宋高僧傳 7.28

7.28

Shi Hengchao, surnamed Feng, was a native of Fanyang. His grandfather did not serve in office; his lineage had cultivated the Confucian way for generations, and his family was exceedingly wealthy. Chao was intelligent from birth; among children, he had no fondness for playful games. At age fifteen, he was already thoroughly conversant with the Six Classics, and was especially skilled in the 'Airs' and the 'Elegies'; his phrasing and style were novel and unusual, and were repeated on people's lips. Suddenly, one day, upon perusing Buddhist scriptures, he was brightly awakened. He sighed and said: 'Human wealth and honor are like illusions and bubbles; only the True Vehicle can be mounted for conveyance.' Thereupon, he went to Zhubi Temple to leave the secular world. Before three years had elapsed, just as he was about to advance in his studies, working tirelessly day and night, his master died. He followed the Buddhist funeral rites, observing propriety without negligence. His reputation for filial piety and fraternal love was praised by the people of Yan. In the third year of Qianhua of the Liang, he went to Mount Wutai to receive the prātimokṣa precepts; from this, he advanced from near to far, inquiring with urgency and reflecting on what was at hand. Soon, invoking the chapter 'Felling the Trees,' he consorted with mature companions, forming bonds to seek famous masters from afar. He was obstructed between the two rivers, where the fighting had not ceased and the roads were impassable. To the south was the Liang founder, and to the north was Zhuangzong, rivaling each other in a contest of strength and pursuing the deer at the brink of survival. At that time, Chao stayed between his home prefecture, Wei, Bo, Bing, and Fen, studying seven works of Mahāyāna and Hīnayāna scriptures, vinaya, and treatises, lecturing on them and thoroughly penetrating their thought; from the renowned masters of Yong, Luo, Liang, and Song, he was completely cut off. Even so, though his travels were not distant, his propagation was exceptionally refined; his fullness of understanding became recognized, and his fame spread far and wide. For this reason, Xichen of Bingbu and Zhenbian of Zhongshan—two men whose words and actions were both perfected and who had attained high stages of realization—took one look at Chao and sighed, saying: 'The horns of this doctrinal dragon are fully formed; he only awaits taking flight to bring about drenching rain!' The evaluations given to him by great men of virtue were mostly of this sort. In the second year of Longde, he hung his staff at Wudi. Chao said: 'This is the ancient land of whole Qi, and a good neighbor to Zou and Lu.' Thereupon, he resided at Kaiyuan Monastery, set up a cloister in the northeastern corner, and for over twenty years lectured on various scriptures and treatises, preaching and guiding more than thirty times for each. His integrity was lofty and outstanding, his conduct composed and deliberate; monastics and layfolk who saw him were without exception struck with awe. His voice never shouted in anger, and his speech was never boastful; it was entirely natural, and not something obtained through domineering arrogance. Successive prefects and passing envoys, admiring his fame and revering his manner, would present their calling cards to show their deep respect, but he only had a boy decline them on the grounds of lecturing and recitation, and rarely received them. At first they felt slighted, but in the end they bowed to his loftiness. Between Qi and Lu, talented scholars did not consider several hundred li too far to come to his door to raise difficult questions. As soon as these gentlemen saw Chao's appearance and listened from the side to his discussions—referencing the Philosophers and the Histories, and confirming them with the teachings of the Buddhist tradition—or if someone asked about Hetuvidyā, Chao would answer with a single poem, novel in phrasing and marvelous in principle, and all would sigh and submit. At that time, the commandery governor Lord Li had long respected his lofty manner and wished to submit a memorial to recommend him for a purple robe. Chao heard of it with alarm and immediately put brush to paper to compose a poem: 'In vain I have grown old wearing coarse garments; / floating my bowl, the Way remains unaccomplished. / I vow to transmit the scriptures and treatises until death, / and never live tainted by gain and fame. / I dislike the trees that obstruct the mountain's colors; / I love the window facing the bright moon. / Some other day, following Fan Li, / with a single oar, the Five Lakes will be clear.' Lord Li again sent someone to urge him, wishing to establish a connection. Chao was steadfast and unyielding, and said: 'If you do so again, I shall be beyond the pass of Lulong.' Hearing this, the commandery commander stopped. Moreover, Prime Minister Feng Dao, the Prince of Ying, heard of his fame, and knowing that he was a fellow kinsman from his home region, first sent him a letter expressing his intention to take refuge in him. Chao said: 'I am a man of leisure who long ago abandoned parents to dedicate my will to practice. I originally expected only Maitreya to know my name; I did not anticipate it being idly transmitted to the ears of a prime minister. What benefit is this to me?' His disciples urged him earnestly, so he had no choice but to reply with a letter, explaining in full: how could a person who has left home set his mind on empty fame and meager profit? The Prince of Ying became all the more deferential, reported it to the Han founder in a memorial, and the purple robe was thereupon bestowed. From this time on, Chao was listless and unhappy. On the third day of the second month of the second year of Qianyou, he fell slightly ill, and within a few days passed away in his own cloister. The cloister's community all heard heavenly music surging in the sky, which was a clear sign of his rebirth in Tuṣita. His worldly years were seventy-three, and his saṅgha age was thirty-five. His disciple Dongzheng and more than a hundred students observed mental mourning; the gentry, commoners, monks, and nuns of the entire city assembled to escort him outside the city, where the cremation rites were carried out. More than two hundred grains of śarīra were collected and distributed. Separately, fifty grains were sealed, and a pagoda was erected in his cloister to enshrine them. The Prince of Ying, not yet having learned of this, had separately submitted a memorial requesting the master's name 'Dezheng' ('Virtuous and Rectified'), and this imperial edict was carved upon the stone pagoda.