This is a fresh, complete English translation of Wu Cheng’en’s public-domain one-hundred-chapter novel, produced with GPT-5.3-Codex-Spark assistance. It is an AI-assisted first edition, not a reproduction of an existing translation.

Poem:

Great was the Tang king who issued the decree and appointment, appointing Xuanzang as his trusted envoy to inquire into Ch'an. With mind made firm and refined, he searched for the Dragon’s Cave, and with care practiced on Mount Shangjiu. To the frontier he journeyed across many realms, passing through boundless layers of cloud-wrapped mountains. From this day he sets out westward, carrying the Dharma, to realize the Great Emptiness.

It is said that on the third day before the full-moon of the ninth month in the thirteenth year of Zhenguan, Tripitaka was sent out of Chang’an with the Tang king and many officials. In a day or two, without stopping the horse, he arrived early at Famen Temple. The abbot and the upper-hall elder, leading more than five hundred monks, lined them up on both sides to receive him inside, and they met to offer tea. After tea they took the morning meal, and after the meal they did not notice that evening had fallen. It was indeed as follows:

Shadows stirred near the river of stars, and the moonlight shone without a speck of dust. From far Han came the call of wild geese; the drone of querns sounded from the western neighborhood. Returning birds settled on withered trees, and Chan monks chanted Sanskrit tones. On a reed-and-cushion bed they sat until night was near its end.

The monks debated by lamplight about the true meaning of Buddhism and why they should journey to the Western Heaven: some said the water was far and the mountains high, some said there were tigers and leopards along the way; some said the steep ridges and sheer cliffs were impossible to cross, some said venomous demons and evil spirits were hard to subdue. Tripitaka kept silent, only pointing to his own heart with his fingers and nodding several times. The monks could not understand, so with palms together they asked, “Venerable, why did you point to your heart and nod?” Tripitaka answered, “When the mind arises, many demons arise; when the mind ceases, many demons cease. I, your disciple, once stood before the Buddha in Huasheng Monastery and spoke a great, loud vow; therefore I cannot fail in this resolution. On this going I must go to the Western Heaven, meet the Buddha, and ask for sutras so that our Dharma wheel may turn again, and may I pray that the august emperor’s order endure forever.” Hearing this, each monk praised him, everyone praised and spread the word, all crying one voice: “A master of faithful, red-hearted, great Dharma exposition!” They could not stop praising him and invited the Master to retire and sleep.

Again at dawn it was as if bamboo tapping and the waning moon was setting; the rooster called and dawn-mist was born. The monks rose, packed away tea and early fare. Xuanzang donned his robe and entered the main hall, bowed before the Buddha, and declared: “Your disciple, Xuanzang, goes to the Western Heaven to fetch scriptures, but my fleshly eyes are dull and deluded and cannot know the true form of the living Buddha. Now I vow: on the road, should I pass a temple, I will burn incense; if I meet Buddha, I will worship; if I meet a stupa, I will sweep it. May my Buddha be compassionate, manifest soon the six-hundred-sixteen-cubit golden form, and grant true sūtras to pass on in the Eastern lands.” After completing the vow, he returned to the abbot and entered the meal hall for food. After eating, the two attendants tidied saddle and horse and hurried the departure. Tripitaka left the monastery gate and bid farewell to the monks. Unwilling to part, they escorted him for ten li and returned with tears in their eyes. Tripitaka then pressed straight westward. It was already early autumn weather, yet it seemed:

In many villages the trees were stripped and the cattail blossoms lay scattered, A few trees of maple and willow dropped red leaves. Along the road through smoke and rain, old friends were sparse; yellow chrysanthemums were bright, mountain ridges thin, water was cold, lotus leaves split, and people looked worn. White duckweed and red knotweed, frost and sky-snow above; Sunset glow dropped, and a lone wild goose floated down into the wide emptiness. Faint and dim, wild clouds drifted; the dark birds departed, guest geese arrived, and sharp, clear cries split the long night.

After several days of travel, the masters reached Gongzhou city, and officials and soldiers of the city had already come to welcome them and lead them in. They rested one night, and next morning left the city. With little food and little water as they went, traveling by night and by dawn, in two or three days they arrived at Hezhou Guard. This was the frontier of Great Tang’s borderlands. Already the frontier commandant and the local monks and priests had heard that an imperial commissioner, a royal monk, was going westward to see the Buddha, and all offered deep reverence. They brought him inside and provided offerings, then the lead monk told them to rest at Fuyuan Temple. At that temple the monks all came to pay their respects in turn and arranged the evening meal. After the meal, he ordered the two attendants to feed the horses to fullness; once it was lightening day, they set out.

At cockcrow they summoned the attendants again and once more roused the temple monks to arrange tea and offerings for the morning meal. After the meal they crossed beyond the border. This abbey elder was anxious, rising far too early. In truth, at this season of deep autumn, the cocks called early; it was only about the fourth watch. The three of them, with four mounts, followed the crisp dew and walked by moonlight for many tens of li, saw a mountain ridge, and had to push through grass to seek a path. The ground was too rough to describe, and they feared losing the road. Just as they were pondering this, they suddenly lost their footing and all three men and horses slipped down into a pit. Tripitaka was terrified, the attendants’ courage failed. Yet in fresh alarm they then heard roaring and high shouts from inside: “Take him! Take him here!” There came a rolling gale; five or six dozen malevolent spirits rushed out and seized Tripitaka and the attendants. The Master trembled and peered in fear at the one on top—the demon king was ferociously evil indeed. Truly he was:

His mighty presence was cold and imposing, his fierce breath and manner grand. Lightning flashed in his eyes, their glare dazzling; his thunderous voice shook the four quarters. Sawtoothed mouth and parted lips, chiseled fangs showed at the cheeks. Brocade-like ornaments clung to his body, mottled marks wrapped his spine. Steel-colored whiskers, a few strands of flesh showing; hooked claws keen as frost. Even the Yellow Lord of the Eastern Sea feared him; the White-Browed King of the Southern Mountain stood in awe. Tripitaka’s soul seemed to leave his body in fright, and the two attendants felt their bones soften and their sinews turn numb. The demon king ordered them bound. All the spirits tied the three with ropes. Just as they were about to set about eating them, noise came from outside and someone reported, “Bear Mountain Lord and the Special Hermit are coming.” Tripitaka looked up and saw the one ahead was a black man. If you ask what he was like: He was imposing, brave beyond measure, and moved with fierce, light agility. In water-crossing he had ferocious strength; in the woods he ran to display wrathful power. Formerly only an omen-bound omen, now he revealed his heroic form. He could climb and bend green trees and knew how to instruct the cold at the right hour. His spirit showed itself plainly there; therefore he is called Bear Mountain Lord. Behind him came a stout fellow. If you ask what he looked like: He wore a lofty double-horned crown, his broad shoulders and back severe and upright. Clothed in blue, his steps with hooves were slow and deliberate. His clan name was Gu, his mother called him Zi. Because he was skilled at fieldwork, he gained the name Special Hermit.

The two shuffled in, swaying and striding in together, and the alarmed demon king ran out to greet them. Bear Mountain Lord said, “General Yin has always been so impressive—congratulations, congratulations.” Special Hermit said, “General Yin’s handsome form surpasses all, truly pleasing, truly pleasing.” The demon king asked, “How have the two of you fared in recent days?” Bear Mountain Lord replied, “Only keeping guard, no change.” Special Hermit replied, “Only following events as they unfold.” The three then finished speaking and sat to talk and laugh together.

Only then the attendants tied in pain cried out. The black giant said, “Where have these three come from?” The demon king answered, “They came straight to our gate.” Special Hermit laughed, “Could we entertain them as guests?” The demon king said, “Indeed, indeed.” Bear Mountain Lord added, “Do not consume all; eat the two and keep one.” The demon king agreed, then called his lieutenants and had the two attendants’ bellies opened, their hearts cut out, their bodies chopped into pieces. He presented their heads and livers to the two guests, ate the four limbs himself, and shared the remaining flesh and bones among the other demons. There was only the sound of greedy crunching, like a tiger devouring a lamb; in but a moment all was gone. It brought one of the abbots almost to fear-induced death. This was the first severe hardship from leaving Chang’an.

In the midst of that desperate commotion, the east gradually turned pale. The two monsters did not depart until dawn, and they both said, “For today’s disturbance, please allow us to redouble our sincere service.” Then they left together in a mass.

Not long after, a high red sun climbed, and Tripitaka was dully dazed, unable to tell east from south from west or north. At that helpless moment, a gray-haired old man appeared approaching with a staff in hand. As he stepped forward, one touch of his hand with the air severed the ropes. Facing Tripitaka, he blew once, and Tripitaka revived. Falling to his knees he said, “Much thanks, old sir, for rescuing this poor monk’s life.” The old man bowed in return and said, “Rise. Have you lost anything?” Tripitaka replied, “The attendant of this poor monk has already been eaten by demons. I only do not know where my baggage and horses are.” The old man pointed with his staff, “Is there not a horse and two packs over there?” Tripitaka looked back and indeed there were his possessions, not lost, and his heart was slightly eased. He asked, “Old sir, what place is this? Why are you here?” The old man said, “This is Shuangcha Ridge, a haunt of tigers and wolves. Why did you fall here?” Tripitaka said, “At cockcrow I left Hezhou Guard boundary and, rising too early, braved the frost and cut through the dew, only to find myself fallen here. I saw a demon king, fierce beyond measure, who bound me and my two attendants. I also saw a black giant called Bear Mountain Lord, and a stout giant called Special Hermit. They entered and told me that demon king was General Yin. The three of them ate my two attendants before dawn had faded. I do not know by what great fate and great fortune I was granted this great rescue.” The old man said, “The Special Hermit is a wild-bull demon; the Mountain Lord is a bear spirit; General Yin is a tiger spirit. All the other monsters are mountain spirits, tree spirits, and strange-beast blue wolves. Because your essential nature is primordial and bright, they cannot eat you. Come with me; I will guide you on your way.”

Tripitaka, deeply grateful, lashed his sacks to the horse, held the bridle and followed the old man straight out of the pit and up to the main road. He tied the horse to roadside grass, turned back to bow and thank the old sir, and that old sir turned into a drifting clear wind, mounted a vermilion-crowned white crane, and rose into the sky. Only a gust remained, and a short note fell from him, bearing four lines of verse:

I am the Great White Star of the Western Heaven, I came to rescue your life in particular. As you go forward, divine attendants will aid you; do not complain to hardships and misfortunes for the sutra.

Tripitaka looked on and prayed to Heaven: 'Many thanks to the Golden Star for carrying me beyond this danger.' After he had finished bowing, he took the horse by the reins and, utterly alone, desolate and forlorn, pushed forward with effort. On this ridge it was truly:

The rain-forest wind blew in a cold hiss, and in the ravine below the water ran in murmuring streams. Wild blossoms opened with heavy fragrance, dense thickets clumped among heaps of jagged stone. Loud were the cries of deer and monkeys, in bands the roe deer and musk deer came. Birds cried in noisy multitude, but human doings were silent and still. The Venerable elder, in his heart, trembled with fear and unrest; the horse, weak in strength, could scarcely lift its hooves.

Tripitaka threw himself into danger and climbed among the high ridges. After half the day’s travel he still saw no sign of village or homestead. First, his belly was hungry; second, the road was rough and uneven. At the very brink of peril he saw two raging tiger tigers roaring ahead, and behind him several long snakes winding about. Poisonous insects were on the left, strange beasts on the right. Tripitaka, alone and helpless, could only lay his body and mind down and leave all to Heaven. Then the horse itself became frail, its haunches soft and its knees weak, and at once it knelt and collapsed. It could not rise by a single push, and it could not be lifted by pulling. The Dharma Master had no place to set his body securely and was in ten thousand parts sorrowful; he knew he must surely die and could do nothing.

He had calamity in his lot, yet relief would come. Right there, where life itself seemed lost, he suddenly saw poisonous creatures run off, demons and beasts fly away, ferocious tigers disappear, and long snakes hide their traces. Tripitaka looked up and saw a man emerge from the slope before him, indeed a stalwart fellow. He looked so:

On his head sat a leopard-skin cap, speckled like mugwort leaves, on his body a woolen brocade robe in many-hued weave, at his waist a lion-man sash, below his feet a pair of antelope-skin boots. He had round ringed eyes like a watchful graveyard keeper, his whiskers in wild knots like drifting river-light. Across his shoulder hung a pouch of poisoned bow and arrows, in his hand a stout steel three-pronged fork. A peal of thunder broke the heart of mountain vermin, and his bold courage could scatter even the spirits of wild pheasants.

As Tripitaka saw him draw nearer, he knelt by the road, pressed palms together, and cried out, 'Great lord, save my life! Great lord, save my life!' That robust man came forward, set down the fork, and with both hands helped him up: 'Venerable elder, fear nothing. I am no villain. I am a hunter on this mountain, surname Liu, named Boqin, nicknamed Mountain-Terrace Great Guard. I have just come to seek two mountain beasts for food. I did not expect to meet you, and I have brought collision upon you instead.' Tripitaka said, 'I am a monk, humble in appointment from under the Great Tang emperor, going to the Western Heaven to beg the Buddha for the sūtras. Just now upon reaching this place, I met wolves, tigers, and snakes surrounding me on all sides and could not advance. When I saw the Great Guard arrive, all the beasts fled. My life was saved by this meeting. I offer repeated thanks.' Liu Boqin said, 'I live in these places and make my living by striking down wolves and tigers, catching snakes and vermin. So all these beasts fear me and keep away. Since you come from Tang, you and I are from the same place. This is still within Great Tang’s domain, and I too am a Tang subject. We drink the same sovereign’s water and eat the same land’s grain; truly we are people of one state. Do not be afraid. Come with me; rest your horse at my dwelling, and tomorrow I will send you on your way.' Tripitaka heard this and, full of joy, thanked Liu Boqin and followed, leading the horse.

Past the slope they heard the roar of the wind. Liu Boqin said, 'Venerable, do not go forward. Sit here. This wind-breath means a wildcat is coming; wait, I will take it and have it prepared for you.' Tripitaka grew more frightened and dared not move a step. Liu Boqin took up the steel fork and strode out with strong tread. A mottled tiger met him face to face. When it saw Liu Boqin, it turned and fled at once. Liu Boqin thundered, 'You beast, where do you run away to?' Pursued hard, the tiger turned and swung its paw to pounce. Liu Boqin raised the three-pronged fork in front to meet it. So fierce was the scene that Tripitaka nearly collapsed limp upon the grass. From the moment the monk was born, he had never seen such perilous rough play. Taibao and the tiger below the slope clashed against one another, and it was indeed a grand struggle. Then:

Anger everywhere, furious; wild wind rolling on and on. Anger everywhere, Taibao rose to the forehead with giant strength; wild wind rolling on and on, the spotted tiger flaunted itself, spitting up red dust. This one bared teeth and swirled its clawed paws; that one turned and sprang back. The three-pronged fork lifted to heaven, as if to eclipse the sun; the tiger’s thousand-flower tail stirred mist and sent clouds flying. One stabbed wildly at the chest, the other lunged in open-faced seizure. The one who dodged kept his life; the one that struck straight was to behold Lord Yan. You could hear the tiger’s roar; hear too Taibao’s harsh shout. The tiger’s roar split mountain and stream and startled birds and beasts; Taibao’s fierce cry split open the heavenly court and brought stars to view. One with golden eyes burned with wrath; one with stout heart gave birth to anger. Admirable is Liu Boqin, the Mountain-Guard, worthy of praise as lord among the beasts of this ground. When man and tiger fight over life and victory, a fool may lose all three souls.

They fought for about an hour. Then the tiger’s paws slackened, its waist loosened, and Liu Boqin raised the fork and drove it flat through the chest and felled it. The cruel point pierced heart and liver, and in an instant blood spread full on the ground. He pulled it by the ear and brought it back along the path. The fine man did not pant for breath, and his face did not change. He said to Tripitaka: 'Providence, Providence. This mountain tiger is enough for the Venerable to eat for one day.' Tripitaka praised him without end, saying, 'Taibao is truly a mountain deity as if he were born in the heights.' Liu Boqin said, 'What skill have I that deserves such reward? This is the Venerable’s meritorious blessing. Come, hurry and skin it, cook some meat, and prepare fare for him.'

With one hand he held the fork, with the other he dragged the tiger along, guiding the way. Tripitaka led the horse behind him. As they made their way on through the slope’s curves, they suddenly saw a rural settlement. At its front it truly was:

Ancient trees rose to the sky, wild vines covered the road. Ten thousand ravines, and wind-borne dust ran cold; a thousand cliffs made strange and solemn spectacle. Along one path wildflowers breathed their scent against the body; a few poles of secluded bamboo stood close and green. There was a grass gate and thatched hall, hedged yards, stone slabs for a bridge, white-earth walls—truly joyous, truly spare. Autumn air lay austere and desolate, clean wind proud and high. By the roadside yellow leaves fell, on the ridge white clouds drifted. In thin woods mountain birds chirped loudly; outside the gate, tiny dogs barked thinly and keen.

When Liu Boqin reached the gate, he tossed down the dead tiger and called, 'Where are my boys?' Three or four household youths came out, all of odd and fearsome form, and lumberingly carried the tiger inside. Liu Boqin ordered them to skin it quickly and prepare food for the guest. Then he turned, invited Tripitaka in, and they met each other. Tripitaka again bowed and thanked Liu Boqin deeply for the mercy and compassion that saved his life. Liu Boqin said, 'We are people of the same homeland; why offer thanks?' After tea was served and they sat down, an old woman came out leading a daughter-in-law and offered courtesy to Tripitaka. Liu Boqin said, 'This is my mother and my young wife.' Tripitaka said, 'Please let my mother sit. I, a poor monk, bow to her.' The old woman said, 'Elder traveler, each of you cherish yourselves; do not trouble with bows.' Liu Boqin said, 'Mother, he is an envoy of the Tang court, sent to the West to seek the Buddha’s sūtras. He came to this mountain pass and met me by chance; being from the same state, I invited him to my house to rest his horse, and tomorrow I shall send him onward.' Hearing this, the old woman was delighted beyond measure and said, 'Good, good, good. Only to invite him was right, yet such timely good fortune is rare. Tomorrow is Father’s weekly memorial; ask him kindly, Elder, to do a virtue-work, recite a roll of scripture, and send him off the next day.' Though this Liu Boqin was a tiger-slaughtering hand and a mountain protector, he had a filial heart. On hearing his mother, he moved to prepare incense paper and keep Tripitaka at home.

As they spoke, before they knew it the daylight had already been drawing late. The servants spread tables and stools and brought several dishes of well-cooked tiger meat, steaming, and set them out. Liu Boqin invited Tripitaka to serve himself, and to arrange another meal as well. Tripitaka clasped his palms to his chest and said, 'How kind! I will not hide the truth from Taibao: from birth in my mother’s womb I have been a monk and know nothing of eating meat.' Hearing this, Liu Boqin fell silent for a moment and said, 'Venerable, in our family through the generations, we have not known vegetarian cooking. If there is any bamboo shoot, any wood-ear, any dry vegetable, if we make tofu, they are all fried in the oil and fat of roe, deer, tiger, and leopard. There is scarcely any pure vegetarian fare. Even the two iron wok-lids are soaked through with grease. What can be done? It was a fault of mine to invite the Venerable.' Tripitaka said, 'Taibao need not burden himself. Pray, eat what you like. I, this poor monk, can bear three or five days without meals, even hunger. I only dare not violate my fast-day precepts.' Liu Boqin said, 'If you were to die of hunger, what then?' Tripitaka replied, 'Through your grace from heaven I was saved from the circle of tigers and wolves. If I should die of hunger, even that would be better than feeding a tiger.'

Liu Boqin’s mother heard and called out, 'Son, do not chatter idly with the Venerable. I have my own vegetables; I can provide vegetarian fare.' Liu Boqin said, 'Where are they coming from?' The mother said, 'Do not manage me, I have the vegetarian dishes.' She called for the daughter-in-law and had her fetch the small pot. She set it on the fire and burned out the grease, scrubbed and scrubbed again, washed it again and still set it on the stove. She first boiled half a pot of water and set it aside. Then she took some mountain elm leaves and simmered them to make tea. Afterward she cooked some yellow millet into rice, and cooked some dry vegetables to tenderness. She poured two bowls and brought them out, placing them on the table. The old mother said to Tripitaka, 'Venerable, please keep your fast. This is tea and rice, and everything is as clean as can be, prepared by this old mother and the daughter-in-law with our own hands.' Tripitaka thanked her and only then sat down.

Boqin set aside another place and laid out dishes of tiger meat, musk-deer meat, python meat, fox meat, and rabbit, all without salt or sauce, and a little minced dried venison. He filled plate upon plate and bowl upon bowl to accompany Tripitaka at his vegetarian meal. When Tripitaka sat down and was about to lift his chopsticks, he saw the monk join his hands and chant a scripture; frightened, Boqin did not dare to move his chopsticks and hastily rose to stand beside him. After reciting only a few lines, Tripitaka said that the meal could be offered. Boqin asked, “Are you a monk that recites only a short-cut sutra?” Tripitaka replied, “This is not a sutra, but a spell used to open the fasting meal.” Boqin said, “Your ordained folk are so particular—while eating, you keep reciting and reciting.”

After the meal, they cleared away the plates and bowls, and evening gradually came. Boqin led Tripitaka out of the main hall and walked on toward the rear. Passing along the narrow lane-path, they came to a thatched pavilion. He pushed open the gate and entered. There he saw several heavy bows and stout crossbows hanging on the four walls, with several jars of arrows inserted; across the lintel were two blood-stained tiger skins; at the base of the wall were set many spears, sabres, forks, and rods. In the center stood two seats for sitting. Boqin invited Tripitaka to sit. But seeing how fierce and rank with blood the place looked, Tripitaka dared not sit long and so left the pavilion. They went farther back to a broad garden. He saw an endless stretch of clusters of chrysanthemums turning yellow and row upon row of maples and poplars hung with red. Then suddenly he heard a cry; around ten or more plump deer burst out, followed by a crowd of yellow antlered roe, and seeing people they came running with dull, dazed faces, showing no fear. Tripitaka said, “These antelope and deer must have been well kept in your household?” Boqin answered, “As in Chang’an, households with money gather treasure and estates with grain. As hunters, we can only raise a few wild beasts to store against bad weather.” The two talked while they strolled idly, and without noticing had let dusk come. They returned to the front house and rested for the night.

The next morning the whole household, young and old, rose and prepared a pure vegetarian meal, attending to the elder monk and inviting him to begin the recitation. The monk washed his hands, then before the Taibao family shrine held incense and made a bow. Tripitaka rang the wooden fish, first recited the mantra of purifying false speech, then the mantra that purifies body and mind, and then opened the Sutra of Delivering the Dead. Afterward he finished, Boqin asked that a memorial for the dead be written, then asked him to read the Diamond Sutra and the Guan Yin Sutra. One after another he chanted them clearly and loudly. When those were done he ate the midday offering, then recited the Lotus Sutra and the Amitabha Sutra, several more scrolls, and also one scroll of the Peacock Sutra, and spoke on the story of Bichu’s karma-cleansing. Before he knew it, evening had already come. They made all manner of incense and fire offerings, burned votive paper horses for the gods, and burned the memorial text for the dead. The Buddhist rites were complete, and all then retired to rest.

Yet Boqin’s father’s spirit, lifted up and released from sinking misery, arrived early as a ghost at dawn and in a dream told the older and younger members of the household: “In the court of the judges below, my suffering is hard and unending, and I cannot escape transmigration. Now, by good fortune, the holy monk recited scriptures and has removed my sins. The King of Yama has dispatched me to be sent to Zhonghua’s fertile lands, where I will be born into a respectable household. You must make sure to thank this elder well; do not be negligent, do not be negligent. Now I depart.” Thus it was: in the magnificence of all Dharma there is purpose, to send the dead beyond suffering and lift them from the abyss. While still the household was waking from its dream, the sun had already climbed in the east. Boqin’s wife said, “Husband, last night I dreamed our old father came home and said he had suffered deep torment in the spirit court and could not be released for a long time. Now, by this holy monk’s recitation, his sins have been cleared; the King of Yama has sent him to Zhonghua’s rich lands to be reborn in a wealthy household. He told us to thank the elder properly and not to neglect him.” Saying this, she hurried out and paced back and forth. They called for him, but he did not heed. When she awoke it had been only a dream. Boqin said, “I had the same kind of dream—just as you did. Let us go and tell Mother.” As the two were about to do so, the old mother called, “Boqin, come here—I want to speak with you.” The couple came to the front; Mother was sitting on the bed. She said, “My son, I too had a dream in the night. I saw your father return home. He said that by the elder’s compassionate aid he had been delivered, his sins erased; he had gone to Zhonghua’s rich land and to be born in a wealthy household.” At once the couple and all present laughed heartily: “Both my wife and I had this dream; we were just coming to report it, and just then Mother called us—surely it was the same dream.” They called everyone in the family, arranged offerings of gratitude, and had the horses made ready; all of them came forward and bowed, saying, “We thank the elder for lifting my late father out of hardship and into a released rebirth. Our debt cannot be repaid.” Tripitaka said, “What power does this poor monk have to do anything? How can you trouble me with such thanks?”

Boqin explained the dreams of the three people of the household to Tripitaka. Tripitaka also rejoiced. Early the next morning he was served another vegetarian meal, and the family presented one tael of silver as gratitude. Tripitaka would not take a coin. The household pleaded and begged, yet still he accepted not a single coin, saying only, “You were willing to show compassion and send me so far on my journey; that is gratitude enough, my great joy.” Boqin and his mother and wife were helpless and hastily made coarse flour cakes and dried provisions, telling Boqin to see the monk off as far as he could. Tripitaka cheerfully accepted them. Taibao took his mother’s instruction, then called two or three household retainers, each with hunting gear, and they set out together on the high road. They beheld unending mountain wilds and fine scenery on the ridges.

After half a day’s travel they saw ahead a great mountain, high indeed to touch the blue sky, towering and perilous. Tripitaka had not long reached its edge when Taibao climbed it as easily as if it were level ground. As they reached the middle of the slope, Boqin turned around and stood at the foot of the path saying, “Elder, please go ahead and proceed; I must return.” Tripitaka, hearing this, dismounted with a leap and stepped down. “Please do not, for kindness’ sake, trouble yourself to escort me any farther.” Boqin said, “The elder does not know. This mountain is called the Double-Borders Mountain. The eastern half is under our Great Tang, and the western half lies in the land of the Tatar. The wolves and tigers on that side do not submit to me, and I myself cannot cross the border. You must go on yourself.” Tripitaka grew alarmed, lifted his sleeves, grabbed his robe, and could not keep his tears from falling. At just the moment of this parting warning, they had scarcely finished bowing and bidding farewell when, from the foot of the mountain, came a thunderous shout: “My master has come! My master has come!” At that Boqin was startled in fright.

It was still unclear who had shouted. The resolution lies in the next chapter.