Now, the Red-Haired Plague God, Niu Gai, swung his staff and struck at Fayuan. Zheng Xiong looked him over. Niu Gai stood more than ten feet1 tall. On his head was a pea-green warrior’s turban of five panels; he wore a pea-green robe with narrow archer’s sleeves, a silk sash at his waist, an unlined jacket beneath, and thin-soled boots. His face was the colour of dark mud, with two cinnabar-red eyebrows, and he looked as ferocious as could be. The staff in his hands was truly as thick as the mouth of a teacup. When he struck at Fayuan, Fayuan leapt in fright clean out of the ring. “If that staff lands on me,” he thought, “my brains will be splattered.” He turned on his heel and ran. The Fierce Hero gave a yell: “You sorry ball-bag, where do you think you’re going?” And he chased after him. Zheng Xiong didn’t know the man either, and he just stood there staring. The Pockmarked Tiger, Sun Tailai, took him for one of Zheng Xiong’s helpers. While he stood there staring, Chan Master Ji Gong jumped down from the upstairs window, and the Pockmarked Tiger, Sun Tailai, got a nasty start.

The monk had only just jumped down when four men came along from the north. They were the four head constables of Qiantang County: Chai Yuanlu, Du Zhenying, Lei Siyuan and Ma Anjie. The four of them were on their way somewhere else on official business and happened to be passing. They knew everyone there at a glance. “Master Zheng, who are you quarrelling with?” said Head Constable Chai. “And Ji Gong, sir, what are you doing here?” “Master Zheng has opened a bean-curd shop here at the Qiantang Gate,” said the monk, “and Sun Tailai smashed it up. That’s why we came looking for him, and he still wants to settle it with his fists.” Du Zhenying hurriedly took Sun Tailai aside. “Sun Tailai, don’t you know who this monk is? He’s the substitute monk2 of Chancellor Qin, the first man at court. Can you afford to cross him? If you ask me, you’d better own you’re in the wrong and give in while you can. That’s the cheap way out.” “I don’t know the monk,” said Sun Tailai, “and besides, I didn’t smash the bean-curd shop. Liao Tinggui did. I had no idea it was Master Zheng’s business.” “Liao Tinggui smashing it is as good as you smashing it,” said Du Zhenying. “Just agree to pay for the damage and have done.” “Then you gentlemen take the trouble to sort it out,” said Sun Tailai. “Settle what I’m to pay.” “Holy monk,” said Du Zhenying, “you be the go-between. Whatever got smashed in the bean-curd shop, Sun Tailai will pay for it.” “If I’m the go-between, I’ll be fair to everybody,” said the monk. “The shop’s doors and windows were smashed: call that smashed for nothing, you needn’t pay. The water buckets were split: you needn’t pay. The bean-curd troughs were pulled apart: you needn’t pay. The pot was broken: you needn’t pay. All the bowls and cups and pots and pans that got smashed: smashed for nothing. The pressing cloths were torn: you needn’t pay for those either.” “What, he pays for none of it?” said Zheng Xiong. “Sun Tailai,” said the monk, “you just pay for the millstone. Somebody once offered two hundred and fifty taels of silver for that and it wasn’t sold. I won’t ask you for a copper more: give two hundred and fifty taels and that’s that. This monk is poking his nose into other people’s business, so whoever else you say no to, don’t say no to me. Zheng Xiong is doing it for my sake, and so is Sun Tailai.” “That’s right,” said Head Constable Chai. “Neither of you two is to say no.” Sun Tailai thought: “Not bad. The monk has let me off a whole heap of things, and it comes down to this one item.” Besides, with everyone looking on he could hardly refuse. He had to swallow it, sore as it made him, and he brought out two hundred and fifty taels of silver then and there and handed them to the monk. “Master Zheng, let’s be off,” said the monk. “Thank you for your trouble, gentlemen.” “Please go ahead, holy monk,” said Head Constable Chai and Head Constable Du. “We have our own business to see to.” Then the monk went with Zheng Xiong to the bean-curd shop. “Zhou Deshan, you needn’t die after all,” said the monk. “I’ve squeezed two hundred and fifty taels out of the Pockmarked Tiger, Sun Tailai, for you, and you can have the lot. You and your son can put the business to rights, open your doors and make a living.” Zhou Deshan looked, kowtowed to the monk and thanked him a thousand times over, and he gave up the idea of dying. He set about buying new equipment and starting the business up again. The monk had, after all, saved the lives of his whole family. “Holy monk, come to your disciple’s house,” said Zheng Xiong. And the monk went with Zheng Xiong to Fengshan Street.

By the time they reached Zheng Xiong’s house, the lamps were already lit. Zheng Xiong quickly had the servants set out wine and kept the monk company while they drank to their hearts’ content. “Holy monk,” Zheng Xiong asked, “that fierce fellow today with the dark face and the staff — does the holy monk know him?” “No,” said the monk. “He struck me as a real hero,” said Zheng Xiong. “A pity I don’t know his name, or where he’s gone.” “If you want to find him, I’ll take you tomorrow and we’ll find him,” said the monk. “Good,” said Zheng Xiong. “If the holy monk takes me to find that fierce fellow, I’ll have a word with him.” As they talked, the monk shut his eyes and his head kept nodding. “Why is the holy monk so drowsy?” said Zheng Xiong. “Were you up all last night?” “I like to eat and then sleep, and sleep and then drink,” said the monk. “It’s rather fun.” Zheng Xiong had no choice but to keep him company. They drank on until the third watch3, when all at once a man leapt down from the roof. Zheng Xiong looked: it was none other than the Arhat of the Divine Fist, Fayuan, with a monk’s knife in his hand.