Chapter 72: The Young Monk Enraptured by Stories

At the entrance of the bear cave, snowmelt cascaded from the stone eaves in a constant patter, echoing within the cavern as though a torrential rainstorm raged outside. Not far from the cave, Ji Xiao furtively kindled a fire, roasting a plucked chicken over the flames. He had stolen the chicken from a nearby village, and not just the chicken—he had also taken their salt, sauce, and vinegar.

Once the chicken was roasted to a savory perfection, he tucked it into his belt, grabbed a sack of pilfered goods, and made his way back to the cave. Although the bear meat they'd had for a month had kept them alive, surviving an entire month in this icy wilderness was no easy feat. Even he himself had grown noticeably thinner.

Entering the cave, he saw his mother wrapped in a bearskin. Over the past month, the wrinkles on her face had deepened, her cheeks had hollowed, and her eyes had sunken slightly.

This winter, they ate one day and starved for two. It was truly a struggle to survive.

For the sake of his mother's health and strength, Ji Xiao had resolved to steal, for he had scoured the entire mountain and found not a single wild animal—not even one that had frozen to death. The world seemed barren; there was nothing to gnaw on but roots and bark.

He entered the cave and gently roused his half-sleeping mother, his face breaking into a guileless smile. "Mother, look what I've brought! Heh, it's a wild mountain chicken!"

He waved the roast chicken before his waking mother, grinning broadly, betraying no sign of guilt, though a sense of wrongdoing gnawed at his heart—for this chicken was not his catch, but his theft.

His mother, upon waking, sniffed the aroma of the roast meat, took it and tore off a bite. After a few mouthfuls, she tasted something amiss: salt, sauce, and vinegar. Hunger momentarily forgotten, she scrutinized her son and soon spotted the sack he tried to hide behind his back—items that were not their own. Placing the roast chicken on a stone, she saw through it all at once and, with a disappointed fury, reproached him: "Ji'er, have I not taught you since you were young? No matter what, you must never steal from others. I'd rather starve to death than eat stolen food!"

"Mother, you can't die of hunger! We haven't even reached Chang'an yet, and there's nothing left to eat on this mountain. I had no choice," Ji Xiao confessed, seeing his deed had been exposed. He did not try to hide or argue. Regret and helplessness swelled within him. His mother had taught him that a man should not shed tears easily, so he forced back the sting at his nose.

His mother got up without another word, fetched several long, sharp sticks from the firewood pile, stripped off his jacket, and bound the sticks to his back.

"Do you remember the story of bearing brambles to seek forgiveness? I've told you before, and warned you against petty thievery. Today you have erred, and you must atone!"

"A person must live with a clear conscience. If your body is upright, you need not fear your shadow is crooked!"

With her son bare to the waist, his mother took his hand and the roast chicken, and set off in the direction he indicated. Her body was old and weak, her steps slow; it took them half an hour to reach their destination, though it was only a cluster of three or five homes.

Along the way, Ji Xiao tried to carry his mother, but she refused coldly and insisted on walking herself.

Upon reaching the scene of Ji Xiao's theft, she made him empty the stolen sack: clay jars rolled out, and even a dog, its mouth bound and tied up.

She ordered Ji Xiao to kneel and knelt beside him, both of them bowing and apologizing to the bewildered owners of the house.

Soon, a fierce woman rushed out and, as the elderly lady from inside had said, seized a long, sharp stick and struck Ji Xiao's back viciously. Each blow was agony for his mother, who finally opened her eyes, heartbroken, when an old scholar in white robes came out and stopped his concubine's assault. She rushed forward, embracing her bleeding son and weeping.

Ji Xiao endured the pain, insisting it did not hurt. He admitted his wrongdoing and vowed never to make such a foolish mistake again.

The old scholar, moved by the sight of a devoted son and a loving mother struggling to survive in the bitter cold, quickly invited them inside and forgave Ji Xiao's theft.

Thereafter, until they reached Chang'an, they lived in that household. In gratitude, Ji Xiao helped with chopping wood and tending the fields. His strength was such that he could do the work of seven or eight men alone.

In the Wild Goose Pagoda in Chang'an, Huigen and his master, Wushi, were sorting through the Buddhist scriptures.

Because Wushi was muddle-headed with age, he often made mistakes even when tidying up the scriptures, so Huigen had to follow behind and reorganize everything his master had touched.

Meanwhile, Jingxu was in the library, writing. In winter, the outside world was cold, but the closed space of the pagoda was warm—the favorite haven for the young monks who loved to read.

The little monk copied down stories he had heard in recent days from memory. He recalled clearly that Master Xuanzang, a high monk of their own Cien Temple, had once journeyed west, and he loved the tale dearly. The little fellow mused, "Having broken the Buddha's seal beneath Five Elements Mountain, what will happen next? I can't wait to find out! Maybe I'll go out again later, though it will take half an hour to get there. Oh well!"

Jingxu obtained permission from his master and left the pagoda, exiting Cien Temple and hurrying toward the nearby Eastern Market. The storyteller, Brother Yao, would soon be telling the next part of Journey to the West at the Journey to the West Tavern there. If he went to the Western Market, it would take at least an hour, for it lay on the far side of Chang'an. Once, he had been so enraptured by a story there that he'd nearly been locked in the market at closing time.

Huigen wondered why his junior brother had been running about so much lately—could it be an illicit affair? But Buddhist monks were to sever worldly desires. While cleaning, he came across the writing desk where Jingxu had been working; several pages were filled with writing.

Leaning on his broom, Huigen picked up the pages and read. His frown gradually eased as he became engrossed in the story. No wonder his junior was so eager to leave—he was clearly rushing to hear the next part in the Eastern Market.

Huigen could hardly restrain himself; the story was so captivating, filled with visions of the Monkey King brandishing his staff, performing seventy-two transformations, and the not-so-skilled drawings of the Monkey King his junior brother had made. He dragged his muddle-headed master Wushi over to take a look. As Wushi read, he chuckled and asked Huigen if this was Jingxu's work.

Huigen replied that it must be and pointed out the last lines Jingxu had written: "Brother Yao will be telling the story at the Journey to the West Tavern in the Eastern Market."

Huigen longed to hear more and wanted to go listen himself, though he wasn't sure what his master would think. He waited quietly for his master's reaction as Wushi finished the pages.

Wushi, finding the back of the last page blank, promptly set aside the scriptures and led Huigen toward the Eastern Market. Such a wonderful story could not be missed.

At the Journey to the West Tavern in the Eastern Market, shills from the local ruffians jostled to reserve the barley wine, creating a sense of scarcity and desire. From time to time, someone would sigh aloud about the wine being sold out again—such delicious wine, what a pity!

This left those waiting in line grumbling in disappointment, and some even cursed loudly, having queued so long for nothing.

Mistress Ding, seeing this, knew she could increase the supply and raise prices a little without complaint. The princess's desired hunger effect had been achieved.

Jingxu propped his head on a wooden board, listening intently to Yao Zi'ang's storytelling, unaware that his senior brother and master had quietly joined the audience behind him, all rapt in attention.

None of the three realized that the story's author was Princess Wu Yueling, the very woman from the wild village outside Jingzhou City.

But ownership of the tavern was well known throughout Chang'an to belong to the princess. With the ruffians' promotion and the hunger marketing strategy, along with the new dishes, many taverns in the city had seen their business suffer in recent days. For the latest chapters, one could simply search and read for free at "Steamed Tang Claws Bookhouse."