When the essential nature is round and luminous, the Way runs clear of itself; with a single turn of the body he leaps free of the enclosing net.
To cultivate the powers of transformation is no easy thing; and a long life refined and won — how could it be as the common run?
Pure and turbid have revolved how many times with the turning of fate; cleft open across a span of kalpas, he goes east or west as he pleases.
Free and unfettered through myriad myriads of years past all reckoning, one point of divine radiance pours forever into the Void.
That poem answers in secret to the mystery of the Way in Sun the Great Sage.
Having got the fiend’s true treasure for himself, he tucked it away in his sleeve and said with delight, “The vile fiend has racked his wits to seize me — truly what they call scooping the moon from the water. And if Old Sun means to take you, it is just like playing with ice over a fire.”
Keeping the gourd hidden, he slipped stealthily out beyond the gate, resumed his true form, and cried in a stern, ringing voice, “Open up, you goblins!”
A junior imp at the side spoke up. “And just who are you, that you dare come bawling here?”
“Go quick and tell that old vile fiend of yours,” said Pilgrim, “that it is Xingzhe Sun who has come.”
The little imp hurried inside to report: “Great King, there’s some Xingzhe Sun or other arrived outside the door.”
The old fiend started in alarm. “Worthy brother, this is bad — we’ve stirred up his whole nest of them! The Golden Cord has Sun Xingzhe bound fast this moment, and the gourd has Zhe Xingsun packed inside it right now. How is it there’s yet another Xingzhe Sun? It must be that several of his brothers have all come.”
“Set your mind at ease, elder brother,” said the second fiend. “This gourd of mine can hold a thousand men. I’ve only just bottled the one Zhe Xingsun — why should I fear that so-called Xingzhe Sun? Let me go out and take a look, and bottle him up along with the rest.”
“Have a care, brother,” said the old fiend.
See how the second fiend, gripping a false gourd and looking just as he had before, all bristling and blustering, strode out the door and called aloud, “Where do you hail from, that you dare bawl here?”
“You don’t know me,” said Pilgrim.
My home is set on the Mountain of Flowers and Fruit; my ancestral seat, the Water-Curtain Cave.
It was only for the uproar I raised in the Palace of Heaven that for so long I laid down my striving and strife.
Now, having by fortune escaped calamity, I have cast off the Daoist’s way and taken up the monk’s employ.
Upholding the teaching, I press toward the Thunderclap; seeking the scriptures, I return to the true awakening.
Encountering here a wild and vicious fiend, I set my divine powers to their play.
Give me back my monk of the Great Tang; we go west to pay homage to the Buddha-sages.
Let both our sides lay down this war, and each keep to his own realm of peace.
Do not provoke Old Sun to a rage, and get that aged life of yours maimed and cut short.
“Come here a moment,” said the fiend. “I’ll not fight you — but if I call you once by name, will you dare answer?”
Pilgrim laughed. “When you call me, I’ll answer at once. And if I call you, will you answer too?”
“When I call you,” said the fiend, “it’s because I have a treasure-gourd that can bottle a man. But when you call me, what have you got?”
“I too have a little gourd,” said Pilgrim.
“If you have one, take it out and let me see.”
Pilgrim drew the gourd out from his sleeve. “Look here, vile fiend.” He gave it a flash and a shake, then hid it away in his sleeve again, fearing the fiend would come to snatch it.
When the fiend saw it he started in great alarm. “Where did his gourd come from? How is it exactly like mine? Even had they grown on a single vine, there would be some difference in size, some unevenness of slant and set — yet how are these two without the least distinction?” Composing his face, he called out, “Xingzhe Sun — where did that gourd of yours come from?”
Pilgrim truly did not know its history, so he caught up the question and turned it back. “And where did that gourd of yours come from?”
The fiend, not seeing this for a stratagem, took it for an honest question and told the whole root of the matter from the start. “This gourd of mine dates from when chaos first divided, when Heaven opened and Earth split apart. There was a Most High Ancient Patriarch who, transforming under the name of Nüwa, smelted stones to mend the sky and gave broad succour to the world of Jambudvīpa. When the mending reached the quarter of Qian, where the ground was wanting, he saw at the foot of Mount Kunlun a single strand of immortal vine, and on it hung this purple-gold red gourd — left there by Lord Lao, and here it has stayed to this day.”
Hearing this, the Great Sage snatched up his very phrasing. “My gourd, too, came from just there.”
“How can that be?” said the fiend-chief.
“From when the clear and turbid first parted,” said the Great Sage, “— Heaven falling short in the northwest, Earth falling short in the southeast — the Most High Daoist Patriarch transformed into Nüwa and made good the sky’s defect. Coming to the foot of Mount Kunlun, he found an immortal vine, and on the vine hung two gourds. I got the male one; that one of yours is the female.”
“Never mind male or female,” said the fiend. “So long as it can bottle a man, it’s a fine treasure.”
“You speak rightly there,” said the Great Sage. “I’ll let you bottle first.”
Delighted, the fiend sprang up in a bound to mid-air, gripped the gourd, and called out once, “Xingzhe Sun!”
The Great Sage heard, and without pausing for breath answered eight or nine times running — yet still he could not be drawn in. The fiend dropped back down, stamping and beating his breast. “Oh, Heavens! And I’d thought the ways of the world never changed! A treasure like this, and it fears its own husband — the female, seeing the male, dares not bottle him!”
Pilgrim laughed. “Put it away now. It’s Old Sun’s turn to call you.”
With a quick somersault he leapt up, turned the gourd bottom to the sky and mouth to the ground, took aim at the fiend, and cried, “Silver-Horn King!”
The fiend dared not keep his mouth shut, and could only answer once. In a flash he was drawn inside, and Pilgrim pasted on the seal: “Most High Lord Lao — quick, quick, as by statute and decree!” In his heart he chuckled. “My child — today it’s your turn to try something new.”
He brought his cloud down, gourd in hand, his every thought bent on rescuing his master, and made again for the mouth of the Lotus-Flower Cave. The mountain paths were all pitted and uneven, and being besides somewhat bow-legged, he went hobbling along, jogging the gourd until it went swish-swish inside without cease.
Now why, you ask, should there be a sound at all? It was because Sun the Great Sage had a body refined in the crucible, and could not be dissolved in haste; whereas the fiend, for all he too could ride the clouds and mount the mist, had only some conjurer’s arts. Being at bottom of unshed mortal flesh, once inside the treasure he simply melted away.
Pilgrim, not yet reckoning that he had already melted, laughed. “My boy — is that you making water, or rinsing your mouth? This is a line of work Old Sun has done before. I’ll not lift the lid to look until seven or eight days are up and he’s gone to thin broth. What’s the hurry? Where’s the urgency? Considering how easily I got out myself, by rights I ought not to look for a thousand years.”
Gourd in hand and talking as he went, before he knew it he had reached the cave-mouth. He gave the gourd a shake, and it rattled all the more. “This sounds like the shake of a fortune-teller’s lot-tube,” he said. “Rather good for casting a lot. Let Old Sun cast a lot, and see when the master will get free.” See him: shaking without pause in his hand, reciting without pause on his lips — “King Wen of the Zhou Changes; Confucius the Sage; Mistress Peach-Blossom; Master Guiguzi!”
An imp within the cave saw it and cried, “Great King — disaster! Xingzhe Sun has bottled His Lordship the Second King in his gourd and is casting lots with him!”
When the old fiend heard these words, he was so terrified his soul flew and spirit scattered, his bones went soft and sinews numb, and he dropped with a thud to the ground, wailing aloud. “Worthy brother! You and I slipped from the upper realm together and took rebirth in the dusty world, hoping to share glory and be lords of this mountain-cave forever. Who could have known that, for the sake of this monk, your life would be lost and the bond of us brothers cut?”
The whole cave of goblins wept bitterly with one voice.
Zhu Bajie, hanging from the beam, heard the whole household wailing together and could not keep still. “Fiends — hold your weeping a moment, and let Old Zhu tell you how it stands. The Sun Xingzhe who came first, the Zhe Xingsun who came next, the Xingzhe Sun who came after — the three names turned about are all one person, my elder brother. He has seventy-two transformations, and manoeuvred his way in, stole the treasure, and bottled your worthy brother. Your worthy brother is dead already — no need for all this carrying-on of mourning. Look sharp and scour out your pots and stove; get in some mushrooms, truffles, tea-shoots, bamboo-sprouts, beancurd, wheat-gluten, wood-ears and greens; ask us master and disciples down, and we’ll chant a scroll of the Sūtra of Rebirth for your worthy brother.”
The old fiend was seized with fury. “They told me Zhu Bajie was an honest soul — and here he’s nothing of the sort! Instead he sits there cracking jokes and making sport of me!” He called out, “Little ones, leave off your mourning — take Zhu Bajie down and steam him to a mush. Once I’ve eaten my fill I’ll go take Sun Xingzhe and have my revenge.”
Sha Monk grumbled at Bajie. “There now — didn’t I tell you not to run on so? The one who runs on gets steamed and eaten first!” The blockhead, too, felt a good few qualms of fear.
An imp at the side spoke up. “Great King, Zhu Bajie won’t steam well.”
“Amitābha Buddha!” said Bajie. “Which kindly elder was it built up such hidden merit? Quite right — I’ll not steam well.”
But another fiend said, “Strip off his hide, and he’ll steam well enough.”
Bajie took fright. “It’ll steam, it’ll steam! Skin and bone may be coarse, but once the soup boils it’ll fall right apart — squish-squish!”
In the thick of the uproar, an imp at the front gate reported, “Xingzhe Sun is at the door again, cursing his way in!”
The old fiend started again in alarm. “This wretch makes light of me, as if I had no men at all!” He called, “Little ones, string Zhu Bajie back up as before, and go check how many treasures are still left.”
“There are still three treasures in the cave,” said the steward-imp.
“Which three?”
“There are still the Seven-Star Sword, the Plantain Fan, and the Pure Vase.”
“That vase is no use now,” said the old fiend. “Its way is to call a man, and the moment he answers it bottles him; but the trick of it was handed straight to that Sun Xingzhe, who used it to bottle my own brother instead. Leave it be — set it by at home. Quick, bring me the sword and the fan.”
The steward-imp at once presented the two treasures to the old fiend. He thrust the Plantain Fan into the collar at his nape, gripped the Seven-Star Sword in his hand, and mustered besides some three hundred and more of his host, great and small, bidding every one of them level spear and ply staff, order their ropes and wheel their blades. The old fiend himself donned helmet and mail, and threw over all a robe of gauze, flame-red and blazing; and the pack of fiends filed out in battle-array, meaning to take Sun the Great Sage.
Sun the Great Sage, who already knew the second fiend was melted down inside the gourd, had bound it up snug and fast, tucked it at his waist, and stood with his gold-banded cudgel in hand, ready for the fray. Then he saw the old monster come bounding out the door, his red banners streaming. And how was he got up?
Upon his head the helmet-plume shone flashing bright; at his waist the girdle-sash gleamed fresh as rosy cloud.
His body cased in scaled mail, dragon-plate on plate; over it a red robe, like fierce fire ablaze.
His round eyes, glaring open, flashed like lightning loosed; his steel-stiff whiskers, bristling up, flew like scattered smoke.
The Seven-Star treasure-sword rode light in his hand; the plantain-leaf fan half-screened his shoulder.
His gait like streaming cloud loosed from the sea-crags; his voice like thunderclap that shakes the mountain-streams.
Awesome and stern, he cowed the very gods of Heaven; wrathful, he led his pack of fiends out before the cave.
The old fiend hastily had his imps deploy in battle-array and railed, “You monkey, you are the height of insolence! You have destroyed my brother, maimed my own flesh and blood — truly you are to be loathed!”
Pilgrim railed back. “You death-courting monster — you begrudge the one life of a single fiend, yet my master and brothers, and the horse, four living souls, you have strung up for nothing in your cave. How could my heart bear it? Where is the justice in it? Look sharp and send them out and give them back to me; add a good sum for travelling-money and send Old Sun cheerfully on his way — and I’ll yet spare that dog’s life of yours, you old monster.”
The fiend would brook no arguing. He raised his treasure-sword and hacked straight at Wukong’s head, and the Great Sage raised his iron cudgel to meet him. It was a fine fight there outside the cave-door. Lo!
The gold-banded cudgel and the seven-star sword — they clashed, and their rosy light was like flung lightning.
A long, cold air pressed on men with its chill; broad, murky clouds curtained ridge and weir.
That one, all for his flesh-and-blood’s sake, gave not a hair’s mercy;
this one, only for the scripture-seeking monk’s sake, allowed not a hair’s delay.
The two sides each nursed a common hate; the two parties each harbored a rising wrath.
They fought till Heaven darkened and Earth grew dim and gods and ghosts took fright; the sun paled, the mist thickened, and dragon and tiger warred.
This one ground his teeth, filing jade-white spikes; that one glared, spitting golden flame.
Back and forth, each played the hero; without cease, cudgel and sword went tumbling and wheeling.
The old fiend and the Great Sage had fought some twenty bouts, with neither the advantage. He gave a point of his sword-tip and cried, “Little ones, all together!” The three hundred and more sprites swarmed up in a body and ringed Pilgrim in their midst.
That fine Great Sage, wholly without fear, plied a single staff — thrusting left, striking right, guarding rear and front. But those little fiends all had their skill: the more he beat them the more they pressed on, clinging like cotton-wadding to his body, clutching his waist and dragging at his legs, not one willing to fall back.
The Great Sage grew flustered, and at once worked his Body-Beyond-the-Body art. He plucked a fistful of hairs from under his left flank, chewed them small and spat them out, and cried, “Change!” Every single hair turned into a Pilgrim. See them: the tall ones wielding staves, the short ones swinging fists, and the smallest, with no room to strike, seizing the imps by the ankle-bone and gnawing their sinews. They beat those little fiends into a scatter of falling stars and drifting cloud, till the imps cried out as one, “Great King! The thing has gone all awry — hard, hard indeed! Covering the ground and filling the hills, they are all Sun Xingzhe.”
The Body-Beyond method drove the pack of fiends back, leaving only the old fiend hemmed in the midst, chased east and west with no road out. In a panic he gripped his treasure-sword in his left hand, reached his right behind his nape and drew out the Plantain Fan, faced it toward the fire of the south-east, ping-ting quarter, square against the Li palace, and with a whoosh fanned once downward — and there on the very ground, flames came blazing up. It turned out this sort of treasure could fan fire up out of level, empty ground. That monster was pitiless indeed: he fanned seven or eight times over, scorching heaven and searing earth, the fierce flames leaping and soaring. A fine fire it was:
That fire was not the fire of heaven, nor the fire of a furnace, nor was it the fire of a hilltop, nor the fire beneath a stove; it was the one spark of numinous light drawn forth of itself from the Five Phases.
This fan, too, was no thing common in the mortal world, nor a thing wrought by human craft; it was a true treasure, grown into being ever since chaos was first cleft open.
Use this fan to fan this fire, and it dazzles and blazes, like lightning flashing through red silk;
glowing and glittering, it is like rosy cloud flying over crimson damask.
Not a single wisp of blue smoke more — all is red flame filling the hills.
It burned till the pines on the ridge turned to trees of fire, and the cypress before the cliff became lanterns.
The beasts in that den, grudging their lives, went dashing west and east;
the birds in this wood, cherishing their feathers, flew high and far away.
This tract of divine fire went floating and scorching through the air, burning till the stones split and the streams ran dry and the whole ground turned red.
When the Great Sage saw this baleful fire, his heart too quailed and his gall shook. “This is bad!” he said. “My own true body can weather it, but the hairs are no match — once they fall into this fire, would it not be as easy as singeing off fluff?” He gave his body a shake and drew the hairs back up onto himself, keeping just one, which he turned into a false body to dodge the fire and flee the disaster. His true body, pinching the fire-averting sign, sprang up in a somersault, broke clear of the great blaze, and made straight for the Lotus-Flower Cave, minded to rescue his master.
Hastening to the gate, he brought his cloud down and saw before the cave-door a hundred-odd imps, all with broken heads and snapped legs, flesh split and skin burst. These were the ones his body-dividing art had wounded, and here they stood, moaning and crying, enduring the pain. Seeing them, the Great Sage could not curb his fierce, ungovernable temper: he swung up his iron cudgel and battered his way straight in. Pitiful it was — the merit of those hard-won human bodies was snuffed out, and they were once more but old scraps of hide and hair.
Having done the imps to the last, he burst into the cave to free his master. But he saw flames blazing within, and it frightened him into a fluster. “It’s over, it’s over! The fire has caught from the back door, and Old Sun can hardly save the master now.” Just at this moment of dread, looking closer — ah! It turned out to be no fire at all, but a shaft of golden light. He steadied himself and looked within: it was the mutton-fat jade Pure Vase giving off light, and he rejoiced in his heart. “A fine treasure! That vase was the very one the imp had held glowing on the mountain. Old Sun had got it once, only for the fiend to search it out again — and here it lies hidden today, and, sure enough, it shines too.”
See him: he made off with the vase, all delight, and — not stopping to free his master — hastily turned and hurried out of the cave. No sooner was he out the door than he saw the fiend coming from the south, treasure-sword in hand and fan in his grip. Sun the Great Sage could not dodge in time, and the old fiend raised his sword and hacked straight at his head; but the Great Sage quickly loosed his somersault-cloud and sprang up and away, vanishing without trace — fled, of which no more.
Now the fiend, reaching the gate, saw only corpses strewn across the ground — the whole company of sprites under his command. In dismay he lifted his face to Heaven with a long sigh, and, unable to hold it back, wept aloud: “Bitter woe! Grievous woe!” There is a poem to bear witness. The poem says:
Hateful, the wayward ape and the base, unruly horse; the numinous embryo, transmigrating, came down to the mortal dust.
Only for a wrongful thought they left the gates of Heaven; and so, forgetting their true forms, they fell to this mountain.
Like wild geese lost from the flock, their grief cut deep; the demon-host, its clan wiped out, wept streaming tears.
When will the burden of sin be full, the lock of transgression opened — that they may return to the root, restore the origin, and mount again to the imperial pass?
The old fiend, ashamed past bearing, went weeping into the cave, a cry at every step. He saw the household goods and gear all still in place, but left only silent and still, not a human shape among them; and his sorrow, cutting deep, grew more wretched yet. Alone he sat within the cave, slumped over the stone table, his treasure-sword leaned aslant at the table’s edge and the fan tucked behind his shoulder; and drowsily, dully, he fell asleep. This is just what is meant by the saying: “When a man meets with joyful things, his spirits run bright; when gloom comes crowding on the heart, drowsiness comes in plenty.”
The tale tells how Sun the Great Sage wheeled his somersault-cloud about and stood before the mountain, minded to save his master. He lashed the little Pure Vase fast at his waist and came straight to the cave-mouth to spy things out. He saw the two leaves of the door standing open, silent and still, with no sound of stirring within. At once he moved softly, step by light step, and slipped inside.
There was the fiend, leaning aslant against the stone table, sound asleep and snoring. The Plantain Fan had slid out past his shoulder-robe, half covering the back of his head; the Seven-Star Sword still leaned aslant at the table’s edge. So he crept softly up, pulled the fan free, whipped his head round, gave a whoosh, and went running out.
But it turned out this fan-handle scraped against the fiend’s hair, and startled him awake at once. Raising his head to look, he saw it was Sun Xingzhe who had stolen it, and in a flurry he snatched up his sword and gave chase. The Great Sage had already leapt out before the door, thrown the fan at his waist, and with both hands whirled up his iron cudgel to face the fiend. It was a fine fight:
Maddened, the vile fiend-king; his wrath rose bristling to his cap.
So galled he could scarce forbear to seize the ape and gulp him down whole, he could not dispel the fury at his heart.
In foul words he cursed the monkey: “You make a great sport of folk, have cost me so many lives, and still come stealing my treasures!
This bout I’ll by no means allow — it must come to a reckoning of life and death!”
The Great Sage shouted at the fiend: “You’ve no sense of the fitness of things! A disciple means to strive with Old Sun — how can piled eggs strike a stone and break it?”
The treasure-sword came, the iron cudgel went; the two sides kept back no whit of mercy.
Once over and twice again they gambled win and loss; three turns and four rounds they plied their martial arts.
All was for the scripture-seeking monk, bound for the Buddha-seat on Spirit Mountain;
and so metal and fire would not consort, the Five Phases were thrown into disorder, and the concord was breached;
flaunting might and parading valor, they showed their divine powers; sending stones rolling and sand flying, they plied their arts.
As the clash wore on, little by little the day drew toward dusk, and the fiend-chief, his strength failing, was the first to flinch away.
The old fiend and the Great Sage had fought some thirty or forty bouts; the day was drawing toward evening, and, unable to hold his ground, he broke and fled the field, making straight for the south-west and the Coiled-Dragon Cave — of which no more.
The Great Sage now brought his cloud down, burst into the Lotus-Flower Cave, and untied the Tang Monk, Bajie, and Sha the Monk. The three of them, delivered from danger, thanked Pilgrim, and then asked, “Where has the fiend gone?”
“The second fiend is already bottled in the gourd,” said Pilgrim. “By now, I should think, he’s melted away. The elder fiend has just now lost a battle and gone off to Coiled-Dragon Mountain in the south-west. Of all the cave’s imps, half were beaten to death by Old Sun’s body-dividing art; and of the few battered stragglers who came back, Old Sun did the last of them in as well. Only then could I get in here and set you free.”
The Tang Monk thanked him past all telling. “Disciple — it is all owing to the hardship and toil you have borne.”
Pilgrim laughed. “Hardship and toil indeed. You three only hung there and suffered the pain, but Old Sun never once rested his feet — worse off even than the runners of the express courier-posts, back and forth, in and out, toiling on without end. It was because I stole his treasures that I could at last beat off the fiend.”
“Elder brother,” said Zhu Bajie, “take out that gourd of yours and let us have a look. I only fear the second fiend has melted away by now.”
The Great Sage first took down the Pure Vase, then drew out the Golden Cord and the fan, and last took the gourd in his hand. “Don’t look, don’t look. Once before, he bottled Old Sun, and Old Sun rinsed his mouth and tricked him into lifting the lid, and so Old Sun got away. So let us on no account lift the lid — I only fear he too knows some trick, and will get away.”
Master and disciples, all delight, dug out the rice, flour, and greens from that cave’s stores, scoured out the pots and stove, and set about a vegetarian meal, and ate. Having eaten their fill, they slept soundly in the cave; the night passed without a word, and soon it was dawn again.
Now the old fiend made straight for Coiled-Dragon Mountain, gathered the she-demons great and small, and told them the whole tale — how his mother had been beaten to death, his brother bottled, his imps wiped out, and his treasures filched. The she-demons all wept together, and mourned a long while; then the old fiend said, “You and the rest, cease your grieving. I have still this Seven-Star Sword at my side. I mean to gather you she-soldiers, go all of you behind Coiled-Dragon Mountain, and call in the help of our maternal kinsfolk, and we shall surely take that Sun Xingzhe and be avenged.”
Before he had finished speaking, an imp outside the gate reported, “Great King, the old uncle-lord from behind the mountain is leading a host of soldiers this way.” The old fiend hurriedly changed into plain white mourning-dress and bowed low to receive him.
This old uncle-lord, it turned out, was his mother’s younger brother, named Fox Ah-Seven, a Great King. He had heard from the mountain-scout imps’ report that his elder sister had been killed by Sun Xingzhe — who then took her shape, stole his nephews’ treasures, and had for days been holding off the foe at Level-Top Mountain — and had at once led two hundred and more of his own cave’s imps, come specially to lend aid, calling first at his sister’s house for news. No sooner was he in the door than he saw the old fiend in mourning-dress, and the two of them fell to weeping. When they had wept a good while, the old fiend bowed down and told the whole story of what had passed. Ah-Seven flew into a great rage, and at once bade the old fiend change out of his mourning-dress, take up his treasure-sword, muster all the she-demons, and join forces in one place; and loosing wind and cloud, they made straight for the north-east.
The Great Sage, meanwhile, bade Sha Monk get an early meal ready, so they might eat and take the road. Of a sudden he heard the sound of wind, went out the door to look, and saw it was a band of demon-soldiers, coming up from the south-west. Startled, he hastily drew back and called to Bajie, “Brother, the fiends have sent for rescue-troops again!”
Tripitaka went pale with fright. “Disciple, what is to be done, at such a pass as this?”
Pilgrim laughed. “Set your mind at ease, set your mind at ease. Bring me all these treasures of his.” He lashed the gourd and Pure Vase at his waist, sleeved the Golden Cord away, thrust the Plantain Fan behind his shoulder, and with both hands whirled up his iron cudgel. He bade Sha Monk keep the master safe and sit firm in the cave, and had Bajie take up his nine-tooth rake and go out with him beyond the cave to meet the foe.
The monsters had drawn up in battle-array, and there at their head was Ah-Seven, the Great King. He was made with a jade face and a long beard, steel brows and blade-like ears; on his head a helmet of wrought gold, on his body a coat of chain-mail, in his hand a square-heaven halberd. He railed aloud, “You great insolent, vile monkey! How dare you bully folk so? You stole the treasures, hurt the kinsfolk, killed the demon-soldiers, and now dare hold the cave-dwelling so long besides. Get on with it, the lot of you — stretch out your necks and take your deaths, that the wrong to my sister’s house be wiped clean!”
Pilgrim railed back. “You pack of death-courting fur-balls — you don’t know Grandpa Sun’s measures! Don’t run — take a taste of my cudgel!”
The monster dodged aside, and with his square-heaven halberd met the blow full in the face. The two of them went back and forth on the mountain-top, and when they had fought some three or four bouts, the monster’s strength went soft; beaten, he turned and fled. Pilgrim gave chase, but was met and held off by the old fiend. They had fought another three bouts when Fox Ah-Seven wheeled back to the attack. On this side Bajie, seeing it, quickly drew his nine-tooth rake and blocked him. One held off one, and when they had fought a good while with neither side prevailing, the old fiend gave a shout, and the whole company of demon-soldiers closed in together.
Now Tripitaka, sitting in the Lotus-Flower Cave, heard the shouting shake the ground and called out, “Sha the Monk, go out and see how your brother fares, win or lose.” Sha Monk did take up his demon-quelling staff and come out; with a shout he charged into the fray and beat back the pack of fiends. Ah-Seven, seeing the tide of things against him, turned his head and made to run; but Bajie caught him up and, with one rake-blow to his back, dug out nine spots of fresh red that came welling forth — and, pitiful, his one true spirit-soul sped on to the road ahead. They dragged him over in haste and stripped off his clothes to look, and there, sure enough, was a fox-spirit.
When the old fiend saw his uncle wounded, he let Pilgrim be, raised his treasure-sword, and hewed straight at Bajie; Bajie brought up his rake to fend it off. Just as they were locked in combat, Sha Monk closed in and, lifting his staff, fell to striking. The fiend, unable to hold his ground, loosed wind and cloud and fled away southward, with Bajie and Sha Monk in close chase.
The Great Sage, seeing it, quickly loosed his cloud and sprang up into the air, drew down the Pure Vase, took aim at the old fiend, and called out, “Gold-Horn King!” The fiend, taking it for one of his own routed imps calling out, turned his head and answered with a single cry. With a swoosh he was drawn inside, and Pilgrim pasted on the seal: “Most High Lord Lao — quick, quick, as by statute and decree!” Then he saw the Seven-Star Sword drop into the dust, and it too fell to Pilgrim.
Bajie came to meet him. “Brother, you’ve got the treasure-sword — but where is the goblin?”
Pilgrim laughed. “All done, all done — he’s bottled here in this little vase of mine.” Sha Monk, hearing this, was as overjoyed as Bajie.
All the fiends being swept clean away, he returned to the cave and brought Tripitaka the glad news. “The mountain is cleared, the fiends are no more — pray mount your horse, master, and let us take the road.” Tripitaka was overjoyed past containing. Master and disciples ate their morning meal, gathered up the baggage and the horse, and hurried west to find the way.
Just as they were going along, they suddenly saw a blind man start out from beside the road, come forward, and catch hold of Tripitaka’s horse. “Monk, where are you off to? Give me back my treasures.”
Bajie started in alarm. “We’re done for — this is the old fiend come to demand his treasures back.”
Pilgrim looked closely, and it turned out to be the Most High Lord Lao Li. In a fluster he came forward and made his bow. “Old sir, where are you off to?”
The old patriarch rose swiftly to his Jade-Bureau throne and, standing poised in the ninefold empyrean, called, “Sun Xingzhe, give me back my treasures.”
The Great Sage rose up into the air. “What treasures?”
“The gourd is mine, for holding elixir,” said Lord Lao; “the Pure Vase is mine, for holding water; the treasure-sword is mine, for refining demons; the fan is mine, for fanning fire; and the cord is a sash of mine, one strand for cinching my robe. As for those two fiends: one is the boy who tends my gold furnace, and one is the boy who tends my silver furnace. Just because they stole my treasures and came down to the mortal world, and I was at a loss where to seek them — it is you who have now caught them, and gained the credit.”
“You, old sir, are downright ill-mannered,” said the Great Sage. “You let your household turn to evil-doing. You ought to be charged with the crime of keeping too slack a discipline.”
“It is no doing of mine,” said Lord Lao. “You must not wrongly blame folk. This was the Bodhisattva of the sea, who asked to borrow them of me three times over, and sent them here to take demon-shape, to test whether you, master and disciples, had a true heart to go west.”
The Great Sage, hearing this, made a thought in his heart. “This Bodhisattva is a great sluggard! In those days she freed and delivered Old Sun, bade me guard the Tang Monk on the westward scripture-quest — and when I said the road was hard and rough to travel, she once promised that at any moment of dire peril she would come herself to the rescue; and now instead she sets goblins to plague me. Her word not holding true, she deserves to be husbandless all her life.” Then, aloud: “Were it not that you, old sir, had come in person, I would by no means have given them up. Since you put it so, take them away then.”
Lord Lao took back the five treasures, uncapped the mouths of the gourd and the Pure Vase, and poured out two streams of immortal vapour. With a point of his hand, they changed again into the Gold and Silver acolyte-boys, attending on his left and right. Then were seen ten thousand shafts of rosy light — lo!
Wreathed in mist, together they return to the Tuṣita court; free and unfettered, straight up to the Great Canopy Heaven.
In the end, there is no knowing what further matters there were after this, nor how Sun the Great Sage would guard the Tang Monk, nor when they would reach the Western Heaven. Let it be heard in the telling of the next chapter.