Henan Prefecture Governor Dou Jing received an invitation from the great Changling Temple and stepped into this ancient monastery at dusk to attend the Ullambana Festival on the fifteenth day of the seventh month.
As the highest administrative official in the Luoyang region, his personal attendance at such an occasion was largely due to his friendship with Abbot Tan Lin. The great Changling Temple was a historically significant pure Buddhist land that should logically be a place where one could feel at peace, yet Dou Jing had never liked it, finding the murals too eerie and sinister.
Though Tan Lin had long since entered the Buddhist path, with his status from the Taiyuan Wang clan and the deep Buddhist foundations of Luoyang, he remained an influential figure in the upper social networks of the Eastern Capital. Whenever nobles and high officials had questions about Buddhist studies or had done something against their conscience and wanted to practice repentance, they would typically seek his guidance.
As a regional administrator, participating in public festivals was part of his duties, and Dou Jing also wanted to perform transcendence rituals for his ancestors by making donations to the temple monks. Though various performances unfolded before his eyes, with tightrope walkers dressed as flying apsaras walking back and forth on ropes suspended in the air, despite being surrounded by dozens of attendants and guards, Dou Jing felt an inexplicable fear rising in his heart, making him restless.
In this crowded festival with shoulder-to-shoulder crowds, he saw a familiar face. This beautiful countenance should not appear here, much less exist in the mortal world.
Under normal circumstances, he would think it was just someone with a similar appearance. However, today was Ullambana Festival – the special day when departed souls return from the underworld to wander in the human realm.
He had held the position of Henan Prefecture Governor for less than a year, having previously served as Secretary of the Central Secretariat and Recorder of Daily Life in Chang’an, frequently entering the palace, so he was intimately familiar with the appearances and mannerisms of imperial relatives.
Dou Jing endured his fear and looked again. The young woman in the crowd was brilliant and noble, with a pair of drooping, full Buddha ears. Under the glow of the setting sun, her skin and hair were wrapped in a layer of glazed pearl light – no matter how one looked, she was an enchanting beauty that made one’s heart yearn – if she weren’t already dead.
A chill shot straight from his feet to his heart. Dou Jing felt as if he were being drawn into an unpredictable vortex of terror.
The princess’s unjust death was almost an open secret in the court. On that lonely mausoleum beneath Mount Zhongnan, transcendence and soul-pacifying rituals continued to this day. Had she returned to the human world today with some purpose?
His undergarments clung completely to his skin, cold sweat continuously seeping from beneath his cap. Dou Jing could bear it no longer and whispered to his subordinate military advisor: “Send someone to inform Master Tan Lin that I’ve suddenly developed a headache and feel very dizzy, so I can’t continue participating in the ceremony.”
Hearing his superior was unwell, the advisor quickly said: “Changling Temple’s guest quarters are famous – would you like to rest there for a while?”
Dou Jing’s face was pale as he firmly refused: “No! I want to return to the prefecture office. Let’s leave quickly.” He left behind a deputy and hurriedly departed with the others. Before crossing the threshold, Dou Jing looked back one last time – the young woman had vanished without a trace.
Wei Xun watched the group flee in panic, jumped down from the eaves, and reported to Bao Zhu: “Scared him away.”
Bao Zhu breathed a sigh of relief, emerging from behind the osmanthus tree where she’d been hiding, saying in annoyance: “How did I forget this guy was transferred to Luoyang?”
Yang Xingjian apologized: “It’s this subject’s oversight. I didn’t expect Governor Dou to appear at Changling Temple’s ceremony.”
Bao Zhu thought to herself that she wasn’t some recluse hidden in her chambers – she often attended palace banquets, played polo and hunted with imperial relatives and nobles, and watched performances. Countless people knew her. It was just that after her downfall, she had been active only among common people and hadn’t interacted with those wearing purple and vermillion again, so she had forgotten that she was actually considered a dead person.
When Dou Jing saw her on Ullambana Festival, he was so terrified he fled in panic, surely thinking the deceased Princess Wangshou had returned from the dead.
Wei Xun said: “There are many people with similar appearances in this world. After he goes back and sleeps through the night, tomorrow he’ll convince himself his old eyes were mistaken.”
After thinking it over, Bao Zhu felt he was quite right. Moreover, she now had nothing and couldn’t even prove her princess identity herself – what could a distant glimpse in a crowd prove?
The variety performances were lively and exciting, but Shisan Lang was nowhere to be seen. Bao Zhu asked: “Where did he go? Why isn’t he watching the performances?”
Wei Xun casually replied: “He has to chant scriptures today.”
Bao Zhu remembered that Shisan Lang was also an orphan, so naturally, being in a Buddhist temple, he should take advantage of the festival to pray for his deceased family members.
The setting sun completely disappeared into the Luo River, leaving only a trace of blood-red sunset glow on the horizon. Dusk had deepened, and the clamor of the variety shows suddenly quieted. After a chorus of bells and chimes, Guan Chuan’s resonant voice came across, inviting Abbot Tan Lin to mount the platform and preach the Dharma.
Since Dou Jing had already left, there was no need to continue hiding. Bao Zhu wanted to participate in the Ullambana ceremony to pray for her mother and hurriedly ran toward the central platform area of the temple.
The four monks Shan Chuan Yun Chao personally carried a wooden lotus throne, step by step ascending the Lingzhi Platform suspended over the release pond. An emaciated old monk in purple robes sat cross-legged in the center of the lotus seat, as solemn and sacred as a Buddha protected by disciples. Several young novices brought sound-amplifying conch shells, Boshan incense burners, and other ritual implements to place beside the abbot.
The scene was silent as thousands of people gazed with reverent expressions at this renowned virtuous senior monk, said to grant one year of merit and longevity to anyone who heard him preach just once.
Tan Lin first recited a section of incense praise, then began a vernacular lecture on “Maudgalyayana Saving His Mother.” Vernacular lectures were popular presentations of Buddhist scriptures, integrating Buddhist doctrinal meanings into simple stories that even illiterate commoners could understand. The story of Maudgalyayana saving his mother from hell was the origin of Ullambana Festival and was known to every household. Tan Lin incorporated various karmic metaphors, telling the story with dramatic ups and downs that held thousands of listeners spellbound.
After finishing this festival staple story, he proceeded to tell “A Chan Master Converting an Asura” word by word.
“Many, many years ago, there was a Tianzhu senior monk in Luoyang named Kashyapa, who had profound Buddhist knowledge, a compassionate heart, and had cultivated an indestructible vajra body. He heard of an asura who had fallen into demonic obstacles after being poisoned by delusion, constantly killing and creating karma due to evil thoughts. Kashyapa decided to persuade this asura to lay down his butcher’s knife and return to the righteous path.”
This asura’s heart was filled with hatred and obsession, swearing to take revenge against heaven and plunge the human world into an asura battlefield. Kashyapa first debated Buddhist doctrine with him for three days and nights, trying to use pure words to dispel the asura’s inner demons, but the asura was eloquent and supremely intelligent, completely ignoring the senior monk’s persuasion. Kashyapa then displayed divine martial arts, fighting intensely with the asura for three days and nights, trying to convert him through supreme force. But the asura was naturally fierce and combative, brave and skilled in battle – Kashyapa exhausted all his abilities but could not subdue him.
Finally, having no other options, Kashyapa decided to sacrifice himself to convert the asura trapped in demonic obstacles. He no longer resisted, allowing the asura to attack and harm him. When near death, Kashyapa recited the “Prajna Repentance” scripture – this was the fruit of his Buddhist practice and the source of his indestructible vajra divine skill.
The asura mocked him repeatedly, asking if he planned to be his enemy’s teacher. Kashyapa said: “As long as you persist in chanting scriptures, one day you’ll understand Buddhist law, repent your sins, and convert yourself, transforming from an asura that harms the human world into a guardian deity protecting Buddhist law. If you temporarily cannot understand my earnest intentions, then pass down the ‘Prajna Repentance’ – your descendants can receive good karma.” After saying this, Kashyapa achieved nirvana on the spot.
Thousands of people in the platform area listened with rapt attention, but Tan Lin’s story ended there, leaving everyone somewhat confused.
Bao Zhu couldn’t help saying to Wei Xun beside her: “I’ve never heard this story in any Buddhist scripture.”
Wei Xun remained impassive: “This is my first time hearing it too.”
Someone in the crowd called out loudly: “What happened next? What became of Kashyapa? What about that asura?”
Tan Lin said slowly: “After Kashyapa achieved nirvana, he attained enlightenment through compassion, and his corpse became an immediate Buddha with an eternally incorruptible physical body. As for that asura… his heir is in Changling Temple, listening to my sermon right here.”
As the story reached this point, a complex, strange feeling arose in everyone’s hearts – somewhat spine-tingling, unclear whether it was touching or frightening.
Tan Lin was over seventy with declining energy and couldn’t sustain much longer. After finishing these two stories, he concluded the sermon portion.
After the vernacular lecture came the release of flaming mouths and river lanterns to ferry the lonely souls. “Flaming mouths” were fire-breathing hungry ghosts in hell; monks chanted and performed rituals, using donated items to feed these hungry ghosts – this was releasing flaming mouths. To transcend relatives, pilgrims competed to throw rice, silk, and even copper coins into the ullambana basins, quickly filling over a hundred enormous pottery vessels.
River lanterns were for mourning relatives while universally ferrying lonely ghosts and wild spirits. They should properly be released in rivers, lakes, and seas to drift freely, but holding the ceremony in a temple, they were simplified and placed in the release pond. Changling Temple’s release pond was called a “sea,” with a water surface larger than other temples. Pilgrims brought prepared paper lotus seats, lit candles to place on them, and pushed them into the water.
The sky had completely darkened. Candlelight dotted the release sea, hazy and dreamlike. It was said that souls in the dark hell below couldn’t see light – if they could glimpse a lamp on the water surface, they could save themselves and transcend. In a thousand-year dark room, one lamp brings illumination.
Bao Zhu had already purchased a gold-painted lotus lantern from temple monks, copying her mother’s maiden name in light ink inside the lamp base. She took a fire stick from Wei Xun to light the candle, then reverently placed it in the pond, closing her eyes to chant scriptures and pray for her mother.
Except for periodic water changes, the release sea had no flowing water in daily life. On windless nights, over a hundred river lanterns floating on the surface were nearly motionless. However, streams of bubbles suddenly rose from the pitch-black pond bottom, causing slight ripples on the calm surface.
“Something seems to be floating up from the bottom!”
“Look, what is that?! It looks like… sword mountains? Poisonous snakes? And tongue-pulling demons?”
“I see people being boiled in hot cauldrons! And hungry ghosts eating people!”
Seeing this, Wei Xun patted Bao Zhu’s shoulder. She opened her eyes and stood up from the pond’s edge to see a magnificent “Hell Transformation” painting rising from the deep water bottom to the surface, colors brilliant as brocade, figures ghastly and lifelike.
A knowledgeable pilgrim called out: “It’s ‘water painting’! It’s the painting magic of that genius artist Wu Guancheng!”
Hearing this, people pushed and shoved toward the pond’s edge to observe this technique that had shocked Luoyang. Due to the crowding, two people even fell into the water. Using some miraculous technique unknown to others, Wu Guancheng’s pigments floated on the water surface without dispersing, appearing even more sinister and terrifying under the river lanterns’ illumination.
Typically, “Hell Transformation” paintings had Ksitigarbha Bodhisattva on a lotus seat in the center, showing the bodhisattva using Buddhist law to universally ferry all beings and save evil spirits and beasts in hell. However, this water-painted “Hell Transformation” left a blank space in the center.
Just as everyone was shocked and amazed by this extraordinary skill, more streams of bubbles rose from underwater. Right in the painting’s blank area, a driftwood-like object floated to the surface, filling the painting’s empty section.
The thing was swollen and pale white, vaguely having arms and legs. Bao Zhu craned her neck, trying to see clearly what it was in the dim river lantern light. As that strange thing surfaced, an incredibly foul stench wafted out. Wei Xun clicked his tongue and immediately grabbed her collar to drag her back, but it was already too late.
All the pilgrims present saw it – a massive corpse, bloated beyond human recognition, floating face-up on the water surface, occupying the entire center of the “Hell Transformation,” completing this artwork in an inconceivably bizarre manner before everyone’s eyes.
After the floating corpse appeared, screams and panic rippled outward like waves. Everyone wanted to flee from that terrible thing, desperately escaping from beside the release sea. The crowd began pushing and trampling each other with continuous screams. The scene of “Hell Transformation” thunderously spread from the water surface to the shore, then throughout all of Changling Temple.
Like a human purgatory.