Chapter Sixty-Three: Revolutionary Words

With a chant of Buddha’s name, three monks entered the room—an elderly monk and two younger ones. The leading monk had a dark complexion and wore a sky-blue monk’s robe. Three rows of precept scars crossed his shaved head, and his grizzled beard hung down to his chin. Though his appearance was unremarkable, his eyes were exceptionally bright; in the dim light of my room, they could almost serve as lanterns.

This monk was clearly someone of importance. Upon meeting Li Yuan, he merely pressed his hands together in salutation, offering no formal bow. Li Yuan took no offense, setting Yun Hao, who had been sitting on his knee, gently aside. Turning to the old monk, he said, “Master Hongren, even you have been disturbed by this affair—what a sin! What a sin!”

Yun Hao watched the old monk with curiosity. Since the Northern Wei, Buddhism had flourished across the Central Plains. The Xianbei aristocrats of the Northern Wei mostly revered Buddhism, although exceptions like the Dugu family existed. While others chanted “Amitabha Buddha,” the Dugu clan prayed for the blessing of the Lord above.

Li Yuan’s devotion to Buddhism seemed natural enough, but Yun Hao remembered that the Li family, in order to distance themselves from their Hu heritage, had specially claimed Laozi, Li Er, as their ancestor. This meant that if Li Yuan had any spiritual leanings, they should have been toward Daoism. If someone had entered chanting “Immeasurable Heavenly Venerable,” that would have made more sense. Yun Hao was actually eager to meet that legendary figure who had taught Yuan Tiangang; it was said that man, together with Li Chunfeng, possessed profound spiritual attainments. Li Chunfeng even produced the famed “Back-Pushing Diagram,” which later generations would stretch and reinterpret into all manner of fortune-telling arts, becoming a staple for street-corner diviners.

“Ha! Congratulations, Lord Li, on your recovery. May I ask, which esteemed master treated your long-standing illness?” the old monk inquired.

Li Yuan laughed heartily. “Why, the answer is right before your eyes. Master, just look—it’s this child.” With delight, he lifted Yun Hao again, presenting him to Hongren like a doll.

The old monk regarded Yun Hao and his expression grew solemn. “What a remarkable child, blessed with earthly grace. May I ask, who is your teacher?”

“I once saw a barefoot doctor treat someone for dizziness. That’s how the barefoot doctor did it!” Yun Hao replied, feeling as if the old monk’s eyes were hooked—iron hooks—boring into his very soul.

“Barefoot doctor?” Hongren was taken aback by this answer. He had expected some hidden master as the source, for a case that had stumped him was cured by this child, without need for needles, stones, or medicine. In these times, barefoot doctors were everywhere, lacking any formal credentials; if you claimed to be a doctor, then so you were. Yun Hao’s claim that he’d learned from a barefoot doctor left no trail to follow.

“Great talents often hide in the mundane world; there are many with wisdom and skill beyond measure. If the opportunity allows, young man, you must introduce this master to me,” Hongren said. Renowned for his medical skills, Hongren was revered in Buddhist circles as the Fifth Patriarch of the Chan (Zen) School. He rarely descended from Dongshan Monastery, even ignoring several imperial summons. For Li Yuan to have persuaded Hongren to come down from the mountain was a tremendous mark of favor, a testament to the depth of their private friendship.

“If there’s a chance, I will,” Yun Hao replied helplessly.

“Just now, who mentioned an extraordinary dish?” Unexpectedly, Hongren’s questions came full circle, revealing that the old fellow was something of a gourmet at heart.

“Master, this child’s cooking is nothing short of divine. Hao, prepare a couple of your best dishes for the master. Who knows, if he’s pleased, he might take you as his disciple,” Chai Shao said with a smile. Among Northern Wei nobility, many were nominal monks, and having someone like Hongren accept you as a disciple—if only in name—was a great honor.

“No way, I won’t become a monk,” Yun Hao protested immediately. “I plan to marry many wives in the future—what good is being a monk? No meat, no wives!” After finally getting a second chance at life, he was not about to become a monk. What was Chai Shao up to, anyway?

“Who says monks can't marry or eat meat?” Hongren asked, genuinely puzzled.

What? Monks can marry and eat meat? Yun Hao’s mouth nearly gaped wide enough to swallow eight eggs. This... this was utterly mind-boggling.

“In our Pure Land School, we believe in reciting the Buddha’s name in life and being received by Amitabha into the Western Paradise after death, so marriage is permitted. Moreover, we do not forbid disciples who cultivate with hair from associating with women. Why do you say monks cannot marry?” Hongren looked at Yun Hao, perplexed; to him, the idea that monks couldn’t marry seemed anything but natural.

“And what about eating meat?” Yun Hao felt his mind reeling. For a monk to marry would cause an uproar in later ages, yet to this venerable master, it seemed not to violate the Dharma at all.

“In Buddhism, ‘forbidden foods’ refer generally to meat, but what we actually prohibit are the Five Pungent Roots: garlic, spring onion, wild leek, scallion, and chive. I’ve never heard of a rule forbidding monks from eating meat. Besides, many of our Buddhist monks are martial artists who need meat to strengthen their bodies—how could they do without it?” Hongren was even more baffled. As far as he was concerned, Buddhist doctrine was his daily bread, and he could think of no precept strictly prohibiting the consumption of flesh.

How subversive! Absolutely subversive! Monks in the Great Tang were truly blessed—not only could they marry, but they could even eat meat. Buddha, forgive my ignorance, Yun Hao prayed earnestly, hoping his repentance would reach the Blessed One.

“Hao, there will be time enough to hear the Dharma. For now, go and prepare some dishes—you’ll be well rewarded!” Chai Shao, aware that Hongren and Li Yuan had matters to discuss, hurriedly ushered Yun Hao out. In the secular world, Buddhism was a powerful force; the wealth of Buddhist monasteries could rival that of a nation. If Li Yuan’s grand designs could secure Buddhist support, his chances of success would be much greater. Hongren’s descent from the mountain was, in fact, the result of Li Jiancheng’s persistent efforts behind the scenes.

Still dazed and reeling from the shock, Yun Hao was dragged out by Chai Shao.

P.S.: A few points to clarify about this chapter: First, Hongren was actually born in the first year of Sui Renshou, meaning he should still be a child at this time, not an old man. However, since the story will later involve Shenxiu and Huineng, I decided to have him born a few decades earlier. Second, the Pure Land School of Buddhism does indeed allow monks to marry—feel free to look it up. The Five Pungent Roots are garlic, small garlic, xingqu, wild leek, and chive. Buddhist doctrine today doesn’t strictly forbid the eating of meat, but monks do avoid foods with strong odors, such as onions, even though onions aren’t among the Five Pungent Roots. I provide these explanations because there are many readers interested in historical accuracy, and it’s too much trouble to address each question individually.