THE SPRING OF DONGKE TEMPLE

THE SPRING OF DONGKE TEMPLE

Dōngkē Sēngyuàn de Chūntiān

东柯僧院的春天

Forty kilometers away from Qingcheng County stands the Dongke Mountain. With its high altitude and thick forest cover, the mountain is virtually trackless. Legend has it that the Dongke Temple is somewhere on the mountain. The monks, however, have all become anāgāmin (“non-returner”, practitioners who have reached the penultimate stage to becoming Arhats), and therefore extinguished all earthly desires. A few decades ago, a woodsman accidentally found the temple and dwelled there for several days. He returned, yet remained tight-lipped about the experience. Finally, on his death bed, the woodsman, vaguely, mentioned the “many swallows in the temple”. He went on to say that despite his pleasant stay it would be better for his family to“never seek the temple again”.

On a spring day in the year 808, scholar Liu Xichu took a boat with seven or eight of his comrades up the stream to Dongke Mountain in search of the legendary temple. They found the source of the stream, only to discover untrodden woods and dark ravines. Soon, the sunbegan to set, alarming the scholars who urged the boatman to go back. The boatman, however, was not used to navigating the mountain stream and steered the boat into a rock where it foundered. The current, though not deep, was swift, and Liu had to grasp the branch of an old tree. On finally managing to lift his head above the water to search for his companions, they were long gone—their faint cries for help gradually fading away. In the end only the chirps of the birds and roar of the apes echoing in the woods remained, a heart-wrenching and miserable sound at the time.

Liu breathed deeply and took a brief moment to collect himself. He crawled onto the bank along the branch. Walking around, he found an old tree to climb up and rest. Thankfully, a piece ofnangbread was still safely tucked in his robe. Though it was soaking wet and had become soft, he tore a piece off and swallowed it. By this time it was dark and the moon had begun rising against the mountain. Liu, thinking of his family, couldn't help shedding a few tears.

The next morning, Liu climbed down the tree and tried to find his way back, gradually losing all sense of time and direction. Every piece of mountain rock and every branch of every tree looked exactly the same. He fed on wild fruits when he finished thenangbread. His wanderings became dull and tardy, until finally, he fell down at the foot of an old tree, exhausted, not able even to stir a limb.

“I can't believe I will die here!” he said to himself.

On seeing a few mountain flowers dancing in the wind not far away, he began sobbing wildly. By dusk, he ceased crying and felt much better; his strength seemed to have returned. Standing up and looking around, he began collecting fruit for dinner. Suddenly, he noticed a faint scent of flowers in the wind.

He was carried away by the scent and carefully followed it. The moon was bright and the wind refreshing. Liu Xichu kept walking till midnight, using reserves of strength he didn't know he had. The fragrance became rich and pure, sometimes sweet and intoxicating like good wine, sometimes sharp and piercing like a blade. Enchanted, Liu kept advancing, unconsciously into a valley. In the moonlight, he entered an ancient forest, with giant trees several arm-lengths wide. No wild grass was found on the ground, just a layer of gray. The fragrance was beyond a mere scent now, becoming a flowing spring of green jade.

Liu stumbled forward, suddenly noticing a shabby temple. The front gate collapsed a long time ago. There was an azalea tree, three meters tall, in front of the ruined gate. Despite the dim light, he could still see the vivid colors of its branches.

Liu entered the temple shouting: “Is anyone here? Anyone?”Only a faint humming came as reply. Though he walked the whole night, only at this very moment did he notice his feet aching through to their bones. He dropped to the ground, at first sitting, then later sliding down and falling into a deep sleep.

He awoke the next morning to a courtyard full of wild grass.

LI QIQINGWEI李启庆

While some Chinese fantasy writers are criticized for imitating their, supposedly, more mature Western counterparts, the Bucket Rider (骑桶人) or Li Qiqing (李启庆) turned to ancient myths, legends, and traditional images for inspiration. Currently the chief editor of online fantasy magazineJiuge(《九歌》), Li has published a short story collection, a full-length novel, a historical account of ancient Chinese fantasy literature, and a biography of famous Chinese Buddhist Monk, Master Hong Yi. His fantasy writings are said to have inherited the spirit of fantasy literature from the Tang (618-907) and Song (960-1279) dynasties.

Author's Note: Ke (柯, tree stem), in Chinese, has a particular meaning. In Tang Dynasty legend, a story called "A Dream of Nangke" (《南柯一梦》) revolves around a man picked to marry a princess, who became a high-ranking off i cial. He conquers neighboring states but eventually fails in a political struggle. In the end, he fi nds himself waking up from an afternoon nap under a big tree to the south of his house, and realises everything has just been a dream. When I chose dongke (a big tree on the east) for the title of my story, I followed tradition and plot; the fate of the characters were already determined.Inside the main hall, spider-webs were draped everywhere. On beams and pillars were stacks of swallow's nests. A few Buddha statues were barely upright with broken arms or missing eyes, their heads covered with gray bird droppings.

Liu Xichu was so starved, he was light headed. After searching inside and outside the temple, he found a few berries that were sour and sharp, which he gulped down nevertheless. Only when he felt better did he notice that there seemed to be many birds flying above the forest—their wings rustling together. He left the temple and labored to the top of the mountain. Endless bird droppings covered the ground. He managed to collect some forest fruit and saw a wild beehive. He started a fire to smoke-out the bees, and fed himself a hearty meal of honey, before continuing to march upwards. Fortunately, the mountain top was not so far. He moved upward, step by step. A swallow would sweep by from time to time and then lightly fly through the leaves, up into the sky.

It was still morning when he left the temple, but by the time he reached the top it was sunset. The sun shone through the mountain peak on the opposite side and tinged half the valley in deep red, the other half left dark green. Countless swallows swarmed back and forth above the woods. When they flew into the sunshine, they became like the flaming birds of Zhu Rong—the fire god—a blaze of red all through. But once they were in the dark half, they turned into green fish, as if swiftly swimming underwater.

The moon was bright and stars scarce when Liu arrived back at the temple. He made do by dozing off and eating some of the honey acquired the day before. He brightened up again, carefully examining the temple inside and out. Though in ruins, much of the temple's richly ornamented columns, beams, green rafters, and red tiles remained. Judging by its scale, the temple could have housed more than a hundred monks; the state of its decay was curious.

THERE WERE SWALLOW NESTS EVERYWHERE, FROM THE MAIN HALL RIGHT THROUGH TO THE DINING ROOM; THE ABBOT'S CHAMBER, EVEN THE TOILET, WERE OCCUPIED BY BIRDS

There were swallow nests everywhere, from the main hall right through to the dining room; the abbot's chamber, even the toilet, were occupied by birds. The floor covered by their droppings over the years, seemed soft when Liu first set upon them, but were solid as stone at their core.

Swallows flew into the temple from time to time to feed their young, not in the least affected by Liu's presence. Maybe they were accustomed to the monks here before; the sudden appearance of a human didn't seem to alarm them.

Liu lived on honey for several days in the temple—becoming, surprisingly, too happy to think of home. In the swallows' nests lay many eggs, but Liu was not willing to eat them. When the honey was finished, he went into the woods to pick wild fruit. Though they were in mid-spring, Liu didn't mind their bitter taste.

Just like that, over 10 days passed until one day at noon, Liu heard a vague rustle behind one of the Buddha figures. Turning to check, he found a deep pit in the ground. It was too dark inside to see anything. On the nearby wall there was also a large hole from where the rustling noise seemed to be originating. Liu bent down to examine the hole closely and got a feeling that some kind of monster must be hiding there. He grabbed a stick and poked inside. Suddenly, a bat soared and crashed into his face, leaving him confused andsomewhat disturbed. Another bat was barely out of the hole when Liu hastily jumped aside. More dark brown bats flipped their webbed wings, scrambling to make out the opening. In a blink of an eye, these bats clouded the main hall, rendering it in a dull darkness. Only an hour later did all bats leave the hole, gliding out of the main hall to form a long line. Before Liu could recover from his shock, he heard breathing from the pit. Startled, Liu found a piece of brick and threw it into the pit from afar.

“Argh!” A scream came from the bottom, sounding like a person.

Liu then groped the edge, shouting back: “Are you a person or a ghost?” Some babbling rose from the pit. Liu listened for a while and guessed it must be a request: “Pull me up.” As he extended a long stick down into the pit, someone grabbed it as he expected. With much effort, Liu pulled the person out of the pit. He was stunned when his eyes met the person.

Unkempt, all skin and bones with the exception of a bulging belly, on seeing Liu the man called out with great joy.

Liu collected wild fruits for the man, who lowered his head to smell them but refused to take any. Instead, the man grabbed a handful of dirt and offered it to Liu. Liu shook his head and went to the forest spring to get water for the man to clean himself. After washing himself, it seemed the man was very old, with long thick eyebrows and white hair. It was probably due to the sedentary, immobile life he had spent in the pit, but his feet were both shriveled. His skin was sickly pale due to sunlight deprivation; the many freckles on his body only served to add to the weirdness of the man's appearance.

But there's something even more unusual about the man: when he first climbed out of the pit, he was overjoyed; now, he suddenly seemed stiff, like he was indifferent to and unmoved by everything and everyone in the world. He had gone blind due to the long lasting darkness, but his hearing was acute. Liu discovered the only thing that interested the old man was the beating wings and singing of the swallows. Whenever a swallow flew inside, he would slowly turn his head to follow the slightest flapping sound, with a mysterious smile at the corner of his lips. Liu sat with him for an entire afternoon, surprisingly discovering that the old man seemed to be able to distinguish each and every swallow. Every time, one of them flew into the main hall, he would turn to the direction of its nest, listening to their twittering, as if he could understand them.

He also seemed to live off the dirt. The deep pit could very well have been the result of his own digging. Sometimes, he appeared to wake from a dream and regain a moment of consciousness. At those times, he would speak to Liu with eagerness. But Liu couldn't understand most of it, only vaguely learning that the old man was the abbot of the temple, with the Dharma name “Wushi”. Still, Liu was patient. He went out everyday to look for wild fruit and sat down with Wushi to leisurely appreciate the sounds made by the swallows. Gradually, Liu became intoxicated as well: the ethereal swallows gliding across the hollow main hall, their wings flapping as if they were a refreshing spring born of mountain rock. They landed in their own nests, singing so softly and elegantly that Liu believed it more beautiful than even the finest music ever created by man.

Over time, he was able to follow Wushi, who was indeed the abbot of Dongke Temple. More than a decade ago, when the temple was undisturbed, all the monks kept their minds on Buddhist practice, hoping one day to become an Arhat or even reach Nirvana. One spring, many swallows arrived unexpectedly. They started to build nests and breed. The merciful Buddhists naturally let the birds be and never interfered. By autumn, all the swallows took off. But the next spring brought even more of them. Ripples were set in the formerly peaceful hearts of the monks; some became addicted to the flapping of wings and the singing of the birds, believing them to be more immensely delightful than any Buddhist teachings.

BY THE THIRD YEAR, ON A DEWY MORNING, A MONK TRANSFORMED INTO A SWALLOW AND FLEW AWAY

By the third year, on a dewy morning, a monk transformed into a swallow and flew away. It was the year that the stray woodsman came to stay. Wushi asked for him to be sent back and instructed that nothing should ever come out of his mouth—as it was from this consideration that people would flood into the templeon hearing of the strange event and disturb the monks' practice.

LIU WAS FIRST FILLED WITH JOY AND LATER WITH SORROW. HE STRIVED TO STAND-UP BUT FOUND HIS FEET POWERLESS.

By spring of the fourth year, when the swallows returned once more, half the monks in the temple transformed into swallows and simply flew away. By the fifth year, all had become swallows except Wushi, who was left alone in the empty temple.

Despair prevailed in Wushi's mind. He no longer meditated or recited scripture, only idly sitting in the main hall, digging and eating dirt from the ground when he was hungry. Over a decade later, a deep pit had developed, and he was trapped inside. He couldn't get out even if he wanted to. Having sat in the dark for such a long time, his eyesight had completely gone, but his hearing improved more and more over time. He began to take an interest in the flapping and singing of the swallows. He too felt that they were far more enchanting than any Buddhist teaching, especially when the baby swallows first learned to sing—heavenly. Now, his only wish was to follow in the footsteps of his disciples and transform himself into a swallow, to soar high above the forest, to carry wet mud in his beak and to build a small nest among the beams and rafters…

However, Wushi's wish would never come true. One day, he tried a wild fruit brought back by Liu. At night, an excruciating pain grew in his belly. He told Liu to bury him in the pit and, after his death, cover his body with swallow droppings. Liu did as he was told.

That spring slipped away swiftly. Soon, all the azalea flowers faded, and the last swallow had left the temple. By this time, Liu had lost any desire to return home. He just sat in the main hall quietly, peace and solitude all around. The only sound was made when night fell and the bats would fly out of the hole in the walls. They sounded like bubbles bursting, breaking the long lasting silence. He no longer went out to collect wild fruit either. When hunger struck, he would simply dig the dirt and gulp it down. Gradually, he became like Wushi, stuck deep in a pit he had dug himself. He became blind too, but his hearing was now exceptionally acute. Every year when the swallows came back, he would sober up from his bewilderment and carefully capture every single sound made by them and become intoxicated. No one knows how many years passed. But Liu grew old. He thought he would have the same fate as Wushi, to die and be buried in the pit. But one day, he seemed to hear words being spoken.

The voice was soft and noble: “That man has sat in the pit for a long time!” Another soft and noble voice replied: “Yes! But how interesting can it be sitting in a pit? Why doesn't he fly out and catch worms with us?” Liu's heart twitched. He turned and listened closely, wondering why people were dropping by all of a sudden. But the sound of flying swallows followed. He could tell, they were Chuntiao and Zi'er whose nest were 10 steps away on the left, next to the nest of Huahong and Naxi. He continued to follow the sounds and realized that the main hall had become very busy. Words were thrown all around: some said that there were many insects by the pool of water in the east, some said that the mud on the south was the most suitable for nest building, some were scolding a youngster for flying badly, and some were uttering sweet promises to lovers…

Liu was first filled with joy and later with sorrow. He strived to stand-up but found his feet powerless. So he stretched out both bands, trying to crawl along the wall of the pit. He wanted out but was unable to escape. Suddenly, he felt brightness in front of his eyes. He saw light radiating from above. He lifted his arm in a sharp movement, and found himself flying out of the pit and crashing into a pillar. The pain was almost unbearable, but he was ecstatic. He flapped his wings with all his strength, but quickly crashed into a wall again. He no longer cared. He fumbled his way out of the main hall, turned his tail and dashed through the green leaves. The blue sky poured in, flooding into him with an overbearing love, encompassing him…

Many years later, the Dongke Temple was rediscovered. The azalea flowers were still blooming in front of the main gate, but all the buildings had completely collapsed. Swallows moved their nests to the cliffs. When the light of the setting sun beamed down from behind the mountain, the swallows flew between the bright light and the darkness. Sometimes like a flock of fiery, blazing birds, sometimes like a school of green fish swimming freely underwater. - TRANSLATED BY LIU JUE (刘珏)