“Those aren't Taoist instruments,” he said. “It must be some Buddhist monks performing a ceremony. Let's go there.” Monkey led the horse as they headed towards the music. There was no track to follow as they climbed and then lost height again and crossed sand banks until a village of some four or five hundred households came into sight. It was a fine settlement:
Protected by hills, beside the main road,
On the bank of the river, and watered by a stream.
All the wicket gates were shut;
Every household's bamboo fence was closed.
Clear were the dreams of the egrets on the strand,
Silent the song of the birds by the willows.
No sound came from the flute,
Nothing was heard of the chopping-board's rhythm.
The moon was rocked in stalks of knotweed;
The leaves of the rushes trembled in the wind.
Beside the fields the dogs barked through the fence;
The fisherman slept in his boat moored by the ford.
Few were the lights amid the stillness,
And the moon hung like a mirror in the sky,
A smell of duckweed wafted over
Carried by the wind from the Western bank.
When Sanzang dismounted he saw a house at the end of the road outside of which hung a silken banner. Inside it was bright with candles and lanterns, and there were clouds of incense.
“Wukong,” said Sanzang, “this is much better than a mountain hollow or the bank of a stream. Under the eaves we will be able to relax and sleep soundly, protected from the chilly dew. You all keep out of the way while I go to the gates of the believer's house that is giving the religious feast to ask for shelter. If they invite me in I shall call you over. But don't start playing it up if they don't invite me in. If you show your ugly faces you might give them a terrible fright and cause trouble, and then we would have nowhere to stay.”
“You're right,” said Monkey. “You go ahead, Master, while we wait here.”
The venerable elder then took off his rain hat, straightened his habit, took his monastic staff in his hand and went bareheaded to the gates, which were ajar. Not venturing to walk in uninvited, Sanzang stood there for a while until a very old man with prayer-beads round his neck who was repeating the name of Amitabha Buddha came out to shut the gate.
Sanzang at once put his hands together before his chest and said, “I salute you, benefactor.” The old man returned his greeting then said, “You're too late, monk.”
“What do you mean?” Sanzang asked.
“You're too late to get anything,” the old man said. “If you had been here earlier we were giving each monk a good meal, three pints of polished rice, a piece of white cloth, and ten copper cash. Why have you only come now?”
“Benefactor,” Sanzang replied, “I am not here to collect offerings.”
“If you're not here for offerings, what are you here for then?” the old man asked.
“I have been sent by the Emperor of the Great Tang in the East to fetch the scriptures from the Western Heaven,” Sanzang replied. “It was already late when I reached this village, and I have come here to beg for a night's shelter because I heard the drums and cymbals. I will be on my way at dawn.”
The old man shook his hand at him as he replied, “Monk, men of religion should not tell lies. Great Tang in the East is 18,000 miles from here. How could you have come from there by yourself?”
“You are quite right, benefactor,” said Sanzang. “I have only been able to reach here because I have three disciples who protect me. They clear paths across mountains and build bridges across rivers.”
“If you have these disciples,” the old man said, “why aren't they with you? But do come in. We have room for you to stay here.”
Sanzang then looked back and called, “Come here, disciples.”
As Monkey was impatient by nature, Pig coarse, and Friar Sand impetuous, the moment they heard their master calling they grabbed the horse's bridle and the luggage and ran in, hell-bent for leather. The sight of them gave the old man such a shock that he collapsed, muttering, “Demons, demons.”
“Please don't be afraid, benefactor,” said Sanzang. “They're not demons, they are my disciples.”
“But how could so handsome a master have such hideous disciples?” asked the old man, still shivering and shaking.
“They may not be much to look at,” said Sanzang, “but they certainly know how to subdue dragons and tigers and capture monsters and demons.” The old man was not entirely convinced as he helped the Tang Priest inside.
The three ferocious disciples rushed to the main hall, tied the horse up outside and put the baggage down. Several monks were reciting sutras inside. Covering his long snout with his hands, Pig shouted, “What's that sutra you're reciting, monks?” The monks looked up when they heard his question.
They looked at the stranger and saw a long snout,
As well as a pair of big ears that stuck out.
His body was rough and his shoulders were broad;
When he opened his muzzle, like thunder he roared.
But as for our Monkey and good Friar Sand,
Their faces were more than a person could stand.
The monks saying their sutras within the main hall
Were terribly frightened and scared one and all.
The teacher continued the text to recite,
Until the head monk said they should stop for the night.
They paid no more heed to the chimes and the bell,
And the Buddha's own images from their hands fell.
They all blew at once to put out every light,
And tried in their terror to scatter in flight.
They crawl on the ground as they stumble and fall,
And all of them trip getting out of that hall.
One old monk's head with another one clashes
Just like the collapse of piled-up calabashes.
What once was a pure and a most holy rite
Was all now reduced to a comical sight.
The sight of the monks stumbling and crawling about made the three disciples clap their hands and laugh aloud, at which the monks were more terrified than ever. Colliding with each other's heads they all fled for their lives and disappeared. By the time Sanzang helped the old man into the hall the lights had all been put out and the three of them were still chuckling away.
“Damned creatures,” said Sanzang, “you are all thoroughly evil, despite my daily teaching and advice. As the ancients said,
Only the saintly can become good without instruction;
Only the worthy can become good after instruction;
Only idiots will not become good even with instruction.
The disgraceful scene you've just made is one of the lowest and most stupid things I could possibly imagine. You charge in through the gates without any respect, make our elderly benefactor collapse in fright, send all the monks fleeing for their lives, and completely ruin their service. I shall have to take the blame for all of this.” None of them could find a word to say in their defense.
Only then did the old man believe that they really were Sanzang's disciples, turn back, and say, “It's nothing, sir, nothing. The lamps have just been put out and the flowers scattered as the service is ending anyhow.”
“If it's over,” said Pig, “bring out the food and wine for the completion feast. We need a meal before we go to bed.” The old man called for oil lamps to be lit. The servants could not understand why.
“There are lots of incense sticks and candles where they're saying surras in the main hall, so why does he want oil lamps lit?”
When some servants came out to look they found everything in darkness, so they lit torches and lanterns and rushed in together. When they looked inside and suddenly saw Pig and Friar Sand they dropped their torches in terror and fled, shutting the doors behind them, and fleeing to the inner part of the house with shout of “Demons, demons!”