第016回

Chapter 16

Now, he and his master rode their horses forward until they reached the gate of the mountain to take a look, and indeed it was a monastery. They saw:

Layer upon layer of halls and chambers, row upon row of corridors and galleries. Beyond the Three Mountain Gates, lofty and majestic, ten thousand rays of colored clouds enshrouded the scene; before the Hall of Five Blessings, resplendent and radiant, a thousand wisps of red mist curled about. On both sides, groves of pines and bamboos; in one forest, cypresses and junipers. The pines and bamboos on both sides, ageless and timeless, naturally serene and still; the cypresses and junipers in one forest, endowed with color and beauty, stood proud and graceful. They also saw the tall Bell and Drum Tower, and the soaring pagoda. The meditating monks had settled their natures; the birds singing on the trees had leisurely voices. Lonely and free from dust—truly lonely; pure and empty, possessed of the Way—truly pure and empty.

A poem says:

The supreme monastery of the Buddha's garden hides in an emerald hollow,

This temple's surpassing beauty rivals the Saha world.

Truly, pure lands are rare among men,

And famous mountains under heaven are mostly claimed by monks.

The Elder dismounted, and the Pilgrim set down his load. Just as they were about to enter the gate, they saw a company of monks come out. See how they were dressed:

They wore hair-pinning caps on the left, and robes free of defilement.

Bronze rings hung from both ears, silk bands cinched their waists.

They walked steadily on straw sandal feet, wooden fish held in their hands.

Their mouths constantly chanted, devoted to Prajna in all things.

When Tripitaka saw them, he stood by the gate and offered a greeting. The monks quickly returned the bow, smiling, "We failed to notice you. Where have you come from? Please come to the abbot's quarters for tea." Tripitaka said, "I am an imperial envoy from the Eastern Land, going to the Thunderclap Monastery to worship the Buddha and seek the scriptures. The sky is growing late here, and I wish to spend the night at your monastery." The monks said, "Please come in and sit down, please come in and sit down." Tripitaka then called the Pilgrim to lead the horse inside. The monks suddenly caught sight of the Pilgrim's appearance and were somewhat frightened. They asked, "What sort of creature is that leading the horse?" Tripitaka said, "Speak softly, speak softly. He has a quick temper. If he hears you call him a 'creature,' he will be angry. He is my disciple." The monks shivered, bit their fingers, and said, "Why take on such a hideously ugly fellow as a disciple?" Tripitaka said, "You can't tell by looking—ugly as he is, he is very useful."

The monks had no choice but to accompany Tripitaka and the Pilgrim through the mountain gate. Inside the mountain gate, they saw four large characters inscribed above the main hall: "Chan Monastery of Guanyin." Tripitaka was overjoyed and said, "I have repeatedly felt the Bodhisattva's sacred grace and have yet to kowtow my thanks. Now that I have come upon this monastery, it is as if I have seen the Bodhisattiva herself—how wonderful to offer my thanks!" Hearing this, the monks immediately ordered the temple keepers to open the hall door and invited Tripitaka to bow in worship. The Pilgrim tethered the horse, set down his luggage, and went up into the hall with Tripitaka. Tripitaka spread his back, stretched his body, laid his chest upon the ground, and kowtowed to the golden image. The monks then went to beat the drum. The Pilgrim went to strike the bell. Tripitaka prostrated himself before the platform, pouring out his heart in prayer. When his worship was finished, the monks stopped beating the drum, but the Pilgrim continued to strike the bell without ceasing—now fast, now slow—for a long time. The temple keeper said, "The worship is finished. Why are you still striking the bell?" Only then did the Pilgrim drop the bell mallet and laugh. "You don't understand! This is what they call 'be a monk for a day and strike the bell for a day.'" This commotion startled the monks large and small, the elders of the upper and lower quarters throughout the monastery. Hearing the bell ringing wildly, they all rushed out together and demanded, "What wild man is here banging on the bell and drum?" The Pilgrim leaped out and shouted, "It's your Grandfather Sun, striking it for fun!" When the monks saw him, they were so frightened they stumbled and rolled, all crawling on the ground and crying, "Grandfather Thunder!" The Pilgrim said, "Thunder is my great-grandson! Get up, get up, don't be afraid. We are lords who have come from the Great Tang of the Eastern Land." Only then did the monks bow in reverence. When they saw Tripitaka, they finally relaxed and lost their fear. The abbot of the monastery said, "My lords, please come to the rear abbot's quarters for tea." They then untied the halter and led the horse, carried the luggage, passed around the main hall, and went directly into the rear chambers, where they took their seats in order.

The abbot offered tea and then arranged a vegetarian meal. It was still early in the day, and Tripitaka had barely finished expressing his thanks when two young novices came from the rear, supporting an old monk. See how he was dressed:

On his head he wore a square Dharma hat of Pilu, its cat's-eye stone jewel gleaming with splendor; on his body he wore a brocade-velvet cassock, its emerald fur and gold trim shining brilliantly. A pair of monk's shoes were studded with eight treasures; a single staff was inlaid with cloud and star patterns. His face was full of wrinkles, like the Old Mother of Mount Li; his pair of dim eyes were like the Dragon King of the Eastern Sea. His mouth could not keep the wind because his teeth had fallen out; his waist was hunched and his back bent from sinew contraction.

The monks said, "The Patriarch has come." Tripitaka bowed and saluted him, saying, "Old Abbot, your disciple offers his respects." The old monk returned the greeting, and they all took their seats. The old monk said, "Just now my little ones said that lords from the Tang of the Eastern Land had arrived, so I came out to pay my respects." Tripitaka said, "I have presumptuously come to your precious mountain, not knowing good from bad. Forgive me, forgive me." The old monk said, "I dare not, I dare not." He then asked, "My lord, how great is the distance from the Eastern Land to here?" Tripitaka said, "Beyond the borders of Chang'an, there are over five thousand li. After crossing the Two-Boundary Mountain, I took on a group of small disciples. Along the way, we passed through the Western Kingdom of Habit. After two months, we traveled another five or six thousand li before arriving at your venerable place." The old monk said, "That must be ten thousand li away. I have lived my life in vain—I have never even left the mountain gate. Truly, I am one who 'sits at the bottom of a well and looks at the sky,' a worthless old fool." Tripitaka then asked, "How old are you, Old Abbot?" The old monk said, "Foolishly, I have reached two hundred and seventy years." The Pilgrim, hearing this, said, "That would make you my ten-thousand-generation grandson." Tripitaka gave him a look and said, "Watch your words. Don't fail to know your place and offend people." The monks then asked, "My lord, how old are you?" The Pilgrim said, "I dare not say."

The old monk took his words as mere raving and paid them no mind, pressing the matter no further. He simply called for tea to be served. A young novice brought out a tray of white jade-like porcelain, along with three gilt-rimmed teacups inlaid with cloisonné. Another boy ladled out a white copper pot and poured three cups of fragrant tea. Indeed, its color rivaled the brilliance of pomegranate stamens, and its fragrance surpassed that of osmanthus flowers. When Tripitaka saw them, he could not stop praising them: "What fine objects! Truly fine vessels to match fine food!" The old monk said: "You do us too much honor, too much honor. Your Reverence comes from the great Celestial Court, a land of broad acquaintance with rare treasures. Why bestow such praise on mere trinkets like these? Since Your Reverence has come from the Eastern Kingdom, surely you carry some precious object? Might you allow your disciple to see it?" Tripitaka said: "Alas, in our Eastern Land there are no great treasures. Even if there were, the journey is too long and arrying them would be impossible." Pilgrim, standing nearby, said: "Master, I saw that kasaya robe in the bundle the other day—is that not a treasure? Why not show it to them?" When the monks heard the word "kasaya," they all smiled coldly. Pilgrim said: "Why are you all smiling?" The monastery warden said: "Your Reverence just claimed the kasaya was a treasure—truly a laughable remark. If we speak of kasayas, men like us possess no fewer than twenty or thirty. As for our patriarch, who has been a monk here for two hundred and fifty or sixty years, he must have some seven or eight hundred!" He called out: "Bring them out and let's see!" The old abbot, eager to show off, ordered the monks to open the storeroom. The novices carried out twelve cabinets and set them in the courtyard. They unlocked them, set up clothing racks on either side, strung ropes all around, and hung up the kasayas one by one, shaking them out to display them for Tripitaka's viewing. Indeed, the hall was filled with brocade and embroidery, the walls draped with silks and gauzes.

Pilgrim examined them one by one—all of them embroidered with flowers and woven with gold thread, needlework and appliqué—and laughed: "Fine, fine, fine! Put them away, put them away. Take ours out and let them look." Tripitaka pulled Pilgrim aside and whispered: "Disciple, do not compete in wealth with others. You and I are traveling alone—I fear something may go wrong." Pilgrim said: "What harm is there in showing the kasaya?" Tripitaka said: "You do not understand. The ancients said: 'Rare and precious things must not be shown to the greedy and deceitful.' Once such things enter their eyes, their hearts will surely be moved; once their hearts are moved, schemes will surely arise. You are one who fears disaster—if they ask for it and you give it, well and good. Otherwise, the loss of life and the destruction of the body will all stem from this. It is no small matter!" Pilgrim said: "Rest assured, rest assured—leave it all to old Monkey!" You see him—without another word, he hurried over, untied the bundle. At once a radiance burst forth; the robe was still wrapped in two layers of oil paper. He removed the paper, took out the kasaya, and shook it open. Red light filled the room; colored vapors pervaded the courtyard. When the monks saw it, there was not one whose heart did not rejoice and whose mouth did not praise it. Truly a magnificent kasaya! Upon it were:

A thousand ingenious craftings of dangling pearls,

Ten thousand rarities of Buddhist treasures amassed.

Dragon sinews above and below spread brocade and silk,

Four sides bordered with gossamer and brocade trim.

Wearing it, the demons of the dark are destroyed;

Donning it, the mountain spirits descend to the Yellow Springs.

Woven by the hands of a celestial immortal,

None but a true monk dare put it on.

When the old abbot saw such a treasure, a scheming heart was indeed stirred within him. He stepped forward, knelt before Tripitaka, and tears streamed from his eyes. "Your disciple is truly without karma!" Tripitaka helped him up and said: "What is the venerable warden saying?" He replied: "Your Reverence's treasure was just unfolded, but the sky is already dark. Alas, my eyes are clouded and dim—I cannot see it clearly. Is this not the absence of karma?" Tripitaka said: "Let someone bring a lamp, so you may look again." The old monk said: "Your Reverence's treasure already shines with its own light. If we light a lamp on top of that, it will only dazzle the eyes—I could never examine it closely." Pilgrim said: "How then would you like to look at it?" The old monk said: "If Your Reverence would graciously trust me, allow your disciple to take it to the back quarters and examine it carefully through the night. Tomorrow morning I will return it to Your Reverence for your journey west. What does Your Reverence think of this?" When Tripitaka heard this, he was alarmed and reproached Pilgrim: "It's all your fault, all your fault!" Pilgrim laughed: "What are you afraid of? Let me wrap it up and let him take it to look at. If anything goes wrong, old Monkey takes full responsibility." Tripitaka could not stop him. He handed the kasaya to the old monk and said: "Take it and look as you wish. But return it to me tomorrow morning just as it is—do not stain or damage it in the slightest." The old abbot, overjoyed, ordered the young novice to carry the kasaya inside. He then instructed the monks to sweep the front meditation hall clean, bring two rattan beds, prepare bedding, and invite the two honored guests to rest. He also arranged for a farewell breakfast to be prepared for the morning. With that, everyone dispersed. The master and disciple closed the meditation hall door and lay down to sleep.

Now then, the old monk had the kasaya in his hands. He took it to the back room, where beneath the lamp he wept and wailed over the robe. This so alarmed the monks of the temple that none dared sleep. A young page, not knowing the cause, went to report to the others: "The old master has been wailing since the second watch, and he still won't stop." Two of his favorite disciples stepped forward and asked, "Master, why do you weep?" The old monk said, "I weep because I have no destiny—I cannot look upon the Tang monk's treasure." A junior monk said, "Master, you are advanced in age and have had your share of blessings. The kasaya lies before you; simply unfold it and look at it. Why must you weep?" The old monk replied, "I cannot look upon it for long. I am two hundred and seventy years old, and in vain have I acquired several hundred kasayas. How can I obtain this one? How can I become a monk like Tang Seng?" The junior monk said, "Master, you are mistaken. Tang Seng is a wandering monk who has left his home and family. You, at your advanced age, already enjoy enough. Why would you want to be a wandering monk like him?" The old monk said, "Though I sit at home in comfort and take pleasure in my twilight years, I cannot wear his kasaya. If I were allowed to wear it for even a single day, I could die with my eyes closed—that would make my life as a monk in this world worthwhile." The monks said, "What nonsense! If you want to wear his, what difficulty is there? Tomorrow we will make him stay for one day, and you can wear it for one day; make him stay ten days, and you can wear it for ten days. That settles it. Why must you weep like this?" The old monk said, "Even if I make him stay for a year, I would only wear it for a year. In the end, it would not last. When he wishes to leave, I must let him go. How can I keep him for long?"

While they were speaking, a junior monk named Guangzhi stepped forward and said, "Master, if you wish to keep it for long, it is easy." Hearing this, the old monk was delighted. "My child, what is your wise plan?" Guangzhi said, "The Tang monk and his disciple are travelers on the road and have endured great hardship. They are now asleep. Let us gather a few strong men, take up spears and swords, break open the meditation hall, and kill them. We will bury the bodies in the back garden. Only our household will know of it. Then we can take his white horse and baggage, and keep the kasaya as a treasure to pass down to our descendants. Would this not be a plan for the lasting benefit of our children and grandchildren?" The old monk, hearing this, was overjoyed. He wiped his tears and said, "Good, good, good! This plan is absolutely brilliant." He at once set about preparing the weapons.

Among them was another junior monk named Guangmou, Guangzhi's junior brother, who stepped forward and said, "This plan is not good. If we are to kill them, we must first observe the situation. The pale-faced one seems easy, but the hairy-faced one seems difficult. If we fail to kill them, will we not bring disaster upon ourselves? I have a method that requires no weapons. I wonder what you think of it." The old monk said, "My child, what is your method?" Guangmou said, "In my humble opinion, let us summon all the monks from the eastern mountain, large and small, and have each bring a bundle of dry firewood. We will sacrifice the three rooms of the meditation hall and set them on fire, so that they have no way to escape. We will burn them together with the horse. Even if people before and after the mountain see it, they will only say that they were careless and started a fire, burning down our meditation hall. Will not both monks be burned to death? This will also cover people's eyes and ears. Will not the kasaya become our family's heirloom?" When the monks heard this, there was not one who was not delighted. They all said, "Excellent, excellent, excellent! This plan is even better, even better." They then told each dormitory to bring firewood. Alas! This plan was precisely what brought it about: the aged monk of long life met his doom, and the Guanyin Temple was reduced to dust. Now that temple had some seventy or eighty dormitories, with more than two hundred monks in all. That night they gathered and carried firewood, surrounding the meditation hall on all four sides so that there was no way through, and prepared to set the fire—but of this we will say no more.

Now Tang Seng and his disciples had settled down to rest. But the Pilgrim was a magic monkey. Though he lay down, he preserved his spirit and refined his qi, his eyes dimly open in a drowsy state. Suddenly he heard people moving outside without cease, and the crackling of firewood as the wind rose. His mind was suspicious. "The night is still—why are there sounds of people walking? Could it be robbers plotting to harm us?" He sprang up in one leap, wanting to open the door and look out, but feared he would wake his master. Watch him exert his spirit and shake his body, transforming into a bee. Truly it was:

Sweet of mouth, sharp of sting,

Slender of waist, light of body.

Through flowers and willows he flies like an arrow;

On catkins and fragrance he alights like a falling star.

A tiny body that can bear weight,

Thin buzzing wings that ride the wind.

From beneath the rafters he emerged to see clearly.

He saw the monks carrying firewood and grass, already surrounding the meditation hall to set it ablaze. The Pilgrim laughed inwardly. "Just as my master said—they want to take our lives and scheme for my kasaya, and so they have conceived this venomous plan. If I were to take my cudgel and beat them, pity they could not withstand it; one beating with the cudgel and they would all be dead, and my master would blame me for killing. No, no, no—I will give them a taste of their own medicine, turn their scheme against them, and make it impossible for them to stay!"

Good Pilgrim! With a single somersault he leaped up into the Southern Heavenly Gate, startling Pang, Liu, Gou, and Bi into bowing, and Ma, Zhao, Wen, and Guansuo into pressing their backs in deference. All cried out, "This is bad, this is bad! The lord who once wreaked havoc in Heaven has come again!" The Pilgrim waved his hands and said, "My lords, there is no need for ceremony, do not be alarmed. I have come to look for the Heavenly King Virūpākṣa." Before he could finish speaking, the Heavenly King arrived and came forward to greet him, saying, "It has been a long time, a long time! I heard earlier that the Bodhisattva Guanyin came to see the Jade Emperor and borrowed the Four Duty Spirits, the Six Ding and Six Jia, and the various Dharmapālas to protect the monk Tang on his journey to the West to obtain the scriptures. They said you had become his disciple. How do you find the leisure to come here today?" The Pilgrim said, "Let us not dwell on old times for now. The monk Tang has encountered villains on the road who are setting fire to him. The matter is of the utmost urgency, and I have come specifically to borrow your Fire-Quenching Hood to save him. Hand it over quickly so I can use it, and I shall return at once." The Heavenly King said, "You are mistaken. If villains have set a fire, you should borrow water to put it out. Why would you want the Fire-Quenching Hood?" The Pilgrim said, "You do not understand the situation. If you use water to put it out, the fire simply will not catch—and that would suit the villains' purposes. By using this hood, I can protect the monk Tang from harm, and as for the rest, let it burn as it may. Quickly, quickly! By now it may already be too late. Do not delay my business down below." The Heavenly King laughed and said, "This monkey still harbors such unkind intentions—he only looks after himself and does not care about others." The Pilgrim said, "Hurry, hurry! Do not bandy words and ruin a great matter." The Heavenly King dared not refuse and handed the hood over to the Pilgrim.

The Pilgrim took it, pressed down on his cloud, and went straight to the roof ridge of the meditation hall, where he covered the monk Tang, the white horse, and the luggage. He then went to sit on the roof of the abbot's quarters at the rear, where the old monk lived, to protect the kasaya. When he saw those men set their fire, he turned his fingers, recited an incantation, and sucked in a breath from the Xun direction, blowing it forth. A wind arose and whipped the fire into a roaring blaze. What a fire! What a fire! Behold:

Black smoke billowed, red flames soared. Black smoke billowed—not a single star could be seen across the vast sky. Red flames soared—the earth glowed red for a thousand leagues. At first, gleaming golden serpents; then, mighty blood-red steeds. The Three Qi of the South displayed their valor, the Great God of Fire Huolu exerted his power. Dry kindling fed the fierce nature of the flames—what need to speak of Suiren drilling wood for fire? Before the gate of hot oil, colorful flames fluttered, surpassing even the furnace of the Patriarch Laozi. Truly this was a heartless fire unleashed, how could it be stopped by those who deliberately wrought destruction? Instead of quelling the disaster, they abetted the cruelty. The wind followed the fire's force, and the flames flew over a thousand feet high; the fire rode the wind's power, and ashes burst into the clouds beyond the nine heavens. Crash, crash—just like firecrackers on New Year's Eve; roar, roar—like the sound of cannons in the army. Even the Buddha images on the premises could not escape; the monastery buildings to the east had nowhere to hide. It surpassed the night battle at Red Cliff; it outdid the fire in the Epang Palace.

Truly, a single spark can burn fields stretching for ten thousand acres. In an instant, the wind raged and the fire blazed, turning the entire Guanyin Monastery red in every quarter. You could see the monks carrying boxes and hoisting chests, grabbing tables and carrying pots, crying out in misery throughout the courtyard. Sun the Pilgrim protected the abbot's quarters at the rear, the Fire-Quenching Hood covered the meditation hall in front, and everywhere else the fire blazed fiercely—truly a red glow illuminating the heavens, golden light shining through the walls.

Unexpectedly, the fire roused the demonic beasts of an entire mountain. Some twenty leagues due south of the Guanyin Monastery stood Black Wind Mountain, and in that mountain was a Black Wind Cave. Inside the cave was a demon who had just woken and turned over in his sleep. He saw a brightness through the windows and thought it was dawn. He got up to look and saw the firelight flickering from the north. The demon was greatly alarmed and cried, "Ah! There must be a fire at the Guanyin Monastery. How careless these monks are. Let me go have a look and help put it out." The fine demon mounted a cloud and arrived at once beneath the smoke and flames. Indeed, the fire reached to the sky—the front halls were all empty, and the flames were just beginning to scorch the two corridors. He strode boldly and burst inside, calling for water, when he noticed that the rear quarters were free of fire, and on the roof ridge sat a man fanning the wind. He understood the situation at once and hurried inside to look. In the middle of the abbot's quarters there was a radiance of colorful light, and on the table lay a bundle wrapped in blue felt. He untied it and saw that it was a brocade kasaya—a treasure of the Buddhist faith. Indeed, wealth stirs the human heart. He did not put out the fire, he did not call for water. He seized the kasaya, took advantage of the commotion to plunder it, pulled back his cloud steps, and made straight for the eastern mountain.

The fire burned until the fifth watch of the night and only then died out. You could see the monks, stripped and shivering, weeping and wailing, all rummaging through the ashes for copper and iron, sifting through charred embers, and scrambling for gold and silver. Some built makeshift shelters in the wall niches; others set up stoves at the foot of the red cliff to cook their meals. They cried out their grievances and wailed their wrongs, making a clamorous racket—but of this, no more.

The Pilgrim, meanwhile, retrieved the Fire-Quenching Hood, somersaulted up to the Southern Heavenly Gate, and returned it to the Heavenly King Virūpākṣa, saying, "Thanks for the loan, thanks for the loan." The Heavenly King took it back and said, "Great Sage, you are truly sincere. I was worried you would not return my treasure and I would have nowhere to seek it, and I am glad you have brought it back so promptly." The Pilgrim said, "Am I the sort of person who would cheat someone to their face? As the saying goes, 'A good loan is a good return, and borrowing again will not be difficult.'" The Heavenly King said, "It has been a long time since we last met. Would you care to come inside and sit for a while?" The Pilgrim said, "I am not as I was before—no more sitting on a worn bench engaging in lofty discourse! Now I am protecting the monk Tang and have no leisure. Another time, another time." He hastily took leave and descended on his cloud, then appeared at the Star of the Sun. He went straight to the front of the meditation hall, shook his body and transformed into a bee, flew inside, and resumed his true form to look. The Master was still fast asleep.

Wukong called out, "Master, it's daylight now. Time to get up." Sanzang only then awoke, turned over, and said, "So it is." He put on his clothes and came out the door, but when he raised his head, he saw only crumbling red walls—the towers and halls had vanished. He cried out in alarm, "What's this? Where have all the halls and buildings gone? Why is there nothing but red walls?" Wukong said, "You're still dreaming, aren't you? There was a fire here last night." Sanzang said, "How could I not have known?" Wukong said, "I was protecting the meditation hall. I saw you were sleeping soundly and didn't want to disturb you." Sanzang said, "If you had the ability to protect the meditation hall, why didn't you save the other buildings from the fire?" Wukong laughed and said, "Let me tell you something, Master. Just as you said yesterday, they became covetous of our kasaya and plotted to burn us to death. If I hadn't caught on, we'd all be nothing but ashes and bones by now." Hearing this, Sanzang was frightened and said, "So they started the fire?" Wukong said, "If not them, then who?" Sanzang said, "Could it be that they slighted you, and you did this as a trick?" Wukong said, "Am I that sort of lazy scoundrel who would do such a wicked thing? It was truly they who set the fire. I saw how malicious their hearts were, so I didn't help them put it out at all—I just gave them a little wind to fan the flames." Sanzang cried, "Heaven! Heaven! When a fire breaks out, one should add water. Why on earth did you add wind instead?" Wukong said, "Don't you know what the ancients said? 'The man has no intention to harm the tiger, and the tiger has no intention to harm the man.' If they hadn't started the fire, why would I have stirred up the wind?" Sanzang said, "Where is the kasaya? Don't tell me it's been burned!" Wukong said, "It's fine, it's fine—it won't burn. The abbot's quarters where the kasaya is kept had no fire." Sanzang said angrily, "I don't care about your excuses. If there's even the slightest damage, I'll recite that little spell of yours, and you'll be dead." Wukong panicked and said, "Don't recite it, don't recite it! I'll find a way to return your kasaya. Let me go fetch it and we'll be on our way." Sanzang then led the horse, and Wukong shouldered the packs. They left the meditation hall and headed straight for the abbot's quarters at the rear.

Now the monks were in the midst of their lamentations when suddenly they saw the master and disciple approaching, leading the horse and carrying the packs. They were so terrified that their souls nearly left their bodies, and they cried, "The vengeful ghosts have come to claim our lives!" Wukong shouted, "What vengeful ghosts? Hand over our kasaya at once!" All the monks fell to their knees and kowtowed, saying, "Oh, noble sir! The wronged seek the wrongdoer, and the creditor seeks the debtor. Don't ask us for our lives—it was Guangmou and the old abbot who plotted to harm you. Don't demand our lives!" Wukong snapped, "You wretched creatures! Who's asking you for your lives? Just give me back the kasaya so we can be on our way!" Among them, two monks with a bit of courage said, "Sir, you were burned to death in the meditation hall. Now you've come asking for the kasaya—are you really human or are you ghosts?" Wukong laughed and said, "You miserable lot—what fire was there? Go take a look at the meditation hall up ahead, then come back and talk." The monks scrambled to their feet and went to look. The doors and windows outside the meditation hall hadn't been singed even slightly. Everyone was filled with awe, and they recognized at last that Sanzang was a divine monk and Wukong was a guardian dharma protector. They all came forward and kowtowed, saying, "We had eyes but no vision and failed to recognize that a true sage had descended to the mortal world. Your kasaya is in the abbot's quarters at the rear, with the old master."

Sanzang passed through three or four layers of ruined walls and crumbling rubble, sighing without cease. He saw that the abbot's quarters indeed had no fire. The monks rushed inside and called out, "Venerable sir! The Tang monk is a divine being—he wasn't burned to death. Instead, we've destroyed our own temple. Quickly, give him back his kasaya and let him go."

Now the old abbot had been unable to find the kasaya, and on top of that, he had burned down his own temple's buildings. He was in a state of extreme vexation and agitation when he heard these words. How could he possibly respond? Having no plan and no way forward or back, he strode out, bent at the waist, and slammed his head hard against the wall. Alas—his head was split open, blood flowed freely, his soul scattered, and his breath was cut off, his throat stained red with sand.

There is a poem to attest to this. The poem says:

How pitiful—this old monk, foolish and blind,

A wasted elder of humankind.

He sought the kasaya to pass through the ages,

Not knowing the Buddha's treasure surpasses common pages.

What's gained with ease will never long endure,

And schemes of ruin bring but failure sure.

What use were Guangzhi and Guangmou's design?

They harmed others for gain—and lost everything in the end, for naught was fine.

The monks were thrown into a panic, wailing, "Our grand master has been killed, and now the kasaya is nowhere to be found—what are we to do?" said Pilgrim. "I suspect you lot have hidden it. Come out, all of you, and prepare a roster with your names and fingerprints, so that old Sun can check each one of you." The abbots of the upper and lower quarters drew up two registers listing every monk, novice, page, and lay brother in the temple—two hundred and thirty souls in all. Pilgrim asked the Master to take the high seat, and he proceeded to call the roll from the beginning, searching each one thoroughly. He made them all loosen their robes and examined them one by one, but the kasaya was nowhere to be found. He then went through every chest and object that had been carried out of the various quarters, searching them meticulously from top to bottom, but there was not a trace of it.

Tang Sanzang was vexed at heart and filled with regret that Pilgrim had not done enough. He sat in his seat and began to recite the spell. Pilgrim dropped to the ground, clutching his head, unable to bear it. "Stop, stop!" he cried. "I'll find the kasaya for you." The monks trembled with fear and knelt down one by one to plead with Sanzang, who then stopped reciting. Pilgrim sprang to his feet in a flash, pulled out his iron staff from his ear, and was about to strike the monks, but Sanzang shouted, "You monkey! You're not afraid of the headache anymore, and now you want to be violent? Hold your hand! Harm no one. Let me question them further."

The monks kowtowed and begged Sanzang, "Spare our lives, Your Honor! We truly have not seen it. It was all that old wretch's doing. Last night he kept staring at your kasaya, weeping until the deep of night. He didn't even dare to look at it properly, but he schemed to keep it for good, to make it a family heirloom passed down through generations. He devised a plan to burn Your Honor to death. Once the fire started, a great gale arose, and everyone rushed to put out the fire and salvage belongings—no one knows what became of the kasaya."

Pilgrim flew into a rage. He strode into the abbot's quarters, dragged out the corpse of the dead old fool, stripped it, and examined it closely—but the treasure was nowhere on the body. He had the abbot's quarters dug up three feet deep, but still there was no trace. Pilgrim pondered for a long while, then asked, "Are there any demons or spirits who have attained essence in this area?" The abbot said, "If Your Honor hadn't asked, I wouldn't have thought to mention it. To the southeast here stands Black Wind Mountain, and inside Black Wind Cave lives a Black King. Our old wretch used to discuss the Way with him—he is in fact a demon. There's nothing else of note." Pilgrim said, "How far is that mountain from here?" The abbot said, "Only twenty li—you can see its peak from here." Pilgrim laughed and said, "Master, set your mind at rest. There's no need to say more—it must have been that black demon who stole it." Sanzang said, "His place is twenty li from here—how can you be so certain?" Pilgrim said, "Didn't you see the fire last night? Its light soared ten thousand li and pierced through the heavens for three days. Never mind twenty li—even two hundred li would have been illuminated. He must have seen the blazing light, seized the opportunity, and crept here in the dark. When he saw that our kasaya was a treasure, he must have snatched it amid the confusion. Let old Sun go and look for him." Sanzang said, "When you've gone, who will I rely on?" Pilgrim said, "Don't worry about that. In the dark there are spirits who will protect you; in the light, I'll have these monks attend to you." He called the monks over and said, "Some of you go bury that old wretch; some attend to my Master and look after my white horse." The monks assented. Pilgrim added, "Don't just agree with your mouths—once I'm gone, you'll stop showing respect. Those watching the Master must keep a cheerful expression; those tending the white horse must see that its water and fodder are properly mixed. If there's the slightest slip, take a look at this staff as a sample." He pulled out his staff and struck the fire-scorched brick wall with a crash, shattering it to pieces and knocking down seven or eight layers of wall besides. The monks were all weak in the limbs and trembling. They knelt, kowtowed, and wept, saying, "Grandfather, go with a peaceful heart. We will do our utmost with devoted hearts to serve Your Honor—we dare not be negligent in the slightest."

So off went the fine Pilgrim, swiftly somersaulting on his cloud straight up Black Wind Mountain to search for the kasaya. And indeed:

The golden Chan seeker set forth from the capital in quest of the true,

Bearing his staff, he journeyed west through emerald hills.

Where tigers, leopards, wolves, and serpents roamed,

Merchants, craftsmen, and travelers were rarely seen.

On the road he met with jealous monks from foreign lands,

Relying wholly on the might of the Great Sage Equal to Heaven.

Fire blazed and wind arose—the monastery was laid waste,

As the black bear stole the brocade robe by night.

What became of the kasaya on this quest, and whether fortune or calamity awaited—listen to the next chapter for the explanation.