The story continues: The lord, ministers, and common people of the Kingdom of Bhikshu escorted Tang Sanzang and his three disciples out of the city for a full twenty li and still would not let them go. Sanzang reluctantly dismounted from his carriage, mounted his horse, and took his leave. Those who watched him go did not turn back until they could no longer see his silhouette. The four pilgrims traveled for a good long while. Winter had ended and spring was nearly spent. They gazed at wild flowers and mountain trees, the scenery fragrant and lush, and ahead they saw another high mountain with steep ridges.
Sanzang's heart filled with alarm, and he asked: "Disciples, there is a high mountain ahead. Is there a road through it or not? We must be careful!"
The Pilgrim laughed: "Master, that talk of yours doesn't sound like a man who has traveled a long road—it sounds more like some prince or noble's son sitting at the bottom of a well looking at the sky. As the old saying goes, 'Mountains don't block roads; roads make their own way through mountains.' Why ask whether there is a road or not?" Sanzang said: "Though it is true that mountains don't block roads, I fear that in the perilous heights monsters may be born, and in the depths of dense forests demons may emerge." Bajie said: "Don't worry, don't worry! We are not far now from the Land of Ultimate Bliss. I guarantee we'll be safe and sound!" As master and disciples were talking, they arrived at the foot of the mountain before they knew it.
The Pilgrim took out his gold-banded cudgel, walked up onto the rocky cliff, and called: "Master, here is the road that winds around the mountain—very easy walking. Come along, come along!"
The elder had no choice but to set his mind at ease and urge his horse forward. The Sha Monk called: "Second Brother, take a turn carrying the load." And indeed Bajie took up the load and shouldered it. The Sha Monk gathered the reins, the old master sat steady in his carved saddle, and they all followed the Pilgrim up the great road along the cliff. Just look at that mountain:
Clouds and mists shroud the mountain's crown; In the ravines below, stream waters surge and flow. A hundred flowers' fragrance fills the road; Ten thousand trees grow dense and close. Green plums and white peaches, Green willows and red peach-blossoms. Where cuckoos call, the spring is drawing to its close; Purple swallows twitter—the season's rites are done. Towering crags of stone, Pines with emerald canopies. Rugged, winding mountain trails, Sharply rising, finely wrought. Sheer cliffs and hanging precipices, steep and high; Ivy, creepers, grass, and trees, thick and lush. A thousand crags vie in beauty, ranked like a line of halberds; Ten thousand gorges race with streams, their distant waves in flood.
The old master gazed slowly at the mountain scenery, when suddenly he heard the call of birds and was stirred once more by homesickness. He reined in his horse and cried:
"Disciples! By the heavenly tablet I received the imperial decree, Beneath the brocade screen I was given my travel pass. On the night of the Lantern Festival I left the Eastern Land, And only then did the Tang king and I part as heaven and earth. We had our meeting of dragon and tiger, wind and cloud, But now master and disciples are scattered like a routed cavalry. I have traveled past all twelve peaks of Mount Wu— When shall I see my sovereign face to face again?"
The Pilgrim said: "Master, you are always brooding on homesickness, not at all like a man who has left the world. Set your mind at ease and keep going. Don't worry so much. As the ancients said, 'If you seek wealth and glory in life, you must put in the hardest work.'"
Sanzang said: "Disciple, though you speak reason, I wonder—where is the road to the Western Heaven, after all?" Bajie said: "Master, my Buddha, the Tathagata, can't bear to part with those Three Vehicle scriptures. He knows we're coming to fetch them, and I'll wager he has moved them away. Otherwise, why do we keep going and never arrive?" The Sha Monk said: "Stop your nonsense! Just follow Elder Brother and keep walking. Put in the work, and one day we'll get there."
As master and disciples were chatting, they saw before them a great forest of black pines. The Tang Priest was afraid and called again:
"Wukong, we have just passed that rugged mountain road, and now we encounter this deep, black pine forest? We must be careful." The Pilgrim said: "What's there to fear?" Sanzang said: "What do you mean, what's there to fear! 'If you don't believe in the straightness of the straight, you must beware of the unkindness of the kind.' I have walked through many a pine forest with you, but none so deep and far-reaching as this one. Look:
Dense and thick they stand east and west, In rows they march north and south. Dense and thick they stand east and west, piercing the clouds; In rows they march north and south, invading the azure sky. Thorn and bramble bind around in tangles; Smartweed twines its branches up and down. Vine comes to entangle kudzu, Kudzu goes to entangle vine. Vine comes to entangle kudzu—travelers east and west can barely pass; Kudzu goes to entangle vine—merchants north and south, how can they advance? Dwell in this forest half a year, and you'd lose all track of sun and moon; Walk for miles, and not a single star is to be seen. Look at the shady places—a thousand kinds of scenes; In the sunny spots—ten thousand clusters of flowers.
There too were thousand-year-old locusts and ten-thousand-year-old cypresses, cold-defying pines, mountain peaches, wild peonies, and drought-enduring hibiscus, all clustered in dense profusion, piled and tangled so thickly that even immortals could not paint them. And listen to the hundred birds: parrots whistling, cuckoos calling, magpies darting through branches, crows feeding their parents, yellow orioles flying and dancing, thrushes tuning their voices, partridges crying, purple swallows chattering, mynah birds learning to talk like men, and the thrush-cock who could even read scripture. And there were great tigers lashing their tails and grinding their teeth, foxes and badgers of many years dressed up as women, and aged gray wolves whose howling shook the very forest. Even if the Pagoda-Bearing Heavenly King came here, for all his skill at subduing demons, he too would lose his nerve!"
But the Great Sage Sun was not afraid in the least. He wielded his iron staff, stepped forward, and parted a way through, leading the Tang Priest straight into the deep forest. Leisurely they walked for half a day, yet found no way out of the forest.
The Tang Priest called: "Disciples, ever since we set out westward, we have seen countless mountains and forests, rugged and perilous, but fortunately this place is quiet and elegant, and we have been safe all along. The strange flowers and rare herbs in this forest are truly pleasing. I want to sit here a while: first, to rest the horse; second, I am hungry. Go somewhere and beg some vegetarian food for me to eat."
The Pilgrim said: "Master, please dismount. Old Sun will go and beg for food." The elder indeed dismounted. Bajie tied the horse to a tree, the Sha Monk set down the luggage, took out the alms bowl, and handed it to the Pilgrim.
The Pilgrim said: "Master, sit steady. Don't be alarmed. I'll go and come right back." Sanzang sat upright beneath the shade of the pines. Bajie and the Sha Monk went off looking for breezes and fruit, idly amusing themselves.
Now the Great Sage leapt into the air on his somersault cloud, halted his cloud light, and looked back. He saw that within the pine forest auspicious clouds drifted and propitious mists curled. He cried out involuntarily: "Fine! Fine!" Why did he cry "Fine"? He was praising the Tang Priest, saying that he was the reincarnation of the Elder Golden Cicada, a good man who had cultivated for ten lifetimes, and therefore he had this auspicious radiance canopying his head.
"If it were me, Old Sun, five hundred years ago when I wreaked havoc in Heaven's palace, roaming the corners of the sea, running wild to the ends of the earth, gathering a host of demons to call myself the Great Sage Equal to Heaven, subduing dragons and tigers, striking my name from the registers of death—I wore a triple-crested golden crown, golden armor on my body, the gold-banded cudgel in my hand, cloud-stepping boots on my feet, with forty-seven thousand monsters under my command, all calling me Grandpa Great Sage—that was truly something! Now I have shed Heaven's punishment, humbled and submitted, and become your disciple. But seeing my master's head canopied by auspicious clouds and propitious mists, I think he will surely achieve some great good when he returns to the Eastern Land, and Old Sun will surely attain a true fruition as well."
As he was thus praising and reflecting, suddenly he saw below, at the southern end of the forest, a thread of black air bubbling up. The Pilgrim cried in alarm: "That black air surely means there is evil afoot! My Bajie and the Sha Monk would never give off any black air." The Great Sage hovered in mid-air, observing carefully but unable to decide.
Now Sanzang sat in the forest, his mind clear and his nature manifest, reciting the Maha Prajna Paramita Heart Sutra, when suddenly he heard a thin, plaintive voice calling: "Save me!"
Sanzang was startled and said: "Goodness! Goodness! In this deep forest, who could be calling? It must be someone frightened by wolves, tigers, or leopards. Let me go and see."
The elder rose to his feet, shifted his steps, passed through thousand-year-old cypresses and ten-thousand-year-old pines, clambered over vines and ivy, and drew near to look. He saw a woman bound to a great tree—her upper half tied to the tree with kudzu vines, her lower half buried in the earth.
The elder planted his feet and asked: "Lady Bodhisattva, what has happened to you? Why are you bound here?"
Alas! The creature was obviously a monster, but the elder's mortal eyes and fleshly body could not perceive it. When the demon saw him come and ask, tears poured from her like a spring. Just look at her: peach-blossom cheeks streaming with tears, a beauty to sink fish and startle wild geese; starry eyes brimming with grief, a face to shame the moon and close the flowers.
The elder dared not go closer. He asked again: "Lady Bodhisattva, what crime have you committed? Tell this poor monk, so that I may save you."
The demon, with glib words and honeyed phrases, false sentiment and hollow feeling, hastily answered: "Master, my home is in the Kingdom of Pinpo, more than two hundred li from here. My parents are still alive and are very devoted to doing good; all their lives they have lived in harmony with kin and friends. It was the season of Qingming, and they invited all our relatives and the entire family to sweep and offer sacrifices at our ancestors' tombs. A whole procession of sedan chairs and horses went out to the wilderness. When we reached the tombs and set out the sacrificial offerings, just as we were burning paper money, there was a sudden clashing of gongs and drums, and a gang of bandits rushed out, brandishing swords and staves, shouting and killing their way toward us. We were so terrified our souls flew and our spirits scattered.
"My parents and all the relatives got horses and sedan chairs and each fled for their lives. I was young and couldn't run—I fell to the ground in fright. The bandits carried me off into the mountains. The first great chief wanted to make me his wife, the second chief wanted me for his consort, and the third and fourth all coveted my beauty. Seven or eight of them quarreled at once, none willing to yield. So they tied me to a tree in the forest and went their separate ways. It has been five days and five nights now. I am at the end of my strength and will not live much longer!
"I don't know what virtue my ancestors accumulated in some past life, but today I have met you, venerable master. I beg you, in your great compassion, to save my life. Beneath the Nine Springs, I will never forget your kindness!" So saying, her tears fell like rain. Sanzang's heart was truly moved. He could not hold back his own tears. His voice choking, he called: "Disciples!"
Now Bajie and the Sha Monk were in the forest looking for flowers and fruit. When they suddenly heard the master cry out so piteously, the idiot said: "Sha Monk, has the master found some relative here?"
The Sha Monk laughed: "Second Brother, what nonsense! We've been walking all this time and haven't met a single good person. Where would a relative come from?" Bajie said: "If not a relative, where would the master be crying with someone? Let's go and see." The Sha Monk indeed returned to the old place, led the horse, shouldered the load, and came before them, calling: "Master, what is it?" The Tang Priest pointed at the woman on the tree and said: "Bajie, untie that Lady Bodhisattva and save her life." The idiot, not knowing good from bad, went to work immediately.
Now the Great Sage in mid-air saw the black air growing thick and dense, completely covering the auspicious light. He cried: "Bad, bad! Black air shrouding the auspicious light—I fear some demon is trying to harm my master! Begging for food is a small matter; let me go see about my master first." He turned his cloud around, descended into the forest, and saw Bajie untying the ropes in great haste. The Pilgrim stepped forward, grabbed him by the ear, and threw him to the ground with a thud.
The idiot looked up, scrambled to his feet, and said: "Master told me to save the woman. Why do you use your strength to fling me down?"
The Pilgrim laughed: "Brother, don't untie her. She is a monster, making trouble to deceive us." Sanzang shouted: "You rogue monkey, talking nonsense again! How can you tell that such a woman is a monster?" The Pilgrim said: "Master, you don't know. This is all Old Sun's old trade—these are tricks to get human flesh. How would you recognize them?" Bajie, with a snort, said: "Master, don't listen to this Bimawen fooling you! This woman is a local person of this place. We have come all the way from the Eastern Land; we're neither her kinfolk nor her relations. Why does he say she's a monster? He wants to send us on ahead, then he'll somersault back and use magic to have his secret tryst with her, playing the live-in son-in-law!" The Pilgrim shouted: "Blockhead! Stop your prattle! Old Sun has been traveling westward all this way—when have I ever been so debauched? You, with your lust for beauty and contempt for life, your eye on profit and forgetfulness of duty, you gluttonous lout who can't tell good from bad—you'd get hoodwinked into being some family's son-in-law and end up tied to a tree!" Sanzang said: "Very well, very well. Bajie, your elder brother is often right. Since he says so, let's leave her be and go." The Pilgrim was overjoyed: "Good! The master is saved! Please mount your horse. Outside the pine forest there will be a household where we can beg food." The four of them indeed went forward together, leaving the demon behind.
Now the demon, bound to the tree, gnashed her teeth and said: "For years I've heard people say that Sun Wukong has vast magic powers. Seeing him today, the words are no exaggeration. That Tang Priest is a man who has cultivated his whole body, with not a single drop of his primal yang spent. I was about to take him and couple with him, to become a Taiyi Golden Immortal. Who knew this monkey would see through my art and take him away? If he had untied me and let me down, I could have seized him on the spot—wouldn't he have been my man? Now he's talked them away with a bunch of scattered words, and my effort has come to nothing.
"Let me call out to him a couple more times and see what happens." The clever demon, without moving her bonds, sent a few fine words and gentle phrases on a favorable wind, piping them thinly into the Tang Priest's ear. What did she say? She called:
"Master! You will not save a living person's life— With guilty heart, what scripture do you seek to fetch?"
The Tang Priest on his horse heard her calling again, and he reined in his horse and said: "Wukong, go and save that woman."
The Pilgrim said: "Master, we're on our way—why do you think of her again?" Sanzang said: "She's calling again." The Pilgrim asked: "Bajie, did you hear her?" Bajie said: "My big ears blocked the sound. I didn't hear a thing." He asked again: "Sha Monk, did you hear?" The Sha Monk said: "I was carrying the load, walking ahead. I wasn't paying attention, so I didn't hear." The Pilgrim said: "Old Sun didn't hear either. Master, what did she say? Only you heard." Sanzang said: "She spoke with reason. She said, 'You will not save a living person's life—with guilty heart, what scripture do you seek to fetch?' To save one life is better than building a seven-story pagoda. Go and save her—it's better than seeking scriptures and worshiping Buddha." The Pilgrim laughed: "When Master starts being virtuous, there's no medicine to cure it. Think about it—you left the Eastern Land and have been traveling westward. You've crossed several mountain ranges and met many a monster, who have often carried you into their caves. Old Sun came to save you, swinging his iron staff, and has beaten them by the thousand and ten thousand. Today you can't bear the life of a single monster, and you want to save her?" Sanzang said: "Disciple, the ancients said, 'Do not fail to do good because it is small; do not do evil because it is small.' Go and save her." The Pilgrim said: "Since you are so set on it, Master, this is one burden Old Sun cannot bear.
"If you want to save her, I won't try hard to dissuade you—dissuade you for a while and you'll get angry. Save her as you please." Sanzang said: "Monkey, enough talk! You sit here. Let me and Bajie go save her."
Sanzang went back into the forest and told Bajie to untie the upper half of the ropes and use his rake to dig out the lower half of her body. The demon straightened her shoes, gathered her skirt, and followed the Tang Priest out of the pine forest, delighted. When she saw the Pilgrim, the Pilgrim only laughed coldly without end. Sanzang scolded: "Rogue monkey! What are you laughing at?" The Pilgrim said: "I laugh that when your fortune's high, you meet good friends; when your luck runs out, you meet a beauty." Sanzang scolded again: "Rogue macaque! Nonsense! Ever since I came out of my mother's womb, I've been a monk. Now I've been sent by imperial decree to travel westward, devoutly worshiping Buddha and seeking scriptures. I'm no seeker of wealth and rank—what 'luck running out' is there for me!"
The Pilgrim laughed: "Master, though you've been a monk since childhood, you've only read scriptures and chanted Buddha's name. You've never seen the statutes and laws of the king. This woman is young and pretty. You and I are men who have left the world. If we walk with her and happen to meet some evildoers who seize us and take us before the magistrate, then whatever scriptures or Buddha-worship we're about, we'd all be charged with illicit relations. Even if there's nothing to it, we'd be accused of abducting a person. You'd have your ordination certificate revoked and be beaten half to death. Bajie would be sentenced to military exile. The Sha Monk would be sent to serve as a posting-station attendant. [Translator's note: in ancient times, sending a convict to serve as a station attendant was called "posting."] And Old Sun wouldn't get off clean either—even if I could talk my way through it, I'd still be charged with 'failure to prevent.'"
Sanzang shouted: "Stop your nonsense! Surely saving a life couldn't bring such entanglement! If we take her along, whatever happens, it's all on me." The Pilgrim said: "Master, though you say it's on you, I fear you're not saving her but harming her." Sanzang said: "I save her from the forest and let her live—how is that harming her?" The Pilgrim said: "When she was tied in the forest, in three or five days, or a month, she'd have starved to death, and at least returned to the underworld with her body intact. Now you bring her out—you ride a fast horse and travel like the wind; we can only follow you. That woman has small feet and walks with difficulty. How can she keep up? Leave her behind for a moment, and if wolves, tigers, or leopards come by and swallow her in one bite—wouldn't that be harming her life instead?" Sanzang said: "You're right. I hadn't thought of that. What should we do?" The Pilgrim laughed: "Have her sit up and ride the horse with you." Sanzang hesitated: "How could I share a horse with her! ... How would she get there?" The Pilgrim said: "Have Bajie carry her." The Pilgrim laughed: "The idiot's luck has come!" Bajie said: "On a long road even a light load is heavy. If you make me carry a person, what luck is that?" The Pilgrim said: "Your snout is long. If you carry her and turn your snout around for a bit of private talk, wouldn't that be convenient?" Bajie heard this, beat his chest and jumped: "Bad, bad! If Master wants to beat me a few times, I'd rather suffer the pain. But carrying her—no, I'd never come clean. Elder Brother has spent his whole life pinning false charges on people. I won't carry her!" Sanzang said: "Very well, very well. I can still walk a few steps. Let me get down and walk slowly with her. Bajie, you lead the empty horse." The Pilgrim laughed loudly: "The idiot has a bargain—Master is looking after him by letting him lead the horse." Sanzang said: "This monkey, more nonsense! The ancients said, 'A horse may travel a thousand li, but without a man it cannot get there on its own.' If I walk slowly on the road, would you leave me behind? If I'm slow, you're slow too. Let's all walk together with this Lady Bodhisattva down the mountain. When we reach a nunnery, temple, or any human dwelling, we'll leave her there. That will count as saving her." The Pilgrim said: "Master speaks sense. Let's go forward quickly." Sanzang strode ahead, the Sha Monk carried the load, Bajie led the empty horse, the Pilgrim carried his staff and kept watch over the woman. They went forward together.
Before they had gone twenty or thirty li, the sky was growing dark, and they saw another building with towers and pavilions.
Sanzang said: "Disciples, that must be a nunnery or monastery. Let's ask for lodging there and set out early tomorrow."
The Pilgrim said: "Master is right. Let's all walk a little faster." In a moment they reached the gate.
He said: "You all wait a bit farther off. Let me go in first and ask for lodging. If there's a suitable place, I'll call you in."
They all stood beneath the willow shade, while only the Pilgrim, holding his iron staff, kept watch over the woman.
The elder stepped forward and saw that the gate was tilting and crumbling, scattered and broken. He pushed it open and could not help feeling sad at heart: the long corridors were silent, the ancient temple desolate; moss covered the courtyard, weeds choked the paths;
Only fireflies flew in place of lamps, and frogs croaked in place of water clocks. The elder suddenly shed tears. Truly:
Halls and shrines crumbling and collapsed, Corridors and chambers desolate and ruined. Broken bricks and shattered tiles in a dozen heaps, All twisted beams and snapped pillars. Front and back, all overgrown with green grass, The rotting incense table buried in dust. The bell tower has crumbled, the drum has lost its skin; The glazed lamps and incense burners are smashed. The Buddha's golden image has lost all its color; The arhats lie toppled, this way and that. Guanyin, soaked and ruined, has crumbled into mud; Her willow sprig and pure water vase lie on the ground.
There is a poem as proof:
An ancient temple, long unvisited by any hand to mend it— Pitifully ruined, crumbling more with every passing year. Fierce winds have cracked the temple guardians' faces; Beating rains have battered down the Buddha images' heads. The vajra warriors have fallen and lie drenched in rain; The local earth god has no house to shelter him at night. And two more things there are to sigh and grieve over: The bronze bell lies on the ground, its hanging tower gone.
Sanzang gathered his courage, walked through the second gate, and saw that the bell and drum towers had both collapsed. There was only one bronze bell, half buried in the ground. Its upper half was white as snow, and its lower half was blue as indigo—after long years, the top had been bleached white by rain, and the bottom had taken on the green patina of copper from the earth's vapor.
Sanzang touched the bell with his hand and called loudly:
"O bell! You too once hung from a high tower and roared, Your voice once rang far beneath the painted beams. You once reported the dawn at cockcrow, And once saw off the dusk at day's end. Where has the Daoist who cast your copper gone? Where is the coppersmith who forged you? I suppose both their lives have returned to the underworld— He has left no trace, and you have no voice."
The elder's loud lamentation aroused someone in the temple. Inside, there was a Daoist who served the incense. He heard voices, crawled up, picked up a piece of broken brick, and threw it at the bell. The bell went "clang!" The elder was so startled he fell over. He struggled to his feet to leave, but tripped on a tree root and fell again with a thud.
The elder lay on the ground, looked up, and said:
"O bell! This poor monk was just sighing over you, When suddenly you clanged with a ring! I suppose on the road to the Western Heaven no one comes— And after many years, you have become a spirit."
The Daoist hurried forward, helped him up, and said: "Master, please rise. It's not that the bell became a spirit—it was I who struck it." Sanzang looked up and saw that the man's face was ugly and black. He said: "You aren't some evil spirit, are you? I'm no ordinary person—I come from Great Tang, and I have disciples who can subdue dragons and tigers. If you run into them, your life won't be spared!" The Daoist knelt and said: "Master, don't be afraid. I'm not an evil spirit. I'm a Daoist who serves the incense in this temple. I heard your fine words of praise just now and was about to come out to welcome you. But I was afraid it might be some evil ghost knocking at the door, so I picked up a piece of broken brick and struck the bell to calm my nerves before I dared come out. Master, please rise." The Tang Priest then composed himself and said: "Abbot, you nearly frightened me to death. Take me inside."
The Daoist led the Tang Priest all the way to the third gate. Inside, the sight was very different from the outside. Just look:
Walls of blue brick built like banks of colored cloud; Halls roofed with green tile, glazed like sapphire. The holy images are dressed in gold; The steps and platforms are made of white jade. In the Hall of the Great Hero, green light dances; Beneath the Vairocana Pavilion, a keen spirit rises. In the Manjusri Hall, colored silks fly like clouds; In the Scripture Cabinet Hall, flowers are painted and kingfisher feathers piled. On the three-eaved rooftop, the jeweled finial points sharp; In the Five Blessings Tower, a level embroidered canopy spreads. A thousand stems of emerald bamboo sway by the meditation couch; Ten thousand kinds of green pines reflect before the Buddha's gate. In the Azure Cloud Palace, golden light radiates; Amid the purple mists, auspicious vapors float. At dawn, one hears the fragrant wind from the four fields afar; At dusk, one listens to the painted drums echoing from the mountain heights. If there should be a morning sun to mend a tattered robe, Should there not also be a moon to finish reading a half-read scripture? And there again: lamplight from the rear court lights up half the wall, And a line of incense smoke illumines the central courtyard.
Sanzang saw this and did not dare enter. He called: "Daoist, the front of your temple is in terrible disrepair, but the back is so neat and fine. Why?"
The Daoist laughed: "Master, this mountain is full of demons and bandits. When the weather is clear, they roam the mountain robbing; when it's overcast, they come and hide in the temple. They knock over the Buddha images to use as seats and haul off timber to burn for fire. The monks of this temple are weak and dare not argue with them. So we gave those broken front buildings to the bandits for their rest, and went and found new patrons to build a whole new temple at the back.
The clean and the corrupt are kept separate—such is the way of things in these western lands." Sanzang said: "So that's how it is."
As they walked on, they saw above the mountain gate five great characters: "Zhenhai Chan Forest Monastery." [Translator's note: Zhenhai means "Sea-Guarding."] He had just stepped through the gate when a monk came walking toward them. Look at him:
On his head a brocade hat, pinned at the left; A pair of copper rings hung from his earlobes. He wore a robe of coarse highland wool; A pair of white eyes gleamed bright as silver. In his hand he shook a rattle drum; His mouth recited foreign scriptures, hard to make out.
Sanzang did not recognize him, but this was a Lama monk of the western road. The Lama monk came out the gate, saw that Sanzang had clear brows and fine eyes, a broad forehead and level crown, ears that reached his shoulders and hands that passed his knees—like an arhat descended to the world, truly elegant. He came forward and seized him, his face full of smiles, squeezing his hands and feet, rubbing his nose, pulling his ears, all to show his affection.
He brought him into the abbot's quarters, and after the courtesies, asked: "Where does the venerable master come from?" Sanzang said: "This disciple is an imperial envoy from Great Tang in the Eastern Land, dispatched to the Western Heaven, to the Great Thunder Monastery in the kingdom of Tianzhu, to worship the Buddha and seek scriptures. We have just arrived at your precious region at evening, and have come to your temple to beg lodging for one night. We will set out early tomorrow. I hope you will grant us this convenience." The monk laughed: "Outrageous! Outrageous! We didn't choose to leave the world out of goodwill—we were born of our parents, our fates afflicted with the Parasol Star, and our families couldn't keep us, so we were given up to become monks. But since we've become disciples of the Buddha, let's not speak of empty words." Sanzang said: "I speak the honest truth."
The monk said: "From the Eastern Land to the Western Heaven—what a distance that is! On the road there are mountains, in the mountains there are caves, and in the caves there are demons. A lone man like you, so tender and delicate—you don't look like a scripture-seeker at all!"
Sanzang said: "The abbot speaks truly. How could this poor monk have come here alone? I have three disciples who open roads through mountains and build bridges over waters to protect me. That is how I have reached your temple." The monk said: "Where are your three disciples?" Sanzang said: "They are waiting outside the mountain gate." The monk was alarmed and said: "Master, you don't know that we have tigers, wolves, demons, bandits, and ghosts that harm people here. We don't dare go far even in daylight, and we bar the gates before dark. And you've left your people outside at this hour!" He called: "Disciples, go quickly and invite them in."
Two young lamas ran outside, saw the Pilgrim, and fell over in fright. They saw Bajie and fell over again. They scrambled up and ran back, crying: "Grandpa! Bad luck! Your disciples are nowhere to be seen—there are only three or four monsters standing at the gate!" Sanzang asked: "What do they look like?"
The little monks said: "One has a thunder-god's beak, one has a pestle-like snout, and one has a green face and fangs. Beside them is a woman—she's a painted face, powdered and oiled."
Sanzang laughed: "You don't recognize them. Those three ugly ones are my disciples, and the woman is one I saved from the pine forest." The Lama said: "Grandpa, such a handsome master—how could you find such ugly disciples?" Sanzang said: "Ugly they may be, but they're all useful. Go and invite them in quickly. If you delay much longer, the one with the thunder-god's beak is a bit of a troublemaker—not born of human parents, he'll come barging in and start a fight." The little monk hurried out, fell to his knees trembling, and said: "Gentlemen, the Tang Master invites you in." Bajie laughed: "Brother, he invites us in, fine—but why is he trembling so?" The Pilgrim said: "They see our ugliness and are afraid." Bajie said: "What rot! We were born this way—does anyone choose to be ugly?" The Pilgrim said: "Well, put away that ugliness a little!" The idiot indeed tucked his snout into his robe, lowered his head, and led the horse. The Sha Monk carried the load. The Pilgrim brought up the rear, carrying his staff and watching over the woman. They all went in through the collapsed corridors and through the third gate. They tied up the horse, set down the load, and entered the abbot's quarters, where they met the Lama monk and took their seats in order. The monk went inside and brought out seventy or eighty young lamas. After greeting them, they prepared a vegetarian feast. Truly:
To amass merit, one must hold thoughts of compassion; When the Dharma flourishes, monks praise monks.
But to know how they departed from the temple—listen to the explanation in the next chapter.