Chapter 36

But as Sun Wukong pressed down his cloud and landed, he told his master in full about the Bodhisattva borrowing the boy and the Old Lord taking back the treasure. Tripitaka gave thanks without cease, and with utter sincerity and fixed resolve, risking his life, he headed west. He climbed into the saddle and mounted his horse; Zhu Bajie shouldered the luggage; Sha Wujing reined in the horse's head; Sun Wukong took up his iron staff, cleared a path, and led them straight down the high mountain and onward. Words cannot tell of their sleeping on water and dining on wind, bearing frost and braving dew. After the master and disciples had traveled for a good while, another mountain rose before them to block the way. Tripitaka called out from atop his horse: "Disciples, look at those towering peaks—we must be very much on guard, lest some demon or obstacle accost us again." Wukong said, "Master, do not let your thoughts wander. Just steady your nature and preserve your spirit, and naturally nothing will happen." Tripitaka said, "Disciples, why is the Western Heaven so difficult to reach? I recall that after leaving Chang'an, spring ended and summer came, autumn waned and winter arrived—four or five years have passed, and still we cannot get there?" When Wukong heard this, he chuckled and said, "Early yet, early yet; we have not even left the front gate." Bajie said, "Elder Brother, do not lie. In the human world, is there such a gate as that?" Wukong said, "Brother, we are still wandering in the main hall." Sha Wujing laughed and said, "Elder Brother, do not frighten me with such boasting. Where could there be such a great hall, and where would one buy beams so massive?" Wukong said, "Brother, if you see it as old Sun does, take the blue sky for roof tiles, the sun and moon for window lattices, the four mountains and five peaks for pillars and beams—heaven and earth are but one open hall." When Bajie heard this, he said, "Enough, enough; we might as well turn back after a while." Wukong said, "Do not talk nonsense; just keep following old Sun." The splendid Great Sage, carrying his iron staff across his shoulder, led Tripitaka, cleared the mountain path, and pressed straight ahead. The master, from atop his horse, gazed into the distance—what a fine mountain vista! Truly: The summit towered, scraping the handle of the Dipper; treetops seemed to join the clouds. In the heaps of green mist, one often heard gibbons cry from the valley mouth; amid the tangled emerald shade, one often heard cranes call among the pines. Mountain spirits that ride the wind stood by the streams, teasing the woodcutters; crafty foxes sat on the cliffs, startling the hunters. Fine mountain! See its eight faces of towering crags, its four sides of steep peril. Strange twisted pines spread canopies of jade; withered ancient trees hung with vines. Flying springs cascaded, their chill piercing one's hair with cold; the summit stood firm, clear wind striking the eyes and startling dreams. At times one heard tigers roar; at times one heard mountain birds cry. Deer and musk deer gathered in herds, threading through brambles, leaping to and fro; river deer and roe deer formed bands in search of wild fare, running back and forth. Standing on the grassy slope, one looked out and saw no travelers at all; coming into the deep hollows, on all sides were wolves and jackals. This was no place for a Buddha to cultivate—it was all a field for flying birds and running beasts. The master, trembling and fearful, entered this deep mountain, his heart full of misery. He reined in his horse and called out, "Wukong! Since I took the oath to climb mountains on my quest, the Prince Without Going Forth saw me from the city's crest. On the road I met the Three-pronged ones, en route I spurred the Horsebell. Seeking slopes and crossing streams for Glehnia, scaling ridges and climbing mountains to worship Poria. I have guarded myself, my body like bamboo juice— when shall I, with Fennel, pay court to the court?" At these words, the Great Sage Sun let out a cold laugh and said, "Master, do not be troubled, do not be anxious. Set your mind at ease and press forward—when the work is done, success will come of itself." The master and disciples, enjoying the mountain scenery, walked at leisure, and before they knew it, the red sun was sinking in the west. Truly: Along the ten-li pavilion no traveler passed; above the ninefold heavens the stars appeared. On the eight rivers all boats had returned to port; in seven thousand prefectures and counties all gates were shut. The six palaces and five mansions received their officials home; on the four seas and three rivers, fishing lines were laid down. From two towers came the sound of bells and drums; one full moon filled heaven and earth. The elder, from atop his horse, gazed into the distance and saw within the mountain hollow tier upon tier of towers and halls. Tripitaka said, "Disciples, the day is now late. Fortunately, there are towers and pavilions not far off on that side. They must be a hermitage or monastery. Let us all go there and lodge for the night, and resume our journey tomorrow." Wukong said, "Master speaks rightly. Do not hurry—let me first see what sort of place it is." The Great Sage leaped into the air and looked carefully. It was indeed a monastery gate. Truly: The eight-character brick walls were painted with red clay; on the two gates were nailed golden studs. Layered towers hid beside the ridge; ranges of palaces were concealed within the mountain. The Ten-thousand-Buddha Pavilion faced the Tathagata Hall; the Dawn-light Tower answered the Great Hero Gate. The seven-tiered pagoda harbored clouds and housed mist; the three honored Buddhas manifested radiance. The Manjusri Terrace faced the Sangharama Hall; the Maitreya Pavilion leaned against the Great Compassion Hall. Beyond the Mountain-viewing Tower, green light danced; upon the Step-into-the-Void Pavilion, purple clouds rose. The pine-gate and bamboo courtyard were lush with green; the abbot's quarters and meditation hall were clear and quiet everywhere. Elegant and secluded, they offered pleasures; paths and roads welcomed one with delight. In the meditation chambers, meditation monks lectured; in the music halls, many instruments resounded. From the Marvelous-height Terrace, udumbara flowers fell; before the Dharma-preaching Altar, pattra leaves grew. Truly it was that trees concealed this land of the Three Jewels, and mountains embraced this palace of Brahma. Half the walls flickered with lamplight and smoke; a line of incense mist hung hazy and dim. The Great Sage Sun pressed down his cloud and reported to Tripitaka: "Master, it is indeed a monastery—perfect for lodging. Let us go." The elder gave his horse rein and came straight ahead, arriving directly outside the mountain gate. Wukong said, "Master, what monastery is this?" Tripitaka said, "My horse's hooves have only just stopped, and my feet have not yet left the stirrups—yet you ask me what monastery it is. Most unreasonable." Wukong said, "You, venerable sir, have been a monk since childhood. Surely you once studied the Confucian classics before you went on to expound the Buddhist scriptures; your literary understanding is complete, and then you received the favor of the Tang king. There are such large characters on the gate—how can you not recognize them?" The elder scolded, "Wretched ape! Your words show no sense. I was facing west and urging my horse on, and the sun's rays dazzled me. Though the gate has characters, they were also obscured by dust and grime, so I did not see them." When Wukong heard this, he bowed his waist, stretched to over two zhang in height, and with his hand swept away the dust. "Master, please look," he said. On it were five large characters: "By Imperial Command: Precious Wood Monastery." Wukong withdrew his dharma-body and said, "Master, who should go into this monastery to seek lodging?" Tripitaka said, "I will go in. Your faces are ugly, your speech rough, and your temper proud and arrogant. If you should offend the local monks and they refuse us lodging, that would not be good." Wukong said, "In that case, please go in, Master—say no more." The elder then set down his tin staff, loosened his cloak, straightened his robe, put his palms together, and walked straight into the mountain gate. There, within the red-lacquered railings on either side, sat a pair of vajra-warriors, their molded forms fearsome and ugly: One had an iron face and steel whiskers, as if alive; the other had fierce brows and round eyes, as if crystalline. The left one's protruding fists were like raw iron; the right one's craggy palms vied with red bronze. Golden armor linked in chains shone brilliant; bright helmets and embroidered sashes fluttered in the wind. Truly in the West they greatly honor the Buddhas— within the stone censers, the incense fire glowed red. When Tripiṭaka saw this, he nodded and sighed at length, saying, "If in my Eastern Land there were people who would mold clay images of such great bodhisattvas and burn incense in offering to them, your disciple would have no need to go to the Western Heaven." As he was thus sighing, he arrived within the second mountain gate. There he saw the images of the Four Heavenly Kings—Dhṛtarāṣṭra, Vaiśravaṇa, Virūḍhaka, and Virūpākṣa—arranged according to the directions of northeast, northwest, southwest, and southeast, signifying the meaning of "wind, rain, harvest, and harmony." Entering through the second gate, he further saw four tall pines, each with a verdant canopy spreading thickly like an umbrella. Suddenly raising his head, he beheld the Mahāvīra Hall. The elder joined his palms in devotion, prostrated himself, and bowed. After rising from his bow, he walked around the Buddha altar and came to the rear gate. There he saw another image—the inverted-seated Guanyin, ferrying across the Southern Sea. On the walls were exquisite sculptures by skilled artisans—shrimp, fish, crabs, and turtles, with heads protruding and tails showing, frolicking in the surging waves of the sea. The elder nodded his head several times and sighed with myriad emotions, saying, "Pitiful! All creatures with scales and shells worship the Buddha—why then are humans unwilling to cultivate?" While he was thus praising and sighing, he saw a Daoist attendant emerge from the three gates. The attendant, suddenly struck by Tripiṭaka's extraordinary appearance and uncommon bearing, quickly stepped forward and saluted, saying, "Where does the master come from?" Tripiṭaka said, "Your disciple is sent by the Great Tang of the Eastern Land, on a mission to worship the Buddha and seek scriptures in the Western Heaven. Now arriving at your noble temple, with dusk approaching, I beg to lodge for a night." The Daoist said, "Master, do not take offense—I have no authority to decide. I am but a menial attendant here, sweeping bells and doing chores. There is also an elder steward inside. Allow me to go and report to him. If he keeps you, I will come out and invite you in; if he does not, I dare not delay you." Tripiṭaka said, "I trouble you." The Daoist hurried to the abbot's quarters and announced, "Venerable Sir, there is a man outside." The monk-official immediately rose, changed his robes, adjusted his Vairocana cap, donned his kāṣāya, and hurriedly opened the door to receive the visitor. He asked the Daoist, "From where comes the man?" The Daoist pointed and said, "Is that not a man behind the main hall?" Now Tripiṭaka, bare-headed, wearing a robe of twenty-five strips of the Dhūta style, and with a pair of water-soaked Dhūta sandals on his feet, was leaning slantwise by the rear gate. When the monk-official saw him, he flew into a rage and said, "Daoist, you deserve a beating! Do you not know that I am a monk-official? Only when gentry from the city come to offer incense do I come out to receive them. For such a monk as this, how dare you give me a false report and bid me receive him? Look at his face—he is no honest man; he must be some wandering mendicant monk. Since it is late today, he surely wants to lodge here. How could our abbot's quarters tolerate his disturbance? Tell him to crouch in the front corridor—why report him to me?" With that he turned and withdrew. When the elder heard this, tears filled his eyes and he said, "Pitiful, pitiful! This is truly 'a man away from home is cheap.' Your disciple has been a monk since childhood, and I have never harbored evil thoughts while reciting repentance texts or eating meat, nor have I harbored anger while reading scriptures to ruin my meditation mind; neither have I thrown tiles or bricks to damage the Buddha hall, nor peeled off the true gold from the faces of Arhats. Alas, pitiful! I know not in which former life I offended heaven and earth, that in this life I should always encounter such unkind people. Monk, if you would not keep us for the night, so be it—but why say such spiteful words and bid us crouch in the front corridor? If these words were not spoken to Wukong, it would be well; but if said, that monkey would come in and with one swing of his iron staff break all your ankle bones." The elder said, "Well, well. As the saying goes, 'Man puts propriety and music first.' I shall go in and ask him once more, to see what his intention is." That master followed the tracks and entered the abbot's gate. There he saw the monk-official, having taken off his robes, sitting there in a huff—whether reciting scriptures or drafting a Dharma service for someone, one could not tell, but there was a pile of paper and writing materials on the table. Tripiṭaka did not dare to go deep in, but stood in the courtyard, straightened himself, and called out loudly, "Old Abbot, your disciple pays his respects." That monk, somewhat impatient at his coming inside, returned the greeting half-heartedly and said, "Where do you come from?" Tripiṭaka said, "Your disciple is sent by the Great Tang of the Eastern Land, on a mission to worship the Living Buddha and seek scriptures in the Western Heaven. Passing by your noble place, as it is late, I beg for a night's lodging, and I shall leave at first light tomorrow. I earnestly beg the old Abbot for his convenience." The monk-official then rose slightly and said, "Are you that Tang Sanzang?" Tripiṭaka said, "I dare not—your disciple is he." The monk-official said, "Since you are going to the Western Heaven for scriptures, how is it you do not even know the way?" Tripiṭaka said, "Your disciple has never traveled the roads of your region before." He said, "Going due west, only about four or five li away, there is a Thirty-Li Inn, where there are people who sell food and where lodging is convenient. This place is not convenient—I cannot keep travelers from afar." Tripiṭaka pressed his palms together and said, "Abbot, the ancients have said: 'Monasteries and temples are all inns for us wandering monks; upon seeing the mountain gate, one gets three sheng of rice as a share.' Why will you not keep me—what is the reason?" The monk-official shouted angrily, "You wandering monk, indeed you speak with a greasy mouth and greasy tongue!" Tripiṭaka said, "What do you mean by 'greasy mouth and greasy tongue'?" The monk-official said, "The ancients have said: 'When a tiger enters the city, every household closes its doors. Though it does not bite, it has spoiled its name before.'" Tripiṭaka said, "How is it 'spoiled its name before'?" He said, "In years past, several wandering monks came and sat at the entrance of the mountain gate. Seeing their poverty—each with torn robes and no shoes, bare-headed and barefoot—I pitied their ragged state and immediately invited them into the abbot's quarters, gave them seats of honor, fed them vegetarian meals, and lent them each a spare robe, and kept them for several days. But who knew they became greedy for ease and food, and thought no more of leaving—they stayed seven or eight years. Staying would have been fine, but they also did many improper things." Tripiṭaka said, "What improper things?" The monk-official said, "Listen to me: In idle hours they threw tiles along the walls; in boredom they pried nails from the planks. In cold weather they broke window lattices for firewood; in summer they pulled doors across paths. They tore banner cloth to make foot-bindings; they stole fine incense and replaced it with turnips. They often tipped over the crystal lamps to pour out the oil. They snatched bowls and seized pots, vying in their games of daring." When Tripiṭaka heard this, he thought to himself, "Pitiful! How could your disciple be that sort of spineless monk?" He wanted to cry, but feared the old monk in the temple would laugh at him; so he secretly wiped his tears with his sleeve, swallowed his anger, and hurried out. When he saw his three disciples, Wukong, noticing the anger in his master's face, stepped forward and asked, "Master, did those monks in the temple beat you?" Tripiṭaka said, "No." Bajie said, "They must have beaten you; if not, why is there still a sobbing tone in your voice?" Wukong said, "Did they scold you?" Tripiṭaka said, "They did not scold me either." Wukong said, "If they neither beat you nor scolded you, why are you so distressed? Could it be you are homesick?" Tripiṭaka said, "Disciples, this place is not convenient." Wukong laughed, "Is it a Daoist temple here?" Tripiṭaka said angrily, "Only in a Daoist temple are there Daoists; in a Buddhist temple there are only monks." Wukong said, "You are not up to it. If they are monks, they are the same as us. As the saying goes: 'All who are under the Buddha's assembly are connected by fate.' You sit down; let me go in and have a look." Good Pilgrim pressed down the golden fillet on his head, tightened the skirt around his waist, grasped his iron staff, and strode straight into the Great Hero Hall. Pointing at the three Buddha statues, he said, "You are only clay idols painted with gold—can there be no spiritual response within you? I, Old Sun, am escorting the Holy Monk of Great Tang to the Western Heaven to worship the Buddha and seek the true scriptures. Tonight we have come to lodge here; quickly announce our names for me. If you do not keep us, I shall smash your golden bodies with one blow of my staff and make you return to your original form of mud and clay." Now the Great Sage was ranting fiercely at the front, brandishing his fork and talking wildly, when a Daoist burning evening incense came with a few sticks to place in the censer before the Buddha. Pilgrim gave a sudden "Hah!" and startled him so that he fell down. When he got up and saw Pilgrim's face, he fell again. Trembling and stumbling, he ran into the abbot's quarters and reported, "Venerable Sir, there is a monk outside." The monk official said, "You lot of Daoists need a beating. I told you to send him to the front corridor to squat—what are you reporting again? If you say more, twenty strokes." The Daoist said, "Venerable Sir, this monk is different from that other monk: he is fierce-looking, with no backbone." The monk official asked, "What does he look like?" The Daoist said, "He has round eyes, projecting ears, a face full of hair, and a thunder-god beak. He holds a staff in his hand, grinds his teeth fiercely, and wants to find someone to beat." The monk official said, "Let me go out and see." He opened the door, and there Pilgrim came charging in. Truly he was ugly: a face with high and low cheekbones, two yellow eyes, a bulging forehead, and fangs sticking out outward. He was like a crab—flesh inside, bones outside. The old monk hastily shut the door of his quarters. Pilgrim caught up and with a "whack" broke the door panels, saying, "Quickly, sweep a thousand clean rooms for Old Sun to sleep in." The monk official hid in the room and said to the Daoist, "I thought it was because he was ugly, but it turns out that it's his big talk that has given him that appearance. Here, even including the abbot's quarters, the Buddha hall, the bell and drum towers, and the two corridors, we don't even have three hundred rooms in all—yet he wants a thousand to sleep in—where could they come from?" The Daoist said, "Master, I am already a man with my guts scared out; you decide how to answer him." The monk official tremblingly called out loudly, "Elder who seeks lodging, this little wild mountain is not convenient; I dare not keep you. Please go lodge elsewhere." Pilgrim made his staff as thick as a basin and stood it straight up in the courtyard, saying, "Monk, if it's not convenient, then you move out." The monk official said, "We have lived in this monastery since we were children—the master passed it to the master, and the master passed it to our generation, and we are to pass it on to our descendants. He doesn't know where he comes from, but he rushes in so rashly and tells us to move." The Daoist said, "Venerable Sir, it's very awkward; better move out—the staff has already smashed into the gate." The monk official said, "Don't talk nonsense. We have four or five hundred monks, old and young—where could we move? And if we move, we'll have nowhere to live." Pilgrim heard and said, "Monk, if you have nowhere to move, then send one out to take a sample blow of my staff." The old monk called to the Daoist, "Go out and take a sample blow for me." The Daoist was frightened and said, "Grandfather! Such a huge pole, and you want me to take a sample blow?" The old monk said, "'Feed an army for a thousand days to use it for one morning.' Why won't you go out?" The Daoist said, "That pole—not to mention being hit by it—if it fell over, it would squash me to a pulp." The old monk said, "Don't even talk about squashing—just standing in the courtyard, if I forget while walking at night, I'd bump my head and make a big hole." The Daoist said, "Master, you know how heavy it is, yet you tell me to go out and take what sample blow?" They began to argue among themselves inside. Pilgrim heard and said, "That won't do. If I kill one with a single blow, my master will again blame me for violence. Let me find something else to show you." He looked up and saw a stone lion outside the abbot's door. He raised his staff and with a "bang" smashed it to pieces. The monk saw it through the window, and his bones went soft and sinews went numb with fright. He scrambled under the bed, while the Daoist dove into the stove hole, crying out ceaselessly, "Grandfather, the staff is heavy, too heavy—I can't bear it—please be merciful!" Pilgrim said, "Monk, I won't beat you. I ask you: how many monks are there in this monastery?" The monk official tremblingly said, "In front and back there are two hundred eighty-five quarters, with five hundred monks who have ordination certificates." Pilgrim said, "Quickly go and have all five hundred monks assemble in neat order, put on long robes, and go out to welcome my Tang-dynasty master inside. Then I won't beat you." The monk official said, "Grandfather, if you won't beat us, we'll carry him in if need be." Pilgrim said, "Go at once." The monk official said to the Daoist, "Don't say your guts are scared out—even if your heart were scared out, still go and call all these people to welcome the Venerable Master Tang." The Daoist had no choice but to risk his life. Not daring to go through the door, he crawled out through the dog hole at the back and went straight to the main hall, beating the drum on the east side and striking the bell on the west. As the bell and drum sounded together, they roused the monks great and small from both corridors. They came to the hall and asked, "It's still early, not yet evening—why are you striking the bell and beating the drum?" The Daoist said, "Quickly change your clothes and follow the master to form ranks and go outside the mountain gate to welcome the venerable lord from Tang." The monks indeed assembled neatly in rows and went out the gate to welcome. Some wore cassocks; some wore under-robes; those without wore a single-stitch straight robe; the very poor, having no long clothes, took their waist-skirts and threw two strips over their shoulders. Pilgrim saw and asked, "Monk, what clothes are you wearing?" The monks, seeing his ugliness, said, "Grandfather, don't beat me; let me explain. This is cloth we begged in the city—there are no tailors here, so we made it ourselves—it's called 'All-in-One-Poverty'." Pilgrim chuckled to himself and then herded the monks to kneel outside the mountain gate. The monk official kowtowed and called out loudly, "Venerable Lord Tang, please come into the abbot's quarters to sit." Bajie saw this and said, "Master is quite useless. When you went in, you were weeping with an oil-jug hanging from your lips. How is it that Senior Brother has such clever tricks that he makes them kowtow to welcome us?" Sanzang said, "You idiot, you have no manners. As the saying goes: 'Even ghosts fear a bully.'" When Tang Monk saw them kowtowing and bowing, he felt quite uncomfortable and stepped forward, saying, "Everyone, please rise." The monks kowtowed and said, "If you, Venerable Sir, would say a merciful word to your disciple and not use his staff, we would kneel even for a month." Tang Monk called, "Wukong, don't beat them." Pilgrim said, "I haven't beaten them; if I had, by now they'd already be broken in two." Only then did the monks rise. Some led the horse, some carried the load, some carried Tang Monk, some bore Bajie on their backs, and some supported Sha Monk, and together they all entered the mountain gate and went to the rear abbot's quarters, where they took seats in order. The monks all bowed again in obeisance. Sanzang said, "Abbot, please rise. There is no need for further ceremony—it only causes me, a poor monk, distress. We are all disciples of the Buddha." The monk official said, "Your Reverence is an imperial envoy from the celestial court. This humble monk failed to greet you properly. Now that you have come to this desolate mountain, it is unfortunate that my vulgar eyes did not recognize your noble countenance, and I met you by happenstance. May I ask Your Reverence: along the way, do you eat vegetarian or meat? We shall prepare a meal accordingly." Sanzang said, "I eat vegetarian." The monk official said, "Disciples, this venerable one prefers vegetarian." Wukong said, "We also eat vegetarian—we have all been vegetarian since the womb." That monk said, "Oh, Venerable Sir! Even such fierce-looking fellows eat vegetarian?" One monk of greater courage stepped forward and asked again, "If Your Reverence eats vegetarian, how many bushels of rice must we cook to suffice?" Bajie said, "You petty monks, what questions do you ask? Cook one picul of rice for each of us." The monks all grew frantic, and went to scrub the pots and stoves, arranging tea and meals in each room. They raised bright lamps, set out tables and chairs, and attended to Tang Sanzang. When the masters and disciples had all finished the evening meal, the monks cleared away the utensils. Sanzang gave thanks, saying, "Elder Abbot, we have intruded upon your precious mountain." The monk official said, "We dare not, we dare not. We have been remiss, we have been remiss." Sanzang said, "Where shall my disciples and I lodge here?" The monk official said, "Your Reverence, do not be hurried; this humble monk has his arrangements." He called out, "Taoists, are there several men there to take orders?" The Taoist said, "Master, there are." The monk official commanded, "Have two of you go arrange fodder to feed Lord Tang's horse. Have several go to the front and sweep clean those three meditation halls, prepare bedding and curtains, and quickly invite His Reverence to rest." Those Taoists obeyed the orders, and after everything was properly arranged, they came to invite Lord Tang to retire. His disciples led the horse and shouldered the loads, left the abbot's quarters, and went straight to the entrance of the meditation hall to take a look. They saw that inside, lamps and candles were brightly lit, and in the two side rooms were laid out four rattan-bed frames. When Wukong saw this, he summoned the Taoist who had arranged the fodder, had the fodder brought in and placed inside the meditation hall, tethered the white horse, and told all the Taoists to leave. Sanzang sat in the middle. By the lamplight, five hundred monks stood in two rows, all in attendance, not daring to withdraw. Sanzang half-rose and said, "All of you, please return. Let this poor monk rest at his ease." The multitude of monks absolutely dared not retire. The monk official stepped forward and instructed the assembly: "Attend to His Reverence until he is settled, then return." Sanzang said, "This very act is the settling. Please all return now." Only then did the crowd dare to disperse. Tang Sanzang stepped outside the door to relieve himself, and saw the bright moon hanging in the sky. He called out, "Disciples." Wukong, Bajie, and Sha Seng all came out and stood in attendance. Moved by the clear radiance of this moon, the deep purity of the jade-like firmament—truly a single wheel shining on high, illuminating the great earth distinctly—he turned his thoughts homeward and composed an old-style long poem in his heart. The poem says: The bright orb hangs aloft like a precious mirror suspended; Hill and river cast their shadows, the scene full and complete. Jade towers and crystal halls are filled with clear light; The ice-mirror, silver plate, sends forth cool airs. At this moment, ten thousand leagues share the same pure brightness; On this night of the year, the moon is most brilliant and fresh. It is wholly like a frosty cake rising from the blue sea, Yet also like an ice-wheel suspended from the azure sky. In a separate pavilion, cold window, a lone traveler grieves; In a mountain village, rustic inn, an old man sleeps. Just as it reaches Han gardens, it startles the autumn-touched temples; Just as it reaches Qin towers, it hastens the evening toilet-case. Yu Liang had a poem passed down in Jin histories; Yuan Hong, sleepless, drifted in his river boat. Its light floats on the wine cup, cold and without strength; Its clear reflection shines in the courtyard, with a healthy immortal presence. Everywhere, by windows and eaves, people chant "White Snow"; Every household, in courts and halls, plucks icy zither-strings. Tonight I quietly admire it here in this mountain temple— On what day shall I return with it to my native garden? When Wukong heard this, he stepped forward and replied, "Master, you only know the moon's bright radiance and harbor thoughts of home, but you do not understand the meaning of the moon's phases—it is the rule and measure of the primal heaven's image and law. By the thirtieth day, the metal of the yang-soul is wholly dispersed, and the water of the yin-po fills the round disk; hence it is wholly dark and without light, and is called 'hui'—the dark phase. At that time it intersects with the sun, between the dark and the new moon days, and conceives through the sun's light. On the third day, the first yang appears; on the eighth day, the second yang is born; within the po there is half a hun, and its level is like a string—hence it is called 'shangxian'—the first quarter. By the fifteenth day, the three yang are fully present, thus it is round and full—hence called 'wang'—the full moon. On the sixteenth day, the first yin is born; on the twenty-second day, the second yin is born; at this time within the hun there is half a po, and its level is like a string—hence called 'xiaxian'—the last quarter. By the thirtieth day, the three yin are fully present, and it also should be 'hui.' This is the meaning of the primal heaven's gathering and refining. If we can nurture the two eights and complete the nine nines, then at that time, seeing the Buddha will be easy, and returning to our native soil will also be easy. A poem says: Before the first quarter and after the last quarter, The medicine's flavor is balanced, its aspect complete. Gather it and bring it back to refine in the furnace; With a resolute mind, the meritorious fruit is the Western Heaven." When the elder heard this, he suddenly understood and fully grasped the true words. His heart was filled with joy, and he thanked Wukong. Sha Seng, standing beside him, laughed and said, "Though Elder Brother's words are correct, he only spoke of before the quarter belonging to yang, after the quarter belonging to yin, and within yin half yang, obtaining the metal of water. He did not add: Water and fire intermingle, each with its own affinity, Wholly depending on the Earth-Mother to match them accordingly. The three families join in one without contention— Water is in the long river, the moon is in the sky." When the elder heard this, his mental block was also cleared. Truly: One aperture understood, a thousand apertures open; When the unborn is explained, one is an immortal. Bajie stepped forward and pulled at the elder, saying, "Master, do not listen to all this rambling—it will delay our sleep. This moon: Soon after waning it becomes full again, But I was born not quite perfect. When eating, they complain my belly is too big; When holding a bowl, they say there is sticky drool. All the others are clever and have cultivated blessings; I, in my foolishness, have accumulated karmic ties. I say, when you have completed the three evil paths' karmic debt, You will flick your tail, shake your head, and go straight up to heaven." Sanzang said, "Very well. Disciples, you have been weary from the journey—go and sleep first. Let me recite this scripture for a while." Wukong said, "Master, you are mistaken. You became a monk in childhood—which scripture from your youth is not familiar to you? Yet you also received the decree of King Tang, and set out for the Western Heaven to see the Buddha and seek the Great Vehicle's true scriptures. Now your task is not yet completed, the Buddha has not yet been seen, and the scriptures have not yet been taken. Which scripture is it that you recite?" Sanzang said, "Since I left Chang'an, I have trudged day after day and rushed through every dawn. The scriptures from my youth may have grown rusty. Fortunately, tonight I have some leisure—let me review them." Wukong said, "If that is so, we shall go to sleep first." The three of them each lay down on a rattan bed. The elder closed the door of the meditation hall, trimmed the silver lamp, spread open the scriptures, and silently read and recited. Truly: The first drum from the tower, human activity is still; By the fishing boats on the wild shores, the fires have gone out. But as to how the elder left the temple—that shall be told in the next chapter.