The Life and Teachings of the First Patriarch of the Huayan School

The Flow of the Eternal Dharma

Practitioner Shi Haiyuan: I offer ten prostrations to the Buddha and sincerely invite Venerable Du Shun to join us. I am about to interview the Venerable regarding his life, his lineage, and his journey of practice. I humbly request his compassionate teachings and guidance. Namo Amituofo.

Venerable Du Shun’s Teachings:

Years and months flow like a thousand rivers. I remain untouched by the muddy waters of worldly emotion. From morning to night, my life has been without error; how could there be a past to speak of? Every drop is but a stream in the water. Only when it flows into the Dharma does it become eternal. To spread the Dharma is to flourish; one must know this. All paths converge at the same source. Merging into the great ocean of Dharma-nature, all is clear and flows toward the West.

From my earliest childhood, I lived a life that appeared ordinary. Although I was born into a prominent family of high-ranking officials, my heart was always directed toward the Buddha. I never truly felt that I had a home. To me, the concept of a family was merely a dream I had once experienced—a temporary condition for my arrival in this Saha world. It was a borrowed environment, never a permanent attachment. From a young age, I yearned to leave this realm, to transcend the dust of the world, to escape the vast, confusing ocean of birth and death, and to save all beings throughout the ten directions. This karmic affinity finally manifested. I am deeply grateful to the Buddha. Namo Amituofo.

A Life Beyond the Worldly Realm

Practitioner Shi Haiyuan: I am deeply grateful for your compassionate teachings, Venerable Du Shun. May I now invite you to share with us the story of your birth and your journey of practice, so that future generations of disciples may learn from your example and follow your path?

Venerable Du Shun’s Teachings:

I was born into a life of comfort, where I never had to worry about food or clothing. My family was a renowned clan of officials; both my father and grandfather were high-ranking ministers who contributed greatly to the imperial court. I was the first in my family to leave the household life to become a monk, which came as a great surprise to many. Before I arrived in this world, there was the practitioner Hanshan, and I followed after him. We both came for the same purpose: to save sentient beings and to work diligently to spread the Buddha’s teachings.

The Virtuous Union of Noble Souls

My mother was the eldest daughter of the Du family. She was a woman of great wisdom, gentle, virtuous, and exceptionally brilliant. She was well-versed in both literature and the martial arts, and she was highly regarded even by the imperial court. She preferred a life of quiet freedom and often enjoyed visiting temples. As a child, she had met a high master who taught her martial arts; while she was not a warrior by trade, her skills were more than sufficient to protect herself. The people of the city knew her well, and she was beloved for her kindness and generosity. Because our home was the Prime Minister’s residence—a position of immense influence—it was always seen as a symbol of nobility.

My parents’ meeting was a story of destiny. My father was a brilliant scholar. He once told me that had he not met my mother, he would have become a monk himself. He was a young man of immense talent who made his living selling books and art in the marketplace. He had to support his ailing parents and his younger siblings, and he was a man of profound filial piety. His works were of the highest quality, which my mother deeply admired. When he first saw her, he was captivated by her grace and noble temperament, yet he dared not harbor any improper thoughts, knowing the vast difference in our social standing. However, my mother could not forget him. She spent a great deal of money to purchase almost all of his works, an act that drew much attention. She did not care; she was simply being true to her nature.

A Miraculous Arrival

My grandfather, the Prime Minister, heard of this and became concerned. He trusted my mother’s character, but he inquired out of care. When he saw the works she had purchased, he too praised the young man’s talent and invited my mother to visit the market with him. However, the young man was nowhere to be found. After several days of searching, they finally located his home. Sadly, his parents had recently passed away, and the money my mother had spent on his art had provided the funds for their funeral. Seeing this, my mother wept with compassion. When the Prime Minister and his daughter arrived, my father was deeply moved and expressed his profound gratitude. Seeing the mutual affection between his daughter and this young man, and fearing that she might be summoned into a royal marriage, the Prime Minister decided to facilitate their union. He offered my father a position and the means to settle his family affairs. My father, realizing his true feelings for my mother, accepted the proposal. They were married on an auspicious day, and my father was welcomed into the Du family.

My mother soon became pregnant, but the pregnancy was strange. The child did not grow at a steady pace; it would grow rapidly and then seem to stop. At four months, she went into labor, but what she gave birth to shocked everyone—it was a mass of flesh. No one dared tell my mother the truth, so my grandfather used his wealth to find an infant to take its place. My mother did not know the truth. Less than seven days after this event, she became pregnant again, even though she and my father had not been together during that time. Yet, given her status, no one dared to question her purity. My father, too, trusted her completely. My mother only asked him once, “Why does this pregnancy feel so much more real than the last?” From then on, no one dared to harbor any doubts. They simply believed. I was the child who had come from beyond this world, and I arrived after a full eleven months of gestation.

During her pregnancy with Du Shun, the mother’s daily life remained smooth and uneventful. However, her nights were filled with profound changes. She frequently dreamt of visiting a mountainous region surrounded by peaks she had never seen before. In the heart of these mountains, there was always a Qilin of immense size and great dignity, hovering in the air or resting within the landscape. Whenever it saw the mother approach, it would lie down on the ground with a gentle and docile demeanour. Yet, the mother never saw the master of this Qilin, and for the most part, no one else existed in these dreams. It seemed as though the mother had these same dreams almost every day, as if she were waiting for something. The Qilin appeared increasingly like a guardian watching over her, though she did not fully understand its purpose.

During the day, life continued as normal, and she felt no significant discomfort. She spent her time caring for her firstborn, Du Kang, who possessed a very gentle personality, though his reactions were perhaps a little slow. As she held Du Kang, she looked forward to the arrival of her second child, leaving everything to the arrangements of the Heavens. Her husband also maintained an optimistic outlook. Regarding Du Kang, the mother never doubted his identity, and those who were in the know never revealed any flaws. Perhaps it was due to their karmic connection that Du Kang was so well-suited to be her son. Ten months passed, and not only did the mother not go into labour, but the fetal position remained remarkably stable. This time, the imperial physician was exceptionally cautious. Due to the mother’s status and the relationship between her father and grandfather, the physician took full responsibility. He felt he could not predict how this pregnancy would differ from the first, but he was certain that the fetal condition was truly stable and advised continued observation.

The Arrival of the Enlightened One

The mother continued to have the same dream every night, without a single change for over ten months. During the day, she interacted harmoniously with Du Kang. As the time for delivery approached, she felt no nervousness at all, for she believed that since Du Kang was so healthy, this child would surely be the same. No one dared to voice the concerns they held in their hearts. The mother prayed devoutly for the child, hoping that his wisdom-life would be a divine gift. One night, her dream finally changed. The one she had been waiting for seemed to have finally arrived. A dignified monastic appeared, very tall—at least eight feet—with a square, compassionate face. He walked towards the mother. The Qilin, seemingly recognising an old acquaintance, followed excitedly behind him. The monastic stopped before the mother, turned, knelt, and stroked the head of the Qilin, which displayed a joyful expression. Then, with a wave of his hand, the monastic sent the Qilin leaping into the sky. He stood up and bowed respectfully to the mother. She was startled and reached out to help him up, feeling she could not bear such a gesture, but the monastic only said, "The grace of giving birth is as it should be."

As she reached out to touch him, she felt a sharp pain in her abdomen within the dream. The monastic smiled with a radiant, compassionate expression, and the mother woke up in pain. She clearly felt the child being born. Indeed, not long after she awoke, the child emerged from the birth canal just as she had felt in the dream, with great ease. By then, more than eleven months had passed. The umbilical cord seemed to detach effortlessly, and the mother gave birth to the child using her own strength. In a state of being half-awake, she could hardly believe what had happened. The child simply offered a faint smile without crying out loudly. It was early morning, a winter night before dawn, and everyone was fast asleep; no one knew the child had been born. The mother rose and handled everything herself. It was truly miraculous that she felt no weakness; in fact, it all felt as if she were still in a dream, which was hard to believe. She even bathed the newborn, held him contentedly in her arms, and wrapped him in the golden cloth that had been prepared long ago. Looking at the infant, she smiled with satisfaction and thought of a name: Du Hua. She held him tightly, lay down on the bed, and fell into a contented sleep.

A Morning of Miracles

At dawn, the warm rays of the sun shone into the room. The father finally rose, gently kissed the mother’s forehead to signal that she should wake for a meal, yet he dared not truly disturb her rest. The mother was holding Du Hua tightly in her arms. The father, assuming it was Du Kang, did not think much of it and also gently kissed the child’s face. However, he noticed then that the child smelled incredibly fragrant. He assumed the mother must have washed the child with dew from a hundred flowers. The father rose to change, brought hot water for the mother to wash her face, and thoughtfully prepared to wash her feet as well. He saw Du Kang still sleeping soundly in the crib by the door. Out of curiosity, he leaned in and sniffed, but the fragrance was gone. He did not think much of it, assuming he had simply misremembered. At that moment, he failed to realise there were two boys in the room. He prepared outer garments, hot water for washing, and warm woollen blankets for the mother. Just then, the mother rose and walked towards him, holding Du Hua. The father still thought it was Du Kang. He asked the mother to sit so he could soak her feet to keep her warm. The mother laughed happily while holding the child, for the morning had felt dreamlike, but now she was truly certain that it was real—Du Hua had been born.

The father draped the outer garment and woollen blanket over the mother. She placed Du Hua in the crib and embraced the father tightly. Stunned by this sudden gesture, he nevertheless wore a happy smile. The mother asked him to look at the two brothers, Du Hua and Du Kang, and then at her own abdomen. The father was dumbfounded, laughing and crying at once, unable to believe it. The mother recounted the details, and only then did he accept the truth. He picked up Du Hua and wept with emotion. The mother was deeply moved as she watched. The father composed himself and held the mother tightly, grateful for her hardship in bearing such a lovely child. The father held Du Hua, the mother held Du Kang, and they took the children to pay their respects to the elders. Upon seeing them, the grandparents, regardless of the circumstances, saw their beloved golden grandchildren—plump and fair—and scrambled to hold them. The entire household was filled with immense joy. The natural fragrance Du Hua brought with him lingered for a long time. Everyone assumed it was the scent of the hundred-flower water the mother had intentionally applied; no one thought otherwise. Du Kang and Du Hua were about a year apart in age, and their personalities were very compatible; they were truly like biological brothers, with no differences between them.

The Wisdom of a Child

The imperial court knew of Du Kang’s situation, so they were also very concerned about the birth of Du Hua. Du Hua was independent from a young age, and his natural aptitude surpassed that of Du Kang. Du Kang was honest and simple, completely obedient and filial to his mother, often following her closely. Du Hua, however, preferred to be close to nature and did not like to be around large crowds. Yet, from a young age, Du Hua’s speech and conversation were filled with Wisdom, often startling people with a single remark. He did not like to talk much and was often quiet. From childhood, he would often speak amidst the vast earth, and if one listened closely, his words were all profound truths. The adults who heard him could not help but marvel. Those who had studied the Buddha’s teachings knew this was the thought of the Great Vehicle. In truth, the family did not particularly believe in or study the Buddha’s teachings deeply, but the father began to delve into the Buddhist sutras, wanting to nurture the child properly. However, it seemed the father could not understand Du Hua’s Wisdom. Both parents were shocked by the child’s uniqueness and began to discuss his future and education. Du Hua was three years old that year, and for his age, he was considered exceptionally witty. The imperial court also placed great importance on Du Hua’s development, considering him a talent worth cultivating. Beyond actively seeking resources for his education, the parents carefully observed every move Du Hua made, hoping to understand the extent of his development, but it seemed impossible to discern. However, because Du Hua never learned bad habits, the parents felt relatively at ease. Du Kang, meanwhile, always followed his mother, and his temperament and intelligence were easily understood by his parents.

The family was very wealthy and enjoyed various courtesies from the imperial court, so the children faced no problems in their growth or daily life; they had whatever they asked for. I remember the only thing I ever asked for—it was the first and last time, because Du Hua had few desires and lacked nothing. That item was a sutra, the Flower Adornment Sutra. Everyone looked at me in surprise. I remember being indifferent at the time. In the Sui Dynasty, Buddhism was already flourishing and very magnificent, not to mention the later Tang Dynasty, so a copy of the Flower Adornment Sutra was very easy to obtain, but finding someone who could understand it was not. The parents searched for a long time and even spent a great deal of money to hire someone, but they could not find a true master. Instead, one day, a virtuous monastic arrived naturally. His appearance was dignified, and his speech was powerful, forceful, and awe-inspiring. The moment he stepped through the door, he shouted, "The ancestor of the Flower Adornment, where is the child?" This peculiar behaviour surprised everyone, and I walked out silently. The virtuous monastic laughed happily for a long time. "Hahahaha! This is incredible! This is incredible!" he said. After speaking, he left behind several volumes of classics and walked out the door. Before everyone could grasp the situation, the monastic had already gone far away. The classics he left behind were diverse, including both internal and external texts, Great Vehicle and Small Vehicle sutras, and several books on Goodness—dozens of them in total. How could there be such a detailed collection? All of these were gifts for Du Hua. That year, I was three. My father carried all these classics into my room, wanting to see how I would handle them. Unexpectedly, I remained indifferent and continued with my own affairs. Regarding the gift of these classics and my indifference, my father chose to wait and see. Much like the ancient tradition of the first-birthday divination, my father wanted to understand what his son wanted to do and what he was thinking. From a young age, Du Hua was different from other children; he possessed the ability to clearly foresee and observe, and he could vaguely understand the signs of the heavens. For instance, on one sunny afternoon, the mother had hung out all the quilts in the house in the vast courtyard. At that time, Du Hua was building a castle in the sand. He looked up, glanced at the sky, and casually remarked, "The sky will soon be misty with raindrops; even if you run, it will be hard to avoid."

The mother gazed up at the brilliant blue sky, her heart filled with astonishment. She looked again and again, unable to fathom how the weather could possibly change as the young Du Hua had predicted. Yet, the words spoken by such a young child were truly startling. Before long, the sky began to shift, and the clouds darkened. The mother had only just stepped out of the courtyard and entered the house when, upon turning back, she saw heavy, bucket-sized raindrops cascading down. It was too late to retrieve the quilts she had hung out to dry; those she reached in time were merely damp at the corners, while the others were completely soaked through. The mother was so stunned she could not speak. That day, the servants in the upper and lower courtyards were busy tending to the bedding, replacing what was ruined and drying what could be saved. This event left the elders in the household even more amazed by the miraculous nature of Du Hua. He became a well-known child in the surrounding city, yet he did not care for going out or interacting with others. However, whenever the topic turned to the profound meanings of the sutras, Du Hua could speak with remarkable eloquence. His mother grew increasingly convinced that he had come to save the world.

The Awakening of a Pure Heart

In truth, from a very young age, Du Hua understood that his life was meant for delving deeply into the Buddha’s teachings. Unlike other children who enjoyed a carefree childhood, Du Hua spent his time observing—observing this so-called world, the red dust of human existence, and the vast ocean of suffering in samsara. Du Hua understood everything, yet he spoke only when the Causal Conditions were right. He grew up following the natural path of the world. When he was five, his mother took him to visit a temple. The master there, with a kind and gentle expression, smiled at Du Hua incessantly. Yet, throughout the entire visit, Du Hua remained silent. His heart was perfectly still. That was the first time he had encountered a master before he eventually left the household life. Later, Du Hua did not meet any other Venerable or master until the time was ripe for him to renounce the world. That particular master, using his cultivated clairvoyant powers, constantly tried to probe into Du Hua’s nature. However, with his innate sensitivity, Du Hua sensed that the master’s intentions were not entirely pure. After that experience, Du Hua rarely went out, choosing instead to close his doors and focus on his practice. He did not attend the private school, preferring to study the profound meanings of the Avatamsaka Sutra on his own. Due to his age, he followed the flow of Causal Conditions in his studies. Beyond the necessary research into the sutras, Du Hua loved to teach the Dharma amidst the natural world, observing the changes in the environment. He realised that all sentient beings and even the insentient world possess a spiritual nature. Often, the power of the natural world can reveal many truths to us, provided one observes with a sincere and focused heart. All things possess a spiritual nature, and all things are one with me; the only difference lies in our Causal Conditions, which lead us to be born into different forms. How could there be any room for a heart of discrimination?

The Lesson of Equality

Du Hua’s older brother, Du Kang, was quite different. He loved to immerse himself in poetry and literature, striving for fame and academic success. He was a refined and elegant young man, a talented scholar. Du Hua, conversely, dedicated himself entirely to the study of the Buddha’s teachings. Their parents accepted these differences and fully supported each son in their chosen path. They exhausted every effort to nurture their children’s growth. The father taught Du Kang everything he had learned in his own life, while for Du Hua, he simply followed the flow of Causal Conditions. After all, the father did not understand the intricacies of Buddhist studies, but he believed that calligraphy was a traditional art for the Chinese people that must be mastered. The father taught Du Hua how to hold a brush and write, and Du Hua mostly used this skill to copy the sutras. Because of the Causal Conditions surrounding Du Hua’s birth, his mother also began to study the sutras and became a devout follower of the Buddha’s teachings. She grew increasingly dignified, and the father gradually followed in her footsteps. Their home began to flourish with the faith of the Buddha’s teachings. Du Hua studied the sutras at home for ten years. As he grew older, he began to learn how to perform daily tasks. Whether it was chopping wood, gathering firewood, boiling water, or cooking, Du Hua learned from the servants with a sincere heart. He integrated his practice into his daily life, applying the wisdom of the Avatamsaka Sutra to every action. Theirs was a large family, and besides his parents, many relatives of the same surname lived together, providing Du Hua with many opportunities to learn across a wide range of experiences. Du Hua did not like complicated relationships; he simply wanted to practise. In his eyes, there was no such thing as discrimination. Although the world naturally has hierarchies—for instance, Du Hua was the second young master of the house, and there was a natural distinction between him and the servants—he did not wish to investigate where these distinctions came from, because, in essence, they did not exist.

The Spiritual Bond

The housekeeper’s son, who was three years younger than Du Hua, loved to follow him and learn. He had been brought into the household as a child to serve as a servant. His name was Luo Hua. He was simple, kind, and naturally held a deep, sincere respect for Du Hua. The special karmic affinity between the two led the elders to arrange for Luo Hua to become Du Hua’s page, attending to all his daily needs. When they were young, they were merely playmates, but ever since Luo Hua came to the household and began following Du Hua everywhere, the audience for Du Hua’s teachings on the grass grew to include Luo Hua. On the very first day Luo Hua joined him, Du Hua joyfully introduced him to the wondrous natural world—the world within the flowers, the world within the grass, the ants, the insects, and the stones. Du Hua explained their transformations to Luo Hua, telling him of their spiritual existence and the reality of birth, aging, sickness, and death. When Luo Hua first arrived, Du Hua was eight years old. Luo Hua was the first sentient being to listen to his teachings from beginning to end. Du Hua observed the movements of all things in nature and possessed a special sensitivity to change. He sensed a fleeting, fragile quality in Luo Hua’s life and felt that life was truly impermanent, something to be cherished and grasped. Luo Hua was illiterate and had been born into a life of labour, but Du Hua never let him feel the weight of this. Du Hua told him that all people are equal and that there is no discrimination. Du Hua asked him, "Do you have a father?" Luo Hua replied, "Yes." Du Hua asked again, "Do you have a mother?" He replied, "Yes." Du Hua then asked, "We are both men, so what is the difference?" Luo Hua answered, "None." Indeed, there was no difference. The distinctions came only from names—you are Luo Hua, I am Du Hua—or from having different parents, different appearances, or different builds. But Du Hua said, "Luo Hua, if everyone looked exactly the same, could you tell who is who? And if everyone had the same parents, who would be willing to take on the role of constantly bearing children? Do you want your mother to give birth to all the people in the world?" Luo Hua shook his head happily; he understood. Everything is the same; the discrimination lies only within one’s own heart, for the true self is identical. Luo Hua was simple and lovely, untainted by the natural discriminations of the world. In fact, Luo Hua soon reached an awakening. They were able to communicate with each other in the invisible realm. Luo Hua knew he would not live past the age of ten, but he was not sad; instead, he lived each remaining day more actively. On the day before he passed away, he called for his parents and Du Hua, along with several adults nearby, including Du Hua’s parents. Luo Hua proclaimed the Buddha’s teachings to the crowd, and after he finished, he departed on a lotus flower. Luo Hua was not sick, but he had to complete his task and save his parents. If Luo Hua had not achieved this result by the age of ten, he would have had to end his life, but he would have suffered from illness. However, because Luo Hua achieved this result, he did not fall ill, nor did he need to renounce the world; he simply passed away and returned to the Avatamsaka world. At that time, Luo Hua did not even chant the Buddha’s name, yet he entered the Avatamsaka world, the universe of the sutras. This was something Du Hua witnessed with his own eyes. Luo Hua was his parents’ only child, born when his mother was fifty years old. His mother was Du Hua’s wet nurse, who had dedicated her life to helping others give birth but had no children of her own. It was not easy for her to meet the housekeeper, Luo Yao, at the Du household and give birth to Luo Hua. Yet, this ten-year-old life was completed. Luo Hua’s arrival was also magnificent; his wet nurse had said that Luo Hua was a star from heaven, the Wenqu Star. Before his birth, his mother had dreamt that the Wenqu Star Lord said he would descend into her womb, but his time would be short, as he had a mission to fulfil. His mother had longed for a child so much, and Luo Hua was born with the appearance of a top scholar. However, Causal Conditions brought him to Du Hua’s side. Luo Hua used his own life to teach, completing his mission and transforming from an ordinary person into a saint. The extinguishing of the darkness by the Wenqu Star in those years was the return of Luo Hua. He came carrying karma; this was his past Causal Conditions. Luo Hua was very steady and quiet, a truly gifted talent, but he had to pass away because the Buddha’s teachings needed to be spread. Luo Hua’s passing caused many people to develop a deep reverence for the Buddha’s teachings and for Du Hua. His passing marked the beginning of Du Hua’s true mission to propagate the Dharma.

The Wandering Path of Huazi

Du Hua could no longer hide within his home. Many monastics and followers began to arrive at the Du residence, having heard of his reputation. However, the Du family was a family of officials, protected by the imperial court, and these visitors were naturally restricted by the authorities. At that time, it was the Sui Dynasty, and Emperor Wen of Sui was immensely impressed by Du Hua’s uniqueness. He summoned and invited Du Hua to the palace three times, but Du Hua knew well that the invitations were not for the sake of the Buddha’s teachings, so he declined each one. A year later, Du Hua chose to wander the world. At fourteen, he took the name Huazi, dressed in rags, and began his journey on foot, waiting for the right Causal Conditions to renounce the world. When he left home, he bowed a hundred times to his parents, thanking them for their kindness in raising him. Du Hua cast aside all the outward appearances of wealth and glory, wearing the clothes Luo Hua had left behind, taking nothing with him. Huazi ventured into the world of dust. Having already realised his true self, what could he not endure? His parents happily let go of the family affection they had held for all these years, shedding their final tears. Du Kang had achieved fame and was a young, newly appointed top scholar, bringing glory to the family name. This was the last thing Du Hua knew of the secular world. Huazi no longer had any of these; he only had the mission to propagate the Right Way without turning back. Huazi once responded to Causal Conditions and arrived at the imperial palace. Emperor Wen of Sui, who recognised talent, treated Huazi with courtesy. Huazi was still wearing his hair at the time, and the Emperor summoned him personally. Upon seeing his appearance—though dishevelled, covered in mud, and dusty—the Emperor noticed a faint, drifting fragrance. The Emperor offered him all kinds of honours, but Huazi refused them all. Emperor Wen of Sui was devoted to the Buddha and had recently been actively shaping Buddha statues and revitalising Buddhism. Huazi left only one sentence for the Emperor: "Pay homage to the Sangha Jewel." After saying this, he wished to leave. The Emperor tried to hold him back, asking, "Regarding virtue, how can we have further affinity?" Huazi left behind one word: "Follow." He told the Emperor, "My Emperor, you summoned and invited me three times in the past, but I did not meet you because your heart was then focused on politics. Now that your heart is focused on the Buddha’s vows, I have come to meet you. The Buddha, the Dharma, and the Sangha must be promoted." The Emperor wanted to keep him longer, but Huazi left the palace with his supernatural powers. Walking on the road, Huazi continued to experience the human world. He wandered for seven years, and in the fifth year, he met his destined master, Zen Master Daozhen. The master was the abbot of Yinsheng Temple, a man of immense talent. The two met like old friends on a cliffside. At the time, Huazi was still an ordinary person; without his master’s guidance, there would not have been the Du Shun known to later generations. Huazi was covered in dirt, leaning on a worn wooden staff, wandering freely through the mountains and wilderness. When he passed through that place, he did not see, yet he saw; he simply walked by naturally. Zen Master Daozhen called out in a resonant voice, "Wait, how much longer do you intend to walk?" Being stopped in this way, he could not help but laugh. He turned back, patted the mud and filth from his body, knelt, and bowed three times to the master. From that moment, Huazi ended his life as Huazi and followed his master back to Yinsheng Temple. The master’s Zen meditation was of the highest order, and he was a renowned virtuous monk. To be ordained under his master was a blessing of three lifetimes. When the master arrived at the temple gate, he saw all the disciples lining up to welcome him, and he heard that they were also welcoming a young man named Huazi. He did not like such a display, so he quickly found a large tree among the crowd and waited there. The master was no simple person; he quickly prepared all the rituals and completed the grand ordination for Du Hua. In the same year, he also achieved the full Precepts, receiving the Dharma name Fashun, known to all as Du Shun. He did not stay by his master’s side for long before he went out again to explore the world, spending about seven years in the mountains and wilderness. He walked thousands of miles, meeting many extraordinary people and witnessing strange events. But at the time, everyone must have seen him as an extraordinary event as well! Huazi came and went without a trace in the world. He never left anything substantial behind; every place he walked was a barren land, every step he took was on soft, cotton-like soil, everything he saw was a magnificent manifestation of the Dharma, and every place was the most magnificent bodhimanda. Every event was a rare Dharma affinity. At that time, Huazi treasured every experience, as they were all invaluable resources. Wherever he went, all kinds of appearances and states existed. Huazi only drew close to those with whom he had karmic affinity; he did not force connections with those he did not. After renouncing the world, he walked thousands of miles more before Du Shun returned to Yinsheng Temple to follow his master and focus on his practice. Yinsheng Temple was located on the mountainside, but Du Shun did not live inside the temple; he built a thatched hut at the foot of the mountain. Every day, he was the first to arrive at the main hall, did the most work, and then disappeared back to the temple, returning to his hut to sit in Zen meditation. Day after day, year after year, he never stopped for a single day. He was extremely diligent in cultivating both merit and wisdom. Du Shun lived alone in the thatched hut. Every morning, he would go to the main hall and then perform his duties. When he saw his master, he would only nod and smile slightly with respect. Du Shun never spoke much. After years of experience, both movement and stillness became natural to him. He felt that idle chatter was not as good as peace. Every day, he walked from his hut to the temple, chanting the Buddha’s name along the way, becoming one with the earth. He spent his twenties constantly working, allowing himself to forget himself and avoid the obstacles of drowsiness. Zen meditation also brought stability. From chopping and splitting wood to all the practical tasks in the kitchen, sweeping the main hall, making repairs, and even tending to the flowers and plants around the temple, he did it all. Every time he had to prune them, he would sincerely apologise to the flowers and trees, teaching them to grow well so that the dignity of the temple would not be lost and it would not appear overgrown and chaotic. Every day, he let his sweat flow freely, yet he never complained of fatigue. He attended all morning and evening recitations, and during his study time, he returned to his hut. He never forgot to ask his master for leave when going back and forth, and he maintained the proper demeanour on the road from the temple to his hut. He removed any obstacles he encountered on the way. His entire practice was simply to keep his duty and strive to do his best, never letting a single moment go to waste, because he knew that being able to do more for the people of the world was a source of Dharma joy. When he first renounced the world, he lived quietly on the mountain, without any deluded thoughts. He simply learned and received teachings, with nothing else to disturb his heart. It was very refreshing. Some monastics or followers who came to see him were received if there was an affinity, but he did not force connections if there was none. As long as he returned to his hut, he saw no one; this was the space necessary for his practice. One day, Emperor Wen of Sui arrived. He had travelled a long distance, and it was said he had walked for many days before finally reaching the temple gate. Upon inquiring, he learned that Du Shun had returned to his hut. The accompanying soldiers immediately went to the hut to invite the master, but they could not reach it. The hut was tightly closed by vines, trapping the soldiers. The soldiers spent the entire night trying to invite the master, but they did not return. A senior brother in the temple who understood Du Shun asked the Emperor to rest assured. Emperor Wen of Sui was travelling incognito this time, with a sincere and respectful faith in the note Huazi had left years ago—the word "Follow." After many years, he had finally found the traces of the Venerable Du Shun. He arrived in high spirits, but the Emperor felt ashamed of his own rudeness and bowed before the Buddha for the entire night, as did the accompanying soldiers. The scene was magnificent. The next morning, Du Shun was as he had always been; even though he knew of the Emperor’s arrival, he remained calm. As he walked through the forest, the trapped soldiers naturally found their way back to the temple and happened to run into Du Shun. Upon entering the main hall and seeing the Emperor’s weary face, Du Shun admired the sincerity of the ruler of a nation. He asked the Emperor to sit and rest his eyes for a moment, saying, "This humble monk will be right back." He still performed his duties and lessons as usual; it was just that since a visitor with karmic affinity had come, he chose to complete the temple tasks with goodness. After finishing everything, he returned to the main hall and saw the Emperor sleeping peacefully. When the soldiers saw him enter, they hurriedly reminded the Emperor. The conversation between the ruler and the monk truly began. "What is the need for your Majesty to visit from a thousand miles away? This humble monk is ashamed." The Emperor replied, "I am here to thank the master for the manifestation of Huazi all those years ago. Now, the country is peaceful, and the Buddha’s teachings are flourishing. Because of Huazi’s words, I began to widely offer alms to virtuous monastics, and I have sent monastics to work hard on the sutras and their writings, as well as to seek scriptures in the Western Regions and translate them, greatly promoting the Dharma lineage. Because I believe that meeting Huazi was meeting an incarnation of the Buddha, I have received the Buddha’s encouragement, and the nation’s fortune must be prosperous. It has indeed been so. Since the message Huazi left, I have been sending people to propagate the Dharma and searching for you, Master. Today, I have finally fulfilled my heart’s desire and met you, the master I have thought of day and night, the Venerable Du Shun. Namo Amituofo, please accept my three bows."

Du Shun humbly replied that he was unworthy of such praise and declined the three bows. He invited the Emperor to sit comfortably, to sincerely pay homage to the Buddha, to have faith, to chant the Buddha's name, and to continue spreading the Buddha's teachings. He explained that as long as the people of the Sui Dynasty lived under the guidance of the Buddha, peace would naturally prevail. A peaceful nation would naturally see its prosperity flourish. Upon hearing this, Emperor Wen of Sui was overjoyed and knelt to ask for the Dharma. Du Shun smiled gently and said, "Your Majesty, you are the ruler of a nation, a position of great nobility. How could a humble monk possess such virtue? Please, let the Buddha be the one to teach you! Take refuge under the Buddha's seat, bow at the Buddha's feet, and study the Buddha's teachings with a sincere and respectful heart. You are truly a wise ruler of the Great Sui and an excellent disciple of the Buddha." Emperor Wen laughed heartily and said, "Since we are both disciples of the Buddha, we are fellow practitioners; there is no need for such formalities between us." I replied, "Seeing your bright and cheerful laughter, I am sure the fatigue of state affairs has vanished. Please return to the court, for the people cannot be without their ruler for even a single day." The Emperor happily agreed and expressed his desire to visit again. After seeing him off at the mountain gate, I returned to my thatched hut, and everything returned to stillness.

The Freedom of Nothingness

In truth, between the thatched hut and the temple, there is nothing coming or going; nothing truly exists. What the temple possesses, the hut does not; what the hut possesses, the temple does not. What else is there? Nothing at all! Having nothing is the most liberated state—cool, unburdened, and filled with the joy of the Dharma everywhere. Whether sentient or insentient, where is there not spirit? To move with the environment and transform it is the joy of the Dharma. Where is there not this joy? This is the essence of practice: to cultivate until one possesses nothing, yet is filled with the fragrance of the Dharma. It is a fragrance that seems like no fragrance at all. We wake from the dream of life, but do we ever truly wake up? Where did yesterday go? It is already gone. Where is today? It is still unfolding. Where is the future? It is merely an illusion. Practice is like flowing water; it moves without resistance. In the natural order, every drop is a benefit of the Dharma, and every moment is a teacher of compassion. The communion between spirits is the only reality. What appears on the surface is merely the friction of life. If one only observes the expressions of others, one remains on the surface and has no affinity to see the Truth. Because one remains trapped in the mundane, the distance is vast, and it is difficult to transcend the dust of the world, to transform from an ordinary person into a sage. Truly, that is a great pity.

The Journey of Spreading the Dharma

Due to these Causal Conditions, my Dharma affinity gradually expanded. The constant stream of visitors made the mountain gate feel crowded. Though my fellow practitioners occasionally expressed dissatisfaction, I understood everything clearly. Yet, to welcome those who wished to learn the Buddha's teachings, I continued my daily routine. One day, perhaps when the conditions were ripe, I went to my master's quarters just as he was stepping out. After paying my respects, I discussed my plans with him. I told him that I wished to set out again to travel the world for ten years. Starting from the temple gate, I would walk tens of thousands of miles, refusing all offerings, focusing only on giving and serving. I hoped to spread the Dharma further and return only after fulfilling this mission. I also hinted that I would visit the palace to meet the Emperor. My master, understanding that I was a person of vision, gave his blessing. At noon that day, I set off to begin spreading the Dharma, carrying very little to ensure my journey was light and the transmission of the Dharma was swift. I understood clearly that this was not a casual decision, but a mission I was destined to complete.

Around the age of twenty-five, I stepped onto the path of spreading the Dharma. I greeted everyone with a joyful and kind smile. The journey was smooth because my heart was calm, filled with the joy of the Dharma and a profound desire to save the world. I came into this life to save the world; the trivialities of the world could not distract me. My heart was reserved for the transformation of spirits. Although I had not been a monk for long, I felt the passage of time deeply and knew that I must seize every opportunity.

The Power of Compassion

As I walked along city streets, mountain paths, and crossed streams, I spent my days sowing the seeds of the Buddha. Even if it was just a smile exchanged with a stranger, I never felt discouraged. Kind women in the streets would compassionately offer their own rice, which I would then distribute to those in even greater need. I possessed a certain energy; even after going days without food, my body remained unaffected. At that time, I was not yet thirty, yet I lectured on the mysteries of the Avatamsaka Sutra in many impoverished villages. Many elderly, weak, and women listened with great joy. I did not require them to understand the deep meanings of the sutras; my goal was to let them recognise the great power, great courage, and great compassion of the Buddha, as well as the magnificent and wondrous nature of the Western Pure Land.

The suffering of the world is visible everywhere. Why remain entangled and obsessed? The entanglements of emotion are so difficult to cut, yet even the legendary birds that fly in pairs must eventually part. The myriad states of the world and the changing hearts of people—greed, anger, delusion, arrogance, and the Five Desires and Six Dusts—are all false. Nothing is real. Only liberation is the path of the Great Vehicle. As I travelled and taught, I hoped only that people could leave suffering behind. I offered them a path to peace, a sincere and unpretentious expression of faith. When I first set out, I was alone, but after a month, I was joined by over ten great disciples gifted by the Buddha. I cherished these precious Dharma affinities and taught them with care. They came from impoverished villages, truly understood suffering, and worked with one heart. I required them to follow the same rule: do not accept offerings. We were here to save the world, not to enjoy comfort.

A Mission of Mercy

After travelling through many villages and crossing mountain after mountain, I arrived at the palace in the third month to meet the Emperor. Long before I arrived, the Emperor had heard the news and prepared a banquet. Upon entering the palace, my disciples and I were treated with the utmost respect. I did not feel joy at this; instead, I walked into the palace with a calm heart. Led by the Emperor's personal eunuchs, we saw the Emperor waiting outside long before we reached the palace gates. He was under a great umbrella, kneeling to welcome us. Everyone present, seeing the Emperor kneel, followed suit, bowing in sincere reverence. I did not care for such displays and gestured for everyone to rise. While my disciples ate, I met with the Emperor alone. He was a ruler famous for his faith in the Buddha. I did not stay long, but the Emperor ordered a full fast in my honour. I could see his deep respect, and I felt grateful. The main reason I chose to enter the palace was to ask the Emperor to provide grain for the people. Having travelled so far, I had seen many starving beings. Observing the celestial signs, I knew a massive drought was coming in a few months, which would bring great suffering. Unable to bear the thought of their pain, I had left the temple early to seek the Emperor's protection for the people. The Emperor, moved by compassion, immediately distributed tens of thousands of catties of grain to remote villages to relieve the famine. After thanking him for his kind heart, I left the palace to continue our journey of spreading the Dharma.

The Lessons of the World

On the path of spreading the Dharma, one encounters all sorts of strange events and unique people. This complexity is the nature of the Saha world. If one can see clearly within it, it becomes an excellent textbook for practice and a guide for one's character. In life, there is nothing to be attached to; letting go and being at ease is more real. Living honestly is the key to life. Living with clarity is not necessarily easy, as the filth of the world is deep and thick. The various forms of suffering drive humanity to toil and struggle, paying the price of a lifetime for a home and a living, yet in the end, they may not be able to let go.

Birth, aging, sickness, and death are the most profound and enduring forms of suffering, with sickness being the most persistent. It can last for days, months, or years, leaving everyone in pain. Those who do not study the Buddha's teachings are left with only despair and sickness, while those who do may still feel despair, or they may find joy in seeking rebirth in the Western Pure Land. Throughout my travels, I have indeed helped some patients recover their health, provided they had complete, sincere faith. Only by truly believing in the Buddha can one receive the full blessing of the Buddha's power. Several times, I helped those at the moment of death, resolving their karmic debts, because these people still wished to do good for the world. I once used my own hands to clear the pus from a woman's arm. I remained focused and sincere, without any stray thoughts, visualising and chanting the Buddha's name, hoping the Buddha's compassion would infuse those poor cells so she could leave suffering behind and find happiness. Her sincerity attracted the protection of the Buddha-light, and soon, her wounds healed. The woman was truly powerful and immediately vowed to build a temple to support the monastics. She hoped I would stay to be the abbot, but I declined, telling her that a capable person would soon pass by who would be a more suitable candidate. Having said this, I continued to the next village to teach.

Every village had its own unique events, not all of which were good, but in my heart, there was no disturbance. No matter how great the turmoil, it was nothing in my eyes. Along the way, I taught my disciples through my own actions. Local officials also paid their respects, but I remained consistent, never accepting any offerings. I walked through life clean and pure, untainted by fame or profit, my heart to save the world growing ever greater. The number of disciples and followers grew, which was a wonderful thing. However, with such a large group, I had to pause to lead those who wished to learn. A wealthy local, moved by compassion, arranged for a temple where we could settle. At that time, there were about thirty or forty of us.

As I paused my travels to focus on spreading the Dharma, more people were drawn to learn. The lead disciples who had followed me from the beginning had learned and witnessed so much that they were nearly ready to teach the sutras themselves. I provided them with the space to grow, allowing them to take turns giving Dharma talks. Within the temple, we maintained the life of a monastic community, observing daily morning and evening lessons, performing chores, managing our respective duties, and receiving the devotees who came to seek the Dharma. Most importantly, we held daily lectures on the Buddha’s teachings. Seeing my disciples practising with such focus and sincerity, and witnessing their profound vows, I felt it was time. After about three years, I entrusted the temple to these disciples, encouraged them to uphold the True Teachings so that they might spread far and wide, and then, once again, I set out alone to continue my journey of spreading the Dharma.

The Joy of the Path

Time passed swiftly. I was approaching my thirties, and it had been nearly a decade since I left my master. My journey was filled with stops and starts; while practice is never easy, it was not exhausting. On the contrary, I felt increasingly at ease and filled with Dharma joy. As my path began to turn back toward the original temple, I had gathered many more disciples along the way. During our travels, I taught them to observe without becoming attached, to listen without letting sounds enter the mind, and to learn without being foolish. Everywhere we went, the supreme principles of the Truth and the essence of life were present. Every person we encountered was a manifestation of a great Bodhisattva. I taught them that to learn from the Buddha, one must learn the meaning of sincere offering—to give without seeking anything in return, which is the ultimate way to serve others.

I instructed my disciples not to harbour any attachments, especially to the physical body, which is so difficult to let go of. I did not want them to become fixated on the illusions of this world. I guided them step by step through the teachings of the Avatamsaka Sutra. After several more months of travel, we finally returned to the temple where I had first begun. I arrived with dozens of disciples in tow to pay respects to my master. My master was overjoyed to see me return; he greeted each of my disciples with a radiant smile. As I led them in kneeling before him, he was moved by their growth. Although the temple was not as bustling as it had once been, and the atmosphere felt a bit quiet, there was a sense of ease in that stillness. My master, though aged, remained as vibrant and full of Dharma joy as a young man.

A Legacy Entrusted

He told me that over the years, many of my fellow practitioners had left, and because of the temple’s remote location, it had become difficult for people to make the journey up the mountain. He mentioned that for many years, no one had visited. Yet, hearing that I was returning with a group of people, he had spent months preparing bedding and rooms for everyone, managing everything himself without telling a soul. He was simply happy to do it. Seeing us all return was his greatest joy, for he knew that the Dharma would finally be carried forward.

My master was eighty-six years old and still in good health, but he quietly invited me to his quarters for a private talk. He whispered that he had finally waited for my return. He wished to entrust the temple to me. He said with a smile that having a disciple like me to carry on the Dharma was enough for one lifetime. As he spoke, I knelt down naturally, understanding his intent. I was deeply grateful for his grace and accepted the position of abbot. Soon after, my master passed away peacefully and with great ease. He was happy, for his life had not been spent in vain; his Dharma and his lifelong practice would be carried on by his disciple. I realised then that this is the true meaning of practice—a life that is truly complete, allowing one to return to our original home, the Western Land of Ultimate Bliss. It was a magnificent and perfect conclusion.

Nurturing the Seeds of Awakening

After I became the abbot, monastics and devotees from all directions flocked to the temple. The once-quiet place was soon filled with people, and those seeking the Dharma came in an endless stream. I led my disciples in receiving these visitors and the monastics who came to stay, training everyone to perform the work of the Buddha. Even the simplest tasks, such as sweeping the floors or tending to the grounds, contained profound truths. In less than half a year, the temple became a renowned centre for learning and study. Great practitioners from everywhere arrived to study the sutras and discuss their practice. At that time, I taught my disciples how to lead the community, allowing them to handle matters while I assisted from the side. This gave them peace of mind and helped them grow in confidence. In less than a year, I passed the abbacy to my disciple Fayin, and with a light heart and no attachments, I set out again in the autumn of my thirty-sixth year to continue helping beings and spreading the Dharma.

I began to travel south, and seeing many young children interested in the Buddha’s teachings, I took them under my wing and taught them with care. In those days, many families could not afford to raise their children, and many wandered the streets. I naturally integrated these children into our group, teaching them regardless of the path they might choose in the future. During those days, I did my best to guide them. Wherever I went, I possessed a natural power to influence others, and soon my group grew by dozens of children, ranging from four or five to their twenties. They were pure-hearted, though they had lacked the opportunity for a proper education. Since we had a karmic connection, I did my best to uplift them. Whether they chose to become monastics or government officials, it did not matter—as long as they could contribute to the well-being of the world, that was enough.

The True Path of Practice

As we continued to spread the Dharma southward, local officials provided great support, ensuring the children had a better environment for learning. For those who wished to pursue a career in government, I entrusted them to the care of these officials. I followed the flow of conditions; as long as they did not do harm, it was fine. Some high-ranking officials and children from wealthy families also formed a connection with me, becoming my students and frequently seeking the Dharma. Throughout our travels, my disciples witnessed the myriad states of human life and learned principles from every perspective. They gained a deep understanding of the ripples of the heart, the interactions between people, and how to maintain balance and a state of no-thought. People loved to follow me because I taught according to their individual needs. I was never harsh, nor did I impose rigid requirements, for I could sense whether one was practising with sincerity and could offer guidance at the right moment.

The joy of practice lies in the spontaneous expression of one’s own heart; it is not something that can be suggested or demanded by others. To be filled with Dharma joy is the true state of practice. Many people chase after states of mind, especially in the Chan school, which often leads to delusion—a great pity. Although I am of the Chan tradition, I have always taught according to the capacity of the individual. As long as one learns well, that is enough; everything is left to the flow of conditions. I have always found great ease in learning from the Buddha, and while others might think my life is one of hardship, it is, in fact, filled with immense happiness.

I am happiest when I have nothing behind me, for all that came before is no longer relevant. This is how I teach the children who wish to become monastics: come empty, go empty, and let all appearances vanish. Only then does one truly look like a monastic; otherwise, one is merely a layperson with a shaved head, having lost the sacred appearance of the Dharma. If you are going to do it, do it well; otherwise, follow the conditions and do not force yourself. I share my own experiences with the public, especially with my monastic disciples, so that they may understand the true intentions of their own hearts.

The compassion of the Buddha has left behind magnificent principles for future generations to practise, helping them find their true selves. I am fortunate to serve as an educator, and I cherish every connection—whether it is a connection for practice or for spreading the Dharma. Throughout my journey, I have upheld right thoughts and taught the True Teachings. This journey has lasted several years, and I have walked through many villages, seeing the reality of life and the true faces of the world. I often lead the children to observe these appearances in the worldly realm, with one single purpose: to change. This is a profound truth; change lies in right faith and right understanding in Buddhist education. Only by truly putting it into practice can one have the opportunity to leave this realm. My only wish is that all beings may receive the same benefit.

Over the years, we have stayed in many temples. Some disciples, upon finding a place with which they have a karmic affinity, have remained there to practise or spread the Dharma. Such connections are rare and must be cherished and utilised well, as they are a great aid in spreading the Dharma. The most important thing in spreading the Dharma is to respond to conditions; as long as it teaches people to be good, the method itself is not rigid. People in the world love to see so-called supernatural powers, yet they fear superstition or being deceived. Often, in the marketplaces, one sees tricks that claim to communicate with spirits. I have always emphasised that anything that teaches people to be good is a good thing; everything is a good thing. A true practitioner would never see anything as bad. A true practitioner does not look for faults in the world.

In certain places, when the appropriate Causal Conditions arise, Venerable Du Shun often employs subtle techniques to bridge gaps and provide the necessary conditions for people to connect with the Dharma. He always hopes to facilitate the conditions for the masses to learn the Dharma, because in a human life, encountering such complete conditions is rare, let alone the monumental task of learning the Dharma. Many high-ranking officials and nobles often sought counsel from Venerable Du Shun. On one such occasion, he arrived at the imperial palace upon the Emperor's summons. In truth, Venerable Du Shun understood the Emperor's heart well. The greatest source of chaos in the world lies in the heart of greed. The suffering of the human world often stems from an unstable environment. Having recently experienced the aftermath of war, the lives of the civilians were truly arduous. Walking through the streets and alleys, one could see that being human is indeed full of suffering, and it is difficult to avoid mistakes unless one pursues nothing at all. However, the natural emergence of desire is something everyone confessed to Venerable Du Shun—it is difficult to sever and difficult to leave behind. This included the Emperor himself. Despite holding the highest position of power, he remained unsatisfied; otherwise, why would there be so many battles, large and small, fought over territory, leaving people broken and destitute, only for dynasties to change in the cycle of fate?

The Emperor's Inquiry and the Path of Compassion

At that time, the Emperor sincerely asked Venerable Du Shun, "How can the country be peaceful and the people secure?" Venerable Du Shun simply replied, "Grant a general amnesty to the world, and love your people as your own children." To love your own subjects loyally, and to ensure that no child suffers from cold or hunger—I told the Emperor that the imperial court you possess should be treated as something shared with your subjects, for this is also a home—a larger home. This meeting was the last time Venerable Du Shun entered the palace to meet the Emperor. This dynasty was the Tang Dynasty, and Emperor Taizong truly succeeded in loving his people as his own children, governing with a benevolent heart and policy; he was indeed a commendable Emperor. Thereafter, Venerable Du Shun declined all invitations from the imperial palace, responding only through messages and no longer appearing in state affairs.

Retreat to the Mountains

After leaving the imperial palace, Venerable Du Shun travelled on foot, eventually retiring to Mount Zhongnan to focus on his practice and studies, leaving behind several written works. Venerable Du Shun was not entirely isolated from the world, but he never stepped out of the mountain gates again. Over the years, he had travelled extensively, but this time, he wished to concentrate his heart on the study of the sutras. Many people still came from afar, having heard of his reputation; some came to become monks, while others came to seek the Dharma. The disciples who accompanied him into seclusion were numerous, and together they engaged in diligent practice. When some disciples felt their conditions were ripe and wished to go out into the world to develop, they would leave of their own accord. Venerable Du Shun never questioned them; when conditions come, they come; when they go, they go. Why should one be attached?

Harmony with All Beings

On Mount Zhongnan, Venerable Du Shun led his disciples in building a large thatched hut, and nearby, they cultivated vegetable seedlings. Sometimes, seeing ants and animals approaching, he would calmly communicate with these beings. Through the sincere resonance of the spirit, he hoped his disciples would understand that practice involves living in peace with nature. Sometimes, through communication, they would offer each other benefits, and things would become easier to manage. All things possess a spirit; to empathize with all beings and become one with them—this is the mark of a true practitioner.

The Pilgrimage of the Heart

Within the thatched hut, Venerable Du Shun integrated everything he had learned into his daily life, hoping that the fourfold assembly could understand the Truth of practice. Venerable Du Shun entered Mount Zhongnan in his forties and never left again. Decades passed, and his life remained consistent, yet disciples came and went without pause. In this world, there are no absolute conditions or gatherings; different opportunities always arise. One day, a disciple who had followed Venerable Du Shun for decades asked to visit the sacred site of Manjushri Bodhisattva. At that time, Venerable Du Shun merely smiled. Seeing the disciple begin to pack his bags to embark on a pilgrimage to Mount Wutai, he had no intention of stopping him, but simply told the disciple, "There is no need to go; practice here is the same." The disciple insisted on going, and Venerable Du Shun followed the disciple's wish, only asking him to observe carefully: "Practice is not necessarily achieved through pilgrimage; that is merely falling into worldly superstition. The root is in one's own sincere practice, which is more real."

The Message of the Bodhisattvas

Venerable Du Shun gave the disciple two brocade pouches: one to be given to a woman at a tavern, and the other to a completely blind old man. He told the disciple that these two people had a connection with his master, and asked him to deliver these messages. The disciple happily agreed and set off. Upon arriving at Mount Wutai, he truly encountered the two people his master had mentioned. First, he met the woman at the tavern; she had a delicate and elegant appearance, yet the disciple wondered how she had fallen into the dust of the tavern. He handed the message to her, and she smiled, replying softly, "Thank you to the Great Being for descending to the world, spreading Dharma through the Avatamsaka, and leading the masses to the West." Receiving this answer, the disciple smiled, bid her farewell, and continued his journey. Upon reaching the site of Mount Wutai, he finally met the blind old man. Seeing the man was blind and afraid to look at the master's message directly, the disciple politely asked if he needed help reading it. The old man laughed loudly, not opening the message at all, and told the disciple, "Return quickly; the person you are looking for is about to leave the human world."

The Final Return

The old man took out a portrait of Manjushri Bodhisattva from his pocket and said to the disciple, "You have served him for over thirty years; do you not recognize him?" The disciple was shocked and hurried back, crying and laughing along the way. Before he left, the old man gave him a message to pass on to Venerable Du Shun. Curious, the disciple opened it on the road and was struck speechless. The message read: "The Great Being Manjushri, Avalokiteshvara, and Amitabha Buddha have agreed to invite your disciple back to the mountain. You may rest assured in passing down the mountain gate; in three days, we shall ride the lotus together to the West." The disciple ran as fast as he could, but it had already been three days. Worried that he would never see his master again, he ran into the thatched hut full of sorrow. His fellow disciples welcomed him joyfully. At that time, Venerable Du Shun was sitting in the hall drinking hot tea. Seeing the disciple's frantic state, he smiled and replied, "My child has not returned, how could the master leave?" The disciple wept, and Venerable Du Shun added, "One must understand to follow conditions and not grasp at them. Upon reaching a sacred site, one may not necessarily meet a Sage. Conditions outside of practice are delusional; only natural, authentic practice is real. Child, you are covered in mud; go inside and cleanse yourself." Venerable Du Shun knew that this disciple would eventually shoulder a great responsibility. Before the disciple emerged from cleansing, Venerable Du Shun sat in meditation and entered Nirvana. The room was filled with a fragrance that did not dissipate for a long time. Everyone understood that Venerable Du Shun had passed his robe and bowl to this disciple and had attained rebirth in the Pure Land.

The Eternal Mission

The life of Venerable Du Shun was not extraordinary, yet the establishment of the Hsiang Kuang Pure Land Buddhist Center brought him great joy and comfort. Venerable Du Shun did his utmost to protect the Dharma and save the pitiful beings throughout the universe. He hopes that the fourfold assembly can work together to perform Buddha-work and promote the Buddha's cause; these are the true benefits of the Dharma. This universe and void must inherit the Great Dharma, for the Great Dharma is the Truth and the only gateway to leave the Three Realms. Everyone must generate a great heart. Namo Amituofo.

This interview message was recorded by the Buddha's disciple, Shi Faxi.