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.
fèi bì
The white case. The pulse arrives racing and floating, empty above and full below, and there is fright. Accumulated qi sits in the chest; the breathing is laboured and the qi itself is empty, and the disease comes with cold and heat. Its cause is the most ordinary thing in the chapter: drunkenness, and going in. The chapter pairs the laboured breathing with an empty pulse, which is the point — the effort is real and the qi is not there.
fèi qì
The qi of the lung. Suwen 2 gives it both the rule and the penalty: the rule for autumn is to keep the will from reaching outward so that the lung qi is pure, and the penalty for getting autumn wrong is that Taiyin · greater yin does not gather in and the lung qi is scorched and full. It is the one of the four storehouse qi in this chapter that the text tells you how to keep as well as how it fails.
fèi xiāo
Lung wasting: produced when the heart shifts cold into the lung. Its sign is that the patient voids more than he drinks, and the chapter judges it untreatable.
fèi fēng
Lung wind is the first of the five store winds chapter 42 describes. It is pale rather than flushed, worse in the evening than by day, and read above the eyebrows. Wang Bing explains the evening worsening: by day yang qi is at the surface, at evening it goes inward and the wind answers it.
zhèng yǎn
Lying flat on the back — in this chapter a test rather than a posture. The person with wind water cannot do it; doing it brings on coughing because the water qi presses upward on the lung, and brings up clear water with the cough. The chapter pairs it with the swelling below the eyes: one sign above, one below, both read as water.
zài quán
The qi that has charge of the lower half of the year, and the counterpart of 司天. This chapter names the six — 少陽、陽明、太陽、厥陰、少陰、太陰 — and with each says what may not arise: 故少陽在泉，寒毒不生；陽明在泉，濕毒不生；太陽在泉，熱毒不生. Each then gives the flavour that belongs to the qi, the treatment that follows from it, and the grain that grows under it — 其味辛，其治苦酸，其榖蒼丹 — so that a year's medicine is read off from what lies below. The six come back in the passage on the five classes, where 在泉 decides which kind of creature comes to nothing in the second half. 司天 and 在泉 are never in the same half of the year: the qi above in one half is below in the other.
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.