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.
xiè fēng
Outpouring wind is wind lodged in the interstices: Wang Bing's gloss turns on the word 泄 — with wind in the interstices the sweat pores open and the sweat is driven out, which is why it is called outpouring. Its signs are sweat that soaks the clothes, a dry mouth, and an inability to labour.
yì yǐn
Chapter 17's account of what happens when a man drinks heavily while very thirsty: the fluid does not stay in the stomach and intestines but passes easily into the space between the flesh and the skin, and that is 溢飲. The chapter's reason for discussing it here is diagnostic: a liver pulse that is soft and scattered, with a complexion that is still glossy, points to overflow rheum rather than to injury — where a hard and long liver pulse with a complexion that is not green points to blood collected under the flanks from a fall.
yín qì
The qi a viscus cannot keep to itself. Chapter 21 uses the word three times in a row, and the pattern never varies: the organ that has been spent pushes its qi out, and what spills goes to work on the organ that one overcomes — the kidney's reaches the lung, the liver's the spleen, the lung's the heart. So 淫 here is a quantity and a direction at once: more than the vessel can hold, travelling a route that is already there. Chapter nine uses the same characters reversed, 氣淫, for a season that arrives ahead of its turn — the same idea of excess applied to the calendar rather than to an organ.
yì yáng
The state in which the neck pulse is four times the wrist pulse and both large and rapid: 人迎四盛，且大且數，名曰溢陽，溢陽爲外格 — overflowing yang is outer obstruction. The image is of water that has left its channel: the excess is not strength but a failure of containment, and the treatment is to open what is blocked rather than to add anything.
yì yīn
The state in which the wrist pulse is four times the neck pulse and both large and rapid: 脉口四盛，且大且數者，名曰溢陰，溢陰爲内關，内關不通，死不治 — overflowing yin is inner obstruction, and inner obstruction that does not open is a death that cannot be treated. The asymmetry with overflowing yang is deliberate: an outer obstruction can still be opened from without, an inner one cannot.
guò yòng
The chapter's whole aetiology in five characters: in every season, illness arises from use beyond measure. The weight of the word rests on what the list before it has established — food to repletion, carrying weight a long way, running in fear, labour until the body sways — for those are all uses, and every one of them emptied a different viscus of its sweat. So the maxim is not about one excess but about a budget that can be spent from several accounts. It answers chapter one's advice on the other side of the ledger: there, rise and rest with regularity and do not labour recklessly; here, what happens when one does.
tòng bì
The obstruction in which cold qi prevails. Cold is what makes pain, and the chapter says so twice: once when it names this kind, and again when it explains that obstruction which has gone deep enough to blunt the construction and defence stops hurting, because the pain was the cold and the cold is no longer the whole of it.
mén xún
Palpating and following along — the first two of the eight manipulations chapter 27 requires before the needle is inserted, and then, at the end of the chapter, the method the physician falls back on when the pulse stops swelling: 審捫循三部九候之盛虚而調之. The pairing matters because it is two acts and not one: the hand laid on to feel what is there, and the hand run along the channel to find where things change. The Lingshu uses the same wording for the same preparation, so this is standard procedure rather than an invention of the chapter.
chuǎn
In chapter 21 panting is not a disease of the chest but a report about where a person has been. Night walking sends it out from the kidney, a fall and fright from the liver, terror from the lung, wading through water and stumbling from the kidney and the bone. In each case the pant names the viscus that spent itself, and the overflow that follows attacks the viscus that one overcomes. Whether the episode closes or leaves something behind is decided by temperament: in the brave the qi moves through and that is the end, while in the timid it lodges and becomes disease. Elsewhere the word describes a pulse that comes driven and broken, and there too it keeps this sense of effort rather than of illness.
chuǎn míng
What comes of the four rebels: 陰爭於内，陽擾於外，魄汗未藏，四逆而起，起則熏肺，使人喘鳴. Yin is fighting inside, yang is disturbing outside, the sweat of the corporeal soul will not stay in, and the four counterflowing qi rise. When they rise they scorch the lung, and that is what makes a person pant and wheeze. 喘 is the racing breath and 鳴 the sound it makes — the chapter's word is the two of them, and the mechanism it gives is a fire: the lung is scorched from below by qi that has turned round and gone up.
shī qì
Breaking wind while coughing — the sign of small intestine cough, which arises when a heart cough has gone on long enough to pass into the palace paired with the heart.
diān jí
The illness of the crown of the head, and in chapter 47 an illness a child is born with. The base text writes 巔, from 山; the received text writes 癲, from 疒. This site follows the base text and keeps the two apart, the more readily because the chapter itself locates the disease: marrow, whose master is the brain.