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.
qīng yáng
The light, clarified half of qi, the half that rises. Suwen 5 uses the pair 清陽／濁陰 four times in a single breath and once more at the end of its cosmology: the clear becomes heaven, leaves by the upper orifices, opens the interstices, fills the four limbs; the turbid becomes earth, leaves by the lower orifices, walks the five viscera, goes home to the six palaces. The scheme is the chapter's way of saying why one body has an upper half and a lower half at all, and why qi and flavour part company on the way in. 清陽 is not a substance the chapter isolates; it is the direction a part of the qi takes.
dēng gāo ér gē
Climbing to a high place and singing, listed in chapter 30 among the things a patient does in severe Yangming disease. The chapter explains the climbing by the fullness of the limbs when yang is exuberant, and does not explain the singing separately — it belongs to the same excess. Later literature reads the pair as a standard sign of mania; chapter 30 reads it as the limbs having more yang in them than usual.
pēi xuè
Blood that has come out and congealed. The chapter uses it twice in one entry on nosebleed that will not stop: while the clotted blood is still flowing, take the foot greater yang; for the clot itself, take the hand greater yang; if that fails, prick below the wrist bone; if that fails, bleed the popliteal hollow. The word is precise and the sequence is the point — a nosebleed that has begun to clot is no longer the same condition as one that runs, and the channel changes with it.
cū lǐ
The diagnostic sign the chapter returns to three times, and the one that carries its whole argument from wood to man. Coarse grain means the interstices are open and the flesh is not firm, and from that follow three susceptibilities in order: wind, obstruction, and — through the same openness — the lodging of evil that becomes accumulation. The word is the exact opposite of 小理, fine grain, which marks the small and well-guarded viscus; the next chapter uses the same pair to read the size of the viscera from the skin, since coarse means large and fine means small. In this chapter the comparison is with timber: a wood of loose grain drinks the rain and splits, a wood of close grain turns the axe. 麤 is the base text's graph for 粗 and is kept as printed.
hán rè
In chapter 42, cold and heat is both the first of the six forms wind takes and the alternative name for li wind. Its mechanism is stated plainly: wind qi lodges between skin and flesh and can neither pass inward nor drain outward, so the same lodged wind reads as chill when the interstices open and as heat when they close.
hán biàn
The illness that follows from failing to keep the rule for spring, and the first of the four penalties Suwen 2 names. It is the only one of the four with a name of its own; the other three borrow names that already exist (痎瘧, 飱泄, 痿厥). The mechanism the chapter gives is short: against the qi of spring, the liver is harmed, and what should have been handed on to summer's growth is too little — so the summer illness is a cold one.
qīng jué
In chapter 22 it belongs to kidney depletion, and sits in a list that is easy to read past: pain in the chest, pain in the upper and lower abdomen, cold counterflow, and a mind without pleasure. That last item is why the two words are worth separating out. This is not merely a chilled patient; it is the picture of an organ that has stopped distributing warmth anywhere — outward to the hands and feet, and inward enough to make the spirits want anything. Later books use the same pair for very different afflictions, but the two directions are always together.
shāng hán
Having been harmed by cold. In chapter 31 this is the single cause named for every heat disease: a person is harmed by cold, the result is heat disease. The chapter's day-by-day account is the account of how that harm spreads — one channel per day, from 巨陽 through the three yang and then into the three yin. The phrase also carries the chapter's last lesson about time: the same cold damage becomes warm disease before the summer solstice and summerheat disease after it, so the cause is one and the names are two.
hán jué
Inversion of the cold kind: yang qi fails below, yin qi is left alone, and the cold spreads up the leg from the toes to above the knee. The chapter lays the cause to conduct rather than weather — a robust man who spends himself through autumn and winter, when yang is meant to be kept — and notes expressly that the cold does not come in from outside.
hán nüè
Malaria whose fit begins with cold and goes on to heat. The chapter's account: sweated by great summerheat, the interstices wide open, one meets the bitter cold of summer water, and it lodges among the interstices and the skin; then autumn brings wind, and the disease is complete. Cold is yin qi, wind is yang qi — struck first by cold, so cold comes first.
hán zhōng
Cold within — 寒 hán, cold; 中 zhōng, within, in the middle — and this chapter names it once: 太陰有餘，病肉痺寒中. 太陰 is the spleen; the spleen governs the flesh and holds the middle; and a surplus of it means dampness winning, which is why the disease it gives is cold in the flesh and cold in the centre at once. The graph 中 is read zhōng here — within, not struck — and the chapter itself supplies the contrast: thirty-four paragraphs on, in the list of what happens when the needle goes into a depot, the same graph is read zhòng, to be struck — 中心、中肝、中肺、中腎、中脾. One graph, two readings, and the chapter uses both. The chapter also has 寒 in a second compound, 寒慄 hán lì, shivering, which is what puncturing the sinews and bones in autumn does; that is cold felt, not cold located.