Chapter 96

Chapter 96

Color is originally no-color, and emptiness is not empty. Silence and speech, stillness and clamor are fundamentally the same—why bother talking of dreams within a dream? The useful lies in the midst of the useless; merit is cultivated within the unmeritorious. It is simply like a fruit ripening naturally to redness—do not ask how to cultivate or sow.

The narrative turns to Tripitaka and his disciples, who used their divine powers to block the monks of Cloth-Gold Monastery. When the monks saw the dark wind pass and could no longer see the master and his disciples, they believed a living Buddha had descended to the mortal world, kowtowed, and returned home—no more of them.

The master and disciples journeyed westward, and it was precisely the season when spring had ended and summer was just beginning:

The weather is clear and mild, the air refreshing;

Lotus flowers rise from the ponds and pools.

The plums ripen after the rains have passed;

The wheat matures as the breeze blows along.

Where fragrant grass and fallen flowers lie,

The orioles grow old, the willow branches light.

River swallows carry their fledglings, practicing flight;

Mountain hens call as they feed their young.

The southern horizon's days are long at this time;

All creatures shine with brightness.

It was impossible to recount fully their morning meals and evening lodgings, their crossing of streams and following of waves. Along that road of peace and safety, they traveled for half a month. Ahead they saw another city wall drawing near. Tripitaka asked, "Disciples, what place is this again?" Pilgrim said, "I don't know, I don't know." Zhu Bajie laughed and said, "You've traveled this road before—how can you say you don't know? There's something fishy here. You're deliberately pretending not to recognize it, making fools of us." Pilgrim said, "This fool doesn't reason at all. Though I've passed this road several times, back then I was always up in the ninth heaven of the sky, riding clouds here and riding clouds away—when did I ever come down to this place? When a matter doesn't concern you, why bother investigating it? That's why I don't know. What fishiness is there, and how am I making a fool of you?"

While they were talking, before they knew it they had reached the city's edge. Tripitaka dismounted, crossed the drawbridge, and entered straight through the gate onto the main street. There he saw two old men sitting beneath an engaged porch, conversing together. Tripitaka called out, "Disciples, stand in the middle of the street, keep your heads down, and don't be presumptuous. Let me go to that porch and ask where we are." Pilgrim indeed stood still as instructed. The elder approached, pressed his palms together, and said, "Old benefactor, this poor monk greets you." The two old men had been chatting idly, discussing rise and decline, gain and loss, who was sage and who was worthy, the heroic deeds of the time—where were they now? Truly a great cause for lament. Suddenly they heard the greeting, and at once returned the ceremony, saying, "What does the elder wish to say?" Tripitaka said, "This poor monk has come from afar to worship the Buddha. Having just arrived in this precious region, I do not know its name. Is there a household of virtuous people where I might beg a meal?" The old man said, "Our humble locale is Tongtai Prefecture. Behind the prefecture there is a county called Diling County. If the elder wishes to eat, he need not go soliciting alms. Pass this memorial gateway—on the north-south street, the house facing west with a tiger-seated gate tower is the home of Squire Kou. Before his gate hangs a placard reading, 'No monk turned away.' A monk from distant lands like yourself will be fully provided for. Go, go, go! Don't interrupt our conversation." Tripitaka thanked them, turned to Pilgrim, and said, "This is Tongtai Prefecture, Diling County. The two elders said, 'Pass this memorial gateway on the north-south street, and the tiger-seated gate tower facing east belongs to Squire Kou's family, before whose gate hangs a placard reading "No monk turned away."' They told me to go to his house for a meal." Sha Wujing said, "The West is truly the land of the Buddha—there really are people who give alms to monks. Since this is a prefecture and county, we needn't present our travel permits. Let us go beg some alms to eat, and then we can be on our way."

The elder and his three companions walked slowly along the long street, and once again the people at the marketplace were startled and frightened, full of suspicion, crowding around to gape at their appearances. The elder ordered them to keep their mouths shut, saying only, "Don't be presumptuous, don't be presumptuous." The three indeed kept their heads down and dared not look up. Turning a corner, they indeed saw a north-south street.

As they walked along, they saw a tiger-seated gate tower. On the screen wall inside the gate hung a large placard, on which were written the four characters: "No Monk Turned Away." Tripitaka said, "The Western land of the Buddha is truly a place where the wise and the foolish alike practice no deceit. When the two elders spoke of it, I still did not believe them—but arriving here, it proved exactly as they said." The uncouth Bajie was about to enter. Pilgrim said, "Hold on, fool. Wait until someone comes out and we can ask the situation—then it will be proper to go in." Sha Wujing said, "Elder Brother speaks sensibly. If we go in without distinguishing inside and outside, we might cause the benefactor distress." They rested their horse and luggage at the gate.

In a moment, an old family servant came out, carrying a scale and a basket. Catching sight of them, he was so startled he dropped them and ran back inside, reporting, "Master, outside there are four extraordinary-looking monks!" The squire, leaning on a cane, was walking idly in the courtyard, his lips constantly reciting the Buddha's name. Upon hearing the report, he threw down his cane and came out to welcome them. Seeing the four of them, he was not frightened by their ugliness—he only called out, "Please come in! Please come in!" Tripitaka, humble and deferential, entered together with the rest. Turning down an alley, the squire led the way to a building and said, "These upper rooms are the Buddha hall, the sutra hall, and the refectory prepared for you venerable masters. The lower rooms are where my disciples and family live." Tripitaka praised the arrangement endlessly. He then took out his kasaya, put it on, and bowed to the Buddha. Stepping forward to survey the hall, he saw:

Incense clouds hung thick and heavy; candle flames shone with radiance. The whole hall was a dense cluster of brocade and blossoms; all around, gold was spread and colors dazzled. Vermilion frames hung high with purple-gold bells; lacquered stands were arranged in pairs with flower-patterned drums. Several pairs of banners were embroidered with the Eight Precious Things; a thousand Buddha images were all gilded in gold. There were ancient bronze censers and ancient bronze vases; carved-lacquer tables and carved-lacquer boxes. Within the ancient bronze censers, aloeswood and sandalwood were constantly burning without cease; inside the ancient bronze vases, lotuses frequently appeared in colorful display. On the carved-lacquer tables, the five clouds were fresh; in the carved-lacquer boxes, fragrant petals accumulated. The glass cups held water clear and pure; the glazed lamps burned with bright and luminous oil. A single strike of the golden chime—its resonance lingered, unhurried. Truly it was a tower of treasures untouched by the dust of the world, a family's Buddha hall rivaling the monasteries above.

The elder washed his hands, took incense, kowtowed, and finished his worship. Then he turned back and bowed to the squire. The squire said, "Wait—please come to the sutra hall so we may meet." And there he saw:

There were square cabinets and standing chests, jade boxes and golden caskets. The square cabinets and standing chests were piled with countless scriptures; the jade boxes and golden caskets held many bamboo slips and documents. On the painted lacquer desk lay paper, ink, brush, and inkstone—all exquisite writing implements of the scholar's studio; before the pepper-powder screen were books, paintings, zithers, and chess—all refined and subtly profound delights. A celestial chime of light jade and floating gold hung there, and a dragon-whisker brush-pen, draped in wind and moonlight, was suspended. The pure air refreshed the spirit, and with a purified heart, one naturally found the mind of the Dao at ease.

When the Elder arrived there, just as he was about to perform his obeisance, the layman again supported him, saying, "Please take off your Buddhist robe." Tripitaka removed his kasaya. Only then did he exchange greetings with the Elder. He was then asked to introduce the other three—the Pilgrim and his companions. They were also told to have the horse fed and the luggage placed in the corridor. Only then did the layman inquire about their journey. Tripitaka said, "This poor monk is an imperial envoy from the Great Tang in the East, sent to the precious land to visit the Vulture Peak and see the Buddha to seek the true scriptures. Having heard that your household venerates monks, I have therefore come to pay my respects, asking only for a vegetarian meal before I proceed."

The layman's face lit up with joy, and he said with a smile, "This disciple's humble name is Kou Hong, styled Dakuan. I have idled away sixty-four years. Since the age of forty, I have vowed to feed ten thousand monks, and only now is the vow being fulfilled. I have been doing this for twenty-four years, and I keep a ledger of the monks I have fed. Having nothing to do these past days, I counted the names of the monks I have fed, and I have already provided for nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-six. Only four more are needed to complete the number. Today, by the will of Heaven, four teachers have descended, completing the number of ten thousand monks. Please leave your honored names—stay for a month or so at the very least. When the vow is fulfilled, I will send the teachers up the mountain in sedan chairs and on horseback. From here to the Vulture Peak is only eight hundred miles—it is not far at all!"

When Tripitaka heard this, he was overjoyed and agreed to stay for the time being—but we will not dwell on that.

His several household servants, great and small, went into the house to fetch firewood and water, collect rice, flour, and vegetables, and prepare the vegetarian feast. They suddenly startled the Old Mistress, who asked, "Where have these monks come from? Why such haste?" The servants said, "There are just now four eminent monks. Father asked about their journey and they said they were sent by the Emperor of the Great Tang in the East to worship the Buddha Grandfather at the Vulture Peak. They must have traveled an unimaginable distance to reach us. Father says they have descended from Heaven and has ordered us to quickly prepare a feast to make offerings to them." When the old woman heard this, she too was pleased. She called to the maidservants, "Bring me clothes to put on—I also want to go take a look." The servants said, "Old Mother, only one of them is fit to look at—the other three are hideously ugly." The old woman said, "You do not understand. But if their appearance is ugly and strange, yet strangely wondrous, they must have descended from Heaven. Go quickly and inform your father first." The servant ran to the scripture hall and said to the layman, "The Old Mother has come. She wants to pay her respects to the old gentleman from the East." When Tripitaka heard this, he immediately rose from his seat. Before he could say a word, the old woman had already arrived before the hall. She raised her eyes and saw that the monk Xuanzang had a dignified bearing and a heroic countenance. Turning her face, she saw that the other three—the Pilgrim and his companions—had extraordinary appearances. Though she knew they had descended from Heaven, she was nonetheless somewhat frightened. She knelt and bowed from above. Tripitaka hastily returned the greeting, saying, "You do this Bodhisattva too much honor." The old woman asked the layman, "Why are the four masters not seated together?" Zhu Bajie pouted his lips and said, "We three are disciples." Alas! That single utterance was like a tiger's roar in the deep mountains, and the Old Mother was even more frightened.

Just as they were speaking, another servant came to report, "The two uncles have also come." Tripitaka quickly turned to look—they were two young scholars. The scholars entered the scripture hall and bowed to the Elder, prostrating themselves. Tripitaka was alarmed and hastily returned the greeting. The layman stepped forward and pulled them up, saying, "These are my two young sons, named Kou Liang and Kou Dong. They had just returned from studying in the library. They came to have their midday meal and learned that the teachers had descended, so they came to pay their respects." Tripitaka said joyfully, "How worthy! How worthy! As the saying goes: 'To raise the status of a household, one must do good; to have fine children and grandchildren, one must study.'"

The two scholars addressed their father, saying, "Where has this old gentleman come from?" The layman smiled and said, "From very far away. He is an imperial envoy from the Great Tang in the East, in the Continent of Jambudvipa, sent to the Vulture Peak to worship the Buddha Grandfather and obtain the scriptures." The scholars said, "I have read in the *Shilin Guangji* that there are only four great continents under heaven. Our land is called Western Continent of the Cattle-Gift, and there is also an Eastern Continent of Superior Victory. I imagine that to come from the Southern Continent of Jambudvipa to here must have taken countless ages." Tripitaka smiled and said, "This poor monk has spent more days delayed on the road than days actually traveling. I have constantly encountered vicious demons and fierce monsters, enduring myriad sufferings and a thousand hardships. I have relied entirely on the protection of my three disciples. Altogether, we passed through fourteen cycles of winter and summer before reaching this precious land."

When the scholars heard this, they praised him without end, saying, "Truly a divine monk! Truly a divine monk!"

Before they had finished speaking, a young servant came to invite them, saying, "The vegetarian feast has been laid out. Please, masters, come to the meal." The layman asked the Old Mother and his sons to return to the main house, while he himself accompanied the four monks to the refectory to partake of the vegetarian meal. The arrangement there was impeccable, and this is what they saw:

Golden lacquer tables and black lacquer armchairs. In the first row were five-colored exquisite fruits, all newly fashioned in the latest style by skilled craftsmen; the second row held five plates of small dishes; the third row, five saucers of fruit; the fourth row, five large plates of snacks. Every item was sweet and delicious, every piece fragrant and savory. Plain soup and steamed rice, hot and fragrant mantou buns, all piping hot and most satisfying—truly enough to fill the stomach. Seven or eight servants hurried back and forth attending to them, and five or six cooks never rested their hands.

Look—those who served soup served soup, those who added rice added rice, coming and going like a meteor chasing the moon. As for Zhu Bajie, he consumed one bowl after another, like the wind sweeping away clouds. The master and disciples enjoyed their fill. The Elder rose and thanked the layman for the meal, intending to be on his way. But the layman stopped him, saying, "Teacher, rest here peacefully for a few days. As the saying goes, 'It is easy to begin but hard to finish.' Wait until I have completed the fulfillment of my vow, and then I will dare to send you on your way." Seeing that his heart was sincere and his words earnest, Tripitaka had no choice but to stay.

In no time at all, five or seven mornings and evenings had passed, and the squire had invited twenty-four local monks who respond to the Buddha to conduct a complete Dharma assembly. The monks spent three or four days preparing, then chose an auspicious day to begin the Buddhist rites. There, just as in the mortal world of the Great Tang, things were indeed thus:

The great banners were raised high, and the golden images were arrayed; all together they held candles, burning incense and making offerings. Drums were beaten and gongs were struck, sheng pipes were blown and reed pipes were fingered. Cloud gongs and transverse flutes sounded clear—all in the *che* and *gong* notation. They struck once, blew once, and in clear, unified voices opened the scripture repository. First they pacified the local earth spirit, then they invited the divine generals. Documents were dispatched, and the Buddha images were venerated. They recited the *Peacock Sutra*, each verse dissolving calamities and hindrances; they lit a rack of Medicine Master lamps, their flames blazing bright with light. They performed the Water Repentance to resolve karmic grievances; they chanted the *Flower Ornament Sutra* to dispel slander and calumny. The wondrous Dharma of the three vehicles was practiced with utmost diligence; every monk, whether one or two, was the same.

Thus they carried on for three days and nights, and the Dharma assembly was completed. Tripitaka thought of Thunder Sound Monastery and was single-minded in his desire to depart, so he took his leave again. The squire said, "Master, you are most urgent in your departure. I imagine the recent bustle of the Buddhist rites has been so great that we have been remiss in our hospitality—could you be harboring some grievance?" Tripitaka said, "We have imposed deeply upon your household. I do not know how to repay you—how could I presume to harbor a grievance? It is just that when the sacred sovereign of that time saw me out of the pass, he asked when I would return, and I rashly answered that I could return in three years. I did not expect the delays along the way, and now it has already been fourteen years. Whether I will obtain the scriptures is still unknown, and even if I return, it will take another twelve or thirteen years—would this not violate the imperial decree? What punishment could be sufficient? I beg the old squire to let this poor monk proceed. When I return with the scriptures, I will come to your estate again and stay for some time—what would be wrong with that?"

Wuneng could not restrain himself and shouted, "Master, you are really not accommodating others' wishes—you are being most unreasonable. The old squire is enormously wealthy and has made such a vow to feed monks, and now it has been fulfilled. Besides, he has been so earnest in asking us to stay—even a year or so would be no trouble. Why must you insist on leaving? You won't eat this ready-made, excellent vegetarian feast, yet you want to go begging for alms from others. Do you have some old grandparent or old mother-in-law up ahead?" The Elder scolded him with a shout: "You stupid creature, you only know how to eat and don't care at all about the causes of merit transference. You are truly the kind of animal that eats from the trough and scratches its stomach. Since you all insist on greed, anger, and delusion, tomorrow I shall go by myself." Xingzheng saw that his master had changed his countenance, so he seized Wuneng and punched him repeatedly on the head, cursing, "You dunce, you don't know what's good or bad—you've made the master angry with all of us." Shaseng laughed and said, "Well hit, well hit! Even without speaking, he was annoying, and now he's butted in too." The dunce stood off to the side, fuming, and dared not speak again. The squire saw that the master and disciples had become irritated and could only smile apologetically and say, "Master, do not be vexed. Please be a little more patient today. Tomorrow I will prepare banners and drums, invite some neighbors and relatives, and see you off on your journey."

Just as they were discussing this, the old matron came out again and said, "Old Master, since you have graciously come to our humble home, there is no need to refuse so stubbornly. How many days have you been here now?" Tripitaka said, "It has already been half a month." The old matron said, "These half a month count as my husband's merit. I also have some money from my needlework, and I too wish to feed the Old Master for half a month." Before she had finished speaking, Kou Dong and his brother came out again and said, "Four honorable masters, our father has been feeding monks for more than twenty years and has never met worthy men before. Now that the assembly is complete, your four honors have descended upon us—truly, our humble home is glorified. We are young and do not understand karma, but we have often heard it said: 'If the husband cultivates, the husband gains; if the wife cultivates, the wife gains; if one does not cultivate, one gains nothing.' Our father and our mother each wish to offer their humble gifts—each seeking to gain some karma. Why must you refuse so stubbornly? Even we, your foolish brothers, have some money for tutoring, and we too hope to support the masters for half a month before seeing you off." Tripitaka said, "The great Bodhisattva, your venerable mother, has already shown such kindness that I dare not accept—how could I also accept the generous love of the worthy young gentlemen? I absolutely dare not accept it. I must definitely set out today—I beg you not to take offense. Otherwise, having long exceeded the imperial deadline, my crime would be beyond pardon." The old matron and her two sons saw that he was obstinate and would not be persuaded, and they became angry. They said, "We meant well in asking him to stay, but he is so stubbornly determined to leave. If he wants to leave, let him leave—why all this fuss?" The mother and sons then withdrew inside.

Wuneng could not hold his tongue and said to Tripitaka again, "Master, don't overdo it. As the saying goes, 'If you stay, you can be blamed for staying.' Let us stay for a month and fulfill the mother and son's wish—why must you be in such a rush?" Tripitaka scolded him again with a shout, and the dunce slapped his own mouth twice and said, "Pah! Pah! Pah! I told myself not to talk so much, and I spoke again!" Xingzheng and Shaseng giggled to one side. Tripitaka then scolded Xingzheng: "What are you laughing at?" and immediately made a mudra, ready to recite the Tight-Furrow Incantation. Xingzheng was so frightened that he fell to his knees and said, "Master, I wasn't laughing, I wasn't laughing. Please don't recite it, don't recite it."

The squire saw that the master and disciples were growing increasingly vexed and no longer dared to press them to stay. He only said, "Master, please do not quarrel—I will definitely see you off tomorrow morning." Thereupon he left the scripture hall and ordered the clerks to write a hundred or so invitations, inviting neighbors and relatives to come tomorrow morning to see off the Tang master on his journey west. At the same time he ordered the cooks to prepare a farewell banquet; at the same time he ordered the stewards to make twenty pairs of colored banners and to find a troupe of drummers and musicians—to invite a group of monks from the South-Coming Temple and a group of Taoists from the Eastern Peak Monastery, all to be assembled by the hour of *si* tomorrow. The various functionaries received their orders and departed.

Before long, evening came again. After eating the evening meal, each retired to his quarters. And they saw:

A few returning crows fly past another village;

From the tower top, bells and drums are heard from afar.

The people are still in the six streets and three markets;

The lamps and fires are dim in ten thousand households and a thousand gates.

The moon is bright, the wind is clear, and flowers play with their shadows;

The Silver River is pale, reflecting the stars.

Where the cuckoo cries, the night grows deeper;

Heavenly sounds are silent, and the great earth is at peace.

That night, in the third or fourth watch of the hour, all the household servants rose early and went out to purchase everything that was needed. Those in charge of the banquet bustled about frantically in the kitchen; those setting up colored banners created a clamor in the great hall; those inviting monks and priests scurried about on both feet; those calling for musicians dashed about in a rush; those delivering invitations ran east and west; those preparing sedan chairs and horses shouted orders and responses from above and below. The noise and commotion of that half-night continued until dawn, and by the hour of the Snake (around 9–11 a.m.), everything was complete—such are the advantages of having money.

Now we turn to Tripitaka and his disciples, who also rose early, attended by that same company of people who served them. The Elder ordered them to pack the baggage and saddle the bridle on the horse. When Idiot heard they were leaving, he puffed out his lips and grumbled under his breath, but had no choice but to pack the robes and alms bowl and haul out the tall carrying pole. Friar Sand brushed and washed the horse, fitted the saddle and bridle, and stood ready. Pilgrim handed the nine-ringed staff into his master's hand, hung the document bag of the travel permit over his breast, and the four of them prepared to depart together. The Household Head then invited them all to the large rear hall, where another banquet had been laid out, far surpassing what had been served in the refectory. For there one could see:

High-hung curtains and screens encircling on all sides. In the center hung a single scroll painting of "Longevity Mountain and Blissful Sea," while on both walls were four seasonal scrolls depicting spring, summer, autumn, and winter. In dragon-patterned incense vessels, fragrant mist drifted gently; in magpie-tail censers, auspicious vapors arose. On plates clustered with color, jeweled flowers shone in brilliant hues; on tables piled with gold, lion-shaped and immortal-shaped sweets were neatly arranged. Before the steps, drums and dances followed the notes of the scale; in the hall above, fruits and delicacies were spread like brocade and embroidery. The plain soups and plain rice were remarkably refined; the fragrant wine and fragrant tea were splendid and gorgeous. Though it was the home of a commoner, it was no inferior to the mansion of a prince or noble. All that could be heard was a chorus of joyful voices—truly enough to startle Heaven and shake the Earth.

As Tripitaka and the Household Head were exchanging courtesies, a servant came to announce: "All the guests have arrived." They were the neighbors on the left and right, brothers-in-law of wife and sister, brothers-in-law of elder sister and younger sister, along with fellow Daoist devotees and pious friends who chanted Buddha's name—all of them together bowing to Tripitaka. When the bows were finished, each took his seat. Below the hall, lutes were plucked and reed pipes blown; above the hall, stringed instruments sang and wine flowed at the banquet. At this lavish feast, Eight Rules kept his wits about him and said to Friar Sand, "Brother, eat your fill and don't hold back—once we leave the Kou family, there'll never be such a splendid spread again." Friar Sand laughed and said, "What are you saying, Second Brother? As the saying goes: 'A hundred delicacies of rare flavor—one full meal and it's done.' There may be a private road to wealth, but is there a private stomach?" Eight Rules said, "You're really hopeless, hopeless! If I eat my fill this one time, I won't be hungry in a hurry even for three days." Pilgrim, overhearing this, said, "Idiot, don't burst your belly—we have to hit the road now."

Before he could finish speaking, the sun was already at its zenith. Tripitaka, seated at the top, raised his chopsticks and recited the Sutra of Blessing for the Fast. Eight Rules panicked, grabbed the serving rice, and swallowed bowl after bowl at a single gulp—five or six bowls in all—and stuffed his two sleeves full of mantou, rolls, cakes, and roasted fruits, good and bad alike, before following his master to depart. Tripitaka thanked the Household Head, then thanked the assembled company, and they all went out together. Outside the gate stood colored banners and jeweled canopies, drummers and musicians; and there came two groups of monks and priests. The Household Head laughed and said, "Honored sirs, you have come late, but the Teacher is in a hurry to leave. There is no time to offer you a meal—I shall thank you upon his return." The crowd cleared the road; those carrying sedan chairs carried them, those riding horses rode them, and those on foot walked—all yielding the way to Tripitaka and his four companions. The music of drums and pipes filled the sky, banners and pennants obscured the sun, people gathered like smoke, and carriages and horses thronged the road—all come to watch Household Head Kou send off and welcome Tripitaka. This display of wealth truly surpassed being surrounded by pearls and emeralds; it was no less splendid as hiding spring behind embroidered curtains. The monks played a Buddhist melody; the priests blew a Daoist tune. They all escorted the party outside the prefecture walls, and when they reached the pavilion ten li from the city, food and drink had been laid out again, cups were raised and wine goblets offered, and they drank together before parting. The Household Head still could not bear to let go, and with tears in his eyes he said, "Teacher, when you return from your scripture quest, you must stay a few more days in my humble house, to fulfill the heart of this Kou Hong." Tripitaka was moved beyond measure and thanked him endlessly, saying, "If I reach the Vulture Peak and have an audience with the Buddha, I will first proclaim the great virtue of the Household Head. On my return, I will surely come to your door to knock and thank you again." As they spoke, before they knew it they had gone another two or three li, and Tripitaka earnestly bowed and took his leave. The Household Head then burst into loud weeping and turned back. And so it was:

Vows to feast the monks lead to wondrous enlightenment,

But lacking the karma, one cannot behold the Tathāgata.

Let us leave Household Head Kou, who escorted them to the ten-li pavilion and returned home with the company. Now we tell of the four pilgrims, who had traveled forty or fifty li when the sky grew dark. Tripitaka said, "It is getting late—where shall we find lodging?" Eight Rules, carrying the load and puffing his lips, said, "We had a ready-made meal and didn't eat it, cool tiled houses and didn't stay in them, and instead we have to trudge along like ghosts at a funeral. Now it's getting dark—if it starts to rain, what then?" Tripitaka scolded him: "You accursed beast, complaining again! As the saying goes: 'Though Chang'an is fine, it is not a home to linger in forever.' When we have the karma to pay homage to the Buddha and obtain the true scriptures, we will return to the Great Tang, report to the Emperor, and let you eat the imperial kitchen's rice for years on end—I'll stuff you to death, you accursed beast, and make you a glutted ghost!" Idiot chuckled secretly to himself and dared say no more.

Wukong raised his eyes and gazed into the distance. He saw several buildings beside the main road and hurriedly said to his master, "We can rest there, we can rest there." The Elder arrived before them and found a collapsed memorial archway. On the arch hung an old plaque, and upon the plaque were four large characters faded by dust and the passage of time: "Huaguang Xingyuan." The Elder dismounted and said, "The Bodhisattva Huaguang was a disciple of the Flame Five-Light Buddha. Because he vanquished the Poison-Fire Demon King, he was demoted and transformed into the Five-Manifestation Divine Official. There must be a caretaker here." So they all went inside, but found the corridor rooms all fallen into ruin and not a soul in sight. They were about to withdraw when, unexpectedly, black clouds covered the sky and a torrential rain poured down. Having no choice, they took shelter beneath the broken rooms, selecting a spot where the wind and rain could be kept out. They sat in dense silence, daring not to raise their voices, fearful that demons or goblies might detect them. Some sat, some stood, and they endured a miserable night without sleep. Ah! Truly it was as the saying goes:

When prosperity reaches its extreme, adversity is born again;

In the midst of joy, sorrow is encountered once more.

As for what would happen when dawn broke and they journeyed onward, let us listen to the explanation in the next chapter.