In the early years of the sixth century, during the vibrant but politically fractured era of the Northern and Southern Dynasties, a mysterious figure known as Bodhidharma arrived at the southern ports of China. Known to many as the 'Blue-Eyed Barbarian' or the Twenty-Eighth Patriarch of Buddhism in India, he carried with him the essence of a new teaching—one that did not rely on scriptures or rituals alone but on the direct transmission of the mind. After a long and arduous sea voyage from India, he eventually made his way to the capital of the Liang Dynasty, Jiankang, which is known today as the city of Nanjing. At this time, the southern court was ruled by Emperor Wu, a man so devoted to the Buddhist faith that he was often called the 'Bodhisattva Emperor.'
Emperor Wu had spent a lifetime and an immense imperial fortune building magnificent temples, commissioning the translation of sacred texts, and supporting thousands of monks and nuns. When he heard that a great master from the West had arrived, he was eager to receive him and validate his own spiritual achievements. The encounter between the Emperor and the monk is one of the most famous dialogues in religious history. The Emperor, dressed in his finest imperial silks, asked Bodhidharma, 'I have built many temples, copied many sutras, and supported many monks. What merit have I earned?' He expected a response of high praise, perhaps a promise of a favorable rebirth. However, Bodhidharma looked at the sovereign with eyes that seemed to pierce through the illusions of the material world and replied flatly, 'No merit whatsoever.'
The Emperor was stunned and deeply troubled. He asked again, 'What, then, is the first principle of the holy truth?' Bodhidharma replied, 'Vast emptiness, nothing holy.' Frustrated and unable to grasp the profound simplicity of the monk’s message, the Emperor asked a third question: 'Who is it that stands before me?' To this, Bodhidharma simply said, 'I do not know,' and he turned to leave the palace. This moment illustrated the vast gap between the Emperor’s institutional, merit-based religion and Bodhidharma’s radical, direct experience of the void. Bodhidharma realized that the time was not yet right for his teachings to flourish in the Southern court, and so he decided to travel north toward the kingdom of Northern Wei.
His path was blocked by the immense and turbulent Yangtze River. In the sixth century, the Yangtze was a formidable barrier, a wide expanse of grey-green water with powerful currents that could easily capsize a small vessel. As Bodhidharma stood on the muddy banks near Nanjing, he watched the ferrymen and the heavy merchant boats struggling against the tide. Legend says that the Emperor, regretting his dismissal of the sage, sent his soldiers or perhaps a messenger to bring Bodhidharma back. Some versions suggest the local officials refused him passage on the boats to test his resolve or out of fear of the Emperor’s previous displeasure.
Unfazed by the lack of a boat and the rising waters, Bodhidharma looked down at the riverbank and saw a single stalk of reed—some say it was a stalk of wheat or a simple straw. He plucked the thin, fragile plant from the earth and tossed it onto the surface of the rushing river. To the amazement of the crowds and the soldiers pursuing him, the reed did not sink or wash away. Instead, it floated buoyantly, defying the laws of nature. Bodhidharma stepped lightly onto the reed, his weight seemingly as light as a feather, or perhaps his spirit was so aligned with the flow of the universe that the water itself rose to support him. With his saffron robes fluttering in the wind and his eyes fixed on the distant northern shore, he glided across the Yangtze with ease, the single reed acting as his vessel.
The crossing was not merely a feat of magic; it was a manifestation of his internal state—a mind that was unburdened by the weight of ego or the complications of worldly desire. As he reached the center of the river, the currents seemed to part for him. Onlookers watched in silence, realizing they were witnessing a man who had transcended the physical limitations of the human condition. When he finally stepped onto the northern bank, he did not look back. He continued his journey toward Mount Song in Henan province, where he would eventually settle at the Shaolin Monastery. There, he would spend nine years facing a cave wall in silent meditation, a period known as 'wall-gazing,' which laid the foundation for the Chan (Zen) school of Buddhism.