A splendid city of agate,

A fairyland of glass;

Palaces of crystal and mica,

Like layer upon layer of brocade,

Openwork carving behind openwork carving.

The dazzling bridge of stars moved heaven and earth

While trees of fire made waves of red

Flutes and drums played in the streets.

A moon like a ring of jade hung over a thousand gates;

Fragrant breezes blew through ten thousand homes.

There were giant turtle peaks soaring on high,

Fishes and dragons emerging from the sea,

Phoenixes sporting in the sky.

As all admired the moon and the lanterns

The atmosphere was full of harmony.

Among the crowds dressed in fine silks

All enjoyed the songs and panpipes.

Carriages rumbled along.

There was no end of beautiful faces,

Dashing gallants, And marvellous sights.

When Sanzang and the others had looked at the lanterns in the monastery they wandered around the streets of the Eastern suburb, not going back to bed till the second watch in the middle of the night.

The next day Sanzang said to the monks, “I made a vow to sweep pagodas, and on the occasion of tonight's Moon Festival I would like to ask the reverend abbot to open the doors of the pagoda to allow me to fulfil this vow.” The monks opened the doors, and when Friar Sand fetched his cassock and brought it to him on the ground floor he put it over his shoulders and prayed to the Buddha. Then he swept the ground floor with a broom, took the cassock off and gave it back to Friar Sand. He swept the second story next, and so on story by story till he reached the top. In every story there was a Buddha, and in each one he opened all the windows, swept the floor, and enjoyed the splendid views. By the time he had finished sweeping and come down again it was late and all the lamps had been lit.

It was now the night of the full moon. “Venerable teacher,” the monks said, “last night you only saw the lamps in our humble monastery and the outskirts of the city. As tonight is the main festival why don't we go into the city to see the golden lamps there?” The Tang Priest was glad to follow this suggestion, and he went with his three disciples and the monks of the monastery into the city to see the lanterns. Indeed:

On the festive fifteenth night

The harmony of spring begins with the first full moon.

Decorated lanterns hang in the busy markets

As all sing the songs of a world at peace.

Over the lantern light in streets and markets

The moon's round mirror rises in the sky

Like a silver dish, driven by the charioteer Ping Yi.

The lanterns were like a brocade carpet woven by fairies;

The lanterns were reflected by the moon,

Doubling its brilliance;

The moon shone on the lanterns,

Making them resplendent.

There was no end of iron-chain star bridges,

Lantern flowers and trees of fire.

Snowflake lanterns,

Plum-blossom lanterns,

Like fragments of ice in spring;

Embroidered screen lanterns,

Painted screen lanterns,

Made up from every color.

Walnut lanterns,

Lotus lanterns,

Hung high on lantern towers;

Blue lion lanterns,

White elephant lanterns,

Fixed on lofty frames.

Shrimp lanterns,

Terrapin lanterns,

Placed in front of awnings;

Goat lanterns,

Hare lanterns,

Bringing the eaves to life.

Eagle lanterns,

Phoenix lanterns,

Lined up next to each other;

Tiger lanterns,

Horse lanterns,

Being carried along together.

Red-crowned crane lanterns,

White deer lanterns,

Carrying the Star of Longevity;

Goldfish lanterns,

Whale lanterns,

On which rode the poet Li Bai.

Giant turtle mountain lanterns,

Where gods and immortals gathered;

Revolving horse lanterns

On which warriors joined combat.

The towers of lanterns on thousands of houses

Made a world of clouds and smoke for several miles.

On one side, shining reins and flying jade saddles;

On the other, rumbling carriages leave fragrance behind.

On the red balcony,

Leaning against the railings,

Behind the curtains,

Shoulder to shoulder,

Hand in hand,

Pairs of beauties were eager for the fun.

By the bridge over green waters,

Noisy,

Many-coloured,

Drunken,

Laughing

Couples enjoyed the brilliant sights.

All of the city's flutes and drums were playing;

Panpipes and songs went on all night.

There is also this poem as evidence:

Amid the fine brocades, of lotus were the songs;

This blessed land at peace was full of many throngs.

The lanterns and the moon upon this festive night

Foretold rich harvests after rain and wind just right.

This was a night when the curfew was relaxed, so that there were huge crowds and a great commotion. People were dancing, walking on stilts, wearing masks and riding elephants, pushing and crowding to East and to West as they looked all around. When they reached the bridge of golden lamps the Tang Priest and the monks pushed forward for a look and saw that it consisted of three golden lamps each the size of a water vat and shaped like a two-storied pavilion with a light shining out through intricate gold and silver filigree openwork. Glazed ceramic tiles inside the lamps reflected their light. They were so bright they outshone the moon, and their oil was very fragrant.

“What sort of oil do those lamps burn?” the Tang Priest asked the monks, “and why does it smell so remarkably good?”

“You wouldn't know that, Teacher,” the monks replied. “There is a county near this prefecture called Mintian. In the whole county there are 240 wards, and when we have our annual assignment of jobs to be done for the state, 240 households have to provide oil. All the other jobs assigned by the prefecture or county are reasonable enough, but these oil households have a very hard time. Every household has to take it on for a year, and it costs them over two hundred ounces of silver. The oil isn't ordinary oil but perfumed refined butter oil. One ounce costs two ounces of silver and a pound costs thirty-two ounces. Each of the lamps holds five hundred pounds of oil, making 1,500 pounds for the three of them, costing 48,000 ounces of silver. With other miscellaneous expenses it comes to over 50,000 ounces. And that only lasts three nights.”

“How can so much oil be used up in only three nights?” Monkey asked.

“In each lamp there are forty-nine big wicks about the size of an egg made of rushes wrapped in silk floss,” the monks explained. “When they have burned for one night the Lord Buddhas appear, the oil all vanishes and the lamp goes out.”

“I suppose the Lord Buddhas take all the oil,” said Pig with a grin as he stood at one side.

“That's right,” the monks replied, “that's what everyone in the city has always said ever since ancient times. If the oil runs dry they say that the Buddhas have taken the oil and the crops will certainly be bountiful; but if it doesn't dry up on one occasion there will be famine, drought and the wrong weather at the wrong time in that year. That's why everyone makes this offering.”

As they were talking there was the howling of a wind up in the air, sending everyone who was admiring the lanterns fleeing in terror. The monks could not hold their ground either. “Let's go back, venerable teacher,” they said, “the wind's here. It's the Lord Buddhas bringing blessings. They're here to see the lanterns.”

“How can you tell that?” the Tang Priest asked.