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;
And a light jacket of gray shot with red.
Her curved shoes were shaped like phoenix beaks,
And her silk stockings were marked with mud.
This witch was as lovely as the woman on Tiantai,
No less a beauty than the Zhou king's concubine.
“To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit, Apricot Fairy?” the old man asked as they bowed to her.
Returning their bows she replied, “I hear that you have a distinguished guest here and are exchanging poems with him. May I meet him?”
“Here he is,” said the Eighteenth Lord, pointing him out. “You don't need to ask.” Sanzang bowed to her but dared say nothing.
“Bring in the tea at once,” she said. Two more serving girls in yellow, carried in a red lacquer tray on which were six fine porcelain tea-bowls with rare fruits in them and spoons lying across the top, as well as a copper-inlaid iron teapot in which was hot and fragrant tea. When the tea had been poured the woman showed glimpses of finger as delicate as spring onion shoots as she presented the porcelain bowls of it first to Sanzang and then to the four ancients. The last cup she kept for herself.
Only when Master Emptiness invited the Apricot Fairy to sit down did she do so. After they had drunk the tea she leant forward and said, “As you ancient immortals have been having so delightful an evening could you tell me some of the choicest lines you've composed?”
“Our stuff was just vulgar rubbish,” Cloud-toucher replied. “But this holy monk's verses were truly superb examples of high Tang poetry.”
“Please let me hear them if you will,” the fairy said, whereupon the four ancients recited Sanzang's two poems and his exposition of the Dhyana dharma. The woman, whose face was all smiles, then said, “I'm completely untalented and shouldn't really be making a fool of myself like this, but hearing this wonderful lines is an opportunity too good to waste. Could I cobble together a verse in the second rhyme pattern?” She then recited these lines:
The Han Emperor Wu first made my name;
In Zhou times Confucius taught under my shade.
Dong Feng loved me so much he planted a wood of me;
Sun Chu once offered my jelly in sacrifice.
Soft is my pink and rain-fed beauty;
The misty green is shown and yet concealed.