语云吴牛喘月。蜀犬吠日。然非亲履其地。罔识其谬也。夔巫阳。巴之东门户也。楚归
州抵
此。程七百里。历三峡瞿塘滟 之险。长江若带。洪涛怒涌。几摇心眼。两岸堵江玄猿夜啸
。千峰插汉皓昼阴霾。朝云莫雨茫茫靡旦。一线隙天微光隐现时逢金秋。爽气平分。木落天
高。烟岚四净。当隆午中宵之候。日月垂辉。掩映树秒。或大如箕。或小如拳。或长如竿。
或短如尺。仰瞩千仞之上。若睹若失。巴人语曰。岁不二三见。见则群犬聚而吠之。及孤影
惊遁。嚣声始息。未几扬帆出峡方快。牖天渐辟。四境达闻。不复有吠日之奇事耳。嗣登渝
州入锦官。称古天府膏原平壤。极目缥缈。风景寥廓。神怡心旷。每揽胜千秋啸卧草堂石枕
支机笔续凌云鸟戏桐花之凤鸦涂涛女之笺进艇锦江远睇青城碧澜翠HT 供我诗肠。不禁飘飘然
。
欲仙矣。回思往事依稀如见。而因叹谚语之失详也。今正其名曰峡犬吠日。夫内经坟典。万
载之宗传也。立斋先生。大成之继圣也。内经立斋。中天之日月也。诸子百家。杂出之灯光
也。自内经以来。未有盛于先生者也。独怪僻壤时流。仅遵偏术细法。反谤正学大道是徒知
有灯光。不识有日月也。毁先生者吠日月也。予设此喻非为日月吐气特为陋工广识耳。
俗话说“吴牛喘月”、“蜀犬吠日”。然而，如果不是亲自到过那些地方，就无法识别这些说法中的谬误。夔州和巫山一带，是巴地的东面门户。楚国的归州抵达这里，路程七百里，历经三峡瞿塘峡滟滪堆的险阻，长江像衣带一样狭窄，洪涛愤怒汹涌，几乎让人心惊目眩。两岸悬崖堵江，玄猿在夜间长啸；千峰插入云端，白昼也显得阴霾昏暗。早晨有云，傍晚下雨，茫茫无际，不分早晚。一线天空的微光若隐若现。恰逢金秋时节，清爽之气平分天地，树叶凋落，天空高远，烟雾岚气四处洁净。正当隆冬或正午深夜的时候，日月垂下光辉，与树梢相互映衬。月亮有时大如簸箕，有时小如拳头，有时长如竹竿，有时短如尺子。抬头仰望千仞高山之上，月光似有似无。巴地的人说：“一年不见两三次，一旦看见，群狗聚集对着它狂吠。”等到孤影受惊逃遁，喧嚣声才停止。不久扬帆出峡，心情才感到畅快，窗户般的天空逐渐开阔，四周境界通达听闻，不再有“吠日”这种奇怪的事了。随后登上渝州，进入锦官城（成都），号称古代天府之国，膏腴平原，平坦宽广。极目远眺，景象缥缈，风景辽阔，精神愉悦，心胸开阔。常常揽胜千秋，呼啸而卧，以草堂石枕为凭，笔续凌云，鸟儿嬉戏于桐花间的凤凰，乌鸦涂抹波涛中女子的信笺。划着小艇在锦江上远望青城山，碧绿的波澜翠微的山色供我诗兴发挥。不禁飘飘然，想要成仙了。回想往事，依稀可见，因而感叹谚语不够详尽准确。现在纠正它的名称叫“峡犬吠日”。《内经》等经典著作，是万代的宗传准则。立斋先生（薛己），是继承圣人大成的人。《内经》与立斋先生的著作，如同中天之日月。诸子百家，不过是杂乱发出的灯光罢了。自从《内经》以来，没有比立斋先生更盛行的了。唯独奇怪偏僻之地的时俗流医，仅仅遵循偏颇的技术和细碎的方法，反而诽谤正统的学问大道。这仅仅是知道有灯光，而不认识有日月啊。诋毁立斋先生的人，就像对着日月狂吠的狗一样。我设立这个比喻，不是为了替日月吐气，特意为浅陋的医生拓宽见识罢了。
It is said that "the water buffalo of Wu pants at the moon" and "the dogs of Shu bark at the sun." However, unless one has personally visited those places, one cannot recognize the fallacies in these sayings. Kuizhou and Wushan are the eastern gateways to Ba. Guizhou of Chu reaches here, a journey of seven hundred li, traversing the dangers of the Three Gorges, specifically Qutang Gorge and the Yanyu Reef. The Yangtze River is narrow like a sash, with raging waves surging angrily, almost shaking one's heart and eyes. On both banks, cliffs block the river; black apes howl at night. A thousand peaks pierce the clouds, making even broad daylight seem gloomy and overcast. Morning brings clouds, evening brings rain, vast and boundless, indistinguishable by day or night. A sliver of sky reveals faint light, appearing and disappearing intermittently. It happens to be the golden autumn season, where the crisp air divides heaven and earth equally. Leaves fall, the sky is high, and misty vapors are clean on all sides. At the height of noon or the depth of midnight, the sun and moon cast their radiance, reflecting against the treetops. The moon may be large as a winnowing basket, small as a fist, long as a bamboo pole, or short as a chi (ruler). Looking up at the heights of a thousand ren, the moonlight seems present yet elusive. The people of Ba say, "It is seen only two or three times a year. When it appears, a group of dogs gathers and barks at it." Only when the solitary shadow flees in alarm does the noise cease. Soon after setting sail out of the gorge, one feels relieved; the sky opens up like a window, the surroundings become clear and audible, and no more strange events of "barking at the sun" occur. Subsequently, ascending to Yuzhou and entering Jinguan City (Chengdu), known as the ancient Heavenly Prefecture, with fertile plains and flat land. Gazing into the distance, the scene is ethereal, the landscape is vast, the spirit is joyful, and the mind is open. One often contemplates the vicissitudes of millennia, whistling while lying down, using the stone pillow of the Thatched Cottage as support, continuing the brushwork of reaching the clouds, watching birds play among the paulownia flowers like phoenixes, crows smearing letters on the waves like maidens' notes. Punting far on the Jinjiang River, gazing at Mount Qingcheng, the green waves and emerald hues feed my poetic inspiration. One cannot help but feel floating, as if desiring to become an immortal. Recalling past events, they appear vaguely, leading to a sigh that proverbs lack detail. I now correct its name to "dogs of the gorge barking at the sun." The *Neijing* (Inner Canon) and other classics are the ancestral traditions for ten thousand generations. Mr. Lizhai (Xue Ji) is the successor who inherited the great achievements of the sages. The *Neijing* and Mr. Lizhai's works are like the sun and moon in the mid-heavens. The various schools of thought are merely scattered lights. Since the *Neijing*, there has been none greater than Mr. Lizhai. It is strange that doctors in remote areas and current trends only follow biased techniques and minor methods, instead slandering orthodox learning and the Great Dao. They merely know of the lights but do not recognize the sun and moon. Those who slander Mr. Lizhai are like dogs barking at the sun and moon. I set forth this metaphor not to vent for the sun and moon, but specifically to broaden the knowledge of ignorant practitioners.