續高僧傳 17.14

17.14

釋慧命。姓郭。太原晉陽人。晉徵士郭琦之後也。以梁大通五年辛亥之歲。生于湘州長沙郡。天挺英姿秀拔群表。雖居綺年人多傾異。覺夢之際光觸其身。明悟條序深有殊致。時湘部名僧相謂曰。珍闍梨。位地難測。然入如來室者。即慧命矣。故自結髮日新開裕。八歲能詩書。體貌凝遠。識者知非常器。然而銳精聽習妙入深義。故使理超文外照出機前。智不驚愚貞無絕俗。道親物疎。州閭贊重。年十五誦法華經。兩旬有半一部都了。尋事剃落學無常師。專行方等普賢等懺。討據華嚴以致明道。行自襄沔。聞恩光先路二大禪師千里來儀投心者眾。乃往從之。後遊仙城山。即古松仙之本地也。先有道士孟壽者。幽栖積歲祈心返正必果所願。捨所居館充建寺塔。及命未至山夕。壽忽怳焉如夢。大見神祇嚴衛館側。至覺驚喜登巖悵望。遂覩梵旅盈林。乃命至也。趨而禮謁。即捨所住為善光寺焉。供事駢羅眾侶咸會。晚於州治講維摩經。大乘駕御之津。入道乘玄之迹。禪智所指罔弗倒戈。既滿九旬便辭四部。衣鉢隨從還返故林。有法音禪師者。同郡祁人。本姓王氏。不言知已。兩遂得朋。同就長沙果願寺能禪師。修學心定。未結數旬法門開發諮質遲疑。乃惟反啟。懼失正理通訪德人。故首自江南終于河北。遇思邈兩師方祛所滯。後俱還仙城。僅得五稔預知亡日。乃携音手於松林相顧笑曰。即斯兩處便可終焉。侍者初聞未之悟也。不盈旬望同時遇疾。命以周天和三年十一月五日精爽不謬。正坐跏趺面西念佛。咸覩佛來合掌而卒。同眾有夢天人下地幢幡照日。又聞房宇唱善哉者。奇香異樂聞熏非一。音以其月十七日。亦坐本處。所現瑞相頗亦同倫。然命音兩賢。俱年三十有八矣。即於樹下搆甓成墳。有弟子清信士鄭子文。立碑于寺。門人慧朗。祖傳命業不墜禪風。化行安沔道明隨世。初命與慧思定業是同。贊激衡楚詞采高掞。命寔過之。深味禪心慧聲遐被。著大品義章融心論還原鏡行路難詳玄賦。通述佛理。識者咸誦文或隱逸未喻於時。有注解者。世宗為貴。自居山舍學徒騰聚名溢南北。有菩薩戒弟子濟北戴逵。學聲早被名高列國。乃貽書於命曰。竊以。渭清涇濁。共混朝宗之源。松長箭短。同秉堅貞之質。幸預含靈五常理宜範圍三教。是以闕里儒童。闡禮經於洙濟。苦縣迦葉。遷妙道於流沙。雖牢籠二儀。蓋限茲一世。豈如興法輪於鹿苑。蕩妄想於鷲山。半滿既陳權實斯顯。誠教有淺深人無內外。禪師德聲遠振。行高物表。攝受四依。因牧羊而成誦。負笈千里。歷龍宮而包括。故能內貫九部。搜雪山之祕藏。外該七略。探壁水之典墳。支遁天台之銘。竺真羅浮之記。曇賦七嶺汰詠三河。寶師妙析莊生。璩公著論表集。若吞雲夢如指諸掌。加以妙持淨戒如護明珠。善執律儀譬臨玄鏡。稟羅云之密行。種賓頭之福田。撫挹定水便登覺觀。高蔭禪支將逾喜捨。是以不遠瀟湘。來儀沔陸。植杖龍泉乃為精舍。迴車馬首即創伽藍。鑿嶺安龕。詎假聚砂成塔。因山構苑。無勞布金買地。開士雲會。袂似華陰。法侶朋衝。眾齊稷下。禪室晨興時芳杜若。支提暮啟暫入桃源。香山梵響將阮嘯而相發。日殿妙音。與孫琴而高韻。紫蓋貞松仍撝上辯。洪崖神井即鎣高心。故以才堪買山。德邁同輦。崇峯景行牆仞懸絕。弟子業風鼓慮。欲海沈形。洎渚宮淪覆。將歷二紀。晝倦坐馳夜悲愕夢。未能忘懷彼我歸軫一乘。遣蕩胸衿朗開三達。既念鼠藤彌傷鳥繫。昔在志學家傳賜書。五禮優柔三玄饜飫。頗絕韋編構述餘緒。爰登弱冠捃摭百家。及乎從仕留連文翰。雖未能探龍門而梯會稽。賦鷦鷯而詠鸚鵡。若求其一分亦髣髴古人。但深悟聚泡。情悲交臂。常欲蟬蛻俗解貪味真如。一日鄖城許修。隗館屈膝。情欣係襪遇同進履。未盡開衿遽嗟飄忽。尋拂衣世網脫屣牽絲。滄浪濯纓漢陰抱甕。行飡九轉用遣幽憂。漸悟三空將登苦忍。仙梁觀玉不廢從師。深㵎折桃無妨請益。所希彌天勝氣乍酬鑿齒。雁門高論時答嘉賓。冬暖如春願珍清軌。室邇人遐彌軫襟帶。餘辭淺簡。望無金玉幽林。沙門釋慧命。酬書濟北戴先生。夫一真常湛。徼妙於是同玄。萬聖乘機。違順以之殊迹。是以西關明道東野談仁。彫朴改工有無異軫。今若括此二門。原茲兩教。豈不歸宗三轉會入五乘。藉淺之深資權顯實。斯若池分四水始則殊名。海控八河終無別味。檀越幼挺奇才。夙懷茂緒。華辭卓世雅致參玄。智涉五明學兼三教。益矣能忘。蹈顏生之逸軌。損之為道。慕李氏之玄蹤。雖復六經該廣百家繁富。聖賢異准儒墨分流。或事曠而文殷。或言高而旨遠。莫不納如瓶受說似河傾。明鏡匪疲洪鍾任扣。子建挹以奇文。長卿恧其高趣。故雖秦楚分墟周梁改俗。白眉青蓋。龜玉之價弗渝。栖鳳臥龍。魚水之交莫異。加以識鎣苦空志排塵俗。形雖廊廟器乃江湖。是以屬歎牽絲興言世網。辭同應陸調合張嚴。嗟失火之遽傳。愍清波之速逝。方應濯足從道洗耳辭榮。九轉充虛四扇排疾。然後尋八正以味一真。解十纏而遣三患。斯之德也寧不至哉。貧道識鏡難清心塵易擁。定慚花水戒非草繫。才侔撤燭學謝傳燈。內有愧於德充。外無狎於人世。是以淹滯一丘寓形蓬柳。端居千仞託志筠松。測四序於風霜。候二旬於眺魄。至乃夜聞山鳥仍代九成。晝視遊魚聊追二子。蓽戶弊衿。既在原非病。朱門結駟。亦於我如雲。所歎藤鼠易侵樹猨難靜。勞想鷲頭倦思鷄足。至於林凋秋葉曾無獨覺之明。谷響春鸎終切寡聞之歎。忽承來問曲見光譽。幽氣若蘭清音如玉。誠復溢目致歡。而實撫膺多愧。雖識謝天池未辯北溟之說。而事同泥井慚聞東海之談。所冀伊人於焉好我黃石匪遙。結期明旦白駒可縶。用永今朝善敬清猷。時因素札言不洗意。報此何伸。時或以逵即晉代譙國戴逵。今考挍行事非也。晉書云。大元十二年徵隱士戴逵。不久尋卒。至梁大通三年。經一百四十三載。命公方生。計不相見。又非濟北明矣。時又有沙門慧曉。厥姓傅氏。亦以禪績獻公。文才亞於慧命。北遊齊壤居止靈巖。數十年間幽閑精業。眾初不異之也。及鄉民有任山荐令者。曉去鄉歲久思問親親。行至縣門使人通令。令正對客未許進之。踟蹰之間又催通引。客猶未散。令且更延。曉悟曰。非令之為進退。乃吾之愛憎耳。豈鄉壤之可懷耶。命省事取紙援筆。而裁釋子賦。紙盡辭窮。告曰。若令問覓。可以此文示之。吾其去矣。於是潛遁。故賦云。咄哉失念。欻爾還覺。是也。及後追靈巖。窮討不見。出賦示僧。方知曉之才也。於是人藏一本。用祛鄙吝。曉後尋諸名岳。養素栖心。時復流目人世。而還晦形幽阜。卒不測其所終。

Śramaṇa Huiming had the surname Guo. He was a native of Jinyang in Taiyuan, and a descendant of Guo Qi, a scholar summoned to office under the Jin dynasty. In the fifth year of the Datong era of the Liang dynasty, a xinhai year [531 CE], he was born in Changsha commandery, Xiangzhou. Endowed by heaven with heroic bearing, he stood preeminent above the throng. Even in his tender years, many were captivated by his marvel. Between sleeping and waking, light touched his body; his clarity of discernment was orderly, having profound and rare distinction. At that time, eminent monks of the Xiang region remarked to each other, 'Ācārya Zhen's spiritual stage is difficult to fathom; yet the one who enters the room of the Tathāgata must be Huiming.' Thus from the day he tied his hair, his understanding broadened and renewed itself daily. At eight years old, he could compose poetry and calligraphy. His bearing was poised and aloof, and discerning observers knew he was no ordinary vessel. Moreover, he applied his keen mind to listening and studying, marvelously penetrating the deep meanings, so that his realization transcended the words, illuminating insight before any prompting. His wisdom did not startle the ignorant, and his integrity did not sever worldly relations. Closer to the Way than to external things, he was praised and venerated in his home commandery. At age fifteen he recited the Saddharmapuṇḍarīka Sūtra; in two and a half decades of days [twenty-five days], he had mastered the entire text. Soon after, he underwent tonsure; his learning knew no constant master. He devoted himself to practicing the vaipulya and Samantabhadra repentances, investigating the Avataṃsaka to illuminate the Way. Journeying through the Xiang and Mian regions, he heard that the two great Dhyāna Masters Enguang and Xianlu had arrived from a thousand li away and that crowds submitted their hearts to them; he then went and followed them. Later he traveled to Mount Xiancheng, which is the original abode of the ancient Songxian [Pine Immortal]. Formerly there was a Daoist named Meng Shou, who had dwelt in seclusion for accumulated years, praying from his heart to return to orthodoxy, hoping his wish would be fulfilled. He wished to renounce his residence and use it to build a monastery and stūpa. On the evening before Huiming reached the mountain, Shou suddenly fell into a trance like a dream, in which he saw spirits and deities strictly guarding the side of his lodge. Upon waking in surprise and joy, he climbed the crag and gazed expectantly, whereupon he beheld the assembly of monks filling the forest: Huiming had arrived. He hastened forward to pay homage and immediately relinquished his dwelling to make it Guangshan Monastery. Offerings were arrayed in abundance, and the community gathered in full. Later, Huiming lectured on the Vimalakīrtinirdeśa in the provincial capital. It served as a ford for driving the Mahāyāna chariot and a track for ascending the mysterious path into the Way. Wherever his dhyāna and wisdom pointed, none failed to lay down their weapons in surrender. When the ninety days [of the retreat] were fulfilled, he took leave of the fourfold assembly, and carrying only robe and bowl, returned to his old forest. There was Dhyāna Master Fayin, a native of Qi in the same commandery, originally surnamed Wang. Without speaking, they recognized each other and became companions. Together they went to Changsha's Guoyuan Monastery under Dhyāna Master Neng to cultivate the stabilization of the mind. Before several decades of days had passed, the Dharma-gates opened within them. Whenever Huiming encountered doubts and hesitated, he would introspectively reflect; fearing deviation from the correct principle, he traveled widely to consult virtuous masters. Thus, starting from the south of the Yangzi and ending north of the Yellow River, he met the two masters [Hui]si and [Hui]miao, and only then dispelled his obscurations. Later, both returned to Xiancheng. After barely five years had passed, he foreknew the day of his death. Taking Fayin by the hand in the pine grove, they looked at each other and smiled, saying, 'In these two spots, our end may be reached.' When their attendants first heard this, they did not understand. Within less than fifteen days, both fell ill at the same time. On the fifth day of the eleventh month in the third year of the Tianhe era of the [Northern] Zhou [568 CE], his vitality was unclouded. Sitting erect in the lotus posture facing west, he contemplated the Buddha; all saw the Buddha arrive, whereupon he joined his palms and expired. Fellow monks had dreams of celestial beings descending to the earth with banners and pennants illuminating the sun, and heard voices in the chambers chanting 'Sadhu!'; marvelous fragrances and wondrous music were repeatedly perceived. On the seventeenth day of that month, Fayin likewise sat in his original spot; the auspicious omens that manifested were quite similar. Both of the two worthies, Huiming and Fayin, were thirty-eight years old. Beneath the trees, bricks were assembled to build their tombs. There was a disciple, the pure-believing upāsaka Zheng Ziwen, who erected a stele at the monastery. His disciple Huilang handed down Huiming's lineage without letting the meditation traditions decline; his teaching spread through Anmian, illuminating the Way according with the age. Initially, Huiming shared the same practice of dhyāna with Huisi. In praising and inspiring people in the Heng and Chu regions, Huisi's literary brilliance was eminent and radiant, yet Huiming actually surpassed him. Deeply savoring the mind of dhyāna, his reputation for wisdom spread far and wide. He composed the Dapin Yizhang (Commentary on the Pañcaviṃśati), the Rongxin Lun (Treatise on Blending the Mind), the Huanyuan Jing (Mirror of Returning to the Source), the Xinglu Nan (Difficulty of the Way), and the Xiangxuan Fu (Rhapsody on Discoursing the Mysterious), comprehensively expounding the principles of Buddhism. Discerning people all recited them; some writings, obscure and hidden, were not understood at the time, and those that had commentaries were treasured by the world. From the time he dwelt in mountain huts, students flocked to him in swarms, his fame overflowing north and south. There was a disciple who had received the bodhisattva precepts, Dai Kui of Jibei, whose academic renown had spread early and whose fame was exalted throughout the feudal states. He sent a letter to Huiming, which read: 'I reflect that though the Wei is clear and the Jing is turbid, they blend together at the source of homage to the ancestral court; though pines are tall and arrow bamboos are short, they equally uphold a steadfast, upright nature. Fortunately sharing the lot of sentient beings, the Five Constants ought naturally to encompass the Three Teachings. Therefore, the Ruist youth of Queli expounded the Ritual Classics at the Shu and Ji rivers; the Kāśyapa of Kuxian transferred the subtle Way across the shifting sands. Although they encompass Heaven and Earth, their reach is merely limited to this single life. How could this compare to turning the wheel of Dharma in the Deer Park, or dispelling deluded thoughts on Vulture Peak? Once the half-letter and full-letter teachings were set forth, the provisional and the real were thereby revealed. Truly, though teachings have depth and shallowness, persons are neither internal nor external. The Dhyāna Master's virtuous reputation vibrates far; his conduct rises high above ordinary things. You gather the four reliances; like the shepherd boy who mastered recitation, you carried book-chests for a thousand li, passing through the Dragon Palace and encompassing all. Thus, internally you penetrate the nine classes of scriptures, delving into the secret storehouse of the Snow Mountains; externally you comprehend the Seven Summaries, exploring the canonical classics of the Jade Ring Pool. You have the inscriptions of Zhi Dun at Tiantai and the records of Zhu Zhen at Luofu; the rhapsodies on the Seven Ridges by Zhi Tan and the chants on the Three Rivers by Dao'an; Master Bao's subtle analyses of Zhuangzi and Master Qu's treatises presented in collections. Swallowing them like the Yunmeng marshes, it is as plain as looking at your own palm. Furthermore, you marvelously maintain the pure precepts like guarding a bright pearl; you skillfully uphold the vinaya comportment as if looking into a dark mirror. You inherit Rāhula's esoteric practice and plant the field of merit like Piṇḍola. Drawing from the waters of samādhi, you immediately ascend through vitarka and vicāra; sheltered high beneath the limbs of dhyāna, you surpass muditā and upekṣā. Therefore, not finding Xiaoxiang too distant, you arrived at the Mian plains. Planting your staff at Dragon Spring, it became an āśrama; turning your carriage at Mashou, you founded a sanghārāma. Carving the mountain to enshrine niches, what need was there to heap sand into stūpas? Constructing a grove relying on the peaks, there was no toil of scattering gold to buy land. Bodhisattvas gathered like clouds, their sleeves dense as the Huayin crowd; Dharma companions surged in fellowship, their assembly equaling that of Jixia. In the dhyāna chambers rising at dawn, the seasonal blossoms were sweet as pollia; at dusk when the caitya opened, one momentarily entered the Peach Blossom Spring. The Sanskrit chants of Mount Gandhamādana resounded in harmony with Ruan Ji's whistling; the wondrous notes of the Sun Palace matched the lofty tunes of Sun Deng's zither. The steadfast pines of Purple Canopy Peak still waved their superior eloquence; the divine well of Hongya polished the elevated mind. Thus, your talent was worthy of buying the mountain, and your virtue surpassed sharing the imperial carriage. The lofty peak of your inspiring conduct stands utterly out of reach like a towering wall. Your disciple's thoughts are agitated by the winds of karma; my physical form sinks into the ocean of desire. Since the fall of the Zhugong palace, nearly two cycles of twelve years have elapsed. By day I am wearied by idle fancies; by night I grieve over startling dreams. Unable to forget the distinction between self and other and turn my carriage toward the One Vehicle, or wash away the burdens of my heart to brightly open the three knowledges, I now reflect on the vine gnawed by mice and mourn ever more the bird tied to a string. Formerly, at the age when my will was set on learning, our family passed down imperial bestowals of books; I gently immersed myself in the Five Rites and was sated with the Three Mysteries. Having quite worn out the leather thongs of the scrolls, I composed treatises on what was left behind. Then upon reaching the age of twenty, I gleaned from the Hundred Schools. When I served in officialdom, I lingered fondly over literary writings. Although unable to explore Longmen or scale the heights of Kuaiji, or compose rhapsodies on the wren and chants on the parrot, if seeking even a portion thereof, I faintly resembled the ancients. Yet having deeply awakened to the gathering of foam, I am pained at the transience of passing encounters. I have always wished to cast off worldly entanglements like a cicada sloughing its skin, and to crave the flavor of tathatā. One day at Yuncheng, you permitted my cultivation; at your lodging, I knelt down. In my heart, I rejoiced like one fastening a guest's socks, and my encounter was like offering the fallen shoes. Before we could fully open our hearts, I suddenly lamented our swift separation. Soon, brushing off my robes from the worldly net, I took off my shoes from the tangled threads; washing my hat strings in the Canglang River, holding a pitcher in the Han basin. Daily taking the nine-turn elixir to dispel deep sorrows, I gradually awaken to the three voids and am about to mount the forbearance of suffering. Observing the jade at the Immortal's Bridge does not hinder following a master; plucking peaches in deep ravines poses no obstacle to seeking instruction. What I hope for is that your towering spirit, filling heaven, will occasionally answer this 'teeth-chopper'; and that your lofty discourses from Yanmen will timely reply to your fine guest. The winter is warm as spring; please cherish your pure demeanor. Though your chamber is near, you are far away, which deeply tugs at my heartstrings. The rest of my words are brief and simple; I hope you will not regard this as mere jade cast into a secluded forest.' Śramaṇa Shi Huiming replied to the letter of Master Dai of Jibei: 'Indeed, the One True is constantly clear; the subtle and the manifest are identical in its mystery. The myriad sages act in response to conditions; conforming or resisting, their tracks diverge. Hence, beyond the western pass, the Way was illuminated; in the eastern wilds, benevolence was spoken of. Carving or plainness alter the craft; being and non-being follow different tracks. Now, if we summarize these two portals and trace back these two teachings, do they not converge in the three turnings and unite within the five vehicles? Relying on the shallow to reach the deep, employing the provisional to reveal the real. This is like a pond divided into four streams, which initially have different names; or the ocean gathering eight rivers, which ultimately has no diverse taste. Dānapati, you were endowed with exceptional talent in your youth and harbored brilliant faculties from an early age. Your splendid words surpass the world; your refined sentiments enter into the mysterious. Your intellect traverses the five sciences; your learning encompasses the three teachings. In that which is gained, you can forget it, treading in the transcendent footsteps of Yan Hui; diminishing it for the sake of the Way, you admire the mysterious traces of Laozi. Although the Six Classics are comprehensive and broad and the Hundred Schools are abundant and rich, the sages and worthies follow different standards, and Ruism and Mohism split into diverging streams; some are extensive in matter and dense in text, while others are lofty in words and remote in purports. Yet there is none that you did not receive like water poured into a vase, or speak like a river overflowing. The bright mirror tires not, and the great bell responds to every strike. Cao Zhi would draw from your remarkable writings; Sima Xiangru would feel abashed before your lofty aims. Therefore, though Qin and Chu were divided into separate realms, and Zhou and Liang changed their customs, your value, like Bai Mei and Qing Gai, or turtles and jade, has never altered; like the roosting phoenix and the sleeping dragon, your bond like fish and water has never varied. In addition, your insight is polished by suffering and emptiness; your resolve repels worldly dust. Though your form resides in the court halls, your capacity belongs to rivers and lakes. Thus you utter sighs over tangled threads and speak of the worldly net. Your words match Ying Bu and Lu Ji; your tone accords with Zhang Heng and Yan Junping. You lament that fire, once lost, quickly spreads; you pity that clear waves swiftly slip away. You ought indeed to wash your feet to follow the Way, and rinse your ears to decline worldly honor. Let the nine-turn elixir fill the void, and the four fans expel diseases. Thereafter, seek the Eightfold Path to savor the One True, and untie the ten fetters to cast away the three afflictions. How could such virtue fail to reach the utmost? This poor monk's mirror of consciousness is difficult to clear, and the dust of the mind easily gathers. In samādhi I am ashamed before the flower in water; in precepts, I fall short of the ascetic tied by grass. In talent, I equal the snuffed candle; in learning, I fail to transmit the lamp. Internally, I feel ashamed before fullness of virtue; externally, I have no familiarity with the human world. For this reason, I linger in a single hill, lodging my form among brambles and willows; dwelling upright amidst thousand-fathom heights, consigning my will to bamboos and pines. I measure the four seasons by wind and frost, and observe the two decades of days by the waxing and waning moon. Reaching the point where at night I hear mountain birds substituting for the Nine Shao music, and by day watch wandering fish, casually pursuing the two philosophers of the Hao River. Wicker doors and tattered clothes were never considered illness even in the wilderness; vermilion gates and harnessed four-horse teams are to me merely like floating clouds. What I lament is that the vine is easily gnawed by mice, and the tree monkey is difficult to calm. Laboring, I think of Vulture Peak; weary, I long for Cock's Foot Mountain. As for the forest shedding autumn leaves, I have never had the illumination of a pratyekabuddha; the valley echoing with spring orioles only sharpens my sigh over scant learning. Suddenly receiving your coming inquiry, you graciously showed radiant praise. Its secluded fragrance is like orchids, its clear sound like jade. Truly, it fills my eyes and brings joy, yet touching my chest, I feel much shame. Although my knowledge falls short of the Celestial Lake and cannot comprehend the discourse on the Northern Ocean, my condition resembles the muddy well, feeling embarrassed to hear of the Eastern Sea. What I hope is that that person will show love to me; Mount Huangshi is not far off. Making an appointment for tomorrow morning, the white colt may be tethered. Thereby I prolong this day, respectfully honoring your pure conduct. As this was written on plain paper, my words do not fully express my mind; how can this adequately respond to yours?' At that time, some thought that Kui was Dai Kui of Qiaoguo during the Jin dynasty. Now, examining his deeds, that is incorrect. The Jin Shu states: In the twelfth year of the Dayuan era [387 CE], the recluse Dai Kui was summoned, and soon passed away. Down to the third year of the Datong era of the Liang [537 CE], one hundred and forty-three years had passed before Master Huiming was born. Calculating it, they could not have met, and that he was not the one from Jibei is clear. At that time there was also Śramaṇa Huixiao, whose surname was Fu. He likewise presented his dhyāna achievements to the master; his literary talent was second only to Huiming's. Traveling north to the territory of Qi, he resided at Lingyan. For several decades, he practiced refined deeds in quiet seclusion, and the community at first did not consider him extraordinary. When a fellow villager was appointed magistrate of Shanxian, Xiao, having been away from his native place for a long time, wished to inquire about his relatives. Reaching the county gates, he had someone announce him to the magistrate. The magistrate happened to be facing guests and did not grant him entrance. While hesitating, Huixiao again urged the usher to announce him. The guests had still not dispersed, and the magistrate postponed further. Huixiao awakened and said, 'It is not the magistrate who controls my advancing or retreating; it is merely my own love and hatred. How could one yearn for one's native soil?' He ordered an attendant to fetch paper and took up a brush, composing the 'Rhapsody on the Son of Śākya' (Shizi Fu). When the paper was exhausted and his words came to an end, he told him, 'If the magistrate asks and searches for me, you may show him this text. I am leaving.' Thereupon he slipped away in secret. Hence the rhapsody says: 'Alas, losing mindfulness, / Suddenly I awaken again.' This was it. Later, when they pursued him to Lingyan, searching thoroughly without finding him, the attendant brought out the rhapsody and showed it to the monks, who only then realized Xiao's talent. Thereupon, everyone kept a copy to dispel their own vulgarity and meanness. Xiao later sought out various famous peaks, nurturing simplicity and resting his mind. Occasionally he cast his glance upon the mortal world, but then returned to conceal his form in secluded mounds; in the end, none knew where he ended his days.