Now, Wang Anshi had only just fallen asleep when all at once he saw fire springing up on every side. Wang Anshi was frightened out of his wits, and afraid too that his son and his nephew would burn to death inside, he said at once, “Wang Quan, Xiuyuan, come with me, quick!” Wang Quan and Li Xiuyuan followed Wang Anshi and ran out. As they were hurrying on, they saw a fierce tiger coming up behind them, tossing its head and lashing its tail, its great mouth gaping like a bowl of blood, and it came bounding after them. Wang Anshi took Wang Quan and Li Xiuyuan and ran for all he was worth, the tiger chasing hard behind. As they ran, they saw a little river ahead cutting off the road, and not a boat on it. Wang Anshi thought, “This is the end of us. If the tiger catches us, we’re dead.” Just as he was frantic with worry, the water of the river gave a great whoosh, and up out of the middle of it rose a lotus throne. On the lotus throne sat an old monk, a five-Buddha crown1 on his head and a bronze-coloured robe on his body, a hundred and eight prayer beads hanging at his neck. He sat cross-legged in meditation, his two hands folded at his heart. The moment Wang Anshi saw him he said, “Holy monk, save us!” The old monk chanted, “Namo Amitabha. Good, good! The sea of suffering is boundless2; turn your head, and there is the shore.” As he spoke, the old monk plucked a lotus flower and pressed it down into the river, and at once the flower turned into a boat. “Wang the Good,” said the old monk, “get on board, all of you.”

Wang Anshi meant to board himself, but afraid the tiger would come up and eat his son and his nephew, he called to Xiuyuan to get on first: “My boy, get on the boat, quick.” Wang Quan and Li Xiuyuan nodded. They had only just got on, and Wang Anshi had not yet boarded, when the tiger came up, all fangs and claws, and opened its jaws to bite. Squire Wang gave a cry of fright and woke. He opened his eyes and found he had broken out in a cold sweat all over. It had been nothing but a dream of Nanke. Wang Anshi felt his heart pounding. He had barely come to himself when he heard Li Xiuyuan shouting over on his side: “Uncle, this is terrible!” “Xiuyuan, what are you shouting about?” said Wang Anshi. “I had a frightening dream,” said Li Xiuyuan. “I saw our house catch fire, and you took the two of us and ran out, and then we met a tiger that chased us. As we were running we saw a big river ahead that we couldn’t cross, and all at once there was an old monk sitting on a lotus throne. He plucked a lotus flower and threw it in the river, and it turned into a boat, and he said, ‘The sea of suffering is boundless; turn your head, and there is the shore.’ My cousin and I had just got on board when I saw the tiger come to bite you, and the fright woke me up.” When Squire Wang heard this he said, “Now that is truly strange. I’ve just had the very same dream.” “Uncle,” said Li Xiuyuan, “if you ask me, it’s better to leave home and be a monk. To my mind, a monk is better off than a man with a household. A man may live to a hundred, but in the end he dies. Better to cultivate blessings and plant virtue: if not for this life, then for the next. Leave home, and you settle every karmic debt you carry. A man of your age, sir, ought all the more to leave home.” “You child,” said Wang Anshi, “you’re half mad, and you still talk of leaving home? Here at home, one call from me brings a hundred answers. What good is there in leaving home? Child, think a moment. These few years you’ve been out there as a monk, what hardship and misery you’ve come to, blown by the wind and soaked by the rain! Besides, you are the only root of the Li family. You have no brothers at all. You ought to be thinking of bringing glory to your ancestors and honour to your house, of winning titles for your wife and favour for your sons, and of keeping the incense burning for the family line. Mencius said, ‘Of the three offences against filial duty, having no heir is the greatest3.’ You’ve read the books of Confucius and Mencius, so you must know the rites of the Duke of Zhou4. Can you have forgotten them?” “Uncle, you’re wrong there!” said Li Xiuyuan. “Don’t you know that when one son attains the Way, nine generations of his ancestors rise to heaven5?” The old squire heaved a sigh and, in a huff, said no more. He fell into a deep sleep again and dreamed the same dream once more, and so it went three times.

A word of explanation: this was Chan Master Ji Gong wanting to deliver Wang Anshi and bring him out of the sea of suffering. Who would have thought that Wang Anshi, warned three times over, would still not wake to it? He heard the drum outside beat the third watch, turned things over in his mind for a long while, and went back to sleep. As soon as it was light, the old squire, Wang Quan and Li Xiuyuan all got up. The servants waited on them while they washed their faces and had their tea and pastries. Ji Gong asked, “Uncle, why hasn’t Brother Han Wenmei come over?” “Your Brother Han is ill just now,” said Squire Wang. “We ought to go and see him,” said Ji Gong. “It’s been years since I saw him.” “Very well,” said Squire Wang, “you and I will go over together.” Wang Quan went along too, and the three of them came to Old Master Han’s gate. They called at the gate, and a servant came out from inside, looked, and said, “The old squire has come over.” “Go inside and announce me,” said Wang Anshi. “Say my nephew Li Xiuyuan has come home and has come specially to see your young master.” The servant turned and went in at once, and presently came out again. “Squire, my young master asks you in.” Only then did Wang Anshi lead Li Xiuyuan inside. They came to Han Wenmei’s bedroom and looked in. Han Cheng was in the room too, and everyone exchanged greetings. Ji Gong saw that Han Wenmei had wasted away past recognition, without a trace of colour in his face. Han Wenmei saw that it was Li Xiuyuan, no stranger, and one he had not seen for several years, and said at once, “Younger Brother Li, where have you been these past few years?” “I’ve been out begging small alms,” said Ji Gong. “And how have you fared at begging small alms?” said Han Wenmei. “Begging small alms isn’t a matter of faring well or badly,” said Ji Gong. “It just means that wherever you go, there’s something to eat and drink. Brother Han, this illness of yours, why don’t you take medicine?” “I’ve taken any amount of medicine,” said Han Wenmei, “and it doesn’t help.” “I’ve got a pill here,” said Ji Gong. “Take it.” “What pill?” said Han Wenmei. “The Stretch-and-Stare Pill6,” said Ji Gong. “Little brother, don’t joke with me,” said Wenmei. “Why would you give me a Stretch-and-Stare Pill to take?” “You don’t understand,” said Ji Gong. “With this pill you stretch your legs once, you stare once, and you’re well. It cures every ailment there is. This pill isn’t mine. I stole it from Crazy Ji.” Squire Wang glared at him. “It’s true, I stole this medicine,” said Ji Gong. “Man or woman, old or young, whatever the complaint, one dose and you’re well.” Han Wenmei took the pill at once, and truly, at once he felt his head clear and his spirits lift. “This illness of yours, what is it?” said Ji Gong. “Do you know or don’t you?” “I don’t,” said Han Wenmei. “I know,” said the monk. “Your illness is consumption7.” “Little brother, now you’re talking nonsense,” said Han Wenmei. “Not only do I say you’ve got consumption,” said Ji Gong, “you’ve got a demon’s air about you as well. Even your eyes have gone cloudy.” “Little brother, have you gone mad?” said Han Wenmei. “I’m not the least bit mad,” said Ji Gong. “Let me see, where is my sister-in-law?” “She’s in the west wing,” said Han Wenmei. “I’ll go and have a look,” said Ji Gong. As he spoke he went straight out, and everyone followed him. Ji Gong came to the west wing, looked, and said, “That’s her all right. She’s the demon.” “Little brother, you really have gone mad,” said Han Wenmei. “This is your sister-in-law. How can you say she’s a demon? It’s only because it’s you saying it, little brother. If anyone else ran his mouth like this, I’d have him thrown out on the spot.”