The top end of the rope disappeared into the clouds.

gentlemen on the dais, who passed it around and studied it carefully, unable to tell at first glance whether it was genuine or a fake. Then suddenly the rope came tumbling to the ground.

'The poor boy!' cried the father in alarm. 'He is done for! Someone up there must have cut my rope!'

The next moment something else fell to the ground, an object which was found on closer examination to be the boy's head. 'Ah me!' cried the father, weeping bitterly and holding the head up in both his hands. 'The heavenly watchman caught him stealing the peach! My son is no more!'

After that, one by one, the boy's feet, his arms and legs, and every single remaining part of his anatomy came tumbling down in a similar manner. The distraught father gathered all the pieces up and put them in one of his baskets, saying, 'This was my only son! He went with me everywhere I went. And now, at his own father's orders, he has met with this cruel fate. I must away and bury him.'

He approached the dais.

'Your peach, gentlemen,' he said, falling to his knees, 'was obtained at the cost of my boy's life. Help me, I beg you, to pay for his funeral expenses, and I will be ever grateful to you for your kindness.'

The mandarins, who had been watching the scene in utter horror and amazement, immediately collected a good purse for him. When the father had received the money and put it in his belt, he rapped on the basket.

'Babar!' he called out. 'Out you come now and thank the gentlemen! What are you waiting for?'

He had no sooner said this than there was a knock from within and a tousled head emerged from the basket. Out jumped the boy, and bowed to the dais. It was his son.

To this very day I have never forgotten this extraordinary performance. I later learned that this 'rope trick' was a speciality of the White Lotus sect. Surely this man must have learned it from them.

13.

GROWING PEARS.

A peasant was selling pears in the market. Sweet they were and fragrant and exceedingly expensive. A Taoist monk in a tattered cap and robe came begging by the pear vendor's cart, and the man told him to be gone. When the monk lingered, the vendor began to abuse him angrily.

'But you have hundreds of pears in your cart,' returned the monk, 'and I am only asking for one. You would hardly notice it, sir. Why are you getting so angry?'

Onlookers urged the vendor to give the monk one of his less succulent pears, just to be rid of him, but the man obstinately refused. A waiter who was serving the customers at a nearby wine-stall, seeing that the scene was threatening to grow ugly, bought a pear and gave it to the monk, who bowed in thanks and turned to the assembled crowd.

'Meanness,' he declared, 'is something we monks find impossible to understand. I have some very fine pears of my own, which I should like to give you.'

'If you have such fine pears,' said one of the crowd, 'then why did you not eat them yourself? Why did you need to go begging?'

'I needed this one for the seed,' was the monk's reply.

So saying, he held the pear out in front of him and began munching it until all he had left was a single seed from its core, which he held in one hand while taking down a hoe from his shoulder and making a little hole in the ground. Here he placed the seed and covered it with earth. He now asked for some hot water to sprinkle on it, and one of the more enterprising members of the crowd went off and fetched him some from a Caption

The water was scalding hot.

roadside tavern. The water was scalding hot, but the monk proceeded to pour it on the ground over his seed. The crowd watched riveted, as a tiny sprout began pushing its way up through the soil, growing and growing until soon it was a fully fledged tree, complete with branches and leaves. And then it flowered and bore fruit, great big, fragrant pears. Every branch was laden with them. The monk now climbed up into the tree and began picking the pears, handing them down to the crowd as he did so. Soon every single pear on the tree had been given away. When this was done, he started hacking at the tree with his hoe, and had soon felled it. Then, shouldering the tree, branches, leaves and all, he sauntered casually off.

Now, from the very beginning of this performance, the pear vendor had been standing in the crowd, straining his neck to see what the others were seeing, quite forgetting his trade and what he had come to market for. Only when the monk had gone did he turn and see that his own cart was empty. Then he knew that the pears the monk had just been handing out were all from his cart. And he noticed that his cart was missing one of its handles; it had been newly hacked away. The peasant flew into a rage and went in hot pursuit of the monk, following him the length of a wall, round a corner, and there was his cart-handle lying discarded on the ground. He knew at once that it had served as the monk's pear tree. As for the monk himself, he had vanished without trace, to the great amazement of the crowd.

14.

THE TAOIST PRIEST OF MOUNT LAO.

In our town there lived a gentleman by the name of Wang, seventh son of his family, which was an old one. He had always been a fervent admirer of Taoism, and, hearing that there were a large number of Taoist adepts living up on Mount Lao, one day he shouldered his knapsack and set out on a trip in that direction.

He climbed one of the peaks and found himself before a monastery, tucked away in the middle of nowhere. He could see a Taoist sitting in meditation on his rush-mat, his long white hair down to his shoulders, his face ruddy with vitality. Wang knelt and engaged the monk in conversation, and, finding the old man's responses wonderfully deep, begged to be accepted as one of his disciples.

'You are too accustomed to a soft life,' replied the monk. 'I fear the hardship will be more than you can bear.'

Wang insisted that he could rise to the challenge, and took up residence in the monastery that very day. The priest had several disciples, and when they assembled towards evening, Wang bowed to each one of them in turn. Early the following morning, the priest summoned Wang, gave him an axe and told him to go and cut wood with the others. Wang promptly obeyed. After a month or so of this, his hands and feet were a mass of blisters. He decided he could bear it no longer and secretly began to long for home.

One evening, he returned from his chores to see two men sitting and drinking with the priest. It was already dusk, but the lamps had not yet been lit. Instead the priest cut out a circular piece of paper and stuck it on the wall like a round mirror, whereupon the room was instantly bathed in dazzling light. The mirror had become a veritable moon. The disciples stood around in a ring, coming and going at the priest's beck and call.

'On such a fine night as this,' remarked one of the guests, 'we should share our pleasure with one and all.'

So saying, he took a wine jug from the table and began pouring for all the disciples, bidding them drink their fill and be merry.

'How can that one jug possibly provide for all seven or eight of us?' thought Wang silently to himself.

The disciples went in search of more goblets, each eager to have a drink before the wine ran out. But, however often the wine was poured, to their amazement the supply never seemed to diminish.

'You have graciously provided us with this moonlight,' said one of the priest's guests. 'Should we not enliven the occasion by inviting the goddess Chang E to join us from her palace?'

With this he tossed one of his chopsticks at the 'moon', and a beautiful lady appeared in the middle of the circle of light, at first no more than a foot high, but attaining a full woman's height as she descended to the ground. Her slender waist and graceful arching neck were soon swaying to the steps of the centuries-old dance known as 'Rainbow Skirts'. And when the dance was finished, she began to sing: Lightly lightly Have I danced!

Is this the world of men, Or am I still confined In my Cold Palace Of the moon?

Her voice was pure and thrilling, like the sound of the flute. When her song was done, she pirouetted up on to the table and, before her astonished audience knew what was happening, was once more transformed into a chopstick. The three men at the table laughed heartily.

'What a splendid evening this has been!' exclaimed one of them. 'But I don't think I can drink much more. Will you gentlemen accompany me for a last cup of farewell in the Palace of the Moon?'

The three of them rose, walked slowly towards the wall and entered the moon. The disciples watched them sitting up there drinking, perfectly visible down to the last whisker and eyebrow, as clear as a reflection in a mirror. Presently the moon began to fade, and when the disciples lit candles they beheld their Master sitting quite alone at the table. His companions were nowhere to be seen. The sweetmeats were still on the table, the moon no more than a mirror-shaped circle of paper on the wall.

'Have you all drunk your fill?' asked the priest of his disciples.

'Yes, Master,' was the reply.

'Then early to bed. Tomorrow there will be more wood to chop and grass to cut.'

The disciples retired obediently for the night.

Wang was thrilled by what he had witnessed, and his earlier thoughts of admitting defeat and abandoning his Taoist ordeal evaporated.

Another month went by, and again the hardship seemed more than he could bear. And still the Master had taught him no magical secret. He could wait no longer, and went to take his leave.

'I came here from a great distance to sit at your feet, Master. Even if I could not learn the Art of Immortality, I thought at least to acquire some minor accomplishment with which to nourish my spiritual aspirations. But alas, for these three months, I have done nothing but chop wood all day and return exhausted in the evening to sleep. Hardship such as this I have never known at home.'

The priest smiled. 'Did I not say it would be hard? See, you have proved me right. Tomorrow morning I will send you on your way.'

'Please, Master,' pleaded Wang, 'for all the days I have laboured, give me some trifling skill to take away with me, so that I will not go home empty-handed.'

'What skill do you desire?' asked the priest.

'I have noticed that wherever you go, walls are no obstruction to you. Teach me to walk through walls, Master. That will be enough.'

The priest smiled. 'Very well.'

He taught Wang a mantra, bade him recite it, then cried, 'Now go!'

Wang looked at the wall in front of him, but could not bring himself to walk into it.

'Try! Go!'

Wang started slowly, but when he reached the wall, there it was, as solid as ever in front of him.

'What are you waiting for? Head down and charge!' cried the priest. 'Don't procrastinate!'

This time, Wang took a few steps back from the wall, rushed at it full pelt and passed through it as if there were nothing there. Looking round him, he saw that he was indeed now on the other side of the wall. It had worked! He was delighted and returned at once to give thanks.

'When you are back at home,' said the monk, 'be sure to lead a pure life. If not, it will not work.'

The monk gave him something towards his travelling expenses and sent him on his way.

On his return, Wang boasted of his encounter with an Immortal, and claimed that he could walk through solid walls. His wife did not believe his tales, so he carried out the monk's instructions, took up a stance several feet away from a wall and rushed at it. This time his head made contact with some all too solid masonry and he crashed to the ground with a thud. His wife helped him up, looked at the egg-sized bump that was starting to emerge on his forehead and burst out laughing. Wang was bitterly angry, and cursed the old monk for a scoundrel.

Caption

He rushed at the wall.

15.

THE MONK OF CHANGQING.

At Changqing there lived a monk of great spiritual attainment and virtue. He was over eighty years old but still hale and hearty. Then, one day, he fell to the ground and was unable to rise: the other monks came hurrying to his aid, but found him already lifeless. He had entered the state of nirvana. His soul meanwhile, unaware of his death, had gone drifting off to the south, to a place somewhere in the region of Henan Province.

The son of a noble Henan family was out that very same day with ten or so of his retainers, hunting hares with falcons, when his horse bolted and the young man was thrown to the ground and instantly killed. The wandering soul of the old monk from Changqing happened to be passing close by and in that very instant entered into his body. The young man gradually began to show signs of recovering consciousness. His retainers gathered round him and inquired how he was.

'What am I doing here?' he asked, opening his eyes wide.

They lifted him up and helped him home, where his womenfolk in their many-coloured silks greeted him and inquired after his well-being.

'But I am a monk,' he exclaimed in amazement. 'What am I doing here?'

His family thought he must have taken leave of his senses and tried tweaking his ears to bring him round. The monk himself was quite unable to understand his own predicament, but resolved to close his eyes and say nothing further.

At mealtimes he would eat nothing but coarse rice, and refused to touch meat and wine. At night he slept alone, rejecting the attentions of his wife and concubines.