“Don't talk such rubbish,” Sanzang shouted. “After all, I did save her life. There will be no trouble. We are taking her with us. I will be responsible for whatever happens.”

“You may say you'll be responsible, Master,” Monkey replied, “but what you don't realize is that so far from rescuing her you're destroying her.”

“I saved her life by rescuing her from the forest,” said Sanzang, “so how can I be destroying her?”

“If she had stayed tied up in the forest without any food for three to five days, ten days or even half a month and starved to death,” said Monkey, “she would at least have gone to the Underworld with her body in one piece. But now you've taken her away from there. You're on a fast horse and travelling like the wind. The rest of us have to follow you. How will she be able to keep up on her tiny feet? She can barely walk. If she gets left behind and a wolf, a tiger or a leopard eats her up you'll have killed her.”

“You are right,” Sanzang said. “Thank you for thinking of it. What are we to do about it?”

“Lift her up and let her ride on the horse with you,” replied Monkey with a grin.

“I could not possibly ride on the same horse as her,” moaned Sanzang.

“Then how is she to travel?” Monkey asked. “Bajie can carry her on his back,” Sanzang replied.

“You're in luck, idiot,” said Monkey.

“There's no such thing as a light load on a long journey,” Pig replied. “Having to carry her isn't luck.”

“With your long snout you'll be able to turn it round and chat her up on the quiet while you're carrying her,” Monkey replied, “which will be very convenient for you.”

Pig's reaction to hearing this was to beat his chest and jump about in fury. “That's terrible,” he said, “that's terrible, I'd sooner put up with the pain of a flogging from the master. If I carry her I won't possibly come out of it clean. You've always been a slanderer. I'm not carrying her.”

“Very well then,” Sanzang said, “very well then. I can walk a little further. I shall come down and walk slowly with you. Bajie can lead the horse with nobody riding it.”

“You've got yourself a good bargain there, idiot,” said Monkey, roaring with laughter. “The master's done you a favour by letting you lead the horse.”

“You are talking nonsense again, ape,” said Sanzang. “As the ancients said, 'When a horse is to travel three hundred miles it cannot get there by itself.' If I walk slowly are you going to leave me behind? When I go slowly you will have to go slowly too. We shall all take the lady Bodhisattva down the mountain together. We can leave her in some convent, temple, monastery or house that we come to. Then we will still have rescued her.”

“You're right, Master,” Monkey replied. “Let's press on quickly.”

Sanzang took the lead while Friar Sand carried the luggage, Pig led the riderless horse and the girl, and Monkey carried his iron cudgel as they carried on together. Within seven to ten miles the evening was drawing in and a tall building came into sight.

“Disciple,” said Sanzang, “that must be a temple of some sort. We shall ask to spend the night here and be on our way first thing tomorrow.”

“What you say is right, Master,” said Monkey. “Let's all get a move on.”

They were soon at the gates, where Sanzang told them, “Keep well out of the way while I go in first to ask if we can stay for the night. If it looks suitable I shall send someone to call to you.” So they all stood in the shadows of the poplars while Monkey kept an eye on the girl, his iron cudgel in his hand.

The venerable elder walked forward to see that the gates were hanging crooked and falling to pieces. What he saw when he pushed the gates open chilled him to the heart:

The cloisters were deserted,

The ancient shrine left desolate.

The courtyard was overgrown with moss;

Sagebrush and brambles choked the paths.

The only lanterns came from the fireflies

While the croaking of frogs had replaced the water-clock.

The venerable elder started crying. Indeed:

The desolate halls were falling down,

The lonely cloisters collapsing.

Broken bricks and tiles lay in a dozen heaps,

And all the pillars and beams were askew.

Grass was growing all around;

The kitchens were crumbling and buried in dust.

In derelict towers the drums had lost their skins;

Broken was the glass lamp.

The color had gone from the Buddha's golden statue;

The figures of arhats lay strewn upon the floor.

Guanyin had turned to mud in the soaking rain,

Her pure vase with a willow spray fallen to the ground.

No monk was to be seen there by day,

And only foxes slept there at night.

As the wind roared with the sound of thunder

This was a place for tiger and leopard to shelter.

The walls around had collapsed

And no gates could be closed to guard it.

There is a poem about this that goes

For many a year had the temple been unrepaired;

In its derelict state it had gone from bad to worse.

The gales had destroyed the faces of the temple guardians,

And rainstorms had washed the heads off the Buddha statues.

The vajrapani had collapsed and been soaked through.

The local god had lost his shrine and stayed outside at night.

Two other things were even more depressing:

Bell and drums lay on the ground instead of hanging in their towers.

Summoning up his courage, Sanzang went in through the inner gates where he saw that the bell-tower and drum-tower had both collapsed, leaving only a single bronze bell planted in the ground, its bottom half the color of indigo. With the passage of the years the top half of the bell had been bleached in the rain while the earth's vapors had greened the lower part.

“ Bell,” Sanzang called aloud as he touched it,

“Once you roared from high in the tower,

Calling afar from the painted beam where you hung.

At cockcrow you used to ring in the dawn,

And at evening you announced the dusk.

Where now are the lay brothers who begged for the copper,

Or the craftsman who cast it to form you?

Both, I imagine, are now in the Underworld;

They have gone without trace and you are left silent.”

The venerable elder's loud sighs had by now disturbed someone in the monastery. A lay brother who was offering incense heard the voice, climbed to his feet, picked up a broken brick and threw it at the bell. The bell's clang gave the venerable elder such a fright that he fell over then scrambled up again to flee, only to trip over the root of a tree and go flying again.

As he lay on the ground Sanzang raised his head and said, “Bell,

I was just lamenting your fate

When suddenly you clanged.

On this deserted route to the West

Over the years you have turned into a spirit.”

The lay brother came over to Sanzang and steadied him as he said, “Please get up, reverend sir. The bell hasn't become a spirit. It was I who struck it just now.” Looking up and seeing how dark and ugly the other was Sanzang said, “I suppose you are a goblin or some other evil creature. I am no ordinary man. I come from Great Tang and I have disciples who can subdue dragons and tigers. If you run into them your life will be lost.”

“Don't be afraid, my lord,” replied the lay brother, falling to his knees. I'm no evil being. I'm a lay brother who looks after the incense here. When I heard those fine things you were saying just now I wanted to come out and welcome you but I was afraid that it might be some demon knocking at the gates. That was why I didn't dare come out until I'd thrown a piece of brick at the bell to calm my fears. Please rise, my lord.”