We were telling you that the king, who was leaning on his dragon table, wept without ceasing until night fell, his tears gushing forth like a stream. Finally Pilgrim went up to him and shouted, “How could you be so dimwitted? Look at the corpses of those Daoists: one happens to be that of a tiger and the other, a deer. Goat-Strength was, in fact, an antelope. If you don’t believe me, let his bones be bailed out for you to see. How could humans have skeletons like that? These three Daoists were all mountain beasts which had become spirits, united in their efforts to come here and plot against you. When they saw that your nodal fate was still in strong ascendancy,1 they dared not harm you as yet. After two or more years when your nodal fate declines, they would have taken your life and your entire kingdom would have been theirs. It was fortunate that we came in time to exterminate these deviates and save your life. And you are still weeping? What for? Bring us our rescript at once and send us on our way.” Only when he had heard this from Pilgrim did the king return to his senses. The civil and military officials also went forward to report to him, saying, “The dead indeed turn out to be a white deer and a yellow tiger, while bones in the cauldron do belong to an antelope. It is unwise not to listen to the words of the holy monk.” “In that case,” said the king, “we are grateful to the holy monk. It’s late already. Let the Grand Preceptor escort the holy monks back to Wisdom Depth Monastery to rest. During early court tomorrow, we shall open up the Eastern Pavilion and command the Court of Imperial Entertainments to prepare a huge vegetarian banquet to thank them.” The priests were escorted back to the monastery.
At the time of the fifth watch the following morning, the king held court for many officials. He at once issued a decree to summon the Buddhist monks to return to the city, and this decree was to be posted on every road and on all four gates. After also giving the order for the preparation of a huge banquet, he sent his imperial chariot to the Wisdom Depth Monastery to invite Tripitaka and followers back to the Eastern Pavilion for the feast, and we shall speak no more of that.
We tell you now instead about those monks who succeeded in escaping with their lives. When they heard of the decree that was promulgated, every one of them was delighted and began to return to the city to search for the Great Sage Sun, to thank him, and to return his hairs. Meanwhile, the elder, after the banquet was over, obtained the rescript from the king, who led the queen, the concubines, and two rows of civil and military officials out the gate of the court to see the priests off. As they came out, they found many monks kneeling on both sides of the road, saying, “Father Great Sage, Equal to Heaven, we are the monks who escaped with our lives on the beach. When we heard that Father had wiped out the demons and rescued us, and when we further heard that our king had issued a decree commanding our return, we came here to present to you the hairs and to thank you for your Heavenly grace.” “How many of you came back?” asked Pilgrim, chuckling. They replied, “All five hundred. None’s missing.” Pilgrim shook his body once and immediately retrieved his hairs. Then he said to the king and the lay people, “These monks indeed were released by old Monkey. The cart was smashed after old Monkey moved it beyond the double passes and through the interlocking spinal ridge, and it was Monkey also who beat to death those two perverse Daoists. After such pestilence has been exterminated this day, you should realize that the true way belongs to the gate of Chan. Hereafter you should never believe foolishly in any doctrine that comes along. I hope you will honor the unity of the Three Religions: revere the monks, revere also the Daoists, and take care to nurture the talented. Your kingdom, I assure you, will be secure forever.” The king gave his assent and his thanks repeatedly before he escorted the Tang Monk out of the city.
And so, their journey had as its purpose
A diligent search for the three canons;
A strenuous quest for the primal light.
As they proceeded, they walked by day and rested by night; they drank when they were thirsty and ate when they were hungry. Spring ended, summer waned, and soon it was again the time of autumn. One day toward evening, the Tang Monk reined in his horse and said, “Disciples, where shall we find shelter for the night?” “Master,” said Pilgrim, “a man who has left the family should not speak as one who remains in the family.” Tripitaka said, “How would a man in the family speak? And how would a man who has left the family speak?” “In this time of the year,” said Pilgrim, “a man who remains in the family will enjoy the benefits of a warm bed and snug blankets; he has his children in his bosom and his wife next to his legs. That’s how comfortably he will sleep! Now, how could we who have left the family expect to enjoy such things? We must be cloaked by the stars and wrapped by the moon; we must dine on the winds and rest by the waters. We move on if there’s a road, and we stop only when we come to its end.” “Elder Brother,” said Eight Rules, “you know only one thing, but you can’t see its implications. Look how treacherous is this road we’re walking on! I have such a heavy load on me that I find it difficult even to walk. Please find some place where I can have a good night’s rest and regain my strength. By morning, I can face the load once more. Otherwise, I’ll die of fatigue!” “Let’s move on a little further then in this moonlight,” said Pilgrim, “and we can stop when we reach some place where there are houses.” Master and disciples had no choice but to follow Pilgrim forward.
They did not journey long before they heard the sound of rushing water. “Finished!” said Eight Rules. “We’ve come to the end of the road!” “We are blocked by a torrent of water,” said Sha Monk. The Tang Monk asked, “How could we get across?” “Let me test it to discover how deep it is first,” said Eight Rules. Tripitaka said, “Wuneng, don’t speak such nonsense! How could you test the depth or shallowness of water?” “I’ll find an egg-shaped pebble,” said Eight Rules, “and throw it in: if it splashes and foam comes up, it’s shallow; if it sinks down with a gurgling sound, then it’s deep.” “Go and test it,” said Pilgrim. Our Idiot groped on the ground and found a stone, which he threw into the water; all they heard was a gurgling sound as if fishes were releasing bubbles as the stone sank down to the bottom. “Deep! Deep! Deep!” he said. “We can’t cross it!” “Though you may have discovered its depth,” said the Tang Monk, “you may not know how wide it is.” “Indeed not! Indeed not!” said Eight Rules. Pilgrim said, “Let me have a look.” Dear Great Sage! He somersaulted at once into the air and fixed his gaze on the water. He saw
The moon soaked in vast sheens of light;
The sky’s image drenched in the deep;
A spirit branch gulping mountains;
A long river feeding hundred streams;
A thousand foaming layers churn;
Ten thousand folds of mountlike waves;
(No fisher-fires lit up the banks
But egrets rested by the beach.)
An oceanlike vast expanse,
With no boundaries in sight.
He dropped down quickly from the clouds to the bank of the river, saying, “Master, it’s very wide! Very wide! We can’t get across! These fiery eyes and diamond pupils of old Monkey can discern good and evil up to a thousand miles during the day, and even at night, they can cover a distance of four or five hundred miles. Just now I couldn’t even see the other shore. How could I tell the width of the river?”
Horrified, Tripitaka could not say a word for a long time. Then he sobbed out, “O Disciple! What shall we do?” “Master, please don’t cry,” said Sha Monk. “Look over there! Isn’t that a man standing by the water?” Pilgrim said, “He could be a fisherman lowering his nets, I suppose. Let me go and ask him.” Holding his iron rod, he sprinted forward to have a closer look. Ah! It was not a man, but only a stone monument, on which were written three large words in seal script and two rows of smaller words down below. The three large words were: Heaven-Reaching River. The two rows of smaller words read:
A width of eight hundred miles
Which few, from days of old, have crossed.
“Master,” Pilgrim called out, “come and look.” When Tripitaka saw the monument, tears rolled down his cheeks, saying, “O Disciple! When I left Chang’an that year, I thought that the way to the Western Heaven was quite easy. How could I know of the obstacles of demons and monsters, the long distance over mountains and waters!”
“Master,” said Eight Rules, “listen for a moment. Isn’t that the sound of drums and cymbals coming from somewhere? It must be that some family is feasting the monks. Let’s go over there and beg for some vegetarian food and make inquiry concerning the possibility of finding a boat to take us across tomorrow.” Cocking his ears as he rode, Tripitaka indeed heard the sound of drums and cymbals. “These are not the musical instruments of Daoists,” he said. “It has to be some religious service conducted by us Buddhists. Let us go over there.” Pilgrim led the horse in front and all of them proceeded toward where the music was coming from. There was actually no road for them to walk on, only a rolling sandy beach. Presently, they saw a group of well-built houses, about four or five hundred of them altogether. They saw that these houses were
Close by the hill and the roads,
Next to the shores and the stream.
Every where the wooden fences were shut;
The bamboo yard of each house was closed.
Egrets resting on sand dunes had peaceful dreams;
Birds nesting on willows voiced their chilly tunes.
The short flutes were silent;
The washing flails had no rhythm.
Red smartweed twigs quaked in moonlight;
Yellow rush leaves battled the wind.
A village dog barked through sparse field fences;
An old fisher slept on his ford-moored boat,
Where lights were low,
And human bustles, quiet.
The bright moon seemed a mirror hung in the air,
The scent of duckweed blossoms all at once
Was sent by the west wind from the far shore.
As Tripitaka dismounted, he saw a house at the head of a path; before the house was erected a pole with a banner flying, while the inside was ablaze with lamps and candles and filled with fragrant incense. “Wukong,” said Tripitaka, “what we have here is certainly better than either the fold of the mountain or the edge of the river. At least the eaves of the roof can provide some shelter from the night mists, and we can rest without fears. You, however, should stay behind first, and let me go up to that patron’s door to make known our request. If he is willing to let us stay, I’ll call for you; but if he’s unwilling, all of you are not to let loose any mischief. You are, after all, quite ugly in your appearances, and I fear that you may frighten them. Offending these people may mean that we shall have nowhere at all to stay.” “What you say is quite right,” said Pilgrim. “Please go first, Master, and we’ll wait for you here.”
Taking off his broad-brimmed bamboo hat, the elder shook the dirt from his clerical robe and went up to the door of the house, holding the priestly staff in his hands. He found the door half-closed; not daring to enter without permission, the elder stood still and waited for a brief moment, when an old man, with some beads hanging around his neck, emerged from the house, chanting the name of Buddha as he walked. Seeing that the old man was about to shut the door, however, the elder hurriedly pressed his palms together and cried out, “Old Benefactor, this humble priest salutes you.” Returning his greeting, the old man said, “You are too late, monk.” “What do you mean?” said Tripitaka. “I mean that you won’t get anything because you are late,” said the old man. “If you had come earlier, you would have found that we were feasting the monks. After you have eaten your fill, you would then be given an additional three ounces of cooked rice, a bale of white cloth, and ten strings of copper pennies. Why do you come at this hour?”
“Old Benefactor,” said Tripitaka, bowing, “this humble priest is not here to be feasted.” “If you are not,” said the old man, “then why have you come here?” Tripitaka said, “I am someone sent by imperial decree of the Great Tang in the Land of the East to acquire scriptures in the Western Heaven. It was late when we arrived at your region. When we heard the sound of drums and cymbals from your house, we came to ask you for one night’s lodging. We’ll leave by morning.” “Monk,” said the old man, waving his hand gently, “a man who has left the family should not lie. The distance between our place here and your Great Tang in the Land of the East happens to be fifty-four thousand miles. A single person like you, how could you come here all by yourself?” “That’s an exceptionally accurate observation, Old Benefactor,” said Tripitaka, “but I am not alone. I have three disciples, who have opened up a path through the mountains and built bridges when we came upon the waters. It was because of their being my escorts that I could arrive here today.” “If you have disciples,” said the old man, “why haven’t they come with you? Please invite them forth at once! My house has enough room for all of you.” Turning around, Tripitaka said, “Disciples, come here.” Now, Pilgrim was by nature rather impulsive, Eight Rules was born without manners, and Sha Monk, too, happened to be very impetuous. The moment the three of them heard their master beckoning, they rushed like a cyclone toward the house, dragging the horse and the luggage along. When the old man caught sight of them, he was so terrified that he fell on the ground, crying repeatedly, “Monsters are here! Monsters are here!” Raising him with his hands, Tripitaka said, “Don’t be afraid, Benefactor. They are not monsters. They are my disciples.” Trembling all over, the old man said, “Such a handsome master! Why did you take such ugly disciples?” “Though they are not good to look at,” said Tripitaka, “they are quite knowledgeable in taming tigers and subduing dragons, in seizing monsters and capturing fiends.” Not fully believing what he heard, the old man supported himself on the Tang Monk and walked slowly with him inside.
We tell you now about those three rogues, who dashed into the hall, where they dropped their luggage and tied up the horse. There were at that time several priests in the hall reciting sūtras. Sticking out his long snout, Eight Rules shouted at them, “Hey monks! Which sūtra are you reciting?” On hearing this, those monks raised their heads and all at once
They saw a visitor,
With long snout and huge ears,
A thick frame and wide shoulders,
A voice that boomed like thunder.
But Pilgrim and Sha Monk
Were in looks e’en uglier.
Of those priests in the hall
None was not in terror.
They tried to keep reciting
But were stopped by their leader.
They left their stones and bells
And forsook the graven Buddhas.
The lamps were all blown out,
And torches all smothered.
They scrambled and they stumbled,
The doorsills falling over.
Like gourds when props were down,
Their heads bumped one another.
A pure, serene plot of ritual
Became a cause of great laughter!
When the three brothers saw how those priests stumbled and fell all over, they clapped their hands and roared with laughter. More terrified than ever, those priests banged into one another as they fled for their lives and deserted the place. Tripitaka led the old man up the hall, but the lights and lamps were completely out, while the three of them were still in guffaws. “You brazen creatures!” scolded the Tang Monk. “You are so wicked! Haven’t I taught you every day, admonished you every morning? The ancients said,
To be virtuous without instruction,
Is this not sagacity?
To be virtuous after instruction,
Is this not nobility?
To be virtueless even after instruction,
Is this not stupidity?
The way you have perpetrated mischief has just shown you to be people of the greatest baseness and stupidity! You barged into someone’s door without any manners! You have frightened the old Benefactor and scattered the priests reciting the sūtras, completely spoiling the good works of others. Wouldn’t I be blamed for all this?” He spoke with such vehemence that they dared not utter a word in reply, and only then did the old man become convinced that they were his disciples. He turned quickly to bow to Tripitaka, saying, “Venerable Father, it doesn’t matter! It doesn’t matter! They were putting out the lights just now because the ceremony was almost done anyway.” “If it’s over,” said Eight Rules, “bring out the end-of-service feast so that we can enjoy it and sleep.” “Bring out the lights! Bring out the lights!” cried the old man. Some of the members of his household, when they heard him, began to complain to themselves, “There are enough candles already in the hall for the religious service. Why is he calling for lights?” A few houseboys came out to see for themselves and they found the hall in complete darkness. Returning hurriedly with torches and lanterns, they suddenly saw the forms of Eight Rules and Sha Monk. So terrified by the sight they were that they dropped their torches and dashed inside, slamming shut the mid-level door and shouting all the time, “There are monsters here! There are monsters here!”
Picking up one of the torches, Pilgrim relit the lamps and the candles before he pulled a chair to the middle of the hall for the Tang Monk to sit on. Then he and his brothers sat down on both sides and the old man took a seat in front of all of them. As they sett led into their seats, they heard the inner door open and another old man walked out, supporting himself on a staff. “What kind of perverse demons are you,” he said, “that you dare enter the door of a virtuous family in the dark of night?” The old man, who was seated, quickly arose and met him behind the screens, saying, “No need to clamor, Elder Brother. They are no perverse demons, but arhats sent to acquire scriptures by the Great Tang in the Land of the East. Though they look vicious, they are actually quite gentle.” Only then did the other old man put down his staff and bow to greet all four of the visitors, after which, he also took a seat in the front of the hall. “Bring out the tea,” he cried, “and prepare us some vegetarian food.” He had to call several times before several houseboys, still trembling, emerged, though they still did not dare walk near the visitors.
Unable to contain himself, Eight Rules said, “Old man, why are your servants milling about on both sides?” “I told them to bring out some vegetarian food to serve to the Venerable Fathers,” said the old man. Eight Rules asked, “How many are there to serve us?” “Eight of them,” said the old man. “Which of us are they going to serve?” said Eight Rules. “Why, all four of you!” said the old man. Eight Rules said, “That pale-faced master requires only one person to serve him; the one with the hairy face and thunder-god beak needs only two. But the one with the gloomy complexion will have to have eight persons, and, as for me, nothing less than twenty attendants will do.” “If I understand you correctly,” said the old man, “you are trying to tell me that you have a large appetite.” “It’s passable, passable,” said Eight Rules. “Well,” said the old man, “there are plenty of people here.” Young and old, he managed to summon thirty servants to come out.
As the two old men spoke amiably with the monks, the rest of the household felt more at ease. A table was set up in the middle of the hall and the Tang Monk was asked to take the honored seat. Three other tables were set up on both sides for the disciples, while the two old men were seated at another table facing all of them. Fruits and vegetables were presented first, after which they brought out glutenous rice, plain rice, side dishes, and soup with vermicelli. After the food
was laid out properly, the elder Tang lifted his chopsticks and recited the Fast-
Breaking Sūtra. Our Idiot, however, was an impulsive eater for one thing, and he
was hungry for another. Without waiting for the Tang Monk to finish his recitation, he grabbed one of the red lacquered wooden bowls and hurled a whole bowl full of rice into his mouth. Every grain of it immediately vanished! One of the young attendants on the side said, “This Venerable Father is not very smart! If you want to snatch something and hide it in your sleeve, why don’t you take some steamed buns? Why do you snatch a bowl of rice instead? Won’t it soil your clothing?” “I didn’t put it in my sleeve,” said Eight Rules, chuckling. “I ate it!” “You have hardly moved your mouth,” said the young man. “How could you have eaten it?” “Only your son would lie!” said Eight Rules. “Of course I ate it! If you don’t believe me, I’ll eat some more for you to see!” The young man indeed picked up the bowl, filled it with rice once more, and handed the bowl to Eight Rules. Idiot took it, and instantly he gulped it all down with a flick of his hand. When the houseboys saw this, they cried, “O Father! You must have a throat lined with polished bricks! It’s so level and smooth!” Before the Tang Monk had finished reciting one sūtra, Idiot had downed five or six bowls of rice. After that, they raised their chopsticks to enjoy the other kinds of food. Without regard for whether they were fruits, rice, glutenous rice, or side dishes, Idiot simply scooped them all up with his hands and stuffed them into his mouth, calling all the time, “More rice! More rice! Where are you all disappearing to?” “Worthy Brother,” said Pilgrim, “please don’t eat so much! We are already much better off than trying to endure hunger in the fold of the mountain. It’s good enough if you are half-filled.” “Never mind,” said Eight Rules. “As the proverb says,
The priest half-fed
Is worse than dead!”
“Take away the housewares,” said Pilgrim. “Don’t mind him!” Bowing, the two old men said, “To tell you the truth, there is no problem whatever if it is during the day, for we can easily feed over a hundred priests like our big-bellied elder here. But it’s late now. We have put away the leftovers, and we have managed to steam only one stone of glutenous rice and five barrels of plain rice together with a few tablefuls of vegetarian food. We were about to invite a few neighbors to disperse the blessings with the priests. When all of you arrived, the priests became frightened and left, and we dared not even ask our neighbors or kin to come here. Everything that had been prepared was already presented to you. But if you are not yet filled, we can steam some more.” “Steam some more! Steam some more!” said Eight Rules.
After they finished eating, the tables and dishes were put aside. Tripitaka stood up and bowed to the two old men to thank them for the feast. Then he asked, “Old Benefactors, what is your honored name?” One of them said, “Our surname is Chen.” Pressing his palms together, Tripitaka said, “We share the same illustrious ancestors.” “So the Venerable Father also has the surname of Chen?” asked one of the old men. “Yes,” said Tripitaka, “that is the name of my secular home. May I ask what kind of religious service was held just now?” “Why do you ask, Master?” said Eight Rules, laughing. “Can’t you guess? It has to be a service for harvest, or for peace, or for the completion of a building. Nothing more!” “No, no,” said the old man. “Truly, what was it for then?” asked Tripitaka again. The old man replied, “It’s a preparatory mass for the dead.” Laughing so hard that he could hardly remain seated, Eight Rules said, “Grandpa, you aren’t very perceptive! We are experts in half-truths, masters of humbug! How could you hope to deceive us with that fraudulent title? You think that monks are ignorant of masses and religious services? You may hold a preparatory mass for the transference of merit, or for the presentation of a votive offering. Since when was there ever a preparatory mass for the dead? There is no one in your house who has died. How could you have a mass for the dead?”
When Pilgrim heard these words, he was secretly pleased and thought to himself, “This Idiot is getting smarter!” Then he said, “Old Grandpa, you must have been mistaken. What is this preparatory mass for the dead?” Instead of replying at once, the two old men bowed and said, “How did all of you turn from the main road to acquire scriptures and arrive at our place?” Pilgrim said, “We were walking along the main road, but it was barred by a torrent of water and we could not cross it. Then we heard the sound of cymbals and drums, and that led us here to ask you for a night’s lodging.” “When you reached the edge of the water,” said the old man, “did you see anything?” “Only a stone monument,” said Pilgrim, “with the three-word inscription, Heaven-Reaching River. Below it, there were the words:
A width of eight hundred miles
Which few, from days of old, have crossed.
There was no other thing.”
“If you had gone about a mile inland from the monument,” said one of the old men, “you would have come upon a temple of the Great King of Numinous Power. But you didn’t see it?” “We did not,” said Pilgrim. “Tell us, old Grandpa, what is this Numinous Power?”
At once the two old men began to shed tears as they said, “O Venerable Father! That Great King was
Potent to move one place to build his shrine;
Numinous to bless people far and near.
He sends us sweet rains from month to month,
And auspicious clouds from year to year.”
Pilgrim said, “Sending sweet rains and auspicious clouds indicate good intentions, but you are so sad and dejected. Why?” Beating their chests and stamping their feet, the old men sighed deeply and said, “O Venerable Father!
Though favors abound, there’s also spite.
He would hurt life even when he is kind.
For his love to eat virgin boys and girls,
He is no patent god of righteous mind!”
“So he likes to devour virgin boys and girls?” asked Pilgrim. “Yes,” said the old men. Pilgrim said, “I suppose it’s your family’s turn now?” “Indeed it is,” said one of the old men. “Our village here consists of over one hundred families, and it belongs to the Yuanhui County of the Cart Slow Kingdom. The name of this village of ours is the Chen Village. Every year this Great King requires the sacrifice of a virgin boy and a virgin girl in addition to the offering of various kinds of livestock like hogs and sheep. When he has devoured all of these to his satisfaction, he would bless us with wind and rain in due season. If there is no such sacrifice for him, he will inflict upon us all kinds of calamity.” “How many esteemed sons do you have in your family?” asked Pilgrim. “Alas! Alas!” said the older of the two men, beating his breast. “Why mention ‘esteemed sons’? The term would only embarrass us to death! This is my brother, Chen Qing, and I am called Chen Cheng.2 He is fifty-eight and I am sixty-three, both badly off for children. Since I had no children even when I was fifty, friends and relatives urged me to take a concubine. I had no choice but to do so and a girl was born later. Her name is One Load of Gold, and she is barely eight this year.” “What an expensive name!” said Eight Rules. “Why was she given it?” The old man said, “Since I was childless for so many years, I persisted in repairing bridges and roads, in erecting temples and stūpas, and in the feasting of monks. I kept a record of all I spent—a few ounces here and a few ounces there—and by the time my daughter was born, I had spent exactly thirty pounds of gold. Thirty pounds make one load, and that was how she got her name.”
“And does he have a son?” asked Pilgrim. The old man said, “He has, indeed, a son born also of a concubine. He is only seven years old, and his name is Chen Guanbao.”3 “Why such a name?” asked Pilgrim, and the old man said, “Because our family worships the Holy Father Guan, and the child was conceived after prayers were offered to the Holy Father. That’s why he has such a name. The joint age of my brother and me is over one hundred and twenty, but we have only these two children to perpetuate our families. How could we ever anticipate that the turn to provide the victims would fall on us! We dare not, of course, refuse, but it is difficult to give up our precious children. It was for the welfare of their souls that we established this plot of ritual in advance, and that was the reason I named it the preparatory mass for the dead.”
When Tripitaka heard these words, he could not restrain the tears from rolling down his cheeks and he said, “Truly it’s like what the proverb says:
Instead of yellow plums only green plums drop.
Old Heaven’s doubly harsh to a childless man!”
Pilgrim, however, smiled and said, “Let me question him a bit more. Old Grandpa, how much property do you have?” The two old men said together, “Quite a bit. We have at least some seven hundred and fifty acres of paddy fields and over a thousand acres of dry fields. There must be some ninety pasture fields, three hundred water buffalos, some thirty horses and mules, and countless numbers of hogs, sheep, chickens, and geese. There is more grain in our warehouses than we can consume and more clothing in our houses than we can wear. Our property and our wealth, as you can see, are quite sizable.” “If you own so much,” said Pilgrim, “it’s pathetic that you are so stingy!” “How did you come to that conclusion?” said one of the old men. Pilgrim said, “If you are so well-off, how could you permit your own children to be sacrificed? Throw away fifty ounces of silver and you can buy a virgin boy; throw away another hundred ounces and you can buy a virgin girl. You need spend no more than two hundred ounces of silver for all expenses and you will preserve posterity for you and your family. Isn’t that much better?”
Shedding copious tears, the two old men said, “Venerable Father! You aren’t aware of the fact that the Great King is truly so powerful that he knows everything. Why, he even comes frequently to the families here.” Pilgrim said, “When he came through, did you ever discover how he looked or how tall he was?” “We have never seen his form,” said the two old men. “But whenever we felt a fragrant breeze, it was a sign that the Father Great King had arrived. Then we had to burn hurriedly lots of incense and all of us, young and old, had to bow toward the wind. He knows everything there is to know of our families here; he can remember even the birth dates and hours of young and old. He will not consider it a treat unless he can devour children who are truly ours. Don’t speak of two or three hundred ounces of silver; even if we were to spend several thousand ounces, we had nowhere to purchase a boy or a girl of exactly the same appearance and age.”
“So, that’s how it is!” said Pilgrim. “All right, all right! Bring out your son and let me take a look at him.” Chen Qing went inside at once and carried his son Guanbao out to the front hall, placing him before the lamps. The child, of course, was wholly unaware of the disaster that was about to descend on him. With two sleeves stuffed with preserved fruits and candies, he danced about as he munched on the goodies. On seeing him, Pilgrim recited a spell silently and shook his body: at once he changed into a boy with the exact appearance of that child Guanbao. Now there were two boys holding hands and dancing before the lamps! The old man was so startled that he fell on his knees, causing the Tang Monk to cry out, “Venerable Father, this is blasphemy! Blasphemy!” The old man said, “But this Venerable Father was just speaking to us. How did he manage to take on the appearance of my child all at once? Look, you give them a call, and both of them answer together! We are the ones who are not worthy! Please show your true form! Please show your true form!” With a wipe of his own face Pilgrim changed back into his true form. Remaining on his knees, the old man said, “So the Venerable Father has this kind of ability!” “Did I look like your son?” asked Pilgrim, laughing. “Very much! Very much!” said the old man. “You had exactly the same features, the same voice, the same clothes, and the same height!” “You haven’t even examined me closely,” said Pilgrim. “Bring out the scale and see if I’m of the same weight as his.” “Yes! Yes! Yes!” said the old man. “I could tell that you were exactly of the same weight.” “You think I could serve as the sacrifice?” asked Pilgrim. “It’s marvelous! Just marvelous!” said the old man. “Of course, you could serve as the sacrifice.”
Pilgrim said, “I’ll exchange my life for your boy’s so that your family’s posterity will be preserved. I’ll present myself as a sacrifice to that Great King.” Kowtowing as he knelt on the ground, Chen Qing said, “If in your compassion you are willing to present yourself as a substitute, I shall present Father Tang with a thousand ounces of white silver as his travel expenses to the Western Heaven.” “And you are not going to thank old Monkey?” said Pilgrim. “If you are a sacrificial substitute,” said the old man, “you will be finished.” “What do you mean finished?” said Pilgrim. “The Great King will devour you,” said the old man, and Pilgrim said, “Does he dare?” “If he doesn’t eat you,” said the old man, “it will only be because you are too smelly for his taste.” “May Heaven’s will be done!” said Pilgrim, chuckling. “If he eats me, it’ll mean that I am to die young; if he does not, it’s my luck. Anyway, I shall be your sacrificial substitute.”
Chen Qing not only kowtowed to thank him, but also promised to give the monks an additional five hundred ounces of silver. Chen Cheng, however, neither kowtowed nor gave thanks; leaning on one of the screens, he wept profusely. Understanding his plight, Pilgrim went up to tug at him and said, “Number One, you are not promising me anything nor are you thanking me. I suppose you must feel terrible about parting with your daughter?” Going to his knees at once, Chen Cheng said, “No, I can’t part with her. I am indebted to you, Venerable Father, for your kindness, and it should be enough that you have saved our nephew. But this old moron has no other children except his daughter. If I should die, she would weep bitterly, too! How could I ever part with her?” “Then go quickly and steam five more barrels of rice,” said Pilgrim. “Prepare some fine vegetarian dishes also and let that long-snout master of ours enjoy himself. Then we can ask him to change into the form of your daughter, and we two brothers will be your sacrificial substitutes. By saving the lives of your daughter and son, we shall accrue to ourselves secret merit. How about that?”
Horrified by what he heard, Eight Rules said, “Elder Brother, you can show off your energy as you please! But don’t drag me into this venture without any regard for my life!” “Worthy Brother,” said Pilgrim, “the proverb says, ‘Even chickens can eat only food they work for!’ The moment we entered their house, they feted us with a huge banquet, while you were complaining that you were only half-filled! How could you be unwilling to assist them in their difficulties?” “O Elder Brother,” said Eight Rules, “I don’t know anything about transformation.” “What do you mean?” said Pilgrim. “You know thirty-six modes of transformation.” “Wuneng,” cried Tripitaka, “what your elder brother has just said is certainly right, and what he has proposed is most appropriate. The proverb says, ‘The saving of one life is better than the construction of a seventiered pagoda.’ In the first place, we should repay their great kindness to us; in the second, we should make merit whenever possible by the performance of good works. Since there is no other thing you must attend to in this cool night, you and your brother can go and have some fun.” “Look at the way Master talks!” said Eight Rules. “I may know how to change into a mountain, a tree, a rock, a scabby elephant, a water buffalo, or a stout fellow. But it’ll be rather difficult for me to change into a small young girl!” “Don’t believe him, Number One,” said Pilgrim. “Bring out your precious daughter.” Chen Cheng dashed inside and brought out his child, One Load of Gold. At the same time, his whole family, including his wife and his concubine, young and old, all came out to the front hall to kneel before the monks and kowtow, begging them to save the girl’s life.
The girl was wearing on her head a patterned emerald fillet with dangling pearl and precious stone pendants; she had on a coat of red silk shot with yellow, covered by a cape of mandarin green satin with chess-board patterned collar. Around her waist was tied a silk skirt with bright red flowers. She also had on a pair of gold-kneed trousers and a pair of light pink toad’s-head patterned shoes made of hemp thread. And she, too, was munching on some fruits. “Eight Rules,” said Pilgrim, “that’s the girl. Change into her form quickly, so that we can be sacrificed.” “O Brother!” said Eight Rules. “She’s so delicate and lovely! How could I do it?” “Quick!” said Pilgrim. “Don’t ask for a beating!” Alarmed, Eight Rules said, “Elder Brother, don’t beat me! Let me try and see what happens!”
This Idiot recited a spell and shook his head several times, crying, “Change!” Indeed, his head took on the features of the little girl, but his belly remained as big as ever so that his hulking frame bore hardly any resemblance to the girl’s. “Change some more!” cried Pilgrim, laughing. “You can beat me all you want,” said Eight Rules, “but I can’t change anymore. What am I to do?” “You can’t take on the head of a girl,” said Pilgrim, “and the body of a priest! You would be neither boy nor girl, and that wouldn’t be good, would it? Why don’t you assume the star posture and see what I can do for you?” He blew a mouthful of magic breath onto Eight Rules, whose body at once took on the form of the little girl. Then Pilgrim said to the two old men, “Please take your relatives, your son, and your daughter inside so that we will not be confused with them. I fear that after awhile, my brother may become slothful and sneak inside, and it will be difficult for you to tell them apart. Give your children plenty of nice fruits and candies and make certain that they don’t cry. I don’t want that Great King to get wind of our plans. We two will have some fun and be off.”
Dear Great Sage! He gave instructions for Sha Monk to stand guard over the Tang Monk, while he and Eight Rules assumed the exact forms of Chen Guanbao and One Load of Gold. After the two of them made all the preparations, Pilgrim asked, “How are we to be presented, trussed up or just bound? Steamed or chopped to pieces?” “Elder Brother,” said Eight Rules, “don’t pull any more tricks on me! I don’t have that kind of ability!” “No, No!” said one of the old men. “All we need are two red lacquered trays, on which we will ask both of you to sit. The trays will be placed on top of two tables, which will then be carried to the temple by some of our houseboys.” “Fine! Fine!” said Pilgrim. “Bring out the trays and let us try them.” The old man took out the lacquered trays; Pilgrim and Eight Rules sat in them, after which four houseboys lifted up two tables and walked into the courtyard. Delighted, Pilgrim said, “Eight Rules, a couple of turns like this and we shall be priests who have ascended the tray-platform!” “If they carry us inside,” said Eight Rules, “and carry us out again, I won’t be afraid even if they go back and forth until tomorrow morning. But once they take us into the temple, we’ll be devoured, and that’s no game!” “Just watch me,” said Pilgrim. “When he seizes me and tries to eat me, you can flee.” “But how would I know whom he will eat first?” asked Eight Rules. “If he eats the virgin boy first, I can flee, of course. But if he wants to eat the virgin girl first, what am I to do?” “During one of the sacrifices some years ago,” said the old man, “a few people courageous enough hid themselves behind the temple or beneath the offering tables. They saw that he ate the boy first before he devoured the girl.” Eight Rules said, “That’s my luck! That’s my luck!” As the brothers were talking, a loud din of gongs and drums could be heard outside the house, now lit up also by the light of many torches and lamps. The people of the same village came to pound at the front gate, crying, “Bring out the virgin boy and the virgin girl!” As the old men wept and wailed, the four houseboys lifted the tables and carried the two of them away. We truly do not know what happened to their lives; let’s listen to the explanation in the next chapter.