續高僧傳 9.24

Śramaṇa Lingyu, whose secular surname was Zhao, was a native of Quyang in Julu, Dingzhou. During his childhood, his extraordinary conduct moved others. Whenever he saw an image or a śramaṇa, bodily and mentally he unfailingly showed reverence. Hearing the sounds and sights of slaughter, his chest and mind were pierced with grief, which led his villagers to spread his renown and his relatives to desist from killing on his account. At the age of six, he already understood taking the precepts. Though his parents pressured him, his vowed resolve was never broken. Soon he was taught the [canonical] chapters and the Thousand Character Classic; before a month had elapsed, he had mastered both the writing and the recitation. As for the Classic of Filial Piety and the Analects, having only just read their phrases, he was also clear on the commentaries. Because of this, his parents doted on him with partial affection, hoping he would continue the family lineage. At the age of seven, he asked his father to let him enter the monastic life (pravrajyā). Because his father saw that his wisdom and understanding were mature from an early age and his intention was focused on continuing the family line, he resolutely refused and forbade it. He only ordered him to study secular learning and exclusively attend to worldly affairs, obstructing him from the path of the Dharma. Lingyu sighed, saying, "Not being able to enter the monastic life at the age of seven, my whole life is ruined!" He then read widely in the various texts, drawing from his father and elder brother, fully encompassing divergences and agreements and deeply tallying with profound subtleties. Only Laozi, Zhuangzi, and the Book of Changes he had not yet received through lineage transmission. At the age of fifteen, he secretly wished to flee the world. It happened that he encountered mourning for his father. He then followed worldly customs, grieving intensely on the straw mat and earth clod. Only when using a cane could he rise; when the mourning ended, he grew weary of the secular world. His resolve was fierce, but not daring to bid farewell to his mother, he silently went to Yingjue Monastery in Zhao Commandery. He took refuge with the two dhyāna masters Ming and Bao and entered the monastic life under them. Those men were also leaders of the eastern region. When he was first imbued with the Great Dharma, he was ordered to recite the sūtras. Lingyu held the scroll and vowed, saying, "Now as I am about to study, I must first establish my resolve: the subtle words of the Tripiṭaka must certainly have their purports plumbed to the end; I shall never dwell among the ranks of the middling or inferior. As for the two teachings of Confucianism and Buddhism, I must master both thoroughly." At the age of twenty, hearing of the eminent reputation of Vinaya Master Huiguang in Ye, he immediately went to take refuge and receive instruction. It happened that [Huiguang] had passed away only seven days before. He lamented alone over not having met him: "Upon what can I rely for the restraint of the precepts?" He then turned to take refuge with Master Dao[ping] to listen to the Daśabhūmika Sūtra Śāstra (Dilun). Gradually attending the Dharma assemblies, three years elapsed. At twenty-two, he finally took the full precepts (upasampadā). He returned to the two virtuous ones Ming and Bao, asking them to be his fundamental preceptors. They both declined, saying, "We were conditions for you; we are not your preceptors. You may go to a superior place." He then proceeded to Dingzhou and received the great precepts. He immediately recited the two sets of pratimokṣa rules of the Sifen lü and Sengqi lü. He copied out their texts himself; within eight days, both the writing and recitation were completed. Hou Jing, the regional inspector of Dingzhou, investigated Lingyu's practice of the Way and submitted a memorial requesting his ordination, registering his name under official status and greatly esteeming him. Later, he traveled south to the Zhang and Fu rivers. Under Master Dao[yin], he specifically studied the Sifen lü. Listening and taking notes simultaneously, he produced five scrolls and put them into practice. Moreover, as the Dilun school had just arisen, Huiguang was the foundational master who initiated its awakening, its proliferation and broad guidance; Daoping was one who personally received it from Master [Hui]guang. (Both Ping and Guang have separate biographies.) Lingyu relied on Daoping's Dharma assembly. Those who, whether day or night, deeply comprehended and brought forth novelties and cut through to fresh insights, all yielded to him in admiration. Emperor Xuan of Northern Qi vastly promoted the Buddhist scriptures. The Great Controller (Datong) Fashang's prestige overshadowed all the talents; scholars followed the wind to attach themselves to him, using it as a path to fortune. Only Lingyu held firmly to his integrity and exclusive chastity, standing out and not consorting with his peers, only concerned about not yet having heard what should be heard, which became his singular dedication. Later, the Controller [Fa]shang deeply recognized his noble integrity and came to revere and respect him. From this time, he specialized in the Avataṃsaka Sūtra, the Nirvāṇa Sūtra, the Daśabhūmika Sūtra Śāstra, and the Vinaya section, broadly searching into old interpretations and boring through to new and distinctive ones. Only for commentaries on the Mahāsaṃnipāta Sūtra, the Prajñāpāramitā Sūtra, the Guan jing (Contemplation Sūtra), the Yijiao jing (Last Injunction Sūtra), and others did he draw forth thoughts from his own mind without a master's exposition. Furthermore, from the three masters An, You, and Rong, he listened to the meaning of the Samyuktābhidharmahṛdaya Śāstra (Za xin), and from the two masters Song and Lin, he studied the Tattvasiddhi Śāstra (Chengshi lun). His efforts lasted nearly twelve years; his comprehension traversed the two vehicles. The essential principles remained, all equipped for classification and selection. His intellect was expansive and copious, fully penetrating both principle and phenomena. Once, he was conversing with various monks on the Confucian teachings. Nearby, a lecture assembly was in progress; while intermingling and hearing intermittently, he listened to both until they simultaneously dispersed. In the end, drawing on what he had heard, he recited the sentences and meanings with not a single point omitted. Because of this, his name was preeminent in Ye, and his renown spread far and wide. Moreover, he was unyielding, stern, and resolute, holding to his integrity and self-reliance. As for acting as rector (dujiang) or reviewing lecturer (fushu), he strove in his mind not to assume the office. Secular offerings and religious renown he silenced and avoided in concealment; when matters left him no choice, he would accept them only after declining. When he had completed twelve summer retreats, he began lecturing in the capital Ye, his renown and integrity already prominent. His words and commands were fresh; those who attended and took refuge consequently called him "Bodhisattva Lingyu." All received the three collections of pure precepts from him, and the Great Dharma was widely expanded from this point onward. Thereupon, he took guiding sentient beings as his constant duty. His intention lay in the essential principles rather than the chapters and sentences, which led to earlier and later re-explanations differing in words and meanings. Those who forgot the snare grasped the fundamental purport; those who followed the text lost its broad intent. It happened that the Northern Qi empress fell ill and vowed to have the Avataṃsaka Sūtra lectured upon. The various controllers of the Office of Buddhist Clergy (Zhaoxuan si) recommended Lingyu to act as the master of the Dharma. The assembly from the four directions unanimously lauded him as foremost. At that time, there was a rooster that constantly followed the assembly to listen; when the lecture dispersed, it crowed loudly and flew high, perching on a tree to the southwest, where it died overnight. Shortly thereafter, the empress's illness was cured. This too was a clear response of spiritual resonance. On this account, the inner palace donated three hundred monastic robes (kāṣāya); Lingyu received and dispersed them. During the reign of Emperor Wenxuan, more than one monastery was established. An imperial edict summoned those of virtuous renown to reside within them; state stipends and provisions piled up heavily. Lingyu was at that time prominently praised as foremost and was ordered to reside in an official monastery. He firmly declined, saying, "The state's regard is profound and heavy, but my virtue is not that of the proper man. Fortunately, let this benefit be conferred upon one who can bear it." Such was his noble refusal of worldly honor. If there were virtuous and wholesome Dharma offerings, he would accept them without hesitation. Such was his gathering and transforming of people. Therefore, whether he withdrew or acted was beyond what ordinary sentiments could fathom. At forty-seven years of age, approaching the year of knowing one's destiny (fifty), he immediately settled his single-minded thoughts and meditated in mountain crags. Before the summer heat had passed, the Lu clan of Fanyang heard of his wind from afar and invited him. Lingyu, according with the times to broadly benefit others and not lingering on meditative absorption, immediately set off. Wherever he stayed, lectures and offerings continually overflowed with a thousand people; disciples listening and rejoicing crowded together in layers. Later he returned to Ye, where he sat in a row with various dharmabhāṇakas to discourse. Lou Rui, the Prince of Andong of Northern Qi, paid respect to the various monks, and coming next before Lingyu, he was unconsciously struck with dread and broke into a sweat. Stepping back, he inquired and learned of Lingyu's extraordinary demeanor, whereupon he honored him as his precept master. Baoshan Monastery was founded by Lingyu; Rui served as the donor, giving away his gold and cowries. His latent virtue moving people was also of this kind. When the Zhou destroyed Qi, the two teachings were submerged and lost. He then concealed his form in the secular world, wearing unhemmed coarse mourning garments of three-sheng cloth, and hemp headbands and belts, as if mourning his deceased father and mother. He vowed that only when the Buddhadharma began anew would he resume his former vestments. Leading more than twenty companions, he resided in a village, discussing the correct principle at night and reading secular books by day.

Having probed the profound [aspects of] studies, he composed treatises as he read; these each formed categories, whose titles are listed below. At that time there occurred a year of famine, and there was no way to obtain grain. He composed a divination book in one fascicle and had someone use it to divine and charge a fee, setting two sheng of rice a day as his constant quota. Before long, his words proved prescient, and those with doubts gathered in clamour, so that the rice he obtained became plentiful. [Ling]yu said, "The ancients had a saying: 'Licking honey brings a blade's wound.' This is verified today." He asked for the divination book and burned it before the crowd. Daily he went by himself; in a moment he gained the price, rolled up his mat, and returned. The food and supplies he obtained were promptly brought back, using them to provide for those in the same distress, thus getting through the years. When the Great Sui dynasty arose, the Buddhist teachings flourished anew. [Ling]yu's virtue shone among earlier worthy men, and he was promptly sought out and promoted. In the third year of the Kaihuang reign-era, Fan Shulüe, the regional inspector of Xiangzhou, initiated and promoted lecture assemblies, inviting various monks, and in setting up the principles he placed him foremost to entrust clearly with the bequeathed Dharma. At each session, followers gathered by the thousands, filling the gates. [Ling]yu was regarded as the foremost authority, truly answering their profound expectations. An imperial edict commanded the establishment of monastic officials, and [Fan] Shulüe thereupon recommended him as metropolitan leader (dutong). He then spoke to [Fan] Shulüe, saying, "As for the virtue of a metropolitan leader, [Ling]yu's virtue is not such virtue; as for the utility of a metropolitan leader, [Ling]yu's utility is not such utility. Since neither my virtue nor my utility suits the vessel, both principle and circumstance make it hard to comply." All said that to omit this man would be to forfeit the chief principle in recommendation. Later, [Fan Shulüe] renewed his invitation, so [Ling]yu slipped away to travel in Yan and Zhao. For five years he carried out conversions, his Way shaking both rivers. In the tenth year of Kaihuang, while at Lingtong Temple in Mingzhou, he found a document in the courtyard at night, stating that the distress of his life's retribution lay in Xianyang. At first no one could fathom how this could be. By the next year, Emperor Wen revered the Buddhist gate and inquired far and wide for eminent men. All said that [Ling]yu's virtue covered the expectations of the age. Thereupon [the Emperor] issued an edict saying: "We respectfully inquire after Dharma Master Lingyu of Daci Temple in Xiangzhou. We revere the Triratna, our devotion being profound. We constantly wish to expound and spread the Great Vehicle and protect and maintain the true Dharma. The Dharma Master's brahma conduct is refined and pure, and his principles and meanings are profound and far-reaching; he broadly disseminates the profound teachings and guides the deaf and blind. Both monastics and laity admire and look up to him, yearning to make him a field of merit. The capital is looked up to by all under Heaven, where the four quarters converge. Therefore, from afar We summon the Dharma Master to build meritorious works together. You should understand Our intention and enter the capital promptly." Upon receiving the letter, [Ling]yu reflected and said, "The distress of Xianyang is verified herein! Yet life has its vicissitudes; I can decline on account of illness." But he also said, "Karmic conditions have arrived; even a sage finds them hard to oppose." He then walked on foot into Chang'an without riding in the official carriages. He was seventy-four years of age at the time. An edict was sent to console and attend to him, ordering him to reside at [Da]xingshan [Temple]. [The Emperor] further ordered the relevant authorities to assemble the monks of note and deliberate on appointing a national leader (guotong). The assembly's deliberations were unanimous, with no dissenting voice. [Ling]yu smiled and said, "I should explain it thoroughly to you; what is the use of such chatter?" He then submitted a memorial declining and requesting to return, setting forth his words with meticulous care. The Emperor examined the memorial, probed the circumstances, and accordingly permitted him to return. The vice directors of the Department of State Affairs, Gao Jiong and others, wished him to retain the grave position of leader and again submitted a memorial requesting his retention. The Emperor thereupon issued an edict commanding him to stay there for the time being. [Ling]yu said, "A lord of a state does not go back on his word. Now to retain me once more is not permissible in my feelings." He told his disciples, "For a king's ministers to draw close, there has long been a pledge: if too close, they despise the person and belittle the Dharma; if they withdraw, they do not lack distant respect. Therefore I must weigh adherence and withdrawal." Soon three edicts arrived in succession firmly inviting him. [Ling]yu held fast to his resolve as before. The Emperor said to Su Wei, "We know that Master [Ling]yu has integrity and uprightness; he is a man of self-mastery, who truly cannot be made to compromise his principles." He then ordered the Left Vice Director Gao Jiong, the Right Vice Director Su Wei, the Palace Secretary Yu Qingze, the Area Commander He Ruobi, and other lords to go to the temple to announce the imperial decree, receive the precepts and repent sins on behalf of the Emperor, and present three hundred pieces of damask, brocade, garments, and plain silk to help construct a mountain temple. The Emperor himself inscribed the plaque: "It may be named Lingquan." The provisions and gifts were exceptionally generous, exceeding ordinary regulations. He walked with all his might and returned, reaching his home district. Looking back, he said, "Has not the distress of going and returning passed away without harm?" From this point, imperial inquiries repeatedly arrived, and donations and gifts were bestowed layer upon layer. Those seeking clarification of doubts and requesting decisions came from afar, and those hungering for the wind and bathing in the Way again gathered before him. Later in life, [Ling]yu also resided at Yankong Temple, west of the seat of Xiangzhou. He upheld his conduct even more firmly and practiced his discipline even more austerely. When the Emperor heard of it, he again issued an edict, saying: "We respectfully inquire after the Bhadanta Dharma Master Lingyu of Yankong Temple. We revere the sacred teachings and renew the Triratna, wishing to enable all living beings to partake in the power of merit. The Dharma Master has abandoned worldly dust and committed himself to the Dharma gate. Being so refined and sincere, you deeply fulfill Our intent." Such were the solicitous inquiries made of him by the ruler of the state. In the middle of the Renshou reign-era, when relics were distributed to various prefectures to raise stupas, many transformed omens appeared, and the people of the time all praised them as auspicious signs. When [Ling]yu heard of it, he sighed and said, "These signs portend both misfortune and fortune. Because there were mixed white flowers, white trees, white stupas, and white clouds, though the signs manifest auspicious conditions, they constitute ill omens." The crowd at first did not believe it. Soon, Empress Xian and Emperor Wen passed away in succession, and the entire state donned white mourning clothes—his words proved true. The stone base of the hall where the Regional Inspector of Xiangzhou, Duke of Neiyang Xue Zhou, resided suddenly turned to jade. Xue Zhou considered it an auspicious sign and held a vegetarian feast to celebrate it. [Ling]yu said, "This is merely vaidūrya; you should be cautious and take heed, and you may avert it through merit." Xue Zhou did not heed his words. Later, when Yang Liang rebelled, [Xue Zhou] was implicated in the affair and was exiled to the frontier borderlands. Regretting his earlier failure to be cautious, it was already too late. Furthermore, regarding the nine-tiered pagoda he built at Mount Hanling, by the end of the Renshou reign-era, only four tiers had been constructed. One morning, [Ling]yu urgently urged them, saying, "All is impermanent; affairs encounter hindrances and stops." Building continuously through the night, they were about to complete the eighth tier when an order was given to halt construction; they were only able to set up seats and arrange benches. Just then, the incident at Jinyang occurred, and the common people had nowhere to turn; [Ling]yu's life was also left in balance the following year. His prescient foresight was always like this. At that time, it was widely rumored in Ye that Master [Ling]yu was about to pass away. Monastics and laity gathered like clouds to receive the refuges and precepts together. They sought where the report had originated, but found no trace; [Ling]yu also believed that his merit and lifespan were exhausted. He then showed and instructed on good and evil, admonishing all his disciples. From the moment he felt unwell, upon reaching the seventh day, he took up a brush and composed two poems. The first lamented his swift end: / "Today I sit in the high hall, / Tomorrow morning I lie among the long thorns. / One life is now casually completed; / When will the coming retribution cease?" / The second grieved over his eternal demise: / "When life ends, I take leave of the mortal way; / My corpse is sent before the ghost gate. / After this single parting, / In how many years will we meet again?" / In the night, he told his attendant, "The pain is now in my back. I am about to depart." When the third watch came, a strange fragrance suddenly filled the room, startling all within and without.

Yuyu sat in quiet contemplation, his mouth occupied with recollecting the Buddha, continuing without break until the appearance of the morning star, when he suddenly passed away at Yankong Temple. His earthly years were eighty-eight; it was the twenty-second day of the first month of the first year of Daye (605). Grief shook mountain and world alike. He was buried beside Lingquan Temple on Baoshan, where a stūpa was erected in his honour. Initially, Lingyu was pure, upright, and chaste, his upright energy reaching the clouds; his capacity and understanding were resolute and clear, leaving footprints beyond the dust of the world. In the lineage transmission between master and disciple, the teaching found its true heir in him. His body was enveloped in a white radiance that illuminated the dark and obscure. With a soaring gaze he could survey both the near and the far. Yet he observed the prohibitions, kept himself guarded, and severed worldly vexations, reverently cleaving to the Way and conquering his thoughts to match the sages. When his mother fell gravely ill, he rushed to her side, but she had already passed away; learning of it on the road, he never came face to face with her. He sighed and said, "I came to see my mother; now what is there to see? It is better to return to the temple in Ye to cultivate future merit on her behalf." His severing and setting aside of affectionate ties was of such a kind. As for his model of propagating the Dharma, it served as a supreme guide for ten thousand generations. His aspirations were set on the distant and great, never being swayed into one-sided instruction. Thus he held solitary lectures and paired sessions, which he gracefully took as the standard rule. When lecturing against an abbreviated text, he never engaged in what was uncanonical throughout his life; whenever there was an established tradition of exposition, he required being invited, reverently attended, and looked up to before he would mount the Dharma seat. Once, having expounded halfway through at a certain place, he went out for a stroll and came near a leek garden; upon asking about its origins, he was told it belonged to the lecture master. Lingyu said, "The beginning of propagating the Dharma is to eliminate the root of faults. When evil karma has not yet fallen away, where can purity and penetration be found? This lecture cannot be held a second time; it should be dissolved immediately." He then took his staff, gathered his robes, and walked straight out to depart. The lecture master said, "Dharmabhāṇaka, simply continue your lecture. This karma is easily removed; it is not yet worth distressing yourself over." He then borrowed plowing implements from the villagers and in a single moment plowed under and destroyed forty mu of leeks, intending to plant a grain field. Such was this reliance between clerical and lay: in word and deed, neither overstepped—he stood alone in this. In his awakening through exposition, it was subtle at first and evident at the end; his tone and bearing were magnificent and far-reaching, his debates fluent without blockage, his words rarely repeated. Sometimes he lingered over a single word, going on for several days; sometimes within a single session, he would dispose of several rolls. When it came to a later lecture, he would revise the previous headings, adding, deleting, surfacing, and submerging, taking advantage of the occasion to reveal or conceal, which caused students to harbor doubts. Lingyu said, "This is the vast paradigm of a great being; how could it be judged by ordinary sentiments?" Thus, barely having attained ten summer retreats, he became a leader whom others revered. Occasionally, when bhadantas gathered together, they indulged in jocular moods; but when Lingyu took his seat, none failed to maintain solemn self-possession, and all clamour fell silent. Hence the lower-seated bhikṣuṇīs dared not approach him in person. Yet his nature was firm, awe-inspiring, and straightforward; his robes were coarse and worn. High nobility and lowly servants alike received identical treatment when facing him. Coming and going was up to the person; he never went out to welcome or see anyone off. Therefore, erudite scholars and enlightened persons who had accumulated doubts to resolve, or those with unique skills and arts who brought forward their proposals to submit their understandings, all bowed their heads in supreme admiration, words failing to express their feelings. One can indeed say of this man that he anchored both the refined and the vulgar. Hence the proverb in Ye went: "Master Yan subdues the clerical but not the lay; Master Yu subdues both clerical and lay." Truly, this was because his responses required no premeditation and his utterances turned into treatise. Furthermore, he established various fields of merit, temple halls, and sacred images. Later, on Baoshan, he constructed a stone niche named "Adamantine, Intrinsic-Power Abiding: Nārāyaṇa Grotto", carving on different faces the signs of the Dharma's extinction. With the mountains secluded and the forests towering, the words were earnest and the matters clearly presented; every spring, monks wandering the mountain would go there to investigate the literary principles, and not one who read them failed to sigh and renew his discipline. The inspiring nature of his remaining traces was such as this. In his lifetime practice of giving, he combined both compassion and reverence. His donations of kāṣāyas exceeded a thousand robes; where illness and suffering reached, his medical treatments were numerous. Whenever he obtained rich and flavorful foods, he invariably offered them first to the saṅgha. Being himself among the ranks, he did not store or keep the slightest bit. In the intervals between lecturing and instructing, he faced due west; whenever he spat or coughed up phlegm, he turned back to swallow it, discarding nothing in this single retribution body. In bodily deportment he did not tread improperly, and from his mouth came no frivolous words. In instructing humans and training animals, he completely renounced scolding and beating. Even when reprimanding youngsters or cautioning disciples, he referred to himself by his own name and called the other "Benevolent One"; his earnest words were so cutting that those who heard them shed tears. Naturally, disciples wished to emulate this model; having reached the age of sixty, he nourished the assemblies in two separate halls, setting apart those not yet fully ordained in a separate chamber to guide them. If words or deeds were improper, he immediately ordered them expelled from the assembly. Anything not permitted by the Vinaya was not allowed to persist as temple law. To women and bhikṣuṇīs he vowed never to administer the precepts, and the room where he resided was by rule forbidden, allowing none to set foot therein; this was his grand strategy for admonishing the worldly and future generations. Since it is difficult for an upādhyāya to possess the requisite virtue to confer full ordination upon a śrāmaṇera, he never did so for his entire life; as for other presiding and witnessing masters, they approached the assembly when the time arrived. But if it came to conferring the three groups of pure precepts, he transmitted them comprehensively to all seven assemblies. Hence, only during times of Dharma propagation were assemblies of women allowed to enter the monastery, arriving later and leaving earlier, walking straight through without lingering. Consequently, the purity and strictness of his Dharma assemblies were renowned throughout the realm. Attendants and servers never included śrāmaṇeras. The monastic regulations were clear and upright, without distinction between host and guest: inwardly meditating on protecting the Dharma, outwardly disciplining errors and faults. His personal dress was pure and austere, never wearing patterned silks. The hem of his lower robe hung four fingerbreadths above the ankle; his shirt sleeves barely reached the elbow; his saṃkakṣikā was at most long enough to reach the shins. If he saw robes cut beyond the proper measure, he would sever them in front of the assembly. Therefore, square skirts, stiff waistcoats, large felt spreads, padded mattresses, high-grade leather, coins, gems, and the like never entered his room, let alone being worn on his body as personal requisites. This was another lasting lesson of his frugality. His everyday five-strip robe had always been of plain cloth; even if finished fabrics or silks were offered to him, he ultimately gave them away to others. The same was true for his saṃkakṣikā; the rest were merely patched rags. In the world there were cynical criticisms, some taking this as seeking fame; at times this reached his ears, and Lingyu said, "I have heard that the gentleman competes for fame while the petty man competes for profit; what need is there to refuse it?" Someone said, "Fame is essentially the condition for profit." Lingyu said, "Once I obtain profit, I lose fame." Another said, "This is merely feigning a virtuous appearance." He replied, "It is still better than having a sincere heart that commits sins." People of the time considered these fine words. The deportment of his resolute conduct could serve as a model for the world; hence the biographer has not omitted these details. From the age of thirty, he dedicated himself to writing. First he composed the *Commentary on the Ten Stages* in four rolls; commentaries on the *Bodhisattvabhūmi*, *Vimalakīrti*, and *Prajñā* in two rolls each; the *Avataṃsaka Commentary* and *Zhigui* together in nine rolls; the *Nirvāṇa Commentary* in six rolls; the *Mahāsaṃnipāta Commentary* in eight rolls; the *Commentary on the Four-Part Vinaya* in five rolls; the *Essay on the Meaning of the Mahāyāna* in four rolls; and commentaries and records on various scriptures such as the *Śrīmālā*, *Aṅgulimāla*, *Amitāyur-dhyāna*, *Kāruṇikarāja*, *Vinayamātṛkā*, *Rebirth Treatise*, the *Upper and Lower Birth [of Maitreya]*, and the *Legacy Teaching [Sūtra]*. He also compiled excerpts of the *Satyasiddhi*, *Abhidharma*, and *Mahāprajñāpāramitopadeśa* in five rolls each.

There were the *Record of Sacred Traces* in two rolls, *Record of the Eastern Transmission of the Buddha-Dharma*, *Doctrinal Essentials of the Various Scriptures*, *Forms and Formats for Translating Scriptures*, *Rites for Receiving the Bodhisattva Precepts* along with *Annotations from Head to Tail of the Precept Code*, prefaces to scriptures and treatises such as the *Avataṃsaka*, *Treatise on the Commonalities and Differences between Mahāyāna and Hīnayāna*, *Biography of Śāriputra and Maudgalyāyana*, *Methods for Managing the Assembly*, and so forth. Each had its own category, and their fundamental tenets are worthy of transmission. He also composed the *Treatise on Pacifying the People* and the *Treatise on Moulding the Spirit* in ten rolls each; the *Treatise Encouraging Faith and Elucidating the Ancestral Tenet*, the *Treatise on the Destruction of Eggs as Constituting Killing*, the *Origins of Characters* in seven rolls; the *Records of Zhuangzi and Guidelines of Laozi*, *Astrological and Prognostic Mirror-Catalogue of the Canonical Prognostics*, *Medical Resolutions and Amulet-Prohibition Rituals*, *Preface on Straining Out Water Insects*, *Record of the Triratna in the Qi Dynasty*, *Record of the Extinction of the Dharma*, *Record of Master [Hui]guang's Disciples and the Ten Virtues*, *Monastic Regulations and Temple Pronouncements*, *Eulogy on the Ten Resentments and Ten Aspirations*, *Eulogy on Whiling Away the Days upon the Fall of Qi*, *Eulogy on Expressing Feelings in Response to Affairs*, *Record of Retributions for the Destruction of Temples*, *Record of the Meaning of the Classic of Filial Piety*, *Eulogy on the Three Practices and Four Departures*, poetry criticism, and miscellaneous collections, totaling over fifty rolls. These have circulated widely in the world. His language was unadorned, subtly leaning toward archaic models; those who bypass emotional flourish to grasp the principle will savor them for a long time. Furthermore, whenever he conferred the teachings, his intention was focused entirely on practice; when someone went against this aim, he told them, "Originally, the sage handed down the teachings so that they would reach practitioners. If people do not practice them, it is no different from not having studied at all." Those who transgressed were driven out. This shows how he valued the Dharma to shape individuals. Examining Lingyu's two treatises, *Pacifying the People* and *Moulding the Spirit*, his intention was to transmit the lamp so that benevolence would flow to the common people; profound insight and exalted conduct were embodied in this. There was a śramaṇa from Huanglong who attended lectures on scriptures and treatises alongside him in Ye; in dhyāna and vinaya he had internalized everything, his practice and understanding being mutually unified. When scholars passed down the news that he was about to return to Yan Commandery, he came to take leave of Lingyu and made a request: "I pray you might impart a single phrase of essential teaching—one that allows immediate practice upon immediate understanding and can perpetually benefit a śramaṇa's path and conduct." Lingyu said, "It shall be as your words request; I will tell you upon your departure." Later, when the visitor was about to set out, Lingyu said, "Scriptural instructions, dhyāna, and vinaya might mix with the holy mind. The single *Biography of Eminent Monks* reflects ordinary lives worthy of emulation; I shall offer this to you in return, which may serve as a spiritual function." The man joyfully received it and carried the biography back to his homeland. This was truly an earnest mirror outside worldly things, an awakening attuned to the core tenet. Moreover, throughout his life, whenever he was among the assembly, he was invariably upright and foremost. When reciting the precepts and performing karmavācanā, he did not permit the method of transmitting consent by proxy. His skill in subtle admonition flowed like water to those who heard it. Once, in the capital, he entered Jingying Temple just at the time of the poṣadha, and sat directly in the hall. Seeing Venerable Huiyuan reciting the consent, Lingyu raised his voice and said, "Huiyuan reads the text and says, 'Due to circumstances of Dharma affairs, the saṅgha listens to the precepts.' This can only be Māra's speech!" The entire assembly sprang up in shock, censuring his words as strange. Someone who recognized him informed Huiyuan, and Huiyuan hurried to the hall. Lingyu said, "I hear that the Benevolent One propagates the Dharma, yet lowers his personal conduct to make it easy to transmit. Ordinary habits are readily welcomed; how can they match the sacred prohibitions?" Huiyuan prostrated, disciplined himself, and accepted this with tears in his eyes. From then on until the end of his days, Huiyuan always attended the assemblies in person. His inspiring faith and compliance in beings was always of this kind. Since the Dharma flowed into the Eastern Land, the styles of conversion have been diverse; but when it comes to establishing teachings, putting them into practice, and winning the trust of a thousand years, Lingyu was truly one of them.