Seed-natures are basically the same:1
The sea accepts without end.2
Ten thousand thoughts and cares are folly all;
Each form, each kind’s in harmony.
One day with work and merit complete,
Perfected real nature towers on high.
Let no thing amiss slip to east or west;
Lock on and tighten your hold.
Pick and safekeep it3 in th’elixir stove
For smelting until it’s red like the sun—
Bright and brilliant, all aglow.
Astride the dragon you’ll come and go.4
We were telling you about Tripitaka, who obeyed the instruction of the Bodhisattva and took back Pilgrim. Along with Eight Rules and Sha Monk, he severed the Two Minds and shackled both Ape and Horse. United in mind and effort, they pressed on toward the Western Heaven. We cannot begin to describe how time flies like an arrow, how the seasons pass like the weaver’s shuttle. After the torrid summer, the frosty scenery of late autumn again appeared. You see
Thin broken clouds as a west wind turns brisk;
Distant cranes cry, woods frosted like brocade.
What a scene of timely sadness
Where endless hills stretch endless streams!
To north borders the wild geese fly;
To south lanes blackbirds return.
The wayfarer’s road is lonesome;
The monk’s robe swiftly grows cold.5
However, as master and disciples, the four of them, proceeded, they gradually felt a stifling heat. Reining in his horse, Tripitaka said, “It’s now autumn. How is it that the heat is so intense?” “You may not know of this,” said Eight Rules, “but there is, on the journey to the West, a Sūrya Kingdom.6 It is the place where the sun sets, and that’s why its popular name is ‘The Edge of Heaven.’ During the time of late afternoon each day, the king will send people up to the battlements to beat the drums and blow the bugles, in order to dilute and weaken the sound of the sea boiling. For the sun, you see, is the true fire of grand yang, and when it drops into the Western Sea, it’s like flames plunging into water and creating a deafening sizzle. If there were no drums or bugles to lessen the impact, the children in the city would all be killed. With this stifling heat here, this place must be where the sun sets.”
When the Great Sage heard this, he could not hold back his laughter, saying, “Idiot, don’t talk nonsense. If it’s the Sūrya Kingdom you’re thinking of, it’s much too early. When you consider the sort of delays the Master has had to face night and day, it may take him several lifetimes—from youth to old age and back again—and even then he may not get there.” “Elder Brother,” said Eight Rules, “if you say that this is not the place where the sun sets, then why is it so hot?” “There must be something wrong with the climate,” said Sha Monk, “so that you have summer weather in autumn.” As the three of them debated like that, they came upon several buildings by the road, all having red tiles on the roof, red bricks on the wall, red painted doors, and red lacquered-wood benches. Everything, in fact, was red. As Tripitaka dismounted he said, “Wukong, go and ask in that house and see if you can uncover the reason for the heat.”
Putting away his golden-hooped rod, the Great Sage straightened out his clothes and affected a civil manner as he left the main road to walk up to the house. Just then an old man emerged from the main door,
Who wore a not quite yellow
And not quite red robe of grass cloth;
His head had on a not quite blue
And not quite black hat of bamboo-splint;
His hands held a not quite crooked
And not quite straight staff of knotted bamboo;
His feet trod on a pair of not quite new
And not quite old calf-length leather boots.
His face was like red bronze;
His beard seemed like white chains.
Two aged eyebrows topped his lustrous eyes;
One grinning mouth revealed some teeth of gold.
When he caught sight of Pilgrim all of a sudden, the old man was somewhat startled. Leaning on his bamboo staff, he shouted, “What sort of a weird creature are you, and where are you from? What are you doing here before my door?” Bowing deeply, Pilgrim said, “Old Patron, please don’t be afraid of me. I’m no weird creature. This poor monk has been sent by imperial commission of the Great Tang in the Land of the East to go seek scriptures in the West. There are altogether four of us, master and disciples. We have just arrived in your noble region, and when we feel how hot the weather is, we want very much to know what the reason is for it and what is the name of the land here. I have come especially to seek your instruction.” Greatly relieved, the old man smiled and said, “Elder, please don’t be offended. This old man was somewhat dim-sighted just now, and I couldn’t quite recognize you.” “Not at all,” replied Pilgrim. Then the old man asked him again, “Where is your master?” “Over there,” said Pilgrim, “the one standing on the main road south of us.” “Please ask him to come! Please ask him to come here!” said the old man. Delighted, Pilgrim waved at Tripitaka, who immediately approached with Eight Rules and Sha Monk, leading the white horse and poling the luggage. They all bowed to the old man.
When the old man saw how distinguished Tripitaka appeared and how strange Eight Rules and Sha Monk looked, he was both startled and delighted. He had no choice, however, but to invite them inside to be seated before he asked his houseboys to serve tea and to prepare a meal. When Tripitaka heard him, he rose
to thank him, saying, “May I ask the Gong-gong7 why it is that such intense heat
returns to the autumn of your noble region?” “Our humble region,” replied the old man, “is named the Mountain of Flames. There’s neither spring nor autumn here; all four seasons are hot.” “Where is this mountain?” asked Tripitaka. “Is it on the way to the West?” “You can’t go to the West,” replied the old man, “for that mountain, about sixty miles from here, sits squarely on the main road. It’s covered with flames for over eight hundred miles, and all around not even a single blade of grass can grow. If you walk on this mountain, you will turn to liquid even if you have a bronze skull and an iron body.” Paling with horror, Tripitaka dared not ask another question.
Just then, a young man passed by the front door, pushing a red cart and calling, “Rice-puddings!” Pulling off one piece of hair, which he changed into a copper penny, the Great Sage went out to the young man to buy his puddings. After taking the money, and without dickering over the price, the man at once untied the wrap on his cart and took out a piece of steaming hot rice-pudding to hand over to Pilgrim. When it touched the palm of his hands, Pilgrim felt as if he had received a piece of lit charcoal or glowing nail taken from the blacksmith’s stove. Look at him! He switched the pudding from the left hand to the right hand and back again to the left, and all he could say was “Hot! Hot! Hot! I can’t eat this!” “If you’re afraid of heat,” said the man, chuckling, “don’t come here. It’s this hot around this place.” “Look, fella,” said Pilgrim, “you’re not quite reasonable. The proverb says,
Without heat or cold,
Five grains will not grow.
But the heat of this place is intense! Where do you get your flour for the pudding?” The man said,
If you rice-pudding flour desire,
Immortal Iron-Fan inquire.
“What has Immortal Iron-Fan got to do with it?” asked Pilgrim. The man said, “That Immortal Iron-Fan happens to have a palm-leaf fan. If he lets you have it, one wave of the fan will extinguish the fire; the second will produce a breeze, and the third will start the rain. Only then can we sow and reap in due seasons, and that is how we produce the five grains. Without the immortal and the fan, not a blade of grass will grow in this region.”
On hearing this, Pilgrim dashed inside and handed the piece of rice-pudding to Tripitaka, saying, “Relax, Master! Don’t get anxious before you have to. Eat the pudding first, and I’ll tell you something.” Holding the pudding in his hand, the
elder said to the old man of the house, “Gong-gong, please take some pudding.”
“I haven’t even served you tea or rice,” answered the old man. “Would I dare eat your pudding?” Smiling, Pilgrim said, “Dear Sir, you need not bestow on us any tea or rice. But let me ask you instead, where does the Immortal Iron-Fan live?” “Why do you ask?” said the old man.
Pilgrim said, “Just now the pudding peddler said that this immortal has in his possession a palm-leaf fan. If he lets us have it, one wave of the fan will extinguish the fire, the second will bring on a breeze, and the third will start the rain. Then the people of your region can sow and reap the five grains for your livelihood. I would like to find him and ask for the fan to extinguish the Mountain of Flames. We’ll be able to pass then, and you people may also find a more stable existence by being able to plant and harvest according to the seasons.”
“Yes,” replied the old man, “what the peddler said was correct. But you people don’t have any gifts, and I fear that the sage will be unwilling to come here.” “What sort of gifts does he want?” asked Tripitaka. The old man said, “The families of the region will seek an audience with the immortal once every ten years, and, as First Meeting presents, they must offer four hogs and four sheep, rare flowers and fine fruits in season, chickens, geese, and mellow wine. After cleansing themselves in ritual baths, they will go up in all sincerity to his immortal mountain to beg him come here to exercise his power.”
“Where is that mountain located,” asked Pilgrim, “and what’s its name? How many miles away? I’ll go ask him for the fan.” “The mountain,” replied the old man, “is southwest of here, and it bears the name of Jade Cloud Mountain. In the mountain there is a cave by the name of the Palm-Leaf Cave. When the believers from our region go to worship on that mountain, the round trip takes approximately a month, for the distance is slightly over one thousand four hundred and fifty miles.” “That doesn’t matter,” said Pilgrim with a laugh. “I’ll be back in no time.” “Wait a moment,” said the old man, “take some food first, and let us prepare you some dried goods. You will need two other companions, for there’s no human habitation on that road, but there are plenty of tigers and wolves. You can’t reach there in one day. It’s not fun, you know.” “No, no! I don’t need any of that,” said Pilgrim, laughing. “I’m going now!” Hardly had he finished speaking when he immediately disappeared. “Oh, Sire!” said the old man, greatly alarmed. “So you are a divine man who can soar on cloud and fog!”
We’ll not continue to tell you how that family doubled its effort to be hospitable to the Tang Monk. We tell you instead about our Pilgrim, who arrived at the Jade Cloud Mountain instantly. He stopped his auspicious luminosity, and as he searched for the entrance of the cave, he heard the sound of a woodcutter chopping in the forest. When Pilgrim drew near, he heard the man chanting:
By yonder clouds my dear, old forest I’ll know,
Though wild grass, rough boulders hide the path below.
When I see morning rain in western hills,
The south brook, as I return, will overflow.
Pilgrim went forward to salute him, saying, “Brother Woodsman, please accept my bow.” The woodcutter dropped his ax to return the greeting, saying, “Where are you going, Elder?” “May I inquire,” said Pilgrim, “whether this is the Jade Cloud Mountain?” The woodcutter replied, “It is.” “There is, I understand, a Palm-Leaf Cave that belongs to the Immortal Iron-Fan,” said Pilgrim. “Where is it?”
Smiling, the woodcutter said, “We have a Palm-Leaf Cave, all right, but there is no Immortal Iron-Fan. There is only a Princess Iron-Fan, who also bears the name of Rākṣasī.”8 “People claim that this immortal has a palm-leaf fan,” said Pilgrim, “which can extinguish the Mountain of Flames. Is she the one?” “Exactly, exactly!” replied the woodcutter. “Because the sage has in her possession this treasure which can extinguish the fire and protect the families of other regions, she is commonly called the Immortal Iron-Fan. But the families of
our region have no use for her; we only know her as Rākṣasī, who also happens
to be the wife of the Mighty Bull Demon King.”
When Pilgrim heard these words, he was so startled that he paled visibly. He thought to himself, “I’m up against another fated enemy! In a previous year, we brought to submission that Red Boy,9 who was said to have been reared by this woman. When I ran into his uncle at the Child Destruction Cave of the MaleUndoing Mountain,10 he already was filled with desire for vengeance and absolutely refused to give me the needed water. Now it is his parents that I have to face! How could I possibly succeed in borrowing the fan?”
When the woodcutter saw that Pilgrim had become lost in his deliberations, sighing to himself repeatedly, he said with a smile, “Elder, you’re someone who
has left the family, and you should have no anxious thoughts. Just follow this
path eastward and you’ll find the Palm-Leaf Cave in less than five miles. Don’t worry.” “To tell you the truth, Brother Woodsman,” said Pilgrim, “I’m the eldest disciple of the Tang Monk, a scripture pilgrim sent by the Tang court in the Land of the East to go to the Western Heaven. Some years back I had a small feud with Red Boy, the son of Rākṣasī, at the Fiery Cloud Cave. I feared that her hostility might cause her to refuse me the fan, and that was the reason for my anxiety.” “A man,” replied the wood-cutter, “must determine another’s appearance by examining his color. You should go now with the sole purpose of borrowing the fan and not be bothered by any old grudge. I’m sure you’ll succeed.” On hearing this, Pilgrim bowed deeply and said, “I thank Brother Woodsman for this instruction. I’ll go.”
He thus took leave of the woodcutter and went up to the entrance of the PalmLeaf Cave, where he found both of its doors tightly shut but lovely scenery outside. Marvelous place! Truly
This mountain uses rocks for bones,
And rocks form the essence of earth.
The mist keeps moisture overnight;
Lichen and moss then add fresh green.
The rugged shape soars to top Isle Peng,
Its secluded blooms as fragrant as Yingzhou’s.
Beneath a few knotty pines the wild cranes rest;
On some sad willows the orioles speak.
It’s indeed an ancient spot of a thousand years,
An immortal site of ten thousand years.
The phoenix sings in green paulownia trees;
And living streams hide aged dragons.
The path winds as beans and vines dangle;
The stone steps ascend with the creepers.
Apes of the peak wail, saddened by the moon rising;
Birds sing on tall trees, gladdened by the bright sky.
Two forests of bamboo, their shade cool as rain;
One path of dense flowers, thick little brocade.
From distant hills will white clouds often show;
Formless, they drift where gentle breezes blow.
Walking forward, Pilgrim cried out: “Big Brother Bull, open the door! Open the door!” With a creak, the doors opened and out walked a young girl who had in her hands a flower basket and on her shoulder a little rake. Truly
She had no adornment but only rags on herself;
Her spirit was full, for she had the mind of Dao.
Pilgrim approached her with palms pressed together and said, “Little girl, please take the trouble of announcing me to your princess. I’m actually a monk journeying to acquire scriptures. It’s hard for me to cross the Mountain of Flames on this road to the West, and I’ve come especially to borrow your palmleaf fan.” The little girl said, “To which monastery are you attached and what is your name? Tell me and I’ll announce you.” “I’m a priest from the Land of the East,” replied Pilgrim, “and my name is Sun Wukong.”
The young girl turned around and went inside to kneel before Rākṣasī, saying, “Madam, there is a priest outside our cave by the name of Sun Wukong, who has come from the Land of the East. He wants to see you and ask to borrow the palm-leaf fan, so that he may cross the Mountain of Flames.” When that Rākṣasī heard Sun Wukong, those three words, it was as if salt was added to a fire and oil was poured on flames.
Billowlike, redness swelled in her cheeks;
Savage anger flared in her heart.
“This wretched ape!” she cried. “So he’s here today! Maids, bring out my armor and my weapons.” She put on her armor at once, and holding two treasure swords of blue blade, she walked out of the cave. Pilgrim stepped aside to steal a glance at her and saw that she wrapped on
Her head a flower-patterned scarf,
And wore a brocade priestly robe.
A belt—two tiger tendons—bound her waist;
Her silk skirt was slightly hitched up.
Phoenix-bill shoes, just three inches;
Trousers with knee-fringes of gold.
Gripping treasure swords and shrieking she came,
Looking more fierce than the moon dame.11
As she walked out of the door, Rākṣasī shouted, “Where’s Sun Wukong?” Pilgrim went forward to meet her, bowing, and said, “Sister-in-law, old Monkey’s here to greet you.” “Who’s your sister-in-law?” hissed Rākṣasī, “and who wants your greeting?”
“The Bull Demon King of your household,” replied Pilgrim, “and old Monkey once formed a fraternal alliance; there were, in fact, seven of us bond-brothers.12 I understand that you, princess, are the consort proper of Big Brother Bull. Would I dare not address you as sister-in-law?” “Wretched ape!” said Rākṣasī. “If you have any regard for fraternal relations, then why did you ensnare my son?” Pretending not to know, Pilgrim asked, “Who’s your son?” “He’s the Red Boy,” answered Rākṣasī, “The Great King Holy Child of the Fiery Cloud Cave by the Dried Pine Stream at the Roaring Mountain, who was brought down by you. I was just wondering where I could go to find you for vengeance, and you delivered yourself at the door. You think I would spare you?”
Smiling as broadly as he could to try to placate her, Pilgrim said, “Sister-inlaw, you haven’t quite probed to the depth of the matter, and you’ve wrongly blamed old Monkey. Your boy took my master captive and even wanted to steam or boil him. It was fortunate that the Bodhisattva Guanyin subdued him and rescued my master. Now he has become the Boy Skilled in Wealth at the Bodhisattva’s place; having received from her the right fruit, he now undergoes neither birth nor death and he experiences neither filth nor cleanliness. He shares the same age as Heaven and Earth, the same longevity as the sun and the moon. Instead of thanking old Monkey for the kindness of preserving your son’s life, you blame me. Is that fair?”
“You smart-mouthed ape!” said Rākṣasī. “Though my son was not killed, how could I ever get him back so that I could see him again?” Smiling, Pilgrim said, “If you want to see your boy, that’s easy. Lend me your fan so that I can extinguish the fire. After I accompany my master across the mountain, I’ll go at once to the Bodhisattva of South Sea and bring him back for you to see, and I’ll return your fan at the same time. Is there anything wrong with that? At that time, you can examine him thoroughly to see if there’s any harm done to him. If there is, then you can rightfully blame me. But if you find him even more handsome than ever, then you should thank me indeed.”
“Monkey devil!” cried Rākṣasī. “Stop wagging your tongue. Stretch out your head and let me hack you a few times with my sword. If you can endure the pain, I’ll lend you the fan. If you can’t, I’ll send you to see King Yama right away.” Folding his hands before him, Pilgrim walked forward and said, laughing, “Sister-in-law, no need for further talk. Old Monkey will stretch out his bald head right now and you may hack me as many times as you please. You may stop when your strength runs out. But you must lend me your fan then.”
Without permitting further discussion, Rākṣasī raised her hands and chopped at Pilgrim’s head some ten or fifteen times. Our Pilgrim thought that it was all a game. Growing fearful, Rākṣasī turned around and wanted to flee. “Sister-inlaw,” said Pilgrim, “where are you going? Lend it to me quickly.” “My treasure,” said Rākṣasī, “is not to be lent lightly.” “In that case,” said Pilgrim, “have a taste of your brother-in-law’s rod!”
Dear Monkey King! With one hand he caught hold of her, and with the other he took out from his ear the rod, which with one shake grew to the thickness of a bowl. That Rākṣasī, however, managed somehow to struggle free and turned to meet him with upraised swords. Pilgrim, of course, followed up at once and struck her with the rod. Before the Jade Cloud Mountain, the two of them discarded any fraternal sentiments; they were driven only by animosity. This was some battle!
The lady’s a fiend deft in magic arts,
Who hates the monkey because of her son.
Though Pilgrim’s anger has been much aroused,
He still, for master’s sake, defers to her,
Saying at first he wants the palm-leaf fan
And not using might on the gentle one.
Foolish Rākṣasī slashes with her sword,
Though Monkey King would claim relations first.
(How could a woman battle with a man
Who, after all, would a woman suppress?)
How ferocious is this one’s golden-hooped iron rod!
How thick and fast are that one’s blue and frosty blades!
A blow on the face—
A slash on the head—
They bitterly fight and refuse to quit.
Left and right they parry with martial skill;
Back and front they cover most craftily.
In their battle they are so wholly rapt
That they hardly notice the sun has set.
Swiftly Rākṣasī takes out her true fan
And one wave brings the gods and ghosts distress.
Rākṣasī fought with Pilgrim until dark; when she saw how heavy the rod of Pilgrim was and what great skills he had as a fighter, she knew that she could not prevail against him. She took out her palm-leaf fan and fanned Pilgrim once: a strong gust of cold wind at once blew him completely out of sight while she returned to her cave in triumph.
Drifting and soaring in the air, our Great Sage could not stop at all: he sank to the left but he was unable to touch ground; he dropped to the right but he could not remain still. The wind bore him away like
A cyclone dispatching fallen leaves,
A stream sweeping some withered flowers.
On he tumbled for a whole night, and only by morning did he finally drop down on a mountain. Hugging a rock on the summit with both his hands, he rested for a long while before he looked around. Then he recognized that this was the Little Sumeru Mountain. Heaving a lengthy sigh, our Great Sage said, “What a formidable woman! How in the world did she manage to send old Monkey back to this place? I remember I once asked for the assistance of the Bodhisattva Lingji here some years past to subdue the fiend Yellow Wind in order to rescue my master.13 The Yellow Wind Ridge is about three thousand miles due north of here. Since I’m blown back here from the road to the West, I must have traveled in a southeasterly direction for who knows how many tens of thousands of miles. I think I’d better go down there to talk to the Bodhisattva Lingji and see if I can find my way back.”
As he thought to himself like that, he heard loud chiming bells. He hurried down the slope to reach the temple, where he was recognized by the worker at the front gate, who immediately went inside to announce: “The hairy-faced Great Sage who came some years back to ask the Bodhisattva to go subdue the fiend Yellow Wind is here again.” Knowing it was Wukong, the Bodhisattva quickly left his treasure throne to meet his visitor and to greet him, saying, “Congratulations! Have you acquired the scriptures already?” “Not quite, not quite!” replied Wukong. “It’s still too early.” “If you have not yet reached Thunderclap,” said Lingji, “why is it that you have returned to this humble mountain?”
Pilgrim said, “Since that year when you were kind enough to help us subdue the fiend Yellow Wind, we have gone through countless ordeals on our journey. We have now arrived at the Mountain of Flames, but we can’t proceed. When we asked the natives there, they said that the palm-leaf fan belonging to an Immortal Iron-Fan could extinguish the fire. Old Monkey went to visit her and discovered that that immortal was in fact the wife of the Bull Demon King, the mother of Red Boy. Because she claimed that she could no longer see her son frequently since I had sent him to be the youth attendant of the Bodhisattva Guanyin, she regarded me as her worst enemy, refused to lend me the fan, and fought with me. When she saw how heavy my rod was, she fanned me once with her fan and I drifted all the way back here before I dropped down. That’s why I have intruded upon your abode to ask you for the way back. How many miles are there from here to the Mountain of Flames?”
Laughing, Lingji replied, “That woman is named Rākṣasī, and she’s also called Princess Iron-Fan. Her palm-leaf fan happens to be a spiritual treasure begotten of Heaven and Earth at the back of Mount Kunlun at the time when chaos divided. It is a finest leaf of the supreme yin, and that is why it can extinguish all fires. If a man is fanned by it, he will drift for eighty-four thousand miles before the cold wind subsides. There are only some fifty thousand miles between my place here and the Mountain of Flames. It is only because the Great Sage has the ability to halt the clouds that he is able to stop. No mortal person can possibly stand still after such a short distance!”
“Formidable! Formidable!” exclaimed Pilgrim. “How could my master overcome this hurdle?” “Relax, Great Sage,” said Lingji. “It is actually the affinity of the Tang Monk that you have landed here. This will ensure your success.” “How so?” asked Pilgrim, and Lingji said, “In years past when I received the instructions from Tathāgata, I was given a Flying-Dragon Staff and a Wind-Arresting Elixir. The staff was used to subdue the wind demon, but the elixir has never been used. I’ll give it to you now, and you can be certain that that fan will not be able to move you. You can take the fan, extinguish the fire, and achieve your merit then.” Pilgrim bowed deeply at once to thank him, whereupon the Bodhisattva took out from his sleeve a tiny silk bag in which there was the Wind-Arresting Elixir. The pellet was firmly sewn onto the underside of Pilgrim’s collar with needle and thread. Then the Bodhisattva saw Pilgrim out the door, saying, “There’s not time for me to entertain you. Go toward the northwest and you’ll find the mountain home of Rākṣasī.”
Taking leave of Lingji, Pilgrim mounted the cloud somersault and went back to the Jade Cloud Mountain. In a moment he arrived and, beating the door with his iron rod, shouted: “Open the door! Open the door! Old Monkey wants to borrow the fan!”
The maid inside the door hurriedly went to report: “Madam, the person who wants to borrow the fan is here again.” On hearing this, Rākṣasī became fearful, saying, “This wretched ape’s truly able! When I fan someone with my treasure, he’ll have to drift eighty-four thousand miles before he can stop. This ape was blown away not long ago. How could he return so soon? This time, I’m going to fan him three or four times so that he won’t be able to come back at all.” She got up quickly, and after putting on her armor properly, she picked up both of her swords and walked out of the door, saying, “Pilgrim Sun, aren’t you afraid of me? Are you here seeking death once more?” “Don’t be so stingy, Sister-in-law,” said Pilgrim, chuckling. “Please lend me your fan. I’m a gentleman with an excess of honesty, not a small man who doesn’t return what he borrows.”
“You brazen baboon!” scolded Rākṣasī. “You’re so impudent, so emptyskulled! I have yet to avenge the wrong of having my son taken. How could I possibly grant you the wish of borrowing the fan? Don’t run away! Have a taste of this old lady’s swords!” Our Great Sage, of course, was not to be intimidated; he wielded the iron rod to meet her. The two of them charged each other and closed in some six or seven times, when Rākṣasī’s arms began to weaken even as Pilgrim Sun grew stronger than ever. When she saw that the tide was turning against her, she took out the fan and fanned Pilgrim once. He, however, stood there without moving at all. Putting away his iron rod, he said to her, full of smiles, “This time is not the same as last time! You can fan all you want. If old Monkey budges a teeny bit, he’s not a man!” Rākṣasī indeed gave him a couple more, but he remained unmoved. Horrified, Rākṣasī put away her treasure and dashed inside the cave, tightly shutting the doors behind her.
When Pilgrim saw her shutting the doors, he resorted to his other abilities. Tearing open his collar, he took out the Wind-Arresting Elixir and placed it in his mouth instead. With one shake of his body, he changed into a tiny mole cricket and crawled inside through a crack in the door. There he found Rākṣasī crying, “I’m terribly thirsty! Bring me some tea.” The maid attending her took up a pot of fragrant tea and filled the cup so hurriedly that bubbles welled up. Delighted by what he saw, Pilgrim spread his wings and dived right into the bubbles.
As she was extremely thirsty, Rākṣasī grabbed the tea and finished it in two gulps. Pilgrim by then already reached her stomach; changing back into his true form, he shouted, “Sister-in-law, lend me your fan!” Turning white, Rākṣasī cried, “Little ones, have you shut the front door?” “We have,” they all replied. “If you have shut the door,” she said, “then how is it that Pilgrim Sun is making noises in our house?” “He’s making noises in your body,” said one of the maids.
“Pilgrim Sun,” said Rākṣasī, “where are you playing your tricks?”
“Old Monkey in all his life hasn’t known how to play tricks,” said Pilgrim. “What I rely on are all real competences, genuine abilities. I’m now having a little fun in my esteemed Sister-in-law’s stomach! I am, as the saying goes, seeing right through you! I know how thirsty you must be, so let me send you a ‘sitting bowl’ to relieve your thirst.” Suddenly he shoved his foot down hard and unbearable pain shot through Rākṣasī’s lower abdomen, sending her tumbling to the floor and moaning. “Please don’t refuse me, Sister-in-law,” said Pilgrim, “I’m presenting you with an added snack14 for your hunger.” He jerked his head upward, and unbearable pain coursed through Rākṣasī’s heart. She began to roll all over the ground, the pain turning her face yellow and her lips white. All she could do was to cry out, “Brother-in-law Sun, please spare my life!”
Only then did Pilgrim stop his movements, saying, “Do you now recognize me as your brother-in-law? I’ll spare you for the sake of Big Brother Bull. Bring out the fan quickly for me to use.” Rākṣasī said, “Brother-in-law, I have the fan. You come out and take it.” “Bring it out and let me see it first,” said Pilgrim.
Rākṣasī told one of her maids to hold up a palm-leaf fan and stand on one side. When Pilgrim crawled up to her throat and saw it, he said, “Since I’m going to spare you, Sister-in-law, I’ll not scratch a hole in your rib cage to come out. I’ll leave through your mouth. Open it three times.” That Rākṣasī did as she was told, and Pilgrim at once flew out as a mole cricket, which then alighted on the palm-leaf fan. Rākṣasī did not even see him; she opened her mouth three times and kept saying, “Brother-in-law, please come out.” Changing at once into his original form, Pilgrim took the fan in his hand and said, “I’m right here. Thanks for lending it to me.” He started to walk out of the cave in big strides; the little ones hurriedly opened the door to let him out of the cave.
Mounting the clouds, our Great Sage headed back toward the east and, in a moment, arrived at his destination, dropping down beside the red-brick wall. Eight Rules was delighted when he saw him. “Master,” he shouted, “Elder Brother has returned!” Tripitaka came out of the house with the old man and Sha Monk to greet Pilgrim, and they all went back inside. Pilgrim stood the fan to one side and asked, “Sir, is this the fan?” “It is, it is,” replied the old man.
Highly pleased, the Tang Monk said, “Worthy disciple, you have made a great merit, but you must have worked very hard to acquire this treasure.” “No need to talk about the hard work,” replied Pilgrim, “but who do you think is that Immortal Iron-Fan? It’s actually the wife of the Bull Demon King, the mother of Red Boy, whose name is also Rākṣasī. She is also called the Princess Iron-Fan. I went to her cave to try to borrow the fan, but she wanted to settle the old score with me, hacking me a few times with her swords. I used the rod to frighten her, and that was when she brought out this thing and gave me a fan. I drifted all the way back to the Little Sumeru Mountain, where I was fortunate enough to see the Bodhisattva Lingji. He gave me a Wind-Arresting Elixir and pointed out to me the way back to the Jade Cloud Mountain. I saw Rākṣasī again, and when she couldn’t drive me away with her fan this time, she retreated back into her cave. Old Monkey then changed into a mole cricket to fly inside. She was just asking for tea, so I dived inside the tea bubbles and managed to get inside her stomach. When I waved my hands and feet, she had such unbearable pain that she couldn’t stop calling me brother-in-law and asking me to spare her. When she was finally willing to lend me her fan, I did spare her and brought back this fan. After we have crossed the Mountain of Flames, I’ll take it back to her.” On hearing this, Tripitaka thanked him repeatedly. Then master and disciples took leave of the old man.
They proceeded westward for some forty miles, and they began to feel the heat growing more intense and more oppressive. “My feet are on fire!” Sha Monk could only cry. “They are killing me!” said Eight Rules. Even the horse was trotting more rapidly than usual, but because the ground was becoming hotter all the time, they found it exceedingly difficult to go forward. “Master,” Pilgrim said at length, “please dismount. And don’t move, Brothers. Let me use the fan to extinguish the fire. Allow the wind and rain to cool off the earth first before we try to cross this mountain.” Lifting high the fan, Pilgrim dashed up to the flames and fanned at them with all his might. On that mountain the blaze grew brighter than ever. He waved the fan a second time and the fire became more intense a hundredfold. He tried for a third time and the fire leaped ten thousand feet tall, roaring toward him. Pilgrim dashed away but already the hair on both his thighs was completely burnt off. He ran back to the Tang Monk, shouting, “Go back! Go back! The fire’s coming!”
Climbing on the horse, our elder galloped toward the east, followed by Eight Rules and Sha Monk. They retreated for some twenty miles before they rested. “Wukong,” said the elder, “what happened?” “It’s a mess!” replied Pilgrim, throwing the fan away. “She has tricked me!” On hearing this, Tripitaka became utterly dejected. Tears streaming down his face, he could only say, “What shall we do?” “Elder Brother,” said Eight Rules, “why did you yell for us to go back so hurriedly?” “I fanned at the mountain once,” said Pilgrim, “and the blaze grew brighter. I did it a second time and the fire became even more intense. A third wave of the fan made the flames leap up ten thousand feet tall. If I hadn’t run fast enough, all my hair would have been burned away.” With a chuckle, Eight Rules said, “You have often made the claim that you can be hurt neither by thunder nor by fire. How is it that you are afraid of fire now?” “Oh, Idiot!” said Pilgrim. “You just don’t know anything! On those occasions, I was always prepared, and therefore I could not be hurt. Today I was only trying to extinguish the fire with the fan, and I did not even make the fire-repellant sign, nor did I use magic to protect my body. So, the hair on both my thighs is burned up.”
“If the fire’s so intense,” said Sha Monk, “and there’s no way to get to the West, what’s to be done?” “Let’s head for the direction where there’s no fire,” said Eight Rules. “Which direction?” asked Tripitaka. Eight Rules said, “There’s no fire in the east, the south, and the north.” “But which direction has scriptures?” Tripitaka asked again. Eight Rules said, “The West.” “I only want to go where the scriptures are,” said Tripitaka. Sha Monk said
“Where there are scriptures, there’s fire.
Where there’s no fire, there are no scriptures.
We are in some dilemma!”
As master and disciples were chatting like that, they heard someone calling, “Great Sage, please do not be distressed. Take some food first before you think of what you want to do.” The four of them turned to look and they saw an old man,
Who wore a wind-wafted cape
And a cap of half-moon shape;
Who held a dragon-head cane
And trod on iron-gaitered boots.
He was followed by a demon with a hawk beak and a fish jowl. The demon’s head was supporting a copper pan in which were placed some steamed cakes, puddings, and rice of yellow millet. The old man stood by the road and bowed, saying, “I’m the local spirit of the Mountain of Flames. When I learned that the Great Sage and the holy monk could not proceed, I came to present you a meal.” “Food is of small concern to us at the monent,” said Pilgrim. “How can we extinguish this fire so that my master can cross over the mountain?” “If you want to extinguish the fire,” said the local spirit, “you must ask the Rākṣasī for the palm-leaf fan.” Picking up the fan from the side of the road, Pilgrim said, “Isn’t this the fan? But the blaze grew bigger than ever when I fanned at it. Why?” When the local spirit saw it, he laughed and said, “This is not the real fan. You’ve been tricked.” “How can I get the real one?” asked Pilgrim. Again bowing and smiling gently, the local spirit said,
“If you the real palm-leaf fan desire,
Then King Powerful you must inquire.”
We do not know for what reason they must seek the Mighty King; let’s listen to the explanation in the next chapter.