The Chef of the Hells: A Journey from Attachment to Liberation

This is a record of an interview with Tu Bifang, who sought deliverance at the Hsiang Kuang Pure Land Buddhist Centre in Australia. He now resides in the Western Pure Land of Ultimate Bliss. This account reflects upon his life and his subsequent spiritual journey. It was recorded by the chief writer, Shi Fajing, on April 12, 2025.

Tu Bifang speaks:

"Namo Amituofo. At this very moment, we sixty prison guards are kneeling before the Buddha, our hearts filled with gratitude and reverence. We bow our heads repeatedly, offering our deepest thanks to the compassionate Namo Amituofo and to the compassionate Practitioner Su.

Without Namo Amituofo, there would be no Western Pure Land of Ultimate Bliss. Without Practitioner Su, we would never have had the opportunity to reach the West. Everything we feel can be summed up in one word: gratitude. In our hearts, we continuously chant Namo Amituofo, the Great Compassionate One.

A Humble Beginning and the Echoes of the Past

I am Tu Bifang. In this lifetime, I was born into the impoverished Tu family. I have never forgotten my past; I remember my previous lives with such clarity that the scenes appear before me as if they were happening right now. It is a peculiar sensation, experiencing the self of this current life while simultaneously feeling the weight and memories of my past existences.

I have never harboured resentment for being born into poverty. I know that not long before this life, I was a wealthy young nobleman. I squandered my fortune without a second thought. Having everything I ever wanted, I naturally did not know how to cherish what I possessed. I wasted so much, exhausting my blessings, and fell through several lifetimes of reincarnation. By the time I was reborn into the human world in this life, I was still paying for my past sins, becoming a child in a poor family, enduring a life of hardship from the very start.

If I could not see my own past, perhaps I would have complained. But because I had the ability to see how ignorant I had been, I was willing to accept this life. Even when life was bitter, I did not feel it was suffering. In the eyes of the adults around me, I was a child with remarkable endurance.

The Return of a Forgotten Talent

When I was five years old, during the Lunar New Year, my family prepared a New Year's Eve dinner. Usually, this was the only time of the year we had the chance to eat a truly sumptuous meal, making it incredibly precious. That afternoon, I began to smell the fragrance of stir-fried dishes wafting from the kitchen. For every dish, I could easily identify the spices and ingredients my mother had used; it seemed to come naturally to me.

Later, I could not help but walk into the kitchen to ask my mother, confirming that my guesses were all correct. My mother did not understand why I was asking about the ingredients, and she simply continued with her busy work. After that day, I saw in my dreams that in a past life, I had been a famous master chef. Back then, I possessed top-tier culinary skills, and many apprentices sought to learn from me. I could have had a glorious career, but I was defeated by my own arrogance, eventually falling into ruin and living the rest of my life in regret.

I never expected that the ability I possessed in that life would return in this one. But in this lifetime, I told myself: I will never be arrogant again. Once I discovered this ability, I began looking for opportunities to practise and refine it. My family had no money to let me cook, and we were grateful just to have simple meals to survive, let alone create gourmet dishes.

Seeking the Path to Liberation

I did not give up. I constantly searched for opportunities. I would often run to the neighbours' homes to watch the aunties stir-fry their vegetables. Sometimes, if I had the chance to enter an inn, I would find a way into the kitchen to watch the master chefs at work. Although I did not have the chance to cook myself, by watching, I felt as though I had regained the sensation of holding a kitchen knife and a wok spatula. It felt like playing with toys—I could swing them with ease and create delicious dishes.

When I was twelve, I finally found my chance. A new restaurant opened in town, and the owner was hiring staff. I immediately went inside and successfully secured a job in the kitchen. Although I could not be the head chef, I was allowed to help on the side. I used this opportunity to become familiar with the head chef, and I often begged him to let me try my hand at cooking. Fortunately, he was a very kind man, and every time, he let me demonstrate my skills. Later, the owner accidentally discovered my talent and decided to invest in me, allowing me to practise in his kitchen. All the dishes I developed became new menu items, and the business thrived.

I have always viewed many things in life with detachment because I clearly understand that each lifetime is so short. It is not worth being attached to things that are so fleeting. My outlook on life was different from many of my peers. What they liked, I did not necessarily like. And what I knew how to do, they did not necessarily want to do. Besides cooking, I often spent my spare time searching for a way to end the cycle of rebirth. I did not know the Buddha’s teachings at the time, and I could not name it as samsara. I only knew that I had a soul, and that my soul was currently inside my body. I had possessed bodies before—human bodies and animal bodies—each life was different.

The Wisdom of the Monk

One day, a monk came to the restaurant where I worked to beg for alms. I had never seen a monk before, but someone introduced him to me. I immediately went into the kitchen and took out plenty of fresh food to put into the monk's bowl. Before the monk left, I asked him, "Is there any way for me to end this suffering?" I described the past lives I had seen to him. The monk smiled and replied, "Chant Namo Amituofo."

The monk did not say much, but I already knew what I had to do. After that day, I began looking for opportunities to go to the temple. At first, I was quite ignorant and did not know what everyone was doing there. Although I did not understand, I could see that their hearts were very peaceful. That kind of peace was comfortable, free, and even had a sense of transcendence—a feeling beyond the ordinary that I could not describe. But I knew I liked it, and I yearned for it.

I began listening to the lectures and joined in the many tasks at the temple. Gradually, I understood more and more of the Buddha’s teachings, and I realised that my ability to see my past lives was indeed a reflection of my many previous existences. I developed great faith in the Buddha’s teachings, believing that I could definitely use the practice of chanting Namo Amituofo to help myself achieve liberation from the cycle of rebirth.

The Trap of Self-Righteousness

I knew that everyone suffered just as I did, so I would never enjoy this Dharma alone. Thus, I began to introduce the Buddha’s teachings everywhere. I sought resources and used my abilities to cook delicious dishes in every place I went, attracting local residents to come and enjoy them. However, the condition for enjoying the meal was that they had to listen to the Dharma first—to listen to the master’s lectures—before they could eat. My method was simply to attract them and create an opportunity for them to learn about the Buddha’s teachings. The results were indeed good; no matter where I went, many residents came to participate. They listened to the teachings very seriously, and after the session, they would discuss them while eating.

I truly succeeded in introducing the Buddha’s teachings, spreading them to every corner of life. Not only that, I continued to raise funds, continue spreading the Dharma, and continue cooking delicious vegetarian food, helping everyone learn to appreciate the taste of vegetarianism. Originally, I thought I was very detached from life, and that every day, besides chanting Namo Amituofo, nothing was more important. However, when I was spreading the Dharma in a city one year, I discovered that this body was not as easy to subdue as I had imagined.

My body had its own attachments and preferences, and it would not allow itself to be changed easily. No matter how much I chanted, it would still quietly emerge to let me know of its existence. Especially when I was cooking, it would make me want to show off more to everyone, but another rational part of me would ask, "Why do you need to do this?" Two forces were pulling at each other—one rational, the other listening to the body’s desires. In the end, who won? The result was a stalemate.

The Illness of Regret

I went back and forth between these two sides. Those years were very painful, and I actually became ill. That illness stemmed from my condemnation of my own state. I felt that since I knew the suffering of reincarnation, how could I still let my body linger in this world, obsessed with people and things I could not take with me? But that force was powerful; I could not completely subdue or eliminate it, so I suffered greatly.

Eventually, my body became ill—very ill. I knew this was not a simple illness, but one transformed from the attachment I could not forgive myself for. I hated myself for knowing that the world is suffering, empty, and impermanent, yet still being obsessed with those fragrant dishes, and even secretly feeling proud of my "skilful means" in spreading the Dharma.

After I died, my soul arrived in a strange space, which I later realised was a space of cookware. In that space was a familiar kitchen, filled with my favourite pots, pans, familiar ingredients, and seasoning jars. I kept repeating the act of cooking, stir-frying fragrant dishes time and time again, and serving them to the "audience listening to the Dharma." However, every bite of food had no taste, and every person who came had no eyes and no expression. I repeated this countless times in that space. I knew I was trapped in my own "attachment to vows."

Deliverance and Gratitude

However, I continued to cook, still wanting to use it to spread the Dharma, hoping that everyone who ate my food could develop faith in the Buddha’s teachings. Perhaps it was this thought that gave me the opportunity, more than a decade later, to escape from that cookware space. I was brought before the King of Hell by two hell guards in black robes, and the King of Hell ordered me to serve as a prison guard in the hells. At first, I thought this was a punishment, but later I realised it was my final place of practice.

In the hells, I saw souls repenting, crying, and suffering every day—those were the beings I had failed to save in the past. However, one day, I heard the sound of the Buddha—it was the voice of Practitioner Su. Practitioner Su’s voice was like a cool spring pouring over my head. For the first time, I truly understood what "true purity" meant—the purity of letting go of the name, the vow, the practice, and the achievement of the self.

From that day on, I began to actively listen to the Dharma and spread the Dharma, helping these hell beings hear Practitioner Su’s lectures and openly repent to seek liberation. In the end, I also made a vow to seek rebirth in the West, and today, I finally achieved my wish, guided by Practitioner Su to the Western Pure Land of Ultimate Bliss. I, along with the fifty-nine other prison guards, kneel and bow our heads. We are grateful to Practitioner Su for her compassion in helping us; we are finally liberated!

Namo Amituofo.

Tu Bifang bows in reverence."