Chapter 13

Chapter 13

The poem reads:

Great indeed was the Tang Emperor's royal decree,

Sending the imperial envoy Xuanzang to seek the Zen school.

With steadfast heart he sought the dragon's cave,

With devoted care he ascended Vulture Peak.

How many kingdoms he traversed beyond the borders,

How many thousand-fold clouds and mountains he crossed before him.

From now on, parting from his carriage, he journeys west,

Upholding the teachings and embracing the dharma to realize the Great Void.

Now it happened that Tripitaka, on the third day before the full moon of the ninth month in the thirteenth year of Zhenguan, had been escorted beyond the Chang'an border by the Tang Emperor and his many officials. After a day or two of traveling without rest for his horse, he arrived early at the Famen Temple. The abbot of this temple, the Elder Superior, led over five hundred monks in two rows to welcome him inside. They met and offered tea. After tea, a vegetarian meal was served. After the meal, before they realized it, evening had come. Indeed:

The stars and river drew near in shadow,

The moon was bright, the air without a speck of dust.

Wild geese cried out beyond the distant Han,

The sound of pounding echoed from the western neighbor.

Returning birds roosted in withered trees,

The meditation monks chanted Sanskrit sounds.

On a rush-mat cushion upon a couch,

They sat until the night was halfway through.

The monks discussed by lamplight the purpose of the Buddhist faith and the reason for going to the Western Heaven to obtain the scriptures: some said the waters were far and the mountains high; some said the road was full of tigers and leopards; some said the steep cliffs and precipitous ridges were hard to cross; some said the venomous demons and evil monsters were hard to subdue. Tripitaka kept his mouth shut and said nothing, but only pointed to his own heart and nodded several times. The monks could not understand his meaning and, joining their palms, asked: "Reverend Master, what do you mean by pointing to your heart and nodding?" Tripitaka replied: "When the mind arises, all kinds of demons arise; when the mind ceases, all kinds of demons cease. This disciple once made a great and solemn vow before the Buddha in the Temple of Transformation, and I cannot help but give my all to this heart. On this journey, I must certainly reach the Western Heaven to see the Buddha and obtain the scriptures, so that our Dharma wheel may turn again and that the sacred sovereign's imperial reign may be forever secure." When the monks heard these words, everyone admired him, everyone praised him, and they all called out: "The Great Expositor of the Faith, loyal-hearted and pure of spirit!" Their praise was endless, and they invited the master to retire to his couch to rest.

Soon again the bamboo tapped as the waning moon set, and the roosters sang as the morning clouds arose. The monks rose and prepared tea and the early vegetarian meal. Xuanzang then put on his kasaya robe, went up to the main hall, and bowed before the Buddha, saying: "This disciple, Chen Xuanzang, is going to the Western Heaven to obtain the scriptures, but these fleshly eyes are dull and confused, unable to recognize the true form of the living Buddha. I now make a vow: on the journey, whenever I pass a temple I shall burn incense, whenever I meet a Buddha I shall bow to the Buddha, whenever I encounter a pagoda I shall sweep the pagoda. I only pray that the Buddha, in his compassion, will early reveal his sixteen-foot golden body, bestow the true scriptures, and leave them to be transmitted to the Eastern Land." Having finished his prayer, he returned to the abbot's quarters for the meal. After the meal, his two attendants saddled and readied the horses and urged haste on the journey. Tripitaka left the mountain gate and took leave of the monks. The monks could not bear the parting and escorted him for ten miles before returning with tears in their eyes. Tripitaka then proceeded directly west. It was the season of late autumn, and what he saw was this:

In several villages the trees shed their leaves, the reed flowers scattered;

On several trees the red-leaved poplars let their crimson leaves fall.

On the road, misty rain—few travelers were seen.

Yellow chrysanthemums were lovely, the mountain bones were fine, the water was cold, lotus broken, and people haggard.

White duckweed and red smartweed—frost and snow in the autumn sky,

A lone duck at sunset—the long sky falling.

Dim and fading, wild clouds flew;

The dark bird departed, the honored wild geese arrived,

Loud and clear, their cries shattered the night.

The master and disciples traveled for several days and arrived at Gongzhou City, where the officials and subordinates of Gongzhou had long been waiting to welcome them into the city. They rested for one night, and the next morning left the city and proceeded onward. Along the road they ate when hungry and drank when thirsty, stopping at night and traveling at dawn. After two or three more days, they reached Hezhou Guard. This was the boundary of the Tang Empire's rivers and mountains. The garrison general of the frontier and the local monks and Daoists, upon hearing that this was the imperial envoy, the Emperor's own brother in the faith, a master going west to see the Buddha, were all respectful. They received him inside and provided for him, and the monastic official was directed to invite him to rest at the Fuyuan Temple. The monks of this temple, one and all, came to pay their respects and arranged the evening meal. After the meal, he instructed his two attendants to feed the horses well and to set out before dawn.

When the roosters had just begun to crow, he summoned his attendants, which startled the temple monks, who prepared tea and a vegetarian meal. After the meal, they departed beyond the frontier. The elder master was anxious and had risen too early. As it happened, this was the deep autumn season, when roosters crow early—it was only the fourth watch of the night. The party of three men and four horses faced the clear frost and gazed upon the moon, traveling for several tens of miles until they came upon a mountain ridge. They had to push through the grass to find the road, and the path was unspeakably rugged and difficult, and they feared they might have taken a wrong route. While they were in doubt and deliberation, they suddenly lost their footing, and the three men, along with the horses, fell into a pit. Tripitaka's heart trembled, and the attendants' courage failed. They had only just begun to feel terror when they heard from within a roaring and shouting cry: "Seize them! Seize them!" And with a great rolling wind, fifty or sixty demons burst forth, dragging Tripitaka and his attendants up. The master trembled as he stole a glance, and the demon king seated above was exceedingly fierce. Indeed he was:

Majestic and awe-inspiring in his imposing bearing,

Fierce and mighty in his stern visage.

His lightning eyes flew with radiant light,

His thunderous voice shook the four directions.

His saw-like teeth spread beyond his mouth,

His chisel-like fangs showed beside his jaws.

Embroidered silk wrapped his body,

Decorative patterns covered his back.

His steel whiskers rarely showed flesh,

His hooked claws were sharp as frost.

The Yellow Lord of the Eastern Sea feared him,

The White-browed King of Southern Mountain was his peer.

Tripitaka was so terrified that his soul flew and his spirit scattered; the two attendants' bones went soft and their sinews numb. The demon king roared an order to bind them. The demons together tied up all three men with ropes. Just as they were preparing to devour them, they heard a commotion outside, and someone came to report: "The Honorable Bear Mountain and the Honorable Te the Recluse have arrived!" When Tripitaka heard this, he raised his head to look. The one walking in front was a dark fellow. You should know what he looked like:

Bold and full of courage,

Light and nimble, with a sturdy body.

In crossing waters he relied on his ferocity,

In running through the forest he displayed his wrath.

In the past he brought auspicious dreams,

Now alone he revealed his heroic bearing.

He could climb and break green trees,

He knew the cold and could foretell the seasons.

His spiritual power was manifest,

Therefore he was called the Mountain Lord.

Then he saw the one coming behind—a stout fellow. You should know what he looked like:

His twin horns rose towering and steep,

His shoulders were solemn and raised high.

His nature was steady, clad in dark garments,

His hooves moved with slow and measured steps.

His ancestral name was Bull the Father,

His original title was Cow the Mother.

He could bring merit to the farmer,

Therefore he was named the Recluse Te.

These two, swaying and swaggering, walked inside, and in a panic the Demon King rushed out to greet them. Lord Bear said, "General Yin, you have been prospering as ever—congratulations, congratulations." The Hermit Te said, "General Yin, your appearance is more than usually splendid—truly a joy, truly a joy." The Demon King said, "How have you two been these past days?" Lord Bear said, "I have merely preserved my simplicity." The Hermit said, "I have merely followed the seasons." The three, having exchanged pleasantries, sat down each to chat and laugh.

Then they saw the attendants, bound and weeping in agony. The dark fellow asked, "Where did these three come from?" The Demon King said, "They delivered themselves to my door." The Hermit said with a smile, "Can they be used to entertain guests?" The Demon King said, "With pleasure, with pleasure." Lord Bear said, "You should not use them all—eat two, and keep one." The Demon King agreed, and at once called his attendants to cut open the two men's bellies and tear out their hearts, chopping their corpses to pieces: the heads and hearts and livers he offered to his two guests, the four limbs he ate himself, and the remaining flesh and bones he divided among the various yakshas. All that could be heard was a gobbling sound, truly like a tiger devouring a lamb—in an instant, it was all consumed. The elder was nearly frightened to death. This was truly the first ordeal upon leaving Chang'ang.

In the midst of his grief and terror, gradually the east grew pale. The two monsters did not disperse until the light of dawn, each saying, "We have imposed upon your hospitality today; another day we shall repay you with all sincerity." Then they departed in a crowd.

Before long, the red sun rose high. Tripitaka lay in a daze, unable to tell east from west or south from north. Just when he thought his end had come, he suddenly saw an old man, carrying a staff, approaching. The old man came forward, waved his hand, and the ropes fell away. He blew a breath across Tripitaka's face, and Tripitaka revived. He knelt on the ground and bowed, saying, "Many thanks, old grandfather, for saving this poor monk's life." The old man returned the courtesy and said, "Rise. Have you lost anything?" Tripitaka said, "This poor monk's attendants have already been eaten by the monsters. I only don't know where the luggage and the horse are." The old man pointed with his staff and said, "Isn't that a horse and two bundles over there?" Tripitaka turned to look, and they were indeed his belongings, nothing lost. Only then did his heart settle somewhat. He asked the old man, "Old grandfather, what place is this? How does grandfather come to be here?" The old man said, "This is Double-Fork Ridge, the lair of tigers and wolves. How did you fall into this place?" Tripitaka said, "This poor monk left the boundary of Hezhou Prefecture at cockcrow. I did not expect to set out so early, pushing through the frost and dew, when suddenly I lost my way and arrived here. I encountered a demon king, exceedingly savage and cruel, who bound this poor monk and my two attendants. Then a dark fellow appeared, who called himself Lord Bear; and a fat fellow, who called himself the Hermit Te. They came in and addressed the demon king as General Yin. The three of them ate my two attendants, and only dispersed at daybreak. I did not expect that I, of all people, should have such great karmic fortune as to be moved by old grandfather to come here and save me!" The old man said, "The Hermit is an ox spirit; Lord Bear is a bear spirit; General Yin is a tiger spirit. His attendant monsters are all mountain spirits, tree ghosts, strange beasts, and gray wolves. It is only because your original nature is luminous that they could not eat you. Follow me, and I will lead you onto the road."

Tripitaka was overwhelmed with gratitude. He slung the bundles onto the horse, took the reins, and followed the old man straight out of the hollows and onto the main road. He tethered the horse to the grass by the roadside, turned back to bow and thank the old gentleman, but the old gentleman transformed into a gust of clear wind, mounted a red-crowned white crane, and soared into the sky. Only the wind fluttered down, leaving behind a slip of paper inscribed with four lines of verse. The verse read:

I am the Venus Star of the Western Heaven,

Who came specially to rescue your living soul.

Ahead, divine disciples will lend their aid—

Do not, in hardship, resent the sutras you bear.

Tripitaka read it and bowed toward heaven, saying, "Many thanks to the Venus Star for delivering me from this calamity." Having bowed, he led his horse and went forward, solitary and desolate, pressing on through suffering. This ridge was truly a place of:

Chilling forest winds that sough and sigh,

Gurgling mountain streams that flow nearby.

Fragrant wild flowers blooming everywhere,

Dense and jumbled rocks in thickets there.

Deer and monkeys chattering in noisy throngs,

Herds of roe and muntjacs moving along.

Birdsong clamorous on every side,

Human traces nowhere to be spied.

The elder monk trembled, his heart unstill;

The horse, weak and weary, could barely move at all.

Tripitaka risked his life and climbed upon that steep ridge. He traveled for half a day without seeing a single village or dwelling. For one thing, his stomach was hungry; for another, the road was uneven. Just when he was in desperate straits, he saw ahead two roaring tigers, and behind him several coiling serpents. On the left, venomous insects; on the right, strange beasts. Tripitaka, alone and helpless, could only let go of body and mind and leave his fate to Heaven. What was more, the horse's back was weak and its legs were bent—it knelt and collapsed onto the ground. He could not beat it up, nor could it be led. The master found no place to shelter his own body, and truly there was a thousandfold misery. He had already resolved that he must die, and there was nothing to be done.

Yet though he faced this disaster, he had one who would save him. Just when he thought his end had come, he suddenly saw the venomous insects scurry away, the strange beasts fly in flight, the tigers hide their traces, and the serpents vanish. Tripitaka raised his head and saw a man, holding a steel trident and with a bow and arrows at his waist, emerging from the slope ahead. He was truly a fine fellow. Look at him:

On his head he wore a leopard-skin cap spotted with mugwort patterns;

On his body he wore a brocade garment of woven goat's wool;

Around his waist he had belted a lion-patterned girdle;

On his feet he wore a pair of muntjac-skin boots.

His round eyes stared like a mourner at a funeral;

His whiskers curled and swirled like the river god.

He carried a pouch of poison, a bow, and arrows;

He grasped a great trident tipped with steel.

His thunderous roar struck fear into the hearts of mountain creatures;

His ferocity and courage startled the very souls of wild pheasants.

As the man drew ever nearer, Tripitaka knelt by the roadside, pressed his palms together, and called out at the top of his voice, "Great king, save my life! Great king, save my life!" When the fellow arrived, he set down his steel trident, helped the monk up with his hand, and said, "Elder, have no fear. I am no villain—I am a hunter of this mountain, surnamed Liu, given name Boqin, by nickname the Guardian Who Pacifies the Mountain. I have just come out looking for a couple of mountain beasts to eat, and I did not expect to run into you. Please forgive the offense." Tripitaka said, "This poor monk is an envoy commissioned by the Great Tang Emperor, a priest journeying to the Western Heaven to worship the Buddha and seek the scriptures. When I arrived here a short while ago, I was surrounded on all sides by wolves, tigers, snakes, and insects, unable to advance. Then I saw you, Guardian, coming, and all the wild beasts fled. You have saved this poor monk's life—many thanks, many thanks." Boqin said, "I live here and make my living by hunting wolves and tigers, catching snakes and insects to get by, which is why the beasts are afraid of me and ran off. Since you have come from the Tang, you and I are fellow countrymen. This region is still within the borders of the Great Tang; I too am a subject of the Great Tang. You and I both drink the waters and eat the soil of the same emperor—we are truly people of one nation. Have no fear. Follow me. Come to my house to rest your horse, and tomorrow I will see you on your way." When Tripitaka heard this, his heart filled with joy. He thanked Boqin and led the horse along behind him.

After they had crossed the hillside, they heard a whistling wind. Boqin said, "Elder, stop and sit here for a moment. Where the wind is blowing—a mountain cat is coming. Let me catch it and bring it home to entertain you." When Tripitaka heard this, his courage failed again and his heart trembled with fear; he dared not take another step. The Guardian took up his steel trident, strode forward, and went to meet it. Before him appeared a splendidly striped tiger. It caught sight of Boqin and turned to flee at once. The Guardian thundered, "Where do you think you're going, you wretch!" Seeing itself hotly pursued, the tiger turned and charged with claws outstretched. The Guardian raised his three-pronged trident to meet the attack. Tripitaka was so terrified that he collapsed in a heap upon the grass. From the moment this monk left his mother's womb, he had never witnessed such a fearsome spectacle. The Guardian and the tiger struggled on the slope below—a contest between man and beast, and truly a magnificent battle. Behold:

Rage billowed, and the wild wind howled. Rage billowed—the Guardian, his hat-string taut, brimming with strength; the wild wind howled—the striped brute, in full fury, spraying the red dust of the world. One bared its fangs and brandished its claws; the other shifted his footing and turned his body. The three-pronged trident blotted out the sun and shook the sky; the thousand-flower tail stirred the mist and sent the clouds flying. One thrust wildly at the chest; the other lunged to swallow him face-first. Those who dodged regained their humanity; those who were struck were certain to see the King of Hell. One heard only the tiger's roaring growl and the Guardian's savage cry. The tiger's roar shook the mountains and valleys, startling the birds and beasts; the Guardian's cry rent the heavens and revealed the stars. One glared with golden eyes ablaze; the other, emboldened, blazed with wrath. Praise the Guardian Liu who pacifies the mountain! Praise the lord of beasts who holds the ground! Man and tiger, struggling for life, vied for victory—let either slacken for an instant, and his three souls would perish.

The two fought for a full hour. At last the tiger's claws slowed and its waist slackened; the Guardian raised his trident and plunged it level into its breast. Alas! The steel point pierced through heart and liver, and in an instant blood flowed across the ground. Seizing the tiger by the ear, he dragged it up onto the road. A fine fellow—without a gasp of breath, without a change in complexion—he said to Tripitaka, "Fortune, fortune! This mountain cat will provide the Elder with a full day's food." Tripitaka praised him without end, saying, "The Guardian is truly a mountain god!" Boqin said, "What merit have I to deserve such praise? This is the Elder's great good fortune. Come, let us skin it early and cook some meat to entertain you."

With one hand he carried the trident and with the other dragged the tiger, leading the way in front. Tripitaka led the horse and followed behind. Winding their way across the hillside, they suddenly came upon a mountain manor. Before the gate, truly:

Ancient trees rose to the sky; wild vines covered the path. Ten thousand valleys lay cold in the dust of the wind; a thousand cliffs breathed a strange and wondrous air. Along the path, the fragrance of wild flowers assailed the body; several stalks of seeped bamboo shimmered in green. A gate of thatch, a fence of wattle—a scene fit for a painting; a bridge of stone slabs, walls of whitewashed earth—a place of rare and genuine delight. The autumn scene was austere, the pure air lofty and solitary. Yellow leaves fell by the roadside; white clouds drifted above the mountain pass. In the sparse forest, mountain birds chattered noisily; outside the manor gate, the slender hounds barked sharply.

When Boqin reached the gate, he threw down the dead tiger and called out, "Where are the servants?" There came out three or four household attendants, all of monstrous and fierce aspect. They came forward, dragged and hauled, and carried the tiger inside. Boqin gave orders to skin it early and prepare it to serve the guest. Then he turned and came back to welcome Tripitaka inside. After they had greeted one another, Tripitaka again bowed and thanked Boqin for his deep kindness and for sparing his life. Boqin said, "We are fellow countrymen—what need is there for such thanks?" When they were seated and tea had been served, an old woman led a daughter-in-law forward to pay her respects to Tripitaka. Boqin said, "This is my mother and my wife." Tripitaka said, "Please ask your honored mother to take the seat of honor so that I may bow to her." The old woman said, "The Elder is a guest from afar; let each of us look after himself—there is no need for formalities." Boqin said, "Mother, this man is an emissary sent by the Tang Emperor to journey to the Western Heaven to visit the Buddha and seek the scriptures. A short while ago he met your son on the mountain ridge. Your son, thinking that they were people of the same nation, invited him to our house to rest his horse, and tomorrow he will see him on his way." When the old woman heard this, she was overjoyed and said, "Good, good, good! It could not have worked out more perfectly. Tomorrow is the anniversary of your father's death. Let us ask the Elder to perform some meritorious service—recite some scriptures—and the day after tomorrow we shall send him on his way." Though this Liu Boqin was a tiger-slayer, a mountain-pacifying Guardian, he possessed a filial heart. Upon hearing his mother's words, he immediately prepared to set out incense and paper and to detain Tripitaka.

As they talked, night fell before they knew it. The servants set out tables and benches and placed several plates of well-cooked tiger meat on them, steaming hot. Boqin invited the Tripitaka to partake, and then prepared other food. The Tripitaka pressed his palms together before his chest and said, "Blessed indeed! Your servant does not conceal from you, Protector, that since leaving my mother's womb I have been a monk and have never known how to eat meat."

When Boqin heard this, he pondered for a long while and said, "Elder, for generations my humble family has not known how to eat vegetarian food. Even when we gather some bamboo shoots, pick some wood ear mushrooms, find some dried vegetables, and make some bean curd, all of it is fried in the oil of deer, antelope, tiger, or leopard—there is scarcely anything truly vegetarian. My two stoves are both thoroughly saturated with grease. What can I am I to do? It seems I have done you a disservice by inviting you."

The Tripitaka said, "Protector, do not take it to heart. Please enjoy your meal yourself. This poor monk can go three or five days without food and endure the hunger, but I dare not break my monastic vows."

Boqin said, "But what if you starve to death?"

The Tripitaka said, "I am grateful for the Heavenly favor of the Protector, who rescued me from the midst of tigers and wolves. Even if I were to starve to death, it would still be better than being fed to a tiger."

When Boqin's mother heard this, she called out, "Child, stop chatting idly with the Elder. I have vegetarian food of my own to offer him."

Boqin said, "Where does vegetarian food come from?"

His mother said, "Do not concern yourself—I have my own vegetarian provisions." She told her daughter-in-law to take down the small stove, build a fire to burn off the grease, scrubbing and washing it over and over, then set it back on the stove. First she boiled half a pot of water and set it aside. Then she took some mountain elm leaves and boiled them to make a tea broth. After that she cooked some millet rice and prepared some dried vegetables. She filled two bowls and brought them out, setting them on the table. The old mother said to the Tripitaka, "Elder, please accept this offering. This tea and rice were prepared by this old woman and my daughter-in-law with our own hands—extremely clean and pure."

The Tripitaka came down and offered his thanks before taking his seat.

Boqin set up a separate place, arranging tiger meat, fragrant deer meat, python meat, fox meat, rabbit meat, and chopped dried venison—all without salt or sauce—in full plates and bowls to accompany the Tripitaka as he ate his vegetarian meal. Just as they sat down and Boqin was about to lift his chopsticks, he saw the Tripitaka pressing his palms together and chanting a scripture. Boqin was so startled that he dared not move his chopsticks and quickly rose to stand to the side. The Tripitaka chanted only a few lines before telling him to go ahead and eat.

Boqin said, "Are you a monk who recites only short scriptures?"

The Tripitaka said, "This is not a scripture; it is a spell for revealing the meal."

Boqin said, "You monks are full of so many scruples—even when eating, you must chant and recite!"

After the meal, the bowls and plates were cleared away, and night gradually fell. Boqin led the Tripitaka out of the main hall to take a walk in the rear. They passed through a corridor and came to a thatched pavilion. Pushing open the door, they went inside. On the four walls hung several powerful bows and crossbows, with a few quivers of arrows; across the beams were draped two bloodstained tiger skins; by the base of the wall were planted many spears, swords, forks, and clubs; in the very center were two seats. Boqin invited the Tripitaka to sit. The Tripitaka, seeing such a fierce and unclean place, did not dare to sit for long and left the pavilion. They went further back and came to a large garden, where they could not take in all the clusters of chrysanthemum blossoms piled in yellow and the rows of maple trees hung with red. Then with a sudden rush, a dozen or so fat stags and a large herd of yellow roe deer came running out. Seeing the people, they stared blankly and showed no fear at all.

The Tripitaka said, "These deer and stags must be raised by the Protector?"

Boqin said, "Just as the wealthy in your city of Chang'an gather treasures and those with estates accumulate grain, we hunters can only gather and raise wild beasts to prepare for rainy days."

The two of them talked as they strolled, and before they knew it, dusk had fallen. They returned to the front hall to rest.

The next morning, the whole family rose early and prepared a vegetarian meal to serve the Elder, inviting him to begin chanting scriptures. The Elder washed his hands, and together with Boqin burned incense before the family hall and bowed to the household gods. The Tripitaka then struck the wooden fish and first recited the true words for purifying the karma of speech, then chanted the divine spell for purifying the body and mind, after which he opened the Sutra for Delivering the Dead and recited one volume. When he had finished, Boqin asked him to write a memorial for the deceased, and then he began reciting the Diamond Sutra and the Sutra of Guanyin. Each was chanted aloud in a clear, high voice. When the recitation was complete, he ate the midday meal and then recited the Lotus Sutra and the Amitabha Sutra, several volumes of each, followed by one volume of the Peacock Sutra, along with the story of the bhikshu's purification of karma. Soon it was evening again. Various offerings of incense were presented, the paper horses of the gods were burned, and the memorial document for the deceased was cremated. The Buddhist rites were complete, and everyone retired to rest.

Now, Boqin's father's soul, having been delivered from the abyss through the prayers offered on his behalf, his ghost had long since arrived at his own home. He appeared in a dream to all the elders and young of the household, saying, "In the underworld I suffered bitterly and could not escape; day after day I could not be reborn. Now, thanks to the holy monk who recited the scriptures, my sins were erased, and the King of Hell sent people to escort me to the rich lands of the Middle Kingdom, to be reborn in the house of an elder. You must properly thank the Elder and see him off—do not be remiss, do not be remiss. I am gone." Truly it was said: The solemn power of the Dharma has its purpose; prayers for the dead deliver them from suffering and raise them from the abyss.

When the whole family awoke from the dream, the sun was already rising in the east. Boqin's wife said, "Taibao, tonight I dreamed that Father came home. He said he had suffered bitterly in the underworld and could not escape, and that day after day he could not be reborn. Now, thanks to the holy monk who recited the scriptures, his sins were erased, and the King of Hell sent people to escort him to the rich lands of the Middle Kingdom, to be reborn in the house of an elder. He told us to properly thank the Elder and not to be remiss. With that, he went straight out the door and wandered away. We called him but he would not answer; we tried to keep him but could not. When I awoke, it was all a dream." Boqin said, "I had the same dream as you. Let us go and tell Mother." The two of them were just about to go and speak when they heard the old mother call out, "Boqin, my child, come here. I have something to say to you." The two went to her, and the old mother, sitting on the bed, said, "My child, tonight I had a joyful dream. I dreamed that your father came home and said that thanks to the Elder's deliverance, his sins had been erased, and he had gone to the rich lands of the Middle Kingdom to be reborn in the house of an elder." The husband and wife both laughed heartily and said, "My wife and I both had this same dream and had just come to report it. We did not expect Mother to call us—it was the same dream!" They then roused the whole household, prepared a feast of thanks, and saddled the horses. All came forward and bowed in thanks, saying, "We thank the Elder for delivering our departed father from suffering and enabling him to be reborn. We can never repay this kindness." Tripitaka said, "What merit does this poor monk have that you should trouble yourselves to thank me?"

Boqin recounted the dream of the three of them to Tripitaka, and Tripitaka was pleased. A vegetarian meal was soon served, and they also prepared an ounce of silver as thanks. Tripitaka would not accept a single coin. The whole family earnestly begged and implored, but Tripitaka still would not accept a single coin. He only said, "If you would kindly show compassion and escort me a little further, that would be kindness enough." Boqin, his mother, and his wife could do nothing. They quickly prepared some coarse baked biscuits and provisions and told Boqin to escort him far on his way. Tripitaka gladly accepted them. The Taibao, having received his mother's instructions, also called two or three household servants, each carrying hunting equipment, and they all set out together on the great road. The mountain scenery and the views along the ridges were a boundless delight.

After traveling half a day, they saw before them a great mountain, truly soaring to meet the blue sky, towering and perilous. Before long Tripitaka reached its edge. The Taibao climbed this mountain as though walking on level ground. When they had reached the halfway point, Boqin turned around and stood below the road, saying, "Elder, please go forward on your own. I must take my leave." Upon hearing this, Tripitaka dismounted from his saddle and said, "I must beg the Taibao to escort me a little further." Boqin said, "Elder, you do not know. This mountain is called the Boundary Mountain. The eastern half belongs to the jurisdiction of our Great Tang, while the western half is the territory of the Tartars. The tigers and wolves there do not submit to me, and I cannot cross the boundary. You must go on alone." Tripitaka's heart was filled with alarm. He reached out, grasping Boqin's robe and sleeves, and tears fell as they found it hard to part. Even as they were exhorting and bidding each other farewell, there came from the foot of the mountain a shout like thunder: "My master has come! My master has come!" Tripitaka was struck dumb with terror, and Boqin struggled to keep his footing.

What manner of person it was who shouted, you will hear in the next chapter.