by Guo Xiaoting
When the outlaw named Jiao heard this, he looked at Ji Gong and thought to himself, “All the time it was just this poor, ragged monk who took our brother, Cloud Dragon Hua. After we are through at the execution ground, we will follow this monk and see what temple he goes to, and during the night we will kill him!”
The monk looked around, sat down beside the two men, and also ordered wine and food. Soon they heard the crowd outside grow noisier, and there were shouts of, “The cart is coming from the north with two officials in charge. The first one in the cart is the outlaw Dian Guoben.”
Dian Guoben loudly exclaimed, “I am Dian Guoben, condemned to die at the third watch! They wouldn’t dare to keep me until the fifth watch. There is a place to be born and a place to die. Even though the law condemns me to die, that is nothing!”
The second man was Wang Tong. He was cursing. “I am Wang Tong! I am not guilty of killing anyone! I wanted to kill the prefect Yang, but I didn’t. There will be a ghost after I am dead!”
The third outlaw was the Chicken Thief, Liu Chang. This rascal hung his head, thinking that he shouldn’t be executed with Cloud Dragon Hua. There was also a fourth outlaw and a fifth.
The sixth outlaw was Cloud Dragon Hua. He was talking and laughing to himself. “Look at this noisy crowd of people! I am Cloud Dragon Hua and I have killed over a hundred men! Perhaps after I die, there will be a ghost, but those who are here will live longer than I.”
There was a great shout and those within the wine shop started to rush out. The two outlaws sitting there drew their swords as they heard that the execution was about to start. The frightened waiters hid under the table and the manager was begging for his life. The two outlaws were about to go outside, but the monk pointed at them and they became motionless. Then they heard someone shout, “A good blade!” Cloud Dragon Hua’s head had fallen.
The monk got up from the table and said to the manager, “Write the charge on my account.”
“Please be my guest,” said the manager. “Your disciples, Yang Meng and Chen Liang, left word with me that no matter what you ordered I should not ask you for any money because they will pay for it.”
“Manager, I would like to ask you for something,” the monk said. “Will you give it to me?”
“What do you want?” asked the manager.
“I would like one of your melons,” the monk said to him.
“Take it!” exclaimed the manager.
The monk picked out a melon and walked out of the wine shop carrying it. The two outlaws, Jiao and Ho, were now able to move again—and they still wanted to kill the monk. They paid their bill and left, following close behind the monk, who went straight to the Monastery of the Soul’s Retreat.
When the monk who was the gatekeeper saw him, he said, “Old Ji is back.”
“Greetings,” said Ji Gong. He did not go directly to his room, but stood there in the gateway, carefully describing to the gatekeeper the location of his room. “It’s on the west side of the west courtyard in the section toward the north. That’s where I live. Anyone who wants to know, anyone who wants to kill this monk, can find me right there!”
“You really are half-witted,” said the gatekeeper. “Who hates you that much?”
“Well, perhaps you two will remember,” the monk said, but he was not speaking to the gatekeeper.
Jiao Liang and Ho Jing were listening and thinking, “This will be easy. Tonight we will find his room.” The gatekeeper and the two outlaws watched as Ji Gong then went inside.
The two outlaws went off to find a wine shop. They found an inn and waited there until the second watch. Then they changed into suits of darkness. Each made a bundle of all the things he might need for the mission, slipped his broad, sharp sword into a leather scabbard, and left the inn. The two fairly flew over the road to the Monastery of the Soul’s Retreat, and arriving, entered the temple over the roofs.
When they found the western courtyard, everyone seemed to be asleep. All the rooms were dark except for one in the northern section of the west building, where a lamp shone. They crept up to the window, made holes in the paper, and looked in. They could see a brick platform bed. There was nothing else in the room except for a table, a bowl half full of oil for the lamp hanging from the wall, and a stone lamp with a cotton wick. It was the custom in the monastery to give each monk a small quantity of oil in the evening. Tonight Ji Gong had asked for a bit more than usual, but was refused. Then he protested, “I have been away for many months. You should consider that.” The monk in charge of the oil acceded to Ji Gong’s request. He noticed that Ji Gong was carrying a melon.
The two outlaws could hear the monk talking to himself. “There is a place to be born and there is a place to die. Last night I did not have a good dream. I saw my head falling. Tonight, perhaps outlaws will come and kill me.” Jiao Liang and Ho Jing were not discouraged. In a little while they saw the monk lie down and go to sleep.
Jiao Liang said, “I will kill him. You keep your nose in the wind for me.” Ho Jing nodded.
Just as Jiao Liang was about to open the door, he heard the monk exclaim, “You thing! How dare you!” Jiao Liang was shocked with fright. Then he heard the monk say, “Bite me, would you, you big old rat! You would never like the taste.”
When he heard the monk say that it was a rat, he waited for a long time. He heard the monk sleeping noisily. He was again about to open the door when he heard the monk exclaim, “You things! You really are seeking your own deaths! You think you can harm me, do you?” The frightened Jiao Liang’s heart was beating wildly. Then he heard the monk say, “Big bugs! Keeping me awake when I want to sleep! Terrible!”
When Jiao Liang heard that, he said to himself, “What a time for that!” There was nothing he could do but wait again until the third watch, when he heard Ji Gong snoring. Jiao Liang entered the room. He could see the lamp barely flickering, and he put it out. He then placed the bag made of strong cloth with an oiled paper lining in position to catch the monk’s head. He touched the monk’s short hair with his hand. Then he raised the heavy blade with its sharp edge and brought it down. Into the bag it dropped. He wrapped it up well and then rejoined Ho Jing. They went up over the roofs and returned to the inn.
“Now let’s go to visit Ma Jing,” said Jiao, “and tell him all about it. Cloud Dragon Hua was one of the thirty-six friends that Ma Jing had made in the Greenwood. He must see the head. Though Cloud Dragon Hua committed crimes, what would Ma Jing care!”
“Good,” said Ho Jing.
They took to the road, staying overnight at inns, until they reached Phoenix Cliff Pleasant Village in the Jade Mountains and found the home of Ma Jing. Together they knocked at the gate—Jiao Liang, the Golden-Faced Ghost, and the Death-Decree Ghost, Ho Jing.
“We have a head we want to show you!” they shouted when the gate was opened.
CHAPTER 89
Two outlaws show a head to Ma Jing; Ma Jing recalls the monk’s visit
WHEN the two outlaws looked around, they saw a number of lanterns. Jiao Liang suddenly remembered the reason for them and exclaimed, “Brother Ho, we came at the right time! This is the birthday of Ma Jing’s mother. I had forgotten. Today we must congratulate her and wish her a long life.”
“That’s right,” agreed Ho.
As the two entered, a household person welcomed them, saying, “Oh, it is Jiao Liang and Ho Jing! Come in, gentlemen. The great hall is filled with people expecting you.”
Jiao and Ho looked inside and saw many people they knew in the crowd. Almost every one of their friends was there. When they saw the two enter the hall, they stood and called a greeting. Ma Jing said, “Our two dear brothers have come. I have been thinking of you and was afraid you might not come, but you did not forget.”
“Before we do anything else, let us wish long life to your old mother,” said Jiao Liang.
“It is enough that you dear friends have come,” said Ma Jing. “First, have some wine, and afterward I will convey yo
ur regards. That will suffice.”
Jiao Liang and Ho Jing sat down. “Today we thirty-six friends could not all be here,” said Ma Jing. “There are some who have died, some who have gone abroad, and some who have gone we know not where. We must always be several short of our whole group.”
“That’s natural,” commented somebody.
“Where did you come from?” asked another of Jiao Liang.
“We came from the capital,” replied Jiao Liang.
“And what is the news in the capital?” the man asked.
“There is sad news!” said Jiao Liang. “They have killed Cloud Dragon Hua.”
“I thank heaven and I thank earth!” exclaimed Ma Jing.
“Elder Brother Jing, you introduced Cloud Dragon Hua to all the thirty-six friends of the Greenwood. If he were doing wrong, you should have been responsible for him. Now he is dead, punished by the nation’s laws. How can you thank heaven and earth?”
“Dear brother Jiao,” replied Ma Jing, “do you know what Cloud Dragon Hua did after my introduction?”
“No, I do not,” answered Jiao.
Ma Jing then related the evil things that Cloud Dragon Hua had done in Linan. He had tried to rape a nun and then killed her when he failed; he had killed a man in a restaurant; then he had stolen the prime minister’s phoenix coronet and jade pendants; he had attempted to kidnap one of the Zhou maidens; he had wounded his three friends in the Great Willow Forest with poisoned darts, and then had wounded three more friends in the same manner. Fortunately, Ji Gong had saved both the former and the latter three from death.
After Jiao Liang had heard this recitation of Cloud Dragon Hua’s crimes, he burst out, “We have made a terrible mistake!”
“What kind of a mistake did you two make?” asked Ma Jing.
“Did Elder Brother know the monk Ji Dian?” asked Jiao Liang.
“I know him,” replied Ma Jing.
“We two did not know all these details you have just told us,” said Jiao Liang. “We wanted to avenge Cloud Dragon Hua’s death, and so we killed the monk.”
“Ji Gong is a living Buddha!” exclaimed Ma Jing. “How could you have killed him?”
“If you don’t believe me, we brought his head here in this bag,” said Jiao Liang.
“Open it and show me the head,” ordered Ma Jing.
Jiao Liang opened the bag and showed what was in it. However, all this time the contents of the bag had been a melon—but there was something written on it.
We laugh to see two friends mistake
A melon for a monk and yet,
Pray that no evil star may lead
Toward a fate we’d all regret.
Everyone broke into hearty laughter.
“Ji Gong is truly a living Buddha,” said Ma Jing. “He drove away a fox spirit that had been taking the form of my wife in order to destroy my friendship with my sworn brother. Ji Gong forced the spirit to reveal its fox shape and showed me that my wife was innocent of any wrongdoing with my friend.”
Then Ma Jing went on to tell how he had hidden Cloud Dragon Hua, Lei Ming, and Chen Liang in the cellar behind a scroll in his east room, and how, as payment for curing his mother, Ji Gong had demanded the scroll, frightening those hiding behind it. All the company was laughing, highly amused by that incident.
“How could you possibly have killed Ji Gong?” concluded Ma Jing. “I think, though, that his written words really mean that unless you two change your ways, some calamity will befall you. You must be very careful to avoid it!”
“When we leave here, we will go home for a day or two,” said Jiao Liang. “Afterward, we will return to Linan and go the Monastery of the Soul’s Retreat. There, we will find Ji Gong so we can greet him respectfully, ask if we may call him our teacher, and beg him for his instruction.”
“That would be a good idea,” said Ma Jing and the others. For two days the company feasted. Then they thanked Ma Jing, said farewell to one another, and went their separate ways—to the north, south, east, and west.
Acknowledgments
THE Publisher and Mrs. Sara Janet Shaw would like to thank all who helped to make this publication a reality, especially Hsiao-liang (Luke) Chen, PhD, for generously sharing his knowledge of Chinese social history and the intricacies of the Chinese language; Lori L. Crouter, Dorothy Darrah, Marianna Gellert, Adam Goold, Judith Jones, Milton Levitt, Andrew Little, Donald E. McNeil, Sarah Wight, Arija Weddle and Bruce Weddle, for various forms of assistance.
Mr. Shaw would also have wanted to express his appreciation to Mr. Cal Barksdale, ex Senior Editor of Tuttle Publishing, for recognizing the worth of the translation. His advice and assistance were invaluable. A note of appreciation also goes to Bud Sperry and William Notte of Tuttle Publishing for assistance in the final stages of publication of the book.
The Tuttle Story
“Books to Span the East and West”
Many people are surprised to learn that the world’s largest publisher of books on Asia had its humble beginnings in the tiny American state of Vermont. The company’s founder, Charles E. Tuttle, belonged to a New England family steeped in publishing.
Tuttle’s father was a noted antiquarian dealer in Rutland, Vermont. Young Charles honed his knowledge of the trade working in the family bookstore, and later in the rare books section of Columbia University Library. His passion for beautiful books—old and new—never wavered throughout his long career as a bookseller and publisher.
After graduating from Harvard, Tuttle enlisted in the military and in 1945 was sent to Tokyo to work on General Douglas MacArthur’s staff. He was tasked with helping to revive the Japanese publishing industry, which had been utterly devastated by the war. After his tour of duty was completed, he left the military, married a talented and beautiful singer, Reiko Chiba, and in 1948 began several successful business ventures.
To his astonishment, Tuttle discovered that postwar Tokyo was actually a book-lover’s paradise. He befriended dealers in the Kanda district and began supplying rare Japanese editions to American libraries. He also imported American books to sell to the thousands of GIs stationed in Japan. By 1949, Tuttle’s business was thriving, and he opened Tokyo’s very first English-language bookstore in the Takashimaya Department Store in Ginza, to great success. Two years later, he began publishing books to fulfill the growing interest of foreigners in all things Asian.
Though a westerner, Tuttle was hugely instrumental in bringing a knowledge of Japan and Asia to a world hungry for information about the East. By the time of his death in 1993, he had published over 6,000 books on Asian culture, history and art—a legacy honored by Emperor Hirohito in 1983 with the “Order of the Sacred Treasure,” the highest honor Japan can bestow upon a non-Japanese.
The Tuttle company today maintains an active backlist of some 1,500 titles, many of which have been continuously in print since the 1950s and 1960s—a great testament to Charles Tuttle’s skill as a publisher. More than 60 years after its founding, Tuttle Publishing is more active today than at any time in its history, still inspired by Charles Tuttle’s core mission—to publish fine books to span the East and West and provide a greater understanding of each.