續高僧傳 23.11

23.11

釋靜藹。姓鄭氏。滎陽人也。夙標俗譽。以溫潤知名。而神器夷簡卓然物表。甫為書生博志經史。諸鄭魁岸者咸賞異之謂興吾宗黨其此兒矣。與同伍遊寺。觀地獄圖變顧諸生曰。異哉。審業理之必然。誰有免斯酷者。便強違切諫。二親不能奪志。鄭宗固留。藹決烈愛縛。情分若石。遂獨往百官寺。依和禪師而出家。時年十七。具戒已後承仰律儀。護持明練時所戴重。又從景法師聽大智度論。一聞神悟謂敞重幽。更習先解便知濫述。周行齊境顧問知津。講席論堂亟陳往復詞令詳雅理趣清新。皆略無承導。終于世累。乃撫心曰。余生年不幸。會五濁交亂。失於物議得在可鄙。進退惟谷高蹈可乎。遂心口相弔擯影嵩岳。尋括經論用忘寤寐。然於大智中百十二門等四論。最為投心所崇。餘則旁纘異宗。成其通照。言必藻繢珠連。書亦草行相貫。高為世重罕不華之。後自悟曰綺文爽理華寔亂真。豈流宕忘返不思懲艾乎。自爾誓而斷之。惟以釋道東騖並味前聞。恐涉邪津悔於晚學。又入白鹿山。逖觀黃老。廣攝受之途。莊惠詭駁標寓言之論。未之尚也。聞有天竺梵僧碩學高行世之不測西達咸陽。藹求道情猛欣所聞見。私度關塞載離寒暑。既至渭陰。未及洗足。即申謁敬。昔聞今見。見累於聞。大鼓徒揚。資訪無指。乃潛形倫伍陶甄舊解。蕪沒遜遁知我者希。掩抑十年。達窮通之數。體因緣之理。附節終南有終焉之志。煙霞風月用祛亡反。峯名避世依而味靜。惟一繩床廓無庵屋。露火調食絕諸所營。召彼癘徒誨示至理。令其致供日就噉之。雖屬膿潰橫流。對泣而無厭惡。由是息心之眾。往結林中。授以義方欝為學市。山本無水須便飲㵎。嘗於昏夕學人侍立。忽降虎來前掊地而去。及明觀之漸見潤濕。乃使洮淈飛泉通注。從是遂省下㵎。須便挹酌。今錫谷避世堡虎掊泉是也。藹立身嚴恪達解超倫。據林引眾講前四論。意之所傳樂相弘利。其說法之規。尊而乃演。必令學侶袒立合掌慇懃鄭重經時方遂。乃勅取繩床。周繞安設致敬坐訖。藹徐取論文。手自指摘。一偈一句披釋取悟。顧問聽者所解云何。令其得意方進後偈。旁有未喻者更重述之。每日垂講此法。無怠。常自陳曰。余厭法慢法。生不值佛世。縱聞遺教心無信奉。恒懷怏怏。終須練此身心。有時試縱惟欲。誠心造惡。有時攝念。惟願假修相善。如此不名安身。如此不名清心。故約己制他。誠非正檢。然末世根緣多相似耳。必厭煩屈者須住。不辭具儀者離此。其開蒙敦勵。皆此類也。有沙門智藏者。身相雄勇智達有名。負糧二石造山問道。因見橫枝格樹。戲自稱身。遇為藹見。初不呵止。三日已後方召責云。腹中他食何得輒戲。如此自養。名為兩足狗也。藏銜泣謝過。終不再納。遂遣出山。沙門曇延道安者。世號玄門二傑。當時頂蓋名德相勝。及論教體紛諍由生。諮藹取決。讓謝良久方為開散。兩情通悅不覺致禮。各嗚一足跪而啟曰。大師解達天鑒。應處世攝導。今則獨善其身。喪德泉石。未見其可。藹曰。道貴行用不即在言。余觀時進退。故且隱居求志耳。爾後事故入城。還歸林野。屬周武之世。道士張賓。譎詐罔上冒增榮寵。潛進李氏欲廢釋宗。既縱倖紫宸蠅飛黃屋。與前僧衛元嵩脣齒相副。帝精悟朗鑒內烈外溫。召僧入內七霄禮懺。欲親覩僣犯冀申殿黜。時既密知各加懇到。帝亦七夕同僧不眠。為僧讚唄並諸法事。經聲七囀莫不清靡。事訖設會。公陳本意。有猛法師者。氣調高拔。躬抗帝旨。言頗激切。眾恐禍及其身。帝但述懷曾無𧹞退。藹聞之嘆曰。朱紫雜糅狂哲交侵至矣。可使五眾流離四民倒惑哉。又曰。飡周之粟飲周之水。食椹懷音寧無酬德。又為佛弟子。豈可見此淪湑坐此形骸晏然自靜。寧大造於像末。分爼醢於盜跖耳。徑詣闕上表理訴。引見登殿。舉手唱言曰。來意有二。所謂報三寶慈恩。酬檀越厚德。援引經論子史傳記。談敘正義。據證顯然。從旦至午。言無不詣。明不可滅之理。交言支任抗對如流。梗詞厲色鏗然無撓。百僚近臣代之戰慄。而神氣自若不阻素風。帝雖愜其詞理。而滅毀之情已決。既不納諫又不見遣。藹又進曰。釋李邪正人法混并。即可事求未煩聖慮。陛下必情無私隱涇渭須分。請索油鑊。殿庭取兩宗人法俱煮之。不害者立可知矣。帝怯其言乃遣引出。時宜州沙門道積者。次又出諫。俱不用言。乃與同友七人。於彌勒像前禮懺七日。既不食已一時同逝。藹知大法必滅不勝其虐。乃携其門人三十有餘入終南山。東西造二十七寺。依巖附險。使逃逸之僧得存深信。及法滅之後。帝遂破前代關東西數百年來官私佛法。掃地並盡。融刮聖容焚燒經典。禹貢八州見成寺廟出四十千。並賜王公充為第宅。三方釋子減三百萬。皆復軍民還歸編戶。三寶福財其貲無數簿錄入官。登即賞費分散蕩盡。初於建德三年五月行虐關中。其禍既畢。至六月十五日罷朝。有金城公任氏部。於所治府與諸左右彷徉天望。忽見五六段物飛騰虛空在於鳥路。大者上摩青霄。大如十斛囷許。漸漸微沒。自餘數段小復低下。其色黃白。卷舒空際類幡無脚爾日天清氣靜纖塵不動。但增炎曦而已。因往冬官府道經圓土。北見重牆上有黃書橫拖棘上。及往取之乃是摩訶般若經第十九卷。問其所由。答云。從天而下飛揚墜此。于時三寶初滅刑法嚴峻。略示連席之官。乃藏諸衣袖。還緘篋笥。屬隋興運轉牧冀州。爰命所部從事趙絢。敘之曰。有清信大士。具官。身嬰俗累。恕崇法理。精感明靈神化斯應。遂使群經騰翥。等扶搖之上昇。隻卷飄返。若丹烏之下降。其去也明惡世之不居。其來也知善人之可集。應瑞乎如彼。聖著乎如此。我皇出震乘乾更張琴瑟。親臨九服躬總八荒。知三寶之可崇。體四生之不固。遂頒海內修淨伽藍。是使像法氤氳同諸舍衛。僧尼隱軫還類提河。特以此經像明靈著。自非積善焉能致斯。敢事旌表傳芳後葉。初武帝知藹志烈。欣欲見之。乃勅三衛二十餘人。巡山訪覓氈衣道人。朕將位以上卿共治天下。藹居山幽隱追蹤不獲。後於太一山錫谷潛遁。覩大法淪廢道俗無依。身被執纏無力毘贊。告弟子曰。吾無益於世。即事捨身。故先相告。眾初不許。慕從聞法。便開覽大小諸乘。撰三寶集二十卷。假興賓主會遣疑情。抑揚飛伏廣羅文義。弘讚大乘光揚像代。并錄見事指掌可尋。冀藏諸巖洞。庶後代之再興耳。自藹入法行大慈門。繒纊皮革一無踐服。惟履毳布終于報盡。後厭身情迫獨據別巖。勅侍者下山。明當早至。藹加坐盤石留一內衣。自條身肉。段段布於石上。引腸掛于松枝。五藏都皆外見。自餘筋肉手足頭面。剮折都盡。並惟骨現。以刀割心捧之而卒。侍人心驚通夜失寐。明晨走赴。猶見合掌捧心。身面西向加坐如初。所傷餘骸一無遺血。但見白乳滂流凝于石上。遂累石封外。就而殮焉。即周宣政元年七月十六日也。春秋四十有五。弟子等有聞當世。具諸別傳親侍沙門慧宣者。內外博通奇有志力。痛山頹之莫仰。悲梁壞之無依。爰述芳猷樹碑塔所。後有訪道思賢者。入山禮敬循諸崖險。乃見藹書遺偈在于石壁。題云。初欲血書。本意不謂變為白色。即是魔業不遂。所以墨書其文。曰諸有緣者。在家出家若男若女。皆悉好住於佛法中莫生退轉。若退轉者即失善利。吾以三因緣捨此身命。一見身多過。二不能護法。三欲速見佛輒同古聖。列偈敘之。

Śramaṇa Jing'ai, surnamed Zheng, was a native of Xingyang. From his early years he was marked by worldly renown, known for being gentle and refined; yet his spiritual capacity was calm, simple, and outstanding beyond mundane affairs. When he was just a scholar, he widely set his aspirations on the classics and histories. The preeminent figures among the Zheng clan all appreciated his uniqueness, saying: “The one who will bring prosperity to our clan must be this boy!” Once, while visiting a monastery with his companions, he observed a tableau transformation depicting the hells. Turning to the scholars, he said: “How extraordinary! If the principle of karmic retribution is genuinely inevitable, who can escape this cruelty?” Thereupon, obstinately going against earnest admonitions, his two parents were unable to deter his resolve. Although the Zheng clan steadfastly sought to retain him, Jing'ai resolutely severed the fetters of attachment, his feelings parted as if [cleaved like] stone. He then went alone to Baiguan Monastery, where he went forth into homelessness relying on Meditation Master He. He was then seventeen years of age. After receiving the full precepts, he revered and adhered to the monastic deportment, protecting and maintaining it with clarity and practice, for which he was esteemed and revered by his contemporaries. He also listened to Master Jing expounding the *Mahāprajñāpāramitā-śāstra*; upon hearing it once, his spiritual comprehension opened as if illuminated through dense obscurity. When he re-examined earlier explanations, he knew they were improper expositions. Traveling widely throughout the territory of Qi, he inquired and sought the ford of understanding. In lecture halls and debate chambers, he frequently engaged in dialogues; his rhetoric was detailed and elegant, and his underlying principles were fresh and clear, completely lacking reliance on established teachers, yet remaining free of worldly entanglements. He then patted his chest and sighed: “I was born in an unfortunate year, meeting with the intermingling turbulence of the five defilements. To lose out to worldly opinion is acceptable, but to gain [worldly approval] is contemptible. Advancing or retreating is difficult—is it not best to withdraw into seclusion?” Thereupon, consoling himself in mind and voice, he concealed his shadow on Mount Song. Searching and collating the sūtras and treatises, he forgot sleep and food. Among them, he most reverently devoted his mind to the four treatises: the *Mahāprajñāpāramitā-śāstra*, the *Madhyamaka-śāstra*, the *Śata-śāstra*, and the *Dvādaśamukha-śāstra*. As for the rest, he collaterally gathered disparate traditions to complete his pervasive illumination. His speech was always like brocade and strung pearls, and his calligraphy linked cursive and running scripts; he was highly valued by the world, and there were few who did not consider him splendid. Later, he realized on his own: “Florid words obscure principle; blossoms without fruit disorder truth. How could I wander dissolutely, forgetting to return, and not consider correcting myself?” From then on, he vowed to sever them, focusing solely on the eastern course of the Buddhist teachings while tasting what he had previously learned, fearing that treading on heterodox paths would bring regret to later students. He also entered Mount Bailu to look from afar at Huang-Lao, broadly accommodating various approaches; but regarding the deceptive and disputatious allegorical theories of Zhuangzi and Huizi, he did not esteem them. Hearing that an Indic monk from Tianzhu—a man of profound scholarship and lofty conduct incomprehensible to the world—had arrived in the west at Xianyang, Jing'ai's passion for seeking the Way was ardent, and he rejoiced at what he heard. Secretly crossing the mountain passes, enduring the passage of cold and heat, as soon as he reached the south of the Wei River, before he even had time to wash his feet, he immediately presented his respects. What he had formerly heard and what he now saw proved that seeing was burdened by hearsay: the great drum had been sounded in vain, and his inquiries yielded nothing. He therefore concealed his form among the monastic ranks, refining his previous understanding. Obscure and withdrawing into seclusion, those who knew him were few. Depressed and restrained for ten years, he comprehended the measures of adversity and prosperity and embodied the principle of causes and conditions. Attaching his resolve to Mount Zhongnan, he harbored the intention to spend his final days there. The mists, clouds, wind, and moon were used to dispel distraction; the peak was named “World-Fleeing,” which he relied upon to savor tranquility. Having only a single rope-bed and entirely without a thatched hut, he prepared food over an open fire, abandoning all undertakings. Summoning victims of leprosy, he instructed them in the ultimate principle and had them present offerings which he consumed daily with them. Even though pus and ulcerations flowed freely, he wept facing them without aversion. Because of this, those who stilled their minds gathered in the forest; he instructed them in righteous principles, and it flourished into a bustling marketplace of learning. The mountain originally had no water, and whenever they needed it, they had to drink from the ravines. Once in the dusk, while students stood in attendance, a tiger suddenly descended before them, pawed the ground, and left. When they inspected it at dawn, they saw it gradually becoming moist; he then had it excavated, and a leaping spring gushed forth, continuously flowing. From then on, they were spared having to go down to the ravine, dipping and pouring whenever needed. This is what is now known as the Tiger-Pawed Spring at the World-Fleeing Fortress in Xigu. Jing'ai conducted himself with strict discipline, and his penetrating understanding surpassed his peers. Relying on the forest, he guided the assembly and lectured on the aforementioned four treatises, wishing to transmit them with joy to benefit and propagate them mutually. His rule for expounding the Dharma was to revere it before preaching: he invariably required his fellow students to bare one shoulder, stand with palms joined, and show earnest reverence for a long time before proceeding. Only then would he order rope-beds to be brought, arranged in a circle, and after paying respects, they sat down. Jing'ai would slowly take up the text of the treatise, pointing out each part with his own hand; line by line and verse by verse, he analyzed and explained them to foster awakening, turning to inquire what the listeners had understood. Only when they grasped the meaning would he proceed to the next verse. If anyone nearby had not yet comprehended, he would reiterate it. Every day he condescended to expound this Dharma without weariness. He would often state: “I detest arrogance toward the Dharma. Having not been born during the Buddha's lifetime, even if I hear the bequeathed teachings, my mind lacks genuine faith and reverence, constantly harboring discontent. I must ultimately discipline this body and mind. Sometimes I try indulging only in desires, sincerely committing evil; sometimes I restrain my thoughts, wishing only to practice superficial good. This cannot be called pacifying the body, nor can it be called purifying the mind. Therefore, restricting oneself and curbing others is truly not the correct discipline. However, the capacities and conditions in the final age are mostly similar: those who surely detest trouble and submission must stay, while those who do not decline complete deportment must depart from here.” His enlightening and encouraging were all of this kind. There was a śramaṇa named Zhicang, whose bodily appearance was heroic and who was renowned for his wisdom and understanding. Carrying two piculs of provisions on his back, he approached the mountain to seek the Way. Seeing horizontal branches on a tree trellis, he playfully weighed himself upon them. It happened that Jing'ai saw this; at first, he did not rebuke him, but after three days he summoned and reprimanded him, saying: “With others' food in your belly, how dare you play so frivolously? Nurturing oneself like this is called being a two-legged dog!” Zhicang held back tears and apologized for his error, but [Jing'ai] ultimately would not admit him again, sending him away from the mountain. The śramaṇas Tanyan and Dao'an were known to the world as the two paragons of the Mysterious Gate; at that time, they were preeminent, their renowned virtues surpassing each other. Yet when discussing the substance of the teachings, disputes arose. They consulted Jing'ai for an adjudication; after demurring for a long time, he finally resolved and dispersed their doubts. Both were delighted in their minds and unconsciously paid homage; each kissed one of his feet, knelt, and stated: “Great Master, your understanding matches heavenly illumination, and you should dwell in the world to gather and guide people. Now you merely cultivate yourself in isolation, letting your virtue waste away amidst the springs and rocks; we do not see this as fitting.” Jing'ai said: “The Way values practice and application, not being mere words. I observe the times to advance or retreat, and therefore temporarily live in seclusion to seek my aspirations.” After that, due to circumstances, he entered the city, but then returned to the forests and wilds. It happened during the reign of Emperor Wu of the Zhou dynasty that the Daoist Zhang Bin deceitfully misled the sovereign, coveting increased honor and favor; he secretly promoted the Li clan [Daoism], wishing to abolish the Buddhist tradition. Having gained favor in the purple palace, like flies swarming the imperial carriage, he acted in concert with the former monk Wei Yuansong like lips and teeth. The Emperor possessed penetrating perception and bright discernment, internally fierce yet externally gentle. He summoned the monks into the palace for seven nights of repentance rituals, intending to personally observe any arrogant transgressions in hopes of carrying out demotions and dismissals. At that time, secretly knowing this, [the monks] redoubled their sincerity. The Emperor also stayed awake with the monks for seven nights, chanting hymns and conducting various Dharma rites for them; among the seven turns of scriptural recitations, none was not clear and melodious. When the event concluded, a banquet was held, where he openly set forth his original intention. There was Master Meng, whose spirit and tone were lofty and preeminent; he personally resisted the imperial intention, his words rather sharp and incisive. The assembly feared disaster would befall him, but the Emperor merely expressed his thoughts, without showing the least intimidation. Hearing of this, Jing'ai sighed: “The mixing of vermilion and purple, the mad encroaching upon the wise, has reached its peak! How can we allow the five groups to be scattered and the four classes of people to be bewildered?” He also said: “Eating the grain of the Zhou and drinking the water of the Zhou, like eating mulberry berries and remembering the call [of birds], can one fail to repay virtue? Furthermore, as a disciple of the Buddha, how can I watch this ruin, sitting with this physical frame quietly at ease? I would rather make a great sacrifice for the Semblance and Final ages, being sliced and minced like the Robber Zhi.” He went straight to the palace gates and presented a memorial to appeal. Granted an audience and ascending the hall, he raised his hand and proclaimed: “My intention in coming is twofold: namely, to repay the benevolent kindness of the triratna, and to recompense the generous virtue of the dānapati.” Citing sūtras, treatises, philosophers, histories, and chronicles, he set forth the correct principles with evident proof. From dawn to noon, his words were completely to the point, clarifying the principle that [the Dharma] cannot be destroyed. Exchanging arguments and holding his ground, his replies flowed smoothly; with firm words and stern countenance, he was resonant and unyielding. The hundred officials and close ministers trembled on his behalf, but his spiritual composure remained self-possessed, unswayed from his lifelong manner. Although the Emperor was satisfied with his reasoning, his resolve to destroy the religion was already fixed. He neither accepted the admonition nor dismissed him. Jing'ai stepped forward again and said: “Whether the teachings of Śākya or Li are heterodox or orthodox, when people and doctrines are mixed together, one can seek the truth through tangible trials without troubling Your Majesty's mind. If Your Majesty truly harbors no private bias and wishes to distinguish the Jing from the Wei, I request a cauldron of boiling oil: in the palace courtyard, let the people and scriptures of both traditions be boiled together. Those who remain unharmed will immediately be known.” The Emperor was intimidated by his words and had him ushered out. At that time, Śramaṇa Daoji of Yizhou also came forward to admonish, but his words were likewise ignored. Thereupon, together with seven companions, he practiced repentance before an image of Maitreya for seven days; having ceased eating, they all passed away at the same time. Jing'ai knew the Great Dharma would inevitably be destroyed, and unable to endure the cruelty, he led more than thirty of his disciples into Mount Zhongnan. From east to west, he built twenty-seven monasteries, relying on crags and adhering to precipices, allowing fugitive monks to preserve their profound faith. When the destruction of the Dharma took place, the Emperor thereupon eradicated all official and private Buddhism established over several centuries east and west of the passes, sweeping it completely away. He melted and scraped sacred images and burned the scriptures. Throughout the eight provinces of the *Tribute of Yu*, existing temples and shrines numbering over forty thousand were all bestowed upon princes and dukes as private residences. Throughout the three regions, Buddhist monks and nuns numbering nearly three million were all returned to military and civilian status, enrolled in household registers. The boundless merit-wealth and assets of the triratna were inventoried and confiscated by the state, then immediately squandered and dispersed entirely as rewards and expenditures. The cruelty was initially enacted in Guanzhong in the fifth month of the third year of Jiande. When that calamity ended, on the fifteenth day of the sixth month, the court session was dismissed. In the ministry of Duke Jincheng of the Ren clan, while he and his attendants were strolling and gazing at the sky at his administrative office, they suddenly saw five or six pieces of objects soaring into the void along the birds' flight path. The largest brushed against the azure sky, as big as a granary of ten bushels, and gradually vanished; the other several pieces were smaller and lower, yellow-white in color, rolling and unrolling across the sky like streamers without ribbons. On that day, the sky was clear, the atmosphere calm, without a speck of dust stirring, only the blazing sun intensified. Passing through the circular prison while heading to the Ministry of Works, he saw to the north, atop a double wall, a yellow book trailing across the brambles. When he went to retrieve it, it was none other than the nineteenth fascicle of the *Mahāprajñāpāramitā Sūtra*. When he asked about its origin, he was told: “It flew down from the sky and fell here.” At that time, the triratna had just been suppressed and the penal laws were severe; having briefly shown it to officials sitting alongside him, he concealed it in his sleeve and locked it in a chest upon returning. When the Sui dynasty arose and fortune turned, being appointed as governor of Ji Province, he ordered his subordinate attendant Zhao Xuan to compose a preface, which said: “There was a pure-faith great being with an official post, whose body was entangled in mundane ties, yet who esteemed the principles of the Dharma. His refined sincerity moved the luminous spirits, and divine transformations responded accordingly. Thus, a multitude of scriptures soared aloft, rising like the whirlwind of Fuyao; a single scroll drifted back, descending like the cinnabar bird. Its departure clarified that it would not remain in an evil world; its arrival showed that good people could gather. Auspicious omens were like that, and sacred manifestations were like this! Our Emperor has arisen from Zhen and mounted Qian, retuning the zither and lute. Personally overseeing the nine realms and commanding the eight wildernesses, he recognized that the triratna should be revered and realized that the four forms of birth are impermanent. Thereupon, he proclaimed throughout the realm the restoration of pure saṅghārāmas, making the fragrance of the Semblance Dharma gather as in Śrāvastī, and monks and nuns flourish again like at the Hiranyavatī River. This scripture uniquely manifested the brightness of the spirits; had it not been for accumulated virtue, how could this have occurred? I venture to record and celebrate it, transmitting its fragrance to future generations.” Earlier, Emperor Wu knew of Jing'ai's determined character and joyfully wished to meet him. He ordered more than twenty imperial guards to patrol the mountains in search of the “felt-robed man of the Way,” saying: “I shall grant him the rank of chief minister to govern the realm together.” Jing'ai lived secluded in the deep mountains, and their pursuit could not find him. Later, while hiding in Xigu on Mount Taiyi, seeing that the Great Dharma was ruined and the monastics and laity had no reliance, his own body entangled in constraints and powerless to assist, he told his disciples: “I am of no benefit to the world, and shall now abandon my body; therefore I inform you beforehand.” The assembly at first would not permit it, yearning to hear the Dharma from him. He then opened and surveyed the various Great and Small Vehicles, compiling the *Sanjie ji* in twenty fascicles. Fictitiously setting up host and guest to dispel doubts, modulating and deploying concepts, he broadly gathered textual principles to propagate the Great Vehicle, glorify the Semblance Era, and record contemporary events clearly like the palm of a hand, hoping to hide it in crag caves so that it might be revived in future generations. From the time Jing'ai entered the Dharma, he practiced the gate of great compassion: he never wore silk, floss, or leather on his body, using only coarse felt and cloth until his retribution [life] ended. Later, weary of the body and pressed by feelings, he occupied an isolated crag alone, ordering his attendant: “Go down the mountain, and return early tomorrow.” Jing'ai sat cross-legged on a flat rock, retaining only one inner garment. He sliced the flesh of his body, laying it piece by piece upon the stone. Drawing out his intestines, he hung them on pine branches, exposing all five internal organs. The rest of the sinews, flesh, hands, feet, head, and face were completely scraped and severed, leaving only bones visible. Cutting his heart with a knife, he held it up and died. The attendant was terrified and could not sleep the whole night. Rushing there the next morning, he still saw him holding his heart with palms joined, body facing west, sitting cross-legged as before. Among his injured remains, there was no blood left, only white milk pouring forth and congealing upon the stone. They then piled stones to seal it from the outside and buried him there. This was the sixteenth day of the seventh month of the first year of the Xuanzheng era of the Zhou dynasty; he was forty-five years of age. His disciples were renowned in their day, as fully recorded in separate biographies. His personal attendant, Śramaṇa Huixuan, was broadly versed in internal and external learning and possessed extraordinary resolve. Grieving that the mountain had crumbled with none to look up to, and sorrowing that the beam had broken leaving none to rely on, he chronicled his fragrant conduct and erected a stele at the stupa. Later, those who sought the Way and longed for the worthy entered the mountain to pay homage, traversing the dangerous cliffs; there they saw Jing'ai's bequeathed verse written on the rock wall, with the heading: “Originally I wished to write with blood, but never expected it would turn white; this was the work of Māra preventing its completion, which is why I wrote it in ink. It reads: ‘May all who have karmic ties—lay or monastic, male or female—all dwell securely within the Buddha's Dharma and never give rise to retrogression. If one regresses, one loses wholesome benefit. I abandon this bodily life on account of three causes and conditions: first, seeing the many faults of the body; second, being unable to protect the Dharma; third, wishing to see the Buddha quickly, venturing to emulate the ancient sages.’” The verses were then set forth.