Chengdu stands as one of the three great capitals, its mountains and rivers uniquely splendid, unmatched under heaven. Thus, monasteries and blessed lands gather here like stars across the sky, with renowned monks and venerable elders never lacking through the ages. Yet, none is more illustrious than Zhaojue Temple. Since the Tang and Song dynasties, it has been hailed as a precious land, a city of incense, its renown only growing. The true stupa of Chan Master Yuanwu rests here.
In the year Jiashen, the flames of rebellion erupted, reducing all to ashes. After our dynasty's founding, by the year Guimao, the elder Zhangxue returned from the Wu and Yue regions and resolutely undertook its reconstruction. Within a few years, azure halls and jade towers stood anew in radiant splendor. Though the arduous task of restoration sprang from the elder's vow, the one who contributed most to this immeasurable merit through support and skillful means was Master Foyuan.
Having fled disaster, I left Shu and served in the capital for over forty years before returning. Sharing a common Dharma intent with the elder, I met Master Foyuan during a visit. His demeanor was serene and harmonious, his speech profound and restrained—I knew him at once as a man of the Way. As we sat conversing, he presented a volume of his recorded sayings and asked me for a preface.
I sighed, considering how the waves of delusion obscure emptiness, how clouds of confusion lock away the moon. Vast is the sea of past lives, boundless and shoreless. Who can, like the Master, cast aside worldly glamour and immerse in Chan's stillness, using words and letters to emit a great light that illuminates worlds as numerous as sands of the Ganges, enabling all beings who see and hear to dispel confusion, remove obstacles, and behold their original face? That this is a compassionate ferry and precious raft is indeed no false claim.
Yet some discussants say that since the Indian sage came from the west, his essential meaning transcends verbal explanation. To recklessly establish words where there is nothing is to stir waves on level ground—how could one thereby enter the Pure Land? They fail to understand that capacities vary in depth, and teachings differ as sudden or gradual. A great wise one, awakening to the emptiness of prajñā, does not cling to the voice-hearer's path nor fall into form. Truly, such a one has no need for this superfluous appendage. But for beginners of the lesser vehicle, without relying on a boat, how could they reach the other shore? By what means would they awaken to perfect penetration? This is what the Master's recorded sayings reveal.
Within them—whether ascending the seat to teach, offering verses or praises, posing questions or responses—though the methods of exposition differ, the essence of his nature is one. Scattered blossoms, falling elegance, jade pure, pearls bright: all stem from a natural, spiritual awakening, whose inner hall no outsider can glimpse.
I was born dull-witted, unable like the layman Wujin to point out the Vajra Eye for Shimen or like Donglin to crush Zizhan's marrow. Yet, upon repeatedly reading this volume, I came to realize the Master is a return of Jinsu. Gathering the beauty of Emei and Jianmen, embracing the marvels of Wu, Chu, Qin, and Jin, he thus can shine the lamp of wisdom, ably proclaim the ancestral style. He revitalizes the flame passed down through thirty-seven generations from the Southern Peak Patriarch, and resolves the unfinished case of Master Yuanwu after over five hundred years. Opening expedient gates within the ten directions, he makes the sage's teachings shine anew and the lost path awaken once more. This is true practice within the three vehicles—how could it be viewed merely as words and letters?
Thus, I cleanse my hands, light incense, and joyfully compose this preface.