Travelogue Essays of China - Shanxi Volume, Shaanxi Volume

Author: / Country: Mainland China
Publisher:
Publishing Date: 2002-08-01
Features: Snow-capped mountains like jade, roads blocked by snow; and rugged rocks, impassable for horses. We paused at the on the mountain slope, with Wu Lama and the young monks leading, followed by Li Bingyi, Zi Lai, Li Fu, and the team leaders Gao Wanshan and Wei Tingrui, advancing in a mountain loop. Where the loop could not turn, I walked. After another twenty-nine miles, we reached Mount Tai. Looking around, countless peaks rose like jagged fingers. The East Peak is southeast of the Middle Peak, the North Peak is northeast of the Middle Peak, the South Peak is southwest of the Middle Peak, and the West Peak is northwest of the Middle Peak. The West Peak is the farthest, faintly visible in the distance; the East Peak has two peaks, roughly the same size; the North Peak is long like a embankment, flat like a palm, highest; the South Peak is also high. Among the mountains, there are many peaks named Qingliang. However, since the Five Peaks are named after the "peaks," the name Qingliang is overshadowed, and the surrounding peaks cannot compete with it. The Middle Peak is also two peaks. Although there are peaks, there is a flat mountain to the west of the peak, covering an area of over 100 acres—this is what is called a "peak." The platform of the North Peak is clear at a glance. The other three peaks are likely the same, but I couldn’t visit them all. In fact, it was late autumn and the weather was cold. The desert is also a cold place, and without my determination to persevere, I would not have been able to climb. Even when I was on the peak, the coldness of the sky and the slipperiness of the steps need not be mentioned; the biting wind on the peak pierced the skin, making my eyes blur and my nose run, as if I were in a trance. It was truly freezing and unbearable. The best time to climb the peak is in April, May, June, and July, but I could not go in other months. Generally, sacred and mysterious places in the world may prohibit people from visiting. I have always been timid, and my previous visits to the southeastern mountains and this time to the Five Peaks, climbing their summits, all left me trembling with fear, shocked and speechless. In the past, Han Yu climbed Mount Hua and became so crazy that he couldn’t come down. How true! When I first arrived, the great Lama of Putuo gave me a sheep, two packages of tea, and a bushel each of rice and flour, with messengers Demqul and Balongdo. I politely declined and sent them away. On the 22nd, I went to thank them. Taking a winding path from the northwest, I arrived at the foot of the mountain gate, where there were over a hundred steps. The two monks Demqul and Balongdo were already waiting, and we entered the main hall together, paying respects to Manjusri, and then followed to other halls. The monks chanted Tibetan scriptures, which were likely prayers for blessings. After drinking tea in the guest hall, I donated ten gold pieces and bid farewell to visit Xiantong Temple. Inside the temple, there was a bronze hall with beams, rafters, statues, and utensils all made of bronze. The donors competed to gild them, so the gold glowed brilliantly. The courtyard was even more dazzling. I then visited another temple where there was a lotus stem over a foot tall behind the Buddha’s seat. The Buddha sat in the lotus, and when it rotated to the right, the lotus opened, and when it rotated to the left, it closed, like a dragon lantern during the Lantern Festival. The Lama’s name was Han Ming, and he was good at talking. He had the calligraphy of Emperor Renzong. When I saw it, it was the language of the mantra of Samantabhadra, and the temple was named after him. Wu Lama said that there was a seated Buddha in a cave at Cifush Temple, and we went to see it, but it was a fake and deceived people. We then went to the Pagoda Temple to see the pagoda. The pagoda was also impressive, resembling the White Pagoda in Beihai, but with many small Buddha niches around it. In front of each niche, there was a bronze pillar storing scriptures. Turning the pillar would make it rotate like a mill. One full rotation was one reading of the scripture. The principle was also incomprehensible. The abbot, Shengxiu, was from Baoding. At the Shuixiang Temple, the Blue Manjusri was the main image, and I went to see it, but it was just a golden statue. The upper eyelid of Manjusri drooped in the middle, so the eyes had waves, and this was true for all images, perhaps from the original spirit. I asked about the Blue Manjusri, and the monk said, “Putuo Temple is the Yellow Manjusri, Xiantong Temple is the Green Manjusri, Luohu Temple is the White Manjusri, Pagoda Temple is the Black Manjusri, and the Blue one is the Five Colors. Is it the incarnation of the Bodhisattva?” Or are the monks deliberately multiplying names to deceive the world? Since Manjusri attained enlightenment in the Five Peaks, there have been many miraculous responses. The monks have also attached and fabricated stories, making the incense burn even more prosperous. In the north, people believe in Buddhism, especially the Tatar tribes, who often spend their entire families on it. Therefore, temples have been increasing, with countless statues standing, and since the Han and Tang dynasties, there have been over a hundred temples. In our dynasty, after establishing the capital, the emperors visited, and the palaces and courts were extremely luxurious. The yellow was changed to green, and eight hundred people ate from the imperial kitchen. Thus, the land where tigers and dragons were subdued, where magic bowls flew like ducks, and where rare animals gathered, became a place where living Buddhas and monks were as if in hell, devouring people. Some were lured on the road, some waited at the door, some competed to offer incense first, and some beat the wooden fish to provoke trouble. There were countless bad behaviors. I have seen how shameless people are, hooking and collecting, yet I never fail to laugh at them. Those who seek purity in the world are now like merchants, fishing for profit, and the Buddha’s teachings are trampled. How can I not sigh in sorrow! How can I not sigh in sorrow! On the 23rd, I donated to each temple, with varying amounts. I packed my belongings and prepared to leave. Putuo Temple gave me wooden bowls, mushrooms, golden lotuses, and recording pearls. I refused the gifts, as I had already received rice and flour before. Cifush Temple gave me a map of the Five Peaks, Luohu Temple gave me prayer beads and four wooden plates. The monk Han Rongshou from Xiuying Temple gave me three wooden boxes, a wooden ladle, and medicinal noodles, all as thanks for the donation, which I accepted. At noon, we set off. At sunset, we stayed at Taifu Temple, where I chatted happily with the Lian and Wu Lamas. I recited my poem “Farewell to the Five Peaks,” and Lian Lama wanted to carve it into the Middle Peak. The poem goes: “I came to the Five Peaks, seeing Manjusri in all things. My disciples have innate roots, but my master abandoned me. I wandered in the mortal world, my hair gray with age. My body and fame, in everything, are eternal. Like a bird in a cage, when will I soar free? Like a fish in a net, when will I roam the rivers and lakes? I am ashamed of my lack of wisdom, my wish for immortality is also empty. I have lived sixty years in vain, wasting this precious body. Climbing high mountains, I wept and returned to my old home!”
Excerpted from Journal of Geographical Magazine, April-May 1924 issue.
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Translation of the additional text:
On the 19th of the ninth month of the Bingzheng year, I crossed the Great Wall Pass and arrived at Yishou Temple. The terrain grew higher and higher, winding upwards for over twenty miles, from dawn to noon. The two donkeys were drenched in sweat, so I let them rest while I got out of the sedan chair and climbed the Great Wall with Li Xiaoguan and a few others. The Great Wall rose and fell with the mountain terrain, winding like a long dragon, magnificent! However, it had collapsed everywhere and was beyond repair. There was a broken stele on the Great Wall with an inscription on the top: “Record of the Great Wall.” Most of the inscriptions were worn away, making them unreadable. It roughly stated that Longquan Pass was strategically important. Beside the broken stele lay an iron cannon, inscribed with the date and: “Chongzhen Wuyin, Commanding General Fang Changdonated.” Below it was: “Supervised by Shangbang Shang Bangtai.” Strolling on the wall, touching the broken stele and the cannon, I couldn’t help but feel a wave of sorrow. I wrote a poem: “Strategically vital Longquan Pass of old,
Remnants of two dynasties guard the poor border.
Firearms on the Great Wall were useless,
Great fortune has always depended on fate.”
When passing Longquan Pass, I also wrote a five-line poem:
“Morning passes Longquan Pass,
Light chill like early autumn.
Scaling peaks chasing birds,
Winding valleys losing the guide.
Ancient temples bloom flowers,
Deep waters rush in streams.
Unpacking to rest for a while,
Wind in pines blows briskly.”
That night, I planned to stay at Shizuzi. Just as I was traveling, I passed a Guandi Temple where a play was being performed. I got out of the sedan chair to watch. Suddenly, a monk named Zhang Zashier, claiming to know me, asked me to sit among the crowd with great respect. After a few polite exchanges, I asked where the sacred mountain was. He said it was at Taifu Temple and that the temple was just a few steps away. “Please come.” After the play finished, he took me there. The temple was grand and spacious, freshly painted and decorated, a magnificent place. As soon as I entered the mountain gate, I saw a tiger skin stretched on a rack. I asked about it, and he replied, “This village is called ‘Shahu Chuan.’ Emperor Renzong passed through the Five Peaks and saw a tiger, shooting it down. The village was named after this.” A double-eaved hall stood at the foot of the hill, surrounded by lush pines and cypresses like a screen. Just as I was admiring it, a yellow-robed monk came out to greet me, and we entered the abbot’s room. It turned out to be the great Lama of Taifu Temple, from Cizhou, a descendant of Lian Xiangru. His name was Luo Rangqian. Cizhou borders Ye County, and the monk treated me warmly as if I were a fellow townsman, insisting I stay. I repeatedly declined, but my luggage and sedan chair had already arrived. Once my room was prepared, a lavish banquet was set with mutton and wine, leaving me drunk and full. The monk then rushed to arrange my visit to the Five Peaks.
On the 20th morning, we set off from Shahu Xun. The Captain Hou Huwen led with a crossbow, and the monk ordered Wu Lama, named Luo Rangwangzi, to guide us. There were five horses on the ramparts, five horses in the army, and two horses for Wu Lama, totaling twelve, all advancing together. The path was winding through mountains and rivers, with sparse settlements and a desolate landscape. As written in “Li Ling’s Reply to Su Wu”: “In the cool autumn of September, grass withers in the frontier. The ice of the northern land is dark, and the borders are harsh.” I saw this with my own eyes. At the time, I composed a poem in my mind: “At the edge of a deep ravine,
A winding path near the mountain root.
North wind whistles through old trees,
Sunlight shines on desolate villages.
Mountains close as if no path exists,
Pines open as if a door appears.
The weary traveler is truly weary,
I wish to return to my home.”
Taifu Temple is only fifty miles from the Five Peaks. It took five hours from dawn to dusk to reach it, so one can imagine how difficult the mountain road was.