Form is emptiness — so it has stood from of old; and to call emptiness form is just as true.
Could a man wake clean through to this Chan of form and emptiness, what need would he have of cinnabar fired in the crucible?
Let the practice of virtue be cultivated whole and never slacken; let the effort be spent bitterly, as a thing long simmered and seared.
One day, the practice standing complete, only then does he go to court in Heaven, his immortal face fixed for ever and never altering.
The tale goes that the Rival of the Grand Year barred fast the gates before and behind and hunted for Pilgrim, keeping up the clamour right to the hour of dusk without finding a trace of him. Then he took his seat in the Flaying Pavilion, mustered his horde of fiends and issued his orders: every gate was to carry the bell and call the watch, beat the drum and strike the clapper. One and all they strung their bows, drew their blades from the scabbard, and sat out the night watches.
Now the Great Sage Sun had made himself into a witless fly and fixed himself fast beside the door. Seeing the guard in front so close, he shook out his wings and flew in to the gateway of the rear palace to look — and there was the Golden Sage Queen, bowed over the imperial desk, her tears dropping clear and her grief sounding faintly. He flew in at the door and lit softly on the loose black coil of her hair, to hear what she was weeping over.
After a little while she cried out suddenly. “My lord — you and I:
In a former life I burned an incense stick snapped at the head; in this life I have met with a rascally fiend king.
The phoenix pair broken apart three years — what day shall we meet? The mandarin ducks divided between two places, and sorrow the end of it.
The elder they sent had barely got word through when our fair match was startled apart and a life was lost.
All because the golden bells were past making out, and my longing runs wilder now than it did before.”
Hearing this, Pilgrim shifted at once to the back of her ear and called quietly. “Queen of the Sage Palace, do not be afraid. I am still the divine monk your kingdom sent, the Elder Sun, and my life was never harmed. It was only that my own temper was hasty. I went up to the dressing-table and stole the golden bells, and while you and the fiend king were at your wine I slipped free and got out unseen to the front pavilion, where I could not hold back from opening them for a look.
“I did not expect to pull loose the cotton that stopped their mouths. The bells gave one sound, and out burst smoke, fire and yellow sand. I lost my head and my hands at once, dropped the golden bells, showed my own body, laid on with the iron rod, fought bitterly and could not get out; and fearing a savage hand, I turned myself into a fly, fixed myself on the door pivot, and have hidden there until now.
“That fiend king has grown stricter still and will not have the door opened. You must use a wife's courtesy on him once more and coax him in to his rest, so that I may get free to act and make some other arrangement to save you.”
The moment the Queen heard this she shook and trembled, her hair as though some spirit had it by the roots; she went weak and faint, her heart like a pestle pounding. Streaming with tears, she asked whether he was a man now, or a ghost.
“I am not a man either, and I am not a ghost either,” said Pilgrim. “I have turned myself into a fly, and here I am. Do not be frightened. Go quickly and invite the fiend king in.”
She did not believe him. Tears dripping, she whispered under her breath that he was not to put a spell on her.
“How would I dare put a spell on you?” said Pilgrim. “If you do not believe me, open your hand and let me jump down for you to see.”
The Queen really did open her left hand, and Pilgrim floated gently down.
He came to rest in the middle of her jade palm, for all the world like:
A black bean pinned to the head of a lotus stamen; a wandering bee at rest on a peony;
a grape dropped into the heart of an embroidered ball; a dark spot deep beside a lily stem.
The Golden Sage Queen raised her jade palm high and called him a divine monk, and Pilgrim answered in a tiny buzz that he was the divine monk, transformed. Only then did she believe. “When I go and fetch the fiend king here,” she said quietly, “how will you manage it?”
“The ancients say, 'Nothing sees a life off like wine,'” said Pilgrim, “and again, 'For clearing ten thousand troubles nothing beats wine.' Wine has many uses. You need only put drinking first. Call in one of the maids who wait on you in person, and point her out to me, and I will turn myself into her likeness, wait at your side, and so find my opening.”
The Queen really did as she was told, and called at once for Chunjiao. Out from behind the screen came a jade-faced fox, who knelt and asked what her lady required.
“Go and have them light the gauze lanterns and burn the borneol and musk,” said the Queen, “help me out to the front hall, and invite the Great King to his rest.”
Chunjiao went round to the front at once and called seven or eight monstrous deer and fiendish foxes, carrying two pairs of lanterns and a pair of hand censers, and drew them up on either side. The Queen rose a little and clasped her hands — and the Great Sage had already flown off. Fine Pilgrim! He spread his wings, flew straight to the jade-faced fox's head, plucked out a hair, blew a breath of immortal air on it and cried, “Change!” It turned into a sleep bug, and he set it gently on her face. Now once a sleep bug reaches a person's face it crawls towards the nostrils, and once inside the hole, sleep comes at once.
Sure enough, Chunjiao grew steadily drowsier, could not keep her feet, and swayed on the spot, nodding; then she hurried to find her usual sleeping place, flung herself down head first, and simply snored away. Pilgrim jumped down, gave himself a shake, turned himself into the very likeness of Chunjiao, went round the screen and fell in with the rest of them — of which no more for now.
Now as the Golden Sage Queen was making her way forward, some small fiends caught sight of her and reported at once to the Rival of the Grand Year that she was coming. The fiend king hurried out beyond the Flaying Pavilion to meet her.
“Great King,” she said, “the smoke and fire have died down and the thief has left no trace. It is deep in the night. I have come on purpose to ask the Great King to retire.”
“Have a care, my lady,” said the fiend, his heart full of delight. “That thief just now was none other than Sun Wukong. He beat my vanguard, killed my junior officers, changed his shape to get in here, and made fools of us all. We have searched like this and he has vanished without a trace, and that is why my mind is not easy.”
“I expect the fellow has got clean away,” said the Queen. “Set your mind at rest, Great King, and take yourself off to bed.”
Seeing her standing in attendance and pressing him so respectfully, the fiend did not dare refuse outright, and could only give orders to his host of fiends, each to mind the lamps and fires and guard well against thieves; then he went straight off with her to the rear palace. Pilgrim, in his counterfeit Chunjiao shape, was brought in among the two ranks of maids.
The Queen called for wine to be set out to ease the Great King's labours. “Just so, just so,” laughed the fiend king. “Bring wine quickly, and I shall drink with my lady to settle her fright.” The false Chunjiao at once joined the other fiends in laying out fruits, dressing some raw meat, and setting the tables and chairs in place.
The Queen raised a cup, the fiend king offered one in return, and the two of them exchanged cups. The false Chunjiao stood by, holding the wine pot. “Great King — tonight is the first time you and the Queen have passed the wedding cup, so please drain them both and cross a cup of double happiness.” And sure enough they filled up again and drained them again.
He spoke again. “The Great King and the Queen are met in joy, so let all the maids who can sing give us a song, and those who dance well get up and dance!” Before the words were out, there came a burst of song, all tuned to the modes, the singers singing and the dancers dancing. The two of them drank a great deal more, and then the Queen called a halt to the singing and dancing.
The maids divided into ranks and drew up outside the screen. Only the false Chunjiao kept the pot, serving wine up and down. The Queen and the fiend king talked of nothing but the talk of husband and wife. See how she was all cloud-feeling and rain-desire, coaxing him until his bones went soft and his sinews numb — only he had no such luck: he could not touch her. A pity! It was truly a case of the cat biting the bladder: joy over nothing at all.
They talked a while and laughed a while, and then she asked whether the treasures had been damaged.
“These treasures were kneaded and cast before heaven itself,” said the fiend king. “How could they take harm? It was only that the thief pulled out the cotton stopping their mouths, and burned the leopard-skin wrapper.”
“How are they to be stowed?” said the Queen.
“There is no stowing to be done. I carry them at my waist.”
Hearing this, the false Chunjiao at once plucked out a handful of hairs, chewed them to powder, edged gently up to the fiend king, laid the hairs on his body, blew three breaths of immortal air on them and called under his breath, “Change!”
The hairs turned at once into three nasty creatures — lice, fleas and bedbugs — which drove in under the fiend king's clothes and set about biting all over his skin. Itching past all bearing, he put a hand inside his robe to feel about and rub at it, pinched out several lice with his fingers, and held them up to the lamp to look.
Seeing it, the Queen said, half musing, “Great King, your under-robe must be dirty. It has not been starched and washed in a long time, and that is why these things have bred.”
“I have never bred such things,” said the fiend king in shame. “It would be tonight, of all nights, that I am disgraced.”
“How is the Great King disgraced?” she laughed. “As the saying goes, 'Even on an emperor's body there are three imperial lice.' Take off your clothes and let me pick them off for you.” And the fiend king really did loosen his belt and take off his robe.
The false Chunjiao stood at his side, watching the clothes on the fiend king's body with fixed attention:
layer upon layer of them alive with hopping fleas, garment after garment lined with fat bedbugs;
lice young and old, thick and swarming, like mole crickets and ants pouring out of the nest.
Without noticing, he had lifted as far as the third layer, where the skin showed, and on the golden bells there they were, teeming past all counting.
“Great King,” said the false Chunjiao, “hand over the bells and let me pick the lice off those too.” Ashamed in the first place and flustered in the second, the fiend king could not tell true from false, and handed the three bells across.
The false Chunjiao took them in hand and made a show of it for a good while; and seeing the fiend king with his head down shaking out the clothes, he pocketed the golden bells, plucked out a hair and turned it into three bells, the same in every detail, and held them up to the lamp to turn over and inspect. Then he gave his body a wriggling, squirming sort of shake, gathered up the lice, the bedbugs and the fleas and took them back into himself, and handed the false golden bells to the fiend.
The fiend took them in hand, more muddled and at a loss than ever — and how was he to tell true from false? He held the bells up in both hands and passed them to the Queen. “This time put them away properly. Be careful, be very careful. Not like the last time.”
She took them, lifted the lid of the clothes chest gently, put the false bells away and locked it with a golden lock. Then she drank a few more cups with him, and told the maids to dust the ivory bed clean and spread the brocade quilt: she would sleep with the Great King.
“No such luck, no such luck,” said the fiend king, yes, yes, over and over. “I dare not keep you company. I shall take a palace girl with me and go to sleep in the western palace. My lady, please retire.” And with that each went to their own sleeping place, of which no more for now.
Now the false Chunjiao, having got his hands on them, hung the treasures at his own waist, showed his true shape, gave his body a shake, took back the sleep bug and walked straight out. He heard only the clappers and bells sounding together, beating out the third watch, hard and fast. Fine Pilgrim! He pinched the finger sign, spoke the true words, worked a spell of invisibility, went straight to the gate — and found it barred and locked up tight. So he took out the gold-banded cudgel, pointed it at the door, brought out his lock-opening spell, and the door swung gently open.
He strode quickly out, planted himself, and shouted at the top of his voice: “Rival of the Grand Year! Give me back the Golden Sage Queen!” He called two or three times running, which roused the fiends great and small; and when they hurried to look, the front gate stood open.
They hurriedly brought lamps, found the lock and shut the door up again as before, and sent several running inside to report that there was somebody outside the main gate calling out the Great King's title and demanding the Golden Sage Queen. But the maids inside came straight out of the palace door and passed the word quietly: he was not to shout — the Great King had only just got to sleep.
Pilgrim shouted again in front of the gate, and again the little fiends dared not go and disturb him. This happened three or four times over, and not one of them dared take the message in. The Great Sage went on hollering and making a racket outside, right through to daybreak; then, unable to hold back any longer, he swung the iron cudgel up in his hand and went forward to batter the gate.
That threw the fiends great and small into a panic: those who could hold the gate held the gate, those who could carry word carried word. The fiend king woke from his sleep at last, hearing nothing but a confused uproar, got up, put on his clothes, came out from behind the gauze curtains and asked what all the shouting was. Only then did the maids kneel. “Master, we do not know who has been outside the cave cursing you half the night, and now he is battering the door as well.”
He came out of the palace door, and there were the several little fiends sent to report, kowtowing in a fluster. “There is somebody outside cursing and demanding the Golden Sage Queen; and if we say so much as half a word of refusal, he comes out with endless crooked talk, very hard on the ear. Seeing that it is daybreak and the Great King has not come out, he has been driven to battering the gate.”
“Do not open the gate yet,” said the fiend. “Go and ask him where he comes from. What is his surname, what is his name? Come back quickly and report.”
The little fiend hurried out and asked through the gate who was battering the door.
“I am the Grandfather whom Purpuria respectfully invited,” said Pilgrim, “come to fetch the Queen of the Sage Palace back to her kingdom.”
The little fiend heard it and carried the words straight back, and the fiend went at once to the rear palace to enquire into the fellow's background. Now the Queen had only just risen and had not yet washed or dressed her hair when a maid came in to report that the master was here; she hurriedly straightened her dress, gathered up her black cloud of hair loosely, and came out to receive him. She had barely sat down and had not yet had time to ask when another little fiend came in to report that the Grandfather outside had broken the door down.
“My lady,” laughed the fiend, “how many generals and marshals are there in your court?”
“At court there are the forty-eight guard divisions with their men and horses, and a thousand good generals,” said the Queen, “and on the frontiers the marshals and commanders are past counting.”
“Is there one among them surnamed Wai?”
“Living in the palace, all I know is helping my lord within and instructing the consorts morning and evening. Matters outside are without limit. How should I remember names?”
“This arrival calls himself Wai-gong,” said the fiend king. “I have been thinking about the Hundred Family Surnames, and there is no surname Wai in it at all. My lady is clever by nature and nobly born, and living in the imperial palace must have read widely. Do you recall which book has this surname in it?”
“Only the Thousand Character Classic has the line 'Without, receive the tutor's instruction,'” said the Queen. “That must surely be it.”
“That must be it, that must be it,” said the fiend king in delight. He rose at once, took his leave of her, went up to the Flaying Pavilion, put himself in order, mustered his fiend soldiers, had the gate opened, went straight outside with a flowered battle-axe in his hand, and shouted at the top of his voice to know which one was the Grandfather from Purpuria.
Pilgrim gripped the gold-banded cudgel in his right hand and pointed with his left. “Worthy nephew, what do you want with me?”
The fiend king saw him and said in a fury, “You creature:
Your looks are like a monkey's, your face like an ape's.
Seven parts of you are genuinely a ghost, and you have the nerve to bully people.”
Pilgrim laughed. “You rascally fiend, deceiving your superiors and cheating your lord — it turns out you have no eyes. Consider: five hundred years ago, when I made havoc in Heaven, the divine generals of the Nine Heavens saw me, and not one of them dared address me without an 'Old' in front of it. So where is the harm to you in calling me Grandfather?”
“Out with your surname and your name,” shouted the fiend king, “and what skill-at-arms you have, that you dare run riot here!”
“If you had not asked my name, it might have passed,” said Pilgrim; “but if you make me speak my name, I am afraid you will have nowhere left to stand. Come up here, stand steady, and listen to me:
Heaven and earth were the parents that bore me; sun and moon's pure essence knotted the holy embryo.
The immortal stone held me for years past counting; the numinous root conceived and bore me — how strange a thing!
In that year I was born under the Triple Yang at its height; today I return to the true, and the ten thousand meetings are in harmony.
I once gathered the fiends and was hailed their chief; I could subdue the monsters and have them bow at my cinnabar cliff.
The Jade Emperor sent down a proclamation; the Great White Planet came bearing the decree.
They invited me up to Heaven to take office and inherit a post; they made me Keeper of the Horses, which did not gladden my heart.
My first thought was revolt: I plotted from my mountain cave, and boldly raised troops to make trouble at the imperial stair.
The Pagoda-bearing Heavenly King and his prince crossed weapons with me for one round, and came off wretchedly.
Venus memorialised the Dark Vault Emperor again, and a second decree of pardon and appointment came down.
They enfeoffed me as the true Great Sage Equal to Heaven, and only then was I called timber fit for roof-beams.
Then, because I threw the Peach Banquet into confusion and, emboldened by wine, stole the elixir, I brought disaster down on myself.
The Most High Lord Lao memorialised the throne in person; the Queen Mother of the Western Pool made obeisance at the Jasper Terrace.
Knowing full well that it was I who had flouted the royal law, they mustered the heavenly troops at once and issued the fire-token.
A hundred thousand baleful stars and evil planets; shields and halberds, swords and pikes, ranked thick upon thick.
Nets of heaven and snares of earth were spread over the whole mountain; blades were raised together for the great encirclement.
One savage bout of fighting settled nothing either way, and Guanyin recommended that Erlang be brought in.
The two sides faced off to settle who was the better; he had his Meishan brothers with him.
Each showed his mettle and worked transformations; at the gate of Heaven three sages parted the clouds to watch.
Lord Lao threw down his diamond ring, and the assembled gods dragged me to the golden stair.
There was no need for review or approval or a written deposition; the sentence was death by slicing, beheading, the lot.
Axe-chopping and hammer-blows could hardly harm my life; blades swung and swords hacked, but how were they to hurt me?
Burning and thunderbolts came to no more than that; there was no way to destroy my long-lived body.
I was marched off to the Tushita court of Grand Purity, and everything was arranged for smelting and refining me in the furnace.
Only when the term was up did they open the cauldron, and I jumped out of the middle of it.
I gripped this same As-You-Will cudgel, turned over and fought my way up to the Jade Dragon Terrace.
Every star and every constellation went into hiding, and I made havoc in Heaven exactly as I pleased.
The patrolling Numinous Officer hurried off to fetch the Buddha, and Śākyamuni matched his powers against mine.
Inside the palm of his hand I turned somersaults, travelled the whole circuit of heaven and came back again.
The Buddha, knowing beforehand, used a trick to fool me, and I was pinned down by him at the sky's edge.
To this day five hundred years and more have passed; my humble frame is freed and I am up to my tricks again.
I am escorting the Tang monk to the Western Regions on purpose; Wukong Pilgrim is perfectly clear about it.
On the westward road I subdue fiends and monsters — what evil spirit does not fear me!”
The fiend king heard him say Wukong Pilgrim. “So you are the creature who made havoc in Heaven. Since you got free and are escorting the Tang monk westward, you might as well go your own way and have done. Why fabricate business for yourself and meddle, playing servant for that Purpuria, and then come here looking for death?”
“Thieving rascal of a fiend! You speak in ignorance,” shouted Pilgrim. “I received from Purpuria the courtesy of a formal invitation, and enjoyed besides the kindness of being properly addressed and entertained. Old Sun here stands a thousand times higher than a throne. They revere me as a parent and serve me as a god — so how do you come to utter the two words 'be a slave'? You fiend who deceives his superiors and cheats his lord — do not run. Take a taste of Grandfather's cudgel.”
The fiend lost his head and his hands, dodged aside, and met him face to face with the flowered axe. What a fine fight this was! Look:
The gold-banded As-You-Will cudgel; the wind-edged flowered axe.
One grinds his teeth and lets his fury out; one gnashes his teeth and puts his might on show.
This one is the Great Sage Equal to Heaven come down among mortals; that one is a mischief-making fiend king arrived on earth below.
The two of them spout cloud and belch mist till it lights the heavenly palace, truly rolling stones and flinging sand till the Dipper's court is hidden.
Back and forth, the moves came thick; over and over, gold light poured out.
Together they brought their skills to bear; each staked his magic powers on it.
This one means to take the Queen back to the imperial capital; that one is glad to keep the consort with him in his mountain fastness.
This whole business is without cause; they cast off life and forget death for the sake of a king.
The two of them fought through fifty rounds without either gaining the upper hand. Seeing that Pilgrim's skills were formidable and reckoning he could not win, the fiend king braced his axe against the iron cudgel. “Sun Pilgrim, hold a moment. I have not had my breakfast today. Wait until I have eaten, and I will come back and settle with you which of us is the cock and which the hen.”
Pilgrim knew perfectly well he meant to fetch the bells. He put away the iron cudgel. “'A good fellow does not chase a tired hare.' Go on, go on. Eat your fill, and come back the readier to meet your death.”
The fiend turned quickly and burst inside. “Bring out the treasures at once.”
“What are the treasures for?” said the Queen.
“The one who called me out to fight this morning is a disciple of the scripture-seeking monk, called Sun Wukong Pilgrim, falsely styling himself Grandfather. I have fought him up to this moment without either of us gaining the upper hand. Wait while I take the treasures out, let off some smoke and fire, and burn this monkey-head.”
Hearing this the Queen was startled at heart: if she did not fetch the bells out he might grow suspicious; if she did fetch them out she feared for Sun Pilgrim's life. While she was still hesitating, undecided, he pressed her again to bring them out quickly. She had no choice. She turned the key in the lock and handed the three bells across.
The fiend king took them and walked straight out of the cave. The Queen sat in the palace, tears falling like rain, wondering whether Pilgrim could possibly escape with his life. Neither of them knew the bells were false.
The fiend came out of the gate, took the upwind position at once and called: “Sun Pilgrim, don't run — watch me shake my bells.”
“You have bells — as if I had none?” laughed Pilgrim. “You can shake them — as if I could not?”
“What bells have you got? Bring them out and let me see.”
Pilgrim pinched the iron cudgel down into an embroidery needle and hid it in his ear. Then he untied the three genuine treasures from his waist and held them out. “Are these not my own purple-gold bells?”
The fiend king saw them and cried out in alarm. “Strange, strange! How is it that his bells and my bells are the same in every detail? Even if they were cast from one mould, surely the finishing would not match, and one would have a blemish more or a nub less — so how are they alike to a hair?”
He asked again where those bells of his had come from.
“Worthy nephew,” said Pilgrim, “and where did those bells of yours come from?”
The fiend king, being honest, said straight out, “These bells of mine are:
The Immortal Lord of Grand Purity, whose source in the Way runs deep, long refined gold in his eight-trigram furnace.
They set into bells and were named a supreme treasure; Lord Lao left them behind, and here they are today.”
“Old Sun's bells came from that same time,” laughed Pilgrim.
“And how did they come about?”
“These bells of mine are:
The Patriarch of the Way fired his elixir in the Tushita Palace; the golden bells were worked and refined there in the furnace.
Two threes make six, a treasure of the turning cycle: mine are the hens and yours the cocks.”
“Bells are treasures of the golden elixir, not birds of the air or beasts of the field,” said the fiend king. “How is one to tell cock from hen? Whichever shakes out its treasures is the good one, and that is all.”
“Talk proves nothing; do it and we shall see,” said Pilgrim. “You go first.”
The fiend king really did shake the first bell three times — no fire came out; the second, three times — no smoke came out; the third, three times — and no sand came out either. He lost his head and his hands. “Extraordinary! Extraordinary! The way of the world has changed. These bells must be henpecked — the cocks have seen the hens, and so they will not come out.”
“Worthy nephew, hold your hand,” said Pilgrim. “Let me shake mine for you to see.” Fine monkey! He gripped all three bells in one hand and shook them together. Look at it — red fire, blue smoke, yellow sand, all rolling out together, gushing and roaring, scorching the trees and burning the hills. The Great Sage muttered a spell besides, and called towards the quarter of Xun, “Wind, come!” It was truly a case of wind driving the fire's force and fire borrowing the wind's power: flaring red, sinking black, smoke and flame filling the sky, yellow sand covering the ground. It frightened the Rival of the Grand Year clean out of his wits, with nowhere to run — in the middle of that fire, how was he to escape with his life?
Then he heard only a stern voice calling from mid-air: “Sun Wukong, I am here.” Pilgrim turned his head quickly and looked up, and there was the Bodhisattva Guanyin, holding the pure vase in her left hand and the willow spray in her right, sprinkling down sweet dew to quench the fire. In his fluster Pilgrim hid the bells at his waist, then pressed his palms together and prostrated himself.
The Bodhisattva flicked a few drops of sweet dew from the willow spray, and in an instant the smoke and fire were gone and the yellow sand had vanished. Pilgrim knocked his head on the ground. “I did not know the Great Compassion had come down among us, and failed to withdraw. May I ask where the Bodhisattva is bound?”
“I have come expressly to seek out and take back this fiend.”
“What is this fiend's history, that it should trouble your golden body to come down and take him?”
“He is the golden-haired hou that I ride,” said the Bodhisattva. “Because the herd-boy dozed off and let his guard down, this cursed beast bit through his iron chain and came here — and in doing so has been dispelling a calamity for the king of Purpuria.”
Hearing this, Pilgrim straightened up quickly. “The Bodhisattva has it backwards. Here he has cheated a sovereign and swindled a consort, corrupted morals and injured decency, bringing calamity down on that king — and you call it dispelling calamity. How so?”
“You do not know the whole of it,” said the Bodhisattva. “In the days when the former king of Purpuria was on the throne, the present king was still crown prince in the Eastern Palace and had not yet come to the throne. In his youth he was very fond of hunting. He led out his men and horses, loosed his hawks and hounds, and came to the foot of Fallen Phoenix Slope, where the two offspring of the Peacock Great Illumination King Bodhisattva, Buddha-Mother of the West, a pair of fledglings, one hen and one cock, were resting their wings at the foot of the hill; and where this king drew his bow, he wounded the cock peacock, and the hen peacock went west with an arrow in her too.
“After the Buddha-Mother had made her act of contrition, she directed that he should be parted from his phoenix for three years and burdened in body with a wasting sickness. At that time I was riding this hou, and it heard the words along with me. I did not expect the cursed beast to take note of it, and so come here, swindle the queen away, and dispel the king's calamity. Now three years are up, the debt of wrong is discharged, and by good fortune you have come to cure the king's affliction. I have come expressly to take back the evil creature.”
“Bodhisattva, granted that this is the story,” said Pilgrim, “but what of his having defiled the queen, corrupting morals and injuring decency, wrecking the bonds and disordering the law? He deserves a capital sentence. Now that the Bodhisattva has come in person, his capital sentence can be pardoned — but his living sentence cannot. Let me give him twenty strokes of the cudgel, and then you may take him away.”
“Wukong, since you know I have come down in person, you ought to do it on my account,” said the Bodhisattva. “Let him off altogether, and it will count as your merit in subduing a fiend; and if you set that cudgel going, he will simply be dead.”
Pilgrim did not dare go against her word, and could only bow. “Since the Bodhisattva is taking him back to the sea, do not let him come down among mortals on his own account again. The harm he does is not slight.”
The Bodhisattva shouted a single word: “Cursed beast! Still not resuming your own shape — what are you waiting for?” The fiend at once rolled over, showed his true body, shook out his coat, and she mounted. Then she looked once at his neck, and the three golden bells were not there.
“Wukong, give me back the bells.”
“Old Sun knows nothing about it.”
“You thieving ape!” shouted the Bodhisattva. “If you had not stolen these bells, not one Wukong but ten would not have dared come near him. Bring them out at once.”
“I have honestly never seen them,” laughed Pilgrim.
“Since you have never seen them, wait while I recite the Tight-Fillet Spell.”
Pilgrim panicked and could only cry, “Don't say it, don't say it! The bells are right here.”
This is a case of:
The golden bells at the hou's neck — who is to loose them?
The one who unties the bell must still ask the one who tied it.
The Bodhisattva slipped the bells over the hou's neck and sprang up to sit high on his back. Look at him: lotus flowers blazing under all four feet, threads of gold bristling over his whole body. The Great Compassion returned to the Southern Sea, and of that no more for now.
Now the Great Sage Sun tightened his belt and skirts, swung the iron cudgel and fought his way into Xiezhi Cave, beat the whole crowd of fiends and monsters to death without restraint, and wiped the place clean. Then he went straight to the inner palace and invited the Queen of the Sage Palace to return to her kingdom. She bowed her thanks without end, and he told her the whole story of the Bodhisattva's subduing of the fiend and of the parting of the phoenixes.
He found some soft grass and bound it into a grass dragon. “My lady, get astride, close your eyes, do not be afraid, and I will carry you back to court to see your lord.” The Queen obeyed the instructions carefully; Pilgrim called up his powers, and there was nothing to be heard but wind in her ears. In half a double-hour he had brought her into the city, set the cloud down, and called to her to open her eyes. She opened them and looked, recognised the phoenix towers and dragon halls, and was glad at heart; she cast the grass dragon aside and went up into the treasure hall with him.
The king saw her, came down from the dragon couch in haste, reached to take her jade hand and pour out the grief of their parting — and suddenly fell flat on the ground, crying only, “My hand! My hand!”
Bajie roared with laughter. “What a face on him — no luck to enjoy her. One look at her and he is stung half to death.”
“Idiot — would you dare give her a tug?” said Pilgrim.
“And what if I did give her a tug?”
“The queen has poison thorns grown on her body, and her hands carry a sting that strikes the male principle. Since she came to Unicorn Mountain, three years with the Rival of the Grand Year, the fiend has never once touched her. Touch her body and the body hurts; touch her hand and the hand hurts.”
The officials heard it and asked what was to be done if that was so. At that moment the officials outside were anxious and uncertain, and the consorts within were frightened, and the Jade Sage and Silver Sage of the two other palaces, who were at hand, helped the king to his feet.
Just as they were all in confusion, they suddenly heard someone calling from mid-air: “Great Sage, I am here.” Pilgrim raised his head to look, and saw:
A crane's cry, austere, piercing the sky; drifting lightly, straight to the front of the court.
Auspicious light wound about in strand upon strand; lucky vapours hung fluttering and dense.
A palm-fibre robe thatching his body and giving off cloud and mist; on his feet straw sandals seldom seen.
In his hand a fly-whisk of dragon-whisker; a silk cord wound round below his waist.
Everywhere between heaven and earth he forms bonds with people; over the whole world he wanders free.
This is none other than the Purple Cloud Immortal of the Great Canopy Heaven, come down among mortals today to undo an enchantment.
Pilgrim came forward to meet him. “Zhang Ziyang — where are you bound?”
The Perfected Man Ziyang came straight to the front of the hall, bowed and paid his respects. “Great Sage — the humble immortal Zhang Boduan salutes you.”
Pilgrim returned the courtesy and asked where he had come from.
“Three years ago I attended a Buddhist assembly, and passing this way, I saw that the king of Purpuria had the sorrow of parted phoenixes before him. I feared the fiend would defile the queen and damage the bonds of kinship, so that afterwards she could not be reunited with the king. So I took an old palm-fibre cape, turned it into a new robe of rosy cloud shot with five colours, and presented it to the fiend king, telling him to have the queen put it on as her wedding dress. The queen put it on, and at once poison thorns grew all over her body. The poison thorns are the palm-fibre cape. Now, knowing the Great Sage has succeeded, I have come on purpose to undo the enchantment.”
“In that case, we have put you to a long journey,” said Pilgrim. “Be quick and release her.”
The Perfected Man stepped forward, pointed once at the queen with his hand, and the palm-fibre cape came off. The queen's whole body was as it had been. He shook the cape out, threw it over his own shoulders. “No offence, Great Sage — this humble immortal takes his leave.”
“Wait a moment — let the king thank you.”
“No trouble, no trouble,” he laughed. Then he made a long bow, and rose into the air and was gone. That threw the emperor, the queen and all the officials great and small into a flurry, and one and all they bowed to the empty sky.
The bowing done, the king ordered the Eastern Pavilion thrown open and the four monks feasted in thanks. He led his court in kneeling and bowing, and only then were husband and wife brought together again.
In the middle of the feasting Pilgrim called for his master to fetch out the challenge letter, and the elder took it out of his sleeve and handed it to him. Pilgrim handed it to the king. “This letter was sent by that fiend through a junior officer. That officer I had already killed, and sent the letter in to claim the credit. Afterwards I went back to the mountain, turned myself into that officer, went into the cave to report, and so got to see the Queen, stole the golden bells out, and was very nearly caught. Then I changed shape again, stole out once more, and met him in battle. By good fortune I met the Bodhisattva Guanyin, who took him back, and she also told me the reason for the parting of the phoenixes …” — and so from beginning to end he told it all through in detail. In the whole kingdom, ruler and ministers, inside and out, there was not one who did not give thanks and praise.
“In the first place it is the worthy king's good fortune,” said Tripitaka, “and in the second it is my disciple's doing. Now we have received a splendid banquet — enough, and more than enough. Here we take our leave. Do not delay this poor monk in going westward.”
The king pressed them to stay and could not prevail, so he stamped the travel papers, drew up the royal carriage in state, and invited Tripitaka to sit securely in the dragon coach. The king and his consorts all took hold of the hub and pushed at the wheel, and so saw them off and parted. This is a case of:
Where the affinity is right, the sickness of worry and doubt is washed clean away;
cut off the thoughts, think nothing, and the heart is quiet of itself.
As to what fortune or misfortune lay ahead of them on this road, listen to the explanation in the next instalment.