The monk said, “I could teach you some formulas for obtaining wealth, if you could learn. Then if you wanted gold or silver, you could simply recite them. If you wanted good clothing or good food, it would come as soon as you started to recite.”
The old Daoist said, “If I could only study this, it would be excellent. I would not study anything else. Teacher, venerable sir, please help me to perform such alchemies.”
The monk said, “You could not perform them now. To be able to perform such things, first you must bump your head against the ground in a kowtow one thousand times a day for forty-nine days. You must recognize me as your teacher. You must kneel on the ground and recite the Sutra of the Eternal in Time. Then kowtow and stand and repeat ‘O Mi To Fu.’ That is counted as one time.”
The Daoist said, “I will do it. I will kowtow one thousand times a day, if only at the end of the forty-nine days I will be able to have whatever I ask for. Then I want to do it.”
The monk said, “That is still not enough. When I want to drink wine, who will go for it?”
The old Daoist replied, “I will have one of the boys get it for you.”
The monk said, “I like to eat meat at each meal. Who will go and buy it for me?”
The Daoist said, “I will go and buy it. Morning and evening pastries, three meals a day, I will take care of it all.”
The monk said, “Then we will start early tomorrow morning. But first send out one of your boys to buy some crude spirits and several dishes of food. I will drink first.”
The old Daoist quickly called an apprentice to go and buy wine and some prepared dishes.
The next morning the monk proposed an idea. They would use two old flat-bottomed baskets and buy one thousand yellow beans. The monk would sit on a rush mat. The Daoist would recite the Sutra of the Eternal in Time, knock his head against the ground once, then recite “O Mi To Fu.” Then he would take one yellow bean out of the yellow basket and put it into the red basket. In this way he would remember.
After the old Daoist had knocked his head against the ground several tens of times, his back ached and his legs were very painful. When he had knocked two hundred, he noticed that the monk had shut his eyes and seemed to be taking a nap. The old Daoist thought, “I’ll take a double handful and knock a few times less.” When he saw that the monk really seemed to be sleeping soundly, he quickly took a double handful and put it into the red basket.
The monk opened his eyes and said, “You are an odd one! Trying to practice the spiritual arts by stealing on the sly! Knock harder!” With that he snatched the beans out of the red basket, taking out more than three hundred.
After the old Daoist had kowtowed for five or six days, the silver that he had saved up was all spent. The monk kept calling for someone to go and buy wine and prepared dishes. The Daoist told the apprentice, “Do not take my Daoist robe yet; pawn the gold hairpin. After I have mastered the formulas, I will get it back.” The boy pawned it, and they ate for another five or six days, and again there was no money.
The old Daoist called the manager of the pawn shop and asked him to take the tables, chairs, and stools from the great hall of the shrine. After that there are really no words to describe what went on for what amounted to one month and six days. The last thing that the Daoist had managed to save was his one pair of pants. The apprentices also had lost most of their clothing. Finally the Daoist said to the monk, “Teacher, I really have no money. Teach me the magic formulas now so that I can get something for us to eat.”
The monk said, “If I had been able to work that kind of magic, why do you think I would have had you bringing me wine?”
“Ah, that is true,” said the Daoist when he heard this. “Teacher has hoodwinked me. What is to be done?”
The monk said, “If you have no money, I will be gone.”
The Daoist said, “After the saintly monk is gone, I and my apprentices will starve to death.”
“I will teach you some hocus-pocus that you can master,” said the monk.
“What hocus-pocus?” asked the Daoist.
The monk replied, “Om Ma Ni Pad Me Hum.”
The Daoist did not understand what he had heard and said, “Oh, that is gibberish. You are just making noises.”
“That’s right,” said the monk. He repeated it three more times until the Daoist was able to say it. The monk then told him to kneel in the courtyard and repeat it. Just as the Daoist was saying, “Om Ma Ni Pad Me Hum,” Ji Gong, who was standing behind him, pointed at the ground with his finger, and a little piece of the brick paving flew up and hit the Daoist on the head, causing a small red lump to appear.
“What happened?” The Daoist asked.
Ji Gong answered, “As soon as you started reciting hocus-pocus, the brick looked at you and then hit you. That is because of your power in reciting.”
“I am not going on,” The Daoist protested.
“Do not worry,” said Ji Gong, “I will teach you a few safe phrases. When you see any bricks, just say, ‘Bricks, you are above me and I will respect you. I will not recite hocus-pocus, and you will not get up and hit me.’”
“Teacher, what shall I do?” the Daoist asked.
Ji Gong told him, “I will give you my monk’s robe to put on and the hat to wear and teach you several phrases. Go to the Su Embankment at the West Lake near the Qiantang gate. There you will find a place called the Cold Spring Pavilion. Go up there and stand, saying loudly three times, ‘Li Guoyuan, Li Guoyuan need not go to the Monastery of the Soul’s Retreat at the West Lake to find Ji Gong. Give me your ten ounces of pure silver, and you will still have three hundred and sixty cash left.’”
The old Daoist did not want to go, but there was not a cash at the shrine, so he went. Every time he had gone out before, his clothing had been very handsome and correct. Today the old Daoist had no choice. He put on the monk’s old, ragged robe and asked, “Teacher, if I do go there and say these words three times, will the silver just fall?”
The monk replied, “Just keep your mind on getting there and calling out the words loudly three times. Then there will be someone who will question you. We monks have an expression, ‘Take a small donation.’ It will be enough to take care of you for your lifetime.”
The Daoist had no choice but to go. He left the Shrine of the Three Virtues with his head bowed, fearing to meet someone he knew.
Along the street there were many neighbors who knew the Daoist. Some of them seeing him commented: “Isn’t that the venerable Daoist Liu from the Shrine of the Three Virtues? How could he have come to this condition? The tables seem to have turned. It could not have been anything else—he must love gambling.”
The old Daoist heard them but could not very well answer. He walked on until he came to the Su embankment at the West Lake and the Cold Spring Pavilion. There was a major highway at that place and a great many people passing to and fro. The old Daoist stood at the pavilion and called out, “Li Guoyuan need not go to the Monastery of the Soul’s Retreat to look for Ji Gong. Give me the ten ounces of pure silver you have, and you will still have three hundred and sixty cash left.”
The Daoist called this out three times and attracted the attention of a great many people. All of them started talking. Some said that the old Daoist had gone mad. Others said that he was looking for Li Guoyuan.
Just as this discussion was taking place, two men walked up through the crowd. One of them was saying to the other, “Dear brother, is that Ji Gong, or someone that looks like him?”
The two moved closer. The one in front seemed from his clothing to be a wealthy man. The other, a younger man, appeared cultured and elegant. As the two looked