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.
nüè
The intermittent fevers. The chapter's definition is behavioural rather than aetiological: heat and cold by turns, with intervals of rest between the fits. Everything else in the chapter — the daily or alternate-day timing, the fits creeping later and then earlier, the three named kinds — is an account of why a disease behaves like that.
nüè qì
The malarial evil, spoken of as a thing that moves. It lodges at a depth, and that depth decides everything: shallow means it keeps pace with the defensive qi and the fit is daily; deep means it cannot, and the fit comes every other day or every few days. It is exuberant and vacuous by turns, and which it is at a given moment determines heat or cold, a restless or a quiet pulse.
kuáng
Mania, as chapter 55 names it: not a temperament and not an attack of rage, but an illness of the yang vessels in which the partings are by turns cold and hot. The site already carries 怒狂 nù kuáng, rage and mania, the compound chapter 46 uses when yang qi is abruptly checked. Here the word stands alone, and the chapter's business with it is only this — needle so as to empty the vessel, and stop once the partings everywhere run hot.
xiù dù
The mansions of the sky and the degrees they are divided into — the fixed, measurable order of heaven. Chapter 27 opens its answer with a three-part correspondence: heaven has its mansions and degrees, earth has its rivers, the human being has channels. The point of naming the sky first is that the sky is the term that is measurable: the sages set up their measures so as to answer to heaven and earth, and the physician's measures inherit that answering. The reading matters — xiù, the astronomical plural, not sù, lodging.
suǐ
The marrow — the substance inside the bone, and the deepest of the seven depths chapter 50 sets out. Every other depth in the chapter, once wounded, stirs a viscus and bears the illness of a season. The marrow is the exception: wounding it brings wasting and a weariness that does not leave, and the chapter gives it no season to belong to.
yíng huò
The planet Mars, the star of fire and of the south, and the one this chapter names most often of the five. Its name is its behaviour: a glimmer that confounds, because the red star wanders and doubles back and will not hold a course. Fire answers to it in surplus (歲火太過…上應熒惑星) and on revenge; metal falling short answers to it too, because fire is what rises against metal (歲金不及，炎火乃行…上應熒惑星). Twice in one paragraph, once for the circuit and once for what strikes it.
cái lì
The stock of strength a person is made of — the material side of the question the chapter asks about ageing. Huang Di's question puts it against the number of heaven: is an old man childless because his material strength is spent, or because that is the number? The answer is a count by sevens and eights, and a count answers both at once: what is spent is spent on a schedule.
láo yào
Wine in which a drug has been carried — the chapter's prescription for numbness, given together with pressing and rubbing. The chapter's fourteenth chapter already established the book's suspicion of wine as a drink and its respect for wine as a medium; here the two are settled into one practice, and the practice is chosen because of where the trouble lies: numbness is reached neither by the needle nor by a draft taken inward, so the drug is carried in through the skin. Read alongside the chapter's other prescriptions and the principle is constant — the treatment is chosen for the tissue, not for the named disease.
féng shí
Meeting the time is the rule the whole of chapter 76 exists to make possible. The defending qi travels fifty circuits a day, twenty-five in the yang by day and twenty-five in the yin by night; at any moment it is in one channel and not another. So 刺實者，刺其來也；刺虚者，刺其去也 — drain as the qi arrives, fill as it departs — and 謹𠉀氣之所在而刺之，是謂逢時: watch where the qi is and needle there, and that is meeting the time. The chapter then gives the clock, counting the water in the clepsydra from one mark to twenty-five and naming the channel the qi is in at each. Miss it and 失時反𠉀者，百病不治 — the timing is not a refinement of the method, it is the method.
mó
The thin sheet of flesh that joins the spleen to the stomach. Chapter 29 raises it as an objection — how can so slight a connection support so large a function? — and answers by pointing to the vessel instead: foot Taiyin penetrates the stomach, belongs to the spleen and networks the pharynx, and it is by that channel, not by the membrane, that the spleen moves the stomach's fluids. The passage is one of the clearest moments in the Suwen where an anatomical observation and a functional claim are set against each other and the functional claim wins.
mù yuán
A region rather than a point: the space between the parted flesh, reached when an evil pressing inward to the five stores links crosswise into it. The chapter brings it in to explain the alternate-day fit — the road is long, the qi deep, the movement slow, so the evil cannot travel with the defensive qi and cannot come all the way out each day.
chén xīng
The planet Mercury, the star of water and of the north, and the one whose name is a time of day. It keeps close to the sun and shows itself only at its hours, and so it became the marker of them. Water in surplus answers to it (歲水太過…上應辰星), fire falling short answers to it (歲火不及…上應辰星), and it comes back a third time for the cold that strikes back at metal (復則寒雨暴至…上應辰星). The chapter pairs it with 熒惑 more often than with any other star, because water and fire are the two that answer each other.