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.
zhèn āi
A named needling method for the upper body: on a 丙丁 day one may not 振埃 at the shoulder, throat and 廉泉. The image is a hand brushed down a sleeve — the evil is superficial, and the needle scatters it rather than chasing it. The chapter gives only the prohibition, so what survives of the method is its name and its region: above the collarbone, in the throat. With 發矇 and 去爪 it forms a trio of methods named by gesture.
shào yáng
The third of the three yang: the exterior of ceasing yin, rooting at Qiaoyin on the fourth toe, and holding the office of the pivot — the hinge between what opens and what closes.
shào yīn
The second of the three yin, and its pivot. It lies behind greater yin; in the yang half of the chapter the region of the great surge is where lesser yin runs. Its root is Yongquan in the sole.
shén míng
What issues from the heart's office. Unlike 神 on its own, which in this book is the spirit a person has or loses, 神明 is the clarity by which one knows and judges — and it is the reason the chapter can move from the heart to good government in a single step: a ruler is clear or not clear, and 明 is the same word. 王冰：「神明者，神之明也。」
shuí
The buttock — the flesh of it, not the bone. Chapter 49 uses the word twice, both in its opening complaint, and it is one of the few places in the Suwen where this graph is written; the received text often substitutes 臀. Wang Bing's note 脽音誰 is what fixes the reading.
jīn liū
Sinew flow is the first of the chapter's six lesions. The mechanism is given in one sentence: 有所疾前筋，筋屈不得伸，邪氣居其間而不反，發於筋溜 — something attacks the front of the sinew, the sinew contracts and cannot stretch, evil lodges in the gap and does not return, and it issues as a sinew flow. The name is descriptive rather than clinical: 溜 is what runs and gathers, and the lesion is the place where the evil has pooled in a tissue that cannot move it on. The chapter pairs it with 腸溜, which forms the same way inside the bowel and takes years to do it, and with 昔瘤, which hardens under the hand. The three together are the chapter's account of how a passing evil becomes a standing mass.
jīn mó
The sinews and their wrapping sheets, the tissue assigned to the liver. Chapter 44 uses it to show why liver heat produces cramping before it produces flaccidity: the membranes dry first, the sinews tighten, and only then does the limb fail.
pí máo
The body's outer surface — skin and its hair — treated as the lung's external counterpart. It is the first thing an evil from outside meets, and the pairing between it and the lung is the road the evil takes inward.
fū zhàng
The second of the chapter's two primary distensions. When the defensive qi does not run counter inside the vessels but instead runs beside them, through the spaces of the flesh, the swelling appears in the skin rather than in the channel. The chapter names it in the same breath as vessel distension and gives it no separate treatment: Sanli, drained quickly, near cases once and far cases three times, without asking whether the case is vacuous or replete. The distinction is therefore diagnostic rather than therapeutic — what changes is where the qi is, not what the needle does.
pí bù
The twelve regions into which the surface of the body is divided, each one belonging to a channel and taking its name from a part of a door: 害蜚 for the yang brilliance, 樞持 for the lesser yang, 關樞 for the greater yang, 樞儒 for the lesser yin, 害肩 for the heart master, 關蟄 for the greater yin. Hand and foot share one rule — 上下同法 — so the twelve are spoken of as six. The regions are not an anatomy but an address: read what lies within them and you read the channel they belong to, and the order in which an evil travels inward is an order through them, from skin to network vessel to conduit to depot. Chapter 56 is the only place in the Suwen where the doctrine is set out as a whole.
zòng fù chuí yú
The silhouette of the fat-bodied man, given twice and both times as a definition. The chapter has sorted bodies into three: 肥, whose shins are firm and skin full; 膏, whose shins are not firm and skin slack; and 肉, whose skin and flesh do not part. The 膏 man is the one whose qi is abundant and whose skin is loose, so that the belly slackens and the fat hangs; the 肉 man is simply large above and below; the 脂 man is drawn small even though fat. The phrase therefore does more than describe a shape — it identifies a constitution, with its own ratio of blood to qi and its own tolerance of cold. The slackness is the sign: where skin lets go, qi is abundant and the form spreads.
tì qì
Snivel and tears, and the chapter's demonstration that they are one thing. 泣涕者，腦也；腦者，陰也。髓者，骨之充也。故腦滲爲涕 — tears and snivel are the brain, the brain is yin, the marrow fills the bone, and what seeps from the brain becomes snivel. Then the comparison: 夫涕之與泣者，譬如人之兄弟，急則俱死，生則俱生 — like brothers, dying together in extremity and living together in life. They come out together and run across, 涕泣俱出而横行, and the reason is 所屬之類也: they are of one kind. 泣 is read qì throughout; the site's entry for 泣 read sè is the other word entirely.