Abbot Zhenzhen said, “Zhizhen, you can no longer stay here. I have a junior fellow disciple named Chan Master Zhiqing who presides over Daxiangguo Temple in the Eastern Capital. I will give you a letter to take to him and ask for a position as a serving monk. Last night I contemplated your future and composed four lines of verse for you. Remember them well, and they will serve you all your life.”

Lu Zhishen knelt down. “This disciple is ready to hear the verse.”

The abbot recited:

Rise when you meet a forest; Grow rich when you meet a mountain; Prosper when you meet water; Stop when you meet a river.

Lu Zhishen bowed nine times, then packed his bundles—backpack, waist pack, belly pack—and hid the letter within. He took leave of the abbot and all the monks, left Mount Wutai, and went to the inn next door to the blacksmith’s shop, where he waited while his staff and sword were forged. The other monks were overjoyed when he was gone. The abbot had laborers repair the broken temple guardians and pavilion. Within a few days, Squire Zhao came with money and materials to rebuild the guardian statues and restore the halfway pavilion. But that is another matter.

Lu Zhishen stayed at the inn for several days until his weapons were ready. He had a scabbard made for his sword, lacquered the staff, paid the blacksmith with silver, and set out on the road with his bundle on his back, sword at his side, and staff in hand. Passersby saw a wild monk indeed—black robe with two sleeves, green cord tied twice about the waist, a blade like spring ice sheathed at his hip, an iron serpent of a staff across his shoulder, heron legs bound tight, spider belly strapped with robes and bowls, scars gathered at the corners of his mouth, chest hair bristling over his heart. A face made for meat and wine, not for scripture and prayer.

He traveled toward the Eastern Capital, avoiding temples and monasteries along the way, sleeping in inns and drinking in taverns during the day. One day he was so taken by the beauty of the hills and streams that dusk fell before he found lodging. The mountain shadows deepened, the locust trees darkened, birds returned to their woods, cattle entered their pens, sunset mist rose like blue haze, evening clouds scattered red light over the water, a fisherman moved his boat from the shore, and village boys rode their calves home.

Lu Zhishen walked another twenty or thirty li, crossed a plank bridge, and saw in the distance a cluster of red glow amid the trees—a farmstead with jagged mountains piled behind it. “I’ll ask for lodging there,” he said, and hurried to the gate, where dozens of laborers were rushing about moving things here and there. He leaned his staff against the wall and greeted them.

“Monk, what do you want at our farm so late?” asked one laborer.

“I couldn’t reach an inn before dark. Let me stay one night, and I’ll leave in the morning.”

“Our farm has business tonight. No lodging here.”

“Just let me rest a single night. I’ll go tomorrow.”

“Monk, get out of here if you value your life!”

“That’s strange! What harm is there in staying one night? Why should it cost me my life?”

“Leave now, or we’ll tie you up right where you stand!”

Lu Zhishen flew into a rage. “You country louts have no sense! I haven’t said anything offensive, and you want to bind me?” The laborers cursed him while others tried to calm things down.

He raised his staff to strike when an old man came out of the farmhouse—near sixty, leaning on a walking stick taller than himself. “What’s all this noise?” he demanded.

“This monk wants to beat us!” the laborers said.

Zhishen spoke up: “I am a monk from Mount Wutai, traveling to the Eastern Capital on business. I couldn’t reach an inn tonight and asked to lodge here, but these fellows were rude and threatened to tie me up.”

“Since you come from Mount Wutai, follow me inside,” said the old man.

Zhishen followed him to the main hall, where they sat as host and guest. The old man said, “Master, don’t blame them. They don’t know that monks from your temple are living Buddhas—they treated you like any common cleric. I have always honored the Three Treasures of Buddhism. Though my farm has business tonight, I will let you stay.”

Zhishen set down his staff and thanked him. “May I ask your honorable name?”

“My surname is Liu. This place is called Peach Blossom Village, and everyone calls me Squire Liu of Peach Blossom Farm. And what is the master’s name?”

“My teacher Abbot Zhenzhen named me. Since my family name is Lu, they call me Lu Zhishen.”

“Master, will you have some supper? Do you eat meat or fish?”

“I make no restrictions on wine or meat—any wine, clear or cloudy, and beef or dog, whatever there is.”

The squire ordered the laborers to bring food. Soon a table was set with a plate of beef, three or four dishes of vegetables, and chopsticks before Lu Zhishen. He untied his bundles, sat down, and without any polite refusal, emptied a pot of wine and a plate of meat in no time. The squire watched from across the table, dumbfounded. Rice was brought, and he ate that too. Then the table was cleared.

The squire said, “Master, you may sleep in the side room tonight. But if you hear noise outside, do not come out to look.”

“What business does your farm have tonight?”

“That is no concern of a monk.”

“Squire, why do you look so troubled? Are you annoyed that I’ve disturbed you? I’ll pay for my lodging tomorrow.”

“Master, I often give alms to monks—one more makes no difference. The trouble is that tonight my daughter is marrying.”

Lu Zhishen laughed loudly. “When a son grows up he must marry; when a daughter grows up she must be wed. This is the natural order of human life and proper ritual! Why should it trouble you?”

“Master, this marriage was not made willingly.”

Zhishen laughed again. “Squire, you’re a fool! If both parties don’t consent, why take in a son-in-law?”

“I have only this one daughter, just nineteen years old. There is a mountain nearby called Peach Blossom Mountain, where two bandit chiefs have built a stronghold with five or seven hundred men who rob and plunder. The government troops from Qingzhou cannot suppress them. They came to my farm demanding tribute, saw my daughter, and left twenty taels of gold and a bolt of red brocade as betrothal gifts. Tonight they chose an auspicious day and will come to take her in marriage. I could not argue with them, so I had no choice but to agree. That is why I am troubled—not because of you, Master.”

“I see,” said Zhishen. “I have a plan that will make him change his mind and stop wanting your daughter.”

“He’s a devil who kills without blinking! How could you possibly change his mind?”

“At Mount Wutai, under Abbot Zhenzhen, I learned to preach on karma and destiny. Even a man of iron would be moved by my words. Tonight, hide your daughter somewhere else, and let me sit in her room and persuade him.”

“That sounds well enough, but don’t pull the tiger’s whiskers!”

“What do I care about my life? Just follow my plan.”

“Wonderful! My family is blessed to meet this living Buddha!” The laborers were astonished.

The squire asked if Zhishen wanted more food. “No rice,” said Zhishen, “but bring more wine if you have it.”

“I have plenty!” The squire ordered a roast goose and large bowls of wine. Zhishen drank thirty-odd bowls and ate the whole goose. He sent his bundles ahead to the room, took up his staff and sword, and asked, “Squire, is your daughter hidden away?”

“She has been sent to a neighbor’s farm.”

“Lead me to the bride’s room.”

The squire brought him to the door. “This is it.”

“Go hide yourselves,” said Zhishen.

The squire and laborers went out to prepare the banquet. Zhishen moved all the tables and chairs aside, put his sword at the head of the bed, leaned his staff against the bedside, lowered the gold-threaded mosquito net, stripped off every stitch of clothing, and sat naked on the bed.

When dusk fell, Squire Liu ordered lanterns lit throughout the farm and set out a table on the threshing ground with incense, flowers, candles, great platters of meat, and large jugs of warm wine. Around the first watch, they heard gongs and drums from the mountain side. Squire Liu’s heart pounded; all his laborers broke into a sweat as they went outside to look. Far off, forty or fifty torches blazed bright as day, and a band of riders raced toward the farm—fierce men in red headscarves, green robes, with spears and clubs surrounding some young demon who devoured human hearts, some true pestilence who never fed his parents. Night demons had come to fetch a bride.

Squire Liu ordered the gate thrown open and went out to welcome them. The bandits came surrounded by gleaming weapons, decorated with red and green silk, wildflowers stuck in their headscarves, preceded by four or five pairs of red gauze lanterns lighting the chief on horseback—a pointed red cap, a silken flower at his temple, a gold-embroidered green robe over a tiger’s body, a red sash of woven gold around his wolfish waist, cloud-patterned oxhide boots, riding a tall white horse with a curly mane.

The chief dismounted before the farm gate, and the bandits shouted in unison: “Hat gleaming bright, tonight you’ll be a groom! Robe fitting tight, tonight you’ll be the groom!”

Squire Liu hurried forward, holding a cup of fine wine, and knelt on the ground. All the laborers knelt too. The chief reached out to raise him. “You are my father-in-law! Why kneel to me?”

“Don’t say that,” said Squire Liu. “I am only one of the people under your rule.”

The chief was already seven or eight parts drunk and laughed loudly. “To be your son-in-law is no dishonor to your family. Your daughter will do well enough with me.”

Squire Liu offered the welcome cup. When they reached the threshing ground, the chief saw the incense and candles. “Father-in-law! There was no need for such ceremony!” He drank three more cups, then went into the hall and ordered a bandit to tie his horse to the willow tree. Drums and music struck up before the hall. The chief sat in the seat of honor.

“Father-in-law! Where is my lady?”

“She is shy and dares not come out.”

The chief laughed. “Bring wine then, so I can toast you.” He drank a cup and said, “Let me see my wife first; there will be time for drinking later.”

Squire Liu wanted nothing more than to let the monk work on him. “I’ll lead you to her myself.” Taking a candlestick, he guided the chief behind the screen to the bridal chamber door.

“This is the room,” said Squire Liu, pointing. “Please go in.” He took his candle and hurried away, leaving the outcome to fate.

The chief pushed open the door and found the room pitch black. “Look at my father-in-law—a careful fellow, but he doesn’t even light a lamp for his daughter to sit by! Tomorrow I’ll have some men bring a barrel of good oil from the stronghold.” Lu Zhishen heard everything through the curtain and suppressed his laughter.

The chief groped into the room. “Wife! Why don’t you come out to greet me? Don’t be shy—tomorrow you’ll be the lady of the mountain!” Calling out, he felt around until he touched the mosquito net, lifted it, and reached inside. His hand landed on Lu Zhishen’s belly.

Zhishen seized him by the headcloth and ear, dragged him down off the bed with one motion. The chief struggled to get up, but Zhishen clenched his right fist, cursed “You motherless thief!” and struck him once at the ear and neck.

“What are you doing, hitting your husband?” cried the chief.

“I’ll teach you to know your wife!” Zhishen dragged him to the bedside and rained down fists and feet until the chief screamed for help.

Squire Liu was stunned—he had thought the monk would be preaching karma by now, but instead he heard cries of distress. He grabbed a lamp and rushed in with the bandits. In the lamplight they saw a huge fat monk, stark naked, straddling the chief and beating him before the bed.

“Come save the chief!” cried the leading bandit. They all charged in with spears and clubs, but Zhishen dropped the chief, snatched up his staff from beside the bed, and swung it low at their legs. Seeing how fierce he was, they shouted and fled.

Squire Liu could only groan. In the confusion the chief crawled out of the room, ran to the gate, found his horse still tied, broke a willow branch, vaulted into the saddle, and whipped the horse—but it wouldn’t move. “Damn it! Even this horse mocks me!” He realized he had forgotten to untie the reins in his panic. He tore them loose and rode off at full speed. Outside the gate he shouted back, “Old donkey Liu! Don’t think you’ve escaped! I’ll be back!” He lashed the horse twice and galloped up the mountain.

Squire Liu grabbed hold of Lu Zhishen. “Monk! You’ve ruined my whole family!”

“Forgive my rudeness,” said Zhishen. “Fetch my clothes and robe so I can dress, and then we’ll talk.”

The laborers brought his things and he dressed. Squire Liu wailed, “I thought you would preach to him and change his mind! Instead you beat him—now he will surely bring the whole band of mountain bandits down to slaughter us!”

“Don’t panic, Squire. Let me tell you who I am. I am no ordinary monk—I was a captain under General Zhong of Yanan Prefecture. I killed a man and became a monk to escape justice. Those two scoundrels mean nothing to me! Even if they brought one or two thousand soldiers, I wouldn’t fear them. If you don’t believe me, try lifting my staff.”

The laborers couldn’t budge it. Zhishen picked it up and twirled it like a straw.

“Master, please don’t leave us!” begged the squire. “You must protect our family!”

“Nonsense! I won’t run even if it kills me.”

“Then let me bring you wine—but don’t drink yourself senseless.”

“For me,” said Zhishen, “one part of wine gives one part of strength. Ten parts of wine give ten times the power.”

“Then we have plenty of both. Eat and drink your fill!”

Meanwhile, at the stronghold on Peach Blossom Mountain, the first chief was about to send men down to see how his sworn brother’s wedding had gone when several bandits came rushing up in panic. “Disaster! Disaster!”

“What happened?” demanded the first chief.

“Second Brother has been beaten half to death!”

Before he could get more details, word came: “Second Brother is here!” The second chief rode up without his red headcloth, his green robe torn to shreds, tumbled from the horse before the hall. “Brother! Save me!”

“What happened?”

“I went down to the farm and entered her room. That old donkey had hidden his daughter away and put a fat monk in her bed instead! I wasn’t expecting it—I lifted the curtain and reached in, and he grabbed me and beat me black and blue with fists and feet. When the men came to rescue me, he let go and drove them out with his staff. That’s how I got away with my life. Brother, you must avenge me!”

“So that’s it. Go rest in your room. I’ll capture that bald thief for you!” He shouted for his horse to be saddled, mounted, seized his spear, and led all the bandits down the mountain shouting battle cries.

Back at the farm, Lu Zhishen was drinking when a laborer reported: “The first chief is coming with all his men!”

“Don’t worry,” said Zhishen. “Tie up anyone I knock down and take them to the authorities for reward. Bring me my sword!” He stripped off his robe, tucked up his clothes, buckled on his sword, grabbed his staff, and strode out to the threshing ground.

The first chief rode up before the farm gate in a blaze of torches, spear couched, shouting: “Where is that bald donkey? Come out and fight!”

Zhishen cursed him roundly and swung his staff low. The chief blocked with his spear and shouted, “Monk, hold your hand! Your voice sounds familiar. Tell me your name!”

“I am no other than Lu Da, captain under General Zhong of Yanan—now a monk called Lu Zhishen!”

The first chief laughed uproariously, rolled off his horse, threw down his spear, and prostrated himself. “Brother! So you’re well! No wonder Second Brother fell into your hands!”

Zhishen thought it was a trick, jumped back several paces, held his staff ready—and in the torchlight recognized the man: Li Zhong, the arms instructor called Beater of Tigers, who had once sold medicines and performed martial arts on the road. Bandits never use the word “bow” when greeting each other, since it sounds like defeat; instead they call it “cutting brush,” which is auspicious.

Li Zhong rose, supported Zhishen, and asked, “Brother, how did you become a monk?”

“Let’s go inside to talk.”

Squire Liu groaned again. “This monk is one of them after all!”

Inside, Zhishen put his robe back on and sat with Li Zhong in the hall. He called for Squire Liu, who dared not approach.

“Don’t be afraid,” said Zhishen. “He is my sworn brother.”

Hearing this only made the old man more terrified, but he dared not refuse. Li Zhong took the second seat, and Squire Liu the third.

Zhishen said, “The two of you sit here. Let me tell my story. After I killed the Man Who Crushed West Market in Weizhou with three punches, I fled to Yanmen County in Daizhou. There I met old man Jin, whom I had helped escape from Butcher Zheng. He hadn’t returned to the Eastern Capital—he stayed in Yanmen with an acquaintance. His daughter married a wealthy squire named Zhao. When he saw me, he treated me with great respect. But the authorities were hunting for me everywhere, so Squire Zhao spent money to send me to Abbot Zhenzhen at Mount Wutai, where I shaved my head and became a monk. Twice I got drunk and caused chaos in the meditation hall, so my teacher gave me a letter to take to Chan Master Zhiqing at Daxiangguo Temple in the Eastern Capital to find work as a serving monk. Night fell before I could reach an inn, and I came to this farm—and here I meet you, brother! But who was that fellow I just beat? And why are you on this mountain?”

Li Zhong said, “After we parted with Shi Jin at the tavern in Weizhou, I heard the next day that you had killed Zheng. I went looking for Shi Jin, but he had vanished. When I learned the authorities were after me too, I fled and happened to pass by this mountain. The man you beat was already here—a bandit chief called Zhou Tong, known as the Little Tyrant. He came down with his men to fight me, but I defeated him, and he made me first chief of the stronghold, giving me the seat of honor. That is how I became an outlaw.”

“Since my brother is here,” said Zhishen, “this business of Squire Liu’s daughter must end. He has only this one girl to care for him in his old age. If you take her away, the old man will have no support.”

Squire Liu was overjoyed and brought out wine and food for them both. The bandits each received two buns, two pieces of meat, and a large bowl of wine until all were satisfied.

The squire produced the gold and brocade that had been left as betrothal gifts. Zhishen said, “Brother Li, take these back. This matter rests on your shoulders.”

“No problem,” said Li Zhong. “But first, come stay at our stronghold for a while—and Squire Liu should come too.”

Squire Liu ordered a sedan chair to carry Lu Zhishen, along with his staff, sword, and luggage. Li Zhong mounted his horse, and the squire took another small sedan. By dawn they were on their way up the mountain. At the stronghold gate they dismounted, and Li Zhong led them into the assembly hall where the three sat down.

Li Zhong summoned Zhou Tong. When Zhou Tong saw the monk, he was furious. “Brother! Instead of avenging me, you bring him here and give him the seat of honor!”

“Brother,” said Li Zhong, “do you know this monk?”

“If I knew him, I wouldn’t have been beaten by him!”

Li Zhong laughed. “This is the very man I told you about—the one who killed the Man Who Crushed West Market with three punches.”

Zhou Tong rubbed his head, cried out in surprise, and prostrated himself before Zhishen.

Zhishen returned the greeting. “Forgive my rough treatment of you.”

When all three were seated and Squire Liu stood before them, Zhishen said, “Brother Zhou, listen to me. This daughter is Squire Liu’s only child—she must support him in old age and carry on his ancestral rites. If you marry her away, the old man will have nothing. And she does not consent. Take my advice: give up this match and choose another woman. The gold and brocade are here. What do you say?”

“I will obey your words, elder brother,” said Zhou Tong. “I will never set foot at that farm again.”

“A real man must not go back on his word!” Zhishen warned.

Zhou Tong broke an arrow as an oath. Squire Liu bowed in thanks, took back his gold and brocade, and returned to his farm.

Li Zhong and Zhou Tong slaughtered cattle and horses and prepared a feast that lasted several days. They showed Zhishen around the mountain—a savage place, with steep cliffs on all sides, only one narrow path up, and wild grass everywhere. “A truly formidable stronghold,” said Zhishen.

After several days, Zhishen saw that Li Zhong and Zhou Tong were stingy men who pinched every copper. He wanted to leave. They begged him to stay, but he refused, saying, “Now that I have become a monk, how could I turn outlaw?”

“If you won’t join us,” they said, “then when you go, we will raid the roads tomorrow and give you whatever we take as traveling money.”

The next day the stronghold killed sheep and pigs for a farewell feast. Gold and silver vessels were set on the table. Just as they sat down to drink, bandits reported: “Two carts and a dozen or more people are coming up the mountain road!”

Li Zhong and Zhou Tong mustered all their men, leaving only one or two to attend Zhishen. “Brother,” they said, “drink at your ease! We’ll go down, seize some goods, and that will be our farewell gift.” So saying, they led everyone down the mountain.

Zhishen thought to himself: “These two are miserly indeed—they have plenty of gold and silver right here but won’t give it to me; instead they must rob others to make a gift! That’s making a public road their private purse at other people’s expense. I’ll teach them a lesson.” He called the few bandits left behind to pour him wine. After two cups, he leaped up, knocked over two of them with his fists, tied them together with his sash, stuffed their mouths with hemp seeds, opened his bundle, threw out everything useless, and took only the gold and silver vessels from the table—flattening them all—and stowed them in his bundle. He kept Abbot Zhenzhen’s letter, buckled on his sword, picked up his staff, slung his clothes over his shoulder, and left the stronghold.

At the back of the mountain he saw only steep cliffs. “If I go down by the front path,” he reasoned, “I’ll surely run into them. Better to roll down through this wild grass.” He tied his sword and bundle together and threw them down, then tossed his staff after them. Then he curled up and rolled—bump, bump, bump—all the way to the foot of the mountain without a scratch.

He picked himself up, found his bundle, buckled on his sword, took up his staff, and set off at a fast pace.

Meanwhile Li Zhong and Zhou Tong had reached the roadside and met the travelers, who all carried weapons. The bandits charged forward with spears and shouts: “You there! If you know what’s good for you, leave your toll money!”

One of the travelers raised his sword to fight Li Zhong. They traded blows back and forth for a dozen exchanges without either gaining the upper hand. Zhou Tong grew angry, rushed in with a shout, and all the bandits swarmed forward. The travelers couldn’t hold out, turned and fled; seven or eight who were too slow were stabbed to death. The bandits seized the carts and booty and marched back up the mountain singing victory songs.

When they reached the stronghold, they found the two bandits tied together by a pillar in the hall, and all the gold and silver vessels gone from the table. Zhou Tong untied them and demanded to know where Lu Zhishen had gone.

“He knocked us down, tied us up, rolled up all the vessels, and left,” they said.

“That bald thief is no good!” said Zhou Tong. “He’s slipped through our fingers! Where did he go?” They searched around and found a trail of flattened grass leading to the back of the mountain. Zhou Tong saw it. “The bald rascal is an old hand at thieving! He rolled down this cliff!”

“Let’s chase after him and demand our things back,” said Li Zhong, “and shame him while we’re at it.”

“Forget it!” said Zhou Tong. “Closing the stable door after the horse has bolted—what’s the use? Even if we caught up, we couldn’t get anything back from him. And if he turned on us, neither of us could beat him; then things would be even worse between us later. Better to let it go and stay friends. Let’s open those cart bundles and split the gold, silver, and silk into three parts—one for you, one for me, and one to reward the men.”

Li Zhong said, “It was my fault for bringing him up here and costing you so much. Take my share too.”

“Brother,” said Zhou Tong, “we live and die together. Don’t be so particular.”

So Li Zhong and Zhou Tong continued their robberies on Peach Blossom Mountain.

Lu Zhishen, having left the mountain, walked from morning until past noon—fifty or sixty li without stopping. His stomach was empty, and there was no inn in sight. He thought, “I rushed off this morning without eating anything. Where can I find food?” He looked around and suddenly heard a bell ringing in the distance. “Good!” he said. “That must be a temple or monastery with wind chimes under the eaves. I’ll go there.”

But that place was to cost more than a dozen lives and burn down a famous ancient shrine—turning golden halls to red flame and jade chambers to black smoke. To learn which temple Lu Zhishen found, you must hear the next chapter.