Now the Great Sage Sun and Zhu Bajie were just on the point of working a spell to hold those women fast when, from the quarter where the wind sounded, they heard Sha Monk raise an outcry; and when they turned their heads in haste, the Tang Monk was gone.
“What manner of creature has come and carried off our master?” said Pilgrim.
“It was a woman,” said Sha Monk. “She stirred up a whirlwind and spirited our master away.”
Hearing this, Pilgrim gave a whistle and sprang up to the rim of the clouds, where he raised a hand to shade his eyes and looked about him on every side. He saw only a churn of grey dust, the wind rolling and rolling, making away toward the northwest. Turning his head at once, he called down, “Brothers! Mount your clouds quickly and come after our master with me.” Zhu Bajie and Sha Monk lashed the baggage to the horse, and with a single shout the two of them leapt up into the middle air.
So alarmed were the sovereign and the women officials of the Kingdom of Western Liang that they knelt down in the dust, saying together, “These are arhats ascending in the light of day. Our sovereign need feel no alarm or misgiving. The Tang emperor's sworn brother too is a monk of Chan possessed of the Way. We had eyes but no pupils in them: we mistook him for an ordinary man of the Middle Flowery Land, and squandered all this contriving for nothing. Let our sovereign mount her palanquin and return to court.” The queen felt shame in herself, and her many officers went back together to the capital — of which we say no more.
Now the Great Sage Sun and his two brothers mounted the empty air and trod the mist, and keeping their eyes on that whirlwind they gave chase in a straight line. They came at length to a high mountain, where they saw the dust settle and grow still and the head of the wind disperse; nor could they tell any longer which way the fiend had gone.
The brothers brought their clouds and mist down, and were casting about for a path when they caught sight of a wall of green stone, bright and polished, for all the world like a standing screen. The three led the horse round past the stone screen, and behind the screen were two leaves of a stone door, and above the door six great characters, which read: Lute Cave of Poison-Foe Mountain.
Bajie, in his ignorance, went straight up and set about battering the door with his muckrake. Pilgrim stopped him at once, saying, “Brother, no haste. We followed the whirlwind and chased it as far as this, and we have hunted a good while before we came upon this door; we still have no notion how deep or shallow the place may be. Suppose it were not the right door — should we not be giving offence for nothing? You two lead the horse away and go back round to the front of the stone screen, and there stand waiting a while. Let old Monkey go in and listen about, and find out whether there is anything in it or nothing; then we can act properly.”
When Sha Monk heard this he was delighted, and said, “Good, good, good! This is what is meant by fineness within coarseness — in a pressing place, room to move.” The two of them led the horse back the way they had come.
The Great Sage displayed a magic power of his: he made the sign with his fingers, recited a spell, shook himself, and changed into a bee — a truly deft and dainty thing. Look at him:
Its wings so thin they go soft upon the wind,
its waist so light it shows slender against the sun.
Its mouth is sweet, and has gone seeking the hearts of flowers;
its tail is keen, and is good at bringing the toad down.
In the brewing of honey its merit is no shallow thing;
attending upon the court, it is of itself modest in ceremony.
And now it puts a cunning stratagem to work,
and comes dancing in beneath the eaves of the gate.
Pilgrim slipped in through a chink in the door and flew on past the second gate. There, seated upright in the very middle of a flower pavilion, he saw a woman fiend, with a few maidservants ranged to left and right in embroidered coloured gowns, their hair gathered in two knots; all of them were merry as could be, though what they were discussing there was no telling.
Pilgrim flew lightly up and fixed himself on the latticework of the pavilion, and had just cocked an ear to listen when he saw two more girls, their hair in childish, tousled tufts, come up into the pavilion bearing two platters of steaming pastry, and say, “Madam: one platter is of meat buns with a filling of human flesh, and one of vegetarian buns filled with sweet bean paste.”
The woman fiend said with a laugh, “Little ones, help the Tang emperor's sworn brother out here.” Several of the maidservants in embroidered coloured gowns went off to the back chamber and brought the Tang Monk out, supporting him between them. That master of theirs was yellow in the face and white about the lips, his eyes red and running with tears. From his hiding place Pilgrim sighed and said to himself, “The master has taken poison.”
The fiend came down from the pavilion, putting out ten slender fingers like shoots of spring onion, and taking hold of the elder she said, “Set your heart at rest, royal brother. My place here may be no palace of the Women's Kingdom of Western Liang, and it bears no comparison with wealth and splendour; but in truth it is quiet and unconstrained, and just the place for reciting the Buddha's name and reading the sutras. Let me be your companion in the Way, and truly we shall pass a hundred years in concord.”
Tripitaka said nothing.
The fiend said, “Come, do not distress yourself. I know that when you sat at the banquet in the Women's Kingdom you got nothing down at all. Here are two platters, one of meat and one of fast fare; take a little of whichever you please, to settle your fright.”
Tripitaka turned it over in silence and said within himself, “Suppose I hold my tongue and eat nothing. This fiend is not as that queen was: the queen was still of human body and conducted herself by the rites, whereas this fiend is a demon spirit, and I fear I may be harmed by her. What is to be done? My three disciples do not know that I am trapped and shut up in this place. If she should do me harm, shall I not have thrown my life away for nothing?”
Questioning his own heart with his own heart and finding no way out of it, he could only force his spirits up and speak: “What is in the meat ones? And what in the fast ones?”
“The meat ones are buns with a filling of human flesh,” said the woman fiend; “the fast ones are buns filled with sweet bean paste.”
“This poor monk eats fast fare,” said Tripitaka.
The fiend said with a laugh, “Girls, see to some hot tea, so that the venerable lord of your house may take it with his fasting buns.” Sure enough a maidservant came bearing a cup of fragrant tea, and set it down before the elder.
The fiend broke one of the fasting buns open and passed it to Tripitaka. Tripitaka passed a meat bun to the woman fiend, whole and unbroken.
The woman fiend laughed and said, “Royal brother, why will you not break mine open for me?”
Tripitaka put his palms together and said, “I am one who has left the household life; I dare not break meat.”
“You who have left the household life dare not break meat,” said the woman fiend — “then how was it that the other day, beside the Motherhood River, you took the high water, and today you are glad enough to eat a filling of sweet bean paste?”
Tripitaka said, “When the water runs high the boat goes swiftly; where the sand silts deep the horse travels slow.”
From the lattice-hole Pilgrim listened to the two of them drawing each other out in talk, and fearing that his master's true nature might be thrown into disorder he could bear it no longer: he resumed his own form, whipped out his iron rod and shouted, “Sinful beast, you forget yourself!”
When the woman fiend saw him she spat a shaft of smoky light from her mouth, throwing a cover over the flower pavilion, and gave the order: “Little ones, take the royal brother away.” Then she took up a three-pronged steel trident, sprang out at the pavilion door, and railed at him: “Insolent, good-for-nothing ape! How dare you steal into my house and spy upon my face? Don't run off — take a taste of your old mother's trident!”
The Great Sage brought up his iron rod to parry, fighting and giving ground by turns, and the two of them fought their way clear of the cave. Bajie and Sha Monk were waiting before the stone screen when of a sudden they saw the two of them at grips. In his alarm Bajie led the white horse across and said, “Sha Monk, you just mind the baggage and the horse, and let old Hog go and lend a hand at the fighting.” Splendid idiot! He raised his rake in both hands, ran forward and cried, “Stand back, elder brother, and let me strike this vile wench.”
Seeing Bajie come on, the fiend worked another device: she gave a cry, fire broke from her nose and smoke rose in her mouth, she gave her body a shake, and the three-pronged trident came whirling up to meet him. There was no telling how many arms the woman fiend had; she came rolling in upon them, careless of head or face. Pilgrim and Bajie pressed her hard from either side.
“Sun Wukong,” said the fiend, “how little you know of when to press and when to fall back! I know you well enough, but you do not know me. That Buddha Tathagata of yours, in the Monastery of Thunderclap — he is afraid of me himself. Reckoning up the pair of you hairy creatures — how far do you suppose you will get? Come on, the whole lot of you, and one by one look sharp for the blows.”
And how was this a fine fight to look upon? Thus:
The woman fiend's fierce bearing waxed;
the Monkey King's high spirit rose.
Marshal Tianpeng contended for his share of the merit,
brandishing his muckrake wildly to show what he could do.
That one — her hands many, her trident close, wreathed about with smoky light;
these two — their tempers hot, their weapons strong, the mist rising off them in steam.
The woman fiend acts for one end only, to find herself a mate;
how should the man of religion consent to spill his primal essence?
Yin and yang, ill-matched, grapple and will not loose;
each displays its bold powers and contends in bitter spite.
Yin at rest nourishes the nutritive breath, yet thinks to stir and stir;
yang drawn in settles the defensive breath, and loves to be clear and clear.
So it falls out that the two sides have no concord between them,
and trident, rake and iron rod wager the winning and the losing.
This rod has force in it, and the rake is abler still,
and the woman fiend's steel trident meets them point against point.
Before Poison-Foe Mountain the three of them give no ground;
outside the Cave of the Lute the two of them show no mercy.
That one would be glad to get the Tang Monk and pair with him as phoenixes pair;
these two must follow their elder and fetch the true scriptures home.
Startling heaven and shaking earth they came together in battle,
and fought until the sun and moon were without light and the very stars were altered.
The three of them fought a long while, and there was no telling winner from loser. Then the woman fiend gave her body a spring, brought out her horse-felling poison stake, and before he was aware of it had jabbed the Great Sage once on the scalp. Pilgrim let out a cry — “Oh, the pain!” — and being unable to endure it he broke off and made away, carrying his hurt with him in defeat. Bajie, seeing that matters were going badly, trailed his rake behind him and drew off. The fiend, having won the day, put up her steel trident.
Pilgrim clutched his head, knitting his brows and screwing up his face, and cried out, “Fierce! Fierce!”
Bajie came up beside him and asked, “Brother, how is it that just when the fight was going your way you set up a wailing to heaven and ran off?”
Pilgrim, still holding his head, could only say, “It hurts, hurts, hurts.”
“I suppose your head-wind has come on?” said Sha Monk.
Pilgrim started up and said, “It is not that, not that.”
“Brother,” said Bajie, “I never saw you take a wound, and yet your head aches. How should that be?”
Pilgrim said with a groan, “It is past bearing, past bearing. Just as she and I were at it, and she saw that I had broken through the play of her trident, she gave her body a spring — I cannot tell what manner of weapon it was — and jabbed me once upon the head; and the ache of it is so hard to endure that I have come off beaten.”
Bajie said with a laugh, “In quiet times like this you are forever boasting, and telling us that head of yours has been through the refining. How comes it, then, that it cannot bear a single jab?”
“Just so,” said Pilgrim. “This head of mine — ever since I refined myself to the true state, and stole and ate the peaches of immortality, the wine of the immortals and Laozi's golden elixir, and made havoc in Heaven — the Jade Emperor sent the Demon King of Great Strength and the Twenty-Eight Constellations to haul me off to the Palace of the Dipper and the Ox and behead me there in one place after another; and those divine generals used knife and axe, hammer and sword, and struck me with thunder and burned me with fire; and when Laozi set me inside his eight-trigram brazier and smelted me there for nine and forty days — none of it did me the least harm. And today I cannot tell what weapon this woman used, but she has contrived to do old Monkey's head an injury with it.”
“Take your hand away and let me look at it,” said Sha Monk. “Surely it is not broken open?”
“Not broken, not broken,” said Pilgrim.
“I shall go to the Kingdom of Western Liang and beg a plaster for you to stick on it,” said Bajie.
“It is neither swollen nor broken,” said Pilgrim. “How should a plaster stick to it?”
Bajie said with a laugh, “Brother, I never did come down with the complaints of before and after childbirth — and here are you with a carbuncle on the crown of your head.”
“Second brother, leave off your joking,” said Sha Monk. “The light is going now, eldest brother has hurt his head, and we do not so much as know whether our master is alive or dead. What are we to do?”
Pilgrim said with a groan, “Our master is well enough. When I went in I changed into a bee and flew inside, and saw that woman seated up in the flower pavilion. Presently two maidservants brought in two platters of buns: one platter with a filling of human flesh, which was the meat; one with a filling of sweet bean paste, which was the fast fare. Then she had two of the girls bring our master out to eat one and settle his fright, and after that she would have him be some sort of companion in the Way to her.
“At the first our master would not answer that woman at all, nor would he eat the buns. Then, hearing her honeyed words and her pretty speeches — I cannot tell how it came about — he opened his mouth and spoke, and said that he would eat the fast ones. The woman broke one of the fast ones open and passed it to our master. Our master passed her a meat one whole and unbroken.
“The woman said, ‘Why will you not break it open?’
“Our master said, ‘One who has left the household life dare not break meat.’
“That woman said, ‘Since you dare not break meat, how was it that the other day beside the Motherhood River you drank the high water, and today you are glad enough to eat a filling of sweet bean paste?’
“Our master did not take her meaning, and answered her with a couplet: ‘When the water runs high the boat goes swiftly; where the sand silts deep the horse travels slow.’
“I heard it all from the latticework, and fearing that our master's nature would be thrown into disorder I showed my own form and struck out at once with my rod. She too worked her powers, spat out smoke and mist, called ‘Take the royal brother away,’ then swung up her steel trident and fought old Monkey out of the cave.”
When Sha Monk heard this he bit his finger and said, “There is no telling where this vile creature can have followed us from, but she knows the whole of that earlier business already.”
“If that is how it stands,” said Bajie, “there is no resting for us. Never mind whether it is dusk or the dead of night — let us go to her door and challenge her, and shout and make a racket, and stir her up so that she gets no sleep, and not leave her free to make sport of our master.”
“My head aches,” said Pilgrim. “I cannot go.”
Sha Monk said, “There is no need to challenge her. For one thing, elder brother's head is hurting; for another, our master is a true monk, and will on no account let form and emptiness throw his nature into disorder. Let us sit out this one night below the mountain slope, in some place out of the wind, and nurse our strength, and take the matter up again at daybreak.”
So the three brothers tethered the white horse fast, kept guard over the baggage, and settled down below the slope for the night — of which we say no more.
Now the woman fiend laid aside her savage temper, composed her pleasant looks afresh, and called, “Little ones, shut the front and back doors fast.” She set two of them to keep the night watches and guard against Pilgrim, with orders that at the least sound at the door they should report it at once. Then she gave a further order: “Girls, put the bedchamber in order, light the candles and burn the incense, and ask the Tang emperor's sworn brother in, for I mean to take my pleasure with him.” So they helped the elder out from the back of the house.
The woman fiend put on her most alluring airs, took the Tang Monk fast by the hand and said, “There is an old saying: gold is not the precious thing; ease and delight are worth more money. Come and play at being man and wife with me a while.”
The elder set his teeth fast and would not let out a sound. He would have refused to go, but feared she might take it into her head to have his life; so he could only follow her, trembling, into the perfumed chamber. Yet he was as one witless and dumb. How should he raise his head or lift his eyes? He never once looked to see what bed or hangings her room held, nor did he know what chests or dressing-things stood there. And to all the talk of rain and cloud that the woman fiend poured out, he listened not at all.
A fine monk indeed! Truly:
His eyes would not look upon unwholesome forms;
his ears would not listen to lewd sounds.
He held that brocaded, delicate beauty to be so much dung and soil,
that gold-and-pearl loveliness to be so much dust and ashes.
All his life he has loved only the practice of Chan;
not half a step will he stray from the ground of the Buddha.
How should he know to cherish jade and pity fragrance?
He understands only the refining of the true and the nurture of the nature.
That woman fiend, all quick and quivering, her spring-thoughts without bound;
this elder, stiff as a driven nail, his Chan-mind still in its place.
The one like soft jade and warm fragrance;
the other like dead ash and withered wood.
That one spreads the mandarin-duck coverlet, her lewd humour thick upon her;
this one draws tight his monk's robe, his cinnabar heart steadfast and bright.
That one would press breast to breast and thigh to thigh, and pair as luan and phoenix;
this one would face the wall, return to the mountain, and seek out Bodhidharma.
The woman fiend loosens her clothes, making display of her fragrant flesh and sleek skin;
the Tang Monk gathers his lapels, keeping close hidden his coarse flesh and rough hide.
Says the woman fiend: “My pillow is to spare and my quilt lies idle — why should we not sleep?”
Says the Tang Monk: “My head is shaven and my habit strange — how should I keep you company?”
Says that one: “I would gladly be the Liu Cuicui of a former reign.”
Says this one: “This poor monk is no Moon Ācārya.”
Says the woman fiend: “I am fair as Xi Shi, and more willowy still.”
Says the Tang Monk: “And for her sake the King of Yue was long at burying the dead.”
Says the woman fiend: “Royal brother, do you not recall the saying — better to die beneath the flowers, for even as a ghost one is a gallant?”
Says the Tang Monk: “My true yang is my most precious thing — how should I lightly give it to you, a painted skeleton……”
The two of them wrangled on with scattered words and broken phrases right into the deep of the watches, and the Tang elder's mind never once stirred. That woman fiend tugged and pulled at him and would not let go; this master of ours, all staid sobriety, simply would not have it. She kept at him until it was somewhere near the middle of the night, and by then had worked herself into a temper, and called out, “Little ones, fetch rope.” A pitiful thing — the very man she doted on, and one length of rope, and he trussed into the likeness of a shaggy lion. Then she had him dragged out under the gallery of the house, blew out the silver lamp, and they all went off to their sleeping places. Of that night there is nothing more to tell.
Before they knew it the cocks had crowed three times. Down below the mountain slope the Great Sage Sun sat up and said, “This head of mine ached a while, but by now it is neither sore nor numb — only it itches a little.”
“If it itches, let her give it another jab,” said Bajie with a laugh. “How would that suit?”
Pilgrim spat and said, “Away, away, away with you.”
Bajie laughed again and said, “‘Away, away, away’ — and my master, this one night past, astray, astray, astray.”
“Leave off your bickering,” said Sha Monk. “It is light now — let us be away early and catch the fiend.”
“Brother,” said Pilgrim, “you are to stay here and mind the horse, and not stir from the spot. Zhu Bajie shall come with me.”
The idiot roused himself, hitched up his cassock of black brocade and fell in behind Pilgrim; and the two of them, each carrying his weapon, sprang up the cliff and went straight to the foot of the stone screen.
“You stand here a moment,” said Pilgrim. “My fear is that the creature may have done our master some harm in the night; let me go in first and find out how matters stand. If he has been coaxed by her and has lost his primal yang, then his merit is forfeit indeed and we may as well all break up and go our separate ways; but if his nature is undisordered and his Chan-mind unmoved, then we may put out our strength and grapple with her, beat the creature to death, and save our master for the road west.”
“What a witless dolt you are!” said Bajie. “As the old saying has it: is a dried fish a fit pillow for a cat? And even were it not so — even were it not so — she would still have had a few clawfuls out of you.”
“Leave off your idle guessing and loose talk,” said Pilgrim. “Let me go and see.”
Splendid Great Sage! He went round the stone screen, parted from Bajie, shook himself and changed once more into a bee, and flew in at the door. Inside the door he saw two maidservants with their heads pillowed on the watchman's clapper and bell, sound asleep. He went on to the flower pavilion and looked about him: the fiend, it seems, had been at it half the night, and they were all of them worn out — not one aware that it was daylight, and still sleeping. Pilgrim flew round to the back, and faintly he could hear the Tang Monk's voice calling. Raising his head of a sudden, he saw his master under the gallery of the house, bound with all four limbs drawn together.
Pilgrim settled lightly on the Tang Monk's head and called, “Master.”
The Tang Monk knew the voice and said, “Wukong, have you come? Quickly, save my life.”
“And how went the fine business of last night?” said Pilgrim.
Tripitaka said through his teeth, “I would sooner die than do such a thing.”
“Yesterday I saw she had a mind to pity you and to love you,” said Pilgrim. “How comes it that today she has used you so hardly?”
“She kept at me half the night,” said Tripitaka; “but I never loosened my belt, and my body never touched the bed. When she saw that I would not comply, she had me tied up here. By all means save me, that we may go on and fetch the scriptures.”
Master and disciple were still at their questions and answers when the fiend was startled awake. Savage as the fiend had been, there was still in her a lingering unwillingness to let him go. Waking and turning over, she caught just the one phrase, “go and fetch the scriptures,” and at that she rolled down off the bed and cried out shrilly, “You will not be a good husband to me, and yet you would go and fetch — what scriptures?”
Pilgrim took fright, abandoned his master, spread his wings in haste and flew out, resumed his own form, and called, “Bajie!”
The idiot came round the stone screen and said, “Well — did that business come off or not?”
Pilgrim said with a laugh, “It did not, it did not. She pawed and fondled at the old master and he would not comply, so she lost her temper and had him tied up in there. He was just telling me how it had gone when the fiend woke, and I was so alarmed that I came out.”
“What did our master say, then?” said Bajie.
“He said only this: that his belt was never loosened and his body never touched the bed.”
Bajie laughed and said, “Good, good, good — he is a true monk after all! Let us go and get him out.”
The idiot, coarse and headlong, would hear no discussion: he raised his muckrake and with the whole of his strength struck one blow at her stone door, and with a crash it broke into several pieces. It so frightened those maidservants asleep on the clapper and bell that they ran out past the second gate, crying, “Open up! The front door has been broken down by those two ugly men from yesterday!” The woman fiend was just coming out at her chamber door when four or five maidservants came running in to report, “Madam! Those two ugly men from yesterday have come again, and have smashed the front door to pieces.”
Hearing this, the fiend called at once, “Little ones — heat water, that I may wash my face and dress my hair.” And she called, “Carry the royal brother, rope and all, into the back chamber and put him away. Let me go and give them a beating.”
Splendid fiend! Out she came, raised her three-pronged trident and railed at them: “Insolent ape! Wild boar! Witless, the pair of you. How dare you break down my door?”
Bajie railed back, “You lewd and worthless baggage! It was you who trapped our master, and now you dare to talk hard. Our master is the man you coaxed here to make a husband of. Send him out this instant and you shall be spared; but dare to say so much as half a ‘no’, and old Hog will give you one round of the rake that will bring the very mountain down upon you.”
The fiend would hear nothing of it. She shook out her body, worked her arts as before, breathed smoke from her nostrils and belched fire from her mouth, and levelled her steel trident at Bajie. Bajie twisted aside to dodge it and struck in with his rake; and the Great Sage Sun brought his iron rod to bear and lent his strength beside him. The fiend worked her powers again — there was no telling how many arms she had — and fended them off to left and to right. They had crossed weapons some three or five bouts when, with what weapon there was no telling, she jabbed Bajie too, once, upon the lip.
The idiot trailed his rake, clapped a hand over his mouth, and fled for his life with the hurt upon him. Pilgrim too had grown somewhat shy of her: he made a feint with his rod, and broke off beaten and ran. The fiend returned victorious, and called her little ones to fetch stones and wall the front door up — of which we say no more.
Now Sha Monk was grazing the horse before the slope when he heard a hog grunting somewhere. Raising his head of a sudden, he saw Bajie coming along with a hand clapped over his mouth, grunting.
“What is the news?” said Sha Monk.
The idiot groaned, “It is past bearing, past bearing. It hurts, hurts, hurts.”
Before he had finished, Pilgrim came up as well and said with a laugh, “Splendid idiot! Yesterday you wished me a boil on the crown of the head, and today you have got yourself up a swollen-snout plague.”
Bajie groaned, “Past enduring, past enduring. It hurts sorely. Fierce, fierce!”
The three of them were at a loss what to do when they saw an old woman coming along the road from the southern hill, a green bamboo basket carried in her left hand, with greens she had gathered.
“Eldest brother,” said Sha Monk, “that old woman is coming near. Let me ask her for news, and find out what manner of fiend this is, and what manner of weapon, that it wounds people so.”
“You stay where you are,” said Pilgrim. “Let old Monkey go and ask her.”
Pilgrim opened his eyes wide and looked hard: straight above her head an auspicious cloud spread like a canopy, and to left and right a fragrant mist wrapped her about. Pilgrim knew her, and called at once, “Brothers! Will you not come and knock your heads? That old woman is the Bodhisattva.”
In their haste Zhu Bajie bore his pain and bowed down, Sha Monk led the horse aside and bent his body, and the Great Sage Sun put his palms together and knelt, calling, “Namo Guanshiyin Bodhisattva, of great mercy and great compassion, who saves from suffering and delivers from calamity, and answers prayer.”
Seeing that they had recognized her primal radiance, the Bodhisattva trod upon her auspicious cloud, rose into mid-air, and revealed her true likeness — which proved to be the likeness of the Fish Basket. Pilgrim hurried up into the air and made his petition: “Bodhisattva, forgive your disciple the offence of failing to meet you. We were labouring to save our master and did not know that you had come down. Now we have met with a demon-calamity that will not be brought to an end. We beg the Bodhisattva, of all things, to rescue us, to rescue us.”
The Bodhisattva said, “This fiend is formidable indeed. That three-pronged trident of hers is a pair of pincer-claws grown upon her. What stabs and gives the pain is a hook upon her tail, and it is called the horse-felling poison. In her own body she is a scorpion spirit.
“Some while ago she was at the Monastery of Thunderclap, listening to the Buddha expound the scriptures. The Tathagata saw her and — he ought not to have done it — pushed her once with his hand; whereupon she turned her hook about and jabbed him, once, upon the thumb of his left hand. Even the Tathagata found the pain past enduring, and at once set the Vajra-guardians to seize her. And here she is. If you would save the Tang Monk, nothing will serve but to petition another; even I cannot come near her.”
Pilgrim bowed again and said, “I beg the Bodhisattva to instruct me — which other should I petition? Your disciple will go and invite him at once.”
“Go within the Eastern Gate of Heaven, to the Palace of Radiance,” said the Bodhisattva, “and beg the help of the Star Officer of the Mao mansion; only so can she be subdued.” Having spoken, she changed into a shaft of golden light and returned straight to the Southern Sea.
The Great Sage Sun brought his cloud down and said to Bajie and Sha Monk, “Set your minds at rest, brothers. Our master has a rescuing star.”
“And what rescuing star is that?” said Sha Monk.
“The Bodhisattva has just now given directions, and bids me go and petition the Star Officer of the Mao mansion. Old Monkey is off.”
Bajie, with a hand still over his mouth, groaned, “Brother — while you are about it, beg the Star Officer for a little physic to stop the pain.”
“No physic is wanted,” said Pilgrim with a laugh. “Do as I did yesterday — ache the night through and you will be well.”
“No need of all this chatter,” said Sha Monk. “Be off, and quickly.”
Splendid Pilgrim! He mounted his cloud-somersault in haste, and in a moment was outside the Eastern Gate of Heaven. Of a sudden he saw the Heavenly King of Increase, who saluted him face to face and said, “Where is the Great Sage bound?”
“Escorting the Tang Monk westward for the scriptures,” said Pilgrim, “we have met a demon-obstruction on the road that has us entangled. I want to go to the Palace of Radiance and look in on the Star Officer of the Mao mansion.”
Then of a sudden he saw the four great Marshals Tao, Zhang, Xin and Deng, who also asked where he was bound. “I am seeking the Star Officer of the Mao mansion,” said Pilgrim, “to go and subdue a fiend and save my master.”
“The Star Officer received the Jade Emperor's command this morning,” said the four Marshals, “and has gone up to the Star-Watching Terrace on his rounds.”
“Is that so?” said Pilgrim.
“We lesser officers came down from the Palace of the Dipper and the Ox in his own company,” said the Heavenly Lord Xin. “Should we dare speak falsely?”
“It has been a good while now,” said the Heavenly Lord Tao; “he may be about to return. Let the Great Sage go first to the Palace of Radiance, and if he has not come back, go on then to the Star-Watching Terrace.”
The Great Sage was pleased at this, and took his leave of them at once. He came to the gateway of the Palace of Radiance and found it empty indeed; and he was turning to go when, over on that side, he saw a company of soldiers drawn up in order, with the Star Officer coming on behind them. The Star Officer was still wearing the court robes in which he had waited upon the throne, a whole suit of gold thread. Look at him:
His cap is pinned with the Five Peaks, all golden radiance;
his tablet holds mountains and rivers, jade-coloured and gleaming.
His robe is hung with the Seven Stars, the clouds massed thick upon it;
his waist is girt with the Eight Poles, and the jewelled ring is bright.
His pendants ring and chime as though beating out a measure;
the swift sound of the wind is like the swinging of bells.
A fan of kingfisher plumes opens, and the Mao mansion comes;
heavenly fragrance drifts and fills the gate and the courtyard.
The soldiers going in front saw Pilgrim standing outside the Palace of Radiance, and turned back in haste to report: “My lord! The Great Sage Sun is here.” The Star Officer gathered in his cloud and mist, straightened his court robes, halted his attendants and had them divide to left and right, then came forward and made his salute: “What brings the Great Sage?”
“I have come expressly to trouble you — to save my master out of a calamity.”
“What calamity? And in what place?”
“In the Kingdom of Western Liang, at the Lute Cave of Poison-Foe Mountain.”
“What fiend is there in that mountain cave, that you should come and summon this humble spirit?”
“The Bodhisattva Guanyin manifested herself a moment ago and said it is a scorpion spirit, and that she named you in particular as the one who could deal with it; and so I have come to invite you.”
The Star Officer said, “I had meant to go back and report to the Jade Emperor; but since the Great Sage has come here, and since I am moved that the Bodhisattva should have recommended me, and for fear delay should spoil the business — this humble spirit will not presume to offer you tea. Let me go with you first and subdue the fiend, and come back and make my report after.”
Hearing this, the Great Sage went out with him at once by the Eastern Gate of Heaven and made straight for the Kingdom of Western Liang. Seeing Poison-Foe Mountain not far off, Pilgrim pointed and said, “That is the mountain.” The Star Officer brought his cloud down, and together with Pilgrim came to the foot of the slope before the stone screen.
Sha Monk saw them and said, “Second brother, get up! Eldest brother has managed to fetch the Star Officer.”
The idiot, still with a hand over his mouth, said, “Pardon me, pardon me. I have a sickness upon me and cannot make my bow.”
“You are a man in religious practice,” said the Star Officer. “What sickness should you have?”
“This morning I fought with that fiend,” said Bajie, “and she jabbed me once upon the lip with it, and it aches to this hour.”
“Come up here, and let me physic it for you.”
Only then did the idiot take his hand away; and mumbling and whimpering he said, “By all means physic it — and when it is better I shall thank you.”
The Star Officer passed his hand once over the lip and blew a breath upon it, and the pain was gone. The idiot bowed down in delight, saying, “Wonderful! Wonderful!”
“Might I trouble the Star Officer to pass his hand over my head as well?” said Pilgrim with a laugh.
“You did not take the poison. What would you be touched for?”
“I did take it, yesterday,” said Pilgrim. “Only, a night having passed, it left off hurting. There is still some numbness and itching in it, and I am afraid it may come on when the sky turns overcast. Physic that too, if you please.”
The Star Officer did indeed pass his hand once over the head as well and blow a breath, and the residue of the poison was dissolved, and there was neither numbness nor itching left.
“Brother,” said Bajie savagely, “let us go and beat that vile creature.”
“Just so, just so,” said the Star Officer. “You two call her out, and let me subdue her.”
Pilgrim and Bajie sprang up the slope and came once more behind the stone screen. The idiot, cursing wildly as he went — “hands like grappling hooks!” — gave one round with his muckrake and clawed away the stones that had been piled up outside the cave door. He burst through to the first gate, and with one more blow of the rake beat the second gate to powder. It so alarmed the little fiends within the door that they flew to report: “Madam! Those two ugly men have broken down the second gate as well.”
The fiend was at that moment having the Tang Monk untied, and calling for vegetarian tea and rice to give him. Hearing that the second gate was broken she sprang out of the flower pavilion at once and swung her trident to thrust at Bajie; Bajie brought up his rake to parry; and Pilgrim, at her side, struck in as well with his iron rod. The fiend pressed close in upon them, meaning to bring her poison to bear; but Pilgrim and Bajie knew the way of it now, and turned about and ran.
When the fiend had chased them past the stone screen, Pilgrim called out, “Where is the Mao mansion?” And there stood the Star Officer upon the slope, showing his true form — which proved to be a great double-combed cock. It lifted its head, standing some six or seven chǐ high, and crowed once at the fiend. At once the fiend showed her own true form, which proved to be a scorpion spirit about the size of a lute. The Star Officer crowed a second time, and the fiend went limp in every limb and died there before the slope. There is a poem to prove it. The poem says:
A flowered comb, an embroidered neck like a coiled tassel;
claws hard, spurs long, and an angry glare in the eye.
Leaping in manly majesty, complete in the Five Virtues;
towering in strength and bearing, envied for its three crowings.
How should it be as a common bird that cries above a thatched roof?
It is in truth a star of heaven, making its holy name manifest.
The poisonous scorpion cultivated the human Way in vain;
restored to the origin and turned back to the root, she shows her true shape.
Bajie came forward, set one foot upon the creature's back and breast, and said, “Sinful beast! There will be no using the horse-felling poison this time.” The creature did not so much as stir; and the idiot gave it one round with the rake and pounded it into a lump of rotten paste.
The Star Officer gathered up his golden light again and rode away upon a cloud. Pilgrim, Bajie and Sha Monk raised their clasped hands towards heaven in thanks, saying, “We have put you to trouble, we have put you to trouble. On another day we shall come to your palace and repay the courtesy.”
When the three had made an end of their thanks they gathered up the baggage and the horse, and all went into the cave. There they saw the maidservants, great and small, kneel down on either side and bow, saying, “Venerable sirs, we are no fiends. We are all of us women of the Kingdom of Western Liang, carried off here some time since by that fiend. Your master is sitting in the perfumed chamber at the back, weeping.”
At their words Pilgrim looked them over carefully, and sure enough there was no demon-vapour to be seen about them. So he went through to the back and called, “Master.”
When the Tang Monk saw them all come in together he was greatly delighted, and said, “Worthy disciples — I have been a burden to you. And what has become of that woman?”
“That creature was a great female scorpion,” said Bajie. “By good fortune the Bodhisattva Guanyin gave us directions, and eldest brother went up into the palaces of heaven and got the Star Officer of the Mao mansion to come down, and he subdued the creature. It has this moment been pounded to a mash by old Hog, and only then did we dare come so far in, and get sight of our master's face.”
The Tang Monk's thanks were without end. They looked out some fasting rice and fasting flour besides, made ready a meal, and ate. They sent the women who had been carried off away down the mountain, and pointed out to them the road home. They set a fire to it, and the few rooms of the place were burned away to nothing. They invited the Tang Monk to mount, and sought out the main road westward. And truly:
Cutting through the bonds of the dusty world, he leaves the realm of form behind;
pressing the golden sea dry, he wakes to the mind of Chan.
After all, there is no knowing in how many years he shall attain to the true; and for that you must listen to the next chapter, where it will be explained.