Preface — by Yu Zhining

When light streamed from the jade tuft, sweet dew was sprinkled over the three thousand great thousand worlds; when the golden mirror threw out its brightness, a warm wind clothed all the ordered lands. From this one knows that he who showed his body in the three realms is called the honored one of all under heaven, and that his dwelling in light over the four quarters is the mark of what is great within the realm. And so, when the sun of wisdom sank its shadow, the traces of his likeness came back eastward, and when the imperial plan was unfolded wide, the great stride reached the western limit.

There is the Tripitaka Master of the Ci'en cloister, whose taboo name is Xuanzang. His lay surname was Chen, and his forebears were men of Yingchuan. Xuanyuan raised up the images and opened the source at Huazhu; the great Shun met his guests at the gate, and on Mount Li he laid the base and raised the structure high. The three honored houses shone in the years of the Ji, and the six rare stratagems shone in the sacrifices of the Han. A memorial was sent up and the bright moon was received; he roamed in the Way and the stars of virtue gathered. As fish running a ravine set their scales side by side and birds riding the wind hold their wings level, so the beauty carried on from age to age grew thick into a great lineage. The Master was born on the strength of that blessing, holding harmony and bringing down virtue. His root was set deep, and so he grew lush; his source was drawn from far down, and so his spirit ran long. In the year when his teeth changed he was like a rising glow and a climbing moon; in the year when children heap up sand he had the scent of orchid and cassia. When he came of age, his learning had gone through the old books to the end. His cry sounded from the ninefold marsh, and the five offices vied to summon him. Because he had early awakened to the true and the false and early shone with mercy and wisdom, he took the true trap for his mirror and stood long waiting, and looking back on his span of life he wished to rest from it forever. Red sash and purple cord are indeed the fine net of the world that has bounds; the jeweled carriage and the cinnabar pillow are truly the ford that leads out of the world. So he threw off dust and dregs and turned back to what is quiet and open. His elder brother, the Master Zhangjie, was a ridgepole and trunk of the gate of the Buddha. He held the power of dragon and elephant in his own day, and among the men of that time he stood out like Sariputra. Court and country drew from his bearing, and within and without envied his renown. Their feeling as brothers was deep, and in the Way too they were at peace as kin. The Master served him closely and asked for more teaching, and did not throw away a moment of shadow. His work shone at the head of the rest, and he was picked out as the finest in the sandal grove; his virtue matched the mean, and his fragrance rose in the orchid room. Lifting his whip on the level road, he took in the nine divisions of the scriptures and swallowed the great marsh; plying his oar at the dark ford, he looked down on the four Vedas and counted Lu small. From then he went about the places of discourse, and cool and warm seasons moved on. His work was done, and his powers were complete. The sun and moon of the first beginning shone alone on his spirit tower, and the embroidered sash of Ziyun opened out the storehouse of his spirit. So, when the golden text was barely opened, men waited as for the autumn carriage and came on like clouds; when the jade handle was barely waved, they parted the mist as in a market and followed one another like waves. If a man grasps the meaning of the wheelwright's cutting, he knows also the subtlety of bowing to the zither. With the wide learning of one who pours a jar from a jar, he floated an empty boat and went far alone. Then in the land of Huanyuan he first broke the boast of the man who bound his belly in metal plates, and in the country of Jingluo he soon showed the marvel of the floating cup. Far and near men looked up to him, and they said of him, "In old days we heard of the eight dragons of the Xun family; today we see the two fine horses of the house of Chen." The Ru and the Ying have many rare men. True indeed is that saying.

From his childhood to his manhood the Master let his mind roam in the dark writings. Famous men and those who had gone before ran each with his own sect and school; they chased the branch and forgot the root, they picked the flower and threw away the fruit, until learning differed in the south and in the north and right and wrong were tangled in confusion. Speaking long on this, he was truly cast down. He feared too that the translations handed down were crossed and mixed and could not be traced to the end, and he wished to exhaust the writings of the fragrant elephant and to empty the catalogue of the Dragon Palace. With virtue beyond compare, meeting a flourishing age, he took his staff and shook out his robe and went on to far countries. So he turned his back on the dark Ba and gazed into the distance, and pointing to the Pamir range he lifted his steps that way. River and land stretched on and on, and he tasted hardship and danger to the full. He thought Zhang Qian's going no great distance and laughed at Faxian's as narrow. Wherever he traveled and set foot he learned the speech of the place to the end; he dug for the hidden depths and reached with fine skill the meeting place of the fords. Then his words came out like the orpiment brush and their flower flew over India, and the writings were carried on palm leaves and came home at last to China.

Emperor Taizong Wen took up the golden wheel and ruled, and sat high on the jeweled seat. He had long awaited the Master's fine bearing, and called him to an audience above the green rush mat; he looked with favor on that penetrating knowledge, and drew his knees forward beneath the yellow canopy. Edicts in his own hand came close and thick, and palace envoys followed one another on the road. He bent down and spread out his wise thought, and made the Preface to the Holy Teaching of the Tripitaka, seven hundred and eighty words in all. The present emperor, when he was in the Spring Palace, wrote the Shu sheng ji, five hundred and seventy-nine words in all. They open the ford of the dark and wondrous and carry the praise of it to the end. Had his Way not been reflected in Gyerim in the east and his fame not shone on Vulture Peak in the west, how could such divine writing have been sent down from afar to mark out the finest man of the age?

By edict he translated the Sanskrit originals, six hundred and fifty-seven works in all. He looked over the strange customs of far regions and the different ways of lands cut off, what suits those who dwell on that soil and the order in which their people are arrayed, how far the calendar reaches and how wide the teaching spreads, and he wrote the Da Tang xiyu ji and cut it into twelve scrolls. He compiled and recorded the deep matter of those records and gathered and checked it clearly and closely. To set up words that do not decay lies in this.