續高僧傳 16.38

16.38

Shi Falin was surnamed Yan and was a native of Zhijiang. At fifteen, he left household life at Yuquanshan Temple. The assembly of monks was pure; Lin relied on them to savor the Way for many years. Taking meditative mindfulness as his foundation and relying on seclusion to recite scriptures, he was thoroughly versed in the Lotus, Vimalakīrti, and the excerpts of the Great Treatise. He wore no silk or fine wool, using coarse cloth for robes; he did not eat monastic food, but begged his food for a single meal; he never lay down, but constantly sat, diligent beyond compare. Carrying his staff, he traveled afar, seeking out worthy companions; Lu Peak, Mount Tiantai, Heng, Luo, Heng, and Mount Tai—there was nowhere far he did not reach. His spirit was pure and aloof, so mountain monks who saw him all admired his lofty virtue and looked up to his extraordinary manner. Habitats of dense thickets and fierce beasts, and deep, dark crags of spirits and demons, were to him places of peaceful rest as if in towns and villages. In the past, passing through Xuzhou from the Mount Tai road, he met a county magistrate who asked for his official permit. Lin always carried a casket of the Lotus Sūtra; he replied, "In this casket there are travel documents." The magistrate searched for them and found nothing. Angrily, he said, "Originally there were no travel documents; why do you say there are?" He replied, "This scripture is the path walked by all the Buddhas. I tread and practice it to return to the source and revert to the origin—this is my travel document." The magistrate's anger did not abate, and he confined him. For seven days he did not eat, yet the sound of scripture recitation did not cease. The magistrate had bad dreams, whereupon he made prostrations and repented of his error. Later, Lin dwelt in silence on the mountain, taking dhyāna tranquility as his primary vocation; he died while sitting in a cave at the age of sixty-two. An extraordinary fragrance wafted abundantly, ceasing only after ten days. At that time, there was the monk Jing of Mount Yang; it is not known who he was. Hiding his traces outside the worldly dust, he maintained himself through the Way. Among the springs, rocks, pines, and bamboos of Mount Yang, the heights were sparse, clear, and open, the ridge adjoining Taoyuan; of old it was called a famous place. He chose a dwelling of silent illumination, spiritually resonating with spirits and beings. Those harboring bad thoughts could not advance: if they went forward, they might meet tigers or snakes, become frightened, and lose their way; if anyone came to ask about the Dharma, they could walk peacefully without harm. Once someone came to seek him, but suddenly gave rise to bad thoughts, and instantly saw a great snake emerge from beneath the rope bed, about to spit venom; only after confessing and apologizing was he spared. At that time, Dhyāna Master Huicui of Zhijiang, the spiritual successor of Master Si of Nanyue, heard of him and went to visit. [Jing] closed his mouth and did not reply. Cui then wept tears and pleaded, standing on tiptoe throughout the night, firmly and resolutely requesting. Only after many days did [Jing] reveal and explain to him. Cui came out and said, "I have traveled among famous mountains, and there are many men of superior virtue; there were eighteen noble and lofty friends, and having entered their gates in part, I have traversed quite far into them. But as for one whose walls are towering and distant, whose extraordinary proclamations are difficult to scale, this man is truly the one!" As for his age, people could not reckon it. Cui said that when he once asked him, he replied, "I am three hundred years old." It is not known where he ended his days.