We were telling you about the Tang Monk, who acquired again the service of Pilgrim Sun; master and disciples thereupon embarked on the road to the West, united once more in heart and mind. After they had rescued the princess of the Precious Image Kingdom and been sent off by its king and officials, they journeyed without ceasing, taking food and drink when they hungered and thirsted, resting by night and traveling by day. Soon it was again the time of Triple Spring, a season when
Light breezes blow on willow green as silk,
A lovely scene most fit for verse.
The times hasten bird songs;
The warmth kindles flowers,
Fragrant blooms all around.
A pair of swallows comes to the apple court,1
Just in time to enjoy spring:
Red dust on purple paths,2
Strings, pipes, and the silk gowns,
Games and passing the wine cups.3
As master and disciples walked and enjoyed the scenery, they found another mountain barring their way. “Disciples,” said the Tang Monk, “please be careful. We have a tall mountain before us, and I fear that tigers and wolves might be here to obstruct us.” “Master,” said Pilgrim, “a man who has left the family should not speak as those who remain in the family. Don’t you remember the
words of the Heart Sūtra4 given to you by that Crow’s Nest Priest: ‘No
hindrances, and therefore, no terror or fear; he is far removed from error and delusion’? Only you must
Sweep away the filth of your mind,
And wash off the dust by your ears.
Not tasting the most painful of pain,
You’ll never be a man among men.
You mustn’t worry, for if you have old Monkey, everything will be all right even if the sky collapses. Don’t be afraid of any tiger or wolf!”
Pulling in the reins of his horse, the elder said, “Since I
Departed Chang’an that year by decree,
My sole thought fixed on Buddha in the West—
That bright, golden image in Śārī-land,
Those jade-white brows in the pagoda blessed.
I searched through this world’s waters without name;
I climbed all the mountains unscaled by man.
Fold upon fold the mists and waves extend,
When can I myself true leisure attain?”
When Pilgrim heard what he said, he roared with laughter, saying, “If Master wants true leisure, it’s not that difficult! When you achieve your merit, then all the nidānas5 will cease and all forms will be but emptiness. At that time, leisure will come to you most naturally.” Hearing these words, the elder had to be content to put aside his anxiety and urge his horse on. Master and disciples began to ascend the mountain, which was truly rugged and treacherous. Marvelous mountain!
The tall, rugged peak;
The sharp, pointed summit.
Within the deep, winding brook—
Beside the lone, rugged cliff—
Within the deep, winding brook
You hear water loudly splashing as a serpent turns;
Beside the lone, rugged cliff
You see the big mountain tiger wagging its tail.
Look above:
The jutting peaks stab through the green sky.
Turn your eyes:
The canyon’s deep and dark as the empyrean.
Start climbing:
It’s like a ladder, a stair.
Walk down there:
It’s like a moat, a ditch.
It’s truly a weird, hillocked range;
It’s indeed a steep-banked precipice.
On top of the hillocked range
The herb-picker is wary of walking;
Before the precipice
The woodsman finds it hard to move an inch!
Foreign goats and wild horses madly gallop;
Wily hares and mountain bulls seem to form in ranks.
The mountain’s height does hide the sun and stars;
One often meets strange creatures and white wolves.
Through dense grassy path the horse can hardly pass.
How could one see Buddha at Thunderclap?
As the elder pulled back his horse to survey this mountain, which was so difficult to ascend, he saw a woodcutter standing on the green slope above. “How was he dressed?” you ask.
His head wore an old rain hat of blue felt;
He had on him a monk-robe of black wool.
The old rain hat of blue felt:
Indeed a rare thing to ward off sunlight and mists;
The monk-robe of black wool:
A sign of utter contentment rarely seen.
His hands held a steel ax polished highly;
He tied his machete-cut firewood firmly.
The spring hues at the ends of his pole
Quietly overflowed in all four seasons;
His carefree life as a recluse
Had always been blessed by the Three Stars.6
He resigned himself to grow old in his lot.
What glory or shame could invade his world?
That woodcutter
Was just chopping firewood before the slope,
When the elder came abruptly from the East.
He stopped his ax to go out of the woods
And walked with big strides up the rocky ledge.
In a severe voice, he cried out to the elder, “The elder who is going toward the West, please stop for a moment. I have something to tell you. There is a bunch of vicious demons and cruel monsters in this mountain devoted to eating travelers who come from the East and go toward the West.”
When the elder heard what he said, his spirit left him and his soul fled. He shook so violently that he could hardly sit on the saddle. Turning around quickly, he shouted to his disciples, “Did you hear what the wood-cutter said about the vicious demons and cruel monsters? Which of you dare go and ask him in greater detail?”
“Master, relax!” said Pilgrim. “Old Monkey will go and question him thoroughly.”
Dear Pilgrim! He strode up the mountain and addressed the woodcutter as “Big Brother” before bowing to him with folded hands. The woodcutter returned his greeting, saying, “Elder, why did you people come here?” “To tell you the truth, Big Brother,” said Pilgrim, “we were sent from the Land of the East to go acquire scriptures in the Western Heaven. That one on the horse is my master. He is rather timid; when he heard just now what you said about vicious demons and cruel monsters, he asked me to question you. For how many years have there been demons and monsters? Are they real professionals, or are they just amateurs? Let Big Brother take the trouble to tell me, so that I may order the mountain god and the local spirit to send them away in custody.” When the woodcutter heard these words, he faced the sky and roared with laughter, saying, “So, you are really a mad monk!” “I am not mad,” said Pilgrim, “and this is the honest truth.” “If you are honest,” said the woodcutter, “how dare you talk about sending them away in custody?” Pilgrim said, “The way you are magnifying their power, the way you have stopped us with your foolish announcement and silly report, could it be that you are somehow related to these monsters? If you are not a relative, you must be a neighbor; if not a neighbor, you must be a friend.”
“You mad, impudent monk!” said the woodcutter, laughing. “You are so unreasonable! My intentions were good and that was why I made a special effort to bring this message to you, so that you could take precaution at all times when you journey. Now you are blaming me instead. Let’s not say just yet that I don’t know anything about the origin of those monsters. But suppose you have found that out, how would you dispose of them? Where would you send them away in custody?”
“If they are demons from Heaven,” said Pilgrim, “I’ll send them to see the Jade Emperor. If they are demons of Earth, I’ll send them to the Palace of Earth. Those of the West will be returned to Buddha; those of the East will be returned to the sages; those of the North will be returned to Zhenwu;7 those of the South will be returned to Mars.8 If they are dragon spirits, they will be sent to the Lords of Oceans; if they are ghosts and ogres, they will be sent to King Yama. Every class has its proper place and direction, and old Monkey is familiar with all of them. All I need to do is to issue a court order, and they will be sent off in a hurry. Even at night!”
The woodcutter could hardly stop his scornful laughter, saying, “You mad, impudent monk! You must have made a pilgrimage to some place and learned some paltry magic of drawing up charms and casting spells with water. You may be able to drive away demons and suppress ghosts, but you have never run into such vicious and cruel monsters.” “In what way are they vicious and cruel?” asked Pilgrim. The woodcutter said, “The length of this mountain range is about six hundred miles, and it’s called the Level-Top Mountain. In the mountain is a cave by the name of Lotus-Flower Cave. There are two old demons in the cave who had portraits made with the intent to catch the priests, and who had names and surnames written down because they insisted on eating the Tang Monk. If you have come from another region, you might get by, but if you are in any way associated with the word ‘Tang’ you’ll never pass here.” “We are exactly those who have come from the Tang court,” said Pilgrim. The woodcutter said, “And they specifically want to devour you.”
“Lucky! Lucky!” said Pilgrim. “How would they like to eat us?” “Why do you ask?” said the woodcutter. “If they want to eat me headfirst,” said Pilgrim, “it’s still manageable, but if they want to eat me feetfirst, it’ll be more bothersome.” The woodcutter asked, “What’s the difference between eating you headfirst and feetfirst?”
“You haven’t experienced this,” replied Pilgrim. “If he eats me headfirst, one bite will kill me, of course. Even if he were to fry, saute, braise, or boil me thereafter, I wouldn’t know the pain. But if he eats me feetfirst, he can start by munching on my shanks and then proceed to gnaw on my thighs. He can devour me up to my pelvic bones, and I still might not die in a hurry. Will I not be left to suffer bit by bit? That’s why it is bothersome.”
“Monk,” said the woodcutter, “he is not going to spend all that effort on you. All he wants is to catch you and have you bound in a large steamer. Once you are cooked, he’ll eat you whole!” “That’s even better! That’s even better!” said Pilgrim, chuckling. “There won’t be pain; I have to endure a little stuffiness, that’s all.” “Don’t be so sassy, monk,” said the woodcutter, “for those monsters have with them five treasures which possess tremendous magic powers. Even if you happen to be the jade pillar that holds up the sky, or the golden bridge that spans the ocean, if you want to protect the priest of the Tang court and pass this place safely, you will have to become a little mad.”
“For how many times?” asked Pilgrim. “At least three or four times,” replied the woodcutter. Pilgrim said, “That’s nothing! Throughout a year, we must have become mad for seven or eight hundred times. These three or four—what’s that to us? A little madness and we are through.”
Dear Great Sage! He was not at all afraid. Eager only to accompany the Tang Monk, he abandoned the woodcutter and returned with big strides to where the horse was standing before the mountain slope. “Master, it’s nothing serious,” he said. “There are a couple of puny monster-spirits, to be sure, but people around here are rather timid and overly concerned. You have me, so why worry? Let’s get going! Let’s get going!” When the elder heard what he said, he had no choice but to proceed. As they walked, the woodcutter vanished. The elder said, “Why did that woodcutter who brought us the message disappear all at once?” “Our luck must be rather poor,” said Eight Rules, “we have met a ghost in broad daylight.” “He must have crawled back into the forest to find firewood,” said Pilgrim. “Let me take a look.”
Dear Great Sage! He opened wide his fiery eyes and diamond pupils to scan the mountain far and near, but there was no trace of the woodcutter. He raised his head and suddenly saw the Day Sentinel on the edge of the clouds. Mounting the clouds, he gave chase immediately, shouting several times, “Clumsy devil!” When he caught up with the deity, he said, “If you had something to say, why didn’t you present yourself and speak plainly? Why did you have to put on all that transformation to make fun of old Monkey?” The sentinel was so frightened that he bowed before he said, “Great Sage, please do not take offense at my tardiness in bringing you the news. Those fiends do have great magic powers, and they know many ways of transformation. It’s up to you to use all your cleverness, to exercise all your divine intelligence to guard your master carefully. If you are the slightest bit negligent, you can’t get through this road to reach the Western Heaven.”
When Pilgrim heard this, he drove away the sentinel, though the words he kept firmly in his mind. Lowering the direction of his cloud, he returned to the mountain. As he saw the elder proceeding with Eight Rules and Sha Monk, he thought to himself, “If I give an honest account of what the sentinel said to Master, he will weep for sure. He’s so weak! If I don’t tell him the truth, I can put something over him and lead him forward. But as the proverb says, ‘Wading suddenly into a swamp, you can’t tell if it’s deep or shallow.’ If Master indeed were to be taken by the monsters, won’t old Monkey be asked to expend his energy again? Let me take good care of Eight Rules instead. I’m going to make him go and wage a battle with those monsters first and see what happens; if he wins, we will consider that to be his merit. If his abilities are no good and he is caught by the monsters, there will still be time for old Monkey to go rescue him. I can display my powers then and further spread my fame.”
Using the mind to question the mind, he was thus deliberating with himself: “I fear that Eight Rules is so lazy that he will refuse to volunteer his service. Master, moreover, is so protective toward him. I’ll have to use some gimmick.”
Dear Great Sage! Look at the chicanery he’s resorting to! Rubbing his eyes for awhile, he managed to squeeze out some tears as he walked back facing his master. When Eight Rules saw that, he cried out at once, “Sha Monk, put down your pole. Bring the luggage over here and we two will divide it up.” “Second Elder Brother,” said Sha Monk, “Why divide it up?” “Divide it!” said Eight Rules. “You can then go back to the River of Flowing Sand and become a monster again. Old Hog will return to the Old Gao Village to see how my wife is doing; we can sell the white horse and buy a coffin for Master in preparation for his old age. All of us can scatter. Why bother about going to the Western Heaven?”
When the elder heard this on the horse, he said, “This coolie! We are still journeying. What’s all this babble?” “Only your son babbles!” said Eight Rules. “Don’t you see that Pilgrim Sun is weeping over there as he walks toward us? He’s a stalwart warrior who’s not afraid of hacking by the ax, burning by fire, or even a pot of boiling oil, one who can penetrate Heaven and pierce the Earth. Now he has put on a cap of sorrow and arrived gushing tears. It has to be that the mountain is rugged, and that the monsters are truly vicious. How then do you expect weaklings like us to proceed?” The elder said, “Stop this nonsense! Let me question him and see what he says.”
He therefore asked, “Wukong, if you have something to say, let’s discuss the matter face to face. Why are you so distressed all by yourself? Are you trying to frighten me with that tearful face of yours?” “Master,” said Pilgrim, “just now the one who brought us the message happened to be the Day Sentinel. He said that the monster-spirits were most vicious, making this place a difficult one to pass through. It is indeed a treacherous road through a tall mountain. I don’t think we can go through it now; we may as well wait for another time.” When the elder heard these words, he was greatly shaken. Tugging at Pilgrim’s tigerskin kilt, he said, “Disciple, we have covered almost half the journey. Why are you speaking such discouraging words?”
“I’m not undevoted to our cause,” said Pilgrim, “but I fear that the demons are many and my strength is limited if I have no help. As the saying goes, ‘Even if it’s a piece of iron in the furnace, how many nails can you beat out of it?’” “Disciple,” said the elder, “you have a point there. It is difficult for a single person to handle this matter, for as the military book says, ‘The few cannot withstand the many.’ But I have Eight Rules and Sha Monk here, both my disciples. I permit you to command and use them as you wish, so that they can serve as your helpers, someone to protect your flank. Only you should work together to clear up a path and lead me across this mountain. Will we not then be attaining the right fruit?”
All that legerdemain of Pilgrim, you see, was aimed at eliciting from the elder these few words. He wiped away his tears, saying, “Master, if you want to cross this mountain, Zhu Eight Rules has to agree to do two things for me. Only then will we have about a third of a chance to get by. If he doesn’t agree to help me, you might as well forget about the whole matter.” “Elder Brother,” said Eight Rules, “if we can’t do it, let’s scatter. Don’t drag me down.” “Disciple,” said the elder, “let’s ask your Elder Brother first and see what he wants you to do.” Idiot indeed said to Pilgrim, “Elder Brother, what do you want me to do?”
“The first thing is to look after Master,” said Pilgrim, “and the second is to go patrol the mountain.” Eight Rules said, “Looking after Master means sitting right here, whereas to patrol the mountain means taking a walk somewhere. Do you want me to sit awhile and walk awhile? How can I do two things at once?”
“I’m not telling you to do two things at once,” said Pilgrim, “but to select one only.” “That’s easier to decide,” said Eight Rules, chuckling, “but I don’t know what’s involved in looking after Master or in patrolling the mountain. Tell me something of my duties and I can then carry them out accordingly.”
“To look after Master,” said Pilgrim, “means that if he wants to move his bowels, you wait on him; if he wants to journey, you assist him; if he wants to eat, you go to beg for vegetarian food. If he suffers from hunger even slightly, you’ll be beaten; if he pales a little, you’ll be beaten; if he loses some weight, you’ll be beaten.”
Horrified, Eight Rules said, “This is terribly difficult! Terribly difficult! To wait on him or to help him to walk—that’s nothing, and even if I have to carry him bodily, it’s still an easy matter. But if he wants to send me to beg for food, I fear that there might be those on this road to the West who won’t recognize that I’m a monk seeking scriptures. They might think that I’m a healthy hog just reaching maturity and then have me surrounded by many people with brooms, rakes, pitchforks, and all. I’ll be taken to their homes, slaughtered, and cured for the new year. Wouldn’t that be like meeting the plague?”
“Then go and patrol the mountain,” said Pilgrim.
“What does that involve?” asked Eight Rules.
Pilgrim replied, “Go into the mountain and find out how many monsters there are, what kind of mountain this is, and what kind of cave there is. We can then make plans to pass through.” “This is a small thing,” said Eight Rules. “Old Hog will go patrol the mountain.” Hitching up his garment at once, Idiot held high his muckrake and strode energetically up the road leading into the mountain.
As he watched Eight Rules leave, Pilgrim could not suppress his giggles. “You impudent ape!” scolded the elder. “As a brother, you haven’t shown the least bit of sympathy or kindness. You are constantly envious of one another. With all that base cunning, all those ‘clever words and an ingratiating appearance,’9 you have managed to trick him already into the so-called patrolling the mountain. Now you are even mocking him with your laugh!”
“I’m not mocking him,” said Pilgrim, “because there’s another meaning in my laughter. You see that Eight Rules has left, but he will not go to patrol the mountain, nor will he dare to face the monsters. He will go instead somewhere to hide for awhile and then come back to deceive us with some story that he has made up.”
“How do you know that about him?” asked the elder. Pilgrim replied, “I suspect that’s how he will behave. If you don’t believe me, let me follow him and find out. I can also lend him some assistance in subduing the monsters, and see at the same time whether he is earnest in seeking the Buddha.” “Fine! Fine! Fine!” said the elder, “but you must not play tricks on him.”
Pilgrim agreed and ran up the slope of the mountain. Shaking his body once, he changed into a tiny mole cricket, indeed a delicate and lightsome transformation. You see
Thin wings dance in the wind without effort;
A small waist sharp as a pin.
He darts through rushes and the floral shades
Faster than even a comet.
Eyes that are shining bright;
A voice that’s soft and faint.
Of insects he’s one of the smallest:
Slender, shapely, and sly.
A few times he rests idle in the secluded woods—
His whole body out of sight,
Lost to a thousand eyes.10
Spreading his wings, he flew with a buzz up there, caught up with Eight Rules, and alighted on his neck beneath the bristles behind his ear. Idiot was intent on traveling; how could he know that someone had landed on his body? After walking for seven or eight miles, he dropped his muckrake, turned around, and faced the direction of the Tang Monk. Gesturing vehemently with hands and feet, he began to let loose a string of abuses. “You doddering old priest!” he said. “You unscrupulous BanHorsePlague! You sissy Sha Monk! All of you are enjoying yourselves, but you trick old Hog into stumping the road. All of us seeking the scriptures hope to attain the right fruit, but you have to make me do this so-called patrolling the mountain. Ha, ha, ha! If there are monsters known to be in this place, we should have taken cover and tried to get by undetected. But that’s not sufficient for you; you have to make me go find them instead! Well, that’s your bad luck! I’m going to find some place and take a nap. When I am through sleeping, I’ll go back and give you a vague story about having patrolled the mountain, and that will be that!” It was the good fortune of the moment for Idiot. As he walked further along, carrying his muckrake, he discovered a clump of red grass in the fold of the mountain. He crawled inside at once and used his muckrake to create for himself some sort of floor mat. Lying down and stretching himself, he said, “O joy! Even that BanHorsePlague is not as comfortable as I am now!” But Pilgrim, you see, who had stationed himself behind his ear, heard every word. No longer able to contain himself, Pilgrim flew up and decided to badger him a little. With one shake of his body he changed again into a small woodpecker. You see
A fine bill iron hard and glossy red
And bright, gleaming patterned plumage.
Owning a pair of steel claws sharp as nails,
Famished he fears not quiet woods.
He loves best the dried trunks worm-rotted;
He cares, too, for the lonely old tree.
Round-eyed, fan-tailed, he’s very perky—
His pecking sounds are worth hearing!11
This creature was neither too big nor too small, weighing perhaps only several ounces. Armed with a red bronze-hard bill and black iron claws, he hurtled straight down from the air. Eight Rules was just sleeping soundly with head upturned when his snout received a terrific bite. So startled was Idiot that he scampered up at once, madly shouting, “A monster! A monster! He stabbed me with the lance! Oh, my mouth is sore!” He rubbed it with his hands and blood spurted out. “That’s weird!” he said, “I’m not involved in any happy event. Why has my mouth been painted red?” He stared at his bloody hands, muttering to himself confusedly, but he could not detect the least trace of movement around him. He said, “There’s no monster. Then why was I stabbed by a lance?” He raised his head to look upward and suddenly discovered a small woodpecker flying in the air. Gritting his teeth, Idiot shouted, “You wretched outcast! Isn’t it enough that BanHorsePlague should oppress me? Why must you, too, oppress me? Ah, I know! He must not have recognized that I’m a human, thinking instead that my snout is a charred, rotted tree trunk with worms inside. He’s looking for worms to eat and that’s why he gives me a bite. Let me hide my snout in my chest.”
Tumbling on the ground, Idiot again lay down to sleep. Pilgrim flew down once more and gave the base of his ear another bite. Alarmed, Idiot jumped up, saying, “This wretched outcast! He’s really harassing me! This must be where his nest is located, and he’s worried that I have taken his eggs or offspring. That’s why he’s harassing me. All right! All right! All right! I’m not going to sleep anymore.” Poling his rake, he left the red grass meadow and started up the road again. Meanwhile, Pilgrim Sun nearly broke up with amusement, the Handsome Monkey King almost collapsed with laughter. “This coolie!” he said. “Even those wide open eyes couldn’t recognize one of his own!”
Dear Great Sage! Shaking his body and changing again into a mole cricket, he attached himself firmly to Idiot’s ear once more. After walking four or five miles deep into the mountain, Idiot came upon in a valley three square slabs of green rock, each about the size of a table. Putting down his rake, Idiot bowed deeply to the rocks. Laughing silently to himself, Pilgrim said, “This Idiot! The rocks are no humans; they know neither how to talk nor how to return his greeting. Why bow to them? That’s truly blind homage!” But Idiot, you see, pretended that the rocks were the Tang Monk, Sha Monk, and Pilgrim. Facing the three of them, Idiot was rehearsing what he would say. Said he, “This time when I go back to see Master, I’ll say that there are monsters, should they ask me. And if they ask me what kind of mountain this is, I’ll say that it’s molded of clay, made of mud, wrought of tin, forged by copper, steamed with flour, plastered with paper, and painted with the brush. If they claim that I’m speaking idiotic words, I’m going to say some more. I’ll say that this is a rocky mountain. If they ask me what sort of a cave there is, I’ll say there is a rocky cave. If they ask me what kind of doors there are, I’ll say there are sheet-iron doors studded with nails. If they ask me how deep is the cave inside, I’ll say that there are some three sections in the dwelling. If they persist in trying to learn everything, such as how many nails there are on the door, I’ll only say that old Hog is too preoccupied to remember the exact number. Well, now that I have everything all made up, I’m going to go back to hoodwink that BanHorsePlague.” Having fabricated his story, Idiot dragged his rake along to retrace his steps. He did not know, however, that Pilgrim heard everything behind his ear. When Pilgrim saw him turning back, he stretched his wings and flew back first, changing back to his original form to see his master. “Wukong, so you have come back,” said the master. “Why don’t we see Wuneng also?”
“He’s just making up some lies,” said Pilgrim, chuckling. “He’ll be here soon.”
The elder said, “A person like him who has his eyes covered by his ears has to be a stupid fellow. What sort of lies can he make up? It’s got to be some humbuggery of yours again, trying to put the blame on him.”
“Master,” said Pilgrim, “you are always covering up his faults. What I have to tell you, however, is based on evidence.” He thereupon gave a complete account of how Idiot crawled into the clump of grass to sleep and was bitten by the woodpecker, and how he bowed to the rocks and made up the story on monsterspirits in the rocky mountain, in the rocky cave with the sheet-iron doors. After he finished, Idiot came walking back in a little while. As he was afraid that he might forget what he had made up, he was still rehearsing with head bowed when Pilgrim shouted at him, “Idiot, what are you reciting?” Sticking up his ears so that he could glance around, Eight Rules said, “I’m back at the old homestead!” He went forward and knelt down, but the elder raised him up, saying, “Disciple, you must be tired!” “Yes,” said Eight Rules, “the person who walks or climbs mountains is the one most tired.”
“Are there any monsters?” asked the elder. Eight Rules said, “Yes, yes! There is a whole bunch of them!” “How did they treat you?” asked the elder. Eight Rules said, “They called me Ancestor Hog and Grandfather Hog; they also prepared some vegetarian food and soup noodles for me to eat, saying that they would put on a big parade to take us across this mountain.” “Could this be your talking in your dreams, after you have fallen asleep in the grass?” asked Pilgrim. When Idiot heard the question, he was so astounded that he almost lost two inches of his height, saying, “O Father! How could he know about my sleeping?”
Pilgrim went forward and caught hold of him, saying, “You come over here! Let me ask you!” Idiot became even more alarmed; trembling all over, he said, “You can ask me anything. Why do you have to grab me like that?” “What kind of a mountain is there?” asked Pilgrim. Eight Rules said, “It’s a rocky mountain.” “What kind of a cave?” “It’s a rocky cave,” he said. “What kind of doors are there?” Pilgrim asked. “There are sheet-iron doors studded with nails,” he said. “How deep is the cave inside?” “There are three sections inside,” he said. “No need for you to say any more,” said Pilgrim. “I can remember the last part quite clearly, but because I fear that Master still won’t believe me, I’ll say that for you.” “You sneak!” said Eight Rules. “You didn’t even go with me! What do you know that you can say for me?” “How many nails are there on the doors?” said Pilgrim, laughing, “Just say that old Hog is too preoccupied to remember clearly. Isn’t that about right?” Idiot was so frightened that he fell on his knees at once. Pilgrim said, “You bowed to the rocks and began speaking to them as if they were the three of us. Isn’t that right? You also said, ‘Let me make up this story so that I can go hoodwink that BanHorsePlague.’ Isn’t that right also?” “Elder Brother,” said Idiot, kowtowing unceasingly, “could it be that you accompanied me when I went to patrol the mountain?” “You overstuffed coolie!” scolded Pilgrim. “This is an important area. We asked you to go patrol the mountain, and you went to sleep instead. If the woodpecker hadn’t jabbed you up, you would still be sleeping there. After you were roused, you even made up such a big lie. You could completely ruin our important enterprise, couldn’t you? Stick out your shanks at once, and you’ll receive five strokes of the rod as a keepsake.”
Horrified, Eight Rules said, “That funeral staff is very heavy: a little touch and my skin will collapse, a little brush and my tendons will snap. Five strokes mean certain death for me.” Pilgrim said, “If you are afraid of being beaten, why do you lie?” “Elder Brother,” said Eight Rules, “it’s just this once. I’ll never dare do that again.” “All right,” said Pilgrim, “I’ll give you just three strokes this time.” “O Father!” said Eight Rules. “I can’t even bear half a stroke!” Without any alternative, Idiot caught hold of the master and said, “You must speak for me.”
The elder said, “When Wukong told me that you were making up this lie, I would not believe him. Now that it is really so, you certainly deserve to be beaten. But we are trying to cross this mountain at the moment, and we need everyone we can use. So Wukong, you may as well spare him now. Let’s cross the mountain first, and then you can beat him.” Pilgrim said, “The ancients said, ‘To obey the sentiments of one’s parents is to perform a great filial act.’ If Master tells me not to beat you, I’ll spare you for the moment. You must go to patrol the mountain again. If you start lying and botch things up once more, I’ll not spare you from even one stroke!”
Idiot had no choice but to scamper up and leave on the main road. Look at him! As he walked along this time, he was haunted by suspicion, supposing with every step of the way that the transformed Pilgrim was following him. As soon as he came upon an object or thing, he would immediately suspect that it was Pilgrim. After he had gone for about seven or eight miles, he saw a tiger running across the slope. Undaunted, he lifted up his muckrake and said, “Elder Brother, did you come again to listen to my fibs? I told you I wouldn’t do that anymore.” As he walked further, a violent mountain gust toppled a dead tree, which rolled up to him. Pounding his chest and stamping his feet, he cried, “Elder Brother! Why did you do this? I told you I would not try to deceive you anymore. Why did you have to change into a tree to strike at me?” He proceeded still further and saw in the air a white-necked old crow, which squawked several times overhead. He said again, “Elder Brother, aren’t you ashamed of yourself? I told you I wouldn’t lie anymore. Why did you still change into an old crow? Are you trying to eavesdrop on me again?” But this time Pilgrim, you see, did not follow him; he was simply ridden with suspicion and surmise, and we shall speak no more of him for the moment.
We now tell you about the mountain, which was named Level-Top Mountain, in which there was a cave called the Lotus-Flower Cave. There were two fiends in the cave: one had the name of the Great King Golden Horn and the other, the Great King Silver Horn. As they sat in the cave that day, Golden Horn said to Silver Horn, “Brother, how long has it been since we patrolled the mountain?” Silver Horn said, “It’s been half a month.” “Brother,” said Golden Horn, “go and patrol it today.” Silver Horn said, “Why today?” “You don’t know what I heard recently,” said Golden Horn, “that the Tang emperor in the Land of the East had sent his royal brother, the Tang Monk, to worship Buddha in the West. He has three other companions by the names of Pilgrim Sun, Zhu Eight Rules, and Sha Monk; including the horse, there are five of them altogether. Go see where they are and capture them for me.” Silver Horn said, “If we want to eat people, we can catch a few anywhere. Where can these monks be? Let them pass.” Golden Horn said, “You don’t know about this. The year when I left the Heavenly Region, I heard people say that the Tang Monk is the incarnation of the Elder Gold Cicada, a man who has practiced religion for ten existences, and one who has not allowed any of his yang energy to be dissipated. If anyone can have a taste of his flesh, his age will be vastly lengthened.” “If eating his flesh,” said Silver Horn, “can lengthen our age and prolong our lives, what need we to practice sedentary meditation, to arrive at certain attainment, to cultivate the dragon and the tiger, or to achieve the union of the male and the female?12 We should just eat him. Let me go and catch him at once.”
Golden Horn said, “Brother, you are rather impulsive. Let’s not hurry. If you walk out this door and grab any monk that comes along, you would be breaking the law unnecessarily if he were not the Tang Monk. I still recall how the real Tang Monk looks. Let’s have portraits made of the master and his disciples that you can take along with you. When you see some monks, you can check whether they are the real ones.” He thereupon had portraits drawn up, and the name of each person was written beside the picture. Taking the sketches with him, Silver Horn left the cave after calling up thirty little fiends to follow him to patrol the mountain.
We now tell you about Eight Rules, whose fortune was about to take a turn for the worse. As he walked along, he ran right into the various demons, who barred his way and asked, “Who is he that’s approaching?” Raising his head and pushing his ears aside, Idiot saw that they were demons and he became quite frightened. He said to himself, “If I say that I’m a monk going to seek scriptures, they may want to seize me. I’d better say I’m only a traveler.” The little fiends reported back to their master, saying, “Great King, it’s a traveler.” Among those thirty little fiends, there were some who did not recognize Eight Rules. There were a few, however, who found his face somewhat familiar, and pointing at him, they said, “Great King, this monk looks like the portrait of Zhu Eight Rules.” The old fiend told them at once to hang up the picture so that they could examine it more closely. When Eight Rules saw it, he was greatly shaken, muttering to himself, “No wonder I feel somewhat dispirited of late! They have caught my spirit in this portrait!” As the little fiends held up the picture with their spears, Silver Horn pointed with his hand, saying, “This one riding the white horse is the Tang Monk, and this one with a hairy face is Pilgrim Sun.” Hearing this, Eight Rules said, “City Guardian, it’s all right if I’m not included! I’ll present you with three hog’s heads, twenty-four portions of pure libation . . .” Mumbling to himself repeatedly, he kept making all sorts of vows.
The fiend, meanwhile, went on to say, “That long dark one is Sha Monk, and this one having a long snout and huge ears is Zhu Eight Rules.” When Idiot heard what he said, he was so startled that he lowered his snout toward his chest and tried to conceal it. “Monk, stick out your mouth,” cried the fiend. “It’s a birth defect,” said Eight Rules. “I can’t stick it out.” The fiend told the imps to pull it out with hooks, and Eight Rules became so alarmed that he stuck out his snout at once, saying, “It’s no more than a homely feature! Here it is! If you want to look at it, just look. Why do you want to use hooks?”
Recognizing that it was Eight Rules, the fiend took out his precious blade and hacked away. Idiot parried the blow with his rake, saying, “My child, don’t be brazen! Watch my rake!” The fiend said with a chuckle, “This man became a monk in the middle of life.” “Dear child!” said Eight Rules. “You do have some intelligence! How do you know right away that your father became a monk in the middle of life?” “If you know how to use the rake,” said the fiend, “you must have stolen it after hoeing the fields or gardens of some household.” Eight Rules said, “My child, you won’t recognize the rake of your father, for it is not like any ordinary rake for hoeing the ground. We have here
Huge teeth made in the shape of dragon claws,
Adorned with gold and like a tiger formed.
When used in battle it draws down cold wind;
When brought to combat it emits bright flames.
It can for Tang Monk all barriers remove,
Catch all monsters on this road to the West.
When it’s wielded, mists hide the sun and moon;
When it’s held high, clouds make dim the pole stars.
It knocks down Mount Tai and tigers panic;
It o’erturns oceans and dragons cower.
Though you, monster, may have many skills,
One rake will nine bloody holes produce!”
The fiend heard the words, but he was not ready to step aside. Wielding his sword of seven stars,13 he charged Eight Rules and they closed in again and again in the mountain. Even after some twenty rounds, neither appeared to be the stronger one. Growing more and more fierce, Eight Rules began to fight as if he had no regard whatever for his life. When the fiend saw how his opponent flapped his huge ears and spat out saliva, whooping and yelling all the time, he became somewhat frightened. He therefore turned around to call up all his little fiends to do battle. Now, if it were a one-to-one combat, it would have been manageable for Eight Rules. But when he saw all those little fiends approaching, he panicked and turned to flee. The road, however, was not very smooth and he immediately tripped over some vines and dried creepers along the way. As he was struggling to run, one of the little fiends made a flying tackle at his legs, and he hit the ground headfirst like a dog eating shit! The others swarmed all over him, pressing him on the ground, pulling at his mane and his ears, grabbing his legs, and tugging at his tail. They hoisted him up bodily to return to the cave. Alas! Thus it is that
A whole body bursting with demons is hard to destroy;
Ten thousand ills arise, they are tough to remove.
We do not know what happens to the life of Zhu Eight Rules; let’s listen to the explanation in the next chapter.