The Yuan River was one of the longest in
China's Hunan Province, flowing in three directions: north,
south, and west. The tributaries met and merged into Dongting Lake to the
northeast.
Chenzou was an ancient city in Hunan
Province. It was early autumn there; signs of the season were
obvious on the outskirts of the city. The surface of the Yuan River
shone red in the softening light of the western sun. Willow trees grew along the riverbank, sporting crimson-dyed leaves that fluttered in
the breeze.
A lone monk wearing a shallow hat with a
round top
1 and carrying a pewter staff
2 gazed out at a boat floating
downstream. His face was partially concealed by the hat, but the light
reflecting off the river's surface was bright enough to wreathe the
unshaven beard dangling from his chin. He was tall and strongly built. He wore a white monk's robe with a black formal coat over it and straw
sandals. A cloth bundle was strapped to his back. He'd traveled far; his
hat showed signs of sun damage, his sandals were practically worn
through and his light-colored robe had darkened from long use and
exposure.
Monks from many orders wandered, but
this man's attire and equipage identified him specifically as a Daoist.
He paused for a time, then walked west at a slow pace. There was no need
to hurry on this journey. He was seeking a path to the forbidden arts,
but all he desired at the moment was a place to stay for the night. With
that in mind, he wandered alongside the western tributary of the Yuan
River.
Before things progress too far, it
should be noted that Buddhism had its roots in India and spread west to
China before anywhere else. Buddhism took off in
China when when the aristocrats of the later Han Dynasty adopted it
around 401 CE. Kumārajīva
3 was the monk responsible for
translating Indian Buddhism into Chinese. After that, many Buddhist
texts were translated into Chinese by other monks who had contact with
India. Despite this, Indian Buddhism and Chinese Buddhism were not
precisely the same. Translations into Chinese were made to suit the
tastes and conveniences of the time.
Returning to the present moment: In the
first year of Qianxing (1023 CE), Renzong, the fourth emperor of the
Northern Song Dynasty, ascended the imperial throne.
4 At the end of that year
in autumn, the monk began his long journey. Unlike in modern times,
where Confucianism, Buddhism and Daoism can exist in harmony, during
this time period there were repeated clashes between different
religions.
The westering sun finally set at a
narrow crossroads ahead of the monk. Everything seemed peaceful at first
glance, but appearances were deceptive. The province was not at peace. China's
history was marked by conflicts and wars with foreign powers. The Khitan
Empire
5 honored the Chanyuan Treaty,
6 but didn't stop mustering
armies. The Khitan Empire was steadily gaining power, exhibiting signs of
aggression by raiding the border. The Song Dynasty had been weak in
terms of military affairs since it adopted the doctrine of pacifism
after the founding of the Taejo Dynasty in Korea.
7 The Imperial Court
finally adopted the policy of enriching the country and strengthening
the military, but the financial burden of this policy was causing
farmers to suffer immensely.
Due to this unrest, the Imperial Court
feared foreign spies and required travelers to carry a license issued by
the province's government office. Monks were granted privileges as long
as they carried a token called a dochō.
The monk, of course, carried a dochō. It
would exempt him from paying lodging fees wherever he decided to stay.
Still, he didn't decide to stop just yet, perhaps because it was a
hassle to cook one's own food in a shared room. Individual rooms for travelers were rare and expensive.
Dusk fell as the monk approached the
foot of Mt. Xishan. The moon rose, shedding a little light in the
eastern sky. The monk walked along the side of a stream that flowed through
a bamboo grove. Suddenly, he stopped, raised his hat and looked out into
the distance. His face was youthful—he was perhaps seventeen or eighteen
years old. His short hair poked out from underneath his hat, much abused
by days of wind and rain. His bedraggled looks made him appear even
younger than he was.
The monk pursed his lips and set his jaw
in determination. His dark eyes shone with the strength of his will.
There was a forest in the middle distance, but no sign of human
habitation anywhere nearby. At once, the monk's expression changed from
one of determination to one of anxiety. He must have taken a wrong turn
somewhere. His Daoist training had prepared him to camp in the
wilderness if necessary, but he was hoping it wouldn't be required of
him.
A silver fox barked behind the monk, the
sound echoing in the bamboo grove. The young monk looked behind
him.
Like the monk, the fox was young. It stood in the middle of the bamboo grove unafraid, staring at the
monk with naked curiosity. The fox's fur gleamed beautifully in the low
light. It was an adult of breeding age, though there were no cubs
around. The fox's limbs were lithe, supple and strong.
It was believed that foxes could
transform into beautiful women by donning a skull. Since ancient
times, foxes have been considered lewd and tawdry beasts. When they
disguised themselves as beautiful women, they stole the very essence of
the men they seduced.
Not all impressions of foxes were so
negative. They were worshiped as gods of grain for a time, and silver foxes were considered especially auspicious. In northeast China, a
powerful fox spirit called Kosen
8 was sometimes worshiped as a god.
The young monk considered all this and
looked at the fox with a smile on his face. The fox blinked its eyes,
and it was unclear whether or not it was a source of good luck or ill
omen. The young monk stared, and the fox stared back, its blue eyes
twinkling in the twilight.
The moment passed, and the monk resumed
his journey. The fox darted ahead of him, jumping over a narrow stream
and running a little way onward. Then it looked back at the monk again.
The monk stopped walking, tilting his head in confusion. Was the fox
trying to lead him somewhere? It certainly seemed so.
***
The light of the moon reflected off the
forest canopy in the distance; it was now full night. The rings on the
monk's pewter staff jangled with every step forward. The fox stopped
running at the forest's edge. There was a double-sided gate just ahead;
one of the gate doors swung wide open.
When the fox saw the young monk
approaching, it ran through the gate without hesitation. The monk stood
by the gate for a moment, looking at the faintly glowing light coming
from the farmhouse beyond it. Moonlight shone through the
trees, illuminating the desolate building. The front garden was overrun
with weeds, obscuring the well and watering can. The roof of the
farmhouse had obvious holes; paint peeled from its walls. The roofs of
the barn and storehouse were also dilapidated and covered with
grass and debris.
Passing through the front garden, the
monk came to the front of the farmhouse and looked around, but he saw no
fox. He approached the front door and called out, "Please excuse my
intrusion! I'm a traveler, and I'm looking for a place to stay for the
night."
He heard a voice coming from inside the
farmhouse. A moment later, the door opened a crack, and an old woman
peeked out through the gap. Bright moonlight shone on the figure of the
monk, lighting him up clear as day.
The monk bowed his head. "Hello. I would
like to borrow a corner of your barn, if I may. Just for the evening."
Although he was obviously young, he was a monk
and his tone was polite. The old woman appeared surprised by this.
"Honored husband!" she called into the house. "There's a monk outside."
Then the door of the farmhouse opened
wide.
The monk bowed his head again.
The old woman took a step out of the
house, revealing her stooped back. "Now, now, young man; we'll not put
you in the barn tonight. Please come inside."
"No, thank you. I'd really prefer to
stay in the barn."
"Why? Are you doing penitence? You've
come here by chance, so let us make this a pleasant meeting. Come
inside."
The old woman took the monk by the hand
and led him into the farmhouse.
The elderly owner of the farmhouse lay
inside on a shabby bed in the main living area. He was as thin as a
withered tree, likely from long illness. He and the old woman appeared
to be the house's only inhabitants. There was little by way of
furniture. The inside of the farmhouse looked as dilapidated as the
exterior.
To the side of the bed was a low table.
The monk sat down on a chair in front of it and listened to the old
man's painful cough. The old man cleared his throat, then said, "I know
we don't have much, but you're welcome to share what we have."
"Thank you very much," the monk said. "I
hope I'm not putting you out."
"No, no," the old man said. "It's been a
long time since we had a guest. My honored wife and I are pleased to
welcome you." He smiled.
The old woman brought over a large
steaming bowl of porridge on a tray and set it on the table. The steam
was scented with mint and other spices.
"Refresh my memory; can monks eat fish?"
the old woman asked.
Monks were prohibited from eating
certain foods, mainly pungent vegetables like onions, garlic, and
leeks.
9
The monk smiled. "I am permitted to eat
fish, yes."
"That's good," the old woman said. "It's
the best thing for when you're tired. Come on, dig in while it's still
warm."
The monk said words of gratitude over
the food, placing his palms lightly together. Then he picked up the bowl
of porridge, feeling steam rise against his face. He sipped from the
edge of the bowl—there were no utensils—and let out a cry of delight.
"This is delicious!" the monk said.
The old woman smiled and nodded as if
he'd just said something very obvious. The monk ate at speed in large
bites.
"Is it salty enough?" the old woman
asked.
"It's perfect," the monk said.
"I see. Very good."
The warm porridge made the monk forget
his fatigue. The old woman watched him, smiling, until he finished
eating.
"Thank you for the meal," the monk said.
He placed his palms together again and bowed his head.
"There’s more, monk."
"I've had enough, thank you."
"There's no need to deny yourself."
"I promise that I'm not."
"Is that so?" The old woman bent to
retrieve the tray.
"Please pardon me; I've been ill and so
we can't feed you as well as we usually would," the old man said.
"I can't remember when I last had such
wonderful porridge," the monk said. His effusiveness broke through his
usual monk's politeness, showing that he was still a boy at heart. He
meant every word.
The old woman set the tray and bowl over
in the kitchen area, then returned, rubbing her hands and looking down.
"Monk, I have a favor to ask you."
"Huh?" The old man interjected as
if to scold her. "Wife, no. He is a wandering monk; let him be."
The old woman looked away as if she were
ashamed.
The monk blushed. "I'm very sorry if
I've caused you any trouble."
The old woman waved her hand quickly to
dismiss this objection, but she wasn't very convincing. "No, you
haven't, and I won't take payment for lodging or meals."
The monk looked at the faces of the
elderly couple. He'd stumbled on some argument or point of contention.
"If there's anything I can do to help, please let me know. I arrived
here by chance, and I feel fortunate to have a place to stay overnight."
"No, no, there's nothing we need you to
do," the old man said. "There's no need to concern yourself."
"If you're sure..."
The monk's repeated desires to help them
put the elderly couple at ease, but he still didn't understand what
their near-argument was actually about.
Then the old woman finally told him what
was troubling her.
Translator's Notes
No comments:
Post a Comment