Now tell of those two little imps, the false gourd in their hands, who vied a while in gazing at it — then looked up all at once, and Pilgrim was gone.
“Brother,” said Clever-Bug, “so immortals too can tell barefaced lies. He said that having traded treasures he would see us across into immortality — how is it he has gone off without a word of parting?”
“We got much the better of the bargain,” said Fine-and-Keen. “Could he really get away with it? Bring the gourd over; let me bottle up Heaven too, and give it a trial run.”
And indeed he tossed the gourd upward — and with a plop it came tumbling straight back down.
Clever-Bug cried in panic: “Why won't it bottle? Won't bottle? Can it be that Sun the Pilgrim, feigning an immortal's shape, traded a false gourd away for our true one?”
“Don't talk rubbish,” said Fine-and-Keen. “Sun the Pilgrim is pinned under those three mountains — how could he get out? Hand it over; let me recite those few words of his spell over it and try the bottling.”
This fiend too flung the little gourd at the empty sky, chanting: “If there be half a sound of refusal, I go straight up to the Hall of Divine Mists and set arms in motion!” Before the chant was done, plop — down it tumbled again. The two imps said: “It won't bottle, it won't bottle — it must be a fake.”
Amid their clamor the Great Sage Sun, up in mid-air, heard it all distinctly and saw it all plainly. Fearing that if they trifled too long some word would leak at the critical point, he gave his body a shake and recalled to himself the hairs that had been transformed into gourds — leaving those two fiends with four hands holding nothing at all.
“Brother, hand me the gourd,” said Fine-and-Keen. “You were holding it,” said Clever-Bug. “Heavens! How has it vanished?” They groped over the ground and rummaged the grass, plumbed their sleeves and felt about their waists — where was it to be had?
The two fiends, scared stiff and staring, said: “What's to be done? What's to be done? That day the Great King entrusted the treasures to us and bade us capture Sun the Pilgrim. Now the Pilgrim is not taken, and the treasures on top of it are gone — how dare we go back and report? One straight beating and we're dead. What's to be done! What's to be done!”
“Let's run for it,” said Clever-Bug. “Run where?” said Fine-and-Keen. “Anywhere, never mind where. If we go back and say the treasures are lost, it's certain death.”
“Don't run; better we go back,” said Fine-and-Keen. “The Second Great King has always looked on you kindly, and I'll put in a word on your behalf. If he's willing to be lenient, we keep our lives; if talk won't carry it and we're beaten to death, at least it's here at home. Don't leave us caught fast at neither end. Come along, come along.” So the fiends took counsel and turned their steps back to the mountain.
Pilgrim in mid-air watched them turn back; with another shake of his body he changed into a little fly and flew down to follow the imps.
Now you ask: since he had turned into a fly, where were the treasures put? Had he dropped them by the road or hidden them in the grass, and someone had seen and taken them, would his labor not have been in vain? No — he kept them on his person. On his person, you say — but a fly is no bigger than a bean; how could they be contained? The fact is, those treasures of his, like his gold-banded cudgel, are called wish-fulfilling Buddha-treasures: they change with the body, can be great, can be small, and so upon his person they too could be held.
With a droning buzz he flew down and kept close upon the fiends. In no time he reached the cave. There sat the two demon lords drinking, and the little imps knelt before them; Pilgrim lit upon the door-frame and cocked an ear to listen.
“Great Kings,” said the imps. The two old fiends set down their cups: “You've come back?” “We have.” They asked again: “Have you taken Sun the Pilgrim?” The imps only knocked their heads on the ground and dared not speak. The old fiend asked again, and still they dared not answer; they only kowtowed.
Questioned again and again, the imps prostrated themselves on the ground. “Spare your servants a myriad-fold death, spare your servants a myriad-fold death! We were carrying the treasures and had come to the middle of the mountain when suddenly we met an immortal from Mount Penglai. He asked us where we were going, and we answered, ‘To capture Sun the Pilgrim.’ When the immortal heard the name of Sun the Pilgrim, he too bore him a grudge and offered to lend a hand. It was we who did not let him help; instead we told him all about capturing treasures and bottling men. That immortal also had a gourd, able to bottle up Heaven. Out of a covetous heart and a wish to provide for our households, we thought: his bottles Heaven, ours bottles men — let us trade with him. It was first agreed, gourd for gourd; then Clever-Bug threw in the jade vase as well. Who would have thought that a thing of the immortals' making cannot come near a mortal's hand? Just as we were trying it out, both man and treasure vanished together. We beg you a thousand times, spare your servants' capital crime!”
Hearing this, the old fiend flew into a rage like thunder. “Done for, done for! This is Sun the Pilgrim, who tricked them by feigning an immortal. That monkey-head has vast magic powers and knows people everywhere; there's no telling which petty spirit let him out to swindle away our treasures.”
“Elder brother, calm your anger,” said the second fiend. “Insufferable that the monkey-head should be so utterly without manners — if he had powers and merely made off, so be it; but why must he also steal our treasures? If I've no skill to take him, may I never work my mischief on the western road again.”
“How will you take him?” said the old fiend. “We have five treasures,” said the second. “Two are gone, three remain, and take him we surely will.” “Which three are left?” “The seven-star sword and the plantain fan are still at my side; that one length of gold-glinting cord is kept by our old mother at Dragon-Crushing Cave on Dragon-Crushing Mountain. Let us now send two imps to invite Mother to come and eat the Tang Monk's flesh, and have her bring the gold-glinting cord to catch Sun the Pilgrim.”
“Whom shall we send?” said the old fiend. “Not such useless creatures as these,” said the second.
With a shout he sent Fine-and-Keen and Clever-Bug packing. “What luck, what luck!” said the two. “Not beaten though we deserved beating, not cursed though we deserved cursing — and let off after all.” The second fiend said: “Call the regular attendants, Mountain-Straddling Tiger and Sea-Reclining Dragon.”
The two knelt down, and the second fiend charged them: “You must take care.” Both answered: “We'll take care.” “And be thorough.” “We'll be thorough.” He asked again: “Do you know the way to Old Grandma's home?” Again both answered: “We know it.” “Since you know it, be off at once. Go to Old Grandma's, make many bows, say she is invited to eat the Tang Monk's flesh, and have her bring the gold-glinting cord — we want it to catch Sun the Pilgrim.”
The two fiends received their orders and hurried off. Little did they know that Pilgrim was beside them, hearing every word clearly. He spread his wings and flew, overtook Mountain-Straddling Tiger, and lit upon him. After two or three li on the road he was about to strike the pair dead — then thought again: “Killing them off — what difficulty is there in that? But their grandmother has the gold-glinting cord at her side, and I don't yet know where she lives. Let me first ask them a question, and then strike.”
Good Pilgrim! With a droning buzz he slipped away from the imps, let them go on ahead a hundred paces or so, then shook his body and changed into a little imp himself: he put on a fox-skin cap, tucked up a tiger-skin apron backward and cinched it fast, caught up with them, and called: “You there on the road, wait for me a moment.”
Sea-Reclining Dragon turned his head and asked: “Where are you from?” “Come now, brother — you don't even know your own household folk?” “There's no you in our house.” “How no me? Look at me again.” “A strange face, a strange face — we've never met.”
“Just so. You've never met me — I'm of the outer ranks.” “If you're an outer-ranks officer, then we've not met. Where are you headed?”
“The Great King says he's sending you two to invite Old Grandma to eat the Tang Monk's flesh, and to have her bring the gold-glinting cord along to catch Sun the Pilgrim. Fearing you two might dawdle, dally, and spoil the business, he's sent me on to urge you to make haste.”
When the imp heard him speak of the ‘sea-bottom eye,’ he doubted no further and took Pilgrim for one of their own. In great haste they sped on ahead, and in one breath had run eight or nine li more. “We've come too fast,” said Pilgrim. “How far are we from home now?” “Some fifteen or sixteen li,” said the little fiend. “How much farther?” Sea-Reclining Dragon pointed with his hand: “That dark grove yonder is the place.”
Pilgrim lifted his head and saw the belt of dark woods not far off, and reckoned the old fiend must be just about the grove. He halted his steps and let the little fiend walk ahead; then he drew out his iron cudgel, stepped up, and gave a scrape at the backs of their heels. Pitiably unable to bear a blow, the two little imps were scraped into a single lump of meat-cake. He dragged them off by the feet and hid them in the deep grass beside the road.
At once he plucked out a hair, blew on it a breath of immortal air, and cried “Change!” — turning it into Mountain-Straddling Tiger, while he made his own body into Sea-Reclining Dragon. Counterfeiting the two little imps, he went straight to Dragon-Crushing Cave to invite Old Grandma. This is what is called: great is the power of the seventy-two transformations; high the craft of pointing at things and shifting them about.
In three or five strides he sprang into the grove. Just as he was searching about, he saw a pair of stone doors, half open and half shut, and dared not enter unbidden. He could only call out aloud: “Open the door! Open the door!” This soon roused a female fiend keeping the gate, who opened one half-leaf and said: “Where are you from?”
“I'm sent from Lotus-Flower Cave on Level-Top Mountain to invite Old Grandma.” “Go in,” said the female fiend.
Reaching the second gate, he ducked his head and peered within, and saw seated right in the middle an old mother-dame. What was her likeness? Behold:
Snowy temple-locks, tangled and loose; the light of stars agleam.
Skin ruddy and glowing, though wrinkles run many; teeth few and far, yet spirit stout and strong.
Her face like blossoms faded in the frost's own hue; her form like an aged pine in the after-rain sheen.
Her head bound in a white silk, floss-gathered kerchief; her ears hung with yellow gold, gem-inlaid rings.
The Great Sage, at the sight, dared not go in; he lingered outside the second gate, covered his face, and fell to sobbing piteously. Now you ask what he wept for — could it be he feared her? Had he feared her, he'd not have wept; and having first swindled her of her treasures and killed her imps besides, why then should he weep? In his day he had gone down into the nine-caldron oil-vats and been fried seven or eight days without a single tear. It was only that, calling to mind the bitter toils of the Tang Monk's scripture-quest, his grief welled up from an aching heart, and he opened his eyes and wept.
Yet in his heart he thought: “Old Monkey, having shown his powers and changed into a little imp to invite this old fiend, cannot decently stand bolt upright to speak; I must surely kowtow to her — that is proper. In all my life as a man, playing the hero, I've bowed to but three: in the Western Heaven I bowed to the Buddha; at the Southern Sea I bowed to Guanyin; and at Two-Frontiers Mountain my master delivered me, and to him I made four bows. For him I have worn my six-leafed liver and lungs to shreds and spent my three-haired, seven-orificed heart. What is one roll of scripture worth? And today it makes me go and bow to this fiend. Yet if I do not kneel and bow, the game is surely up. Bitter! Reckoning it out, it is only because my master is in distress that I am made to suffer this disgrace at another's hands.”
At this pass there was no help for it: he barged in, knelt facing upward, and said: “Grandma, I kowtow.” “My child, get up,” said the fiend. Pilgrim said to himself: “Good, good, good — how solidly she calls it out!” The old fiend asked: “Where are you from?”
“From Lotus-Flower Cave on Level-Top Mountain; by order of the two Great Kings I'm sent to invite Grandma to go and eat the Tang Monk's flesh, and to have you bring the gold-glinting cord, for we mean to catch Sun the Pilgrim.”
The old fiend was overjoyed. “What a dutiful son!” she said, and at once called for the sedan-chair to be carried out. “Child that I am,” muttered Pilgrim — “do demons ride sedans too?”
From the rear quarters two female fiends carried out a fragrant-rattan sedan, set it outside the gate, and hung up green-silk curtains. The old fiend rose and came out of the cave and seated herself in the sedan. Behind came several little she-imps, bearing her toilet-case, holding the mirror-stand, carrying towels and an incense-box, attending her left and right.
“What are you coming along for?” said that old fiend. “I'm going to my own sons' place — as if there'd be no one there to wait on me, that I'd need you lot to go fawning and flattering? All of you, go back; shut the gate and mind the house.” Those several little imps did indeed all go back, leaving only the two sedan-bearers.
“What are the names of the ones who were sent?” asked the old fiend. Pilgrim answered at once: “He's called Mountain-Straddling Tiger, and I'm called Sea-Reclining Dragon.” “You two go ahead and clear the road for me.”
Pilgrim thought to himself: “What rotten luck — the scriptures still not fetched, and here I come to play his lictor instead.” Yet he dared not resist, and could only lead the way in front, giving four loud shouts to clear the road.
When they had gone some five or six li, he sat down on a rock ledge to wait for the sedan-bearers to come up, and said: “How about a short rest? My shoulders are pressed sore.” The little fiends, knowing nothing of any trick, set the sedan down. From behind the sedan, Pilgrim plucked a hair from his chest, turned it into a large baked cake, and sat hugging it and gnawing. “Officer,” said the bearers, “what is it you're eating?”
“Hard to say. It's a long road, coming to invite Grandma, with never a bit of reward; I got hungry, so here's the dry rations I brought along — let me eat a little before we go on.” “Give us a bit to eat too,” said the bearers. Pilgrim laughed: “Come on then — we're all one household; why stand on ceremony?” Those little imps, knowing no better, crowded round Pilgrim to share the rations.
Pilgrim whipped out his cudgel and ground it once against their heads: the one it struck was beaten to a pulp; the other, only grazed, did not die but lay groaning. When that old fiend heard the groaning and thrust her head out of the sedan to look, Pilgrim leapt to the sedan-front and, with a blow full on the crown, smashed a hole in her skull, so that the brains gushed out and the fresh blood spurted straight up. He dragged her from the sedan to look, and she proved to be a nine-tailed fox. Pilgrim laughed: “Sinful beast, calling yourself Old Grandma! Since you're styled Old Grandma, you ought by rights to style Old Monkey your Great-Grandsire.”
Good Monkey King! He searched out her gold-glinting cord, tucked it into his sleeve, and said with delight: “That foul demon may have his powers, but by now these three treasures are surnamed Sun.” Then he plucked two more hairs and made them into Mountain-Straddling Tiger and Sea-Reclining Dragon; plucked two more and made them into the two sedan-bearers; and changed himself into the likeness of Old Grandma, seated in the sedan. Hoisting the sedan up, they went straight back the way they had come.
In no time they reached the mouth of Lotus-Flower Cave, and the hair-conjured imps in front called out: “Open the gate! Open the gate!” A gate-keeping imp within opened it and said: “Are Mountain-Straddling Tiger and Sea-Reclining Dragon back?” “We're back,” said the hairs. “And Grandma, whom you went to invite?” The hairs pointed with their hands: “Isn't that her in the sedan?”
“Wait a moment; let me go in and announce it first,” said the little fiend, and reported: “Great Kings, Grandma has come.” Hearing this, the two demon lords at once ordered an incense-table set out to receive her.
Pilgrim heard it and thought with secret glee: “What luck — it's come round to my turn to be honored as somebody. First I changed into a little imp to invite the old fiend, and knocked her one kowtow; this time I come changed into the old fiend, as their mother, so they must perform the rite of four bows — no great matter, but I do come out two heads ahead.”
Good Great Sage! He got down from the sedan, shook out his clothes, and took the four hairs back onto his body. The gate-keeping imp carried the empty sedan in through the gate, while he followed slowly behind — all mincing and coy, wriggling and swaying, moving just like that old fiend — and went straight in. And there he saw the whole crowd of demons, great and small, come forward to kneel in welcome. Drums and pipes struck up a swell of sound; from the Boshan censer curled a soft incense-smoke. He came to the main hall and seated himself facing south. The two demon lords knelt on both knees, knocked their heads toward the seat, and cried: “Mother, your children make obeisance.” “My children, get up,” said Pilgrim.
Now tell how Zhu Bajie, hanging from the beam, gave a ha-ha of laughter. “Second Brother,” said Sha Monk, “fine indeed, laughing while you dangle.” “Brother, there's a reason in my laugh.” “What reason?”
“We were only afraid it was Grandma come, and we'd be steamed and eaten. But it turns out it's not Grandma at all — it's the old story come back.” “What old story?” Bajie laughed: “Bimawen has come.” “How do you know it's him?”
“When she bent at the waist and said ‘My child, get up,’ there behind her she cocked up a monkey's tail. I'm hung higher than you, so I saw it plain.” “Say nothing for now,” said Sha Monk; “let's hear what he says.” “Quite so, quite so.”
That Great Sage Sun, seated in the middle, asked: “My children, what business have you invited me for?” The demon lord said: “Mother, these many days we've been remiss in courtesy and have failed in filial duty. This morning your foolish sons captured the Tang Monk from the Eastern Land; not daring to eat him unbidden, we've invited you, Mother, to receive the first offering — he'll be well steamed for you to eat and lengthen your years.”
“My children, the Tang Monk's flesh — that I won't eat. But I hear that Pig Bajie has a fine pair of ears; you might slice them off, dress them up nicely, and I'll take them with my wine.” Hearing this, Bajie panicked. “You plague-struck wretch! You've come to cut off my ears — I'll yell out, and it won't sound pretty.”
Alas! All for one knowing word from that idiot, the wind of the Monkey King's transformation leaked out. Just then several patrol imps and gate-keeping fiends came crowding in to report: “Great Kings, disaster! Sun the Pilgrim has killed Grandma and come disguised as her!”
Hearing these words, the demon lord brooked no explanation: he drew the seven-star sword and slashed full at Pilgrim's face. Good Great Sage! With a flick of his body he was gone — and in the same instant the cave was filled with red light — for he had slipped away beforehand. Skill like this is truly a fine bit of sport. Just so it is: gathered, it takes form; scattered, it becomes vapor.
It so frightened the old demon lord that his soul flew off and his spirit scattered, and the whole host of goblins bit their fingers and shook their heads. “Brother,” said the old fiend, “let's send the Tang Monk, Sha Monk, Bajie, the white horse, and the baggage all back to that Sun the Pilgrim, and shut the door on this whole business.”
“Brother, what a thing to say!” said the second fiend. “I know not how much toil I spent contriving this stratagem, spiriting all those monks here. Now, if in this fashion you fear the wiles of Sun the Pilgrim and send them all back to him, we'd be, as the saying goes, men who dread the blade and shun the sword — how is that the conduct of a great man? Sit down now and don't be afraid. I've heard you say Sun the Pilgrim's magic is vast; though I met him once, I've never yet matched myself against him. Fetch my armor, and let me go seek him out for three bouts. If in three fights he can't beat me, the Tang Monk is still ours to eat; and if in three fights I can't beat him, then it won't be too late to send the Tang Monk back.”
The old fiend said: “What my worthy brother says is right,” and ordered the armor fetched.
The host of fiends carried out the armor, and the second fiend girded himself trim and complete, grasped his precious sword, and went out the gate, shouting: “Sun the Pilgrim, where have you run off to?” By this time the Great Sage was already up in the clouds; hearing his name called, he turned his head to look, and there was that second fiend. See how he was arrayed:
On his head a phoenix helm to shame the year-end snow; on his back battle-mail agleam like polished steel.
At his waist a belt of python-dragon sinew; on soft leather boots the plum-blossom pleats.
His face like the living True Lord of the Guankou shrine; his mien matched with Mighty-Spirit, no whit apart.
A seven-star sword upheld in his hand; his wrath surging to the heavens, awesome and fierce.
The second fiend called out loud: “Sun the Pilgrim, quickly give me back my treasures and my mother, and I'll let you go fetch your scriptures with the Tang Monk.” The Great Sage, unable to hold his temper, cursed back: “You foul beast, you've mistaken your own Grandpa Sun! Hand back at once my master, my brothers, the white horse, and the baggage, hand me over some travel-money besides, and let me go west on my road; but if from between your teeth there comes half a ‘no,’ then go twist yourself a rope and be done with it — spare your Grandpa the trouble of a hand.”
The second fiend, hearing this, at once leapt astride a cloud, sprang into the air, and brandished his sword to stab; Pilgrim swung his iron cudgel to meet him face on. The two of them, up in mid-air — this was a fine fight:
Chess meets its match; the general finds his equal.
Chess meeting its match, one can scarce hide one's zest; the general finding his equal, one may put forth one's craft.
Those two divine generals closing in were just like South-Mountain tigers battling, North-Sea dragons contending.
Where dragons contend, their scales cast a glitter;
When tigers battle, their claws and fangs fly wild.
Claws and fangs flying wild scatter silver hooks; scales casting a glitter brace up plates of iron.
This one, over and over, has a thousand cunning moves;
that one, back and forth, gives not half a moment's ease.
The golden-banded cudgel, from the crown of the head just three-tenths apart;
the seven-star sword, at the pit of the heart with but one thrust to vie.
That one's fierce might presses the Dipper and Ox to a chill; this one's wrathful air outmatches the peril of thunder and lightning.
The two of them fought some thirty bouts without deciding a victor. Pilgrim thought with secret glee: “This foul demon can actually stand up to Old Monkey's iron cudgel. I've already got his three treasures, yet here I am bitterly hacking away at him — won't that just waste my time? Better to take the gourd or the vase and bottle him up — wouldn't that be far better?”
Then he thought again: “No, no. As the common saying goes, ‘A thing follows its master.’ Suppose I call to him and he doesn't answer — wouldn't that again spoil the business? Better use the gold-glinting cord to noose his head.”
Good Great Sage! With one hand he plied his cudgel, fending off the fiend's treasure; with the other he took up that cord, and with a whish nooses the demon lord.
Now that demon lord had a Cord-Tightening Spell and a Cord-Loosening Spell. If the cord bound a stranger, he chanted the Cord-Tightening Spell, and there was no getting free; if it bound one of his own kind, he chanted the Cord-Loosening Spell, and it could not harm the body. He recognized it as his own treasure, and at once chanted the Cord-Loosening Spell, worked the cord slack, and slipped free — then flung it back at Pilgrim instead, and in a trice it had bound the Great Sage fast. The Great Sage was just about to work his Body-Slimming Method and slip his bonds, when the fiend chanted the Cord-Tightening Spell, and it clamped him tight — how could he get free?
It slid down to below his neck, where it turned into a golden ring clasping him fast. The fiend gave the cord a jerk, dragged him down, and hacked seven or eight sword-strokes at his bald crown. Pilgrim's scalp did not so much as flush a single flush.
“This monkey — with a head as hard as this, I won't hack you; I'll just take you back and beat you later. Now, my two treasures — hand them over at once.”
“What treasures of yours did I take, that you ask me for them?” That demon lord searched him over minutely and turned out both the gourd and the vase. Then, leading him along by the cord, he brought him into the cave and said: “Elder brother, I've brought him back.”
“Whom have you brought?” said the old fiend. “Sun the Pilgrim. Come look, come look.” At one glance the old fiend recognized Pilgrim and, his whole face wreathed in laughing delight, said: “It's him, it's him! Take his long, long cord and tie him to the pillar-post for sport.” So indeed they tied Pilgrim fast, and the two demon lords went off into the back hall to drink.
The Great Sage, scrabbling about at the foot of the pillar, suddenly startled Bajie. That idiot, hanging from the beam, laughed ha-ha: “Brother! So the ears won't get eaten after all.” “Idiot — are you hanging comfortably?” said Pilgrim. “I'll be out this minute, and I'll surely save the lot of you.”
“For shame, for shame! Can't get loose yourself, yet still think of saving others. So be it, so be it — master and disciples will all die together in one place, and it'll be good company asking the road in the world below.” “Don't talk rubbish — watch me get out.” “I'll watch how you get out.”
The Great Sage, while talking with Bajie, was all the while sizing up those two fiends with his eyes. Seeing them drinking within, with several little imps carrying trays and cups, plying the pot and straining the wine, running to and fro without pause, so that the watch kept over him slackened a little — seeing no one before him, he worked his magic: he brought forth his cudgel, blew on it a breath of immortal air, and cried “Change!” — turning it into a file of pure steel. Prying at the ring about his neck, with three or five strokes he filed it into two pieces, pulled open the filed gap, and slipped himself free. He plucked out a hair, bade it change into a false body, and tied that in his place; his true body, with a shimmer, changed into a little imp and stood off to the side.
Bajie, up on the beam again, shouted: “It's bad, it's bad — what's tied is a fake, what's hung is the real thing!” The old fiend set down his cup and asked: “What's that Pig Bajie bawling about?”
Pilgrim, already changed into a little imp, stepped forward and said: “Pig Bajie is egging on Sun the Pilgrim, telling him to change shape and be off; but he won't go, and stands there bawling.” The second fiend said: “And they said Pig Bajie was honest — so this is how honest he is! He deserves twenty blows for a loose mouth.”
This Pilgrim went and fetched a staff to beat him. “Strike a bit lighter,” said Bajie; “if you're too heavy, I'll yell out again — I know who you are.”
“Old Monkey's shape-shifting is all for your sakes — how is it you've gone and leaked the news? A whole cave of demons here, none of them knows me — how come you, of all people, do?” “Though you've changed your face, you still haven't changed your backside; aren't those two red patches there on your rump? That's how I know it's you.”
Pilgrim then went off to the rear, made his way to the kitchen, groped a handful of soot from the bottom of a pot, blacked his two buttocks, and came round to the front. Bajie saw him and laughed again: “Where did that monkey go gadding about this while, to come back with a black rump?”
Pilgrim, still standing by, meant to steal the fiend's treasure. Truly he was quite resourceful: he went up into the hall, made a leg to the fiend, and said: “Great King, look — that Sun the Pilgrim, tied to the pillar, has been scrabbling left and right and worn through the gold cord; you'd best get a stouter rope to swap in for it.”
“Well said,” said the old fiend, and at once untied the lion-and-barbarian belt from his waist and handed it to Pilgrim. Pilgrim took the belt and tied up the false Pilgrim with it. Unfastening that cord, he coiled it loop upon loop and stowed it in his sleeve. He plucked out another hair, blew on it a breath of immortal air, and made it into a false gold-glinting cord, which he presented with both hands to the fiend. The fiend, being wholly bent on his wine, when did he look closely? — he just took it and put it by. This was the Great Sage plying his shifting arts and turning a hair, once more, for the gold-glinting cord.
Having got this treasure, he turned quickly and sprang out the gate, resumed his true form, and shouted aloud: “Demons!” The gate-keeping imp asked: “Who are you, shouting here?” “Go in at once and report to that foul fiend of yours that Che the Pilgrim has come.” The little imp reported as told, and the old fiend was greatly startled: “We've got Sun the Pilgrim held fast — how is there now a Che the Pilgrim?”
“Brother, what's there to fear of him?” said the second fiend. “The treasures are all in my hands; let me take the gourd out and bottle him up.” “Be careful, brother.”
The second fiend took the gourd and went out the mountain gate — and suddenly saw one just like Sun the Pilgrim in appearance, only a trifle shorter. “Where are you from?” he asked. “I'm Sun the Pilgrim's younger brother; hearing that you'd seized my elder, I've come to have it out with you.”
“It was I who seized him, and locked him in the cave. Since you've come, you must be after a fight. But I won't cross weapons with you — I'll just call you once by name, and do you dare answer me?” “Though you call a thousand times, I'll answer you ten thousand!”
The fiend grasped the treasure, sprang into the air, turned the bottom skyward and the mouth to the ground, and called out: “Che the Pilgrim!” Pilgrim dared not answer, thinking in his heart: “If I answer, I'll be bottled inside.” The fiend said: “Why don't you answer me?” “I'm a little deaf and didn't hear it. Call louder.” The monster called again: “Che the Pilgrim!” Pilgrim, down below, counted it out on his fingers and said: “My true name is Sun the Pilgrim; the sham name I made up is Che the Pilgrim. The true name could be bottled, but surely the sham name can't.”
And with that he could not hold back and answered him once. With a whoosh he was sucked into the gourd, and a seal-slip was pasted on. It turned out that treasure cared nothing whether the name was true or false — it needed only to catch a whiff of the answering breath, and it bottled one straight in.
Inside his gourd the Great Sage found it black as pitch. He butted his head upward, but there was no budging it — and it was stopped up very tight indeed. Only then, in a fret of the heart, he said: “That time on the mountain, when I met those two little imps, they told me: gourd or vase, once a man is bottled inside, in one hour and three quarters he melts into pus. Might it not melt me?”
Then a second thought came to him: “It's nothing — it can't melt me. Five hundred years ago, when Old Monkey made his great uproar in Heaven, I was set by Lord Lao Zi in the Eight-Trigrams Furnace and refined nine-and-forty days, tempered into a heart and liver of gold, lungs and bowels of silver, a head of bronze and back of iron, fiery eyes and golden pupils — how could an hour and three quarters melt me? I'll just go along in and see what he's up to.”
The second fiend carried him inside and said: “Brother, I've brought him.” “Whom have you brought?” “Che the Pilgrim — I've bottled him in the gourd.” The old fiend said with delight: “Worthy brother, sit down. Don't move it; only wait till it sloshes when shaken, then peel off the seal.”
Pilgrim heard this and thought: “A whole body like mine — how could it slosh when shaken? Only if I melted to a thin broth would it slosh. Let me piss out a puddle; when it sloshes for him, he'll surely lift the seal and raise the lid, and I'll take the chance and clear off — damn him.” Then he thought again: “No, no. Piss might slosh, but it would only foul this cassock. When he shakes it, I'll just gather up some spittle and rinse my mouth, and with a thin sloshing gurgle trick him into lifting it — then Old Monkey clears off.”
The Great Sage made his preparations, but the fiend, bent on his wine, did not shake it. So the Great Sage worked a little trick, meaning only to coax him into shaking, and suddenly cried out: “Heavens! My ankle-bones have all melted.” Still the fiend did not shake it. The Great Sage cried again: “Mother! Even my waist-bones have melted through.” The old fiend said: “When it's melted to the waist, it's all melted through — lift the seal and take a look.”
Hearing this, the Great Sage plucked out a hair and cried “Change!” — making it into a half-body lying at the bottom of the gourd; his true self he changed into a mosquito-gnat and lit at the gourd's mouth. The moment that second fiend lifted the seal to look, the Great Sage had already flown out. With a tumble he changed again into Sea-Reclining Dragon — Sea-Reclining Dragon being the very imp who had first gone to invite Old Grandma; into that he changed, and stood off to the side.
That old fiend pried at the gourd's mouth and took a peer, saw a half-body stirring inside, and, not troubling to tell true from false, cried in a fluster: “Brother, cap it, cap it — it hasn't finished melting yet!” The second fiend sealed it up again as before. The Great Sage, off to one side, laughed to himself: “Little do they know Old Monkey is already out here.”
That old fiend took up the pot, poured a brimming cup of wine, and coming forward presented it with both hands to the second fiend: “Worthy brother, let me pass you a cup.” “Elder brother, we've already drunk this half-while — why pass another cup?” “You took the Tang Monk, Bajie, and Sha Monk, well and good; but you've also caught Sun the Pilgrim and bottled Che the Pilgrim — for such merit, I ought to pass you a good few cups more.”
The second fiend, seeing his brother so courteous, how dared he not accept? But with one hand he was holding the gourd, and dared not reach with it; so he passed the gourd to Sea-Reclining Dragon and took the cup with both hands — not knowing that this Sea-Reclining Dragon was Sun the Pilgrim transformed. See how he held the gourd, waiting attendance most attentively. The second fiend took the wine and drank it, and would return a cup in turn. “No need to return it,” said the old fiend; “here I'll keep you company with a cup.” And the two of them kept up their courtesies.
Pilgrim, holding the gourd aloft, his eyes never turning from them, watched the two of them passing cups left and right, wholly off their guard — and he slipped the gourd into his sleeve. Plucking a hair, he made a false gourd, exactly alike with no second difference, and cradled it in his hands. That fiend, having passed the wine a while, did not look to tell true from false either, and took the treasure back with one grab. Each went up to his seat and sat down at ease, drinking on as before. The Great Sage drew back and slipped away; and having got the treasure, he rejoiced in his heart: “Grant that this demon lord has his powers — in the end the gourd is surnamed Sun.”
In the end, there is no knowing how, thereafter, he would set to work, and by what means he would save his master and destroy the fiends; and so, give ear to the explanation in the coming chapter.