“Which of them is a medical expert?” the king asked.
“To be frank with Your Majesty,” Sanzang replied, “they are all country bumpkins fit only for carrying baggage, leading the horse, finding their way along streams, or leading me over mountains and rivers. In dangerous places they can defeat monsters, capture demons, and subdue tigers and dragons. None of them knows anything about medicines.”
“Aren't you being too hard on them?” the king asked. “It was very fortunate that you came to court when we entered the throne hall this morning: this was surely destined by Heaven. If your disciple knows nothing about medicine why would he have taken down our proclamation and demanded that we go to greet him in person? He must surely be a great physician.”
He then called, “Civilian and military officers, we are much too weak to ride in our carriage. You must all leave the palace and go on our behalf to invite the Venerable Sun to treat our disease. When you meet him you must on no account show him any disrespect. You must address him as 'Holy monk, Venerable Sun' and treat him with the deference due to your own sovereign.”
Having received these orders the officials went straight to the Hostel of Meeting with the eunuchs and guards officers responsible for the proclamation. There they arranged themselves in their companies to kowtow to Monkey. Pig was so frightened that he hid in the wing, while Friar Sand slipped behind the wall. Just look at the Great Sage sitting solemnly and unmoving in the middle of the room.
“That macaque is really asking to have his head cut off,” Pig thought resentfully. “All those officials bowing to him, and he's not bowing back or standing up either.”
Soon afterwards, when the rituals had been performed, the officials addressed Monkey as if he were their monarch: “We report to the holy monk, the Venerable Sun, that we officials of the Kingdom of Purpuria have come at the command of our king to do respectful homage to the holy monk and invite him to the palace to treat our sick king.”
Only then did Brother Monkey stand up and reply, “Why hasn't your king come?”
“His Majesty is too weak to ride in his carriage,” the officials all replied, “which is why he ordered us to pay homage to you, holy monk, as if you were our sovereign, kowtow to you and invite you to come.”
“In that case,” said Monkey, “will you gentlemen please lead the way. I'll follow you.” The officials then formed themselves into a column in accordance with their ranks and set out. Monkey tidied his clothes and got to his feet.
“Brother,” said Pig, “whatever you do, don't drag us in.”
“I won't,” Monkey replied, “provided you two accept the medicine for me.”
“What medicine?” Friar Sand asked.
“You must accept all the medicine people send me,” Monkey replied. “I'll collect it when I come back.” The two of them undertook this commission.
Monkey was soon at the palace with the officials, who went in first to inform the king. He raised high the curtains of pearls, flashed his dragon and phoenix eyes, opened his golden mouth and spoke majestically, “Which gentleman is the holy monk, the Venerable Sun?”
Taking a step forward, Monkey shouted at the top of his voice, “I am.”
The voice was so ugly and the face so hideous that the king fell back on his dragon throne. In their alarm the female officials and the palace eunuchs helped him to the inner quarters.
“He's terrified His Majesty to death,” they said.
“Monk,” all the officials said angrily to Monkey, “how could you be so rough and crude? Why did you dare take the proclamation down?”
When Brother Monkey heard this he replied with a smile, “You shouldn't be angry with me. If you're going to be so rude to me your king won't get better in a thousand years.”
“But how long does human life last?” the officials asked. “How is it that he won't get better even in a thousand years?”
“He's a sick ruler now,” said Monkey. “When he dies he'll be a sick ghost, and whenever he's reincarnated he'll be a sick man again. That's why he won't get better even in a thousand years.”
“You've got no sense of respect at all,” the infuriated officials replied. “How dare you talk such nonsense!”
“It's not nonsense,” Monkey laughed. “Listen and I'll explain:
“Mysterious indeed are the principles of medicine;
Flexibility of mind is a quality required.
Use eyes and ears, ask questions, take the pulses:
Omit but one and the examination's incomplete.
First look for outward signs of the patient's vital energy.
Dried? Smooth? Fat? Thin? Active? Does he sleep well?
Secondly, listen to whether the voice is clear or harsh:
Determine if the words he speaks are true or crazed.
Third, you must ask how long the disease has lasted,
And how the patient eats, drinks and relieves himself.
Fourth, feel the pulses and be clear about the veins:
Are they deep, shallow, external or inside?
Should I not look and listen, ask questions, and take the pulses,
Never in all his days will the king be well again.”
In the ranks of the civil and military officials there were some fellows of the Royal College of Medicine who when they heard these words praised Monkey publicly: “The monk is right. Even a god or an immortal would have to look, listen, ask questions and take the pulses before treating a patient successfully with his divine gifts.”
All the officials agreed with these remarks, then went up to the king and submitted: “The reverend gentleman wishes to look, listen, ask questions and take the pulses before he can prescribe properly.”
“Send him away,” the king said over and over again as he lay on his dragon bed. “We cannot bear to see any strangers.”
His attendants then came out from the inner quarters and announced, “Monk, His Majesty commands that you go away. He cannot bear to see a stranger.”
“If he won't see a stranger,” Monkey replied, “I know the art of taking the pulses with hanging threads.”
“That is something of which we have only heard,” exclaimed all the officials, concealing their delight, “but that we have never seen with our own eyes. Please go back in and submit another report.”
The personal attendants then went back into the inner quarters and reported, “Your Majesty, the Venerable Sun can take your pulses with hanging threads: he does not need to see Your Majesty's face.”
At this the king reflected, “In the three years we have been ill we have never tried this technique. Send him in.”
At once the courtiers in attendance announced, “His Majesty has consented to pulse-taking by the hanging threads. Send the Venerable Sun to the inner quarters at once to make his diagnosis.”
Monkey then entered the throne hall, where the Tang Priest met him with abuse: “Wretched ape! You will be the death of me!”
“My good master,” Monkey replied with a smile, “I'm bringing you credit. How can you say I'll be the death of you?”
“In all the years you've been with me,” Sanzang shouted, “I have never seen you cure a single person. You know nothing about the nature of drugs, and you have never studied medical books. How can you be so reckless and bring this disaster on us?”
“You don't realize, Master,” said Monkey with a smile, “that I do know the odd herbal remedy and can treat serious illnesses. I guarantee I can cure him. Even if the treatment kills him I'll only be guilty of manslaughter through medical incompetence. That's not a capital offence. What are you afraid of? There's nothing to worry about, nothing. You sit here and see what my pulse diagnosis is like.”
“How can you talk all this rubbish,” Sanzang asked, “when you have never read the Plain Questions, the Classic of Difficulties, the Pharmacopoeia and the Mysteries of the Pulses, or studied the commentaries to them? How could you possibly diagnose his pulses by hanging threads?”