Chapter 12: Divine Creation, Excellence Guaranteed

By now, the slanting sun was setting, and even the frost-tinted sky could not hide it. The surrounding mountains and forests swayed in the cold wind, sending out wave after wave of rustling sounds. Seeing that night was falling and it was no longer suitable to travel, Tang Sanzang halted his horse and gazed into the distance. Suddenly, he noticed at the end of a nearby path a temple that resembled a manor. Delighted, he said, “Wukong, there’s a household ahead. We can seek lodging there for the night and set out again in the morning.”

Hu Rong had already spotted the imposing temple and, knowing it to be one of Guanyin Bodhisattva’s “journey to fetch scriptures” blessings, feigned just noticing it and replied, “Yes, Master, I’ll go knock on the door at once.”

With that, Hu Rong bounded to the temple gate. Upon seeing the three large characters “Lishe Shrine” inscribed above, he knocked thrice and called out, “Good folk, open up! We are monks from the Great Tang of the East, traveling through and seeking shelter for the night!”

With a creak, the great door swung open, and out came an old man with a snowy beard and hair, prayer beads hanging from his neck. He showed not the slightest fear upon seeing a creature like Hu Rong, but instead greeted him with palms joined. “Master, please come in and sit.”

“Amitabha! Many thanks, kind benefactor!” Tang Sanzang hastily dismounted to return the courtesy, then proceeded to the main hall to pay homage to the sacred images within.

Meanwhile, Hu Rong silently surveyed the temple grounds without a word. The old man summoned a young acolyte to serve tea to Tang Sanzang, and after a few pleasantries, Tang Sanzang inquired, “Elder, why is this temple named ‘Lishe’?”

The old man replied, “This place lies at the border of the Western Region’s Habit Kingdom. Behind the temple is a family of devout heart, who built this sanctuary here. ‘Li’ means the land of a village; ‘She’ refers to the local earth deity. At every season—spring plowing, summer weeding, autumn harvest, winter storing—the villagers prepare offerings of meats and fruit here to worship the earth god, praying for pure seasons, bountiful harvests, and thriving livestock.”

Hearing this, Tang Sanzang nodded in praise, “Indeed, ‘three miles from home, a different village custom prevails.’ The folk of my homeland do not possess such compassionate traditions.”

The old man then asked, “May I ask, Master, from whence your immortal home?”

Tang Sanzang placed his palms together and replied, “I am a monk from the Great Tang in the East, traveling by imperial command to the Western Heaven to worship the Buddha and seek scriptures. Passing through your esteemed land today, as night falls, I have come to seek shelter in your sacred shrine, intending to depart at dawn.”

The old man, overjoyed, repeatedly apologized for not having welcomed them properly and ordered the acolyte to prepare a meal, while he himself engaged Tang Sanzang in discussions of scripture and doctrine, feeling utterly at ease.

Hu Rong, uninterested in these “Buddhist fellows,” let the White Dragon Horse graze at will, thinking that since the steed was spiritually aware and wouldn’t run off, and given that the place was full of “immortals,” it wouldn’t matter if he slipped away for a bit. So, acting on his whim, he soared into the sky with a somersault…

The old man’s heart stirred as he glanced in the direction where Hu Rong vanished, secretly cursing the mischievous monkey for not playing by the rules, which left him without an excuse to steer the conversation toward the White Dragon Horse’s saddle.

Just then, the White Dragon Horse, left to wander by Hu Rong, passed through the courtyard and stretched its neck to munch on the lotus behind the temple. The old man, delighted yet feigning surprise, exclaimed, “Where did this wild horse come from, brazenly stealing our food?”

Tang Sanzang turned and saw that the so-called wild horse was indeed the very White Dragon Horse he had recently tamed. Embarrassed, he put his palms together and intoned, “Amitabha, forgive me, elder. That white horse is my mount.”

“That white horse is your mount, Master?” the old man asked doubtfully. “Why, then, does it lack a saddle or bridle?”

Tang Sanzang hurriedly apologized, “Please don’t blame me, elder! This horse was originally the Little White Dragon from the Ravenous Gorge below Eagle Sorrow Ravine. My former white horse was swallowed whole by him, saddle and all. Luckily, my disciple Sun Wukong intervened, and with the Bodhisattva Guanyin’s guidance, transformed the Little White Dragon into my present mount, identical in coat and form, to carry me westward to fetch the scriptures. I had meant to find a new saddle after crossing the ravine, but unexpectedly came to your sacred shrine before I could acquire one.”

The old man responded, “So that’s how it is! Master, you need not worry. I happen to possess a saddle and bridle that I treasure greatly, and though I am poor, I have never parted with them. Hearing your tale, and knowing that even the Bodhisattva succored this divine dragon and transformed him to carry you, how could I, an old man, not offer some token? Tomorrow, I shall send for the saddle and bridle and gift them to you, that you may fit them to your horse. I hope you will accept them with a smile.”

Tang Sanzang thanked him profusely. When the acolyte announced that the vegetarian meal was ready, the two dined together, then, by lamplight, laid out their bedding and retired early for the night.

The next morning, Hu Rong returned from his feasting at the Western Sea Dragon Palace and, after helping Tang Sanzang rise, asked, “Master, did the temple keeper promise us a saddle and bridle last night?”

“Amitabha, Wukong, how did you know?” Tang Sanzang asked in surprise.

“Because I saw it!” Hu Rong jerked his chin toward the side. There stood the old man, cradling a complete set of saddle, padding, bridle, and all manner of horse gear—everything needed for a mount—placing them under the corridor. “Master, here is your saddle and bridle.”

“Amitabha!” Tang Sanzang exclaimed joyfully, hastening to recite a blessing and instructing Hu Rong to try them out.

Hu Rong went over, inspected each item, and thought to himself, “Truly worthy of celestial craftsmanship—these are excellent goods!” He fitted the saddle and bridle onto the White Dragon Horse; they fit perfectly.

Tang Sanzang hurried to bow in thanks to the old man, but the latter quickly helped him up, saying, “Please, please, Master, there’s no need for such courtesy!”

Having completed his “novice task,” the old man did not detain them further. He invited Tang Sanzang to mount, then drew a whip from his sleeve—a fragrant rattan handle with a tiger sinew lash—and presented it at the roadside, saying, “Master, I have here a riding whip as well. Allow me to gift it to you.”

Overjoyed, Tang Sanzang received the whip on horseback, exclaiming, “Many thanks for your generosity, elder! Many thanks indeed!”

But in the blink of an eye, the old man vanished. Startled, Tang Sanzang looked back at the shrine, only to see a barren stretch of ground.

At that moment, a voice drifted down from midair, “Master, do not take offense. I am the mountain god and local spirit of Mount Luojia, sent by Bodhisattva Guanyin to deliver the saddle and bridle. Remember well, your journey to fetch the scriptures is of utmost importance—do not neglect it!”

Realizing he had encountered a deity, Tang Sanzang hastily dismounted and bowed to the sky, saying, “This disciple, with mortal eyes, did not recognize the honored spirit. I beg your pardon. Please convey my deepest gratitude to the Bodhisattva for her gracious protection.”

Hu Rong watched coldly as a group of minor deities postured in the sky, wholly uninterested. Seeing Tang Sanzang performing three bows and nine kowtows, he felt somewhat embarrassed and went to pull Tang Sanzang up, saying, “Master, you’re a great monk of the Tang—no need to keep bowing to these mountain spirits and yokai!”

“Wukong, mind your words!” Tang Sanzang rebuked. “They are numbered among the immortals; how can mere mortals like us presume to instruct them?”

“Fine, Master, whatever you say.” Knowing he could not win the argument, Hu Rong dropped the subject, then placed his fingers to his lips and whistled. Immediately, the White Dragon Horse trotted over and stopped beside Tang Sanzang.

“Master, it’s time to set out!” Hu Rong tossed the luggage onto the horse’s back, helped Tang Sanzang mount, and off they went at a swift pace, heading west…

Thus began a journey that would last two full months. With Hu Rong’s presence, any wolves, tigers, demons, or monsters encountered along the way were no more than sparring practice, hardly worth mentioning.

Time flew like a shuttle, and soon it was early spring of the new year. The mountains and forests were clad in brocade green, grass and trees sprouted fresh buds; the plum blossoms had fallen, and the willows were just beginning to unfurl their eyes. Master and disciple wandered in the spring light, enjoying themselves immensely, but before long, the sun sank once more, and dusk crept in. Tang Sanzang reined in his horse and gazed into the distance, where, nestled in a mountain hollow, the outlines of pavilions and temples loomed—a great monastery for sure—and his heart thrilled with anticipation.

Hu Rong shaded his eyes with his hand, peering at the temple encircled by mountains. Though he knew this was the territory of the old bald monk Jinchi at Guanyin Monastery, his heart was full of glee: “Heh heh, Black Bear Spirit, here I come!!”