The Talisman for the Thriving Way

Among the twelve cultivation platforms on Lingguang Mountain, the highest one faces east, directly toward the sunrise. Every year after the winter solstice, my senior brothers take turns sitting there, welcoming the first light. I once asked our master why that particular spot. He said, “That is where you receive energy. The morning sets the tone for the day, spring sets the tone for the year, and the beginning sets the tone for a lifetime. If your work—your mission—lacks living energy, it will eventually become stagnant.”

I didn’t fully understand at the time. Then, one summer, a master of an intangible cultural heritage craft came up the mountain.

He was in his early fifties, his hands covered in calluses, his knuckles thick—unmistakably the hands of someone who had worked with them for decades. He stood before the Sanqing Hall for a long time without bowing, just standing. I walked over, and only then did he speak: “Sir, I would like to request a talisman. But not for myself.”

He made traditional lacquerware, a craft passed down through five generations. He told me that in recent years, cheap machine-made products had flooded the market. Orders had dwindled, and his apprentices had all left. “I’m not upset about the money,” he said. “I’m upset about the craft. If it ends with me, I won’t be able to face my ancestors when I die.”

From his bag, he took out a palm-sized lacquer plate—black with a red fish pattern. He said it was the last piece his master had made before passing away. He had kept it with him ever since.

I took the plate and turned it over. On the bottom was a name, and beneath it, two characters carved into the lacquer: “Bù chuán” — “Do not let it die.”

That night, I did not rush to draw the talisman. I took the lacquer plate and walked for a long time behind the retreat. Under the moonlight, the fish pattern seemed to flicker. I remembered what our master had said about “living energy.” A craft, a career, a mission—without a living source, no matter how exquisite the skill, it will eventually dry up.

Back in the quiet chamber, I cleansed my hands, lit incense, laid out the specially prepared bamboo paper, and began to draw the Talisman for the Thriving Way.

This talisman is different from wealth-attracting talismans. Wealth talismans deal with money. This one deals with the root. Money is the branches and leaves. The root is the thing that makes you willing to wake up early, stay up late, and keep going when no one else understands. I named it “the Thriving Way” because the word “Way” here has two meanings: the path you walk, and the reason you walk it. When the two align, that is a true vocation.

Before lifting the brush, I sat in meditation before the altar for a full hour—not to regulate my breath, but to ask myself a question: Am I drawing this talisman to help him sell more lacquerware, or to help his craft survive? The former is business. The latter is the Way. Only when I was clear on that did I dare to begin.

For the talisman’s spiritual core, I used three layers of esoteric characters. The first layer was “connection”—opening a channel to the life-giving energy of heaven and earth, not to take, but to establish a relationship. The second layer was “stabilization”—locking that energy within the talisman so it would not disperse, turning it into a seed. The third layer was “growth”—allowing that seed to develop on its own, like a tree: from root to trunk, from trunk to branches, from branches to leaves, unfolding layer by layer. These three layers overlap without conflict, requiring extremely precise control of vital energy—too much, and they clash; too little, and they fail to hold.

When the talisman was finished, I did not fold it. Instead, I placed it flat against the back of the lacquer plate, wrapped both in yellow silk, and returned them to him.

“When you go home, place this talisman on the left side of your workbench. Before you start working each day, sit quietly for three minutes. Do not chant. Do not pray. Just think about one thing: Why is this craft worth passing down? Once you are clear, then begin.”

He took the talisman, bowed deeply, and went down the mountain.

A year later, he sent me a package. Inside was a lacquer comb, with a灵芝 carved on the back. A note was attached: “Sir, this year I took on two new apprentices, both in their twenties. One of them graduated from an art academy—he wants to learn traditional carved lacquer with color filling. I did what you said: three minutes of quiet before work each day. At first, I didn’t know what to think about. But slowly, I understood. This craft is worth passing down, not because it can make money, but because it is beautiful. Beautiful things deserve to live.”

I placed the comb on my altar. I see it every day when I offer incense.

The Talisman for the Thriving Way is not about “making your business better.” It is about “making your roots deeper.” Many people feel exhausted in their careers not because they don’t work hard enough, but because they cannot find that living energy—the thing that makes you willingly devote yourself to it when you wake up in the morning. Without that energy, even a big business is mere consumption. With it, even a small endeavor is growth.

The first function of this talisman is to connect your work to the “source energy”—what Taoism calls the energy of the Way. This is not a gift that descends from heaven. It is the inexhaustible vitality that naturally emerges when you truly align with your mission. The “connection” esoteric character in the talisman helps break down the barriers to that alignment—self-doubt, the lure of short-term gain, the fear of failure. The second function is to create a “self-sustaining energy circuit” within the seeker’s energy field, so that the work no longer depends on external stimuli (like a favorable market or applause) to keep going. Instead, it generates its own continuous momentum—like a well that, once it taps the spring, produces water on its own.

What makes this talisman irreplicable is that it requires the practitioner to already be “living on the Way.” If the practitioner does not know their own mission, the talisman they draw will have no root. Before drawing, the practitioner must confirm through sitting meditation: this talisman is not for money, not for fame, but to help another being find their Way. From the careful refinement of cinnabar to the selection of specially prepared bamboo paper, from the chanting of scriptures and infusion of vital energy throughout the forty-nine steps, to the final consecration through ritual steps and esoteric characters—each stage is about calibrating the practitioner’s own frequency. No two such talismans can ever be the same, because every person’s mission is unique. This is the distinctive quality of Taoist talismans for career blessings—they do not give you a lucky charm. They give you a mirror, to see why you started.

Talisman link