Now, Ji Gong had finished his meal at the restaurant with no money to pay, and was in the middle of a row with the staff, when two men came in from outside, walked up to Ji Gong and saluted him. Everyone turned to look. The man in front was an imposing figure, well over eight feet tall. On his head was a kingfisher-blue warrior’s turban with a band of hammered gold across the brow, worked with two dragons vying for a jewel, and arrowhead-leaf ornaments trembling at the front. He wore a blue robe with arrow sleeves1, a silk sash at his waist and black satin thin-soled boots, and over it all a blue satin hero’s cloak embroidered with round flower medallions. His face was a pale yellow, his brows long and his eyes wide, and those eyes were full of bright spirit; the tip of his nose was straight and well formed, his mouth broad and square, and a full black beard hung from his chin and spread over his chest. The man behind him was a little over twenty. On his head was a soft turban of pink satin, embroidered with round flowers in five colours. He wore a robe of pink satin damask with arrow sleeves, embroidered with flowers in three shades of blue, thin-soled boots on his feet and a hero’s cloak thrown over one shoulder. His face was as white as paper, white with a tinge of green, without a drop of colour in it. The first was Chen Xiao, the Lord of the Fine Beard, and behind him came Yang Meng, the Sickness-Star God. They had just come back from escorting a consignment and were on their way to Lingyin Temple to see Ji Gong. As they were passing they heard an uproar in the restaurant, lifted the door curtain and came in, and found Ji Gong quarrelling with a waiter. Yang Meng hurried over and saluted Ji Gong. “Master, what brings you here, sir, quarrelling? Who’s been bullying you? Tell your disciple, and I’ll take his head off for him.” Chen Xiao came over. “Brother, don’t be rash. Let’s ask what this is actually about.” The restaurant staff took one look at the pair and shook with fright. “Please don’t be angry, my honoured escort masters2. It’s only that this Reverend Master finished his meal and has no money. And then he started talking rudely, so it turned into a row.” “Good, good,” said the monk. “My two disciples have come just in time. This restaurant has bullied me something terrible.” “Master,” said Chen Xiao, “what are they bullying you for?” “I finished eating,” said the monk, “and they won’t let me go. They want money.” Chen Xiao could not help laughing. “Well, you ought to pay.” He turned round. “Shopkeeper, you people don’t know who this monk is. However much he eats, don’t ask the monk for it. Third Master here will pay. This is Ji Gong, the living Buddha of Lingyin Temple.” “We truly failed to show you proper respect,” said the shopkeeper. “Have you two eaten?” said the monk. “We have,” said Chen Xiao. “Then the two of you shoulder Weituo3 for me and come begging alms with me,” said the monk. “Your disciples, sir, are all gentry and wealthy households,” said Chen Xiao. “I won’t say how much you could have, but ten taels or eight are ready to hand any time. Why should you go begging for alms?” The monk shook his head. “Begging alms is this monk’s own special talent. Yang Meng, shoulder Weituo for me.” Yang Meng said he would and hoisted it up.

The three of them left the restaurant and went east. Some of the people coming and going in the street knew Yang Meng and Chen Xiao, and said under their breath, “You two escort masters, how come you’re out begging petty alms with a monk?” Chen Xiao went red with embarrassment, squatted down to one side and chatted with an acquaintance. Yang Meng was a blockhead and did not know the meaning of embarrassment. He kept following the monk, and ahead of them, on the north side of the street, they saw a big tea shop that had just opened. Ji Gong told Yang Meng to set Weituo down. A thought turned over in the monk’s mind: “I’ll have to do it like so, and so, and so.” With that, he stepped up onto the tea shop’s front steps. “Hard at it, hard at it!” Hearing the monk’s greeting, a shop assistant hurried over. “Buying tea, monk?” “Not buying tea,” said the monk. “Your shop’s newly opened, so I’ve come to wish you joy.” “Oh, so you’ve come to wish us joy, monk,” said the assistant. “Come inside and have some tea.” “First, to wish you joy,” said Ji Gong, “and second, I want to beg a small alms.” “And how much is a small alms?” said the assistant. “Give me two hundred taels of silver and I’ll go,” said the monk. “I’m not asking for more.” At this the assistant said, “Two hundred taels for a small alms! Go and beg somewhere else, monk. Our shop can’t afford that kind of charity.” Ji Gong roared with laughter. “If I beg two hundred taels off you now and you give it, that’s the end of it. Wait till the sun’s at noon, and it’ll be four hundred. Once the sun slants west, six hundred. When the sun goes down, eight hundred. Let me beg here a whole day and night, and handing me your shop won’t square the account.” Hearing this, the manager knew it was a mad monk come to make trouble. A customer standing by, buying tea, who liked to poke his nose into other people’s business, came over. “Monk, these people have only just opened. Don’t make a fuss here. If you’re begging a couple of sticks’ worth of incense money, I’ll give it to you. If you’re after two or three strings of cash4 for a change of clothes, come back another day. It’s on me.” “On you?” said the monk. “Can you carry me on your back?” The man saw the monk would not talk sense. “Don’t play the fool, monk. I won’t mix in your business, but you’d better beg your silver out of them, mind. If you can’t, you’re no kind of monk.” “You needn’t mix in,” said Ji Gong. “Just watch. I’m sure to turn this round.” Then Ji Gong said, “Yang Meng, keep your eyes back there. An old Daoist is going to come out of South Lane. Grab him and beat him to death at this shop’s door, and land the tea shop with a murder case.” Yang Meng was a blockhead to begin with. When he heard what Ji Gong said, he nodded and agreed, and stood glaring into the lane, waiting quietly for the old Daoist. Sure enough, before long an old Daoist came out of the lane. He was eight feet tall, slim at the waist and broad in the back, and wore a nine-ribbed Daoist cap5 of black satin, a Daoist robe of blue satin, a silk sash at his waist, white socks and cloud-patterned shoes. On his back he carried a fine sword in a scabbard of green shagreen, with tassels of yellow silk, a wrist cord of yellow silk and mounts of real gold. His face was like the pale moon of late autumn, his brows kind and his eyes gentle, and his features were fine enough. Three long strands of beard flowed over his chest, so fine that the skin showed between the hairs. As he walked along, the old Daoist was singing a song:

Yang Meng took one look and flew into a rage. “You demon priest! I’ve been waiting here for you a long time. Where do you think you’re going?” He rushed at him and swung his fist. A word of explanation: where had this old Daoist come from, and why did Ji Gong tell Yang Meng to beat him? It was like this. On Taiping Street, in the city of Lin’an, there lived a rich man named Zhou Jing, styled Wanglian, whom people called Half-the-City Zhou (Zhou Bancheng). His family was said to be worth a million, and he had just one son, named Zhou Zhikui, twenty-one years old and not yet married. Zhou Zhikui was very handsome, and whenever a match was proposed it was either too high to reach or too low to stoop to: families of officials would not give him a daughter, and he would not have one from a humble household, so he had never been betrothed. Squire Zhou was past seventy, and this was his only son. One day Zhou Zhikui suddenly fell ill and was nursing himself in the study in the garden. Many skilled doctors were called in, but no medicine ever did any good. The Old Squire was sick with worry. That evening he lit a lantern himself, meaning to go in person to the study in the back garden and see how the patient was. Just as he reached the study door, he heard a man and a woman laughing merrily inside. The Old Squire’s heart gave a jolt. “Some serving-woman or maid must be leading my boy into something shameful. This won’t do! Ruining the family’s good name! I must see who it is.” He went up to the window lattice, wet a hole in the window paper and peered in. Inside, a kang8 ran along under the front eaves. On it stood a small table set with a few dishes and a single candle. His son sat on the east side, and on the west sat a young woman lovely as a flower and fair as jade, her face as white as a lotus, her hair crowded with pearls and kingfisher feathers. The Old Squire looked closely and recognized her: it was the daughter of his neighbour next door to the east, Squire Wang, Wang Cheng, a girl named Wang Yue’e. The Old Squire was badly shaken. “Squire Wang and I were friends when we were children with our hair hanging loose, walking hand in hand. And these two children have gone and done this shameless thing!” He did not dare go in himself, afraid the pair would be so ashamed they would die of it. He turned and went back to the main rooms at the front. When he saw the old lady9, he put out his lantern and heaved a sigh. “Old lady, do you know what’s wrong with our son? It’s no illness. He’s with Wang Cheng’s daughter from next door to the east, Wang Yue’e, drinking and making merry in there. What do you think we should do?” “Don’t fret, Squire,” said the old lady. “Tomorrow go over to their house yourself and see our worthy brother Wang. Have a talk with him and ask whether his daughter is promised to anyone. If she isn’t, send a matchmaker quickly to ask for her. That way, first, both families keep their good name, and second, the two of them get their heart’s wish. It’s the best for everyone.” The squire thought this very sensible. Husband and wife went to bed, and nothing more happened that night.

The next morning he got up and had breakfast. Then the Old Squire changed his clothes and set out, taking a servant with him, to call on Squire Wang. He had just reached his gate when he saw dust swirling up from due west and a rain of earth flying, and there came a fine horse and two small sedan chairs. It was Squire Wang himself. Squire Wang swung down from his horse and saluted Half-the-City Zhou. “Elder brother,” said Wang Cheng, “it’s been a long time. Have you been well?” “Worthy brother,” said Squire Zhou, “where have you been? Who’s in the sedan chair?” “In the chair is your niece, Wang Yue’e,” said Wang Cheng. “She’s been staying at her uncle’s, her mother’s brother’s, for more than two months. I’ve settled a match for her, and the betrothal gifts10 are to be sent tomorrow, so first thing this morning I went myself to fetch her home.” At this, Squire Zhou’s heart gave a jolt. “This can’t be right. Yesterday I saw Wang Yue’e at the back drinking with my son. How can she have been staying at her uncle’s for over two months? Were my eyes playing tricks? Did I take someone else for her? Certainly not!” With that thought, he said, “Worthy brother, have the chairs carried inside the gate. Let me have a look at this niece of mine.” Wang Cheng had the chairs carried in. The serving-woman got out of her chair, drew back the curtain of the young lady’s chair and helped Wang Yue’e out, and the girl came over and made Squire Zhou a deep curtsy11. Squire Zhou looked: sure enough, she was exactly like the girl he had seen in the study the day before, not a hair’s difference. He thought, “This is terrible! That Wang Yue’e is either a demon or a goblin. If not a ghost, then a fox spirit12.” In his alarm he nearly fell over. Luckily someone held him up. “Elder brother,” said Squire Wang, “why are you like this at the sight of your niece?” “Worthy brother,” said Squire Zhou, “seeing my niece made me think of your nephew. He’s gravely ill just now.” “I really didn’t know,” said Wang Cheng. “In a day or two I’ll certainly come and see him.” With that, the squire took his leave.

Squire Zhou went home, groaning and sighing. The old lady asked what was the matter, and when she heard, she was frantic too. “You and I, husband and wife, are done for,” said the squire. “What are we to do?” As the couple sat fretting, a page boy named Defu came in from outside, a sharp lad of fifteen or sixteen. “Don’t worry, Squire. Outside the Qingbo Gate there’s a Sanqing Temple, with an old Daoist called Liu Taizhen, who’s good at catching demons and cleansing houses, driving off ghosts and curing sickness. If you go and invite him, Squire, he’s sure to cure the young master.” The squire thought this sensible and at once ordered his horse saddled. Taking four attendants, with the page boy leading the way, he came to the gate of the Sanqing Temple outside the Qingbo Gate, dismounted and knocked. A young Daoist acolyte came out. “Who are you gentlemen looking for?” “We’ve come from Squire Zhou’s in the city,” a servant said, “to ask the Daoist Master to catch a demon.” The acolyte went in to announce them. The temple had one main hall, side halls to the east and west, and the east and west side courtyards. The Old Squire came into the east side courtyard, and the old Daoist came down the steps to meet him. Squire Zhou saw that the Daoist wore an old Daoist cap and a blue cotton Daoist robe, and that his features were fine. “I have long revered your great name, Immortal Master,” said the squire. “It rings in my ears like thunder. There is a demon making mischief in my garden. It has turned into a girl in the likeness of our neighbour, Wang Yue’e, and bewitched my son, Zhou Zhikui. I beg you, Immortal Master, in your great compassion, come and catch the demon and cleanse the house, drive off the ghost and cure the sickness.” The Daoist knew the Zhou family were very rich, and agreed at once. “Go home, Squire. This humble Daoist will follow shortly.” The Old Squire drank a cup of tea and took his leave. The Daoist saw him out and came back into the temple. “Acolyte, how much did I pawn13 my new Daoist hat and new shoes for?” “Two strings, the day you got wine,” said the acolyte. “Take the chime14 and the candle spikes and swap them to get those out,” said the Daoist. “And how much are my Daoist robe and silk sash pawned for?” “Five strings,” said the acolyte. “Take the altar cloth and the canopy hangings to stand in for them, and get them out,” said the Daoist. “On this job I’ve got to dress a bit better, so there’ll be more money in it.” The acolyte redeemed the things, and when the Daoist had put them all on, he walked in through the Qingbo Gate. Then he went the long way round to come in by the Qiantang Gate, just to show off his outfit. He was walking along when there was a shout in front of him, and Yang Meng swung his fist at him.

Ji Gong means to make a fool of the old Daoist, and there will be a demon hunt at the Zhou residence. To learn what happened next, read the next chapter.