“There are no monks in this country, not real ones at least.” Song Hui, the withered old head monk of Qingxin Temple in the city of Nanshi in southern China, explained to Wang Bayi, the head of ZCB — Zero Consciousness Bureau, China’s equivalent of India’s ASFA (Association for Searching and Finding A1).
“And what about the ones who walk around wearing the robes? The head of Puji temple, the one on Putuo in Zhoushan, assured me that China has the best monks in the world.”
His bald head leaned back, and his aged, bent body shook as Song Hui let out a raucous laugh.
“What is so funny?” Wang Bayi, slightly incensed, shot the question.
“Oh, nothing, I couldn’t hold myself back. The best Monks. What does that even mean? Is there a competition to become the best monk? Mr Song, don’t waste your time on these crooks. Achieving Buddhahood and entering a state of Nirvana is all that a monk desires. There is no competition. The prominent mountains and monasteries of China today are now major tourist attractions. Buddha and his teachings have long left these places.” Song Hui spoke as he stroked his long white beard.
“And what about Qingxin Temple? Is it the same here?” Bayi, leaning forward, put the question across to Song Hui.
“In China, spiritual traditions that we painstakingly preserved for hundreds of years were corrupted in mere decades. First, it was the purge and destruction of individual spiritual practices during the Cultural Revolution, followed by the blind pursuit of materialism in the succeeding few decades. Buddha nature is not just the result of becoming a monk or meditation, as you believe, but it comes from the way a society is built, and the traditions that you grow up in. It takes thousands of years of living through the endless cycles of samsara to finally realize your Buddha nature. In China, following the revolution, we reverted to being unthinking and unconscious beings, losing all the lessons learned from our sufferings in past births. We lost our ability to have ‘enquiry’ within us, which is essential for understanding our own nature. We replaced the question from ‘who am I’ to ‘how can I make money?’ Buddhism in China is but a shadow of its former self now.”
“I must admit, you are right. But old friend, once again, our time is up. I must leave now. Time flies every time I visit you. It was good to talk to you, Song Hui. Thank you for the Tea.”
Wang Bayi bade farewell to Song Hui and stepped out of the mediation hall. In the distance, the crumbling ancient brick pagoda of Qingxin Temple shimmered green in the afternoon sunlight. Bayi noticed that soft gray clouds of early spring rain darkened the western horizon. Watching the gathering clouds, Bayi felt a surge of trepidation, as rain would make the journey much more dangerous through those uninhabited mountains of Nanshi. Nonetheless, he had to hurry. He quickly crossed the large courtyard, then slowed as he reached the hall of the 500 golden arhats. Bayi loved this part of the temple. He always strolled through the hall slowly, observing each arhat and closely watching their facial expressions—his favorite being an old, emaciated arhat sitting in a far corner. He always wished for one of the Arhats to come alive and become a ‘Zero Consciousness being’. That’s what the Chinese called a person who was a level 1 entity. The last year of searching had been thoroughly fruitless.
Soon, he was out of the hall and once again trudging along the yellow-painted temple walls on rough cobblestone paths. He soon saw the large arched gate to the ancient temple—built during the Sui dynasty—and exited the temple.
The roads grew more winding as Bayi drove toward the Zero Consciousness Bureau. Rain pounded the lush mountain sides, and small waterfalls cascaded down the steep granite cliffs. Bayi slowed down, and the car’s wipers swiftly swept the windshield; yet, visibility remained poor.
‘WEILI is arriving at the facility. Be ready for the progress report,’ a message chimed on his mobile phone. It was from central command. Bayi’s calm and happy expressions transformed instantly. The light smile that graced his face vaporized, and a deep shade of worry came over him. ‘There is no progress to report. Why the hell are they coming over,’ Bayi thought. He sped up his car and raced toward the facility deep in the mountains. The Zero Consciousness Bureau was an erstwhile ski resort, which was odd because these mountains rarely got snow, and even when they did, the snow didn’t last more than a week. Bayi often wondered why a ski resort was built in a place where there was never snow. But he also knew that the last 30 years of breakneck progress had left the land littered with several such ironies.
“I am doing my best, Madam Wu, please believe me.” Bayi cried out to Weili.
“Then, when will I get a Zero Consciousness being. Bayi, you have been giving me false promises for more than a year.” Weili screamed back at Bayi.
They hadn’t even gone inside the facility. Weili had just stepped off the helicopter, and Bayi had come to meet her. She was so furious and irate that their conversation started in the main courtyard of the Zero Consciousness Bureau.
“Madam, please come, let me explain the reason for our failure,” Bayi begged Weili to calm down and come in to speak over a cup of longjing green tea, the one that she liked, the one that came from her hometown.
Hesitatingly, she followed Bayi to the simple conference room, which now functioned more as a tea room. Weili sat on the wooden chair while Bayi heated the water for the green tea. An uneasy silence hung in the room as the water began to boil. Weili stared at the man intently, her anger centered on him. She blamed him for the failure of the Zero Consciousness program. China would soon become the world’s largest economy, surpassing even the USA. Nothing was impossible under the full glow of the red sun. Bayi handed her the teacup with Longjing green tea.
“Why don’t we have an Zero Consciousness, Bayi?” Weili took a sip of the tea and shot the question towards him.
“Madam, A Zero Consciousness Being is someone who has achieved Buddhahood. To attain that, one must let go of all desires completely, fully, and absolutely. That is where we often get stuck. Even if the conscious mind releases its grip, the subconscious mind clings on. That is what we need to break through. We have tried everything, from inviting Buddhist and Taoist teachers from across the country to teach our monks. But Buddhism and Taoism in China have long been corrupted by numerous revolutions. During the anti-religion movement of the 90s, most of the remaining Buddhists were imprisoned or disappeared. The monks we have now were hired by the government. When teaching failed, we turned to drugs and psychedelics, which was an even bigger failure. Our monks began abusing drugs, consuming them frequently, and some even started visiting brothels in nearby villages. When we closed the facilities and restricted movement, cases of extreme psychosis appeared. Monks started behaving erratically, often slipping into deep depression. Then suicides began. We had to halt all drug testing. The psychedelics showed promise, but once their effects faded, the monks reverted to their original states. How can one make a person lose all desires? Even a soldier who sacrifices his life for the country always has a reason, a desire, an altruistic desire—yet it remains a desire.”
Weili was quiet, but her face was glowing red with anger. For China, a nation full of capable people, one that had survived for more than 5,000 years, and a country that had given culture to the rest of the world, nothing was impossible. And so, to her, Bayi was only making excuses.
As soon as Weili left that day, Bayi was dismissed and placed in a detention center. A new head of the facility—an ex-army man known for his lack of imagination and unflinching obedience — took charge that very evening.
The trial was held in secret. The charge: corruption. The verdict: death. Five days later, before the first light touched the mist-wrapped slopes of Nanshi, Wang Bayi was hanged in a grey-walled chamber under the Bureau’s compound. His body was incinerated before noon. Not even the ashes were released to his family.
In a report sent to Central Command, Weili wrote: “Bayi failed to deliver Mind 0. His detachment from outcomes was mistaken for discipline. In reality, he lacked resolve.”
That evening, in the empty hall of the 500 golden arhats, the emaciated stone figure in the far corner remained still, its half-smile unchanged.
No Zero Consciousness Being had emerged.