Perform eight hundred virtuous acts;
Make three thousand unknown merits.
Treating justly thing and self, kin and foe,
Will fit Western Heaven’s basic vow.1
Bull-demon fears no knife or sword;
In vain water and fire have toiled.
Laozi subdues it, turns its face to Heav’n—
Laughing, he now the green buffalo leads.2
We were telling you that someone by the road was calling the pilgrims. “Who could it be?” you ask. They were actually the mountain god and the local spirit of the Golden Helmet Mountain. Holding up the almsbowl of purple gold, they cried, “O Holy Monk! This bowl of rice was one which the Great Sage Sun succeeded in begging from a good place. Because all of you did not listen to sound advice, you fell by mistake into the hands of a demon. The Great Sage had to toil and struggle most pitifully before he managed to rescue you today. Come and eat the rice first before you journey. Don’t abuse the filial reverence of the Great Sage.” “Disciple,” said Tripitaka, “I’m deeply indebted to you, and I can’t thank you enough. If I had known it before, I would have never left that circle of yours and there would have been no such mortal danger.” “To tell you the truth, Master,” said Pilgrim, “because you did not believe in my circle, you had to be placed in someone else’s circle. What suffering you had to bear! It’s lamentable!” “What do you mean by someone else’s circle?” asked Eight Rules. Pilgrim replied, “Coolie, it was the doing of your cursed mouth and cursed tongue that landed this great ordeal on Master. What old Monkey dug up in Heaven and on Earth—the fire, the water, the celestial soldiers, and the cinnabar sand of the Buddha—they were all sucked away by a ghostly white fillet of his. Through two arhats, however, Tathāgata secretly revealed to old Monkey the origin of that fiend, and only then could we ask Laozi to come here to subdue him. It was his green buffalo that was causing all the trouble.” When Tripitaka heard this, he thanked him profusely, saying, “Worthy disciple, after this experience, I will certainly listen to you next time.” Whereupon the four of them divided up the rice to eat, rice that was still steaming hot. “This rice has been here for a long time,” said Pilgrim. “Why is it still hot?” Kneeling down, the local spirit said, “Since this humble deity has learned that the Great Sage has achieved his merit, he heated up the rice first before serving it.” In a moment, they finished the rice and put away the almsbowl.
Having taken leave of the mountain god and the local spirit, the master mounted his horse to pass the tall mountain. Thus it was that
Mind purged of care, they the Buddha’s wisdom embrace;3
They dine on wind and rest by water to journey West.
After traveling for a long time, it was again early spring and they heard
Purple swallows murmuring
And orioles warbling.
Purple swallows murmur, tiring their scented beaks;
Orioles warble, their artful notes persist.
Ground full of fallen blooms like brocade spread out;
Whole mountain birthing green like mounds of moss.
On the peak green plums are budding;
The cliff’s cedars detain the clouds.
Faint, misty lights o’er the meadows;
Sandbars warmed by bright sunshine.
In few gardens floral stamens unfold;
The sun back to earth turns willow strands gold.
As they walked along, they came upon a small river of cool, limpid currents. The elder Tang reined in his horse to look around and saw in the distance several thatched huts beneath willows hanging jadelike. Pointing in that direction, Pilgrim said, “There must be someone running a ferryboat in those houses.” “It’s likely,” said Tripitaka, “but since I haven’t seen a boat, I don’t dare open my mouth.” Dropping down the luggage, Eight Rules shouted, “Hey, ferryman! Punt your boat over here.” He yelled several times and indeed, from beneath the shade of willows a boat emerged, creaking as it was punted. In a little while, it approached the shore while master and disciples stared at it. Truly,
As a paddle parts the foam,
A light boat floats on the waves,
With olive cabins brightly painted
And a deck made of flat, level boards.
On the bow, iron cords encircle;
At the stern, a shining rudder stem.
Though it may be a reed of a boat,
It will sail the lakes and the seas;
Though without fancy cables and tall masts,
It has, in fact, oars of cedar and pine.
It’s unlike the divine ship of great distance,
But it can traverse a river’s width.
It comes and goes only between two banks;
It moves only in and out of ancient fords.
In a moment, the boat touched the bank, and the person punting called out: “If you want to cross the river, come over here.” Tripitaka urged his horse forward to take a look at the boatman and saw that the person had
On the head a woolen wrap
And on the feet, two black silk shoes;
On the body, an often patched cotton coat;
A thousand-stitched, old cloth skirt hugged the waist.
The wrists had coarse skin and the tendons, strength;
Dim eyes, knitted brows showed features of age.
The voice like an oriole’s was soft and coy;
An old woman appeared on closer look.
Walking to the side of the boat, Pilgrim said, “You are the one ferrying the boat?” “Yes,” said the woman. “Why is the ferryman not here?” asked Pilgrim. “Why is the ferrywoman punting the boat?” The woman smiled and did not reply; she pulled out the gangplank instead and set it up. Sha Monk then poled the luggage into the boat, followed by the master holding onto Pilgrim. Then they moved the boat sideways so that Eight Rules could lead the horse to step into it. After the gangplank was put away, the woman punted the boat away from shore and, in a moment, rowed it across the river.
After they reached the western shore, the elder asked Sha Monk to untie one of the wraps and take out a few pennies for the woman. Without disputing the price, the woman tied the boat to a wooden pillar by the water and walked into one of the village huts nearby, giggling loudly all the time. When Tripitaka saw how clear the water was, he felt thirsty and told Eight Rules: “Get the almsbowl and fetch some water for me to drink.” “I was just about to drink some myself,” said Idiot, who took out the almsbowl and bailed out a full bowl of water to hand over to the master. The master drank less than half of the water, and when Idiot took the bowl back, he drank the rest of it in one gulp before he helped his master to mount the horse once more.
After master and disciples found their way to the West they had hardly traveled half an hour when the elder began to groan as he rode. “Stomachache!” he said. Eight Rules, who was behind him, also said, “I have a stomachache, too.” Sha Monk said, “It must be the cold water you drank.” But before he even finished speaking, the elder cried out: “The pain’s awful!” Eight Rules also screamed, “The pain’s awful!” As the two of them struggled with this unbearable pain, their bellies began to swell in size steadily. Inside their abdomens, there seemed to be a clot of blood or a lump of flesh, which could be felt clearly by the hand, kicking and jumping wildly about. Tripitaka was in great discomfort when they came upon a small village by the road; two bundles of hay were tied to some branches on a tall tree nearby. “Master, that’s good!” said Pilgrim. “The house over there must be an inn. Let me go over there to beg some hot liquid for you. I’ll ask them also whether there is an apothecary around, so that I can get some ointment for your stomachache.”
Delighted by what he heard, Tripitaka whipped his white horse and soon arrived at the village. As he dismounted, he saw an old woman sitting on a grass mound outside the village gate and knitting hemp. Pilgrim went forward and
bowed to her with palms pressed together saying, “Popo,4 this poor monk has
come from the Great Tang in the Land of the East. My master is the royal brother of the Tang court. Because he drank some water from the river back there after we crossed it, he is having a stomachache.” Breaking into loud guffaws, the woman said, “You people drank some water from the river?” “Yes,” replied Pilgrim, “we drank some of the clean river water east of here.” Giggling loudly, the old woman said, “What fun! What fun! Come in, all of you. I’ll tell you something.”
Pilgrim went to support Tang Monk while Sha Monk held up Eight Rules; moaning with every step, the two sick men walked into the thatched hut to take a seat, their stomachs protruding and their faces turning yellow from the pain.
“Popo,” Pilgrim kept saying, “please make some hot liquid for my master. We’ll
thank you.” Instead of boiling water, however, the old woman dashed inside, laughing and yelling, “Come and look, all of you!”
With loud clip-clops, several middle-aged women ran out from within to stare at the Tang Monk, grinning stupidly all the time. Enraged, Pilgrim gave a yell and ground his teeth together, so frightening all of them that they turned to flee, stumbling all over. Pilgrim darted forward and caught the old woman, crying, “Boil some water quick and I’ll spare you!” “Sire!” said the old woman, shaking violently, “boiled water is useless to cure their stomachaches. Let me go, and I’ll tell you.” Pilgrim released her, and she said, “This is the Women State of Western Liang.5 Not even a single male but only women live in our state. That’s why we were amused when we saw you. That water your master drank is not the best, for the river is called Child-and-Mother River. Outside our capital we also have a Male Reception Post-house, by the side of which there is also a Pregnancy Reflection Stream. Only after reaching her twentieth year would someone from this region dare go and drink that river’s water, for she would feel the pain of conception soon after she took a drink. After three days, she would go to the Male Reception Post-house and look at her reflection in the stream. If a double reflection appears, it means that she will give birth to a child. Since your master drank some water from the Child-and-Mother River, he, too, has become pregnant and will give birth to a child. How could hot water cure him?”
When Tripitaka heard this, he paled with fright. “O disciple,” he cried, “what shall we do?” “O father!” groaned Eight Rules as he twisted to spread his legs further apart, “we are men, and we have to give birth to babies? Where can we find a birth canal? How could the fetus come out?” With a chuckle Pilgrim said, “According to the ancients, ‘A ripe melon will fall by itself.’ When the time comes, you may have a gaping hole at your armpit and the baby will crawl out.”
When Eight Rules heard this, he shook with fright, and that made the pain all the more unbearable. “Finished! Finished!” he cried. “I’m dead! I’m dead!” “Second Elder Brother,” said Sha Monk, laughing, “stop writhing! Stop writhing! You may hurt the umbilical cord and end up with some sort of prenatal sickness.” Our Idiot became more alarmed than ever. Tears welling up in his
eyes, he tugged at Pilgrim and said, “Elder Brother, please ask the Popo to see if
they have some midwives here who are not too heavy-handed. Let’s find a few right away. The movement inside is becoming more frequent now. It must be labor pain. It’s coming! It’s coming!” Again Sha Monk said, chuckling, “Second Elder Brother, if it’s labor pain, you’d better sit still. I fear you may puncture the water bag.”
“O Popo,” said Tripitaka with a moan, “do you have a physician here? I’ll ask
my disciple to go there and ask for a prescription. We’ll take the drug and have an abortion.” “Even drugs are useless,” said the old woman, “but due south of here there is a Male-Undoing Mountain. In it there is a Child Destruction Cave, and inside the cave there is an Abortion Stream. You must drink a mouthful of water from the stream before the pregnancy can be terminated. But nowadays, it’s not easy to get that water. Last year, a Daoist by the name of True Immortal Compliant came on the scene and he changed the name of the Child Destruction Cave to the Abbey of Immortal Assembly. Claiming the water from the Abortion Stream as his possession, he refused to give it out freely. Anyone who wants the water must present monetary offerings together with meats, wines, and fruit baskets. After bowing to him in complete reverence, you will receive a tiny bowl of the water. But all of you are mendicants. Where could you find the kind of money you need to spend for something like this? You might as well suffer here and wait for the births.” When Pilgrim heard this, he was filled with delight.
“Popo,” he said, “how far is it from here to the Male-Undoing Mountain?”
“About three thousand miles,” replied the old woman. “Excellent! Excellent!” said Pilgrim. “Relax, Master! Let old Monkey go and fetch some of that water for you to drink.”
Dear Great Sage! He gave this instruction to Sha Monk: “Take good care of Master. If this family ill behaves and tries to hurt him, bring out your old thuggery and scare them a little. Let me go fetch the water.” Sha Monk obeyed. The old woman then took out a large porcelain bowl to hand over to Pilgrim, saying, “Take this bowl and try to get as much water as possible. We can save some for an emergency.” Indeed, Pilgrim took over the bowl, left that thatched hut, and mounted the cloud to leave. Only then did the old woman fall to her knees, bowing to the air, and cried, “O father! This monk knows how to ride the clouds!” She went inside and told the other women to come out to kowtow to the Tang Monk, all addressing him as arhat or bodhisattva. Then they began to boil water and prepare rice to present to the pilgrims, and we shall leave them for the moment.
We tell you now about the Great Sage Sun on his cloud somersault; in a little while, he saw the peak of a mountain blocking his path. Dropping down from his cloudy luminosity, he opened wide his eyes to look around. Marvelous mountain! He saw
Rare flowers spreading brocade;
Wild grass unrolling blue;
Plunging streams—one after another;
Brooks and clouds, both leisurely.
Canyons, packed together, rank with creepers and vines;
Ranges, stretching afar, dense with forests and trees.
Birds call, and wild geese glide by;
Deer drink, and monkeys clamber.
A mountain green like a jade screen;
A ridge blue like locks of hair.
Difficult indeed to reach from this world of dust!
Rocks and water splashing, a sight that never tires!
One often sees immortal lads leave, picking herbs.
One often meets woodsmen come, bearing loads.
Truly it’s almost the scenery of Tiantai,
Surpassing perhaps the three peaks of Mount Hua.
As the Great Sage stared at the scenery, he discovered also a building with its back on the dark side of the mountain and from where the sound of a dog barking could be heard. Going down the mountain, the Great Sage went toward the building, which was also a rather nice place. Look at the
Stream piercing a small bridge;
Thatched huts nestling a green hill.
A dog barks near the lonely fence;
The recluse comes and goes at will.
In a moment he came up to the gate, where he found an old Daoist sitting crosslegged on the green lawn. When the Great Sage put down his porcelain bowl to bow to him, the Daoist rose slightly to return his greeting, saying, “Where did you come from? For what purpose have you come to this humble Abbey?”
Pilgrim replied, “This poor monk is a scripture pilgrim sent by imperial commission of the Great Tang in the Land of the East. Because my master mistakenly drank water from the Child-and-Mother River, he is suffering from a swollen belly and unbearable pain. We asked the natives there and learned that the pregnancy thus formed has no cure. We are told, however, that there is an Abortion Stream in the Child Destruction Cave of the Male-Undoing Mountain, and its water can eliminate the conception. This is why I have come especially to see the True Immortal Compliant, in order to beg from him some water to save my master. May I trouble the old Daoist to lead me to him?” “This used to be the Child Destruction Cave,” said the Daoist, chuckling, “but it’s now changed to the Abbey of Immortal Assembly. I am none other than the eldest disciple of the venerable father, True Immortal Compliant. What’s your name? Tell me so I can announce you.” “I am the eldest disciple of Tripitaka Tang, master of the Law,” said Pilgrim, “and my humble name is Sun Wukong.” “Where are your monetary gifts?” asked the Daoist. “Your offerings of wine?” Pilgrim said, “We are mendicants on a journey, and we haven’t prepared them.”
“You are quite mad!” said the Daoist, chuckling again. “My old master is now the protector of this mountain stream, and he has never given its water free to anyone. You go back and bring some gifts, and I’ll announce you. Otherwise, please leave. Don’t think about the water!” Pilgrim said, “Goodwill can be more powerful than an imperial edict. If you go and announce the name of old Monkey, I am sure that he will express his goodwill. Perhaps he will turn over the entire well of water to me.”
This statement of Pilgrim gave the Daoist little alternative but to go inside to make the announcement. As the True Immortal was just playing the lute, the Daoist had to wait until he finished playing before saying, “Master, there is a Buddhist monk outside who claims to be Sun Wukong, the eldest disciple of Tripitaka Tang. He wants some water from the Abortion Stream to save his master.” It would have been better if the True Immortal had not heard the name, for the moment he came upon those words, Wukong,
Anger flared in his heart,
Wrath sprouted from his gall.
Jumping down quickly from his lute couch, he took off his casual garment and put on his Daoist robe. He picked up a compliant hook and leaped out of the door of the Abbey. “Where is Sun Wukong?” he shouted. Pilgrim turned his head to see how that True Immortal was dressed.
A star cap of bright colors crowned his head;
He wore a red magic robe with golden threads.
His cloud shoes were topped by patterned brocade;
An elegant treasure belt wrapped around his waist.
A pair of stockings of embroidered silk;
Half visible, a patterned woolen kilt.
His hands held a compliant golden hook:
The blade, sharp; the handle, dragonlike and long.
Phoenix eyes glowed with brows going straight up;
Sharp, steely teeth within a blood-red mouth.
A beard soared like bright flames beneath his chin;
Like rushes flared his temple’s scarlet hair.
His form seemed as violent as Marshal Wen’s,6
Although their clothing was not the same.
When Pilgrim saw him, he pressed his palms together before him and bowed, saying, “This poor monk is Sun Wukong.” “Are you the real Sun Wukong,” said the master with a laugh, “or are you merely assuming his name and surname?” “Look at the way the master speaks!” said Pilgrim. “As the proverb says, ‘A gentleman changes neither his name when he stands, nor his surname when he sits.’ What would be the reason for me to assume someone else’s name?”
The master asked, “Do you recognize me?” “Since I made repentance in the Buddhist gate and embraced with all sincerity the teaching of the monks,” said Pilgrim, “I have only been climbing mountains and fording waters. I have lost contact with all the friends of my youth. Because I have never been able to visit you, I have never beheld your honorable countenance before. When we asked for our way in a village household west of the Child-and-Mother River, they told me that the master is called the True Immortal Compliant. That’s how I know your name.” The master said, “You are walking on your way, and I’m cultivating my authentic immortality. Why did you come to visit me?” “Because my master drank by mistake the water of the Child-and-Mother River,” replied Pilgrim, “and his stomachache turned into a pregnancy. I came especially to your immortal mansion to beg you for a bowl of water from the Abortion Stream, in order that my master might be freed from this ordeal.”
“Is your master Tripitaka Tang?” asked the master, his eyes glowering. “Yes, indeed!” answered Pilgrim. Grinding his teeth together, the master said spitefully, “Have you run into a Great King Holy Child?” “That’s the nickname of the fiend, Red Boy,” said Pilgrim, “who lived in the Fiery Cloud Cave by the Dried Pine Stream, in the Roaring Mountain. Why does the True Immortal ask after him?” “He happens to be my nephew,” replied the master, “and the Bull Demon King is my brother. Some time ago my elder brother told me in a letter that Sun Wukong, the eldest disciple of Tripitaka Tang, was such a rascal that he brought his son great harm. I didn’t know where to find you for vengeance, but you came instead to seek me out. And you’re asking me for water?”
Trying to placate him with a smile, Pilgrim said, “You are wrong, Sir. Your elder brother used to be my friend, for both of us belonged to a league of seven bond brothers when we were young. I just didn’t know about you, and so I did not come to pay my respect in your mansion. Your nephew is very well off, for he is now the attendant of the Bodhisattva Guanyin. He has become Sudhana, the Boy Skilled in Wealth, with whom even we cannot compare. Why do you blame me instead?”
“You brazen monkey!” shouted the master. “Still waxing your tongue! Is my nephew better off being a king by himself, or being a slave to someone? Stop this insolence and have a taste of my hook!” Using the iron rod to parry the blow, the Great Sage said, “Please don’t use the language of war, Sir. Give me some water and I’ll leave.” “Brazen monkey!” scolded the master. “You don’t know any better! If you can withstand me for three rounds, I’ll give you the water. If not, I’ll chop you up as meat sauce to avenge my nephew.” “You damned ignorant fool!” scolded Pilgrim. “You don’t know what’s good for you! If you want to fight, come up here and watch my rod!” The master at once countered with his compliant hook, and the two of them had quite a fight before the Abbey of Immortal Assembly.
The sage monk drinks from this procreant stream,
And Pilgrim must the Immortal Compliant seek.
Who knows the True Immortal is a fiend
That safeguards by force the Abortion Stream?
When these two meet, they speak as enemies
Feuding, and resolved not to give one whit.
The words thus traded engender distress;
Rancor and malice so bent on revenge.
This one, whose master’s life is threatened, comes seeking water;
That one for losing his nephew declines to yield the stream.
Fierce as a scorpion’s the compliant hook;
Wild like a dragon’s the golden-hooped rod.
Madly it stabs the chest, what savagery!
Aslant, it hooks the legs, what subtlety!
The rod aiming down there7 inflicts grave wounds;
The hook, passing shoulders, will whip the head.
The rod slaps the waist—“a hawk holds a bird.”
The hook swipes the head—“a mantis hits its prey.”
They lunge here and there, both striving to win;
They turn and close in again and again.
The hook hooks, the rod strikes, without letup—
Victory cannot be seen on either side.
The master fought the Great Sage for over ten rounds and then he began to weaken. The Great Sage, however, grew more fierce, the blows of his rod raining on his opponent’s head like a meteor shower. His strength all gone, the master fled toward the mountain with his compliant hook trailing behind him.
Instead of chasing after him, the Great Sage wanted to go into the Abbey to look for the water, but the Daoist had long had the door tightly shut. Holding the porcelain bowl, the Great Sage dashed up to the door and kicked it down with all his might. He rushed inside and saw the Daoist leaning on the well, covering its mouth with his body. The Great Sage lifted high his rod and shouted that he was about to strike, causing the Daoist to flee to the rear. Then he found a bucket, but just as he tried to bail some water, the master dashed out from the rear and caught hold of one of his legs with the compliant hook. One hard tug sent the Great Sage tumbling beak-first to the ground. Clambering up, the Great Sage at once attacked with his iron rod, but the master only retreated to one side. With hook in hand, he cried, “See if you could take away my water!”
“Come up here! Come up here!” yelled the Great Sage. “I’ll beat you to death!”
But the master refused to go forward to fight; he just stood there and refused to permit the Great Sage to bail out the water. When the Great Sage saw that his enemy was motionless, he wielded his iron rod with his left hand while his right hand tried to let the rope down the well. Before the pulley had made several turns, however, the master again struck with his hook. As the Great Sage could hardly protect himself with only one hand, the hook once more caught hold of one of his legs, causing him to stumble and the rope to fall into the well, bucket and all. “This fellow is quite rude!” said the Great Sage, who clambered up and, holding the iron rod now with both hands, showered his opponent’s body and head with blows. Not daring to face him and fight, the master fled away as before. Again the Great Sage wanted to get the water, but this time he had no bucket, and moreover, he was afraid that the master would return to attack him. He thought to himself: “I must go and find a helper.”
Dear Great Sage! He mounted the clouds and went straight back to the village hut, crying, “Sha Monk.” Inside Tripitaka was moaning to endure the pain, while the groans of Eight Rules were continuous. Delighted by the call, they said, “Sha Monk, Wukong’s back.” Sha Monk hurried out the door to ask, “Big Brother, have you brought water?” The Great Sage entered and gave a thorough account to the Tang Monk. Shedding tears, Tripitaka said, “O disciple! How is this going to end?” “I came back,” said the Great Sage, “to ask Brother Sha to go with me. When we reach the Abbey, old Monkey will fight with that fellow and Sha Monk can use the opportunity to get that water to save you.” Tripitaka said, “Both of you who are healthy will be gone, leaving behind the two of us who are sick. Who will look after us?” The old woman waiting on them said, “Relax, old arhat. You don’t need your disciples. We will serve you and take care of you. When you first arrived, we were already fond of you. Then we saw how this bodhisattva traveled by cloud and fog, and we knew that you had to be an arhat or bodhisattva. We’ll never dare to harm you again.”
“You are all women here,” snapped Pilgrim. “Whom do you dare to harm?” “O dear father!” said the old woman, giggling. “You’re lucky to have come to my house. If you had gone to another one, none of you would have remained whole.” “What do you mean,” said Eight Rules, still groaning, “by not remaining whole?” The old woman replied, “The four or five of us in this family are all getting on in years. We have given up the activities of love. If you go to another family, there may be more youthful members than old ones. You think the young ones will let you go? They will want to have intercourse with you, and if you refuse, they will take your lives. Then they will cut you up to use your flesh to make fragrant bags.” “In that case,” said Eight Rules, “I won’t be hurt. They all smell nice, and they’ll be good for fragrant bags. I’m a stinking hog, and even when I’m cut up, I still stink. That’s why I can’t be hurt.” “Don’t be so talkative!” said Pilgrim, chuckling. “Save your strength, so you can give birth.” The old woman said, “No need for delay. Go quickly to get the water.” “Do you have a bucket in your house?” asked Pilgrim. “Please lend us one.” The old woman went to the back to take out a bucket and rope to hand over to Sha Monk, who said, “Let’s bring two ropes. We may need them if the well is deep.”
After Sha Monk received the bucket and the ropes, he followed the Great Sage out of the village hut and they left together, mounting the clouds. In less than half an hour, they arrived at the Male-Undoing Mountain. As they lowered their clouds to go before the Abbey, the Great Sage gave Sha Monk this instruction: “Take the bucket with the ropes and hide yourself. Old Monkey will go and provoke battle. When we are in the thick of fighting, you can use the opportunity to go inside, get the water, and leave.” Sha Monk obeyed.
Wielding his iron rod, the Great Sage Sun approached the door and shouted: “Open the door! Open the door!” The Daoist who stood guard at the door hurried inside to report, “Master, that Sun Wukong is here again.” Greatly angered, the master said, “This brazen ape is insolent indeed! I have always heard that he has considerable abilities, and today I know it’s true. That rod of his is quite difficult to withstand.” “Master,” said the Daoist, “his abilities may be great, but yours are not inferior. You are, in fact, exactly his match.” “But twice before,” said the master, “I lost to him.” “Only in a contest of sheer violence,” said the Daoist. “Later, when he tried to bail water, your hook made him fall twice. Haven’t you equalized the situation? He had little alternative but to leave at first, and now he’s back. It must be that Tripitaka’s pregnancy is so advanced and his body so heavy that his complaints have driven this monkey to return, against his better judgment. He must feel rather contemptuous toward his master, and I’m sure that you will win.”
When the True Immortal heard these words, he became
Delighted and filled with elation;
Full of smiles and brimming with power.
Holding straight his compliant hook, he walked out of the door and shouted, “Brazen simian! Why are you here again?” “Only to fetch water,” answered the Great Sage. “That water,” said the True Immortal, “happens to be in my well. Even if you are a king or a prime minister, you must come begging with offerings of meat and wines, and then I will only give you a little. You are my enemy no less, and you dare to ask for it with empty hands?” “You really refuse to give it to me?” asked the Great Sage. The True Immortal replied, “Yes! Yes!” “You damned fool!” scolded the Great Sage. “If you don’t give me the water, watch my rod!” He opened up at once and rushed at the True Immortal, bringing down the rod hard on his head. Stepping aside quickly to dodge the blow, the True Immortal met him with the hook and fought back. This time, it was even more ferocious a battle than last time. What a fight!
Golden-hooped rod,
Compliant hook,
Two angry men so full of enmity.
The cosmos darkens as sand and rocks fly up;
Sun and moon sadden as dirt and dust soar high.
The Great Sage seeks water to save his master,
Denied by the fiend for his nephew’s sake.
The two exert their strength
To wage a contest there.
Teeth are ground together
To strive for a victory.
More and more alert,
They arouse themselves.
They belch cloud and fog to sadden ghosts and gods.
Bing-bing and bang-bang clash both hook and rod,
Their cries, their shouts shake up the mountain range.
The fierce wind, howling, ravages the woods;
The violent airs surge past the dipper stars.
The Great Sage grows happier as he strives;
The True Immortal’s gladder as he fights.
They do this battle with whole heart and mind;
They will not give up until someone dies.
The two of them began their fighting outside the Abbey, and as they struggled and danced together, they gradually moved to the mountain slope below. We shall leave this bitter contest for a moment.
We tell you instead about our Sha Monk, who crashed through the door, holding the bucket. He was met by the Daoist, who barred the way at the well and said, “Who are you that you dare come to get our water?” Dropping the bucket, Sha Monk took out his fiend-routing treasure staff and, without a word, brought it down on the Daoist’s head. The Daoist was unable to dodge fast enough, and his left arm and shoulder were broken by this one blow. Falling to the ground, he lay there struggling for his life. “I wanted to slaughter you, cursed beast,” scolded Sha Monk, “but you are, after all, a human being. I still have some pity for you, and I’ll spare you. Let me bail out the water.” Crying for Heaven and Earth to help him, the Daoist crawled slowly to the rear, while Sha Monk lowered the bucket into the well and filled it to the brim. He then walked out of the Abbey and mounted the cloud and fog before he shouted to Pilgrim, “Big Brother, I have gotten the water and I’m leaving. Spare him! Spare him!”
When the Great Sage heard this, he stopped the hook with his iron rod and said, “I was about to exterminate you, but you have not committed a crime. Moreover, I still have regard for the feelings of your brother, the Bull Demon King. When I first came here, I was hooked by you twice and I didn’t get my water. When I returned, I came with the trick of ‘Enticing the Tiger to leave the Mountain’ and deceived you into fighting me, so that my brother could go inside to get the water. If old Monkey is willing to use his real abilities to fight with you, don’t say there is only one of you so-called True Immortal Compliant. Even if there are several of you, I would beat you all to death. But to kill is not as good as to let live, and so I’m going to spare you and permit you to have a few more years. From now on if anyone wishes to obtain the water, you must not blackmail the person.”
Not knowing anything better, that bogus immortal brandished his hook and once more attempted to catch Pilgrim’s legs. The Great Sage evaded the blade of his hook and then rushed forward, crying, “Don’t run!” The bogus immortal was caught unprepared and he was pushed head over heels to the ground, unable to get up. Grabbing the compliant hook the Great Sage snapped it in two; then he bundled the pieces together and, with another bend, broke them into four segments. Throwing them on the ground, he said, “Brazen, cursed beast! Still dare to be unruly?” Trembling all over, the bogus immortal took the insult and dared not utter a word. Our Great Sage, in peals of laughter, mounted the cloud to rise into the air, and we have a testimonial poem.
The poem says:
For smelting true lead true water you need;
True water well mixed dries true mercury.
True mercury and lead have no maternal breath;
Elixir are numinous drugs and grains.
In vain baby boy has a pregnant form;
Earth Mother has achieved merit with ease.
Heresy pushed down, right faith they learn;
The Lord of the Mind, all smiles, would return.
Mounting the auspicious luminosity, the Great Sage caught up with Sha Monk. Having acquired the true water, they were filled with delight as they returned to where they belonged. After they lowered the clouds and went up to the village hut, they found Zhu Eight Rules leaning on the door post and groaning, his belly huge and protruding. Walking quietly up to him, Pilgrim said, “Idiot, when did you enter the delivery room?” Horrified, Idiot said, “Elder Brother, don’t make fun of me. Did you bring the water?” Pilgrim was about to tease him some more when Sha Monk followed him in, laughing as he said, “Water’s coming! Water’s coming!” Enduring the pain, Tripitaka rose slightly and said, “O disciples, I’ve caused you a lot of trouble.” That old woman, too, was most delighted, and all of her relatives came out to kowtow, crying, “O bodhisattva! This is our luck! This is our luck!” She took a goblet of flowered porcelain, filled it half full, and handed it to Tripitaka, saying, “Old master, drink it slowly. All you need is a mouthful and the pregnancy will dissolve.” “I don’t need any goblet,” said Eight Rules. “I’ll just finish the bucket.” “O venerable father, don’t scare people to death!” said the old woman. “If you drink this bucket of water, your stomach and your intestines will all be dissolved.” Idiot was so taken aback that he dared not misbehave; he drank only half a goblet.
In less than the time of a meal, the two of them experienced sharp pain and cramps in their bellies, and then their intestines growled four or five times. After that, Idiot could no longer contain himself: both waste and urine poured out of him. The Tang Monk, too, felt the urge to relieve himself and wanted to go to a quiet place. “Master,” said Pilgrim, “you mustn’t go out to a place where there is a draft. If you are exposed to the wind, I fear that you may catch some postnatal illness.” At once the old woman brought to them two night pots so that the two of them could find relief. After several bowel movements, the pain stopped and the swelling of their bellies gradually subsided as the lump of blood and flesh dissolved. The relatives of the old woman also boiled some white rice congee
and presented it to them to strengthen their postnatal weakness. “Popo,” said
Eight Rules, “I have a healthy constitution, and I have no need to strengthen any postnatal weakness. You go and boil me some water, so that I can take a bath before I eat the congee.” “Second Elder Brother,” said Sha Monk, “you can’t take a bath. If water gets inside someone within a month after birth, the person will be sick.” Eight Rules said, “But I have not given proper birth to anything; at most, I only have had a miscarriage. What’s there to be afraid of? I must wash and clean up.” Indeed, the old woman prepared some hot water for them to clean their hands and feet. The Tang Monk then ate about two bowls of congee, but Eight Rules consumed over fifteen bowls and he still wanted more. “Coolie,” chuckled Pilgrim, “don’t eat so much. If you get a sand-bag belly, you’ll look quite awful.” “Don’t worry, don’t worry,” replied Eight Rules. “I’m no female hog. So what’s there to be afraid of?” The family members indeed went to prepare some more rice.
The old woman then said to the Tang Monk, “Old master, please bestow this water on me.” Pilgrim said, “Idiot, you are not drinking the water anymore?” “My stomachache is gone,” said Eight Rules, “and the pregnancy, I suppose, must be dissolved. I’m quite fine now. Why should I drink any more water?” “Since the two of them have recovered,” said Pilgrim, “we’ll give this water to your family.” After thanking Pilgrim, the old woman poured what was left of the water into a porcelain jar, which she buried in the rear garden. She said to the rest of the family, “This jar of water will take care of my funeral expenses.” Everyone in that family, young and old, was delighted. A vegetarian meal was prepared and tables were set out to serve to the Tang Monk. He and his disciples had a leisurely dinner and then rested.
At dawn the next day, they thanked the old woman and her family before leaving the village. Tripitaka Tang mounted up, Sha Monk toted the luggage, Zhu Eight Rules held the reins, and the Great Sage Sun led the way in front. So, this is how it should be:
The mouth washed of its sins, the self is clean;
Worldly conception dissolved, the body’s fit.
We don’t know what sort of affairs they must attend to when they reach the capital; let’s listen to the explanation in the next chapter.