Chapter 36: The Mind-Monkey at Rest Subdues All Conditions; Breaking Through the Side Paths, He Sees the Moon Bright

Now then: Sun Wukong settled his cloud and told Master in full how the Bodhisattva had borrowed away the boy and how Laozi had taken back the treasure. Tripitaka thanked him again and again, fixed his heart in sincere devotion, and set off westward with his life on the line. He mounted and took the saddle, Zhu Bajie shouldered the luggage, Sha Wujing kept the horse steady, and Sun Wukong took the iron staff, opened the road, and led them down from the high mountains. The hardships of sleeping by water and eating on the wind, of wearing frost and bearing dew, cannot be told in full.

They had traveled for a long while when another mountain rose before them and blocked the road. Tripitaka, seated on the horse, called out, "Disciples, look there. That mountain is steep and terrible. You must be careful and keep watch, lest some demon obstacle come near and seize the body."

Wukong said, "Master, do not waste your thoughts on such things. Only steady your nature and guard your spirit, and nothing will go wrong."

Tripitaka said, "Disciples, why is the road to the Western Heaven so hard? I remember leaving Chang'an, and from then until now spring has passed into summer, autumn has faded into winter. Four or five years have gone by, and we still have not arrived."

Wukong laughed. "Still early, still early. We have not yet even gone out the main gate."

Bajie said, "Brother, do not make things up. Is there really such a great gate in the world of men?"

Wukong said, "Brother, we are still turning about in the main hall."

Sha Wujing laughed. "Brother, say less and do not frighten me with such tall tales. There is no hall so vast as that, nor any beam so large to hold it up."

Wukong said, "Brother, if you take my view, let the blue sky be the roof tiles, the sun and moon the windows, the four mountains and five peaks the beams and pillars, and the whole world like one open hall."

Bajie heard this and said, "Enough, enough. Then let us just turn around and go home after a while."

Wukong said, "Stop talking nonsense. Just follow Old Sun and keep to the road."

The Great Sage slung the staff across his shoulder, led Tripitaka onward, and split a way through the mountain road. Tripitaka rode behind and looked out over a magnificent mountain scene. It was truly this:

The peaks rose jagged and seemed to brush the handle of the Dipper;
the treetops looked as though they touched the clouds.
In the blue smoke gathered among the ravines, one often heard monkeys crying from the mouths of the gullies;
in the tangled green shade, one often heard cranes calling among the pines.
Wind-crying mountain sprites stood by the streams to tease the woodcutters;
well-shaped foxes sat on the cliffs to startle the hunters.
What a mountain! On every side the cliffs stood high and harsh.
Strange old pines coiled their green canopies; dead trees hung with vines.
Springs leaped and flew, and the cold went through a man's hair to the skin;
the peaks stood motionless, and the clean wind cut the eyes and startled the dream-soul.
Now and then tigers roared; now and then mountain birds cried out.
Deer and roe moved in herds through the thorns, leaping to and fro;
gazelles gathered in companies to seek their wild food, racing back and forth.
Stand on the grass slope and look, and there is no traveler anywhere;
go down into the deep hollows, and wolves and jackals are on every side.
This was no place for the Buddha to cultivate the Way;
it was a kingdom of flying birds and roaming beasts.

Tripitaka trembled as he entered that deep mountain. His heart was full of grief. He drew his horse in, called out "Wukong," and then sang:

Ever since I swore my mountain vow with Yizhi,
Wang Buliuxing has sent me out beyond the city.
On the road I met Sanlengzi;
along the way, Matouling urged the horse onward.
Seeking the slope and turning by the ravine, I look for Jingjie;
climbing ridge after ridge, I bow before Fuling.
If Fangji can keep one body fit as bamboo sap,
when will fennel ever be summoned to court?

The Great Sage heard him and gave a cold laugh. "Master, do not brood so heavily. Worry less and keep moving. When the work is finished, it will come out of itself."

They played at admiring the mountains as they walked. Before long, the red wheel of the sun had already dropped in the west. As the saying goes:

Ten-mile pavilions no longer had travelers on the road;
on the ninefold heaven, the stars began to show.
The boats of the eight rivers all returned to harbor;
the gates of the seven thousand prefectures all closed.
The six palaces and five offices called their officials home;
the four seas and three rivers set aside their lines.
From the two towers, bells and drums began to sound;
a single bright moon filled heaven and earth.

Tripitaka looked out from horseback and saw a cluster of towers and halls ahead, layered one upon another in the mountain hollow. He said, "Disciples, it is late. Happily there is a set of halls and pavilions not far off. It must be some temple or monastery. Let us borrow a night's lodging there and travel on tomorrow."

Wukong said, "Master speaks rightly. Do not hurry. Let me first see whether it is suitable."

The Great Sage leaped into the air and looked carefully. It was indeed a mountain monastery. It looked like this:

Eight-brick walls washed a faded red, with gold studs on both doors.
Tier after tier of towers and pavilions hid along the ridge;
layer after layer of palaces and halls lay concealed in the mountain.
The Hall of Ten Thousand Buddhas faced the Tathagata Hall;
the Morning Sun Tower answered the Great Hero Gate.
A seven-storied pagoda gathered clouds and slept in mist;
the three Buddha images shone in their brilliance.
The Manjusri Terrace faced the hall of the guardian spirits;
the Maitreya Hall leaned beside the Great Compassion chamber.
Outside the Mountain-Viewing Tower, blue light danced;
above the Step-into-Void Pavilion, purple clouds were born.
Pine gates and bamboo courts lay in soft green;
the abbot's quarters and meditation halls were clean in every corner.
Here were quiet, refined pleasures; here, path after path welcomed the returning guest.
In the halls for meditation, monks expounded the sutras;
in the music rooms, instruments sounded in chorus.
On the Wonderful Peak Terrace, flowers fell like tianhua;
before the preaching altar, palm-leaf scriptures sprang up.
Truly it was a grove that sheltered the Three Treasures,
a mountain that embraced the palace of Brahma King.
On one side lamp-smoke flashed and glittered;
in a row incense mist hung dim and pale.

Sun Wukong settled back down and reported to Tripitaka, "Master, it is indeed a temple, and a fine one for lodging."

Tripitaka let his horse forward and went straight to the mountain gate. Wukong said, "Master, what temple is this?"

Tripitaka said, "My horse has only just stopped, and my foot has not even left the stirrup, and you already ask what temple it is. You are hopeless."

Wukong said, "You have been a monk since childhood. You must have studied the classics and understand written words. The gate has such large characters on it. How can you not recognize them?"

The elder scolded him. "Wretched monkey, what do you know? I was facing west and urging my horse onward. The sun was shining in my eyes. The gate had writing on it, but dust blurred it so that I could not see."

Wukong heard this and bent his waist. He grew more than two zhang tall, brushed away the dust with his hand, and said, "Master, look for yourself."

There were five large characters there: "Imperially Built Baolin Monastery."

Wukong drew in his dharma body and said, "Master, who should go in and ask for lodging?"

Tripitaka said, "I will go in. Your faces are ugly, your speech is coarse, and your temper is hard. If you collide with the monks here, they may refuse us lodging, and that would be ugly indeed."

Wukong said, "Since that is so, please go in, Master. No more words."

The elder put down his monk's staff, took off his cloak, straightened his robe, joined his palms, and went straight through the gate. On both sides, inside the red-lacquered railings, sat a pair of Vajra guardians. Their fierce forms were hideous indeed: one had a face of iron and steel whiskers like something alive; the other had bristling brows and round eyes like carved crystal. The left one's fist was knotted like raw iron; the right one's palm stood jagged and sharp like red copper. Gold armor linked by rings flashed brilliantly, and bright helmets and embroidered sashes caught the wind. The western land truly does offer Buddha images; the incense in the bronze burner burned red.

Tripitaka looked at them, nodded, and sighed long. "In my Eastern Land, if anyone were to mold such great bodhisattvas from clay and burn incense before them, my disciples would never have to go west again."

While he was still sighing, he came to the inner gate of the monastery. There he saw the Four Heavenly Kings, namely the Protectors of the East, North, West, and South, set in place to govern the winds and the rain. Passing through the second gate, he saw four tall old pines, each with a green canopy like an umbrella. When he looked up again, he saw the Great Hero Hall. The elder joined his palms, took refuge, and bowed himself down. After the bow, he rose, circled the Buddha platform, and reached the back gate. There he saw an image of Guanyin, turned backward, delivering the South Sea. The wall paintings there were all the work of fine artisans: shrimp, fish, crabs, and turtles, their heads and tails showing, as though they were leaping and playing in the sea waves.

The elder nodded again and again and sighed many times. "How pitiful. All living creatures with scales and shells know enough to bow to Buddha. Why do people refuse to cultivate themselves?"

While he was praising the place, a Taoist priest came out from the side gate. Seeing Tripitaka's strange looks and noble bearing, he hurried forward and bowed. "Reverend sir, where do you come from?"

Tripitaka said, "This poor monk has been sent by the Great Tang to the Western Heaven to worship Buddha and seek the scriptures. Now that I have reached your blessed place, night is falling, and I ask only for one night's lodging."

The priest said, "Master, do not blame me. I cannot decide. I am only the one who sweeps the floor, rings the bell, and does the chores here. Inside there is another elder who manages the house. Let me go and report to him. If he keeps you, I will come out and invite you in. If he does not, I dare not detain you."

Tripitaka said, "You trouble yourself on my behalf."

The priest hurried to the abbot's room and reported, "Master, there is a man outside."

The abbot at once got up, changed his clothes, adjusted his Vairocana cap, threw on his cassock, opened the door quickly, and came out to receive him. He asked the priest, "Where is this man from?"

The priest pointed and said, "Is that not a man standing behind the great hall?"

There stood Tripitaka with his head bare, wearing a twenty-five-strip Dharma robe, and beneath him a pair of mud-spattered monk's shoes. He leaned a little at the back gate.

The abbot grew angry. "You foolish priest, what are you about? Do you not know that I am the abbot, and only when dignitaries from the city come to offer incense do I go out to greet them? Why have you brought me such a monk, all show and little substance? He looks no honest man. He is most likely a wandering monk passing through. Since it is already evening, he must want to borrow lodging. How can we let him disturb the abbot's quarters? Tell him to squat under the front corridor. Why come and report to me?" With that he turned to go back inside.

Tripitaka heard this and his eyes filled with tears. "Alas, alas. This is what it means to be far from home and low in rank. I left home as a child, became a monk, and have never bowed to confession, never eaten meat, never harbored evil thoughts, never read the scriptures in anger to ruin my Zen heart. I have never thrown tiles or bricks to damage Buddha halls, nor peeled the gold from the faces of the arhats. Ah, how pitiful. I do not know in what life I offended Heaven and Earth, so that in this one I always meet rotten men.

"Monk, if you will not keep us overnight, then let it be. Why speak such lazy and contemptible words, telling us to squat under the front corridor? It would be well enough if I did not tell Wukong, but if that monkey hears it and comes in, one staff would break your legs."

He could only wipe his tears, swallow his anger, and hurry back out to meet his three disciples.

Wukong saw the anger on his master's face and came forward at once. "Master, did the monks beat you?"

Tripitaka said, "No."

Bajie said, "They must have. If not, why do you sound as though you are crying?"

Wukong said, "Did they curse you?"

Tripitaka said, "No."

Wukong said, "If they neither beat nor cursed you, why are you so troubled? Did you miss home?"

Tripitaka said, "Disciples, they are not convenient here."

Wukong laughed. "Then they must be Taoists?"

Tripitaka snapped, "Only in a monastery are there monks. In a temple of Dao, there are Taoists."

Wukong said, "You are useless. If they are monks, then they are just like us. As the old saying goes, 'All who stand beneath the Buddha's hall are people of the same fate.' Wait here while I go in and have a look."

He adjusted the golden fillet on his head, straightened the skirt at his waist, took up the iron staff, and went straight to the Great Hero Hall. Pointing at the three Buddha images, he said, "You are only mud figures covered in gold and false paint. Is there not some answering spirit inside? I, Old Sun, am escorting the Great Tang sacred monk westward to worship the Buddha and seek the true scriptures. We lodge here tonight by special request. Come quickly and register us. If you refuse us, I will smash your golden bodies to powder and make you show your true form of mud."

As the Great Sage was glaring ahead and talking rough, a priest who had been burning the evening incense came forward with several sticks in hand to place them in the burner before the Buddha. Wukong barked once, and the man fell flat on his back. He scrambled up, looked at Wukong's face, and fell again, terrified. Trembling and stumbling, he ran into the abbot's room and reported, "Master, a monk is outside."

The abbot said, "You priests all deserve a beating. If I told you to send him to squat under the front corridor, why are you reporting again? Another twenty strokes!"

The priest said, "Master, this monk is unlike the other. He is fierce and ugly and has no restraint."

The abbot asked, "What does he look like?"

The priest said, "He has round eyes, protruding ears, a face full of hair, and a mouth like the Thunder Lord's. He is holding a staff and grinding his teeth, ready to beat someone."

The abbot said, "Let me go out and look."

He opened the door, and Wukong had already burst in. He was truly ugly to see: a face with seven high ridges and eight low hollows, two yellow eyes, a sloping forehead, and tusks thrusting outward. He looked like one of those creatures born to the crab family, with flesh hidden inside and bones showing outside.

The old monk was so frightened that he slammed the abbot's door shut. Wukong rushed up and smashed the door panel with a blow. "Hurry and prepare a thousand clean rooms for Old Sun to sleep in."

The abbot hid inside and said to the priest, "You see how ugly he is? His face is just like the one that comes from bragging so much it twists itself like this. I do not even have three hundred rooms in all my abbot's quarters, the Buddha halls, the bell tower, and the two side corridors combined. He wants a thousand rooms. Where is he from?"

The priest said, "Master, I am already a man whose courage has been frightened out of him. Answer him however you like."

The abbot shivered and called out, "Reverend who came to borrow lodging, this poor wild mountain is not convenient. I dare not receive you. Please go and seek lodging somewhere else."

Wukong made his staff as thick as a basin and planted it straight up in the courtyard. "Monk, if it is not convenient, then you move out."

The abbot said, "This monastery has stood here since our youth. Our masters handed it down to our fathers, and our fathers to us. We are supposed to carry it on for our children and grandchildren. We do not know what business you have come with, barging in here and telling us to move."

The priest said, "Master, this is truly awkward. If we must move, then so be it, but that rod has been driven right into the gate."

The abbot said, "Do not talk nonsense. We have four or five hundred monks here, young and old alike. Where could we move? If we moved, there would be nowhere to live."

Wukong heard this and said, "If you have nowhere to move, then send one man out to make a trial stroke."

The old monk called to the priest, "You go out and make a trial stroke for me."

The priest panicked. "Grandfather, that is such a huge staff. You want me to go out and make a trial stroke?"

The abbot said, "An army trained for a thousand days is used in one morning. Why not go?"

The priest said, "That staff need not even strike. If it fell over, it would crush a man into meat paste."

The abbot said, "Never mind being crushed. It is still planted in the courtyard. At night if a man walked by and forgot himself, he could smash his head open on it."

The priest said, "Master, if you know it is so heavy, why do you want me to go out and make a trial stroke?"

Inside, the monks were all in uproar.

Wukong heard them and said, "That will not do either. If I struck one man dead with one blow, my master would blame me for being murderous. Let me find something else and show you."

He looked up and saw a stone lion outside the abbot's door. He raised the staff and with one crash smashed it to bits.

The old monk peered through the window hole and was so frightened that his bones turned soft and his sinews to mush. He hurriedly crawled under the bed. The priest ducked into the stove mouth and kept crying, "Grandfather, the staff is heavy, the staff is heavy. We cannot stand it. Please, please, have mercy!"

Wukong said, "Monk, I will not beat you. I ask only this: how many monks are there in this monastery?"

The abbot said, still trembling, "From front to back there are 285 quarters, with 500 registered monks holding ordination papers."

Wukong said, "Quickly call all 500 of them together. Have them put on their long robes and come out to meet my Tang master, and I will not hit you."

The abbot said, "Grandfather, if you do not strike us, we will carry him in at once."

Wukong said, "Then go quickly."

The abbot shouted to the priest, "Do not say your courage is frightened out of you. Even if your heart is frightened out of you, go and call these men to come receive the old Tang master."

The priest had no choice. He risked his life, dared not go through the front door, and crawled out through a dog hole in the back. He went straight to the great hall, beat the drum on the east side and rang the bell on the west. As soon as the bell and drum sounded together, they stirred all the monks in the side corridors. They came to the hall and asked, "It is not even late. Why are you ringing bell and drum so early?"

The priest said, "Quickly change your clothes and line up, then go to the mountain gate and receive the Great Tang master."

The monks truly dressed themselves in order and came out to greet him.

Some wore cassocks; some wore shoulder robes; some wore one-piece monk's gowns. The very poor ones, who had no proper robes, tucked two waistcloths together and draped them over themselves.

Wukong looked at them and said, "Monks, what sort of clothes are you wearing?"

Seeing how ugly he was, they said, "Grandfather, do not beat us. Let us explain. This cloth was begged in the city. There are no tailors here, so we made our own one-wrap-poor outfit."

Wukong laughed to himself and led the monks out to the mountain gate, where they all knelt down. The abbot knocked his head and shouted, "Master Tang, please come sit in the abbot's quarters."

Bajie saw this and said, "Master, you are not much good at this. When you went in, your eyes were wet and your mouth was hanging with spit. How did Senior Brother get such a talent for frightening them into kneeling?"

Tripitaka said, "You foolish one, you know nothing of manners. As the saying goes, even ghosts fear fierce men."

Tripitaka felt too ashamed to accept their bows. He stepped forward and called, "Everyone, please rise."

The monks knocked their heads and said, "Master, if you say a word of mercy to your disciple and do not move that staff, we would kneel for a month and still think it fine."

Tripitaka called out, "Wukong, do not beat them."

Wukong said, "I have not beaten them. If I had, their roots would already be broken."

Only then did the monks rise. Those who led the horse led the horse; those who carried the load carried the load; some carried Tripitaka, some bore Bajie on their backs, and some helped Sha Wujing by the arm. All together they went through the gate and into the rear quarters, where they sat down according to rank.

The monks bowed again. Tripitaka said, "Abbot, please rise. You need not keep bowing. You are mistreating a poor monk. You and I are both disciples of the Buddha."

The abbot said, "Master is an imperial envoy from the great kingdom. This humble monk failed to greet you properly. Now that you have come to this wild mountain, it was my foolish eye that did not recognize your noble bearing. We meet by chance, and I ask one thing: along the road, do you eat vegetarian food or meat? We may then prepare a meal."

Tripitaka said, "Vegetarian."

The abbot said, "Disciples, this old master likes meat."

Wukong said, "We too eat vegetarian food. We have been vegetarian since the womb."

The monks said, "Grandfather, such fierce men eat vegetarian too?"

One bold monk stepped up and asked, "Since you eat vegetarian, how much rice would be enough?"

Bajie said, "Small-minded monk, why ask that? Cook a stone of rice for one household."

The monks were all frightened and rushed off to scrub the pots and stoves. In each room they arranged tea and food, lit bright lamps, and moved tables and benches around to receive Tripitaka.

After the disciples had finished the evening meal, the monks cleared away the dishes. Tripitaka thanked them and said, "Abbot, I have troubled your noble mountain."

The abbot said, "Not at all. Not at all. We have been remiss. We have been remiss."

Tripitaka said, "Shall my disciples and I rest here?"

The abbot said, "Master, do not worry. This poor monk has arrangements." He called, "Priest, how many people are there over there to take orders?"

The priest said, "Master, there are some."

The abbot ordered, "You two go and prepare fodder for the Tang master's horse. A few others go to the front and clean the three meditation halls, lay out the beds and curtains, and quickly invite Master to rest."

The priests obeyed and made everything ready. Then they came to invite Master Tang to sleep. The disciples led the horse and carried the luggage out of the abbot's quarters and went straight to the meditation hall. Looking inside, they saw bright lamplight and four rattan beds laid out in the two side rooms.

Wukong saw this and called the priest in charge of the fodder, had the fodder brought over and set down in the meditation hall, tied the white horse, and sent all the priests outside.

Tripitaka sat in the middle. Under the lamps, two rows of five hundred monks stood waiting, not daring to leave. Tripitaka leaned forward and said, "Everyone, please go back. This poor monk is quite at ease and ready for sleep."

The monks did not dare to withdraw. The abbot stepped up and ordered the crowd, "Serve the master until he is settled, then return."

Tripitaka said, "If that is so, then I am settled already. Please all go back."

Only then did the crowd dare to disperse.

Tripitaka stepped outside to relieve himself. There he saw the moon shining full overhead. He called, "Disciples."

Wukong, Bajie, and Sha Wujing all came out to stand by him. Moved by the clear and perfect moonlight, by the depth of the jade-like sky, and by the sight of that single bright wheel hanging above the world, Tripitaka composed a long old-style poem on homesickness. It said:

The bright moon hangs in the sky like a treasured mirror;
mountains and rivers tremble in its full reflection.
Jasper towers and jade halls brim with clear light;
an ice mirror, a silver plate, sends out its coolness round and round.
A thousand li share the same pure brightness tonight;
among the whole year's nights, this is the brightest by far.
It seems like a frosted cake slipped from the sea,
or an ice wheel hung in the blue vault above.
A lone traveler at a cold inn window feels the chill of homesickness;
an old man in a village tavern has already gone to sleep.
The Han palace startles the white at my temples;
the Qin tower hurries the evening mirror.
Yu Liang's poem lives on in the Jin histories;
Yuan Hong could not sleep while drifting on a river boat.
Light floats over the cup, cold and without force;
its clear reflection in the courtyard seems full of spirit.
Everywhere the windows and lattices sing of white snow;
every courtyard and hall toys with strings of ice.
Tonight I stand and savor it in this mountain monastery;
on what day shall I return with you to my old home?

Wukong heard this and came close to answer. "Master, you only see the moon's bright face and think of home. You do not know the moon's inner meaning, which is the pattern set down before Heaven and Earth. When the moon reaches the thirtieth day, the yang soul of metal is spent and the yin essence of water fills the wheel. Then it is wholly dark and has no light; that is called obscurity. At that time it meets the sun, and between obscurity and the first day, it receives the yang light and conceives.

"By the third day one yang appears; by the eighth, two yangs are born. Within the yin, half the yang remains, and the level line is as straight as a cord, so it is called the first quarter. By the fifteenth, three yangs are complete, and so it is round and full; that is the full moon. By the sixteenth, one yin appears; by the twenty-second, two yin are born. Within the darkness, half the soul remains, and the level line is again as straight as a cord, so it is called the last quarter. By the thirtieth, three yin are complete, and it becomes obscurity once more. This is the meaning of the first work before Heaven.

"If we can warm and nourish the eight-two and bring the nine-nine work to completion, then it will be easy to see Buddha, and easy to return to our own fields."

Then he recited:

After the first quarter comes the last quarter;
the medicine is even, and the whole pattern is complete.
Bring it home and refine it in the furnace;
with wholehearted will and finished merit, that is the Western Heaven.

Tripitaka heard him and for a moment understood. The true words opened in his mind. He was overjoyed and thanked Wukong again and again.

Sha Wujing, standing to one side, laughed and said, "Brother, what you say is right enough, but you only speak of the first quarter as yang and the last quarter as yin, and that within yin half remains yang, the gold drawn from water. You do not say that water and fire intermingle, each with its own bond, all depending on the mother of earth to fit them together. When the three come together and do not contend, the water lies in the Long River and the moon hangs in the sky."

Tripitaka heard this and his mind opened at once. As the saying goes: when one crack is made clear, a thousand cracks are opened; when the wordless source is shown, one becomes an immortal.

Bajie came forward, tugged at Tripitaka's sleeve, and said, "Master, do not listen to all this talk and miss your sleep. This moon is broken for a while and then whole again, just like me, born not quite complete. When I eat, they say my belly is too big; when I pick up a bowl, they say I am dripping mess everywhere. They have all cultivated cleverness and earned their blessing. I have only piled up stupidity and karma. I say, Master, if you keep on seeking the scriptures, you will fill up all your three paths of debt and go straight up to heaven wagging your tail."

Tripitaka said, "Very well. My disciples have all been laboring on the road. Go sleep first. Let me read this scroll of scripture for a while."

Wukong said, "Master is mistaken. Since you have been a monk since childhood, surely you know the old scriptures. Why read them again? You have also carried the imperial command of the Tang king to the Western Heaven to behold the Buddha and seek the great true canon. You have not yet finished your work, have not yet seen the Buddha, and have not yet received the scriptures. What scripture are you reading now?"

Tripitaka said, "Ever since I left Chang'an, I have been on the road day after day, climbing and crossing, and I fear the scriptures I learned as a child have grown stale. Tonight, since I have time, let me review them."

Wukong said, "If that is how it is, then we will sleep first."

The three of them lay down on the rattan beds one by one. The elder shut the meditation hall door, lifted the silver lamp high, spread out the scriptures, and sat there reading in silence. It was just as the first drum sounded from the tower and the human world fell still, and at the wild river mouth the fisherman's lamps were going dark.

But how the elder left the monastery is another matter; listen to the next chapter for the full account.