The believers of Chen Village carried the pigs and the sheep and the sacrificial wine up to the Temple of Divine Response, and Pilgrim and Eight Rules along with them, in a great clamour and shouting, and set everything down there; and the boy and the girl they set in the place of honour. Pilgrim turned his head and saw upon the offering table incense, flowers and wax candles, and full in the middle a gold-lettered tablet inscribed “Spirit of the Great King of Divine Response” — and no other image of any god whatever.
When they had ranged everything in order the believers knocked their heads to the ground together and said: “Great King, Your Worship! In this year, this month, this day, this hour, the sacrificial masters of Chen Village, Chen Cheng and the rest of the faithful, being of no one age among them, reverently follow the yearly precedent and present one boy, Chen Guanbao by name, one girl, Chen Yichengjin by name, with pigs, sheep and sacrificial wine to the full tale, offered up for the Great King's enjoyment. Keep us in seasonable wind and rain, and the five grains in rich harvest.”
The prayer done, they burned the paper horses and each returned to his own house.
Eight Rules, seeing that the people had scattered, said to Pilgrim: “Let's be off home.”
“And where is your home?”
“Back to old Chen's place, to sleep.”
“Idiot, you are talking nonsense again. Since we have granted him his request, we must see this vow of his discharged for him — that is the right way of it.”
“It is you who are the idiot, not I,” said Eight Rules, “and yet you call me one. We had only to fool him a while for sport and let it go at that. Why go through with the sacrifice for him, and take the whole thing in earnest?”
“If you do a thing for a man, do it through,” said Pilgrim. “Let that Great King come and eat first, and then it is a whole beginning and a whole end. Otherwise we should only have him send down calamity and leave misery behind him, and it would turn out badly.”
They were still speaking when they heard the wind come roaring.
“This is bad,” said Eight Rules. “That wind means the thing itself is coming.”
“Not a word,” said Pilgrim. “Let me answer him.”
In an instant there came outside the temple gate a fiend. Look at the fashion of him:
Gold armour and gold helm, glittering new;
at his waist a jewelled sash wound about with crimson cloud.
Eyes like bright stars come out at evening, clear and cold;
teeth like saw-blades set in a double rank, each one apart.
Beneath his feet the mist and rosy vapour drifting, drifting;
about his body haze and fog, warm and close with fume.
Where he walks, gust upon gust of a chill dark wind;
where he stands, fold upon fold of a baleful warmth.
For all the world the Curtain-Raising General attending the imperial carriage,
or the great door-god that keeps the gate of a temple.
The monster stopped in the temple gateway and asked: “Whose household makes the sacrifice this year?”
Pilgrim answered him with a smiling face: “Since you are good enough to ask — the village heads are the households of Chen Cheng and Chen Qing.”
Hearing the answer, the monster misdoubted in his heart and said to himself: “This boy is bold, and nimble in his talk. The ones regularly brought here as my offering and my meat — ask them once, and they will not speak; ask a second time, and the soul is frightened out of them; put out a hand to take them, and they are dead already. How is it that this boy today is so ready with his answers?”
Not daring to lay hold of him, he asked again: “What are the boy's and the girl's names?”
“The boy is Chen Guanbao,” said Pilgrim, laughing, “the girl One Steelyard of Gold.”
“This sacrifice is the old rule of former years,” said the monster. “Now that you are offered up to me, I ought to eat you.”
“I would not presume to resist,” said Pilgrim. “Take your enjoyment at your ease.”
Hearing him, the monster still dared not put out a hand, but blocked the doorway and shouted: “Don't be pert with me. In ordinary years I eat the boy first; this year I shall eat the girl first.”
Eight Rules took fright. “Great King, keep to the old way, do — don't go spoiling the precedent.”
The monster would hear no more argument, but loosed his hold and reached out to seize Eight Rules. The Idiot came down off the table with a bound, showed his true form, whipped out his muckrake and struck him a blow full-armed; the monster snatched back his hand, made off forward, and there was only a clang.
“I've broken his armour open!” cried Eight Rules.
But Pilgrim too showed his true form and looked, and there on the ground were two fish-scales the size of ice platters. “After him!” he shouted, and the two of them sprang up into the air.
The monster, having come only to a feast, had brought no weapon with him, and empty-handed at the edge of the clouds he demanded: “What quarter do you monks come from, that you bully folk here, break up my incense-fire and ruin my good name?”
“This foul creature does not know, then,” said Pilgrim. “We are disciples of the holy monk Tripitaka of the Great Tang in the Land of the East, sent by imperial commission to fetch the scriptures from the Western Heaven. Yesterday, lodging the night at the Chen house, we heard of an evil demon here who takes the false style of Divine Response and demands a boy and a girl in sacrifice year upon year. It is our compassion that has moved us to save these living souls and to take you, foul creature. Confess now, and confess truly: at two children a year, how many years have you styled yourself Great King in this place? How many boys and girls have you eaten? Reckon them up and pay me back one by one, and I will spare you the death penalty.”
At these words the monster made off at once. Eight Rules struck at him with the muckrake again but did not land it, and he turned into a blast of wild wind and dived into the River That Reaches to Heaven.
“No need to chase him,” said Pilgrim. “This monster must be a creature of the river. Wait for tomorrow and we will contrive a way to take him, and see our master over the water.”
Eight Rules did as he said, went straight back to the temple, and carried the pigs, the sheep and the sacrificial wine, table and all, over to the Chen house. At that hour the Tang Elder and Sha Monk, with the Chen brothers, were waiting in the hall for word, when of a sudden they saw the two of them dump the pigs and sheep and the rest of it down in the courtyard.
Tripitaka came out to meet them. “Wukong, how went the business of the sacrifice?” And Pilgrim told over the whole affair — the giving of the names, the chasing of the monster, his diving into the river. The two old men were greatly delighted, and gave orders at once to sweep out the side rooms and make up the beds, and invited master and disciples to their rest.
Now the monster, having got off with his life, went back into the water, sat in his palace and said not a word. His kindred in the water, great and small, asked him: “Great King, every year you take your sacrifice and come home content. Why so vexed today?”
“In ordinary years, the feast once over, I would still bring back something of what was left for you all to enjoy. Today even I got nothing to eat. My luck was low; I blundered into an adversary and came near to losing my life.”
“Great King, who was it?”
“It was a disciple of a holy monk of the Great Tang in the Land of the East, of those bound for the Western Heaven to worship the Buddha and seek scriptures. They had turned themselves falsely into the boy and the girl and were sitting in the temple. He showed me his true form, and I was within a hair of losing my life. All along I have heard men say that Tripitaka of the Tang is a good man of ten lifetimes' cultivation, and that whoever gets one piece of his flesh to eat will lengthen his years and live long. I never looked for such disciples under his hand. He has ruined my name and broken up my incense-fire. I have a mind to take the Tang Monk, but I fear it cannot be managed.”
Then from among the water-folk there slipped forward a mottled-robed Mandarin-Fish Dame, who bobbed and bowed to the monster and said with a laugh: “Great King, if you would have the Tang Monk, where is the difficulty in it? Only I don't know — if he is taken, will you reward me with a little wine and meat?”
“If you have a scheme,” said the monster, “and we join our strength and take the Tang Monk, I will bow with you as brother and sister, and we shall share the table.”
The Dame bowed her thanks. “Long have I known that the Great King has the power to call up wind and summon rain, and force to stir the sea and overturn rivers. But I do not know — can you send down snow?”
“I can.”
“Since you can send down snow, can you also make cold and set ice?”
“Better still.”
The Dame clapped her hands and laughed. “Then it is easy — the easiest thing in the world.”
“Come, set out this easy business of yours,” said the monster. “Let me hear it.”
“Tonight, at the weather of the third watch, let the Great King not hesitate but set to his arts at once: raise a blast of freezing wind, send down a fall of great snow, and freeze the River That Reaches to Heaven solid throughout. Have those of us who are good at transformation change into a few human shapes and stand about the road-head, packs on our backs and umbrellas in hand, shouldering loads and pushing carts, going up and down on the ice without a pause. That Tang Monk's heart is set desperately hard on fetching the scriptures; when he sees people passing so, he will certainly tread the ice and cross. Let the Great King sit quiet in the river's heart, and when the sound of his footfall comes, burst the cold ice apart, so that he and those disciples of his go down into the water together. At one stroke he may be had.”
The monster heard her out, and his heart brimming with joy he said: “Excellent, excellent!” He went straight out of the water mansion, trod the long sky, raised wind and made snow, congealed the cold and set it hard to ice.
Now the Tang Elder and his three disciples were lodged at the Chen house, and as it drew towards daybreak their quilts were cold and their pillows colder. Eight Rules coughed and chattered and could not sleep, and called out: “Elder brother, it's cold.”
“You idiot, you never come along at all,” said Pilgrim. “One who has left the household is untouched by heat or cold. What is this fear of freezing?”
“Disciple, it is truly cold,” said Tripitaka. “Look — it is just this:”
Quilts piled in layers, and no warmth in them;
hands drawn into sleeves as though cradling ice.
By now the fallen leaves bear frost for blossom,
and the blue-green pine hangs strung with bells of ice.
The ground splits because the cold is extreme;
the pool lies level because the water has set.
On the fishing boat no old man to be seen;
at the mountain temple, how should one meet a monk?
The woodcutter grieves his faggots are few;
the young lord is glad his charcoal grows.
The traveller's beard is iron;
the poet's brush a water-caltrop.
The leather coat still seems too thin;
the sable robe is grudged as light.
On his mat the old monk is stiffened;
within the paper bed-curtain the traveller's soul takes fright.
Embroidered coverlet over layered mattresses —
and the whole body shakes like a hand-bell.
None of them could sleep, so they got up and put their clothes on. They opened the door to look — ah! Outside, everything a blank white: it had been snowing.
“No wonder you were all suffering with the cold,” said Pilgrim. “And a great snow it is, too.”
The four of them looked out together. A fine snow! Only see:
Crimson clouds spread close; grim mists steeped heavy.
Crimson clouds spread close — the north wind cries bitter through the void;
grim mists steeped heavy — the great snow falls thick and blankets the earth.
Truly: the six-petalled flower, flake upon flake of flying jade;
the thousand groves of trees, trunk upon trunk decked with jade.
In a moment it heaps like powder; in an instant it turns to salt.
The white parrot's singing loses its plainness; the pale crane's plumage is matched at last.
It adds a level thousand rivers to the waters of Wu and Chu; it bears down the few plum trees of the southeast.
For all the world like three million jade dragons beaten back in battle;
truly as if broken scales and shattered armour filled the whole sky in flight.
Where here is Dongguo's shoe, Yuan An lying within doors, Sun Kang reading by the glare;
still less do we see Ziyou's boat, Wang Gong's mantle, Su Wu at his felt.
There are only a few village cottages like masonry of silver, ten thousand li of rivers and hills like moulded jade.
A fine snow! Willow-down drifting over the bridge, pear blossom covering the cottage.
Willow-down drifting over the bridge — beside the bridge the old fisherman hangs up his straw cape;
pear blossom covering the cottage — below the cottage the old countryman banks his fire with knotted wood.
The sojourner can scarcely buy wine; the grey-headed servant searches bitterly for plum.
Sprinkling and streaming, it cuts out butterfly wings; drifting and swaying, it clips coats of goose-down.
Rolling and rolling, it follows the set of the wind; heaped fold on fold, it makes the roads go astray.
Gust upon gust, the cold power pierces the little curtain; whistling and whistling, the chill air passes into the inner hangings.
An omen of a fruitful year, come down out of Heaven — matter for congratulation, and a fine thing among men.
That fall of snow, sprinkling and scattering, was truly like cut jade and flying floss.
Master and disciples had been admiring it a good while when they saw old Chen of the house set two boy-servants to sweep the paths clear, and two more to bring out hot water for washing. Presently they brought boiling tea and milk-cakes as well, and carried out a charcoal fire; and all of them went into the side chamber and sat down together.
“Old benefactor,” asked the Elder, “in the seasons of your honourable district — is there no dividing of spring, summer, autumn and winter?”
“This is a remote place, true enough,” said Old Chen with a laugh, “but it is only our customs and our people that differ from those of your superior country. As for grain and seedlings and livestock and all the rest, we are under the same heaven and the same sun. How should there be no dividing of the four seasons?”
“If the four seasons are divided,” said Tripitaka, “then how is it there is so great a snow just now, and such cold?”
“It is the seventh month, to be sure, but yesterday we passed White Dew, and that puts us into the term of the eighth month. Here with us there is regularly frost and snow about the eighth month.”
“That is very unlike our Eastern Land,” said Tripitaka. “Where I come from we have none until the coming of winter.”
They were still talking when the boy-servants came again to set the table and invite them to take gruel. After the gruel the snow came heavier than it had in the early morning, and in a little while it lay two chǐ deep on the level ground. Tripitaka's heart burned in him, and he shed tears.
“Set your mind at rest, your reverence,” said Old Chen, “and do not distress yourself at the depth of the snow. I have a few dàn of grain in my house, enough to keep your reverences half a lifetime.”
“Old benefactor, you do not know this poor monk's trouble,” said Tripitaka. “In that year I received the imperial favour and was granted the rescript; the great carriage was drawn out and His Majesty saw me in person beyond the pass, raised the cup in his own hand and gave me the parting draught, and asked: 'In what time may you return?' I, a poor monk, knowing nothing of the perils of mountain and river, answered off-hand: 'Three years only, and I may fetch the scriptures and return.' Since that parting seven or eight years have gone by, and I have not yet seen the face of the Buddha. I fear I have run past the term the throne set me; and I fear too the ferocity of the fiends — and therefore I am in anguish. Today I have had the good fortune to lodge in your mansion, and last night my foolish disciples did you some small service by way of return, and I truly looked to ask for a boat and cross the river. I never looked for Heaven to send down a great snow, with the roads lost in the drift, and I do not know at what time I shall finish the work and return to my own soil.”
“Set your mind at rest, your reverence. So many days have gone by already; what do these few signify? Wait for clear weather and the melting of the ice, and this old fellow will beggar his house and spend his whole estate to arrange your reverence's crossing.”
Then a boy came to invite them in to the early meal, and they went to the hall and finished it; and they had not talked long before the midday meal followed on after it. Tripitaka, seeing the dishes so lavish, was uneasy over and over. “Since you are good enough to keep us, plain household fare would serve.”
“Your reverence,” said Old Chen, “for the kindness of standing in our stead at the sacrifice and saving those two lives, though we set out a banquet every day of our lives we could never repay nor thank you enough.”
After this the great snow at last held off, and people began to go about. Old Chen, seeing Tripitaka out of spirits, had the flower garden swept and a great basin banked with fire, and invited them into the snow grotto to divert themselves and shake off their gloom.
“That old fellow has no reckoning in him,” said Eight Rules with a laugh. “The second and third months of spring are the time for enjoying a flower garden. In a great snow like this, and cold besides, what is there to enjoy?”
“Idiot, you understand nothing,” said Pilgrim. “A snow prospect is quiet and secluded of itself. For one thing, there is the touring of it; for another, it will ease our master's mind.”
“Just so, just so,” said Old Chen. And so they were invited out into the garden. Only see:
The season stands at the third month of autumn, the light of it like the last month of the year.
The blue-green pine has knotted buds of jade; the withered willow hangs with flowers of silver.
Below the steps the jade moss heaps in powdered crumbs; before the window the kingfisher bamboo puts out shoots of jasper.
Cunning stones at the hill's head; within the pool where fish are reared.
Cunning stones at the hill's head — sheer and sharp, the pointed peaks ranged like shoots of jade;
within the pool where fish are reared — clear and clear, the living water made into a platter of ice.
By the bank the lotus wears a delicate pallor; beside the cliff the hibiscus lets its tender branches droop.
The autumn crab-apple is altogether borne down;
the winter plum ventures a few new twigs.
Peony pavilion, pomegranate pavilion, cassia pavilion — pavilion upon pavilion heaped full with goose-down;
the place for easing the heart, the place for entertaining guests, the place for diverting the mood — place upon place spread over with butterfly wings.
Two hedges of yellow chrysanthemum, jade gauze and gold; a few trees of scarlet maple, red set off with white.
Countless quiet courts the cold can scarcely reach — but look at the snow grotto, cold as ice.
Within it is set a bronze brazier on beast-faced, elephant feet, the charcoal fire just kindled and blazing;
above and below, a few lacquered folding chairs draped with tiger skins, and the paper windows fitted soft and warm.
On the four walls hung several scrolls by famous hands, old paintings, and they were these:
The Seven Worthies Passing the Barrier; Fishing Alone on the Cold River; Piled Cliffs and Folded Ranges, gathering a scene of snow;
Su Wu Eating Felt; Breaking the Plum Branch and Meeting the Courier; Jasper Groves and Jade Trees, writing out the cold.
Not to be told over: the house near the water pavilion, where fish are easy to buy; the snow blotting out the mountain path, where wine is hard to come by.
Truly a place with room enough for one's knees; reckon it up, and what need to go seeking Penglai?
The company admired it a long while, then settled themselves in the snow grotto and talked with the neighbour elders of the business of fetching the scriptures, and took a cup of fragrant tea.
“My lords, do you take wine?” asked Old Chen.
“This poor monk does not drink,” said Tripitaka. “My young disciples may take a few cups of unmeated wine.”
Old Chen was greatly pleased, and gave the order at once: “Bring the vegetarian fruits and warm the wine, to drive the chill from my lords.” The boy-servants brought a table round the brazier, and with the two neighbour elders they each drank a few cups, and then the things were carried off.
Before they knew it the light was failing, and they were asked once again to the hall for the evening meal. And they heard the people in the street all saying: “What a bitter cold — the River That Reaches to Heaven has frozen fast!”
Tripitaka heard it. “Wukong, if the river is frozen fast, what shall we do?”
“The cold came on so suddenly,” said Old Chen. “It will be the shallow water near the bank that has set.”
“The whole eight hundred li of it is frozen smooth as the face of a mirror,” said the passer-by, “and there are people walking on it up at the landing.”
When Tripitaka heard that people were walking on it, he wanted to go and see straight away. “Do not be in haste, your reverence,” said Old Chen. “It is late today; go and see tomorrow.”
So they took their leave of the neighbour elders, and the evening meal being done, they rested in the side chamber as before.
At daybreak the next day Eight Rules got up and said: “Elder brother, it was colder still last night. The river must surely have frozen fast.”
Tripitaka faced the doorway and made his obeisance towards Heaven, saying: “All you great spirits who guard the Faith, your disciple has journeyed westward all this while with a devout heart to worship the Buddha, enduring hardship over mountain and river, and has never uttered a single word of complaint. Coming now to this place, I have been favoured with the help of August Heaven, which has frozen the river's water. Your disciple gives thanks now with an empty heart, and when he has got the scriptures and returned, he will report to the Tang emperor and requite you with all sincerity.”
His obeisance done, he told Wujing to saddle the horse and take the ice across the river.
“Do not be in haste,” said Old Chen again. “Wait a few days for the snow to melt and the ice to break, and this old fellow will find a boat here and see you across.”
“To go now will not do, and to stay longer will not do either,” said Sha Monk. “Talk is no proof; hearing with the ear is not like seeing with the eye. Let me saddle the horse, and let the master go and look for himself.”
“There is reason in what he says,” said Old Chen, and gave orders: “Lads, go quickly and bring out our six horses. But do not bring out the Tang lord's horse.”
Six young servants went with them, and the whole party went straight down to the riverside to look; and truly it was this:
Snow heaped up like mountains soaring;
the cloud drawn off, the dawn broken clear.
Cold has congealed the frontier passes of Chu, and a thousand peaks stand gaunt;
ice has bound the rivers and lakes into a single level sheet.
The north wind bitter and biting;
the frozen slick sharp-edged and glittering.
The pool-fish huddle into the thick weed;
the wild birds cling to the withered branch.
Beyond the frontier the men on campaign are losing their fingers;
at the river-head the boatmen chatter their teeth.
It splits the serpent's belly, it snaps the bird's foot — a very mountain of ice, a thousand chǐ and a hundred high.
Ten thousand ravines float cold with silver;
one river lies steeped chill in jade.
In the east one may well believe the stiffened silkworms come forth;
in the north there are indeed the burrows of rats.
Wang Xiang lay down upon it, Guangwu crossed over it — in a single night the brook and its bridge are set solid to the bed.
The winding pool has set in shelves of ice; the deep abyss is frozen fold upon fold.
The broad water of the River That Reaches to Heaven has not a wave upon it; bright and clean, the ice runs out flat as a road on dry land.
Tripitaka and the whole party came down to the riverside, reined in their horses and looked, and there were indeed people going to and fro up at the landing.
“Benefactor, where are those people going, out upon the ice?” he asked.
“On the far side of the river lies the Women's Kingdom of Western Liang,” said Old Chen. “That lot are all traders. A thing worth a hundred cash on this side is worth ten thousand once it is over there; and a thing worth a hundred cash over there is worth ten thousand once it is here. The profit is heavy and the stake is light, and so men go without caring whether they live or die. In ordinary years they cross with five or seven to a boat, or a dozen or so to a boat, and sail over. Seeing that the river-road has frozen fast, they throw their lives away and go over on foot.”
“Of all things in this world, name and profit weigh heaviest,” said Tripitaka. “Men like these, who go for profit, cast off death and forget life; and I, your disciple, bearing the imperial rescript and keeping faith to the full — I too go only for a name. How much is there to choose between him and me?” And he gave the order: “Wukong, go back quickly to the benefactor's house, get the baggage together and saddle the horses, and while this layered ice holds let us push west with all speed.”
Pilgrim answered with a smile.
“Master,” said Sha Monk, “the common saying has it: 'a thousand days will eat a thousand shēng of rice.' We are already beholden to the Chen household; let us stay a few days more and wait for clear weather and the thaw, and get a boat and cross. In haste there is danger of a mistake.”
“Wujing, how can your view be so foolish?” said Tripitaka. “If it were the first month or the second, each day would be warmer than the last, and one might wait for the ice to break up; but now it is the eighth month, and each day is colder than the last. How can we look for a thaw? Should we not be losing another half-year of the road?”
Eight Rules jumped down from his horse. “Stop your idle talk, the lot of you, and let old Hog try how thick or thin it is.”
“Idiot, the other night you tested the water by throwing a stone in,” said Pilgrim. “But now the ice is frozen and lies thick over it. How will you test it?”
“Elder brother does not understand,” said Eight Rules. “Let me raise my muckrake and give it one stroke. If it breaks through, then the ice is thin and we dare not go; and if it will not stir, then the ice is thick — why should we not go?”
“Just so,” said Tripitaka. “There is sense in what you say.”
The Idiot hitched up his robe and strode out, went down to the riverside, raised the rake in both hands and struck with all his strength — and there was only a thud, and nine white marks were left, and his hands were jarred till they ached. “It will do, it will do,” he laughed. “It is frozen fast clear to the bottom.”
Tripitaka heard it with great delight, went back with the rest to the Chen house, and would have nothing but that they should pack for the road. The two old men pressed him hard to stay and could not, and could only get ready some dry provisions, roasted and parched, and make up baked cakes and steamed buns to send along with them. The whole household knocked their heads and made obeisance, and brought out besides a tray of loose silver and gold, and kneeling before him said: “We owe your reverence the lives of our children; let this poor token stand for a single meal on the road.”
Tripitaka waved his hand and shook his head and would by no means take it. “This poor monk has left the household. What use has he for money and silk? On the road I should not dare bring it out, and I hold it my proper business only to beg my food and get through the days. The dry provisions I have taken are enough.”
The two old men entreated him again and again, till Pilgrim pinched off a small piece between his fingertips, some four or five mace in weight, and handed it to the Tang Monk, saying: “Master, count it only as a little alms-money, and do not send the two old gentlemen away empty of their kind intention.”
So they took leave of one another and went straight down to the ice at the riverside; but the horse's hooves gave a slip, and Tripitaka came within a little of being thrown.
“Master, it is hard going,” said Sha Monk.
“Wait a moment,” said Eight Rules. “Ask old Master Chen for some rice-straw for my use.”
“What do you want rice-straw for?”
“How should you know? We want rice-straw to wrap the horse's hooves, and then it will not slip, and the master will not be thrown down.”
Old Chen heard him from the bank and quickly sent someone to fetch a bundle of rice-straw from the house, and asked the Tang Monk to come ashore and dismount. Eight Rules took the straw and bound up the horse's feet, and then they trod the ice and went on.
They parted from Old Chen and left the riverside, and when they had gone three or four li Eight Rules handed the nine-ringed pilgrim staff to the Tang Monk. “Master, carry this crosswise on the horse.”
“This idiot is a sly one,” said Pilgrim. “The staff was yours to carry in the first place. How is it you now have the master hold it?”
“You have never walked on river-ice; you don't know,” said Eight Rules. “Wherever there is ice frozen over, there are bound to be ice-eyes; and should you tread on an ice-eye and slip down through it, then with nothing laid crosswise you go under with a gulp, and it is as if a great pot-lid had been clapped over you. How would you bore your way up again? It must be propped across like this, and then it will serve.”
Pilgrim laughed to himself. “This idiot turns out to be an old hand at walking on ice.”
And indeed they all did as he said: the Elder bore the pilgrim staff crosswise, Pilgrim bore his iron rod crosswise, Sha Monk bore his demon-quelling staff crosswise, and Eight Rules shouldered the baggage on his pole and laid the muckrake across his waist; and so master and disciples went forward with easy minds. They went straight on until nightfall, and ate a little of the dry provisions. But they did not dare halt long, and by the light of the stars and the moon they saw the frozen ice glittering bright, a white blankness, and they pressed on with a will; and truly the horse's hooves never stopped. Master and disciples could not close their eyes, and walked the whole night through. At daybreak they ate a little more of the dry provisions, and pressed on westward again.
They were going along when they heard from under the ice a splitting crack and a great ringing report, and the white horse was so startled it all but went down.
“Disciples!” cried Tripitaka in fright. “What is that great ringing noise?”
“This river is frozen altogether too hard,” said Eight Rules. “That is the ground-ice cracking. Or perhaps hereabouts in the middle it has sealed clear through to the bottom.”
Tripitaka heard it with alarm and gladness together, whipped up his horse and pressed forward, and on they hurried.
Now that fiend, ever since he had gone back to his water mansion, had been marshalling his host of spirits down beneath the ice. They had waited a long while when he heard the sound of the horse's hooves, and he worked his magic down below and with a slithering crack burst the frozen ice apart. The Great Sage in his alarm sprang up into the air; but the white horse had already dropped into the water, and all three of them went down with it.
The fiend seized Tripitaka and led his crowd of spirits straight back to the water mansion, calling out in a harsh loud voice: “Where is Sister Mandarin-Fish?”
The old Mandarin-Fish Dame came to the door and made her bow. “Great King, I dare not, I dare not.”
“Worthy sister, why do you speak so?” said the fiend. “'A word once out, four horses cannot overtake it.' It was agreed that if I followed your plan and took the Tang Monk I would bow with you as brother and sister. Today your excellent scheme has come off and the Tang Monk is taken — am I to go back on what I said?” And he gave orders: “Lads, carry in the table, whet the knives sharp, cut this monk's belly open and dig out the heart, flay off the skin and slice up the flesh; and on the other side strike up the music. My worthy sister and I will eat him together, and lengthen our years and live long.”
“Great King, do not eat him yet,” said the Dame. “I fear his disciples may come looking for him and make a disturbance. Be patient a couple of days, and when that crew have given up the search, then cut him open. Let the Great King take the upper seat with all your kindred ranged about, with piping and strumming, singing and dancing, and let him be served up to the Great King to be enjoyed at leisure and at ease. Would that not be better?”
The monster took her advice, and hid the Tang Monk behind the palace, and had a stone coffer six chǐ long laid over him.
Now Eight Rules and Sha Monk got hold of the baggage under the water and loaded it on the white horse's back, and parting a road through the water, surging up the waves and overturning them, they bore up and out. Pilgrim, looking down from mid-air, caught sight of them and asked: “Where is the master?”
“The master's surname is Chen, and his given name is Down-to-the-Bottom,” said Eight Rules. “There is nowhere to look for him now. Let us get ashore and settle what is to be done.”
For Eight Rules had been the Marshal of the Heavenly Reeds come down among men, and in that year had had command of the eighty thousand water-troops of the River of Heaven; Sha Monk came originally out of the River of Flowing Sand; and the white horse was a dragon's grandson of the Western Sea — and so all of them knew the ways of water.
The Great Sage guided them from the air, and in a little while they came round to the eastern shore, dried and brushed down the horse and wrung out and smoothed their clothes. Then he brought his cloud down, and together they came to Chen Village. Someone had already run to tell the two old men: “Of the four reverences who go to fetch the scriptures, only three have come back!”
The brothers hurried out of the gate to meet them, and seeing their clothes still wet said: “My lords, we begged you so hard to stay and you would not, and now it has come to this. How is it we do not see the reverend Tripitaka?”
“He is not called Tripitaka any more,” said Eight Rules. “He has changed his name to Chen Down-to-the-Bottom.”
The two old men shed tears. “Alas! Alas! I said to wait for the snow to melt and I would get a boat ready and see you over, and you held out against it, and it has cost him his life.”
“Old fellow, don't grieve on other people's account,” said Pilgrim. “My master is not one to die — he is for long life. Old Monkey knows: it is certainly that Great King of Divine Response who has worked a trick and carried him off. Set your mind at rest, and get our clothes washed for us and our travel-papers dried, and fetch fodder and feed the white horse. Wait while we brothers hunt that creature out and get our master back, and cut the grass and take out the root while we are about it, and rid your whole village of the plague for good, so that you may live at peace hereafter.”
Old Chen heard him with a full heart of joy, and gave orders at once for a vegetarian meal to be laid.
The three brothers ate their fill, and handed over the horses and the baggage to the Chen household to keep. Each put his weapons in order, and they went straight down to the riverside to seek their master and take the fiend. It is just this:
Treading the layered ice in error, he has done his own nature harm;
the Great Elixir slipped and leaked away — how shall it be made whole?
And in the end there is no knowing how the Tang Monk was to be rescued; give ear to the next chapter, and it shall be told.