Let a single thought but stir, and a hundred demons wake; the discipline is the bitterest of labours — yet what is to be done with them?
Rely on the washing alone, and no dust or stain remains; use the binding cord as well, and there is grinding to be borne.
Sweep back the myriad entanglements and come home to stillness; scour away the thousand monsters and squander no more time.
This will surely see you leap clear of the cage and slip the snare, your practice complete, borne aloft to the Great Canopy.
The story tells how the Great Sage Sun, having exhausted every device of his wit, invited the Tathagata to gather up the host of fiends, delivered Tripitaka and his disciples from their calamity, and left Lion Camel City travelling west. Several months went by, and winter was already upon them. And this is what they saw:
Plum on the ridge about to break its jade; water in the pool slowly turning to ice.
Red leaves have all drifted down; the green pine grows fresher still.
Pale clouds fly as if to snow; withered grass lies flat along the hills.
Cold light everywhere, and far; a gloom that goes through to the bone.
Master and disciples pressed on through the bitter cold, sleeping in the rain and dining on the wind. As they went, another walled city came into view. Tripitaka asked, “Wukong, what place is that over there?” Pilgrim said, “You will know when we get there. If it is the seat of a western king, we must have our travel rescript certified; if it is only a prefecture or a district, we go straight through.”
Master and disciples had not finished speaking before they stood outside the city gate. Tripitaka dismounted, and the four of them together passed into the barbican. They saw an old soldier under a wall in the sun, huddled out of the wind, asleep. Pilgrim went up, gave him a shake, and called out, “Officer.” The old soldier came awake with a start, opened his eyes blearily, saw Pilgrim, and at once dropped to his knees, knocking his head on the ground and crying, “Grandfather!” Pilgrim said, “Do not carry on so wildly. I am no evil spirit either — why do you call me grandfather?” The old soldier knocked his head again and said, “You are Grandfather Thunder.” Pilgrim said, “Nonsense. I am a monk from the Land of the East, going to the Western Heaven to fetch the scriptures. We have only just arrived, we do not know the name of the place, and I was asking you.” The old soldier, hearing this, at last collected himself, gave a yawn, scrambled up, stretched his back and said, “Venerable one, venerable one, forgive a small man his offence. This place was originally called the Kingdom of Bhikshu, but it has now been renamed the City of Little Boys.” Pilgrim said, “Is there a king in this country?” The old soldier said, “There is, there is, there is.” Pilgrim turned round to the Tang Monk and said, “Master, this place was formerly the Kingdom of Bhikshu and is now renamed the City of Little Boys, but I have no idea what the change of name means.” The Tang Monk said doubtfully, “If it is called Bhikshu, why is it also called Little Boys?” Bajie said, “I expect the Bhikshu king died, and the one newly set on the throne is a little boy, so it is called the City of Little Boys.” The Tang Monk said, “There is no sense in that, no sense in that. Let us go in, and ask again when we reach the streets.” Sha Monk said, “Quite so. That old soldier for one thing knew nothing, and for another had been frightened into babbling by our eldest brother. Let us go into the city and enquire.”
They passed inward through three tiers of gates to the great thoroughfare and looked about them, and found the dress and caps decent enough and the people handsome. And this is what they saw:
Wine shops and singing houses loud with talk; coloured stalls and tea rooms with their curtains hung high.
Ten thousand doors, a thousand gates, and trade going well; six avenues and three markets, a broad source of wealth.
Buying gold and dealing in brocade, people thick as ants; snatching at profit and scrambling for fame, and all of it for money.
Manners grave and decorous, the prospect flourishing; clear rivers and calm seas, a year of great peace.
Master and disciples, the four of them, leading the horse and carrying the load, walked a good long while through the streets. They could not take in the whole splendour of it, but they did notice that every house had a goose coop at its door. Tripitaka said, “Disciples, the households here have all set goose coops at their doors. Why is that?” Bajie, hearing this, looked left and right, and they were indeed goose coops, ranged in a row and draped over with silk hangings of five colours. The idiot said with a laugh, “Master, today must be a lucky day of the yellow path, fit for weddings and for gathering friends. They are all performing the rites.” Pilgrim said, “Rubbish. How would every single household be performing rites? There must be a reason for it. Let me go up and take a look.” Tripitaka took hold of him and said, “Do not go. Your face is ugly, and I am afraid people will take offence at you.” Pilgrim said, “I shall go in another shape.”
Splendid Great Sage! He made the sign with his fingers, recited a spell, shook himself and changed — became a honeybee, spread his wings, flew up close, slipped inside the hanging and looked; and there, sitting within, was a small child. He went on to look in the coop of a second household, and that too held a small child. He looked at eight or nine houses in a row, and every one held a small child. They were all boys, without a single girl among them. Some sat in the coops playing, some sat inside crying; some were eating fruit, and some were dozing where they sat. When Pilgrim had finished looking he resumed his own form and reported back to the Tang Monk: “There are small children in those coops. The oldest are not yet seven and the youngest only five. I do not know why.” Tripitaka, hearing this, fell into perplexity and could settle on nothing.
Turning a corner they saw an official building, which was the Golden Pavilion Posting House. The elder said happily, “Disciples, let us go into this posting house: for one thing we can ask about the place, for another we can rest and feed the horse, and for a third it is late and we need lodging.” Sha Monk said, “Just so, just so — in we go.” The four of them went in gladly. The officials on duty duly reported to the courier chief, who received them at the door, and they all made their bows to one another. When they had sat down and exchanged courtesies, the courier chief asked, “From what quarter has the elder come?” Tripitaka said, “This poor monk has been dispatched from the Great Tang in the Land of the East to fetch scriptures in the Western Heaven. Having arrived at your honourable district, I have a travel rescript which ought by rights to be inspected, and would borrow the use of your high hall for one night.” The courier chief at once ordered tea. When the tea was done he saw to the provisions and ordered the man on duty to arrange their entertainment. Tripitaka gave his thanks and asked further, “May we go to court today to be presented and have the rescript inspected?” The courier chief said, “Not this evening; you must wait for the early court tomorrow. For tonight, take your ease in my humble offices.”
Before long everything was ready, and the courier chief invited the four of them to take the vegetarian meal together. He also told his people to sweep out a guest room for them to rest in. Tripitaka thanked him without ceasing. When they had sat down the elder said, “This poor monk has a thing he does not understand and would ask about; be so good as to instruct me. In your honourable land, how are children brought up? I do not know how they are treated here.” The courier chief said, “Heaven has no second sun; people have no second principle. Children are reared from a father's essence and a mother's blood, carried ten months in the womb, and born when their time comes. After birth they are suckled three years and gradually take on human form. How could anyone not know that?” Tripitaka said, “By your honoured account it is no different from my own country. But when this poor monk came into the city I saw that every household along the streets had set out a goose coop, and that they all had small children hidden inside. This matter is not clear to me, and so I make bold to ask.” The courier chief put his lips to Tripitaka's ear and said in a low voice, “Elder, do not meddle with it, do not ask about it, do not concern yourself with it, do not speak of it. Take your rest, and be on your way early tomorrow.” The elder, hearing this, caught hold of the courier chief and insisted on having it out plainly. The courier chief shook his head and waved his finger, saying only, “Guard your words.” Tripitaka would not let go at all, and clung on stubbornly, determined to have the details. The courier chief, having no choice, sent away the whole staff of officials on duty. Alone beneath the lamplight he said quietly, “The matter of the goose coops you asked about is a matter of the present ruler's lawlessness. What do you want to keep asking about it for?” Tripitaka said, “In what way lawless? You must make it clear to me, and then I can set my mind at rest.” The courier chief said, “This country was originally the Kingdom of Bhikshu. Lately there has been a rhyme among the people, and it has been renamed the City of Little Boys. Three years ago an old man came, got up in the guise of a Daoist, bringing with him a young girl just sixteen years old. The girl was of a delicate and striking beauty, her face like the Bodhisattva Guanyin's. He presented her to His Majesty, and the king, loving her beauty, took her into favour in the palace and styled her the Beautiful Queen. Of late he has had not one straight look for the ladies of the three palaces or the consorts of the six courts. Day and night alike, his pleasure is never done. He has now been reduced to a worn and weary spirit and a wasted frame, eats and drinks little, and his life hangs by a moment. The Imperial Medical Academy has exhausted every good prescription and cannot cure him. The Daoist who presented the girl has received a patent of nobility from our sovereign and is styled the Royal Father-in-Law. The Royal Father-in-Law has a secret prescription from beyond the seas, most potent for lengthening life. Some while ago he went to the Ten Islets and the Three Isles to gather the drugs, and they are all complete. The trouble is only the guide for the medicine, and it is a fearful one: it takes nothing less than the hearts and livers of one thousand one hundred and eleven small boys, boiled into a broth to take the drug with. Taken so, it has the virtue of keeping a man from age for a thousand years. The small boys in those goose coops have all been chosen out and are kept inside them. The parents in those households are afraid of the law and none of them dares to weep, so they have put a rhyme about and called it the City of Little Boys. When the elder goes to court tomorrow morning, only present the travel rescript for exchange, and do not touch upon this matter.” Having spoken, he withdrew.
The elder was so horrified that his bones went soft and his sinews slack, and he could not stop the tears falling down his cheeks. Suddenly he cried out, “Muddled king! Muddled king! For the sake of your pleasure and your love of beauty you have brought this sickness on yourself — how can you wrongfully destroy so many small lives? Bitter, bitter! It kills me to think of it!” There is a poem in proof of it. The poem says:
An evil ruler, unknowing, has lost the true and upright; greedy for pleasure, unaware, he secretly wounds himself.
Seeking everlasting life, he butchers the lives of children; to lift a heavenly scourge, he kills the small people.
The monk, moved to compassion, cannot bear to let it go; the officer, speaking of the danger, cannot bear to be heard.
Before the lamp he sheds tears and heaves a long sigh: grief has felled the man who sits in meditation and turns to the Buddha.
Bajie came up and said, “Master, what has come over you? Always hauling other people's coffins into your own house to weep over. Do not distress yourself. As the old saying goes: if a lord bids his subject die, the subject who does not die is disloyal; if a father bids his son perish, the son who does not perish is unfilial. It is his own people he harms — what has it to do with you? Come and loosen your robe and sleep, and do not fret on behalf of people long dead.” Tripitaka said through his tears, “Disciple, you are a creature without compassion. We who have left the household life pile up merit and gather up good conduct, and the first thing is to be of use to others. How is it that this muddled king goes on so recklessly? It has never been known that eating human hearts and livers can lengthen life. With a thing of this kind before me, how can you tell me not to grieve?” Sha Monk said, “Master, do not grieve just yet. Wait till tomorrow morning when we exchange the rescript, and speak of it to the king face to face. If he will not have it, see what sort of a Royal Father-in-Law this is. It may be that this Royal Father-in-Law is a fiend who wants to eat human hearts and livers and has set this scheme up to get them — there is no telling.”
Pilgrim said, “Wujing speaks with reason. Master, go to sleep. Tomorrow let old Monkey go with you into court and see whether this Royal Father-in-Law is good or bad. If he is a man, I only fear he has gone off by a side door and does not know the true way, and takes the gathering of drugs for the real thing; then let old Monkey bring him round to the right path with the essentials of the primal teaching. If he is a fiend, I shall seize him and let this king have a look at him, and get him to curb his appetites and nurse his body; and I will certainly not let him take those children's lives.” Tripitaka, hearing this, hastily bent low and made a bow back to Pilgrim, saying, “Disciple, this reasoning is excellent, excellent. Only, when we have seen the muddled king, we must not ask about this matter straight out. I fear that the muddled king will not tell near from far, and will charge us with spreading the rhyme — how shall we manage then?” Pilgrim said with a laugh, “Old Monkey has his own powers. Tonight I shall first carry the small boys in the goose coops away out of this city, so that tomorrow he has nothing to take hearts from, and the local officials will report it of themselves. The muddled king is bound to give some order — either he will talk it over with the Royal Father-in-Law, or he will have a fresh selection made and reported. At that point we take the opening and make our submission, and there is no chance at all of the blame settling on us.” Tripitaka was greatly pleased. He said further, “But how are the children to be got out of the city now? If you really can bring it off, it will be a virtue as great as heaven in you, worthy disciple. Set about it quickly — if you delay even a little, I fear it will be too late.” Pilgrim roused his divine power, rose at once, and gave his orders to Bajie and Sha Monk: “Sit here with the master, and let me get to work. When you see a shade-wind blowing, that will be the children leaving the city.” The three of them chanted together, “Namo Medicine Master Buddha who saves life! Namo Medicine Master Buddha who saves life!”
The Great Sage went out of the gate, gave a whistle, rose into mid-air, made the sign with his fingers and recited the true words, calling out “Om, pure dharma realm!” — and so summoned the city god, the earth god, the altar lord and the true officers, together with the Guardians of the Five Quarters, the Sentinels of the Four Watches, the Six Ding and Six Jia and the monastery-protecting Sangharamas, all of whom came into the air, bowed to him and said, “Great Sage, you call us out by night — what urgent business is there?” Pilgrim said, “We are passing through the Kingdom of Bhikshu, and the king of it is lawless. He listens to a fiend, and would take the hearts and livers of small boys for a medicine-guide, in hopes of long life. My master cannot bear it at all, and wishes to save the living and destroy the monster. So old Monkey has particularly asked you gentlemen to use each his own divine power, and carry off for me the small boys in the goose coops at every house on every street of this city, coops and all, out beyond the walls into the hollows of the hills or deep among the trees; keep them hidden a day or two, and give them some fruit to eat so that they do not go hungry; and watch over them secretly besides, so that they are not frightened into crying. Wait till I have got rid of the fiend, set the country right and brought the king back to the true way; then when we are setting out, bring them back and return them to me.”
The host of gods heard the order and at once used each his divine power, pressing down their cloud-heads. Throughout the city a shade-wind came rolling and a dismal fog spread wide:
The shade-wind blew and darkened a whole sky of stars; the dismal fog covered and dimmed a thousand miles of moon.
At first it was still drifting and easy; later on it came roaring and fierce.
Drifting and easy, they sought out every door to save the children; roaring and fierce, they looked into every coop to rescue flesh and blood.
The cold air went into people — how could they put their heads out? The chill struck through the body and clothes were like iron.
Fathers and mothers could only flap and panic; elder brothers and their wives were all cut to the heart.
Over all the ground the shade-wind rolled; the coops were carried off by spirits.
Though that night they were desolate and alone, by daybreak they would all be glad.
There is a poem in proof of it; the poem says:
Mercy in the gate of Shakyamuni has been plentiful from of old; right goodness brought to success is what is meant by Maha.
Ten thousand saints and a thousand perfected ones all piled up merit; the three refuges and the five precepts require accord.
In the one kingdom of Bhikshu it is not the ruler who makes the disorder; for the thousand named little boys it is a wrong done to their lives.
Pilgrim, for his master's sake, joined in the rescue; this act of hidden virtue outdoes the paramita.
That night about the third watch, the host of spirits carried the goose coops away and stowed them safely in various places.
Pilgrim brought down his auspicious light and went straight to the courtyard of the posting house, where he could hear the three of them still chanting “Namo Medicine Master Buddha who saves life.” He was secretly pleased, and going up called out, “Master, here I am. How was that for a shade-wind?” Bajie said, “A fine shade-wind.” Tripitaka said, “And the business of saving the children — how did that go?” Pilgrim said, “I have saved them out one by one, and they will be sent back when we set off.” The elder thanked him again and again, and only then went to bed.
At daybreak Tripitaka woke, made himself ready and said, “Wukong, I am going to the early court to have the rescript exchanged.” Pilgrim said, “Master, if you go by yourself I am afraid it will not answer. Let old Monkey go with you and see whether this Royal Father-in-Law is straight or crooked.” Tripitaka said, “If you go you will not be willing to make the bows, and I am afraid the king will take offence.” Pilgrim said, “I shall not show myself. I will follow you in secret, and that will do for protection.” Tripitaka was greatly pleased, and told Bajie and Sha Monk to look after the baggage and the horse; then at last they set off. The courier chief came again to see them, and looking at the elder dressed for the occasion found him very different from the day before. And this is what he saw:
On his body he wore a brocade-bordered cassock of rare treasure; on his head he had a gold-topped Vairocana cap.
The nine-ringed pilgrim staff he held in his hand; in his breast he hid a point of divine and wondrous light.
The rescript for passing the barriers went close upon his person; in his bundle-bag a brocade cover was wound about it.
He walked like an arhat come down into the world; in truth he had the very look of a living Buddha.
When the courier chief had made his bows he put his lips to Tripitaka's ear and only told him not to meddle with what did not concern him. Tripitaka nodded and answered him. The Great Sage slipped aside by the door, said a spell, shook himself and changed into a tiny gnat, gave a thin whine and flew up onto Tripitaka's hat. They left the posting house and went straight to the court.
When they reached the gate of the court and saw the officer of the Yellow Gate, he at once made his bow and said, “This poor monk is one dispatched from the Great Tang in the Land of the East to fetch scriptures in the Western Heaven. Having now arrived in your honourable land, I ought by rights to have my travel rescript exchanged, and would wish to see the throne. I humbly beg you to report it, to report it.” The officer of the Yellow Gate did duly report it. The king said with pleasure, “A monk come from far off must have attainment.” He ordered him brought in. The officer of the Yellow Gate, receiving the order again, showed the elder in. The elder made his audience bow at the foot of the steps, and was then invited up into the hall and given a seat. The elder gave thanks for the favour and sat down. He saw that the king was wasted in his looks and weary in spirit: when he raised his hands, his bows and yieldings went awry; and when he opened his mouth, his voice came and went. The elder presented the rescript, and the king, his eyes dim and clouded, looked at it and looked again before at last taking up the precious seal, putting his sign to it, and handing it back to the elder. The elder received it back.
The king was just about to ask the reason for the scripture-fetching when he heard the officer of the presence announce, “The Royal Father-in-Law is come!” The king at once leaned on a young attendant, struggled down from the dragon couch and bowed to receive him. The elder was so flustered that he rose hurriedly and stood aside. Turning his head to look, he saw that it was an old Daoist, coming in from before the jade steps with a lordly swagger. And this is what he saw:
On his head he wore a pale goose-yellow kerchief of nine-fold cloud brocade gauze; on his body a crane cape of chopstick-topped plum and aloeswood in cotton silk.
At his waist was tied a sash of indigo-dyed cord of three gathered strands; on his feet he trod a pair of cloud-headed shoes of hemp warp and kudzu weft.
In his hand he leaned on a staff of nine-jointed withered vine coiled like a dragon; at his breast hung a brocade bag figured with dragons, embroidered phoenixes and roundels of flowers.
A jade face with much sheen and gloss; a hoary beard adrift below the chin.
Gold eyes that flew with flame; long eyes running past the tips of the brows.
When he moved, cloud followed his step; at ease, a scented mist hung thick about him.
The officers below the steps all joined hands to receive him, crying together: the Royal Father-in-Law enters the royal court!
The Royal Father-in-Law came before the precious hall and made no bow at all, but went straight up into it, haughty and fierce. The king inclined his body and said, “The Royal Father-in-Law's immortal presence — I am glad you have come down early today.” He then invited him to sit on the embroidered stool at his left hand.
Tripitaka took a step forward, bent his body in salutation and said, “My lord Royal Father-in-Law, this poor monk pays his respects.” The Royal Father-in-Law sat squarely on high and did not return the bow at all, but turned his face to the king and said, “Where is the monk from?” The king said, “He is one dispatched from the Tang court in the Land of the East to fetch scriptures in the Western Heaven, and has come now to have his rescript checked and exchanged.” The Royal Father-in-Law said with a laugh, “The road to the west is black and endless — what good is there in it?” Tripitaka said, “From of old the west has been the excellent land of Utmost Bliss — how should it not be good?” The king asked, “I have heard it said from high antiquity that monks are disciples of the Buddha's house. What I truly do not know is this: can one who becomes a monk avoid dying? Can one who turns to the Buddha live long?” Tripitaka, hearing this, quickly put his palms together and answered:
“For one who becomes a monk, the ten thousand entanglements are all laid down;
“for one who has completed his nature, all things are empty.
“Great wisdom is at leisure, tranquil within the unborn;
“true workings are silent, at ease amid stillness and extinction.
“The three realms being empty, a hundred troubles are governed; the six roots being pure, a thousand kinds come to an end.
“If you would hold firm to sincerity and know awareness, you must recognise the mind: mind pure, and a lone brightness shines by itself; mind present, and the ten thousand conditions are all clear.
“The true face has nothing wanting and nothing over, and may be seen before you are born;
“the illusory form has shape, and so must in the end decay — what is there to seek beyond it?
“Working at merit and sitting in meditation are the source of entering concentration;
“spreading kindness and bestowing favour are truly the root of cultivation.
“Great skill looks like clumsiness — know still that in all things there is no contriving;
“good reckoning does not use counters — you must set every single thing down.
“Only let the one mind be unmoved, and the ten thousand practices complete themselves;
“but as for drawing on the female to supplement the male, that is truly nonsense.
“Taking drugs for long life is in fact empty words.
“Only cast off every speck of worldly tie, and every single thing and form is empty;
“plain and pure, with few loves and desires — then naturally you will enjoy a span without end.”
The Royal Father-in-Law heard him out and put it aside with a laugh. Pointing his finger at the Tang Monk he said, “Ha, ha, ha! You monk, your mouth is full of rubbish. In the gate of stillness and extinction you must talk of recognising the nature. You do not know where that nature is extinguished to. Sitting withered in meditation, it is all blind practice and sightless refining. As the common saying has it: sit, sit, sit — your backside splits; the fire boils away and turns to disaster instead. What is more, you do not know about this of mine:
“One who cultivates immortality — his bones are firm and fine;
“one who attains the Way — his spirit is most numinous.
“He carries a basket and a gourd, going into the hills to visit friends; he gathers the hundred herbs and comes to the world to save people.
“He picks immortal flowers to trim his rain hat; he breaks fragrant orchid to spread as a mat.
“He sings and claps his hands; the dance done, he sleeps on cloud.
“He sets forth the Way and its methods, exalting the true teaching of the Most High;
“he dispenses talisman water, driving off the foul airs of the world of men.
“He seizes the finest breath of heaven and earth; he gathers the flowering essence of sun and moon.
“He works the yin and the yang until the cinnabar sets; he governs by water and fire until the embryo congeals.
“At twice eight the yin melts away — as if dim, as if dark;
“at thrice nine the yang waxes — as if far off, as if unseen.
“He accords with the four seasons in gathering his drugs, and nurses through nine cycles till the elixir is refined and made.
“He bestrides the blue simurgh and rises to the purple palace;
“he rides the white crane and mounts to the jade capital.
“He partakes of the whole sky's splendour, setting forth the earnestness of the wondrous Way.
“Compared with that quiet meditation of your Buddhist teaching — extinction, a shade-spirit, a stinking husk left behind at nirvana, and still not free of the common dust.
“Among the three teachings there is no higher grade — from of old only the Way has been called honoured.”
The king, hearing this, was thoroughly delighted. The officers of the whole court cried their applause: “Well said, only the Way has been called honoured! Only the Way has been called honoured!” The elder, seeing everyone praise him, was overcome with shame. The king further ordered the Court of Imperial Entertainments to lay on a vegetarian meal, to see the monk from far off out of the city westward. Tripitaka gave thanks for the favour and withdrew. He had just come down from the hall and was walking out when Pilgrim flew down from the top of his hat, came to his ear and said, “Master, this Royal Father-in-Law is a fiend, and the king has taken in the fiend's influence. Go on ahead to the posting house and wait for the meal there. Let old Monkey stay here and listen for news of him.” Tripitaka understood, and went out of the palace gate by himself — of which no more.
Now watch Pilgrim: with a beat of his wings he flew into the Hall of the Golden Bells and settled on the kingfisher screen; and there he saw, stepping out from the ranks of officials, the commander of the five wards' troops, who reported: “My sovereign, last night a gust of cold wind carried off the small boys in the goose coops of every ward and every household, coops and all, and there is no trace of them at all.” The king, hearing the report, was both startled and vexed, and said to the Royal Father-in-Law, “This thing is heaven destroying me. I have been gravely ill for months on end and the imperial physicians have had no effect. By good fortune the Royal Father-in-Law bestowed his immortal prescription, and we were only waiting for noon today to open the knife and take these small boys' hearts and livers for the guide — and now who would have expected it, they have been blown away by a cold wind. If this is not heaven meaning to destroy me, what is it?” The Royal Father-in-Law said with a laugh, “Your Majesty need not distress yourself. These children being blown away is precisely heaven sending Your Majesty long life.” The king said, “I see the children in the coops carried off, and you say instead that heaven is sending long life — how so?” The Royal Father-in-Law said, “When I came into court just now I saw a medicine-guide of the most surpassing kind, better by far than the hearts of those one thousand one hundred and eleven small boys. Those children's hearts would only have prolonged Your Majesty's years by a thousand; but with this guide, taken with my immortal drug, one may prolong them by ten thousand times ten thousand.” The king had no notion at all what the medicine-guide might be, and asked again and again, until at last the Royal Father-in-Law said: “That monk dispatched from the Land of the East to fetch scriptures — I have looked at him, and his bearing is pure and his countenance well made. He is a true body of ten lifetimes' cultivation, a monk from childhood whose primal male essence has never been spent, and he is ten thousand times better than those small boys. If we can get his heart and liver boiled into a broth and take my immortal drug with it, it will guarantee Your Majesty ten thousand years of life.” The muddled king, hearing this, believed it entirely, and said to the Royal Father-in-Law, “Why did you not say so sooner? If it really is as effective as that, we should have kept him just now and not let him go.” The Royal Father-in-Law said, “What difficulty is there in that? You gave orders just now for the Court of Imperial Entertainments to lay on a meal for him. He is bound to eat it before he goes out of the city. Now send out an urgent decree, have every gate shut fast, muster troops to ring the Golden Pavilion Posting House, and have that monk brought here; and then we must ask him for his heart with proper courtesy. If he goes along with it, cut him open and take it out at once, then bury his corpse with royal honours and set up a temple for him besides, with sacrifices. If he will not, then give him a taste of unfriendly force — tie him up on the spot, cut him open and take it. What difficulty is there in that?” The muddled king did as he said, and at once sent out a decree closing every gate. He also dispatched the officers and men of the Feathered Forest Guard, great and small, to surround the posting house.
Pilgrim, hearing this news, flew off to the posting house with a beat of his wings, resumed his own form and said to the Tang Monk, “Master, disaster! Disaster!” Tripitaka had only just sat down with Bajie and Sha Monk to the royal meal when he heard this, and was so terrified that his three corpse spirits scattered and smoke came out of his seven orifices; he fell into the dust, sweating all over, his eyes unable to fix and his mouth unable to speak. Sha Monk was so alarmed that he came forward and held him up, crying, “Master, wake up! Master, wake up!” Bajie said, “What disaster? What disaster? You might have said it a bit more gently and it would have done — instead you have terrified the master like this.” Pilgrim said, “After the master left the court, old Monkey stayed to watch, and this Royal Father-in-Law is a fiend. A little later the five wards' troops came to report the business of the cold wind carrying off the children. The king had just begun to be annoyed when the other turned him round to being pleased, saying, ‘This is heaven sending you long life.' He wants to take the master's heart and liver for a medicine-guide, which will lengthen his years by ten thousand. The muddled king believed the slander, and so he has mustered picked troops to surround the posting house and dispatched an officer of the Embroidered Uniform to come and ask the master for his heart.” Bajie said with a laugh, “A fine piece of mercy that was, a fine rescue of small children, a fine shade-wind you blew — and now look, you have gone and knocked up a disaster.”
Tripitaka scrambled up trembling, took hold of Pilgrim and pleaded, “Worthy disciple, what is to be done about this?” Pilgrim said, “If you want it to come out well, make the big one into the small.” Sha Monk said, “What do you mean, make the big one into the small?” Pilgrim said, “If you want to keep your life whole, master must act disciple and disciple act master — then it can be saved.” Tripitaka said, “If you can save my life, I am willing to be your disciple and your disciple's disciple.” Pilgrim said, “In that case, no need to hesitate.” He called out, “Bajie, hurry and knead up some mud.” The idiot at once dug up some earth with his muckrake. Not daring to go outside for water either, he then hitched up his clothes and made water, kneaded up a lump of stinking mud, and handed it to Pilgrim. Pilgrim, having no help for it, patted the mud into a sheet, laid it over his own face and made himself a monkey mask. He told the Tang Monk to stand up and not stir, and to say nothing more. He stuck it on the Tang Monk's face, recited the true words, blew a breath of immortal air on it and cried, “Change!” The elder at once changed into the very likeness of Pilgrim. They stripped off his clothes, and he put on Pilgrim's instead. Pilgrim then put on the master's clothes, made the sign with his fingers, recited a spell, shook himself and changed into the very features of the Tang Monk. Bajie and Sha Monk could not tell them apart either.
Just as they had got themselves of one mind and their disguises settled, they heard gongs and drums sounding together, and saw spears and swords crowding in. It was the officers of the Feathered Forest Guard, leading three thousand troops to ring the posting house about. Then they saw an officer of the Embroidered Uniform walk into the courtyard of the posting house and ask, “Where is the elder of the Tang court from the Land of the East?” The courier chief was so flustered that he knelt down trembling and pointed, saying, “In the guest room below.” The officer of the Embroidered Uniform went at once to the guest room and said, “Elder of Tang, my king requests your presence.” Bajie and Sha Monk stood guard to left and right of the false Pilgrim. Then the false Tang Monk came out of the door and made his bow, saying, “My lord of the Embroidered Uniform, His Majesty summons this poor monk — what has he to say?” The officer of the Embroidered Uniform came forward, took hold of him and said, “I am to take you into court — there will be some use they want you for.” Ah! And this is just what is meant by:
A fiend's slander overcame mercy and kindness; mercy and kindness in return brought down calamity.
And in the end there is no knowing what truly became of his life in this business — so listen to the explanation in the next chapter.