Now, Chan Master Ji Gong led He Lanqing and Tao Wanchun out of Sanqing Temple in a great hurry, and the two head constables had no idea what the monk was about.

A word of explanation: Shao Huafeng, the Red-Haired Divine Officer, had fled from the Wancheng Inn at Wulibei some while before. Taking with him the Perfected One of the Fifth Hall, the Daoist of the Seven Stars, the Perfected One of the Eight Trigrams, Gao Shun, the Black-Haired Scorpion, and Gao Zhen, Iron Back, he had followed the highway straight to Lin’an. Once they reached Lin’an, they made for Lingyin Temple after dark and took a secret look. The temple was hushed and deserted: not a human voice, not a dog barking; the monks had all gone to bed. “All of you, carry in firewood and straw and set the place alight!” said Shao Huafeng. “Once Lingyin Temple is burned tonight, I’ll have had my revenge, more or less. Then we catch Crazy Ji and finish him off, and only then will I have let out the bile in my chest.” The Daoists nodded. They went to Jiuli Yunsong Temple1 outside Lingyin, carried off a great load of firewood and straw, and piled it to the left and right of the Main Hall. They were just about to light it when all at once a shout came from inside the hall: “You shaggy-haired Daoists2! You’ve got some nerve! Where do you think you’re going? This monk is coming for you!” The Daoists heard that the voice was Ji Gong’s. Then from all four sides of the roof of the Main Hall came shouting: “Well, well, Daoists! We’ve been waiting here a long while for you! Quick, seize the wicked Daoists, don’t let them get away!” The Daoists were so frightened that their souls fled a thousand li. They turned and ran, and once they were out of the temple, Shao Huafeng said, “This is terrible! So Crazy Ji is in the temple. We’d better get going. Since he’s back in his temple, we’ll head for Changzhou Prefecture, break open the jail and rescue our people. We’ll kill the prefect, then go to Maitreya Temple, gather all our men together, and I’ll set myself up as King of Changzhou.” They were all so frightened they thought of nothing but running, afraid Crazy Ji would catch up with them. In fact it was not Ji Gong in the temple at all, but the young Master, Wuchan; and on the roof on all four sides were Sun Deliang, the Golden-Haired Sea Horse; Sun Deming, the Fire-Eyed River Boar; Han Long, the Water Yaksha; and Han Qing, the Wave-Burrower. Some while back, on Ji Gong’s orders, they had come from Changzhou Prefecture to keep watch over Lingyin Temple. The four men had taken the four corners of the Main Hall, one to each corner, and raised a shout to sound like a host. The Daoists could not tell how many men there were, and so the four of them scared the wicked Daoists away. The next day Sun Deliang, the Golden-Haired Sea Horse, and the other three took their leave and went back to Lianhua Stronghold on Mount Luyang, and Little Wuchan stayed behind on Ji Gong’s orders to keep watch over the temple. But no more of that. Our story turns to the Daoists, who had run from Lingyin Temple in the night and scattered in every direction, not caring east from west or north from south. Only Gao Zhen, Iron Back, was so frightened that he lost his head. To go to Changzhou Prefecture he should have gone south, but he ran north instead, more than thirty li3, until he was worn out and drenched in sweat from head to foot. He stopped, worked out which way was which and came to his senses: to get to Changzhou Prefecture he had to go south, and the farther he went this way, the farther off he was. So he turned round and went south again, meaning to catch up with Shao Huafeng and the others. But how could he catch them now?

Going there and coming back, he had covered more than sixty li. Reckoning that he could no longer catch them, he thought to himself, “Shao Huafeng and the others are bound to go to Maitreya Temple. I’ll follow on to Maitreya Temple, and I’ll meet up with them there one way or another.” At daybreak he found a tavern and had something to eat, then went on along the highway, eating when he was hungry and drinking when he was thirsty, setting out at dawn and stopping at dusk. One day he reached the territory of Changzhou Prefecture, no more than twenty or thirty li from Maitreya Temple. Gao Zhen was walking along with his head down when suddenly someone ahead of him said, “Where you off to, boy?” A thief’s nerve is always shaky: Gao Zhen gave a start, raised his head and saw a man coming towards him. He stood over eight feet tall, with broad, powerful shoulders. On his head was a six-panel warrior’s cap of pale bean-green, set with six bright pearls; he wore a bean-green robe with archer’s sleeves, a silk sash with luan birds4 at his waist, a kingfisher-blue silk shirt beneath, and thin-soled boots. His face was like grey-green mud, or like the rind of a winter melon, with two cinnabar-red eyebrows and a pair of golden eyes; red bristles hung thick over his ears, and his whole jaw was covered in red whiskers. A bean-green hero’s cloak was draped over his shoulders, and a sabre hung at his side. Gao Zhen looked and knew him: this was Ma Zhaoxiong, the Plague God on Earth. Gao Zhen had always been afraid of Ma Zhaoxiong; he knew Ma Zhaoxiong was a blockhead who would listen to no reason at all. He hurried forward and bowed. “Why, it’s Brother Ma.” “Where you off to, boy?” said Ma Zhaoxiong. Gao Zhen thought, “If I say I’m going to Changzhou Prefecture, he’s sure to question me, and he may not even let me go. I’d better fool him with a story.”