Where is the work of Chan to be done? The horse runs wild, the ape turns somersaults — cut them down, and quickly.
Bind them fast, tether them tight, and the five colours are born; pause a moment, rest a moment, and you fall into the three paths.
Let the divine elixir leak away as it pleases, and the moment you relax, the jade nature withers.
Joy, anger, worry and brooding must all be swept clean; attain the mystery, attain the marvel, and it is exactly as if there were nothing at all.
The tale goes on to tell how the Tang Monk and his three disciples left the city of Jade Flower, and the road ran smooth all the way — truly what one would call a land of perfect bliss. They had been five or six days upon the road when they saw another walled city before them.
The Tang Monk asked Pilgrim, “And what sort of place is this?” Pilgrim said, “It is a walled city. But there are flagpoles on the wall with no flags upon them, so there is no telling what region it is. Wait till we are nearer, and I shall ask again.”
When they reached the eastern suburb, they saw tea-houses and wine-shops loud on either hand, and the rice market and the oil shops doing a brisk trade. In the streets were several idle loafers with nothing to do, who, seeing Zhu Eight Rules with his long snout, Sha the Monk with his black face, and Pilgrim Sun with his red eyes, all crowded and jostled together to stare, though none dared come close enough to ask.
The Tang Monk gripped a handful of sweat, in dread that they would stir up trouble. They passed several more alley-mouths and still had not reached the city.
Then suddenly they saw a monastery gate, and above the gate three characters: “Monastery of Compassionate Clouds.”
The Tang Monk said, “Let us step in here a moment and rest the horse, and ask for a meal. How would that be?” Pilgrim said, “Good, good.” So the four of them went in together.
And this is what they saw within:
Precious towers, stately and fine; a jewelled throne, lofty and steep.
The Buddha hall rises high beyond the clouds; the monks' quarters lie quiet in the moonlight.
Cinnabar mists hang faint where the stupa stands; among dark-green trees, deep in shade, the revolving canon is bright.
A true Pure Land, a counterfeit Dragon Palace — above the Hall of the Great Hero, purple clouds gather close.
Along both galleries the idlers at their games never thin out; the one pagoda stands always open for visitors to climb.
In the censer the incense burns hour upon hour; on the stand the lamp-flowers glimmer night after night.
Suddenly from the abbot's quarters comes the note of a golden bell, and monks answering the Buddha chant the sutras aloud.
While the four of them were still looking about, a monk came out from under the gallery, made his bow to the Tang Monk, and said, “Venerable master, where have you come from?” The Tang Monk said, “Your disciple comes from the Tang court, in the land of China.”
At this the monk threw himself full length upon the ground and bowed.
The Tang Monk, flustered, hauled him up, saying, “Abbot, why do you perform so great a courtesy?”
The monk put his palms together and said, “Those here who incline toward the good, who read the scriptures and recite the Buddha's name, all set their hopes on cultivating far enough to be reborn in your land of China. Now that I have seen your bearing and your robes, master, you are plainly one who cultivated to this in a former life, and so you have this enjoyment. That is why I bowed to the ground.”
The Tang Monk laughed and said, “I am abashed, abashed. Your disciple is a monk who travels on foot. What enjoyment have I? It is you, abbot, living idle and at ease here, who truly enjoy good fortune.”
The monk led the Tang Monk into the main hall, where he made his bow before the images of the Buddha; and only then did the Tang Monk call his disciples in. Now Pilgrim and the other two, from the moment they had seen the monk talking with their master, had all kept their faces turned away, holding the horse and minding the luggage, standing together in one place; so the monk had not taken any notice of them.
Then suddenly, hearing the Tang Monk call “Disciples,” the three of them turned round. The monk saw them, and in his fright cried out, “Good heavens! How can your honoured disciples be so hideous?”
The Tang Monk said, “Ugly they may be, but they have a fair share of magic powers about them, and I have been much indebted to their protection all along the road.”
While they were speaking, several more monks came out from within and made their bows. The monk who had come out first said to those behind him, “This venerable master is a personage come from the Great Tang, in China, and those three are his honoured disciples.”
The monks, half delighted and half afraid, said, “Venerable master, you are from the great land of China — what brings you here?”
The Tang Monk said, “I go by the holy command of the Tang emperor to the Vulture Peak, to worship the Buddha and seek the scriptures. Passing through your worthy region, I have come in haste to your noble monastery, first to ask what place this is, and second to beg a meal in passing before going on.”
The monks were delighted, every one, and invited them further in, to the abbot's quarters. In the abbot's quarters were several more monks, who were performing a vegetarian service for a family.
The monk who had gone in first called out again, “All of you, come and take a look at some Chinese people! It turns out that in China there are handsome ones and there are ugly ones. The handsome ones are truly past all describing or painting, and the ugly ones are uncommonly grotesque!”
So the many monks and the lay donors all came out to meet them. The greetings done, they all sat down.
When the tea was done, the Tang Monk asked, “What is this place called?” The monks said, “This place of ours is an outer prefecture of the kingdom of India — Jinping Prefecture.”
The Tang Monk said, “And how much further is it from your prefecture to the Vulture Peak?” The monks said, “From here to the capital is two thousand lǐ. That much we have travelled ourselves. Westward to the Vulture Peak we have not gone, and we do not know how much road there may be. We dare not answer at random.”
The Tang Monk thanked them. Before long the vegetarian meal was brought out.
The meal over, the Tang Monk wished to be on his way, but the monks and the donors together pressed him to stay, saying, “Venerable master, bide a day or two, and once the Lantern Festival is past there will be no harm in going off to enjoy yourself.”
The Tang Monk asked in surprise, “Your disciple, on the road, has known only that there are mountains and there are rivers, and has feared meeting fiends and meeting demons. I have let the daylight slip past me — what day is the Lantern Festival?”
The monks said with a smile, “Venerable master, your heart is heavy with worshipping the Buddha and awakening to Chan, and so you have not kept such things in mind. Today is the thirteenth of the first month, and this evening they light the lamps for the trial. The day after tomorrow is the fifteenth, the Upper Prime. It runs right through to the eighteenth or nineteenth, and only then do they take leave of the lamps. The people here are fond of good works, and His Excellency the prefect loves the common folk, so lamps are hung high in every quarter and the pipes and flutes go all night long. And there is a Golden Lamp Bridge besides, handed down from high antiquity, and flourishing to this day. Stay a few days, your reverences — my poor mountain temple can manage to look after you well enough.”
The Tang Monk, having no help for it, settled down there with the rest.
That evening they heard nothing but bells and drums thundering in the Buddha hall — it was the faithful of the neighbourhood bringing lamps to offer to the Buddha. The Tang Monk and the rest all came out from the abbot's quarters to look at the lamps, and then each went off to bed.
Next day the monks of the monastery served them a vegetarian meal again. When they had eaten, they strolled together into the back garden to amuse themselves.
And truly it was a fine spot. It was just as the lines say:
The season was the first month; the year had come round to a new spring.
The garden was secluded and elegant; the scene was fair and thick with growth.
The flowers and trees of the four seasons vied in strangeness; a whole range of peaks was heaped in green.
Fragrant grass stirred into life before the steps; on the old plum's branches a sweetness came.
Red enters the peach blossom's tenderness; green returns to the willow's new colour.
Let the Golden Valley Garden not boast of its splendour; say nothing of the lingering fame of the Wangchuan Scroll.
One watercourse runs through, where wild ducks come and go unpredictably;
a thousand stems of bamboo are planted, over which men of letters have not yet finished weighing their words.
Peony and tree-peony, crape myrtle and the smiling-flower — their natural impulse is just waking;
camellia and red plum, winter jasmine and daphne — their lovely forms have opened first.
On the shaded cliff the piled snow still holds its frost; on the far trees a floating mist has taken on spring.
And then one sees deer casting their reflections at the pool's edge, and cranes coming down beneath the pines to listen to the zither.
A few halls to the east, a few pavilions to the west, where guests may be put up;
a few halls to the south, a few pagodas to the north, where the monks sit quiet in meditation.
Among the flowering plants stand a couple of Nature-Nurturing Towers, with doubled eaves and high-arched brackets;
and within the hills and waters are three or four Demon-Refining Chambers, with quiet desks and bright windows.
Truly this is a place made by nature for a hermit's retirement — why go elsewhere to seek the isles of the blest?
Master and disciples enjoyed themselves for a whole day; they looked at the lamps in the hall, and then all went out to see the lamps and the entertainments. And this is what they saw:
Agate flower-cities, glazed immortal grottoes, palaces of crystal and mica: like brocade heaped on brocade, like filigree layered on filigree.
The star-bridge's reflection shakes till heaven and earth seem to move; watch the several fire-trees swaying red.
Flutes and drums in the six streets; jade moonlight at a thousand gates; fragrant wind at ten thousand doors.
In several places the Ao-turtle peaks rise high, with fish and dragons coming out of the sea and phoenixes soaring into the sky.
One admires the lamplight and the moonlight, and a mild good humour everywhere.
In the ranks of silk and damask, every one delights to hear the pipes and singing.
Carriages and horses roar past: there is no seeing the end of the fair faces and jade complexions, the gallant and the dashing, the lovely sights without limit.
Tripitaka and the monks looked at the lamps within their own monastery, and then went out to the eastern suburb to walk about the streets. It was the second watch before they turned back and went to their rest.
Next day the Tang Monk said to the monks, “Your disciple has long had a vow to sweep pagodas. As today is the Lantern Festival, I would ask the abbot to open the pagoda door and let me discharge that vow.” The monks opened the door at once.
Sha the Monk took up the cassock and went along behind the Tang Monk; reaching the first storey, he put on the cassock, made his obeisance to the Buddha and said his prayer, then took the broom and swept that storey, took off the cassock and handed it back to Sha the Monk.
… And then he swept the second storey, and storey by storey swept his way straight to the very top. On every storey of that pagoda there were buddhas, and windows opening on every side; and having swept a storey, he would admire and praise a storey.
The sweeping done, he came down; the sky had already darkened, and everywhere the lamps were being lit again.
That night was in truth the fifteenth, the Lantern Night. The monks said, “Venerable master, the other evening we only looked at the lamps here at our poor mountain and in the suburb. Tonight is the real festival — how would it be to go into the city and see the golden lamps?”
The Tang Monk gladly agreed, and went into the city with the three disciples and many monks of the monastery to see the lamps.
It was just as the lines say:
The fine night of the fifteenth; the Upper Prime, and spring's colours mild.
Flower-lamps hang above the bustling market; with one voice they sing the song of peace.
And then one sees the six streets and three markets alight, and in mid-air a single mirror newly risen.
That moon is as though the river-god had shoved up a molten silver plate; these lamps are as though fairy maidens had woven a brocade to spread over the ground.
The lamps catch the moon, and double its brightness;
the moon shines on the lamps, and adds a tenfold splendour.
There is no seeing to the end of the iron-chain star-bridge, no finishing the lamp-flowers and fire-trees.
Snowflake lamps and plum-blossom lamps, like spring ice cut into pieces;
embroidered-screen lamps and painted-screen lamps, five colours clustered together.
Walnut lamps and lotus lamps, hung high on the lamp-towers;
green lion lamps and white elephant lamps, propped high on the lamp-frames.
Shrimp lamps and turtle lamps, waved about before the sheds;
sheep lamps and rabbit lamps, full of life under the eaves.
Hawk lamps and phoenix lamps, joined and set side by side;
tiger lamps and horse lamps, walking together and going together.
Crane lamps and white-deer lamps, with the Star of Longevity riding them;
goldfish lamps and great-whale lamps, with Li Bai mounted high.
The Ao-mountain lamp, where the immortals gather in assembly;
the running-horse lamp, where generals cross weapons.
Ten thousand households of lamplit towers and terraces; ten and more lǐ of a world of cloud and mist.
Over on that side, jade saddle-flaps come flying with a jingling and a clinking;
over on this side, perfumed carriages go rumbling and rolling past.
Look at the painted upper storeys: leaning on the rails, screened by the blinds, shoulder against shoulder, hand in hand, the beautiful women, two by two, are greedy for pleasure;
and by the green-water bridge, amid the noise and the crush and the tipsiness and the laughter, the sightseers go by in pairs, playing at the coloured lamps.
Throughout the city the pipes and drums make an uproar; all night long the singing and the playing never stop.
There are verses to prove it. The poem says:
In the brocade arena they sing the Coloured Lotus; within the borders of peace the crowds cluster thick.
Lamps bright and moon clear on the Lantern Night; wind and rain in season, and a year of plenty.
At this hour the watch was indeed not stopping anyone; all was noise and bustle, and people beyond counting. There were dancers, and stilt-walkers, and men got up as ghosts, and men riding elephants; a cluster over here, a crowd over there, more than one could see.
They had just come onto the Golden Lamp Bridge, and when the Tang Monk and the monks went up close to look, there were three golden lamps. Those lamps were as big as water-jars, and above them shone two-storeyed pavilions of the most delicate open-work. All of them were woven of fine gold wire, with thin sheets of glazed glass set within; their light outshone the moon, and their oil breathed fragrance.
The Tang Monk turned and asked the monks, “What oil is in these lamps? How does it come to have so strange a scent striking the nose?”
The monks said, “Venerable master does not know. Behind this prefecture there is a county called Mintian County, and the county measures two hundred and forty lǐ. Every year, when the labour levies are assessed, there are two hundred and forty households in all designated great lamp-oil households. The prefecture's and county's other levies are bearable enough, but this one wears these households out: each family serves for a year, and must lay out more than two hundred taels of silver. This oil is no ordinary oil; it is butter-and-storax fragrant oil. This oil is worth two taels of silver an ounce, and thirty-two taels of silver a catty. Three lamps: each jar holds five hundred catties, three jars together fifteen hundred catties, which comes to forty-eight thousand taels of silver in all. There are miscellaneous charges and handling besides, so it comes to over fifty thousand taels — and it only burns for three nights.”
Pilgrim said, “So much oil — how can it be burnt up in three nights?”
The monks said, “In each of these jars there are forty-nine great lamp-horses, all of them bundles of rush-pith bound up and wrapped in floss silk, as thick as a hen's egg. They burn only for tonight; once the Buddha-lords have shown themselves, by tomorrow night the oil is gone and the lamps go dim.”
Eight Rules said with a laugh from one side, “I suppose the Buddha-lords carry off the oil along with everything else.”
The monks said, “That is just what is said. Everyone in the city, from ancient times down to today, has told it so. When the oil dries up, everyone says the Buddhas have taken the lamps, and that the five grains will naturally be plentiful; but if in some year it does not dry up, then the season turns to drought and famine, and wind and rain come out of order. And so every household wants to make this offering.”
Even as they spoke, there came a rushing of wind in mid-air, and the lamp-watchers were so frightened that they all scattered in every direction. Those monks could not keep their feet either, and said, “Venerable master, let us go back. The wind has come. It is the Buddha-lords sending down blessing, come here to look at the lamps.”
The Tang Monk said, “How can you tell it is the Buddhas coming to look at the lamps?”
The monks said, “It is so every year: before the third watch there is always a wind. We know it is the Buddhas sending down blessing, and so everyone gets out of the way.”
The Tang Monk said, “Your disciple has always been a man who thinks on the Buddha, calls the Buddha's name and worships the Buddha. Now that I meet so fine an occasion, if the Buddhas are really coming down, would it not be well to make my bow to them here?” The monks begged him repeatedly, but he would not go back.
In a little while three Buddha-bodies did indeed appear in the wind, coming up to the lamps. So flustered was the Tang Monk that he ran up to the crown of the bridge and threw himself down to bow. Pilgrim hurriedly hauled him up, saying, “Master, they are not good people — they must be demons.”
Before he had finished speaking, the lamplight dimmed, and with a rushing sound the Tang Monk was caught up and carried off upon the wind. Alas!
There was no knowing from what mountain or what cave the true demons came, who year after year had counterfeited buddhas and watched the golden lamps.
Eight Rules was so alarmed that he searched to either side, and Sha the Monk called out left and right. Pilgrim called, “Brothers, there is no need to stand here shouting. When joy reaches its height, sorrow is born. Master has been carried off by demons.”
Those few monks said in terror, “Grandfather! How can you tell demons carried him off?”
Pilgrim said with a laugh, “So you crowd of ordinary mortals have gone years without recognising it, and have been deceived by fiends, saying only that true buddhas were sending down blessing and receiving this offering of lamps. Just now, where the wind reached, those that appeared in Buddha-bodies were three demons, no more. My master could not tell either, and went up to the crown of the bridge to worship — and so they darkened the lamplight, ladled the oil into their vessels, and carried my master off along with it. I was a little slow in moving, and so the three of them turned to wind and fled.”
Sha the Monk said, “Elder brother, what is to be done now?” Pilgrim said, “No need to hesitate. You two go back to the monastery with the rest and mind the horse and the baggage, while old Monkey rides this wind and goes after them.”
The Great Sage, in haste, sprang up on his somersault cloud, rose into mid-air, and smelling that rank wind on the air, went straight off after it to the northeast. He pursued until daybreak, when all at once the wind died away.
He saw a great mountain, exceedingly steep and truly craggy — a fine mountain:
Fold upon fold of gullies; winding and winding, the springs at their source.
Vines and creepers hang from the sheer cliffs; pine and cypress stand erect on the bare rock.
Cranes cry in the morning mist; wild geese call between the dawn clouds.
Towering and jutting, the peaks ranked like halberds; abrupt and glittering, the stones laid up like slabs.
The summit rises ten thousand fathoms; the steep ridges fold in a thousand bends.
Wild flowers and fine trees know that spring has come; cuckoo and oriole answer the season's beauty.
It can be lofty and splendid, and truly precipitous — grotesque, rugged, perilous and hard besides.
One lingers a long while and does not speak; one hears only tigers and leopards snoring aloud.
Fragrant river-deer and white stags come and go at will; the jade hare and the grey wolf depart and return again.
Deep in the ravine the water runs a thousand thousand lǐ; the eddying rapids beat on the rocks with a rushing and a murmuring.
The Great Sage was on the cliff, casting about for a path, when he saw four men driving three sheep down from the western slope, all of them hollering together, “Kāitài!”
The Great Sage flashed his fiery eyes and golden pupils, looked carefully, and recognised the Four Sentinels of the year, the month, the day and the hour, come in disguise and altered shape. The Great Sage at once drew out his iron cudgel, gave it a shake till it was as thick as a bowl and some twelve chǐ long, leapt down from the cliff and shouted, “Where are you all off to, hiding your heads and pulling in your necks like that?”
When the Four Sentinels heard him name the wind's dying, they were so flustered that they hollered the three sheep away, resumed their proper forms, slipped aside to the roadside and made their bow, saying, “Great Sage, forgive our fault, forgive our fault.”
Pilgrim said, “I have not had occasion to use you lately, and seeing old Monkey easy-going, every one of you has grown slack — you never even come to see me. What do you say to that? Why did you not protect my master unseen? Where had you all gone?”
The Sentinel said, “Your master let his Chan nature go slack, took his pleasure at the Monastery of Compassionate Clouds in Jinping Prefecture, and so, Peace reaching its height turned to Obstruction, and joy at its fullest became grief; and now he has been seized by fiends. He has the guardian monastery-spirits about him, keeping him safe. We knew the Great Sage had been searching all night, and feared he might not know these hills, so we came on purpose to bring word.”
Pilgrim said, “If you came to bring word, why hide your names and change your shapes, driving three sheep along and hollering away like that?”
The Sentinel said, “We set out these three sheep to answer the word Kāitài — it is called 'Three Yang Open into Peace' — so as to break the Obstruction that binds your master.”
Pilgrim was angry enough to strike them, but seeing that this was their meaning, he let them off, put away his cudgel, and turning his temper to good humour said, “Is this mountain the demons' place, then?”
The Sentinel said, “It is, it is. This mountain is called Green Dragon Mountain, and in it is a cave called the Dark-Blossom Cave. In the cave are three demons. The eldest is called Great King Cold-Averting, the second is styled Great King Heat-Averting, and the third Great King Dust-Averting. These demons have been here a thousand years. From their youth they have loved to eat butter-and-storax fragrant oil. In the year they became spirits they came here, counterfeited buddha-images, and deceived the officials and people of Jinping Prefecture into setting up the golden lamps, with butter-and-storax oil for the lamp-oil. Every year, at the middle of the first month, they change into buddha-images and collect the oil. This year they saw your master, knew him for a holy monk's body, and carried him off into the cave along with everything else; and in a day or two they mean to carve up your master's flesh and fry it in butter-and-storax oil to eat. Be quick and set to work — go and rescue him.”
Hearing this, Pilgrim shouted the four Sentinels away, went round the mountain crag, and looked for the cave-dwelling.
He had not gone many lǐ when he saw a stone crag beside the ravine.
Below the crag was a stone house, and the house had two stone doors, half open and half shut.
Beside the door stood a stone tablet, and on it six characters: “Green Dragon Mountain, Dark-Blossom Cave.”
Pilgrim did not dare go in uninvited, but planted his feet and called out, “Monsters! Send my master out here, and be quick about it.”
At that, with a rattling crash, the doors were thrown wide and out came a troop of ox-headed goblins, who asked blankly, “Who are you, that dare shout here?”
Pilgrim said, “I am the chief disciple of the holy monk Tang Sanzang, who goes from the Land of the East, the Great Tang, to fetch the scriptures. Passing through Jinping Prefecture to see the lanterns, my master was carried off by the fiend-lord of your house. Send him back at once and I will spare your lives; and if not, I will turn your nest upside down and make the whole pack of you dissolve into pus and blood.”
Hearing this, the little demons hurried inside to report: “Great King, disaster! Disaster!”
The three old demons had just got the Tang Monk into the deepest part of the cave, where they were not troubling to ask him anything at all, but had ordered the little ones to strip off his clothes, draw clear water from the rapids and wash him clean, meaning to slice and mince him fine and fry him in butter-and-storax oil to eat.
Suddenly hearing the cry of “Disaster!” they took a great fright and asked what the reason was.
The little demon said, “At the front gate there is a monk with a hairy face and a thunder-god's beak, shouting that the Great King has carried off his master, telling us to send him out quickly and spare our lives; and if not, he will turn our nest upside down and make us all dissolve into pus and blood.”
Hearing this, the old demons were alarmed, every one, and said, “We have only just caught this fellow, and have not yet asked him his name or where he comes from. Little ones, give him back his clothes and bring him over, and let us question him — what manner of man is he, and where has he come from?”
The demons crowded forward together, untied the Tang Monk's bonds, put his clothes on him, and pushed him up before the seat. So frightened was the Tang Monk that he knelt below, shaking, and could only cry, “Great King, spare my life, spare my life!”
The three demons said with one voice, “What quarter do you come from, monk? How is it that you did not get out of the way when you saw the buddha-image, but blundered into my cloud-path?”
The Tang Monk knocked his head on the ground and said, “This poor monk is sent by the court of the Great Tang in the Land of the East, and goes to the Great Thunderclap Monastery in India, to worship the Buddha and fetch the scriptures. Coming to the Monastery of Compassionate Clouds in Jinping Prefecture to beg a meal, I was kept there over the Lantern Festival by the monks of that temple, to see the lamps. I was on the Golden Lamp Bridge when I saw Your Majesties manifest in buddha-images; and being of flesh eyes and a mortal frame, I bowed at the sight of a buddha, and so blundered into Your Majesty's cloud-path.”
The demons said, “From your Land of the East to here is a very long road. How many are there in your party altogether? And what are they all called? Depose it truthfully and quickly, and I will spare your life.”
The Tang Monk said, “This poor monk's lay name was Chen Xuanzang. From childhood I was a monk at the Golden Mountain Monastery. Afterwards, by the Tang emperor's gracious command, I was made a monk-official at the Monastery of Vast Blessing in Chang'an. Then, because Chancellor Wei Zheng beheaded the old dragon of the Jing River in a dream, and the Tang king toured the underworld and came back to the world of the living, a Great Mass of Land and Water was set up to deliver the souls of the dead; and the Tang king chose and appointed this poor monk as altar-master and superintendent of the whole. By good fortune the Bodhisattva Guanyin appeared and instructed this poor monk, saying that at the Great Thunderclap Monastery in the Western Heaven there were three baskets of true scripture, able to deliver the dead and raise them to heaven; and she sent this poor monk to fetch them, and so bestowed on me the title Sanzang — Three Baskets. Taking Tang for a surname, I am therefore called by everyone the Tang Monk of the Three Baskets. I have three disciples. The first is surnamed Sun, and named Wukong the Pilgrim; he is the Great Sage Equal to Heaven, come back to the right way.”
Hearing that name, the crowd of demons took a fright and said, “This Great Sage Equal to Heaven — is he the one who made the great uproar in Heaven five hundred years ago?”
The Tang Monk said, “He is, he is. The second is surnamed Zhu, and named Wuneng the Eight Rules; he is the Grand Marshal of the Heavenly Reeds, born again into the world. The third is surnamed Sha, and named Wujing the Monk; he is the Curtain-Raising General, come down among mortals.”
Hearing this, the three demon kings were alarmed, every one, and said, “Just as well we had not eaten him. Little ones, chain the Tang Monk up with an iron chain out at the back, and we shall wait until we have caught those three disciples of his and eat the lot together.”
So they mustered a troop of mountain-bull spirits, water-buffalo spirits and yellow-ox spirits, each with his weapon, who marched out of the gate, gave the signal and raised the flags and beat the drums.
The three demons, in full harness, came out to the gate and shouted, “Who is it dares holler here in my place?” Pilgrim slipped aside onto the stone crag, looked carefully, and saw that those demons were made like this:
Painted faces and ringed eyes; two horns, towering.
Four sharp, sharp ears; the apertures of the spirit flashing bright.
Their whole bodies patterned like painted work; their coats all over brocade, like flying blossom.
The first: on his head a fox-fur flowered cap, warm; over all his face a bristling mane, and the heat steaming off him.
The second: light gauze hung about him and fierce flames flying; his four hooves flowered and glossy, jade-bright and clear.
The third: awesome and mighty, his roar like thunder shaking; his tusks sharp and keen, outdoing silver needles.
Every one of them brave and fierce, each holding one of three kinds of weapon: one wielding a battle-axe, one able with a great sabre;
but look at the third — across his shoulder he carries a knotted vine-staff.
And he saw besides the demons great and small, seven long and eight short, seven fat and eight thin, all of them ox-headed goblins, each gripping spear or staff. There were three great banners, and on the banners were written plainly “Great King Cold-Averting,” “Great King Heat-Averting,” “Great King Dust-Averting.”
Sun the Pilgrim watched a while, could bear it no longer, and stepped forward crying loudly, “You filthy thieving fiends! Do you know old Monkey?”
That demon shouted, “Are you that Sun Wukong who made the uproar in Heaven? Truly, it is a case of hearing the name without seeing the face — and seeing the face shames the gods of heaven. So you are just this sort of a little macaque.”
Pilgrim, in a great rage, cursed him: “You thief who steals the lamp oil! You oily-mouthed monster! Enough of your nonsense — give me back my master this minute.” He rushed up close and swung the iron cudgel at him;
Those three old demons raised their three kinds of weapon and hastily parried him.
What a fight this was, there in the mountain hollow:
Battle-axe, steel sabre and knotted vine-staff; the Monkey King with one cudgel dares come and meet them.
The fiends Cold-Averting, Heat-Averting and Dust-Averting know the name of the Great Sage Equal to Heaven.
The cudgel rising makes gods and ghosts afraid; the axe comes, the sabre hacks, and all is wild flying and leaping.
A fine thing, this image of true emptiness with the law of primal unity, holding off the counterfeit buddha-shapes of three fiends.
Those three, who steal the oil to grease their noses, have offended this year, in seeking to seize the monk commissioned by the imperial court.
This one, for his master's sake, fears not the long mountain road; those ones, for their mouths' sake, set up the offering lamps year after year.
Clang and clatter — one hears only sabre and axe ringing; crack and thwack — one hears nothing but the cudgel's sound.
Charging and colliding, three close in upon one; parrying and shielding, each shows what he can do.
They fought from morning until the sky grew late, and there was no telling which was losing and which was winning.
Sun the Pilgrim with his single cudgel fought those three demons through a hundred and fifty bouts; the sky was growing late, and neither side had won. Then the Dust-Averting King gave his vine-staff a flourish, sprang out to the front of the line, and waved the banner once.
That crowd of ox-headed monsters pressed forward in a mass, penned Pilgrim in the middle of the ring, and each swinging his weapon, laid on wildly. Seeing that things were going badly, Pilgrim sprang up on his somersault cloud with a whoosh and fled the field, beaten.
The demons did not even come after him, but called their crowd back, laid on some supper, and all of them ate. They also had a little demon take a bowl to the Tang Monk, meaning to see to him properly only when they had caught Sun the Pilgrim and the rest.
That master, first because he kept a lifelong fast and second because he was sick with grief, wept and sobbed and did not dare put it to his lips — of which no more for now.
Now Pilgrim rode his cloud back to the Monastery of Compassionate Clouds and called out, “Brothers!”
Eight Rules and Sha the Monk had been watching out and talking it over, and hearing him call, came out together to meet him: “Brother, how is it you have been gone a whole day before coming back? What in truth has become of our master?”
Pilgrim said with a laugh, “Last night I followed the wind, and by daybreak I came to a mountain, and lost it. By good luck the Four Sentinels brought word: that mountain is called Green Dragon Mountain, and in the mountain there is a Dark-Blossom Cave. In the cave are three demons, called Great King Cold-Averting, Great King Heat-Averting and Great King Dust-Averting. It turns out they have been stealing the oil here for years on end, counterfeiting buddha-images and deceiving the officials and people of Jinping Prefecture. This year they met us, and not knowing good from bad, they went so far as to carry our master off as well. Old Monkey got the truth of it out of them, told the Sentinels and the rest to guard our master unseen, and went and found the gate and shouted abuse. Those three fiends all came out, and every one had the shape of an ox-headed ghost. The first used a battle-axe, the second a great sabre, the third a vine-staff. Behind them they brought a whole nestful of ox-headed ghost-monsters, waving flags and beating drums, and they fought with old Monkey a whole day and came out even. That demon king shook his banner and all the little demons came on. Seeing it was late and fearing I could not win, I therefore rode my somersault cloud back here.”
Eight Rules said, “Over there — I suppose that will be the ghost king of the city of Fengdu, playing tricks?” Sha the Monk said, “How do you come to guess it is the ghost king of Fengdu playing tricks?” Eight Rules said with a laugh, “Elder brother said they were ox-headed ghost-monsters, and so I knew it.”
Pilgrim said, “No, no. By what old Monkey saw of those fiends, they are three rhinoceroses turned into spirits.”
Eight Rules said, “If they are rhinoceroses, then catch them and saw off the horns — that would be worth a good few taels of silver.”
While they were speaking, the monks said, “Will Master Sun take his evening meal?” Pilgrim said, “If it is convenient I will eat a little; if not, never mind.”
The monks said, “Your reverence has been fighting all this day — are you not hungry?” Pilgrim said with a laugh, “In a scrap of a day like this, how should I get hungry? Old Monkey once went five hundred years without eating or drinking.”
The monks did not know it for the truth, and took it only for a joke. In a moment it was brought, and Pilgrim ate it too.
He said, “Now let us pack up and sleep, and tomorrow we shall all go and engage them, seize the demon king, and so be able to rescue our master.”
Sha the Monk said from beside him, “What a thing for elder brother to say! As the common saying goes, 'Delay breeds second thoughts.' If those demons should not sleep tonight, and do our master harm — what then? Better to go now, and make such an uproar that they are caught unprepared — that is the way to rescue our master. Delay a little, and I fear there may be a loss.”
Hearing this, Eight Rules roused his divine might and said, “Brother Sha speaks rightly. Let us all take this moonlight and go and subdue the fiends.” Pilgrim agreed, and at once instructed the monks of the monastery: “Mind the baggage and the horse, and wait till we have caught the demons and can prove to the prefect of this place that they are counterfeit buddhas — so as to do away with the lamp-oil and relieve the hardship of the small folk of the whole county. Would that not be well?”
The monks obeyed. So the three of them rose up on auspicious clouds and went out of the city.
It was just as the lines say:
Idle and loose and unrestrained, the Chan nature runs to disorder; disaster and danger have their allotted share, and the Dao-heart is clouded.
In the end there is no knowing whether this journey will end in victory or defeat; so listen to the next chapter, and it will be explained.