This is a record of an interview with Weng Guoyu, who sought deliverance at the Hsiang Kuang Buddhist Centre in Australia. He now resides in the . This account reflects upon his life in the 20th century. Recorded by the chief writer, Shi Fa Jing, on September 5, 2020.
Weng Guoyu speaks:
". On behalf of sixty fellow prison guards, I offer my deepest, most sincere prostrations to Practitioner Su. I am filled with such profound, overwhelming gratitude for the way Practitioner Su has guided us—these sixty souls who were once lost in the darkness—onto the path toward the Western Pure Land of Ultimate Bliss. Every step I take now, I feel the soft, radiant glow of the golden lotus flowers beneath my feet. The magnificent Western world is right before my eyes, and at this moment, my heart is overflowing with an indescribable sense of being moved, of gratitude, and of pure, unadulterated . I cherish this magnificent Causal Condition beyond words. Once again, I represent those sixty guards in expressing our heartfelt thanks to Practitioner Su. Namo Amituofo.
My name is Weng Guoyu. I was born in Taipei in the 1960s. Perhaps because I was born in Taiwan, I have always felt a deep, innate sense of familiarity with everyone I meet! You can call me 'Old Weng.' That nickname has followed me since I was a teenager. Even when I reached my seventies, people still called me Old Weng. Many would joke that I was 'old' even when I was young. To be honest, I was not particularly handsome. I wore large, round-rimmed glasses, had two protruding front teeth, and always wore clothes that made me look far more mature than my years. But I never minded. No matter how I dressed or what I looked like, that was simply who I was, and I was content with it.
A Life of Simple Joy and Generosity
I have always been a person who loves making friends. It was not that I sought to climb the social ladder or gain influence; rather, my personality was easygoing, and my appearance was often a source of amusement, which made people feel comfortable and safe around me. My friends would often say that when they were with me, all their worries seemed to vanish into thin air. And it was true—I did not like to worry. I found worrying to be an exhausting, pointless business. I was happy to help anyone with anything, provided it was not something harmful. My family lived quite comfortably. Beyond the inheritance left by our ancestors, my father was a very capable businessman. He was honest, and because of his integrity, his business flourished; everything he touched seemed to turn a profit.
Our home was one of the few in the neighbourhood that owned a television. We welcomed our neighbours to come over and watch programs with us. Every time a show aired, our home would be packed from the living room to the kitchen. Those who arrived late would have to sit behind the television set, where they could not see the screen, only hear the audio. Yet, they were perfectly content, laughing along with the programs. It was a simple, happy time, and I look back on those days with great fondness. We shared what we had, and in return, we received the warmth of a community that felt like family.
The Wisdom of an Optimistic Father
By all rights, I should have pursued a higher education. My father had everything arranged for me, but I simply did not enjoy studying. To me, sitting at a desk with books was a form of torture. I preferred to learn the trade from my father. Many people called me foolish for not cherishing the opportunity, but one cannot force these things. Whenever I opened a book, it felt as if the book was staring at me, not the other way around. Perhaps the book understood me better than I understood it. I chose to follow my father, and I never regretted that decision.
My father was a man of great character. He had many friends, and I believe I inherited his best qualities. One of his greatest strengths was his ability to accept criticism. No matter how harsh or unpleasant someone’s words were, he could accept them with grace. I once asked him, 'Dad, Uncle Lin is so blunt and hurtful with his words. Why aren't you angry?' My father replied, 'He isn't trying to hurt me; he is hitting the bullseye. He is pointing out exactly where I need to improve. I should be thanking him, not getting angry. Don't you think he is right? If I hadn't done something wrong, why would he say anything? It is because I still have flaws that he has something to talk about. I am grateful he told me. I even brought him some fruit yesterday as a thank you, and he felt quite embarrassed!' My father was an optimist. He had a habit of turning every situation into something positive. Whether people were jealous, envious, or intentionally malicious, he transformed their words into fuel for his own growth. That is why he always looked so young—because his heart was at peace, and his mind was always focused on the good.
A Lesson in and the Laws of
My father never forced me to be like him, but I naturally wanted to emulate his spirit. I worked hard to learn his perspective, and I succeeded to a degree. I learned to focus on the positive and not dwell on the negative. If things did not go as planned, I did not fret, for I understood that the existence of the 'bad' only serves to highlight the 'good.' Many thought I would amount to nothing because I seemed to drift through life without ambition. When I asked my father if he worried about me, he said, 'As long as a person knows how to do good and has a kind heart, that is what matters. People label presidents and high officials as successful, and farmers or noodle sellers as failures. I do not agree with such distinctions. Whether one is a president or a beggar, we all must face death. If a president is corrupt, is he truly successful? But if a beggar knows how to help others, I consider that beggar far more successful than a corrupt leader.' His words gave me such peace. I did not need to compete in society. I opened a small noodle shop, and because I loved cooking for others, the business thrived.
I donated half of my monthly earnings to charity. In those days, there was much poverty. I remember one little girl who appeared outside our shop for three consecutive days. She was dressed in rags, and her eyes were full of hesitation. On the third day, I beckoned her inside. My mother, seeing how cold and thin she was, walked over and took her hand. My mother said her heart shattered the moment she touched the girl's hand—it was ice cold. We fed her, and when she asked if she could take a bowl home to her sick mother, we were moved to tears. We closed the shop early that day to visit their home—a tiny, makeshift shack. The mother was lying on a pile of cardboard, covered in old, discarded clothes. We helped them, took the mother to a doctor, and continued to support them. It was a turning point for us; we realised that with our ability, we had a duty to do more for those suffering in this world.
The Turning Point: Embracing the
One day, a devout Buddhist visited our shop. He was radiant, kind, and possessed a natural affinity for the Dharma. He taught us about chanting Namo Amituofo and gifted us prayer beads. My mother began chanting daily. Following his advice, we decided to promote the Buddha’s teachings. We stopped selling meat immediately, as we had learned that killing for profit was a violation of the laws of karma and cause and effect. We switched to a vegetarian menu. Though we lost some customers, we gained a new sense of purpose. We even visited that little girl and her mother to share the Dharma with them. She was a bright child with a deep Buddhist affinity, and she began to chant diligently. It was a joy to see her life change.
As I entered middle age, I met a woman while volunteering. We were both in our forties, and it was as if we had known each other for lifetimes. We married three years later. We chose not to have children, feeling that the world was already full of suffering, and we preferred to dedicate our lives to service. We lived a simple, happy life, running our shop and doing good deeds until the end of my days. We found that by letting go of our own desires, we could better serve those around us.
The Final Departure and the Truth of My Past
When my time came to leave this world, I did not suffer from a specific illness, but I felt a profound dizziness that kept me bedridden. My wife cared for me day and night. I felt such heartache watching her exhaustion, wishing I could leave so she would not have to suffer, yet she held my hand tightly, desperate to keep me here. One night, I passed away quietly in my sleep. I did not have the chance to say goodbye. When I took my final breath, two officials from the underworld appeared. I saw my wife sleeping by my side, exhausted. I called her name, but she could not hear me. We were in two different worlds. I sighed, took one last look at her, and said, 'My dear, I am leaving.' I did not look back.
Standing before the King of the Underworld, I expected to be judged for some great sin. Instead, he told me, 'Because of your kindness and your charity in that lifetime, you have accumulated enough merit to serve as a prison guard.' I was grateful. However, the King then showed me my appearance just before I died. My head had turned into the head of a pig! I was horrified. He explained, 'Before you switched to a vegetarian menu, your shop sold countless pork dishes. All those pigs died because of your business, and when your energy was low, they came to claim their debt.' I was devastated. I had truly forgotten that all actions have consequences. I had studied the Dharma, yet in my final moments, I was so attached to my wife that I forgot to chant Namo Amituofo. My emotions were too heavy. If I had not done those good deeds, I might have been reborn as a pig myself.
I urge all practitioners in this world: do not be like me. Do not let your emotional attachments cloud your practice. Even if you chant millions of times, if your heart is still bound by worldly attachments, it is a tragedy. It is truly a pity! Namo Amituofo."
