Chapter Fifty: A Life Sung to Its End

Ever since the news of Master Hongdao’s impending passing had spread, coupled with the approaching imperial examination, the flow of people to and from the capital, Tianjing, had increased day by day. Yang Yaozong arranged for the Lion, Tiger, Leopard, and Wolf squads to each keep a close watch on one of the four main gates of Tianjing, meticulously recording the comings and goings of travelers and merchants. As these squads were originally part of the city guard, this task required only minimal coordination from Qin Haizhou. Yang Yaozong also specifically assigned the Fox squad to monitor all activity around the Prince of Qinwang’s residence.

On the first day of the eighth lunar month, the sky was overcast and oppressive. The previous day, Jing Yijun had informed Yang Yaozong that today, he, the Emperor, and the Crown Prince would together visit Dawn Temple.

In addition to these three, the party to Dawn Temple included several high-ranking ministers—six department heads and other key officials. The robust man surnamed Zhou, whom Yang Yaozong and Qin Haizhou had previously met, led his men in charge of their security. Yang Yaozong did not see Li Yijun among them, assuming she must be covertly protecting the Emperor and Crown Prince elsewhere.

As the procession reached the foot of Qixia Mountain, they saw that the steps leading up to Dawn Temple were already packed with devotees kneeling in prayer and worship, with more gathering at the mountain’s base. Just as they were fretting over how to ascend, a young monk darted from the eastern side of the crowd, anxiously breaking through to the Emperor’s escort, only to be stopped by Qin Haizhou. Standing beside the Crown Prince, Yang Yaozong noticed the little monk had a perfectly round head, chubby cheeks, and large, lively eyes—a most endearing child.

After questioning the young monk, Qin Haizhou approached the Emperor, bowed, and reported, “Your Majesty, Master Hongdao has sent a novice to guide you. He says there is a mountain path on the eastern side that leads directly to the side gate of Dawn Temple. The main entrance and the path leading to it are blocked by worshipers and cannot be traversed. The side path is narrow and unsuitable for carriages, but Master Hongdao has prepared a sedan chair at the eastern foot of the mountain for Your Majesty. The rest of us will need to walk.”

The Emperor replied, “Let the young master lead the way. Everyone is to follow his instructions.”

Qin Haizhou bowed and went to relay the order. Yang Yaozong, standing not far from the Emperor, spoke up, “Your Majesty, I would like to accompany the young master and lead the way ahead.”

The Emperor said, “Very well, Minister Yang, go ahead.”

The Crown Prince longed to go with Yang Yaozong but, constrained by his status, could only remain at the Emperor’s side.

Yang Yaozong walked at the front with the young monk.

He asked, “May I know your Dharma name, little master?”

The novice pressed his palms together at his chest and looked up at Yang Yaozong, replying, “My Dharma name is Wuhui.”

Yang Yaozong nodded. “Master Wuhui, may I ask about the situation atop the mountain?”

Wuhui answered, “The mountain is filled with eminent monks and Buddhist followers from various temples, all accompanying the abbot in meditation.”

Yang Yaozong asked, “Has Master Hongdao truly abstained from all food and drink these past days?”

Wuhui replied, “The abbot only sips a little water each day.”

Yang Yaozong nodded, then inquired, “Why did you choose the Dharma name Wuhui, ‘No Regret’?”

Wuhui thought for a moment before responding, “It’s just a name. Why must you seek its reason, benefactor?”

Yang Yaozong smiled and nodded, thinking this novice was indeed perceptive yet still retained a child’s innocence. He continued, “Then, little master, have you ever done anything you regret?”

Wuhui frowned slightly. “I have. But my master says not to waste time regretting the past. What’s done is done. As long as you learn from it, focus on the present and the future, and avoid repeating the same mistakes, there’s no need for regret.”

The two conversed as they climbed the mountain.

When the group reached Dawn Temple, many meditation cushions had already been laid out on the open ground outside the Great Buddha Hall. Only the Emperor and Crown Prince entered the hall, while Yang Yaozong and the other officials sat cross-legged on the cushions outside.

Yang Yaozong gazed down from the mountain, seeing a sea of devout believers stretching from summit to foot. Some had knelt in worship for days, exhausted to the point of fainting, yet persisted with the help of others.

Though Yang Yaozong was not religious, he was moved by the sincerity of these devotees. At this moment, their faith was not in the Buddha, nor even in Master Hongdao, but in their own goodness. They hoped their benevolence would move the heavens, that Heaven would witness Master Hongdao’s suffering and grant him release from torment, allowing him to attain Buddhahood.

Yang Yaozong looked into the Great Buddha Hall. Both sides were filled with monks draped in robes. Only three people sat before the statue of Shakyamuni Buddha in the center: one facing out, sitting opposite the Emperor and Crown Prince. Yang Yaozong knew at once this was the renowned Master Hongdao. The master was emaciated, skin stretched taut over bone, his veins and skeleton plainly visible beneath his ashen-yellow skin. His face was gaunt as a skull, deep wrinkles furrowed his brow, and his long white brows drooped to his ears while his white beard hung naturally at his neck. Yet his sunken eyes shone with a bright, wise, undimmed light—nothing about them suggested a dying man.

Master Hongdao smiled gently, conversing quietly with the Emperor. Sensing Yang Yaozong’s scrutiny, he straightened his previously hunched frame and looked directly at Yang Yaozong, his gaze shining with excitement.

Everyone inside and outside the hall who could see Master Hongdao noticed the intensity of his gaze and, following it, turned their eyes to Yang Yaozong.

With so many eyes upon him, Yang Yaozong felt awkward, shifting uneasily and, somewhat embarrassed, nodded at Master Hongdao, thinking, "Master, please don’t stare at me. I don’t want to be ogled by a hall full of men like wolves and tigers."

The Emperor glanced at Yang Yaozong, then turned to Master Hongdao, smiling, “This is my grandson’s teacher, Yang Yaozong.”

Master Hongdao nodded with his usual kindly smile, his gaze still unwavering.

The Emperor turned to Yang Yaozong and said with a smile, “Grand Tutor, come inside and join our conversation.”

Yang Yaozong hesitated only a moment, then answered, “Your subject obeys.”

As he rose, the Minister of Revenue, Qin Zheng, seated cross-legged nearby, whispered, “Young Yang, choose your words carefully.”

Yang Yaozong glanced sidelong at Qin Zheng, whose face remained stern and serious as if he’d never spoken, and smiled in acknowledgment.

Inside, Yang Yaozong halted behind the Crown Prince. Master Hongdao raised a thin hand, motioning for Yang Yaozong to sit on the cushion beside the Crown Prince. Yang Yaozong looked to the Emperor, who nodded with a smile. He settled cross-legged next to the Crown Prince, exchanging a smile.

Master Hongdao’s voice was low and hoarse, yet clear, cutting directly to the heart of the matter: “I am curious, Lord Yang—what kind of person were you in the past?”

Yang Yaozong was shocked, staring wide-eyed at the master. “Master, when you say ‘the past,’ what do you mean?” Under that wise, penetrating gaze, Yang Yaozong felt as if his soul was bared, his heart pounding.

Master Hongdao smiled serenely, as if he understood all things. “The state of mind you held when you first arrived in Tianjing—would you share it with me?”

Everyone was curious why Master Hongdao would ask Yang Yaozong this. All eyes turned to him, awaiting his reply.

Yang Yaozong took a deep breath, looking at the frail yet compassionate elder before him, and answered, “Master, may I express my heart with a song?”

Master Hongdao smiled and nodded.

Thus, in a way only he and Master Hongdao might truly understand, Yang Yaozong sang, his bearing calm under all eyes:

“The mundane world is full of mockery, and infatuation is most pointless. Perhaps it is best to look upon all with indifference. Though this life is not over, my heart is undisturbed, wishing only for half a lifetime of freedom. Awake, I smile at others; in dreams, I forget it all, lamenting that night falls too soon. The next life is uncertain, love and hate written off in one stroke. With wine and song, I wish only for happiness until old age. No matter how cold the wind, I do not flee; no matter how beautiful the flowers, I do not desire them, letting myself drift. The higher the sky, the less I question fate. Alone, I fall drunk. Today I weep, tomorrow I laugh, not seeking to be understood, proud in my solitude. Singing and dancing through the endless night, I seek joy.”

His clear, melodious voice echoed from the hall out into the open air.

The onlookers gazed at Yang Yaozong and Master Hongdao, surprised and intrigued. The lyrics were simple and easy to understand, and while they could comprehend the tune, they wondered where such an odd but pleasant melody came from.

Suddenly, Master Hongdao burst out laughing. “Then what changed your state of mind?”

It seemed the whole mountain heard his laughter. All were amazed that the frail master, so close to death, could produce such a powerful, resonant laugh. The fatigued worshipers, inspired by this sound, seemed to regain their strength, praying with even greater devotion.

Yang Yaozong, surprised by the master’s booming laughter, heard the follow-up question and could only shake his head, helplessly meeting the master’s wise, knowing smile as he replied, quoting an old verse: “Watch the puppeteer at the booth—those pulling the strings are all among us.”

Master Hongdao smiled, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. “You mean to say that life is like a puppet show, that our joys and sorrows are not our own decisions. But I do not quite agree. People are not puppets. Though external forces may steer one’s fate, the heart’s direction is one’s own. Then, Lord Yang, what is your state of mind now?”

Enlightened by the master’s words, Yang Yaozong rose boldly under everyone’s gaze, as if only he and the master existed in that moment, and sang:

“Laugh at you and me for wasting all our wits, chasing the illusory beauty in the glass. Afraid that luck will vanish in an instant, we are lost to desire and anger. Blame ourselves for craving power and influence, blame the world for being so alluring. Regret clinging to old vows, lost in the web of joy, sorrow, and jealousy. Ah, unable to relinquish the glittering world. Ah, unable to escape the sweet intoxication of longing. Ah, unable to substitute appearances for the real. Ah, a riddle I cannot solve in a lifetime.

Swallowing wind and kissing rain, burying the setting sun, never hesitating. Climbing mountains, crossing seas, treading snowy paths, never despairing. Plucking flowers, raising a cup, defying the world’s madness. With a hundred eyes or a thousand hands, I cannot guard against it. The sky is vast, snow drifts—who will journey with me? The sand rolls, the water ripples, I laugh as I wander. A fleeting moment of joy, yet the girl’s affection is long buried.”

Master Hongdao laughed heartily, his voice like a great bell. “What a dashing young man! I wonder, what are your plans for the future?”

Amid the astonished looks of the crowd, Yang Yaozong resumed his seat and replied, “The next moment is also the future. Tomorrow is the future. How far ahead does Master mean?”

Master Hongdao nodded, his expression full of meaning. “When you have accomplished your heart’s desire, when you have achieved fame—what then?”

Yang Yaozong smiled gently, his smile reminiscent of the master’s own, and sang with equanimity:

“At the world’s end is wind and sand, the tales of mortals become longing. The sword is sheathed, hidden among common folk behind an eastern fence. Idle clouds, wild cranes, ancient temples; swift horses fighting in the martial world, all for the sake of fame and fortune. Those who hold an empire in their hearts cannot be carefree. All I wish is to grow old with her. When the sword is drawn, grievances end with laughter. All I want is to hold her in my arms today. The winds outside the inn cut like knives, rain beats the destiny’s drum. Let others vie for supremacy—I bow only to her. Passing deserted villages and wild bridges, seeking ancient paths beyond the world, far from the clamor of mortal life. Willow fluff drifts; hand in hand, we find freedom.”

Master Hongdao smiled with satisfaction. “For you to have such a mindset is rare indeed. It’s a pity you’re not of the Buddhist order, or I might have taken you as my disciple.”

Yang Yaozong laughed heartily. “Your praise honors me, Master, but I am not pure enough to enter Buddhism.”

Master Hongdao smiled. “We live, perhaps, for fame and fortune, but in death, none of these things can be carried with us. Even this body is not ours after death. Know this: Buddha was once like us; we are future Buddhas. Who says only the pure can enter the gate?”

Yang Yaozong was struck by sudden understanding, yet blushed a little with shyness. “Thank you for your teaching, Master, but my worldly ties are not yet severed…”

Master Hongdao understood his meaning, shaking his head with a smile. “I will not press you, Lord Yang. Though I have spent my life studying Buddhist teachings, I cannot even deliver myself, let alone others. Now even my body is failing, yet the fame I have accrued in this life still clings to me, preventing me from passing on. I wonder who might help me achieve deliverance?”

With these words, Master Hongdao, watched by all, drew upon some unknown strength and slowly rose to his feet, walking outside the hall.

The Emperor, Crown Prince, and Yang Yaozong rose and followed after him.

Master Hongdao went to the highest step outside the hall, where the worshipers parted and then closed in around him, encircling him with their kneeling prayers, leaving the others a short distance away.

Looking at the multitude kneeling at his feet, praying with such devotion, Master Hongdao’s smile carried a trace of helpless bitterness, as if burdened by an inescapable sorrow.

Witnessing this touching scene, Yang Yaozong felt a flash of golden light in his mind. Fixing his gaze on Master Hongdao’s back, he called out loudly, “Master!”

Master Hongdao turned with a gentle smile, his eyes full of kindness and warmth, nodding firmly at Yang Yaozong. He had long been prepared, waiting for whatever Yang Yaozong was about to say.

All held their breath, reluctant yet expectant, watching the two men. At that moment, all of Qixia Mountain seemed to fall silent, as if every living thing awaited the coming of a sacred moment.

At the same time, the long-overcast sky above Dawn Temple slowly parted, a bright rift widening to reveal blue sky, sunlight streaming down, bathing the temple in golden light.

With tears shining in his eyes, Yang Yaozong fixed his gaze on Master Hongdao and called out in a clear, powerful voice, “May I ask, Master, what is your Dharma name?”

At these words, the crowd looked at Yang Yaozong in confusion, but saw Master Hongdao look up at the sky, his wise, Buddha-like smile returning as he gazed gratefully at Yang Yaozong. Then, turning to face the multitude below, he proclaimed in a ringing voice, “Namo Amitabha Buddha!”

As the sound of the Buddha’s name echoed through the mountains, Master Hongdao sat cross-legged, closed his eyes, pressed his palms together, and peacefully passed into nirvana.