Explore Chapter 82 of 'Spring Ming Outer History' with the original Chinese text, English translation, detailed Chinese vocabulary explanations, and audio of the Chinese original. Listen and improve your reading skills.
Now, Yang Xingyuan had slightly recovered from his illness, but his heart remained clouded with melancholy. That day, he sat alone in his study. Outside, the wind and rain raged, deepening his sorrow.
Recalling the recent misfortunes, he could not help but heave a long sigh. Since parting with Li Yun, there had been no news of her. He knew not where she was now.
At night, Yang Xingyuan lay in bed, tossing and turning, unable to sleep. Suddenly, he heard the wind and rain outside grow fierce. It was as if a thousand sorrows surged into his heart.
In his haze, he seemed to see heavenly flowers falling in profusion. A monk approached and said to him, "Benefactor, your Worldly Attachments are not yet severed. Why cling to them?"
Yang Xingyuan was about to reply when he saw the monk transform into a wisp of blue smoke and vanish. He woke with a start, realizing it was all a dream.
Outside, the wind and rain raged, making the window paper rustle loudly. He threw on his clothes, got up, and lit the oil lamp. On the table, he saw a Buddhist sutra.
He idly flipped through the pages and came upon two lines: "Meditative Mind has become like mud-soaked catkins. Do not dance like the partridge in the spring breeze." A glimmer of insight stirred within him.
Yet, recalling past events, his heart ached unbearably. He picked up his brush and wrote a few lines of poetry: "A couch of Meditative Mind in vain I claim. At midnight, nightmares and storm assail me."
After writing, he threw the brush onto the desk and heaved a long sigh. Amid the sound of wind and rain, he seemed to hear distant bell tolls. They lingered and drifted until dawn.
The next day, the wind and rain gradually subsided. Yang Xingyuan pushed open the window and looked out. In the courtyard, the pear blossom had all fallen, leaving the ground covered in remnants of white. This only heightened his desolation.
He knew the root of his illness ran deep, beyond the cure of medicine. Only by calming his heart and nurturing his nature could he perhaps alleviate the pain slightly.
From then on, Yang Xingyuan chanted sutras and recited Buddha's name daily. Gradually, he felt his mind grow peaceful. Yet, in the stillness of deep night, those past events would still quietly enter his dreams.