Journey 015: Shady Monks

The scripture pilgrims seek lodging at a monastery whose residents might need a refresher on the tenets preached by their patron deity.

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Transcript

Welcome to the Chinese Lore Podcast, where I retell classic Chinese stories in English. This is episode 15 of Journey to the West.

Last time, the Bodhisattva Guanyin helped the scripture pilgrim San Zang bring Sun Wukong to heel with a little dirty trick and a special spell that made Wukong’s head hurt if he dared to misbehave. She then showed up again to help clear a little misunderstanding between Wukong and a dragon that Guanyin had recruited to serve as San Zang’s ride to the West. The dragon ended up transforming into San Zang’s new horse, replacing the one he ate. 

When Wukong brought this new horse to San Zang, his master asked, “How come my horse looks a little more stout than it did before? Where did you find it?”

“Master, you’re still daydreaming,” Wukong said. “The Golden-Headed Guardian invited the Bodhisattva Guanyin here. She told that dragon from the ravine to turn himself into this horse. It looks like your old one. It’s just missing a saddle.”

“Where is the Bodhisattva?” a stunned San Zang asked. “I must go thank her.”

“She’s already back at the South Sea by now. She couldn’t wait that long.”

So San Zang had to content himself with using a pinch of soil as incense and bowing to the South to offer his thanks. Then, he and Wukong prepared to resume their journey. Wukong dismissed the various local spirits that he had summoned to protect his master, and then he asked San Zang to mount his new ride.

“But how can I ride a horse without a saddle?” San Zang said. “Let’s find a boat to ferry us across the ravine first, and then deal with this.”

“Master, you really don’t know any better,” Wukong said. “We’re in the wilderness. Where would we find a boat?! But this horse has lived here for a while. He must know the waters. Just ride him across like a boat.”

San Zang had no choice but to do as he suggested and hopped on the horse. Wukong carried the luggage, and they made their way to the bank of the ravine. But lo and behold, there was an old  fisherman, rowing down the ravine on a raft. 

“Hey, old fisherman, come here, come here!” Wukong shouted as he waved. “We’re scripture pilgrims from the East. My master needs to get across. Come give him a lift.”

The fisherman rowed over. Wukong helped San Zang dismount and helped him onto the raft. The horse and the luggage also were secured on the raft. The fisherman then started pushing the raft, and it glided across the ravine like an arrow. 

Once they arrived on the west bank, San Zhang told Wukong to take out a few coins from their bundle to pay the fisherman. But the fisherman had already pushed off from the bank and said, “No charge; no charge.” And he soon vanished down the ravine.

San Zang felt abashed about the free ride, so he clasped his palms together to thank the fisherman. But Wukong said, “Master, enough already! Don’t you recognize him? He’s the water spirit for this ravine. He hadn’t come to welcome me, so I owe him a beating. So it’s payment enough that I spared him; how would he dare to ask for money?!”

San Zang wasn’t sure whether to believe this or not, because you know, getting a ride from a water spirit was definitely the strangest thing to happen to him today. In any case, he now got back on his horse that was actually a dragon and followed his disciple who was a powered-up monkey, and they continued westward on the main thoroughfare. 

After some time on the road, dusk was approaching, and San Zang spotted an estate on the side of the road. He suggested to Wukong that they seek lodging there for the night. But Wukong took a look and said, “Master, that’s no ordinary house.”

“How come?”

“Ordinary houses don’t have roofs decorated with carvings of flying fishes and reclining beasts. That must be an abbey or a temple.”

As they were talking, they approached the entrance. San Zang dismounted and saw large characters on the door that said Li (3) She (4) Shrine. They walked in and were greeted by an old man wearing beads around his neck. The old man folded his hands and greeted them, inviting San Zang to sit. San Zang hurriedly returned the greeting and then went to the hall to bow to the idols. 

The old man now told a young attendant to serve tea. After tea, San Zang asked his host why the shrine was named Li She. The old man said, “This region belongs to the Hamil Kingdom of the Western barbarians. Behind this temple, there is a village. The villagers were very pious and erected this temple. The character Li (3) refers to their homeland, while the character She (4) refers to the earth spirit. During the days of spring sowing, summer plowing, autumn harvesting, and winter storing, the families all bring sacrifices to the temple so as to ensure good luck, bountiful harvests, and thriving cattle.”

San Zang nodded in approval and said, “It’s as the old saying goes, ‘Even three miles from home, there are different customs.” The people of my region can’t match such good deeds.”

“What sacred land do you hail from, elder?” the old man asked.

“I am from the Great Tang Kingdom in the East, heading to the West on an imperial edict to pay my respects to the Budha and request sacred scriptures. We were passing by your honorable estate when it was getting late. So we came to your shrine to request lodging for the night. We will depart at daybreak.”

The old man was delighted to hear this and immediately told his attendant to prepare a meal. After the meal, while San Zang thanked his host, Sun Wukong spotted something. It was a clothesline stretched under the eaves. He walked over, tore down the rope, and used it to tie up their new horse.

When the old man saw this, he chuckled, “Where did you steal that horse from?”

Wukong didn’t appreciate that. He snapped, “Hey old man, watch your mouth! We’re holy monks on our way to see the Buddha. Why would we steal a horse?!”

“If you didn’t steal it, how come it doesn’t have any saddles or reins, and you have to snap my clothesline to tie it up?”

San Zang quickly apologized to his host and chastised Wukong, “You miscreant. Watch your temper. If you need a rope to tie up the horse, just ask this old gentleman for a rope. Why did you snap his clothesline? Sir, please forgive us. To tell you the truth, we did not steal this horse. Yesterday, when we were passing by Eagle Grief Ravine, the horse I was riding was swallowed by a dragon, saddle and all. Thankfully, my disciple has some skills, and the Bodhisattva Guanyin helped tame that dragon and told him to turn into my horse and carry me to the West. It’s been less than a day since then. That’s why we didn’t have a new saddle or reins yet when we stopped here.”

“Elder, please don’t take it to heart,” the old man said. “I was just kidding, but your skilled disciple took it seriously. When I was young, I had a bit of money and enjoyed riding a good horse. But then I met with many misfortunes, lost everything in a fire, and ended up here with nothing to my name. So I’ve looked after this temple and get by on the kindness of the villagers. But I do still have a saddle. It’s my favorite possession, and I couldn’t bear to sell it even in my impoverished state. Just now, I heard you speak of how the Bodhisattva helped you and turned a magic dragon into a horse for you. I must do my part as well. Tomorrow I will give my saddle to you as a present. Please accept it.”

San Zang thanked him profusely. Then, the attendant brought out the evening meal. After eating, they lit some lamps, prepared their beds, and went to sleep.

The next morning, Wukong got up and said to San Zang, “Master, last night that old man promised us a saddle. Let’s ask him for it. Don’t let him go back on his word.”

But before he even finished talking, the old man came in with a saddle, along with pads, reins, and other horse-riding accessories. He put the complete set on the ground and offered them to San Zang, who gratefully accepted it and told Wukong to put it on the horse. Wukong set up the saddle on the horse’s back, and sure enough, it fit to the tee. 

San Zang again bowed to thank the old man, who quickly helped him up and deflected all expressions of gratitude. He then escorted San Zang outside and asked him to mount his now pimped-out ride while Wukong went to pick up the luggage. The old man now took a whip from his sleeve. It had a handle of rattan wrapped in strips of leather, and the strap was knitted with cords made from tiger tendons. He presented this to San Zang and said, “Holy monk, I also have this whip. I will give it to you as well.”

San Zang accepted it and thanked him again. Now, honestly, if I was riding a horse that I knew was actually a sentient dragon who considers himself my disciple, I would really think twice before ever whipping it. But honestly, the dragon really gets a raw deal from here on out, as he’s never treated as an equal member of the traveling party. 

In any case, while San Zang was voicing his gratitude at this latest gift, the old man suddenly vanished. When he turned to look at the temple, it too had disappeared, leaving only an empty patch of ground behind. Just then, someone spoke from the sky, “Holy monk, pardon me. I am the local mountain and earth spirit. The Bodhisattva Guanyin instructed me to deliver the saddle to you. You must dedicate yourself to your journey. Don’t let up.”

San Zang hurriedly dismounted, kneeled, and kowtowed toward the sky, declaring, “My mortal eyes did not recognize your divine visage. Please pardon me. And please relay my deepest gratitude to the Bodhisattva.”

While San Zang was repeatedly kowtowing, Sun Wukong nearly fell over laughing. He came over and helped San Zang to his feet, saying, “Master, get up already. He’s long gone and can’t hear you pray or see you kowtow. Enough already.”

“Disciple, given how much respect I was showing him, why couldn’t you have bowed to him just once, instead of just standing there and laughing?” San Zang said.

“You don’t understand. I should’ve given him a beating for being all sneaky and disguising himself. But on account of Guanyin, I spared him. That’s plenty enough thanks for him. How would he dare to receive a bow from me? I have always been a hero and don’t know how to bow to people. Even when I met the Jade Emperor and Laozi, I just said hi.”

“Enough with this blasphemous idle talk,” San Zang gently admonished him. “Let’s get on the road.”

And so master and disciple resumed their journey, and before you knew it, two months had passed. All they had encountered on the road were quote unquote “barbarians”, Muslims, and wild beasts. Soon, it was early spring, and the entire landscape was a crisp green.

One day, as the sun was sinking in the west, San Zang saw some structures in the distant hills and asked Wukong what he thought those were.

“It must be a temple or a monastery,” Wukong said. “Let’s pick up the pace, and we can spend the night there.”

San Zang agreed and spurred on his horse. Hopefully he didn’t apply his spiffy new whip. Soon, they arrived in front of the buildings, and they were indeed a monastery. It was a very nice one, in fact, with august halls, tall bell towers, and rugged pagodas. 

San Zang dismounted, and Wukong set down the luggage. They were just about to enter when a monk came out from inside. He wore a monastic hat and a spotless robe. Two brass earrings dangled from his lobes, while a silk sash was wrapped around his waist. He walked slowly on his straw sandals and carried in his hands a wooden fish, the little percussion instrument that monks beat to keep rhythm when they chanted scripture. 

San Zang stood by the side of the gate and greeted the monk, who hurried returned the courtesy, invited him inside, and asked where he came from. 

“Your disciple is on an errand from the East, heading to the Thunderclap Temple to see the Buddha and request scripture,” San Zang said with his usual self-introduction. “It was getting late when we passed through here, so we would like to ask for lodging for a night.”

“Please come in, come in!” the monk said.

San Zang now told Wukong to bring in the horse as well. But the monk saw Wukong’s countenance and was kind of scared.

“What … what is that creature leading the horse?” he asked.

San Zang was like, ixnay on the creature-ay. “He has a short fuse,” he told his host. “If he hears you call him a creature, he would get angry. He’s my disciple.”

The monk shivered and bit his finger, exclaiming, “How could you take in such an ugly thing for a disciple?!”

Umm, well, that doesn’t sound very monk-like. But San Zang explained, “You may not be able to tell by looking at him. He may be ugly, but he’s got skills.”

In any case, the monk now led his two visitors through the gates. Inside, in the main hall were emblazoned large characters that said, “Guanyin Monastery.” San Zang was delighted and said, “I have received frequent kindness from the Bodhisattva and hadn’t had a chance to thank her properly. But now, encountering this monastery is like encountering her. I should express my gratitude.”

Hearing that, the host monk told the Daoist priest in the monastery to open up the main hall and invited San Zang to go in and pay his respects. Wukong leashed the horse, set aside the luggage, and accompanied San Zang into the hall. There, San Zang kneeled and kowtowed to the idol of Guanyin. Meanwhile, the monk went to beat drums, while Wukong went to ring the bell. 

After a few moments, San Zang had finished his prayers and got to his feet. But Wukong was still ringing the bell nonstop in an irregular rhythm. 

“The prayer is over, why are you still ringing the bell?” the priest asked.

Only now did Wukong set down the hammer and laughed, “You don’t understand. I was just living by the old proverb, ‘If you’re a monk for a day, ring the bell for a day!’ ” And by the way, that proverb kind of means living day to day, but Wukong was just having a bit of literal wordplay fun.

All the other monks in the monastery, however, didn’t think it was funny. The nonstop ringing of the bell had roused them and they all rushed out and shouted, “What crazy man is banging the bell?!”

Wukong leaped in front of them and shouted, “It’s your grandaddy Sun having a little fun!”

The monks were terror-stricken at the sight of him. They stumbled, fell to the ground in a panic, and cried, “It’s the God of Thunder!!”

“Pffft. The God of Thunder is my great grandson!” Wukong scoffed. “Get up, don’t be afraid. We’re elders from the Great Tang Kingdom in the East.”

Only when the monks saw San Zang did they calm down a bit and pay their respects to their unusual guests. Then, the abbot of the monastery invited them to his private parlor for tea. So Wukong led the horse, picked up the luggage, and followed their hosts to the private building in the back of the monastery, where they sat down as hosts and guests.

After tea, the abbot instructed the monks to prepare a meal. It was still relatively early in the evening. Just then, an old monk, with the help of two young acolytes, emerged from the back. He wore a traditional Buddhist hat topped by a shining cat’s-eye stone. He wore a brocade woolen frock decorated with gold and kingfisher feathers. His monk shoes were bejeweled, and he carried a Buddhist staff encased with starry gems. So this guy was pretty blinged out for a monk. His face was full of wrinkles like an old witch, but his eyes, though dim-sighted, looked like those of a dragon king. He had lost his teeth, and his back was crooked.

“Here comes the Patriarch,” the other monks said.

San Zang hurriedly got up to greet this most senior leader of the monastery. They exchanged courtesies and sat down. The Patriarch then said, “I heard the youngins say that an elder from the Great Tang Kingdom in the East had arrived, so I came to pay my respects.”

“Please pardon me for disturbing your reverence!” San Zang said humbly

“Not at all, not at all. How far have you traveled from the East?”

“It was about 1,700 miles from the border of the Tang capital to Twin Borders Mountain, where I took in a disciple. Then we passed the Hamil Kingdom, and then traveled another 1,600 miles or so over two months to arrive at your esteemed estate.”

“That’s quite a journey,” the Patriarch said. “I have never even left the gates of this monastery. You could say I’ve been ‘Watching the sky from the bottom of a well.’ I’m like dead wood.”

“Patriarch, may I ask your age?” San Zang inquired.

“I have lived for 270 years.”

“Ah, so you’re my 10,000th-generation descendant,” Wukong teased.

San Zang gave him a dirty look and scolded him, “Nonsense! Show some respect!”

The Patriarch asked Wukong how old he was, but chastened by his master, Wukong just replied, “Oh I don’t dare to say.” So the Patriarch just figured he was kidding around and paid it no mind. He now instructed tea to be served. A young acolyte brought out a fine jade platter, on which sat three blue china cups with golden rims. Another young acolyte approached with a white copper pot and poured three cups of scented tea, which were more colorful than camellia buds and more fragrant than cassia flowers. 

“What great drinkware!” San Zang praised. “Truly, it’s exquisite food and exquisite wares!”

“They’re disgraceful!” the old monk humble-bragged. “Elder, you’re from a big kingdom and must have seen countless treasures. Pitiful items like these are not praiseworthy. What treasures have you brought from your great kingdom? May I have a look?”

“Ah, pitifully, we have no treasures in the East,” San Zang said. “Even if we did, I could not have brought any with me on such a long journey.”

But Sun Wukong cut in, “Master, when I was packing up your bundle the other day, I saw that cassock. Isn’t that a treasure? Why don’t we let them have a look at that?”

But when the resident monks heard that, they just snickered under their breaths. This did not escape Wukong’s notice, and he demanded to know why. The abbot explained, “Sir, just now you said you had a cassock that qualified as a treasure. That’s such a joke. When it comes to cassocks, even the likes of us have 20 or 30 apiece. As for our Patriarch, well, he’s been a monk here for 260 years, and he’s accumulated about 800 cassocks!”

He then asked the Patriarch to bring out his horde. The Patriarch was in a mood to show off, so he told the priests to open up the storehouse and bring out 12 chests and put them in the center of the parlor. They unlocked the chests, set up clothing racks all around and tied up clotheslines. They then hung up the cassocks one by one, and soon the hall was covered with cassocks from wall to wall. 

Wukong took a quick glance at these and saw they were all embroidered with flower patterns and laced with gold and such. He laughed, “Ok ok. Put them up. And I’ll show you ours.”

San Zang, though, pulled him aside and whispered, “Disciple, don’t try to one-up people on wealth. We’re lonely travelers. Something might go wrong.”

“Oh what’s the harm in letting them see a cassock?”

“You don’t understand. As the ancients said, ‘Rare objects must not be seen by greedy people.’ If they see it, it will put ideas in their minds. Once they get ideas, they will start to scheme. If you are timid, you may end up yielding to their demands. But if you refuse, it may lead to injury or death. That’s no small matter.”

“Don’t worry! I’ll take responsibility for everything!” Wukong casually reassured his master. He then rushed over to their luggage and unwrapped a bundle. Immediately, a glow emanated from within. He then unwrapped two layers of waterproof paper and took out the cassock that Guanyin had given San Zang as a gift back in the capital. A red glow filled the room, and divine air stirred. All the monks fell over themselves praising this treasure.

Well, sure enough, just as San Zang had feared, someone in the room started to get ideas. The old Patriarch approached San Zang, kneeled, and said with tears in his eyes, “I truly have no luck!”

“What do you mean, Patriarch?” San Zang asked as he helped the old monk to his feet.

“You have displayed such a treasure, and yet because it’s late and dark, my old eyes can’t see it clearly. Isn’t that just terrible luck?!”

“Then bring some lamps forward so you can see it better,” San Zang suggested.

“Sir, your treasure already glows by itself. If you shine more light on it, it’s going to be too bright. How can I see it then?”

“Well then how DO you want to see it?” Wukong asked.

“If you can trust me, then permit me to take it to my room for a night and have a close look at it. I will return it to you tomorrow morning when you depart. What do you think?”

San Zang was taken aback and immediately nagged Wukong, “This is all your doing!”

But Wukong laughed, “What’s the big deal? I told you I’ll take responsibility. Just let him take it and have a good look. If anything goes amiss, I’ll take care of it.”

San Zang couldn’t stop him, and Wukong handed the cassock to the old monk and said, “Take it and have a good look. But make sure you return it in mint condition tomorrow. Don’t dirty or damage it.”

The Patriarch was ecstatic and told his acolytes to take the cassock back to his room. He then instructed the other monks to sweep a meditation hall in the front of the monastery and prepare two beds for their guests. He also told them to prepare breakfast in the morning. Then, the party broke up, and San Zang and Wukong went to sleep.

Meanwhile, the Patriarch went back to his room, held the precious cassock in his hands, and started to wail under the flickering lamps. This startled his young acolyte attendant, who hurriedly told the other monks. The Patriarch’s two favorite monks now went to him and asked why he was crying.

“I’m crying because I am cursed to never be able to see the Tang monk’s treasure!” he told them.

“Grand master, you must have gone senile,” his favorites said. “His cassock is right in front of you. Look at it to your heart’s content. Why do you need to cry so hard?”

“But how long can I look at it? I’m 270 this year. I may have accumulated hundreds of cassocks, but how can they compare to his one? How can I be him?”

“Grand master, you’re mistaken. That guy is a traveling monk far from home. At your age, you should enjoy life here. Why would you want to be a wanderer like him?”

“I may be enjoying a carefree old age here, but I don’t get to wear a cassock like his. If could wear it for a day, I would die content, and I won’t have been a monk for nothing!”

So, you get the idea that maybe this guy had become a monk for all the wrong reasons? The other monks, though, didn’t chide him for this most un-Buddhist-like POV. Instead, they kind of did the opposite.

“If you want to wear his cassock, that’s not so hard,” they told him. “If we keep them here for another day, you can wear it for another day. If we keep him here for 10 days, then you can wear it for 10 days. Why cry?”

“Even if we can keep him for half a year, I would only be able to wear it for half a year. It won’t last. When he decides to leave, the cassock will leave with him. How can I keep it forever?”

Just then, a young monk named Great Wisdom stepped forth and said, “Grand master, if you want to keep it forever, that’s easy too.”

“My child, what idea do you have?” the excited Patriarch asked.

“That Tang monk and his disciple have been traveling hard, and they’re already asleep. Just send a few strong men with weapons to storm into their chamber and kill them. Then bury their bodies int he back. Only we would know. Then you would end up with their horse, their luggage, and this cassock as an heirloom treasure. Won’t that be a forever plan?”

“Great! Great! This is a brilliant idea!” the Patriarch said as he wiped away his tears and instructed his monks to gather some weapons.

So … umm … these are turning out to be some truly shady monks. But just then, another young monk, this one named Big Plan, spoke up. “That’s not a great idea at all!”

Oh good. Finally, someone who seems to actually remember that hey we’re in a monastery and I’m pretty sure thou shalt not kill is one of the top tenets of whatever religion we’re supposedly following here. To see what his objections were, 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
• “Loneliest Road in America (US 50)” by Jesse Gallagher (from YouTube audio library)
• “Comfortable Mystery 3 – Film Noire” by Kevin MacLeod is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution license (Source: http://incompetech.com/music/royalty-free/index.html?isrc=USUAN1100536; Artist: http://incompetech.com/)