The story tells how master and disciple rode on, with the horse urged forward, until they came to the front gate of the monastery and looked. It was indeed a monastery. Just see it:
Tier upon tier of halls and towers, row upon row of corridors and chambers. Beyond the triple mountain gate, majestically, ten thousand rays of colored cloud veiled the front; before the Hall of Five Blessings, gorgeously, a thousand ribbons of rosy mist wound about. Pines and bamboo lined both paths; a whole grove of juniper and cypress stood together. The pines and bamboo along the two paths, year in and year out, kept their quiet seclusion; the grove of juniper and cypress, clothed in color and beauty, bore their proud splendor. And look: the Bell Tower and Drum Tower rose high, and the pagoda, tall and steep. The monks in meditation had settled their nature; the birds in the trees sang notes of ease.
Silent and dustless—truly silent and dustless; empty of the Way's true fruit—no, truly was it empty and pure, a home of the Way.
There is a poem:
This lofty temple, a Jetavana hidden in an emerald hollow, Its sacred scenery outshining Saha itself. Truly, pure lands are rare in the world of men— But of the famous mountains under Heaven, monks hold most.
The Elder dismounted, and Pilgrim set down the load. Just as they were about to enter, a whole company of monks came out through the gate. See what they looked like:
Left-pin caps upon their heads, stainless garments on their bodies. Bronze rings hung double from their ears; sashes of silk were bound about their waists. In straw sandals they walked with steady steps, wooden fish held in their hands. From their mouths the chanting never ceased—Prajna was their whole refuge.
When Sanzang saw them, he stood in attendance beside the gate and made a greeting-salute, and the monk in charge hastily returned his courtesy. He said with a smile: "We have failed to look after you. Where do you come from? Please enter the abbot's quarters and take tea." Sanzang said: "Your disciple is an envoy from the Eastern Land, sent with imperial authority to worship the Buddha at the Thunderclap Monastery and seek scriptures. As evening is drawing on, we would borrow a night's lodging at your temple." The monk said: "Come inside and be seated, come inside and be seated." Only then did Sanzang call Pilgrim to lead the horse in.
The monk suddenly caught sight of Pilgrim's appearance, was somewhat frightened, and asked: "What sort of thing is that creature leading the horse?"
Sanzang said: "Softly! Softly! He has a quick temper. If he hears you call him a thing, he'll be angry. He is my disciple." The monk shuddered and bit his finger, saying: "Such an ugly, ill-favored wretch—and you took him for a disciple!" Sanzang said: "You wouldn't know it to look at him. Ugly he may be, but he's very useful."
The monk had no choice but to lead Sanzang and Pilgrim in through the mountain gate. Within the gate, on the main hall, they saw four great characters written: "Guanyin Chan Monastery."
Sanzang was overjoyed again, and said: "Again and again your disciple has felt the Bodhisattva's sacred grace, and never yet had the chance to bow in thanks. Now that we have met with this monastery, it is just like seeing the Bodhisattva herself. It would be very good to bow in gratitude."
When the monk heard this, he ordered a serving brother to open the hall doors and invited Sanzang to worship. Pilgrim tethered the horse, dropped the luggage, and went up into the hall with Sanzang. Sanzang stretched his back, spread his arms, laid his breast against the floor, and kowtowed toward the golden image. The monk went to beat the drum, and Pilgrim went to strike the bell. Sanzang prostrated himself before the altar and poured out his heart in prayer. When the worship was finished, the monk stopped the drum, but Pilgrim went right on striking the bell without pause—now fast, now slow—hammering away for a good long while.
The serving brother said: "The worship is over. Why keep striking the bell?"
Only then did Pilgrim drop the bell-striker, laughing: "What would you know! With me it's 'be a monk for a day, strike the bell for a day.'"
By this time the bell's wild ringing had startled every monk in the monastery, great and small, and the elders of all the upper and lower quarters came crowding out, crying: "What wild man is making this chaos with bell and drum?"
Pilgrim leapt out and shouted with a "Pei!": "It was your Grandfather Sun, striking it for fun!" At the sight of him the monks tumbled over each other in fright and scrambled to the ground, all crying: "Grandpa Thunder God!" Pilgrim said: "The Thunder God is my great-great-grandson! Get up, get up—don't be afraid. We are masters from the Great Tang of the Eastern Land." Only then did the monks bow; and when they saw Sanzang, they all set their minds at rest and were afraid no longer.
The monastery's abbot came forward and invited them: "Honored masters, come to the rear abbot's quarters and be served tea."
So they loosened the tether and led the horse, shouldered the luggage, passed around the main hall, went straight into the rear quarters, and took their seats in order.
The abbot offered tea, then arranged a vegetarian meal. The day was still early. Before Sanzang had finished his thanks, two young acolytes came out from behind, supporting an old monk between them. See how he was dressed:
On his head a Vairocana cap of square form, its finial of cat's-eye stone gleaming bright; on his body a cassock-robe of brocade velvet, its gold edging of kingfisher plumage flashing light. A pair of monk's shoes studded with the Eight Treasures; a single staff inlaid with cloud and star. His face full of wrinkled furrows, just like the Old Mother of Mount Li; his two dim eyes, even as the Dragon Lord of the Eastern Sea. His mouth let wind through, his teeth being gone; his back was bent and hunched, his sinews being drawn.
The monks said: "The Venerable Founder has come." Sanzang bowed low in greeting: "Old Abbot, your disciple salutes you." The old monk returned the courtesy, and all sat down again in order.
The old monk said: "The little ones told me just now that masters had come from the Tang court of the Eastern Land, so I came out to receive you."
Sanzang said: "I have lightly intruded upon your precious mountain, knowing neither what is good nor what is bad. Forgive me! Forgive me!" The old monk said: "I dare not! I dare not!" Then he asked: "Honored master, how far is the road from the Eastern Land to this place?" Sanzang said: "From the borders of Chang'an it is more than five thousand li. Beyond the Twin Boundary Mountain I took in a little band of disciples, and coming along this way we passed through the Western barbarian country of Habi; two months more of travel, another five or six thousand li, and only then did we reach your honored region." The old monk said: "That must be ten thousand li and more. Your disciple has idled away a whole lifetime without ever going out the mountain gate—truly what they call 'watching the sky from the bottom of a well,' a rotten, worthless stump of a man." Sanzang asked again: "And what is the venerable Abbot's age?" The old monk said: "I have uselessly lived two hundred and seventy years." When Pilgrim heard this he said: "Why, he's still my descendant of ten thousand generations!" Sanzang glared at him and said: "Mind your tongue! Don't be so heedless of proper measure and give offense." The monk then asked: "Honored master, how old are you?" Pilgrim said: "I dare not say." The old monk took it for a madman's word, paid it no mind, asked no more, and merely called for tea to be offered.
One young favorite brought out a plate of mutton-fat jade holding three cloisonné tea bowls rimmed with gold; another acolyte carried a white-copper pot and poured out three cups of fragrant tea. Truly, its color outshone the pomegranate's crimson bloom, its fragrance surpassed the osmanthus flower.
When Sanzang saw it, he praised it without end: "Fine things! Fine things! Truly fine tea in fine vessels!"
The old monk said: "They offend the eye! They offend the eye! You, honored master, come from the celestial court and the superior kingdom, and have viewed rare treasures far and wide. Such trumpery as this hardly deserves your praise. But as you come from the superior land, might you have some treasure to lend your disciple a look at?" Sanzang said: "Alas! My Eastern Land has no treasures worth the name; and even if it had, the road is so long I could not have carried them."
Pilgrim, standing beside, said: "Master, the other day in our bundle I saw that cassock of ours. Isn't that a treasure? What harm in showing it to him?"
When the monks heard the word "cassock," one and all they sneered.
Pilgrim said: "What are you laughing at?" The abbot said: "The honored master says a cassock is a treasure—that is truly laughable. If it's cassocks you mean, such as we ourselves possess, we have no fewer than two or thirty; and as for my Venerable Founder here, he has been a monk in this place two hundred and fifty or sixty years, and has a full seven or eight hundred of them!" He called out: "Bring them out for a look." The old monk too, in a fit of showing off, ordered the serving brother to open the storehouse and the novices to carry out the chests. They carried out twelve chests, set them in the courtyard, opened the locks, set up clothes-racks on either side, stretched cords around on all four sides, and hung the cassocks out one by one, shaking each open, inviting Sanzang to view them.
Truly it was a hall full of silken embroidery, four walls of damask and gauze!
Pilgrim examined them one by one—all of them flower-pierced brocade work, embroidered and gold-traced stuff.
He laughed: "Good, good, good! Put them away! Put them away! Bring out ours for a look too."
Sanzang caught hold of Pilgrim and whispered: "Disciple, don't compete with people in riches. You and I are alone and abroad; I only fear some mischance." Pilgrim said: "What mischance can come of looking at cassocks?" Sanzang said: "You don't understand. The ancients said: 'Rare and curious things must never be shown to the greedy, the treacherous, and the false.' If they once meet the eye, the heart must be stirred; once the heart is stirred, schemes must be born. If you were one who feared calamity, they would demand it of you, and you would have to grant their wish—well and good. But if not, then ruin and death may both spring from this. It is no small matter." Pilgrim said: "Set your mind at ease! Set your mind at ease! It all rests on old Sun!" And look at him—before another word could be said he hurried off, undid the bundle, and at once rays of rosy light came bursting forth.
There were still two layers of oiled paper wrapped around it. He took off the paper, drew out the cassock, and when he shook it open, red light filled the room and colored splendor brimmed the courtyard. Not one of the monks who saw it failed to rejoice in his heart and cry aloud in praise. Truly a fine cassock! Upon it were:
A thousand cunning pearls depending, ten thousand rare and curious Buddha-treasures clustered. Above and below, dragon-whisker borders spread with colored gauze; on all four sides, dupion silk edged the brocade seam. Hang it, and the wraiths are banished thence; wear it, and the demons go down to the Yellow Springs. Conceived and fashioned by immortals' own hands—no monk but a true one dares wear it at all.
When the old monk saw such a treasure, a covetous heart was truly stirred in him. He came forward, knelt down before Sanzang, and tears fell from his eyes: "Your disciple is truly fated to have no part in it!"
Sanzang raised him up: "What does the venerable Founder mean to say?" He said: "This treasure of yours, honored master—no sooner was it unrolled than the sky darkened; my old eyes grow dim and cannot see it clearly. Is that not to have no part in it?" Sanzang told them: "Bring a lamp, and let you look again." The old monk said: "Your treasure is already bright with light; add a lamp to that and it dazzles the more—I could never look at it closely." Pilgrim said: "How would you look at it, then, to be satisfied?" The old monk said: "If the honored master will grant grace and set his heart at ease, let your disciple take it to the rear chamber and study it closely through the night; tomorrow morning I will return it, and you may go on west. What do you say to that?" At these words Sanzang was startled and reproached Pilgrim: "This is all your doing! All your doing!" Pilgrim laughed: "What is there to fear from him? Let me wrap it up and let him take it and look. If anything goes amiss, old Sun will make it all good." Sanzang could not stop him. Pilgrim handed the cassock to the old monk, saying: "Look at it as you please—only tomorrow morning return it to me as it was, without the least damage or stain." The old monk, delighted beyond measure, had his favorite acolytes carry the cassock inside, then instructed the monks to sweep clean the meditation hall in front, set out two rattan couches with bedding, and invite the two honored masters to rest.
At the same time he ordered breakfast prepared for their send-off in the morning, and so they dispersed. Master and disciples shut the meditation hall door and lay down to sleep, and of them we say no more.
Now the story tells how that monk, having tricked the cassock into his hands, took it to the rear chamber, set a lamp before it, and wept and wailed over it with bitter sobs—so desperately that none of the monastery's monks dared go to sleep first.
The little favorite acolyte, not knowing why, went and told the monks: "The old master has been crying up to the second watch, and still won't stop."
Two novice-grandsons, men after his own heart, came forward and asked: "Grand-master, why do you weep?" The old monk said: "I weep that I have no fate, and may not keep the Tang monk's treasure!" The little monk said: "Grandpa, you are very old, and past it all. His cassock is there before you—you need only undo it and look, and that would be enough. Why weep so bitterly?" The old monk said: "Looking doesn't last. I am two hundred and seventy this year, and have laboriously gathered a few hundred cassocks. How could I ever have one like this? How could I ever be a Tang monk?" The little monk said: "Grand-master, you're wrong. The Tang monk is a wandering monk, far from home and hearth. At your great age you have had enjoyment enough—would you be like him, a wandering monk? Why?" The old monk said: "Though I sit at home at my ease and take pleasure in my late years, I cannot wear that cassock of his. If I could wear it but one little day, I would close my eyes in death content—it would mean I had been a monk in the world of light after all!"
The monks said: "What nonsense! If you want to wear his, what difficulty is there? Tomorrow we keep him one day, and you wear it one day; keep him ten days, and you wear it ten days—and there's an end. Why weep such bitter tears?" The old monk said: "Even if we kept him half a year, I should only wear it half a year, and in the end it would never be mine for long. When he wants to go, I must let him go—how could I keep him forever?"
As they were talking, a little monk named Guangzhi spoke up: "Grandpa, if you want it for long, that too is easy."
Hearing this, the old monk brightened: "My son, what is your clever idea?" Guangzhi said: "Those two, the Tang monk and his man, are travelers, worn out with the road, and by now fast asleep. Let us find a few sturdy fellows, take spears and knives, break open the meditation hall, and kill them. Bury the corpses in the back garden—only our own household will know—and then we make off with their white horse and baggage, and keep that cassock as an heirloom treasure for the family. Would that not be a plan for lasting generations?" At these words the old monk's heart filled with joy; he wiped away his tears and said: "Good! Good! Good! A perfect scheme!" And at once they got spears and knives together.
Then another little monk, named Guangmou—Guangzhi's junior by training—stepped forward and said: "That scheme is not good. If you mean to kill them, we must first take their measure. The white-faced one looks easy; the hairy-faced one looks hard. If we should fail to kill him, would we not bring calamity on our own heads instead? I have a way that moves neither knife nor spear—I wonder what you think of it?"
The old monk said: "My son, what way have you?" Guangmou said: "As this humble grandson sees it: summon together all the quarters, east mountain and west, and have every man bring a bundle of dry firewood. Give up those three rooms of meditation hall and set fire to it—leave them no door to flee by, and burn them up, horse and all. Even if the households around this mountain, front and back, see it, they will only say they were careless themselves, the fire got loose, and our meditation hall was burned down as well. Won't those two monks both be burned to death? And it will nicely cover the world's eyes and ears besides. And will not the cassock then be our family heirloom?" At this, all the monks rejoiced without exception.
They all said: "Strong! Strong! Strong! This scheme is better still! Better still!"
And so they had every quarter carry firewood over. Alas! This scheme of theirs was truly what doomed the long-lived old monk to his last hour and turned the Guanyin Chan Monastery to dust! For in that monastery there were seventy or eighty quarters, great and small, with more than two hundred monks in all. That night they swarmed in with firewood and piled it around the meditation hall, front and back, on all four sides, so that not a crack was left open, and prepared to set the fire—and of that we say no more.
Now the story tells how Sanzang and his disciple settled to rest. But Pilgrim was a monkey of numinous spirit: though he lay down, he kept his wits about him, refining his breath in a light doze. Suddenly he heard people walking ceaselessly outside, and the rustle and crackle of firewood, with wind rising in it.
His heart grew suspicious: "At this still hour of night, why should there be footsteps? Can it be thieves and robbers, plotting against our lives?..."
With one roll he sprang up. He wanted to open the door and go out to see, but feared to wake his master. Look at him muster his spirit, shake himself, and change—transforming into a little bee. Truly:
Sweet mouth and venomous sting, slender waist and body light. He threads the flowers, skims the willows, swift as an arrow; he clings to the floss and seeks the blossom like a falling star. A tiny frame, yet it can bear a load; thin wings a-buzz, yet they know how to ride the wind. And so from beneath the eaves and beams he slipped out to see for himself.
He saw the monks carrying firewood and straw, and they had already ringed the meditation hall round and were setting fire to it. Pilgrim laughed to himself: "Just as my master said! They mean to take our lives and steal my cassock—that's why they've hatched this venomous plot. If I take my staff and beat them, the pity is they can't stand a beating—one round of blows would kill them all, and then master would blame me for violence. Well, well, well! I'll 'lead off the goat along the way,' turn their own trick against them, and see to it they can't stay here any longer!"
A fine Pilgrim! With one somersault he leapt up inside the South Gate of Heaven, frightening Pang, Liu, Gou, and Bi into bowing low and Ma, Zhao, Wen, and Guan into bending double, all crying: "Bad! Bad! The master who wrecked Heaven's palace has come again!"
Pilgrim waved his hand: "Gentlemen, spare the courtesies—don't be alarmed. I've come to find Heavenly King Guangmu." Hardly were the words out when the Heavenly King himself arrived, and he greeted Pilgrim: "Long time! Long time! Word came lately that the Bodhisattva Guanyin had an audience with the Jade Emperor and borrowed the Four Duty Officers of the Hours, the Six Ding and Six Jia, and the Revealers, to protect the Tang monk on his westward journey for scriptures, and that you had become his disciple. How do you find leisure to come here today?" Pilgrim said: "Never mind renewing old acquaintance. The Tang monk has fallen in with villains on the road, and they are setting fire to burn him. The matter is urgent beyond measure. I've come especially to borrow your fire-repelling screen, to save him. Bring it out quickly for me to use; I'll return it on the spot." The Heavenly King said: "You're mistaken. If villains are setting the fire, you should borrow water to save him. Why a fire-repelling screen?" Pilgrim said: "What do you know of the inside of it? Borrow water, put the fire out—why, that would only serve their turn! No: with this screen I shield the Tang monk from harm, and the rest may burn as it pleases—let it burn! Quickly! Quickly! It may already be too late. Don't hold up my business below!" The Heavenly King laughed: "This monkey still has this wicked streak in him—looking out entirely for his own, and never mind the rest." Pilgrim said: "Hurry! Hurry! None of your clack—this is serious business!" The Heavenly King dared not refuse, and handed the screen to Pilgrim.
Pilgrim took it, brought his cloud down, and went straight to the roof ridge of the meditation hall, where he screened the Tang monk, the white horse, and the baggage under it. Then he went and sat atop the abbot's quarters behind, where the old monk lived, taking care to protect the cassock. He watched those people set the fire; then he worked the spell, muttered the words, faced the quarter of Xun, drew a breath of wind, and blew it out. A great gust arose and fanned the flames roaring higher. What a fire! What a fire! Just see:
Black smoke vast and billowing, red flames leaping and soaring. Black smoke vast and billowing: across the whole sky not a single star; red flames leaping and soaring: over the broad earth a thousand li of red glare. At first it was darting golden serpents; later on, charging blood-red horses. The triple breath of the South played the hero; the great god Huilu worked his magic power. Dry firewood feeding a raging fire—what talk is this of Suiren drilling wood? Hot oil before the doors floating colored flame—it outdoes the Old Lord opening his furnace. Truly, when merciless fire breaks out, what hope against deliberate villainy?
Instead of quelling the disaster, they abetted the ravage. The wind followed the fire's might, and the flames flew a thousand fathoms high; the fire rode the wind's fury, and sparks burst above the ninefold clouds. Crackle and boom—just like New Year's firecrackers at the year's end; roar and blast—just like cannon-fire in an army camp. The Buddha images on the spot could not escape; the Sangharama of the east court had nowhere to hide. It surpassed the night battle at Red Cliff, it outdid the fire within Epang Palace!
Truly, a spark of fire can burn ten thousand acres of field. In a moment the wind raged and the fire blazed, and the whole Guanyin Monastery glowed red in every quarter. Look at those monks: hauling chests and carrying baskets, snatching tables, lugging pots, filling the courtyard with cries of bitterness to Heaven. Sun Pilgrim protected the abbot's quarters at the rear, and the fire-repelling screen covered the meditation hall in front; everywhere else, front and back, the flames raged at full force—truly a red glow blazing bright against the sky, golden light streaming through every wall!
But when the fire broke out, it startled the beasts and monsters of a whole mountain. Some twenty li due south of the Guanyin Monastery stood Black Wind Mountain. In that mountain was Black Wind Cave, and in the cave lived a demon spirit, who was just then turning over in his sleep. He saw the window glowing bright and took it for daybreak.
When he rose and looked, it was a fire's glare shining from due north. The demon was greatly astonished: "Ah! This must be a fire in the Guanyin Monastery! How careless those monks are! I'll go and help them put it out."
A fine demon! He rose on his cloud-head and came at once beneath the smoke and fire. There indeed was fire leaping to the very sky: the halls in front were emptied, both corridors just beginning to blaze. Striding briskly, he plunged in, and was just calling for water to be brought when he noticed that the rear rooms had no fire, and that on the roof ridge sat a man fanning the wind. Knowing at once how matters stood, he hurried inside to look, and saw in the middle of the abbot's quarters a glow of rosy light and colored vapor, and on the table a bundle wrapped in black felt.
He undid it and looked: it was the brocade cassock, a rare treasure of the Buddha's school. Truly it is said that wealth moves a man's heart. He put out no fire, he called for no water; clutching the cassock, plundering in the general confusion, he dragged in his cloud and made straight back to the cave in the eastern mountain.
That fire burned until the fifth watch and dawn, and only then died out. Look at those monks: stripped half naked, weeping and wailing, all grubbing in the ashes for copper and iron, raking the charred coals, hunting gold and silver. Some propped up makeshift shelters against the walls; some, at the foot of the blackened walls, set pots and cooked rice—crying grievances, shouting wrongs, all tumult and uproar, and of them we say no more.
Now the story tells how Pilgrim returned the fire-repelling screen, and with one somersault carried it up to the South Gate of Heaven and gave it back to Heavenly King Guangmu, saying: "Thanks for the loan! Thanks for the loan!" The Heavenly King received it, saying: "The Great Sage is a man of his word. I was just worrying you would never bring my treasure back, and that I'd have nowhere to seek it—how good that you bring it so promptly!" Pilgrim said: "Is old Sun the sort to swindle a man of his goods to his face? This is called 'borrow in good order, return in good order, and the next loan comes easy.'" The Heavenly King said: "Long since we've met not. Will you come into my palace and sit a while?" Pilgrim said: "Old Sun is not what he was before, when we could 'rot the bench with lofty talk'; now that I protect the Tang monk I can't be idle. Another time! Another time!" He took his leave in haste and dropped from the clouds, and there was the sun coming up.
He came straight to the front of the meditation hall, shook himself, changed into a bee, flew in, resumed his true form, and looked—his master was still sound asleep.
Pilgrim called: "Master, it's day. Time to get up."
Only then did Sanzang wake, and rolling over he said: "So it is." He dressed, opened the door, came out, and suddenly lifted his head: nothing but toppled walls and red brick, and no halls or towers to be seen.
He cried out in alarm: "Ah! Where are all the halls and towers gone? Nothing but red walls—how is this?"
Pilgrim said: "You're still dreaming! The fire got loose in the night." Sanzang said: "How is it I knew nothing of it?" Pilgrim said: "It was old Sun who shielded the meditation hall. I saw you in deep sleep and did not disturb you." Sanzang said: "If you had the power to shield the meditation hall, why not save the other rooms from the fire as well?" Pilgrim laughed: "Let me tell you, Master. It happened just as you said yesterday: they fell in love with our cassock and plotted to burn us to death. If old Sun had not found out, by now we'd both be ash and bone!" Sanzang heard this with fear: "It was they who set the fire?" Pilgrim said: "If not they, who?" Sanzang said: "Could it be that they neglected you, and this is your doing?" Pilgrim said: "Is old Sun the sort of idle scoundrel to do such wicked deeds? Truly it was those monks who set it. When I saw how black their hearts were, to be sure I didn't put out their fire—I just lent it a wee bit of wind." Sanzang said: "Heaven help us! Heaven help us! When fire breaks out you should lend water—how could you lend wind?" Pilgrim said: "You know what the ancients said: 'When no man means the tiger harm, the tiger means no man harm.' If you hadn't stirred up fire, would I ever have stirred up wind?" Sanzang said: "Where is the cassock? Don't say it's burned to ruin!" Pilgrim said: "No fear! No fear! It isn't burned! There was no fire in the abbot's quarters where the cassock lay." Sanzang said bitterly: "I'll hold you to it! If there's the least damage to it, I have only to recite that little something, and you're a dead monkey!" Pilgrim panicked: "Master, don't recite it! Don't recite it! I guarantee I'll find your cassock and return it. Let me go fetch it so we can be on our way." Sanzang led the horse, Pilgrim shouldered the load, they left the meditation hall and went straight to the abbot's quarters at the rear.
Now the story tells how those monks, in the midst of their grieving, suddenly saw master and disciple come along, leading the horse and carrying the load, and were so frightened that every soul flew scattering: "The vengeful ghosts have come for our lives!" Pilgrim shouted: "What vengeful ghosts come for lives! Hand back my cassock, and quick!" All the monks fell to their knees and kowtowed: "Grandpa! Every wrong has its author, every debt its debtor. If it's lives you've come for, that's no business of ours. It was Guangmou and the old monk who laid the plans to harm you—don't demand our lives!" Pilgrim barked: "Damn you doomed beasts! Who asked you for any lives! Just bring the cassock and give it back so we can be gone!" Among them two monks of stouter nerve said: "Honored master, you were burned to death in the meditation hall. Now you come back demanding the cassock—are you men, or ghosts?" Pilgrim laughed: "You brood of sinful beasts! What fire was there, pray? Go look at the meditation hall out front, then come back and talk!" The monks scrambled up and went forward to look: outside the meditation hall the doors, windows, and lattice panels had not been scorched by half an inch.
At that the whole company shuddered in awe, and they recognized at last that Sanzang was a divine monk and Pilgrim a guardian of the Law.
They came forward together and kowtowed: "We had eyes but saw not the true man come down to earth! Your cassock is with the Old Founder, in the abbot's quarters at the rear."
Sanzang passed through three or five layers of broken walls and ruined brick, sighing without cease.
The abbot's quarters indeed had no fire. The monks rushed inside, calling: "Grandpa! The Tang monk is a divine man—the fire did not kill him, and now you've only destroyed your own household! Bring out the cassock at once and return it to him, and let him go!"
Now this old monk had lost the cassock and burned down his own monastery's halls, and was in the very depths of desperation and burning anguish. When he heard these words, how could he answer? Finding no way out, neither advance nor retreat, he strode off, bent his back, and dashed his head full force against the wall. The pity of it! He dashed his skull broken and the blood streaming, his soul scattered; the breath cut short in his throat, he dyed the red sand. There is a poem in witness:
Lament the old monk, so foolish and besotted, Who wore out a long life in the world of men for naught. He longed to keep the cassock for generations hence— How could he know a Buddha-pearl brooks no common fate? To take the easy for the lasting ever Is surely to reap desolation and defeat. What use were Guangzhi and Guangmou's schemes? To harm others, to profit self—all ended in a dream!
The monks wailed in panic: "The Grand-master has dashed himself to death, and the cassock is nowhere—what are we to do?"
Pilgrim said: "I suspect you lot have stolen and hidden it! All of you, come out! Draw up your registers with every name inscribed, and old Sun will search you one by one!" The abbots of the upper and lower quarters drew up two rosters of every monk, novice, acolyte, and serving brother in the monastery—two hundred and thirty souls in all, great and small. Pilgrim seated his master on high, then called the roll from the top, searching each man: all had to loosen their garments and be examined one by one—but there was no cassock.
Then all the chests, baskets, and goods that the quarters had hauled out and snatched away he searched through, item by item, from the first—but nowhere was there a trace of it.
Sanzang's heart was heavy with worry, and his resentment of Pilgrim knew no bounds; he sat up on high and began to recite the spell.
Pilgrim collapsed to the ground, clutching his head, past all bearing, crying only: "Don't recite it! Don't recite it! I guarantee I'll find your cassock!"
At the sight of him the monks, trembling one and all, came forward on their knees to plead for him, and only then did Sanzang close his mouth and stop.
With a bound Pilgrim leapt up, drew the iron staff from his ear, and would have beaten those monks, but Sanzang shouted him down: "You ape! Your head's not done aching and you dare be insolent again? Hands off! Harm no one! Question them once more!"
The monks kowtowed and made offerings, pleading to Sanzang: "Honored master, spare our lives! Truly we never laid eyes on it. It is all that dead old wretch's doing. Last night he looked upon your cassock and wept until the late watches—never once dared look at it close—then, scheming to keep it forever as an heirloom, he plotted with the others to burn you to death. When the fire broke out a wild wind rose, and each man was bent only on quenching the fire and hauling off his goods; where the cassock went, no one knows." Pilgrim fell into a fury. He went into the abbot's room, carried out the corpse of the wall-smashed ghost, stripped it, and examined it closely: nowhere on the whole body was that treasure.
He had the abbot's quarters dug three feet deep as well—still no trace.
Pilgrim pondered a good while, then asked: "Are there any monsters or spirits turned demon in these parts?"
The abbot said: "Had the honored master not asked, it would never have come out. Due southeast of us stands Black Wind Mountain. In Black Wind Cave lives the Great Black King. That dead old wretch of ours often discussed the Way with him. He, indeed, is a demon spirit. There's nothing else about." Pilgrim said: "How far is that mountain from here?" The abbot said: "Only twenty li. That mountain top you see yonder is it." Pilgrim laughed: "Master, set your mind at ease; there's no more to say. It must certainly be that black monster stole it." Sanzang said: "His place is twenty li from here—how can you be so sure it was he?" Pilgrim said: "Didn't you see that fire last night? Its light leapt ten thousand li and its glare pierced the threefold heavens. Never mind twenty li—even two hundred li it would have shown! I'll stake it that he saw the blazing glow and seized his chance, came here on the sly, saw our cassock was a treasure, and made off with it in the confusion. Wait till old Sun goes and hunts him out." Sanzang said: "If you go, whom have I to lean on?" Pilgrim said: "On that score, rest easy: unseen spirits will guard you in the dark, while openly I'll have these monks wait on you." He called the monks over at once and said: "Some of you go bury that old ghost; some of you wait on my master and tend my white horse!" The monks assented.
Pilgrim went on: "None of your loose promises now—answering while I'm here and forgetting me once I'm gone. Those who watch my master must keep smiling faces; those who tend the white horse must balance his water and fodder. If there is one hair's worth of neglect, I'll show you this staff of mine, the very same way!"
He drew out the staff and, with a resounding smack against the fire-scorched brick wall, smashed it to fragments, and brought seven or eight more courses of wall tumbling down.
At the sight every monk went limp to the bone, and kneeling they kowtowed and wept: "Grandpa, go with an easy heart! We will serve the honored master with all our strength and all devotion, and never dare the least neglect!"
A fine Pilgrim! He leapt at once upon his somersault cloud and went straight to Black Wind Mountain to hunt for the cassock.
Truly:
The Chan master, seeking truth, left the capital's bounds; Staff in hand he set out west, through the emerald hills. Where he walked, tigers, leopards, wolves and beasts were always found; Artisans, scholars, travelers were rarely seen. On the road he met a foolish monk of an alien land, envious— And had to lean upon the Great Sage Equal to Heaven's might. Fire broke, wind rose, the Chan monastery was destroyed; By night the black bear stole the brocade cassock away.
Whether that quest found the cassock or no, what fortune or misfortune came—listen to the explanation in the next chapter.