Now, when the servants reported that everything needed was ready, Ji Gong rose and went with Chancellor Qin and Li Huaichun to the study in the garden. There already was the servant Qin Yu, holding a basin of cinnabar-red paste with a brush in it. The monk reached out and took it up. “Your Excellency,” he said, “you can have it any way you like.” He brushed it straight down over Qin Huan’s head, and at once, wherever the paste stuck, the swelling went down and all went back as it had been. The monk gave several strokes in a row, and at once Qin Huan’s swelling was gone and his illness stopped. “This illness may come back,” said the monk. “He must rest properly. I’ll write him out a prescription now. If it flares up again, he has only to look at this prescription of mine and he’ll be well.” Chancellor Qin knew this was the monk’s wonderful magic, and invited Ji Gong to the front hall. “I can’t keep you company,” said Li Huaichun. “I must take my leave. There are several more households that have asked me to see patients, so I’ll be going.” Chancellor Qin had him seen out of the mansion.

Just then a servant from the east residence came in. “Madam has been taken with brain-drilling wind5 pain, and she’s rolling all over the bed.” “I know,” said Chancellor Qin. “Holy monk, can you cure brain-drilling wind?” “Madam must have said something she shouldn’t,” said the monk. “Otherwise she couldn’t have come down with an illness like this. I’ll go and look.” “What has Madam been saying, then?” said Chancellor Qin. “Ah, I see. Last night there was a haunting over there. I had a dream: I saw the old Grand Preceptor6 come home on the day of the soul’s return7 and give me good advice. When I woke, I meant to send word to stop the work on the Great Stele Tower and let the monks go home. Madam said, ‘That’s only what’s been on your mind,’ and so broke off my good intention, and a little later the haunting began.” “I’ll go and make one grab at Madam,” said Ji Gong, “and she’ll be well.”

Chancellor Qin and the monk went to the main rooms of the inner quarters in the east court, and heard coughing inside that would not stop. “Madam, don’t fret,” said the monk. “I’m here, and I promise you’ll be well this instant.” With that he muttered an incantation, made a grab towards the room, and at once Madam, inside, was well. “Your Excellency,” said the monk, “how’s that?” “Good, good,” said Chancellor Qin, again and again. “I know the Immortal’s Single Grab,” said Ji Gong. “One grab and it’s cured. But what’s grabbed out has to be thrown away somewhere. Watch.” He flung it at a mad dog lying over there. There came two yelps — woof, woof — and the dog rolled over and died on the spot. “How fearsome!” said Chancellor Qin. “One wrong word and you get brain-drilling wind. From now on, holding office at court, I must always be careful what I say.” Chancellor Qin and the monk went to the study and sat down, and he had wine and dishes prepared so that they could make merry there all night. When the drums beat the third watch, a wind rose outside. “This is bad,” said Chancellor Qin. “It’s the hour of last night’s haunting again.” “Your Excellency needn’t worry,” said Ji Gong. “I’ll go and catch the ghost for you. If the ghost and I come to blows, whatever you do, don’t interfere.” The monk went out, and from outside came the monk’s voice: “Fine ghost, fine ghost! So you’d eat me, would you? I’ll fight you to the death!” Inside, Chancellor Qin heard this and was deeply uneasy. He waited until broad daylight and went out to look. There lay the monk over there, not moving. He had the servants go over and wake him, and brought him inside to sit down. “Monk,” said Chancellor Qin, “I’ll get you a change of clothes here and send you back to your temple in glory.” He sent servants out to buy the monk robes, shoes and socks. The servants assented, and before long they brought back three sets of monk’s robes, all of the finest: one of yellow cloud-patterned satin, one of white satin embroidered with flowers, one of blue satin. The three sets, with shoes and socks, came to a hundred and twenty taels. Chancellor Qin had a page wait on him, and the monk bathed and changed. For the first time ever, Ji Gong washed his face. He put on the clothes, came to the study and sat down. Chancellor Qin had the silver the monk had won weighed out for him, had servants saddle his own horse, and ordered out a full ceremonial retinue8 to send the monk back to his old temple in glory. “Your Excellency,” said the monk, “it’s a pity the bond of fate between us is so slight. We met so late, and we part so soon. Once we say goodbye today, who knows in what year we’ll meet again?” “Monk,” said Chancellor Qin, “come whenever you like. It’s not as though we were a thousand mountains and ten thousand rivers apart. When I have nothing to do, I’d like nothing better than to spend time with you.” “This monk means to come here often,” said Ji Gong. “But Your Excellency, where would I find gate money9?” Chancellor Qin ordered the gatekeepers called in. Soon a dozen or so servants came and stood outside the study. “Ji Gong is my own substitute monk,” said His Excellency. “Whenever he comes, no matter what official business I may have, you are not to stop him. You must announce him to me.” The servants answered over and over, “Yes, yes. Your slaves will obey.” “This monk would like to give these men a few coins,” said Ji Gong. “What does Your Excellency say?” Chancellor Qin knew the monk had the tens of thousands of taels he had won and would surely want to make a fine show. With that thought he said, “Monk, use your own judgement.” “Stewards,” said Ji Gong, “I’ll give each of you a hundred coppers.” “Monk,” said Chancellor Qin, “give them a few taels more. I’ll advance it for you.” “No, no,” said Ji Gong. “I’m giving each of them a hundred coppers, but given today, it isn’t given tomorrow. When this monk comes, the hundred coppers hires them to announce me. When this monk doesn’t come, every day still counts as a day: each of them gets three strings10 a month added to his wages, and Your Excellency can advance it for me.” “Very well,” said Chancellor Qin. Only then did the monk take his leave. Chancellor Qin sent twenty servants to escort him. “Proclaim my order: every convent, Daoist temple and monastery is to kneel to receive him and kneel to see him off. He is my own substitute monk. See him home to his temple in glory.” The servants assented, and the horses were got ready outside.

The monk took leave of Chancellor Qin, left Chancellor Qin’s mansion and mounted. Servants rode the lead horses, and up front went whips and placards, chains and staves, banners, gongs, parasols and fans, driving idlers out of the way. Crowds turned out in the streets to watch, all wanting a look at Chancellor Qin’s substitute monk. The monk rode to Lingyin Temple. The bell was rung and the drum beaten, and all the monks gathered. First Ji Gong called the prior11. “Come here. There’s silver coming behind me. Weigh it out for me: twenty packets of fifty taels each, and a hundred packets of ten taels each.” The prior assented. “Stewards,” said Ji Gong, “here in this monk’s presence, proclaim an order12 for me.” “Yes,” said the stewards. “What order would the holy monk have us proclaim?” “Listen well, you monks of this temple,” said Ji Gong. “The monk Ji Gong is the substitute monk of His Excellency Chancellor Qin, and today he returns to the temple in glory. When the holy monk wants to borrow money from you monks to buy wine, anyone who has money and won’t lend it will be sent at once to the authorities for punishment.” The servants proclaimed it just as he said. The monks heard it and thought, “Well, that’s not so bad.” “Stewards, come,” Ji Gong went on, “proclaim another order for me. In future, when this monk has no money and borrows from them, or there’s nobody in a room and he steals a little something, they’re not to say a word. If they see it, it doesn’t count as stealing. Anyone who disobeys will be marched straight out of the temple gate and beheaded on the spot.” At this the stewards laughed too, and could only mumble their assent. The monks heard it and thought, “Now he can turn this temple upside down as he likes.” Displeased as they were, they were angry and dared not say so. Ji Gong rewarded the twenty servants with the silver, fifty taels each, and ten taels each to the men bearing the insignia. Every one of them was overjoyed, and off they went.

The monk took off his new clothes, wrapped them up in a bundle, threw his old patched robe back on, and with the bundle in hand strolled out through the Qiantang Gate. Seeing a pawnshop right in front of him, he went in and slapped the bundle down on the counter. The manager looked: a poor monk, dressed in rags from head to foot, bringing in clothes that were brand-new, every piece. And the monk kept lifting the door curtain and peering this way and that, as if someone were after him and he were afraid. “Monk,” said the manager, “where did you get these clothes? You’d better tell the truth now.” “Manager,” said Ji Gong, “value them as you see fit and lend me what they’re worth. If not, wrap them up again, and I’ll pawn them somewhere else.” The second clerk came over from one side. “Don’t be so blind. Isn’t this Reverend Master the one who rode past our door on horseback just now? He’s become Chancellor Qin’s substitute monk. Don’t you recognise him? Reverend Master, how much do you want on them?” “Let me have a hundred and fifty strings of cash on them,” said Ji Gong. “Does the master want silver or notes?” said the second clerk. “I want hard cash13,” said the monk. “Keep the pawn ticket on the counter for now.” The manager had men carry the cash out to the doorway, and the monk started shouting, “Who’ll come and carry money?” A big fellow came over from the other side. “Monk, I’ll carry it for you.” “Your heart’s gone bad,” said the monk. “You don’t get to carry any.” The monk called up a crowd of poor folk, this one to carry three strings, that one two. When it was all shared out among them, there were five strings left. “Let that big fellow carry them,” said the monk. The big fellow hoisted them up and ran off in the confusion. The monk didn’t chase him. “Monk,” said the crowd, “where are we to carry the money?” “Wherever you like,” said the monk.

The crowd went their separate ways. The monk found an alley and squatted down in it. The big fellow had run through seventeen alleys with his five strings of cash when the monk stepped up and grabbed him.

To learn what happened next, read the next chapter.