續高僧傳 20.30

20.30

Shi Sengche, whose secular surname was Jin, was a native of Wanquan in Hedong. His adherence to the precepts was sternly accomplished, and he set his heart exclusively on leaving the secular world. Reared with maternal kindness, he was at first unable to fulfill his wish. Having suffered the bitterness of mourning, he then carried out his former intention. Delighting in the practice of an araṇya, he lived in seclusion at Puban, practicing the contemplation of equality and enacting the teaching of truthful speech. The laity from the four quarters turned to him in devotion, receiving his transforming influence throughout the neighboring towns. There was Gu Shan (Solitary Mountain), also called Jie Shan, which was the old domain of Jie Zitui, situated at Jie Village on the southern slope of that mountain. Sengche therefore settled there to pursue his religious practice, sheltering beneath a rocky crag and drawing water from the lowlands below. Over accumulated years of venerating the Way, none among the populace failed to esteem him. People individually contributed wealth and labor to collectively plan and erect buildings. The land was originally high and rugged, and from antiquity had lacked springs and water sources. Mindful of their hard toil, he felt deep concern in the middle of the night. Walking along the rocky crags at dawn, he saw a spot that seemed moist; he prodded it with a blade, and in response to his hand, a spring gushed forth. When monks and laypeople heard of this, they marveled in admiration and took refuge in him. They further expanded his dwelling and added eaves and buildings. Fang Renyu, the regional inspector of Qinzhou, submitted a memorial detailing these matters and requesting permission to establish a saṅghārāma. An imperial edict was issued granting permission; this is today's Xianquan Temple. Both public officials and private citizens rejoiced and invited Sengche to become the abbot of the temple. Bowing to public consensus, he complied. People from the four quarters, admiring his righteousness, took refuge in him one after another, so that the gates and courtyards were crowded. When the Prince of Xu governed Jiangzhou, the temple fell under his jurisdiction. With carriages and canopies, he came to seek Sengche out and invited him to dwell in the prefectural city. Pouring out his heart and exhausting all ritual decorum, he provided ever more lavish offerings. Soon after, Sengche returned to the mountain to resume his former religious work. His nature was rooted in benevolence, and his primary concern was widespread salvation; hence, flocks of birds fed from his palms, and roosting geese soared beneath his verandas. Though past the age of holding a staff in the state, he had never suffered from illness. Suddenly he announced to the assembly: “I am about to depart.” When he had finished eating, he folded his robes and sat in the full-lotus posture. Looking at his disciples to give his final instructions, he admonished them with pure words, and ordered them all to go outside, keeping only one attendant. He told him: “Now, the conscious spirit lodges in the physical form and depends upon its warmth. Only when life has ended and the body has grown cold may you touch me.” Having said this, he closed his eyes as if in dhyāna. After a long while, upon inspection, they realized that his breath had already ceased. His age was seventy-seven. Before his passing, for three mornings all the trees on the mountain turned white, and a horizontal cloud like a sash cut off the horizon from east to west. Monks and laypeople rushed there to observe the rites of internal mourning. They moved his remains to a mountain cave and seated him as before. Government officials from the prefecture and county and the common people came and assembled like children. On that day, the wind was clear and the weather bright, and white flowers descended, six-petaled, pure and glorious, like snow and like ice; when garments received them, they soon dispersed. Three years later, he remained seated as he had at first. His disciples changed his mat for him, yet his clothing was not stained or soiled in the least. They then proceeded to apply lacquered cloth. The disciples cherished the teaching from the Twin Groves of reclining on the right flank and harbored the song by the two pillars with arms folded behind the back. Thinking that physical representations and images inspire the reverence of sentient beings, and that the light of the Dharma wisdom's reputation is truly a ford for transcending birth, they proceeded to the capital to erect a tall stele. It was fifteen feet high, carved with an image and inscribed with scriptures, alongside an account of his words and deeds. They brought it back to the original temple and assembled the multitude to erect it. Tang Lin, Minister of the Department of Public Revenue, had formerly resided in Wanquan to assist in secular affairs. By nature and conduct wholly devout, he had long paid reverence and taken refuge. Later, while serving in the ministerial department, he constantly cultivated offerings. Mindful of the foundation of virtue, he composed the inscription.