The story goes that the Great Sage led the horse and shouldered the load, searching the whole mountainside and calling for his master, when all at once he saw Zhu Bajie come pounding up in a fury and say, “Brother, what are you shouting about?” Pilgrim said, “The master has vanished. Have you seen him?” Bajie said, “I only ever signed on to be a monk following the Tang Monk, and then you go making a fool of me, putting me up as some sort of general. I staked my life on it, fought that fiend a good long while, and got away with it barely. The master was in your care and Sha Monk's. Now you turn round and ask me?” Pilgrim said, “Brother, I am not blaming you. Somehow your eyes must have been swimming, and you let the fiend get back past you and take the master. I went off to fight that fiend and left Sha Monk watching the master, and now Sha Monk has gone missing too.” Bajie laughed and said, “I expect Sha Monk has taken the master off somewhere to relieve himself.” Before the words were out, Sha Monk came into sight. Pilgrim asked him, “Sha Monk, where has the master gone?” Sha Monk said, “Both of you had your eyes dimmed, and you let the fiend come back past you and take the master. Old Sha went off to fight that fiend, and the master was sitting there on the horse by himself.”
Pilgrim went hopping mad and said, “We are taken in. We are taken in.” Sha Monk said, “Taken in by what?” Pilgrim said, “This is the Parting the Plum Blossom Petals ploy. They split us brothers apart and snatched the master clean out of the middle of us. Heaven, heaven, heaven, what are we to do?” He could not stop the tears running down along his cheek. Bajie said, “Do not cry. One good cry and you go soft. It cannot be far in any case — he is only somewhere on this mountain. Let us go and look.”
The three of them, at their wits end for any better plan, could only go into the mountain and search. They had gone some twenty lǐ when they saw, at the foot of a sheer cliff, a cave dwelling:
Whittled peaks screening one another, strange rocks jagged and steep.
Rare flowers and jasper grasses sweet with scent, red apricot and green peach in gorgeous bloom.
Before the cliff, ancient trees, their frosted bark sluicing rain, forty spans round; outside the gate, dark pines, their inky colour piercing the sky two thousand chǐ up.
Wild cranes in pairs come often to the cave mouth to dance on the clear wind; mountain birds two by two call all the white day long from the branch tips.
Clumps of yellow creeper hang like ropes, rows of misty willow droop like gold.
A square pool holding water, a deep hollow set against the mountain.
The square pool holding water hides a dragon whose scales have not yet changed; the deep hollow set against the mountain houses an old fiend who has eaten men for years.
Truly no worse than an immortal land — in truth a nest that hoards the wind and gathers the breath.
Pilgrim looked, and in two or three bounds was at the gate, where he saw that the stone doors were shut fast. Set crosswise above them was a stone slab, and on the slab were eight great characters: Hidden Fog Mountain, Folded Peak Interlinked Cave. Pilgrim said, “Bajie, get to work. This is where the fiend lives, and the master is certain to be in his house.” The Idiot, with somebody at his back to embolden him, turned savage, swung his rake with all his force and drove it in, punching a great hole in that stone door of theirs, and bawled, “Monsters! Send my master out this instant, or my rake will bring the door down and the whole household will be settled once and for all.”
The little fiend on gate duty came running in at top speed to report: “Great King, trouble has come charging in on us.” The old fiend said, “What trouble?” The little fiend said, “There is somebody out front who has smashed the door in, hollering that he wants his master back.” The old fiend was greatly alarmed and said, “Who is it that has come looking for us?” The vanguard said, “Do not be afraid. Let me go out and take a look.” The little fiend ran to the front gate, put his head sideways to the hole that had been smashed through, and peered out. Seeing a creature with a long snout and great ears, he turned his head back at once and called up, “Great King, do not be afraid of him. This is only Zhu Bajie. He has no real skill and he will not dare do anything. If he does get out of hand, open the gate and bring him in to make up a load for the steamer. The only one to be afraid of is that monk with the hairy face and the thunder god beak.” Bajie, listening outside, said, “Brother, he is not afraid of me — he is only afraid of you. The master is certainly in his house. Get up there quickly.” Pilgrim shouted abuse: “You depraved beast! Your Grandpa Sun is standing right here. Send my master out and I will spare your life.” The vanguard said, “Great King, this is bad. Sun the Pilgrim has come looking for us too.” The old fiend rounded on him in complaint: “It is all this Parting the Petals, Parting the Petals of yours, and now the trouble is at our own gate. How is this to end?” The vanguard said, “Set your mind at rest, Great King, and spare me the reproaches. As I recall, Sun the Pilgrim is a monkey head of broad and oceanic capacity. Great as his powers are, he is fond of being flattered.
“Let us take a false human head out and give him a good hoodwinking, pay him a few compliments, and simply tell him we have eaten his master. If we can hoodwink him into leaving, we still have the Tang Monk for our own enjoyment. If it does not work, we can think again.” The old fiend said, “Where would we get a false human head?” The vanguard said, “Let me make one and we will see.”
A fine fiend he was: he took a keen-edged steel axe, hacked a willow root into the shape of a human head, sprayed some human blood over it until it was a smeared and muddled thing, and sent a little fiend to carry it down to the gate on a lacquer tray, calling out, “Grandpa Great Sage! Calm your anger and hear our report.” Sun the Pilgrim was indeed fond of flattery. Hearing the cry of “Grandpa Great Sage”, he checked Bajie at once: “Hold off a moment. Let us hear what he has to say.” The little fiend with the tray said, “Your master was carried into the cave by our Great King. The lesser fiends inside are coarse and stupid and know no better — this one came to gulp, that one came to gnaw, some scratching, some biting, and they ate your master up. All that is left is this one head here.” Pilgrim said, “If you have eaten him then so be it. Only bring out the head, and let me see whether it is real or false.” The little fiend pitched the head out through the hole in the gate. Zhu Bajie saw it and burst out crying: “How pitiful! Such a master went in, and this is the sort of master that comes out again!” Pilgrim said, “Idiot, take a proper look and see whether it is real or false before you start crying.” Bajie said, “Shame on you. Is there such a thing as a false human head?”
Pilgrim said, “This is a false human head.” Bajie said, “How can you tell it is false?” Pilgrim said, “Throw out a real human head and it lands with a soft flop and no ring to it. Throw a false human head and it comes down sounding like a watchman's clapper. If you do not believe me, let me throw it and you listen.” He picked it up and dashed it against a stone, and it went down with a loud ringing crack. Sha Monk said, “Brother, it rang.” Pilgrim said, “If it rang, it is a fake. Let me make it show its true form and you shall see.” He whipped out the gold-hooped rod and with one blow smashed it open. Bajie looked, and it was a willow root. The Idiot could not hold himself in and started swearing: “You pack of hairy lumps! You have got my master hidden away in that cave, and you take a willow root to hoodwink your Grandfather Pig! I suppose next you will say my master was a willow spirit all along.”
The little fiend with the tray was so panicked that he ran off trembling to report: “Trouble, trouble, trouble! Trouble, trouble, trouble!” The old fiend said, “Why so very much trouble?” The little fiend said, “Zhu Bajie and Sha Monk were fooled well enough, but Sun the Pilgrim is a dealer in antiques — he knows the goods, he knows the goods! He recognised it straight away for a false human head. If we get him a real human head now, perhaps he will go away.” The old fiend said, “How are we to get hold of a real human head? Go and pick one out from the heads in our flaying pavilion that we have not got through eating.” The fiends went straight to the pavilion, picked out a fresh head, had the skin gnawed clean off it until it was slippery and smooth, and carried it out on the tray again, calling, “Grandpa Great Sage, the earlier one was indeed a false head. This one is truly the head of the venerable Tang. Our Great King was keeping it to ward the house, and today he presents it to you specially.” With a thud they pitched the human head out through the hole in the gate again, and it went rolling about, dripping with blood.
Sun the Pilgrim knew it for a real human head, and helpless, he wept. Bajie and Sha Monk both raised their voices and wept along with him. Bajie, holding back his tears, said, “Brother, do not weep just yet. The weather is not good weather, and I am afraid it will go bad in no time. Let me carry it off and get it underground while the vital breath is still in it, and then we can cry.” Pilgrim said, “That is well said.” The Idiot, not minding the filth of it, took the head up in his arms, ran up the mountain cliff to a spot facing the sun, sought out a place that hoarded the wind and gathered the breath, took his rake and dug a pit, buried the head, and raised a grave mound over it. Only then did he call to Sha Monk, “You and our brother keep up the weeping, and let me go and find something for an offering.” So he walked over to the ravine, pulled down a few big willow branches, and picked up a few goose-egg cobbles. Coming back to the grave, he stuck the willow sprigs in on the left and the right, and heaped the cobbles up in front. Pilgrim asked him, “What is all this supposed to be?” Bajie said, “These willow sprigs will stand in for pine and cypress, to give the master a bit of shade over the top of his grave; and these pebbles will serve for pastries, as an offering to the master.” Pilgrim shouted at him, “Blockhead! The man is dead already, and you go offering him gravel.” Bajie said, “It shows the feeling of the living, and stands in for the heart of filial duty.” Pilgrim said, “Enough of this fooling about. Have Sha Monk stay here — first to keep the grave, and second to watch over the luggage and the horse. You and I will go and smash their cave open, seize the fiend, cut his corpse into ten thousand pieces, and get revenge for the master.”
Sha Monk said through his tears, “Eldest brother, that is most aptly said. You two put your minds to it, and I will keep watch in this place.”
A fine Bajie he was: he stripped off his black brocade cassock, hitched up the small clothes about his body, raised his rake and went after Pilgrim. The two of them pressed forward with all their strength, allowing no argument, and simply smashed his stone doors in, with a shout that shook the sky, crying, “Give me back the Tang Monk alive!” Inside the cave the fiends, great and small, every one of them had their souls flown and their spirits scattered, and all laid the blame on the vanguard. The old fiend asked the vanguard, “These monks have broken their way in. What are we to do about them?” The vanguard said, “The ancients put it well: put your hand in the fish basket and you will not avoid the smell. Once a thing is begun, do not stop halfway. Marshal the household troops to left and right and let us go and kill those monks.” The old fiend heard him out, had no better plan to fall back on, and truly gave the order, calling, “Little ones, every one of you be of one mind. Take up the keen weapons and follow me out to war.” And sure enough they raised a shout together and came charging out of the cave gate.
The Great Sage and Bajie fell back a few quick paces to a level place on the mountain clearing, held the pack of fiends off, and shouted, “Which of you is the chief they all talk about? Which is the fiend that took my master?” The pack of fiends pitched camp, gave a flourish of a brocade flowered banner, and the old fiend, gripping his iron cudgel, answered the shout and called back loudly, “You wretched monk, do you not know me? I am the Great King of the Southern Mountain, and I have run loose here for several hundred years. Your Tang Monk I have taken and eaten already. What do you propose to do about it?” Pilgrim shouted abuse: “You bold-faced hairy lump! How many years can you possibly have to your name, that you dare put the words Southern Mountain to yourself? Lord Lao is the ancestor who split heaven from earth, and even he sits only at the right hand of the Grand Purity. The Buddha Tathagata is the honoured one who governs the age, and he still sits below the great roc. The sage Confucius is the honoured one of the Confucian teaching, and even he is called no more than Master. And you, you depraved beast, dare style yourself Great King of the Southern Mountain, several hundred years of running loose! Do not run off. Take a taste of your Grandpa Uncle's rod.” The fiend twisted aside and dodged, brought his cudgel up to block the iron rod, and glaring round-eyed demanded, “That face of yours has the look of a monkey about it. How dare you crush me with all this talk? What skills have you, to run wild here at my gate?” Pilgrim laughed and said, “You nameless beast! So you really do not know Old Sun.
“Stand still, stiffen your nerve, and hear me out:
“My home was the Eastern Continent of Superior Spirit, where heaven and earth hold tens of thousands of autumns.
“On the peak of Flower Fruit Mountain, an immortal stone egg; the egg split, and the making of it produced my root and shoot.
“Born so, I was not of the common womb-born kind; my sacred body came in the first place from the company of sun and moon.
“My own nature I cultivated myself, and that was no small thing; heaven-given gifts, quick understanding, and the great elixir at the head of it.
“Titled Great Sage by office, I lived in a cloud mansion; leaning on my strength I turned savage and fought the Dipper and the Ox.
“A hundred thousand heavenly soldiers could not come near me; the whole sky of lunar mansions was easy to gather in.
“My name rang through the universe and every quarter knew it; my wit ran through heaven and earth and left its mark in every place.
“Today I have had the good fortune to take refuge and follow the Buddhist teaching, and I support the elder on his westward journey.
“Meeting a mountain I open the road and no one bars it; meeting water I prop up a bridge and the fiends despair.
“In the woods I show my power and seize tigers and leopards; before the cliffs I turn my hand and catch the fierce beasts.
“Out of the east I have come rightly to the western lands; what fiend dares put its head up?
“A depraved beast that harms my master is truly to be hated; I will see to it that his life is finished here and now.”
The fiend heard him out, and was both alarmed and full of hate. Grinding his teeth, he sprang up close and swung his iron cudgel at Pilgrim. Pilgrim blocked it lightly with his rod and still wanted to go on talking, but Bajie could not hold himself back and lashed out with his rake at the fiend's vanguard. The vanguard brought his men up together. This one bout, a confused mêlée on level ground in the mountains, was truly a fine slaughter:
A monk from the great land of the eastern earth, from the upper kingdom; going west to the ultimate bliss to fetch the true scriptures.
A great leopard of the Southern Mountain breathing wind and fog; blocking the road in the deep hills, alone showing what it can do.
He laid clever plans and played the sharp one, and in his ignorance took the great Tang Monk by mistake.
Meeting him, Pilgrim, whose powers are vast; and worse for him, Bajie, who has a name of his own.
The pack of fiends in confused battle on the level ground of the mountain; dust flying in every direction and the sky unclear.
On that side the little fiends howl and roar, spears and blades brandished wildly; on this side the holy monks shout and bellow, rake and rod rising as one.
The Great Sage, a hero with no match for a hand; Wuneng, hale and hearty, cheerfully laying about him like a lump.
The old fiend of the southern hills, the vanguard under his command — all for one lump of the Tang Monk's flesh, brought to the pass of casting away death and forgetting life.
These two, over their master's life, have made an enmity of it; those two, wanting the Tang Monk, are set on it with a vicious will.
Back and forth they fought through the better part of an hour, charging and colliding with no winning or losing between them.
The Great Sage, seeing how bold the little fiends were and that beating them would not drive them back, at once worked a body-dividing spell: he pulled out a handful of his hairs, chewed them up in his mouth, spat them out and called, “Change!” They all changed into copies of himself, each wielding a gold-hooped rod, beating their way in from the front. Those hundred or two hundred little fiends, minding the front and unable to mind the back, shielding the left and unable to shield the right, each one of them fled for his life and ran beaten back to the cave. Pilgrim and Bajie came slaughtering their way out from inside the ranks. Pity those fiends who did not know a good thing when they saw it: those the rake caught bled from nine holes; those the rod caught, flesh and bone like mud. So terrified was the Great King of the Southern Mountain that he rolled up wind and raised fog and escaped with his life. The vanguard, unable to work transformations, was knocked over almost at once by a blow of Pilgrim's rod and showed his true form, which was an iron-backed grey wolf fiend. Bajie came up, dragged him over by the leg, turned him on his back, took a look and said, “There is no telling how many people's piglets and lambs this creature stole and ate from the time he was small.” Pilgrim gave his body a shake, gathered his hairs back in and said, “Idiot, no dawdling. Get after the old fiend quickly and demand the master's life back.” Bajie turned his head and could no longer see those little Pilgrims, and said, “All my brother's forms are gone.” Pilgrim said, “I have already taken them back in.” Bajie said, “Wonderful! Wonderful!” The two of them, in high spirits, came back in victory.
Now, that old fiend, having escaped with his life back to the cave, ordered the little fiends to haul stone blocks and carry earth and block the front gate up. Those little fiends who had got away with their lives, every one of them trembling, blocked the gate up completely and dared not put their heads out again. Pilgrim brought Bajie up to the gate and hollered at it, and there was no answer from within. Bajie put his rake to it, and there was no hope of shifting it. Pilgrim understood, and said, “Bajie, do not waste your strength. He has blocked the gate already.” Bajie said, “With the gate blocked, how is the master to be avenged?” Pilgrim said, “Let us go back up to the grave first and look in on Sha Monk.”
The two of them came back to the place and found Sha Monk still weeping. Bajie grew more wretched still, threw down his rake, lay across the grave mound and beat at the earth with his hands, crying, “My poor doomed master! My master, so far from home! Where shall I ever see you again!” Pilgrim said, “Brother, no more of this grieving. This fiend has blocked the front gate up, and there is bound to be a back way in and out. You two stay here, and let me go and search again.” Bajie said through his tears, “Brother, take care. Do not let them scoop you up as well — we should be no good at the weeping then: one wail for the master, one wail for the elder brother, and it would all get into a muddle.” Pilgrim said, “Never mind. I have means of my own.”
A fine Great Sage: he put away his rod, hitched up his skirts, strode out, rounded the mountain slope, and all at once heard the babble of running water. He turned his head to look, and it was the water in the ravine that was sounding, pouring down from the head of the current above. Then he saw that on the far side of the ravine there was a gate, and to the left of the gate an outfall drain running out of it. He said, “No need to argue it! That must be the back door. If I go in my own face, some little fiend may open the gate and see me and know me. Let me change into a water snake and go across. Wait, though. If I turn into a water snake I am afraid the master's departed spirit will find out, and think ill of me for a man in holy orders turning into a long crawling snake. Let me change into a little crab and go across, then. That is no good either — I am afraid the master would think ill of a man in holy orders having so many legs.” So he changed into a water rat, went whisking across with a rush, and from the outfall drain bored his way through to an inner courtyard. Poking his head out to look about, he saw in a sunny spot a little fiend with some strips of human flesh, laying them out lump by lump to dry. Pilgrim said, “My child! That must be the master's flesh, more than they could eat, and they are drying it into strips against a spell of wet weather.” “I want to show my true form, run up and kill him with one blow of the rod — but that would show me brave and short of a plan. Let me change again and go further in, find the old fiend, and see how things stand.” He hopped out of the drain, gave his body a shake and changed, and became a winged ant.
Truly it was a case of:
Slight in strength and small in body, it goes by the name of dark colt; long at it, keeping to its practice, it grows wings and flies.
At leisure it crosses by the bridge and draws up in battle order; delighted, it comes under the bed to contest the immortals plans.
Knowing well when rain is coming, it seals its hole in good time; heaping up much dust, it makes an ash-heap at last.
Deft and light and quick to slip along, many a time it passes the brushwood gate unnoticed.
He spread his wings and, without sound or shadow, flew straight into the main hall. There he saw the old fiend sitting in a fret and a fume, and a little fiend came jumping in from the back to report, “Great King, ten thousand joys!” The old fiend said, “Where does the joy come from?” The little fiend said, “I was just outside the back door, up at the head of the ravine, keeping a lookout, when all at once I heard people crying loudly. So I scrambled up to the top of the peak and looked, and it was Zhu Bajie, Sun the Pilgrim and Sha Monk over there bowing at a grave and weeping bitterly. I suppose they have taken that human head for the Tang Monk's and buried it, and thrown up a grave mound and are weeping over it.” Pilgrim, listening in the dark, was delighted at heart and said to himself, “If he says that, then my master is still hidden somewhere in there and has not been eaten yet. Let me go and search a little more, see whether he is alive or dead, and then talk to them.”
A fine Great Sage: he flew about the main hall looking east and west, and saw at the side a little door, shut very tight. He bored through a crack in the door to look, and it was a great garden, and faintly he could hear the sound of grief. He flew straight into the depths of it, and there he saw a clump of great trees, and under the trees two men tied up — and one of them was the Tang Monk. Pilgrim saw him, and his heart itched past all scratching. Unable to hold back, he showed his true form, went up close and called, “Master.” The elder knew him, and said through his tears, “Wukong, you have come? Come and save me, save me. Wukong, Wukong.” Pilgrim said, “Master, do not keep calling out my name. There are people about and I am afraid of letting the news blow away. Since you are alive, I can save you. That fiend only said he had already eaten you and took a false human head to hoodwink me, and we have been locked with him in a bitter struggle. Set your mind at rest, master, and bear up a little longer. Let me get that fiend brought down, and then it will be time to come and free you.”
The Great Sage recited a spell, gave his body a shake and changed back into an ant, went into the main hall again, and settled on the main roof-beam. There he saw the little fiends whose lives were still whole, clustering and crowding, milling and clamouring. From among them a little fiend suddenly jumped out and made his report: “Great King, seeing the gate blocked and finding they could not batter it open, they have given it up as hopeless, abandoned the Tang Monk and made a grave out of the false head. Today they weep for a day, tomorrow they weep another day, the day after they make it three, and then they will surely go home. Once we hear they have dispersed, we bring the Tang Monk out, hack him up small, fry him with some big spices, and everybody eats a piece all fragrant and hot, and gets a bit of long life out of it too.” Another little fiend clapped his hands and said, “Do not talk so, do not talk so — steaming him and eating him has more flavour.” Another said, “Boiling him saves firewood.” Another said, “He is a rare article after all. Put some salt on him and cure him and he will keep a long time.” Pilgrim, hearing this from up in the beams, was greatly enraged in his heart and said, “What deadly grudge has my master with you, that you should plot to eat him like this?” At once he pulled out a handful of his hairs, chewed them up in his mouth, blew them out lightly, silently recited a spell, and made them all change into sleep insects, which he threw at the faces of the crowd of fiends. One by one they bored into the noses, and the little fiends slowly began to nod, and in no time at all they had all fallen asleep.
Only that old fiend could not sleep sound. He rubbed his head and scrubbed his face with both hands, sneezing without a stop and pinching his nose. Pilgrim said, “Can it be that he has got wind of it? Let us give him a double-trimmed lamp.” So he pulled another hair, made it up on the pattern of the first, threw it at his face and it bored into his nostril. Two insects, one going in from the left and one entering from the right. That old fiend scrambled up, stretched his back, gave two yawns, and went down snoring like the rest.
Pilgrim was secretly delighted. Only then did he drop down and show his true form. He took the rod out of his ear, gave it a flourish until it was as thick as a duck's egg, and with a clang smashed the side door open, ran to the back garden and called loudly, “Master!” The elder said, “Disciple, come quickly and get these ropes undone. They have bound me raw.” Pilgrim said, “Master, do not be in a hurry. Let me kill the fiends first, and then I will come and untie you.” He whipped round and ran to the main hall, and was just raising the rod to strike when he checked his hand and said, “No good. Better untie the master first and then come and strike.” Back to the garden, and he thought again: “Better strike first and then come and rescue.” Two or three times over he went like this, and then at last came into the garden hopping and dancing. The elder saw him and turned from grief to gladness, saying, “Monkey! I suppose you have seen that my life is not harmed, and that is why you are so happy you do not know what to do with yourself, and are capering about like this?” Pilgrim came right up, undid the ropes and led his master away. Then he heard the man tied to the tree opposite calling out, “Your reverence, show your great mercy and save my life too.” The elder stood still and called, “Wukong, that man too — go and untie him.” Pilgrim said, “What sort of man is he?” The elder said, “They brought him in a day before me. He is a woodcutter. He says he has a mother, old in years, and misses her terribly — he is one who keeps the duty owed to a parent. Let us save him along with the rest.”
Pilgrim did as he was told, undid those ropes as well, brought them both out through the back door together, climbed the stone cliff and crossed the steep ravine. The elder gave thanks: “Worthy disciple, we owe it to you that his life and mine are saved. Where are Wuneng and Wujing?” Pilgrim said, “Those two are over there weeping for you. Give them a call.” The elder duly raised his voice and called loudly, “Bajie! Bajie!” The Idiot, weeping till his head was dazed and his brain befuddled, wiped his snot and tears and said, “Sha Monk — the master has come home to show his ghost, and is that not him calling us over there?” Pilgrim came forward and shouted at him, “Blockhead! Whose ghost is showing itself? Is that not the master come back?” Sha Monk raised his head and saw, and dropped hurriedly to his knees before him, saying, “Master, how much you have suffered! Brother, how ever did you manage to save him?” Pilgrim told over the whole of the foregoing business.
Bajie heard all this, ground his teeth in hatred, and could not hold back — he swung up his rake, beat that grave mound flat with one furious burst, dug out the human head and hammered it to a pulp. The Tang Monk said, “What are you hammering it for?” Bajie said, “Master, there is no telling whose family's dead man he is, and I was made to weep facing him.” The elder said, “We owe him our lives. You brothers went hammering at their gate, hollering that you wanted me back, and I suppose they took him to fob you off with; otherwise they would have killed me. Bury him again, and let it show what people in holy orders mean by it.” The Idiot, hearing the elder say this, buried the bundle of pulped flesh and bone and threw up a grave mound over it as well.
Pilgrim then laughed and said, “Master, sit down a while, and let me go and wipe them out.” So down the stone cliff he went again, across the ravine and into the cave. He took the ropes that had bound the Tang Monk and the woodcutter into the main hall, where the old fiend was still asleep, trussed him up with all four hooves gathered together, hoisted him on the gold-hooped rod, gripped it on his shoulder, and went straight out of the back door. Zhu Bajie, seeing him at a distance, said, “Brother, you are fond of this business of gripping things by the head. Would it not be better to find another one, so it balances and I can carry them on the pole?” Pilgrim came up and set him down, and Bajie raised his rake to hammer him. Pilgrim said, “Hold off. There are still little fiends in the cave not yet accounted for.” Bajie said, “Brother, if there are, take me in with you and let me beat them.” Pilgrim said, “Beating them would only cost us the trouble. Better to find some firewood and cut them off at the root.” The woodcutter heard this, and at once led Bajie off to the eastern hollow to gather some split-tipped bamboo, dead-needled pine, hollow-hearted willow, cut-root creeper, yellow wormwood, old reed-grass, common reed and dry mulberry. They carried a quantity of it and sent it in through the back door. Pilgrim set the fire going, and Bajie fanned up a wind with his two ears.
The Great Sage sprang up on his body, gave himself a shake and took back the hairs of the sleep insects. Those little fiends were only just coming round when the smoke and fire caught all together. A pity! There was no hope of half a one getting away with his life. The cave dwelling itself burned out clean and empty. Then he went back to see his master. The master, hearing the old fiend just waking and crying out, called, “Disciple, the fiend has woken.” Bajie went up with one blow of the rake, hammered the old fiend dead, and he showed his true form — he was a mugwort-leaf mottled leopard spirit. Pilgrim said, “A mottled coat is fit to eat tigers, and now it can turn into people as well. Killing it this time is what ends the trouble that would have come after.” The elder gave thanks past all telling, and climbed into the saddle. The woodcutter said, “Your reverence, a little way to the south-west is my own poor house. Come to my house, your reverence, and see my mother, and let her bow her thanks for the kindness of saving my life, and send you on your road.”
The elder was glad to go, and so did not ride, but walked along with the woodcutter and the four of them, winding away to the south-west; and after no great distance they saw indeed:
A stone path deep under moss and lichen; a brushwood gate all tangled with flowering vine.
Mountain light joining up on all four sides; a whole grove of birds in noisy chatter.
Close-packed pines and bamboo crossing their greens; a scatter of strange plants and rare blooms.
In a place remote, where the cloud lies deep; a bamboo fence, a thatched cottage, somebody's home.
Far off they saw an old woman leaning on the brushwood gate, her eyes brimming with tears, wailing my-child to heaven and my-child to earth. The woodcutter saw his own mother, left the elder, ran hurriedly ahead to the brushwood gate, knelt down and called, “Mother, your child has come.” The old woman caught him up in her arms and said, “Child, these last few days you have not come home, and I could only suppose the master of the mountain had taken you and had your life, and the pain in my heart was past bearing. Since you were not harmed after all, how is it you only come today? Where are your rope and carrying-pole and your hatchet?” The woodcutter knocked his head on the ground and said, “Mother, your child was taken off by the master of the mountain and tied to a tree, and truly there was no hope of my life — I owe it to these several reverend gentlemen. This reverend gentleman is an arhat of the Tang court in the eastern land, going to the Western Heaven to fetch the scriptures. That reverend gentleman had likewise been taken off by the master of the mountain and tied to a tree. Those three reverend disciples of his have vast and far-reaching powers, and they beat the master of the mountain dead in a single burst. And he turned out to be a mugwort-leaf mottled leopard spirit; every one of the little fiends together burned to death, and then they got that elder reverend gentleman untied and out, and got your child out and saved along with him. This is truly a kindness high as heaven and thick as earth. If it were not for them, your child would have died without a doubt. Now there is peace on the mountain, and your child can walk about all night long and come to no harm.”
The old woman heard him out, and with a bow at every step she went to receive the elder and the four of them, and they all came in through the brushwood gate and sat down in the thatched cottage. Mother and son together knocked their heads and gave thanks past all telling, and hurried about in a flurry to get some plain fare together by way of repayment. Bajie said, “Woodcutter, I know your household is a poor thin one. Just make shift with a single meal, and do not put yourself to the cost of a great spread.” The woodcutter said, “I will not deceive you, reverend sir — up here in the hills we are truly poor and thin. We have no fragrant mushrooms, no button mushrooms, no Sichuan pepper, no big spices. There are only a few kinds of wild greens to set before your reverences, as a way of showing an inch of our hearts.” Bajie laughed and said, “Sorry to trouble you, sorry to trouble you. Just let it come quickly, that is all — we are hungry in the belly.” The woodcutter said, “It is coming, it is coming.” And sure enough in no long time they had wiped down the table and stools and set it out, and it was indeed several dishes of wild greens. And there they saw:
Tender blanched day-lily buds, sour-pickled dandelion.
Floating water-pepper, purslane; river shepherds-purse, goosegrass.
The swallows have not come, and it is fragrant and tender still; the shoots curl small, crisp and green yet.
Stewed soft, blue-flowered mallow; boiled white, dogs-foot-print.
Cat's-ear, wild luobi, and ash-stalk stewed soft is fit to eat;
scissor-stalk, ox-pond-li, upturned pond-snail and broom shepherds-purse;
broken-rice shepherds-purse, lettuce shepherds-purse — several kinds fragrant and green and slippery too.
Black-flower stir-fried in oil, water-chestnut greens well worth the praising.
Cattail-root greens along with wild-rice shoots — four sorts that grow near water and are truly clear and fine.
Wheat-watching girl, delicate and fair; ragged-patch, which nobody wears.
Bitter hemp on its terrace, under the trellis of the fence.
Sparrow's cotton-wadding, monkey's footprint, fried till the oil glistens and then it is only good to eat.
Slant wormwood, green wormwood, mother-hugging wormwood; the lamp-moth flies up onto the buckwheat boards.
Sheep's-ear-bald, wolfberry tips, with dark blue added and no need of oil.
Several sorts of wild greens made one meal, and the woodcutter's sincere heart serves for the thanks he owes.
Master and disciples ate their fill and got ready to set out. The woodcutter did not dare keep them long, and asked his mother to come out and bow again and give thanks again. The woodcutter did nothing but knock his head on the ground; then he took a staff of jujube wood, hitched up his clothes and belt, and went out of the door to see them off. Sha Monk led the horse, Bajie carried the load, Pilgrim kept close on either side, and the elder, up on the horse, made a bow with his hands and said, “Woodcutter, be so good as to lead the way ahead, and we will part on the main road.” Together they climbed the heights and went down the slopes, rounded the ravines and found their way over the ridges. The elder, up on the horse, fell to musing and said, “Disciples,
“Since parting from my lord I came to the western lands, and stage by stage and far and far the road runs long.
“Water on water, hill on hill, and no getting clear of calamity; fiend upon fiend, monster upon monster, and no escaping with your life.
“Heart upon heart, only for the three baskets of scripture; thought upon thought, still seeking to rise to the ninth heaven.
“Toil upon toil, and what day will see the end of it? When will the walking be done and the turn made for the Tang court?”
The woodcutter heard him and said, “Reverend sir, do not be anxious. This main road runs west not a full thousand lǐ, and then you are at the country of India, the land of ultimate bliss.” The elder heard him, turned in the saddle, dismounted and said, “We have put you to the trouble of coming so far. Since this is the main road, please go home, woodcutter, and give my best respects to your honoured mother. We have imposed on a generous meal just now, and a poor monk has nothing much to thank you with — only that morning and evening I will recite the scriptures and pray that you and your mother may be at peace and have a hundred years of long life.” The woodcutter took his leave with bow after bow and went back the way he had come. Master and disciples then went straight on westward. And so it was:
Subduing the fiend, he loosed the wrong and left the bitter straits; receiving kindness, he took the road with a mind set on the work.
As to how many days more it would take to reach the Western Heaven — listen to the explanation in the next chapter.