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.
zhuó bì
The obstruction in which damp qi prevails. Damp is heavy and clinging, and the name says what that produces: an obstruction that settles in one place and will not move. The chapter gives it no further explanation, because the graph already carries it — 著 is what stays.
féi
Wind-stroke of the flaccid kind, set in this chapter against 偏枯. The difference is exact: in 偏枯 half the body will not move and it hurts, while in 痱 there is no pain at all and all four limbs fail to gather, with the mind clouded but not lost. The chapter grades the prognosis by speech — faint but intelligible speech can be treated, inability to speak cannot — and gives the order of treatment when the disease began in the yang and moved into the yin: take the yang first, then the yin, and needle shallowly.
wěi
The withering of a limb that keeps its feeling. Chapter 44 lays it out as a disease of heat in the stores: the lung scorches the skin and hair, the heart empties the lower vessels, the liver dries the sinew membranes, the spleen dries the flesh, the kidney empties the marrow — and in each case the tissue fails and the limb goes slack. The word is rendered flaccidity on this site, after the existing entry for 痿厥.
wěi bì
Flaccidity in which the legs will not carry the body: the form the chapter treats as the outcome of heat in the lung. Because the lung is chief of the stores and canopy over the heart, its scorched lobe stands behind all five flaccidities, and this two-graph name is the one the chapter uses for the result.
wěi jué
A compound of weakness and cold: the limbs waste and lose their strength while the extremities turn cold because the qi no longer reaches them. Here it follows damp contracted in autumn.
wěi yì
What the third yang and the third yin produce together: 三陽三陰發病，爲偏枯痿易，四支不舉. The third yang is the greater yang and the third yin the greater yin — exterior and interior, the two that answer each other — and when they fall ill together the body is left with 偏枯 and 痿易, and in the end the four limbs cannot be raised. The two names in the pair are not the same: 偏枯 says that one side has withered, 痿易 says that the flesh has gone limp and slack. 易 is the harder half of the word, and the commentators divide on it — 王冰 reads it as change, the later writers as the giving way of slackness. Both readings agree that the flesh is no longer doing anything.
ròu jū
Flesh abscess is the last of the six lesions. 有所結，中於肉，宗氣歸之，邪留而不去，有𤍠則化而爲膿，無𤍠則爲肉疽 — a knot forms, it settles in the flesh, the ancestral qi returns to it, the evil stays and does not leave; with heat it transforms into pus, without heat it is a flesh abscess. The sentence is the chapter's cleanest statement of what heat does: the same knot, the same place, and the only difference is whether it burns. The chapter closes on this pair with a line that covers all six: 凡此數氣者，其發無常處，而有常名也 — these several qi have no fixed place of outbreak, but they have fixed names.
ròu wěi
The flaccidity of the flesh, from heat in the spleen on one hand and from standing dampness on the other. The chapter's second account is the one that mattered to later medicine: dwelling in wet places and working with water soak the flesh until it is obstructed, and numbness turns into flaccidity.
jī bì
The obstruction that comes of meeting the three qi at utmost yin, the long summer. Flesh is the tissue of that season and the spleen is the store it is matched with, so flesh obstruction that persists and meets evil again lodges in the spleen. Lodged in the flesh it shows as insensitivity.
fú luò
The network vessel as it shows itself on the surface — the one the chapter asks you to look for, six times over, in each of the six regions: 視其部中有浮絡者. It is not a class of vessel but a vessel in a place, near enough the skin to be seen, and the whole visual method of chapter 56 hangs on it. Read its colour — much blue-green is pain, much black obstruction, yellow and red heat, much white cold, and all five together cold and heat — and when it is full, 絡盛, the evil has begun to move in and lodge in the conduit. The site's entry for 浮 on its own (id 634) is the autumn quality of the pulse; this is the other use of the same graph.
bēng
The chapter's word for a woman's blood breaking out and not stopping: 陰虚陽搏，謂之崩 — the yin is empty, the yang beats, and that is called 崩. It stands immediately after 陰搏陽别，謂之有子 in the same paragraph, and the two together are the chapter's sharpest piece of pulse reading. There the yin is full and beats and the yang stands apart, and the woman is with child; here the yin is empty and the yang beats, and the blood comes down. One pulse, two verdicts, and the whole difference is whether the yin is full or empty. 崩 itself is a collapse: a mountain coming down, and the blood coming down with it.
fán xiù
The name Suwen 2 gives to the three months of summer. Heaven and earth have come together, and things are at their thickest and in flower. The rule drawn from it is the rule for summer: sleep at night and rise early, do not weary of the long days, keep the will free of anger, and let the qi find its way out — as though what you loved were outside you. Breaking it harms the heart, autumn brings jie malaria, and the illness is grave at the winter solstice.