續高僧傳 27.26

27.26

Shi Daoxiu's clan origin is unknown. He resided at Fuyuan Temple in Xinfeng, Yongzhou, and constantly took dhūta practice as his vocation. In a secluded valley of Mount Li south of the temple, he tied grass to make a hut. He would sit for seven days before emerging from his absorption. Holding his bowl and staff, he would leave the mountain to beg for food. Once his rice bowl was full, he would eat wherever he was, and then return to his hut. With seven days as the regular interval, it was never interrupted or abandoned. For this reason, the villagers had faith, and on the appointed day they would go to the mountain, welcoming him at the head of the road. Xiu would laugh merrily, speak first, and inquire after them with humble words, preaching the prohibitions and precepts as he walked, instructing them with compassion. The layfolk would wait until he had finished eating, receive the refuges and precepts from him, escort him to the mountain gate, and only then return. This accumulated for over forty years. In the summer of the third year of the Zhenguan era, he did not emerge on schedule. Going to his hut to look, [they found that] he had passed away with his hands folded across his chest. The assembly thought he had entered absorption and kept vigil by his side overnight. After several nights passed, they approached and examined him, only then realizing that his breath was exhausted. He remained sitting cross-legged without rotting, dignified as if alive. They accordingly closed him in there, adding thorns outside the door for fear that beasts might harm him. At the beginning of winter in the fourth year, I went to pay homage to him. People from north of the mountain had received him back into the village and built a shrine for him, placing his form inside. Although the skin had hardened and the bones were connected, his complexion had not changed, and he remained cross-legged as before; thereupon they applied lacquered cloth over him. Since Xiu left the household, he had always bared [one shoulder in] the three robes, and did not wear silk or silk floss, because it harmed life. Furthermore, the cotton clothes he wore had accumulated over years, become dusty, rotten, and torn into tatters, chilling the heart of anyone who saw him. Once, in the severe winter, he suddenly began to groan and shiver; he immediately took off all three robes and sat with his back bared. The piercing cold was hard to endure, so he took one layer and threw it over himself, whereupon he felt warm. He admonished and exhorted himself, saying: "You are also easily deceived! Before and after, it was equally cold, and it is merely a single garment; how could it be switched and suddenly feel warm? You cannot be trusted; I must be your master." Sometimes, wishing to mend his clothes, he would put pieces of cloth together, but as he was about to stitch them, he would immediately enter absorption; later, when he emerged, he would pack them away and beg for food. In this final age, those who seek the path of karma that exchanges death for life have left few traces like his. I once participated in translations and personally asked various monks from the Western Regions; all of them used cotton or felt for their kāṣāyas, and none used patterned or raw silk. Even if used for other clothing, one was not permitted to formally receive and wear them. In countries such as Kucha and Khotan, where silkworms are presently raised, they intend only to collect the silk floss and do not kill them. Thus we know that Xiu's compassionate rescue shared the same style as Mount Heng [Huisi], which has been broadly explained before; fearing confusion, I mention it again. As for the rest of his garments and possessions, how need they be spoken of?