A humble woodcutter in southern China, the man later known as Huineng never set foot in a monastery—until a chance encounter with a traveling laywoman set his life on a new course. Overhearing a passage from the Diamond Sutra at a market stall, an inner spark ignited: realization that true wisdom isn’t tied to ritual or scholarship but comes from directly seeing one’s own nature.

Determined, he journeyed to Hongren’s monastery on Mount Huangmei. Tongue-tied and illiterate, he arrived clutching a bag of rice—his only dowry. When Hongren asked if he could read texts, Huineng confessed ignorance. Unfazed, the Fifth Patriarch recognized depth beneath that unassuming exterior. Seeing the woodcutter’s mind as “a bright mirror,” forever capable of reflecting reality once cleared of dust, Hongren offered lodging—and a chance to practice.

As the years passed, monks debated who’d inherit the robe and bowl, symbols of the patriarchate. Hongren decided to test their understanding through verse. Each senior disciple composed a poem celebrating enlightened mind. When it was Huineng’s turn, illiteracy threatened to bar him—but under moonlight, he dictated his lines to a friend:

“Bodhi originally has no tree,
The bright mirror also has no stand.
Buddha-nature is always clean and pure;
Where is there room for dust?”

His words landed like a thunderclap, cutting through illusion with simplicity. Hongren, already aware of this hidden gem, secretly summoned Huineng to a hut. There, in the dead of night, the master placed the robe and bowl upon him—implicit transmission of mind-to-mind. Without fanfare, the Sixth Patriarch slipped away at dawn, heading south to spread sudden-enlightenment teachings.

This tale unfolds like a quiet stream that runs deep: greatness sometimes grows from the most unpolished places. Huineng’s journey reminds seekers that enlightenment isn’t earned by titles or books, but by uncovering the stillness hidden beneath everyday thoughts.