To the tune of "Song of the Southern Country":
Goodness and rightness gather in the ten thousand bonds of fate, And fame is carried far across the four continents. With wisdom and bright discernment one reaches the farther shore— Swish, swish, Clouds in vast masses rise at the edge of the sky. All the Buddhas answer in turn, Dwelling forever on the Jasper Terrace through ten thousand autumns. Break through the butterfly dream of the mortal world [Translator's note: an allusion to Zhuangzi's dream of the butterfly, here likening the illusory entanglements of life to a bewildering dream], Rest, rest— Scour the dust and clamor clean away, and no care will touch you.
The story tells how Sanzang and his disciples, having washed the filth of the foul lane from their bodies, set out once more along the road of ease. Time flew by, and the hot season came round again. It was just as the verse says:
The pomegranate boughs unfurl their scarlet brocade balls; The lotus leaves spread wide their emerald plates. Green willows on either side give shelter to the young swallows, While wayfarers, fleeing the heat, fan themselves as they go.
As they pressed on, they suddenly saw a city wall drawing near.
Sanzang reined in his horse and called, "Disciples, what place is that over there?"
"Master, so you really don't know your characters!" said the Pilgrim. "However did you manage to lead the Tang emperor's commission out of the court!"
"How dare you speak so!" said Sanzang. "I have been a monk since childhood and know every scripture and classic. What do you mean, I don't know my characters?"
"If you know your characters," said the Pilgrim, "then how is it that when that apricot-yellow banner on the city wall plainly proclaims three large characters, you still can't read them, and must ask what place it is?"
"Don't talk nonsense, you brazen ape!" scolded Sanzang. "That banner is flapping madly in the wind—even if there were characters on it, no one could make them out!"
"How is it that old Monkey can see them, then?" said the Pilgrim.
"Master," said Bajie and the Sha Monk, "don't listen to the elder brother's devilry. At this distance we can't even make out the city wall clearly—how could anyone see what writing is on it?"
"Isn't it the three characters Kingdom of Zhuzi?" said the Pilgrim.
"The Kingdom of Zhuzi must be a royal state of the west," said Sanzang, "and we shall have to exchange our travel documents here."
"Say no more about it," said the Pilgrim.
Before long they reached the city gate, dismounted, crossed the bridge, and passed through the three sets of gates. What a truly magnificent imperial capital it was!
You could see: the gate towers rose high on every side, with battlements ranged in even ranks. Living water flowed all around the walls, and high hills faced each other north and south. The six streets and three markets were piled with goods, and ten thousand households plied a thriving trade. This was indeed a city where the Son of Heaven held court, a great metropolis of the land of heaven. From farthest regions ships and carts came over sea and mountains; from remote domains gifts of jade and silk poured in. The strategic grandeur stretched to the distant hills, and the palace walls rose clear against the heavens. The three gates were locked as tight as bolts, and ten thousand ages of peace and plenty followed.
As master and disciples walked along the great avenues, they saw that the people were stalwart of bearing, trim in dress, and clear of speech—indeed no whit inferior to the world of the Great Tang. When the traders on either side of the street caught sight of Zhu Bajie's ugly looks, the Sha Monk's dark face and towering height, and Sun Wukong's hairy face and broad brow, they abandoned their buying and selling and came crowding round to stare. Sanzang could only cry, "Don't stir up trouble! Keep your heads down and walk on!"
Bajie obeyed, tucking his lotus-seed-pod snout into his bosom; the Sha Monk did not dare so much as lift his eyes; only the Pilgrim peered this way and that as he kept close beside the elder. Among the crowd, some sensible folk took one look and went home. But the loafers and street urchins followed along, laughing and shouting, throwing bits of tile and brick at Bajie to make sport of him. Tang Sanzang broke into a cold sweat and could only keep urging, "Don't make trouble!" The blockhead did not dare to raise his head.
Before long, as they turned a corner, they suddenly came upon a gateway bearing the inscription Hostel for Tribute Envoys [Translator's note: in the Yuan, Ming, and Qing dynasties, the government hostel where envoys of tributary states were lodged]. "Disciples," said Tang Sanzang, "let us go into this government office."
"Why go in?" asked the Pilgrim.
"The Hostel for Tribute Envoys is the place where the whole world gathers and meets together," said Sanzang. "We may impose on it as well. Let us rest inside for a while. When I have had audience with the king and exchanged our travel documents, we will hurry out of the city and be on our way."
When Bajie heard this, he pulled his snout out of his bosom—which startled a dozen or more of the onlookers so badly they fell over—and stepped forward. "What the master says is right," he said. "Let us go inside and lie low for a while, so we can be rid of this pack of chattering fools." So they went into the hostel, and only then did the crowd slowly disperse.
Now in that hostel there were two superintendents, one principal and one deputy, who happened to be in the main hall checking over their porters before going out to receive some official, when suddenly they saw Tang Sanzang approaching. They were all taken aback. "Who are you? Who are you?" they cried. "Where are you going?"
Sanzang put his palms together. "This humble monk is a subject of the Great Tang of the Eastern Land," he said, "sent to the Western Heaven to fetch the scriptures. Arriving at your honored state, I dared not pass through without permission. I have travel documents that I wish to have examined and exchanged, and so I presume to borrow this august office for a brief rest."
Hearing this, the two superintendents dismissed their attendants, straightened their caps and girdles, and came down from the hall to greet him. They at once ordered that a guest room be swept out for him to rest in, and that vegetarian fare be prepared. Sanzang thanked them, and the two officials took their men and left the hall.
His underlings then invited the reverend gentleman to rest in the guest room, and Sanzang was about to go when the Pilgrim complained angrily, "What a shabby pair! Why won't they let old Monkey stay in the main hall?"
"This state is not under the rule of our Great Tang," said Sanzang, "nor is it even adjacent to our land. Besides, officials of higher rank are constantly passing through, so it would not be proper to keep us here with great ceremony."
"In that case," said the Pilgrim, "I insist that they wait on me properly!"
While he was speaking, a steward brought in their provisions: a tray of white rice, a tray of white flour, two bunches of green vegetables, four slabs of bean curd, two pieces of gluten, a tray of dried bamboo shoots, and a tray of wood ears.
Sanzang told his disciples to put them away, and thanked the steward. "There is a clean stove and a pot in the west wing," said the steward, "and firewood is handy. Please cook your own meals."
"I would ask you one thing," said Sanzang. "Is the king on his throne in the palace at present?"
"My lord the king has not held court for a long time," replied the steward. "Today, however, happens to be an auspicious day, and he is just now deliberating with his civil and military officers over posting the imperial placard. If you want your travel documents exchanged, hurry over now and you may just catch him. By tomorrow it will be too late—there is no telling how long you would have to wait."
"Wukong," said Sanzang, "make ready our meal here while I hurry off to have the passport examined and exchanged, and then come back to eat before we take the road." Bajie quickly brought out the cassock and the travel documents. Sanzang made himself tidy and entered the court, but only after charging his disciples most strictly never to go out and stir up trouble.
In no time at all he stood before the Five Phoenix Tower, and it would be hard indeed to do justice to the towering halls and magnificent pavilions. He went as far as the Duan Gate, where he begged the official in charge of memorials to transmit his wish to the heavenly court that his travel documents be examined and exchanged.
The Yellow Gate official did indeed go to the jade steps and memorialize: "Before the court gates stands a monk sent as an envoy of the Great Tang of the Eastern Land, who wishes to go to the Thunder Monastery in the Western Heaven to worship the Buddha and seek the scriptures. He requests that his passport be exchanged, and awaits Your Majesty's command."
The king was delighted. "I have been ill for many a day," he said, "and have not held audience on the throne. No sooner do I come to court to post a placard seeking physicians than a lofty monk arrives in my kingdom!" He at once commanded that the monk be summoned to the foot of the steps, and Sanzang knelt and bowed low. The king then summoned him up to the golden hall and bade him be seated, ordering the Court of Imperial Feasts to prepare a meal. Sanzang gave thanks for the favor and presented his travel documents.
When the king had examined them, he was greatly pleased. "Your Reverence, in your Great Tang," he asked, "how many sovereigns have ruled in just succession, and how many ministers have proved their worth? And how was it that the Tang emperor fell ill, recovered, and sent you across mountain and stream to seek the scriptures?"
At this question the elder rose slightly in his seat, put his palms together, and replied:
"In my country the Three Sovereigns first ruled the world, and the Five Emperors set each thing in its place. Yao and Shun sat on the throne in their turn, and Yu and Tang brought peace to the people. The many sons of Zhou each set up a kingdom of his own; the strong bullied the weak, and the land was split into separate lords. Eighteen lords divided the marches and border dust, and later twelve were left, and the world grew still again.
But because there were no war chariots and no rule, they fell to devouring one another. Seven mighty states contended, and six of them went to Qin. Then Heaven brought forth the men of Lu and Pei, each harboring unkind designs; the empire fell to Han, and its three-article law was reverently obeyed. Han passed to the house of Sima, and under Jin confusion spread anew; north and south were split into twelve, then came Song, Qi, Liang, and Chen. The founding ancestors followed one after another, till the great Sui restored the true succession. But the last Sui emperor loved only his flower shows and misgoverned, and countless of his people were cast into the mire. Then my sovereign of the house of Li arose and took the name of Tang.
When Emperor Gaozu passed away [Translator's note: a euphemism for a ruler's death], the present monarch, Li Shimin—the very name means 'the world made peaceful'—came to the throne. The rivers ran clear and the seas were calm, and he ruled with great virtue and wide benevolence. It happened that north of the city of Chang'an there lived a strange dragon god of the water who cut short the sweet rain that was his due and so deserved to lose his life. One night he appeared in a dream to the king and begged him to rescue him from calamity. The king consented and pardoned him, and early the next morning summoned his wise minister, detained him in the palace, and slowly played a game of chess with him. And at noon that very day, the wise minister cut off the dragon's head—in a dream."
When the king heard this, he suddenly gave a groan. "Your Reverence," he asked, "from what state did that wise minister come?"
"He was the prime minister at my sovereign's side, one Wei Zheng by name," said Sanzang. "He understood astronomy and geography, and could distinguish the workings of yin and yang—truly a great chancellor for the ordering of the state. Because he cut off the head of the Dragon King of the Jing River in his dream, that dragon king lodged a complaint in the underworld, saying that my sovereign had promised to spare him and then had him slain. For this my sovereign fell into a wasting illness, and soon his life hung in the balance. Wei Zheng then wrote a letter and asked my sovereign to carry it down to the underworld, addressed to the judge Cui Jue of the city of Fengdu. In a short while the Tang emperor died; three days later he came back to life. Thanks to Wei Zheng, Judge Cui altered the registers and added twenty years to the king's span. Now the king intends to hold a great mass for land and water, and for this cause he has sent this humble monk across the long road to visit all the kingdoms, to worship the Buddha, and to fetch the three baskets of the Great Vehicle scriptures, so that the guilty and the suffering may be redeemed and borne up to heaven."
The king groaned and sighed again. "Yours is truly a great court of heaven, with a right sovereign and worthy ministers!" he said. "But for myself, I have lain ill for many years, and not one minister has come to my rescue."
Hearing this, the elder stole a glance at the king and saw that the emperor was sallow and gaunt, his body wasted and his spirit faint. He was just about to question him when an officer of the Court of Imperial Feasts came to announce that a meal was prepared for the Tang monk.
The king commanded, "Lay it out in the Hall of Penetrating Fragrance, together with my own table, so that I may share it with His Reverence."
Sanzang thanked him for the favor and went in to dine with the king. Of this no more for the moment.
Now let us speak of the Pilgrim, who in the Hostel for Tribute Envoys had set the Sha Monk to preparing tea and rice and laying out vegetarian dishes. "Tea and rice are easy enough to cook," said the Sha Monk, "but the vegetables are not so easy to arrange."
"Why not?" asked the Pilgrim.
"There is no oil, no salt, no vinegar, no soy sauce," said the Sha Monk.
"I have a few coppers of alms here," said the Pilgrim. "Let Bajie go to the market and buy some."
But the blockhead was lazy and answered, "I don't dare go. My face is too ugly for the company, and I'm afraid it would get us into trouble, and then the master would blame me."
"If you buy and sell fairly," said the Pilgrim, "you are neither begging nor robbing. What trouble could there be?"
"Didn't you see what happened just now?" said Bajie. "When I pulled out my snout in front of the door, I startled a dozen or so people senseless! If I went into the middle of the busy market, who knows how many I'd frighten to death!"
"You know all about the busy market," said the Pilgrim, "but did you get a look at what goods are being sold there?"
"The master only told me to keep my head down and not make trouble," said Bajie. "To tell the truth, I didn't see a thing."
"There are wine shops, rice shops, flour mills, and stores of silks and knickknacks, to say nothing of the tea houses and noodle shops," said the Pilgrim, "with great baked cakes and great steamed buns, and eating houses serving first-rate soups and rice, fine spices and fine vegetables, and all kinds of rare sugar cakes, steamed puddings, sweetmeats, rolls, fried dainties, and honeyed morsels—an endless array of good things. How would it be if I went and bought some to treat you?"
At these words the blockhead's mouth began to water and he swallowed and gulped. He jumped to his feet. "Elder brother! This time you treat me, and next time I have saved up some money, I'll invite you to a return feast!"
The Pilgrim laughed to himself. "Sha Monk," he called, "mind you cook the rice properly. We're going out to buy the seasonings." The Sha Monk, knowing well that the Pilgrim was only fooling the blockhead, could do nothing but play along. "Go on, then," he said, "but be sure to buy a good deal, and eat your fill before you come back."
The blockhead grabbed a bowl and a dish and followed the Pilgrim out the door. Two government servants asked, "Where are you reverend gentlemen going?" "To buy seasonings," said the Pilgrim. "Go west along this street," said the man, "turn the corner at the drum tower, and there is the Zheng family's general store. Buy as much as you like there—they have oil, salt, vinegar, soy sauce, ginger, pepper, and tea leaves, everything."
The two of them went off hand in hand toward the west of the street. The Pilgrim passed several tea houses and several eating houses, buying nothing when he should have bought, and eating nothing when he should have eaten.
"Elder brother," Bajie called out, "let's just buy a little here and be done with it."
But the Pilgrim had been teasing him all along, and would buy nothing. "Good younger brother," he said, "you're no businessman! Walk a little further and we'll pick out something big to eat." As the two of them chatted on, they drew a great crowd of followers who jostled along to stare. Before long they came to the drum tower, where there was a vast throng of people shouting and milling about, crowding the streets and blocking the way.
When Bajie saw this he said, "Elder brother, I'm not going any further. The crowd there is making such a din, I think they must be seizing monks. And since we're strangers and look suspicious to boot, if they grabbed us, what would become of us?"
"Nonsense!" said the Pilgrim. "Monks are not lawbreakers. Why would they seize us? Let's just walk over to the Zheng family store and buy our seasonings."
"No, no, no!" said Bajie. "I'm not going to make trouble. If I squeeze into that crowd and my ears get trodden on, they'll scatter helter-skelter and I'll be the death of a few of them—and then I'll have to answer for it with my life!"
"Very well, then," said the Pilgrim. "You plant yourself at the foot of this wall and wait. I'll go over, buy the things, and come back—and I'll get you some vegetarian noodles and baked cakes to eat." The blockhead handed the bowl and dish to the Pilgrim, propped his snout against the wall, turned his back on everything, and would not stir for love or money.
The Pilgrim walked over to the tower and found the place indeed crammed tight. He squeezed his way into the middle of the crowd to listen, and discovered that the royal placard had been posted beneath the tower, which was why so many people were jostling to look at it.
The Pilgrim pushed his way close, blinked his fiery golden eyes, and read carefully. The placard said:
"On behalf of the King of the Kingdom of Zhuzi, in the Continent of Cattle-Tribute of the West: Since my accession to the throne, the four quarters have been pacified and my people have lived in peace and quiet. But of late, through an ill turn in the affairs of the state, a deep sickness has laid me low upon my pillow, and with each passing day it grows harder to cure. The physicians of my Imperial College of Medicine have repeatedly chosen good prescriptions, yet none has brought relief. This placard is therefore posted to summon the worthy healers of all the world. Let none hesitate—whether they come from north or east, from China or from foreign lands—if any is skilled in medicine, let him ascend to the jeweled throne and treat the person of your sovereign. If he brings about my recovery, I am willing to share my realm and divide the kingdom with him. This promise shall not be made in vain. Therefore this placard is issued and posted for all to see."
When the Pilgrim had finished reading, he was overjoyed. "As the old saying goes," he said to himself, "'Three parts of wealth come to him who stirs himself.' If I had only sat idle in the hostel, I'd have missed this! Never mind buying seasonings—let me put the scripture quest aside for a day and let old Monkey practice a little medicine for fun!"
Truly a Great Sage! He bent down, put the bowl and dish aside, picked up a pinch of earth, sprinkled it upward, recited a spell, and worked the art of invisibility. Then he stepped lightly forward, tore down the placard, and, facing the quarter of the wind [Translator's note: the xun quarter of the compass, where the wind is born], breathed a mouthful of immortal air and blew. A whirlwind arose, and in the midst of it he turned and made straight back to the place where Bajie stood—to find the blockhead, with his snout propped against the wall, sleeping like a log.
The Pilgrim did not disturb him. He folded the placard, slipped it gently into Bajie's bosom, and went back to the Hostel for Tribute Envoys, where we leave him.
Now the crowd beneath the tower, when the wind rose, had all covered their heads and shut their eyes. When the gust had passed, lo and behold, the royal placard was gone. Everyone was terrified.
The placard had been guarded by twelve eunuchs and twelve guards of the Embroidered-Uniform Guard, who had brought it out from the morning court. It had not been hanging for three full hours before the wind carried it off. Trembling with fright, they searched this way and that, until they suddenly caught sight of a corner of paper sticking out of Zhu Bajie's bosom. The men came up to him. "So you tore down the placard!" they said.
The blockhead suddenly raised his head and thrust out his snout, and the sight sent those several guards stumbling and sprawling to the ground. He turned to go, but was seized by some of the bolder men in front of him. "You've torn down the imperial placard seeking physicians!" they cried. "Why don't you go to court and cure our Ten Thousand Years, instead of standing here? Where do you think you're going?"
Flustered and frightened, the blockhead said, "It's your son who tore down the placard! It's your grandson who can cure anybody!"
"Then what is that paper you've got stuffed in your bosom?" demanded the guards.
Only then did the blockhead look down, and sure enough, there was a written sheet. He unfolded it and looked at it, then ground his teeth and cursed, "That ape has done me to death!" With a furious oath he moved to tear it up, but the crowd seized his arms. "You're a dead man!" they cried. "This is the placard of the reigning king! Who would dare tear it to pieces? Since you've stuck it in your bosom, you must surely have the hand of a royal physician. Come along with us at once!"
"You people don't understand!" roared Bajie. "This placard wasn't torn down by me—it was my elder brother Sun Wukong who did it. He slipped it secretly into my bosom and went off and left me here. If you want to get to the bottom of this, I'll go and find him with you."
"What are you talking about?" said the crowd. "Why strike a bell that's being cast when there's one right in front of you? You're the one who tore down the placard, and you tell us to go find somebody! Don't argue—drag him off to see the sovereign!" And without waiting to hear reason, that crowd shoved and pulled the blockhead along.
But the blockhead planted his feet as if they had grown roots, and ten-odd men could not budge him. "You don't know what you're up against!" said Bajie. "Pull me a while longer and you'll rouse my blockhead temper—and then don't blame me!"
Before long the hubbub had drawn a crowd of street folk, who ringed him round. Two aged eunuchs among them said, "Your looks are most peculiar and your voice is foreign. Where do you come from, to be so boorish and obstinate?"
"We are sent from the Eastern Land to the Western Heaven to fetch the scriptures," said Bajie. "My master is the Dharma Preceptor, sworn brother of the Tang king, and he has just gone into court to exchange the travel documents. My elder brother and I came out to buy seasonings. I saw how great the crowd beneath the tower was and did not dare go near it, so my elder brother told me to wait here. As it turns out, he caught sight of the placard, raised a whirlwind, tore it down, and hid it in my bosom before going off on his own."
"That white-faced, plump monk I saw dashing toward the court gate a while ago—was that your master?" asked the eunuch.
"That's right, that's right," said Bajie.
"And where has your elder brother gone?" asked the eunuch.
"We are a party of four," said Bajie. "Our master has gone to exchange the documents, and the other three of us, with our baggage and the horse, are resting at the Hostel for Tribute Envoys. My elder brother made a fool of me and has gone back to the hostel ahead of us."
"Guards," said the eunuch, "don't pull him about. Let us all go to the hostel, and we shall soon learn the truth of it."
"These two grannies know what they're about!" said Bajie.
"What a fool this monk is!" said the guards. "Why does he call these gentlemen 'grannies'?"
"No shame at all!" laughed Bajie. "You've got it all arse-over-tip! These two old ladies—why don't you call them 'granny' or 'grandmother' instead of 'sir'?"
"None of your lip!" said the crowd. "Hurry up and find your elder brother." And a great mob from the streets, no fewer than three or five hundred, jostled and shouted and carried him along to the gate of the hostel.
"Hold on, everyone," said Bajie. "My elder brother is not like me—he won't stand for your games. He is a fierce, thoroughgoing fellow. When you see him, you must make a great show of ceremony and call him 'Master Sun'; then he'll consent. Otherwise he'll turn ugly on you, and this business will never be done."
"If your elder brother really has the skill to cure the king," said all the eunuchs and guards, "he'll deserve half the kingdom, and it will be our place to kowtow to him."
While the rabble of idlers made a din outside the gate, Bajie led the file of eunuchs and guards straight into the hostel, where he found the Pilgrim and the Sha Monk in the guest room laughing and chattering over just this matter of the torn-down placard.
Bajie went up and seized the Pilgrim, shouting, "A fine fellow you are! You lured me into going with you to buy vegetarian noodles, baked cakes, and steamed buns to eat—and it was all empty talk! And then you raised a whirlwind and tore down some imperial placard, hid it in my bosom, and used me as a stuffed dummy! Is this the way a brother treats a brother?"
"Blockhead," laughed the Pilgrim, "you must have taken the wrong road and wandered off somewhere. I crossed by the drum tower, bought the seasonings, and hurried back—but you were nowhere to be found, so I came on ahead. What imperial placard did I tear down?"
"The officials who were guarding the placard are here!" said Bajie.
And indeed, before he had finished speaking, the eunuchs and guards came forward and made their bows. "Master Sun," they said, "today our king is blessed with the affinity of Heaven, which has sent down this reverend lord. We beg you only to display your great skill—to make a slight exercise of the art of one who has thrice broken his arm [Translator's note: from the saying "He who has thrice broken his own arm makes a good physician," i.e., an experienced healer]—and cure our king's sickness. If he recovers, there is a share of the realm and half the kingdom for you."
At these words the Pilgrim composed his countenance, took the placard from Bajie, and said to the company, "So you are the officials who were guarding the placard?"
The eunuchs kowtowed. "We are inner-court servants of the Directorate of Ceremonies," they said, "and these are guards of the Embroidered-Uniform Guard."
"It was indeed I who tore down the placard seeking physicians," said the Pilgrim, "and I sent my junior brother to bring me before you. Since your sovereign is ill—and as the saying goes, 'drugs are not peddled and illness is not begged to be treated'—go and tell the king to come and invite me in person. I can cure his disease the moment my hand touches him."
When the eunuchs heard this they were all astonished. "A man who talks big must have the capacity to back it up," said the guards. "Let half of us stay here and keep watch on him, and the other half go into court and memorialize." They divided the party: four eunuchs and six guards, without waiting to be summoned, went straight into court, knelt at the foot of the steps, and announced, "Our sovereign lord! A thousand congratulations!"
The king had just finished his meal and was chatting with Sanzang when this memorial came in. "Congratulations for what?" he asked.
"We brought the royal placard seeking physicians out from the morning court," said the eunuchs, "and posted it beneath the drum tower. A holy monk of the Great Tang of the Eastern Land, one Master Sun, who has come from afar to seek the scriptures, has torn it down. He is now at the Hostel for Tribute Envoys, and he demands that Your Majesty go in person to invite him, for he has the power to cure any disease the moment his hand touches the patient. For this cause we have come to memorialize."
The king was overjoyed. "Dharma Preceptor," he asked Tang Sanzang, "how many worthy disciples have you?"
"This humble monk has three unruly disciples," replied Sanzang, putting his palms together.
"Which of those worthy disciples is skilled in medicine?" asked the king.
"To be frank with Your Majesty," said Sanzang, "my unruly disciples are all uncouth fellows of the mountains and wilds. They are fit only to carry the luggage, lead the horse, cross the gullies and ford the streams, and bear this humble monk over mountains and ridges; or, where the ways grow perilous, they can subdue demons, capture monsters, seize tigers, and bring dragons low. But not one of them knows anything of the properties of medicines."
"Your Reverence is too modest," said the king. "That I should hold court today and chance to meet Your Reverence is indeed the gift of Heaven. If your disciples know nothing of medicine, why would he tear down my placard and have me come to invite him in person? He must surely possess the ability to heal a kingdom! Let my civil and military ministers take heed: I am too weak and spent to ride in a palanquin. Do you go in my stead, all of you, beyond the court gates, and earnestly invite Master Sun to examine my illness. When you see him, you must by no means slight him: address him as the Holy Monk Master Sun, and meet him with the ceremony due to a sovereign's own person."
Receiving this command, all the ministers, together with the eunuchs and guards who had watched the placard, went straight to the Hostel for Tribute Envoys and ranged themselves in order to pay their respects.
The sight frightened Bajie so badly that he hid himself in a side room, and the Sha Monk slipped out of sight behind the wall. As for the Great Sage, he sat squarely in the middle and never stirred.
"What a killjoy this ape is!" Bajie grumbled under his breath. "Here are all these officials bowing to him, and he doesn't return the courtesy, or even get to his feet!"
When the bows were done, the ministers divided into their ranks and memorialized: "We inform the Holy Monk Master Sun: we are all ministers of the King of Zhuzi, and in obedience to our sovereign's command we have come with clean hearts and proper ceremony to invite the Holy Monk to enter court and examine his illness."
Only then did the Pilgrim rise to his feet. "Why hasn't your king come himself?" he asked them.
"Our king's body is too weak and his strength too spent to ride in a palanquin," replied the ministers, "and so he has commanded us, his ministers, to perform the rites on the sovereign's behalf and to invite the Holy Monk with due reverence."
"In that case," said the Pilgrim, "let all of you go on ahead, and I shall follow." So the ministers fell into ranks according to their grades and set off in file.
The Pilgrim adjusted his clothes and rose to go, but Bajie said, "Elder brother, whatever you do, don't drag us into this."
"I won't drag you in," said the Pilgrim. "I only want you two to collect the medicines for me."
"What medicines?" asked the Sha Monk.
"Whatever medicines people bring me," said the Pilgrim, "take them all in as they come, and I'll use them when I return." The two of them accepted the charge, and of this no more for the moment.
The Pilgrim went off with the host of officials and arrived in a trice. The ministers went in first and memorialized to the king, who drew up his pearl curtain and rolled his dragon eyes and phoenix pupils. Opening his golden mouth he asked, "Which of you is the Holy Monk Master Sun?"
The Pilgrim stepped forward one pace and said in a booming voice, "Old Sun here!"
The king, startled by the fierce voice and the outlandish looks, trembled and fell back onto his dragon couch. In a panic his ladies and eunuchs carried him into the inner palace. "He's frightened me to death!" he cried.
The officials all turned on the Pilgrim. "How can this monk be so boorish and rough?" they complained. "How dare you tear down the placard so presumptuously!"
"Good people," laughed the Pilgrim at these words, "you're blaming me wrongly. If one goes about it as slackly as all this, then your king's illness will never get better—not in a thousand years."
"What man lives a thousand years?" said the ministers. "What good is 'not better in a thousand years'?"
"He's a sick king now," said the Pilgrim. "When he dies he'll be a sick ghost, and in his next incarnation he'll be a sick man again. Doesn't that come to 'never better in a thousand years'?"
The ministers were furious. "You monk, you know nothing of propriety! How dare you spout such arrant nonsense!"
"It's not nonsense at all," laughed the Pilgrim. "Just listen to me:
The art of medicine is subtle and profound; Above all, the heart must know how to turn about. Inspection, auscultation, inquiry, pulse-taking— Miss but one of the four, and the skill is incomplete. First inspect his spirit, looks, and color, Whether he is withered or sleek, fat or thin, up or sleeping. Second listen to his voice, whether clear or hoarse, Attend to his sober talk and to his ravings. Third ask how many days the malady has run, How he eats and drinks, and how he passes water and stool. Fourth take the pulse and so make clear the channels, Whether the tide runs deep or shallow, outer or inner. Without my inspection, auscultation, inquiry, and pulse-taking, He need never hope, this side of the grave, to be hale again."
Now among the civil and military officials stood physicians of the Imperial College, and when they heard this they spoke up in praise: "This monk talks sense! Even a divine healer must proceed by inspection, auscultation, inquiry, and pulse-taking—it accords exactly with the sacred art of the gods."
Following their advice, the officials sent a close attendant in to memorialize: "The elder requires the methods of inspection, auscultation, inquiry, and pulse-taking before he can identify the disease and prescribe the medicine."
The king, lying on his dragon couch, called out over and over, "Send him away! Send him away! I cannot bear to see the face of a stranger!"
The close attendant came out of the palace and said, "You monk! Our king commands you to be gone. He cannot bear to see the face of a stranger."
"If he can't bear to see a stranger's face," said the Pilgrim, "then I'll make a diagnosis by thread."
The officials were secretly delighted. "A diagnosis by thread!" they said. "We have heard of it, but never seen it with our own eyes. Let us memorialize again." So the close attendant went back into the palace and reported: "Sovereign lord, Master Sun says that if he cannot see your face, he can make a diagnosis by thread."
The king thought to himself, "I have been ill these three years and have never tried such a thing. Summon him in." The close attendant hurried out with the word: "Our sovereign has consented to the diagnosis by thread. Summon Master Sun into the palace without delay to make the examination."
The Pilgrim then went up onto the jeweled hall, where Tang Sanzang met him and scolded him, "You brazen ape, you've ruined me!"
"What a master!" laughed the Pilgrim. "I'm going to win you great renown, and you say I've ruined you!"
"You have been with me all these years," said Sanzang sternly, "and when have I ever seen you cure a single person? You know nothing of the properties of drugs, and you've never opened a book of medicine. How dare you rush headlong into this calamity!"
"Master," laughed the Pilgrim, "you don't understand. I have a few peasant prescriptions that can cure the great diseases, and I warrant I can make him well. And even if he died, the worst I'd be charged with is killing him through my ignorance—that's not a capital offense. What are you afraid of? It's no matter, no matter. Sit down and watch how I do my pulse-taking."
"Have you ever read the Plain Questions, the Classic of Difficulties, the Materia Medica, or the Pulse Classic?" said the elder. "What do you know of their chapters and verses, or of their annotations, that you dare talk such nonsense and claim you can make a diagnosis by thread!"
"I have a golden thread upon me," laughed the Pilgrim, "which you have never seen."
He reached a hand behind him, plucked three hairs from his tail, twisted them together, and cried, "Change!" They turned at once into three silken threads, each two zhang and four feet long, to match the twenty-four periods of the year. Holding them in his hand, he said to Sanzang, "Isn't this my golden thread?"
"Hold your boasting for a while, elder," said the eunuch attendant at his side. "Enter the palace and make the diagnosis." So the Pilgrim took leave of Sanzang and followed the attendant into the inner palace to examine the illness. Truly it was:
The heart holds secret recipes to order a state; Within it lie hidden arts to prolong one's life.
For now, we do not know what illness he would discover there, or what drugs he would use. If you would learn the truth of it, you must listen to what is explained in the next chapter.