While Pig was working so hard in the lead all four of them pressed ahead without stopping for the night and another day until it was evening once more. In front-of them the trees and undergrowth were densely tangled and the wind could be heard rustling in the bamboos and soughing in the pines. Luckily they came to another patch of empty land where there stood an old temple outside whose gates pine and cypress formed a solid green shade, while peach and plum trees rivaled each other in beauty. Sanzang then dismounted and went with his three disciples to examine it. This is what they saw:
Before the cliff an ancient shrine stood by a cold stream;
Desolation hung all around the hill.
White cranes in the thickets made the moon seem brighter;
The green moss on the steps had been there for years.
The rustle of green bamboo seemed like human speech;
The remaining calls of the birds seemed expressions of grief.
Dogs and hens never came, and few human souls;
Wild flowers and plants grew all over the wall.
“This place strikes me as very sinister,” said Monkey. “Let's not stay here long.”
“You're being overcautious, brother,” remarked Friar Sand. “As this is deserted and I don't think there are any monsters, wild beasts or fiends, there's nothing to be afraid of.” No sooner were the words out of his mouth than there was a gust of sinister wind and an old man emerged from the temple gateway. He wore a turban, a pale-coloured gown and grass sandals, and he held a crooked stick. He was accompanied by a devil servant with a blue face, terrible fangs, red whiskers and a red body who was carrying on his head a tray of cakes.
“Great Sage,” said the old man as they both knelt down, “I am the local god of Thorn Ridge. As I knew you were coming but had nothing better to offer you I have prepared this tray of steamed cakes for your master. Do all have some. As there are no other houses for hundreds of miles I hope you will accept a few to stave off the pangs of hunger.”
This was just what Pig wanted to hear: he went up and was just stretching out his hands to take a cake when Monkey, who had been taking a long, hard look at all this, shouted, “Stop! He's evil! Behave yourself!” He was now addressing the local god.
“You're no local god, trying to fool me like that. Take this!”
Seeing the ferocity of his attack, the local god turned round and transformed himself into a howling gust of negative wind that carried the venerable elder flying off through the air. Nobody knew where he had been taken. The Great Sage was desperate because he did not know where to look for the master, while Pig and Friar Sand stared at each other, pale with shock. Even the white horse was whinnying with fright. The three brother disciples and the horse were in utter confusion. They looked all around as far as they could see but without finding him.
We will not describe their search but tell how the old man and his devil servant carried Sanzang to a stone house that was wreathed in mist and gently set him down. Holding him by the hand and supporting him the old man said, “Don't be afraid, holy monk. We aren't bad people. I am the Eighteenth Lord of Thorn Ridge. I have asked you here on this cool, clear moonlit night to talk about poetry and pass the time in friendship.” Only then did Sanzang calm down. When he took a careful look around this is what he saw:
From where the banks of cloud set out
Stood a pure house for immortals, a place
To purify the self and refine elixir,
To plant groves of bamboo and grow one's flowers.
Cranes often came to the emerald cliff,
And frogs called in the pool's blue waters.
This was a match for the cinnabar furnace on Mount Tiantai,
And made one think of the sunsets at Mount Huashan.
Forget the vain effort of ploughing the clouds and fishing for the moon;
Here there is admirable privacy and ease.
Sit here for long enough and your mind becomes sea-vast;
The rising moon can be half seen through the gauzy curtains.
As Sanzang was looking around and noticing how brightly the moon and the stars were shining he heard the sound of voices saying, “The Eighteenth Lord has brought the holy monk here.” Sanzang looked up and saw three old men. The nearest one was white-haired and distinguished; the second one's temples had a green gloss and he was full of vigor; and the third had a pure heart and blue-black hair.
Their faces and clothes were all different, and they all came to bow to Sanzang, who returned their courtesy, saying, “I have done nothing to deserve this great affection you are showing for me.”
To this the Eighteenth Lord replied with a smile, “We have long heard, holy monk, of how you have found the Way and we've long been waiting for the good fortune of meeting you that we have enjoyed today. I hope that you will not be grudge the pearls of your wisdom, but will make yourself comfortable, sit and talk. Then we may learn about the true Dhyana teachings.”
“May I ask the titles of the immortals?” Sanzang asked with a bow.
“The one with white hair,” the Eighteenth Lord replied, “is known as the Lone Upright Lord; the one with green temples is Master Emptiness; and the one with a pure heart is the Ancient Cloud-toucher. My title is Energy.”
“How old are you four venerable gentlemen?” Sanzang asked. To this the Lone Upright Lord replied,
“I am already a thousand years old;
I touch the sky and my leaves are always spring.
Elegant are my fragrant branches
Shaped like dragons and snakes;
My shadow is broken into many parts;
My body is covered in snow.
Since childhood I have stood firm and endured;
Now I am happy to cultivate the True.
The birds and phoenixes that perch are not mere mortal ones;
I am free and far from the dust of the normal world.”
Master Emptiness spoke next with a smile:
“I've borne wind and frost for a thousand years,
Strong in my tall body and the vigor of my limbs.
In the still of the night comes the sound of raindrops,
And the shade spreads like a cloud in autumn sunlight.
My gnarled roots have the secret of eternal life;
I have been given the art of never aging.
Storks stay here and dragons, not common creatures:
I am green and full of life, as in immortals' land.”
Then the Ancient Cloud-toucher said with a smile,
“Over a thousand autumns have I passed in emptiness;
Lofty is the view that grows ever purer.
Here there is no commotion, but eternal cool and calm;
I am full of spirit and have seen much frost and snow.
The seven worthies come to talk about the Way;
I sing and drink with my friends, the six men of leisure.
Lightly beating the jade and the gold
My nature is one with heaven; I roam with immortals.”
Then Energy, the Eighteenth Lord, smiled as he said,
“My age is also over a thousand,
I am hoary, pure and natural.
Rain and dew give admirable vigor;
I borrow the creative power of heaven and earth.
Alone I flourish in ravines of wind and mist,
Relaxed and at my ease through all four seasons.
Under my green shade immortals stay
For chess and music and books on the Way.”
“All four of you immortals have lived to most advanced ages.” Sanzang said, “and the old gentleman Energy is over a thousand. You are ancient, you have found the Way, you are elegant and you are pure. Are you not the Four Brilliant Ones of Han times?”
“You flatter us too much,” said the four old men. “We're not the Four Brilliant Ones: we're the four from deep in the mountains. May we ask, worthy monk, what your illustrious age is?” Sanzang put his hands together and replied,