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Willows bent down by cruel snow,
A square pool frozen hard.
A few sparse bamboos waving green,
The turquoise of a lofty and elegant pine.
Thatched cottages that looked covered with silver,
A slanting bridge that seemed paved with flour.
Daffodils by the fence were begi
While icicles hung low beneath the eaves.
The icy wind carried many a strange fragrance;
The plum blossom was lost amid the driving snow.
As Monkey walked towards the farm to take a look at it he heard the creak of a wicker gate opening as an old man came out. He was leaning on a wooden stick and wearing a sheepskin hat, a tattered tunic, and rush sandals. He looked up to the sky and said. “The Northwest wind in blowing, so the sky will be clear tomorrow.” Before the words were out of his mouth a Pekinese dog came bounding out from behind him and started barking wildly at Monkey. Only then did the man turn to see Monkey carrying his begging bowl.
“Venerable benefactor,” said Monkey, “I'm with the monk sent to the Western Heaven by the emperor of Great Tang in the East to worship the Buddha and fetch the scriptures. As we were passing this way and my master is very hungry I have come to your honorable residence to beg for a vegetarian meal.”
The old man nodded, hit the ground with his stick and said, “Reverend sir, don't beg here. You've lost your way.”
“No, I haven't,” said Monkey.
“The main trail West is over three hundred miles North of here,” said the old man, “so why aren't you on that?”
“That's where I've come from,” Monkey replied. “My master is now sitting by the main trail waiting for me to bring him some food.”
“You're talking nonsense, monk,” the old man replied. “How could your master be waiting by the main trail for you to bring him some food? Even if you could walk this far it would take you six or seven days to cover over three hundred miles and as long again to get back. By then he would have starved to death.”
“Honestly, benefactor,” replied Brother Monkey with a smile. “I have only just left my master, and it took me less time to get here than it would to drink a cup of tea. When I've been given the food I'll take it back for his lunch.”
This alarmed the old man, who drew back at once, saying, “That monk's a demon, a demon.”
He was just about to go back inside when Monkey took hold of him and asked, “Where are you going, benefactor? Give me some food at once.”
“It's very difficult,” the old man said, “very difficult. Try somewhere else.”
“You really don't understand, benefactor,” Monkey replied. “Just think, I've had to come over three hundred miles to get here, so it would probably be another three hundred miles to another house. You're trying to make my master starve to death.”
“I tell you frankly,” the old man said, “that we can only put three pints of rice in the pot for the six or seven members of the family, and it's still cooking. Try somewhere else first.”
“There is an old saying,” Monkey replied, “that it's better to stay in one house than to call on three. I'm staying put.” The old man lost his temper with Monkey for being so persistent and raised his stick to hit him. This did not worry Monkey at all, who allowed the old man to hit him on his shaven pate seven or eight times: it felt like having the itches on his head scratched.
“You're a monk who likes being hit on the head,” said the old man.
“Hit me as much as you like, oldy,” said Monkey. “I'm keeping the score and you'll have to give me a pint of rice for every blow.”
When the old man heard this he dropped his stick, rushed inside, shut the gate and shouted: “A demon, a demon.” This made the whole household shake with fear as they shut the front and back gates in a great hurry. Watching the gates being shut Monkey thought, “I wonder if the old villain was telling the truth about the amount of rice they cook. As the saying goes, the good are converted by Taoism and the stupid by Buddhism. I'm going in to take a look round.” With that the splendid Great Sage made a spell with his hands to make himself invisible and went straight to the kitchen to look. He saw that the pot was steaming and half filled with grain, so he thrust his begging bowl into it, filled it to the brim, and went back on his cloud.
The Tang priest meanwhile, who had been sitting in the circle for a long time waiting for Monkey to come back, stretched, looked around and said, “Where has that ape gone to beg for food?”
“Goodness only knows where he is-probably fooling around,” said Pig with a laugh beside him. “Begging for food, indeed! He's left us here in a pen.”
“What do you mean, in a pen?” Sanzang asked.
“That's something else you wouldn't know, Master,” Pig replied. “In the old days people used to draw circles on the ground to make pens. He draws a circle with his cudgel and says it's stronger than a wall of bronze or iron. But how could it possibly keep out any tigers, wolves or evil monsters that came here? We'd be a meal served up to them on a plate.”
“What should we do about it, Wuneng?” Sanzang asked him.
“We're not sheltered from the wind or the cold here,” Pig said. “If you ask me we should carry on West along the trail. Monkey went off begging on his cloud, so he's bound to be back soon. He'll catch up with us. If he's got any food we can eat it before going on. All we've got from sitting here so long is cold feet.”
These words were to be Sanzang's undoing: he followed the idiot's advice and they all left the circle. The Tang Priest walked along the trail with Pig leading the horse and Friar Sand carrying the luggage. They soon reached the house with high towers, which was a South-facing compound. Outside the gates was a whitewashed wall, above which rose a multicolored gatetower shaped like lotuses leaning together. The gates stood half open. While Pig tethered the horse to a stone drum by the threshold Friar Sand put the luggage down and Sanzang sat on the doorsill out of the wind.
“Master,” said pig, “this looks like a nobleman or a minister's house. There's nobody at the gates, so I suppose they're all inside warming themselves up by the fire. Sit down and let me take a look.”
“Do be careful,” said the Tang Priest. “Don't go charging into their house.”
“I know,” said the idiot. “I'm a lot better ma
The idiot tucked his rake in his belt, straightened his black brocade tunic, and went in through the gate in a very affected way. He saw a large hall with high, curtained windows that was completely quiet and deserted. There were no tables, chairs or other furniture. When he went round the screen and further into the house he found himself in a passageway at the end of which stood a multi-storied building with upstairs windows half open through which yellow damask bed-curtains could be glimpsed. “I suppose they're still in bed because it's so cold,” thought Pig, whereupon he marched up the stairs without worrying about the propriety of invading the private quarters of the house. When the idiot lifted the curtain and looked inside he almost collapsed with shock: on the ivory bed inside the curtains was a pile of gleaming white bones, with a skull the size of a bushel measure and thighbones some four or five feet long.
When the idiot calmed himself the tears poured down his cheeks as he nodded to the skeletons and said with a sigh, “I wonder:
For what great dynasty you once were a marshal
In what country's service did you hold high command?
Then you were a hero fighting for mastery,
But now you are only a pile of old bones.
Where are the widow and child making offerings?