Shi Mingda, surnamed Kang, was of an ancestry originating from Kangju (Sogdiana). He went forth into homelessness as a young child and strictly maintained the vegetarian fasts. As soon as he received the ten precepts, he guarded the five sensory faculties. When he reached the age for full ordination, his religious practice became all the more austere: his ribs never touched the mat, and he never ate twice in a single day. Outwardly he was strict in ritual deportment, and inwardly he established the causes for the Way; cherishing the salvation of many, his duty lay in wandering through the lands. In the early Tianjian era of the Liang dynasty, he arrived from the western borderlands at Yibu. At that time, the Man and Yi barbarians of the Ba Gorges were marching aggressively to raid and plunder, and the prefectures and commanderies raised troops, setting a date to exterminate them. Pitying the suffering they were about to endure and harboring the resolve to rescue them, Mingda went alone to the bandits, ascended their stronghold, and comforted and exhorted them to induce their submission. Before their sentiments were pacified, suddenly wind and rain turned the sky pitch-black, and thunderbolts crashed and shook. The band of bandits was terrified and, filled with sorrow, begged for mercy. Mingda then instructed them to prepare a thousand lamps and pray with sincerity to the Triratna. As soon as the preparations were completed, the dark haze immediately cleared; the mountains and marshes exchanged their vapors, and heaven and earth became bright and clear. Unanimously turning toward the state, they all submitted to the royal transformation. Carrying their children on their backs, pushing through the thickets, and wearing otter-skin caps, those who hastened forward filled the marshes in their bands. Thus, the river routes were cleared of danger, and travelers came and went without hindrance. Without deploying military might, ten thousand leagues were rendered peaceful: this was due to Mingda's power. Later, while traveling through Wenzhong, he encountered someone on the road who had bound a piglet to the ground. The creature uttered human speech, saying, 'I pray the supreme sage will save me!' Mingda immediately unfastened his garments, ransomed it, and set it free. Once, in the middle of the night, he asked for water to wash his feet. His disciple did as told, but the mud would not come off. Washing them again with hot water, it still would not come off as before. Mingda then poured water over them himself, and his feet immediately became clean. Mingda said, 'This was fish grease.' No one could ever fathom where it had come from. When he reached Mount Niutou in Zizhou, he wished to construct a stupa and a vihāra. Without inquiring about timber or stone, he directly sought craftsmen; both monastics and laity were puzzled by his words. At that time, in the second month, the waters were dried up, so he went down to seek water and found a long timber in the water that was perfectly suitable for a central pillar, its length matching the right measure. Everyone was delighted and hauled it up to erect it. When the fourth month arrived, the Fu River flooded massively, and drifting timber covered the river. They grounded themselves along the village shores without a single one drifting away. Mingda led both monastics and laity to salvage them all; piled up crisscross like mountains, they founded and built halls and erected a nine-story stupa. People far and near combined their efforts to build it all at once; the labor took less than a season and was abruptly completed. Mingda personally wore the three robes, all of coarse cloth; when torn, he mended them, making no changes through cold or heat. At times, while sitting in dhyāna on a corded chair, a blazing fire suddenly erupted; the assembly rushed to extinguish it, but he felt only coolness. There was a śramaṇa named Sengjiu who had suffered for a long time from paralysis and lameness, who came to beg him for a cure. Mingda handed him a staff and told him to walk; before the shadow of the sun shifted, he returned at a brisk pace. Such manifestations of his secret virtue and overt rescue were of unfathomable efficacy, and cases like this were exceedingly numerous. Furthermore, during the poṣadha, he would sit before the assembly. There was a thief who dug through the wall and carried off goods, but once outside, he became disoriented and confused about directions, and ended up returning to the monastery; Mingda then admonished him and sent him away. Therefore, Mingda's transformative influence spread through Chu and Shu, and people submitted to his virtue like grass bending before the wind. Thus, among the displaced commoners of the Three Shu, those who held incense burners to request offerings, those who scattered flowers or spread garments, those who abandoned secular life to return to repentance, and those who shaved their hair to follow the Dharma were, counted by days and years, beyond reckoning. In the fifteenth year of the Tianjian era, when Prince of Shixing of the Sui returned to Jingzhou, Mingda passed away in the twelfth month of winter in Jiangling at the age of fifty-five. Mingda was eight feet tall, of magnificent appearance and bearing. He extensively propagated the disciplinary precepts as well as lecturing and chanting. Occasionally, he would recite secular books to awaken confused minds, clarifying sins and blessings without having to seek them repeatedly. Therefore, his biography has been compiled here in summary.

29.16

Śramaṇa Sengming, whose lay surname was Jiang, was a native of the interior of Fuzhou. Having taken up residence in the mountains, his disposition was pure and simple. His speech was plain and artless, and he was not suited to expounding on awakenings; yet he was able to uphold the prohibitions and cultivate himself, never conforming to base worldly ways. Although he was not versed in the scriptures and treatises, his conduct and integrity were upright and firm, earning him renown among the secular world of his time. Once, while roaming among the hamlets and traveling back and forth through the mountain valleys, he saw an anomalous light appearing repeatedly on a steep bank. Wondering at it, he investigated, searching high and low, whereupon he found a stone pedestal at the bottom of a ravine. Its form was tall and massive. Looking from afar toward the side of the bank, a recumbent stone resembled an image, halfway exposed outside. Thereupon, he applied labor to excavate it, and it turned out to be a complete image. Its shape was identical to the physical marks of a Buddha, purely resembling iron ore; without having been chiseled or carved, it was perfectly and completely formed, standing over thirty feet tall. At that time, Emperor Wu of the Zhou had already died, and Tianyuan had succeeded to the calendar. Ming’s courage surged, and he did not fear harsh punishment. He inquired of the elders, but none knew where it came from. That ground had long been an overgrown thicket and had never been the site of a temple. Ming reflected to himself: “This must be a relic image of King Aśoka scattered in the human world, and its appearing here must be for a reason!” He immediately summoned people from all directions to drag and hoist it together; but when their strength was exhausted, they achieved no result at all. Ming then held a censer and vowed: “If the Buddha-dharma is to flourish once more and the common folk are to have something to rely upon, we pray that it display its numinous power and fulfill our wish!” No sooner had he spoken than the image suddenly lifted lightly, came straight down from the mountain, and went right to the socket of the pedestal; without relying on any support, it stood loftily erect. The multitude cried out in wonder at this unprecedented event. A memorial was subsequently submitted to report it to the throne, and the emperor regarded it as an auspicious omen, accordingly changing the reign era to Daxiang (“Great Image”). From then on, Buddhism gradually spread, which was due to Ming’s efforts. Soon after, an imperial edict was issued designating his dwelling as Daxiang Temple, which is today’s Xianji Temple, located more than sixty li southwest of Fangzhou. Whenever it was dark and overcast, it emitted a divine light. Ming was re-ordained as a monk and resided at this temple, cultivating and making offerings to it for the rest of his life, greatly moving the minds of beings. In the middle of the Kaihuang reign, he died at that temple. I consider that when it comes to the arising of meritorious fortune, matters have their opportune moments; when rare marvels are resonantly manifested, their signs become increasingly prominent. I shall briefly cite a few to open up the divine principle. Take, for instance, the auspicious image of the Crown Prince in Contemplation at Wu Temple in Xuzhou. Formerly, during the Eastern Jin, the śramaṇa Faxian, maintaining strict discipline, traveled to the Western Heavens to tour and observe sacred sites. He went to lodge at a temple, where both young and old welcomed him. At that time, Faxian fell ill and longed for the food of his native land. The host sthavira attended to the arrangements personally and ordered a novice to fetch a vegetarian meal from Faxian’s native region. In an instant, the novice went and returned. There were bloody sores on his feet, and he said that he had gone to the house of Wu Cangying in Pengcheng to beg for food and had been bitten by a dog. Faxian marveled that in the span of a single turn he could roam ten thousand li away, and only then realized that the monks of the temple were no ordinary men. When he returned by ship, he deliberately went to Pengcheng to visit Wu Cangying and learned the full circumstances: the blood remaining from where the dog had bitten, smeared on the gate, was still there. Faxian said: “This is the blood of an arhat, a holy monk! When he came to fetch food for me, how could I have expected the dog would harm him?” Hearing this, Cangying repented his fault, immediately renounced his residence to make it a temple, and went in person to the capital Yangdu to broadly seek out scriptures and images. Just as he was crossing the Great River, the boat began to capsize. Suddenly, two bones, each ten feet long, billowed with the waves and abruptly entered the boat. Thereupon, they obtained a smooth current, came ashore, and reported the matter to the throne. The officials examined them and found they were dragon teeth. Cangying had not yet obtained an image, so he went upriver to the west. Resting for a while in a forest, he met a brāhmaṇa monk walking along carrying an image, who said he was going to Xuzhou to give it to Wu Cangying for veneration. Cangying said: “If it is truly as your reverence says, this disciple is he!” The monk then handed the image to him. Cangying brought the image back to the capital. An imperial edict ordered it to be replicated, and ten figures were made in all, each having characters inscribed under the feet, so that the new and old could not be distinguished, leaving it to Cangying to pick it out. The image again appeared in a dream, showing its origin; precisely when Cangying went to take it, he retrieved the original image. He then returned to Xuzhou, where there were frequent divine wonders. Emperor Xiaowen of the Northern Wei requested that it be brought into the Northern Platform. The Latter Ruler of the Northern Qi sent the emissary Chang Biaozi to welcome it back to Ye. When the Qi fell and the Zhou proscribed Buddhism, it was hidden away by monks. When the Great Sui inaugurated its teaching, it flourished once again in the world. It is now at Daci Temple in Ye County, Xiangzhou. Furthermore, regarding the stone shadow-image at Chongyi Temple in the capital: its form is one foot tall and about six inches in diameter; it has eight facets and a purple color, shining through from inside out. Its origin was in the Taiqing reign of Emperor Wu of the Liang, when an Indian monk brought it to present to the emperor. Meeting with the rebellion of Hou Jing, it was placed atop the head of the Great Image at Xilin Temple on Mount Lu in Jiangzhou. By the tenth year of the Kaihuang reign, Emperor Yang was stationed over the rivers and seas; he broadly searched for outstanding wonders and entrusted the collation of literature and records [to his officials]. In a miscellaneous biography, they found a record of the shadow-image, and he immediately dispatched the palace emissary Wang Yanshou to go to the mountain to search for and obtain it. The king personally and devoutly venerated it, making offerings in the inner quarters. Throughout his successive appointments in the regional domains, whenever he traveled, it was carried in a box leading the way before him, never left behind at rest. When he ascended to the position of Crown Prince, he sent it to Riyan Temple at Quchi, not allowing outsiders to view it. In the seventh year of the Wude reign, that temple was dissolved into Chongyi Temple, and the image accompanied the monks there; both monastics and laity in the capital were fully able to gaze upon and venerate it. The transformations and manifestations within it were difficult to measure: sometimes the shapes and forms of Buddha stupas, sometimes sages, devas, and humans; sometimes mountains, forests, curtains, and canopies; sometimes the suffering destinies of the three paths. Sometimes what was seen before and after was identical; sometimes it shifted and changed in an instant. All these were witnessed with their own eyes and described; truly it was a mirror of karma and no falsehood. In the sixth year of the Zhenguan reign, an imperial edict summoned it into the palace, and it was cut off from the outside world. Furthermore, as for the sixteen-foot auspicious image of Amitāyus at Jinxiang Temple in Xiangyang of the Liang: on the eighth day of the second month in the third year of the Ningkang reign of Emperor Xiaowu of the Eastern Jin, it was crafted by the śramaṇa Shi Dao’an. In the last month of winter the following year, its decoration was completed. When the regional inspector Xi Hui first arrived to govern this region, the image walked to Wanshan. Hui led the monastics and laity to welcome it back to its original temple. Again, that night, it went out and stood at the temple gate; the entire region marvelled together, and the matter was reported in full to the throne. In the third year of the Putong reign of the Liang, an imperial decree ordered a gilded bronze lotus pedestal, six feet high and ten feet wide, to be cast in the Jianxing Park and sent up to support its feet. A stele was erected in praise of it, with an inscription composed by Liu Xiaoyi. Furthermore, regarding the auspicious image at Changsha Temple in Jingzhou: in the Taiyuan reign of the Jin, this image appeared north of the city; its light and marks were extraordinary, fully recorded as in the previous biography. Its form was exceedingly magnificent, over seven feet tall. Formerly, when it was walking at night, people thought it was an uncanny entity and struck it with a knife; when morning came and they went to look, it was a golden image, and the spot struck by the knife showed a mark on the outside. Emperor Gao of the Liang revered the Dharma and wished to pay homage to it in person, but though he applied material effort, he could not bring it about. Later, he sent a palace attendant bearing copious incense and offerings with sincere devotion; once he arrived, the image suddenly emitted light at night, seeming to accompany the emissary. When they welcomed it the next morning, it was hindered again; only after they exhausted their supplications did it permit compliance. Eighteen li from the capital, the emperor came out in person to welcome it; all along the road, it emitted continuous light without interruption. Both monastics and laity rejoiced. It was venerated in the palace, and after three days, it was sent from the Datong Gate to Tongtai Temple. Later, when the temple was burned by fire, the halls and pagodas were all destroyed, but the image alone stood lofty and preserved in the hall. Furthermore, regarding the auspicious Guanyin image of Dingzhou under the Northern Qi, and the Gaowang Sūtra: formerly, in the Tianping reign of the Northern Wei, Sun Jingde, a recruit in Dingzhou, crafted a Guanyin image at his defense post. When his term was completed and he returned, he always paid reverent homage to it. Later, implicated by bandits, he was imprisoned in the capital jail. Unable to bear the flogging and torture, he falsely confessed to the crime and was sentenced to capital punishment. On the eve of his execution, his mind was so stricken that his tears fell like rain. He then made a vow: “Now that I suffer this wrongful cruelty, it must be because I wronged others in past lives; I wish to pay off this debt completely. Furthermore, whatever unexpected disasters all sentient beings face, may this disciple bear them on their behalf!” Having spoken, after a short while, he seemed to fall asleep, dreaming of a śramaṇa who taught him to recite the Guanshiyin Scripture on Saving Lives. The scripture contained the names of Buddhas, and he was told that reciting it a thousand times would free him from the peril of death. Once Jingde awoke, he recalled the scripture from his dream without the slightest error. By daybreak, he had already completed a hundred recitations. The officials bound him and led him to the marketplace; he recited as he walked, and just as the punishment was about to be executed, he completed a thousand recitations. The blade was brought down to strike, but it broke into three pieces; three times they changed the blade, yet his skin and flesh were unharmed. Wondering at this, they reported it to the throne. Prime Minister Gao Huan submitted a memorial requesting his exemption from punishment, and subsequently ordered that it be copied and circulated throughout the world; this is what is now known as the Gaowang Guanshiyin [Sūtra]. After Jingde was released and returned, he observed the neck of the image he had crafted while on defense duty: there were three knife marks on it. Deeply moved with sorrow and gratitude, his weeping stirred his home village. Furthermore, formerly, the sixteen-foot golden image of Xiangyang made by Dao’an, having passed through the Jin, Song, Qi, and Liang dynasties, frequently displayed numinous signs, as heard in earlier records. When Emperor Wu of the Zhou destroyed the Dharma, in the third year of Jiande, the jiawu year, the Duke of Taiyuan, Wang Bing, served as the deputy defense general of Jingzhou. The Upper Pillar of State Zhangsun Zhe was vicious and obstinate by nature and did not believe in the Buddha-dharma; hearing of this image, he wished to destroy it first. The gentlemen and women of the city, along with the defrocked monks and nuns, hid their tears in grief, having no way to stop him. Seeing their utmost reverence, Zhe’s wrath flared even more; he drove away the attendants and quickly ordered its destruction. He had over a hundred men tie a rope around its neck and pull it, but it did not move. Zhe thought they were not exerting strength, so he caned the supervisors a hundred strokes each; they pulled as before, but it clanged and stood firmer still. Advancing three hundred men, it still did not move. Zhe’s anger grew even fiercer; adding five hundred more men, only then was it pulled down. The sound shook the earth, and everyone trembled with fear. Zhe alone rejoiced in his bravado, immediately ordering it to be melted down and destroyed, with no shame or fear whatsoever. He then rode his horse to report to the regional inspector, but after only about a hundred paces, he collapsed heavily to the ground, lost his voice, stared blankly, and his four limbs failed him; by nightfall he died. Monastics and laity cheered. When the image was being destroyed, an inscription was found inside the inverted hanging folds of its robe under the armpit: “In the nineteenth year of the Taiyuan reign of the Jin, the jiawu year, the bhikṣu Dao’an crafted an eighteen-foot golden image in the western suburbs of Xiangyang. After three cycles of jiawu, one hundred and eighty years later, this image shall be destroyed.” Calculating the years and months, its flourishing and destruction were in exact accord. One truly knows that when the Hand-sealed Sage established this bodily form, it moved and stirred the hearts of beings; the timing of its arising and passing away was difficult to alter in worldly phenomena, so how could the workings of karmic principle be in vain? Furthermore, regarding the auspicious Aśoka image at Changgan Temple in Yangdu: its halo, pedestal, and bodily marks were all resonant with auspicious omens, revered and respected in common by the monarchs of five dynasties, fully recorded as in the previous biography. Whenever there was a year of severe drought, they would invite the image into the palace; it would invariably ride in the imperial carriage covered with an oilcloth mantle, and the monastic assembly would follow the image, sheltering themselves with parasols. Although the blazing sun initially scorched the entire sky, once the image departed on its way, torrential rain never failed to pour down. As this was a blessing for both family and state, upon which bountiful harvests depended, monastics and laity constantly watched the weather for rain. By the Zhenming reign of the Chen dynasty, the image’s face turned west. The hall overseer on duty for the month turned it back facing south several times, but by morning it was facing west as before. The matter was reported in full to the throne, and an imperial decree invited it to the Taiji Hall to conduct a vegetarian feast and circumambulate the Dharma. Previously, there was a seven-jewel crown upon the image’s head, adorned with pearls and jades weighing about a hundred catties, on top of which was added a brocade cap. Passing the night until dawn, the jeweled crown was hanging from the image’s hand, while the brocade cap remained on its head. When the emperor heard this, he burned incense and prayed: “If indeed there is misfortune in the state, let the crown be removed again.” He then placed the crown on its head, but when the next morning came, it had been removed and hung as before. High and low were alike terrified, none able to fathom the omen. When the Sui destroyed the Chen and accepted their surrender, the entire court bared their heads and had their hands tied behind their backs toward the capital’s palace, only then understanding its import. Later, Emperor Wen learned of this and sent for it to be welcomed into the imperial palace for veneration. Because the image was standing, the emperor constantly attended upon it and did not dare sit opposite it; he then issued an edict: “We are aged and cannot stand for long attending upon the Buddha. Let the officials craft a seated image, its form modeled after the original Aśoka image, and send it to Xingshan Temple.” When it reached this temple, its appearance was grand and imposing, not meeting the immediate capacity [of the space], so it was placed on the north side. By morning, they saw the image was on the south side at the middle gate. The multitude all marveled at it, and returned it to the north side, firmly locking the doors. Looking again the next morning, the image was back on the south side. All were ashamed and remorseful, apologizing for their slight. It is currently at the temple, and paintings of it are numerous. Furthermore, Emperor Gaozu of the Liang deeply revered the monastic community and rejoiced in honoring numinous images, crafting two life-sized images in gold and silver, which he worshipped morning and evening in the Chongyun Hall; for about fifty years, this was never neglected. Even when Hou Jing usurped power, offerings were still made to them. When Grand Defender Wang Sengbian executed Jing south of the river, and Emperor Yuan’s court at Zhugong fell, Sengbian communicated his allegiance to the Qi, welcoming the Marquis of Zhenyang as emperor. At that time, Jiangzuo was not yet pacified, with various interests contending for dominance. Sengbian’s son-in-law Du Kan was in charge of guarding the palace; by nature he was violent and aggressive, having no regard for future lives, and wished to destroy the two images to make gold and silver ingots. He first sent dozens of men up to the Sanxiu Pavilion, ordering them to chisel the Buddhas’ necks. Suddenly, the two images simultaneously turned their heads around; the men sent lost their voices as if drunk and could not control themselves. Du Kan was then beaten and struck; his entire body was bruised and swollen, and he saw only terrifying forms of vajra-warriors coming in competition to strike him without rest. Groaning and howling for several days, he rotted away and died. When the Liang mandate passed to the Chen, Emperor Wu passed away, and his nephew Chen Qian succeeded to the imperial throne. As he was preparing the funerary gear to build the wenliang carriage, the state was newly established and had no leisure to start from scratch; an imperial order was issued to take the Buddha images, jeweled canopies, and jade ornamentations in the Chongyun Hall to use for the funeral. Since manpower was abundant, they converged from all four sides simultaneously; yet they saw only dense clouds gathering and surrounding the Buddha hall, while outside all other directions the daylight was clear and bright. Hearing of this wonder, the hundred artisans gathered together to look; in an instant, torrential rain poured down, thunder and lightning roared, smoke spread from the chiwen roof ornaments, and fierce fire raged amidst the clouds, streaming light and spreading flames intertwining high and low. They all saw the reflection of the Chongyun Hall and the two images standing erect, with the divine kings of the four classes and the canopied pedestals all soaring upward together, whisked far away borne by smoke and fire. The onlookers throughout the capital all gave rise to deep faith. After the rain cleared, they returned to examine the former site, finding only the pillar bases remaining. More than a month later, someone came from the eastern provinces and said that on that same day, they had seen the reflection of the hall flying eastward toward the sea; today, those who gaze out over the sea still occasionally see it. Recently, during the Northern Qi, the śramaṇa Senghu, who guarded the Way with a straightforward mind and did not seek intellectual wisdom, vowed to craft an eighteen-foot stone image; everyone marveled at his words. Later, in the valley north of the temple, he found a recumbent stone about eighteen feet long, and hired artisans to work on it. Approaching a full year, the face and belly were roughly completed, but its back was on the ground. When they tried to pry and lift it with six sets of levers, it remained unmoved as before. Overnight until morning, it suddenly turned over on its own. They then proceeded to finish it and move it to the Buddha hall. On the day Jinzhou fell, the image sweated profusely onto the ground. When the Zhou troops entered Qi and burned down the Buddhist temples, this image alone did not change color. Again, they wished to pull it down, but over sixty men and oxen pulling could not move it. Suddenly, an extraordinary monk piled tiles, wood, and unburnt bricks around it, finishing in an instant; then the monk’s whereabouts were lost. Later, the image appeared in a dream to a believer, saying: “I suffer from finger pain.” The man awoke and examined it, and indeed two of its fingers were damaged by wood; he immediately repaired them. In the tenth year of the Kaihuang reign, when someone stole the banners and canopies of the image, he dreamed of an eighteen-foot person entering the room to reprimand him; the thief was ashamed and terrified, and repented with an apology. The image is extant today, recorded both in the Record of Manifested Wonders and in various monastic catalogs. Thus, such resonant responses fully demonstrate the Buddhist teachings; wherever there is a portal of merit, there is none without numinous resonance. I humbly observe that images avoid being consumed by flames, beasts startle heterodox paths, shadows overshadow foreign arts, and scriptures remain unburned in fires; the emission of divine light from numinous bones, and the flourishing protection by Guhyapada—such manifestations are grand indeed, fully recorded in earlier accounts! As for the mother of a disciple of Master Huiguang of Anyang Temple in Liangzhou in the fifth year of the Zhenguan reign: being impoverished and lacking inner garments, she entered her son’s room, took an old kaṣāya, refashioned it, and wore it. While gathering, talking, and laughing with neighboring mothers, she suddenly felt heat in her feet, which gradually rose to her waist. In an instant, a thunderclap threw the neighboring mothers a hundred paces away; with mud in their ears, they remained unconscious for a day before reviving. The one who had used the robe was struck dead by thunder, burned and shriveled by fire, with writing on her back that read: “Due to using a Dharma robe contrary to the Dharma.” When her son went to bury her, she was struck out by thunder twice more; only after her bones were exposed in the forest did they finally dissolve away. From this one knows that upholding the Dharma robe brings benefit even to the dragons who took the three refuges; truly this is no falsehood! Recently, there was a mountain-dwelling monk who spent the night in a deep cavern, using his robe to screen the front. He moved an extraordinary spirit to come, exceedingly terrifying in form, who reached in its arm to seize the sleeper, but fearing contact with the kaṣāya, was obstructed and could not enter, allowing the monk to escape unharmed. Such various manifestations cannot be recorded in full, as in the numerous examples above and below.

29.17

Śramaṇa Huida. His surname was Wang, and his family was from Xiangyang. In his youth he entered the Way, making temple repair and construction his dedicated pursuit. Whether ascending mountains and overlooking waters, or traveling through villages and towns, wherever there was a scenic landscape, he would set his mind on building a temple or hall there, or repair dilapidated and abandoned ones to serve as dwellings for the Buddhist monastic community. Later he resided at Pubu Temple on Mount Tiantai, cultivating meditation and tying his mind to karmic practice. He also traveled north to Mount Wudang, gathering his mind in quietude as before. During the Chen dynasty, a great epidemic broke out, and more than half of the common people perished. Da internally aroused compassionate giving, establishing a great medicine dispensary in the grand market of the Yang capital [Jiankang], providing to whoever was in need, bringing ever more relief. The various temples of Jinling numbered over seven hundred; as months and years went by, they were nearly all decayed and ruined. Da encouraged and exhorted the repair of more than three hundred of them, all polished, decorated, magnificent, and spacious, surpassing their ordinary standard. During the Renshou reign-period [of the Sui], he built a seven-story wooden pagoda at Baita Temple in Yangzhou. Once the timber and stones were fully provided, he entrusted the subsequent construction to others. He then traveled up the Yangzi River westward, reaching various commanderies such as Poyang and Yuzhang, inspecting merit-making activities, vowing to share these causes of fortune with all sentient beings. Therefore, in whatever administrative territories he arrived, whenever he saw wards, temples, meditation buildings, efficacious pagodas, or divine images—regardless of whether they were of metal, wood, clay, or stone—he would promptly lead their transformation and construction, the instances of which were not few. In his later years, he was invited by Śramaṇa Huiyun to ascend Mount Lu and build Xilin Temple, erecting a two-story pavilion of seven bays with layered brackets and capitals, shining radiantly against the mountain contours. On the first day of construction, he vowed to use yellow nanmu wood. Throughout the entire region it was searched for, but not a single tree was found. All wished to switch to other timber. Da said: 'My sincere mind is fixed on this; how could we seek anything else? It is only that perfect sincerity has not yet moved [heaven], which is why our search has not succeeded. If our minds are firmly resolved, pine and cypress will all turn into nanmu. If we cannot obtain it, the day will never come when the pavilion is completed.' Fearful of his words, the assembly went out in all directions to search, and within the territory at Mount Xiachao, their sincerity elicited a valley entirely of yellow nanmu. However, it was deep within a remote ravine with no way to bring it out. While inspecting the cliffs and walls, Da suddenly saw a place shining with bright light; peering in, he saw a path through which the timber could pass, measuring only five feet or so, flanked by sheer cliffs. They then hauled and dragged the timber and stones to the head of the river. En route, at rapids and whirlpools, the bamboo rafts were all smashed, yet upon arriving at Mount Lu, not a single log was lost. The pavilion was thus completed, grandly surpassing earlier structures. Later, it suddenly tilted three feet toward the south. The craftsmen devised plans to straighten it, but had no method. There was a Shimen Ravine facing the south of the pavilion; suddenly a fierce wind blew northward and straightened it back. It still stands today. In his later years, he went to Changsha to cast bells and make statues; wherever he arrived, people followed him like grass bending before the wind. Those who depleted their gold and treasures in offerings were fearful and anxious lest he not accept them. Da followed his natural disposition and spoke truth, with no ornate embellishment. Citing sūtras and drawing analogies, he earnestly encouraged people's sentiments. Yet his appearance and clothing were so ragged and coarse as to be almost unsightly. Externally he managed bustling and numerous affairs, while internally he gathered quietude in principle. To onlookers he seemed reserved and taciturn, as though unable to speak, yet when he directed and gave instructions, compliance was achieved immediately. Such was his ability to abide in turmoil without being perturbed—truly he was such a man! Furthermore, when the Xilin pavilion was finished, the venerated statues were still lacking; he traveled along the river again, commissioning, repairing, and fully providing for them, so that the entire pavilion was complete, all through Da's effort. On the final day of the seventh month in the sixth year of the Daye reign-period [610 CE], his former illness suddenly worsened. For seven days he reclined against a support; an extraordinary fragrance entered the room, swirling like clouds. Inside the pavilion, the images all began to sweat, moisture dripping to the ground. Seeing this auspicious sign, the assembly knew that Da was about to die. Officials examined it and reported all the details to the throne. Da's mind was as composed as usual; having entrusted the remaining affairs, he suddenly passed away. He was eighty-seven years old.

29.18

Śramaṇa Shenghuang. His surname was Feng, and he was a native of Nanchang in Fucheng of Mianzhou. He stood eight feet tall, with a magnificent countenance and appearance. His dignified manner was orderly and reverent, and his movements conformed to rule and measure. With eagle-like eyes, a tiger's frame, the walk of a wild goose, and the stride of an elephant, his voice was powerful and resonant, and his aspirations were vast and far-reaching. In administrative monastic duties he served as a pillar and foundation; hence, the leaders across Min and Ba all deferred to and respected him. In his earlier years, when his mind was set on learning, his literary talent was broad and proficient, and he enjoyed a shared reputation at the time. He once dreamed that he held the sun and moon in his hands and sat in the void; he then had an awakening, grew weary of worldly life, and longed to leave householder life, privately taking for himself the name Shenghuang. His parents did not permit it; they placed irons on both his feet and tied him firmly to a house pillar. His determination was absolute, and he vowed not to change his mind. Before morning turned to evening, the shackles unlocked of their own accord. He then sighed and said: 'Where the will reaches, mountains and peaks turn for it; rivers and streams are severed for it; city walls and terraces crumble for it; oceans and seas dry up for it; the sun and moon dim their light for it; Mount Sumeru collapses for it; the stars and constellations alter their courses for it; and auspicious trees conceal and break themselves for it. How much less can metal, wood, and shackles be worth speaking of!' Seeing this unseen resonance, his parents allowed him to follow the transformation of the Way. He left household life and pursued his studies under Dharmabhāṇaka Tuan, learning both the Mahāyāna and the Hīnayāna, untiring day and night. At that time, at the end of the Liang and the beginning of the Zhou, the Buddhadharma was disordered and lax; conduct was mostly superficial and slack, and the Vinaya was regarded as convoluted and absurd. Before Huang received the full precepts, he had already surpassed ordinary standards, being capable of rigorous asceticism from youth and naturally restrained; in the end, his character was not merely shaped by teachers and friends. The assembly all admired his spiritual bearing and secretly held him in high esteem. After ascending the precept platform, he focused exclusively on the Sarvāstivāda Vinaya. After several years of laborious effort, his insight was bright and his mastery thorough; he probed its subtleties and mastered its depths, possessing a dignified and admirable presence. After the Baoding reign-period of the Zhou [561–565 CE], he pursued further studies in Chang'an, advancing into the Mahāsāṃghika Vinaya and investigating its obscure meanings; whenever there was a difficulty, he invariably examined it, and wherever there was a knot, he could unravel it. He also received the mind-dharma from Dhyāna Master Tanxiang, whereby his cultivation of the path of contemplation, being round and pure, was all the more unfolded. He also cultivated the Vaipulya circumambulation under Dhyāna Master Kai, penetrating it deeply so that none among his contemporaries could rival him. From this time on, few [of his teachings] were transmitted, because he engaged extensively in meritorious works and toiled in conditioned activities; for this reason, his teachings remained hidden and fallen, and were not celebrated by the world. Soon, his virtue was praised far and wide, and his fame reached the imperial court. Emperor Wu issued an edict inviting him to the Mingde Hall; his discourse was elucidating and expansive, fully meeting the imperial wish. He was then granted the title of Master of the Tripiṭaka of his home prefecture. When the Great Sui established its mandate, he was personally entrusted with the office of Rectifier of Monks (Sengzheng) to oversee his native region. Firm, decisive, upright, and just, his rewards and punishments were strict and equitable; Mianzhou and Yizhou admired his style, and high and low alike complied. Over ten successive prefectural administrators all received the fragrance of precepts, cutting off evil and doing good. In the fifteenth year of the Kaihuang reign-period [595 CE], he also established a group of dhūta practitioners within the temple, exempting them from monastic duties in order to guide the lax. From the Renshou reign-period [601–604 CE] onward, he again led the temple assembly to collaboratively turn [and recite] the entire canon of sūtras, cycling through repeatedly without ever ceasing. Provisions, offerings, and donations all derived from lay connections, all guided and instructed by Huang. Therefore, the karmic rewards that arrived were inexhaustible like a spring. Monastic affairs flourished, and contemporaries praised him. In the beginning of the winter of the Wude reign-period, he died at Zhenxiang Temple, where he resided, at the age of eighty-five. Prior to his passing, the lotus pond before the Buddha hall naturally dried up; the benevolent bamboos beside the pond withered and died without cause; and the roses inside the temple blossomed out of season, flourishing as if in the summer months. The assembly considered that these two omens of flourishing and withering could not be without relation to sentiments of arising and ceasing, and because his virtue was extraordinary, they were the anticipated spiritual responses.

29.19

Śramaṇa Zhili. His surname was Chu, and he was a native of Yangdi in Henan. Fleeing hardship to Qiantang County in Wu Commandery, he settled there. Having planted superior causes in past lives, he cultivated the practice of wisdom early. Just at the age of eight, he left household life to study the Way; his capacity was dignified and lofty, and with an open mind he received comprehension. The eminence of his reputation was known among both monastics and laity. Emperor Xuan, Emperor Zhongzong of the Chen dynasty, built the Taihuang Temple to the left of the capital city; of supreme grandeur, it exhausted the imperial treasury. He then issued an edict appointing Zhili to oversee exclusively all the artisans; thus he was able to measure, direct, and make its orientation solemn and pure. In the second year of the Zhide reign-period [584 CE], he was further appointed by edict as the abbot of the temple. When the region south of the Yangzi fell and the monastic assembly scattered, he carried his staff and traveled to various regions seeking superior places. Arriving at Jiangdu, he settled his mind at Changle Temple. In the thirteenth year of the Kaihuang reign-period of the Sui [593 CE], he built a five-story pagoda whose golden disks shone brightly, towering and lofty, looked up to with reverence far and wide. In the seventeenth year [597 CE], when Emperor Yang, then Prince of Jin, governed the coastal region again, he entrusted Li with the responsibilities of the temple on account of his achievements in construction. Earlier, Emperor Wu of the Liang had obtained a statue of King Udayana whose divine marvels were difficult to record, which was housed at Longguang Temple in Danyang. When the Chen state fell and the place of practice was burned, Li received this venerated image, as well as the statue of Dīpaṃkara obtained by Wang Mi, and invited them both to Changle Temple, making offerings with body and mind. However, the halls were cramped and lacked full ornamentation. He therefore proselytized the four assemblies, princes, dukes, and commoners, to build a tall pavilion flanked by two secondary towers. The temple assembly of more than three hundred monks, great and small, all rejoiced and gave, fulfilling their vow to construct it. Li then encouraged and led more than two hundred fellow monks to go together to Yuzhang to clear mountains and fell trees. The manpower being abundant, the designs he indicated subtly captured every sentiment. That very year it was completed, its design and arrangement exceedingly splendid; Li's strength seemed like divine craftsmanship, and its majestic, elevated presence stood supreme throughout the realm. In the fourth year of the Daye reign-period [608 CE], he also constructed monastic quarters on all four sides, with corridors, dining halls, kitchens, and storehouses fully provided, so that the assembly was continuously sustained without cause for interruption. He went twice to the imperial capital, where he was bestowed profound imperial favor and rites; upon returning to Jiangdu, he again received imperial edicts of comfort. In the tenth year of the Daye reign-period [614 CE], he exhausted his own personal resources to replicate the auspicious image along with two bodhisattvas using sandalwood; they were completed shortly after and installed together inside the pavilion. By the fourteenth year [618 CE], the Sui house fell into ruin and chaos; monastics and laypeople were displaced, and corpses were strewn like withered wood across the streets and markets. Li vowed to guard the halls and pavilion with his life; foxes and hares inhabited the temple, and he regarded his own shadow as his companion, drinking water and eating beans, passing through two winters and summers. Though advanced in years and toothless, his resolve grew all the firmer. As the mud plaster peeled off and fires raged on all sides, he did not cease his chanting, and repaired things with his own hands. Bandits wept, and all who saw him sighed with sorrow; often they transformed their hearts and helped him in making repairs. When the August Tang received the mandate and widely proclaimed the Great Dharma, the former monks and remaining assembly all returned to him; though the city dwellings had been burned, this temple alone survived. In the sixth year of the Wude reign-period [623 CE], the rebel leader south of the Yangzi, Fu Gongyou, relied on natural barriers and gathered weapons, secretly plotting rebellion; all temples and shrines were dismantled and sent south of the Yangzi. Li submitted letters twice requesting to burn his own body before the pavilion so that the temple buildings might be spared. You claimed a bogus title and honored appellation, his mind set on destruction; though he received the letter, he disregarded it entirely. Li said to his disciples: 'For countless kalpas I have accumulated habits of craving and love, unable to cast aside body and life to repay the debt to the Dharma. Now I wish to bring an end to my life before the Buddha, resolute, unable to bear seeing the image cross the river. You may gather dry firewood so that I may burn myself as an offering. After I pass away, the statue will surely be moved south; my robes, provisions, and utensils should all be dedicated to the venerated image. Since weeping and donning mourning clothes belong to worldly customs, they should be done away with.' He then bathed in scented water, sat cross-legged facing west, set fire to himself, and passed away atop the heap of charcoal. He was eighty years old at the time, on the eighth day of the tenth month in the sixth year of the Wude reign-period [623 CE]. When his life ended, the fire went out, and his joined palms remained motionless. Adding more firewood for the cremation (jhāpitam), all was transformed at once. Earlier, when Li was burning before the Buddha, a flock of magpies cried mournfully with extreme pathos; they circled to the right seven times before flying away. After his passing, the statue was indeed moved south, but the pavilions, halls, rooms, and corridors were spared from the ashes; the Dharma treasures and monastic assembly were just as in former times. His disciples Hui'an and Zhize, cherishing the gravity of teacher-disciple bonds and the deep affection between nephew and uncle, erected a tall stele within the temple. Yu Shinan, Vice Mentor to the Crown Prince, composed the text. It is said that the statue has now returned to its original pavilion.

29.20

Śramaṇa Zhixing, secular surname Song, was a native of Luozhou. Modest and frugal, he achieved his duties; his disciplined conduct was firm and pure. He recited several tens of fascicles of various sūtras together with thousands of lines of gāthās on the essentials of ritual practice. Mind and mouth taught each other without pause night and day. He resided at Chanding Monastery, now known as Da Zhuangyan Monastery. At first he relied on Vinaya Master Shou, attending his lectures; his power of reflection was limpid and penetrating, and his peers held him in high esteem. When cross-examinations arose in tangled abundance, the blade of his words stood out startlingly; moreover, he could be fluent and skillful without harming logical coherence. In his day he was praised because his practice was free of contention. In the midwinter of the fifth year of the Daye era, it became his turn to serve as karmadāna (weina). At the times when his duty was to ring the bell, he attended to it with diligent reverence, and the community of monks was never disturbed. A monk of the monastery named Sanguo had an elder brother who had followed the Emperor on an imperial tour south to Jiangdu and perished en route. Initially there had been no news of his demise. Suddenly he appeared in a dream to his wife, saying: 'On my journey I reached Pengcheng and unfortunately died of illness. I was reborn in hell and underwent all five sufferings; the agony was indescribable. Who knew of my plight? Thanks to the first day of this month, when Śramaṇa Zhixing of Chanding Monastery struck the bell, its reverberations shook the hells, and all who suffered together were at once liberated. Now reborn in a place of joy, I wish to repay his kindness. You should prepare ten bolts of silk to offer to him, and convey my sentiments.' Startled awake from sleep, she wondered at the origin of this dream. When she spoke of it to others, at first no one believed her. Soon she had the dream again, and various diviners and shamans all gave the same account as before. More than ten days later, the tidings of his death suddenly arrived, matching the dream precisely. Sanguo then offered the silk to him, but Zhixing stated that he had no virtue of his own, and gave it all away to the great assembly. Someone asked Zhixing: 'What cause enabled your striking of the bell to produce such a resonance?' Zhixing said: 'I have no special art. I only saw in the *Fu fazang zhuan* the matter of the sword-wheel halting for King Kaniṣka, as well as the merit of the bell's sound in the *Ekottarāgama*. Reverently following this path, I painstakingly practiced it. Every winter when climbing the bell tower, the cold wind cut into the flesh; the monks offered leather mittens with which to hold the bell mallet, but I resolved to take hold of it with bare hands. In the bitter cold, flesh cracked and blood congealed in my palms, but I never made an excuse of it. Furthermore, at the start of ringing the bell at the various hours, I vow that all holy sages together enter the place of the Way, and only then strike three times. When about to strike continuously, as before I pay reverence, vowing that all beings in the evil destinies who hear this bell sound may simultaneously leave suffering behind. Such vows and practice I have always constantly cultivated in my aspiration. How could it be that mere meager sincerity alone was able to resonate so far?' The assembly was swayed by his words. In the third month of the sixth year of the Zhenguan era, after falling ill for a short while, he knew of his next life. Giving away his belongings and resources, he summoned his masters and companions, taking leave of them thereby. Soon he died at Zhuangyan Monastery at the age of forty-five. He was buried in the caves of Ducheng. His disciple Shanyin revered his master’s precepts and models, lectured on the *Dharmaguptaka Vinaya*, lectured on the *Saddharmapuṇḍarīka Sūtra*, and was renowned in the capital for his profound spiritual merit and wisdom.

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續高僧傳 — 道宣, Classical Chinese