A poem runs:
Idle fancies need not be forcibly quelled;
as for suchness — why must it be sought at all?
The primal self-nature is cultivated in the Buddha's presence;
do delusion and awakening lie the one before the other?
Awaken, and in a kṣaṇa one attains the right;
stray, and through myriad kalpas one sinks and drifts.
Could a single thought accord with true cultivation,
it would extinguish sins numberless as Ganges sands.
Now Eight Rules and Sha Monk had crossed some thirty bouts with the fiend, and neither could gain the upper hand. Do you ask why victory would not declare itself? Were it a wager of sheer skill, then not two monks but twenty could not have withstood that ogre. It was only that Tripitaka's allotted span had not yet run out: unseen, the guardian deities kept watch over him, and aloft the Six Ding and Six Jia, the Revealers of the Five Quarters, the Four Sentinels of the Watches, and the eighteen guardians of the saṃghārāma lent their aid to Eight Rules and Sha Monk.
But leave aside the combat of the three. The elder, meanwhile, wept within the cave, and thinking of his disciples let the tears fall. “Wuneng, ah — I know not in what village you have fallen among good friends and grown greedy for their almsfood; Wujing, ah — you too know not where to seek him, and can you even find him? Little did I think to fall in with a fiend and suffer this ordeal here. When shall I meet you again, escape this great affliction, and reach the Spirit Mountain betimes?”
Just as he grieved and fretted, of a sudden a woman came forth from within the cave, and steadying herself against the soul-fixing post, called out: “You there, elder — whence do you come? Why has he bound you in this place?”
Hearing her, the elder stole a glance through his tear-filled eyes: the woman seemed some thirty years of age. Then he said, “Bodhisattva-lady, there is no need to ask. I am already a dead man; having walked in at your household's door, if you would eat me, then eat and be done — why ask further?”
“I am no eater of men,” said the woman. “My home lies three hundred lǐ and more to the west of here, where there stands a city called the Land of Precious Images. I am that king's third princess; my milk-name is Hundred-Flowers-Shy. Thirteen years ago, on the night of the fifteenth of the eighth month, in the very midst of the moon-gazing, this fiend snatched me away on a gust of wild wind. I have been his wife these thirteen years, have borne him sons and daughters here, and no word of me has ever gone back to court. When I think of my father and mother, whom I cannot see — And you, whence come you, that he has taken you captive?”
“This poor monk is one dispatched to the Western Heaven to fetch the scriptures,” said Tripitaka. “Walking idly, I strayed and blundered in here unawares; and now he means to seize my two disciples and steam and devour us all together.”
The princess said with a coaxing smile, “Set your heart at ease, elder. Since you are a scripture-seeker, I can save you. That Land of Precious Images lies on your high road westward; carry a letter there for me, pay my respects to my father and mother, and I shall have him spare you.”
Tripitaka nodded. “Bodhisattva-lady, if indeed you would save this poor monk's life, I am willing to be the bearer of your letter and the carrier of your word.”
The princess turned quickly to the inner chamber, wrote out a letter home upon a single sheet, and sealed it fast. Coming to the post, she loosed Tripitaka and put the letter into his hands. Freed at last, he held it up in both hands and said, “Bodhisattva-lady, I thank you for the gift of my life. On this journey, when I pass through your honored land, I shall be sure to deliver it to the king. My one fear is that, after so long a lapse of years, your father and mother may be unwilling to own the connection — and what then? Do not blame me, this poor monk, if I must speak a falsehood.”
“No matter,” said the princess. “My royal father has no son; he begot only us three sisters. If he sees this letter, he will surely wish to receive you.”
Tripitaka tucked the letter snugly into his sleeve, thanked her, and made to leave; but she caught him back. “By the front gate you cannot get out — all the demons great and small are out there waving flags and shouting, beating drums and clashing gongs, aiding the Great King in his fight with your disciples. Go out by the back gate. Should the Great King seize you, he would at least question you first; but I fear the lesser imps might take you, and, drawing no distinction, do you a rough and mortal harm. Wait while I go before him and put in a good word. If the Great King lets you go, then wait for word from your disciples, find them, and make off together.”
Hearing her, Tripitaka kowtowed, obeyed her instructions to the letter, took his leave, and slipped out beyond the back gate; not daring to go on alone, he hid himself away within a thicket of brambles.
Now the princess, a clever scheme forming in her heart, hurried forward, passed out at the gate, and pushed through the throng of demons great and small. She heard only a clang and clatter, a wild ringing of blades: it was Eight Rules and Sha Monk, locked in combat with the fiend high in the air. She called out in a shrill, loud voice: “Yellow-Robe, my lord!” Hearing her, the ogre-king at once let Eight Rules and Sha Monk be, brought his cloud down to earth, gripped his steel blade, and, steadying her, said, “Wife, what have you to tell me?”
“My lord,” said the princess, “just now, as I slept within the gauze bed-curtains, in the very soul of my dream, I suddenly beheld a spirit in golden armor.”
“That golden-armored god?” said the fiend. “What did it come to my door for?”
“When I was a girl in the palace, I secretly vowed a vow before another: that should I win a worthy husband and consort, I would go up to the famous mountains, do reverence at the abbeys of the immortals, and feast the monks and give alms. Since I was matched with you, in the pleasures of our union, I have never once spoken of it to this day. That golden-armored spirit came to demand the vow of me, and startled me awake with a shout — and it was but a Dream of the Southern Bough. And so I hastened, my dress scarce ordered, to my lord's chamber to tell of it — little thinking that a monk stood bound there at the post. I beg my lord's compassion: for the sake of my poor good will, spare that monk, and let it stand for the feasting of monks and the redeeming of my vow. Does my lord consent, or no?”
“Wife, you are making too much of it,” said the fiend. “What pressing matter is this? If I want to eat men, where could I not scoop up a few to eat? What does this one monk amount to? Let him go, then.”
“My lord, let him go out by the back gate,” said the princess.
“How tiresome! Let him go and be done — who cares whether it's the back gate or the front!” Then he snatched up his steel blade and called out loudly, “You there, Zhu Eight Rules — come here. It is not that I fear you, that I will not fight you; but for the sake of my wife I spare your master. Get you quickly to the back gate, find him, and be off to the west. Should you come again to trespass on my domain, I will by no means spare you.”
Hearing these words, Eight Rules and Sha Monk felt as though loosed and sent back from the very Gate of Ghosts. In all haste they led the horse and shouldered the baggage and scurried off like rats. Rounding the back gate of the Wave-Moon Cave, they called out, “Master!” — and the elder, knowing their voices, answered from within the brambles. Sha Monk then broke open a path through the grass, steadied the master, and got him hastily upon the horse. Whereof it is said:
By savage malice he came near the blue-faced ghoul;
by earnest kindness he was blessed with Hundred-Flowers-Shy.
Like a great sea-turtle slipping the golden hook and line,
it wags its tail and shakes its head and rides the waves away.
Eight Rules took the lead in front and Sha Monk followed behind; they came out of the pine wood and gained the high road. You should have seen the two of them, jabbering and grumbling, muttering and complaining, while Tripitaka did nothing but make peace between them. At nightfall they would seek lodging first; at cockcrow they would rise to watch the sky. Stage by stage, past long pavilions and short, before they knew it they had gone two hundred and ninety-nine lǐ. Then, raising their heads of a sudden, they saw a fine city before them — and this was the Land of Precious Images. A splendid place indeed:
Clouds far and faint, the road long and winding.
Though the land lay a thousand lǐ beyond,
its scenes and things were bounteous all the same.
Auspicious mists and lucky vapors mantled it round;
a clear wind and bright moon beckoned and swayed.
The far peaks, jagged and towering, spread wide like a painted scroll;
the flowing streams, purling and rippling, dashed into scattered gems and jade.
Fit for the plow, the linked field-paths ran across the acres;
rich enough to feed, the dense herbs and fresh young sprouts.
For the angler, a few households along the bends of three ravines;
for the woodcutter, a single load from the pepper-trees of two peaks.
Rampart upon rampart, wall upon wall, secure as a moat of molten metal;
home beside home, door beside door, vying only in ease and leisure.
The ninefold high towers, like palace-halls;
the ten-thousand-zhàng tiered terraces, like brocade banners.
There too were the Supreme-Ultimate Hall, the Flowered-Canopy Hall, the Incense-Burning Hall,
the Contemplation-of-Letters Hall, the Proclamation-of-Governance Hall, the Prolonged-Brilliance Hall —
hall upon hall, with jade steps and golden stairs,
arrayed with the capped men of the pen and the capped men of arms;
there too were the Great-Brilliance Palace, the Resplendent-Sun Palace, the Lasting-Joy Palace,
the Floriate-Clear Palace, the Established-Emblem Palace, the Never-Ending Palace —
palace upon palace, whose bells and drums and pipes and flutes
wiped away the boudoir's grief and the springtime's sorrow.
There were the dew-drenched flowers of the forbidden park, smoothing their tender cheeks;
there were the wind-blown willows of the palace moat, dancing their slender waists.
On the thoroughfare, one might see a man capped and sashed,
in full ceremonial dress, riding behind a team of five horses;
in a secluded spot, one might see a man bearing bow and gripping arrow,
parting the clouds and mist to transfix a pair of eagles at a single shot.
Lanes of flowers and willows, towers of strings and pipes —
its spring winds yielded nothing to the Bridge of Luoyang.
The scripture-seeking elder, looking back toward great Tang,
felt his liver and gall rend within him;
the disciples attending their master, setting down their loads at the little post-station,
felt their very dream-souls melt away.
One could not exhaust the sights of the Land of Precious Images. Master and disciples, the three of them, gathered up their baggage and their horse and took their rest within the post-station.
Tripitaka walked on foot to the outer gate of the court and said to the gate-usher, “There is a monk of Tang who has come expressly to have audience with the throne and to have his travel-rescript renewed. I beg you to relay it up, relay it up.” The eunuch memorial-officer hurried to the foot of the white-jade steps and reported, “Your Majesty, there is an eminent monk of Tang who begs to see the throne and to have his travel-rescript renewed.”
When the king learned that this was from the great realm of Tang, and heard moreover that it was a holy monk from abroad, his heart was greatly pleased, and he granted the petition at once. “Summon him in,” he called. Tripitaka was summoned to the golden steps, and when he had finished the dance of homage and the acclamation of long life, the many officials on either hand, civil and military, all sighed in admiration: “A man of the superior realm — how decorous and composed his rites and bearing!”
“Elder,” said the king, “on what business have you come to my kingdom?”
“This humble monk is a disciple of Śākya from Tang,” said Tripitaka. “Bearing the edict of my Son of Heaven, I journey westward to fetch the scriptures. I carry from the first a travel-rescript, and coming to Your Majesty's high realm, it is only proper that it be renewed. And so, not knowing the bounds of decorum, I have disturbed the dragon countenance.”
“Since you have the travel-rescript of the Tang Son of Heaven, bring it up that I may see it.” Tripitaka lifted it up in both hands, spread it open, and laid it on the royal desk. The rescript read:
The Son of Heaven of Great Tang, of the Southern Jambū Continent, who by Heaven's warrant carries on the imperial course, issues this rescript. Humbly do We consider that We, of scant virtue, have succeeded to the great foundation. In serving the spirits and governing the people, We are as one who nears a deep abyss or treads upon thin ice, anxious from dawn to dusk.
Some while ago, having failed to save the old dragon of the Jing River, We drew the reproach of the august Sovereign on High. Our three cloud-souls and seven white-souls were carried off in a moment to the offices of the shades, and We were already become a guest of impermanence. But because Our earthly span was not yet spent, the Lord of the Netherworld took pity and sent Us back to life; whereupon We set forth a great assembly of good works and raised an altar for the deliverance of the dead.
It was Our good fortune that the Bodhisattva Guanyin, Reliever of Suffering, made manifest her golden body and revealed that in the West there are Buddhas and there are scriptures, by which the dead in darkness may be delivered and lonely souls set free. We therefore specially charged the Dharma-master Xuanzang to pass afar over a thousand mountains and to seek out the scriptures and gāthās.
Should he come to the several kingdoms of the West, let the bond of good affinity not be cut off, but suffer him to pass on the warrant of this rescript. Such is the rescript, to be complied with. Issued before the throne on an auspicious autumn day, in the thirteenth year of the Zhenguan reign of the Great Tang.
(Nine treasure-seals were impressed above.)
When the king had read it, he took the treasure-seal of his own realm, affixed his signature, and handed it back. Tripitaka gave thanks for the favor, put away the rescript, and then reported further: “This humble monk came, first, to have the rescript renewed; and second, to deliver a family letter to Your Majesty.”
Greatly pleased, the king said, “What letter is this?”
“Your Majesty's Third Princess was carried off by the Yellow-Robe Ogre of the Wave-Moon Cave on Bowl Mountain,” said Tripitaka. “This humble monk chanced to meet with her, and so she has sent this letter by me.”
Hearing this, the king's eyes brimmed over. “Since the princess vanished thirteen years ago, I know not how many officials, civil and military, I have demoted and dismissed, nor how many maids and eunuchs, within the palace and without, I have had beaten to death. We supposed only that she had wandered out of the palace and lost her way, and there was nowhere left to search. Throughout the city, too, I interrogated the common households beyond all number, and still there was no trace. How was I to know that a demon had carried her off? Only today, hearing these words all at once, am I so wounded in heart that I weep.”
Tripitaka drew the letter from his sleeve and presented it up. The king received it, and when he saw the two characters “All is well,” his hands went the weaker for it, and he could not bring himself to open it. He sent down an order summoning a Grand Academician of the Hanlin Academy to the hall to read the letter. The academician came up at once. Before the hall stood the many officials, civil and military; behind it stood the consorts and palace ladies, all with ears inclined. The academician broke the seal and read aloud. What was written was this:
The unfilial daughter Hundred-Flowers-Shy bows her head and makes a hundred obeisances before the Dragon-and-Phoenix Hall of her great and virtuous royal father, Ten Thousand Years; and beneath the Resplendent-Sun Palace of the queen-mothers of the three chambers; and at the desks of the worthy ministers, civil and military, of all the court:
This unworthy daughter was fortunate to be born of the palace of the Earth-queen, and is grateful beyond measure for the ten thousand toils of her rearing. Yet she could not exert her strength to gladden her parents' faces, nor exhaust her heart in the service of filial duty.
Now, thirteen years ago, on the fine night and fair hour of the fifteenth of the eighth month, by the gracious command of her royal father, each palace was bidden to set out a banquet, to delight in the moon's splendor and share together in the grand gathering of that clear night. In the very midst of the merriment, unlooked-for, there came a gust of fragrant wind, and out flashed a demon-king with golden eyes, an indigo face, and green hair, who seized your daughter, mounted an auspicious light, and bore her straight off to a wild and unpeopled place among the hills. There, powerless to resist, she was forced by the demon and made his wife against her will.
And so, helpless, she has endured thirteen years, and has borne two demon-children, wholly of a monster's seed. To speak of it is truly to corrupt the bonds of kind and to injure decent custom, and it were unfit to send a letter that would only bring dishonor. But she feared that, once dead, her fate would never be made known. Even as she nursed her grief and longed for her father and mother, it chanced that a holy monk of Tang was likewise seized by the demon-king. So your daughter, with falling tears, wrote this letter, boldly set the monk free, and entrusted to him this scrap of paper to declare the little of her heart.
Prostrate, she begs her royal father to look upon her with pity, to dispatch a chief general with all speed to the Wave-Moon Cave on Bowl Mountain, to take the Yellow-Robe Ogre and rescue his daughter back to the court — for which she would be deeply grateful. Written in haste and wanting in respect; there is more than a letter can say. The disobedient daughter Hundred-Flowers-Shy bows her head again and yet again.
When the academician had finished reading, the king wept aloud, the three chambers shed tears, and the officials, civil and military, were grieved to the heart; before the hall and behind, there was none but mourned. The king wept a long while, then asked the two files of officials, civil and military, “Who dares to raise troops and lead generals, to take the demon for me and rescue my Hundred-Flowers Princess?” He asked several times over, and not one man dared answer — the military officers truly as if carved of wood, the civil officials as if molded of clay. The king's heart grew vexed, and his tears fell like a welling spring.
Then the assembled officials prostrated themselves as one and reported: “Let Your Majesty not be vexed. The princess was lost, and for thirteen years to this day there has been no word; that a holy monk of Tang should chance to meet her and bring a letter here — we do not yet know if it be true. Moreover, we your servants are but common men on common horses, versed in the books of war and the arts of strategy, fit only to array battle-lines and pitch camps, to guard the state against the peril of invasion. That demon is of the sort that comes on cloud and goes on mist; we cannot so much as come face to face with him — how then should we campaign and rescue? We think that this scripture-seeker from the Eastern Land is a holy monk of the superior realm: a monk whose Way is so high that dragon and tiger crouch before him, whose virtue is so weighty that ghosts and gods revere him. He must possess the art of subduing demons. As the old saying goes, he who comes to speak of a trouble is the very man to settle it. Let us then ask this elder to subdue the fiend and rescue the princess — that would surely be the plan of perfect safety.”
Hearing this, the king turned quickly about and entreated Tripitaka: “Elder, if you have the skill — if you would loose your power to take the demon and bring my child back to the court — then you need not go west to worship the Buddha at all. Grow out your hair, keep a full head, and I shall bind myself to you as a sworn brother; we shall sit together upon the dragon-couch and share its riches. What say you?”
“This humble monk knows only, and roughly, how to recite the Buddha's name,” Tripitaka replied hastily. “In truth I have no skill to subdue demons.”
“If you cannot subdue demons,” said the king, “how did you dare set out for the Western Heaven to worship the Buddha?”
The elder, unable to keep it hidden, brought out the matter of his two disciples. “Your Majesty, this humble monk alone could hardly have reached this far. I have two disciples, well able to open a road where they meet a mountain and to bridge the water where they meet a river, who have brought me safely here.”
The king said, with some displeasure, “You are a most unreasonable monk. If you have disciples, why did you not bring them in together to see me? Were they to come to court, though there might be no gift to their liking, there would surely be a vegetarian meal befitting their station.”
“Those disciples of mine are ugly of feature,” said Tripitaka, “and I dared not presume to bring them to court, for fear of alarming and harming Your Majesty's dragon-person.”
The king laughed. “Only hear how this monk talks! Am I, after all, to be afraid of them?”
“I dare not say too much,” said Tripitaka. “My elder disciple is surnamed Zhu, and named Wuneng, called Eight Rules. He is grown with a long snout and protruding fangs, stiff bristles and fan-like ears, a coarse body and a great belly, and walks up a wind as he goes. My second disciple is surnamed Sha, a monk with the dharma-name Wujing. He is grown to a body one zhàng and two chǐ in height, with arms three sections in breadth; his face is like indigo, his mouth like a basin of blood, his eyes flash and glitter, and his teeth are set like a row of nails. Both are of just such a mould, and so I dared not presume to bring them to court.”
“Since you have described them thus in full, why should I fear them? Summon them in.” At once the king had a golden tablet sent to the post-station to invite them.
When the blockhead heard they were being invited, he said to Sha Monk, “Brother — and you were against delivering the letter! Now you see the good of delivering a letter. I'll wager the master delivered it, and the king said a letter-bearer must not be slighted, and has certainly laid on a banquet to entertain him; and since the master's own appetite is poor, out of regard for you and me he named our names — and so a golden tablet has been sent to invite us. We'll all eat a good meal, and be off tomorrow in fine fettle.”
“Brother, who knows the reason for it?” said Sha Monk. “Let us just go and see.”
So they handed over the baggage and the horse to the post-master, and each taking his own weapon, followed the golden tablet into court. Coming early to the foot of the white-jade steps, they took their places to left and right, gave a single shout of salute toward the throne, and then stirred no further. The many officials, civil and military, were every one of them afraid. “That these two monks are ugly may pass,” they all said, “but they are excessively coarse and rude. How is it that, on seeing our king, they did not so much as bow, but, their salute done, stood straight upright, stiff and unmoving? Most strange, most strange!”
Eight Rules, overhearing, said, “Gentlemen, no need to gossip. We are simply made this way: at first glance we are indeed a bit ugly, but look a while longer, and you'll find us quite easy on the eye.”
The king, seeing how hideous they were, was already frightened at heart; and when he heard the blockhead speak out, he trembled the more, could not keep his seat, and tumbled down from the dragon-couch. Happily the attendant officers were at hand to raise him up. So flustered was Tripitaka that he knelt before the hall and, kowtowing without cease, said, “Your Majesty, this humble monk deserves ten thousand deaths, ten thousand deaths! I said that my disciples were ugly and dared not have audience, for fear of harming the dragon-person — and indeed I have startled Your Majesty.”
Trembling, the king came forward and helped him up. “Elder, it is thanks to you that you spoke of it beforehand; had you not, I should surely have been frightened to death at the sudden sight of them.”
When he had settled his nerves a good while, he asked, “Elder Zhu, Elder Sha — which of you is skilled at subduing demons?”
The blockhead, with no sense of the fitness of things, answered, “Old Zhu can subdue them.”
“And how do you subdue them?”
“I am none other than Marshal Tianpeng,” said Eight Rules. “Only because I broke the laws of Heaven was I cast down into the world below; and happily I have now returned to the right and become a monk. Since we came here from the Eastern Land, the number-one subduer of demons has been myself.”
“Since you are a heavenly general come down among mortals, you must surely be adept at transformations.”
“I dare not claim it — but I do manage to know a few transformations.”
“Try changing into something, that I may see.”
“Set me a subject, and I'll change to match the model.”
“Change into something big, then.”
Now Eight Rules, too, had the six-and-thirty transformations, and there before the steps he made a show of his arts: pinching his fingers in a spell and reciting a charm, he gave a shout — “Grow!” — and, with a bow of his waist, shot up to a height of eight or nine zhàng, for all the world like a road-clearing god. So frightened were the two files of officials, civil and military, that they shook and trembled, and the whole court, king and ministers alike, stood stupefied and aghast.
Just then a hall-guarding general asked, “Elder, if you can grow so tall as this, to what point must you grow before you reach your limit?”
The blockhead came out with another of his blockish remarks: “That depends on the wind. An east wind is bearable, a west wind will do; but if a south wind should rise, I'd butt a great hole right through the blue sky.”
The king cried out in alarm, “Put away your magic power! I see now what your transformations are.” Eight Rules gave himself a shake downward, resumed his true form as before, and stood in attendance before the steps.
“Elder,” the king asked further, “when you go, what weapon have you to do battle with him?”
Eight Rules drew the rake from his waist. “What Old Zhu wields is a nail-rake.”
The king laughed. “That would only disgrace your appearance. Here I have whips and maces, melon-hammers and mallets; sabres and spears, battle-axes and hatchets; swords and halberds, lances and sickles — choose whichever suits your hand and take it with you. What sort of weapon do you call that rake?”
“Your Majesty does not understand,” said Eight Rules. “This rake of mine, coarse and clumsy though it seems, has in truth been my constant weapon since youth. When I was a marshal in the water-mansion of the Heavenly River, in command of eighty thousand water-troops, it was wholly upon the power of this rake that I relied. Now, come down into the mortal world to guard my master, whenever I meet a mountain I break open the dens of tigers and wolves, and whenever I meet a river I overturn the lairs of dragons and sea-clams — and all of it is this rake.”
Hearing these words, the king was greatly pleased and convinced at heart. He at once commanded the nine concubines and consorts: “Bring a whole flask of the imperial wine that I myself use, that I may, for the moment, send the elder off with it.” So he filled a goblet to the brim and offered it to Eight Rules, saying, “Elder, this cup of wine is but to convey my wish to reward your toil. When you have taken the demon and brought my little daughter back, there shall of course be a great feast to requite you, and a thousand gold in weighty thanks.”
The blockhead took the cup in hand — coarse of person though he was, in this he showed a certain refinement — and gave Tripitaka a great salute. “Master, this wine ought by right to have been drunk beginning with you; but since the sovereign has bestowed it upon me, I dare not disobey. Let Old Zhu drink first, to raise his spirits a little, the better to catch the demon.” He drained the cup at a draught, then filled another goblet and passed it to his master. “I do not drink wine,” said Tripitaka; “let you brothers have it.” Sha Monk came forward and took it. Eight Rules then made a cloud rise beneath his feet and mounted straight into the sky. Seeing this, the king said, “So Elder Zhu can ride the clouds as well?”
When the blockhead had gone, Sha Monk likewise drained his cup at a draught and said, “Master, when the Yellow-Robe Ogre held you captive, the two of us did battle with him and came off only even. Now that Second Brother goes alone, I fear he will not be able to overcome him.”
“Just so,” said Tripitaka. “Disciple, you may go and lend him your aid.”
Hearing this, Sha Monk too loosed a cloud and leaped up into the air. The king took fright and, seizing hold of Tripitaka, said, “Elder, do sit a while and keep me company — do not you ride off on the clouds as well!”
“Alas, alas,” said Tripitaka, “I could not go half a step even if I would.” And so the two of them fell to talking there upon the hall, of which no more need be told.
Now Sha Monk caught up with Eight Rules. “Brother, here I am.”
“Brother, what have you come for?”
“The master bade me come and lend a hand.”
Eight Rules was delighted. “Well said, and well come. If the two of us bend our strength with one heart to take that monster, then, come what may, we shall at least make our names ring in this kingdom.” Look at them:
In billowing auspicious radiance they take leave of the kingdom's bounds;
in curling propitious vapors they issue from the capital.
Bearing the king's command, they come to the mountain cave;
with strength bent and hearts as one, to seize the demon-sprite.
In no long time the two of them reached the cave-mouth and set down their clouds. Eight Rules drew his rake and, with all his strength, dealt a blow against the door of the Wave-Moon Cave, driving in that stone door a hole the size of a dǒu measure. So startled was the little imp on gate-duty that he opened the door, saw it was the two of them, and ran hastily in to report: “Great King, this is bad! That long-snouted, big-eared monk, and that dusky, sour-faced monk, have come again and smashed the door right through!”
The demon said in alarm, “These are still those two, Zhu Bajie and Monk Sha. I spared their master — how do they dare come again and beat upon my door?”
“Perhaps they forgot some thing and have come to fetch it,” said the little imp.
The old demon gave a snort. “Nonsense! Would they dare come beating at my door for a forgotten thing? There must be a reason.” Hastily he made fast his armor, snatched up his steel sabre, and came out to ask, “You monks — I spared your master; how do you dare come again and beat upon my door?”
“A fine piece of work you've done, you vile fiend,” said Eight Rules.
“What work?” said the old demon.
“You lured the Third Princess of Baoxiang into your cave, and, relying on force, usurped her as your wife, and have kept her these thirteen years — high time you gave her back! I bear the king's command and have come on purpose to seize you. Get inside, quickly, bind yourself with a rope and come out — and so spare Old Zhu the trouble of laying hands on you.”
Hearing this, the old demon flew into a great rage. Look at him: grinding, he gnashed his steel teeth; rolling, he glared with round ringed eyes; fiercely, he raised his blade on high; savagely, he chopped straight at the head. Eight Rules dodged aside, and, wielding his nail-rake, came head-on to meet him; and hard behind, Sha Monk too raised his treasure-staff and rushed up to strike alongside. This bout, contested upon the mountaintop, was unlike the last. Truly it was:
Words at cross and speech astray stir up a man's vexation;
intent envenomed, feeling galled, the wrath-breath rises.
This demon-king, with his great steel sabre, chops straight at the head;
that Eight Rules, with his nine-toothed rake, comes to meet him face on.
Sha Wujing lets fly his treasure-staff;
that demon-king fends off the divine weapons.
One fierce fiend, two divine monks — back and forth, and never a pause.
This one says, for cozening a kingdom you deserve the death-penalty;
that one says, for meddling in idle matters, righting wrongs not yours.
This one says, by forcing marriage on the princess you have wounded the realm's honor;
that one says, it is no affair of yours — cease your idle contention.
Reckon it up: all for the sake of a letter borne —
and so it comes that monk and demon, both, are left unquiet.
They fought before that mountain slope through some eight or nine bouts, and Eight Rules little by little began to fail: his nail-rake grew hard to lift, and his strength would not answer. Now, why should they be so unable to prevail against him? At their first encounter, there had been the guardian gods of the Law, who, because Tripitaka was in the cave, had secretly aided Eight Rules and Sha Monk — and so they had won only a draw; but now those gods were all at Baoxiang, guarding Tripitaka fast, and therefore the two could not match him.
“Sha Monk,” said the blockhead, “you go up and keep fighting him a while — let Old Zhu go and relieve himself.” And with that, giving no further thought to Sha Monk, he bolted in a streak into a tangle of wormwood and creeper, bramble and vine, and, heedless of everything, went burrowing in at a rush. Little he cared that it scraped his scalp raw and jabbed his snout and face; he rolled himself over and lay down, and would not come out again — but kept half an ear cocked, listening for the clapper's sound.
The demon, seeing that Eight Rules had gone, rushed straight at Sha Monk. Sha Monk, caught off his guard, was seized in the demon's grip and hauled into the cave; and the little imps bound him fast, all four limbs trussed together. In the end, there is no knowing how it truly went with his life — so listen to the next chapter for the telling.