This is a record of an interview with the spirit of Shi Chongsheng, who sought deliverance at the Hsiang Kuang Buddhist Centre in Australia. He now resides in the . This account reflects upon his life approximately 800 years ago. Recorded by the chief writer, Shi Faxin, on March 17, 2020.
Shi Chongsheng speaks:
". Hahaha! Tell me, who in this world does not fear death? Everyone fears it. Death can happen in an instant, but sickness—sickness is a long-term torture. It drags a person from the light into the grey, leaving them calling out to the heavens with no response, calling to the earth with no answer, until they sink into the very depths of despair. Often, a diagnosis is nothing more than a death sentence. We are the assistants to those death sentences. But our true power manifests when humans first realise they are ill—that moment of panic, that deep-seated anxiety. They turn cold and heartless, losing all patience with life. They want to hold on, yet they crave the release of death. Those hysterical humans, those with pathological minds—they are the ones we control. There are even those who, desperate to survive, scramble in a terrible fix, searching for any way to extend their lives, only to find they cannot resist the arrival of death. You could say we are the assistants of the Grim Reaper, experiencing the process of sickness and death alongside humanity.
The Cruelty of the Human Condition
This is our terrifying mindset. We watch humans suffer from illness, clinging to broken, unusable bodies, and we laugh at their ignorance. It is not that we are heartless; it is that we were treated with such heartlessness in the past. When we look at life and death, we find it all particularly laughable.
From a young age, my skin was wrinkled and festering, and my hair was white. Though I was just a child, my face looked ancient. In modern terms, I had albinism. I was confined like a leper. The only mercy was that there were no mirrors in that room; otherwise, not only would others have been terrified by my appearance, but I would have been terrified of myself. I did not know where I was, but I often heard constant, wailing cries coming from the rooms next to mine. At first, I was terrified. I wanted to find out what was happening, but I was even more afraid of others seeing me.
A Life of Isolation and Agony
There was a small slit in my door, the only way food was delivered to me. Along with the food, there was a bottle of medicine I had to take daily. Without it, my entire body would fester, and the itching would be unbearable. This agony was often more than I could endure; I would roll on the floor, rubbing my skin against the ground until it became red, swollen, and oozing with pus. I did not know who I was, how old I was, and no family ever came to visit me. In my moments of greatest pain, I would wonder: 'Who am I, and when will these days of suffering end?'
Once, I tried to overcome the discomfort through sheer force of will. I went into a frenzy, shaking the door with all my might, trying to fight the sensation of a thousand insects crawling under my skin. I wanted to dash my head against the wall and die, for I saw no meaning in my existence. I fainted from the pain, and I do not know how much time passed before I was awakened again by the throbbing of my own wounds—wave after wave of agony. The only thing that kept me tethered to life was a single window in the room. Outside, I could see the vitality of life: a pair of birds flying in unison, clouds drifting rapidly across the sky. These sights reminded me that life still existed.
The Escape and the Harsh Reality
One day, a thought suddenly sparked in my heart, lighting a flame of hope. I encouraged myself to go out and see the world. When the food delivery came, I made a loud noise and pretended to collapse. The person outside panicked and ran back. Soon, I heard the sound of a lock being opened. I felt someone approaching, wanting to see what had happened. I immediately opened my eyes, bolted out, and hid in a dark corner where they could not see me. I heard hurried footsteps searching for me, but I stayed hidden until the sounds faded away. Only then did I crawl out from the shadows.
There was only a faint light illuminating the space. I looked around with a mix of anxiety and curiosity. I was at the end of a long corridor, and looking ahead, I saw room after room, just like the one that had held me. I crept closer to observe. The doors all had the same small slit for food. Standing in the corridor, I could clearly hear the wailing from different rooms. I secretly leaned my head toward a slit and peered inside. The smell of excrement hit me like a physical blow. Inside, there was a pile of dry hay and a skeletal old man moaning. His body was festering, just like mine. I checked several rooms, and they were all the same. I was terrified—what kind of place was this?
Once my fear subsided, I began to look for a way to escape. I walked to the end of the dark corridor and found a door that seemed to lead outside. I pushed and pulled, but it was locked. I had to wait. When the food delivery time came, the door creaked open, but it was quickly shut again. The man placed the tray on a small table and went from room to room, checking on everyone through the slits. Some made excited noises at the sight of food; others remained silent. Everyone had a bottle of medicine next to their meal, with varying dosages. After several days of starving, I waited for the moment the outer door was about to close and charged through. Several people rushed to stop me, but they were afraid to touch me because my skin was so deformed. They tried to catch me with a net, but I managed to escape.
The Demon King's Rise
I did not know where to go. The sunlight burned my festering skin, making me feel like I was on fire. I could not stand it, so I jumped into a pond to cool down. But my clothes stuck to my skin, making the festering worse, and the itching turned into searing pain. When I first escaped, only my limbs and torso were wounded, but now my face was affected too. I was in such agony! I realised then that the medicine I had been taking was the only thing keeping the itching at bay. The place I had been kept was a leper colony, and at that time, it was a highly contagious and incurable disease that everyone feared.
When my presence was discovered, the whole village fell into panic. They feared that coming near me would infect them and that I would leave a source of contagion wherever I went. From the moment I escaped, I lived in hiding, scavenging for food in trash cans or picking up what people threw away in the market. I just wanted to see the world. But the sores on my body often made me roll on the ground in pain. When the itching became unbearable, I would roll in the grass, letting the blades pierce my skin to relieve the symptoms. Eventually, I became bloated and unrecognizable; people looked at me as if I were a monster. When I finally collapsed from exhaustion, I heard those who found me saying in fearful, panicked tones: 'He is a leper! He is a leper!' When I opened my eyes again, I had been sent back to that dark camp.
I desperately wanted to know why I was like this. I begged the food deliverer to tell me how I had ended up there. Seeing my pitiful plea, he finally agreed to check. The people in the camp told me my mother had been a leper and had passed the disease to me at birth. She had died shortly after, her body completely consumed by the disease, and I had been kept in the camp ever since to control the spread. Now, at twenty years old, I was neither man nor monster. My body was sick, but my heart was wounded even more deeply. Under the dual weight of social reality and physical suffering, I dashed my head against the wall in that camp and died. That was the space I lived in. After death, my spirit did not escape the suffering. I felt such a powerful urge to break free from that pain that I was willing to pay any price. One day, a figure in a cloak with a terrifying face appeared before me and asked if I wanted to leave suffering behind. I did not even hesitate to agree. Thus, I followed that dark power, following the Demon King, making those who looked down on others and those with selfish, arrogant human nature fall ill. For eight hundred years, I have done my job well, and I even climbed to the throne of the Demon King, known as the Demon of Sickness and Death. In this current pandemic, which concerns the life and death of humans, I was naturally involved in the process. We quickly found our targets. Terrible human nature attracts corresponding demon nature. Working together with the Plague God, we made the swiftest judgments, acting upon them so quickly that they were caught unprepared, forced to face the arrival of death, or left in the same helpless state I once knew. You are all harming yourselves.
The Light of
My demon nature has been rising within the Demon Realm, and I even lead a crowd of demon children and grandchildren. Recently, however, the strength of our spreading has diminished significantly. As the Demon King, I had to investigate the cause. I never expected the resistance to come from such a bright place. The brilliance here is blinding; it has shaken us to our core and greatly alleviated the suffering of my own spirit and that of my demon followers. Since ascending to the -Nature Land, my body has returned to its original state. I have never felt such clarity; in an instant, my demon nature weakened. The Buddha's compassionate Buddha-light shines upon us, giving us demon crowds a sense of home at last. We are so grateful. There is so much pathological psychology in the human world that corresponds to the demon nature in our universe. Do not just look at us demons as terrifying; the human heart is even more terrifying! If we had not truly seen the Buddha's Goodness and if the Buddha had not given us infinite compassion, we would not have stopped. The Buddha's compassion and Practitioner Su's Dharma talks have made us willing to be human again. We are deeply grateful.
The Buddha has given the Demon of Sickness and Death the Dharma name: Shi Chongsheng.
The interview message was recorded by the Buddha's disciple, Shi Faxin."
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