SEVENTY-EIGHT

At Bhikṣu he pities the infants and summons the night gods;

In the golden hall he knows the demon speaking on the way and virtue.

One thought will stir up a demonic crew!

So bitter’s training, though what can you do?

Rely on washing to remove the dust;

The body harness and refine you must.

Sweep clean all causations,¹ to stillness return;

Stamp out every fiend without concern.

Of shackle and snare you’ll surely leap free

And rise, when work is done, to Great Canopy.²

We were telling you about the Great Sage Sun, who, having exerted every effort, succeeded in eliciting the assistance of Tathāgata to subdue the fiends. When the ordeal finally ended, Tripitaka and his disciples left the Lion-Camel Kingdom and journeyed westward. After several months, it was again the time of winter. You see

The peak’s jadelike plums half-blooming,

The pond’s water slowly icing.

The red leaves have all dropped away

And pines turn more verdant and gay.

The pale clouds are about to snow;

Dried grass on the mountain lies low.

What frigid scene now fills the eyes

As bone-piercing chill multiplies!

Braving the cold and plunging through the chill, resting in the rain and feeding on the wind, master and disciples proceeded until they saw another city. “Wukong,” asked Tripitaka, “what sort of a place is that over there?” “When you get there,” replied Pilgrim, “you’ll know. If it’s a kingdom of the West, we’ll have to have our rescript certified. If it’s merely a district, county, or prefecture seat, we’ll just pass through.” Hardly had master and disciples finished speaking than they arrived at the foot of the city gate.

Tripitaka dismounted, and the four of them entered the outer wall of the city, where almost immediately they found an old soldier huddled against the wind and sleeping beneath a wall exposed to sunlight. Pilgrim walked up to him and shook him gently, saying, “Officer.” Waking with a start and blinking several times, the old soldier finally caught sight of Pilgrim. Immediately he went to his knees and kowtowed, crying, “Holy Father!”

“Stop making all this fuss!” said Pilgrim. “I’m no evil spirit! Why should you address me as Holy Father?”

“Aren’t you Holy Father Thundergod?” asked the old soldier, still kowtowing.

“Certainly not!” said Pilgrim. “I am a priest from the Land of the East on his way to seek scriptures in the Western Heaven. I just arrived, and I came to ask you for the name of your region.” Only when he heard those words did the old soldier calm down; with a big yawn he scrambled up to stretch himself and say, “Elder, Elder, pardon me! This place was originally the Bhikṣu Kingdom, but now the name has been changed to the Young Masters’ City.”

“Is there a king in the city?” asked Pilgrim.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” replied the old soldier. Pilgrim turned back to say to the Tang Monk, “Master, this place originally was called the Bhikṣu Kingdom, but it has been changed now to the Young Masters’ City. I don’t know why they changed the name.”

“If it was Bhikṣu,” said a perplexed Tang Monk, “why then should it be called Young Masters?” Eight Rules said, “It must be that the Bhikṣu king had died. The one newly occupying the throne is a young master, and that’s why it’s called the Young Masters’ city.”

“Nonsense! Nonsense!” said the Tang Monk. “Let’s go inside the city first. We may make further inquiry on the streets.” “Exactly,” said Sha Monk. “That old soldier is probably ignorant, or he may have been frightened into babbling by Big Brother. Let’s go into the city to make inquiry.” They walked through three levels of city gates before they reached the big thoroughfares. As they paused to look around, they found that the people here all seemed to be good-looking and handsomely dressed. What they came upon were

Wine shops and song bars full of raucous din.

Tall colors adorned a teahouse or inn.

Business was good at every gate and door;

Abundant wealth packed both mart and store.

People, like ants, traded brocade and gold;

For fame and for profit they bought and sold.

What solemn manners! Such prosperous scene

Of calm seas and rivers—a year serene!

Toting the luggage and leading the horse, master and disciples walked for a long time on the main boulevards, where the sight of prosperity seemed endless. Then they began to notice that in front of each household was a geese coop.

“O Disciples!” said Tripitaka. “All the people here put a geese coop in front of their house. Why is that?” On hearing this, Eight Rules looked left and right, and he saw that indeed there were these geese coops lined with silk curtains of five colors.

“Master,” said our Idiot with a giggle, “this must be an auspicious day for marriage or for meeting friends. The people must all be performing some rituals.”

“Rubbish!” snapped Pilgrim. “How could every household be performing a ritual? There must be a reason for this. Let me go and take a look.” “You’d better not go,” said Tripitaka, tugging at him. “Your hideous features will offend people.”

“I’ll go in transformation then,” replied Pilgrim. Dear Great Sage! Making the magic sign, he recited a spell and changed with one shake of his body into a little bee. Wings outstretched, he flew up to one of the coops and crawled inside the curtains. There he discovered a little child sitting in the middle. When he went to another coop, he found another child also. In fact, he discovered the same thing in front of eight or nine households: they were all little boys, and there were no girls at all. Some of them were playing in the coops; others merely sat and cried; still others were eating fruit or sleeping.

After seeing that, Pilgrim changed back into his original form to report to the Tang Monk: “There are little boys in the coops; the older ones cannot be more than seven years old, and some of the younger ones are barely five. I don’t know why they are in there.” His words made Tripitaka more perplexed than ever.

A turn on the street brought them all at once up to the gate of an official mansion, the Golden Pavilion Postal Station. “Disciples,” said Tripitaka, highly pleased, “let’s go inside this postal station. We can ask them about the place, feed our horse, and request lodging for the night.”

“Exactly! Exactly!” said Sha Monk. “Let’s get inside quickly!” As the four of them entered amiably, the officers on duty at once announced their arrival to the station master, who ushered them inside. After they had exchanged greetings and taken their seats, the station master asked, “Elder, where did you come from?”

“Your humble cleric,” replied Tripitaka, “has been sent by the Great Tang in the Land of the East to go seek scriptures in the Western Heaven. Having arrived in your noble region, we would like to have our travel rescript certified and to beg you to grant us one night’s lodging in your lofty mansion.”

The station master immediately requested tea and asked those on duty to prepare the tokens of hospitality. Having thanked him, Tripitaka asked again, “Is it possible for me to enter the court today and have an audience with the throne and get my rescript certified?”

“You can’t do it tonight,” said the station master. “Wait until early court tomorrow. Please spend the night and rest here in our humble dwelling.” In a little while, when the preparation had been finished, the station master invited the four pilgrims to partake of a vegetarian meal. His subordinates were ordered to sweep clean the guest room for the pilgrims to rest. After thanking him repeatedly, Tripitaka sat down and said to the station master, “There is something that this humble cleric must ask you to explain. How do the people of your noble region rear young children?”

The station master said, “As there are no two suns in Heaven, so there are no two rational principles on Earth. The rearing of children begins with the sperm of the father and the blood of the mother. After the tenth month of conception, the child will be born in due time; and after birth, the child will be fed with milk for at least three years, until the bodily features are fully formed. You think we do not know about this?”

“According to what you have just told me,” replied Tripitaka, “the people here are no different from those of my humble nation. But when I entered the city just now, I saw that there was placed in front of each household a geese coop, inside of which was placed a little boy. I don’t understand this, and that’s why I dare request an explanation.”

“Elder, don’t mind that!” said the station master, at once lowering his voice and whispering into Tripitaka’s ear. “Don’t ask about that, and don’t be concerned with that! Don’t speak of it, even! Please rest now, and you can be on your way tomorrow.”

On hearing this, however, the elder tugged at the station master and persisted in his request for an explanation. As he shook his head and wagged his finger, all the station master could mutter was, “Be careful with what you say!” Refusing to let go, Tripitaka insisted that he be told the reason. The station master had little choice but to send away all his official attendants, after which he said quietly, alone, by the light of the lamps, “The matter of the geese coops that you mentioned just now happens to be instigated by the unruliness of our lord. Why do you persist in asking about it?”

“What do you mean by unruliness?” asked Tripitaka. “You must help me understand before I can rest.”

“This country,” said the station master, “used to be called the Bhikṣu Kingdom, but recent folk songs³ have changed the name to the Young Masters’ City. Three years ago, an old man disguised as a Daoist arrived with a young girl, barely sixteen and with a face as beautiful as Guanyin’s. He presented her as a tribute to our Majesty, who became so infatuated with her that he gave her the title of Queen Beauty. In recent times he would not even look at any of the royal consorts dwelling in the six chambers and three palaces. Night and day he cares only to indulge in amorous dalliance with this one girl until he is reduced to a physical wreck. Constantly fatigued, emaciated, and unable to eat or drink, he has not long to live. The royal hospital has tried all its best prescriptions, but no cure has been found. However, that Daoist, who has been appointed the royal father-in-law, claims to possess a secret formula from beyond the ocean which can lengthen our lord’s life. Some time ago he went, in fact, to the Ten Islets and the Three Isles to gather herbs. After his return and the preparation of all the medications, he still requires the terrible medical supplement⁴ of one thousand one hundred and eleven hearts of young boys. When the medicine is taken with soup made from boiling these boys’ hearts, the king, so the Daoist claims, will live to a thousand years without aging. Those little boys you saw in the geese coops are the selected ones, who are being fed and nurtured before they are slaughtered. Fearing the law of the king, the parents dare not even weep. They can only express their outrage by nicknaming this place the Young Masters’ City. When you go to court tomorrow, please confine your business to certifying your travel rescript. You mustn’t mention this matter at all.” He ended his speech and immediately withdrew.

Our elder was so horrified by what he heard that his bones weakened and his tendons turned numb. Unable to restrain the tears rolling down his cheeks, he blurted out: “Ah, befuddled king! So you grew ill on account of your incontinence and debauchery. But how could you take the lives of so many innocent boys? O misery! O misery! This pain kills me!” For this we have a testimonial poem that says:

One foolish tyrant who misses the truth

Has harmed himself with the pleasure he craves.

He seeks long life by taking lives of boys;

He kills the plebs to lighten Heaven’s scourge.

Steadfast in compassion the monk remains;

Unheard-of horror the master reveals.

As he sighs and sheds tears in the lamplight,

Buddha’s disciple is o’ercome by pain.

Drawing near to Tripitaka, Eight Rules said, “Master, what’s the matter with you? ‘You’re always picking up someone’s coffin and crying over it in your own house!’ Don’t be so sad! Remember the adage:

The ruler wants the subject to die,

And the subject who does not is disloyal;

The father wants the son to perish,

And the son who does not is unfilial.

He is hurting his own people, but what does that have to do with you? Come, let’s shed our robes and sleep. ‘Let’s not worry on behalf of the ancients!’”

Still shedding tears, Tripitaka said, “O disciple, you are so hardhearted! Those of us who have left the family must accumulate merit by multiplying our virtuous acts; our very first obligation must be the practice of appropriate means. How could this befuddled king indulge in such a lawless act? I have never heard of such nonsense that eating people’s hearts can lengthen one’s life. How could I not grieve over something like this?”

“Please do not grieve just yet, Master,” said Sha Monk. “Wait till tomorrow when we have our rescript certified. We can boldly discuss the matter with the king, and if he doesn’t listen to us, we can also ascertain what kind of person this royal father-in-law is. Perhaps it is a monster-spirit, desirous of devouring human hearts, that has devised such a plan. That may well be the case.”

“Wujing is perfectly right,” said Pilgrim. “Master, you should sleep now. Let old Monkey enter court with you tomorrow and scrutinize the royal father-in-law. If he is a man, he may have embarked on the path of heterodoxy, being ignorant of the proper Way and thinking that only herbs and medicines will achieve realized immortality. Let old Monkey disclose to him the essential themes of cultivation by means of one’s natural endowments and enlighten him into embracing the truth. If he’s a monster or a fiend, I’ll arrest him for the king to see, so that he may learn continence and find out how to nourish his own body. I most certainly will not allow the king to take the lives of those boys.”

When Tripitaka heard these words, he quickly bowed to Pilgrim and said, “O disciple, what you’ve proposed is most marvelous! Most marvelous! When you see that befuddled king, however, you shouldn’t ask about this matter right away. For I fear that the befuddled king, without looking properly into the matter, would immediately find us guilty of listening to false rumors. What would we do then?”

“Old Monkey has his own magic power,” said Pilgrim, smiling. “First, I will remove these boys in the geese coops from the city, so that tomorrow he will have no one from whom he can take out the hearts. The officials of the land will undoubtedly report to the throne, and that befuddled king will surely respond by discussing the matter with the royal father-in-law or by asking for more boys to be selected. At that point we will memorialize to him also. Then he will not blame us.”

Highly pleased, Tripitaka said again, “How can you make those boys leave the city? If you can, the virtue of my worthy disciple is great as Heaven! You should do this quickly. If you delay, you may be too late.” Arousing his spiritual powers, Pilgrim rose at once and gave this instruction to Eight Rules and Sha Monk: “Sit here with Master and let me act. When you see a gust of cold wind blowing, you’ll know that the boys are leaving the city.” Whereupon the three of them, Tripitaka and his two disciples, began chanting: “We submit to the Life-Saving Buddha of Medicine!⁵ We submit to the Life-Saving Buddha of Medicine!”

Once our Great Sage had gone out the door, he rose with a whistle to midair, where he made the magic sign and recited the magic words: “Let Oṃ purify the dharma realm!” With this he summoned the god of the city, the local spirit, the god of the soil, and various immortal officials together with the Guardians of Five Quarters, the Four Sentinels, the Six Gods of Darkness and Six Gods of Light, and the Guardians of Monasteries, who arrived in the air to bow to him, saying, “Great Sage, for what urgent business have you summoned us in the thick of night?”

“Because we came upon an unruly king in the Bhikṣu kingdom,” replied Pilgrim, “who has listened to some monstrous pervert’s tale that the hearts of little boys, when taken as a medical supplement, would grant him longevity. My master is so disturbed that he has resolved to save lives and exterminate the fiend. That is why old Monkey has asked each one of you to come here; I want you to use your magic powers and move all these boys, including the geese coops, out of the city. Take them into a mountain valley or deep into a forest and supply them with fruit to eat so that they won’t starve. You must also provide them with secret protection and prevent them from crying or being frightened. When I have eliminated the perversity and restored the king to the proper rule of his state, you may then return the boys just as we are about to leave.” When the various gods heard this command, each of them exercised his magic power as they dropped down from the clouds. The city immediately was filled with churning cold wind and spreading fog.

The cold wind darkened a sky full of stars;

The fog spreading bedimmed the radiant moon.

At the very first

They drifted and floated down;

But thereafter

They roared and rumbled through—

Drifting and floating down,

They sought to save the boys from every house;

Roaring and rumbling through,

They found the geese coops to help flesh and blood.

People stayed home for the invading chill,

And piercing cold turned garments iron-hard.

Parents fretted in vain

And kinfolk were aggrieved,

As cold wind churned the earth

To remove the boys in coops.

This night they may be lonely;

By dawn they will all be pleased.

We have also a poem as a testimonial, which says:

Since mercy e’er abounds in Buddha’s gate,

Goodness perfected is what’s called the Great.⁶

All saints and sages must virtue increase;

The sum of Triratna⁷ and five laws⁸ is peace.

Had not a king at Bhikṣu state gone bad,

A thousand youngsters’ fate would still be sad.

When Pilgrim saves them for his master’s sake,

Merit above salvation he will make.

It was about the hour of the third watch during that night when the various deities transported those geese coops to be hidden at another place.

Lowering his auspicious luminosity, Pilgrim went to the courtyard of the posthouse, where he could hear his three companions still chanting, “We submit to the Life-Saving Buddha of Medicine!” In great delight, he drew near and called out, “Master, I’ve returned! What do you think of the cold wind?”

“That was some cold wind!” replied Eight Rules.

“But what about rescuing the boys?” asked Tripitaka.

“They have already been taken out one by one,” replied Pilgrim, “and will be escorted back to the city by the time we’re ready to leave.” Tripitaka thanked him again and again before retiring.

By dawn, Tripitaka began to dress the moment he awoke, saying, “Wukong, I want to attend the morning court so that our travel rescript may be certified.” “Master,” said Pilgrim, “if you go by yourself, I fear that you may not be able to accomplish much. Let old Monkey go with you to ascertain whether the kingdom is governed by rectitude or perversity.”

“But you usually refuse to perform the proper ceremony when you greet a king,” said Tripitaka, “and I fear he may be offended.”

“I won’t show myself,” said Pilgrim. “I’ll follow you in secret, and I can protect you at the same time.”

Highly pleased, Tripitaka instructed Eight Rules and Sha Monk to watch the luggage and the horse, and then departed. When the station master saw them off, he noticed that the attire of the elder was quite different from that of the day before:

He wore a brocade cassock lined with strange treasures.

A gold-tipped Vairocana hat topped his head.

His hands held up a nine-ringed priestly staff;

His chest enclosed one wondrous, godly spark.

The travel rescript he had on himself,

Packed in a silk purse placed inside the wrap.

He walked like an arhat come down to earth,

With a genuine, living Buddha’s face.

After greeting Tripitaka, the station master whispered in his ear and told him to mind his own business. As Tripitaka nodded and murmured his assent, the Great Sage stepped to one side of the door and recited a spell; with one shake of his body he changed into a mole cricket and flew up to alight on top of Tripitaka’s hat. The elder left the postal station and headed straight for the court.

On arriving, he ran into the Custodian of the Yellow Gate, to whom he bowed and said, “This humble priest is someone sent by the Great Tang of the Land of the East to seek scriptures in the Western Heaven. It is proper for me, after arriving in your noble region, to have my travel rescript certified. I therefore wish to have an audience with the throne. I beg you to make this known for me.” Upon which, that Custodian of the Yellow Gate made his report.

In delight, the king said, “A priest from a distant land must be most accomplished in the Way. Show him in quickly.” The Custodian thus summoned the elder to enter the court; after going through the ceremonial greetings beneath the steps, he was granted permission to take a seat in the royal hall. As he thanked the king and sat down, the elder noticed that the king had

Emaciated features

And a listless spirit.

He raised his hands

But could barely salute;

And when he spoke,

His voice started and stopped.

When the elder presented him with the rescript, the king stared at it with unseeing eyes for a long time before he was able to affix his treasure seal on the document and hand it back to the elder.

The king was just about to question our elder further on the reason for seeking scriptures when the official attending the throne reported, “The royal father-in-law has arrived.” At once supporting himself on a young palace eunuch, the king struggled down from the dragon couch in order to receive the visitor. Our elder was so taken aback that he too leaped up and stood to one side. As he turned to look, he discovered an old Daoist swaggering up from the jade steps. The man Tripitaka saw

Had on his head a cloud-patterned, priestly wrap of pale yellow damask,

And he wore a crane-feathered gown of brown silk fretted with plum designs.

A blue sash, braided with three silk and woolen cords, wrapped his waist;

His feet trod cloud-patterned slippers woven of grass-linen and hemp.

His hand held a nine-jointed staff of dried vine carved like a coiling dragon.

Down his chest hung a silk purse embroidered with raised dragon-and-phoenix patterns.

His jadelike face was shiny and smooth;

A white beard flowed down his chin;

His pupils blazed golden flames;

His eyes were longer than his brows.

Clouds moved with each step he took,

And fragrant mists encircled him.

Hands folded, all officials beneath the steps

Shouted: “The royal father-in-law has entered court!”

When that royal father-in-law arrived at the front of the treasure hall, he did not even bother to pay homage to the king. His head held high, he walked boldly up the steps while the king bowed and said, “We are delighted that the royal father-in-law has honored us with his divine presence this morning.” He was at once asked to be seated on the cushioned couch on the left.

Taking a step forward, Tripitaka also bent low to greet him, saying, “Sir royal father-in-law, this humble cleric salutes you.” Sitting loftily on his couch, the royal father-in-law did not return the greetings at all; instead, he turned to say to the king, “Where did this monk come from?”

“He happens to be someone sent by the Tang court in the Land of the East to seek scriptures in the Western Heaven,” replied the king. “He’s here to have his travel rescript certified.”

“The journey leading to the West,” said the royal father-in-law with a laugh, “is shrouded in darkness!⁹ What’s so good about that?” Tripitaka said, “Since ancient times the West has been the noble region of ultimate bliss. How could it not be good?”

The king asked, “We have heard from the ancients too that monks are the disciples of Buddha. We would like to know in truth whether a monk is able to transcend death, whether submission to Buddha can bring a person longevity.”

On hearing this, Tripitaka quickly pressed his palms together in front of his breast to give his reply:

For the person who’s a monk,

All causal relations have been abolished;

And to him who understands reality,

All things are but emptiness.

He of great knowledge, both wide and comprehensive,¹⁰

Exists placidly in the realm of no birth;

The true mysteries perceived in silence,

He roams freely in peace and tranquillity.

With no attachments in the Three Realms, all elementary principles are known;

Since his six senses are purged, he has insights into all causes.

He who would strengthen knowledge and consciousness

Must perforce know the mind;

For a mind purified shines in solitary enlightenment,

And a mind preserved pierces all mental projections.

The face of truth, without want or excess,

Can be seen even in a previous life;

But shapes of delusion, though formed, decline at last.

Why seek them beyond bounds?

Sedentary meditation

Is the very source of concentration;

Almsgiving and charity

Are the foundation of austerity.

He who has great wisdom will appear foolish,

For he knows how not to act in every affair;

He who’s good at planning will not scheme,

For he needs must let go in every instant.

Once the mind’s made immovable,

All your actions are perfected.

But if you dwell on picking the yin to nourish the yang,

You speak but foolish words;

And to bait the eye with long life

Amounts to an empty promise.

You must abandon all particles of defilement,

Regard all phenomena as emptiness.

When you, plain and simple, reduce your desire,

You will with ease an endless life acquire.¹¹

When that royal father-in-law heard these words, he smiled sarcastically and pointed his finger at the Tang Monk. “Ha! Ha! Ha!” he cried. “Your mouth, monk, is full of balderdash! Those within the fold of Nirvāṇa all talk about the knowledge of reality. But you don’t even know how reality is to be extinguished! Sedentary meditation—why, that’s nothing but the practice of blind cultivation! As the proverb says,

‘Sit, sit, sit!

Your ass will split!

Play with fire

And you’ll land in the pit!’

You have no idea that I,

Who seek immortality,

Possess the hardiest of bones;

Who comprehend the Way,

Am most intelligent in spirit.

I carry basket and gourd to visit friends in the mountain;

I gather a hundred herbs to help people in the world.

Divine flowers I pick to make a hat;

Fragrant orchids I pluck to form a mat.

I sing to clapping of hands

And rest on clouds after I dance.

Explaining the principles of Dao,

I exalt the true teachings of Laozi;

Dispensing amulets and water,

I rid the human world of monstrous miasmas.

I rob Heaven and Earth of their energies

And pluck from sun and moon their essences.

Yin and yang activated, the elixir gels;

Fire and Water harmonized, the embryo’s formed.

When the yin of Two Eights¹² recedes,

It’s both dim and blurry;

When the yang of Three Nines¹³ expands,

It’s both dark and obscure.

In accord with the four seasons I gather herbs;

By nine cylindrical turns my elixir’s perfected.

Astride the blue phoenix,

I ascend the purple mansion;

Mounting the white crane,

I reach the capital of jade,

Where I join all Heaven’s luminaries

In zealous display of the wondrous Way.

Could this be compared with the quiescence of your Buddhism,

The dark divinity of your tranquillity?

The stinking corpse bequeathed by Nirvāṇa

That can never leave the mortal dust?

Of the Three Religions mine’s the highest mystery.

Dao alone is noble since the dawn of history!”¹⁴

On hearing this, the king was filled with delight, while the officials of the entire court shouted, “Bravo! Indeed, Dao alone is noble since the dawn of history! Dao alone is noble since the dawn of history!” When the elder saw that everyone had praise for the Daoist, he was terribly embarrassed. The king, nevertheless, asked the Court of Imperial Entertainments to prepare a vegetarian meal so that the priest from distant lands could eat before he departed again for the West.

Tripitaka gave thanks as he withdrew; he descended from the main hall and was just about to walk out when Pilgrim flew down from his hat and whispered in his ear: “Master, this royal father-in-law is a perverse fiend, and the king is under his influence. You go back first to the postal station to wait for the meal. Let old Monkey remain here to learn something more of him.” Tripitaka understood and left, and we shall leave him for the moment.

Look at our Pilgrim! He soared up and alighted on one of the kingfisher screens in the Hall of Golden Chimes, when the Commander of Five Military Commissions stepped from the ranks to say, “My lord, there was a gust of cold wind last night which swept away, without a trace, all the little boys lodged in the geese coops in front of the houses.”

When the king heard this memorial, he was both frightened and angered. “This means,” said he to the royal father-in-law, “that Heaven wants to destroy us! We have been sick for months, and the imperial physician has been wholly ineffectual. It was fortunate that the royal father-in-law has bestowed on us a divine prescription. We were just waiting for the noon hour today to lift the knife and take out these boys’ hearts and use them as our medical supplement. How could they all be swept away by a gust of cold wind? What explanation could there be other than that Heaven wanted to destroy us?”

With a smile, the royal father-in-law said, “Your Majesty, please do not worry. The fact that these boys have been swept away means quite the contrary; this is precisely a gift of long life that Heaven is sending to Your Majesty.” “How could you say that,” asked the king, “when those boys in the coops have all been blown away?”

“When I entered court just now,” replied the royal father-in-law, “I noticed an absolutely marvelous medical supplement, far surpassing those one thousand one hundred and eleven young boys’ hearts. Those hearts, you see, could only lengthen your life for about a thousand years. But taken with the newfound supplement, my divine medicine will lengthen your Majesty’s life for thousands and thousands of years.” Since the king, however, did not understand at all what medical supplement the Daoist was referring to, he pressed for an explanation.

Then the royal father-in-law said, “I have noticed that the monk who has been sent by the Land of the East to seek scriptures is possessed of pure and orderly features. They reveal that he has, in fact, a true body which has practiced religion for at least ten incarnations, and that he has been a monk since childhood. He is, in truth, someone who has never dissipated his original yang, someone ten thousand times better than all those little boys put together. If you can get his heart to make soup and take my divine medicine, you will certainly acquire the age of ten thousand years.”

Believing completely what he had heard, the befuddled ruler said, “Why didn’t you tell us sooner? If it had that kind of efficacy, I would have detained him just now and not let him go.”

“But that’s not difficult!” said the royal father-in-law. “Just now the Court of Imperial Entertainments was told to prepare a vegetarian meal for him. He will undoubtedly eat first before leaving the city. Issue an edict right now for all the city gates to be closed. Call up the troops, have the Golden Pavilion Postal Station surrounded, and tell them to bring back the monk. First, ask for his heart politely. If he agrees, cut him up and take it out at once. You may promise him an imperial burial and a shrine erected in his honor, so that he may enjoy perpetual sacrifice. If he does not comply with your request, we’ll show him the ugly power of force. Tie him up at once, and then cut out his heart. Isn’t that easy?” The befuddled ruler indeed followed his suggestion; he gave the decree at once that the city gates should be shut. The imperial guards and their captains were sent to have the postal station surrounded.

When Pilgrim heard this, he spread his wings and darted back to the postal station and changed back to his true form to say to the Tang Monk, “Master, disaster! Disaster!” Tripitaka was just enjoying the imperial banquet with Eight Rules and Sha Monk. These sudden words so terrified him that the spirits of Three Cadavers left him and smoke poured out of his seven apertures. He fell to the ground at once, his body covered with sweat. All he could do was roll his eyeballs; he could not utter a word. Sha Monk hurried forward to take hold of him, crying, “Master, wake up! Master, wake up!”

“What disaster? What disaster?” asked Eight Rules. “Speak slowly, will you please! Must you frighten Master like that?”

“Since Master left the court,” replied Pilgrim, “old Monkey stayed behind and ascertained that that royal father-in-law was indeed a monster-spirit. Soon afterward, the Commander of Five Military Commissions reported that the cold wind had blown away the little boys. The king was frustrated, but the Daoist told him to be happy instead, saying that it was actually Heaven’s gift of long life to him. He wanted to ask for Master’s heart to be the medical supplement, something he claimed would grant the king an age of ten thousand years. Believing such a perverse suggestion, the befuddled ruler called up his troops to come and surround the postal station. Moreover, the Embroidered-uniform Guards have been sent here to ask for Master’s heart.”

“You have exercised marvelous compassion!” said Eight Rules with a laugh. “You have saved marvelous boys! You have called up marvelous cold wind! But this time you have also brought disaster on us!”

Trembling all over, Tripitaka scrambled up to tug at Pilgrim and plead with him, “O worthy disciple! How will we face this?” “If you want to face this,” said Pilgrim, “the old must become the young.”

“What do you mean by that?” asked Sha Monk. Pilgrim said, “If you want to preserve your life, the master will have to become the disciple, and the disciple will have to become the master.” “If you can save my life,” said Tripitaka, “I’m willing to be your disciple and grand disciple.”

“In that case,” said Pilgrim, “no need to hesitate any longer. Eight Rules, hurry and get me some mud.” Idiot immediately used his muckrake to rake up some dirt; not daring, however, to go outside to fetch water, he hitched up his clothes instead and pissed on the ground. With the urine he managed to mix a lump of stinking mud, which he handed to Pilgrim. Pilgrim, too, had little alternative but to flatten the mud and press it on his own face and, after a little while, succeeded in making an apelike mask. Asking the Tang Monk to stand up but without uttering another word, Pilgrim pasted the mask on his master’s face and recited a magic spell. He then blew his immortal breath onto the mask, crying, “Change!” At once the elder took on the appearance of Pilgrim. He was told to take off his own garments and switch clothes with Pilgrim, who made the magic sign and then recited another spell to change into the form of the Tang Monk. The two of them looked so alike their own true selves that even Eight Rules and Sha Monk could not distinguish them.

As soon as they finished dressing, they heard the sounds of gongs and drums and saw a forest of scimitars and lances approaching. The captains of the imperial guards, you see, had arrived with three thousand troops to have the postal station surrounded. Then an Embroidered-uniform guard walked into the courtyard to ask, “Where is the elder from the Tang court in the Land of the East?”

Shaking and quaking, the station master went to his knees and said, pointing with his finger, “In one of those guest rooms down there.” The guard walked to the guest room and said, “Elder Tang, my king invites you to the palace.”

While Eight Rules and Sha Monk stood on two sides to guard the false Pilgrim, the false Tang Monk came out the door and bowed, saying, “Sir Embroidered-uniform, what does His Majesty have to say when he asks for this poor cleric?” Rushing forward to grab him, the guard replied, “I’ll go with you into court. He must have some use for you.” Also, so it is that

Fiendish lies triumph o’er compassion;

Compassion’s met instead with violence.

We do not know what will happen to his life when he leaves; let’s listen to the explanation in the next chapter.