The Actor in the Play of Life: An Interview with Chang Hsiang-yu

Chang Hsiang-yu was once a spirit wandering the realms of existence, eventually serving as a prison guard within the hells. After encountering the compassionate teachings of Practitioner Su, he was liberated from his duties and guided to the Western Pure Land of Ultimate Bliss. This interview was recorded on January 16, 2021, during a Thrice Yearning Ceremony at the Hsiang Kuang Pure Land Buddhist Centre, where Chang Hsiang-yu shared his profound journey of karmic debt, filial piety, and ultimate salvation.

Chang Hsiang-yu speaks:

"Namo Amituofo. I am Chang Hsiang-yu. Today, during the magnificent Thrice Yearning Ceremony, I and fifty-nine other prison guards donned neat white robes, waiting to participate in the Dharma assembly. Originally, we were not scheduled to be led to the Western Pure Land of Ultimate Bliss by Practitioner Su until tomorrow, but we were blessed to step into the dignified Buddha-land of the West today instead. Practitioner Su, through his sixty manifestations, compassionately took each of us by the hand, one by one, and guided us to the West. My fifty-nine companions and I are filled with immense gratitude. Upon arriving in the Western Pure Land of Ultimate Bliss, we saw the towering, majestic Namo Amituofo reaching out to welcome us. We immediately knelt and kowtowed in gratitude, thanking the Buddha for his compassion and thanking Practitioner Su for his mercy.

Now, let me share my life story with all of you.

The Endless Queue for a Human Skin

Every spirit standing before me had their head bowed, moving slowly forward. We were all waiting for a human skin. At the very front of the line, those souls who kept disappearing one by one were the ones who had received their human skin and were off to the human world to be reincarnated. I was one of them, waiting in that queue. But looking ahead, the line was so long I could not see the end. At the rate we were moving, it would likely take another four or five hundred years before it was my turn.

Suddenly, a voice whispered in my ear: 'Behind you is a man named Chuang Chin-yao. Ten lifetimes ago, he was your father. After he passed away, you made a vow before his grave, saying, "If I ever have the chance to be reincarnated as a human, I will surely repay my father's kindness in raising me." He is standing right behind you now. Do you wish to fulfil your vow and repay that debt?' I replied, 'I am willing! Please, switch my position with my father. Let him go to the front, and I will go to the back.' The voice asked, 'But if you do this, you will have to wait another thousand years to receive a human skin. Are you still willing?' I answered without a moment's hesitation, 'I am willing! Please, let my father go to the front!'

As soon as I said this, something miraculous happened. Suddenly, two mountains seemed to press tightly against me, causing me immense pain. Then, the pressure increased, and I was violently pushed forward. I was thrust out, crying out in agony. Nearby, I heard excited voices shouting, 'It’s born! It’s born!' It turned out I had been born! How could it be so fast? Wasn't I supposed to wait another thousand years? How was it that I had already received a human skin and entered the world?

Growing Up Amidst the Stage Lights

I have forgotten the details of the past, but that scene of waiting in line for a human skin remains clear in my mind. I know I came to the human world only after waiting in that queue. I also know that my father from ten lifetimes ago was behind me; I let him take my place so he could be reincarnated hundreds of years earlier. I wonder where he is now.

In this lifetime, I was born into the Chang family as the eldest grandson and my mother's only child. Performing acrobatics and singing opera was my mother's livelihood. To support me, she had to work even harder, because my father would demand money from her every day to gamble. If my mother hadn't worked so diligently, there would have been no money for him. After I was born, my mother's life became even more hectic. She couldn't stop working, but she couldn't leave me alone, so she had to bring me to her workplace. Whenever she performed on stage, she would leave me backstage. The uncles and aunts who weren't performing would take turns looking after me. If I fell asleep, they could do their work in peace. To avoid worrying my mother or troubling the others, even when I woke up, I would pretend to be asleep so they could work without concern.

I grew up in that noisy theatre. From a baby in a cradle, I gradually learned to crawl. Sometimes, while crawling backstage, I would hear my mother singing and curiously peek out at the stage. When I saw her performing so hard just to earn money, my heart would ache. I would quickly pull my head back and wait quietly until she finished her performance and took me home.

A Mother's Unwavering Sacrifice

When I was about four years old, my mother took me on a long journey to the capital, where there were big performances that could earn us a good living. She held my hand as we hurried along. A kind stranger saw us and stopped his carriage, asking, 'Do you need a lift?' My mother looked at the sun; we were running late. She usually disliked troubling others, but to reach the capital for the money, she reluctantly accepted. We jumped into the carriage and sped off. We were silent for most of the journey until the kind man spoke. He said to my mother, 'This child’s birth was truly extraordinary.' My mother asked in surprise, 'How did you know?' The man asked, 'Did something happen?'

My mother replied, 'During the birth, the midwife told me the baby was dead in the womb—there was no heartbeat. But I still had to deliver him. To my surprise, as soon as he was born, he started breathing and crying loudly! Even the midwife, who had thirty years of experience, couldn't believe it! I believe Heaven pitied my suffering and wouldn't let my child leave me, so he was brought back.' The man explained, 'At the moment the fetus was about to stop breathing, another spirit entered his body, and that is why he regained his heartbeat. That spirit is the one currently in your son.' My mother asked, 'Why did he appear?' The man said, 'I can see the scene of spirits waiting for human skins. The spirit in your son was a filial child in the past. His filial piety moved the heavens and the ghosts, even the King of Hell. When he was waiting in line, the King of Hell gave him a chance to fulfil his filial duty one last time, asking if he wanted to let his father from a past life go first. He agreed without hesitation. That filial heart allowed him to be reincarnated early, without waiting a thousand years.'

My mother was astonished. 'I believe you,' she said. 'Even as a baby, he was incredibly considerate. He wouldn't cry or fuss, even when I was too busy to feed him. He would endure hunger and thirst just so I wouldn't worry. It was my fault as a mother; sometimes I was so busy I couldn't check on him, and when I finally did, he would be weak from hunger, covered in his own waste, yet he still wouldn't cry. This child moves me deeply. I told myself then: "No matter how hard life is, even if I have to work without sleep, I will do it just to raise my child."' My mother burst into tears. I hugged her tightly and said, 'Mother, don't cry. I will be a good boy.' The kind man was deeply moved and offered to help, but my mother, ever independent, politely declined, saying, 'Thank you for your kindness, but I have hands and feet. My willpower is no less than a man's, and I can support my son myself.' The man did not insist.

The Truth Behind the Performance

We stayed in the capital for nearly a month. My mother performed every day, and the others were just as busy. I spent my time playing backstage. Having heard opera my whole life, I began to sing along. About three weeks in, my mother collapsed from exhaustion just before a performance. The backstage area was in chaos. I wanted to rush to her, but the crowd of adults blocked me. Seeing the audience waiting, I walked onto the stage myself. I felt no fear. I began to sing, using the tunes I had learned from my mother, but the lyrics were my own—a simple expression of the hardship I had seen my mother endure. I performed with such emotion that when I finished, the audience gave me a standing ovation. Some women were in tears. My mother eventually walked out, crying, and hugged me. I didn't expect such a response.

After that, the others wanted me to join the troupe. My mother asked me, 'Yu-er, do you want to sing opera?' I asked her, 'Mother, is this world real or fake? I have listened to you sing ten plays and heard ten life stories. No matter what the characters go through, they all die in the end. Death seems unavoidable. Last night, I dreamt of the line for human skins again. I was in that line. Now that I am human, no matter how long I live, I will still die. Where will I go after death? Can we still be together?' My mother replied, 'I don't know. I have been so busy worrying about the present that I have never thought about what happens after death.'

Finding the True Meaning of Life

I continued to sing to help my mother. The audiences were always full, but while others might have felt proud, I felt only sadness. The more enthusiastic the audience, the sadder I became, because it meant they resonated with the suffering in the plays. I once asked a woman in the audience, 'Is my play like your life?' She nodded vigorously and said, 'I am amazed that someone so young can sing the heart of a middle-aged person!' So, this was the life we waited so long to receive? To live such a bitter existence?

I sang for ten years. By the time I was fourteen, I had retired my mother at seven and taken over the burden of supporting her. When I encountered that kind man again, he looked exactly the same as he had ten years prior. I asked him, 'What kind of life do you lead?' He replied, 'A life of learning the Dharma.' He told me, 'Making money is easy, but what then? If you need money, I can give it to you, but do not waste your life just earning it. That is a life wasted.'

After that, I stopped singing and began to chant Namo Amituofo with my mother. She loved it; it was the happiest time of her life. I also followed the kind man to help others. I finally understood how life should be lived. I lived a life without desire, without burden, and without pressure, because I had "no seeking." I accompanied my mother in a simple life, helping as many people as I could, sharing the joy of chanting. Whenever they had the karmic affinity, they would follow along and chant.

When I was forty-five, my mother passed away. Though I didn't know where she went, her face was peaceful, so I knew she hadn't gone to a bad place. At sixty-five, my own life ended. Although I chanted, I did not know to seek rebirth in the Western Pure Land of Ultimate Bliss, so I became a prison guard in the hells.

Six years ago, I saw Practitioner Su in the hells for the first time. Listening to his Dharma talks, I finally understood the existence of the Western Pure Land of Ultimate Bliss. I longed to go there, but I didn't know if I had the chance. Now, sitting here on a lotus in the West, looking at the majestic Buddha-land, it feels like a dream. I am so grateful to Practitioner Su for his compassionate guidance, which allowed us sixty prison guards to escape the cycle of rebirth.

I am grateful to the Buddha for his compassion.

I am grateful to Practitioner Su for his compassion.

Recorded by the disciple Shi Fajing."