Chapter 96

Squire Kou Receives the Noble Monks with Joy; the Tang Elder Sets No Store by Riches

Form after form was never color; emptiness upon emptiness is not empty either. Still and loud, speech and silence were ever one—why labor in a dream to tell of dreams? The useful, in its use, is useless; meritless, within merit, merit is bestowed. Let the fruit ripen red of itself; do not ask how it was planted and grown.

The tale tells how the Tang monk and his disciples used their powers to hold back the monks of the Bestowed Gold Monastery. The monks, seeing the black wind pass and master and disciples gone with it, took them for living Buddhas come down to the world, knocked their heads, and returned—but no more of that.

They went on westward, master and disciples, just as spring was ending and summer beginning:

Clear and mild the weather, crisp and bright; in pool and pond the water-chestnut and lotus sprout.Plums ripen after the rain has passed; wheat comes to fullness on the wind.Where grass is sweet and petals fall, the oriole grows old and the willow branches lighten.River swallows drill their young; mountain pheasants call as they feed their brood.The Dipper’s south holds the long day; the ten thousand things show forth their light.

There is no telling of the morning meals and evening lodgings, the rounds of ravines and searches for fords. Half a month they walked on the even road before another city wall came in sight. Tripitaka asked: “Disciples, what place is this?” Pilgrim said: “I do not know, I do not know.” Bajie laughed: “This road you have traveled—how can you say you do not know? And yet there is something sly in it—you pretend not to know it on purpose, to make game of us.” Pilgrim said: “The Idiot has no sense at all. Though I have passed this way a few times, in those days I was up in the ninefold sky, coming on the cloud and going on the cloud—when did I ever touch ground here? The matter did not concern me; why should I have looked into it? That is why I do not know. And what is sly in that? How do I make game of you?”

While they talked they found themselves at the walls. Tripitaka dismounted, crossed the drawbridge, and went straight in through the gate onto the long street, where he saw two old men sitting under a colonnade talking. Tripitaka called: “Disciples, stand in the middle of the street, heads down, and do not misbehave. I will go to the colonnade and ask the place.” Pilgrim did as he was told and stood. The elder came near, pressed his palms, and said: “Good patron, this poor monk salutes you.” The two old men had been idly talking away—of rise and fall, gain and loss, who was sage and who was worthy, and where now were the heroic deeds of former days—a fit theme for great sighs. Suddenly they heard the salutation, returned the courtesy, and said: “Elder, what would you say?” Tripitaka said: “This poor monk has come from afar to worship the Buddha. I have just reached your precious land and do not know its name. Where is there a household that turns to the good, where I might beg a meal?” The old man said: “Our poor place is Tongtai Prefecture. Behind the prefecture lies a county called Earth-Spirit County. If you would take a meal, elder, you need not beg. Beyond that memorial arch, on the north-south street, there is a tiger-squat gatehouse facing east from the west—it is the house of Squire Kou, and before his gate hangs a placard reading ‘No Monk Turned Away.’ A monk from so far as you may enjoy it to the full. Go, go, go! Do not interrupt our talk.” Tripitaka thanked him, turned to Pilgrim, and said: “This is Earth-Spirit County, Tongtai Prefecture. The two old men said: ‘Beyond that arch, on the north-south street, the tiger-squat gatehouse facing east is the house of Squire Kou, and before his gate hangs the placard “No Monk Turned Away.”’ They tell me to go to his house for a meal.” Sha Monk said: “The west is the Buddha’s own land—truly there are those who feed monks. Since this is a prefecture and county town, we need not have the rescript verified; let us beg a meal, eat, and be on our way.”

The elder and the three walked slowly up the long street, stirring the people at the market corners to startlement and doubt, crowding round to stare at their faces. The elder ordered them to hold their tongues, saying only: “Do not misbehave, do not misbehave.” The three indeed kept their heads down, not daring to look up. Rounding the corner, they saw a great north-south street.

As they walked they saw a tiger-squat gatehouse, and inside the gate, on the screen wall, a great placard bearing the four characters “No Monk Turned Away.” Tripitaka said: “In this Buddha land of the west, wise and simple alike keep no deceit. When the two old men spoke of it I still would not believe; now it is as they said.” Bajie, rude and rustic, made to go straight in. Pilgrim said: “Stay, Idiot. Let us wait till someone comes out, ask how things stand, and then go in.” Sha Monk said: “Elder brother speaks reason; else, not knowing inner from outer, we might vex our host.” They rested horse and luggage at the gate.

In a moment a gray-headed servant came out with a scale and a basket in his hands, saw them suddenly, dropped both in fright, and ran back in to report: “Master, there are four strange monks outside!” The squire was strolling in the courtyard, leaning on his staff, calling on the Buddha without pause; hearing the report he dropped the staff and hurried out to welcome them. Seeing the four, he did not fear their ugliness, but cried only: “Come in, come in!” Tripitaka, all modesty, entered with them. Rounding a lane, the squire led the way to a building and said: “These upper rooms are the Buddha hall, the sutra hall, and the dining hall kept for you gentlemen; in the lower ones my children and household live.” Tripitaka praised him without end. He took out the cassock, put it on, and worshiped the Buddha, then stepped up into the hall and looked about. And there was:

Clouds of incense gathered dense; the candle flames were bright. Through the whole hall brocade clusters and flowers were heaped; on every side gold inlay gleamed and painted colors glowed. On tall vermilion frames hung bells of purple gold; against stands of painted lacquer faced pairs of drums with painted bellies. Several pairs of banners were embroidered with the eight treasures; a thousand Buddhas were all edged with gold. Ancient braziers of bronze, ancient vases of bronze; carved-lacquer tables, carved-lacquer boxes. In the ancient bronze braziers, aloeswood and sandalwood never ceased; in the ancient bronze vases, lotus flowers ever showed their colors. On the carved-lacquer tables the five clouds gleamed fresh; in the carved-lacquer boxes petals of incense lay heaped. Cups of glass held clear pure water; lamps of glass shone with bright fragrant oil. One note of the golden chime—its ring floated long upon the air. Truly a treasury hall the red dust cannot reach; a Buddha hall of a household that shames the great monasteries.

The elder washed his hands, took up the incense, knocked his head and finished his worship, then turned back to salute the squire. The squire said: “Stay—let us meet in the sutra hall.” And there was:

Square desks and standing cabinets, cases of jade and boxes of gold. Square desks and standing cabinets, heaped with countless sutra texts; cases of jade and boxes of gold, storing many letters and scrolls. On the painted-lacquer table, paper, ink, brush, and inkstone—refined and delicate all, the scholar’s implements; before the pepper-scented screen, calligraphy, painting, zither, and chess—marvelous and mysterious all, true delights. Set out, a fairy chime of light jade afloat on gold; hung up, a whisk of dragon’s beard that sweeps the wind and combs the moon. The clear air refreshes the spirit; with the heart fasting of itself, one feels the mind of the Way at ease.

When the elder had come to this, and was on the point of making his bow, the squire stayed him again: “Pray loosen your Buddha robes.” Tripitaka took off the cassock, and only then did they exchange courtesies; then the three, Pilgrim’s party, were presented. He had the horses fed and the luggage set under the cloister, and only then asked after their journey. Tripitaka said: “This poor monk is sent by imperial order from the great Tang of the Eastern Land to your precious land, to worship at Vulture Peak, see the Buddha, and beg the true scriptures. Hearing that your honored house reveres monks, I have come to pay my respects and beg one meal before going on.” Delight showed on the squire’s face, and he said with a smile: “Your servant’s poor name is Kou Hong, my style Dakuan; I have idled through sixty-four years. From my fortieth year I vowed to feed ten thousand monks, and the vow is near its full. For twenty-four years now I have fed them, and I keep a ledger of the monks fed. Having nothing to do these days, I counted up the names, and I have fed nine thousand nine hundred ninety-six; only four are wanting, and the vow cannot be made complete. Today Heaven has been so good as to send four masters down, to round out the full count of ten thousand. Pray leave your honored names, and stay a month or more however you can, till the rite is complete; then your servant will send sedan and horse to carry you up the mountain. From here to Vulture Peak is only eight hundred li—not a hard journey.” Tripitaka, hearing this, was overjoyed, and they all consented for the time being—but no more of that.

His household servants, great and small, went to the house to carry firewood and draw water, fetch rice, flour, and vegetables, and prepare the meal—and so they startled the squire’s dame, who asked: “What monks are these, that you are so busy?” The servants said: “Four noble monks have just come. Father asked their errand, and they said they were sent by the emperor of the great Tang of the Eastern Land to worship the Buddha at Vulture Peak, and that they did not know how far they had come to reach us. Father says Heaven sent them down, and told us to prepare the meal quickly and serve them.” The old dame was glad to hear it, and called to the maids: “Bring my clothes; I will go and see them too.” The servants said: “Madam, only one of them can be looked at; the other three cannot—one would scarcely know them for men, so ugly they are.” The dame said: “You do not know: when a face is ugly, and strange and singular withal, it must be one of the immortals come down. Run and tell your father first.” The servant ran to the sutra hall and told the squire: “Madam is coming, and wants to pay her respects to the masters of the Eastern Land.” Tripitaka rose from his seat at once. Before the words were done the dame was at the hall. She raised her eyes and saw the Tang monk’s bearing, stately and heroic; then turned and saw the three, Pilgrim’s party, of a look beyond the common. Though she knew them immortals come down, a touch of dread came over her, and she knelt before them. Tripitaka hastily returned the courtesy: “You shame me, Bodhisattva.” The dame asked the squire: “Why do the four masters not sit together?” Bajie thrust out his jaw: “We three are the disciples.” Ah! At that one word—like a tiger’s roar in the deep mountains—the dame was more afraid than ever.

While they spoke another servant came to report: “The two young masters have come too.” Tripitaka turned quickly and saw two young scholars. They came up into the sutra hall and bowed down before the elder; Tripitaka hastily returned the bow. The squire stepped up and caught them: “These are my two sons, Kou Liang and Kou Dong. They were at their books in the study and have just come back for the midday meal; hearing the masters had come down, they came to pay their respects.” Tripitaka said with delight: “Worthy, worthy! Truly: To raise a family’s name, do good; to have fine sons and grandsons, keep them at their books.” The two scholars asked their father: “Where does this master come from?” The squire laughed: “A far road—the emperor of the great Tang in the southern continent of Jambudvipa has sent them by imperial order to Vulture Peak to worship the Buddha and fetch the scriptures.” The scholars said: “In the Wide Record of Affairs I read that under heaven there are only four great continents. Ours is called the Western Continent of the Ox-Blessing, and there is also the Eastern Continent of Divine Strength. From the southern continent of Jambudvipa to here—how many years of travel must it have taken?” Tripitaka laughed: “On the road this poor monk has lingered many days and traveled few. Always we met poisonous devils and cruel fiends, ten thousand hardships and a thousand bitter pains—I owe much to the protection of my three disciples. Fourteen rounds of winter and summer in all, before I reached this precious land.” The scholars, hearing it, praised him without end: “A holy monk indeed! A holy monk indeed!”

He had not finished when a small servant came to call: “The meal is laid; the masters are asked in to dine.” The squire sent the dame and his sons back to the house, and attended the four into the dining hall. The appointments were all in order, and this is what they saw:

Tables of gold lacquer, folding chairs of black lacquer. In front, tall stands of fruit in five colors, all newly fashioned by cunning craftsmen after the newest mode; a second row, five dishes of pickles; a third, five plates of fruit; a fourth, five great dishes of confections. Every kind sweet, every piece fragrant. Vegetarian soup and rice, steamed buns and dumplings, hot and steaming and spiced—all to the taste, truly filling. Seven or eight servant boys ran back and forth in service; four or five cooks never stilled their hands.

See now: those who served the soup served the soup, those who added rice added rice, one going, one coming, like shooting stars chasing the moon. And Bajie, a bowl to a mouthful, was a wind sweeping off last year’s snow. Master and disciples enjoyed the meal to the full. The elder rose, thanked the squire for the meal, and was for going on his way. The squire stopped him: “Teacher, stay a few days with an easy heart. As the saying goes: ‘Beginning is easy, ending is hard.’ Only when I have made the rite complete dare I see you off.” Tripitaka, seeing his earnestness, had no choice but to stay.

Five or seven mornings and evenings had passed when the squire invited twenty-four monks of the locality who performed the rites, and made ready the service of completion. The monks wrote out the invocations three or four days, chose a lucky day, and opened the rites. Their ways there were much as in the great Tang, and indeed:

Banners raised high, spread before the golden countenance; candles all lighted, incense burned in offering. Drums beaten, cymbals struck; reeds blown, pipes fingered. The cloud chimes and the cross-flute ring clear, all in the notes of the scale. They beat a round, blew a pass, and with loud voice in unison opened the treasury of the scriptures. First they settled the earth god, then summoned the divine generals; the documents were dispatched, the Buddha images worshiped. They chanted through a Peacock Sutra, every line dispelling calamity; lit a tiered Lamp of the Master of Healing, flame upon flame shining bright. Bowed the Water Litany to dissolve the grievances of the past; recited the Avatamsaka to cast out slander. The wondrous law of the three vehicles kept with all diligence, and the one or two shamans all in the same way.

Thus for three days and nights, and the service was done. The Tang monk, his heart on Thunderclap, was set on going, and came to take his leave. The squire said: “Master, you press your farewell—can it be that the rites of these days, busy as they were, have slighted you, and you take offense?” Tripitaka said: “I have burdened your honored house deeply and know not how to repay it—how dare I speak of offense? But when the sacred sovereign sent me out of the pass he asked me when I would return, and I answered rashly, in three years. I did not look for the delays of the road—fourteen years are already gone. Whether the scriptures can be had is still unknown, and the return will take another twelve or thirteen years. Would that not be against the sacred edict? How could I bear the guilt? I beg you, old squire, let this poor monk go on. When I have the scriptures and come back, I will come again to your house and stay a long while—what could be better?”

Bajie could not contain himself, and called out: “Master, you are past heeding anyone’s wishes, past all human feeling! Here is an old squire, rich as a great house, who vowed to feed ten thousand monks, and today the count is full; and he presses us with such earnestness—you might stay a year and no harm done. Why must you be off? To leave such a ready meal uneaten and go begging at other men’s doors—is there some old grandfather or grandmother of yours waiting ahead?” The elder cried out at him: “You blockhead, you know nothing but your belly, and care nothing for the cause of dedication—you are just the beast that eats at the trough and scratches its itch inside its belly. If you will wallow in this anger and folly, tomorrow I will go on alone.” Seeing his master’s face darken, Pilgrim seized Bajie and gave his head a drubbing with his fists, cursing: “Idiot, you know not good from bad—you have made master angry at the rest of us too.” Sha Monk laughed: “Well struck, well struck. Silent he could still offend, and now he puts his oar in.” The Idiot stood puffing at the side and dared say no more. The squire, seeing master and disciples vexed, could only smile on every side: “Teacher, do not fret; be a little patient today. Tomorrow I will prepare banners and drums, invite the neighbors and kin, and see you on your way.”

While they were speaking the old dame came out again: “Master, since you have graced our house, do not press your refusal. How many days has it been now?” Tripitaka said: “Half a month already.” The dame said: “Let this half month count as my husband’s merit. I too have some earnings of my needle, and would gladly feed you masters half a month myself.” Before she was done, Kou Dong and his brother came out: “Four masters, our father has fed monks more than twenty years and never met such men as you. Now the vow is happily complete and you four have come down—truly you bring luster to our poor gate. I am young and do not understand karma, but I have often heard it said: ‘What the man cultivates, the man reaps; what the dame cultivates, the dame reaps; who cultivates not, reaps not.’ My father and mother each wish to offer their poor greens, each seeking some karma of their own—why refuse so bitterly? Even we brothers have some savings from our schooling money, and hope to keep you masters half a month before we see you off.” Tripitaka said: “Your mother’s loving kindness I dare not accept—how should I accept the generous love of you worthy brothers? I will by no means accept. This very morning I must set out; do not hold it a fault. Otherwise, long past the imperial term already, my guilt would admit no death enough.” The dame and the two sons, seeing him fixed and immovable, grew vexed: “We keep him out of kindness, and he is so obstinate about going. Well, let him go then—what need of all this clatter?” Mother and sons withdrew.

Bajie could not hold his tongue, and said to the Tang monk: “Master, do not play the overmighty. As the saying goes: ‘If you stay, you will be blamed anyway.’ We might stay a month, fulfill the vow of mother and sons, and be done—why all this haste?” The Tang monk cried out again at him, and the Idiot slapped his own mouth twice: “Pah, pah, pah! Told not to talk, and talking again!” Pilgrim and Sha Monk chuckled apart. The Tang monk turned on Pilgrim: “What are you laughing at?” and pinched a spell sign, meaning to recite the Tight-Fillet Spell. Pilgrim in terror knelt: “Master, I was not laughing, I was not laughing. Do not recite it, do not recite it, I beg you.”

The squire, seeing trouble growing between master and disciples, dared press them no more, and said only: “Teacher, no more of this. Tomorrow morning, without fail, I see you off.” They then left the sutra hall, and he ordered his secretary to write a hundred odd invitation cards, asking neighbors and kin to come at dawn and see the masters of the Tang off on their way west. On one side he ordered the cooks to lay a farewell feast; on another he had the stewards make twenty pairs of colored banners, hire a band of players and drummers, invite a company of monks from the southern temple, and a company of Daoists from the Eastern Peak Abbey—all to be in order by the hour of the snake next day. The stewards took their orders and went.

Before long it was evening again. They ate the evening meal and went each to his bed. And there was:

A few homing crows cross to another village; from the tower, bells and drums answer from afar.In the six streets and three markets the hearth smoke stills; in ten thousand households, a thousand gates, the lamps burn dim.The moon is bright, the wind clear, the flowers toying with their shadows; the Silver River, pale and drear, reflects the stars.Where the cuckoo cries, the night deepens; the pipes of heaven are still, and the great earth turns its pot.

That night, at the third or fourth watch, the stewards all rose early to buy the various things. See now: those who prepared the feast hurried in the kitchen; those who made the banners clattered in the hall; those who invited monks and priests ran their legs off; those who called the players bestirred themselves whole-bodied; those who carried invitations ran east and west; those who readied sedan and horse called above and answered below. All that half of the night they clamored on till dawn, and by about the hour of the snake everything was complete—money, after all, can do anything.

Now the Tang monk’s party rose early, and again there were those to attend them. The elder ordered the luggage packed and the horses saddled. The Idiot, hearing they were to go, pouted his fat lips, muttering and grumbling, but gathered his robe and bowl and dug out the high-shouldered carrying pole. Sha Monk scrubbed the horses and saddled and bridled them for waiting. Pilgrim put the nine-ringed staff in his master’s hand and hung the satchel with the rescript of passage on his own breast—all ready to be off together. The squire then invited them all to the great hall behind, where a feast was spread finer far than what had been set out in the dining hall. And there was:

Curtains hung high, screens circling fourfold. In the very middle hung a picture of the Mountain of Longevity and the Sea of Blessing; along both walls hung four scrolls, the scenes of spring, summer, autumn, and winter. In the dragon-pattern tripod the incense breathed in veils; in the magpie-tail censer auspicious vapor arose. The display dishes clustered in color, jewels and flowers each brighter than the last; the long tables heaped with gold, the lion-and-immortal sugar figures ranked in rows. Before the steps, drums and dances kept the scale; in the hall, fruit and dishes spread like brocade. Vegetarian soup and vegetarian rice, wondrous and rare; fragrant wine and fragrant tea, lovely to behold. Though it was a commoner’s house, it was no less than the hall of kings and princes. There was nothing to be heard but a swell of joyful voices that truly shook heaven and moved earth.

The elder was exchanging courtesies with the squire when a servant came to report: “The guests have all come.” They were the neighbors invited, brothers-in-law and cousins, sisters’ husbands, and those who shared their way—the almsgivers, the good friends who called on the Buddha—and one and all they bowed to the elder. When the bows were done, each took his seat. Below the hall, zithers and pipes were playing; above the hall, strings and song and wine. At that sumptuous board Bajie kept his wits about him, and said to Sha Monk: “Brother, eat with open heart and open throat. Once we leave the Kou house, we shall never see such plenty again.” Sha Monk laughed: “Second brother, what talk! The old saying: ‘A hundred rare dishes—one full belly ends them.’ There are private purses for the road, but no private bellies.” Bajie said: “You are a weakling, you are. Let me eat my fill this once, and for three days I shall not easily hunger.” Pilgrim heard: “Idiot, do not burst your belly—we have road to walk now.”

Before the words were done the sun neared noon. The elder above raised his chopsticks and recited the Sutra of the Meal Offering. Bajie, in haste, took the rice and added it bowl upon bowl—five or six bowls he pitched down—and crammed buns, dumplings, cakes, and baked sweetmeats, good and bad, till both his sleeves were stuffed full, and only then rose with his master. The elder thanked the squire, thanked the company, and went out the door with them. See: outside the gate stood colored banners and jeweled canopies, drummers and players; and now the two companies of monks and Daoists arrived. The squire laughed: “You come late, and the masters go in haste; I cannot offer you a meal—wait till they return and we will give thanks.” The crowd cleared the road; those who bore the sedan bore it, those who rode went up, those who walked went on foot, all giving the lead to the Tang monk’s four. There was nothing to be heard but drums and music dinning to the sky, banners and streamers shading the sun, people thronging, carts and horses jammed, all come to see Squire Kou send off the Tang monk. Such a show of riches truly surpassed pearls at the girdle and kingfisher jewels wound about, and yielded nothing to spring hidden behind brocade curtains. That company of monks played a round of Buddhist airs; that company of Daoists blew a pass of mystic music. They all escorted them out beyond the prefecture city, on to the ten-li pavilion, where food in baskets and drink in jugs were set out, cups were raised and held, and they drank and parted. But the squire could not bear to let go; with tears in his eyes he said: “Masters, when you return with the scriptures, you must come and stay some days at my house, to satisfy the heart of this Kou Hong.” Tripitaka, moved past telling, could not thank him enough: “If I reach Vulture Peak and see the Buddha, I will name your great virtue first of all. On my return I will certainly come and knock at your gate in thanks.” So talking as they went, two or three more li slipped by before the elder pressed his farewells and bowed. The squire, weeping aloud, turned back. And this was it:

He had the wish to feed the monks and so attain the wondrous awakening; he had not the lot to see the Tathagata Buddha.

To say no more of how Squire Kou, having seen them to the ten-li pavilion, went home with the crowd: master and disciples walked forty or fifty li, and the sky was darkening. The elder said: “It is late. Where shall we ask for lodging?” Bajie, shouldering the load and pouting, said: “Leaving ready tea and rice uneaten and a cool tiled roof unlodged in, and tramping on like men rushing a funeral—and now the sky is dark; what if it rains? What then?” Tripitaka cursed: “Brazen beast, complaining again. As the saying goes: ‘Chang'an is fine, but no home to linger in long.’ Wait till we have had the lot to worship the Buddha and won the true scriptures; then, back in the great Tang, I will memorialize our sovereign, and you shall eat years on years from the palace kitchens, till you burst, you beast, and be a well-fed ghost.” The Idiot laughed to himself and dared say no more.

Pilgrim raised his eyes and looked far off: by the highway stood a few rooms, and he quickly begged his master: “Let us lodge there, lodge there.” Coming near, the elder saw a fallen memorial arch, on which hung an old tablet, its four great characters faded and furred with dust: the Lodge of Radiant Splendor. The elder dismounted: “The Bodhisattva Radiant Splendor was a disciple of the Buddha of Flame and Five Lights; for exterminating the Ghost King of Poison Fire he was degraded, and transformed into the Numinous Officer of Five Manifestations. There must be a temple keeper here.” They all went in together, but the cloister rooms had all fallen in, and there was no sign of anyone. They were turning to leave when black clouds gathered overhead and the rain fell in sheets. Nothing for it: under the broken roof they picked out the sheltered spots and hid themselves, close and silent, not daring to raise a voice, for fear demons might take notice. Some sat, some stood, and they endured a bitter night without sleep. Ah! Truly:

When peace reaches its height, misfortune is born again; in the place of joy, sorrow is met once more.

But what would befall them when day broke and they went forward? Listen to the next chapter to find out.

Lord Kou Gladly Welcomes the Holy Monks; Elder Tang Does Not Seek Riches

All forms were colorless to begin with, and even emptiness is not empty. Quiet and noise, speech and silence, are the same: why tell a dream within a dream? What is useful contains what is useless; even without seeking credit, effort has its effect. Fruit turns red when it ripens. Don't ask how it was cultivated.

After Pilgrim used his powers to stop the monks of Gold-Paved Monastery from following, they saw the dark wind pass and found the four travelers gone. Believing they had hosted living Buddhas, they bowed and returned home.

The four traveled west at the end of spring and beginning of summer:

The mild weather felt fresh, and lotuses grew in the ponds.Plums ripened after rain; wheat matured in the wind.Grass smelled sweet where blossoms fell; older orioles sang among light willow branches.River swallows taught their young to fly, and pheasants fed their calling chicks in the hills.With the Dipper to the south, days grew long, and everything shone clearly.

They ate in the morning and camped in the evening, crossing streams and finding water. After half a month on a safe road, they saw the walls of a city ahead. “What place is this?” Tripitaka asked. “I don't know,” Pilgrim replied. Bajie laughed. “You've traveled this road before. Why claim not to know? You must be hiding something to play a trick on us.” “You don't understand,” Pilgrim said. “I've passed this way several times, but high above it on a cloud. I never landed here. Why would I have found out its name? There's no trick.”

They soon reached the city. Tripitaka dismounted, crossed the drawbridge, and entered the main street. Two elderly men sat talking beneath an awning. “Stand here in the street with your heads down and behave,” Tripitaka told his disciples. “I'll ask those men where we are.” They obeyed. The two men were discussing who had prospered or failed, who was wise, and what had become of the heroes of former days. Tripitaka approached with joined palms. “Excuse me, gentlemen.” “What do you want, elder?” they asked. “I've come from far away to worship the Buddha. What is this place called? Is there a generous family who might give us a vegetarian meal?” “This is Tongtai Prefecture, with Diling County beyond it. You needn't beg for food. Past the archway, on the north-south street, there's a house facing east with a tiger-shaped gate. It belongs to Lord Kou. A sign at the entrance reads ‘No Monk Turned Away, up to Ten Thousand.’ Travelers like you can eat there. Go now, and let us finish our conversation.” Tripitaka thanked them and told his disciples the name of the place and the directions. Sha Monk said, “We're in the Buddhist lands of the west, where people really do feed monks. We don't need to have our travel documents stamped in this district. Let's eat and go on.”

As they walked down the street, people grew alarmed at their looks and crowded around to stare. “Behave,” Tripitaka kept telling the disciples. They kept their heads down. Turning a corner, they found a north-south street.

They came to the tiger-shaped gate and saw a large sign on a screen wall inside: “No Monk Turned Away, up to Ten Thousand.” “In the Buddha's land, wise and simple people alike tell the truth,” Tripitaka said. “I doubted the two old men, but here it is.” Bajie wanted to walk straight in. Pilgrim stopped him. “Wait until someone comes out to ask us what we want.” Sha Monk agreed, not wanting to upset their host by entering uninvited. They rested their horse and baggage at the gate.

A gray-haired servant came out with a scale and a basket. At the sight of them he dropped both and ran inside. “Master! Four very strange monks are outside!” Lord Kou was walking in the courtyard with a cane, murmuring prayers to the Buddha. At the news he dropped his cane and hurried out. Unafraid of their looks, he invited all four inside. Tripitaka accepted politely. The lord led them down a passage to a building. “These rooms on the left are the Buddha hall, scripture hall, and dining hall for guests like you. My family lives on the right.” Tripitaka praised the place. He put on his robe, bowed before the Buddha, and looked around the hall:

Clouds of incense hung among bright candle flames. The room was full of flowers and decorated in gold and color. A purple-gold bell hung from a tall red frame, facing a drum on a painted stand. Banners embroidered with eight treasures hung beside a thousand gilded Buddha images. There were old bronze burners and vases and carved lacquer tables and boxes. Sandalwood and other incense always burned in the old burners, while colorful lotus flowers stood in the vases. On the tables were designs of five-colored clouds; the boxes held pieces of incense. Clear water filled glass vessels, and perfumed oil burned in glass lamps. A golden chime rang with a clear, gentle sound. The outside world seemed far away; this private Buddha hall rivaled a great monastery.

Tripitaka washed his hands, lit incense, and bowed, then returned to thank Lord Kou. “Wait,” his host said. “Come into the scripture hall to meet properly.” Inside they saw:

Square tables and tall cabinets held countless scriptures; jade boxes and golden cases stored many written scrolls. Painted tables held fine paper, ink, brushes, and inkstones. Before a fragrant screen stood paintings and calligraphy, musical instruments and games. A light jade chime hung beside a hanging whisk. The clean air refreshed the mind, and a calm spirit felt at ease with the Way.

As Tripitaka moved to bow, Lord Kou asked him to take off his ceremonial robe first. Then they greeted one another formally, and he greeted the three disciples. He had the horse fed and their baggage put under the corridor before asking about their journey. “The Tang emperor sent me to Vulture Peak to worship the Buddha and seek scriptures. We heard you welcomed monks, so we came hoping for a meal before continuing.” Smiling, their host replied, “My name is Kou Hong, also called Dakuan. I'm sixty-four. When I turned forty, I vowed to feed ten thousand monks. I've kept a register over the last twenty-four years. Recently I counted nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-six names: only four were missing. Today heaven sent exactly four of you to complete my vow! Please give me your names and stay at least a month while I celebrate. Then I'll send you on with horses and a sedan chair. Vulture Peak is only eight hundred li from here.” Tripitaka was delighted and agreed to stay for the time being.

The household servants carried firewood and water and prepared rice, flour, and vegetables. The noise brought out Lord Kou's wife. “What monks have come that you're rushing so?” she asked. “Four holy monks,” said a servant. “Father says the Tang emperor sent them to Vulture Peak. He called them heaven-sent and told us to feed them quickly.” She was pleased. “Fetch my clothes; I'll meet them.” “Madam, you can look at one, but the other three are terribly ugly.” “You don't understand. People with strange looks may be heavenly beings. Go tell your master I'm coming.” The servant told Lord Kou, and Tripitaka rose. Lord Kou's wife entered. She admired Tripitaka's handsome, dignified appearance. His disciples looked extraordinary too, but still frightened her a little. She bowed, and Tripitaka returned the courtesy. “You're too kind, madam.” “Why aren't all four teachers sitting together?” she asked. “The other three of us are disciples,” Bajie said, sticking out his snout. His voice sounded like a tiger roaring in the mountains, frightening her even more.

A servant announced that Lord Kou's two sons had come. Tripitaka turned to see two young scholars entering. They bowed deeply, and he returned their bows. “These are my sons Kou Liang and Kou Dong,” their father said. “They've come back from studying for lunch, and wanted to meet you.” Tripitaka said, “Wonderful! To raise a family's standing, do good deeds; to raise good sons, have them study.” The sons asked where the guests came from. Their father told them about the Tang emperor's mission. One said, “I've read that the world has four continents. We're in Aparagodaniya, and there's also Purvavideha. How many years does it take to reach here from Jambudvipa?” Tripitaka smiled. “We've spent more days delayed than traveling, facing cruel monsters and terrible hardship. My disciples have protected me. It has taken fourteen years in all.” “You truly are a holy monk!” the sons said.

A servant came to announce that the meal was ready. Lord Kou sent his wife and sons back into the family quarters and accompanied his four guests to the dining hall. It was carefully prepared:

Gold-lacquered tables stood beside black-lacquered chairs. Five kinds of tall arrangements of fresh fruit stood in front, followed by five plates of side dishes, five of fruit, and five large plates of snacks. Everything was sweet and fragrant. There were vegetable soups and rice, steamed buns and pastries, all hot and delicious. Seven or eight servants went back and forth, while four or five cooks kept working.

Some servants brought soup and others brought more rice, rushing around like shooting stars. Bajie ate each bowl in one mouthful, clearing dishes as fast as a wind clears clouds. The four enjoyed their meal. Tripitaka thanked their host and made to leave, but Lord Kou stopped him. “Stay a few days. As they say, finishing is harder than beginning. I can't send you off until I've celebrated completing my vow.” Seeing his sincere wish, Tripitaka stayed.

After five to seven days, Lord Kou invited twenty-four local monks to hold a religious ceremony to mark the vow's completion. They prepared for three or four days and chose an auspicious date. Their customs were much like those of Tang:

They raised great banners and set out golden Buddha images. With candles in hand they made incense offerings. Drums, cymbals, mouth organs, flutes, and gongs sounded, their notes rising and falling together. They played, then opened the scriptures and read aloud in unison. First they honored the earth god, then summoned divine generals, issued ritual documents, and bowed before Buddha images. They recited the Peacock Sutra to remove dangers and lit rows of Medicine Buddha lamps whose flames shone brightly. They performed rites of repentance to settle old wrongs and chanted the Flower Garland Sutra to end slander. All the monks carefully practiced the teachings of the three vehicles.

After three days and nights, the ceremony ended. Eager to reach the Thunderclap Monastery, Tripitaka again said goodbye. Lord Kou asked, “Are you leaving so quickly because our preparations have kept us busy and we haven't cared for you properly?” “You've treated us so generously that I don't know how to repay you,” Tripitaka said. “But when the Tang emperor sent me away, I foolishly said I'd return in three years. Fourteen have passed already. I haven't even found the scriptures. If I spend another twelve or thirteen years returning, I'll have disobeyed him terribly. Please let us go. Once we've obtained the scriptures, I can stay here again on our way back.”

Bajie could not keep quiet. “Master, you don't care what anyone else wants! Lord Kou is rich, and he's completed his generous vow to feed monks. He sincerely asks us to stay. Even a year wouldn't matter. Why leave this good food to beg elsewhere? Do your parents live down the road?” Tripitaka snapped, “You fool! All you care about is food, not the reason we travel. You're like an animal eating at a trough while its belly gets rubbed. If you three want to stay here out of greed and stupidity, I'll leave alone tomorrow.” Seeing his master's anger, Pilgrim punched Bajie on the head. “You've upset Master so much he's angry with us all!” “A good beating,” Sha Monk said. “He gets us in trouble even when he says nothing, and now he speaks up!” Bajie stood silently aside. Lord Kou smiled apologetically. “Please don't be angry. Stay tonight, and tomorrow I'll gather friends and relatives to see you off with music and banners.”

His wife came in. “You've only just arrived,” she told Tripitaka. “How many days has it been?” “Half a month,” he said. “Then let that half-month count toward my husband's merit. I have a little money from my sewing. Let me feed you for another half-month.” Her sons came too. “Father has fed monks for over twenty years and never had such guests. Now you've arrived to complete his vow; you've brought honor to our home. We're young and don't know much about religious merit, but we've heard each person gets the benefit of what they do. Mother and Father both hope to help you, and we have a little money from teaching that we'd like to use to feed you for another half-month.” Tripitaka said, “I can't accept even your mother's kind offer, much less yours as well. We must go today. Please don't take offense. The emperor's deadline is long past.” His refusal upset the mother and sons. “If he insists on leaving despite our kindness, let him go!” They withdrew.

Bajie spoke again. “Master, don't push it too far. If they want us to stay and you insist on leaving, they'll blame us. Let's spend another month to honor their wish. Why the hurry?” Tripitaka snapped at him, and Bajie slapped his own mouth twice. “I said I wouldn't speak and did it again!” Pilgrim and Sha Monk laughed. “What are you laughing at?” Tripitaka asked Pilgrim, raising his hand as if to recite the Tight-Fillet Spell. Pilgrim knelt in alarm. “I wasn't laughing, Master! Please don't recite it!”

Seeing them growing irritated, Lord Kou no longer pressed them to stay. “We'll certainly see you off tomorrow morning.” He left the scripture hall and had a clerk write some hundred invitations to neighbors and family to see the Tang monks on their way. He ordered cooks to prepare a farewell feast, servants to make twenty pairs of colorful flags and hire musicians, and others to invite a group of Buddhist monks and a group of Daoist priests. All were to assemble at the hour of the snake the next day.

Before long, evening came. After dinner, everyone went to bed:

A few crows flew home over another village; bells and drums sounded far away from a tower.The six streets and three markets grew quiet; lamps dimmed behind countless doors.Under a clear moon and cool breeze, flowers cast moving shadows; stars appeared faintly above the Milky Way.As the cuckoo called late at night, all the sounds of the earth faded away.

During the third and fourth watches of the night, servants rose to buy everything needed. The kitchen rushed to prepare food; others argued in the hall over flags. Some hurried to invite monks and priests, others musicians; messengers ran back and forth, while still more prepared sedan chairs and horses. The noise continued until dawn. By the hour of the snake everything was ready. With enough money it could all be done.

The monks rose early, and servants attended them. Tripitaka told the disciples to pack and saddle the horse. Bajie pouted and grumbled but gathered their robes and bowl and took up the heavy load. Sha Monk washed and saddled the horse. Pilgrim handed Tripitaka his nine-ringed staff and carried the bag of travel documents himself. As they were ready to go, Lord Kou invited them into a large hall at the rear. There was a feast more splendid than the first:

Curtains hung high around the room. In the center was a painting of long life and happiness; paintings of the four seasons hung on the sides. Incense rose from dragon-patterned vessels and decorative burners. Trays of colorful sweets were arranged like jeweled flowers, including lions and immortals made of sugar. Musicians played before the steps. Fruits and dishes filled the tables inside; vegetarian soups and rice, fragrant wine and tea, were all provided. It was an ordinary family's home but rivaled a lord's residence. The joyful voices could be heard far away.

While Tripitaka greeted Lord Kou, a servant reported that the guests had arrived: neighbors, brothers-in-law, other relatives, fellow donors, and devout friends. They bowed to Tripitaka and took their seats. Music played below the hall; above it, guests ate, drank, and sang. Bajie said to Sha Monk, “Eat all you can. We won't find another feast like this after we leave the Kous.” Sha Monk laughed. “Hundreds of delicacies can't fill you beyond one stomach. You can store food in a private storeroom, not a private belly.” “That's where you're wrong,” Bajie said. “If I eat enough now, I won't be hungry for three days.” “Don't burst your belly,” Pilgrim warned. “We have to travel.”

Around midday Tripitaka picked up his chopsticks and recited the meal scripture. Bajie hurried through five or six bowls of rice, one mouthful per bowl, then stuffed both sleeves with buns, pastries, cakes, and baked fruit before rising with his master. Tripitaka thanked Lord Kou and the guests and went outside. Colorful flags, canopies, and musicians waited there, along with the monks and Daoists just arriving. “You're too late for a meal,” Lord Kou told them. “I'll thank you on our return.” People cleared a path. Some rode horses, some sedan chairs, and others walked, letting the monks lead. Drums and music rang out, flags blocked the sunlight, and people and vehicles crowded around to see Lord Kou escort the Tang monks. The monks played Buddhist music and the Daoists played their own tunes. Outside the prefectural city, at the long pavilion ten li down the road, more food and drink waited for a final toast. Lord Kou wept. “Promise you'll stay with us again for a few days after getting the scriptures.” Tripitaka thanked him. “When I meet the Buddha, I'll tell him first of your great kindness. On our return, I'll visit and thank you in person.” They walked another two or three li in conversation. At last Tripitaka begged to leave. Lord Kou broke into loud tears as he turned back. Truly:

With his wish to feed monks fulfilled, he approaches awakening;But he is not destined to see the Buddha himself.

The four traveled another forty or fifty li before evening. “Where can we stay?” Tripitaka asked. Carrying the load, Bajie pouted. “We left good food and a clean house just to hurry as if ghosts were chasing us. Now it's late. What if it rains?” Tripitaka scolded him. “You animal, complaining again! As the saying goes, however pleasant Chang'an is, it isn't a place to stay forever. Once we've worshiped the Buddha and obtained the scriptures, we'll go home and report to the emperor. You can eat royal kitchen food for years until you die with a full stomach!” Bajie laughed to himself but said nothing.

Pilgrim spotted buildings by the road and suggested they stay there. Tripitaka saw a broken archway bearing a faded, dusty sign: “Huaguang Chapel.” He dismounted. “The Bodhisattva Huaguang was a disciple of the Buddha of the Five Lights of Flame. After destroying the poisonous Fire Ghost King, he lost his rank and became the spirit officer Wuxian. There must be a caretaker here.” They went inside, but the corridors had collapsed and no one was there. As they turned to leave, black clouds gathered and heavy rain began. They took shelter under the part of the ruined building that still kept out wind and water. They kept very quiet, afraid monsters might hear. Some sat, others stood, and none slept all night. Truly:

When good fortune reaches its peak, it turns bad;When happiness is greatest, sadness follows.

Would they continue at daybreak? Listen to the next chapter to find out.