Wu Cheng-en - Journey to the West (vol. 1)

Wang Gong's cloak,

Or the rug that Su Wu had to eat.

All you will see are village houses set like inlaid silver,

Three thousand miles of jade-like river and hills.

What splendid snow,

Sprinkling the bridge with willow catkins,

Covering the cottage with pear blossom.

When the bridge is sprinkled with willow catkins,

The fisherman beside it dons his cape of straw;

When the cottage is covered with pear blossom

The old man inside bums his firewood.

The traveler is hard put to it to buy a drink;

The slave cannot find the plum blossom for which be is sent.

The heavy fall of snow takes off the butterfly's wings,

The howling blizzard strips the goose of its feathers.

Rolling drifts are blown by the winds;

Layer upon layer hides the road.

Freezing gusts come through the curtains,

A chilly wind blows into the bed.

This is Heaven's promise of a good harvest,

Good news that is cause for celebration.

The snow was falling in abundance like fragments of jade or cotton wool. When master and disciples had sighed in admiration of it for a long time the two old Chen brothers told two servants to sweep a way through the snow and two more to bring the monks hot water with which to wash their faces. A little later boiling hot tea, cheesecakes and a charcoal stove were all carried out to the side room, where master and disciple sat around them.

“Venerable benefactor,” the Tang Priest asked, “could you tell me if you distinguish between the seasons of the year here?”

“This may be a remote place,” said the old man, “and our customs and people may be different from those in your distinguished land, but our crops and animals grow under the same sky, so of course we distinguish between the four seasons.”

“In that case why is there such heavy snow today, and why is it so cold?” Sanzang asked.

“Although it has been August,” the old man replied, “the frost last night marked the beginning of September. We generally have frost and snow here in September.”

“That is different from the East,” said Sanzang. “We have frost and snow in the winter.”

As they were talking servants came in with tables and invited them to take some porridge. By the time they had finished eating the snow was heavier than ever and before long it lay two feet deep. Sanzang began to weep with anxiety.

“Please don't worry so,” said old Mr. Chen, “and don't be upset because the snow is deep. We have plenty of grain here, enough to feed you venerable gentlemen for half a lifetime.”

“You do not know why I am suffering, benefactor,” Sanzang replied. “When all those years ago His Majesty the Tang Emperor graciously commanded me to make this journey and escorted me in person by carriage to the frontier pass he offered me a parting meal with his own hands, asking me when I would be back. I did not realize how many difficult mountains and rivers would lie in my way, so I casually replied that I could be back with the scriptures in three years. It is now already seven or eight years since I left and I have yet to gaze on the face of the Buddha. I am worried that I have exceeded His Majesty's time limit and afraid of all the evil monsters and other vicious creatures ahead. Today I have had the good fortune to stay in your great mansion, and last night my disciples were able to thank you by doing you a small favour. I was hoping to ask for a boat to ferry us across the river, never expecting that Heaven would send this heavy fall of snow. Now the roads are blocked and I do not know when I shall complete my mission and return home.”

“Do not worry, sir,” said old Mr. Chen. “Most of the time for your journey has already passed. You will only have to wait here a few days for the skies to clear and the ice to melt, then we will spend everything we have to see you across the river.”

A servant then came in to invite them to breakfast, which they ate in the main hall, followed not long afterwards by lunch. Sanzang felt embarrassed by all this lavish hospitality, so he said repeatedly, “As you are being so kind as to let us stay we must insist on eating more ordinary fare.”

“Venerable sir,” Mr. Chen replied, “we are so grateful for having the children saved from the sacrifice that we could not thank you enough even if we gave you banquets every day.”

After this the snow stopped and people began to move around. Seeing how unhappy Sanzang was, old Mr. Chen had the garden swept and a fire made in a brazier, then invited them to the snow-cave to cheer themselves up by enjoying the snow view.

“What a silly idea,” laughed Pig. “Spring is the time for enjoying gardens. It's much too cold in all this snow, and anyhow there's nothing to be seen now.”

“You don't know anything, you idiot,” said Monkey. “Snowscapes are very peaceful and elegant. It will be a pleasure to see them and it will make the master feel better too.”

“That's right, that's right,” said old Mr. Chen. The visitors were then taken into the garden and this is what they saw:

Although it was autumn

The scenery was winter's.

Jade stamens formed on the hoary pine,

Silvery flowers hung from the dying willow.

Powder was piled on the lichen by the steps,

Jeweled shoots sprang from the bamboo at the window.

The craggy mountain tops,

The fishpond.

On the craggy mountain tops

The sharp and pointed peaks were like jade bamboo.

In the fishpond

The clear and living water now was ice,

Gone was the beauty of the lotus by the bank;

The rose of Sharon's delicate fronds hung low.

The autumn begonia

Was weighed right down;

The winter plum

Was just putting out new growth.

The Peony Pavilion,

The Pomegranate Pavilion,

The Osmanthus Pavilion,

All piled deep in goose-down;

The Place for Forgetting Cares,

The Place for Entertaining Visitors,

The Place for Recreation,

All covered as if with butterflies' wings.

The yellow chrysanthemums by the fence were woven of jade and gold;

A few maples were dappled white and red.

Many a courtyard was too cold to enter:

The sight of the snow-cave made one feel like ice.

Here was set a brazier of bronze,

With heads of animals and legs like elephants,

Where a toasting-hot fire of charcoal burnt,

And some lacquered armchairs

With cushions of tigerskin

And screens of paper set all around for warmth.

On the walls were hung ancient paintings by famous artists, showing:

The Seven Worthies going out through the pass,

A solitary fisherman on a cold river,

Amid a landscape of snowy peaks and mountains.

Su Wu eating his rug,

Breaking off plum branches to meet the envoys,

And writing in the cold of a frozen forest.

There was no end of

Houses near a river pavilion where fish can be bought,

Mountain tracks buried in snow where no wine is on sale.

Were it big enough to live in

Who would need to go to magical Penghu?

After they had admired the scenery for a long time they sat down in the snow-cave and told the elderly neighbors about their mission to fetch the scriptures. When they had drunk the fragrant tea old Mr. Chen said, “Venerable gentlemen, may I offer you some wine?”

“As a monk I do not drink,” replied Sanzang, “but my disciples may drink a few cups.” The old man was delighted.

“Bring vegetarian food,” he ordered, “and warm some wine to keep the cold out of these gentlemen.” Servants then carried out tables that were set round the brazier. They all drank several cups with the two elderly neighbors, then everything was tidied away.

By now it was getting late, and the visitors were invited back into the hall for an evening meal. They could hear passers-by in the street saying, “Oh! It's cold today. The River of Heaven is frozen solid.”