refined drugs on the body and offered various interpretations. Study of these elixirated bodies offers a revealing view of the power of medicines through the lens of self-transformation.

In the early years of alchemy, an elixirated body often evoked wonder and awe. One biographical record recounts that in the last days of his life on Mount Luofu, Ge Hong sent a letter to his friend Deng Yue, in which he wrote of a plan to depart soon to distant lands to seek a master. Deng hastened to Mount Luofu to see his friend off, only to find that Ge had already died. Though no longer alive, Ge’s face still had the hue of the living and his body was supple. When his corpse was carried, it felt extremely light, as if there was nothing there but his clothes. People said that Ge had become a transcendent by “corpse deliverance” (shijie).⁷³

Shijie is a term, often found in early Daoist hagiographies, that depicts the death of an accomplished master. The body of the master vanishes soon after his death, only leaving some paraphernalia behind, such as clothes, swords, and talismans. The master then reappears somewhere far away, roaming under a different name. Early Daoist texts often explain shijie as a process similar to how a snake molts its skin or a cicada leaves behind its shell, which implies metamorphosis. The analogies signal that the master’s death is only apparent; he has actually achieved transcendence.⁷⁴

Yet it merits our attention that Ge Hong considered shijie an inferior way to obtain transcendence. In his Inner Chapters, he cites a certain Classic of Transcendents to the effect that those who raise their bodies and ascend to the void are superior masters, those who roam in famous mountains are mid-level masters, and those who die first and metamorphose later, namely attaining shijie, are only inferior masters.⁷⁵ In this hierarchy, those who have achieved transcendence through shijie still linger in the human world. Ge further explains that the dose of an elixir determines the obtainable level of transcendence: taking half a dose, one remains in the human realm; with a full dose, one ascends to the celestial world. But then wouldn’t everyone choose the latter? Not necessarily. Ge points out that because the bureaucratic work in heaven is so taxing, especially for the new transcendents, many prefer to stay below for some time to enjoy the carefree life of the human world.⁷⁶ Achieving shijie thus offers its own advantages.

Other sources present shijie differently. The History of the Song (fifth century) recounts a story of a general named Sun Liang who, in 472, asked a Daoist master to make an elixir for him. The alchemist produced the elixir but had not yet eliminated its “fiery poison” (huodu). Ignoring the master’s warning, Sun enthusiastically ingested the elixir. Upon eating a full meal, he felt that “his heart became agitated as if being pierced” (xin dong ru ci), and he died soon after. Later, people saw him riding a white horse to the west with scores of followers, which was a clear sign of shijie. In this episode, shijie still promised transcendence, but at a price: a painful sensation induced by the heating power of the elixir.⁷⁷

The agonies of the elixirated body also appear in the writings of Tao Hongjing. In his Declarations of the Perfected (Zhen’gao), a Daoist compendium based on a series of celestial revelations that circulated in the southeast during the fourth century, he describes a certain Leaving Your Belt Behind Powder by the Perfected of Grand Supreme (Taiji Zhenren Yidai San):

Upon ingesting one tip of the jade-knife of the white powder, one suddenly feels piercing pain in the heart. In the following three days, he has a craving for water. Having drunk a full hu of water, his qi is exhausted.⁷⁸ The exhaustion of qi is death. After the burial, his corpse disappears, leaving only the clothes behind. He has become a transcendent, releasing his belt in broad daylight.⁷⁹

Similar to Sun’s case, the elixir induced violent bodily sensations: severe pain in the heart and intense thirst, the latter probably caused by the heat released by the elixir. Compared to the depiction of shijie in Daoist hagiographies, which highlights the extraordinary look of the body and its miraculous disappearance after death, the examples above shift the focus to the experience of the body before death. This altered perception of the elixirated body stresses the paradox of du: the power of an elixir is manifested in the painful bodily experience it induces, though this does not hinder its ultimate goal of potentiating transcendence.

But despite their alluring promise, the torments triggered by powerful elixirs made the journey to transcendence a daunting one. As a result, we find records of alchemists who did not dare to ingest elixirs. In his Declarations of the Perfected, Tao tells a story in which four adepts made an elixir together. Two of them ingested it and died. The other two were frightened and decided not to take the elixir—only to realize later that their fellows had become transcendents. The theme of the tale—overcoming an apparent death to achieve transcendence—is typical of Daoist hagiographies of the time, but it clearly shows misgivings about elixir-taking among alchemists.⁸⁰

Later Tang alchemical texts offer more detailed descriptions of the bodily experience of elixir-taking. Particularly relevant is a treatise titled The Record from the Stone Wall of the Great Clarity (Taiqing shibi ji; hereafter The Record from the Stone Wall), compiled in 758 or 759 by a certain Master Chuze based on a late sixth-century source.⁸¹ The text contains a collection of alchemical formulas together with the rules of ingesting elixirs and descriptions of their effects on the body. Distinctively, it depicts the various elixirs as capable not only of triggering transcendence but also of curing myriad illnesses. A section titled “Sensations and Stirrings upon Ingesting Elixirs” (Fudan juechu) observes:

After ingesting the elixir, one feels his body and face itching as if worms are crawling there. His hands and feet are swollen. He finds that food stinks, and eating makes him nauseated and vomit. His four limbs are weak. Sometimes he has diarrhea; sometimes he vomits. He has headache and pain in the abdomen. One should not take these signs amiss. They manifest the efficacy of the elixir to eliminate illnesses.⁸²

This is a vivid account of the violent effects of the elixir on the body, including pain, fierce draining, and confusion of the senses. Compared to earlier records that highlight heart pain, the account here depicts the elixir’s forceful impact all over the body, experiences that are not considered pathological but signs of therapeutic efficacy. To support this interpretation, the text cites an ancient aphorism on potent drugs: “If a medicine does not cause dizziness, it cannot cure illness.”⁸³ The violent responses provoked by an elixir do not signal pathology but testify to its healing power.

To elucidate this point, The Record from the Stone Wall further correlates bodily experiences with the curing of specific illnesses. The text predicts that fifteen days after ingesting an elixir, one should feel an unusual sensation in the body followed by vomiting fluid that is mostly mucus and saliva. This is when a latent illness in the abdomen, between the Spleen and the Lungs, is manifested. In another case, one develops headache and dizziness, with dry lips and a burning face, and the eyes shed tears and mucus runs from the nose, all of which reveal a latent illness of “hot wind.” In yet another case, the elixir loosens the bowels and provokes frequent urination, the ceaseless draining of pus and blood, and the purging of various worms. In this case, an illness of the triple jiao has been brought to the surface.⁸⁴ And the list goes on. In the end, the text reassures readers that they should not mistake these powerful reactions for anything other than manifestations of the circulation of the elixir’s qi. As one obtains the power of the numinous medicine, these experiences signify the agitation of the illness.⁸⁵ The word “agitation” (dong) implies that the illness is latent in the body, only to be brought out of dormancy by the potent elixir. Many of the effects—vomiting, mucus, tears, diarrhea, and worms—indicate the purging of harmful material. These intense experiences are thus understood as a process of purification, that is, the agitation and elimination of dormant pathological agents so as to heal the body.⁸⁶

What did the purification of the body have to do with transcendence? Transcendence is the ultimate goal, which The Record from the Stone Wall fully recognizes. Earlier narratives often portray the effects of an elixir on the body as excruciating and extreme, leading to quick death. In this text, an elixir could still induce intense reactions, but not immediate demise, likely due to careful preparation and dosage regulation, as discussed above. As a result, one would have time to experience the unfolding effects of the elixir and contemplate its impact on the body; the perception of the elixir as a healing agent might well be a product of this prolonged experience. Eliminating latent illnesses purifies the body, which paves the way for one’s eventual transcendence.

Finally, although The Record from the Stone Wall interprets the sensations of an elixirated body in a positive light, these effects could become pathological if they persist too long. An uncomfortable bodily experience should only last temporarily; after the malady is removed, one should begin to feel normal again. For example, the text counsels that if one still vomits and endures diarrhea eight days after taking the elixir, one should then alleviate the symptoms by applying cooling therapies, such as eating cold porridges and washing the body with cold water.⁸⁷ These methods resemble those for managing Five-Stone Powder (see chapter 6). In both cases, potent minerals were used to cure sickness, and the experience of the body became a crucial marker for monitoring and managing the therapeutic outcome of the medicine.

Conclusion

Scholars have often situated the ideas and practices of elixir-taking within a significant transition in Chinese religious history, which was characterized by a shift of focus from outer alchemy to inner alchemy. Inner alchemy refers to a variety of meditative techniques that shared the language and goals of outer alchemy but replaced consuming substances with the cultivation of qi in the body. These two types of practice coexisted early in history, but after the tenth century, inner alchemy became the dominant form of attaining transcendence among Daoist practitioners.⁸⁸ Elixir poisoning probably played an important role in this transition, as suggested by alchemists’ various, and sometimes contentious, ways of explaining the power of elixirs. Such power was often understood through the paradox of du, for which different alchemists offered distinct interpretations.

The effects of du in Ge Hong’s writing hinged on the precondition of the body: only after an adept had built a robust constitution could he enjoy the benefits of a potent elixir. For Tao Hongjing, on the other hand, an elixir with du, marked by its monochromatic hue, resulted from the lack of prime ingredients or from ritual pollution. Despite its inferior quality, such an elixir could still promise a low level of transcendence. By contrast, Tang alchemists took care to emphasize the danger of ingredients such as mercury. Du in their works connoted the heating power of these minerals, which had to be adequately tamed. As a result, they developed a series of methods to detoxify the ingredients, moderate the dose, and manage the effects of elixirs.

Moreover, accompanying the different understandings of the power of an elixir were the varied perceptions of an elixirated body. For Ge Hong, the robust materiality of an elixir could be readily transferred to the body, making it similarly strong. Such an imperishable body elicited wonder and drew admiration, and its miraculous disappearance in the form of shijie further enhanced the appeal of the elixir. Other sources, such as those compiled by Tao Hongjing, depict the experience of shijie as acutely painful, making some alchemists hesitant to ingest the elixir. Undaunted devotees, however, took the experience as a necessary step toward their ultimate transcendence. Furthermore, certain Tang accounts of elixir-induced sensations were framed in a therapeutic light; elaborate and specific, they include vomiting, diarrhea, and purging worms. These violent experiences, though, were interpreted approvingly, as signs of purifying the body and potentiating its transformation.

Finally, it is important to point out that alchemists such as Ge Hong, Tao Hongjing, and Sun Simiao were also well versed in medicine and wrote influential medical texts.⁸⁹ Admittedly, their medical writings focus on curing illness and sustaining health rather than seeking transcendence. Nevertheless, certain knowledge was relevant for both types of pursuit. For example, the potency of minerals, well recognized in medical works, was a foundation from which alchemists could fathom the power of elixirs. In many ways, alchemists’ handling of elixirs was similar to how physicians managed potent drugs such as Five-Stone Powder: both generated intense heat inside the body, both required careful administration, and both could easily turn into deadly poisons. Although the practices of ingesting elixirs and Five-Stone Powder died out by the end of the Tang period, the therapeutic use of potent minerals, and potent substances in general, lived on and remained vital to Chinese medicine for centuries to come.