So the six stalwart captains passed out through the cave-mouth and went straight off toward the southwest, following the road as it ran. Pilgrim, musing to himself, thought: “He means to send for the Old Great King to eat my master, and that Old Great King is surely the Bull Demon King. Ever since old Sun met with him in that bygone year, our minds have chimed and our feelings met — we kept close and cordial company. But now that I have turned back to the True Way, he is a heretic-demon still. Though we have long been parted, I remember his features yet. Let old Sun turn himself into the Bull Demon King, gull them with a little trick, and see how it goes.”
The worthy Pilgrim slipped clear of the six little imps, spread his wings and flew on ahead; and when he was a dozen-odd li distant from them, he shook himself and changed — became the very image of the Bull Demon King. He plucked out a few strands of his down and cried, “Change!” and they at once became several little imps. There in a fold of the hills he loosed hawk and hound, cocked crossbow and drew bow, feigning the show of a hunting-party, and waited for the six captains.
That pack, hauling and jostling one another as they went, of a sudden caught sight of the Bull Demon King seated in their midst, and in a flurry of fluster flung themselves down on their knees, crying: “Old Great King, Your Lordship — here you are!” Now Cloud-in-Mist, Mist-in-Cloud, Swift-as-Fire and Fast-as-Wind were every one of them of fleshly eye and mortal frame — how were they to tell the true from the false? They too knelt down together and, knocking their heads, said: “Grandsire, we little ones were sent from the Fire-Cloud Cave, from the quarters of the Sage-Boy Great King, to invite Your Lordship the Old Great King to come and eat the Tang Monk's flesh, that your years be lengthened by a thousand cycles.”
Pilgrim, making his excuse, answered: “Rise up, my children; come home with me first, that I may change my clothes and come.”
The imps knocked their heads and said: “We beg Your Lordship's indulgence — there is no need to return to the mansion. The road is long, and we fear our Great King's reproof; we little ones beg to set out from here.”
Pilgrim laughed: “Good, obedient children! Well then, well then — lead on ahead, and I'll go along with you.” The six monsters mustered their spirits and shouted the road clear ahead, and the Great Sage followed on behind.
In no long while they had come to the home place. Fast-as-Wind and Swift-as-Fire dashed into the cave: “Report to the Great King: His Lordship the Old Great King has arrived!”
The demon king said, delighted: “You have proven your worth — coming back as quick as this!” At once he called the captains of every quarter to marshal the ranks, unfurl banner and drum, and go forth to receive His Lordship the Old Great King. The whole cave's host of imps obeyed the command and, in trim and orderly array, filed out.
This Pilgrim, all haughty grandeur, thrust out his chest, gave his body a shake, and drew back into himself all those hawk-and-hound hairs. Striding out with great steps, he walked straight in through the gate and seated himself in the very center of the southern side. Red Boy knelt before him and, kowtowing upward, said: “Father King, your son makes his bow.”
“My child, spare the ceremony,” said Pilgrim.
The demon king made four great obeisances and, done, took his stand at the lower place.
“My son,” said Pilgrim, “for what matter have you summoned me?”
The demon king, bowing from the waist, said: “Your son, unworthy as he is, captured a man yesterday — a monk of the Great Tang in the Land of the East. I have often heard it said that he is one who has cultivated himself through ten lifetimes, and that whoever eats a single morsel of his flesh will live as long as the undying immortals of Penglai and Yingzhou. Your foolish son dares not eat of him alone, and has expressly invited you, Father King, to share the Tang Monk's flesh, that your years be lengthened by a thousand cycles.”
Pilgrim, hearing this, gave a start of feigned alarm: “My son — which Tang Monk is this?”
“It is the man going to the Western Heaven to fetch the scriptures.”
“My son — is it not the master of Sun the Pilgrim?”
“The very same,” said the demon king.
Pilgrim waved his hand and shook his head: “Don't cross him, don't cross him! Others one might safely provoke, but Sun the Pilgrim is that sort of man. My worthy boy, you have never met him — that monkey's powers are vast, and his transformations past number. Once he made his great havoc in the Palace of Heaven: the Jade Emperor sent down a hundred thousand heavenly troops and spread the Heaven-and-Earth Net, and even so they could not take him. How dare you make a meal of his master? Send him out at once and give him back, and do not provoke that monkey. If he gets wind that you have eaten his master, he won't even come to fight you — he'll just take that gold-banded cudgel, bore a hole in the mountain's waist, and scoop the whole mountain away. My son — where would that leave you a place to rest your body? On whom would it have me lean, to keep me in my old age?”
The demon king said: “Father King, what a thing to say — that only raises the enemy's spirit and crushes your own son's dash and daring! That Sun the Pilgrim has three sworn brothers in all; he was leading the Tang Monk through the midst of my mountain when I worked a transformation and carried off his master. He and that Pig Eight Rules came, at the time, to the front of my gate, spouting talk of claiming kinship and pleading old acquaintance; but I flew into a towering rage and traded a few bouts with him — and it came to no more than that. I saw no great feats in him.
“When that Pig Eight Rules sidled in to lend a hand in the fight, it was your son who spat out the True Fire of Samādhi and burned him to a rout at one go. In his fluster he went to beg the Dragon Kings of the Four Seas for rain to help him, but even so they could not put out my True Fire of Samādhi; I scorched him into a little dead faint, and in haste he sent Pig Eight Rules off to invite the Bodhisattva Guanyin of the Southern Sea. So I counterfeited Guanyin, lured Pig Eight Rules in, and have him now hung up in my As-You-Will bag — I mean to steam him too and share him out among all the little ones to eat.
“That Pilgrim came again this morning to bawl at my gate; I gave the order to have him seized, and in his fluster he flung down his bundle and fled. Only then did I come to invite you, Father King, to look upon the living likeness of the Tang Monk, that we might then steam and eat him, and lengthen our years to undying long life.”
Pilgrim laughed: “My worthy boy, you know only that you have the Samādhi Fire to beat him with — you don't know he has seventy-two transformations at his command.”
“However he may transform, I shall know him,” said the demon king. “I warrant he'll never dare set foot inside my gate.”
Pilgrim said: “My son, though you may know him, he won't change into anything large — a wolf, say, or a lumbering elephant, for fear he couldn't get through your gate; but if he turns into some little thing, you'll find him hard to know.”
The demon king said: “Whatever small thing he turns into, here at every tier of my gates I have four or five little imps on guard — however would he get in?”
“You simply don't know. He can turn into a fly, a mosquito, a flea, or else a honeybee, a butterfly, a gnat or midge and the like; and he can also take my very shape — how then would you know him?”
“No need to fret,” said the demon king. “Were he iron-gutted and bronze-hearted, still he'd not dare come near my gate.”
“Since you put it so,” said Pilgrim, “my worthy boy has real prowess, and is truly able to hold his own against him, and so has come to invite me to eat the Tang Monk's flesh — yet as it happens I shall not eat today.”
“Why not eat?” asked the demon king.
“Of late I've grown old, and your mother is forever urging me to do a few good works. I thought, having done hardly any good, I would at least keep a few days of fasting.”
“I don't know, Father King,” said the demon king. “Is it a perpetual fast, or a monthly fast?”
“It is neither a perpetual fast nor a monthly fast; it is called the Thunder Fast, and comes to only four days a month.”
“Which four days?” asked the demon king.
Pilgrim said: “The three xin days, and the sixth as it falls. Today is a xin-you day: for one thing, it is a fast day; for another, on a you day one receives no guests. Let us wait for tomorrow; I'll go and scrub and wash him myself, steam him, and share him with you children.”
That demon king, hearing this, thought to himself: “My father king has eaten men to live all his days, and by now has lived a thousand years and more — how is it that of a sudden he takes to fasting? Think of the multitude of evils he did at the outset — how could three or four days' fasting ever make up for them? There is falsehood in these words. Suspicious — most suspicious.”
At once he slipped out and stepped down below the second gate, and called the six captains to question them: “Where did you invite this Old Great King of yours from?”
“We invited him along the way.”
“I said you'd come back quick!” said the demon king. “Did he not go home first?”
“Yes — he did not go home.”
The demon king said: “This is bad — we've fallen for his counterfeit! This is not the Old Great King.”
The imps knelt down together: “Great King — can you not even know your own father?”
“In form and bearing, in his every motion and stillness, he resembles him entirely — only his speech does not ring true. I only fear we've fallen for his fakery and will suffer at another's hands. You must all be on your guard: let him who wields a saber have his saber out of the sheath, and him who wields a spear have his spear ground bright; let him who wields a cudgel wield his cudgel, and him who wields a rope wield his rope. Let me go and question him again, and see how his speech runs. If he truly is the Old Great King, then never mind not eating today — not eating tomorrow, even putting it off a month, what harm? But if his speech does not answer, then the moment you hear me give a grunt, fall on him all together.” The host of demons each received the command.
This demon king turned back inside once more and, facing Pilgrim, made his bow again.
“My child, at home there's no need of constant ceremony — you needn't bow,” said Pilgrim. “But whatever you have to say, say it out.”
The demon king prostrated himself on the ground and said: “Your foolish son, for one thing, invited you to receive the offering of the Tang Monk's flesh; and for another, has a word to lay before you. Some days ago I was strolling idly, riding an auspicious light, and had gone straight up into the ninth empyrean when of a sudden I met with Master Zhang Daoling of the Patriarchal Court.”
“Would that be Zhang Daoling who is the Celestial Master?” asked Pilgrim.
“The very same.”
“What did he have to say?” said Pilgrim.
“Seeing that your son was born with the five features regular and the three zones evenly set, he asked me in what year, which month, which day, and which hour I came into the world. Being young, your son could not recall it exactly. The Master is deeply versed in the Ziping art, and would reckon out my five stars for me. Now, in inviting you, Father King, it is just this I wished to ask. Should I chance to meet him again next time, I might trouble him to work out my fate.”
Pilgrim, hearing this, sat above and laughed to himself: “What a demon this is! Ever since old Sun turned to the Buddha-fruit and guarded the Tang master, I've caught a fair few fiends along the way, but none so grasping and sly as this fellow. He asks me all this household this-and-that — short of rice, out of firewood, and the like — and I can well enough answer him off the cuff with any patched-up nonsense; but now he asks me my year, month, and day of birth — how am I to know that?”
The worthy Monkey King, cunning to a fault, sat majestic in the midst without the least trace of fear, and, his face on the contrary all beaming with smiles, said: “Worthy son, rise. I've grown old, and these last days, with matters not going as I'd wish, I clean forgot the hour of your birth; let us wait till tomorrow, when I go home, and ask your mother, and then I'll know.”
The demon king said: “My father king had my eight characters forever on his lips, saying I have a life-span undying as heaven itself — how is it that today, all at once, he has forgotten them? This stands to no reason — he must be a fake.”
At a grunt, the host of demons closed in with spear and saber, thrusting at Pilgrim recklessly, head and face alike. This Great Sage warded them off with his gold-banded cudgel, showed his true form, and said to the fiend: “My worthy boy — you've no reason on your side. Where under heaven is there a son who beats his own father?”
That demon king, his whole face flushed with shame, dared not look up, and Pilgrim turned into a golden light and passed out of his cave.
“Great King — Sun the Pilgrim has got away,” said the imps.
“Enough, enough, enough — let him go, then; I've swallowed a loss at his hands this time. Just shut the gates, hold no more parley with him, and simply set to scrubbing the Tang Monk and steaming him to eat — and be done.”
Now that Pilgrim, shouldering his iron cudgel and laughing aloud, came back from the far side of the ravine. Sha Monk, hearing him, hurried out of the wood to meet him: “Brother! You're back only after half a day — what's this smirking laughter? I suppose you've saved the master out?”
“Brother, though I did not manage to rescue the master, old Sun did come off with the upper hand.”
“What upper hand?” said Sha Monk.
“It turns out Pig Eight Rules was lured back by that fiend counterfeiting Guanyin, and is hung up inside a leather bag. I meant to work out some rescue, when unexpectedly he sent those six captains of his off to invite the Old Great King to come eat the master's flesh. So old Sun reckoned that this Old Great King of his must be the Bull Demon King, and I changed into his likeness, passed myself off and went in, and sat down in the midst. He called me father, and I answered him; he kowtowed, and I took it square. It was truly delightful — I really did come off with the upper hand.”
“Brother,” said Sha Monk, “you go after a petty bargain like this, and I fear the master's life may not be saved.”
Pilgrim said: “No need to fret — wait while I go and invite the Bodhisattva.”
“Your waist still aches, you know.”
Pilgrim said: “It doesn't ache any more. As the ancients said: ‘When a man meets with a happy event, his spirits are bright.' You keep watch over the luggage and the horse, and wait while I go.”
Sha Monk said: “You've made an enemy of him now — I fear he'll harm the master; you must go quick and come back quick.”
“I come back fast — in only the time of a meal I'll be back again.”
The worthy Great Sage, slipping away from Sha Monk even as they spoke, mounted his somersault cloud and made straight for the Southern Sea. Up in the middle air, in less than half a watch, he sighted the scenery of Mount Putuo, and in a moment he pressed down his cloud-head and came straight to the cliff of Luojia. Walking on in solemn reverence, he saw the Devas of the Twenty-Four Ways come to meet him: “Great Sage, where are you bound?”
Pilgrim, his salutation done, said: “I would see the Bodhisattva.”
“Wait a little, and let us announce you.”
At that time the Deva Hārītī, Mother of Demons, came outside the Tide-Sound Cave to report: “Bodhisattva, be it known: Sun Wukong has come expressly to pay his respects.” The Bodhisattva, hearing the report, at once bade him enter, and the Great Sage, gathering his robe in submission and holding his steps, went straight inside and, seeing the Bodhisattva, cast himself down in obeisance.
“Wukong, why are you not leading the Golden Cicada westward to seek the scriptures — what brings you here instead?”
“I report to the Bodhisattva: your disciple, guarding the Tang Monk on our way forward, came to a certain place — Mount Number, the Withered-Pine Ravine, the Fire-Cloud Cave. There is a Red Boy fiend there, called the Sage-Boy Great King, who has carried off my master. Your disciple and Zhu Wuneng and the rest sought him out at his gate and gave him battle. He loosed the True Fire of Samādhi, and we could not overcome him, nor rescue the master. I hurried up to the great Eastern Ocean and fetched the Dragon Kings of the Four Seas to make rain-water, but even so they could not master the fire; it smoked your disciple all to ruin, and I nearly lost what was left of my life.”
The Bodhisattva said: “Since it is Samādhi fire, and his powers are vast, why did you go to invite the Dragon Kings, and not come to invite me?”
Pilgrim said: “I had meant to come, only your disciple, being smoked by the fumes, could not ride a cloud, and so had Pig Eight Rules come to invite the Bodhisattva.”
“Wuneng did not come, though,” said the Bodhisattva.
“The very same. Before he could reach your treasure mountain, that fiend, counterfeiting the Bodhisattva's likeness, lured Pig Eight Rules into the cave again — he hangs now in a leather bag, and is to be steamed and eaten.”
The Bodhisattva, hearing this, said in great wrath: “That vile fiend dared counterfeit my likeness?” And with a cry of anger she took the precious pearl and the pure vase from her hand and flung them, with a splash, into the heart of the sea.
This so frightened Pilgrim that his hair and bones bristled. He rose at once and stood in attendance below, saying: “This Bodhisattva's fire-temper hasn't cooled — it's surely that she blames old Sun for speaking ill, and, her merit spoiled, has flung away her pure vase. What a pity, what a pity. Had I known she'd give it to old Sun, wouldn't that have been a fine great matter?”
He had not finished speaking when, in the very middle of the sea, the waves churned and the billows leapt, and a vase came thrusting up out of the water. It turned out to be a strange creature bearing it up on its back. Pilgrim looked closely at the vase-bearing creature — and what was its likeness?
Sprung from a source of ancient stock, it bears the name Bang-ni;
at the water's floor it swells the light and shows its might alone.
Hidden from the world, it knows the nature of heaven and earth;
secreted in repose, it fathoms the springs of gods and ghosts.
Drawing in its body at a shrink, it shows no head or tail;
stretching out its feet to walk, it goes as swift as flight.
King Wen, drawing the hexagrams, once cast the primal augury;
long welcomed in hall and terrace, it kept Fu Xi company.
Cloud-and-dragon markings show forth a thousand graces;
it calls the waters up, drives the swell, and blows the billows on.
Strand on strand, gold threads are strung to form its shell;
dot on dot, it is arrayed like bright tortoiseshell.
The Nine Palaces and Eight Trigrams are draped on it for a robe;
scattered flecks spread to clothe it in a green and glittering coat.
In life, fond of valor, it won the Dragon King's favor;
in death, it bears still the Buddha-Patriarch's stele.
Would you know this creature's name and kind?
The fierce black tortoise that stirs the wind and rears the waves.
The tortoise, bearing the pure vase, crawled up to the cliff's edge and nodded its head to the Bodhisattva twenty-four times — this taken, provisionally, for twenty-four bows. Pilgrim, seeing it, laughed to himself: “So it's the keeper of the vase. I suppose that, not seeing the vase, she'll just ask him for it.”
“Wukong, what are you saying down there?” called the Bodhisattva.
“I said nothing.”
“Bring the vase up.”
This Pilgrim went at once to take the vase. Ah! There was no hope of budging it. It was just as if a dragonfly were shaking a stone pillar — however could he stir it a hair's breadth? He came forward and knelt: “Bodhisattva, your disciple cannot lift it.”
“You monkey-head — all you can do is brag. A mere vase you cannot even lift — how will you go to subdue demons and bind fiends?”
Pilgrim said: “I'll not deceive the Bodhisattva. Ordinarily I could lift it; today I cannot. It's likely I've suffered at the fiend's hands, and my strength has grown weak.”
“In ordinary times it is an empty vase; but now the pure vase, cast down into the sea, has in this one instant passed through the Three Rivers and Five Lakes, the Eight Seas and Four Watercourses, and all the streams, springs, pools and grottoes between — and has borrowed a whole sea of water into itself. Where would you get the weight to shoulder a sea? That is why you cannot lift it.”
Pilgrim pressed his palms together: “Yes — your disciple did not know.”
That Bodhisattva stepped forward, took up the pure vase lightly in her right hand, and cradled it on her left palm; and the tortoise, at that, nodded its head and dived back down into the water.
“So it's just a housekeeping drudge that tends the vase,” said Pilgrim.
The Bodhisattva, seated, said: “Wukong, the sweet-dew water in this vase of mine is not like that Dragon King's private rain — it can quench that fiend's True Fire of Samādhi. I would give it to you to carry off, but you cannot lift it; I would send the Boy Sudhana and the Dragon Girl to go along with you, but you are not good-hearted, and single-mindedly know only how to cheat. You'd see that my Dragon Girl is fair of face and the pure vase a treasure, and if you cheated them away, where would I find the leisure to come chasing after you again? You must leave some thing or other as a pledge.”
“For pity's sake! The Bodhisattva is so full of suspicion. Ever since I, your disciple, took up the Buddhist calling, I've all along done no such things. You have me leave some collateral — but with what thing? This cotton cassock on my body is, after all, what you yourself bestowed. This tiger-skin kilt — how many coppers could it be worth? This iron cudgel I'll need morning and night to guard myself. There's only this fillet on my head — it's a golden one, but you worked some device to make it grow fast to my head, and it won't come off. If you want collateral now, I'll willingly offer this as the pledge. Recite a Loosen-the-Fillet spell and take this off, then; otherwise, with what thing shall I make a pledge?”
The Bodhisattva said: “How very much at your ease you are! I want none of your clothes, your iron cudgel, or your golden fillet — only pluck one of those life-saving hairs at the back of your head and give it me for a pledge.”
Pilgrim said: “These hairs, too, are what you yourself gave me. But I fear that if I pluck one out, the set will be broken, and it'll no longer save my life.”
“You monkey!” scolded the Bodhisattva. “You won't part with so much as a single hair, yet you'd have me give up my Sudhana as well?”
Pilgrim laughed: “Bodhisattva, you are indeed over-suspicious. As the saying goes: ‘If not for the monk's face, then for the Buddha's.' By all means, save my master from this one ordeal, then.”
And that Bodhisattva —
In ease and gladness she comes down from the lotus throne;
on cloud-steps, trailing fragrance, she mounts the stone crag.
Only because the holy monk has met with harm,
she would subdue the fiend and bring him back to safety.
The Great Sage, delighted, invited Guanyin out of the Tide-Sound Immortal Cave, where the great Devas were all ranged upon the crag of Putuo.
“Wukong, cross the sea,” said the Bodhisattva.
Pilgrim bowed from the waist: “Let the Bodhisattva go first.”
“You cross over first.”
Pilgrim kowtowed: “Your disciple dare not show off his arts before the Bodhisattva. If I were to ride my somersault cloud, I'd bare my body, and I fear the Bodhisattva would blame me for irreverence.”
The Bodhisattva, hearing this, at once had the Boy Sudhana and the Dragon Girl go to the lotus pond, break off a single lotus petal, and set it on the water below the stone crag. Then she bade Pilgrim: “Get onto that lotus petal, and I'll ferry you across the sea.”
Pilgrim, seeing it, said: “Bodhisattva, this petal is so light and thin — how could it bear me up? One slip, and I'd tumble into the water — wouldn't that soak my tiger-skin kilt? The hide's cure would wash out, and then how could I wear it in the cold?”
“Just get up there and see,” called the Bodhisattva sharply.
Pilgrim dared not refuse, and, risking his life, leapt up onto it. Sure enough, it had looked light and small at first, but once he was on it, it was bigger even than a seagoing ship by three measures. “Bodhisattva,” he said, delighted, “it bears me now.”
“Since it bears you, why don't you cross over?” said the Bodhisattva.
“But there's no pole, no oar, no sail, no mast — however am I to get across?”
“No need.” And she simply blew him out with one breath and drew him in again, then with one firm breath blew him across the Bitter Sea of the Southern Ocean, and he came to land on the far shore.
Pilgrim, his feet planted on solid ground, laughed: “This Bodhisattva shows off her powers — she calls old Sun hither and yon like this, and it costs her no effort at all.”
That Bodhisattva charged the whole company of Devas each to guard the immortal realm, and had the Boy Sudhana and the Dragon Girl shut the cave gate. She then loosed an auspicious cloud, left the crag of Putuo, and, coming to the other side, called: “Where is Moksha?”
Now Moksha was the second prince of the Pagoda-Bearing Heavenly King Li, his secular name being Muzha. He was a disciple the Bodhisattva had herself instructed, who never left her side, and was called the Dharma-Protector, the Pilgrim Moksha. He at once pressed his palms together before the Bodhisattva and awaited her word.
“Go up quickly to the upper realm, see your father the King, and ask to borrow the Sky-Net Blades of him for a single use.”
“How many does my teacher have need of?” asked Moksha.
“The whole set — all of them.”
Moksha received the charge, mounted a cloud-head, went straight in through the Southern Gate of Heaven, came to the Cloud-Tower Palace, and, seeing his father the King, bowed down.
“Son, whence do you come?” asked the Heavenly King.
“My teacher was invited by Sun Wukong to subdue a fiend, and she bade your son bow before you, Father King, and borrow the Sky-Net Blades for a single use.”
The Heavenly King at once called Nezha to take the blades — thirty-six of them — and hand them to Muzha, and Muzha said to Nezha: “Brother, when you go back, make many bows to our mother for me: my errand is urgent, so let me kowtow when I've delivered the blades and returned.” In great haste they parted, and, pressing down his auspicious light, he came straight to the Southern Sea and offered the blades up to the Bodhisattva with both hands.
The Bodhisattva took them in her hand, flung them out, and recited a spell — and those blades became a thousand-petaled lotus throne. She sprang up onto it and sat composed in the midst.
Pilgrim, at her side, laughed to himself: “This Bodhisattva is sparing and thrifty. In that lotus pond she has a five-colored jeweled lotus throne, but she can't bear to sit on that and bring it along — instead she goes and borrows from someone else.”
“Wukong, stop your chatter and follow me.”
Then they all mounted the clouds and left the sea behind, the white parrot spreading its wings and flying ahead, the Great Sage and Moksha following behind. In a moment, a mountain-top came into view.
“This mountain is Mount Number,” said Pilgrim. “From here to that fiend's gate is some four hundred li and more.”
The Bodhisattva, hearing this, at once had the auspicious cloud halt, and on that mountain-top she recited the syllable “Oṃ.” At once, from the left and right of the mountain, many spirits and demons came forth — they were the local earth-gods and mountain spirits — and all came to kowtow beneath the Bodhisattva's jeweled lotus seat.
“None of you be alarmed,” she said. “I have come now to capture this demon king; sweep the whole surrounding area clean for me — for three hundred li around, let not a single living creature remain on the ground. Take the young beasts in the dens and the newborn creatures in the burrows, and set them all safely upon the highest peaks.”
The spirits obeyed and withdrew, and in a moment they came back to report.
“Since it's clean, return each of you to your shrines.” Then she tipped the pure vase over, and with a roar the water poured out, like a peal of thunder. Truly it was:
Flooding over the mountain-tops, bursting open the stone cliffs.
Flooding the peaks with the force of an ocean, bursting the cliffs like a boundless sea.
Black mist swells to heaven, all a haze of water; dark waves shadow the sun and shimmer with cold light.
Over every crag surge jade-white breakers; across the whole sea grow golden lotuses.
The Bodhisattva unfolds her great demon-subduing art, and from her sleeve draws forth the body-stilling dhyāna.
It is transformed into the immortal scene of Potalaka, exactly like the Southern Sea in every way.
Fair reeds thrust up their tender udumbara blooms; fragrant grasses unfurl fresh palm-leaf fronds.
On a few stalks of purple bamboo the parrots rest; in several clumps of green pine the partridges clamor.
Ten thousand folds of billows spread lotuses to the four fields; one hears only the wind's roar and water flooding the sky.
The Great Sage, seeing this, marveled to himself: “Truly she is a Bodhisattva of great mercy and great compassion! If old Sun had such power, I'd just tip the vase over toward the mountain and pour — never mind what beasts and snakes and vermin!”
“Wukong, put out your hand,” called the Bodhisattva. Pilgrim hastily drew back his sleeve and put out his left hand, and the Bodhisattva plucked a willow sprig, dipped it in sweet dew, and wrote in his palm the character “mi” — “to lure.”
“Clench your fist,” she bade him, “go quickly and challenge that fiend to battle — you may lose but must not win. When you've been beaten, come here before me, and I have my own power to subdue him.”
Pilgrim received her charge, turned his cloud-light back, and came straight to the cave-mouth. With one hand he plied his fist and with the other his cudgel, and shouted aloud: “Fiend, open the gate!”
Those little imps went in again to report: “Sun the Pilgrim has come again.”
“Bar the gate fast and pay him no mind.”
“Fine son!” called Pilgrim. “You shut your old man outside the gate, and still won't open up?”
The imps reported again: “Sun the Pilgrim has started up with that kind of talk again.”
The demon king only ordered: “Pay him no mind.”
Pilgrim called twice, and seeing the gate stay shut, flew into a rage, raised his iron cudgel, and struck the gate a blow, knocking a hole in it. This so flustered the little imps that they went tumbling in, crying: “Sun the Pilgrim has broken down the gate!”
The demon king, having heard several reports and now that the front gate was broken, sprang up in haste, leapt out, and, brandishing his long spear, cursed at Pilgrim: “You monkey — you've no sense of your place at all! I let you gain a little advantage, but you still don't know when you've had enough, and come to bully me again. Breaking my gate — what charge should be laid on you?”
“My son,” said Pilgrim, “you drove your old man out the gate — what charge should be laid on you?”
That demon king, shamed and furious, snatched up his long spear and thrust straight at Pilgrim's breast; and this Pilgrim raised his iron cudgel, warding and striking back. Once they had closed, and had fought four or five rounds, Pilgrim clenched his fist, dragged his cudgel, and fell back in defeat.
That demon king stood before the mountain and said: “I'm off to scrub the Tang Monk now.”
“Fine son — Heaven is watching you. Come on.”
That fiend, hearing this, grew angrier still, gave a shout, charged up before him, and thrust with his spear again; and this Pilgrim swung his cudgel, fought a few more rounds, and again broke and ran.
“Monkey,” cursed the demon king, “before, you had twenty or thirty rounds' worth of fight in you; how is it that now, in the thick of the fight, you keep wanting to run? Why is that?”
Pilgrim laughed: “Worthy boy, your old man is afraid you'll set fire.”
“I won't set fire — come on up.”
“If you won't set fire, then move off a bit — a real man doesn't fight people at his own front gate.”
That fiend, not knowing it was a ruse, actually raised his spear and gave chase again. Pilgrim dragged his cudgel and opened his fist, and that demon king, caught in the daze, pursued with all his heart — the one running ahead like a shooting star crossing the sky, the one behind like a bolt loosed from the string.
Before long, that Bodhisattva came into view.
“Fiend, I'm afraid of you — spare me, do,” said Pilgrim. “You've chased me all the way to the Bodhisattva Guanyin of the Southern Sea — why don't you go back yet?”
That demon king did not believe it, and, gritting his teeth, kept right on after him. Pilgrim gave his body a shake and hid within the shadow of that Bodhisattva's divine light; and this fiend, seeing Pilgrim gone, came up close, opened his eyes wide, and said to the Bodhisattva: “Are you the rescue Sun the Pilgrim went and fetched?”
The Bodhisattva made no answer.
The demon king twirled his long spear and shouted: “Hah! Are you the rescue Sun the Pilgrim went and fetched?”
The Bodhisattva again made no answer. And the fiend thrust a spear straight at the Bodhisattva's heart.
That Bodhisattva turned into a shaft of golden light and went straight up into the ninth empyrean, and Pilgrim, following after, said: “Bodhisattva, you really do put upon me! That fiend asked you again and again, and you played deaf and dumb, not daring to make a sound; and when he jabbed you off with a spear, you went and left that whole lotus throne behind!”
The Bodhisattva only said: “Hold your tongue, and see what he'll do next.”
At this time Pilgrim and Moksha were both in the air, watching side by side, and they saw the fiend laugh a cold laugh: “You wretched monkey-head, you've quite mistaken me. He doesn't know what sort of one he takes me, the Sage-Boy, to be. Several times over he couldn't beat me in a fight, so off he went and invited some wash-out of a Bodhisattva — who, at one thrust of my spear, was jabbed away without form or shadow, and left behind this jeweled lotus throne besides. Let me just go up and sit on it a while.” And the clever fiend then aped the Bodhisattva, folding his hands and crossing his legs, and sat down in the very center.
Pilgrim, seeing it, said: “Good, good, good — the lotus throne is fit to be given away now.”
“Wukong, what are you saying now?” said the Bodhisattva.
Pilgrim said: “Saying what? Saying what? The lotus throne's been given away. That fiend has it planted under his rump — surely you won't be wanting it back now?”
“It's just that I want him to sit.”
“His frame is small and neat,” said Pilgrim, “he sits even more steadily on it than you.”
“Hold your tongue, and just watch the power.”
She pointed the willow sprig downward and cried out: “Withdraw!” At once the lotus throne's flowery colors were all gone and its auspicious light wholly scattered — and there sat the demon king upon the points of the blades.
“Ply the demon-subduing mace,” she at once ordered Moksha, “and hammer the blade-hilts down.” That Moksha pressed down his cloud-head and, wielding the demon-quelling mace as if tamping a wall, struck some hundreds and thousands of blows. The blades ran clean through the fiend's two thighs, their points coming out the other side, blood pooling and flesh laid open. What a monster! — see him grit his teeth and bear the pain, throwing down his long spear and clutching wildly at the blades with his hands to pull them out.
“Bodhisattva — that monster doesn't fear the pain, and is still pulling out the blades,” said Pilgrim.
The Bodhisattva, seeing this, called Moksha up: “Do not yet take his life.” Then she lowered the willow sprig again and recited the syllable “Oṃ,” and those Sky-Net Blades all turned into backward-barbed hooks, like a wolf's fangs, that could not be slipped off.
Only then was the fiend frightened, and, clutching at the blade-points, he cried out in pain and bitter entreaty: “Bodhisattva, your disciple had eyes but no pupils, and failed to recognize your vast and mighty power. I beg a thousandfold your mercy — spare my life, and I'll never again presume on my wickedness, but will enter the gate of the Law and keep its discipline.”
The Bodhisattva, hearing this, lowered her golden light with the two pilgrims and the white parrot, came before the fiend, and asked: “Will you receive my discipline?”
The demon king nodded, shedding tears: “If my life is spared, I am willing to receive the discipline.”
“Will you enter my gate?” she asked.
“If indeed my life is spared,” said the demon king, “I am willing to enter the gate of the Law.”
“Since it is so, I will lay my hand on your crown and give you the vows.” And from her sleeve she drew a golden tonsure-razor, came up close, parted the crown of the monster's head and gave it a few strokes, shaving it into a “Mount Tai Pressing the Crown,” leaving him three tufts and binding them up into three little corner-knots.
Pilgrim, at her side, laughed: “This fiend's had wretched luck — turned neither man nor woman, and who knows what sort of thing he looks like now.”
“Now that you've received my vows, I'll not slight you — I'll call you the Boy Sudhana. How is that?”
That fiend nodded and accepted it, hoping only to be spared. The Bodhisattva then pointed with her hand and cried: “Withdraw!” With a clang, the Sky-Net Blades all dropped away into the dust, and the boy's body was unharmed.
“Moksha,” called the Bodhisattva, “take the blades up to the Palace of Heaven and return them to your father the King; don't come to escort me, but go first to the crag of Putuo and wait with the assembled Devas.” That Moksha received the charge, sent the blades up to the upper realm, and returned to the sea — of which no more.
Now that boy's wild nature was not yet settled. Seeing that the leg that had hurt no longer hurt and the rump that had been torn was torn no more, and with three little knots bound up on his head, he went and snatched up his long spear, and said to the Bodhisattva: “What real power is there here to subdue me? It was only some disguising trick. I'll take no vows at all — look to your spear!” And he thrust straight at the Bodhisattva's face.
This so enraged Pilgrim that he brandished his iron cudgel to strike, but the Bodhisattva only called: “Don't strike — I have my own means to chasten him.”
Then from her sleeve she drew out a golden fillet and said: “This treasure is one of the three fillets — the Gold, the Tight and the Prohibition — that my Buddha, the Tathāgata, bestowed on me when I went to the Land of the East to seek the scripture-pilgrim. The Tight Fillet I gave you to wear first; the Prohibition Fillet took in the great mountain-guarding spirit; and this Gold Fillet I had never been willing to part with — but now, seeing how this monster forgets his manners, let him have it.”
The worthy Bodhisattva gave the fillet a shake in the wind and cried: “Change!” At once it became five fillets, which she flung at the boy's body, shouting: “Land home!” One clasped over the crown of his head, two over his left and right hands, and two over his left and right feet.
“Wukong, stand off a little, and let me recite the Gold-Fillet spell.”
Pilgrim, alarmed, said: “Bodhisattva! I invited you here to subdue the fiend — how is it you'd chant a spell at me?”
“This spell is not the Tight-Fillet spell to bind you — it's the Gold-Fillet spell to bind that boy.”
Only then was Pilgrim reassured, and he kept close beside her, listening as she recited the spell. The Bodhisattva formed the mudra with her fingers and silently recited it several times over, and that fiend rubbed his ears and cheeks, drew in his hooves, and rolled on the ground. Truly it was:
A single word can reach through sand-grain worlds;
vast and boundless, deep is the power of the Law.
In the end there is no knowing how that boy came to take refuge — so listen to the next chapter for the telling.