SIXTY-SEVEN

Having rescued Tuoluo, Chan Nature is secure;
Escaping filthiness, the Mind of Dao is pure.

We were telling you about Tripitaka and his three disciples, who set out on the road once more, glad to have left the Little Western Heaven. They spent about a month traveling, and now it was the time of late spring when flowers blossomed. They saw the green fading at various gardens and groves, and a sudden squall of wind and rain brought the evening near. Reining in his horse, Tripitaka said, “O disciples, it’s getting late! Which road shall we take to find lodging?”

“Master, relax!” said Pilgrim, laughing. “Even if there’s no place for us to ask for lodging, the three of us at least have some abilities. You may ask Eight Rules to chop some grass and Sha Monk to cut down a few pine trees. Old Monkey knows how to play carpenter. I can build for you right by the road a little thatched hut in which you can live for at least a year. Why are you so anxious?” “Oh, Elder Brother,” said Eight Rules, “a place like this is not fit to be lived in! The whole mountain is full of tigers and wolves, and there are spirits and goblins everywhere. Even in daylight it’s difficult enough to get through. How dare you rest here at night?”

“Idiot,” said Pilgrim, “you’re regressing more and more! Old Monkey isn’t bragging, but this rod I hold in my hands can even hold up the sky—if it collapses!” As master and disciples were conversing like that, they suddenly caught sight of a mountain village not far away. “Marvelous!” said Pilgrim. “We’ve a place for the night.” “Where?” asked the elder. Pointing with his finger, Pilgrim replied, “Isn’t that a household over there beneath the trees? We can go over there to ask for one night’s lodging. Tomorrow we’ll leave.”

Delighted, the elder urged on his horse and went up to the entrance of the village before he dismounted. As the wooden gates were tightly shut, the elder knocked on them, saying, “Open the door! Open the door!” From within a house an old man emerged: he had a staff in his hands, rush sandals on his feet, a black cloth wrap on his head, and a plain white robe on his body. As he opened the door, he asked immediately, “Who’s making all these noises here?”

Folding his hands before his chest, Tripitaka bowed deeply and said, “Old patron, this humble priest is one sent from the Land of the East to seek scriptures in the Western Heaven. It was getting late when we arrived at your honored region. We have come, therefore, especially to ask you for one night’s lodging. I beg you to grant us this boon.”

“Monk,” said the old man, “you may want to go to the West, but you can’t get there. This is only the Little Western Heaven. If you want to go to the Great Western Heaven, the distance is exceedingly great, not to mention all the difficulties ahead of you. Even this region here will be hard for you to pass through.” “What do you mean by hard to pass through?” asked Tripitaka. Pointing with his hand, the old man said, “Approximately thirty miles west of our village there is a Pulpy Persimmon Alley, located in a mountain by the name of Seven Extremes.” “Why do you call it Seven Extremes?” asked Tripitaka again.

The old man said, “The mountain is about eight hundred miles across, and the whole mountain is full of persimmon fruit. According to the ancients, ‘There are seven types of extreme characteristics of the persimmon tree. They are: long-lasting, shady, without birds’ nests, wormless, lovely leaves when frosted, hardy fruits, and large, luxuriant branches.’¹ Hence it is called the Mountain of Seven Extremes. Our humble region here, however, is large but sparsely inhabited, and since the time of antiquity, hardly anyone has ever journeyed deep into the mountain. Every year the persimmons, ripened and rotted, would fall on the ground and completely fill up the mountain path, which is shaped like an alley flanked by boulders on both sides. After the frost and snow of the winter and the heat of the summer, the road would become one of such horrid filth that the families of this region nicknamed it Slimy Shit Alley. Whenever the west wind rises, a terrible stench would drift here, fouler than any privy you may want to clean. Right now it happens to be late spring and we have this brisk southeast wind. That’s why you can’t smell it yet.” On hearing this, Tripitaka fell silent, utterly dejected.

Unable to contain himself, Pilgrim shouted, “Oldie, you’re rather block-headed! We’ve come from great distance to ask you for lodging, and you have to tell us all these things to frighten us! If your house is so crowded that there’s no room for us to sleep in, we can just squat here beneath the trees to spend the night. Why must you be so windy?”

Greatly startled by the hideous figure before him, the old man stopped talking for a moment. Then he gathered up enough courage to point his staff at Pilgrim and say in a loud voice, “You! Look at your skeleton face, flattened brow, collapsed nose, jutting jowl, and hairy eyes. A consumptive ghost, no doubt, and yet, without any manners at all, you dare use your pointed mouth to offend an elderly person like me!” Trying to placate him with a smile, Pilgrim said, “Venerable Sir, so you have eyes but no pupils, and thus you can’t recognize the worth of this consumptive ghost! As the books on physiognomy would say, ‘The features may be strange and bizarre, but it is a piece of fine jade hidden in the stone.’ If you judge people only by their looks, you’re completely wrong. I may be ugly, but I have some abilities!”

“Where are you from?” asked the old man. “What are your name and surname? What sort of abilities do you have?” With a smile, Pilgrim said

Pūrvavideha was my ancestral home,

I did cultivation on Mount Flower-Fruit.

I bowed to the Patriarch of Heart and Mind

And perfected with him the martial arts.

I can tame dragons, stirring up the seas;

I can tote mountains to chase down the sun.

In binding fiends and demons I’m the best;

Moving stars and planets, I scare ghosts and gods.

Stealing from Heav’n and Earth gives me great fame,

Of boundless change, Handsome Stone Monkey’s my name.

On hearing these words, the old man’s displeasure turned to delight. He bowed, saying, “Please, please come inside to rest in our humble dwelling.” The four pilgrims thus led the horse and toted their luggage inside, where they saw thorny bushes on both sides of the yard. The second-level door was flanked by stone walls, which were covered also by briars and thistles. Finally, they reached three tiled houses in the center. The old man at once pulled some chairs over for them to be seated and asked for tea to be served. He also gave an order for rice to be prepared. In a little while, some tables were brought out on which were placed dishes of fried wheat gluten, bean curds, taro sprouts, white radishes, mustard greens, green turnips, fragrant rice, and mallow soup made with vinegar. Master and disciples thus enjoyed a full meal.

After they finished eating, Eight Rules tugged at Pilgrim and whispered to him, “Elder Brother, this oldie at first didn’t want to give us lodging. Now he gives a sumptuous feast. Why?” “How much could a meal like this be worth?” replied Pilgrim. “Just wait till tomorrow. He’s going to send us off with ten kinds of fruit and ten different dishes!”

“Don’t you have any shame?” said Eight Rules. “So, you managed to wangle a meal from him with those few big words of yours. Tomorrow you’ll be leaving. Why should he entertain you some more?” “Don’t worry,” replied Pilgrim, “I’ll take care of this.”

In a little while, it was almost completely dark, and the old man asked for lamps to be brought out. “Gonggong,” said Pilgrim, bowing, “what is your noble surname?” “It is Li,” replied the old man. “I suppose this must be Li Village then,” said Pilgrim.

“No,” replied the old man, “for this is called the Tuoluo Village. There are over five hundred families living here, with many other surnames. Only I go by the name of Li.” “Patron Li,” said Pilgrim, “what particular good intention has moved you and your family to bestow on us this rich vegetarian feast?” Rising from his seat, the old man said, “I heard you say just now that you are an expert in catching fiends. We have one here, and I’d like to ask you to catch him for us. You shall have a handsome reward.”

Bowing immediately to him, Pilgrim said, “Thanks for giving me some business!” “Look how he causes trouble!” exclaimed Eight Rules. “When someone asks him to catch fiends, that person is dearer to him than his maternal grandpa! Without further ado, he bows already.” “Worthy Brother,” said Pilgrim, “you don’t know about this. My bow is actually like a down payment. He isn’t going to ask anyone else.”

On hearing this, Tripitaka said, “This little monkey is so egocentric in everything. Suppose that monster-spirit has such vast magic powers that you can’t succeed in catching him. Wouldn’t that make you, someone who has left the family, guilty of falsehood?” “Master, don’t be offended,” said Pilgrim, laughing. “Let me question him further.” “On what?” asked the old man. Pilgrim said, “Your noble region here seems to be a clean and peaceful piece of land. There are, moreover, many families living together, hardly a remote area. What sort of monster-spirit is there who dares approach your high and noble gates?”

“To tell you the truth,” said the old man, “our region has enjoyed peace and prosperity for a long time. But three years ago, a violent gust of wind arose during the time of the sixth month. At the time, all the people of our village were out in the fields busily planting rice or beating grain. Quite alarmed by the wind, they thought that the weather had changed. Little did they expect that after the wind a monster-spirit would descend on us and devour all the cattle and livestock left grazing outside. He ate chickens and geese whole, and he swallowed men and women alive. Since that time, he has returned frequently during these past three years to harass us. O elder! If you indeed have the abilities to catch this fiend and cleanse our land, all of us will most surely give you a big reward. We won’t treat you lightly!”

“This kind of monster,” Pilgrim said, “is quite difficult to catch.” “Difficult indeed!” exclaimed Eight Rules. “We’re only mendicants—we want a night’s lodging from you, and tomorrow we’ll leave. Why should we catch any monster-spirit?” “So, you’re actually priests out to swindle a meal!” said the old man. “When we first met, you were boasting of how you could move planets and stars, how you could bind fiends and monsters. But when I tell you now about the matter, you pass it off as something very difficult.”

“Oldie,” said Pilgrim, “the monster-spirit is not hard to catch. It is hard only because the families in this region are not of one mind in their efforts.” “In what way are they not of one mind?” asked the old man.

“For three years,” Pilgrim replied, “this monster-spirit has been a menace, taking the lives of countless creatures. If each family here were to donate an ounce of silver, I should think that five hundred families would yield at least five hundred ounces. With that amount of money, you could hire an exorcist anywhere who would be able to catch the fiend for you. Why did you permit him to torture you for these three years?”

“If you bring up the subject of spending money,” said the old man, “I’m embarrassed to death! Which one of our families did not indeed disburse three or four ounces of silver? The year before last we found a monk from the south side of this mountain and invited him to come. But he didn’t succeed.” “How did that monk go about catching the fiend?” asked Pilgrim. The old man said,

That man of the Saṅgha,

He had on a kasāya.

He first quoted the Peacock;

He then chanted the Lotus;

Burned incense in his urn;

Grasped with his hand a bell.

As he thus sang and chanted,

He aroused the very fiend.

Astride the clouds and wind,

He came to this village.

The monk fought with the fiend,

In truth some tall tale to tell!

One stroke delivered a punch,

One stroke delivered a scratch.

The monk tried to respond:²

In response his hair was gone!

In a while the fiend triumphed

And went back to mist and smoke.

(Mere dried scabs being sunned!)

We draw near to take a look:

The bald head was beaten like a rotten watermelon!

“When you put it like that,” said Pilgrim, laughing, “he really lost out!” The old man said, “He only paid with his life; we were the true victims. We had to buy the coffin for his funeral, and we had to give some money to his disciple. That disciple, however, has yet to be satisfied, and wants to bring litigation against us even now. What a mess!”

“Did you try to find someone else to catch the monster?” asked Pilgrim again. The old man replied, “We found a Daoist last year.” “How did that Daoist go about catching him?” asked Pilgrim. “That Daoist,” said the old man,

Wore on his head a gold cap,

And on himself, a ritual robe.

He banged aloud his placard;

He waved his charms and water.

He sent for gods and spirits

But summoned only the ogre.

A violent gale blew and churned,

And black fog dimmed every where.

The monster and the Daoist,

The two went forth to battle.

They fought till dusk had set in

When the fiend left with the clouds.

The cosmos was bright and fair,

And we were all assembled.

Going to search for the Daoist,

We found him drowned in a brook.

We fished him out for a better look:

He seemed like a chicken poached in soup!

“The way you put it,” said Pilgrim, laughing, “he, too, lost out!” “He, too, only paid with his life,” said the old man, “but we again had to spend all sorts of unnecessary money.” “Don’t worry! Don’t worry!” said Pilgrim. “Let me catch him for you.” “If you really have the ability to seize him,” said the old man, “I will ask several elders of our village to sign a contract with you. If you win, you may ask whatever amount of money you wish, and we won’t withhold from you even half a penny. But if you get hurt, don’t accuse us of anything. Let all of us obey the will of Heaven.” “This oldie is weary of being wrongly accused!” said Pilgrim, laughing. “I’m not that kind of person. Go and fetch the elders quickly.”

Filled with delight, the old man immediately asked a few houseboys to go and invite eight or nine elders to his house—all neighbors, cousins, and in-laws of his. After they met the Tang Monk and had been told of the matter of catching the fiend, they were all very pleased. “Which noble disciple will go forth to catch him?” one elder asked.

With his hands folded before his chest to salute them, Pilgrim said, “This little priest will.” Astonished, the elder said, “That won’t do! That won’t do! The monster-spirit has vast magic powers and a hulking body. A lean and tiny priest like you probably won’t even fill the cracks of his teeth!”

“Venerable Sir,” said Pilgrim, laughing, “you haven’t guessed correctly about me! I may be tiny, but I’m quite hardy. ‘Having drunk a few drops off the whetstone, I’ve been sharpened up!’” On hearing this, those elders had no alternative but to give their consent. “Elder,” they said, “how much reward do you want after you’ve caught the monster-spirit?”

“Why mention reward?” replied Pilgrim. “As the saying goes,

Gold dazzles your eyes;

Silver is not shiny;

Copper pennies are stinky!

We’re priests trying to accumulate merit, and we certainly do not desire cash rewards.”

“The way you speak,” said one of the elders, “indicates that you’re all noble priests who take your commandments seriously. You may not want cash rewards, but we can’t allow you to work for us for free. Now, all of us either farm or fish for our livelihood. If you truly can rid us of this cursed fiend and purify our region, each family will donate two acres of the finest land—a thousand acres in all—which will be set aside at one place. All of you, master and disciples, can then build on the land a nice temple or monastery, in which you can meditate and practice Chan. That’s much better than wandering with the clouds all over the world.”

Laughing again, Pilgrim said, “That’s even messier! If you give us land, we’ll have to graze and groom horses, to find feed and make hay. At dusk, we can’t go to bed, and by dawn, we still cannot rest. That sort of a life will kill us!” “If you don’t want all these,” said the elder, “just what do you want as your reward?” “We’re people who have left the family,” replied Pilgrim. “Give us some tea and rice, and that’s sufficient reward.”

The elders were very pleased. “That sort of reward is easy,” said one of them, “but we’d like to know your plan to catch him?” “When he comes,” said Pilgrim, “I’ll do it.” “But that fiend is huge,” said another elder. “He touches Heaven above and Earth beneath. He comes with the wind and departs with the fog. How can you even get near him?” “If he’s a monster-spirit able to summon the wind and ride the fog,” said Pilgrim with a laugh, “I’ll just treat him as my grandson. If he’s big in size, I still can hit him.”

As they chatted, they suddenly heard the howling of the wind, which so terrified those eight or nine elders that they all quaked and quivered. “This priest has such a bad luck mouth!” they cried. “He speaks of the monster-spirit, and at once the monster-spirit shows up!” Flinging wide the side door, that Old Li herded the Tang Monk and his relatives inside, crying, “Come in! Come in! the fiend’s here.” Eight Rules and Sha Monk were so intimidated that they, too, wanted to follow them in entering the house. Pilgrim, however, yanked them back with both hands, saying, “Have you lost your senses? Priests like you, how could you behave like that? Stand still! Stay with me in the courtyard so that we can find out what kind of a monster-spirit this is.”

“Oh, Elder Brother!” cried Eight Rules. “These are all savvy people! When the wind howls, it means the fiend’s coming, and that’s why they are hiding. We are neither kinfolk nor acquaintances of theirs, neither bond relatives nor old friends. What’s the point of looking at this monster?”

Pilgrim, however, was so strong that he was able to hold them down right there in the courtyard as the wind grew even more fierce. Marvelous wind!

It felled woods and trees, daunting tigers and wolves;

It stirred seas and rivers, alarming gods and ghosts;

It toppled rocks of Mount Hua’s triple peaks;³

It upturned the world’s four great continents.

Rustic homes and households all shut their doors;

The whole village’s children all hid their heads.

Massive black clouds covered the starry sky.

Lamps and lights faded as the whole earth grew dark.

Eight Rules was so terrified that he fell on the ground; digging a hole with his snout, he buried his head in it and lay prone as if he had been nailed to the Earth. Sha Monk, too, covered up his head and face, for he found it difficult even to open his eyes.

Only Pilgrim sniffed at the wind to try to determine what sort of fiend that was. In a little while the wind subsided and the faint glow of what seemed to be two lanterns appeared in midair. Lowering his head, Pilgrim said, “Brothers, the wind’s gone! Get up and take a look!”

Pulling out his snout, our Idiot shook off the dirt and raised his head skyward. When he saw the two lights, he burst out laughing, crying, “What fun! What fun! So, this monster-spirit is someone who knows properly when to move or rest! We should befriend him.” “In a dark night like this,” said Sha Monk, “you haven’t even seen his face yet. How could you know what sort of a person he is?”

Eight Rules replied, “The ancient said,

To move by lights at night is best;

When there are no torches, we rest.⁴

Look at him now! He has a pair of lanterns leading the way. He must be a good man.”

“You’re wrong!” said Sha Monk. “Those aren’t lanterns. They’re the glimmering eyes of the monster-spirit!” Our Idiot was so appalled that he lost three inches of his height. “Holy Father!” he cried. “If those are his eyes, how big is his mouth?”

“Don’t be afraid, Worthy Brothers,” said Pilgrim. “Stay here and guard our master. Let old Monkey go up there and demand a confession. We’ll see what kind of monster-spirit he is.” “Elder Brother,” said Eight Rules, “don’t confess that we are here.”

Dear Pilgrim! He whistled loudly and leaped into the air. Gripping his iron rod, he cried out in a loud voice, “Slow down! Slow down! I’m here!” When the fiend saw Pilgrim, he stood erect and began to wave a long lance back and forth in the air. Holding high his rod to assume a position of combat, Pilgrim asked, “From what region a fiend are you? Of what place a spirit are you?” The fiend gave no reply whatever; all he did was to wave his lance. Pilgrim asked again, but still there was no reply from the fiend, who only persisted in waving the lance. Smiling to himself, Pilgrim said, “You’ve got to be both deaf and dumb! Don’t run away! Watch my rod!”

The fiend, however, was not frightened in the least; brandishing his lance, he parried Pilgrim’s blows, and the two of them charged back and forth, up and down, in midair. They fought till it was about the hour of the third watch and no decision was reached. Standing down below in the courtyard, Eight Rules and Sha Monk saw everything clearly. The fiend, you see, only wielded the lance to parry the blows, but he did not attack his opponent at all. Pilgrim’s rod, therefore, hardly ever left the head of the fiend. “Sha Monk,” said Eight Rules with a laugh, “you stand guard here, and let old Hog go and help with the fight. We can’t allow that monkey to make this merit all by himself, or he’ll be rewarded with the first goblet of wine.”

Dear Idiot! He leaped up to the edge of the clouds and attacked at once with his rake, which was met by another lance of the fiendish creature. The two lances danced in the air like flying serpents and flashing thunderbolts. Praising him, Eight Rules said, “This monster-spirit shows great technique with the lance! He’s not using the style of the ‘Mountain-Back Lance,’ but it’s more like the ‘Winding-Silk Lance.’ It’s not the ‘Ma-Family Lance,’ but it probably has the name of the ‘Flabby-Handle Lance.’”

“Stop babbling, Idiot!” said Pilgrim. “There’s no such thing as the ‘Flabby-Handle Lance!’” Eight Rules said, “Just look at how he uses the pointed ends of the lances to parry our blows, but the handles of the lances are nowhere to be seen. Where has he hidden them, I wonder?”

“Maybe it is the ‘Flabby-Handle Lance,’” said Pilgrim, “but what’s important is that this fiendish creature does not know how to speak, because he has not yet attained the way of humans. He is still heavily under the influence of the yin aura. In the morning when the yang aura grows stronger, he will certainly want to flee. We must give chase and not let him get away.” “Exactly! Exactly!” said Eight Rules.

They fought for a long time and then the east paled with light. Not daring to linger, the fiend turned and fled, while Eight Rules and Pilgrim gave chase together. As they sped along, they suddenly encountered an oppressively foul stench rising from the Pulpy Persimmon Alley of the Seven Extremes Mountain. “Which family is cleaning its privy?” cried Eight Rules. “Wow! The smell’s horrible!”

Clamping a hand over his nose, Pilgrim could only mutter, “Chase the monster-spirit! Chase the monster-spirit!” Darting past the mountain, the fiend at once changed back into his original form: a huge, red-scaled python. Look at him!

His eyes flashed forth the stars of dawn;

His nose belched out the morning fog.

His teeth, like dense rows of steel swords;

His claws curved like golden hooks.⁵

From the brow rose a horn of flesh

That seemed to be formed by a thousand pieces of carnelian;

His whole body was draped in red scales

That resembled a million flakes of rouge.

Coiled up on earth, he could be confused with a brocade quilt;

Flying in the air, he could be mistaken for a rainbow.

Where he rested, putrid fumes rose to the sky;

When he moved, scarlet clouds covered his body.

Big enough?

People on his east end couldn’t see the west.

Long enough?

He was like a mountain stretching from pole to pole.

“So, it’s such a long snake!” said Eight Rules. “If it wants to devour people, one meal will probably take five hundred persons, and it’ll still not be filled.” Pilgrim said, “That ‘Flabby-Handle Lance’ has to be his forked tongue. He has been weakened by our chase. Let’s hit him from behind!” Bounding forward, our Eight Rules brought his rake down hard on the fiendish creature, who darted swiftly into a hole. Only seven or eight feet of the tail remained outside when it was grabbed by Eight Rules, abandoning his rake. “I got him! I got him!” he cried, as he used all his might to try to pull the fiend out of the hole, but he could not even budge him.

“Idiot,” said Pilgrim, laughing, “leave him inside. I know what to do. Don’t try to pull a snake backward like that!” Eight Rules indeed let go and the fiend slithered inside the hole. “Before I let go just now,” complained Eight Rules, “half of him was already ours. Now he has slithered inside. How could we make him come out again? Isn’t this what you call no more snake to play with?”

Pilgrim said, “This fellow has quite a hefty body. The hole is so small that he can never turn around inside. He has to move in a straightforward manner, and there has to be also a rear entrance. Go find it quickly and bar the hole. I’ll attack him from the front entrance here.” Idiot dashed past the mountain, where he indeed discovered another hole. He paused, but he had hardly stood still when Pilgrim at the front entrance sent a terrific jab with his rod into the hole. In great pain, the fiendish creature darted out of the rear entrance. Caught off guard, Eight Rules was struck down by his tail and, unable to get up again, he lay on the ground to nurse his pain. When Pilgrim saw that the hole was empty, he picked up his rod and ran over to the rear, shouting for Eight Rules to chase the fiend. On hearing Pilgrim’s voice, Eight Rules became so embarrassed that, regardless of his pain, he scrambled up and began to beat the ground madly with his rake. When he saw him, Pilgrim laughed and said, “The fiend’s gone! What are you doing that for?” Eight Rules said, “Old Hog’s here ‘Beating the Bush to Stir the Snake.’” “What a living Idiot!” said Pilgrim. “Let’s chase him!”

The two of them ran past a brook, when they found the fiend had coiled himself into a mound on the ground. Rearing his head, he opened wide his huge mouth and wanted to devour Eight Rules. Terrified, Eight Rules turned and fled, but our Pilgrim went forward to meet him and was swallowed by the fiend in one gulp. Pounding his chest and stamping his feet, Eight Rules screamed, “Alas, Elder Brother! You’re dead!” Inside the stomach of the monster-spirit, Pilgrim held up his iron rod and said, “Don’t worry, Eight Rules. Let me ask him to build a bridge for you to see!”

He stuck his rod up a bit more, and the fiendish creature had to raise his torso until he resembled a bow-shaped bridge. “He looks like a bridge, alright,” said Eight Rules, “but no one would dare walk on it.” “Let me ask him again to change into a boat for you to see,” said Pilgrim. He plunged the iron rod downward; with the stomach hugging the ground and the head upraised, the fiendish creature looked like a sloop from the Kan River district.

“He may look like a boat,” said Eight Rules, “but there is no top mast for him to use the wind.” “Get out of the way,” said Pilgrim, “and I’ll make him use the wind for you to see.” Using all his strength, Pilgrim pushed his iron rod upward from the spine of the fiendish creature until it reached a height of some seventy feet and the shape of a mast. In desperate pain and struggling for his life, the fiend shot forward, faster than any windblown vessel, and made for the road on which he came. Some twenty miles down the mountain, he finally fell motionless to the dust and expired. Eight Rules caught up with him from behind and attacked him madly once more with his rake. Meanwhile, Pilgrim ripped a big hole in the creature’s body and crawled out, saying, “Idiot, he’s dead already. Why use your rake on him?” “Oh, Elder Brother,” said Eight Rules, “don’t you know that old Hog all his life has loved to strike at dead snakes?” They thus put away their weapons and dragged the creature back by his tail.

We tell you now about the Old Li in the Tuoluo Village; he and the rest of the people said to the Tang Monk, “For a whole night your two disciples have not returned. They must have lost their lives.” “I don’t think it’s that serious,” said Tripitaka. “Let us go out to have a look first.” Soon they caught sight of Pilgrim and Eight Rules approaching, dragging a huge python behind them and shouting to clear the way. Only then did the people become delighted; the old and young, the men and women of the entire village all came to kowtow and say, “Holy Fathers, this is the very monster-spirit that has taken many lives here. We are fortunate to have you exercise your power today and extirpate the fiendish deviate, for now our lives are secure.”

All the households were filled with gratitude, so much so that each one of them insisted on thanking the pilgrims with gifts and feasting. Master and disciples were detained for nearly a week, and only after much pleading on their part were they permitted to leave. When the people saw that the pilgrims refused to accept any kind of monetary rewards, they all prepared some dried goods and fruits. With laden horses and mules, colored banners and red ribbons, they came to say farewell. There were only five hundred families in the region, but those who came to send them off numbered more than seven hundred.

They journeyed amiably, and in a little while they arrived at the entrance of the Pulpy Persimmon Alley in the Mountain of Seven Extremes. When Tripitaka smelled the wretched odor and saw how clogged the road was, he said, “Wukong, how could we pass through?” Clamping his hand over his nose, Pilgrim said, “This is rather difficult!” When Tripitaka heard him say “difficult,” tears dropped from his eyes. Old Li and others went forward and said, “Father, please do not be anxious. When we accompanied you here, we had already made up our minds. Since your noble disciples subdued the monster-spirit for us and delivered the entire village from such calamity, we are all determined to open up a road for you to pass through.”

“Oldie,” said Pilgrim, smiling, “your words aren’t very reasonable! You told us earlier that the distance across this mountain is some eight hundred miles. You are no celestial engineers under the command of the Great Yu, Conqueror of the Flood. How could you blast open mountains and build roads? If you want my master to get across the ridge, it’s up to us again to exert ourselves. None of you can do something like this.”

As he dismounted, Tripitaka said, “Wukong, how are you going to exert yourself?” “If you want to cross this mountain in the twinkling of an eye,” said Pilgrim, smiling, “that’s difficult. If you want to build another road, that’s difficult, too. We have to push through, using the old alley, but right now, I fear that no one will take care of our meals.”

“Don’t talk like that, Elder!” said Old Li. “No matter how long you four are delayed here, we can support you. How could you say that no one would take care of your meals!” “In that case,” said Pilgrim, “go and prepare two piculs of dried rice, and make some steamed buns and breads also. Let that priest of ours with a long snout eat to his fill. He’ll then change into a huge hog to shovel out the old road. Our master will ride the horse and we’ll accompany him. We’ll get across.”

On hearing this, Eight Rules said, “Elder Brother, all of you want to be clean. How could you ask old Hog alone to become stinky?” “Wuneng,” said Tripitaka, “if you truly have the ability to shovel out the alley and lead me across the mountain, I’ll have it recorded that you are ranked first in merit on this occasion.” With a laugh, Eight Rules said, “Master, you and the rest of our venerable patrons here should not tease me. I, old Hog, after all, am capable of thirty-six kinds of transformation. If you want me to change into something delicate, elegant, and agile, I simply can’t do it. But if it’s a mountain, a tree, a boulder, an earth mound, a scabby elephant, a graded hog, a water buffalo, or a camel, I can change into all these things. The only thing is that if I change into something big, my appetite is going to be even bigger. I must be satisfactorily fed before I can work.”

“We have the stuff! We have the stuff!” cried the people. “We have all brought along dried goods, fruits, baked biscuits, and assorted pastries. We were planning to present them to you after you had crossed the mountain. We’ll take them out now for you to enjoy. When you have assumed your transformation and begun your work, we’ll send people back to the village to prepare more rice for you.”

Filled with delight, Eight Rules took off his black cloth shirt and dropped his nine-pronged rake. “Don’t tease me!” he said to the people. “Watch old Hog achieve this stinky merit!” Dear Idiot! Making the magic sign with his fingers, he shook his body once and changed indeed into a huge hog. Truly he had

A long snout and short hair—all rather plump.

He fed on herbs of the mountain since his youth.

A black face with round eyes like the sun and moon;

A round head with huge ears like plantain leaves.

His bones were made lasting as Heaven’s age;

Tougher than iron was his thick skin refined.

In deep nasal tones he made his oink-oink cry.

What gutteral grunts when he puffed and huffed!

Four white hoofs standing a thousand feet tall;

Swordlike bristles topped a hundred-yard frame.

Mankind had long seen fatted pigs and swine,

But never till today this old hog elf.

The Tang Monk and the people all gave praise;

At such high magic pow’r they were amazed.

When Pilgrim Sun saw this transformation of Eight Rules, he ordered those people who accompanied them to put their dried goods into a huge pile so that Eight Rules could enjoy the foodstuff. Without regard for whether it was cooked or raw, Eight Rules went forward and gulped down all of it. Then he proceeded to shovel out a path. Pilgrim asked Sha Monk to take off his shoes and to pole the luggage with care. He told his master to sit firmly on the carved saddle, while he himself also took off his boots. Then he gave this instruction to the people: “If you are grateful, go and prepare some rice quickly for my brother’s sustenance.”

Over half of those seven hundred people who accompanied the pilgrims to send them off came along with horses and mules; they, therefore, dashed back to the village like shooting stars to prepare the rice. The rest of the people, some three hundred of them, had come on foot, and these stood below the mountain and watched the pilgrims depart. The distance between the village and the mountain, you see, was some thirty miles. By the time the people went back to the village and returned with the rice, master and disciples were almost a hundred miles away. Not willing to let them go, however, the people urged their horses and mules into the alley and spent the night traveling. Only by morning did they succeed in catching up with the pilgrims. “Holy Fathers who are going to acquire scriptures,” they cried, “please slow down! Please slow down! We are bringing you rice!”

On hearing these words, the elder was filled with gratitude. “Truly they are kind and faithful people!” he said. Then he asked Eight Rules to stop so that he could take some rice for strength. Our Idiot had been shoveling for one whole day and night, and he was beginning to feel keenly his hunger. Though there were more than seven or eight piculs of rice brought by those people, he gulped it all down, regardless of whether it was rice or other types of grain. After a hearty meal, he proceeded again to shovel out the road. Tripitaka, Pilgrim, and Sha Monk thanked the people and took leave of them. So it is that

The Tuoluo villagers return to their homes,

While Eight Rules opens up a mountain path.

Divine might upholds devout Tripitaka;

Wukong shows magic and the demon fails.

An aeon’s Pulp Persimmons this day are cleansed;

Henceforth the Seven Extremes’ Alley is unclogged.

Six forms of desires having all been purged.

In peace, unhindered, they’ll bow to lotus seats.

We do not know how great a distance they still must travel or what sort of fiends they may encounter; let’s listen to the explanation in the next chapter.