Desires and feelings come from the same cause;
It’s natural to have feelings and desires.
For all ascetics in the Gate of Sand,
Chan is desires gone and feelings severed.
You must take care
To persevere,
Like the bright moon, spotless, high in the sky.
Make no mistake as work and merit advance;
Perfection yields a great enlightened god.1
We were telling you about Tripitaka and his disciples, who broke through the web of desires and leaped clear of the stronghold of passions. Urging the horse, they journeyed to the West, and soon it was the end of summer and the beginning of autumn, when the fresh cool permeated their bodies. You see
The rains the waning heat assail
As one Paulownia leaf turns pale.
Fireflies dot the sedged path at night;
Crickets chirp in the moon’s bright light.
The mallows unfurl in the dew;
Red smartweeds the sandbars endue.
Rushes are first to decline
When cicadas sadly repine.
As they walked along, Tripitaka suddenly saw a tall mountain whose summit pierced the green void, truly touching the stars and blocking the sun. Alarmed, the elder called out to Wukong, “Look at the mountain ahead of us! It’s so tall, I wonder if there’s a road to take us through it.” “What are you talking about, Master?” asked Pilgrim, chuckling. “As the proverb says,
The tall mountains will have their passageways;
The deep waters will have their ferry boats.
How could there be no road to take us through! You may proceed without worry.” On hearing this, the elder smiled in delight and urged his horse to go straight up the tall ridge.
They had not traveled more than a few miles when they came upon an old man with flowing white hair all tousled and sparse whiskers like swaying silver threads. He had a string of beads around his neck and held a dragon-headed staff. Standing far up the mountain slope, he cried out in a loud voice, “The elder going to the West, you must stop your horse and pull back the reins. There is a group of fiendish demons in this mountain who have devoured all the mortals in the world. You can’t proceed!”
On hearing these words, Tripitaka paled with fright. The road was already none too level, and the announcement made him even more insecure on the saddle, so much so that he fell down at once from the horse with a thud and lay moaning in the grass, hardly able to move. Pilgrim went over to raise him up, saying, “Don’t be afraid! Don’t be afraid! I’m here.” “Just listen to that old man on the tall cliff,” said the elder. “He said that there is a group of fiendish demons in this mountain who have devoured all the mortals of the world. Who is courageous enough to go question him and learn the truth of the matter?”
“You sit on the ground first,” said Pilgrim, “and let me go question him.” Tripitaka said, “But your looks are hideous and your words, vulgar. If you offend him, I fear that you’ll not be able to get to the truth.” Laughing, Pilgrim said, “I’ll change into someone more attractive to go question him.” “You change first for me to see,” said Tripitaka.
Dear Great Sage! Making the magic sign with his fingers, he shook his body and changed at once into a neat young priest, truly with
Lovely eyes and clear brow,
A round head and a square face.
When he moved, he acted like a gentleman;
When he spoke, he used no vulgar language.
Shaking loose his silk shirt, he ran up to the Tang Monk and said, “Master, is this a good transformation?” “It is, indeed!” said Tripitaka, exceedingly pleased. “How could it not be!” remarked Eight Rules. “But he has put all of us down! Even if old Hog rolled around for two, three years, he couldn’t change into someone this attractive!”
Dear Great Sage! Slipping away from them, he walked right up to the old man
and bowed, saying, “Dear Gonggong, this humble cleric salutes you.” When the
old man saw how young the priest was, though most attractive in looks, he hesitated a little before returning his salute halfheartedly. Patting the head of Pilgrim with his hand, the old man giggled and said, “Little priest, where did you come from?” “We came from the Great Tang in the Land of the East,” replied Pilgrim, “on our way specially to the Western Heaven to seek scriptures from Buddha. When we arrived here, we heard your announcement about the fiends. My master was quite frightened, and he asked me to come question you to learn exactly who these monster-spirits are who dare cut short our way. May I trouble you to tell me in detail, so that I can send them into exile.”
With a laugh, the old man said, “You are so young a priest that you don’t know any better. That’s why you mouth these inappropriate words. The magic powers of those demons are enormous. How dare you say that you would send them into exile?” “The way you put the matter,” said Pilgrim, laughing also, “seems to indicate that you feel rather protective toward them. You must be a relative of theirs, or at least an intimate neighbor. Otherwise, why would you exalt their intelligence, magnify their virtues, and refuse to disclose thoroughly
their background?” Nodding his head, the old man smiled and said, “You are a
priest who knows how to wag your tongue! You must have followed your master as a mendicant into the world and picked up a little magic here and there. You can summon a ghost or bind a spirit, I suppose, and exorcise a few houses for someone. But you haven’t run into those truly vicious fiends!”
“How vicious?” asked Pilgrim. The old man said, “One letter of those monster-spirits to the Spirit Mountain, and all five hundred of those arhats will come to meet them. One tiny card sent to the Celestial Palace, and each of the Eleven Great Luminaries will honor it. The dragons of the Four Oceans have been their friends, and the immortals of the Eight Caves have met with them frequently. The Ten Kings of Hell address them as brothers, and all the deities of major shrines and cities regard them as friends.”
When he heard this, the Great Sage could not restrain his loud guffaws. Tugging at the old man with his hand, he said, “Stop talking! Stop talking! If those monster-spirits were the servants and houseboys, the brothers and friends of mine, then what they are about to do would not be so significant. Let me tell you this: when they see this young priest coming, they’ll move to someplace else this very night. They won’t even wait for the morning!”
“Little priest, you’re babbling!” said the old man. “That’s blasphemy! Which gods or sages are your servants and houseboys?” Laughing, Pilgrim said, “To tell you the truth, the ancestral home of this young priest used to be the WaterCurtain Cave of the Flower-Fruit Mountain, located in the Aolai Country. My surname is Sun, and my name is Wukong. Some years ago, I was also a monsterspirit who performed great deeds. During a party with some other demons, I drank a few cups of wine too many and fell asleep. In my dream two men took me to the Region of Darkness with a summons, and I was so riled that I used my golden-hooped rod to beat up the spirit judge and terrify King Yama. I almost overturned, in fact, the entire Hall of Darkness. Those presiding judges were so frightened that they brought out papers, on which the Ten Kings of Hell affixed their signatures, declaring that if I spared them a beating, they would serve me as my servants and houseboys.”
“Amitābha!” cried the old man, on hearing this. “This monk has told such a tall tale that he will never grow any taller!” “Sir,” replied Pilgrim, “I’m tall enough now!” “How old are you?” asked the old man. “Give it a guess,” said Pilgrim. The old man said, “Seven or eight perhaps.” With a chuckle, Pilgrim said, “I am about ten thousand times seven or eight years old! Let me bring out my old features for you to see. But you must not be offended.” “How could you have some other features?” said the old man. “This young priest,” said Pilgrim, “has in truth seventy-two features.”
As that old man was somewhat dim-witted, he kept urging the Great Sage, who gave his own face a wipe and changed back into his original form. With protruding fangs and a gaping mouth, with two bright red buttocks half-covered by a tiger skin kilt, and with a golden-hooped rod in his hands, he stood verily like a living thunder god below the ledge. When the old man saw him, he paled with fright as his legs turned numb. Unable to stand up, he fell down with a thud, and when he scrambled up, he stumbled once more. “Venerable Sir,” said the Great Sage, approaching him, “don’t be afraid of nothing. I’m ugly but kindly disposed. Don’t be afraid! Don’t be afraid! I am grateful to you for informing us of the demons. Just how many are there, tell me the whole truth, so that I can thank you properly.” Trembling all over, the old man could not utter a word; pretending also to be deaf, he refused to reply.
When Pilgrim saw that he would not talk, he turned and went back down the slope. “Wukong,” said the elder, “have you returned? Did you find out anything?” “It’s nothing! It’s nothing!” answered Pilgrim, laughing. “There is, to be sure, a handful of monster-spirits near the Western Heaven. The people here,
however, are quite timid, and they worry about them. It’s nothing! It’s nothing. I
am here!” “Have you asked him,” said the elder, “what mountain this is, what kind of a cave there is in it, how many fiends there are, and which road can take us to Thunderclap?”
Eight Rules spoke up, saying, “Master, don’t be offended by what I have to say. If we are interested in waging a contest in transformations, in playing hideand-seek, and in pulling pranks on people, even five of us are no match for Elder Brother. But if you consider honesty, then even a column of him cannot rival me.” “Exactly! Exactly!” said the Tang Monk. “You are more honest.” “I don’t know,” said Eight Rules, “why it is that he always takes care of the head but disregards the tail. He has only asked a couple of questions, and then he runs back lamely. Let old Hog go now and find out the truth.” “Wuneng,” said the Tang Monk, “do be careful.”
Dear Idiot! He stuffed the muckrake into his belt and tidied his shirt before
swaggering up the mountain slope and calling out to the old man, “Gonggong,
I’m bowing to you.” After the old man had seen Pilgrim walking off, he managed to struggle up with the help of his staff and, still trembling all over, was about to leave. When he caught sight of Eight Rules, however, he became more terrified than ever. “Holy Father!” he cried. “What sort of nightmare is this, that I have to meet up with this bunch of nasty people? That monk who left just now was hideous all right, but he had at least three percent human looks. But just look at the pestle mouth, the rush-leaf fan ears, the sheet iron face, and the bristled neck of this monk! He doesn’t even look one percent human!”
“This old Gonggong,” said Eight Rules, chuckling, “is not too pleasant, for he
loves to criticize people. How do you regard me, really? I may be ugly, but I can stand scrutiny. Just wait a moment, and I’ll look more attractive.” When the old man heard him speaking at least in a human fashion, he had no choice but to ask him, “Where did you come from?”
Eight Rules said, “I’m the second disciple of the Tang Monk, and my religious name is Wuneng Eight Rules. Just now the priest who questioned you was called Wukong Pilgrim, my Elder Brother. Because my master blamed him for offending you and for not being able to obtain the truth, he sent me specially to question you again. We would like to know what mountain this is, what’s the name of the cave in the mountain, how many fiends there are in the cave, and which is the main road to the West. May we trouble you to point these out to us?” “Are you being truthful with me?” asked the old man. Eight Rules said, “There has never been the teeniest fakery in my whole life.” “You are not,” said the old man, “putting on a highfalutin show like the priest before.” “No, I’m not like him,” said Eight Rules.
Leaning on his staff, the old man said to Eight Rules, “The mountain is called the Lion-Camel Ridge of eight hundred miles, and in it there is a Lion-Camel Cave where you will find three archdemons.” “Pshaw!” cried Eight Rules. “You’re too fussy an old man! Only three demons, and you have to take all that trouble to announce them to us!” “Aren’t you afraid?” asked the old man. “To tell you the truth,” replied Eight Rules, “one blow of my Elder Brother’s rod will kill one of them, and one blow of my rake will kill another; I have a younger brother, too, and one blow of his fiend-routing staff will kill the third one. When all three of the demons are slain, my master will cross this ridge. What’s so difficult about that?”
Smiling, the old man said, “This monk is completely ignorant! The magic powers of those three archdemons are vast indeed! Moreover, those small fiends under their command number five thousand on the south summit, and five thousand also on the north summit. Those stationed to guard the road leading east number ten thousand, and another ten thousand are guarding the road leading west. There must be five thousand on the patrol teams, and those guarding the cave entrance must run to another ten thousand. There are countless fiends tending the fires and gathering firewood. All in all, they must have some forty-seven or forty-eight thousand troops, each equipped with a nameplate. They devote themselves to devouring humans in this place.”
When our Idiot heard these words, he ran back, trembling all over. As he approached the Tang Monk, he dropped his rake and, instead of giving his report, began to evacuate his bowels. “Why aren’t you giving us a report?” snapped Pilgrim. “Why are you squatting there?”
“I’m so scared,” replied Eight Rules, “that even my shit has come out! There’s no further need for me to talk. Let’s scatter while there’s still time to save our lives!”
“This root of idiocy!” said Pilgrim. “I never was frightened when I asked the questions. How is it that when you go, you lose your mind?” “What is in fact the matter?” asked the elder.
Eight Rules replied, “The old man told me that this mountain is named the Lion-Camel Mountain. In it there is a Lion-Camel Cave, where three old fiends and forty-eight thousand little fiends reside and devote themselves to devouring humans. The moment we put one step on the side of their mountain, we’ll become food in their mouths. We can’t ever proceed!” On hearing this, Tripitaka began to shake all over as his hairs stood on end, saying, “Wukong, what shall we do?”
“Master, relax,” said Pilgrim, laughing. “It’s no big thing! There may be a few monster-spirits here, I suppose, but the people of this region are very timid. They frighten themselves with all this rumor about how many fiends there are and how big they are. Look, you have me!” “Elder Brother,” said Eight Rules, “you shouldn’t talk that way! I’m not like you, and what I learn is the truth. It’s not a rumor. The whole mountain and the whole valley are filled with fiendish demons. How could we go forward?”
“The mouth and face of an idiot!” said Pilgrim, chuckling. “Allow nothing to scare you! If the whole mountain and the whole valley are full of fiendish demons, old Monkey will use his rod. Half a night and they’ll all be exterminated!” “Shame on you! Shame on you!” said Eight Rules. “Stop the big talk! It’ll take seven or eight days for those monster-spirits just to take their roll call. How could you exterminate them so readily?” “How do you think I’m going to slay them?” asked Pilgrim. “Suppose they let you grab them,” replied Eight Rules, “bind them, or stop them dead with the Magic of Immobilization. Even then, you can’t kill all of them so quickly.”
With a laugh, Pilgrim said, “No need for grabbing or binding. I give this rod of mine a yank on both ends, crying, ‘Grow!’, and it’ll be four hundred feet long. Next, I wave it once, crying, ‘Thicken!’ and it’ll have an eighty-foot circumference. I roll it toward the south of the mountain once, and five thousand fiends will be crushed to death; I roll it toward the north of the mountain once, and another five thousand will be crushed to death. Then I roll it once from east to west, and forty or fifty thousand, who cares how many, will be reduced to meat patties.”
“Elder Brother,” said Eight Rules, “if you roll them down like you roll out dough for noodles, you might finish them off by the second watch.” “Master,” said Sha Monk, laughing on one side, “what are you afraid of when Big Brother has such vast magic powers? Mount up and get going!” When the Tang Monk heard them debating about their abilities, he had no choice but to calm himself and climb up on the horse.
As they proceeded, they discovered that the old man who came to inform them had vanished. “He must be a fiend,” said Sha Monk, “who exploited deliberately the reputation and power of the demons to come and frighten us.” “Don’t jump to any conclusion,” said Pilgrim. “Let me go have a look.”
Dear Great Sage! Leaping up to the peak, he looked all around without spotting anyone. As he turned his face, however, he saw colored mists flickering in the air. He immediately leaped upon the clouds to give chase and soon he caught sight of the Gold Star Venus. Rushing up to the god, Pilgrim tugged at him with his hands and used his vernacular name to address him, saying, “Long Life Li! Long Life Li! You’re such a rogue! If you have anything to say, you should have said it to my face. Why did you assume the appearance of an old country bumpkin to beguile me?”
The Gold Star saluted him hurriedly and said, “Great Sage, I’m sorry for not informing you sooner. Please forgive me! Please forgive me! These archdemons, possessive of vast magic powers, indeed make for a rugged hurdle. If you exercise all your powers in transformation and all your cleverness, you may pass through. If you but slacken a little, it’ll be difficult for you to proceed.” Thanking him, Pilgrim said, “I’m grateful! If this is such a difficult place to traverse, please go to the Region Above and request from the Jade Emperor some celestial soldiers to assist old Monkey.” “We have plenty of those for you,” replied the Gold Star. “Once I bring your message up there, we can round up even one hundred thousand celestial soldiers if you need them.”
Pilgrim took leave of the Gold Star and dropped from the clouds to face Tripitaka. “That old man,” he said, “who came to bring us the information happened to be the Star Venus.” Folding his hands before him, the elder said, “Disciple, catch up with him quickly, and ask him whether there is another road we can take.” “There’s no detour,” said Pilgrim, “for this mountain as it is is eight hundred miles across. I don’t even know how wide it is on both sides. How could we take a detour?”
On hearing this, Tripitaka could not restrain the tears flowing from his eyes. “Disciple,” he said, “if it’s so difficult, how could I ever hope to worship Buddha?” “Stop crying! Stop crying!” Pilgrim said, “Once you cry, you become completely feeble. This information of his can’t be all true, for his main purpose is to arouse our vigilance. As the saying goes, ‘To tell is to exaggerate.’ Please dismount and sit here for the moment.” “What sort of discussion are we having now?” asked Eight Rules.
“No discussion,” replied Pilgrim. “You just stand here and guard Master with all diligence, while Sha Monk can watch the horse and the luggage. Let old Monkey go up the ridge to do a little detection to see just how many fiends there are. I’ll catch one of them and question him thoroughly; if need be, I’ll even make him write up a confession and list in detail the names of all their old and young. Then I’ll order them to close up their cave and forbid them from barring our way, so that Master will be able to go through this place peacefully and quietly. Only then will you perceive the ability of old Monkey!” All Sha Monk could say to him, however, was, “Be careful! Be careful!” “No need for all your instructions!” said Pilgrim with a laugh. “Once I get up there,
I’ll open a pathway even if it’s the Great Eastern Sea;
I’ll punch an opening if it’s an ironclad mountain.”
Dear Great Sage! Whistling, he mounted the cloud somersault to leap up to the tall summit, where he pushed aside the creepers and vines to look all around. There was, however, not a sound or a trace of human beings. He spoke aloud to himself, “I’ve made a mistake! I’ve made a mistake! I should never have let the oldie Gold Star go. He was actually trying to frighten me. If there’s any monsterspirit around here, he would have jumped out and played in the wind, or he would fool with his lance or rod to practice his martial art. How is it that there is no one . . .” As he was thus talking to himself, he heard the loud bangs of a rattle behind the mountain. Turning hurriedly to look, he discovered a little fiend, hauling a banner on his shoulder which had on it the inscribed word, command. He had a bell tied to his waist, and he was beating a rattle with his hand as he walked from north to south. Pilgrim stared at him and thought that he was about twelve feet in height. Smiling to himself, Pilgrim said, “He must be a postal soldier on his way to deliver a document. Let me eavesdrop on him to see what he has to say.”
Dear Great Sage! Making the magic sign with his fingers, he recited a spell and changed, with one shake of his body, into a fly. He flew up to his cap and alighted gently on it to eavesdrop on the fiend. After he had turned onto the main road, the little fiend kept beating his rattle and shaking his bell, while he mumbled to himself, “Those of us patrolling the mountain should all be on guard against that Pilgrim Sun. He knows how to change into a fly.” Astounded by what he heard, Pilgrim said to himself, “He must have seen me! How could he know my name and how could he know I might change into a fly, if he hadn’t?”
But that little fiend, you see, had not seen him. It was actually those archdemons who somehow managed to give this instruction to the little fiends, and this one was just repeating what he heard. Pilgrim, of course, did not know this; suspecting that he had been seen, he was about to slay the fiend with the rod when he thought to himself, “I recall that the Gold Star told Eight Rules that there were three old fiends and some forty-seven or forty-eight thousand little fiends. If those little fiends are like this one, another forty thousand won’t make a bit of difference. But I wonder how powerful are those three old demons. Let me go question him, then I can raise my hands.”
Dear Great Sage! How is he going to question him, you ask? He leaped down from his cap and alighted instead on a tree to allow the little fiend to walk a few steps ahead. Quickly he changed into another little fiend, having, in fact, the same clothes and like him, beating the rattle, shaking the bell, hauling the banner, and mumbling the same words. The only difference was that he was several inches taller than the other fiend. He ran up to the other little fiend and called out, “You on the road, wait for me.”
Turning around, the little fiend said, “Where did you come from?” “My good man!” said Pilgrim with a giggle. “Can’t you recognize someone from the same family?” “You’re not in our family,” said the little fiend. “What do you mean?” said Pilgrim. “Take a good look.”
“But you look unfamiliar,” said the little fiend. “I don’t recognize you! I don’t recognize you!” “I know I look unfamiliar,” replied Pilgrim. “I’m one of those who tend the fires, and you’ve seldom met me.”
Shaking his head, the little fiend said, “Never! Never! Even among those brothers in our cave who tend the fires, there’s no one with a pointed mouth like yours.” Pilgrim thought to himself, “I’ve made my mouth a little too pointed.” He lowered his head at once and gave his mouth a rub, saying, “My mouth’s not pointed!” Immediately, his mouth was not pointed anymore.
“Just now,” said the little fiend, “your mouth was pointed. How could it
change like that after you gave it a rub? How baffling! You can’t very well belong to our family! I have never seen you before! It’s too suspicious! Moreover, the domestic laws of our great kings are very strict: those who tend the fires always tend the fires, and those who patrol the mountain will patrol the mountain. They couldn’t have asked you to tend the fires, and then asked you also to patrol the mountain, could they?” Exceedingly clever with his mouth, Pilgrim at once replied, “You have no idea that our great kings had promoted me, when they saw how good I was at tending the fires, and asked me to patrol the mountain.”
The little fiend said, “All right. There are forty of us who patrol the mountain to one platoon, and we have altogether ten platoons. Each of us is different in age, and each has a different name. To prevent confusion among the ranks and to facilitate taking the roll, our great kings gave us each a nameplate. Do you have one?”
Now Pilgrim had changed into a semblance of only what he could see of the little fiend; namely, how he was dressed and what he was doing. Since he had not seen the plate, he, of course, did not have it on him. Dear Great Sage! Refusing to admit that he had none, he followed the drift of the question instead and said, “How could I not have a plate? I just received a brand new one. But you take out yours first for me to have a look.”
Completely unaware that this was a trick, that little fiend hitched up his clothes and pulled out for Pilgrim to see a gold-lacquered plate, which was tied to his body with a small cotton thread. On the back of the plate Pilgrim saw the inscription, In Command of All Demons. In front there were three printed words: Little Wind Cutter. He thought to himself, “It goes without saying that those who patrol the mountain will be named some sort of Wind Cutters.” He therefore said to the little fiend, “Lower your clothes now, and let me show you my plate.” Turning to one side, Pilgrim yanked off a small piece of hair from the tip of his tail and gave it a pinch, whispering, “Change!” It changed at once into another gold-lacquered plate that had a small cotton thread attached to it. On it were the three printed words: Chief Wind Cutter. When he took it out and showed it to him, the little fiend was greatly taken aback. “We are all named Little Wind Cutters,” he cried, “but how could you have the name of Chief Wind Cutter?”
As he had always acted with the greatest calculation and spoken with the utmost shrewdness, Pilgrim immediately said, “You really have no idea that our great kings promoted me to be a patrol commander when they saw how well I tended the fires. They also gave me a new plate with the name, Chief Wind Cutter, and the charge that I would lead the forty of you in this platoon.” On hearing this, the fiend bowed hurriedly, saying, “Captain, Captain, you’ve just been commissioned, and that’s why you look unfamiliar. Please forgive me for offending you with my words.”
“I won’t blame you,” chuckled Pilgrim as he returned his bow. “But I do have a request: an introductory gift of five ounces of silver per person.” “Don’t be too impatient, Captain,” said the little fiend. “Let me join up with my platoon at the south of the ridge, and we’ll all chip in.” “In that case,” said Pilgrim, “I’ll go with you.” Indeed, the little fiend walked ahead, while the Great Sage followed him.
In less than a few miles, they came upon a pen peak. Why was it called a pen peak, you ask? On that mountain the peak rose straight up for some forty or fifty feet, as a pen sticking up from its rack. Hence the name. After Pilgrim went up there, he gave his tail a wag and leaped to the tallest point to sit down. “Wind Cutters,” he cried, “gather around!” All those Little Wind Cutters bowed to him down below, saying, “Captain, we wait on you.” “Do you know,” asked Pilgrim, “why the great kings sent me out here?” “No, we don’t,” replied the little fiends.
Pilgrim said, “The great kings want to devour the Tang Monk, but their only fear is that Pilgrim Sun has vast magic powers. He is capable of many transformations, they claim, and they are afraid that he may change into a Little Wind Cutter to walk on this road to spy on us. They therefore have promoted me to Chief Wind Cutter and asked me to make an investigation, to see whether there is any specious one among your platoon.” “Captain,” all those Little Wind Cutters said in unison, “we are all genuine.” “If you are,” said Pilgrim, “do you happen to know what sort of abilities our great kings possess?”
One of the Little Wind Cutters said, “I do.” “If you do,” said Pilgrim, “tell me quickly. If I agree with you, you are genuine, but if you make the slightest error, you are a specious one. I’ll certainly arrest you and take you to see the great kings.” When that Little Wind Cutter saw him sitting loftily on the peak and wielding his authority left and right, he had little choice but to speak the truth, saying, “Our great great king has vast magic powers and enormous abilities. With one gulp, he once swallowed one hundred thousand celestial warriors.”
On hearing this, Pilgrim bellowed, “You’re false!” Horrified, the Little Wind Cutter said, “Father Captain, I’m real. How could you say that I’m false?” “If you are,” said Pilgrim, “why did you babble? How big is the great great king that he can swallow with one gulp one hundred thousand celestial warriors?”
The Little Wind Cutter said, “Perhaps the captain does not know that our great great king is capable of such transformation that he can be big enough to reach the celestial hall when he wants to, or he can become as small as a vegetable seed. When the Lady Queen Mother convened the Festival of Immortal Peaches in a former year and did not send an invitation to our great great king, he wanted to strive with Heaven. The Jade Emperor sent one hundred thousand celestial warriors to bring him to submission, but our great king exercised his magic body of transformation and opened his mouth big and wide as a city gate. He charged at the celestial warriors, so terrifying them that they dared not do battle and closed up the South Heaven Gate instead. That’s what I meant when I said that he once swallowed one hundred thousand celestial warriors with one gulp.”
On hearing this, Pilgrim smiled silently to himself, saying, “If it’s this kind of ability, old Monkey is quite capable of it.” He spoke out loud again, saying, “What sort of abilities does second great king possess?”
Another Little Wind Cutter replied, “Our second great king is about thirty feet tall; he has silkworm-like eyebrows, phoenix eyes, a lovely lady’s voice, and teeth like long flat poles. His nose, moreover, resembles a dragon. When he fights with someone, all he needs to do is to wrap his nose around his enemy. Though that person may have an iron back and a bronze body, his spirit will expire and his soul will perish!” “A monster-spirit,” said Pilgrim to himself, “with a trunk like that is not difficult to catch.”
He spoke out loud once more, saying, “What sort of abilities does the third great king possess?” Another Little Wind Cutter said, “Our third great king is no fiendish creature of the mortal world, for he has the name of the Roc of Ten Thousand Cloudy Miles. When he moves, he whips up the wind and transports the seas; he reaches the north and rules the south. On his person he also carries a treasure, called the yin-yang double-force vase. If a person is placed inside it, he will turn to liquid within one and three-quarter hours.”
When he heard this, Pilgrim became alarmed, saying to himself, “I’m not scared of the demon, but I’d better be careful about his vase.” He spoke out loud again, saying, “You have all spoken quite accurately about the abilities of our three great kings, as accurately as I have known them to be. But do you know which of the great kings would like to devour the Tang Monk?” “Captain,” said another Little Wind Cutter, “do you mean that you don’t know?” “Don’t I know more than you?” snapped Pilgrim. “You are the ones who may not know the truth of the matter, and that’s why I was sent to give you a thorough interrogation.”
The Little Wind Cutter said, “Our great great king and the second great king have long resided in the Lion-Camel Cave of the Lion-Camel Ridge. Our third great king, however, did not live here, for his original residence was located about four hundred miles west of here, in a city by the name of the Lion-Camel State. Five hundred years ago, he devoured the entire city—the king, the civil and military officials, the populace, male and female, old and young—and took over the kingdom. All the inhabitants of that city now are fiends. I don’t know which year it was that he learned that the Tang court in the Land of the East had commissioned a monk to go seek scriptures in the Western Heaven. That Tang Monk, so the saying goes, is a good man who has practiced austerities for ten incarnations. If anyone eats a single piece of his flesh, he will gain longevity and never grow old. But fearing his disciple, Pilgrim Sun, who is said to be exceedingly formidable, our third great king was afraid that he couldn’t quite handle the situation all by himself. He came, therefore, to become a bondbrother with the two great kings at this place. The three of them are thus united in their determination and efforts to catch that Tang Monk.”
When Pilgrim heard this, he was filled with anger. “These brazen fiends are so audacious! I am protecting the Tang Monk so that he may attain the right fruit. How could they plan to devour my man?” He was so mad that he clenched his teeth, whipped out his iron rod, and leaped down from the tall peak. All he had to do was to slam the rod down on the heads of the little fiends, and they were immediately reduced to meat patties! When he saw them like that, however, he was moved somewhat to pity. “Alas,” he said to himself, “they were kind enough after all to have spilled everything about their family to me. How could I finish them off just like that? All right! All right! What’s done is done!”
Dear Great Sage! Because of the impediment in his master’s way, he had no choice but to do something like this. He took down one of the nameplates and tied it to his own waist. The banner with the word, “command,” he hauled on his shoulder, the bell he hung on his belt, and he took up the rattle. Facing the wind, he made the magic sign and recited a spell to change with one shake of his body into the appearance of that Little Wind Cutter whom he first met on the road. In big strides, he followed the road back to search for the cave and to do some more detection on those three old fiendish demons. Truly, these were
The Handsome Monkey King’s ten thousand ways to change!
Ten thousand permutations, what real abilities!
He dashed deeply into the mountain, following the path on which he came. As he ran along, he suddenly heard people shouting and horses neighing. When he raised his eyes to look, he saw that the noise was coming from a huge mob of little fiends in front of the Lion-Camel Cave, all equipped with columns of scimitars, lances, spears, and halberds, with flags and banners. Delighted, our Great Sage said to himself, “Long Life Li’s words are not far off the mark!” The way that those little fiends were arrayed, you see, had an order to it: two hundred and fifty of them made up one huge column, to which was assigned a tall colored flag. When he spotted some forty such flags, he knew that there had to be at least ten thousand troops right there before the cave.
Thereupon he thought further to himself, “Old Monkey has already changed into a Little Wind Cutter. Once I step inside, I would have to give some answers should those old demons question me on patrolling the mountain. If I am recognized because of some slip-up in my words, how am I going to get away? Even if I want to run out the door, how could I get out with so many of them barring the door? If I want to seize the fiendish kings inside the cave, I must get rid of these fiends before the door first.”
How could he get rid of the fiends, you ask? Marvelous Great Sage! He thought some more to himself: “Though those old demons have never met my face, they have already known the reputation of old Monkey. Let me rely on that reputation, then, and exploit its power; let me give some big talk to frighten them a bit, and see whether those creatures of Middle Land2 indeed have sufficient affinity to be rewarded by us taking the scriptures back to them. If they do, a few bravado sentences of mine will frighten the fiends enough to scatter them. If those creatures, however, do not have sufficient affinity so that we cannot acquire the true scriptures, then
Even if I preach till the lotus flowers appear,
I shall not dispel the spirits before the cave.”
His mind thus questioning his mouth, and his mouth thus questioning the mind, he beat his rattle and shook his bell as he marched up to the entrance of the LionCamel Cave. He was immediately met by the little fiends of the forward camp who said, “Little Wind Cutter, have you returned?” Instead of answering them, Pilgrim lowered his head and walked on.
At the second-level camp, he was stopped again by some more little fiends who said, “Little Wind Cutter, have you returned?” “I have,” replied Pilgrim. “When you went on patrol this morning,” said the fiends, “did you run into Pilgrim Sun?” “I have,” replied Pilgrim, “he’s polishing his pole at the moment.”
A little frightened, those little fiends said, “What does he look like? What sort of a pole is he polishing?” Pilgrim said, “He was squatting there by the side of a brook, and he still seemed like a trailblazing deity. If he stood up, he would have to be over a hundred feet tall! He had in his hands an iron rod that resembled a huge pole, so thick it was that it had to have the thickness of a rice bowl. As he sprinkled some water on the stone ledge, he rubbed his rod on it while he mumbled to himself, ‘O dear pole! I haven’t taken you out for awhile to show your magic powers. Now that you have been taken out, may you beat to death for me all those monster-spirits, even if there are one hundred thousand of them! Then let me slay also those three arch-demons and offer them as sacrifices to you!’ Once he has polished his rod so that it shines, he will no doubt slaughter first those ten thousand of you before the door.”
When those little fiends heard these words, every one of their hearts quivered and their galls shook, as their souls melted and their spirits dispersed. “Think on this, all of you,” said Pilgrim again. “The flesh of that Tang Monk doesn’t amount to many pounds, you know, and I doubt if we’ll ever get to receive our portions even if he were divided up. Why should we withstand that pole for them? Why don’t we ourselves just scatter?” “You are right,” said the various fiends. “Let’s look after our own lives and leave.” All of these fiends, you see, were no more than wolves, tigers, leopards, and the like. With a roar, all these beasts and fowl simply dispersed in every direction. And so, those few subversive sentences of the Great Sage Sun worked like the songs of Chu3 when they scattered some eight thousand troops.
Secretly delighted, Pilgrim said to himself, “Marvelous! Those old fiends are good as dead! If words will make them run, how would they dare meet me face to face? When I get inside, however, I’d better repeat what I said. For if I miss saying something, a couple of those little fiends who have run inside just now may reveal my secret.” Look at him!
He was set to approach the ancient cave;
With boldness he walked deep inside the door.
We do not know whether good or evil would befall him when he saw the old demons; let’s listen to the explanation in the next chapter.