The poem says:
Great indeed is the King of Tang, who sent down his rescript of appointment, Dispatching Xuanzang to inquire of the Chan school. With firm heart, polished and ground, he seeks the dragon's den; With set purpose, cultivating, he climbs the Vulture Peak. To the far frontiers he travels—how many lands? Cloud-wrapped mountains before him, thousands upon thousands of folds. From this day he sets forth for the West, Holding the teaching, keeping the discipline, awakening to the Great Void.
Now Sanzang, on the third day before the full moon of the ninth month of the thirteenth year of Zhenguan, was escorted by the King of Tang and his ministers beyond the passes of Chang'an. For a day or two the horses never halted, and they soon came to the Famen Monastery. The abbot of the monastery and the elder of the upper chambers led out more than five hundred monks, who stood ranged on either side and received him within, where they greeted him and offered tea. After tea came the vegetarian meal, and after the meal, before anyone noticed, the sky had grown dark. Truly:
Star-shadows stir—the River of Stars draws near; The moon is bright, without a speck of dust. Wild geese cry across the distant sky; Fulling-mallets sound in the western neighbors' yards. Homing birds roost in withered trees; Chan monks intone the Sanskrit sounds. Upon the rush cushion of a single couch They sit until the night is nearly spent.
By lamplight the monks discussed the settled purpose of the Buddha's gate and the reason for the journey to the Western Heaven for the scriptures. Some spoke of the far waters and high mountains; some of the many tigers and leopards on the road; some said the sheer ridges and precipitous cliffs could hardly be crossed; others that the venomous demons and wicked monsters could hardly be subdued. Sanzang held his tongue and said nothing, only pointing with his finger to his own heart and nodding his head several times.
The monks could not make this out, and pressed their palms together, asking: "Master, why do you point at your heart and nod your head?"
Sanzang answered: "When the heart arises, all manner of demons arise; when the heart is extinguished, all manner of demons are extinguished. Your disciple swore a great oath before the Buddha at the Huasheng Monastery, and I cannot do otherwise than give this heart its utmost. On this journey I am determined to reach the Western Heaven, to see the Buddha and seek the scriptures, that the wheel of our Law may turn again, and I pray that the sacred sovereign's realm may stand forever firm." When the monks heard these words, every man extolled him and each spread his fame abroad, all crying with one voice: "A master of the great proclamation, loyal of heart and red of gall!" Their praise was endless, and they begged the master to retire to his couch and rest.
At dawn it was again the bamboo striking the waning moon as it set, and the cock crowing as morning clouds arose. The monks rose and prepared tea, water, and the morning meal.
Xuanzang then put on his cassock, went up to the main hall, and worshiped before the Buddha, saying: "Your disciple Chen Xuanzang goes to the Western Heaven to seek the scriptures, but my fleshly eyes are foolish and dim, and I cannot know the true form of the living Buddha. Now I vow before you: on this road, whenever I meet a temple I will burn incense; whenever I meet a Buddha I will worship the Buddha; whenever I meet a stupa I will sweep the stupa. I pray only that my Buddha, in his mercy, will soon show his golden body of sixteen feet, bestow the true scriptures, and let them be handed down in the Eastern Land."
When he had finished his prayer, he returned to the abbot's quarters for the fast. When the meal was done, the two attendants saddled the horses and pressed the journey forward. Sanzang went out the monastery gate and bade farewell to the monks, who could not bear the parting and escorted him a full ten li before returning, their eyes brimming with tears. Then Sanzang pressed straight on toward the west. It was the season of late autumn. Just look:
In several villages the trees shed their leaves and the reed-flowers shatter; From a few rows of maples and poplars the red leaves fall. On the road, mist and rain; old friends are few. The yellow chrysanthemums lovely, the mountain bones fine; The water cold, the lotuses broken, the travelers worn. White and red knotweed, frost-sky snow; The sunset cloud and the lone duck fall through the long sky. Dimly, darkly, the wild clouds fly. The black birds depart; the guest geese arrive, Their cries shrill and clear, shattering the night.
Master and disciples traveled for several days and came to the city of Gongzhou. The officials and functionaries of all Gongzhou were already there to welcome them into the city. After resting there a night, they set out again early the next morning. Hungry, they ate; thirsty, they drank; at night they lodged, at dawn they traveled. In two or three days more they reached the Hezhou Guard. This was the frontier of the rivers and mountains of the Great Tang.
The garrison general of the frontier and the local monks and Daoists had already heard that this was the sovereign's sworn brother the Master, bearing the imperial dispatch to see the Buddha in the West, and all received him with the utmost respect, taking him within and providing for him, while the overseer of monks invited him to lodge at the Fuyuan Monastery. The monks of the monastery came one by one to pay their respects, and arranged the evening meal. When the fast was done, he instructed the two attendants to feed the horses well, for they would set out before daybreak. When the cock first crowed, he called his attendants—thereby rousing the monastery monks, who prepared tea, broth, and food for the fast. When the meal was over, he left the frontier behind.
The elder was anxious at heart and had risen far too early. For this was deep autumn, when the cocks crow early, and it could only have been the fourth watch. The party of three, with the horse making four, breasting the clear frost and by the light of the bright moon, had traveled some tens of li when they saw a mountain ridge ahead. They could only push through the grass in search of a path—too rugged to describe, and all the while they feared they had lost the way. Just as they were hesitating, they suddenly stumbled, and all three, horse and men, tumbled into a pit.
Sanzang's heart panicked; the attendants' galls quaked.
Scarcely had their terror seized them than they heard from within a roaring and a loud calling: "Seize them! Seize them!"
A howling wind rolled out, and fifty or sixty demons surged forth, dragging Sanzang and his attendants up out of the pit. Trembling and quaking, the master stole a glance at the demon king enthroned above—a creature of the utmost ferocity. Truly:
Majestic and mighty his body, fierce and imposing his face. His lightning eyes dart shooting flame; his thunder voice shakes all four quarters. Saw teeth protrude beyond his jaws; chisel fangs bare beside his cheeks. Embroidered brocade swathes his body; patterned stripes wrap his spine. His steel whiskers show scarce any flesh; his hooking claws are keen as frost. The Yellow Aged of the Eastern Sea would fear him; the white-browed king of the Southern Mountains likewise.
Sanzang was frightened out of his wits, and the two attendants went soft-boned and numb of sinew. The demon king shouted orders to bind them, and the demons all together bound the three men with cords. They were just preparing to devour them when a clamor was heard outside, and someone came to report: "Lord Xiong of the Mountain and Master Te the Hermit are come."
Hearing this, Sanzang raised his head to look. Walking in front was a black fellow. And what did he look like?
Heroic and bold of nerve, light and strong of body. Crossing streams by sheer savage strength; Raging through the woods in the majesty of his wrath. Long since portended in lucky dreams; Now alone revealing his gallant bearing. He can bend and break the green trees; He knows the cold, and is wise in the seasons. Precisely accurate wherever he shows himself— And so he is called the Lord of the Mountain.
Behind him came a fat fellow. And what did he look like?
A towering crown of double horns; Stately and solemn, shoulders and back held high. His nature serves contentedly in clothes of black; His hoofs and paces are slow and lagging. His clan name from his father is Ox; His original style from his mother is Cow. He can labor for the men who till the fields, And so he is styled Master Te the Hermit.
The two of them came swaying and swaggering in, and the demon king rushed out in haste to welcome them. Lord Xiong said: "General Yin, long have you prospered—congratulations! Congratulations!" Master Te said: "General Yin, your bearing exceeds the common—truly delightful! Truly delightful!" The demon king said: "How have you two gentlemen fared these many days?" The lord said: "Only keeping to my plain fare." The hermit said: "Only following the seasons." When the three had exchanged greetings, they sat down each in his place and talked and laughed.
Then the attendants, bound fast, wailed aloud in their agony. The black fellow asked: "Where do these three come from?" The demon king said: "They delivered themselves to our door." The hermit laughed: "Might they serve to entertain guests?" The demon king said: "With pleasure! With pleasure!" The lord said: "They should not all be eaten. Eat two of them, and keep one—that would do." The demon king assented, and at once called his attendants, who cut open the bellies of the two followers, tore out their hearts, and chopped their bodies to pieces.
The heads and hearts and livers they presented to the two guests; the limbs the demon king ate himself; the remaining flesh and bones he divided among the demons. There arose a sound of gobbling and chewing, just like tigers devouring lambs. In a moment all was eaten. The elder was scared nearly dead. This was the first tribulation after leaving Chang'an.
In the midst of his anguish and terror, the east gradually whitened, and at daybreak the two monsters took their leave.
Both said: "Today we have intruded grossly upon you. Another day we will repay your hospitality with all our hearts."
And with that they withdrew in a crowd. Before long the red sun rose high. Sanzang, dazed and reeling, could not tell east from west. Just as he was at the point of death, there suddenly appeared an old man, leaning on a staff, who came up to him. He stepped forward, brushed him once with his hand, and all the cords snapped. Then he blew a breath of air in his face, and Sanzang came to himself.
He knelt and bowed upon the ground: "A thousand thanks, venerable sir, for saving this poor monk's life!"
The old man returned his bow and said: "Rise. Have you lost anything?" Sanzang said: "My attendants have been eaten by the monsters; I know only that my luggage and horse are somewhere about." The old man pointed with his staff: "Over there—are those not a horse and two bundles?" Sanzang turned to look: they were indeed his things, and nothing had been lost; only then did his heart ease a little.
He asked the old man: "Venerable sir, what place is this? And how come you to be here?"
The old man said: "This is Double Fork Ridge, the den and lair of tigers and wolves. How did you fall in here?" Sanzang said: "This poor monk left the bounds of the Hezhou Guard at cockcrow, not expecting I had risen so early; braving frost and parting dew, I suddenly tumbled into this place. I saw a demon king of utmost ferocity, who bound this poor monk and my two attendants. Then I saw a black fellow called Lord Xiong of the Mountain, and a fat fellow called Master Te the Hermit, who came in and hailed the demon king as General Yin. The three of them ate my two attendants, and only scattered at daybreak. Never did I think I had such great destiny and portion, that you, venerable sir, should be moved to come and save me." The old man said: "Master Te was a wild bull spirit. The Lord of the Mountain was a bear spirit. General Yin was a tiger spirit. The attendant monsters were all mountain sprites and tree ghosts, monstrous beasts and gray wolves. Only because your original nature is bright and whole could they not eat you. Follow me, and I will lead you onto the road." Sanzang, grateful beyond all measure, loaded the bundles onto the horse, took the reins, and followed the old man straight out of the pit, up onto the highroad.
He was tying the horse to the grass at the roadside and turning to bow his thanks to the venerable gentleman when the old man transformed himself into a gust of pure wind, mounted a red-crowned white crane, and soared away into the sky. From the wind floated down and drifted a slip of paper, on which were written four lines of verse. The verse said:
"I am the Gold Star of the Western Heaven, Come especially to save your living soul. Ahead you shall have a spirit disciple to aid you; Do not, for hardship's sake, complain of the quest."
When Sanzang had read it, he bowed to heaven and worshiped, saying: "A thousand thanks, Gold Star, for delivering me from this peril." When the bows were done, he led his horse and pressed bitterly forward, alone and desolate. And this ridge truly was:
A chill wind sighing through the rainy woods; A murmuring sound from the water in the ravine. Wild flowers breathing fragrance thick; Dense tangles of heaped and jumbled stones. Clamor of deer and apes in routs; Companies of river-deer and muntjacs in files. A din of varied birdsong everywhere; Still and hushed, no trace of humankind. That elder—trembling, his heart without repose; This horse—faint of strength, its hoofs hard to lift.
Sanzang risked his body and staked his life, climbing up among the sheer ridges. After half a day's travel, still no sign of human dwelling or village. His belly was hungry, and the road was rough besides. At this moment of utmost peril, ahead of him two fierce tigers came roaring, and behind him several long serpents came coiling. On the left were venomous creatures, on the right monstrous beasts. Alone and resourceless, Sanzang could only let go of body and mind and submit to whatever Heaven decreed.
And there was no help for it that the horse's back was weak and its hoofs bent: it dropped dung and water both, collapsed on the ground, and could neither be beaten up nor led along. The poor master was at his wits' end—truly in uttermost misery—and had already given himself up for dead, with nothing whatever to be done. Yet though his star of trouble was on him, deliverance was at hand too. Just as he was at the point of death, suddenly the venomous creatures came scurrying, the monstrous beasts fled flying, the fierce tigers hid their tracks, and the long serpents veiled their traces.
Sanzang raised his head and saw a man come striding round the hillside, a steel trident in his hand, a bow and arrows at his waist—truly a fine fellow. Just look at him:
On his head a cap of spotted leopard skin, sewn with mugwort patterns; On his body a robe of woolen brocade, woven in foreign fashion; Round his waist a belt of lion-patterned silk; On his feet a pair of deerskin boots. Round glaring eyes like a spirit of mourning; A circling beard in wild disorder, like the demon of the river. At his belt a quiver of poisoned arrows; In his grasp a great trident of steeled points. His thunder voice shatters the courage of the mountain beasts; His boldness startles the souls of the wild pheasants.
Seeing him draw near, Sanzang knelt by the roadside, pressed his palms together, and cried loudly: "Great King, save my life! Great King, save my life!"
When the fellow came up, he set down his trident and lifted him with his hands: "Fear not, elder. I am no wicked man. I am a hunter of these mountains, named Liu Boqin, nicknamed the Mountain-Guarding Warden. I was just coming out to catch a couple of mountain beasts for food when I happened upon you—pardon my roughness." Sanzang said: "This poor monk is a monk sent under the mandate of the Great Tang to worship the Buddha in the Western Heaven and seek the scriptures. Just now I came to this place and met with wolves, tigers, serpents, and venomous creatures crowding round on every side, so that I could not advance. Suddenly you arrived, Warden, and all the beasts fled—you have saved this poor monk's life. A thousand thanks! A thousand thanks!" Boqin said: "I live here, living by hunting wolves and tigers and catching serpents and vermin—that is why the beasts fear me and fled. Since you come from the Tang, you and I are countrymen. These parts are still the territory of the Great Tang, and I too am a subject of the Tang. You and I drink the water and eat the grain of the same royal land—truly we are men of one country. Fear not, but follow me. Rest your horse at my house, and tomorrow I will see you on your way." Hearing this, Sanzang's heart filled with joy.
He thanked Boqin, led his horse, and followed along.
They crossed the hillside, and again they heard the whoosh of wind.
Boqin said: "Do not go on, elder—sit here a while. That sound of wind means a mountain cat is coming. Let me catch it to entertain you at my house."
At these words Sanzang's gall trembled and his heart quaked, and he dared not take a step. The warden gripped his trident, spread his stride, and went forward to meet it. There, face to face, a brindled tiger came upon him. At sight of Boqin it whipped round at once to flee.
The warden, with a burst of thunder, shouted: "You wicked beast! Where do you run!"
The tiger, pressed hard by the chase, wheeled and flung out its claws to pounce. The warden raised his three-pronged trident to meet it, and Sanzang collapsed limp into the grass from fright. From the day this monk left his mother's belly, when had he ever seen such savage doings? On the slope below, warden and tiger locked together, man against beast—truly a splendid fight. Just look:
Rage flying in whirls, wild wind rolling in clouds. Rage flying in whirls—the warden's hair bristles with mighty strength; Wild wind rolling in clouds—the brindled beast ramparts, spewing red dust. That one bares teeth and brandishes claws; This one turns his steps and wheels his body. The three-pronged trident props the sky and dazzles the sun; The thousand-flowered tail swirls the mist and flying clouds. This one stabs wildly at the chest; That one comes lunging to swallow him whole. Whoever dodges past is born again into the way of men; Whoever is caught will surely see King Yama. Only hear the brindled beast roar and the warden bellow—
The beast's roaring splits mountains and rivers, startling bird and beast; The warden's bellow flings open the courts of Heaven, baring the very stars. That one's golden eyes start out in fury; This one's courage swells and anger rises. Adorable indeed, the Mountain-Guarding Warden Liu; Worthy of praise, the lord of beasts who holds the ground. Man and tiger, both greedy for life, contend for victory— One moment's slackness, and the three souls are lost.
The two fought for the space of one double-hour, until the tiger's claws slowed and its haunches slackened; the warden raised his trident and ran it through the beast's chest. Poor thing! The trident's point pierced heart and liver, and in an instant blood streamed over the ground. Seizing it by the ears, he dragged it up onto the road—a fine fellow!
Without a breath out of place or a change of color in his face, he said to Sanzang: "Luck! Luck! This mountain cat will feed the elder for some days."
Sanzang's praise was beyond all bounds: "Warden, you are truly a mountain god!" Boqin said: "What skill is mine, to deserve such over-praise? This is the elder's own great fortune. Come along! Let us lose no time in skinning it and boiling some meat, to entertain you." With one hand bearing his trident and the other dragging the tiger, he led the way in front; Sanzang led his horse and followed behind. Winding along past the hillside, they suddenly came in sight of a mountain steading.
Before its gate, truly:
Trees of old reaching to the sky, wild vines mantling the road. Ten thousand ravines, cold in wind and dust; A thousand cliffs of strange and wondrous air. One path of wild flowers, their fragrance stealing over one; A few stalks of secluded bamboo, tenderly green. A grass-gate tower, a fenced courtyard—fit to paint, fit to draw; A stone-slab bridge, walls of white earth—true rustic joy, truly rare. The face of autumn, bleak and bare; the bracing air, lone and high. Yellow leaves falling by the roadside; White clouds drifting over the ridge. In the sparse woods, mountain birds chatter; Outside the steading gate, small hounds yelp clear.
When Boqin reached the gate, he flung down the dead tiger and called: "Where are the little ones?" Out came three or four house-boys, all of fierce and savage appearance, who hauled and tugged the tiger inside.
Boqin instructed them: "Skin it at once, and prepare it to serve our guest."
Then he turned back to welcome Sanzang inside, and they exchanged greetings. Sanzang bowed his thanks once more for Boqin's great kindness in taking pity and saving his life.
Boqin said: "We are countrymen; what thanks are needed?"
When they were seated and the tea was done, an old dame came out leading a daughter-in-law, and both bowed to Sanzang.
Boqin said: "This is my mother, and this my humble wife."
Sanzang said: "Pray let your honored mother take the seat of honor; this poor monk will pay his respects." The old dame said: "You have come from afar, elder; let each of us treasure the other's presence—spare the bows." Boqin said: "Mother, he is from the court of the King of Tang, sent to the Western Heaven to see the Buddha and seek the scriptures. Just now on the ridge he met your son; mindful that we are all of one country, I invited him home to rest his horse, and tomorrow I will see him on his way." Hearing this, the old dame was greatly delighted, and said: "Good! Good! Good! Even had we wished to invite such a one, we could not have managed it. Tomorrow happens to be the anniversary of your father's death; we will trouble the elder to perform some good offices and recite a scroll of scripture, and send him off the day after." Though this Liu Boqin was a tiger-killing hand, a mountain-guarding warden, he yet had a filial heart.
Hearing his mother's words, he at once prepared incense and paper, and detained Sanzang.
As they talked, before they noticed, the sky was darkening. The little ones set out stools and tables and brought several platters of thoroughly stewed tiger meat, steaming hot, and laid them out. Boqin begged Sanzang to make do with this, saying he would prepare other food besides.
Sanzang pressed his palms together before his breast: "Blessed be! I will hide nothing from you, Warden: from the time I left my mother's womb I have been a monk, and have never known the taste of meat."
Hearing this, Boqin brooded a long while and said: "Elder, my humble household has never known how to eat vegetarian through all its generations. Even such things as bamboo shoots, wood-ear fungus we gather, dried vegetables we seek, or bean curd we make, are all fried in the fat of river-deer, deer, tigers, and leopards—there is nothing properly vegetarian. And our two pots and stoves are soaked through and through with grease. What can be done? It seems I have done wrong in inviting you." Sanzang said: "Do not trouble yourself, Warden; pray partake yourself. This poor monk could bear hunger even five or six days without eating—I only dare not break my fast." Boqin said: "But if you starve to death, what then?" Sanzang said: "I am grateful for your heavenly kindness, Warden, in saving me from the midst of tigers and wolves; even were I to starve, that would be better far than feeding a tiger." Hearing this, Boqin's mother called out: "My son, do not bandy idle words with the elder. I have my own vegetarian food with which to entertain him." Boqin said: "Where would vegetarian food come from?" His mother said: "Never mind me; I have my own vegetarian things." She called her daughter-in-law: take down the little pot, burn out its grease over the fire, scour it and scour it again, wash it and wash it again, then set it back upon the stove.
First she put in half a pot of boiling water and set it aside for other use; then she took leaves of the mountain elm and steeped them with water to make tea-broth; after that she cooked a pot of yellow millet and rice, boiled some dried vegetables as well, filled two bowls, brought them out, and set them upon the table.
The old mother said to Sanzang: "Pray take our humble meal, elder. It is food and tea that I and my daughter-in-law prepared with our own hands—of the utmost cleanliness and purity."
Sanzang came down from his seat to give thanks, and only then took his place at table. Boqin set out a separate place for himself, spread with saltless, sauceless tiger meat, fragrant river-deer meat, python meat, fox meat, rabbit meat, and slices of dried venison—plate upon plate, bowl upon bowl—and kept Sanzang company at his vegetarian meal. But scarcely had he sat down and lifted his chopsticks when Sanzang pressed his palms together and began reciting a sutra, frightening Boqin so that he dared not move his chopsticks, but rose hastily and stood to one side. Sanzang recited only a few sentences, then said: "Pray begin the meal."
Boqin said: "Are you one of those monks who recite the short-headed sutras?"
Sanzang said: "This is not a sutra; it is a spell for lifting the fast." Boqin said: "You people who have left the world have a great many scruples indeed—chanting and murmuring even over a meal."
When the meal was eaten and the plates and bowls cleared, the sky gradually darkened. Boqin led Sanzang out of the central house for a stroll in back. Passing through a covered way, they came to a thatched pavilion. He pushed open the door and they went in: on the four walls hung several powerful bows and stiff crossbows, with several quivers of arrows; over the beams were draped two blood-flecked tiger skins; at the base of the walls were planted spears, swords, tridents, and staves without number; and in the very middle stood two seats. Boqin begged Sanzang to sit a while.
Sanzang, seeing the savage, blood-foul furnishings, dared not sit long, and left the pavilion. Going farther back, they came to a great garden, where one could not see the end of the clustered chrysanthemums heaped with yellow, and the maples and poplars on every tree hung with red. Then, with a cry, out ran a dozen or so fat deer and a great herd of yellow river-deer, which, at sight of men, stood gentle and unstartled, without the least fear.
Sanzang said: "These deer and river-deer, I suppose, are beasts the Warden has tamed and keeps?"
Boqin said: "It is as with the households of your city of Chang'an: those with money gather treasure, those with estates gather rice and grain; as for us hunters, we can only gather and keep a few wild beasts, against a rainy day." As the two talked and strolled, dusk came on before they noticed, and they returned to the front house to rest.
Early the next morning, the whole household, old and young, arose and prepared the vegetarian meal to entertain the elder, begging him to begin the recitation of scriptures. The elder washed his hands, offered incense with the warden before the family shrine, and bowed to it; then Sanzang struck the wooden fish, first reciting the true words for purifying the sins of the mouth, then the divine spell for purifying body and mind, and after that opened a scroll of the Sutra of Deliverance for the Dead. When it was finished, Boqin begged him to write out a memorial for the deliverance of the dead, and he opened and recited the Diamond Sutra and the Guanyin Sutra.
Each he chanted aloud in ringing tones. When these were done, they ate the noon meal. Then he recited the Lotus Sutra and the Amitabha Sutra, several scrolls each; then one scroll of the Peacock Sutra, and told the story of the bhikshu who washed away his sins. Before they knew it, it was evening again. All manner of incense had been offered, the paper horses for the host of spirits burned, and the memorial for the dead consigned to the flames; the Buddhist services were done, and all retired to rest.
Now the spirit of Boqin's father, delivered by these offices from his long submersion, came early to the house of the eastern family and appeared in a dream to the whole household, old and young, saying: "In the world of darkness I suffered, unable to free myself, and for long had found no rebirth. Now, thanks to the sage monk, who has recited the scrolls, my sins are wiped away, and King Yama has sent men to escort me to the rich land of China, to be reborn in the household of elders. You must thank and speed the elder well; do not be remiss—do not be remiss. I am going now."
Truly: The majesty of the ten thousand dharmas was aimed with purpose; the dead were recommended out of suffering and up from the sunken world.
The whole household woke from the dream, and already the sun was rising in the east.
Boqin's wife said: "Warden, last night I dreamed our father-in-law came home. He said that in the world of darkness he had suffered without release, and for long had found no rebirth; but now, thanks to the sage monk's reciting the scrolls, his sins were wiped away, and King Yama had sent men to escort him to the rich land of China, to be reborn in the household of elders; and he charged us to thank that elder well and not be remiss. When he had finished speaking, he went straight out the door and sauntered away. We called him and he would not answer, tried to keep him and could not—and then I woke, and it was all a dream."
Boqin said: "I had just such a dream myself, the same as yours. Let us rise and tell my mother." The couple were just about to go tell her when the old mother called out: "Boqin, my child, come here; I have something to say to you." The two came before her, and the old mother, sitting up in bed, said: "Child, last night I had a joyful dream. I dreamed your father came home, saying that thanks to the elder's deliverance, his sins had been wiped away, and he was going to the rich land of China, to be reborn in the household of elders." The husband and wife both laughed aloud: "My wife and I both had this dream, and were just coming to report it; who would have thought, at your summons, it would be the same dream!"
So they roused the whole household, great and small, arranged offerings of thanks, and prepared his horse; and all came before him, bowing and thanking: "Our deepest thanks, elder, for delivering our dead father out of his suffering and into rebirth—we can never repay you!"
Sanzang said: "What power has this poor monk, to deserve your thanks?" Boqin recounted to Sanzang, from beginning to end, the dream-talk of the three of them, and Sanzang too was glad. A vegetarian meal was provided early, and a tael of white silver offered in thanks. Sanzang would not take a single coin. The whole family pressed him again and again with entreaties, but in the end he would take not one cash.
He said only: "If you will show compassion and see me one stage further on my way, that will be love enough."
Boqin and his mother and wife, having no recourse, hurriedly baked some coarse-flour biscuits and dried provisions, and told Boqin to escort him far on his way. Sanzang gladly accepted them. The warden, obeying his mother's command, called two or three house-boys, each bearing hunting gear, and they set out together on the highroad, past sights of wild mountain scenery and ridge-top prospects beyond describing.
After half a day's travel, before them loomed a great mountain, truly touching the blue sky, towering and perilous. Before long Sanzang came to its foot. The warden walked this mountain as easily as level ground.
Just as they reached the middle of the mountain, Boqin turned back, stood below the path, and said: "Elder, go on forward by yourself; I must take my leave."
Hearing this, Sanzang rolled from the saddle and dismounted: "Surely you can bear to see me one stage further, Warden!" Boqin said: "You do not know, elder. This mountain is called the Mountain of Two Frontiers. The eastern half is governed by our Great Tang; the western half is the territory of the Tatars. The wolves and tigers of those parts do not submit to my taming, and I for my part cannot cross the frontier. You must go on alone." Sanzang's heart quailed; he reached out both hands, clutching Boqin's garment and sleeve, tears falling, unable to part.
At the very moment of their earnest farewells, from the foot of the mountain came a shout like thunder: "My master is come! My master is come!"
Sanzang stood dumbstruck with terror, and Boqin staggered. If you would know who it was that shouted—listen to the explanation in the next chapter.