Form after form, and none of it was ever form; emptiness upon emptiness, and it is not emptiness either.
Stillness and clamour, speech and silence, were one thing from the beginning; why labour, inside a dream, to expound a dream?
There is use, and in the middle of use there is no use; there is no merit, and inside merit the work gets done.
It is like fruit that ripens red of its own accord: do not ask how it was tended and sown.
The tale tells how the Tang Monk and his disciples used their powers to hold back the monks of the Jetavana temple. When the monks saw the dark wind pass and could not find master or disciples, they took them for living Buddhas come down among men, knocked their heads on the ground, and went home. Of that, no more.
Master and disciples travelled west. It was the season when spring ends and summer begins:
The weather is mild and clear, the air fresh; / in pond and marsh the water chestnut and the lotus come up.
Plums ripen in the last of the rain; / wheat comes on in the wind.
Where the grass is sweet the blossom is coming down; / the oriole is old and the willow branch is light.
River swallows bring their young out to practise; / the mountain pheasant feeds her chicks and calls.
South of the Dipper the days run long; / all things stand out in the light.
There is no telling of the morning meals and the evening lodgings, the crossing of streams and the hunting for fords. Along that quiet road they travelled half a month. Then, ahead of them, another city wall came into view. Tripitaka asked, “Disciples, and what place is this?” Wukong said, “Don't know. Don't know.” Bajie laughed. “This is a road you have walked yourself — how can you say you don't know it? No, there's something odd going on here. You're pretending not to recognise the place on purpose, so you can have a bit of fun with us.”
Wukong said, “This idiot will not think a thing through. I have been over this road a few times, true — but I was up in the ninth heaven then. I came by cloud and I went by cloud. When did I ever set foot down here?” “It was no concern of mine, so why would I have looked into it? That is why I don't know. And what's odd about that? Where am I having you on?”
While they were talking they arrived, without noticing, at the edge of the place. Tripitaka got down from the horse, crossed the drawbridge, and went straight in at the gate onto the long main street, where he saw two old men sitting under a covered walk, talking. Tripitaka called back, “Disciples, stand there in the middle of the street, keep your heads down, and don't make a show of yourselves. Let me go over to the walk and ask where we are.” Wukong did as he was told and stood where he was.
The elder stepped up, put his palms together and called: “Old benefactor — a poor monk pays his respects.” The two old men were in the middle of an idle argument about nothing in particular — how things rise and fall, what is gained and what lost, who in the old days was a sage and who merely worthy, and where all the great deeds of those times had got to now. It was, you might fairly say, one long sigh. Hearing the greeting spoken suddenly behind them, they returned the courtesy: “What has the elder to say?” Tripitaka said, “This poor monk has come from far away to worship the Buddha. I have only just reached your honoured district and do not know what the place is called. Is there a household hereabouts inclined to charity, where I might beg a single meal?”
The old man said, “Our poor place here is Bronze Terrace prefecture. Behind the prefectural seat there is a county, and it is called Diling — Earth's Spirit.” “If the elder wants a meal there is no need to go begging for it. Past this archway, on the north–south street, on the side that faces east with its back to the west, there is a tiger-crouch gatehouse. That is the Kou squire's place. Over his door hangs a board that reads, Ten Thousand Monks Not Turned Away.” “A far-travelled monk like you may help himself to as much as he likes. Off with you! Off! Off! Don't break the thread of our talk.”
Tripitaka thanked them, turned to Wukong and said, “This is Diling county in Bronze Terrace prefecture. The two old men said, ”Past this archway on the north–south street, facing east, there's a tiger-crouch gatehouse, the Kou squire's place, and over his door hangs a board reading Ten Thousand Monks Not Turned Away.“ They told me to go there for a meal.” Shaseng said, “The west really is Buddha country — there are people here who genuinely feed monks. And since this is only a prefecture and a county, there's no need to have the travel papers inspected. Let's go and beg a meal, eat it, and get back on the road.”
The elder and the three of them walked slowly down the long street, and once again set the whole marketplace off — frightened and suspicious, crowding round and jostling for a look at their faces. The elder told them to keep their mouths shut, saying only: “Don't make a show of yourselves. Don't make a show of yourselves.” The three did keep their heads down, and did not dare look up. Round the corner, sure enough, was a broad street running north and south.
As they went they saw a tiger-crouch gatehouse; inside the gate, hanging on the screen wall, was a great board with four characters written on it: Ten Thousand Monks Not Turned Away. Tripitaka said, “This is Buddha ground, here in the west. Wise or foolish, there is no deceit in any of them. When the two old men told me I still did not quite believe it, and now here it is, exactly as they said.” Bajie, being a boor, was for going straight in. Wukong said, “Hold on, idiot. Wait till somebody comes out and asks us what we want — then we can go in properly.” Shaseng said, “Big brother is right. If we push in without knowing what is inside and what is out, we shall only vex our host.” They set the horse and the baggage down at the gate.
In a moment a servant came out carrying a steelyard and a basket. He caught sight of them all at once, dropped what he was holding in his fright, and ran back inside the wrong way round to report: “Master! There are four very peculiar-looking monks outside!” The squire had been strolling in the courtyard leaning on his stick, reciting the Buddha's name without a pause. The moment he heard the report he threw the stick aside and came out to meet them. Seeing the four of them, he was not put off by how hideous they were, and only called out: “Come in! Come in!”
Tripitaka, all modesty, went in with the rest of them. They turned down an alley, the squire leading the way, and came to a set of rooms, where he said: “These upper-hand buildings are the Buddha hall, the sutra hall and the refectory, kept for the use of your reverences.” “The lower-hand ones are where I and my household live.” Tripitaka could not stop praising it.
Incense cloud in banks and drifts; candle flame in blazing light.
The whole hall a mass of brocade and clustered flowers; on every side gold spread out and colours dazzling.
On a vermilion frame hangs a purple-gold bell; on painted lacquer stands, facing it, a flower-barrel drum.
Several pairs of banners embroidered with the eight treasures; a thousand Buddhas, every one inlaid with gold.
Old bronze censers, old bronze vases;
carved lacquer tables, carved lacquer boxes.
In the old bronze censers, aloes and sandal burning without a break;
in the old bronze vases, lotus showing its colours time after time.
On the carved lacquer tables, five-coloured clouds fresh; in the carved lacquer boxes, incense petals heaped up.
Glass cups, clear water settled bright;
glazed lamps, fragrant oil burning clear.
One stroke of the gold chime, and the note hangs, unhurried.
Truly, the red dust never reaches this treasure tower — a family's private Buddha hall that puts the great monasteries to shame.
He took out his cassock, put it on, and made his bow to the Buddha; then he stepped up into the hall and looked about him. And this is what he saw:
The elder washed his hands, took up incense, and finished his bows. Then he turned back to pay his respects to the squire. The squire said, “Wait a moment — let us meet properly in the sutra hall.” And there again he saw:
Square stands and upright cabinets; jade caskets and gold cases.
On the square stands and in the upright cabinets, scriptures without number piled up;
in the jade caskets and the gold cases, documents in their hundreds put safely away.
On the painted lacquer table: paper, ink, brush and inkstone, every one of them the finest a study can hold;
before the pepper-plaster screen: books, paintings, a zither and a chess set, and every one of them a subtle and far-reaching pleasure.
Set out, an immortal's chime of light jade and floating gold; hung up, a whisk of dragon-whisker that wears the wind and wears the moon.
The clean air of the place makes a man's spirits fresh; with the mind kept fasting, the heart of the Way finds its own ease.
The elder reached the hall and was about to make his bow when the squire caught him by the arm again: “Please, loosen your Buddha robe.” So Tripitaka took off the cassock. Only then would he greet the elder, and after that he asked to be presented to Wukong and the other two. He gave orders for the horse to be fed and the luggage put under the covered walk, and only then did he ask after their health. Tripitaka said, “This poor monk is sent by imperial commission from the Land of the East, the Great Tang, to your honoured country, to visit Vulture Peak, look upon the Buddha and seek the true scriptures. Hearing that your household honours monks, I have come to call — asking one meal, and then we go on.”
Pleasure came into the squire's face, and he said, smiling all over: “Your disciple's mean name is Kou Hong, my courtesy name Dakuan, and I have idled away sixty-four years. From the age of forty I vowed to feed ten thousand monks, and only then would the thing be complete.” “Twenty-four years I have been feeding them now, and I keep a written ledger of it. With nothing to do these last few days I counted up the names of the monks I have fed: nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-six of them. I am four short, and cannot make the number complete.” “And today, just so, heaven sends down four teachers and makes my ten thousand complete. Leave me your honoured names, I beg — and stay a month or so, whatever else. When the thing is done, your disciple will send sedan chairs and horses to carry you up the mountain. It is only eight hundred li from here to Vulture Peak. Truly, it is no distance at all.” Hearing this, Tripitaka was delighted, and all of them agreed to it for the moment. Of that, no more.
His household boys, big and small, were fetching firewood and drawing water about the place, bringing out rice and flour and vegetables and getting the meal ready — until the noise reached the squire's wife, who asked: “Where have these monks come from, that everything is in such a hurry?” A servant said, “Four eminent monks have just arrived. The master asked after them and they said they were sent by the emperor of the Great Tang in the Land of the East, going to Vulture Peak to worship Grandpa Buddha. How far they have come to reach us here, there's no telling. The master says they were sent down from heaven, and has told us to get the meal ready quickly and serve them.” The old lady was pleased to hear it, and called to her maid: “Fetch my clothes and let me put them on. I shall go and have a look too.”
The servant said, “Madam, only one of them is fit to look at. The other three are not — they are frightfully ugly.” The old lady said, “You don't understand. Ugly as they may look, strange and outlandish, they must be beings from heaven come down among men. Go quickly and let your master know.” The servant ran to the sutra hall and said to the squire, “Madam is coming. She wishes to be presented to the gentlemen from the East.” Tripitaka heard this and rose at once from his seat. Before he had finished, the old lady was already at the front of the hall.
Raising her eyes, she saw that the Tang monk's bearing was noble and his presence handsome and commanding. Then she turned and saw that the three with him were out of the ordinary altogether — and though she knew them for heavenly beings come down among men, she was frightened all the same, and knelt and bowed towards them. Tripitaka hurried to return the courtesy: “You do me too much honour, bodhisattva.” The old lady asked the squire, “If there are four teachers, why are they not sitting together?” Bajie stuck out his snout and said: “We three are the disciples.” Oh! That one sound of his was like a tiger roaring in the deep hills, and the good lady was more frightened than ever.
While they were still speaking, another house-boy came in to report: “The two young masters are here as well.” Tripitaka turned quickly to look, and found they were two young licentiates. The scholars came up into the sutra hall and threw themselves flat before the elder. Tripitaka, taken aback, hastily returned the courtesy. The squire came forward and took his arm: “These are my two boys, Kou Liang and Kou Dong. They have just come back from their books in the study, to have their midday meal, and hearing that the teachers had come down to us, they have come to pay their respects.” Tripitaka said happily, “Worthy! Worthy indeed! It is just as they say: if you would raise your family's standing, you must do good; and if you would have fine sons and grandsons, it lies in study.”
The two scholars put it to their father: “Where has this gentleman come from?” The squire said, smiling, “He has come a long way — sent by imperial commission from the Great Tang in the Land of the East, in the Southern Continent of Jambudvipa, going to Vulture Peak to worship Grandpa Buddha and fetch the scriptures.” One of the scholars said, “I have read in the Expansive Record of the Forest of Affairs that under heaven there are only four great continents. The one we are in is called Godaniya, the Western Continent of Ox-Gift, and there is also Purvavideha, the Eastern Continent of Superior Body. Thinking of it — from Jambudvipa to here, how many years must it have taken you to walk?” Tripitaka said, smiling, “On the road, this poor monk has had many more days of delay than days of walking. We have met vicious demons and cruel monsters again and again, ten thousand hardships and a thousand bitternesses, and I owe a great deal to my three disciples for protecting me. Fourteen rounds of cold and heat in all, and only now have we reached your honoured country.” Hearing this the scholars praised him without end: “Truly a holy monk! Truly a holy monk!”
Before he had finished, another of the young servants came to invite them: “The vegetarian feast is laid. Will the gentlemen come in to eat?” The squire sent his wife and his sons back to the house, and himself went with the four of them into the refectory to eat. The place was laid out in perfect order, and this is what was there:
Gold-lacquer tables, black-lacquer folding chairs.
In front, five-coloured fruit built up high, every one of them freshly made up by skilled hands in the newest style;
in the second row, five plates of small dishes;
in the third row, five saucers of fresh fruit;
in the fourth row, five large plates of things to pick at.
Every one of them sweet, every single one fragrant.
Plain soup and rice, steamed cakes and stuffed buns, sizzling and crackling and piping hot — all of it good to eat, and truly enough to fill the belly.
Seven or eight house-boys hurrying back and forth to serve; four or five cooks who never once stopped their hands.
Look at them: the ones serving soup served soup, the ones bringing rice brought rice, going and coming, exactly like meteors chasing the moon. As for this Zhu Bajie — one bowl to a mouthful, like a wind sweeping off the last of the clouds. Master and disciples all ate their fill. The elder rose, thanked the squire for the meal, and made to be on his way. The squire blocked him: “Teacher — set your mind at rest and stay a few days. As the saying goes, it is easy to make a start and hard to make an end. Only when I have completed the thing will I dare see you off.” Tripitaka saw how sincere and earnest he was, and, having no way out of it, stayed.
A good five or seven turns of morning and evening went by before the squire sent for twenty-four of the local monks who take invitations, to put on the rite of completion. The monks spent three or four days writing out the documents, chose a favourable hour, and opened the service. The way of the world there was much the same as in the Great Tang, and indeed it went like this:
Banners run up high, the golden faces set out;
candles taken up together, incense burnt in offering.
Drums pounded and cymbals struck, reed-pipes blown and flutes fingered.
Cloud-gongs; the crosswise flute clear in tone — and all of it written out in the old chě and gōng notation.
A round struck, a round blown, and then in clear voices all together they opened the scripture treasury.
First the earth-god settled, then the spirit-generals invited.
Documents dispatched, images bowed to.
One volume of the Peacock Sutra expounded, and every line of it dispelling calamity;
a rack of Medicine Buddha lamps lit, flame upon flame burning bright.
The Water Penance performed, old grudges and guilt loosed;
the Avatamsaka chanted, and slander swept away.
The wonderful law of the Three Vehicles, most diligently done; and one monk or two, they were all of them the same.
So it went on for three whole days and nights, and the rite was done. The Tang monk, thinking of Thunder Sound, was set on going, and took his leave again. The squire said, “You are in a great hurry to be off, teacher. I suppose these days of services have kept us busy and we have been neglectful — is it that you have taken offence?” Tripitaka said, “I have put your household to enormous trouble and do not know how to repay it — how should I dare speak of taking offence? It is only that when the sage ruler saw me out through the pass, he asked how long before I might return, and I answered him wrongly: three years. I did not expect the delays on the road, and it is now fourteen years.” “Whether I get the scriptures I do not know, and the journey back will take another twelve or thirteen years. Would that not be flouting the imperial command? How could I bear the guilt of it? I beg the old squire to let this poor monk go on. When I have the scriptures and am coming home, I shall call at your house again and stay a good while — where would be the harm in that?”
Bajie could hold it in no longer and shouted out: “Master, you are far too unwilling to fall in with people, and far too far from ordinary human feeling! The old squire's is a great house and enormously rich, he made this vow to feed monks and has only now completed it, and on top of that he keeps us here with perfect sincerity. We should stay a year or so — there would be no harm in it. Why must you keep on about going?” “You'd walk away from good food already cooked and go begging at other people's doors instead. Is there some grandpa or grandma of yours waiting for you up the road?” The elder gave a bark of a shout: “You blockhead! All you know is your appetite. You care nothing for where the merit goes. You are exactly the beast that eats at the trough and scratches its itch inside its own belly.” “Since you are all set on craving this — greed, anger, folly — then tomorrow I shall go on by myself.”
Wukong, seeing his master's face change, seized hold of Bajie, aimed at his head and gave him a round of punches, cursing: “Idiot, you don't know good from bad. Now you've got the master blaming the rest of us too.” Shaseng laughed. “Well hit! Well hit! Even when he says nothing at all he's a nuisance, and now he butts in as well.” The idiot stood at the side, puffing with temper, and did not dare say another word. The squire, seeing master and disciples growing angry, could only put on a smiling face and say: “Teacher, do not be vexed. Bear with us just for today. Tomorrow I shall get up some flags and drums and invite a few neighbours and relations, and see you on your way.”
While they were still talking the old lady came out again: “Reverend father, since you have honoured our house, there is no need to refuse so hard. How many days is it now?” Tripitaka said, “Half a month already.” The old lady said, “Let this half-month count as my squire's merit. I too have a little needlework money of my own, and I should like to feed the reverend fathers for half a month.” Before she had finished, Kou Dong and his brother came out too: “Four reverend gentlemen — our father has fed monks for twenty-odd years and never yet met such good men as these. Now that the number is happily complete and you four have come down to us, truly our brambles and wattle have caught the light.” “We students are young and do not understand cause and effect, but we have often heard it said: what the husband cultivates the husband gets, what the wife cultivates the wife gets, and what is not cultivated is not got. Our father and our mother each wish to offer their celery — each of them seeking to gain a little of that fruit. Why refuse so hard?” “And even we foolish brothers have put by a little of our school money, and hope to support the reverend gentlemen for half a month, and only then see you off.”
Tripitaka said, “Your honoured mother's kindness I dare not accept already — how then could I accept the worthy brothers' generosity too? I absolutely dare not. I must set out this very day, and beg you not to hold it against me. Otherwise I shall have overrun the imperial term so far that execution would not answer for the crime.” The old lady and her two sons, seeing that no persuasion would hold him, grew angry: “We keep him here out of kindness and he is this stubborn about leaving. If he wants to go then let him go, and be done — why keep on at him?” Mother and sons then turned and went inside.
Bajie could not keep his mouth shut and said to the Tang monk again: “Master, don't stand so much on your dignity. As the saying goes, if they will keep you, be kept — go, and you'll be thought ill of. Let us stay a month, settle the wish of the mother and the sons, and that will do. Why keep on being in such a hurry?” The Tang monk gave another bark, and the idiot slapped himself twice across the mouth: “Pah! Pah! Pah! I was told not to talk so much, and I've gone and made a noise again!” Wukong and Shaseng stood to one side sniggering. The Tang monk turned on Wukong: “What are you laughing at?” — and made the finger sign, about to recite the headband spell. In a fright Wukong went down on his knees: “Master, I wasn't laughing, I wasn't laughing. Whatever you do, don't recite it — don't recite it.”
The squire, seeing master and disciples growing more and more upset, dared press them no further, and only said: “Teacher, there is no need for quarrelling. I shall see you off tomorrow morning without fail.” With that he left the sutra hall, told his clerk to write out a hundred-odd invitation cards, and had them sent round to the neighbours and relations, asking them to see the Tang master off west in the morning. On one side he told the cooks to lay on a farewell banquet; on the other he told his steward to make up twenty pairs of coloured flags, to hire a band of pipers and drummers, to invite a company of monks from the temple to the south and a company of Daoist priests from the Eastern Peak temple, and to have everything in order by the hour of si tomorrow. The staff took their orders and went.
Before long it grew late again. They ate the evening meal and each went to his own bed. And this is how it was:
A few specks of homing crows cross over to another village; / from the tower top, bell and drum are heard far off.
Through the six streets and the three markets the smoke of cooking is still; / in ten thousand households, a thousand doorways, the lamps burn low.
The moon is white, the wind clean, and the flowers play with their shadows; / the River of Heaven, faint and cold, holds the stars in its water.
Where the cuckoo cries the night watch has deepened; / the pipes of heaven make no sound, and the great earth turns on its wheel.
That night, at the third or fourth watch, every servant with a job to do was up early, buying in the various things needed. Look at them: the ones laying the feast, rushing about the kitchen; the ones setting the flags, making a din in the front hall; the ones fetching the monks and the priests, both legs going; the ones calling the band, leaping about; the ones delivering the cards, running east and west; the ones getting the sedans and horses ready, shouting up and answering down. That half of a night they kept up the racket right through until daylight, and by about the hour of si everything was finished — which was nothing but a matter of having money.
Now the tale turns to the Tang monk and his disciples, up early, with the same troop of people waiting on them again. The elder gave orders to get the luggage together and saddle up the horse. The idiot, hearing they were to go, pushed out his snout and puffed up his lips, muttering and grumbling, but he got the robe and bowl together all the same and dug out the high shoulder-pole. Shaseng washed down the horse and had the saddle and bridle on and ready. Wukong put the nine-ringed staff into his master's hand, and hung the pouch with the travel warrant round his own neck. They were all set to go together. The squire invited them all through to the great open hall at the back, where another banquet had been laid out — and quite unlike the one in the refectory.
And this is what was there:
Curtains hung high; screens standing all around.
In the very middle hung a painting of the Hill of Longevity and the Sea of Blessing; along the two walls were ranged four scrolls of the four seasons.
In the dragon-figured tripod, incense drifted in mist; in the magpie-tail censer, lucky vapour rose.
Display plates clustered with colour, jewelled ornaments bright in every shade;
tables ranged and heaped with gold, sugar lions and sugar immortals set out in their rows.
Before the steps, drumming and dancing keeping to the notes; in the hall, fruit and dishes spread out like brocade.
Plain soup and plain rice, remarkably fine; fragrant wine and fragrant tea, and much that was lovely.
Though it was only a commoner's house, it fell no way short of a prince's mansion.
Nothing to be heard but one great wave of merriment — truly enough to shake heaven and earth.
The elder was just exchanging courtesies with the squire when a house-boy came in to report: “The guests have all arrived.” These were the ones who had been invited — neighbours to left and right, the wife's younger brother and the cousins on her mother's side, the husbands of the elder and younger sisters — and with them some fellow-abstainers of the same persuasion and some good friends who recite the Buddha's name. All of them together bowed to the elder. The bowing done, each took his seat. Below the hall there were zithers and reed-pipes; above it, strings and singing over the wine. At this splendid feast Bajie paid close attention, and said to Shaseng: “Brother, open your heart and open your capacity and get some of this down. Once we're away from the Kou house there'll be nothing this good again.” Shaseng laughed. “What are you talking about, second brother? As they say: of a hundred rare delicacies, one bellyful and you're done. There is such a thing as money kept back for yourself. There is no such thing as a stomach kept back for yourself.”
Bajie said, “You're hopeless, quite hopeless. I shall eat my fill at this one sitting, and then I shan't be hungry for three days.” Wukong heard him and said, “Idiot — don't burst your belly. We're supposed to be walking today.” Before they had finished, the sun was near the middle of the sky. The elder at the head of the table raised his chopsticks and recited the Grace at Meat. Bajie panicked. He grabbed the rice that was being brought round, a bowl to a mouthful, and got through another five or six bowls; then he took the buns, the steamed cakes, the flat cakes and the roast pastries, and without caring which was which crammed both his sleeves absolutely full — and only then got up to follow his master.
The elder thanked the squire, thanked the company, and went out with them all. Look at what was outside the gate: coloured flags and jewelled canopies, drummers and musicians — and here at last came the two companies of monks and priests. The squire said with a laugh, “You gentlemen are late, and the master is in a hurry. There is no time to give you a meal — wait till they come back, and I shall thank you then.” The crowd made way — those with sedan chairs in their sedan chairs, those on horseback on horseback, those on foot on foot — and all let the elder and his three go first. Nothing was to be heard but drums and music shaking the sky and banners hiding the sun, people crowding in, carts and horses jammed together, everybody come out to watch Squire Kou see the Tang monk off. This show of wealth truly outdid pearls and kingfisher-jade all round, and was no less than brocade curtains with the spring shut up behind them. That company of monks played a set of Buddhist airs; that company of priests blew a strain of mystic music.
They saw them all the way out beyond the prefectural city and went as far as the ten-li pavilion, where baskets of food and jars of drink had been set out; they raised their cups, drank together, and parted. The squire still could not bear to let them go, and said with the tears standing in his eyes, “Teacher, when you come back with the scriptures you must, without fail, come to my house and stay a few days more — to settle the heart of me, Kou Hong.” Tripitaka, unable to thank him enough or make an end of thanking him, said: “If I reach Vulture Peak and am granted sight of the Buddha, the first thing I shall set forth is the squire's great goodness. On the way back I shall certainly come to your door and bow my thanks — bow my thanks.” Talking as they went, they had gone another two or three li without noticing, and the elder took his leave in earnest. The squire burst out weeping aloud, and turned back. And this is exactly it:
He had the vow to feed monks, and goes home to wondrous awakening; / he had no tie of destiny, and will not see the Buddha come thus.
But let us say no more of Squire Kou seeing them as far as the ten-li pavilion and going home with the rest. The tale turns to master and disciples, who travelled forty or fifty li until the light began to go. The elder said, “It is getting dark. Where shall we find a lodging?” Bajie, with the load on his pole, pushed out his snout: “We leave food and tea already made and don't eat it, we leave cool tiled rooms and don't sleep in them — and what road is this we're walking, like people rushing to a funeral? And now it's late. If it comes on to rain, what then?” Tripitaka scolded him: “Wretched beast, complaining again. As they say: Chang'an is fine, but it is no home to linger in.” “Wait until we have the karmic tie to worship the Buddha and take the true scriptures. Then we shall turn back to the Great Tang, report to the sovereign, and you may eat the food from the imperial kitchen for as many years as you like — burst yourself, you wretched beast, and be a well-fed ghost.” The idiot chuckled to himself and did not dare answer back.
Wukong raised his eyes and looked into the distance, and saw a few buildings beside the main road. He called quickly to his master: “There — we can put up there.” The elder came up to them and found a collapsed archway, and on the archway an old plaque, and on the plaque, in four large characters with the colour gone out of them and the dust lying on them: Huaguang Hall. The elder got down from the horse and said, “Huaguang the bodhisattva is a disciple of the Fiery Five-Light Buddha. Because he put down the Poison-Fire Demon King he was demoted, and became the Wuxian Spirit Officer. There must be a temple-keeper about the place.” They all went in together, and found the corridors and rooms fallen in and not a soul to be seen. They were about to withdraw when, without warning, black cloud covered them overhead and the rain came pouring down.
There was no help for it. Under that broken roof they picked a spot that would keep off the wind and the rain and put themselves out of the way of it — close and silent, not daring to raise their voices for fear some evil thing should notice. Those who could sit, sat; those who could not, stood; and they got through the night without sleeping. Ai! And this is exactly it: Whether, when day broke, they went forward or not, we do not yet know — so listen to the next chapter, and it will be explained.
When Peace has reached its height, Obstruction is born of it again; / where there is gladness, sorrow is met once more.
Whether, when day broke, they went forward or not, we do not yet know — so listen to the next chapter, and it will be explained.