29

Monk Moon Bright Redeems Willow Green

The above quatrain makes the point that it is by no account easy for Chan Buddhist monks to attain enlightenment through meditation. Goodness knows how many monks have tried to do so through good works before turning to spiritual devotion, or practiced spiritual cultivation before turning to good works.

In this story I propose to tell of a young man named Liu¹ Xuanjiao, a native of Chongyang in Yongjia County of Wenzhou Prefecture, in the Shaoxing reign period [1131–62] under Emperor Gaozong of the Song dynasty after the imperial court moved to the south. At twenty-five years of age, he was already an erudite scholar well-versed in ancient history. The books he had read could easily fill up five carriages. The death of both of his parents when he was a child had left him an impoverished orphan with neither kith nor kin to turn to. All by himself, he labored at his studies and joined Comptroller Gao’s household as a son-in-law. Later, he passed the imperial examinations at the first attempt and assumed, by imperial decree, the post of prefect of Lin’an² in the Ninghai District. His wife, Lady Gao, twenty years of age, was as intelligent as she was graceful in appearance.

And so, less than a year into the marriage, Liu Xuanjiao, now a prefect, having moved into the house of his wife’s family, bade farewell to his parents-in-law and, bringing a servant named Sai’er, set out for Lin’an Prefecture to take up his office. Stopping only for food and drink when necessary, they traveled by day and rested by night, and soon arrived in Lin’an, where in and around the Pavilion to Welcome New Officials were already assembled all the subordinate officials, town elders, monks, headmen, archers, foot soldiers, and sedan-chair carriers, all waiting to bid him welcome.

After having unpacked and settled down in his residence, Prefect Liu went to the yamen and exchanged greetings with all of his subordinates. When checking the names against the roster one by one, he found that Monk Yutong was the only person who had failed to make an appearance. A native of Sichuan, the monk resided at Water and Moon Monastery on Bamboo Grove Peak, south of the city. The prefect thundered in a rage, “How can that bald man be so impudent!” He turned to the Chan masters of other temples: “Why is that monk not here to greet me? Bring him here! He shall be called to account!”

The head monks of various temples pleaded, “That monk is a reincarnation of Buddha. He has never left Bamboo Grove Peak, where he has been living for the last fifty-two years. For every obligation to welcome or see o officials, his disciples represent him. (Nowadays, if there is indeed a monk who has practiced the Buddhist virtues for fifty-two years, a prefect should go and pay him homage. How could the monk be blamed for failing to come and greet him? The prefect is too worldly.) Please forgive him.”

Though the prefect gave in and dropped the idea of apprehending the monk, his mind was still seething. The company dispersed.

On that very day, at the prefect’s mansion, a feast was held in the course of which a sixteen-year-old courtesan-singer so impressed the prefect with her beauty and her voice that he asked for her name. She replied, “I am Red Lotus Wu, serving exclusively in the hall for guests of honor.”

Before the feast was over, Prefect Liu summoned her and instructed her under his breath in these words: “Tomorrow, go to Water and Moon Monastery and devise some means to coax Monk Yutong into having relations with you. If you succeed, bring me some evidence (There goes the poison) and I will give you a handsome reward in addition to releasing you from a courtesan’s life. Should you fail, you will su er for it.”

Red Lotus replied, “I will do as you bid, sir.” On her way home, she racked her brains for a plan, and, with a knit of her brows, a plan did come to her mind. After she arrived home, she gave her mother a full account of Prefect Liu’s talk with her. The mother and daughter spent the whole night discussing the plan.

The following day was overcast, as was typical in the twelfth lunar month, with winter drawing to a close. At noontime, there being no rain, Red Lotus Wu left the city gate, dressed in white mourning clothes and carrying a meal box in her hand. By about three o’clock in the afternoon, when she had almost reached Water and Moon Monastery after covering several li, there sprang up a strong wind with driving rain. She walked up to the monastery gate and leaned against it. Without anyone coming out, she could not very well go in.

It was not until evening had set in that an old monk came out to lock the gate. Red Lotus stepped forward with a bow of greeting. The monk returned the greeting and said, “It is getting dark. Please go back. I need to lock the gate.”

With tears streaming down her cheeks, Red Lotus pleaded with another bow, “Please take pity on me. Today being the one hundredth day after my husband’s death, I came from the city, where I live by myself, to make some o erings of food at my husband’s grave. I was there crying when the rain began and evening set in. With the city gate closed at this late hour, I cannot go home but must spend the night in the monastery. Please have mercy on me, and make the abbot let me stay in the monastery until tomorrow morning, so that I won’t fall prey to a tiger on the way back.”

Shedding copious tears, she prostrated herself on the ground and did not rise until the monk said, “Please rise. I will do something for you.”

Having closed the gate, the old monk led Red Lotus into a small room— his own bedroom—at one end of the monks’ quarters, and told her to sit down. Without a moment’s pause, he hurried to the abbot’s meditation room and reported to him, “There is at the gate a young woman in mourning who says that she was o ering food at her husband’s grave when she was caught in the rainstorm, and, because the city gate is now closed, wants to be put up for the night here in the monastery before returning to the city tomorrow morning.”

The abbot said, “That would be a kind thing to do. Since it’s getting late, just have her spend the night in your room, and send her on her way tomorrow morning at the fifth watch.”

Thus instructed, the monk went to tell Red Lotus. She made another bow of gratitude, saying, “Dead or alive, I will never forget your great kindness in saving my life.” With these words, she sat down on the bench in the monk’s room while the monk himself went around the monastery putting everything in order and closing all the windows and doors before returning to the room and lying down on the earthen bed with his clothes on. Having worked hard during the day, he fell asleep immediately.

Situated in the midst of vegetable fields, with no farm houses in sight, Water and Moon Monastery was a most quiet and undisturbed place, especially that night, with the two novices away begging alms. As the night watch drum announced the second watch, Red Lotus began to fret. “What’s to be done?” she thought to herself. Much disconcerted, she tiptoed to the abbot’s room. The door was closed, but the big latticed window on one side was still brightly lit by a lamp with a glazed shade. The abbot, sitting in meditation on his chair, also saw Red Lotus through the window.

Eyeing the abbot, Red Lotus said in an undertone, “Please have mercy and help me, Abbot.”

“Go to the monk’s room and leave here tomorrow morning. Do not disturb me in my meditation room. Go quickly!”

Red Lotus took a dozen deep bows outside the window, saying, “Isn’t it true, Abbot, that for a monk, mercy is the guiding principle, and kind deeds are the means to enlightenment? My clothes are too thin for the cold night. Please open the door and lend me some clothes. I will be most thankful to you for saving my life.” So saying, she broke into sobs. (Women are full of tears. The abbot should not have let her in.)

Being the kind-hearted man that he was, the abbot thought to himself, “It would not look appropriate to have someone die of cold right at my door. The ancients said, ‘Saving a human life gets you more credit than building seven stupas.’” Thereupon, he got down from his seat of meditation and opened the door to let her in. He gave her an old, worn-out robe of his and returned to his seat of meditation. She walked up to him and, with about a dozen deep bows, said tearfully, “My stomachache is killing me!”

Totally oblivious to her pleas, the abbot remained in his seat with his eyes closed. But the bitterly sobbing young woman leaned her body against him, letting out moans as if in pain. Then she lay down across his lap one moment, sat up to press against him the next, then stood up uttering cries of pain. By the third watch, the abbot’s endurance failed him. “Young lady,” he said, “why are you crying so hard? Where is the pain?”

“When my husband was still alive, every time I had a stomachache like this, he would take o his clothes and hold me in his arms. With his warm belly against my cold one, the pain would go away. And now my stomach is acting up again, but this time, the night being so cold, I’ll surely die. If you’d be kind enough to save my life by pressing your warm belly against me, I’ll be cured. If so, I’ll owe my second life to your great kindness.”

Unable to bear her pleading any longer, the abbot resignedly unbuttoned his patchwork robe and held her to him. (So he found himself aroused. He must have seen through her designs, but just could not contain himself.)

Now that she saw her plan was working, she promptly undressed from the waist down and, throwing herself into his arms, said, “Please also take o your underwear and press your warm belly against mine to save my life.” He refused. But after urging him repeatedly, she untied his pants, held his member with her delicate fingers, and worked at it until it stood up hard. Then she moved to meet it with her own private parts. The abbot’s peace of mind could not but be disturbed. (At this point in the narration, it becomes clear that the abbot should not have failed to go and greet the prefect.) His desire stirring at the sight of her alluring body, the two made merry on that very bed of meditation. Truly,

Holding Red Lotus in his arms, the abbot asked, “What is your name? Where do you live? Why are you here?”

“I dare not hide anything from you. I am a courtesan serving the prefectural yamen. My name is Red Lotus Wu. I live by New South Bridge in the city.”

Possessed by the Evil One at that moment, he said cheerfully, “Do not let on to others what happened between you and me.”

Shortly afterward, when the cavorting was over, Red Lotus tore o with her teeth a sleeve from a white cotton garment, wiped o his fluid with it, and stu ed it into her own sleeve. Though too exhausted to take much notice of what she was doing, the abbot grew a little apprehensive. “There must be a reason why you are here, sister,” said he. “Tell me the truth.”

He pressed so hard for an answer that Red Lotus saw no other way but to tell him the truth: “The new prefect was so annoyed by your failure to show up to greet him that he sent me here to seduce you.”

The abbot was aghast. Bitter remorse swept over him. “The Evil One is upon me. You tricked me and made me break the commandment against lust. I will fall into hell.” As the day had already dawned, the abbot had the monk open the gate. Red Lotus bade the abbot farewell and went back as fast as her legs could carry her.

In the meantime, the abbot sent the old monk away to the kitchen to boil some bath water for him, while he himself rubbed his ink stick against the inkstone and, with his brush-pen, composed a poem, “On Departing from This World”:

He folded the piece of paper that bore the poem and slipped it under the incense-burner. The monk brought in the hot water and attended to the abbot until he finished his bath and put on a new robe. The abbot then gave the old monk these instructions: “When Prefect Liu of Lin’an sends for me, give the messenger the piece of paper under the incense-burner and have him take it back to the prefect. Do not fail me.”

Thus instructed, the monk went away to his daily chores of burning incense and sweeping the ground, without any inkling that Abbot Yutong had already willed himself to death.

Let us follow another thread of the story and come back to Red Lotus. Having eaten breakfast and changed into colorful clothes, she went to Lin’an to see Prefect Liu, carrying with her the sleeve she had torn o . At the sight of Red Lotus, the prefect hurriedly left his seat in the main hall and withdrew into his study, where he questioned the girl about her mission. While supplying a full account of her nocturnal adventure, she showed him the sleeve as evidence. Immensely delighted, the prefect had a small black lacquer box brought from the main hall, put the white cotton sleeve in it, and sealed the box. A brush-pen in hand, he wrote the following quatrain:

He put the poem into an envelope, sealed it, and sent a runner to deliver it to the abbot and to come back immediately with a reply from the latter. The runner left. Prefect Liu rewarded Red Lotus with five hundred strings of cash and released her from her singing duties for one year. Gratefully she returned home with the money, but of her, for the time being, no more.

Now the runner, carrying the letter and the box containing the torn sleeve, went to Water and Moon Monastery and saw only the old monk burning incense in the hall. Asked where the abbot was, the monk led him to the abbot’s meditation room, only to find the abbot dead on his meditation chair. The monk said, “The abbot said, ‘When Prefect Liu sends for me, give the messenger the letter under the incense-burner by way of reply.’”

Much startled, the runner said, “Only someone who is a reincarnation of Buddha would have predictions as accurate as that.” Without a moment’s delay, he brought the letter of reply and the small box back to the prefectural yamen, presented the prefect with the letter of reply as well as the prefect’s own, and told of the abbot’s death.

Upon opening the letter of reply, Liu Xuanjiao was astonished to see that it was a poem on departing from the mortal world. “What a monk! I shouldn’t have marred his otherwise perfectly good name.” But remorse was now too late. He sent word for a carpenter to make a coffin for the abbot and invited Abbot Fakong of the famous Pure Mercy Monastery of Southern Mountain to direct the cremation ceremony.

Abbot Fakong went first to Prefect Liu’s yamen for an explanation. After learning about Abbot Yutong’s encounter with Red Lotus, he lamented, “What a pity! In a moment of weakness, that monk deviated from the right path. What you did ruined his virtuous record. I shall go to his cremation ceremony and point out to him the right path to follow, so that he will not stray into the crowd of those condemned to be reincarnated as animals.” With these words, he took leave of the prefect and betook himself to Water and Moon Monastery, where he ordered that the coffin be carried into the vacant lot behind the temple. A torch in hand, Abbot Fakong drew a circle in the air and said,

I hereby respectfully submit to the soul of the deceased Great Monk Yutong:

So saying, Abbot Fakong threw the torch onto the coffin, which was soon totally consumed. The huge crowd of onlookers saw a golden ray rise from the flames up to the sky. After Abbot Fakong had gathered the ashes and taken them into the pagoda, the crowd dispersed.

That very night, Prefect Liu’s wife, Lady Gao, dreamt of a heavily built monk with a face shaped like a full moon walking into her bedchamber. She was so startled that she woke up in a cold sweat. At that very moment, she conceived a child without being aware of it. Time sped by like an arrow. When the pregnancy came to full term, a baby girl was born, whereupon a waiting woman reported the good news to Liu Xuanjiao. When the baby was one month old, she was named Cuicui [Green]. Many a feast was laid to mark the one hundredth day after her birth as well as her first birthday. Truly,

When Liu Cuicui [Willow Green] was eight years old, Liu Xuanjiao completed his term of office and packed up for the journey back to his hometown. However,

Liu Xuanjiao fell victim to an epidemic and died within a few days. Honest and incorrupt while in office as prefect, he left his family with little means. Having encoffined the body, put on mourning clothes, read the scriptures, and deposited the coffin in Liuzhou Temple, his widow wished to return to her hometown, Wenzhou, with her maid Sai’er and daughter Cuicui, but she had no relatives to turn to and too little money for the long journey. Instead, she rented for the three of them a room in front of White Horse Temple in the city. With no regular income, what little savings she had dwindled away in eight years’ time. The maid ran away. (I have often wondered whether the heavenly principles are flawed when children are not granted to officials of integrity. But, as is said often, “Officials of integrity have no issue because they are too harsh to people.” The case of Liu Xuanjiao convinces me of the truth of this saying.)

By this time, Liu Cuicui had grown into a beautiful sixteen-year-old girl. Daily existence for the mother and daughter became so uncertain that they were reduced to asking for loans through the mediation of their next-door neighbor, Mrs. Wang, who obtained for them three thousand strings of public tax money from Chief Clerk Yang of the Yangbatou District of Lin’an. Six months later, the lender pressed them harshly for repayment. Unable to stand the harassment any longer, Mrs. Liu had no alternative but to o er her daughter, through Mrs. Wang, as a concubine to Mr. Yang (The poison is breaking out), who, in turn, was to provide for Mrs. Liu in her old age. Within a few days, Mr. Yang came to live with them as the son-in-law, saying, “With me to provide for the two of you in this second home of mine, you will have enough food and clothing.”

Before they knew it, two months sped by. Inconvenienced as he was by his obligations, both in terms of time and money, toward two households, Mr. Yang returned one day and consulted with his wife about his intentions of moving back permanently. Subsequent to his father-in-law’s filing of a complaint accusing him of taking on a concubine to the neglect of his wife, the Lin’an prefectural yamen had Mrs. Liu and her daughter apprehended. Upon being pressed to return the betrothal gifts, Mrs. Liu, desperate for money, o ered Cuicui for sale to the yamen. However, there was a Director Zou in the Ministry of Works who, hearing that Liu Cuicui was a beautiful and clever girl, obtained her release from the yamen and installed her as his concubine, along with her mother, in a house bought for their use on Swordsman Camp Street. In addition, he bought a maid and a serving boy to attend to their needs. Henceforth, Liu Cuicui changed her name to Liu Cui.

At that time, when the imperial court of the Song dynasty had moved south, Lin’an was a most prosperous city. On Tonghe Street under Golden Waves Bridge, there was Flower and Moon House. To the east, there were Bright Spring House and Southern Marketplace. To the south were streets and lanes called Swordsman Camp, Lacquerware Wall, Sandpaper, and Harmony, where marketplaces abounded just as they did in streets to the west with names like Peace, Towels, and Lions.

Being a reincarnation of Monk Yutong, Liu Cui was gifted in the skills of reading and writing. There was nothing she did not know about poems and songs, just as there was nothing she could not do in the arts of sewing and embroidery. As Director Zou did not visit her more than once in ten days or half a month, he should by all accounts have chosen any other location for the house than Swordsman Camp Street, which was most notorious as a brothelinfested place. In her idleness, Liu Cui watched clients of the brothels come and go in the neighborhood and, merrily following the examples set by prostitutes all around her, also took to parading her charms at her door. Ogling men soon began to follow her into the house and stay overnight. Her mother, having protested to no avail, was resigned to becoming her procuress. Many young men from wealthy families fell for her, and not a day was not spent in drinking and carousing. Disgusted at the unruliness, Director Zou severed all ties with her and resolved never to have anything to do with her again. Liu Cui was only too happy to be released from any control he had over her and, casting all scruples to the winds, came out into the open. Her degeneration, in fact, was an act of retribution upon her father, Liu Xuanjiao, for his unkindness; such is the justice of the ways of heaven. People of later generations should by all means take warning from this story. There is a poem in evidence:

Later, it was a Buddha who redeemed Liu Cui and brought her back onto the right path so that she could resume her former identity as a Buddha. Who, you may ask, is this Buddha who came for the girl’s redemption? It was Monk Moon Bright. Having renounced the world at an early age, he truly observed the five Buddhist commandments⁵ without the slightest deviation. Now the abbot of Piety Monastery on Mount Gaoting,⁶ he had known Abbot Yutong well in their studies of Buddhism. Upon learning about Yutong’s death, he had laughed heartily, saying, “So, the mother-in-law is not firmly established in her status, but has to relive the life of a daughter-in-law.”⁷ Later, when he got word of Liu Cui’s fame as the accomplished beauty of Swordsman Camp Street, he knew instinctively that she was a reincarnation of Abbot Yutong and his compassion was aroused.

One day, while Abbot Fakong of Pure Mercy Monastery was paying him a visit at Piety Monastery, he confided in Fakong, “It has been some time since old Yutong fell into the company of less than honorable women. My fear is that he might come to enjoy it and lose his natural qualities. He should be redeemed and pulled out of that place at the first opportunity.”

It so happened that however lowly her status as a prostitute was, Liu Cui had this to be said about her: she was well-versed, since childhood, in the teachings of Buddhism. Of the gold and silk and other payments that she received, she gave much away freely, with never so much as a flinch. Being Mrs. Liu’s own daughter, she was not to be stopped from doing whatever she had set her mind to. Under the Hill of Ten Thousand Pines, a stone bridge was built and named Liu Cui Bridge. A well was dug along Swordsman Camp Street and named Liu Cui Well. Her other deeds of generosity were too many to enumerate here. She made a rule of removing her makeup, putting on a plain cotton outfit that had been made for the purpose, and, within closed doors, o ering prayers to Buddha on the first and the fifteenth days of every month. All visitors, throngs of them, were flatly declined admission on these days, and this came to be a rule. This was precisely what prompted Monk Moon Bright to see in the depth of her soul enough innate goodness to be worthy of redemption. Truly,

Abbot Fakong, as enjoined by Monk Moon Bright the previous day, proceeded accordingly to Liu Cui’s door on Swordsman Camp Street as if to beg for alms. Knocking at his wooden fish,⁹ he chanted in a loud voice,

Liu Cui, just back from an outing to West Lake, was much impressed by the refined voice and diction of the alms-seeking monk and sent her maid to bring him into the main hall. “Your Reverence,” she said, “what ability do you have, that you come here to beg for alms?”

“This poor monk can do nothing more than say a few things about the operations of karma.”

“What is karma?”

Abbot Fakong explained, “What went before is the cause and what follows is the e ect. The doing is the cause, the results are the e ect. In the saying ‘Plant melons and you get melons; sow beans and you get beans,’ the planting and sowing is the cause and what you get is the e ect. If you don’t sow, whence can you reap? Good causes beget good e ects; evil causes beget evil e ects. Therefore, if you want to know the cause in your previous life, look at the e ect in this life. If you want to know the e ect in your next life, look at what you’ve done in this life.”

Much delighted with this clear explanation, Liu Cui o ered him a meal. “Of the multitudes of Buddhas,” she continued, “are there any who rose to that status from my lowly world of prostitution?”

“Well, once, troubled by the excessive lust of the beings of this world, the great bodhisattva Guanyin incarnated herself as a most attractive prostitute in a brothel. All men—even of noble birth—who laid eyes on her, were, to a man, overwhelmed by her beauty. But their lust subsided upon the first encounter with her. Evil forces were no match for her immense power. When she died, free of any disease, neighbors bought a coffin and made arrangements for burial. At the sight of her grave, a foreign monk joined his palms in a salute, exclaiming, ‘How wondrous!’ The neighbors said, ‘This is the grave of a prostitute. You are mistaken.’ The monk insisted, ‘She was no prostitute but a reincarnation of Bodhisattva Guanyin, who had come to redeem the lustful men of the mortal world and to bring them back onto the right path. If you don’t believe me, just dig into the grave and see for yourselves. The remains must be most extraordinary.’ The neighbors did not believe him. They promptly set about digging into the grave to break open the coffin. Much to their amazement, what they saw was an unbroken chain of bones the color of gold. Consequently, upon that very grave was erected a temple named Temple of the Bodhisattva of Golden-Chain Bones. This is what is known as the ‘purity of a lotus untarnished by the silt it grows in.’ Your life of sin in this house of ill repute is a corollary to the seed of lust that was sown in a previous existence. If you remain unrepentant and go on selling your charms for the rest of your life, you will be condemned to the sea of desire life after life, with no hope of ever achieving exemption from samsara.”

Liu Cui was struck cold by these words. Her jubilant mood plummeted. In a sudden wave of remorse, she said (Touched by the sincerity of these words), “What you said about the laws of karma is very enlightening. If you would deign to accept my humble company, I will be most happy to provide you with food and lodging here so that I may profit from your teachings from morning to night. Would you kindly consent?”

“I am not worthy enough to teach you, but there is an Abbot Moon Bright at Piety Monastery on Mount Gaoting in this region who, being a reincarnation of the living Buddha, knows all about everyone’s past and future. If you are truly resolved to seek salvation, I will introduce you to him. His words of wisdom will make you see the cause of your present fate, enlighten your mind, and allow you to see your true nature.”

“I have long heard of his celebrated name. I will certainly pay him a call tomorrow if you will kindly take me there.”

“I will, with pleasure. Just wait for me early tomorrow morning in front of Piety Monastery. Do come without fail.”

With her delicate and soft hands, Liu Cui took from her hair a pair of gold hairpins shaped like phoenixes’ heads and handed them to the abbot, saying, “This is but a small token of my sincerity. Please do not refuse.”

The abbot objected, “Though I do beg for alms, I need nothing other than food. What would a monk do with jewelry?”

Liu Cui insisted, “You may not need it yourself, but this token of my faith can contribute toward repair and maintenance of the monastery.”

Turning a deaf ear to her pleas, the abbot joined his palms together in a gesture of gratitude and went away. There is a poem that bears witness:

After the monk’s departure, Liu Cui gave herself up to thoughts that kept her awake all night. The following morning, after her toilette was done, she changed into a new outfit and claimed that she was going to Mount Tianzhu to o er incense. Who, including her mother, would dare hold her back? Thus, carried in a sedan-chair that a maidservant called for her, she headed straight for Piety Monastery on Mount Gaoting, where Abbot Fakong was already waiting at the gate.

As Liu Cui alighted from the sedan-chair, the abbot led her past the gate and into Great Hero Treasure Hall, where they kowtowed to the statue of Tathagata before presenting themselves to Monk Moon Bright in his abbot’s cell. At the sight of the meditating monk, Liu Cui prostrated herself on the ground, saying, “Your disciple Liu Cui is here requesting an audience.”

Instead of returning the greeting, Monk Moon Bright thundered, “Your twenty-eight years of prostitution have already more than repaid your debt. What more do you want to accomplish?”

Liu Cui was so taken aback that she broke into a cold sweat. Something in her stirred as if she were awakening to some truth. Before she could ask further, the monk roared again, “Love has its bounds; rancor will run its course. Only a mind enlightened by Buddhism remains constant. Now that you have evened the score with Prefect Liu, it is time you gathered up your things and went back.”

Beginning to see some light now, Liu Cui kowtowed again, saying, “I have heard that in all your wisdom, you know the operations of karma for three lifetimes. Please enlighten me in my ignorance.”

Another shout came from the monk: “To know what you were, go to Water and Moon Monastery, ask for Abbot Yutong, and you’ll get your proof. (It’s better to do it yourself than to ask for help.) Be gone this very moment! Go! A moment’s delay and I will crush your delicate bones with this ruthless cane of mine!”

This episode is known as “Three Outbursts from the Abbot of the Piety Monastery.” Truly,

After three outbursts from Master Moon Bright, Liu Cui dared not utter another word but rose with alacrity, went out the gate and into the sedan-chair and, with a few words of instructions to the carriers, went straight to Water and Moon Monastery in search of Abbot Yutong for proof.

In the meantime, the acolyte of the monastery, catching sight of a woman’s sedan-chair approaching the monastery gate, immediately called caretakers of the monastery to stop her from getting down. To Liu Cui’s question as to the reason, the acolyte replied, “The former abbot of this monastery died at the hands of a woman. Therefore, I’ve been instructed not to let women in.”

“What woman? How did it all happen?”

“Twenty-eight years ago, a woman came here and asked to be put up for the night. She sounded so piteous that the old master took her in out of compassion. It turned out that the woman was not a decent sort but a prostitute called Red Lotus Wu, who had been ordered by Prefect Liu to seduce the master. That night, she feigned a stomachache and contrived to have the master press himself against her, thus breaking his vow against lust. Stricken with shame, the master willed himself to death after writing an eight-line farewell poem.”

Liu Cui asked again, “Do you remember the poem?”

“Yes, I do.” He then recited all eight lines of the poem. When he came to the lines “You smeared my name as a man of virtue; / The same will I do to your family line,” Liu Cui suddenly gained a clear idea of what had happened, just as if it had been her personal experience. She asked again, “What was the Buddhist name of the master?”

“Abbot Yutong.”

Liu Cui nodded in understanding and, without the slightest delay, had the sedan-carriers carry her back to Swordsman Camp, where she told the maid to boil some water for her bath. After the bath, with the maid attending, Liu Cui tied up her hair, put on her cotton robe, and closed the chamber door. On a table laid out with the four treasures¹¹ of a scholar’s study, she spread out a sheet of white paper and composed two farewell poems. The first one said,

The second one ran as follows:

She added, “After I’m gone, encoffin me in my everyday clothes, send the coffin to the foot of Mount Gaoting, and ask Master Moon Bright to light the merciless fire of cremation.” With this instruction, she threw down her pen and died.

On pushing open the door, the maid noticed no movement, but, upon a closer look, she saw Liu Cui sitting in a chair with her legs crossed in lotus position. Liu Cui’s failure to respond to her calls convinced her that she had passed away. (A free spirit comes and goes readily.) With all the haste she could muster, she went to report to Madam Liu. Much startled, Madam Liu burst into loud wails, calling her daughter over and over by her pet names. After the initial shock wore o , she read the two farewell poems and the will attached thereon and asked the maid about what had happened on the trip to o er incense at Mount Tianzhu.

Upon learning about the talks with the abbot at Piety Monastery and the acolyte at Water and Moon Monastery, she realized that this was all the fault of her husband, Liu Xuanjiao, who had destroyed Abbot Yutong’s ascetic record, an act that led to Yutong’s reincarnation into the Liu family to tarnish the family name in justifiable retaliation for the wrong inflicted on him. Now that Monk Moon Bright had laid bare the connections, her daughter had found it an opportune moment to slip away from this life. Liu Cui’s wish to be sent to the foot of Mount Gaoting could not be denied, but Madam Liu could not bear the thought of complying with the part of her will concerning her cremation. There were enough clothes and jewelry left behind to pay for a grave. Without letting a moment slip by, Madam Liu bought a coffin and, as instructed, put the body into it with none of the usual brocades, silks, and gold, but only the clothes that the body was found in. This done, all the men in town who had known her came to o er their condolences. There was many a sigh when the way Liu Cui died became known. Madam Liu sent a messenger to Piety Monastery to apprise Monk Moon Bright of the death and to take his counsel on matters relating to the burial. The monk gave Madam Liu a vacant lot at the foot of Mount Gaoting for the burial site. On the propitious day chosen for the ceremony, all of the people in town turned out for what they believed was the funeral of someone who was nothing less than the manifestation of a buddha, as evidenced by the strange death. After the grave was completed, Monk Moon Bright pressed his palms together in salutation and intoned a quatrain that said,

The site of Liu Cui’s tomb at the foot of Mount Gaoting still exists to this day, as these lines attest: