The Weight of Ancestral Virtue

This is a record of an interview with Lan Yinhe, a former Confucian scholar who sought deliverance at the Hsiang Kuang Pure Land Buddhist Centre in Australia. He now resides in the Western Pure Land of Ultimate Bliss. This account reflects upon his life and his subsequent spiritual journey. Recorded by the chief writer, Shi Faxi, on May 4, 2025.

Lan Yinhe speaks:

"Namo Amituofo. I am deeply grateful for all the Causal Conditions that have brought me here, and for the compassionate support of the Buddha’s power. I, Lan Yinhe, representing all the spirits who have served as prison guards, bow in gratitude to the grace of the Buddha and the grace of Practitioner Su. Namo Amituofo.

My name is Lan Yinhe. In my lifetime, I was a scholar of some renown in the southern regions. For over thirty years, I travelled through the countryside, teaching people to recite the Sutras and observe the rites of propriety. I was widely respected. People would say that I was gentle, soft-spoken, and possessed great depth of character. They called me a true gentleman. I believed this of myself, and I took great pride in it.

A Life of Rigid Virtue

My family grew up within the rigid framework I had constructed for them. I set the rules; I dictated the etiquette. My son never dared to contradict me, and my daughter-in-law would lower her head the moment she saw me. When neighbours asked how I had managed to raise such a well-ordered family, I would simply smile and say, 'Cultivating oneself and regulating the family is merely one's duty.' But I never once asked them if they were tired, or if they were happy living in such a state of 'order.' The family was indeed orderly, but I never knew—and never cared to know—how much repressed silence and how much aggrieved obedience lay beneath that surface.

I never struck anyone in my life, nor did I ever raise my voice in anger, yet everyone feared me. I would say, 'Only by reading the words of the sages and walking the righteous path can one attain blessings.' They dared not argue, for I was the root of this 'virtuous household,' a heavy, invisible moral signboard that hung over all of them. I lived a life of uprightness and died in peace. My family even erected a memorial tablet for me, which was placed in the ancestral hall, where the incense burned perpetually, and the rules I had established were passed down from generation to generation.

The Silent Prison of the Ancestral Hall

Yet, after I died, I did not go to the place of light I had imagined. When I awoke, I found myself transformed into a statue within the ancestral hall. I sat silently beneath my own memorial tablet, unable to speak, unable to move. I could only watch as my descendants came and went, burning incense and performing rituals before me, loudly reporting their successes, their wealth, and the prosperity of the family. They would kowtow, offer thanks, and recite the ancestral teachings. But there was no light in their eyes. It was not genuine reverence born from the heart, but a numbness accumulated over a long time. Their tone was respectful, but their hearts felt as if they were crushed under heavy stones, so heavy they could barely breathe.

I saw the repression, the pain, the burden of responsibility, and the fear hidden behind their faces. They lived such heavy lives because they were terrified of 'failing their ancestors,' terrified of being 'unfilial,' and terrified of 'betraying the family tradition.' And those words that left them gasping for air? They all came from my mouth. Their tears were the ink with which my last will and testament continued to flow. I could not move, and I could only watch, day after day, year after year. They did not revere me; they feared me. They feared the ancestral teachings I had left behind: 'If you fail, you have brought shame upon our ancestors.'

The Weight of My Own Legacy

Once, a grandson knelt before me, his eyes filled with confusion, and said, 'Grandfather, I have done everything you said, but I am not happy at all.' His voice was thick with sorrow. I wanted to answer him, but I could not utter a single word. My mouth felt as if it were locked, and my throat felt as if it were stuffed with stones. I suddenly understood that the thing I said most often in my life was, 'I am doing this for your own good,' yet I had never once asked them, 'Are you tired? Are you in pain?'

I had never physically oppressed them, but I had used 'virtue' as a shackle, forcing them to bind themselves. I used a gentle tone to deliver the most rigid of rules, stripping them of their right to choose. I began to doubt: what kind of legacy had I left behind? Was it wisdom, or was it the pressure of silence? Was I truly their pillar of support, or was I a crushing weight? As the days passed, my heart grew heavier and heavier. Watching my descendants unable to breathe while trapped in my shadow, I felt as if I had become the heavy stone of their destiny. And I, meanwhile, could only sit silently in the depths of the ancestral hall, unable to move a muscle.

A Glimmer of Light in the Darkness

Until one day, I felt a faint light coming from afar. That light did not come from the incense; it came from the sound of a Buddha-name: Namo Amituofo. Every time that sound resonated, the heart of my stone statue seemed to loosen just a little. I did not know who was chanting, nor did I know where the sound came from, but it was gentle, pure, and sincere. Unlike the tone I had used in my life, which was always filled with persuasion and heavy expectation, this sound was merely a soft, compassionate calling.

I listened in silence. Then, one day, a sudden brightness appeared before me. I saw many of my descendants, whom I had never met, standing before a temple, reciting the Buddha-name with sincerity: 'May the merit of this Buddha-name chanting be dedicated to the deliverance of all my ancestors, that they may be reborn in the Western Pure Land of Ultimate Bliss.' My entire being trembled. I finally understood: it was they who were chanting for me. They were simply, purely, wishing for their ancestor to be saved.

Breaking the Shell of Attachment

That day, for the first time, I wept. It was not regret, but an awakening. Amidst the sound of that Buddha-name, the stone shell around me began to peel away. I was released from the prison of my own attachments and my self-constructed image. I left the stone in which I had been trapped. When my spirit finally stood before the King of Hell, my heart was very calm, for I understood that I had to accept the laws of karma and cause and effect. The King of Hell was compassionate and arranged for me to perform service work. I am very grateful for this opportunity, and I began to seek guidance from my seniors, reflecting on my own mistakes, hoping that this would change who I am.

Later, I saw a dignified and compassionate being of light, known as Practitioner Su. He expounded the Buddha’s teachings, which filled me with great admiration and made me realise the importance of true practice. At that moment, I made a vow: I must learn, and I must seek the path of liberation. I am also very grateful that today I can be reborn in the Western Pure Land of Ultimate Bliss. I, Lan Yinhe, representing all the prison guards and all sentient beings with karmic affinity, bow in gratitude to the grace of the Buddha and the grace of Practitioner Su. Namo Amituofo.'

Lan Yinhe, with palms joined in respect.