Goodness and right conduct gather in the ten thousand affinities;
his renown is carried abroad through the Four Great Continents.
The light of wisdom mounts to the farther shore — soughing, soughing —
and banked cloud gathers at the sky's far rim.
The Buddhas together make him answer; forever he abides
upon the Jasper Terrace, ten thousand autumns upon ten thousand.
He breaks apart the butterfly dream of the world of men — have done, have done —
and washes the dust-haze clean, so that no sorrow clings.
The tale goes that Tripitaka and his disciples, having washed clean that foul lane, took to the road of ease and freedom. Time ran swiftly on, and the season of blazing heat came round once more. And so:
The sea-pomegranate unfurls its brocade pellets;
the lotus leaf splits open its green dish.
Green willows on either side of the road hide the fledgling swallows;
travellers shunning the heat set their silk fans swaying.
As they went forward on their way, they saw of a sudden that a walled city lay close at hand. Tripitaka reined in his horse and called, “Disciples, look — what sort of place is that?”
“So the master cannot read after all!” said Pilgrim. “However did you contrive to take the Tang emperor's commission and set out from court?”
“I have been a monk since childhood,” said Tripitaka, “and there is not a sutra among a thousand nor a canon among ten thousand that I do not know. How can you say I cannot read?”
“If you can read,” said Pilgrim, “then how is it that the apricot-yellow banner up on the city wall, with three great characters written plain upon it, you do not know at all, but must ask what place this is?”
Tripitaka shouted at him. “You wretched ape, this is nonsense! That banner is blown about by the wind till it whips every way; even if there were characters upon it, one could not make them out.”
“Then how is it that old Sun can see them well enough?”
“Master, pay no heed to our elder brother's mischief-making,” said Eight Rules and Sha Monk. “At such a distance the city itself is not yet plain; how should he make out what characters are written there?”
“Are they not the three characters Purpuria?” said Pilgrim.
“Purpuria must be a kingdom of the western regions,” said Tripitaka, “and we shall have to get our travel rescript endorsed.”
“No need to say more,” said Pilgrim.
Before long they reached the city gate, dismounted, crossed the bridge, and passed within three tiers of gateway. It was a fine imperial seat indeed, and this is what they saw:
Gate-towers rearing high; battlements ranged in even courses.
Living water running clear all about it; high hills facing one another north and south.
Six avenues and three markets, goods and money in plenty;
ten thousand households and a thousand families, trade at the full.
Truly a metropolis where emperors and kings hold court,
a great capital city of Heaven's own domain.
From the farthest lands they come by mountain ladder and by ship;
from distant quarters jade and silk brim over.
The commanding site runs on with the hills into the distance;
the palace walls meet the clear River of Heaven.
At the three passes the locks and bolts are strict;
through ten thousand ages they delight in peace ascendant.
As master and disciples went along the great market street, they saw that the people carried themselves with spirit, that caps and gowns were neat and orderly, and that speech was clear and pleasant — truly no whit behind the world of the Great Tang. But the traders buying and selling on either hand, catching sight of Zhu Eight Rules so hideous of feature, of Sha the Monk black-faced and long of body, and of Sun the Pilgrim hairy-cheeked and jutting of brow, dropped their business and came crowding to stare.
“Do not go courting trouble,” Tripitaka could only call out. “Keep your heads down and walk.” Eight Rules did as he was told, and tucked that lotus-pod snout of his away inside his shirt; Sha Monk did not dare to raise his eyes; only Pilgrim looked this way and that, keeping close at the Tang Monk's side.
Those in the crowd who knew how to behave took a look and went off home. But the idlers with nothing to do, and the unruly children along with them, roared and laughed and pressed forward, pelting tiles and flinging bricks and making sport of Eight Rules. The Tang Monk broke out in a sweat of alarm, and could only say, “Make no trouble.” The Idiot did not dare lift his head.
Before long they turned a corner and came suddenly upon a gated wall, and above it stood three characters: Hall of Common Assembly.
“Disciples, let us go into this office,” said the Tang Monk.
“Go in for what?” said Pilgrim.
“The Hall of Common Assembly is a place where all under Heaven come and go together, so we too may impose upon it. Let us go inside and rest a while. When I have had audience and got the rescript endorsed, we shall press on out of the city and take the road again.”
Eight Rules, hearing this, pulled his snout out again, and of the crowd that had trailed after them to gape, some dozens were frightened clean off their feet. He came forward and said, “The master is right. Let us get inside and stow ourselves away, and be spared the din of this pack of wretches.” So they went into the hall, and only then did the crowd fall gradually back.
Now in that hall there were two commissioners, a chief and a deputy, both up in the main room counting out bearers, meaning to go somewhere and receive an official. Seeing the Tang Monk arrive, every one of them took fright, and they cried out together, “What sort of people are these? What sort of people are these? Where do you think you are going?”
Tripitaka joined his palms. “This poor monk is one sent by the throne of the Great Tang in the Land of the East to fetch scriptures from the Western Heaven. Come now to your precious realm, I dare not pass through unannounced. I have a travel rescript I would have endorsed and examined so that we may go on, and I would borrow your honourable office to rest a while.”
When the two commissioners heard this, they dismissed their attendants, straightened their caps and tightened their belts every one, and came down from the hall to meet him. They gave orders at once that a guest room be swept out for his rest, and that plain vegetarian provision be made ready. Tripitaka gave his thanks, and the two officers took their bearers and went out from the hall.
Their underlings invited His Reverence to take his rest in the guest room, and Tripitaka went.
“What slovenly wretches these are!” said Pilgrim resentfully. “Why will they not give old Sun the main hall?”
“This place is not under the government of our Great Tang,” said Tripitaka, “nor does it share a border with our country; and besides, superiors and travellers pass through here at all hours. That is why it will not do to keep us here and entertain us.”
“Say what you like — I shall have them entertain us all the same.”
Just as they were speaking, the steward brought in their allowance: a tray of white rice, a tray of white flour, two bundles of green vegetables, four cakes of beancurd, two rolls of wheat gluten, a tray of dried bamboo shoots and a tray of tree-ear fungus. Tripitaka had his disciples take the things in, and thanked the steward.
“There is a clean stove and pot in the west room,” said the steward, “and firewood ready to hand. Please cook for yourselves.”
“Let me ask you something,” said Tripitaka. “Is the king holding court?”
“His Majesty has not held court this long while. Today is an auspicious day, and he is in council with his civil and military officers, drawing up a yellow proclamation. If you want your rescript endorsed, go now while you may and you will still be in time; but by tomorrow it will not be possible, and there is no telling how long you would have to wait in attendance.”
“Wukong, you set the meal in order here,” said Tripitaka. “Let me go quickly and have the rescript checked, and when I am back we shall eat and take the road.” Eight Rules hurriedly fetched out the cassock and the rescript, and Tripitaka dressed himself and went to court, charging his disciples only that they were not to go out and make trouble.
In no time at all he stood before the Tower of Five Phoenixes. There was no telling the loftiness of those halls and chambers, the splendour of the towers and terraces. He went straight to the outer Upright Gate and troubled the officer of memorials to pass word to the court above that he wished his rescript endorsed and examined.
The yellow-gate officer duly went before the jade steps and reported. “Outside the court gate is a monk commissioned by the Great Tang in the Land of the East, bound for the Temple of Thunderclap in the Western Heaven to worship the Buddha and seek scriptures. He wishes his passport endorsed, and awaits your summons.”
The king heard this with pleasure. “I have been long sick and have not sat upon the throne. Today I come up to the hall to publish a notice calling for physicians, and at once an eminent monk arrives in my kingdom.” He gave order that the monk be summoned to the foot of the steps.
Tripitaka at once made his obeisance and prostrated himself. The king summoned him further up onto the golden hall, bestowed a seat on him, and ordered the Court of Banqueting to prepare a vegetarian meal. Tripitaka gave thanks for the favour and presented the rescript.
When the king had read it through he said with great pleasure, “Master, this Great Tang of yours — how many reigns of upright rulers has it had? How many generations of worthy ministers? And as for the Tang emperor — what sickness was it that took him and let him return to life, that he should send you travelling so far over hills and rivers to seek scriptures?”
At the question the elder rose a little in his seat, joined his palms and said, “In my country:
The Three Sovereigns ruled the world; the Five Emperors set the bonds of kin.
Yao and Shun held the throne uprightly; Yu and Tang gave the people peace.
Zhou grew great and its sons were many; each set up a heaven and earth of his own.
Leaning on strength they bullied the weak; they carved the land into states and styled themselves princes.
Eighteen lords of the realms; the fields parcelled out, the borders in dust.
Afterwards twelve remained, and the world grew settled and plain.
For want of chariots and horses they fell to swallowing one another again.
Seven mighty states contended for mastery; six kingdoms fell to Qin.
Heaven brought forth the men of Lu and of Pei, and neither carried mercy in him.
The rivers and hills passed to Han; the covenant of laws was reverently kept.
Han passed to the house of Sima; and Jin in its turn fell into disorder.
North and south, twelve of them; Song, Qi, Liang and Chen.
Ancestor followed ancestor, and great Sui took up the true succession.
He went out to view the flowers and lost the Way; the multitude were left in mire and cinders.
Our king is of the house of Li; the dynasty is styled Tang.
The first ancestor's carriage came late; the present sovereign is Shimin.
The rivers run clear and the seas lie calm; great is his virtue, broad his mercy.
Now it fell out that north of the capital there was a monstrous dragon spirit of the waters
who cut short the sweet rain, and for that had forfeited his life.
By night he sent a dream, begging the king to save him from his straits.
The king's word granted pardon, and early he summoned the worthy minister.
He kept him lingering within the hall, slowly turning the chess.
But when noon came, that worthy minister beheaded the dragon in his sleep.
The king, hearing this, of a sudden let out a groan, and asked, “Master, from what country did that worthy minister come?”
“He is none other than the chancellor before my sovereign's throne, surnamed Wei and named Zheng,” said Tripitaka. “He reads the signs of heaven and knows the lie of the earth, and can tell the dark from the bright; he is a great chief counsellor by whom a realm is steadied and a state established. Because he beheaded the Dragon King of the Jing River in a dream, that dragon laid a complaint in the world below, saying my sovereign had promised to save him and then killed him; and so my sovereign fell suddenly ill and felt his life come into danger. Wei Zheng then wrote a letter and gave it to my sovereign to carry down to the world below, addressed to Cui Jue, the judge of the city of Fengdu.
“In a little while the Tang king's body died, and on the third day he came back to life. Thanks to Wei Zheng, Judge Cui was moved to alter the document and add twenty years to my sovereign's span. Now he would hold a Great Mass of Land and Water, and has therefore sent this poor monk to travel the long road, enquiring his way through the kingdoms, to do reverence to the Buddha and fetch the Three Baskets of the Greater Vehicle, that souls in torment may be delivered and rise to Heaven.”
The king groaned again and sighed. “Truly this is a great kingdom of the celestial court — the ruler upright, the ministers worthy. Whereas I, the solitary one, have been sick this long while, and not one minister has come to my rescue.”
Hearing this, the elder stole a glance and saw that the emperor's face was yellow and his flesh wasted, his frame fallen away and his spirit spent. He was on the point of asking about it when an officer of the Court of Banqueting came to invite the Tang Monk to his meal. The king gave order that it be laid in the Hall of Diffused Fragrance — “and set out my own board along with it, that the Master may share it with me.” Tripitaka gave thanks for the favour, and of their taking the meal together we shall say no more.
Now Pilgrim, back at the Hall of Common Assembly, had set Sha Monk to getting tea and rice ready and putting the vegetable dishes in order.
“The tea and rice are easy enough to cook,” said Sha Monk, “but the vegetables are not so easy to arrange.”
“How so?”
“There is neither oil nor salt nor sauce nor vinegar.”
“I have a few coppers of alms money here,” said Pilgrim. “Let Eight Rules go up the street and buy some.”
“I dare not go,” said the Idiot, shirking. “My face wants for handsomeness, I might bring trouble down on us, and then the master would blame me.”
“It is honest trade. You are not begging from them and you are not robbing them. What trouble should there be?”
“Did you not see the panic just now?” said Eight Rules. “Here in front of this gate I pulled out my snout and knocked a dozen people clean over with the fright of it; and in the thick of a busy market there is no telling how many I should frighten to death.”
“You know only about the thick of the market,” said Pilgrim. “Did you ever see what is on sale there?”
“The master told me only to keep my head down and not run into trouble. I truly did not see.”
“Wine shops, rice stores, flour mills and silk and sundry goods go without saying. There are fine tea houses too, and noodle shops, great baked cakes and great steamed buns; and at the eating houses good broth and rice, good peppered seasonings, good greens — and those rare confections, sugar cakes, steamed shortbread, sweetmeats, juǎn rolls, fried delicacies and honeyed dainties. No end of good things. Shall I go and buy some and treat you?”
At this the Idiot's mouth ran with water and his throat went gulping down the spittle. He sprang up. “Brother, this time I shall impose on you, and when next I scrape a little money together I shall stand you a return feast.”
“Sha Monk, mind the rice carefully while we go and buy the seasonings,” said Pilgrim with a private laugh. Sha Monk knew well enough that the Idiot was being played with, and could only agree for agreeing's sake. “Off you go then, and mind you buy plenty and come back full.”
The Idiot scooped up a bowl and a dish and followed Pilgrim out of the gate. Two men on duty there asked, “Where are the reverend gentlemen going?”
“To buy seasonings.”
“Go west along this street, round the corner at the drum tower, and there is the Zheng family's sundries shop. Buy as much as you please — oil, salt, sauce, vinegar, ginger, pepper and tea leaves, they have them all.”
The two of them went hand in hand, supporting each other, straight up the street to the west. Pilgrim went past several tea houses and several eating shops, and what should have been bought he did not buy, and what should have been eaten he did not eat.
“Elder brother, let us just make do and buy some here,” called Eight Rules.
But Pilgrim had been playing with him all along and had no intention of buying. “Worthy brother, what a poor hand you are at business. Walk on a little, and we shall pick out the big ones to buy and eat.”
The two of them talked as they went, and drew a great many people after them, crowding to stare. Before long they came to the drum tower, and there below it were people past counting in an uproar, jostling and shoving, filling the street and blocking the road.
Eight Rules saw it and said, “Brother, I am not going. The people over there are shouting hard. I only fear they are taking up monks — and we are strangers besides, and suspicious-looking. If we were taken, what then?”
“Nonsense! Monks break no laws. What should they take us for? We shall walk on past and go to the Zheng family's shop and buy some seasonings.”
“Enough, enough, enough. I will not go running into trouble. One shove into that press of people, a couple of flaps of my ears, and I shall have them sprawling and scrambling in fright — and if a few are trampled dead, it is I who shall pay with my life!”
“Very well then,” said Pilgrim. “Stand here at the foot of this wall, and when I have gone across and bought and come back, I shall buy you plain noodles and baked cakes to eat.” The Idiot handed the bowl and dish over to Pilgrim, propped his snout against the foot of the wall, turned his face away and would not stir for anything.
Pilgrim went up to the tower, and sure enough the way was blocked solid. He squeezed straight into the press of people to listen, and found that it was the royal proclamation posted below the tower, which was why so many were crowding to read it. He shoved his way close, opened wide his fiery eyes and golden pupils, looked carefully, and this is what the notice said:
We, king of Purpuria in the Continent of West Aparagodānīya, since founding our estate have had the four quarters at peace and the hundred families quiet and settled.
Of late, the affairs of the realm proving inauspicious, a settled sickness has kept us to our pillow, dragging on so long that it will not be cured.
Our own Imperial Medical Academy has repeatedly chosen good prescriptions, and has not been able to effect a cure.
We now issue this proclamation, summoning far and wide the worthy men of the world.
Without restriction of north or east, of the Middle Flowery Land or of foreign kingdoms — if any be skilled in medicine, let him ascend our precious hall and treat our person.
Should the sickness be but a little mended, we are willing to divide our altars of state in half with him, and this is no empty show.
For this cause it is issued and posted up. Such is the proclamation.
Having read it through he was filled with delight. “The ancients say, ‘There are three parts of fortune in stirring abroad.’ A good thing I was not sitting idle back at the hostel. So there is no need to buy any seasonings now. Let the scripture-seeking wait a day in patience, and let old Sun play at being a physician.”
Fine Great Sage! He bent low, dropped the bowl and dish, took a pinch of earth and scattered it upward, spoke a spell, worked a method of invisibility, and stepped up lightly to peel the notice off. Facing the quarter of the Xun trigram he drew in a breath of immortal air and blew, raising a whirlwind that scattered the people every way.
Then he turned back and went straight to where Eight Rules was standing, and there was the Idiot with his snout propped against the foot of the wall, for all the world as though he had fallen asleep. Pilgrim did not disturb him at all, but folded the proclamation, tucked it gently into his breast, swung round on his heel and went off ahead to the Hall of Common Assembly — of which we shall say no more.
Now the crowd below the tower, seeing the wind get up, every one of them covered his head and shut his eyes. Before they knew it the wind had passed, the royal proclamation was gone, and they were all struck with dread. That notice had been brought out at the morning audience by twelve eunuchs and twelve guardsmen, and had not been hanging three double-hours before the wind carried it off. Trembling, they searched left and right, and then caught sight of the edge of a paper showing at Zhu Eight Rules's breast.
The crowd pressed forward. “Did you take down the notice?”
The Idiot jerked his head up and thrust out his snout, and it so frightened those few guardsmen that they went reeling and staggering and fell sprawling on the ground.
He turned to go, but several of the bolder men in front of him caught hold of him. “You have taken down the royal notice calling for a physician. Why do you not go into court and treat His Majesty, instead of making off?”
“It is your son who took down the notice,” said the Idiot in a great fluster, “and your grandson who knows medicine!”
“Then what is that stowed in your breast?” said the guardsmen.
Only then did the Idiot lower his head and look, and there really was a sheet of written paper. He opened it out, took one look, and swore through gritted teeth: “That ape has been the death of me!” He gave a snarl and made to tear it up, but the crowd had his arms pinned already.
“You are a dead man. This is a proclamation issued by the reigning king. Who would dare tear it? Since you took it and put it in your breast, you must have the hand to heal a kingdom. Come along with us at once.”
“You do not understand,” Eight Rules shouted at them. “It was not I who took this notice down, it was my elder brother Sun Wukong. He stowed it secretly in my breast and then abandoned me here. If this matter can be got clear, I will go with you and find him.”
“What nonsense is this?” said the crowd. “Why leave the bell you have and go casting another? You are the one who took the notice down. Who would you have us go looking for? Never mind you — drag him off to see the sovereign.”
The pack of them, without stopping to sort right from wrong, went shoving and hauling at the Idiot. But he planted his feet as though he had grown roots, and ten men and more could not shift him.
“You do not know high from low,” said Eight Rules. “Haul at me a while longer, and if you pull my idiot temper out of me, do not blame me for it.”
Before long the whole neighbourhood was roused and had him surrounded. Among them were two elderly eunuchs, who said, “Your face is a strange one and your voice is wrong. Where have you come from, to be so rough and headstrong?”
“We are sent from the Land of the East to fetch scriptures in the Western Heaven,” said Eight Rules. “My master is the Tang emperor's sworn younger brother and a master of the law. He has just gone into court to have our rescript endorsed. My elder brother and I came here to buy seasonings. I saw the crowd below the tower and did not dare go on, so my brother told me to wait here. It turns out he saw there was a proclamation, raised a whirlwind and took it, stowed it secretly in my breast, and went on ahead.”
“A while back I saw a plump, pale-faced monk making straight for the court gate,” said one of the eunuchs. “I suppose that would be your master?”
“Just so, just so.”
“And where has your elder brother gone?”
“There are four of us in one party. The master has gone to get the rescript endorsed, and we three with the baggage and the horse are lodged at the Hall of Common Assembly. My brother has played a trick on me and gone back to the hostel ahead.”
“Guardsmen, stop hauling at him,” said the eunuch. “Let us all go to the hostel together and we shall know the truth of it.”
“You two grandmothers know what's what,” said Eight Rules.
“This monk truly cannot tell one thing from another,” said the guardsmen. “How does he go calling the gentlemen ‘grandmother’?”
Eight Rules laughed. “Shame on you! You have got your yin and yang the wrong way round. These two are old dames. Instead of calling them goodwife or grandmother, you call them grandfather?”
“Stop wagging your tongue and go and find your brother.”
The people in the street made such an uproar — three or five hundred at the least — and between them they carried him to the gate of the hostel.
“Hold on, gentlemen,” said Eight Rules. “My elder brother is not like me — he will not let you make sport of him. He is a fierce and earnest sort of man. When you see him you must make him a full bow and call him Old Master Sun, and then he will take you on; but if not, he will change his face on you, and the thing will come to nothing.”
“If your brother really has the skill and cures the king,” said the eunuchs and guardsmen, “half the realm should be his, and it is right that we should bow to him.”
The idlers and hangers-on all stayed clamouring outside the gate. Eight Rules led the party of eunuchs and guardsmen straight into the hostel — and there was Pilgrim to be heard with Sha Monk in the guest room, laughing over the very business of the notice.
Eight Rules went up and caught hold of him, shouting wildly. “Do you call yourself a man? You coaxed me out to buy plain noodles and baked cakes and steamed buns for me to eat, and it was all empty wind. Then you worked up a whirlwind and took some royal notice or other, stowed it secretly in my breast, and made me carry the swelling for you. Do you call that being brothers?”
Pilgrim laughed. “You Idiot, you must have taken a wrong turning and gone off somewhere else. I went past the drum tower, bought the seasonings, hurried back to look for you and could not find you, so I came on ahead. What royal notice did I take down, and where?”
“The officers who watch the notice are standing right here,” said Eight Rules.
Before he had finished, the eunuchs and guardsmen made their bows toward the seat of honour. “Old Master Sun, our king is in luck today, that Heaven should send Your Honour down to us. Assuredly you will unfold your statesman's hand and apply a little of the thrice-broken arm, and cure our king of his sickness — and half the realm shall fall to your share, the altars of state divided in two.”
Hearing this, Pilgrim composed his voice and his countenance, took the proclamation from Eight Rules, and said to them all, “You would be the officers who keep watch on the notice?”
The eunuchs knocked their heads on the ground. “Your servants are officers of the Directorate of Ceremonial. These few are guardsmen of the embroidered uniform.”
“This notice calling for a physician — it was indeed I who took it down, and I sent my younger brother to bring you in. Since your sovereign is ill — as the saying goes, medicine is not sold cheaply, and sickness does not go begging for a physician. Go and tell your king to come and invite me in person. I have the power to make the sickness go the moment my hand is laid on it.”
The eunuchs heard it and were struck with alarm to a man. “A man whose mouth utters big words must have depth to match,” said a guardsman. “Let half of us stay here and make our silent request, and half go into court and report.”
So four eunuchs and six guardsmen were told off, and without waiting to be summoned they went straight into court and reported at the foot of the steps: “A thousand thousand joys for our lord!”
The king had just finished the meal and was talking quietly with Tripitaka when he heard the report. “Whence comes this joy?”
“Your servants took out the royal notice calling for a physician this morning and posted it below the drum tower,” the eunuchs reported. “A holy monk from the Great Tang in the Land of the East, come far to seek scriptures — the Elder Sun — has taken it down. He is now at the Hall of Common Assembly, and requires that Your Majesty go and invite him in person; he has the power to make the sickness go the moment his hand is laid on it. For that reason we have come expressly to report.”
The king was filled with delight at the news, and asked the Tang Monk, “How many worthy disciples has the Master?”
“This poor monk has three unruly disciples,” answered Tripitaka, joining his palms.
“Which of the worthy disciples is skilled in medicine?”
“I will not deceive Your Majesty. Those unruly disciples of mine are coarse fellows of the hills and wilds. They can carry a pack and see to the horse, cross gullies and find their way to water, and bring this poor monk over mountains and ridges; and where the way turns steep and dangerous they can subdue demons and seize monsters, catch tigers and quell dragons — and that is all. Not one of them knows anything of the properties of medicines.”
“Why should the Master be so modest? On the very day I come up to the hall, I have the good fortune to meet the Master at court. It is truly a bond of Heaven's making. If the worthy disciple knows no medicine, why would he take down my proclamation and have me come to fetch him myself? Assuredly he has the power to heal a kingdom.”
He called out, “Civil and military officers all — I am weak in body and low in strength, and dare not ride in the carriage. Go in my stead, all of you, out beyond the court, and respectfully invite the Elder Sun to look at my sickness. When you see him, on no account be casual with him. Address him as Divine Monk, the Elder Sun, and meet him with all the rites due between a prince and his ministers.”
The ministers took the order and went with the eunuchs and guardsmen who had watched the notice straight to the Hall of Common Assembly, where they drew up in ranks and made their obeisance. It so frightened Eight Rules that he hid in the side room, and Sha Monk slipped behind the wall. And there sat the Great Sage in the middle of it all, square and never stirring.
From his hiding place Eight Rules grumbled resentfully. “That ape is getting himself killed by inches. How can he take the bows of all these officials and not return them, nor so much as get to his feet?”
Before long the obeisances were done, and they divided into ranks and made their report. “We address the Divine Monk, the Elder Sun. We are all ministers of the king of Purpuria, and by his order we respectfully invite the Divine Monk with a pure rite to enter the court and look at his sickness.”
Only then did Pilgrim rise to his feet. “Why has your king not come?”
“Our king is weak in body and low in strength and dares not ride in the carriage,” said the ministers. “He has expressly ordered us to perform the rites in his stead and bow our invitation to the Divine Monk.”
“If that is how it stands, let your lordships lead the way and I shall follow.”
The ministers fell in by rank and precedence and moved off in file. Pilgrim straightened his robe and rose.
“Brother — mind you do not drag us into it,” said Eight Rules.
“I shall not drag you in. I only want you two to take in medicine for me.”
“Take in what medicine?” said Sha Monk.
“Whatever medicines anybody sends me, take them all in by count and keep them till I come back to use them.” The two of them assented, and of that we shall say no more.
Pilgrim went along with the assembled officers and in a moment they were there. The ministers went ahead and reported to the king, who had the pearl blind rolled high and flashed his dragon eyes and phoenix gaze, opened his golden mouth and royal speech and asked, “Which of them is the Divine Monk, the Elder Sun?”
Pilgrim took one step forward and said in a harsh voice, “Old Sun it is.”
The king, hearing how fierce and savage the voice was, and seeing besides how sharp and cunning the face, was so frightened that he shook all over and fell back on the dragon couch, in such alarm that the women officers and palace eunuchs hurriedly helped him inside to the private apartments, crying, “He has frightened me to death!”
The officers all rounded on Pilgrim in vexation. “How can this monk be so coarse and rustic and unmannerly? How dared he take the notice down on his own authority?”
Pilgrim heard them and laughed. “Your lordships do me wrong. If you go on slighting people like this, your king's sickness will not be cured in a thousand years.”
“How much span of life can a man have?” said the ministers. “Would he not be cured in a thousand years?”
“He is a sick king now; dead, he will be a sick ghost; born again, he will still be a sick man. So would he not be uncured in a thousand years?”
“You monk know nothing of manners,” said the ministers angrily. “How dare you talk such rubbish by the mouthful?”
Pilgrim laughed. “It is not rubbish. Hear me out, all of you:
The principles of the physician's art are subtle past telling;
the great thing is to have a turning in the mind.
Looking, listening, asking and feeling — these four;
and lacking one of them, the thing is not complete.
First, look at his spirit, his breath and his colour —
moist or withered, fat or spare, his rising and his sleeping;
second, listen to his voice for clearness or muddiness,
and hear whether his speech is true or wandering;
third, ask the origin of the sickness and how many days it has run,
what he eats and drinks and how his body voids;
fourth and last, feel the pulse to make the channels plain —
floating or sunk, on the surface or within, of what kind it is.
If I do not look and listen and ask and feel,
he may not hope for ease in this life.
In the two files of civil and military officers there was an officer of the Imperial Medical Academy, and the moment he heard this he praised him before them all. “There is reason in what this monk says. Even an immortal treating a sickness must look and listen and ask and feel, and hold carefully to the divine, the sagely, the skilled and the ingenious.”
The officers acted on this and had an attendant carry in the report: “The Elder requires the principle of looking, listening, asking and feeling, before he can know the sickness and apply a medicine.”
The king, lying on the dragon couch, called out again and again, “Tell him to go away. I cannot bear the face of a stranger.”
The attendant came out from the palace. “Monk — it is our king's command that you go away. He cannot bear the face of a stranger.”
“If he cannot bear the face of a stranger,” said Pilgrim, “then I can take the pulse by hanging threads.”
The officers said with secret delight, “Taking the pulse by threads — we have heard of it with our ears, but never seen it with our eyes. Let us report it again.” The attendant went into the palace again and reported, “Your Majesty — the Elder Sun need not see Your Majesty's face. He can take the pulse by hanging threads.”
The king thought privately, “I have been ill three years and have never tried this. Summon him in.” The attendant hurried out with the word: “His Majesty has granted him the taking of the pulse by threads. Summon the Elder Sun into the palace at once to make his examination.”
Pilgrim went straight up onto the precious hall. The Tang Monk met him with a curse. “You wretched ape — you have been the ruin of me!”
Pilgrim laughed. “My good master — I have got you a fine spectacle, and you tell me I have harmed you?”
“In all these years you have followed me,” Tripitaka shouted at him, “when was I ever to see you cure anybody? You know nothing even of the properties of drugs, you have never read a medical book — how dare you go blundering into a disaster like this?”
Pilgrim laughed. “Master, it turns out you do not know. I have a few herbal simples that can cure great sicknesses. I will warrant I cure him well, and there is an end of it. And if I do kill him with the treatment, they can only charge me with a quack's manslaughter — that is not a capital matter. What are you afraid of? No matter, no matter. Sit down and see what my pulse-lore is worth.”
“When did you ever see what sort of chapter and verse are in the Plain Questions, the Classic of Difficult Issues, the Materia Medica or the Rhymes of the Pulse,” said the Elder again, “or how they are annotated? Talking wild and loose like this — what do you know of taking a pulse by threads?”
Pilgrim laughed. “I have golden threads about me. You have never seen them.” He reached down at once, plucked three hairs from his tail, rolled them between his fingers and cried, “Change!” They turned at once into three silk threads, each two zhàng and four chǐ in length, to match the twenty-four breaths of the year. He held them out on his palm and said to the Tang Monk, “Are these not my golden threads?”
The attending eunuch said from beside them, “Elder, leave off arguing and come into the palace to make your examination.”
Pilgrim took his leave of the Tang Monk and followed the attendant into the palace to look at the sickness. It was just as the verse says:
A secret method in the heart, that can heal a kingdom;
a subtle art stored within, that writes down long life.
There is no telling what sickness he will make out from this, nor what medicines he will use. If you would know the truth of it, listen to the next chapter and it will be explained.