The story resumes: Tang Sanzang, having preserved his primal yang and broken free from the snare of passion, followed the Pilgrim westward. Before they knew it, summer had come. The warm breeze was just beginning to stir, and the plum rains fell in silken threads. What a fine scene:
Slowly the green shade grows dense; A light breeze guides the swallows and their young. New lotus leaves turn on the pond's surface; Tall bamboo shoots rise, fresh and flourishing. Fragrant grass stretches to the sky in emerald; Mountain flowers blanket the ground everywhere. By the stream, the sweet flag thrusts up like swords; Pomegranate flames blaze bright on the traveler's road.
The four pilgrims, sweltering in the heat, were walking along when they suddenly saw two rows of tall willows by the roadside. From the willow shade an old woman came forth, leading a little child by the right hand. She called out to the Tang Priest: "Monk, stop! Turn your horse around and go back east. Going west is all dead ends." Sanzang was so startled he tumbled off his horse. He pressed his palms together and said:
"Old Bodhisattva, the ancients said, 'The sea is wide enough for fish to leap; the sky is vast enough for birds to fly.' How can there be no road going west?"
The old woman pointed west and said: "That way, five or six li, is the Kingdom That Destroys the Dharma. In some former life, the king there incurred a load of karmic debt, and in this life he commits crimes without cause. Two years ago he made a great vow to kill ten thousand monks. Over these two years, one by one, he has killed nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-six nameless monks. He only waits for four famous monks to make up the full ten thousand and bring his vow to completion. If you go there, you'll be delivering your lives straight to the King of Death!" Sanzang heard this and his heart filled with fear. He said, trembling: "Old Bodhisattva, I am deeply grateful for your kindness. But tell me—is there no convenient road that bypasses the city? This poor monk could go around." The old woman laughed:
"You can't go around, you can't go around—unless you can fly, you'll get through."
Bajie, beside them, shot off his mouth: "Mother, don't talk in riddles. We can all fly." The Pilgrim's fiery golden eyes saw the truth in a flash—that old woman with the child was the Bodhisattva Guanyin and the Sudhana boy. He fell to his knees and bowed, crying: "Bodhisattva! Your disciple failed to welcome you!" The Bodhisattva rose on a cloud of auspicious light and drifted away, leaving the Tang elder so awed that he could only kneel and kowtow on the spot.
Bajie and the Sha Monk also hastily fell to their knees and bowed to Heaven. In a moment, the auspicious clouds grew dim and vanished, returning to the South Sea.
The Pilgrim rose and helped the master up: "Please rise, Master. The Bodhisattva has returned to her precious mountain."
Sanzang rose and said: "Wukong, since you knew it was the Bodhisattva, why didn't you say so sooner?" The Pilgrim laughed: "You hadn't finished asking questions when I was already bowing—how is that not soon enough?" Bajie and the Sha Monk said to the Pilgrim: "We are grateful for the Bodhisattva's guidance. Ahead is the Kingdom That Destroys the Dharma, which kills monks. What are we to do?" The Pilgrim said: "Don't be afraid, idiot! We have faced vicious demons and monsters, tiger dens and dragon pools, and never come to harm. This place is only a kingdom of ordinary mortals—what is there to fear? Only this is no place to stay. It's getting late, and there will be villagers and merchants coming home from the city. If they see us and recognize us as monks, the news will spread, and that won't be convenient. Let's get off the main road and find a quiet spot where we can talk." Sanzang did as he said. They all slipped off the road and sat down in a hollow by the roadside.
The Pilgrim said: "Brothers, you two guard the master well. Old Sun will change and go into the city to scout. I'll find a quiet road and we'll pass through in the night." Sanzang instructed: "Disciple, don't take this lightly. The king's law is unforgiving. Be careful!" The Pilgrim laughed: "Don't worry! Don't worry! Old Sun has his own plan."
Good Great Sage! He finished speaking, leapt up, and with a whistle was in the air. Strange to say:
No rope pulls him up from above, No pole props him from below, Born of the same parents as everyone else, But his bones are lighter than air!
He stood in the clouds and looked down. He saw the city filled with joyous energy, auspicious light rippling. The Pilgrim said: "What a fine place—why does it destroy the Dharma?"
He watched for a while. As dusk fell, he saw:
The crossroads' lamps blazing bright; The nine-tiered palace, incense haze and bells chiming. Seven bright stars shone in the azure sky; Travelers from all eight directions unloaded their baggage. In the military camps, the painted horns were just beginning to sound; In the five-drum tower, the copper water clock began its first drops. On all sides, the night mists hung heavy; Over the three markets, cold smoke curled. In pairs, husbands and wives retired to their embroidered curtains; A single bright moon rose in the east.
He thought: "If I go down to the streets to scout the roads, this face of mine will give me away as a monk. Let me change."
He made a magic sign, recited the true words, shook his body, and changed into a moth:
Tiny body, fragile wings, light and deft— Snuffing lamps, darting at candles, seeking the light. Its original form born of transformation, A spirit from the midst of rotting grass. It loves the hot glow and touches the flame, Buzzing and circling without rest. In purple vest and fragrant wings, it chases the firefly; It loves best the deep night when the wind is still.
See him fluttering and flitting, flying toward the main streets and markets. By the eaves and corners, just as he was flying along, he suddenly saw a row of houses at a corner with lanterns hanging at every door.
He said: "Is it the Lantern Festival? Why are they all lit up in a row?"
He flew closer for a careful look. On one square lantern in the middle was written: "Lodging for Traveling Merchants." Below it: "Wang Xiao'er's Inn." The Pilgrim now knew it was a tavern. He poked his head in for another look and saw eight or nine men who had finished their evening meal, loosened their clothes, removed their caps, washed hands and feet, and gone to bed.
The Pilgrim thought, pleased: "The master can get through." How did he know they could get through? He was planning something underhanded—wait till those men fell asleep, then steal their clothes and caps, dress up as laymen, and enter the city.
But alas—things did not go as he wished!
Just as he was scheming, Xiao'er came forward and said: "Gentlemen, be careful. In this house, honest men and rogues are not separated—each man must look after his own clothes and baggage."
Now, those men were traveling merchants—what one of them is not careful? And hearing the innkeeper's warning, they grew even more cautious.
They all sat up and said: "The innkeeper speaks sense. We travelers are tired and fear that once asleep we won't wake easily. If something goes missing in the night, what then? Take our clothes, caps, and saddlebags inside. When dawn comes, hand them back to us as we set out."
Wang Xiao'er indeed gathered all their clothes and things and carried them into his own room. The Pilgrim, impatient, spread his wings and flew in after, landing on a cap rack. He saw Xiao'er go to the door, take down the lantern, lower the shutter, and close the doors and windows. Then the man came in, took off his clothes, and lay down. But Xiao'er had a mother-in-law there, with two children, crying and fussing, and she could not sleep.
The old woman was also patching a torn garment, sewing and stitching, and showed no sign of sleeping.
The Pilgrim thought: "If I wait for this old woman to sleep, won't I delay the master?"
And he feared that at the deeper hour the city gates would be shut. He could not hold back—he swooped down and flung himself at the lamp. Truly, he risked his life on the flame, scorching his brow for a thread of life—the lamp went out. He shook himself again and changed into a rat, squeaking twice, jumped down, grabbed the clothes and caps, and headed for the door. The old woman, flustered, cried: "Old man! It's bad! A night rat has turned into a demon!"
When the Pilgrim heard this, he played another trick. He blocked the door and called in a loud, stern voice: "Wang Xiao'er, don't listen to your old woman's nonsense. I am not a night rat turned demon. An honest man does not do deeds in the dark. I am the Great Sage Equal to Heaven, descended to the mortal world, guarding the Tang Priest on his journey to the Western Heaven to seek scriptures. Your king is without the Way. I have come to borrow clothes and caps to dress my master. Once we have passed through the city, we will return them."
When Wang Xiao'er heard this, he tumbled out of bed. In the pitch dark, and being a man in a panic, he grabbed his trousers and tried to put them on as a shirt—left arm in, right arm out, and could not get them on either way.
The Great Sage used a spirit-carrying spell and was already out on the clouds. He turned and flew back to the hollow by the roadside.
Sanzang, seeing the starlight and moonlight clear, leaned forward to look. When he saw it was the Pilgrim coming near, he called out: "Disciple, can we get through the Dharma-Destroying Kingdom?"
The Pilgrim came forward and set down the clothes: "Master, to get through the Dharma-Destroying Kingdom, we can't be monks." Bajie said: "Brother, who are you putting on the spot? Not being a monk is easy enough—just don't shave your head for six months and the hair will grow." The Pilgrim said: "Who can wait six months! Right now we all have to be laymen!" The idiot panicked: "But you talk without thinking. We're all monks now. To be laymen, how do we wear caps? Even if we get them on at the edges, there's no place to tie the top string." Sanzang barked: "Stop joking around. What's the real plan?"
The Pilgrim said: "Master, I've scouted the city. Though the king is without the Way and kills monks, he is a true Son of Heaven—there was auspicious light on the city walls. I know the streets, and I know the local dialect—I can speak it. Just now I borrowed these clothes and caps from an inn. We'll dress as laymen, enter the city, and find lodging. At the fourth watch we'll rise, have the innkeeper prepare breakfast, and at the fifth watch we'll slip through the city gate and head west on the main road. Even if someone stops us, we can argue that we are imperial envoys from a great kingdom. The Dharma-Destroying King won't dare detain us—he'll have to let us through."
The Sha Monk said: "Elder Brother's plan is sound. Let's follow it." The elder, with no other choice, took off his monk's tunic and cap, put on layman's clothes, and wore a cap. The Sha Monk changed too. Bajie's head was too big for a cap, so the Pilgrim took out needle and thread, tore open two caps, sewed them into one, and fitted it on his head. He found a large, loose robe for him to wear, and then changed his own outfit. He said: "Gentlemen, from now on, the words 'master' and 'disciple' go away."
Bajie said: "If not those four words, what do we call each other?" The Pilgrim said: "We all call each other 'brother.' The master is Master Tang the Eldest. You are Master Zhu the Third. The Sha Monk is Master Sha the Fourth. I am Master Sun the Second. But when we reach the inn, don't any of you say a word—let me do all the talking. If they ask what our business is, say we're horse traders. We'll use this white horse as a sample, and say we're ten brothers—four of us came ahead to rent a room and sell horses. The innkeeper will surely give us fine treatment. When we've eaten and are ready to leave, I'll pick up a shard, turn it into a piece of silver to thank him, and then we'll go." The elder, having no choice, went along.
The four pilgrims hurriedly led the horse and carried the baggage, and ran over to the other side. This was a peaceful region—at the first watch, the gates were not yet shut. They went straight in. When they reached Wang Xiao'er's inn, they heard a commotion inside: one said, "My cap is missing!" Another said, "My clothes are missing!" The Pilgrim pretended not to know and led them to the inn across the street.
That house had not yet taken in its lantern. He went to the door and called: "Innkeeper, do you have a spare room for us to rest?"
A woman inside answered: "Yes, yes, yes—come up, gentlemen." A man came out to take the horse. The Pilgrim handed the horse over to be led inside, then guided the master up through the lamplight to the upper floor. There were convenient tables and chairs; they pushed open the lattice windows and sat down together in the moonlight.
Someone came up with a lamp. The Pilgrim blocked the door and blew it out: "With a moon like this, we don't need a lamp."
The person went back down. Then a maid brought four bowls of clear tea.
The Pilgrim took the tea. Another woman came up from below, about fifty-seven or fifty-eight years old. She came straight upstairs, stood to one side, and asked: "Where are you gentlemen from? What fine goods do you carry?"
The Pilgrim said: "We come from the north, with some rough horses to sell." The woman said: "Horse traders—still young men."
The Pilgrim said: "This is Master Tang the Eldest, this is Master Zhu the Third, this is Master Sha the Fourth, and I am Master Sun the Second."
The woman laughed: "Different surnames." The Pilgrim said: "Exactly—different surnames, living together. We're ten brothers in all. Four of us came ahead to rent a room and set up shop. The other six are resting outside the city walls with the herd of horses, because it's too late to bring them in. Once we've rented a place, we'll all come in tomorrow morning. We won't leave until the horses are sold." The woman said: "How many horses in the herd?"
The Pilgrim said: "A hundred or so, big and small. All about the size of this horse of mine, but of different colors."
The woman laughed: "Master Sun the Second is truly a man who knows the rules of the road. Good thing you came to us—another house might not have taken you in. Our yard is spacious, our troughs and stalls are complete, we have hay and feed—we could stable several hundred horses. But one thing: I've run this inn for many years and have a name to it. My late husband was surnamed Zhao, and he passed away long ago. I am known as the Widow Zhao's Inn. We have three grades of service for our guests. I always state the terms first, before we settle accounts—business before pleasure." The Pilgrim said: "Fair enough. What are the three grades? As the saying goes, 'Goods come in high and low grades at different prices; guests are all treated the same, near or far.' What do you mean by three grades? Tell me." The Widow Zhao said: "We have upper, middle, and lower. The upper grade: a banquet of five fruits and five dishes, with sugar sculptures of lions and immortals as table centerpieces, two persons to a table, singing girls invited to sing and keep company—five mace of silver per person, including the room." The Pilgrim laughed: "Cheap! Where I come from, five mace of silver wouldn't even cover the singing girls." The widow went on: "The middle grade: a shared table, just fruit and warm wine, poured for you to play your guessing games and drinking games—no singing girls—two mace of silver per person." The Pilgrim said: "Even cheaper! What about the lower grade?" The woman said: "I wouldn't dare say it before such honored guests." The Pilgrim said: "No harm in telling us. We'll pick what suits." The woman said:
"The lower grade: no one to serve you. Whatever rice is in the pot, you eat as you please. When you're full, spread some straw on the floor, make a bed, and sleep where you can. At dawn, pay whatever you think fit for the rice—we won't quarrel."
Bajie, hearing this, said: "Lucky, lucky! Old Zhu's fortune has come! Let me stick by that pot, eat my fill, and sleep in front of the stove!" The Pilgrim said: "Brother, what are you saying! You and I are men of the world—where can we not earn a few taels of silver? Bring on the upper grade." The woman, full of joy, called: "Bring good tea! Kitchen, hurry and prepare the food!" She went downstairs and called:
"Kill chickens and geese, boil the salted meats for the side dishes!" She called again: "Kill pigs and sheep—what we don't use today can be used tomorrow. Bring out the good wine! Steam the white rice, roll the white-flour flatbreads!" Sanzang, hearing this from upstairs, said:
"Master Sun, what shall we do? He's killing chickens and geese, pigs and sheep. If they serve it up, we're all strict vegetarians—who would dare eat it?" The Pilgrim said: "I have a plan." He went to the stairhead and stomped his foot: "Mother Zhao, come up."
The old woman came up: "What does the Second Master wish?" The Pilgrim said: "No killing of living creatures today. We are keeping a fast." The widow was surprised: "Are the gentlemen on a permanent fast, or a monthly fast?" The Pilgrim said: "Neither. We keep what is called the Gengshen fast. [Translator's note: In Daoist tradition, the Gengshen day was observed by fasting and staying awake all night.] Today is a Gengshen day, and we must fast. After the third watch, it will be Xinyou, and the fast is lifted. You may kill tomorrow. For now, prepare some vegetarian dishes, and we will pay the full upper-grade price." The woman was even more pleased. She ran downstairs and called: "Don't kill! Don't kill! Get some wood-ear fungus, dried bamboo shoots, tofu, wheat gluten. Pull some fresh greens from the garden, make noodle soup, steam raised buns, boil white rice, and brew fragrant tea."
Oh! Those kitchen hands, being used to the work day in and day out, had everything ready in no time, spread on the upstairs table. There were ready-made sugar sculptures of lions and immortals, and the four pilgrims ate as they pleased. The widow asked:
"Would you like some vegetarian wine?" The Pilgrim said: "Master Tang the Eldest doesn't drink. The rest of us will have a few cups." The widow brought up a pot of warm wine. The three had just begun to pour when there came a banging and clatter below. The Pilgrim said:
"Mother, did something break down there?" The widow said: "No—some farmhands from my little country place came late to deliver the rent rice, and I put them to sleep downstairs. When you guests arrived, I had no one to run errands, so I sent them with a sedan chair to the entertainment house to invite singing girls to keep you company. That thumping must be the sedan chair bumping the floorboards."
The Pilgrim said: "You should have said so earlier. Quick, don't go and invite anyone. First, it's a fasting day. Second, our brothers haven't arrived yet. Wait till tomorrow when they come in—then we'll invite a courtesan each, have some fun at your place, and leave after we've sold the horses." The widow said: "Good man, good man! You keep the harmony and save your strength." She called:
"Bring the sedan chair back inside. Don't go." The four ate their wine and food, cleared the dishes, and everyone dispersed.
Sanzang whispered in the Pilgrim's ear: "Where do we sleep?" The Pilgrim said: "Right here on the upper floor." Sanzang said: "It's not safe. We're all tired. If we fall asleep and someone from the house comes to tidy up, sees our caps knocked off and our bald heads showing, and recognizes us as monks—the uproar! What then?" The Pilgrim said: "True!" He went to the stairhead and stomped his foot again.
The widow came up once more: "What does Master Sun wish now?"
The Pilgrim said: "Where do we sleep?" The woman said: "The upper floor is fine for sleeping—no mosquitoes, and a south breeze. Leave the windows wide open—it's perfect for sleeping." The Pilgrim said: "We can't sleep here. My Master Zhu the Third has a touch of rheumatism. Master Sha the Fourth has a bad shoulder. Eldest Brother Tang needs to sleep in the dark. And I have sensitive eyes. This room won't do." The old woman went back down, leaned on the counter, and sighed.
Her daughter, holding a baby, came near and said: "Mother, as the saying goes, 'Ten days sitting idle on the shore, but one day rushing past nine shores.' It's summer now and business is slow, but when autumn comes, we won't be able to keep up. Why sigh?"
The woman said: "Daughter, it's not worry about business. Tonight, just as we were closing up, at the first watch, four horse traders came to rent a room. They wanted the upper-grade treatment. I was hoping to earn a few mace of silver off them—but they eat vegetarian food, and I can't make any money off them. That's why I sigh." The daughter said: "They've already eaten. They can't very well go to another house. Tomorrow we can still serve meat and wine—why can't we make money?" The woman said: "They all have ailments—afraid of wind, sensitive to light, all want to sleep in the dark. Think about it: our house is all thin-roofed rooms—where do we find a dark place? Better to give them a free meal and send them elsewhere." The daughter said: "Mother, we have a dark place here, with no draft. It would do very well." The woman said: "Where?" The daughter said:
"When father was alive, he had a big cabinet made. It's four feet wide, seven feet long, and three feet high. It can hold six or seven people sleeping. Let them sleep in the cabinet."
The woman said: "I don't know if they'll like it. Let me ask. Master Sun, our humble dwelling has no dark room—only one large cabinet. No draft, no light. Would you sleep in the cabinet?" The Pilgrim said: "Good! Good!
Good!" He had the farmhands bring out the cabinet, open the lid, and invite them downstairs. The Pilgrim led the master, the Sha Monk carried the baggage, and by the lamplight they went to the cabinet. Bajie, not caring about anything, crawled in first. The Sha Monk passed in the baggage, helped the Tang Priest in, and then climbed in himself.
The Pilgrim said: "Where is my horse?" A servant said: "The horse is tied in the back, eating hay." The Pilgrim said: "Bring him here. Move the trough over, and tie him right next to the cabinet." Then he climbed in and called: "Mother Zhao, put on the lid, drive in the lock pins, and lock it. And look around—anywhere it lets in light, paste some paper over it. Come early tomorrow to open it." The widow said: "You're too cautious!" And so they all closed their doors and went to sleep. We'll say no more of them.
Now, the four of them in the cabinet—poor souls! First, they were not used to wearing caps. Second, the weather was hot. Third, the air inside was close and stuffy, with not a breath of breeze. They all took off their caps, stripped to their robes, and having no fan, used their monk's caps to fan themselves. Packed shoulder to shoulder, they waited until the second watch, when they all fell asleep. Only the Pilgrim, with a mind for mischief, could not sleep. He reached over and pinched Bajie on the leg.
The idiot pulled his foot back and mumbled: "Go to sleep! We're all worn out. What's the matter with you, pinching and pulling?"
The Pilgrim, playing the ghost, said: "Our original capital was five thousand taels. The horses we sold before brought three thousand. Now in the two saddlebags we have four thousand. The rest of the herd will sell for three thousand more. That's a good round profit—enough! Enough!" Bajie, a man who wanted to sleep, could not be bothered to answer.
But who could have known that the inn's waiters, water carriers, and fire-tenders were all in league with bandits? When they heard the Pilgrim say there was all that silver, a few of them slipped out, gathered a band of twenty-odd thieves, and came with torches and weapons to rob the horse traders. They burst through the gate, and the Widow Zhao and her daughter, trembling, shut their door and let them loot. The thieves didn't want the inn's goods—they were looking for the guests.
Upstairs, they found no trace. With their torches, they searched all around and saw in the courtyard a large cabinet, with a white horse tied to the cabinet's leg. The cabinet lid was locked fast and could not be pried open.
The thieves said: "Men of the road have eyes and hands. This cabinet is heavy—there must be baggage and money locked inside. Let's steal the horse, carry the cabinet out of the city, break it open, and split the loot. Wouldn't that be fine?"
The thieves found ropes and poles, hoisted the cabinet, and marched off, swaying and lurching.
Bajie woke up and said: "Brother, go to sleep. What are you shaking for?"
The Pilgrim said: "Don't talk! No one's shaking." Sanzang and the Sha Monk woke with a start: "Who is carrying us?" The Pilgrim said: "Don't shout, don't shout! Let them carry! Carry us all the way to the Western Heaven and save us the walking."
The thieves, having gotten their prize, did not head west but went east through the city. They killed the guards at the gate, broke open the city doors, and fled. The alarm went through all six streets and three markets. Every ward captain and watchman reported to the city garrison commander and the Eastern City Military Office. The commander and the military officers, taking it as their own affair, mustered troops and archers and rode out of the city in pursuit.
The thieves, seeing the government troops were too strong, dared not fight. They dropped the cabinet, abandoned the white horse, and scattered into the hills. The troops did not catch a single bandit. They only recovered the cabinet and seized the horse, and returned in triumph. In the lamplight, the commander saw the horse—what a horse!
Its mane parted in silver threads; Its tail hung like a jade sash. Never mind the Eight Steeds of King Mu, or the legendary Su Shuang; It put every plodding nag to shame. Worth a thousand gold for its bones alone, It could chase the wind for ten thousand li. Climbing a mountain, it seemed to merge with the blue clouds; Neighing at the moon, it was white as driven snow. Truly, a dragon let loose from the sea isle— In the human world, a jade qilin.
The commander did not ride his own horse but mounted this white horse. He led his troops back into the city, had the cabinet carried to his headquarters, wrote a seal, sealed the cabinet, posted guards, and waited for dawn to memorialize the throne for a decision. The troops dispersed. We'll say no more of them.
Now the Tang elder, in the cabinet, grumbled at the Pilgrim: "You monkey head, you've killed me!
If they'd caught us outside and taken us to the Dharma-Destroying King, at least we could have argued our case. But now we're locked in a cabinet, stolen by thieves, then recovered by soldiers. Tomorrow, when they present us to the king, we'll be served up ready-made for the chopping block—won't that make up his ten thousand?"
The Pilgrim said: "If we were outside, they'd have opened the cabinet, and we'd be either tied up or strung up. In here, at least we're spared the tying and stringing. Tomorrow, when we see that benighted king, old Sun will have an answer. I guarantee not a hair on your head will be harmed. Relax—get some sleep."
They endured until the third watch. The Pilgrim worked a trick—slipped his staff out, blew a fairy breath on it, and cried "Change!" It became a three-pointed drill. He drilled at the corner of the cabinet, two or three times, and made a hole. He put the drill away, shook his body, changed into an ant, crawled out the hole, resumed his true form, rose on his cloud, and went straight to the palace gate.
The king was sleeping soundly. The Pilgrim used his Great Body-Splitting Universal Assembly spell. He plucked all the hairs from his left arm, blew a fairy breath, and cried "Change!"—each hair became a little Pilgrim. He plucked all the hairs from his right arm, blew a fairy breath, and cried "Change!"—each hair became a sleep bug.
He recited the "Om" true word and commanded the local earth god to lead them throughout the palace, the five offices and six ministries, and every official's residence, large and small. To every person who held office, they gave a sleep bug—everyone fell into a sound sleep, none allowed to turn over.
Then the Pilgrim took his gold-banded cudgel in hand, weighed it, waved it, and called: "Treasure, change!" It became a thousand and more razors. He took one and had each little Pilgrim take one, and they went through the palace, the five offices and six ministries, and every government office, shaving heads. Oh!
The Dharma-King destroys the Dharma, but the Dharma is endless; The Dharma pervades heaven and earth, the Great Way is open. The source of all dharmas returns to one body; The wondrous forms of the Three Vehicles are originally the same. Drilling open the jade cabinet reveals the message; Scattering golden hairs breaks through the veil of ignorance. Rest assured, the Dharma-King will attain true fruition— Neither born nor destroyed, gone and come are void.
By midnight, the shaving was done. The Pilgrim recited the incantation, dismissed the earth god and spirits, shook his body— and the hairs on both arms returned to their places. He gathered all the razors and turned them back into their true nature—once again a single gold-banded cudgel. He shrank it to its tiny form and tucked it behind his ear. Then he turned back into an ant, crawled back into the cabinet, and resumed his true form, keeping the Tang Priest company in his captivity. We'll say no more of that.
Now, in the palace, the palace maids and ladies rose before dawn to wash and comb—and every one of them had lost her hair. The eunuchs of the palace, great and small, had all lost their hair too. They crowded to the bedchamber door, played their music to wake the royal couple—every one of them holding back tears, not daring to speak.
Presently, the empress of the three palaces woke up—and she too had lost her hair. She hastily moved the lamp to the dragon bed and saw that under the brocade quilt lay a monk. The empress could not hold back her words. She woke the king.
The king opened his eyes wide, saw the empress's bald head, and scrambled up: "My love, what has happened to you?"
The empress said: "Your Majesty, the same has happened to you." The king felt his own head and was so terrified that his Three Corpses howled and his Seven Souls flew into the void: "What has happened to me?!" In his panic, the concubines of the six courts, the palace maids, the eunuchs, great and small—all with bald heads—knelt and said: "Your Majesty, we have become monks!" When the king saw this, tears streamed from his eyes. He said: "It must be because I have killed monks." He issued a decree: "Do not speak of the head-shaving. I fear the civil and military ministers will censure the state as improper. All of you, to the court—hold audience."
Now, the officials of the five offices and six ministries, all the functionaries great and small, were supposed to go to court before dawn. And they too, every one of them, had lost their hair in the night. Each had written a memorial reporting the matter. And they heard:
Three cracks of the silent whip announce the Emperor's audience; Memorials report the cause of today's head-shaving.
But what became of the cabinet the garrison commander had seized, and what of the Tang Priest and his four disciples' lives—listen to the explanation in the next chapter.