When you meet the sovereign, speak only of the seed of your begetting;
thereupon you are numbered among the host at the Tathāgata's assembly.
In one thought, gaze in stillness upon the Buddha within this world of dust;
across the ten directions all alike behold the awe-clad spirit come down.
Would you learn who is the true, clear-eyed sovereign of this day?
You must put the question to her who was the lawful queen-mother of old.
There is, besides, a thing this world has never once beheld:
with each single act, each single step, a fresh flower blooms.
Now the crown prince of the Wuji kingdom, having taken his leave of the Great Sage, in no long while came back into the city. True to his word he did not make for the court gate, nor dare have his coming announced, but went straight to the Rear Steward's Gate, where several eunuchs stood on watch. Seeing the prince arrive, they dared not hold him back, and let him pass inside. The fine prince gave his horse a squeeze of the knees, dashed on in, and came of a sudden below the Brocade-Fragrance Pavilion.
There he saw the principal consort, the queen herself, seated upon the pavilion, some dozens of palace ladies holding fans to either side, while the lady leaned against the carved railing and wept. And why, you ask, was she weeping? It turned out that she too, at the fourth watch, had dreamed a dream — half of it she remembered, half had gone blurred — and she sat sunk in brooding thought.
The prince dismounted, knelt below the pavilion, and called out: “Mother.”
The lady, forcing her features into a look of gladness, cried out: “My child — what joy! What joy indeed! These two or three years you have been in the front hall at your father's discourses, so that we could not meet — how I have longed for you. How is it that today you have found the leisure to come and look upon my face? Truly a joy ten-thousand-fold! A joy ten-thousand-fold indeed!” Then she checked herself. “My child, why is your voice so full of grief? Your father-king is well on in years; the day the dragon returns to the emerald sea and the phoenix goes back to the cinnabar sky, you will inherit the throne — so what is there yet to be unhappy about?”
The prince knocked his head to the ground and said: “Mother, I ask you — who is it that has taken the throne and mounted the dragon? Who, in truth, is the one who styles himself the Solitary and the Orphaned?”
Hearing this, the lady said: “Has the child gone out of his wits? He who is emperor is your own father-king — why do you ask such a thing?”
The prince knocked his head again. “I beg my mother to hold your son blameless, and then I will make bold to ask; if you will not pardon me, I dare not ask.”
“Between mother and son, what crime could there be? You are pardoned, you are pardoned — out with it, quickly.”
“Mother, I ask you this: the matter of the bedchamber three years ago, and the conjugal love of the three years since — are they the same, or not?”
At these words the lady's soul took flight and her spirit scattered. She hastened down from the pavilion, caught him up, and clasped him tight to her breast, tears falling from her eyes as she said: “My child, you and I have long been kept apart — why do you come to the palace today to ask me this?”
The prince said in a temper: “Mother, if you have something to tell, tell it now; if you will not speak, you will spoil a great matter.”
Only then did the lady shout her attendants away and, with tearful eyes and a low voice, say: “This affair — had you not asked, I should have gone down to the Nine Springs without ever making it clear. But since you have asked, then hear me:”
Three years ago and more, warm was he and tender;
in the three years since, cold as ice.
On the pillow, softly, I put the question to him;
he said age had come, his body was spent, and such things were past all rousing.
At these words the prince let go his hold, freed himself, and swung up into the saddle. The lady seized him with one hand. “My child, what is the matter with you, that you would leave before your words are done?”
The prince knelt before her. “Mother, I dare not speak of it. This morning at the early court I was charged with the imperial commission to fly the hawks and course the hounds, and went out of the city to hunt. By chance I met a holy monk sent from the court of the Land of the East to fetch the scriptures, whose senior disciple, one Sun the Pilgrim, is exceedingly skilled at subduing demons. It emerges that my royal father died within the eight-cornered glazed-tile well of the imperial garden, and that this Quanzhen adept, falsely transformed into my father-king, has usurped the dragon-throne. Tonight at the third watch my father-king came to him in a dream and begged him to come to the city and seize the fiend. Your child dared not wholly believe it, and so came expressly to ask my mother — and now that my mother has spoken words such as these, it must surely be a demon.”
The lady said: “My child — the word of an outsider — how can you simply take it for the truth?”
“Your son still dared not confirm it, but my royal father left behind a token and gave it to him.”
She asked what the thing was, and the prince drew from his sleeve that gold-rimmed white-jade gui and handed it to her. The lady recognized it as the treasure of the king of that former time, and could not stop her tears from welling up like a spring. She cried aloud: “My lord — how is it that, dead these three years, you have not come to see me, but appeared first to the holy monk and then to the prince?”
“Mother,” said the prince, “what do you mean by these words?”
“My child — at about the fourth watch I too dreamed a dream. I saw your father-king standing before me, dripping wet, telling me with his own lips that he had died, and that his ghost had gone to beg the Tang Monk to subdue the false emperor and save his former body. Remember them I do, words such as these, only that half of it would not come clear. Just as I was here in doubt, who would have thought that today you too would come and speak these very words, and moreover bring out this treasure. For now I will keep it; you go at once and invite that holy monk to see to the matter with all speed. If he truly sweeps away this demon-miasma and makes plain the false from the true, it may in some part repay the debt of your father-king's rearing.”
The prince mounted in haste, went out by the Rear Steward's Gate, and slipped away from the walled city. Truly it was: with tears held back he kowtowed and took his leave of the queen-mother; bearing his grief he bowed his head and turned again to the Tang Monk.
In no long while he passed out through the city gate and came straight to the mountain gate of Baolin Temple, where he dismounted. The soldiers received him, and saw besides that the red wheel of the sun was about to sink. The prince gave the order that they were not to stir about in disorder, then went in alone through the mountain gate, set his cap and gown to rights, and reverently sought out the Pilgrim. He saw the Monkey King come swaggering out from the main hall; and dropping to both knees, he said: “Master, I have come.”
The Pilgrim stepped forward, helped him up, and said: “Please rise. When you reached the city, did you ask anyone?”
“I asked my mother.” And he told over the whole of what had been said before.
The Pilgrim said with a slight smile: “If he was cold in that way, then likely it is some cold-natured thing that has taken his shape. No matter, no matter — let old Sun sweep it away for you. Only it has grown late today, and this is no time to set to work. Go back first; wait until early tomorrow, and I will come.”
The prince knelt to the ground and bowed. “Master, let me only stay here and wait upon you until tomorrow, and go along with you by the same road.”
“That won't do, that won't do. If I enter the city together with you, the fiend will grow suspicious; he will not say that I ran into you, but rather that you invited old Sun — would that not stir him to turn his blame on you?”
“Even if I go into the city now, he will blame me all the same.”
“Blame you for what?”
“Since the dawn court I was commissioned to lead out so many men and horses, hawks and hounds, from the city, and this whole day there is not a single head of game — how am I to present myself before the throne? Should he charge me with the crime of incompetence and shut me up in a Youli, then when you enter the city tomorrow, on what will you rely? Besides, among the ranks of officials there is not a single soul who knows me for a friend.”
“What does this matter?” said the Pilgrim. “Had you been willing to say so earlier, would I not have found some game laid by to wait for you?”
The fine Great Sage — watch him now. Right there before the prince he showed off a bit of his art, flung his body up with a single bound, and leapt into the edge of the clouds. Pinching a magic sign and reciting once the spell “Oṃ, blue-pure dharma-realm,” he summoned the mountain gods and earth-spirits, who did obeisance in mid-air and said: “Great Sage, you have called your little gods — what is your command?”
“Old Sun, escorting the Tang Monk, has come to this place meaning to seize a demon; but the trouble is that the prince here has hunted and taken nothing, and dares not return to court. I ask a favor of you all: quickly find some roe-deer and wild sows, deer and hares, walking beasts and flying fowl, a few of each, and send him off home with them.”
The mountain gods and earth-spirits, hearing this, dared not but obey, and asked further how many of each were wanted.
“No matter how many,” said the Great Sage. “Just bring some, and that will do.”
Each of those gods at once dispatched the ghost-soldiers of his own domain to raise a beast-gathering shadow-wind, and they took wild fowl and mountain pheasants, antlered deer and fat roe, foxes, badgers, raccoon-dogs and hares, tigers, leopards, wolves and vermin — several hundreds and thousands of head in all — and presented them to the Pilgrim.
“Old Sun does not want them,” he said. “You may just pinch them all lifeless and lay them out singly along both sides of the forty-lǐ road, so that those men, without loosing hawk or hound, may carry them back into the city — and that will be counted to your credit.” The host of gods did as he said, withdrew the shadow-wind, and arranged them to left and right.
The Pilgrim then brought down his cloud and said to the prince: “Your Highness may return now — there is already game on the road; go gather it yourself.”
The prince, seeing him work such magic in mid-air, could hardly disbelieve, and could only kowtow and take his leave. He went out the mountain gate, passed the order, and had the soldiers return to the city. And indeed, along the roadside there was game without end; the soldiers, without loosing a single hawk or hound, one and all set their hands to seizing it and raised a cheer, all declaring it the great good fortune of His Highness the Prince — little knowing it was the magic art of old Sun. You should hear the song of triumph they sang as they thronged back into the city.
Now this Pilgrim was guarding Tripitaka. The monks of that temple, seeing how closely the pilgrims were bound up with the prince, how could they not be respectful? So they laid on a vegetarian feast, saw to the Tang Monk's needs, and had him lodge as before in the meditation hall.
As it drew near the first watch, the Pilgrim, with a matter on his mind, was too anxious to sleep. He rolled over, scrambled up, went to the Tang Monk's bedside, and called: “Master.” At this hour the elder was not yet asleep; knowing that the Pilgrim was given to alarms and demon-startling antics, he feigned sleep and did not answer. The Pilgrim felt his bald pate, shook it about, and said: “Master, how are you fast asleep?”
The Tang Monk said angrily: “You mischief — at this hour of night, still not asleep, what are you bawling about?”
“Master, there is a matter I would talk over with you.”
“What matter?”
“By day I boasted to that prince, saying my powers were higher than the mountains and deeper than the seas, and that seizing this demon would be like taking a thing from a bag — I'd reach in my hand and pluck him right out. But now I cannot sleep, for thinking it over, there is some difficulty in it.”
“If you say it is hard, then just do not seize him, and let it be.”
“Seize him I still mean to; only the thing is not clean in point of law.”
“This monkey-head is talking nonsense. A demon has seized a sovereign's throne — how can you call that not clean in point of law?”
“You, sir, know only how to chant sutras and worship the Buddha, to sit in meditation and practice Chan — when did you ever look into the statutes of Xiao He? As the common saying goes: 'To catch a thief, catch him with the loot.' That fiend has played emperor for three years now, and has never once shown a horse's hoof or let slip a whisper of the truth. He shares his bed with the consorts of the three palaces and takes his pleasure with the two files of civil and military officers; even if old Sun had the skill to seize him, it would be no easy thing to fix a charge on him.”
“Why should it be hard to charge him with a crime?”
“Even were he a mouthless gourd, he would still roll a few rolls against you. He would dare to say: 'I am the king of Wuji — what crime against Heaven have I committed, that you come to seize me?' And with what warrant would you argue him down?”
“Then how do you propose to handle it?”
The Pilgrim said with a laugh: “Old Sun's plan is already laid. Only it touches on you, sir — you are a bit inclined to shield your own.”
“How am I inclined to shield my own?”
“Bajie was born a lummox, and you rather take his side.”
“How do I take his side?”
“If you truly do not favor him, then for now screw up your courage and stay right here with Sha Monk. Let old Sun and Bajie take this hour to slip first into the city of Wuji, find the imperial garden, open the glazed-tile well, haul up that king's corpse, and wrap it in our bundle. Tomorrow, entering the city, we will not trouble at all about getting our travel-papers stamped: the moment we see the fiend, out comes the cudgel and we strike. Should he have anything to say, we will thrust the bones before him and say, 'This is the man you murdered.' Then we will have the prince come forward to weep for his father, the queen come out to know her husband, and the host of civil and military officers behold their sovereign — and old Sun and his brothers will set to. That is what it means to have a case with a plaintiff — a suit worth pressing.”
Hearing this, the Tang Monk was secretly pleased, and said: “I only fear Bajie will not be willing to go.”
“What did I say?” laughed the Pilgrim. “I said you shield your own. How do you know already that he won't go? You need only do as you did when I called you and got no answer — just for half an hour. When I go, with nothing but my three cùn of unrotting tongue, never mind Pig Eight-Prohibitions — were he Pig Nine-Prohibitions, I'd still have the skill to talk him into following me.”
“Very well,” said the Tang Monk. “Go and call him as you please.”
The Pilgrim left his master, went straight to Bajie's bedside, and called: “Bajie! Bajie!” That blockhead, being a fellow worn out from the road, had flung himself down headlong and was snoring away with a will — how could he be roused by calling? The Pilgrim grabbed him by the ear, seized him by the bristles, gave him a heave, hauled him upright, and called again: “Bajie!” The blockhead was still groggily struggling. The Pilgrim called once more, and the blockhead said: “Let's sleep — no fooling; tomorrow we've the road to walk.”
“It's no fooling — there's a piece of business you and I are going to do.”
“What business?”
“Did you happen to hear what that prince said?”
“I never saw his face, and never heard him say anything.”
“That prince told me the fiend has a treasure whose might ten thousand men could not withstand. Tomorrow when we enter the city we can hardly avoid a fight with him; and should that fiend wield the treasure and beat us down, would that not turn out badly indeed? I've been thinking: if we can't out-fight a man, better to strike first. You and I will go and steal it away from him — wouldn't that be the thing?”
“Brother,” said Bajie, “you're coaxing me into playing the thief. This piece of business — I'll go along with it too. But if it's a real, solid job of teamwork, let me have it plain with you: once we've stolen the treasure and subdued the demon, I've no patience for any petty, stingy dividing up of the spoils — I'll just take it.”
“And what would you want it for?”
“I'm not clever and glib like you others, able to beg alms to people's faces. Old Pig is thick of body and coarse of speech, and can't chant the scriptures; so if we come to some place of no help and no living, it would be handy to trade the thing for a meal.”
“Old Sun is only after renown — what would I want with any treasure? It's yours, and there's an end of it.”
When the blockhead heard that it would all be his, his heart was filled with delight; he rolled over and scrambled up, pulled on his clothes, and set off along with the Pilgrim. This is a case of: clear wine reddens a man's face; yellow gold stirs even the Daoist heart.
The two of them quietly opened the door, slipped away from Tripitaka, loosed an auspicious light, and made straight for the city. In no long while they arrived, brought down their cloud, and heard the tower just then beating the second drum.
“Brother,” said the Pilgrim, “it is the second watch.”
“Just right, just right — everyone is deep in their first sleep.”
The two did not head for the Zhengyang Gate, but went straight to the Rear Steward's Gate, where they heard the clappers and bells sounding. “Brother, front gate and back are both on strict watch — how are we to get in?”
“Whoever saw a thief go in by the door? We'll just slip over the wall and be done.”
The Pilgrim did as he said, flung his body up with a bound, and leapt onto the inner enclosing wall. Bajie leapt up too. The two slipped inside, found their way, and made straight for the imperial garden.
As they went along, they saw a three-eaved gate-tower, clean-white and bright, bearing three great gleaming characters lit by the light of the stars and moon — it read “Imperial Garden.” The Pilgrim went up to look: there were several layers of sealing-paper, and the lock had plainly rusted the door fast; so he bade Bajie set to. The blockhead drew out his iron rake and, with all his strength, struck once and smashed the door to powder. The Pilgrim, stepping in first, could not hold back but leapt up with a great shout and cry.
Startled, Bajie came forward and clutched him. “Brother! You'll be the death of me. Whoever saw a thief bawl like this? Wake people up, and we'll be seized and haled before the magistrate; even if it's no capital crime, we'll still be sent back to our native place for military service.”
“Brother — you ask why I grew agitated? Just look at this:”
The painted balustrades are wrecked, the jewel-dressed pavilions lean awry.
Sedge-banks and knotweed shores lie wholly buried in dust;
peonies and tú-mí roses have all decayed.
Jasmine and rugosa rose breathe a faded scent;
tree-peony and lily bloom to no avail.
Hibiscus and rose-of-Sharon choke in rank grass;
rare herbs and wondrous blossoms are smothered and spoiled.
The cunning rockery peaks have all toppled;
the pond has run dry and its fish grown feeble.
Green pine and purple bamboo are like dry kindling;
the paths are thick with tangled mugwort and wormwood.
Cinnamon and green-fleshed peach have their boughs broken;
pomegranate and kerria have their roots wrenched askew.
At the bridgehead and along the winding path lies grey-green moss —
such is the desolate compass of this garden.
“And what's the good of sighing over it?” said Bajie. “Let's get on with our business.”
The Pilgrim, though moved, kept his wits about him and recalled the Tang Monk's dream, which said that the well lay beneath the plantain tree. As they walked on, sure enough they saw a plantain, grown lush and thriving, unlike all the other plants and trees. Truly it was:
A single numinous shoot, gracefully fair,
by nature born with a hollow, empty core.
Stalk after stalk unfurls a sheet like paper;
leaf after leaf rolls up its fragrant cluster.
A thousand kingfisher-green threads, fine and slender;
one cinnabar heart, a single point of red.
Forlorn, it grieves in the night rain;
wan and worn, it shrinks from the autumn wind.
Its nurture owes to primal, sturdy strength;
its planting, to the craft of Creation itself.
Sealed in letters, it serves a wondrous use;
brushed and splashed, it works a marvelous art.
How could the phoenix-plume be its equal?
The simurgh's tail is far from its like.
Thin dew drips in glistening beads;
light mist enfolds it, faint and pale.
Its green shade curtains the window and door;
its jade shadow climbs the blind and lattice.
It will not let the wild geese roost;
how could it serve to tether a jade-piebald steed?
Under frost-skies its form is withered;
on moonlit nights its hue is dim and blurred.
It serves but to dispel the summer's heat,
and is fit still to shelter from the sun's glare.
Ashamed to lack the peach's and plum's bright color,
it stands neglected east of the whitewashed wall.
“Bajie, set to,” said the Pilgrim. “The treasure lies buried beneath the plantain tree.”
The blockhead raised his rake in both hands and struck the plantain down. Then, rooting with his snout, he dug down some three or four chǐ deep and came upon a stone slab covering something. “Brother! Our luck's in — there really is treasure; it's covered over with a stone slab. Who knows whether it's held in a jar or packed in a chest.”
“Lift it up and have a look.”
The blockhead indeed rooted it open again with his snout, looked, and saw a glow of rosy light and a clear white vapor. “Luck, luck — the treasure is giving off light!” But looking closer — ah! It turned out to be only the light of the stars and moon, reflected off the water shining in the well.
“Brother,” said Bajie, “whenever you set about a thing, you always leave a loose end.”
“How have I left a loose end?”
“This is a well. Had you said back at the temple that there was treasure in a well, I'd have brought along the two ropes we tie our bundles with, and we could have worked out some way to let Old Pig down. As it is, we're empty-handed — how am I to get down to the thing in there and back up again?”
“You'll go down, then?”
“I'm quite ready to go down — only there's no rope.”
“Take off your clothes,” said the Pilgrim with a laugh, “and I'll manage a trick for you.”
“What fine clothes have I got? I'll just undo this cassock, and that's that.”
The fine Great Sage took out his gold-hooped staff, gave it a pull at both ends, and cried: “Grow!” It grew to a full seven or eight zhàng in length. “Bajie, hold on to one end, and I'll let you down into the well.”
“Brother — lower away, but when I reach the water's edge, stop right there.”
“I understand.”
The blockhead clung to the iron staff, and the Pilgrim lifted him lightly up, then let him down; in no long while he was lowered to the water's edge. “I've reached the water.” Hearing him say so, the Pilgrim gave the staff a push straight down. With a splash the blockhead went under headfirst, let go the iron staff, and began treading water, sputtering out of his mouth: “That murdering wretch! I told him not to lower me once I hit the water — and he pushes me straight down!”
The Pilgrim drew the staff back up and said with a laugh: “Brother, is there any treasure?”
“What treasure do you see? It's nothing but a well of water.”
“The treasure has sunk to the bottom — go down and feel about for it.”
The blockhead, who indeed knew water well, made a dive and plunged straight down. Ah! The bottom of the well was terribly deep. He gave a good hard plunge more, and, opening his eyes of a sudden, saw an archway bearing three characters: “Crystal Palace.”
Bajie cried out in alarm: “Done for! Done for! I've gone the wrong way and pitched down into the sea! There's a Crystal Palace in the sea — how could there be one in a well?” It was that Bajie did not know this was the Crystal Palace of the Well Dragon-King.
While Bajie was still muttering, a water-patrolling yaksha had already opened the gate; catching sight of his shape, it drew back in haste and went in to report: “Great King, trouble! A long-snouted, big-eared monk has fallen in from the top of the well — stark naked, no clothes at all, still not dead, and jabbering away in some outlandish speech.”
The Well Dragon-King, hearing this, was startled and said to himself: “This is Marshal Tianpeng come. Last night the Night-Roaming Spirit, bearing an imperial edict, came to fetch the soul of the king of Wuji to pay court to the Tang Monk and invite the Great Sage Equal to Heaven to subdue the demon. This must be the Great Sage Equal to Heaven and Marshal Tianpeng arrived — I dare not slight them; go quickly and receive him.”
The Dragon-King straightened his cap and robe, led out his host of water-tribes, and came to the gate, calling in a ringing voice: “Marshal Tianpeng — pray come inside and be seated.”
Only then was Bajie glad. “So — an old acquaintance after all.” The blockhead, without minding manners, went straight into the Crystal Palace. In truth he had no notion of precedence, and, stark naked, sat himself down in the seat of honor.
“Marshal,” said the Dragon-King, “I have lately heard that you gained a new life, took refuge in the Buddhist teaching, and now guard the Tang Monk on his westward quest for scriptures. How is it you have come to this place?”
“It is precisely on that account. My elder brother Sun Wukong sends his warmest respects, and has sent me to ask you for whatever treasure you may have.”
“Alas — where should I get a treasure here? I am not to be compared with the dragon-kings of the Yangtze, the Yellow River, the Huai, and the Ji, who soar and transform and so come by treasures. I have long been shut up here, unable even to see sun or moon for long — from where should any treasure come to me?”
“No need to make excuses — if you have it, just bring it out.”
“A treasure of a sort I do have, only it cannot be brought out. Suppose the Marshal came and looked at it himself?”
“Splendid, splendid, splendid — I must go and take a look.”
The Dragon-King went ahead, and the blockhead followed behind. They passed round the halls of the Crystal Palace, and there, beneath the covered walk, lay stretched out a body six chǐ in length. The Dragon-King pointed with his hand. “Marshal, there is the treasure.”
Bajie went up to look — ah! It was a dead emperor: wearing a sky-piercing crown, robed in ochre-yellow, shod in carefree slippers, girt with a Lantian jade belt, and lying stiff and straight over there.
Bajie laughed. “No, no, no — this can't count as a treasure. Back when Old Pig was a monster in the mountains, I used to make a meal of such things all the time; never mind how many I've seen — I've eaten more than I can count. However could you call this a treasure?”
“Marshal, it seems you do not understand. This is in truth the corpse of the king of Wuji; since it came into the well, I have fixed it with a Face-Preserving Pearl, so that it has never decayed. If you will carry it out and, on seeing the Great Sage, there should be any thought of restoring it to life — never mind treasure, whatever you might want, you shall have.”
“Since you put it so, I'll carry it out for you — but tell me, how much burial-money will you give me?”
“In truth I have no money.”
“So you'd have a man work for nothing? If you really have no money, I won't carry it.”
“If you won't carry it, then please be on your way.”
Bajie made to leave. The Dragon-King dispatched two strong yakshas to carry the body out, set it down outside the gate of the Crystal Palace, and remove the Water-Parting Pearl — and at once there came the sound of rushing water.
Bajie quickly looked back: the gate of the Crystal Palace was gone. His hand fell upon the emperor's corpse, and, flustered till his legs went soft and his sinews numb, he shot up to the surface, clung to the well-wall, and cried: “Brother! Reach the staff down and save me!”
“Is there any treasure?”
“Where's any treasure? There's only a Well Dragon-King at the bottom, who'd have me haul a dead man; I wouldn't do it, so he sent me packing out the gate, the crystal palace vanished, and now I've only got hold of this corpse. It's frightened me till my hands are soft and my sinews numb — I can't struggle free. Brother, come what may, save me, save me!”
“That's the very treasure — why don't you haul it up?”
“Who knows how long he's been dead — what do I want with hauling him?”
“If you won't carry him, I'm going back.”
“Go back where?”
“Back to the temple, to sleep with the Master.”
“Then I'm not to go along at all?”
“If you can climb up, I'll take you along; if you can't climb up, then that's the end of it.”
Bajie panicked. “However am I to climb? Just think — even a city wall is hard to climb; this well has a big belly and a small mouth, with sheer, steep sides, and it's been years since it was drawn from, all round grown over with moss, so slippery — how do you expect me to climb? Brother, don't let there be bad blood between us brothers — let me carry it up.”
“Just so — carry it up quickly, and I'll go back to sleep with you.”
The blockhead gave another dive, plunged down, got hold of the corpse, dragged it over, slung it onto his back, shot up to the surface, and, steadying himself on the well-wall, said: “Brother, I've carried it up.” The Pilgrim, opening his eyes to look, saw that it was truly slung on his back, and only then reached the gold-hooped staff down to the bottom of the well. The blockhead, being one now thoroughly riled, opened his mouth, bit down on the iron staff, and was lightly lifted out by the Pilgrim.
Bajie set the body down and fished up his clothes to put them on. When the Pilgrim looked, the emperor's face was as before, unchanged by a hair from his living days. “Brother — this man has been dead three years; how is it his face is still uncorrupted?”
“You don't know about it. The Well Dragon-King told me he had fixed it with a Face-Preserving Pearl, so the corpse has never decayed.”
“What luck, what luck. For one thing, his wrong is still unavenged; for another, it falls to us to succeed. Brother, quick — carry him off.”
“Carry him off to where?”
“Carry him to see the Master.”
Bajie muttered to himself: “What's the sense of it? What's the sense of it? A man sleeping soundly, and this monkey with his fine words and cunning talk coaxes me into some 'business' — and now here I am doing a thing like this, made to haul a dead man.”
“Hauling him, the filthy water dribbles down and soils my clothes, and there's no one to wash them for me. There are a few patches on top already; when the sky turns damp, how am I to wear them?”
“Just you carry him along,” said the Pilgrim. “When we get to the temple, I'll change your clothes for you.”
“For shame — you haven't even the clothes on your own back, and you'd change mine?”
“If you go on wagging your tongue like this, will you not carry him, then?”
“I won't carry him.”
“Then stick out your ankle for twenty strokes of the staff.”
Bajie panicked. “Brother — that staff is heavy; if I take twenty strokes, I'll end up just like this emperor.”
“If you're afraid of a beating, then get carrying and be on your way, and quick about it.”
Bajie, truly afraid of a beating, ill-temperedly dragged the corpse over, slung it on his back, and, dragging his feet, went off out of the garden.
The fine Great Sage pinched a magic sign, recited a spell, drew in a breath toward the Xun quarter, and blew it out — and there rose a gale that swept Bajie clear out of the palace precincts, away from the walled city. Then he stilled the wind's force, the two came to earth, and walked slowly on.
The blockhead, secretly seething, plotted to get his revenge on the Pilgrim, and said to himself: “This monkey has made a fool of me; when I get to the temple, I'll make a fool of him too. I'll egg the Master on, telling him the monkey can cure him back to life; and if he can't cure him, I'll have the Master recite the tightening-fillet spell and squeeze the monkey's brains right out — that would satisfy me.” Walking along, he thought it over again and again. “No good, no good. If I have him cure the man, that's easy enough — he'll just go to King Yama's house and fetch back the soul, and the cure is done. I'll say he's not allowed to go down to the shades — that he must cure him here in the world of the living; that scheme would do the trick.”
Hardly had he spoken when they came to the mountain gate. Going straight in, he flung the corpse down before the door of the meditation hall and said: “Master, get up and take a look, will you?”
The Tang Monk had not been able to sleep, and was just then talking with Sha Monk about how the Pilgrim had coaxed Bajie off and had been so long in returning. Hearing him come and call out, he rose at once. “Disciple, look at what?”
“The Pilgrim's grandsire — Old Pig's been made to haul him back.”
“You rice-swilling blockhead — where would I have any grandsire?”
“Brother, if he's not your grandsire, then why was Old Pig made to haul him here? And you can't think how much labor it cost me.”
When the Tang Monk and Sha Monk opened the door to look, the emperor's face was unchanged, as though he were alive. The elder said in sudden grief: “Your Majesty — you knew not what foe from a former life you met in this one, who secretly took your life, so that you were parted from wife and child, and your civil and military officers left all unknowing. Pitiable that your wife and children are kept in the dark — who has ever been seen to burn incense or offer you tea?” And suddenly he broke down, his tears falling like rain.
Bajie laughed. “Master, what business is his dying of yours? He's no father or forebear of your house — what are you weeping over him for?”
“Disciple,” said Tripitaka, “for one who has left the household life, compassion is the root, and expedient kindness the gate. How can you be so hard of heart?”
“It's not that I'm hard of heart — my elder brother told me he could cure him back to life; if he couldn't cure him, I'd never have hauled him here at all.”
The elder, being by nature easily swayed, was worked upon by the blockhead, and called out: “Wukong, if you truly have the means to cure this emperor back to life, then indeed, to save a single life is better than to raise a seven-story pagoda. It would be even better for us than worshipping the Buddha on Spirit Mountain.”
“Master, how can you believe this blockhead's wild talk? When a person dies — whether at the third seven, the fifth seven, the closing seventh, or the hundredth day — once the punishments of the mortal world are served out, they pass on to be reborn. This one has been dead three years now; how is he to be saved?”
Tripitaka, hearing this, said: “Well, let it be, then.”
But Bajie, chafing bitterly and unappeased, said: “Master, don't let him hoodwink you — he's a touch brain-addled. Just recite that little spell of yours, and I'll warrant he gives you back a living man.”
And sure enough the Tang Monk recited the tightening-fillet spell, squeezing till the monkey's eyes bulged and his head throbbed.
In the end, there is no knowing how he is to be healed and saved — pray hear the next chapter for the telling.