"This little cave must be the place where Yuan Gong hides the books," thought Bonze Dan, ducking his head and pressing on into the narrow passageway. Once inside he found it to twist and turn, widen and narrow; part in darkness and part in light, and there were a few rooms to be seen. In them were a bed, stool, chair, desk and things of that sort, all of stone. And there were stone household implements: a writing brush, inkstone, bowl and a large jug; he couldn't lift them, try as he might. Nowhere could he see any books. Going on yet further the cave narrowed and he came to a puddle two or three feet deep; that appeared to be the end of the passage.

When he turned around and retraced his steps for another look he was already pretty sure that the heavenly books weren't in there. Then breaking out into the large stone chamber once more he examined the walls carefully. "Gosh!" he exclaimed. For it had all been right in front of his eyes all along. Why, if those characters carved on those walls weren't Heaven's secrets, what were they? There was only one problem. The stone walls of that giant vault couldn't very well be carried off, and he'd brought no brush, inkstone or paper on which to record such charms. What could he do but rely on his memory and try to digest a few lines? His second attempt was thus coming to a bitter end. Standing on his tiptoes, rubbing his eyes and straining to read down the lines of the text, what should reach his nostrils but the aroma of incense. Running back for a look he saw that the white jade incense burner was already emitting smoke! Bonze Dan broke into giant strides, bolted right out of the cave and, not daring to look back fairly flew across the stone bridge. Arriving once more at his hut he had a good long rest until his panting subsided.

Now it's been said since ancient times that the memory of pain far outlives the healing of the wound itself. Thinking of how he'd twice been to White Cloud Cave and of all the fear and suffering he'd been through, all for the few words he managed to remember, he really felt like screaming. So on and on he sobbed, fore three days and nights, unceasing in his agony. Suddenly one day a passerby called to him. "You there, in the hut-- who are you and why are you crying?"

Bonze Dan rubbed his tear-swollen eyes, poked outside the hut and saw a white-haired old man. What was he like? Just look at this:

Seeing that the visitor was old and strange looking, Bonze Dan rushed out curiously. The elder had some questions of his own. "My dear monk," he began, "what brought you into these wilds alone and what are you so upset about? Go on and try to tell me, it'll do you good."

Bonze Dan collected himself and spoke. "Old Master, listen to my story. I, a mere novice, have been under vows since childhood and I've got no kin to speak of. Because I love Dao I've been trying to learn monumental and earthshaking kind of sorcery. Now, I've heard that this mountain's got a certain White Cloud Cave, and that in it are stored secret writings of Heaven. So braving all sorts of suffering I've sought them with all my heart. Who'd have ever imagined that I'd wait out two Dragon Boat Festivals and twice enter that cave-- spanning more than a year of my life-- all for naught." Then he carefully told all; how he'd searched without success on his first try and how he'd been unable to copy down the writings on his second. Then, the tale told, he broke out in sobs once more.

"There's no need for such grief, priest," said the visitor; "listen to an old man. That there White Cloud Cave, why, I was in it as a youth."

Bonze Dan's despair turned to delight. "Then you must have seen the heavenly writings," he blurted out; "how much of them were you able to copy?"

"Although I did see them, I too was unable to take anything away with me. But I later met an Original Nature Daoist who told me that those secret charms of the Palace of Heaven can't be copied down like your ordinary books. No siree, if you want them, you can't just copy them with a brush; time won't allow it. What you've got to do is take a clean, pure white piece of paper, go with it before the incense burner and reverently declare with all your heart to assist Heaven and follow Dao, and to never dare do evil. If it's been fated in Dao the characters will copy off just like that, but if it ain't in the cards, forget it. You won't get a single word."

"Will you go back to try for a copy?" asked Bonze Dan.

"No, no," answered the stranger; "this old man's seen better days. I ain't got the strength to do it even if I were permitted."

"Where do live, sir?" asked our monk. "If I can copy them I'd love to come tell you all about it!"

"Not far from here. I'll come around to check up on you when I'm free." Having spoken, he walked off toward the east grasping his long briarwood staff.

Bonze Dan sat in semi disbelief. "Damned if I do and damned if I don't," he muttered. "Why, with enough effort an iron bar can be ground down into a sewing needle. I'll just wait out another full year, then for better or worse I'll have something unique in my grasp. Anyway, if those Daoist charms are really forbidden to mankind why on earth were they carved onto the stone wall?"

And so from that point on he began his year-long rest, nurturing his hopes afresh. After a few days he visited the old man's place on an impulse but there was no trace of him. Once more he became sullen and downcast at heart. How could he spend the fours seasons of yet another year in that hut of pine boughs? Once more he had to pack up his belongings, take up a short cudgel for self-defense and hit the open road for the life of a begging monk.

Shortly after setting out he arrived in a place called Chenzhou. Now just what sort of a place was that? Just look:

Bonze Dan wandered happily around Chenzhou without pause, and all went well. But as things would have it one day he journeyed to the boundary of Qianyang County, where he found a wide expanse of rolling terrain with ragged looking burial mounds rising chaotically in the distance all around. It was the last half of the eighth lunar month, perhaps early in November, and the dead leaves were piled up around his knees; it was really a desolate scene. After continuing on for awhile without finding anywhere to beg a meal he noticed that dusk had come to the sky, and by now he was really hungry. But just as he began to despair he spotted several woodcutters gathering firewood up on a ridge and he made haste in their direction. Catching up, he hailed them in his well practiced style: ""This poor monk wishes to enter Qianyang County. Praytell, which trail goes there?"

"Follow this ridge south," answered on of the woodsmen, pointing. "You'll come to the Luojia Manor. There are a few families farming on the estate and you can ask for more help. We're in a rush ourselves 'cause we've got to get back before nightfall-- sorry we can't tell you in more detail."

Now if it really makes you mad the way waiters and shop assistants drag their feet when called, you would have been delighted to see Bonze Dan pick up his pole and take off as if on wings. He wasn't easily discouraged. "What's this here place called?" he shouted to the figures in the dusk behind him. "Rebel Graves Ridge," answered one of the woodcutters, now far back in the distance.

"No wonder those mounds are clustered around here," he thought; "this is a local burial ground." And he began to muse. "The span of a human life is so ephemeral, like the grass of summer. Why, if one can't learn something really unique and and do some great undertaking to establish his name for all time, it all comes to naught like these mounds of yellow soil, anonymous and forgotten."

Sighing in despair he continued walking south. On he went for quite a distance until the terrain began gradually to level off and some fields of grain came into view; he took these at once to be the Luo family estate's lands. But there were no people; the few thatched cottages here and there were locked up and deserted. He could only endure his hunger and continue on. Then as the twilight dimmed he peered across the brook he was now following, over into the forest, and saw the form of a person. Wishing to cross the stream but having no idea of its depth he walked to the water's edge and poked his short cudgel into the flow, feeling around for the bottom. But unbeknown to him this stream was over eight feet deep, and his stick was soon snatched from his grasp and taken away by the swift current. Bonze Dan fished around for it in vain until he realized it was lost. Then he walked along the bank for a short distance and found that it narrowed a bit. And there was the hanging greenery of two wild trees on either bank, twisted together into natural ropes suspended across the surface, forming a floating bridge of sorts.

Our monk became excited and lept up for one of the vines, not suspecting that they or the trees they hung from might have been old and rotten as was indeed the case; his excessive weight uprooted one of the trunks. What a sight, that wild bonze plunging, arms and legs flailing, into the stream! Fortunately he fell into a shallow spot and only sank up to his chest. He was unharmed, save for swallowing a mouthful of water and getting a good soaking, and he managed to hold onto his pack. But just then his left foot went down into a deep hole. When he pulled it out and regained his balance one of his hemp slippers was gone.

Well, it was a revolting development all right, but he managed to drag himself, coated with mud and soaked to the bone, over to the opposite bank. He climbed out of his sopping wet jacket, gown and pants, wrung them out with his hands and donned them as before, and then cast away his right slipper. Barefoot, he picked up his soggy pack, gazed toward the forest and set off in that direction.

When he was still about a furlong away from the forrest he happened to spot a few more thatched cottages. When he came closer for a look at one, he saw that the door was closed. Outside, the thatching hung down to touch the tall wild grass and weeds in which the house was nested. And there, kneeling under those long eaves in the tall undergrowth was a nondescript, monkish sort of man, holding a sutra before him in the near-darkness and striking a thoughtful pose. On his left lay a package; leaning against it was an iron-tipped fighting staff. Bonze Dan humbly approached him as usual. "Old Teacher," he called out. "I'm an unworthy monk just escaped from drowning, begging your mercy for some shelter!"

Now that lone recluse just dropped his eyelids, not even casting a glance at the soaked and bedraggled newcomer. Again he called out, pleading. "I, a wretched monk, am starving. It would indeed be a virtuous undertaking to lay some provisions and alms on me."

The old hermit still ignored him. "Tut, tut, is it a tree or a stone," continued Bonze Dan, "that it remains so tight lipped? Well, I won't bother him any longer. I'll just knock on doors until I succeed in getting someone to open up and hand out a beggar's bowl of hot soup; that'll be great!" But he began to consider his situation in his mind.

"Who knows if anyone lives here," he thought, "or if the old man's a Buddhist or not, but one thing's for sure. If I knock on these doors at midnight I'm bound to be seeing these people at their meanest. Anyway, I've only got one night of dampness to suffer through; fortunately it isn't very cold. By tomorrow morning my clothes and sack will be dry, come what may, and I won't have that problem anymore." Then he tied his sash and went over to sit down under the eaves, facing that old itinerant-looking monk.

"You baldheaded jackass!" the old monk shouted at Bonze Dan. "This little spot is for me to stretch out and rest in. You've got a lot to learn! What do I care about some louse in wet clothes, come barging in on my peace and quiet!"

Bonze Dan was shocked. "Where can you find a holy man with a mouth like that, scolding and cursing?" he thought. Finding the man's anger unbearable he spoke again. "I took the wrong road and and hadn't been able to beg a meal for more than a day, and then I fell into a stream and got soaked. Now all I want to do is borrow a little shelter for the night. Come morning I'll be on my way without any disturbance, Old Teacher. I beg you, please give me a break!"

"You stubborn, lousy mule of a priest!" scolded the original squatter, even louder than before. "You obviously don't know who I am. I'm an old man to be treated with respect by the name of Monk Shi, also known as Shi Luohan. Why, I'm a famous Arhat, as you can tell by my name. I've wandered alone all my life, slept alone too, and I'm not accustomed to company. Then you come along, you young punk, telling me what kind of a good person you are and climbing into my bed. You're a rotten shameless son of a bitch! If you're going to go, get out of here now. If not I'll take my stick and thrash the life out of you!" Then he rose and took that staff in hand. Now, our Bonze Dan was hungry and cold, and had no such weapon on him. He was afraid that if they came to blows he'd be no match for his opponent.

"My dear Teacher," he said ever so politely, standing all the while, "this poor monk is leaving."

"Rotten jackass priest!" shouted the self-styled arhat. "Why, you'd best get far away from me. If I ever again catch as much as a glimpse of you near me I won't be so forgiving!"

"Mercy, your honor; I don't dare!" pleaded Bonze Dan, his voice trembling with respect. Then, eyes on the old monk, he picked up his pack, backed away, wheeled and ran off.

In the darkness he had no idea where to go. Following his instincts he wandered into the forest where he spotted an enormous pine tree. It stood ever so gracefully, about a hundred feet tall. "The branches of this tree would make a fine place to rest," he thought; "only problem is how to climb up there." Then he thought of a plan. Tying that sack of his around his waist he lept up onto a smaller tree next to the giant. Then he climbed it as far as he dared, reached out and groped for a branch of the pine, and swung himself over into its boughs. Going yet higher and higher he finally reached a fork large enough to nest in, and settled down as happy as a bird. Suddenly he heard something below, just as he'd made himself at home. Now, Bonze Dan had a keen eye. When he searched carefully by starlight he chanced to spot that itinerant arhat, brandishing his deadly staff. Click to Continue Back to Homepage Back to Table of Contents