This is a record of an interview with Yang Qian, who sought deliverance 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 approximately 301 years ago. Recorded by the chief writer, Shi Fa Jing, on April 27, 2019.
Yang Qian speaks:
". I am Yang Qian. Looking back across the vast expanse of three centuries, my life in that distant era feels like a vivid, lingering dream—a dream woven with the threads of profound sorrow, the heavy burden of human emotion, and the eventual, radiant light of the Buddha’s teachings. Let me share with you the story of the trellis that became the silent witness to my father’s love and the eventual unfolding of my own destiny.
The Trellis and the Father's Wisdom
I remember standing in our humble garden, the soil damp and rich beneath my feet, watching my father carefully set up a wooden trellis for the luffa vines. I stood by his side, watching his weathered hands work with such deliberate care. I said to him, 'Father, with this trellis to support it, the vine can climb and reach toward the sky. It is just like me; I can only grow with peace of mind because I have you to lean on.' My father paused, his eyes softening with a tenderness that I still carry in my heart. He looked at me and said, 'Yang Qian, a trellis cannot support the vine forever, and I cannot support you for a lifetime. The wind will eventually topple the trellis, and one day, I will have to leave this human world. You must learn to grow on your own. While you are young, I can help you, but when I am old, you must be able to stand tall and face the world.' I replied with the confidence of youth, 'When you are old, my shoulders will be strong enough to carry you!' He laughed, a warm, resonant sound, and patted my head, saying, 'Good, good, then I shall rely on you!'"
A Childhood Defined by Loss
"Our home was a quiet, lonely place, just the two of us. My mother had passed away from a severe illness when I was only three years old. I remember my father crying until his eyes were swollen shut, his grief a heavy shroud over our small house. I would cling to him, hugging him tightly, trying to offer what little comfort a child could, but no matter how loudly he wept, my mother was gone. Our home felt like a trellis missing a leg—it was tilted, unstable, and fragile. My father endured such immense grief, hiding his pain just to ensure I could grow up safely. He was a man of limited means and poor health, often taking odd jobs that barely covered his medicine. I would watch him closely, terrified that he would skip his medication just to save a few coins for me. I felt the weight of his sacrifice every single day.
After my mother died, a mysterious benefactor began leaving money at our door. He would leave a note saying it was village relief, but no one in the village knew who he was. One day, while I was playing with a ball in the courtyard, it rolled out the gate. I chased after it and caught a glimpse of the benefactor just as he was leaving. I shouted, 'Kind sir, wait!' He stopped, and when I finally saw his face, I was completely stunned. I asked him, 'Who are you? Why do you look exactly like me?'"
A Shocking Reunion
"He told me, 'My mother told me to bring this money to you.' I was bewildered. 'Who is your mother? Why are you my mirror image?' Just then, my father returned from work. I called out, 'Father, come quickly! Look at this boy—he looks exactly like me! He is the one who has been helping us!' My father stared at the boy, his eyes wide, and he was so overcome with emotion that he was speechless for a long time. Finally, he whispered, 'Are you Yang Cheng?' The boy looked confused, and my father pulled him into the house, desperate to tell him the truth. He explained that my mother had given birth to twins—Yang Qian and Yang Cheng. One day, when my mother fell ill, my father had to rush out with me to find a doctor, leaving Yang Cheng at home. When he returned, Yang Cheng had vanished. For years, my parents had searched for him, never giving up hope, though they never dared to tell my mother the truth until it was too late. My brother had been stolen, and we never knew why."
The Truth Behind the Separation
"My brother, who had been raised by our aunt—my father's former lover—had been taught to be compassionate and kind. She had taken him out of jealousy, but after years of reflection and regret, she had turned to the Buddha’s teachings. She had been the one sending the money all along. When we finally met her at the temple, she was kneeling before the Buddha, repenting for her past mistakes. It was a moment of profound reconciliation. My brother and I were reunited, and though we had been raised in different worlds, our hearts were brothers. I, who had never known the , was suddenly introduced to a world of peace and service. I saw how my brother’s heart, cultivated by the Buddha’s teachings, could bring light to everyone he met. I realised then that my life was not just about my father; it was about all sentient beings waiting for salvation.
My brother and I both entered the temple, taking the Dharma names 'Rushi' and 'Ruyuan'. We dedicated our lives to diligent practice, serving all beings with the same heart. Even in the vast, chaotic reaches of the universe, where stars collide and darkness often prevails, the light of the Buddha-name brings hope. Through the of Practitioner Su, whose traverses the universe, countless beings are being saved and guided to the Western Pure Land of Ultimate Bliss. The darkness is finally receding, and the dawn of liberation is here. I am eternally grateful for this deliverance. Namo Amituofo."
