In the waning days of the Tang dynasty, a humble woodcutter named Huineng sat by a roadside stall, overhearing a traveling monk recite the Diamond Sutra. In that instant, the layers of confusion peeled away—an awakening so sudden it set a lighthouse of clarity in his heart. Eager to deepen this insight, he journeyed to the monastery on Mount Song, where the Fifth Patriarch, Hongren, held court.

Seeking a test of inner illumination, Hongren challenged his monks to compose verses that captured the living essence of mind. Shenxiu, the monastery’s most esteemed disciple, stepped forward first. His verse, elegant and polished, went something like this:
“The body is the Bodhi tree;
the mind a shining mirror stand.
At all times wipe it clean,
and let no dust alight.”

Nod upon respectful nod circled the hall. Yet Hongren summoned a silent kitchen-worker who had been peeling rice for months. That rough-hewn verse—crafted in the local Cantonese—shook the rafters:
“Originally there’s not a single tree,
nor a stand to hold a mirror.
Fundamentally, there’s not a speck of dust—
so where could anything cling?”

Shenxiu’s words had captured diligent effort; Huineng’s revealed effortless suchness. The old Patriarch quietly passed him the ceremonial robe and bowl, signifying the unbroken lineage of awakening. News of the secret transmission spread like wildfire, and Huineng slipped away under night’s cloak to avoid jealousy, carrying the true heart of Chan wherever footsteps led.

That whispered exchange flipped Zen tradition on its head, proving that genuine insight isn’t about polished scholarship or ritual labor, but the spontaneous glimpse of one’s original nature—pure, boundless, and forever free of dust.