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.
fāng cǎo
The fragrant, warming herbs. Chapter 40 forbids them in heat-within and wasting-within: their qi is swift and hard, and in a body already hot they drive the patient to madness.
dú zhì
The second half of chapter 21 is organised around it. Each of the six arrives alone at the pulse — the viscus has the field to itself — and each is then given a mechanism and a treatment: greater yang is counterflow with empty qi rising, drain both exterior and interior; yang brilliance is yang doubled upon itself, drain yang and supplement yin; lesser yang is counterflow qi, and the one yang's excess. Then the greater yin is felt beating, the one yang whistles, the one yin governs. Almost every verdict ends in the same place: treat the lower transport points.
shēng jiàng chū rù
The four movements without which nothing lives, and the standard the chapter ends on: 是以升降出入，無器不有 — there is no vessel without them. Rising and falling belong to heaven and earth taking turns, exit and entry to the thing itself. Remove the second and the spirit mechanism perishes in transformation; remove the first and the qi that stands is isolated and in peril. Vessels differ in size and their terms are near or far, but what matters in all of them is to hold to the constant: 反常則災害至矣. The sentence that closes it — 無形無患, without form there is no affliction — is the same thought from the other end.
kuí duó
One of the two arts the chapter sets side by side, and the one that answers the ordinary clinical question: how deep does this go? Qibo's definition is a single clause — 揆度者，度病之淺深也. The chapter then does something more interesting with it: it refuses to let the two arts stay separate, and says that colour, pulse, assessment and the anomalous are all one dao. 揆度 is the measuring half of that pair; 奇恒 is the half that names what cannot be measured by the rule.
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.
píng qì
Qibo's answer to the question of 平氣 takes one clause: 無過者也 — that which does not go past. In a chapter where everything is counted and timed, the healthy case is defined negatively, as the absence of overstepping. It is one of the shortest definitions in the Suwen, and the whole of the chapter's medicine hangs on it: know the season, know whether the qi came, and you know which of the three you are looking at.
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.
chéng
What comes after a qi and holds it down. Asked why each of the six positions has something beneath it, Qi Bo answers with the sentence the tradition never let go of: 亢則害，承乃制，制則生化 — when a thing is excessive there is harm; what bears it down then restrains it; with restraint there is generation and transformation. The six cases make the rule concrete: water under minister fire, earth under water, wind under earth, metal under wind, fire under metal, and the yin essence under sovereign fire. Without the restraint, 害則敗亂, ruin and disorder, and generation and transformation are gravely ill.
shèng dú
The capacity to withstand potent drugs, read off the body rather than the prescription. The chapter's rule is entirely physical: a thick stomach, a black complexion, large bones and fat all bear poison; a man whose bones are thin and whose stomach is slight does not. The word 勝 is doing the work — it is the same verb used of bearing a burden or being equal to a task, not of defeating an enemy — and the chapter has already used the same measure for pain, so that the two questions form a pair: what the body can bear from without, needle and fire, and what it can bear from within, the drugs. The practical consequence is a rule of dosage before dosage was numerical: the same decoction is a different dose in a different body.