Shi Sengfu was surnamed Wang, a native of Qi County in Taiyuan. In youth he did not engage in trivial play, and his discerning penetration surpassed his peers. Past the age of elementary schooling, his knowledge grew into admirable conduct; his villagers called him extraordinary, and unvirtuous people kept their distance. He naturally loved meditative tranquility and traveled far and wide, packing provisions to seek out teachers and inquire into what he had not yet attained. There was Meditation Master Damo, who was skilled at illuminating contemplative practices, living in seclusion amidst crags and caverns, whose discourses were profound and broad. [Sengfu] thereupon followed him and took monastic ordination (pravrajyā). Regarding doctrines, he never asked a second time, fully grasping them at once; tracing things to their source and ultimate limits, he became a foremost authority in the study of samādhi. Later, he visited various lecture seats and thoroughly studied the sūtras and treatises, realizing that learning is merely for oneself, while sages leave no words. In the Jianwu era of the Qi, he traveled south to the capital Yang[zhou] and stayed at the Lower Dinglin Monastery on Mount Zhong. Sengfu admired its groves and thickets as an excellent place to settle the mind. His conduct was purer than ice and frost, and he was trustworthy in speech. Apart from the three robes and six requisites, he kept no surplus property. When he entered the settlements at proper times, monastics and laypeople looked up to him as a model. Furthermore, when princes and marquises requested instruction in the Way, he remained aloof and did not visit them; though only footsteps away from the palace precincts, he never went to pay court. Since his conduct was observed by all, both monastics and laypeople placed their hopes in him. Emperor Gaozu of the Liang had long admired his pure reputation and deeply esteemed him. He thus ordered artisans to construct a residence for him at Kaishan Monastery in readiness, fearing he might have thoughts of returning to the mountains and forests. Sengfu would often stroll at the gate, lean on his staff, and sigh, saying: 'In a room of mere circumscribed walls, with a tumbleweed door and jar-bottom windows, sitting upright within is still sufficient joy. Why should one value a vast mansion and despise a thatch hut? Moreover, to settle where one is and yet be able to move was esteemed by the ancients; why must one linger here just to gratify the eyes and ears?' He then set his mind on the Min range and wished to view Mount Emei. It happened that Xiao Yuanzao, the Marquis of Xichang, was sent out to garrison the Shu region; [Sengfu] immediately brushed off his robes and accompanied him, reaching the Jing-Luo celestial fields. Though his route crossed the Jiu-zhe [Nine Twists] road, he never forgot the three contemplations. Furthermore, having loved the scriptural books from his youth, when he held a roll in silence, the morning sunbeams would shift before he moved. He thereby caused the meditation methods to flourish greatly in Yong and Shu from this time onward. After a long while, he returned to Jinling and again resided at Kaishan. Prior to this, a divine being appeared on Mount Huyi, who bestowed the Wisdom-Seal Samādhi upon a rustic named He Gui, saying: 'You may give this sūtra to Prince Nanping to observe and undertake a twenty-one-day retreat for his illness. If he does not understand this method, ask Sengfu about it.' When they subsequently consulted him, it was indeed a practice he had previously cultivated. Nanping then conducted the retreat and offerings, and his illness was immediately cured. Was this not an instance of internal causes and external conditions mutually awakening each other? Soon after, he passed away at Kaishan Monastery at the age of sixty-one, in the fifth year of the Putong era [524 CE]. He was buried outside the main gate of Lower Dinglin. The Emperor grieved for him and issued an edict bestowing generous posthumous gifts. When his illness first grew grave, someone urged him to cultivate merits. Sengfu struggled to rise despite his illness and said sternly: 'Prolonging life through wealth and goods is far from the Way! Let all the implements in my room be given to the monks of the cāturdiśa monastery. After my death, merely cast my body into the mountain valley; will it not be good to satisfy the birds and beasts? Do not construct a coffin or tomb mounds contrary to my wishes.' His disciples wept and could not bear to comply. When they were about to erect a stele to commend his virtue, Princess Yongxing, who had long held faith in him, memorialized the Heir Apparent to request a text for it. An order was given directing Xiao Yi, the Prince of Xiangdong, to compose it, and the stele was erected at the monastery.

16.27

Shi Huisheng was a native of Jiaozhi. He lived at the mountain monastery of Xianzhou, taking refuge in the forests and marshes, untrammeled beyond worldly matters. He recited the Saddharmapuṇḍarīka Sūtra at a rate of once a day, continuing for many years. He practiced frugality in clothing and food, traveling freely as conditions dictated. From the foreign meditation master Dharmadeva, he studied various contemplative practices; once he entered quiet absorption, he would only emerge after a full day and night. When Liu Hui of Pengcheng was appointed governor of Nanhai, he heard of his reputation, sent for him, and brought him back with him. Sengfu consequently took up residence at Youqi Monastery, concealing his brilliance and inner talent, constantly presenting an appearance of simplicity. Those who lived with him for long respected him, and meditation practitioners honored and praised him. Within Youqi Monastery there was no cooking of food at all; they relied solely on alms-begging (piṇḍapāta), strictly maintaining pure frugality. In the fifth year of the Yongming era, he moved to rest at the Yanxian Hermitage on Mount Zhong. From youth to old age, his mind remained steadfast and upright. He passed away during the Tianjian era at the age of seventy. At that time, there was Meditation Master Huichu at Jingming Monastery, a native of Tianshui in Wei. He was born after seven months' gestation. As soon as he gained awareness, he loved cultivating meditation and contemplation. Once, while dwelling quietly in an empty hall, he did not even notice a tremendous clap of thunder; his dwelling in deep tranquility was indeed beyond measure. His aspirations were lofty and farsighted, completely detached from worldly concerns. Late in life, he traveled to the state of Liang and stayed at Xinghuang Monastery. Dwelling in a quiet room and collecting his thoughts in stillness, his jade-like virtue shone outward. Monastics and laypeople sought him out with inquiries, and his renown spread through the imperial capital. Emperor Wu established a meditation chamber for him at Jingming Monastery to house him, providing requisites throughout the four seasons. Meditation students, monastics, and laypeople gathered like clouds to request the Dharma. He was by nature magnanimous and steadfast in his resolve; he never went out to welcome or usher princes or dukes. In the fifth year of the Putong era [524 CE], he passed away at the age of sixty-eight. He was buried on the northern slope of Mount Zhong. His disciple Zhiyong erected a stele beside his grave, for which Lu Chui, the Palace Attendant and Imperial Censor of Wujun, composed the text.

16.28

Shi Daozhen; it is not known where he was from. In the early Liang, he lived in Mount Lu, constantly performing the contemplative karma of Amitābha. He dreamed of someone aboard a ship in the great sea, who said they were heading for the land of Amitābha. Daozhen wished to go along, but the boatman said: 'You have not yet cultivated pure land karma; you must build a bathhouse and recite the Amitābha Sūtra.' Upon waking, he acted exactly as indicated in the dream. After many long years, a silver terrace descended into a small pond in his room. The people of the time did not know; he recorded the matter alone and placed it beneath a sūtra box. When his life came to an end, on that night, from the mountainside upward, it appeared as though thousands of torches were arrayed. The nearby villagers saw it and thought the various princes were holding a ceremonial viewing; the next morning they went to the mountain to look, and only then heard that Daozhen had passed away, realizing that secret auspicious omens had manifested outwardly. Later, on searching through the sūtra case, they discovered the record of his rebirth, which was subsequently sealed and preserved to show to future students. At that time at Fengding Monastery on this mountain, there was Meditation Master Fagui, who originally lived in Hanyin, Xiangyang. Having left the household, he made delighting in quietude his primary task. Responding to a dream in which a spirit came to invite him, he traveled to Mount Lu to visit various places. Suddenly he was startled awake; he then sought out the place from his dream and went there. Although he had never visited Mount Lu in his life, when he arrived, the trees, rocks, monasteries, and pagodas were exactly as in his previous dream, whereby he knew he had been summoned by the spirit of Mount Lu. Following this, he built a hut and continued his practice day and night, eventually passing away in his mountain hermitage. At that time there was also Meditation Master Huijing, who was pure, lofty, and peerless, never mingling with monks or laypeople. He walked alone through forests and hills, taking meditation and wisdom as his essential teaching. After he passed away, his two fingers bent backward; when someone tried to straighten them, though straightened, they bent back as before, just as recorded in ancient biographies, signifying his attainment of the second fruition [of the sakṛdāgāmin]. On the morning Huijing died, sweet dew rained down on the pines of the mountain peak, which is why it is now called Sweet Dew Peak. During his life, two birds were regularly moved to come and beg food from him at mealtime, but after he died, their traces ceased on this mountain. These three virtuous masters' teachings flourished in the Liang dynasty, and steles were erected at the bends of the mountains, each recording their fragrant deeds.

16.29

Meditation Master Buddhabhadra—translated here as 'Awakened One'—was originally a native of Tianzhu. In his study, he focused on tranquil restraint, setting his mind on observing distant regions. He formed a band of six companions who pursued the practice of the Way together. Five monks attained the fruits of the path, but only Buddhabhadra had achieved nothing; he worked diligently and disciplined himself with determination, as if quenching fire on his own robes, yet found himself trapped in dilemmas without knowing where to turn. Then a companion who had attained the Way told him: 'Cultivating the Way relies on timely opportunity; once the moment arrives, success is assured. One cannot vainly waste life in a momentary panic. You have a special karmic connection in the land of China; liberating two disciples there will be of immense benefit.' He therefore traveled through various kingdoms with him and arrived in Heng'an in the northern capital of the Northern Wei. At that time, Emperor Xiaowen revered the Dharma with utmost sincerity; he specially established a meditation grove, hewing stones into niches and assembling disciples to focus their minds. The state's provisions and offerings were twice those granted to other groups, and covert signs of resonance became evident, so that all marveled at him as no ordinary man. Within the city of Heng'an, the Kang household possessed millions in wealth and deeply revered the Buddhadharma; they built a separate compound for Buddhabhadra, where he constantly remained indoors, quietly pursuing his practice. A young boy once saw brilliant flaming fires through the crack of the door and reported it in alarm to the master of the compound; when the entire household gathered, they saw nothing at all. Instances of his penetrating resonance and profound contemplation were numerous like this. Those with discernment verified that he had attained the Way. Later, when the Wei emperor moved south to establish the capital in Luoyang, he again established a quiet compound and decreed that Buddhabhadra reside there. Yet by nature he loved secluded retreats, relying on the forests and valleys, and repeatedly went to Mount Song to bid farewell to the human world. An imperial edict was issued to build a monastery for him at Mount Shaoshi, which is the present Shaolin Monastery. The Emperor intended it as his dwelling. Those from across the four seas who sought to pacify their minds and heard of his wind assembled like echoes, always numbering several hundred; he strictly taught the essentials of liberation, achieving ultimate efficacy. At times he told the assembly: 'This Shaolin Hermitage is guarded by unique guardian spirits; once established, it shall never suffer from want.' For this reason, those who built it covered the mountain, and the monastic granaries were overflowing; from that time down to the present, nearly two hundred years have passed, and though famines have frequently occurred, the monastery's resources have remained abundant. Comparing this from afar, Buddhabhadra's words have not proven false. Later, he went to Luoyang to liberate those with affinity. The śramaṇa Huiguang, then twelve years of age, was kicking a shuttlecock backward five hundred times in succession on the stone rim of a well along Tianmen Street. The crowd clamored and watched in marvel. Seeing him, Buddhabhadra thought: 'This boy shows skill in worldly games; his capacity for the Way must also be sharp.' Desiring to convert and liberate him, he used an expedient method and struck his head with a staff; the sound was clear and resonant. Being adept in phonology (śabda-vidyā), he knew he was a vessel for the Dharma, and asked: 'Are you able to leave home?' Huiguang said: 'That was indeed my original desire.' He then ordained him. Huiguang's understanding surpassed all history, as detailed in his separate biography. Moreover, he instructed his disciple Daofang to ordain the śramaṇa Sengchou and teach him meditative karma. Since his teachings circulated in the eastern land, only these two worthy disciples received his prediction of attaining the Way, which indeed left a profound impression. In his declining years, he no longer participated in the monastic community, entrusting the students to complete their practices on their own. He personally moved outside the monastery to a solitary room, where a benevolent deity was moved to constantly protect him like a shadow; he also had food prepared to offer sacrifices to it. Later, when his karmic lifespan was about to end, he personally painted the deity's image on the wall of his room door, which still exists today.

16.30

Bodhidharma was of the Brahmin caste of South India. His spiritual discernment was clear and radiant; whatever he heard, he understood. His aspirations were set upon the Mahāyāna, and he submerged his mind in emptiness and silence. He penetrated subtlety and grasped inner principles; his meditative learning was supreme. Lamenting [the ignorance of] this remote borderland, he guided them with the Dharma. He first arrived in Nanyue in the Song realm, and later crossed north to the Wei. Wherever he stayed, he instructed through the teachings of dhyāna. At that time, the entire country was actively promoting scholastic exposition and lecture; upon suddenly hearing the Dharma of dhyāna meditation, many gave rise to ridicule and slander. There were Daoyu and Huike, two śramaṇas who, although younger in years, possessed sharp aspiration that was lofty and far-reaching. Upon first encountering this commander of the Dharma, they recognized that the Way had found its master. They immediately attended on him closely for four or five years, offering provisions and requesting instruction. Moved by their sincerity, he instructed them in the true Dharma: calming the mind like this is termed ‘wall-gazing’; initiating practice like this is termed the ‘four dharmas’; according with worldly beings like this is taught to prevent criticism and resentment; employing skillful means like this is taught to ensure non-attachment. Thus, though there are many pathways into the Way, essentially there are only two: namely, principle and practice. Entering through principle means awakening to the fundamental truth through the teachings, deeply believing that all sentient beings share the same true nature, which is obscured by adventitious defilements. It leads one to abandon the false and return to the true, to abide stably in wall-gazing, where self and other do not exist, and ordinary beings and sages are equal and one. Remaining steadfast without wavering, never following other teachings, one silently accords with the Way, serene and unconditioned—this is called entering through principle. Entering through practice means the four practices, which subsume the myriad practices. First is the practice of requiting enmity: when one who cultivates the Way encounters suffering, they should reflect on past kalpas when they abandoned the fundamental and pursued the trivial, giving rise to abundant attachment and aversion. Though they may commit no offense now, this is the result of their own past deeds; they accept it willingly with no resentment or opposition. The sūtra says: ‘Meeting with suffering, one does not grieve, because understanding has penetrated.’ When such a mind arises, it does not conflict with the Way; it realizes the nature of enmity and advances along the Way. Second is the practice of according with conditions: sentient beings have no self; suffering and joy accord with conditions. Even if one obtains glory and honor, these are structured by past causes and only attained now; when the conditions are exhausted, they return to nothing, so what joy is there? Gaining and losing accord with conditions, while the mind neither increases nor decreases; the winds of adversity and prosperity calm down, and one silently accords with the Dharma. Third is the practice of seeking nothing: worldly people are long deluded, greedily attached at every turn, which is termed ‘seeking’. A person of the Way awakens to the true principle, which runs counter to worldly ways; calming their mind in non-action, their physical form follows the revolutions of fate. All three realms are suffering; who can attain ease? The sūtra states: ‘All that is sought is suffering; seeking nothing is bliss.’ Fourth is the practice of according with the Dharma: this is the principle of inherent purity. Dharma used these methods to convert and instruct the land of Wei. Those who recognized the truth followed, took refuge in, and awakened to it. His sayings and teachings were recorded into scrolls that circulated in the world. He said of himself that he was over one hundred and fifty years old. Making itinerant transformation his task, his end could not be fathomed.

16.31

Śramaṇa Sengke, also named Huike, had the secular surname of Ji and was a native of Hulao. Externally he read the ancient classics, and internally he mastered the canonical scriptures. Later, harboring the Way in the capital, he quietly observed the trends of the time. Alone harboring profound illumination, his understanding surpassed the crowd. Although his attainment of the Way was not recent, people valued transmission from a master; for a time, figures of eminent reputation all condemned him. However, expedient means require no contrivance, and their clear convergence was not distant; once he had bound himself to these essentials, who could tie him down? When he reached the age of forty, he encountered the Indian śramaṇa Bodhidharma touring and converting in the Songshan and Luoyang regions. Ke, harboring the jewel and understanding the Way, took delight at their very first meeting. He served him as his teacher and carried out his instructions with his whole life. Following and studying under him for six years, he thoroughly investigated the One Vehicle. Principle and phenomena were mutually integrated, and he was unhindered by suffering or joy; yet his understanding did not come from expedient contrivance, and his wisdom emerged from a wondrous mind. Ke then subjected himself to worldly conditions to refine and temper it, just as clay is fashioned into pottery, only then realizing that its power and function were solid and could not be overpowered by circumstances. When Bodhidharma passed away by the banks of the Luo, Ke also concealed his presence on the riverbank. Yet his past fine reputation spread far and wide through the regional commanderies, causing monks and laity to come to pay respects and request to follow him as their model. Ke then unleashed his marvelous eloquence and presented his mind essentials; thus, his words filled the realm, though his intent was not to establish doctrines. Vastly perusing abstruse texts, he never let them linger in his mind. Later, at the beginning of the Tianping era, he went north to the new city of Ye and broadly opened the secret garden [of the Dharma]. Those clinging to the letter raised disputes of right and wrong in confusion. At that time, there was Dhyāna Master Daoheng, who had previously mastered meditative learning and was revered as a master in Ye, commanding thousands of followers. Hearing that Ke preached the Dharma without reliance on concepts or phenomena, he claimed it was the speech of Māra. He then sent intelligent and clear-minded members among his assembly to destroy Ke’s school. But once they arrived and heard the Dharma, their minds were peacefully subdued; full of sorrow and inspiration, they had no intention of returning to report. Heng called them back again, but they did not obey his summons; of the many messengers sent one after another, none returned. On another day Heng met them and said: ‘I expended so much effort to open your eyes; why has this caused all of you messengers [to stray]?’ They replied: ‘Our eyes were originally upright; it was because of you, Master, that they were astray.’ Heng then harbored deep hatred and calumniated and harassed Ke, bribing secular officials to slaughter and harm him unjustly. Ke initially harbored no resentment at all, even when pushed close to death. Heng’s assembly was joyful and elated. As a result, those who understood the fundamental abandoned superficial scholarly floridness, while those who slandered held blades and targeted themselves. They only then awakened to the one sound expounded [by the Buddha], their minds alternating between joy and terror; just as footprints vary between the ocean and puddles, depth and shallowness reside therein. Ke then acted with ease and accorded with the mundane; occasionally he bestowed pure counsel, or at times expressed it in poetic songs, or used everyday matters to clarify and purge persistent attachments, dispelling burdensome complications. Truly, the correct Way is distant and difficult to seek, while clinging to obstructions is near and easy to form; there is good reason for this. Thus he drifted between Ye and Wei, frequently exchanging pleasantries; his Way was ultimately profound and abstruse, so in the end his final lineage had no glorious succession. There was Upāsaka Xiang, who secluded himself in forests and wilderness, feeding on tree fruits. At the beginning of the Tianbao era, sharing a mutual appreciation of the flavor of the Way, he sent a letter establishing friendly ties, saying: ‘Shadows arise from forms, and echoes follow sounds. Playing with the shadow exhausts the form, not knowing that the form is the shadow. Raising the voice to stop the echo fails to recognize that the voice is the root of the echo. Seeking nirvāṇa by getting rid of afflictions is like discarding the form to seek the shadow. Seeking buddhahood away from sentient beings is like silencing the voice to search for the echo. Therefore, delusion and awakening share a single path; the foolish and the wise are not different. Applying names to the nameless, right and wrong arise on account of those names. Establishing principles for the unprincipled, disputes and debates arise on account of those principles. Phantasmagoric transformations are unreal—who is right and who is wrong? Delusive falsity lacks reality—what is empty and what exists? One should know that gain is nothing gained, and loss is nothing lost. Before I have the chance to visit and speak with you, I briefly express these thoughts, hoping you will reply.’ Ke took up his brush to express his thoughts, saying: ‘Expounding this true Dharma is entirely in accordance with reality; / it is not distinct at all from the true, profound principle. / Originally mistaking the maṇi jewel for rubble, / one suddenly awakens oneself to find it is a true pearl. / Ignorance and wisdom are equal and without difference; / know that the myriad phenomena are just thusness. / Pitying those people of dualistic views, / I express words and apply the brush to write this letter. / Contemplating the body and the Buddha without distinction, / why should one further seek that remainderless [nirvāṇa]?’ His words entered into principle without having been premeditated with lead and ink; occasionally someone compiled them, and they formed collections, as detailed in a separate scroll. At that time, there were also Master Huagong, Master Liaogong, Dhyāna Master He, and others, each surpassing others in penetrating profound subtleties; their spoken words were pure and lofty, expressing their inner thoughts through everyday events. These were heard by word of mouth, yet human generations are not far removed, and stelae inscriptions are rarely heard of; if the subtle words are not transmitted, who will narrate their pure virtues? This is deeply lamentable. At that time, there was Dharma Master Lin, who lectured widely on the Śrīmālādevī Sūtra in Ye and composed commentaries on its meaning. Whenever he lectured, crowds gathered, and selecting those proficient in three collections of sūtras, he found seven hundred persons who took seats there. When the Zhou suppressed the Dharma, he and Ke, being fellow disciples, jointly protected the scriptures and images. Originally, Dhyāna Master Bodhidharma gave the four-fascicle Laṅkāvatāra Sūtra to Ke, saying: ‘I observe that in the land of Han there is only this scripture; if you, virtuous one, practice according to it, you will naturally attain deliverance.’ Ke devoted himself to its abstruse principles as set forth before. Encountering bandits who chopped off his arm, he controlled his mind with the Dharma and felt no pain. He burned the chopped area with fire to stop the bleeding, wrapped it in cloth, and begged for food as usual, never telling anyone. Later, Lin’s arm was also chopped off by bandits, and he cried out the entire night. Ke dressed and wrapped it for him and begged for food to supply Lin. Lin found it strange that Ke’s hand was clumsy and became angry with him. Ke said: ‘The bread is right before you, why do you not wrap it yourself?’ Lin said: ‘I have no arm; do you not know that?’ Ke said: ‘I too have no arm; what cause is there to be angry?’ Upon inquiring into the matter, Lin only then knew of his attainment; therefore the world called him ‘Armless Lin’. Whenever Ke finished preaching the Dharma, he would say: ‘After four generations, this sūtra will turn into mere names and marks; how lamentable!’ There was Dhyāna Master Na, whose secular surname was Ma. At the age of twenty-one, he lived in Donghai lecturing on the Rites and the Book of Changes; traveling students numbered four hundred. Heading south to Xiangzhou, he met Ke preaching the Dharma, whereupon he and ten scholars renounced the household life and received the Way. His fellow disciples held a feast east of Xiangzhou to bid farewell, their weeping shaking the town. After Na renounced secular life, his hand never held a brush or secular books; he wore only one robe, carried one bowl, sat in one sitting, and ate one meal, taking Ke’s constant practice as his standard, while also upholding the dhūta austerities; therefore wherever he went, he did not enter towns and villages. There was Huiman, a native of Xingyang surnamed Zhang, who previously resided at Longhua Monastery in Xiangzhou. Meeting Na preaching the Dharma, he received his path and dedicated himself to non-attachment. With one robe and one meal, he kept only two needles; in winter he begged for patches, and in summer he discarded them completely, merely covering his nakedness. He related of himself that throughout his life he experienced no fear, had no fleas or lice on his body, and slept without dreaming. He never lodged in a place for two nights; upon arriving at a monastery, he chopped firewood and made sandals, and constantly practiced begging for food. In the sixteenth year of Zhenguan, he slept among the cypress graves beside Huishan Monastery south of Luozhou, encountering snow three feet deep. That morning he entered the monastery and met Dharma Master Tankuang, who wondered where he had come from. Man said: ‘Has a Dharma friend come?’ Tankuang sent someone to search the place where he had sat; for about five feet on all four sides, the snow had accumulated by itself, which was unfathomable. Therefore, when he heard that monks were being audited and sought after and were fleeing into hiding, Man took his robe and bowl and wandered freely through settlements without any obstruction. Giving away whatever was offered, he remained carefree, empty, and leisurely. When someone invited him to lodge and take a meal, he told them: ‘Only when there is no one left under heaven will I accept your invitation.’ Therefore, whenever Man preached the Dharma, he said: ‘The Buddhas preached the mind to make people know that mind-marks are empty and false dharmas. Now people instead add further mind-marks, which deeply opposes the Buddha’s intention; moreover, they increase debates and arguments, which greatly strays from the Great Principle.’ Thus Masters Na and Man always carried the four-fascicle Laṅkāvatāra as their mind essential; speaking and practicing according to it, they never deviated from what was transmitted. Later, inside a kiln in Luo, he passed away in the seated posture without illness, around the age of seventy. These disciples all belonged to Ke’s lineage, and thus are recounted separately with Ke.

16.32

Śramaṇa Sengda, secular surname Li, was a native of Shanggu. At fifteen he left household life (pravrajyā). He traveled and studied in Northern Dai, taking listening [to lectures] and practice as his occupation. After receiving full ordination, he took the Vinaya as his guiding rule; his movements and deportment were deliberate and prudent, unlike the habits of former generations. Having reached two summer retreats of age, he was held in high esteem by Emperor Xiaowen of the Wei, who invited him to the imperial ancestral temple monastery to expound and promote the Dharmaguptaka Vinaya (Four-Division Vinaya). His physical appearance was extraordinary, astonishing all who saw him: a tiger-like head, long ears, and two teeth over an inch long. His capacity for debate adapted to all circumstances, and he was praised highly in his day, being renowned alongside Longda of Xuzhou, each distinguished by title. Soon he shook his staff toward the capital of Luoyang. There he met the Tripiṭaka master Ratnamati and received his fresh instructions. Shortly thereafter Ratnamati passed away. Sengda recapitulated the Daśabhūmika Sūtra Śāstra (Dilun), and his fame astonished the Yi and Luo rivers. Figures of fine renown took refuge in faith, arriving in succession to pay homage. Later, upon hearing Master Guang's [exposition of] the Ten Grounds (Daśabhūmika) and clarifying its profound import, he received the bodhisattva precepts from him. He then studied under him, gaining fame among the scholars. Moving south, he assembled in Xuzhou, where he propagated the Daśabhūmika Sūtra Śāstra everywhere. Emperor Wu of the Liang, who brought order out of chaos and broadly promoted the Way, rejoiced upon hearing of him; Sengda thereupon crossed the Yangtze and went to the palace, requesting an audience. The Emperor ordered his son-in-law Yin Jun to usher him into the Chongyun Hall. From day into night, he transmitted what had never been heard before; sharing the same mat for seven nights, the Emperor marveled at this auspicious omen. He then received the precepts from him, vowing to be his disciple. An imperial edict was issued for him to reside at Tongtai Monastery, where the Emperor lowered his own protocol to offer him provisions, and every ten days Sengda entered the hall to elucidate the vast principle. After twelve years had passed, with his inner cultivation firmly grounded, he submitted a request to return to the Wei; only after seven petitions was he permitted to depart from the Liang. At that time, Hou Jing, the imperial regional commissioner (xingtai) of Yanzhou, built two monasteries for him, the mountain being named Tianguan and the retreat site called Zhangliu. Sengda, contemplating that the body is a vessel of suffering and difficult to maintain, experimented with ascetic practices: taking Tuckahoe (fuling) and ceasing the consumption of grains. From then on until the end of his life, his provisions were just enough to sustain existence. When the Prince of Zhongshan, the deposed emperor of the Wei, [was on the throne], an edict was issued ordering the Assistant Director of the Left Gao Longzhi to summon him into the capital Ye to administer the bodhisattva precepts. When Emperor Wenxuan of the Qi ascended, he accorded him exceptional honors; in all, on six occasions he took refuge and revered the ten virtues. By nature, Sengda loved forests and springs, dwelling in seclusion to fulfill his religious work. For Sengda, the Emperor established the Honggu Monastery below the Huanghua Ridge of Mount Linlü, and furthermore relinquished the old shrine of Emperor Shenwu to build Dingkou Monastery, using both as his residences. Earlier, when Sengda was establishing the mountain monastery and was about to enter the mouth of the valley, a tiger crouched before him. He prayed, saying: 'I wish to build a monastery so that its merit may benefit the invisible spirits. If you permit this, you may clear the path.' As soon as he finished speaking, it left. When the construction of the monastery was completed, the assembly settled, and the training organized, Sengda returned to the capital Ye. At night a spirit appeared, wearing yellow garments, who bowed and knelt, saying: 'This disciple is the spirit of Mount Zai. The king and the three valleys are precisely preparing offerings; we pray that you do not return.' Sengda said: 'The benefit in the mountains is small; the benefit in the capital is great. This poor monk acts according to the conditions of the moment; fortunately do not obstruct me.' Another quiet night, someone pushed the door open, announcing: 'I am the wife of the mountain spirit. During the day I had no leisure, so I have come now especially to pay homage.' She presented a basket of rice cakes, stepped forward, and said repeatedly: 'The Sangha should have no bias; when bowing to the Buddha, please also include this disciple's name.' Sengda answered: 'You may take the cakes back; I shall make prostrations for you later.' He then instructed that prostrations be made generally on their behalf, at that time reciting [the name] with a single bow. His interactions with invisible beings were all of this nature. Sengda dispatched his disciple Daoshuang to recite the Suvarṇaprabhāsa Sūtra (Golden Light Sūtra) for the mountain spirit. After more than a month, a tiger came and carried off a dog. Hearing of this, Sengda said: 'This novice monk must have grown negligent and failed to recite the sūtra for the donor.' When questioned thoroughly, he indeed said that for the past three days he had only been reciting the Vimalakīrtinirdeśa Sūtra separately. Sengda then burned incense, bowed to the Buddha, and announced: 'Although he recited other sūtras yesterday, the merit still belongs to the donor. If there is spiritual discernment, release the dog and send it back.' By dawn the dog returned; looking at its neck, there were bite marks. In this way too, his communication with spirits was almost unfathomable. He lectured on the Avataṃsaka Sūtra, the Dharmaguptaka Vinaya, the Daśabhūmika Sūtra Śāstra, and the Bodhisattvabhūmi (Dichi). Although he left no commentaries, his expositions were well-founded; he was especially skilled in debate and famous in both the north and south. His branch of dhyāna methods was opened to the world most broadly. He once traveled to the Liang domain. Master Zhi met him and said: 'Dhyāna Master Da is a man of great fortune and virtue.' The Emperor also revered him deeply, often turning to his attendants and saying: 'Dharma Master Luan and Dhyāna Master Da of the north are flesh-and-blood bodhisattvas,' and would constantly bow toward the north from afar. The esteem he received from the rulers of his day could not be surpassed. Once, feeling a slight illness, he sat upright on a corded chair, reciting the Prajñāpāramitā with his mouth; his breath and demeanor were calm and serene, and he subsequently passed away at the Honggu Mountain Monastery. His age was eighty-two; this was the seventh day of the sixth month in the seventh year of the Tianbao era of the Qi (556 CE). Hearing of this, Emperor Xuan rushed over in shock and distress, weeping aloud; the six armies wailed together, shaking the mountains and forests. He was buried below the crags in the valley, and a stele was erected behind it. In the ninth year of the Zhenguan era (635 CE), I personally went to pay homage; his skeleton was still preserved, and the traces of the monastery's buildings were intact as though still in use. Ever since Sengda devoted his mind to the profound Way, his heart was completely free of bias. Those with consciousness were all treated like kin, and no resentment was ever heard from him. Toward those who harbored previous personal grievances, he served them with redoubled care; toward the eminent and illustrious, he was all the more humble and deferential. From the later ages, Buddhism came to prize official honors, and opportunistic men formed factions without restraint. Yet Sengda, while in the national capital, looked far away without regard for them, and never once set foot in the offices of the Zhaoxuan Bureau. This is precisely what the wise and sagacious hold in low esteem, and is truly an auspicious mark of worldly merit.

16.33

Śramaṇa Sengchou's surname was Sun. He hailed originally from Changli, and later dwelt in Yingtao of Julu. By nature he was pure and admirable, and known for filial piety and trustworthiness. Diligently studying the worldly classics, he was thoroughly versed in the canonical texts and histories. When summoned to serve as an Erudite of the Imperial Academy, his expositions of ancient works won him renown that covered the court. He was about to be employed as a talent to observe the kingdom and serve as an ornament to the royal halls, yet the impulse toward the Way secretly struck him, and he suddenly grew weary of worldly vexations. Upon taking a single glance at the Buddhist scriptures, he understood their spirit with flowing clarity. He was then twenty-eight years old. He went to Dharma Master Sengshi of Jingming Temple in Julu to take the monastic tonsure. As soon as his hair fell, he began investigating the sūtras and treatises. Sorrow and joy mingled within him, and his conscious spirit grew resolute and valiant. Thereupon he made five vows: namely, to be thoroughly eloquent in both material and Dharma gifts, to ever revere the triratna with the four great elements, and to extend blessings universally to the four benefactors. At first he received instruction in the practice of śamatha and vipaśyanā from Dhyāna Master Daofang, who was a foremost disciple of Bhadra. Having received the meditation teachings, he traveled north to Jiayu Mountain in Dingzhou. He gathered his thoughts for a long while, but attained no concentration or realization whatsoever. Thereupon he wished to leave the mountain to recite the Nirvāṇa Sūtra. Suddenly he met a monk who said he had come from Mount Tai. Chou explained his situation to him, and that monk earnestly urged him: 'In practicing meditation, under no circumstances have any other intention! Because all sentient beings possess the relish-dhyāna of the first bhūmi, if you only bind your conditions, there is nothing you seek that will not be accomplished.' Chou followed his advice. Within ten days of collecting his mind, he indeed attained dhyāna. He constantly relied on the holy practice of the four applications of mindfulness in the Nirvāṇa [Sūtra], to the extent that even in sleep and dreams he perceived no thought of desire. After five summer retreats, he also went to Dhyāna Master Daoming of Mount Zhanggong in Zhaozhou and received the method of the sixteen superior practices. Applying himself intently over seasons, he curbed his diet and spurred his mind. In ninety days he ate only four sheng of rice. Sitting on a single mat upon the stone, he did not notice morning or evening. The cloth threads wore into his flesh, yet when pulled they could not be detached. Sometimes when his cooked food was not yet done, he would gather his mind and enter dhyāna, during which the sundial and water clock shifted; the food prepared before was all eaten by birds and beasts. He also constantly cultivated the contemplation of death. When bandits threatened him, he showed not the slightest trace of fear, and instead expounded to them on karmic deeds; they all broke their bows and arrows, took the precepts, and went back. Once at a quiet place on Queshan, a deity came to harass him, grasping his shoulders, striking his waist, and blowing breath onto his neck. Chou held fast to his resolve even unto death, and through this realized a deep samādhi, not rising for nine days. Afterwards, awakening from the samādhi, his thoughts were pure and limpid, and when he surveyed the world, there was completely no pleasure in it. He then went to the ancestral master, the Tripiṭaka [master] of Shaolin Temple, to present what he had realized. Bhadra said: 'East of the Congling, the foremost in the study of dhyāna is you!' He then transmitted deeper essentials to him. Chou then lived at Songyue Temple. There were a hundred monks, and the spring water was barely sufficient. Suddenly a woman in tattered clothing, holding a broom, was seen sitting back on the steps listening to the monks recite the scriptures. The assembly did not realize she was a divine being and scolded her to drive her away. The woman showed anger, stamped the spring with her foot, which dried up immediately, and she vanished. The assembly reported this to Chou. Chou called out 'Upāsikā!'; after three calls, she emerged. He said to the spirit: 'The sangha is practicing the Way; you ought to protect them.' The woman stirred the old spring with her foot, and water surged forth at once. All found this deeply extraordinary, such was his inspiring spiritual efficacy. Later he went to Mount Wangwu west of Huaizhou to practice the previous methods. Hearing two tigers fighting with roars that shook the crags, he separated them with his monk's staff, and they parted and left. Once there were suddenly two scrolls of immortal texts upon his bed. Chou said: 'I originally cultivate the Buddha's path; how could I be bound by worldly longevity?' No sooner had he spoken than they disappeared on their own. His power to evoke the manifestation of unseen beings was always of this kind. Later he moved to Qingluo Mountain, where he accepted and attended to those with various virulent diseases; his mind did not dread their foul rot, taking it as sweet as shepherd's purse. Sitting for a long time, he grew exhausted and stretched out his legs in front of the seat; a spirit immediately supported them and made him sit cross-legged again. Thus he repeatedly entered samādhi, each time for a period of seven days. He moved again to Mount Matou in Huaizhou. Emperor Xiaoming of the Wei had long heard of his fine virtue, and summoned him three times consecutively. Chou declined, saying: 'Everywhere under heaven is the king's land; I beg to practice the Way in the mountains, which does not disrupt great unhinderedness.' The emperor granted it, and sent offerings to the mountain. In the first year of the Yongxi era of Emperor Xiaowu of the Wei, when Chou could not be summoned forth, a meditation chamber was also established for him in Shangshu Valley, where disciples were gathered and provided for. Later he traveled north to Changshan. Lou Rui, the regional inspector of Dingzhou, and Gao You, the Prince of Pengcheng, invited him to Mount Daming in Youmo. He first instituted the refuga and precepts there, and those who placed faith were exceedingly numerous. In the regions of Yan and Zhao, the Way had not yet spread; animal sacrifices were the general custom. But the multitude of companions rushed there, and gifts and offerings filled the place. When some were entangled in fame and profit, Chou spoke a verse to restrain them; those who heard it were shamed into stopping. He then expounded a verse on cultivating good, so that those in the rank of quieting the mind renovated their capacities. Once his Way spread through the mountain, his worldly renown weighed heavily on the imperial mind. In the second year of the Tianbao era of Emperor Wenxuan of Northern Qi, an edict was issued: 'We have long heard of your esteemed wind and virtue, and always wish to converse with you. Now We have commanded Dingzhou to order the Master to come to Ye to teach and transform all beings. Righteousness allows no selfish goodness. We hope you will shoulder your staff and make a brief visit to the Palace, to widely proclaim the supreme Way and rescue this land of suffering. Upon arrival, if you must return to the mountain, you may go east or west as you please, without any constraint.' Chou had dwelled in the mountains for many years, dedicating his life to religious cultivation. Hearing the imperial summons, he had no intention of obeying. Only after earnest entreaties did he comply with the initial request. On the day he shook his robes to leave the mountain pass, the two peaks suddenly shuddered with a grief-stricken sound that alarmed humans, beasts, and flying birds alike. This lasted for three days. Chou looked back and said: 'Yearning for the Way and harboring benevolence touches all classes; is it not that emotional attachments are easily maintained, while relinquishment is hard to uphold?' Without letting worldly matters detain him, he walked with his staff toward the Zhang and Fu rivers. The emperor personally set out with the imperial retinue to the suburbs to welcome him. Chou was over seventy years of age; his countenance was clear and broad, moving the hearts of all who saw him. In bowing and saluting, his spirit was so attuned to circumstances that he never faltered. The emperor supported him into the inner court to discuss the correct truth. Thereupon he taught that the three realms are originally empty, and the nation is likewise so; worldly signs of glory cannot be preserved for long. He expounded at length on the four applications of mindfulness. Hearing this, the emperor's hair stood on end and he broke into a sweat, immediately receiving the way of dhyāna. After studying for a short period, he soon attained deep samādhi. Thenceforth he received Chou's pure instructions even more reverently, holding him in deep respect and earnest affection. He received the bodhisattva precepts from him, banned alcohol and meat, set free falcons and hawks, abolished imperial hunting and fishing, and transformed the nation into a realm of benevolence. He also prohibited all slaughtering throughout the empire; for six months each year and three days each month, he decreed the people to observe fasting and precepts, eliminating all allium vegetables from official and private gardens. On another day the emperor addressed him: 'The Way is magnified by humanity; this is indeed no empty saying. I wish the Master would put his mind at ease in the practice of the Way; may your disciple dare to be the external patron?' Chou said: 'The vast vow of a bodhisattva takes defense of the Dharma as its heart. Your Majesty conforms to Heaven and accords with the world, establishing teachings from the throne, acting as a pillar for the triratna and guiding the four classes of people. As the prosperity of all has arrived, by principle you cannot decline this.' Chou remained in the forbidden palace for over forty days, daily bestowing clear teachings, which the emperor adhered to without fail. Later, because his teaching needed to be spread and he longed for the peace of the mountain forests, he requested permission to return to his original dwelling. The emperor, considering that the winding hills and mounds made consultations difficult, issued an edict in the third year of Tianbao to construct a monastery on the sunny side of Longshan, eighty li southwest of the city of Ye, naming it Yunmen Temple, and invited him to dwell there. He was also appointed as the rector of the Great Grotto Temple, holding the monastic headship in both places. He trained nearly a thousand monks, and the provisions were abundant, filling the mountains and valleys. An edict was also issued throughout the prefectures of the realm to set up separate meditation cloisters, ordering those who comprehended mindfulness and wisdom to go there to instruct, expounding and chanting at designated times, with lavish support for all matters. The emperor said: 'The great hallmark of the Buddha's Dharma is tranquil mind as the foundation. The various dharmabhāṇakas merely transmit teachings, but still engage with noisy worldly entanglements, which cannot yet be called expounding. They may all be abolished.' Chou remonstrated: 'The various dharmabhāṇakas succeed the four reliances and broadly propagate the Tripiṭaka, enabling beings to distinguish the heterodox from the orthodox and understand profound subtleties. Without these individuals, how could beings be enlightened and guided? They are the foundational source of meditation practice, the vast teaching leading to the principle; the gradual dawn of faith relies on these people.' The emperor was greatly pleased, and said: 'Now I divide the state treasury into three parts: to provide for the state, for private use, and for the triratna.' From then on, his complete devotion was without parallel in history; the eastward transmission of the Buddha's teachings flourished most at this time, as recorded in detail elsewhere. He immediately ordered money, silk, quilts, and mattresses to be sent in an unbroken train up the mountain, commanding that a treasury be set up in the temple to store them for routine expenses. Chou, holding that the vital task of the Buddha's Dharma is the cultivation of the mind, and that material gains disturb worldly people and go against the way of transformation, sent a letter declining them. The emperor deeply admired his high caliber, and ordered them to be received as before, but stored in a separate treasury to be supplied whenever needed, without going through the royal treasury. Thereafter, imperial rescripts and decrees arrived frequently every month; even the smallest matters of an inch or foot were addressed by the emperor in person. He also commanded court physicians Xu Zhicai, Cui Sihe, and others to deliver medicines and examine the illnesses of the monks. The emperor frequently led his guards to make visits in person. Chou remained in his small room sitting peacefully, neither greeting him on arrival nor seeing him off on departure. His disciples remonstrated: 'The Emperor comes in his carriage, yet based on the Way you do not welcome him; this might displease the assembly.' Chou said: 'Of old, Piṇḍola walked seven steps to welcome a king, causing him to lose his kingdom for seven years. My virtue is truly insufficient, yet I dare not deceive myself; it is through this appearance that I hope to bring blessings to the emperor.' People at the time admired his scrupulous prudence, and the great Dharma gained faith among people. The Palace Attendant Li Jiang, together with various bhadantas, requested him to present the essentials of meditation; thereupon he compiled two scrolls of the Method of Śamatha and Vipaśyanā, which those relishing samādhi preserved as a fundamental text in their families. On the thirteenth day of the fourth month in the first year of the Qianming era of the Qi, at the chen hour, without any affliction, he passed away sitting upright in the mountain temple. His age was eighty-one, and his monastic seniority was fifty summers. When he died, a wondrous fragrance filled the temple, astonishing all who perceived it. An edict dispatched the Prince of Xiangle to offer condolences, saying: 'The late Great Dhyāna Master possessed resolute, painstaking willpower, and his attainment of the fruit was inevitable. Resting his mind in silence, he came empty and returned full. His cultivation made the mysterious style flourish, and his deeds surpassed both the ordained and the laity. As his time has passed and his spirit has departed, Our sorrow and regret are truly profound. Commemorating him with honor, We express Our mournful respect: let five hundred pieces of cloth be bestowed, and a feast for a thousand monks be held at Yunmen to cultivate post-mortem merit.' In the fifth month of the second year of the Huangjian era, his disciple Tanxun and others memorialized to request the construction of a stupa. An edict was issued: 'The late Great Dhyāna Master's virtuous deeds were loftily eminent; he was a pillar of the triratna. Now that he has achieved extinction and completed his transformation, his spirit wanders beyond mundane things. In accordance with the customs of the Western Kingdom, cremation (jhāpita) shall be performed and a stupa erected. A feast for a thousand monks shall be instituted, a thousand pieces of cloth bestowed, and his fragrant traces commemorated to show later generations.' The Right Vice Director of the Department of State Affairs, Wei Shou, was commanded to compose the stele inscription. The respect accorded to him by the monarchs of the age was consistently of this kind. Thereupon, on the appointed day according to the imperial edict, the fourfold assembly filled the mountain, totaling tens of thousands. Fragrant firewood counted in the thousands, and at midday the fire was lit. There was no one who was not broken-hearted with grief, their wailing resounding along the river. At that moment, hundreds of white birds hovered above the smoke, crying mournfully to each other, and only departed after a long time. A brick stupa was erected northwest of the temple; miraculous scenes and strange fragrances repeatedly manifested to the monastics and laity. In the beginning, Chou took the tonsure with sincere faith, and his marvels were known throughout Qi and Wei. Resolute in the practice of dhyāna, he surpassed all followers, yet walked in great deeds, traveling between court and wild. Praising humility and clinging to simplicity, he fanned a pure breeze. Moreover, his awe-inspiring presence terrified bandits and cowed mountain demons; he resolved the ferocity of fighting tigers, and suppressed the deep poison of gain and offerings. The great scholar Huang personally carried provisions for him, and hunters of Qingluo took knives to cut their hair and become monks. Sometimes his virtue moved Heaven, and blessings flowed onto the descendants of those who revered him; through his hidden sincerity, grain filled the storehouses of faithful people. When tree spirits blocked the road, he let the Dharma flow according to their capacity and inclination. Striped leopards cleaned his room, holding filthy bundles in their mouths to cast far away. Fierce tigers grew tame and let him drape his clothes on their backs. When a crumbling mountain was about to collapse, a voice called him out to preserve his life. Such spiritual wonders were rarely matched in antiquity, fully recorded in the Illustrated Accounts of Yunmen. Furthermore, when the monastery was first decreed to be built ten li square so that those with tranquil minds could inquire into the Way and perform circumambulation, Chou said: 'Ten li is too vast; it will harm and encroach upon the common people, which is not of lasting benefit. I beg that it be halved.' The edict thus fixed it at five li square. The Court Architect Ji Boyong was ordered to begin construction. Yong gathered the local villagers to ask the name of the place, when suddenly a loud voice from the sky answered: 'The mountain forest is secluded and quiet; this place was originally named Yunmen.' When he asked again, not a single person among them knew of it. The emperor found it extraordinary and followed the sky's echo. This is the present Guangyan Temple. Once a traveling monk, carrying a staff, arrived and sought a place to settle. When asked his monastic seniority, he replied: 'I have seen three monasteries here.' Having spoken, he disappeared. Later, upon digging a well, they indeed found two ornamental ridge-end tiles (chiwei). In front of the meditation grotto where he dwelt, there was a deep abyss. A hairy man appeared, tall and with the appearance of a Hu foreigner, who set a pot and lit a fire. As the water was about to boil, a giant python suddenly came out of the water, intending to enter the pot. Chou pushed it with his foot, and the python went back into the water; the hairy man also disappeared. That night a male spirit came, bowed his head to Chou, and said: 'Your disciple has a son who every year was eaten by an evil spirit. My sons value their lives and did not dare face it; as your disciple is decrepit and close to death, I offered myself as food. Through the Master's protection, I have escaped this disaster.' Chou asked for water and spat it out, and it instantly turned into clouds and mist. Once someone slandered Chou before Emperor Wenxuan, claiming he was haughty and disrespectful. The emperor flew into a rage and came in person to harm him. Chou knew this through hidden perception. Though he had never in his life visited the monastic kitchen, he suddenly went there for no apparent reason, saying: 'Tomorrow an important guest will arrive; make abundant offerings.' At the fifth watch of the night, having prepared an ox cart beforehand, he went alone to the valley entrance, twenty-odd li from the temple, and stood alone by the roadside. Soon the emperor arrived, and in astonishment asked the reason. Chou said: 'Fearing that my bodily blood is impure and would defile the monastery, I waited for you here.' The emperor dismounted, prostrated himself, and was filled with endless shame and remorse. He said to the Prefect of the Masters of Writing, Yang Zunyan: 'How could such a perfected man be slandered?' Thereupon he personally carried Chou on his back to the temple. Chou bowed respectfully and would not accept. The emperor said: 'Even if your disciple carried the Master throughout the world, it would not suffice to atone for my transgression!' (and so forth). He then asked: 'What was your disciple in a previous life?' Chou answered: 'You were a rakṣasa king, which is why you still delight in killing.' He then chanted an incantation over a basin of water and bade the emperor look for himself; the emperor saw his own reflection in the form of a rakṣasa. Every New Year's Day the emperor would inquire about the fortunes of the coming year. In the tenth year of Tianbao, Chou said: 'This year will not be good.' Wenxuan was displeased, and the emperor asked: 'How will it be for you, Master?' He answered: 'The poor monk will not last long either.' In the tenth month the emperor died, and in the beginning of summer the following year Chou passed away, precisely verifying his prediction. Once in his leisure time, the emperor said: 'Your disciple has not seen the wondrous signs of the Buddha; might I behold them?' Chou said: 'This is not fitting for a śramaṇa.' The emperor insisted, so Chou threw his kāṣāya robe onto the ground. The emperor ordered dozens of men to lift it, but they could not move it. Chou then bade a novice monk pick it up, and it was not heavy at all. Consequently, the emperor's deep faith doubled, and the temples, monastic provisions, and rewarding gifts became exceptionally lavish. When Qi fell and Zhou abolished [Buddhism], the temple was given to the Grand Master Liu Wuwen, who then ordered his relative Xin Jian to guard it. When he was about to move his family in, an angry spirit said: 'How dare you violate the srotāpanna temple?' Jian died shortly thereafter. At the beginning of the Sui, it was restored completely like its original construction, and its six-period meditation and repentance won renown throughout the realm. At the end of the Daye era, bandits made it their base; only a few buildings remained, and the rest were burned to ashes. In the early years of Zhenguan, I climbed to this scenic site: the mountains and forests were as before, but the matters of the heart were completely changed. Desolation everywhere frequently elicited the sigh of arising and passing away; gazing all around at the burnt ashes, I was repeatedly choked with the sorrow of the Millet Fields. Having personally viewed the biographical illustrations, the biographer has directly recorded them here at the end.

First 33 of 50 passages. Read on

Linked texts (1)

續高僧傳 — 道宣, Classical Chinese