The connection of the Yanggao Daoists with the temple Daoism of Hengshan may be spurious, but household Daoists in Hunyuan county-town at the foot of the mountain have their own traditions. Our visits in 1992 and 2011 showed considerable change over the intervening years.
For some time I have been finding the distinction between Orthodox Unity and Complete Perfection somewhat academic with regard to ritual practice. For what it’s worth, so far in north Shanxi I have found the distribution of the two branches roughly following county boundaries, with household Orthodox Unity Daoists in Yanggao and Datong counties, and Complete Perfection Daoists (also household, but more clearly derived from temple traditions) in Tianzhen, Guangling, and Shuozhou. But the case of Hunyuan town is particular, and that of its most renowned ritual specialist Jiao Lizhong even more so.
Hengshan, the northern peak of the numinous “five marchmounts” of Daoism, though patronized by Qing emperors, was less prestigious and significant than either its Buddhist neighbour Wutaishan (indeed, it was on the emperors’ route to Wutaishan) or other Daoist mountains.  The mountain itself, with its pilgrimage route of temples, shrines, and vistas, is quite distinct from the surrounding area, including the town of Hunyuan and the many villages, where household Daoists are still active. This, indeed, is probably a general principle—as around Wudangshan in Hubei, or Taishan and Laoshan in Shandong.
According to a local account, temples were damaged during a major battle here in 1926 between the warlord armies of Feng Yuxiang and Yan Xishan; in 1933 they were restored by the donations of local gentry. We were told that the Daoists living in the temples on the mountain had fled in 1937 when the Japanese came; perhaps, rather, they had fled the fighting. During the occupation, the Japanese took off many precious Daoist scriptures.
The same account claims that there were thirty or forty Daoists (including household ritual specialists) in Hunyuan [county? town?] in the Republican period; and that only nine elderly Daoist priests remained (on the mountain) after Liberation.
Like some other parts of north Shanxi, this is still a strategic military area today. Despite the opening up of nearly every other sacred Daoist site in China, no Daoists had been allowed to return to Hengshan by 1992. This was of concern to the Chinese Daoist Association, and we met some young Daoists from Beijing trying to set up there, but complex political issues still needed to be overcome. By 1998, as Vincent Goossaert tells me, the mountain temples were Complete-Perfection-managed.
But as ever, this is only the tip of the iceberg. I found no evidence that the Complete Perfection priests in the Hengshan mountain temples ever performed folk rituals outside their temples; their vocal liturgy within the temples was accompanied only by ritual percussion, in accord with the exalted view of elite clerics (both Buddhist and Daoist) that I have noted.
But household Daoists around the foot of the mountain perform rituals (including shengguan wind ensemble) with gusto. From here south, I no longer heard the term yinyang for lay Daoists; here they seemed to be called by the standard term daoshi.
In this area they were evidently hired more than Buddhist monks; before Liberation, if a rich family wanted two competing groups of ritual specialists (“facing tents” duipeng 對棚), they had to send for Buddhist monks from the counties of Fanshi or Guangling. By the 1990s, Buddhists were again occasionally invited for folk funerals.
Following the imperial county gazetteers, the Hunyuan guidebook lists over twenty temples in the town before Liberation. Many were destroyed in 1954–55 during campaigns to “sweep away superstition”. The two main Buddhist temples still standing, the Yong’an si and the Yuanjue si, are now merely tourist attractions. By 1992 there were two officially sanctioned places of worship in the town: the Buddhist Guanyin dian 觀音殿 nunnery, and the Daoist Sanqing guan 三清觀. We were also told that before Liberation, Hunyuan town had several “halls” (tang 堂), which were perhaps minor temples.
The Jiao lineage
In 1992 we paid brief visits to the household Daoist Jiao Yong 焦鏞, known as Jiao San 焦三 (c1936–2003) at his home in the county-town.
He told us there were five or six groups of household Daoists in Hunyuan town in the Republican period, of which only two or three survived during the War against Japan. Business was tough after Liberation, and they had to find subsidiary occupations; in the early 1950s there were still two bands, but the other one soon gave up. During the Cultural Revolution, along with Buddhist monks and even shawm-band musicians, they were “struggled” as “ox demons and snake spirits”—Jiao Yong’s Daoist father had been so terrorized that he tried, unsuccessfully, to stop them resuming in 1978. By the 1980s, according to Jiao Lizhong, six or seven household groups were reviving in Hunyuan town.
I returned to Hunyuan in 2011, spending time with Jiao Yong’s nephew Jiao Lizhong 焦理忠 (secular name Jiao Wenzhong 焦文忠, b. c1973). He now appears to be an archetypal Complete Perfection priest—dignified, ascetic, with long beard and topknot. Having spent many years with ordinary household Daoists, I was unaccustomed to a somewhat more formal interaction.
He’s a sincere thoughtful man, and his miraculous transformation is strangely moving. Actually, it probably isn’t exactly a transformation—I just had no idea of his growing religious calling he was when I first visited his family elders in 1992. Though it feels harder to ask more ethnographic questions to an exalted priest, it helps having seen him as an ordinary young man from a household Daoist family.
Orthodox Unity and Complete Perfection titles
Unlike most household Daoists we met further north in Shanxi, the Jiao family were aware of their lineage genealogies; but in such orally-transmitted traditions they can be hard to unravel. A convenient source for the lineage poems of the diverse branches is Koyanagi’s list.
Jiao Lizhong considers himself the 56th generation in the family Orthodox Unity tradition, citing their 24-character poem (Koyanagi no.41):
懷玄抱真 道合無為 養素守默
保光圖和 致虛沖陽 承化弘先
He had heard that their ritual tradition was first brought to Hunyuan by Zhang Zhengsui 张正随, from the “37th generation” of Zhang Heavenly Masters (Zhang Zhensui was actually the 24th generation, in the Northern Song dynasty). Historical records attest to his repute, but not to any visit to Hunyuan.
Jiao Lizhong’s grandfather Jiao Dianru 焦佃儒 (daohao Zhenyizi 真一字) married when 18 sui, but went on to become a priest on Hengshan, now taking the Longmen Complete Perfection title (faming 法名) of Yuanguang 圆光. But three years later his wife summoned him back home.
So while Jiao Lizhong realizes his family’s Orthodox Unity ancestry, since his grandfather’s adoption of a Longmen Complete Perfection title, he now considers himself the 22nd generation in that lineage (Koyanagi no.9):
道德通玄靜 真常守太清 一陽來復本 合教永圓明 至理宗誠信 etc.
Jiao Lizhong thinks that the Hengshan mountain temples only ever had Complete Perfection priests—though he notes that the latter feel no separation from household ritual specialists. After all, Complete Perfection and Orthodox Unity could coexist on the great mountain temples, performing rituals together—as on Wudangshan; and temple and household ritual specialists interact, as my studies constantly show.
It will take a more informed scholar of Daoism to work all this out—not least Jiao Lizhong’s siblings’ use of the he 合 character in their lineage names.
In Jiao Lizhong’s immediate family ritual tradition he listed:
- 1st generation: Jiao Luo 焦羅
- 2nd generation: Jiao Shixiang 焦世祥
- 3rd generation: Jiao Yuxin 焦玉新 (1890–1953), Jiao Yujin 焦玉金 (1892–1957)
- 4th generation: Jiao Guiru 焦贵如, Jiao Dianru 焦佃儒 (1900–60, daohao Zhenyizi 真一子, faming Yuanguang 圆光), Jiao Qingru 焦清儒 (1907–1966).
- 5th generation: Jiao Yin 焦银 (1912–74?), Jiao Yong 焦鏞 (c1936–2003), Jiao Kui 焦奎, Jiao Ming 焦铭. Also Cao Jie 曹杰 (older colleague of Jiao Kui) and Cao Jincai 曹進才 (b.1917).
- 6th generation: (sons of Jiao Kui) Jiao Yitang 焦義堂 (daohao Heren 合仁, b.1959), Jiao Jiantang 焦建堂 (daohao Heyi 合義, b. 1962), Jiao Litang 焦立堂; (sons of Jiao Yin) Jiao Lutang 焦錄堂 (daohao Hezhi 合智, b.1971), Jiao Wenzhong 焦文忠 (daohao Lizhong 理忠, b.1973). Also Cao Jie’s son Cao Hongjun 曹宏軍 (daohao Hexin 合信, b.1982).
We didn’t manage to clarify the precise dates of Jiao Lizhong’s own history, but the outline is as follows. He began learning by performing rituals with the family band from an early age. But he seems to have felt a strong religious devotion— unusual for a young household Daoist, but rather more common among his own forebears. Having suffered from a stomach ailment from young, from around 13 sui (1985) he “left his family” (chujia 出家, meaning to become a temple priest) to stay at the Sanqing dian三清殿 temple in the foothills, over an hour’s climb from town (separate from the Hengshan mountain temples) with his master Zhang Zhiheng 张志恒 from Hohhot. They were the only occupants of the temple; soon another novice arrived called Peng Lizhen 彭理真, who later went off to Shaanxi.
Jiao Lizhong’s health improved, and when he was around 16 sui the two novices began to embark on religious tours (“cloud roaming” yunyou); they visited Houma and the Baima si and Da Xiang guosi temples, and all the five Daoist marchmounts except for the southern one. As he had no formal credentials as a priest, the county Bureau of Religious Affairs issued him with a document so that he would be received at all the temples he visited.
When Jiao Lizhong was 17 sui his master took him to the White Cloud Temple (Baiyunguan) in Beijing. He was back home when I visited them in 1992. When he was 22 sui he made a trip on his own to the White Cloud Temple, formally studying for a period with the illustrious Ren Zongquan 任宗权 and learning the “national” Shifang yun style of vocal liturgy (based on the Zhejiang style). Only at the age of 23 sui was his itinerant religious life interrupted when his parents pressurized him to come home to marry. Though not yet ordained as a priest, he regarded this as “laicization” (huansu).
He now dutifully fathered a child. But family relations were poor, and he resumed his travels. When 25 sui he went to study Chinese medicine, mainly acupuncture, at a hospital in Hohhot, going on to run a clinic in distant Xinjiang for six months. Later he worked as a doctor in Inner Mongolia, but when business was poor, he came back to Shanxi to run a clinic in Yingxian county near home. When that failed he did “business” for four years there. In this period he had another child with his wife. She, meanwhile, largely left alone after their marriage, had found companionship by becoming a Christian. With nothing in common, they divorced in 2003.
Now 31 sui, Jiao Lizhong was free to pursue his dream. He tells us that he never wanted the anonymity of belonging to a major Complete Perfection temple with a large staff; instead, he began to build a small temple called Pufo tang 普福堂 up a little alleyway on the outskirts of Hunyuan town, which was completed by 2008.
By then he was Secretary of the Shanxi Daoist Association, and in 2009 they recommended him to take part in the intensive three-month course for gaogong chief cantors (gaogong ban 高工班), conceived by Ren Zongquan, at the Changchun Belvedere 常春观, the Daoist Academy in Wuhan. On graduating (bozhi 拔职) he now belonged to the 40th generation (with the character ren 人) in the “hidden” (an 暗) poem for Longmen gaogong cantors, as well as taking the “greater precepts of the three altars” (santan dajie 三壇大戒). When we met in 2011 Jiao was hoping to resume his “cloud roaming” (yunyou) at the Longmen dong in Shaanxi.
The Pufo tang is charming and peaceful. The family had old ritual paintings of the Ten Kings, but they were lost in the Cultural Revolution; he painted some new ones when around 20 sui, and has painted new Ten Kings murals in the temple.
Jiao Lizhong’s story is most exceptional within local families of household Daoists (even of a Complete Perfection background): very few of them ever aspire to such roamings. While his grandfather had already served as a Complete Perfection temple priest, there was then no clear boundary with his family’s ongoing Orthodox Unity tradition. The big change in Jiao Lizhong’s conversion was that whereas his forebears had maintained their local ritual tradition, he now adopted the national ritual repertoire of the White Cloud Temple, marginalizing the local tradition. This was now possible not so much because travel was easier, but because the White Cloud Temple’s practice (their texts and sound) could be learned at a distance, being available on VCD and online.
Still, Jiao Lizhong’s band remains household-based (including five brothers and cousins), ranging in (2011) age from 55 to 28 sui. As in Complete Perfection temple tradition, they now distinguished the liturgical roles of tike and biaobai as well as gaogong—terms rarely identified by household Daoists. The group also included a nun called Huang Yalan黄亚兰 ( b.1973)—a fellow disciple (shixiongdi) with Jiao Lizhong, and sole occupant of the Chenghuang miao temple in Datong. She confirmed that even Complete Perfection temple priests do folk ritual.
I read online that since 2013 Jiao Lizhong has returned to Ren Zongquan’s orbit, taking a further course and then being chosen as an instructor for another course in Jiangsu on the “music of gaogong“. As his reputation grows in the national Daoist hierarchy, his dream of serving his local community from his little temple may prove hard to maintain.
Our brief 1992 visit didn’t coincide with a funeral, but they obligingly performed two substantial funerary ritual segments for us (from Bestowing Food, and “daochang” 道場, both for the evening before the burial) in the courtyard of their home, led by the senior masters (zhangjiaode 掌教的) Zhang Yu 張玉 and Cao Jincai, with Jiao Yong, Jiao Kui, Jiao Lutang, Jiao Zhongtang, Jiao Yitang, and Liu Jianjun. Alas, we failed to chat with the two senior masters—my only excuse is that time was short, and we were concentrating on Jiao Yong. But their ritual performance was magnificent—earthy and full of variety.
By 2011 they had their own temple in town. But their main source of income was not so much donations as performing ritual outside the temple. Jiao’s band were doing about ten funerary yankou each month in the winter. We went to see them do one for a funeral up another alleyway on the outskirts of town. As in old Beijing (and indeed as with most routine rituals in north Shanxi today), there was no “audience” apart from the kin. The preparatory work includes hanging out ritual paintings and depicting a mandala in the courtyard where the ritual is to take place:
The version they now perform is not the one in their old family manual that they had performed for us in 1992, but the Sazu tieguan shishi 薩族鐵罐施食 (Qingxuan jilian tieguan shishi 青玄濟鍊鐵罐施食), as used (and now propagated) by the White Cloud Temple—complete with its complex mudra sacred hand gestures. Still, they sometimes use elements of the local style.
The lengthy yankou took place in late afternoon, after which we accepted the invitation of the deceased’s son to supper, taking our places on the kang brick-bed with him and Jiao Lizhong. To be sociable with his patrons, he takes the occasional beer and cigarette. Only now did I learn that after supper the band would be going on to do a “small yankou”, the Hongyi shishi (cf. my notes from Tianzhen)—though technically redundant, some patrons request both. We had to leave before it began, but Chen Yu (pp.123–5) has documented the sequence.
As elsewhere, temple fairs are very much subsidiary to funerals. By 1992 only shawm bands, not Daoists, took part in the temple fairs on Hengshan on 4th moon 8th, and in the inauguration of new statues on the mountain. Before the Cultural Revolution the only occasion when the household Daoists did perform their ritual (and shengguan wind ensemble) at the temples was for the temple fair of the Sanqing dian on 2nd moon 15th.
At least by the 1980s, the Sanqing dian temple had only a temple keeper (kanmiaode). For its temple fair he was only inviting shawm bands, without formal recompense. In 1992, for the first time, the Jiao band had been invited to the 6th-moon temple fair at the Sanqing dian; they had taken part, but declined the temple’s offer of money. I heard this selfless claim in several places—though in fact they would always make money from pilgrims, even if they refused a fee from the temple.
Jiao Lizhong claimed that “our old family manuals are basically the same as Complete Perfection ones”, and that the texts of temple and household Daoists were the same, only the melodies being different. But by contrast with the manuals “in general circulation”  that they have recently adopted from the White Cloud Temple, most of their old family manuals were in the local tradition.
And whereas the family tradition had always performed the local style of vocal liturgy, on his travels Jiao Lizhong has been gradually learning the Shifang yun tradition, based on the Zhejiang style, teaching his colleagues. Thus for the major rituals like the yankou these outside styles have now encroached radically upon the local tradition (bendi yun, a term that was not even mentioned on my 1992 visit, since there was nothing else); however, they still appear to maintain the local style in their routine songchan 送懺 visits to the coffin.
Many of the Jiao family’s old ritual manuals and scores were lost at the outbreak of the Cultural Revolution, when they themselves had felt compelled to burn their manuals, making a pile “a metre high”. However, they did preserve a lengthy old funeral manual—undated but perhaps from the early 20th century—generously entitled
- Qingxuan jiuku (zhaowang duqiao fadie qushui shishi daochang) keyi tongjuan
“Ritual manuals in a combined volume of dark mystery for relieving suffering: Summoning the Deceased, Crossing the Bridges, Modelling the Mandates, Fetching Water, Dispensing Food, and Arena of the Way”.
The final 12 double pages of the manual consist of a section called “Complete collection of hymns for singing” (Zanyong quanji).  Such collections of individual texts within diverse ritual segments are a common part of the collections of household Daoists, as with Li Qing’s hymn volume in Yanggao (my book, pp.208–9).
To learn their shengguan wind ensemble repertoire they used gongche notation; their old scores had been burned along with their ritual manuals in the Cultural Revolution, but Jiao Yong had rewritten a score with the help of the senior Daoist Cao Jincai. As usual, their old repertoire of suites had been much reduced.
They also had a manual for morning and evening services (zaotan/wantan gongke); they claimed to perform these at their own home on the 1st and 15th of each moon, but they are also part of some public rituals.
Some of their jing 經 scriptures (“nationally standard”, and for chanting rather than singing)  were listed by Chen Yu in 2010. Their basic “Four scriptures” (Sipin jing 四品經) included
- Taishang xuanmen zaotan gongke jing 太上玄門早壇晚功課
- Taishang xuanmen wantan gongke jing太上玄門晚壇晚功課
- Taishang sanyuan cifu jie’e xiaozai yansheng baoming zhenjing 太上三元賜褔解厄消災延生保命真經
- Taishang xuanling beidou benming yansheng zhenjing太上玄靈北斗本命延生真經。
They also still kept manuals copied by Jiao Dianru:
- Taishang zhupin shenzhou 太上諸品神咒 (7 juan volumes)
- Taishang sanyuan cifu jie’e xiaozai yansheng baoming zhenjing (another copy)
- Taishang laojun shuo wudou jinzhang yansheng jing太上老君說五斗金章延生經 
- Taishang ping’an zaojing太上平安竈經, Wutu xuanke 五土玄科, Longhu miaojing 龍虎妙經in one volume (sanyi tongjuan 三儀同卷)
- Chaowang duqiao ke 超亡度橋科,
as well as pages from gongche scores copied by Jiao Yun and Cao Jincai.
Perils of the ICH
Of course, whatever Way Jiao Lizhong chooses to travel is his own decision. But the agenda of the Intangible Cultural Heritage (ICH) project now legitimizes such homogenization.
In 2011 the Hunyuan county Bureau of Culture was preparing an application for the ICH—not least to compete with our Yanggao household Daoists, who had inadvertently, and erroneously, been dubbed “Hengshan Daoist music ensemble” back in 1990.
Though the connection of the Hunyuan Daoists to Hengshan was sporadic and somewhat misleading, at least they had a geographical connection with Hengshan. The Bureau of Culture proudly showed me a meretricious video for their ICH application, complete with rippling zheng zither soundtrack, which confirmed my worst fears about the whole project.
Since the 1980s the White Cloud Temple, ever the mouthpiece of the official “patriotic” national Daoist Association, began accompanying its rituals with a kind of instrumental ensemble based on the Jiangnan “silk-and-bamboo” style, including strings such as erhu fiddle, pipa plucked lute, and zheng zither. This was a flagrant affront to tradition: the traditional style of the White Cloud Temple didn’t even use shengguan, let alone erhu and pipa. Meanwhile, more popular folk ritual groups in Beijing (such as those in the style associated with the Zhihua temple) often used shengguan wind ensemble music to accompany their vocal liturgy and ritual percussion; and the Jiao family was typical of the innumerable ritual bands (both temple and household) using shengguan wind ensemble.
The influence of the White Cloud Temple’s innovations has been damaging. I told Jiao Lizhong, boldly, that he shouldn’t imitate Beijing; they must keep their local characteristics. Isn’t this obvious?! He takes my point, after mentioning that they might still use erhu and pipa for the Shifang yun style, although this is specious too. So far the Jiao band is exceptional; but it remains a worrying possibility elsewhere as bands learn more of modern national trends and seek upward mobility in the ritual sphere.
Another household tradition
In 2011 we got the mobile number of Huang daozhang 黃道長 from a funeral shop in the town centre. He met up with us there, and we followed him on his motorbike to his modest home up a little alleyway. Less articulate than the now-urbane Jiao Lizhong, he is still welcoming.
He married when 23 sui, and has three children. “If my son does well in school, then OK—if not he can become a Daoist”. He isn’t ordained, but he grew his hair long like a temple priest from 26 sui in order to do rituals at temples outside his home base, such as Taiyuan. He often does rituals on Hengshan. He considers himself Orthodox Unity, but he isn’t aware of any differences with the Complete Perfection branch. His band includes two female ritual specialists.
For funerals the band previously used the Jiuku jing, but they too have been using the White Cloud Temple version of the Qingxuan jilian tieguan shishi, which his master brought back from there, learning how to perform it with the help of the temple’s VCDs. “Our old local traditions aren’t popular any more—the White Cloud Temple is fashionable” (discuss!). They too now add a yangqin dulcimer. In his manual collection, besides his own hand-copied notebooks, we only saw recent printed editions of scriptures.
They do “scriptures for repaying vows” (huanyuan jing 還原經), lasting two hours, also now in the White Cloud Temple style. The next afternoon they were to do an “evening ritual” (wanke), also known as “seated scriptures” (zuojing 坐經), using the Zhejiang style. I suggested they might do the Jiuku jing in the local style for us instead, but in the end we didn’t have time to attend.
I strongly suspect there must be other household groups in the vicinity ( I mentioned Hunyuan in passing in my discussion of the Daoists of Yingxian), but our limited explorations didn’t reveal any. In 1992 Jiao Yong told us that another Daoist band with a hereditary tradition in the county-town had recently restored activity, led by one Li Wancun 李万存; and that the Daciyao region just south of the town also had active Daoist groups.
The changing ritual situation in Hunyuan is exceptional, with a mixture of Complete Perfection and Orthodox Unity, temple and household, and even male and female ritual performers.
By contrast with my main base of Yanggao, where we heard of no former temple priests of any denomination who performed folk rituals, here we find a rather complex oscillation between household and temple practice, both now and in previous generations.
Both Jiao and Huang now have a loose connection with Hengshan, but the mountain temples have only ever played a minor part in their tradition.
Today the differences (in texts, sound, and costume) between their local tradition and the “standardized” rituals deriving from the White Cloud Temple is stark; but we can’t tell how (or if) their old Orthodox Unity tradition might have differed from any former Complete Perfection tradition (whether temple or household) in the vicinity.
As we found in Shuozhou and Tianzhen, it must have been common to become a temple priest when young, and return home to lay life in one’s 20s to have a family, then continuing as a household ritual specialist. Laicization long predates CCP pressure, and was more complex than the old cliché of late Qing temple poverty prompting priests to perform rituals among the folk.
But Hunyuan is a rather different case: Jiao Lizhong was a household ritual specialist, had a family reluctantly, and then devoted himself to the priestly life for good. Since there are plenty of household Complete Perfection ritual specialists who continue in their local tradition, what is interesting about all this is not so much his conversion from Orthodox Unity to Complete Perfection, but his desire to become a formal priest, rather than a common household ritual specialist, and to adopt a “national” tradition from distant Beijing. To this end, he did not have the option of becoming a Orthodox Unity temple priest; anyway, there was already a Complete Perfection background in his family.
While Jiao Lizhong’s religious inclination suggested that he devote himself to the temple life, he still does ritual among the folk just like a household Daoist. The main difference is not so much the Complete Perfection or Orthodox Unity lineages, as the adoption of the national style of Complete Perfection liturgy; again, the Shuozhou Daoists (with their long historical weaving of temple and household practice) have no relation to the national style, retaining their local features. But the Jiao lineage had amalgamated Orthodox Unity with Complete Perfection for many generations.
Jiao Lizhong’s band now makes a considerable contrast with household Daoists—both with the Complete Perfection Daoists of Shuozhou and Tianzhen, and with the Orthodox Unity Daoists of Yanggao and Datong county—both of whom continue, still now, to transmit the liturgical style handed down in their lineage, locally, over many generations.
With thanks as ever to my splendid fieldwork companions Xue Yibing, Li Jin, and Ma Hongqi; and to Chen Yu, whose book Jinbei minjian daojiao keyi yinyue yanjiu (pp.72–6, 120–25) also contains notes on the Jiao family.
 For more, including its various historical locations, see my In search of the folk Daoists of north China, p.65–9.
 A useful term that I borrow from Schipper: my book, p.218.
 The term zanyong goes back to Zhang Shangying in the 12th century: Schipper and Verellen, The Taoist Canon: a historical companion to the Daozang, p.1039.
 Cf. my Daoist priests of the Li family, pp.211–28, 375–82.
 Cf. ibid., p.378.