Meng Longtan of Jiangxi and a licentiate surnamed Zhu were staying in the capital when they happened to enter a monastery. Its halls and cells were not very spacious, and only one old monk dwelt there. Seeing the visitors, he smoothed his robes, came out to greet them, and led them about. In the hall stood a statue of Master Zhigong, and on the two walls were wonderfully painted pictures, with figures lifelike as flesh and blood. On the east wall was painted a scene of celestial maidens scattering flowers; among them one girl with her hair in a child's coil held a flower and smiled, her cherry lips about to speak, her eyes brimming with feeling. Zhu gazed at her long and felt his spirit sway and his thoughts drift, until in a daze his body floated up as if on clouds and he found himself upon the wall. He saw storey upon storey of halls and towers, no longer of this world. An old monk sat on a dais expounding the Law, with a great crowd around him, and Zhu mingled among them. After a while he felt someone secretly tug at his robe. Turning, he saw the young girl with the child's coil, who smiled and went away; his feet followed her of their own accord. They passed winding balustrades and entered a little chamber, where Zhu hesitated to advance. The girl turned, and waving the flower in her hand, beckoned him from afar. He hurried to her. The chamber was quiet and empty; he embraced her and she did not much resist, and they lay together in love. Then she shut the door and left, bidding him not to cough. At night she came again. So it was for two days, until her companions noticed and searched out the scholar. Teasingly they said to the girl, "The little gentleman in your belly is already this big—are you still with your hair loose, playing the maiden?" Together they brought out pins and earrings and urged her to dress her hair. The girl blushed and said nothing. One of them said, "Sisters, let us not stay long, lest we displease our host." And with laughter they went away. Zhu looked at the girl—her hair piled high in clouds, the phoenix trinkets drooping low—and she was more lovely than ever. Looking about and finding no one, he grew bold, and as the scent of orchids and musk intoxicated him, their joy knew no end.
Suddenly there came the sharp tramp of leathern boots, the clank of chains, and then a hubbub of quarreling voices. The girl started up, and she and Zhu peered out. They saw a messenger in golden armor, his face black as lacquer, bearing chains and a mallet, surrounded by the maidens. The messenger asked, "Are all present?" They answered, "All are here." He said, "If any of you hides one from the world below, let her confess, lest calamity follow." They answered together, "There is none." The messenger turned and glared about like an eagle, as if to search for the hidden. The girl turned pale as death, and in her panic said to Zhu, "Hide quickly beneath the couch!" Then she opened a small door in the wall and fled. Zhu crouched beneath the couch, scarcely daring to breathe. Presently he heard boots enter the room and then leave. After a while the clamor died away in the distance, and his heart quieted a little; yet voices of people coming and going murmured without the door. Zhu crouched so long that his ears rang like cicadas and sparks seemed to fly from his eyes—a state almost past bearing. He could only listen in silence for the girl's return, forgetting even how he had come there.
Meanwhile Meng Longtan, in the hall, had seen Zhu vanish in a moment and, puzzled, asked the monk. The monk smiled and said, "He has gone to hear the sermon." "Where?" asked Meng. "Not far," replied the monk. After a little he tapped the wall with his finger and called, "Patron Zhu! Why have you been gone so long and not returned?" Presently the picture of Zhu on the wall appeared to incline its ear and stand listening. The monk called again, "Your companion has waited long for you!" Then Zhu floated down from the wall, his spirit dulled and his limbs limp, staring blankly. Meng was astonished and asked him calmly what had happened. For he had been crouching under the couch and, hearing a knock like thunder, had come out of the room to listen. Together they looked at the flower-holding maiden: her hair was coiled high in a spiral, no longer in the child's style. Zhu, startled, bowed to the old monk and asked the meaning of it. The monk smiled and said, "Illusion arises from the mind; how can a poor priest explain it!" Zhu's breath stopped and would not pass, while Meng was alarmed and at a loss. Rising, they went down the steps and out.
The Historian of the Strange says: "'Illusion arises from the mind'—these are the words of one who has attained the Way. When a man harbors lustful thoughts, lewd visions arise; when he harbors lewd thoughts, frightening visions arise. The Bodhisattva enlightens the ignorant by conjuring a thousand illusions, all springing from the heart itself. But in his eager charity, pity that the man did not attain sudden enlightenment and flee into the mountains with disheveled hair!"