“I'm afraid our Eastern land has no great treasures, and even if it did, I would have been unable to bring them on so long a journey.”
“Master,” put in Monkey, who was sitting beside him, “isn't that cassock I saw in our bundle the other day a treasure? Why don't I take it out for him to see?” When the monks heard him mention the cassock, they smiled sinister smiles.
“What are you smiling at?” Monkey asked.
“We thought it was very funny when you said that a cassock was a treasure,” the abbot of the monastery replied. “A priest of my rank has two or three dozen, and our Patriarch, who has been a monk here for two hundred and fifty or sixty years, has seven or eight hundred.” He ordered them to be brought out and displayed. The old monk, who was also in on the game, told the lay brothers to open the store-rooms, while friars carried twelve chests out into the courtyard, and unlocked them. Then they set up clothes frames, put rope all around, shook the cassocks open one by one, and hung them up for Sanzang to see. Indeed, the whole building was full of brocade, and the four walls covered with silk.
Monkey examined them one by one and saw that some were made of brocade and some were embroidered with gold.
“Enough, enough, enough,” he said. “Put them away, put them away. I'll bring ours out for you to take a look at.”
Sanzang drew Monkey aside and whispered to him, “Disciple, never try to compete with other people's wealth, you and I are alone in this foreign land, and I'm afraid that there may be trouble.”
“What trouble can come from letting him look at the cassock?” Monkey asked.
“You don't understand,” Sanzang replied. “The ancients used to say, 'Don't let greedy and treacherous men see rare or amusing things.' If he lays his eyes on it, his mind will be disturbed, and if his mind is disturbed, he's bound to start scheming. If you were cautious, you would only have let him see it if he'd insisted; but as it is, this is no trifling matter, and may well be the end of us.”
“Don't worry, don't worry,” said Brother Monkey, “I'll look after everything.” Watch as without another word of argument he rushes off and opens the bundle, which is already giving off a radiant glow. It still had two layers of oiled paper round it, and when he removed it to take out the cassock and shake it open the hall was bathed in red light and clouds of coloured vapours filled the courtyard. When the monks saw it their hearts were filled with delight and their mouths with praise. It really was a fine cassock.
Hung with pearls of unrivalled quality,
Studded with Buddhist treasures infinitely rare.
Above and below a dragon beard sparkles,
On grass-cloth edged with brocade.
If it is worn, all demons are extinguished;
When donned it sends all monsters down to hell.
It was made by the hands of heavenly Immortals,
And none but a true monk should dare put it on.
When the aged monk saw how rare a treasure it was, his heart was indeed disturbed. He went up to Sanzang and knelt before him. “My fate is indeed a wretched one,” he lamented, tears pouring down his cheeks. Sanzang helped him to his feet again and asked, “Why do you say that, venerable patriarch?”
“You have unfolded this treasure of yours, sir,” the aged monk replied, “when it is already evening, so that my eyes are too dim to see it clearly. That is why I say my fate is wretched.”
“Send for a candle and take another look,” Sanzang suggested.
“My lord, your precious cassock is already shining brightly, so I don't think I would see more distinctly even if a candle were lit,” replied the aged monk.
“How would you like to look at it then?” asked Sanzang.
“If, sir, you were in your mercy to set aside your fears and let me take it to my room to examine it closely during the night, I will return it to you in the morning to take to the West. What do you say to that?” This request startled Sanzang, who grumbled at Brother Monkey, “It's all your fault, all your fault.”
“He's nothing to be frightened of.” Monkey replied with a grin. “I'll pack it up and tell him to take it away to look at. If anything goes wrong, I'll be responsible.”
As there was nothing he could do to stop him, Sanzang handed the cassock to the old monk with the words, “I'll let you take it, but you must give it back to me tomorrow morning in the condition it's in now. I won't have you getting it at all dirty.”
The old monk gleefully told a page to take the cassock to his room, and instructed the other monks to sweep out the front meditation hall, move two rattan beds in, spread out the bedding on them, and invite the two gentlemen to spend the night there; he also arranged for them to be given breakfast and seen off the next morning. Then everyone went off to bed. Sanzang and his disciple shut the doors of the meditation hall and went to sleep.
After the old monk had tricked them into giving him the cassock, he held it under the lamp in the back room as he wept and wailed over it. This so alarmed the monks that none of them dared go to sleep before he did. The young page, not knowing what to do, went to tell the other monks, “Grandad's still crying although it's getting on for eleven.” Two junior monks, who were among the old man's favorites, went over to ask him why he was crying.
“I'm crying because my accursed fate won't allow me to see the Tang Priest's treasure,” he said; to which they replied, “Grandad, in your old age you have succeeded. His cassock is laid before you, and all you have to do is open your eyes and look. There's no need for tears.”
“But I can't look at it for long,” the aged monk answered. “I'm two hundred and seventy this year, and I've collected all those hundreds of cassocks for nothing. However am I to get hold of that one of his? However am I to become like the Tang priest?”
“Master, you've got it all wrong,” the junior monks said. “The Tang Priest is a pilgrim far from home. You should be satisfied with your great seniority and wealth; why ever would you want to be a pilgrim like him?”
“Although I live at home and enjoy my declining years, I've got no cassock like his to wear,” the aged monk replied. “If I could wear it for a day, I would close my eyes in peace. I'd be as happy as if I were a monk in my next life.”
“What nonsense,” the junior monks said. “If you want to wear his cassock, there'll be no problem about that. We'll keep him for another day tomorrow, and you can wear it for another day. Or we can keep him for ten days and you can wear it for ten days. So why get so upset about it?”
“Even if we kept him for a year,” the old monk replied, “I'd only be able to wear it for a year, which wouldn't bring me any glory. I'll still have to give it to him when he went: I can't keep him here for ever.”
As they were talking a young monk called Broad Wisdom spoke out. “Grandad,” he said, “if you want it for a long time, that's easy to arrange too.”
“What brilliant idea have you got, child?” the aged monk asked, cheering up.
“That Tang Priest and his disciple were so exhausted after their journey that they are both asleep by now,” Broad Wisdom replied. If we arm some strong monks with swords and spears to break into the meditation hall and kill them, they can be buried in the back garden, and nobody but us will be any the wiser. This way we get their white horse and their luggage as well as the cassock, which will become an heirloom of the monastery. We would be doing this for posterity.” The old monk was very pleased with this suggestion, and he wiped the tears from his eyes as he said, “Very good, very good, a marvellous plan.”
Another young monk called Broad Plans, a fellow-student of Broad Wisdom's, came froward and said, “This plan's no good. If we are to kill them, we'll have to keep a sharp eye on them. That old pale-faced one looks easy enough, but the hairy-faced one could be tricky; and if by any chance we fail to kill him, we'll be in deep trouble. I have a way that doesn't involve using weapons, but I don't know what you'll think of it.”