Now, Ji Gong and the two head constables, Chai and Du, were taking the four bandits along by boat under escort. One day they reached Xiaolongkou, and all of a sudden a thought flashed through Ji Gong’s mind: he knew that bandits had come in the water. “I’m bored stiff on this boat,” said the monk. “I’ve got an idea. Let’s do some fair-play fishing1.” “What’s fair-play fishing?” said everyone. “When I fish,” said the monk, “I don’t use a net and I don’t use a hook. Find me a good thick rope and I’ll tie a slipknot in it. I toss it in the water, I say a spell, and the fish swim into the noose of their own accord. I’m going to catch a fish of a hundred-odd catties, and we’ll all have a feast. How about it?” “Fine,” said everyone, and they found the monk a thick rope. The monk tied a running noose in it, weighted it with a stone and tossed it into the water. “In you go, in you go,” said the monk. Nobody believed a word of it. “Got one,” said the monk. “Help me haul it up.” The men hauled on the rope, and sure enough it was very heavy. When they dragged it out of the water and took a look, it was not a fish at all but a man. On his head was a fishskin cap for parting the water; he wore a diving suit2, and footed trousers of oiled silk and fishskin. He had a sallow face and was in his thirties. The monk had him tied up. “There’s more,” said the monk, and threw the rope in again. Sure enough, before long they hauled up another, this one pale-faced, and also in a diving suit.

A word of explanation: what was going on? Some time before, Yao Dianguang and Lei Tianhua had been let go, and the two of them had gone to Mount Luyang to gather help. They had brought in four men: one was the Golden-Haired Sea Horse (Jinmao Haima), Sun Deliang; one was the Fire-Eyed River Hog (Huoyan Jiangzhu), Sun Deming; one was the Water Yaksha3 (Shui Yecha), Han Long; and one was the Wave-Burrower (Langli Zuan), Han Qing. They knew that the constables taking Hua Yunlong under escort were bound to travel by water, so they told these bandits to lie in wait at Xiaolongkou and rob the boat. Once they had made sure the boat had come, Sun Deliang and Sun Deming went first, making for the bottom of the boat, and in spite of themselves they swam straight into the noose, and the monk hauled them up and tied them up. “You lot have got some nerve,” said the monk. “What’s your surname? What’s your name? What did you come here for?” Sun Deliang and Sun Deming each gave their names. “We were muddle-headed for a moment,” they said. “Some friends put us up to it. Have mercy on us, Master, have mercy. We’d gladly take you, sir, as our teacher.” “If I let the two of you go,” said the monk, “will you come back?” “We’d never dare come back,” said Sun Deliang. “And if I have a job that needs doing,” said the monk, “can I use the two of you?” “Master,” said Sun Deliang, “if ever you have a use for us, we’ll do it though we die ten thousand deaths.” “In that case,” said the monk, “I’ll let you both go. Tell those two mates of yours not to come either, and I won’t catch them.”

The two of them were untied and got up and kowtowed to the monk. The monk whispered in their ears, “Do thus and so.” The two nodded, jumped into the water and were gone. Chai Yuanlu and Du Zhenying had watched it all. “If it weren’t for you, Master,” they said, “how would the two of us ever have known there were men in the water?” “Set your minds at rest, the pair of you,” said the monk. “That’s the end of the trouble.” On they went, and one day, when they were not far from Lin’an, the monk said, “I’m going on ahead.” “Don’t go, Master,” said Chai and Du. “If something goes wrong after you leave, we’re finished.” “It doesn’t matter,” said the monk. “Nothing will go wrong. If I say nothing will, the two of you just set your minds at rest. If anything does go wrong, count it as this monk’s mistake.” Still talking, the monk went ashore, worked his magic for swift travel and came to the Qiantang Gate. The moment he came in through the gate, he saw the magistrate of Qiantang riding in a sedan chair, with gongs beating to clear the way, and behind him a crowd of constables leading a prisoner in chains, with manacles on his wrists and fetters on his ankles. The monk raised his head and looked. “Amitabha!” he murmured. “A thing like this — how could this monk keep out of it? If I keep out of it, a good man like that, beaten until he confessed to a false charge, will die at the Yunyang marketplace4. A life destroyed — how could this monk stand by and watch?” As he said it, the monk went over. “Officers,” he said, “what case have you got there?” The constables looked at him, and one who knew the monk said, “Master Ji, I’ll tell you: he’s a highwayman who killed a man for his money.” “There’s a bit of an injustice here,” said the monk. “Let him go.” “Says who?” said the men. “Says me,” said the monk. “What you say doesn’t count,” said the constable. As they were talking, the prisoner’s father and mother, his wife and his children came up, every one of them weeping and wailing; it was a pitiful sight.