The tale now takes up the Handsome Monkey King, who, having won himself a name at last, leapt about in his joy and made his bows before Bodhi to give thanks. The Patriarch straightaway ordered the assembly to lead Sun Wukong out past the second gate, and to instruct him in the disciplines of sprinkling and sweeping, of answering when addressed, and of stepping forward and back. The host of immortals carried out the command and withdrew.
Once outside the gate, Wukong bowed again to all his elder brothers-in-study, and settled his sleeping quarters among the corridors and side-galleries. The next morning he took up, with his elder schoolmates, speech and the forms of courtesy, the expounding of scriptures and the discussion of the Way, the practice of writing and the burning of incense; and so passed each day. In his idle hours he swept the grounds and hoed the garden, raised flowers and trimmed trees, sought out firewood and kindled the fire, drew water and carried gruel. Of everything that was wanted, not one thing was left unprovided. In the cave, before he was aware of it, six or seven years had flickered by.
One day the Patriarch mounted the dais and took the high seat, called the whole company of immortals together, and opened his discourse on the Great Way. It was truly a scene like this:
Heaven's blossoms tumbled down in showers; from the earth there welled up golden lotuses.
Wondrously he expounded the teaching of the Three Vehicles; subtle and exact, the myriad dharmas stood complete.
Slowly waving his deer-tail whisk, he spat forth pearls and jade; their sound, rolling like thunder, shook the ninefold heavens.
A while he spoke of the Dao, a while he preached of Chan; the Three Schools, joined as one, were fundamentally so.
He laid bare in a single word the principle of devout refuge, and pointed the way to the Unborn, to fathom the mystery of one's nature.
Sun Wukong, listening from off to one side, was so delighted that he scratched his ears and rubbed his cheeks, his brows dancing and his eyes laughing; he could not keep his hands from dancing it or his feet from stamping it. Suddenly the Patriarch caught sight of him and called out.
“You there in the ranks — why are you capering about like a madman instead of listening to my lecture?”
“Your disciple was listening with all his heart,” said Wukong, “but when I came to the place of the old master's wondrous words I could not contain my joy, and so without realizing it I fell to capering like this. I beg the master to forgive my fault.”
“Since you can recognize the wondrous sound,” said the Patriarch, “let me put a question to you. How long is it now since you came to this cave?”
“Your disciple is a muddle-head by nature and does not know how much time has passed. I only remember that whenever the fire beneath the stove went out I would go behind the mountain to gather firewood, and there I found a hillside of fine peach trees, where I have eaten my fill of peaches seven times now.”
“That hill is called Rotten Peach Mountain. Since you have eaten there seven times, it must be seven years. What sort of Way do you now wish to learn from me?”
“I leave it entirely to my honored master's teaching. So long as it carries some savor of the Way, your disciple will study it.”
“Within the gate of the Way,” said the Patriarch, “there are three hundred and sixty side-disciplines, and every one of them can bear its proper fruit. I wonder which of them you wish to study?”
“I leave it to my honored master's judgment; your disciple will follow with a whole heart.”
“Suppose I teach you the Way within the gate of Art. How would that be?”
“What does the Way of the Art-gate amount to?”
“The gate of Art is such things as summoning immortals and working the planchette, consulting oracles and casting the milfoil stalks — the art of knowing how to pursue good fortune and avoid disaster.”
“Can one obtain long life by such means?”
“You cannot, you cannot.”
“Then I won't learn it, I won't learn it.”
“Suppose I teach you the Way within the gate of Stream,” the Patriarch went on. “How would that be?”
“And what is the substance of the Stream-gate?”
“The gate of Stream takes in the Confucians, the Buddhists, the Daoists, the Yin-Yang school, the Mohists and the physicians — reading scriptures or reciting the Buddha's name, and the like of paying court to the Perfected and summoning down the saints.”
“Can one obtain long life by such means?”
“If it is long life you want, that would be like setting a pillar inside a wall.”
“Master, I am a plain, honest fellow and do not follow your trade-cant. What do you mean by setting a pillar inside a wall?”
“When people build a house and want it to stand firm, they set a supporting pillar within the wall; but the day the great hall is about to topple, that pillar is sure to have rotted away.”
“By that account it does not last either. I won't learn it, I won't learn it.”
“Suppose I teach you the Way within the gate of Stillness. How would that be?”
“And what true fruit lies in the gate of Stillness?”
“This is abstaining from grain and guarding the valley-spirit, purity and non-action, practicing Chan and sitting in meditation, holding the tongue and keeping the fast — or the sleeping exercise, or the standing exercise, and entering trance and sealing oneself in retreat, and the like.”
“Can one gain long life by this too?”
“It is also like an unfired brick on the kiln-top.”
“Master, you really are a slippery one!” said Wukong with a laugh. “All along you've said I don't follow trade-cant — so what do you mean by an unfired brick on the kiln-top?”
“It is just like the green brick-and-tile clay shaped up on the kiln-top: though it has taken its form, it has not yet been through water and fire; let one cloudburst pour down, and it is sure to dissolve away.”
“Then it does not last either. I won't learn it, I won't learn it.”
“Suppose I teach you the Way within the gate of Action. How would that be?”
“And what, then, is the Way of the Action-gate?”
“This is the path of striving and doing: gathering the yin to replenish the yang, drawing the bow and treading the crossbow, kneading the navel and circulating the breath, compounding by formula, burning reeds and working the cauldron, taking in the red lead and refining the autumn mineral, and ingesting woman's milk, and the like.”
“Can one gain long life by such things?”
“To want long life from these is also like fishing the moon out of water.”
“There the master goes again! What do you mean, fishing the moon out of water?”
“The moon is up in the vast sky; its reflection is in the water. You may see it plainly, but there is nowhere to grasp it, and in the end it comes to nothing at all.”
“Then I won't learn it, I won't learn it.”
At these words the Patriarch, with a bark of “Bah!”, leapt down from the high dais, ferule in hand, and pointed straight at Wukong. “You wretched ape — this you won't learn, that you won't learn; just what is it you're after?” He stepped forward and struck Wukong three times on the head; then, clasping his hands behind his back, he walked off inside, shut the middle door, and left the whole assembly standing there.
This so frightened the class of listeners that every one of them was terrified, and they all blamed Wukong. “You insolent monkey! What outrageous manners! The master was handing you the methods of the Way — how could you refuse to learn them and talk back to him besides? Now you've offended him, and who knows when he'll come out again!” At that moment they all resented him bitterly and looked on him with contempt and disgust.
But Wukong was not the least put out; his whole face was wreathed in an ingratiating smile. For the truth was that the Monkey King had already cracked the riddle of the platter and kept it secret in his heart, which was why he would not wrangle with the others, but only bore it in silence. The master's striking him three times was to have him fix his mind on the third watch; and the clasping of hands and walking off inside, the shutting of the middle door, was to have him come in by the back door, that the Way might be passed to him in secret.
That day Wukong and the rest were merry and glad, but out before the Three-Star Immortal Cave he kept watching the sky, impatient: evening could not come soon enough. When dusk came he went to bed with the others, but only feigned to close his eyes, steadying his breath and keeping his spirit collected. In the mountains there was no beating of the watches or passing of the time-arrow, and he could not tell the hour; he simply steadied the breath going in and out of his own nostrils. When it came to about the hour of zǐ he rose softly, put on his clothes, stealthily opened the front door, slipped away from the others and went outside. He lifted his head and looked, and it was just such a scene as this:
The bright moon, the clear dew cold; to the eight poles, far and utterly free of dust.
In the deep trees secluded birds roost; at the spring's head the water trickles and flows.
Flying fireflies scatter their glimmer; passing wild geese rank in formation across the clouds.
Just at the hour of the third watch — the very time to go seeking the true Way.
See him take the old path to the back gate, where he found the door standing half open, half shut. “So the old master truly means to pass the Way to me,” said Wukong gladly. “That is why he has left the door open!” He shuffled forward, slipped in sideways through the door, and went straight to the foot of the Patriarch's couch, where he saw the Patriarch curled up asleep with his face to the wall. Wukong dared not disturb him, and knelt before the couch. Before long the Patriarch woke, stretched out both legs, and chanted to himself:
Hard, hard, hard! — the Way is most arcane;
do not take the golden elixir lightly.
Without meeting the right person to pass the marvelous secret,
one talks in vain till the mouth is weary and the tongue goes dry!
“Master,” Wukong answered aloud, “your disciple has been kneeling here in waiting a good while.”
Recognizing his voice, the Patriarch rose, threw on his robe, sat up cross-legged and barked: “You wretched ape! Why aren't you off sleeping in the front, instead of coming round here to the back to me — what for?”
“Yesterday at the dais, before the whole company, the master gave his word, bidding your disciple come at the third watch and pass the teaching to me by the back door; and so I made bold to come straight and bow beneath your honor's couch.”
Hearing this the Patriarch was greatly pleased, and thought to himself: this creature really is a thing born of Heaven and Earth, else how could he have cracked the hidden riddle of my platter?
“Here there are no six ears — only your disciple alone,” said Wukong. “I beg the master to bestow great mercy and pass me the way of long life; I will never forget the kindness.”
“You have an affinity today, and I am glad to speak. Since you have read the hidden riddle of the platter, come close and listen carefully. I shall pass you the marvelous way of long life.” Wukong kowtowed his thanks, washed out his ears and fixed his mind, and knelt beneath the couch. The Patriarch intoned:
The true and marvelous formula, manifest-and-secret, perfectly penetrating —
to cherish and cultivate nature-and-life, there is nothing else to tell.
All of it comes down to essence, breath and spirit;
guard them close and store them firm, and let nothing leak away.
Let nothing leak away, but store it within the body;
receive my transmission, and the Way will of itself thrive.
Hold the oral formula in memory, and the benefit is great;
dispel deviant desires, and you attain the clear and cool.
Attain the clear and cool, the light pure and bright;
good then to turn to the elixir-terrace and savor the bright moon.
The moon hides the jade hare, the sun hides the crow;
of themselves the tortoise and the snake will coil and entwine.
Coil and entwine, and nature-and-life grow firm;
then within the fire you can plant the golden lotus.
Cluster the Five Phases and turn them upside-down to use;
the work complete, you become at will a Buddha or an immortal.
At this, the source laid bare, Wukong's spirit quickened and blessing came upon him, and he committed the oral formula firmly to memory. He bowed to the Patriarch in thanks for his deep kindness and went straight out the back door to look about. The sky in the east was just faintly spreading white, while in the west the golden light still shone bright. By the old path he turned back to the front gate, pushed it softly open and went in, sat down in his former sleeping-place, and on purpose shook the bed-frame till it creaked, calling: “Daylight! Daylight! Get up!” The others were all still asleep, and none knew that Wukong had come by his good fortune. That day he rose and mingled with the rest as usual, but quietly kept up the work, regulating his breath by himself before the hour of zǐ and after the hour of wǔ.
By now three years had slipped by. The Patriarch again ascended his jeweled seat and expounded the Dharma to the assembly. What he discoursed on were the kōan-cases and figurative sayings; what he treated of were the outer forms and surface wrappings. Suddenly he asked: “Where is Wukong?”
Wukong came forward and knelt. “Your disciple is here.”
“What sort of Way have you been cultivating all this while?”
“Of late your disciple has grown fairly penetrating in dharma-nature, and his root and source too have gradually grown firm.”
“Since you have penetrated dharma-nature and grasped the root and source, and have already settled it into your spirit-body, there yet remains one thing to guard against: the peril of the Three Calamities.”
Hearing this, Wukong pondered a long while. “The master's words must be mistaken. I have heard that when the Way is lofty and virtue eminent one is equal to Heaven in years; that when water and fire are in accord the hundred ailments do not arise. How then could there be any peril of the Three Calamities?”
“This is no ordinary Way,” said the Patriarch. “It wrests away the creative power of Heaven and Earth, it usurps the hidden workings of sun and moon; and once the elixir is formed, neither ghosts nor spirits can abide it. Though it halts your aging and lengthens your years, yet when five hundred years have passed, Heaven sends down a thunder-calamity to strike you, and you must see your nature and illumine your mind to dodge it in advance. Dodge it, and your years are level with Heaven's; fail to dodge it, and your life ends then and there.
“After another five hundred years, Heaven sends down a fire-calamity to burn you. This fire is no heavenly fire, nor any mortal fire — it is called yin-fire. It kindles from below, at the Bubbling-Spring point of your own body, and shoots straight up through the Ní-yuán Palace; the five viscera turn to ash, the four limbs all rot, and a thousand years of austerities are made empty illusion.
“After another five hundred years, a wind-calamity is sent down to blow upon you. This wind is no wind of the four quarters, nor the balmy southern or cold northern wind, nor any breeze through flowers, willows, pines or bamboo — it is called the Bì-wind. It blows in through the fontanelle into the six bowels, passes the cinnabar field, pierces the nine orifices; bone and flesh dissolve away, and the body comes apart of itself. And so all of them must be dodged.”
Hearing this, Wukong felt his hair and bones bristle with dread, and bowing his head in worship he said: “I earnestly beg your honor to take pity and pass me the method for evading the Three Calamities; to the end I shall never forget the kindness.”
“This is no hard matter either,” said the Patriarch, “only that you are unlike other men, and so it cannot be passed to you.”
“But I too have a round head topping heaven and square feet treading earth; I have the nine orifices and four limbs, the five viscera and six bowels, just as others do. How am I unlike a man?”
“You may resemble a man, yet you lack the cheeks a man has.” For that monkey had a face with jutting cheekbones, sunken cheeks and a pointed snout.
Wukong reached up a hand and felt them, then laughed. “The master has reckoned wrong! I may lack the cheeks, but I have, more than a man, this throat-pouch here — surely that can make up the difference.”
“Very well then — which sort will you learn? There is one sort, the tally of the Heavenly Gang, which comes to thirty-six transformations; and one sort, the tally of the Earthly Sha, which comes to seventy-two transformations.”
“Your disciple would rather fish from the larger pile. Let me learn one of the Earthly-Sha transformations.”
“In that case, come forward, and I will pass you the oral formula.” Thereupon he put his mouth to Wukong's ear and spoke low — and what wondrous method he imparted, none can say. And this Monkey King was one for whom, the moment a single aperture opened, a hundred apertures opened: there and then he practiced the formula, cultivating and refining on his own, and learned every one of the seventy-two transformations.
One day the Patriarch and his disciples were out before the Three-Star Cave, enjoying the evening. “Wukong,” said the Patriarch, “is the work accomplished yet?”
“Thanks to the master's boundless grace, your disciple's merit is complete; I can already rise on the rosy clouds and ascend.”
“Try rising, and let me see.”
Wukong showed his skill: with a heave he sprang up, turned a connected somersault, and leapt five or six zhàng off the ground; treading the cloud-mist he went off for about the space of a meal, but came and went less than three lǐ, and dropped down before them. Clasping his hands he said: “Master, that is rising and cloud-soaring!”
The Patriarch laughed. “That doesn't count as cloud-soaring; it only counts as cloud-crawling. As the old saying goes, an immortal roams the North Sea at dawn and Cangwu at dusk. For you to go less than three lǐ in half a day — that can't even count as cloud-crawling.”
“What is meant by roaming the North Sea at dawn and Cangwu at dusk?”
“All who can cloud-soar set out from the North Sea in the early morning, roam through the Eastern, Western and Southern Seas, and then turn back to Cangwu. Cangwu, now, is a term from Lingling by the North Sea. To roam all the four seas in a single day — only that counts as cloud-soaring.”
“That's hard,” said Wukong, “that's hard.”
“There is nothing hard in the world — one only fears a person with a will.”
Hearing this, Wukong bowed his head in worship and said respectfully: “Master, in doing a kindness one should see it through; just dispense a great mercy and pass me this cloud-soaring method all at once — I shall surely never forget the kindness.”
“All the immortals soar by springing up from a stamp of the foot, but you are not like that. Just now I saw you rise only with a tumbling pull. So I will work from this very motion of yours, and pass you the somersault-cloud.” Wukong bowed again and earnestly begged, and the Patriarch passed him another formula. “For this cloud, make the hand-sign, recite the true words, clench your fists tight, give your body a shake and leap up — and one somersault carries you a hundred and eight thousand lǐ.”
Hearing this, the others giggled one and all. “What luck Wukong has! If he knows this trick, he could serve as a relay-courier for people, carrying documents and dispatches, and find a meal wherever he goes.”
At dusk master and disciples each went back to their dwellings. That night Wukong circulated his spirit and worked the method, and mastered the somersault-cloud. Day after day he was free and unfettered, at ease and carefree — and this too was a delight of his long life.
One day, as spring gave way to summer, the assembly were all gathered under the pines, discoursing for a good while. “Wukong,” said the others, “from what lifetime's cultivation comes your karmic luck? The other day the old master whispered in your ear and passed you the transformations for evading the Three Calamities. Have you mastered them all?”
“I won't hide it from you, brothers,” laughed Wukong. “For one thing the master taught me, and for another I worked at it day and night; those several kinds I have all mastered.”
“While the time is good, give us a demonstration. Let us have a look.”
Wukong, hearing this, braced his spirit and, showing off his skill, said: “Elder brothers, set me a subject. What shall I transform into?”
“Just turn into a pine tree.”
Wukong made the hand-sign, recited the spell, gave his body a shake and transformed — and turned into a pine tree. Truly it was:
Lush and wreathed in mist, it spans the four seasons;
soaring cloudward, straight up, it shows its chaste form.
Not a trace of the demon-monkey's look remains;
all of it frost-tried, snow-enduring branches.
Seeing it, the others clapped and roared with laughter, all crying: “Good monkey! Good monkey!” And their uproar, all unawares, disturbed the Patriarch.
The Patriarch came hurrying out the door, dragging his staff. “Who is making this clamor here?” At the shout the others hastily composed themselves, straightened their robes and came forward; and Wukong too reverted to his true form and, mingling with the crowd, said: “We report to the venerable master: we were discoursing here, with no outsiders making any clamor.”
“All this shouting and yelling,” said the Patriarch in anger, “it is not at all the bearing of those in cultivation! For the cultivator, when the mouth opens the spirit-breath scatters, and when the tongue stirs disputes are born. How can you be clamoring and laughing here?”
“We dare not deceive the master,” said the others. “Just now Sun Wukong was performing transformations for sport. We had him turn into a pine tree, and indeed he became a pine tree; we disciples all praised and applauded, and so our loud voices startled and affronted you. We beg forgiveness.”
“The rest of you, get up and go.” Then he called: “Wukong, come here! I ask you — what spirit were you playing at, transforming into what pine tree? Is this skill a thing to be paraded before others? Suppose you saw another had it — would you not beg it of him? And another, seeing you have it, will surely beg it of you. If you fear the trouble, you will have to teach him; and if you do not teach him, he will surely do you harm — and then your own life cannot be kept safe.”
Wukong kowtowed. “I only beg the master's forgiveness.”
“I do not blame you — but all the same, you must go.”
Hearing this, Wukong's eyes brimmed with tears. “Master, where would you have me go?”
“Where you came from. Just go back there, and that's all.”
Wukong suddenly understood. “I came from the Water-Curtain Cave on the Mountain of Flowers and Fruit, in the country of Aolai, in the Eastern Continent of Superior Spirit.”
“Go back quickly, and save your life. To stay here is absolutely not allowed.”
Wukong accepted the reproof, but addressed the master. “I too have been away from home twenty years; though I long to see my old children and grandchildren again, I think of the master's deep kindness, still unrepaid, and I dare not go.”
“What kindness or obligation is there? Just see that you cause no trouble and do not drag me into it — that will be enough.”
Seeing there was no help for it, Wukong could only bow in farewell and part from the others. But the Patriarch spoke again. “This departure of yours will surely breed mischief. However you may cause trouble or do violence, you are not to say you are my disciple. If you let slip even half a word, I shall know of it, and I will flay this monkey's skin and grind his bones, and banish your soul to the ninefold dark, never to recover through ten thousand kalpas!”
“I will not bring up a single word of the master,” said Wukong. “I will only say I learned it all myself, and that will be the end of it.”
Wukong gave his thanks, then drew himself away, made the hand-sign, gave a connected tumble, sprang up on the somersault-cloud and headed straight back to the Eastern Continent. It hardly took an hour before he sighted the Mountain of Flowers and Fruit and the Water-Curtain Cave; and the Handsome Monkey King, glad in himself, said quietly to himself:
When I left, my mortal bones and flesh were heavy;
having gained the Way, my body is light, my frame light too.
In all the world none will set his will to it;
set the will to cultivate the mystery, and the mystery clears of itself.
Back then, crossing the sea, the waves were hard to breast;
today, returning, the going is wonderfully easy.
The parting words and earnest charge are still in my ears —
who would have thought that in a moment I'd see the Eastern Sea!
Wukong brought down his cloud, came straight to the Mountain of Flowers and Fruit, and went looking for the path. And suddenly he heard cranes crying and gibbons wailing: the cranes' cries piercing beyond the empyrean, the gibbons' wails mournful and deeply heart-rending. He opened his mouth at once and called: “Children, I have come!”
From below the cliff, by the stone ledges, among the flowers and grasses, in the trees, monkeys big and small alike came leaping out by the thousands upon thousands, surrounded the Handsome Monkey King, kowtowed and cried: “Great King, how carefree you are! Why have you been away so long? You left us all stranded here, longing for you as for food and drink. Lately a demon has been oppressing us, insisting on seizing our Water-Curtain Cave; we risked death and forgot our lives fighting him. All this while that creature has snatched away our household goods and seized many of our children and nephews, forcing us to keep watch over the homestead day and night, sleepless. Luckily the Great King has come — had you stayed away another year or so, even our mountain and cave would all have passed to another's hands.”
Hearing this, Wukong was filled with rage. “What demon is this, that dares be so outrageous? Tell me the whole of it in detail, and let me go and take revenge on him.”
The monkeys kowtowed. “We report to the Great King: that creature calls himself the Monstrous King of Havoc, and dwells away to the due north.”
“From here to where he is, how far is the way?”
“He comes on cloud and goes on mist, now wind, now rain, now lightning, now thunder. We do not know how far the way is.”
“In that case, do not be afraid,” said Wukong. “Just amuse yourselves, and wait while I go and seek him out.”
The fine Monkey King gave his body a leap, sprang up, and somersaulted all the way due north to look about, where he saw a high mountain, truly most precipitous. A fine mountain it was:
Brush-peaks standing erect, winding ravines sunk deep.
Brush-peaks erect, piercing the empty sky; winding ravines deep, reaching the gate of earth.
On the two cliffs flowers and trees vie in wonder; in places pines and bamboo contend in green.
On the left, dragons — tame and docile; on the right, tigers — crouching calm.
Ever the iron-ox is seen at the plow; often the golden-coin is sown.
Hidden birds in their lovely singing; a vermilion phoenix standing to the sun.
The rocks all glitter, the waters all clear; strange and uncanny, truly forbidding.
The world's famous mountains are beyond counting; flowers bloom and fade, yet the white-asters still abound.
How could anything match a scene that endures forever — through the eight terms and four seasons wholly unchanging?
Truly the Kan-Source Mountain of the Three Realms, nourishing the Water-Viscera Cave of the Five Phases.
The Handsome Monkey King was just silently taking in the scene when he heard someone speaking, and went straight down the mountain to look. It turned out that before that steep cliff was the Water-Viscera Cave, and outside the cave-gate several little demons were dancing; and seeing Wukong, they fled.
“Don't run!” said Wukong. “I'll borrow the words in your mouths to carry the matter in my heart. I am the lord of the Water-Curtain Cave on Flower-Fruit Mountain, in the due south. That damned Havoc-demon of yours has bullied my children and grandchildren again and again, and I have come on purpose to seek him out, to settle which of us is the better.”
The little demons scrambled into the cave to report. “Great King, there's trouble!”
“What trouble?” said the Demon King.
“Outside the cave is a monkey-fellow who calls himself lord of the Water-Curtain Cave on Flower-Fruit Mountain; he says you have bullied his children again and again, and has come on purpose to seek you out and settle which of you is the better.”
The Demon King laughed. “I have often heard those monkey-spirits speak of a king of theirs who left home to cultivate the Way — so he has come at last. How did you see him got up? What weapons has he?”
“He has no weapons at all — bareheaded, in a red robe cinched with a yellow sash, a pair of black boots on his feet, neither monk nor layman, nor yet like a Daoist or an immortal, bare-handed and empty-fisted, shouting at the gate.”
“Fetch me my armor and weapon!” said the Demon King, and the little demons brought them out at once. He donned helmet and armor, snatched up his sabre, came out the gate with his demons and called aloud: “Which of you is the lord of the Water-Curtain Cave?” Wukong quickly opened his eyes wide and looked, and saw the Demon King:
On his head a black-gold helmet, gleaming in the sun;
on his body a black gauze robe, billowing in the wind.
Below, black iron armor, tightly bound with leather thongs;
on his feet, patterned pleated boots, mighty as a general.
His waist ten spans around, his body three zhàng tall.
In his hand he held a sabre, its blade-edge keen and bright.
Called the Monstrous King of Havoc, rugged and fierce of mien.
“This wretched demon,” the Monkey King shouted, “with eyes so big — and you can't even see Old Sun!”
The Demon King looked and laughed. “Your body isn't four chǐ, your years not past thirty, and you've no weapon in hand. How dare you be so wildly bold as to seek me out and settle any superiority?”
“You wretched demon, so you're blind after all!” Wukong cursed. “You reckon me small — yet to be big is no trouble; you reckon I've no weapon — why, with my two hands I can hook the moon at heaven's edge. Don't be afraid — just take one fist of Old Sun's!” And with a single leap he sprang up and struck right at the face.
The Demon King reached out and parried. “You're so stunted and short, I'm so tall and big; you want fists, I want the sabre. But to kill you with the blade would only get me laughed at. Let me set it down and have a bout of boxing with you.”
“Well said,” said Wukong. “Come on then, brave fellow.”
The Demon King threw open his stance and struck; and this Wukong bored straight in, grappling and closing. The two of them pounded with fists and kicked with feet, lunging and ramming — for long-range boxing is wide but empty, while close-in blows are solid. The Demon King, jabbed by Wukong in the flank, rammed in the crotch and struck a few times at the joints, was badly hurt. He dodged aside, took up that board-broad steel sabre and slashed straight at Wukong's head; Wukong quickly drew back, and the slash struck empty.
Seeing how fierce he was, Wukong used the body-outside-the-body method: he plucked a handful of fur, chewed it to bits in his mouth, spat it into the air and cried, “Transform!” At once they became two or three hundred little monkeys, swarming all around.
Now when one attains an immortal's body, its spirit-transformations are without limit. What none knew was that this Monkey King, ever since he completed the Way, had on his body eighty-four thousand hairs, every one of which could transform, answering to things just as his heart willed. Those little monkeys were sharp-eyed and nimble: when the blade came it could not strike them, when the spear thrust it could not wound them.
You should have seen them — leaping fore and aft, swarming up, surrounding the Demon King: some hugging, some tugging, some diving at his crotch, some grabbing his legs, kicking and pulling his hair, gouging his eyes, tweaking his nose, hoisting and jostling him, until they had beaten him into one tangled heap. Then this Wukong went and seized the demon's own sabre, parted the little monkeys, and with one stroke at the crown of his head cut him into two pieces. Leading the host, he charged into the cave and wiped out every demon, great and small.
Then he gave his fur a shake and drew it back onto his body — but he saw some that could not be drawn back: these were the little monkeys the Demon King had carried off from the Water-Curtain Cave. “And how came you here?” Wukong asked.
There were some thirty to fifty of them, and all said through tears: “After the Great King went off to seek immortality, these two years he harried us, and carried us all off. Isn't that the household stuff of our cave? The stone basins and stone bowls — this creature carried them all off too.”
“Since they are our household goods, carry them all outside.” Thereupon he set a fire in the cave and burned the Water-Viscera Cave to a crisp, until all was reduced to ash. “Come back home with me,” he said to them all.
“Great King,” said the monkeys, “when we came, we only heard the wind whistling past our ears and floated weightless to this place. We don't even know the way; how can we get home now?”
“This is just a bit of magic he worked — what's hard about that? Now that one of my apertures is open, a hundred are open; I can work it too. Close your eyes, all of you, and don't be afraid.”
The fine Monkey King recited a spell, rode a gust of wild wind, and brought his cloud down. “Open your eyes, children,” he called. The monkeys' feet touched solid ground; recognizing their home, every one of them rejoiced and ran for the old paths to the cave-gate. The monkeys who had stayed in the cave all thronged in together, ranged themselves by age, and did obeisance to the Monkey King. They set out wine and fruit, held a welcome feast and offered congratulations, and asked about the subduing of the demon and the rescue of the young.
Wukong told it through in detail, and the monkeys praised him without end: “To think the Great King, going off to that far place, learned such arts!”
“In that year I parted from you,” Wukong went on, “I drifted with the waves across the Eastern Ocean to the borders of the Western Continent, went straight on to the Southern Continent, learned to take human form, put on this robe and these shoes, and went swaggering along — wandering eight or nine years and more, yet never finding the Way. Then I crossed the Western Ocean to the borders of the Western Continent, inquired for a long while, and was lucky enough to meet an old patriarch, who passed me the true attainment that is long-lived as Heaven, the great dharma-gate of deathless immortality.”
The monkeys offered congratulations, all crying: “A thing hardly met in ten thousand kalpas!”
“Little ones,” laughed Wukong again, “and here's another joy, that this clan of ours now all has a surname.”
“What is the Great King's surname?”
“My surname now is Sun, and my dharma-name Wukong.”
Hearing this, the monkeys clapped and said joyfully: “The Great King is Old Sun, and we are all Second Sun, Third Sun, Fine Sun, Little Sun — a household of Suns, a nation of Suns, a whole nestful of Suns!” All came waiting upon Old Sun, with big basins and small bowls of coconut wine and grape wine, immortal flowers and immortal fruits; and truly the whole household made merry. Ah:
Joined through into a single surname, the self returns to its root;
only awaiting glad promotion — a name on the immortals' roll.
After all, there is no knowing how it will turn out, or how his dwelling in this realm will begin and end; so listen to the telling in the next chapter.