Laozi said: The ruler is the heart of a state; when the heart is well governed, all parts are at peace. When the heart is disturbed, all parts fall into disorder. Therefore, in one who governs himself well, his limbs act without conscious effort; in a well-governed state, rulers and ministers forget each other's existence.

Laozi studied under Changzong. He observed the tongue and thus learned to preserve softness; he looked upward at the beams and trees, then stepped back to gaze at the river, observing his reflection and thereby understanding how to remain in a secondary position. Hence, the sage said: do not follow blindly; always stay behind rather than lead. It is like piling firewood for a blaze—the last piece placed ends up on top.

Laozi said: The clapper of a bell is destroyed by its own sound; the tallow candle is melted by its own brightness. Tigers and leopards, because of their beautiful patterns, are shot at; macaques, because of their agility, are captured. Therefore, the brave and martial perishes through being overbearing, and the eloquent scholar is trapped by his wisdom. One who can use intelligence to know, but cannot use intelligence to recognize what is unknown—such a person, though skilled in one ability and perceptive of one argument, may be convinced by partial reasoning, but cannot respond broadly or comprehensively.

Laozi said: The Dao takes non-action as its form; it cannot be seen in shape, nor heard in sound. This is called the profound and obscure. The profound and obscure are used to discuss the Dao, but they are not the Dao itself. Dao is inwardly observed and reflected upon; therefore, a person who does not pursue minor learning does not fall into great confusion, one who does not seek petty cleverness does not become greatly foolish. Do not look for reflection in flowing water, but in still water; it is because stillness preserves itself and remains undisturbed from the outside. On the full moon, its light is diminished; yin cannot sustain yang. When the sun rises, stars are visible but cannot contend with its brightness—thus, the lesser cannot surpass the fundamental, nor can a branch exceed the trunk in size. If the upper part is heavy and the lower part light, it will surely topple easily. One abyss does not house two dragons; one female does not have two males. When there is one, things are settled; when there are two, contention arises. Jade in the mountain makes the grass and trees moist; pearls born in deep waters keep the shore from drying up. The earthworm has no strong sinews or bones, nor sharp claws or teeth. It feeds on dust above and drinks from the yellow springs below—this is because its mind is single-minded. Clarity brings brightness; in clear water, one can see the eye of a fish. Turbidity causes harm; even the Yellow River cannot reveal Mount Tai when muddied. Orchids and sweet flag do not lose their fragrance just because no one wears them; boats on rivers and seas do not sink merely because no one sails them. A gentleman who practices the Dao does not become angry simply because no one knows him—this is inherent to his nature. To enter turbidity with clarity will surely lead to distress and disgrace; to enter clarity with turbidity will certainly result in collapse. When two atmospheric forces meet in the sky, a rainbow forms; when two earth energies converge, there is leakage or concealment; when two human energies clash, illness arises. Yin and yang cannot remain constant—days of winter become summer, the moon does not know day, the sun does not know night. Rivers that are wide have large fish; mountains that are high have tall trees; lands that are vast have thick virtue. Therefore, fish cannot be caught without bait, and beasts cannot be lured with empty traps. Mountains with fierce beasts see their trees left uncut; gardens with stinging insects see their chrysanthemums and legumes left unpicked. A state with virtuous ministers can repel conflict from a thousand li away. Those who understand the Dao move as a wheel turns within its hub—without exerting force themselves, they can travel a thousand li, beginning again after each end, circling endlessly back to their origin. Therefore, if one promotes the crooked along with the upright, how can justice be achieved? If one elevates the upright alongside the crooked, do not allow them to proceed together. A bird is about to come; one spreads a net in anticipation. The bird that is caught does so through just one mesh of the net. If, however, only one mesh were made into a net, there would be no way to catch the bird. Thus, some matters cannot be anticipated by previous standards, and some things cannot be foreseen beforehand; therefore, sages cultivate the Dao and await the right time. Therefore, one who wishes to catch fish must first clear the streambed; one who desires birds must first plant trees. When water accumulates, fish gather; when trees flourish, birds assemble. To capture a fish is not by carrying it into the depths, nor to obtain a monkey by lifting it up a tree—it is simply by allowing things to follow their natural inclinations and advantages. The foot treads only on the shallow, yet it must rely on what is untrodden in order to move forward. The mind knows much that is familiar, yet it depends on what is unknown to achieve true understanding. When the river dries up, its valley becomes empty; when hills are leveled, deep ravines become blocked. When lips are gone, teeth feel cold. The Yellow River is deep, yet courtesy resides in the mountains. Still water becomes clear; when clear, it is level; when level, it is easy to observe; and when easy to observe, the shapes of objects become visible. Since forms cannot be altered, still water can thus serve as a standard for correctness. Leaves fall because the wind shakes them; water becomes turbid because objects stir it. The smoothness of jade and bronze vessels is due to polishing, and the sharpness of the Moye sword that can cut through things comes from sharpening. A swift horse and a fine steed can travel a thousand li without flying, and need no provisions yet do not hunger. When a cunning rabbit is caught, the hunting dogs are cooked; when all high-flying birds are gone, the finest bows are stored away. To achieve fame, accomplish success, and then withdraw—this is the way of Heaven. Anger arises from not being angry; action comes from inaction. Looking as if there is nothing to see allows one to perceive what truly exists; listening as if there is no sound enables one to hear what is genuinely present. Flying birds return to their homeland; hares run back to their burrows; foxes, when dying, turn their heads toward the hill where they were born; cicadas in cold weather cling to trees—each returns to what it was born into. Water and fire hate each other, yet a tripod placed between them allows harmony. The five flavors blend into balance; bones and flesh love one another. But when slanderers intervene, even father and son become threats to each other. Dogs and pigs eat without choosing their food, growing fatter as a result, and thus drawing closer to death. The phoenix soars above ten thousand feet—none can bring it down. A wall may be solid and thick enough to block a hundred things, yet cannot protect itself from being struck; the eye can see a hundred paces ahead but cannot see its own eyelashes. By building upon high ground to form a mountain, it becomes stable and not dangerous; by digging into low ground to create a pond, it becomes deep and attracts fish and turtles. A ditch, when flooded, overflows; when dry, it dries up. The rivers and seas, however, have deep sources that never run out. The turtle has no ears, yet its eyes cannot be obscured—this is due to its clarity of vision; The blind person has no sight, yet his ears cannot be blocked—this is due to his acute hearing. Is this murky and turbid water suitable for washing my feet? The clear, cold water—can it be used to rinse my tassels? Silk spun into gauze may become a hat or sandals; when made into a hat, it is worn on the head with honor; when made into sandals, it is trampled upon by feet. Metal's nature overcomes wood, yet a single blade cannot destroy an entire forest of trees; Earth's nature overcomes water, yet a handful cannot block the rivers and streams; Water's nature overcomes fire, yet a single ladle cannot save a cartload of firewood. In winter there may be thunder, in summer hail; cold and heat do not alter their seasons. Frost and snow fall heavily, yet melt away when the sun rises. That which is tilted is easily overturned; that which leans is easily toppled. What is precarious is easily aided to fall; what is damp is easily rained upon. Orchids and sweet-flag, because of their fragrance, cannot withstand frost. Toad venom applied as medicine has its potency only on the fifteenth day of May. One who exhausts his essence is easily harmed in the middle; flowers that bloom out of season bear fruit that is not edible. Which wears out first, the tongue or the teeth? Which is straightened first, the rope or the arrow? It is the form that causes the shadow to be curved; it is the sound that causes the echo to be muddied. One who shares in the illness of death finds it hard to have a skilled physician; one who walks the same path as a fallen state cannot expect loyal counsel. If one makes a singer play the yu flute and an artisan cover its holes, even if the rhythm is correct, it can still be played to destruction—thus the ruler's form perishes. The deaf do not sing, having no way to find joy for themselves; the blind do not observe, having no means to engage with things. One who walks through a forest cannot follow a straight path; one who travels on perilous ground cannot walk as if on a plumb line. The sea, because it receives all that flows into it, is thus able to be great. The sun does not rise twice at once; a fox does not have two males; the divine dragon has no mate; fierce beasts do not travel in flocks; birds of prey do not fly in pairs. A roof cannot shade from the sun without rafters, and a wheel cannot move swiftly without spokes—thus, neither rafters nor wheels alone are sufficient to rely upon. A bow can shoot, but without a string it cannot release an arrow; the act of shooting is only one-tenth accomplished by the arrow itself. starving horse in the stable remains silent and indifferent, but when fodder is cast nearby, a spirit of competition arises. A three-inch tube without a spout cannot be filled by the whole world; a ten-measure vessel with a stopper, and even a hundred bamboos, would suffice. Following a plumb line to cut ensures no excess; using a balance to measure ensures no error. Applying ancient laws by analogy may sometimes succeed, and employing established standards may at times be applied—but if one acts solely on what seems right without discernment, this is called disorder. The farmer toils while the gentleman provides sustenance; the foolish speak, but the wise select. When a matter is clearly understood, it should be treated like jade or stone—firm and unyielding. But when understanding is obscure, one must retain his plans for later use. The brightness of a hundred stars is not equal to the light of one moon; opening ten windows does not rival the illumination of a single door. The venomous snake cannot serve as a foot, nor can the tiger become wings. Now there is a space six chi wide: lying down and crossing it is easy for an inferior person; standing up and leaping over it is difficult even for a superior one—this shows how circumstances alter ease and difficulty. Those who assist in the sacrifice may taste of it; those who intervene in a fight may be injured. Sheltering under an ill-omened tree brings one to be struck by thunder and lightning. The sun and moon wish to shine, yet murky clouds cover them; the Yellow River wishes to be clear, yet silt and soil pollute it. Clusters of orchids wish to flourish, yet autumn winds destroy them. Human nature desires tranquility, yet desires harm it. To remain unblinded while covered in dust is impossible—purity cannot be attained. Gold and jade turtles with clasps are worn as pendants by the virtuous; fertile soil spread upon the land becomes wealth for the capable. Therefore, giving gold and jade to the weak is not as beneficial as giving them a single strip of silk. The hub is hollow and holds thirty spokes, each contributing its strength. If one spoke alone were inserted, all the others would be discarded—how could such a wheel reach even near or distant places? Tangerines and pomelos grow in their native regions; reeds and bulrushes cluster together. Beasts with similar feet travel together, and birds with like wings fly in company. If one wishes to observe the lands of the Nine Provinces, yet has not traveled a thousand li with his feet; if he lacks the foundation of governance and moral instruction, yet desires to be above all the people—this is indeed difficult! The fierce are captured; the cautious are shot. Therefore, great brightness appears as disgrace, and vast virtue seems insufficient. The gentleman has wine, the petty man strikes a clay pot; though it may not be pleasing, it can at least avoid disgrace. Human nature prefers soft silk and cotton, yet when attacked one puts on armor—enduring what is uncomfortable in order to gain security and convenience. Thirty spokes share one hub, each fitting into its own hole without overlapping—just as ministers of a ruler each guard their respective duties. A good leader who uses people well is like the feet of a ●—numerous yet not harming one another; like the tongue and teeth, firm and soft rubbing against each other without mutual destruction. Stone is born hard, orchids are born fragrant; possessing these qualities from youth, one becomes even more enlightened with age. Supporting and lifting up, declining and yielding, gaining and losing, promising and ceasing—these are separated by a thousand li in meaning. Those who are reborn do not gain; flowers that bloom too early fall without needing frost. Smear the standard, powder the forehead; a rotting rat lies on the threshold, and incense burns in the hall. Entering water only increases dampness; carrying stench while seeking fragrance—though skilled, one cannot achieve excellence. Winter ice can be broken, summer wood can be tied—it is difficult to grasp opportunity and easy for it to slip away. When the tree is in full vigor, one may gather from it all day yet it continues to grow; but when autumn winds and frost arrive, it withers completely within a single night. When the target is set up, arrows gather; when the forest grows thick, axes and hatchets enter—not because they are summoned, but due to the circumstances that arise. A nursing puppy biting a tiger, a crouching chicken fighting a weasel—this is where affection leads without regard for strength. One who waits for profit to climb into water will surely drown; a boat can float or sink, yet the foolish do not know when to stop. A fine steed that cannot be urged forward nor restrained from moving—such a horse is of no use for measuring distances, and neither should a ruler rely on such traits in governance. Though water may be level, it must have ripples; though a balance may be upright, there will always be slight discrepancies. Though a foot-measure may seem even, there is still the risk of error. Without compasses and squares, one cannot determine squareness or roundness; without standards and plumb lines, one cannot correct crookedness from straightness. To use compasses and squares requires also having a mind that adheres to their principles. Though Mount Tai is lofty, doubling its height would still not make it visible; the tip of an autumn hair, though minute, can be clearly seen when observed. Though bamboo and wood contain fire, it will not ignite without drilling or friction; though water exists underground, it cannot emerge without digging. An arrow flies swiftly but does not exceed two li; a single step taken continuously can cover a thousand li for even a crippled tortoise. Accumulated earth that never stops growing becomes hills and mountains. Standing by the river wishing to catch fish is not as good as returning home to weave a net. A bow must first be adjusted before its strength can be tested; a horse must first be tamed before it can be considered good; a person must first be trustworthy before his abilities are sought. A skillful metalworker cannot melt wood, and an excellent craftsman cannot carve ice—there are things that simply cannot be done. How then can a gentleman fail to pay attention? It is possible to tell people not to cross the river, but it is impossible to make the river have no waves. Without the moon there would be guiltless nights; a steamer-lid will never fall into a well. Those who criticize my conduct wish for me to associate with others; those who belittle my goods desire me to sell them. Playing a single move of chess is not enough to reveal understanding, and plucking one string does not suffice to express sorrow. Now there is a piece of burning charcoal: if one picks it up, the hand will be scorched; if close by, even ten dan of objects will be smoldered. If one moves ten paces away, he remains unharmed—though sharing the same nature, their accumulations differ. Whoever has glory and splendor must also have sorrow and withering; if above there is fine silk, below there must be coarse hemp. A great tree has deep roots; a high mountain has a solid base.

Laozi said: The drum does not hide sound, hence it can produce sound; the mirror does not conceal form, thus it can reflect shape. Metal and stone have sound, but do not make noise unless struck; flutes and xiao have tones, yet remain silent without being blown. Therefore, the sage keeps his wisdom inward, not initiating actions for external things; when affairs arise, he controls them, and when matters come, he responds to them. The movement of Heaven never ceases; it ends and begins again, thus achieving longevity. The wheel returns to where it turns, hence enabling long journeys. The course of Heaven follows one path without deviation—thus there is no error. Heavenly energy descends, earthly energy ascends; yin and yang intermingle, thus all things become harmonized. When gentlemen take action, petty people fade away—this is the principle of Heaven and Earth. Heavenly energy does not descend, earthly energy does not ascend; yin and yang do not communicate, thus all things do not flourish. When petty people gain power, gentlemen fade away; the five grains are not planted, and virtue remains hidden within. The way of Heaven is to diminish the full and benefit the lacking; the way of Earth is to reduce the high and raise the low. The way of spirits and ghosts is to humble arrogance and elevate the lowly. The way of humanity is not to give more to those who already have much. The way of the sage is to be humble, so that none can surpass him. Heaven is bright and the sun shines, thus enabling illumination of all directions; when a ruler is wise and his ministers discerning, the realm becomes peaceful. With four kinds of clarity—Heaven, Earth, ruler, and minister—longevity can be achieved. To clarify those who bring clarity is to promote transformation through enlightenment. The way of Heaven measures in fathoms, the way of Earth follows principles; unity brings harmony, and time serves as the messenger. Together they form all things—this is called the Dao. The great Dao is broad and level, not far from one's body. Cultivating it within oneself brings true virtue; cultivating it in all things ensures that virtue never ceases. Heaven covers all things, bestows its virtue to nurture them, gives without taking—thus spirits and energies return. To give without taking is the highest virtue; this is why one is said to possess virtue. Nothing is higher than Heaven, and nothing lower than the marsh. Because Heaven is high and the marsh is low, sages emulate this—establishing a hierarchy of respect and subordination, thus bringing stability to the world. Earth bears all things and allows them to grow, giving yet also taking—thus bones return to it. To give and take is the lower virtue; "the lower virtue does not lose virtue, thus it is called without virtue." Earth supports Heaven, thus remaining stable and tranquil. When Earth is stable and tranquil, all things take form; when it is vast and thick, all beings gather. Stability brings the ability to bear all, thickness allows for boundless inclusion. The nature of Earth is deep and solid, so water and springs flow inward and accumulate. Because the Dao of Earth is square and broad, it can endure long—sages emulate this principle, cultivating virtue that includes all things without exclusion. Yin challenges Yang, and all things flourish; Yang overcomes Yin, and all things sink. When things flourish, nothing is lacking; when they sink, nothing is unhappy; when beings are happy, nothing remains unregulated. Yin harms things while Yang naturally retreats; when Yin advances and Yang withdraws, petty people gain power and virtuous men avoid danger—this is the way of Heaven's principle. Yang energy moves, and all things proceed gently to their proper place. Therefore, sages follow the Dao of Yang. He who follows the nature of things will also be followed by them; he who opposes the nature of things will likewise be opposed by them—thus one does not lose harmony with the inherent dispositions of things. When marshes and waters are full, all things develop in proper order; when they dry up, all beings lack regulation and nourishment. Therefore, if rains do not fall, the world falls into famine and desolation. Yang rises upward yet returns downward, thus becoming the ruler of all things. It does not cling to permanence, hence it can end and begin anew; by ending and beginning anew, it achieves longevity; through longevity, it becomes the mother of the world. Yang energy accumulates and then is able to give forth; Yin energy gathers and then can transform. There has never been a case where transformation occurs without prior accumulation; therefore, sages are cautious about what they accumulate. When Yang overcomes Yin, all things thrive; when Yin overcomes Yang, all things decline. Therefore, rulers who favor the Dao of Yang bring flourishing to all beings, while those who favor the Dao of Yin lead the world to ruin. If Yang does not descend to Yin, all things will not be completed; if a ruler does not humble himself before his ministers, virtue and transformation cannot spread. Therefore, when a ruler humbles himself before his ministers he becomes wise and discerning; if he does not do so, he remains ignorant and deaf. The sun rises from the Earth, and all things multiply and thrive; when rulers dwell above their people to illuminate virtue and morality, harmony prevails. When the sun sets into the Earth, all beings rest; when petty men rule over the people, all things flee and hide. When thunder moves, all things awaken; when rain moistens, all things loosen and grow. The actions of a great person resemble this: the movements of Yin and Yang follow constant rhythms; the actions of a great person do not push things to extremes. Thunder moves the Earth, and all things proceed gently; wind shakes trees, and grasses and woods wither. When a great person abandons evil and embraces goodness, the people do not have to move far—thus the people also choose to leave or stay. What they abandon is not excessive, but what they embrace grows increasingly more. When the wind does not move, fire will not arise; when a great person remains silent, petty men have nothing to speak of. When fire arises, it must await fuel; when a great person speaks, there must be trust. With trust and truth, how can anything fail to succeed? The river's water is deep, yet the soil lies on the mountain; hills and mounds are high, yet they descend into the abyss. When Yang energy becomes excessive, it transforms into Yin; when Yin energy grows too strong, it turns into Yang. Therefore, desire must not be filled to excess, and joy must not reach extremes. Anger without harsh words, rage without a fierce expression—this is called gaining control of the situation. Fire rises upward; water flows downward. The way of the sage seeks according to kind. The sage follows Yang, and thus the world is harmonious and united; if he follows Yin, the world will be submerged and sinking.

Laozi said: Accumulate the thin to form the thick, accumulate the low to reach the high. A gentleman diligently strives day by day to achieve brilliance; a petty person eagerly seeks pleasure each day until disgrace comes. Though their rise and fall may not yet be visible, therefore one should see virtue as if it were insufficient and regard evil deeds as ominous omens. If one is sincerely inclined toward virtue, even mistakes will not invite resentment; if one does not seek goodness, even loyalty brings forth evil. Therefore, to resent others is worse than to resent oneself; striving to obtain from others is less effective than seeking within oneself. Sounds summon themselves; kinds seek their own kind; names are self-bestowed; positions are self-assumed. Nothing is not oneself. To wield a sharp point to pierce, or a blade to strike—what resentment can there be toward others? Therefore, the gentleman exercises caution over small matters. All things carry Yin in the back and embrace Yang, balancing their energies to achieve harmony. Harmony resides at the center; therefore, the fruit of trees is born from the heart, the seeds of grasses arise from the flower, and embryos develop at the center. Without this central balance, there can be no embryo or seed—life depends on its proper timing. When the Earth is level, water does not flow; when weight is evenly distributed, the balance does not tilt. The birth and transformation of things occur through 感应 (ganying, mutual 感应 or influence).

Laozi said: Mountains attain great height and thus clouds and rain arise; water reaches great depth and so dragons are born. When a gentleman attains the Dao, virtue and grace flow forth. He who possesses hidden virtue will surely receive visible reward; he who performs secret good deeds will certainly gain a renowned name. He who plants millet cannot reap sorghum, and he who sows resentment will not receive repayment of virtue.