The Digital Trap: A Prison Guard's Warning from Beyond

Zhu Yongquan, a young man who tragically lost his life in a motorcycle accident while consumed by the world of online gaming, now serves as a prison guard in the Seventh Hall of the Hells. Seeking deliverance from the cycle of suffering, he was granted the rare opportunity to share his story through the compassionate intervention of Practitioner Su at the Hsiang Kuang Pure Land Buddhist Centre. This interview, recorded by Venerable HaiZe on February 9, 2022, serves as a poignant warning to the living about the perils of digital addiction and the transformative power of Buddhist education.

Zhu Yongquan speaks:

"The Western Land of Ultimate Bliss is a place of pure light. With Namo Amituofo present there, one has no need for computers, and the tragic events that lead to death through online gaming simply do not occur.

I am deeply grateful that the Hsiang Kuang Pure Land Buddhist Centre has the ability to receive the messages of us spirits serving as prison guards. By sharing our stories in this way, we hope to help everyone understand the importance of Buddhist education. This is especially true for parents; if you can impart the laws of karma and cause and effect to the next generation from a young age, and truly understand your children's hearts and needs, it is best to guide them to learn and chant the Buddha's name. Do not let them become tainted by the world's bad habits. If they follow this path, children will not have to live such difficult, decadent, and aimless lives."

A Complex Transition

"I am Zhu Yongquan. I am still serving in the Seventh Hall of the Hells. I am filled with gratitude for the compassion of Practitioner Su, who requested that King Yama select us prison guards who died because of the internet to be interviewed. My feelings are incredibly complex. I have been dead for ten years, yet now I am being interviewed by a monastic from the human world. It feels just like those celebrities I used to see on television being interviewed by reporters. But I am not a celebrity; I am merely a departed soul.

The King Yama of my jurisdiction told me that on this coming Friday, among the sixty names Practitioner Su is to guide to the Western Land of Ultimate Bliss, our group of 'internet prison guards' was not originally included. However, because our current era is in such urgent need of our stories, we were chosen to come forward. By telling our experiences to the living—especially to young people like I once was—we can serve as a warning. The power of this merit is so immense that it has allowed us to be sent to the Western Land of Ultimate Bliss ahead of schedule."

The Memory of the Buddha

"In truth, the Western Land of Ultimate Bliss is not unfamiliar to me; it is a memory of chanting the Buddha's name from a past life. Furthermore, senior prison guards have told me that being guided by Practitioner Su to the Western Land of Ultimate Bliss is the dream of every spirit in the Hells. Only then did I realise what an incredibly difficult achievement this is! I began watching the recordings of Practitioner Su’s Dharma talks played in the Hells, and I realised my own lack of filial piety. I understood that I should never have walked into the hallucinatory world of online gaming. I wanted to stop, but I could not change; I was under the control of the Demon Realm. This is a terrifying reality. Once you are controlled, even if you want to pull away, you cannot. This is my own personal experience.

The Western Land of Ultimate Bliss is a place of light. Namo Amituofo is there. There is no need for computers, and the tragic events that lead to death through online gaming do not happen. I am very much looking forward to today’s interview, and even more so to the Thrice Yearning Ceremony this Friday, when Practitioner Su can guide us to the Western Land of Ultimate Bliss. Now, let me tell you my story."

A Childhood in the Countryside

"I died ten years ago in a motorcycle accident. I was twenty-five years old. I was born thirty-five years ago in a traditional house in the simple, rustic village of Gangweiliao in Taiwan. I was the third child in the family. My mother didn't even have time to get to the hospital; she gave birth to me at home. She quickly called the grandmother next door, who used to be a midwife, and so I arrived in this human world smoothly.

I was a fair and chubby baby. My mother told me that while she was pregnant with me, she loved eating douhua and would eat a large bowl every day. People would tease her, saying, 'The child you give birth to will be as fair and tender as douhua!' I never expected that it would actually be true, so I was a child who was very well-liked from a young age. I loved running barefoot through the fields in the countryside. The adults would always say, 'You’ll hurt your feet,' but my soles seemed to be particularly thick, and I never got injured. The adults called me a child of nature."

The Shift to the City

"The countryside’s most abundant resources were fresh air, vast stretches of green earth, the morning sun, and the evening sunset—all of which appeared so clearly in my hometown every day. I spent my elementary school years in that environment; it was the happiest time of my life. When I reached middle school, my parents feared that the education in the countryside wouldn't allow me to get into a good high school, so we moved to the city of Chiayi. The city environment was certainly livelier than the countryside, but the teachers and students had a sense of coldness. Everyone was busy for their own sake; there were no warm greetings or inquiries. It wasn't like the countryside, where everyone was smiling and would ask, 'Have you eaten?' or 'Are you hungry?' at mealtime. I originally wanted to greet people that way, but I found everyone to be quite serious, as if it were inappropriate, so I kept my mouth shut. By the first year of middle school, the workload was heavy, and I gradually locked away my natural, smiling heart. I learned to interact the way they did.

Because I was taller and looked a bit naive, and was a 'country kid' from the village, they assumed I wouldn't mind doing the heavy chores. They often assigned the difficult cleaning tasks to me. Actually, it wasn't strenuous for me at all, and I finished them quickly. Later, other classmates would even ask me to do the work they hadn't finished. I didn't mind and was happy to help, because my elementary school teacher often told us, 'Helping others is the foundation of happiness.' As a result, they actually classified me as an outsider. My grades couldn't keep up with the others, many of whom had already started studying during the winter and summer breaks or attended tutoring classes. I thought back to when I was still in the village, jumping rope and playing dodgeball after school, and helping my mother wash rice and cook dinner at home without ever worrying about schoolwork."

The Darkness of Academic Pressure

"The school taught at a very fast pace. I couldn't keep up, and my grades kept slipping. My parents were anxious for me and arranged for tutoring. From then on, my life entered a period of darkness. In my first year of middle school, I had to run to tutoring right after school. A mountain of math numbers was stuffed into my brain, along with a pile of English words. I hadn't even learned the alphabet properly, yet they wanted me to memorize vocabulary. I was so frustrated I could have cried. I was terrified of the English teacher calling my name to spell words. Sometimes I could spell them but not write them; sometimes I could pronounce them but not spell them. Or I would miss a letter, or add an extra one, and then have to mark the phonetics. Heavens! What kind of life was that? I went from being a smiling, happy student to someone who gradually lost the smile on my face, replaced by a sullen expression, or even a crying face. Once, after class, I heard classmates saying I was 'good-looking but had no substance.' They looked down on me, and I went home and told my parents.

I had hoped my parents would offer some comfort or encouragement, but instead, they became even more worried about my grades. Fearing I would fall further behind, they even scheduled English classes on Sundays, which were supposed to be my day off. My verbal protests were ineffective because my parents said, 'This is for your own good, just listen!' I eventually moved from protest to silent acceptance. It’s obvious that this only left me with no time to absorb anything—how could I possibly get good grades? So, my grades were always at the bottom of the class. No adult ever asked about my true feelings; they only constantly scolded me or judged me with strange looks because other students who took such intensive classes achieved good results. Sigh! I lived a life defined by grades. I really don't want to look back on those days. The most terrifying thing was having to get my parents to sign my report cards. Although I didn't get zeros, they weren't much better. I felt bad enough for myself, but seeing my parents' disappointed expressions made me feel even worse. Eventually, I learned to forge their signatures. The teachers never noticed, and that’s how I spent my three years of middle school."

Finding a Place in the Group

"Of course, I didn't get into a good high school, let alone a prestigious one; I barely scraped into a low-ranking school. Because my parents didn't have good academic backgrounds, they pinned their hopes on our generation. I was the third child, and in elementary school, my grades were always at the top. I was the best student in the family, so my parents thought moving to the city was the best arrangement for my studies. Even though I graduated from middle school with barely passing grades, I was able to enter high school. They hoped I could turn things around and perhaps get into university. That was the 'perfect plan' in their minds, but that was not how I felt. Studying, memorizing, and cramming had become a source of pain in my heart.

In high school, I still carried my schoolbag every day, sat in the classroom, and learned a little of what the teachers taught. This school was much more relaxed; it wasn't as suffocating as middle school, and I felt I could breathe a sigh of relief. I began to explore the outside world and made some friends. Because of my height, it wasn't difficult for me to become a leader. A senior in his third year handed me a small group within the school. Of course, the teachers knew about it and kept a close watch on us, fearing we would cause trouble outside and damage the school's reputation. After all, I still had a kind nature. I understood how hard the teachers worked, so I clearly told my homeroom teacher that I would not lead everyone to cause trouble outside. Instead, I would lead them within the school, providing a place where they could talk and share their feelings. If they did anything out of line, I could stop them on behalf of the school. At the very least, having this group gave these students a place where they felt accepted. Once or twice, I successfully prevented classmates from engaging in rebellion or violence, which earned me the trust of the teachers. In this group, I found my footing."

The Lure of the Internet

"Actually, at that time, computers were already common in many students' homes, but because some students couldn't afford them, they weren't yet universal in schools. Some schools allowed students to use computers during their free time, and our group was among the first to be exposed to them. From the initial fumbling to later integration, we didn't need adults to teach us; we developed our own learning methods. The internet wasn't widespread then, especially not at school, but we had heard rumors. We knew the world of gaming was an exciting and thrilling place, which was perfect for us young, curious, and energetic teenagers to vent our energy. We started going to internet cafes.

The internet world there was truly fascinating. But to avoid offending teachers and adults, we set rules for each other: we had to attend classes on time, we had to graduate successfully, and we couldn't cause trouble. One or two of the younger students almost got into life-threatening situations with students from other schools, but we stopped them. Finally, everyone graduated smoothly. I felt I had done something good for the school, at least by leading everyone through three years without any major incidents."

A Double Life

"After graduation, as you might expect, I didn't get into a good university. At the time, as long as you had money, you could still get into a low-scoring private university. My parents, of course, did everything they could to get me in, just so I could get a university degree. In school, I immersed myself in the world of online gaming. I became a master player, often fighting one-on-many, achieving high scores, and leveling up frequently. My online rankings were often at the top. But I couldn't let my parents know about this, because they had heard rumors that 'children who play online games are bad children.' They had told me not to touch such things. They never imagined that the 'good child' in their eyes was actually a master of online games. After I graduated from university, I found a job far from home and lived near my workplace. This was the first time I had left home, living a life of freedom I had never known before.

I gave my first paycheck to my parents after deducting my living expenses. They said they would save it for my future marriage and gave me some pocket money, telling me not to spend it recklessly and to eat well. They didn't know that to buy a computer, I was scrimping and saving, often eating instant noodles and toast. The clothes I wore were just a few simple sets. I didn't chase after designer brands like others, but I would save money to buy the latest online games. I could play from the moment I got off work until the early hours of the morning, sleep for two or three hours, and then go to work. I wasn't tired at all. I did simple clerical work at a company and left work on time—I never stayed late. Some colleagues would work overtime voluntarily, but my heart was set on the game scores I had achieved the night before. My motorcycle was my tool for commuting, and I didn't want to waste a single second. Sometimes I would buy a simple bento box and eat it while sitting in front of the computer. A few times, I realized before going to work the next day that I hadn't even taken a bite of the bento I bought the night before. I played until I forgot that I needed to eat. The only normal meal I had was at noon, provided by the company. I condensed my three meals a day into that one lunch."

The Fatal Accident

"I often slept until the very last second in the morning, and I had to get up or I would be late. Of course, I didn't have time for breakfast. The evenings were even simpler; sometimes a piece of bread and a drink would suffice. This went on for over three years. By then, my parents had moved back to their old home; the countryside environment was most suitable for them, while young people stayed in the city to develop their careers. That was the mindset of many parents at the time, so I only went home to show my face during holidays. When my parents asked, 'Do you have a girlfriend?' I said, 'No.' In fact, it wasn't that I didn't have one; I simply didn't want to date, and I had no time for it. I would return home for a short while and then rush back, and my family thought I was working very hard. In reality, I was working very hard—at playing online games. I became a true expert, often obtaining new characters, completing new missions, reaching the peak, and winning the highest scores. Of course, there were many admiring novices, and I even charged tuition to teach them. My mind was entirely focused on reaching the top.

On the day I had the motorcycle accident, I played online games until four in the morning before taking a shower and falling into a deep sleep. When the alarm went off at six-thirty, I didn't get up. When I opened my eyes, it was already seven-thirty. Even if I rode fast, I would be late. But in my mind, I was imagining the new game I had been playing, fantasizing that I was a character in the game, able to charge through everyone and knock them down to get a high score. As you can imagine, I not only harmed myself—because of the excessive speed, I crashed my bike and myself under a large truck and was dragged to my death—but I also harmed many others. I left my family to deal with my funeral in sorrow. I let down my parents and my family, but I never had the chance to say sorry. Can I say it to them now? When they saw me, my body was twisted from being dragged, and I had no breath left."

The Reality of the Hells

"I was taken to a dark place, and later to a gray place, where I saw many people crying or looking very sad. In that gray place, I saw my family grieving as they handled my funeral. I kept crying and calling out to my parents, but they couldn't hear me. The distance was so far, so far. I knew I was dead. Then, I followed many people in a line and was taken before the King of Hell for questioning. I walked through one hall after another, and every hall made me feel incredibly sad. Only then did I realize that life is not limited to just this one lifetime. My twenty-five-year-old life ended just like that, and it was not without reason. Because I had been a 'killer' in a past life—I didn't kill easily, but once I did, it was the end of the other person's life. I had ended many lives, so in this lifetime, my life was ended early by someone else. That 'killer' this time was online gaming.

Being a killer was four hundred years ago. I had been to the Hells to suffer many torments. It was too painful. It was only because I chanted 'Namo Amituofo' once that I was able to leave the Hells. That was the Buddha-name I heard my grandmother chanting when I was a child. So, in that lifetime, it was Namo Amituofo and my grandmother who saved me from the Hells. Later, I became a monastic, a very devout practitioner of chanting. I suffered a lot, and after I died, I reported to the King of Hell again. Because of the merit of chanting, I had the opportunity to reincarnate as a human—which was this lifetime."

A Mission to Warn Others

"After I died in this lifetime, the King Yama of the Seventh Hall saw that I was young. Although I was addicted to online games, I had been kind-hearted in school and had prevented several gang fights. He hoped that, as a prison guard, I would have the opportunity to counsel other young people not to repeat my mistakes. In the Hells, my job is to lead young people who have been sentenced to receive their punishments, and after their sentences are finished, to lead them to the next hall or, if they are to be reincarnated, to report to Meng Po. So, during the time I lead them, I can say a few words to them. But because everyone is suffering so much, if they know they have to go to the next hall for punishment, they are almost fainting from the news and have no heart to listen to what you say. If they are spirits whose sentences have ended and can leave the Hells, they can still listen to a few words. But once they drink Meng Po’s soup, they forget everything, and listening is the same as not listening. Still, I sincerely advise them, hoping they won't get addicted to online games. This is my work in the Hells.

In my heart, I believe it must be the merit I gained in that lifetime as a monastic chanting the Buddha's name that gave me such a magnificent affinity, allowing Practitioner Su to guide me to the Western Land of Ultimate Bliss during the Dharma assembly. I am deeply grateful to Namo Amituofo, Practitioner Su, and King Yama for their compassion. I am also very sorry to the passersby and the vehicle I harmed in the motorcycle accident. Fortunately, no one died, otherwise my crimes would have been even greater, and I might not have had this opportunity."

A Final Plea

"I hope my story can serve as a warning to young people who are currently obsessed with online games. Please, do not use your precious body and life on online games. Once you are addicted, it is very difficult to pull yourself out; it is just like taking drugs. If you are a spirit without a body, unless you drink Meng Po’s soup and reincarnate elsewhere, if you end up in the Hells or wander as a lonely spirit, the memories of this life will follow you clearly. Regret and pain will be too late.

Thank you to Practitioner Su of the Hsiang Kuang Pure Land Buddhist Centre for noticing our group of souls lost in the internet. We cannot use our bodies to confess to everyone, but now, by pouring out our hearts directly as spirits, perhaps it will be even more impactful? Thank you to the Hsiang Kuang Pure Land Buddhist Centre for having the ability to receive the messages of us prison guard spirits. Using this method allows everyone to understand the importance of Buddhist education. Especially for parents: if you can universally educate the next generation with the laws of karma and cause and effect from a young age, and truly understand your children's hearts and needs, it is best to let them learn and chant the Buddha's name. Do not let them become tainted by the world's bad habits, so that children will not have to live such difficult, decadent, and aimless lives.

I see the environment of the Hsiang Kuang Pure Land Buddhist Centre now; it is truly a wonderful place, completely separated from the polluted world outside. If both adults and children can learn the Buddha's teachings together, there will be no regrets, and the painful things that happen to everyone will not occur. Society will have fewer social incidents and problems. This requires receiving Buddhist education from a young age to be the most effective protection. This is my sincere confession."

Zhu Yongquan