“If they did that your king must understand the Way and your civil and military officials be wise and good,” Sanzang said.

“My lord,” the monks replied to Sanzang's question, “our country's civil officials are not wise, our generals are not good, and our monarch does not understand the Way. Auspicious clouds used to gather round the pagoda of our monastery and mists of good omen rose high above it. The glow above it at night could once be seen from thousands of miles away; the coloured vapors were admired by the countries all around. That was why this was a divinely-appointed capital to which all the foreigners sent tribute. But three years ago at midnight on the first day of the first month of autumn it rained blood. The next morning everyone was terrified and miserable. All the ministers submitted a memorial to the throne: they didn't understand why heaven was so angry with us. Taoists were asked to perform purifications and Buddhist monks to recite sutras as an offering to heaven and earth. Goodness only knows why, but our golden pagoda has been contaminated, and for the last two years no foreign countries have sent tribute. Our king wanted to send armies to punish them, but the officials said that the reason why foreign countries weren't sending tribute was that the auspicious clouds and mists of good omen had disappeared, and this was because we monks had stolen the treasure from the pagoda in our monastery. The stupid king did not investigate, and those corrupt officials had all us monks arrested. We have been beaten and tortured in every possible way. There used to be three generations of us monks in this monastery, but the two older generations both died off because they couldn't take the beating and torture. Now we've been arrested and made to wear these cangues and chains. Your Honour, we could never be so wicked as to steal the treasure from the pagoda. We implore you to take pity on your fellows and in your great mercy and compassion make wide use of your dharma powers and save our lives.”

At this Sanzang nodded and said with a sigh, “This is an obscure business that will be hard to sort out. The court is ruling badly, and you are suffering a calamity. If it was the rain of blood that contaminated your pagoda why did you not report the fact to your king at the time? Instead you let yourselves in for this calamity.”

“We are only common mortals, your lordship, and had no way-of telling what heaven had in mind. Besides, our elders didn't understand. What could we be expected to do about it?”

“What's the time, Wukong?” Sanzang asked.

“About four in the afternoon,” Monkey replied.

“I would like to see the king to present our passport,” Sanzang said, “but I cannot solve these monks' problem and report on it to His Majesty. When I left Chang'an I made a vow in the Famen Monastery that on my journey West I would burn incense at every temple I passed, worship the Buddha in every monastery I came across, and sweep every pagoda I saw. Today I have met these monks who have been wronged on account of their pagoda. Will you get me a new broom while I take a bath? I shall then go up to sweep it and find out what has contaminated it and why it does not gleam any longer. Once I have found out the truth it will be much easier to report on it in person to the king and rescue them from their misery.”

As soon as the monks in cangues and chains heard this they hurried to the kitchen to fetch a big vegetable chopper that they handed to Pig.

“Take this chopper, your lordship,” they said, “and cut through the iron locks holding the young monks to the pillars so that they can prepare you some food and tea and wait on your master while he eats and bathes. Meanwhile we shall go out on the streets again to beg for a new broom for your master to sweep the pagoda with.”

“There's no problem about opening locks,” laughed Pig. “We don't need knives or axes. Just ask the hairy-faced gentleman: he's been opening locks for years.” Monkey then stepped forward and used lock-opening magic: one touch and the locks all fell open. The young monks all ran into the kitchen to clean up the cooking pots and stove and prepare the meal. When Sanzang and his disciples had eaten and it was gradually getting dark the monks in cangues and chains came in with two brooms to Sanzang's great delight.

As they were talking a young monk came in to light the lamp and invite Sanzang to take his bath. By now the sky was bright with the moon and the stars, and from the look-out towers the watches of the night were being beaten out on the drum. It was indeed the time when

Cold breezes blow around the walls,

And lamps are lit in every house.

Along the streets all the doors are shut;

The gates of the three markets are all closed.

The fishing boat is sheltered under the trees;

The ploughing ox is let off its rope.

The woodman gives his axe a rest,

While the schoolboy can be heard reciting his lessons.

When Sanzang had bathed he put on a narrow-sleeved tunic, tightened the belt around his waist, put on a pair of boots, and took the new brooms. “You sleep here while I sweep the pagoda,” he said to the monks.

“The pagoda was contaminated by the rain of blood,” Monkey said, “and it hasn't shone for many a long day. There may be evil things living up there. If you go up by yourself on this cold and windy night I'm worried that something might go wrong. Why don't I go with you?”

“Very good idea,” Sanzang replied, and each carrying a broom they first went up into the main Buddha hall, where Sanzang lit the glazed lamp, burned incense, and bowed to the Buddha saying, “Your disciple Chen Xuanzang has been sent by the Great Tang in the East to worship out Tathagata Buddha on Vulture Peak and fetch the scriptures. I have now reached the Golden Light Monastery in the kingdom of Jisai, where the monks tell me that their pagoda has been contaminated and that they have been unjustly punished because the king suspects them of having stolen the treasure. Your disciple is now going devoutly to sweep the tower in the hope that my Buddha in his great responsiveness will reveal the cause of the contamination and spare these folk from injustice.”

When he had prayed he and Brother Monkey opened the door of the pagoda and began to sweep it from the ground upwards. That pagoda

Towered to the stars,

Thrust up into space.

It was called the glazed tile pagoda,

The golden sarira spire.

The stairway spiraled like the inside of a cave;

The door seemed to be the door of a coop.

The gleam of the vase reached the moon at the horizon;

The sea breeze carried the sound of its bells.

Look at the eaves and corbel brackets,

The finial in the clouds.

The eaves and corbel brackets

Were of masonry through which the scented breezes blew.

The finial in the clouds

Had mist dragons coiling around the pagoda.

The view stretched out for hundreds of miles;

To climb it was to climb to the heavens.

At the doors of every story were set glazed lamps,

But full of dust, not light.

All around under the eaves ran marble balustrades,

Covered with filth and insects.

Inside the tower,

By the Buddha statues,

Incense no longer burned.

Outside the windows,

In front of the divine face,

Cobwebs covered all.

The incense-burners were full of mouse-droppings,

The lamps untouched by oil.

Because the treasure had been spirited away

Many a monk had died for nothing.

Sanzang was determined to sweep out the pagoda

And restore to it the beauty that it had before.

When he had swept one story the Tang Priest went on to sweep the next, and so he continued till he reached the seventh story. By now it was the second watch of the night and he was beginning to feel exhausted.