Note: This is the final monthly excerpt from “Tales of the Lotus Sutra.”

Zhang Wanfu. During the Zhenguan era [of the Tang] [627-650] [Zhang Wanful was transferred from the position of governor of Jinzhou to the governorship of Luozhou. By nature he was a crude and wild person, and not particularly reverent when it came to religion. When he first reached his new post he inquired among his attendants as to whether there were any monks within his jurisdiction renowned for their powers of religious cultivation. His attendants replied, “Beyond the city wall there is a bhikṣunī named Miaozhi, who is extraordinarily zealous in her practice. Moreover, she has made a personal copy of the Lotus Sūtra, which she keeps devotedly and to which she makes regular offerings, all according to proper ritual procedure. For this she has become famed throughout the suburbs.”

At that point Fu asked, “How much expense has gone into making this sūtra?” They replied, “The bhikṣunī has used fifteen hundred duan [pieces, usually of silk].” Wanfu, somewhat taken aback, said, “The best scribes in the capital might use seven or eight duan, at the most, for copying a sūtra. How is it she uses so much? Try to bring the sūtra to me so that I might have a look at it.”

The bhikṣunī, upon hearing that the governor sought to borrow her sūtra, stubbornly refused to hand it over, since neither the envoy nor the governor maintained ritual purity or ever observed the purificatory fasts. The governor was enraged at this response and dispatched the envoy again. This time the bhikṣunī did not dare keep the text. She thereupon prepared perfumed water and had the envoy wash himself. She also provided him with a new robe. Only after he put it on did she entrust the sūtra to him. When Wanfu received the sutra he straightaway took it and opened it, without even bothering to wash his hands. But when he unrolled it, he saw nothing in the scroll but blank yellow paper – not a single word was to be found!

Wanfu exploded with rage, “That old bag! I’ve lost all patience with her!” So saying, he ordered his subordinate to [seize and] bring the bhikṣunī to him by force. The envoy went to the bhikṣunī and told her, “Master, your scripture is entirely blank. This has made my lord extremely angry and he has ordered me to bring you to him.”

The bhikṣunī was seized with terror and completely at a loss as to why this might have happened. Perspiration streamed in torrents from her body. Nonetheless, off she went with the envoy. When they arrived at the administrative offices of the governor she saw a pair of vajra guardians [standing to either side of] the entrance screen, both of whom held out cudgels toward her as though offering her protection. Thus in her heart she felt at ease.

The instant she entered the governor’s presence the written text of her sutra appeared in the air around them, its letters taking on a brilliantly golden hue. Upon seeing the bhikṣunī arrive and the golden letters fill the air, the governor was struck with dread. He arose from his seat and descended the hall. Wailing loudly, with tears of grief streaming down his face, he humbly acknowledged his sins, confessed, and prostrated to her in reverence. Then, turning his heart toward the faith, he vowed to make one thousand copies of the Lotus and circulate them throughout the ten directions as a votive offering. Moreover, he personally resolved to keep the sutra devotedly and never dare to be remiss [in his treatment of it]. He thereupon asked the bhikṣunī what procedure [she used] for making [her copy of] the sutra.

The bhikṣunī said to him, “When I conceived the desire to make my copy of the sutra I first planted gu trees in the hills. Everyday I watered them with fragrant water so that they grew steadily. When the trees were mature, I first mixed fragrant water and mud and constructed a room for making the paper. When finished, I collected bark from the trees, hired a craftsman, and in accordance with the proper ritual procedure, purified [the man and the materials] with fragrant water and [had him] make the paper.

“When it was done, I advertised for a scripture copyist who was able to keep [ritual] purity. I did not care whether he was skilled or clumsy, noble or mean. After three years I still had not found such a person. But eventually a scholar from Jiangnan, around twenty-four or -five years of age, wrote me in response to my inquiries.

“For the copy room, once again I mixed perfumed water with mud and went about constructing the room with the greatest purity. When the chamber was finished the copyist changed into a new and purified robe. But, before beginning the task of copying out the text, he maintained a purificatory fast for a period of forty-nine days. After that he began to write. Whenever he passed in and out of the copy room he was required to change his clothing. Only when he had bathed himself did he start to copy. As he wrote, I would kneel before the sūtra in the foreign posture [of adoration]—right knee to the ground— and make offerings with incense censer in hand. When the copyist stopped, I also would stop. And whenever the copyist went to sleep at night, I would arise alone to burn incense and ritually circumambulate the sutra. This routine I kept up without the slightest lapse. When the sūtra was finished I made splendid accoutrements for it. And, when the ornaments were done, I fashioned special robes for the four members of the Buddhist sangha—bhikṣus, bhikṣunīs, laymen, and laywomen—ten sets of each. Whenever people came to use the sūtra—whether it be to read, recite, or copy it—I had them maintain ritual purity for a period of seven days beforehand and gave them these purified robes to wear. Only then would I entrust the sūtra to them. I have kept up this reverence [for the sūtra without lapse. People far and near respect my efforts, and it has brought them great benefit.”

Because of this the governor himself took refuge in the faith, after which people everywhere turned to the Lotus Sūtra as their principal form of religious practice.

Note: This is another in the monthly excerpts from “Tales of the Lotus Sutra.”

The Buddhist monk Daochao. Nothing is known of his secular background, but on leaving home he took up residence at Qijunshan Monastery and observed the Buddhist practices with utmost purity. He had a disciple named Wangming, who was about fifteen years of age. He set out to memorize the Lotus Sūtra, but upon learning the first fascicle he contracted a sudden illness and died. This disciple was particularly zealous in his studies, possessed of both character and spirit, and naturally endowed with human-heartedness and filiality. His master loved him dearly, and from the moment the boy died, he grieved over him day and night.

Qi commandery is not far from the shrine of Mount Tai. Daochao ruminated to himself, “I have often heard it said that, when a person dies, the soul must first pass through [the court of] the Lord of Mount Tai. Only after that is it able to be reborn. Even though the worlds of light and darkness are veiled from one another, a sincere heart will inevitably bring a response. I will try to ask the Lord of Mount Tai. Perhaps he will know where my disciple has been reborn.”

So resolved, Daochao took up his mendicant’s staff and incense [for offering] and set off for the mountain shrine. There he related in full his reasons for coming, declaring [his intentions] three times before the deity. Suddenly the wooden spirit-tablet spoke out in response, “Since you, master, are completely sincere in your observance of the precepts and your motives for coming here are so grave, I dare not tell you what you wish to know.” Thereupon he ordered an attending deity from one of the adjacent placards to summon [the spirit] in charge of [the dead disciple]. The deputy deity thereupon went into a chamber in the eastern wing of the shrine and called for a particular person to come forth. The Lord of Mount Tai then asked, “Where is the disciple Wangming at this moment?” To which the individual replied, “He is being retained here. He does not yet have a place of birth.”

Daochao then pleaded to see him, whereupon the Lord [of Mount Tai] had Chao follow the person back to the chamber in the eastern wing. Therein, at a distance of some ten paces away, he saw his disciple. His physical demeanor and clothing were the same as when he was alive. Master and disciple broke out in tears of grief. After a long while, Chao asked the boy, “Is your retribution painful or pleasant?”

The disciple replied, “At the moment I am being held here, so it is neither painful nor pleasant. It is just that my next place of birth has not yet been determined. I desperately need the support of religious merit. If I do not acquire wholesome karmic roots, I fear that I may be reborn in evil realms.”

The master asked, “What sort of meritorious acts might I perform to enable you to obtain an illustrious [destiny]?” His disciple replied, “I pray that you might make a single copy of the Lotus Sūtra [on my behalf] and hold a vegetarian feast for one hundred monks.”

“This can easily be arranged,” the master replied.

Thereupon, Daochao parted with the disciple. When he again saw the Lord [of Mount Tai], the Lord asked him what was said during their meeting. The master related how he needed to hold a vegetarian feast and fashion a copy of the sūtra [on his disciple’s behalf]. The Lord [of Mount Tai] told him, “Beings in the netherworld are in great need of spiritual merit. You should hasten to take care of this. When the task is completed, you may return to see [your disciple] again.”

Chao thereupon returned home, where he immediately prepared paper and brush and hired a person to copy the sūtra. After that, he held a purificatory celebration. With the merit making complete, he returned to the shrine and announced to the Lord [of Mount Tai] that the meritorious work was finished and he had come in search of his disciple. The Lord again ordered his deputy spirit to call [the disciple’s] warden. When the person arrived, the Lord asked him, “Is the disciple still here?”

The individual replied, “He has been reborn in a fine place.”

“What were the circumstances that brought about this rebirth?” Daochao asked.

The warden replied, “As the copyist began to form the first character miao – having finished the nu radical but not yet having started on the shao part – the disciple in that split instant obtained rebirth.”

“Where is he living now?” Chao asked.

The deity replied, “He has been born into the household of Wang Wu of Qi commandery. Wait for another two or three years, and then you may go to look for him.”

Chao inscribed the deity’s words in his heart, took his leave of the Lord [of Mount Tai], and departed. After three years had passed, he went to the Wang household and asked, “Good almsgiver, you have a little boy. This poor mendicant would like to see him.”

The household in question was a truly blessed one, in which they revered the three jewels faithfully. However, hitherto they had been unable to produce a son, as everyone both far and near knew. When this child was later born, [they kept it secret] and did not even tell their relatives about it. Thus, the head of the Wang clan stubbornly refused to admit that they had a son. Chao said to him, “It has been three years now since my disciple was born in your household. Why won’t you let me see him?”

Thereupon, Chao related the instructions of the Lord of Mount Tai. Having overheard him from a small side-door to the vestibule, the child’s mother told her husband, “If the master has such numinal powers of invocation as this, how can we keep the boy from him?” She then picked up the child and set him down outside the entranceway, at a distance of several meters from Chao. The boy immediately ran to him and threw himself into Chao’s embrace. There they remained weeping for a long time. When the child became older he left home and again served Chao as his disciple. This all took place in the fifteenth year of the Kaihuang reign-period [581-600]. No one knows when the master and his disciple passed away.

Note: This is another in the monthly excerpts from “Tales of the Lotus Sutra.”

There was a certain Kim Kuayi of the [Korean] Kingdom of Silla who bore a single son. When he was a young boy the son left home [as a Buddhist monk]. He had always shown a particular delight in reading the Lotus Sūtra. However, in the second fascicle of his family’s copy of the scripture, there was one character that had been accidentally scorched beyond recognition.

At age eighteen the young monk died unexpectedly and was reborn in the household of another Kim Kuayi who lived elsewhere. Once again he left home [as a Buddhist monk] and developed a particular affection for reading the Lotus. But whenever he reached the second fascicle there was one particular word that he would always forget how to read, the instant he learned it. One night he dreamed that a person said to him: “Young master, in a former life you were born into the household of a certain Kim Kuayi in such and such a region. You also became a mendicant, and in that former life read and recited the Lotus Sūtra. However, one character was inadvertently scorched. As a result, in this life you are prone to forget it as soon as you learn it. That old copy of the sūtra still exists. Go there; find it; and see for yourself.”

Guided by his dream, the young master set off in search of the household in question. Upon finally locating it he asked tentatively if he might pass the night there. His father and mother from his previous life had a vague feeling that they knew him. [After he told them the story,] they brought out the old sūtra. Sure enough, they found that one character was scorched in the second fascicle. The young monk and his parents were joined deeply in their feelings of joy and sadness. The two households consequently became quite intimate, brought together almost as one. Their story reached the county and prefectural governments. From there, the local officials reported it to the throne. Thus it came to be transmitted and retold throughout the land. Even down to today it has not died out. All of this happened during the Zhenguan era [627-650].

Note: This is another in the monthly excerpts from “Tales of the Lotus Sutra.”

There was a certain bhikṣunī, her name [long since] forgotten, who lived on the outskirts of the Kunshan district of Suzhou. She became a nun at an early age and took to constant recitation of the Lotus Sūtra, which she performed devotedly a day for some twenty-odd years. In appearance she was unusually beautiful and refined, so much so that anyone who caught sight of her was struck immediately with affection for her. During the first year of the Yongchang era [689] a certain district office manager named Zhu began to entertain wicked fantasies about her and sought to press her with his less than honorable designs. Yet the bhikṣunī remained firm in her chastity and refused to give in to him.

Angered by her rejection, Zhu made a great deal of trouble for the abbey and intentionally sought to disrupt their regular means of livelihood. The bhikṣunīs were at a total loss as to where to turn to rid themselves of this plight. Whereupon, the nun who kept the Lotus said, “How could the Lotus Sūtra fail to show its spiritual potency in this matter?” She then donned her purified robe, entered the Buddha hall, burned incense, and professed [solemn] vows.

Not long thereafter the office manager, availing himself of some official pretext, came to the abbey to pass the night. His heart, of course, harbored other intentions. But the very instant he sought to find his way to the nun’s quarters, his lower extremities were seized with a burning pain and his male member dropped off. Rivulets of perspiration streamed from his skin, leprous ulcers broke out over his entire body, and his eyebrows, beard, and sideburns all fell out. The office manager grievously recanted, but even after trying a hundred remedies, he still was never completely cured.

Buddhism in Practice, p443-444

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Note: This is another in the monthly excerpts from “Tales of the Lotus Sutra.”

The Buddhist monk Huijin had the secular surname of Qian, but no details are known of his background. He left home when he was a young boy and set up a fixed regimen of practice for himself at Lu grotto on Mount Kuang. No matter where he wandered or settled down, he kept up a constant recitation of the Lotus. This practice he maintained both day and night, never letting up except to take his meals or lie down to rest.

For reciting the sūtra he required a space of several paces in circumference. He would first purify [the ground] by sweeping and sprinkling, gather whatever flowers were in season at the time, and do his best to decorate [the sanctuary] resplendently. In the center, which was some five or six feet in width, he hung banners and offered incense [to the sūtra]. In a spot set apart [from the altar itself] he placed a single chair [for recitation]. After putting on a new and clean robe and venerating the buddhas of the ten directions, he would join his palms [in adoration] and assume the formal posture [for seated meditation]. Only then would he begin to recite [the sūtra].

One day, after he had completed some ten thousand recitations of the sutra, everything around him suddenly became hazy, like a cloud of mist. In this cloud he saw the three transformations [of the Lotus assembly], together with [the stūpa of Prabhūtaratna], the jeweled thrones [for the manifestation bodies of Śākyamuni Buddha], and their jeweled trees extending throughout the eight directions. Ever so faintly, the buddhas and bodhisattvas [of the assembly] appeared before his eyes. When he reached fifteen thousand recitations, he saw them all with perfect clarity. Where and how he ended his days is not known.

Note: This is another in the monthly excerpts from “Tales of the Lotus Sutra.”

The Buddhist monk Zhiye had the secular surname of Yang. He left home as a small boy and took up residence at Changle Monastery in Yangzhou. He kept the monastic precepts assiduously and learned to recite the Lotus Sūtra with such fluency that the lines flowed from his mouth like a stream of water from a vase. At the end of the Daye era of the Sui [617], Yuwen Huaji committed the heinous act of murdering Emperor Yang in the palace bathhouse. Thereupon the world fell apart and the populace was thrown into famine. Residents scattered and [the region] became a maelstrom [of chaos], with the price of rice soaring to ten thousand cash amidst the tumult. Zhiye at the time was living in a small room of a detached cloister, where he was engaged in uninterrupted recitation of the Lotus Sūtra. Consequently, he died of starvation in his chamber. There was no one to bury him, and the room itself collapsed around him, trapping his remains beneath it.

When peace was finally restored during the Yining era [617-618], a single stalk of lotus flower suddenly appeared on the spot. Its radiantly colored petals opened forth to display the most extraordinary freshness and beauty. Monks and laity alike were struck with awe, and no one could think of an explanation for it. At that time, an old monk who was a former resident of the monastery realized what was going on and said, “There was once a monk who devoted himself exclusively to recitation of the Lotus Sūtra on this site. He must have perished here as a result of the turmoil of the times. Since there would have been no one to bury him, his bones are probably still here, and [this lotus has appeared] as a result of the monk’s spiritual potency.”

They cleared away the debris around the stalk of the flower until they un covered his skeleton. It turned out that the blue lotus flower had grown up through the skull and was rooted beneath the tongue. The tongue itself was as though still alive, showing no sign of decomposition whatsoever. The monastic assembly took the tongue and blossom to the head of the hall. They rang the bell, gathered the monks, and performed cyclic recitation of the Lotus. When the tongue heard the scripture it appeared to be able to move about. Once local monks and laymen heard of it, sightseers gathered around forming a solid human wall. There wasn’t one who didn’t sigh in admiration. All made the supreme resolution [to seek buddhahood].

Note: This is another in the monthly excerpts from “Tales of the Lotus Sutra.”

The Buddhist monk Lingkan. Details of his background are unknown. [His master] recognized him to be someone who was very bright and compassionate by nature and had him take up regular recitation of the Lotus Sūtra. However, upon first completing his memorization of the scripture, Lingkan unexpectedly came down with (gan) a severe illness. He informed his master of it, saying, “I have heard that if one [ritually] receives and keeps the Lotus one will realize purification of the six sense faculties. How is it that my recitation produces (gan) illness instead?”

His master replied, “When you recite the sutra how do you go about it?”

Kan said, “Sometimes I do not wash my hands, or bother to clothe myself [with the proper robes]. I may rest the [the sūtra] at my feet, or place it at the head of my bed, as the moment moves me.”

His teacher said, “In that case it is a beneficent dharma-protecting spirit that has come to inflict punishment on you. If you don’t show proper care for the scripture your efforts will bring forth (gan) no merits. It is fitting that you repent.”

Kan thereupon fashioned a plain wooden case, where he kept the sutra and to which he [regularly] paid obeisance by touching it with the crown of his head. In the [Buddha] hall he ritually circumambulated [the sūtra]. Except for eating and relieving himself, he threw himself entirely into this painful penance, chastening himself with such intensity that his head split open and blood flowed.

For three years running he kept up this practice, until one day, just as the light of dawn was beginning to break at the fifth watch, there came a loud pounding at the door of the Buddha hall, and someone called out for it to be opened. At first Kan was reluctant, thinking, “Certainly this must be a criminal. Why else would he want a door to be opened when it is already locked tight?” But the person continued to call without letting up, so Kan finally gave in.

When he opened the door he saw an old man. His beard and temples were hoary white, and in his hands he clutched a wooden staff. When Kan showed his face the man struck him repeatedly, saying, “Will you dare ever again to make light of the Lotus Sūtra?” The instant he hit him, the ulcers that covered Kan’s body were healed and his four vital elements returned to their normal balance.

When the daylight finally broke Kan inspected the front of the Buddha hall, where he discovered the footprints of an elephant [in the dirt]. Thereupon he realized for the first time that the old man was the bodhisattva Samantabhadra, who had descended to eliminate his sins. From then on he completely reformed his ways and devoted himself unremittingly to the practice of recitation [of the Lotus]. We do not know where or when he died.

His old master, Ju, also took the Lotus as his main practice. Whenever he recited the scripture he felt as though an ambrosial flavor, unlike anything in the known world, would spread through his mouth. As a result, when he began reciting he never wanted to stop.

Note: This is another in the monthly excerpts from “Tales of the Lotus Sutra.”

During the era of [Emperor] Wu-cheng of the [Northern] Qi (562-565), a person digging on the slope of Mount Kandong near Bingzhou came upon a patch of soil—yellowish white in color—that stood out in marked contrast from the ground around it. Probing further, he turned up an object that had the appearance of a pair of human lips, with a tongue, fresh red in color, sticking out between them. He reported the matter in a memorial [to the throne]. [The emperor] made inquiries among various learned scholars but could find no one who knew [the meaning of it]. When he heard of this, the mendicant Fashang (495-580), controller-in-chief [of the sangha], memorialized the throne saying, “This is the recompense of nondecay of the sense faculties that is achieved by devotees who [ritually] keep the Lotus Sūtra. It is proof that [this individual] recited [the scripture] more than a thousand times over.”

Subsequently, the emperor summoned the secretariat drafter, Gao Chen. “You are one inclined to faith,” he ordered, “go personally to look into this matter. Surely [this object] will have some sort of numinous power. Place it in a duly purified place, convene a maigre feast, and make offerings to it.”

Chen received the order and went to the site, where he assembled various Buddhist monks renowned for their devotion to the Lotus. Holding incense censers in hand and maintaining strict ceremonial purity, they circumambulated [the tongue] and offered prayers saying: “O Bodhisattva! Countless years have passed since you entered into nirvana. As one who has reverently received [the Lotus and kept it] flawlessly during this current age of the counterfeit dharma, we beseech you to manifest for us your [marvelous] stimulus and response (ganying).”

The instant they raised their voices the tongue and lips began to beat about on the altar top. Although no sound came forth, it looked as though it were chanting. Of those who witnessed it, there was not one whose hair didn’t stand on end. Chen reported the phenomenon. The [throne] ordered that it be stored away in a stone casket and moved to a stūpa chamber.

Note: This is another in the monthly excerpts from “Tales of the Lotus Sutra.”

The Buddhist monk Sengding. Nothing is known of his background, but he lived at Chanjing Monastery in Jiangyang and recited the Lotus Sūtra [as his regular practice]. He had a particular love of popular song, which he was at an utter loss to restrain. As a result, he was given to the habit of dissipating himself in the dusty and vulgar world [of Jiangyang nightlife] . However, whenever he did so, [his devotion was such that] divine youths would regularly manifest (gan) and come to his assistance.

Sometimes when he had passed out blind drunk, his dharma robe cast off [in a heap] from his body, [he would awaken to find that the robe had] spontaneously pleated and folded itself and that covers had been drawn over him, properly concealing his body. If his robe had become soiled with mud when he took it off, in the twinkle of an eye it was washed clean. As he picked it up to put it on, he would find it to be impregnated with a rare and pure fragrance that lingered for a long time [without fading]. On other occasions, the water [in the vessels for offering] automatically replenished itself. Or the floor [of his chamber] always appeared cleanly swept.

One time while Ding was drooling away in a drunken stupor, he awoke suddenly to find divine deva youths standing before him. His whole body was damp with saliva. He felt immediately humbled, and from then on he regarded observance of the precepts with the highest esteem. No one knows where or how he ended his days.

Note: This is another in the monthly excerpts from “Tales of the Lotus Sutra.”

The Buddhist monk Jingjian. Details of his background are unknown, but he left home as a young boy and for the most part lived on mounts Chonggao and Longmen. He recited the Lotus Sūtra in its entirety as many as thirteen thousand times. Internally he applied himself zealously to the contemplation of the wondrous [truth], thereby becoming quite skilled in the essentials of dhyāna. However, due to having recited [the sūtra] for such an extended period of time, his physical strength was exhausted [to the point on distress].

After [he had suffered from this illness] for more than twenty years, one day children began to gather and chatter raucously on the north side of his hut. This caused him to feel even more stressed and dispirited. Jian could not figure out where they came from. At that time a white-haired codger appeared, dressed in a short coat and skirt of crude white silk. Every day he would come and inquire [of Jian’s health], asking: “How are the dhyāna master’s four elements doing today?” To which Jian would usually reply, “I am feeling progressively more run down. Moreover, I have no idea where all these children are coming from; but daily their disturbance grows worse. I don’t think I can bear it much longer.”

The old man instructed, “Master, you should go and sit near the spot where they play. Wait for them to take off their clothes and enter the river to bathe. Then take one of the boy’s garments and come back [to your hermitage]. When he comes to reclaim it, don’t give it back to him. If he curses you, be sure not to respond. I, your disciple, will come to speak with him.”

Jian set out to do as the old man instructed. He went and waited for the children to take off their clothes and enter the pool to bathe. Then he snatched up one of the boy’s garments and returned promptly to his hut. When the child came after him looking for his robe, Jian recalled the old man’s cautions and refused to hand it over. The child bad-mouthed and slandered the dhyāna master in the most vile way, even extending his remarks to his ancestors. But the master showed no response. Soon the old man arrived and said to the lad, “[I command you to] enter the master’s chest.” At first the boy was unwilling to do as he was told. But the old man pressed him repeatedly, until he proceeded to enter Jian’s chest and vanish within his belly. The old man asked the master, “How do your four elements feel now?” To which Jian replied, “My vital energy (qi) is far better than ever before.” The old man thereupon took his leave [and disappeared].

From that day forward Jian felt physically robust and at ease, and his practice of dhyāna and recitation doubled in intensity. Those who understand this sort of thing say that surely this was the work of the bodhisattva Samantabhadra (“Universal Worthy”). The bodhisattva had the [local] mountain spirit compel the seminal essences of different medicinal herbs to transform into the child and become absorbed into [Jian’s] body, thereby curing Jian of his illness. Jingjian was the master who instructed dhyāna master Mo in the arts of dhyāna.

We do not know where and how he ended his days.