The story goes that the Great Sage, having got back his gold-banded cudgel, fought his way out before the gate, sprang up to the high peak, and faced the assembled spirits with a heart wholly delighted.
Devarāja Li said: “And how did this bout of yours go?”
Pilgrim said: “Old Monkey changed shape and got inside his cave. The monster was carrying on worse than ever, singing and capering and drinking his victory wine. What I never did make out was where he keeps that treasure of his. I slipped round to the back of the place, and all at once heard horses neighing and a dragon's cry, and knew them for the gear of the Fire Department. Leaning against the eastern wall was my own gold-banded cudgel. Old Monkey took it in hand, and beat his way out along the whole road.”
The spirits said: “Your treasure you have got. When do ours come to hand?”
Pilgrim said: “No hard matter, no hard matter. Now that I have this iron rod, come what may I mean to knock him down, take the treasures, and hand them back to you.”
Just as they were talking, there came from below the mountain slope a clashing of gongs and drums together, and a shouting that shook the ground. It was the Rhinoceros King, leading out his host of sprites in pursuit of Pilgrim.
Pilgrim saw them and cried: “Good, good, good — this falls out just as I would have it. Be seated, my lords, and let Old Monkey go and take him.”
The fine Great Sage raised his iron cudgel and came on straight in the monster's face, roaring: “Where do you think you are going, wretched fiend? Mind the cudgel!”
The monster fended him off with his spear and cursed him: “Thieving ape's head! This is downright insolence. How dare you plunder my goods in broad daylight?”
Pilgrim said: “Why, you accursed beast, too dull to know your own death is upon you! It is you who work a snare-ring and seize my things in broad daylight — which of them is yours? Don't run: take a rod from your lord and master!”
The monster swung up his spear and warded off the blow. It was a fine fight:
The Great Sage put forth his fierce might;
the fiend would neither yield nor bend.
The two houses matched their valour together;
which of them would consent to break off?
This one's iron rod was like a dragon's tail;
that one's long spear was like a python's head.
This one's rod came in a play of strokes like the sounding wind;
that one's spear held its fierce guard like running water.
One saw only the coloured mists hanging dense, the ridges darkened;
the auspicious clouds massed thick, the woodlands sunk in gloom.
The birds that filled the sky all stayed their wings;
the wolves and vermin of the four wilds drew in their heads.
On that side the little imps raised their war-cry;
on this side Pilgrim shook himself to the work.
One iron rod, and no man to match it,
has beaten its way ten thousand lǐ about the West.
That shaft of a long spear is a true opponent,
that has held the Golden Helm forever and is reckoned first among them.
Meeting like this, there can be no fair parting;
till high and low are seen, they swear not to give over.
That demon king and the Great Sage Sun fought through three shíchén without a division of victory or defeat, and before long they saw the sky beginning to darken. The fiend held his long spear at rest and said: “Wukong, hold there. The sky is dim and the earth dark, and this is no hour for a wager of arms. Let each of us rest a while, and in the morning I will have it out with you again.”
Pilgrim cursed him: “Hold your tongue, foul beast! Old Monkey's blood is only now up — what do I care whether it is late? We shall settle which of us wins and which loses, and that is flat.”
The monster gave a shout, made a feint with his spear, escaped with his life, led his band of imps back with their weapons, went into the cave, and shut the gate fast behind him.
The Great Sage had no sooner dragged his rod back than the celestial spirits on the bluff were offering congratulations, all of them saying: “There is a Great Sage Equal to Heaven with ability and with strength, and a true prowess measureless and boundless.”
Pilgrim laughed and said: “Too kind, too kind.”
Devarāja Li came forward and said: “This is no mere compliment; you are truly a fine fellow. This bout of yours was in no way inferior to that time of the net that veiled the earth and the snare that covered the sky.”
Pilgrim said: “Let old talk rest. That fiend has had a bout from Old Monkey and must be worn out. I will not speak of my own weariness either. Sit at your ease, all of you, and let me go into the cave once more and find out about that ring of his. I am determined to steal it, take the monster, recover the weapons, and give them back to you for your return to Heaven.”
The Prince said: “It is late in the day now. Better to sleep the night through and go early in the morning.”
Pilgrim laughed: “This young gentleman knows nothing of the world. Where have you ever seen a thief who found broad daylight good for the work? For filching of this kind you must go by night and come by night, unknown and unnoticed — that is what makes a trade of it.”
The Fire Virtue and the Thunder Squire said: “Say no more, Third Prince — this matter is beyond us. The Great Sage is an old hand and knows the tricks of it. He should be let take this hour: for one thing the fiend is worn out, for another the night is dark and unwatched. Go quickly, then, go quickly.”
The fine Great Sage, chuckling to himself, put the iron rod away. He sprang down from the high peak, came again to the cave mouth, shook himself, and changed into a cricket. Truly:
Hard of mouth, long of whisker, black of hide;
bright of eye, with claws and feet splayed wide.
In clear wind and bright moon it calls from the foot of the wall;
in the stillness of night it is like a person talking.
Weeping dew, a scene of chill desolation;
a voice broken off and taken up again, worth the praising.
At the traveller's window his wandering thoughts dread to hear it;
and it is precisely there, on the empty steps, beneath the bed.
He kicked out his hind legs, made three or five hops to the edge of the door, squeezed in through the crack, crouched at the foot of the wall inside, and, turned toward the lamplight within, looked carefully about. He saw the whole rabble of imps, great and small, every one of them gorging like wolves and bolting like tigers, all just then at their food. Pilgrim let out one round of chirring. Before long they cleared away the gear, and all went off to make up their sleeping berths and settle themselves for the night.
About the time of the first watch, Pilgrim got through to the chamber at the back, and heard the old fiend giving out his orders: “You little ones at every gate, sleep light — Sun Wukong may change into something or other again and steal into the house to thieve.” There were others too, on the night shift and sitting up, rattling and knocking, with clapper and bell sounding together. All the better for the Great Sage's business.
He slipped in at the chamber door and saw there a stone bed, with several powder-daubed and rouge-smeared mountain sprites and tree goblins ranged left and right, spreading out the bedding and waiting on the old fiend — one pulling off his boots, another loosening his clothes. He saw the demon king loosen his clothes, and on his left upper arm, bone-white, there was slipped that ring, for all the world like a bracelet of joined beads. And look — he never took it off at all, but rolled it further up instead, two turns of it, drew it tight against his arm, and only then lay down.
Pilgrim saw it, changed his body once more, and became a yellow-skinned flea. He sprang onto the stone bed, burrowed in under the covers, crawled up onto the monster's arm, and bit him in good earnest. Stung, the monster rolled over and cursed: “These slaves want beating! The quilt never shaken, the bed never dusted — some thing or other has bitten me here.” Then he pushed the ring up his arm two turns more and lay down again as before.
Pilgrim crawled up onto the ring itself and bit him once again. The monster could get no sleep, and turned over yet again: “It is itching me to death!”
Pilgrim saw how close a guard he kept, that the treasure went about with his person and that he would not take it off, and reckoned it could not be stolen from him. He jumped down from the bed, turned back into a cricket, went out at the chamber door, made straight for the rear, and heard again the dragon's cry and the neighing of horses. It turned out that the inner door was fast locked, and the fire-dragons and fire-horses were all tethered inside.
Pilgrim resumed his own form, went up to the door, worked a lock-loosing spell, recited the words, passed his hand across it — and with a snap the double bolt of that lock fell away. He pushed the door open, charged in and looked about: the place within was lit by the fire-weapons to a dazzling brightness, like broad day. All at once he saw, propped at a slant on the east and west sides, several weapons — all of them the Prince's, the fiend-cleaving sabre and the rest, and with them the Fire Virtue's fire-bow and fire-arrows and the rest. Pilgrim, in the glare of the firelight, looked once round the whole circuit, and saw besides that on a stone table behind the door there stood a woven bamboo tray, and in it a handful of hairs.
The Great Sage's heart filled with delight. He took up the hairs, breathed two mouthfuls of warm breath on them, and cried: “Change!” — whereupon they became thirty or fifty little monkeys. He set them all to taking up the sabre, the sword, the mace, the rope, the fur-wheel, and the bow, arrows, spear, cart, gourd, fire-crows, fire-rats and fire-horses, the whole stock of things the ring had carried off; then he mounted the fire-dragon, roused the fire, and came burning outward from within. There was nothing to be heard but a roaring and a crackling, a popping and a clattering, for all the world like the noise of splitting thunder and strings of crackers. It threw the imps, great and small, into such a fright that they went about dazed and muddled, one with the quilt still round him, another with his head still covered, some shouting, some weeping, every one of them with nowhere to run — and the fire burned the greater part of them to death. The Handsome Monkey King came back victorious at just about the hour of the third watch.
Now on the high peak, Devarāja Li and the rest suddenly saw the firelight flashing bright, and came crowding forward in a body. They saw Pilgrim riding a dragon, shouting and hallooing, driving his little monkeys on, coming straight up to the head of the peak and calling out at the top of his voice: “Come and take your weapons! Come and take your weapons!” The Fire Virtue and Nezha answered with a shout.
Pilgrim gave his body a shake, and that handful of hairs came back onto him. Prince Nezha collected his six weapons, and the Fire Virtue Star Lord had the several fire departments collect the fire-dragons and the rest; and they all congratulated Pilgrim, smiling broadly — of which no more.
Now in the Golden Helm Cave the flames were flying thick, and the Rhinoceros King was frightened out of his wits. He got up in haste, opened the chamber door, took the ring in both hands, and pushed — east, and the fire on the east died; west, and the fire on the west went out. Through all that smoke-filled, flame-shot space he ran once round holding the treasure, and on every side the smoke and fire were extinguished.
He hurried to gather and rescue his imps, but the greater part were already burnt to death; of males and females together he could muster no more than a hundred-odd head. He looked next into the weapon store, and every single item was gone. He went round to the back to look, and found Eight Rules, Sha Monk and the elder still bound and not yet loosed, the white dragon-horse still at its trough, and the baggage poles still in the room.
The fiend said in his rage: “I don't know which of the little imps was careless and let a fire start, to bring us to this.”
An attendant standing by reported: “Your Majesty, this fire is no affair of the household's. It must have been some thief raiding the camp and storming the stockade, who loosed those fire-department creatures and stole the divine weapons away.”
The old fiend woke to it then: “There is no one else — it can only be that thief Sun Wukong. No wonder I could get no rest when I lay down. It must have been that thieving ape who changed shape and got in, and gave me two bites here on my arm. Certainly he meant to steal my treasure, and seeing that I had it rolled tight he could get no hand to it — and so he stole the weapons instead, loosed the fire-dragon, set his mind to this savage stroke, and would have burnt me to death. Thieving ape! You have spent your contrivances for nothing; you do not know what I can do. So long as I carry this treasure about me, I could go into the great ocean and not be drowned, or walk into a fire-pit and not be burnt. If I take that thief this time, I will simply flay him and stand him up for a target — that will suit my mind.”
As they talked on and fretted, a good while passed, and before they knew it the cocks were crowing and the sky growing light. On the high peak the Prince, having got back his six weapons, said to Pilgrim: “Great Sage, the sky is already light. We must not be slack. Let us take the fiend while his edge is blunted, and with the fire departments and the rest to second you, go and fight him again with all our force — this time we may well take him.”
Pilgrim laughed and said: “There is reason in what you say. Let us set our hearts together, and go and have some sport.”
Every one of them shook out his martial spirit, delighting to try his skill, and they went straight to the cave mouth. Pilgrim called out: “Foul fiend, come out and have it out with Old Monkey!”
It turned out that the two leaves of the stone gate there had been reduced to ashes by the heat of the fire, and inside the gateway a few little imps were sweeping the ground and scooping up the cinders. Suddenly seeing the whole company of sages arrive together, they were so alarmed that they dropped their brooms, flung down their ash-rakes, and ran inside to report again: “Sun Wukong has brought a great many celestial gods, and is outside the gate cursing us to battle!”
That Rhinoceros fiend heard the report with a start: with a grinding crunch his steel teeth ground and rang; with a rolling glare his ring-round eyes opened wide. Levelling his long spear and taking the treasure with him, he came out at the gate and cursed him roundly: “You thieving ape, that raids a camp and sets fires! How great are these powers of yours, that you dare hold me so cheap?”
Pilgrim, with a laughing face, cursed back: “Foul monster! You want to know what my powers are? Come forward, then, and I will tell you and you shall hear.” And this is what he told him:
From my birth I was born to such powers;
through the ten thousand lǐ of heaven and earth my name rang out.
In those days, quick of understanding, I cultivated the Way of the immortals;
in years gone by there was handed down to me the recipe against age.
I set my will and went to bow at the Land of the Square cùn;
with reverent heart I sought audience in the country of the sage.
I learned to perfection the measureless art of transformation;
through the vast void of the universe I raged at my pleasure.
Idle, before the mountain I laid the tigers low;
restless, within the seas I brought the dragons down.
In my ancestral seat on Flower Fruit Mountain I was styled a king;
in the Water Curtain Cave I made my hard strength felt.
Time and again I had a mind to seize the borders of heaven;
more than once, in my ignorance, I made a snatch at the region above.
By imperial gift I was named Great Sage Equal to Heaven;
by edict of investiture there was given me besides the style of Handsome Monkey King.
Only because the Peach Banquet was set out
and no card came to invite me — and my nature is hard —
I broke in secret upon the Jasper Pool and stole the liquor of jade;
I walked unbidden in the treasure pavilion and drank the ruby wine.
Dragon's liver and phoenix marrow I once stole and ate;
a hundred savours of rare viands I tasted by theft.
Peaches of a thousand years I took at my pleasure for use;
elixir pills of ten thousand years I let fill my belly.
Of the strange things of the Celestial Palace I took every kind;
of the rare treasures of the sacred halls I hid away every piece.
The Jade Emperor, enquiring and learning what powers I had,
straightway sent out the celestial troops and drew up the field of battle.
The Nine Luminaries, those baleful stars, were put down by me;
the fierce mansions of the five quarters took hurt at my hands.
Not one of heaven's generals was a match for me;
a host of a hundred thousand dared not stand against me.
I pressed the Jade Emperor hard, till he passed down his decree,
and the Little Sage of Guanjiang mustered up his levies.
We held one another through seventy-two transformations,
each plying his spirit, and each of us strong.
Guanyin of the South Sea came to help the fight;
her pure vase and willow spray gave their aid as well.
Then Lord Lao brought his diamond snare to bear,
and took me captive to the region above.
Bound, I was brought before the Jade Emperor, the Great Emperor Zhang;
the clerks of the court examined me, and the crime was judged to merit death.
At once the Strong-Arm was dispatched to strike off my head;
the blade came down on the skin of my skull in a flash of flame.
By a hundred devices and a thousand means they could not make me die;
so they marched me off to Lord Lao's hall.
In the furnace of the Six Ding's divine fire I was smelted;
smelted till my whole body was hard as steel.
The tally of seven sevens complete, they opened the cauldron to look;
my body sprang out, and I was fierce and swaggering again.
The gods shut their doors and had nothing that could hold me off;
the assembled sages took counsel and entreated the Buddha.
In truth the Tathāgata has power of dharma in abundance;
his wisdom is broad indeed and without measure.
In his palm we laid our wager, and I turned my somersaults;
then he pressed me under a mountain, and my strength availed nothing.
Only then did the Jade Emperor set out the Feast of Peace for Heaven,
and the Western Region came to be called the Field of Utmost Bliss.
They kept Old Monkey pressed down five hundred years;
not a morsel of tea or rice did I taste.
The Elder Golden Cicada came down into the world of men,
dispatched from the Eastern Land to do homage in the Buddha's country.
He would fetch the true scriptures and carry them back to his sovereign land,
that the Emperor of Great Tang might ferry over the dead.
Guanyin urged me to take refuge in the good;
holding the teaching and keeping its discipline, I gave over my wildness.
Loosed from my affliction at the mountain's root,
I now go westward for the scripture-scrolls.
Foul fiend, have done with your roebuck-and-fox cunning:
give me back my Tang monk, that he may pay homage to the King of the Law.
The monster heard him out, pointed at Pilgrim and said: “So you are that great thief who robbed heaven itself. Don't run — take a spear from me!”
The Great Sage brought his rod up to meet him. The two of them were fairly locked together when, on this side, Prince Nezha grew angry and the Fire Virtue Star Lord grew fierce, and they flung the six divine weapons and the gear of the fire departments straight at the fiend's body. The Great Sage Sun redoubled his mighty bearing. On the other side the Thunder Squire plied his wedge and the Devarāja raised his sabre, and without regard to rank or order they all came on at once.
That demon head gave a slow, cold laugh, brought the treasure quietly out of his sleeve, loosed his hand and flung it up into the air, crying: “Have it!” With a whoosh and a rattle it scooped up the whole lot again — the six divine weapons, the fire-department gear, the Thunder Squire's wedge, the Devarāja's sabre and Pilgrim's rod. The host of gods were bare-handed as before, and the Great Sage Sun empty-fisted again.
The fiend turned back in victory and called: “Little ones! Fetch stones and wall up the gate, break ground and build, and put the halls and galleries in order afresh. When all is ready, we will kill the three of the Tang priest's party as our thank-offering to the earth, and share out the blessing among us and enjoy it.” The little imps received their orders and set about keeping all in hand — of which no more.
Now Devarāja Li led his company back up to the high peak, where the Fire Virtue blamed Nezha for his hot temper, the Thunder Squire blamed the Devarāja for playing tricks, and only the Earl of Waters stood by and said nothing. Pilgrim saw that they would not look one another in the face and that their minds were full of misgiving. There was no help for it: nursing his resentment he forced a cheerful manner, and said to them all with a laugh: “My lords, do not distress yourselves. The old saying has it: 'Victory and defeat are the common lot of soldiers.' He and I are matched in the arts of war, and there is no more to it than that; the only thing is that he has this ring of his over and above, which is why the harm is done, and why he has snared away our weapons again. Set your minds at rest: let Old Monkey go once more and look into his antecedents.”
The Prince said: “You laid a memorial before the Jade Emperor earlier, and the whole world under heaven was searched and examined without a single trace of him. Where do you mean to look now?”
Pilgrim said: “It comes to me that the Buddha's dharma is without bounds. Let me go up now to the Western Heaven and ask my Buddha the Tathāgata, and have him turn his eye of wisdom on the four great continents of the earth and see what quarter this monster was born and bred in, what place holds his native home, and what sort of treasure the ring may be. Come what may I mean to take him, to get satisfaction for you all, and to send you back to Heaven content.”
The gods said: “Since that is your intention, do not delay long. Go quickly, go quickly.”
The fine Pilgrim said the word and was gone: he loosed his somersault cloud and was at Spirit Mountain in no time. He brought his auspicious light down, looked about him on all four sides, and found a fine place indeed:
Numinous peaks, spare and commanding;
ranged escarpments, clear and fair;
the crown of the immortal height brushing the blue empyrean.
In the Western Heaven one beholds a mighty bulwark,
whose bearing overtops the Middle Land.
The primal breath flows freely through it, and heaven and earth stretch far;
a majestic wind blows clean across, and flowers fill the terrace.
At times one hears the bell and the chiming-stone, their note long drawn;
at every turn one hears the sound of sūtras, clear and bright.
And one sees, beneath the green pines, lay brethren expounding;
among the kingfisher cypresses, arhats walking.
White cranes come with feeling to the Vulture Ridge;
blue simurghs alight of set purpose at the quiet pavilion.
Dark monkeys, pair by pair, hold up immortal fruit;
longevity deer, two by two, offer purple blossoms.
Hidden birds cry again and again, as though telling something over;
strange flowers burn with colour, and no one knows their names.
Winding ridges coil around, fold upon fold, and look back on themselves;
the ancient road bends and returns, and everywhere is level.
This is in truth a place pure, void, numinous and fair,
solemn with the Great Enlightenment — the manner of the Buddha's house.
Pilgrim was just taking stock of the mountain scenery when he suddenly heard someone call: “Sun Wukong, where have you come from? Where are you going?” He turned his head quickly to look, and it was the Venerable Bhikṣuṇī.
The Great Sage made his bow and said: “There is a matter in hand, and I wish to see the Tathāgata.”
The Bhikṣuṇī said: “What a rogue you are. If you want to see the Tathāgata, why do you not go up to the precious monastery, instead of stopping here to look at the hills?”
Pilgrim said: “I have only just come to this honoured place, and so I made bold.”
The Bhikṣuṇī said: “Come along with me, quickly.”
Pilgrim followed close on her to the foot of the mountain gate of the Thunderclap Monastery, and saw the eight great Vajra guardians there, formidable creatures, blocking the way on either side. The Bhikṣuṇī said: “Wukong, wait here a little while, and let me go up and announce you.” Pilgrim had no choice but to stand outside the gate. She came before the Buddha, put her palms together and said: “Sun Wukong has a matter in hand and wishes to see the Tathāgata.” The Tathāgata passed down the order to let him in, and only then did the Vajra guardians stand aside from the road and let him pass.
Pilgrim bowed his head and made his obeisance, and when it was done the Tathāgata asked: “Wukong, I heard some while ago that the Venerable Guanyin had released you and that you had taken refuge in the teaching of Śākya, and were escorting the Tang priest here in quest of scriptures. How is it that you come alone? What has happened?”
Pilgrim knocked his head on the ground and said: “I report to my Buddha. Since your disciple took up the discipline and came west with his master of the Tang court, we travelled as far as the Golden Helm Mountain and the Golden Helm Cave, where we fell in with an evil demon head named the Rhinoceros King, whose magic powers are very great, and who carried my master and my fellow disciples off into his cave. Your disciple went to him and asked them back; he had no good intentions, and the two sides fell to contending. Then with a bone-white ring of his he snatched away my iron rod. Fearing he might be some celestial general with a longing for the mortal world, I went up in haste to the upper realm; but the search and examination turned nothing up. By the Jade Emperor's grace Devarāja Li and his son were commissioned to my help, and he snatched away the Prince's six weapons too. Then I asked the Fire Virtue Star Lord to set fire to him, and he snatched away the fire-gear as well. Then I asked the Water Virtue Star Lord to loose water and drown him, and not a hair of him could be drowned. Your disciple spent no end of spirit and strength stealing the iron rod and the rest of it out again, and went back to offer battle; and he snared the whole lot away exactly as before, and there is no means of subduing him. Therefore I come especially to report to my Buddha, and to beg that in your mercy you will look for your disciple and see what thing he really is by origin, so that I may go and take his household and his neighbours, seize this demon head, rescue my master, and with folded hands and a sincere heart seek the true fruit of enlightenment.”
The Tathāgata heard him out, turned his eye of wisdom to gaze into the distance, and knew already who it was. He said to Pilgrim: “That monster — I do know him, but I may not tell you. You are a loose-mouthed ape. Once it got about that I had told you of him, he would not fight you at all, but would be sure to come brawling up to Spirit Mountain, and the trouble would recoil upon me. I will lend you the power of dharma from here, and help you take him.”
Pilgrim bowed again and gave thanks, saying: “What power of dharma will the Tathāgata lend me?”
The Tathāgata at once ordered the eighteen Venerable Arhats to open the treasury and take out eighteen grains of golden cinnabar sand, to lend Wukong their strength.
Pilgrim said: “And what is this golden cinnabar sand?”
The Tathāgata said: “Go outside his cave and call the fiend out to a trial. Draw him out, and then have the arhats loose the sand to mire him, so that he can neither stir his body nor pull free his feet, and you may thrash him as you please — and there's an end of it.”
Pilgrim laughed and said: “Fine, fine, fine — let us be off at once.”
The arhats did not dare delay: they took the golden cinnabar sand at once and went out at the gate, and Pilgrim thanked the Tathāgata once more. Looking them over along the road, he found there were only sixteen Venerable Arhats. Pilgrim bawled out: “What kind of an establishment is this, where men are let off for a consideration?”
The arhats said: “Who has been let off?”
Pilgrim said: “Eighteen were detailed in the first place. How is it there are only sixteen now?”
Before the words were out, the two Venerables Dragon-Subduer and Tiger-Tamer walked out from within and came forward: “Wukong, why do you make such an awkwardness of it? The two of us stayed behind to hear the Tathāgata's instructions.”
Pilgrim said: “You trade too much on your position, you trade too much on your position. If I had been a little slower with my shouting just now, I dare say you would not have come out at all.” The arhats laughed heartily and mounted their auspicious clouds.
In no long time they came to the borders of the Golden Helm Mountain. Devarāja Li saw them, led his company out to meet them, and set out the whole affair. The arhats said: “No need for a long recital. Go quickly and call him out.”
The Great Sage clenched his fists, came to the cave mouth and railed: “Bloated foul monster, come out quickly and settle which is above and which below with your Grandfather Sun!” The little imps went flying off again to report.
The demon king said in a rage: “That thieving ape has fetched somebody else to make a riot here, and there is no knowing who.”
The little imps said: “There is no general with him at all — only the one of him.”
The demon king said: “That rod of his I have already taken in. How is it he comes here again all alone? Can he be wanting a bout of fists?” He took the treasure with him as usual, gripped his spear, told the little imps to shift the stones away, sprang out of the gate and railed: “Thieving ape! Time and again you have got no good of it. You ought to keep out of my way — how is it you come bawling here again?”
Pilgrim said: “This foul fiend knows nothing of what is good for him! If you want your Grandfather to stop coming, there is no way but to submit and yield, make your apologies, and send out my master and my fellow disciples — then I will let you off.”
The monster said: “Those three monks of yours have been washed clean already, and before long they will be butchered. Do you still not know when to stand and when to fall? Be off with you.”
When Pilgrim heard the two words “be butchered,” the fire flared up along his cheeks with a crackling; he could not hold down the anger in his heart, dropped his guard, whirled his fists, went in aslant with hooking steps and drove a blow clean across the fiend's face — and the monster spread his long spear and met him hand to hand. Pilgrim jumped left and jumped right, drawing the fiend on; and the fiend, not knowing it was a stratagem, chased him away from the cave mouth and southward. Pilgrim at once called to the arhats to fling the golden cinnabar sand down on the fiend all together. Fine sand it was! Just this:
Like mist, like smoke, at first it spreads and scatters;
thick and dim it settles down to the sky's edge.
A blank white haze — everywhere it blinds men's eyes;
a dull grey murk — flying through it, one loses the road.
The woodcutter cutting fuel has lost his fellow;
the herb-gathering boy of the immortals cannot find his home.
Fine, it drifts as light as wheat flour;
coarse, it tumbles over like sesame seed.
The world is dimmed and the mountain tops go dark;
the long sky is drowned and the sun shut out.
It is not the clamorous dust that trails a fine horse;
it cannot be called the soft light stuff that lines a scented carriage.
This sand is by its own nature a thing without feeling;
it blankets earth and curtains heaven, and takes the monster.
Only because the fiend encroaches on the true Way
do the arhats, upholding the Law, put forth this splendour.
In their hands the bright pearls show at once;
in a moment it scours till the eyes swim with flowers.
The fiend saw the flying sand blinding his eyes, and dropped his head for one moment — and under his feet there was already more than three chǐ of it. In alarm he gave his body a spring and jumped to the layer floating on top. He had not yet got his footing when in a moment there were two chǐ more. The monster was desperate. He pulled his feet free, snatched out the ring in haste, flung it upward, and cried: “Have it!” With a whoosh and a rattle it snared away all eighteen grains of golden cinnabar sand as well; and he hauled his steps back and went straight home to his cave.
The arhats, every one of them, hung in the clouds with empty hands. Pilgrim came up and asked: “Venerable arhats, why have you stopped sending down the sand?”
The arhats said: “Just now there was a noise, and the golden cinnabar sand was gone.”
Pilgrim laughed and said: “That thing of his has snared it away again.”
The Devarāja and the rest said: “If he is as hard to subdue as this, how is he ever to be caught? What day shall we return to Heaven, and with what face shall we look on the Emperor?”
The two arhats Dragon-Subduer and Tiger-Tamer, standing by, said to Pilgrim: “Wukong, do you know why the two of us were slow in setting out?”
Pilgrim said: “Old Monkey only put it down to your dodging out of it — I did not know there was anything to be said.”
The arhats said: “The Tathāgata charged the two of us to say this: 'That fiend's powers are very great. If the golden cinnabar sand should be lost, then have Sun Wukong go up to the Palace of Tuṣita in the Heaven of Parted Sorrows, to Laozi the Most High, and seek out his traces there — so it may be that he can be taken at a single stroke.'”
Pilgrim heard it and said: “Hateful, hateful! The Tathāgata has played Old Monkey false after all. He should have told me so at the time, and then he need not have made you all travel so far.”
Devarāja Li said: “Since the Tathāgata has given so clear an indication, Great Sage, you had better start early.”
The fine Pilgrim said the word and was gone: he loosed a somersault cloud and went straight in at the Southern Gate of Heaven. The four great Marshals there raised their fists in salute and asked: “How goes the taking of the demon?”
Pilgrim answered as he went: “Not yet, not yet. There is a place now to look for the root of it.” The four generals did not dare hold him up, and let him through the gate of Heaven.
He did not go up to the Hall of Divine Mists nor enter the Palace of the Dipper and Ox, but went straight to the Palace of Tuṣita in the Heaven of Parted Sorrows, beyond the thirty-three heavens; and seeing two immortal lads standing in attendance, he gave them neither name nor surname but walked straight on in. In alarm the two lads caught hold of him: “Who are you? Where are you going?”
Only then did Pilgrim say: “I am the Great Sage Equal to Heaven, and I want Laozi.”
The immortal lads said: “How rough you are! Wait here a moment and let us announce you.”
As if Pilgrim would allow any parleying: he gave a shout and walked straight in. All at once he saw Lord Lao coming out from within, and ran full into his arms. Pilgrim bowed from the waist, made his salutation and said: “Old fellow, it is a long while since I called.”
Lord Lao laughed and said: “This ape is not off fetching scriptures. What business brings him to my place?”
Pilgrim said: “Fetching scriptures, fetching scriptures — no rest by day or night. There are some obstructions, and so I come this way for a walk.”
Lord Lao said: “The road to the Western Heaven is blocked — what has that to do with me?”
Pilgrim said: “Western Heaven, Western Heaven — you may hold your peace. I have found the trail, and I mean to have it out with you.”
Lord Lao said: “This place of mine is a supreme immortal palace. What trail could there be to find here?”
Pilgrim went inside, his eyes never still, looking east and west. He passed through several ranges of galleries, and suddenly saw, beside the ox-pen, a boy dozing — and no blue ox in the pen. Pilgrim said: “Old fellow, your ox has got out! Your ox has got out!”
Lord Lao was greatly startled: “When did the accursed beast get out?”
Amid the shouting the boy woke at last, and knelt where he was: “Grandfather, your disciple was asleep. I do not know when it got out.”
Lord Lao cursed him: “You wretch, how came you to be dozing?”
The boy knocked his head on the ground: “Your disciple picked up a pill in the elixir chamber, and ate it there and then, and fell asleep here.”
Lord Lao said: “It must have been the seven-returns fire elixir I refined the other day. A pill was dropped, and this wretch picked it up and ate it. One pill of that elixir means seven days' sleep. The accursed beast, with you asleep and nobody minding him, took his chance and went down to the world below — and today makes seven days.” He checked at once whether anything of value had been stolen.
Pilgrim said: “No treasures — I only saw that he had a ring, and a very formidable thing it is.”
Lord Lao made a hurried inspection: everything was in its place, only the diamond snare was not to be seen. “The accursed beast has stolen my diamond snare and gone!”
Pilgrim said: “So that is what the treasure is. It was this that struck Old Monkey in the old days. Now he is running riot in the world below, and there is no telling how much of our property he has snared away.”
Lord Lao said: “And where is the accursed beast?”
Pilgrim said: “He is living now in the Golden Helm Cave on the Golden Helm Mountain. He has taken my Tang priest in there, and snatched away my gold-banded cudgel. I asked for celestial troops to help, and he snatched away the Prince's divine weapons. Then I asked the Fire Virtue Star Lord, and he snatched away his fire-gear. Only the Earl of Waters — though he could not drown him — at least had nothing of his taken. And when I asked the Tathāgata, who set the arhats to loosing sand, he snared away the golden cinnabar sand too. Seeing that you, old fellow, let a monster loose to rob and injure people — what punishment does that deserve?”
Lord Lao said: “That diamond snare of mine is the implement with which I passed the Han Pass and converted the barbarians, a treasure refined from my youth. Whatever weapons you may bring against it, or water or fire, none of them can come near it. If he had stolen my plantain-leaf fan as well, not even I could have done anything with him.”
Only then was the Great Sage thoroughly delighted, and he went along with Lord Lao. Lord Lao took his plantain-leaf fan in hand, mounted an auspicious cloud and went along with him out of the immortal palace. Outside the Southern Gate of Heaven they brought their cloud-heads low and came straight to the borders of the Golden Helm Mountain. They saw the eighteen Venerable Arhats, the Thunder Squire, the Earl of Waters, the Fire Virtue and Devarāja Li with his son, and set out the whole business to them once over. Lord Lao said: “Sun Wukong, go once more and lure him out, and I will take him in.”
Pilgrim sprang down from the peak and railed again at the top of his voice: “Bloated accursed beast! Come out quickly and take your death!” The little imps went off again to carry the news.
The old fiend said: “That thieving ape has fetched somebody again, and there is no knowing who.” In haste he gripped his spear, took the treasure with him and came out at the gate to meet him.
Pilgrim railed: “You foul fiend, this time you are as good as dead! Don't run — take a slap from me.” He sprang in close, chest to chest, dealt him a box on the ear full in the face, turned his head and ran. The fiend whirled his spear and gave chase.
And then from the high peak a voice was heard calling: “Ox! Are you not going home yet — what are you waiting for?”
The fiend raised his head, saw that it was Laozi the Most High, and was so terrified that his heart shook and his gall trembled: “That thieving ape is a very ghost of the local soil! How ever did he manage to find out my master and fetch him here?”
Lord Lao recited a spell and fanned once with his fan; the fiend flung the ring at him, and Lord Lao caught it in one hand. He fanned once more, and the monster's strength went soft and his sinews slack; he showed his true form, and it turned out to be a blue ox.
Lord Lao breathed a divine breath on the diamond snare, ran it through the creature's nose, took off his own robe-belt, tied it to the ring and led him by the hand. And to this day there remains the little ring for tethering an ox by the nose, which is also called a bīnláng — that is what the name refers to. Lord Lao took his leave of the assembled gods, mounted the blue ox's back, rode his coloured cloud and went straight home to the Tuṣita court; and with the fiend bound he ascended to the Heaven of Parted Sorrows.
Only then did the Great Sage Sun, with the Devarāja and the rest, break into the cave, beat every one of the hundred-odd little imps to death, and take back each his own weapon. He thanked the Devarāja and his son, who returned to Heaven; the Thunder Squire went back to his court, the Fire Virtue to his palace, the Earl of Waters to his river, and the arhats away west. Only after that did he loose the Tang priest, Eight Rules and Sha Monk, and take up his iron rod. The three of them thanked Pilgrim in their turn, gathered up the horse and the baggage, and master and disciples left the cave and found the high road again.
As they were walking on, they heard a call from beside the road: “Holy monk of Tang! Come and take a vegetarian meal.” The elder's heart misgave him.
In the end there is no knowing who it was that called — so listen to the explanation in the next chapter.