Each entry gives the term in traditional and simplified form, its pinyin, the senses it carries in the classical corpus, the passages where it does real work, and how published translations have rendered it.
lán
Thoroughwort, the aromatic herb chapter 47 gives for the sweet mouth and the wasting-and-thirsting it turns into. Its work is stated in one phrase — to remove the stale qi — and the chapter's choosing a single herb for an illness caused by eating is itself part of what it is saying.
xià bū
The chapter uses six named divisions of the day — dawn, sunrise, midday, the declining sun, late afternoon, midnight — and gives each viscus its own three-hour pattern among them. Late afternoon is the hour the liver does worst, the hour the lung does best, and the hour the kidney falls quiet. A patient whose complaints keep this schedule is being read as a clock, and once read, the clock can be used: the chapter's whole argument is that these hours are predictable from the phases.
jiě duò
Lax, listless and unwilling to move — limbs that will not hold and a person who cannot be bothered. Chapter 46 lists it among the signs of wind from wine, alongside the bathing sweat and the scant breath. The site has met the same word in chapter 16 and chapter 43, and reads it the same way: 墯 is simply 惰 written the way this base text writes it.
lòu bìng
漏病 is the lower half of a pair. 三陽并至, and the chapter gives two directions for the same convergence: 上爲巔疾，下爲漏病 — above it makes illness at the crown, below it makes leaking illness. The word 漏 is taken from the clepsydra, where water escapes through a marked opening at a measured rate; the illness is named for that Escape, and 王冰 glosses it as 泄注, a pouring discharge. What matters for reading the chapter is the pairing rather than the identification of the organ: the same 并至 produces a sign at the top and a sign at the bottom, and neither is the disease itself. The chapter immediately adds that the condition has 外無期，内無正 — no fixed season outside, no fixed position within — which is why a name taken from a leaking vessel fits better than the name of any one viscus.
lòu fēng
Leaking wind is one of the winds named after the manner of contracting them: wind struck while drinking. Wang Bing's gloss explains the name — the heat is pent and the interstices loose, so the sweat pours out as though it leaked. Its signs are all signs of a body that cannot keep its fluids in.
shào huǒ
The mild fire the body keeps and lives on — the counterpart of the strong fire, and the one the chapter credits with generating the qi: 少火生氣. Suwen 5 gives it three clauses set against the three of the strong fire — its qi is at its full, it gives the qi birth, and the qi feeds it. The reading of 少 is shào, as in 少陽 and 少陰: not 'little fire' by quantity but the younger, milder fire, which is why the same paragraph can say the qi eats the lesser fire without contradiction. Wang Bing takes it as the source of the generating qi, and that is the sense later medicine kept when it opposed the physiological fire to the pathological one.
chū xuè wù qì
The chapter's closing rule, and the reason the opening table matters: at each of the six channels you let out what that channel is plentiful in, and you do not touch what it is scant in. Yang brightness, plentiful in both, may be let of both; greater yang, plentiful in blood, may be bled but its qi is not to be taken; lesser yang, lesser yin and greater yin, plentiful in qi, may be let of qi but not of blood; ceasing yin, plentiful in blood, may be bled but not let of qi. The reading of 惡 as wù, to hold unfitting, rather than è, bad, is forced by this pattern — it holds six times out of six, and no reading of 'evil blood' or 'evil qi' produces a rule at all.
lì fēng
Li wind is the disease later called 麻風 (leprosy): wind and cold lodged in the vessels that will not leave, rotting from the construction qi outward. Chapter 42 describes its end state rather than its beginning — the nose collapsed, the skin ulcerating — and gives it 寒熱 as an alternative name.
lián quán
The point beneath the tongue, named by the chapter itself when it glosses its own instruction to needle the two vessels there. It belongs to the chapter's escalation: when the first three needlings have not ended the fit, needle under the tongue; if that fails, needle the cleft centre and the points flanking the spine.
tiān guāng
The light of the sky — sun, moon, stars — as something to be read and matched rather than merely seen. Chapter 26 opens its answer with a three-part rule: take heaven as the model, earth as the standard, and join the two to the light of heaven. The third clause is the operative one, because everything that follows — watching the moon's phases before you drain or supplement, tracking the shifting light to fix the site, standing square and waiting — is a specification of it. The same phrase appears in chapter 25, where it governs the whole argument of that chapter rather than the calendar.
gān bì
The green case. The pulse comes long and knocks the fingers to left and right; the accumulated qi is below the heart, propping the flank. Two things make it stand out from the other four: the chapter says it is contracted from cold damp and treated by the same rule as 疝, and it is the only one given a list of symptoms — low back pain, cold feet, head pain. 足清 means cold feet: 清 is read as 凊.
gān qì
The qi of the liver, and the sixth thing to fail in the man's eight-year count. At fifty-six the liver qi declines and the sinews can no longer move — the one place in the count where the chapter names the tissue along with the organ, because the sinews belong to the liver. It comes after the yang qi fails in the upper part at forty-eight and before the heavenly water is exhausted, and it is the last failure before the body is said to have reached its extreme in every part.