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.
fǎn zhé
The second of the three signs at the end of the greater yang, and the one that names a posture: the body folded backward on itself, head and heels drawn together. The chapter gives it two characters, and the tradition reads it as the spine. It is the chapter's most purely physical sign — nothing in it needs interpreting, you can see it from across the room.
wù hán
Shrinking from cold, with covers piled on and no relief. It is the constant in the exterior pattern: fever may be present or absent, but the book says 必惡寒 — there must be aversion to cold. Where it comes with fever the illness rises from yang; where it comes without fever it rises from yin, and that one distinction governs the chapter. It differs from aversion to wind in that wind is not needed to bring it on.
wù rén yǔ huǒ
The pair of aversions with which chapter 30 opens its case: a patient with disease of the foot Yangming vessel cannot bear the presence of people and cannot bear fire. The chapter gives each a separate mechanism — the loathing of fire comes from heat, since Yangming governs the flesh and its vessel is rich in blood and qi; the loathing of people comes from the distress of counterflow, since when Yangming rebels upward the patient pants and is oppressed within. Both are traced back to the same vessel, and neither is explained as anything happening in the mind.
wù fēng
Shrinking from a draught. It differs from aversion to cold in that wind must be there to bring it on, and the book uses the difference to sort the two faces of taiyang: wind strike is named with aversion to wind, cold damage with aversion to cold. The two do occur together — one line of the chapter has the patient shivering with cold and wincing at wind at once — and aversion to wind also appears with a stiff back and sweating, where the pattern is not simple wind strike.
bào jué
The one inversion chapter 48 names: the pulse arrives panting, and the person cannot speak with anyone. It stands out in a chapter given over to pulses that fix a day of death, because here the pulse is named and its sign described rather than used merely to count the days.
nèi gé
The word Suwen 2 ends its argument with. Having set out the four seasons and the root they share, the chapter says plainly that following yin and yang is life and going against them is death, and then names the condition of the man who has got it backwards: he is barred within. It is the last illness name in the chapter, and the only one that is not the consequence of a single season's mistake but of the whole orientation.
bì
Two uses in one chapter. First, the mechanical one: blood congealed in the skin by wind after waking becomes 痺, in the vessels becomes stagnation, in the feet becomes reversal. Then four named diseases — heart, lung, liver and kidney obstruction — each of which is the answer to a colour and a pulse. The modern habit of rendering the word as painful obstruction imports a definition (pain, plus blockage) that this text never gives.
bāo bì
Obstruction lodged in the bladder. The chapter localises it precisely — the lower belly where the bladder is, painful when pressed — and gives the two images that carry it: as though scalding water had been poured in, and urine that comes rough. Above, the clear snivel is what the same obstruction does at the other end.
jiǒng
Heat under a graph the rest of the Suwen hardly uses: sun over fire, read jiǒng. In chapter 39 it is the one thing that ends a pain, and also one of the nine qi that disorders it.
qiú
A nose stopped by cold. Chapter 49 gives it in the list that belongs to bright yang: when yang merges above, what is affected is the grandchild network of the greater yin, and the result is headache, blocked nose and swollen belly in one sentence.
sōu xuè
Blood in the urine — 溲 sōu, to pass water; 血 xuè, blood — and this chapter names it once: 少陰有餘，病皮痺隱軫；不足，病肺痺；滑則病肺風疝，濇則病積溲血. It is the rough branch of the lesser yin, and it comes in the same breath as 積, accumulation — a rough pulse is short of blood, and what the chapter gives it is a gathering and a bleeding. The line can be read either way, as two things or as one thing and its discharge, and the base text writes them with no punctuation between them; both readings are kept here. The site reads 溲 as sōu, to urinate, as it has from chapter 37 onward. The same condition written with another graph — 溺血 niào xuè — is already an entry on this site; the two are not merged, because each is what its own base text writes.
xuè jiǎ
What a floating pulse means at the end of the chapter's second answer. The passage runs: 二陽三陰，至陰皆在，陰不過陽，陽氣不能止陰，陰陽並絶，浮爲血瘕，沈爲膿胕. Once yin and yang are cut off together, the pulse no longer reports a channel but a condition: floating, the illness is a mass in the blood; sinking, it is pus and rot. 瘕 is the word chapter 48 sets against 疝 — a gathering that comes and goes, formed of a small, tight pulse that does not beat up under the finger, whereas 疝 is a large, urgent, sinking pulse that stays. Here the mass is placed in the blood rather than in the qi, and the floating pulse is what places it there. The pair 血瘕 / 膿胕 is the chapter's last pathological statement before it turns to the calendar of short terms.