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.
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.
xuè kū
Blood that has dried up rather than blood that has been lost: a wasting of the blood in youth, from a great haemorrhage or from entering the chamber drunk, marked by the menses failing and answered with cuttlebone, madder and abalone juice.
niào xuè
Blood in the urine, together with a dribbling block: what the bladder produces when the 胞 shifts heat into it. 溺 is read niào, not nì.
huāng
This is what liver depletion does, and the chapter sets it carefully against what liver repletion does. Repletion gives pain below the flanks drawing into the lower abdomen and a temper; depletion takes the senses away. Nothing is blind — rather the eyes are blurred and take nothing in, the ears take nothing in, and fear arrives like someone about to be arrested. It is the same order of symptom the chapter gives for depleted qi elsewhere: the organ stops sending, so the orifices stop receiving.
tǐ tòng
Pain throughout the body, the sign of cold binding the exterior. It stands in the one sentence that defines cold damage, beside aversion to cold, retching and a tight pulse in both positions. The book's other word for generalised pain, 一身盡疼, belongs to dampness in chapter four; the two are the same kind of complaint under different names, and the chapter's usage, not a rule, decides which is written.
tǐ duò
The disease named in this chapter after injury: blood lost in quantity, wind-cold entering, or a fall, and afterwards the four limbs go slack and will not gather. It is not a withered limb and not a painful one — the frame is intact, the strength is simply not delivered. The chapter treats it at the threefold meeting below the navel, which it then identifies as yang brightness and greater yin meeting three inches below the navel, at guan yuan. The name matters because it fixes the picture: what fails is not the limb but the body's hold on it.
yǒng qiè
Temperament treated as a clinical datum. Everything chapter 21 lists — walking at night, falling, taking fright, wading into water — happens to everyone; what differs is what happens next. In the brave the qi moves through and the matter closes; in the timid it lodges, and a lodging becomes a disease. So the chapter makes this the announced rule of examination: look at whether a person is bold or timid, and at the state of bone, flesh and skin, and you have the method. Note that the pair is not a judgement: the text never praises one side, it only says the prognosis is written there.
gǔ jū
Bone abscess is the fourth of the six lesions. 有所結，深中骨，氣因於骨，骨與氣并，日以益大，則爲骨疽 — a knot forms, it strikes deep into the bone, the qi attaches to the bone, bone and qi merge, and it grows greater by the day. The chapter contrasts it with the next: the same knot that settles in flesh and finds heat turns to pus, and finding no heat becomes a flesh abscess; the one that settles on bone needs no heat, because bone and qi together are already a mass. 疽 is the flat deep sore of the Lingshu, as against the raised hot 癰, and 骨疽 is where that distinction reaches its limit.
gǔ suǐ
The deepest lodging of disease, and the phrase chapter 25 opens with. The complaint is that the sickness is invisible while it travels and obvious only when it has arrived somewhere nothing can reach; 留淫日深 describes the travelling and 著於骨髓 the arrival. Everything in the chapter — the three images of a vessel failing, the ruined depot that drugs and needles cannot touch, the insistence on seeing the autumn down — follows from the wish to catch a disease before it gets this far.
gǔ shí
Bone erosion is what happens when deep evil meets heat. 虚邪之入於身也深，寒與𤍠相搏，久留而内著 — the evil enters deep, cold and heat wrestle, and it stays long and settles within. If cold wins, the bones ache and the flesh dries; if heat wins, 則爛肉腐肌爲膿，内傷骨，内傷骨爲骨蝕 — the flesh rots, muscle decays into pus, the bone is hurt within, and the bone hurt within is bone erosion. The chapter gives no treatment. The name is the point: 蝕 is not a wound but a process, the bone being eaten away while the surface still holds, which is why the lesion is placed at the end of the deep-evil sequence and after the flesh has already gone.
gǔ wěi
The flaccidity of the bones, from heat in the kidney, described twice: once as the withering of bone and marrow with the back unable to straighten, and once as the outcome of great heat met on the road, where yang qi is struck down within and the heat lodges in the kidney. The Lower Classic is quoted: bone flaccidity arises from great heat.
gǔ bì
Cold that has got into the bone. It is diagnosed by two negatives that do not look like a pair: the body cannot be warmed from outside, and it does not shiver. The chapter explains both at once — the kidney, which is water and makes bone, has stopped generating, so the marrow does not fill; and there is no shivering because the liver is one yang and the heart a second, while the kidney is a solitary store, so one water cannot overcome two fires.