Most of this book describes conditions rather than procedures. It says what the way is like, how a sage behaves, what happens to the violent and what a good government looks like from underneath, and it very rarely tells anyone what to do first.
This chapter is the exception, and it is worth noticing how little it still says. There is one operation, subtraction. It is repeated. It has a stopping point, which is reached rather than chosen. And the result is stated as a paradox rather than as a benefit.
Compare the alternatives elsewhere. Chapter ten asks a series of questions about holding the breath softly, cleansing the dark mirror and keeping to the female, and every one is a question rather than an instruction, so it prescribes nothing. Chapter sixteen describes reaching emptiness and holding to stillness and then immediately shifts to what is observed from there. Chapter fifty-two gives an instruction to block the openings and shut the gates, and leaves the referents unexplained.
Those passages were read as practical directions by the later traditions of breath cultivation and inner alchemy, and much of the Daoist religion's use of this book proceeds from them. That reading requires supplying a great deal, and the supplying was done by later texts and by teachers, not here.
What this chapter offers instead is a description of direction. Whatever the practice is, it removes rather than acquires, and any account of it that ends with the practitioner holding more than they started with has misidentified the exercise.