“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!”
Monkey picked up a torch, lit some lamps and candles, and pulled up an armchair for the Tang Priest to sit in while the disciples sat on either side of him. As they were sitting there talking they heard a door leading from the inner part of the house being opened. Another old man came in leaning on a stick and asking, “What evil spirits are you, coming to this pious household in the middle of the night?”
The first old man, who was sitting in front of them, rose and went to meet him behind the screen saying, “Stop shouting, elder brother. These aren't demons. This is an arhat sent from Great Tang in the East to fetch the scriptures. His disciples may look evil but really they are very good.” Only then did the old man put his stick down and bow in greeting to the four of them, after which he too sat down in front of them and called for tea and vegetarian food. He shouted several times, but the servants were still quaking with terror and too frightened to come in.
This was more than Pig could put up with. “Old man,” he said, “you have an awful lot of servants. What have they all gone off to do?”
“I have sent them to fetch food to offer to you gentlemen,” the old man replied.
“How many of them will be serving the food?” asked Pig.
“Eight,” said the old man.
“Who will they be waiting on?” asked Pig.
“You four gentlemen,” the old man replied.
“Our master, the one with the white face, only needs one person to wait on him,” said Pig. “The one with hair cheeks whose mouth looks like a thunder god only needs two. That vicious-looking creature needs eight, and I must have twenty.”
“From what you say must be rather a big eater,” the old man remarked.
“You're about right,” said Pig.
“We have enough servants,” the old man said, and by bringing together servants of all ages he produced thirty or forty of them.
As the monks talked to the old man the servants lost their fear and set a table in front of the Tang Priest, inviting him to take the place of honour. They then put three more tables on both sides of him, at which they asked the three disciples to sit, and another in front of these for the two old men. On the tables were neatly arranged some fruit, vegetables, pasta, rice, refreshments and pea-noodle soup. Sanzang raised his chopsticks and started to say a grace over the food, but the idiot, who was impatient and hungry to boot, did not wait for him to finish before grabbing a red lacquered wooden bowl of white rice that he scooped up and gulped down in a single mouthful.
“Sir,” said the servant standing beside him, “you didn't think very carefully. If you are going to keep food in your sleeves shouldn't you take steamed bread instead of rice that will get your clothes duty?”
“I didn't put it in my sleeve,” chuckled Pig, “I ate it.”
“But you didn't even open your mouth,” they said, “so how could you have eaten it?”
“Who is lying then?” said Pig. “I definitely ate it. If you don't believe me I'll eat another to show you.” The servants carried the rice over, filled a bowlful, and passed it to Pig, who had it down his throat in a flash.
“Sir,” said the astonished servants, “you must have a throat built of whetstones, it's so smooth and slippery.” Pig had downed five or six bowls before the master could finish the short grace; only then did he pick up his chopsticks and start eating with them. The idiot grabbed whatever he could and bolted it, not caring whether it was rice or pasta, fruit or refreshments.
“More food, more food,” he shouted, until it gradually began to run out, “Brother,” said Monkey, “don't eat so much. Make do with being half full. Anyhow, it's better than starving in a mountain hollow.”
“What a horrible face you're making,” said Pig. “As the saying goes,
The monk at a banquet who can't eat his fill
Would rather be buried alive on the hill.”
“Clear the things away and pay no more attention to him,” said Monkey.
“We will be frank with you, reverend sirs,” said the two old men with bows. “We would have no problem in feeding a hundred or more reverend gentlemen with big bellies like him in the daytime, but it is late now and the remains of the maigre-feast have been put away. We only cooked a bushel of noodles, five bushels of rice and a few tables of vegetarian food to feed our neighbors and the clergy at the end of the service. We never imagined that you reverend gentlemen would turn up and put the monks to flight. We have not even been able to offer any food to our relations and neighbors as we have given it all to you. If you are still hungry we can have some more cooked.”
“Yes,” said Pig, “cook some more.”
After this exchange the tables and other things used for the banquet were tidied away. Sanzang bowed to his hosts to thank them for the meal, then asked them their surname. “We are called Chen,” they replied.
“Then you are kinsmen of mine,” said Sanzang, putting his hands together in front of his chest.
“Is your surname Chen as Well?” the old men asked.
“Yes,” Sanzang replied, “Chen was my surname before I became a monk. May I ask why you were holding that religious feast just now?”
“Why brother to ask, Master?” said Pig with a laugh. “Anyone could tell you that it's bound to have been a feast for the new crops, or for safety, or for the end of funeral ceremonies.”
“No, it was not,” the old men said.
“Then what was it for?” Sanzang asked.
“It was a feast to prepare for death,” the old men replied.
“You don't know who you're talking to,” said Pig, falling about with laughter. “We could build a bridge out of lies. We're kings of deception. Don't try to fool us. As monks we know all about maigre-feasts. There are only preparatory maigre-feasts for transferring money to the underworld and for fulfilling vows. Nobody's died here, so why have a funeral feast?”
“This idiot's learning a bit of sense,” chuckled Monkey to himself.
“Old man,” he said aloud, “what you said must be wrong. How can you have a feast to prepare for death?”