Virtue and conduct ask eight hundred cultivated;
hidden merit must be heaped to three thousand.
Level alike the thing and the self, the kinsman and the foe;
only then does one meet the original vow of the Western Heaven.
The demon rhinoceros flinched at neither blade nor spear;
water and fire toiled for nothing, yet were blameless.
Lord Lao subdued him and turned back to court in Heaven,
and laughing, led the green ox turning away.
Now, who was it calling out there by the side of the great road? It was the mountain god of Gold-Helm Mountain and the local earth-spirit, who held up the purple-gold almsbowl and called: “Holy Monk, this bowl of rice the Great Sage Sun begged from a house of means. Because you would none of you heed his good counsel, you blundered into the demons' hands, and put the Great Sage to a myriad labours before he could get you out at last today. Come, eat the rice, and then take to the road again; do not slight the whole heart of reverent devotion the Great Sage Sun has shown.”
Tripitaka said, “Disciple, I am ten thousand parts in your debt; words cannot exhaust my thanks. Had I known not to step outside the circle's mark, how should such deadly harm have come to me?”
Pilgrim said, “I'll not deceive you, Master: just because you would not trust my circle, you were made to suffer another man's circle. So much bitterness! A pity, a pity!”
Eight Rules said, “How does it come there was a second circle?”
Pilgrim said, “It was all you, you blundering lout with your wicked mouth and wicked tongue, who landed Master in this great calamity and set Old Monkey overturning heaven and earth — summoning the troops of Heaven, the water and fire divisions, and the Buddha's cinnabar sand, and every one of them was lassoed away by that stark white ring of his. The Tathāgata gave the arhats a covert sign, and they told Old Monkey the demon's origin; only then was Lord Lao invited to subdue him, and it proved to be his green ox at its mischief.”
Tripitaka, hearing this, was moved past all telling, and said, “Worthy disciple, having come through this, next time I shall assuredly heed what you bid me.”
So the four of them shared out that rice among them, and the rice went up in clouds of steam. Pilgrim said, “This rice has stood a long while — how is it still hot?” The earth-spirit knelt and said, “It was your humble spirit — knowing the Great Sage's labour was accomplished, only then did I warm it to wait upon you.”
In a little while the meal was done. They put away the almsbowl, took leave of the earth-spirit and the mountain god, and only then did the Master climb to the saddle and cross over the high mountain. It was just as they say: scouring the thoughts and washing the heart, they took refuge in right awakening; dining on wind and lodging by water, they turned toward the West.
They had gone a good while when the weather turned to early spring. They heard something of this:
Purple swallows at their murmuring; golden orioles clear and sweet.
Purple swallows murmur till their fragrant bills grow weary;
golden orioles, clear and sweet, ply their artful notes.
Fallen blossom carpets the ground like spread brocade;
kindling green covers the hills like heaped matting.
On the ridge, green plums setting like beans;
before the cliff, ancient cypress holding the cloud.
The wilds turn moist, the haze-light thin;
the sand grows warm, the day's colour dusked.
In garden and grove, here and there, the flowers loose their stamens;
the yang returns to the broad earth, and willow buds are new.
As they went along, they came of a sudden upon a small river, its water clear and limpid, its cold ripples deep. The Tang elder reined in his horse and looked, and made out on the far bank willow shade hanging green, with a few rafters of thatched roof barely showing through. Pilgrim pointed off that way and said, “The folk over there must surely run a ferry.” Tripitaka said, “I too saw it looked so over there, but as I made out no boat I did not venture to speak.” Eight Rules swung down the luggage and bawled out at the top of his voice, “Ferryman! Bring the boat over!”
After several such calls, out from within the willow shade there came creaking and squeaking a single boat, and before long it drew close to this bank. Master and disciples looked the boat over carefully, and it was truly a case of:
A short scull dividing the ripples; a light oar riding the swell.
The deck-house gay with painted lacquer; the hull-boards flush across a level hold.
At the bow, iron cable coiled in its nest; astern, the rudder-house standing clear.
Though this be a passage on a single reed, it yields nothing to crossing lake or riding sea.
Though it want brocade hawser and ivory mast, it has in truth pine bollard and cassia oar.
No match, to be sure, for a divine ship of ten thousand lǐ,
yet it will truly ferry one river's width.
Coming and going, only between the two banks;
entering and leaving, never far from the ancient ford.
The boat touched the bank in a moment, and the boatman called out, “Those crossing the river — over here!” Tripitaka urged his horse up close and looked — and what manner of figure was this boatman?
A kerchief of figured wool wrapped about the head; black silk shoes upon the feet.
On the body a wadded jacket of a hundred patches;
at the waist a cloth sash of a thousand stitches.
Wrists rough-skinned, the sinews hard;
eyes dulled, brows furrowed, the countenance worn away.
A voice soft and fine as an oriole's warbling —
yet seen close to, only an old woman.
Pilgrim came up to the side of the boat and said, “Are you the ferry-keeper?” The woman said, “I am.” Pilgrim said, “How is it the boatman is not here, and the boat-woman is set to pole instead?” The woman smiled faintly and gave no answer, but reached out a hand and drew up the gangplank.
Sha Monk carried the luggage aboard on his pole, Pilgrim helped his master up the plank, and then they brought the boat about; Eight Rules led the white horse on and took in the gangplank. The woman poled off, worked her oar, and in an instant they were across. Once ashore on the western bank, the elder bade Sha Monk open the bundle and take out a few coppers to give her. The woman did not haggle in the least over how much, but made the cable fast to a post at the water's edge and went off, all smiles, straight into her cottage.
Tripitaka, seeing how clear the water was and being thirsty just then, bade Eight Rules: “Fetch the almsbowl and scoop me up some water to drink.” The idiot said, “I was just wanting a drop myself.” He took the almsbowl at once, scooped up a bowlful, and handed it to his master. His master drank something less than half and left the greater part; the idiot took it from him and drained it at a draught, then helped Tripitaka to his saddle.
Master and disciples found the road and travelled west; not half an hour later the elder groaned from horseback, “My belly aches.” Eight Rules said from behind, “I have some belly-ache too.” Sha Monk said, “It will be from drinking cold water.” Before he had finished, the master cried out, “It hurts badly!” Eight Rules said too, “It hurts badly!”
The two of them could not endure the pain, and little by little their bellies grew large. Feeling with their hands, they seemed to find clots of blood and lumps of flesh stirring ceaselessly, thump and thump.
Tripitaka was in real distress when he suddenly saw, beside the road, a village cottage with two straw bundles hoisted on a pole at the top of a tree. Pilgrim said, “Master, good — that place yonder is a house that sells wine. Let us go and beg a little hot broth of them for you, and ask at the same time whether there is any apothecary, and get a dose to treat your belly-ache.”
Tripitaka was greatly cheered to hear it, and whipped up the white horse. Before long they reached the gate of the village cottage and dismounted. Outside the gate they saw only an old woman, sitting upright on a straw cushion and twisting hemp. Pilgrim stepped forward, made his salutation and said, “Grandmother, this poor monk is come from the Land of the East, from the Great Tang. My master is the sworn brother of the Tang emperor; because he drank river water in crossing, he feels a pain in his belly.”
The old woman said, all chuckles, “Where was it you drank the water — in the river over that way?” Pilgrim said, “It was in the clear-water river east of here that we drank.” The old woman laughed with great good humour and said, “What sport! What sport! Come inside, all of you, and I will tell you.”
Pilgrim supported the Tang Monk and Sha Monk propped up Eight Rules; the two of them moaning and crying out, bellies thrust forward, each one aching till his face was yellow and his brows drawn, they went into the thatched cottage and sat down. Pilgrim kept calling, “Grandmother, you must boil some hot water for my master, and we will thank you for it.”
The old woman, far from boiling any water, went trotting off to the back all smiles, calling, “Come and look, all of you! Come and look!” Out from within, with a splashing and a tramping, came two or three more women neither young nor old, and all of them stood gazing at the Tang Monk and tittering. Pilgrim flew into a rage, gave a shout, and bared his teeth. It so frightened the whole household that they went stumbling and staggering away to the back.
Pilgrim went forward, caught hold of the old woman and said, “Boil that water quickly and I will let you off.” The old woman said, trembling, “Gracious sir! Boiling water will do no good, and it will not cure those two their belly-ache either. Let me go and I will tell you.”
Pilgrim released her, and she said, “This place of ours is the Women's Country of Western Liang. Every soul in this country of ours is a woman; there is not a man among us, and that is why we were so pleased at the sight of you. That water your master drank was no good. That river is called the Child-and-Mother River. Outside the walls of our royal city there is moreover a Posthouse of Welcomed Yang, and outside its gate is a Fetus-Reflecting Spring. The people here dare not go and drink of that river's water until they have reached the age of twenty and above. After drinking the water, one feels the belly ache and knows there is a conception. Three days after, one goes to the water of the Fetus-Reflecting Spring at the Posthouse of Welcomed Yang, and looks. If on looking there prove to be a double reflection, then the child will be born. Your master has drunk the water of the Child-and-Mother River, and by that has conceived; in a day or two he will have to give birth. What is hot water going to cure?”
Tripitaka, hearing this, went pale with shock and said, “Disciple! What is to be done about such a thing as this?” Eight Rules, writhing at the waist and spreading his hips, groaned, “Gracious sir! If we are to bear children — but we are male in body. Where should we open a birth passage? How is the thing to get out?”
Pilgrim said with a laugh, “The ancients say: when the melon is ripe it drops of itself. When that time comes, a hole will surely split open under your ribs, and out it will crawl.” Eight Rules, hearing it, was all a-tremble, and unable to bear the pain said, “Done for, done for! Dead, dead!”
Sha Monk said, laughing, “Second brother, stop writhing, stop writhing — you'll only get the birth-canal out of place and turn it into an antenatal complaint.”
The idiot grew more frantic still, tears standing in his eyes, and tugged at Pilgrim: “Brother, ask this grandmother where there is a midwife with a light touch, and find a few of them beforehand. This little while it has been heaving and stirring, fit after fit, and hard — I think these are the bearing-down pains. It is coming, it is coming!”
Sha Monk said, laughing again, “Second brother, if you know they are the bearing-down pains, then don't wriggle about — you may burst the waters.”
Tripitaka groaned, “Grandmother, is there a physician hereabouts? Let my disciple go and buy a dose of abortive medicine to take, and bring the thing down and be done.”
The old woman said, “Medicine would be no use even if we had any. It is only that away to the south of us there is a Mount Dissolving-Yang, and in that mountain a Child-Destroying Cave, and in the cave a spring of Fetus-Dissolving Water. One must get a mouthful of that spring's water to drink, and only then is the fetal humour dissolved. But nowadays the water is not to be got. Some years back there came a Daoist, styling himself the True Immortal As-You-Will, who turned that Child-Destroying Cave into a Convent of Assembled Immortals, took the Fetus-Dissolving Spring under his protection, and will not bestow the water freely. Any who would seek the water must have silk and red cloth for a presentation gift, mutton and wine and platters of fruit, offered with perfect sincerity — and only by prostrating and begging do they get one bowl of water from him. You mendicant monks — how are you to come by so much money to purchase it? You can only bear it out, and wait for the time, and give birth, and there's an end.”
Pilgrim, hearing this, was filled with delight and said, “Grandmother, how far is it from here to that Mount Dissolving-Yang?” The old woman said, “It is thirty lǐ.” Pilgrim said, “Good, good. Set your mind at rest, Master; wait while Old Monkey fetches you some water.”
Excellent Great Sage! He gave his orders to Sha Monk: “Look to our master very carefully. If this household is disrespectful, or bullies and deceives him, bring out your old tricks and put on a fierce face to frighten them. Wait while I go and fetch the water.” Sha Monk assented.
Then the old woman brought out a great earthenware bowl and handed it to Pilgrim, saying, “Take this bowl with you, and be sure to bring back plenty — we will keep it by for emergencies.” Pilgrim did indeed take the earthenware bowl, went out of the thatched cottage, and rose on a cloud and away.
Only then did the old woman bow toward the empty sky and say, “Gracious sir! This monk can ride the clouds!” She went straight in and called out those several women, who bowed their heads to the ground before the Tang Monk and all addressed him as arhat and bodhisattva. On one side they set about boiling water and preparing food, and waited upon the Tang Monk — of which no more.
Now the Great Sage Sun rose on his cloud-somersault, and in a short while saw a mountain-head blocking the corner of his cloud. He pressed down the cloud-glow at once and opened his eyes to look. A fine mountain! And this is what he saw:
Secluded flowers spreading brocade; wild grasses laying down indigo.
Ravine waters falling linked together; brook-clouds idle all alike.
Fold upon fold of valleys, the creepers thick;
far and far the peaks, the trees luxuriant.
Birds calling, wild geese passing; deer drinking, gibbons climbing.
Kingfisher ridges like a folding screen; blue cliffs like a coiled chignon.
Rolling dust could truly never reach here;
the trickling springs and rocks one never tires to watch.
Ever one sees the immortals' boys going out to gather herbs;
often one meets a woodcutter coming back under his load of faggots.
Truly it yields nothing to the prospect of Mount Tiantai,
and surpasses the three peaks of Mount Hua in the west.
The Great Sage was just then contemplating that mountain when he saw further, on the shaded side, a farmstead, and heard of a sudden the sound of dogs barking. He came down the mountain and went straight to the farmstead, and it was indeed a fine spot. Look at it:
A little bridge carrying living water; a thatched cottage leaning on the green hill.
Village dogs barking at the hedge; a man in seclusion coming and going alone.
Before long he came to the gate, and saw an old Daoist sitting cross-legged on the green turf. The Great Sage set down the earthenware bowl, stepped up and made his salutation. The Daoist bowed slightly in return and said, “Where is it you come from? What business brings you to our little hermitage?”
Pilgrim said, “This poor monk is one commissioned by the Great Tang of the Land of the East to fetch scriptures from the Western Heaven. Because my master drank by mistake of the water of the Child-and-Mother River, his belly now aches and is swollen past bearing. On enquiring of the local people, we were told it is a conception formed, for which there is no prescription that can cure it. We learned that there is a Fetus-Dissolving Spring in the Child-Destroying Cave of Mount Dissolving-Yang, which can dissolve the fetal humour. For that reason I have come expressly to call upon the True Immortal As-You-Will, to beg a little of the spring water and rescue my master. I must trouble the venerable Daoist to show me the way — pray show me the way.”
The Daoist said with a laugh, “This place is the Child-Destroying Cave, but it has been changed now into the Convent of Assembled Immortals. And I am no other than the senior disciple of His Honour the True Immortal As-You-Will. What is your name called? Wait, and I will announce you properly.”
Pilgrim said, “I am the senior disciple of the Tang Monk Tripitaka, Master of the Law; my humble name is Sun Wukong.” The Daoist asked, “Where are your gifts of silk and your presents of wine?” Pilgrim said, “I am a wandering monk passing through, and did not manage to provide any.”
The Daoist laughed and said, “How simple you are! My old master guards the mountain spring, and has never once given it away for nothing. Go back and get the gifts together, and then I will announce you. Otherwise, please go home. Don't think of it, don't think of it.”
Pilgrim said, “A favour done outweighs an imperial edict. Go and speak my name, Old Sun's name, and he will surely do me the favour — he might even make me a present of the whole well.”
The Daoist, hearing this, had no choice but to go in and announce him. He found the True Immortal playing the zither, and waited until the piece was finished before saying, “Master, there is a monk outside who calls himself Sun Wukong, senior disciple of the Tang Monk Tripitaka; he wants the water of the Fetus-Dissolving Spring to save his master.”
Had the True Immortal not heard it said, it might have rested there; but the instant he heard the name Wukong spoken, wrath rose from his heart and malice was born at the edge of his gall. He rose in haste, came down from the zither-bench, stripped off his plain robe, changed into Daoist vestments, took up an as-you-will hook, sprang out of the convent gate and called, “Where is Sun Wukong?” Pilgrim turned his head and observed how the True Immortal was got up:
On his head a star-crown, flying with brilliant colour;
on his body a robe of gold thread, red.
Beneath his feet cloud-shoes heaped with brocade;
at his waist a jewelled sash coiling in filigree.
A pair of brocade-inlaid wave-treading socks;
half showing, a skirt-border flashing with embroidered floss.
In his hand an as-you-will golden hook,
the ferrule keen and the shaft long as a python-dragon.
Phoenix eyes bright, the brows standing up like lotus-pips;
steel teeth sharp and pointed, the mouth turned back red.
Below his forehead the whiskers stream like raging fire;
at his temples the red hair short and dishevelled.
In aspect as fierce as Marshal Wen —
save that the cap and the robe do not match the man.
Pilgrim, seeing him, joined his palms in salutation and said, “This poor monk is indeed Sun Wukong.” The gentleman said with a laugh, “Are you really Sun Wukong, or someone passing under a false name and a borrowed surname?”
Pilgrim said, “Listen to the gentleman talk! The common saying has it: a gentleman does not change his name in walking, nor alter his surname in sitting. I am Wukong; what reason would there be for a false pretence?”
The gentleman said, “Do you know who I am?” Pilgrim said, “Since I turned to the True Gate and took up the monk's teaching in sincerity, I have all this while been climbing mountains and fording waters, and have let slip the friends of my younger days; I have not managed to call on them, and know few honoured faces. Just now, asking the way of the country folk west of the Child-and-Mother River, I heard mention that the gentleman is the True Immortal As-You-Will, and so I know it.”
The gentleman said, “You go your road and I cultivate my truth. What do you come calling on me for?” Pilgrim said, “Because my master drank by mistake of the water of the Child-and-Mother River, his belly aches with a conception formed; I have come expressly to the immortal's residence to beg one bowl of the Fetus-Dissolving Spring water, and relieve my master's calamity.”
The gentleman said with a furious glare, “Is your master by any chance the Tang Monk Tripitaka?” Pilgrim said, “He is indeed, he is indeed.” The gentleman ground his teeth and said in hatred, “Have you ever encountered a certain Great King Holy Child?”
Pilgrim said, “That is the nickname of the Red Boy, the demon of Fiery Cloud Cave in Withered Pine Ravine on Roaring Mountain. Why does the True Immortal ask after him?”
The gentleman said, “He is my brother's son, and I am the Bull Demon King's brother. Some time ago a letter came to me from my elder brother's household, saying that Sun Wukong, senior disciple of the Tang Monk Tripitaka, was a scoundrel, and had destroyed him. Here was I with nowhere to look for you to take my revenge, and you come looking for me — and still want water, do you!”
Pilgrim said with an ingratiating laugh, “The gentleman is mistaken. Your elder brother was once a friend of mine; in our young days we swore brotherhood, seven of us together. It is only that I did not know the gentleman's honoured residence, and so failed to pay my respects. As things now stand, your nephew has come into a good place: he attends upon the Bodhisattva Guanyin and has been made the Boy of Wealth. We ourselves are not so well off as that — why then blame me for it?”
The gentleman shouted, “You impudent ape! Still wagging that clever tongue. Is my brother's son better off free and a king in his own right, or better off another's servant? No insolence — take this hook of mine!”
The Great Sage blocked it with his iron rod and said, “Gentleman, let us have no talk of fighting; just give me a little spring water and I'll be off.” The gentleman cursed, “Impudent ape! You do not know life from death. If you can hold me for three bouts, I will let you have the water; if you cannot match me, I shall simply chop you into mincemeat and so avenge my nephew.”
The Great Sage cursed back, “You obstruction, that cannot tell up from down! If you want a fight, stand clear and look to my rod.” The gentleman returned the blow, snatching at him with the as-you-will hook. The two of them fought a fine fight there at the Convent of Assembled Immortals:
The holy monk ate in error of the conceiving water;
Pilgrim came seeking the As-You-Will Immortal.
Who could have known the True Immortal was a monster at heart,
leaning on his strength to keep the Fetus-Dissolving Spring?
And when at last they met and spoke of the feud between them,
the contention was not to be settled as one would wish.
Word met word until it turned to vexation;
malice of intent and savagery of feeling demanded requital.
This one, for a master's stricken life, came begging water;
that one, for a nephew's ruin, would not give the spring.
The as-you-will hook more potent than a scorpion's venom;
the gold-banded rod more savage than a dragon's crest.
Thrusting wildly at the chest, he plied his fierce might;
hooking aslant at the feet, he unfolded his subtle art.
A backhand cast of the rod, and the wound was grave;
over the shoulder the hook rose, and near the head it lashed.
A rod locking the waist, like a hawk seizing a sparrow;
three hooks pressing the crown, like a mantis taking a cicada.
Back and forth and back again they strove for the mastery;
round upon round they turned and returned once more.
Hook grappling and rod striking, with no telling first from last;
nor could one see on which side lay the winning or the losing.
The gentleman fought the Great Sage through some ten bouts, and could not match him. The Great Sage grew fiercer still; his single rod was like a rushing meteor, and he struck wildly at the head. The gentleman's strength failed him; he dragged the as-you-will hook behind him and made off up the mountain.
The Great Sage did not go after him, but came instead into the convent to look for the water. That Daoist had already shut the convent gate. The Great Sage, carrying the earthenware bowl, ran up to the gate, put his whole strength into one kick, smashed the gate in and came charging through. He saw the Daoist lying across the well-curb; the Great Sage gave a shout and raised his rod to strike, and the Daoist ran off to the back.
He had just got out the well-bucket and was about to draw water when the gentleman came running up again, caught the Great Sage's foot with the as-you-will hook and tripped him, so that he came down flat on his face. The Great Sage scrambled up and struck at him with the iron rod. But he dodged aside, and holding up the hook said, “Let us see whether you can carry off my water!”
The Great Sage cursed, “Come up here! Come up here! You obstruction, I'll beat you to death outright!” The gentleman would not come forward to engage him either, but simply held him off and would not let the Great Sage draw water.
The Great Sage, seeing him not stir, took to whirling the iron rod in his left hand and working the bucket with his right. He had just let the rope run rattling down when the other came at him with the hook again. The Great Sage could not hold out with one hand; he was hooked by the foot a second time, was jerked staggering, and rope and all went tumbling down the well. The Great Sage said, “This fellow really has no manners.”
He scrambled up, whirled the rod in both hands, and went at him striking wildly at head and face. The gentleman ran off as before, not daring to face him. The Great Sage wanted to go for the water again, but there was no bucket to be had, and he was afraid of being hooked and dragged once more; so he thought to himself in silence, “I had better go and call for a hand.”
Excellent Great Sage! He turned his cloud about, went straight to the gate of the village cottage and called out, “Sha Monk!” Inside, Tripitaka was groaning with the pain he bore and Pig was moaning without a pause. Hearing the call, the two of them said with delight, “Sha Monk — Wukong is back!”
Sha Monk hurried out to meet him and said, “Elder brother, have you brought the water?” The Great Sage came in and gave the Tang Monk a full account of what had passed. Tripitaka let fall tears and said, “Disciple! What is to be done about such a thing as this?”
The Great Sage said, “I have come to call brother Sha to go with me. When we get to the convent, let Old Sun engage that fellow in a fight, and Sha Monk can take the chance to draw the water and bring it back to save you.” Tripitaka said, “If the two who are well both go off, and leave behind the two of us who are ill, who is to wait on us?”
The old woman said from beside them, “Venerable arhat, set your mind entirely at rest. There is no need of your disciples; my household will look after you and wait on you of ourselves. When you came this morning, we did truly have thoughts of tenderness toward you. But just now, seeing this bodhisattva come on cloud and go in mist, we knew you were arhats and bodhisattvas, and my household would certainly never dare to harm you again.”
Pilgrim gave a snort and said, “You are a pack of womenfolk — who would you dare harm?” The old woman laughed and said, “Gracious sir! It is your good fortune that you came to my house! Had you gone to a second house, you would not have come away whole.”
Eight Rules said with a groan, “Not come away whole — and what would that be?” The old woman said, “There are four or five of us in this household, all of us women of some years, who have given over the business of love entirely; so we were not willing to harm you. But had you gone on to a second house, where the household is large and mixed in age, which of the younger ones there would have let you pass? They would have had you couple with them. And if you would not consent, they would have taken your lives and cut the flesh from your bodies to make scent-bags of.”
Eight Rules said, “In that case I am certainly safe from harm. They are all sweet-smelling and make good scent-bags; I am a rank pig, and if they cut my flesh away it would be rank too — so I can come to no harm.” Pilgrim said with a laugh, “Don't talk so big — save your strength, you'll want it for the birth.”
The old woman said, “No need to delay — go quickly and get the water.” Pilgrim said, “Have you a well-bucket in the house? Lend me one to use.” The old woman went straight to the back, brought out a bucket, coiled up a rope as well, and handed them to Sha Monk. Sha Monk said, “Take two ropes — the well may be deep and we shall want them.”
Sha Monk took the bucket and rope, went out of the village cottage after the Great Sage, and the two of them rode a cloud away together; in less than half a double-hour they reached the borders of Mount Dissolving-Yang. They pressed the cloud down and came straight to the outside of the convent.
The Great Sage gave Sha Monk his orders: “You take the bucket and rope, keep hidden to one side, and let Old Sun go out and offer battle. Wait till the two of us are hot in the fight, then take your chance and go in, draw the water and be off.” Sha Monk respectfully assented to his instructions.
The Great Sage Sun drew out his iron rod, went up to the gate and called loudly, “Open the gate! Open the gate!” The gatekeeper saw him and hurried inside to report: “Master, that Sun Wukong has come again.”
The gentleman was greatly angered in his heart and said, “This impudent ape is outrageous. I have heard this long while that he has some skill, and today I know it for a fact: that rod of his is truly hard to stand against.” The Daoist said, “Master, his skill may be high, but you are not his inferior either — you are exactly a match for him.”
The gentleman said, “The first two rounds, he beat me.” The Daoist said, “He won the first two rounds, but that was nothing more than a rush of brute spirit; and in the two later encounters at the drawing of the water, Master hooked him down twice — so are you not on level footing after all? He had no help for it before and went away; now he comes back again, which must mean that Tripitaka's conception is formed and his body heavy, that he is being nagged past bearing, and that he comes because he cannot help it. He is bound to have a slack heart for his master's sake, and I warrant our master will certainly win.”
The True Immortal, hearing this, was all beaming satisfaction, a whole bosom of spring; smiling broadly, with a gust of imposing air he levelled the as-you-will hook, came out of the gate and shouted, “Impudent ape! What have you come for now?” The Great Sage said, “I have come only for water.”
The True Immortal said, “The spring water is the well of my own household; though it were an emperor or a chief minister, he too must come with presentation silk and mutton and wine to ask for it, and only then would he get so much as a trifle; and you, who are moreover my enemy, dare to come for it empty-handed?”
The Great Sage said, “You really will not give it?” The True Immortal said, “I will not, I will not.” The Great Sage cursed, “You impudent obstruction! If you will not give the water — then look to my rod!”
He threw himself into a stance, closed right in, and without waiting to talk struck straight at the head; and the True Immortal twisted aside to avoid it and brought up the hook to parry and return the blow. This bout was better than the last. A fine fight:
The gold-banded rod, the as-you-will hook;
two men in fury, each nursing his grudge.
Flying sand and rolling stones, and heaven and earth went dark;
scattered earth and driven dust, and sun and moon were grieved.
The Great Sage came for water to save his master;
the demon immortal, for his nephew's sake, would not allow the asking.
Both households put out all their strength;
in one place they staked it on peace or ruin.
Teeth clenched, they fought for the mastery;
jaws set, they settled hard against soft.
Wits added, spirits roused the higher,
they spewed cloud and belched mist till the ghosts and spirits grieved.
Clack and clatter the hook and rod rang out;
their shouts roared and bellowed till the hills shook.
A wild wind rolled up and bowed the woods;
the killing air spread thick and passed the Dipper and the Ox.
The Great Sage, the more he strove, the better pleased he grew;
the True Immortal, the more he struck, the closer he clung.
With set heart and fixed purpose they contended;
till life or death were settled there would be no leaving off.
The two of them joined battle outside the convent gate, leaping and capering, and fought their way down to the foot of the mountain slope, where they held each other in bitter grip — of which no more.
Now Sha Monk carried the bucket in and came charging through the gate, where he saw the Daoist barring the way beside the well: “Who are you, that dare come for water?” Sha Monk set down the bucket, drew out his demon-quelling staff, and without a word in reply struck straight at his head. The Daoist could not dodge in time; his left upper arm was broken, and he fell to the ground struggling for his life.
Sha Monk cursed him: “I meant to beat you to death, you cursed beast, but since you have a human body I pity you after all, and will let you go. Let me draw my water.” The Daoist went crying out to heaven and earth, and crawled away to the back.
Only then did Sha Monk lower the bucket into the well and draw up a brimming bucketful of water; he went out of the convent gate, raised a cloud-mist, and called across to Pilgrim: “Elder brother, I have got the water and am away! Let him off, let him off.”
The Great Sage heard him, and only then propped the hook aside with his iron rod and said, “I had meant to make an end of you root and branch, but you have committed no crime after all; and secondly, out of regard for your elder brother the Bull Demon King. The first time I came, I was hooked down twice and got no water. This time I came, it was a stratagem to lure the tiger from the mountain: I coaxed you out to fight, and set my junior brother to fetch the water instead. If Old Sun chose to bring out his real powers against you, never mind one True Immortal As-You-Will — if there were several more of you, I would have beaten them all to death. But it is better to spare a life than to take one, so I will let you off and leave you a few years to live. Hereafter, if any come for water, you are on no account to squeeze them for it.”
The demon immortal had no sense of what was good for him: he made a feint, and came at once for the foot with his hook. The Great Sage dodged past the hook-head, ran forward and shouted, “Don't run!” The demon immortal was caught off guard, was shoved sprawling, and could not struggle up.
The Great Sage seized the as-you-will hook from him and broke it in two; then gathering it up he wrenched again, and wrenched it into four pieces. He flung it on the ground and said, “You cursed beast! Do you dare be insolent again?” The demon immortal shook and trembled, and swallowed the humiliation without a word.
The Great Sage laughed aloud and rose upon his cloud. There is a poem in witness of it. The poem runs:
If the true lead is to be smelted, true water is required;
the true water blends it, and the true mercury goes dry.
True mercury and true lead, with no mother-breath in them:
the numinous cinnabar, the numinous drug — that is the immortal's elixir.
The infant had knit itself a semblance of a fetus for nothing;
the Earth Mother applied her work, and it cost no great trouble.
Side-doors overthrown, the orthodox teaching upheld;
the Mind-Lord well pleased, and the smile returns.
The Great Sage set his auspicious light going and caught up with Sha Monk. Having got the true water, in high good humour, they returned to their own place. They pressed the cloud down and came straight to the village cottage. There they saw Pig with his belly thrust out, propped against the door-frame and groaning.
Pilgrim crept up and said, “Idiot — when did you take to your confinement?” The idiot said in a fluster, “Brother, no jokes. Have you brought any water?” Pilgrim was for teasing him further, but Sha Monk came up behind and said with a laugh, “The water's here! The water's here!”
Tripitaka raised himself against the pain and said, “Disciples! I have put you to great trouble.” The old woman too was delighted; the several of the household came out and bowed, saying, “Bodhisattva! It is a hard thing, a hard thing.” She hurriedly fetched a flowered porcelain cup, ladled out half a cupful and handed it to Tripitaka, saying, “Venerable master, drink it slowly — one mouthful is all that is needed, and the fetal humour will be dissolved.”
Eight Rules said, “I don't want a cup — let me drink the whole bucket and have done.” The old woman said, “Venerable sir! You would frighten a person to death. If you drank this bucketful of water, I dare say your bowels and belly would be dissolved away altogether.” That frightened the idiot out of any nonsense, and he too drank only half a cup.
In not so much as the time it takes to eat a meal, the two of them felt a griping in the belly, and there was nothing to be heard but a rumbling and gurgling of the bowels, three or four bouts of it. After the rumbling, the idiot could hold out no longer, and voided at both ends. The Tang Monk too could hold out no longer, and wanted to go somewhere quiet to relieve himself.
Pilgrim said, “Master, on no account go out into a draughty place — it's a fearful thing — you might take a chill and turn it into a case of postpartum illness.” The old woman at once fetched two clean buckets and let the pair of them relieve themselves. In a short while, after each had gone several times, they felt the pain stop; little by little the swelling went down, and the clots of blood and lumps of flesh were dissolved away.
The old woman's household then boiled a little white rice gruel for them, to make up their strength. Eight Rules said, “Grandmother, my body is sound enough; I don't need making up. Boil me a little hot water and let me have a bath, and then the gruel will go down nicely.”
Sha Monk said, “Second brother, you mustn't take a bath. People in their lying-in fall ill if they meddle with water.” Eight Rules said, “But I never had a full delivery — at worst it was only a miscarriage. What have I to fear from it? A wash will get me clean.” So the old woman did boil some water, and the two of them washed their hands and feet.
The Tang Monk took only two small cups of the gruel. Eight Rules ate a dozen bowls of it straight off, and still wanted more. Pilgrim said with a laugh, “Blockhead, eat less of it — don't make yourself a sandbag belly, it looks like nothing at all.” Eight Rules said, “No matter, no matter — I'm no sow, what have I to fear from it?” And the household did indeed go off again to set about cooking rice.
The old woman said to the Tang Monk, “Venerable master, make me a present of this water.” Pilgrim said, “Idiot — no more water for you?” Eight Rules said, “My belly has stopped aching too; the fetal humour must already have dispersed, and I am perfectly at ease. What would I want with more water?” Pilgrim said, “Since the two of them are both well, we'll make your household a present of the water.”
The old woman thanked Pilgrim, put what water was left into an earthenware jar, and buried it in the ground round the back. She said to the household, young and old, “This jar of water is my coffin money.” The household, young and old, were delighted to a soul; they got a vegetarian meal ready and set out the tables and stools. The Tang Monk and his disciples ate their meal, and rested quietly and at their ease for the night.
Next day at dawn, master and disciples took their leave of the old woman's household and quitted the village cottage. Tripitaka climbed to the saddle, Sha Monk shouldered the baggage on his pole, the Great Sage Sun led the way in front, and Pig gathered up the bridle. And this was the way of it:
The mouth's transgressions washed away and the body made clean;
the mortal conception dissolved, and the frame at ease of itself.
In the end there is no knowing what further business awaited them within that kingdom's borders; and for that, listen to the explanation in the next chapter.