“What about going in here to give the horse a rest and take a meal?” the Tang Priest suggested, to which Monkey replied, “Splendid, splendid.” The four of them then went inside, and this is what they saw:

Splendid, towering buildings,

Gleaming bases for statues…

The Buddha hall rise above the clouds;

The monks' cells lie in the moonlit silence.

Red mists circle the stupas;

In the shade of jade-green trees the scripture-wheel is cool.

This is a true Pure Land,

Another Naga Palace,

Where purple mists surround the Mahavira Hall.

The cloisters are never empty of people enjoying the sights,

And visitors climb the pagoda that is always open.

Incense burns in the stand at every moment,

And lamps shine on the altar through the night.

A golden bell rings rhythmically in the abbot's lodgings

As monks worship the Buddha by reciting sutras.

As the four of them looked around a monk came along the cloister and said to the Tang Priest with polite gestures of greeting, “Where have you come from, Teacher?”

“From the Tang Court in China,” the Tang Priest replied, at which the monk went down on his knees to kowtow, only to be quickly helped up by the Tang Priest, who asked, “Why do you perform this great courtesy, reverend abbot?”

“All the lovers of goodness here who read the sutras and recite the name of the Buddha hope to achieve rebirth in your land of China, so that when I saw you coming in your magnificent mitre and robes I was certain that your present splendor must be the result of your successful cultivation in earlier lives. That's why it is right to kowtow to you.”

“It alarmed me,” said the Tang Priest with a smile, “it alarmed me. I am only an itinerant monk, and know no splendor at all. To be able to live at your leisure and ease as you do, abbot, is real bliss.” The monk then led the Tang Priest to worship the Buddha statues in the main hall. It was only now that Sanzang called for his disciples. After seeing their master start talking to the monk, Monkey and the other two had been standing in a group with their faces averted, holding the horse's bridle and looking after the luggage, so that the monk had not noticed them.

But when they turned round on hearing the Tang Priest's call the sight of them so frightened the monk that he called out, “My lord, why are your distinguished disciples so hideously ugly?”

“Ugly they may be,” the Tang Priest replied, “but they do have some magical powers. I have been very grateful for their protection all the way along the journey.”

As they were speaking more monks came out to greet them. The monk who had been the first to welcome the visitors explained to the others, “This teacher has come from Great Tang in China, and these three gentlemen are his distinguished disciples.”

“Teacher,” said the others with mixed pleasure and apprehension, “why have you come here from Great China?”

“I have been commanded by the Tang emperor to worship the Buddha and seek the scriptures in the Western Heaven,” Sanzang replied. “As I was passing this way I have come to your monastery to ask where we are and take a vegetarian meal before setting out again.” The monks were all delighted, and they invited the visitors into the abbot's lodgings, where there were some more monks who were performing ceremonies on behalf of benefactors.

The monk who had met them first went on to explain to the others, “Come and have a look at what people from China are like: some are handsome and some are ugly. The beauty of the handsome ones could never be caught in a painting or drawing, and the ugly ones look really weird.” Both the monks and the benefactors all came to greet them, after which everyone sat down.

When tea had been drunk the Tang Priest inquired, “What is this fine country called?”

“This is Jinping, one of the outer prefectures of India,” the monks replied.

“How far is it from this prefecture to Vulture Peak?” the Tang Priest asked. “It is about seven hundred miles from here to the capital,” the monks replied, “and we have walked that distance. As we haven't gone further West to Vulture Peak we don't know how far that is and would not like to make a wild guess.” The Tang Priest thanked them.

A little later a vegetarian meal was provided, after which the Tang Priest wanted to be on his way, only to be pressed to stay by the monks and the benefactors who said, “Teacher, you must stay for a couple of days or so. Enjoy the Full Moon Festival before you go on your way.”

“On my journey I have only been aware of mountains and rivers and the danger of running into ogres or monsters,” the Tang Priest replied, “and I have lost my sense of time. I don't know when Full Moon is.”

“It's because your heart is so set on worshipping the Buddha and on enlightenment that you have not thought about it, Teacher,” the monks replied. “Today is the thirteenth of the first month and the lanterns will be tried out tonight. The day after tomorrow is the fifteenth, when the festival begins, and it goes on till the lanterns are put away on the eighteenth or nineteenth. We enjoy celebrations here and our prefect, who cares for the people, has lanterns set out everywhere and music played all night. We also have a Bridge of Golden Lamps-it's an ancient tradition that still flourishes. If you will stay for a few days, my lords, our monastery can certainly afford to entertain you.” The Tang Priest had no choice but to stay. As the bell and drum in the Buddha hall resounded to the skies the faithful came in from the streets bringing lanterns to present to the Buddha. The Tang Priest and the rest of them came out of the abbot's lodgings to look at the lanterns, after which everyone turned in.

The next day, when they had eaten the vegetarian breakfast the monks of the monastery brought them, they strolled in the garden at the back. It really was a lovely place:

It is the first month of the year,

The beginning of the spring.

The wooded garden is quiet and elegant;

The beauty of the scene subdued.

Throughout the four seasons flowers and trees contend;

Turquoise peaks rise behind each other.

Fragrant flowers are growing before the steps,

And scent comes from the plum-tree's branches.

Where there is red it joins the tender peach blossom;

Where there is green it mingles with the willows' fresh green.

Forget about the splendor of the Gold Valley Garden;

Say nothing of the Wang River landscapes painted by Wang Wei.

In the flowing stream

The wild ducks bob and rise;

Among bamboos by the thousand

Poets ponder their choice of words.

Tree and herbaceous peonies, myrtle, fleeting-smile flowers,

That waken when their time is due;

Camellias, red plum blossom, winter jasmine and daphne,

All early to open out their beauty.

The snow piled by the hidden cliff seems frozen solid still;

The clouds that drift by the distant trees already bring early traces of spring.

The deer sees its reflection beside the pool;

Cranes come to hear the lute beneath the pines.

A few halls and pavilions to East and West,

Where travelers may stay;

Buildings and pagodas to North and South

Where monks may meditate in peace.

Among the flowers

Are one or two houses to nourish one's nature,

Where double eaves rise above each other.

Amid the hills and streams

Are three or four cells in which to reline magic, Peaceful and light.

This is indeed a natural spot for a recluse:

Why look elsewhere for the earthly paradise?

After a day enjoying the garden they inspected the lanterns in the Buddha hall before going to look at the lantern festival. This is what they saw: