We were telling you about the Great Sage Sun who supported the Tang Monk to proceed on the main road to the West with Eight Rules and Sha Monk. In a little while, however, they came upon some towered buildings with palatial features and ornaments. Reining in his horse, the Tang Monk said, “Disciples, can you tell what sort of a place that is?” Raising his head to look, Pilgrim saw
Mountains ringing the buildings;
A brook rounding the arbors;
A dense variety of trees before the door;
Most fragrant wild flowers outside the house.
An egret resting in the willows
Seemed like jade immaculate in the mist;
An oriole singing amidst the peach
Appeared as brilliant gold within the flames.
Wild deer in pairs
Trod on green grass without a thought or care;
Mountain fowl by twos
Flew and chattered high above the red wood tips.
Truly it seemed like Liu and Ruan’s Tiantai cave,1
A fairy haunt, an immortal’s house no less.
“Master,” said Pilgrim, “that is neither the residence of kings or dukes nor a house of the noble or the rich. It looks rather like a Daoist Abbey or a Buddhist monastery, and we’ll know for sure when we get there.” On hearing this, Tripitaka whipped his horse forward. As they arrived before the door, master and disciples discovered a stone plaque mounted on the door, which had on it the inscription, Yellow Flower Abbey. Tripitaka dismounted.
Eight Rules said, “A Yellow Flower Abbey has to be the home of a Daoist. It might be good for us to go in and meet him. Our attire may be different, but we follow the same practices of austerity.” “You are right,” said Sha Monk. “We can go in and enjoy the scenery a bit in the first place, and we can also graze and feed the horse in the second. If it’s convenient, we can ask them to prepare some food for Master to eat.”
The elder agreed and the four of them went inside. On both sides of the second-level door was mounted the following new year couplet:
Yellow sprout, white snow2—an immortal’s house;
Jasper grass, jade flowers—a feathered one’s 3 home.
“This,” said Pilgrim, chuckling, “is a can-carrying Daoist, who burns rushes, refines herbs, and works the fire in the reaction vessels.”
Giving him a pinch, Tripitaka said, “Be careful with your words! Be careful with your words! We are not acquaintances or relatives of his, and we’re staying here temporarily. Why should we mind what he’s doing?” He had not quite finished the sentence when they went through the second-level door. The main hall was entirely closed up, but in the east corridor they saw a Daoist sitting there and making drugs and pills. How was he attired, you ask?
He wore a lacquered gold cap of scintillating red
And a dark, long robe of luminous black.
He trod on cloud-patterned shoes of spreading green;
He knotted a Master Lü sash of swaying yellow.
His face seemed like an iron gourd;
His eyes shone like bright stars.
His nose loomed up like a Mohammedan’s;
His lips curled outward like a Tartar’s.
Thunderbolts lay hidden in his Daoist mind,
Taming tigers and dragons, a true feathered one.
Seeing him, Tripitaka said in a loud voice, “Old immortal, this humble cleric bows to you.” Jerking up his head and startled by the sight, the Daoist abandoned the drugs in his hands, pressed down his hair pin hurriedly, tidied his clothes, and walked down the steps to say, “Old master, forgive me for not coming to meet you. Please be seated inside.”
Delighted, the elder went up to the main hall; pushing open the door, he saw the sacred images of the Three Pure Ones, before which were urns and incense laid out on a long sacrificial table. The elder took up several sticks of incense and stuck them into the urns. Only after he had bowed three times to the images did he greet the Daoist once more and took the guest seats with his disciples. The Daoist called for tea to be served at once, whereupon two young lads rushed inside to look for the tea tray, to wash out the tea cups, to scrub the tea spoons, and to prepare tea fruits. All their scurrying about soon disturbed those several fated enemies.
The seven female fiends of the Cobweb Cave, you see, were once schoolmates of this Daoist when they studied the magic arts together. After they had put on the old clothes and given instruction to their adopted sons, they came to this place. At this moment, they were cutting up cloth for clothes when they saw the lads busily preparing tea. “Lads,” they asked, “who are the guests who have arrived that send you into such a frenzy?” “Four monks walked in just now,” replied the lads, “and Master asked for tea to be served at once.” “Was there a white, stoutish priest?” asked one of the female fiends. “Yes,” they replied. “Another one with long snout and huge ears?” she asked again. “Yes,” they replied. “Go take the tea outside quickly,” said the female fiend, “and wink to your master as you do so. Ask him to come in, for I have something important to tell him.”
The divine lads indeed took five cups of tea out to the main hall; smoothing out his clothes, the Daoist picked up a cup and presented it with both hands to Tripitaka. Then he served Eight Rules, Sha Monk, and Pilgrim. After tea, the cups were collected, and as they did so, one of the lads winked at the Daoist. At once he arose and said, “Please be seated all of you. Lads, put away the trays and keep our guests company. I’ll be back soon.” The master and his disciples went outside of the hall with one lad to enjoy the scenery, and we shall leave them for the moment.
We tell you now about that Daoist, who went back to the abbot chamber, where he found those seven girls all going to their knees and saying, “Elder Brother! Elder Brother! Listen to what your sisters have to say.” Raising them with his hands, the Daoist said, “When you first came, you told me already that you wanted to speak to me. It just so happened that the drugs I was preparing today had to avoid being exposed to females, and that was why I did not respond. Now there are guests outside. Can we talk later?”
The fiends said, “What we have to tell you, Elder Brother, can be told only with the arrival of your guests. When they leave, there’ll be no need for us to tell you anymore.” “Look at the way my worthy sisters speak!” said the Daoist with a chuckle. “What do you mean that it can be told only when the guests are here? Are you mad? Let’s not say that I am one of those who cultivates the art of immortality in purity and quiescence. Even if I were a profane person burdened with the care of wife, children, and other domestic affairs, I would still have to wait for the guests to leave before I took care of my own business. How could you be so ill-behaved and cause me such embarrassment? Let me go out.” All tugging at him, the fiends said, “Elder Brother, please don’t be angry. Let us ask you, where did those guests come from?” Red in the face, the Daoist did not answer them.
One of the fiends said, “Just now the lads came in to fetch tea, and I heard that they were four monks.” “So what if they are monks?” said the Daoist angrily. “Among these four monks,” said the fiend, “there is a rather plump one with a white face, and there is also one who has a long snout and huge ears. Have you asked them where they came from?” “There are indeed two monks like that,” replied the Daoist, “but how did you know? Have you seen these two somewhere before?”
“Elder Brother,” said one of the girls, “you really don’t know all the intricacies behind the matter. That monk with the white face happens to be someone sent by the Tang court to seek scriptures in the Western Heaven. This morning he came to our cave to beg for food. Since your sisters have long heard of the reputation of the Tang Monk, we seized him.” “Why did you want to do that?” asked the Daoist.
The girl said, “We have long heard people say that the Tang Monk possesses a true body that has practiced self-cultivation for ten incarnations. Anyone who eats a piece of his flesh will attain longevity. That’s why we seized him. Later, we were trapped in the Purgation Stream by that priest with a long snout and huge ears. First he robbed us of our clothing; then he grew even bolder and wanted to bathe with us in the same pool. We couldn’t stop him, of course. After he jumped into the water, he changed into a sheat fish spirit and darted back and forth between our legs. He was such a rogue that we thought he would surely assault us. Then he leaped out of the water and changed back into his original appearance. When he saw that we would not yield to him, he took up a ninepronged muckrake and tried to kill us all. If we hadn’t used a little of our intelligence, we would have been slain by him. We managed to flee, though terror-stricken, with our lives, and then we told your nephews to go fight with the monk. We didn’t tarry, however, to learn whether they remained dead or alive, for we came straight here to find refuge. We beg you, for the sake of our friendship as schoolmates once, to exact vengeance this day for us.”
When he heard these words, the Daoist became so angry that his color changed and his voice quivered. “So, these monks are so insolent, so villainous!” he said. “Relax, all of you. Let me take care of them!” Thanking him, the girls said, “If Elder Brother wants to fight, we’ll help you.” “No need to fight! No need to fight!” said the Daoist. “As the proverb says, ‘You suffer three percent loss already once you fight!’ Follow me instead, all of you.”
The girls followed him into his room; placing a ladder behind his bed, he climbed up to the crossbeam and took down a small leather case, approximately eight inches high, a foot long, four inches wide, and bolted by a small copper lock. From his sleeve the Daoist also took out a goose-yellow handkerchief, tied to the fringes of which was a tiny key. He opened the lock and took out a small package of medicine, which was, you see,
The dung of all mountain birds
Collected to a thousand pounds.
When cooked in a copper pot,
The time and heat were both even.
A thousand pounds made just one cup,
Which was reduced to three pinches.
Three pinches were then pan-fried,
Cooked, and refined still some more.
This poison was produced at last,
Rare as previous jewels and gems.
Any person who took one taste
Would behold King Yama in haste!
“Sisters,” said the Daoist to the girls, “if I want to feed this treasure of mine to an ordinary mortal, all I need is a thousandth part of a tael and the person will die when it reaches his stomach. Even an immortal will perish if he ingests three-thousandth parts of a tael. These monks, I suppose, might be fairly accomplished in the Way, and they’ll need the larger dosage. Bring me a scale quickly.”
One of the girls quickly took up a small scale and weighed in twelvethousandth parts of a tael of this poison, which she then divided into four portions. The Daoist then took twelve red dates, into each of which he added about a thousandth part of the drug after he had crushed the date slightly with his fingers. The twelve dates were then placed inside four tea mugs, while two black dates were placed in another tea mug. After the mugs were filled with tea and put on a tray, he said to the girls, “Let me go question them. We’ll let them go if they are not from the Tang court. But if they indeed came from the court, I will ask for a change of tea, and you will send the lads out with this tea. The moment they drink this, every one of them will perish. You will be avenged, and your anguish will be relieved.” The girls could not have been more grateful.
Putting on a new robe to affect a show of courtesy, the Daoist walked out and asked the Tang Monk and his disciples to take the guest seats once more. “Please forgive me for my absence, old master,” he said. “Just now I had to go inside to give instruction for my young students to pick green vegetables and white turnips, so that they could prepare a meal for you.” “This humble cleric,” replied Tripitaka “came to see you with empty hands. How could I dare accept a meal from you?”
Chuckling, the Daoist said, “You and I are both persons who have left the home. The moment we see an Abbey’s gate, we can count on receiving a little emolument. How could you mention empty hands? May I ask the old master, which monastery do you belong to? Why are you here?” “This humble cleric” said Tripitaka, “has been sent by the Throne of the Great Tang in the Land of the East to go acquire scriptures from the Great Thunderclap Monastery in the Western Heaven. We were just passing through your immortal residence and we came in to see you in all sincerity.”
On hearing this, the Daoist beamed and said, “The master is a Buddha of great virtue and great piety. This humble Daoist was ignorant of this, and he was remiss in going the proper distance to wait for you. Pardon me! Pardon me!” He then called out, “Lad, go and change the tea quickly, and tell them to hurry up with the food.” The little lad ran inside, and he was met by the girls who said to him, “There’s fine tea here, all prepared. Take it out.” The lad indeed took out the five tea mugs.
Immediately the Daoist presented with both hands one of the mugs containing the red dates to the Tang Monk. When he saw how huge a person Eight Rules was, he took him for the senior disciple, while Sha Monk he regarded as the second disciple. Pilgrim, being the smallest, was taken to be the youngest disciple, and only the fourth mug was given to him.
Pilgrim was exceedingly perceptive. The moment he accepted the tea mug, he saw that the one left on the tray had two black dates in it. “Sir,” he said at once, “let me exchange my mug with yours.” “To tell you the truth, elder,” said the Daoist, smiling, “a poor Daoist in the mountains does not always have on hand the proper tea condiments. Just now I personally searched in the back for fruits and found only these twelve red dates, with which I made four mugs of tea to serve to you. Your humble Daoist did not want to fail to bear you company, and that was why I made a fifth cup of tea with dates of less desirable color. It’s an expression of respect from this poor Daoist.”
“How could you say that?” replied Pilgrim with a chuckle. “As the ancients said,
He who is at home is never poor;
It’s real poverty when he’s on tour.
You live here. How could you claim to be poor? Only mendicants like us are really poor! Let me exchange with you. Let me exchange with you.” On hearing this, Tripitaka said, “Wukong, this is truly the hospitality of our immortal. Drink it. Why do you want to exchange it?” Pilgrim had no choice but to hold the mug in his left hand; he covered it with his right and stared at the rest of his companions.
We tell you now about that Eight Rules, who was both hungry and thirsty, and he had always had a huge appetite. When he saw that there were three red dates in the tea, he picked them up and swallowed them in two gulps. His master ate them, and Sha Monk, too, ate them. In a moment, however, Eight Rules’s face turned pale, tears rolled down from Sha Monk’s eyes, and the Tang Monk foamed at the mouth. Unable to remain in their seats, all three of them fainted and fell to the ground.
Realizing that they had been poisoned, our Great Sage hurled the tea mug in his hand at the face of the Daoist. The Daoist shielded himself with upraised hand, his sleeve stopping the mug and sending it crashing to the floor. “How boorish can you be, priest!” snapped the Daoist angrily. “How dare you smash my tea mug?”
“You beast!” scolded Pilgrim. “What do you have to say about those three persons of mine? What have we done to you that you should want to use poisoned tea on us?” “Yokel,” said the Daoist, “you’ve caused great calamity! Don’t you know?” “We’ve just entered your door,” replied Pilgrim, “and we’ve barely announced where we came from. We haven’t even engaged in any lofty debate. How could we cause any calamity?”
“Didn’t you beg for food at the Cobweb Cave? Didn’t you bathe at the Purgation Spring?” asked the Daoist. Pilgrim said, “Those bathing in the Purgation Spring were seven female fiends. If you mention them, you must know them, and that means you, too, have to be a monster-spirit. Don’t run away! Have a taste of my rod!” Dear Great Sage! He pulled out the goldenhooped rod from his ear and gave it a wave; immediately it grew to have the thickness of a rice bowl. He struck at the face of the Daoist, who stepped aside quickly to dodge the blow before meeting his opponent with a treasure sword.
As the two of them brawled and fought, the noise aroused the female fiends inside, who surged out, crying, “Spare your efforts, Elder Brother. Let your sisters capture him.” When Pilgrim saw them, he became angrier than ever. Wielding the iron rod with both hands, he hurled himself into their midst and attacked them wildly. All seven of the fiends at once loosened their clothes and exposed their snow-white bellies to exercise their magic. From their navels threads and cords poured out, which became, in no time at all, a huge awning that had Pilgrim entirely covered down below.
Sensing that the tide was turning against him, Pilgrim at once recited a spell and somersaulted right through the top of the awning to escape. He suppressed his anger to stand still in midair to look at those bright shiny cords produced by the fiends: weaving back and forth, up and down, as if guided by a shuttle, they formed a huge web that in an instant had the entire Yellow Flower Abbey enshrouded and removed it clean out of sight. “Formidable! Formidable!” said Pilgrim to himself. “It was a good thing that I didn’t fall into their hands! No wonder Zhu Eight Rules fell so many times! But what shall I do now? My master and my brothers have been poisoned, and I have no idea even of the background of these fiends who have banded themselves together. I’d better go and question that local spirit once more.”
Dear Great Sage! He lowered his cloud, made the magic sign with his fingers,
and recited a spell beginning with the letter Oṁ to summon once more the local
spirit. Trembling all over, the aged god knelt by the road and kowtowed, saying, “Great Sage, you were going to rescue your master. Why did you turn back here?”
“We did manage to rescue my master earlier,” said Pilgrim, “but we ran into a Yellow Flower Abbey not far from where we left you. We went inside with our master to have a look, and we were met by the Abbey master. As we visited with him, my master and my brothers were poisoned by his tea. Luckily, I didn’t drink it and I attacked him with my rod. He began to talk about begging food at the Cobweb Cave and bathing in the Purgation Spring, and I knew that that fellow was also a fiend. Just as we were fighting, the seven girls came out and emitted their silk cords, but old Monkey was smart enough to escape. Since you have been a god here for some time, I thought you must know their background. What kind of monster-spirits are they? Tell me the truth, and I’ll spare you a beating.”
Kowtowing, the local spirit said, “The monster-spirits haven’t quite lived here for a decade. This humble deity made some investigation three years ago and uncovered their original form: they are seven spider spirits. Those silk cords they produce happen to be cobwebs.” Delighted by what he heard, Pilgrim said, “If what you say is true, it’s nothing unmanageable. You go back, and let me exercise my magic to bring them to submission.” After one more kowtow the local spirit left.
Pilgrim went up to the Yellow Flower Abbey and pulled off from his tail seventy pieces of hair. Blowing a mouthful of immortal breath on them, he cried, “Change!” They changed into seventy small Pilgrims. Then he blew also on the golden-hooped rod, crying, “Change!” and it changed into seventy rods forked at one end. To each of the small Pilgrims he gave one of these rods, while he himself took up one also. They stood by the mass of silk cords and plunged the rods into the web; at a given signal, they all snapped the cords and then rolled them up with their rods. After each of them had rolled up over ten pounds of the cords, they dragged out from inside seven huge spiders, each about the size of a barrel. With arms and legs flailing, with their heads bobbing up and down, the spiders cried, “Spare our lives! Spare our lives!” But those seventy small Pilgrims had them completely pinned down and refused to let go.
“Let’s not hit them yet,” said Pilgrim. “Let’s tell them to return our master and our brothers.” “Elder Brother,” screamed the fiends, “return the Tang Monk to him and save our lives!” Dashing out, the Daoist said, “Sisters, I wanted to eat the Tang Monk. I can’t save you.” Infuriated by what he heard, Pilgrim cried, “If you don’t return my master, take a good look at what your sisters will become!” Dear Great Sage! One wave of the forked staff and it changed back into his original iron rod, which he raised with both hands to smash to pulp those seven spider spirits. After he had retrieved all his hairs with two shakes of his tail, he wielded the iron rod and sped inside all by himself to search for the Daoist.
When the Daoist saw his sisters being beaten to death, he was struck by remorse and immediately met his opponent with upraised sword. In this battle each of them was full of hate as he unleashed his magic powers. What a marvelous fight!
The fiend wielded his treasure sword;
The Great Sage raised his golden-hooped rod.
Because of the Tang court’s Tripitaka,
All seven girls were first sent to their deaths.
Now the hands of rectitude showed their might
To work with magic the golden-tipped rod.
The Great Sage was strong in spirit,
The bogus immortal, audacious.
Their bodies went through the most florid moves;
Their two hands like a windlass spun and turned.
The sword and the rod banged aloud;
Low-hung and grey were the clouds.
With cutting words
And clever schemes,
As in a picture they charged back and forth.
They fought till the wind howled and sand flew to scare tigers and wolves;
Till Heav’n and Earth darkened, and the stars themselves removed.
That Daoist withstood the Great Sage for some fifty rounds when he gradually felt his hands weakening. All at once he seemed to have been completely drained of his strength. He therefore quickly untied his sash and took off his black robe with a loud flap. “My son!” said Pilgrim with a chuckle. “If you’re no match for someone, stripping isn’t going to help you!” But after the Daoist took off his clothes, you see, he raised up both of his hands and exposed a thousand eyes grown on both ribs. Emitting golden beams, they were terrifying indeed!
Dense yellow fog,
Bright golden beams.
Dense yellow fog
Spurted out from his two armpits like clouds;
Bright golden beams
Jetted from these thousand eyes like flames—
Like barrels of gold left and right,
Like copper bells both east and west.
This was a bogus immortal’s magic,
The divine might of a Daoist.
Blinding the eyes, the sky, and the sun and moon
This dried hot air descended like a coop
And had the Great Sage Sun, Equal to Heaven,
Confined in golden beams and yellow fog.
Terribly flustered, Pilgrim spun around and around in the golden beams, unable even to take a step forward or backward. It was as if he had been imprisoned inside a barrel. As the blast of heat became unbearable, he got desperate and leaped straight up into the air to try to pierce the golden beams. The beams were too strong, however, and he was sent hurtling back to the ground head over heels. Then he felt pain, and when he touched quickly that part of his head where it had rammed the golden beams, he could feel that the skin had softened somewhat. Sorely annoyed, he thought to himself, “What rotten luck! What rotten luck! Even this head of mine today has become useless! In former times, the blows of scimitars and axes could not harm it one whit. How could slamming into the golden beams now soften the skin? It may fester afterwards, and I may end up with a permanent sore even if it heals.” After awhile, the blast of heat was again becoming unbearable, and he thought to himself further, “I can’t go forward or backward, I can’t move left or right. I can’t even crash out of here by going upward. What shall I do? All right, I’d better take the low road and get the mother out of here!”
Dear Great Sage! Reciting a spell, he changed with one shake of his body into a pangolin, also named scaly anteater. Truly
His four iron claws
Could bore through hills and rocks like sifting flour;
His scaly frame
Could pierce cliffs and ridges like cutting scallions.
Two luminous eyes
Seemed like a pair of refulgent stars;
A sharp, pointed beak,
Stronger than any steel chisel or diamond drill.
This was pangolin of medical fame;
Scaly anteater was his vulgar name.
Look at him! Hardening his head, he burrowed right into the ground and did not emerge again until he was some twenty miles away. The golden beams, you see, had managed to cover a distance of only some ten or twelve miles. After he changed back to his original form, he was overcome by fatigue and his whole body ached. Bursting into tears, he wailed:
O Master!
Since I left by faith the mountain that year,
We came West together in unceasing toil.
We had no fear for billows of the sea.
How could we capsize in a small gully?
As the Handsome Monkey King vented his grief, he suddenly heard someone weeping also behind the mountain. He rose, wiped away his tears, and turned to look; a woman in garb of heavy mourning, with a bowl of cold rice soup in her left hand and a few pieces of yellow paper money in her right, came toward him, sobbing every step of the way. Nodding his head, Pilgrim sighed to himself, “Truly as they say,
The person shedding tears meets the tearful one;
He whose heart’s broken sees the broken heart.
I wonder why this woman is crying. Let me question her a bit.”
In a short while, the woman came up to where he was standing, and Pilgrim bowed to say, “Lady Bodhisattva, for whom are you weeping?” “My husband,” said the woman, blinking back her tears, “had a dispute with the master of the Yellow Flower Abbey when he tried to buy some bamboos from him, and he was poisoned to death by that master with poisoned tea. I am taking some money to his grave to be burned, in order to repay his kindness as a spouse.” When Pilgrim heard these words, tears rolled down his cheeks. On seeing that, the woman said to him angrily, “You are so senseless! I grieve on account of my husband. How dare you mock me with your tears and your sorrowful countenance?”
Bending low, Pilgrim said, “Lady Bodhisattva, please don’t be angry. I am Pilgrim Sun Wukong, the senior disciple of Tripitaka Tang, the bond-brother and royal envoy of the Great Tang in the Land of the East. We were journeying to the Western Heaven when we had to rest the horse in the Yellow Flower Abbey. We ran into a Daoist in that Abbey, some kind of a monster-spirit, who had made a fraternal alliance with seven spider spirits. Those spider spirits wanted to harm my master in the Cobweb Cave, but Eight Rules, Sha Monk, my two brothers, and I succeeded in having him rescued. The spider spirits, however, went to the Abbey to tattle on us, claiming instead that we intended to assault them. My master and my brothers were poisoned by the tea offered by the Daoist, and all three of them, including our horse, are now trapped in the Abbey. Only I didn’t drink his tea. When I smashed his tea mug, he fought with me, and those seven spider spirits also came out to let loose their silk cords to try to ensnare me. When I escaped through my magic power, I questioned the local spirit and learned of their original form. Then I used my Magic of Body-Division and pulled out the fiends by rolling up their webs. After I beat them all to death with my rod, the Daoist wanted to avenge them and fought once more with me. When he was about to be defeated after some sixty rounds, he took off his clothes to expose a thousand eyes on his two ribs. They emitted countless golden beams to have me completely enclosed, and I found it practically impossible to move at all. That was when I had to change into a scaly anteater to escape by boring through the ground. I was grieving just now when I heard you weeping, and that was why I questioned you. When I saw that you had at least paper money to repay your husband but I had nothing at all to thank my late master, I grieved even more. How could I dare mock you?”
Putting down her rice soup and paper money, the woman bowed to Pilgrim and said, “Don’t be offended. I had no idea that you, too, are a victim. According to what you’ve told me, I can tell that you don’t recognize that Daoist. He is actually the Demon Lord of a Hundred Eyes, and he is also called the ManyEyed Fiend. But if you are capable of such a transformation that you could do battle with him for so long and still escape his golden beams, you must have great magic powers. Nevertheless, you still can’t get near that fellow. Let me recommend a holy worthy to you; with her assistance, you will surely be able to overcome those golden beams and bring the Daoist to submission.”
On hearing this, Pilgrim bowed hurriedly and said, “Lady Bodhisattva, if you have such information, please instruct me. Tell me who is the holy worthy so that I can go and solicit her assistance. If I succeed in getting her here, I shall be able to rescue my master and avenge your husband’s death.” “Even if I tell you, however,” said the woman, “and even if you manage to get her here to subdue the Daoist, I fear that you will be able only to exact vengeance. You won’t be able to rescue your master.” “Why not?” asked Pilgrim.
The woman said, “That fellow’s poison is most potent. After a person has been poisoned by the drug, even his bones and marrow will deteriorate after three days. Your journey to find her may prevent you from saving your master in time.” “I know how to move fast on the road,” replied Pilgrim. “No matter how great the distance is, half a day is all I need.”
The woman said, “In that case, listen to me. About a thousand miles from here there is a mountain by the name of the Purple Cloud Mountain. At the Thousand Flowers Cave in the mountain, there is a holy worthy by the name of Pralambā.4 She is able to subdue this fiend.” “Where is this mountain?” asked Pilgrim. “Which direction should I take?” Pointing with her finger, the woman answered, “Due south of here.” When Pilgrim turned to look, the woman immediately vanished.
Pilgrim was so startled that he bowed hurriedly, saying, “Which one of the Bodhisattvas are you? Your disciple has been somewhat dazed from all that burrowing in the ground and he can’t recognize you. I beg you to leave me your name so that I can thank you properly.” From midair came the announcement: “Great Sage, it’s I.” Pilgrim looked up quickly and found that it was the Old Dame of Li Mountain.5 He rushed up to midair to thank her, saying, “Old Dame, where did you come from to enlighten me?” The Old Dame said, “I was just going home from the Festival of the Dragon-Flower Tree. When I learned of your master’s ordeal, I revealed myself under the guise of a mourning wife in order to deliver him from death. You must go to Pralambā quickly, but you must not reveal that it was I who gave you the instruction. That sage tends to put blame on people.”
After Pilgrim thanked her, they parted. Mounting his cloud somersault, Pilgrim at once arrived at the Purple Cloud Mountain. As he stopped his cloud, he saw the Thousand Flowers Cave, outside of which
Fresh pines enshroud the lovely scene;
Jade cedars surround a home divine;
Green willows fill the mountain paths;
Strange blossoms clog the brook and rill;
Fragrant orchids ring a stone house;
Scented grass on the ridges glistens.
The flowing stream’s jade-green throughout;
Clouds seal up aged hollow trunks.
Wild fowl sing melodiously;
Quiet deer walk leisurely.
Each bamboo’s refined, stalk by stalk;
Each red plum unfurls, leaf by leaf.
A cold crow rests on an old tree;
A spring bird squeals on a tall bough.
Summer wheat grows wide as the fields;
Autumn grain aplenty on the ground.
No leaf would fall in four seasons;
All flowers bloom in eight periods.
Auspicious air will rise often to the sky
And hallowed clouds will reach the great grand void.
In great delight, our Great Sage walked inside, level by level, and there was no end to the sight of this gorgeous scenery. But there was not a person in view; the place was completely silent, with not even the sound of a chicken or a dog. “Could it be,” he thought to himself, “that the sage is not home?” He walked further in for another few miles when he came upon a Daoist nun sitting on a couch. How did she look, you ask.
She wore a five-flower patterned silk cap;
She had on a robe of knitted gold threads.
She trod on cloud-patterned phoenix-beak shoes;
A double-tassel silk sash wrapped her waist.
Her face had age like autumn after frost;
Her voice cooed like spring swallows before the shrine.
She had long known the Three Vehicles Law,6
Her mind often fixed on the Four Great Truths.7
The void intuited bore true right fruit;
Intelligence formed gave freedom complete.
This was the Buddha of Thousand Flowers Cave,
Who was called Pralambā, a noble name.
Without stopping, Pilgrim walked right up to her and called out: “Bodhisattva Pralambā, I salute you.” Descending from her couch, the Bodhisattva folded her hands to return his greeting and said, “Great Sage, sorry for not coming to meet you. Where did you come from?” “How could you recognize me as the Great Sage all at once?” asked Pilgrim.
Pralambā said, “When you brought great disturbance to the Celestial Palace that year, your image was spread throughout the universe. Which person would not know and recognize you?” “Indeed,” replied Pilgrim, “as the proverb says,
The good thing will not leave the door;
The evil deed will go a thousand miles.
I bet you didn’t know that I have repented and entered the Buddhist gate.” “When did you do that?” said Pralambā. “Congratulations! Congratulations!”
“I escaped with my life recently,” said Pilgrim, “in order to give protection to the Tang Monk, who had been commissioned to go seek scriptures in the Western Heaven. My master ran into the Daoist of the Yellow Flower Abbey and was poisoned by his poisoned tea. When I fought with that fellow, he had me enclosed in his golden beams, though I escaped through my magic power. When I heard that the Bodhisattva could extinguish his golden beams, I came here especially to solicit your assistance.”
“Who told you that?” asked the Bodhisattva. “Since attending the Feast of Ullambana Bowl, I haven’t left my door for over three hundred years. With my name completely hidden, no one knows me. How did you know?” “I’m a devil in the earth!” replied Pilgrim. “No matter where you are, I can find you.” “All right! All right!” said the Bodhisattva. “I shouldn’t leave, but if the Great Sage comes here in person, I will not destroy the good deed of scripture seeking. I’ll go with you.”
After he thanked her, Pilgrim said, “Pardon my ignorance and my urging. But what sort of weapon do you need to take along?” The Bodhisattva said, “I have a little embroidery needle which can undo that fellow.” Pilgrim could not resist saying, “Old Dame has misled me! If I had known that only an embroidery needle was needed, I wouldn’t have troubled you. Old Monkey himself can supply a whole load of such needles!” Pralambā said, “That needle of yours is only made of steel or metal, and it can’t be used. This treasure of mine is not made of steel, iron, or gold. It is rather a product cultivated in the eyes of my son.”
“Who is your son?” asked Pilgrim. “The Star Lord Orionis,” replied Pralambā. Pilgrim was quite astonished. Soon, they saw the bright, golden beams, and Pilgrim said to her, “That’s where the Yellow Flower Abbey is.” Whereupon Pralambā took out from underneath her collar an embroidery needle, not more than half an inch long and as slim as a piece of eyebrow hair. Holding it in her hand, she threw it into the air, and after a little while, a loud crack at once dissipated the golden beams.
“Bodhisattva,” cried Pilgrim, exceedingly pleased, “it’s marvelous! Just marvelous! Let’s find the needle! Let’s find the needle!” “Isn’t this it?” asked Pralambā as she held out her palm. Pilgrim dropped down from the clouds with her and walked inside the Abbey, where they found that Daoist sitting there with tightly shut eyes and unable to move. “You brazen fiend!” scolded Pilgrim. “You’re pretending to be blind!” He whipped out the rod from his ear and wanted to strike, but Pralambā tugged at him, saying, “Don’t hit him, Great Sage. Let’s go see your master first.”
Pilgrim went directly back to the guest chambers, where the three pilgrims were still lying on the ground and foaming at their mouths. “What’ll I do? What’ll I do?” cried Pilgrim, shedding tears.
“Please don’t grieve, Great Sage,” said Pralambā. “Since I came out the door today, I might as well accumulate some secret merit. I’m going to give you three tablets which will serve as an antidote to the poison.” As Pilgrim bowed quickly to receive them, the Bodhisattva took out from her sleeve a small, punctured paper wrap. Inside were three red pills that she handed over to Pilgrim, telling him to put one in each of the pilgrim’s mouths. Prying open their teeth, Pilgrim stuffed the pills into their mouths; in a little while, as the medicine reached their stomachs, they began to retch. After the poisonous substance had been thrown up, they regained consciousness. Our Eight Rules was the first to scramble up, crying, “This nausea’s killing me!” Tripitaka and Sha Monk also woke up, both crying, “I’m so dizzy!” “You’ve all been poisoned by the tea,” said Pilgrim, “and you should now thank the Bodhisattva Pralambā for rescuing you.” Tripitaka arose and tidied his clothes to thank her.
Eight Rules said, “Elder Brother, where is that Daoist? Let me question him why he wants to harm us in this manner.” Pilgrim at once gave a thorough account of what the spider spirits had done. More and more incensed, Eight Rules said, “If this fellow has formed a fraternal alliance with spider spirits, he, too, must be a monster-spirit.” “There he is now,” said Pilgrim, pointing with his finger, “standing outside the Abbey and pretending to be blind.” Eight Rules took up his rake and tried to rush out, but he was stopped by Pralambā, who said to him, “Heavenly Reeds, please calm yourself. The Great Sage knows that there’s no other person at my cave. I would like to take the Daoist back and make him guard my door.”
Pilgrim said, “We are all indebted to your great kindness. How could we not comply? But please make him change back into his original form for us to see.” “That’s easy,” replied Pralambā, who went forward and pointed at the Daoist. Immediately, he fell to the dust and appeared in his true form: a huge centipede some seven feet long. Lifting him up with her small finger, Pralambā at once mounted the auspicious clouds to head for the Thousand Flowers Cave. Raising his head to stare after her, Eight Rules said, “This Mama is quite formidable! How could she overpower such a vicious creature just like that?” Smiling, Pilgrim said, “I asked her whether she needed any weapon to break up the golden beams, and she told me that she had a tiny embroidery needle, a product cultivated in the eyes of her son. When I asked for his identity, she said that it was Star Lord Orionis. Now, the Star Lord is a rooster; so this Mama, I suppose, must be a hen. Chickens are the deadliest foes of centipedes, and that’s why she could bring him to submission.”
On hearing this, Tripitaka kowtowed some more before saying, “Disciples, let’s pack up and leave.” Sha Monk found some rice and grain inside, with which he prepared a meal. After master and disciples ate their fill, they led the horse and poled the luggage out. Once his master walked out the door, Pilgrim started a fire in the kitchen, which reduced the entire Abbey to ashes in no time at all. Truly
Thanks to Pralambā, the Tang Monk came to life;
Enlightened nature destroyed the Many-Eyed Fiend.
We do not know what will happen to them as they proceed; let’s listen to the explanation in the next chapter.