續高僧傳 17

English (machine translation) 17

Language: English

17.16 — 5 parts

17.1

Composed by Shi Daoxuan, Śramaṇa of Ximing Monastery under the Great Tang

17.2

Section 2 on the Practice of Meditation: Eleven primary biographies, nine appended.

17.3

1. Biography of Shi Huiming of Shanguang Monastery on Mount Xiancheng in Mianyang under the Zhou (Dai Kui, Huilang, Huixiao)

17.4

2. Biography of Shi Huisi of Mount Heng in the Southern Marchmount under the Chen

17.5

3. Biography of Shi Zhiyi of Guoqing Monastery on Tiantai Mountain, Imperial Preceptor Zhizhe under the Sui

17.6

4. Biography of Shi Tanchong of Qingchan Monastery in the capital under the Sui

17.7

5. Biography of Shi Huiyue of the Palace Chapel in Huiri under the Sui

17.8

6. Biography of Shi Huishi of Lüdao Monastery in Jiangzhou under the Sui

17.9

7. Biography of Shi Sengshan of Mount Matou in Wencheng Commandery under the Sui (Sengxi, Sengji)

17.10

8. Biography of Shi Xuanjing of Ye in Xiangzhou under the Sui (Xuanjue)

17.11

9. Biography of Shi Zhishun of Mount Zhanghong in Zhaojun under the Sui (Zhizan)

17.12

10. Biography of Shi Zhikai of Dalin Monastery on Mount Lu in Jiujiang under the Sui

17.13

11. Biography of Shi Zhiyue of Guoqing Monastery on Tiantai Mountain under the Sui (Bore, Fayan)

Śramaṇa Huiming had the surname Guo. He was a native of Jinyang in Taiyuan, and a descendant of Guo Qi, a scholar summoned to office under the Jin dynasty. In the fifth year of the Datong era of the Liang dynasty, a xinhai year [531 CE], he was born in Changsha commandery, Xiangzhou. Endowed by heaven with heroic bearing, he stood preeminent above the throng. Even in his tender years, many were captivated by his marvel. Between sleeping and waking, light touched his body; his clarity of discernment was orderly, having profound and rare distinction. At that time, eminent monks of the Xiang region remarked to each other, 'Ācārya Zhen's spiritual stage is difficult to fathom; yet the one who enters the room of the Tathāgata must be Huiming.' Thus from the day he tied his hair, his understanding broadened and renewed itself daily. At eight years old, he could compose poetry and calligraphy. His bearing was poised and aloof, and discerning observers knew he was no ordinary vessel. Moreover, he applied his keen mind to listening and studying, marvelously penetrating the deep meanings, so that his realization transcended the words, illuminating insight before any prompting. His wisdom did not startle the ignorant, and his integrity did not sever worldly relations. Closer to the Way than to external things, he was praised and venerated in his home commandery. At age fifteen he recited the Saddharmapuṇḍarīka Sūtra; in two and a half decades of days [twenty-five days], he had mastered the entire text. Soon after, he underwent tonsure; his learning knew no constant master. He devoted himself to practicing the vaipulya and Samantabhadra repentances, investigating the Avataṃsaka to illuminate the Way. Journeying through the Xiang and Mian regions, he heard that the two great Dhyāna Masters Enguang and Xianlu had arrived from a thousand li away and that crowds submitted their hearts to them; he then went and followed them. Later he traveled to Mount Xiancheng, which is the original abode of the ancient Songxian [Pine Immortal]. Formerly there was a Daoist named Meng Shou, who had dwelt in seclusion for accumulated years, praying from his heart to return to orthodoxy, hoping his wish would be fulfilled. He wished to renounce his residence and use it to build a monastery and stūpa. On the evening before Huiming reached the mountain, Shou suddenly fell into a trance like a dream, in which he saw spirits and deities strictly guarding the side of his lodge. Upon waking in surprise and joy, he climbed the crag and gazed expectantly, whereupon he beheld the assembly of monks filling the forest: Huiming had arrived. He hastened forward to pay homage and immediately relinquished his dwelling to make it Guangshan Monastery. Offerings were arrayed in abundance, and the community gathered in full. Later, Huiming lectured on the Vimalakīrtinirdeśa in the provincial capital. It served as a ford for driving the Mahāyāna chariot and a track for ascending the mysterious path into the Way. Wherever his dhyāna and wisdom pointed, none failed to lay down their weapons in surrender. When the ninety days [of the retreat] were fulfilled, he took leave of the fourfold assembly, and carrying only robe and bowl, returned to his old forest. There was Dhyāna Master Fayin, a native of Qi in the same commandery, originally surnamed Wang. Without speaking, they recognized each other and became companions. Together they went to Changsha's Guoyuan Monastery under Dhyāna Master Neng to cultivate the stabilization of the mind. Before several decades of days had passed, the Dharma-gates opened within them. Whenever Huiming encountered doubts and hesitated, he would introspectively reflect; fearing deviation from the correct principle, he traveled widely to consult virtuous masters. Thus, starting from the south of the Yangzi and ending north of the Yellow River, he met the two masters [Hui]si and [Hui]miao, and only then dispelled his obscurations. Later, both returned to Xiancheng. After barely five years had passed, he foreknew the day of his death. Taking Fayin by the hand in the pine grove, they looked at each other and smiled, saying, 'In these two spots, our end may be reached.' When their attendants first heard this, they did not understand. Within less than fifteen days, both fell ill at the same time. On the fifth day of the eleventh month in the third year of the Tianhe era of the [Northern] Zhou [568 CE], his vitality was unclouded. Sitting erect in the lotus posture facing west, he contemplated the Buddha; all saw the Buddha arrive, whereupon he joined his palms and expired. Fellow monks had dreams of celestial beings descending to the earth with banners and pennants illuminating the sun, and heard voices in the chambers chanting 'Sadhu!'; marvelous fragrances and wondrous music were repeatedly perceived. On the seventeenth day of that month, Fayin likewise sat in his original spot; the auspicious omens that manifested were quite similar. Both of the two worthies, Huiming and Fayin, were thirty-eight years old. Beneath the trees, bricks were assembled to build their tombs. There was a disciple, the pure-believing upāsaka Zheng Ziwen, who erected a stele at the monastery. His disciple Huilang handed down Huiming's lineage without letting the meditation traditions decline; his teaching spread through Anmian, illuminating the Way according with the age. Initially, Huiming shared the same practice of dhyāna with Huisi. In praising and inspiring people in the Heng and Chu regions, Huisi's literary brilliance was eminent and radiant, yet Huiming actually surpassed him. Deeply savoring the mind of dhyāna, his reputation for wisdom spread far and wide. He composed the Dapin Yizhang (Commentary on the Pañcaviṃśati), the Rongxin Lun (Treatise on Blending the Mind), the Huanyuan Jing (Mirror of Returning to the Source), the Xinglu Nan (Difficulty of the Way), and the Xiangxuan Fu (Rhapsody on Discoursing the Mysterious), comprehensively expounding the principles of Buddhism. Discerning people all recited them; some writings, obscure and hidden, were not understood at the time, and those that had commentaries were treasured by the world. From the time he dwelt in mountain huts, students flocked to him in swarms, his fame overflowing north and south. There was a disciple who had received the bodhisattva precepts, Dai Kui of Jibei, whose academic renown had spread early and whose fame was exalted throughout the feudal states. He sent a letter to Huiming, which read: 'I reflect that though the Wei is clear and the Jing is turbid, they blend together at the source of homage to the ancestral court; though pines are tall and arrow bamboos are short, they equally uphold a steadfast, upright nature. Fortunately sharing the lot of sentient beings, the Five Constants ought naturally to encompass the Three Teachings. Therefore, the Ruist youth of Queli expounded the Ritual Classics at the Shu and Ji rivers; the Kāśyapa of Kuxian transferred the subtle Way across the shifting sands. Although they encompass Heaven and Earth, their reach is merely limited to this single life. How could this compare to turning the wheel of Dharma in the Deer Park, or dispelling deluded thoughts on Vulture Peak? Once the half-letter and full-letter teachings were set forth, the provisional and the real were thereby revealed. Truly, though teachings have depth and shallowness, persons are neither internal nor external. The Dhyāna Master's virtuous reputation vibrates far; his conduct rises high above ordinary things. You gather the four reliances; like the shepherd boy who mastered recitation, you carried book-chests for a thousand li, passing through the Dragon Palace and encompassing all. Thus, internally you penetrate the nine classes of scriptures, delving into the secret storehouse of the Snow Mountains; externally you comprehend the Seven Summaries, exploring the canonical classics of the Jade Ring Pool. You have the inscriptions of Zhi Dun at Tiantai and the records of Zhu Zhen at Luofu; the rhapsodies on the Seven Ridges by Zhi Tan and the chants on the Three Rivers by Dao'an; Master Bao's subtle analyses of Zhuangzi and Master Qu's treatises presented in collections. Swallowing them like the Yunmeng marshes, it is as plain as looking at your own palm. Furthermore, you marvelously maintain the pure precepts like guarding a bright pearl; you skillfully uphold the vinaya comportment as if looking into a dark mirror. You inherit Rāhula's esoteric practice and plant the field of merit like Piṇḍola. Drawing from the waters of samādhi, you immediately ascend through vitarka and vicāra; sheltered high beneath the limbs of dhyāna, you surpass muditā and upekṣā. Therefore, not finding Xiaoxiang too distant, you arrived at the Mian plains. Planting your staff at Dragon Spring, it became an āśrama; turning your carriage at Mashou, you founded a sanghārāma. Carving the mountain to enshrine niches, what need was there to heap sand into stūpas? Constructing a grove relying on the peaks, there was no toil of scattering gold to buy land. Bodhisattvas gathered like clouds, their sleeves dense as the Huayin crowd; Dharma companions surged in fellowship, their assembly equaling that of Jixia. In the dhyāna chambers rising at dawn, the seasonal blossoms were sweet as pollia; at dusk when the caitya opened, one momentarily entered the Peach Blossom Spring. The Sanskrit chants of Mount Gandhamādana resounded in harmony with Ruan Ji's whistling; the wondrous notes of the Sun Palace matched the lofty tunes of Sun Deng's zither. The steadfast pines of Purple Canopy Peak still waved their superior eloquence; the divine well of Hongya polished the elevated mind. Thus, your talent was worthy of buying the mountain, and your virtue surpassed sharing the imperial carriage. The lofty peak of your inspiring conduct stands utterly out of reach like a towering wall. Your disciple's thoughts are agitated by the winds of karma; my physical form sinks into the ocean of desire. Since the fall of the Zhugong palace, nearly two cycles of twelve years have elapsed. By day I am wearied by idle fancies; by night I grieve over startling dreams. Unable to forget the distinction between self and other and turn my carriage toward the One Vehicle, or wash away the burdens of my heart to brightly open the three knowledges, I now reflect on the vine gnawed by mice and mourn ever more the bird tied to a string. Formerly, at the age when my will was set on learning, our family passed down imperial bestowals of books; I gently immersed myself in the Five Rites and was sated with the Three Mysteries. Having quite worn out the leather thongs of the scrolls, I composed treatises on what was left behind. Then upon reaching the age of twenty, I gleaned from the Hundred Schools. When I served in officialdom, I lingered fondly over literary writings. Although unable to explore Longmen or scale the heights of Kuaiji, or compose rhapsodies on the wren and chants on the parrot, if seeking even a portion thereof, I faintly resembled the ancients. Yet having deeply awakened to the gathering of foam, I am pained at the transience of passing encounters. I have always wished to cast off worldly entanglements like a cicada sloughing its skin, and to crave the flavor of tathatā. One day at Yuncheng, you permitted my cultivation; at your lodging, I knelt down. In my heart, I rejoiced like one fastening a guest's socks, and my encounter was like offering the fallen shoes. Before we could fully open our hearts, I suddenly lamented our swift separation. Soon, brushing off my robes from the worldly net, I took off my shoes from the tangled threads; washing my hat strings in the Canglang River, holding a pitcher in the Han basin. Daily taking the nine-turn elixir to dispel deep sorrows, I gradually awaken to the three voids and am about to mount the forbearance of suffering. Observing the jade at the Immortal's Bridge does not hinder following a master; plucking peaches in deep ravines poses no obstacle to seeking instruction. What I hope for is that your towering spirit, filling heaven, will occasionally answer this 'teeth-chopper'; and that your lofty discourses from Yanmen will timely reply to your fine guest. The winter is warm as spring; please cherish your pure demeanor. Though your chamber is near, you are far away, which deeply tugs at my heartstrings. The rest of my words are brief and simple; I hope you will not regard this as mere jade cast into a secluded forest.' Śramaṇa Shi Huiming replied to the letter of Master Dai of Jibei: 'Indeed, the One True is constantly clear; the subtle and the manifest are identical in its mystery. The myriad sages act in response to conditions; conforming or resisting, their tracks diverge. Hence, beyond the western pass, the Way was illuminated; in the eastern wilds, benevolence was spoken of. Carving or plainness alter the craft; being and non-being follow different tracks. Now, if we summarize these two portals and trace back these two teachings, do they not converge in the three turnings and unite within the five vehicles? Relying on the shallow to reach the deep, employing the provisional to reveal the real. This is like a pond divided into four streams, which initially have different names; or the ocean gathering eight rivers, which ultimately has no diverse taste. Dānapati, you were endowed with exceptional talent in your youth and harbored brilliant faculties from an early age. Your splendid words surpass the world; your refined sentiments enter into the mysterious. Your intellect traverses the five sciences; your learning encompasses the three teachings. In that which is gained, you can forget it, treading in the transcendent footsteps of Yan Hui; diminishing it for the sake of the Way, you admire the mysterious traces of Laozi. Although the Six Classics are comprehensive and broad and the Hundred Schools are abundant and rich, the sages and worthies follow different standards, and Ruism and Mohism split into diverging streams; some are extensive in matter and dense in text, while others are lofty in words and remote in purports. Yet there is none that you did not receive like water poured into a vase, or speak like a river overflowing. The bright mirror tires not, and the great bell responds to every strike. Cao Zhi would draw from your remarkable writings; Sima Xiangru would feel abashed before your lofty aims. Therefore, though Qin and Chu were divided into separate realms, and Zhou and Liang changed their customs, your value, like Bai Mei and Qing Gai, or turtles and jade, has never altered; like the roosting phoenix and the sleeping dragon, your bond like fish and water has never varied. In addition, your insight is polished by suffering and emptiness; your resolve repels worldly dust. Though your form resides in the court halls, your capacity belongs to rivers and lakes. Thus you utter sighs over tangled threads and speak of the worldly net. Your words match Ying Bu and Lu Ji; your tone accords with Zhang Heng and Yan Junping. You lament that fire, once lost, quickly spreads; you pity that clear waves swiftly slip away. You ought indeed to wash your feet to follow the Way, and rinse your ears to decline worldly honor. Let the nine-turn elixir fill the void, and the four fans expel diseases. Thereafter, seek the Eightfold Path to savor the One True, and untie the ten fetters to cast away the three afflictions. How could such virtue fail to reach the utmost? This poor monk's mirror of consciousness is difficult to clear, and the dust of the mind easily gathers. In samādhi I am ashamed before the flower in water; in precepts, I fall short of the ascetic tied by grass. In talent, I equal the snuffed candle; in learning, I fail to transmit the lamp. Internally, I feel ashamed before fullness of virtue; externally, I have no familiarity with the human world. For this reason, I linger in a single hill, lodging my form among brambles and willows; dwelling upright amidst thousand-fathom heights, consigning my will to bamboos and pines. I measure the four seasons by wind and frost, and observe the two decades of days by the waxing and waning moon. Reaching the point where at night I hear mountain birds substituting for the Nine Shao music, and by day watch wandering fish, casually pursuing the two philosophers of the Hao River. Wicker doors and tattered clothes were never considered illness even in the wilderness; vermilion gates and harnessed four-horse teams are to me merely like floating clouds. What I lament is that the vine is easily gnawed by mice, and the tree monkey is difficult to calm. Laboring, I think of Vulture Peak; weary, I long for Cock's Foot Mountain. As for the forest shedding autumn leaves, I have never had the illumination of a pratyekabuddha; the valley echoing with spring orioles only sharpens my sigh over scant learning. Suddenly receiving your coming inquiry, you graciously showed radiant praise. Its secluded fragrance is like orchids, its clear sound like jade. Truly, it fills my eyes and brings joy, yet touching my chest, I feel much shame. Although my knowledge falls short of the Celestial Lake and cannot comprehend the discourse on the Northern Ocean, my condition resembles the muddy well, feeling embarrassed to hear of the Eastern Sea. What I hope is that that person will show love to me; Mount Huangshi is not far off. Making an appointment for tomorrow morning, the white colt may be tethered. Thereby I prolong this day, respectfully honoring your pure conduct. As this was written on plain paper, my words do not fully express my mind; how can this adequately respond to yours?' At that time, some thought that Kui was Dai Kui of Qiaoguo during the Jin dynasty. Now, examining his deeds, that is incorrect. The Jin Shu states: In the twelfth year of the Dayuan era [387 CE], the recluse Dai Kui was summoned, and soon passed away. Down to the third year of the Datong era of the Liang [537 CE], one hundred and forty-three years had passed before Master Huiming was born. Calculating it, they could not have met, and that he was not the one from Jibei is clear. At that time there was also Śramaṇa Huixiao, whose surname was Fu. He likewise presented his dhyāna achievements to the master; his literary talent was second only to Huiming's. Traveling north to the territory of Qi, he resided at Lingyan. For several decades, he practiced refined deeds in quiet seclusion, and the community at first did not consider him extraordinary. When a fellow villager was appointed magistrate of Shanxian, Xiao, having been away from his native place for a long time, wished to inquire about his relatives. Reaching the county gates, he had someone announce him to the magistrate. The magistrate happened to be facing guests and did not grant him entrance. While hesitating, Huixiao again urged the usher to announce him. The guests had still not dispersed, and the magistrate postponed further. Huixiao awakened and said, 'It is not the magistrate who controls my advancing or retreating; it is merely my own love and hatred. How could one yearn for one's native soil?' He ordered an attendant to fetch paper and took up a brush, composing the 'Rhapsody on the Son of Śākya' (Shizi Fu). When the paper was exhausted and his words came to an end, he told him, 'If the magistrate asks and searches for me, you may show him this text. I am leaving.' Thereupon he slipped away in secret. Hence the rhapsody says: 'Alas, losing mindfulness, / Suddenly I awaken again.' This was it. Later, when they pursued him to Lingyan, searching thoroughly without finding him, the attendant brought out the rhapsody and showed it to the monks, who only then realized Xiao's talent. Thereupon, everyone kept a copy to dispel their own vulgarity and meanness. Xiao later sought out various famous peaks, nurturing simplicity and resting his mind. Occasionally he cast his glance upon the mortal world, but then returned to conceal his form in secluded mounds; in the end, none knew where he ended his days.

17.15

Shi Huisi had the secular surname Li and was a native of Wujin. From youth he was known for his broad leniency, kindness, and nurturance; his hamlet and neighborhood praised him, continually extolling and inquiring after him. He once dreamed of an Indian monk who exhorted him to leave secular life; startled into awakening by this auspicious omen, he took leave of his parents and entered the path. The monastery he went to was not an araṇya; he was repeatedly influenced by a spiritual monk who instructed him to observe the precepts and fasts. He upheld them and maintained plain simplicity, pure and circumspect in his brahma-conduct. When he received full ordination, his aspiration for the path grew ever greater. Dwelling far off in seclusion and quiet, he constantly sat in meditation to integrate his practice, eating only one meal a day and never accepting special offerings; he completely severed all coming and going, welcoming and seeing off. He recited more than thirty fascicles of the Saddharmapuṇḍarīka Sūtra and other scriptures, completing a thousand recitations within a few years. The thatched hut where he stayed was burned down by an uncivilized person, who thereupon manifested a severe disease and pleaded with sincere heart, begging for repentance, which [Huisi] immediately granted. After [Huisi] received a grass hut, he upheld the sūtras as before, and before long the person's illness recovered. He also dreamed of several hundred Indian monks whose appearance and clothing were extraordinary. The senior monk bade him, saying, 'The precepts and moral rules you previously received were not superior; how could they reveal the right path? Now that you have met a pure assembly, you should renew the ordination platform, supplicate thirty-two master monks, and perform the karmavācanā rituals to achieve full completion.' Later he suddenly awoke with a start and only then realized it was an ordination received in a dream. From this time onward, his diligent practice grew even deeper: overcoming distracting thoughts and focusing with single-minded devotion, never letting dawn or dusk pass in vain, sitting and reciting following one after the other as his constant pursuit. Because of these ascetic practices, he was able to see the deeds of the path he had practiced in three past lives. He also dreamed of Maitreya and Amitābha expounding the Dharma and awakening him, and therefore he made images of both and made offerings to them together. He further dreamed of following Maitreya and his retinue, gathering together at the Dragon Flower Tree. He reflected in his heart, 'I receive and uphold the Saddharmapuṇḍarīka Sūtra in the age of Śākyamuni's maddharma-vipralopa; now meeting the Compassionate Honoured One, I am moved to sorrowful weeping,' and suddenly he awakened. He became still more energetic, and miraculous omens occurred repeatedly: his water bottle was constantly full and the articles for offerings were fully prepared, as if celestial youths were attending and guarding him. Because he read the Scripture on the Wonderfully Superior Samādhi, he praised the merit of dhyāna, whereupon he resolved his mind and set out to seek a companion in samādhi. At that time, Dhyāna Master Huiwen had gathered several hundred disciples; the rules of his assembly were pure and solemn, and both monastics and laity held him in high esteem. [Huisi] went to take refuge with him and received the correct Dharma from him. By nature fond of ascetic self-discipline, he took managing affairs for the saṅgha as his duty; he made offerings in winter and summer without fearing toil or hardship. Day and night he gathered his mind, deliberating on principle and phenomena; yet through both seasons, he had not attained realization. In the coming summer, he bound his body in prolonged sitting, binding his mindfulness before him. After only three weeks, a slight tranquil contemplation arose, and he saw the signs of wholesome and unwholesome karma of his entire life; startled and sighing over this, his vigor redoubled. Thereupon the eight sensations were stirred and the original first dhyāna arose. From this time on, meditation obstacles suddenly arose: his four limbs became weak and frail, unable to bear walking, his body not obeying his mind. He immediately observed himself: 'My present illness is entirely generated from karma; karma arises from the mind; originally there is no external realm; turning back to see the source of the mind, karma cannot be obtained. The body is like a cloud's shadow: its marks exist, but its substance is empty.' Having contemplated thus, inverted thoughts were extinguished, the nature of his mind became pure, and his suffering was eliminated. Moreover, the samādhi of emptiness arose, and the state of mind became vast and clear. When the summer ended and he received the monastic age, he lamented having attained nothing; grieved over his torpor, feeling that his life had passed in vain, he felt profound shame. Relaxing his body and leaning against the wall, before his back even touched it, he suddenly had an awakening: in a single thought, he clearly penetrated the Lotus samādhi and the Mahāyāna dharma-doors, and became naturally conversant with the sixteen superior practices, the rejections, and the eradication-entrances, without depending on another's awakening. Later he went to masters such as Jian and Zui and recounted what he had realized; all of them rejoiced in agreement. The longer he trained and refined himself, the more his previous contemplation increased; his name and conduct were heard afar, and people from all directions revered his virtue. His students grew more numerous daily, and those who attained awakening were truly abundant. Thereupon, using the balanced methods of samādhi and wisdom from both the Mahāyāna and Hīnayāna, he proclaimed and illustrated them with parables to gather in both himself and others. The assembly was a mix of the refined and the crude, from which right and wrong arose. From malice and jealousy came aconite and poison, but the poison could not harm him; heterodox paths hatched schemes, but the schemes could not injure him. He then looked at his disciples and said, 'When the Great Sage was in the world, he could not escape rumors; how much less can I, who have no virtue, escape this retribution? Retribution is past action; when the time comes, it must be received—this is a private matter. Yet my Buddha-Dharma will soon be extinguished; where should I go to avoid this disaster?' At that time, a voice from the invisible sky said, 'If you wish to cultivate samādhi, you may go to Wudang and Nanyue; these are mountains for entering the path.' In the beginning of the Wuping era of Northern Qi, he turned his back on Songyang and led his disciples south, aspiring to the ancient worthies in hopes of secluded dwelling. When he first reached Guangzhou, it coincided with the downfall of Emperor Xiaoyuan of Liang; the state was in turmoil and the road ahead was blocked, so he temporarily stayed at Mount Dasu. Within a few years, those who came to follow him were as numerous as a marketplace. That land lay on the border between Chen and Qi, struck by weapons of war; the Buddha-Dharma was collapsing like clouds, and the five groups of disciples were scattered and broken. Those among them who were outstanding and eminent made light of their lives and prized the Dharma; regarding dying in the evening as a small matter, they rejoiced at hearing [the Dharma] in the morning. Those who followed one another across perils to arrive there filled the mountain forests. Huisi provided them with material support and instructed them with the savor of principle. Furthermore, using the merit donations of monastics and laity, he produced the Prajñāpāramitā in gold letters in twenty-seven fascicles, and the Saddharmapuṇḍarīka Sūtra in gold letters, with lapis lazuli jewel caskets that were adorned and resplendent; this extraordinary merit greatly inspired the hearts of the assembly. He was also invited to lecture on the two sūtras; he immediately set forth the composition, exhausting every nuance along with the text, none of it not profound and subtle. Later he ordered the scholar Zhiyi of Jiangling to lecture on the golden scripture in his stead; when he reached the passage where 'one mind is endowed with ten thousand practices,' Zhiyi had doubts. Huisi explained it for him, saying, 'What you just doubted is merely the sequential meaning of the Great Prajñā; it is not yet the round and sudden import of the Saddharmapuṇḍarīka. When I formerly practiced ascetic self-discipline during the summer and pondered this, in a single thought in the late night all dharmas suddenly arose. Since I have realized it in my own person, do not labor over doubts.' Zhiyi then consulted and received the practice of the Saddharmapuṇḍarīka; his experiences over three weeks can hardly be related in full. He also asked, 'Is the Master's stage that of the ten grounds?' Huisi said, 'No. I am only at the stage of the iron wheel of the ten faiths.' Tested by events at that time, his understanding and practice were lofty and brilliant, his sense faculties and consciousness pure, his characteristics corresponding to the first reliance, able to understand the secret storehouse; and like the Benevolent King [Sūtra], generating the mind of the ten virtues, he was forever parted from the ocean of suffering. Yet he was humble and yielding, so his words make it hard to see the reality, and thus his fundamental and trace [manifestations] cannot be known in detail. Later, at Dasu, troubled by beacon warnings, the mountain assembly was restless and felt unsafe in that place; so he led over forty monks directly toward Nanyue, on the twenty-second day of the sixth month in the Guangda era of Chen. Having arrived, he announced, 'I shall lodge on this mountain for precisely ten years; after this, I must undertake a distant journey.' He also said, 'In my previous life, I once walked this place.' Patrolling to Hengyang, he came upon a fine spot where the forests and springs were tall and pure, bringing joy to whoever saw them. Huisi said, 'This is an ancient monastery; I once lived here.' Digging according to his words, they indeed obtained the foundations of rooms and halls, as well as utensils used by monks. Again going beneath a crag, [he said,] 'I sat in meditation here, and bandits severed my head, by which my life ended; my whole body is here.' Together they searched and found a pile of dried bones; searching carefully further down, they immediately obtained the cranium. Huisi received it and placed it atop his head, erecting a superior stūpa for it to repay past kindness. Thus, the events transmitted from time to time were verified like matching tallies, and instances of this kind were not singular. From the Chen era onward, all who studied the mind took him as their ancestral master; Mahāyāna sūtras and treatises were constantly lectured on and understood, so that announcements and assemblies at his mountain gate daily accumulated lofty renown. Consequently, heterodox practitioners harbored jealousy and secretly reported to the Chen ruler, falsely accusing Huisi of being a northern monk recruited by the Qi state to excavate and destroy Nanyue. When imperial envoys arrived at the mountain, they saw two tigers roaring in fury, and retreated in terror. Advancing again several days later, a small bee came to sting Huisi's forehead; soon a large bee ate and killed the small one, held its head in its mouth before Huisi, and flew off. When the Chen ruler heard all of this, he did not take it as a cause for admonition. Before long, one of the schemers died suddenly, and two were bitten to death by rabid dogs; what the omen of the bees portended was thus verified. Acknowledging this spiritual response by imperial decree, [the ruler] welcomed him down to the capital to reside at Qixuan Monastery. Once, when he went to Waguan Monastery, he met rain without getting wet, and walked on mud without getting soiled. The Monastic Controller Huigao and various students met him on the road and said, 'This is an extraordinary person; how did he come here?' The entire court looked upon him, and monastics and laity inclined toward him in veneration. Grand Commander Wu Mingche respected him to the utmost and presented him with a rhinoceros-horn pillow. Detached Commander Xiahou Xiaowei went to the monastery to pay homage, thinking to himself on the road, 'The pillow presented by Wu Yitong—how might I see it?' When he arrived at Huisi's place and was about to pay respects, [Huisi] at once said to Xiaowei, 'If you wish to see the rhinoceros-horn pillow, you may go look at it.' On another day, there was suddenly a voice announcing, 'Sweep and sprinkle the courtyard; the sage will arrive shortly.' It was just as the voice said: in a short while Huisi arrived. Xiaowei revered and admired him, speaking of it to monastics and laity; therefore, whether noble or base, ordained or lay, none dared detain him, and providing men and boats, they saw him off at the riverbank. Huisi said, 'I lodge at Nanyue for only ten years; when the years are full, I shall depart'—people did not understand his meaning. When he returned to his mountain dwelling, each year the Chen ruler sent three letters of inquiry; offerings filled and piled up in the assembly, and his glory and flourishing could not be surpassed. His preaching was beyond ordinary, his spiritual anomalies difficult to fathom: sometimes manifesting a small or large body, sometimes quietly concealing his form, or unusual fragrances and extraordinary colors and auspicious omens arose in abundance. When he was about to pass away, he descended from the mountain summit to the bodhimaṇḍa halfway down the mountain, gathered his disciples in large numbers, and preached the Dharma for days on end, reproaching them with bitter earnestness so that those who heard him were chilled to the heart. He told the assembly, 'If there are ten people who do not begrudge their bodies and lives, and constantly cultivate the Saddharmapuṇḍarīka, the pratyutpanna Buddha-mindfulness samādhi, the vaipulya repentance, and the ascetic practice of constant sitting, I shall personally provide whatever they need and will certainly benefit them. If there are no such persons, I shall depart far away.' Ascetic practice being difficult, in the end no one answered. Thereupon he dismissed the assembly, collected his thoughts, and silently passed away. The novice monk Yunbian, seeing his breath cease, wailed and cried out loudly. Huisi then opened his eyes and said, 'You are an evil māra. I was about to depart, and the multitude of sages were arriving in great crowds to welcome me and discuss the place of rebirth. Why did you startle and disturb me? Foolish man, leave!' Thereupon he collected his mind again, sat upright and attentive until the end. Everyone smelled an extraordinary fragrance filling the room; the crown of his head was warm, his body soft, and his facial complexion as usual. It was precisely the twenty-second day of the sixth month of the ninth year of the Taijian era of Chen; tested against the ten years, it matched like a tally. His age was sixty-four. Since the Dharma spread in the region east of the Yangtze, doctrinal matters were deeply valued, but when it came to the practice of dhyāna, it was practically disregarded. Yet Huisi, lamenting this southern realm, opened both samādhi and wisdom: discussing principle and meaning by day, and reflecting and discerning by night. Therefore, none of the words he spoke failed to reach far, proving that wisdom arises from samādhi—this purport is not false. In both northern and southern Chan traditions, few do not inherit his lineage. Furthermore, his bodily marks were outstanding and extraordinary, able to sustain themselves without leaning or tilting; he walked like an ox and gazed like an elephant, and atop his head was a fleshy uṣṇīṣa, adorned with extraordinary marks. Those who saw him had their minds transformed and unconsciously bowed in submission. He was also skilled at knowing people's minds, clearly perceiving what was hidden. He was slow to speak of faults, using skillful means to instruct and guide. Practicing great compassion, he upheld the bodhisattva precepts: as for silk, floss, and leather, because they mostly result from harming life, the garments of his disciples were generally made of cloth; in cold, they used mugwort wool to brave the wind and frost. Since the eastward transmission of the Buddha-Dharma for nearly six hundred years, only this compassionate practice of Nanyue can truly be taken as a refuge. When I participated in translation work, I repeatedly saw Indic manuscripts; inquiring into the Dharma robes worn there, to this day none are made of silkworm silk. Even if one underwent ordination wearing them, it is not said to be accomplished. Thus we know that whether begged or received, making robes of silk and floss is definitively classified as an offense of cutting and abandonment according to the Vinaya rules. Restricting the passions and clinging to desire, how could one indulge it? What Huisi decided alone loftily conformed to the sages' standard. Whatever he composed, he dictated orally into chapters without any deletion or revision. He composed the Forty-Two Syllable Gate in two fascicles, the Gate of Non-Contention Practice in two fascicles, and one fascicle each of five works: the Profound Meaning of the Expository Treatise, Following One's Own Will, Pleasant Practice, Sequential Essentials of Dhyāna, and Contemplation Gate of the Threefold Wisdom; all of these circulate in the world.

17.16.1

Śramaṇa Zhiyi, whose courtesy name was De'an and whose secular surname was Chen, was a man of Yingchuan. When the Jin dynasty moved its capital, his family came to lodge at Huarong in Jingzhou. He was the second son of Qizu, Duke of Mengyang and Cavalier Attendant-in-Ordinary under the Liang dynasty. His mother, Lady Xu, dreamed that five-colored incense smoke coiled and encircled her bosom. When she wished to brush it away, she heard someone say: "A karmic connection from previous lives is entrusted to the royal path; when good fortune and virtue arrive of themselves, why cast them away?" She also dreamed of swallowing a white mouse, and this occurred two or three times. Finding it strange, she divined about it. The diviner said: "It is an omen of a white dragon." When the night of his birth arrived, the interior of the room shone brightly, and only after two nights did the light cease. Within and without, all were delighted, lavishly setting out cauldrons and meat platters to celebrate with one another. But the fires died out and the broth went cold, so that the affair could not be brought to completion. Suddenly two monks knocked at the door and said: "Excellent! Perfumed by this child's virtue, he will surely leave the household." Having spoken, they vanished. The guests marveled at it. Remembering the earlier numinous auspicious sign, the neighbors called him Wangdao ("Royal Path"); also taking the later omen into account, they further named him Guangdao ("Luminous Path"). Hence, in his youth these two names were established, and he was addressed by them interchangeably. His eyes had double pupils; though his parents concealed this, others already knew. Moreover, whenever he lay down he would clasp his hands together, and whenever he sat he would invariably face west. By the age of twelve, nothing improper passed his mouth; whenever he saw an image he would bow, and whenever he met a monk he was bound to pay reverence. At seven years old, he delighted in going to saṅghārāmas. The monks were astonished at his disposition and intentions, and orally taught him the "Samantamukha Chapter"; matching it at the first hearing, he mastered it in a single reading. His parents restrained and forbade him from reciting it further, yet his heart was sorrowful and yearning, and suddenly, naturally, he penetrated the rest of the text and phrases. Was this not the extending to the present of roots of virtue planted long ago in past karma? When he reached the age of fifteen, the Liang dynasty's Chengsheng era arrived, and Emperor Yuan met his downfall. Crossing north to Xiazhou, he relied upon his maternal uncle; yet he was brilliant, perceptive, and thoroughly awakened, with a demeanor warm and respectful. He searched for renowned masters, hoping to rely on them to depart from mundane existence. At the age of eighteen, he turned to the śramaṇa Faxu of Guoyuan Temple in Xiangzhou and went forth from the household. Faxu conferred the ten precepts upon him and guided him in the monastic decorum. He then brought him north to visit Vinaya Master Huikuang. Spreading the scriptures on the ground, he fully received his guidance and instruction. He subsequently secluded himself on Mount Daxian, reciting the Lotus Sūtra, the Immeasurable Meanings Sūtra, the Meditation on Samantabhadra Sūtra, and others; before twenty days had passed, he had mastered all three works. He also visited Dhyāna Master Huisi on Mount Dasu in Guangzhou to receive instruction in the mind contemplation. Huisi had in turn followed the Way under Master Jiu, and Jiu had received the Dharma from Master Zui; the spiritual stages of these three men could not be fathomed. Huisi frequently sighed and said: "Long ago, on Vulture Peak, we listened together to the Lotus Sūtra; pursued by past karmic affinities, you have now come once more!" He immediately revealed the Samantabhadra bodhimaṇḍa to him and expounded the four comfortable practices. Zhiyi then practiced the Lotus samādhi on this mountain. After only three nights, when he recited up to the "Chapter on the Bodhisattva Bhaiṣajyarāja" and his mind dwelled upon the ascetic practices, upon reaching the phrase "this is true vigor," understanding and awakening arose. He saw himself together with Master Huisi at Vulture Peak in the seven-jeweled pure land, listening to the Buddha preach the Dharma. Therefore Huisi said: "Had it not been for you, it could not have been sensed; had it not been for me, it could not have been recognized. This is the preliminary expedient of the Lotus samādhi." Zhiyi also entered Mount Baisha in Xizhou, entering contemplation as before; whenever he had doubts about a scripture, he would invariably see Huisi come secretly to explain and resolve them. Thereafter Huisi frequently had him lecture in his stead, and those who heard him were won over. Only regarding the three samādhis and the wisdom of the three contemplations did he consult and verify with Huisi; for everything else, he left the judgment and interpretation to Zhiyi, never paying it any heed. Huisi personally held a ruyi scepter, sitting and observing among the audience, and said to the students: "This is my Dharma son; I regret only that the power of his samādhi is still slight." Thereupon the master and disciple looked upon each other with new eyes, and their renown was heard near and far. When his studies were completed and he went to bid farewell, Huisi said: "You have karmic ties with the state of Chen; going there, you will surely bring benefit." After Huisi traveled to Nanyue, Zhiyi proceeded to Jinling, where, together with Faxi and over thirty others, he first propagated the methods of dhyāna at Waguan Temple. The Vice Director of the Right Xu Ling, the Minister of Personnel Mao Xi, and others—prominent figures of that enlightened age whose learning integrated both Buddhist and Confucian traditions—all received his dhyāna wisdom and transmitted the fragrant Dharma, joyfully and reverently honoring him as an object of universal admiration. Bhadanta Zhibian of Changgan Temple invited him to stay in Songxi, and Seng-huang of Tiangong Temple asked him to reside in the Buddha Cave; because his propagation of the Way and his practice moved others, the luminaries of the age all came to welcome him. Zhiyi acted according to their capacities, and they were immediately awakened. Jingshao of Baima Temple, Zhiwen of Fengcheng Temple, Huiming of the Dhyāna Assembly, as well as elder bhadantas of the Liang dynasty such as Dharma Master Daren—the eminent stream of that era and voices of renown throughout Jiangbiao—all abandoned their previous lecturing to open the gate of dhyāna, leading their students to ask for the ferry and seek passage. Huirong of the Cave of Yu, who resided at Zhuangyan Temple, whose Dao straddled the Wu and Kuaiji regions, acclaimed in his generation as a "storehouse of doctrine" and whose eloquence was called a cascading torrent, came specifically to pose questions upon hearing of Zhiyi preaching the Dharma. His numerous challenges and inquiries were all profound and abstruse; haughty and self-satisfied, he raised his eyebrows and waved his fan, but the fan dropped to the ground. Zhiyi answered both the principles and phenomena, melting and clearly dispelling his objections. Rong said: "The power of meditative absorption cannot be challenged!" At that time the śramaṇa Faxui patted Rong on the back and said: "The doctrinal dragon of former days has now become a submissive deer! Since your fan has dropped to the ground, how will you hide your shame?" Rong said: "Belittling the opponent led to losing the advantage, yet he should not be trifled with." For eight full years he lectured on the Dazhidulun to bring discipline to all who came to learn, and next expounded the gate of dhyāna to purify the ocean of their minds. Whether speaking or remaining silent, he constantly longed for the forests and marshes. He then dreamed of myriad layers of craggy precipices where clouds and sun hung half suspended; at their side was a boundless blue sea, vast and clear below. He also saw a monk waving his hand and stretching out his arm down to the foot of the slope, pulling Zhiyi up the mountain, and so forth. Zhiyi made known to his disciples what he had seen in his dream. All said: "This is Mount Tiantai in Kuaiji! It is where sages and worthies have entrusted themselves. In the past, Sengguang, Daoyou, Falan, and Tanmi—all the heroic and accomplished figures of the Jin and Song dynasties—dwelt there." Thereupon, together with Huibian and over twenty others, bearing the Way he journeyed south to retire into this mountain. Previously, a monk from Qingzhou named Dingguang had long resided on this mountain for forty years, cultivating both meditative absorption and wisdom; he was indeed a divine man. Two years before Zhiyi arrived, he foretold to the mountain folk: "A great spiritual friend will come to join us. You should plant beans, brew sauce, weave cattails into mats, and build additional dwellings to await him." It happened that Prince Shixing of the Chen dynasty was leaving to garrison Dongting, and the court ministers gave him a farewell banquet. He turned his carriage back to Waguan Temple to converse with Zhiyi; once the profound mysteries were proclaimed, the noble lords yielded their hearts, heaping up offerings like mountains and bowing down with deep reverence. Zhiyi then sighed and said: "Yesterday I dreamed of meeting fierce robbers; today they manifest as these soft thieves! As a hemp rope cuts to the bone, I recall dragging my tail in the mud." He then dismissed and thanked his disciples, saying: "I have heard that shooting in the dark hits the mark upon the release of the bowstring."

17.16.2

"How do we know this? Ignorance is darkness; the lips and tongue are the bow; the mind's thoughts are like the string; voice and sound are like arrows. Through the long night they are discharged in vain, with nothing realized. Furthermore, the Dharma-doors are like a mirror, reflecting shapes whether square or round as they will. Formerly at Waguan Temple, forty people practiced dhyāna sitting, and half entered the Dharma-door. Now, out of two hundred practicing dhyāna sitting, only ten attain the Dharma. After this, those who take refuge in the lineage have doubled, yet those who truly grasp the Dharma are few. For what reason is this? It can well be understood. In pursuing my own practice and teaching, each may follow whatever suits them; but I must follow my own purpose." Thereupon he went to Tiantai. When he arrived at that mountain and met [Ding]guang, he conveyed his deep delight. Guang said, "Great spiritual friend, do you remember my waving my hand from the mountain summit years ago to summon you?" Zhiyi was astonished and knew that the portent of his dream had indeed come to pass. This was in the autumn, the ninth month, of the seventh year of the Taijian reign of the Chen [575 CE]. They also heard the sound of bells filling the valley, and the assembly all found it wondrous. Guang said, "The bell is summoning those with karmic affinity; you shall dwell here." Zhiyi then chose a dwelling on an auspicious site, located to the north of where Guang lived, south of Mount Folong, at the source of Luoxi. It was peaceful, spacious, and well-suited for seeking the truth; the ground was flat and the springs pure, so he lingered and stayed there. Suddenly three men appeared, wearing black caps and crimson garments, holding a written request, saying, "You may perform circumambulation here." Thereupon he initially erected a thatched hermitage and planted pine trees and fruit trees. Within a few years, buildings expanded one after another, turning into a thoroughfare of gathering. Guang said, "For now, settle here as appropriate. When the country is pacified (Guoqing) and the three realms are brought under a single rule, an eminent person will erect a temple for the dhyāna master, and halls and buildings will fill the mountain." At that time, none could comprehend his words. Later, Zhiyi practiced solitary, quiet dhūta on Huading Peak to the north of the temple. A violent gale uprooted trees, and thunder clapped and roared. Mountain goblins appeared by the thousands, each with a hundred shapes, spitting fire and shrieking in a terrifying display beyond description. Zhiyi subdued his mind and rested in forbearance, serene and detached from self. Then he suffered from agony and pain in body and mind, as though scorched by fire. He also saw his deceased parents resting their heads on his knees, weeping and pleading for pity in their distress. Zhiyi again relied on the forbearance of the Dharma, remaining unmoving as a mountain. As a result, the phenomena caused by both harsh and alluring conditions were extinguished. Suddenly a spiritual monk from the Western Regions arrived and told him, "Subduing the enemy and conquering adversity may truly be called valor." (The text is extensive and is not fully recorded.) Emperor Xuan of the Chen issued an imperial decree stating: "The dhyāna master is an outstanding champion of the Buddha's Dharma, the authority revered by the masters of our time. He instructs both religious and lay, and is the hope of our realm. It is fitting to allocate the tax revenues of Shifeng County to support the expenses of his community, and to exempt two households of commoners from taxes to provide firewood and water. Tiantai Mountain shall be named Anle County." Yuan Zixiong of Chen Commandery held deep faith in the correct Dharma. Every summer he would regularly lecture on the Vimalakīrtinirdeśa Sūtra. Suddenly three flights of jeweled steps were seen descending from the sky, and several dozen Indic monks descended the steps, entered the hall to pay homage, and, holding censers in their hands, circumambulated Zhiyi three times. After a long while, they vanished. Xiong and the entire assembly saw this together, marveling with cries that stirred the mountain. His spiritual resonance and practice were all of this nature. Bozhi, the Prince of Yongyang, went forth to administer Wuxing, and together with his kin, went to the mountain to request the precepts. He also instituted a seven-night Vaipulya repentance rite. By day the prince administered state affairs, and by night he practiced meditation. Zhiyi said to his disciple Zhiyue, "I wish to urge the prince to cultivate merit further to avert disaster; would that be permissible?" Yue replied, "The prince's officers are not longtime associates; they will surely waver in their opinions." Zhiyi said, "To put an end to the world's slander and suspicion is also a good thing." Shortly thereafter, while out hunting, the prince fell from his horse and was near death. Only then did he understand Zhiyi's intention; Zhiyi personally led the assembly in performing the Avalokiteśvara repentance ritual. Soon after, the prince regained slight consciousness, sat leaning against an armrest, and saw an Indic monk holding a censer come straight forward to ask after his illness. The prince broke into a sweat and could not answer. The monk then circumambulated the prince once, and his pain ceased entirely. Thereupon the prince personally composed a vow stating: "Looking up with reverence to the Tiantai ācārya, whose virtue equals Dao'an and Huiyuan, and whose Path surpasses Mingguang and Huayou. Near and far thirst for him, and holding their khakkharas they gather like clouds. He continues the declining lineage of the Semblance Dharma to rescue the benighted, and reveals the radiant light of the sun of wisdom to save this decadent age. Moreover, he traverses the Dharma-doors and thoroughly masters the garden of dhyāna; the bonds of conditioned phenomena are already cast off, and the forbearance of the unproduced has become manifest before him. I, your disciple, am tossed by the karmic winds and sunk in the waters of attachment; although I taste the joy of the Dharma, I cannot dispel my unenlightened mind; in vain do I admire the bliss of dhyāna, while ultimately retaining scattered and fluctuating thoughts. The solar chariot races along, and the reins of Yihe do not pause; the lunar mirror revolves, and the form of Heng'e is hard to detain. In parting and meeting, words can hardly express my sighs. My love and reverence for the Dharma flow on endlessly. I vow in lifetime after lifetime to encounter the Tiantai ācārya, ever cultivating offerings just as Jñānaprabha served the Tathāgata Jñānābhibhū, or as Bhaiṣajyarāja had an audience with the Samyaksaṃbuddha Jaladharagarjitaghoṣasusvaranakṣatrarājasaṃkusumitābhijña; whether in Sukhāvatī or Tuṣita, all are swept into the One Vehicle..." (and so forth). Such was the deep faith and reverence he commanded from royalty. Thereupon his transformation reached the seacoast, and the Dharma governance moved Min and Ou. Those presenting doubts and requesting instruction daily climbed up to the mountain seats. The Chen Emperor wished to pay homage in person, and prepared to present his respects. He asked his gathered ministers, "Who among the followers of Śākya is the most renowned?" Chen Xuan memorialized, "The dhyāna master of Waguan has virtue excelling the wind and frost, and a dhyāna mirror deep as the ocean. Formerly in the capital, he was the model for the worthy; now he treads loftily on Tiantai, and the Dharma-clouds cast their shade eastward. May Your Majesty summon him to return to the capital, so that both the monastic and lay communities may receive his grace." The Emperor then issued imperial decrees in repeated succession summoning him to enter. Zhiyi, regarding the service to the Dharma as weightier than demeaning his own person, declined. Later, due to earnest remonstrance from the Prince of Yongyang, another imperial decree was issued. In all, seven messengers came before and after, all carrying imperial letters in the Emperor's own hand. Zhiyi, considering that the propagation of the Path depends on human beings and the ruler serves as the patron of the Dharma, finally departed for the capital. He was welcomed into the Eastern Hall of the Taiji Palace and requested to lecture on the Dazhidu lun. By imperial command, boys driving goat-drawn carts led the way before him, and the Secretarial Attendants escorted him up the steps. The protocol and rites were entirely modeled on the precedent of the National Preceptor, Ācārya Guan. When the ruler of Chen arrived at the Dharma assembly, the hundred civil officials all paid homage; hearing what had rarely or never been heard before, they honored the Dharma and accepted the Path. An imperial decree was immediately issued to establish a dhyāna assembly at the Lingyao Temple. Students gathered once more, forming a dense and formidable congregation. Decrees were repeatedly issued summoning him to lecture on the Renwang jing at the Taiji Palace, with the Son of Heaven attending in person. The Scribe-Director (Saṅgha-pradhāna) Huixuan, the Controller of the Saṅgha (Saṅgha-karaṇa) Huikuang, and eminent masters of the capital all raised tremendous difficulties. Zhiyi fielded their questions and gave replies, broadly opening the gates of the Dharma. Xuan, holding a censer, congratulated him, saying, "In more than ten state vegetarian feasts, I myself have presided over four lectures. Dividing texts and analyzing meanings, I thought I had reached their core; but today, as the sun rises and the stars recede, witnessing true skill, I realize my own clumsiness." Such high renown and honor could hardly be surpassed. Yet, in the region south of the Yangtze, Dharma debates had always been contentious and lacking in accord.

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續高僧傳 — 道宣, Classical Chinese