續高僧傳 6.25

6.25

Shi Huiyue, styled Desu, was surnamed Lou and was a native of Wuchang in Dongyang. For successive generations his ancestors formed an unbroken line of premier clans in the southeast. A geomancer who examined his family grave said: “In a later generation there will surely be one who attains the Way through ascetic practice and becomes a preceptor to emperors and kings.” His mother, Lady Liu, dreamed of a tall man holding a golden statue and bidding her swallow it; she also saw purple light encircling her body. Thereupon she became pregnant, and at once felt her spirit turn bright and keen, and her reasoning clear and perceptive. On the day of his birth, radiant light and fragrance filled the room, and his body was as white as snow. The locals therefore called him Lingcan. By nature his judgment was upright and simple, and his mind calm and settled. Even in the years of sweeping dust [as a toddler], he differed from common boys: he would only gather sand to make stupas, or pile stones to serve as high seats. At seven he asked to enter schooling, whereupon he could recite the Classic of Filial Piety and the Analects; coming to the histories and biographies, he grasped the meaning as soon as he opened the texts. South of his residence was an orchard, which neighbouring children vied to plunder, constantly causing trouble; [Huiyue] simply gave away all he had obtained and returned empty-handed. His home district engaged in sericulture as its livelihood; he constantly felt sorrow and pity for it, and from then on refused to wear silk or floss. His younger uncle was fond of hunting and would not change despite admonition. [Huiyue] often sighed: “Birds and beasts are far removed from human beings, yet they love life and dread death; how does their feeling differ from ours?” He thereupon cut off all meat and pungent food. His uncle then went off to other hamlets to slaughter freely, but dreamed of an envoy in red robes holding a spear and halberd, who said to him: “You kill living beings all day long, and even the bodhisattva’s instruction cannot stop you. Hurry and face death!” He awoke startled and dripping with sweat, and at dawn smashed all his hunting gear, deeply reforming his former faults. When Yue went again to the usual hunting grounds, he saw dozens of elks and deer jumping and lingering as they followed him, as though expressing remorse and gratitude. He lived in a remote and secluded quarter, where he had never seen a monastery; the locals venerated Laozi and the Yellow Emperor and had never heard the Buddha’s Dharma. Yet through past karmic predispositions he had an unseen resonance, and his heart was set on leaving the secular world. Suddenly he met a monk, whom he asked about the supreme teaching; the monk raised his hand, pointed east, and said: “In Shan Buddhist affairs flourish greatly.” Then he vanished, and only then did [Yue] realize he was a divine being. At the age of twelve he first travelled to Shan, paying homage everywhere to stupas and temples and wandering freely among the mountains and rivers; meeting far away with his original aspiration, he investigated the scriptures in great depth. Thus a ballad in the eastern region ran: “The young Lou Upāsaka, / who has mastered the subtle truth.” In the fourth year of the Taishi era of the Song (468), he took leave of his kin and shaved his head at Dongshan Monastery in Shangyu, at the age of seventeen. He served the śramaṇa Huijing of Nanlin Monastery. Jing stood foremost in prestige among the monks of the Song dynasty; he held to the Vinaya discipline in its entirety and was esteemed by the Special Commissioner Yan Yannian and the Minister of Works He Shangzhi. [Yue] also followed Jing to reside at Fanju Monastery in Shan, attending upon him with diligent care for over a decade. When Jing passed away, he observed the funeral rites with full devotion. After the mourning period concluded, he abstained from grains and dwelt in the crags, feeding on pine needles and atractylodes; this eliminated illness and prolonged his youth, yielding profound benefits. King of Jingling of the Qi governed the region of Yu’s Cave; hearing of Yue’s refined character and virtue, he deeply admired and esteemed him. At that time, Shi Zhixiu, Tanxian, Huici, and others—all men of prominent fame in their day—were gathered together in the King’s assembly. Yue arrived later, and his monastic age was not yet advanced, yet the King bowed respectfully and paid him the utmost reverence. The assembly all showed displeasure on their faces. The King said: “This eminent person is destined to become a leader of the Buddhist order; how could I treat him merely as he is today?” Thus was he revered by the noble and eminent even in his youth. Zhou Yong of Runan, a Secretariat Drafter of the Qi, served as the Magistrate of Shan; admiring his virtuous plainness, he vacated his seat to pay him special courtesy. At the former lodge of Lei Cizong on Mount Zhong, he built Caotang Monastery, also known as Shanci, and invited Yue to take charge of monastery affairs. This monastery had its halls set on the mountain ridge, its soil cleared by hidden gorges; though not far from the towns, it was desolate and beyond worldly affairs. Since it profoundly accorded with his original sincerity, he committed to make it his final resting place. Yong sighed: “Yue, the master of Shanci, is pure and aloof, unequalled in the world.” Chu Yuan, Duke Wenjian, the Grand Preceptor of Qi, and Wang Jian, Duke Wenxian, the Grand Defender, had assisted their dynasty in founding the empire, their merits outstanding for a hundred generations; admiring his wind and tasting the Way, they joined in promoting the Dharma teachings. Yuan once invited him to lecture on the Vimalakīrtinirdeśa and Śrīmālādevī Sūtras; Jian also invited him to open the Saddharmapuṇḍarīka and Pañcaviṃśatisāhasrikā Prajñāpāramitā Sūtras. When Yuan fell ill, he napped during the day and saw a foreign monk say: “A bodhisattva is about to arrive; the man of the Way who comes shortly is he.” Soon afterward Yue came to visit, and [Yuan’s] illness was immediately cured; he at once requested to receive the five precepts. Lou Youyu, a Palace Attendant of Qi, had engaged in scholarship from his youth and was Yue’s great-uncle. Whenever they met, he would always rush to pay him homage. Someone asked: “This is merely a junior relative of your clan; why are you so respectful?” Yu replied: “A bodhisattva has appeared in the world and is about to be a preceptor to all under heaven; how could it be that only this old man pays him reverence?” The people of that time did not grasp this point; only Wang Wenxian thoroughly agreed. Moreover, Yue’s filial piety resonated with the unseen realm; longing to return home, he swiftly went back, yet both his parents had died, and he only arrived in time to bid them farewell. Weeping like an infant, he cut off all contact with the secular world, remaining in his home district for a long time to open up the way of compassion. Later he returned to the capital and again resided at Caotang Monastery. During the Longchang era, Junior Preceptor Shen Yue took up an external appointment, and brought Yue along with him. In the commandery [Yue] took pleasure solely in quietude and detachment, delighting in meditation and recitation. Rare fragrance entered his chamber, and wild beasts became tame before his steps. He often entered Mount Jinhua to gather citrus fruits, or stayed and wandered by the Chisong Stream. Sometimes he came upon old flames, or suddenly encountered divine radiance; their wonders were inconceivable, so the details are omitted here. There was a Daoist, Ding Dejing, who died suddenly in his lodge; it was rumoured that he had been brought down by mountain spirits. They thereupon invited a Libationer of the Great Cure to dwell there, but the apparitions remained rife. Xu Bochao, Magistrate of Changshan, made a proposal: they invited Yue to move in, and before ten days had passed, the spirits and ghosts were pacified. Later, while resting by day, he saw two maidens in green clothes emerge from the stream water, bow, and repent, saying: “Our past karmic hindrances were grave, so we fell to become these water spirits, suffering afflictions day and night.” They immediately asked to be granted the precepts. From that time forth, disasters and strange occurrences ceased forever. When Lord Shen left his post in the commandery, they returned to the capital together, and Yue took up residence again at his original monastery. [Shen] served him with reverent diligence, his respect growing ever deeper. Their literary exchanges followed one upon another without pause. Because Shen’s literary talent was renowned, standing preeminent in his day, whenever he took up office and attended to duties, they would always live together in the government quarters; Yue came and went as he pleased, never letting vermilion gates or wattle doors stand between them. During the Jianwu era of the Qi, he said to Shen: “In the past I was supported by the two dukes Wang and Chu, and consequently resided in the offices of the directors and vice directors. When you, Dānapati, take that post, I shall have to enter the ground again.” In the first year of Tianjian (502), Shen became Vice Director of the Department of State Affairs; he petitioned for an imperial edict to invite him to live in the department. In the eleventh year (512), when he was Prefect of Danyang, Shen sighed for no reason, lamenting the sorrows of life. [Yue] replied: “Your karmic rewards as a Dānapati are already exhausted, and I have not yet attained extinction.” His words were full of sorrow. Shortly afterward Shen passed away; Yue’s foreknowledge of what had not yet happened was always of this sort. Afterwards he devoted his mind to the Vaipulya sūtras and studied the nine divisions of scriptures intensively; all were stored in his treasury of a heart and polished within his bosom. He expounded them openly and propagated them widely, never stepping back when benevolence was at stake; labouring to guide others, he brought great benefit to all living beings. The Emperor, carving the plain jade of culture, put faith in the unconditioned Way and gave rise to the bodhicitta; he constructed the Chongyun Hall. Because the practice of the precepts is subtle and refined, its merit deep and vast, it is indeed the root of the ten thousand virtues and the foremost of all practices—like the great ocean, chief of the hundred rivers, or Mount Sumeru, highest of the mountain peaks; the three fruits and four stages of realization are achieved through this, and the ten powers and three knowledges are established because of this. The Emperor thereupon gathered widely from the scriptural teachings, composed and established the precept categories, drafted every clause, and fully laid out the rituals. He constructed a round altar to clarify the ultimate fruit. Believing that the Way depends on people to be propagated, and that principles are not transmitted in vain, he held that things require personal practice before the people’s faith can be established. Moreover, emperors and monarchs have had ministers as teachers, and great sages have had friends as teachers; since ancient times this way has never fallen away. The Divine Farmer, the Yellow Emperor, the Duke of Zhou, and Confucius modelled their laws on benevolence and righteousness; how much more so should this be for the principle that transcends heaven and humanity, the meaning that surpasses names and rank! Considering Yue’s virtue to be lofty above the human world and his realization to extend to the unseen realm, [the Emperor judged that] he was truly worthy of the honour of an ācārya and corresponded to the title of “Wise One” (Zhizhe). [Yue] demurred and yielded, steadfastly declining; yet after earnest entreaties, his refusal could not prevail. In the eleventh year of Tianjian (512), an imperial decree was first issued to summon him to an audience; their concerns were in harmony with what their minds had expected, and the Way was recognized at a glance. From then on he came and went from the imperial palace, receiving abundant offerings of respect. On the eighth day of the fourth month of the eighteenth year, a yihai year (519), the Son of Heaven gave rise to a vast vow and received the bodhisattva precepts. He proceeded to Dengjue Hall, descended from his carriage of carved jade, lowered his dignity as lord of ten thousand chariots, and displayed the reverence due to the three masters. Setting aside his imperial robes for a time, he respectfully received the robes of fields [of merit]; after the pure ritual of ordination was pronounced, he bowed in sincere solemnity. At that time the sun and moon shone pure and glorious, and heaven and earth were bright and clear. An amnesty was granted to all under heaven, and the entire land celebrated together. From then on, when Yue entered for an audience, a separate lacquered couch was set out; the Emperor first bowed to him and only then took his seat. From the heir apparent down to the imperial princesses, both clergy and laity, scholars and commoners, all hoped for liberation; the disciples registered on the rolls numbered forty-eight thousand in all. Once, while he was conferring the precepts, a magpie ascended the steps, looking as though it were receiving food; it stayed until the recitation of the precepts was finished, and only then flew away. On another occasion, while he was expounding the precepts, two peacocks could not be driven away. An imperial order permitted them to come up; they walked slowly to the altar, bowed their necks, and listened to the Dharma. The Emperor said: “These birds surely wish to attain extinction and receive another fruit of rebirth.” Pitying their sincere devotion, Yue preached the Dharma further for them; a few days later, both birds transformed and died for no apparent reason. Furthermore, when he first conferred the precepts, he dreamed by night that carpets and rugs were laid from Caotang Monastery all the way to the palace gates; he himself sat upon a dhyāna bed several tens of feet above the ground, surrounded by heavenly beings, preaching the Dharma to the multitude. Examining this in light of events, it is equal to the Yellow Emperor’s dream of visiting Huaxu, and identical to Maudgalyāyana’s spirit ascending to Tuṣita. Who could pass judgment on the conduct of a supreme man? Yet he loved quietude, and auspicious flowers bloomed in his empty chamber. Those dwelling near the monastery all gave rise to the way of compassion, so that roe deer and stags flocked with rhinos and tigers, and wild ducks and geese grew familiar with hawks and falcons; flying and running, soaring and creeping creatures became tame with one another. Were it not for the subtle transformation wrought by his benevolent grace, who could have accomplished this? Later, while he was dwelling quietly in an empty room, a rustic old woman suddenly brought several fascicles of books, placed them on the sutra desk, and departed without a word; she also carried a strange tree and planted it in the courtyard, saying it was a “Qingting tree”. Yue said: “If these books are good, they need not wait for me to read them; if they are bad, it is also not worth the trouble to inspect them.” After seven days an old man appeared, asked for the books, and withdrew. The tree still remains with its green leaves, red flowers, and spreading branches. He also attracted strange birds, with red bodies and long tails, shaped like kingfishers, which roosted together, coming and going among the tree. In the fourth year of Zhongdatong (532), he dreamed of his old residence, with white walls and vermilion gates, splendid and magnificent; he thereupon vowed to build a monastery, and an imperial decree named it Bensheng. In the first year of Datong (535), an imperial decree also renamed his dwelling in Zhushan Hamlet to Zhizhe Hamlet. The old territory of Jinyun has its fragrant reputation passed down in maps and registers; its mountains and rivers are divinely wondrous, boasting unique beauty throughout China; an auspicious site and immortal land was thus established here. Yet Yue fed on pine needles and atractylodes for more than thirty years, and wore clothes of coarse hemp for over seventy years; he conducted himself with modest restraint and enjoyed the highest reputation in his day. In the eighth month of the first year of Datong, he ordered someone to cut the tree branches outside the gate, saying: “The imperial carriage will be coming; do not let them block the road.” People could not fathom his meaning. On the sixth day of the ninth month he manifested illness; he lay with his head to the north and on his right side, his consciousness tranquil and joyful, entirely free of pain or distress. He said to his disciples: “I dreamed of the assemblies of the four divisions with banners and flowers arrayed in the air, welcoming me and soaring into the clouds; my karmic rewards are about to end.” On the sixteenth day, the Emperor sent Palace Attendant Xu Yan to inquire after his illness; Yue replied: “I shall depart tonight.” At the second call of the fifth watch, a rare fragrance filled the room, and those around him fell silent in awe. He then said: “That there is death where there is life is the natural and constant rule. Cultivate mindfulness and wisdom diligently, and do not give rise to scattered thoughts.” Having spoken, he joined his palms and entered nirvāṇa. His worldly age was eighty-four, and his monastic age was sixty-three. The Son of Heaven wept bitterly in farewell; the ministers and officials suspended their administrative reviews for twenty-one days. On the twenty-ninth day of that month, he was buried to the left of the tomb of Baozhi on Mount Dulong. Earlier, when Yue lay ill, he saw an old man holding a staff enter; when the day of his passing came, the monks divined a site on the eastern crag of the monastery, but the Emperor relocated the burial to Mount Dulong. Could the old man seen previously have been Master Zhi welcoming him? Moreover, on the night of his demise, the blue ox he rode suddenly bellowed, its tears streaming down. On the day of the funeral, an imperial envoy led the ox along with the entourage from the monastery to the mountain, its bellowing and weeping never ceasing. In addition, when the stupa was first constructed, a pair of white cranes circled the mound, crying sorrowfully and plaintively; three days after the burial, they suddenly departed forever. An imperial decree ordered a stele to be erected to the left of the tomb, and commissioned Wang Yun to compose the text.