Chapter 13

Caught in the Tiger's Den, the Gold Star of Venus Delivers Him; on Twin-Fork Ridge Boqin Detains the Monk

The poem says:

Great was the Tang sovereign's edict and seal; under imperial commission Xuanzang goes to ask the way of Chan.With steadfast heart, ground and polished, he seeks the dragon's lair; with earnest practice he climbs the Vulture Peak.Along the marches he travels past many a kingdom; ahead the cloudy mountains, thousands on thousands deep.From now on he quits the carriage and turns toward the West, holding the teaching of the Buddha, waking to the great emptiness.

Now Tripitaka, three days before the full moon of the ninth month of the thirteenth year of Zhenguan, was escorted by the Tang sovereign and the officials out beyond the gate of Chang'an. For a day or two the horse never paused in its pace, and they reached Famen Monastery. The abbot, the elder of the principal quarters, with more than five hundred monks of the house, drew up on either side and received them within; they met, and tea was presented. After tea came the vegetarian meal, and after the meal the sky darkened without their noticing it. Truly it was:

Shadows stir, and the River of Stars draws near; the moon is bright, without a speck of dust.The cry of wild geese rings across the far sky; the beat of laundry mallets sounds from the western neighbor.Returning birds roost in the withered trees; the Chan monks chant the Sanskrit tones.On one rush cushion and one couch they sit until the night is half gone.

Under the lamp the monks discussed the fixed purpose of the Buddha's gate and the reasons for going to the Western Heaven to fetch the scriptures. Some spoke of waters far and mountains high; some of the roads where tigers and leopards thronged; some of sheer ridges and precipices hard to cross; some of venomous demons and wicked monsters hard to subdue. Tripitaka kept his mouth closed and said nothing; he only pointed with his finger at his own heart and nodded once or twice. The monks could not fathom his meaning, and pressing their palms together asked: “Master, you point to your heart and nod—what does it mean?” Tripitaka answered: “When the heart gives birth, all manner of demons are born; when the heart is extinguished, all manner of demons die. I once made a great vow before the Buddha in Huasheng Monastery, and I cannot but carry it out with this heart. In this going I am determined to reach the Western Heaven, see the Buddha, and fetch the scriptures, so that the wheel of the law may turn again among us, and the sacred sovereign's rivers and mountains stand firm forever.” Hearing this, the monks admired him, every one, and proclaimed it abroad, crying with one voice: “Loyal-hearted and lion-hearted Master, Grand Coordinator of the Law!” Their praise knew no end, and they begged the master to go to his couch and sleep.

Early again: bamboo knocking down the last of the moon, the cock crowing as the dawn clouds rose. The monks got up and made ready tea and the morning meal. Xuanzang put on the kasaya, went up into the main hall, bowed before the Buddha, and said: “Your disciple Chen Xuanzang goes to the Western Heaven to fetch the scriptures; but with these dull mortal eyes he cannot know the true form of the living Buddha. Now I make this vow: wherever on the road I meet a temple I will burn incense; meeting a Buddha, I will worship the Buddha; meeting a pagoda, I will sweep the pagoda. May our Buddha in his mercy soon reveal his golden body of a fathom and six, bestow the true scriptures, and leave them to be handed down in the Land of the East.” The prayer done, he returned to the abbot's quarters for the meal. When it was done, the two attendants readied saddle and horse and hurried the journey forward. Tripitaka went out the mountain gate and took leave of the monks. The monks could not bear the parting and followed him a full ten li before turning back, holding down their tears. Tripitaka pushed straight on toward the West. It was the season of late autumn, and behold:

In many a village the trees stand bare and the reed flowers lie shattered; on a few trees the maple and the poplar drop their red leaves. On the road the misty rain, and old friends are few; the yellow chrysanthemums are fair, the bones of the hills are gaunt, the waters cold, the lotus broken, and men grow worn. White clover and red knotweed under a sky of frost and snow; the setting blaze of cloud, and a lone duck falls through the open sky. Dimly, darkly, the wild clouds fly; the dark swallows gone, the guest geese arrive, their high clear cries breaking the night.

Master and disciples traveled some days and reached Gongzhou city, where the officials and people of the whole district came out early to meet them and brought them into the city. They rested one night, and early the next day left the city and went on. Eating when hungry and drinking when thirsty along the way, lodging at night and walking from dawn, in two or three days they reached the garrison of Hezhou. This was the boundary of the rivers and mountains of the Great Tang. The general guarding the marches and the monks and Daoists of the place, hearing that these were the imperial commissioner, the royal brother, the master bound for the West to see the Buddha, were all reverence. They received them within and supplied their wants, and the Monk Superior was told to take them to Broad-Source Monastery to lodge. The monks of the house called on them one by one and arranged the evening meal. When it was done, Tripitaka instructed the two attendants to feed the horses their fill; they would start before daybreak.

When the cock first crowed he called the attendants, which startled the monks of the monastery into making tea and breakfast. The meal done, they passed out of the boundary. The elder's heart was eager, and he had risen too early. It was now deep autumn, when the cock crows before its hour: it was no more than the fourth watch. The party of three, four mouths counting the horse, met the clear frost and watched the bright moon as they went some dozens of li, until they saw a mountain ridge before them. There was nothing for it but to push through the grass in search of a path—no telling how rough and hard the going—and they feared they had lost the way. Just as Tripitaka stood doubting, his foot slipped, and the three of them with the horse tumbled together into a pit. Tripitaka's heart panicked; the attendants' courage shook. Hardly had their terror settled when they heard within a roaring and a great shout: “Bring them here! Bring them here!” And they saw a whirlwind come rolling, out of which pressed fifty or sixty demon fiends, who hauled Tripitaka and the attendants up out of the pit. The master, trembling all over, stole a glance upward and saw the demon king enthroned there, ferocious past all measure. Truly:

Majestic his might, dreadful his presence; fierce his spirit, grand his face.His eyes flash like lightning in brilliant light; his voice is thunder that shakes the four quarters.Saw-teeth spread outside his mouth; chisel fangs show beside his jowls.Brocade is wound about his body; patterned fur wraps his spine.His bristles of steel lie sparse, with bare flesh showing; his hooked claws are keen as frost.The Yellow Lord of the Eastern Sea feared him; the White-Browed King of the Southern Mountain yielded to him.

Tripitaka's souls flew and his spirits scattered; the two attendants went soft of bone and slack of sinew. The demon king roared for them to be bound, and the demons in one motion tied all three with ropes. Just as they were preparing to swallow them, they heard a clamor outside, and someone came to announce: “Lord Bear of the Mountain and Squire Ox the Hermit are coming!” Tripitaka heard, raised his head, and looked: walking in front was a black fellow. And what do you suppose he looked like?

Mighty and daring beyond measure; light and quick his hulking frame.Through the water he wades on sheer fierce strength; through the woods he runs, flaunting angry power.Of old he figured in lucky dreams; today alone he shows his hero's air.He can climb and snap the green trees; he knows the cold and reads the seasons.Where his numinous power shows itself, therefore he is titled Lord of the Mountain.

Behind him came a fat fellow. And how did he look?

Two horned peaks crown his head; solemn he stands, shoulders and back held high.His nature is steady in a dark blue coat; his hooves' pace is much given to lagging.The sire of his line is called the Bullock; the dam of his line is called the Cow.For the good he does the fields, his name is Squire Ox the Hermit.

The two of them swayed and swaggered in at the entrance, and put the demon king in such a fluster that he rushed out to welcome them. Lord Bear of the Mountain said: “General Yin, you have prospered of late—worth a congratulation, worth a congratulation.” Squire Ox the Hermit said: “General Yin, your bearing is finer than ever—truly a joy, truly a joy.” The demon king said: “And how have you two gentlemen fared these days?” The Mountain Lord said: “Keeping to a plain diet, that is all.” The Squire said: “Taking things as they come, that is all.” The three exchanged their greetings, sat down, and talked and laughed.

The two attendants, bound fast, were weeping with the pain. The black fellow said: “Where do these three come from?” The demon king said: “They delivered themselves to the door.” The Squire laughed: “Can they serve to entertain guests?” The demon king said: “I am honored, honored.” The Mountain Lord said: “Do not use them all up: eat two and keep one, that is enough.” The demon king agreed, called his followers, and had the two attendants ripped open, their hearts gouged out, their corpses chopped to pieces: the heads and the hearts and livers were presented to the two guests; the four limbs he ate himself; and the rest of the bones and flesh he divided among the demons. There arose a champing and gobbling, truly like tigers eating lambs, and in an instant all was devoured. The elder was all but frightened to death. This indeed was the first calamity after leaving Chang'an.

In the midst of his grief and panic the east slowly whitened. The two monsters did not break up until daybreak, saying as they went: “We have been graciously entertained today; some day we shall repay it with all our hearts.” And they crowded out together.

Soon the red sun climbed high, and Tripitaka, dazed and heavy, could not tell east from west, south from north. Just at that desperate pass he suddenly saw an old man coming with a staff in his hand. The old man walked up, gave one sweep of his hand, and all the ropes fell apart; he blew one breath into Tripitaka's face, and the monk came back to himself, kneeling and bowing: “Many thanks to you, venerable grandfather, for saving your poor monk's life.” The old man returned the courtesy and said: “Get up. Have you lost anything?” Tripitaka said: “My attendants have been eaten by the monsters. Only I do not know where my baggage and my horse are.” The old man pointed with his staff: “Is that not a horse and two bundles over there?” Tripitaka turned and looked: they were indeed his own things, nothing lost, and his heart eased a little. He asked the old man: “Venerable sir, what place is this? How do you come to be here?” The old man said: “This is Twin-Fork Ridge, the den of tigers and wolves. How did you come to fall into it?” Tripitaka said: “Your poor monk left the bounds of Hezhou garrison at cockcrow. I did not reckon on rising too early; braving the frost and pushing through the dew, I suddenly went astray into this place. I saw a demon king, vicious beyond bearing, who had me and my two attendants bound. Then there came a black fellow who called himself Lord Bear of the Mountain, and a fat fellow who called himself Squire Ox the Hermit; they came in and called the demon king General Yin. The three of them ate my two attendants, and it was full daylight before they dispersed. How could I have such great fortune and such a great allotment, that you, venerable sir, should be moved to come to this place and save me?” The old man said: “The Squire is a wild ox spirit; the Mountain Lord is a bear spirit; General Yin is a tiger spirit. And all the fiends about them, every one, are mountain sprites and tree ghosts, strange beasts and gray wolves. Only because your own nature is still bright and unclouded could they not eat you. Come with me; I will lead you onto the road.”

Tripitaka was overcome with gratitude. He slung the bundles on the horse, took the rein, and followed the old man straight out of the pit onto the great road. He tied the horse to a tuft of grass by the wayside and turned to bow his thanks to the old man—and the old man turned into a gust of clear wind, bestrode a white crane with a vermilion crown, and soared away into the sky. On the wind, drifting down, came a paper slip bearing four lines of eulogy. It said:

I am the Gold Star of Venus of the Western Heaven, come expressly to save your life.Ahead, gods and disciples will give you aid; do not, for hardship, complain of the scripture road.

Tripitaka read it, bowed toward heaven, and said: “Many thanks to the Gold Star, for delivery from this calamity.” The bows done, he took the horse's rein and pressed on alone, lonely and forlorn. And on that ridge, truly:

Cold and hissing, the rain through the wood and the wind; chattering and ringing, the water of the ravine. Fragrant and thick the wild flowers open; dense and clustered the tumbled stones lie heaped. Clamorous the deer and the gibbons; in troops the roebuck and the muntjac. Loud and mingled the many voices of birds; silent and still, no trace of men. The elder trembles, his heart without peace; the horse, its strength gone timid, can scarcely lift its hooves.

Tripitaka gave up his body and staked his life, and so climbed up into those steep ridges. Half the day he went and saw no smoke of men, no village. First his belly was hungry; second the road was not even. Just in this extremity he saw before him two fierce tigers roaring, and behind him several long serpents coiling; on the left venomous creatures, on the right strange beasts. Tripitaka, alone and without resource, could only let go of body and mind and leave it to heaven's allotment. The horse too, its loins weak and its legs bending, sank down on its knees and lay flat on the ground; he could not beat it up and could not drag it along. The master had no place to turn; truly his misery was ten thousand-fold. He reckoned he must die, and there was no help for it.

Yet though calamity beset him, rescue was at hand. Just at that desperate pass he suddenly saw the venomous creatures flee, the strange beasts scamper away, the fierce tigers vanish, the long serpents hide their traces. Tripitaka raised his head and saw a man come round from before the slope with a steel fork in his hand and a bow and arrows at his waist—truly a bold fellow. Look at him:

On his head a cap of leopard skin, mottled like mugwort leaves; on his body a coat of woolen woven brocade; at his waist a belt of lion-barbarian work; on his feet a pair of boots of muntjac hide. His staring round eyes like a funeral guest's; his bushy whiskers bristling like the shaggy Kui Star of the River. Hung at his side a quiver of poisoned arrows with the bow; gripped in his hand a great fork of tempered steel. His thunder voice cracks the courage of the mountain beasts; his daring frightens the very souls of the wild pheasants.

Seeing him come near, Tripitaka knelt by the roadside, pressed his palms together, and cried aloud: “Great king, save my life! Great king, save my life!” The fellow came up to him, put down his steel fork, and raised him with his hand: “Elder, do not be afraid. I am no wicked man. I am a hunter of this mountain; my surname is Liu, my given name Boqin, and my nickname is the Guardian of the Mountain. I had just come out to look for a couple of mountain beasts for my pot. I did not expect to run into you and give you this fright.” Tripitaka said: “Your poor monk is sent under the seal of the Great Tang, a monk bound for the Western Heaven to bow before the Buddha and fetch the scriptures. Just now, coming to this place, I met with wolves and tigers, snakes and beasts, ringed about on every side, unable to go forward. Then suddenly you came, my guardian, and every beast ran off, and my poor monk's life was saved. Many thanks, many thanks.” Boqin said: “I live here, and I make my living wholly by hunting wolves and tigers and catching snakes and beasts; that is why the beasts all fear me and run. Since you come from the Tang, you and I are townsfolk. This place is still the Tang's own ground, and I too am a subject of the Tang; you and I drink the same imperial waters, eat the same imperial earth: truly men of one country. Do not be afraid. Come with me to my house and rest the horse; tomorrow morning I will see you on your way.” Tripitaka heard, rejoiced with all his heart, thanked Boqin, and led the horse after him.

Past the slope they heard a rushing wind. Boqin said: “Elder, do not go on; sit here. Where the wind sounds, a mountain cat is coming; let me catch it and carry it home to feast you.” Tripitaka, hearing this, trembled in every limb and dared not lift a foot. The guardian took up his steel fork, stretched his stride, and went to meet it. A striped tiger met them head on; seeing Boqin it wheeled at once to run. The guardian cracked out like thunder: “You wicked beast, where are you running!” Hard pressed, the tiger turned, swept its claws, and sprang; the guardian met it with the three-pronged fork raised. Tripitaka went soft and sprawled on the grass. This monk, since leaving his mother's womb, had never seen such deadly work. Guardian and tiger faced each other at the foot of the slope, man against tiger—a battle truly worth the telling. And this is how it went:

Anger in whirls, a wild wind rolling. Anger in whirls: the guardian's crest stands up, his sinews at full strength; a wild wind rolling: the striped brute flaunts its fury and sprays red dust. One bares his fangs and rakes with claws; the other turns his step and wheels his body. The three-pronged fork props the sky and dazzles the sun; the thousand-flower tail sweeps mist and cloud to flight. One stabs in wild jabs at the chest; the other comes open-jawed to swallow. Who dodges lives to be a man again; who is struck must look on King Yama. Only hear the striped brute roaring, and the guardian's voice cruel and hard. The brute's roar rends mountains and rivers, frightening birds and beasts; the guardian's hard cry parts the gates of heaven and startles the stars. One glares with eyes of molten gold; the other hardens his heart in wrath. Fair to see, Liu the guardian of the mountain; worthy of all praise, the lord of beasts who holds the ground. Man and tiger, each greedy for life, contend for victory—one moment slow, and three souls are lost.

The two fought for the space of a watch, until the tiger's claws slowed and its loins went slack; the guardian raised the fork and ran it through the chest, and the beast fell. Pitiful: the steel point went through heart and liver, and in an instant blood covered the ground. He seized it by the ears and dragged it up onto the road. A fine fellow: not a gasp for breath, not a flicker of color in his face, he said to Tripitaka: “Luck, luck! This mountain cat will keep the elder in meat for a day.” Tripitaka praised him without end: “Truly, guardian, you are a mountain god!” Boqin said: “What skill is mine, that you should praise me so? It is the elder's own great good fortune. Come along—let us skin it early and boil some of the meat, and feast you.”

One hand held the fork, the other dragged the tiger, and he led the way. Tripitaka led the horse and followed behind. Winding along past the slopes they suddenly came in sight of a mountain farmstead. Before its gate, truly:

Ancient trees reach the sky; wild vines sprawl across the path. Cold the wind and dust of ten thousand ravines; strange the moods of a thousand cliffs. A lane of wild flowers, their fragrance striking the body; a few stems of deep bamboo, green and swaying. A gate of grass, a court of wattle—fit for the painter's brush; a bridge of stone slabs, walls of white clay—true content, and truly rare. The autumn scene is bleak and bare, the air brisk and high. Yellow leaves fall by the road; white clouds drift above the ridge. In the thin wood mountain birds chatter and cry; outside the farm gate the small dogs bay.

Boqin reached the gate, flung down the dead tiger, and called: “Where are the boys?” Out came three or four serving lads, uncouth and ill-favored to look at, who hauled and tugged and carried the tiger inside. Boqin ordered them to skin it early and dress it for the guest. He turned back to receive Tripitaka within, and they greeted one another, and again Tripitaka bowed in thanks for the deep kindness and pity that had saved his life. Boqin said: “Between men of one country, why all these thanks?” When they had sat and the tea was done, an old woman came in with a young wife, and made their salutations to Tripitaka. Boqin said: “This is my mother and my young wife.” Tripitaka said: “Let your honored mother take the seat of honor, and let your poor monk bow to her.” The old woman said: “The elder is a guest from afar; let each keep his own health—no need of bows.” Boqin said: “Mother, he is sent by the sovereign of the Tang to the Western Heaven, to see the Buddha and fetch the scriptures. Just now on the ridge top he fell in with your son, and I, remembering we were men of one country, asked him home to rest his horse; tomorrow I will see him on his way.” The old woman heard and was delighted: “Good, good, good. Had we sent to invite him, it could not have fallen out more fitly. Tomorrow is the yearly death-day of your father; let us beg the elder to perform some good work and read a scroll of scripture, and send him on his way the day after.” This Liu Boqin, for all he was a tiger-slayer and the guardian of the mountain, had a filial heart: hearing his mother's word, he made ready incense and paper, and begged Tripitaka to stay.

While they talked the sky darkened unawares. The lads set out tables and stools and laid on them several plates of well-stewed tiger meat, steaming hot. Boqin asked Tripitaka to make shift with it; another meal would be prepared for him. Tripitaka pressed his palms to his breast: “Good! Your poor monk will not hide it from you, guardian: from my mother's womb I have been a monk, and I do not know how to eat flesh.” Boqin heard this and pondered a long while: “Elder, my poor house for generations back has never known how to eat vegetables. Though we have some bamboo shoots, and gather some tree-ears, and find some dried greens, and make bean curd, it is all fried in the fat of roe deer and tigers and leopards—there is nothing vegetarian about it. We have two stoves, and both are soaked through with grease. What is to be done? The fault is mine, that I invited the elder.” Tripitaka said: “Guardian, do not trouble your heart. Eat your own meal in peace. Your poor monk could go three days or five without food and bear the hunger; only he dare not break the fast.” Boqin said: “But if you starve to death, what then?” Tripitaka said: “Thanks to the heaven-sent grace of the guardian, who pulled me out of the thicket of tigers and wolves—even to die of hunger is better than to be fed to tigers.”

Boqin's mother heard and called: “Boy, do not stand gossiping with the elder. I have vegetarian food of my own to serve him.” Boqin said: “Where would vegetarian food come from?” His mother said: “Never you mind me; I have vegetables of my own.” She told the young wife to take down the little pot, burn off the grease, scour it and scour it, wash it and wash it, and set it again on the stove. First she boiled half a pot of water and set it apart for other use; then she took some mountain burnet leaves and steeped them in the hot water for tea; then she took yellow millet and small grain and set the rice a-cooking, and boiled some dried greens besides. She filled two bowls, brought them out, and spread the table. The old mother said to Tripitaka: “Elder, take your meal. This tea and rice were made ready with these old hands and my daughter's, the cleanest and purest we could make them.” Tripitaka came down and thanked her, and only then took his seat.

Boqin set up for himself in another place a spread of tiger meat without salt or sauce, of fragrant roe deer meat, of python meat, fox meat, hare meat, and chopped dried venison—plates and bowls full of it—to keep Tripitaka company at his vegetarian meal. He had hardly sat down and lifted his chopsticks when Tripitaka pressed his palms and chanted; Boqin was so startled he dared not move his chopsticks, and rose in haste to stand beside him. Tripitaka had not chanted many lines when he invited all to eat. Boqin said: “Are you a monk who reads only the short-headed sutras?” Tripitaka said: “This is no sutra; it is a charm for the offering up of the meal.” Boqin said: “You men who have left the world are full of contrivances—even at your meat you must go chanting.”

The vegetarian meal eaten and the dishes cleared, the sky slowly darkened. Boqin led Tripitaka out of the main house for a stroll behind it. Through a covered passage they came to a grass pavilion. He pushed open the door and they went in: on the four walls hung several strong bows and stiff crossbows, with quivers of arrows stuck about; across the beams were stretched two tiger skins still bloody; at the foot of the wall stood any number of spears, knives, forks, and staves; in the middle stood two seats. Boqin asked Tripitaka to sit a while. Tripitaka, finding it all so fierce and grim, dared not sit long, and came out of the pavilion. Farther back they walked, into a great garden, where there was no end to see: cluster upon cluster of chrysanthemum crowns heaped yellow, tree upon tree of maple and poplar hung with red. Then with a whish a dozen fat deer came bounding out, a whole troop of yellow roe, and seeing men they nuzzled and stood gawking, without a trace of fear. Tripitaka said: “These roe and deer must be the guardian's household stock?” Boqin said: “In your Chang'an, folk who have money pile up treasure, and folk who have farms pile up grain. We hunters have only to keep herds of wild beasts, against days of foul weather.” The two talked as they strolled, and dusk came on unawares; they turned back to the front house to sleep.

Early the next morning the whole household, old and young, rose, made the vegetarian meal ready for the elder, and asked him to open and read the scriptures. The elder washed his hands, went with the guardian before the shrine of the house, offered incense, and bowed to the tablets. Then Tripitaka sounded the wooden fish and first recited the true words that purify the sins of the mouth, then the spirit spell that purifies body and heart, and then opened a scroll of the Sutra for the Deliverance of the Dead. When it was chanted, Boqin asked him to write a memorial for the soul of the dead, and then to open and read the Diamond Sutra and the Sutra of Guanyin, each chanted aloud in a clear voice. That done, they ate the midday meal, and then he read the Lotus Sutra and the Sutra of Amitabha, several scrolls of each, and a scroll of the Peacock Sutra besides, and discoursed on the story of the monks washing away karma—and the sky was dark again. After every kind of incense and offering had been presented, the paper horses of the gods burned, and the memorial for the dead consumed in the fire, the work of Buddha was finished, and each went to rest.

Now the spirit of Boqin's father, lifted by the offering and freed from the deep, came early that night to his own house and appeared in a dream to all the family, old and young: “In the dark courts my sufferings could not be shaken off, and for a long time I could not be reborn. Now, thanks to the sagely monk's reading of the scriptures, my sins are wiped away; King Yama has sent men to see me to the rich land of China, to be born into the house of a man of substance. You must thank the elder well and send him off handsomely; do not be slack, do not be slack. I am going.” Truly: ten thousand laws in solemn state have their intent; the soul of the dead is lifted from suffering and out of the deep. The whole household woke from the dream, and the sun was already climbing in the east. Boqin's wife said: “Guardian, last night I dreamed my father-in-law came home. He said that in the dark courts his sufferings could not be shaken off, and for a long time he could not be reborn; but now the sagely monk has read the scriptures and wiped away his sins, and King Yama has sent men to see him to the rich land of China, to be born into a house of substance; and he told us to thank the elder well, and in no way to fail him. With that he went straight out the door and strolled away. We called to him and he did not answer; we tried to hold him and could not. I woke—and it was a dream.” Boqin said: “I had just such a dream as yours. Let us get up and tell our mother.” The two were on their way to tell her when the old mother called: “Boqin, my boy, come here; I have something to say to you.” The two came to her, and she sat up on her couch: “Son, last night I had a happy dream. I dreamed your father came home, and said that thanks to the elder's prayers his sins were wiped away, and he was gone to the rich land of China, to be born into the house of a man of substance.” Husband and wife laughed aloud: “We and your daughter-in-law all had this dream, and were just coming to tell you, when mother called us—and it was the same dream.” Then they called the whole household up, prepared their thanks, made ready his horse, and came before him and bowed: “Many thanks to the elder, who prayed our dead father out of his distress and into new life; we can never repay it.” Tripitaka said: “What power has your poor monk, that you should thank him?”

Boqin told Tripitaka the whole of the three dreams, and Tripitaka too rejoiced. They supplied the vegetarian meal early, and offered besides a tael of silver in thanks. Tripitaka would not take a farthing. The whole family pressed and pressed their bows upon him, but Tripitaka took not a farthing after all; he only said: “If you will kindly see me one stage of the road, that is more love than I can repay.” Boqin and his mother and his wife could do nothing else; they hastily baked some coarse-flour bakes and dry rations, and told Boqin to see him far along the way. Tripitaka gladly took them. The guardian, with his mother's charge upon him, called two or three of the serving lads, each with his hunting gear, and they went up onto the great road together; and there was no end to the wild scenery of the mountains, the splendor of the ridges.

They had gone half a day when they saw facing them a great mountain, truly rising till it brushed the blue sky, towering and sheer. In a while Tripitaka reached its foot. The guardian climbed that mountain as if it were level ground, and when they had gone halfway up, Boqin turned and stood in the road: “Elder, go forward on your own; I must ask leave to turn back.” Tripitaka heard, rolled from the saddle, and said: “I beg you a thousand times, guardian, see me one stage more.” Boqin said: “Elder, you do not know. This mountain is called the Mountain of the Two Bounds: the eastern half is under my Great Tang's governance; the western half is the land of the Tatars. The wolves and tigers beyond do not submit to me, and I cannot cross the boundary. You must go on alone.” Tripitaka's heart quailed; he flung his arms wide, clutched his robe and sleeve, tears dropping—they could hardly part. Just as he was urging and bowing his farewell there came from the foot of the mountain a shout like thunder: “My master is coming! My master is coming!” Tripitaka stood stupefied with fright, and Boqin braced himself.

But who it was that shouted—listen to the next chapter to find out.

Trapped in a Tiger's Den, the Gold Star of Venus Frees Him from Trouble; On Double-Fork Ridge Boqin Keeps the Monk

The poem says:

The great king of Tang issued the edict and the seal, and sent Xuanzang by his own command to seek the teaching of Chan.With a firm heart, ground and polished, he seeks the dragon's cave; with set purpose he cultivates and climbs Vulture Peak.He journeys along the borders through many lands; ahead of him, cloud-wrapped mountains, thousands on thousands.From now on he leaves the royal carriages and goes west, holding the teaching, sustained by the Buddha, to wake to the great void.

Now Tripitaka, three days before the full moon of the ninth month of the thirteenth year of Zhenguan, was sent by the Tang king and all his officers beyond the gate of Chang'an. For a day or two the horse never stopped, and they reached the Famen Monastery. The abbot of the monastery, the elder of the upper rooms, brought out more than five hundred monks and lined them on both sides. They were received inside, greetings were exchanged, and tea was served. After the tea came the vegetarian meal, and after the meal the sky darkened without their noticing. Truly:

Shadows move; the River of Stars draws near. The moon is bright, without a speck of dust.The cries of wild geese ring across the far sky; the sound of pounding blocks comes from the western neighbors.Returning birds roost in the bare trees; the monks of Chan recite the Sanskrit words.On a single rush cushion they sit until the night is half gone.

The monks talked under the lamp of the fixed aim of the Buddhist gate and of the reason for the journey to the western heaven to fetch the scriptures. Some said the waters were far and the mountains high; some said the road was full of tigers and leopards; some said the steep ridges and sheer cliffs could not be crossed; some said the poisonous demons and evil monsters could not be beaten. Tripitaka kept his mouth shut and said nothing; he only pointed a finger at his own heart and nodded several times. The monks could not understand, and pressed their palms together and asked, "Master, why do you point to your heart and nod?" Tripitaka answered, "When the heart is born, all kinds of devils are born; when the heart dies, all kinds of devils die. I once made a great vow before the Buddha in the Huasheng Monastery, and I cannot fail to keep this heart. On this journey I am determined to reach the western heaven, see the Buddha, and fetch the scriptures, so that the wheel of the law may turn again, and our holy sovereign's throne may stand forever." When the monks heard this, everyone marveled and everyone told of it, all crying, "The loyal-hearted, lion-hearted Grand Chief of Monks!" Their praise had no end, and they asked the master to his bed to rest.

Early the next day bamboo knocked at the window as the last moon set, and the cock crowed as the morning clouds rose. The monks got up and made tea and the morning meal. Xuanzang put on the cassock, went to the main hall, and bowed before the Buddha: "Your disciple Chen Xuanzang is going to the western heaven to fetch the scriptures. But my fleshly eyes are dull, and I would not know the true form of a living Buddha. Now I make this vow: on the road, wherever I meet a temple I will burn incense; wherever I meet a Buddha I will bow; wherever I meet a pagoda I will sweep it. May our Buddha be merciful and soon show his golden body of sixteen feet, and grant the true scriptures to hand down in the Land of the East." When the prayer was done he went back to the abbot's quarters for the meal. After the meal the two attendants got the saddle and horse ready and hurried the journey on. Tripitaka went out the mountain gate and said farewell to the monks. They could not bear to part, and followed him a full ten li before going back with tears. Tripitaka went straight on west. It was the season of late autumn, and this is what he saw:

In village after village the trees have shed their leaves and the reed flowers are broken; on tree after tree the maples and poplars drop their red leaves.On the road, mist and rain, and old friends are few. Yellow chrysanthemums are bright, the mountain bones are thin, the water is cold, the lotus is broken, and the traveler is worn.White duckweed and red knotweed under a frosty, snowy sky; the sunset cloud and the lone wild duck fall through the open sky.Dimly, darkly, the wild clouds fly. The black swallows have gone, the guest geese have come, and their crying through the night splits the air.

Master and followers traveled some days and came to the city of Gongzhou, where all the local officers and people met them and brought them into the city. They rested one night and left the city early the next morning. They ate when hungry and drank when thirsty, slept at night and walked at dawn, and after two or three days reached Hezhou Guard. This was the border of the land of Great Tang. The general guarding the frontier and the local monks and Daoists heard that this was the master sent by the throne, the Emperor's brother, going west to see the Buddha, and no one failed to show respect. They brought him inside and provided for him, and the chief of monks asked him to stay at the Fuyuan Monastery. The monks of the monastery called on him one by one and prepared the evening meal. After the meal he told his two attendants to feed the horses well, for they would start before dawn.

As soon as the cocks crowed, he called the attendants, but this woke the monks of the monastery, who made tea, soup, and food. After the meal they left the border. The elder was anxious and had risen too early. It was deep autumn, and the cocks crowed early; it was only the hour of the fourth watch. The three travelers with the horse, four mouths in all, went into the clear frost under the bright moon. After some tens of li they saw a ridge and had to push through the grass to find the road. It is beyond words how rough the going was, and they feared they had lost the way. While they doubted and pondered, their feet suddenly slipped, and the three, with the horse, fell into a pit. Tripitaka panicked; the attendants shook with fear. In the middle of their dread they heard a roaring inside, calling, "Bring them in! Bring them in!" A wild wind came rolling and whirling, and out of it swarmed fifty or sixty demons, who hauled Tripitaka and the attendants up. The master, trembling, stole a look and saw the demon king sitting above, terribly fierce. Truly:

His mighty presence was stern; his fierce spirit stood proud. His eyes flashed like lightning; his voice like thunder shook the four quarters. Saw-teeth spread outside his mouth; chisel fangs showed along his cheeks. His body was wrapped in Brocade; his back was covered in mottled fur. His bristles of steel were sparse over the flesh; his hooked claws were sharp as frost. The Yellow Lord of the Eastern Sea would fear him: the white-browed king of the southern hills.

Tripitaka's soul fled and his spirit scattered; the two attendants' bones went soft and their muscles numb. The demon king ordered them bound. The demons tied all three with ropes. Just as they were preparing to swallow them, there was a noise outside, and someone came to report: "Lord Bear of the Mountain and Master Bull the Hermit have come." Tripitaka heard it, looked up, and saw a black fellow walking in front. And what do you think he looked like?

Bold and mighty, full of daring; his squat body quick and strong.Crossing water, only fierce power; racing the woods, showing furious might.In the past he blessed lucky dreams; today alone he shows his fine form.He can climb and break the green trees, and knows the cold, and reads the seasons.Wherever his spirit shows itself, for this he is called the Lord of the Mountain.

Behind came a fat fellow. And what do you think he looked like?

His crest of two horns rose rugged and high; his shoulders and back stood grave and stiff.His nature wore a steady blue-black coat; his hooves moved slowly, heavily.His clan name, as a father, was Bull; his first name, as a mother, was Cow.Able to do the work of the fields, for this he is called Master Bull the Hermit.

The two of them swayed in and walked inside, and the demon king hurried out to welcome them in alarm. The Bear Lord of the Mountain said, "General Yin, you have had good fortune for a long time. Congratulations, congratulations." Master Bull the Hermit said, "General Yin, your bearing is better than ever. Truly a joy, truly a joy." The demon king said, "How have you two been these past days?" The Bear Lord said, "Keeping to a plain diet, nothing more." The Hermit said, "Going along with the times, nothing more." When the three had exchanged words, they sat and talked and laughed.

The attendants, bound, cried out in pain. The black fellow said, "Where do these three come from?" The demon king said, "They delivered themselves to our door." The Hermit said, laughing, "Can they serve as a meal for guests?" The demon king said, "With pleasure, with pleasure." The Bear Lord said, "Do not use them all. Eat two and keep one." The demon king agreed. He called his followers, who cut open the two attendants, tore out their hearts, and chopped their bodies to pieces. They offered the heads and the hearts and livers to the two guests, ate the four limbs themselves, and divided the rest of the bones and flesh among the demons. There was a sound of gobbling and smacking, truly like tigers eating lambs, and in a moment it was all eaten. The elder was nearly scared to death. This was the first hardship after leaving Chang'an.

While they were still in terror, the east slowly grew light. The two monsters did not break up until daybreak, all saying, "We have been grandly entertained today. Another day we will repay it with all our hearts." Then they crowded out together.

Before long the red sun rose high. Tripitaka, dazed and heavy, could not tell east from west or south from north. Just when he was beyond hope, he suddenly saw an old man coming with a staff in his hand. The old man came up, swept his hand once, and all the ropes fell apart. He blew one breath at Tripitaka's face, and Tripitaka came to himself. He knelt on the ground and said, "Thank you, venerable sir, for saving this poor monk's life." The old man returned the courtesy and said, "Get up. Have you lost anything?" Tripitaka said, "My attendants have been eaten by the monsters. Only I do not know where my baggage and my horse are." The old man pointed with his staff: "Is that not a horse and two bundles over there?" Tripitaka looked back, and they were indeed his things, nothing lost, and his heart came down a little. He asked the old man, "Venerable sir, what place is this? How do you come to be here?" The old man said, "This is Double-Fork Ridge, the den of tigers and wolves. How did you fall into it?" Tripitaka said, "I left the border of Hezhou Guard at cockcrow. I did not expect to rise so early. Through frost and dew I suddenly lost my way and fell into this place. I saw a demon king, terribly fierce, who bound me and my two attendants. Then came a black fellow calling himself the Bear Lord of the Mountain, and a fat fellow calling himself Master Bull the Hermit. They came in and called the demon king General Yin. The three of them ate my two attendants, and only broke up at daybreak. Who would have thought I had such a great destiny stored up somewhere, to move you, venerable sir, to come and save me?" The old man said, "Your hermit is an ox spirit; your mountain lord is a bear spirit; your General Yin is a tiger spirit. The demons around them are all mountain spirits and tree ghosts, strange beasts and gray wolves. Only because your own nature is bright and clear could they not eat you. Come with me, and I will lead you to your road."

Tripitaka, thankful beyond words, slung the bundles on the horse, took the reins, and followed the old man straight out of the pit onto the high road. He tied the horse to the grass at the roadside and turned to bow and thank the old man; but the old man turned into a breath of clear wind, bestrode a white crane with a red crest, and rose into the sky. The wind left behind a paper slip with four lines of verse. The verse said:

I am the Gold Star of Venus of the western heaven, come specially to save your life.Ahead, a disciple of the gods will help you. Do not blame the hard road as you chant your sutras.

Tripitaka read it, bowed toward heaven, and said, "Thank you, Gold Star, for bringing me through this trouble." When he had bowed, he took the horse and went on alone, lonely and desolate, struggling forward. On this ridge it was truly:

A cold wind whistled through the woods; the stream water babbled below. Wild flowers bloomed, sweet and heavy; heaped stones lay thick and jumbled. Deer and gibbons clamored noisily; droves of river deer and muntjacs passed. Bird cries rang in a noisy mix, while human business was hushed and still. The elder trembled, his heart uneasy; the horse grew feeble and could hardly lift its hooves.

Tripitaka staked his body and his life and climbed up into that steep ridge. He traveled half a day and saw no sign of people or village. His stomach was hungry, and the road was rough. Just in this danger he saw two fierce tigers roaring ahead and several long snakes coiling behind. Poisonous insects were on the left, strange beasts on the right. Tripitaka was alone and without a plan. He could only let go of body and mind and leave it to heaven. His horse, its back weak and its legs bending, knelt down and lay flat on the ground; he could not beat it up and could not pull it along. The poor master had no place to turn, truly miserable in ten thousand ways. He had already given himself up for dead; nothing could be done.

But though trouble came, rescue came too. Just when he was beyond hope, he suddenly saw the poisonous insects run away, the strange beasts flee, the fierce tigers hide, and the long snakes vanish. Tripitaka looked up and saw a man with a steel fork in his hand and a bow and arrows at his waist, turning out from before the hillside, truly a fine fellow. Look at him:

On his head a leopard-skin cap, spotted like mugwort leaves; on his body a brocade coat woven of goats' wool; at his waist a lion-pattern belt; on his feet a pair of muntjac-leather boots. His glaring round eyes were like a summons to a funeral; his ringed beard bristled in tangles like the stars of the River Kui. At his side hung a bag of poisoned arrows for the bow; in his hand he gripped a great fork of pointed steel. His thunderous voice cracked the courage of the mountain beasts; his valor scared the souls of the wild pheasants.

Tripitaka, seeing him come near, knelt by the roadside, pressed his palms together, and cried out, "Great king, save my life! Great king, save my life!" The man came up, put down the steel fork, and raised him with his hand: "Do not be afraid, elder. I am no bad man. I am a hunter of this mountain. My surname is Liu, my given name Boqin, and men call me the Guardian of the Mountain. I was just coming out to find a couple of mountain beasts to eat. I did not expect to run into you, and I am sorry for the fright." Tripitaka said, "I am a poor monk sent by the Emperor of Tang, going to the western heaven to bow to the Buddha and fetch the scriptures. Just now I came to this place and met wolves, tigers, snakes, and insects all around me, so that I could not go on. Then you came, Guardian, and all the beasts ran off, and you saved my life. Thank you, thank you." Boqin said, "I live here and make my living by hunting wolves and tigers and catching snakes and insects, and so all the beasts fear me and run. Since you come from Tang, you and I are people of the same country. This is still Tang ground, and I am a subject of Tang too. You and I eat of the same royal soil and water; truly we are people of one land. Do not be afraid. Come with me to my house and rest the horse, and tomorrow I will see you on your way." Tripitaka was glad with all his heart, thanked Boqin, and led the horse along with him.

Over the hillside they heard the wind rushing. Boqin said, "Do not go on, elder. Sit here. Where the wind sounds, a mountain cat is coming. Let me catch it and take it home to entertain you." Tripitaka's heart shook again at the words, and he dared not move. The Guardian took up his steel fork, swung out his legs, and went to meet it. A striped tiger ran into them head-on, and seeing Boqin, turned at once to run. The Guardian thundered like a bolt from the blue: "Where are you going, you wicked beast!" The tiger, hard pressed, turned, swung its claws, and sprang. The Guardian met it with his three-pronged fork. Tripitaka fell limp on the grass, terrified; since leaving his mother's womb this monk had never seen such fierce work. The Guardian and the tiger struggled together below the hillside, man against tiger, a grand fight truly. Look at it:

Anger seethed; a wild wind rolled. Anger seethed: the Guardian's hair stood from his head, strength swelling in his arms; the wild wind rolled: the striped brute pressed its attack, snorting red dust. One bared its fangs and spread its claws; the other turned step by step, wheeling and twisting. The three-pronged fork held up the sky and shook the sun; the thousand-flowered tail lashed, and mist and cloud went flying. One stabbed wildly at the chest; the other snapped at the face. He who dodged was born again as a man; he who was struck would surely see King Yama. The striped tiger roared, and the Guardian's voice was hard. The tiger's roar split mountains and rivers and frightened birds and beasts; the Guardian's hard voice shouted open the gates of heaven and showed the stars. One glared with golden eyes; the other hardened his heart and burned with anger. Lovely is Liu the Guardian who keeps the mountain; worthy of all praise, the lord of the beasts on the ground. Man and tiger, greedy for life, fought for the win; one slip of a moment and three souls are lost.

The two fought for the space of a watch. Then the tiger's claws slowed and its back went slack; the Guardian raised his fork and stabbed it dead through the chest. Alas: the steel point went through heart and liver, and in a moment blood covered the ground. He seized it by the ears and dragged it up onto the road. A fine fellow: without a pant of breath or a change of color he said to Tripitaka, "Good luck, good luck! This mountain cat will feed you, elder, for a whole day." Tripitaka could not praise him enough: "Guardian, you are truly a mountain god!" Boqin said, "What skill is mine, to deserve such praise? This was the elder's great good fortune. Come, let us skin it early and boil some of the meat to entertain you."

With the fork in one hand and the tiger in the other he led the way. Tripitaka led the horse behind. They wound along over the hillside and suddenly saw a mountain farm. Before its gate it was truly:

Ancient trees reaching the sky; wild vines overgrowing the road. Wind and dust cold in ten thousand ravines; strange grandeur in a thousand cliffs. Down one path the scent of wild flowers comes against the body; a few stalks of quiet bamboo stand deep in green. A gate of grass, a court fenced with wattle, fit to be drawn or painted; a bridge of stone slabs, walls of white clay, truly happy, truly rare. Autumn looks bare and bleak; the air is fresh and lone. Yellow leaves fall by the road; white clouds drift along the ridge. In the thin woods mountain birds cackle; outside the farm gate the small dogs bark shrill.

Boqin reached the gate, threw down the dead tiger, and called, "Where are the boys?" Three or four servants came out, all of them strange and ugly of face. They dragged and hauled the tiger and carried it inside. Boqin told them to skin it early and get it ready for the guest. Then he turned back and brought Tripitaka in. When they had greeted each other, Tripitaka bowed again in thanks for Boqin's great kindness in pitying and saving his life. Boqin said, "We are people of the same country. Why thank me?" When they were seated and the tea was done, an old woman came in with a young wife and gave courtesies to Tripitaka. Boqin said, "This is my mother and my wife." Tripitaka said, "Please let your mother sit above, and let me bow to her." The old woman said, "The elder is a guest from far away. Let each keep himself well; there is no need to bow." Boqin said, "Mother, he is sent by the Emperor of Tang to go west to see the Buddha and fetch the scriptures. Just now he met your son on the ridge. Thinking that we are people of one country, I asked him to rest his horse at our house, and tomorrow I will see him on his way." The old woman was overjoyed and said, "Good, good, good! Even if we had invited him, we could not have asked better. Tomorrow is the yearly death-day of your father. Let us beg the elder to do some good work and chant a scroll of scripture, and send him on his way the day after." This Liu Boqin, though a hand that killed tigers and the Guardian of the mountain, had a filial heart. Hearing his mother's words, he got incense and paper ready and asked Tripitaka to stay.

While they talked, the sky darkened before they knew it. The servants set out the tables and stools and put on several plates of well-stewed tiger meat, steaming hot. Boqin asked Tripitaka to help himself for now; another meal would be made for him. Tripitaka pressed his palms to his chest and said, "Blessed be! I will not hide it from you, Guardian: from my mother's womb I have been a monk, and I do not know how to eat meat." Boqin thought it over for a long while and said, "Elder, my poor house has never known a vegetarian meal for generations. Even when we have some bamboo shoots, gather some wood-ear fungus, find some dried greens, or make some bean curd, it is all fried in the fat of river deer, deer, tigers, and leopards; there is nothing really vegetarian. We have two stoves, and both are soaked through with grease. What is to be done? The fault is mine for inviting you." Tripitaka said, "Guardian, do not trouble your heart. Eat your own meal. I can go three or five days without food and bear the hunger; I only dare not break my fast." Boqin said, "And if you starve to death, what then?" Tripitaka said, "Thanks to your heaven-sent kindness, Guardian, I was pulled out of the den of tigers and wolves. To starve to death is better than to be fed to tigers."

Boqin's mother heard this and called, "Child, do not chatter with the elder. I have food without meat, and can entertain him." Boqin said, "Where would vegetarian food come from?" His mother said, "Never mind me. I have my own vegetarian things." She told the young wife to take down the small pot, burn off the grease, scrub it and scrub it again, wash it and wash it again, and set it back on the stove. First she boiled half a pot of water and set it apart for another use. Then she took some mountain burnet leaves and boiled them in water for tea. Then she cooked rice of yellow millet, and boiled some dried greens. She filled two bowls, brought them out, and laid them on the table. The old mother said to Tripitaka, "Elder, please eat. This is tea and rice of the cleanest and purest, made with these hands, mine and my daughter-in-law's." Tripitaka came down, thanked her, and only then took his seat.

Boqin set himself up in another place, spreading out tiger meat with neither salt nor sauce, fragrant river-deer meat, python meat, fox meat, rabbit meat, and chopped dried venison, whole plates and bowls of it, to keep Tripitaka company while he ate his vegetarian meal. He had just sat down and was about to lift his chopsticks when he saw Tripitaka press his palms together and chant a scripture. Boqin was so startled he dared not move his chopsticks, and got up quickly and stood at the side. Tripitaka had not read many lines before he asked everyone to eat. Boqin said, "Are you a monk who chants only a short-head scripture?" Tripitaka said, "This is no scripture. It is a charm for calling the meal." Boqin said, "You men who have left home always have so many devices. Even eating must have its chant."

When the meal was eaten and the dishes cleared, it grew late. Boqin led Tripitaka out of the middle house for a walk behind it. Through a narrow passage there was a grass pavilion. He pushed open the door and they went in. On the four walls hung several strong bows and hard crossbows, with a few quivers of arrows stuck up; across the beam were stretched two bloody tiger skins; at the foot of the wall stood many spears, knives, forks, and clubs; in the middle stood two seats. Boqin asked Tripitaka to sit, but Tripitaka, seeing such fierce and filthy things, dared not stay long, and went out of the pavilion. Farther back was a great garden, and they could not take in all its clustered chrysanthemums heaped yellow, its maples and poplars hung red. Then, with a whoosh, ten or so fat deer ran out, and a great drove of yellow river deer. Seeing people, they stood tame and silly, not frightened at all. Tripitaka said, "These deer must be tame ones you keep, Guardian?" Boqin said, "People in your city of Chang'an: those with money pile up treasure, those with farms store up grain. We hunters can only keep some wild beasts, against a bad-weather day." The two talked as they walked, and dusk came before they knew it. They went back to the front house to sleep.

Early the next morning the whole household, old and young, got up, made a vegetarian meal for the elder, and asked him to begin the scriptures. The elder washed his hands, went with the Guardian before the family shrine, lit incense, and bowed to it. Then Tripitaka struck the wooden fish and first chanted the true words for cleansing the sins of the mouth, then the holy spell for cleansing body and heart, and then opened and read one scroll of the Sutra for Freeing the Dead. When it was done, Boqin asked him to write out a petition for the dead father, and he read on: the Diamond Sutra and the Guanyin Sutra, chanting each aloud in a clear voice. When that was done and the midday meal eaten, he read the Lotus Sutra and the Amitabha Sutra, several scrolls of each, then one scroll of the Peacock Sutra, and told the story of the bhikshu who washed away his karma. By then the sky was late again. He had offered all kinds of incense, burned the paper horses for the gods, and burned the petition for the dead. The Buddhist work was finished, and each went to sleep.

Now the spirit of Boqin's father, freed by the offering from its sinking, came early that night to his own house and appeared in a dream to the whole household, old and young: "In the dark world my suffering could not be freed, and for a long time I could not be reborn. Now, thanks to the holy monk's chanting of the scriptures, my sins are wiped away. King Yama has sent men to send me to the rich land of China, to be born in the house of a rich family. You must thank the elder well and send him off. Do not slight him, do not slight him. I am going." Truly: ten thousand laws in solemn order have their purpose; the offering lifts the dead from pain and out of the deep. The whole family woke from their dreams, and the sun was already rising in the east. Boqin's wife said, "Guardian, last night I dreamed my father-in-law came home. He said that in the dark world his suffering could not be freed and he could not be reborn; that now, thanks to the holy monk's chanting, his sins were wiped away; that King Yama had sent men to send him to the rich land of China, to be born in a rich man's house; and that we must thank the elder well and not slight him. When he had said this, he went straight out the door and wandered away. We called to him and he did not answer; we tried to hold him and could not. Then I woke, and it was a dream." Boqin said, "I had just such a dream as yours. Let us get up and tell mother." As the two were about to go, the old mother called, "Boqin, my child, come here. I want to talk to you." The two came to her, and she sat up in bed and said, "Child, I had a happy dream last night. I saw your father come home. He said that thanks to the elder's prayers his sins are wiped away, and he is going to the rich land of China, to be born in a rich man's house." Husband and wife laughed aloud: "We and the wife all had this dream, and were just coming to tell you, when mother called — and it was the same dream." So they called the whole household, great and small, made ready their thanks, and prepared his horse. All came before him, bowed, and said, "We thank the elder for freeing our dead father from his trouble and giving him new life. We can never repay it." Tripitaka said, "What power has a poor monk, that you should thank me?"

Boqin told Tripitaka the whole story of the three dreams, and Tripitaka too was glad. They had already given him a vegetarian meal, and now offered a tael of silver in thanks. Tripitaka would not take a single coin. The whole family begged him earnestly again and again, but in the end he took nothing. He only said, "If you are willing, out of mercy, to see me one stage of the way, that is kindness enough." Boqin and his mother and wife could do nothing more, so they quickly made some coarse-flour bakes and dry food, and told Boqin to see him far on his way. Tripitaka gladly took them. The Guardian took his mother's orders, called two or three servants, each with hunting gear, and they all took the high road together. They could not see enough of the wild mountain scenes and the sights along the ridge.

After half a day they saw a great mountain facing them, truly so high it touched the blue sky, lofty and steep. Before long Tripitaka came to its foot. The Guardian climbed this mountain as if it were level ground. When they were halfway up, Boqin turned and stood in the road: "Elder, please go on by yourself. I must turn back." Tripitaka tumbled from the saddle: "I beg you, Guardian, see me one more stage." Boqin said, "Elder, you do not know. This mountain is called Two-Boundary Mountain. The eastern half is governed by our Great Tang; the western half is the land of the Tatars. The wolves and tigers on that side do not submit to me, and I cannot cross the border. You must go on alone." Tripitaka's heart sank. He opened his hands, clutched Boqin's sleeve, and could not let go for tears. While he was still begging farewell and bowing, there came a shout from the foot of the mountain like rolling thunder: "My master is coming! My master is coming!" Tripitaka froze where he stood, and Boqin shook.

But who was shouting? Listen to the next chapter to find out.