Chapter 80

Chapter 80

Now, the officials, people, and all the inhabitants of the Kingdom of Biqiu escorted Tripitaka and his four disciples out of the city, going twenty miles before they still could not bear to part. Tripitaka reluctantly descended from his palanquin, mounted his horse, and took his leave. Those who saw him off did not return until they could no longer catch sight of his shadow.

The four travelers journeyed for a long time. Another winter passed and spring came to an end, yet they could not exhaust the wild flowers, mountain trees, and fragrant scenery. Ahead loomed another towering, rugged mountain range. Tripitaka's heart trembled with fear. He asked, "Disciples, is there a path through that mountain ahead? You must be careful." Wukong laughed and said, "Master, that remark of yours doesn't sound like a man who travels long roads—it's more like some young prince sitting at the bottom of a well, gazing at the sky. As the ancients said: 'Mountains do not obstruct the road; the road finds its way through the mountains.' Why ask whether there is a path or not?"

Tripitaka replied, "Though it is true that mountains do not obstruct roads, I fear that monsters may lurk in the treacherous places, and demons may emerge from the dense thickets." Bajie said, "Rest easy, rest easy. We are not far from the Land of Ultimate Bliss. It will surely be peaceful and uneventful."

As the master and disciples spoke, before they knew it, they had reached the foot of the mountain. Wukong pulled out his golden-banded iron staff, stepped up onto the stone cliff, and called out, "Master, this is a road that winds around the mountain—it's excellent for walking. Come quickly, come quickly." The elder had no choice but to urge his horse forward freely. Sha Wujing said, "Second Brother, carry the load for a stretch." Bajie took over the pole and hoisted the luggage onto his shoulder. Sha Wujing gathered the reins. The old master sat firmly in his carved saddle, and together with Wukong, they all raced up the great road onto the mountain cliff. And what a mountain it was:

Clouds and mist shrouded the peaks;

gurgling streams surged through the ravines.

A hundred flowers perfumed the road;

ten thousand trees grew thick and dense.

Plums were green, pear blossoms white;

willows were green, peach blossoms red.

Where the cuckoo sang, spring was fading;

the swallows chanted—the season was done.

Jagged rocks, emerald pines.

Rugged mountain ridges, towering and exquisite.

Sheer cliffs and steep precipices,

thick with creeping vines and lush with vegetation.

A thousand cranes competed in beauty like rows of halberds;

ten thousand valleys vied in flowing like distant roaring waves.

The old master slowly took in the mountain scenery when suddenly he heard the cry of a bird, and once again thoughts of home welled up in his heart. He reined in his horse and called out, "Disciples!

Heaven's tablet conveyed the imperial decree;

beneath the painted screen I received the travel pass.

On the fifteenth night I watched the lanterns and left the Eastern Land,

and only then did I part from the Tang King, separating heaven and earth.

I had but barely joined with the dragon and tiger, wind and cloud,

and now master and disciples clash on horseback.

I have crossed all twelve peaks of Wu Mountain—

when shall I face my son and see the sovereign again?"

Wukong said, "Master, you are always thinking of home. You are nothing like a true man of the Way. Set your mind at ease and travel on. Do not grieve so much. As the ancients said: 'If you seek wealth and honor, you must labor to the death.'"

Tripitaka said, "Disciple, though what you say may be reasonable, I do not know where the road to the Western Heaven still lies."

Bajie said, "Master, perhaps the Tathagata Buddha is unwilling to part with those three baskets of scriptures. Knowing that we want to fetch them, he must have moved them. Otherwise, why can we never arrive?"

Sha Wujing said, "Don't talk nonsense. Just follow Big Brother. If only we press on with effort, there will surely be a day when we arrive."

As the master and disciples were chatting idly, they came upon a vast forest of dark pines. Tripitaka grew frightened and called out again, "Wukong, we have only just passed that rugged mountain road—how do we now encounter this deep, dark pine forest? We must be on our guard."

Wukong said, "What is there to fear?"

Tripitaka said, "What kind of talk is that? 'Do not trust the straightforward in the straight; beware the kind who are unkind.' I have traveled through many pine forests with you, but none was as deep and remote as this one. Just look:

Dense from east to west, in rows from north to south.

Dense from east to west, piercing the clouds;

in rows from north to south, invading the blue sky.

Thick thorns and brambles entwine all around;

knotweed and twining branches coil above and below.

Vines wrap around creepers; creepers wrap around vines.

Vines wrapping around creepers—travelers from east and west can scarcely pass;

creepers wrapping around vines—merchants from north and south can hardly advance.

Were one to dwell in this forest for half a year, one would lose track of sun and moon;

after walking several miles, one would see neither Dipper nor stars.

Look at the thousand kinds of scenery in the shady places,

and the myriad clusters of flowers in the sunlit spots.

There are thousand-year-old locusts, ten-thousand-year-old cypresses,

cold-resistant pears, wild peony flowers, and drought-loving hibiscus—

all piled up in dense heaps, scattered in wild profusion that even immortals could not paint.

And then there are the songs of a hundred birds:

parrots chirp, cuckoos cry;

magpies dart through branches, crows feed their parents;

orioles flutter about, mockingbirds tune their notes;

partridges call, purple swallows speak;

myna birds learn to talk like men, and thrush gentlemen can even read the scriptures.

Then there are tigers swishing their tails and panthers gnashing their teeth;

foxes of many years' standing dress themselves as maidens,

and gray wolves of long standing howle and shake the forest.

Even if the Pagoda-Bearing Heavenly King came here,

though he could subdue demons, he would lose his wits."

The Great Sage Sun was utterly unafraid. He raised his iron staff and advanced,劈开 a broad path, leading Tripitaka straight into the depths of the forest. Leisurely and at ease, they traveled for half a day without finding a way out of the woods. Tripitaka called out, "Disciple, ever since we came west, we have passed countless rugged mountains and forests. Fortunately, this stretch is peaceful and pleasant—all along the road has been calm. The strange flowers and rare blossoms in this forest are truly delightful to the heart. I wish to sit here for a while: first, to rest the horse; and second, because my stomach is hungry. Go somewhere and beg some food for me to eat."

Wukong said, "Master, please dismount. Old Sun will go and beg for food."

The elder indeed dismounted. Bajie tied the horse to a tree. Sha Wujing set down the luggage, took out the alms bowl, and handed it to Wukong. Wukong said, "Master, sit quietly. Do not be frightened. I will go and come back."

Tripitaka sat down beneath the shade of a pine. Bajie and Sha Wujing went off to pick flowers and seek fruit, amusing themselves.

Here is the translation:

Now the Great Sage, having leaped on his somersault cloud, arrived halfway up the sky and paused his cloud-light to turn and look back. He saw auspicious clouds drifting ethereally and numinous mist swirling within the pine forest. Suddenly he cried out involuntarily: "Splendid! Splendid!" You may wonder why he called out in praise. It was because he was commending Tripitaka Tang, saying that he was the reincarnation of the Elder Golden Cicada, a good man who had cultivated for ten lifetimes—hence the auspicious signs hovering over his head. "If I, old Sun, back when I created havoc in the Heavenly Palace five hundred years ago, roamed the corners of the earth and wandered without restraint; I gathered a host of spirits, styled myself the Great Sage Equal to Heaven; I subdued dragons and tigers and struck my name from the rolls of death. I wore a three-peaked golden crown, I was clad in golden armor, I grasped the golden-banded cudgel, and I trod on cloud-stepping boots. Beneath me were forty-seven thousand demon followers who all called me Great Sage Grandfather—truly a man of substance. Now I have escaped heavenly calamity, humbled myself and played the lesser role, and become your disciple. Since my master has auspicious clouds and numinous mist covering his head, and will return straight to the Eastern Land, there must surely be some great benefit in it, and old Sun will certainly attain proper fruit as well."

As he was thus praising and thinking to himself, he suddenly saw a mass of black vapor rising from the southern edge of the forest, billowing upward in thick gouts. The Pilgrim was greatly alarmed and said: "There must be some evil beneath that black vapor. But my Bajie and Sha Wujing would never emit such black vapor." The Great Sage hovered in mid-air but could not make out what it was.

Now Tripitaka was sitting in the forest, illuminating his heart and seeing into his nature, reciting the Mahāprajñāpāramitā Hṛdaya Sūtra, when suddenly he heard a faint cry of "Save me!" Tripitaka was greatly startled and said: "Blessed, blessed! What sort of person could be calling out in such deep woods? Perhaps someone frightened by wolves, tigers, or wild beasts. Let me have a look." The elder rose to his feet and walked forward, passing through thousand-year-old cypresses and parting ten-thousand-year-old pines, clinging to vines and scrambling up creepers, drawing near to investigate. He saw a woman tied to a great tree—her upper body bound to the trunk with vines, her lower body buried in the earth. The elder stood still and asked: "Bodhisattva maiden, what has happened to you, that you are bound here?" Ah! Clearly this was a demon, but the elder possessed only mortal flesh and mortal eyes and could not recognize it. When the fiend saw him coming to question her, tears gushed forth like a spring. Observe: peach-blossom cheeks shedding tears—a beauty that would make fish sink and wild geese fall; starry eyes filled with sorrow—a beauty that would make the moon hide and flowers blush. The elder dared not approach, but he opened his mouth again and asked: "Bodhisattva maiden, what crime have you committed? Tell this poor monk, and I shall rescue you." The demoness spoke with crafty words and false sentiment, hastily replying: "Master, my home is in Pinpo Kingdom, some two hundred *li* from here. My parents are alive and are most devout—kind and loving to all their lives. During the Tomb-Sweeping Festival, they invited all relatives and family elders and juniors to visit the ancestral graves. A whole procession of carriages and horses arrived in the wild countryside. Before the graves, the sacrificial offerings were laid out, and just as the paper horses were being burned, we heard the beating of gongs and drums, and a band of brigands rushed out, brandishing swords and staves, shouting and charging. We were so terrified that our souls scattered. My parents and relatives who could reach horses or carriages each fled for their lives. I, a young maid, could not run, and fell to the ground in terror. The brigands carried me off into the mountains. The Great King wanted me for his consort, the Second King wanted me for his wife, the third and fourth all loved my beauty—all seventy or eighty of them quarreled together, none willing to yield, so they tied me in the forest, and the brigands dispersed. It has now been five days and five nights—I can feel my life ebbing away, and I shall not survive long. I do not know what merit my ancestors accumulated in some former life that I should meet a venerable master here today. I beg you to show great compassion and save my life. Even in the world of the dead, I shall never forget your kindness." When she had finished, tears fell like rain.

Tripitaka truly possessed a compassionate heart, and he too could not hold back his tears. His voice choked with sobs as he called: "Disciples!" Now Bajie and Sha Wujing had been in the forest seeking flowers and fruits when they suddenly heard their master calling out in such a mournful tone. The fool said: "Sha Monk, has the master found a relative here?" Sha Wujing laughed and said: "Second Brother, you talk nonsense. We have traveled all this while and never once encountered a good person—where would a relative come from?" Bajie said: "If not a relative, then why is the master crying with someone? Let us go and have a look." Sha Wujing indeed turned back to the old place, led the horse, and carried the load, coming forward and calling: "Master, what is the matter?" Tripitaka pointed with his hand at the tree and said: "Bajie, untie that Bodhisattva maiden and save her life." The fool made no distinction between good and bad and set to work.

Now the Great Sage, hovering in mid-air, again saw that dark qi so thick it completely covered the auspicious light. He cried, "Bad, bad indeed! The dark qi dims the auspicious light—could it be some fiend harming my master? Securing alms is a minor matter; I must go see to my master." He reversed his cloud head and descended into the grove. There he saw Pig recklessly untying the ropes. The Pilgrim seized him by the ear and flung him to the ground. The fool looked up, scrambled to his feet, and said, "Master told me to rescue someone. How can you rely on your strength to throw me down like that?" The Pilgrim laughed, "Brother, don't untie him. He's a monster playing tricks to fool us." Tang Sanzang scolded, "You impudent monkey, spouting nonsense again! How can you tell that a young woman like this is a demon?" The Pilgrim said, "Master, you truly don't know. These are all old tricks I've used myself—schemes to get human meat to eat. How would you recognize them?" Pig puffed out his cheeks and said, "Master, don't trust that Horse Stable Official fooling you. This woman is a local from these parts. We've come from the Eastern Land far away—we don't compete with her, and we're no relation of hers. How can you call her a monster? He's sent us on ahead, but he'll somersault back, work his magic, and return to do his sly business with her—moving into her household, so to speak." The Pilgrim shouted, "Blockhead, don't babble! Ever since old Sun came west, when have I ever been lazy? You—so lustful and heedless of life, so greedy and ungrateful, a good-for-nothing fool who doesn't know good from bad—you've been tricked into being a son-in-law for someone else, and you're the one tied to a tree!" Sanzang said, "Very well, very well. Pig, your brother Brother Monkey has usually made fair judgments. Since he says so, let's not concern ourselves with her. Let's go." The Pilgrim was overjoyed. "Excellent! Master has given the order. Please mount the horse. Once we're out of the pine forest, there will be homes where we can get you alms." The four of them advanced along the road, leaving the fiend behind.

Now, the monster, tied to the tree, ground his teeth in hatred. "For years I've heard people say that Sun Wukong has vast magical powers. Having seen him today, I find the reports are no exaggeration. That Tang monk has cultivated himself as a virgin, with not a drop of primal yang leaked. I had intended to capture him, mate with him, and achieve the Golden Immortality of the Great Unity. I didn't expect this monkey to see through my trick and rescue him. If only he had untied the ropes and set me free, I could have grabbed him in an instant—wouldn't he have been mine? Now he's carried him away with a few careless words—can this be for nothing? Let me call out twice more and see what happens." The fiend, without moving the ropes, sent forth a few words of gentle speech on a favorable breeze, which drifted softly into Tang Sanzang's ear. Do you know what she called? She called, "Master, you leave a living soul in peril unrescued—what scriptures can you obtain by worshipping Buddha with a heart so dark?"

Tang Sanzang, on horseback, heard this cry and immediately reined in his horse. "Wukong, go rescue that woman!" The Pilgrim said, "Master, we're on our way—why do you think of her again?" Sanzang said, "She's calling out again." The Pilgrim asked, "Pig, did you hear it?" Pig said, "My big ears blocked it out—I didn't hear it." He then asked, "Sha Seng, did you hear it?" Sha Seng said, "I was carrying the load ahead, not paying attention—I didn't hear it either." The Pilgrim said, "Old Sun didn't hear it either. Master, what was she calling? How come only you heard it?" Sanzang said, "What she called was reasonable. She said, 'A living soul left in peril unrescued—what scriptures can you obtain by worshipping Buddha with a heart so dark?' 'To save a one life is better than building a seven-story pagoda.' Quick, go rescue her—that's better than seeking scriptures or worshipping Buddha." The Pilgrim laughed, "Master, once you start being merciful, there's no curing you. Think about it—since you left the Eastern Land and came west, you've crossed countless mountain passes and encountered many monsters who constantly dragged you into their caves. Old Sun rescued you, and with this iron rod, I've slain thousands upon thousands of them. Today you can't bear to let one fiend die and must rescue him?" Sanzang said, "Disciple, the ancients said, 'Do not fail to do good because it is small, and do not do evil because it is small.' Go rescue him after all." The Pilgrim said, "Since Master insists, I just can't bear this burden. If you insist on rescuing him, I dare not try too hard to dissuade you—if I argue any longer, you'll just get angry. Rescue him yourself." Sanzang said, "Monkey, stop talking so much. You sit here and wait. Pig and I will go rescue her."

Tang Seng returned to the woods and told Bajie to untie the upper half of the ropes and use his rake to dig the creature's lower half free. The demon adjusted her shoes, smoothed her skirt, and joyfully followed Tang Seng out of the pine forest, where she saw Wukong. Wukong merely laughed coldly without stopping. Tang Seng scolded him, "You wretched monkey-head, what are you laughing at?" Wukong said, "I'm laughing because when fortune smiles you find good friends, but when it turns you meet beautiful women."

Tang Seng scolded him again, "You wretched gibber, what nonsense is this? I've been a monk since I left my mother's womb, and now I've been sent west with the imperial decree to devoutly worship Buddha and seek the scriptures. I'm not some fortune-hunting official—what do you mean by 'fortune turning'?" Wukong laughed and said, "Master, though you've been a monk since childhood, you only know how to read sutras and chant Buddha's name—you've never seen the laws of the land. This young woman is beautiful, and we are monks traveling with her on the road. If we happen to meet ruffians who arrest us and take us to court, no matter our talk of seeking scriptures and worshipping Buddha, they'll charge us with adultery. Even if nothing happened, they'd still charge us with kidnapping: Master would have his ordination certificate confiscated and be beaten nearly to death; Bajie would be sentenced to military exile; Sha Seng would be sentenced to penal servitude; and even I, old Sun, wouldn't escape clean—though I have a clever tongue, no matter how I argued, they'd still charge me with disobedience."

Tang Seng shouted, "Stop your nonsense! After all, I'm saving her life—how could that bring trouble? Take her along, and whatever happens, the responsibility is mine." Wukong said, "Master, though you say the responsibility is yours, you don't know that you're not saving her—you're actually harming her." Tang Seng said, "I'm saving her from the woods and giving her her life back—how is that harming her?" Wukong said, "When she was tied in the woods, whether in five days or ten days or half a month, if she had no food and starved to death, she would at least have received her whole body for the underworld. Now that you've brought her out, you ride a swift horse that travels like the wind, and we have to follow you. That woman has small feet and can barely shuffle along—how could she keep up? If you leave her behind for a moment, and she encounters wolves, tigers, or leopards, they'll swallow her in one bite—wouldn't that be harming her life instead?"

Tang Seng said, "That's right—this is something I hadn't thought of. What should we do?" Wukong laughed and said, "Carry her up and let her ride the horse with you." Tang Seng hesitated and said, "How could I share a horse with her?" — "How could she get there otherwise?" Tang Seng said, "Let Bajie carry her." Wukong laughed and said, "The fool's luck has arrived." Bajie said, "On a long journey, there's no such thing as a light burden. What luck is there in making me carry someone?" Wukong said, "With that long snout of yours, carrying her and turning your mouth to whisper sweet nothings—wouldn't that be convenient?" Bajie, hearing these words, pounded his chest and jumped up and down: "No good, no good! If the Master wants to beat me a few times, I'd rather endure the pain. Carrying her would definitely not be clean—Senior Brother always knows how to frame people. I won't carry her."

Tang Seng said, "Very well, very well. I can still walk a few steps myself. Let me get down and walk slowly with her, and have Bajie lead the empty horse." Wukong laughed loudly and said, "The fool's gotten a deal—the Master is looking out for you to lead his horse." Tang Seng said, "This monkey-head is talking nonsense again. The ancients said: 'A horse can travel a thousand miles, but without a man it cannot go on its own.' Suppose I walk slowly on the road—would you just abandon me? If I go slowly, you must all go slowly. We'll all travel together with this female bodhisattva down the mountain, and when we reach a temple, monastery, or someone's house, we'll leave her there—that too would count as saving her life."

Wukong said, "Master speaks sensibly. Let's move on quickly."

Tang Seng led the way, Sha Seng carried the load, Bajie led the empty horse with the woman following, and Wukong wielded his iron staff as the whole party advanced. Before they had gone twenty or thirty li, the sky was growing dark, and they saw another towering building with halls and pavilions. Tang Seng said, "Disciples, that must be a temple or monastery—let's ask to spend the night there and set out again tomorrow morning." Wukong said, "The Master is right. Let's all hurry along." In a moment they reached the gate, and Tang Seng instructed: "Stand a little farther off. Let me go first and ask for lodging. If it's convenient, I'll send someone to call you."

Everyone stood beneath the shade of the willows, except Wukong, who held his iron staff and kept watch over the woman.

The elder stepped forward and saw that the gate was crumbling on its hinges and falling to pieces. When he pushed it open and looked inside, he could not suppress the grief in his heart: the long corridors were silent, the ancient temple was desolate; moss covered the courtyard, and overgrowth filled the paths; only fireflies served as lanterns, and frogs' croaking replaced the water-clock's drip. The elder suddenly burst into tears. Truly it was a sight:

The halls had crumbled and collapsed, the side chambers had fallen into lonely ruin. Broken bricks and shattered tiles lay in heaps of more than ten piles, all that remained of crooked beams and snapped pillars. Green grass grew everywhere before and behind, dust buried the decayed kitchens. The bell tower had collapsed with drums whose skins were gone, and the glass lamps were damaged and broken. The golden body of Buddha had lost its luster, and the arhats lay toppled east and west. Guanyin was washed away into mud, and her willow branch and clean vase had fallen to the ground. By day there were no monks, and at night only foxes roosted there. One could only hear the wind howling like thunder—it was a place where tigers and leopards made their lairs. The walls on all four sides had collapsed, and there were no doors to close.

There is a poem as evidence. The poem says:

For years this ancient temple has had no one to repair it,

In wretched ruin, collapsed and broken beyond restoration.

Fierce winds have cracked the monastery's face,

Heavy rains have battered the Buddha's head.

The guardian spirits, damaged, lie scattered and soaked,

The Earth God, homeless, is not tended at night.

There are two things more worthy of sighs:

The bronze bell lies upon the ground, its tower gone.

With forced courage, Tripitaka walked through the second gate. He saw that both the bell tower and drum tower had collapsed. Only a single bronze bell remained, planted in the ground—its upper half white as snow, its lower half blue as indigo. It was because of the passage of many years: the top had been bleached white by the rain, while the bottom had taken on the verdigris from the earth's vapors. Tripitaka touched the bell with his hand and cried out loudly:

"Bell! Once you hung from a high tower and roared, once you rang out across painted beams. Once you sounded at the crowing of the rooster to herald the dawn, once you marked the evening's approach to send off the dusk. I wonder where the Taoist who smelted the copper has gone, or where the craftsman who cast you now dwells. I imagine both have returned to the realm of shades—he is without a trace, and you are without sound."

The elder's loud lament stirred the people within the hidden temple. Inside there was a Taoist who tended the incense. Hearing a human voice, he scrambled up, picked up a broken brick, and struck it against the bell. The bell rang out with a clang. The elder was so frightened he stumbled and fell. He struggled to get up and leave, but tripped over a tree root and fell again. Lying on the ground, the elder raised his head and called out once more:

"Bell! This poor monk was just sighing over you, when suddenly you rang out with a single clang. I suppose no one passes by on the road to the Western Heaven, and after many long years you have transformed into a spirit."

The Taoist hurried forward and helped him up. "Venerable sir, please rise. It is not that the bell has become a spirit—it was I who struck it just now." Tripitaka looked up and saw that his features were ugly and dark. "Could you be a demon or a goblin? I am no ordinary man—I come from the Great Tang, and I have disciples who can subdue dragons and tigers. If you run into them, you will not survive."

The Taoist knelt down. "Venerable sir, do not be afraid. I am no demon. I am the Taoist who tends the incense in this temple. Just now I heard your kind words of praise and wanted to come out to welcome you. But I feared it might be an evil ghost knocking at the door, so I picked up a broken brick and struck the bell once to calm my fright before daring to come out. Please, sir, rise."

Only then did Tripitaka compose himself. "Abbot, you nearly frightened me to death. Lead me inside."

The Taoist led Tripitaka straight to the third gate, and what he saw there was very different from the outside. He beheld:

Walls of blue brick built like walls of colored cloud, halls roofed with green tiles of glazed brilliance. Sacred images adorned with gold, terraces of white jade constructed. The Great Hero Hall shimmered with a blue radiance, the Virochana Pavilion bristled with keen energy. Manjusri's Hall was wreathed with gathered colors and flying clouds, the Sutra Repository was painted with flowers piled like emeralds. Treasured flasks crowned the three-tiered rooftops, embroidered canopies lay flat in the Five Blessings Tower. A thousand green bamboo stalks swayed by the meditation couches, ten thousand blue pines reflected upon the Buddha's gate. Golden light shone from the Azure Cloud Palace, auspious mist drifted among the purple haze. In the morning, fragrant winds were heard from the four distant fields; in the evening, painted drums echoed from the high mountains. Surely there were those who mended their tattered robes in the morning sun, and those who finished their sutras by moonlight. And he saw too: half a wall of lamplight illuminating the rear courtyard, a line of fragrant incense mist shining in the central hall.

When Tripitaka saw this, he dared not enter. "Taoist," he said, "why is everything in front so dilapidated, while everything back here is so well kept?"

The Taoist smiled. "Venerable sir, this mountain is full of demons and bandits. When the weather is clear, they rob along the mountain; when it is overcast, they take shelter in the temple. They push over the Buddha images to sit on them, and carry off the timber to burn for fire. The monks of this temple are weak and dare not argue with them, so they have given the ruined rooms in front to those ransackers to stay in, and newly converted some donors to build that temple back there. The pure and the impure are kept separate—such are the ways of the Western Regions."

Tripitaka said, "So that is how it is."

As they walked along, he saw five large characters on the mountain gate: "Zhenhai Chanlin Temple" (Ocean-Guarding Forest of Meditation Temple). He had just stepped inside when a monk appeared. See what he looked like:

He wore a left-fastened cap of velvet brocade,

With a pair of copper rings hanging from his ears.

He was dressed in a garment of Tibetan woolen thread,

And his pair of white eyes gleamed like silver.

In his hand he shook a rattle-drum,

And in his mouth he recited foreign sutras, unintelligible.

Tripitaka did not at first recognize him—this was a lama monk of the Western road.

The lama monk came out through the gate and saw that Tripitaka had clear features and handsome brows, a broad forehead and flat crown, ears that hung down to his shoulders, and hands that reached past his knees—he looked like a lohan descended to the mortal world, exceedingly elegant. The lama stepped forward and seized him, smiling broadly as he squeezed his hands and feet, pinched his nose, and pulled his ears, to show his affection. He led him to the abbot's quarters, and after they had exchanged formal greetings, he asked, "Where does the master come from?"

Tripitaka said, "I am an imperial envoy from beneath the throne of the Great Tang in the East, sent to the Great Thunderclap Temple in the Kingdom of Tianzhu in the West to worship the Buddha and obtain the scriptures. Having arrived at this precious place as evening falls, I have come to your venerable monastery to request lodging for one night, departing early tomorrow. I humbly ask for your convenience."

The monk laughed. "This will not do, this will not do! We did not become monks out of any noble intention. It was because our parents gave us life, and our fates were overshadowed by the Floral Canopy star—we could not be kept at home, so we were given away to become monks. Now that we are disciples of the Buddha, do not speak empty words."

Tripitaka said, "I speak the truth."

The monk said, "From the Eastern Lands to the Western Heaven—how many leagues is the journey? On the roads there are mountains; in the mountains there are caves; in the caves there are spirits. You, a lone traveler, and so delicately made—you hardly look like a scripture-seeker."

Tripitaka said, "Abbot, you have a point. How could this poor monk have arrived here alone? I have three disciples who open the way through mountains and build bridges over rivers, protecting your junior brother, and so I have reached your venerable monastery."

The monk said, "Where are your three esteemed disciples?"

Tripitana said, "They wait outside the mountain gate."

The monk was alarmed. "Master, do you not know that here we have tigers and wolves, demons, bandits, and ghosts that harm people? During the day we dare to venture only a short distance, and before evening falls we close the gates. And you have left your men outside at this hour?"

He called out: "Disciples, go quickly and invite them inside."

Two young lama monks came running out, saw Pilgrim, and were so frightened they stumbled and fell; then they saw Pigsy and stumbled and fell again. Scrambling to their feet, they ran toward the back of the monastery, shouting, "Grandfather, we're out of luck! We couldn't find your disciples—there are only three or four demons standing at the gate." Tripitaka asked, "What did they look like?" The young monk replied, "One had a thunder-god's beak, another had a pestle-shaped snout, and a third had a blue face and fangs. There was also a woman beside them, quite a painted and powdered creature." Tripitaka laughed and said, "You don't recognize them. Those three ugly ones are my disciples. That woman is someone I rescued from the pine forest." The lama said, "Grandfather! You're such a handsome master—why did you go and find disciples so ugly?" Tripitaka said, "Ugly they may be, but each of them is useful. Quick, invite them in. If you delay any longer, the one with the thunder-god's beak might cause some trouble—he wasn't born of mortal parents, you know, and he'll come barging in."

The young monk hurried out at once and knelt down trembling. "Honorable lords," he stammered, "the Venerable Master Tang invites you." Pigsy laughed and said, "Brother, it's fine that he's inviting us, but why is he trembling like that?" Pilgrim said, "He's frightened by how ugly we are." Pigsy said, "What nonsense! We were born this way—who would choose to be ugly on purpose?" Pilgrim said, "Let's at least tidy up our ugly looks a bit." The Fool actually tucked his snout into his chest, lowered his head, and led the horse; Sha Monk shouldered the load; Pilgrim walked behind with his staff, escorting the woman. In this fashion they all went in.

They passed through the ruined corridors, entered through three sets of gates, tied up the horse, and set down the load. They went into the abbot's quarters and were presented to the lama monks, and places were assigned to them. The monk went inside and led out some seventy or eighty young lamas, who finished their greetings, after which a vegetarian meal was prepared and served. Truly:

Merit is built upon thoughts of compassion;

When the Dharma flourishes, monk praises monk.

But as for how they left the monastery, that will be told in the next chapter.