Adventures of the Mad Monk Ji Gong

by Guo Xiaoting

  “Now, my Daoist friends,” said Ji Gong, “while it is still light, we should get these outlaws to the magistrate’s yamen and send him word that I am going to exorcise the Iron Buddha Temple. Tell the commander of the guards also. But, my Daoist friends, we cannot do any of this openly. If we let the word out, not only will the outlaws get away, but you two Daoists will be in danger of their revenge and may lose your lives.”

  “But how can this be managed, teacher?” asked Headman Yin Shixiong.

  “Wrap these two outlaws in quilts so they will not be recognized and say that the shrine is sending a present to His Honor, the magistrate.”

  The Daoists agreed. It was now midday. When the bound and gagged outlaws had been made into unrecognizable bales, four strong porters were called in. They picked up one of the bales and asked, “What’s this?” The Daoists said nothing.

  “Pickled eggs,” said Ji Gong.

  “We never saw pickled eggs packed like this,” commented one of the porters.

  “Never mind that,” said the monk. “Just carry them carefully.” The two Daoists then went off with the porters to the Magistrate’s yamen.

  “Headman Chai,” said the monk, “you four men first go to the guard office nearest the Iron Buddha Temple and say that I will be there soon.”

  The four headmen went quickly to the guard office and reported. The supervisor of the guard, named Liu Guoshen, immediately invited the four headmen inside. When asked about their mission, Headman Chai said that they were working on a case with Ji Gong.

  “Ah,” said Supervisor Liu, “so the saintly monk is coming here to solve a case. But why is he not here yet?”

  “He will be here presently,” said Chai.

  In a short time Ji Gong did arrive at the gate. “I would like to ask a favor of the manager,” said the ragged monk.

  The officer who heard this said, “There is no manager here, Teacher. This is a yamen.”

  “If there is no one to manage the yamen, what do you have?” asked the monk.

  “We have an honorable supervisor,” replied the officer.

  “Is he your uncle?” asked the ragged monk.

  “Are you asking for a beating?” countered the officer.

  “Just tell your old gentleman that the old man is here,” said the monk.

  “Who are you, monk?” asked the officer.

  “Oh, I am Mad Ji from the Monastery of the Soul’s Retreat,” replied the monk.

  At once someone was sent inside to announce him. Soon Supervisor Liu came out, and hurrying over to him, said, “Ah! the saintly monk has arrived! Please come inside and sit down.”

  “After you,” the monk said. Together they went into the library, where the four headmen were waiting. As soon as the monk came in and sat down, tea was served.

  “Honorable Supervisor Liu,” the monk began, “would you send someone to the Iron Buddha Temple and ask the chief monk to come here. Explain that there is a rich man who lives very nearby who wishes to make some repairs to the temple and who would like to ask how much in silver the repairs would cost. I would like to get the thief who stole the warrant and question him. Afterward I will go and exorcise the temple.”

  Supervisor Liu nodded his head in answer. Then he immediately sent some underlings to the Iron Buddha Temple with his card and an invitation to the monk there.

  Now it happened that Golden Eye Jiang had only Cloud Dragon Hua and the Painted Lame Man with him, plus two other men. The two men Jiang had sent to kill the Daoist had not yet returned, and all the other friends of the Greenwood who had been staying at the temple had gone off on their business. Therefore, altogether there were just five men at the temple at noon.

  Meanwhile, at a little hamlet to the west some knowledgeable people had been talking with other well-to-do gentry there about what was happening in the eight hundred or more villages in Kaihua. Household after household was coming down with a strange illness that not even the most famous doctor was able to cure. The only thing that helped was to go to the Iron Buddha Temple. There had to be some reason for this. In seeking help from the Iron Buddha, a poor family had to give a string of cash, but a wealthier family had to give an ounce of silver. Perhaps, people said, if they could talk with the chief monk at the temple and arrange to repair the temple with a substantial fund collected from the wealthy families, this epidemic might cease? After talking it over, the people in the hamlet sent some people with an invitation to the chief monk at the Iron Buddha Temple.

  Golden Eye Jiang and Cloud Dragon Hua hurried off to the little west hamlet. They had just left when the men arrived with an invitation from the supervisor of the guard, saying that there was a rich man who wanted to discuss repairs to the temple with a monk from the temple. The Painted Lame Man, Ping Yuanzhi, said, “I will go.”

  When he arrived at the guard office with the men sent by the guard supervisor, he was shown into the library. “Ah, the monk has arrived,” said Supervisor Liu. The false monk, Ping Yuanzhi, went up to him and greeted him politely. Ji Gong at this time was behind the lattice in the east section of the library, while the four headmen were waiting behind the partition in the west section. Supervisor Liu, asking Ping Yuanzhi to sit down, said, “What is the monk’s honorable name?”

  The Painted Lame Man replied, “At home I was named Ping. My Buddhist name is Yuanzhi.”

  “And how many years has it been since you left the world?” queried Liu.

  “I am really halfway along the road because of an accident in which I injured my leg,” answered the Painted Lame Man.

  “Just now there is a man who desires to repair a temple,” said Supervisor Liu. “Your temple is greatly in need of repair. How much will be needed?”

  Ping, the Painted Lame Man, was only an outlaw who knew nothing about repairing temples. There was not much that he could say.

  “You seem unable to say very much about the subject. Let me introduce you to another monk,” said the supervisor. “Saintly monk, will you come out now?”

  As soon as Ji Gong came into the room, he exclaimed, “You rascal, Ping Yuanzhi! How dare you steal our warrant? I have had my eye on you!”

  Ping Yuanzhi was shocked, and started to stand up to run outside. Ji Gong pointed and the outlaw was unable to move. The monk then reached inside the robber’s clothing, taking out the warrant for Cloud Dragon Hua. The monk handed it to Headman Chai, saying, “Take it, Headman Chai, and look it over.” Naturally it was the same as before. “Your honor,” said the monk, “first call your officers and have them keep this outlaw locked up in your yamen. Now I am going to the Iron Buddha Temple to exorcise the evil spirit. Keep this outlaw in chains, Your Honor.” Supervisor Liu had his guard officers lock up the robber until the time that he would be called for in the examination room.

  The four headmen left the guard station and went off with Ji Gong. When they reached the temple, they noticed first that the crowd in the temple gateway was so thick that people could hardly move. There were people selling food to the temple visitors, and other vendors with all sorts of goods for sale. Inside the temple, as well as outside, throngs of worshippers were packed together, coming and going. Countless good men and pious women were there to burn incense and to beg for medicine to cure their illness.

  The door of the main gate and the two smaller gates on each side were all open wide. Inside there was a flagstaff with two flags flying. Above the entrance was a signboard, into which were carved the words: The Iron Buddha Temple, established by Imperial Command. The monk with his four headmen went in through the gate on the east side. Straight to the north was the great hall with five sections, and to the east and west were two accompanying buildings, each with five sections.

  On the east side of the great hall were four green panels of a high wooden screen-like wall. Two of these panels were open and two closed. They entered the second courtyard. The central hall here was five stories high. There were more than one hundred sections in the temple.

  The Iron
Buddha was within this main hall. A great cloud of smoke from burning incense poured out of the doors. “O Mi To Fu. Goodness!” It would be here that the lohan would use his Buddhist arts to exorcise the demon spirit within this great temple.

  CHAPTER 65

  The Iron Buddha falls from the altar; Sorcerer Hua has a strange visitor

  AS Ji Gong entered the Iron Buddha Temple with his four headmen, he perceived in that great hall an almost overpowering demonic essence that seemed to rise up to heaven like a cloud of smoke. Looking around, he noticed a table on the east side and a man with an account book who received only silver. On the west side there was a similar table and a man with an account book where only strings of cash were taken.

  Then he saw a woman burning incense. She was about twenty years old with hair that was oiled until it shone like a mirror. Her face was powdered and her clothing was not that expected of a respectable woman. “Buddha above,” she was saying, “the little wife, Yao Shi, asks on behalf of a sick relative that you manifest your kindness and give me a little medicine to cure her, and I will worship and burn incense to you.”

  Then a voice speaking human speech issued from the mouth of the Iron Buddha. “Yao Shi, did you bring a string of cash that you are able to give Buddha?”

  “I have brought it,” she replied.

  “If you have indeed brought the string of cash,” the Iron Buddha said, “hand it over at the table and you will receive a package of good medicine. Take it back to your house and all will be well.”

  Yao Shi said, “Thank you, Buddha.” Then she went to the table where the strings of cash were being taken, handed over her string, took the medicine, and left.

  No sooner had Yao Shi left than another little wife appeared, walking hesitantly in from outside. Now this woman was married to a man named Liu and her mother was named Li. They lived in the Liu family hamlet just to the south and outside the limits of the Kaihua district. The husband of Li Shi, as she was called, had gone away trading and for several years they had not heard from him. The family of Li Shi’s mother-in-law was extremely poor, but she had been able to support herself by sewing. Two years earlier, the mother-in-law had developed a tumor, and since Li Shi had heard that the master of the Iron Buddha was able to cure tumors, she had come, journeying on foot for a day and a night.

  As she burned the incense, she said, “This small person is named Li Shi of the Liu family. My mother-in-law just beyond Kaihua has had a tumor for over two years. I beg the Iron Buddha to give me a little medicine that will make her well. When my husband returns from his trading journey, he will come to burn incense and worship.”

  As the demonic spirit looked at her, it realized that this illness was not caused by poison and would be incurable. Therefore it said, “Li Shi, were you able to bring cash with you?”

  “No,” she replied. “My home is so poor that we have no cash. I beg the Buddha to be compassionate.”

  “It is not possible,” said the Iron Buddha. “Buddha never makes an exception. If there is no cash, there will be no medicine. Leave now.”

  Li Shi sighed deeply. “It is not strange that men love profit and Buddha loves wealth as well. It is just a pity that I am so devout and yet so helpless.”

  As she turned and went out, Ji Gong, who had been watching, realized that she was a truly good person. Going up to her, the monk said, “Do not be disturbed, my little lady. I have a piece of medicine here. Take it and give it to your mother-in-law and she will be well.”

  Li Shi took the medicine from him, and saying, “Thank you,” she left.

  Ji Gong strode into the great hall and looked at the Iron Buddha. It was a gilded figure twelve feet high, seated on a lotus flower pedestal five feet high. In front, on the huge altar that held the image, there was an incense burner and candles and fruit and many other offerings. The monk came up, took an apple and a peach, and began to eat. One of the bystanders asked, “Where did you come from, monk, taking fruit like that and eating it?”

  “The offerings in a temple are supposed to be eaten,” answered the monk. “You give things to Buddha to eat and to wear. Do you think that he is the son or grandson of the monks and able to eat them himself?”

  When the bystander heard this, his anger was boiling, and he was about to strike the monk. The monk, however, pointed his finger and stopped him. Then the monk climbed up first onto the altar and then onto the lotus-shaped pedestal and said, “You thing! You dare to help this goblin do these strange acts to hurt the populace! Now I have found you and I will put a stop to your existence!” As he spoke, the monk slapped the image in the face twice.

  Amidst the confusion, worshippers who had come to burn incense were saying, “A crazy monk has come who is slapping the Buddha’s face.”

  The four headmen, who were standing outside the door, heard a low rumbling sound like thunder inside the belly of the image—“gu, lu, gu, lu.” Suddenly there was a noise sounding like a cliff falling from a mountainside. The four headmen saw the twelve-foot high gilded image with its lotus-shaped pedestal lean forward and fall, apparently burying the monk beneath the wreckage.

  The two headmen, Chai Yuanlo and She Jengying, stamped their feet in dismay and began to weep. “Teacher, you dear old fellow, we never thought you would die here! This is a bitter loss.”

  The other two headmen, Yang Guodang and Yin Shixiong, were also grieving. “How sad! Ji Gong, who was a really good man, crushed beneath all this!” exclaimed Yin. “Headman Chai, do not cry. Each person has a time to be born and a time to die. Let us go away from here.”

  Just as they were about to leave, they saw the monk come walking in, left right, left right, from outside the temple. “Headman Chai, are you all planning a funeral?” asked the monk.

  “Teacher, you didn’t die!” exclaimed Chai, who had stopped crying.

  “No,” said the monk. “Well, that evil spirit thought it could blot out the monk. I’ve got to drive it out of here, though. There are no two ways about it!”

  “We thought you had been buried under all this,” said Chai Yuanlo. “How did you manage to come in from outside?”

  “It didn’t hit me,” answered the monk. “I was afraid and ran out.” Just as he said this, the monk gave a cry. “This is dreadful! The evil is upon us!” Then there was a terrible roaring torrent of sound as a great wind uprooted trees or bent them double to the ground. It raised huge waves on the water and sent stones rolling down the hillsides. As it came into town, it shook the windows and doors and tore tiles loose from the roofs. Then, entering the temple door, it seemed to coil itself around the monk as the goblin spirit dropped down out of the sky.

  Now, what was this goblin spirit? There was a reason for its existence, since nothing is without cause. The Daoist teacher of Golden Eye Jiang was named Hua, and his personal name was Qingfeng. He was sometimes called the Sorcerer of the Ninth Palace. Although Hua Qingfeng spent all his time studying Daoist lore, hoping to become an immortal, he was still an outlaw at heart. He had associations with the Greenwood and was the uncle of Cloud Dragon Hua. Some years earlier, he had murdered the Daoist who lived in the rich shrine known as the Veiled Mountain Shrine, high up on Veiled Mountain, and had taken his place as a resident.

  About thirty yards behind the shrine on a stone terrace was a pagoda just a little taller than the roof of the main building. The shrine and the pagoda were both very ancient. Before the Southern Song Dynasty (which began in 1127) and for as long as anyone knew, smoke had frequently risen from the ground near the base of the pagoda, so it was called the Smoldering Cloud Pagoda. Visitors who stayed at Veiled Mountain hoping to see the clouds of smoke gave generous donations to the shrine. This was the origin of the shrine’s wealth.

  People noticed that birds often flew into the clouds above the pagoda and failed to reappear. On the stone terrace around the pagoda, they would find many bones and feathers. Hua Qingfeng would have his Daoist novices sweep the terrace, making sure that the litter did not accumula
te.

  One morning Hua Qingfeng walked out of the north door of the shrine toward the pagoda. While he stood there, he heard someone say, “Oh, Limitless One!” Then an old man walked around from the other side of the pagoda and approached him, smiling. “Don’t you recognize me?” he asked. “I am your tenant, my Daoist friend, and you are my landlord.” The old man was wearing a faded dark-green Daoist robe and white shoes. His skin was the color of yellowish earth, his eyes were yellow, and his narrow beard and mustache were red.

  “Yes, yes,” said Hua Qingfeng. “Will my Daoist friend come into the shrine and sit down?”

  The two went inside, and when they were seated the old man asked, “Daoist Hua, do you truly not recognize me?”

  “Truly, I do not,” replied Hua Qingfeng. “May I learn your honorable name?”

  “My name is Jiang,” the old Daoist said. “I have an immortal tie with you.”

  “From what famed mountain cave did your receive your Daoist teaching?” asked the Daoist Hua.

  “I was at Pan Gu’s first mountain as it issued out of chaos,” the old Daoist replied.

  “How many years have you been a Daoist, friend Jiang?” queried Hua Qingfeng.

  “When the name of Wen Wang, the ancient literary emperor, rolled like thunder and the methods of foretelling the future first came into existence, I was there and saw everything with my own eyes. You need not ask how many years,” replied old Jiang.

  Hua Qingfeng began to realize that this must be an unearthly being, a phantom spirit of some kind. The two shared their thoughts and found that they were the same. Each was forever curious about unseen forces. Each was free from the feelings of loyalty, duty, pity, and other qualities that bind people to obey the laws and the rules of society.

  The old Daoist Jiang was comfortable and free with Hua Qingfeng. When Hua invited him to eat, he would eat. When he invited him to drink, he would drink. As the days passed, they became more and more intimate. One day Hua Qingfeng said, “Jiang, my Daoist friend, now that we are close, I would like to see your primary shape. Is that possible?”