Forging the Sacred: The Rise and Reimaging of Mount Jizu 雞足山 in Ming-Qing Buddhist Geography ^†

Abstract

From the mid-Ming to early Qing dynasties, Mount Jizu 雞足山 in Yunnan achieved unexpected prominence within China’s Buddhist sacred landscape—an event of regional, national, and transnational significance. Employing an explicit comparative lens that juxtaposes Jizu with China’s core-region sacred sites like Mount Wutai and Emei, this study investigates the timing, regional dynamics, institutional mechanisms, and causal drivers behind the rapid ascent. Rejecting teleological narratives, it traces the mountain’s trajectory through four developmental phases to address critical historiographical questions: how did a peripheral Yunnan site achieve national prominence within a remarkably compressed timeframe? By what mechanisms could its sacred authority be constructed to inspire pilgrimages even across vast distances? Which historical agents and processes orchestrated these transformations, and how did the mountain’s symbolic meaning shift dynamically over time? Departing from earlier scholarship that privileges regional and secular frameworks, this work not only rebalances the emphasis on religious dimensions but also expands the analytical scope beyond regional confines to situate Mount Jizu within national and transnational frameworks. Eventually, by analyzing the structural, institutional, and agential dynamics—spanning local, imperial, and transnational dimensions—this study reveals how the mountain’s sacralization emerged from the convergence of local agency, acculturative pressures, state-building imperatives, late-Ming Buddhist revival, literati networks, and the strategic mobilization of symbolic capital. It also reveals that Mount Jizu was not a static sacred site but a dynamic arena of contestation and negotiation, where competing claims to spiritual authority and cultural identity were perpetually redefined.

1. Introduction

On the nineteenth day of the ninth month of Chongzheng 9 (18 October 1636), Xu Xiake 徐霞客 (1587–1641), celebrated as the most reputable explorer ever produced in imperial China, embarked on his final journey. Not unlike his former travels, he started the journey from Shengshui bridge 勝水橋 in Nanyangqi village 南暘歧, Jiangyin 江陰,1 half a mile from his residence. His destination was Yunnan, for which he explained in the diary written that night, “Long have I planned to venture west, yet deferred this quest for two years. Now, with age encroaching and illness looming, further delay is untenable” (余久擬西行，遷延二載，老病將至，必難再遲) (Xu and Zhu 1985, 114). The term xi here ambiguously refers to the enigmatic vast region in western China. Already in his fifties, Xu keenly felt the urgency of his mission, fearing that procrastination might forever foreclose his ambition to chart the empire’s distant margins. Accompanying Xu on his journey, aside from his servant, was Chan master Jingwen 靜聞 (?–1637), a monk from Nanjing’s Yingfu si 迎福寺. Unlike Xu, whose pursuits intertwined scholarly inquiry with exploration, Jingwen undertook the arduous expedition as a devout pilgrimage to Yunnan’s Mount Jizu. For two decades, he had respectfully transcribed the Lotus Sutra in his own blood—a sacred act of devotion—and now sought to venerate this relic at the mountain’s hallowed shrines. The journey, spanning thousands of miles, exacted a heavy toll. Fifteen months into the trek, Jingwen succumbed to illness before ever reaching Yunnan’s borders. Grief-stricken yet resolute, Xu vowed to honor his companion’s mission, pledging to transport both Jingwen’s ashes and the blood-inscribed sutra to Mount Jizu.2 Upon finally entering Yunnan, Xu dedicated nearly two years to traversing forty-six counties and documenting the region’s cultural and geographical tapestry. His pilgrimage culminated at Mount Jizu, where he reverently enshrined Jingwen’s relics and sutra, fulfilling his solemn promise. Shortly afterward, Xu was confined to the mountain by illness, abruptly halting his lifelong odyssey of discovery. He was only able to return to his hometown of Jiangyin with the assistance of Mu Zeng 木增 (1587–1646), a hereditary tusi 土司 (Aboriginal Chieftain) whose political and cultural significance will be explored further, and died several months later.3

Despite these captivating stories between Xu Xiake, Jingwen, and Mu Zeng, we find particular interest in the unexpectedly rapid ascent of Mount Jizu within the Chinese Buddhist sacred landscape and its enduring appeal. The emergence of Buddhist sacred sites in China, exemplified by Mounts Wutai and Emei, embodied a gradual yet consequential geographic shift of Buddhist centers from India to China. Crucially, their appearance aligns with Chinese Buddhism’s institutional zenith in medieval China. This synchronicity was not coincidental, and establishing new sacred sites can thus been seen as material manifestations of Buddhist vitality within specific historical contexts. Mount Jizu, not a single peak, encompasses an expansive sacred terrain spanning three prefectures in central and southern Yunnan, with Dali 大理 as its nucleus. Remarkably, despite its location in a region perceived as culturally and politically marginal from the central Chinese perspective, Mount Jizu exerted a magnetic pull on devotees and literati elites as distant as Jiangnan, which was at that time the cultural center of China. This phenomenon becomes even more intriguing given that Buddhism’s prominence at the mountain emerged only during the Jiajing period (1522–1566), despite Yunnan’s long-standing Buddhist heritage. The historian Fan Guoyu 方國瑜 (1903–1983), for example, observed that “by the late Ming, Mount Jizu’s renown had permeated the empire, establishing it as a Buddhist hub in Yunnan. Its zenith, however, occurred during the Jiajing and Wanli eras (1522–1620)… No significant Buddhist activity was recorded there in the early Ming” (雞足盛名，明季已播海內，已成滇中佛法淵藪，而興盛則為嘉靖、萬曆間事…明初葉未聞雞足勝事也) (Long et al. 2007, 532). This rapid transformation thus raises critical questions: how did Mount Jizu achieve such prominence within such a brief historical span? What mechanisms conferred upon it the sacred authority to inspire arduous pilgrimages—such as the Jiangnan monk Jingwen’s journey of thousands of miles to perform blood-scripture veneration, a supreme devotional act in Buddhist practice? Through what processes, and by which historical actors, were these transformations orchestrated? Furthermore, how did perceptions of the mountain’s significance diverge between local communities (e.g., the Mu clan) and external visitors (e.g., Xu Xiake)? Did its symbolic resonance remain static, or did it evolve dynamically over time? These inquiries probe the interplay of agency, geography, and cultural negotiation that propelled Mount Jizu from obscurity to sanctity.

Scholarship on Buddhism at Mount Jizu has generated significant insights (Kamata 1998; Cai 2010; Yinshun 2008; Lan 1991; Lin et al. 2006). Lian Ruizhi’s studies are particularly notable especially for their emphasis on local agency (Lian 2006, 2007, 2013, 2020)—the capacity of regional actors to shape cultural and religious landscapes.4 She rightly argues that the mountain’s sacred identity was a cultural construct forged through collaboration between tusi, local elites, and Ming officials, who strategically leveraged Buddhist rituals to consolidate sociopolitical order in Yunnan. Furthermore, Hou Chong dedicated two decades to researching Yunnan’s Buddhist history, producing works of remarkable breadth. His studies on indigenous religions and Chan Buddhism at Mount Jizu stand out as particularly illuminating (Hou 1994, 1995, 2002, 2006a, 2006b, 2008; Hou and Duan 2004). Notably, both Lian Ruizhi and Hou Chong share a methodological commitment to local perspectives in their Jizu scholarship—an inclination likely rooted in their respective scholarly identities as Taiwanese and Yunnanese researchers. Building upon this foundation, the present study contends that Mount Jizu’s ascendancy must be analyzed as an inseparable fusion of sociopolitical strategy and religious dynamism. While its political utility—particularly in consolidating frontier governance—is undeniable, it is imperative to foreground its spiritual dimensions to avoid flattening its significance into mere ideological instrumentality. Overemphasis on politicized narratives risks eclipsing the multifaceted forces that animated its sacred aura and sustained its influence across centuries. Equally critical is the recognition that while the mountain’s roots lie in Yunnanese soil, its resonance extended far beyond provincial borders. Its integration into pan-imperial Buddhist networks relied not only on local actors but also on external agents—monastic Dharma lineages, imperial patrons, and cross-regional pilgrims. A holistic understanding thus demands interrogating how these intersecting local and transregional currents—devotional, intellectual, and political—collectively enshrined Mount Jizu in the empire’s sacred geography.

This study explores the rapid ascendance of Mount Jizu as a Buddhist sacred site through three interconnected lenses: the centuries-long integration of Yunnan into imperial China via acculturation and state-building, the late Ming Buddhist revival, and the dynamic construction of sacred landscapes. Structured into four analytical sections, the research begins by dissecting a pivotal renaming event that cemented the mountain’s identity, probing its implications first through an examination of how Yunnan’s indigenous communities engaged with Buddhism—a process deeply influenced by regional religious, sociopolitical, and cultural currents. The second section investigates the activation of local agency through complex socioreligious dynamics from the mid-Ming onward, revealing how Mount Jizu could emerge as an exceptional success story even amid broader declines in Chinese Buddhism. The third section identifies the forces propelling the mountain’s rise to national prominence against the backdrop of late Ming Buddhist renewal, highlighting synergies between imperial agendas, interregional networks, and monastic innovation. The fourth section deciphers how Mount Jizu eventually crystallized as a distinctive sacred site, centrally characterized by its association with Chan Buddhism. Concluding with a synthesis of findings, the study illuminates universal patterns of religious sacralization while underscoring Mount Jizu’s unique historical trajectory. It provides critical insights into how borderland regions negotiated cultural integration, spiritual identity, and imperial hegemony in late imperial China.

2. Geopolitics, Mindsets, and Creative Misinterpretation

Originally peripheral to Buddhist traditions, Mount Jizu only emerged as a site of Buddhist significance in the mid-fifteenth century following its renaming—a pivotal act that bestowed its current name. This transformative moment, however, was neither arbitrary nor incidental; it was deeply intertwined with the region’s evolving religious and sociopolitical dynamics, as well as the enduring mindset and cultural ethos of Yunnan’s indigenous communities.

We begin by examining the mindset and characters of the Yunnanese, which was profoundly shaped by a centuries-long confluence of ethnic self-definition, historical contingencies, and evolving geopolitical dynamics. The fact that prior to the Yuan dynasty (1260–1368) Yunnan was a politically autonomous region fostered a distinct regional ethos characterized by persistent resistance to external subjugation. In Kaiyuan 26 (738), Geluofeng 閣羅鳳 (r. 748–779), with Tang court’s (618–907) backing, unified Yunnan’s six tribes (liuzhao 六詔) to establish the Nanzhao Kingdom 南詔 (738–902), centered in Dali and the fertile Erhai 洱海 plain. Before that, the region had largely operated within the “Zomia” framework—a term denoting the stateless highland societies of Southeast Asia and Southwestern China.5 However, this alliance with the Tang soon fractured. In Tianbao 13 (754), Geluofeng inflicted a catastrophic defeat on Tang forces, claiming the lives of as many as nearly 200,000 soldiers (Liu 1975, 106: 324). This decisive victory, compounded by Yunnan’s rugged terrain and inaccessibility, deterred neighboring powers from launching further large-scale conquests. As a result, both the Nanzhao Kingdom and its successor, the Dali Kingdom 大理 (938–1253), retained de facto political autonomy. Their centuries-long independence underscores Yunnan’s geopolitical exceptionalism—a frontier forged by geographic isolation, strategic internal alliances, and resistance to centralized authority.

Paradoxically, Yunnan also thrived as a vibrant contact zone where external influences from China, Tibet, India, and Southeast Asia converged, competed, and hybridized,6 countering insularity from an early period. Though geographically vast and ringed by natural barriers, the region never existed in complete isolation; instead, it sustained connections to transregional networks through ancient trade routes that funneled goods, ideas, and spiritual practices across its mountainous corridors. Cities such as Kunming 昆明 and Dali 大理, for instance, functioned as critical nodes in this network. They marked the termini of the Lingguan Route 靈關道, Shimenguan Route 石門關道, and Yelang Route 夜郞道, which linked Yunnan to China’s interior Sichuan and Guizhou provinces. These pathways facilitated Chinese cultural influence in the region that can be traced back to the Eastern Han dynasty (25–220). Simultaneously, Kunming and Dali anchored cross-border routes like the Tianzhu Route 天竺道 to South India and the Jiaozhi Route 交趾道 to Southeast Asia. Such networks not only integrated Yunnan with neighboring regions but also spurred ethnic cohesion and cultural exchange. In a region as autonomous, self-sufficient, and denying easy access as pre-modern Yunnan, the significance of early-established routes in mitigating the insularity of its communities cannot be overstated. Within the region, notably, these pathways not only enhanced regional connectivity but also catalyzed demographic shifts—differential access to these routes over centuries generated pronounced economic and cultural disparities, which reconfigured population distribution patterns across the landscape (Han 2021, 250–57). Of particular relevance to this study are the Bai 白 people,7 who historically inhabited fertile, accessible regions such as Dali. Compared to other ethnic groups in Yunnan’s mountainous regions, the Bai benefitted from superior educational opportunities and deeper integration into Han Chinese cultural norms. It turns out that as pivotal contributors to Buddhism’s growth in the region, their receptivity and intellectual agility, honed through centuries of engagement with cross-regional networks, critically influenced the religion’s evolution.

Over centuries, Yunnan’s unique geography, cultural pluralism, and tradition of political autonomy fostered a distinctive regional identity that shaped its inhabitants’ worldview and survival strategies amid upheaval. This identity fused defiant local pride—rooted in resistance to subjugation—with receptive openness to external influences and pragmatic flexibility, enabling communities to navigate shifting realities. This dualistic ethos offers a critical framework for understanding how Yunnan’s communities negotiated their engagement with Buddhism, particularly during the Yuan (1271–1368) and Ming (1368–1644) dynasties when they had to navigate imperial pressures while preserving spiritual and cultural autonomy.

Buddhism served as both a unifying faith and a cornerstone of cultural identity for the Yunnanese, with the influence of Chinese, Tibetan, and Indian traditions varying dynamically over time. During its formative period, Buddhism in Yunnan bore a profound imprint of its Indian origins, the cradle of Buddhist tradition.8 This legacy is epitomized in the legend of Acuoye Avalokiteśvara (阿嵯耶觀音, the “Victorious Guanyin”), who is said to have manifested as an Indian monk (fanseng 梵僧) to prophesy the rise of the Nanzhao Kingdom under Geluofeng (Li 2009).9 The deliberate invocation of an Indian monastic figure to legitimize Geluofeng’s reign underscores the spiritual authority accorded to Indian Buddhism at the time—a legacy further evidenced by surviving Acuoye Avalokiteśvara statues, which retain distinct Indian stylistic elements. By the ninth century, Buddhism had become deeply entrenched in Yunnan, marked by the proliferation of temples across the landscape (Yang 1968, 1: 46–48, 50–51, 53–54, and 66; You 1989, 47, 58, 68, 79, and 83).10 In the Dali Kingdom, for example, eight of its twenty-two monarchs abdicated the throne to take monastic vows, which reflects Buddhism’s unparalleled political and spiritual sway.11 In Zhiyuan 17–20 (1280–1283), an emissary dispatched by the Yuan court also observed the following:

Every family, whether rich or poor, has Buddhist halls. Every person, whether old or young, takes rosary in hands without pause. Each year, [people] hold precepts in nearly half of the time, during which they would never eat meat and drink wine before the practice is over. A great number of temples are scattered on mountains, and the flow of people visiting them to worship the Buddha and to play for pastime is endless (家無貧富，皆有佛堂，人不以老壯，手不釋念珠。一歲之間，齋戒幾半，絕不茹葷飲酒，至齋戒畢乃已。沿山寺宇極多，而禮佛遊玩者弗絕).

(Guo 1966, 5)

The dominant form of Buddhism in the region, notably, was the Acarya tradition (Azhali jiao 阿吒力教), a system that transcended mere religious practice to become deeply interwoven into the political and social fabric of Yunnan. 12 Allegedly introduced to the Nanzhao Kingdom in the mid-ninth century by Zantuo Jueduo 赞陀崛多 (Sanskrit: Candragupta?), a monk from Magadha in India, the Acarya tradition spread widely across the region, particularly among the Bai people. With a strong flavor of esoteric Buddhism,13 this teaching was believed by the Yunnanese to be powerful enough to subdue dragons and tigers.14 Following the political involvement of Buddhism that can be traced back to its abovementioned granting Geluofeng with a sacred start, the Acarya teaching was growingly interweaved into indigenous politics and society. Acarya masters were experts in rites, including consecration (guanding 灌頂; Skt. abhiṣeka) and other Buddhist services. They provided the ruling houses with a sacred origin, either by sanctifying their rule through Acuoye Avalokiteśvara’s prediction or by claiming that they were descendants of King Aśoka (ca. 304 BC–232 BC), the Indian king well known for his support of Buddhism. This practice closely mirrored traditions in South Asia and Southeast Asia, where Theravada Buddhism was similarly employed to deify rulers (Tambiah 1976; Song 2000). However, it starkly contrasted with Inland China, where Confucianism typically fulfilled this legitimizing role, relegating Buddhism to a supplementary or symbolic function. Significantly, these Acarya masters were permitted to get married and father children. They monopolized esoteric skills and passed them down exclusively to their family members, whereby rendering the post hereditary. Leveraging the system of shiseng 師僧 (Buddhist monks adept in Confucian classics) used to enlist bureaucrats, they occupied key administrative posts. Moreover, through strategic marriage, these religious nobles weaved intricate networks linking themselves closely to the ruling houses, other noble families, and local elites. In this way, Acarya masters eventually perpetuated their lineage physically, politically, and socially across generations. Furthermore, the Acarya teaching, intertwining spiritual authority with governance, functioned to bolster ideological cohesion within the kingdoms and reinforce societal stability (Lian 2006, 2013, and 2020; Bryson 2016, 2019).

However, this alliance of the Acarya teaching with Yunnan’s royal elites was inherently precarious, and its decline was hastened by its demotion to a localize practice under the Yuan dynasty.15 Following the Mongol conquest of the Dali kingdom in 1265, the Yuan, a vast unified Euro–Asian empire, drastically curtailed Yunnan’s political autonomy. With the conversion of Khubilai Khan (1215–1294) and his empress Chabi 察必 (?–1281) to Tibetan Buddhism under the direction of Phags-pa’s (Chin. 八思巴; 1235–1280), Tibetan Buddhism became a de facto state religion which, backed by institutional power, expanded rapidly across the empire (Frank 1981; Wang 2016). In Yunnan, this shift marginalized the Acarya tradition, eroding its sociopolitical foundations. The Ming dynasty (1368–1644) intensified this suppression. After conquering Yunnan, authorities even burned up “all official archives and texts held among the populace” (在官之典冊, 在野之簡編, 全付之一燼) (Shi 1808, 14:33). This systematic erasure of native culture and memories reveals the regime’s determination to weaken regional identities and assert ideological dominance. The Acarya tradition, already diminished, was hence further marginalized as part of Ming efforts to integrate Yunnan—a culturally distinct frontier—into the imperial core. What is more, unlike the Yuan’s religious policy of tolerance, the Ming imposed stringent regulations on Buddhist practices, prioritizing state orthodoxy over local traditions (He 2007; Yü 1981, 144–70; Brook 2005, 133–34, 137–38; Zhang 2020, chap. 1). In Hongwu 24 (1391), for example, the founding emperor Zhu Yuanzhang 朱元璋 (r. 1368–1398) decreed capital punishment for monks who married or fathered children. When applied to Yunnan, these policies disproportionately impacted the Acarya tradition as it had blended monastic and householder practices. As late as Zhengde 2 (1523), Chen Tianxian 陳天祥 (?–1516; jinshi 進士, 1496), Yunnan’s Investigating Censor (jiancha yushi 監察御史), still denounced Acarya practitioners severely.

They retain their hair and consume meat and wine. Although resembling monks and Daoists in appearance, [they] are neither of them. [They] have wives and concubines and father children. In the pretext of praying for blessings and avoiding calamity, they assemble women from decent families only to indulge in lascivious acts in broad daylight and thus harm social morals (不祝髮，不絕葷酒，類僧道而非僧道，有妻妾，生子女。假託事福祈禳，召集良家婦女，宣淫壞俗).

(Ming Wuzong shilu, 23)

This remark reflects the persistent hostility of Confucian-aligned officials toward the tradition.16 For the Yunnanese, however, such an escalating suppression of the Acarya teaching posed existential and sociopolitical threats to their time-honored way of life. Predictably, they would respond with resistance strategies refined through generations of frontier negotiations.

Mount Jizu emerged as a site of cultural resilience amid this climate of suppression, and its reinvention by local communities reflects a strategy of creative misinterpretation to subvert political hegemony while preserving spiritual autonomy. Formerly known to locals as Mount Jiuqu 九曲山 (Nine-Bend Mountain), the peak likely acquired its current name—Jizu 雞足山 (Cock’s Foot Mountain)—no earlier than the mid-15th century (Chen and Liu 2002, 5.3). While the name ostensibly derives from the mountain’s topography (three ridges splaying forward like talons, with a fourth extending rearward), its deeper significance lies in its deliberate evocation of Buddhist sacred geography. In Buddhist tradition, Jizu shan corresponds to Kukkuṭapāda-giri in Magadhā, India, revered as the abode of Mahākāśyapa. As the Buddha’s foremost disciple and steward of the early Saṅgha, Mahākāśyapa famously convened the First Buddhist Council. As he grew old, Mahākāśyapa entered Mount Kukkuṭapāda, where his body “ascended into the sky, manifested divine transformations, and dissolved into extinction through self-ignited flames” (身升虛空，示諸神變，化火焚身，遂入寂滅) (Xuanzang 1924–1934, 9.919b29–c22). Chinese pilgrims like Xuanzang 玄奘 (602–664) and Yijing 義淨 (635–713) had long enshrined the Indian site in East Asian Buddhist consciousness. The Yunnanese were not an exception in this respect. In the manuscript called the Huguo sinan chao 護國司南抄 (a manuscript for protecting the state) hand-written in 908, for example, the term Jizu shan explicitly refers to the Indian mountain (Fang 2000, 102).17 In fact, even before renaming the mountain, the Baigu tongji 白古通記, which appeared in Dali sometime between Hongwu 17 (1384) to Yongle 14 (1416), already claims that Dali was Miaoxiang city 妙香城 (Skt. sugandha-cūrṇa; Tib. dri phun sum tshogs pa) in India, and that Dali, together with nearby Lijiang 麗江 and Heqing 鶴慶 prefectures, were the enfeoffment of King Aśoka. It also explains the origins of Mount Jizu and legends associated with it.

It is the Miaoxiang city between the Cang [mountain] and the Er[hai] lake. The Buddha realized enlightenment in Western Erhai. (Mount Diancang) was where the Buddha expounded the Lotus sutra. Mount Jizu was originally called Mount Qingdian in ancient times, and the cave [there] was called Huayin Cave.…King Brahmā in Kapilavastu renamed the mountain Mount Jizu because it resembled cock’s feet, and the cave Jiashe Cave. Ven. Kāśyapa entered Mount Jiuzu from Mount Diancang in Dali. Ānanda personally engraved the image of the Venerable on the Huashou Gate. [Sometime] after the “Three Emperors”, Mengjusong, the eighth son of King Aśoka in Māgadhaka in India, lived in Dali serving as the king there (蒼、洱之間，妙香城也。釋迦佛在西洱證如來位。（點蒼山），釋迦說《法華經》處。雞足山，上古之世原名青巔山，洞名華陰洞。……迦毗羅國淨梵大王因其山形象雞足，遂更名曰雞足山，名其洞曰迦葉洞。迦葉尊者由大理點蒼山入雞足。阿難親刻尊者香像於華首門。三皇之後，西天摩揭陀國阿育王第八子蒙苴頌居大理為王).

(Wang 1996, 58–62)

This strategic redefinition of Dali and its neighboring regions’ cultural ties—emphasizing their proximity to India, long after Indian cultural influence had waned, over China, into which they were recently integrated—functioned as a nuanced act of political defiance. More than a simple renaming, this recalibration of symbolic narratives sought to reclaim the Dali people’s centuries-old identity, quietly revitalizing Bai cultural traditions that the Ming dynasty had attempted to erase.18 Moreover, by embedding the sacred legacy of Kukkuṭapāda into local landscapes, Yunnanese elites reconceived their homeland as a bastion of Buddhist authority, defying imperial attempts to relegate the region to cultural peripherality. Far from arbitrary, therefore, this kind of deliberate reinvention of place and meaning, including the renaming of Mount Jizu, emerged from a collective pride forged through resistance and enduring cultural resilience.

3. Accommodation, Local Agency, and Reinvention of Legitimacy

The identification of Mount Jizu in Yunnan as the sacred abode of Kāśyapa reflected a nostalgic yearning for a bygone historical era. Yet, this sentiment alone was insufficient to mobilize the substantial resources required for the mountain’s Buddhist institutionalization. Thus, which groups provided the initial impetus for establishing Buddhism on Mount Jizu following its renaming, and what motivated their involvement? The answer lies largely in the nuanced interplay between state policies and local responses during the early to mid-Ming period. As part of its state-building agenda, the Ming court enacted unique policies in southwestern border regions, while local communities leveraged their cultural traditions to negotiate these impositions through adaptation and resistance. Within this fraught environment, the region’s Buddhist tradition—deeply rooted yet politically sidelined—required deliberate mobilization to evolve into a cultural and spiritual resource. These dynamics raise critical questions: who spearheaded this transformation? To what degree was Buddhism instrumentalized? And through which mechanisms did it gain traction? Addressing these questions will illuminate the indispensable role of local agency in Buddhism’s ascendancy on Mount Jizu, particularly during its formative stages.

For the Ming state, a sprawling empire with significant cultural heterogeneity, integrating Yunnan into the imperial framework as a major concern demanded pragmatic flexibility, and thus its approach to Buddhism in this newly conquered frontier oscillated between suppression and tolerance. On the one hand, in order to assert Confucian orthodoxy, some Confucianism-oriented officials would fiercely target against Buddhist institutions. In an aggressive campaign that earned him the epithet “Lin Pifo” 林劈佛 (Lin the Buddha-Smasher), for instance, Lin Jun 林俊 (1452–1527; jinshi, 1478), Vice Surveillance Commissioner (Ancha fushi 按察副使) of Yunnan, destroyed all Buddhist statues, ritual halls, and religious paraphernalia within the estates of the Heqing’s tusi, who were engrossed with Buddhism for generations. This act sent shockwaves through Northwest Yunnan’s officialdom. On the other hand, while ideological control remained a priority, Buddhism could also be strategically tolerated to secure cooperation from local elites. Even for the Acarya teaching, an object of suppression, the court still signaled tacit recognition of it by establishing institutional oversight during the Xuande era (1426–1435). By the Zhengde era, the Acarya teaching, “deeply rooted and unshakable” (牢不可拔) in local societies, still had several hundred adherents.

When responding to state-imposed pressures, local societies in Yunnan demonstrated the dual strategy of cultural resistance and adaptive pragmatism, which they had developed in former centuries.19 In the early Ming, things like compiling the Baigu tongji demonstrated the resistance of the elites of assimilation. Nonetheless, as time passed, local agents also exhibited remarkable flexibility. The Mu 木 tusi in Lijiang, the lineage to which Mu Zeng belonged, for example, originally enlisted local scholars to trace their genealogies to indigenous myths and to frame their lineage narratives as ingeniously classical and legitimate (Lian 2018). By the mid-Ming, however, they increasingly sought to legitimize their narratives within imperial frameworks. Similarly, prominent families in Xizhou 喜洲, about eighteen kilometers north of Dali, tended to replace their mythic progenitors like King Aśoka or Shayi 沙壹 with the ambiguously defined Jiulong lineage 九隆/龍氏 (Hou 2002, 194–98).20 This suppression of sacred indigenous origins was a calculated shift toward Sinicized identities, with which local elites tacitly affirmed loyalty to the Ming court while negotiating their place within the imperial order (Lian 2006, 203–6).

This reorientation toward Inland China, notably, gained further momentum from profound demographic shifts. The wei-suo 衛所 (garrison-military) system endured from the Ming through the Qing dynasty (Peng 2025; Robinson 2016; Shin 2019; Chen 1991). Unlike the Yuan dynasty’s reliance on locally recruited Bai people for garrison farming, the Ming actively resettled Han farmers from China’s interior to cultivate and populate the southwestern frontier.21 By the mid-15th century, as voluntary Han migration surged, the state-led colonization efforts were amplified. Over the course of this period, significantly, settlers tended to concentrate in strategic hubs such as Dali and Kunming—nodes critical to military and commercial networks. Moreover, most Han migrants originated from Jiangnan, with their cultural influence so pervasive that local dialects were said to closely mirror the accent of Nanjing (Xie 1986, 4:13a-b). Consequently, in regions like Lijiang, Han settlers soon outnumbered indigenous groups, 22 and such a reshaping of ethnic geography, in turn, created a pressing demand for their cultural and religious practices, often at the expense of local traditions.

By the mid-fifteenth century when the political situation became stabilized again, both the Ming state and local agents—guided by their shared pragmatic flexibility—found that it was advisable to establish a cooperative relationship, and that backing Buddhism, particularly its Chinese-style variant, was effective and comfortable in achieving the goal. Unlike Confucianism, Buddhism’s emphasis on equality and inclusiveness provides a unifying framework that helps transcend social hierarchies, ethnic–cultural divides, and regional boundaries.23 By the Chenghua-Hongzhi period (1465–1505), Yunnan’s indigenous communities and the Ming state converged to support Buddhism for dual ends; for the former, it became a state-sanctioned avenue for spiritual expression under restrictive policies, and for the latter, it facilitated regional integration without dismantling local customs, aligning with a broader acculturation strategy that blended suppression with co-optation. Against this backdrop, more than a faith, Buddhism’s spread in Yunnan also became a sociopolitical instrument to reorganize the region’s social order and redefine state–periphery relations. More specifically, Chan Buddhism was promoted as the preferred replacement for indigenous Buddhist traditions; while the Buddhist identity of Chan Buddhism ensured local acceptance, its Sinicized character made it an ideal vehicle for the state to culturally assimilate the frontier.

As official restrictions were mitigated, a surge of enthusiasm for Buddhism was ignited in Yunnan, and in the currents Mount Jizu was chosen as a prime beneficiary due to its unique fusion of sacred and secular advantages. Mount Jizu’s sacred status derived from its canonical association with Kāśyapa, one of the Buddha’s foremost disciples. Notably, Kāśyapa’s multifaceted identity resonated differently across regions: in Inland China, he was venerated primarily as the first patriarch of the Chan tradition, while in Yunnan, locals revered the legend of his residing in a Mount Jizu’s stone cave awaiting Maitreya’s arrival—an event heralding a new cosmic era. By anchoring itself as Kāśyapa’s abode, Mount Jizu could thus bridge the devotional needs of Buddhists both in Yunnan and in Inland China. What is more, in China’s spiritual network, Mount Jizu could be expected to function as a unique node as it was separated by vast mountain ranges even from the nearest Buddhist peak, Mount Emei 峨嵋, approximately 1000 km away. Aside from this, Mount Jizu wielded pragmatic strengths. Politically, its historical absence from pre-Ming power structures spared it from factional strife. Geographically, its location at the crossroads of China, Tibet, India, and Southeast Asia positioned it as a transcultural hub whose influence could easily be amplified within and beyond imperial borders. Economically, proximity to affluent, highly Hannized (Hanhua 汉化) regions like Dali and Lijiang ensured patronage, protection, and resources essential for institutional growth.24 Eventually, amid the efforts of the Ming state and local residents to forge cooperative ties, Mount Jizu was forcefully pushed into the Buddhist world. A new chapter started in its history.

Given how deeply Buddhist traditions became rooted in the region, predictably, the people who lavished support on Mount Jizu spanned all socioeconomic backgrounds, elites, and grassroots alike. The most pivotal were scholar-officials, a new class of local elites hinged solely on success in the civil examination system. These figures seamlessly blended centuries-old Buddhist patronage with the imperatives of the Ming imperial order. Li Yuanyang 李元陽 (1497–1580; jinshi, 1526) stands out as a most influential and respectable figures in this milieu. Li’s career was fraught with turbulence. After attaining the prestigious position of Hanlin Bachelor (shujishi 庶吉士) in Jiajing 5 (1526), he was demoted to Fenyi 分宜, Jiangxi, for offending the emperor during the “Grand Rites Controversy” (daliyi 大禮議)—a defining political crisis of the early Jiajing reign (Fisher 1990; Hu 2007). Afterwards, Li spent much of his career in provincial posts, including as Magistrate of Jiangyin County, which happened to be Xu Xiake’s hometown. In Jiajing 20 (1541), at age 44, Li retired from official life and returned to his native Dali, and dedicated the next four decades to Buddhist endeavors on Mount Jizu (Jiao 1991, 89:427b–431a). As a Dali native celebrated as the first Bai author to achieve national reputation, Li Yuanyang was actioning on Mount Jizu with a dual identity: a Confucian scholar-official steeped in mainstream Chinese culture and a fervent advocate for Dali’s local pride. As a prominent Yunnanese scholar of the Wang Yangming school, which then enjoyed growing popularity, Li embodied the assimilation of Chinese intellectual orthodoxy.25 However, locally, he actively championed Dali’s cultural legacy, notably through his compilation of local gazetteers such as the Dali fuzhi 大理府志 (The Gazetteer of Dali Prefecture).26 In this vein, his promotion of Mount Jizu’s sacred status reflected a similar effort to elevate Yunnan’s cultural prestige within the empire.

Rather than actioning alone, Li Yuanyang managed to meet the need of the mountain’s Buddhist institutions by mobilizing resources across diverse sectors of local society. His familial network provided critical support. During a visit to the mountain in Jiajing 25 (1546), Li and his son-in-law pledged land revenues to fund the construction of Fangguang si 放光寺 under the supervision of Master Yuanxing 圓惺 (d. u.). The project, completed a decade later, was further expanded when three of Li’s younger brothers commissioned bronze statues for the temple (Li 2008, 50). Li also leveraged connections within Yunnan’s scholarly elite to sustain religious infrastructure on the mountain. Jiashe si 伽葉寺, originally built during the Zhengde era (1506–1521) by the monk Yuancheng 圓成 (d. u.), exemplifies this collaborative approach. Li Yuanyang visited the temple twice after Jiajing 21 (1542) and organized the purchase of monastic lands to ensure its sustenance. When the site later deteriorated in the Wanli period, it was also due to Li’s request that Tang Shiying 唐時英 (1496–1579; jinshi, 1529), a native of Qujing 曲靖 serving as Right Vice Censor-in-Chief (you fu duyushi 右副都禦使), fixed and expanded it (Li 2008, 58). Even smaller projects, such as the Bincang Pavilion 賓蒼閣, benefited from Li’s orchestration of collective donations (Li 2008, 68). Li’s tremendous contribution to the Mountain was once summarized as follows: “[He] founded Fangguang si, donating hundreds of mu of land to it. [He] restored every dilapidated shrine on the mountain and composed commemorative essays and erected stelae [for them]. His efforts were unparalleled in catalyzing Mount Jizu’s flourishing” (創建放光寺，施置常住田數百畝。山中寺院傾頹者，無不修葺，兼為撰文立碑。雞山之盛，推為功首) (Fan 2006, 6:434). Through these initiatives, Li Yuanyang established Mount Jizu’s status as a regional spiritual and cultural hub.

In addition to emerging elite groups, the tusi as an established force also played a distinctive role in Mount Jizu’s ascendancy. First instituted by the Yuan dynasty following the conquest of the Dali Kingdom, the tusi system was formalized under the Ming and sustained until the early Qing. This system appointed indigenous tribal leaders as local administrators tasked with tax collection, military mobilization, and maintaining social order on behalf of the state. Over time, these positions actually became hereditary within lineages involved (Wu 2021; Dai 2009; Faure and Ts’ui-p’ing 2013; Herman 2007; Wen 2008, chap. 2). While starkly different in their origins, all tusi shared adherence to Buddhism and could thus serve as pivotal patrons of Mount Jizu’s Buddhist institutions. Beyond their administrative duties, many tusi actively contributed resources to support the mountain. When Master Yuancheng built Jiashe si during the Zhengde period (1506–1521), the project was supported by Gao Shimao 高世𢡟 (fl. early 16th c.), the tusi of Beisheng sub-prefecture 北勝州 (today’s Yongsheng 永勝). Decades later, in 1552, Azixian 阿子賢 (fl. mid-16th c.), the tusi of Dengchuan 鄧川, provided crucial funding for the building of Jiashe Hall 迦葉殿. The A family’s commitment to this hall, notably, would endure across generations: Aguozhen 阿國禎 (fl. late 16th c.) financed its reconstruction after collapse, and Acen 阿岑 (fl. early 17th c.) expanded the complex in Wanli 40 (1612). All these further solidified their clan’s role as custodians of the site (Fan 2006, 4:256).

A more typical case was the Mu family, the tusi of Lijiang since the Yuan dynasty.27 Rising to one of the province’s three dominant tusi clans, the Mu family reached its zenith under Mu Zeng, the nineteenth Chieftain, whose rule began in Wanli 26 (1598) (Goodrich and Fang 1976, 2:1076–79; Rock 1947; Yamada 2008). Like other local elites, Mu Zeng was a devout Buddhist. He frequently visited Mount Jizu, where he claimed to witness five-colored auspicious clouds—a divine omen legitimizing his patronage. His contributions were monumental: he donated over 1000 mu of monastic land and, in 1617, for the sake of his mother, funded the construction of the imperially sanctioned Zhuguo Xitan si 祝國悉檀寺 with 10,000 taels of silver. This monastery later became the mountain’s most opulent institution. Mu Zeng and his sons also sponsored other structures there, including the Huayan Pavilion 華嚴閣, Wanshou Hall 萬壽殿, Yi’na Pavilion 一衲軒, Fayun Pavilion 法雲閣, and Zunsheng Pagoda Court 尊聖塔院. Eventually, they endured as Mount Jizu’s foremost benefactors through a dedicated shrine on the mountain, which enshrined Mu Zeng’s likeness and a Confucianism-aligned genealogy of the Mu lineage (Mu 2014).

Beyond financial patronage, the tusi actively shielded Mount Jizu from the full weight of state control. Much like the junhu 軍戶 (military households) of southeastern coastal regions, Yunnan’s tusi engaged in a form of “regulatory arbitrage”,28 strategically exploiting gaps between imperial mandates and local realities, and retained substantial autonomy over their territories. Even as late as Chongzhen 2 (1639) when Xu Xiake traversed the Qiutang Pass 邱塘關 to enter Lijiang, he still underscored the tusi’s de facto sovereignty that defied nominal imperial oversight.

This mountain undoubtedly serves as the strategic linchpin of Li[jiang]. To control access to the region, the Lijiang authorities have established a guarded pass along the mountain ridge. … No one is permitted to enter or exit without explicit authorization from Mr. Mu. Travelers arriving from distant areas are required to halt at the checkpoint; only after the steward submitted a formal request and secured approval from Mr. Mu could they proceed…. Even if an imperial edict arrives, all [Aboriginal Officials] would come forth to receive it here, thereby preventing the edict from arriving [at the city of Lijiang] directly (此山真麗之鎖鑰也。麗江設關於嶺脊，以嚴出入……出入者非奉木公命不得擅行。遠方來者必止，閽者入白，命之入，乃得入。……即詔命至，亦俱出迎於此，無得竟達).

(Xu and Zhu 1985, 953)

Empowered by their autonomy to selectively circumvent imperial policies, the tusi could thus help transform Mount Jizu into a sanctuary unparalleled in regions under direct Ming control. Back to Emperor Jiajing’s broader suppression of Buddhism in the mid-sixteenth century (He 2001; Zhang 2020, chap. 2; Chen 1995), this strategic independence proved pivotal. By tactfully mediating imperial mandates, the tusi not only shielded the mountain’s Buddhist institutions but also attracted monastic elites fleeing persecution in other provinces. Consequently, to be seen later, Mount Jizu rapidly emerged as both a refuge and a revitalized center of Buddhist practices.

Ordinary people and military officials, groups often overlooked, also contributed greatly to shaping Mount Jizu’s Buddhist landscape. A striking example unfolded in Jiajing 30 (1551), when the construction of Zhulin si 竹林寺 highlighted their collective agency. Military officers—including one General, two Battalion Commanders (qianhu 千戶), and two Centurions (baihu 百戶)—contributed portions of their salaries to fund the project, while local residents provided labor for brickwork, carpentry, and masonry. The temple was completed within months, after which elders from the community were organized to chant sutras monthly, embedding religious practice into daily life (Li 2008, 70). Notably, both indigenous communities and Han settlers, loosely organized by pilgrimage—a tradition rooted in the Dali period and enduring through subsequent dynasties—bolstered the monastic economy of nearby Buddhist communities on Mount Jizu. Jiasha Chapel 袈裟院 exemplifies this dynamic. Originally a Daoist abbey built in the early Ming, it was converted into a Buddhist chapel during the Jiajing period by the monk Yuanqing 元慶 (d. u.). Yuanqing astutely recognized the chapel’s potential as a rest stop for pilgrims en route to Huashou Gate 華首門, the sacred site where devotees venerated Kāśyapa—believed to be meditating behind the gate to await Maitreya’s advent. Given that most pilgrims were already exhausted within five to six li (roughly 2–3 km) of the gate, Yuanqing expanded the chapel into a vital rest stop for weary travelers. In Jiajing 25 (1546), for example, tens of thousands of pilgrims flocked to the mountain during Lunar New Year celebrations, many of whom visited the chapel. Eventually, this influx of people propelled Jiasha Chapel’s rapid ascension as a major temple (Li 2008, 60).

Intriguingly, local residents readily employed miracles and mysterious narratives to bolster Mount Jizu’s prominence—a strategy aligned with the region’s rich tradition of sacred lore. An example is Zhiquan Chapel 芝泉庵, constructed in Longqing 1 (1567). Monk Jishou 寂受 (d. u.), who led the project, faced significant logistical hurdles, particularly the arduous task of sourcing water from deep valleys. Then, this challenge became intertwined with local legends: workers reportedly heard subterranean flowing water, guiding them to dig a well that miraculously resolved the issue. Taking this as a divine response to their efforts, believers engaged in the project with more enthusiasm. The chapel’s spiritual aura intensified when, on the day of its hall’s completion, five-colored auspicious light allegedly illuminated the entire structure. As these stories spread, devotees flocked to the site, donating funds, farmland, tiles, and timber. Their collective efforts culminated in the chapel’s completion a decade later in Wanli 5 (1577) (Li 2008, 65). Evidently, by framing practical challenges within miraculous narratives, Jishou and his peers galvanized community support while amplifying Mount Jizu’s sacred reputation. Fangguang si, primarily sponsored by Li Yuanyang, embraced mystique as well. Its legends mirrored the broader trend of leveraging the supernatural to forge spiritual and communal bonds.

During the Jiajing era, another monk devotedly dwelled beside the Stone Gate for three years. Steadfast in his spiritual practice, he once entered the gate during profound meditation. [Within its depths, he] saw halls bathed in radiant blue hues, filled with innumerable monks. The tablets and couplets lining the walls gleamed with golden inscriptions. He committed every detail to memory with striking precision, finding that they are more elegant than the finest works of masterful scribes in the mortal realm. How, then, can we dispute the sanctity of this site as a hallowed sanctuary of the Buddha? Beneath the Stone Gate, radiant auspicious signs are often witnessed—sometimes manifesting as circular halos or enveloping auras—largely akin to those seen at Mount Wutai and Mount Emei (嘉靖間，又有一僧棲石門三載，其志懇，嘗於定中由石門而入。則見其殿宇紺碧，沙門眾多。其榜扁聯偶皆金，歷歷記憶，雖世間老于文學者有所不及，謂非佛祖靈地可乎？石門之下時見光瑞，或圓相，或攝身，與五台、蛾眉大都相似).

(Li 2008, 62)

Such a mysterious story, once told by a figure as influential as Li Yuanyang, would add an aura of authenticity and mystique, thereby captivating both devout adherents and skeptical elites alike.

Aside from external patronage bestowed upon Mount Jizu, the monks’ open-mindedness and adaptability to learning—a hallmark part of the regional identity—proved equally vital. According to the sixth fascicle of Jizu shanzhi compiled by Fan Chengxun, sixty-seven monks were active on the mountain from the Jiajing to Kangxi periods (1522–1722). Of these, forty-six hailed from Yunnan, seventeen from provinces in Inland China, and four with unknown origins. The overwhelming majority of indigenous Yunnanese monks highlights Buddhism’s deep-rooted ties to local society.29 Meanwhile, it is worth noting that over half (twenty-four) of the local monks undertook pilgrimages beyond Yunnan—particularly to Beijing and Jiangnan—to seek Dharma instruction. Apparently, although residing in a peripheral province, those monks, instead of insulating themselves, sought to actively engage in China’s mainstream Buddhist currents. Conversely but similarly strikingly, seventeen monks from Henan, Beijing, Nanjing, and Shanxi settled on the mountain, with eleven remaining until their deaths (Fan 2006, 1:6). These outsiders introduced Chinese Buddhist practices to the mountain, mentoring the twenty-two monks who never left Yunnan, and thus fostered a dynamic exchange between local traditions and external influences. This bidirectional engagement—locals venturing outward and outsiders embedding locally—was crucial in transforming Mount Jizu into a vibrant nexus of Buddhism that bridged frontier spirituality with imperial orthodoxy.

These concerted efforts, it turned out, successfully catalyzed the flourishing of Buddhism on Mount Jizu. By the close of the Jiajing era—a century after the mountain’s renaming—the groundwork had been firmly laid for its future development. As recorded in fascicles four and five of Fan Chengxun’s Jizu shanzhi, this period saw the construction of at least twelve monasteries (si 寺), nineteen monastic chapels (an 庵), and five devotional halls or pavilions (dian/ge 殿/閣) across the mountain. This flourishing starkly contrasted with the broader decline of institutional Buddhism elsewhere in Ming China, particularly in the Jiangnan region that was once a most thriving center of monastic activity (Zhang 2020, chap. 2). Against the backdrop, its vitality heightened its visibility, attracting pilgrims, scholars, and patrons far beyond Yunnan’s borders. Eventually, all these had prepared the national stage for Mount Jizu as a Buddhist stronghold.

4. Literati Elites, the Inner Court, and Interregional Networks

Given that the initial flourishing of Buddhism on Mount Jizu during the mid-Ming period remained a predominantly local phenomenon, its rapid ascent to national prominence by the following Wanli era demands deeper inquiry. To unravel the dynamics behind this exceptional trajectory, instead of exclusive focusing on local agency, it is mandatory to expand analysis outside the province’s borders to see how external forces, within the context of the late Ming Buddhist revival (Yü 1981, 1998; Brook 1993; Zhang 2020; Jiang 2006. Also see Chen 2011; Shengyan 1993; Hasebe 1993; Wu 2008), converged with Yunnanese initiatives to transform Mount Jizu’s landscapes and Buddhist traditions into objects of imperial imagination and fascination. Critical to this process were bidirectional exchanges: while the Bai people and other Yunnanese groups demonstrated remarkable capability and adaptability in absorbing external influences, the motivations and receptivity of their counterparts in the Ming core proved equally pivotal. Critical (but often implicit) questions include: when and with whom did these exchanges occur? From which regions did ideas, practices, and patrons originate? How did such exchanges recalibrate center–periphery relations? To what extent did shifting dynamics further catalyze Mount Jizu’s institutional growth? In this way, by situating Mount Jizu within these transregional networks and, through this dual lens—local ingenuity interwoven with external forces, we can more effectively decode Mount Jizu’s singular ascent.

Influential figures from beyond Yunnan, particularly scholar-officials of national renown, significantly enhanced Mount Jizu’s visibility within the empire. Drawn to the region for varied reasons—administrative postings, scholarly visits, or political exile—these individuals became indispensable intermediaries that bridged ideological and cultural divides between peripherical Yunnan and the heartland of China. A notable case is Yang Shen 楊慎 (1488–1559; jinshi, 1521), a native of Xindu 新都, Sichuan, whose exile to Yunnan positioned him as a key architect of this cross-regional exchange. Ranked first in the Palace Examination (zhuangyuan 狀元), Yang Shen’s early career held great promise (Zhang 1974, 192:5081–83), but it was abruptly cut short due to his staunch opposition to the Jiajing Emperor during the “Grand Rites Controversy”. Narrowly surviving from the emperor’s crucial revenge, he was permanently exiled to Yongchang 永昌 (modern-day Baoshan 保山) in Yunnan in Jiajing 3 (1524).30 Over the next four decades, he produced an extensive body of work, becoming the first Han author who systematically introduced Yunnan’s nature, history, and culture to Inland China.31 He also mentored local scholars, fostering a literary circle around him (Bai 2010). Through his writings, which reached political and cultural hubs in Beijing and Jiangnan through his well-established networks (Qian 2008, 354), as well as the success of his students like Li Yuanyang, Yang successfully promoted Yunnan’s visibility among Inland China’s literati. As for Mount Jizu, Yang composed poems and fu 賦 celebrating its legendary history and stunning landscapes (Fan 2006, 10:860–61); however, despite Li Yuanyang’s invitation in 1546, he never set his foot on the mountain. Intriguingly, his reputation later became entangled with the mountain in an unexpected way. A popular anecdote claims that in Jiajing 41 (1562), Yang planned to visit Mount Jizu with Zhang Yuguang 張愈光 (d. u.) in Yongchang. When Zhang fell ill and could not join, Yang allegedly proceeded alone, staying to compile a gazetteer for the mountain. He reportedly completed the Jishan shici 雞山詩次 (a collection of poems associated with Mount Ji[zu]), an 87-page draft, but the manuscript was destroyed when the Mouni Chapel 牟尼庵, where he was lodging, caught fire one night. A disappointed Yang supposedly mused, “Does this mean the mountain deity wishes to remain hidden from attention, like the meditating Kāśyapa? Why else would it reject such praise?” He then composed a commemorative poem before departing the next day (Fan 2006, 6:246). This story, however, is apocryphal—Yang had already died three years earlier. Its inclusion in the fourth edition of the mountain’s gazetteer compiled by Gao Wengying 高奣映 (1647–1707) reveals a deliberate effort to enhance Mount Jizu’s prestige by associating it with Yang’s illustrious name. Similarly, six of Yang’s poems originally written about his Sichuan hometown were misattributed to Mount Jizu in the gazetteer, with Gao altering their titles and annotations to suit the narrative (Mu 2006; Sun 2012).

Through royal patronage, especially a strategic bestowal of the Buddhist canon (da zangjing 大藏經) starting in the 1580s, the inner court and central government played a decisive role in turning Mount Jizu from a regional devotional hub into a nationally recognized Buddhist sacred site. In the ninth month of Wanli 14 (1586), Huayan si 華嚴寺 on the mountain became one of the fifteen temples nationwide to receive an imperially bestowed copy of the Yongle Northern canon 永樂北藏 (Fan 2006, 7:474). This was a landmark acknowledgment of the mountain’s spiritual significance, marking Mount Jizu’s formal entry into the empire’s religious mainstream after decades of regional growth. Imperial patronage escalated the following year with an edict exempting the mountain’s monastic community from annual land taxes (1284 shi) and surcharges to Beisheng subprefecture. This unprecedented fiscal privilege, granted to the mountain as a sacred entity, underscored its newfound institutional legitimacy (Zhao and Li 2006, 4:1a). The court’s commitment intensified in 1588, when Empress Dowager Cisheng 慈聖 (1545–1614)—mother of the Wanli Emperor and driving force behind the late Ming Buddhist revival (Zhang 1974, 114:3534–36; Goodrich and Fang 1976, 856–59; Zhang 2020, chap. 3; Naquin 2000, 156–61; Chen 2011, 96–146)—bestowed another canon on Dajue si 大覺寺. Her gesture carried profound political undertones: she sought divine intervention to secure her eldest grandson’s succession rights against the emperor’s preference for a younger son (Fan 2006, 7:476). By channeling this appeal through Mount Jizu, Cisheng cemented its status within China’s sacred geography. This momentum peaked in Wanli 29 (1601), when the Wanli Emperor himself gifted a canon to Fangguang si (Fan 2006, 7:476–77), and again in Tianqi 4 (1625), when Mu Zeng secured an additional canon for Xitan si (Fan 2006, 7:477–81). Each bestowal served as a strikingly visible, enduring emblem of imperial favor. Collectively, they wove the mountain into the fabric of the imperial court and catalyzed its transformation into a nationally revered Buddhist center.

This unprecedented influx of imperial favor, which served as both religious and political capital, was sometimes harnessed to mobilize additional resources for Mount Jizu’s institutional and infrastructural development. Huayan si 華嚴寺 was initially constructed during the Jiajing period under the direction of Yuetan Zhenyuan 月潭真圓 (d. u.). Yuelun Ruman 月輪如滿 (d. u.), Zhenyuan’s disciple, secured the patronage of Empress Dowager Cisheng during a sojourn in Beijing. In Wanli 17 (1589), he returned to the mountain bearing an imperially bestowed copy of the Buddhist canon and a ceremonial purple robe.32 These emblems of courtly favor drew immediate support from local elites to fund the temple’s expansion. Among them, Mu Zeng funded the Pilu Pavilion and endowed monastic lands, catalyzing Huayan si’s rise as a regional spiritual hub (Fan 2006, 9:646–50). This canon’s delivery itself exemplified cross-regional collaboration. It was Miaofeng Fudeng 妙峰福登 (1540–1612) and Ben’an Wuxin 本安/庵無心 (d. u.) who escorted the canon to Huayan si. Upon arrival, they conducted one hundred sessions of canon recitation rituals (yuezang zhichang 閱藏制場). During this period, they appointed Kequan Bianzhou 可全遍周 (fl. 1638), a Heqing-native monk, as Wuxin’s attendant. While Wuxin remained at Dajue si to nurture a nascent Dharma lineage, Fudeng returned to Cisheng’s court to report on their mission (Fan 2006, 6:401–2). Later, the lineage centered at Dajue si, examined in detail later, rapidly expanded around Bianzhou. Evidently, imperial patronage could further mobilize local and/or regional resources to propel Mount Jizu’s integration into broader networks of Ming Buddhist society (Fan 2006, 6:403).

More than that, imperial recognition also functioned to catalyze expansive cultural networks that bridged Yunnan with Jiangnan, decisively elevating Mount Jizu’s stature among elites and commoners, monastics, and lay devotees across China. A key figure was, once again, Mu Zeng. Factional crises within the Mu clan during the 16th century had compelled the Mu to adopt Confucian reforms, notably codifying primogeniture, to stabilize succession and balance local autonomy with imperial centralization.33 This strategic embrace of Confucianism not only earned imperial recognition as a testament to loyalty but also secured literati endorsement as evidence of cultural assimilation. Mu Zeng strengthened this legacy. In 1610, he donated 20,000 taels of silver for military expenses, which bolstered his standing as a loyal frontier ally (Zhang 1974, 314:8099–8090). Beyond pragmatic governance, the Mu family cultivated a tradition of Han cultural mastery, symbolizing their allegiance to the imperial center. Renowned for his erudition, Mu Zeng resigned his hereditary post to his son in Tianqi 4 (1624), and since then devoted himself to scholarly pursuits and promoting Han culture in Lijiang. He forged ties with prominent literati in Yunnan and beyond,34 dispatched envoys to study in Jiangnan, and invited scholars to Yunnan (Zhao and Li 2006, 4:5a–6a), thereby weaving a transregional intellectual network. This context frames his 1639 meeting with Xu Xiake, from which we can detect how a network was at work to connect Jiangnan literati with elites in this periphery. Before his setting off, Xu requested Chen Jiru 陳繼儒 (1558–1639) to introduce him to Mu Zeng, to which Chen responded as follows:

Following your order, [I] attach to you the letter to Mr. Mu in Lijiang. [Additionally], I have one fan having a poem on it and one preface to [his] literary collection as a proof [of introduction].35 Mr. Mu is willing to meet the worthy as eager as thirsty… [I believe] that you will hold each other’s arms feeling regretful for not meeting earlier, and fit both like a case and cover and like water and milk (i.e., getting along swimmingly with each other) (麗江木公書遵命附往，並有詩扇一柄，《集敘》一通，以此征信。此公好賢若渴…度必把臂恨晚，如函蓋水乳之合矣！).

(Xu et al. 1987, 878)

Two aspects of Chen Jiru’s letter warrant emphasis. First, his correspondence and prefaces reveal that despite vast geographical separation, elites in Yunnan and Jiangnan already cultivated mutual intellectual respect and maintained robust connections by transcending cultural and spatial divides. Second, although Mu Zeng was primarily a military-political leader, he strategically sought alliances with Jiangnan literati and adopted their cultural values. Chen’s observations were astute, and Mu’s genuine enthusiasm for such exchanges was later corroborated by his treatment of Xu Xiake. Mu hosted Xu with exceptional hospitality, exemplified by a lavish banquet featuring delicacies unfamiliar even to the well-traveled Xu.36 Later, when Xu fell gravely ill near Mount Jizu in Chongzhen 13 (1640), Mu Zeng meticulously oversaw arrangements for his safe return home. This generosity and caring not only eased Xu’s arduous journey but also demonstrated Mu’s commitment to integrating Yunnan into national intellectual networks. Mu Zeng’s initiatives catalyzed transformative outcomes for Mount Jizu: Xu Xiake authored the mountain’s first gazetteer, codifying its identity as a sacred Buddhist site. Furthermore, Mount Jizu was drawn closer to Jiangnan elites as the networks further expanded.37 We shall further examine this virtuous circle in the next section.

Over time, strikingly, monks affiliated with Mount Jizu ascended swiftly within the Chinese Buddhist hierarchy, challenging entrenched perceptions of Yunnan’s cultural marginality, and thus solidified the mountain’s stature as a spiritual and intellectual nexus. A conspicuous illustration of this transformation occurred when Wang Shizhen 王世貞 (1526–1590; jinshi, 1547), an eminent literatus, engaged in a profound dialogue with the monk Dezhou 德周 (d. u.) at a temple on Mount Lushan 廬山, Jiangxi. Upon learning Dezhou hailed from Shizhong si 石鐘寺 on Mount Jizu, Wang marveled, “This is especially rare” (尤為難得). The term youwei 尤為 (“especially”) betrays the prevailing stereotype that Yunnan monks were seldom acknowledged by Inland China’s cultural elites. Yet, over time, their exceptional scholarship and spiritual authority on national stages—particularly in Jiangnan—reshaped elite perceptions of both the monks and their homeland. Apart from Chan Master Cheyong Zhouli 徹庸周理 (1591–1641), which we shall discuss in Section 4, let us cite three figures exemplifying this transformative impact. (1) Cangxue Duche 蒼雪讀徹 (1588–1656): a native of Chenggong 呈貢, Yunnan, Duche studied under Shuiyue Ruquan 水月如全 (1546–1609) on Mount Jizu before departing for Jiangnan at age 19. There, he received precepts from Yunqi Zhuhong 雲棲祩宏 (1535–1615) and Guxin Ruxin 古心如馨 (1541–1616), trained under Xuelang Hong’en 雪浪洪恩 (1548–1608), and emerged as a leading Huayan master of his era (Chen 1959, 18–20). (2) Jianyue Duti 見月讀體 (1601–1679): born in Chuxiong, Duti ordained under Liangru 量如 (d. u.) at Jiguang si in Chongzheng 5(1632). Journeying to Jiangnan, he became a disciple of Vinaya master Shanmei Jiguang 三昧寂光 (1580–1645). Later, at Mount Baohua 寶華, Jiangsu, Duti spearheaded a revival of the Vinaya School (Wen 1997; Chen 1959, 20–24; 2001; Lepneva 2023). (3) Puhe Dandang 普荷擔當 (1593–1673): a Jinning 晉寧 native, Dandang first gained renown in Jiangnan as a poet and artist under Chen Jiru and Dong Qichang 董其昌 (1555–1636; jinshi, 1589). Following the Ming collapse, he ordained under Wuzhu 無住 (1589–1664) on Mount Shuimu 水目, and eventually retreated to Mount Jizu to practice meditation and study Buddhist teachings. Their achievements—spanning Huayan philosophy, Vinaya revival, and literati arts—underscored Yunnan’s unexpected role as a wellspring of Buddhist innovation. By excelling in Jiangnan’s intellectual heartland, these monks not only elevated Mount Jizu’s stature but also redefined Yunnan’s place within the Ming cultural imagination.

Eventually, Mount Jizu, sustained by imperial patronage, cross-regional monastic alliances, and robust local support, rose to national prominence as a Buddhist sacred site during the Wanli period. Even amid the turmoil of the Southern Ming’s (1644–1662) military resistance in Yunnan, which plunged the region into warfare, the mountain still garnered sporadic patronage from court factions vying for legitimacy. As late as 1660, the site retained an impressive infrastructure of eight major monasteries, 34 temples, 65 chapels (anyuan 菴院), and over 170 meditation retreats (jingshi 靜室) (Fan 2006, 70–71). This success, though rooted in the broader late Ming Buddhist revival, was far from assured. In fact, amid a wider saṃgha trend vying for empire-wide recognition, Mount Jizu distinguished itself as a rare triumph, eclipsing contemporary endeavors at Mount Huangshan 黃山 (in Anhui) and Mount Luya 蘆芽 (in Shanxi) (Zhang 2016). Its emergence as a preeminent spiritual hub reveals not only its strategic adaptability in a border province but also, more importantly, its unique ability to harmonize local devotion with imperial agendas.

5. Chan Buddhism, Literary Representations, and Arena of Negotiations

The monastic practices, as documented in Mount Jizu’s gazetteers, reveal a syncretic religious landscape: monks engaged in sutra recitation, Amitabha Buddha's name invocation, esoteric rituals, ascetic disciplines, and even thaumaturgic arts. This diversity aligns with the broader synthesis characteristic of late imperial Chinese Buddhism (Yü 1981). Yet it was Chan Buddhism that emerged as the mountain’s defining tradition, distinguishing it from other sacred sites. This prominence raises a pivotal question: although Kāśyapa is revered as Chan’s first patriarch and an episode surely associated him with Mount Kukkuṭapāda,38 how did Chan Buddhism, in real life, become so central to Mount Jizu’s identity within the Buddhist world? To answer that, we must trace Chan’s historical development on the mountain and examine how its image was continually reshaped in history—not only through doctrinal innovation but also via strategic engagement with imperial patronage, literati networks, and local mythmaking.

For centuries, notably, in the broader context of Yunnan, Chan Buddhism held no inherent appeal among diverse Buddhist traditions. Li Xianzhe 李賢者 (d. u.), a native of Dali who served as State Preceptor to Quanlongcheng 勸龍晟 (r. 809–816), ruler of the Nanzhao Kingdom, played a decisive role in transplanting Chan Buddhist practices from Chengdu 成都, Sichuan, into Yunnan’s spiritual landscape. Chan Buddhism in Yunnan thus shared same origins as those in Inland China. However, it was much less influential when compared to the Acarya teaching from the Nanzhao through the Yuan periods. Moreover, largely due to the political separation of the region from Inland China, the growth of Chan Buddhism there diverged from that of the latter and gradually developed a distinct tradition. The Nanzhao tuzhuan 南詔圖傳 completed in 898, for example, shows the transmission of Chan Buddhism in Yunnan, but it has five Chan patriarchs who are totally unknown in the Chan tradition of Inland China. Furthermore, it has a strong flavor of Tantric Buddhism.39 Only following Yunnan’s incorporation into the main body of China under the Yuan did a redirection in the evolution of Chan Buddhism begin. Wuzhao Xuanjian 無照玄鑒 (1276–1312) was probably the first Yunnan Chan master who was documented in some detail. As a disciple of Zhongfeng Mingben 中峰明本 (1263–1332), a famous Linji master (Minghe 1975–1989, 13: 461a), Xuanjian, allegedly brought Chan Buddhism in Jiangnan back to Yunnan.40

Back to Mount Jizu, only during the Yongle era (1403–1424) did the mountain’s engagement with Chan Buddhism likely begin, and subsequent establishment on it coincided with a quiet but persistent suppression of indigenous Buddhist traditions. In Yongle 3 (1405), three Chan masters arrived at the Mountain from Henan’s Shaolin si 少林寺 to reconstruct Shizhong si (Fan 2006, 4: 259–60). In the following decades, the narrative of Mahākāśyapa’s meditative vigil coexisted uneasily with the indigenous Vidyārāja (Chin. Mingwang 明王; Luminous Kings) cult, a tradition centered on apotropaic deities linked to esoteric rituals. When the monk Jingyue 淨月 (d. u.) constructed Shengfeng si 聖峰寺, for example, he claimed to have unearthed a stone epigraph declaring that the site was where the eight Vidyārāja honored the Buddha while Mahākāśyapa was in meditation.41 This narrative sought to harmonize the two traditions; however,, over time, Chan Buddhism ascended through co-option and incremental displacement of these indigenous practices. By the Wanli period, the construction of Jiashe Hall and the institutional spread of Mahākāśyapa’s hagiography intensified criticism of the Vidyārāja cult’s blood sacrifices, which clashed with Chan’s doctrinal emphasis on non-violence and introspection. Reformers eventually ritually expelled these guardian deities from the mountain’s sacred core by taking their shrines down to the foot of the mountain (Lian 2020, chap. 13). This substitution served dual purposes: Mahākāśyapa, a patriarch revered across Chan lineages, provided a unifying archetype palatable to both imperial authorities and local devotees. His ascendency thus facilitated the symbolic transfer of sacred authority to Mount Jizu, transforming it into a bastion of Chan orthodoxy that bridged frontier traditions with mainstream Buddhist identity.

It was during the Jiajing period that the mountain emerged as a pivotal hub for Chan practitioners, and since then Buddhist activities on the mountain intensified, marked by deepening exchanges between Yunnanese Chan monks and their counterparts in heartland China. As noted in Section 2, over half of Mount Jizu’s locally trained monks journeyed to Inland China for study, with most returning to propagate their teachings. Their efforts, combined with the influx of seventeen Chan masters from the heartland, anchored Mount Jizu’s development within the late Ming Buddhist revival, binding regional practice to national religious currents. To illustrate how profound the impact from Inland China was, let us list a few renowned masters under whom Yunnanese monks trained: Miaofeng Fudeng 妙峰福登 (1540–1612), Langmu Benzhi 朗目本智 (1555–1606), Bianrong Zhenyuan 遍融真圓 (1506–1584), Hanshan Deqing 憨山德清 (1546–1623), Yiyu Tongrun 一雨通潤 (1565–1624), Zhanran Yuancheng 湛然圓澄 (1561–1627), Zhuanyu Guanheng 顓愚觀衡 (1579–1646), and Miyun Yuanwu 密雲圓悟 (1567–1642) (Fan 2006, 6: 401, 402, 401, 407, 416, 414, 417, 419, 413). These connections highlight how Mount Jizu’s spiritual ascendancy mirrored and benefited from the ongoing reinvigoration of Chan Buddhism across the Ming Empire (Wu 2008).

Amid the turmoil of the Ming-Qing transition, Chan Buddhism on Mount Jizu gained significant politically driven momentum. As the dynasty disintegrated, the literati, particularly those from Jiangnan, increasingly turned to Chan monasticism seeking solace, evading political persecution, and/or resisting the Manchu Qing rule. Some renounced secular life to join groups later termed Ming yimin seng 明遺民僧 (loyalist monks of the fallen Ming). Southwest China (Dian-Qian) emerged as one of three key concentrations of these Ming loyalist monks—alongside Jiangnan and Lingnan 嶺南 (Liao 2013; Li 2007, 2008; Li and Zhang 2023). This migration crucially elevated Mount Jizu’s religious stature (Chen 1959, 200–262). Master Zongben Huanyuan 宗本還源 (1587–1667; jinshi, 1640) exemplifies this shift: he renounced his official career shortly after earning the jinshi degree, returning to his native Binchuan 賓川 in Yunnan. In Shunzhi 4 (1647), when the rebel General Sun Kewang 孫可望 (?–1660) pressured him to resume office, Huanyuan fled to Mount Jizu, where he took monastic vows and lived in seclusion for two decades. A more renowned figure was the monk Dachuo 大錯 (1602–1673), whose secular name was Qian Bangqi 錢邦芑. A former South Ming official (Right Assistant Censor-in-Chief [you jian duyushi 右僉都禦史] and Guizhou Regional Commander [zongbing 總兵)]), Qian had to repeatedly defy Sun Kewang’s demands for collaboration after the latter occupied Guizhou in Shunzhi 8 (1651). By 1654, he resolved the standoff by ordaining as Dachuo. Five years later, he journeyed to Mount Jizu, where he compiled its second gazetteer, cementing its sacred legacy amid dynastic rupture (Chen 1959, 14:202–12). A slightly different but equally significant case was Master Youshan Wuzhen 友山悟禎 (1594–1690), scion of the Gao family in Yaoan 姚安, whose splendid history and longstanding patronage of Yunnanese Buddhism can be traced back to the Dali Kingdom. As Aboriginal Prefect (tu zhifu 土知府) of Yaoan, Wuzhen followed the Yongli Emperor (r. 1646–1662) into exile in 1658 but abandoned the court in the following year. Later, under the guidance of Bianzhou, abbot of Dajue si on Mount Jizu, he took monastic vows.42 The Gao family remained powerful and influential in Yunnan even by the Ming-Qing transition period. Leveraging his family’s enduring wealth and clout, Wuzhen independently funded temple construction and oversaw the renovation of 134 Buddhist structures. Before he died in 1690, he was still endeavoring to build Longhua si 龍華寺 on Mount Jizu.

Within this milieu, Mount Jizu witnessed the crystallization of distinct Chan lineages (Hou 2008), whereby underscoring its institutional solidification as a major Buddhist center. Dingtang Bentie 定堂本貼 (1517–1570), a native of Yanglin 楊林 in Yunnan, for example, was under the instruction of a local master at Mount Yaoling 瑤玲 before attracting a devoted following (Zhao and Li 2006, 4:2a–b; Fan 2006, 6:390), including four eminent disciples. Ultimately, Bentie established a lineage at Jiguang si, while his Dharma grandson Shuiyue Ruquan 水月如全 (1546–1609) founded a parallel branch lineage (Zhao and Li 2006, 4.7b–9a). Benwu Shichan 本無釋禪 (1577–1632), a Kunming native, coordinated the construction of Xitan si in Wanli 45 (1617). Patronized by the Mu family during the Ming-Qing transition, this temple housed more monks than any other on the mountain. Shichan established in the monastery a Dharma lineage that expanded rapidly: by Tianqi 4 (1624), he had twelve direct disciples, four Dharma-grandsons, and several Dharma-great-grandsons (tu chongsun 徒重孫). By Chongzhen 13 (1640), his disciples numbered thirty-two, with sixty-one Dharma-grandsons, one hundred Dharma-great-grandsons, and twenty-eight Dharma-great-great-grandsons (tu xuansun 徒玄孫). This growth persisted; by Kangxi 11 (1672), one of his disciples alone had twelve successors, forty Dharma-grandsons, seventy-five Dharma-great-grandsons, and forty Dharma-great-great-grandsons. In addition to locally trained monks, Mount Jizu’s integration into empire-wide Chan networks was further cemented by masters from Inland China. Shizhong si, rebuilt by Shaolin monks, sustained its Caodong lineage until at least the Jiaqing period (1796–1820). Meanwhile, Chuanyi si 傳衣寺 hosted the Linji lineage founded by Xingxuan Daji 性玄大機 (1492–1563) (Fan 2006, 6:388–89). Aside from this, two additional lineages merit mention: Huankong 幻空 (fl. 1639), a Beijing monk, established a lineage at Biyun si 碧雲寺, which allegedly rivaled the influence of Jiguang si and Xitan si during the ending year of the Ming (Fan 2006, 6:403–4). A second lineage, rooted in Jinding si 金頂寺, rose to preeminence in the late Kangxi period (r. 1661–1722).

With such institutional support, Chan Buddhism on Mount Jizu eventually flourished to the point that it exerted influence on religious landscapes in other regions, within Yunnan and beyond, during the Ming-Qing transition. One example was the dissemination of the Dharma from Jiguang si to Qixia si 棲霞寺 in Guilin 桂林, Guangxi (Huang 2008). A more representative figure of this outward expansion was Chan Master Cheyong Zhouli, whose legacy centered on Mount Miaofeng 妙峰 in Dayao 大姚, Yunnan. A native of Yunnan County, Cheyong honed his religious skills at Dajue si on Mount Jizu before founding Deyun si 德雲寺 on Mount Miaofeng in 1626. Later, while seeking the Dharma in Jiangnan, his spiritual authority was verified by Miyun Yuanwu, the 30th patriarch of the Linji School (Fan 2006, 6:413). This endorsement helped to extend Cheyong’s influence into Inland China, earning accolades from luminaries like Chen Jiru and Dong Qichang.43 Even Xu Xiake paid homage: although their paths never crossed during Xu’s visit to Mount Miaofeng, he composed a poem memorializing Cheyong’s sanctity. Gradually, Cheyong’s stature grew to mythic proportions. Disciples hailed him as an incarnation of Bhikṣu Meghaśrī (Deyun biqiu 德雲比丘), one of the fifty-three spiritual guides from the Ru fajie pin 入法界品 (chapter of Entering the Dharma Realm) of the Huayan jing, who guided boy Sudhana on his spiritual quest. This analogy elevated Mount Miaofeng itself as the sacred abode of Meghaśrī, mirroring Mount Jizu’s symbolic resonance. Under Cheyong’s disciples, dozens of temples arose across western and southern Yunnan, anchoring Chan Buddhism in new territories. By the early Qing, modeling on the case of Mount Jizu, Mount Miaofeng had emerged as a new Buddhist sacred site centering on Chan Buddhism.

Over the course of this period, the identity of Mount Jizu underwent continuous reinvention, and its definitive association with Chan Buddhism was finalized only around the 1660s with the iterative assistance of mountain gazetteers. Initially, the mountain remained in obscurity. Subsequently, attempts to forge a cohesive and appealing identity focused on its natural grandeur, often prioritizing scenic splendor over Buddhist significance. For instance, Li Yuanyang likened it to Daoist mountains like Wudang 武當 in Hebei and Wangwu 王屋 in Henan, while Xie Zhaozhe 謝肇淛 (1567–1624; jinshi, 1592) ambiguously grouped it with Mount Song 嵩 in Henan and Mount Hua 華 in Shaanxi (Li 2008, 329). Similarly, Fu Zonglong 傅宗龍 (?–1641; jinshi, 1610) claimed that it was equal to the legendary “Three Mountains” (sanshan 三山), evading explicit Buddhist affiliation (Zhao and Li 2006, 4:7b).44 Only around the 1660s had the longstanding ambiguity surrounding Mount Jizu’s identity crystallized: its association with Kāśyapa’s meditative abode elevated it to the pantheon of China’s preeminent Buddhist sacred mountains—Wutai, Emei, Jiuhua, and Putuo (Fan 2006, preface: 42). This designation, persisting with minor adaptations, secured its renown as the “Fifth Great Buddhist Mountain” (Fan 2006, preface:31; Duan and Zhang 2000, 662). Central to this transformation was the compilation of mountain gazetteers. The first version of the gazetteer was commissioned in Chongzhen 12 (1639) by Mu Zeng to Xu Xiake, who was then in Xitan si (Hou 1995; Lian 2020, 453). This was a smart choice, considering Xu Xiake’s familiarity with the mountains and the elegance of his literary writing (Zhao and Li 2006, 3:4b–5a). Xu showcased the mountain’s Tianzhu Peak 天柱峰 in vivid prose, for example, and the account, with the circulation of his travelogue, has since become the standard version for the peak and ignited Jiangnan literati’s fascination.45 Xu’s initial work on the gazetteer was interrupted by illness, but the project was revived under Mu Zeng’s grandson, Gao Wengying, culminating in the 1702 edition (Hou and Duan 2004). Between Xu’s efforts and Gao’s completion, two additional editions emerged.46 One, compiled in Kangxi 31 (1692) by Fan Chengxun, then Director-general (zongdu 總督) of Yunnan and Guizhou. This edition gained imperial recognition through its inclusion in the Siku quanshu 四庫全書, which would significantly bolster Mount Jizu’s standing in the Buddhist world (Yongrong. 1965, 76:665-66). The creation of four distinct editions within just sixty-two years reflects both the mountain’s meteoric rise during the early Qing and the fervent drive to enshrine its sacred status. This unprecedented editorial output—arguably unparalleled in Chinese Buddhist history—melded the aspirations of local elites with the literary prestige of Jiangnan scholars. Through their collaborative efforts, Mount Jizu was firmly established as a Buddhist sacred site whose identity anchored in Chan orthodoxy.

Examined through a long durée lens, Mount Jizu’s historical alignment with Chan Buddhism reflects the gravitational pull of Chinese cultural hegemony, distinguishing it within China’s sacred geography. This trajectory is embodied by Cheyong, Yunnan’s preeminent Chan master who claimed dual Caodong-Linji lineage legitimacy while wrestling with regional identity.47 Cheyong once compiled a collection to celebrate Yunnan’s Chan masters. When Tao Gong 陶珙 (fl. 1627) proposed titling the work Caoxi yidi 曹溪一滴 (a drop from Caoxi), Cheyong initially resisted by invoking Yunnan’s autonomous Buddhist heritage: “To discern whether this ‘drop’ flows from the Vulture Peak (Skt. Gṛdhrakūṭa-parvata) or from Caoxi, one must consult the primordial Bhīṣma-garjita-ghoṣa-svara-rāja” (此一滴水從鷲嶺來從曹溪來，須向威音王那畔求之始得) (Cheyong 1986–1987, 1.267a13–c4). This rhetorical pivot juxtaposed India Buddhism’s foundational authority (Vulture Peak) against the Sinicized Chan orthodoxy of Huineng 慧能 (638–713) at Caoxi. Cheyong’s ultimate acceptance of the title signaled a critical concession: despite Yunnan’s mythologized Indian connections (epitomized by Mount Jizu’s sanctification), Chinese Buddhist frameworks had permeated regional elites. Such a pivot reflects not adaptation but cultural metamorphosis, wherein Yunnan—despite its peripheral status—became an integrated node in the empire’s spiritual and ideological networks. Ge Yunli’s 戈允禮 (jinshi, 1622) preface reinforced this orthodoxy through retroactive lineage engineering: incorporating pre-Huineng figures like Mengjusong 蒙苴頌 into Caoxi’s genealogy (Cheyong 1986–1987, 1.268a15–b2),48 thereby suppressing local Chan heritage to align with Inland China’s narratives. This transformation reveals a unique pattern in Chinese Buddhist geography. Unlike Mount Wutai or Putuo—where Indian sacred sites underwent symbolic translocation to China49—Mount Jizu experienced active redefinition through Chan paradigms. Where translocation alleviated the “borderland complex” (psychological tension of adhering to a faith rooted in a distant, culturally foreign land), Mount Jizu’s reinvention as the abode of Mahākāśyapa—a Chan patriarch—prioritized China’s Chan narratives over Indian Buddhist traditions. Thus, the mountain emerged not merely as a sacred site, but as a monument to regional integration within imperial ideological networks—a testament to Chan Buddhism’s capacity to absorb peripheral landscapes into its hegemonic cartography.

Mount Jizu’s emergence restructured China’s Buddhist sacred geography, but its frontier context and Mahākāśyapa-centric identity generated structural constraints that compromised transregional influence. Like Mounts Wutai and Emei, Jizu’s ascendancy required Buddhism to achieve institutional maturity in Yunnan. Once established, it similarly functioned as a catalytic nucleus—accelerating Buddhist evolution while enriching sacred topography. However, Jizu represents a distinct paradigm within Chinese Buddhist sacred geography. Jizu’s veneration of Mahākāśyapa—an arhat with limited soteriological appeal—signals preservation of pre-Sinicized/non-Mahāyāna heritage. This alignment defines Jizu’s symbolic orientation and peripheral status in Chinese Buddhist cosmology, revealing how its cultic identity negotiated not only state power but also regional religious frameworks which diverged from interior China’s normative orthodoxy.50 Crucially, Mahākāśyapa’s focus on self-liberation (contrasting with bodhisattvas’ universal salvation) inherently constrained Jizu’s transregional appeal. Furthermore, unlike China’s “Four Great Mountains” that all emerged in long-Sinicized, polity-integrated regions—including coastal Putuo under Jiangnan’s cultural dominance, Yunnan embodied unique tensions: centuries of autonomy followed by Ming frontier designation, which accentuated geographical remoteness and cultural peripherality. This yielded dual consequences: (1) limited institutional reach: even at its zenith, Jizu lacked sustained court patronage comparable to Acarya traditions’ influence during the Nanzhao-Dali kingdoms, let alone that of Mount Wutai on Tang court. (2) Conditional cultural alignment: despite deliberate Ming-Qing suppression of local hybridity, which was receptive to Chinese, Indian, Tibetan, and Southeast Asian influences, the shift toward Han orthodoxy remained inherently unstable. Consequently, Mount Jizu’s prominence in the late Ming and early Qing period proved precarious—dependent on external forces (court/literati) beyond monastic control, ensuring systematical vulnerability to political shifts.

By the early eighteenth century, Mount Jizu’s inherent vulnerabilities had already culminated in precipitous decline—a process accelerated by the Ming-Qing dynastic transition and compounded under Qing rule through intersecting vectors—the erosion of monastic economic autonomy, rupture of imperial patronage networks, the 1726 abolition of the tusi system, waning literati engagement (particularly in Jiangnan), and Qing imperial policies that systematically prioritized Tibetan Buddhist traditions over Han-Chinese monastic institutions. In the mountain gazetteer compiled in 1702, Gao Wengying captured the decline: “Ninety percent of the temples, halls, and pavilions on the mountain now lie in ruins, as do ninety-nine percent of chapels, studios, homes, yards, and arches. None are restored; the fallen remain un-rebuilt” (今稽是山之寺、院、殿、閣廢者凡十九，而庵、軒、亭、室、居、坊之廢者九十九。新之無其人，廢之莫能舉) (Gao 2003, 5.227)51. Since the mountain’s late-Ming prosperity was essentially contingent upon the broader Buddhist revival, this collapse mirrored the concurrent demise of this religious resurgence. As Chinese Buddhism waned after the eighteenth century, its capacity to influence Yunnan from Inland China diminished, thereby further sapping the mountain’s religious vitality. Master Xuyun’s 虛雲 (1840?–1959) three visits (1889, 1902, 1904), for instance, revealed the nadir of this decline. His recollection, though temporally distanced, exposes the crisis vividly.

When I first arrived at Mount Jizu, I could not recognize any monks—all wore lay clothing. They neglected spiritual practice, abandoned Buddhist halls, and refrained even from incense offerings. Instead, they misused monastic assets to buy influence from factional leaders… Gradually, through persuasion, they began engaging with me. They learned to: establish karmic connections with patrons, receive visitors monastically, don monastic robes and kāṣāya, chant sutras in halls, abstain from tobacco, alcohol, and meat, and cultivate right view. Their conducts were thus transformed slowly (我初到雞足山，看不到一個僧人，因為他們都穿俗服，所以認不出誰是僧人。他們全不講修持，不進殿堂，連香都不燒，以享受寺產，用錢買黨派龍頭大哥以為受用……慢慢的勸，他們也就漸漸和我來往，漸知要結緣，要開單接眾，要穿大領衣服，要搭袈裟，要上殿念經，不要吃煙酒葷腥，學正見，行為逐漸改變).

(Jinghui 2009, 1: 288)

This was not the end of history, however; Mount Jizu has continually accrued new layers of significance that perpetually reshapes its identity. Even amid decline, nevertheless, Mount Jizu persisted as a spiritual beacon, transcending regional confines to draw devotees. One account proclaims that “not only do Yunnanese regard [Mount] Jizu as Kāśyapa’s abode; [this truth] is now known throughout the realm. Buddhist monks and Daoist priests alike, holding the staff in hands or riding flying teals, pilgrimage here from thousands of miles afar” (微特滇人謂雞足為迦葉道場，凡宇內亦無不知之者。或緇流或羽士，百里千里外，杖錫飛鳧，來朝茲山)52. Notably, Tibetan Buddhists formed a substantial contingent of these pilgrims. A contemporaneous record corroborates: “Each year, numerous Lamas from the west (i.e., Tibet) journey to Mount Jizu. They all assert that ancient traditions identify the mountain as the site where Kāśyapa guards the Buddha’s robe” (且西方喇嘛，每年來朝雞足者甚眾，皆言自古相傳，此是迦葉守衣之所) (Gao 2003, 6.252). This influx reflected broader geopolitical shifts. While Mount Jizu’s Chan Buddhist identity had ostensibly crystallized, the contest for supremacy among different cultures in this region did not cease and Tibetan Buddhism—buttressed by Qing imperial patronage—emerged as a formidable rival. The mountain became a microcosm of this rivalry, and there was growing presence of Tibetan Buddhism on Mount Jizu.53 A 1943 survey reveals that Xitan si, originally commissioned by Mu Zeng, was then imbued with strong flavor of Tibetan Buddhism, and it housed Tibetan esoteric iconography, including rows of deities of the Guhyasamāja Tantra (Li 1976, 10:15; Pan 2000, 11:140). The sociologist Fei Xiaotong 費孝通 (1910–2005), during his fieldwork, recorded Tibetan pilgrims performing rituals atop the peaks as well.

Upon going up to the upper floor, [I] found that it was men and women in Tibetan clothes everywhere. Once going upstairs, they knelt down to koutou, circulated around the balcony of the pagoda, took turns to kneel down and to koutou, and chanted Tibetan words in a disorganized fashion. The dust on their hair clearly indicated the long trip they had covered (登樓一看，原來四周都是穿著藏服的男女。他們一登樓就跪下叩頭，又繞著塔周陽臺打轉，一下就是跪地，一下就叩頭，口裡散亂念著藏語，頭髮上的塵沙還很清楚地記錄著他們長途跋涉的旅程).

(Fei 1999, 3:69)

Given that these Tibetan pilgrims visiting Mount Jizu had little connection to the Chan traditions, their presence underscores a broader historical reality: the making of a sacred site is neither static nor monolithic.54 Rather than diluting its identity, their engagement highlights how Mount Jizu’s significance transcended regional and doctrinal confines, evolving through ongoing reinterpretation. Such sites are not bound to singular narratives; they are embraced by diverse groups, irrespective of ethnicity, race, or cultural background. Over time, new layers of meaning are superimposed, making its original significance either richer or totally changed. Thus, Mount Jizu’s sacred landscape functions as a palimpsest—far from a static symbol, it embodies the dynamic interplay of faith, power, and identity within China and beyond.

6. Concluding Remarks

Mount Jizu’s striking ascent into the pantheon of Buddhist sacred sites in late imperial China marked both a religious watershed and a profound sociopolitical reconfiguration. Rejecting teleological narratives, this study traces the mountain’s trajectory through four distinct phases to examine how a toponym borrowed from Indian Buddhist lore transcended regional confines to attain national significance in China. By analyzing the structural, institutional, and agential dynamics—both within Yunnan and beyond, and both within China and beyond—it reveals how the mountain’s sacralization arose from the convergence of local agency, acculturative pressures, state-building imperatives, monastic networks, and the strategic mobilization of symbolic capital. Notably, it also reveals how the dynamics and mechanisms behind Mount Jizu’s rise differed significantly from those of Buddhist sacred sites in China’s interior.

Returning to Yunnan’s historical and regional context is essential to uncover the structural forces that subtly yet profoundly shaped Mount Jizu’s trajectory, particularly in its formative stages. Central to this inquiry is Buddhism’s dual role in Yunnanese society: as a spiritual tradition deeply embedded in local culture and as a dynamic medium for negotiating power between communities and external forces. Shaped by the region’s rugged terrain, cross-cultural encounters, and contested political frontiers, the Yunnanese cultivated a distinctive identity marked by paradoxical pragmatism—a fusion of fierce local autonomy and adaptive openness to external influences. As for Buddhism, rooted in the Acarya teachings of the Nanzhao (738–902) and Dali (937–1253) kingdoms, it became inextricably woven into the region’s sociocultural fabric. This legacy not only nurtured a devoted following that propelled Buddhism’s expansion but also transformed the religion into a strategic instrument for governance and power mediation. During the early Ming dynasty, as state pressures intensified in the newly incorporated frontier, Yunnan’s communities—guided by their dual ethos of resilience and adaptability—reconceived Buddhism as both a spiritual anchor and a tool of cultural negotiation. It was within this crucible of imperial integration and local resistance that Mount Jizu emerged. Through acts of creative misinterpretation, locals reinvented the mountain as a symbolic and political nexus, where indigenous traditions intersected with imperial demands.

Following its identification as Mount Kukkuṭapāda around the 1450s, the advancement of Buddhism on Mount Jizu was driven by resources drawn from local communities and the dynamic synergy between Ming state initiatives and regional response. As part of its broader state-building agenda, the Ming dynasty implemented targeted policies in southwestern border regions, while local populations leveraged entrenched traditions to navigate these changes through both resistance and adaptation. Key actors in this process included locally rooted scholar-officials, such as Li Yuanyang, whose four-decade dedication to the mountain solidified its religious infrastructure, and the tusi, exemplified by the Mu clan of Lijiang, who lavished patronage on Buddhist institutions. Less visible yet equally critical were underlying sociopolitical currents: dramatic demographic shifts in regions like Lijiang, the gradual Hannization that expanded educational access among the Bai people, and factional crises within the Mu tusi that precipitated Confucian administrative reforms. Paradoxically, adversities such as Emperor Jiajing’s broader suppression of Buddhism and the chaos of the Ming-Qing transition proved transformative, further amplifying the mountain’s significance. These crises destabilized existing hierarchies, compelling marginalized monastic and lay communities to seek refuge in Mount Jizu’s burgeoning sanctity. In doing so, they inadvertently fortified the mountain’s status as a bastion of spiritual resilience and institutional endurance.

Alongside Yunnan’s internal dynamics, external forces played an equally pivotal role in shaping Mount Jizu’s trajectory, particularly its ascent to national prominence. These forces can be situated within three interconnected frameworks: (1) the centuries-long acculturative process and the Ming dynasty’s state-making strategies, both of which sought to integrate Yunnan into the imperial core; (2) the broader late Ming Buddhist revival, which was underway; and (3) the dynamic formation of Buddhist sacred landscapes, which redefined regional sites as nodes of transregional religious authority.

As a dynamic contact zone, Yunnan emerged as a crucible where influences from China, Tibet, India, and Southeast Asia converged, competed, and hybridized with indigenous traditions. Following its incorporation under the Yuan, the region’s acculturative momentum shifted decisively toward China, aligning with Ming-Qing state-building efforts to assimilate the periphery into the imperial core. Within this context, the Ming court initially imposed stringent controls on Buddhism to curb its influence but later adopted an ambivalent strategy that oscillated between suppression and selective co-optation to balance spiritual authority with political stability. Meanwhile, local actors skillfully navigated these constraints, leveraging Buddhism to recalibrate Yunnan’s social order and renegotiate its relationship with imperial authority. The tusi—local chieftains acting as state agents—for example, was tacitly tolerated to mitigate direct central interference in Buddhist affairs. These interactions inadvertently catalyzed Mount Jizu’s ascendance, transforming it into a nexus of spiritual and political power. Over time, the mountain’s reinvention as the abode of Kāśyapa—a patriarch central to Chan Buddhism—marked a symbolic triumph of Chinese cultural hegemony. This success was achieved not only through effective acculturation but also through Buddhism’s strategic utility as a bridge between Yunnan’s frontier identity and the ideological imperatives of the imperial center.

The late Ming Buddhist revival, which was reviving Chinese Buddhism on a national scale, was pivotal in elevating Mount Jizu to prominence. This revival spurred dynamic exchanges between local monks and those in Jiangnan, stimulated imperial patronage—notably from Empress Dowager Cisheng—and fostered strategic investments across local, regional, and transregional networks. It also nurtured a symbiotic “lid-and-box” alliance between literati elites and Buddhist institutions, where scholars offered ideological and material support in exchange for spiritual legitimacy, reinforcing their societal influence. Without this conducive environment, Mount Jizu’s rapid ascent as a major religious center would have been inconceivable. For instance, the literati–Buddhist alliance was instrumental in transforming the mountain from a regional devotional site into a destination of empire-wide fascination. It also drove sustained efforts from literati elites, such as Xu Xiake, to redefine Mount Jizu’s spiritual identity, culminating in its formal anchoring within Chan orthodoxy. Notably, such dependence on external forces to achieve national influence paradoxically reveals the inherent vulnerability of Mount Jizu’s sacred ecosystem, a vulnerability that ultimately contributed to its decline after the 18th century.

As the arguably fifth sacred mountain of Chinese Buddhism, Mount Jizu offers a unique lens into China’s sacred geography. Unlike the “Four Famous Mountains”, which mitigated the “borderland complex” by transplanting Indian sacred sites into China, Mount Jizu diverged by deliberately weakening its ties to India, aligning instead with China’s cultural assimilation. However, its story did not conclude there. The mountain’s sacred identity remained dynamic, as evidenced in the 1940s when Tibetan Buddhist elements—such as rituals, iconography, and pilgrimages—grew prominent to reshape its spiritual landscape. This evolution highlights two pivotal themes. First, Mount Jizu’s expanding allure among Bai, Han, Tibetan, and other communities transformed it into a nexus of cross-cultural exchange, transcending regional and ethnic boundaries. Second, it exemplifies the malleability of sacred geography: the mountain is not a static entity “claimed” by one tradition, but a palimpsest—a site continually overwritten with new meanings by successive groups. While ethnicity and culture influence these interpretations, no single group monopolizes its sanctity. Over time, layered narratives have enriched—and at times supplanted—its original significance, mirroring the interplay of devotion, power, and identity. Evidently, Mount Jizu’s history is defined not by a fixed identity but by perpetual reinvention. Its making in the sacred Buddhist geography serves as a dynamic arena of contest and negotiation, where diverse traditions coexist, adapt, and redefine their roles within interconnected local, regional, national, and border-crossing frameworks.