The Master of Rhyme and the Burden of Fame

This is a record of an interview with Sima Xiangru, who sought Chao Du [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 2,200 years ago. Recorded by the chief writer, Shi Faru, on April 3, 2026.

Sima Xiangru speaks:

"I composed a vast number of Han Fu, employing a wealth of ornate and flowery language that truly established the standards for an entire generation of literature. Future generations have honoured me with titles such as the 'Master of Rhyme' or the 'Sage of Fu.' Yet, these hollow titles were only bestowed upon me after my death—what meaning do they hold now? At the time of my passing, I was merely a spirit facing the consequences of my karma, and after emerging from the hells, I was nothing more than a drifting, lonely ghost. What significance could such seemingly magnificent and respectful titles possibly have to a wandering, solitary spirit?"

The Language of the Soul

"People often assume that I am not skilled at ordinary conversation. In truth, my heart is filled with a vast treasury of exquisite vocabulary, but people merely mistake these for obscure characters. Without a profound literary foundation, how could one possibly comprehend my works? Writing Fu was an effortless task for me; it was not that I deliberately piled up complex and flowery phrases. The thoughts, reflections, and words within my heart were simply that beautiful—both in their essence and in their expression. However, with such rich and ornate language, how many people were truly able to understand what I was saying?

It is not that I lack the ability to communicate, but rather that people were unable to grasp the depth of my language. It would have been better for them to simply study my writings. If they could have gleaned even a fraction of the meaning from them, they would have understood my inner thoughts and the visions I held. It was not that I did not wish to use common speech; it was simply that these complex expressions came to me so naturally, flowing from my lips with ease. Yet, for others, this made communication difficult. Therefore, I mostly interacted with people through my works, while ordinary conversation remained secondary."

The Ambition of a Young Scholar

"I grew up in Chengdu, in the Shu Commandery. From a young age, I understood that to break free from the limitations of that isolated region and make my name resound throughout the world, I had to possess extraordinary talent and achieve remarkable feats. People often say I emulated Lin Xiangru, but what I truly admired was his exceptional courage and daring. Only by being so distinct and unconventional could one hope to become famous throughout the land. Perhaps people’s impression of me is fixed upon my literary achievements, but what I truly craved at the time was to be a master of both the pen and the sword. I studied swordsmanship with the same intensity that I applied to literature, hoping that the world would recognise me just as they recognised Lin Xiangru—for his unique strengths and his unwavering courage.

I deeply admired Lin Xiangru’s extraordinary bravery and his spirit of remaining calm in the face of danger, dedicating himself entirely to the service of his country. However, the glorious Han Dynasty was not an era of warring states. In such a stable and prosperous environment, it was actually quite difficult for me to fully realise my ambitions. To demonstrate one’s courage and seize opportunities in a time of peace, as one might in a time of war, is no easy task. Yet, I did not abandon my desire to make a name for myself. I remained determined to excel through my own unique talents. Thus, I decided to channel my gifts into the development of literature."

The Art of the Han Fu

"By chance, while studying the books of the ancient sages, I quietly encountered literature and the creative format known as 'Fu.' At first, I did not pay much attention to such works. But when I saw the ornate beauty of the Han Fu, with its rhythmic structure and alternating lengths, I knew I had found the perfect medium to showcase the elegance of my vocabulary. In Liangyuan, I met the most brilliant Han Fu masters and essayists of the Tang Dynasty, and I truly learned much from them. I also knew that the Fu held even deeper realms of expression, and I could not stop there. I had to master what they knew and elevate my own literary attainments to an even higher plane.

The world assumes that I spent my time searching for obscure words to use in my compositions, but that is not the case. When reading the books of the sages, I was naturally sensitive to these words. These seemingly rare terms might not leave a deep impression on others, or might be difficult to pronounce, but for me, once I had seen them, they transformed into vivid, clear images—as if the objects themselves were appearing directly before my eyes. Countless complex and rare characters presented no obstacle to me; they were as natural as common words. I could call upon them without a moment’s hesitation, using them with perfect ease."

The Symphony of Words

"Many people believe that the focus of creating a Han Fu is merely the piling up of flowery language, but true, high-quality Han Fu is not like that. Most people think that Han Fu cannot be set to music, but the Han Fu in my heart was inherently combined with melody. The fixed forms—four-character, three-character, or five-character lines—could actually be harmonised with music. People thought only Yuefu poetry could be set to music, but the greatest Fu also have melodies behind them. Although they lack the fixed rhythms and slow pace of Yuefu poetry, the musicality of the Fu is actually more flexible. It is not constrained by a rigid beat or frequency; it is a freer, more unrestrained melody that flows behind the movement of the text.

When I composed my Han Fu, there was always a melody in my heart. I followed that melody, and the appropriate words would naturally emerge to fill the space. For me, this was a natural ability. I did not need much planning; I simply knew that when it was time to fill a section according to the rhythm, the corresponding words would appear, perfectly matching the content. While some of these words were indeed uncommon, within the context of the melody and the overall aesthetic of the literary work, they were the most fitting choices. People think the length of a Fu is arbitrary, but it actually depended on how long the melody in my heart was. The repeating structures represented a repeating melody, with different words filled in. The length of the entire Fu was determined by the length of the entire piece of music, and the completion of the Fu signified the end of the music. The two were one, inseparable."

Namo Amituofo.

"I should have used my personal courage to speak out with righteous indignation and unwavering integrity during critical moments, unafraid of the consequences to my own life. Why did I instead sink into crafting flowery, ornate prose simply to curry favour with the Emperor? In truth, it was the pressure of circumstances. After eloping with my wife, life was indeed quite austere. By the later years, I felt only a sense of duty toward her; the passionate, almost obsessive pursuit I once felt had long since faded. During those years, tormented by illness and living in hardship, with little affection left for my wife, the only thing I could entrust my spirit to was my own literary work.

The Burden of Empty Words

Literature like the Han Fu, if devoid of a true purpose or legitimacy, and if it lacks a core theme but is instead stuffed with flowery, superficial language, only makes the entire work appear cluttered and nauseating. In the final days of my life, I composed the Feng Shan Wen. Although I finished it, I hesitated for a long time to present it to the Emperor. After all, my life and my own aspirations should not have been reduced to being a court jester, nor should I have become a mere tool for a monarch's vanity. I truly wished I could have offered genuine counsel to the Emperor, dared to speak the truth, and written works that were of actual benefit to society and the world. Instead, I lost myself completely, unable to find a place where I could truly contribute. After I passed away at home, I arrived before the King of Hell. The works I created influenced an entire generation, and the events that transpired—including my affairs with my wife—were widely circulated. These things themselves had a negative impact on society.

Although the King of Hell explained it this way at the time, I did not fully understand. I believed that I had simply fulfilled my role in that era, working hard and striving to get ahead, hoping to achieve fame and success. Yet, in the eyes of the King of Hell, this was creating karma and influencing a generation in the wrong direction. I did not fully grasp it then, and I was subsequently sent to the Tongue-Ripping Hell, the Brain-Gouging Hell, and the Eye-Gouging Hell. Looking back now, it has been about three hundred years. To the human world, that is certainly not a short time. But for me, suffering in hell, every day felt like a year. Whether it was hundreds of years or just a few decades, there was no difference to me; it was all unbearable agony, and my consciousness was not even clear.

The Truth of the Ghost Realm

Throughout the process of suffering in hell, I remained deeply confused. I did not understand why, as a mere writer who had not committed heinous crimes or murdered anyone, I had to endure such punishment. When my sentence was served, I returned before the King of Hell, and he asked if I knew my sins. In my heart, I dared not say I was completely innocent, but in all honesty, I truly did not fully understand the karma I had created. The King of Hell shook his head and said helplessly: 'Then you should return to the ghost realm on the surface and experience it for yourself. Perhaps you will find some awakening. After all, there is no human body available for you to reincarnate into right now.' I understood this situation, and subsequently, I came to the ghost realm.

I drifted across the surface of the earth, and I had the opportunity to observe the literary works of various dynasties. Each dynasty had its own development, and many literary works were widely circulated. I slowly realized that a work is a vessel for conveying thoughts, expressing one's inner views, and reflecting on the values and feelings of life; it is an important tool for the dissemination of ideas. The works I created at the time defined the direction of that era's literature; that is to say, my creative style set the standard for the development of the Han Fu. I knew of the impact this had on future generations, leading people to obsess over flowery language, delve too deeply into textual analysis, and specifically study such a creative style in pursuit of beauty and extravagance. The works and stories I created in my life were widely spread, which made me slowly understand that my influence on those who came after me was indeed not to be underestimated.

The Trap of Literary Space

In the midst of this, all the creative efforts and the layering of ornate language actually led many people into the so-called textual space of the Han Fu and into the illusory realms created by these works. These complex and intricate, flowery phrases represented very chaotic and complicated spaces, causing people to become addicted to them and unable to pull themselves away. People wandered and switched between different spaces, their thoughts never ceasing, yet they were unable to exit these spaces. I only then realized that the style my work brought to an era defined this form of creation, leading people into these literary spaces. It is no wonder I had to suffer such evil consequences for this. Using excessively cumbersome and flowery language does not belong to the truth; the language I deliberately crafted for my own personal gain, to get ahead, to be different, and to make people's eyes light up, was all part of creating verbal karma.

Therefore, I had to go to hell to suffer. Observing everything I had created while in the ghost realm, I reflected constantly, and I gradually understood that all of this has its laws of karma and cause and effect. However, it is very subtle. If I did not have a keen sense of observation, and if I did not have an understanding of my own works and how they were passed down through the ages, I would surely not have known that it was the karma I had created. I cannot help but sigh; in such a difficult-to-understand situation, how could I have known while I was alive? Without relevant teachings and explanations, how could I have avoided creating this karma?

A Glimmer of Hope

In the world, striving for fame and success is considered ordinary; however, from the perspective of spirits, and from the direction of universal principles, these are all acts of creating karma—behaviors that harm others and do not benefit oneself. Later, under the illumination of golden light, I was released from the ghost realm and came to the Western Land of Dharma Nature at the Hsiang Kuang Pure Land Buddhist Centre, where Namo Amituofo resides. I had already heard of the 'salvation team' while in the ghost realm; it is an organization that has appeared in recent years, helping a large number of spirits to escape their original spaces.

I know the nature of these spaces, so I was quite astonished that someone could actually help the spirits within them to escape their original confines.

The works I created caused people's thoughts to become complex, trapping them in various prosperous, complicated, chaotic, and rich scenes and spaces from which they could not extricate themselves. The fact that the salvation team could help people escape truly gave me a glimmer of hope. Perhaps the people I harmed could have a chance to be freed from those spaces. Listening to the sutras in the Dharma-Nature Land and hearing the Buddha’s teachings truly shocked me. This was entirely consistent with what I had understood through my observations over the years, and even went beyond it.

The level of the Buddha’s teachings is far beyond my personal understanding. I originally only knew that the karma I created harmed others and prevented them from exiting these spaces; however, the depth explained by the Buddha’s teachings not only unlocked the deepest details and mysteries of these spaces but also made me understand that any self-centeredness, any deviation in the heart, or anything created in the pursuit of fame and success is all creating karma. These are all unacceptable and derelict behaviors, and because I did not understand this principle, I created this karma when I had a human body.

The Futility of Fame

Now that I have awakened in the Dharma-Nature Land, I know that the so-called masterpieces I created by stacking up flowery language—those works I was once so proud of—only brought me evil consequences. Spending a few decades in the human world for such illusory achievements is truly not worth it.

I created many Han Fu and used many flowery phrases, which indeed established the rules for a generation of Han Fu, and later generations honored me as the 'Master of Diction' or the 'Sage of Fu'. However, what meaning do these empty names have when they are bestowed upon me only after death? At that time, I was already a suffering spirit, and after leaving hell, I was just a drifting ghost. What meaning does such a seemingly magnificent and respectful title have for a drifting, lonely ghost?

No amount of titles or fame can offset the karma I created, nor can they compensate for the fact that I led people into these spaces. Watching all of this from the Dharma-Nature Land, I feel deep repentance. I truly regret that I worked so hard for such trivial things in my life. People may revere my work, just as I was satisfied with my own work while I was alive; and perhaps many people and writers really want to imitate my style, or even study the state of mind and the process I went through during my creation.

I have already explained to you earlier that my state of mind at the time was indeed to get ahead, and I also knew how to cleverly use the characteristics of the Han Fu and the background of the time to find suitable themes to create masterpieces that could be passed down through the ages.

But now, these masterpieces seem to me like mere external objects. They did not leave me with any useful fame, but only caused me to bear countless sins. If I had not met Practitioner Su leading the salvation team to perform Chao Du and open up these spaces, I would not have had the opportunity to learn the Buddha’s teachings and understand the mistakes I had made.

If I could not understand these mistakes I made, and continued to be swept away by the flow of karma, would I not repeat the same mistakes when I appear in the world again in the future? This makes me feel very afraid just thinking about it. It is a great fortune to have met Namo Amituofo, which allows me to avoid this situation. And I have heard that here, if one truly makes a vow to help sentient beings, there is also an opportunity to be reborn in the Western Pure Land of Ultimate Bliss, which is a much more magnificent and bright place.

After hearing this, I also felt a longing in my heart. Surely the Western Pure Land of Ultimate Bliss must be more magnificent than the Emperor's Shanglin Park. But that is a digression. In any case, I thank Namo Amituofo and Practitioner Su for giving me the opportunity to share my story.

I am honored by people as the 'Sage of Fu' or the 'Master of Diction'. However, as the Sage of Fu and Master of Diction, I would like to advise all scholars and those who study literature: do not be too attached to words, for words all have their own Word Spirits spaces. Literary works each have countless illusory realms and spaces; everyone, please be careful." Namo Amituofo.

If you succeed in creating works that can be passed down to future generations, ask yourself: can you guarantee that these works will only have a positive influence on people, with no negative impact? If you cannot be certain, you must be careful, for you will eventually have to face the bitter fruits of your own creation.

A Final Word of Counsel

This is the one piece of sincere counseling I can offer, in my capacity as the Sage of Rhapsodies. Please, take these words to heart.

I am deeply grateful to Namo Amituofo, and I am deeply grateful to Practitioner Su.

Namo Amituofo.

Sima Xiangru