Preface to the Recorded Sayings of Monk Tongzhen

The Way of the Buddha, since Bodhidharma brought it to our Eastern Land, reached its great flourishing with Linji and was revitalized again at Jingshan. Through fourteen generations at the mountain, by the Ming dynasty's Chongzhen era, there emerged the Elder Chuanyun Chuiwan, whose lineage shone brightly and whose reputation resounded throughout the age. In our Shu region, since the Song and Yuan dynasties, none had surpassed him. The Elder had three outstanding disciples, foremost among them being Chan Master Qingzhong Tiebi, akin to Yan Hui among Confucius's disciples. From my childhood, I heard his name—from the nobles and ministers of the Jinjiang and Yulei regions down to the common people, all revered and submitted to him. The Master taught for over thirty years, and aside from court officials and scholars, only eighteen personally entered his chamber as successors. Among them, the Venerable Tongzhen ranked tenth. He was a descendant of Prime Minister Jiang of our prefecture, the youngest son of the Prefect and my elder, Haichou Gong, with whom our families shared a longstanding bond. From his youth, the Master displayed extraordinary brilliance, able to memorize texts at a glance. I once spoke with his late father, who held high hopes for his worldly success, yet the Master remained indifferent to such pursuits. For thirty years, he was like a wild goose lost in the clouds, a fish hidden in the depths. In the spring of the Xinyou year, a visitor came to the capital and showed me the Master's recorded sayings. I was astonished, only then realizing that he had taken up the burden of the Buddhist path, becoming a guiding light of his generation, carrying forward the legacy of Jingshan. I recall our days studying together by the window, how he would speak with fervor about the teachings of emptiness beyond the world, yet show little interest in affairs of governance or literary pursuits. Later, I mentioned this to my father—who could have known that his path today was already hinted at in those early conversations? Truly, a great being who leaves the world cannot be bound by wealth, fame, or power, nor swayed by poverty or hardship. The words of the ancient sages are indeed not false. I once read the *Transmission of the Lamp* and came across the story of Cui Qin, which says that leaving home is the work of a great person, something even generals and ministers cannot achieve. I thought it an exaggeration. But now, witnessing the Master—born of noble lineage, gifted with such talent, yet able early on to cast aside worldly dust, treat wealth as chaff, ascend to the ancestral realm, and become a master of his age—is this not the mark of a great person? As for me, bound by official duties, toiling in worldly dust, the days pass, and I grow distant from the Master. When will I cast off these shackles to meet him again among ancient pines and flowing streams, washing clean the dust of worldly cares? That is my deepest wish. As for the path revealed in his recorded sayings, I have not even dreamed of it—how could I dare to carry water to the river or place dung upon the Buddha's head? I merely recount the Master's story from beginning to end, hoping it may inspire fellow seekers toward goodness.