Shi Zhiyan, whose courtesy name was Mingcan, had the secular surname of Zhu. He was a native of Wu in Wujun. His grandfather, Xian, served as an extra cavalry attendant gentleman (yuanwai sanqi shilang) under the Liang; his father, Min, served as a court attendee (fengchaoqing) under the Chen. Zhiyan was born into an illustrious lineage, naturally manifesting virtue from birth. When his mother, Lady Zhang, first conceived, she dreamt that she ascended the pagoda of Tongxuan Monastery, sat upon its dew-dish wheels, and looked into the distance over the void without any fear whatsoever. This was an auspicious omen of attaining the Way and transcending ordinary birth, a wondrous sign of an unsurpassed teacher of humanity. One thus knows that [the portents of] the two luminaries entering the bosom or twin dragons pillowed on the knees could not rival it. After he was born, he was distinguished from other children. His elegant aura and steadfast heart early showed in his bearing and gaze. At the age of eight he entered the monastic order, serving Dharma Master Qu of Tongxuan Monastery as his disciple. He carried the sandals and held the robes, serving respectfully without flagging; like pouring into a vase or wielding the ladle, his reception of the Way was all the more assiduous. At the age of twelve, he had recited through the entirety of the Lotus Sūtra. In his brilliant understanding, hearing, and discernment, all hailed him as a divine child. He then reflected to himself: 'The magnificent capital is the standard for the four directions; how could I be confined long within a shallow well?' At the age of sixteen, he set out for the capital that very day. He listened to Dharma Master Chi of Bao'en Monastery lecture on the *Tattvasiddhi-śāstra*. His intelligence was early perfected, and his profound wisdom unfolded; thus he was able to make the branches flourish and the ears open, with no peer among later generations. When Master Chi went south and the Dharma assembly was suspended, Zhiyan returned to his native place to visit his parents. Thereupon he propagated the scriptural teachings at his home temple. His [arguments] rose like crags and parapets, his dialectical responses flowing like water. He was then nineteen, and none failed to marvel at his youthful excellence. After a year passed, he returned to the capital to receive the full precepts from Dharma Master Yan of Taihuang Monastery. His moral vessel and exemplary begging bowl profoundly guarded the roots of the precepts. Dharma Master Yao of Dazhuangyan Monastery was revered for his wisdom in the Central Plains and celebrated under the sun; Zhiyan thereupon relied upon him and requested instruction, thoroughly investigating the new and the actual. Attaining its meaning with true devotion, his accomplishments doubled from before; truly it was the leg of a steed meeting a skilled driver. In the third year of the Zhide era of the Chen (585), the Renwang fast assembly was established. A hundred masters sat upon a hundred seats, competing in the eloquence of heavenly tongues; for seven nights with a thousand lamps, they vied in discerning subtleties that moved the spirits. At that time, he was twenty-two; possessing the quality of youthful brilliance, he participated among all the venerable elders. When conveying meaning, he soared high and broke the crucial points; when raising objections, his arguments were like the axle-pins of a great carriage. The emperor admired him and all the court officials praised him; none failed to love his composed elegance and defer to his swift agility. Constantly feeling that human society was noisy and chaotic, he sought secluded dwelling in pure openness. When the Chen dynasty lost its cauldrons, he accordingly went east and erased his tracks at Wuqiu for nearly thirty years. Leaning on crags and facing ravines, he was at ease in the three modes of karma; ladling from mountain streams and parting the pine branches, he rested serenely in accordance with the four deportments. Although his form was hidden, his name spread; although his Way was concealed, his transformation reached far and wide. Thereupon all eight directions turned to him with devotion, and the fourfold assembly harboured reverent hearts. Yang Su, the Director of the Department of State Affairs and Duke of the State of Chu, was accomplished in both civil and military arts, serving as the sovereign's counselor and balancing the realm; relying on his noble status and proud of his talent, he seldom deferred to anyone. While marching his troops through the Huai and sea regions, he heard that Zhiyan's Way excelled and that he was dwelling in the mountains. Sounding cymbals, he hastened to the hill, tipped his carriage-canopy to gaze upon Zhiyan's face, and bowed fully with wholehearted faith, regretting only having been so late to touch his feet. Su Wei, the Left Vice-Director of the Department of State Affairs and Duke of the State of Pi, revered the Way and loved benevolence, admiring peaceful seclusion above all. Dispatched on a mission to Wu and Yue, he personally visited the mountain hermitage; beholding Zhiyan's appearance and drinking in his voice, he made reverent prostrations, leaping with joy. When Emperor Yang was still an imperial prince, he garrisoned Weiyang and gathered eminent talents, assembling the virtuous and wise from afar. Since Zhiyan's Way was flourishing and his name was prominent, an official letter was sent to summon him. Fearing that the envoy would incur blame, and lamenting that he himself should cause trouble for others, he put on his robes and emerged from the valley, receiving deep respect and generous courtesy. He then used illness as an excuse to return to his old mountain. Emperor Wen of the Sui admired him from afar and sent letters to inquire after him. When the fiery mandate of the Sui reached its end, spearheads and arrowheads surged and boiled. The four seas were equally afflicted, and the Sanwu region was troubled even worse. His donors and disciples welcomed him out to Pitan, where for ten years from beginning to end his transformative influence operated in the imperial city. When the Great Tang unified the realm, he returned to his old dwelling. In the seventh year of the Wude era (624), Li Shijia, Area Commander of Suzhou and Duke of Wuyang, together with court officials, commoners, public and private persons, respectfully welcomed him back to the mountain monastery. Thereupon meditation guests and wise companions once again gathered as in former days; the dragon pools and phoenix groves were truly places that brought delight to the heart. Moreover, Zhiyan practiced both transforming himself and transforming others, cultivating both attainment and detachment together. In the intervals between lecturing and mindfulness, he constantly practiced the Lotus repentance, the Golden Light repentance, the Samantabhadra repentance, and others. He also recited the Lotus Sūtra more than three thousand times. His spiritual resonances and miraculous portents were not singular: before the evening censer was lit, fragrant smoke would spontaneously rise; when the evening ewer had just been emptied, it would silently fill to overflowing with water. Furthermore, he vowed to be born in the Pure Land, fashioned an image of Amitābha, practiced the three kinds of pure karma, and cultivated the sixteen wonderful contemplations. Together with more than five hundred donors of the prefecture, he gathered once every month to establish a fast and lecture on the contemplations; these excellent cycles followed one after another for over ten years. Compared with making a mutual vow with the same goal within the Prajñā Terrace at the northern foot of Mount Kuang, how could it be different? Later, he contracted an illness, and after a ten-day period, his condition grew critical. When it came to this point, his admonitions were compassionate and earnest; the assembly of companions was sorrowful and grieved. At dawn on the eleventh day of the tenth month in the eighth year of the Zhenguan era (634), his spirit departed at the East Monastery of Wuqiu, at the age of seventy-one. On the twenty-second day of that month, he was interred on the southern ridge of the monastery. From near and far, monastics and laypeople rushed together in an assembled crowd; flowers and incense filled the air, and wailing resounded like clouds and thunder. For funerals that have taken place, what could surpass this? Zhiyan was reserved and solemn from his youth, upright and dignified by nature. His utmost sincerity lay in his moral conduct, and his austere discipline was ever more diligent. His mouth abstained from assorted flavours, and he did not eat twice a day. If it was not according to principle, he would not tread upon it; if it was not Dharma speech, he would not utter it. His handsome appearance and extraordinary bearing surpassed that of the multitude. His moral bulwark was disciplined and austere, and his spirit was chilling like ice and snow. Dharma Master Da'an, the younger brother of the King of Linhai of the Chen dynasty, renounced secular life out of weariness with the world, and was thoroughly versed in both internal [Buddhist] and external [non-Buddhist] learning. The śramaṇa Bianzhi had superior learning and pure practice. Zhiyan associated with these two men, and at the time they were called the 'Three Talents'. When he hid his purpose in the forests and springs, cutting himself off forever from the world of men, his fragrant conduct and fine virtue formed pathways for others to follow; none failed to turn their chariots and visit the mountain to receive the fragrant Dharma in person. Truly he was the converging sea of the Dharma, the ridgepole and pillar of the Buddhist house! He lectured on the *Mahāparinirvāṇa-sūtra*, the *Lotus Sūtra*, and the *Vimalakīrti-nirdeśa* thirty times each, and lectured on the *Guanjing* one hundred and ten times. The śramaṇa Faxuan of Hongye Monastery in Changzhou said: 'In the past, the Dharma Master and I shared the capital district and were close companions in the prime of our youth. Now, as good neighbours, our friendship has grown deeper in our twilight years. Although our joys in gathering cassia were sometimes at variance, our gifts of plucked hemp were never neglected. Imagining his pure countenance as if still present, I grieve that his virtuous voice is already silenced. Ashamed of unfolding my writing on coloured silk, I ultimately entrust these words to chaste stone.' Thereupon, together with the temple prior Zhifeng and others, he erected a tall stele within the monastery grounds.

14.18

Shi Daoji, whose secular surname was Lü, was a native of Dongping in Henan. By nature he was born with innate wisdom, his reputation marked by precocious intelligence. When he was just fourteen, carrying his book satchel, he journeyed to Pengcheng, extensively listening to various teachers and perfecting his virtue with whatever he heard. When discussing profound meanings, he comprehended them before words were even uttered; when resolving new issues, his thoughts surpassed the text itself. Thus Xu and Xu praised his brilliant insights, and the rivers and seas revered his righteous model, causing his peers to hold him in high esteem and look up to him as an elder exemplar. Yang Su, the Grand Commandant and Director of the Department of State Affairs under the Sui, relied on his talents to govern the realm and held overall authority. He once admired Daoji's pure character and personally paid him respectful homage; after conversing on the principles of destiny, he sighed with admiration and turned back. Looking around at the various chief ministers, he said: 'Dharma Master Ji is the pillar of the Buddha's teaching for the future. Among the renowned monks I have seen, rarely is there anyone his equal.' He then requested him to lecture on and propagate the *Abhidharmahṛdaya-śāstra* in the Eastern Capital. Having long inherited the prestigious tradition and personally stood at the crossroads of learning, Daoji operated with ease throughout the various treatises, his profound insights strikingly evident. He was thus able to discourse as if a river were pouring down, answering objections like rolling thunder. At that time, in the early years of the Daye era, the fortunes of the Sui were flourishing. Doctrinal scholarship was higher than the wind and clouds, and the gentry stood like mountains. All clutching their scriptures to the lecture hall, they sought the Way and knew where to take refuge; treading in one another's footsteps, people from far and near gathered like fish scales. He then compiled the *Zaxin xuanzhang* (Profound Chapters on the *Saṃyuktābhidharmahṛdaya-śāstra*) together with an abstract in eight scrolls. The large and small sets have traditionally circulated together, and their various divisions have guided students from of old. All of them systematically weave the sections together, their rhetoric soaring to the heavens; their control, narration, modulation, and standards surpassed those of former times. From then on, leaders from across the realm gathered grandly at the Huidi Daochang; all looked up to his aura to seek him as their teacher, pointing the way and knowing how to return. Because Daoji's glorious prominence surpassed expectations and his elegant manner was unique in the realm, an imperial decree summoned him to reside [there] in the fifth year of the Daye era (609). Thereupon he expounded profound treatises in response, thoroughly satisfying the imperial mind. The Sui empress, understanding the harmony of the mysterious [Daoism] and Confucianism, wished to observe the treasury of the Buddhist teachings; she gathered the doctrinal scholars and personally attended the debate arena. The imperial carriages moved slowly, and the sounding of pipes filled the imperial highway; the imperial procession paused for a while, its halt purifying the gate of the teaching. Since the Great Dharma flowed east, this assembly was truly a grand sight. At that time, the debaters all had glorious reputations; when about to ascend the Dharma seat, each showed his heroic prowess. Yet when the understanding was traced to its source, all yielded to Daoji as the profound master. Having met the expectations of the multitude, his mind was set on ordering [the doctrine]; he then first raised the grand outlines and next brought glory to the imperial virtue. The hundred ministers and high officials all turned toward him with distinct reverence and shared admiration. When the mandate of the Sui collapsed and bandits threw the Central Plains into turmoil, [remembering that] Confucius had the intention to seek rites among the four barbarian tribes, Daoji shook his monk's staff toward Nanzheng and spread the teachings in western Min. Thereupon the people of Ba and Shu rushed forward like flying birds, gathering like smoke; none failed to have their drifting mists cleared away, with the heterodox and orthodox clearly distinguished. He deeply studied the Mahāyāna and propagated the *Mahāyānasaṃgraha*, reforming previous paths and editing what was lost or forgotten. His Way surpassed earlier times, and his name was exalted across the realm. Considering that students found it hard to inherit the tradition and were prone to lose their way, he further composed the *Dacheng zhangchao* (Abstract of Mahāyāna Chapters) in eight scrolls. Their style was pure and far-reaching, and their teaching was harmonious and comprehensive; thus, reading the scrolls and resting one's hands on the carriage-bar was like ascending the Dragon Gate. Truly the gradual ascent of the wild goose had its day! Therefore, in the imperial capital under the Zhenguan era, famous monks throughout the realm copied it and spread its radiance, which truly matched the truth. However, as the world encounters impermanence and life is merely a temporary lodge, he was about to write a commentary on the treatise when he suddenly passed away. In the second month of the eleventh year of the Zhenguan era (637), he passed away at Fucheng Monastery in Yibu, at an age of over sixty. At that time, in the strongholds of Pengmen and Shu, there were also Huijing and Baoxian, both of whom were well versed in the *Mahāyānasaṃgraha* and whose reputations surged in the capital. Huijing's pure wisdom stood alone, thoroughly elucidating the profound ford; his textual citations constantly displayed outstanding brilliance. Baoxian's mind embraced everything, standing tall above his peers; his debates examined both sides, producing fresh and novel interpretations. In calculations and mantic arts, there was no study in which he did not excel. Having stood shoulder to shoulder [with Daoji], neither was eclipsed. But in their later years they became attached to eccentricities, which ultimately obscured their fine achievements; thus they were not placed in the ranks of the masters of the era.

14.19

Śramaṇa Daoxun was surnamed Zhang and was a native of Yuxiang in Hedong. His spirit and demeanor were lofty and far-reaching, and his capacity was open, modest, and simple. He was skilled in grasping opportune moments and had penetrating insight into administrative methods. He had earlier traversed the streams and outlines of the Masters and Histories, yet protecting the Dharma and guiding the assembly were truly his fundamental ground. Although he was widely versed in numerous scriptures, he especially took the Nirvāṇa [Sūtra] and the Mahāyānasaṃgraha as the abode of his resting spirit. Together with his younger brother Daoqian, he dispelled ignorance and transformed each other, both going to Dharmabhāṇaka Tanyan. Yan was a rampart of the true Dharma, to whom both clergy and laity turned. Observing their natural fraternity and that they could serve as Dharma heirs, he ordained them as his disciples. Bearing burdens and accompanying him, they dwelt in the imperial palace quarters, expounding, awakening to, discussing, and narrating [the teachings]. Both sat in the lower seats, joyfully conversing on the profound and subtle, and whenever reflecting, they struck the rhythm. Thus, though [Daoxun] studied and traversed much, he especially grasped the essential outlines. Ascending to expound and explain, he passed through many hot and cold seasons; the outstanding talents of the Three Jin flocked to him like wind. Later, he resided at Renshou Monastery in Puzhou, gathering disciples to guide and transform, establishing his vocation at the thoroughfare. However, because the place was located at a regional confluence, where guests and travelers gathered and later customs were vulgar and decadent, many indulged in commonplace habits. Since partisanship was practiced, hate and affection thereby arose. Xun's Dao met the Jin river, and his conduct illuminated the lands beyond the river. Daily welcoming hosts and guests and supplying the Dharma-wealth, he entrusted it all to the monastic provisions, setting the standard for general relief. If there was any deficiency, he applied effort to initiate measures, everywhere informing those with karmic ties; his virtue reached the common people, and there was nothing that was not achieved. Therefore, his reputation spread far and wide, flourishing even more than before. From the princes of feudatory states and commandery magistrates to the officials of the Department of State Affairs, all bent their carriages to visit him and inquire after his remaining instructions. If any in haste did not pay a visit, their hearts felt ashamed, terrified, and trembling, as if having lost something. His virtue truly moved the feelings of creatures in such a manner. Xun rested upon the Dao to nourish himself and sat steady to calm the worldly customs. Even though the noble and lowly came to visit and consult him, he never went out to welcome or see them off. In addition, his conversation and laughter were gentle and elegant, and his banter accommodated the times. Meeting people according to circumstances, both his expressions and speech were praised, yet he strictly held to the precepts, keeping his integrity without improper excess or defect. He repeatedly brought about auspicious resonances, being heavily respected by the times. In the final years of the Daye era, strange vapors gathered like clouds. On account of business, he returned to the capital, stopping at night at the head of a pass. The master of the house where he lodged had five sons, who also colluded with outside bandits. Seeing that Xun's horse was strong, they wished to steal it together. Going to the place at night, they saw ten men surrounding the horse, all of robust and fierce appearance, wearing armor and bearing weapons. The bandits were all frightened and drew back because of this. Looking closely, they saw no one. When they approached again, they saw it just as before, and none dared draw near. Advancing and retreating up to five times, dawn finally broke. Seeing no one there, they realized it was a spiritual resonance, and throwing themselves face-down on the ground, they repented. His hidden resonances and manifest benefits were of this kind. Furthermore, his nature of benevolence and yielding arose from his inborn disposition. Foreseeing peril and distress, his compassion and relief made no distinction between resentment and affection, extending completely to all alike. At the beginning of the Tang, when the empire was being pacified and Puzhou had not yet been subdued, Xun and the monastery monks were confined within the city. At that time, there was a monk who constantly wished to bring harm to him, slandering him falsely, which showed in his words and countenance. Although Xun heard of this, he never paused in his concern [for him]. When the monk's scheme failed, he plotted to betray the city; the plot was exposed and he was about to be executed, with no one to rescue him. Xun wept, stepped forward to apologize to the officials in charge, and said, 'This monk committed an offense, but the fault lies with me, Xun. It was because my instruction and guidance were not comprehensive that he committed this crime. Thus, the error originated from Xun, and it is I who should be executed.' He repeatedly offered earnest remonstrances. The officials knew this was his enemy, but could not bear to see Xun speaking so repeatedly, and thereupon released him. From then on, an even greater benevolent atmosphere arose. Judging from these matters, his broad-mindedness was indeed magnificent! In the middle of the Zhenguan era, during the winter, someone requested him to expound the Nirvāṇa [Sūtra]. Knowing beforehand that his end was near, he firmly declined the invitation. The requester did not discern his intention and earnestly invited him again. He then announced, 'The reason I firmly decline is simply that I will not finish this lecture seat. Unable to refuse your intention, I shall trouble you later.' Thereupon he went to the Valley of Wangcheng, where clergy and laity assembled together. Xun ascended the seat, introduced the title, and then told the fourfold assembly, 'Such is the nature of the world; it will soon end. I venture to bid farewell to the great assembly. As for the verses that follow, I request to leave them for the next life.' Thereupon he expounded according to the text. Just as he reached the beginning of the verses, he felt a lapse of mindfulness. After only three nights, he died at the mountain location at the age of seventy-five, on the twenty-fifth day of the twelfth month of that year. The entire district wailed together as if having lost their parents. That night, snow fell for three or four li around, so they swept the road to open passage, and laid the corpse out on the mountain ridge. After a night, strange flowers suddenly appeared surrounding the corpse on all sides, bursting forth from the ground, their stems about one or two feet long, with fresh blooms on top. They resembled the color of coltsfoot, but their form and appearance were entirely different. The sevenfold assembly, astounded, paid homage, and lamentation and celebration filled the mountains. Some snapped off blooms, brought them into the city, and showed them to the senior elders; those placed in a water vase still had not withered by the fifth month of the following year. Only after being pulled from the earth did they finally wither. Such was the rarity in this world of what his hidden auspicious signs induced. There was a man in Jinzhou whose nature was fond of roaming and hunting, and who initially did not believe. When the reports of Xun's auspicious signs reached his ears, he went to the mountain to look for them. The flowers had vanished and the corpse was gone; he only beheld an empty space. Thereupon he wept loudly, saying, 'In life, I did not receive awakening of faith; in death, I did not behold the flower marvel. Why am I so without resonance? If the spiritual way has proof, I pray the divine sign appear again.' As soon as his words ended, marvelous flowers sprang from the ground, again about a foot tall. Comforted and delighted by the excellent response, he snapped them off, returned home, and announced it throughout his village and prefecture; from this, faith arose. These were witnessed with faith in recent years; could they be falsely transmitted? Xun's younger brother, Daoqian, was only slightly inferior to his elder brother in the excellence of his learning and practice, and was known beyond the pass for expounding the Daśabhūmika. Since his residence at Renshou Monastery was adjacent to the pass road, and on account of the clamor and dust of this place bordering the capital, he was frequently fatigued by human affairs. Thereupon he reflected on seclusion and traversed the mountains and streams. The valley was called Wangcheng, and there he dwelt. From time to time, he climbed heights to gaze far off, expressing his feelings to the wind and clouds and quoting famous compositions. In lofty and refined harmony, clergy and laity gathered as guests. He also gathered at the mountain gate for light-hearted conversation, leading their minds so that he never grew old in vain. In the first year of the Zhenguan era, he died at the mountain hermitage at the age of sixty-seven. Xun caressed his body and shed tears, and together with his disciple Daoji and others, cremated the physical remains, gathering the remaining ashes and scattering them to the palace of the wind. Recalling his kindness and brotherliness, he erected a brick stūpa of Śākyamuni for him, and Śramaṇa Xingyou composed the text for a carved stele recording his virtues.

14.20

The Upādhyāya, whose taboo name was Huiyun, was surnamed Zhang and was a native of Qinghe. During the Yongjia era of the Jin, [his ancestors] avoided turmoil and came to reside in Jianye. By nature he was open and simple, and his demeanor was meticulous and upright. His broad learning was comprehensive, and he honed later worthies. Formerly, when bent on learning, he early passed through the village schools; his studies encompassed the Confucian masters, and he possessed many skills and arts. His father Zhengjian was an eminent scholar praised by the literary state of the Chen, possessing a separate collection of his own. Delighted that [Huiyun] joyfully revered the Buddhist order, and discerning that his spirit was poised to carry on the family heritage, whenever [Huiyun] presented his aspirations, he suppressed and diverted them all. The Upādhyāya's discernment of the truth grew daily, and his earnest petitions became pressing: if not allowed to leave household life, he vowed to depart the world. Fearing he would take his own life, [his father] temporarily enrolled him in the lineage of Li [Daoism]. Residing in a quiet abbey, he provisionally wore the cap and coarse robe. Thereupon he was transmitted the secret essentials of the Three and Five, talismans, registers, and authentic scriptures, as well as mathematics, cosmological divination, changes, prohibitions, and exorcisms. His spiritual intelligence was luminous, understanding them like pointing to his palm. He also inquired into Zhuangzi, Laozi, the Three Caverns, the Three Purities, Yangzi's Taixuan, and Ge Shen's Neijue; there was none whose roots and origins he did not clearly discern and whose branches and streams he did not thoroughly investigate. Later, reflecting on the ultimate reality, he esteemed spontaneity, preserving his vigor and refining his form, ultimately hoping to ascend as an immortal. But searching for the ultimate truth was as difficult to chase as an echo. Thereupon he secretly chanted the Lotus Sūtra, his intention returning to the Buddha-seed. Before the seasons had passed, both the text and words were mastered. Meeting with the Chen emperor's ordination of monks, he participated in the testing. In the Taijian era, he received an imperial ordination and was ordered to reside at Tongtai Monastery. Only after shaving his head did his relatives learn of it; since it was officially permitted, they offered congratulations. Relying on the monastic community, he received and listened to numerous sūtras; among latecomers and predecessors, his glorious renown increased daily. When the Sui subdued the Chen state, he crossed north to Jiangdu, staying at Hualin Monastery, traveling about to inquire about the Dharma. There was Dharmabhāṇaka Jie, a famous master of the Tattvasiddhi-śāstra; following him for successive years, he listened to discourses on the profound meaning, harmonizing what he had previously heard to further propagate the marvelous strategy. Because his practice of the Dao had achieved prominence, both monastics and laity took refuge in him. In the late years of the Kaihuang era, he was summoned to the capital's monasteries. At that time, the Prince of Jin developed faith and extensively invited bhadantas to assemble at Riyan Monastery. All were fine timbers of the realm, acting alternately as teachers to one another. Daily they expounded the Vehicles, their five wheels advancing abreast. Thus he was able to survey different traditions and broadly examine various transmissions, collating old teachings and establishing new standards. Bathing in the profound subtleties, his wise comprehension grew ever newer. Clearly discerning that the defective treatises of Harivarman were an inferior path, he took refuge in the tradition of Nāgārjuna and propagated the Great Vehicle. Therefore, he treated the Madhyamaka, Śata, Prajñā, and Vijñaptimātra treatises as teachings in which he had bathed his spirit; reading and perusing their texts, he constantly engaged in lecturing and guiding, taking it as his own responsibility. In leisure moments, he secluded himself to reflect and deeply deliberate. His recitation and memorization of the Lotus Sūtra remained as before, and he also expounded its text and meaning for future students. Upright and sincere in keeping rectitude, he did not improperly associate with or welcome others. Śramaṇas such as Zhishou and Daoyue, whose learning exhausted ancient studies and whose achievements touched the high heavens, admired his virtue and character, lingering with him for consecutive nights. They deliberated upon the Vinaya rules, revised and established the regulations, and returned smiling with delight, only to visit him again soon after. At the beginning of the Wude era, the Emperor's elder sister, the Senior Princess of Guiyang, built Congyi Monastery. Long venerating the disciplinary models, she asked him to dwell there. The age was glorious and bright, and the people's esteem was profound. Vinayadhara Xuanwan's Dao was renowned at court and market; his conduct moved the Purple Court, and his spirit joined the wind and clouds. Associating with great masters, he invited [Huiyun] to every affair, conversing with friendly respect and cultivating virtue with humility, occasionally lodging there. Wan deeply treasured his spiritual acuity and treated him with ever-increasing courtesy; therefore, whenever conferring precepts or granting absolution, [Huiyun] always occupied the primary seat. In the late summer of the eleventh year of the Zhenguan era, his wind affliction repeatedly worsened. He summoned his disciples and said, 'My physical condition will not last; I shall soon make my final farewell. You should each cherish yourselves and not have regrets later. My only regret is that my meritorious deeds are not yet complete, which causes me concern.' Thereupon he cut up his winter clothes and used them to complete [the merit]. He also said, 'If the consciousness can govern itself, there can be regular rules; I fear that if I become confused and demand food at improper times, none must be given according to the Dharma.' When near the very end, he asked for congee after the proper hour. They replied, 'The fasting hour has passed.' He thereupon fell silent and spoke no more. Such was his observance of rectitude when facing the end. On the twenty-sixth day of the seventh month of that year, he passed away at his dwelling at the age of seventy-four. He was buried to the west of Gaoyang Plain, where a cave was dug to inter him. Later, he was moved to the eastern cliff of Fengde Monastery on the Southern Mountain, where a niche was carved out of rock and an inscription was placed to manifest his virtue. In my years of study, I served him for more than two decades; his compassionate instructions were warm and thorough, joy and anger never appeared on his face, and he taught by guiding conduct, minutely demonstrating the subtle and precise. Throughout the sacrifices, services, and seasons of heat and cold, he never wearied. When I first received full ordination, my nature was fond of the gate of dhyāna, and I explained my wish to him. He then said, 'Pure precepts and clear meditation are the sequence of the Dao. You should first study the Vinaya; only after observing and transgressing are illuminated and unified will it be permissible.' Once I listened to his Vinaya lectures, ten-odd years passed; following chapter and verse, I came to rejoice in the ancestral tradition. In the early years of the Zhenguan era, I set my mind beyond the pass to broaden my experience and knowledge. Kneeling, I explained my intention to travel. He then burdened me with the words, 'Leaving household life is for the sake of the Dao; you are free to go and observe the transformation. But if you are to engage in worldly good, you must not leave me.' Thereupon he wept. Full of bold determination to hear the Dao, I meant to return shortly after going. Little did I think that the wind-tossed tree easily stirs and the flowing river is hard to calm: after traveling back and forth for ten years, he had passed away forever. How sorrowful!

14.21

Śramaṇa Daozong, surnamed Wei, was a native of Pingyi. His character was open and accommodating, broad-minded, benevolent, and deeply affectionate; having achieved great capacity to aid and succor others, he was famous in his time. In his youth he renounced worldly life to dedicate himself to the Buddhist sangha. He devoted his mind to the *Mahāprajñāpāramitopadeśa*, lecturing on and elucidating its teachings and tenets. When Emperor Wu of the Zhou suppressed the Buddhist teaching, he concealed his appearance among the laity, inwardly cherishing the pure monastic precepts while outwardly conforming to the defilements of the mundane world. When the Sui dynasty revived the teaching, he was ordained. He resided at Daxingguo Monastery in Tongzhou, which was the birthplace of Emperor Wen. Its cloisters, halls, and stupas grew more splendid over time; backing onto the city walls and overlooking the waters, its multi-tiered eaves stood reflected together. Four stele were erected within the monastery, standing on its cardinal sides. There, Daozong spread and promulgated the Dharma across continuous lecture mats. He awakened multitudes and washed away their defiled hearts. His physical bearing was imposing and profound, commanding great reverence from his auditory disciples. Guests from the four quarters passed through daily, and his provision of offerings for them became famous among both clergy and laity. In the final years of the Daye era, successive famines occurred; ravines and gullies were filled with corpses, and people resorted to eating one another. Daozong alone vastly expanded the 'four kinds of gratitude' to convert and assist the common folk; whatever donations were received were entirely devoted to providing them with food. Thus, Daoxun of Puzhou and Daozong of Tongzhou, separated by mountain passes and rivers with only a single day's journey between them, shared the same dedication to salvation, their true virtue spreading far and wide. The monastic assembly, seeing that all moral standing and respect rested in him, selected him to assume the monastery’s administrative duties. He governed the monks with all-encompassing compassion. Believing the Dharma relies on people and its flourishing fulfillment lies in the monastic discipline—while other studies among the monks might lead regular standards to degenerate—he went to the capital to invite the śramaṇa Zhishou to deliver lectures during the summer retreat. Daozong led over three hundred of his assembly, with scriptures laid across their laps to receive instruction, never growing weary. The monastery had been established for a long time and was entirely lacking in a purified territory (kappiya-bhūmi); though the monks did not personally handle impure things, they were ultimately tainted by cooking food overnight. When the lecture reached this part of the monastic code, Daozong realized the fault. Filled with regret that later students had not yet accomplished the defense of the Dharma, he halted the lectures to clear away the impurities before proceeding with the remaining text. Furthermore, the regular assembly for the poṣadha prized novel discussions; many members would merely declare their assent (chanda) without actually attending the assembly. When he heard that the teaching on declaring assent was originally intended for those earnestly seeking it, but had become an excuse for sloth and negligence that failed to fulfill the holy Dharma, he personally attended every precept-recitation for the rest of his life, only allowing absence after carefully evaluating the circumstance. Whenever he came to the severe injunctions, his words filled with diligence and fervor, he would weep uncontrollably, soaking his handkerchief with continuous sighs. Such was his deep reverence for the true Dharma. In the twelfth year of the Zhenguan era, he fell ill and passed away at his dwelling at the age of eighty-five. Over five hundred disciples, cherishing his Dharma instructions with no other way to express their enduring reverence, poured out their devotion in a lavish funeral. Thus, funeral carriages formed a continuous line of shade, and banners and canopies were linked end-to-end; for several leagues, the crowd of monastics and laypeople filled the roads. A tomb was raised east of the city, and a stele was erected to proclaim his virtues.

14.22

Śramaṇa Sanhui was a native of Loufan. He esteemed the practice of the *Nirvāṇa Sūtra* as his primary pursuit. His reputation flowed across the region north of the Yellow River and resounded along the Yi and Chan rivers. In the early years of the Daye era, because his scholarly accomplishments had borne fruit, an imperial decree summoned him to the Huidi Daochang. That the later students of the Eastern Capital were able to deeply cross the mysterious ford was due to the merit of Sanhui. His disposition was pure and stern, and his glance served as an exemplar; when he raised his voice to expound doctrinal debates, the assembly stood in awe of him. Deeming that one who understood the Way and was perceptive of circumstances ought to be employed to select talent, the emperor issued an imperial decree ordering him to travel to Ba and Shu to search for and recommend men of skill and learning. As the Sui dynasty came to an end, he took up residence in Qiong and Zha. Wandering along with shifting circumstances, he adapted his life to conditions; yet his nature was detached from noise and clamor, dwelling in seclusion to propagate his great enterprise. Dou Gui, Duke of Cuan, was stationed to command the regions of Yong and Shu, and he paid particular reverence and consultation to him. Deeply admiring how he dwelled in tranquility and maintained inward humility, Dou Gui showed him extraordinary respect. Sanhui observed the times to regulate his actions, so his path was never empty. In the ninth year of the Wude era, he traveled from afar to pay court at the imperial capital; an imperial decree granted him an audience to inquire after his welfare, and he was appointed to reside in the imperial capital. Duan Lun, Minister of Works, who had long cultivated good karmic roots, founded Linghua Monastery; admiring Sanhui’s pure practice of the Way, he submitted a memorial requesting his appointment there. At times, Sanhui continued to propagate the Dharma, once more reviving its glorious luster. His written notes were widely circulated, and later scholars praised and studied them. During the Zhenguan era, he was summoned to join the translation bureau; his compilation of texts and certification of doctrinal meanings followed an admirable order. He composed the preface for the Translation Hall, arranging the topics with great sentiment, thoroughness, and vigor. In that same year, he passed away at his monastery at the age of seventy. Formerly, when Sanhui was in Jiangzhou, he was dwelling alone in a detached courtyard when he had a spiritual resonance and beheld a divine youth of otherworldly appearance. The youth bowed in respect to Sanhui, saying, 'Would the Master please instruct the monastery administrators not to plow the burial grounds?' Having spoken, he vanished. At first, Sanhui did not mention this to anyone. Later, the youth returned and repeated the previous matter, saying, 'If you do not tell them, I will strike those monks, and it will surely lead to death.' Sanhui immediately investigated the matter and found that they were indeed plowing an old tomb within the fields; he promptly ordered them to cease. Because of this, the monastic assembly remained peaceful and undisturbed, suffering no subsequent misfortune. Were it not for his upright mind and conduct, how could non-human spirits have addressed their concerns to him? Thus, in Sanhui’s enduring instructions, he forbade any disturbance of the unseen and seen realms, just as related above.

14.23

Śramaṇa Huiyun, surnamed Li, was a native of Jiangxia. His ancestral lineage originated in Longxi, an unbroken succession of high officials; its distant branches joined the imperial waters, and its far-reaching boughs reached the Ruomu tree. His ancestor of the eleventh generation was the Marquis of Duting under the Western Jin; fleeing disaster, he moved south and lodged at the rivermouth of the Xia, subsequently settling there. At the age of ten, Huiyun went forth from household life, serving his maternal uncle, the Dharma Master Mingzhi of Guangyan Monastery, as his teacher. Mingzhi was an inner-chamber disciple of Jianchu; upon receiving instructions, he expounded the Dharma and inaugurated lecture seats. Huiyun dedicated his whole will to following him, and the gates of doctrinal meaning were opened. At that time, the worthy ruler of the southern realm deeply respected the Benevolent King (*Kāruṇikarāja-sūtra*); every year he set out banquets to select illustrious and virtuous monks, and when Huiyun had barely reached twenty years of age, he was chosen for this rank. As he assumed the highest place on the dais, his renown spread even farther; the emperor witnessed it with his own eyes, and celestials and humans looked up to praise him. The radiant favor of imperial grace was established before this. When Heaven grew weary of the virtue of the Chen and the destiny of the Sui prospered, the lecture seats of Jinling were swept away like dust. He thereupon leaned upon his staff to travel through Wu. Halting the chariot of the Mahāyāna, he marshaled its troops, widely opening an emporium of learning to attract scholars from the eight quarters and spread the winds of the ultimate vehicle. Liu Quan, Prefect of Suzhou, was thoroughly versed in the three virtues and talented in the nine skills; during the lulls in his administrative affairs, he sought shade at the Dharma mat, joyful as one whose belly was filled from drinking of the river, and delighted to bear the burden of the mountain without weariness. From the fall of the Chen onward, people and circumstances disintegrated; some slipped through the net to return east, while others entered the cage to go north. As the 'Valley Wind' laments abandonment of affection, and 'Felling Trees' sings of mutual esteem in virtue, long-waiting companions and followers all came to pay homage. In the beginning of the Daye era, an imperial emissary was specially sent down to summon him; he ultimately declined on account of illness, leaving his mind to wander in the mountains and waters. The eminent scholars of Wu rallied to him, all requesting that he reside at Tongxuan Monastery to propagate the teachings beside the auspicious statue. During the Sui's chaotic and dissolute final years, when disaster and ominous miasma arose, he fled to Piling, dwelling in quiet seclusion. However, the monks of the two monasteries, Xiansheng and Ruixiang, earnestly invited him to propagate the Dharma. In the monastery were the śramaṇas Zhi… and Zhimeng, whose noble demeanor and swift intellect were by no means lacking in spiritual vitality. Having encountered this master of profound comprehension, they turned their hearts to become his disciples; their diligence was unflagging, and their quickness bore fruit. Successively spreading the teachings, they matched each other in speed like eastern arrows. At that time, a new dynasty applied lenient statutes, yet the era was still fraught with difficulty and chaos. South of the Huai River was still called the state of Wu; Du Wei ruled autocratically, holding court as a sovereign. He revered the Buddhist teachings and honored the precepts of refuge. When Emperor Gaozu of the Great Tang swept away the old and established the new, he raised armies against Luoyang and summoned Du Wei to an imperial audience. Bowing his head to obey the summons, Du Wei was deeply grieved in his person. Huiyun expounded past causes for him to relieve Du Wei's sorrow and indignation, making him understand that even Māndhātṛ's reign was not enduring and realize that Wu Han's schemes had gone astray. Du Wei touched his feet, choked with sobs, and departed from him. There were the śramaṇas Daoyuan, Fajin, and others of Yuhang, who had previously studied the *Satyasiddhiśāstra* and shared the same doctrinal lineage; traveling from a thousand leagues away, they invited him to the roads of Jinling, to which he readily gave his assent. Thereupon, he expounded the supreme truth, causing the medicinal trees of the Dharma to flourish luxuriantly. What was donated and offered to him was never squandered; at the two monasteries of Yuanxing and Longquan, he fashioned a gilded bronze statue of Maitreya for each, fifteen feet in seated height, in order to forge karmic ties for future lives. In the first year of the Zhenguan era, the venerable superior Huiyi of Tongxuan Monastery was exquisite in his mind for the Way, his capacity embracing mountains and seas, cultivating himself to bring peace to others and never stepping into indiscretion. In the days of the Eastern Jin, there was a Nun Bai in Wu; her perfect sincerity moved the spirits, reaching however far. Two stone statues from Tianzhu crossed the vast waves together, radiating spiritual light that illuminated the Shanghai waters (Hudu). Nun Bai welcomed them, and they were subsequently enshrined at Tongxuan Monastery. From the Jin through the Chen, many miraculous omens were revealed. During the military storms at the end of the Sui, jade and stone were consumed together, and the sacred images of the two statues were exposed to frost and dew. Master Huiyi alone bore the bitterness in his heart, his devotion sharp from morning to dusk: 'If the Buddha has no hall, how can the monks have peace?' He thereupon traversed mountains and valleys, climbing to heights to fell lumber. In less than a year, floating rafts spanning thousands of feet, he trod the deep and braved dangers to return to Great Wu. He broadly opened the moon-palace halls, and with his layout they were promptly erected. Huiyun, stirred by the winds and rains of circumstance, packed his mats and returned; neither season was neglected, and the achievements of both works were combined. There was the magistrate of Wu County, Chen Shichuo, who put aside worldly entanglements to follow the truth, admiring the sound of the Dharma and requesting lectures on the *Lotus Sūtra* and the *Nirvāṇa Sūtra*. As the scrolls of the text were barely completed, his exhaustion from labor worsened; he immediately handed his chowry (duster) to the scholar Zhizhuang, saying: 'Study diligently and await inquiries, without fear of the benevolent breeze. When the teacher is at ease, the pupil achieves twice the result, without being ashamed of repeated illumination.' With his vow concluded, he peacefully closed his eyes in death. In the tenth month of the fourth year of the Zhenguan era, he passed away at Tongxuan Monastery at the age of sixty-seven. In the eleventh month of that year, he was buried on the south ridge of Mount Baihu. Over a thousand scholars and disciples, sorrowful and heartbroken, fearing that his fragrant exemplar might disappear, erected a tall stele, with an inscription composed by Zhu Lin, Scholar of the Prince of Jiang. In the fifth year of the Zhenguan era, his disciple Fashao and others, their filial grief reaching the utmost, weeping without solace, reverently erected a five-tiered brick stupa before the tomb. The dhyāna master Huiyi, sharing the local reverence for superior virtue and deeply moved by their fellowship of incense and fire, took part in the construction. Thus, it was made to overlook the distant vistas and rely on the heights, directly facing the thoroughfares. Disciples throughout his life look up to the jasper steps with soaked lapels; old friends in virtue gaze at the jeweled wheel-finial, shedding tears. Śramaṇa Faxuan of Changzhou said: 'The Master and I were matched in sentiment and concordant in the Way. When you passed away, I was struck with illness; sleeping on tears and wailing in sorrow, my white mourning carriage could not gallop forward. Forever separated by the dark earth, longing to pour out my sorrowful thoughts, I have briefly inscribed a short epitaph: Square tombs stand in rows; spiritual stupas are spread out. Here belonging to an eminent man, this noble monument is appropriately raised. Oh, Master of the Dharma, surpassing in person and complete in virtue! Early crossing the river of love, the lamp of the mind was transmitted in your youth. Like a single basketful of earth toward a towering peak, roaring like a lion for three years. Stepping onto the rush mat to answer the summons, your fame reached the purple palace in the heavens. Renowned commanderies awaited your transformation, and wherever you went, beings were benefited. The thoroughfare's wine was ladled daily; the suspended mirror was ever bright. The ocean of doctrine overflowed on all sides, the peaks of discourse rose straight up. Who would have thought the bright pearl would suddenly sink into the dark earth? The sacred mound covers the grave, the plain stupa marks the tomb. In jasper niches lingers the mist; jade palms part the clouds. Valley pines send forth echoes, cliff laurels offer fragrance. Mountains fly and oceans surge; vicissitudes succeed one another. Fire enters the tomb of Qin; scrolls open in the tomb of Jizhong. Only this power of the Way stands towering, ever lofty!'

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續高僧傳 — 道宣, Classical Chinese