Yamaguchi Mingchuan barely slept that night; only around five in the morning did he drift off into a haze. But he had a strange dream: a golden dragon, gleaming with light, entered his room with an enormous white lotus in its jaws. Instantly, the room filled with fragrance. After the dragon dropped the flower before him, it let out a long cry and soared out, the bells on its body chiming with a clarity so pure he suddenly jolted awake. It took him a moment to realize it was the bedside phone ringing; the hotel staff was asking if he wanted breakfast.
After washing up and breakfast, it was past eight. Wu Aizhen called to ask if he wanted to go for morning tea; he said he’d already eaten. She then asked about his schedule. He said he had friends arriving in the afternoon whom he needed to receive, but his morning was free, and he hoped she could accompany him shopping. Wu Aizhen said she would take a cab right away, and since he didn’t know the roads well, he shouldn’t bother to pick her up; he didn’t insist.
Over an hour later, Wu Aizhen entered his hotel room. Yamaguchi Mingchuan was lounging on the bed watching the news. Wu Aizhen was dressed in a yellow-green raw linen outfit—a round-necked top with a half sleeve on one side and no sleeve on the other, an asymmetrical hem bearing a hand-painted flower, and trousers of the same color and fabric. Her hair was pinned up, and she carried a simple cloth bag of nearly the same color, just two pieces of cloth with a zipper and a painted flower on it too. When he first saw her getup, it struck him as a bit odd, something between a Daoist nun and a Buddhist nun, but he said nothing, just studied her with his usual seriousness. Wu Aizhen felt nothing special about her appearance and sat calmly in a chair; her face was serene, her eyes bright, looking as if she’d slept well.
“Traffic was heavy, that’s why it took so long,” she explained. “Did you sleep well here last night?” She looked at Mingchuan’s eyes, obviously lacking sleep.
“Fine. Very quiet.” He sat on the edge of the bed, avoiding her gaze.
“But I had a very strange dream this morning,” he said, and described it to her. “It was so vivid, I can still see every detail.”
“Oh! Buddhists often use the lotus to symbolize a heart that emerges from the mud unsullied, and the lotus also represents purity. For a dragon to bring you a lotus—it must be something good. And such a huge lotus, surely not of this world. All in all, it’s an auspicious dream.” Wu Aizhen interpreted it thoughtfully. But she remembered that she too had dreamed last night of a whole garden of lotuses blooming, their wondrous fragrance overwhelming, each as large as a washbasin. She did not mention this to him.
“A few friends are coming to City A this afternoon. I’d like to invite you to dinner with us this evening, if that’s all right?”
“All right,” she answered lightly.
“But I have a presumptuous request—please don’t take offense. For the dinner party, could you dress a little more formally? Not too casually.”
“Oh? Is your friend the prime minister of Japan? Even if so, one follows local customs—you wouldn’t make me wear a kimono, would you?” she teased. “What exactly do you mean by formal? Tell me.”
“What brand-name clothes do you have?”
“Brand names? None. As you know, I’ve been wandering for years; sometimes I just throw on a piece of cloth and that’s it. Why would I buy brand-name stuff?”
“Then let me pick out a few outfits for you this morning.”
“No need. If it’s that formal, I’d rather not attend your dinner. I’m really no good at socializing.”
“You just agreed to my invitation—how can you go back on it now!”
Wu Aizhen said no more. They went to the most upscale mall in City A, a place she had never set foot in before.
Mingchuan went out of his way to explain in detail the colors, fabric quality, and which brands suited what type of person on what occasions. He helped her pick several outfits from different brands, matching shoes and handbags too. Throughout the shopping, she followed him somewhat passively; as the shopping bags multiplied in her hands, a slight unease and pressure grew in her heart. She wasn’t eager to accept such lavish spending on her behalf, and just thinking about wearing these clothes, carrying such a handbag, and wearing such high heels to some social event exhausted her before she even went. But then she thought about the “dinner” Mingchuan had mentioned—maybe it was very important to him. And she truly didn’t have the means to outfit herself for it. Since he wasn’t spending this money to please her or indulge her personal desires, she felt much more at peace… Two hours later, both she and Mingchuan had their hands full of bags, big and small. When he finally thought they had enough, she estimated it had cost over two hundred thousand yuan, almost two years of her salary. Mingchuan paid for it all without a second thought.
Because she needed to change, they drove back to her apartment. After entering the compound, Mingchuan suggested they eat at a Korean restaurant they passed; Wu Aizhen agreed.
She watched as Mingchuan devoured two plates of grilled ox tongue and a large stone-pot rice bowl like a gale sweeping the clouds away—this man had an appetite. But maybe influenced by him, or genuinely hungry from the morning of shopping, she ate much more than usual too.
After lunch, climbing the stairs to the fifth floor, her greatest wish was to collapse onto that comfortable bed. But looking at Mingchuan, she dismissed the thought.
Mingchuan still seemed full of energy. By the time Wu Aizhen emerged from the bedroom in casual clothes, he had already made himself at home, boiling water and brewing tea.
The tea table was set against a wall; there were only three sides left for seating. Wu Aizhen usually sat with her back to the wall. But Mingchuan didn’t sit there; instead, his broad figure blocked the path to that seat. Wu Aizhen felt awkward squeezing past him, so she sat down beside him.
Smiling, he watched her drink a cup of tea. Then he said, “How many years have you been a psychologist?”
“Almost six now.”
“Is it tiring?”
“If you love the profession, you don’t feel the hardship.”
“I remember a joke about psychologists.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“One day, a famous psychologist’s clinic received a patient suffering from depression. The psychologist used every experience and method he had to counsel him, but nothing changed. Looking at the patient’s tormented eyes and deeply furrowed brow, the psychologist finally told him to go watch a performance by a certain very famous comedian in the country, saying it might help. The patient lowered his head, and after a long while looked up, eyes brimming with tears, and said, ‘Doctor, unfortunately, I am that comedian.'”
“I’ve heard that joke,” Wu Aizhen said with a smile.
“What you just said is far funnier than my joke!” Mingchuan poured tea with a straight face.
Wu Aizhen burst out laughing.
“There was a case in Japan of a female psychologist who killed herself over a failed romance. Commentary said she had cured many patients of lovesickness, but couldn’t heal herself.”
“Haven’t you heard the saying ‘a doctor can’t treat himself’?” she quipped.
“Let me ask you a question. If you had a patient who was deeply clinging to emotion, traumatized by a broken heart, how would you treat him? Tell me about your methods.”
“Let me give you an example. There was a male patient, twenty-six, brought in by his mother. She said her son had had two relationships that both ended for various reasons, and because of it he’d become a little off. The main symptom: he often woke in the middle of the night, dressed neatly, shouldered his pack, and declared he was going far away to find the lover he’d been waiting a thousand years for. No one could dissuade him; he insisted he and she had agreed a thousand years ago to meet in this life. He could no longer wait quietly for her to come—he had to go find her. Maybe she was already on the road; they would surely meet… At that moment, I looked at the young man sitting before me. Prolonged sleeplessness and emotional torment had left him pale, his hair a mess, his large eyes dull but fixed stubbornly on me. While his mother described his condition, he paid no attention, as if the whole world had nothing to do with him, as if whatever anyone said didn’t matter. He was immersed in his clinging thoughts, convinced he was sacredly fulfilling a vow of a thousand years. He stared intently at me, and I felt he was hoping someone could understand him—that maybe he thought I could.
“I didn’t avoid his gaze. I said plainly, ‘I believe you have a thousand-year rendezvous.’
“At that, his eyes instantly grew animated, and hot tears poured out; he began to sob. Once he’d calmed down, I added, ‘But you know, in today’s world, there are so many temptations. Very few people can keep a vow of “till the seas dry up and the rocks crumble, my heart will not change.” Even if you two have a thousand-year pact, and in this lifetime you’ve both been born as man and woman to renew that bond, can you be sure you’ll stay together till old age? Can you guarantee her heart won’t be stained at all, won’t be lured by fame or profit, that you won’t part when adversity strikes? In reality, there is no such pure love as you imagine.’
“‘Nonsense! Nonsense! She wouldn’t! She wouldn’t be tempted! She’s been waiting for me all along; she’s been guarding that love!’
“The young man was angry, cold and adamant as he spoke.
“‘Oh! Maybe she wouldn’t, but you’ve already had two romances—doesn’t that mean you’ve already changed your heart?’
“‘I—I!’ The boy grew flustered; sweat beaded on his forehead as he twisted restlessly in his chair.
“‘If you could, why wouldn’t she?’ I suddenly said loudly.
“The boy froze, as if startled by my authority and certainty. Then he suddenly wailed, ‘Has she married someone else? I knew she’d married someone else. Otherwise, why can’t I find her? All my longing has been in vain…’ He left crying loudly. I heard that afterward he no longer went looking for her in the middle of the night. He told his mother, ‘I know she’s married. She must be married. Since she’s heartless, I owe her nothing.’ He stayed home, listening to music and reading. His mother also sought treatment from a Chinese medicine doctor. Four months later, he was back to normal and working again.
“One day, his mother came rushing back, saying her son was in love again. She was terrified, asking if his illness would return. I had no answer; I could only comfort the old woman. I felt the son might not get sick again, but the mother was close to breaking down. How pitiful, a parent’s heart…”
Wu Aizhen’s eyes grew moist as she spoke. Before her rose the image of that young man’s focused, clinging, hopeless eyes, and the mother’s earnest, child-loving heart—her own heart trembled faintly. She fell silent for a moment, and a tear slid down her cheek. “If love is shallow and the bond is faint, living inside a dream of a thousand-year rendezvous might be a kind of emotional refuge after all. Why did I have to wake him?” she said softly, suddenly melancholy.
Mingchuan turned, shifted his stool, and pulled her into his arms. He gently kissed her forehead, her eyes, and drank in her tears. In her ear he whispered, “The Dharma transcends time and space. Past, present, and future all manifest at once. The farthest horizon is right before your eyes; a thousand years is this very moment. Your patient didn’t understand, but I do. The lover you’ve waited a thousand years for is right here beside you. Why then are you so sorrowful…”
Wu Aizhen leaned against his broad left arm, her cheek pressed to his chest, hearing his strong heartbeat. A subtle fragrance emanated from his tender kisses and warm embrace, spreading gradually. She felt bathed in warm sunlight, her heart growing hot, warm, sweet—perhaps it was something her heart had once longed for. As he kissed her, he gently stroked her face and body with one hand, and she seemed truly lost in an emotional dream that had taken a thousand years to arrive. She felt both of them were lost, wordlessly pouring out all their longing…
Suddenly, she jolted awake from the dream. Mingchuan’s breathing had quickened slightly; he was trying to lift her and carry her toward the bedroom. She pushed him away and left his embrace…
His gaze was dazed; he no longer looked at her. Wu Aizhen stood up, straightened her rumpled clothes, and sat in the seat where she usually brewed tea. She felt her cheeks flushing. For a moment, both were silent.
The room was remarkably quiet; only the two goldfish in the corner tank could be heard popping bubbles—perhaps they were whispering to each other…
After a long pause, Wu Aizhen broke the silence. “Let me tell you a joke too,” she said.
Mingchuan had also regained his composure. He raised his eyes to look at her, his gaze full of deep affection yet tinged with a trace of inexplicable, teeth-gnashing hatred and confusion…
Without much concern for what was on his mind, Wu Aizhen dropped a little fish food into the tank and said slowly,
“Once there were two fish in an aquarium, one red and one black, having a conversation. The red fish said, ‘I’m beginning to believe in God.’ The black fish asked, ‘What makes you say that?’ The red fish, with a scornful air, said proudly, ‘Isn’t it obvious? Our dirty water gets changed on time every day. If God doesn’t do it, who does?'”
Yamaguchi Mingchuan gave a faint smile, rubbed his still-flushed face with both hands, and looked at Wu Aizhen with tender eyes. “I have always believed in God with all my heart,” he said, “but every time I need him most, he vanishes without a trace. I’m nearly disappointed. If this goes on much longer, I will change my faith.”
“If a small matter like that can make you change your faith, then you aren’t truly devout. You have to understand, God possesses not only love but also the wisdom that sees through everything. It’s the union of wisdom and love. You ought to get to know God a little better—understanding plus devotion, and only then will God be with you at every moment.”
After she spoke, Wu Aizhen looked at Yamaguchi Mingchuan with clear eyes. “I’m a bit tired from shopping. Would you sit in meditation with me for a while? Let’s go to the study.” Without waiting for his answer, she stood up and offered him her hand. He smiled and took it. “Is this cultivating Chan samadhi?” “You know about Chan samadhi?” “I have a few friends in Japan who are monastics.” Wu Aizhen, as if leading a child, kept talking as she drew him into the study.
Wu Aizhen fetched another meditation cushion from the study balcony, pushed the red lounge chair a little closer to the window, brought out the cushion from under the offering table as well, set the two cushions in place, and then sat down facing Yamaguchi Mingchuan. He sat very well: back naturally straight, shoulders dropped, both hands resting palms-up on his knees, chest slightly hollowed, back lifted, the crown of his head rising as if suspended—apart from some stiffness when he crossed his legs, he hardly seemed a stranger to sitting meditation. Wu Aizhen said, “The most important thing when you first sit is relaxation; posture comes second. But you do need to cross your legs—loose cross, half-lotus, or full-lotus, any of them works. A little stiffness doesn’t matter; it will ease with time.”
“Loosen up a bit more.” She reached over and patted his shoulder. “Your neck needs to relax. And press the tip of your tongue against the roof of your mouth.” She opened her mouth to demonstrate the tongue’s position. “Let your mind grow still. Observe your thoughts as they come and go, flowing past you like a current of water, or visualize yourself sitting not in this room but in the vast, empty cosmos.”
After watching him settle into a relaxed posture, Wu Aizhen thought to herself that with Yamaguchi Mingchuan’s natural calm, he might enter a state of samadhi very quickly. She, too, closed her eyes and began to sit.
Yamaguchi Mingchuan closed his eyes, embarking on his very first sitting meditation. He tried to quiet himself. Slowly, ever so slowly, his thoughts grew fewer and his breathing lighter. He felt his heart turning colder along with the stillness. Suddenly, he felt himself placed in a stretch of darkness—to be precise, a kind of void filled with a dark light, a light that was deathly still and suffocating. He sensed time howling past him like a whirlwind, rushing toward a vast black hole. All at once he was pulled in, swept along by the wind of that speed, powerless to resist. His heart struggled desperately in the darkness. He saw that everything was being disintegrated inside that black hole. This was no return to life—it was annihilation! It was death! At last he cried out in despair, “Ah! No!”
He opened his eyes with a start, pulling out of the samadhi. Across from him, Wu Aizhen was watching him with concern. “I just saw a black hole and a dark stretch of space-time,” he said, still shaken.
“Oh, that’s a mind-demon. Let me teach you a mantra. When you sit, silently recite the three syllables ‘Om! Ah! Hum!’ in your mind, and you won’t be afraid anymore. I also have a recording of a Tibetan Buddhist Dharma teacher chanting them. You can sit while listening.” As she spoke, Wu Aizhen went to her desk, took out an MP4 player, and placed it on the floor between her and Yamaguchi Mingchuan. A rough, powerful male voice rang out, repeating the three syllables “Om! Ah! Hum!” over and over. Wu Aizhen signaled for him to sit a while longer, then settled back onto her cushion and closed her eyes again.
He shook his head, pushed the earlier state out of his mind, and began anew to quiet down. Gradually, he felt himself, carried by the sound of the mantra, enter a state beyond the self. He found himself immersed in a boundless, empty expanse of light. Within that bright light, innumerable vibrating Om, Ah, Hum pulsed like countless leaping musical notes. They underwent transformational birth from the light and returned to the light. His ears were filled with the sound of Buddhist chants and symphonic music. In that light and sound, he dissolved and vanished, entering a kind of ecstasy and supreme bliss…
He did not know how much time had passed when he opened his eyes. The cushion before him was empty—Wu Aizhen was no longer on it. He sat alone in the study. Slowly, he stretched out his numb legs. His mind felt clear and refreshed, and his whole body seemed charged with energy. When he clenched his fists, his fingers even felt slightly swollen. He looked around, gradually returning to full awareness from the meditative state, but his legs were too numb to stand, so he remained on the cushion, his mind turning over and over the two states he had experienced, curious and perplexed. Just then, he looked up and saw those two characters again: “Chan Spirit.” Sunlight fell on the lower half of the character Chan. He stared fixedly, and suddenly it seemed as though the character Chan was smiling at him from within the light. An inexplicable fear rose in his heart. The MP4 player had long since switched off. The room was quiet; only a clock on the desk ticked steadily on. All at once the room felt strange to him, and a touch of dread crept in. At that moment Wu Aizhen walked back in. She had already changed into one of the dresses they had bought together. “Have you come out of sitting?” she asked, tucking the cushion at her feet back under the offering table. “You sat very well! You didn’t see the black hole this time, did you?” “No, but I saw light and leaping notes, and I heard music!” “Excellent! You’ve cultivated samadhi power right in the midst of worldly dust—entering a meditative state the moment you sit and even giving rise to light and images out of that concentration. You’re no worse than someone who devotes themselves to Chan samadhi on a cushion all day.” “But why were the two states so starkly different?” “Good and evil are but a single thought apart. A person whose heart is full of love and sunlight will encounter more beautiful, joyful realms in meditative states. If, on the contrary, a person is usually cold and callous, then terrifying, hateful realms tend to appear. Some states are illusory images left behind by traces in the mind across many lives; others are scenes from different dimensions of the Three Realms sensed by the mind. Whether they are sensed by the mind or are a jumble of dreamlike images, they are nothing but transformations of the Dharma Realm. For an ordinary cultivator, if in Chan samadhi you cannot yet let go of both self and world, and if after emerging from samadhi you remain confused by the people and events before you, unable to unravel their causes and conditions on your own, then simply ignore them. Treat them as mirages, observe them from a distance, and everything will slowly change. In samadhi, do not make distinctions between good and evil, beautiful and ugly. If terror often arises during meditation, it’s best not to close your eyes when sitting—you can half-close your eyes or hold a mantra; both will help. Your life experience may have more of the darker side, which is why that earlier state appeared. Sometimes, when the mind is too shadowed, even suddenly glimpsing joy or a wholesome realm in samadhi can give rise to terror. Still, there are few people who can reach such states on their very first sitting as you have. I hope you will persist in meditating. It will greatly help regulate both body and mind. I’ll pick out a few more Buddhist books for you to take with you and read—all right?” By now Wu Aizhen was standing in front of the bookcase.
“All right!” Yamaguchi Mingchuan had risen and was straightening his clothes. Wu Aizhen selected roughly a dozen or so books from the bookcase and put them into a plastic bag.
“Do you have a special response when you look at this piece of calligraphy?”
“Oh! It’s like seeing the Master himself,” Wu Aizhen replied. She was still wondering whether to take a few more books and paid no attention to his question. It seemed to him that she already understood all of Yamaguchi Mingchuan’s inner doubts and found nothing about them strange. Perhaps she lived every day in just such an exceptional state, he thought. Wu Aizhen, still facing the bookcase, continued searching for books suitable for him. Her expression was focused and serene; the tone of her reply was also very plain.
At last she had gathered all the books and packed them together. Only then did she raise her head and see Yamaguchi Mingchuan watching her. She gave him a radiant smile. She seemed to have freshened up: her hair was swept up into a high, perfectly smooth chignon, her face lightly powdered, and the long white dress, though made of a somewhat heavy fabric, was sleek and soft, following the lines of her body all the way to her ankles. Her figure was a little on the plump side and looked full. The skin of her arms was fair and delicate, resting on the bag of books. Yamaguchi Mingchuan said, “The dress is all right.” Wu Aizhen lowered her head and gently tugged at the neckline with her fingers. “Isn’t the neckline cut a little too low?” “No, it’s just right. But what flower is this?” As he spoke, Yamaguchi Mingchuan reached out to touch her waist. The hem of the dress was patterned with tulips, several of which swept upward at an angle, climbing all the way to the left side of her waist.
Wu Aizhen pushed his hand away and said with a laugh, “A gentleman uses his words, not his hands.”
But Yamaguchi Mingchuan pulled her into his arms anyway and kissed her forehead.
“It’s already four o’clock. Should we go to the hotel first and wait for them?”
“Oh, they should be arriving any moment now…”
They had barely taken their seats at the Kaila Grand Hotel when Mingchuan’s friends arrived, escorted by the same heavyset, broad-shouldered driver from the day before: three men and two women. Only the Japanese interpreter was Chinese; the rest were Japanese. The Japanese women bowed to Wu Aizhen and Yamaguchi Mingchuan with impeccable politeness, and Wu Aizhen returned the courtesy just as formally, mirroring their every gesture. She strove to appear perfectly composed. Even putting aside any concern for Yamaguchi Mingchuan’s dignity, she could not afford to embarrass Chinese women. Once everyone was seated, Yamaguchi Mingchuan introduced Wu Aizhen to the guests. Besides the name Mayumi, which Keiko had mentioned before, Wu Aizhen forgot every other name the moment she heard it. Mayumi was about her age, with ear-length hair, an oval face with slightly thin cheeks, narrow eyes, a small mouth, and a delicate, sharp nose. When she smiled, she revealed neat white teeth, her eyes curved into crescents, and a tiny dimple appeared on the left side of her chin. Wu Aizhen took an immediate liking to her. Mayumi, in turn, seemed to pay particular attention to the Chinese woman seated beside Yamaguchi Mingchuan and kept stealing glances at her. Whenever her eyes happened to meet Wu Aizhen’s, she gave a shy, quick smile. She said little, merely eating a small bowl of shark’s fin soup with quiet, refined spoonfuls. The other woman was a bit older and slightly plump, yet her skin was fair and clear, and her short, softly permed hair looked as freshly set as if she had just stepped out of a salon. Below that hair were a round face and round eyes, with a mouth and nose that were each just right—like a pampered cat living a life of ease. She was decked out in jewelry and finery. As for the brand or fabric of her clothes, Wu Aizhen was just as clueless as ever. While sipping her soup, the woman listened to the conversation between Yamaguchi Mingchuan and a male guest, only occasionally glancing at Wu Aizhen with a polite nod by way of greeting. She carried an air of dignity and prestige.
Unable to understand Japanese, after sizing up the female guests, Wu Aizhen turned her attention to the men. The tall, heavyset one was Mingchuan’s driver. Beside him sat the Chinese interpreter, a typical southerner: somewhat short, with high cheekbones and a broad face. He was whispering something to the driver. The man seated next to the interpreter caught Wu Aizhen’s eye. He had a striking look and gave the immediate impression of being highly intelligent, an expert at reading faces and moods, a capable and efficient operator—not quite forty. When he saw Wu Aizhen looking at him, he nodded at her with a smile that wasn’t quite a smile. Under the lamplight, his smiling eyes seemed at first glance to brim with tender feeling, but Wu Aizhen noticed that while his eyes appeared to smile, his face and mouth did not move in the slightest.
Wu Aizhen couldn’t help scrutinizing him more carefully. She noticed a few red veins in the whites of his eyes, as if he hadn’t rested enough. He was leaning forward intently, listening very carefully to what Yamaguchi was saying to another person, occasionally laughing along with their conversation. The bloodshot eyes made his eyeballs seem to bulge slightly under the lights, but Wu Aizhen felt a vague unease. Suddenly, she realized what was causing it: beneath that gaze that seemed to brim with tender feeling there was a lethal intent, like a leopard cat that looks gentle at first glance—cat-like on the outside, but inside hiding the leopard’s cunning and cruelty. Right now he was gazing at Yamaguchi with that “tender” smile, and Yamaguchi remained oblivious. The man talking with Yamaguchi next to him looked around forty-five, with a long face and stiff hair that was neatly combed back, streaked with some white. His eyes were single-lidded, a little small, but they shot out a sharp light; even when he smiled, the sharpness in those eyes was aggressive, without making the slightest effort to hide it. His skin wasn’t great—fine little pockmarks on his face—and his beard was shaved close, leaving a bluish shadow. From his bearing, Wu Aizhen thought he looked like a politician. Having sized everyone up, she couldn’t understand what they were talking about and felt a bit lonely. As she ate, she discreetly scanned each person at the table and felt they weren’t paying much attention to her. Was Yamaguchi using this as an excuse to buy her clothes? Apart from the plump woman who was dressed somewhat more “ceremoniously,” everyone else was dressed rather casually; she didn’t know if their clothes were brand names, but they were definitely not dressed to impress. Whatever, she thought; since she was here, no matter whether Yamaguchi was telling the truth or not, she would play this part well for him. She sat there with reserve, making every effort to project an air and demeanor like a proud swan, not an ugly duckling…
The social obligation was finally over. Apart from Mayumi, who gave her hand an extremely friendly squeeze when they parted, everyone else merely nodded and smiled. The language barrier made Wu Aizhen wish even more that the performance would end quickly. Once the two cars carrying them finally disappeared into the sea of traffic, Wu Aizhen immediately felt like a deflated ball. In three quick strides she was at the door of Yamaguchi’s car. Yamaguchi seemed deeply preoccupied; he got in and continued to brood alone. After the car had been moving for a while, he turned his head to look at Wu Aizhen, who was leaning against the backrest, looking languid. “Tired? You performed brilliantly today. Even Yokichiro praised you.”
“The one with white hair?”
“Oh! You’ve paid close attention. Yes.”
“Is he a politician?”
Yamaguchi looked at Wu Aizhen in surprise. “You’re good—you caught that too. A rising star in political circles. An old fox,” he said coldly.
“Who’s the one next to him?”
“You mean Taro Harano?”
“I can’t remember his name. Anyway, apart from the driver and the translator, he’s the one left.”
“He’s one of my men. Used to be my deputy, along with Keisuke.”
“Your man?” Wu Aizhen murmured, repeating the words. “There’s murder in that one’s eyes. He’s terrifying. You need to be careful.” As she said it, she recalled how she had once warned Ren Qingfei to be careful of Mi Lang.
Yamaguchi laughed, took Wu Aizhen’s hand and kissed it. “Don’t worry. They can’t slip out of my grip. Didn’t you once call me ‘demon king’? Would a demon king be afraid of murderous intent? Keiko tells me that in Buddhism the demon king is said to possess power on the level of a tenth-ground bodhisattva.”
“That’s the lord of the Desire Realm heavens. A demon king in the human world represents the dark side of human nature—the embodiment of evil forces.”
“So in your eyes I’m a demon king of the human world! But am I really that bad?” He turned his head and deliberately gave her a lecherous look.
“Your true colors haven’t fully shown themselves yet.” Wu Aizhen closed her eyes and pretended not to notice…
“You’re sharp! Still, I see you as the representative of human goodness. The Dharma says: The eyes reflect what the mind contains. If there were no evil in your mind, how would you see my evil?”
“I didn’t say there’s no evil in my mind. But I try to present my good side to the world, and you—you’re just the opposite.”
“Oh? Is that so? I’d like to see, in this human world, who comes out on top—evil or good.”
“Good prevails over evil.” Wu Aizhen said it firmly. Yamaguchi laughed. “Judging by how serious you are, you’ve already lost. You’re clinging to appearances.”
“Your study of the Dharma has come a long way—you’ve got a whole set of glib Zen sayings.”
“You flatter me. I have some monk friends back in Japan, though before I only went to their place to unwind over tea. I still picked up a few glib Zen phrases. Since getting back to Macau from Tibet, I’ve read a lot on the subject. With my aptitude, I don’t think these principles are hard to grasp.”
“Wow! A moment ago you were modest, and now you’re full of yourself.” As Wu Aizhen spoke, her mind was elsewhere—she was thinking about how the Keisuke case had been handled. But she didn’t dare ask, afraid that a bloody truth would come out and she wouldn’t be able to sleep that night. She didn’t cling to appearances, but her imagination was far too vivid.
“Who were those two women?”
“Mayumi’s father is Yokichiro’s direct superior. She’s now teaching at Keiko’s university. The other, Michiko, is Yokichiro’s wife.”
“Keiko told me Mayumi is very fond of you.”
“Keiko said that? There are too many women who are fond of me.”
“Mayumi made a very good impression on me.”
“Just a selfish, narcissistic little woman.”
“Where are they staying? Same hotel as you?”
“No, they’re staying somewhere else.”
“Are they leaving tomorrow?”
“Yes!”
“Are you leaving with them? Back to Macau or back to Japan?”
“I’m not leaving yet. Would you like me to leave as soon as possible?” he asked, expressionless.
“That’s not something I control.”
“My coming or going is now up to you,” Yamaguchi said. Wu Aizhen remained silent.
“If you’re not leaving, I’ll take you to Luofu Mountain tomorrow for a visit. There are lots of Daoist temples there, and Buddhist monasteries too. Didn’t you say back in Tibet that you wanted to see some Chinese Daoist temples?”
“We won’t have time until after you see them off tomorrow morning.”
“Then I won’t go to see them off tomorrow.”
“All right, you’ve been put through enough. But to be honest, having you here cheers me up. Even when we’re plotting something bad, it doesn’t seem so dark.”
“Are you plotting something bad?”
“How could that be? For us, it’s a very good thing.”
“A thing built on other people’s suffering can’t count as good.”
“Do you understand what the underworld and political circles are?”
“No. But even underworld and political affairs should accord with the Way of the human world, shouldn’t they? Otherwise, when evil reaches its limit, it destroys itself.”
“The underworld has a yin and a yang side too. How can it not accord with the Way? Isn’t the Way present everywhere?”
“From the perspective of the Dharma Realm, that’s true. I’m talking about human society: the ‘Way’ that people follow must accord with human moral norms and ethical standards. Humanity is supposed to punish evil and promote good.”
“Can good and evil be separated that clearly?”
“There’s a broad standard, not a matter of individual private feeling. For instance, killing someone without reason is evil.”
“Who kills without reason?”
“Killing someone at will just to satisfy a selfish desire or vent anger—that’s failing to abide by society’s moral norms. That’s evil.”
“Society’s rules of the game are made by people and enforced by people. And people all have private feelings, so many rules aren’t as fair as they seem. What looks good on the surface is all backstage darkness. When you don’t know the real facts, standing there judging right and wrong and good and evil—isn’t that a little naive and childish?”
“No matter how much darkness lies behind the scenes, the surface rules of human society are still meant to protect the interests of the majority. Even if people don’t follow them, the rule of promoting good doesn’t change. And if people do too many unkind and unjust things, there’s karmic retribution. Heaven’s net is cast wide; its mesh is coarse, but nothing slips through.”
“What about ‘lay down the butcher’s knife and become a Buddha on the spot’? Where does cause and effect show up there?”
“That refers to the supremely wicked—people who kill as easily as cutting grass and leave no trace in their minds. If they can turn toward good in a single thought, they can instantly realize the truth of emptiness. It also points to the fact that everyone has Buddha nature. But such supremely wicked people are rare. Moreover, being human, everyone leaves a trace behind. People are born good by nature; God did not create us with evil faces and bared fangs. No matter how bad a person’s heart gets, their original nature still yearns for good, yearns for love. This yearning that cannot be extinguished will eventually lead them to abandon evil and turn toward good. This is what the Dharma means when it says everyone can ultimately realize Buddhahood. In the human realm, you cannot achieve realization through evil. Even though there is the saying ‘become a Buddha on the spot,’ the prerequisite is still ‘lay down the butcher’s knife’—that ‘lay down’ shows the person has suddenly awakened and understood their karmic offenses. Even if they can still attain Buddhahood, they cannot fail to understand the principle of cause and effect. When they later manifest in the human world, karmic retribution will still follow like a shadow. It’s just that once their mind is completely realized, though ordinary eyes see that as undergoing retribution, because they have personally penetrated the truth of emptiness, their ‘mind’ does not actually receive it. Yet they still must follow the human way and manifest the appearance of undergoing retribution. Take, for example, the Buddha’s cousin who once tried to harm the Buddha and fell into hell. Ananda begged the Buddha to save him. The Buddha said he would not come out; he was enjoying the bliss of the third dhyāna heaven right there in hell. Ananda didn’t believe it, so the Buddha took him to hell to see for himself. The cousin said to Ananda: ‘Can a Buddha fall into hell?’ Ananda said, ‘No.’ He said, ‘Neither can I.’ Yet in the eyes of sentient beings, he still manifested the appearance of falling into hell. Or take a certain Tulku in Tibet. While propagating the Dharma he had a disagreement with a first-ground bodhisattva. That bodhisattva’s level of realization was not complete, but he had considerable influence. In order to fulfill his mission of spreading the Dharma within his own lifetime, the Tulku had to use mantra sorcery to kill him first. Though he himself was a transformation body of Mañjuśrī Bodhisattva, at the time of his death he still had to enter hell for one kṣaṇa to manifest the retribution for killing a first-ground bodhisattva. Even the Buddha himself, during his time in the human world, manifested the appearance of receiving karmic retribution. The level of realization, merit, and blessings of such people is beyond our reckoning, yet they too must manifest in the six paths the appearance of undergoing retribution. So in the human world, cause and effect is never off by a hair. You can’t escape it even if you become a Buddha.”
“Then how does the retribution work? Does the Dharma also say a life for a life?”
“The law is like that—no country allows people to kill on a whim. The law of cause and effect in the Dharma extends across lifetime after lifetime of grievances and affinities, but each person must constantly ask themselves: have I done too many things that shame my conscience? If it’s already too many, you should wake up. Once you’ve used up your blessings, the bitter fruit will ripen.”
“That sounds terrifying.”
“There’s an old Chinese saying: If you haven’t done anything shameful, you won’t fear ghosts knocking at your door in the dead of night. The Heart Sutra says: when you awaken to emptiness, because the mind has no impediments, therefore there is no fear. As a human being, all you need are these two things: first, don’t do shameful things—be able to face yourself and others, and abide by the moral standards of being human; second, awaken to the Dharma’s truth of emptiness. These two things can both take you beyond a state of terror.”
“What you say makes sense, but life isn’t that simple. There are so many things people can’t choose—you can’t just do what you want and not do what you don’t want.”
“I’m just an armchair strategist. How to choose to live your life is your business, but you can’t not understand the principles. Once you understand the principles, even when cause and effect arrive, you can accept it calmly and not suffer too much.” Wu Aizhen spoke with a note of sorrow.
“Sometimes I find your mournful, compassionate expression very amusing. In Tibet, when you were so sick you could barely take care of yourself, you still kept lecturing Keiko about those grand principles of delivering all sentient beings. Do you think that’s how you deliver all beings? Who’s really going to follow you and do it? I have several thousand brothers under me, and they take my every order—if I say east, they wouldn’t go west. Do you know why they obey me? Because I can give them all the pleasures they want: beautiful women, money, all of it. If you want to deliver people, you have to follow their nature. Only then will they accept it and obey. The moment you open your mouth, you’re telling people to purify their minds and curb their desires, to go vegetarian, to stop drinking, no sleeping around, no gambling, to treat fame and fortune lightly. Who’s going to listen? Even if they know what you say makes sense, so what? People have desires. Who doesn’t want to enjoy themselves? The desire for enjoyment is just as strong as the yearning for love you talk about. Who would willingly suffer through this life just to be happy in the next life?”
“The Dharma isn’t only about happiness in a future life. It lets you attain happiness in this very life! And if you achieve realization, you’re happy life after life!”
“But people only live a few decades. If you spend half that time cultivating and trying to grasp the Buddha’s principles, there’s almost no time left for enjoyment.”
“You can enjoy yourself right within cultivation. Do you think cultivation is all suffering and no joy?”
“I didn’t mean that. I’m only saying that cultivating the Way goes against human nature.”
“Those entertainments that follow your natural inclinations only lead people to degenerate and in the end plunge into the abyss of suffering. How long can unbridled indulgence, eating, drinking, visiting brothels, and gambling last? Even if the heart is willing, the body cannot bear it—perhaps a few decades of pleasure. Besides, all that requires huge amounts of money, which drives some people to take desperate risks for the sake of enjoyment, doing things that harm others and harm the country. And it’s nothing new for people to lose everything at gambling and kill themselves. Practicing the Buddha Dharma, on the other hand, may only involve ten or so years of hardship. Daily life may be a little austere and lonely. But once a person penetrates and personally realizes the Buddha’s truth, how can the joy of body and mind even be compared to worldly pleasures? Moreover, the merit and blessings that come with one person’s attainment not only purify the cosmic field and purify the social atmosphere, they can also be dedicated to one’s family and friends, like a sweet rain that falls everywhere so that all things are moistened alike. This kind of undertaking that benefits both self and others is what a great man does; living this way means a person hasn’t lived a human life in vain, hasn’t wasted the intelligence that distinguishes humans from other animals—and it is also truly in accord with human nature. Human thought and wisdom dictate that a person cannot live merely to satisfy desires. Satisfying desires is only the lowest human requirement; once that requirement is met, a person begins to need spiritual pursuits. In this human world, only humans are willing to give up every kind of desire and even their lives for the sake of spiritual pursuits. And attaining “love” is the most fundamental purpose of the spiritual dimension. No matter what a person pursues or believes, only after obtaining “great love” does the heart become at peace, without any more doubts about life, and only then does the restless mind suddenly come to rest, only then does the heart feel it has come home. But everything in this world is impermanent, including human emotion and consciousness, which change kshana by kshana. Therefore, to attain this highest purpose on the spiritual plane, a person must search from within, turn around, and look inside their own heart. That journey of seeking “love” in one’s own heart is the cultivation and realization of the Buddha Dharma. If a person cannot find this “love of great loving-kindness and compassion” from within, then even if they become a high official or earn more money than they could ever spend, their heart will not have a moment’s peace, their heart will never be content. This is true not only for humans, but for all sentient beings throughout the Six Paths of Rebirth. Yet humans, among the Six Paths, are the ones best equipped with the conditions for this “search for love.” If a person loses this human body, who knows how long they will wander through the cycle of rebirth before they are once again endowed with this supremely wondrous causal connection that can bring peace to the heart life after life. Therefore, those who hear the Buddha Dharma and take up cultivation and realization are the wise among humans, the ones possessed of blessings among humans. And seeking “love” means letting one’s wandering heart come home. No one is willing to let their heart wander homeless forever—not even the demon king is an exception. One day, he too will lay down the butcher’s knife—the demon king’s heart also wants to go home.”
“Maybe you’re right. It’s just that my thirst for this ‘love’ and my power of comprehending the Dharma haven’t yet reached the point where I can ‘lay down the butcher’s knife.’ Satisfying desire still comes first for me.”
“Only when your heart comes home will your desires be truly satisfied. Otherwise, satisfaction sought from outside will only inflate your desires. Even a cultivator is no exception.”
“Maybe. Thank you for your patient and earnest teaching. I hope you’ll first get your body fully healthy before you worry about anything else.” Wu Aizhen said nothing more.
The car had reached Wu Aizhen’s doorstep.
“Are you going to invite me up to sit for a while?” Yamaguchi Mingchuan asked, perfectly straight-faced.
“It’s too late. Go back and rest. We’ll be in touch tomorrow!”
“Alright! Good night!” Yamaguchi Mingchuan kissed Wu Aizhen on the forehead. He didn’t leave until he saw the light come on in her fifth-floor window. Then he drove off and merged into the brilliantly lit nighttime city. Watching the ceaseless stream of people enjoying the nightlife, watching this city as bustling and sleepless as Osaka, Japan—in the midst of it all, for the first time he felt like lifting his head to look overhead. Perhaps in the sky above, in the unseen, there really was an eye watching everybody, and that eye was “Cause and Effect.”
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