“The Way is not fixed; its form and function are one. How is yours different?” Sanzang asked. To this the Ancient Cloud-toucher replied with a smile:

“We have been firm from birth: our forms and functions are different from yours. We were born in response to heaven and earth and grew through the rain and the dew. Proudly we laugh at wind and frost; we wear out the days and nights. Not one leaf withers, and all our branches are full of firm resolve. What I say has no emptiness about it, but you cling to your Sanskrit. The Way was China's in the first place and only later looked for more evidence in the West. You are wearing out your straw sandals for nothing: you don't know what you are looking for. You are like a stone lion cutting out its own heart, or a fox salivating so hard it digests the marrow of its own bones. If in your meditation you forget your roots you will pursue the Buddha's reward in vain. Your words are as tangled as the brambles on our Thorn Ridge and as confused as the creepers. How can we accept a gentleman such as you? How can one like you be approved and taught? You must reexamine your present state and find a life of freedom in stillness. Only then can you learn to raise water in a bottomless basket, and make the rootless iron-tree flower. On the peak of the Miraculous Treasure my feet stand firm; I return to the assembly at Longhua.

When Sanzang heard this he kowtowed in thanks, and the Eighteenth Lord and the Lone Upright Lord helped him back to his feet, Master Emptiness said with a chuckle, “Cloud-toucher's remarks revealed things a little too clearly. Please get up, holy monk: you don't have to believe every word of it. We didn't intend to use the light of the moon for serious discussions. We should chant poems, feel free, and let ourselves relax.”

“If we're going to recite poems,” said Cloud-toucher with a smile, pointing towards the stone house, “why don't we go into the hermitage and drink some tea?”

Sanzang answered with a bow and went over to look at the hermitage, above which was written in large letters TREE IMMORTALS' HERMITAGE. They all then went inside and decided where to sit, whereupon the red devil servant appeared with a tray of China-root cakes and five bowls of fragrant tea. The four old men urged Sanzang to eat some cakes, but he was too suspicious to do so, and would not take any till the four old men had all eaten some: only then did he eat a couple. After they had drunk some tea it was cleared away. Sanzang then stole a careful look around and saw that everything was of a delicate and intricate beauty in the moonlight:

Where waters flowed beside the rocks,

And fragrant scents from the flowers curled,

The scene was one of cultured peace,

Free from the dust of a lower world.

Sanzang took great pleasure in gazing on this sight: he felt happy, relaxed and exhilarated. He found himself saying a line of poetry: “The dhyana heart revolves in moonlike purity.”

The couplet was completed by Energy, who said with a smile: “Poetic inspiration is fresher than the sky.”

To this Lone Upright added: “By grafting on each line embroidery grows.”

Then Emptiness said: “Pearls come when naturally the writing flows.”

Cloud-toucher continued: “The glory is now over: Six Dynasties disappear. The Songs are redivided to make distinctions clear.”

“I shouldn't have let those silly words slip out just now,” said Sanzang, “I was only rambling. Really, I am a beginner trying to show off in front of experts. Having heard you immortals talk in that fresh and free-ranging way I now know that you old gentlemen are true poets.”

“Don't waste time in idle chat,” said Energy. “A monk should take things through to the end. You started the verse, so why don't you finish it? Please do so at once.”

“I can't,” Sanzang replied. “It would be much better if you completed it for me, Eighteenth Lord.”

“That's very nice of you, I must say!” commented Energy. “You started the verse so you can't refuse to finish it. It's wrong to be so stingy with your pearls.” Sanzang then had no choice but to add a final couplet:

“Waiting for the tea lying pillowed in the breeze,

Spring is in the voice now that the heart's at ease.”

“I like 'Spring is in the voice now that the heart's at ease,'“ said the Eighteenth Lord.

To this Lone Upright replied, “Energy, you have a deep understanding of poetry, and spend all your time savoring its delights. Why don't you compose another poem for us?”

The Eighteenth Lord generously did not refuse. “Very well then,” he replied, “let's make up chain couplets. Each person has to start his couplet with the last word of the couplet before. I'll lead off:

Without spring's glory there would be no winter's death;

Clouds come and mists depart as if existing not.”

“Let me tack another couple more lines on,” Master Emptiness said.

“Not any breath of wind to rock the spreading shade;

Visitors enjoy the Wealth and Long Life picture.”

Cloud-toucher now joined in with his couplet:

“Picture it like the strong old man of the Western hills,

Pure as the hermit of the South, the heartless man.”

Lone Upright added his two lines:

“The man is a roof-beam as he has side-leaves

To build the office of the censorate.”

When Sanzang heard all this he could only sigh and say, “Indeed, your superb poems have a noble spirit that rises up to the heavens. Despite my lack of talent I would like to add a couplet to that.”

“Holy monk,” said Lone Upright, “you are one who has found the Way and a man of great cultivation. You need not add another couplet. Instead you can give us a whole verse so that we can try as best we can to match the rhyme pattern.” Sanzang had no choice but to recite the following regulated verse with a smile:

“Travelling West with my staff to visit the Dharma King

I seek the wonderful scriptures to spread them far and wide.

The golden magic fungus blesses the poetry circle;

Under the trees is the scent of a thousand flowers.

One must go higher from the top of a hundred-foot pole,

Leaving one's traces in ten regions' worlds.

Cultivate the jade image and majestic body:

Before the gate of bliss is the monastery.”

When the four old men had heard this they were full of high praise for it. “Although I'm stupid and untalented,” the Eighteenth Lord said, “I'll take my courage in both hands and try to match your rhymes:

Vigorous and proud, I smile as king of the trees:

Not ever the tree of heaven can match my fame.

A dragon and snake shadow for a thousand feet in the mountains;

The spring has flowed for a thousand years with its amber fragrance.

My spirit is at one with heaven and earth:

I gladly cover my traces in the wind and rain.

Now I am old I regret having no immortal bones

And rely on China-root alone to maintain my years.”

“That poem started off heroically, and the next couplet had some strength,” said the Lone Upright Lord. “But the last line was too modest. Admirable! Most admirable! Let me try rhyming one too:

“I happily give a perch in the frost to the king of the birds;

My talent is displayed before the Hall of Four Perfections.