The use of the name "Yellow Emperor" is not just a historical reference to legendary Chinese figure Huáng Dì (黄帝). There is a particular conception of music exposed in a section of the Zhuangzi (see below), where a man named Cheng recalls a music performance given by the Yellow Emperor near a lake. In that passage we learn that music is an activity which, by dumbfounding the listener, can provoke a transformation.

During the emperor's performance, Cheng experiences emotional responses ranging from dread to fatigue, to confusion. The feelings seem to take him by surprise, he can't make sense of them. The unpredictable playing is unnerving: he cannot follow the music and he is tired of making efforts to try to understand it. Eventually, he reaches a state of stupor. In his bewilderment Cheng loosens his grip, stops trying to control or understand: he becomes empty and unified. The music may finally take him beyond the grasp of words or rational logic.


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Cheng of North Gate said to the Yellow Emperor, "When Your Majesty performed the Hsien-ch'ih music in the wilds around Lake Tung-t'ing, I listened, and at first I was afraid. I listened some more and felt weary, and then I listened to the end and felt confused. Overwhelmed, speechless, I couldn't get hold of myself."

"It's not surprising you felt that way," said the emperor. "I performed it through man, tuned it to heaven and drew from the pure energy. (...) You heard the four seasons rise one after the other. Flourishing and decaying, the ten thousand things took their turn at living. Now with clear notes, now with dull ones, the sounds flowed forth, waking up hibernating animals like thunder and lightning usually do in spring. At the end, no tail; at the beginning, no head; now dead, now alive, now flat on the ground, now up on its feet, my music was constantly changing, there was nothing that could be counted on. That's why you felt afraid.

"Then I played it with the harmony of yin and yang, combining the shining of sun and moon; its notes I was able to make long or short, soft or strong, modulating about a single unity, but bowing before no rule. In a valley the sounds would fill the valley, encountering a crevice they would fill it too. The ghosts and spirits kept to their darkness and the sun, moon, stars and constellations marched in their orbits. I made it stop where there is an end to things, made it flow where there is no stopping. You tried to fathom it but couldn't understand, tried to gaze at it but couldn't see, tried to follow it but couldn't catch up. Dazed by the empty path music took, you moaned on your desk. (...) Your body melted and this brought you to an idle freedom. It was this idle freedom that made you feel weary.

"Then the languor stopped and I let spontaneity command. Therefore there seemed to be a primitive chaos, formless clusters and lines, a steady flow coming from a silent darkness. It moved in no direction at all, rested in mysterious shadow. Some called it death, some called it life, some called it fruit, some called it flower. It flowed and scattered, moving beyond conventions. The world, perplexed by such playing, go to the sage for instruction, for the sage knows the shapes of nature and how to go along with them. When the spirit and the senses are all focused, the player is delighted. This wordless joy may be called the music of heaven. The lord of Yen sang its praises thus: `Listen - you do not hear its sound; look - you do not see its form. It fills all heaven and earth, enwraps the universe.´ You wanted to hear but had no way to go about it. That was why you felt confused.

"First my music made you feel frightened, and because of this fear you felt like the victim of a curse. Later your weariness turned into compliance. I ended it all with confusion, and because of the confusion you sank into stupidity. But by becoming stupid you found the way – the way to let yourself get carried away."

Zhuangzi, Ch. 14 "The turning of heaven"


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