We were telling you about the king of the Sacrifice Kingdom, who expressed his thanks to Tripitaka Tang and his disciples for recovering the treasure and capturing the fiends by offerings of jade and gold to them, which they refused to accept. The king therefore ordered the attendant before the throne to have two suits of clothing made for each of the pilgrims, according to the style that they had been wearing. Two pairs of shoes and socks and two silk sashes were also made for each person. In addition to these, dried goods—both baked and roasted foods—were also prepared. After their travel rescript had been certified, the king called for the imperial cortege; many civil and military officials, the people of the entire capital, and the monks of the Dragon-Subduing Monastery followed him to send the four out of the city, accompanied by the sonorous sounds of pipes and drums. When they had gone for some twenty miles, they took leave of the king first, while the rest of the officials and people retired after another twenty miles. Those priests from the Dragon-Subduing Monastery, however, refused to turn back even after walking with the pilgrims for some fifty or sixty miles, a few insisting that they would travel with the pilgrims to the Western Heaven, and a few others saying that they would practice austerities while serving the pilgrims on their way. When Pilgrim saw that none of them was willing to turn back, he had to use his magic. Pulling off some thirty strands of his hair, he blew a mouthful of divine breath on them, crying, “Change!” They changed at once into a herd of ferocious striped tigers, prowling and growling, which had the main road completely blocked. Only then did these monks become frightened and dared not proceed, so that the Great Sage could tell his master to urge his horse forward. In a little while, they faded in the distance, and the monks burst into loud wailing, all crying, “Most gracious and kind fathers! You’re unwilling to save us because we have no affinity!”
Leaving those monks behind, we tell you instead about the master and his three disciples who headed toward the West. Only after they had gone for quite a distance did Pilgrim retrieve his hairs. Truly the seasons were quick to change, and soon it was the end of winter and the beginning of spring. Neither too hot nor too cold, it was a pleasant time to travel. As they walked along, they came upon a long ridge over which the main road had to pass. When Tripitaka reined in his horse to look at the place, he saw that the ridge was covered with brambles and clogged with creepers and vines. Though there was a faint trace of the road, it was flanked by the prickly thorns of brambles crowding in from left and right. “Disciples,” the Tang Monk called out, “how could we walk through this road?” “Why not?” asked Pilgrim.
“Oh, disciples!” said the Tang Monk. “Below’s the faded path; above are the brambles. Only reptiles or insects creeping on the ground can get through. Even for you, it means walking while bending double. How could I possibly stay on horseback?” “Don’t worry,” said Eight Rules. “Let me show you my ability to rake firewood and spread open the brambles for you. Don’t speak of riding a horse. Even if you were to ride a carriage, you would be able to get through.”
“Though you may have the strength,” said Tripitaka, “you can’t last over a long distance. I wonder how wide this ridge is. Where can we find the energy?” Pilgrim replied, “No need to discuss this anymore. Let me go and have a look.” He leaped into the air and what he saw was an endless stretch. Truly
They cloak the earth and fade into the sky,
They gather mist and hold up rain—
These soft, disheveled mats flanking the road,
These jade-green tops shading the mount.
Dense and luxuriant the newly sprouted leaves;
Rank and prolific they thrive and bloom.
They seem from a distance to have no end;
Close up they look like a vast green cloud.
Furry and lush,
In fresh dark green,
They rustle loudly in the wind
As the bright sun makes them glow.
In their midst are pines, cedars, and bamboos;
Many plums, willows, and mulberries even more.
Creepers wind around old trees
And wisteria, the drooping willows.
Laced together like a prop,
They seem like a matted cot.
There are flowers blooming like brocade,
And wild buds send fragrance far away.
Which man has not met some brambles during his life?
Who has e’er seen such vast thickets of the West?
After he had stared at the region for a long time, Pilgrim lowered his cloud and said, “Master, this ridge is enormous!” “How enormous is it?” asked Tripitaka. “I can’t see the end of it,” replied Pilgrim. “It seems to be at least a thousand miles long.” Horrified, Tripitaka said, “What shall we do?”
“Please don’t worry, Master,” said Sha Monk with a laugh. “Let’s follow the example of those who burn off the land and set fire to the brambles so that you may pass through.” “Stop babbling!” said Eight Rules. “To burn off the land, you must do it around the time of the tenth month when the vegetation has dried up and is readily ignitable. Right now it is growing luxuriantly. How could it be burned?” “Even if you could,” added Pilgrim, “the flame would be quite terrifying.” “How are we to get across then?” asked Tripitaka. “If you want to get across,” said Eight Rules with a laugh, “you’ll have to do as I say!”
Dear Idiot! Making the magic sign with his fingers, he recited a spell and gave his torso a stretch, crying, “Grow!” At once he reached the height of some two hundred feet. Shaking his muckrake, he cried, “Change!” and the handle of the rake attained the length of some three hundred feet. In big strides, he walked forward and, his two hands wielding the rake, pushed away the brambles left and right. “Let Master follow me!” he said, and a highly pleased Tripitaka quickly urged his horse forward, followed by Sha Monk poling the luggage and Pilgrim, also using his iron rod to clear up the path.
That whole day they did not rest at all and journeyed for some one hundred miles. By evening they arrived at a small clearing, where they came upon a stone monument. On top were inscribed in large letters the words, Bramble Ridge. Down below there were two rows of smaller characters, which read:
Eight hundred miles of brambles intertwined,
A road that few since days of old have trod.
When Eight Rules saw the monument, he said, laughing, “Let old Hog add two more lines to the inscription:
But now Eight Rules’s able to clear a path
Straight to the West, which is level and broad.”
Delighted, Tripitaka dismounted and said, “Oh, disciple! We’ve tired you out! Let’s spend the night here, and we’ll journey again when it’s light tomorrow.” “Don’t stop now, Master,” said Eight Rules. “While the sky is still fair and we’re inspired, we should clear the path right through the night and get on with it!” The elder had to comply.
Eight Rules went forward and again made a great effort; with the rider not resting his hands and the horse not stopping its trotting, master and disciples journeyed for one whole night and another day. Once more it was getting late, but what lay before them was a bosky sight. They also heard the song of windwhipped bamboos and the sound of rustling pines as they came upon another stretch of clearing, in the center of which was an old shrine. There, outside the door, were pines and cedars arrested in green, peaches and plums vying to display their beauty.
After he dismounted, Tripitaka and his three disciples looked around. What they saw was
An old shrine atop a cool stream before the cliff,
And desolate grounds, mist-wrapped, met one’s eye.
For clumps of sāla trees long years had passed;
A mossed-terrace stood there as seasons went by.
Like swaying jade the bamboos seemed to speak,
And grief was told by a bird’s fading cry.
Scant traces of man, or of beast and fowl;
Just wild blooms and creepers on walls most high.
After he had surveyed the region, Pilgrim said, “This place portends more evil than good. We shouldn’t stay here long.” “Elder Brother, aren’t you overly suspicious?” asked Sha Monk. “There’s not even a trace of humans here, let alone of a weird beast or a fiendish bird. What’s there to be afraid of?” He had hardly finished speaking when a gust of cold wind brought out from behind the shrine door an old man. He had on his head a square turban, a simple robe on his body, a cane in his hand, and a pair of straw sandals on his feet. He was followed by a demon attendant who had a red beard and a scarlet body, a green face with jutting tusks, and who had on his head a platter of wheat cakes. Going to his knees, the old man said, “Great Sage, this humble deity is the local spirit of the Bramble Ridge. Having learned of your arrival, I have little to offer you except this platter of specially prepared steamed cakes. I present this to all of you venerable masters and ask you to have a meal. Throughout this region of eight hundred miles, there is no human household. So, please take some cakes for the relief of your hunger.”
Delighted, Eight Rules walked forward with outstretched hands and was about to take one of the cakes. Pilgrim, however, who had had the old man under scrutiny for some time, shouted immediately, “Stop! This isn’t a good fellow! Don’t you dare be impudent! What sort of a local spirit are you that you dare come to deceive old Monkey? Watch my rod!”
When the old man saw him attacking, he spun around and at once changed into a gust of cold wind. With a loud whoosh, it swept the elder high into the air. Tumbling over and over, he soon vanished from sight. The Great Sage was so taken aback that he did not know how to begin to search for his master, while Eight Rules and Sha Monk stared at each other, paling with consternation. Even the white horse neighed in fear. The four of them, three brothers and the horse, seemed to be in a trance; they looked far and near but there was not a trace of their master. We shall leave them there, busily searching.
We tell you now instead about that old man and his demon attendant, who hauled the elder before a mist-shrouded stone house and then lowered him gently. Taking the hand of the elder, the old man said, “Holy monk, please don’t be afraid. We are not bad people. I’m actually the Squire Eight-and-Ten1 of Bramble Ridge. Since ours happens to be a night of clear breeze and bright moonlight, I have brought you here especially to meet a few friends and to talk about poetry, just to spend a pleasant moment of leisure.” Only then did the elder manage to collect himself. As he glanced about carefully, this was truly what he found:
A haunt of misty clouds obscure,
A house in scenes divinely pure,
Good for keeping the self pure in training,
For flower and bamboo planting.
Cranes on verdant cliffs will be seen;
Frogs croak from ponds lovely and green.
Tiantai’s magic hearth it surpasses,
Brighter than Mount Hua’s air masses.
Fishing and plowing need we mention?
Worthy is this place of reclusion.
Sit still and your thoughts turn serene
As faint moonlight ascends the screen.
As Tripitaka enjoyed the scenery, he felt that the moon and the stars grew even brighter. Then he heard voices, all saying, “Squire Eight-and-Ten has succeeded in inviting the holy monk here.” When the elder raised his head, he saw three old men: the first bore frostlike features, the second had flowing green hair and beard, and the third was meek-mannered and dark colored. They each had different looks and different garments, and they all came to salute Tripitaka. Returning their bows, the elder said, “What merit or virtue does this disciple possess that he should win such kind attention from these aged immortals?”
“We have always heard,” replied Squire Eight-and-Ten with a smile, “that the holy monk is possessed of the Way. Having waited for you for a long time, we are fortunate indeed to be able to meet you now. If you are willing to share with us the pearl and jade of your wisdom, we beg you to sit and chat with us, as we long to know the true teachings, the mysteries of Chan.”
Again bending low, Tripitaka said, “May I ask the honorable styles of the aged immortals?” “The one with the frostlike features,” replied Squire Eight-and-Ten, “is called Squire Lonesome Rectitude. The green-haired one has the name of Master Void-Surmounting, and the humble one goes by the title of CloudBrushing Dean. This old moron bears the name of Knotty Virtue.” “And what is the honorable age of the immortals?” asked Tripitaka.
Squire Lonesome Rectitude said,
My age has a thousand years attained:
Dense leaves, ever young, reach toward the sky.
Thick, fragrant boughs shaped like dragons and snakes;
A frame of luscious shade frost and snow did try.
Hardy since childhood and not worn by time,
E’er upright, I on magic arts rely.
The phoenix, no common bird, finds shelter here—
Lush and lofty, from this world’s dust raised high.
Smiling, Master of Void-Surmounting said,
A thousand years old, I’ve braved wind and frost
With tall, spiritual stems by nature strong.
My sounds hum like rain in a quiet night;
My shade spreads cloudlike all autumn day long.
My roots are coiled for endless life I’ve known;
I’ve been taught of eternal youth the song.
My guests are cranes and dragons, no worldly life.
Vibrantly green, with gods I dwell along.
Smiling, Cloud-Brushing Dean said,
A thousand cold winters I, too, have passed:
Old but cheerful, my form’s both pure and quaint.
Aloof, I shun mixing with worldly dust and noise,
Still romantic though by frost and snow untaint.
Seven Worthies2 are my friends of the Way;
Six Hermits3 would join me in verse to paint.
Not ditties or jingles, we make noble rhymes.
I am by nature friend of long-life saints.
Smiling, Knotty Virtue, Squire Eight-and-Ten, said,
I, too, am over a thousand years old.
Still fair and true, I am naturally green.
My strength is lovely, born of dew and rain;
The world’s creative mystery I did glean.
Only I thrive in all gorges’ mist and wind;
In all four climes none’s more than I serene.
I spread a hood of jade to shade my guests,
Discussing Dao or with lute and chess are seen.
Thanking them, Tripitaka said, “All four of you immortals are enjoying long life. Why, Master Knotty Virtue is more than a thousand years old! Having attained the Way at such an advanced age, and blessed with such extraordinary and refined features, could you be the Four White-Haired Ones4 of the Han?” “You praise us far too much!” replied the four old men together. “We are not the Four White-Haired Ones, but only the Four Disciplined Ones deep in the mountain. May we ask in turn the holy monk for his age?”
With hands folded before his chest and bowing, Tripitaka replied:
I left mother’s womb forty years ago:5
Even before my fate on earth was woe!
Fleeing for life, I tossed on waves manifold;
I cast my shell, meeting by luck Mount Gold.
Myself I trained and sūtras read with zeal;
Buddha’s true worship was my sole ideal.
Now my King sends me to go to the West.
Your divine presence thus favors my quest.
The four old men all joined in praising him, and one of them said, “From the moment he left his mother’s womb, the holy monk has followed the teachings of Buddha. He has indeed practiced austerities from childhood, and thus he is in truth a superior monk who possesses the Way. Now that we have this good fortune of receiving your honorable presence, we make bold to seek from you your great doctrine. We beg you to instruct us on the rudiments of the law of Chan, and that would gratify our lifelong desire.”
When he heard these words, the elder was not in the least daunted. He began to speak to the four of them, saying, “Chan is quiescence, and the Law is salvation. But the salvation of quiescence will not be accomplished without enlightenment. The cleansing of the mind and the purgation of desires, the abandonment of the worldly and departure from the dust—that is enlightenment. Now, it’s a rare opportunity to attain a human body, to be born in Middle Land,6 and to encounter the correct doctrine of Buddha. There is no greater blessing than the possession of these three things. The wondrous ways of ultimate virtue, vast and boundless, can neither be seen nor heard. It can, however, extinguish the six organs of sense and the six kinds of perception. Thus, perfect wisdom has neither birth nor death, neither want nor excess; it encompasses both form and emptiness, and it reveals the nonreality of both saints and commoners. To contact the truth, you must know the mallet and tong of Primal Origin;7 to intuit the Real, you must realize the technique of Śākyamuni. Excercise the power of mindlessness;8 tread and shatter Nirvāṇa. By means of the awakening of awakening, you must comprehend the enlightenment of enlightenment.
One spark of spirit light would protect all.
Let the fierce flame shine like a dancer’s robe,
Sweeping the dharma realm as one thing seen.
Pierce the dark and tenuous;
Fortify also the strong.
This mysterious pass, thus mentioned, who can go through?
Mine’s the originally practiced Chan of great awakening,
Retained and known just by those of affinity and will.”
The four elders showed boundless delight when they received this instruction. With hands folded and bowing in submission, all of them said, “The holy monk is indeed the very source of enlightenment in the principle of Chan!”
Then Cloud-Brushing Dean said, “Though Chan is quiescence and the Law, salvation, it is still required of us to be firm in our nature and sincere in our mind. Even if we became the true immortal of great awakening, it is, in the end, the way of no birth.9 The mystery we live by, you see, is greatly different from yours.”
“The Way is indeed extraordinary,” said Tripitaka, “but while substance and function are one, how could there be any difference?”
Smiling, Cloud-Brushing Dean said, “Since we were born hardy and strong, our substance and function differ from yours. Indebted to Heaven and Earth for giving us a body, we’re beholden to rain and dew for our colors’ nourishment. Smiling, we disdain the wind and frost and pass the days and months. Not one leaf of ours would wither; all our branches hold firm to virtue. Our words are
unlike yours which, instead of consulting the Liezi, cling to those of Sanskrit.
Now, the Dao10 was originally established in China. Instead, you seek its illumination in the West. You’re squandering your straw sandals! I wonder what it is that you are after? A stone lion must have gouged out your heart! Your bones must have been pumped full of wild foxes’ saliva! You forget your origin to practice Chan, vainly seeking the Buddha’s fruit. Yours are like the prickly riddles of my Bramble Ridge, like its tangled enigmas. This sort of superior man, how could he teach and lead? With this kind of model, how could he transmit truth’s imprint?
You must examine the appearances before you,
For there’s life by itself in quiescence.
The bottomless bamboo basket will draw water;
The rootless iron tree will bring forth flowers.
Plant your feet firmly on the Lingbao summit;
Maitreya’s fine congress you’ll attend back home.”
When Tripitaka heard these words, he kowtowed to thank the speaker, but he was raised by Squire Eight-and-Ten. As Squire Lonesome Rectitude also came forward to pull him up, Master Void-Surmounting let out a loud guffaw and said, “The words of Cloud-Brushing are obviously shot full of holes. Please rise, holy monk, and don’t believe all he says. In this moonlight we never intended at all to discuss the theories of self-cultivation. Let’s indulge rather in the composing and chanting of poetry.” “If you want to do that,” said Cloud-Brushing with a smile, “Let’s go inside our little shrine for a cup of tea. How about it?”
The elder leaned forward to stare at the stone house, which had on top of its entrance an inscription of four words written in large characters: Shrine of Sylvan Immortals. They walked together inside and took their proper seats. Then the scarlet-bodied demon attendant came to serve them with a platter of China Root pudding and five goblets of fragrant liquid. The four old men invited the Tang Monk to eat first, but he was so suspicious that he dared not take it right away. Only after the four old men partook of the food did Tripitaka also eat two pieces of the pudding. Each of them then drained the fragrant liquid and the goblets were taken away.
As he glanced cautiously around, Tripitaka saw that it was so bright and luminous inside the shrine that they seemed to be sitting directly beneath the moon.
From rock edges water flowed out
And from flowers came forth fragrance.
Unsoiled by half a speck of dust,
This place of grace and elegance.
Gladdened and comforted by such heavenly scenery, the elder could not refrain from chanting the following line:
The mind of Chan seems like the dustless moon.
With a broad grin, the elder Knotty Virtue immediately followed the lead and chanted:
On us our muse shines as the cloudless noon.
Squire Lonesome Rectitude said,
Fine phrases are cut like rolled-out brocade;
Master Void-Surmounting said,
Like rare gems good lines are fashioned and made.
Cloud-Brushing Dean said,
Six Periods11 are purged of their vain conceits;
The Book of Odes a new compiler meets.12
“This disciple,” said Tripitaka, “has in an unguarded moment blurted out a few words. It’s like wielding the axe before the Carpenter God! When I heard just now the fresh and elegant lines of you immortals, I knew I had met poetic masters.” The elder Knotty Virtue said, “No need for idle chatter, holy monk. Those who have left the family must finish the work they started. If you begin a poem, you can’t avoid finishing it, can you? We hope you will complete it.” “This disciple can hardly do that,” replied Tripitaka. “May I trouble Squire Eight-and-Ten to find the concluding lines and render the poem whole? That’ll be wonderful!” “How cruel you are!” said Knotty Virtue. “You had the first line, after all. How could you refuse the last two? To withhold your talents is hardly reasonable.” Tripitaka had no choice but to finish the last two lines by reciting:
Ere the tea darkens as pine breezes sing,
This gay mood of songs fills my heart with spring.
“Bravo!” said Squire Eight-and-Ten. “What a magnificent line—‘This gay
mood of songs fills my heart with spring’!”
“Knotty Virtue,” said Squire Lonesome Rectitude, “since you are verily addicted to poetry, you love to mull over every line. Why not start another poem?”
Without hesitation, Squire Eight-and-Ten said, “I’ll begin in the manner of ‘Pushing the Needle’:13
Spring quickens me not, nor does winter dry;
For me they are nothing, though clouds float by.”
Master Void-Surmounting said, “I’ll follow you in that manner also.
By me, though windless, is formed a dancing shade.
One loves such blessing and long life displayed.”
Then Cloud-Brushing Dean said,
Displayed like West Mountain’s noble sire,
I’m pure as southland’s empty-hearted squire.
Finally, Squire Lonesome Rectitude said,
Squired by slanting growth of highest grade,
I yield the crossbeams of the king’s estrade.14
On hearing this, the elder was full of praise for them, saying, “This is truly the most sublime poetry, its nobility reaches up to Heaven! Though this disciple is without talents, he would make bold to begin another two lines.” “Holy monk,” said Squire Lonesome Rectitude, “you are someone accomplished in the Way, someone who has received profound nurture. There’s no need for you to do another linking verse. Please grant us an entire poem by yourself, and we shall make the utmost effort to reply in kind.”15 Tripitaka had no alternative but to compose, smiling, a poem in the style of the regulated verse:
A priest goes West to seek the dharma king:
To farthest shores some wondrous scripts he’d bring.
“Thrice-blooming plants the poet’s luck augment;
Jewel-tree blossoms waft the Buddha scent.”16
To reach beyond the highest heights he’ll strive
And try in all the worlds his office to live.
When he the noble jade form captivates,
The field of rites lies before Nirvāṇa’s gates.
When the four old men heard this, they paid him the highest compliments.
Then Squire Eight-and-Ten said, “This old moron has no other abilities except audacity. I shall force myself to answer your poem with this one of mine:
Aloof’s Knotty Virtue, I scorn the sylvan king.
My fame spreads wider than this long-lived thing!17
Tall, serpentine shade o’er the mount is bent;
The stream drinks my millennial, amber scent.
I reach out to enhance the universe,
Though wind and rain will my act and aim reverse.
Declining I lack those immortal bones,
With naught but fungi as my own gravestones.”
“This poem,” said Squire Lonesome Rectitude, “begins with a heroic line, and the middle parallel couplets, too, show tremendous strength. But the concluding lines are far too modest. How admirable! How admirable! This old moron will also reply with this poem:
My frosty face oft pleases the avian kings.
My talents thrive by the Hall of Four Great Things.18
Pearl drops of dew adorn my jade-green tent;
A gentle breeze will spread my chilly scent.
My murmurs at night the long porches attend;
An old shrine in autumn my shadows befriend.
To spring I give birthday gifts on new year’s day;
I’m the old master of the mountain way.”
“Marvelous poem! Marvelous poem!” said Master Void-Surmounting, laughing. “Truly it’s as if the moon is putting the center of Heaven under duress. How could this old moron reply in kind? But I shouldn’t allow this opportunity to pass by, I suppose, and so, I’ll have to throw together a few lines:
Of towering talents close to lords and king,
My fame by Grand Pure Palace19 once did spring.
On kiosks are seen green ether’s descent;
By darkened walls passes my faint, crisp scent.
Upright forever I retain my mirth,
For these roots are formed deep within the earth.
Above the clouds my dancing shadow soars,
Beyond those vainglorious, floral corps.”
“The poems of the three squires,” said Cloud-Brushing Dean, “are most noble and elegant; they show the finest purity and simplicity. Truly they can be said to have come from a brocaded pouch. My body has little strength and my bowels have little talents, but the instruction I received from the three squires has opened up my mind. So, I, too, will offer this doggerel. Please don’t laugh at me!
In Qi-Yu20 gardens I delight a sage king.
Through fields of Wei21 I’m free to sway and swing.
No Naiad’s tears my jadelike skin had stained,
But mottled sheaths had Han histories contained. 22
By frost my leaves their true beauty reveal.
Could mist henceforth my stems’ luster conceal?
With Ziyou’s23 passing my true friends are few,
Though scholars’ praise my fame ever renews.”24
“The poems of the various immortal elders,” said Tripitaka, “truly resemble pearls emitted by phoenixes. Not even Ziyou and Zixia, those two disciples of Confucius, could surpass you. Moreover, I’m extremely grateful for your kindness and hospitality. It is, however, deep in the night, and I fear that my three humble disciples are waiting for me somewhere. Your student, therefore, cannot remain here long. By your boundless love, let me leave now and go find them. I beg you to point out to me the way back.” “Please don’t worry, holy monk,” said the four old men, laughing. “Ours is an opportunity that comes but once in a thousand years. Though the night is deep, the sky is fair and the moon is very bright. Please sit here for awhile longer. By morning we shall escort you across the ridge, and you’ll without fail meet up with your disciples.”
As they were thus speaking, there walked in from outside the stone house two blue-robed maidens, holding a pair of red-gauze lanterns and followed by an immortal girl. She was twirling in her hand a sprig of apricot blossoms, and smiling broadly, she walked in to greet them. How did she look, you ask. She had
A young face kingfisher adorned,
And colors better than rouge;
Luminous starlike eyes;
Moth brows neat and refined.
Down below: a light pink skirt patterned with five-colored plums;
Up above; a maroon blouse without collar or sleeves.
Small slippers pointed like phoenix beaks,
And slender stockings of silk brocade.
Seductive and coy like a Tiantai goddess,
She seems to be the fair Daji 25 of old.
“To what do we owe this visit, Apricot Immortal?” asked the four old men as they rose to greet her. After the girl had bowed to all of them, she said, “I learned that a charming guest is being entertained here and I’ve come especially to make his acquaintance. May I meet him?” “The charming guest is right here,” said Squire Eight-and-Ten, pointing at the Tang Monk. “There’s no need for you to
ask to see him.” Bending low, Tripitaka dared not utter a word. “Bring us some
tea, quickly!” cried the girl, and two more yellow-robed maidens walked in with a red-lacquered tray, on which there were six small porcelain tea cups, several kinds of exotic fruits, and a spoon for stirring placed in the middle. One of the maidens also carried a tea pot of white iron set in yellow copper, from which arose the overpowering aroma of fine tea. After tea had been poured, the girl revealed ever so slightly her slender fingers and presented a cup of it to Tripitaka first. Then she gave the drink to the four old men before taking one herself.
“Why doesn’t the Apricot Immortal take a seat?” asked Master VoidSurmounting, and only then did she take a seat. When they finished their tea, the girl bowed again and said, “You immortals are reveling in great pleasures this evening. May I be instructed a little by your excellent verses?” “Ours are all crude and vulgar utterances,” said Cloud-Brushing Dean, “but the compositions of the Holy Monk can truly be considered a product of the high Tang. They’re most admirable.” “If it’s not too great an imposition,” said the girl, “I would like to hear them.” Whereupon the four old men gave a thorough rehearsal of the elder’s poems and his discourse on Chan.
Smiling broadly, the girl said to them, “I’m so untalented, and I really shouldn’t air my incompetence. But since I’ve had the privilege of hearing such magnificent poetry, I shouldn’t allow myself to go uninspired. I shall exert myself to the utmost to respond in kind to the second poem of the holy monk with a regulated verse of my own. How about that?” She thus chanted loudly:
My fame was made lasting by Hanwu King;26
To me his pupils did Confucius bring.27
Dong Xian’s28 affection would my growth foment;
Sun Chu29 once loved my Feast-of-Cold-Food scent.
How tender and coy is this rain-moistened bloom!
What fresh verdant hues half veiled in misty gloom!
Ripeness makes me a little tart, I know.
Banished each year to wheat fields, that’s my woe.
When those four men heard this poem, they all congratulated her, saying, “It’s most elegant and sublime! And the lines are so full of vernal longings. Such a
marvelous line—‘How tender and coy is this rain-moistened bloom!’”
Smiling in a coquettish manner, the girl said, “I’m in fear and trepidation! The composition of the holy monk just now was something that could be said to have come from a mind of silk and a mouth of brocade. Let me say to him: if you can be persuaded to show us your talent, how about granting me another of your poems?” The Tang Monk, however, dared not reply. As the girl gradually became amorous, she began to sidle closer to where he was seated. “What’s the matter with you, charming guest?” she asked softly. “If you don’t have some fun on such a beautiful night, what else are you waiting for? The span of a life time, how long could that be?”
“If the Apricot Immortal,” said Squire Eight-and-Ten, “entertained such genial feelings, how could the holy monk not reciprocate by giving his consent? If he withholds his favors, then he doesn’t know how lucky he is.” “But the holy monk,” said Squire Lonesome Rectitude, “is a gentleman of fame and accomplishment in the Way, who certainly will not indulge in anything improper. If we insist on such activities, it is we who are guilty of impropriety: we would be soiling a man’s fame and spoiling his virtue. That’s hardly the proper thing to do! If Apricot Immortal is indeed so inclined, let Cloud-Brushing Dean and Squire Eight-and-Ten serve as go-betweens. Master Void-Surmounting and I can be the witnesses. They can then seal this marital contract. Wouldn’t that be nice?”
On hearing this, Tripitaka turned red in anger. Leaping up all at once, he shouted, “You are all fiendish creatures! How you’ve tried to tempt me! At first, I allowed your platitudes to goad me into discussing the mysteries of Dao, and that was still all right. But how could you use this ‘beauty trap’ now to try to seduce me? What have you to say to this?” When the four elders saw how enraged Tripitaka had become, they became so startled that every one of them bit his fingers and fell completely silent. The scarlet-bodied demon attendant, however, grew very angry and bellowed, “Monk, you can’t even tell when someone’s trying to do you a favor! Is there anything bad about this dear sis of mine? Look at her refinement and talents, her lovely jadelike features. Let’s not talk about her skills in the feminine arts. Just a single poem of hers has already demonstrated that she is a worthy match for you. Why do you so brusquely refuse her? You’d better not let this opportunity slip by. What Squire Lonesome Rectitude says is most appropriate. If you refuse to do anything improper, let me serve as your marriage official.”
Tripitaka turned pale with fright, but he refused to give his assent no matter how urgently they pleaded with him. “You foolish priest!” said the demon attendant again. “We speak to you in a kindly manner, and you refuse us. If you arouse our wild and unruly passions and make us abduct you to another region, where you neither can pursue your priestly life nor take a wife, won’t you have lived in vain?” With a mind like metal or stone, that elder adamantly refused to comply. He thought to himself, “I wonder where my disciples are looking for me . . .” So speaking to himself, he could not restrain the tears from rolling down his cheeks. Trying to placate him with a smile, the girl sat down close to him and took out from her sleeve a honey-scented handkerchief to wipe away his tears. “Charming guest,” she said, “don’t be so upset! Let’s you and I nestle in jade and perfume and have some fun!” Uttering a loud cry, the elder bounded up and tried to dash out of the door, only to be grabbed by all those people. They brawled and struggled like that until dawn.
Suddenly another cry could be heard: “Master, Master, where are you speaking?” The Great Pilgrim Sun, you see, together with Eight Rules and Sha Monk, had been leading the horse and poling the luggage for a whole night without stopping. Going through brambles and thorns, searching this way and that, they managed to cover the entire eight hundred miles of the Bramble Ridge halfway between cloud and fog. By morning they reached the western edge of the ridge, and that was when they came upon the noises made by the Tang Monk. They responded with the cry, and the elder somehow managed to struggle out of the door, yelling, “Wukong, I’m here! Come and save me, quick!” In a flash, those four old men, the demon attendant, the girl, and her maidens all disappeared.
Soon Eight Rules and Sha Monk arrived, saying, “Master, how did you get here?” Tugging at Pilgrim, Tripitaka said, “Oh, disciples! I’ve been a great burden on you. That old man we saw last night, who claimed to be the local spirit coming to offer us food, was the person who hauled me to this place when with a shout you were about to hit him. He led me inside the door by the hand and introduced me to three other old men, all addressing me as the holy monk. Every one of them was quite refined in speech and manner, and they were all able poets. We spent our time in the exchange of verses until about midnight, when a beautiful girl accompanied by lanterns also arrived to meet me. She, too, composed a poem and addressed me as the charming guest. Then because of my looks she wanted to marry me. I woke up to their scheme all at once and refused. They began to put pressure on me, one wanting to be the go-between, another the marriage official, and still another the witness. I swore I would not comply, arguing with them and desperately trying to struggle free. Out of the blue you people arrived. I suppose partly because it was getting light already, and partly because they seemed to be afraid of you, they all vanished suddenly, though they were still pulling and tugging at me just a moment ago.”
“If you talked and discussed poetry with them,” said Pilgrim, “did you not ask them for their names?” “I did ask them for their styles,” replied Tripitaka. “The first old man called himself Squire Eight-and-Ten, and his style was Knotty Virtue. The second was styled Squire Lonesome Rectitude; the third, Master Void-Surmounting; and the fourth, Cloud-Brushing Dean. They addressed the girl as Apricot Immortal.” “Where are these creatures located?” asked Eight Rules. “Where did they go?” Tripitaka said, “I don’t know where they went, but the place where we discussed poetry was not far from here.”
As the three disciples looked around with their master, they discovered a cliff nearby, and on the cliff was a plaque bearing the words, Shrine of Sylvan Immortals. “It was right here,” said Tripitaka. When Pilgrim examined the place more carefully, he saw nearby a huge juniper tree, an old cypress tree, an old pine tree, and an old bamboo. Behind the bamboo was a scarlet maple tree. As he looked toward the far side of the cliff, he saw also an old apricot tree, flanked by two stalks of winter plum and two cassia plants.
“Have you people found the fiends?” said Pilgrim with a laugh. “Not yet,” replied Eight Rules. “Don’t you know,” said Pilgrim, “it is these several trees right here that have become spirits?” “Elder Brother,” said Eight Rules, “how do you know that?”
“Squire Eight-and-Ten,” replied Pilgrim, “is the pine; Squire Lonesome Rectitude is the cypress; Master Void-Surmounting is the juniper; CloudBrushing Dean is the bamboo; the scarlet-bodied demon is the maple; Apricot Immortal is, of course, the apricot tree, while the maids are the cassia and the winter plum.” When Eight Rules heard this, he rushed forward without further ado: using his rake along with several shoves of his snout, he brought to the ground those winter plum, cassia, old apricot, and maple. From beneath the roots of these trees, fresh blood indeed spurted out. Tripitaka walked forward to pull at him, saying, “Wuneng, don’t hurt them. Though they have reached the stage of becoming spirits, they have done me no harm. Let us find our way and leave.”
“Master, you shouldn’t pity them,” said Pilgrim. “For I fear that they may become great fiends later, and then they will bring much harm to humans.” Our Idiot thus decided to work his rake some more and toppled the pine, cypress, juniper, and bamboo as well. Only after that did they help their master to mount up and all proceeded along the main road to the West once more. We do not know what the future holds for them, and you must listen to the explanation in the next chapter.