The Three Teachings Converge into One: The Path of the Mortal and the Saintly is the Same

Poetry:

Having traversed ten thousand miles of shifting sands to the west, my worldly heart has been worn away, revealing the Zen vow.

A single fallen leaf in the courtyard reveals the emptiness of existence; the Three Jewels subtly connect the three religions.

After bidding farewell to the withered old man in the secluded valley of the western frontier, Su Qingxuan, dressed in a blue robe and carrying his books, set off alone westward. He traversed the Gobi Desert and desolate hills, enduring the desolate smoke rising from the vast desert. Through the changing seasons and the vicissitudes of life, a year had passed in the blink of an eye. The eleven-year-old boy who had just left Langya Mountain was now twelve years old. His figure had become increasingly upright, and his blue robe, though weathered by wind and sand, remained clean and crisp. The immaturity of his youth had faded from his brows, replaced by the composure of someone who had experienced the vicissitudes of life. Confucianism and Taoism intertwined and flowed around him, blending seamlessly without the slightest hesitation.

During that year, he neither rushed his journey nor deliberately sought out temples. He simply followed the vast terrain of the Western Regions, stopping and starting as he pleased, finding peace in the most ordinary human life and verifying the Great Dao in the most genuine experiences of birth, aging, sickness, and death. The gentle and refined beauty of Qingxi Town in Jiangnan is the warmth of small bridges, flowing water, and the fragrance of osmanthus in the courtyard; while the world of the Western Regions is the vastness of the Gobi Desert, the grandeur of snow-capped mountains and the magnificent sunset over long rivers, the desolation of proud poplars and the distant sound of camel bells. If he had not personally set foot on this vast western frontier, even if he had read countless Confucian classics and comprehended the profound principles of Yin and Yang in Taoism, he would still have been unable to fully grasp the world—reading ten thousand books is not enough; one must travel ten thousand miles to know the vastness of the mountains and rivers, the myriad aspects of human life, and the boundless nature of the Great Dao.

The fierce desert winds of the western frontier, the starving refugees in the villages along the way, the sick and dying travelers in the Gobi Desert—scenes of human suffering touched his heart deeply. With the benevolence of a Confucian scholar, he gave food to the hungry, gathered medicine for the sick, and helped those in distress, seeking neither reward nor fame, acting only according to his conscience. With the natural wisdom of a Daoist, he observed the millennia-long cycle of the poplar trees, understanding the impermanence of wind and sand, witnessing the ceaseless rotation of the sun and moon, knowing that all worldly changes follow the laws of nature, unattached to joy or sorrow, unburdened by gain or loss. The sincerity and integrity he cultivated in his small courtyard in Jiangnan, and the harmony of Yin and Yang he comprehended in Langya Mountain, were repeatedly refined, tempered, and integrated in this vast world and the desolate western regions. The Confucian and Daoist energies blended seamlessly in his dantian, like water and milk, completely integrated and inseparable.

He had never heard anyone mention the division of cultivation realms, nor did he care about the depth of his own cultivation; he only devoted himself to the Dao, seeking to help the world and find peace. Yet, even without consciously observing, he could clearly sense the changes in his own aura—the Qi Sea within his dantian, a fusion of Confucianism and Daoism, was thick and long, allowing him to hold his breath for three days without panting; his Qi was contained within, still when still, but when it moved, it possessed an overwhelming and unstoppable power. In terms of the skill level of martial arts practitioners in the world, this level of cultivation was the result of two full cycles of arduous training. Even the top masters of the martial world and senior elders of the Daoist sects could hardly match him. Occasionally, in moments of quiet reflection, he realized that he was still some distance from his master Xuanqing's half-step Immortal realm (his master had casually mentioned his own realm), but it was no longer out of reach. He only needed further enlightenment from Buddhism, integrating Buddhist teachings with Confucianism and Daoism, to make steady progress and reach his master's level. However, the level of one's cultivation and the depth of one's skill were merely external things to him, and he did not care about them. What he sought was never to achieve unparalleled cultivation, but rather the fundamental path of the unity of the three religions and the common path of mortals and saints, and the sincere wish to save the world and bring peace to the people, and to live up to his original aspiration.

On this day, he traveled to the foot of a mountain deep in the Western Regions. The yellow sand gradually subsided, and the vegetation flourished. A serene and peaceful Zen-like atmosphere drifted on the wind, refreshing his soul. Looking up, halfway up the mountain, a thousand-year-old temple stood nestled against the slope. Its roof was covered with green tiles, its vermilion gate was mottled, and its courtyard walls were whitened by the passage of time. Copper bells hung from the eaves, ringing softly in the wind. It stood out starkly against the surrounding desolate desert, like a pure lotus throne in the turbid world of mortals. Above the temple gate were the four characters "Dajue Zen Temple," written with vigorous strokes, full of Zen spirit. Despite a thousand years of wind and rain, they were still clearly legible. This was the ancient temple he had been searching for all year.

Su Qingxuan straightened his clothes, brushed the dust off his blue robe, and slowly ascended the steps. The stone steps, worn smooth by the footsteps of the monks over a thousand years, were flanked by ancient cypress trees, with birds perched among their branches, undisturbed, creating an atmosphere of serene tranquility. Upon reaching the mountain gate, the vermilion temple gate slowly opened, revealing an old monk wearing a patchwork kasaya, with a beard like silver threads, a ruddy complexion, and clear, deep eyes. He exuded a Zen aura, his appearance solemn and dignified. This was none other than Abbot Liaochen of Dajue Temple.

The old monk stood at the mountain gate, his gaze fixed on Su Qingxuan, scrutinizing him from head to toe without a trace of surprise in his eyes, as if he had been waiting for a long time. Before Su Qingxuan could speak, he cut to the chase, his voice calm yet each word like a Zen bell, striking straight to the heart: "You come from Jiangnan, carrying the Confucian benevolence of saving the world and bringing peace to the people, and the Daoist profound thought of following the principles of Heaven. You have traveled thousands of miles westward seeking the mysteries of Buddhism. Do you know the true meaning of the core Buddhist concept of 'emptiness'?"

Su Qingxuan bowed deeply, his manners impeccable, displaying both the respect of a Confucian scholar and the humility of a Daoist. His voice was clear and steady: "On my journey westward, I happened to hear eminent Buddhist monks preach, but I only have a superficial understanding. I only heard the eight words, 'All phenomena are empty, but cause and effect are not empty.' All things in the world arise and cease due to causes and conditions, ultimately returning to emptiness. Only the cause and effect of good and evil cycle endlessly, without the slightest waste. I am foolish and dull-witted, and wish to enter a Zen temple to diligently study and seek guidance from the Great Master to fully comprehend the true meaning of Buddhism."

The monk Liaochen, who had spent his life practicing Zen and had seen countless people, including many monks seeking the Dharma and pilgrims obsessed with worldly gains, had never met a young boy like Su Qingxuan, so young yet so pure in heart and naturally gifted in the Way. Hearing this, he nodded slightly, acting swiftly and decisively, and immediately waved his hand, saying, "Since you wish to learn, then enter the temple. In the backyard of the Zen temple, there are three ancient locust trees. In autumn, their leaves fall in abundance. You must sweep three thousand fallen leaves every day, not a single one more, not a single one less. Do this for half a year first, and then we can discuss learning the Dharma."

Su Qingxuan understood. The old monk wasn't deliberately using him, but rather using the task of sweeping leaves to temper his mind, dispel his delusions, and help him comprehend the Buddhist principle of impermanence. He immediately bowed and replied, "Disciple obeys."

From then on, Su Qingxuan stayed at Dajue Temple. Every morning before dawn, he would take a bamboo broom and go into the backyard to sweep the fallen leaves of the ancient locust tree. The autumn winds in the Western Regions were strong, and the ancient locust tree had lush branches and leaves. The fallen leaves would rustle and scatter in the wind. Just as he swept them into a pile, a gust of wind would blow them away again, scattering them all over the ground. He would sweep them up and they would fall again, and he would sweep them up again, day after day, without interruption.

At first, following the Confucian doctrine of the mean, he swept the leaves meticulously and calmly, counting them one by one. Occasionally, a strong wind would blow, scattering countless fallen leaves, and his heart would flutter, feeling that his efforts were futile. But then he thought, "Taoism teaches to follow nature. When the wind comes, leaves fall; when the wind goes, leaves scatter—this is the natural order of things. Why be fixated on quantity or rigid rules?" Confucianism emphasizes sincerity and a righteous mind; sweeping leaves is also a form of self-cultivation. Sincerity brings results; it's not about the number of leaves, but about the stillness of the mind. With this change of perspective, the ripples in his heart vanished, and he focused solely on the bamboo broom in his hand. While sweeping, his mind was undisturbed, not dwelling on the past, not anticipating the future, but simply cherishing the tranquility of the present moment.

Two months passed in the blink of an eye. Three thousand fallen leaves were swept away daily without interruption. With each sweep, Su Qingxuan's mind became clearer and more peaceful. The lingering attachments and anxieties from his past worldly experiences were swept away with the fallen leaves. The Confucian and Taoist spirit and the meditative mind of Buddhism quietly merged, showing signs of the convergence of the three religions.

As the sun set, its afterglow bathed the backyard, carpeting the ground with golden leaves from the ancient locust tree. Su Qingxuan swept away the leaves, carefully collecting three thousand withered leaves into a bamboo basket, arranging them neatly, and stood quietly beneath the tree. The old monk Liaochen slowly approached, stood beside him, his gaze falling on the basket, and softly asked, "Where are the leaves?"

Without hesitation, Su Qingxuan bowed and replied, "In the basket."

Upon hearing this, the monk Liaochen remained silent, but gently tilted his hand, emptying the bamboo basket of fallen leaves. A gust of autumn wind swept through, scattering the golden leaves across the courtyard. The old monk then asked, "Where are we now?"

Su Qingxuan stared blankly at the falling leaves scattering everywhere, speechless for a moment.

The leaves, once swept into the basket, had a traceable path and a place to rest, but once scattered, they drifted away with the wind, leaving no fixed abode or trace. The Confucian principles of preserving the mind and the Daoist principles of cultivating the mind that he had previously comprehended all had an original heart to uphold and a great Dao to rely on. But now, the fallen leaves were scattering, without coming or going, without dwelling or settling, leaving him momentarily bewildered, and for the first time, a feeling of emptiness and helplessness arose in his heart.

From then on, he continued to sweep leaves every day, but with a newfound contemplation in his heart. He watched the leaves gather and disperse, the wind rise and fall, repeatedly pondering the old monk's two questions, trying to understand the true meaning of "emptiness." The Confucian concept of investigating things to acquire knowledge and the Daoist concept of yin and yang were both repeatedly verified in his heart by observing the image of falling leaves, but he was always just one step away from breaking through the barrier.

Lost in thought, April arrived in the blink of an eye.

That morning, as the mist began to dissipate and the morning dew had not yet dried, Su Qingxuan swept the leaves with a broom. He watched as a leaf drifted down from a branch, slowly fell to the ground, and was then swept up by the cold wind and carried away into the distance. Suddenly, he felt a jolt in his heart, as if enlightened, and his mind became clear.

He no longer clung to the location of the fallen leaves, no longer entangled in the appearance of gathering and scattering. In an instant, he understood: fallen leaves grow from the branches, fall with the wind, and drift away. They arise from sprouting on the branches and cease returning to dust. They have no fixed coming or going, no constant abode; everything is a combination of causes and conditions. The so-called "in the basket" or "in the wind" are merely concepts and distinctions given by the human mind. The essence of fallen leaves is neither born nor dies, neither defiled nor pure, neither increasing nor decreasing, neither coming nor going, existing only in the present moment of the mind.

Just then, the old monk Liaochen walked over slowly again and asked softly as before, "Where is Ye?"

Su Qingxuan put down the bamboo broom, bowed respectfully, his eyes gleaming with wisdom, and spoke in a clear and resonant voice, each word penetrating: "Leaves have no coming or going, they only reside in the present moment."

Upon hearing this, Monk Liaochen's lips slowly curved into a gentle smile, his eyes filled with approval, and he nodded slightly: "Excellent, excellent. You have already grasped the true meaning of 'dependent origination and emptiness,' and have already passed the initial stage of Buddhism."

With this, the task of sweeping leaves came to an end. Monk Liaochen, no longer bothered by trivial matters, began to formally preach and expound the sutras to Su Qingxuan, transmitting the profound mysteries of Buddhism.

The old monk's sermons were profound yet simple, progressing step by step. He avoided obscure and abstruse doctrines, starting with the most ordinary human affairs and natural phenomena, guiding the audience patiently... He spoke of the worldly and the transcendent, and then back again. He taught Liaochen the Agamas, explaining the Four Noble Truths and the Thirty-Seven Factors of Enlightenment; he explained the Twelve Links of Dependent Origination, clarifying cause and effect, reincarnation, and the karmic retribution of good and evil; then he taught the Tathagatagarbha Sutra, elucidating the ultimate truth that all sentient beings possess Buddha-nature and that all phenomena are inseparable from the original mind; then he gradually entered deeper realms, teaching the Surangama Sutra, the Perfect Enlightenment Sutra, the Diamond Sutra, the Heart Sutra, and the Lotus Sutra... dispelling delusion and opening enlightenment, revealing the true nature of mind, directly pointing to the source of the human heart; finally, he transmitted the Surangama Mantra, the Great Compassion Mantra, and the Rebirth Mantra... The old monk imparted all his knowledge without reservation.

Su Qingxuan, well-versed in Confucian classics and Daoist principles, was now encountering Buddhism for the first time. It was like rain after a long drought, a thirsting thirst that was instantly quenched; every word was etched into his mind. He had never consciously tried to integrate Buddhism with Confucian and Daoist principles, yet the Buddhist teachings, upon entering his ears, naturally resonated with his Confucian ideals and Daoist principles of self-cultivation, becoming an inseparable whole.

The Confucian ideal of "sincere intention and righteous mind" is equivalent to the Buddhist ideal of "enlightenment and seeing one's true nature," both of which uphold a pure and clear original mind.

The Daoist principle of "following nature" is equivalent to the Buddhist concept of "arising and ceasing due to causes and conditions," both following the principles of cause and effect in the universe.

The Confucian ideal of "benevolence and love for others" is the same as the Buddhist ideal of "compassionate salvation," both of which involve doing good deeds to help the world and bring peace to the people.

The Taoist concept of "yin and yang balance" is equivalent to the Buddhist concept of "the Middle Way and the Three Perfections" (the view of emptiness, the view of provisional existence, and the view of the middle way), both of which seek a state of impartiality.

This state of automatic integration surprised even Su Qingxuan himself. He knew that it was not something he did intentionally, but rather that the three religions were fundamentally connected and all methods ultimately returned to the same mind, which is why they could integrate so naturally.

Days passed slowly amidst the unhurried pace of sermons, enlightenment, meditation, and Zen practice. Morning bells and evening drums, the lingering sounds of chanting, the ancient temple serene and untouched by worldly noise. Through Buddhism, Su Qingxuan broke free from attachments and distinctions, his heart becoming increasingly clear, his understanding of the Way increasingly profound. The energies of Confucianism, Taoism, and Buddhism gently intertwined in his dantian, showing signs of convergence. Unbeknownst to him, he had been in the temple for over a year. The twelve-year-old boy of yesteryear was now thirteen, his figure increasingly upright, his features clear and bright, his face like jade, resembling a refined gentleman. The energies of the three religions blended around him, transcending the mundane, like a banished immortal.

On this day, the old monk Liaochen summoned Su Qingxuan early in the morning, his expression solemn, and led him toward the back mountain of the Zen temple. The back mountain was secluded and deep, with ancient trees reaching the sky, and the Zen atmosphere was even stronger. When they reached the depths of the dense forest, a stone cave suddenly appeared, with the three characters "Wu Nian Cave" carved at the entrance. The characters were simple and ancient, and the Zen atmosphere was profound.

"This cave is where ancient Buddhist masters meditated in seclusion to attain enlightenment. The stone walls inside are covered with ancient Sanskrit inscriptions, retaining the essence of Zen for thousands of years. It is the first secret place of our Zen temple." Monk Liaochen stood at the entrance of the cave, his voice solemn. "You have been in the temple for a year and have already mastered the basic principles of Buddhism. Now I order you to enter the cave and meditate for seven days, without speaking or eating, only drinking from the clear spring. Within the Zen atmosphere of the cave, you will thoroughly understand your true nature, which will help you verify the principle that the three religions share the same origin."

Su Qingxuan bowed in agreement, knowing that this was the old monk's final test for him, and also an opportunity to help him break through his cultivation level. He straightened his clothes, shouldered his bag, and slowly stepped into the Wunian Cave.

The cave was dark, yet not cold. The smooth stone walls were covered with dense, blurred ancient Sanskrit inscriptions, the characters weathered by a thousand years, yet still retaining a faint Zen-like quality, flowing gently and soothingly. There were no lights or fires inside, only a faint light filtering in from the entrance, barely illuminating the small area. Su Qingxuan found a spot on a blue stone, sat cross-legged, and, following the Confucian method, closed his eyes, regulated his breathing, calmed his mind, and remained silent, neither eating nor drinking, only drinking from the clear spring seeping from the cave walls when thirsty, completely immersed in Zen and enlightenment.

On the first day, his mind was calm and his Confucian, Taoist and Buddhist energies flowed smoothly. The Zen spirit of the ancient Sanskrit in the cave slowly seeped into his mind and helped him to stabilize his Taoist heart.

The next day, all distracting thoughts vanished, and the self and the external world were forgotten. Memories of past worldly experiences, sermons, and enlightenment swirled and intertwined in the sea of ​​consciousness, and the doctrines of the three religions became increasingly integrated.

On the third day, just as he was concentrating and comprehending the meaning of Zen, the piece of dead wood he kept close to his body suddenly became slightly warm, and a warm and peaceful aura emanated from it, quietly resonating with the ancient Zen spirit in the cave.

Su Qingxuan's heart stirred slightly. He reached into his robes and took out the withered wood. The withered wood was still black, and the mottled inscriptions of the past were still blurry and difficult to decipher. However, under the stimulation of the special Zen atmosphere in the cave, the originally blurry inscriptions on the withered wood began to faintly reveal lines of golden Sanskrit phantoms.

The Sanskrit script shared the same origin as the ancient characters on the cave walls, its golden light soft and gentle, neither dazzling nor ostentatious, exuding a profound and mysterious aura of Buddhist teachings. Su Qingxuan was unaware that these were the hidden traces left by the ancient ancestors of the Su family when they integrated Buddhist imagery into the wood. Normally remaining concealed, they were now gradually revealing their true form under the stimulation of ancient Buddhist Zen principles.

The golden Sanskrit phantom flickered on the withered wood for a moment before slowly dissipating and merging into the inscriptions, leaving no trace. This brief appearance, however, instantly cleared Su Qingxuan's mind. The energies of the three religions within his dantian surged and merged, the previously subtle boundaries slowly dissipating. The Confucian grandeur, the Taoist spirituality, and the Buddhist purity coalesced into a harmonious and transparent primordial energy, flowing throughout his body, unblocking all his meridians, and propelling his Dao heart to a new level.

He sensed that the three treasures passed down through the Su family might not simply be Confucian, Taoist, and Buddhist artifacts, but rather the supreme treasures of his ancestors. Each treasure had a different triggering mechanism, yet they were also subtly connected. Perhaps the key secret was the unification of the three religions. His cultivation journey had been marked by the automatic fusion of the three religions, all subtly influenced by these three treasures, and all were preordained opportunities.

For the remaining four days, Su Qingxuan sat quietly in the cave, thoroughly digesting his insights. His foundation of the unity of the three religions became more and more solid, his primordial energy became more and more mellow, and he gained a deeper understanding of the Great Dao that connects the mortal and the saint.

Seven days later, as dawn broke, Su Qingxuan slowly opened his eyes. A glint of light flashed in his eyes, his mind was clear, and the auras of the three religions blended seamlessly, making him appear extraordinary. He rose, put away the withered wood, and slowly walked out of the Wunian Cave.

The old monk Liaochen remained standing at the cave entrance. Seeing him emerge, his gaze fell directly on the withered wood in the man's arms. A flicker of understanding and shock crossed his eyes. He gave him a deep look, his voice calm yet revealing a profound truth: "The withered wood in your arms is a ten-thousand-year-old Bodhi spiritual root, no ordinary wood of this world. It is a supreme treasure left behind from ancient times, containing the fundamental secrets of the three religions' shared origin. All methods share the same source, and all paths lead to the same destination. Confucianism, Taoism, and Buddhism, though seemingly different paths, ultimately converge on one mind. You are the one destined to inherit this path; cherish this opportunity, and do not betray your true heart, nor the...sages of the past."

Su Qingxuan bowed respectfully, understanding dawning on him. Master Liaochen had already seen through his destiny and the hidden secrets of the Three Treasures, yet he hadn't revealed them, only pointing out the principle of the common origin of the three teachings, leaving it for him to continue exploring. He knew that his Buddhist practice at Dajue Temple had come to an end, and the great path of the unity of the three teachings was already unfolding beneath his feet; he only needed to continue forward, experiencing trials in the mortal world and exploring and verifying the great path.

The ancient temple bell tolls through the mountains, its lingering chants drifting on the wind. A thirteen-year-old boy in a blue robe, embodying the three religions and possessing a priceless treasure, embarks on a new journey of communal exploration between the mortal and the sacred.

It is:

Zen light shines on ancient trees at the bottom of the cave, and the spiritual connection between the three religions is illuminated by a single point.

Do not say that the path of mortals and saints is far apart; the heart returns to its original nature, which is naturally perfect.