So several years passed by.
The sixteenth day of the eighth moon was Shao-yu’s birthday, and all his family prepared a banquet in his honor. It lasted for more than ten days. The bustle and business beggared description, but when it was over everybody returned to their own homes and peace reigned once more.
Soon the ninth moon came, and the first buds of the chrysanthemums began to open, and the dogwood berries appeared. Autumn was in full splendor. To the west of the Ts’ui-wei-kung there was a high peak from the pavilion on top of which a two-hundred-mile stretch of the Ch’in River could be seen like the palm of one’s hand. Shao-yu particularly liked this view, and on this occasion had gone up there with the two princesses and the six concubines. Each one had stuck a spray of chrysanthemums in her hair, and they drank wine together as they enjoyed the autumn landscape. Gradually the setting sun made the shadows run down the mountain until they reached the wide plain. The brilliant colors of autumn were like a scroll painting unrolled. Shao-yu took out his jade flute and played a tune. It was very plaintive, as though composed of sighs and yearnings, of tears and reproaches. The women were all oppressed by sadness, and did not like it. The two princesses said: ‘You have attained every honor, you have enjoyed riches for a long time, and everybody acknowledges it. Such a thing has hardly been seen before. Now in this lovely autumn weather, with a beautiful landscape before you, and chrysanthemum petals floating in the cup, you are surrounded by beautiful women—what man could be happier? Yet the tune of your flute is so melancholy that it makes us all weep. You never played like this before; what is the matter?’
Shao-yu put the flute down, moved over to where they were and sat down by the balustrade of the pavilion. He pointed through the moonlight and said: ‘Look over there to the north. In the midst of the flat plain stands a single rugged peak. You can just see in the fading evening light where the ruined A-fang-kung, the vast palace of the great Ch’in Shih-huang, stands among the weeds. Now look over to the west. A mournful wind stirs the woods where the mountain mist hides Mou-ling, the tomb of the Emperor Wu-ti of Han. Over to the east, a white-washed wall shines on the green hills, where a red-tiled roof stands out against the sky and the bright moon comes and goes between the clouds. Nobody leans now on the jade balustrade, because that is the Hua-ch’ing-kung where the Emperor Hsüan Tsung dallied with his ill-fated concubine, the famous Yang Kuei-fei. How sad: these three kings were all men of great renown in their time, but where are they now?
‘I was a poor boy scholar from the land of Ch’u but I received the imperial favor and rose to the highest rank in the empire. I have married you all, and we have lived together in peace and harmony until our old age, when our affection continues to increase. How could this have been were it not a matter of karma fixed from our previous existence? After we have died these lofty terraces will crumble and the lotus-pools will silt up. The palace where we sang and danced today will be overgrown with weeds and wrapped in cold mists. Boys cutting wood and cowherds will sing sad songs, saying: “This is where the Grand Preceptor Yang sported with his wives and concubines. All his honors and pleasures, all his wealth, and elegance, all the pretty faces of his women have gone, have gone forever.” Those woodcutters, and cowherds will look on the place where we have played just as I look on the palaces and tombs of the three emperors. Just think of it— man’s life is no more than a moment of time.
‘There are three ways on earth: the way of Confucius, the way of the Buddha, and the way of the Taoists. Buddhism is the best of the three. Confucianism explains the working of nature, exalts achievement, and is concerned with passing on names to posterity. Taoism is close to meaninglessness, and even though it has many devotees, there is no proof of its truth. Think of Ch’in Shih-huang and Han Wu-ti and the Emperor Hsüan Tsung. What happened to them is enough to make us understand. Since I gave up office, every night I have dreamed that I was bowing before the Buddha. This is clearly a matter of karma. I must do like Chang Liang, who followed the immortal Master of the Red Pine to the abode of the blessed. I must go to seek the Merciful Boddhisattva beyond the Southern Sea. I must ascend Wu-t’ai-shan and meet Manjusri. I must put off the trammels of worldly life and obtain the way that has no birth nor death. But because this means I must now say farewell to all of you, with whom I have spent such long and happy years, I feel sad. My sadness showed in my flute-playing.’
The women were all deeply moved, and said: ‘If you feel like this in the midst of your prosperity, it must be due to heavenly inspiration. We shall retire to our inner quarters and pray before the Buddha night and morning while waiting for your return. We shall pray that you will meet a great teacher and generous friends, so that you can attain to the way, and return to teach it to us.’
Shao-yu, greatly delighted, said: ‘Since we are all agreed, there is nothing to worry about. I must leave tomorrow, so let us get tipsy tonight.’
They all said: ‘We shall each offer you a farewell cup.’
The cups were brought, and they were about to fill them when suddenly the sound of a staff striking the stone pavement was heard. Greatly surprised, they wondered whoever had come up there, when all at once an old monk with long white eyebrows and eyes as clear as the waves of the sea, a man of strange bearing, stepped on to the terrace and greeted Shao-yu: ‘An old monk craves audience.’
Shao-yu realized that this was no ordinary person, so he rose quickly and replied: ‘Where have you come from?’
The old man smiled as he answered: ‘Don’t you remember an old friend? I have heard that people in high rank have short memories; it seems to be true.’
Shao-yu looked more closely and thought he knew who it was, but was not quite sure. Suddenly it came to him; glancing at Lin-po, he said to the old monk again: ‘After I had defeated the Tibetans, I had a dream in which I went to the banquet of the Dragon King of Tung-t’ing, and on the way back I climbed Heng-shan, where I saw an old monk lecturing on the scriptures to his disciples. Are you not that teacher whom I saw in my dream?’
The old monk clapped his hands and said with a great laugh: ‘Right! Right! But you only remember seeing me in your dream; you do not remember the ten years when we lived together. And they say you have such a good memory! What a scholar!’
Shao-yu was perplexed: ‘Before I was fourteen or fifteen years old, I never left my parents’ house. At sixteen I passed the government examinations, and ever since then I have held office in the state continuously. I went east as an envoy to Yen, and west to subdue the Tibetans; otherwise I have scarcely left the capital. When could I have spent ten years with you?’
The old monk said, still laughing: ‘So you still have not woken from your dream.’
Shao-yu asked: ‘Do you know how to awaken me?’
The old monk said: ‘That is not difficult,’ and raising his metal staff he struck the stone balustrade two or three times. A white mist arose, and enfolded the whole terrace, obscuring everything from view.
After a time Shao-yu, bewildered as though he were in a drunken dream, called out: ‘Why don’t you show me the true way, instead of playing tricks?’
He was not able to finish his question. The mist disappeared. The old monk had gone. Shao-yu looked round, but the eight women had vanished. The whole terrace and its pavilions had gone too. He was sitting in a little cell on a prayer mat. The fire in the incense burner had died out. The setting moon was shining through the window. He looked down at himself and saw a rosary of a hundred and eight beads around his wrist. He felt his head; it was freshly shaven. He was no longer Yang the Grand Preceptor, he was once more a young monk. His mind was confused, until at last he realized that he was Hsing-chen, the novice at the Lotus Peak monastery. He remembered: ‘I was reprimanded by my teacher and was sent to hell. Then I transmigrated and became a son of the Yang family. I came top in the national examination, and became Vice-chancellor of the Imperial Academy. I rose through various offices and finally retired. I married two princesses and was happy with them and six concubines, but it was all a dream. My teacher knew of my wrong thoughts, and made me dream this dream so that I should understand the emptiness of riches and honor and the love between the sexes.’
He washed himself quickly, straightened his robe and cap, and went to the main hall of the temple, where the other disciples were already assembled. The master called with a loud voice and asked: ‘Hsing-chen, did you enjoy the pleasures of the world?’
Hsing-chen opened his eyes and saw his master, Liu-kuan, standing sternly before him. The lad bowed his head and wept as he said: ‘My life was impure. No one else can be blamed for the sins I committed myself. I should have suffered endless transmigrations and pains in the vain world, but you have made me understand through a dream of the night. Even in ten million kalpas I could never repay your kindness.’
The master said: ‘You went in search of pleasures, and came back having tasted them all. What part have I played in this? And you say that the dream and the world are two separate things, which proves that you have not yet woken from the dream. Chuang Chou dreamed he was a butterfly, and the butterfly dreamed it was Chuang, and which was real, Chuang or the butterfly, he could not tell. Now who is real, and who is a dream—Hsing-chen or Shao-yu?’
Hsing-chen replied: ‘I am confused: I can’t tell whether the dream was not true, or the truth was not a dream. Please teach me the truth, and make me understand.’
The master said: ‘I shall teach you the doctrine of the Diamond Sutra to awaken your soul, but there will shortly be some new pupils arriving, and you must wait till they come.’
Before he had finished speaking, the monk who kept the gate came, saying that the eight maids of the Lady Wei had arrived. The master allowed them to come in and they at once entered and bowed before him, saying: ‘Although we have been attending Lady Wei, ws have learned nothing and are unable to control our wayward thoughts. Our desires go after sinful things and we dream the dreams of mortality. There is no one to waken us. Since you accepted us we have been to Lady Wei’s place and yesterday took our leave of her. Now we have returned and beg you to forgive our misdemeanors and enlighten us with your teaching.’
The master answered: ‘Your desires are good, but the law of the Buddha is deep and difficult to learn. It requires steadfast and persistent effort before it can be attained. Think carefully before you decide.’
The eight girls withdrew and washed the powder from their faces and showed their determination by cutting off their clouds of black hair. Then they returned and said: ‘We have changed our appearance and we swear that we will be diligent in obeying you.’
Liu-kuan said: ‘Very good. I am deeply moved that you have made up your minds like this.’
Then he went up to the lecturer’s seat and began to expound the sutra. Once again the light from the Buddha’s brow shone forth on the world, and celestial flowers descended like sprinkling rain. And he taught them the mantra from the Diamond Sutra:
All is dharma, illusion:
A dream, a phantasm, bubble, shadow,
Evanescent as dew, transient as lightning;
And must be seen as such.
Eventually he finished teaching. In due time Hsing-chen and the eight nuns all together awakened to the truth of the way without birth and death. Liu-kuan, seeing the faithfulness and spiritual maturity of Hsing-chen, called a general assembly of his disciples and announced: ‘I came to China in order to teach the way. Now there is someone else who can hand on the Law, and I shall return whence I came.’
He took up his rosary, his wooden rice-bowl, his water-bottle, his ringed staff, and a volume of the Diamond Sutra, handed them all to Hsing-chen and set off toward the west.
From this time onward, Hsing-chen governed the community at the Lotus Peak monastery, and taught with great distinction. Immortals and dragons, men and spirits, revered him as they had revered Liu-kuan. The eight nuns served him as their teacher, till they all became Bodhisattvas, and all nine entered together into Paradise.