We were telling you about Tripitaka sitting in the Chan hall of the Precious
Grove Monastery. He meditated for awhile beneath the lamps on the Water
Litany of King Liang,1 and he read for awhile the True Sūtra of the Peacock. Not
until about the hour of the third watch did he wrap up the scriptures again in his bag. He was just about to get up and walk over to his bed when he heard the weird moan of a strong gust outside the door. Fearing that it might blow out the lamp, he tried hurriedly to shade it with the sleeve of his gown. When he saw the lamp flicker, he began to tremble, but at the same time, he was overcome by fatigue and soon dozed off with his head resting on the reading desk. Though his eyes were closed, he still seemed to be half conscious, able to hear all the time the continuous sighing of the dark wind outside his window. What a wind! Truly it
Whistled and whiffled—
It swayed and scattered—
It whistled and whiffled as fallen leaves flew;
It swayed and scattered the floating clouds.
Heaven’s stars and planets were all darkened;
The whole Earth’s dust and sand were strewn afar.
For awhile it was fierce;
For awhile it was mild.
When mild, bamboos and pines beat out their pure rhymes;
When fierce, waves of lakes and rivers heaved and churned.
It blew till mountain birds grew restless, their voices choked,
And sea fishes had no peace as they tossed and turned.
Windows and doors fell off in both east and west halls;
Gods and ghosts glowered in hallways front and back.
The Buddha Hall’s flower vase was blown to the ground;
The oil chalice tumbled and wisdom-lamp grew faint;
The incense urn turned over and ashes spilled out;
The candlesticks were tilted as flames changed to smoke.
Banners, sacred canopies were all awry.
Bell-and-drum towers were shaken to the roots!
In his dream the elder seemed to hear, after the wind had passed, a faint voice outside the Chan hall crying, “Master!” He raised his head in his dream to look and discovered a man standing outside the door who was soaked from head to toe. As tears rolled down from his eyes, he kept calling, “Master!” Tripitaka rose up and said, “Could you be a goblin or a ghost, a fiend or a demon, coming to mock me at the depth of night? I am neither a rapacious nor a wrathful person, but rather an honest and upright priest. Having received the imperial decree from the Great Tang in the Land of the East, I am on my way to the Western Heaven to seek scriptures from Buddha. I have three disciples under my command, all valiant men able to tame tigers and subdue dragons, heroic warriors capable of repelling demons and extirpating monsters. If they see you, you will be reduced to powder and dust. Take note, therefore, of my compassionate intent and my mind which knows how to use skillful means.2 Leave this place, go somewhere far away while there’s still time, and don’t come up to the door of our Chan hall.”
Reclining firmly by the door of the hall, the man said, “Master, we are not a demon or monster, nor are we a goblin or bogie.” “If you are not that kind of a creature,” said Tripitaka, “why are you here so late in the night?” “Open wide your eyes, Master,” said the man, “and look at us.” The elder indeed fixed his gaze on his visitor. Ah!
His head had on it a rising-to-Heaven cap;
A green-jade belt he tied around his waist.
He wore on his body a reddish brown robe with dancing phoenixes and flying dragons;
His feet trod on a pair of carefree boots of embroidered cloud pattern;
His hands held a white jade token adorned with planets and stars.
His face seemed the immortal King of Tai Mountain;
His form was like the civilized Lord Wenchang.3
When Tripitaka saw this figure, he paled with fright and hurriedly bowed low before his visitor, shouting, “Which dynasty do you belong to, Your Majesty? Please take a seat.” He then tried to take hold of his visitor’s hands, only to find that he succeeded in grasping nothing but thin air. Spinning around, he sat down and looked: there was the man again. The elder asked once more, “Your Majesty, in what region are you a king? Of what empire are you a ruler? Could it be that there is strife in your kindgom and you are so oppressed by treacherous ministers that you have to flee for your life and arrive here at night? What do you have to say? Please tell me.” Only then did the man,
As tears rolled down his cheeks, describe events of old;
As sorrow knitted his brow, disclose the former cause.
“Master,” he said, “our home is located due west of here, only about forty miles away, where there is a city, the place we founded our kingdom.” “What is its name?” asked Tripitaka. “To tell you the truth,” said the man, “when we established our reign, we gave it the name Black Rooster Kingdom.”
“Why is it that Your Majesty seems so frightened,” said Tripitaka, “and for what reason did you come to this place?” The man replied, “O Master! Five years ago we had a drought here, so severe that no vegetation could grow and the people were all starving to death. It was dreadful.” When Tripitaka heard these words, he nodded and smiled, saying, “Your Majesty, the ancients said, ‘When the kingdom is upright, then even the Mind of Heaven is agreeable.’ You must not have been treating your subjects with compassion. If there were drought and famine in the land, how could you forsake your domain? You should have opened up your warehouses in order to bring relief to the people; you should repent of all the sins you have committed and try to do good henceforth. When you have freed and pardoned those who were unjustly accused and condemned, then the Mind of Heaven will be pacified and the winds and the rains will become timely and auspicious once more.”
“The warehouses in my kingdom,” said the man, “were all empty and both our revenue and food were exhausted. The salaries for our civil and military officials had to be stopped, and there was not meat in our royal diet. I attempted to imitate the way King Yu conquered the flood, by suffering with our people, by ritual cleansing, maintaining a vegetarian diet, and practicing abstinence. Night and day we offered prayers and incense to Heaven. This went on for three years, but all we had as a result were parched rivers and dried wells. As we reached our most desperate moment, there came to us suddenly from Zhongnan Mountain a Daoist of the Complete Truth Order,4 who was able to summon the wind and call for rain, to transform rock into gold.5 He first presented himself to the civil and military officials, and then he met with us. We, of course, invited him to ascend the liturgical platform and offer prayers, which were indeed efficacious. As he struck aloud his ritual placard, torrential rain came down in a moment. We thought that three feet of rain would be quite sufficient, but he said that since the drought had been so severe for such a long time, he would ask for an extra two inches. When we saw how magnanimous he was, we went through the ceremony of Eight Bows with him and became bond-brothers.”
“This,” said Tripitaka, “had to be the greatest joy for Your Majesty.” “What joy was there?” asked the man.
Tripitaka said, “If the Daoist had that kind of abilities, you could tell him to make rain when you wanted rain, and to make gold when you wanted gold. What need was there that made you leave the city and come here now?”
“Indeed, we became so intimate with him that we shared our food and rest together for two years,” said the man, “when it was the time of spring again. As flowers bloomed seductively on the apricot and peach trees, every household in the kingdom was going out to enjoy the lovely scenery. At the time when our officials retired to their residences and our consorts to their chambers, we walked hand-in-hand with the Daoist into the imperial garden. When we came near our well with octagonal marble walls, he threw something in it that emitted myriad shafts of golden light and tricked us into approaching the side of the well to see what sort of treasure was in it. Moved to treachery all at once, he pushed us into the well, which he then covered with a slab of stone. He sealed off the entire well with mud and dirt, and he even transplanted a plantain tree on it. Alas, pity us! We have been dead now for three years,6 a ghost who lost his life in the well and whose wrong has yet to be avenged.”
When the Tang Monk heard that the man was in fact a ghost, he turned numb with fear as his hairs stood on end. He had, however, no choice but to question his visitor further, saying, “Your Majesty, there is something unreasonable in what you have just said. If you have indeed been dead for three years, how could those civil and military officials, those consorts of three palaces, not miss you and seek you when they had to attend court once every third morning?”
The man said, “Master, when one speaks of the Daoist’s abilities, they are truly rare in the world. Since he murdered us, he shook his body once in the garden and transformed himself into an exact image of us. Then and there he took over our empire and usurped our kingdom. Our two divisions of civil and military officials—some four hundred court ministers—and the consorts and ladies of three palaces and six chambers now all belong to him.”
“Your Majesty,” said Tripitaka, “you are too timid.” “Why timid?” asked the man. Tripitaka said, “Your Majesty, that fiend indeed must have some magic powers in order to change into your form and usurp your kingdom. The civil and military officials might not recognize him, and the consorts might not realize what has happened. But you understand, even though you have died. Why didn’t you file suit against him before King Yama in the Region of Darkness? You can at least give an account of the wrongs perpetrated.” “His magic powers are great indeed,” said the man, “and he’s intimate with most of the divine officials. The city’s tutelary guardian drinks with him frequently; the ocean’s dragon kings are his relatives; Equal-to-Heaven of the Tai Mountain7 is his dear friend, and the Ten Kings of Hell happen to be his bond-brothers. That’s why we have no place to go even to file suit.”
Tripitaka said, “Your Majesty, if you cannot bring suit against him in the Region of Darkness, why do you come here to the World of Light?”
“O Master,” said the man, “you think that this slip of a wronged soul would dare approach your gate? Before this monastery you have the various tutelary devas, the Six Gods of Darkness and the Six Gods of Light, the Guardians of Five Quarters, the Four Sentinels, and the Eighteen Guardians of the Faith, all of them closely watching over you and your horse. Just now it was the Night Patrol God who brought us in here with a gust of divine wind. He said that our water ordeal of three years is now fulfilled, and that we should come to seek an audience with you. He told us that you have under your command a senior disciple, the Great Sage, Equal to Heaven, who is able to slay fiends and subdue demons. We have come with all sincerity to plead with you. We beseech you to go to our kingdom and seize the demon, so that the true and the deviate can properly be distinguished. To repay the kindness of Master, we shall imitate those who express their gratitude by weaving grass ropes or holding bracelets in the mouth.”8
“Your Majesty,” said Tripitaka, “so you came here to ask my disciple to get rid of those monsters for you?” “Exactly! Exactly!” said the man. Tripitaka said, “My disciple may not be good in doing something else, but if you ask him to subdue demons and catch fiends, the work will suit him to a tee. But Your Majesty, though you may order him to seize the monster, I fear that he may find it difficult to carry out.”
“Why should it be difficult?” asked the man.
Tripitaka replied, “If that fiend indeed possesses such great magic powers that he has managed to transform himself into an exact image of you, then it will mean also that all the civil and military officials of the court and all your consorts have been nothing but friendly and amiable toward him. Though my disciple may be able, he would not engage in warfare recklessly. For if we were caught by the officials, who should accuse us of plotting against the kingdom and charge us with the crime of treason, we would be imprisoned in your city. Wouldn’t our efforts then be like the failed attempt of drawing a tiger or carving a heron and turning it into another creature?”9
“I still have someone in the city,” said the man. Tripitaka said, “That’s good, that’s good! He must be, I suppose, an hereditary prince of the first order, dispatched to a command post somewhere.” “No,” said the man, “I have in the palace a prince, an heir apparent of my own begetting.” “Has the prince been banished by the demon?” asked Tripitaka. “Not yet,” said the man, “but he has been asked to remain in the Hall of Golden Chimes, either to discuss the classic texts with one of the secretaries, or to sit on the throne with the Daoist. For these three years, the prince was forbidden to enter the palace and unable to see his mother.” Tripitaka asked, “For what reason?” The man said, “This was a plan of that fiend, for he feared that if mother and son had a chance to meet, their casual conversations might lead them to discover the truth.”
“Though your ordeal no doubt has been preordained of Heaven,” said Tripitaka, “it is nonetheless similar to what I had to undergo. Long ago my father was killed by a pirate, who also took my mother by force. After three months, she gave birth to me, and I escaped with my life in the waters. It was my good fortune that a gracious master at the Gold Mountain Monastery reared me till I was grown. Come to think of it,
I had neither father nor mother when I was young,
And the prince at this place has lost his parents.
How pitiful indeed! But let me ask you, though you may have a prince still in court, how can I possibly get to meet him?” “Why not?” asked the man. Tripitaka said, “He’s now guarded by the demon, and he cannot even see his own mother. I’m only a monk. For what reason would I be able to have an audience with him?”
The man said, “But he is leaving the court tomorrow.”
“What for?” asked Tripitaka. The man said, “During the time of the early court tomorrow, the prince plans to lead three thousand men and horses, together with falcons and dogs, to go hunting outside the city. Master will certainly have a chance to meet him; when you do and if you are willing to tell him what I told you, he will believe you.”
“He’s of fleshly eyes and mortal stock,” said Tripitaka. “Having been deceived by the demon into remaining in the hall, was there a day when he did not address the spurious ruler as father king? How could he possibly believe my words?” “If you are afraid that he won’t believe you,” said the man, “we shall leave with you a sign to indicate that you are telling the truth.” “What kind of sign?” asked Tripitaka. The man put down the white jade token inlaid with gold he had in his hands and said, “This thing can be a sign.” “What’s the significance of this thing?” asked Tripitaka. The man said, “After the Daoist had changed into our form, all he lacked was this treasure. When he entered the palace, he claimed that the rain-making Daoist had robbed him of this jade token, which for three years now he had not been able to recover. If our prince sees it, the sight of the thing will remind him of its true owner, and our wrongs will be avenged.”
“All right,” said Tripitaka, “let me have it, and I’ll ask my disciple to take care of you. Will you wait here?”
“We dare not,” said the man. “We plan to ask the Night Patrol God to use another gust of divine wind and send us into the inner palace, where we shall appear in a dream to our true queen of the central palace. We want to make certain that mother and son will be of one mind with all of you.” Tripitaka nodded in agreement and said, “Please go.”
The wronged soul bowed to take leave of Tripitaka, who was trying to walk outside to send him off. Somehow he tripped and fell, and when Tripitaka woke up with a start, it was all a dream. As he faced the dim, flickering lamp in fear, he cried repeatedly, “Disciples! Disciples!”
“What’s all this hollering for the local spirit?”10 mumbled Eight Rules, beginning to stir. “I used to be a man of might dedicated to passing my days by devouring humans, and I loved the taste of blood and meat. What enjoyment! You have to leave the family and ask us to protect you on a journey. I thought I was to be a monk, but in fact I’m a slave! During the day I have to pole the luggage and lead the horse, while at night, I have to carry the night pot and smell someone’s stinky feet by sharing his bed. And even at this hour, you are not asleep! What are you calling disciples for?”
“Disciples,” said Tripitaka, “just now I fell asleep on the table and had a weird dream.” Leaping up all at once, Pilgrim said, “Dreams arise from your thoughts. Before you ascended a mountain, you were afraid of monsters already. You worried over the distance to Thunderclap, which you have yet to reach; you also thought of Chang’an and wondered when you would be able to return. When your mind is restless, you have many dreams. But look at old Monkey! With true single-mindedness I seek to see Buddha in the West, and that’s why I don’t have even the tiniest dream!”
Tripitaka said, “Disciple, this dream of mine is not a homesick dream. When I closed my eyes just now, a violent gust of wind brought into my view a king standing outside the door of our chamber. He said that he was the ruler of the Black Rooster Kingdom, but his whole body was dripping wet and he was weeping.” He then proceeded to give a thorough account of their conversation in the dream to Pilgrim. “No need to say anything more,” said Pilgrim, chuckling. “If he appears in this dream of yours to you, he’s plainly trying to take care of old Monkey by giving me some business. There must be a fiend there trying to usurp the throne and seize the kingdom. Let me distinguish the true from the false for those people. When my rod reaches that place, success is assured.”
“But disciple,” said Tripitaka, “he said that the fiend has great magic power.” “Don’t be afraid of whatever greatness he has!” said Pilgrim. “Just remember that when old Monkey arrives, he’ll have no place to run.” Tripitaka said, “I also remember that he left us something as a sign.” “Master, don’t fool around,” said Eight Rules. “It’s just a dream. Why keep up this chit-chat?” Sha Monk said, “As the saying goes,
Don’t believe the honesty of the honest;
Guard against the unkindness of the kind.
Let us fetch some torches and open our door, then we can see what has happened.”
Pilgrim indeed opened the door, and as they looked together, they saw in the light of the stars and moon there was truly a white jade token inlaid with gold placed on the steps. Eight Rules walked forward and picked it up, saying, “Elder Brother, what is this?” “This is a treasure usually held by a king,” said Pilgrim, “and it’s called a jade token. Master, since we do have such a thing, the matter of your dream has to be true. You can depend entirely on old Monkey for catching the fiend tomorrow. But I want you to face three unlucky things.”
“Fine! Fine! Fine!” said Eight Rules. “It’s enough to have a dream. You have to tell him about it, too! Since when has this fellow failed to play tricks on people? Now he wants you to face three unlucky things.” As he walked back inside, Tripitaka asked, “What three things?” Pilgrim said, “Tomorrow I want you to take the blame, take abuse, and catch the plague.” “Just one of these is bad enough,” said Eight Rules, laughing. “How could one bear all three of them?” The Tang Monk, after all, was an intelligent elder. He therefore asked, “Disciple, can you tell me more about what these three things involve?” “No need to tell you,” said Pilgrim, “but first let me give you these two objects.”
Dear Great Sage! Pulling off one of his hairs, he blew on it a mouthful of divine breath and cried, “Change!” It changed instantly into a red lacquered box plated in gold. After he placed the white jade token inside the box, he said, “Master, in the morning, you should hold this thing in your hands and put on your brocade cassock. Then go sit in the main hall and recite some sūtras. Let me go first to the city to have a look; if there is indeed a fiend, I’ll slay him so that we can achieve some merit at this place. But if there is no fiend, we ought not to incur calamity on ourselves.” “Exactly! Exactly!” said Tripitaka. Pilgrim said, “If the prince doesn’t leave the city, then there may not be much that I can do. But if he indeed comes out of the city in accordance with your dream, I will certainly bring him here to see you.”
“What shall I say to him when I see him?” asked Tripitaka. Pilgrim replied, “When he arrives, let me first come in and announce him. You can then pull the cover of the box open slightly, and I shall change into a tiny monk about two inches tall so that I, too, can be placed inside the box. You can hold the whole thing in your hands. When the prince enters the monastery, he will most certainly want to pay homage to Buddha. Let him bow all he wants, but don’t you pay him any attention. When he sees that you do not even rise before him, he will surely order you seized. Let him do that—in fact, let him beat you, tie you up, or execute you.” “Hey!” said Tripitaka. “He’s capable of issuing a high military order. If he truly wants to have me executed, what shall I do?”
“No fear, for I’m around,” said Pilgrim. “When you get to the crucial moment, I’ll be there to protect you. If he asks who you are, you can identify yourself as a monk sent by imperial decree from the Land of the East to present treasures to Buddha and to acquire scriptures from him in the Western Heaven. If he asks what sort of treasure you have, you can tell him about the brocade cassock of yours. Say to him, however, that it is only a third-class treasure, and that you have in your possession good things that belong to the first and second classes. When he asks you some more, you can then tell him that there is a treasure in this box, which has knowledge of the past five hundred years, the present five hundred years, and the future five hundred years. All in all, this treasure has complete knowledge of the events of past and future for a period of one thousand five hundred years. Let old Monkey come out then, and I shall tell the prince what you heard in your dream. If he believes me, I’ll go catch the demon, so that his father king may be avenged and our reputation may be established at this place. If he doesn’t believe me, we can then show him the white jade token. I fear that he might be a bit young even to recognize the token.”
When Tripitaka heard these words, he was very pleased, saying, “O Disciple, this is a most marvelous plan! But talk about these treasures, one will be called brocade cassock and the other white jade token. What shall be the name of that treasure you will change into?”
“Let’s call him King-Making Thing,” said Pilgrim.
Tripitaka agreed and kept these words in his heart. That whole night master and disciples did not, of course, have any sleep. Impatiently waiting for the dawn, they wish they could
By nodding their heads call forth the eastern sun,
And with one breath disperse all Heaven’s stars.
In a little while, the eastern sky paled with light. Pilgrim thereupon gave the following instruction to Eight Rules and Sha Monk, “Don’t disturb the monks, so that they won’t be milling about in the monastery. When I have accomplished what I must do, then we’ll journey again.” He took leave of them and somersaulted at once into the air. Opening wide his fiery eyes to look toward the West, he discovered that there was indeed a city. “How could he see it so readily?” you ask. The fact of the matter was that the city, as we told you before, was only forty miles away. So, the moment Pilgrim rose into the air, he saw it immediately.
As Pilgrim drew near the city and stared at it carefully, he saw that it was shrouded by unending layers of eerie mists and battered by constant gusts of demonic wind. Sighing to himself in the air, Pilgrim said,
If a true king ascends his precious throne,
Auspicious light and clouds will this place enfold.
Since a fiend has usurped the dragon seat,
Rising black mist seals up the doors of gold.
He was thus speaking to himself when he heard the loud booms of cannons. As the eastern gate swung open, a troop of men and horses appeared, indeed a hunting corps most fearsome in appearance. You see them:
Leaving the capital at dawn,
They go to hunt on the meadow.
Bright banners unfurl in the sun;
White stallions race against the wind.
The lizard-skin drums roll and roll
As tasseled lances strike in pairs.
The falconers are ferocious,
And whippers-in both mean and strong.
Fire cannons rattle the heavens
And birdlime poles glow in the sun.
Each one props up his arrows;
Every man wears his carved bows.
Spreading their nets beneath the slope,
They pull taut the ropes in the paths.
At one crack like a thunderclap,
A thousand steeds charge leopards and bears.
Tricky hares cannot save their lives;
Wily deer are at their wits’ end;
Foxes are fated to expire;
Antelopes perish in the midst.
If pheasants can’t fly to escape,
Could wild fowls find refuge from harm?
All of them ransack the mountain range to capture wild beasts,
And cut down the forest to shoot at flying things!
After those people had come out of the city, they spread out in the countryside toward the east, and in a little while they reached the rice fields on the highland some twenty miles away. In the midst of the troops there was a young warrior, who
Wore a helmet
And a cuirass;
A cummerbund, too,
Of eighteen layers.
His hands held a treasure sword of blue steel and he rode a brown warhorse. A fully strung bow also hung from his waist. Truly
He seemed faintly like a king,
A ruler with noble looks.
His features were not uncouth:
Like a true dragon he moved.
Secretly pleased in the air, Pilgrim said to himself, “That one has to be the crown prince. Let me tease him a little.” Dear Great Sage! He lowered his cloud and darted straight into the army of the prince. Shaking his body once, he changed instantly into a little white rabbit, scampering about before the prince’s horse. When the prince saw it, he could not have been more delighted. Pulling out an arrow, he stretched his bow to the fullest and shot the rabbit squarely with it.
The Great Sage, of course, had made it possible for the prince to hit him; being quick of hand and eye, he actually had caught the arrow. After dropping some of the arrow’s feathers on the ground, he turned and sped away. When the prince saw the arrow had found its mark on the rabbit, he urged his horse on to give chase all by himself. He did not realize that he was being led away deliberately: when the horse galloped, Pilgrim ran like the wind, but when the horse slowed down, Pilgrim also took up a more leisurely pace just to stay slightly ahead of him. Mile after mile it went on like this, until the prince was lured right up to the gate of the Precious Grove Monastery. Changing back into his true form (the rabbit thus disappeared and only the hawk-feathered arrow was stuck on the doorpost), Pilgrim raced inside yelling to the Tang Monk, “Master, he’s here, he’s here!” He changed again, this time into a tiny monk about two inches tall, and crawled at once into the red box.
We now tell you about the prince, who chased his prey right up to the monastery gate; he could not find the white rabbit, but he saw an eagle-plumed arrow stuck on the doorpost. Greatly startled and turning pale, the prince said, “Strange! Strange! I clearly shot the white rabbit with my arrow. How could the rabbit disappear, and only the arrow be seen here? It must be that after years and months, the rabbit has turned into a spirit.” He pulled out the arrow and raised his head to look: there on top of the gate of the monastery were written seven words in large characters, “Precious Grove Monastery Built by Imperial Command.” “Now I know,” said the prince. “Years ago my father king, I recall, did send some officials from the Hall of Golden Chimes to take some gold here so that the monks could redecorate the images and the halls. I didn’t expect that I would be here today. Truly,
There, in a bamboo-shaded walk,
With a good monk I fell to talk.
So in this tedious mortal round
One afternoon of peace I found.11
Let me go inside for a walk.”
Leaping down from the horse, the prince was about to enter the monastery, when those three thousand men and horses who were accompanying him also arrived. As they crowded into the monastery, the resident monks hurriedly came kowtowing to receive them into the main hall so that they could pay homage to the images of Buddha. Afterwards, they raised their eyes to look about, intending to tour the corridors and enjoy the scenery, when they suddenly discovered that there was a monk sitting right in the middle of the hall. Becoming enraged at once, the prince said, “This monk is terribly rude! Half a throne of this dynasty has entered this monastery. Though I have issued no decree for this visit so that he has been spared from meeting us at a great distance, he should now at least get up when soldiers and horses are at the door. How dare he sit there unmoved? Seize him!”
He said “Seize,” and the guards on both sides immediately attempted to catch hold of the Tang Monk so that they could bind him with ropes. Sitting in the box, Pilgrim recited in silence a spell, saying, “You various Guardians of the Faith, the Six Gods of Darkness and the Six Gods of Light, I am drawing up a plan to subdue a fiend. This prince, ignorant of the matter, is about to have my master bound with ropes. All of you must protect him. If he’s really bound, you all will be found guilty.” When the Great Sage gave such an order in secret, who would dare disobey him! The deities indeed gave protection to Tripitaka in such a way that those people could not even touch his bald head. It was as if a brick wall had come between them, so that they could not approach him at all.
“Where did you come from, monk,” said the prince, “that you dare use this magic of body concealment to mock me?” Tripitaka walked up to him instead and saluted him, saying, “This poor monk does not know any magic of body concealment. I am the Tang Monk from the Land of the East, a priest going to present treasures to Buddha and to acquire scriptures from him in the Western Heaven.” The prince said, “Though your Land of the East is actually the central plains, it is incomparably poor. What kind of treasures do you have? You tell me!” “The cassock I have on my body,” said Tripitaka, “is a treasure of the third class. But I have in addition those of the first and second classes as well, and they are even better things.” “That garment of yours,” said the prince, “covers only one side of your body, while your arm sticks out on the other side. How much could it be worth that you dare call it a treasure?” Tripitaka said, “Though this cassock does not completely cover the body, I have several lines of a poem which will reveal its excellence. The poem says:
The Buddha’s gown’s a half robe, there’s no need to say.
It hides within the Real, free of worldly dust.
Countless threads and stitches perfect this right fruit;
Eight treasures and nine pearls fuse with the primal soul.
Maidens divine did make it reverently
To give to a monk to cleanse his sullied frame.
It’s all right to see but not to greet the Throne.
But you, your father’s wrong unrequited, have lived in vain!”
When the prince heard these words, he grew very angry, saying, “This brazen Chan monk is talking rubbish! Your clever mouth and slippery tongue may boast all you will of that half a piece of garment. But since when have I not requited my father’s wrong? You tell me.”
Taking a step forward, Tripitaka folded his hands and said, “Your Highness, how many favors does a man receive as he lives in this world?” “Four favors,” said the prince. “Which four?” asked Tripitaka. “The favor of shelter and support provided by Heaven and Earth,” said the prince, “the favor of the luminous presence of the sun and the moon, the favor of provisions from the ruler and his land, and the favor of his parents’ breeding and nurture.” With a smile, Tripitaka said, “The words of Your Highness are not quite right. A man has only the shelter and support of Heaven and Earth, the luminous presence of the sun and the moon, and the provisions from the land of his king. Where does he get his parent’s breeding and nurture?”
“This monk,” said the prince angrily, “is an idle and ungrateful man, who shaves his hair only to commit treason! If a man has no parental breeding and nurture, where does his body come from?”
“Your Highness,” said Tripitaka, “this humble monk does not know the answer, but inside this red box is a treasure called the King-Making Thing. He has knowledge of events of the past five hundred years, the present five hundred years, and the future five hundred years. All in all, he knows completely the events of past and future for a period of one thousand five hundred years, and he knows that there is no such favor of parental breeding and nurture. It is he who has ordered your poor monk to wait here for you for a long time.”
Hearing this, the prince gave the order, “Bring him here for me to see.” Tripitaka pulled open the box’s cover; Pilgrim leaped out and began to hobble all over the place. The prince said, “This little midget! What can he know?” When Pilgrim heard this remark about his size, he at once resorted to magic. Straightening up his torso, he grew about three and a half feet instantly. “If he can grow that rapidly,” said the soldiers, highly startled, “it will only be a few days before he pierces the sky.” When Pilgrim reached his normal height, however, he stopped growing. Then the prince asked him, “King-Making Thing, this old monk claims that you have the knowledge of past and future, of good and evil. Do you divine by the tortoise shell, by the stalks of plants, or do you use books to determine human fortunes?” “None of these,” said Pilgrim, “for
I need my three-inch tongue solely,
When I know all things completely.”
“This fellow, too, is babbling!” said the prince. “Since the time of antiquity,
the book, Classic of Change of the Zhou dynasty, has proved to be supremely
marvelous in determining throughout the world good and evil for man to seek or avoid. Therefore tortoise shells or plant stalks are used for divination. But if one relies solely on your words, what evidence is there? Your empty words on luck or misfortune can only vex the minds of people.”
Pilgrim said, “Please do not be hasty, Your Highness. You are actually a prince begotten of the King of the Black Rooster Kingdom. Five years ago, you had a severe drought here and all the people were in such great suffering that your king and his subjects had to offer fervent prayers. Though not a drop of rain came, a Daoist arrived from the Zhongnan Mountain, who was an expert in summoning wind and rain and in transforming stone into gold. The king was so fond of him that he became his sworn brother. Is all this true?”
“Yes, yes, yes!” said the prince. “Say some more.”
Pilgrim said, “After three years, the Daoist disappeared, and who is he now who uses the royal ‘we’?” The prince said, “There was indeed a Daoist, with whom father king swore to be his brother. In fact, they ate together and rested together. Three years ago when they were enjoying the sights of the imperial garden, the Daoist used a gust of magic wind and transported back to Zhongnan Mountain the gold inlaid white jade token that father king had in his hands. Even now, however, father king still misses him, and because of his absence, has closed down the garden for three years. But who is now ruling, if not my father king?” When Pilgrim heard these words, he began to snicker. The prince asked him again, but instead of replying, he only continued to snicker some more. “Why don’t you speak when you should?” said the prince angrily. “Why do you snicker like that?” “I still have plenty to say,” said Pilgrim, “but there are so many people around and it’s not convenient for me to speak up.”
When the prince saw that there might be some reason for such a statement, he waved his sleeve once to dismiss the soldiers. The captain of the guards immediately gave the order to have the three thousand men and horses stationed outside the monastery gate. The hall was thus nearly emptied of people, with only the prince sitting in the middle, the elder standing before him, and Pilgrim to his left. After even the resident monks retired, then Pilgrim went forward and said to him soberly, “Your Highness, the one who left with the wind is actually your true father, but the one who occupies the throne now is the Daoist who made rain.”
“Nonsense! Nonsense!” said the prince. “Since the departure of the Daoist, my father has governed so well that the wind and rain are seasonal, the country is prosperous, and the people are secure. But if what you say is true, then the present ruler is not my father king. It’s a good thing that I am young and I can be somewhat tolerant. If my father king hears such treasonous words from you, he will have you seized and hewn to pieces.” He dismissed Pilgrim with a snort. Turning to the Tang Monk, Pilgrim said, “You see? I said that he wouldn’t believe me, and indeed he does not. Take the treasure now and present it to him. After certifying our rescript, we can proceed to the Western Heaven.” Tripitaka handed the red box over to Pilgrim, who having received it, shook his body and the box disappeared. It was, you see, actually the transformation of his hair that was retrieved by him. With both hands, Pilgrim presented the white jade token to the prince.
When he saw the object, the prince shouted, “What a monk! What a monk! You were the Daoist of five years ago who came to cheat our household of this treasure. Now you are disguised as a monk to present it back to us? Seize him!” When he shouted the order like that, the elder was so frightened that he pointed at Pilgrim and said, “You BanHorsePlague! You have a special knack for causing trouble and bringing calamity on me!” “Don’t shout!” said Pilgrim, walking up to the prince to stop him. “Don’t let this thing leak out. I’m not called KingMaking Thing, for I have a real name.” “You come up here!” said the prince angrily. “Answer me with your real name so that I can send you to the bureau of justice to sentence you.”
Pilgrim said, “I’m the senior disciple of this elder, and my name is Wukong Pilgrim Sun. Because my master and I were on our way to acquire scriptures in the Western Heaven, we arrived last night and found lodging here. My master was reading the sūtras in the night, and at about the hour of the third watch, he dreamed that your father appeared to him. Your father claimed that he was harmed by that Daoist, who pushed him into the octagonal well with the marble wall in the imperial garden. The Daoist changed into the form of your father, and this was not known to any of the court officials nor to you since you were so young. You were forbidden to enter the inner palace, and the garden was shut down so that the truth could not be discovered, I suppose. Your father king came specially in the night to ask me to subdue this demon. At first, I was afraid that the murderer was not a demon, but when I surveyed the city in midair, I could see that there was a monster-spirit all right. I was about to seize him when you came out of the city to hunt. The white rabbit that you shot with your arrow happened to be this old Monkey, who led you here to the monastery to see my master. Every word that we have said to you is the truth. If you could recognize this white jade token, how could you possibly not think of your father’s care and love and seek vengeance for him?”
When the prince heard these words, he became grief stricken, thinking to himself sorrowfully, “Even if I don’t believe him, his words seem to have at least thirty percent truth. But if I believe him, how could I face the father king now in the palace?” This is what we call
To advance or retreat is hard, so the mind asks the mouth;
To think thrice, to have patience—as the mouth asks the mind.
When Pilgrim saw how perplexed he was, he said again, “Your Highness, there’s no need for perplexity. Let Your Highness return to your kingdom, and make inquiry of your queen mother. Ask her whether the feelings between her and her husband are the same as three years before. Just this one question will reveal the truth.” Persuaded by this, the prince said, “Yes, let me go and inquire of my mother.” Leaping up, he took hold of the white jade token and wanted to leave. Pilgrim, however, tugged at him, saying, “If all these men and horses of yours return with you, someone is bound to leak out information, and it’ll be hard for me to succeed. You must, therefore, go back alone, and don’t make a show of yourself. Don’t go through the Central Gate of the Sun, but enter the palace through the Rear Gate of the Servants. When you get to see your mother in the palace, you must remember not to speak loftily or loudly; you must speak quietly and in a subdued manner. For I fear that the fiend has great magic powers, and if he ever gets wind of the news, it’ll be difficult to preserve the lives of you and your mother.” The prince obeyed this instruction; walking out the door, he gave this order to the officers; “Stay and camp here. Don’t move. I have something to attend to. When I return, we shall go back to the city together.” Look at him!
He gave his troops the order to pitch their camp,
And sped to his city on a flying horse.
As he left, we do not know what they have to say when he sees his mother; let’s listen to the explanation in the next chapter.