“Eighteen years . . . ,” the man murmured.
“Eighteen years sounds like a long time. But looking back, it seems no more than a dream.”
The man looked away and said nothing.
“Householder Zhou, do you know the Venerable Zhengxuan?” Xiao Wang asked.
He started as though awakened from a dream. “I was fortunate to meet him once many years ago. Back then . . .” He paused, and then added, “Fortune makes fools of us all.”
Xiao Wang stopped. “We’ve arrived.”
The two stood before the western gate to Lingyin Temple. The sun hung low over the horizon, and the sky was covered in golden-scarlet clouds. The screeching of birds returning to their nests for the night filled the woods.
“The Liberation Rite will begin tomorrow and last a full seven days and seven nights,” Xiao Wang said. “The altars have been prepared, and the dharma cloud sima-boundary barrier is active.”
“The sima-boundary barrier?”
“The rite is sacred. To prevent disturbances from nonparticipants, only those with proper identification may enter and leave. Please extend your right hand, palm forward, like this.”
Following Xiao Wang’s lead, the man held out his hand. He felt his palm connect with an invisible wall, light as cloud, cold as water, hard as diamond and glass. A golden glow, lotus-shaped, blossomed at the point where his palm made contact with the invisible wall, and spread apart like ripples in a pond. He looked up and watched the glowing light gradually fade into the sky. The entire Lingyin Temple complex was enclosed in this giant invisible dome.
Photographs of him and Xiao Wang flickered across the sima-boundary barrier. Following a clang like the striking of a bell, the photographs faded and dissolved into a white mist, revealing a circular opening.
He was surprised. LINGcloud was a new technology based on carbon nanocomponents. The nanocomponents could capture the water molecules in the air and drift about freely like a real cloud, changing colors and textures to bring about dreamlike experiences for users. Many were predicting that it had the potential to replace silicon-based electronics within the next decade. However, due to the high production cost, it was still limited in deployment. He had not expected Lingyin Temple to possess so much LINGcloud, or to have programmed it to achieve nearly magical effects. Apparently the many fanciful rumors about this place were at least partly based on truth.
The vermilion temple gates swung open, and the air filled with the harmony of monks chanting sutras.
Xiao Wang whispered, “They are about to start the ritual incensing and purification of the altars. Householder Zhou, please follow me.”
After a moment of hesitation, he stepped over the threshold. The gates swung closed, shutting out the chittering birds.
Repentance Ritual of the Emperor of Liang
Inside the cramped chamber, a woman sat alone on her reed mace putuan cushion, chanting sutras.
Dressed in a monk’s robe, she held a strand of prayer beads in her hands. Her long hair, unkempt and wild as weeds, draped to the floor.
The chamber was tiny, about three paces across from west to east, and also three paces across from north to south. There was only one bed, one table, one chair, one person, one putuan. Sunlight slanted in from a single window, dragging the lone shadow slowly across the floor.
She couldn’t remember how long she had lived like this. Every day, she got up at the clacking of the temple clappers, before the sun had risen. She ate, prayed, studied, day after day, year after year. Long ago, before she had entered the temple, she had thought those who renounced the secular life whiled away their time in leisure, but the reality was anything but. The temple was like an intricate windup mechanism, and from morning to eve, every person, every stick of incense, every chant of Amituofo was precisely regulated, assigned its place. More than once she had wondered, who set up such a system? But no one told her, and all she could do was follow.
She had tried to rebel against the rules and was prepared to bear the consequences. But there was no punishment; no one rushed in to beat her or berate her, check her work. However, there was nothing to do inside the sealed chamber. She didn’t eat, didn’t drink, covered her head with the blanket, and slept until hunger bit at the inside of her belly like the mandibles of insects, forcing her to get up and eat. And when she had eaten her fill, what awaited her was boredom.
She had tried to occupy herself in various ways, but nothing lasted. She had explored every nook and cranny of the room, searching in vain for an escape route. The whole room was sealed by a sima-boundary barrier, and even mosquitoes couldn’t find a seam. She had tried to smash the window with her chair, or to ram her head against a corner of the table, but always, the barrier recognized her intent and immobilized her with shocks before she could succeed. In despair, she had lain on the ground, hoping she would go mad or die. But she didn’t die, and she didn’t go insane. Her body, like the temple, held to its own patterns. When meals were brought to her, she slowly crawled over to eat. She slept until she could sleep no more and got up to read the scriptures. Evening drums followed morning bells; the stars rose as the sun set. Her hair grew longer and longer.
She learned to live according to the rigid timetable of the temple, turning herself into a component in the machine, revolving day after day with precision. She learned to sit in Chan meditation, to chant the sutras to pass the time. From an anxiety-ridden existence, she learned to find pockets of calmness, to achieve a state of oblivion as to her identity and condition. She learned to accept waves of assault by emotions such as anger, frustration, hatred, and bitterness, to let them pass through her and depart. She learned to take care of her body, to eat well, sleep well, get some exercise, and keep the chamber spotless and neat.
She requested a needle and thread so that she could repair the robe and sheets that she had torn in her despair. They acquiesced. Clumsily, she threaded the needle, thinking: What if I use this needle to blind myself? Would I be able to leave then? She covered her eyes and fumbled in the dark, but soon give up the thought.
After that, every afternoon they’d send some clothes to her room for her to mend. She treated the work as a reward: other than eating, sleeping, and chanting sutras, she had at last found something else to do. She became even more industrious, hoping that she could request even more: books other than Buddhist scriptures, pen and paper, cards and games, or even a meal with meat. Some of her requests were granted, but not others. Bit by bit, she tried to expand and enrich her life inside the chamber.
Clappers sounded outside her window.
She stopped chanting, opened her eyes, got up, and stretched her limbs. She had finished her work for the day. Before the evening meal, she was allotted half an hour of free time.
She held the prayer beads, palm up. A dharma cloud rose at her feet, slowly resolving into a miniature real-time projection of Lingyin Temple, every hall, shrine, tree, even blade of grass in vivid detail. This was the first day of the Liberation Rite of Water and Land, and the temple complex thronged with the faithful and their pious incense. The sound of monks chanting reverberated in the ancient halls. She waved her hand gently, and the projection enlarged like the time-lapse video of a bamboo grove in spring, until it was life-sized.
She found herself inside the Hall of the Medicine Buddha, where forty-eight venerable monks led a gathering of householders in chanting the Repentance of the Emperor of Liang, dating from the sixth century. It was said that Emperor Wu of Liang’s consort, Empress Xi, was a cruel person in life. After her death, she turned into a giant snake and sought out Emperor Wu in a dream, begging for help. The emperor, a devout Buddhist, then found nine eminent master monks to compose a repentance text that would release her spirit from the lower realms and allow it to ascend to heaven. The text had been passed down through the ages and was said to be particularly effective in releasing the souls of sinners from suffering.
She didn’t join in the chanting, but observed the throng of
the faithful carefully, guessing why they had come. For what deeds were they repenting? Behind those seemingly kind and peaceful faces, what kind of sins and crimes lay concealed? She remembered the many she had known in her former life; though she chanted sutras and prayed all day, she never once sought relief for them. The dharma cloud projection was so realistic that she could even smell the incense, sense the heat from the skin of the faithful. Almost subconsciously, she reached out to touch the face of a young householder. Her fingers passed right through the projection, touching nothing but emptiness.
She lost interest and decided to go elsewhere. As she turned, however, her gaze swept over the face of an old man, his hair snow-white. Under those permanently scowling brows, his searing eyes locked with hers. Shocked, she clutched the prayer beads and waved her hand, covering her face with her flapping sleeve. The dharma cloud projection vanished. When she put down her sleeve, she was back in her tiny chamber.
Her legs shaking, she collapsed to the floor. The robe was plastered to her chest and back with cold sweat. No, it had to be a mistake! That man couldn’t have seen her. But that face . . . she would recognize that face anywhere.
She held up her hands in lotus mudra, and a wisp of dharma cloud fell into her cupped palms, turning into the Chinese character 业. The character flared up like a blossoming fire, and flowing streams of light, red and blue, twisted and entwined inside the flame, growing and declining by turns, mesmerizing. At the bottom of the fire, a giant red swirl roiled and turned, like a malignant tumor, or the bleeding eye of a demon. Sweating profusely, she set down her hands, dismissing the projection.
You reap what you sow. One cannot escape the wheels of karma.
The clappers sounded outside the window. It was time for the evening meal.
Feeding the Burning Mouths
He walked through Avici Hell.
Blood and gore covered the ground. The legs of hungry ghosts soaked in pools of blood, tendons swollen and clumps of hair poking up like pond scum. He was exhausted but had to continue on. The moment he stopped, fire seared the bottom of his feet; the moment he stumbled against a hungry ghost, it revived and went after his flesh. He had no choice but to fight off the ghosts with his teeth and nails: digging out their eyes, extracting their organs, sucking out their brains. When he had eaten his fill, he knelt to wash his hands in a pool of blood and caught his own reflection. He had turned into a hungry ghost himself.
Startled awake, he found his hair plastered against his temples with a hot sweat that had soaked his pillow.
Gradually, the ceiling of the temple guest room solidified in his field of view, reminding him of where he was. The silvery moon illuminated a small patch of floor before the window, and he could hear the chirping of autumnal insects outside. He raised his hands; they were clean, devoid of blood. He pressed his hands together, rubbing away the cold perspiration.
Draping a jacket over his shoulders, he strode into the yard. Two ginkgo trees stood in the moonlight, rustling. The ground was covered in the fan-shaped leaves. He walked around the yard, listening to the sound of crushed leaves. He thought of the insects and worms hidden under the fallen foliage, abruptly halted, and felt the flames against his feet.
He was thinking of last evening, when he had participated in the ritual to feed the burning mouths at the Hall of the Medicine Buddha. “Burning mouths” referred to ghosts plagued by hunger, and the Three-Master Yogic Ritual for Feeding the Burning Mouths was intended to bring them relief, to free them from their pain. The ritual lasted from evening until close to midnight, and for the duration participants had to observe a strict fast. He and the other participants had sat on the ground, enduring hunger and thirst, praying for all the dead immersed in the sea of suffering. But he himself could find no relief. As soon as he fell asleep, he was plunged into the same nightmares.
He held up his hands in lotus mudra, a tiny 业 rising between his palms. After a moment of hesitation, he pressed his hands together and rubbed hard, as though trying to crush some secret between them.
He turned and found Xiao Wang standing under one of the ginkgo trees.
“Are you having trouble with the hard bed here in the temple guest room?” she asked.
He chuckled mirthlessly. “I’ve been suffering from insomnia for a long time.”
“The Liberation Rite involves a great deal of work. If you don’t get enough rest, I’m afraid you won’t be able to endure it.”
“But aren’t you also up?”
“I’ve always gone to bed late and gotten up late. Though I’m supposed to follow the schedule here at the temple, I can’t change my habit. If you can’t sleep either, we might as well talk.”
“All right.”
They sat down on a pair of stone stools. The autumn night breeze felt chilly.
He asked her, “Do you come to the temple often?”
“Not at all. But, I’d say that fate has connected me with Lingyin Temple.”
“How so?”
“This mole on my forehead wasn’t there from birth. When I was little, my parents once brought me to the temple to offer incense. I saw that all the statues of the Buddha had a red mole on the forehead and found the look appealing, so when I got home, I took a red pen and did the same to myself. But after the paint had been wiped away, a red mole gradually grew in its place.”
“That really is fate then.”
“Today’s Lingyin Temple is nothing like the temple I visited as a child.”
“I think I know what you mean. I’d heard so many rumors about the temple and thought most of it fiction. But now that I’ve seen the place for myself, I’m beginning to believe.”
“What sort of rumors?”
“They say that starting with the Venerable Zhengxuan, many other brilliant minds have taken their vows at the temple and become monks. Today, Lingyin Temple is filled with talent and has the brainpower to be ranked as a leading scientific research institution. Indeed, rumor has it that several major tech titans have visited Lingyin Temple to offer incense and were given valuable advice by the venerable monks. Moreover, the Chan-science symposium, held twice a year at the temple, is oversubscribed by those craving enlightenment with their futurism. Some even claim that several so-called black technologies in recent years were given their magical qualities due to the involvement of the monks from here.”
Xiao Wang laughed. “‘Black technologies!’ That’s absurd. But it is true that Lingyin Temple conducts scientific research and is connected with the larger tech scene. The temple has two specific divisions involved in these matters: Wenshu Institute is responsible for science and technology, while Puxian Institute is in charge of charitable activities. Wenshu Institute is mainly responsible for the temple’s daily management, but also participates in the development of AI hardware and software deemed helpful for Buddist cultivation, such as using LINGcloud to bring the entire temple complex into the AI age and creating the 业 system for calculating everyone’s karma progress. Puxian Institute, on the other hand, is more like a charitable foundation operated by the temple. In addition to direct money and material aid to the poor, it also supports various long-term projects to improve the lives of the public: medicine, education, environment, food, energy, transportation, architecture, urban planning, data security, technology ethics, animal rights, and so on. Though Puxian Institute tries to maintain a low profile in the media, an endless stream of representatives from various organizations comes to the temple to apply for funding for their projects, especially during the Liberation Rite. Puxian Institute is unique in that it doesn’t decide where to allocate resources based on traditional measures of return on investment, but on the amount of merit and benefit to karma generated by each project. I’m at the temple mainly as a consultant to help the institute evaluate these applications.”
“I see,” said the man. “A charitable foundation hands out money without expecting anything in return. . . . Where does Lingyin Temple get the money?”
“
When the Venerable Zhengxuan took his vows, he donated all his assets to the temple. Morever, each year, the temple receives considerable donations from the faithful. Lingyin Temple has quite a sum at its disposal.”
He sighed. “I’ve heard that the Venerable Zhengxuan has led a hard life. His eldest son was born with a rare congenital condition that current medical technology couldn’t cure. In response, he formed a research foundation dedicated to the disease. Later, his wife died in an accident involving self-driving vehicles, and as a result, he devoted all his remaining resources to the development of next-generation transportation technology, believing that a global network of personal transportation tubes could replace dangerous moving vehicles. Everyone at the time thought he was babbling an impractical dream. But eight years later, the first city-scale LINGcart network launched and received much praise. Yet, just when the future for his investment seemed so bright, he left the secular life and become a monk. The news shocked the world, and most reacted with skepticism and puzzlement. But now, looking back, I see that perhaps everything had been arranged by fate. Maybe he really is the Buddha, reincarnated to save the world, and had to experience pain and suffering first.”
The two sat in silence as the ginkgo leaves susurrated in the night breeze.
Xiao Wang broke the silence. “May I ask how you became a Buddhist?”
His brow furrowed, and only at length did he answer, “My family also suffered a terrible tragedy, and I sought spiritual relief. However, even after years of cultivation, I cannot find release from the pain.”
Xiao Wang pressed her hands together and bowed. “I wish you the best in your search.”
Releasing Caged Animals for Merit
She sat alone inside the chamber, holding the strand of prayer beads. A dharma cloud enveloped her, connected to all her sense-faculties: eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, mind, heart.
Entanglements Page 23