Now the Bodhisattva recited the words several times over and only then fell silent, whereupon the fiend's pain at once subsided. Coming to himself and rising to look, he found gold fillets clasped about his neck and upon his hands and feet, biting into him so that they hurt; yet when he set to strip the rings away, he could not budge them so much as a hair's breadth. For once these treasures met the flesh they took root there, and the more he clawed at them the more they pained him.
Pilgrim laughed and said, “My dear little darling — the Bodhisattva feared you might not be reared to full growth, and so has fitted you with a neck-ring and a pair of bracelets!”
Hearing this, the boy fell again into a rage, snatched up his spear, and thrust wildly at Pilgrim. Pilgrim dodged aside in haste and, taking his stand behind the Bodhisattva, cried out, “Recite the spell! Recite the spell!”
The Bodhisattva dipped her willow spray in a drop of sweet dew, flicked it toward him, and called aloud, “Join!” At once he let fall the spear, and his two hands pressed palm to palm against his breast, never again to be opened. To this day there remains the pose called the Guanyin clasp, and this is the meaning of it. The boy, unable to part his hands or to take up his spear, knew at last how deep and subtle was her power; and having no help for it, he bowed his head to the ground in obeisance.
The Bodhisattva intoned the true words, tilted the pure vase, and drew that whole sea of water back into it as before, until not half a drop remained. To Pilgrim she said, “Wukong, this fiend is now subdued, yet his wild heart is still unsettled. Let me make him bow at every step, bowing all the way to Mount Potalaka, and only then shall I withdraw the spell. Go now, and quickly, into the cave to rescue your master.”
Pilgrim turned and knocked his head to the ground, saying, “I have troubled the Bodhisattva to come so far; your disciple ought to see you off a stretch of the way.”
“You need not escort me,” said the Bodhisattva, “lest you delay and endanger your master's life.”
At these words Pilgrim, rejoicing, bowed his farewell. The fiend had by now entered the true fruit, and among the fifty-three visitations paid his homage to Guanyin.
But we shall say no more of how the good Bodhisattva had taken the boy in charge. Now Sha Monk had sat long in the wood, watching for Pilgrim, who did not come. He slung the baggage over the horse, in one hand gripping the demon-quelling staff and in the other holding the bridle, and came out of the pines to look southward — and there he saw Pilgrim approaching in high delight.
Sha Monk went to meet him, saying, “Elder brother, you went to invite the Bodhisattva — why are you only now returned? I have been half dead with worry!”
“You are still dreaming,” said Pilgrim. “Old Monkey has already invited the Bodhisattva and subdued the monster.” Then he recounted her mighty power in full.
Sha Monk was overjoyed and said, “Let us go and rescue our master!”
The two of them leapt across the ravine, dashed up to the gate, and tethered the horse. Raising their weapons, they fought their way together into the cave, cleared out the whole rabble of imps, loosed the leather sack, and let Eight Rules out.
The Idiot thanked Pilgrim and said, “Elder brother, where is that fiend? Let me go and give him a few blows of my rake, to vent my spleen!”
“First let us go and find the master,” said Pilgrim.
The three went straight to the rear, where they found their master stark naked, bound in the courtyard and weeping. Sha Monk hurried to untie the cords, and Pilgrim at once fetched his garments and dressed him. The three knelt before him and said, “Master, you have suffered.”
Tripitaka said in thanks, “Worthy disciples, I have put you to great trouble. However did you subdue the demon?”
Once more Pilgrim recounted in full the matter of inviting the Bodhisattva and the taking of the boy. When Tripitaka heard it, he knelt at once and bowed to the south.
“There is no need to thank her,” said Pilgrim. “Rather it is we who have done him a good turn, in getting him taken on as a boy-attendant.” And so, when it is said that the boy bows to Guanyin through the fifty-three visitations, seeing a Buddha at each, this is precisely what is meant.
He bade Sha Monk gather up the treasures within the cave. They sought out rice and grain, prepared a vegetarian meal, and served their master. That the elder kept his life was wholly owing to the Great Sage Sun; for the fetching of the true scriptures rests on none but the Handsome Monkey Spirit.
Master and disciples came forth from the cave, climbed into the saddle, found the high road, and set their hearts steadfastly westward. They had journeyed a month and more when of a sudden they heard the sound of water ringing in their ears.
Tripitaka started in alarm and said, “Disciples — where is that sound of water coming from now?”
Pilgrim laughed and said, “You, old master, are far too full of doubts; you would never make a monk. Here are the four of us together, and you alone must be hearing some sound of water. Have you gone and forgotten the Heart Sutra again?”
The Tang Monk said, “The Heart Sutra was given me by word of mouth by the Crow's-Nest Chan Master of Pagoda Mountain — fifty-four lines in all, two hundred and seventy characters. I received it then by ear and recite it constantly to this day — how should you know which line I have forgotten?”
Pilgrim said, “Old master, you have forgotten: 'No eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, mind.' We who have left the household — our eyes look on no form, our ears heed no sound, our noses smell no fragrance, our tongues taste no savor, our bodies feel neither cold nor heat, our minds harbor no idle thought: this is what is called driving out the Six Thieves. But you, now, for the sake of seeking scriptures, keep it all in mind thought upon thought; you fear the fiends and will not give up the body; you crave your vegetarian fare, and so the tongue stirs; you delight in sweet scents, and so the nose is touched; you catch at sounds, and so the ear is startled; you gaze on things, and so the eye is fixed. Summoning up these Six Thieves in their swarm — how then will you reach the Western Heaven and behold the Buddha?”
Hearing this, Tripitaka fell silent and, sunk in thought, said, “Disciple — I…”
Ever since the year I took my leave of the sage lord,
by day and night I have toiled in ceaseless care.
My straw sandals have trodden through the mist on the mountain crests,
my bamboo hat has broken open the clouds upon the ridge.
In the still of night the gibbons' cry is grievous to hear;
under the bright moon the birds' clamor is more than the ear can bear.
When shall the thrice-three stages of the Way be fulfilled,
that I may win and bear home the Tathāgata's wondrous scriptures?
When Pilgrim had heard him out, he could not help clapping his hands and laughing aloud: “So the master is only pining for home, and cannot lay it to rest! If it is the fulfilling of those thrice-three stages you want, where is the difficulty in that? As the old saying has it, 'When the work is done, success comes of itself.'”
Eight Rules turned his head and said, “Brother — if the barriers of demons run as high and fierce as this, we might walk a thousand years and still not come through.”
Sha Monk said, “Second brother, you and I are of a kind — clumsy of mouth and slow of jaw — so do not go stirring up elder brother's temper. Let us just press our shoulders and bear the load; the day of success must surely come at last.”
As master and disciples talked on, their feet not halting and the horse's hooves at a brisk pace, they saw before them a stretch of black water that surged to the sky, and the horse could go no further. The four reined in at the bank and looked closely, and this is what they beheld:
Layer upon layer of thick billows, fold upon fold of turbid waves —
the layered billows churn up a black flood, the folded waves roll up a dark oil.
Seen near, it throws back no shadow of a man;
gazed at from afar, no shape of tree can be traced in it.
Rolling — a whole earth of ink; surging — a thousand lǐ of ash.
Its froth drifts up like heaped charcoal, its spray flies off like tumbling coal.
Oxen and sheep will not drink of it; crows and magpies can barely fly across.
Oxen and sheep will not drink, misliking its deep blackness;
crows and magpies can barely fly, dreading its boundless waste.
Only the reeds and duckweed on the bank keep the reckoning of the seasons,
and the flowers and grasses on the shoal vie in their fresh and wondrous green.
Lakes and meres, rivers and streams, the world holds in plenty;
brooks and springs, marshes and grottoes, the age has in abundance.
In every human life there is some place of meeting —
yet who has ever set eyes on the Black-Water River of the West?
The Tang Monk dismounted and said, “Disciples, why is this water so turbid and black?”
Eight Rules said, “Some household must have poured out a vat of indigo.”
“Not so,” said Sha Monk. “Someone has been washing out brushes and inkstones.”
Pilgrim said, “Enough of your wild guessing — let us find some way to get the master across.”
Eight Rules said, “For old Hog to cross this river would be no hard matter — whether I rode a cloud or went down and swam it bearing my load, I'd be over before a meal's time was out.”
Sha Monk said, “And were it left to old Sha, I need only vault a cloud and skim the water, and be across in a moment.”
Pilgrim said, “For us it is easy enough; it is the master who is the difficulty.”
Tripitaka said, “Disciples — how wide is this river?”
Eight Rules said, “Something like ten lǐ across, I reckon.”
Tripitaka said, “You three settle it among you, and have one of you carry me over on his back.”
Pilgrim said, “Eight Rules can carry you.”
Eight Rules said, “That won't do. If I carry him and ride a cloud, I can't rise three chǐ from the ground. As the old saying goes, 'A mortal on the back weighs as heavy as a mountain.' And if I carry him and take to the water, I'd only drag us both under.”
As master and disciples stood together on the bank taking counsel, they saw, up at the head of the current, a man poling a little skiff down toward them. The Tang Monk said gladly, “Disciples, a boat is coming — call to him to ferry us across.”
Sha Monk called out loud and sharp, “You there, poling the boat — come and ferry us! Come and ferry us!”
The man in the boat said, “This is no ferry-boat — how should I ferry anyone?”
Sha Monk said, “In heaven and among men alike, kindness comes first. Though yours is no ferry-boat, neither are we the sort forever coming to trouble you. We are sons of Buddha, sent by the Court of the East to fetch the scriptures; do us the kindness of ferrying us across, and you shall have our thanks.”
At these words the man poled his skiff in to the bank and, leaning on his oar, said, “Master, my boat is small and your party large — how can I ferry you all?”
Tripitaka went up and looked: the little boat, it turned out, was carved from a single log, with but one hollow amidships, room enough for two to sit. Tripitaka said, “What is to be done?”
Sha Monk said, “In that case, let us ferry over in two trips.”
Then Eight Rules, with a sly turn of mind, seeking to shirk and take the easy part, said, “Wujing, you and elder brother watch the baggage and the horse on this side; let me see the master over first and come back for the horse. And let elder brother just leap across.”
Pilgrim nodded and said, “What you say is right.”
The Idiot handed the Tang Monk aboard; the boatman pushed off, plied his pole against the current, and away they went straight on. They had just reached mid-stream when there came a ringing crash — waves rolled and billows heaved, blotting out the sky and blinding the sun. That blast of wild wind was fierce indeed! A fine wind it was:
In mid-air a bank of cannon-cloud arose;
down the current a thousand tiers of black waves reared high.
On either shore the flying sand darkened the light of day;
on every side the trees crashed down, their roar shaking heaven.
It churned the rivers and roiled the seas till the dragon-gods took fright;
it flung up the soil and raised the dust till flower and tree withered.
Howling, it sounded like the roar of spring thunder;
gust upon gust, it raged like the snarl of a starving tiger.
Crab and turtle, fish and shrimp turned belly-up as if in worship;
birds of the air and beasts of the field lost nest and lair.
On the Five Lakes the boat-folk all met with disaster;
by the Four Seas the households found their lives unsure.
In the brooks the old fisherman could scarcely hold his hook;
on the river, how should the boatman ply his pole?
It tore off tiles and overturned bricks till houses fell;
it startled heaven and shook the earth till Mount Tai itself trembled.
This gust of wind, it turned out, was the doing of the very man who poled the boat. He was in truth a monster of the Black-Water River. Before their eyes he plunged the Tang Monk and Zhu Eight Rules, boat and all, beneath the water — vanished without shadow or trace, carried off none knew whither.
On the bank, Sha Monk and Pilgrim, seized with alarm, said, “What is to be done? Our old master meets calamity at every step; barely free of the last demon-snare, blessed with a stretch of quiet road, and now he runs into this black-water trouble.”
Sha Monk said, “Could the boat have capsized? Let us go search downstream.”
Pilgrim said, “It was no capsizing. Had the boat overturned, Eight Rules knows the water — he would surely have borne the master up and swum him out. I marked just now that the ferryman had a crooked air about him; it must be this wretch who raised the wind and dragged the master down under the water.”
Hearing this, Sha Monk said, “Brother, why did you not say so sooner? You keep watch over the horse and baggage, and let me go down into the water to search.”
Pilgrim said, “The color of this water is foul — I fear you cannot go down.”
Sha Monk said, “How is this water, set against my own River of Flowing Sands? I can manage it — I can manage it.”
That fine monk stripped off his cassock, girt up hand and foot, brandished his demon-quelling staff, and with a splash parted a path through the water, plunged into the waves, and strode on in with great long steps. As he went, he heard the sound of voices. Sha Monk slipped to one side and stole a glance: over yonder stood a pavilion, and across the lintel of its gate were sealed eight great characters — 'River-God's Palace of the Black-Water River, Hengyang Vale.'
And he heard the monster, seated above, say, “All this while I have toiled, and only today have I got my prize. This monk is a good man of ten lifetimes' cultivation; let me but eat one piece of his flesh, and I shall become an immortal who never ages. For his sake I have waited long enough — and this day, at last, my wish is not denied.” Then he ordered: “You imps, bring out the iron cage at once, steam these two monks whole, and send a card to invite my second uncle to keep his birthday feast.”
At these words Sha Monk could not hold down the fire that leapt in his heart; he drew his staff and battered wildly at the gate, and he cursed aloud, “You foul thing — send out my master the Tang Monk and my brother Eight Rules this instant!”
So terrified were the fiends within the gate that they ran to report, “Disaster!”
The old monster asked, “What disaster?”
A little imp said, “Outside there's a monk with an ill-omened, murky face, beating on the front gate and cursing, demanding someone back!”
Hearing this, the monster called at once for his armor. The little imps carried the armor out. The old fiend, girt and arrayed, gripping a bamboo-jointed steel whip, came striding out the gate — a truly ferocious and venomous figure. Behold:
Square of face, round eyes bright as rosy cloud-glow;
curled of lip, a great mouth red as a bowl of blood.
A few iron wires of straggling whisker swayed;
at either temple, cinnabar-red, his tangled hair stood wild.
In shape, like the Grand Duke Jupiter made manifest;
in aspect, like the fierce Duke of Thunder in his wrath.
On his body, iron mail ablaze with rounded blossoms;
on his head, a golden helm thick-set with gems.
The bamboo-jointed steel whip he gripped in hand,
and as he moved it dragged a wild wind rolling in his wake.
Born and bred a creature of the waves,
he had cast off his native stream and turned to fierce shape-shifting.
Would you know the fiend's true name and style?
In his former life he was called the Little Alligator-Dragon.
The monster bellowed, “Who is it beating at my gate here?”
Sha Monk said, “You ignorant, insolent fiend! How dare you work your tricks, turn yourself into a boatman, and carry off my master by boat? Send him back at once, and I shall spare your life.”
The monster laughed aloud, “This monk knows not life from death. Your master I have taken, and now I mean to steam him and invite my guest. Come up, then, and settle it with me — which of us is cock and which is hen. Match me for three bouts, and I give your master back; but if in three bouts you cannot match me, I'll steam and eat you along with him, and you may forget the Western Heaven for good.”
At this Sha Monk flew into a rage, whirled up his staff, and struck straight at his head; the monster raised his steel whip and hastily parried to meet him. The two of them, down beneath the water — what a fine fight it was:
The demon-quelling staff against the bamboo-jointed whip —
the two, roused to fury, each strove to be first.
The one, a thousand-year monster of the Black-Water River;
the other, an old immortal from beyond the Hall of Numinous Mist.
That one, coveting Tripitaka's flesh to eat;
this one, for pity's sake guarding the Tang Monk's life.
Both came to the water's floor to contend,
each bent on triumph, yet the two held even.
They fought till shrimp and fish, pair by pair, shook their heads and fled;
crabs and turtles, two by two, drew in their heads and dove.
One heard only the water-palace fiends all beating their drums,
and before the gate the throng of monsters clamoring in confusion.
What a fine monk was the true Wujing —
single-handed and alone, he displayed his might!
Leaping the billows, overturning the waves, with neither winning nor losing;
whip met staff and staff parried whip, the two locked fast together.
Reckon it up: it was all for the Tang monk,
who would fetch the true scriptures and bow before the Buddha's heaven.
The two of them fought some thirty bouts, with neither gaining the upper hand. Sha Monk thought to himself, “This monster is my match; I strive in vain and cannot win. Better to lure him out and have elder brother deal with him.” So he feigned a false stance, and dragging his staff, made off. The fiend did not even give chase, but said, “Off you go — I'll fight you no more; I have a card to write and a guest to invite.”
Sha Monk, puffing with rage, leapt up out of the water and, seeing Pilgrim, said, “Brother, this monster has no manners at all.”
Pilgrim asked, “You were down there a good while before coming up — what manner of fiend is it, really? Did you find any trace of the master?”
Sha Monk said, “Down there he has a pavilion, and across its gate eight great characters are written — 'River-God's Palace of the Black-Water River, Hengyang Vale.' I slipped to one side and heard him within, ordering his imps to scrub out an iron cage — meaning to steam the master and Eight Rules and invite his uncle to keep a birthday feast. That set my temper ablaze, and I went and battered at the gate. The monster came out gripping a bamboo-jointed steel whip, and we fought half the day — some thirty bouts — with neither of us gaining the day. So I tried a feint of losing, to lure him out and call on you to lend a hand. But the monster is cunning to the core — he would not chase me, and only meant to go back and send his invitation. And so I came up.”
Pilgrim said, “I wonder what sort of fiend it can be.”
Sha Monk said, “In looks he is like a great soft-shelled turtle; or else he is an alligator-dragon.”
Pilgrim said, “And who, I wonder, might this uncle of his be?”
Before he had finished speaking, out of the bend below came an old man, who knelt at a distance and called, “Great Sage — the river-god of the Black-Water River kowtows to you.”
Pilgrim said, “Are you not that boatman-fiend, come to trick me again?”
The old man knocked his head and shed tears, saying, “Great Sage, I am no fiend — I am the true god of this river. In the fifth month of last year that fiend came up on the great tide from the Western Ocean and fell to fighting with your humble god. But I am old and my strength failing; I could not withstand him, and he seized and occupied my Hengyang Vale palace and harmed a great many of my water-kin. Having no recourse, I went straight into the sea to bring suit against him. But it turned out the Dragon-King of the Western Sea is his maternal uncle, who would not grant my plaint and bade me yield the place to him. I would have laid it before Heaven, but my godhead is slight and my office low, and I could not gain audience with the Jade Emperor. Now, hearing that the Great Sage has come, I have made bold to come and pay homage and beg your aid. I do most earnestly beg the Great Sage to exert himself and avenge my wrong.”
Hearing this, Pilgrim said, “By that account, the Dragon-King of the Western Sea is also to blame. This fiend has now carried off my master and my brother, and openly declares he will steam them and invite his uncle to a birthday feast. I was just about to take him, and by good fortune you have come to bring word. So then, river-god, keep watch here with Sha Monk while I go into the sea, seize that Dragon-King first, and make him capture this monster.”
The river-god said, “I am deeply grateful for the Great Sage's boundless kindness.”
Pilgrim at once mounted a cloud and made straight for the Western Ocean. Reining in his somersault-cloud, he made the water-repelling sign and parted the waves. As he went, he came upon a black-fish spirit bearing a solid-gold invitation-box, boring up from the lower reach swift as an arrow, quick as a shuttle. Pilgrim ran full into it, drew his iron rod, and split it square on the crown — and the poor thing had its brains dashed out, its cheekbones sprung apart, and with a gurgling plop it floated up to the surface.
He opened the box and looked: inside was a note, and on it was written:
“Your foolish nephew Tuojie, with a hundred bows and knocking his head, respectfully addresses his second uncle, the venerable Lord Ao: for the kindnesses lately received, my deepest thanks. Having now got hold of two creatures — monks from the Land of the East, truly the rarest things in the world — your nephew dares not keep them to himself. Bearing in mind that my uncle's honored birthday draws near, I have laid on a humble feast to wish you a thousand years beforehand. I do most earnestly beg that your carriage may come with all speed — for which I should be much obliged.”
Pilgrim laughed and said, “The wretch has even handed old Monkey his own confession first.” So he tucked the note into his sleeve and went on again.
By now a sea-scouting yaksha had spied Pilgrim, and darting off dashed into the crystal palace: “A report for Your Majesty — the Great Sage Equal to Heaven, Grandfather Sun, has come!”
The Dragon-King Ao Shun, at the head of his water-host, came forth from the palace to greet him: “Great Sage, pray step into my humble palace and take a seat — let tea be served.”
Pilgrim said, “I have not yet drunk your tea, and already you have drunk my wine!”
The Dragon-King laughed, “Great Sage, you have long been a votary of the Buddha's gate and touch neither meat nor wine — when did you ever ask me to drink wine?”
Pilgrim said, “Even if you did not go and drink it, you have earned yourself the name of a wine-drinker all the same.”
Ao Shun started in alarm, “What crime has this little dragon committed?”
Pilgrim drew the note from his sleeve and handed it to the Dragon-King.
When the Dragon-King had read it, his soul flew and his wits scattered; in haste he knelt and knocked his head: “Great Sage, forgive my crime. That wretch is my younger sister's ninth son. Because his father wrongly ordered the wind and rain and cut short the appointed measure of rain, he was, by decree of the Heavenly Bureau, beheaded in a dream by the mortal-realm official, Prime Minister Wei Zheng. My sister, left without a home, was brought here by me and reared to manhood. The year before last my sister unhappily fell ill and died; and he, having nowhere to dwell, was set by me in the Black-Water River to cultivate his nature — I never looked for him to work such wickedness. I shall at once dispatch men to seize him.”
Pilgrim said, “How many worthy sons has your sister in all? And whereabouts are they all making mischief?”
The Dragon-King said, “My sister has nine sons. The other eight are all good ones: the first, the Little Yellow Dragon, now dwells in the Huai; the second, the Little Black Dragon, now lives in the Ji; the third, the Blue-Backed Dragon, holds the Jiang; the fourth, the Red-Whiskered Dragon, guards the He; the fifth, the Toiling Dragon, keeps the bell for the Buddha-Patriarch; the sixth, the Steadfast-Beast Dragon, anchors the ridgepole of the divine palace; the seventh, the Reverent Dragon, guards the Jade Emperor's sky-propping ornamental pillars; the eighth, the Clam Dragon, props up the Great Peak at his eldest brother's place. This ninth, the Alligator-Dragon, being young and without settled duties, was only last year set by me to dwell in the Black-Water River to cultivate his nature — to await a name and later reassignment. Who could have known he would defy my command and offend the Great Sage?”
Pilgrim listened and laughed, “And how many brothers-in-law has your sister?”
Ao Shun said, “She married but one husband — the Dragon-King of the Jing River. In a former year he was beheaded on this account, and my sister, widowed, dwelt here until she died of illness the year before last.”
Pilgrim said, “One husband and one wife — how then did they beget such a brood of mongrels?”
Ao Shun said, “This is just what is meant by the saying, 'A dragon breeds nine kinds, and the nine kinds each differ.'”
Pilgrim said, “Just now I was so vexed that I meant to take this note as evidence, lay it before the Court of Heaven, and charge you with conniving at mischief and the seizing of persons. But by your account, it was that wretch who defied instruction, and so I will pardon you this once: for one thing, out of regard for your brotherly bond; for another, the blame falls on that wretch's youth and ignorance, and you were not much in the know. Quickly dispatch men to seize him, rescue my master, and then we shall arrange the rest.”
Ao Shun at once summoned the prince Moang: “Muster five hundred stout shrimp-and-fish soldiers and take the Little Alligator to answer for his crime.” Meanwhile he made ready a wine-feast to do the Great Sage courtesy.
Pilgrim said, “Dragon-King, trouble yourself no further; since it is talked out and you are pardoned, let it rest — what need of wine? I must go along with your son: for one thing, my old master is in distress; for another, my brother-disciple is watching for us.”
The old dragon pressed him hard to stay, in vain; and now the dragon-daughter brought tea to offer. Pilgrim drank a single cup of fragrant tea standing, took leave of the old dragon, and led forth troops with Moang, quitting the Western Sea and soon reaching the Black-Water River.
Pilgrim said, “Worthy prince, take good care to catch the fiend; I shall go up onto the bank.”
Moang said, “Set your mind at ease, Great Sage. Your little dragon will take him and bring him up to see you first, punish him for his crime, and send your master up before I dare carry him back to the sea to face my father.”
Pilgrim gladly parted from him, made the water-repelling sign, leapt out through the waves, and came straight to the eastern shore. Sha Monk and the river-god came to meet him: “Brother, you went off through the air — how is it you have come back out of the river instead?”
Pilgrim recounted in full the matter of killing the fish-spirit, getting the note, calling the Dragon-King to account, and coming with the prince and his troops. Sha Monk was overjoyed, and they all stood on the bank to await the master.
Now Prince Moang sent a herald ahead to the gate of the water-palace, to announce to the fiend: “Prince Moang, son of the old Dragon-King of the Western Sea, is come.”
The fiend, seated within, heard of Moang's coming and marveled to himself: “I sent the black-fish spirit with a note to invite my second uncle, and by now there is no word back — why does my uncle not come, but my cousin instead?”
As he spoke, a little river-patrolling imp came again to report: “Great King, there is a company of troops in the river, encamped west of the palace, and on their ensign is written 'Moang, Heir of the Western Sea, Young Commander.'”
The fiend said, “This cousin of mine is presumptuous indeed. My uncle, I suppose, cannot come, and has bidden him attend the feast in his place. But if he comes to a feast, why lead troops and trouble his soldiers? Hah! I only fear there is some reason behind it.” He ordered: “You imps, have my armor and steel whip ready, lest matters turn violent of a sudden. Let me go out and meet him, and see how things stand.”
The fiends took his command, and one and all rubbed their palms and flexed their fists in readiness.
The alligator-dragon came out the gate, and sure enough there was a company of sea-troops encamped to the right. This is what he saw:
War-banners streamed their embroidered sashes;
painted halberds ranged like bright cloud-glow.
Precious swords held their gathered gleam;
long spears, their tassels twined like flowers.
Bows curved like small crescent moons;
arrows bristled like a wolf's fangs.
Great sabers glittered bright and blazing;
short cudgels stood hard and grating.
Whale and sea-turtle, clam and mussel;
crab and terrapin, fish and shrimp together.
Great and small drawn up in even ranks;
shield and spear thick as woven hemp.
Were it not the commander's own order,
who would dare to crawl and trample out of line?
The alligator-fiend, seeing this, went straight up to the camp gate and called out loud and clear: “Elder cousin, your younger brother waits here with hands folded — pray come forth.”
A patrolling snail-soldier hurried to the central tent: “A report for Your Highness — outside, the alligator-dragon is calling for you.”
The prince pressed down his golden helm, cinched the precious belt at his waist, took up a three-edged mace, and striding out of the camp, said, “What do you come to summon me for?”
The alligator-dragon made his bow: “This morning your younger brother sent a note to invite our uncle; he must have declined and sent my cousin in his stead. But since my elder brother comes to the feast, why trouble an army and rouse the host? You do not enter the water-palace, but pitch camp here, in full armor and under arms — why is this?”
The prince said, “What did you invite our uncle for?”
The fiend said, “Your younger brother has long enjoyed the favor of dwelling here, but has been long parted from his uncle's honored face and unable to show his duty. Yesterday I caught an Eastern-Land monk — one, I hear, of an essence refined through ten lifetimes; eat of him and one may lengthen one's years. I meant to have my uncle look him over, then set him in the iron cage to steam, and keep his birthday with him.”
The prince bellowed, “You wretch, you are utterly benighted! Do you know who this monk is?”
The fiend said, “He is a monk come from the Tang court, a priest bound west to fetch the scriptures.”
The prince said, “You know only that he is the Tang Monk — you do not know how formidable his disciples are.”
The fiend said, “He has a long-snouted monk called Zhu Eight Rules, whom I have also caught, meaning to steam and eat him together with the Tang priest. There is one more disciple, called Sha the Monk — a swarthy fellow with an ill-omened face, who wields a treasure-staff. Yesterday he came to this gate demanding his master, and I led out my river-troops, gave him a volley of the steel whip, and fought him until he was routed and fled for his life — he seemed nothing so very formidable.”
The prince said, “It seems there is something you do not know. He has yet another senior disciple — none other than the Great Sage Equal to Heaven, the Grand-Unity Golden Immortal of the Upper Realm, who five hundred years ago made havoc in Heaven. He now guards the Tang Monk on the westward road to fetch the scriptures; the great and merciful Bodhisattva Guanyin of Potalaka Crag exhorted him to virtue, gave him a new name, and called him Sun Wukong the Pilgrim. Why could you find nothing better to do, and go stirring up this disaster? And he has met your courier within my seas, seized the invitation, and gone straight into the crystal palace, charging us father and son with conspiring with fiends and carrying off human folk. Send the Tang Monk and Eight Rules up to the riverbank at once and hand them back to the Great Sage Sun; then, with me to make amends for you, you may yet keep your life. But if there is so much as half a 'no,' you may forget living out your days here.”
When the alligator-fiend heard this, his heart blazed with rage: “You and I are close cousins by blood, yet you turn instead to shield an outsider! By your account, I am simply to hand the Tang Monk over. Where in heaven or earth is there so easy a matter? You may fear him — do you take it that I fear him too? If he has any skill, let him come to my water-palace gate and fight me three bouts, and then I will give up his master; and if he cannot beat me, I'll take him too, steam them all together — no kinfolk to consider, no guests to invite — bar my own door, set my imps to sing and dance, and sit above at my ease, and eat the lot of them, hang it all.”
The prince, hearing this, opened his mouth and cursed: “You foul fiend! Insolent indeed. Truly beyond all bounds. There is no need even to set the Great Sage Sun against you — do you dare contend with me?”
The fiend said, “To be a man of mettle — what is there to fear in a contest?” He ordered: “Fetch my armor.” At a single call, the little fiends closed round him left and right, presented his armor, and handed up the steel whip.
The two of them changed countenance and each played the hero; the command was passed, and together they beat the drums. This contest, set beside his fight with Sha Monk, was of quite another order. This is what was seen:
Banners and pennons flashed; halberd and lance swung their light.
On this side the camp-lines broke and scattered;
on that side the gates flung wide.
Prince Moang raised his golden mace;
the alligator-fiend whirled his whip and parried in kind.
A single cannon-blast, and the river-troops raged;
three drum-strokes of the gong, and the sea-soldiers ran wild.
Shrimp battled shrimp; crab fought crab.
Whale and sea-turtle swallowed the red carp;
bream and perch stirred up the yellow catfish.
Shark and mullet gobbled while anchovy and mackerel fled;
oyster seized razor-clam, and clam and mussel took fright.
The stickleback stood hard as an iron rod;
the gar's beak was keen as a sword's point.
Sturgeon and porgy chased the white eel;
sea-perch and carp-sucker snatched the black pomfret.
A whole river of water-fiends strove high and low;
the dragon-troops of the two sides matched weak against strong.
Long the melee churned the rolling waves;
and Prince Moang was a match for the Diamond King himself.
With a shout the golden mace came down heavy on his head,
and the fiend-alligator, that mischief-making king, was taken.
The prince, with his three-edged mace, feigned an opening, and the fiend, not knowing it a ruse, bored in — whereupon the prince, with a deft maneuver, gave the fiend's right arm a single crack of the mace and sent him stumbling. Rushing forward, he gave another kick and knocked him sprawling to the ground. The sea-troops swarmed up together, dragged him over and pinned him, bound his two hands behind his back with rope, threaded an iron chain through his shoulder-bone, and hauled him up onto the bank. They brought him before Sun the Pilgrim: “Great Sage, your little dragon has taken the fiend-alligator; we beg the Great Sage to dispose of him.”
Pilgrim and Sha Monk, seeing him, said, “You wretch, you defied your orders. Your uncle had you dwell here in the first place to cultivate your nature and keep yourself, to await the day your name was made and a further posting. How dared you seize the water-god's dwelling by force, lean on your power to work violence, cheat your own heart and defraud your betters, play your tricks, and cozen my master and my brother? I have a mind to give you a blow of this cudgel — but this cudgel of old Monkey's is uncommonly heavy, and the merest little tap would end your life. Where have you stowed my master?”
The fiend, kowtowing without cease, said, “Great Sage, this little alligator did not know the Great Sage's great name. Just now I defied my cousin, gave rein to force against reason, and was seized by him. Seeing the Great Sage now, and blessed with the grace of my life spared, I thank you without end. Your master is still bound within the water-palace; I beg the Great Sage to loose my iron chain and free my hands, and let me go into the river and bring him out.”
Moang, at his side, said, “Great Sage, this wretch is a treacherous fiend, deep in cunning; if you free him, I fear he will breed some evil design.”
Sha the Monk said, “I know that place of his — let me go and look for the master.”
The two of them leapt into the water and went straight to the gate of the water-palace. There the gate-leaves stood wide open, with not a single soldier left. Going straight into the pavilion, they found the Tang Monk and Eight Rules both stark naked and bound within. Sha Monk at once loosed the master, and the river-god likewise loosed Eight Rules; each took one upon his back, and they came up out of the water and straight to the bank.
Zhu Eight Rules, seeing the fiend chained and bound at one side, snatched up his rake and rushed forward to strike, cursing aloud: “You foul brute! Will you not eat me now?”
Pilgrim caught his arm and said, “Brother, spare him his capital crime for now, out of regard for the bond of worthy Ao Shun and his son.”
Moang made his bow: “Great Sage, your little dragon dares not tarry long. Since your master is rescued, I shall take this wretch to face my father; though the Great Sage has spared his capital crime, my father will by no means spare his living crime — there will surely be a disposition and a punishment — and I shall report back to the Great Sage with thanks.”
Pilgrim said, “If so, take him away then. Convey my many respects to your honored father; I trust there will yet be occasion to thank him in person.”
The prince pressed the fiend before him, plunged into the water, led off his sea-troops, and went straight back to the Western Ocean — of which no more.
Now the god of the Black-Water River thanked Pilgrim: “I am much beholden to the Great Sage for the grace of recovering my water-palace.”
The Tang Monk said, “Disciples, we are still on the east bank — how are we to cross this river?”
The river-god said, “Have no care, old master; only mount your horse, and your humble god will open the way and lead you across.”
The master had but climbed onto the white horse — Eight Rules holding the bridle, Sha the Monk shouldering the baggage, and Pilgrim lending support to either side — when the river-god worked a water-staying spell: he dammed the upper flow, and in a moment the lower flow drained dry, opening out a broad road. Master and disciples passed over to the western side, thanked the river-god, and climbed the bank on their way. This was precisely:
The Chan monk, delivered, turns toward the Western Realm;
the earth swept clear, no waves — they cross the Black River.
In the end, there is no knowing how they were to worship the Buddha and fetch the scriptures — so listen to the next chapter for the telling.