Our tale tells of the great realm of Shaanxi and the city of Cháng'ān, the seat where emperors of successive ages had founded their capitals. Ever since the Zhou, the Qin and the Han, its three districts had bloomed like brocade and its eight rivers wound about the walls — truly a land of storied splendor.
At that time the Emperor Taizong of the great Tang had ascended the throne and changed the reign-style to Zhenguan. He had reigned thirteen years, the year being jǐsì, and all under Heaven was at peace, the eight quarters bringing tribute and the four seas owning themselves his subjects.
One day, when Taizong had taken his seat and the civil and military officials were assembled and the audience and its ceremonies concluded, the Chancellor Wei Zheng stepped forth from the ranks and memorialized.
“Now that the empire is at peace and the eight quarters are tranquil,” he said, “we should follow the ancient statutes: open the examination halls, recruit men of worth, and advance men of talent, so as to aid the work of civilizing rule.”
“What my worthy minister proposes is sound,” replied Taizong; and he thereupon issued a proclamation summoning the worthy, to be promulgated throughout the realm. In every prefecture, department and county, without distinction of soldier or commoner, any man of the scholarly sort, lucid in letters and accomplished in the three sessions, was to come up to Cháng'ān and sit the examination.
When the proclamation reached the region of Haizhou, there was a man surnamed Chen and named E, his courtesy-name Guangrui, who, having seen the notice, went home at once to his mother, Madam Zhang.
“The court has sent down its yellow proclamation,” he said, “opening the Southern Department to select men of worth. Your son wishes to go and sit the examination. Should I win even a minor post, I would honor my parents and make my name known, gain rank for my wife and standing for my sons, and bring glory to our gate — such is your son's ambition. This I report to you, Mother, before I set out.”
“My son is a man of learning,” said Madam Zhang. “As the saying has it, in youth one studies, and grown, one acts upon it; so indeed it ought to be. But in going up to the examination, take care on the road; and once you have your office, come home early.”
Guangrui then bade his serving-boy pack the baggage, took leave of his mother, and pressed on his way. He reached Cháng'ān just as the examination halls were thrown wide, entered the hall, sat the papers and was selected; and at the palace examination on the three policy questions the Tang sovereign with his own brush conferred on him the rank of zhuàngyuán, Top Graduate, and for three days he rode in procession through the streets.
Unlooked-for, his procession came to the gate of the Chancellor, Yin Kaishan, who had a daughter named Wenjiao — also called Mantangjiao — as yet unbetrothed, and who was just then up in a high silk-hung tower, casting an embroidered ball to choose her groom. It happened that Chen Guangrui was passing just beneath it. At a single glance the young lady saw that he was a man of outstanding bearing, and knowing him to be the newly-named Top Graduate, was overjoyed within; she let the embroidered ball drop, and it struck Guangrui's black gauze cap square.
Of a sudden there came a burst of pipes and flutes in delicate consort, and a dozen-odd maidservants came down from the tower, took hold of Guangrui's horse by the head, and ushered the Top Graduate into the Chancellor's residence to be wed. The Chancellor and his lady came out into the hall at once, called in a master of ceremonies, and matched the young lady to Guangrui. They bowed to Heaven and Earth, husband and wife exchanged their bows, and they bowed too to her father and mother. The Chancellor ordered a banquet laid, and they feasted merrily the night through; and the two of them, hand in hand, went in together to the bridal chamber.
Next day at the third mark of the fifth watch, Taizong took his seat in the Hall of the Golden Bells, and the civil and military ministers hastened to the audience.
“To what office should the new Top Graduate, Chen Guangrui, be appointed?” Taizong asked.
“I have surveyed the prefectures in my charge,” the Chancellor Wei Zheng memorialized. “Jiangzhou has a post standing vacant; I beg Your Majesty to bestow it on him.”
Taizong thereupon appointed him Governor of Jiangzhou, ordered him to make ready and set out, and not to overstep his term. Guangrui gave thanks for the favor and withdrew from court, returned to the Chancellor's residence, took counsel with his wife, took leave of her parents, and with her set out for his post. They left Cháng'ān and took to the road.
It was just the season of late spring —
A mild breeze blows the willows green,
fine rain flecks the blossoms red.
Guangrui turned homeward by the way, and with his wife made the bow to his mother, Madam Zhang.
“Congratulations, my son,” said Madam Zhang, “and you have brought home a bride besides.”
“Thanks to my mother's sheltering blessing,” said Guangrui, “your son has unworthily taken first place and was granted the procession through the streets; and passing before the gate of Chancellor Yin's residence, I chanced to be struck square by her thrown embroidered ball, whereupon the Chancellor at once gave his daughter to take your son for a husband. The court has made your son Governor of Jiangzhou, and I have now come to fetch you, that you may go with us to take up the post.”
Madam Zhang was overjoyed, and made ready for the journey.
After some days on the road they came to lodge at the house of Liu the Second, at the Myriad Flowers Inn; and there Madam Zhang suddenly fell ill.
“I am unwell,” she said to Guangrui. “Let us rest and recover at the inn a day or two before going on.”
Guangrui obeyed. Next morning he saw before the inn a man holding up a golden carp and crying it for sale, and bought it for a string of cash. Meaning to cook it for his mother, he noticed that the carp kept blinking its eyes.
“I have heard,” said Guangrui, astonished, “that a fish or serpent which blinks is surely no common creature.” And he asked the fisherman where it had been caught.
“It was taken from the Hong River,” said the fisherman, “fifteen lǐ from the prefecture.”
Guangrui took the fish and released it alive into the Hong River, then returned to the inn and told his mother of it.
“To set a creature free is a good deed,” said Madam Zhang. “My heart is glad of it.”
“We have stayed three days at this inn,” said Guangrui, “and the term set me is pressing; your son means to set out tomorrow — but I do not know whether you are well enough?”
“I am out of sorts,” said Madam Zhang, “and the road just now is fiercely hot; I fear it would add to my sickness. You might rent a room here for me to stay a while, and leave some money with me for expenses. You two go on ahead to take up the post, and come back to fetch me when the autumn cool comes.”
Guangrui took counsel with his wife, rented a lodging, left money with his mother, and with his wife took his leave and went on.
The road was hard; travelling by day and resting by night, before they knew it they had reached the Hong River ferry. There they saw two boatmen, Liu Hong and Li Biao, who poled their boat to the bank to receive them. It was that Guangrui was fated from a former life to meet this calamity, and so ran straight into these enemies.
Guangrui had his serving-boy carry the baggage aboard, and just as husband and wife were boarding together, Liu Hong, opening his eyes, saw that Yin Wenjiao's face was like the full moon, her eyes like autumn ripples, her small mouth a cherry, her supple waist a green willow — truly one with the look that sinks fish and downs wild geese, the face that hides the moon and shames the flowers — and a wolf's greed rose up in him.
He then laid a plan with Li Biao and poled the boat to a spot without a soul about. Waiting till the still of the third watch, they first killed the serving-boy, then beat Guangrui to death, and pushed both bodies into the water.
When the lady saw that her husband had been killed, she made to throw herself into the water as well; but Liu Hong seized her in his arms. “If you will be mine, all is well,” he said; “but if you will not, then it is the end at a single stroke.”
The lady, finding no recourse, could only consent for the moment and submit to him. The villain poled the boat to the south bank and handed it over to Li Biao to keep, and himself put on Guangrui's robes and cap, took his official credentials, and went off with the lady to take up the post at Jiangzhou.
Now the body of the serving-boy whom Liu Hong had killed drifted off downstream; but the body of Chen Guangrui alone sank to the river-bed and lay still. A yaksha on patrol at the mouth of the Hong River saw it and sped to report it to the Dragon Palace, where the Dragon King had just taken his hall.
“At the mouth of the Hong River,” the yaksha reported, “some unknown person has beaten a scholar to death and flung the body into the deep.”
The Dragon King had the body carried in and set before him, and looking it over closely said, “This is the very man who saved me — how comes he to be murdered? As the saying goes, kindness should be requited with kindness. Today I must save his life, to repay the kindness he did me before.”
He at once wrote out a dispatch and sent a yaksha straight to the City God and Earth God of Hongzhou to deliver it, to fetch the scholar's soul and save his life. The City God and Earth God then bade their little demons hand Chen Guangrui's soul over to the yaksha to take away, and the yaksha bore it to the Crystal Palace and reported to the Dragon King.
“You, scholar,” asked the Dragon King, “what is your name, and where are you from? How came you here, to be beaten to death?”
Guangrui bowed. “Your humble servant is Chen E, courtesy-name Guangrui, a man of Hongnong county in Haizhou. I unworthily took first place in the new examination and was granted the governorship of Jiangzhou, and was going with my wife to take up the post. Reaching the riverside and boarding the boat, I did not foresee that the boatman Liu Hong would covet my wife; he beat me to death and cast away my body. I beg the Great King to grant me rescue.”
“So that is how it was,” said the Dragon King, hearing this. “Sir, the golden carp you released earlier was none other than myself. You are the man who saved me; now that you are in peril, how could there be any reason for me not to save you?”
So he laid Guangrui's body to one side and set a face-preserving pearl in its mouth, that it should not decay, so that one day it might be restored to life and take its revenge. “Your true soul,” he said further, “shall for the present serve as a commander in my water-court.”
Guangrui kowtowed his thanks, and the Dragon King set out a feast to entertain him — of which no more here.
Now Yin Wenjiao bitterly hated the villain Liu, hating him enough to eat his flesh and sleep upon his skin. But because she was with child, not knowing whether it would be a boy or a girl, she had no recourse but to comply with him for the time, against her will.
In the turn of an eye, before she knew it, they had reached Jiangzhou. Clerks, scribes and yamen runners all came out to receive them, and the officials of the district set out a banquet in the public hall to greet them.
“Now that I have come here,” said Liu Hong, “I rely wholly on you gentlemen's great support to sustain me.”
“Your Honor, a man of the highest distinction and talent, will surely look on the people as his own children, keeping litigation simple and punishments clean,” the subordinate officials answered. “We who serve under you all have something to rely on — why be so modest?”
When the public banquet was over, the company dispersed.
Time passed swiftly. One day Liu Hong went off on official business to a distant place, and the lady, in the yamen, brooding on her mother-in-law and her husband, sat sighing in the flower-pavilion. Suddenly her body grew weary and her belly pained her; she swooned to the ground and, without knowing it, gave birth to a son.
By her ear a voice charged her. “Mantangjiao, hear my charge. I am the Star Lord of the South Pole, come at the command of the Bodhisattva Guanyin to bring you this son. In days to come his name shall be great and far-reaching, no common thing. If the villain Liu returns, he will surely kill this child; you must guard him with all your heart. Your husband has already been saved by the Dragon King; in time husband and wife shall meet again, mother and child be reunited, and the wrong be wiped clean and avenged in its day. Mark my words well. Wake now, wake!”
And with that the voice was gone.
The lady woke, remembering every word, and clasping the child to her could find no plan. Suddenly Liu Hong returned, and at the sight of the child meant to drown it.
“It is late in the day now,” said the lady; “let us wait and cast it into the river tomorrow.”
By good fortune, early next morning Liu Hong was suddenly called away on urgent official business; and the lady thought to herself: if this child waits for the villain's return, its life is forfeit. Better to cast it into the river early and leave it to live or die. Should Heaven take pity, and someone save and raise this child, one day they might meet again.
But fearing the child could not later be known for hers, she bit her finger and wrote a letter in blood, setting down in full the parents' names and the whole history of his origins; and she bit off the little toe of the child's left foot, as a token of proof. She took an inner garment from her own body, wrapped the child in it, and seizing the chance carried him out of the yamen; and by good fortune the yamen was not far from the river.
Reaching the riverside, the lady wept long and bitterly. Just as she was about to cast him away, she saw a plank of wood float up at the river's edge; and bowing in prayer toward Heaven, she laid the child on the plank and bound him fast with a sash, fastened the blood-letter at his breast, and pushed him out into the river, to go where it would. Then, swallowing her tears, she returned to the yamen — of which no more here.
Now the child on the wooden plank drifted downstream and came to rest at the very foot of Gold Mountain Monastery. The abbot of Gold Mountain, the monk Faming, was one who had cultivated truth and grasped the Way, already possessed of the wondrous secret of the Unborn. He was just sitting in meditation when he suddenly heard the cry of an infant; his heart stirred at once, and he hurried to the riverside to look, and there at the water's edge, on a plank of wood, he saw an infant asleep.
The elder hastily took it up, and seeing the blood-letter in its bosom, learned the whole history. He gave it a milk-name, calling it Jiangliu, River-Float, and entrusted it to others to raise; and the blood-letter he kept carefully hidden away.
Time flew like an arrow, sun and moon like a shuttle. Before they knew it, Jiangliu had grown to eighteen years. The elder then had him shave his head and take up religious practice, gave him the dharma-name Xuanzang, anointed his crown and conferred the precepts, and he set his heart firmly on the Way.
One day, in the late-spring weather, the company were together beneath the pines, expounding the scriptures and discoursing on the deep mysteries of Chan, when the wine-and-meat monk happened to be worsted in argument by Xuanzang. The monk flew into a rage and cursed him.
“You cursed creature — you do not even know your own name, nor know your father and mother; what devilry are you still up to here?”
Cursed with such words, Xuanzang went into the temple, knelt before his master, and with tears streaming down said, “A man is born between Heaven and Earth, endowed with yin and yang and formed of the Five Phases; all are begotten of a father and reared by a mother. How can there be a man living in the world who has no father and mother?” And again and again he pleaded, begging to know his parents' names.
“If you truly wish to seek your parents,” said the elder, “come with me into the abbot's quarters.”
Xuanzang followed him to the abbot's room. The elder reached up to a high beam, took down a small casket, and opening it took out a blood-letter and an undershirt, and handed them to Xuanzang; and Xuanzang opened the letter and read it, and so learned in full his parents' names and the whole account of the wrong done them.
When he had finished reading, he fell weeping to the ground despite himself.
“The wrong done my parents, left unavenged — how then am I a man? For eighteen years I have not known the parents who gave me birth; only today do I learn that I have a mother. Had not my master rescued and reared this body, where should I be today? Let your disciple go and find his mother; then I shall bear the incense-basin on my head and rebuild the temple halls, to repay my master's deep kindness.”
“If you would go to seek your mother,” said his master, “take this blood-letter and undershirt with you. Go only as a monk begging alms, straight to the private yamen at Jiangzhou, and so you may come to see your mother.”
Xuanzang received his master's instructions, took on the guise of an alms-begging monk, and went straight to Jiangzhou. It happened that Liu Hong was away on business — it was Heaven's doing that mother and son should meet — and Xuanzang came right up to the gate of the private yamen to beg.
Now Yin Wenjiao had had a dream in the night, dreaming of the waned moon grown round again, and she thought to herself: of my mother-in-law I have no word; my husband was murdered by this villain; my own son I cast into the river, and if anyone took and raised him, by my reckoning he would be eighteen now. Perhaps today Heaven means us to meet — there is no telling.
Just as she was musing, she suddenly heard someone before the yamen chanting sutras and calling out, “Alms!”; and taking the chance, she came out and asked where he had come from.
“This poor monk is a disciple of the elder Faming of Gold Mountain Monastery,” Xuanzang answered.
“Since you are a disciple of the elder of Gold Mountain...” said the lady; and she called him into the yamen and had vegetarian food set before him to eat. Watching closely his bearing and his speech, she found him much like her husband.
The lady sent her attendant maids away and asked, “You, little master — did you take orders as a child, or in your middle years? What is your name? Have you father and mother?”
“I did not take orders as a child, nor in middle years,” Xuanzang answered. “When I tell it — my wrong is as great as the sky, my grievance deep as the sea: my father was murdered, and my mother seized by the villain. My master, the elder Faming, bade me seek my mother within the Jiangzhou yamen.”
“What is your mother's surname?” the lady asked.
“My mother is surnamed Yin, named Wenjiao,” said Xuanzang. “My father is surnamed Chen, named Guangrui. My infant name was Jiangliu, and my dharma-name given as Xuanzang.”
“Wenjiao is none other than I,” said the lady. “But what proof have you now?”
Hearing that she was his mother, Xuanzang fell to both knees and wept aloud. “If my mother does not believe me, here are the blood-letter and undershirt for proof.”
Wenjiao took them and looked, and they were indeed true; and mother and son embraced and wept.
Then she cried, “My son, away quickly!”
“For eighteen years I have not known the parents who bore me,” said Xuanzang; “only this morning have I seen my mother — how can I bear to part?”
“My son, withdraw at once and be gone,” said the lady. “If the villain Liu returns, he will surely take your life. Tomorrow I shall feign an illness, saying I once vowed a hundred pairs of monk's shoes in years past, and come to your temple to redeem the vow. At that time I shall have words for you.”
Xuanzang did as she said and took his leave.
Now after the lady had seen her son, her heart was half grief and half joy. One day she feigned sickness, would touch neither tea nor rice, and lay abed; and when Liu Hong came back to the yamen and asked the cause, she answered him.
“In my youth I once made a vow, to give away a hundred pairs of monk's shoes. Five days ago I dreamed of a monk with a sharp blade in hand demanding the shoes, and at once felt unwell.”
“Such a small matter — why not say so earlier?” said Liu Hong. He went up to the hall at once and ordered his two aides, Wang of the left office and Li of the right: every household among the people of Jiangzhou city was to make one pair of monk's shoes, to be delivered within five days. The people all duly delivered their full quota.
“The shoes are made,” the lady said to Liu Hong. “What temple is there hereabouts, where I might go to redeem the vow?”
“Here at Jiangzhou there is Gold Mountain Monastery and Jiao Mountain Monastery,” said Liu Hong. “Go to whichever you please.”
“I have long heard Gold Mountain is a fine temple,” said the lady. “I will go to Gold Mountain.”
Liu Hong at once had Wang and Li ready a boat. The lady took her trusted people, boarded together, and the boatman poled off, making straight for Gold Mountain Monastery.
Now Xuanzang, back at the temple, had seen the elder Faming and told him all that had passed, and the elder was greatly pleased. Next day a maidservant arrived ahead to announce that the lady was coming to the temple to redeem a vow, and all the monks came out of the temple to receive her.
The lady came straight in at the temple gate, paid reverence to the Bodhisattva, and laid on a great alms-offering. She had the maid bring the monk's shoes and summer stockings on a tray, and coming to the dharma-hall she offered heart-incense in worship, and bade the elder Faming distribute the shoes among the monks.
When Xuanzang saw the monks dispersed and not a soul left in the hall, he came forward and knelt. The lady had him take off his shoes and socks to look, and on the left foot a little toe was indeed missing. At that the two embraced and wept again, and gave thanks to the elder for raising him.
“Now that mother and son are met,” said Faming, “I fear the wicked villain may learn of it; withdraw quickly and go back, that you may escape disaster.”
“My son,” said the lady, “I give you an incense-ring. Go to the region northwest of Hongzhou, about fifteen hundred lǐ distant; there is a Myriad Flowers Inn, where in those days your grandmother, Madam Zhang, was left behind — she is your father's own mother. I shall write a letter for you besides. Go to the imperial city of the Tang sovereign, to the left of the golden hall, the house of Chancellor Yin Kaishan — he is your mother's own father. Give my letter to your grandfather, and bid him memorialize the Tang sovereign to lead out troops, to seize and slay this villain and avenge your father — only then can your old mother be saved out of this. I dare not stay long now, fearing the villain will fault me for returning late.”
And she left the temple, boarded, and went off by water.
Xuanzang wept his way back to the temple, took leave of his master, and set out at once for Hongzhou. Coming to the Myriad Flowers Inn, he asked the innkeeper Liu the Second, “In years past, the traveller Chen, an official of Jiangzhou, had a mother lodging at your inn — how does she fare now?”
“She was indeed at my inn,” said Liu the Second. “Later she went blind in the eyes, and for three or four years paid me no rent. Now she is in a ruined tile-kiln by the south gate, going out each day to beg her bread. That gentleman has been gone so long — to this day not a word of him; I cannot tell why.”
When Xuanzang had heard him out, he went straight to the ruined kiln by the south gate and found the grandmother.
“Your voice is much like my son Chen Guangrui's,” the grandmother said.
“I am not Chen Guangrui; I am Chen Guangrui's son,” said Xuanzang. “The lady Wenjiao is my mother.”
“Why have your father and mother not come?” said the grandmother.
“My father was beaten to death by a brigand,” said Xuanzang, “and my mother seized by force as his wife.”
“How did you come to know to seek me?” the grandmother said.
“It was my mother who sent me to seek you, grandmother,” said Xuanzang. “My mother has a letter here, and an incense-ring besides.”
The grandmother took the letter and the ring, and crying aloud wept: “My son went for fame and office and came to this; I only thought he had turned his back on duty and forgotten kindness — who would have known he had been murdered? Yet I am glad that Heaven took pity and did not cut off my son's line; today there is even a grandson come to seek me.”
“Grandmother,” Xuanzang asked, “how is it your eyes are both gone blind?”
“Out of longing for your father,” said the grandmother, “day after day I gazed for him and he did not come, and so I wept till both my eyes went dark.”
Xuanzang then knelt and prayed toward Heaven. “Now I, Xuanzang, am eighteen years old, and the wrong done my parents is unavenged. Today I have come at my mother's bidding to seek my grandmother; if Heaven would pity your disciple's sincerity, restore my grandmother's two eyes to sight.”
His prayer done, he licked his grandmother's eyes with the tip of his tongue; and in a moment the two eyes were licked open and restored as before. The grandmother looked at the little monk.
“You are truly my grandson,” she said, “the very image of my son Guangrui.” And she was glad and grieved at once.
Xuanzang then led her out of the kiln gate and back to Liu the Second's inn, and with some money rented a room for her to lodge in; and giving her travelling funds besides, he said, “I shall be gone only a month or so, then return.”
He took leave of his grandmother at once and went straight to the capital. Finding his way to Chancellor Yin's residence on the east street of the imperial city, he said to the gatekeeper, “This humble monk is a kinsman, come to call on his lordship.”
The gatekeeper reported to the Chancellor. “I have no kin among monks,” said the Chancellor.
“Last night I dreamed my daughter Mantangjiao came home,” said his lady. “Might it not be that our son-in-law has sent a letter back?”
The Chancellor then had the little monk brought to the hall. Seeing the Chancellor and his lady, the little monk wept and bowed to the ground, took a sealed letter from his bosom, and handed it to the Chancellor; and the Chancellor opened it, read it through from the beginning, and wept aloud.
“My lord, what is the matter?” the lady asked.
“This monk is your grandson and mine,” said the Chancellor. “Our son-in-law Chen Guangrui was murdered by a villain, and Mantangjiao seized by force as his wife.”
The lady, hearing this, also wept without ceasing.
“Do not grieve, my lady,” said the Chancellor. “Tomorrow I shall memorialize the sovereign and lead troops myself, that our son-in-law be surely avenged.”
Next day the Chancellor entered court and memorialized the Tang sovereign. “Your subject's son-in-law, the Top Graduate Chen Guangrui, took his household to his post at Jiangzhou, and was beaten to death by the boatman Liu Hong, who seized his wife, impersonated your subject's son-in-law, and has held office for years. The matter is monstrous; I beg Your Majesty to send forth troops at once and stamp out the bandit.”
The Tang sovereign, on reading the memorial, was greatly angered, and dispatched sixty thousand of the Imperial Forest Guard, ordering Chancellor Yin to lead the troops out. The Chancellor received the edict, left court, mustered his troops at the drill-ground, and set out straight for Jiangzhou. Travelling by day and resting by night, swift as falling stars and flying birds, before they knew it they had reached Jiangzhou, and Chancellor Yin's forces all encamped on the north bank.
By night, a golden tablet of summons called in the Jiangzhou vice-administrator and the assistant prefect, two men, and the Chancellor told them the whole matter, bidding them bring troops to assist; and together they crossed the river. It was not yet light when they surrounded Liu Hong's yamen. Liu Hong was deep in a dream when he heard the boom of a cannon and the clash of gongs and drums; the troops cut their way into the private yamen, and Liu Hong, caught off guard, was taken before he could move. The Chancellor handed down a military order and had Liu Hong and his whole gang bound and marched to the execution ground, and ordered all the troops to make camp outside the city.
The Chancellor went straight into the yamen, took his seat in the main hall, and asked the lady to come out and meet him. The lady wished to go out, but ashamed to face her father, was about to hang herself; and Xuanzang, learning of it, rushed to save his mother and fell to both knees before her.
“I came with troops at my grandfather's side to avenge my father. Today the villain is taken — why, mother, would you instead seek death? If you die, mother, how can your child live on?”
The Chancellor also came into the yamen to console her.
“I have heard that a woman follows one husband to the end,” said the lady. “Grieving that my husband was slain by the villain, how could I brazenly give myself to him? Only because I carried an unborn child did I swallow shame and live on. Now happily my son is grown, and I have seen my old father raise troops for revenge; but as a daughter, with what face can I meet you? There is only a single death, to requite my husband.”
“This is not my child changing her virtue with fortune's rise and fall,” said the Chancellor. “It all came of utter necessity — how can it be a disgrace?”
Father and daughter embraced and wept, and Xuanzang too grieved without end.
The Chancellor wiped his tears. “You two, grieve no more,” he said. “I have now taken the enemy villain — let us go and deal with him.” And he rose and went to the execution ground.
As it happened, the Jiangzhou vice-administrator had also sent scouts who seized the water-bandit Li Biao and brought him in. The Chancellor, greatly pleased, had the guards bring forth Liu Hong and Li Biao, gave each a hundred heavy blows, and took their confessions, which acknowledged the wrongful murder of Chen Guangrui years before.
Li Biao was first nailed to a wooden donkey, pushed to the marketplace, sliced by a thousand cuts, and his head exposed to the crowd. Liu Hong was taken to the Hong River ferry, the very place where Chen Guangrui had been killed years before; and the Chancellor, the lady and Xuanzang, three of them, went in person to the riverside and made sacrifice toward the empty air, cut out Liu Hong's heart and liver alive, sacrificed them to Guangrui, and burned a funeral address.
The three of them wept toward the river, and their grief soon stirred the water-court; and a sea-patrolling yaksha brought the funeral address to the Dragon King. When the Dragon King had read it, he sent Marshal Turtle to fetch Guangrui.
“Sir, congratulations, congratulations! Your wife, your son and your father-in-law are all at the riverside making sacrifice to you. Now I send you back to life. I send you besides a wish-granting pearl, two rolling-plate pearls, ten lengths of fine silk, and a belt of bright pearls and jade. Today you may be reunited with wife, son and mother.”
Guangrui bowed his thanks again and again. The Dragon King then had the yaksha bear his body out to the river-mouth to be restored to life, and the yaksha received the command and departed.
Now Yin Wenjiao, having wept her sacrifice over her husband, was about to throw herself into the water and die, when Xuanzang, frantic, risked his life to seize and hold her back. Just at that panic-stricken moment, a corpse suddenly floated up on the water and drew near the riverbank. The lady hurried forward to look, recognized her husband's body, and burst into unrestrained wailing.
Everyone came to look, and saw Guangrui stretch his fists and legs, his body gradually stirring and moving, until all at once he crawled up and sat down. The crowd could not master their astonishment. Guangrui opened his eyes, and at once saw Yin Wenjiao, his father-in-law Chancellor Yin, and the little monk all weeping at his side.
“Why are you all here?” said Guangrui.
“Because you were beaten to death by the villain, I later bore this child,” said the lady, “and happily he was taken in and raised by the abbot of Gold Mountain Monastery, grew up, and sought me out; and I bade him go find his grandfather. My father, learning of it, memorialized the throne, led troops here, seized the villain, just now cut out his heart and liver, and made sacrifice to you, my husband, into the empty air. But I do not know — how is it that my husband has come back to life?”
“It is all because, years ago, when you and I were at the Myriad Flowers Inn, we bought and released that golden carp,” said Guangrui. “Who would have known that the carp was none other than the Dragon King of this place? Later, when the traitor pushed me into the water, it was entirely thanks to him that I was saved; and just now he has granted me back my soul and given me treasures besides, all here on my person. Little did I think you had borne this son, and that my father-in-law would avenge me. Truly, bitterness ended and sweetness come — a joy beyond all measure.”
The assembled officials, hearing of it, all came to offer congratulations, and the Chancellor ordered a banquet laid to thank the officials under him; and that same day the troops set off on the return march. Reaching the Myriad Flowers Inn, the Chancellor ordered camp to be pitched, and Guangrui then went with Xuanzang to Liu's inn to seek the grandmother.
That night the grandmother had had a dream — she dreamed of a withered tree bursting into bloom, and magpies chattering again and again behind the house. Could it be, she thought, that my grandson has come? Before the words were out, there at the inn door father and son arrived together.
“Is this not my grandmother?” said the little monk, pointing.
Guangrui, seeing his old mother, hastily bowed to the ground. Mother and son embraced and wept aloud, and he told over the whole course of events. They settled Liu the Second's inn charges and set off back to the capital.
Entering the Chancellor's residence, Guangrui, with the lady, the grandmother and Xuanzang, all came to see the Chancellor's wife. She was overjoyed beyond measure, and bade the household servants set out a great feast in celebration.
“Today's feast,” said the Chancellor, “may be named the Feast of Reunion.” And truly the whole family rejoiced together.
Next day at morning court, the Tang sovereign ascended the hall. Chancellor Yin stepped from the ranks, set forth the whole affair in full detail, and recommended Guangrui as fit for high employment; and the Tang sovereign approved the memorial and at once ordered Chen E promoted to the office of Academician, to attend court and manage affairs of state. Xuanzang, set on the peace of meditation, was sent to Bliss-of-Merit Monastery to practice.
Afterward, Yin Wenjiao, in the end, calmly took her own life.
Xuanzang went himself to Gold Mountain Monastery to repay the kindness of the elder Faming. What further befell is not yet known — pray hear it told in the next chapter.