– Of course, you're right, the venerable father, – the judge bowed his head politely. – I've come to almost the same conclusions. I feel inexpressible joy in my soul hearing that my opinion, as ignorant as I am, coincides with the opinion of such a worthy servant of Buddha as you.

They talked a bit more about other things not concerning the case, although Judge Bao understood perfectly well: the monk has already said all he wanted to say allowing him to understand that the venerable Banh and those who stand behind him are not too interested in the detailed investigation of the case.

The judge guessed the reason.

The reason was that the judge has seen with his own eyes the signs of tiger and dragon branded at the arms of the monk. When the venerable Banh bowed and went away, he stood still for some time musing on the coincidence. The only difference was that the venerable Banh had them branded by fire and the other two had the form of the putrefaction spots. For just the same signs appeared after death at the forearms of Eighth Aunty, who had never entered the famous monastery under the Song mountain. And the same signs were now clearly visible at the two arms nailed to the pillory, the arms of a respectable merchant Fanh Yushi.

Who had also never been a monk.

Either at the Shaolin monastery or at any other.

– You, bastard! – roared Golden Eel trying frantically to whip stinking drops off his gown. – You, shaven-headed beast! Go down here, I'll tear your ugly head from your shoulders!

The monk standing at the wall top did not pay any attention to the shouting below. A minute earlier he had shamelessly pulled up his saffron cassock and pissed down aiming exactly at the Golden Eel's head who dared to come too near to the closed gates of the monastery at the Song mountain. Well informed people told that behind the gates there was a track piercing the rocks and leading from the foothills to the monastery situated much higher, almost at the top; but Golden Eel could not think now about any rocks or tracks. Not so long ago he was in quite another mood after having received an official note summoning him to arrive to the outer gates of Shaolin not later than the Cold Meal Holiday. Golden Eel had expected rather to get an invitation, but such formal note was also not so bad for him, a son of a village elder from Hebei province, a renowned master of quanfa [12] in his native country: he had made his best to obtain recommendations from three much esteemed local persons...

After all these efforts he came here obeying the orders.

And now he has spent almost a week sticking around in front of the locked gates in the company of seven other lads aspiring, like himself, to the right to enter the most famous monastery of the whole Empire and to become monks there. The ninth to sit at the gates was an aged heshan [13] from the mountain temple in Ande district, but he was allowed to enter almost at once. After having waited only about three hours he handed the guards a written permission of his patriarch; the gatekeepers examined the letter reading it several times, exchanged glances between themselves and then waved hands inviting the visitor to follow them.

– So it goes in the world! – a youngling who bore still his childish name Baby Snake Cai sighed enviously. – We, the laymen, must get heaps of recommendations, wait here gods know how long, and the reverend monks go to and fro, as they like: take a patriarch's permission and walk everywhere! It is just the same as in our governor's office: one must enter bowing humbly while the others march in on horse and with banners flying!

If it were earlier, Golden Eel would not have answered anything considering Baby Snake to be a greenhorn. But after the first day of waiting he began to lose his calm mood; after three days his self-possession has been almost ruined, and now his patience was coming to an end, as well as the week that seemed endless to him. Golden Eel was ready to tear to pieces anybody who'd have bad luck to approach him...

The monk who dared to piss at his head finally made him mad of rage.

– Well, where are you?! A bit afraid, eh?

The gates opened slowly, with a squeak. Two gatekeepers appeared in the clearance: two monks, alike as twins, both strapping, broad-shouldered, with their heads bluish because of daily shaving.

– Ha! – Golden Eel shouted with as much disdain as he could. – The sanctimonious swine is hiding behind the others' back! Oh indeed, these are the heroic monks! Well, come to me, I'll show you a pair of good tricks!

At that moment he has completely forgotten that he himself arrived here not at all for piety or for leaving the sorrowful world of vanity and mundane illusions; he was attracted merely by the glory of Shaolin as the birthplace of warrior arts, the pupils of which were famous throughout the world, from the Boshan peak in the East to the Western paradise of the lady Xiwangmu!

Cai the Baby Snake, evidently frightened, pulled at the Golden Eel's tunic sleeve for him to notice that the gatekeepers are approaching but the furious candidate was not scared by the fact at all.

As soon as the slow-walking guards went near to him Golden Eel took up demonstratively the position of "Little Black tiger", little known in the South provinces, and with an abrupt exhalation of air struck fiercely the nearest guard's belly.

– What's up with you? – asked the monk, quite surprised, looking at Golden Eel who was now jumping around, wailing and nursing his wrist, badly hurt. – Are you out of your wits?

– Oh, I know! – the second guard slapped himself on his shaven crown. – He's just showing you, reverend Jiao, the northern skills! Well, but I do remember... Yes, it is the "Lean, mangy tiger"... no, not "lean", simply "little"! Little and black! Exactly so! Little black tiger!

– Tiger? – the first monk was surprised beyond measure. – Little and black?! But I haven't heard about such creatures!

– They have everything there in the North. They call it ferret. It is little, black and very fierce, no tiger would equal it!

The first monk shook his head doubtfully, grabbed Golden Eel's by the collar and dragged him to the stairs in about ten feet from the gate.

They were not too high, these stairs, not more than fifty steps.

Golden Eel knew their number for sure.

When you strike your head at each of the steps it's hard to be mistaken in counting them.

Other candidates watched the process in perfect silence, not considering the rumbling of seven stomachs: nobody has supplied the unhappy lads with food during the week of waiting, so they had to be content with what they had brought with them, and those who hadn't cared for provisions in advance could only sustain their existence by collecting berries and edible roots in the vicinities.

A whole week of half-starving is not an easy thing indeed...

Having fulfilled their task the monk guards disappeared behind the wall leaving the gate opened.

– What if I try to have a look? – said Baby Snake to himself but changed his mind at once: you peep in and those guards would throw you down the stairs topsy-turvy!

It was about noon when the glossy face of a guard appeared again in the clearance between the gate shutters.