This interview was recorded on April 20, 2025, by the Chief Writer, Shi Faxi. The subject is Li Yonggen, a spirit who, after a lifetime of calculated manipulation and a subsequent period of suffering in the afterlife, sought deliverance through the Hsiang Kuang Buddhist Centre. He now resides in the Western Pure Land of Ultimate Bliss.
Li Yonggen speaks:
"I am deeply grateful that I am still able to walk upon the path of liberation. This time, I will certainly seize the opportunity; I will practise diligently and follow in my practice. I am filled with gratitude for Namo Amituofo and Practitioner Su. On behalf of all the prison guards, I bow in gratitude for the Buddha's grace and the grace of Practitioner Su. Namo Amituofo.
The Facade of a 'Kind' Man
In my past life, I was not a good person. However, if you were to ask about me in the village, nine out of ten people would say that I was a gentle, reasonable, and mild-mannered person who never argued with anyone. The neighbours would often say, 'Yonggen is such a kind and honest man.' I would nod in agreement, a slight smile playing on my lips, and press my palms together, saying, 'You are too kind; it is the neighbours who have always looked after me.' But in truth, they had no idea who I really was.
From a very young age, I learned one thing: to appear gentle and kind on the surface, while being calculating and manipulative underneath. Such a person is the safest, and the most capable of controlling any situation. I was not the type of person who made others afraid the moment I opened my mouth. Instead, I was the type who made you feel comfortable and at ease—the kind of person you would naturally approach and open your heart to. When I smiled, I never showed my teeth; my gaze was steady, and my tone was soft. I always made people feel as though I was truly listening to them and empathising with their difficulties. I admit it: I used this persona to live as a fake 'good person' who made everyone lower their guard.
The Art of Silent Destruction
What I excelled at most was striking silently the moment you trusted me, and you would even think that you were the one who had taken the wrong path. When I was young, I helped many people. I lent money, acted as a middleman, mediated disputes, and even wrote petitions and gave advice. While accumulating connections, I meticulously wove an image of myself in the village: a man of learning, ability, and virtue. One year, a family from a neighbouring village came to borrow grain to survive a famine. I put on a troubled expression and said, 'It is not that I do not want to lend it to you; it is just that I am also short on funds. But I can help you find a way.' They bowed to me in gratitude, and I introduced them to my distant relative—a man who specialised in usury. In the end, they lost their land, and their children were sold into servitude to pay off the debt. And me? I stood at the entrance of the village, shaking my head with a look of helplessness, saying, 'Alas, such is their fate; who can one blame?'
I did not like conflict, nor did I engage in open fighting. I let others walk into the trap themselves, while I simply sighed from the sidelines. I gave people choices, but within those options, there was only one path. My words seemed filled with emotion, yet I never truly took responsibility for anything. People called me generous because I never fell out with anyone. But no one knew that the scale in my heart was the most precise of all—profit was my priority, and I never let anything slip through my fingers.
The Silent Witness
In my later years, I lived in a small hut on the edge of the village. I burned incense every day, chanted sutras, made prostrations to the Buddha, and even donated silver to the temple to offer to the Buddha statues. During festivals, I would invite masters to chant sutras for merit dedication. The neighbours all said I had a kind heart and a good life, and that I had earned my in old age. I would still smile, neither confirming nor denying. All that silver had been calculated and squeezed out, bit by bit, over the years. I knew that this was not practice; it was a disguise. Then, one day, while I was tidying the incense table, I suddenly felt dizzy. Everything went black, and I collapsed in my own courtyard. When I woke up, I was in a silent hall—vast, cold, with no people and no judgment. I looked down and realised I was no longer human. I had become a chair.
I was not a divine throne or a royal seat; I was just an old chair in a side hall of a temple, worn by time with silent wood grain. I could not move, nor could I speak. But I could hear and I could feel. Every day, countless people sat on me. They were not high officials or nobles, but suffering, repentant, weeping ordinary people. They chanted the Buddha's name, repented, and shed tears. Some sat, some knelt, and some could not speak, only bowing their heads and weeping. At first, I thought they were ridiculous: 'Doing evil on one hand and coming here to ask for forgiveness on the other—what a performance.' But gradually, I began to hear their inner voices. 'I have always lived like a good person, but I know how cold I was to my mother.' 'I knew he relied on me, yet I chose to leave.' 'I was jealous of his success, so I made him fall behind my back.' Those voices were like mirrors; the more I listened, the more they sounded like me. I began to feel ashamed. It turned out that what I thought was 'not wrong' was simply a refusal to admit my mistakes. I wanted to escape, but I was just a chair; I could only endure.
The Mirror of Truth
Until one day, a young man sat on me. He whispered, 'Before my mother passed away, she said the person she was most grateful for in this life was Li Yonggen.' He paused and added, 'Later, I found out that it was he who made my mother take out a high-interest loan, which caused us to lose our home. She did not resent him even before she died. But I want to ask him: does he really feel he did right by my mother?' At that moment, I could not refute him; I only felt a wave of regret surge within me. I wanted to speak, to kneel and repent. But I could do nothing; I could only let him sit on me, just like the thousands of people who had once trusted me, speaking the truth I had never dared to face. At that moment, I understood: this was not revenge; it was a reflection. I do not know how long I stayed there. I only know that one day, I woke up again.
I was born into an extremely poor family. My mother was frail, and my father was away for most of the year. I had a crooked mouth, my speech was unclear, I walked slowly, and I was mocked, bullied, and ostracised. I could not learn quickly, my reactions were slow, and I was always a step behind. In this lifetime, I no longer had the chance to preach with a smile, and no one said to me, 'You are truly a kind man.' The first thing I learned was to endure; the second was to listen. Until one day, in the corner of a temple, I heard someone chanting Namo Amituofo in a low voice, and for no reason, my eyes turned red. In this life, I am still called Li Yonggen. But I no longer want to hide, to act, or to hurt anyone who has ever trusted me. In this life, I learn slowly and understand late, but I have learned to be sincere. Because I know that when others place their trust in you, it is not because you are performing well, but because they have entrusted their belief to you. And I, in the past, had smiled while trampling that trust underfoot.
A Path to Redemption
So I only want to tell everyone: do not mistake a smile for kindness, and do not mistake silence for benevolence. True goodness is whether you are still willing to protect someone's innocence when they lower their guard. I once mistook hypocrisy for wisdom; now, I only want to spend the rest of my life learning how to be a human being. I am Li Yonggen, once the evil that was hardest to detect. Now, I only wish to walk honestly in this world. This is my rebirth. This new life has allowed me to learn to be an honest person, and I am learning to help others with a sincere heart, treating everyone with genuine care. By the end of my life, what I feel is no longer coldness or emptiness, but a heart full of gratitude and satisfaction.
When I arrived at the Yama Hall, I saw King Yama passing judgment on me. My heart remained calm; I knew I still had sins, and I accepted all judgments with . To my surprise, King Yama showed and gave me the opportunity to atone for my past sins, allowing me to serve within the prison. I am truly grateful and determined to do every task honestly and sincerely. Recently, I began to hear Practitioner Su giving talks, and my heart was deeply moved. I know that my sins are heavy, but the Great Dharma of Namo Amituofo is so compassionate and powerful, which has inspired in me the desire for liberation, and I have begun my diligent practice. I am very grateful that today I can be reborn in the Western Pure Land of Ultimate Bliss. On behalf of all the prison guards and all sentient beings with karmic affinity, I bow in gratitude for the Buddha's grace and the grace of Practitioner Su. Namo Amituofo.
