The Literary Legacy and the Path to Deliverance

This is a record of an interview with Luo Guanzhong, the renowned author of Romance of the Three Kingdoms, who sought Spiritual Deliverance at the Hsiang Kuang Pure Land Buddhist Centre in Australia. He now resides in the Western Land of Dharma Nature. This account reflects upon his life approximately 626 years ago. Recorded by the chief writer, Shi Faru, on March 8, 2026.

Luo Guanzhong speaks:

"Namo Amituofo. My literary brush once wove the tales of the Three Kingdoms and the Water Margin, seeking to offer counsel through ink and paper. I sought to banish the chaos of the world and the phantoms of the mind, yet I was but a lonely spirit drifting in the void. Had I not encountered the light of Namo Amituofo, I would still be wandering, forever attempting to rectify the injustices of the world with my pen.

A Childhood of Boundless Imagination

I am Luo Guanzhong. Perhaps many of you have heard my name. To those who cherish historical novels and the literature of the Three Kingdoms, I am remembered as a novelist of great imagination. From a very young age, I was exposed to the Four Books and Five Classics, yet I found no joy in those rigid, dry, and pedantic traditional texts. The grand theories of governance and the strict moral codes of conduct held no appeal for me. I was more like a child who loved to let his mind wander, a dreamer who delighted in crafting interesting stories. People around me often remarked on my vivid imagination, though, in truth, I never initially set out to become a novelist.

However, whenever I read the dry, dusty accounts of traditional history, I could not help but instinctively fill in the gaps with more dramatic flourishes. I would find myself standing in the shoes of different historical figures, analysing their choices and wondering: 'What if this character possessed a more distinct personality? What if they had a unique talent that changed the course of history?' It was fascinating to me. It was not about reciting a static, lifeless story, but rather about re-organising the narrative through characters who felt alive, breathing, and real.

The Turbulence of a Changing Era

I was born into an era of great upheaval, a time when dynasties rose and fell like the tides. Although I was educated, my literary knowledge did not provide a stable path for a livelihood. My parents took me along as they travelled for trade, but I had no interest in the calculations of commerce. Instead, I found the endless stream of people—each with their own unique role, temperament, and character—to be infinitely more compelling. From my youth, I developed a keen eye for observing the nature and distinct traits of every person I encountered. In my twenties, I met my teacher, Shi Nai'an. At first, I did not fully grasp the nature of his work or the project he was developing. After many conversations, I realised he intended to write a novel that would serve as a mirror to the social environment of our time.

We could not point directly at the real figures of the day, lest we invite disaster upon ourselves. However, if we could carve out the personalities and reactions of our characters with enough depth, I believed that anyone familiar with the background of that era would immediately understand exactly who we were alluding to. The book 'Water Margin', while set in the Song Dynasty, was actually a reflection of the corruption at the end of the Yuan Dynasty and the growing desire for resistance among the people.

The Weight of the Written Word

Yet, the initial intention of that book was not to incite the civilians to rise up in rebellion. Rather, it was a hope that the authorities would see the backlash from the people and be moved to take notice, thereby improving policies for the local regions. After all, no one truly wishes to embark on the path of armed insurrection against the government. Everyone knows in their hearts that rebellion is a treacherous, one-way street—a capital crime of treason. Once started, if it fails, it leads only to death.

As you all know, even in the twilight of a dynasty, the government still commands vast resources, economic power, and military strength, which can easily crush local uprisings. To gather enough support from the masses without being detected and annihilated by the government beforehand is an incredibly arduous and dangerous process. In reality, no one is truly willing to gamble their entire family's future on such a venture. Therefore, expressing these sentiments through literature was a way to follow the principle that 'a gentleman uses his words, not his hands.' Using ink and brush to replace the sword, to reduce bloodshed and death—that was the most noble path I could imagine.

The Search for a Perfect Narrative

The corruption of the government at that time had reached a critical point. If we did not use methods that were seemingly intense, yet capable of reflecting the true voice of the people, I doubted the authorities would ever take notice. I worked alongside my teacher, Shi Nai'an, helping him compile and write 'Water Margin' with the sole purpose of awakening the government to the plight of the people. Although the intention was good, it was still a work that satirised the authorities, and thus it faced severe suppression. By the time the work was completed, we had already entered the Ming Dynasty. The book, originally written based on the social chaos of the late Yuan, was suddenly viewed through a different lens. In the Ming era, it was relegated to the status of folk fiction, seen merely as a form of entertainment.

It is a source of great helplessness to reflect on this. What was meant as a well-intentioned wake-up call for the late Yuan government became, in the Ming Dynasty, a dangerous text that threatened the stability of the regime. I even wrote several sequels to 'Water Margin' with my teacher, but by the Ming era, these were seen as satires of the founding emperor's own rise to power, and were viewed as attempts to undermine the legitimacy of the Ming government. Because the novel implied that the Ming government had seized power through rebellion, it was seen as lacking legitimacy, and its circulation was viewed as an incitement to local insurrection.

Especially in the early years of the Ming Dynasty, when the economy and the lives of the people had not yet recovered, and many other factions were still lurking in the shadows, such books were of no help to the stability of the state. The government was deeply hostile toward the work. That is why, in my later years, I ceased writing 'Water Margin'. The government opposed it, and we had entered an era of relative peace; there was no need to continue writing books that troubled the authorities and unsettled the people. Through the writing of 'Water Margin' and other vernacular essays, however, I had come to understand my own interests and talents. Although I did not need to rely on these books for my livelihood—as my family's business had accumulated enough wealth that I did not need to struggle for survival—the writing was my true passion.

The Strategy of the Three Kingdoms

While writing these books provided some extra income, money was never my true motivation; it was a personal calling. With the lessons learned from the reception of 'Water Margin', I realised that what the authorities truly needed was a narrative that could unify the hearts of the people, foster identification with the government, emphasise the importance of legitimate rule, and promote the concept that the government and the people are one.

To achieve these goals, I knew I had to carefully select a time and a narrative structure that would be appropriate. However, a time of perfect peace and stability makes for a dull story, lacking the conflict and drama that readers crave. I agonised over the choice of subject matter. I needed an era that was complex, unstable, and rich in potential for storytelling, while simultaneously providing a framework that could advocate for legitimate authority, cooperation with the state, and compassion for the local people. After much deliberation, I concluded that the Three Kingdoms period was the most suitable. It was the end of the Eastern Han Dynasty, a time of warring factions. Yet, amidst that chaos, the Shu Han regime, as the successor to the Han Dynasty, possessed a profound sense of legitimacy.

If I could develop the core of the story around the Shu Han regime, using them as the protagonists, I could satisfy the need for a chaotic, dramatic narrative while simultaneously upholding the ideal of legitimate rule. I believed such a story would be highly compelling. As I began to collect historical data, my expectations were confirmed; there was a wealth of historical fact for me to draw upon. As a man of letters, I often travelled between literary circles, so obtaining historical records was not overly difficult. Coupled with my habit of writing historical adaptations, synthesising the information was quite easy for me.

In designing the structure of the story, I began with the founding of Liu Bei's regime: from the Yellow Turban Rebellion to the 'Oath of the Peach Garden', which established the protagonists' roles. From there, I moved to the alliances and developments between Shu Han and Eastern Wu, and finally to the famous, spectacular battles against Cao Wei. These key elements, including the strategic movements of the main characters across the land, successfully added a sense of 'loyalty, righteousness, devotion to the state, and the restoration of the Han' to the otherwise stark and serious process of war, infusing it with deep human emotion.

Many of you are likely familiar with the story of 'Romance of the Three Kingdoms'. From the initial division of the land, to the episodes involving Dong Zhuo and Cao Cao, then to the Battle of Guandu, and finally the formal entry of Zhuge Liang—all the major, well-known characters were brought into place. Then came the peak of the novel, the battle known to all: the Battle of Red Cliffs. It brought together figures from Wei, Shu, and Wu, and served as the pivotal moment for upholding the legitimacy of the Han Dynasty. After that, to remain faithful to the historical records—for I did not want the novel to deviate too far from history—I respected the overall trajectory of events, allowing the world to return to its destined state. As history records, the Sima regime eventually unified the three kingdoms, and so, after the Battle of Red Cliffs, the Shu Han regime slowly moved toward its decline. However, the first half of the story is what has been most widely circulated among the people, and this structure is what made the book so popular at the time. As for the eventual fall of Shu Han, I endeavoured to portray it through the lens of the unwavering loyalty and devotion of the generals and the Prime Minister, Zhuge Liang. I did not overly emphasise the defeat of Shu Han; where I did describe it, I did so with a sense of tragic grandeur."

Namo Amituofo.

From the perspective of reviving the orthodox Han Dynasty regime, this novel is an epic historical tale of a temporary restoration followed by a tragic sacrifice. Surely, anyone who has read Romance of the Three Kingdoms has a profound impression of its characters, as well as the famous events and iconic scenes associated with each one. This is precisely the result of the effort I put into my craft. I did not simply breeze through the novel using a standard historical narrative; rather, I etched the profound image of each character between the lines.

Through their interactions with their lord, their dialogues with peers, the strategies they devised, and their vision for 'bringing peace to the world through military might,' the unique characteristics of every individual are clearly visible. At the same time, I provided detailed descriptions of the various famous battles from beginning to end, elaborating on the key influence each figure played within them. If you compare the official history with my novel, you will find that the portrayal of many characters is highly grounded in historical fact, with additional detailed descriptions of their temperaments, loves, and hatreds. This is my innate ability: after reading, observing, and examining historical materials, I could use my imagination to create how they would function as these specific identities and roles within the fictional social structure of that era. With the support of historical data, the overall setting became even more realistic. When I was writing this novel, the process was actually very smooth; I never encountered the problem of writer's block. Everything felt so natural. After completing it, I was very satisfied with the circulation of this book.

The Weight of Loyalty and Duty

At the time, this novel was primarily aimed at promoting the orthodox Han government, the concept of reviving the legitimate regime, and the idea of loyalty to the state. The many characters of Shu Han were all set up to be loyal and righteous, willing to sacrifice themselves for the greater good of the nation. Although each character had a different personality, their moral character and integrity were extremely noble and lofty.

After Romance of the Three Kingdoms was completed, I had achieved an important goal in my life, but my creative path was officially ignited, and I did not stop writing there.

A Challenge in Myth and Folklore

Later, I created The Story of Suppressing Demons, which was a challenge—or perhaps an experiment—with mythological themes. Because in the process of writing and referencing official history and historical materials, I found that the content overlapped significantly with historical figures, and this process inevitably drew objections and criticism from many people. In terms of creation, I could not proceed as freely as I had imagined. Thus, I looked for another subject: a folk myth set during the Northern Song Dynasty. However, a complete detachment from reality would lead readers to treat it as a purely supernatural story, failing to resonate deeply.

I understood this principle well, so I cleverly utilized some historical figures from that time, letting them play roles in the story that were well-known to the public, whether they were government officials or local magistrates. Through these characters, I brought out the temporal background of the Northern Song Dynasty, allowing readers to clearly perceive the authenticity of that era. As for the development of the main plot, it was based on fictional supernatural legends. This was a book I compiled by gathering various major folk myths and legends, combined with my own imagination and creativity. Not long after I finished writing this book, I passed away from illness in Hangzhou, and I did not have much opportunity to know how it circulated.

Trapped in a Hallucination of My Own Making

However, in my later years, I became obsessed with these supernatural and mystical spaces. My thoughts and consciousness were entirely immersed in these fictional, fantastical realms. After I died, my spirit remained stuck in these mystical, illusory, and fantastical spaces. I continued to watch these endless, ever-changing stories and repeatedly wrote these plots.

I did not know that I was already dead; I simply continued to exist in this space, unable to escape. It was not until recently that Practitioner Su, bringing Amitabha Buddha in thousands of billions of manifestations, performed Chao Du for the vast regions of China, and I, within my illusory supernatural space, was fortunate enough to be illuminated by the Buddha-light.

Suddenly, the supernatural beings in the space vanished instantly, leaving only a vast expanse of pure, bright golden light showering the world. I woke up at once, not understanding where I was. I heard the chanting of the Holy Name 'Namo Amituofo' coming from the air, and I thought it was a monk from one of my stories, out on a pilgrimage to subdue demons.

After all, in my stories, I had touched upon various religions and the Dharma-methods of various supernatural beings, so I knew that this Buddha-name came from the mouth of a Buddhist monk. I thought a Buddhist monk had appeared to deliver these demons, plague gods, and sentient mutated viruses, so I followed along and chanted, 'Namo Amituofo.' I felt delighted to be able to personally participate in this grand assembly of subduing demons and saving sentient beings, thinking that this would be of great help to my future writing.

Awakening in the Dharma-Nature Land

However, after chanting this Buddha-name, I arrived in a much brighter and cleaner world. This made me very excited; after all, such a special encounter would surely add richer colours to my writing. It was only after listening to the Buddha-name and hearing Practitioner Su give Dharma talks on the Dharma-Nature Land that I gradually regained my senses. This current era is no longer the Ming Dynasty; the Ming Dynasty has been gone for hundreds of years. The Qing Dynasty passed in between, and even the Qing Dynasty has perished, entering the modern era of the People's Republic of China.

And the place where I am now is not even China, but Australia. I did not know such a place existed; it feels like a place very far from China, on the other side of the ocean. Although I had once thought about taking a ship to sea to broaden my horizons, due to the convergence of many Causal Conditions, I never had the opportunity to do so, and could only write these stories using materials from the Chinese mainland.

After listening to the Dharma on the Dharma-Nature Land, I understood that the golden light that allowed me to escape the deep, illusory space was because Practitioner Su was leading Amitabha Buddha to save the sentient beings in various spaces across China. Amitabha Buddha's twelve rays of golden light shone into every space, opening them up so that the spirits could depart. Such a vast scene of Chao Du—I really wanted to write these images into a novel. After all, I had never seen such a scene, nor had I ever imagined it; this truly exceeded the scope of my literary creativity. Later, watching Practitioner Su perform Chao Du on the Dharma-Nature Land, I realized that the illusory supernatural space I had been in was indeed an illusory space manifested by demon crowds. When I was creating The Story of Suppressing Demons, I was actually already controlled by demons, writing about bizarre and grotesque things, yet I did not know it myself.

The Price of Influencing the Mind

Every day, conceiving these supernatural stories had long since led me into these mystical spaces established by the demon crowds. My body was controlled by the demon crowds, writing works that were the most attractive, deeply interesting, curiosity-inducing, and capable of stirring people's hearts, making them want to continue reading. This situation made me feel very terrified because I never knew that there were so many demons within me, nor did I know that my spirit had long been locked into an illusory supernatural space. In fact, besides the illusory space of The Story of Suppressing Demons, as early as the process of creating Romance of the Three Kingdoms, the three hun souls and seven po souls within me had already entered the illusory space of Romance of the Three Kingdoms. It could be said that my three hun souls and seven po souls were torn apart. This state was no different after I passed away than it was before my physical body perished; the only difference was the death of the physical body. The spirit itself had already entered various spaces and could not be gathered at all.

If not for Practitioner Su's powerful Dharma Body Chao Du, which saved me and brought me into the Dharma-Nature Land, it would have been impossible for me to gather my three hun souls and seven po souls. It is quite sad to think about it: I worked hard to create a popular work, but what I got in return was my scattered three hun souls and seven po souls entering these spaces. But I also understand that, after all, for any literary work, as long as it does not encourage people toward Goodness, as long as it contains so-called fictional mythological elements, and as long as it causes people to have every thought and intention, I must bear the consequences of the influence it has on people.

This is a fact I only understood after learning the Dharma. I also understand that even if I had not entered these spaces, I would likely have ended up in the hells to suffer punishment later. I look at the vast number of people today who are still studying the subject of the Three Kingdoms, and a large part of it is influenced by the Romance of the Three Kingdoms I created.

Although many works do not explicitly point out their source, those supernatural and mythological works have also, more or less, referenced my The Story of Suppressing Demons, as well as subsequent works created by referencing The Story of Suppressing Demons; it can be said that one thing leads to another. After all, these legendary themes are often able to generate great interest among readers and audiences. But in reality, these are not truly interesting; rather, they are controlled by demon crowds, giving the works a certain attraction and demon nature.

And these attracted audiences are precisely the objects controlled by the demon crowds. As for the Three Kingdoms themes, besides literary works such as films and novels, I also see them being heavily invested in what modern people call computer and mobile games. Many of the themes are not lacking in war and strategy types. Although the Three Kingdoms was originally an era of war, the promotion and popularity of the Three Kingdoms theme were indeed brought about by Romance of the Three Kingdoms. Because Romance of the Three Kingdoms has become a household name and is even listed in required reading materials, it holds a significant weight in people's hearts. And the public has also taken this opportunity to have a deep impression and understanding of the fictional scenes and time-space in Romance of the Three Kingdoms. Namo Amituofo.

This provided a vast stage for countless works and games based on the Three Kingdoms theme to flourish. Consequently, the resulting laws of karma and cause and effect are all attributed to me, Luo Guanzhong. As a novelist, I once felt a sense of pride in this. However, after truly understanding the Buddha’s teachings and the laws of karma and cause and effect, I realise that all the agitation, slaughter, killing, strategic manipulation, and the various selfish and greedy mental notes that have bewitched people's hearts are now counted against me. At first, I did not understand: what could be wrong with providing people with a little pastime during their leisure hours or after work? Yet, I have come to understand that the many chaotic phenomena in this world are caused by these evil hearts and evil mental notes, and my works have only deepened these tendencies. Therefore, I must bear the consequences of these actions.

A Glimmer of Redemption

The only consolation is that the concepts promoted in Romance of the Three Kingdoms—such as restoring legitimacy, loyalty to the nation, and the spirit of unwavering integrity—have also been passed down. This is perhaps the silver lining in an otherwise unfortunate situation; at least Romance of the Three Kingdoms still carries a shred of positive influence and promotes a small measure of Upright Heart and Right Mind. I, Luo Guanzhong, hereby advise everyone in the world who enjoys Romance of the Three Kingdoms, as well as those who are fond of themes involving spirits, demons, and extraordinary talents: please, do not become obsessed with these contents.

These illusory and unreal themes are laden with negative, evil mental notes that are detrimental to the development of one's character. Even if there are some positive plot points interspersed within, overall, it is far more beneficial for everyone to avoid these works entirely. If you become captivated by these subjects and are subsequently controlled, entering into an illusory space, the loss will far outweigh any gain. I spent hundreds of years trapped in such an illusory space. If it were not for the fact that I encountered Practitioner Su, who performed Chao Du, and Namo Amituofo, who rescued me from that space, I would still be unable to escape it even today. I would have continued to strengthen the demon nature within that space, controlling more and more people, and all of that would have been added to my karmic burden. I am deeply grateful to Practitioner Su for continuing to perform Chao Du for these deep-seated spaces.

The Weight of Creative Karma

Without the immense breakthroughs achieved by Practitioner Su, these deeper realms—such as the illusory novel-based space I inhabited, which is considered a very profound virtual space—would not be easy targets for Chao Du. However, the results of Practitioner Su’s persistent breakthroughs mean that we, the suffering sentient beings trapped in these illusions, are finally given the opportunity to escape our spaces and hear the Buddha’s teachings. I am profoundly grateful to Namo Amituofo and Practitioner Su for saving me and for giving me this opportunity to recount the journey of my creative process to the world. I want everyone to know the ultimate fate I suffered because of these creations, just as I mentioned in the poem at the beginning of this account. I wrote Romance of the Three Kingdoms with the intention of counseling the world, and I wrote Ping Yao Zhuan out of my own personal interests. Yet, these actions only saddled me with an even heavier karmic burden. If I had not encountered the salvation of Namo Amituofo while in that space, I would likely still be there today, critiquing current events and continuing to create the illusory spaces I once loved. I hope that modern novelists, creators, and social commentators will take my story as a cautionary mirror.

I have not achieved much in my life. However, if I can use this current method to let everyone know about the dangers of these works, I believe this may be the most meaningful thing I have ever done in my existence.

Gratitude to Namo Amituofo. Gratitude to Practitioner Su.

Namo Amituofo.

Luo Guanzhong