Chapter Forty-Eight: Commentary on the Great Cloud Sutra (Part One)

The Dayun Sutra, originating from India, was translated into Chinese by the Buddhist master Tanwuchen of Northern Liang during the Eastern Jin period, 260 years ago. It became part of the vast sea of Buddhist scriptures, though its status was not high. Neither a principal sutra of the Buddhist canon nor widely circulated, its influence was limited.

The sutra tells such a story: The Celestial Maiden of Pure Radiance once heard the Great Nirvana Sutra from the Buddha of the Same Lamp. Later, during the time of Shakyamuni Buddha, she was born into the mortal world and, upon hearing the profound teachings of the Dharma once more, attained Buddhahood. Although she was a woman, she eventually became a king, ruling over a quarter of the territory governed by the Universal Monarch. She enlightened the people of all ages and genders under her rule, dispelling heresies and false views, and greatly expanded the Buddhist enterprise.

Eastern Capital, Luoyang. White Horse Temple.

Xue Huaiyi sat cross-legged, the Dayun Sutra spread open before him, his gaze sharp as a hawk’s, scrutinizing every word. After a long while, he sighed deeply. “Deliverance from calamity? That little scoundrel managed to survive his tribulation, yet leaves me with such a dilemma.”

He was the Empress Wu’s favored consort, notorious for his misdeeds, yet there were lines he would not cross. He never involved himself in the struggle between the Li and Wu clans. Taking this sutra onto his lap could win him even greater favor with the Empress—wealth and glory beyond question—but the escape route he had deliberately left for himself now vanished. Yet he could not refuse, for he could not afford to fall from grace.

Quan Ce looked bewildered. “Master Xue, what did you just say? I did not catch your words.”

Xue Huaiyi smacked his lips, rose to his feet, and with a swift kick sent Quan Ce tumbling. Hands clasped behind his back, he strode out of the hall. “I said you deserve a beating. Hmph! Truly, the Buddha’s wisdom encompasses heaven and earth. The Empress must be the reincarnation of the Celestial Maiden of Pure Radiance. Her rule over the realm is surely heaven’s will. Yet, alas, the sutra is so abstruse that neither fool nor commoner can grasp its true meaning. I shall invite all the eminent monks of the Buddhist world to unravel this scripture together, for the benefit of all living beings.”

“Master Xue shoulders the world’s burdens—a true pillar of righteousness,” Quan Ce flattered him, scrambling to his feet and following him across the vast courtyard.

“Hmph! Think you can escape your fate? Since you’re so skilled with the brush, you’ll be my scribe. On the commentary to this Dayun Sutra, your name shall be inscribed,” Xue Huaiyi said, the corners of his mouth curling with mischief.

Quan Ce merely smiled, keeping his thoughts to himself. Was it better that this scripture surfaced by chance, or by design? Should it be the Buddhists or the officials who composed its commentary? The Empress would make her own choice.

A young novice hurried over in quick, shuffling steps, whispering something into Xue Huaiyi’s ear. The head monk blinked rapidly, as if unable to believe what he’d heard. After a long, sullen silence, he shook out his robe and kicked Quan Ce repeatedly. “Why are you still loitering here? Do you expect me to feed you? Be gone!”

Like a startled hare, Quan Ce bolted, vanishing from sight in moments.

Regret welled up in Xue Huaiyi’s heart. The Empress had declared Quan Ce at death’s door, so he should have beaten him soundly to make the claim true, lest he again speak disrespectfully of high monks devoted to female bodhisattvas. “No entering temples or monasteries, no reading Daoist or Buddhist texts. The Empress values this Dayun Sutra greatly. The Empress…” he muttered, his thoughts wandering, his face suffused with longing. After a while, he returned to himself, seized the gawking novice beside him, and beat him soundly. “What are you staring at? Move! Send out the Buddhist invitations and summon all the eminent monks of the twin capitals. I have weighty matters to attend to.”

At the gates of White Horse Temple, Quan Ce halted. From his sleeve he drew rouge and powder, dabbing his cheeks and lips, stooping low, his sleeve half-covering his mouth. Supporting himself against the yellow wall, he shuffled out step by step. Waiting outside, a servant boy arrived carrying a sedan chair. Sha Zha Fu helped settle him into the bamboo seat, where Quan Ce sprawled, hands folded over his belly, limp as if boneless, his blushing cheeks exposed to the sky.

“Set off!” Sha Zha Fu called, leading the way. White Horse Temple lay southeast of Luoyang’s outskirts, and the route back to the city twisted and turned, calculated so that news of Quan Ce’s dire state would travel through every street and alley.

Their small procession—one guard, two servants, and two chair-bearers—drew every eye. Quan Ce’s features were fine, his brows and eyes delicate. Despite his wan appearance, the makeup made his lips red and teeth white, accentuating his youthful charm. Under the sunlight, his visage was striking.

Suddenly, a bunch of purple grapes tumbled from the sky, striking Quan Ce’s cheek. Squinting upward, he saw a group of noble ladies on a balcony, waving and laughing as they beckoned to him. The sight amused him—was this frail beauty so admired in the Tang?

Then, emboldened by example, women in the street began hurling fruit, grains, even vegetables and eggs—anything at hand—showering him with their offerings. Sha Zha Fu cried out in alarm, “Make way! Cease this at once!” but to no avail. The crowd swelled, and soon men joined in, flinging objects with wild abandon, no less frenzied than the revelers at a brothel tossing silk scarves at courtesans. The Tang people, it seemed, were madcap at heart, from highest to lowest.

Quan Ce was utterly bedraggled. This performance was a matter of life and death; the first act, with the Empress, Buddhists, and Daoists, had ended flawlessly. The second could not afford the slightest misstep. Gritting his teeth, he remained sprawled and motionless, enduring as his eyes and mouth were bruised by the barrage.

Desperate, Sha Zha Fu ordered the chair set down. The five men formed a protective circle around Quan Ce. One after another, they were pelted, grimacing in pain as stars danced before their eyes.

Not far away, many pairs of eyes watched this sudden farce unfold.

“Protector, what should we do?” asked a man robed wholly in black, only his eyes visible, a hint of pity in his voice.

The Protector glanced at him coldly, offering no reply.

“Imperial Guards of the Eastern Capital, make way!” A booming voice echoed down the street as Zheng Zhong led a company of guards, forcing a path through the throng with their bodies. After half an hour, they reached the battered group at the center.

“General!” Zheng Zhong rushed forward, dropping to his knees at the sight of Quan Ce’s bruised and bloodless face. Rumors had told of Quan Ce coughing blood at death’s door, but he had doubted them. Quan Ce had secluded himself at White Horse Temple under the pretext of deliverance from calamity, refusing all visitors. Now, seeing him in this state, Zheng Zhong felt as if lifetimes had passed. Overcome with grief, he collapsed across Quan Ce’s knees, weeping uncontrollably.

A warmth stirred in Quan Ce’s heart. He forced a faint smile, reaching out to pat Zheng’s head. In a dry whisper, he said, “Home.”

Turning, Zheng Zhong lifted Quan Ce onto his back and strode through the crowd, steady and unyielding.

“Protector, the Imperial Guards of the Eastern Capital are famed for their might. Why do they not draw their blades?” the black-robed man asked, puzzled.

The Protector paid him no heed, lazily waving a hand. “Follow them.”

He had lost all interest. True or false, Quan Ce had played his part to perfection—so much so that pretense became reality. The man’s actions were impenetrable; following would gain nothing. Muttering to himself, he said, “If true, you are the epitome of loyalty; if false, you are the greatest deceiver.”

A sudden smile flickered across the Protector’s lips. The reputation of the Eastern Capital’s Imperial Guards was well deserved.