Passion and desire, in root and in cause, are all of one kind; have the feeling and you have the craving, and it comes of itself.
Of all the thronging men who train at the gate of the shramana, the one who cuts off craving and forgets passion — he is Chan.
You must fasten the mind on it; you must hold the heart firm; not one speck of dust, and the moon at the top of the sky.
Work the practice, advance by degrees, let nothing go astray; practice full and merit complete — the Greatly Awakened Immortal.
Our story tells how Tripitaka and his disciples tore open the net of desire, leapt clear of the prison of passion, and gave the horse its head westward. They had not gone far when summer was spent and autumn beginning, and a new coolness went through them.
And what met the eye was this:
A quick rain gathers up the last of the heat; a single paulownia leaf takes fright.
Fireflies over the sedge path at dusk; crickets talking, and the moon's glow bright.
Yellow mallows open, lit through with dew; red smartweed spreads over the sandy shoal.
Willow and osier are the first to shed; the cold cicada answers the pitch-pipe and sings.
Tripitaka was riding steadily along when all at once a high mountain came into view, its peaks driven into the blue void — it truly did graze the stars and block out the sun. Fear rose in the elder's heart, and he called to Wukong: “Look at this mountain ahead of us, how very high it stands. I wonder whether there is any road through it at all?”
Pilgrim laughed. “Master, what a thing to say. The old saying has it: however high the mountain, a traveller's road runs over it; however deep the water, a ferryman is there to take you across.” “How could there be no way through? Set your mind at rest and ride on.” At these words the elder broke into smiles, shook out the whip, urged the horse forward, and rode straight up onto the high crag.
They had not gone many lǐ when they saw an old man: the hair at his temples in a tangle, white locks blowing loose; his beard thin and clear, silver threads swaying; round his neck a string of prayer beads, in his hand a staff with a dragon's head showing.
Standing far off on the hillside he called out: “Elder bound for the west, hold that fine horse of yours a moment, draw the jade bit tight. There is a band of demons on this mountain who have eaten up every human being in the world of Jambudvipa. You must not go on.”
At these words Tripitaka was seized with fright and the colour went out of his face. First, the horse's footing was uneven; second, he was sitting none too steadily in the carved saddle — down he came off the horse with a thump, unable to struggle up, lying in the grass and groaning. Pilgrim came up, helped him to his feet and said, “Don't be afraid, don't be afraid. You have me.”
The elder said, “You heard the old man on the high crag announce that this mountain holds a band of demons who have eaten up every human being in Jambudvipa. Who dares go and ask him for the plain truth of it?” Pilgrim said, “You just sit down here, and let me go and ask him.”
Tripitaka said, “Your features are coarse and ugly and your speech is rough. I am afraid you will give offence and get no straight answer out of him.” Pilgrim laughed. “I will change into something better-looking and go and ask him.” Tripitaka said, “Go on and change, then, and let me see.”
Splendid Great Sage! He pinched the magic sign, gave his body a shake and turned into a spruce little monk — truly, clear of brow and fine of eye, round of head and straight of face; in his bearing the air of a scholar, in his speech not one word of the common sort.
He gave his brocade cassock a shake, strode forward and said to the Tang Monk, “Master, how does the change look to you?” Tripitaka looked and was delighted. “Well changed.” Bajie said, “How could it not be good? Only, it puts the rest of us quite in the shade. Old Hog could roll at it for two or three years and still never manage anything as good-looking as that.”
Splendid Great Sage! He slipped away from the others, went straight up, bowed from the waist to the old man and said, “Venerable sir, this poor monk salutes you.” The old fellow saw that he was handsome and refined, young and light of build; half answering and half not, he returned the bow, laid a hand on the boy's head and asked with a broad smile, “Little monk, where have you come from?”
Pilgrim said, “We are from the Land of the East, the Great Tang, and we are bound for the Western Heaven to worship the Buddha and seek scriptures. Having only just arrived, we heard you announce that there are demons about. My master is timid and easily frightened, so he has sent me to ask: what sort of demon is it exactly, that dares block the road like this? Trouble yourself to tell me the whole of it, so that I can have him banished and packed off.”
The old fellow laughed. “You are a young little monk who cannot tell good from bad, and your talk does you no good at all. That demon's powers are enormously great. How dare you talk about banishing him and packing him off?”
Pilgrim laughed. “By your own account you seem to want to shield him. You must be a relation of his, or else a near neighbour and sworn friend; otherwise why build up his prestige and talk up his standing, and refuse to open your heart and tell me where he comes from?”
The old man nodded and laughed. “This monk can certainly talk. I suppose you have been wandering about with that master of yours, picking up a few tricks here and there — you can probably drive off goblins and settle somebody's house against evil spirits. You have never run into a really vicious monster.”
Pilgrim said, “How vicious?” The old man said, “That demon sends a single letter to Vulture Peak and five hundred arhats come out to meet him; one slip of paper up to the Palace of Heaven and the Eleven Great Luminaries revere him one and all. The dragons of the four seas have been friends of his; the immortals of the eight grottoes meet with him regularly; the Kings of the Ten Hells address him as a brother, and the local earth gods and city gods treat him as a guest and friend.”
When the Great Sage heard this he could not hold in his laughter. He caught the old man by the hand and said, “Do not say it, do not say it. If that demon is brother and friend to my junior lads, that is nothing much to boast about. If he knew it was I, the little monk, who had come, he would pack up and clear out this very night.”
The old man said, “You are talking rubbish, little monk, and you are no credit to your kind. Which of these divine beings is a junior lad of yours?” Pilgrim laughed. “To tell you the truth and hide nothing, I, the little monk, come of the Water Curtain Cave on the Mountain of Flowers and Fruit in the Land of Aolai. My surname is Sun, and my name is Wukong.
“In my time I too was a demon, and did great things. Once, when I had gathered the demons together and drunk a few cups too many, I fell asleep, and dreamed that two men came with a warrant and hauled me off to the underworld.
“In a fit of rage I took my gold-banded cudgel and beat the demon judges black and blue, frightened the King of Hell off his feet and all but turned the Hall of Judgement upside down. I so terrified the presiding judge that he fetched paper, and the ten Kings of Hell signed their names and made their marks, begging me to let them off, willing to be junior lads of mine.”
The old man heard him out and said, “Amitabha! This monk has said something so far over the mark that he will never grow up at all.” Pilgrim said, “Officer, big as I am is big enough for me.”
The old man said, “How old are you, then?” Pilgrim said, “Have a guess.” The old man said, “Seven or eight, I should think.” Pilgrim laughed. “Ten thousand times seven or eight.
“I will fetch out my old face for you to have a look at — only do not take it amiss.” The old man said, “How can you have another face?” Pilgrim said, “I, the little monk, have seventy-two faces, as it happens.”
The old man did not know what was coming, and kept on pressing him. So he gave his face a rub and showed his true shape: fangs bared and mouth jutting, both thighs flaming red, a tiger-skin kilt tied at the waist, a gold-banded cudgel in his hand, standing at the foot of the stone cliff — the very image of a living god of thunder.
When the old man saw it the fright drained the colour from his face, his legs went numb and weak, he could not keep his footing and down he went with a thump; and when he scrambled up, over he went once more. The Great Sage stepped up and said, “Old officer, no need for alarm. We are ugly men but good ones. Do not be afraid, do not be afraid.
“Just now you were good enough to warn us there were demons. How many of them are there, really? Take the trouble to tell me the whole of it, and I will thank you properly.” The old fellow shook and trembled, could not get a word out, pretended to be deaf as well, and did not answer a syllable.
Seeing that he would not speak, Pilgrim turned on his heel and went back down the slope. The elder said, “Wukong, you are back? What came of your asking?” Pilgrim laughed. “Nothing to worry about, nothing to worry about. There may well be the odd little demon in the west, only the people here are timid and take them to heart. It is nothing, nothing. You have me.”
The elder said, “Did you ask him at all what mountain this is? What cave? How many demons are there? Which road goes through to Thunder Sound?”
Bajie said, “Master, do not take offence at what I say. For gambling on transformations, playing sharp tricks and making fools of people, three or five of us together are no match for my elder brother; but for plain honesty, you could line my elder brother up in a whole regiment of himself and he would still be no match for me.” The Tang Monk said, “Just so, just so. You are the honest one.”
Bajie said, “I do not know how, but he went poking in headfirst without a thought for his own tail, asked a couple of questions, and came running back with nothing settled either way. Let Old Hog go and get a straight answer out of him.” The Tang Monk said, “Wuneng, mind how you go.”
Splendid idiot! He stuffed his muckrake into his belt, straightened his black robe, went mincing and sidling up the slope, and called out to the old man, “Venerable sir, my respects to you.” The old fellow, seeing Pilgrim go, had just managed to prop himself up on his stick and get to his feet, and was shaking so much he could hardly walk, when he caught sight of Bajie and grew more terrified still. “Good grief!” he cried.
“What sort of evil dream did I have last night, to run into a gang of monsters like this? The monk who came first was ugly, but he still had three parts of a human look about him;
“But this monk — how does he come by a snout like a pestle, ears like rush fans, a face like sheet iron and a bristled neck, without one part of a human about him?” Bajie laughed. “You do not hold much back, old sir. You have quite a gift for running people down.
“How do you find me, then? Ugly I may be, but I am worth a look — give it a while and I shall come out handsome.” The old man, hearing him talk like a human being after all, had no choice but to speak up and ask, “Where have you come from?”
Bajie said, “I am the Tang Monk's second disciple. My religious name is Wuneng Bajie. The one who asked before, called Wukong the Pilgrim, is my elder brother. Our master was annoyed with him for giving offence to you, sir, and for not getting a straight answer, so he has sent me particularly to ask.
“What mountain is this, in fact? What cave? What demons are in the cave, in fact? Which is the high road west? Take the trouble to point it out for me, sir.”
The old man said, “Can you be honest about it?” Bajie said, “I have never in my life dared utter one hair of falsehood.” The old man said, “Do not be like that monk who came before, slipping and sliding about and talking nonsense.” Bajie said, “I am not like him.”
Leaning on his stick, the old man said to Bajie, “This mountain is called the Lion Camel Ridge, and it runs eight hundred lǐ. In the middle of it is the Lion Camel Cave. In the cave are three demon chiefs.”
Bajie spat. “You are a worrier, old man. Three demons, and you put yourself to all this trouble to come and bring bad news?” The old man said, “You are not afraid, then?”
Bajie said, “I will not deceive you. Of these three demons, my elder brother will kill one with a single blow of his cudgel; I will kill one with a single stroke of my rake. And I have another younger brother who will kill one with his demon-quelling staff. All three dead, my master goes through — where is the difficulty?”
The old man laughed. “This monk has no idea how deep the water is. Those three demon chiefs have powers that are very great indeed.”
“Of the lesser demons under them, there are five thousand on the southern ridge and five thousand on the northern; ten thousand at the eastern road-mouth and ten thousand at the western; four or five thousand on patrol and a further ten thousand on the gates;
“past counting at the fires and past counting at the firewood: forty-seven or forty-eight thousand all told. And these are only the ones with names and badges, whose whole business here is eating people.”
When the idiot heard this he came running back trembling, and drawing near the Tang Monk did not report at all, but set down his rake and relieved himself where he stood. Pilgrim saw him and shouted, “Why are you not reporting? What are you squatting there for?” Bajie said, “It frightened the dung out of me. There is no use talking about it now — best get away early and every man look to his own life.”
Pilgrim said, “You idiot root. I went and asked and was not frightened in the least; you go and ask and come back in this state, flustered out of your wits.” The elder said, “What is the truth of it?” Bajie said, “The old man says this mountain is called the Lion Camel Mountain, and it runs eight hundred lǐ.
“In the middle of it is the Lion Camel Cave. In the cave are three old demons and forty-eight thousand lesser ones, and their whole business there is eating people. If we so much as brush the edge of his mountain we are food in his mouth. There is no thinking of going on.”
At these words Tripitaka shook, and with his hair standing on end said, “Wukong, what are we to do?” Pilgrim laughed. “Set your mind at rest, master, there is nothing much in it. I dare say there are a few demons here and there, only the people hereabouts are timid and have turned them into a great many people and a great deal of size, and so frighten themselves. You have me.”
Bajie said, “Brother, what sort of talk is that? I am not you. What I asked, I asked properly, and there is not a word of falsehood in it. The hills and valleys are full of demons. How are we to go forward?”
Pilgrim laughed. “What a face on you, idiot. No need for these groundless frights. As for hills and valleys full of demons, all it needs is one stretch of Old Sun's cudgel, and by midnight I shall have beaten the whole lot clean away.”
Bajie said, “For shame, for shame. Do not talk big. It would take those demons seven or eight days just to answer roll call. How could you beat them all clean away?” Pilgrim said, “How would you do it, then?”
Bajie said, “Even supposing you clawed them down, roped them down and used a hold-fast spell to pin them down, nothing could be as quick as that.” Pilgrim laughed. “There will be no clawing or seizing or roping about it.
“I take this staff by the two ends and give it a pull, and call out, 'Long!' and there it is, forty zhàng in length. A shake, and I call out, 'Thick!' and there it is, eight zhàng round.
“One roll of it south along the mountain kills five thousand; one roll north kills five thousand; and one roll from east to west turns forty or fifty thousand of them, I should think, into mince and paste.”
Bajie said, “Brother, if it is a matter of rolling them out like dough, then by the second watch it might all be over.” Sha Monk laughed from the side. “Master, with an elder brother of such powers, what is there to fear? Please mount and let us be going.” Seeing them arguing about their abilities, the Tang Monk had no help for it and could only take heart, mount and ride on.
As they were going along, the old man who had brought the news was nowhere to be seen. Sha Monk said, “He must have been a demon himself, coming to bring word on purpose, borrowing the tiger's terror like the fox, to frighten us.” Pilgrim said, “Do not be in a hurry. Let me go and have a look.”
Splendid Great Sage! He sprang to the high peak, looked all round and saw no trace, turned sharply, and caught sight of a bright coloured glow in mid-air; leaping onto his cloud he overtook it, and looked — and it was the Great White Planet. Going up beside him he caught hold of him with his hand, and calling him over and over by his familiar name said, “Li Changgeng, Li Changgeng, you are a lazy scoundrel.
“If you had something to say, you could well have come and said it to my face. Why get yourself up as some old man of the woods and play tricks on Old Sun?” The Planet hastily made his bow. “Great Sage, I was late bringing word. Do not hold it against me, do not hold it against me.
“This demon chief really does have vast powers and a formidable force. It all depends on your shifting and transforming, your quickness and your stratagems — with those you may get through; but if you are the least bit slack, it will be very hard going indeed.”
Pilgrim thanked him. “I am obliged to you, obliged to you. If the going here really is hard, I hope you will go up to the upper realm and have a word with the Jade Emperor — borrow me a few heavenly troops to help Old Sun out.” The Planet said, “Yes, yes, yes. You have only to send word, and even a hundred thousand heavenly troops can be had.”
The Great Sage took leave of the Planet, brought his cloud down, and seeing Tripitaka said, “That old fellow just now was the Star of Venus, come to bring us word.” The elder put his palms together. “Disciple, hurry after him and ask whether there is another road anywhere, and let us go round.”
Pilgrim said, “There is no going round. This mountain is eight hundred lǐ across by the direct way, and heaven knows how much more road there is round the four sides of it. How could we get round?” At these words Tripitaka could not hold back the tears in his eyes. “Disciple, with such hardship as this, how are we ever to worship the Buddha?”
Pilgrim said, “Do not cry, do not cry. One cry and you are a wash-out. There is bound to be some falsehood in this report of his — it is only meant to make us fix our minds and take care, as the saying has it: the one who tells you is the one at fault. Get down off the horse and sit a while.”
Bajie said, “Is there something else to discuss?” Pilgrim said, “Nothing to discuss. You stay here and take good care of the master; Sha Monk, keep a proper watch on the luggage and the horse.
“Let Old Sun go up the ridge first and make some enquiries — see how many demons there are altogether, front and back; catch one and question him in detail; make him write out a bond and open a register of names, with every one of them, old and young, checked off one by one; order him to shut the cave door and let there be no blocking of the road; and then invite the master to go quietly through. That will show what Old Sun can do.”
Sha Monk could only say, “Take care, take care.” Pilgrim laughed. “No need for instructions. On this trip of mine, were it the great Eastern Ocean I would swill a road through it, and were it a silver mountain wrapped in iron I would batter a door in it.”
Splendid Great Sage! He gave a whistle, called up his somersault cloud and sprang to the high peak. Pulling himself up by creepers and vines he levelled off and looked about him, and the mountain lay silent with nobody on it.
Suddenly he cried out, “Wrong, wrong! I should never have let that old Star go. He was only frightening me after all. Where in this place is there any demon at all? If they came out to caper about and amuse themselves they would be sure to be brandishing spears and swinging cudgels, drilling at arms. How is there not a single one?”
He was still turning it over to himself when he heard, from behind the mountain, a clinking and clanking, a rattling and a knocking of clapper and bell. Turning his head quickly to look, he found it was a little demon with a banner over his shoulder marked with the word Order, a bell hung at his waist and a wooden clapper beating in his hand, walking from north to south.
Looking at him carefully, he had a body a zhàng and two chǐ in height. Pilgrim laughed to himself. “He must be a postal runner — carrying dispatches and delivering notices, I should think. Let me go and give him a listen, and see what he has to say.”
Splendid Great Sage! He pinched the magic sign, said a spell, shook himself and turned into a fly, floated lightly down onto the demon's cap and put his ear to it. The little demon walked out onto the high road, beating his clapper and shaking his bell, muttering to himself, “We who patrol the mountain must each be careful and guard against Sun the Pilgrim. He can turn into a fly.”
Hearing it, Pilgrim was startled and doubtful, and said to himself, “This creature has seen me? And if he has not seen me, how does he know my name, and know that I can turn into a fly?” In fact the little demon had never seen him either. The demon chief had somehow given him this to say, and it was nothing but a rumour, which he had been set to chanting in this fashion.
Not knowing this, Pilgrim suspected he had been seen and was about to take out his cudgel and kill him, but he checked himself and thought, “I remember when Bajie questioned the Star, he said there were three old demons and forty-seven or forty-eight thousand little ones. Little demons like this one, a few tens of thousands more of them would hardly matter.
“What I do not know is how much these three old demon chiefs can do. Let me question him a bit; there will be time enough to start fighting afterwards.”
Splendid Great Sage — and how do you suppose he went about questioning him? He jumped down off the cap, pinned himself to a treetop and let the little demon go a few paces ahead. Then he turned quickly, shifted his shape and became a little demon himself, beating a clapper and shaking a bell and shouldering a banner just as the other did, in the same clothes, only three to five cùn taller than him, chanting the same words.
He ran up behind and called, “You there on the road, wait for me a moment.” The little demon turned his head. “Where have you come from?” Pilgrim laughed. “My good fellow, do you not even know your own household?” The little demon said, “There is no you in our house.”
Pilgrim said, “How is there no me? Take a good look at me.” The little demon said, “Your face is strange to me. I do not know you, I do not know you.”
Pilgrim said, “No wonder my face is strange. I am one of the firelighters. You will have seen little of me.” The little demon shook his head. “No, no. Even among those firelighting brothers of ours in the cave, there is nobody with a snout as pointed as that.”
Pilgrim thought to himself, “This snout of mine has come out a little too pointed.” Lowering his head at once, he cupped his hand over his snout and gave it a rub. “My snout is not pointed.” And it really was not pointed any more.
The little demon said, “A moment ago you had a pointed snout, and how is it that one rub and it is not pointed? You are a doubtful sort of person, very hard to make out, and not one of our household. Little acquainted, little acquainted; suspicious, suspicious.”
“The rules in my king's house are very strict. Firelighters do nothing but light fires and mountain patrols do nothing but patrol the mountain. It is not to be thought of that they would set you to light fires and then send you to patrol the mountain as well.”
Pilgrim had a ready tongue and cut straight in. “You do not know about it. The king saw that I lit fires well, and promoted me to patrol the mountain.”
The little demon said, “Very well; we mountain patrols run forty to a shift and four hundred over ten shifts, each with his own age and looks, each with his own name and description. The king was afraid we should get our shifts muddled and be hard to call over, so he gave every one of us a tally for a sign. Have you got a tally?”
Pilgrim had only seen how the other was got up and how he did his reporting, and had changed himself to match that pattern; and because he had not seen the tally, he had none on him.
Splendid Great Sage! Far from saying he had none, he agreed to it wholeheartedly. “How should I have no tally? Only mine is the new tally I was issued a moment ago. Take yours out and let me see it.”
How was that little demon to know the trick of it? He lifted his clothes at once, and there against his skin he wore a gilt-lacquered tally strung on a twist of silk cord, and pulled it out for Pilgrim to look at. Pilgrim saw that the back of the tally was a gold plate reading Awe Subduing All Demons, and on the face were three plain characters: Little Borer of the Wind.
He thought to himself, “That settles it. Anyone on mountain patrol is bound to have Wind hung on the end of his name.” So he said, “Put your clothes down and step aside, and let me get out my tally for you to look at.”
He turned away at once, put his hand behind him, pulled a small fine hair from the very tip of his tail, gave it a twist and called, “Change!” It turned into a gilt-lacquered tally, threaded on a green silk cord too, with three plain characters written on it: Chief Borer of the Wind. He brought it out and handed it over for the demon to see.
The little demon was greatly startled. “We are all called Little Borer of the Wind. How is it that you alone are called some sort of Chief Borer of the Wind?” Pilgrim was thorough in whatever he did and apt in whatever he said, and answered at once, “You really do not know.
“The king saw that I lit fires well, and promoted me to a Wind Patrol; and he gave me a new tally as well, made out Chief Wind Patrol, and set me to look after this shift of forty brothers of yours.”
At these words the demon at once made his bow. “Officer, officer — you are newly appointed and your face is genuinely strange to me. If my words gave offence, do not take it amiss.” Pilgrim returned the bow with a laugh. “Take offence I shall not. Only there is one thing: there is the meeting-money to see to. Five taels apiece, if you please.”
The little demon said, “Do not be in a hurry, officer. Wait until I have gathered this shift of mine at the head of the southern ridge, and we will settle up all together.” Pilgrim said, “In that case, I will go along with you.” The little demon really did walk ahead, and the Great Sage followed close behind him.
Not a few lǐ on, they suddenly saw a Brush Peak. Why is it called a Brush Peak? On that mountain top a single spur has grown up, some four or five zhàng high, standing like a brush set in its stand; and that is how it came by the name.
Pilgrim went up to it, gave his tail a tuck, sprang up and sat himself on the very point of the peak. He called, “Borers of the Wind, come over here, all of you.” The Little Borers of the Wind bowed from below. “Officer, at your service.”
Pilgrim said, “Do you know why the king has picked me out and sent me?” The little demons said, “We do not.”
Pilgrim said, “The king means to eat the Tang Monk, but he is afraid of Sun the Pilgrim, whose powers are said to be vast; they say he can change his shape, and the king fears he may turn himself into a Little Borer of the Wind and come treading these paths here to spy out the news — so he has raised me to Chief Borer of the Wind, to come and inspect this shift of yours and find out whether there are any false ones among you.”
The Little Borers of the Wind answered one after another, “Officer, we are all genuine.” Pilgrim said, “If you are genuine, then what can the king do? Do you know that?” A Little Borer of the Wind said, “I know.”
Pilgrim said, “If you know, say it out quickly and let me hear. If what you say tallies with mine, you are genuine; and if you are out by the smallest thing, you are false, and I shall take you straight to the king to be dealt with.”
Seeing him sitting up there playing the grandee and shouting and blustering, the Little Borer of the Wind had no help for it and had to tell the truth. “Our great king's powers are vast and his abilities of the highest, and he once swallowed a hundred thousand heavenly troops at one gulp.” Hearing it, Pilgrim let out a sound. “You are a false one.”
The Little Borer of the Wind was thrown into a panic. “Officer, your honour, I am genuine — how can you say I am false?” Pilgrim said, “If you are genuine, why do you talk nonsense? How big can the king's body be, that he should swallow a hundred thousand heavenly troops at one gulp?”
The Little Borer of the Wind said, “Your honour does not know, then. Our great king can transform himself. When he wants to be large he can prop up the halls of heaven, and when he wants to be small he is like a cabbage seed.”
“In the year the Queen Mother laid on her Peach Banquet and invited all the immortals, she sent our king no card of invitation, and our king had a mind to fight heaven for it, so the Jade Emperor dispatched a hundred thousand heavenly troops to subdue him. Our king transformed his dharma body, opened his great mouth like a city gate and sucked them in by main force.
“It so frightened the heavenly host that they dared not join battle, and shut the Southern Gate of Heaven. That is how he came to swallow a hundred thousand troops at one gulp.” Hearing this, Pilgrim laughed to himself. “If we are talking about handiwork of that sort, Old Sun has done it too.”
He spoke up again. “And what can the second king do?” The Little Borer of the Wind said, “The second king stands three zhàng high, with silkworm brows and phoenix eyes, a beautiful woman's voice, teeth like carrying poles and a nose like a dragon. If he fights with anyone, one sweep of that nose carries them off, and though a man had an iron back and a body of bronze his soul would still be lost and his spirit undone.”
Pilgrim said, “A demon who picks people up with his nose is easy enough to take.” He spoke up again. “And how much can the third king do?” The Little Borer of the Wind said, “Our third king is no creature of the mortal world. He is styled the Roc of Ten Thousand Li of Cloud-Road.
“When he moves, he beats up the wind and stirs the sea, shakes off from the north and makes for the south. About him he carries a treasure called the Vase of the Two Breaths of Yin and Yang. If a man is put inside that vase, in the space of an hour and a half he is turned to liquid.”
Hearing this, Pilgrim was privately alarmed. “The demons themselves I am not afraid of. It is that vase of his I must take care to guard against.” He spoke up again. “The three kings' abilities — you have told them off well enough, without a slip, and they agree with what I know myself.
“But which of the kings is it that wants to eat the Tang Monk?” The Little Borer of the Wind said, “Officer, do you not know that?” Pilgrim shouted at him. “As if I knew less of it than you. It is because he was afraid you lot did not know the ins and outs of it that he gave me orders to come and question you closely.”
The Little Borer of the Wind said, “Our great king and the second king have long lived here at the Lion Camel Cave on the Lion Camel Ridge. The third king does not live here. His own place is some four hundred lǐ west of this. Over there is a city, and it is called the Kingdom of Lion Camel.”
“Five hundred years ago he ate the king of that city and all his officials, civil and military, and every man, woman and child in the place was eaten clean up as well, and that is how he took their realm from them. So now the whole place is nothing but demons.”
“I do not know what year it was that they got wind of the Tang court in the east dispatching a monk to the Western Heaven to fetch scriptures — they say this Tang Monk is a good man of ten incarnations of self-cultivation, and that anyone who eats a piece of his flesh will have his years lengthened and live long without growing old.
“Only, being afraid of that disciple of his, Sun the Pilgrim, who is extremely dangerous, and finding it hard to manage alone, he came straight here to swear brotherhood with these two kings of ours, of one mind and one purpose, to take that Tang Monk between them.”
Hearing it, Pilgrim was in a great rage. “This foul demon is beyond all insolence. I am escorting the Tang Monk to the true fruit of his labour — how dare he scheme to eat a man of mine?”
With a snarl he ground his steel teeth, whipped out his iron cudgel, sprang down from the peak and gave the little demon one roll of the staff over the head — poor wretch, he was rolled flat into a lump of meat. Then, looking at what he had done, he could not bear it. “Oh!”
“He meant well by me, after all, telling me all his household talk — and how is it that I have finished him off at one stroke like this? Well, well — what is done is done.”
Splendid Great Sage! It was only because his master's road was blocked that he had brought himself to do such a thing. So he undid the demon's tally and hung it at his own waist, shouldered the banner with Order on it, hung the bell at his belt and took the wooden clapper in his hand.
Facing the wind he pinched the sign, said a spell over to himself, shook himself and changed, and what he changed into was the very likeness of the Little Borer of the Wind. He turned on his heel, went straight back the way he had come and looked for the cave, to spy out the true state of the three old demons. And this is the very thing:
A thousand kinds of transformation, the Handsome Monkey King; ten thousand ways of shifting, and true ability in them all!
He plunged into the deep mountain, keeping to the old road. As he was going along, he suddenly heard the sound of men shouting and horses neighing. Lifting his eyes to look, he found that at the mouth of the Lion Camel Cave there were tens of thousands of little demons drawn up with spears and swords, blades and halberds, banners and standards and pennons.
The Great Sage was privately delighted. “What Li Changgeng said was no idle word — no idle word at all.” It turned out this array had a system to it: two hundred and fifty men made one large company. Seeing only forty long banners of mixed colours fluttering in the wind, he knew there were ten thousand men and horses.
But then he weighed it up and reckoned it over with himself. “Old Sun has turned into a Little Borer of the Wind, and once I go in, if the old demon questions me about patrolling the mountain I shall have to answer as the moment requires. And if a word should go wrong at some point and he knows me — how am I to get my body out of it?”
“And if I wanted to run out then, with that crowd of gatekeepers blocking the way, how should I get out through the door? To take the demon king inside the cave, I must first clear away the crowd of monsters in front of the gate.”
And how do you suppose he got rid of that crowd of monsters? Splendid Great Sage, he thought to himself: “That old demon has never met me face to face, and yet he knows Old Sun's name. Let me lean on this name of mine, then, and trade on the terror of it, and talk big, and give them a fright and see.
“If the living souls of the Middle Land really have the affinity and the allotted portion, and the scriptures are to be got and brought back, then on this trip a few words of a hero from me will be all it takes to frighten off that host in front of the gate; but if the living souls have no affinity and no portion, and the true scriptures are not to be got, then though I talked till lotus flowers appeared, I should not be rid of the spirits outside that western cave.”
Heart asked mouth and mouth asked heart, and turning this plan over he beat his clapper and shook his bell and went straight in to the mouth of the Lion Camel Cave. He was stopped at once by a little demon of the forward camp. “Is that the Little Borer of the Wind come back?” Pilgrim did not answer, but lowered his head and walked on.
He got as far as the second line of the camp, and was stopped again by a little demon. “Is that the Little Borer of the Wind come back?” Pilgrim said, “Come back.” The demons said, “You were out on wind patrol this morning — did you happen to run into any Sun the Pilgrim?”
Pilgrim said, “I ran into him. He is over there grinding down a pole.” The demons were frightened. “What does he look like? What sort of pole is he grinding?”
Pilgrim said, “He is squatting by that gully, and even so he is like a Road-Opening God; and if he stood up he would be a good ten zhàng and more in length.
“In his hand he has an iron cudgel, like a great pole as thick as a bowl, and he is scooping up a handful of water on that stone cliff and grinding away at it, and saying to himself: 'Pole, my pole! Not this long while have I taken you out to show what you can do. On this trip, if there are a hundred thousand demons, kill every one of them for me, and let me slaughter those three demon chiefs to make you an offering.'”
“He means to get it ground bright, and then kill the ten thousand spirits in front of your gate first.” When the little demons heard this, every one of them was struck to the heart and shaken to the gall, their souls scattered and their spirits flown.
Pilgrim spoke again. “Gentlemen — there are not so many catties of meat on that Tang Monk, and none of it will come round as far as me. Why should we carry the jar for him? Better that we all scatter and be off.”
The demons all said, “He is right. Let us all go and look to our own lives.” It turned out this lot were all wolves and vermin, tigers and leopards, running beasts and flying birds, and with a whoop they went off in a body. This was not so much a few words of the Great Sage's laid-on talk as the sound of the songs of Chu scattering eight thousand troops.
Pilgrim was privately delighted. “Good! The old demon is as good as dead. If they run at the mere sound of it, how would they dare meet me face to face? Going in, I had better keep to the same story;
“and if I said the wrong thing, and one or two of this crowd of little demons had actually gone in and heard it, would that not let the wind out?” See him now:
In the end there is no knowing what fortune, good or ill, awaited him on meeting that old demon chief; and for that you must listen to the next chapter to have it explained.
He came to the old cave with his heart set;
he went in at the deep gate on his nerve.