續高僧傳 25.64

25.64

Shi Fashun had the secular surname of Du and was a native of Wannian in Yongzhou. By nature gentle and compliant, he never thought of following evil ways. Bidding farewell to his parents, he undertook frontier garrison duty from afar without fearing hardship and toil. At eighteen, he abandoned secular life and left the household, serving Dhyāna Master Sengzhen of Yinsheng Monastery, under whom he received and maintained the practice of samādhi. Zhen had the secular surname of Wei; in his aspirations he adhered to frugality, and living in the wilds became his second nature. At a hill east of the capital, a place called Matou, the hollowed and layered deep banks were suitable for a sacred cave-dwelling. Zhen initiated the foundations there and encouraged the laypeople to construct it, sitting upright and gesturing to demonstrate its rules. Suddenly there was a dog, of unknown origin, with white feet and a yellow body, naturally gentle and tame. It went straight into the cave, carried out earth in its mouth, and went back and forth for a short while, toiling without tiring. For food it was the same as the monks, not drinking [or eating] past midday. With this marvel, people from all around came like an echo. It was thus reported to the throne, and Emperor Gao of the Sui esteemed him, daily bestowing three sheng of rice for his regular provision. When the niche was completed, he died naturally without illness. This is what is now called Yinsheng Monastery. Shun personally witnessed these matters at that time and took refuge all the more fervently, vigorously helping with the construction and taking the opportunity to request instruction in the teachings. Later, he went to preach and transform in Qingzhou, encouraging the people to host an offering assembly. The offering was restricted to five hundred people, but when it came time for the vegetarian meal, twice as many arrived. The host of the offering became frightened. Shun said, 'There is nothing to fear; just distribute it all around and do not wonder where the offerings come from.' As it turned out, a thousand people were all satisfied. Once there was Zhang Hongchang of Qinghe, whose family kept cattle and horses that were inherently vicious and vile. Everyone suffered from them, and when he tried to sell them, no one would take them. Shun spoke words of loving-kindness to them, and as if they heard and obeyed, thereafter they never butted or bit again. His guiding and inspiring of animals was like this. He often led the assembly to Mount Li to dwell in quietude during the summer retreat. The ground had many insects and ants, so there was no way to plant vegetables. Fearing harm might come to them, Shun went to the ground and gestured to them, ordering the insects to move away. A short while later, going to look, exactly within the marked boundary there was not a single insect. At that time, Shun suffered from an ulcer, and pus burst and flowed outward. Some people out of reverence sucked it with their mouths, or wiped it away with silk cloth. Immediately he was cured, and the remaining pus gave off a fragrance whose wafting aroma was incomparable; even the cloth used for wiping still retained the fragrance without fading. A resident of Sanyuan County, Tian Saduo, had been deaf since birth, and Zhang Su had also been mute since birth. Shun heard of this and summoned them to come, and conversed with them, whereupon they were like normal people, instantly healed forever. A monk of Wugong County was possessed by a poisonous dragon, and the assembly brought him to Shun. Shun sat facing him with folded hands. The dragon then spoke through the ill monk, saying, 'Since the Dhyāna Master has come, by rights I cannot stay long; I have troubled you greatly.' Immediately the monk was relieved. Therefore, all those from near and far afflicted by pestilential mists or demonic lust came to turn to him. Shun used no other techniques, but merely sat facing them. Those who understood considered that he moved them by his hidden virtue; hence the unseen spirits particularly revered him. In setting forth his verbal teachings, he mostly suppressed superficial words and clearly expressed orthodox principles. Sacred trees and spirit shrines were burned and eliminated as soon as he saw them; the altars worshipped by shamans and sorcerers he dismantled himself. Auspicious omens repeatedly appeared, entirely without obstacle. Such was his devotion to orthodoxy. Moreover, his nature was earnest and meticulous, his feelings encompassing universal love. Monks and laypeople, noble and base alike, all invited him, and he treated their inquiries uniformly, harboring no duplicity in his heart. Or if there were those with severe chronic illnesses that were hard to cure, or deep vows not yet fulfilled, he guided them in accord with the occasion, and all universally obtained their heart's desires. At that time, praises and slanders both reached his ears, but he acted as if unaware, turning instead to talk of other things. Once, walking in the southern wilds, he was about to cross the Huangqu Canal. The water was overflowing, so he waded across. The bank was steep and slippery; though he climbed, he kept falling back. The water suddenly ceased its flow, and he was able to cross over dry land. Once Shun reached the bank, the water immediately returned to normal. His disciples witnessed this with their own eyes, without fathoming how it occurred. Because his spiritual resonance reached both the unseen and visible realms, his fame was heard at court and across the realm. Many base fellows took advantage of his wealth and provisions, yet Shun did not involve his words in worldly matters, retaining no attachment at all, letting them make use of things as they pleased. His feelings and aspirations were detached and distant; he wore only coarse and worn garments, never having a spare set. Even when hearing differing opinions, he would still laugh heartily. His non-contention with worldly sentiments was also like this. The present Emperor honored his virtue and admired his spiritual power, ushering him into the inner imperial palace with exalted rites and profound reverence. The Crown Prince, the imperial clansmen, distinguished relatives, and important ministers all turned to him for the disciplinary precepts, none failing to take refuge in his prohibitions. In the fourteenth year of the Zhenguan reign, completely free of illness or pain, he entrusted his affairs to his disciples, commanding that the Dharma he had practiced throughout his life be maintained and applied. When he finished speaking, he sat in dhyāna as usual at Yishan Monastery in the southern suburbs. His age was eighty-four. When he neared the end, a pair of birds flew into the room, crying out in sorrow and grief. He was then sent off while still seated, to the Northern Plain of Fanchuan, where a cave was dug to inter him. The entire capital lamented together, and mourners in funeral attire stretched across the countryside. His flesh did not change color, growing even fresher after a month. He sat peacefully for three weeks, his desiccated skeleton not decomposing. From his demise until now, a strange fragrance has constantly wafted from the place of the corpse. The students and companions, fearing external desecration, deposited him inside a niche. On auspicious days, the fourfold assembly filled the place to attend the offering services. His disciple Zhiyan, whose name was renowned at Zhixiang Monastery, served and revered him from his youth, elegantly adhering to his exceptional standards; his spiritual functioning was refined and transcendent, and his achievements resounded throughout the capital. He regularly lectured on the Huayan and the Shelun; arriving at the niche, he converted and guided the countryside, so that this legacy has never ended.