A few days later, Wu Aizhen needed to return to City A to help a friend with some matters, and a publisher wanted to meet with her about one of her own books, which was about to be released. When she told Akikawa about it, he stayed silent. But Wu Aizhen said she had already made the appointment. He gave her one week, because he wanted to go to Thailand with her. “I’ll come pick you up next Friday afternoon. Whatever else you have going on, I’m bringing you back.” He was overbearing about it; Wu Aizhen nodded and agreed. Keiko wanted to go back to City A with her. Mayumi said she was too tired, didn’t want to travel any more, and would stay in Macau to rest.
Back in City A, Wu Aizhen threw herself into a flurry of tasks. Keiko often went out to see Ren Qingfei and came back very late at night; Wu Aizhen never even had a chance to ask her what she had been up to those days. On Friday, having finally put everything temporarily in order, she got a call from Ren Qingfei, asking her to lunch at Feitian. He hoped she would come alone and not bring Keiko — he said there were some things he wanted to talk about with her privately. Wu Aizhen agreed.
At noon she made an early lunch for Keiko and said she was going out to discuss something with Ren Qingfei. She told her to eat and wait at home for her return, because Akikawa was coming that afternoon and she would be back as quickly as she could. But Keiko was visibly unhappy. Wu Aizhen didn’t dwell on it; she assumed Keiko and Ren Qingfei had quarreled or had some misunderstanding — the kind of thing that passes in no time, like a child’s mood. She still hadn’t seen Ren Qingfei since she’d gotten back.
When she left for Feitian, she took the copy of the Vajra Sutra with the flower petals tucked inside. She remembered the dream she’d once had, in which Ren Qingfei held the book in his hands looking overjoyed. She no longer felt the slightest resentment toward him. She only wanted him to be happy.
When she hurried into Feitian, Ren Qingfei was already there, had already been waiting a while. He had grown thin, his face darkly tanned. Wu Aizhen felt a pang in her heart. She didn’t know how the Little Shramanera had made it through the turmoil of Zheng Meiqin or that storm of love. She knew he couldn’t resist temptation, but his heart was simple and trusting, and he often did things that hurt himself, landing himself in positions where he seemed faithless and dishonorable.
The moment Ren Qingfei saw Wu Aizhen, he suddenly wanted to cry, and he fought to hold it back. Ever since they had parted, he had often thought of how heartbroken she had looked, pictured her weeping, remembered the loss and sorrow he had brought her. Even when he was being tender with Zheng Meiqin, these images would surface in his mind.
Their eyes met, but for a moment neither knew what to say. “Did you and Keiko have a falling-out? She doesn’t seem very happy. I know she’s been with you this whole time.”
“Oh — no.” Ren Qingfei dropped his eyes, as though he didn’t really want to discuss it, but after a pause he said frankly, “Keiko told me she likes me. I just turned her down.” Wu Aizhen was startled. How could she have been so careless? She should have seen this coming — Keiko’s directness in matters of the heart was something she’d already witnessed in Tibet. But this time, Keiko didn’t seem to have shaken it off as freely as she had in Tibet.
“What exactly does their family do in Japan — do you know? How did you get so entangled with them? You used to always remind me to think twice before doing anything, and now you’re even more reckless than I am. That Mayumi puts on a show of humility and gentleness, but she’s a complete fake — can’t you see it? Everything she says and does is just for show. Keiko seems innocent and straightforward on the outside, but she’s full of anger inside, and she does whatever she feels like, indulges her emotions without restraint. I’ve never met her father, but from the way Keiko talks, he must be very capable. She once said her father could easily arrange for me to work and settle in Japan.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Wu Aizhen cut him off. “But nobody’s perfect. I don’t demand perfection anymore. The thoughts that arise in my own mind aren’t always pure either. I’ll go back and comfort Keiko. What are you busy with now?”
“Since I got back I’ve been in touch about a job. I start in a few days, in City B.”
“This book is for you. Inside are the rose petals you left in the apartment when you went away.”
Ren Qingfei looked at the book uncertainly, not grasping what she meant.
“Open it and you’ll see.”
Ren Qingfei opened the book, turned a few pages, and saw a deep crimson rose petal. It was thin as a cicada’s wing, every vein and fiber of it clearly visible. His heart suddenly warmed. He lifted it gently with his fingers, but the slightest pressure made it shatter into pieces in the air.
“It’s grown too thin. It can’t bear the slightest disturbance,” Wu Aizhen said, her voice soft and wistful.
Ren Qingfei lowered his head and blew softly at the fragments scattered across the page. Then he saw that the petal had left a complete impression of its shape on the paper — a pale red outline with clean edges. Beneath the petal’s imprint were the words: “All things are like a dream, an illusion, a bubble, a shadow; like dew and like lightning — thus should you view them.” Ren Qingfei’s heart filled with sudden clarity. It was as if a hand had parted the clouds concealing the remnants of the past, and in an instant light poured through. He had read the Vajra Sutra countless times, but never before had he felt this feeling of awakening. He fixed his eyes on the petal’s imprint, on the line beneath it, and sank into long contemplation. Everything was like a dream, an illusion, a bubble, a shadow — but cause and effect is never obscured. In this human world, everything leaves a trace. Even a great cultivator cannot disregard cause and effect or fail to understand its principle. For ordinary people, cause and effect is the law governing all things.
For the accomplished, cause and effect is neither emptiness nor existence.
“Thank you — Bodhisattva!” Ren Qingfei closed the book and held it in both hands, his body and mind flooded with the Joy of the Dharma. Wu Aizhen saw a scene much like the one in her dream.
“Those petals — don’t take them out. They’re too thin, too fragile. Let them stay inside the sutra.”
“I understand,” Ren Qingfei said, his voice trembling.
Keiko was home alone. It was already one o’clock and Wu Aizhen still hadn’t returned. Her agitation grew. She sat at the dining table in the living room. On the table was a small painted clay figurine — a little boy and a little girl kissing. They weren’t embracing; they were leaning toward each other from a distance, lips thrust forward and pressed together. One of the boy’s suspenders had slipped off, his pants slightly sagging, but he was one-pointedly focused on that kiss, eyes shut, as though he wouldn’t care if his pants fell all the way down. The girl was neatly dressed, both palms pressed to her chest, as though she were kissing with great care and earnestness. The whole thing was comical and adorable — you couldn’t help laughing when you looked at it. Ren Qingfei had given it to her. They’d passed a stall selling clay figurines, and she’d fallen in love with the little couple, so Ren Qingfei bought it for her. She’d immediately given him a kiss in return, which seemed to startle him. Remembering this, she smiled to herself. Back when she and Ren Qingfei had been exchanging photos and chatting online, she’d already been drawn to this earnest, humorous stranger she’d never met. When she finally saw him in person, her heart was won at first sight. He was seven or eight years older than her, but he could be just as wild and playful as she was. He wasn’t as cool as Xuedan from Tibet, but he was romantic and dashing. She loved listening to him sing; his voice often carried her into beautiful daydreams and left her intoxicated. But she had also detected a latent melancholy in him, one that often drifted out of his songs, especially when he sang the Great Compassion Mantra. In Tibet, Wu Aizhen had mentioned that her former boyfriend often sang the Great Compassion Mantra. The moment Keiko met Ren Qingfei, she knew it was him. But by then she was already hopelessly infatuated with Ren Qingfei. She didn’t want him talking to her about Wu Aizhen, because whenever the subject came up, she could still catch a flicker of tenderness in Ren Qingfei’s eyes — there and then gone. She was even afraid to call Wu Aizhen; she dreaded the thought of them meeting and their old feelings rekindling. Her heart swung between hope and fear. She didn’t know whether Ren Qingfei loved her. Just a few days ago, she had finally thrown herself into his arms and kissed him with abandon. Ren Qingfei seemed stunned for a moment, but then he held her too. He hadn’t rejected her — that meant he liked her too. Thinking of this, Keiko’s furrowed brow relaxed and a smile bloomed on her face. But then, just the night before, Ren Qingfei had suddenly turned her away. His reason: they didn’t really understand each other. She began pacing back and forth, her agitation rising again. What was the real reason? Her thoughts flew to Wu Aizhen. Was it because she had come between them? It was her — it had to be. Their old feelings had rekindled, and that was why Ren Qingfei had suddenly changed. Weren’t they on a date today? And they didn’t want her there. If it were aboveboard, why be afraid of a third person? She had figured it out. She suddenly saw Wu Aizhen as a person of consummate hypocrisy. She was already with her father, yet she was still entangled with Ren Qingfei. She was deceiving her father and stealing the man she herself loved. After all the kindness she and her father had shown her — she talked constantly about repaying kindness; was this how she repaid it? She was a treacherous, disloyal woman, a master at playing men. Even someone as cool-headed and shrewd as her father was willing to listen to her — that showed how skilled her manipulations were. At this thought, a thread of Anger and hatred rose from her heart, tightening her jaw. She thought bitterly: I will never let this woman’s schemes succeed. The pain of lost love, jealousy, Anger, and hatred had muddled her mind completely.
Someone knocked at the door. Keiko collected herself, opened it, and found her father standing there. Suddenly, like a wronged child seeing family, she let out a wail and burst into tears.
Akikawa sat down in a chair, bewildered, waiting until Keiko’s sobbing subsided before he asked, “Where’s Wu Aizhen? Why are you here alone?” “She went on a date with Ren Qingfei,” Keiko said bitterly. She had made up her mind to let her father see the truth. “Ren Qingfei?” Akikawa froze. The name was familiar. He suddenly remembered: when he and Wu Aizhen had gone to Mount Luofu for divination, she had written that name. His heart sank a little. He began to take Keiko’s words seriously. But how could it be possible? They were so in love, and only a few days had passed since they’d been apart. Even if Wu Aizhen had another man in her heart, she couldn’t have put on such a convincing act in front of him, then immediately made an excuse to come back here and meet someone else in secret. If that were really the case, then Wu Aizhen’s performance was masterful — so flawless he hadn’t detected a single crack, hadn’t caught the faintest clue. Everything had seemed so seamless, so perfect, letting him immerse himself wholly in the happiness of having found love. And besides, what purpose would she have in doing this? At this thought, doubt crept back in. He shook his head and looked at Keiko. “It’s not like that. Don’t let your imagination run wild.”
“It is like that. They used to be lovers, and they’ve never really broken it off — they’ve kept you in the dark the whole time.” Keiko didn’t know why she said this. She felt a bit uneasy; she had no proof. But Ren Qingfei was still thinking about Wu Aizhen, and they had indeed been on a date today. Didn’t that count as never having broken it off?
Akikawa’s heart slowly turned cold. He had finished his meal today and driven straight to City A. No matter how many things had demanded his attention over the past few days, her image had never stopped drifting through his mind. Especially at night, lying alone, he had missed her so acutely. He had already resolved that next time, he would not let her leave him so easily. If she had matters to attend to, he would go with her. But never, not once, had it occurred to him that Wu Aizhen had come back to meet another man in secret. He remembered that time he had returned to Japan — hadn’t she said she was on Mount Wutai? She must have been with this Ren Qingfei then too. Wasn’t he also on a pilgrimage at that time? And then he thought of how she had often wept for no apparent reason, how timid she had been on her birthday when he gave her the Buddha statue. He suddenly connected all these things. All the things he had never understood before now seemed to have an explanation, an answer.
Akikawa’s heart clenched with pain. The deeper the pain, the colder his exterior grew — so cold that Keiko shivered watching him.
All the women he had ever been involved with seemed to suddenly rise again from the depths of his heart — his ruthless mother, the cold-faced, expressionless nanny, each hypocritical, narcissistic, amorous, and cunning mistress, their lewdness and deliberate posturing in bed, their blatant seduction and coquettish wiles — all these images suddenly flooded Akikawa Yamaguchi’s mind. How was Wu Aizhen any different? What made her worthy of his special regard? With her feigned purity and words she had woven a beautiful garland of love, slipped it over his head, and inside it was all lies. Her softness, her wisdom, her tears were all traps of love, and he had fallen into them. He suddenly came to. He had lived over forty years, traveled halfway across the world, never met a woman who truly moved his heart — was God really so gracious as to let him meet one in China? To let him find in China the love he had always dreamed of? To let him spend the rest of his life drunk on such love’s happiness. No! This was a trap. He had been numbed by this seemingly saintly woman, as if drugged, utterly lost in the dream conjured by the trap. He should have come to his senses long ago. She was lying. Once he had never trusted anyone around him, yet he had believed her lies and poured out his true feelings. Now he felt how incredibly stupid, how ridiculous he was. He stood up, not looking at Keiko, and walked straight out the door. Rage and anguish nearly made him charge down the stairs. He just wanted to race off in the car; he wanted to flee this place, didn’t want to take one more look.
When he got into the car, Wu Aizhen called, asking whether he had arrived in City A, saying she was still out and that if he was there he should wait a while — she was shopping at a supermarket, but she would hurry back right away.
“Still lying.” Akikawa thought resentfully. Coldly he said, “I’ve already left City A and gone back to Macau. Mayumi is with me; we’re going to Thailand. No need for you to rush back.” After hanging up, a trace of vengeful satisfaction flickered through him, but then sorrow swept over him. If Wu Aizhen did not love him, what did it matter which woman he took to Thailand? She would not care at all. At the thought, his heart felt as if it were being torn apart. “Aaah!” he roared inside the car, feeling he was about to explode…
When Wu Aizhen received Akikawa’s call, she knew something was wrong, but she did not know how serious it was. She called him again; his phone was off. Her heart sank in an instant.
When she returned to the room, Keiko was sitting alone at the dining table staring blankly, her eyes red — she had clearly been crying not long before.
“Didn’t your father come? What happened?”
“He came. He heard you’d gone on a date with Ren Qingfei, so he left.” Keiko said coldly. Wu Aizhen understood everything.
She stood there, tears welling from her heart but seeming to freeze in her eyes. She did not move, like a statue shot through for no reason with arrows of jealousy and bitter Anger.
After parting with Wu Aizhen, Ren Qingfei returned home clutching that sutra. He had never before felt such a joyful spiritual feeling. He opened the sutra and read the Vajra Sutra all the way through again. He saw the few flower petals still preserved inside; he could not bear to take them out, for they could not withstand the slightest jolt or even a breath of wind. Even when they blocked the words of the sutra, he did not shift them. Let them stay there, let them give their fragrance among the lines of the Vajra Sutra…
He thought of Keiko. Tomorrow he was going to Jizu Mountain in Yunnan to meet some friends. Keiko had once said she also wanted to see Jizu Mountain. Should he bring her along now? To be honest, Keiko had made a good impression at first, but during the dozen or so days they traveled together on the pilgrimage, many of Keiko’s habitual tendencies had become unbearable to him. Outwardly he was easygoing, but inside he was a man who preferred gentle, cultivated women — he liked women who were both multi-talented and poised. Wu Aizhen had once said of him that he secretly wished for a harem but demanded that every woman be utterly devoted to him, faithful in love and infatuated with him alone.
Whenever he thought of that remark, he hated how fickle he could be. Yet he truly could not bear fickleness in a woman. Keiko struck him as casual about propriety, especially in matters of the heart; with every man she knew she seemed to mingle intimately, sometimes even seeming clingy, her relationships ambiguous. He held some of the chauvinistic ideas common to traditional Chinese men and could not accept a girl whose affections seemed so unsettled, blowing hot and cold. He knew Keiko liked him. The day she boldly threw herself into his arms, the soft, youthful body and the passionate kiss made him embrace her without thinking; for a moment he felt dazed, as if he had fallen in love with her too, wrapped in that tenderness and sweetness. But the painful lesson with Zheng Meiqin sobered him. He was truly afraid of being bound fast by such emotions again; in Keiko he seemed to see a shadow of Zheng Meiqin. Zheng Meiqin’s fierce possessiveness and need to control still made him shudder. He needed love, but even more he needed tolerance. He liked to love in an atmosphere of tolerance — perhaps that was itself a little freedom he kept for his “thieving heart that refuses to die.” In matters of the heart he had repeatedly made mistakes for this very reason, yet he still fled from Keiko’s feelings. He felt that since they were not suited, the sooner he fled the better, to avoid causing harm to others.
As for Wu Aizhen, ever since she returned from Macau he had wanted to go see her, but Keiko kept clinging to him, and he could not be alone with her. He had many cares about her that swirled in his heart. He often recalled how they had discussed Buddhist questions together, arguing until they were red in the face, neither yielding. City A was full of places they had walked together; whenever he passed those places, he would think of her. Regardless of what their feelings had become, he wanted to hear news of her, to know that she was still happy and at peace; then he would be at ease. Wu Aizhen had once told him that ordinary human affections might end with one lifetime, but there was a kind of feeling that linked life after life — the “feeling for the Way.” On his birthday she gave him a jade plaque engraved with the words “the world of emotion and the ocean of desire, the feeling for the Way endures forever.” He had worn it against his chest ever since. Perhaps it was this “feeling for the Way” that had kept them from whispered endearments beneath flowers and moonlight, from embraces and kisses, from sharing a bed; yet this feeling grew ever stronger, ever more fragrant, ever clearer and brighter in his heart. It transcended the desire between ordinary men and women. It was nourished by the great water of compassion, transcendent and refined, free of the slightest stain.
He remembered what Wu Aizhen had said when she hung that jade plaque around his neck: “This is the root of your feeling. Guard it. Do not let it be tainted by fame, profit, or form and appearance.”
At this thought, Ren Qingfei once again looked at the jade plaque on his chest. How, he wondered, did one guard this “root of feeling”? Whenever he was tempted by lust, whenever he was lured by fame or gain, whenever his mind lost itself, he would always recall this feeling for the Way. There was a feeling that kept him above worldly concerns, that kept him unstained, that kept him from becoming hopelessly lost and unable to pull free. And at the same time, that feeling was tolerant, understanding, allowing his heart to grow through all the joys and sorrows, partings and reunions of life…
With that, he dialed Keiko’s number. He heard a voice pure and untainted issue from his own lips. He heard Keiko answer joyfully: “Great! I’ll definitely come. Tomorrow morning at eight I’ll be at your place.”
Ren Qingfei put down his phone. He suddenly felt he had grown up. Not only had he kept his promise, he was now entirely capable of standing firm in this emotional entanglement and resolving Keiko’s Afflictions with clarity and wisdom. Through this journey, he would help Keiko not only appreciate the beauty of China’s mountains and rivers and the solemn grandeur of a Buddhist sacred site, but also come to understand that there is a kind of feeling that transcends the desire between men and women — a feeling that is purer, more solemn, and more enduring.
After Keiko received Ren Qingfei’s invitation to Jizu Mountain, all her vexation and pain instantly dissolved. She dashed happily to the study to tell Wu Aizhen, only to realize, when she saw Wu Aizhen crying, what she herself had just done.
“Don’t worry. It was all my fault. I’ll explain to Father again. He’ll come back — he likes you.” Keiko didn’t know what else to say to comfort Wu Aizhen.
Wu Aizhen did not blame Keiko. Keiko did not understand her, much less her father. She was still a child; perhaps she would never understand. A single thought of bitter Anger, a few words of complaint, and a love that had seemed so perfect, so passionate, so flawless was destroyed. It was like a flower still blooming yesterday, already withered today.
Seeing that Wu Aizhen had stopped sobbing, Keiko thought her words of comfort had worked and said happily, “Sister Aizhen, tomorrow I’m going to Jizu Mountain with Ren Qingfei. I’ll be back in a few days. As for Father, you really don’t need to worry! I’ll call him right now and tell him he misunderstood you.” Keiko dialed her father’s number, but it was off. She felt a bit at a loss, but she could not care about that now. Her heart, filled with yearning for love, had already flown to Ren Qingfei. She said lightly, “Sister Aizhen, I’m sorry, but I promise I’ll explain everything to Father. Even when I’m on Jizu Mountain, I’ll call him.”
Keiko drifted lightly out of the study. Ren Qingfei had not turned away from her after all; the fact that he had asked her to travel together was proof. Maybe he had reconsidered. This time she must seize the opportunity and make Ren Qingfei become infatuated with her. Yes! She would go out and buy a few pretty clothes first; Ren Qingfei seemed to like orange-yellow. At the thought, Keiko nearly jumped for joy. She could not help softly humming the song “Cherry Blossom Love.” She did not go back into the study; she simply called out from the doorway to Wu Aizhen that she was going to the shopping center. She dared not look into Wu Aizhen’s eyes; she felt a little guilty. But what did it matter? If she had done wrong, there would still be a chance to make up for it, as long as she explained everything. Maybe her father would come tomorrow, just as Ren Qingfei had called her. She floated down the stairs with a light heart…
Wu Aizhen held the jade carved with a golden toad calling at the moon, and in her mind she replayed Akikawa’s cold, heartless words on the phone over and over. Why wouldn’t he give her even a chance to explain?… He had taken Mayumi to Thailand right away. All the tenderness and affection, all the love, all that they had shared — in an instant it all vanished like smoke before her eyes. Mayumi was so gentle, so refined, so elegant, and he owed her a debt of gratitude. Perhaps they had already been together; he had just been looking for an excuse to leave her, or perhaps he still felt some lingering attachment and found it hard to sever. If that was the case, then she wished them happiness! She dried her tears and tucked the jade away, still treasuring it. Everything would pass, she told herself. She must be strong. She had loved; that was enough. She needed to clear her thoughts quickly and begin her life anew. When she stood up from the desk, her head felt heavy and swollen; her body seemed about to collapse, and she felt cold all over. She found a few cold pills and swallowed them, then lay down on the recliner in the study and fell into a drowsy, heavy sleep.
In her dream, she felt herself standing bewildered at a crossroads. A thick, drifting mist gathered from all sides and enveloped her. She could not see which way to go. She groped through the deepening fog, feeling that she had lost her way, unable to escape this dense, layered fog. Then, suddenly, she heard the Great Compassion Mantra. She stilled her mind and listened intently. In the mist, a myriad rays of multicolored light appeared, and within the light Master was smiling: “You must view the matters of the Six Paths with a mind that has gone beyond the Six Paths. When the mind is entangled in the Six Paths, how can it not be lost?” Tenderly, Master told her, “Come, follow me!” He beckoned to her, and she slowly rose into the air along with his multicolored light. Looking down from the sky, she saw the mist transform into the minds of sentient beings, all suddenly laid out before her eyes. They seemed to exist in the same space, like lights merging with lights, not obstructing one another. Ignorant, suffering, happy, cruel, sinister, unaware… She looked in horror, she looked until she had forgotten herself, then she wept without check, tears streaming down her face, she looked on until she could not help herself…
“Form itself is emptiness, emptiness itself is form; the same is true of Feeling, Cognition, Formation, and Consciousness.” Who was reciting the Heart Sutra? She looked around in bewilderment, only to realize the voice was coming from her own heart. With the sound, light emanated from her heart, spreading out like a circle, illuminating above, below, left, right, forward, backward, forward-left, forward-right, back-left, back-right. Instantly it dispersed all the mist, and the light grew stronger and stronger, while the moment-by-moment changes and the cycle of rebirth within the minds of sentient beings in the mist grew clearer and clearer… Gradually, she dissolved into the Light of her own mind. The minds of sentient beings vanished, and the light, too, disappeared. In a flash, she returned to the human world. She saw that everything is Like a Dream, an Illusion, a Bubble, a Shadow; Like Dew, Like Lightning… She experienced the state in which the Ultimate Reality is without form and suddenly woke from the dream laughing.
When she awoke, she found herself still lying on the chaise lounge in her study. The room had grown dark, and a bright beam of the setting sun, slipping through the half-drawn curtains, fell upon her. “Is it almost six?” Groggily she got up and checked her phone. There was a text from Keiko saying she would not be back for dinner. She didn’t have much appetite either, so if Keiko wasn’t coming, she wouldn’t cook. She sat vacantly beside the desk for a while, thinking of the Master’s appearance in her dream. It seemed he had grown younger, looking as if he were in his thirties, and when he smiled it didn’t feel as though he had no teeth. In the dream she hadn’t noticed those things. Could it be that this retreat had rejuvenated him? Once Keiko left tomorrow, she absolutely must go and see the Master. Even if he was in retreat and she couldn’t enter, she could just stand outside and look. She missed the Master deeply at that moment. The Master had once laughed and said that she only thought of seeing him when she ran into problems and felt troubled. She nearly swore to him that it wasn’t so, but it was always so. Indeed, during those days of intimacy and delight with Akikawa Yamaguchi, she had not once thought of the Master. She knew the Master loved to joke with his disciples; he would never blame her for that, and in fact he was only too glad to be left alone, in peace. Whenever disciples went to see him, they arrived burdened with heaps of problems and knots they couldn’t untie, waiting for the Master to help them unravel. With a laughing face and a few light, witty words, the Master would always make any disciple feel that their own problems were nothing, and they’d rather just hear him talk about something else. And while the Master talked of something else, the knots in the disciples’ hearts suddenly untied themselves; everything opened up and they felt as though bathed in a spring breeze. In recent years the Master was almost always in retreat, and his periods out of retreat grew ever rarer; many who longed to see him could never manage to see him. She knew his appetite was poor, and she didn’t know who would bring him food during this retreat, but the retreat attendant was always someone the Master appointed personally. He never looked after his own health, never chose a good cook to tend his retreat; each time he had them serve as attendants precisely to fulfill their merit—while in truth the Master was blessing them from within. Those disciples, all dim-witted and puffed up as though they were eminent monks themselves, could their cooking possibly be any good? At this thought, Wu Aizhen wished she could go see him that very moment, but Keiko would be coming back without a key, so she would have to wait until tomorrow.
And then she thought of Keiko and Ren Qingfei. From what Keiko said, they were planning to go together to Jizu Mountain in Yunnan. She knew them both, and a faint unease stirred in her heart. Ren Qingfei was sentimental and lacked the power of concentration; Keiko was willful and direct, heedless of consequences, with a resolve so absolute she would rather die than have regrets, and it worried her. After quietly thinking for a moment, she spread out some stationery and wrote Keiko a letter.
Keiko,
If your feelings are hurt, that has many causes. Now that it has come to this, you must learn to face it. There may be temporary pain and afflictions, but you must learn to quietly observe it, waiting for it to fade in your heart as time passes and reason grows. This is the attitude a cultivator takes toward “lost love.” If you give rise to anger or jealousy and resort to extreme behavior, that is not what a cultivator does.
In a person’s life, our emotions may be wounded many times—perhaps by love, friendship, or family ties. But if we cherish ourselves too much, cling to our own feelings, and attach too much importance to our sensations, we will be unable to tolerate any emotional setback. We will feel unfortunate, and we will leave behind disappointment, pain, and bitter regret, perhaps even go to extremes. Yet if you face each one calmly and quietly observe—recognize within these difficulties every arising and movement of thought, your confusion, your unrealistic ideas, your impulsive actions, your strong possessiveness and other habitual tendencies—your emotional life will grow and mature. Your heart will broaden, and you will no longer confine yourself to the small world of personal emotional gain and loss. When you face a new relationship again, you will approach it with calm reason, and you won’t let yourself be caught up in it by momentary passion and impulse, only to let it crush you. Nor will you deny the truth and goodness in the world, or the beauty of human nature, just because of a few emotional gains and losses—for then there would be no sunlight left in your life…
Life is very short; a person’s lifespan is only a few decades. I am over ten years older than you, and I already feel time flying by. I often think: at the end of life, if one’s memories hold no love, how painful that would be. So we should be grateful to those we have loved and those who have loved us. They make our lives whole; they make our lives splendid.
We should even be grateful to those we hate or who hate us. Without these people, we would have no way to know the sacredness of love, its warmth, its preciousness.
Keiko, I do not mean to lecture you as a senior, a veteran, or a teacher. I am simply sharing my own creed, hoping it may encourage us both. This is how I think, and how I try to live. I want to share with friends what has benefited me, and I hope it benefits you as well.
In truth, life is full of scenery everywhere. May this trip to Jizu Mountain become the most brilliant page of your life. Finally, I wish you a pleasant journey!
After finishing the letter to Keiko, she thought for a while and then wrote one to Ren Qingfei.
Ren Qingfei,
We met hurriedly at noon and parted just as quickly. When we are together, there are always too many Dharma questions; and on the matter of emotions, I have always wanted to say something more to you, but the time is never there.
You have been searching for a true feeling, a love. That is not wrong—everyone longs for it. But after all you’ve been through, you yourself have never once concentrated wholeheartedly on a single relationship. You easily become disappointed, weary, and hurt. If you blame all this on every woman you’ve met, you are very mistaken. It is because in each relationship you have never let your heart dwell long in your love, in your feelings, let alone gain samadhi through it. Your mind rises and falls, fluttering after the temptations of external appearances, fame, and gain; you have never let it rest for a moment. Even when it settles a little longer, you grow restless. Because your desires remain unfulfilled, how can you make it stop and settle into the present moment? On the surface, you chase quick success, rush toward results, and are given to grandiose ambitions. Yet deep inside, you have an extremely pure side—a deep longing for tranquility, a strong wish to be indifferent to fame and fortune, and an intense desire for your weary heart to find a harbor. But the stark contrast between your outer and inner self makes you live every day in two extremes. That is why you sometimes brim with enthusiasm for life, and then suddenly your heart drops to zero. How can anyone truly understand you like that?
As a man, a real man, you should face your own heart like a bright mirror in everything you do, clearly knowing what your heart truly seeks. Then you can turn a deaf ear to all other temptations. Only then will you be true to yourself, true to every relationship, and live without worry, without fear. You will be open and straightforward before the world, and whether picking things up or letting them go, you will stay utterly unharmed…
In our lives, we sometimes cannot choose what friends we meet; many people and events seem to cross our path unexpectedly. Yet how we face and handle them is entirely up to us, and each person will give a different answer to life. But the wise answer is not to get entangled, and not to bring unavoidable harm to ourselves or others.
Perhaps we cannot be wise at every moment; mistakes are inevitable. But I hope that after making mistakes, we don’t first seek others’ forgiveness and pardon; rather, we think more about correcting what is wrong in ourselves and perfecting the weaknesses of our own mind. That is what matters most. I am doing this myself, and I hope it can encourage us both.
May in the world of emotion and the ocean of desire, our Dao-affection be forever firm.
Wu Aizhen placed the two letters into two envelopes. The faint unease in her heart settled just a little. She let out a long breath and calmed herself. Closing her eyes, she let Ren Qingfei, Keiko, and Akikawa Yamaguchi all recede from her memory. In this study of less than twenty square meters, she contemplated the stars and the moon, and placed herself in the vast, boundless cosmos. There, time was riding a celestial vessel, cycling round and round, while she did not move. She had no birth and no death, quietly watching the flow of human years, quietly watching all things manifest the impermanent marks of arising, abiding, decay, and emptiness through the illusion of time, quietly watching the magnificent prosperity and bleak decline of ages and dynasties past. She abided in the great samadhi of the Dharma Realm, no kshana, no eternity, for she knew not how long.
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