續高僧傳 20.76

20.76

釋法融。姓韋。潤州延陵人。年十九。翰林墳典探索將盡。而姿質都雅偉秀一期喟然嘆曰。儒道俗文信同糠粃。般若止觀實可舟航。遂入茅山。依炅法師剃除周羅服勤請道。炅譽動江海德誘幾神。妙理真筌無所遺隱。融縱神挹酌。情有所緣。以為慧發亂縱定開心府。如不凝想妄慮難摧。乃凝心宴默於空靜林二十年中專精匪懈遂大入妙門百八總持樂說無盡。趣言三一懸河不窮。貞觀十七年。於牛頭山幽栖寺北巖下別立茅茨禪室。日夕思想無缺寸陰。數年之中息心之眾百有餘人。初構禪室四壁未周。弟子道綦道憑。於中攝念。夜有一獸如羊而入。騰倚揚聲。脚蹴二人。心見其無擾。出庭宛轉而遊。山有石室深可十步。融於中坐。忽有神蛇長丈餘。目如星火。舉頭揚威。於室口經宿。見融不動遂去。因居百日。山素多虎。樵蘇絕人。自融入後往還無阻。又感群鹿依室聽伏曾無懼容。有二大鹿直入通僧。聽法三年而去。故慈善根力禽獸來馴。乃至集于手上而食。都無驚恐。所住食厨基臨大壑。至於激水不可環階。乃顧步徘徊指東嶺曰。昔遠公拄錫則朽壞驚泉耿將整冠則枯甃還滿。城感所及。豈虛言哉。若此可居。會當清泉自溢。經宿東嶺忽涌飛泉。清白甘美冬溫夏冷。即激引登峯趣釜經廊此水一斗輕餘將半。又二十一年十一月。巖下講法華經。于時素雪滿階法流不絕。於凝氷內獲花二莖。狀如芙蓉璨同金色。經于七日忽然失之。眾咸歎仰。永徽三年。邑宰請出建初講揚大品。僧眾千人。至滅諍品。融乃縱其天辯。商搉理義。地忽大動。聽侶驚波。鐘磬香床並皆搖蕩。寺外道俗安然不覺。顯慶元年。司功蕭元善。再三邀請出在建初。融謂諸僧曰。從今一去再踐無期。離合之道此常規耳。辭而不免遂出山門。禽獸哀號逾月不止。山㵎泉池擊石涌砂。一時填滿。房前大桐四株。五月繁茂一朝凋盡。至二年閏正月二十三日。終於建初。春秋六十四。道俗哀慕宮僚軫結。二十七日窆於雞籠山。幢蓋笳簫雲浮震野。會送者萬有餘人。傳者重又聞之。故又重緝。初融以門族五百為延陵之望家為娉婚。乃逃隱茅岫。炅師三論之匠。依志而業。又往丹陽南牛頭山佛窟寺。現有辟支佛窟。因得名焉。有七藏經畫。一佛經。二道書。三佛經史。四俗經史。五醫方圖符。昔宋初有劉司空造寺。其家巨富。用訪寫之永鎮山寺相傳守護。達於貞觀十九年夏旱失火。延燒五十餘里。二十餘寺并此七藏並同煨燼。嗟乎回祿事等建章。道俗悼傷深懷惻愴。初融住幽栖寺去佛窟十五里。將事尋討。值執藏顯法師者稽留。日夕諮請經久許之。乃問融所學。并探材術。遂寄詩達情。方開藏給。於即內外尋閱不謝昏曉。因循八年。抄略粗畢還隱幽栖。閉關自靜。房宇虛廓惟一坐敷。自餘蔓草苔莓擁結坐床。塵高二寸。寒不加絮暑絕追涼。藉草思微用畢形有。然而吐言包富文藻綺錯。須便引用動若珠聯。無不對以宮商。玄儒兼冠。初出幽栖寺開講大集。言詞博遠道俗咸欣。永徽中。江寧令李修本。即右僕射靜之猶子。生知信向崇重至乘。欽融嘉德與諸士俗步往幽栖請出州講。融不許。乃至三返方遂之。舊齒未之許。後銳所商搉。及登元座有光前傑。答對若雲雨。寫送等懸河。皆曰聞所未聞。可謂中興大法於斯人也。聽眾道俗三千餘人。講解大集。時稱榮觀。爾後乘茲雅聞相續法輪。邑野相趨庭宇充𨶮。時有前修負氣望日盱衡。乍聞高價驚惶府俞。來至席端昌言徵責。融辭以寡薄不偶至人隨問答遺。然猶謙挹告大眾曰。昔如來說法。其理猶存。人雖凡聖義無二准。何為一時一席。受身之眾塵沙。今雖開演領悟之賓絕減。豈非如行如說心無累於八風。如說如行情有薄於三毒。不然將何自拔耶。聞者撫心推測涯極。故使聽眾傾耳莫不解形情醉。初武德七年。輔公託。跨有江表未從王政。王師薄伐吳越廓清。僧眾五千晏然安堵。左僕射房玄齡奏稱。入賊諸州僧尼極廣。可依關東舊格州別一寺置三十人。餘者遣歸編戶。融不勝枉酷。入京陳理。御史韋挺。備覽表辭。文理卓明詞彩英贍。百有餘日韋挺經停。房公伏其高致固執前迷。告融云。非謂事理不無但是曾經自奏。何勞法衣出俗。將可返道賓王。五品之位俯若拾遺。四千餘僧未勞傍及。融確乎不拔。知命運之有窮。旋于本邑。後方在度。又弘護之誠。喪形為本。略出一兩示其化迹。永徽之中。睦州妖女陳碩真。邪術惑人傍誤良善。四方遠僧都會建業。州搜縣討無一延之。融時居在幽巖室猶懸磬。寺眾貧煎相顧無聊。日漸來奔數出三百。舊侶將散新至無依。雖欲歸投計無所往。縣官下責不許停之。融乃告曰。諸來法侶無問舊新。山寺蕭條自足依庇。有無必失勿事羈離。望剎知歸退飛何往。並安伏業禍福同之。何以然耶。並是捨俗出家遠希正法。業命必然安能避也近則五賊常逐。遠則三獄恒纏。心無離於倒迷。事有障於塵境。斯為巨蠧志異驅除安得瑣瑣公途繫懷封著。並隨本志無得遠於幽林。融以僧眾口給日別經須。躬往丹陽四告士俗。聞者割減不爽祈求。融報力輕強無辭擔負。一石八斗往送復來。日或二三莫有勞倦。百有餘日事方寧靜。山眾恬然無何而散。于時局情寡見者。被官考責窮刻妖徒。不能支任。或有自縊而死者。而融立志滔然風塵不涉。客主相顧諧會琴瑟。遂得釋然理通情洽。豈非命代開士難擁知人。寒木死灰英英間出。寔斯人矣。時有高座寺亘法師。陳朝名德。年過八十。金陵僧望法事攸屬開悟當塗。融在幽栖聞風造往。以所疑義封而問曰。經中明佛說法言下受悟無生。論中分別名句文相不明獲益。法師受佛遺寄敷轉法輪。如融之徒未聞靜惑為是機器覆塞。為是陶化無緣。明昧迴遑用增虛仰。必願開剖盤結伏志遵承。亘良久憮然告曰。吾昔在前陳。年未冠肇。有璀禪師。王臣歸敬登座控引。與子同之。吾何人哉。敢當遺寄。遂爾而散。融還建初寺潛結同倫。亘重其道志策杖往尋。既達建初寺。有德善禪師者。名稱之士。喜亘遠來歡愉談謔。而善與融同寺初未齒之。亘曰。吾為融來。忽輕東魯。乃召而問之令敘玄致。即座控舉文理具揚。三百餘對言無浮采。於是二德嗟詠滿懷。仍於山寺為立齋講。然融儀表瓌異相越常人。頭顱巨大五岳隆起。眉目長廣顙頰濃張。龜行鶴視。聲氣深遠如從地出。立雖等倫坐則超眾。衣服單素纔得充軀。肩肘絕綿動逾累紀。嘗有遺者返而還之。而心用柔軟慈悲為懷。童稚之與耆艾敬齊如一。屢經輕惱而情忘瑕不顧。曾有同友。聞人私憾加謗融身。詈以非類。乃就山說之。融曰。向之所傳總是風氣。出口即滅不可追尋。何為負此虛談遠傳山藪。無住為本願不干心。故其安忍刀劍情靈若此。或登座罵辱對眾誹毀。事等風行無思緣顧。而顏貌熙怡倍增悅懌。是知斥者故來呈拙。光飾融德者乎。傳者抑又聞之。昔如來說化。加謗沸騰。或殺身以來誚。或繫杅以生誹。滅迹內以死蟲。反說面欺大聖。斯徒眾矣。而佛府而隱之任其訕誹。及後過咎還露。或生投地穴。或死入泥犁。天人之所共輕。幽顯為之悲慟而如來光明益顯金德彌昌。垂範以示將來。布教陳於陸海。融嘗二十許載。備覽群經。仰習正覺之威容。俯眄喋喋之聲。說陀那之風。審七觸之安。有剎那之想。達四選之無停。固得體解時機。信五滓之交貿。覽其指要。聊一觀之都融。融實斯融。斯言得矣。

Śramaṇa Farong was surnamed Wei and was a man of Yanling in Runzhou. By the age of nineteen, he had thoroughly explored the classics and ancient histories in the literary groves. His appearance and temperament were cultured and elegant, outstanding for his generation. Sighing, he lamented: 'The secular writings of Confucianism and Daoism are truly like chaff and bran; the wisdom (prajñā) of cessation and contemplation (śamatha-vipaśyanā) is indeed a boat and raft [for deliverance].' He thereupon entered Maoshan, where he shaved his hair under Dharmabhāṇaka Jiong, served him assiduously, and requested instruction in the Way. Jiong's renown stirred the rivers and seas, and his virtue attracted even gods and spirits; the subtle principle and true pointers were left with nothing hidden or omitted. Rong gave free rein to his spirit to imbibe them, focusing his mind on what it encountered. Considering that when wisdom arises, it tends to be disorderly and unrestrained, whereas concentration opens the treasures of the heart, and that without focused thought deluded worries are difficult to shatter, he concentrated his mind in tranquil silence in empty and serene groves for twenty years, wholeheartedly devoted without slackening. He thereby deeply entered the marvelous portal, acquiring the one hundred and eight dhāraṇīs and limitless eloquence of joyous discourse. When treating the topics of the Three and the One, his words flowed like an unending torrent.

In the seventeenth year of Zhenguan, beneath the northern cliff of Youqi Monastery on Mount Niutou, he separately erected a thatched meditation hut. Day and night he contemplated, not wasting an inch of shadow. Within several years, those who set their hearts at rest [numbered] over a hundred people. When the meditation hut was first constructed, the four walls were not yet complete. His disciples Daoqi and Daoping were gathering their mindfulness within it, when at night a beast resembling a sheep came inside. It reared up, leaned around, and raised its voice, kicking the two men with its feet. When they saw that their minds were undisturbed by it, it went out into the courtyard, wandering and lingering about. On the mountain was a stone cave about ten paces deep, inside which Rong sat. Suddenly a divine serpent over a zhang in length appeared, its eyes like sparks of fire; raising its head and brandishing its might, it spent the night at the entrance of the cave. Seeing Rong remain motionless, it finally departed. He accordingly dwelt there for a hundred days. The mountain had always abounded in tigers, and woodcutters and gatherers had ceased coming, but after Rong entered, people came and went without hindrance. Moreover, he moved herds of deer to gather by his cell, listening and crouching without the least sign of fear. Two large deer entered directly into the community of monks, departing only after listening to the Dharma for three years. Thus, through the power of his virtuous roots of loving-kindness, birds and beasts came to be tamed, even flocking onto his hands to feed without any fright.

The foundation of the kitchen where he lived overlooked a great gorge, such that drawing water could not be done around the terrace. He then paced back and forth, pointed to the eastern ridge, and said: 'Formerly, when Master [Hui]yuan planted his staff, a gushing spring burst from the decayed ground; when General Geng adjusted his cap, the dry well filled once again. When sincerity moves things, how could this be false talk? If this place is habitable, a clear spring ought of itself to overflow.' After a single night, a rushing spring suddenly welled up from the eastern ridge, clear, pure, sweet, and delicious, warm in winter and cool in summer. Water was then channeled up the peak, brought to the cauldrons, and guided through the corridors; a dou of this water was lighter than others by almost half.

Furthermore, in the eleventh month of the twenty-first year, he lectured on the Lotus Sūtra beneath the cliff. At that time, white snow covered the steps, yet the flow of the Dharma was uninterrupted. Amidst the frozen ice, two flower stems were obtained, shaped like lotuses and brilliant as gold. After seven days, they suddenly disappeared, and the whole assembly sighed in veneration.

In the third year of Yonghui, the local magistrate invited him to come out to Jianchu [Monastery] to expound the Large Prajñāpāramitā Sūtra, with an assembly of a thousand monks. When he came to the 'Extinguishing Disputes' chapter, Rong gave free rein to his heavenly eloquence, examining the principles and meanings. The earth suddenly shook violently, and the audience was startled like rolling waves; the bells, chimes, and incense-tables all swayed and shook, while monks and laypeople outside the monastery remained tranquil, unaware of it.

In the first year of Xianqing, the Administrator of Merit Xiao Yuanshan repeatedly invited him to stay at Jianchu. Rong said to the monks: 'Once I depart now, there will be no time for me to walk here again. The way of parting and meeting is the ordinary rule.' Having declined to no avail, he finally left the mountain gate. The birds and beasts wailed and howled without stopping for more than a month. The mountain torrents, springs, and ponds struck rocks and spewed sand, becoming completely filled up at once. Four large tung trees before his chamber, which had been luxuriant in the fifth month, withered completely in a single morning. On the twenty-third day of the intercalary first month of the second year, he died at Jianchu at the age of sixty-four. Monks, laypeople, and palace officials grieved in deep sorrow and shared profound distress. On the twenty-seventh day, he was buried at Mount Jilong; banners, canopies, reed pipes, and flutes floated like clouds and shook the wilderness, and over ten thousand people gathered to see him off.

Because the transmitters [of his biography] have heard further details, I compile them once again here. Earlier, as Rong's clan of five hundred households was a prominent family of Yanling, they arranged a marriage for him. He therefore fled and hid in the peaks of Maoshan. Master Jiong was a master of the Three Treatises (Sanlun), and Rong pursued his studies according to his aspiration. He also went to Mount Niutou south of Danyang to Foku Monastery, where a cave of a Pratyekabuddha is currently present, hence its name. There were seven scriptural repositories: first, Buddhist scriptures; second, Daoist books; third, Buddhist scriptural histories; fourth, secular classics and histories; fifth, medical prescriptions, charts, and talismans. Formerly, at the beginning of the Song dynasty, Minister of Works Liu built the monastery; his family was immensely wealthy, and he had sought out and copied these works to remain permanently in the mountain monastery, where they were passed down and preserved. Down to the summer drought of the nineteenth year of Zhenguan, a fire broke out by accident and spread over fifty li; more than twenty monasteries along with these seven repositories were all reduced to ashes. Alas! The disaster of fire was equal to that of the Jianzhang Palace; monks and laypeople mourned and grieved, harboring deep sorrow.

Initially, Rong lived at Youqi Monastery, fifteen li from Foku. Intending to explore the texts, he was met with obstruction from Master Xian, who maintained the repository. Day and night Rong inquired and requested, and only after a long time was permission granted. Xian then asked Rong what he had studied and tested his talents and arts. Rong thereupon sent a poem expressing his feelings, after which Xian opened the repository to provide for him. Thereupon Rong perused both inner and outer works, pausing neither at dusk nor at dawn. Pursuing this for eight years, he finished a rough summary and returned to hide at Youqi. Shutting the gate to dwell in quietude, his chamber was vacant and wide, with only a single mat laid out. As for the rest, creepers, moss, and berries intertwined around his seat, and dust lay two inches deep. In winter he added no wadded clothes, and in summer he never sought coolness; resting on the grass, he contemplated subtle principles, thereby exhausting his bodily existence. Yet the words he uttered were richly packed, his literary style ornate and intricate; whenever citation was required, his references moved like a string of pearls. There were none he did not match to musical tones; he excelled equally in the profound [Buddhist] and Confucian [teachings].

When he first came out of Youqi Monastery to lecture on the Mahāsaṃnipāta Sūtra, his language was vast and profound, and monks and laypeople all rejoiced. In the Yonghui era, Li Xiuben, the magistrate of Jiangning, who was the nephew of the Right Supervisor of the Department of State Affairs Li Jing, was endowed with innate faith and revered the Supreme Vehicle. Admiring Rong's fine virtue, he went on foot to Youqi with various scholars and laypeople to invite him out to lecture in the prefecture. Rong did not agree, and only after three visits did he finally comply. The senior monks had not yet acknowledged him, and the sharp younger scholars came to debate. But when he ascended the seat of the profound, his brilliance surpassed previous heroes; his answers came like clouds and rain, and his flowing words were like a suspended river. All said that they had heard what they had never heard before; one could truly say that the revival of the Great Dharma resided in this man. An audience of more than three thousand monks and laypeople listened to his exposition of the Mahāsaṃnipāta Sūtra, which was called a splendid spectacle of the time. Thereafter, taking advantage of this fine renown, he turned the wheel of the Dharma continuously; people from town and countryside hastened to him, filling the courtyard to overflowing.

At that time, there was a senior master of high spirit who held his head high and looked askance at others; suddenly hearing of Rong's high repute, he was startled and perturbed. Coming before the seat, he raised his voice to interrogate and censure him. Rong excused himself as deficient and mediocre, unable to meet the requirements of an exceptional person, and answered the inquiries as they came. Yet, remaining modest and humble, he addressed the assembly: 'Formerly, when the Tathāgata preached the Dharma, the principle was preserved just as it was. Although humans are divided into ordinary and holy, there are no two standards for the principle. Why is it that in a single assembly at a single session, the multitude receiving rebirth was like dust and sand, whereas now, although it is expounded, the guests who comprehend are exceedingly few? Is it not that when one acts in accordance with the teaching, the mind is untainted by the eight winds, and when one teaches in accordance with one's action, sentiments are diminished toward the three poisons? If it were not so, how could one extricate oneself?' Those who heard this held their chests and reflected on its profound limits; thus, among the audience who lent their ears, there was none who was not freed in body and intoxicated in spirit.

Earlier, in the seventh year of Wude, Fu Gongyou occupied the region south of the Yangtze and did not submit to the royal governance. When the royal army pacified it, Wu and Yue were cleared, and an assembly of five thousand monks settled peacefully. The Left Supervisor Fang Xuanling submitted a memorial stating: 'In the prefectures occupied by the rebels, monks and nuns are extremely numerous. In accordance with the old regulations east of the Pass, thirty persons may be established in one monastery per prefecture, while the rest should be sent back to the registered households.' Rong, unable to bear this wrongful cruelty, went into the capital to present the case. The Censor Wei Ting thoroughly examined the words of his memorial, finding its literary style and reasoning outstanding and clear, and its phrasing brilliant and rich. Wei Ting detained him for more than a hundred days. Duke Fang, admiring Rong's lofty spirit, nevertheless stubbornly held to his former delusion, saying to Rong: 'It is not that the matter lacks reason, but simply that I have already memorialized it myself. Why trouble yourself with the Dharma robes to leave the secular world? You might return to the laity and serve the king; an office of the fifth rank could be picked up as easily as taking something from the ground. There is no need to trouble yourself on behalf of those four thousand-odd monks.' Rong remained steadfast and unyielding. Knowing that destiny had its limits, he returned to his home county, and the ordination of monks was only allowed later.

Moreover, his sincerity in defending the Dharma took sacrificing his life as its basis; let us briefly bring out one or two points to demonstrate his traces of transformation. In the Yonghui era, Chen Shuozhen, a sorceress of Muzhou, misled people with heterodox arts and dragged good people into error. From the four directions, distant monks gathered in Jianye; when prefectures searched and counties investigated, not one [household] would take them in. Rong was then dwelling in the secluded crags, his chamber as empty as a suspended musical stone. The monastery's community was impoverished and distressed, looking at one another in helplessness. Day by day people fled to him, their numbers exceeding three hundred. The old companions were about to disperse, and the new arrivals had no reliance; though they wished to take refuge, they had nowhere to go. The county officials issued reproofs and forbade them from staying. Rong then addressed them: 'To all the Dharma companions who have arrived, without distinction between old and new: this mountain monastery, though desolate, is sufficient to provide shelter. Having and lacking are necessarily lost together; do not take to wanderings. Looking toward the monastery, you know where to return; if you fly backward, where will you go? Peacefully submit to your karma, sharing good and ill fortune together. Why so? All of you have renounced the secular world and left home, aspiring from afar to the true Dharma. As karmic lifespan is inevitable, how could you avoid it? Close at hand, the five thieves constantly pursue you; far away, the three hells perpetually entangle you. The mind has not departed from inverted delusions, and affairs are obstructed by dusty realms. These are great pests, yet your aspirations are distinct from banishing them; how can you let yourself be bound and attached to petty public ways? Follow your original resolve, and do not depart from this secluded grove.'

Considering that the monks' rations required daily provisions, Rong personally went to Danyang to appeal to scholars and laypeople everywhere. Those who heard reduced their own portions, never failing his requests. Rong's bodily strength from past karmic reward was light and vigorous, and he never refused burdens. Carrying one dan and eight dou, he came and went, sometimes two or three times a day, without feeling weary. Only after more than a hundred days did the matter become peaceful and calm; the mountain assembly remained tranquil and dispersed without incident. At that time, those of narrow sentiments and shallow insight who were interrogated and punished by officials in the rigorous prosecution of the sorceress's followers could not endure it, and some hanged themselves to death. But Rong stood with vast resolve, untouched by the dust of the world; host and guests looked to one another, harmonious as the lute and zither. Thus all was resolved, with principle comprehended and sentiments united. How could he not be an exceptional bodhisattva of his era, a rare and discerning man? Like an extraordinary bloom emerging from cold wood and dead ashes, such indeed was this man!

At that time, there was Dharmabhāṇaka Gen of Gaozuo Monastery, a renowned and virtuous monk of the Chen dynasty, over eighty years of age. He was the most respected monk of Jinling, in charge of Dharma affairs and instructing those in power. Rong, while at Youqi, heard of his reputation and went to visit him. Sealing his inquiries on doubtful points of doctrine, he asked: 'In the sūtras, it is explained that when the Buddha preached the Dharma, beings were awakened to non-arising upon his words; yet in the treatises, names, phrases, and syllable-marks are distinguished without explaining the attainment of benefit. The Dharmabhāṇaka has received the Buddha's bequeathed trust to expound and turn the wheel of the Dharma. Why is it that people like Rong have not heard the calming of doubts? Is it that our faculties are blocked and obstructed, or is it that we lack affinity with your formative instruction? Hesitating in ignorance, our vain admiration only increases. I earnestly pray that you will untie these tangled knots, and I submit my resolve to follow your instruction.' Gen remained dejected for a long time, then told him: 'Formerly in the Chen dynasty, before I reached the age of twenty, there was Dhyāna Master Cui, whom princes and ministers revered. When he mounted the seat to draw out the principles, he was just like you. What kind of person am I to dare accept that bequeathed trust?' They thereupon parted. Rong returned to Jianchu Monastery and secretly gathered his peers. Gen, respecting his aspiration for the Way, leaned on his staff and went to seek him. Arriving at Jianchu Monastery, there was Dhyāna Master Deshan, a man of reputation, who was delighted by Gen's coming from afar and joyfully conversed and joked with him; however, Shan lived in the same monastery with Rong and had not initially esteemed him. Gen said: 'I have come for Rong; do not lightly regard the man of Donglu.' He then summoned him and questioned him, bidding him recount the profound principles. Right from his seat, Rong brought them forward and fully displayed the literary reasoning; in more than three hundred responses, his words were devoid of superficial ornament. Thereupon the two virtuous masters sighed in admiration from the depths of their hearts, and they even established a vegetarian feast and lecture for him at the mountain monastery.

Now, Rong's appearance was extraordinarily distinct, his marks surpassing ordinary men. His head was gigantic, with the five peaks prominent; his eyebrows and eyes were long and wide, and his forehead and cheeks broad and full. He walked like a tortoise and gazed like a crane, his voice and breath deep and resonant as if issuing from the earth. When standing, he seemed on a par with his peers, but when seated, he towered above the crowd. His robes were simple and coarse, barely sufficient to cover his body; his shoulders and elbows had lacked cotton padding for over several decades. When someone offered him a gift, he would return it. Yet his heart was gentle, harboring loving-kindness and compassion; toward young children and the elderly, his respect was equally uniform. Frequently meeting with slights and vexations, his mind overlooked blemishes and paid them no regard. Once a companion heard someone harboring private resentment slander Rong, reviling him as an alien beast, and went to the mountain to tell him. Rong said: 'What was transmitted just now is merely a breath of wind; as soon as it leaves the mouth, it perishes and cannot be pursued. Why carry this empty talk from afar into the mountain grove? Taking non-abiding as the root, I pray it does not disturb the mind.' Such was his patient endurance toward swords and his spiritual composure. Sometimes people would mount the seat to curse and insult him or slander and denigrate him before the assembly; treating it like the passing wind, he had no thought of dwelling upon it, and his countenance became serene, his joy redoubled. From this we know that those who reproached him merely came to display their own clumsiness, thereby adorning Rong's virtue!

The biographer has further heard: Formerly, when the Tathāgata expounded transformation, slander arose like boiling water: some killed themselves to bring reproof upon him; some tied bowls to their bellies to fabricate calumny; some concealed their traces among dead worms, and in turn spoke to his face, deceiving the Great Sage. Such followers were numerous! Yet the Buddha tolerated and concealed it, letting them slander him as they would. When later their faults were exposed, some fell alive into pits in the earth, and some died to enter Niraya (hell), despised alike by gods and men, mourned by both the unseen and the visible worlds. Meanwhile, the Tathāgata's brilliance became ever more apparent, and his golden virtue ever more prosperous, leaving a model to show to future generations, spreading his teachings across land and sea. For some twenty years, Rong comprehensively perused the various sūtras, looking up to emulate the majestic appearance of the Sambuddha and looking down to ignore the chatter of idle voices. He spoke of the wind of the ādāna[-vijñāna], scrutinized the tranquility of the seven contacts, contemplated the thought of a kṣaṇa, and comprehended that the four selections do not halt. Thus, he truly realized the capacity of the times and believed in the mutual shift of the five turbidities. Examining his essential purport, taking a comprehensive view, all was harmonized (rong)—and Rong indeed truly harmonized them! These words are well said.