This is a record of an interview with Zheng Wenhe, who sought at the Hsiang Kuang Buddhist Centre in Australia. He now resides in the Western Pure Land of Ultimate Bliss. This account reflects upon his life and his service as a prison guard in the underworld. Recorded by the chief writer, Shi Fa, on March 12, 2021.
Zheng Wenhe speaks:
". I have travelled far and wide, and in the end, I made a firm vow to protect and uphold the Buddha’s teachings. I have always believed that the is the very lifeblood of our people. No matter how heavy the burden of spreading the Dharma became, or how often I was met with rejection and misunderstanding, I persisted. In this chaotic age, the human heart is far too restless; it desperately needs a place of true refuge, and the Buddha is that ultimate sanctuary for the heart. This was the true Truth I encountered in my life. Even though I faced countless obstacles and was often pushed away by the world, I held fast to my path. When I left the human world at sixty-one, I felt I had given everything I had to give. I waited for the Buddha to come and receive me, but instead, I was met with an overwhelming, suffocating darkness. I was bewildered. When I finally regained , I found myself standing before the Hall of the King of Hell. I asked in my heart, 'Where is this?' The King of Hell struck his gavel and declared, 'This is the Fifth Hall of the Hellish Realm.' My heart sank with profound regret—I had failed to see the Buddha. I assumed it was because my karmic debts from this life had not yet been fully repaid. I repented deeply, and tears of a man flowed down my face."
A Duty in the Underworld
"The King of Hell looked at me and said, 'You have both merits and demerits. The suffering and illness you endured at the end of your life were the fruition of your . Now that those debts are settled, your merits have earned you the position of a prison guard. I hope you will serve with all your heart.' Upon hearing this, I knelt and bowed to the King of Hell before assuming my duties. I cherished and felt immense gratitude for this opportunity to serve. Day after day passed—I do not know how long—until the moment arrived when I was told I had the chance to be reborn in the Western Pure Land. I was overcome with emotion, yet I continued to perform my duties with unwavering loyalty until someone called out: 'Zheng Wenhe, Zheng Wenhe! Go to the Hsiang Kuang Pure Land Buddhist Centre. Your turn has come to be reborn in the Western Pure Land of Ultimate Bliss.' I joyfully dressed in my finest attire, and today, along with fifty-nine other prison guards, I have been reborn in the Western Pure Land. I am eternally grateful for the of the Buddha, Practitioner Su, and the fourfold assembly of disciples at the Hsiang Kuang Pure Land Buddhist Centre."
A Legacy of Devotion in Shaanxi
"I was born in a region of Shaanxi. For generations, my family were sculptors of Buddha statues, and we were devout Buddhists. My grandfather often told us, the younger generation: 'Without the Buddha, there is no one to save us. Without the Buddha, we are destined to wander forever. The Buddha is the light, the eternal beacon for us all. You may lose your life, but you must never lose the Buddha in your heart.' He would continue, 'Every Buddha statue we carve allows more people to know the Buddha, and more people to realise that there is no other way out of this cycle of suffering. We must follow the Buddha to seek liberation. Life is limited and fleeting; do not waste it on worldly pursuits, but rather, contribute something meaningful to this world.' These words were spoken every time we finished a statue, and so, these values were deeply rooted in our hearts."
The Discipline of the Morning Service
"To honour the path of the Buddha, our family was required to rise early every morning to perform our morning service. We would chant the Infinite Life Sutra and the Cundi Mantra, and only after we had eaten our meal together would we separate to attend to our individual tasks. Grandfather would say, 'If you skip the morning service for even one day, your heart will become scattered, and a scattered heart is one that has already lost the Buddha. Eating together represents our unity of heart, and during our meals, we must maintain proper decorum, never forgetting the dignity expected of a practitioner.' Grandfather was the head of our household, and his words were like commands; no one in the family dared to disobey. Under his leadership, the Zheng family was highly respected by the central authorities. Whenever a temple was to be built in a town or city, the authorities would often commission my grandfather to carve the statues and provide the necessary subsidies. Every time a finished statue was sent out, my grandfather would lead the entire family to kneel before the Buddha with the utmost sincerity, offering three bows, praying that the Dharma would remain in this world forever."
The Art of Sacred Sculpture
"As my grandfather grew older, although his spirit remained sharp, his eyesight began to fail. When carving, he would use his tools to outline the general form and essence of the Buddha, and then my father would complete the intricate details, resulting in a perfect statue. All of my father’s carving skills were taught to him by my grandfather—every stroke of the blade and every stylistic nuance was inherited from our ancestors. Carving a statue that commands such reverence is no easy task. Sometimes, it would take over a month or two to complete every step, and finally, we would apply oil to protect the wood from decay or infestation. Every part of the process had to be handled with absolute care and a heart full of reverence. To create a single statue, my grandfather and father would essentially enter a state of retreat. Whenever a statue was finished, I would see a new layer of dignity and solemnity on their faces."
The Path of the Successor
"My mother was the backbone of our family, managing all the household affairs so that my grandfather and father could focus on their work without worry. In her spare time, she would lead us children in chanting the Buddha’s name. From a young age, we spent more time in the family shrine than we did playing outside. My mother taught us to view everything that happened in life with compassion and empathy. I was the second child, with an older brother and a younger sister. We were all quite different in temperament. My brother was strong and extroverted, while I was like my mother—quiet and reserved. My sister inherited my father’s literary talent. Among us, my sister had the most skillful hands and inherited the most of the Zheng family’s talent for carving, but in our traditional society and family, the skills were expected to be passed down to the men. Grandfather observed the character of each grandchild, and in the end, he chose me to inherit the family’s carving tradition. When he announced this before the whole family, no one objected. My brother’s temperament was too restless, and he had no interest in carving, and my sister, being a woman, could not be the successor. Under my grandfather’s training, I began by carving simple scraps of wood, practicing various techniques, hand gestures, and the force required for each cut. I learned how to understand the characteristics of different woods. For accessories that could not be carved from the same piece of wood, such as the khakkhara staff or the lotus seat, I had to select wood of similar quality and colour. This selection process was a profound study in itself; if the match was poor, the entire statue would lack dignity and appear incomplete. I studied every detail with immense dedication. Two years into my training, my grandfather, father, and I worked together on a large Buddha statue. Grandfather did the initial carving, I performed the secondary work, and my father finished the fine details. It took us an entire year to complete that one statue. During that year, apart from our morning service and meals, I poured all my energy into the carving. A few nights before it was finished, I dreamt of the completed statue. It was not only solemn but radiated a golden light. When I saw the Buddha appear in my dream, I immediately knelt and offered thanks for his compassionate blessing. As I grew more proficient year after year, my grandfather decided to entrust me with the heavy responsibility of carving, allowing me to complete entire statues independently. When he saw my work, he was very satisfied and told me, 'The calmer your heart, the more the Buddha-light will fill the statue you carve.' I followed his teachings strictly, keeping my heart focused solely on the carving, with no other distractions. When I was in my twenties, my grandfather asked if I wanted to marry. I told him I wanted to dedicate my life to the path of the Buddha, to carve more statues so that more people would know the Buddha, and I did not want to be distracted. He laughed happily and supported my decision. Seeing my steady growth, he was at peace. My grandfather passed away at ninety, his face serene. Years later, when we opened his coffin to collect his remains, we found many sarira inside. I was so happy for him, believing he had followed the Buddha and was now by the Buddha’s side, protecting us."
A Life Upended by Chaos
"When I was in my thirties, the entire world around me began to shift. A group of government soldiers appeared on the streets, snatching people up everywhere. Panic rippled through the village, and everyone began to flee in every direction. Before we could even grasp what was happening, the soldiers kicked down our front door and dragged my father and older brother away. While the soldiers were still searching the premises, my mother pushed open the door to my workshop. I was inside, carving a Buddha statue. She told me to run immediately. When I asked her what was wrong, she said, 'They seem to be targeting the men first. I am a woman, so I should be safe for now. You must go!' She was practically screaming at me. I grabbed the Buddha statue I was working on, along with a few simple tools, and bolted out through the small back gate. I ran and ran, from dawn until dusk. As the sky darkened, I could no longer see the path ahead, so I stopped. Clutching the statue, I had nowhere to go. That first night, I curled up against a large tree in the countryside and fell asleep. When the morning dew woke me, I began to walk again.
A Stranger in a Desolate Town
After several days, I arrived at a small town. The atmosphere was deathly silent. I walked along the road, observing left and right. It took a long time before I saw a woman cautiously push her door open, but as I moved to approach her, she nervously slammed it shut again. I rushed forward and knocked, calling out, 'Madam, please open the door! I am a refugee from out of town. I am not a soldier, please, just open the door.' After several knocks, she finally opened a tiny crack and gestured for me to come in quickly. Once inside, I saw the sheer terror on her face. I asked, 'What has happened?' She wept uncontrollably and said, 'My husband and son were taken by the soldiers a few days ago.' I replied in shock, 'Taken by soldiers? My father and brother were taken too, which is why I fled. Do you know why they are doing this?' She shook her head. My heart sank. Seeing how exhausted I was, she told me to sit, and soon she brought out a bowl of hot porridge. That thin, white gruel tasted like a life-saving medicine to me. After I finished, I asked her where I could go or stay. She shook her head and told me to find my own way, but to be careful, as the soldiers could appear at any moment. I nodded, thanking her for the meal.
A Sanctuary for the Dharma
After searching for a few days, I found an abandoned house. The door was half-open. I followed my intuition, pushed it open, and called out several times. After receiving no response, I closed the door and watched the house from a distance for two days. Once I was certain it was empty, I moved in and placed the Buddha statue I had brought on a high, respectful pedestal. Having a place to stay calmed my heart. I cleared my mind and finished carving the statue. With no family left, if it hadn't been for the protection of the Buddha, I would never have survived this long. Not knowing what the future held, I decided to make this place my home. I lived there alone for over two years. Often, I would think of my family—what was their fate? Was the world outside stable yet? In my uncertainty, I dared not step out. One day, when I went to town to buy supplies, I saw a notice posted on the bulletin board: learning and believing in Buddhism were now forbidden. Buddha statues were not to be kept in homes, and those in temples were to be removed and destroyed. Seeing this, my heart surged with indignation. I asked passersby where the local temple was. Following their directions, I made my way there.
The Breaking Point
When I reached the temple gate, the atmosphere felt deathly still. I walked inside and followed the signs to the main hall, but when I arrived, I saw that the Buddha statue had been ripped out and was gone. The temple was completely deserted. My heart ached with such intensity. I knelt on the temple floor before the empty pedestal and made a vow: I would protect the Buddha’s teachings at all costs. I went around the streets, inquiring about who was responsible for the destruction. It turned out that the central government had been overthrown, and the new regime believed that religious gatherings fostered unity, making the people difficult to control. They were determined to destroy any place where people could congregate and to uproot the very foundations of the people's faith. I was furious at their ignorance and disrespect toward the Buddha, and a desire to confront them took root in my heart. When I learned they were planning another raid, I prepared a sharp blade and hid behind a large tree near the temple. To my shock, they actually showed up—a group of men carrying hammer-like tools, heading into the temple. My heart pounded. As I watched them desecrate the sacred space and smash the statues, I rushed forward and roared, 'Stop!' They ignored me, shoved me aside, and continued to hammer away. When the statue began to crack and wobble, I lost my mind. I pulled out my knife and stabbed all three of them to death.
A Lifetime of Repentance
When I finally came to my , I could not believe what I had done. Terrified, I ran back to my dwelling, knelt before the Buddha, and trembled. I cried out, 'Buddha, I have sinned! I have killed! What do I do? What do I do?' I collapsed onto the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. My heart felt utterly helpless. I didn't know how I would go on. When I was too exhausted to cry, I sat on the floor, staring blankly into space. When I finally regained my composure, I knew I had to make amends. I went to the beach, gathered driftwood, and worked tirelessly, carving Buddha statues without sleep or rest. I carved while repenting. When night fell and the streets were quiet, I would place the statues I had carved at various doorways, hoping that the Buddha could still remain in this world. From the moment I committed those murders in my thirties, I carved statues every single day. I carved until my eyes were so heavy I could barely open them, yet I continued, because I didn't know if this would ever be enough to redeem my sins! I spent nearly thirty years carving those statues.
From Hell to the Western Land
At the age of fifty-six, my health began to decline rapidly. I felt sharp pains in my chest, and my legs felt incredibly heavy. I kept chanting Namo Amituofo in my heart, but my condition did not improve; instead, it worsened day by day. Year after year, my body deteriorated until I was bedridden, unable to even control my bodily functions. With no one to care for me, I relied solely on my willpower to survive. Despite the agony, I never stopped chanting Namo Amituofo. The moment I breathed my last, I soon found myself before the King of Hell. He told me that while I had earned merit for protecting the Buddha’s teachings, I had also committed the sin of murder. I had already begun to pay for my karma while in my human body, and because of my sincere repentance, my sins were gradually being erased. He told me I could serve as a guard in the hells.
I served in the hells with gratitude and diligence, letting go of the past. When I finally received the notice that Practitioner Su was here to guide us to the Western Land, I was overwhelmed with gratitude. I am grateful that the Buddha has always looked after me, and I am grateful to Practitioner Su for leading me to the Western Land. All fifty-nine of us guards bow our heads in deep appreciation.
Namo Amituofo.
This interview was recorded by the disciple Shi Faxin.
※ The grandfather of the prison guard Zheng Wenhe, Zheng He, was guided by Practitioner Su from beside the Ksitigarbha .
