When chaos was not yet divided, Heaven and Earth lay in turmoil;
a vast and boundless blur, with no one there to see.
Ever since Pangu broke open the primal murk,
the great cleaving began, and the clear was parted from the turbid.
Sheltering and sustaining the living multitude, it calls forth reverence for a supreme benevolence;
bringing forth the ten thousand things, and all are perfected in goodness.
Would you know the work of Creation, its cycles of yuán and huì?
Then you must read this, the Journey to the West, the Tale of Deliverance from Calamity.
In the reckoning of Heaven and Earth, a hundred and twenty-nine thousand six hundred years make one yuán, one cosmic epoch. A single yuán divides into twelve huì, answering to the twelve Earthly Branches: zǐ, chǒu, yín, mǎo, chén, sì, wǔ, wèi, shēn, yǒu, xū, hài, and each huì comes to ten thousand eight hundred years.
Take a single day as the measure. At zǐ the yang-breath is born; at chǒu the cock crows; at yín there is not yet light; at mǎo the sun rises; at chén comes the morning meal, and at sì things settle into their order. At wǔ the sun stands at the zenith; at wèi it slips toward the west; at shēn comes the late-afternoon meal, and the sun sets at yǒu; at xū falls the dusk, and at hài people settle to rest.
Reason by the same scale on the grand cosmic clock. When the xū epoch reaches its end, Heaven and Earth grow dim and the ten thousand things fall into decay. Five thousand four hundred years later, as the hài epoch begins, all turns to darkness; between Heaven and Earth no beings remain at all, and this is called chaos. After a further five thousand four hundred years, as hài nears its close, the cycle turns again — when the last of the four seasons ends, the first begins anew — and as zǐ approaches, light gradually returns. Shao Kangjie wrote: at the winter solstice, the midpoint of zǐ, the heart of Heaven does not shift; where the single yang first stirs, the ten thousand things are not yet born. At this point Heaven first has its root.
Five thousand four hundred years on, right at zǐ, the light and clear rises upward: there is sun, there is moon, there are stars, there are asterisms, and these four are called the Four Images. Hence it is said that Heaven opens at zǐ. Five thousand four hundred years on, as zǐ draws to its close and chǒu approaches, things grow firm and solid. The Book of Changes says: great indeed is the Creative and its origin, perfect indeed is the Receptive and its origin; the ten thousand things draw their life from it, in obedient accord with Heaven. At this point Earth first congeals. Five thousand four hundred years on, right at chǒu, the heavy and turbid settles downward: there is water, fire, mountain, stone and earth, and these five are called the Five Forms. Hence it is said that Earth is opened at chǒu.
Five thousand four hundred years on, as chǒu ends and yín begins, the ten thousand things burst into life. The Almanac says: the breath of Heaven descends, the breath of Earth ascends; Heaven and Earth mingle, and all things are born. At this point Heaven is clear and Earth is fresh, and yin and yang are joined. Five thousand four hundred years on, right at yín, humans are born, beasts are born, birds are born; this is what is meant by Heaven, Earth and Humanity, the Three Powers taking their places. Hence it is said that Humanity is born at yín.
Since Pangu split the world apart, since the Three Sovereigns ruled the age and the Five Emperors fixed the moral order, the world has been divided into four great continents: the Eastern Continent of Superior Spirit (Pūrvavideha), the Western Continent of Cattle-Gift (Aparagodānīya), the Southern Continent of Jambu (Jambudvīpa), and the Northern Continent of Kuru (Uttarakuru). This book speaks only of the Eastern Continent of Superior Spirit. Beyond its seas lies a land called the Country of Aolai, and the country borders a great sea, and in that sea stands a famous mountain called the Mountain of Flowers and Fruit. It is the ancestral vein of the Ten Continents and the dragon-source of the Three Isles; it rose up when the clear and turbid first divided, and took shape after the primal murk was sundered. Truly a fine mountain. There are verses to prove it:
Its power holds down the vast ocean; its might brings calm to the jade-green sea.
Its power holds down the vast ocean — the tides surge in hills of silver and the fish dart to their caves;
its might calms the jade sea — the waves break in snowy crests and the clam-dragon leaves the deep.
In the quarters of water and fire the earth is heaped high; at the edge of the Eastern Sea it rears a soaring summit.
Cinnabar cliffs and grotesque stones; sheer walls and wondrous peaks.
On the cinnabar cliff a pair of phoenixes cry together; before the sheer wall a qilin lies alone.
On the peak one often hears the golden pheasant calling; at the stone grottoes one watches dragons come and go.
In the woods are long-lived deer and immortal foxes; in the trees are numinous birds and dark cranes.
The jade grasses and rare flowers never wither; the green pines and kingfisher-blue cypress are forever in spring.
The immortal peaches bear fruit in every season; the tall bamboo keeps the clouds about it always.
A single ravine, dense with vines and creepers; on all four sides, embankments fresh with the colour of grass.
This indeed is the sky-propping pillar where the hundred rivers gather, the root of the great earth, unmoved through ten thousand kalpas.
On the very summit of that mountain there lay an immortal stone, three zhàng, six chǐ and five cùn in height and two zhàng, four chǐ in girth. Its height answered to the three hundred and sixty-five degrees of the celestial circuit, its girth to the twenty-four solar terms of the regulating calendar, and the nine apertures and eight holes upon it to the Nine Palaces and the Eight Trigrams. On none of its four sides was there any tree to cast shade, though to left and right numinous fungus and orchids set it off. Ever since the first parting of Heaven and Earth it had drunk in the truth of Heaven and the fairness of Earth, the essence of the sun and the brilliance of the moon; and having been so wrought upon for so long, it came at last to possess a spiritual awareness.
Within it an immortal womb was nurtured, which one day burst apart and brought forth a stone egg, round and about the size of a ball. Meeting the wind, the egg changed into a stone monkey, its five senses all present and its four limbs complete. At once it learned to crawl and to walk, and made its bows to the four quarters; and from its eyes there shot two shafts of golden light, striking upward to the Palace of the Dipper.
This startled that Most Sacred One of High Heaven, the Greatly Compassionate and Benevolent, the Jade Sovereign and Great Celestial Worthy, August High Lord of the Mysterious Vault of Heaven, who, enthroned in the Treasure Hall of the Numinous Empyrean within the Cloud Palace of the Golden Portal, had gathered his immortal ministers about him. Seeing the golden light blazing up, he commanded Thousand-Mile Eye and Wind-Following Ear to open the Southern Gate of Heaven and observe. The two officers went forth beyond the gate at his command; they saw the matter truly and heard it plainly, and in a little while returned to report.
“Your servants, obeying the decree, observed and listened at the place of the golden light. It lies within the bounds of the little kingdom of Aolai, east of the sea, in the Eastern Continent of Superior Spirit. There is a Mountain of Flowers and Fruit, and upon the mountain an immortal stone, and the stone gave birth to an egg. Meeting the wind it became a stone monkey, which there bows to the four quarters; from its eyes wheels a golden light that shoots up to the Palace of the Dipper. Now that it takes food and drinks water, the golden light is about to die away.”
The Jade Emperor, graciously bestowing his kindness, declared: “A thing of the world below, born of the very essence of Heaven and Earth. It is nothing to wonder at.”
That monkey, there among the hills, could already walk and run and leap. It ate the grasses and trees, drank from the mountain streams, gathered mountain flowers and sought out the fruit of the trees. With wolves and creeping things it kept company, with tigers and leopards it ran in a pack, with river-deer and stags it made friends, and with gibbons and monkeys it was kin. By night it lodged beneath the rocky cliffs, and by morning it roamed among the peaks and caves. Truly it was a case of what the saying tells: in the mountains there is no calendar, and when the cold has passed one knows not the year.
One day, when the weather was blazing hot, the monkey was escaping the heat with the troop, all of them frolicking in the shade of the pines. Just look at them, every one:
Leaping the trees, scaling the branches; picking the blossoms, seeking the fruit;
flinging pellets, playing at knucklebones;
scampering in sand-pits, stacking up little pagodas;
chasing dragonflies, swatting at grasshoppers;
paying court to Old Heaven, bowing before the bodhisattvas;
tugging at kudzu-vines, weaving little caps of grass;
catching lice, biting and pinching them;
grooming their furry coats, cleaning out their claws;
some nestling close, some rubbing together;
some shoving, some pressing down;
some pulling, some dragging.
Beneath the green pine woods they romp as they please; by the green stream's edge they bathe at their leisure.
When they had played a while they went off to bathe in the mountain stream, and seeing how the ravine-water came rushing down, boiling and gushing and splashing over, they fell to talking — for as the old saying goes, birds have the speech of birds, and beasts the speech of beasts.
“This stream of water,” they said, “there's no telling where it comes from. Today, with time on our hands and nothing to do, let us follow it up to its head and trace it to its source. Let's go and have some fun.”
With a single shout, all of them came running together, leading the young ones along and calling to brothers younger and elder, following the stream and climbing the slope, straight to the place of its source — and there it was, a cascading waterfall, a flying spring. And this is what they saw:
A single sweep of white rainbow rises; a thousand fathoms of snow-white waves take flight.
The sea-wind blows, yet cannot break it off; the river-moon shines, and still it holds its place.
Its cold breath divides the blue-green peaks; its overflow moistens the emerald haze.
Babbling and pouring, it earns the name of waterfall — truly like a hanging curtain drawn across.
The monkeys clapped their hands and cried in praise: “Fine water! Fine water! So this place runs all the way down to the foot of the mountain and joins the waves of the great sea.” And then: “Whoever among us has the skill to bore in, find the source, and come out again unhurt — him we shall honour as our king.”
They called it out three times, and all at once, out from the press of them, leapt the stone monkey, who answered the cry with a shout: “I'll go in! I'll go in!” What a monkey. And this too was his doing:
This day his fair name shines forth; the hour has come, his fortune flows.
By destined bond he comes to dwell here; ordained to reign, he enters the immortal hall.
Watch him. He shut his eyes, crouched low, and with one heave of his body sprang straight into the waterfall's spring; then snapped his eyes open and raised his head to look. Within there was neither water nor wave, but a bright, clear span of bridge. He steadied himself, settled his nerves, and looking closely again saw that it was a bridge of iron plate, with the water beneath it rushing through a gap in the rock and pouring down inverted to screen the gateway. He raised himself onto the bridgehead, and walking on and looking about, found it for all the world like a dwelling-place. Truly a fine spot. And this is what he saw:
Blue-green moss heaped like indigo; white clouds afloat like jade; light shimmering in flake upon flake of rosy mist.
Empty windows, a quiet chamber; the smooth stone benches and slabs aglow as though in flower.
In a dripping grotto the dragon-pearls hang clustered; winding all about, the ground is strewn with rare blossoms.
By the cliff a hearth and stove keep the marks of fire; against a table, jar and flagon show the scraps of a meal.
Stone seats and a stone bed, truly to be loved; a stone basin and stone bowls, more to be admired still.
And there too a stalk or two of tall bamboo, three or five sprigs of plum in bloom,
and a few pines forever wet with rain — for all the world like a household.
When he had looked his fill he leapt across to the middle of the bridge and gazed left and right. There, dead in the centre, stood a stone tablet, and on the tablet, carved in a line of bold regular script, were the words: Blessed Land of the Mountain of Flowers and Fruit; Grotto-Heaven of the Water-Curtain Cave.
The stone ape, beside himself with joy, drew back in haste and made for the outside; he shut his eyes again, crouched down, and leapt clear of the water. “What luck!” he cried, laughing aloud. “What luck!”
The monkeys crowded round him. “What's it like inside? How deep is the water?”
“No water! No water!” said the stone monkey. “It turns out there's an iron-plate bridge, and on the far side of it a whole establishment made ready by Heaven and Earth.”
“How can you tell it's an establishment?”
“This stream of water,” he said with a laugh, “rushes through beneath the stone bridge and hangs down inverted to curtain the doorway. By the bridge are flowers and trees, and there stands a house of stone; and within the house are a stone recess, a stone stove, stone bowls, a stone basin, a stone bed and stone benches. In the middle, on a stone tablet, is carved: Blessed Land of the Mountain of Flowers and Fruit; Grotto-Heaven of the Water-Curtain Cave. It is truly a place for us to settle, and roomy too, big enough to hold a thousand of us, old and young. Let us all move in and live there, and we'll be spared the open sky's weather. In here:”
When the wind blows, there's a place to hide; when the rain falls, a good place to keep dry.
Of frost and snow not the least fear; the thunder's voice forever unheard.
Mist and rosy cloud forever shining; auspicious vapours steaming up each day.
Pine and bamboo year by year in their prime; rare flowers fresh anew with every day.
Hearing this, the monkeys were delighted, every one. “You go on first and lead us in — in, in!” The stone monkey shut his eyes again, crouched, and sprang inward with a single leap. “Follow me in, all of you. Come in!” The bold ones jumped straight in after him; the timid ones craned their necks and drew them back, scratching their ears and rubbing their cheeks and shrieking aloud, until after a deal of fuss they too all went in. Once across the bridgehead every one of them snatched at the basins and bowls, seized the stoves and beds, hauling this here and shifting that there — for such is the monkey's restless nature, never a moment's quiet — and they left off only when worn out and weary.
The stone ape seated himself in state above them. “Gentlemen. It is said that a man without good faith, one knows not what he is good for. You yourselves said just now that whoever had the skill to get in and out again unhurt should be made king. Now I have gone in and come out, come out and gone in; I have found you this grotto-heaven where you may sleep soundly and safe, each enjoying the comforts of a home. Why not crown me king?”
Hearing this, the monkeys submitted without a word of dissent; one by one, ranged in order of age, they bowed upward in homage and all hailed him Thousand-Year Great King. From that time the stone ape mounted the throne, put the word “stone” aside, and was thenceforth called the Handsome Monkey King. There is a poem to prove it:
The three yang lines in concord bring forth the host of living things; the immortal stone's womb held the essence of sun and moon.
Borrowing an egg, it became a monkey and completed the Great Way; lending him a name and surname to match the elixir's making.
Looked at within, it is unknowable, being without form; met with without, it plainly takes on shape.
In every age, all men belong to this — calling themselves king, calling themselves sage, ranging free.
The Handsome Monkey King led his band of gibbons, macaques and horse-monkeys, assigning them ranks of ruler, minister and aide. By morning they roamed the Mountain of Flowers and Fruit, by dusk they lodged in the Water-Curtain Cave, all of one accord and one heart, not joining the flocks of flying birds nor following the kinds of running beasts; king on his own, and his joy knew no bounds. And so:
In spring he gathered the hundred flowers for his food; in summer sought out the fruits to make his living.
In autumn he reaped taro and chestnuts to see out the season; in winter foraged Solomon's-seal to pass the turning year.
The Handsome Monkey King delighted in his nature's freedom — and so, who would have thought, some three or five hundred years went by. Then one day, in the midst of a merry feast with the monkeys, he was suddenly seized with care and let his tears fall. The monkeys hastily gathered round and bowed. “Why is the Great King troubled?”
“Even in my time of joy,” said the Monkey King, “I have one small misgiving for what lies ahead, and so I am troubled.”
The monkeys laughed again. “How discontented the Great King is! We feast together day after day, in a blessed mountain and holy continent, an ancient cave; we are not subject to the unicorn's rule, nor governed by the phoenix, nor bound by any king's throne among men. Free and at ease, ours is a blessing beyond measure. Why look so far ahead and grieve?”
“Today, true,” said the Monkey King, “we are not under the laws of human kings, nor in fear of the might of birds and beasts. But in the years to come, when age comes and the blood grows thin, there is, unseen, old King Yama who holds us in his charge; and once the body dies, shall we not have lived in this world for nothing, never to be enrolled for long among the immortals and gods?”
Hearing these words, the monkeys one and all covered their faces and wept, every one troubled by impermanence. And just then, out from the ranks sprang a bareback gibbon, who cried in a ringing voice: “If the Great King thinks so far ahead, this is what is truly called the awakening of the Heart-of-the-Way! Among the five kinds of creatures that now exist, there are only three sorts that King Yama does not govern.”
“Do you know which three kinds?” said the Monkey King.
“They are the Buddhas, the immortals and the holy sages, these three, who escape the wheel of rebirth, neither born nor dying, and live as long as Heaven and Earth, the mountains and the streams.”
“Where do these three dwell?”
“They are only within the world of Jambudvīpa, in ancient caves and immortal mountains.”
Hearing this, the Monkey King was filled with joy. “Tomorrow I shall take my leave of you and go down the mountain. I will roam like a cloud to the sea's far corners and travel to the ends of the earth, and I must seek out these three, to learn the secret of ageless long life and ever escape the calamity of King Yama.” Ah — this one remark would in time leap him clear of the net of rebirth and bring about the Great Sage Equal to Heaven.
The monkeys clapped and cried in praise, all saying: “Splendid! Splendid! Tomorrow we'll cross the ridges and climb the hills, gather a wide store of fruits, and set out a grand feast to send the Great King off!”
The next day the monkeys did indeed go gathering: immortal peaches and rare fruits, digging up yams and hoeing Solomon's-seal, with sprays of fragrant orchid, magic herbs and exotic flowers, every kind of thing, all set out neat and trim; and they laid the stone benches and stone tables and ranged the immortal wine and viands. And this is what one saw:
Gold globes and pearl pellets, red-bursting and yellow-plump.
Gold globes, pearl pellets — winter cherries, their colour truly sweet and fair;
red-bursting, yellow-plump — ripe plums, fragrant and tart to the taste.
Fresh longans, flesh sweet and skin thin;
fire-lychees, pit small and pulp red.
Crabapples, jade-green fruit offered on the bough; loquats in pale husks held up with their leaves.
Rabbit-head pears and chicken-heart dates, that quench thirst, dispel care, and cure the wine's after-ache.
Fragrant peaches and softened apricots, sweet as jade nectar and gem-broth;
crisp plums and bayberries, tart and lush as rich cream and curd.
Red-fleshed, black-seeded ripe watermelons; four-lobed, yellow-skinned great persimmons.
Pomegranates split open, their cinnabar grains like fire-crystal beads;
taro and chestnuts cut apart, firm flesh in lumps of golden agate.
Walnuts and ginkgo, good to serve with tea; coconuts and grapes, fit to be made into wine.
Hazel, pine-nut, torreya and crabapple heaped high on plates; tangerine, cane, mandarin and orange filling the tables.
Well-stewed yam, soft-boiled Solomon's-seal,
pounded poria and Job's-tears — in a stone pot, over a low fire, slowly simmered to a broth.
Though the world of men have its rarest delicacies, how could they match the mountain monkeys' deeper peace?
The monkeys honoured the Handsome Monkey King with the high seat and ranged themselves below in order of age and rank, and one by one they came forward in turn to offer wine, offer flowers, offer fruit; and they drank deep for a whole day. The next morning the Handsome Monkey King rose early and gave the order: “Little ones, break me some dead pine and weave it into a raft; take a bamboo pole for a punt, and gather some fruit and the like. I am about to set off.”
He did indeed mount the raft alone, pushed off with all his might, and drifting and rocking headed straight out into the waves of the great sea, riding the heaven-sent wind to cross to the land of the Southern Continent of Jambudvīpa. This setting-out was just as the lines tell:
A Heaven-born immortal monkey, deep in spiritual power, leaves his mountain and rides a raft on the heaven-sent wind.
Drifting over oceans, crossing seas, he seeks the immortals' Way; with set resolve and a focused heart he would build a great work.
Having the lot and the bond, he is done with worldly wishes; without care, without worry, he goes to meet the Primal Dragon.
It may be he will surely meet one who knows his heart, who will lay bare the source so that the ten thousand methods are understood.
It was also that his luck had come and his time was ripe: after he had mounted the wooden raft, for days on end a strong southeast wind blew and carried him to the shore in the northwest, and this was the land of the Southern Continent of Jambudvīpa. Testing the water with his pole, he chanced on a shallows, abandoned the raft and leapt ashore, where he found people along the shore catching fish, hunting geese, digging clams and panning salt. He went up close, played a trick and pulled a fierce tiger-face, so frightening them that they dropped their baskets and threw down their nets and scattered in flight. Seizing one who could not run, he stripped off the man's clothes and, imitating people, put them on himself.
Swaggering along, he passed through districts and prefectures, and in the marketplaces learned human manners and human speech. Eating by day and lodging by night, with single-minded purpose he sought after the Way of the Buddhas, immortals and holy sages, and a recipe for deathless long life. But he saw that the people of the world were all folk bent on fame and profit, and not one among them cared for his own life and destiny. It was just as the lines say:
Striving for fame, snatching at gain — when will it ever cease? Up early, abed late, never their own masters.
Astride a donkey or mule, they pine for a fine steed; holding a chancellor's office, they covet a princedom.
They fret only over food and clothes, deep in their toil — what do they fear that Yama will come to claim them?
Bequeathing to sons and shielding grandsons, scheming after wealth and rank — and not a single one will turn his head.
The Monkey King sought after the immortals' Way but had no luck to meet them. Through the Southern Continent of Jambudvīpa, threading along the Great Wall and roaming the little counties, eight or nine years slipped by before he knew it.
Then suddenly his travels brought him to the Western Ocean, and he thought to himself that beyond the sea there must surely be immortals. All alone he made a raft as before, drifted across the western sea, and came at last to the land of the Western Continent of Aparagodānīya. Going ashore, he searched all about for a long while, until he caught sight of a tall and lovely mountain, its forested slopes deep and still. Fearing neither wolves nor beasts, neither tigers nor leopards, he climbed to the summit to look about. It was indeed a fine mountain:
A thousand peaks arrayed like halberds, ten-thousand-fathom cliffs spread like a screen.
Sunlight on the mountain haze softly locks in the green; the rain clears, and the dark blue coldly holds its azure.
Lean vines twine the ancient trees; an old ford marks a hidden trail.
Rare flowers and auspicious herbs, tall bamboo and lofty pines —
tall bamboo and lofty pines, ten thousand years evergreen, putting a blessed land to shame;
rare flowers and auspicious herbs, unfading through the four seasons, rivalling Penglai and Yingzhou.
The cries of secluded birds sound near; the spring at its source gurgles clear.
Fold upon fold of valleys girt with iris and orchid; everywhere sheer cliffs where moss and lichen grow.
The rise and fall of the ridge-tops — the dragon-veins are good: surely some lofty man dwells here, his name unknown.
Just as he was gazing, he suddenly heard voices deep in the woods. Hurrying his steps, he pressed into the forest, cocked his ear and listened; and it turned out to be the sound of singing. The song went:
Watching a game of go till the axe-haft rots, felling trees with a chop and a chop, ambling by the clouds at the valley's mouth;
selling firewood, buying wine, laughing wild and pleasing himself.
The green path, autumn high, he faces the moon; pillowed on a pine root, he sleeps one sleep till dawn.
He knows his old wood again; climbing crags, crossing ridges, axe in hand he cuts the dead vines.
Gathered into a single load, he sings on his way to market and barters it for three shēng of rice.
Not the least haggling, the market price fair and even;
he knows no scheming or cunning reckoning — no glory, no disgrace — calm and plain, he lengthens out his life.
Wherever he meets a man, if not an immortal then a Daoist, sitting in stillness expounding the Yellow Court.
When the Handsome Monkey King heard this, his heart filled with joy. “So an immortal has been hiding here all along!” he cried, and sprang inside at once — and looking closely, saw that it was a woodcutter, swinging his axe to cut firewood. Just look at how he was turned out:
On his head he wore a bamboo rain-hat, the sheath freshly shed by a new bamboo shoot.
On his body he wore a cloth coat, the gauze spun out of cotton thread.
At his waist was tied a looped sash, the silk spat from the mouth of an old silkworm.
On his feet he trod straw sandals, woven from dried sedge.
In his hand he held a pure-steel axe; over his shoulder, a coil of hemp rope.
At pulling down pines and splitting dead trees — who could match this woodcutter?
The Monkey King came up close and called out: “Venerable immortal, your disciple salutes you!”
The woodcutter hastily dropped his axe, turned and returned the courtesy. “I don't deserve that, I don't deserve that. I'm a clumsy fellow who can't even feed and clothe himself — how should I dare bear the name of immortal?”
“If you're no immortal,” said the Monkey King, “how is it you speak an immortal's words?”
“What immortal's words did I speak?”
“When I came just now to the edge of the wood, I heard you sing: wherever I meet a man, if not an immortal then a Daoist, sitting in stillness expounding the Yellow Court. The Yellow Court is the true word of the Dao and its power. If you're no immortal, then what are you?”
The woodcutter laughed. “I'll not deceive you. This lyric is called Mǎn tíng fāng, and an immortal taught it to me. That immortal's home neighbours mine. Seeing how my household labours and how I'm troubled day to day, he taught me that when vexation comes I should just recite this lyric — first to ease the mind, second to dispel care. I'd been fretting a little over my hardships, and so I was reciting it. I never expected you to overhear.”
“Since your home neighbours an immortal's,” said the Monkey King, “why not follow him in cultivation? Learn a recipe for ageless life — wouldn't that be fine?”
“My life has been a hard one,” said the woodcutter. “From childhood my parents raised me, and by eight or nine I knew something of the world; then, to my grief, my father died, and my mother was left a widow. I have no brothers or sisters, only myself, and no help for it — I must wait on her morning and night. Now my mother is old, and all the more I dare not leave her. Besides, the fields lie waste and we have not enough to eat and wear, so I can only cut a couple of bundles of firewood, carry them to the market, sell them for a few coppers and buy a few shēng of rice. I cook and keep house myself, set out a little food and support my old mother. That is why I cannot cultivate.”
“From what you tell me,” said the Monkey King, “you are a gentleman of filial conduct, and there will surely be a reward for you hereafter. But I beg you only to point me to where that immortal lives, so that I may go and call on him.”
“It's not far, not far. This mountain is called the Mountain of the Numinous Terrace and the Square Inch; in the mountain is a cave called the Cave of the Slanting Moon and Three Stars, and in that cave is an immortal whose name is Patriarch Subodhi. The disciples who have gone forth from that patriarch are beyond counting, and even now there are some thirty or forty cultivating under him. Follow that little path, go south seven or eight lǐ or so, and you'll be at his home.”
The Monkey King took the woodcutter by the hand. “Elder brother, come along with me. If I do gain some benefit, I'll never forget your kindness in showing me the way.”
“What an unbending fellow you are! I've just told you all this, and still you don't understand. If I went off with you, wouldn't it ruin my livelihood? And who would support my old mother? I have wood to cut. Go on by yourself, go on by yourself.”
The Monkey King, hearing this, could only take his leave. Out of the deep wood he came, found the path, crossed a hillside, and after some seven or eight lǐ did indeed catch sight of a cave-dwelling. Drawing himself up to look, he saw it was a truly fine spot. Behold:
Mist and rosy cloud scatter their colours; sun and moon shimmer their light.
A thousand aged cypresses, ten thousand joints of tall bamboo.
A thousand aged cypresses, rain-laden, green and soft against the sky;
ten thousand joints of tall bamboo, holding mist, a whole ravine deep blue-green.
Beyond the gate, rare flowers spread like brocade; by the bridge, magic herbs breathe fragrance.
On the stone cliff, jagged, the green moss glistens; up the sheer wall, high-spread, the kingfisher lichen grows long.
Now and then one hears immortal cranes cry; often one sees phoenixes wheel.
When the immortal cranes cry, the sound shakes the deep marsh, far as the heavens;
when the phoenixes rise in flight, their plumage glows five-coloured as the painted clouds.
Black gibbons and white deer come and go at will; golden lions and jade elephants appear or hide as they please.
Look closely at this numinous, blessed land — it truly rivals heaven.
He saw too that the cave door was tightly shut, silent and still, with no trace of anyone. Turning suddenly, he saw on the cliff-head a stone tablet, some three zhàng and more high and eight chǐ and more wide, and on it a single line of ten large characters, reading: Mountain of the Numinous Terrace and the Square Inch; Cave of the Slanting Moon and Three Stars.
The Handsome Monkey King was delighted. “The folk here really are honest — there truly is such a mountain and such a cave!” He gazed a good while but dared not knock; so he went and sprang up to the tip of a pine branch, picked pine seeds, ate them and played. After a little while, with a creak, the cave door opened, and out came an immortal lad, his bearing truly handsome and grand, his features fresh and rare, unlike any common mortal. Behold him:
A twin hair-knot bound with twin silk cords, a loose robe, wind in both sleeves.
His face and form set him apart; heart and appearance alike are empty.
A long-years guest beyond the world of things, an ever-living lad of the mountains.
Not a speck of dust clings to him; he lets the cycling years tumble by.
The lad came out of the gate and called aloud: “Who is it making a disturbance here?”
The Monkey King dropped down out of the tree with a plop, came forward and bowed. “Immortal lad, I am a disciple come to seek the Way and study immortality. I would never dare make a disturbance here.”
The lad laughed. “You're a seeker of the Way?”
“I am.”
“My master has just risen from his couch to mount the dais and expound the Way. Before he had even said why, he had me come out and open the gate, saying: there's a seeker of cultivation outside, go and receive him. It must be you?”
“It's me, it's me!” laughed the Monkey King.
“Come in with me.”
The Monkey King straightened his clothes, composed himself, and followed the lad straight into the depths of the grotto-heaven to look about: tier upon tier of deep halls and jade towers, court after court of pearl palaces and shell gate-towers, quiet chambers and secluded dwellings beyond all telling. On he went to the foot of the jade dais, where he saw Patriarch Subodhi seated upright upon it, with thirty minor immortals standing in attendance below. And indeed he was:
A Great Awakened Golden Immortal of stainless form, the wondrous-marked Patriarch Bodhi of the West.
Unborn and undying, through the three-times-three practices; whole in breath and spirit, boundless in compassion.
Empty and still, he changes freely with all things; in Suchness and his original nature, he lets all be as it will.
A majestic body, long-lived as Heaven itself; through kalpa on kalpa, mind-illumined — a great master of the Dharma.
The moment the Handsome Monkey King saw him he threw himself down and kowtowed beyond counting, crying only: “Master! Master! Your disciple pays homage with all his heart, pays homage with all his heart!”
“From what region are you?” said the patriarch. “State your native place and name clearly first, then bow again.”
“Your disciple is from the Water-Curtain Cave of the Mountain of Flowers and Fruit, in the country of Aolai in the Eastern Continent of Superior Spirit.”
“Throw him out!” the patriarch shouted. “He's nothing but a cheat and a humbug. What fruit of the Way could the likes of him cultivate?”
The Monkey King kowtowed without stopping. “Your disciple's words are honest, with not a shred of deceit.”
“If you're honest, how can you speak of the Eastern Continent of Superior Spirit? That place is separated from here by two seas and a whole Southern Continent of Jambudvīpa. How could you ever have got here?”
“Your disciple drifted over oceans and crossed seas,” he answered, kowtowing, “traversing realms and roaming about for a dozen years and more, before I finally found my way to this place.”
“So you came step by step. Well enough. What is your surname?”
“I have no temper. If a man curses me, I'm not vexed; if he strikes me, I'm not angered. I just make an apology and let it go. All my life I've had no temper.”
“Not that kind of nature. Your parents — what was their surname?”
“I have no parents either.”
“No parents — then were you born on a tree?”
“I wasn't born on a tree, but I did grow out of a stone. All I remember is that on the Mountain of Flowers and Fruit there was a magic stone, and the year it split open, I was born.”
Hearing this, the patriarch was secretly glad. “Put that way, you are a thing formed by Heaven and Earth itself. Get up and walk about, and let me see you.” The Monkey King sprang to his feet and waddled back and forth a couple of times.
The patriarch laughed. “Mean and ugly though your frame is, you do look like a pine-nut-eating macaque, a hú sūn. I'll take a surname for you from your very body — my thought is to surname you 猢, Hú. But if you take the beast radical off 猢, you're left with 古月: 古 means old, and 月 means yin. Aged yin cannot beget and nurture, so it would be better to surname you 猻, Sūn. Take the beast radical off 猻, and you're left with 子系: 子 means a boy-child, and 系 means infant, small — which fits exactly the very idea of an infant. So I'll surname you 孫, Sūn, then.”
When the Monkey King heard this his heart filled with joy, and he kowtowed upward. “Splendid! Splendid! Splendid! Today at last I know I have a surname. I beg the master's mercy: now that I have a surname, grant me also a given name, the better to be called by.”
“In my school there are twelve characters, assigned in turn for naming, and you fall in the tenth generation, a junior disciple.”
“Which twelve characters?”
“They are the twelve — Broad, Great, Wisdom, Sage, True, Thus, Nature, Sea, Bright, Awaken, Round, Enlightened. Counting down to you, it falls exactly on 悟, Wù, to awaken. I'll give you the dharma-name 孫悟空, Sun Wukong. How's that?”
The Monkey King laughed. “Splendid! Splendid! Splendid! From this day I'll be called Sun Wukong.” Truly it was:
In the first cleaving of primordial chaos, there were no surnames at all;
to shatter the stubborn void, one must awaken to the void — Wukong.
There is no telling yet what fruit of the Way he would cultivate hereafter; so listen to the next chapter, and all will be explained.