EIGHTY-FIVE

Mind Monkey envies Wood Mother;

The demon lord plots to devour Chan.

We were telling you about the morning court of the king, during which many civil and military officials presented their memorials, saying, “Our Lord, please pardon your subjects for being remiss in their manners.”

“Our worthy ministers have not departed from their customary good deportment,” replied the king. “What is remiss in your manners?”

“O Our Lord!” said the various ministers; “we do not know the reason, but during the night all your subjects lost their hair.” Clutching those memorials that complained of loss of hair, the king descended from his dragon couch to say to his subjects, “Indeed we do not know the reason either, but we and the other members of the royal palace, high and low, also lost all our hair.” As tears gushed from their eyes, ruler and subjects said to one another, “From now on, we wouldn’t dare slaughter monks!”

Then the king ascended his dragon couch once more as the officials returned to standing in ranks. The king said, “Let those who have any business leave their ranks to present their memorials; if there is no further business, let the screen be rolled up so that the court may retire.” From the ranks of military officials the city patrol commander stepped out, and from the ranks of the civil officials the east city warden walked forward. Both came up to the steps to kowtow and say, “By your sage decree your subjects were on patrol last night, and we succeeded in recovering the stolen goods of one cupboard and one white horse. Your lowly subjects dare not dispose of these by our own authority, and we beg you to render a decision.” Highly pleased, the king said, “Bring us both horse and cupboard.”

As soon as the two officials went back to their offices, they immediately summoned their troops to haul out the cupboard. Locked inside, Tripitaka became so terrified that his soul was about to leave his body. “Disciples,” he said, “what do we say once we appear before the king?”

Laughing, Pilgrim said, “Stop fussing! I have made the proper arrangements! When they open the cupboard, they’ll bow to us as their teachers. Just tell Eight Rules not to wrangle over seniority!” “To be spared from execution,” said Eight Rules, “is already boundless blessing! You think I dare wrangle?” Hardly had they finished talking when the cupboard was hauled to the court; the soldiers carried it inside the Five-Phoenix Tower and placed it before the vermilion steps.

When the subjects asked the king to inspect the cupboard, he immediately commanded that it be opened. The moment the cover was lifted, however, Zhu Eight Rules could not refrain from leaping out, so terrifying the various officials that they were all struck dumb. Then they saw the Tang Monk emerging, supported by Pilgrim Sun, while Sha Monk brought out the luggage. When Eight Rules caught sight of the commander holding the horse, he rushed forward and bellowed, “The horse is ours! Give it to me!” The commander was so scared that he fell backward head over heels.

As the four of them stood on the steps, the king noticed that they were all Buddhist priests. Hurrying down from his dragon couch, the king asked all his consorts of the three palaces to join his subjects in descending from the Treasure Hall of Golden Chimes and bowing with him to the clerics. “Where did the elders come from?” the king asked.

Tripitaka said, “We are those sent by the Throne of the Great Tang in the Land of the East to go to India’s Great Thunderclap Monastery in the West to seek true scriptures from the living Buddha.”

“If the Venerable Master had come from such a great distance,” said the king, “for what reason did you choose to rest in a cupboard?”

“Your humble cleric,” replied Tripitaka, “had learned of Your Majesty’s vow to slaughter monks. We therefore dared not approach your superior state openly. Disguising ourselves as laymen, we came by night to an inn in your treasure region to ask for lodging. As we were afraid that people might still recognize our true identity, we chose to sleep in the cupboard, which unfortunately was stolen by thieves. It was then recovered by the commander and brought here. Now that I am privileged to behold the dragon countenance of Your Majesty, I feel as if I had caught sight of the sun after the clouds had parted. I beg Your Majesty to extend your grace and favor wide as the sea to pardon and release this humble cleric.”

“The Venerable Master is a noble priest from the heavenly court of a superior state,” replied the king, “and it is we who have been remiss in our welcome. The reason for our vow to slaughter monks stems from the fact that we were slandered by certain priests in years past. We therefore vowed to Heaven to kill ten thousand monks as a figure of perfection. Little did we anticipate that we would be forced to become monks instead, for all of us—ruler and subjects, king and consorts—now have had our hair shorn off. We, in turn, beg the Venerable Master not to be sparing in your great virtue and accept us as your disciples.”

When Eight Rules heard these words, he roared with laughter, saying, “If you want to be our disciples, what sort of presentation gifts do you have for us?”

“If the Master is willing,” said the king, “we would be prepared to offer you the treasures and wealth of the state.”

“Don’t mention treasures and wealth,” said Pilgrim, “for we are the sort of monks who keep to our principles. Only certify our travel rescript and escort us out of the city. We promise you that your kingdom will be secure forever, and you will be endowed with blessings and long life in abundance.”

When the king heard that, he at once ordered the Court of Imperial Entertainments to prepare a huge banquet. Ruler and subjects, meanwhile, prostrated themselves to return to the One. The travel rescript was certified immediately, and then the king requested the masters to change the name of his kingdom. “Your Majesty,” said Pilgrim, “the name of Dharma Kingdom is an excellent one; it’s only the word ‘Destroying’ that’s inadequate. Since we have passed through this region, you may change its name to Dharma-Honoring Kingdom. I promise that you will

Prosper a thousand years in calm rivers and seas,

With rain and wind in season and in all quarters peace.”

After thanking Pilgrim, the king asked for the imperial cortege and the entire court to escort master and disciples out of the city so they could leave for the West. Then ruler and subjects held fast to virtue to return to the truth, and we shall speak no more of them.

We tell you now about the elder, who took leave of the king of the Dharma-Honoring Kingdom. As he rode along, he said in great delight, “Wukong, you’ve employed an excellent method this time, and you’ve achieved a great merit.”

“O Elder Brother,” said Sha Monk, “where did you find so many barbers to shave off so many heads during the night?” Thereupon Pilgrim gave a thorough account of how he underwent transformations and exercised magic powers. Master and disciples laughed so hard they could hardly get their mouths shut. In that very moment of gaiety, they suddenly saw a tall mountain blocking their path. Reining in his horse, the Tang Monk said, “Disciples, look how rugged that mountain is. We must be careful!”

“Relax! Relax!” said Pilgrim with a laugh. “I guarantee you there’s nothing to be afraid of!”

“Stop saying there’s nothing!” replied Tripitaka. “I can see how precipitous the mountain peak is, and even from a great distance there appear to be violent vapors and savage clouds soaring up from it. I’m getting more and more apprehensive; my whole body’s turning numb, and I’m filled with troubled thoughts.”

Still laughing, Pilgrim said, “And you’ve long forgotten the Heart Sūtra of the Crow’s Nest Zen Master.” “I do remember it,” said Tripitaka. “You may remember the sūtra,” said Pilgrim, “but there are four lines of gāthā which you have forgotten.” “Which four lines?” asked Tripitaka. Pilgrim said,

Seek not afar for Buddha on Spirit Mount;

Mount Spirit lives only inside your mind.

There’s in each man a Spirit Mount stūpa;

Beneath this stūpa you must be refined.¹

“Disciple,” said Tripitaka, “you think I don’t know this? According to these four lines, the lesson of all scriptures concerns only the cultivation of the mind.”

“Of course, that goes without saying,” said Pilgrim. “For when the mind is pure, it shines forth as a solitary lamp, and when the mind is secure, the entire phenomenal world becomes clarified. The tiniest error, however, makes for the way to slothfulness, and then you’ll never succeed even in ten thousand years. Maintain your vigilance with the utmost sincerity, and Thunderclap will be right before your eyes. But when you afflict yourself like that with fears and troubled thoughts, then the Great Way and, indeed, Thunderclap seem far away. Let’s stop all these wild guesses. Follow me.” When the elder heard these words, his mind and spirit immediately cheered up as all worries subsided.

The four of them proceeded, and a few steps brought them into the mountain. This was what met their eyes:

The mountain’s truly a good mountain.

Look closely, it’s mixed colors show!

On top the clouds wander and drift;

Tree shades are cool before the cliff.

Birds screechy and shrill;

Beasts savage and fierce.

A thousand pines in the forest;

A few bamboos on the summit.

Those snarling are grey wolves fighting for food;

Those growling are tigers struggling for feed.

Wild apes wail long as they search for fresh fruits;

The deer climb o’er flowers to reach the peak.

A soughing breeze

And gurgling stream,

Where oft you hear the coos of birds unseen.

In a few places creepers pull and tug;

By the brook orchids mix with fine grasses.

Strange rocks sharply etched;

Hanging cliffs sheer and straight.

Foxes and raccoons dash by in packs;

Badgers and gibbons frolic in bands.

The traveler, troubled by such ruggedness,

Can do little with an old path’s curviness!

Wary and cautious, master and disciples walked along, and all at once they heard the howling of a strong gust. Becoming fearful, Tripitaka said, “A wind has risen!”

Pilgrim said, “Spring has a temperate wind, summer a warm one. Autumn has a west wind, and winter has a north wind. There are winds in all four seasons. Why fear a gust of wind now?”

“But this wind has blown up so quickly,” replied Tripitaka, “that it cannot possibly be a natural wind.” “From ancient times,” said Pilgrim, “wind has risen from the ground and clouds have emerged from mountains. How could there be such a thing as a natural wind?” Hardly had he finished speaking when they also saw fog rising. That fog truly

Spreads out to make the sky opaque

As darkness the earth overtakes.

The sun wholly loses its light;

All singing birds vanish from sight.

It seems like Chaos returning,

Like dust both flying and churning.

When summit trees all disappear,

Could one an herb-picker go near?

Becoming more alarmed than ever, Tripitaka said, “Wukong, the wind has hardly subsided. Why is there such fog rising?”

“Let’s not jump to any conclusion,” replied Pilgrim. “Let our master dismount, and the two brothers can stand guard here. I’ll go see whether the situation is evil or auspicious.” Dear Great Sage! One snap of his torso shot him up to midair: shading his brows with his hand, he opened wide his fiery eyes to peer downward and at once discovered that there was, indeed, a monster-spirit sitting by a hanging cliff. Look how he appears:

A burly body swathed in colored hues,

Stalwart and tall, he seems most spirited.

His fangs push through his mouth like drills of steel;

His nose in the center’s a hook of jade.

His golden eyes flaring, fowl and beasts take fright.

His silver beard bristling, god and ghosts grow sad.

Perched firmly by the ledge he flaunts his might;

By belching wind and fog he plies his wiles.

Standing in rows to the left and right of him were some thirty or forty little fiends, all watching his magic exercise as he belched out wind and spat out fog.

Chuckling to himself, Pilgrim said, “My master does have a little prescience! He said it was no natural wind, and indeed it was a stunt of this monster’s that brought it forth. If old Monkey uses his iron rod now to deliver a blow downward, it will be nothing but a ‘Garlic Pounder.’ I’ll strike him dead, but it’ll also ruin old Monkey’s reputation.” Valiant all his life, Pilgrim never quite knew how to stab people in the back. He said to himself instead, “I’ll go back and give some business to Zhu Eight Rules. Let him come first to do battle with this monster-spirit. If Eight Rules is capable of defeating this monster, it’ll be his good fortune. If he’s not strong enough and gets himself captured, then I’ll go rescue him. That’s the proper way to enlarge my fame. But wait! Usually he’s quite lazy and refuses to take the initiative in anything. Nonetheless he’s hoggish and loves to eat. Let me trick him a little and see what he’ll say.”

Instantly dropping down from the clouds, he went before Tripitaka, who asked, “Wukong, how’s the situation in the wind and fog?” “It seems to have cleared up right now,” replied Pilgrim, “for there’s hardly any wind or fog.”

“Yes,” said Tripitaka, “they do seem to have subsided.”

“Master,” said Pilgrim with a chuckle, “my eyesight is usually quite good, but this time I’ve made a mistake. I had thought that there might be a monster in the wind and fog, but there wasn’t.” “What is it then?” asked Tripitaka.

“There’s a village not too far ahead,” said Pilgrim, “and the families there are quite devoted to good works. They are steaming white-grain rice and bleached-flour buns to feed the monks. The fog, I suppose, could have been the steam coming from their steamers, a sure sign of their good works.”

When Eight Rules heard this, he thought it was the truth. Pulling Pilgrim aside, he said softly, “Elder Brother, did you take a meal with them before you came back?”

“I didn’t eat much,” said Pilgrim, “for the vegetable dishes were a bit too salty for my taste.”

“Bah!” exclaimed Eight Rules. “No matter how salty they might be, I would have eaten until my stomach was filled. If I’m too thirsty, I’ll come back and drink water.”

“Do you want to eat?” asked Pilgrim.

“Of course,” replied Eight Rules, “because I’m just feeling a little hungry! I would like very much to go and eat something. What do you think?”

“Brother,” said Pilgrim, “you shouldn’t mention this. An ancient book said, ‘When the father is present, the son should not act on his own.’² If Master remains here, who dares go there first?”

“If you don’t speak up,” said Eight Rules, giggling, “I’ll be able to go.”

“I won’t,” said Pilgrim. “I’d like to see how you manage to get away.” That Idiot, you see, was peculiarly endowed with gluttonish intelligence. Walking forward, he bowed deeply and said, “Master, just now Elder Brother told us that there are families in the village ahead who are feeding the monks. Our horse here, however, is bound to bother people once we get there. Won’t it be a nuisance when we have to find feed or hay for him? It’s a good thing that the sky is now cleared of wind and fog. Why don’t you sit here for a while and let me go find some nice, tender grass to feed the horse? Then we may proceed to beg for our meal from those households.”

“Marvelous!” said a delighted Tang Monk. “How is it that you’re so industrious today? Go, and return quickly!” Chuckling to himself, that Idiot left at once, only to be pulled back by Pilgrim, saying, “Brother, those families there will feed only handsome monks, not ugly ones.”

“If you put it that way,” said Eight Rules, “it means I have to undergo transformation again.”

“Exactly,” said Pilgrim, “you’d better change a little.” Dear Idiot! He too had the ability of thirty-six transformations. After he walked into the fold of the mountain, he made the magic sign and recited a spell; with one shake of his body he changed into a rather thin and short priest. His hand striking a wooden fish, he began to mutter something as he walked. He knew nothing of chanting scriptures, of course, and all he could mumble was “Noble Eminence!”

We tell you now about that fiend who, after he had retrieved the wind and fog, ordered the various fiends to form a circle at the entrance of the main road and wait for the travelers. Our Idiot had the misfortune to walk right into the circle. The various fiends at once had him surrounded; some tugged at his clothes while others pulled at his sash. As they surged around him, Eight Rules said, “Stop pulling! I’ll eat from you, house by house!”

“Monk,” said the fiends, “what do you want to eat?”

“You people want to feed the monks,” said Eight Rules, “and I have come to take my meal.”

“So, you think we’re feeding the monks,” said one of the monsters. “You don’t know that we specialize in eating monks here. Since we are monstrous immortals who have attained the Way in the mountain, we are particularly fond of catching monks and bringing them into our house to have them steamed in steamers. And you want to eat our meals instead!”

On hearing this, Eight Rules was so horrified that he began to castigate Pilgrim, saying, “This BanHorsePlague is such a rogue! He lied to me about the feeding of monks in this village. What village is there, and what feeding of monks? These are monster-spirits!” Exasperated by their pulling, our Idiot at once changed back into his original form and took out his muckrake from his waist. A few wild blows sent those little monsters retreating. They dashed back, in fact, to report to the old fiend: “Great King, disaster!” “What sort of disaster?” asked the old fiend. One of the little monsters said, “From the front of the mountain arrived a monk who looked quite neat. I said that we should take him home to be steamed, and if we couldn’t finish him immediately, we could have parts of him cured and left for bad weather. I didn’t expect him to know how to change.”

“What did he change into?” asked the old monster.

“Nothing that looks human!” said the little monster. “Long snout, huge ears, and a tuft of hair behind his head. Wielding a muckrake with both his hands, he delivered blows madly at us. We were so scared that we ran back to report to the great king.”

“Don’t be afraid,” said the old fiend. “Let me go look.” He held up an iron club and walked forward, only to discover that Idiot was ugly indeed. This was how he appeared:

A snout, pestlelike, over three feet long

And teeth protruding like silver prongs.

Bright like lightning a pair of eyeballs round,

Two ears that whip the wind in hu-hu sound.

Arrowlike hairs behind his head are seen;

His whole body’s skin is both coarse and green.

His hands hold up a thing bizarre and queer:

A muckrake of nine prongs which all men fear.

Forcing himself to be bold, the monster-spirit shouted: “Where did you come from? What is your name? Tell me quickly, and I’ll spare your life!” With a chuckle Eight Rules said, “My child, so you don’t recognize your Ancestor Zhu! Come up here and I’ll recite for you:

With huge mouth and fangs I’ve great magic might.

Emperor Jade made me Marshal Heavenly Reeds.

The boss of Heaven’s eighty-thousand marines,

Comforts and joys I had in the halls of light.

Because I mocked Chang’e when I was drunk

And flaunted my strength at a wrongful hour—

One shove of my snout toppled Tushita;

Queen Mother’s divine herbs I then devoured—

Emperor Jade pounded me two thousand times

And banished me from the Three Heavens realm.

Though told to nourish my primal spirit,

I became again a monster down below.

About to marry at the Village Gao,

I met Brother Sun—’twas my wretched fate!

Quite defeated by his golden-hooped rod,

I had to bow and take the Buddhist vow:

A coolie who bears luggage and leads the horse,

Who owes, in former life, the Tang Monk a debt!

This iron-legged Heavenly Reed’s name is Zhu;

And my religious name is Zhu Eight Rules.”

On hearing these words, the monster-spirit snapped, “So you’re the disciple of the Tang Monk. I’ve always heard that the flesh of the Tang Monk is most edible. Now that you’ve barged in here, you think I’ll spare you? Don’t run away! Watch my club!”

“Cursed beast!” said Eight Rules. “So you used to be a Doctor in Dyeing!”

“Why was I a Doctor in Dyeing?” asked the monster-spirit.

“If you weren’t,” replied Eight Rules, “how would you know the use of a stirring club?” The fiend, of course, did not permit any further chatter; he drew near and struck madly. The two of them thus began quite a furious battle in the fold of the mountain:

The nine-pronged muckrake,

One single iron club—

The rake in motion churned like violent wind;

The club used deftly flew like sudden rain.

One was a nameless, vile fiend blocking the mountain path;

One was sinful Heavenly Reeds helping Nature’s lord.

With Nature righted, why fear demons or fiends?

On tall mountains, earth would not beget gold.

That one’s club parried like a serpent bolting from the deep;

This one’s rake came like a dragon breaking from the banks.

Their shouts, thunderous, rocked mountains and streams;

Their cries, heroic, stirred the depths of earth.

Two valiant fighters each showing his power

To wage a life-risking contest of might.

Summoning his own powers, Eight Rules engaged the monster-spirit, who also shouted for the little fiends to have his opponent encircled.

We shall leave them for the moment and tell you instead about Pilgrim, who, standing behind the Tang Monk, burst out laughing all of a sudden. “Elder Brother,” asked Sha Monk, “why are you snickering?”

“Zhu Eight Rules is truly idiotic!” said Pilgrim. “When he heard that people were feeding monks, he was deceived into leaving immediately and still hasn’t returned after all this time. If his rake managed to beat back a monster-spirit, you would be able to watch him come back in triumph and clamor for merit. But if he could not withstand him and got himself captured, then that would be my misfortune also, for I don’t know how many times, backward and forward, he would castigate me as BanHorsePlague. Wujing, stop talking to me for a while. Let me go see what’s happening.”

Dear Great Sage! Without letting the elder know, he quietly pulled a hair from the back of his head and blew his immortal breath on it, crying, “Change!” It changed into his appearance to accompany both Sha Monk and the elder. His true body left with his spirit to shoot up into the air and look: he soon discovered that Idiot, surrounded by the fiends, was gradually losing ground, the movements of his muckrake slackening.

Pilgrim could no longer restrain himself; lowering his cloud, he cried out in a loud voice, “Don’t worry Eight Rules! Old Monkey’s here!” When that Idiot heard Pilgrim’s voice, he was stirred to greater strength than ever as he attacked madly with his rake. Unable to withstand him, the monster-spirit said, “A moment ago this monk was beginning to weaken. Why is it that he has turned more ferocious all at once?”

“My child,” said Eight Rules, “you shouldn’t try to oppress me! A family member of mine has arrived!” Ever more fiercely he delivered blows at his opponent’s head and face, until the monster-spirit could hardly parry his blows and led the other monsters to retreat in defeat. When Pilgrim saw the monster-spirit flee, however, he did not draw near. Turning his cloud around, he went back to where he had been, and with one shake retrieved his hair. Being of fleshly eyes and mortal stock, the elder did not perceive what had taken place.

In a little while, Idiot also returned; though he was the winner, he had been so exercised that he was sniveling from the nose and foaming at the mouth. Panting hard, he walked near to call out, “Master!” Astonished by the sight of him, the elder said, “Eight Rules, you went to cut some grass for the horse. How is it that you’re returning in such terrible shape? Could it be that people on the mountain are guarding the grass and refuse to let you cut it?”

Putting down his rake, Idiot began to slap his head and stamp his feet, saying, “Master, don’t ask! If I told you, I’d be embarrassed to death!”

“Why?” asked the elder.

Eight Rules said, “Elder Brother tricked me! He said at first that there was no monster-spirit in the wind and fog, that there was no evil omen. It was, he said, a village, and its families were devoted to virtue. They were steaming white-grain rice and bleached-flour buns to feed the monks. Since I thought it was the truth and was feeling so hungry, I wanted to get there and beg some first, on the excuse that I was cutting grass for the horse. Little did I expect that there would be quite a few fiends, who had me surrounded. I have been fighting bitterly with them all this time. If it hadn’t been for the assistance lent by Elder Brother’s mourning staff, I would have never escaped the net and come back here.”

On one side Pilgrim began to laugh, saying, “This Idiot’s babbling! The moment you become a thief, you like to shift the blame on a whole bunch of people. I was watching Master right here. Since when did I leave his side?”

“That’s right!” said the elder. “Wukong hasn’t left me at all.”

Jumping up and down, Eight Rules screamed, “Master, you just don’t know. He has an alibi!”

The elder said, “Wukong, are there really fiends?” Knowing that he could no longer fool him, Pilgrim bowed and said, chuckling, “There are a few small ones, but they don’t dare bother us. Eight Rules, come over here. I want to entrust you with something truly worthwhile. When we escort Master through this rugged mountain road, we should act as if we were on military maneuvers.”

“What would we do if we were?” asked Eight Rules.

“You can be the path-finding general and open up the road in front,” replied Pilgrim. “You needn’t do anything if the monster-spirit doesn’t show up, but if he appears, you fight with him. If you prevail, it will be regarded as your meritorious fruit.” Eight Rules calculated that the monster-spirit’s abilities were about the same as his, and so he said, “I don’t mind dying at his hands! Let me lead the way!”

“This Idiot!” said Pilgrim with a chuckle, “If he mouths such unlucky words first, how can he make any progress?” Eight Rules said, “Elder Brother, do you know the proverb?

A prince at a banquet

Will either be drunk or fed;

A fighter on the field

Will either be hurt or dead.

I want to say something amiss first, and then I may prove to be the stronger afterward.” Delighted, Pilgrim saddled the horse at once and asked the master to mount. With Sha Monk toting the luggage, they all followed Eight Rules into the mountain, and we shall leave them for the moment.

We tell you instead about that monster-spirit, who led those several defeated little fiends back to their own cave. Taking a seat high on a rocky edge, he fell completely silent. Many of the little fiends who had remained behind as household guards crowded around him to ask, “Great King, when you go out, you frequently return in a happy mood. Why are you so troubled today?”

“Little ones,” replied the old monster, “normally when I go out to patrol the mountain, I grab a few humans or beasts—regardless of where they are from—to take back home for you to feast on. Today my luck’s rather poor, for I ran into an adversary.”

“What adversary?” asked the little monsters.

“He happens to be a monk,” replied the old monster, “a disciple of the scripture-seeker Tang Monk from the Land of the East, whose name is Zhu Eight Rules. I was defeated by blows from his muckrake. I’m damn mad! For years I’ve heard people say that the Tang Monk is an arhat who has practiced austerities in ten incarnations. If someone eats a piece of his flesh, his age will be lengthened, and he’ll attain longevity. Little did I expect him to arrive this day at our mountain. I wanted so badly to seize him and have him steamed for food, but I didn’t know he had a disciple like that under him.”

He had hardly finished speaking when a little monster stepped forward from the ranks. Facing the old monster above, he sobbed three times aloud and then he laughed three times. “Why are you weeping and crying?” snapped the old monster. The little monster knelt down to say, “Just now the great king says that he wants to eat the Tang Monk, but I would like to tell you that this monk’s flesh is impossible to eat.”

The old monster said, “People everywhere claim that one piece of his flesh will enable one to live long without growing old, to acquire an age as lasting as Heaven’s. Why do you say that it’s impossible to eat?”

“If it were possible,” replied the little monster, “he wouldn’t have made it here, for he would have been devoured by monster-spirits elsewhere. He has three disciples under him, you see.” “Do you know which three?” asked the old monster. “His eldest disciple is Pilgrim Sun,” said the little monster, “and his third disciple is Sha Monk. This Zhu Eight Rules is his second disciple.”

“How strong is Sha Monk when compared with Zhu Eight Rules?” asked the old monster.

“About the same,” replied the little monster.

“What about that Pilgrim Sun? How does he compare with Zhu?”

Sticking out his tongue, the little monster said, “I dare not speak! That Pilgrim Sun has vast magic powers and knows many ways of transformation! Five hundred years ago, he caused great disturbance at the Celestial Palace. Those Twenty-eight Constellations³ from the Region Above, the Nine Luminaries, the Twelve Horary Branches, the Five Nobles and Four Ministers, the Stars of East and West, the Gods of North and South, the Deities of the Five Mountains and the Four Rivers, and the divine warriors of entire Heaven could not tangle successfully with him. How could you have the nerve to want to eat the Tang Monk?”

“How do you know so much about him?” asked the old monster.

The little monster said, “I used to live with the great kings of the Lion-Camel Cave at the Lion-Camel Ridge.⁴ Those great kings, not knowing anything better, wanted to devour the Tang Monk. When Pilgrim Sun used his golden-hooped rod to fight inside our door, alas, he reduced us to the condition like the title of a domino combination: Minus One, Abolish Six! I was intelligent enough, fortunately, to slip out the back door and come here to be received by the great king. That’s how I found out about his abilities!” When the old monster heard these words, he paled with fright, for as the saying goes, “Even a great general is afraid of augury.” When he heard a member of his own household speaking like that, how could he not be frightened?

At that anxious moment, another little monster went forward to say, “Great King, don’t be upset, and don’t be frightened. The proverb tells us that ‘Success comes step-by-step.’ If you desire to devour the Tang Monk, let me offer you a plan to seize him.”

“What sort of plan do you have?” asked the old monster.

“One called ‘The Plan of Plum Blossoms with Parted Petals,’” answered the little monster. “What do you mean by that?” asked the old monster.

The little monster said, “Take a roll call of all the monsters in the cave, young and old; select a hundred out of the thousands, ten out of the hundred, and finally three out of those ten. These three must all have abilities and the capacity for transformation. They will all change into the great king’s appearance, wearing his armor and holding his club, and then be placed in ambush. The first one will engage Zhu Eight Rules in battle; the next, Pilgrim Sun; and the third, Sha Monk. We shall risk these three little monsters to induce those three brothers to leave their master. Then the great king will be able to stretch forth his hand from midair to seize the Tang Monk like ‘Fetching Things from One’s Pocket,’ like ‘Squeezing a Fly in the Fish Bowl.’ That’s not too difficult, is it?”

On hearing this the old monster was filled with delight. “This is a most marvelous plan!” said he. “When we set out, I won’t do anything if we can’t catch the Tang Monk. But if we do catch him, I’ll not treat you lightly. I’ll appoint you as our vanguard officer.” The little monster kowtowed to thank him before giving the order for the roll call. When all the monster-spirits of the cave, young and old, were summoned into their presence, three able little monsters were indeed selected. All of them were told to change into the form of the old monster; each holding the iron club, they were placed in ambuscade to wait for the Tang Monk, and we shall leave them there for the moment.

We tell you now about our Elder Tang who, free of cares and worries, followed Eight Rules up the main road. After they had proceeded for a long time, a loud pop from the side of the road suddenly brought out a little monster, who rushed forward and attempted to seize the elder. “Eight Rules,” cried Pilgrim Sun, “the monster-spirit is here! Why don’t you do something?”

Without bothering to distinguish one from the other, our Idiot whipped out his muckrake and dashed forward to attack madly the monster-spirit, who met his blows with an iron club. Back and forth, the two of them fought beneath the mountain slope, when another fiend leaped out from some bushes with a pop and headed straight for the Tang Monk.

“Master, things are going wrong!” cried Pilgrim. “Eight Rules is so blind that he has allowed the monster-spirit to slip by him to come here to grab you. Let old Monkey go beat him off!” Hurriedly he wielded his rod and rushed forward, bellowing, “Where are you going? Watch my rod!” Without uttering a word, the monster-spirit lifted his club to meet him. Beneath the grassy knoll the two of them thus rushed together, and as they fought, another monster-spirit leaped out from behind the mountain to the howling of a strong gust and headed straight for the Tang Monk.

When Sha Monk saw him, he was horrified. “Master!” he cried. “Both Big Brother and Second Elder Brother must be so dim of sight that they allowed the monster-spirit to slip past them and come to grab you! Sit here on the horse, and let old Sand go capture him!” This monk, without distinguishing between good and ill either, immediately wielded the staff to block the iron club of the monster-spirit. They strove together most bitterly, shouting and screaming at each other as they gradually drifted away. When the old fiend, flying through the air, discovered the Tang Monk sitting all alone on the horse, he reached down with his five steellike claws; with one grasp he lifted the master away from the horse and stirrup. The monster-spirit then took him away in a gust of wind. How pitiful! This is why it’s hard for

Chan-nature, demon-plagued, can’t bear right fruit.

River Float meets again his Ill-luck Star!

Lowering the wind, the old monster brought the Tang Monk into the cave, shouting, “Vanguard!” The little fiend who planned all this ran forward to kneel down, saying, “I dare not accept the title! I dare not accept the title!”

“Why do you say this?” asked the old monster. “When a great general gives his word, it’s as if the white has been dyed black! Just now I told you that I wouldn’t do anything if we couldn’t catch the Tang Monk, but if we did, you would be appointed vanguard of our forces. Today your marvelous plan indeed succeeded. How could I betray you? You may bring the Tang Monk over here, and ask the little ones to fetch water and scrub the pan, to haul in the wood and start a fire. Steam him a bit, so you and I can eat a piece of his flesh to lengthen our age.”

“Great King,” said the vanguard, “let’s not eat him just yet.”

The old fiend said, “We’ve captured him. Why shouldn’t we eat him?” The vanguard replied, “Of course the great king may eat him, and if you do, both Zhu Eight Rules and Sha Monk even may be persuaded that they should overlook the matter. But that bossy Pilgrim Sun, I fear, may let loose his viciousness once he learns that we have devoured his master. He doesn’t even have to come fight with us. All he needs do is plunge that golden-hooped rod of his into the midriff of our mountain; it’ll create such a gaping hole that the mountain itself will topple over. Then we won’t even have a place to stay.”

“Vanguard,” said the old fiend, “what sort of noble opinion do you have?”

“As I see the matter,” replied the vanguard, “you should send the Tang Monk into the back garden and tie him to a tree. Don’t feed him any rice for two or three days. That’ll clean up his inside, for one thing, and for another, it should give us the time we need until his three disciples stop searching for him at our door. When we know for certain that they have left, we’ll then take him out and enjoy him at our leisure. Isn’t that better?”

“It is, it is!” said the old fiend, laughing. “What the vanguard says makes perfect sense!” The order was immediately given that the Tang Monk would be brought into the back garden, where he was bound to a tree with a rope. Then the little fiends all went back to the front to wait on the old monster.

Look at that elder! Enduring most bitterly the tight fetter and the restraint of ropes, he could not stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks. “O disciples!” he cried. “In which mountain are you trying to capture fiends, and on what road are you chasing monsters? I have been brought by a brazen demon to suffer here. When will we ever meet again? The pain’s killing me!” As tears streamed from both his eyes, he heard someone calling from a tree opposite him, saying, “Elder, so you, too, have entered here!”

Calming down, the elder said, “Who are you?”

The man said, “I’m a woodcutter from this mountain who was captured by that mountain lord and brought here. I have been bound for three days, and I imagine that they want to eat me.”

“O woodcutter!” said the elder, as tears began to flow once more. “If you die, you are all by yourself and you don’t have any worries. I, however, cannot die in such a carefree manner.”

“Elder,” said the woodcutter, “you are someone who has left home. You have neither parents above you nor wife and children below you. If you die, you die. What cares or concerns do you have?”

The elder said, “I am someone sent by the Land of the East to seek scriptures in the Western Heaven. By the decree of Emperor Taizong of the Tang court, I am to bow to the living Buddha and acquire from him the true scriptures, which will be used for the redemption of those orphaned lost souls in the Region of Darkness. If I lose my life here, would that not have dashed the expectation of the emperor and the high hopes of his ministers? Would that not grievously disappoint those countless mistreated souls in the City of Wrongful Death? They would never be redeemed, and all this attempt at meritorious fruit would be reduced to wind and dust! How could I die carefree and without concern?”

When the woodcutter heard these words, he too began to shed tears as he said, “Elder, if you must die in this manner, then my death is even more grievous. I lost my father in childhood, and I have lived all my life with my widowed mother. We have no other livelihood except my gathering fire-wood. My old mother is now eighty-three and I’m her sole support. If I lose my life, who will take care of her or bury her? O misery! O misery! This pain is killing me.” On hearing this, the elder wailed aloud, crying, “How pitiful! How pitiful!

If mountain rustics still long for their kin,

This poor monk’s been trained to chant sūtras in vain.

To serve the ruler or to serve one’s parents follows the same principle. You live by the kindness of your parents, and I do by the kindness of my ruler.” Truly it is that

The tearful eye beholds a tearful eye;

A broken heart escorts a broken heart!

We shall leave for the moment Tripitaka in suffering and confinement. We tell you instead about Pilgrim Sun, who, having defeated the little monster beneath the grassy knoll, hurried back to the side of the main road. His master had vanished; only the white horse and the luggage remained. He was so horrified that he began searching toward the summit at once, leading the horse and poling the luggage. Alas! This is how

Woe-beset River Float keeps meeting more woes!

The demon-routing Great Sage is by demons plagued!

We do not know whether he finally succeeds in locating his master; let’s listen to the explanation in the next chapter.