“He may not look it,” Sanzang replied, “but ugly as he is, he has his uses.”
The monk had no choice but to go through the monastery gate with Sanzang and Monkey, and inside they saw the words CHAN MONASTERY OF GUANYIN written in large letters on the main hall. Sanzang was delighted.
“I have often been the grateful beneficiary of the Bodhisattva's divine mercy,” he exclaimed, “but I have not yet been able to kowtow to her in thanks. To worship her in this monastery will be just as good as seeing her in person.” On hearing this, the monk, ordering a lay brother to open the doors, invited Sanzang to go in and worship. Monkey tethered the horse, put the luggage down, and went up into the hall with Sanzang, who prostrated himself and put his head on the floor before the golden statue. When the monk went to beat the drum, Monkey started striking the bell. Sanzang lay before the image, praying with all his heart, and when he had finished the monk stopped beating the drum. Monkey, however, was so engrossed in striking the bell, sometimes fast and sometimes slow, that he went on for a very long time.
“He's finished his devotions,” a lay brother said, “so what are you still beating the bell for?”
Monkey threw down the bell hammer and said with a grin, “You're ignorant, aren't you? 'Whoever is a monk for a day strikes the bell for a day': that's me.” By then all the monks in the monastery, senior and junior, as well as the abbot and his assistant, had been so startled by the wild noises from the bell that they all came crowding out to ask what savage was making such a din with the bell and drum. Monkey jumped out and cursed them: “Your grandfather Sun Wukong was having some fun.”
All the monks collapsed with shock at the sight of him and said as they knelt on the ground, “Lord Thunder God, Lord Thunder God.”
“The Thunder God is my great grandson,” Monkey replied. “Get up, get up, you've nothing to fear. I'm a lord from the land of the Great Tang empire in the East.” The monks all bowed to him, and could not feel easy until Sanzang appeared.
“Please come and drink tea in my rooms,” said the abbot of the monastery. The horse was unloaded and led off, while they went round the main hall to a room at the back where they sat down according to their seniority.
The abbot gave them tea and arranged for food to be brought, and after the meal it was still early. As Sanzang was expressing his thanks, two servant boys appeared behind them supporting an aged monk. This is what he looked like:
A Vairocana miter on his head
Topped with a gleaming cat's-eye jewel.
On his body a gown of brocade,
Edged with gold-mounted kingfisher feathers.
A pair of monkish shoes studded with the Eight Treasures,
A walking stick inlaid with Clouds and stars.
A face covered with wrinkles,
Like the Old Goddess of Mount Li;
A pair of purblind eyes,
Like the Dragon King of the Eastern Sea.
His mouth can't keep out the wind as his teeth have gone;
His back is bent because his muscles are stiff.
“The Patriarch has come,” the monks all said. Sanzang bowed low to him in greeting and said, “Your disciple pays his respects, venerable abbot.” The aged monk returned his greeting and they both sat down.
“The youngsters have just told me that gentlemen have come from the Tang Empire in the East,” he said, “so I have come out to see you.”
“Please forgive us for blundering into your monastery so rudely,” Sanzang replied.
“Don't put it like that,” the aged monk said, going on to ask, “How long a journey is it from the Eastern lands to here?”
“It was over sixteen hundred miles from Chang'an to the Double Boundary Mountain, where I took on this disciple,” Sanzang replied. “We traveled on together through the land of Kami, and as that took two months we must have covered getting on for another two thousand miles before reaching here.”
“Over three thousand miles,” said the aged monk. “I have spent a life of piety and have never been outside the monastery gates, so you could really say that I have been 'looking at heaven from the bottom of a well,' and call mine a wasted life.”
“How great is your age, venerable abbot?” Sanzang asked.
“In my stupid way I have lived to be two hundred and seventy,” the old monk replied.
“Then you're my ten-thousandth-great grandson,” put in Monkey.
“Talk properly,” said Sanzang, glaring at him, “Don't be so disrespectful and rude.”
“How old are you, sir?” the aged monk asked.
“I don't venture to mention it,” Monkey replied. The aged monk then thought that he must have been raving, so he put the matter out of his mind, said no more about it, and ordered tea to be brought for them. A young page brought in three cloisonne teacups on a jade tray the color of mutton fat, and another carried in a white alloy teapot from which he poured out three cups of fragrant tea. It had a better color than pomegranate blossom, and its aroma was finer than cassia. When Sanzang saw all this he was full of praise.
“What splendid things,” he said, “what splendid things. Wonderful tea in wonderful vessels.”
“They're not worth looking at,” the old monk replied. “After all, sir, you come from a superior and heavenly court, and have seen many rare things in your wide travels; so how can you give such exaggerated praise to things like that? What treasures did you bring with you from your superior country that I could have a look at?”
“I'm afraid our Eastern land has no great treasures, and even if it did, I would have been unable to bring them on so long a journey.”
“Master,” put in Monkey, who was sitting beside him, “isn't that cassock I saw in our bundle the other day a treasure? Why don't I take it out for him to see?” When the monks heard him mention the cassock, they smiled sinister smiles.
“What are you smiling at?” Monkey asked.
“We thought it was very funny when you said that a cassock was a treasure,” the abbot of the monastery replied. “A priest of my rank has two or three dozen, and our Patriarch, who has been a monk here for two hundred and fifty or sixty years, has seven or eight hundred.” He ordered them to be brought out and displayed. The old monk, who was also in on the game, told the lay brothers to open the store-rooms, while friars carried twelve chests out into the courtyard, and unlocked them. Then they set up clothes frames, put rope all around, shook the cassocks open one by one, and hung them up for Sanzang to see. Indeed, the whole building was full of brocade, and the four walls covered with silk.
Monkey examined them one by one and saw that some were made of brocade and some were embroidered with gold.
“Enough, enough, enough,” he said. “Put them away, put them away. I'll bring ours out for you to take a look at.”
Sanzang drew Monkey aside and whispered to him, “Disciple, never try to compete with other people's wealth, you and I are alone in this foreign land, and I'm afraid that there may be trouble.”
“What trouble can come from letting him look at the cassock?” Monkey asked.
“You don't understand,” Sanzang replied. “The ancients used to say, 'Don't let greedy and treacherous men see rare or amusing things.' If he lays his eyes on it, his mind will be disturbed, and if his mind is disturbed, he's bound to start scheming. If you were cautious, you would only have let him see it if he'd insisted; but as it is, this is no trifling matter, and may well be the end of us.”
“Don't worry, don't worry,” said Brother Monkey, “I'll look after everything.” Watch as without another word of argument he rushes off and opens the bundle, which is already giving off a radiant glow. It still had two layers of oiled paper round it, and when he removed it to take out the cassock and shake it open the hall was bathed in red light and clouds of coloured vapours filled the courtyard. When the monks saw it their hearts were filled with delight and their mouths with praise. It really was a fine cassock.