Chapter 36

The Mind-Ape Set Right, All Conditions Submit; the Side Gate Cleaved Open, the Moon Shines Bright

Now Pilgrim Sun pressed down his cloud and told his master the whole story: how the Bodhisattva had borrowed the boys, and how Lord Lao had carried off the treasures. Tripitaka thanked him without end and set his whole heart on devotion, staking his life on the west. He took the saddle and mounted; Zhu Bajie shouldered the luggage, Sha Monk gathered in the horse's head, Pilgrim Sun took up his iron staff, cut the road open, and straight down the high mountain they pressed forward. No telling of lodging by the water and meals in the wind, wrapped in frost and breasting the dew.

Master and disciples had gone a long while when another mountain blocked the way. Tripitaka called out from horseback: "Disciples, see how lofty that mountain rises; we must be on our guard, for fear some demon hindrance should set upon us again." "Do not let your thoughts run wild, Master," said Pilgrim. "Only steady your nature and keep your spirit, and all will be well of itself." Tripitaka said: "Disciples, why is the Western Heaven so hard to reach? I remember leaving the city of Chang'an: on the road spring has ended and summer come, autumn waned and winter arrived—four or five years now—and still we have not arrived?" Hearing this, Pilgrim laughed: "Early days, early days! We have not yet come out the front gate." "Brother, do not lie," said Bajie. "Is there such a gate in the world of men?" Pilgrim said: "Brother, we are still turning about in the main hall." Sha Monk laughed: "Brother, spare me your big talk. Even granting so vast a main hall, there is nowhere to buy so vast a crossbeam." "Brother, as Old Sun sees it: let the blue sky be the roof tiles, sun and moon the latticed windows, the four mountains and five peaks the beams and pillars—and heaven and earth are one open hall," said Pilgrim. Hearing this Bajie said: "It is over, it is over; we may as well turn back after a bit." "No idle talk," said Pilgrim. "Just follow Old Sun and keep walking."

Brave Great Sage! He bore the iron staff crosswise, held the Tang monk steady, cut through the mountain paths, and pressed straight on. The master, gazing far from horseback—what a mountain scene! Truly:

The summits towered and touched the Dipper's shaft; the treetops all but met the clouds.From the heaps of blue smoke came now and then the gibbons' cry at the valley's mouth; in the tangled green shade, always the cranes calling among the pines.Wind-yelling mountain demons stood in the streambed to tease the woodcutters; foxes grown to their power sat at the crag's edge and startled the hunters.What a mountain! See the cliffs towering on eight sides, the peril steep on every hand.Strange, lofty pines coiled in canopies of green; withered, broken old trees hung with vines.Springs leapt and streamed, their cold piercing to the roots of the hair; the crests stood stark, and the clear wind stung the eye and startled the dreaming soul.Now and then came the roar of the great cat; always the calls of mountain birds.Muntjacs and deer in herds threaded the brambles, leaping to and fro; river deer in packs ranged for their forage, running before and behind.Stand on the grassy slope: look as you may, no traveler anywhere; walk into the deep folds: jackals and wolves on every side.This can be no place for the Buddha's practice; it is all a field of birds of the air and beasts of the chase.

The master, trembling and quaking, entered these deep mountains with heaviness of heart; he reined in his horse and cried:

"Ever since I took my vow of Good-Sense upon the mountain, the King Would-Not-Stay-the-Traveler sent me out from the city.On the road I met the Three-Angled One; on the way the Horse-Bell hastened me forward.Seeking slope and winding ravine, I hunted Nepeta; crossing ridge and climbing mountain, I paid homage to Poria.Guarding my one self like strained bamboo juice—when will Fennel bring me home to bow at court?"

Hearing this, the Great Sage Sun laughed coolly: "Master, do not let it weigh on you; be not anxious. Go forward with an easy heart, and I promise you: when the work is done, success comes of itself." Master and disciples, gazing at the mountain scenery and walking at their ease, were unaware how soon the red wheel sank in the west. And so it was:

At the ten-li pavilions no travelers pass; in the ninefold heavens the stars come out.The boats of the eight rivers are all in harbor; the gates of seven thousand provinces and counties are all shut.From the six palaces and five offices the officials have gone home; on the four seas and three rivers the fishing lines are put away.From two watchtowers the bells and drums sound; one bright moon fills heaven and earth.

The elder, gazing far from horseback, saw in a fold of the hills terraces stacked on terraces, halls upon halls. Tripitaka said: "Disciples, it is late. Luckily those towers are not far off—no doubt a hermitage or temple; let us all beg a night's lodging there and go on tomorrow." "Master is right," said Pilgrim. "No hurry; wait while I see what it is like." The Great Sage leapt into the air and looked carefully: a monastery gate it truly was. Behold:

Brick walls flared in figure-eight lines, plastered pink with powdered clay; on the doors on either side, nails of gold.Terrace upon terrace hidden at the ridge's side; hall upon hall concealed in the mountain.The Ten Thousand Buddhas Tower faces the Tathagata Hall; the Sunrise Tower answers the Gate of the Great Hero.The seven-story pagoda harbors cloud and lodges mist; the three honored Buddhas show forth their glory.The Manjusri Terrace faces the Sangharama lodge; the Maitreya Hall leans on the Hall of Great Compassion.Beyond the Mountain-Viewing Tower a green light dances; over the Treading-the-Void Pavilion purple clouds arise.Pine gates and bamboo courts deep in green; abbot's room and meditation hall clear in every part.Gracious and secluded, they make for delight; along every stream and road they welcome with joy.Where meditation is practiced, Chan monks expound; in the music room many instruments sound.On the Sumeru Terrace the udumbara blossoms fall; before the Dharma-preaching altar the pattra leaves grow.Truly: the woods screen this ground of the Three Jewels; the hills embrace this palace of the Brahma King.On half the walls lamp smoke glitters and glows; a single line of incense haze hangs dim in mist.

The Great Sage Sun pressed down his cloud and reported to Tripitaka: "Master, it is a monastery indeed, and a fine place to lodge. Let us go."

The elder gave the horse its head, came straight on, and drew up outside the temple gate. Pilgrim said: "Master, what monastery is this?" Tripitaka said: "The hooves have scarcely stopped, my toe is not yet out of the stirrup, and already you ask what monastery—what a question!" Pilgrim said: "You, sir, have been a monk since childhood; you must have studied the classics before you expounded the scriptures, versed in letters and in doctrine, before you received the Tang king's grace. Such great characters on the gate—how can you not read them?" The elder scolded: "Brazen monkey! How mindlessly you talk. I was riding west into the sun, its glare full in my eyes; the gate had its characters, but dust and grime dimmed them, and so I did not see." At this Pilgrim bowed at the waist and stretched himself more than two zhang high, brushed the dust away with his hand, and said: "Look, Master." There in five great characters: "The Treasure Grove Monastery, Built by Imperial Decree." Pilgrim resumed his proper size: "Master, which of us goes in to ask for lodging?" "I will go in. Your faces are ugly, your speech rough, your tempers stiff and proud; if you gave offense to the monks here and they refused us lodging, it would turn out ill," said Tripitaka. "Then go in, Master," said Pilgrim, "and say no more than you must."

The elder set down his tin staff, untied his cloak, straightened his robe, pressed his palms, and went straight in the gate. Within, on either side behind red-lacquered balustrades, sat a pair of guardians towering, shaped and painted in dread and ugly majesty:

One had an iron face and steel whiskers like a living man; one had bristling brows and round eyes, exquisitely wrought.The left one's knuckles stood out like raw iron; the right one's palms were gnarled beyond red copper.Golden mail of linked rings glittered; bright helms and embroidered sashes shone in the drifting wind.The West truly abounds in offerings to the Buddha: in the stone censer the incense fire glows red.

Seeing this, Tripitaka nodded and sighed long: "If in our Land of the East anyone too molded such great bodhisattvas in clay and burned incense before them, your disciple would not need to go to the Western Heaven." While he sighed he came within the second gate. There stood the images of the Four Great Kings: Upholder of the Nation, Much Hearing, Increase of Growth, and Wide Eye, seated to the winds of the four quarters, emblems of favorable winds and timely rains. Within the second court were four lofty pines, each with a canopy of green, round as umbrellas. Suddenly he raised his eyes: it was the Precious Hall of the Great Hero. The elder pressed his palms in homage and bowed his body low. When he had worshiped he rose, passed the Buddha's altar, and came beneath the back door. There too was an image of Guanyin, seated facing backward, ferrying all across the Southern Sea. The walls were worked by master craftsmen with shrimp, fish, crabs, and turtles, heads out and tails showing, sporting amid the waves and tides of the sea. The elder nodded three or five times more and sighed ten thousand sighs: "Pity! The scale-clad creatures all worship the Buddha—why will not men cultivate themselves?"

While he thus marveled, a temple servitor came out of the third gate. The servitor, seeing at once that Tripitaka's features were remarkable and his bearing no common one, hurried forward and saluted: "Where do you come from, Master?" Tripitaka said: "Your disciple is sent from the court of the great Tang in the Land of the East to worship the Buddha in the Western Heaven and seek scriptures. I have reached your precious quarter; the day is nearly spent; I beg lodging for one night." The servitor said: "Do not blame me, Master; I have no authority. I am the one who sweeps the floors and strikes the bell here—a drudge. Inside there is an elder who keeps the house; let me go report to him. If he will have you stay, I will come out and beg you in; if not, I dare not hold you." "I am in your debt," said Tripitaka.

The servitor hurried to the abbot's quarters and reported: "Your Reverence, someone has come outside." The monk official rose at once, changed his robes, adjusted his Vairocana cap, donned his kasaya, and opened the door in haste to receive the guest, asking the servitor: "Who has come?" The servitor pointed with his finger: "Is that not a man there behind the main hall?" There stood Tripitaka, bareheaded, in a robe of twenty-five strips of Bodhidharma cloth, on his feet a pair of mud-spattered Bodhidharma shoes, leaning aslant at the back door. The monk official was furious: "Servitor, you deserve a thrashing! Do you not know I am the head of this house? Only when some gentleman comes from the city to burn incense do I come out to receive him! Such a monk as this—and you fill your report with lies and bring me out to greet him? Look at his face: he is no honest man—most likely a wandering monk; the day is late, and he means to beg lodging. Would I let such a fellow disturb our abbot's court? Let him squat under the front cloister—why report him to me?" He turned on his heel and went back in.

Hearing this, the elder's eyes filled with tears: "Pity, pity! Truly, away from home a man is cheap. Your disciple left the world as a boy and became a monk; never did I chant penitence and eat meat and conceive wicked thoughts, never read the scriptures nursing anger to spoil the Chan heart; never did I hurl tile or throw brick to injure the Buddha hall, or scrape true gold from an arhat's face. Ah, pity! In what former life did I offend heaven and earth, that in this life I keep meeting with wicked men? Monk, you might have refused us lodging and been done with it—why speak so meanly, and tell us to squat under the front cloister? If these words do not reach Pilgrim, well and good; but if they do, that monkey will come in here and break your ankle-bones with one bout of his iron staff." Then the elder said: "Very well, very well. As the saying goes, 'Man puts courtesy and music first.' Let me go in and ask him myself, and see how he takes it."

The master followed in his steps through the abbot's door. There sat the monk official, robes thrown off, fuming, whether reciting scriptures or writing services for some patron one could not tell—papers heaped upon the table. Tang monk dared not go deep in, but stood in the courtyard, bowed, and called out loudly: "Elder Abbot, your disciple salutes you." The monk seemed half annoyed that he had come inside; he returned the salute half-heartedly: "Where are you from?" Tripitaka said: "Your disciple is sent from the court of the great Tang in the Land of the East to worship the living Buddha in the Western Heaven and seek scriptures. Passing through your precious quarter at nightfall, I beg lodging for one night; before the light of day I shall be gone. A hundred thousand times I beg the elder abbot's indulgence." Then the monk official half rose: "Are you that Tripitaka Tang?" "I am he," said Tripitaka. "Bound for the Western Heaven for scriptures—and you cannot even find the road?" said the monk official. "Your disciple has never traveled this quarter before," said Tripitaka. He said: "Due west, four or five li on, there is the Thirty-Li Inn, where households sell food—convenient and good for lodging. My quarters are inconvenient; I cannot put up monks come from afar." Tripitaka pressed his palms: "Abbot, the ancients said: 'Hermitages, temples, monasteries—they are all hostels for us itinerant clergy; at the sight of a temple gate one is owed three sheng of rice.' Why will you not keep me? What is the meaning of it?" The monk official cried out in anger: "You wandering monk—yours are the words of an oily tongue!" "What do you mean, an oily tongue?" said Tripitaka. The monk official said: "The ancients said: 'When the tiger comes into town, every house shuts its door. Though it bites no one, its name is spoiled already.'" "What do you mean, 'its name is spoiled already'?" said Tripitaka. He said: "Some years ago a party of wandering monks came and sat down at our gate. Seeing them in such poverty, one and all in rags and shoeless, bareheaded and barefoot, I pitied their distress, hurried them into the abbot's court, seated them in the place of honor, served them a meal, lent each a piece of old clothing, and kept them several days. Who knew they would take a fancy to easy food and clothing, never think of moving on, and stay seven or eight years! Stay they might—but they went on to many unseemly deeds besides." "What unseemly deeds?" asked Tripitaka. "Hear me," said the monk official:

In idle hours they pried tiles along the wall; when bored, they pulled the nails from the plaster.In cold weather, minding the fire, they snapped the window lattices; in summer they dragged doors across the paths.They tore banner cloth for foot wrappings; they stole the incense and swapped in turnips; they kept pouring lamp oil from the glazed bowls; they fought over bowls and pots to prove who was master.

Hearing this, Tripitaka thought to himself: "Pity! Am I, your disciple, one of those spineless monks?" He was on the point of weeping, but feared the old monks of the temple would laugh at him; he only pulled his sleeve secretly to wipe his eyes, swallowed his anger, and hurried out to his three disciples. Pilgrim, seeing anger in his master's face, came forward: "Master, did the monks of the temple strike you?" "They did not strike me," said Tang monk. "They must have struck you," said Bajie. "Why else is there a sob in your voice?" "Did they curse you?" asked Pilgrim. "They did not curse me either," said Tang monk. "Struck you not, cursed you not—why then this distress? Can it be homesickness?" said Pilgrim. "Disciple, their quarters here will not take us in," said Tang monk. Pilgrim laughed: "Maybe these are Daoists?" Tang monk said with heat: "Daoists keep Daoist temples; in monasteries there are only monks." "That is no help," said Pilgrim. "A monk is a monk, the same as us. As the saying goes, 'All who sit within the Buddha's assembly are people of one destiny.' Sit you here; I will go in and see."

Brave Pilgrim! He pressed down the gold fillet on his crown, cinched the kilt at his waist, took up his iron staff, marched straight into the Precious Hall of the Great Hero, and said, pointing at the three Buddha images: "You are figures of clay and gold, counterfeits—yet is there no spirit within that answers? I, Old Sun, escort the holy monk of the great Tang westward to worship the Buddha and fetch the true scriptures, and have come tonight expressly to lodge here. Answer up quickly, and speak for us; and if we are not taken in, one round of my staff will shatter your gilded bodies and show you up for the clay you are."

While the Great Sage stood there in front, raging and talking wildly, a servitor come to burn the evening incense lit a few sticks to set in the censer before the Buddha. At Pilgrim's bark he fell in a fright; he scrambled up, saw the face, and fell again. Terrified, tumbling and staggering, he ran into the abbot's quarters crying: "Your Reverence, there is a monk outside!" The monk official said: "You drudges all deserve a thrashing. Did I not say to let him squat under the front cloister—what is there to report? Mention him again and you take twenty blows." The servitor said: "Your Reverence, this monk is not like the other monk: he is hideous and fierce, and has no spine." "What does he look like?" "Round eyes, pointed ears, a face all covered with hair, and the beak of the Thunder God. A staff in his hand, teeth gritted savagely—hunting for someone to beat," said the servitor. "Let me go out and see," said the monk official.

He opened the door just as Pilgrim barged in. Ugly he was indeed: a face of jutting bones, high here, low there; two yellow eyes; a battering brow; tusked teeth thrusting outward. He was like a man born in the year of the crab: flesh inside, bones outside. The old monk slammed the abbot's door in panic. Pilgrim caught up and smashed the door leaf with a crash: "Have a thousand clean rooms swept and readied this instant—Old Sun is going to bed." The monk official, hiding in his room, said to the servitor: "Never mind his ugly looks—it must be boasting that shriveled him into such a face. Counting abbot's court, Buddha hall, bell-and-drum tower, and both cloisters, this place has not three hundred rooms in all—and he wants a thousand to sleep in! Where would they come from?" "Master, my own gall is burst with fright," said the servitor. "Answer him any way you like." The monk official called out in a shaking voice: "Elder who asks lodging: this little wild hill of ours is inconvenient; we dare not keep you. Seek lodging elsewhere."

Pilgrim changed his staff to the girth of a washbasin and stood it bolt upright in the courtyard: "Monk—if it is inconvenient, move out." The monk official said: "This temple we have kept from childhood—grandmaster passed it to master, master to our generation, and we to children's children unborn. Who knows what business he is about, blustering in here and ordering us to move!" "Your Reverence, it is past awkward," said the servitor. "Better move out—the club is already battering at the door." "Do not talk nonsense," said the monk official. "Four or five hundred monks of us, old and young—where would we move to? Outside there is nowhere to live." Hearing this, Pilgrim said: "Monk—if there is nowhere to move, send one man out to take a sample stroke." The old monk called the servitor: "Go out and take the sample stroke for me." The servitor panicked: "Grandfather! With a club that size, you send me for the sample stroke?" "Feed the army a thousand days; use it one morning," said the old monk. "Why will you not go out?" "Never mind the stroke," said the servitor. "If that club merely fell over, it would squash one into meat paste." "Never mind the squashing," said the old monk. "There it stands in the middle of the court; walking at night, if you forget it, you will crack your skull a fine hole." "Master," said the servitor, "knowing how heavy it is, why send me out for a sample stroke?" So they fell to wrangling among themselves inside.

Pilgrim, hearing this, said: "True, they could not bear it. If I beat one of them to death outright, my master would blame me for violence. Wait while I find something else to show you." Suddenly he looked up: outside the abbot's door stood a stone lion. He raised the staff and brought it down—crash—shattering it to bits and splinters. The monk, watching through the lattice of the window, went weak in bones and slack in sinew, and burrowed under the bed in terror; the servitor dived into the stove hole, both crying without pause: "Grandfather, the staff is heavy, the staff is heavy! We cannot bear it! Mercy, mercy!" Pilgrim said: "Monk, I will not beat you. Answer me: how many monks keep this temple?" The monk official, quaking, said: "Two hundred and eighty-five households, front and back, and five hundred monks in all with their ordination papers." "Then go quickly, muster all five hundred monks trim and orderly, dress them in long robes, and bring them out to receive my Tang master—and I will not beat you," said Pilgrim. "Grandfather, if there is no beating, we would carry him in on our shoulders," said the monk official. "Be off, and quickly," said Pilgrim. The monk official called the servitor: "Never mind a burst gall—burst heart and all, go call those men out to receive the Lord Tang monk for me."

The servitor had no choice; risking his hide, not daring to pass the door, he crawled out through the dog-hole at the back, made straight for the main hall, and beat the drum on the east and struck the bell on the west. When bell and drum sounded together, the whole company of monks, great and small, in both cloisters was startled and came up to the hall asking: "It is early still, not late—why bell and drum at this hour?" The servitor said: "Change your robes quickly and fall in behind the elder; out the temple gate to receive the lord come from the Tang." The monks indeed fell in trim and orderly, ranked up, and went out the gate to receive them. Some had kasayas; some short stoles; those with neither wore bell-shaped cassocks; the poorest of all, with no long robes, had stitched two waist-skirts together and thrown them over their shoulders. Pilgrim, seeing this, said: "Monk, what are you wearing?" The monk, seeing how fierce he looked, said: "Grandfather, do not strike—let me speak. This is cloth we begged in town; there is no tailor here, so we made ourselves these wrap-all mantles."

Pilgrim laughed to himself and marched the monks out the temple gate, where they knelt down. The monk official knocked his head and called out loudly: "Lord Tang, pray sit within the abbot's court." Bajie, seeing this, said: "Master, you are hopeless! You went in with eyes brimming and a face fit to hang an oil bottle on—and Brother manages this cleverness, and has them knocking their heads to receive you!" "You Idiot, you have no sense of propriety," said Tripitaka. "As the saying goes, 'Even ghosts fear a fierce man.'" Tang monk, seeing them knock their heads in worship, was greatly embarrassed, and came forward: "Rise, gentlemen, pray rise." The monks kowtowed: "Lord, if you would but say a kind word to your disciple, that he not swing that club, we would kneel here a month gladly." Tang monk called: "Wukong, do not beat them." "I have not beaten them," said Pilgrim. "Had I, the roots would be broken by now." Then the monks rose: some led the horse, some shouldered the load; they carried the Tang monk, bore Bajie on their backs, took Sha Monk by the arms, and all together went in the temple gate, to the abbot's court behind, and sat down in order of rank.

The monks bowed again in worship. Tripitaka said: "Abbot, rise; do me no more honor—you shame this poor monk. You and I are both disciples of the Buddha." The monk official said: "My lord is the imperial envoy of a mighty realm, and this little monk failed in his welcome. Now you have come to our wild hills, and these vulgar eyes did not know your eminence, meeting you so unprepared. May I ask, my lord: on the road, do you take the pure food or the meat? That we may know how to prepare the meal." "The pure food," said Tripitaka. The monk official said to his monks: "This lord, lads, will be wanting meat." "We take the pure food too," said Pilgrim. "Pure from the womb, all of us." The monk said: "Gracious! A fierce fellow like that, and pure food besides?" One bold monk came near and asked: "Since my lord takes the pure food, how much rice shall we boil to suffice?" "You small-minded monk, what is there to ask?" said Bajie. "Boil a dan of rice for each of us." The monks were all thrown into a flurry; they scrubbed the pots and stoves and got tea and food ready in the several rooms. They raised the lamps high, set out tables and chairs, and waited on Tang monk.

Master and disciples finished the evening meal, and the monks cleared away the dishes. Tripitaka thanked him: "Elder Abbot, we have disturbed your precious mountain." "Not at all, not at all. A poor welcome, a poor welcome," said the monk official. "Where shall master and disciples sleep tonight?" asked Tripitaka. "Do not trouble yourself, my lord; this little monk will see to it," said the monk official. He called: "Servitor—are there any men over there to take orders?" "There are, Master," said the servitor. The monk official gave his orders: "Send two to lay in fodder and feed the Lord Tang's horse; send some ahead to sweep those three meditation rooms clean and make up the beds and curtains, and quickly invite his lordship to rest."

The servitors took their orders, made everything ready, and came to invite the Lord Tang to bed. Master and disciples led the horse and shouldered the load, came out of the abbot's court, and went to the door of the meditation hall: within, lamplight blazed, and in the two end bays four rattan-frame beds were made up. Pilgrim called the fodder servitors to carry the fodder in and set it inside the hall, tied up the white horse, and sent the servitors all out. Tripitaka sat in the middle. Under the lamp, in two files, stood the five hundred monks, all in attendance, not one daring to withdraw. Tripitaka half rose: "Return, gentlemen, pray; this poor monk would sleep at his ease." The monks would by no means withdraw. The monk official came forward and instructed the assembly: "Wait on his lordship until he is settled, then return." "I am settled this very moment," said Tripitaka. "Return, all of you." Only then did the company dare to disperse.

Tang monk stepped out the door to relieve himself and saw the bright moon riding the sky; he called: "Disciples." Pilgrim, Bajie, and Sha Monk all came out and stood in attendance. Moved by the moon's pure radiance, the jade vault of heaven deep and still—one wheel shining high, the whole world distinct—he gave his longing to the moon and composed a long old-style poem on the spot. The poem says:

The bright soul rides the sky, a precious mirror hung; over mountains and rivers it sways its shadow, full and entire.Jade towers and crystal halls brim with pure light; the icy mirror, the silver plate, wheel in bracing air.Ten thousand li share this whiteness now; of all the year, tonight is brightest.It is like a frost cake lifted from the gray sea; it is like an icy wheel hung in the blue sky.By the cold window of a traveler's lodge the lone guest broods; in the mountain village and the roadside inn the old men sleep.Fresh upon the Han gardens it startles autumn temples; newly at the Qin tower it hurries the evening toilette.Yu Liang left verses that passed into the Jin history; Yuan Hong, sleepless, drifted his boat on the river.Its light floats on the rim of the cup, cold and yielding; its clearness fills the court, brisk with immortals.At every window they chant of white snow; in every courtyard they play the icy strings.Tonight, in a mountain temple, I gaze in quiet; on what day, the same moon beside us, do we turn again to the old garden?

Hearing this, Pilgrim came near and answered: "Master, you know only the splendor of the moonlight and the longing of an exile's heart; you do not know the meaning of the moon—that it is the rule and measure of the images of primal heaven. When the moon reaches its thirtieth day, the metal of the yang soul is spent to the last, the water of the yin spirit fills the wheel; it is pure black and lightless, and this is called the dark of the moon. At this time it crosses the sun; between the dark and the new moon it receives the sun's light and conceives. On the third day one yang appears; on the eighth a second yang is born: within the dark body the bright soul is half, its edge level as a cord—this is the first quarter. By the fifteenth day the three yangs stand complete, and the moon is whole: this is the full moon. On the sixteenth one yin arises, on the twenty-second a second yin: now within the bright soul the dark body is half, its edge level as a cord—this is the last quarter. By the thirtieth the three yins stand complete, and it is the dark again. Such is the intent of the primal gathering and refining. If we can nurse the twos and eights to ripeness and perfect the work at nine times nine, then will it be easy to see the Buddha, and easy to turn again to the old fields. The poem says:

After the first quarter and before the last, the drug's flavor lies level and the emblem stands complete.Gather it, bring it home, refine it in the furnace: with single heart and finished work, the Western Heaven is at hand."

At this the elder was enlightened on the instant, the true words clear through him. Full of joy he thanked Wukong. Sha Monk, standing by, laughed and said: "Brother, well said as far as it goes—but you speak only of the yang before the quarter and the yin after it, of the yang's half within the yin and the metal won from water. You do not go on to say:

Water and fire mingle each with each, by destiny; it all depends on the Earth Mother to pair them so.When the three houses meet as one, there is no strife: the water is in the long river, the moon in the sky."

Hearing this too, the elder's haze of ignorance lifted. And so it was:

When the principle lights one aperture, a thousand open; when the Unborn is spoken clear, that is immortal.

Bajie came up and took the elder by the sleeve: "Master, do not listen to this babble; it will cost us our sleep. As for this moon:

It wanes but a little while and waxes whole again—like me, born with no ten parts of perfection.At meals they begrudge me my big belly; when I take up the bowl they complain of my dribbling chin.They are the clever ones, cultivating merit by the pound; I am the dull one, storing up destiny drop by drop.I say: once the scriptures are fetched and the karma of the three dark paths discharged, then swish the tail, toss the head, and soar straight to heaven."

Tripitaka said: "Very well. Disciples, the day's march has wearied you; go lie down first, while I read a scroll of scripture." Pilgrim said: "Master, you are wrong. You left the world in childhood and became a monk—are the scriptures of your boyhood not known to you by heart? And you have received the Tang king's mandate to go west, see the Buddha, and fetch the true canon of the Great Vehicle. Now the work is not done, the Buddha not seen, the scriptures not fetched—what scroll is it you would read?" "Since I left Chang'an I have trudged morning upon morning, hurried day upon day; I fear the scriptures of my boyhood have grown rusty. Happily tonight brings leisure; let me refresh them," said Tripitaka. "Since that is how it is, we will to bed first," said Pilgrim. The three of them lay down each on his rattan bed. The elder shut the meditation hall door, trimmed the silver lamp high, spread open the scripture, and read silently. And so it was:

At the tower the first watch sounds and the lights of men are still; on the wild shore the fishing boats put out their fires.

But how the elder would leave the monastery—who could say? Listen to the next chapter to find out.

The mind-monkey keeps to the right and all troubles bow; bursting through a side gate, he sees the bright moon

Now Pilgrim Sun brought his cloud down and told his master the whole story: how the Bodhisattva had borrowed the boys, and how Lord Lao had taken back the treasures. Tripitaka thanked him again and again, set his heart wholly on devotion, and was ready to give his life for the west. He took the saddle and mounted; Zhu Bajie shouldered the luggage; Sha Monk led the horse's head; Pilgrim Sun took up the iron staff, cut the road open, and they went straight down from the high mountain and on. No telling of their sleeping in the open and eating in the wind, wrapped in frost, pushing through dew.

After master and disciples had walked a long while, another mountain blocked the road ahead. From the horse Tripitaka called out: "Disciples, look how towering that mountain. Be on your guard carefully, lest demon hindrance attack us again." Pilgrim said, "Master, no wild fancies. Keep the nature steady and the spirit kept, and nothing will happen." Tripitaka said, "Disciples, why is the Western Heaven so hard to reach? I remember leaving the city of Chang'an: spring ended, summer came, autumn waned, winter arrived—four or five years on the road—and still we are not there?" Pilgrim laughed: "Early days, early days. We haven't left the front gate yet." Bajie said, "Brother, no lying. Is there a gate that big anywhere among men?" Pilgrim said, "Brother, we're still going round inside the main hall." Sha Monk laughed: "Big brother, spare me the big talk. There's no main hall that big, and nowhere to buy a crossbeam that long." Pilgrim said, "Brother, the way Old Sun sees it: take the blue sky for roof tiles, sun and moon for window lattices, the four mountains and five peaks for beams and posts—and heaven and earth are one open hall." Bajie said, "Enough, enough. Let's just wander a while and go home." Pilgrim said, "No nonsense. Just follow Old Sun and walk."

The Great Sage carried the iron staff across his shoulders, kept the Tang monk in view, cut open the mountain path, and pushed straight on. From the horse the master gazed far off: what mountain scenery. Truly:

Peaks jagged at the top brush the Dipper's handle; treetops seem to touch the clouds.In heaps of blue haze, now and then gibbons cry from the valley mouth; in tangles of green shade, cranes call among the pines.Wind-shrieking mountain demons stand in the stream, teasing the woodcutters; grown-cunning foxes sit by the cliff, startling the hunters.A fine mountain! See the cliffs towering on eight sides, the perils all around.Strange tall pines coil green canopies; withered, broken old trees hang with vines.Spring water flies and falls; the cold pierces to the roots of the hair; the wind on the peaks stings the eyes and startles the dreaming soul.Now the roar of a tiger; now the call of mountain birds.Muntjacs and deer go in herds through the brambles, leaping back and forth; river deer band together hunting wild food, running before and behind.Stand on the grassy slope: not a traveler in sight. Walk into the deep hollow: jackals and wolves on every side.This is no place for the Buddha's practice—only a field for birds of the air and beasts of the field.

The master entered these deep mountains trembling, his heart heavy with sorrow. He checked his horse and cried: "Wukong! I—

Since I vowed, with wisdom my guide, to climb this mountain, no king's order could keep me from leaving the city.On the road I met my three-angled seeds; along the way I hurried the bell at my horse's neck.Hunting slope and winding ravine for the thorny leaf; over ridge and mountain, bowing to gather the spirit root.I guard this body of mine like drip from green bamboo; when will I return home and bow before the court?"

The Great Sage Sun heard this and gave a cold laugh: "Master, no need to fret. Worry less; set your mind at rest and go forward. Merit, once complete, succeeds of itself." Master and disciples admired the mountain scenery and strolled on—before they knew it, the red wheel had sunk in the west. And so:

At the ten-li pavilions no travelers walk; in the ninefold heavens the stars come out.On eight rivers every boat is in port; in seven thousand prefectures and counties all doors are shut.In six palaces and five courts the officers have gone home; on four seas and three rivers the fishing lines are put away.From two towers the bells and drums sound; one bright moon fills heaven and earth.

From the horse the elder gazed far off and saw in a hollow of the hills terraces rising tier on tier, halls and pavilions rank upon rank. Tripitaka said, "Disciples, it is late. Luckily there are buildings not far off there—probably a temple or monastery. Let's all go beg a night's lodging and travel on tomorrow." Pilgrim said, "Well said, Master. No hurry. Let me see first what sort of place it is." The Great Sage leaped into the air and looked carefully: it was truly a temple gate. See:

A splayed brick wall faced with red powder; golden studs on the gates on either side.Tier on tier of terraces tucked by the ridge; rank on rank of palace halls hidden in the mountain.The Ten-Thousand-Buddha Gallery faces the Hall of the Tathagata; the Morning-Sun Tower answers the Gate of the Great Hero.The seven-story pagoda gathers cloud and lodges mist; the three honored Buddhas shine in glory.Manjushri's Terrace faces the sangha house; Maitreya's Hall leans on the Hall of Great Mercy.Outside the Mountain-View Tower a blue light dances; over the Treading-the-Void Gallery purple clouds arise.Pine gates and bamboo courts, tender green everywhere; the abbot's lodge and meditation hall, quiet in every corner.Graceful and still, made for joyous worship; along every stream and road, glad welcomes.Where meditation is practiced, meditation monks expound; in the music rooms many instruments sound.On the Wondrous-Height Terrace the udumbara flowers fall; before the preaching altar pattra leaves grow.Truly: woods shade the ground of the Three Treasures, and the mountain embraces the palace of the Brahma King.On half the wall lamp-smoke flickers bright; in one long line incense haze drifts dim.

The Great Sage brought his cloud down and reported to Tripitaka: "Master, it is truly a monastery, a fine place to lodge. Let's go."

The elder let the horse on and came straight to the temple gate. Pilgrim said, "Master, what monastery is this?" Tripitaka said, "My horse's hoofs have only just stopped and my toes are still in the stirrups, and already you ask me what monastery. What a question." Pilgrim said, "You took vows as a child. You must have studied the scholars' books before you took up the scriptures, versed in both letters and doctrine, and only then received the Tang Emperor's grace. With letters that big on the gate, how can you not read them?" The elder scolded: "Brazen ape! What ignorant talk. I was facing west, urging my horse on, with the sun full in my eyes. The gate has letters, true, but dust and grime clouded them, so I didn't see." Pilgrim bent at the waist and stretched more than two zhang tall, wiped the dust away with his hand, and said, "Look, Master." On it were five great characters: "Baolin Monastery, Built by Imperial Decree." Pilgrim resumed his proper size: "Master, which of us goes in to ask for lodging?" Tripitaka said, "I will. Your faces are ugly and your speech is rough; your tempers are hard and proud. If you offend the monks here, they won't let us lodge, and that would be a bad business." Pilgrim said, "Then in you go, Master. Say no more."

The elder put down his tin staff, untied his cloak, straightened his robe, joined his palms, and went straight in the gate. On either side, inside red-lacquered railings, sat high a pair of guardian kings, carved and painted, fierce and ugly in their majesty:

One with an iron face and steel whiskers, alive to look at; one with bristling brows and round eyes, finely wrought.The left one's knuckles jut like raw iron; the right one's palm is rugged as red copper.Gold armor of linked rings, glittering; bright helmet and embroidered sash catching the wind.Truly the west is rich in Buddhas worshiped; in the stone censer the incense fire glows red.

Seeing them, Tripitaka nodded and sighed long: "If only someone in my Land of the East would mold clay figures this grand and burn incense before them, your disciple would never need to go to the Western Heaven at all." Still sighing, he came inside the second gate and saw the statues of the Four Great Kings: Guardian of the Land, Much Hearing, Increase, and Wide Eye, standing for the four quarters and for winds in season and rains in time. Inside the second gate he saw four tall pines, each with a green canopy, thick as an umbrella. Looking up suddenly: the Great Hall of the Great Hero. The elder joined his palms in devotion and bowed low. When he rose and passed the altar to the back door, he saw a Guanyin turned to face the rear, universally ferrying across the Southern Sea. On the walls clever craftsmen had molded shrimp, fish, crabs, and turtles, heads out, tails showing, playing and leaping in the sea waves. The elder nodded three or five times and sighed a thousand sighs: "How touching! Even the shelled and scaled creatures worship the Buddha. Why will men not practice the Way?"

While he praised, a lay worker came out of the third gate. Seeing at once that Tripitaka's looks were remarkable and his bearing far from common, the man hurried up and bowed: "Master, where are you from?" Tripitaka said, "This disciple was sent under the Tang throne of the Land of the East to worship the Buddha in the west and seek the scriptures. I have reached your precious ground, the light is failing, and I ask lodging for one night." The worker said, "Don't blame me, Master. I'm not the one to decide. I'm the sweeper and bell striker, the odd-jobs man here. Inside there is an old master who manages the house. Let me go report to him. If he'll take you, I'll come out and ask you in. If he won't, I dare not hold you up." Tripitaka said, "Sorry to trouble you."

The worker hurried to the abbot's lodge: "Sir, someone has come." The priest-official rose at once, changed his clothes, straightened his Vairocana cap, threw his kasaya robe over his shoulders, opened the door quickly to greet the guest, and asked the worker: "Who has come?" The worker pointed with his finger: "Isn't that a man behind the main hall?" There was Tripitaka, bareheaded, in a robe of twenty-five strips, on his feet a pair of mud-splashed Dharmic shoes, leaning at the back gate. The priest-official raged: "Worker, you deserve a beating! Don't you know I'm the head priest? Only when gentlemen come from the city to offer incense do I come out to greet them. A monk like this—you tell me tall tales and have me greet him? Look at his face: not an honest one. He's some wandering monk, I'd say, and it's getting late—he means to ask for lodging. Would we let him disturb our abbot's lodge? Tell him to squat in the front corridor, and that is enough. Why report him to me?" He turned to go back inside.

The elder heard this, eyes brimming with tears: "How sad, how sad! This is what it is to be a stranger far from home. I left the world as a child and became a monk. I never chanted penances while eating meat and thinking evil, never read the scriptures with anger in my heart and spoiled my Buddha mind; I never threw tiles and bricks at the Buddha's hall, nor scraped real gold off the arhats' faces. Ah! How sad! I don't know what wrong I did heaven and earth in a former life, that in this life I keep meeting mean people. Monk, if you won't lodge us, so be it. But why say such nasty things, telling us to squat in the corridor? If this goes unsaid to Pilgrim, well and good. If he hears it, that monkey will come in here and break both your shins with one stroke of his iron staff." The elder said, "Very well, very well. The saying goes: 'A man puts courtesy first.' Let me go in and ask him what he intends."

The master followed in his footsteps through the door of the abbot's lodge. The priest-official had taken off his robe and sat there puffing with anger—reading scriptures, maybe, or writing papers for somebody; the table was piled with sheets. The Tang monk dared not go deep inside but stood in the courtyard, bowed, and called: "Venerable abbot, your disciple salutes you." The monk seemed annoyed at his coming in, returned a half-hearted salute, and said, "Where are you from?" Tripitaka said, "This disciple was sent by the Tang throne of the Land of the East to worship the living Buddha in the west and seek the scriptures. Passing your precious ground at dusk, I ask a night's lodging; before daybreak tomorrow I'll be gone. I beg the venerable abbot to make it convenient." Only then did the priest-official half rise: "Are you that Tripitaka Tang?" Tripitaka said, "I dare not claim so much, but this disciple is he." The priest-official said, "If you're going to the Western Heaven for the scriptures, how is it you don't know your roads?" Tripitaka said, "This disciple has never traveled these parts." He said, "Due west, four or five li on, there is a Thirty-Li Inn, with houses selling food—convenient and good for lodging. It is not convenient here. We cannot put up monks from far away." Tripitaka joined his palms: "Abbot, the ancients said: 'Every nunnery and temple is a hostel for men of our calling. At the sight of a temple gate, each of us is owed three sheng of rice.' Why will you not keep me? What is the meaning of this?" The priest-official shouted angrily: "You wandering monk—smooth tongue and oily talk!" Tripitaka said, "What is oily talk?" The priest-official said, "The ancients said: 'When the tiger came to town, every house shut its door. He bit no one, but long ago he got a bad name.'" Tripitaka said, "What do you mean, 'long ago he got a bad name'?" He said, "Some years ago a band of wandering monks came and sat down at our gate. I saw how poor they were—clothes in rags, no shoes, bare heads, bare feet. Moved by their misery, I invited them into the lodge at once, gave them the seats of honor, fed them a vegetarian meal, lent each of them an old garment, and kept them several days. Who knew they would grow fond of easy food and clothing and never think of leaving? They stayed seven or eight years. Staying was bad enough—they went on to do many a dishonest thing." Tripitaka said, "What dishonest things?" The priest-official said, "Listen:

In idle hours they threw tiles along the walls; when bored, they pried nails from the plaster.In cold weather they broke window lattices to feed the fire; in summer they dragged the doors across the paths.Banner cloth they tore for foot wrappings; fine incense they swapped for turnip greens.They tipped the glazed lamps dry day after day; they snatched bowls and snatched pots in wagers."

Hearing this, Tripitaka said in his heart: "How sad! Is your disciple the sort of spineless monk he means?" He wanted to cry, but feared the temple's old monks would laugh at him; he quietly tugged his sleeve across his eyes, swallowed his anger, and hurried out to his three disciples. Seeing anger on his master's face, Pilgrim came forward: "Master, did the monks here beat you?" The Tang monk said, "They did not beat me." Bajie said, "They must have. If not, why the sound of crying in your voice?" Pilgrim said, "Did they curse you?" The Tang monk said, "They did not curse me either." Pilgrim said, "No beating, no cursing—why so miserable then? Homesick, maybe?" The Tang monk said, "Disciples, it is not convenient here." Pilgrim laughed: "Maybe this place is Daoist?" The Tang monk said angrily: "Daoists live in Daoist temples; in monasteries there are only monks." Pilgrim said, "You're no good at this. A monk is a monk, same as us. The saying goes: 'All who come under the Buddha's assembly are people of one fate.' Sit down while I go in and look."

The fine Pilgrim straightened the gold fillet on his head, tied his kilt at his waist, took up the iron staff, walked straight into the Great Hall, and pointed at the three Buddha images: "You are clay figures dressed in gold leaf, false images. But is there no spirit within to feel this? I, Old Sun, am leading the holy monk of the great Tang west to worship the Buddha and fetch the true scriptures. Tonight we ask lodging here. Stir yourselves and put in a word quickly. If they will not keep us, I'll smash those gilded bodies with one round of my staff and leave you showing your true clay."

While the Great Sage was up front raging and talking wild, an evening-incense worker lit a few sticks of incense to set in the censer before the Buddha. At Pilgrim's bark he fell in a heap; he got up, saw the face, and fell again. Frightened out of his wits, he tumbled and staggered into the abbot's lodge and reported: "Sir, there is a monk out there!" The priest-official said, "You workers all deserve a beating. I told you to let him squat in the front corridor. Why report? Say it again and you'll get twenty." The worker said, "Sir, this monk is not like that monk: he is ugly and savage, with no spine at all." The priest-official said, "What does he look like?" The worker said, "Round eyes, sticking-out ears, a face all hair, a thunder god's snout. A club in his hand, teeth set hard—he is hunting someone to beat." The priest-official said, "Let me go out and see."

He opened the door, and Pilgrim charged in. Truly ugly: a face of jutting bones, high here, low there; two yellow eyes; a bony bulge of forehead; tusk teeth growing outward. Like a crab: flesh inside, bone outside. The old monk slammed the lodge door shut in a panic. Pilgrim caught up and burst the door panel with a crash: "Have a thousand clean rooms swept out, and quickly. Old Sun is going to sleep." The priest-official, hiding in his room, said to the worker: "So it wasn't only his ugly face—the big talker has been punished with that mug. Lodges, Buddha hall, bell and drum towers, both corridors—there are not three hundred rooms here in all, and he wants a thousand to sleep in. Where would they come from?" The worker said, "Master, my own courage is frightened out of me. Answer him any way you can." Trembling, the priest-official called out: "Elder asking for lodging—this little barren mountain is inconvenient. We dare not keep you. Lodge elsewhere."

Pilgrim changed his staff to the thickness of a washbasin and stood it bolt upright in the courtyard: "Monk, inconvenient, is it? Then move out." The priest-official said, "We have lived in this temple since childhood. Teacher passed it to master, master to our generation, and we mean to hand it down to children's children. Who is this fellow, up from who knows where, brashly telling us to move?" The worker said, "Sir, it is a bad business. Better to move out—the club is coming through the gate." The priest-official said, "Don't talk nonsense. Four or five hundred monks, old and young—where would we move to? Out of here we would have nowhere to live." Pilgrim heard and said: "Monk, nowhere to move? Then send one man out to take a sample stroke." The old monk called the worker: "You go out and take the sample stroke for me." The worker panicked: "Grandpa! A club that big, and you send me for the sample stroke?" The old monk said, "'Feed an army a thousand days to use it one morning.' Why won't you go out?" The worker said, "Never mind being hit by that club—if it fell over, it would squash me to meat paste." The old monk said, "Never mind it falling. Standing in the courtyard as it is—walking at night and forgetting it—you'd crack your skull a beauty on it." The worker said, "Master, you know how heavy it is, and you send me out for a sample stroke?" And inside they fell to squabbling among themselves.

Pilgrim heard and said: "I suppose they couldn't stand it. If I beat one of them to death with one stroke, my master would blame me for violence. Wait while I find something else to hit, and show you." Looking up, he saw a stone lion outside the lodge door. He raised the staff and brought it down with a crash, smashing it to bits and splinters. The monk saw it through the lattice window and went weak in bone and sinew, burrowing under the bed; the worker crawled into the stove hole, both crying without stop: "Grandpa, the staff is heavy, heavy! We can't stand it! Mercy, mercy!" Pilgrim said, "Monk, I won't beat you. Answer me: how many monks are in this temple?" Trembling, the priest-official said: "Two hundred eighty-five households in front and back, five hundred monks with ordination papers in all." Pilgrim said, "Hurry and muster those five hundred monks in good order, put on their long robes, go out, and bring my Tang master in. Then I won't beat you." The priest-official said, "Grandpa, if there's no beating, we would carry him in on our shoulders." Pilgrim said, "Then go at once." The priest-official called the worker: "Never mind a burst gall—burst heart and all, go call those men to come receive the venerable Grandfather Tang."

The worker had no choice. Risking his skin, not daring to pass the door, he crawled out through the dog hole at the back, went straight to the main hall, and drummed on the east side and struck the bell on the west. At the peal of bell and drum the monks of the corridors, great and small, hurried to the hall and asked: "It is early still, not late. What is the bell and drum for?" The worker said, "Quick, change your robes, line up behind the old master, and go out the gate to welcome the lord from the Tang." The monks really did line up in good order and file out the gate to greet them. Some threw on kasaya robes; some wore their side-open surplices; those without wore their bell-shaped cloaks; the very poorest, with no long robes, buttoned two waist skirts together and draped them over their shoulders. Pilgrim saw and said: "Monk, what are you wearing?" Seeing how ugly he was, the monk said, "Grandpa, don't beat me—let me explain. It is cloth we begged in the city. There is no tailor here; we sewed it ourselves—one wrap for all our poverty."

Pilgrim laughed to himself and marched the monks out the gate and down on their knees. The priest-official knocked his head and called: "Lord Tang, please come sit in the abbot's lodge." Bajie said, "Master, you're no good at all. You went in with swimming eyes and a face hung like a bottle of oil. How does big brother have such cunning, making them knock their heads to welcome you?" Tripitaka said, "You Idiot, no sense of propriety. The saying goes: 'Even ghosts fear a fierce man.'" Seeing them bow and knock their heads, the Tang monk felt very ill at ease and stepped forward: "Gentlemen, please rise." The monks knocked their heads: "If only you would speak a kind word to your disciple—if he does not swing that club, we would kneel a month gladly." The Tang monk called: "Wukong, don't beat them." Pilgrim said, "I haven't beaten them. If I had, their roots would be broken by now." The monks rose, some leading the horse, some carrying the load, some supporting the Tang monk by the arms, some bearing Bajie on their backs, some steadying Sha Monk, and all went in the gate together, to the abbot's lodge at the back, and sat down in order of rank.

The monks bowed again. Tripitaka said, "Abbot, rise. No more ceremony; you shame this poor monk. You and I are both disciples of the Buddha." The priest-official said, "You are an envoy of the sovereign land, and this humble monk failed in his welcome. That you have come to our barren hill, and that my common eyes failed to know your eminence when we met—forgive me. May I ask, my lord: on the road, do you take vegetarian food or meat? We will prepare the meal accordingly." Tripitaka said, "Vegetarian." The priest-official said to his monks, "Disciples, this granddad looks built for meat." Pilgrim said, "We eat vegetarian too—vegetarian from the womb." The monk said, "Grandpa! A fierce fellow like you, vegetarian?" One bold monk came up and asked: "If you eat vegetarian, my lord, how much rice should we cook to be enough?" Bajie said, "Petty monk, why ask? Cook a dan of rice for each of us." The monks were thrown into a flurry. They scrubbed pots and stoves and set out tea and food in every room, raised bright lamps, arranged tables and chairs, and waited on the Tang monk.

When master and disciples had finished the evening meal, the monks cleared everything away. Tripitaka thanked him: "Venerable abbot, we have disturbed your precious mountain." The priest-official said, "Not at all, not at all. Forgive our poor welcome." Tripitaka said, "Where will we master and disciples sleep?" The priest-official said, "No hurry, my lord. This humble monk has it in hand." He called: "Workers—who over there will take orders?" The worker said, "Master, we will." The priest-official instructed: "Two of you go prepare fodder for Lord Tang's horse. Several of you go up front, sweep out those three meditation rooms, make up the beds and hang the curtains, and quickly show his lordship to his rest."

The workers took the orders, got everything ready, and came to show Lord Tang to bed. Master and disciples led the horse and carried the load, came out of the lodge, and went to the meditation hall's door. Inside, lamplight glowed; in the two end bays four rattan sleeping platforms were made up. Pilgrim called the fodder workers, had the fodder carried in and set inside the hall, tied the white horse, and sent the workers all out. Tripitaka sat in the middle. Under the lamp, five hundred monks stood in two rows, waiting on him, none daring to leave. Tripitaka half rose: "Gentlemen, please go back, so this poor monk can sleep at his ease." The monks would not withdraw. The priest-official stepped up and told them all: "Wait on his lordship until he is settled, then go." Tripitaka said, "I am settled now. Please, all of you, go back." Only then did the crowd dare scatter.

The Tang monk stepped outside to relieve himself and saw the bright moon high in the sky. He called, "Disciples." Pilgrim, Bajie, and Sha Monk came out and stood in attendance. Moved by the moon's clear light, the deep jade sky—one bright wheel shining high, all the earth distinct—he faced the moon, longing for home, and made up a long old-style poem on the spot. The poem says:

The bright soul of the moon hangs in the sky, a precious mirror; mountains and rivers sway with its shadow, full and whole.Jade towers and jade halls are full of clear light; an icy mirror, a silver plate, rings of fresh air swirling.Ten thousand li around, all is bright tonight; of all the year, this night is the brightest.It is just like a frosted cake risen from the gray sea, or an icy wheel hung in the blue sky.At the distant lodge, by the cold window, a lonely traveler mopes; in a mountain village inn an old man sleeps.It startles the autumn temples arriving at the Han gardens; it hurries the evening toilette reaching the Qin tower.Yu Liang's verses live in the Jin histories; Yuan Hong, sleepless, drifted on his river boat.Its light floats on the wine cup, cold and soft; its clear shine fills the court, fresh as immortals.By every window someone chants of white snow; in every courtyard someone plays icy strings.Tonight, quiet, I enjoy it at the mountain temple. On what day shall we do the same, returned to the old garden?

Hearing this, Pilgrim came near and answered: "Master, you only know the moon's bright color and the longing for home in your heart. You don't know what the moon means: it is the gauge and rule of the primal pattern before heaven. By the thirtieth day the metal of the yang soul is fully spent and the water of the yin soul fills the wheel, so the moon is all black and without light. That is called the dark of the moon. At this time it crosses the sun; between the dark and the new day it conceives from the sun's light. On the third day the first yang shows; on the eighth a second yang is born—half soul within the dark body, level as a stretched cord. That is called the first bow of the moon. By the fifteenth the three yangs are complete and the moon is full. That is called the full moon. On the sixteenth the first yin rises, on the twenty-second the second—half darkness within the bright soul, level as a cord. That is called the last bow of the moon. By the thirtieth the three yins are full, and it is the dark of the moon again. Such is the sense of gathering and refining before heaven was. If we can nurse the two eights gently to ripeness and bring the nine nines to completion, then seeing the Buddha will be easy, and the return to the old field easy too. The poem says:

After the first bow, before the last bow, the drug's flavor is balanced and the sign complete.Gathered and brought home, refined in the furnace: with single-minded effort, the fruit of merit is the Western Heaven itself."

Hearing this, the elder grasped it at once and saw through to the true word. Full of joy, he thanked Wukong. Sha Monk laughed beside him: "Big brother's words are right, but they say only that before the first bow belongs to yang, after the last bow to yin, yang half within yin, the metal gained from water. They leave out this:

Water and fire mix, each with its own fate; all depends on the earth mother to pair them so.When the three families meet, there is no contention: the water stays in the Long River, and the moon stays in the sky."

Hearing this too, the elder's mind was opened. And so it is:

When the truth lights one opening, a thousand openings open; speak the unborn plain, and one is immortal.

Bajie stepped up and pulled at the elder: "Master, don't listen to this wild talk and miss your sleep. As for this moon:

Soon waning, soon full again—like me, born less than perfect.At meals they grudge my big belly; when I take a bowl they complain it is slimy.They were all born clever and have cultivated their blessings; I was born a fool and only gather merit.I say: finish fetching the scriptures, pay off the debts of the three dark paths, swish your tail, shake your head, and soar straight to heaven."

Tripitaka said, "Very well. You disciples are tired from the road; go to bed first. Let me read a scroll of scripture." Pilgrim said, "Master, that is off the mark. You left home as a child and became a monk—the scriptures of your boyhood, what scroll of them do you not know by heart? And now you carry the Tang Emperor's edict to see the Buddha in the west and fetch the true texts of the Great Vehicle. The work is not done, the Buddha not yet seen, the scriptures not yet fetched. Which scroll would you be reading?" Tripitaka said, "Since I left Chang'an I have tramped morning after morning, hurried day after day. I fear the boyhood scriptures have grown rusty. Happily tonight there is leisure; let me brush up on them." Pilgrim said, "If that is how it is, we'll sleep first." The three lay down, each on his rattan bed. The elder shut the meditation hall door, trimmed the silver lamp high, opened the scripture, and read silently. It was just then:

At the tower the first watch drum sounds, and the lights of men are quiet; at the wild bank the fishing boats have put out their fires.

But how would the elder leave the temple? Listen to the next chapter to find out.