Wu Cheng-en - Journey to the West (vol. 2)

Where waters flowed beside the rocks,

And fragrant scents from the flowers curled,

The scene was one of cultured peace,

Free from the dust of a lower world.

Sanzang took great pleasure in gazing on this sight: he felt happy, relaxed and exhilarated. He found himself saying a line of poetry: “The dhyana heart revolves in moonlike purity.”

The couplet was completed by Energy, who said with a smile: “Poetic inspiration is fresher than the sky.”

To this Lone Upright added: “By grafting on each line embroidery grows.”

Then Emptiness said: “Pearls come when naturally the writing flows.”

Cloud-toucher continued: “The glory is now over: Six Dynasties disappear. The Songs are redivided to make distinctions clear.”

“I shouldn't have let those silly words slip out just now,” said Sanzang, “I was only rambling. Really, I am a beginner trying to show off in front of experts. Having heard you immortals talk in that fresh and free-ranging way I now know that you old gentlemen are true poets.”

“Don't waste time in idle chat,” said Energy. “A monk should take things through to the end. You started the verse, so why don't you finish it? Please do so at once.”

“I can't,” Sanzang replied. “It would be much better if you completed it for me, Eighteenth Lord.”

“That's very nice of you, I must say!” commented Energy. “You started the verse so you can't refuse to finish it. It's wrong to be so stingy with your pearls.” Sanzang then had no choice but to add a final couplet:

“Waiting for the tea lying pillowed in the breeze,

Spring is in the voice now that the heart's at ease.”

“I like 'Spring is in the voice now that the heart's at ease,'“ said the Eighteenth Lord.

To this Lone Upright replied, “Energy, you have a deep understanding of poetry, and spend all your time savoring its delights. Why don't you compose another poem for us?”

The Eighteenth Lord generously did not refuse. “Very well then,” he replied, “let's make up chain couplets. Each person has to start his couplet with the last word of the couplet before. I'll lead off:

Without spring's glory there would be no winter's death;

Clouds come and mists depart as if existing not.”

“Let me tack another couple more lines on,” Master Emptiness said.

“Not any breath of wind to rock the spreading shade;

Visitors enjoy the Wealth and Long Life picture.”

Cloud-toucher now joined in with his couplet:

“Picture it like the strong old man of the Western hills,

Pure as the hermit of the South, the heartless man.”

Lone Upright added his two lines:

“The man is a roof-beam as he has side-leaves

To build the office of the censorate.”

When Sanzang heard all this he could only sigh and say, “Indeed, your superb poems have a noble spirit that rises up to the heavens. Despite my lack of talent I would like to add a couplet to that.”

“Holy monk,” said Lone Upright, “you are one who has found the Way and a man of great cultivation. You need not add another couplet. Instead you can give us a whole verse so that we can try as best we can to match the rhyme pattern.” Sanzang had no choice but to recite the following regulated verse with a smile:

“Travelling West with my staff to visit the Dharma King

I seek the wonderful scriptures to spread them far and wide.

The golden magic fungus blesses the poetry circle;

Under the trees is the scent of a thousand flowers.

One must go higher from the top of a hundred-foot pole,

Leaving one's traces in ten regions' worlds.

Cultivate the jade image and majestic body:

Before the gate of bliss is the monastery.”

When the four old men had heard this they were full of high praise for it. “Although I'm stupid and untalented,” the Eighteenth Lord said, “I'll take my courage in both hands and try to match your rhymes:

Vigorous and proud, I smile as king of the trees:

Not ever the tree of heaven can match my fame.

A dragon and snake shadow for a thousand feet in the mountains;

The spring has flowed for a thousand years with its amber fragrance.

My spirit is at one with heaven and earth:

I gladly cover my traces in the wind and rain.

Now I am old I regret having no immortal bones

And rely on China-root alone to maintain my years.”

“That poem started off heroically, and the next couplet had some strength,” said the Lone Upright Lord. “But the last line was too modest. Admirable! Most admirable! Let me try rhyming one too:

“I happily give a perch in the frost to the king of the birds;

My talent is displayed before the Hall of Four Perfections.

The pearly tassels of heavy dew obscure the green carpet;

In the light breeze stone teeth crush chilly fragrance.

A delicate voice intones in the corridor at night;

Pale autumn shadows are put away in the ancient hall.

I used to be offered for long life at the New Year;

In old age I stand proudly on the mountain.”

“What a fine poem, what a fine poem,” said Master Emptiness. “Truly, the moon was working together with heaven to write it. How could such a clumsy fool as I am hope to match its rhymes? But I must try to patch a few lines together: I don't want to waste this chance:”

“The timber of roofbeams is close to kings;

Its fame is spread in the Palace of Great Purity.

The sunlit hall seems filled with azure blue;

Green fragrance always pervades the dark wall.

Strong, cold and ancient in my beauty,

My roots go down to the Underworld's nine springs.

My spreading shade gives cover like cold clouds.

I don't compete in prettiness with flowers.”

“You three gentlemen's poems,” said Cloud-toucher, “are elegant and pure, like a whole sackful of embroidery and brocades being opened out. Although I have neither strength nor talent you three gentlemen have removed the block for me. If you insist I'll put a few lines of doggerel together. I hope they won't make you laugh:

In the bamboo grove I delight wise kings;

A hundred acres of me by the Wei brings fame.

My green skin is naturally marked by the tears of the Xiang Goddess;

My scaly shoots pass on the scent of history.

My leaves will never change their color in frost;

The beauty of my misty twigs can never be concealed.

Few have understood me since the death of Wang Huizhi;

Since ancient times I have been known through brush and ink.

“You venerable immortals have all composed poems like phoenixes breathing out pearls,” Sanzang said. “There is nothing I can add. I am deeply moved by the great favour you have shown me. But it is late now and I do not know where my three disciples are waiting for me. I cannot stay any longer, and I must start finding my way back. I am profoundly grateful for your boundless love. Could you show me my way back?”

“Don't be so worried, holy monk,” replied the four ancients, laughing. “An encounter like this is rare in a thousand years. The sky is fresh and clear, and the moon makes the night as bright as day. Relax and sit here for a little longer. At dawn we shall see you across the ridge. You will certainly meet your distinguished disciples.”

As they were talking in came two serving maids in blue, each carrying a lantern of crimson silk. Behind them followed a fairy who was holding a sprig of apricot blossom as she greeted them with a smile. What did the fairy look like?

Her hair had the green of jade,

Her face was pinker than rouge.

Her starry eyes were full of light and color;

Her elegant eyebrows were like moth antennae.

She wore a red skirt with plum-blossom designs;