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Abbot Mingwu Redeems Abbot Wujie

Our tale begins in the days of Li Yuan [566–635], first emperor of the Tang dynasty, who, taking over the empire from the Sui dynasty, made Chang’an, Shaanxi, capital of the new dynasty and promulgated a new set of laws. With his second son, Li Shimin, leading the troops, he crushed all enemies at the seventy-two border posts and wiped out eighteen barbarian strongholds. During the new Wude reign period [618–26], he founded the Institute of Education, with its eighteen leading scholars; built the Pavilion Reaching into Mists to honor twenty-three men who had rendered him outstanding service; and appointed as successive prime ministers Wei Zheng [580–643], Du Ruhui [585–630], and Fang Xuanling [578–648] so as to bring order to the empire. The years during the reign periods Zhenguan [627–49], Zhiping [1064–67, Song dynasty],¹ and Kaiyuan [713–41] went by in peace and prosperity. It was only toward the end of Emperor Xuanzong’s reign [712–55] that the emperor’s exclusive shower of favors upon the treacherous court ministers Li Linfu [d. 752], Lu Qi [d. ca. 784], and Yang Guozhong [d. 756] incurred the An Lushan rebellion. Though the insurgence was put down, the dynasty thereafter knew no peace, with border posts breaking away from central rule and eunuchs abusing power in a court where villains replaced worthy men.

Let me now tell of a man in Luoyang by the name of Li Yuan, with the courtesy name Zicheng, an erudite scholar who had learned by heart enough books to fill five carriages and who knew everything there was to know about history from time immemorial. Disgusted at the vice-ridden court, he resigned from office and developed a close friendship with Abbot Yuanze of the local Huilin Monastery. Yuanze, a reincarnation of Buddha, was held in high esteem by all the worthy men in Luoyang of the time for his renown as a poet as well as for his many deeds of compassion. On many a day, the two men would visit scenic spots and historic sites and wax poetic under the inspiration of the moon, wind, mountains, and rivers.

One day, they left on a journey by river for Qutang of the Three Gorges to visit Skyscape Temple. There were four of them in the boat: Li Yuan with his servant and Yuanze with a disciple. Upon arrival in less than two weeks’ time, they anchored the boat along the shore and were standing up and straightening their clothes when they caught sight of a pregnant woman about thirty years of age wearing old, worn out clothes over her brocade vest. She carried a jar of baked clay on her back and was drawing water from a clear spring. Yuanze was annoyed. Pointing at the woman, he said to Li Yuan, “This pregnant woman is the one to give me rebirth. I will be on my way to the West² early tomorrow morning.”

A startled Li Yuan asked, “What makes you say this?”

Yuanze replied, “I have some farewell words for you before I will my death.” Thereupon, the four men entered the monastery, where they were greeted by a monk. After tea, Yuanze explained about his imminent death, much to the astonishment of everyone present. He then took a bath in perfumed water and, after leaving instructions with his disciple, bade farewell to Li Yuan in these words: “It is my good fortune, in my forty years of life, to have enjoyed a close friendship with you, but my time is up and there is nothing I can do but part with you. Three days after my rebirth, please pay a visit to that woman’s house, where, while being washed, I will give you a smile as evidence of my identity. I will then die that very night, but will see you again twelve years later, in Tianzhu Monastery in Hangzhou.” So saying, he took a pen and a sheet of paper and composed these lines bidding farewell to the earthly world:

With these words, he sat down in lotus position and breathed his last. The monks of the monastery carried his coffin behind the mountain, where Abbot Moon Peak was to light the cremation fire. After the monks had chanted a sutra, the abbot ascended the sedan-chair and, joining his palms in a salute, intoned these lines, torch in hand:

He continued, “This is dedicated to the enlightened soul of the distinguished monk, the deceased Abbot Yuanze:

“He was born in Henan and brought up in Luoyang. Ever since he entered the Buddhist order, his mind has been free of worldly concerns. His capacity for wine could drain rivers and oceans; his poems moved demons and gods to tears. A lover of nature, he was content with coarse clothes and simple food. While touring Qutang of the Three Gorges with his bosom friend Li Yuan, he saw a pregnant woman carrying a jar, a sight that inspired him with the thought of transmigration. In his next life, he will meet his friend in Hangzhou, but now he is sent to heaven for enlightenment by a recluse monk. Hark!

With these words, the abbot lit the cremation fire. In the ensuing columns of smoke that rose to the clouds, Yuanze emerged with his palms pressed together, wafting upward toward heaven. Shortly thereafter, beadlike drops of his bones fell from the sky like a torrent of rain. As the monks put his bones into the stupa, Li Yuan was beside himself with grief.

The abbot kept Li Yuan at the monastery as a guest. On the third day of his stay, he went out of the monastery to visit the local inhabitants. Less than half a mile from the monastery there lived a family by the name of Zhang, to whom a baby son had been born three days before. The newborn was having a bath when Li Yuan requested but was denied permission to see him. It was only after much explanation and bribery with gold and silk that he was led into the main hall, where a woman was bathing the baby. At the sight of Li Yuan, the baby did flash a smile. After an elated Li Yuan went back, the baby died that very night, just as was foretold. Li Yuan took leave of the abbot and returned home, but we shall say no more of him for the moment.

Days and months passed, the constellations changed their positions, and more than ten years slipped by quite unnoticeably. It was now the third year of the Qianfu reign period [876], under Emperor Xizong. The insurgence led by Huang Chao⁴ had wreaked havoc in the empire. Tens of thousands of people were rendered homeless. The emperor fled to Shu,⁵ and ordinary peoples’ homes as well as the royal palaces were all burnt down by the rebels. Fortunately, Li Keyong, king of Jin, raised an army and wiped out Huang Chao’s forces. When Emperor Xizong returned to the capital, the empire began to stabilize and thoroughfares started to open up for traffic.

A business trip took Li Yuan to Hangzhou in the Zhejiang region. It happened to be around the Clear and Bright Festival, that time of the year when the scenery at West Lake and North Hill was at its best, attracting throngs of tourists. Keeping in mind Yuanze’s promise twelve years ago about seeing him on Mount Tianzhu, Li Yuan walked at a leisurely pace with the crowds down the road, admiring the crystal-clear stream that flowed between the hills. Before he knew it, he was in the western corridor of Tianzhu Monastery, looking at the well where Ge Hong had allegedly concocted elixirs of immortality. When he found himself behind the monastery, there came into view a giant rock with a stream flowing by. Enraptured at the sight, he sat down.

While seated there, he heard singing coming from across the stream. Then he became aware of a herdboy about twelve or thirteen years of age on the other side, singing with gusto on the back of a bu alo. Marveling at the sight, Li Yuan pricked up his ears, and this was what he heard:

And

The song over, the herdboy looked at Li Yuan across the water and, clapping his hands, indulged in hearty laughter. Much taken aback, Li Yuan tried in vain to cross the stream to question him. Helplessly he watched the boy disappear into a willow grove. In low spirits, Li Yuan remained on the rock for a good while. When he asked a monk about the place, he was told that this was the stone of Ge Hong. Li Yuan knew only too well Monk Yuanze’s farewell poem twelve years ago and the cremation words of Abbot Moon Peak. This meeting here on Mount Tianzhu would be precisely during the monk’s third life. As inquiries about the herdboy’s whereabouts led to nothing, a disheartened Li Yuan went on his way back home. The rock that Li Yuan sat on came to be known as the Rock of Three Lifetimes and remains intact to this day. Qu Zongji of later times [the Ming dynasty] had these lines to say:

Wang Yuanhan [late Ming dynasty] had this to say:

The above story is about a reunion in the third lifetime. Now I shall propose to tell of another reunion across lifetimes known as “Abbot Mingwu Redeems Abbot Wujie” or “Abbot Foyin Redeems Su Dongpo.”⁶

During the years of the Zhiping reign period [1064–67] under Emperor Yingzong of the Song dynasty, there was, on the famous South Mountain, beyond Qiantang Gate in the Ninghai District, Zhejiang, a Cleansing Mercy Filial Piety Light Monastery of long standing. There were in the temple two eminent monks who had studied together. One was Abbot Wujie [Five Commandments], the other Abbot Mingwu [Bright Enlightenment]. Abbot Wujie, thirty-one years of age, with his left eye blind and his height less than five feet, was most odd in appearance. A native of Luoyang, the Western Capital, he was endowed with prodigious intelligence and literary facility. He was a virtuoso in the arts of the zither, chess, calligraphy, and painting. After entering the Buddhist order upon reaching adulthood, he had become well versed in the teachings of the Chan sect of Buddhism through meditation and visits to senior monks. His original surname was Jin, his Buddhist name Wujie. What are the five commandments? They are

1. Thou shalt not kill.

2. Thou shalt not steal or rob.

3. Thou shalt not engage in sensual indulgence.

4. Thou shalt not touch alcohol and meat.

5. Thou shalt not make false claims and misstatements.

One day, one of his study tours took him to this temple, where the abbot was so impressed with his Buddhist scholarship that he kept him there as his chief disciple. After the abbot’s death in a few years’ time, the monks of the monastery made him the abbot. Henceforth, he spent his days in meditation.

Abbot Mingwu, on the other hand, was a man with a round head, big ears, a broad face, a well-shaped mouth, neat eyebrows, bright eyes, and a graceful bearing. At twenty-nine years of age, he stood seven feet tall, the very image of an arhat. A native of Taiyuan Prefecture, Henan, with the original surname of Wang, he also had possessed great intelligence since his youth and was a formidable calligrapher. After he took to Buddhism and engaged in meditating and visits to senior monks, he became a monk at the local Shatuo Temple and adopted the Buddhist name of Mingwu. On one of his study tours, he came to Cleansing Mercy Monastery in the Ninghai District to visit Abbot Wujie. Impressed with his brilliance, the abbot kept him at the temple as a junior companion in his studies. The two came to be as close as brothers born of the same mother. When a lecture was to be made, the two would mount the platform together to explicate the Buddhist dharma, but we need say no more of this.

It was a cold day at the time of the year when winter gives way to spring. It snowed for two days under an overcast sky. On the third day, the snow stopped and the sky cleared up. Abbot Wujie was seated in his meditation chair early in the morning when he heard a baby’s cries in the distance (It is predestined that he should hear a baby’s cries from afar, just as when Kumarajiva heard two babies crying over his eyebrows),⁷ whereupon he said to the trusted acolyte Qingyi, who was by his side, “Go for a look outside the temple gate and report to me if there is anything amiss.”

Qingyi assured him, “It just cleared up after two days of snow. There shouldn’t be anything amiss.”

The abbot urged, “Go quickly, take a look, and report to me.” Unable to fend o the abbot’s insistence, Qingyi had no choice but to head for the gate, which was still closed, as it was still not yet bright daylight. He asked the gatekeeper to unbolt the gate. No sooner had he opened it than he gave a violent start at what he saw. “My goodness!” he cried. Truly,

What Qingyi saw was a baby lying on a tattered mat on the snow-covered ground underneath a pine tree. “Good grief!” he exclaimed. “Who left this child here? It’ll surely die either of cold or of hunger.” A closer look revealed the child to be a five- or six-month-old baby girl, wrapped up in rags. At the baby’s bosom was a slip of paper with her date and hour of birth written on it. Without saying anything out loud, Qingyi thought to himself, “As the ancients say, ‘ To save a human life is better than building a seven-tiered stupa.’” Thereupon, he hurried back into the temple and reported to the abbot, “Someone abandoned a five- to seven-month-old [sic] baby girl and left her, wrapped up in rags, under the pine tree outside the gate. There being no passersby on such a cold day, let us do a good deed and save the baby!”

The abbot said, “Good! You are indeed a man of compassion. Why don’t you carry the baby to your room and feed her some porridge or rice. You can take care of her until she is old enough to be put up for adoption. Saving a life gives you more credit than does becoming a monk.”

Qingyi rushed out the gate and carried the baby into the abbot’s cell. While looking the baby over, the abbot said, “Qingyi, show me the slip of paper.” Qingyi did so accordingly. On the slip of paper were written these words: “Born around noon on the fifteenth day of the sixth month of this year. Pet name: Red Lotus.” The abbot told Qingyi to carry the baby to his room and, as an act of charity, to raise her until she reached five to seven years of age, when she could be put up for adoption. (Good solution.) Thus admonished, Qingyi carried the baby to his quarters in a single-story house with three rooms and four rafters behind the Hall of a Thousand Buddhas. He started a fire to warm the baby and fed her some porridge. As the days and the months went by, the girl remained hidden in the empty house, with no one any the wiser. Even the abbot forgot about her presence. Before anyone knew it, Red Lotus had grown to be a girl of ten, with refined looks and a sharp mind. Qingyi continued to hide her in the house, locking the door every time he left and closing it every time he returned, such was his caution.

Time shot by like an arrow, and the days and months sped as quickly as the shuttle on a loom. Red Lotus was now sixteen. Qingyi treated her as if she were his own daughter. Even though clad in men’s clothing and wearing men’s shoes and socks, with her chin-length hair and bangs reaching her eyebrows in the fashion of a young monk, she still looked the pretty girl that she was. (The first mistake in the Buddhist order is to have women dressed like men passed o as monks, and monks passed o as nuns.) She cooked meals, boiled tea, and did needlework. Qingyi, for his part, was hoping to find a son-in-law to support him in his old age and to take care of his burial.

On a hot summer day in the sixth month, the memory of what had happened more than ten years before suddenly flashed back to Abbot Wujie. Having taken a bath and eaten his porridge for supper, he headed straight for Qingyi’s quarters behind the Hall of a Thousand Buddhas. Qingyi said, “It’s so seldom that you come here.”

The abbot came straight to the point: “Let me ask you something. Where is the girl Red Lotus whom you found?”

Qingyi dared not hide anything from the abbot but led him to his quarters. The abbot was so struck by the sight of the girl that

The sight of Red Lotus awakened the abbot’s lust. He said with a chuckle to Qingyi, “Send her to my bedroom tonight. Do so without fail. If you do what I say, I will certainly also do something for you. On no account is this to be let on to anyone else. Have her come as a young monk. Make sure that no one can tell she is a girl.” Qingyi voiced his consent, but to himself, he thought, “I can’t very well fail to do as he says, but if I do obey him and let her go into his room tonight, she’ll lose her virginity. What a spot I’m in!”

Noticing Qingyi’s hesitation, the abbot said, “Qingyi, lock the door and follow me into my room.” And so Qingyi did. The abbot took out ten taels of silver from his clothes trunk and, handing it to Qingyi, said, “Take this for your expenses. Tomorrow, I’ll get you your ordainment papers, shave your head, and take you on as a disciple. What do you say to that?”

“I am much obliged.” He had no choice but to accept the silver before taking leave of the abbot. Back in his quarters, he told Red Lotus under his breath, “My child, the man who just came is the abbot of this monastery. He has taken a fancy to you. After night falls, I’ll send you over to serve him. Be careful. Don’t make any mistakes.” Red Lotus promised to do as her father advised.

When evening set in, the two ate their supper. At around the second watch, Qingyi led Red Lotus straight to the abbot’s room and went in, unimpeded, through the open door. As it happened, the abbot had told the two acolytes who served him not to close the door and the windows that night because he wished to take a walk in the cool air. That was why they had no barriers to deal with. The abbot had been waiting in the room for Qingyi to bring Red Lotus to him. At the sight of a young man escorted by Qingyi, he stepped forward and led them in. “At this time tomorrow,” he told Qingyi, “come again and take her back.” Qingyi went back alone.

The abbot closed the door, put out the lamp with a glazed shade and, taking Red Lotus by her hand, pulled her to his bed, where he had her take o her clothes. Then he held her in his arms and lifted her onto the bed. They were like

By the time their game of clouds and rain was over, it was already the fifth watch, and dawn was approaching. The abbot had to think of a way to hide her. There being a big wardrobe in the room, he unlocked it, put to order the things in it, made her sit down inside, and said, “I’ll bring you food. Don’t you worry. Just be patient.” The girl, all too delighted at her first sexual experience, readily went into the wardrobe, which was then locked up. In a short while, having finished his sutra-intoning ritual in the hall, the abbot returned to the room, closed the door, and unlocked the wardrobe so that Red Lotus could come out for her meal. Then he put some fruit in the wardrobe and locked her in again. At night, Qingyi came and took Red Lotus back.

That very night, after finishing a meditation session in his chair, Abbot Mingwu, as perceptive as he was, knew that in a moment of weakness Abbot Wujie had been intimate with Red Lotus, thus breaking his oath against lust and throwing away so many years of abstinence. He thought, “I should give him some advice and gently urge him to mend his ways.”

The following day was the last day of the sixth month, with red and white lotus flowers in full bloom in the bone-ash pond outside the temple. Abbot Mingwu had an acolyte pick a white lotus and put it in a vase in his own room. While another acolyte was preparing tea, the abbot asked him to go and, with the following words, invite Abbot Wujie over for a talk: “Let us admire the lotus and compose poems while we talk.”

In a short while, Abbot Wujie was brought in. The two abbots sat down. Mingwu said, “My brother, with lotus flowers in full bloom, I had one picked and put in a vase for you to compose a poem on such beauty.”

Wujie said, “I am very obliged for a such a favor.” At this point, the acolyte came in and served tea. After the tea, Abbot Mingwu said to the acolyte, “Go and get me the four treasures of the study.” And so the acolyte did.

“What shall I write about?” asked Wujie.

“About the lotus.”

Wujie took up the brush-pen and wrote this quatrain:

Thereupon Mingwu said, “How can I have nothing to say in response to your poem?” With a brush-pen he wrote these four lines:

Upon finishing the quatrain, Abbot Mingwu roared with laughter.

When the meaning of the quatrain suddenly dawned on Wujie, his face turned red and then paled again. There and then, he took leave of Mingwu, returned to his room, and told an acolyte to boil some bath water. The acolyte hastened to do his bidding. After his bath, he put on a new outfit, took his meditation chair into the room, and, brush-pen in hand, wrote a farewell poem on a piece of white paper:

Then he had some incense burnt in front of him in a censer. With his feet pressed against each other and his palms joined together, he passed away on his meditation chair.

The acolyte promptly reported the death to Abbot Mingwu. Appalled at the news, the abbot went to Wujie’s room to take a look for himself, only to find his friend dead and gone. Having read the farewell poem, he said, “A good monk you were, except for this misdemeanor. Though you’ll be born in a man’s body, if you have no faith in the Three Precious Ones of Buddha, dharma, and sangha,⁸ you will certainly end up vilifying Buddha. For that, you’ll be thrown into the sea of bitterness in your afterlives, never to regain the Buddhist path. Alas, what a pity! You said yours was a hasty farewell, but I’m sure I’ll be able to overtake you!” (The freedom to come and go between this world and the other is what goes beyond dharma.) He had an acolyte boil some bath water for him. After a change of clothes, he went into his room and assumed the lotus position on his meditation chair.

“I will be on my way to overtake Abbot Wujie,” he declared to the assembly of his disciples. “You can put the two corpses into two separate caskets and burn them in the same cremation fire after three days.” With these words, he willed his death. All the monks present were amazed at such an extraordinary event. News about the two abbots of the temple dying on the same day so shook the town that the local people as well as men and women from out of town swarmed in untold numbers to the temple to burn incense and make o erings. After three hectic days, the corpses were carried to Golden Ox Temple for cremation, and the ashes were then disposed of.

Qingyi then sought a matchmaker and married his daughter, Red Lotus, to a Master Liu, a fan maker, who supported Qingyi for the rest of his life, but this is of no bearing to our story.

In the meantime, Mingwu, freed from his body, sped to the town of Meishan in Meizhou, Sichuan, where Wujie had already been reborn to Su Xun, courtesy name Mingyun, a poet known as the Resident of the Old Spring. His wife, Wang-shi, had dreamt that a one-eyed monk entered her room, much to her astonishment. The following morning, she gave birth to a baby boy with refined features. The parents were delighted and spared no festivities in celebration of the boy’s third day of his life and, thereafter, the thirtieth day, the hundredth day, and the first birthday a year later, but this is of no concern to us.

Mingwu was also reborn in the same area, to a man named Xie Yuan, courtesy name Daoqing. His wife Zhang-shi had dreamt of an arhat who, a seal in hand, came to her asking for alms. She woke up with a start and gave birth to a son who was later given the name Xie Ruiqing. From childhood on, he stayed away from meat and wine, and had his heart set on becoming a monk. Being descendants of generations upon generations of officials, his parents would not hear of his renouncing the world but instead sent him to school, much against his will. He proved to be a most gifted pupil, with a memory that could retain lines of text after no more than a cursory glance. He also excelled in the writing of prose and verse. His favorite reading materials were the classics, which he understood upon the first reading. His eloquence was unsurpassed by any eminent monk. What a pity it was that, as learned as he was, he disdained to take the imperial examinations, nor was he interested in seeking office. Any mention of fame and fortune brought only a smile from him, but no comment. This, however, is of no immediate concern to us either.

Let us go back to the son of Su the Resident of the Old Spring. When taught to read and write at the age of seven, he turned out to be so brilliant that he could take in five lines at one glance. By the age of ten, he had learned everything there was to learn in the Five Classics and the Three Histories.⁹ He was named Su Shi,¹⁰ courtesy name Zizhan. So beautiful were his writings that they came to be rated the best in the empire.

From early childhood on, Su Shi cultivated a close friendship with Xie Ruiqing in their studies together, though they had di erent aims in life. Su Shi had his mind set on taking the imperial examinations. Rejecting Buddhism, he had the greatest contempt for monks. He often said, “No shave, no knave; no knave, no shave; if knave, then shave; if shave, then knave. Someday when I rise to power, I shall have no peace until I do away with all monks.” Xie Ruiqing’s abstinence provoked these amused remarks from him: “Wine and meat provide nutrition to the human body. If you were to have your way and no life was to be killed for meat, then our streets and alleys would be filled to overflowing with sheep, pigs, chickens, and geese, with no space left for human beings. Moreover, wine is made of rice. What harm is there in drinking something that does no injury to life?” Every time they met, Ruiqing would try to convert Su Shi to Buddhism, whereas Su Shi would press Ruiqing to seek office.

“Holding office,” said Ruiqing, “is by no means a worthy undertaking. I advise you to attain enlightenment through Buddhism.”

Su Shi objected, “Your Buddhism is all too intangible. I advise you to become an official; that’s a solid career.” However endlessly the arguments dragged on, neither could convince the other.

In the first year of the Jiayou reign period [1056] under Emperor Renzong, Su Shi tried in vain to have Xie Ruiqing go with him to the Eastern Capital to sit for the imperial examinations. Su Shi achieved fame overnight and was appointed by imperial decree as a Hanlin academician entitled to a life of extravagant riches, with clothes of brocade, food of the finest quality, and an impressive entourage on his outings. His thoughts went back to his friend Xie Ruiqing, who refused to take the road to officialdom: “I will invite him to the capital. My wealth and exalted status will surely change his mind.” Consequently he wrote a letter of invitation and sent a messenger to Meishan to escort Xie Ruiqing to the capital. Xie Ruiqing, afraid that Su Shi might, if he did become rich and prominent, indeed defame Buddhism and do away with all monks, agreed to go, in order to convince him to change his mind. Therefore, he followed the messenger to the capital. When they met, they resumed their old ways of preaching to each other without either side yielding an inch.

Won’t you agree that events happen through coincidence? Well, it so happened that the region was hit by a severe drought that left thousands of acres of land dry and parched. By Emperor Renzong’s decree, an altar was set up on the palace grounds for a seven-day rite to pray for rain. The emperor himself made o erings of incense twice a day while the entire assembly of court officials ran about attending to their business in white clothes of mourning. As speech writing was the responsibility of officials of the Hanlin Academy, Su Shi was charged by imperial decree to write the speeches for this occasion. He urged Ruiqing to join in the event, but Ruiqing had no desire to go. (That’s where his origin lies. He does not wish to go, but cannot very well put Zizhan to blame.) Su Shi argued, “You normally find the greatest delight in Buddhist rituals. How can you miss the grand occasion when the imperial court has engaged celebrated monks from thirty-six places to pray by the altar built specially for the purpose?”

Ruijing countered, “A prayer service arranged by the imperial court will be nothing but a pageant with a lot of meaningless fanfare. I’m sure there won’t be any revered monks with lectures worth listening to!” However, the occasion proved to be an opportunity for the fulfillment of Su Shi’s predestined bond with Buddhism.

On the day in question, Su Shi insisted on taking Ruiqing with him to the service, and, unable to resist any longer, Ruiqing yielded and went along. Upon arrival at the site, Su Shi joined the other officials in providing services for the occasion, whereas Ruiqing, dressed as an acolyte, walked to and fro, observing the ceremony.

All of a sudden, Emperor Renzong arrived. As the assembly of officials greeted the emperor, prostrated themselves, and o ered incense before the statues of the Buddha, Ruiqing stepped forward to take a closer look at the emperor, but the emperor noticed that furtive move. Seeing that the man had distinguished features and a refined bearing, the emperor asked, “Who is this man?”

A consternated Su Shi suddenly hit upon an idea and, falling on his knees, said, “This is an acolyte who recently came to Great State Councilor Monastery. Being most knowledgeable about the Buddhist classics, he has been brought here to help out at the service.”

“What a distinguished look he has!” said the emperor. “Since you are so knowledgeable about the Buddhist classics, I shall make you an ordained monk.”

Xie Ruiqing had, ever since an early age, wanted to be a Buddhist monk. The imperial decree fit in exactly with his wishes. After expressing his gratitude, he said, “Since Your Majesty has kindly conferred upon me the status of a monk, please also grant me a Buddhist name.”

Thereupon, Emperor Renzong, the Son of Heaven, obtained a sheet of ordainment paper from the Ministry of Rites and, with a flourish of his royal brush-pen, wrote “Foyin [Buddha Seal].” Ruiqing respectfully took the document and kowtowed again in gratitude. He waited for the emperor to withdraw before shaving his head in front of the statues of Buddha by the altar. Henceforth he called himself Foyin instead of Xie Ruiqing. None of the monks of Great State Councilor Monastery dared cold-shoulder such an erudite scholar of the dharma, a monk ordained by the emperor himself and a close friend of Academician Su. He came to be known to all and sundry as Chan Master, but of this, no more need be said.

Now, Su Shi felt laden with guilt because it was for the sole purpose of persuading Ruiqing to seek office that he had made the latter travel all the way to the capital. The last thing he had expected was to have Ruiqing shaved and ordained as a monk just because of an innocuous tour of the prayer service. He had always resisted Ruiqing’s attempts to press the tenets of Buddhism upon him, but now he ended up being the cause of Ruiqing’s renouncement of the world. Wasn’t it all attributable to a predestined fate?

However much he secretly liked the life of a monk, Foyin feigned such anger at Su Shi that the latter, haunted by his own guilt, was full of humble apologies and dared not utter another unkind word against monks. However endlessly Foyin lectured about the Buddhist scriptures and dharma, Su Shi had to listen with all his patience if he had no wish to provoke Foyin into another burst of rage. (One thing leads to another. Ingenious.) With more exposure to such lectures, Su Shi gradually became attuned to Buddhist teachings, and his enmity began to wear o . He gave in to Foyin’s insistence that he pay homage to the Buddha and partake of a vegetarian meal in State Councilor Monastery on the first and fifteenth days of each month. Since he had always enjoyed conversing with Foyin, Su Shi often visited him in the monastery in his leisure time for an idle talk or for a poetry reading. As Foyin touched no meat or wine, Su Shi also followed a vegetarian diet. The Buddha-defaming and monk-bashing Academician Su was now a defender of the dharma with full respect for monks. Foyin went a step further and tried to talk Su Shi into abandoning his post in favor of the practice of Buddhism. Su Shi promised, “After I attain the height of my career and fame, I will build a house to the east of your monastery and join you in a life of seclusion.” Therefore, he called himself Su the Resident of the Eastern Slope and came to be known to all and sundry as Su Dongpo [Eastern Slope Su].

After several years at the Hanlin Academy, Su Dongpo was appointed as examination administrator in the first year of the Xining reign period [1068] under Emperor Shenzong. In assigning examination topics, he satirized the incumbent prime minister, Wang Anshi, who in turn vilified him in front of the emperor, saying that such an impudent and flamboyant fellow did not belong in the Institute of Historiography. Consequently Su Shi was demoted to the position of controller-general of Hangzhou. He took leave of Foyin and went to Hangzhou to assume his new post.

One day, when he was sitting idly in his yamen, a gatekeeper came in to report that a monk calling himself the abbot of the local Lingyin Temple was requesting an audience with him. Su Dongpo had a runner go out and inquire about the monk’s business, whereupon Foyin asked for some paper and ink from the gatekeeper and wrote the words “The poet monk is here to see you.” When the note was brought to Su Shi, he also took up his pen and wrote, “How dare a poet monk request an audience with an eminent official!” When the gatekeeper showed the note to the monk, the latter wrote a quatrain:

It was only then that Su Dongpo recognized the handwriting. He marveled, “Why is he also here? Quickly invite him in!” Who do you suppose the monk was? He was none other than Abbot Foyin. He had resigned from Great State Councilor Monastery upon learning of Academician Su’s demotion and had traveled to Lingyin Temple in Hangzhou to be the abbot there. Thus, they resumed their daily visits. Later, Su Dongpo relocated from Hangzhou to Xuzhou and from there to Huzhou, and Foyin followed him all along.

In the second year of the reign period Yuanfeng [1079], under Emperor Shenzong, Su Dongpo was the prefect of Huzhou when he wrote several poems with a satirical sting against current events. Censors Li Ding, Wang Gui, and others submitted memorials to the emperor, accusing Su Shi of slandering the imperial court. In a rage, the Son of Heaven sent officers to arrest Su. He was thus brought to the capital and thrown into jail to be interrogated by none other than his enemy Li Ding, a student of Wang Anshi’s. He was charged with treason and sentenced to death. Sitting in prison, he pondered over why, as a scholar-official, he should lose his life over a few lines of verse. He lamented his fate with another poem:

Tears gushed from his eyes as he thought to himself sadly, “The way things are, I’m no better than a chicken or a duck in the hands of a butcher. Come to think of it, what crimes did the chickens and ducks commit that they deserve to be killed to fill the dinner plate? They are slaughtered only because they cannot speak and defend themselves. But I, Su Shi, with my glib tongue, am no more able to speak for myself. Woe is me! Foyin did try to talk me into keeping away from any meat of slaughtered creatures, giving up office, and becoming a monk. I see now how true his words were. I should have followed his advice.”

Before the sighs were quite out of his mouth, he heard the click of a prayer bead and an exclamation of “Amitabha.” Much startled, Dongpo opened his eyes and saw Abbot Foyin in front of him. Forgetting that he was in a prison cell, Dongpo scrambled to his feet to greet him, saying, “Why are you here, my brother?”

Foyin said, “I am here to take you to Cleansing Mercy Filial Piety Light Monastery on South Mountain to view the blooming red lotus flowers.” Dongpo found himself following his friend until they came to the monastery. Once past the gate, Dongpo was seized by a sense of déjà vu as they wound their way through the halls. Much to his amazement, all the clocks, chimes, and volumes of scriptures displayed in the halls looked as familiar to him as if they were his very own. As no lotus flowers had come into view during the entire tour of the monastery, he asked Abbot Foyin, “Where are the red lotus flowers?”

Foyin replied, pointing in the direction behind him, “Here she comes.”

Turning around, Dongpo saw a young woman approaching with mincing and delicate steps from behind the Hall of a Thousand Buddhas. (A vivid scene.) She stopped in front of him and made a deep bow. Dongpo had a vague feeling of having known her before. The woman took out from her sleeve a sheet of flowered notepaper and requested the inscription of a poem from the academician. With brush-pen and ink slab provided by Foyin, Dongpo wrote the following quatrain without any hesitation:

The woman had no sooner finished reading the poem than she tore the sheet into small pieces and, putting her arms firmly around Dongpo, said, “The academician must not be so ungrateful!” Dongpo was at a loss what to do, but Foyin cut her o with a single slap of his hand. As he woke up in a cold sweat, he realized that it was nothing but a dream. It was the fifth watch by the prison watch drum. Dongpo marveled at the extraordinary dream and wondered why he could recall every word of the quatrain. Suddenly, his ears caught the distant tolls of the monastery bell, announcing the coming of dawn. A flash of understanding lit up his mind: “So I was a monk at Filial Piety Light Monastery in my previous life and succumbed to the temptation of lust. That explains the misery in this life of mine. Should Buddha kindly forgive me and spare my life, I will, without fail, defend the dharma with my whole heart and devote myself to the practice of Buddhism.”

In a short while, at the break of day, a prison warden came in to congratulate him for having been pardoned by an imperial decree and only demoted to the position of deputy military training commissioner of Huangzhou. He was barely out the prison gate when he saw Abbot Foyin approaching him, saying, “How fares the academician? This poor monk has been waiting a long time!”

As it happened, on the very day Dongpo was taken away, Foyin also left Huzhou and came to Great State Councilor Monastery in the Eastern Capital to wait for news about Dongpo. When he got word of Dongpo’s death sentence, he made every e ort to defend Dongpo and, seeking high and low for help (Such a good friend is hard to come by. I’m on the verge of tears and ready to drop down on my knees to pay him homage), secured the assistance of Wu Chong and Wang Anli [Wang Anshi’s brother], two righteous men who did their best to convince the emperor of his innocence. Empress Dowager Caoshi, impressed with Su Shi’s fame as a talented scholar ever since the reign of Emperor Renzong, also intervened on his behalf. (Women are more appreciative of talent than men. But it’s lamentable that a scholar in distress should incur the sympathy of a woman.) The emperor did come around and issue the pardon. Having regained the life that he had given up for lost, Dongpo was doubly happy to see Foyin. After acknowledging his gratitude to the emperor at the Gate of Five Phoenixes, Dongpo proceeded to Great State Councilor Monastery to tell Foyin about his dream. He was halfway through when Foyin interrupted him, saying, “I had the same dream last night,” whereupon Foyin related the latter half of his dream, which, much to their amazement, tallied exactly with Dongpo’s in every detail.

The following day, the imperial decree came, demoting Su Shi to Huangzhou. By a prior agreement with Foyin, Dongpo made a detour on his way to his post in order to visit Filial Piety Light Monastery outside Qiantang Gate in the Ninghai District. Upon arrival, he found every path, door, and window the same as in his dream. The monks he talked with all told him about Abbot Wujie’s furtive encounter with Red Lotus. They still kept the farewell poem that Wujie wrote before he died. Dongpo asked for the poem and found it a veritable companion piece to the quatrain he had composed in his dream. Now he was convinced that reincarnation was by no means a false Buddhist claim. Not a doubt remained in his mind that Foyin was a reincarnation of Abbot Mingwu. At that moment, Dongpo wanted to shave his head, put on a monk’s robe, and become Foyin’s disciple, a request that Foyin denied. “You are not to renounce the world until twenty years from now, for your ties to fame and fortune are not yet broken, but in the meantime, keep your faith firmly and unalterably.” Thus admonished, Dongpo did indeed, after his assumption of office in Huangzhou, refrain from eating anything that was a victim of killing, limited his drinking, and, wearing cotton from head to toe and inside out, he made it a daily habit to read Buddhist scriptures and pay homage to the Buddha. Throughout his three years in Huangzhou, Foyin stayed at his side, morning and night, day in and day out.

With the change of the reign title to Yuanyou [1086–93] under Emperor Zhezong, Dongpo was summoned to the capital and rehabilitated as academician of the Hanlin Academy, where his duty was to explicate the classics to the emperor. In another few years’ time, he was promoted to the position of secretary of the Ministry of Rites and chief academician of Duanming Hall. Foyin, for his part, resumed his position at Great State Councilor Monastery and they kept up a steady stream of mutual visits.

During the reign period of Shaosheng [1094–97], the new prime minister, Zhang Chun, reinstated Wang Anshi’s policy and banished Dongpo to Dingzhou. As Dongpo bade farewell to Foyin at the monastery, Foyin said, “The karma of your previous existence has not come to an end. There are more hardships in store for you.”

Dongpo asked, “When will I be released?”

He continued, “Mark this: Your journeys will take you too far for me to follow you. I will therefore just wait for you in the capital.”

Dongpo glumly took his leave. Less than six months after he arrived in Dingzhou, he was further demoted to an assignment in Yingzhou. Shortly afterward, he was again demoted to one in Huizhou, and, after a little more than a year, was transferred to Danzhou, and from there to Lianzhou and later to Yongzhou.¹¹ Such a vagrant life fully bore out what Foyin had predicted about his journeys “taking him far.”

He was not long in Yongzhou before an imperial pardon was issued, granting him the post of supervisor of Yuju Temple. He thought to himself, “What Foyin said about my returning upon the encounter of the word yong has already been born out. Now, here comes the word yu, which means the end of my life.” So thinking, he hastened back to the capital to see Abbot Foyin. “I have long wished to go home,” said the abbot, “but I have been waiting for you to go with me.” By this time, Dongpo had gained a thorough knowledge of the dharma and readily understood what Foyin meant. That very night, the two of them took a bath at Great State Councilor Monastery and talked until the fifth watch before they took leave of each other. Foyin willed his death in that very monastery, whereas Dongpo, upon returning to his own quarters, also passed away without any ailment.

In the time of Emperor Huizong [r. 1101–25], there was a necromancer who remarked, “Dongpo is already an arhat. It was Foyin, a reincarnation of Buddha, who followed him throughout his life and saved him from perdition.” A relationship that lasted for two lifetimes is so rarely heard of since ancient times that the story is still being told and elaborated by storytellers. There is a poem in evidence: