隋天台智者大師別傳 1.2

The Great Master's taboo name was Zhiyi; his style name was De'an; his lay surname was Chen; he was a native of Yingchuan. The glorious achievements of his distant ancestors are richly recounted in the genealogical histories. When the Jin dynasty moved its capital, his family moved south along with it and sojourned in the Jiang-Han region, consequently settling in Huarong County of Jingzhou. His father, Qizu, was learned, mastered the classics and traditions, and was matchless in speech and discourse; in military strategy and calculation he was especially bold and decisive. When Xiao Yi, Prince of Xiangdong of the Liang, went to Jingzhou, he included him as a guest. Obeying orders, he entered the court as an army supervisor. When Zhu Yi saw him, he sighed and said, "Were he not a talent capable of governing the realm, who would be so valued by an eminent prince?" When Xiaoyuan ascended the throne, he was appointed Commissioner with Exceptional Powers, Cavalier Regular Attendant, and Founding County Marquis of Yiyang. His mother, Lady Xu, was gentle, good, courteous, and thrifty. She was especially diligent in observing fasts and precepts. She dreamt of five-colored fragrant smoke floating gently, circling about her bosom like mist. Wishing to brush it away, she heard someone say, "A karmic connection from previous lives is entrusted to Wangdao. Blessings and virtue will arrive of themselves; why brush it away?" She also dreamt of swallowing a white mouse, whereupon she felt her body become heavy. When he was born, at night a divine light appeared, illuminating the house, brightly shining into the neighboring rooms as well. Remembering the auspicious omen of the past, the neighbors called him Wangdao; and combining it with the later portent, he was also named Guangdao. Thus these two words were chosen as his childhood name. His eyes had double pupils; his parents hid and protected him, not wishing people to know, yet people naturally came to know of it. When he was seven years old, he liked going to monasteries. The monks orally taught him the Samantamukha-parivarta; on hearing it once for the first time, he grasped it. But his parents restrained him and forbade him to go frequently. Constantly bearing in mind the recited text and grieved that he had not heard the rest, suddenly, naturally, he understood the remaining sentences. When checked against the text later, not a single word was missing. The local community marveled, saying: is this what is meant by "warming up the old to understand the new"? At age fifteen, he met with the fall of Emperor Xiaoyuan; his household and country were destroyed, and his relatives wandered as refugees. Lamenting that prosperity and union do not last long, and mourning how easily decay and separation arrive, before a statue in Changsha he made a great vow, swearing to become a śramaṇa and take upon himself the heavy duty of shouldering the True Dharma. Because his sincere devotion resonated, he dreamt that that auspicious statue flew down to the courtyard of his house, extended a golden hand that entered through a window opening, and stroked his head three times. Because of this, he deeply loathed the prison of household life and thought of extinguishing the root of suffering. But because of his parents' affection, they would not readily grant him permission. Although he did his best to comply with them, his sleeping and eating were troubled. He then carved sandalwood to fashion a statue, opened the canon to seek scriptures, and day and night bowed and recited, thought following upon thought in unbroken succession. When he bowed before the Buddha, he threw his whole body to the ground. In a daze, as if in a dream, he saw an extremely high mountain overlooking the great sea; pure, calm, and lush, they mutually set each other off. On the mountain peak was a monk beckoning to him with his hand, calling him up. In an instant, the monk stretched out his arm to the foot of the mountain, guided him to ascend, and brought him into a monastery. He saw the statue he had made inside that hall. In the dream, weeping, he declared his vow: "May I study and master the Buddhadharmas of the three periods, and before a thousand masters of treatise expound them without impediment, so as not to vainly receive the worldly kindness of the four requisites." The monk who had stretched out his arm pointed his finger at the statue and said: "You shall dwell here; you shall end your life here." After awakening, he found himself prostrating before the Buddha; his tears shed in the dream had gathered on the ground into a stream. Sorrow and joy alternating in his bosom, his vigor became all the more intense. Later, he met with the deaths of his two parents, suffering the bitter hardship of bereavement. When the mourning period ended, he sought leave from his elder brother. His brother said, "Heaven has already taken our parents; you are slicing my heart once again. Having already been orphaned, to be parted further—how can I bear it?" Kneeling, he replied, "Formerly, the million people of Liang's Jingzhou became slaves and concubines in a single morning. At that time, my mind had long toiled over the rivers and lakes, and I could no longer abide in the midst of worldly rubble. Wishing to repay kindness and requite virtue, one must take seeking the Way as primary. What benefit is there in vain assembly? This is carved into my flesh and etched into my bones; my mind cannot be moved." At that time, Wang Lin occupied Xiangzhou. He sought leave from Wang Lin. Because [Zhiyi's father] Marquis Chen was an old acquaintance, and moreover admiring this determination and integrity, Wang Lin supplied him with Dharma requisites and deeply rejoiced in his endeavor. At age eighteen, he went to the śramaṇa Faxu of Guoyuan Temple in Xiangzhou and left household life under him. Faxu conferred the ten precepts upon him and guided him in the monastic decorum. He then took him across to the north to go to Vinaya Master Huikuang; since Huikuang also mastered the Vaipulya teachings, [Zhiyi] faced north and served him. Later he went to Mount Daxian, where he recited the Saddharmapuṇḍarīka-sūtra, Amitārtha-sūtra, and Samantabhadra-dhyāna-sūtra. In the course of two decades of days, he mastered all three works. Advancing to cultivate the vaipulya confession, with a pure mind and diligent practice, an extraordinary sign appeared before him: he saw the bodhimaṇḍa broad and vast, wonderfully decorated and adorned, but the scriptures and statues were scattered and disordered. His body was on a high seat, his feet upon a rope bed; his mouth recited the Lotus Sūtra and his hands put the scriptures and statues in order. From then on, his mental spirit was harmonized, pure, and bright. When he subsequently received the complete Vinaya Piṭaka, having mastered it, his inclinations from former lives stirred within him, and he constantly took joy in the bliss of dhyāna; yet he was disappointed that in the region east of the Yangtze there was no one worthy of being questioned. At that time, there was Dhyāna Master Huisi, a native of Wujin. His reputation stood high on the peaks of Mount Song, and his practice was deep in the Yi and Luo river valleys. For ten years he constantly recited, for seven years practiced the vaipulya confession, for ninety days constantly sat, and in a single moment achieved perfect realization; his rare abilities and deeds are made clear in his separate biography. Formerly, in the realm of the Northern Zhou, foreseeing that the Buddhadharma would meet with disaster, he turned away from the north and traveled south, intending to go to Hengyue hoping to dwell in seclusion; temporarily he stayed at Mount Dasu in Guangzhou. The late master had long yearned for his virtuous reputation as if thirsty and hungry. That region was on the border between the Chen and Qi dynasties, where weapons clashed; yet he could make light of life and value the Dharma. Thinking little of dying in the evening if only he could hear [the truth] in the morning, he traversed danger to go there. When he first had the opportunity to bow at his feet, Huisi said, "Formerly on Gṛdhrakūṭa we listened to the Lotus Sūtra together; pursued by past karmic connections, you have come again today." He immediately showed him the bodhimaṇḍa of Samantabhadra and expounded the four peaceful practices for him. Thereupon, from dusk till dawn, he toiled earnestly, examining his mind according to the instructions. At that time, he was only bold in seeking the Dharma and impoverished in material offerings. He chopped cypress for incense; when the cypress was exhausted, he followed it with chestnut. He rolled up the blind to let in the moonlight; when the moon set, he burned pine to provide light. Not a single breath was drawn in vain; not a single word was spoken rashly. After two times seven days had passed, when reciting up to the Bhaiṣajyarāja-parivarta where the buddhas praise in unison, "This is true vigor; this is called the true offering of the Dharma"—upon reaching this sentence, his body and mind opened up and peacefully entered samādhi. The dhāraṇī arose from tranquility; he illuminated and understood the Lotus Sūtra as bright sunlight overlooks a dark valley, and penetrated the true reality of all dharmas like a great wind roaming through empty space. About to obtain confirmation, he reported this to his teacher. His teacher further expounded and developed it; widely spreading the net of teachings, the dharma-items were completely provided. Inquiring into details as the sun went down, they continued link by link until dawn. What his own mind had realized and what he received from his teacher advanced his cultivation in four nights more than a hundred years of effort. To say that he "understood ten upon hearing one" would fail to serve as an adequate metaphor. His contemplative wisdom was unobstructed, the gate of dhyāna unblocked; his past practice blossomed forth, radiant like flowers in bloom. Master Huisi praised him, saying, "Were it not for you, none would have realized it; were it not for me, none could recognize it. The samādhi you have entered is the preliminary expedient for the Lotus Samādhi. The dhāraṇī that arose is the initial āvarte-dhāraṇī. Even if masters of letters were to gather in thousands and tens of thousands, their attempts to exhaust your eloquence would never come to an end. Among those who expound the Dharma, you are foremost."

At that time there was Dhyāna Master Huimiao. His conduct was bizarre and contrary to normal standards, and his eloquence bewildered the listeners of the day. He said to his disciples, “What I expound is the true lion's roar; what others speak is the yelping of jackals.” Whose eyes of the mind are not yet opened that would not be deluded? The former master directly cited scriptural passages, referenced tenets, marked the rhythm, investigated, and cross-examined him. Miao then lost his evidence: when the wind of wisdom winnows, the chaff can be recognized; when the water of concentration clarifies, the gravel and sand are easily made clear. Thereupon the deluded disciples knew to turn back, sought the ferry, and recognized the crossing.
Still, that very night, [the former master] dreamed that he saw a three-storied pavilion: Miao was standing beneath it, while he himself sat above. There was also a man who rolled up his sleeves, glared angrily, and said, “Why do you disregard Miao? Why do you doubt his teachings? You ought to question me!” The former master posed difficulties through several rounds of back-and-forth exchange between host and guest. The angry man ran out of words, his reasoning collapsed, and his tongue tied, he fell silent. Thereupon [the master] admonished him, saying, “Apart from the true reality of all dharmas, all else is the deed of Māra.” After he admonished him, he no longer saw Miao or the angry man. Those who heard it that night thought he had been talking in his sleep. In the morning, he went to Huisi's place and recounted these signs in full.
His master said, “When you contemplate the ‘Non-retrogression Chapter’ of the Prajñā[-pāramitā], how many kinds of behavioral categories and appearances are there among the ninety-six paths? The sūtra says that if someone preaches the Dharma, spirits will assist and terrify him. Since you shattered the banner of pride by day and drove off the wicked faction by night, it is only natural that falsehood does not obstruct the true Dharma.”
Master Huisi finished producing a gold-lettered copy of the Pañcaviṃśatisāhasrikā Prajñāpāramitā Sūtra. He himself opened the profound meaning and ordered [the master] to lecture in his stead. Thus his wisdom was likened to the sun and moon, and his eloquence was like a hanging river; his contraction and unfolding suited the occasion, with [profound] principle residing within. Only concerning the three samādhis and the three contemplation-wisdoms did he consult and verify; all the rest he decided himself. Master Huisi held a ruyi in his hand, approached the assembly, and praised him, saying, “It may indeed be said that the Dharma has been entrusted to a dharma minister, and the dharmarāja has nothing to worry about!” Vinaya Master Huikuang also came to join the assembly. Huisi said to him, “This old monk has been listening to your worthy disciple's Dharma!” [Huikuang] replied, “He was born of the Dhyāna Master; he is no disciple of mine.” [Huisi] also said, “Huisi has no merit either; it is only the power of the Lotus!”
When the substitute lecturing was finished, Master Huisi admonished him, saying, “I have long longed for the southern Heng[yue], but regretted having no one to whom I could entrust the Dharma. You have roughly attained its gateway, which greatly fulfills my wish. My understanding does not surpass yours, but our karmic affinities must part. Now I entrust it to you. You may uphold the Dharma, adapt to conditions, transmit the lamp, and transform beings. Do not be the person who cuts off the lineage at the end!”
Having received this strict instruction, he could not accompany [his master] to Hengyue. Having long heard that Jinling was a reservoir of benevolence and righteousness, he went to observe it as a test: if the Dharma could be propagated in that land, he would not fail the entrustment. Thereupon, together with Faxi and others—twenty-seven people in all—he went to the capital of the Chen dynasty.
Yet “the highest virtue does not consider itself virtue,” and those who truly appreciate it were few. There was an old monk named Faji, who was the uncle of He Kai. Proud of his own dhyāna learning, he leaned back reclining and asked, “If a person enters samādhi and hears the ground of Mount She shaking, knowing that Sengquan’s training is impermanent, what kind of dhyāna is this?”
[The master] answered, “This peripheral concentration is not deep; falsehood enters through the darkness. If one grasps it or speaks of it, the concentration will be ruined without doubt.”
Ji arose in astonishment, apologized, and said, “This old monk once attained this concentration himself. I spoke of it to Master Gong of Lingyao, but he did not understand it, and after I spoke of it, it was lost forever. Today I have heard what I had never heard before! Not only do you know the marks of dharmas well, but you also perceive others’ minds from afar!”
Ji told Kai about it, and Kai told the court and the commoners. From this, his renown spread among the ordained and the lay, and those seeking instruction formed a beaten path.
Dharma Master Daren was eminent in virtue and nurtured the Way under the Liang and Chen dynasties, dwelling at Kaishan without mingling with the contemporary world. At that time, when an assembly on doctrinal meaning met at Mount Jiang, though there were sharp disputants and double seats, Ren had no place for anyone. When he engaged with the former master, whose contemplative wisdom flowed unhindered, the listeners tilted their ears. The assembly all snapped their fingers, joined their palms, and all said they had heard what they had never heard before. Ren sighed and said, “This does not come from written commentaries; it is an unhindered eloquence based on discerning capacities! Prajñā is neither dull nor sharp; sharpness and dullness depend on conditions. That it is abundantly suited to the time is its sharp aspect. When the pond is deep, the flower is large; how could a dull [mind] fathom this? I rejoice in having the good fortune to receive his lingering radiance, making me, in my old age and illness, forget my fatigue!” Because he was praised by earlier luminaries, eulogies filled the avenues.
At that time, Huibian of Changgan invited him to Dingxi, and Sengkuang of Tiangong invited him to dwell in the Buddha-cave. Both wished to abandon lecturing and practice dhyāna, but their karmic conditions fell short, leaving them with eternal regret. Facing him, they vowed: “In this life obstacles have separated us so that it could not be fulfilled. Receiving your teachings in a future life to propagate them, we certainly hope you will draw us forward!”
Xu Ling, the Left Vice Director of the Department of State Affairs, of superior virtue and weighty renown, dreamed that his deceased father said to him, “The Dhyāna Master is my ancestral model from past lives. You should serve him whole-heartedly.” Having received this nocturnal instruction, his respect was consummate: he never missed the seasonal occasions to pay visits, and he did not avoid mud or water when bowing. If he received a letter, he would wash his hands, burn incense, don his cap and belt, and make three prostrations; holding his breath, he would open the seal, and facing the text, he would bow and read, assenting to every sentence. Were it not for subtle and supreme virtue, how could a literary giant of the era have humbled his mind to such a degree?
Shen Junli, Specially Advanced with the Equivalence of the Three Excellencies, invited him to reside at Waguan to lecture on the title of the Lotus Sūtra. An imperial decree suspended court affairs for a day, and the gathered lords all assembled: Wang Gu, Grand Master of the Imperial Fall with Gold and Purple, Kong Huan, Palace Attendant, Mao Xi, Minister of the Department of State Affairs, Zhou Hongzheng, Vice Director of the Department of State Affairs, and others. Red-wheeled carriages stirred the roads, and jade pendants clattered in the assembly. Together they donned the fragrance of the precepts, and together they partook of the flavor of the Dharma.
Huirong of Xiaozhuangyan Temple, puffed up and haughty, raised his eyebrows and waved his fan on that day. The fan then fell to the ground. He formulated two great difficulties, but his difficulties were not sharp. Joining his palms, he sighed and said, “Without dhyāna there is no wisdom—is this not [exemplified by] today’s Dharma throne?” Dharma Master Fasui, who was sitting beside him that day, patted Rong’s back and mocked him, saying, “The doctrinal dragon of former days has now become a crouched deer! Since the fan has already fallen to the ground, what will you use to cover your shame?” Rong replied, “Underestimating the foe led to losing momentum, but I cannot yet be bullied!”
Falang of Xinghuang Temple extensively propagated Nāgārjuna. He sent senior disciples to formulate difficulties for successive decades of days. Polishing a mirror only makes it brighter; rubbing gold only makes its color pure. Going empty, they were filled, and forgot to return! Is this not what is meant by ‘Those fond of winning harbor shame, and change their ways without dispute’?
Baoqiong of Jianchu, meeting him, yielded the road and said, “In my youth I wished to study dhyāna but did not meet a renowned master. When grown, although I had faith, I was hindered by lecturing. Just when autumn has come, I meet a worthy one, but my years are already advanced! I hope that through this thirst and longing, we will guide each other through successive lives.”
Jingshao of Baima, Fasui of Dinglin, Zhiling of Chanzhong, and Fengcheng and Fa'an, were all supreme masters of Jinling whose virtues placed them at the head of the sangha. They relinquished the position of facing south and observed the etiquette of facing north. Those from the four quarters who folded their sleeves and came from ten thousand li did not spare their priceless bodies, hoping to gain the benefit of a single sentence. Bowing their minds to the supreme teaching, they partook in harmony of the wondrous Way; intent only on dhyāna and wisdom, they forgot sleep and meals.
The former master was good at leading the assembly, guiding and disciplining them appropriately. He stayed at Waguan for eight years, lecturing on the Mahāprajñāpāramitopadeśa and preaching the Gradual Gate of Dhyāna. The benefits received through his speech and silence are difficult to record in brief. Though his movement and stillness were in accord with the Way, he was able to expose flaws while concealing treasures, and his grace extended to all.

hastily recognised who I was: "In the past, Fotudeng and Xuan'gao both promoted calming and contemplation equally; after that, it sank into decline, becoming merely a single wheel or a single wing. It was not until the Southern Peak gave it a powerful resurgence that it flourished to this height." When King Shixing of Chen went out to govern Dongting, the dukes and ministers sending him off all turned their carriages to Waguan Temple, piling their abundant donations like a mountain and bowing with deep devotion. Thereupon [the Master] sighed and said: "Last night I dreamt I encountered fierce bandits, and today it turns out to manifest these soft thieves! As a hair rope cutting through the bone makes one yearn to drag one's tail in the mud, [so I feel now]." He then dismissed his disciples, saying: "I have heard that shooting in the dark corresponds to [the vibration of] the string. Ignorance is the dark; lips and tongue are the bow; mental deliberation is the string, and vocal sounds are the arrows. Firing aimlessly throughout the long night brings no awareness; but if one person is benefited, the string of the mind responds. Furthermore, the Dharma-gate is like a mirror, and square and round are like images: if conditions pull at the mind, the windlass turns without end; if conditions shut off the mind, it naturally halts and stumbles. In the past, beneath the wheels of the Southern Peak and when I first crossed to the east of the Jiang, the Dharma-mirror shone repeatedly and the heart-string frequently responded. At first at Waguan, forty people sat together and twenty attained the Dharma. The next year over a hundred sat together and twenty attained the Dharma. The following year two hundred sat together and fewer than ten attained the Dharma. After that, the disciples grew ever more numerous, yet those attaining the Dharma grew fewer. This obstructs my own practice, and you can well understand the way of teaching; let all you virtuous ones go wherever you are at peace. I wish to follow my own aspiration. Mount Jiang is too close, not a place to escape clamour. I have heard that the Tiantai Gazetteer states there is an immortal palace there, and what was seen by Bai Daoyou was true indeed. The poetic rhapsody on the mountains compared it to Penglai; Sun Xinggong's words were right on the mark. If I can rest all conditions on this ridge, peck at peaks, drink from streams, and fulfil the wish of my lifetime...!" Emperor Xuan of Chen issued an edict to detain him, and Left Vice-Director of the Department of State Affairs Xu Ling tearfully begged him to stay; but, paying no heed to public opinion, he went straight to the eastern streams. Thus, in the autumn of the seventh year of the Taijian era of the Chen (575), in the ninth month, he first entered Tiantai. He wandered through the mountains and waters: paying homage to the large timber trees of Daolin; celebrating the stone niche of Tanguang; seeking out the mountain path of Gaocha; and rinsing his mouth in the cloud-pool of Sengshun. Several times he crossed the Stone Bridge and repeatedly descended to the Southern Gate, passing the time and lingering on, not yet having chosen a site for his dwelling. Once he spent the night at the Stone Bridge and saw three people in black headcloths and crimson robes. An old monk led them forward and said: "If the Dhyāna Master wishes to build a temple, at the foot of the mountain are the foundations of the Crown Prince's Temple; we offer them to supply your needs." [The Master] therefore asked: "Even a thatch hut is difficult in such times as today; when will it be possible to complete this temple?" The old monk replied: "Now is not the time. When the three kingdoms become one, a person of great power will be able to raise this temple. If the temple is completed, the country will be peaceful (qing); it should be called Guoqing Temple." At that time, the three states stood like a tripod and their carriages and books were not yet unified; though he received this mysterious prophecy, it lay far off in the indefinite future. How could he speak of it? For the time being he turned back and came out of the valley; seeing the southern peak of Folong, where the landscape to the left and right embraced and shone in utmost beauty, he lingered there, taking an interest. There was Dhyāna Master Dingguang, who had lived on the mountain for thirty years; his tracks were obscure, his comprehension of the Way was clear, and though easily approached he was hard to understand. Many of his advance prophecies had proved remarkably accurate. That night, [Zhiyi] lodged in Dingguang's thatch hermitage. All heard the sound of bells and sounding-stones ringing out clearly through the mountain valley, beginning faint and growing distinct, rising and ceasing in perfect cadence. He asked Dingguang about the intervals between these sounds; Dingguang danced with his hands, chanted aloud, and said: "Just listen to the striking of the mallet gathering the monks—this is the sign that you may dwell here! Do you remember when someone beckoned with their hand and led you along?" None of the others understood his words. Thereupon, on the northern peak where Dingguang lived, he founded a monastery: planting pine trees to nest in, and diverting a stream to circle the stone steps. Looking out over the temple's site, it was entirely identical to his former dream without the slightest discrepancy. North of the temple was an isolated peak called Huading. Ascending to gaze from it, one saw no other mountains, and its heat and cold were forever different from other places. The former master left the assembly to go there alone to practice dhūta. Suddenly, late in the night, a great wind uprooted the trees, and thunder shook the mountain. Demonic spirits came in a thousand throngs, in a single form with a hundred shapes: some with dragons and vipers atop their heads; some spewing sparks of fire from their mouths; shaped like black clouds, sounding like thunderclaps, changing instantaneously in ways beyond reckoning. What is depicted in paintings of the transformation of the subjugation of Māra was mere child's play; these terrifying apparitions surpassed them. Yet he was able to settle his mind, utterly still, empty, and quiet, and the oppressive sights naturally dissolved away. Next they took the shapes of his parents, teachers, and fellow monks, at times leaning against him, at times embracing him, sobbing with grief and shedding tears. But he deeply contemplated the true reality [of all dharmas] and thoroughly realised original nothingness, so the sights of distress and suffering immediately vanished once more. Neither fierce nor soft conditions could move him. When the morning star appeared, a divine monk manifested and said: "Only one who conquers enemies and overcomes adversaries can be called valiant; in enduring this trial, none can equal you." Having thus comforted him, he further preached the Dharma for him. The words of this Dharma discourse could be grasped by the mind but cannot be recorded in writing; right as they were spoken, each phrase brought immediate clarity—parting the clouds to gaze upon the sun or drinking spring water do not suffice as metaphors. Zhiyi immediately asked: "Great Sage, what Dharma-gate is this? How should it be learned? How should it be proclaimed?" The reply was: "This is called the One Truth of Reality. Learn it with wisdom (prajñā); proclaim it with great compassion. From this day forward, whether for yourself or to help others, I will follow you like a shadow and an echo." His dhūta practice having ended, he returned to Folong. The wind, mist, mountains, and waters outside were enough to make him forget all cares; the wonderful wisdom and deep dhyāna within filled him with joyful delight. However, Folong was rugged and blocked; no boats or carriages could reach it. The harvest failed that year, and the monks dispersed as conditions dictated. The Master, together with Huichuo, planted chicory and gathered acorns, at peace with poverty and without distress. Soon Emperor Xuan of Chen issued an edict saying: "The Dhyāna Master is a hero of the Buddha-Dharma, revered as a master of our age. His teachings embrace both the clergy and the laity; he is the hope of the state. It is fitting to allocate the taxes of Shifeng County to meet the expenses of the community, and to exempt two households of commoners to provide firewood and water." The assembly gathered again as a result, yet he felt no joy on that account. Yuan Zixiong of Chen Commandery hurried through the forests for a hundred li, and Yu Chong of Xinye, who had collected three tax levies from the people—both men climbed the mountain, happened upon a lecture on the Vimalakīrtinirdeśa-sūtra, and thereupon observed the fast and precepts for consecutive days, listening to the Dharma with undivided mind. Xiong saw before the hall a mountain clear and transparent like vaiḍūrya, with fine gems strewn across the floor of the winding brook on the mountain's shaded side. A rainbow bridge spanned it, inlaid with precious ornaments; several dozen Indian monks, all holding incense burners in their hands, walked out from the mountain, crossed the bridge, and entered the hall, their awe-inspiring deportment filling the view and the incense smoke piercing the nostrils. Xiong told Chong about it, but Chong said he saw nothing: sitting side-by-side yet as distant as heaven—such was indeed the case here! Because of this, Xiong resolved to rebuild the lecture hall; this event was not long ago, and the hall still exists today. However, the base of Tiantai borders the vast sea, and the common people make their living by fishing: those who set fish-weirs block the creeks, and those who make [submerged fishing pens] sink them in the sea. When the autumn waters swell once, fish great and small pack the weirs; at the morning and evening tides, fish clamour in agony throughout the [pens], their skulls piling up into mounds, flies and maggots buzzing like thunder. Not only was this pitiable for the creatures of water and land, but he also grieved for the boatmen who perished needlessly. For this reason the former master aroused the universal compassion of the Great Vehicle, gave away his own robes,

Together with everyone's contributions, a fishing weir was purchased to be made permanently into a pond for releasing living beings. At that time, the commandery governor Ji Xu invited him to expound the Suvarṇaprabhāsa-sūtra. In saving beings he was impartial, so the precious and hidden emerged from their lairs. Cultivating his body with benevolence, those who saw him rejoiced; cultivating his speech with benevolence, those who heard his voice gave rise to the aspiration [for awakening]. Skilfully and earnestly guiding them, he made them comprehend cause and effect. The fishermen throughout the entire territory reformed from evil and followed the good, loving life and renouncing killing. The swift tides extended for more than three hundred li; the fishing weirs and dams in the rivers and streams totaled sixty-three locations. All were simultaneously and permanently abandoned, together becoming Dharma ponds. Those saved in a single day numbered in the tens of billions—how could it be limited to merely ten thousand? Riding abreast in boats on the river, he expounded the Jalavāhana Chapter; he also scattered non-glutinous rice, making the twofold gift of material goods and Dharma. As the boats emerged from the mouth of the sea, they looked toward Mount Furong: towering steep and clustered high, it was like a red lotus just blooming; a solitary rock hung horizontally, resembling a withered blossom about to fall. The Master said, "A former dream of wandering by the seashore was just like this." The śramaṇa Huicheng and the commandery governor Qian Xuanzhi both wrote compositions of praise, but as the texts are voluminous they are not recorded here. Later, Xu returned to the capital, where he was implicated in another matter and consequently entangled with the Minister of Justice. When he was about to undergo punishment, he thought from afar of the late Master, wishing that he would extend a hand to save him. That night he dreamed of countless myriads of fish, beyond reckoning, all spitting foam to moisten Xu. The next morning an imperial edict was issued specially pardoning Xu's crime. At midday, auspicious clouds suddenly arose, yellow, purple, red, and white, shaped like a lunar halo; they congealed in the empty sky, covering the roof of the temple from afar. Furthermore, a flock of yellow sparrows flew about, fluttering and chirping noisily; perching and gathering along the eaves and buildings, they departed only after half a day. The Master said, "The river fish have transformed into yellow sparrows and come here to give thanks." The Master dispatched his disciple Huiba to the capital, Jinling, to present a memorial. Emperor Xuan of Chen issued an edict stating: "Hunting and fishing are strictly prohibited; let it permanently be a pond for releasing living beings." The Chen Crown Prince asked Xu Ling, "Who shall compose the stele for the Tiantai meritorious deeds?" He replied, "I hope for the divine brush and jade writing [of the Emperor]." It happened that Emperor Xuan passed away, so it could not be completed; an edict was then issued ordering the Libationer of the Directorate of Education, Xu Xiaoke, to erect a tall stele. The stele is now on the mountain; those who read it shed tears. King Yongyang, son of Emperor Wen of Chen, went out to pacify Ouyue. Repeated letters arrived with deep sincerity, whereupon [the Master] went to the Yu Cave and personally practiced the vaipulya [confession]. The king's retinue all received the pure precepts together. By day they partook of lectures, and by night they practiced seated meditation. The late Master said to his disciple Zhiyue, "I wish to encourage the king to cultivate blessings to avert calamity; may I?" Yue replied, "None of the palace officials are old acquaintances; they will surely speak of hot and cold (idle gossip)." The Master said, "Putting an end to worldly ridicule and suspicion is also good." Later, the king went out riding and fell from his horse, nearly dying. Yue then felt remorse, sorrow, and shame, as though wounding the late Master, and personally led the assembly to perform the Avalokiteśvara confession ritual. Composing their minds with single-minded focus, the king felt slightly awake and sat leaning on an armrest. The king saw an Indian monk holding an incense burner walk straight forward, and asked the king, "How is the severity of your illness?" The king sweated profusely and did not answer. The monk then circled the king once; the fragrance lingered as he turned to the right. Immediately [the king] felt relaxed, and his painful afflictions were completely relieved. Precepts and wisdom had first imbued his mind, and the efficacious response next delighted his eyes; even had he not wished to give rise to faith, how could he have helped it? His vow text said: "We look up with reverence to the Ācārya of Tiantai: his virtue equals Dao'an and Huiyuan; his Dao surpasses Dao’guang and Daoyou. Near and far turn their hearts to him. Shaking his tin staff, clouds gather; he inherits the Semblance Dharma that was on the verge of falling, in order to rescue the dark and benighted; he reveals the double brilliance of the sun of wisdom, so as to deliver the decadent world. Furthermore, he roams the gates of the Dharma and penetrates the orchards of dhyāna. The knots of conditioned existence are already cast off; the forbearance of the unproduced is manifest before him. I, your disciple, am tossed by the winds of karma and submerged in the waters of attachment. Though I partake of the joy of the Dharma, I have not dispelled my benighted mind; in vain do I revere the delight of dhyāna, while in the end harboring thoughts of distraction. The solar orb gallops along, and Xihe's reins do not halt; the lunar mirror turns its carriage, and Chang'e's reflection is hard to detain. There is parting and there is meeting—what words can express my sighs? Loving the Dharma and revering the Dharma, my feelings flow ceaselessly like a stream. I vow that life after life, world after world, I may encounter the Ācārya of Tiantai and constantly practice offerings to him, just as Jñānaprabha served the Tathāgata Mahābhijñājñānābhibhū, or as Bhaiṣajyarāja had audience with the Perfectly Awakened Meghadundubhisvararāja. May Sukhāvatī and Tuṣita both be subsumed under the One Vehicle." Although the late Master harbored treasures in the deep gorges, his fame shook the capital cities; though he hid his form in dark ravines, his virtue and wisdom were manifest and bright. The Young Master of the Chen asked the assembled ministers, "Who is celebrated and preeminent within the Śākya gate?" Xu Ling replied, "The Dhyāna Master of Waguan: his virtue surpasses wind and frost; his mirror of dhyāna is as deep as the ocean. Formerly, when he journeyed afar to the capital, he was revered by all the worthies; now he strides loftily on Tiantai, while the Dharma clouds mist over the east. King Yongyang faced north to serve him personally. We pray that Your Majesty summon him to return to the capital to propagate the Dharma, so that both monastics and laity may receive the benefit." The Chen ruler first sent the Imperial Attendant Zhao Junqing; second, he sent the Chief Secretary Zhu Lei; a third imperial decree was dispatched; and fourth, he sent the man of the Dao, Fasheng. All carried letters written by the Emperor's own hand. [The Master] pleaded illness in all cases and would not comply. Thereupon, relying on the three envoys, the Chen ruler further ordered the prefecture to urge and invite him earnestly. King Yongyang admonished, "His Majesty has humbled himself, and the court contemplates reverence; if there is one word of benefit, the four classes of living beings will rely upon it. If you yield loftily in the deep mountains, compassion will be obstructed. Though I, your disciple, am insignificant, you still deigned to bend your steps; if you do not comply with the court's decree, how can you remain at ease?" He replied, "Examining myself, I lack virtue whether retiring or appearing in public; moreover, if there is hidden fault, my own person must bear it—how could I allow it to unjustly entangle others? Karmic conditions are like water: the elevated drains and the sunken remains; one's intentions cannot always be fulfilled; I simply leave it to conditions." Thereupon he set out for Jinling. On the road he met two envoys: first sent was the Imperial Commission Attendant Huang Jibao; next sent was the Chief Secretary Chen Jianzong. He was invited into the East Hall, provided with the four requisites, and received with earnest courtesy. An assembly of dhyāna practitioners was established at Lingyao, and an exposition of the Śāstra was begun at Taiji. He also lectured on the Humane Kings Prajñā for a hundred seats. The five ranks [of nobility] sat on the left, and on the right the Chen ruler personally took his seat to listen to the Dharma. The Rectifier of Monks Huixuan, the Overseer of Monks Huikuang, and Chang'gan Huibian, all having received the imperial command, raised difficult challenges. Like high winter ice freezing together, the solutions, like the blazing summer sun, were able to melt them. The Son of Heaven rejoiced, and all the officials showed complete reverence. When the lecture ended, Huixuan held up an incense burner to congratulate the assembly, saying, "In the state for more than ten years, I have personally presided over four lecture series. Dividing the passages and analyzing the principles, I thought I had attained the entrance. Today the sun has risen and the stars have withdrawn; seeing the masterly, I know my own crudeness. From of old, contention has never ceased, but around this seat there is solemnity and to spare. Seven nights of tranquility, and a thousand branches of flowers gleaming—this is all the power of the Dharmarāja." In the Parade Hall, the Chen ruler expressed his gratitude, saying, "Not only is the Buddha-Dharma entrusted to you, but we also wish you to point out whatever is improperly established." When the Chen dynasty investigated unregistered monks and nuns, tens of thousands of people were to be unfrocked if their examination on the sūtras failed to meet the standard at court deliberations. The late Master admonished, "Devadatta daily recited ten thousand words, yet could not escape hell; Śuddhipanthaka recited a single verse of gāthā and attained the fruit of an arhat. In true assessment, it is only the Dao that matters; how could it depend on much recitation?" The Chen ruler was greatly delighted, and immediately halted the investigation and purging.

However, living at Lingyao was exceedingly cramped and narrow. Seeking further for a tranquil place to establish an assembly and practise dhyāna in peace, he suddenly dreamt of a person whose entourage was orderly and solemn, who declared his name to be Guanda and invited him to dwell at Sanqiao. The Master said, "Guanda was the Dharma name of Emperor Wu of the Liang. Does 'Sanqiao' not refer to Guangzhai [Temple]?" He thereupon moved there. In the fourth month of that year, the ruler of Chen visited the temple, renounced his person, and made great donations. The Master also gave lectures on the Benevolent King's Prajñā[-pāramitā Sūtra]. Just as his explanation of the sūtra concluded, the ruler of Chen rose from the assembly and made three prostrations, bowing and rising with earnest devotion to manifest his veneration. From the Crown Prince on down, all placed their reliance upon his ferryboat, and all revered his moral standards. Regarding him as an exalted guide, the late Master emptied himself, had no thought of gain, and was able to remain at peace through favour and disgrace, being completely tranquil without shock or joy. The Crown Prince's petition requesting the precepts read: "Yuan makes obeisance. With deep respect, I reflect that your transformation and guidance are boundless, saving beings according to their capacities; you protect the realm, guide humans and devas, shine with radiant brilliance, and entrust your traces to teachers and friends. The image of an ordained monk entering a dream to serve as a tally has long made manifest the Upādhyāya's virtue in gracing the high seat; holding firmly to this, I look forward with yearning to the ten stages and long for the four reliances. For the two vehicles, Great and Small, and the two teachings, inner and outer, venerating teachers and honouring the Dao has long been esteemed. I humbly hope that you will condescend to grant this petition and forge a karmic bond across life after life, fulfilling my original vow so that it may increase day and night. Today, on the fifth day of the second month, a Dharma assembly for one thousand monks has been established in the Chongzheng Hall, reverently inviting you to be the preceptor of the bodhisattva precepts. I respectfully dispatch Liu Xuan, Master of Documents, to welcome you (and so forth)." At that time, holding the incense in his hand, tears fell down his cheeks. He had the style name Shanmeng; yet taking the phonetic reversal of the characters, it meant "late". Only after the Great Sui annexed Chen was the former import understood. Once Jinling fell, he leaned on his staff and made his way through Jing and Xiang. Halting along the way at Bencheng, he suddenly dreamt of an old monk who said, "I respectfully entreat you to guard and protect Tao Kan's auspicious image." Thereupon he went to rest at Mount Kuang and saw the portrait of Huiyuan; this proved to be the spiritual numen of the Dharma Master of Yanmen. Shortly afterwards, Xunyang rebelled and the temples were incinerated; this mountain alone was entirely unmolested. The merit of protecting the image surely lay herein! King Xiao of Qin heard of his renown and invited him. The late Master told the emissary, "Though we wish to meet, I fear our conditions will ultimately diverge." Yet the prince's emissaries urged him on relentlessly, leaving him no way to decline. Just as he was about to cast off the moorings, he encountered fierce winds lasting for several decades of days; rebellious bandits suddenly arose, cutting off both land and water routes, so the journey was not made. In the past, when His Sovereign Majesty governed the Huai and the sea across ten thousand li, having pacified the region, he admired righteousness, venerated worthies, and took refuge in him as if in a shelter. He dispatched messengers to invite him, and he packed his bowl to keep the appointment. The Master said, "I have a profound karmic affinity with the Great King. Going with the current and having the wind at our backs, we shall arrive in no time." Thereupon he received from him the bodhisattva vinaya. The late Master first pleaded his lack of virtue, then deferred to renowned monks, and next recommended fellow practitioners, but three refusals failed to excuse him. He then made four requests: "First, although I am fond of learning dhyāna, my practice does not accord with the Dharma. Having reached the evening of my years, keeping from afar to the rope bed, I examine my heart and find it merely a nominal designation. Praising and exalting belongs to others, but I abhor hearing of virtue exceeding reality. I ask that you do not deceive yourself regarding my dhyāna teachings. Second, I was born in the frontier regions and grew up amidst chaos and war. My person is untutored in etiquette, my speech clumsy at greetings and small talk. Matters of the transcendental and abstruse have long been beyond my capacity, and my restraint in worldly affairs has nothing commendable. Although I wish to conduct myself with care, I fear my straightforward nature will ultimately offend others. I ask that you do not demand conformity to regulations. Third, I have a slight wish to transmit the lamp in order to repay the kindness of the Dharma. If my person is to serve as a model for the precepts, taking office and departing should be weighed heavily; if taking office and departing are weighed heavily, then transmitting the lamp will be neglected. If they are taken lightly, criticism and reproach will arise. To avoid blame and keep one's person safe is not as good as propagating the Dharma; I ask that you permit me to act for the Dharma, without faulting me for matters being taken lightly or heavily. Fourth, for more than thirty years I have lived among water and rocks, so that it has become my nature. Now that the royal realm is unified and the Buddha's Dharma is revived once more, having inappropriately benefited from people's hospitality and bathed in this gracious transformation, I shall exhaust my failing strength within to repay the external protection from above. If thoughts of hills and valleys arise, I ask to be released to drink and peck so as to live out the remainder of my days." Only after these four desires were granted did he accede to the gracious decree. As the Great King then yearned for the pure precepts, he readily consented to these splendid wishes. The petition requesting the precepts read: "This disciple's foundation inherits accumulated goodness; I was born into the imperial house. Early on, I was instructed in the domestic courtyard, and early was I steeped in the regular teachings. When good fortune arrives, the wondrous opportunity must be realized. Ashamed to tread unevenly upon the lesser path, I long to wander freely in the Great Vehicle. Laughing at resting in the Conjured City, I vow to sail a boat to the other shore. Among the myriad practices of the great beings, pure precepts come first; among the ten receipts of a bodhisattva, dedicated observance is supreme. As with building palaces and halls, one must first lay the foundations; to build vainly in the empty sky can never succeed. Confucians, Daoists, and Buddhists alike draw upon their mouldings; without rules and models, upon whom could one rely? Truly, though the Benevolent One was originally the Upādhyāya and Mañjuśrī secretly acted as the Ācārya, one must still rely upon a human teacher to visibly transmit the sacred bestowal, moving from near to far, and through resonance achieve penetration. Sadāprarudita gave his very marrow to Dharmodgata; Sudhana forgot his person for the Dharmadhātu. These are explicitly recorded in the scriptures, not spoken from personal whim. With deep faith in the Buddha's words, I am fortunate to follow a luminous guide. The dhyāna master is a dragon and elephant of the Buddha's Dharma; the jewel of his precepts is round and pure, the water of his samādhi deep and limpid. Arising from tranquility, he brings forth wisdom and dwells securely in unobstructed eloquence, placing others before himself, his modesty and restraint forming a standard. His name is heard afar, renowned to all as a good friend. Therefore, this disciple pours out his devotion from afar, sending boats over great distances to invite you, always fearing that conditions might diverge and meet with hindrances. Yet now that you have arrived, the path of my heart is open and clear; parting the clouds and mist, my afflictions are dispelled at once. On this twenty-third day of the eleventh month of the eleventh year of Kaihuang, in the Jincheng Hall of the governor-general, I have established a thousand-monk assembly, reverently entreating you to confer the bodhisattva precepts. The precept is called Filial Piety; it is also called Restraint. It takes expedient means and wisdom as its fundamental guide, revering the ultimate. With this supreme blessing, I offer support to His Sovereign Majesty and the Empress to create great ornamentation, sharing the Tathāgata's compassion and extending the universal love of all Buddhas, regarding the four kinds of born beings equally, just as an only son." The Master said: "The Great King condescends to follow the sacred prohibitions; let your name be called Zongchi (Dhāraṇī)." The King said: "The Great Master transmits the lamp of the Buddha's Dharma; let him be called Zhizhe (Wise One)." The sixty kinds of alms received were all redistributed at once to both the field of compassion and the field of reverence, causing merit and virtue to increase and multiply, so as to support the incense and lamps of the state and realm. With matters completed, he sailed his boat toward Heng and the Gorges. The Great King rode in procession to Guizhou, overlooking the river, to see him off; the provisions supplied were twice as lavish as before. Encountering a favourable wind, he departed in the morning and returned in the evening, while the monastics and laity of Zhugong craned their necks in longing expectation, supporting the aged and leading the young as they hurried toward the precept platform. Dark hair and white hair gathered like clouds; over fifty people attended the lectures. Returning to one's native place to repay the land was unprecedented in Jing and Xiang. Since the sun of wisdom was already bright, the field of blessings was to be established. He founded a vihāra at Mount Yuquan in Dangyang County; he received an imperial bestowed plaque naming it Yiyin, which was later changed to Yuquan. That place had originally been wild and perilous, with violent spirit-beasts and serpents; the proverb said, "It is a swamp of the three poisons; those who tread here freeze with fear." Yet when he founded the temple there, he was entirely free of anxiety. In the spring and summer of that year there was a drought, and the common folk all said the spirits were angered. Therefore Zhizhe went in person to the spring's source to eradicate this false view.