The story tells how the king held his dawn audience, and the officers of both services, civil and military, came forward holding up their memorials and reported: “Your Majesty, we beg pardon for our breach of decorum.” The king said, “My lords, your bearing is as correct as ever. Where is the breach?”
The ministers said, “Your Majesty, we cannot tell how it came about, but in a single night the hair of every one of us is gone.” The king took up this memorial on the loss of hair, came down from the dragon couch, and said to the assembled ministers, “Indeed I cannot tell how it came about. Every soul in my palace, high and low, lost their hair in a single night as well.”
Ruler and ministers alike, their eyes brimming, let the tears fall and said, “From this day forward we dare not slaughter monks again.” The king returned to the dragon seat, and the officers each took their proper places in the ranks. The king said again, “Let any man with business step from the ranks and report it; if there is none, roll up the curtain and dismiss the court.”
Then from the military ranks stepped the commander of the city patrol, and from the civil ranks came the marshal of the eastern quarter. Bowing their heads at the foot of the steps, they said, “By Your Majesty's command we patrolled the city, and in the night we recovered a chest of stolen goods and one white horse. Your servants did not presume to decide the matter alone, and beg Your Majesty's ruling.” Greatly pleased, the king said, “Bring it here, chest and all.”
The two officers withdrew at once to their own yamen, mustered a well-ordered company of soldiers, and had the chest carried out. Inside, Tripitaka was frightened out of his wits. “Disciples,” he said, “once we are brought before the king, how shall we explain ourselves?”
Pilgrim laughed. “Stop your noise. I have everything arranged. The moment the chest is opened, they will bow to us as their masters. Only see that Bajie does not argue the rights and wrongs of it.” Bajie said, “So long as we are spared the killing, that is blessing without measure. Would I dare quibble?” Before he had finished speaking, the chest was borne to the court gate, in through the Tower of Five Phoenixes, and set down below the vermilion steps.
The two officers begged the king to look inside, and he ordered it opened at once. The cover had barely been lifted when Zhu Bajie, unable to hold still, sprang straight out — at which the assembled officers shook with terror and could not get a word out.
Next Sun Wukong was seen helping the Tang Monk out, and Sha Monk hauling out the baggage. Bajie, seeing the commander holding the horse, marched up and barked, “That horse is mine. Hand it over.”
The officer was so startled he turned a somersault and sprawled on the ground. The four stood together on the steps. When the king saw that they were four monks, he came down from the dragon couch in haste, summoned the consorts of the three palaces, descended from the golden throne hall, and with all his ministers bowed and asked, “Elder, whence do you come?”
Tripitaka said, “We are sent by the throne of the Great Tang in the Land of the East to the Great Thunderclap Monastery in the Western Country of India, to bow before the Living Buddha and fetch the true scriptures.” The king said, “Master, you have come far. Why were you lodging in this chest?”
Tripitaka said, “This poor monk knew that Your Majesty had vowed to kill monks, and dared not enter your kingdom openly. We dressed as ordinary men and came by night to take lodging at an inn in your fair land. Fearing that someone would see through to our true forms, we slept in the chest. Then, as ill luck had it, thieves carried it off, and the commander seized it and brought it here.
“Today I am granted sight of Your Majesty's dragon countenance, which is what men mean by parting the clouds to see the sun. I beg Your Majesty to pardon and release this poor monk, and the kindness will be deep as the sea.” The king said, “Master, you are an eminent monk of the celestial court and the superior kingdom, and I failed to come out and receive you.
“For years I have had this vow to kill monks, because once a monk slandered me. I pledged a vow to Heaven to kill ten thousand monks and so complete it. I did not expect that this night I should take refuge, and be made a monk myself.
“Now ruler, ministers, consorts and queens have all had their hair shaved away. I beg you, Master, do not withhold your high wisdom, and let us become your disciples.” Hearing this, Bajie laughed aloud. “If you mean to bow to us as disciples, what gift do you bring for the first meeting?”
The king said, “If the Master will consent, I will gladly present all the treasure in my kingdom.” Pilgrim said, “Say nothing of treasure. We are monks who follow the Way. Only stamp our travel papers and send us out of the city, and I will see your imperial map stand firm forever, your blessings and long life arriving without end.”
Hearing this, the king at once ordered the Court of Imperial Entertainments to lay on a great banquet. Ruler and ministers together bowed and were made one. The travel papers were stamped there and then, and the king asked the master to rename his kingdom.
Pilgrim said, “Your Majesty, the name Dharma Kingdom is very good, but the word Destroying will not do. Since we have passed this way, let it be renamed the Dharma-Revering Kingdom, and I will guarantee you seas calm and rivers clear for a thousand reigns, wind and rain in season and peace in every quarter.”
The king gave thanks for the favour. The full court equipage was drawn up, and the Tang Monk and his three companions were escorted west out of the city. Ruler and ministers, riding on goodness, returned to the true; of them we say no more.
The elder took his leave of the king of the Dharma-Revering Kingdom and said cheerfully from the saddle, “Wukong, that was a very good method, and much merit has come of it.” Sha Monk said, “Brother, where did you find so many barbers, to shave so many heads in one night?”
Pilgrim told over the whole business of working his transformations and plying his powers. Master and disciples laughed until their mouths would not close.
In the very midst of their gladness a high mountain rose across the road. The Tang Monk reined in his horse. “Disciples, look at the mountain rearing up ahead of us. We must go carefully.”
Pilgrim laughed. “Set your mind at rest, set your mind at rest. I guarantee nothing will happen.” Tripitaka said, “Do not tell me nothing will happen. I see those peaks standing stiff, and there is something fierce about them even at this distance. Violent cloud is boiling off them. I feel the alarm growing, my whole body has gone numb, and my mind will not settle.”
Pilgrim laughed. “Have you forgotten the Heart Sutra the Crow's Nest Chan Master gave you, and so soon?” Tripitaka said, “I remember it.”
Pilgrim said, “You may remember the sutra, but there are four lines of verse that go with it, and those you have forgotten.” Tripitaka said, “Which four lines?” Pilgrim said:
The Buddha is on Vulture Peak; do not go seeking him far off. Vulture Peak stands nowhere but in your own heart.
Every man has a Vulture Peak pagoda of his own; better to do your cultivating at the foot of that one.
Tripitaka said, “Disciple, do you think I do not know it? If one goes by those four lines, then a thousand scriptures and ten thousand canons come down to nothing but cultivating the mind.”
Pilgrim said, “No need to say more. The mind made clean shines alone with a solitary brightness; the mind held steady, and every realm around it is clear. Go a little wrong and it turns to sloth; a thousand years, ten thousand years, and still nothing achieved.
“Only hold one piece of true sincerity, and Thunderclap is right there before your eyes. Carry on like this, in terror and alarm with your mind unsettled, and the Great Way is far off, and Thunderclap is far off too. Stop this wild doubting and come along with me.” Hearing this the elder felt his heart and spirit clear at a stroke, and his ten thousand anxieties all fell quiet.
The four of them went forward together. A few steps and they were on the mountain. They raised their eyes and looked:
That was a fine mountain indeed; look closely and it was mottled with colour.
On the summit the clouds drifted and swayed; before the cliffs the shadows of trees hung cold.
Flying birds went pattering; running beasts were fierce and wild.
Within the wood a thousand pine trunks; over the ridge a few stems of bamboo.
That roaring is grey wolves seizing their kill; that snarling is starved tigers fighting over a meal.
Wild apes give long howls as they hunt for fresh fruit; elk climb through the flowers into the blue-green haze.
The wind scatters and scatters, the water runs and runs, and now and then a hidden bird is heard calling in its own broken speech.
Here and there the creeper and the vine pull and drag at each other; the whole stream is thick with jade grass mixed among fragrant orchid.
Glittering strange rocks; sheer-pared crags and cliffs.
Foxes and badgers run in packs; monkeys and apes go about in troops making mischief.
The traveller is fretting already at how steep and dangerous it is, and what is to be done, when the old road bends and doubles back as well.
Master and disciples went nervously along, and just as they were walking they heard a wind get up with a rushing sound. Tripitaka said in fear, “The wind is getting up.”
Pilgrim said, “Spring has its mild wind, summer its warm wind, autumn its metal wind, winter its north wind. All four seasons have wind. What is there to be afraid of in a wind getting up?”
Tripitaka said, “This wind comes on far too fast. It is certainly no wind of heaven.” Pilgrim said, “Since ancient times wind has risen from the ground and cloud has come out of the mountains. Where would you get a wind of heaven?”
Before he had finished speaking, a fog came up as well. And that fog was truly like this:
Vast and blank it joined the sky in darkness; thick and blind it wrapped the ground in gloom.
Of the sun's colour there was no trace at all; of birdsong there was nowhere any to be heard.
It was for all the world like the primal chaos; it seemed like nothing so much as flying dust.
The trees on the hilltop could not be seen; nowhere would you meet a gatherer of herbs.
Tripitaka, more alarmed than ever, said, “Wukong, the wind has not even settled, so how is there fog like this on top of it?” Pilgrim said, “Do not be in a hurry. Master, please get down from the horse. You two brothers stand guard here, and let me go and see whether this is lucky or unlucky.”
Fine Great Sage. He gave his waist a bend and was up in mid-air. Shading his eyes with a hand, he opened his fiery eyes wide, looked down, and sure enough there on the edge of a hanging crag sat a fiend.
Look at the shape of him:
Bright and blazing, his patterned stripes many-coloured and gaudy; head high and bearing fierce, and every inch of him alert.
Tusks thrusting from his mouth like steel drills; sharp claws hidden in the pads like hooks of jade.
Golden eyes, pupils round, and the birds and beasts are afraid; silver whiskers standing on end, and ghosts and spirits grieve.
Wild and raging he snarls and roars and looses his ferocity; belching fog and blowing wind, he works out his schemes.
He saw too that thirty or forty little imps were drawn up to left and right of him, while he sat there working away at blowing wind and belching fog. Pilgrim laughed to himself. “My master did have some foreknowledge after all. He said it was no wind of heaven, and sure enough this wind is a fiend up here making a racket.
“If I were to take my iron rod and simply strike downward, that is what they call the garlic-pounding blow. It would kill him well enough, but it would spoil old Sun's good name.” That Pilgrim has been a hero all his life and never has learned how to do a man in by stealth.
He said, “I will go back down and do Zhu Bajie a good turn — a really good turn — and get him to come and have the first bout with this fiend. If Bajie has the skill for it and knocks the fiend down, that is his good fortune; if he has no skill and the fiend carries him off, then I go and rescue him, and that will make a good name for me.
“Besides, he puts it on as a rule, he shirks a bit, he will not stick his neck out — but he is a little tight about the mouth, and fond of his food. Let me give him a bit of a fooling and see what he says.”
He came down off his cloud at once and stood before Tripitaka. Tripitaka asked, “Wukong, how does it stand up there in the wind and fog, lucky or unlucky?” Pilgrim said, “It has cleared up by now. There is no wind or fog to speak of.”
Tripitaka said, “Just so. I did feel it drawing back a little.” Pilgrim laughed. “Master, I usually see these things well enough, but this time I read it wrong.
“I only said there might be demons in the wind and fog. As it turns out, there are not.” Tripitaka said, “What is it then?” Pilgrim said, “Not far ahead there is a village.
“The households in that village love doing good, and they are steaming white rice and white-flour buns to feed monks. This fog is most likely the steam off those households' steamer baskets, and a response to their accumulated good deeds as well.”
Bajie, hearing this, took it for the plain truth, pulled Pilgrim aside, and said under his breath, “Brother, have you had a meal off them already?” Pilgrim said, “I did not eat much. The vegetables were a bit too salty, so I had no appetite for more.”
Bajie said, “Pah! However salty it may be, I will eat my belly full of it. And if I get thoroughly thirsty I will just come back and drink water.”
Pilgrim said, “Do you want to eat?” Bajie said, “Exactly so. I am a bit hungry, and I would like to go on ahead and eat a little. What do you think?”
Pilgrim said, “Brother, do not raise it. The old books say: while the father lives, the son may not act on his own authority. And the master is right here. Who would dare go on ahead?”
Bajie laughed. “If you say nothing, then off I go.” Pilgrim said, “I will say nothing. Let us see how you manage to get away.”
That blockhead has no shortage of cleverness where his mouth is concerned. He stepped forward, made a great bow with a shout, and said, “Master, my brother just now said there are households in the village ahead feeding monks. Now look at this horse. He is bound to put the household out, wanting grass and wanting feed, and would that not be a trouble to them?
“Luckily the wind and fog have cleared now. Sit down a while, the rest of you, and let me go and find some tender grass to feed the horse first. After that I can go to that household and beg a meal.” The Tang Monk said with pleasure, “Good, good. What has made you so diligent today? Go quickly and come back quickly.”
That blockhead went off chuckling to himself. Pilgrim caught him up and held him back. “Brother, where they feed monks over there, they only feed the handsome ones. They do not feed the ugly.”
Bajie said, “Put like that, I shall have to transform again.” Pilgrim said, “Just so. Go and change yourself.” Fine blockhead. He too has the thirty-six transformations. He went into a hollow of the mountain, made the finger sign, spoke the spell, gave his body a shake, and turned into a short skinny monk.
In his hand he tapped a wooden fish, and in his mouth he droned and hummed. He does not know any scripture, so what he was droning was the copybook.
Now that monster gathered in his wind, drew back his fog, gave the word to his band of imps, and out at the mouth of the high road laid open a ring formation to wait for travellers. That blockhead had no luck. In no time at all he blundered into the middle of it and the imps had him surrounded — this one grabbing his robe, that one hauling on his sash, shoving and jostling, and all of them at him together.
Bajie said, “Stop pulling. Let me eat my way through, one household at a time.” The imps said, “Monk, what is it you want to eat?” Bajie said, “You feed monks here. I have come to eat.”
The imps said, “You suppose we feed monks here. You do not know that here we make a point of eating them. We are all demon-immortals who have got the Way here in the mountains, and what we do is take you monks home, put you in the steamer, cook you through and eat you. And you thought you were coming for a free meal.”
Hearing this, Bajie took fright, and only then began to complain about Pilgrim. “That Keeper of the Horses is a real scoundrel. He fooled me into thinking this village feeds monks. Where in this place is there a village at all? Where would anybody be feeding monks? So it was this fiend all along.”
That blockhead, pulled about until he lost his temper, showed his true shape there and then, whipped the muckrake from his belt, laid about him wildly and drove the little imps back.
A little imp ran off in haste to report to the old fiend. “Great King, there is trouble.” The old fiend said, “What trouble?” The little imp said, “A monk has come up in front of the mountain, and a nice-looking clean one at that. I said we should take him home and steam him, and if we could not finish him, keep a bit back against wet weather. I did not expect him to be able to change shape.”
The old fiend said, “Changed into what shape?” The little imp said, “How does it make anything like a human shape? A long snout and big ears, and bristles down his back as well. He swings a muckrake in both hands and pounds away without aiming at head or face, and he frightened us into running back to report to Your Majesty.”
The old fiend said, “Do not be afraid. Let me go and look.” Swinging an iron pestle, he walked up close, and when he looked, that blockhead was indeed hideous.
This is how he is made:
A pestle snout a good three chǐ in length; tusks thrusting from the lips to beat silver nails.
A pair of round eyes flashing like lightning; two ears fanning up a wind with a whooshing sound.
Behind his head the bristles long and ranked like iron arrows; over his whole body the hide coarse and scabbed and greenish too.
In his hands he wields an outlandish thing; the nine-toothed muckrake, and every one of them takes fright.
The fiend hardened his gall and shouted, “Where have you come from? What is your name? Say it quickly and I will spare your life.” Bajie laughed. “My boy, you do not even know your own Pig Ancestor.
“Step up and I will tell you:
“Huge mouth, jutting tusks, and strength of a god; the Jade Emperor raised me to Marshal Tianpeng.
“I had command of eighty thousand troops of the Heavenly River; in the palace of heaven it was all pleasure and ease.
“All because I got drunk and made free with a palace maid, and in that moment sold the hero clean away.
“With one thrust of my snout I rooted over the Dipper and Ox Palace, and ate the Queen Mother's magic mushrooms.
“The Jade Emperor beat me himself, two thousand strokes, and banished me down through the three heavens.
“I was told to set my will on nourishing the primal spirit; and down below I went and became a demon instead.
“I was happily married into Gao Village when, my luck being low, I ran into Brother Sun.
“Under the gold-hooped rod I took his subduing; only then did I bow my head and do reverence to the Buddhist gate.
“Minding the horse and shouldering the packs, doing the heavy labour — in a former life I must have owed the Tang Monk a debt.
“Iron-Footed Tianpeng, surnamed Zhu from the beginning, and the religious name I go by is Zhu Bajie.”
Hearing this, the fiend shouted, “So you are a disciple of the Tang Monk. I have long heard that the Tang Monk's flesh is good eating. I was about to come and take you, and here you have blundered right in. Am I likely to spare you? Do not run. Watch the pestle.”
Bajie said, “You wicked beast, you must have started out as a master dyer.” The fiend said, “How am I a master dyer?” Bajie said, “If you were no dyer, how would you know how to work a pounding stick?”
That monster would allow no more talk. He came in close and struck out wildly. The two of them, down in the hollow of the mountain — and what a fight it was:
A nine-toothed muckrake; a single iron pestle.
The rake casts its routines and rolls up a wild wind; the pestle works its cunning and flies like driving rain.
The one an unnamed wicked monster blocking the mountain road; the other a guilty Tianpeng propping up the lord of his nature.
When the nature is upright, why fear monster or demon? However high the mountain, it cannot make metal beget earth.
That one's pestle parries like a python coming out of a pool; this one's rake arrives like a dragon leaving the shallows.
Shouted cries and bellowing shake the hills and rivers; the roaring and its manly force startle the underworld.
Two heroes, each showing what he can do, throwing their bodies in and staking their powers on it.
Bajie's fighting spirit rose, and he went at the fiend; whereupon that monster shouted the order for his imps to surround Bajie all together, and of them we say no more.
Now Pilgrim, standing behind the Tang Monk, suddenly let a cold laugh escape him. Sha Monk said, “Brother, why the cold laugh?” Pilgrim said, “Zhu Bajie really is a blockhead. He heard monks were being fed and let me fool him straight off.
“It is this late and he is still not back. If one round of the rake drives the fiend off, you will see him come home victorious and shout about the credit; and if he cannot out-fight him and gets carried off, then it is my bad luck, and there is no telling how many times he will curse me for a Keeper of the Horses, to my face and behind my back. Wujing, say nothing. Let me go and take a look.”
Fine Great Sage. Without letting the elder know, he quietly pulled a hair from the back of his head, blew a breath of immortal air on it and cried, “Change!” It turned at once into a likeness of himself, to keep Sha Monk company and attend the elder.
His true body slipped out in spirit, sprang up into the air to watch, and saw the blockhead ringed about by the monsters, the muckrake's movements coming apart, and little by little the odds against him. Pilgrim could not hold back. He pressed his cloud down and called out at the top of his voice, “Bajie, do not fret. Old Sun is here.”
That blockhead, hearing it was Pilgrim's voice, took courage from the backing, and his fighting spirit rose the higher. One round of the rake and he was pounding forward again. The fiend could not hold him off. “This monk was no good a moment ago,” he said. “How has he turned so fierce all of a sudden?”
Bajie said, “My boy, you had better not bully me. My family have arrived.” All the more he pressed forward, pounding away at head and face alike. The fiend truly could not parry it, and led his band of imps off in defeat.
Seeing the fiend beaten off, Pilgrim never once went near. He turned his cloud about, went straight back to where he had been, gave the hair a shake and took it up into himself again. The elder, with his fleshly eyes and mortal frame, could not tell at all.
In no long time the blockhead, having won, came back on his own, worn out until the sticky drool and snot were running and there was white foam on him. Panting hard he came walking up and called out, “Master.”
The elder saw him and said in astonishment, “Bajie, you went to cut grass for the horse. Why have you come back in such a state? I suppose the mountain households have someone keeping watch, and would not let you cut any?”
The blockhead put down his rake, beat his breast and stamped his feet. “Master, do not ask. Telling it would shame a man to death.” The elder said, “What is there to be ashamed of?”
Bajie said, “My elder brother played a trick on me. He said earlier there were no fiends in the wind and fog and no bad omens, that there was a village of good-hearted households steaming white rice and white-flour buns to feed monks.
“So I took it for the truth. Thinking how hungry I was, I went on ahead to beg a little, using the grass-cutting as a pretext; and who could have known there would be any number of fiends. They surrounded me, I fought hard for a while, and if it had not been for my brother's mourning-staff coming to help, I could never have hoped to get out of the net and come back.”
Pilgrim, standing by, laughed. “The blockhead is talking nonsense. Turn thief and you will drag a whole gaolful of people in with you. I have been here minding the master. When did I ever step aside?”
The elder said, “That is so. Wukong never left me.” That blockhead jumped up and shouted, “Master, you do not know — he has a stand-in!” The elder said, “Wukong, was there really a fiend or not?”
Pilgrim could not keep it hidden. He bowed and said with a smile, “There is an imp or two about, but they would not dare provoke us. — Bajie, come here. Let me do you another good turn.
“Since we are guarding the master through steep mountain roads, it is just like marching an army.” Bajie said, “And what if it is like marching an army?”
Pilgrim said, “You be the road-opening general and cut the way in front. If the fiends do not come, well and good; and if they do, you fight them, knock them down, and the merit counts to you.”
Bajie sized up the fiend's skill as being about a match for his own, and said, “Well, if I die at his hands, so be it. Let me go first.” Pilgrim laughed. “The blockhead starts with unlucky talk. How is he ever to make progress?”
Bajie said, “Brother, you know how it goes. A gentleman goes up to the banquet: if he is not drunk he is full. A stout fellow goes to the battle line: if he is not killed he is wounded. Say an unlucky word first, and the fighting spirit comes after.”
Pilgrim was pleased. He got the horse ready at once and asked the master to mount, Sha Monk shouldered the baggage, and following behind Bajie they went on up into the mountain, and of them we say no more.
Now that fiend led the few battered imps that were left straight back to his own cave, sat high on the stone cliff, and said not a word. There were plenty more imps in the cave who had stayed to mind the place, and they all came forward and asked, “Great King, you always go out and come back merry. Why so troubled today?”
The old fiend said, “Little ones, when I go out of the cave to patrol the mountain as usual, whatever people or beasts there may be anywhere, I am sure to scoop up a few and bring them home to keep you fed. Today my luck was low and I ran into a match for me.”
The imps asked, “Which adversary was that?” The old fiend said, “A monk — a disciple of the Tang Monk from the Land of the East who is fetching the scriptures, by the name of Zhu Bajie.
“One round of his muckrake and he pounded me right off the field. How galling! For a good while now I have often heard it said that the Tang Monk is an arhat of ten lifetimes' cultivation, and that anyone who eats a piece of his flesh can lengthen his years and live long.
“I never expected him to come into my mountain today. It would have been just the chance to seize him and steam him — but I did not know he had disciples like that.”
Before he had finished speaking, an imp slipped forward out of the ranks, sobbed three times before the old fiend with a choking in his throat, and then laughed three times, all giggles. The old fiend shouted, “You weep and then you laugh. Why is that?”
The imp knelt down. “Great King, you were just saying you meant to eat the Tang Monk. The Tang Monk's flesh is not fit to eat.” The old fiend said, “Everyone says a piece of his flesh means long life without old age, and a span equal to heaven's. How can you say he is not fit to eat?”
The imp said, “If he were fit to eat, he would never have got this far. The fiends in other places would have eaten him already. He has three disciples under him.”
The old fiend said, “Do you know which three?” The imp said, “His first disciple is Sun Wukong, his third is Sha Monk, and this one is his second, Zhu Bajie.”
The old fiend said, “How does Sha Monk compare with Zhu Bajie?” The imp said, “Much the same.” “And that Sun Wukong — how does he compare with him?” The imp stuck out his tongue. “I dare not say. That Sun Wukong has vast magic powers and no end of transformations.
“Five hundred years ago he made havoc in the palace of heaven. The twenty-eight lunar mansions above, the nine luminary star officers, the twelve earthly branches, the five ministers and four counsellors, the stars and dippers of east and west, the two gods of north and south, the five peaks and four watercourses, the divine generals of all heaven — not one of them could get the better of him. How do you dare want to eat the Tang Monk?” The old fiend said, “How do you come to know him in such detail?”
The imp said, “I lived once at Lion Camel Cave on Lion Camel Ridge with the great king there. That king could not tell good from bad and wanted to eat the Tang Monk, and Sun Wukong took his gold-hooped rod and came beating in at the door — and the poor souls got beaten into a domino name, every one of them: broken ones and cut sixes.
“It was thanks to my having a little sense that I went out by the back door and came here, where Your Majesty took me in. That is how I know what he can do.”
Hearing this, the old fiend was badly shaken and the colour went out of his face. This is just the case of the great general who fears the prophecy. Hearing one of his own people talk like that, how could he not be shaken?
Just as they were all standing there in dread, another little imp stepped forward. “Great King, do not fret and do not be afraid. As the saying goes: let a matter come on slowly. If you still mean to eat the Tang Monk, let me settle on a plan for taking him.”
The old fiend said, “What plan have you?” The imp said, “I have a scheme called Parting the Plum Blossom Petals.” The old fiend said, “What do you mean by Parting the Plum Blossom Petals?”
The imp said, “Now muster all the imps at the cave mouth, big and small. From a thousand pick a hundred, from the hundred pick ten, and from the ten pick just three. They must be capable and able to change shape. Let them all take Your Majesty's likeness, wear Your Majesty's helmet, put on Your Majesty's armour, carry Your Majesty's pestle, and lie in ambush in three places.
“Send one first to fight Zhu Bajie, then one to fight Sun Wukong, then one to fight Sha Monk. Spend three imps and draw the three brothers apart.
“Then Your Majesty reaches a cloud-grasping hand down from mid-air and takes this Tang Monk — as easy as reaching into a bag for something, as easy as pinching a fly in a basin of water. Where is the difficulty?” Hearing this, the old fiend was delighted through and through. “That plan is superb — superb!
“If this attempt fails to take the Tang Monk, then let it be; but if you do take the Tang Monk, I will certainly not treat you lightly. I shall appoint you vanguard of the front division.”
The imp knocked his head on the ground in thanks for the favour and called for the muster. The imps of the cave, big and small, were mustered at once, and sure enough three capable ones were picked out. All three changed into the old fiend, each took an iron pestle, and they lay in ambush waiting for the Tang Monk; of them we say no more.
Now this elder of Tang, without a care or a worry, followed Bajie up the high road. They had gone a good while when, at the side of the road, something came down with a loud thump and an imp sprang out, rushed to the front and made to seize the elder.
Sun Wukong called out, “Bajie, the fiend is here. Why not go at him?” That blockhead could not tell the true from the false. He whipped out his muckrake, ran up and pounded away. The fiend used his iron pestle to parry and meet him.
The two of them were going at it back and forth below the slope when there was another sound from the scrub and a second monster sprang out and made straight for the Tang Monk. Pilgrim said, “Master, this is bad. Bajie's eyes are dull and he has let that fiend through to take you. Let old Sun go and deal with him.”
He whipped out the rod, went up to meet him and shouted, “Where do you think you are going? Watch the rod.” The fiend would not talk at all. He raised his pestle and came to meet him.
The two clashed and charged below the grassy slope, and just as they had locked together there came a rush of wind from behind the mountain and a third fiend sprang out and went straight for the Tang Monk. Sha Monk saw it and cried out in alarm, “Master, first brother and second brother have both gone blurry-eyed and let a fiend through to take you.
“You stay on the horse and let old Sha go and take him.” This monk too could not tell good from bad. He drew his staff at once, blocked the fiend's iron pestle head on, held him bitterly, roaring and bellowing, shouting and brawling — and little by little he was drawn off.
The old fiend, up in mid-air, saw the Tang Monk sitting alone on the horse. He reached down a five-clawed steel hook and seized the Tang Monk in a single grab.
The master lost the horse, came out of the stirrups, and was carried straight off by the fiend on a gust of wind. The pity of it! This is just the case:
The Chan nature meets the demon and the true fruit is hard to win; the River Float runs again upon a bitter star of calamity.
The old fiend brought his wind down, carried the Tang Monk into the cave, and called, “Vanguard.” The imp who had laid the plan came forward, knelt down and said, “I dare not, I dare not.”
The old fiend said, “Why do you say so? A great general's word once spoken is like white cloth dyed black. At the time I said that if we failed to take the Tang Monk, let it be; and that if we took him, I would make you vanguard of the front division.
“Today your fine plan has succeeded. How could I break faith with you? You may fetch the Tang Monk out, and set the little ones to drawing water and scouring the pot, carrying firewood and lighting it, and give him a steaming.
“You and I will each eat a piece of his flesh, and so seek to lengthen our years and live long.” The vanguard said, “Great King, he must not be eaten yet.” The old fiend said, “We have taken him. Why can he not be eaten?”
The vanguard said, “Your Majesty's eating him would not matter much. Zhu Bajie can be squared, and Sha Monk can be squared, but I fear that fellow Sun Wukong is vicious.
“If he learns that we were the ones who ate him, he will not even come and fight us. He will simply drive that gold-hooped rod into the waist of the mountain, punch a hole through it, scoop the whole mountain over, and we shall have nowhere left to live.”
The old fiend said, “Vanguard, what better notion have you?” The vanguard said, “Do as I say. Put the Tang Monk in the back garden, tie him to a tree, and give him nothing to eat for two or three days. For one thing, it makes him clean inside;
“and for another, we wait until those three stop coming to the gate to search, and when we hear they have gone home, we bring him out and enjoy him at our leisure. Would that not be better?”
The old fiend laughed. “Just so, just so. The vanguard talks sense.” At a word of command the Tang Monk was carried into the back garden and tied to a tree with a single rope, and all the imps went off to the front to await orders.
Look at that elder, bearing up painfully under the winding cords and the binding ropes, tied fast and fixed tight, unable to stop the tears running down his cheeks. “Disciples,” he called, “on which mountain are you catching your monsters? Along what road are you chasing your fiends? I have been seized by a foul demon and suffer disaster in this place. What day will we meet again? The pain of it will be the death of me!”
Just as the tears were running from both eyes, someone called from the tree opposite, “Elder — have you been brought in here too?” The elder collected himself and said, “Who are you?”
The man said, “I am a woodcutter of this mountain. The lord of the mountain took me the day before yesterday, tied me up here, and it is three days now. He means to eat me.” The elder let his tears fall. “Woodcutter, your death is only one body, with nothing to hold you back. But I shall die not at all cleanly.”
The woodcutter said, “Elder, you are one who has left the household. Above you have no parents, below you have no wife or children. If you die, you die. What is there for you to be unclean about?”
The elder said, “I am one going from the Land of the East to the Western Heaven for the scriptures, sent by the imperial command of the Emperor Taizong of Tang to bow before the Living Buddha and fetch the true texts, so as to carry over those masterless orphan souls in the darkness. If I lose my life now, will it not leave that sovereign waiting himself to death, and fail those ministers of his?
“And in that City of the Wrongly Dead, the numberless souls with a grievance — would they not be bitterly disappointed, never through all the ages to be carried over into rebirth? A whole work of merit turned to dust and wind. How is that to be called clean?”
Hearing this, the woodcutter let the tears fall from his eyes. “Elder, your death would only come to that. Mine would grieve the heart still more. I lost my father when I was small and have lived alone with my mother since, with no family property at all, depending on nothing but cutting firewood for a living.
“My old mother is eighty-three this year, and I am the only one who provides for her. If I lose my life, who will bury her body and see her out of the world? Bitter, bitter! The pain of it will be the death of me.”
Hearing this, the elder wept aloud. “The pity of it, the pity of it! A man of the mountains still has it in him to long for a parent, while this poor monk knows nothing but how to chant a sutra to no purpose.
“Serving a sovereign and serving a parent are one and the same principle; You for a parent's kindness, and I for a sovereign's.” This is just the case:
Weeping eyes look upon weeping eyes; a heartbroken man sees off a heartbroken man.
But we shall say no more of Tripitaka in his distress. Now Sun Wukong, having beaten off his imp below the grassy slope, hurried back to the roadside and found his master gone, with nothing left but the white horse and the baggage.
In his alarm he took the horse and shouldered the load and went searching toward the top of the mountain. Well! This is just the case:
The River Float, born to trouble, meets nothing but trouble; the Great Sage, tamer of demons, runs into a demon himself.
In the end there is no knowing how the search for the master turned out; listen to the next chapter, and it will be explained.