NINETY-ONE
At Gold-Level Prefecture they watch lanterns on the fifteenth night;
In Mysterious Flower Cave the Tang Monk makes a deposition.
How should one strive in the practice of Chan?
Cut off quickly the wily horse and ape.
Five colors grow when they are firmly bound;
A moment’s stop will land you on Three Ways.1
If the sovereign elixir’s caused to leak,
Jade nature dries up for such sloth and slack.
Joy, wrath, care, and thought must be swept clean:
Wondrous mystery is gained like nothing seen.2
We were just telling you about the Tang Monk and his three disciples, who left the Jade-Flower City and proceeded along a path safe and sound. In truth the region befitted the name of Ultimate Bliss. After five or six days, they again caught sight of a city.
“What sort of a place is this again?” the Tang Monk asked Pilgrim.
“It’s a city,” replied Pilgrim, “but the flagpole on the rampart has no pennant. We can’t tell the name of this region. Let’s wait till we get near, and ask.”
When they reached the suburb outside the eastern gate, they saw bustling teahouses and wine shops on both sides of the street, and flourishing rice markets and oil stores. On the streets there were a few vagabonds; when they saw the long snout of Zhu Eight Rules, the gloomy countenance of Sha Monk, and the red-rimmed eyes of Pilgrim Sun, they had the travelers surrounded. Struggling to get a closer look at these strange visitors, they nonetheless did not have the courage to question them. The Tang Monk was so nervous that he was, as it were, clinging onto his own sweat, for he feared that his disciples might cause trouble. They walked past several more alley entrances, but still they had not reached the city. It was then that they came upon the gate of a monastery with this inscription: Mercy Cloud Temple.
“How about going in there to rest the horse,” said the Tang Monk, “and beg for a meal?” “Good! Good!” replied Pilgrim, and the four of them all walked in. They saw
Noble treasure towers,
Soaring bejeweled thrones,
A Buddha alcove above the clouds
And priestly chambers within the moon.3
Misty red swirls about tall pagodas;
Dark green trees enshroud clean praying-wheels.
A true pure land,
A false dragon palace,
A Great Hero Hall encased in purple cloud.
Along two porches endless visitors play;
Guests climb a stūpa that’s often open.
Incense in the censers is e’er ablaze;
Fragrant lamps nightly on the platforms glow.
When the golden bell’s heard from the abbot hall,
Monks in service to Buddha will sūtras recite.
As the four of them looked at the place, they caught sight of a priest walking out from one of the corridors. “Master, where did you come from?” he saluted the Tang Monk.
“This disciple happens to be someone who came from the Tang court of China,” replied the Tang Monk. At once the monk fell on his knees to make a bow, so startling the Tang Monk that he hurriedly tried to raise him with his hands. “Abbot,” he asked, “why do you honor me with such a grand ceremony?”
Pressing his palms together in front of him, the monk said, “When those people inclined to virtue at our region study the sūtras and chant the name of Buddha, their ardent hope invariably is to find incarnation at your land of China. Just now when I beheld the bearing and clothing of the venerable master, I realized at once that only the cultivation of a previous life could provide you with such noble endowment. It is fitting, therefore, for me to kneel and bow to you.”
“I’m terribly embarrassed!” said the Tang Monk with a smile. “This disciple is but a mendicant. What endowment could he claim? The abbot here is able to enjoy a quiet and comfortable existence. That’s true blessing!”
The monk thereupon led the Tang Monk to the main hall to worship the images of Buddha. Only after that did the Tang Monk summon his disciples to enter. Pilgrim and his two companions, you see, had been standing with their faces turned away to watch the horse and luggage since their master had begun conversing with the priest. The priest thus did not pay them much attention. Not until they heard their master calling, “Disciples!” did they turn around. When the priest saw them, he was so aghast that he cried, “O Holy Father! Why is it that your noble disciples are so ugly?”
“Though they may be ugly,” replied the Tang Monk, “they do possess considerable magic power. Throughout our journey I have been quite dependent on their protection.”
As they chatted, several more priests walked out to salute them. The one who appeared previously said to the ones who just arrived, “This master is a person who came from the Great Tang of China. These three are his noble disciples.” Both pleased and alarmed, the monks said, “Master, why did you come here from your great nation of China?”
“By the sage decree of our Tang emperor,” declared the Tang Monk, “I am seeking scriptures from the Buddha at Spirit Mountain. Passing through your treasure region, I have come especially to your superior temple, merely to inquire about the place and to beg for a meal. Thereafter we shall leave.”
Each one of those monks was delighted. They invited the pilgrims into the abbot’s quarters, where there were several more priests conducting business with some donors of a vegetarian feast. One of those monks who walked in first cried, “All of you come and look at people from China. Now we know there are both handsome people and ugly people in China. The handsome is too handsome to be sketched or painted, but the ugly ones are exceedingly bizarre.”
Many of those monks and feast donors came to greet them. They then took their seats, and, after tea, the Tang Monk asked, “What is the name of your honored region?”
“Our is the outer prefecture of the Kingdom of India,” replied one of the monks, “the Gold-Level Prefecture.”
“How far is it from your honored prefecture to the Spirit Mountain?” asked the Tang Monk.
“It is about two thousand miles from here to the capital,” said the monk, “and this is a journey we ourselves have taken before. But we have never gone westward to the Spirit Mountain, and, not knowing the distance, we dare not offer you a fraudulent reply.” The Tang Monk thanked him.
In a little while, they brought out a vegetarian meal, after which, the Tang Monk wanted to leave. He was, however, detained by the donors and the monks, who said to him, “Please feel free to stay for a couple of days, Venerable Master. Enjoy yourself till we have passed the Lantern Festival. Then you may go.”
Somewhat taken aback, the Tang Monk said, “All this disciple knows on the road is that there are mountains and waters. What I fear most is running into fiends and demons. I have quite lost track of time. When is the fine Lantern Festival?”
Smiling, one of the monks said, “The venerable master is preoccupied with the worship of Buddha and the realization of Chan, and that is why you have no concept of time. Today happens to be the thirteenth of the first month. By night the people will be trying out the lanterns. The day after tomorrow is the fifteenth proper. We don’t put away the lanterns until the eighteenth or nineteenth. The households of our region here are quite active and fond of excitement. Moreover, our prefect holds the people in great affection. So lanterns and lights will be set up high all over the place, and there’ll be music all night long. We have also a Golden-Lamp Bridge, a relic of antiquity but still a prosperous site. Let the venerable fathers stay here for a few days. Our humble monastery can certainly take care of you.” The Tang Monk had no choice but to remain.
That night a great salvo of drums and bells could be heard coming from the main hall of Buddha when the faithful and the local residents arrived with their gifts and votive lanterns for Buddha. The Tang Monk and his companions all left the abbot’s quarters to watch these lanterns before retiring. The next day temple priests brought in more food. When they had finished eating, they took a stroll together through the rear garden. A fine place indeed!
The time is the first month;
The season, a new spring.
A fine, wooded garden
Of charms luxuriant.
Rare blooms and plants of four seasons;
Rows upon rows of summits.4
Before the steps lovely grasses stir;
On old plum boughs fragrance rises.
The red enters young peach blossoms;
The green returns to fresh willows.
Boast not of Gold-Valley’s5 opulence
Speak not of Felloe-Spring’s6 soft breezes.
Here’s one flowing stream
Where wild ducks appear now and then;
We have a thousand bamboos planted
On which the writers make no end of verses.
The peony,
The tree-peony,
The crape flower,
The magnolia—
Their natures have just awakened.
The camelia,
The red plum,
The jasmine,
The most fragrant plant7
They first display their glamour.
Though snow left on shady ledges retains its chill,
Distant trees with mist afloat are brushed with spring.
You see, too, deer glancing at their pond-reflections
And cranes listening to strings beneath the pines.
A few buildings to the east,
A few buildings to the west,
Where guests may come to stay;
A few halls to the south,
A few stūpas to the north,
Where monks in silence meditate.
In the midst of flowers
There are a couple of towers for cultivation,
Their double eaves curving high up;
Amid hills and streams
Are three or four demon-smelting rooms
With neat tables and bright lattices.
Truly a natural place of reclusion,
There’s no need to look elsewhere for Peng and Ying.
After enjoying the garden for a day, master and disciples also looked at the lanterns in the halls before going to watch the lantern shows. What they saw were
Cornelian floral cities,
Glass immortal-caves,
Palaces of crystal and mother-of-pearl
Like layers of brocade
And tiers of openwork carvings.
As the star-bridge sways and the cosmos moves,
See how a few flaming trees waver.
Pipes and drums along the six streets,
A bright moon atop a thousand doors,
And scented breeze from all households.
Here and there scorpaenid humps rear up;
There are dragons leaving the ocean
And phoenixes soaring.
Admire both lamplight and moonlight—
What harmonious blend!
Those troops of satin and silk
All enjoy the sounds of pipe and song;
Atop both chariots and horses
There is no end of flower and jadelike faces,
Or of gallant knights,
Or of lovely scenes.
After Tripitaka and the monks had watched the lanterns in the monastery, they also took to the streets of the suburb by the east gate to see the sights. Not until the time of the second watch did they turn back to retire.
The next day the Tang Monk said to the priests, “This disciple once made a vow8 to sweep a pagoda whenever I came upon a pagoda. Since this day is the fine festival of the first full moon, let me request the abbot to open the pagoda for me to fulfill my vow.” The priests accordingly opened the door, as Sha Monk took out the cassock to attend to the Tang Monk. When they reached the first level, the elder put on the cassock to worship Buddha and say prayers. Thereafter he swept out that level with a broom before taking off the cassock to hand back to Sha Monk. He then swept clean the second level and went through each one in that manner until he reached the very top. On each level of that pagoda, you see, there were images of Buddha and open windows. When one level was swept clean, the Tang Monk and his companions would remain a while to enjoy and commend the scenery. By the time the work was done, and they descended from the pagoda, it was already late, and lamps had to be lit.
This was the night of the fifteenth, the first full moon. “Venerable Master,” said the priests, “we have been watching the lanterns with you these last two nights in our monastery and in the suburb. Tonight is the festival proper. How about going into the city with us to watch the lanterns there?” In delight the Tang Monk agreed. With the monks of the monastery, he and his three disciples all entered the city. Truly it is
Fifteenth, a lovely night and feast;
Spring hues blend with the first full moon.
Floral lights o’erhang busy shops
As people sing the songs of peace.
You see only bright lights in the six streets and three marts
When a mirror rises in midair.
The moon seems like a silver dish the River God pushed up;
The lights look like brocade carpets woven by divine maidens.
The lights in moonlight
Add one measure of light;
The moon shines on the lights,
Enhancing their brilliance.
There are countless iron chains and star-bridges to see,
And endless lamp wicks and flaming torches to watch.
The snowflake lantern
And the plum-flower lantern
Seem to be chiseled from spring ice.
The silk-screen lantern
And the painted-screen lantern
Are constructed with five colors.
The walnut lantern
And the lily lantern
Hang high on the tower.
The green-lion lantern
And the white-elephant lantern
Frolic high by the awnings.
The little-lamb lantern
And the rabbit lantern
Sparkle beneath the eaves.
The hawk lantern
And the phoenix lantern
Are joined side by side.
The tiger lantern
And the horse lantern
Walk and run together.
The divine-crane lantern
And the white-deer lantern,
These Longevity Star rides on.
The goldfish lantern
And the long-whale lantern,
These Li Bo will sit on.
The scorpaenid-hump lantern—
A congregation of immortals.
A revolving-horse lantern—
Where generals do battle.
A thousand households of glittering towers;
Many miles of a world of cloud and smoke.
Over there
Clippety-clop come the jade saddles flying;
Over here
The rumbling wheels of scented chariots pass by.
Look at those in red-trimmed towers:
Leaning on the rails
Behind the screens
Shoulder to shoulder
Pairs and pairs of beauties eager for pleasure.
Or those by the bridge o’er green waters:
Noisily cavorting
All bundled in silk
Besotted and soused
In loud guffaws
Two by two the tourists play in gay garments.
Flutes and drums resound in the whole city;
Pipes and songs rend the air throughout the night.
We have also a testimonial poem, which says:
From fields of brocade comes the lotus song.
To this peaceful region flocks a great throng.
With bright lights and moon on this fifteenth eve,
Timely rain and wind the year will receive.
Since this was precisely the time the nocturnal curfew was to be lifted, countless people mingled and milled about the place. Some were dancing; some were walking on stilts; there were people disguised as ghosts and others riding on elephants—a bunch here and a cluster there. You could hardly watch them all.
When the Tang Monk and the other priests finally made their way to the Golden-Lamp Bridge, they came upon three lamps with bases the size of cisterns. The coverings on top were actually two artificial towered edifices knit in the most elegant and delicate fashion with fine gold threads. Suspended inside the edifices were thin pieces of glass. The light of these lamps could rival the moon’s, while their oil emitted powerful aromas.
The Tang Monk turned to ask the priests, “What sort of oil do these lamps use? Why does it have such a powerful, strange fragrance?”
“I should tell you, Venerable Master,” replied one of the priests, “about the district behind our prefecture, which is called Compassionate-Heaven. This district covers some two hundred and forty square miles. Supporting the annual land taxes of this district are two hundred and forty so-called oil families. Mind you, the other taxes of the district are manageable, but the ones levied on these families are quite burdensome. Each household, in fact, must spend over two hundred taels of silver on the oil for these lamps, which is no ordinary oil. It is a specially blended fragrant oil, and each tael is worth two taels of silver. Each catty of oil thus would cost thirty-six taels of silver. The cistern of each of those three lamps holds up to five hundred catties, so three lamps would require one thousand and five hundred catties of oil. The fuel itself, therefore, would cost forty-eight thousand taels of silver. Other miscellaneous expenses would push the total sum to over fifty thousand. The lamps, however, can only last three nights.”
“How could you burn up so much oil in just three nights?” asked Pilgrim.
The priest answered, “There are forty-nine large wicks in each of the cisterns. They are made of wick-straw tied together and wrapped in fine cotton. Each wick is actually about as thick as a chicken egg, but they can last only through this night. After Father Buddha has revealed himself, the oil will have disappeared by tomorrow evening and the lamps will go dim.”
“It must be,” giggled Eight Rules, from the side, “that Father Buddha takes away even the oil!”
“Exactly!” replied the priest. “This has been the belief handed down from antiquity by the people of the entire city. Because the oil dries up, people all say that the Buddhist Patriarch himself has put away the lamps, and that ensures a rich harvest of the five grains. If, however, there is a year when the oil does not dry up, then there will be droughts or poor harvests or wind and rain out of season. That is the reason why all the families feel compelled to make these sacrifices.”
As they spoke, the howl of wind could suddenly be heard up in the sky, so terrifying the lamp spectators that they all scattered. The priests, too, found it difficult to stand on their feet. “Venerable Master,” they said, “let’s go back. The wind has arrived. It must be Father Buddha’s auspicious descent, coming here to watch the lamps.”
“How do you know it’s Buddha coming to watch the lamps?” asked the Tang Monk.
“It’s like this every year,” replied one of the monks. “Hardly past the hour of the third watch the wind arrives. Knowing that it is the auspicious descent of the various Buddhas, people all get out of the way.”
“This disciple,” said the Tang Monk, “happens to be a person who thinks of Buddha, who chants the name of Buddha, and who worships Buddha. If there are indeed Buddhas making their descent on this fine occasion, I will certainly pay them homage. Even a small gesture is desirable.”
The priests begged in vain for him to leave. In a little while, three figures of Buddha indeed appeared in the wind, coming toward the lamps. The Tang Monk was so astonished that he rushed up to the top of the bridge and fell on his knees to bow to them. Hurrying forward to try to pull him up, Pilgrim shouted, “Master, these are not good people! They have to be monstrous deviates!” Hardly had he finished speaking than the lamp light suddenly grew dim. With a loud whoosh, they scooped up the Tang Monk and left astride the wind. Alas! We do not know
Of which mountain or cave are these real fiends,
False Buddhas who for years have watched the gold lamps.
So terrified were Eight Rules and Sha Monk that they searched and hollered left and right.
“Brothers!” Pilgrim cried. “No need to call for Master at this place. His extreme pleasure has turned to grief, and Master has been abducted by monster-spirits.”
“Holy Father!” said those few frightened monks. “How could you tell that monster-spirits abducted him?”
With a chuckle, Pilgrim said, “All of you are a bunch of mortals. You have no perception all these years, for you were deluded by those monstrous deviates. All you thought of were true Buddhas making their auspicious descent to enjoy these offerings of the lamps. Just now when the wind passed by, those apparitions of Buddha were actually three monster-spirits. Unable to recognize them either, my master dashed to the top of the bridge and immediately bowed down. They managed to dim the lights, took away the oil with some vessels, and even abducted our master. I was a bit slow in getting up there, and that’s why the three of them could escape by changing into the wind.”
“Elder Brother,” said Sha Monk, “what are we going to do, then?”
“No need for hesitation,” replied Pilgrim. “The two of you go back to the temple with the rest of them to guard our horse and luggage. Let old Monkey make use of this wind and track them down.”
Dear Great Sage! Swiftly mounting the cloud somersault, he rose to midair and, catching a whiff of putrid odor from that wind, sped toward the northeast. He chased it till dawn, and all at once the wind died down. Then he came upon a huge mountain that appeared most treacherous and truly rugged. Marvelous mountain!
Canyons in layers,
And torrents tortuous.
From sheer cliffs hang vines and creepers;
On hollow heights stand cypress and pine.
The cranes cackle in morning mist
And geese call from the clouds of dawn.
Tall and erect like halberds are the peaks;
Jagged and rough huge boulders pile up.
The summit soars ten thousand feet;
The peak rises in a thousand turns.
Conscious of spring, wild woods and flowers bloom;
Moved by the sights, nightjars and orioles sing.
It may seem lofty and grand,
It’s in truth a precipice
That’s bizarre, rugged, treacherous, and hard.
Stop and enjoy it, but no man’s in sight:
You hear only tigers and leopards growl.
Musk and white deer will wander as they please;
Jade hare and green wolves will come and go.
A deep brook flows out to a thousand miles,
Its eddies gurgling as they strike the rocks.
On the mountain ledge the Great Sage was searching for his way when he caught sight of four persons herding three goats down the western slope and shouting, “Begins Prosperity!” Blinking his fiery eyes with diamond pupils, the Great Sage stared more carefully and perceived that they were the Four Sentinels of Year, Month, Day, and Hour approaching in disguises.
Immediately whipping out his iron rod which, with one wave, attained the thickness of a rice bowl and a length of about twelve feet, the Great Sage leaped down from the ledge and shouted, “Where do you dirty sneaks think you are going?”
When the Four Sentinels saw that he had penetrated their disguises, they were so terrified that they shooed away the goats and changed back into their true forms. Stepping to the side of the road to make their bows, they said, “Great Sage, please forgive us!”
“Because I haven’t asked for your services for a long time,” said Pilgrim, “you think Old Monkey has become indulgent. Every one of you, in fact, has turned slothful, since you haven’t shown up once to present yourself to me. What have you got to say to that? Why aren’t you all giving secret protection to my master? Where are you off to?”
“Your master has backslid a little,” replied one of the Sentinels. “Because he has been indulging in pleasures at the Mercy Cloud Temple of the Gold-Level Prefecture, his extreme prosperity has produced negativity, and the fullness of his happiness has become grief. Now he has been captured by some monstrous deviates, but at least he has the Guardians of Monastery at his side to give him protection. We know that the Great Sage has been giving chase all through the night. Fearing that the Great Sage might not know his way in this mountain forest, we have come especially to make it known to you.”
“If you wanted to do that,” said Pilgrim, “why did you do it in such a secretive manner? Herding three goats and shouting this and that—what for?”
The Sentinel said, “We brought along these three goats in order to symbolize the saying, ‘With three yang begins prosperity.’9 That symbol should break up and dispel your master’s misfortune.”
Pilgrim was angrily threatening to beat them, but when he heard their intention, his anger turned to delight, and he decided to spare them. Putting away his rod, he said, “Is this the mountain where the monster-spirit lives?”
“Indeed, it is,” replied the Sentinel. “This is the Green Dragon Mountain, in which there is a Mysterious Flower Cave. Inside the cave are three monster-spirits: the eldest is named Great King Cold-Deterrent; the second, Great King Heat-Deterrent; and the third, Great King Dust-Deterrent. They have lived here for a thousand years. Since their youth they have been fond of eating that specially blended fragrant oil. When they became spirits in years past, they came here disguised as the images of Buddha to dupe the officials and people of the Gold-Level Prefecture into setting up these golden lamps and using that specially blended fragrant oil as fuel. By mid-month of the first month every year, they would assume the forms of Buddha to collect oil. When they saw your master this year, they recognized that he had the body of a sage monk and they abducted him into their cave. In no time they will want to cut off your master’s flesh and sauté it with that fragrant oil for food. You must work quickly to rescue him.”
On hearing this, Pilgrim dismissed the Four Sentinels and went past the mountain ledge to search for the cave. He had not gone more than a few miles when he came upon a huge boulder, beneath which was a stone house with two half-closed stone doors. By the side of the door was a stone tablet with these six words: Green Dragon Mountain, Mysterious Flower Cave. Not daring to walk straight in, Pilgrim stood still and called out, “Monstrous fiend, send my master out quickly!”
With a loud creak the doors were flung open and out ran several bullheaded spirits. Rather glumly and stupidly, they asked, “Who are you that you dare make all these noises here?”
“I’m the senior disciple of the sage monk, Tripitaka Tang,” replied Pilgrim, “who was sent by the Great Tang in the Land of the East to seek scriptures. We passed through the Gold-Level Prefecture, and while we were watching the lanterns, my master was kidnapped by your household’s demon chieftains. Return him early, and I’ll spare your lives! If you don’t, I’ll overturn your den and reduce you spirits to pus and blood!”
On hearing this, those little monsters hurried inside to say, “Great Kings, disaster! Disaster!” The three old monsters had brought the Tang Monk deep into the cave, where without any further interrogation they were ordering their subordinates to have him stripped and scrubbed clean by water pumped from the well. They were making plans, too, to cut him or dice him so that his flesh could be sautéed for food with that specially blended fragrant oil. When they suddenly heard this announcement of disaster, Number One was astonished enough to ask why.
“In front of our main door,” replied one of the little monsters, “there is a monk with a hairy face and a thundergod beak. He claims that our Great Kings have abducted his master to this place and demands that he be sent out at once. Then he’ll spare our lives. But if we don’t do that, he will overturn our den and reduce us all to pus and blood.”
All alarmed by what they heard, the older monsters said, “We just caught this fellow, and we haven’t yet had a chance to question him about his name or where he came from. Little ones, put his clothes back on him and bring him over here for us to interrogate him. Who is he anyway, and where does he come from?”
The monsters rushed forward and untied the Tang Monk. After they had dressed him, they pushed him before the seats of the old monsters. Trembling all over, the Tang Monk knelt down and could only cry, “Great Kings, spare me! Please spare me!”
“Where did you come from, monk?” asked the three monster-spirits in unison. “When you saw the forms of Buddha, why did you not step aside? Why did you impede our cloudy path?”
As he kowtowed, the Tang Monk said, “This humble cleric is someone sent by the Throne of the Great Tang in the Land of the East, someone on his way to seek scriptures from the Buddhist Patriarch at the Great Thunderclap Monastery in the Kingdom of India. Because I went to the Mercy Cloud Temple at the Gold-Level Prefecture to beg for a meal, I was asked by the priests of that temple to stay through the Lantern Festival and enjoy the lights. When the Great Kings revealed themselves in the forms of Buddha on the Golden-Lamp Bridge, this humble cleric, who has only fleshly eyes and mortal frame, nonetheless has the desire to worship Buddha whenever he beholds his image. That is the reason why I impeded your cloudy path.”
“It is a long way from your Land of the East to this place,” said those monster-spirits. “How many people are there altogether in your entourage? Tell us quickly, and we’ll spare your life.”
“My secular name is Chen Xuanzang,” replied the Tang Monk, “and I have been raised a monk in the Gold Mountain Monastery since my youth. Later I was appointed a monk official by the Tang emperor at the Temple of Great Blessing. On account of prime minister Wei Zheng’s execution of an old dragon of the Jing River in his dream, the Tang emperor made a tour of Hades and then returned to life. To provide redemption for the lost souls of darkness, he convened the Grand Mass of Land and Water and graciously selected me as the chief priest in charge of the ceremony and the exposition of scriptures. It was at that time that the Bodhisattva Guanshiyin revealed herself to enlighten this humble cleric, announcing to us that there were three canons of true scriptures at the Great Thunderclap Monastery in the Western Heaven. These scriptures, she said, could provide deliverance for the deceased and enable them to ascend to Heaven. The Tang emperor therefore sent this humble cleric to fetch the scriptures. He bestowed on me the style, Tripitaka, and the surname of Tang. That’s why people all address me as Tripitaka Tang. I have three disciples. The first one’s surname is Sun, and his names are Wukong and Pilgrim. He is actually the converted Great Sage, Equal to Heaven.”
Greatly startled by the last name they heard, the monsters said, “Is this Great Sage, Equal to Heaven, the person who caused great disturbance in the Celestial Palace five hundred years ago?”
“Indeed, he is,” said the Tang Monk. “My second disciple has the surname of Zhu, and his given names are Wuneng and Eight Rules. He is the incarnation of the Marshal of Heavenly Reeds. My third disciple has the surname of Sha, and his given names are Wujing and Monk. He is the Curtain-Raising General who has descended to Earth.”
When they heard this, all three of those monster-kings were alarmed. “It’s a good thing we haven’t eaten him yet,” they said. “Little ones, let’s chain the Tang Monk in the rear. Let’s wait till we capture his three disciples so that we can eat them together.” Then they called up a herd of spirits, all mountain buffaloes, water buffaloes, and yellow buffaloes. Each grasping a weapon, they walked out of the front door where with a trumpet signal, they waved their banners and rolled the drums.
In full battle dress, the three monsters went out the door also and cried, “What person is bold enough to shout and yell in front of our door?” Half concealed upon the boulder, Pilgrim stared at them. The monster-spirits all had
Colored faces, round eyes
And two rugged horns;
Four ears10 most pointed,
And sparkling intelligence;
A body full of patterns like a colored painting
Or a large piece of brocade with floral designs.
The first one
Wears on his head a cap of warm fox fur;
His face is steamy and covered with hair.
The second one
Has draped on himself thin gauze flaming red,
His four patterned hooves resemble chunks of jade.
The third one
Has a mighty roar like a thunderclap,
His jutting teeth seem sharper than silver picks.
Each one bold and fierce,
They hold three kinds of arms:
One uses a battle-ax,
And one, a huge cutlass.
But the third one, look again!
Across his shoulders rests a knotty cane.
He saw, moreover, many monster-spirits: tall and short, fat and thin, old and young, they were all bull-heads or demonic fiends holding spears and clubs. There were three huge banners on which these titles were clearly inscribed: Great King Cold-Deterrent, Great King Heat-Deterrent, and Great King Dust-Deterrent.
After he had stared for a while, Pilgrim could wait no longer. He went forward and shouted: “You lawless thieves and fiends! Do you recognize old Monkey?”
“So you are the Sun Wukong who disturbed Heaven!” snapped one of the monsters. “Truly,
Though your face is preceded by your fame,
A god who sees you would die with shame!
You are nothing but a puny ape!”
“You oil-stealing thieves!” scolded Pilgrim, enraged. “You greasy-mouthed fiends! Stop babbling! Return my master instantly!” He rushed forward and struck out with his iron rod. Those three old monsters met him swiftly with three kinds of weapon. That was some battle in the fold of the mountain!
Battle-ax, cutlass, and a knotty cane
The Monkey King dares oppose with one rod.
The fiends—Cold-, Heat-, and Dust-Deterrent—now
Recognize the Great Sage Equal to Heaven’s name.
The rod rises to frighten gods and ghosts;
The ax and cutlass madly fly and slash.
What an image of true void magically fused,
Which resists three monstrous, false Buddha-forms!
Those three felons of this year who wet their noses with stolen oil
Are eager to seize the priest commissioned by a king.
This one for his master fears not mountains or distance;
Those ones for their mouths’ sake want annual offerings.
Bing-bang: only ax and cutlass are heard.
Pi-po: now only the rod makes the sounds.
Charging and bumping, three go against one;
Each parries and blocks to display his might.
From morning they fight till the time of night.
Who knows who will suffer and who will win?
With that single rod of his Pilgrim Sun fought the three demons for some one hundred and fifty rounds, but no decision had been reached when the sky began to darken. After a rather feeble blow of his knotty cane, the Great King Dust-Deterrent leaped across the battle line to wave his banner. Immediately that band of bull-headed fiends surged forward and had Pilgrim surrounded in the middle. All wielding weapons, they madly attacked him.
Seeing that the tide was turning against him, Pilgrim mounted the cloud somersault and fled in defeat. Those monsters did not pursue him; calling back their subordinates, they prepared dinner instead and ate it. A little monster was ordered to give a bowlful to the Tang Monk, who would not be prepared for cooking until Pilgrim was captured also. Because he had always kept a vegetarian diet and because he was racked by sorrow, the master did not even allow the food to touch his lips. For the moment we shall leave him there, weeping.
We tell you instead about Pilgrim, who mounted the clouds to return to the Mercy Cloud Temple. “Brothers!” he called out.
Eight Rules and Sha Monk were waiting for him. When they heard the call they came out together to meet him, saying, “Elder Brother, why did you go for a whole day before you came back? What actually happened to Master?”
“I followed the scent of the wind to give chase last night,” replied Pilgrim with a smile, “and by morning, I arrived at a mountain. The wind vanished, but luckily the Four Sentinels reported to me that the mountain was called the Green Dragon Mountain. In the mountain was a cave with the name of Mysterious Flower, with three monster-spirits living inside it. They had the names of Great King Cold-Deterrent, Great King Heat-Deterrent, and Great King Dust-Deterrent. They had been stealing oil from this place for years, falsely assuming the form of Buddha to deceive the officials and people of the Gold-Level Prefecture. This year they happened to bump into us, and, not knowing any better, went so far as to abduct Master. After old Monkey had acquired this information, I ordered the Sentinels to give secret protection to Master while I provoked battle before the door. Those three fiends came out together, and they all seemed like bull-headed demons. One used a battle-ax, one a huge cutlass, and the third a cane. Behind them came a whole den of bull-headed demons, waving their banners and rolling their drums. Old Monkey battled the three chieftains for an entire day, and we fought to a draw. Then one of the monster-kings waved his banner, and the little monsters all came at me. When I saw that it was getting late, I feared that I could not prevail and I somersaulted back here.”
“It must be demon kings from the Capital of Darkness causing trouble,” said Eight Rules.
“What led you to make such a guess?” asked Sha Monk.
Chuckling, Eight Rules said, “Elder Brother told us that these were all bull-headed demons. That’s how I know.”
“No! No!” said Pilgrim. “As old Monkey sees the matter, they are spirits of three rhinoceroses.”
“If they are,” said Eight Rules, “let’s capture them and saw off their horns. They are worth quite a few taels of silver!”
As they were speaking, the monks of the temple came to ask whether Father Sun would like dinner. “If it’s convenient, I’ll have some,” replied Pilgrim. “If not, I can pass.”
“Father Sun has fought for an entire day,” said a priest. “Aren’t you hungry?”
“Just a day or so, how could I be hungry?” said Pilgrim, chuckling. “Old Monkey once had no taste of food or drink for five hundred years!” Those priests, however, thought he was only joking and presently they brought him food. After he had eaten, Pilgrim said, “Let’s get ready to retire. Tomorrow we can all go together to do battle. When we capture the monster-kings, we can rescue Master.”
“What are you saying, Elder Brother?” asked Sha Monk. “As the proverb has it, ‘A pause makes one smarter!’ If that monster-spirit could not sleep tonight and brought harm to Master, what would we do then? I think it’s better for us to try to rescue Master now, and catch them off their guard. Further delay may prove to be a mistake.”
When he heard that, Eight Rules became more spirited. “Brother Sha is quite right!” he said. “We should take advantage of this moonlight to go subdue the demons.” Pilgrim agreed and gave this instruction to the temple priests: “Guard our luggage and our horse. Wait till we capture the monster-spirits and bring them back here. We shall prove to the magistrate of this prefecture that they are specious Buddhas. The levy of oil can then be eliminated to bring relief to all the common folk of the region. Won’t that be nice?” The priests obeyed. The three pilgrims at once mounted their auspicious clouds to leave the city. Truly
Shiftless and slothful, Chan nature’s confused;
Fated for dangers, the mind of Dao’s obscured.
We do not know whether they will meet victory or defeat when they get there; lets’s listen to the explanation in the next chapter.