Shi Hongyan's secular surname was Xie; he was a native of Shanyin in Kuaiji. His grandfather Maogong was gentle, poised, cautious, and circumspect, having no dealings with worldly affairs. His father Zang had an extensive command of the classics and histories and was skilled in literary composition. Prince Hengyang of the Liang heard of him, recognized his talent, and brought him in as an associate. Hongyan's demeanor and intellect were extraordinary; at an early age he awakened to the Way. By day he read sūtras and treatises, and by night he recited poetry and historical texts; through fine seasons and bright days he never set his studies aside. From that point on, being intelligent from youth, he was praised throughout his province and village. When grown, he traveled to the capital to hear lectures, becoming thoroughly versed in Abhidharma and scholastic treatises. Later he met the dharmabhāṇaka Chuo of Longguang Monastery and devoted his heart to training under him. [Master Chuo] paid him singular regard and received him warmly, considering him peerless. Due to this, his fellow students saw him in a new light and gave way to him in mutual deference. Within two or three years, he had fathomed all the esoteric subtleties. Thereupon he opened lecture mats, gathered assemblies, and expounded the Tattvasiddhi-śāstra (*Chengshi lun*). His deportment was relaxed and elegant; his delivery rose and fell with rhythmic grace. Junior scholars and senior masters alike came to resolve their doubts on explicit meanings; bearing texts and carrying satchels, they came empty and returned filled. For this reason, reverently upholding the wheel of Dharma, he mastered the various collections; with unmatched courage he analyzed and elucidated them freely. Senior figures of vast repute followed traditional patterns, but Hongyan focused his thoughts on high heavens and had no patience for flattering exchanges. When slighted by senior eminent figures, he refused to humble himself; from then on, students faced barriers, and audiences dwindled. He then shut his aspirations inside a quiet chamber, exalting his path above mundane things, and at leisure intervals browsed fine scrolls and read historical records, broadly seeking vast knowledge. In 'Autumn Waters' and 'Spring Terraces' his clear writing stood out far above the rest; his vigorous thoughts soared like clouds, and his elegant phrasings sparkled like brocade. He was also skilled in cursive and clerical script, being praised by his contemporaries; his delicate strokes surpassed glossy fungi leaves, and their charm exhausted the ultimate skill of silver-hook calligraphy. Thus his appearance, doctrinal skill, poetry, and calligraphy were acclaimed as the 'Four Incomparables'. The outstanding minds of the day all deferred to and admired him. When Emperor Taizong of the Liang was in the Eastern Palace as Crown Prince, he was fond of Hongyan's brilliance and wished him to return to secular life to recruit him as a court scholar; Hongyan remained resolute and would not turn back, so he could not be obtained. It happened that Emperor Wu initiated lectures at the Chongyun Hall, welcoming men of virtue and setting forth inquiries. Although Hongyan was not an elder master and his seat was far down the order, his defiant words and elevated arguments penetrated wondrously into spiritual subtleties. The Emperor praised and admired him for a long time, and all eyes turned upon him. Hongyan's posture remained composed, his spirit guarded as before, and everyone submitted to his exalted brilliance. When he was escorted into the rear hall, he was treated with even greater honor and ritual deference. It coincided with the incursions of the northern barbarians, when war and famine followed one another; hence he fled to Jinyun, cherishing its springs and rocks. Then, as bandits dispersed the mountain companions, he crossed mountain ridges to flee the calamity; unsettled and wandering, he found no resting place. Prince Changsha of the Liang, Xiao Shao, held garrison in Yingzhou, heard of his reputation, and arranged an interview. Soon after, Zhugong fell, and the upper reaches of the river were blocked by turmoil, so he traveled east to return. Cherishing a longing for self-quietude and longing for forests and streams, he took up his staff and went to the Yunmen Hermitage in Ruoye. Touring the mountains and streams, he took delight in his secluded repose. Climbing the Shengping Pavilion in Wu, he composed a poem saying: 'Bleak and chill, the seasonal airs turn late; / Pure and crisp, the sky stretches clear. / A traveler, leaning on his staff for a while, / Climbs the heights to dissipate his wandering mood. / Rivers and springs keep many old traces; / Hamlets and villages bear some new names. / Linger of night mist floats as dawn begins; / The morning sun shines on the first clear sky. / Wandering alone, I lack companions; / Walking slowly, I rarely meet anyone. / Truly, this is no home for my lodging; / How could delight and heart's ease easily unite?' Thereupon he drifted across rocky peaks, possessing the resolve to end his days there. He repaired monastery buildings and gathered a community to polish their practice. When Emperor Wu of the Chen established peace and carried out the mandate's renewal, senior monks of the capital repeatedly extended invitations. He looked back to the mountain community and said: 'For more than fifty years I painstakingly gathered learning. Due to the turmoil of events and exile, I have had no time to preach and expound. If I do not seize this opportunity now, how can I be said to give up my life for the Dharma?' In the beginning of the Tianjia era, he left for the capital and lectured at Xuanwu Monastery. Students gathered again, and all were filled with solemn respect. Although he was tireless in his joyful exposition, a hidden sorrow always bound his heart. Whenever there was a gap between lectures, he visited Kaishan and Dinglin Monasteries on Mount Zhong, stilling his mind in seated meditation. At times he took up his brush and composed a poem, saying: 'Leaning on my staff, I walk the ridge ahead; / Gathering my robe, I step out the outer door. / Light creeping vines grow ever thicker; / The secluded path winds and turns again. / The trees are tall, the branch shadows slender; / Midday in the mountains, bird calls are rare. / Moss on rocks makes my shoes slip at times; / Spider webs brush and cling to my clothes. / By the ravine, purple fungi shine brightly; / Above the crags, white clouds float and drift. / Pine cones drive through the smoke and depart; / The perpetual life stays silent and does not return. / Into the deep valley none come or go; / Clutching cassia branches, I linger alone.' It happened that the Qi sent envoys to restore peace, and carriages and boats arrived continuously. Cui Ziwu and others possessed outstanding diplomatic talent, and when deliberating on who should receive them, the court could find no one to recommend. Emperor Shizu Wen thought that Hongyan's inner and outer knowledge was refined and agile enough to contend with them in debate, so he decreed that he manage the reception rites for the guests. His speech was warm and refined, his posture dignified and upright; he expounded the imperial mandate and glorified the Emperor's virtue. His talent and phrasings were vast and unconstrained, his eloquence branching out effortlessly. Moistened with true scripture and directed by compassionate intent, Ziwu and the others reverently received the royal decree and bore their gratitude back to the northern border. The Emperor marveled, praised him, and rewarded him far beyond ordinary measure. Hongyan turned all the gifts over to the monastic community and accepted nothing for himself. That year, his old ailment recurred repeatedly, and his audiences thinned out again; he resided in a small room, allowing only occasional inquiries. His mind could not rest, and his expressive impulses remained fervent, so he composed several tens of fascicles of commentary on the *Tattvasiddhi-śāstra*. He dissected subtle principles and conceived deeply complex formulations, but as his illness grew grave, he could not bring the work to completion. On the twenty-first day of the ninth month in the fifth year of Tianjia, his condition became terminal. With a lucid mind, he commanded his disciples, saying: 'Sentient beings are blinded by greed. Greed for the self makes one begrudge the loss of a single hair; greed for others makes one insatiably grasping without end. Even after death, they make their mounds high and their crypts double, believing that beneath the Nine Springs they will still form neighborhoods—how utterly laughable! Huangfu Mi and Yang Wangsun slightly understood my mind: though they knew the body ultimately returns to the earth, they still did not grasp the original aspiration. Now, after my eyes close, give this desiccated, base body as an offering to all flying and creeping sentient beings. If in previous lives I owed them, let it repay them; if there was no mutual debt, then let it generate my virtuous generosity. May this subtle intention also proceed toward bodhi, shared with all things without exception.' Having spoken, he joined his palms and passed away at Xuanwu Monastery. His worldly age was sixty-one. Those who knew him and those who did not were all struck with grief. On the twenty-second day of that month, [his body] was exposed in a śītavana on the eastern ridge of Kaishan Monastery on Mount Zhong. From the time Hongyan left secular life until his death, he devoted himself solely to study; he maintained frugal restraint, wore rags, and never engaged in ostentatious extravagance. Whenever his emotions were moved, he would describe the sentiment, yet his literary grace was untrammeled and few could follow him. His drafted pieces scattered and were lost as soon as written. Later generations gathered and compiled them into over twenty fascicles. Having suffered loss during wartime, only eight scrolls survived. During the Taijian era of the Chen, the scholar He Jun presented them to the court, and they were stored away in the Imperial Library.

7.14

Shi Falang's secular surname was Zhou. He was a native of Pei in Pei Commandery, Xuzhou. His grandfather, Fengshu, was an attendant gentleman of the Yellow Gate under the Qi and regional inspector of Qingzhou. His father, Shengui, was an extra gentleman of the cavalier attendant under the Liang and grand protector of Pei Commandery. When Lang was first conceived, his mother, Lady Liu, dreamed of a divine being riding in a multi-storied palace entering her bosom. In the dream, [the being] said, 'My body is equal to space.' Shortly after waking, her limbs felt light and airy, distinct from ordinary days. She immediately renounced the five pungent roots and diverse meats. During his childhood, he surpassed ordinary youths; his filial piety was fully perfected, and his resolve stood firm. His family held sway over six commanderies, and their prowess surpassed the three borders. In his youth, he trained in the military and early on experienced the battle ranks. Practicing thrift to discipline himself, neither favor nor disgrace could sway him. Shortly after,徐 Ziyan, General Pacifying the Distant, who had been granted the tally of office, went on a northern campaign; Lang had tall halberds planted at his gate and took rest under a great tree. He contemplated: 'Weapons are instruments of misfortune; the body is a cause of suffering. In the sea of desires and the forest of delusion, how can one awaken?' At the age of twenty-one, on the second day of the second month in the second year of the Datong era of the Liang (528 CE), he entered the monastic order in Qingzhou. He traveled to study in the capital city of Yang[du], going to Daming Temple to receive various dhyāna methods from Dhyāna Master Baozhi. Concurrently, he listened to Vinaya Master Tuan of that temple explain the root text of the Vinaya. Furthermore, he studied the Tattvasiddhi-śāstra under Master Xian of Nanjian Temple, and the Abhidharma under Venerable Jing of Zhujian Temple. At that time, his renown stirred the capital region, and his spiritual bearing was elevated above the assembly of scholars. Consequently, those of supreme eloquence and the most discerning listeners vied with one another to attend him. However, as the wondrous Dharma of Vulture Peak was rarely propagated by the various expounders, the style of the path of Nāgārjuna was sustained by ancestral masters without interruption. As recorded in the previous biography, Master Lang of Mount She understood the profound and plumbed the subtle, being highly esteemed by the world. Though his generation had long passed, his lineage still endured. Lang therefore went to Zhiguan Temple on this mountain to study under Dharma Master Sengquan, receiving and absorbing the *Mahāprajñāpāramitā-upadeśa*, the *Madhyamaka-śāstra*, the *Śata-śāstra*, the *Dvādaśamukha-śāstra*, as well as sūtras such as the *Avataṃsaka* and the *Pañcaviṃśatisāhasrikā-prajñāpāramitā*. Thereupon, he harmonized the scriptural collections, exploring their profundity and subtlety; his exposition was refined and original, his diction splendid and supreme. Dedicating himself to specialized study, he diligently disciplined his body and mind. It can truly be verified here that 'when the teacher is at ease, the result is doubled.' In the eleventh month of the second year of the Yongding era (558 CE), he was commanded by imperial edict to enter the capital and reside at Xinghuang Temple, where he gave uninterrupted lectures. The words and principles of the *Avataṃsaka*, the *Pañcaviṃśatisāhasrikā*, and the four treatises—matters not fully expounded by past sages or omitted by later generations—were all elucidated by Lang, who identified their essential principles and manifested their profound meaning. Therefore, his speech was fluent, clear, serene, and easy to comprehend. His regular assembly numbered over a thousand; their blessings and wisdom grew ever broader. Thus the listeners gathered like clouds, wiping away sweat and kneeling. A thousand monastic robes were continuously collected and distributed; every time he ascended the high seat, he would change into a different robe. He expounded the aforementioned sūtras and treatises more than twenty times each; for twenty-five years, the flow of moisture [of the Dharma] was unceasing. During that time, he established the four assemblies, and the blossom of the wheel of the Dharma in the two imperial palaces was peerless at that time. On the midnight of the twenty-fifth day of the ninth month in the thirteenth year of the Taijian era, being the year Xinchou (581 CE), his spirit departed at the temple quarters. His worldly age was seventy-five. On the twenty-eighth day of that month, he was buried at the western ridge of Mount She in Luoluo Village of Jiangcheng County. Formerly, Sengquan of Mount She received instruction from Master Lang; in elucidating the profound doctrine, he solely maintained the Madhyamaka view. If one does not comprehend with the heart and analyze the principles, how can one accord with these pure words? Thus he secluded himself in the dark forests, finding joy in the taste of dhyāna. Later, when the four masters went to receive guidance through the three activities, [Sengquan] initially vowed not to speak. Only after a long time did he expound it for them. Therefore, Master Quan instructed: 'This Dharma is subtle and exquisite; only the discerning can practice it. Do not let it leave the room to be casually disclosed.' Hence the sūtra says: 'To those who harbor the view of self, do not preach this sūtra; to those who take deep delight in the Dharma, do not expound it excessively.' Truly, this was because remedies correspond to illnesses, so it cannot be disseminated casually. Lang and the others received the instruction and dared not casually speak of it. When Quan passed away, the four masters began to preach openly, each possessing majestic presence and endowed with spiritual mastery. Yong resided at Chanzhong, Bian dwelt at Changgan, Lang was at Xinghuang, and Bu remained at the mountain retreat. With grand gates of merit and wisdom renowned far and wide, none surpassed Lang. Master Bian’s excellent undertakings were clear and bright, cultivating both samādhi and prajñā; thus, his preaching concurrently sustained the dhyāna community, which was also due to Master Quan’s earnest exhortation. However, the substance of his doctrine at times diverged from Lang's, which led to criticisms rejecting the intermediate provisionality during Xinghuang [Lang's] lectures. The masters Bu and Yong appear in separate biographies. Formerly, on the seventh day of the sixth month in the tenth year of the Tianjian era of the Liang (511 CE), the divine monk Baozhi foretold regarding Xinghuang Temple: 'This temple shall have a blue-robed bodhisattva who will broadly propagate the Mahāyāna.' When Lang was traveling for study, he initially wore a blue patchwork robe; when he ascended the primary seat, it matched this prophecy. Furthermore, Upāsaka Du Facan of Nanmo, over eighty years of age, held a deep devotion; he once dreamed that banners, flowers, and heavenly musicians crowded the temple halls, and the ordained and lay assemblies filled the seats. When Lang arrived and began holding public and private fast-day lectures, it again coincided with this auspicious sign. Moreover, on the seventh day of the fifth month of the twelfth year, the attendant tasked with signaling the end of the fast mistook the dawn; Lang knocked on the chamber door at night to urge him, whereupon the great bell sounded on its own and continued for a long time. His auspicious omens were thus made manifest early on, of which these are examples. During a doctrinal assembly at the Changchun Palace in the Eastern Palace, the Crown Prince personally held the jade duster and recited the doctrine of provisional designations of various masters established by Lang. With such honorable acclaim, how could he be merely a master of the Buddhist tradition? He was also a model for gods and humans. Therefore, the offerings and donations he received were devoted to producing sūtras and statues, repairing temples and pagodas, and relieving the impoverished and distressed. For this reason, numerous geese, ducks, chickens, and dogs were kept within his quarters; any animal he encountered on the road was taken in and cared for. When Lang fell asleep, they were all completely silent; when he strolled and took leisure, their calls and barks sounded clamorously—such was their emotional resonance with him. The Minister of the Attendants and Army Commander, Prince of Luling, whose virtue and authority were weighty, relied on him for monastic precepts; he subsequently petitioned the Crown Prince to compose an inscription and eulogy for him. The epitaph text was composed by Jiang Zong, Supervisor of the Household of the Crown Prince, of Jiyang. The former Chen ruler Shubao, then in the Spring Palace, wrote a eulogy saying: / 'From a vast source running afar, fragrant fragrance has been transmitted; / The noble and wise men have succeeded one another in virtue and brilliance. / Having wielded the red pennon, he still draped the green cords; / Wearing the tiger seal of military command, he donned the sable of martial decree. / His merit could have championed the military, but his vocation was not worldly; / Abandoning sounds and forms, he crossed beyond this ford. / What is this ford? Tearing asunder the tangled net! / Foretold early by the robe of patience, he passed through the night riding a tower. / Navigating this bitter sea, he dried up this river of craving. / Without this man of wisdom, who could be entrusted to proclaim it? / The cloud of Dharma broadly covers; the sun of wisdom extends its radiance. / Having balanced the shield and turret, he naturally opened the fortress of gold and hot water. / Dreaming of drums and preaching, responding distinctively from the frost on the bell. / Recognizing the opportune moment and knowing destiny, he manifested sickness like [Vimalakīrti]; / His long-held aspiration was to seclude himself, yet the deliverance of beings was hard to complete. / His affinity to transform beings having ended, he made his abode in the tomb. / The torch of wisdom is extinguished; the collapsed crag stands remote. / Remote stands the empty peak; leaves fall over the distant retreat. / In the crescent moon’s darkness, mist enshrouds the deep pines. / Incense fades over the final mound; banners flutter across the old forest. / Plaintive and clear are the pipes; distant sounds the drum. / Wild mist gathers from the four quarters; a solitary bird utters a cry. / The wind mourns as chanting ceases; the current rushes as coldness rises. / The spirit enters the Pure Land; the form sinks for eternity. / Carving this square tomb-stele, we thereby commemorate the orchid and thoroughwort.'

7.15

Shi Huiyong's surname was Huan. His ancestors were originally from Longkang in the Qiao Commandery. His grandfather, Fashi, served as the Minister of War and Magistrate of Qiantang; on account of this, he lived in seclusion at Mount Huqiu. Later, the family resided at Huan Hamlet in the Eastern District of Wu County in Wu Commandery. His father, Xian, passed away at an early age. His mother, Lady Zhang, once dreamed that she ascended a Buddhist pagoda and obtained two golden bodhisattvas. Soon after, she gave birth to two sons, both of whom entered the monastic order in their youth. The elder was Huicong, and Yong was the second. When he first went to Yangdu, he relied on Master Ze of Lingyao Temple as his preceptor. He concentrated his mind on dhyāna and recitation, disciplining his body with coarse vegetarian food. He received instruction from various masters without restricting himself to a single tradition. Is it not that gold ore must be carved and polished to become a treasure, and beautiful jade must await grinding and polishing? Indeed, there was a reason for this. Upon receiving the full precepts, he studied the *Daśādhyāya-vinaya* under Vinaya Master Feng of Jingzhong Temple. Master Sengchuo of Longguang Temple and Master Fachong of Jianyuan Temple were both eminent luminaries within the country whose renown resonated beyond the Indic lands; Yong submitted himself as their disciple and received the lineage of the *Tattvasiddhi-śāstra*. He disciplined his mind and sharpened his resolve, forgetting exhaustion in sleep and food; immersed in rigorous contemplation, as if on the brink of falling into an abyss. Passing through many winters and summers, his extensive learning achieved great mastery. By the age of thirty, he was already turning the wheel of the Dharma. From that time on, he drew students from afar and opened extensive lecture assemblies; commanding great respect in the capital, he stood out prominently. He lectured exclusively on treatises nearly ten times. Shortly thereafter, the Liang dynasty collapsed, and the populace was thrown into turmoil. He frequently contemplated retreating from the world, but knew not where to turn. At that time, Master Quan of Mount She maintained the singular vehicle without compromise and moved freely through mountains and the world; guiding people to awakening in accordance with their capacities, Yong wished to follow him. Once, while walking in front of Bao'en Temple, he suddenly saw a person who said, 'I have come from Mount She to give you a bamboo ruyi scepter.' Then, telling Yong, 'You shall soon fulfill your wish (ruyi),' the person suddenly disappeared. Within a couple of days, there was a lacquered box containing a set of the Three Treatises placed upon the window before his room. Upon inquiring, none knew where it came from. Delighted by this auspicious omen, his fervent courage could hardly be contained. Thereupon, he shook his robes, departed his hometown, and set out for the springs and crags. Yearning for the profound spiritual realm, he did not seek companions of the lute terrace; cultivating emptiness and practicing wisdom, he genuinely followed the exemplary style of Huiyuan of Mount Lu. He then took up residence at Zhiguan Temple, working diligently from dawn to dusk. Master Quan set aside the difference in their years, treating him as both a disciple and a friend, just as the musical notes of gong and yu harmonize together, or as indigo enhances blue. From then on, he parsed sentences and gathered subtle meanings; of all sūtras he expounded, none was omitted. That the Great Dharma was transmitted was truly dependent on him. In the fifth year of the Tianjia era (564 CE), Emperor Shizu (Emperor Wen) invited him to lecture at the Taiji Hall. The hundred ministers were fully present, and the seven assemblies gathered together. Those who looked up to him followed in rapid succession, and those who sought spiritual rest gathered in droves like shadows. From that time on, his fame flourished exceedingly. He resided at Da Chanzhong Temple for eighteen years. When he built a lecture hall, his disciples and audience accomplished it in no time. With eaves adjoining and flying pavilions, its construction was vast and open, inscribed with the name 'Prajñā Hall.' On the twenty-eighth day of the fifth month of the first year of the Zhide era (583 CE), he fell ill. Shortly thereafter, at daybreak, his spirit departed. His worldly age was sixty-nine. At the moment of his passing, his countenance did not alter, and his crown remained warm through the night; the assembly all marvelled at this. On the sixth day of the sixth month, he was buried at the western ridge of Mount She. From beginning to end, he lectured on the *Avataṃsaka*, the *Mahāparinirvāṇa*, the *Vaipulya*, the *Mahāsaṃnipāta*, and the *Pañcaviṃśatisāhasrikā-prajñāpāramitā* twenty times each; the *Mahāprajñāpāramitā-upadeśa*, the *Madhyamaka-śāstra*, the *Śata-śāstra*, and the *Dvādaśamukha-śāstra* thirty-five times each; and several other scriptures such as the *Lotus Sūtra* and the *Viśeṣacinti-brahma-paripṛcchā*, which were not recorded. Furthermore, having early on renounced loved ones, he was steadfast and austere from youth; his literary skill and eloquent speech were esteemed by his contemporaries. Up until his death, he remained undefiled and pure. Truly, he was a pillar of the image teaching and a repository of profound principles. His disciples, pursuing the deep respect due to a teacher, carved a stone stele for him. The text was composed by Jiang Zong, Palace Attendant and President of the Department of State Affairs, of Jiyang.

7.16

Shi Baoqiong's secular surname was Xu. His family originally came from Dongwan, but had fled disaster, leaving Ju, and later settled in Qu'e County, Piling. His grandfather, Yong, was General of the Right Army under the Qi dynasty. His father, Sengda, was an Advisor to the King of Linchuan under the Liang dynasty. Both possessed noble character and capacity, and revered Confucian simplicity. Qiong was pure and lustrous as the mountains and rivers, having embraced their soaring crests from an early age. He was seven feet five inches tall, with dragon-like markings across his shoulder blades, and possessed thirty-nine teeth in his mouth—a distinctively wondrous and extraordinary appearance. Hence his noble presence was refined and elegant, and his majestic bearing replete with dignity. In his youth he disdained brocade garments and took delight in coarse robes. He left secular life in the flower of youth, serving the śramaṇa Fatong as his master. When Tong first saw him, he sighed in admiration and held him in high esteem, regarding him profoundly as a vessel for the Way. He did not make him perform menial labor. When his years passed the age of setting his will on learning, he wished to receive the doctrinal teachings of Master Yun of Guangzhai Temple. But because Master Yun's mastery of the scriptural canon was tempestuous, his fame and substance surging like a torrent, his unhindered elocution pouring forth in a lavish spate, Qiong privately had misgivings about such excessive rhetoric and was startled by his high-pitched chanting. He therefore moved to listen to Master Xian of Nanjian Temple, intensively studying the *Abhidharma* and the treatises. His brilliant understanding shone through, fully exhausting the caverns of doctrine. Master Xian once perused Qiong's personal notes; reading them over thrice, he praised them with sighing admiration. Later, from the high seat, he universally urged people to copy them. From then on, his disciples circulated and transcribed this commentary. In the year he first received full ordination, he was already able to recapitulate the lectures. Before reaching five years [as an ordained monk], he had already become a master of the Dharma. He thereupon stood as an equal with Master Xian, spreading the transformation. Emperor Gaozu of the Liang understood all the profound tenets of the three teachings without hindrance; he selected and promoted renowned and virtuous monks, entrusting them with the propagation of the Way. Qiong's exalted doctrines were selected and held dear in the emperor's heart. Thereupon imperial silk cords were lowered, summoning him to the Shouguang Hall. But regarding the luxuriant forest as heavy and the cloud-capped pavilions as light, he took his leave to return to Jian'an Temple in his native place. The Marquis of Shanghuang, Ye, was governing this region with the imperial tally; he always revered him deeply, his feelings combining those of a master and a friend. One morning the young and old of that commandery began clamoring in competition, saying, 'A white dragon has appeared at Jian'an Monastery!' Rushing and pushing their way to the temple, they saw only Qiong lecturing. Men of discernment were astonished by this and called him 'White Qiong.' He had long had an intimate friendship with Jianzi Zhou Hongzheng. Hongzheng repeatedly sighed, saying, 'To possess rare talent for an age, yet not to offer guidance in the capital—the sigh of boarding a raft [and drifting away] makes one lament deeply!' He therefore petitioned again on behalf of the circle of students to invite him back to the capital to initiate lectures on the *Tattvasiddhi-śāstra*. The Sengzheng Huiling presented severe and intricate challenges in continuous succession; Qiong calmly flicked his chowrie and replied with unhurried ease. Ling then cited Master Huiyuan's old reproach, saying, 'When one is swift without being rushed, what need is there for looms and shuttles?' He replied, 'Without contemplation creating the karma, how could it become refined and steadfast?' Ling's demeanor was leisurely and his tone elegant; host and guest delighted in one another, and he heaped extraordinary praise upon him. In his declining years, the Liang founder devoted himself solely to pious cultivation. His ministers followed this fashion, and pure conversation fanned the secular sphere. Scholar-officials were sure to combine literary style with philosophical import. Thus he repeatedly inaugurated lectures on the teachings of the Principle. When the *Vimalakīrti* and *Nirvāṇa* teachings spread over the lower seats, their wisdom fluttered over the highest cushions. Broad smiles and sharp tongues, wooden clappers and cutting teeth—they packed the hall closely and rose like swirling smoke and mist. There were also illustrious princes wearing rich sable robes, trailing purple sashes and donning azure cords; their carriages and horses overflowed into the temple streets, and their robes and hairpin-caps filled the Dharma seats. The splendor of such spiritual response has rarely been equaled. Whether it was Dao Mao's prominent reputation in civil administration or Ren Xiaogong's abundant literary talent, both held their scrolls, inquired into doubts, and bowed their heads to request instruction. Xiaogong's son, Shimo, was simple, frugal, and fond of learning; this blossom of the younger generation accompanied his father to listen together. He delved especially deep into the profound doctrines and consequently lectured on the *Nirvāṇa Sūtra*. That the transmission from vase to vase was not spilled was truly verified in him. Before he could enter the monastic order, he was suddenly struck by impermanence. His crown remained warm for two nights, and three fingers of his hand curled. He then flew down to his residence together with various devas, conversing with his father just as in ordinary life, praising the renunciation of household life and lauding the benefits of the Dharma. Presently, leading his entourage, he soared into the void and vanished, leaving behind a fragrance in the chamber that did not dissipate for days. From this one knows that both of them were extraordinary men who personally joined the assembly of learners; truly it was difficult to fathom their fundamental measure. When the Liang house was convulsed in turmoil and the Chen dynasty established its rule, Emperor Wu revered the Dharma with an exceptionally deep taste for it. He frequently cited the golden words and often unrolled the jade-inscribed documents, condescending to intimate speech and laughter, and inquiring into profound principles. In the summer of the third year of Yongding, while Qiong was propagating the *Mahāprajñāpāramitā Sūtra* in the pavilions of Chongyun Hall, he dreamed of a spirit clad in red robes, who bowed and admonished him, saying, 'The *Prajñā* faces many perils. I respectfully pray that you lecture quickly.' This was repeated several times, the words becoming ever more earnest and imploring. On the tenth day of the seventh month, he informed the monks, saying, 'Last night a divine being appeared to urge me; one fascicle of the scripture remains. I will finish it before noon.' When the lecture ended and he exited the palace hall, thunder and hail were already rumbling. Barely having returned to the temple, torrential rain poured down, and the clattering clouds and thunder all cleared away at once. Was this not because when superior men proclaim the Dharma, the unseen realm reveres them? Only when the Chen founder passed away did they recognize the former portent. When Emperor Wen succeeded to the imperial calendar, his reverence and exceptional regard grew all the deeper. He decreed imperial silk ribbons appointing him Grand Sengzheng of the Capital. Though Qiong's declining was earnest, the emperor's earnest exhortations were still more pressing. Considering that he must not shrink from what was incumbent upon him, so that he might serve as a model for all things, he thereupon assumed this office. However, Jinling was the imperial metropolis to which the court and regional lords turned; monastic temples were like forests, and lecture halls were like bustling markets. Monks from the five regions and the six commanderies were mixed like grain and weeds. There were only attempts to blend water and milk, but rarely the harmony of salt and plum. Many were mired in the elephant's mud, and ultimately withered beside the bird's tree. He therefore stabilized them with purity and governed them through non-action. Rules and prohibitions were not cumbersome, and punishments and bans were consistently reduced. Hence monks and nuns looked up to him and spontaneously maintained solemn discipline, while the religious and secular praised him and held him in ever greater respect. The seven assemblies made daily use of his guidance without conscious awareness of it, and those from the four quarters admired his fashion without ever tiring. Thus, though he presided over the Dharma office for a long time, he was without stain of defect or slander. He repeatedly submitted memorials offering his resignation, but after leaving he was reinstated. From beginning to end, his excellence lay precisely in this. Since the Liang dynasty, those holding this office had displayed blazing majesty; their entourages were second only to kings and dukes, and their robes and curios were arrayed like those of Zheng and Chu. Thus, running waters shone along the crossroads, and petty officers and soldiers clamored in the halls and verandas. Ever since Qiong assumed office, he immediately eradicated the former administration. He fashioned his own staff of longevity and followed only the way of extinguishing worldly desires. A tattered, dyed robe covered his body, and his meditation platform had room only for his knees. Desolate and unrestrained, he seemed as though he held no rank. The court and the countryside admired his genuine simplicity, and his peers praised his adherence to the Dharma. Envoys from the eastern overseas lands had his image painted and brought back to their states, prostrating in distant reverence. An ancient said, 'If high fame is not spread abroad, who could move distant lands?' Such was the regard in which this worthy was held. On the twenty-third day of the second month in the year Jiachan, the second year of Zhide, he just began to feel unwell. Dharma Master Baoqiong of Jianchu Temple was his contemporary counterpart; they had studied together in youth, their fame and virtue equally celebrated. That evening, a divine being suddenly came to report, saying, 'The Sengzheng of Pengcheng will pass away first; he personally dreamed of ascending to heaven, where a letter requested him to lecture.' By the twentieth day of the third month, maintaining right mindfulness, he announced his demise. In his final admonition he ordered that his grave be simply covered over without troubling to make an inscription. His age was eighty-one. An imperial edict offered condolences, and whatever was needed for the funeral rites was supplied according to need. Furthermore, the imperial guard of honor and regalia were lent to honor and adorn the funeral—a rare favor throughout antiquity. On the fifth day of the fourth month, he was interred on the south side of Mount Zhong, in an ancient cemetery for eminent monks. At that time, people choked the highways and blocked the lanes, weeping in lamentation and rushing along; monastics and laypeople were astonished and sighed, and the suburban fields lost their color. Earlier, when Qiong first arrived in the capital to attend the Dharma assemblies, because no one recognized him, he was not permitted living quarters. He therefore sought out Sengzheng Huichao, requesting to lodge at Nanjian. When Chao first heard of this he did not grant it, but seeing him, he was startled and said, 'This young talent will surely succeed to my present seat. He is one to whom the Dharma gate can be entrusted; why worry about having no quarters?' He immediately commanded the temple administrators to joyfully arrange accommodations. Later, when Emperor Xiaoxuan requested him to lecture, the Crown Prince constantly welcomed him. People repeatedly saw divine beings, extraordinarily tall and robust, secretly coming to escort him. Toward the end, when he lectured for the Grand General Zhang Zhaoda, the spiritual resonances were likewise of this sort, again beyond fathoming. Furthermore, his generous virtue embraced the multitudes; he was modest, frugal, and measured. In retirement or public service he caused no contention, and in word and deed he was impeccable. He applied himself vigorously without pause, diligently lecturing on the Way. His voice rang out from afar, and his elucidation of the principles was brilliant and clear. Whenever he encountered a formidable opponent or struck the designated target, with a slight wave of his ivory fan the opposition dissolved like ice. Thus his disciples were truly numerous, submitting to him without weariness. In his later years, as his monastic prestige grew ever more revered, his personal quarters became ever simpler. No curtains or screens were set up, and decorative utensils were discarded. At the end of the year, when people came to pay their respects, monastics and laypeople rubbed shoulders; he used expedients to travel elsewhere to evade these glorious offerings. This can truly be called living in intimacy with the human world yet dwelling in leisure, holding an official post yet having no mundane concerns. Furthermore, regarding the supreme principles of the Sages and the subtle words of the Bodhisattvas: when the moon sank and the constellation Shen was horizontal, his pure recitation never slackened; and by the burning of candles and the fragrance of incense, his repentance rituals continued through the night. While his footsteps seemed indolent, his mind was diligent; outwardly harmonious, inwardly concealed. In his leisure from propagation, he had time to spare; he broadly absorbed the profound learning [of Daoism] and Confucianism, thoroughly exploring the philosophers and histories. Whether in the carving of ornate insects, clerical script, depicting things, or expressing the profound, all entered his nature and spirit, and he was able to encompass them all thoroughly. This can truly be called not violating the Great Way while neglecting no minor art. In total, he lectured on the *Tattvasiddhi-śāstra* ninety-one times, composing twenty fascicles of profound meanings; he lectured on the text twenty times, composing a commentary in sixteen fascicles. He lectured on the *Nirvāṇa Sūtra* thirty times, producing a commentary in seventeen fascicles. He lectured on the *Mahāprajñāpāramitā Sūtra* five times, producing a commentary in thirteen fascicles. In addition, he had ten fascicles on the *Meaning of the Mahāyāna*, and composed commentaries on the *Lotus Sūtra*, *Vimalakīrti Sūtra*, and other scriptures, which are therefore not recorded here in full; they are spread throughout the prefectures and towns. His elder brother's grandson, Puguang, inherited his refined teachings, his conduct upright and solid. Yearning for past days and following his legacy through long years, together with his fellow students Daozhuang and Mingjie, he erected a stele at the ancient site in Jinling. Its text was composed by Shi Falun of Huidi Bodhimaṇḍa. Zhuang entered the inner chamber and spread his renown, as recorded in a separate biography; Jie ascended the hall and his fame spread, presiding as head over Jiangdu. At the end of the Sui dynasty, he was still alive, though his safety remained uncertain.

7.17

Śramaṇa Jingshao, surnamed Yan, was a native of Shangyu in Kuaiji. He entered the Way when he was of school age, serving his uncle, Sengguang, as his model teacher. Guang's practice of the vinaya was chaste and strict, and he was a leader of his time. When Shao first traveled to the capital to listen to lectures, he was already able to engage in pure debate. Upon reaching the age of adulthood, he returned to his home region to receive the precepts, upholding and revering them faithfully as if carrying a bowl of oil. There was a śramaṇa, Daolin, who asked him to remain in his homeland. [Daolin] then dreamt that Shao's tongue-mark was broad and long, but on the verge of being severed. Waking up, he reflected deeply that longing and lingering would cause this fall and loss; feeling ashamed and regretting his former request, he encouraged [Shao] to set out for the capital. Thereupon, [Shao] extensively propagated the transformation of the Dharma, the transmission of the lamp never failing; he was indeed an inheritor of the mantle of the Venerable Min of Zhuangyan [Monastery]. Next, he received instruction from Sengchuo of Longguang [Monastery], who was an offshoot of [Bao]qiong of Kaishan [Monastery]. He also investigated and practiced the Tripiṭaka, extensively integrating the various traditions. At the age of twenty-three, he lectured on the Pañcaviṃśatisāhasrikā-prajñāpāramitā Sūtra; his contemporaries relished the Dharma, crowding shoulder to shoulder until they overflowed the streets. Later, he returned to such monasteries as Jianyuan and Jinling to expound the sūtras and treatises, his understanding surpassing that of all schools. Shao then vowed that at the age of forty he would take up lecturing permanently, and his fellow students looked to one another, unable to contain their admiration. At the age of thirty-nine, the lecture master of Jianyuan Monastery left a deathbed bequest for the transmission of the Dharma; Shao, honoring his lingering legacy, immediately ascended the seat and expounded it. The guests who received his instruction regarded him as greater than their teachers and mentors. Emperor Jianwen of the Liang, the Prince of Shaoling, the Prince of Yueyang, and others held him in great esteem, taking refuge in him and receiving his admonitions. After the perils and upheavals, as the world changed and minds became unsettled, he went to Yuzhang intending to open a path for the Dharma's affairs. At that time, he met Huang, Minister of Works of Yuzhou, and others, who, out of long-standing reverence, invited him to be their preceptor. By chance, he met the foreign Tripiṭaka Master Paramārtha, whose understanding encompassed both the Mahāyāna and the Hīnayāna, and whose practice gathered in both self and others. Upon meeting once, they rejoiced and conversed together. Paramārtha sighed and said, “I have traveled to many lands, but rarely encountered such a man.” He then remained in the capital of Yu[zhang] to translate the newly [brought] Suvarṇaprabhāsa-sūtra, along with the Vijñaptimātratāsiddhi-śāstra, the Centum Phrases on Nirvāṇa, the Great Liberation, the Fourteen Phonemes, and so forth. In the morning [Paramārtha] would confer them, and in the evening [Shao] would transmit them; at night [Shao] would hear them, and at dawn [Shao] would expound them. As the worldly proverb goes, it was truly “a refilling of the poured pitcher” and “knowing ten things reborn.” When the Liang King of Leyang ascended the throne in Jing[zhou], he dispatched messengers from afar to welcome him to propagate the Dharma in the capital of Chu. Shao considered the heavy obligation of repaying the land, so the imperial decree was disregarded. When Emperor Wu and Emperor Wen of the Chen succeeded each other in imperial rule, both promoted and valued the correct Way, issuing decrees inviting him to return to the capital; their reverence for his precept-standards and their exceptional courtesies became all the greater. In the fourth year of the Tianjia era, more than two hundred people, including Huizao of Kuaiji and Daolun of Tongtai [Monastery], signed a joint petition inviting Shao to give long lectures at Baima Monastery. For over ten years, he broadly propagated and transmitted the transformation. Having reached the age of sixty, he ordered Huizao to continue the lecturing, while he himself went in person to Waguan [Monastery] to sit in calm contemplation for a short time. The Dharma-gates were profound and wondrous. At that time, the śramaṇa Zhiyi possessed samādhi and prajñā that were hard to surpass, and both humans and spirits could scarcely measure him. In quiet admiration of [Shao's] incisive penetration, which seemed as if achieved long ago, [Zhiyi] and the former students repeatedly invited him to lecture again. Having focused his mind for a prolonged period, [Shao] declined on grounds of illness. Furthermore, when His Highness the Prince of Xin'an, Huang the Minister of Works, and others joined the monks in thrice entreating him, he could not avoid their earnest entreaties, and briefly expounded the Vimalakīrti-nirdeśa at the Prince's palace. At Longguang Monastery, he broadly expounded the Tattvasiddhi-śāstra; this continued for several years, completing the schools of learning. Not declining on account of decrepit old age, his heart yearned to return to the mountain forests. He then entered a secluded crag to find peace within himself for over ten years. On the eleventh day of the tenth month in the first year of the Zhide era, at midday, lying on his right side with his mental faculties serene, he passed away at Kaishan Monastery at the age of seventy-six. On the sixteenth day of that month, he was buried at Dulong Mountain on the Zhong Ridge. He had lectured on the Tattvasiddhi-śāstra more than fifty times, the Mahāparinirvāṇa-sūtra thirty times, the Pañcaviṃśatisāhasrikā-prajñāpāramitā forty times, the new Suvarṇaprabhāsa more than thirty times; the number of times he lectured on sūtras such as the Vimalakīrti, Devarāja, and Kāruṇikarāja were so numerous and disordered that they are not recorded in detail.

7.18

Śramaṇa Anlin was surnamed Qin, a seventh-generation descendant of Jing, Palace Secretariat of the Jin. He resided in Licheng County, Jiangyin. His late father had subtle thoughts that flowed into the profound, and his tranquil mind attained quietude; he authored the Rusheshen shu in one piece and the Dongli in three fascicles, and in the way of geomancy, none failed to transmit his renown. Lin was clever and bright from his youth, attaining understanding independently and standing out from the crowd. At the age of thirteen, he suffered the loss of a parent; his filial piety was known far and wide. Fasting from water, he was reduced to bone, so that those who heard of it wept. As the ancients said, “None knows the son like the father.” [His father] had trained him with the classical teachings, so that his learning became widely versed. Moreover, by nature he was fond of Laozi and Zhuangzi, and early on mastered the classics and histories; he was also skilled in the art of the Taiyi and understood the methods of Sunzi and Wuzi. Therefore, his talents and arts were accomplished, and his reputation in both civil and military spheres spread clear and wide. He still wished to push through the brambles to seek seclusion within a bramble door and round-walled burrow, yet with an open mind, his capacity was stirred, and he intuitively realized the real and the provisional. At the age of twenty-five, he petitioned the court by decree to leave the household life. He then traveled in all directions seeking the Way, going north to the state of Wei. At Guangrong Monastery in Sizhou, under the Venerable Rong, he gathered and studied sūtras and treatises. Rong's vinaya admonitions were stern and solemn, strictly shaping him into an instrument of salvation. He also listened to the Daśabhūmika under the Venerable Guang of Shaolin Monastery on Mount Songgao; upon hearing it once, he grasped it, exhausting what lay before the words in an instant, deeply relishing names and forms and entirely completing their inner meaning. He also received the methods of dhyāna, thoroughly investigating the profound gates. Those who requested instruction from him repeatedly unfolded great benefit. In Wei for twelve years, he lectured on the Dharmaguptaka-vinaya nearly twenty times; Mahāyāna sūtras and treatises also followed in succession. In the first year of the Taiqing era of the Liang, he set out from Peng and Pei; surrounded and followed by his disciples, he returned to the capital Yang[du]. Emperor Wu welcomed and made offerings to him in succession, commanding him by decree to reside at Tian'an [Monastery] and lecture on the Avataṃsaka Sūtra. He set forth its grand framework, its subtle purports according with opportune moments. When the destiny of the Liang reached its end, the wheel of the Dharma ceased to turn. When the Great Chen came to rule the realm, in the spring of the first year of the Yongding era, he was invited into the inner palace, where [the Emperor] handed him incense and fire with his own hands, touched his feet in complete devotion, and long adhered to his precept-standards. A decree ordered him to reside at Qidu Monastery, providing for continuous lecturing. As this matched his original wish, he was delighted to remain there long. Emperor Wen also invited him into the Zhaode Hall to begin lecturing on the Mahāsaṃnipāta Sūtra; his joyful eloquence was inexhaustible, unmatched by repeated assemblies. During the reign of Xiaoxuan, he received the Way facing north within the Hualin Garden. Due to the toils of propagating the transformation, he contracted an illness. In the month of Jianying of the first year of the Zhide era, he passed away in his chamber. The Emperor's heart was grieved and mourned him, bestowing generous funerary gifts. In that very month, he was buried on the western mountain of Kaishan, at the age of seventy-seven. His disciples grieved for his resting place, and gentry and commoners lost their refuge.

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續高僧傳 — 道宣, Classical Chinese