Journey 038: Guest and Ghost
After San Zang gets snubbed while seeking lodging, Sun Wukong insists on having a word with the manager.
Podcast: Play in new window | Download
Transcript
Welcome to the Chinese Lore Podcast, where I retell classic Chinese stories in English. This is episode 38 of Journey to the West.
Last time, the pilgrims were crossing yet another mountain when it was getting late in the day. They found a large, fancy monastery on the mountain, and San Zang went in to ask for lodging. But he got a rude reception from the monastery’s abbot, who couldn’t even be bothered to acknowledge him. After just one look at his simple traveling clothes, the abbot just told his subordinate to tell San Zang that he could “squat” under the eaves that night, and then he went back into his quarters.
San Zang was greatly aggrieved when he overheard the abbot’s words. He wept and said, “Pity, pity. As the saying goes, ‘A man is worthless away from his homeland.’ I have been a monk ever since I was a child. I’ve never done anything against Buddhist teachings. So in which previous lifetime did I offend heaven and earth so as to make it that I would encounter unkindness so frequently in this life? If you don’t want us to stay here, that’s fine. But why must you say such mean words, telling us to go ‘squat’ under the eaves? It’s a good thing you didn’t say that to Sun Wukong, or that monkey might charge in here and break your arms with his rod! Alas, as the saying goes, ‘One should try courtesy first.’ Let me go talk to him first and see how it goes.”
So San Zang entered the abbot’s quarters. There, he found the abbot with his robe off, huffing and puffing. San Zang couldn’t tell from the piles of papers on his desk whether he was reading scripture or writing Buddhist pardons for people. Not daring to go too far into the room, San Zang stood in the courtyard, bowed, and called out, “Abbot, greetings!”
The abbot did not seem pleased with his presence at all, and only gave half a greeting back and asked, “Where are you from?”
“I am sent by the emperor of the Great Tang Kingdom in the East. I’m heading West to see the Buddha and request scriptures. I was passing by your illustrious monastery when it started to get late, so I would like to request lodging for one night. I’ll be gone before it gets light tomorrow. I hope you will do me this favor.”
The abbot now rose and asked, “Ah, so you’re that San Zang?”
“Indeed, I am.”
“Since you’re heading West to get scripture, how come you don’t know which road to take?”
“I have not traveled the roads around your illustrious monastery before.”
“A couple miles to the west of here, there is an inn. You can find food and lodging there. It’s not convenient for us to keep you traveling monks here.”
San Zang pressed his palms together and said, “Abbot, as the ancients said, ‘Buddhist and Daoist temples and monasteries are all guesthouses for us monks. If you see a temple gate, you would get a little bit of rice. Why won’t you allow me to stay?”
The abbot now got angry and barked, “You wandering monk! You’ve got a slick tongue!”
“What do you mean?”
“As the ancients said, ‘When a tiger is in town, every household shuts its doors. Even if the tiger hasn’t bitten anyone yet, its reputation was already ruined from before.’ ”
“What do you mean by ‘reputation ruined from before’?”
“Some years ago, several wandering monks sat down in front of our monastery. I saw how pitiful they looked, with tattered clothes, no shoes, bare heads, and bare feet. So I took pity on them and invited them in, treated them like special guests, and prepared food for them. I also gave each one of them a set of clothes and asked them to stay for a few days. But they craved the free food and clothes, and ended up staying for seven or eight years. Not only that, but they also did a lot of bad things.”
“What kind of bad things?” San Zang asked.
“What bad things? Well, listen to this:
When idle, they tossed tiles against the walls;
When bored, they pried nails from the plaster.
In winter they burned the window frames for warmth.
In summer they slept outside on dismantled doors.
They ripped up banners to make foot wraps,
And traded our fine incense for turnips.
They stole oil from the lamp that must stay eternally lit,
And gambled away all our cauldrons and dishes.”
San Zang thought to himself, “How can you think I am such a shady monk?” This insult almost made him cry, but he didn’t want the abbot to laugh at him. So he discreetly wiped away a tear, swallowed his pride, and went back outside. When he met up with his disciples, Sun Wukong noticed the displeasure on his face.
“Master, did the monks inside beat you?” Wukong asked.
“No.”
Bajie, however, chimed in, “They must have. Otherwise, why do you sound like you just cried?”
“Did they scold you?” Wukong asked.
“No.”
“If they didn’t beat you or scold you, then why are you so troubled? Are you homesick?”
“Disciples, this is not a good place for us to stay.”
“Oh? Are they Daoists?” Wukong laughed.
“You only find Daoists in a Daoist temple; there are only monks in a monastery,” San Zang said, getting a bit testy.
“You’re not making any sense,” Wukong said. “If they’re monks, then they’re just like us. As the saying goes, ‘All in the Buddhist community are friends.’ You have a seat; let me go take a look.”
So Sun Wukong tidied up, grabbed his rod, and strutted into the monastery. He went to the main Buddha hall, pointed at the idols, and said, “You may be only imitations made of gilded clay, but you must have some feelings inside. I’m escorting a sage monk from the Great Tang Kingdom to the West to see the Buddha and request scriptures. Tonight, we came here specifically to ask for lodging. Announce yourselves right away! If you refuse us, then I’ll smash your idols and turn you back into mud!”
Just then, a lay brother was coming to refresh the incense in the burners. But Wukong hissed at him, making him stumble in fear. Then, when the guy got to his feet, he was greeted with Wukong’s hairy mug, which sent him scrambling into the abbot’s quarters and sputtering, “Sir, there’s a monk outside!”
“You guys are really hankering for a flogging,” the abbot fumed. “I’ve already said to just tell them to go squat under the eaves. So why are you bothering me about that again? Come to me about this again, and I’ll flog you 20 times!”
“Sir, this monk isn’t like the other one. He’s got a vicious face!”
“What does he look like?”
“He’s got round eyes, pointy ears, a hairy face, and a mouth like the god of thunder. He’s wielding a rod and gritting his teeth, looking to beat somebody up.”
“Oh? Let me go have a look,” the abbot said. But as soon as he opened his doors, Wukong stomped in. His ugly mug scared the old abbot to death, and the abbot tried to shut the doors. But Wukong busted the doors down and barked, “Hurry up and clean up 1,000 rooms so that I can sleep!”
The abbot hid in the room and said to the lay brother, “Even if you count every structure in the monastery, we don’t have but 300 rooms. Yet he wants a thousand rooms for him to sleep? How can we accommodate that?”
“Sir, I’m also scared out of my mind,” the lay brother said. “Just try to appease him.”
Trembling, the abbot called out to Wukong, “Elder, our small mountain abode doesn’t have enough accommodations. We dare not keep you here. Please go find lodging elsewhere.”
Well, Wukong now turned his golden rod into a thick pole and stood it straight up in the courtyard. He then said, “Monk, if you don’t have enough accommodations, then move out and make room!”
“But we have always lived in this monastery,” the abbot said to the lay brother. “It’s been passed down to me from my predecessors, and I’m going to pass it down to my descendants. Where did this guy come from? How can he demand that we move out?”
“Sir, it’s ok; we can move out,” the lay brother said. “Look, his pole is about to crash in here.”
“Nonsense. We have some 500 monks. Where would we move to? If we leave, there’s nowhere for us to go.”
At that point, they heard a shout from Wukong, “Monks, if you can’t move out, then send someone out to fight me with the quarter-staff.”
The abbot told the lay brother, “You go out and take him on.”
“Sir! Look at the size of that pole! How can I go out there and fight him?!”
“You have to! As the saying goes, ‘You feed an army for a thousand days so you can use it for a single day.’ ”
“If that pole just fell on me, it would flatten me. Let’s not even talk about getting hit by it!” the lay brother pleaded.
“It’s standing there in the courtyard,” the abbot said. “If you just walk into it in the dark, you would break your head, much less if it falls on you.”
“Sir, since you know that, how can you send me out to fight him?” the lay brother complained.
Listening to them squabble amongst themselves, Wukong shouted, “That’s right! You’re no match for me. But if I killed you, my master would fault me for committing violence. Let me hit something else for you to see.”
He looked up and saw a stone lion statue outside the abbot’s quarters, so he brought his golden rod down on it and smashed it to smithereens. The monks inside saw this through the window and went numb. The abbot hid under the bed, while the lay brother took shelter inside the cooking stove while shouting to Wukong, “Sir, sir! Your rod is too heavy! I can’t match you. Please, I beg you!
“I won’t hit you,” Wukong barked. “Tell me, how many monks are there in this monastery?”
Trembling, the abbot replied, “There are 285 rooms, housing 500 licensed monks.”
“Go tell all 500 of those monks to get dressed up and welcome my master in. Then I won’t beat you.”
“Sir, if you would spare us the beating, we will carry your master in here,” the abbot said.
“Then make it quick!”
The abbot now ordered the lay brother to go summon the resident monks to welcome San Zang. The lay brother was too afraid to go out the front door, so he crawled out through a doggy door in the back. He ran to the main hall and started beating drums and ringing bells. All the monks in the monastery were startled and gathered in the hall to ask why the drums and bells were being sounded at an irregular hour.
The lay brother told them, “Hurry up and change into your formal attire, and follow the abbot outside to welcome a distinguished guest from the Tang Kingdom!”
So all the monks scrambled to put on their finest. Those who had cassocks draped themselves in cassocks. Those who had tunics put on their tunics. Those who didn’t have either put on their sleeveless smocks. And the very poorest, who didn’t have any long garments, tied two waist skirts together and draped it over themselves.
Noticing that last form of attire, Wukong asked those monks, “What is that you’re wearing?”
Seeing how ferocious he looked, the monks said, “Sir, please don’t beat us. Let us explain. We begged for these fabrics in town, but there are no tailors here, so we made these ‘paupers’ wrappers’ ourselves.”
Wukong could barely stifle his laughter as he marched this motley crew of monks out to the monastery gates. There, they all kneeled, and the abbot shouted to San Zang, “Sir, please come in and have a seat in my quarters.”
Seeing this, Zhu Bajie quipped, “Master, you’re really useless. When you went in, you came out with teary eyes and pouty lips. So how did brother get them to come kowtow to you?”
“You dummy,” San Zang chided him. “You don’t know manners at all. As the saying goes, ‘Even ghosts are afraid of a vicious man.’ ”
Feeling a little sheepish about having the monks kowtow to him, San Zang now asked them to get up. But they just kept kowtowing and saying, “Sir, unless you ask your disciple to not use his rod, we will kneel here for a month!”
“Wukong, don’t hit them,” San Zang said.
“Oh I haven’t hit them,” Wukong said. “If I did, all their tendons would be broken by now.”
Only now did the monks dare to rise to their feet. They led the horse and carried the luggage into the monastery, while carrying San Zang, Zhu Bajie, and Sha Zeng in. Once the pilgrims sat down in the abbot’s quarters, all the monks again kowtowed to them.
San Zang told the abbot, “Please get up and don’t bow to me anymore. It’s too much. We’re all Buddhist disciples, after all.”
“Sir, you are an emissary from an elite kingdom,” the abbot said. “I failed to welcome you properly. You came to visit our pitiful mountain, but our mortal eyes did not recognize your greatness. May I ask, sir, are you a vegetarian or a meat-eater? Let us know so we can prepare a proper meal.”
San Zang told them that he was a vegetarian, and then the abbot asked if his disciples ate meat. But Wukong told him that they were all vegetarians, which surprised the abbot, given how vicious they looked.
Another monk now worked up the courage to approach and ask how much rice they wanted. Zhu Bajie chided him, “You stingy monk! Why even ask? Cook us a whole bushel of rice!”
The monk rushed off to clean the wok, while others prepared food and tea. They lit lots of candles and lamps and set up tables and chairs for the pilgrims.
After dinner, as the monks cleaned up, San Zang thanked the abbot and asked where they should sleep that night. The abbot summoned the lay brother and told him to send a couple men to feed San Zang’s horse, and dispatch a few others to go clean up three meditation halls in the front of the monastery and set up beds there for their distinguished guests.
Once everything was ready, the monks escorted the pilgrims to their quarters for that night. The meditation halls were brightly lit, and four rattan beds had been set up. Wukong now summoned the guy in charge of horse feed and told him to put the fodder inside the meditation hall and bring the horse in there too.
This done, San Zang sat down on his bed, but saw all 500 monks standing at attention in two rows, waiting to tend to his every need. He bowed to them and said, “Please go back to your rooms. I’m about to turn in myself.”
But the monks did not dare to leave. The abbot told San Zang, “We won’t go until all your needs are taken care of.”
“Oh they are, so please go,” San Zang said. Only now did the monks dare to take their leave and disperse.
Finally relieved of this overabundance of attention, San Zang went outside to relieve himself. He saw a bright moon in the sky and called for his disciples. All three joined him outside. Moved by the beautiful, clear moon, San Zang recited a long poem under its glow:
A white soul hangs like a mirror in the sky,
Reflected whole in the mountains and rivers.
Pure light fills the towers of jade,
Cool air swirls round the silver plate.
For ten thousand miles, all bask in this same pure light;
On this, the year’s clearest and brightest night.
It rises from the sea like a frosty disk,
Hanging in the heavens as a wheel of ice.
Sad the lonely traveler sits by the inn’s cold window;
While an old man goes to sleep in the village tavern.
In the Han garden one is shocked by graying hair;
In the Qin tower the lady prepares herself for bed.
Yu Liang’s lines on the moon are recorded by history;
Yuan Hong lay sleepless under the moon in a river boat.
The light that floats in the cup is cold and weak;
The purity shining in the court is strong and full of magic.
At every window are chanted poems to the snow,
In every courtyard the icy crescent is described.
Tonight we share quiet pleasure in the cloister;
When shall we ever all go home together?
When he heard that poem, Wukong approached San Zang and said, “Master, you only see the moon’s beauty and reminisce about home, but you don’t know what the moon is really about. It’s like the carpenter’s line and compasses. It keeps the heavenly bodies in order.”
And then Wukong launched into a little explanation about the phases of the moon according to Chinese cosmology, which I will not repeat in full here. And then the other two disciples chimed in with their own thoughts in verse form. By the time Zhu Bajie was regaling the party with his attempt at poetry, San Zang said, you know what? It’s time for bed.
“Disciples, you have been traveling hard,” he told them. “Go to bed. I’m going to read a little scripture first.”
“Master, you’ve been a monk since you were little,” Wukong said. “How can you not be thoroughly familiar with all the scriptures you learned in your childhood? And you’ve been sent by the emperor to go fetch the true scriptures of the Great Vehicle. You haven’t completed that mission or gotten those scriptures yet, so what scripture are you reading?”
“Ever since I left the capital, I’ve been traveling day and night,” San Zang explained. “I worry that I’m forgetting the scriptures I learned as a child. Since I have some free time tonight, I want to re-familiarize myself with them.”
So the three disciples went to bed. San Zang shut the door to their room, and turned up his lamp and started reading scriptures. He read until midnight, whereupon he put the books back into his luggage and was just about to go to bed. Suddenly, he heard a rushing noise and the whistling of a wild wind outside. San Zang hurriedly shielded the candle so that it wouldn’t go out. As the candle flickered, he started to feel a bit scared. But fatigue soon overcame him, and he dozed off while leaning on the desk.
His eyes were shut, but he was still conscious, and he could hear the wind continuing to howl outside. Suddenly, he heard a faint voice outside the meditation hall, calling out, “Elder.”
Startled, San Zang looked up and saw a man soaked through with water, with tears in his eyes, and repeatedly calling out, “Elder, elder!”
San Zang bowed and said, “Are you some spirit, ghost or demon, here to tease me in the depth of night? I’m not a greedy type. I am an upright monk, heading west to seek scriptures on the command of the Tang emperor. I have three disciples who are all heroes who can tame dragons and tigers and kill demons and monsters. If they see you, they would reduce you to dust. So out of mercy and compassion, I advise you to hurry up and leave, and don’t come back to my door.”
But the figure remained standing and replied, “Elder, I am not an evil demon, ghost, or monster.”
“In that case, what are you doing here in the middle of the night?”
“Elder, take a closer look at me,” the visitor implored.
San Zang now trained his eyes on the man and saw that he wore a high headdress, a jade girdle, a yellow robe with patterns of dancing dragon and phoenix, and a pair of embroidered shoes. In his hand, he held a white jade scepter arrayed with constellations. His face resembled the eternal Emepror of Mount Tai (4), and his figure mirrored the god of officialdom.
San Zang was taken aback and quickly bowed and said, “Which state’s monarch are you, sir? Please sit.”
As he spoke, he reached out to help the man sit down, but his grasp came up empty. He turned around and saw the visitor still standing there.
“Your majesty, what kingdom do you rule? I’m guessing your kingdom is suffering from unrest and corrupt officials are imposing themselves on you, and you have fled here in the middle of the night. What do you want to tell me? Please speak.”
With tears flowing and brows furrowed, the man replied, “Elder, I live to the west of here, only about 10 miles away. There’s a city-state there, and that is my home base.”
“What’s it called?”
“To tell you the truth, when I established my rule, I renamed it the Wuji (1,1) Kingdom.”
“Why does your majesty look so alarmed? What brings you here?”
“Oh elder, five years ago, my kingdom suffered a huge drought. Nothing grew, and my people were starving to death. It was most pitiful.”
Nodding, San Zang sighed and said, “Your majesty, as the ancients said, ‘When a state is well-governed, it has the blessings of heaven.’ I’m guessing you did not look out for your people, and that’s why you suffered the drought. So why are you hiding from your kingdom? You should open your storehouses to distribute aid to the people, amend your past mistakes, rekindle compassion, and release the innocent who have been wrongly punished. Then heaven and earth will be on your side, and you will have good weather.”
The visitor replied, “My kingdom’s storehouses were all empty, and our grain and wealth were exhausted. We had to stop paying our court officials, and I also cut out meat from my diet. Yet none of it did any good. So I followed the example of the ancient sage king Yu (3) when he tamed the floods. I endured hardship alongside my people. I bathed and fasted, and offered incense and prayers. I did this for three years, and yet our rivers and wells remained bone dry. In our most desperate hour, a Daoist wizard from the Zhongnan (4,2) Mountains showed up, saying he could summon wind and rain and turn stone into gold. He first introduced himself to my officials, and then he came to see me. I asked him to ascend the altar and pray, and sure enough, it worked. When he struck his command token, a huge downpour followed. I was only hoping for three feet of rain, but he said the long drought could not be so easily relieved, so he summoned an additional two inches of rain. Moved by his honorable deeds, I became sworn brothers with him.”
“That’s a great blessing for your majesty,” San Zang interjected.
“What blessing?” the king asked.
“That the Daoist wizard has such powers that he can summon rain or create gold on command,” San Zang said. “But why then are you still unsatisfied, to the point where you left your kingdom?”
“I was close with him for only two years,” the king explained. “One spring, the weather was beautiful and the flowers were in bloom, and everyone was out sightseeing. After the officials had gone back to their offices and my concubines back to their quarters, I was touring the palace garden hand-in-hand with that wizard. When we walked past the octagon glazed-tile well, he threw something in there and made the well emit a golden glow. It lured me over to have a look. That wizard suddenly got a murderous notion and pushed me into the well. He then covered the well with a flagstone, covered that up with soil, and planted a banana tree on top of it. Oh pity me. I’ve been dead for three years. I’m the ghost of one who was most unjustly murdered!”
When San Zang heard his visitor identify himself as a ghost, he was so scared that he went limp and his hair stood up on end. But he had no choice but to stay and listen. He then asked the ghost, “Your majesty, what you just said doesn’t make any sense. If you’ve been dead for three years, how could your officials and your queen not look for you?”
“Oh elder, that wizard has extraordinary skills,” the ghost said. “After he killed me, he turned himself into my likeness and posed as me. He has taken over my kingdom. All my ministers, my queen, and my concubines now belong to him.”
“Your majesty, you’re too timid,” San Zang said.
“How so?”
“Since that demon took your form and assumed your throne without your ministers or harem knowing, you’re the only one who knows what happened. Why didn’t you go file a petition with the kings of hell to plead your case?”
“His powers are immense, and he’s familiar with all the divine officials,” the ghost explained. “He’s friends with the dragon kings of the seas, the Heaven-Equaling God of Mount Tai, and the Kings of Hell. So I have no avenue to file a case against him.”
“Your majesty, if you have no way to accuse him in the underworld, why are you coming to me in the world of the living?” San Zang asked.
“Elder, a wronged spirit like me would not dare to bother you. You are protected by 18 celestial deities. But just now, the Patroller of the Night sent me in here on a magic wind. He said that my three years of suffering were due to end. He told me to come see you, and that you have a disciple, the Great Sage of Heaven, who is adept at taming demons. So I have come to beg you: Please go to my kingdom, catch that demon, and set things right. I would be deeply grateful and repay your kindness.”
So it sounds like this ghost of a monarch has a job for Sun Wukong. To see where this leads, tune in to the next episode of the Chinese Lore Podcast. Thanks for listening!
Music in This Episode
- “Luỹ Tre Xanh Ngát Đầu Làng (Guzheng) – Vietnam BGM” by VPRODMUSIC_Asia_BGM
- “Day of Recon” by Max Surla/Media Right Productions (from YouTube audio library)