Now the Great Sage, giving Friar Sand a pinch with his left hand and Zhu Bajie a pinch with his right, brought the two of them at once to their senses. Seated up on high, they kept their faces blank, uttering not a word. Let those Daoists light their lamps and kindle their fires and peer about them front and back — the three sat there for all the world like gilded figures moulded of clay. Tiger-Power the Immortal said, “There are no rogues about — how is it the offerings have all been eaten up?” Deer-Power the Immortal said, “It looks like the doing of men who eat: whatever had skin has been peeled of its skin, whatever had a pit has had the pit spat out — yet why is there no human shape to be seen?”
Ram-Power the Immortal said, “Elder brothers, harbour no doubt. Surely it is that our devout hearts and reverent minds — chanting the scriptures here day and night, submitting our petitions in due order, and all in the sovereign's own name — have stirred the Heavenly Venerable beyond all question. Surely the Patriarchs of the Three Pure Ones have brought their sacred carriage down among us and partaken of these offerings. While the immortals' train has not yet withdrawn and the crane-carriage still lingers here, let us bow in supplication to the Venerable and earnestly beg a little holy water and golden elixir; presenting it to His Majesty — would that not be everlasting life and length of years, and proof besides of our own merit?” Tiger-Power the Immortal said, “Well spoken.” He bade them: “Disciples, strike up the music and chant the scriptures. Fetch my ritual vestments from the side, and wait while I pace the Dipper-stars and offer up the prayer.” The lesser Daoists all obeyed and drew themselves up in two even ranks. At the clear ring of a chime-stone, together they intoned a scroll of the True Scripture of the Yellow Court and the Way and Its Power.
Tiger-Power the Immortal, robed now in his vestments and holding up the jade tablet, danced and scattered dust before the altar, then prostrated himself on the ground and, facing upward, made his declaration on high:
“In utter fear and trembling, we bow our heads and take refuge;
we your servants exalt the Teaching, our eyes lifted to the Pure Void.
We have put down the mean and vulgar monks, and honoured the Way in its splendour.
By imperial warrant we raised the treasure-halls, by royal command the courts and chambers.
Broadly we set out the offerings, and high we hung the dragon-banners.
The whole night through we have held the candles, all day long we have burned the incense.
Our single sincerity reaches those on high; our least reverence returns in piety.
Now, favoured with your descent, while the immortal carriage has not yet turned back —
we beg you grant a little golden elixir and holy water, to present to the court, that its years may rival the Southern Mountain.”
Bajie, hearing this, grew flustered at heart and whispered aside to Pilgrim, “This is our own doing: we ate the things and, instead of hitting the road, sat waiting for just such a prayer as this. How are we to answer them?” Pilgrim gave him another pinch, then suddenly opened his mouth and called out, “You juniors of the immortal ranks, cease your prostrations for a moment. We have come straight from the Feast of the Peaches and did not bring golden elixir or holy water along; wait another day and we shall come again to bestow it.” The Daoists, great and small, hearing a voice speak out, each shook in his robes and cried out, trembling, “Venerable Fathers! A living Venerable has come down among mortals — we must by no means let him go; come what may, let us beg some means of everlasting life!”
Deer-Power the Immortal came forward and, bowing again, intoned:
“Raising the dust, we bow our heads, and dress our cinnabar-red sincerity;
we, your humble servants, yield up our lives, looking up and down to the Three Pure Ones.
Since we came into this land, we have exalted the Way and cast out the monks.
The king rejoiced in his heart and held the elder sages in esteem.
At the Grand Rite of the Whole Heaven, night through we pored over the scriptures.
Blessed that the Venerable did not forsake us, you brought your sacred carriage down to this court.
Bowing, we beg your regard; looking up, we hope for your grace.
We beg you leave a little holy water, to lengthen the lives of us your disciples.”
Friar Sand, pinching Pilgrim, murmured under his breath, “Brother, they want it so badly — and here they come praying again.” Pilgrim said, “Let's give them a little.” Bajie whispered, “Where would we get any?” Pilgrim said, “Just watch me — once I have some, you will all have some too.” When the Daoists had finished their piping and drumming, Pilgrim spoke up: “You juniors of the immortal ranks, you need not prostrate yourselves. I was of a mind not to leave you any holy water, fearing it might cut off your line; but were I to give it you, it would come too easily.” Hearing this, the Daoists all bowed their heads to the ground and knocked them, saying, “We beg the Venerable to regard your disciples' reverent hearts and graciously grant us a little. We disciples will broadly proclaim the Way and its Power, and move the king to honour the Daoist gate everywhere.” Pilgrim said, “If that is so, fetch some vessels.” The Daoists all knocked their heads in thanks.
Tiger-Power the Immortal, loving to outdo the rest, hauled over a great vat and set it upon the hall floor; Deer-Power the Immortal set out a sand-basin and placed it upon the offering-table; and Ram-Power the Immortal took the flower-vase, plucked out its flowers, and moved it to the middle. Pilgrim said, “All of you go out before the hall and pull the lattice-panels to; you must not let the heavenly secret leak out, so that I may leave you your holy water.” The Daoists all knelt in a row below the vermilion steps and closed the hall doors. Pilgrim stood right up, lifted his tiger-skin kilt, and let fly a vase full of stinking piss. Zhu Bajie, seeing it, said in delight, “Brother! All these years we've been sworn brothers, and this is the one bit of fun we've never had a hand in. I've only just eaten — in fact I'd rather like to have a go at this business myself.” That idiot hoisted his clothes and — with a great rushing roar, like the Lüliang cataract crashing down its weir — pissed out a whole sand-basin's worth. Friar Sand too let go half a vat. Then, as before, they straightened their robes and sat up on high, and said, “Little immortals, receive your holy water.”
The Daoists pushed open the lattice-panels, kowtowed and bowed their thanks, carried out the vat, and gathered the vase and basin all into one place. Then he bade them: “Disciple, fetch a little cup and let us have a taste.” A young Daoist at once took a tea-cup and handed it to the old Daoist. The Daoist ladled out a cupful, drank it down, and kept smacking his lips and clicking his tongue. Deer-Power the Immortal said, “Elder brother, is it good?” The old Daoist pursed his lips and said, “Not very good — it has something of a stale, fermented tang.” Ram-Power the Immortal said, “Let me have a taste.” He too drank a mouthful and said, “It has rather a whiff of pig's piss.”
Pilgrim, seated up above and hearing these words spoken out, saw the game was up and said, “Let me work a little trick — I may as well leave them a name.” He cried out in a loud voice:
“You reverend Daoists, you Daoists — how foolish are your fancies!
What Three Pure Ones would ever stoop to this mortal ground?
I'll take my true surname and make it known to you:
the monks of Great Tang, come west by imperial command.
On a fine night, with nothing to do, we came down to your temple halls,
ate up your offerings, and sat about idle and amused.
You have knocked your heads to us in worship — how are we to repay it?
What holy water was that, then? What you drank was every drop my piss!”
The Daoists, hearing these words, blocked the door and all at once laid on with rake-forks, brooms, roof-tiles and stones, striking blindly, head and face, into the dark within. Good Pilgrim! Tucking Friar Sand under his left arm and Bajie under his right, he burst out the door, rode off on a beam of cloud-light, and went straight back to the abbot's quarters of the Zhiyuan Temple. Not daring to disturb their master, the three lay down again to sleep. It was now the third mark of the fifth watch. The king held his court, gathering the two files of civil and military officers, four hundred courtiers in all; and there before them the crimson gauze-lamps burned bright, and about the precious tripod-censers the incense-clouds hung dense.
Just then Tang Sanzang woke and called, “Disciples, disciples — attend me; let us go and have our travel-rescript re-stamped.” Pilgrim, with Friar Sand and Bajie, rose in haste, put on their clothes, and stood in attendance to left and right, saying, “We would report to our master. This ruler trusts those Daoists, exalting the Way and suppressing the monks; we fear that a slip of the tongue might make him refuse to re-stamp the rescript. So let us guard our master and all go into court together.” The Tang Monk, greatly pleased, put on his brocade-bordered cassock. Pilgrim took the passport-rescript, had Wujing bear the alms-bowl and Wuneng carry the tin staff; and the baggage and horse he handed over to the monks of Zhiyuan Temple to keep watch on. They went straight to the front of the Five-Phoenix Tower, made their bows to the Yellow-Gate officer, gave their names, and said they were monks of the Great Tang in the east, come to fetch scriptures and now here to have their rescript re-stamped, begging him to relay it within.
That usher of the gate-hall went into court, prostrated himself at the golden steps, and reported: “Outside there are four monks who say they are from the Great Tang in the east, come to fetch scriptures and wishing to have their rescript re-stamped; they now await your command before the Five-Phoenix Tower.” The king, hearing the report, said, “These monks could find nowhere else to seek their death — and yet they come here to seek it. Why have those patrol-officers not seized them and brought them here under escort?” From the side there stepped forth the Grand Preceptor then on carriage-duty, who declared: “The Great Tang of the east lies in the Southern Jambu Continent, and is styled the great land of the Middle Flower. To reach this place is a journey of ten thousand li, and the road is thick with demons. This monk must surely command some magic power, to have dared come west at all. I beg Your Majesty, out of regard for a monk come far from the Middle Flower, to summon them, inspect their document, and let them pass, so as not to lose the intent of a good karmic bond.”
The king approved the memorial and had the Tang Monk and his party summoned to the foot of the Hall of the Golden Chariot. Master and disciples ranged themselves before the steps and, holding up the rescript, handed it to the king. The king had just spread it open to look when the Yellow-Gate officer came again to report: “The three Preceptors of State are here.” Flustered, the king put away the rescript, hurried down from his dragon throne, ordered his attendants to set out embroidered stools, and bowed to receive them. Sanzang and the others turned their heads to look, and saw the great immortals come swaggering in, followed by a pair of little servant-boys with twin topknots and tousled hair, marching straight inside. The officials of both files bent their backs and bowed, not daring to look up. They went up onto the Hall of the Golden Chariot and, facing the king, made no bow at all.
The king said, “Preceptors, I had not sent to invite you — how is it you have deigned to come today?” The old Daoist said, “There is a matter we come to report, and so we are here. Those four monks — what country are they from?” The king said, “They are ones dispatched from the Great Tang in the east to fetch scriptures from the Western Heaven, come here to have their rescript re-stamped.” The three Daoists clapped their hands and laughed aloud, saying, “We said he had run off — so he was here all along!” The king said in alarm, “What is it the Preceptors would say? He had only just come and given his name, and I was of a mind to have him seized and handed to you Preceptors to deal with; but as the Grand Preceptor on duty had spoken to good sense, and I, moved by the thought of one come from afar, would not sever the good bond with the Middle Flower, I had just called them in to inspect the document — I did not expect the Preceptors would have this to ask. I suppose he has offended your august persons — is there some point on which he has done wrong?”
The Daoist said with a laugh, “Your Majesty does not know. He came yesterday, and outside the East Gate beat two of our disciples to death, set free five hundred imprisoned monks, and smashed the carts to pieces; then in the night he broke into the abbey, ruined the sacred images of the Three Pure Ones, and stole and ate the offerings your Majesty had bestowed. We were deceived by him — taking it that a Heavenly Venerable had come down, we begged a little holy water and golden elixir to present to Your Majesty, hoping to lengthen your years and life; but who would have thought he had left us some of his piss, to cheat and gull us. Each of us drank a mouthful and tasted the flavour of it; just as we were about to lay hands on him and seize him, he got away. Today he is here again in this very place — truly, as the saying goes, 'foes will meet where the road is narrow.'” At these words the king flew into a rage and would have put the four of them to death.
The Great Sage pressed his palms together, spoke up, and cried out in a stern, loud voice, “Your Majesty, calm for a moment your thunderous wrath, and allow us monks to make our plea.” The king said, “You have affronted the Preceptors; and could there be any error in what the Preceptors say?” Pilgrim said, “He says that yesterday I went outside the city and beat two of his disciples to death — who is the witness to it? Still, let us grant the charge under duress: have two of the monks pay with their lives, and let the other two go on to fetch the scriptures. He further says I smashed the carts and released the imprisoned monks — for this too there is no witness; I reckon it does not merit death, so let one more monk be made to bear the guilt, and there's an end of it. He says I ruined the Three Pure Ones and made an uproar in the abbey — but this again is his framing of me.” The king said, “How is it a framing?” Pilgrim said, “We monks are men of the eastern land, newly come to this place; we do not even know the streets — how then should we have known, in the dead of night, what went on inside their abbey? If someone had left urine there, they should have caught him on the spot — yet at this late hour they pin a name to it and do a man harm. Under Heaven there are numberless folk who go by false names and borrowed surnames — why should it be said, without more, that it was I? I beg Your Majesty to turn back your anger and look into it closely.”
That king, muddled to begin with, having heard Pilgrim through, now could not make up his mind. Just as he sat in doubt, the Yellow-Gate officer came again to report: “Your Majesty, outside the gate are many village elders awaiting your summons.” The king said, “What business have they?” At once he ordered them summoned in. Summoned before the hall, some thirty or forty village elders knocked their heads toward the throne and said, “Ten thousand years to Your Majesty! This spring there has been no rain, and we fear a parching drought in the summer months; we have come especially to report it, and to beg that one of the Preceptor Fathers pray down a fall of sweet rain, to relieve the common folk.” The king said, “Elders, withdraw for now — rain will be coming shortly.” The elders gave thanks and went out.
The king said, “Monks of the Tang court, why is it that I honour the Way and suppress the monks? It is only because, in years past when we prayed for rain, the monks of our court could never once pray down so much as a drop; and then, happily, Heaven sent down the Preceptors, who rescued us from utter misery. You have now come from afar and affronted the Preceptors; by rights I ought to call you to account at once, but I will pardon you for the moment — do you dare wager a rain-making contest against my Preceptors? If you can pray down a fall of sweet rain and save the myriad people, I will pardon your offence, re-stamp your rescript, and let you go west; but if you lose the wager and there is no rain, then you shall be marched to the execution ground and put to death as a warning to all.” Pilgrim said with a laugh, “This little monk knows a thing or two about praying, as it happens.” The king, hearing this, at once ordered the altar-ground swept and made ready. And on the other hand he gave the order: “Bring round my carriage — I shall go up in person to the Five-Phoenix Tower to watch.” At that time the many officers brought round the carriage, and in a moment he went up and took his seat in the tower. The Tang Monk, with Pilgrim, Friar Sand, and Bajie, stood in attendance below the tower. The three Daoists sat with the king up in the tower. After a little while, an officer came galloping to report: “All things at the altar-ground are ready — we beg the Preceptor Father to ascend the altar.”
Tiger-Power the Immortal rose with a slight bow and cupped his hands, took his leave of the king, and came straight down from the tower. Pilgrim stepped forward, blocked his way, and said, “Sir, where are you off to?” The immortal said, “To mount the altar and pray for rain.” Pilgrim said, “You are far too full of yourself, giving no way at all to me, a monk from a distant land. Well, all right — this is just the case of 'a strong dragon cannot crush the snake that owns the ground.' You go first, sir; but we must first make things clear before the sovereign.” The immortal said, “Make what clear?” Pilgrim said, “If you and I both go up to the altar to pray for rain, how is one to know whether the rain is yours or mine? There'd be no telling whose the achievement was.” The king, listening up above, was secretly pleased and said to himself, “That little monk, in what he says, actually has some substance to him.” Friar Sand, hearing it, laughed to himself, “Little do they know he has a whole bellyful of such tricks he has not yet brought out.” The immortal said, “There is no need to declare anything — His Majesty will know of himself.” Pilgrim said, “Though he may know it, still — I am a monk come from afar and have never met with you before. At that point we would each be wrangling and denying, and it would come to no good — best to make it clear beforehand, so as to act properly.”
The immortal said, “Once I am up on the altar, just watch my command-tablet for the signals: at the first crack of the tablet, the wind comes; at the second crack, the clouds rise; at the third crack, thunder and lightning peal together; at the fourth crack, the rain arrives; at the fifth crack, the clouds disperse and the rain is done.” Pilgrim said with a laugh, “Splendid! We monks have never seen the like. Please go ahead, please go ahead.”
The immortal strode out ahead, with Sanzang and the rest behind, and came straight to the outside of the altar gate. Raising their heads to look, they saw there a high platform, some three zhàng and more in height. To left and right of the platform were planted the banners of the twenty-eight lunar mansions. On the top was set a table, and on the table an incense-burner, with the incense-smoke curling thick from the burner. On either side were two candle-stands, and on the stands the wind-candles blazed bright. Beside the burner leaned a golden placard, on which were engraved the names of the thunder-gods. Below were five great vats, all filled to the brim with clear water; on the water floated willow-sprigs, and on the willow-sprigs rested an iron tablet, on which was written the talisman-script of the Thunder Bureau. To left and right were five great stakes, on which were written the roster of the barbarian-thunder envoys of the five directions. Beside every stake stood two Daoists, each gripping an iron hammer, waiting in attendance to strike the stakes. Behind the platform were many Daoists, there writing out the documents. In the very middle was set a paper-burning furnace, and there were also several lifelike figures, all of them those talisman-bearing envoys and the gods of the local earth who assist the rites.
The immortal went in, and without the least deference stepped straight up onto the high platform and took his stand. At the side a young Daoist held up several sheets of talisman-script written on yellow paper and a precious sword, and handed them to the immortal. The immortal, gripping the sword and chanting a spell, took a talisman and burned it over the candle. Below, two or three Daoists took up a talisman-bearing effigy and a document and likewise set fire to them. From above came the crack of the command-tablet, and there — in the mid-air — a breath of wind came drifting slowly on. Zhu Bajie muttered to himself, “This is bad, this is bad — this Daoist really does have the power. One crack of the tablet, and sure enough the wind is up.” Pilgrim said, “Brothers, keep quiet; the rest of you say nothing more to me, only guard our master well, and wait while I go and see to the business.”
Good Great Sage! He plucked out a strand of hair, blew on it a breath of immortal air, and cried, “Change!” It changed at once into a false Pilgrim, standing there below the Tang Monk. His true body sent forth its primal spirit, rushed up into the mid-air, and cried aloud, “That one in charge of the wind — which of you is it?” In alarm, Granny Wind pinched shut her cloth bag, Xun the Second knotted fast the mouth-cord, and both came forward to make their bows. Pilgrim said, “I am guarding a holy monk of the Tang court on his way to fetch scriptures from the Western Heaven; passing through Cart-Slow Kingdom, we are wagering a rain-contest against those demon-Daoists. Why do you not help old Sun, but help that Daoist instead? I will pardon you this once — gather up the wind; but if there is the least breath of wind, enough to stir that Daoist's beard, you shall each be given twenty strokes of the iron rod.” Granny Wind said, “We dare not, we dare not.” And thereupon there was not a breath of wind. Bajie could not hold back and shouted out wildly, “That gentleman had better step down! The tablet has cracked — how is it we don't see the least breath of wind? Come down, and let us go up!”
The Daoist again took up the command-tablet, burned a talisman-writ, and with a thud struck it once more; and there — in mid-air — clouds and mist came filling the sky. The Great Sage again called out overhead, “The one spreading the cloud — which of you is it?” In alarm the Cloud-Pushing Lad and the Mist-Spreading Lord bowed before his face. Pilgrim again set out the whole matter to them as before. The Cloud-Lad and the Mist-One too gathered back the clouds and mist, and let the sun-star shine out dazzling, the whole sky clear for ten thousand li without a cloud. Bajie said with a laugh, “This gentleman is only good for hoodwinking the emperor and fobbing off the common folk — he has no real skill at all. The tablet has cracked twice — how is it that again no cloud appears?”
The Daoist, agitated in his heart, gripped his precious sword, loosed his hair, chanted his spell, burned a talisman, and struck the command-tablet down once again. And there, within the Southern Gate of Heaven, Marshal Deng, leading the Thunder Lord and the Lightning Mother, came into the mid-air and, facing Pilgrim, made their salutes. Pilgrim again set out the foregoing matter to them and said, “How is it you have come so promptly? By what divine command?” The Marshal said, “That Daoist's Five-Thunder method is a genuine one; he sent up a document and burned a writ, which stirred the Jade Emperor, and the Jade Emperor cast down a decree, straight to the office of the Heavenly Venerable of the Ninefold Heaven, Responding-to-the-Origin, Universal Transformer of the Thunder-Sound. We come by decree to aid the thunder and lightning and send down rain.” Pilgrim said, “If that is so, then all of you hold off, and wait together while old Sun does the business.” And sure enough the thunder did not peal, and the lightning did not flash.
The Daoist grew more flustered still, adding incense, burning talismans, chanting spells, and striking down the command-tablet. In the mid-air, the Dragon Kings of the Four Seas too came thronging up all together. Pilgrim called down at them overhead, “Ao Guang, where are you off to?” Ao Guang, Ao Shun, Ao Qin, and Ao Run came forward to make their bows. Pilgrim again set out the foregoing matter to them and said, “The other day I put you to trouble, and we did not succeed; in today's affair, I hope you will lend your strength.” The Dragon Kings said, “At your command, at your command.” Pilgrim also thanked Ao Shun, saying, “The other day I was beholden to your noble son for binding the monster and rescuing my master.” The Dragon King said, “That creature is still chained in the sea; I have not dared act on my own, and was just about to ask the Great Sage to dispose of him.” Pilgrim said, “Deal with him however you please, and let that be that. For now, just lend me one good turn. That Daoist has finished his four strokes of the command-tablet, and now the turn falls to old Sun to go up and do the business. But I do not know how to issue talismans, burn writs, or strike any command-tablet — so you gentlemen must help me carry it through.”
Marshal Deng said, “At the Great Sage's bidding, who would dare not comply? but we must have some one signal, and only then dare act on the order as it is given; otherwise the thunder and rain would fall into confusion, and it would make the Great Sage look disorderly.” Pilgrim said, “I'll use my cudgel for the signal, then.” That Thunder Lord said in great alarm, “Venerable Father! How could we ever bear that cudgel?” Pilgrim said, “It is not to strike you — only watch this cudgel of mine: when I point it once upward, then the wind must blow.” Granny Wind and Xun the Second assented without stint: “We'll loose the wind at once.” “At the cudgel's second point, then the cloud must spread.” The Cloud-Pushing Lad and the Mist-Spreading Lord said, “We'll spread cloud, we'll spread cloud.” “At the cudgel's third point, then the thunder must peal and the lightning flash.” The Thunder Lord and the Lightning Mother said, “At your service, at your service.” “At the cudgel's fourth point, then the rain must fall.” The Dragon Kings said, “At your command, at your command.” “At the cudgel's fifth point, then the bright sun and clear sky. Now do not fail or delay.”
His instructions given, he then pressed down his cloud-head, gave his hair a shake, and drew it back onto his body. Those people, with their mortal eyes and common flesh, how could they have known any of it? Pilgrim then, at the side, called out loudly, “Sir, if you please. The four strokes of your command-tablet have all sounded and done, and still there is no wind, cloud, thunder, or rain — you ought to yield to me.” That Daoist, at a loss, dared not linger long on the platform, and could only come down from it and yield the place to him. Pouting, he went straight up to the tower to see the king. Pilgrim said, “Wait while I follow him and see what he has to say.” He only heard that king ask, “Here I have washed my ears and listened in earnest; there on your side the tablet sounded four times, yet no wind or rain is seen — how is that?” The Daoist said, “Today the dragon-gods are none of them at home.” Pilgrim said in a stern voice, “Your Majesty, the dragon-gods are all at home; it is only that this Preceptor's method has no power, and he cannot summon them. Wait while this monk calls them, and you shall see.” The king said, “Go up to the altar at once; I will still wait here for the rain.”
Pilgrim, having the royal leave, quickly withdrew to the altar-ground, and tugging at the Tang Monk said, “Master, please go up onto the platform.” The Tang Monk said, “Disciple, but I do not know how to pray for rain.” Bajie said with a laugh, “He has done you a bad turn — if there's still no rain, they'll pile on the kindling and settle the account with a single torch.” Pilgrim said, “You cannot pray for rain, but you are good at chanting scriptures. Wait while I help you.” The elder had just stepped up onto the altar; reaching the top, he sat down composed, settled his nature and drew in his spirit, and silently recited that Heart Sutra of Perfection. Just as he sat, an officer suddenly came galloping to ask, “That monk — how is it he strikes no command-tablet and burns no talisman-writ?” Pilgrim answered in a loud voice, “No need! No need! We pray by the practice of stillness.” That officer went off to report, and of this we say no more.
Pilgrim, hearing the old master's scripture come to its end, reached into his ear, drew out the iron cudgel, waved it once in the wind — and it grew to a zhàng and two in length and a bowl's thickness — and pointed the staff once toward the sky. Granny Wind, seeing it, hastily pulled open her leather bag; Xun the Second loosed the mouth-cord. One heard only the whoosh and roar of the wind, and through the whole city it tore off tiles and flipped bricks, flung up sand and sent the stones rolling. To look at it, it was truly a fine wind — quite unlike your ordinary wind. Behold:
It snapped the willows and bruised the blossoms, crushed the groves and toppled the trees.
In the ninefold hall it cracked the walls and breached the ramparts; at the Five-Phoenix Tower it rocked the beams and shook the pillars.
At heaven's edge the red sun lost its light; on the ground below the yellow sand took wing.
Before the drill-hall the generals took fright; within the scholars' pavilion the civil officers quailed.
In the three palaces the painted ladies' black tresses were flung awry; in the six courts the concubines' jeweled coils came all undone.
The marquises' and earls' gold crowns lost their broidered tassels; the ministers' black-gauze caps flapped their wings wide.
The officer of the day, though he had words, dared not speak them; the Yellow-Gate usher, memorial in hand, had no way to hand it up.
Gold-fish pendants and jade belts kept no rank; ivory tablets and gauze robes fell out of all precedence.
The painted lofts and kingfisher screens were all battered and torn; the green casements and vermilion doors were every one in ruin.
At the Hall of the Golden Chariot the tiles slid and the bricks flew; at the Brocade-Cloud Hall the doors hung askew and the lattices shattered.
This blast of wild wind was fierce indeed, blowing so that the king and his princes could scarcely meet;
In the six streets and three markets not a footprint of a soul; the ten thousand doors and thousand gates were all shut fast.
Indeed, that was a wild wind raging.
Sun the Pilgrim showed his divine power again, gave the gold-banded cudgel a twist, and pointed once more toward the sky. One saw only this:
The Cloud-Pushing Lad, the Mist-Spreading Lord.
The Cloud-Pushing Lad shows his divine might: billowing and swelling, the clouds touch the rocks and hang from heaven;
the Mist-Spreading Lord plies his magic power: thick and boundless, the flying vapour covers the earth.
Vast and dim, the three markets darken; slowly, slowly, the six streets grow dark.
Borne on the wind, they leave the sea; following the rain, they issue from Kunlun.
In a moment they flood heaven and earth; in an instant they veil the dusty world.
It is just as in primal chaos: not a gate of the phoenix-tower can be seen.
At this the dim mist hung hazy, the thick clouds massed and billowing.
Sun the Pilgrim gave the gold-banded cudgel another twist and pointed once more toward the sky. In alarm, these came:
The Thunder Lord rouses his wrath; the Lightning Mother kindles her anger.
The Thunder Lord rouses his wrath, riding backwards on his fire-beast down the gate of heaven;
the Lightning Mother kindles her anger, wildly flashing her golden serpents out of the Dipper-palace.
Crash upon crash, she looses the thunderbolts, shattering the Iron-Fork Mountain;
flicker upon flicker, she flashes the red silk, flying out from the Eastern Ocean.
Rumbling and muffled, the sound of trundling carts; blazing and dazzling, it scatters like grains of rice.
All the myriad sprouting things are quickened anew; how many hibernating insects are roused from their sleep.
Ruler and ministers in the tower were struck with terror; the merchants, hearing the sound, grew timorous and afraid.
That deep thunder guarding the lightning, crash and clatter, was just like the force of the earth splitting and the mountains crumbling. It so frightened the whole city's people that house by house they burned incense, and family by family burned paper offerings. Sun the Pilgrim called out loudly, “Old Deng, watch carefully on my behalf: the officials who take bribes and pervert the law, and the sons who are disobedient and unfilial — strike a good few of them dead as a warning to all.” At that the thunder pealed all the louder.
Pilgrim once again pointed the iron cudgel upward. One saw only this:
The dragon issues his commands; the rain floods heaven and earth.
Its force like the River of Heaven tipped down the sky-moat; its speed like clouds streaming past the sea-gate.
On the tower-tops a dripping, dripping; outside the windows a pattering, pattering.
Above, the River of Heaven poured down; before the streets, white waves surged high.
Gurgling, as from an upended jar; rolling, as from a poured-out basin.
The lone farmstead was near to flooding its roofs; the wild bank was about to level the bridge.
Truly the mulberry fields turned to blue ocean; in a flash the dry land rolled with billows.
The divine dragons, taking the moment, came to lend their aid, lifting up the Long River to pour it down.
This fall of rain began at the hour of chén and fell only until about the hour of wǔ; it rained on Cart-Slow city, within and without, until the water flooded the streets. That king passed down a decree: “The rain is enough, the rain is enough; any more, and it would drown the young crops, and turn to no good.” Below the Five-Phoenix Tower, an attending officer spurred his horse through the rain to report, “Holy monk, the rain is enough.” Pilgrim, hearing it, pointed the gold-banded cudgel up once again.
In a flash the thunder ceased and the wind died, the rain scattered and the clouds drew in. The king was filled with joy, and the civil and military officers all praised him, saying, “A fine monk! This is truly a case of 'above the strong there is a stronger still.' Even when our own Preceptors' rain-praying works, if they want clear weather, the fine rain still falls half a day and it never quite clears; how is it this monk, wanting clear weather, has it clear at once — in a moment the bright sun comes out and for ten thousand li there is no cloud at all?” The king ordered the carriage turned back, the rescript re-stamped, and the Tang Monk sent on his way. Just as he was applying the royal seal, he was again stopped by those three Daoists, who came forward and said, “Your Majesty, this rain was in no way the monk's doing — it was still the power of our Daoist gate.” The king said, “You said just now that the Dragon Kings were not at home and there was no rain; he went up, prayed by the practice of stillness, and the rain came down at once — how is it you again vie with him for the credit? Why is that?”
Tiger-Power the Immortal said, “I went up to the altar, sent up a document, burned a talisman-writ, and struck the command-tablet — what Dragon King would dare not come? It must be that they had been summoned elsewhere, and the five bureaus of wind, cloud, thunder and rain were all away; at one hearing of my order they came rushing over, and it happened I was coming down just as he was going up — for a moment the two chanced to meet, and so it rained. Reckoning from the root, it was still I who called the dragons and I who brought the rain — how can it be counted as his achievement?” That king, muddled, hearing these words, once more fell into doubt and could not decide. Pilgrim stepped a pace forward, pressed his palms together, and declared, “Your Majesty, these heterodox arts amount to no real achievement, and cannot be reckoned as mine or his. Right now the Dragon Kings of the Four Seas are up in the sky; this monk has not yet dismissed them, and they still dare not hastily withdraw. If that Preceptor can call the Dragon Kings to show themselves, then let the credit be reckoned his.” The king said in great delight, “In the twenty-three years I have been emperor, I have never once seen what a live dragon looks like. Let your two parties each display your powers — monk or Daoist, no matter — whoever can call them here has the merit; whoever cannot call them out is guilty.” How could those Daoists have any such power? Even if they called, those Dragon Kings, seeing the Great Sage here, would not dare put out their heads. The Daoist said, “We cannot do it — you call them.”
The Great Sage turned his face up to the sky and cried out in a stern, loud voice, “Where is Ao Guang? Brothers, all of you show your true forms for us to see.” Those Dragon Kings, hearing the summons, at once revealed their true bodies — four dragons. In the mid-air they passed through the mist and pierced the clouds, flying and wheeling toward the Hall of the Golden Chariot. Behold:
Soaring and transforming, coiling through mist, winding among clouds.
Their jade claws hung white as hooks; their silver scales danced bright as mirrors.
Their whiskers streamed like white silk, crisp strand by strand; their horns reared high and proud, straight and clear.
Their knobbed brows towered up; their round eyes gleamed and flashed.
Now hidden, now shown, past all fathoming; soaring aloft, beyond all describing.
Pray for rain, and at once they spread the rain; ask for clearing, and straightway the sky is clear.
This indeed was the numinous, holy, true dragon-form: auspicious signs in profusion circling the palace court.
That king burned incense up in the hall, and the assembled nobles bowed in worship before the steps. The king said, “We are obliged for your honoured presence in descending here; pray return. On another day We shall offer a thanksgiving rite.” Pilgrim said, “You assembled gods may each return; this king will offer a thanksgiving rite on another day.” Those Dragon Kings went straight back to the sea, and the assembled gods each returned to Heaven. This is precisely:
Vast and boundless, the true and wondrous Dharma; utterly real, it realizes the nature and cleaves the heterodox gate.
In the end, not knowing how the evil was to be swept away — pray hear the next chapter told.