Wanglong Nunnery

　　    Originally named Wanglong Chan Temple, this nunnery is located by Crescent Lake at the foot of Golden Rooster Mountain in Zongyang Town. Constructed during the Kangxi reign of the Qing Dynasty, it featured five halls and over a hundred Buddha statues. During the Xianfeng era, Taiping Rebellion generals Li Xiucheng and Chen Yucheng held two urgent military meetings here. The nunnery was once burned down by Qing troops. In 1941, it was restored with funds raised by disciples of Abbess Yongsheng. In 1977, the county cultural relics management office repaired it with government funding. That same year, it was designated as a provincial-level key cultural relic protection unit by the Anhui Provincial Government. Successive abbesses included Master Xiuzhi, Master Xiukong, and Master Longyun. The current abbess is Master Shanchan. Wanglong Nunnery now has two main halls, over ten side rooms, more than 20 Buddha statues, and an exhibition room for Taiping Rebellion artifacts.

　　    A Nunnery Steeped in the Smoke of War

　　    After the Tianjing Incident, many towns occupied by the Taiping forces fell one after another, leaving Tianjing increasingly encircled by Qing troops. The Taiping Rebellion faced unprecedented crisis. In January 1857, to lift the siege of Tongcheng, and again in August 1858, to relieve Tianjing, Taiping generals Chen Yucheng and Li Xiucheng held two military joint conferences at Wanglong Nunnery in Zongyang. The second meeting had a profound impact—it turned the tide for Tianjing, revitalized the Taiping army, and became a pivotal turning point in the Taiping Rebellion. History has bestowed upon Wanglong Nunnery a glorious chapter and left behind a scenic site for posterity to reflect upon.—Preface

　　    One of my most memorable visits was in early summer last year when a CCTV "Military World" crew came here. I stood amid the bustling crowd, watching various spots freeze in front of the cameras. My most recent visit was on a drizzly spring afternoon with a friend, Mr. Wang. The lakeside road in the suburbs was nearly empty, with only a few sand-carrying trucks coming and going, spewing black smoke. Buddhism values tranquility, and we are no fans of crowds. Visiting the mountains to worship in such serene weather offers a unique insight. The lake rippled gently, new willows swayed, and at the end of the dike stood a cluster of white-walled, gray-tiled houses nestled against the mountain and lake, surrounded by lush pines and bamboos—like a paradise on earth. Climbing the steps onto the terrace and pushing open the mountain gate inscribed with the bold characters "Wanglong Nunnery" felt like opening a black-covered history book of the Qing Dynasty. Crossing the threshold, I stepped into centuries of history.

　　    Originally named Wanglong Chan Temple, it was founded in the early years of the Kangxi reign during the Qing Dynasty and has endured over 300 years of human turmoil. In China, there’s an old saying: "Famous mountains are often home to monks." Wherever there are renowned peaks and scenic spots, there’s bound to be a Buddhist temple, large or small. Compassionate individuals who shave their heads and renounce worldly life settle in the mountains, gathering disciples to cultivate Zen and realize Buddhist nature. Take Jiuhua Mountain, known as the "First Mountain of the Southeast"—during the Tang Dynasty, Prince Kim Qiaoque of the Silla Kingdom practiced asceticism here under the name Monk Jizang. When he passed away, his body remained uncorrupted, making Jiuhua Mountain a sacred Buddhist site renowned worldwide. What about Wanglong Nunnery, situated across the river from Jiuhua Mountain? Nestled at the foot of a small hill on the north bank of the Yangtze River, with its evening drums and morning bells, incense lingering in the air, it was once just an ordinary temple. But over a century ago, a massive war engulfed it, etching its name into history and making it known to all.

　　    The first time I heard of Wanglong Nunnery, I fell in love with its name. In Chinese culture, dragons symbolize good fortune and peace. Anything named after a dragon evokes beautiful thoughts. When I learned from textbooks that Wanglong Nunnery was the site of the "Zongyang Conference of the Taiping Rebellion," I became enamored with this place. Each time I visit and see the gilded stone plaque inscribed "Provincial Cultural Relic Protection Unit" on the right wall of the mountain gate, I’m moved by this humble hillside nunnery. I’ve often wondered: Is the intersection of this sacred Buddhist site with the chaos of war a matter of fate or coincidence? A stroke of great luck or a tragedy? So I keep coming back, traveling through the dim tunnel of time.

　　    This is a courtyard-style temple covering nearly 2,000 square meters. Entering the mountain gate, you see the main hall straight ahead and side wings on either side. The interior of the Buddha hall is similar to others—altars display various Buddha statues, with flickering candles, incense burners shrouded in smoke, and platforms for worshippers to kneel. As I stand in the hall, studying each Buddha statue with its distinct expression, I hope to hear something—the serene whispers of wisdom, the profound narratives of history or the chaos of life. But we hear nothing. The Buddha seems to have closed its window to the soul, making it both familiar and distant. Ordinary beings like us, standing beside the Buddha, are like specks of grass at the foot of a mountain or dust in the sunlight—we can only look up, never reach or speak. The Buddha is wordless, and that silence is the ultimate Zen. Before the Buddha, we must either attain enlightenment or quietly leave. Fortunately, when we walk out of the hall, disappointed, another genuinely warm place welcomes us—the east wing connected to the hall corridor, with a plaque reading "Exhibition Hall of Taiping Rebellion and Zongyang Conference Military Relics." Inside, glass cases display rusted spears, broadswords, and crude cannons, along with historical documents, battle maps, and letters—including pages from the well-known "Land System of the Heavenly Kingdom." These battle-worn relics silently witness history, sketching the outlines of that war. Amid legends and artifacts, vivid faces of brave men seem to emerge, while the sounds of wind, rain, and galloping horses from the Qing era echo in our ears.

　　    In China’s thousands of years of feudal dynastic change, the Qing Dynasty is the only one that people inherently viewed as an injustice—"The Ten Days of Yangzhou" and "The Three Massacres of Jiading" bear witness. And the Taiping Rebellion in the late Qing period was the largest-scale peasant uprising in history. It’s undeniable that the Taiping Rebellion was driven by strong emotions and naivety, but the corruption, incompetence, and cruelty of the ruling class were key reasons for public outrage—even if I don’t deny that this dynasty had a glorious beginning. "The storm rages, yet the rooster crows on." When rulers lose their way, even their kin turn against them. Isn’t the uprising of the common people, living at the bottom, a desperate last gamble? Isn’t it also the will of the people, the collective strength, and the hand of fate? From this perspective, the Buddhist Wanglong Nunnery standing in solidarity with the rebel army was a matter of inevitability—a convergence of paths.

　　    According to local records, after the Taiping Rebellion’s fall, Qing troops returned and looted Wanglong Nunnery, burning it to ashes. The current nunnery was rebuilt in the early Republic of China. On the left side of the mountain gate, a stone stele records the nunnery’s centuries of turmoil, including this devastating destruction. We understand why Wanglong Nunnery suffered so. Philosophers say that in class societies, the ideology of the ruling class is the dominant ideology. Any act of resistance, unless immediately victorious, is doomed. This is "the victor becomes the king, the loser the bandit," this is "a fire in the city gate that harms the fish in the moat." Through the faded inscriptions, we can imagine soldiers armed to the teeth furiously smashing the mountain gate, pious monks losing their minds in the disaster, and this sacred Buddhist land crying out amidst flames and smoke. Time passes, people change. The nunnery before us is far from its 19th-century structure, and even the bamboo and pines around it aren’t from the Qing era. All we can do is let melancholy blend with the spring rain, merging into uninspiring musings. The consolation is that Wanglong Nunnery hasn’t been erased by history’s dust or worldly noise—it has left its mark in the annals and shines brightly in people’s memory.

　　    I stroked the nearby stele, lost in thought, when my companion Mr. Wang said:

　　    "Wanglong Nunnery paid a heavy price for what it is today."

　　    I murmured, "Upholding justice, relieving the people’s plight, going through fire and water—nothing is too much."

　　    "A sacred Buddhist land practices ‘emptiness of the four elements.’ Yet it’s caught up in worldly chaos. Don’t you find it a bit bitter and ironic?" Mr. Wang, a poet who loves writing modern, realistic verse, may not know much about Buddhism.

　　    I replied: The Buddha’s greatest concern is saving all beings. "If the void ends, my vows end not; if hell is not empty, I vow not to become a Buddha"—these are the compassionate words of Mahayana bodhisattvas. Buddhism emphasizes the fearless pursuit of independent and free character, opposing reliance on or submission to any external authority, including the Buddha. "Better to endure eternal suffering than seek liberation from sages." Ordination isn’t escapism, and nirvana isn’t deliverance. A Zen practitioner maintains a wise, lofty mindset in the secular world and retains a humble, compassionate spirit when retreating. Thus, Wanglong Nunnery supporting the people is fulfilling Zen vows. Its survival through destruction is the Buddha’s highest state of nirvana—it has achieved the "true fruit."

　　    Mr. Wang seemed to agree with me.

　　    Later, our conversation shifted to Shaolin Temple at the northern foot of Mount Song on the Yellow River. It once suffered devastation for aiding Prince Li Shimin of the Tang Dynasty but was later honored and gained the reputation of "The Number One Temple Under Heaven." The fates of these two sacred sites are strikingly similar. The difference? Li Shimin founded an empire, bringing prosperity, while the once-mighty Taiping forces ultimately disbanded without achieving their goal. But history doesn’t judge heroes by success or failure, nor measure worth by gains or losses—because all causes and conditions are merely assumptions of the subject toward the object, an endless process without conclusion. It’s like the Zen saying: Go with the flow, unrestrained, letting the breeze carry the clouds.

　　    Wanglong Nunnery remains silent. Here, by the mountain gate, how many heard our conversation? Looking around, a young couple stepped off a vehicle on the lakeside dike—perhaps pilgrims or lovers? The spring rain continued, light droplets gathering on nearby camphor leaves, trembling into glistening beads too delicate to touch.

　　    ("The Nunnery Steeped in the Smoke of War" is sourced from the internet, originally published by 'China Travel' without an author credited. The author may contact us for attribution or article retention.)