The poem says:
The Buddha is the mind, and the mind the Buddha; Mind and Buddha alike are things that must exist. But know that there is nothing—and no mind— And that is the true Suchness, the Dharma-body Buddha. The Dharma-body Buddha has no form: One orb of perfect light holds the myriad images. The body that is no body is the true body; The mark that is no mark is the real mark. Neither form nor emptiness, nor not-emptiness; No coming, no going, no turning toward. No difference, no sameness, no being, no non-being— Hard to relinquish, hard to seize, hard to hear or hope for. The numinous light within and without is everywhere the same; One Buddha-land is contained within a grain of sand.
One grain of sand holds the great thousandfold world; One body, one mind, and the ten thousand dharmas are one. To know this, you must grasp the secret of no-mind: Unstained, unstuck—that is the pure karma. Good and evil, in their thousand forms, all done away with— That is homage to Shakyamuni, the golden leaf.
Now Liu Boqin and Tang Sanzang, startled and alarmed, again heard the cry "My master is come!"
The house-boys said: "That calling must be the old ape in the stone box at the foot of the mountain."
The warden said: "It is he! It is he!" Sanzang asked: "What old ape is this?" The warden said: "This mountain was formerly named the Mountain of Five Elements, but since our King of the Great Tang conquered the West and pacified the realm, it has been renamed the Mountain of Two Frontiers. Years ago I heard the old folk say that when Wang Mang usurped the Han throne, this mountain descended from Heaven, and beneath it was pressed a divine monkey, fearing neither cold nor heat, eating no food or drink, guarded by the local earth god, fed on iron pellets when hungry and molten copper when thirsty—and from those days until now, neither frost nor hunger has killed him. That calling must be he. Fear not, elder. Let us go down the mountain and see." Sanzang could only comply, and led his horse down the mountain.
They had not gone a few li when, sure enough, there in the cleft of the stone box was a monkey, thrusting out his head, stretching out his hand, waving wildly: "Master, why have you come only now? Well come! Well come! Get me out, and I will protect you to the Western Heaven!"
The elder drew near for a close look. And what do you suppose he looked like?
Pointed beak and sunken cheeks, golden eyes and fiery pupils. Moss heaped upon his head; brambles sprouting from his ears. Little hair at his temples, but plenty of green grass; No beard beneath his chin, but a mat of green sedge. Earth between his brows, mud in the hollows of his nose—utterly disheveled; Coarse his fingers, thick his palms, crusted over with grime. Yet happily his eyes still rolled and turned, his throat and tongue kept their gentle voice. Though fluent still of speech, his body could not stir. This is that Great Sage Sun of five hundred years ago, Today his suffering fulfilled, escaping the net of Heaven.
Liu the Warden was bold indeed: he stepped forward and plucked away the grass at the monkey's temples and the sedge beneath his chin, and asked: "What have you to say?" The monkey said: "I've nothing to say to you. Tell that master up there to come down; I have a question for him." Sanzang said: "What would you ask me?" The monkey said: "Are you, or are you not, sent by the great king of the Eastern Land to the Western Heaven to seek the scriptures?" Sanzang said: "I am indeed. Why do you ask?" The monkey said: "I am the Great Sage Equal to Heaven who wreaked havoc in Heaven five hundred years ago. For the crime of deceiving my superiors, the Lord Buddha pressed me beneath this mountain. Some time ago the Bodhisattva Guanyin, bearing the Buddha's command, passed here on her way to the Eastern Land to find a scripture-seeker. I begged her to save me, and she urged me to do violence no more, but to take refuge in the Buddha's Law, to attend diligently upon the scripture-seeker and protect him on the journey west to worship the Buddha—when the work was done, good would come of itself. So day and night I have held my heart in suspense, morning and evening my gall has hung by a thread, waiting only for you, Master, to come and free me. I am willing to protect you on the quest for the scriptures and to be your disciple."
Hearing this, Sanzang's heart filled with joy. "Though you have such a good heart, and have received the Bodhisattva's instruction, and are willing to enter the Buddha's gate—yet I have no axe or chisel. How am I to get you out?"
The monkey said: "No axe or chisel is needed. If you are only willing to save me, I shall come out myself." Sanzang said: "If I do save you, how will you get out?" The monkey said: "On the summit of this mountain there is the golden-lettered seal of my Lord the Tathagata that presses me down. You have only to go up the mountain and lift off that seal, and I shall come out." Sanzang complied, and turning, begged Liu Boqin: "Warden, walk up the mountain with me once more." Boqin said: "Who knows if it's true or false!" The monkey called loudly: "It is true! I would never dare lie!"
Boqin could only call the house-boys and have them hold the horse, while he himself supported Sanzang, and they climbed the high mountain once more.
Clutching vines, grasping creepers, they walked clear to the very summit, and there, sure enough, they saw ten thousand rays of golden light and a thousand streams of auspicious air: a great square stone, and upon the stone a sealed packet bearing the six golden characters "Om, ma, ni, pad, me, hum."
Sanzang drew near and knelt down; facing the stone and gazing at the golden letters, he bowed several times, then prayed toward the West: "Your disciple Chen Xuanzang has come in obedience to the command to seek the scriptures. If I am indeed fated to have this disciple, then may I lift this golden seal and bring out the divine monkey, that together we may attain the Vulture Peak. If I am not fated to have this disciple, then this creature is a fierce and wicked monster, deluding your disciple, and the lifting will come to no happy end; the seal will not come up."
When the prayer was done, he bowed again. When the bows were done, he stepped forward and gently lifted away the six golden characters. There came a fragrant gust of wind that snatched the seal from his hand and bore it up into the sky, crying: "I am the guardian appointed to watch the Great Sage. Today his term of suffering is fulfilled; we return to see the Tathagata and hand back this seal." Sanzang and Boqin and the whole party were awestruck, and bowed toward the empty sky.
They went straight down the mountain and came again to the stone box. Sanzang said to the monkey: "The seal is lifted. Will you come out?"
The monkey was overjoyed, and cried: "Master, stand well back, so that I can come out without frightening you."
Hearing this, Boqin led Sanzang and the party back eastward at a quick pace. They had gone five or six li when they heard the monkey calling loudly again: "Farther! Farther!" Sanzang went on yet farther, down the mountain—and then came a single thunderous report, as if the earth were splitting and the mountain collapsing. Every one of them stood aghast.
And there was the monkey already at Sanzang's horse's head, kneeling bare and naked, crying: "Master, I am out!"
He bowed four times to Sanzang, sprang up, and made a great bow with folded hands to Boqin: "Much obliged to you, elder brother, for escorting my master—and obliged too, elder brother, for weeding my face." With his thanks done, he went to gather the luggage and saddle the horse. But the moment the horse saw him, its back went soft and its hoofs buckled, and it trembled and could barely stand.
For that monkey had once been the Protector of Horses, tending the dragon steeds in Heaven, and he still had something of the old authority about him; hence all common horses feared him at sight.
Sanzang saw that his heart was truly set on good, that he really did look a man of the Buddha's gate, and said: "Disciple, what is your surname?"
The Monkey King said: "My surname is Sun." Sanzang said: "Let me give you a name in religion, that I may call you by it." The Monkey King said: "There's no need to trouble your kindness, Master. I already have a name in religion: Sun Wukong." Sanzang said with delight: "That fits our own school exactly. And in that get-up you look just like a little wandering novice. Let me give you a nickname besides, and call you Xingzhe, 'Pilgrim'—would that do?" Wukong said: "Good! Good! Good!" And from that time on he was also called Sun the Pilgrim.
When Boqin saw that the Pilgrim was single-mindedly packing to go, he turned, bowed to Sanzang, and said: "Elder, you have found yourself a fine disciple here—joy indeed, joy indeed. This fellow can truly make the journey; but I must take my leave."
Sanzang bowed in thanks: "You have walked far for my sake, and my gratitude is boundless. When you return home, give my best respects to your honored mother and your good wife; this poor monk has much imposed upon your household—when I pass this way again I will call to give proper thanks." Boqin returned the bow, and so the two parted.
Now the Pilgrim Sun begged Sanzang to mount, and he himself walked in front, the luggage on his back, bare as the day he was born, limping along at a lively pace. Before long, they had crossed the Mountain of Two Frontiers, when suddenly a fierce tiger came roaring toward them, lashing its tail. Sanzang's heart froze on his horse.
But the Pilgrim rejoiced at the roadside: "Don't be afraid of him, Master. He's bringing me clothes."
He set down the luggage, pulled a needle from his ear, and shook it in the wind—and it was an iron rod as thick as a rice bowl.
He held it in his hand and laughed: "My treasure! Five hundred years and more since I last used you. Today I'll take you out and earn a suit of clothes."
Watch him spread his stride and face the tiger, calling: "Wicked beast! Where do you think you're going!" The tiger cowered flat into the dust, not daring so much as to twitch.
One blow of the rod on its head, and its brains spattered in ten thousand dots of peach-blossom red, its teeth flying out like lumps of jade. Sanzang tumbled from the saddle in fright, biting his finger and crying: "Heaven help us! Heaven help us! The other day Warden Liu fought that brindled tiger for half a day; today Sun Wukong, without the least struggle, beat one to a pulp with a single blow—truly, 'for every strong man there is a stronger still'!"
The Pilgrim dragged the tiger over: "Rest a moment, Master, while I take off his clothes and put them on for the road."
Sanzang said: "Where would a tiger have clothes?" The Pilgrim said: "Never mind, Master; I know what to do." What a Monkey King! He plucked a hair, blew on it a breath of immortal air, and cried "Change!"—and it became a sharp ox-ear knife. With it he slit the tiger's belly down the middle and peeled the skin whole off the carcass.
He chopped away the claws, cut off the head, trimmed out a good square piece of tiger skin, held it up, and measured it: "A bit too wide. One piece will make two."
He took up the knife and cut it in two.
One piece he put away; the other he wrapped round his waist, plucked a kudzu vine from the roadside, bound it fast, and covered his nakedness, saying: "Let's be off, Master! Let's be off! When we come to a house, we'll borrow needle and thread and sew it properly."
He twirled the iron rod, and it became a needle again, and he put it back in his ear; then, shouldering the luggage, he begged his master to mount.
The two pressed forward, and the elder asked from horseback: "Wukong, that iron rod you killed the tiger with—where has it gone?"
The Pilgrim laughed: "You don't know, Master. This staff of mine I got from the dragon palace at the bottom of the Eastern Ocean. It's called 'the Divine Iron that Anchors the Milky Way,' and also 'the As-You-Will gold-banded cudgel.' It stood me in good stead when I rebelled against Heaven. It changes as I please: big when I want it big, small when I want it small. Just now it turned into the likeness of an embroidery needle, and I tucked it in my ear. Only when I have use for it do I take it out." Hearing this, Sanzang rejoiced in secret.
He asked again: "And that tiger just now—the moment he saw you, why did he not so much as move, but let you beat him at your pleasure? What's the explanation?"
Wukong said: "I'll hide nothing from you, Master. Never mind a tiger—even a dragon would not dare be impudent to me. Your Old Sun has more than a little skill at subduing dragons and taming tigers, magic to overturn rivers and churn the seas. I read faces and sounds and know the truth of things; when I enlarge myself I can fill the universe, when I shrink I can hide within a hair. My transformations have no limit; none can tell whether I am hidden or in sight. And you think skinning this tiger anything rare? Wait till we come to some real difficulty, and then watch me show my stuff!" Hearing this, Sanzang set his heart all the more at ease, and rode forward.
Master and disciple walked along talking, and before they knew it the sun was sinking. Just look:
The blazing slanting light turns to glow in the west; Clouds come home from the edge of sky and sea. Through a thousand mountains the birds cry in flocks, Seeking their roosts, thronging into the woods. Wild beasts in pairs and couples Turn toward their dens, families and herds together. A hook of new moon breaks through the dusk, Ten thousand bright stars ringed with halos.
The Pilgrim said: "Bestir yourself, Master, the light is failing. Over there, where the trees stand so thick, there must be a farmstead. Let's hurry and ask for a night's lodging." Sanzang rode forward accordingly, straight toward the dwelling.
They dismounted before the gate. The Pilgrim dropped the luggage, walked up, and called: "Open up! Open up!" Inside was an old man, who came leaning out on his staff.
The door flew open with a clatter, and at the sight of the Pilgrim's fierce looks, a tiger skin tied about his waist, looking for all the world like the Thunder God, the old man's legs went soft and his body numb, and he babbled: "A ghost! A ghost!"
Sanzang drew near and steadied him, saying: "Good benefactor, fear not. He is this poor monk's disciple, not a ghost or monster." The old man raised his head, saw that Sanzang's own face was refined and singular, and only then stood firm.
He asked: "What monastery are you a monk of, that you bring such a ruffian to my door?"
Sanzang said: "This poor monk comes from the land of Tang, bound for the Western Heaven to worship the Buddha and seek the scriptures. Passing this place, I found the day far gone, and have come especially to your honored house to beg a night's lodging; at first light tomorrow, before the sky offends, we shall be gone. I pray you show us some kindness." The old man said: "You may indeed be a man of Tang, but that fierce one is no man of Tang." Wukong shouted sternly: "You old fellow have no eye at all! The man of Tang is my master, and I am his disciple! And I'm no 'sugar man' or 'honey man' either—I am the Great Sage Equal to Heaven. Among the households here there are some that know me; I've seen you before too." The old man said: "Where ever did you see me?" Wukong said: "When you were little, didn't you gather brushwood before me? Didn't you pick greens upon my face?" The old man said: "The wretch babbles! Where do you live? Where do I live? What would I be doing gathering brushwood and picking greens before you!" Wukong said: "What nonsense, you infant! You just don't recognize me. I am the Great Sage who was in the stone box on this Mountain of Two Frontiers. Look again, and see." Only then did the old man come to his senses: "You do look somewhat like him—but how did you get out?" And Wukong told the old man in full detail how the Bodhisattva had urged him to goodness and bidden him await the Tang monk, who should lift the seal and set him free.
The old man then came down bowing, invited the Tang monk inside, called his old wife and his sons and daughters to come and be presented, recounted the whole affair to them, and every one was delighted. He ordered tea served.
When the tea was done, he asked Wukong: "Great Sage, you must be getting on in years yourself?"
Wukong said: "How old are you this year?" The old man said: "I've lived foolishly on for a hundred and thirty years." The Pilgrim said: "Why, you're my great-great-grandson! The age of my own birth I don't remember; but I've been here at the foot of this mountain five hundred years and more." The old man said: "True, true. I remember my great-grandfather saying that this mountain fell from the sky, and that it pressed down a divine monkey. Only today have you gotten free of it. When I was little and saw you, your head was all grass and your face all mud, and I wasn't even afraid of you then. Now the mud is off your face and the grass off your head, but you look thinner, and with that great tiger skin tied round your waist, how much different are you from a goblin?"
The whole household burst out laughing at this. The old man was a kindly soul, and at once ordered a vegetarian meal prepared.
After the meal, Wukong asked: "What is your family name?" The old man said: "Our humble house is named Chen." Hearing this, Sanzang came down from his seat, raised his hands, and said: "Good benefactor, you and this poor monk are of the same illustrious clan." The Pilgrim said: "Master, your name is Tang—how are you of the same clan as him?" Sanzang said: "My lay family is also named Chen; I am a native of Juxian Zhuang in the Hongnong prefecture of Haizhou in the Tang. My name in religion is Chen Xuanzang. Only because our Emperor Taizong of the Great Tang honored me as his sworn brother Sanzang, taking Tang as my surname, am I called the Tang monk." When the old man heard that they shared a surname, he was delighted beyond measure.
The Pilgrim said: "Old Chen, we've imposed on your house left and right. I haven't had a bath for five hundred years and more—go boil us some water, so master and disciple can wash, and that will be one more thanks we owe you at parting."
The old man at once ordered water heated and basins brought, and lamps lit. When master and disciple had bathed, they sat before the lamp.
The Pilgrim said: "Old Chen, one more thing to trouble you: lend me a needle and thread."
The old man said: "We have them, we have them." He bade the goodwife bring needle and thread, and handed them to the Pilgrim.
The Pilgrim had an eye for his moment: while his master was bathing, he had taken off a short white-cloth robe and left it unworn; the Pilgrim now snatched it over and threw it on his own body, then took the tiger skin, joined it on, pleated it in the fashion of a horse-faced skirt, bound it round his waist with a vine, and walked before his master: "How does Old Sun look today, dressed like this—better than yesterday?"
Sanzang said: "Good! Good! Good! Now you really look a pilgrim." And he added: "Disciple, if you don't scorn hand-me-downs, that robe is yours—wear it." Wukong bowed: "A gift received! A gift received!" Then he went to find some fodder and fed the horse. By now everything was seen to, and master, disciple, and the old man each went to rest.
Early the next morning, Wukong rose and begged his master to take the road. Sanzang dressed and told the Pilgrim to pack the bedding and luggage. They were just about to take their leave when the old man, who had already prepared water for washing and the morning meal, pressed it on them. Only after the meal did they set out. Sanzang mounted; the Pilgrim led the way. Hungry they ate, thirsty they drank; at night they lodged, at dawn they traveled—and the season was now early winter. Just look:
Frost has carved the red leaves; a thousand woods grow lean; On the ridge a few pines and cypresses stand green. The unopened plum buds breathe a hidden scent; The warm day is short—the little-spring season. Chrysanthemums withered, lotus spent, the camellias flourish. On the cold bridge, ancient trees struggle for their branches; In the winding ravine the spring water purls and slips; Pale clouds that would be snow float over all the sky. The north wind gusts, tugging at sleeve and skirt— How can one bear the evening's onset of the cold?
Master and disciples had been walking a good while when suddenly, with a whistle from the roadside, out burst six men, armed with long spears and short swords, keen blades and stout bows, who shouted with a great roar: "Hey, monk! Where do you think you're going! Leave the horse and drop the luggage at once, and we'll spare your life and let you pass!"
Sanzang was frightened out of his wits; he fell from his horse and could not speak.
The Pilgrim lifted him up with his hand: "Set your heart at ease, Master. It's nothing. These are people bringing us clothes and traveling money."
Sanzang said: "Wukong, are your ears stopped up? They tell us to leave the horse and the luggage—and you ask them for clothes and traveling money?" The Pilgrim said: "You just look after the clothes, the luggage, and the horse, and let Old Sun have a set-to with them and see how it goes." Sanzang said: "One good hand can't beat two fists, and two fists are no match for four hands. There are six great fellows there, and you one tiny little man—how dare you fight with them?"
The Pilgrim's courage was of the greatest; he waited for no argument, but walked forward, crossed his arms on his breast, and saluted the six: "Gentlemen, what is your reason for blocking this poor monk's road?"
The men said: "We are kings of the highway, mountain lords of the well-disposed. Our great names have long been noised abroad—you can't pretend not to know them. Hand over your goods at once and we'll let you pass; say half a word of 'no,' and we'll smash you to bits and grind your bones to powder!" The Pilgrim said: "I too am an hereditary king, a mountain lord of long standing, yet I never heard that you gentlemen had any great names." The men said: "Then you don't know. We'll tell you: one is called Eye-Delights-in-Sight, one Ear-Listens-in-Anger, one Nose-Smells-Love, one Tongue-Tastes-Craving, one Mind-Conceives-Desire, and one Body-Bears-Sorrow." Wukong laughed: "So it's six hairy thieves after all! You don't recognize that this monk is your master and lord, and you come blocking his road instead. Hand over the loot you've stolen, and I'll divide it into seven shares and split it with you—then I'll let you off!" At these words the thieves—well, one rejoiced, one raged, one loved, one craved, one lusted, one grieved.
They all rushed forward shouting: "What insolence from this monk! You haven't a thing to your name, yet you come demanding a share of ours!"
They wheeled spears and flourished swords and charged in a crowd, hacking at the Pilgrim's head—ping, ping, pang, pang—seventy or eighty blows. The Pilgrim stood stock still in their midst and took no more notice of it than if it were nothing.
The thieves said: "What a monk! Truly a hard head!"
The Pilgrim laughed: "Passable, I'd say! Your arms must be tired by now—time Old Sun took out a needle and had some fun." The thieves said: "This monk must be an acupuncture doctor gone into religion! We're not sick—what talk is this about needles!"
The Pilgrim reached into his ear, pulled out an embroidery needle, shook it once in the wind, and it was an iron rod as thick as a rice bowl.
He gripped it in his hand and said: "Don't run off! Let Old Sun try his hand with one blow!"
The six thieves scattered and fled in all directions; but the Pilgrim spread his stride, caught them round and round, and one by one he beat them all to death.
He stripped their clothes, seized their plunder, and came strolling back with a smile: "Please proceed, Master. The thieves have been wiped out by Old Sun."
Sanzang said: "You have made terrible trouble! Though they were highway robbers, even if they had been taken before the magistrates they would not have merited death. Whatever your powers, you should have done no more than drive them off. How could you kill them all? This is taking human life without cause—how can you be a monk? We who have left the world 'sweep the floor for fear of hurting the life of an ant, and shield the lamp lest the moth be burned.' How could you, with no regard for right or wrong, beat them to death in one bout? You have not a scrap of compassion or love of good! Here in the wild hills and mountains no one will inquire into it; but when we reach the cities, if anyone should so much as cross you, you'd turn violent again, and swinging that staff wound and kill at random. How could I be a mere passer-by then? How should I escape?" Wukong said: "Master, if I hadn't killed them, they'd have killed you." Sanzang said: "I, a man who has left the world, would rather die than commit violence. If I died, I would die alone; but you killed six of them—how do you justify that? If this matter were carried to the magistrates, even if your own father were the judge, you could never talk your way out." The Pilgrim said: "I'll hide nothing from you, Master. Five hundred years ago, when Old Sun held King Mountain of Flowers and Fruit and reigned as a monster, I don't know how many I killed. If I'd listened to talk like yours, I'd never have become the Great Sage Equal to Heaven." Sanzang said: "It was just because you acknowledged neither restraint nor master, ran violent through the world of men, and bullied Heaven and deceived your betters, that you suffered that five-hundred-year ordeal. Now that you have entered the Buddha's gate, if you go on as violent as before, dealing out death at every turn, you will never reach the Western Heaven and never be a monk! Wicked! Wicked!"
Now this monkey had never in his life been able to take a scolding.
Seeing Sanzang go on and on nagging, he could not hold down the fire in his heart: "Since that's how it is—since you say I can't be a monk and can't reach the Western Heaven—then don't nag at me so hatefully. I'll just go back!"
And before Sanzang could answer, he threw one of his tantrums, gave a leap, and cried: "Old Sun is off!" Sanzang looked up hastily—he was gone. He heard only a whoosh, and off eastward the monkey flew.
He left the elder all alone and desolate, nodding and sighing to himself, grieving and resentful beyond measure: "This wretch! So he will take no instruction! I only said a few words to him—how could he vanish without form or shadow and go straight back? Well! Well! Well! It must be that no disciple is fated for me, no new mouth to feed! Now I could search for him and never find him, call him and he would never answer. Be off! Be off!"
Truly: Stake body and life and press on to the West; Do not lean on others to think for you.
The elder had no choice but to gather the luggage, load it on the horse, and walk on leading the horse instead of riding—tin staff in one hand, reins clutched in the other—desolate and chill, pressing westward. He had not gone far when, on the mountain road ahead, he saw an aged old mother carrying in her arms a padded garment, and on the garment a flowered cap. Seeing her come straight toward him, he hastily led his horse to one side to let her pass.
The old mother asked: "From where do you come, elder, walking here so lonely and desolate?"
Sanzang said: "Your disciple comes from the Great Tang in the Eastern Land, bearing the sacred command to go to the Western Heaven, to worship the living Buddha and seek the true scriptures." The old woman said: "The Buddha of the West dwells in the Great Thunderclap Monastery in the land of India, and from here it is 108,000 li. A single man on a lone horse, with no companion and no disciple—how will you ever get there?" Sanzang said: "Some days ago your disciple took a disciple, but his temper was wild and fierce. I said a few words to him; he would take no teaching, and off he vanished." The old woman said: "I have here a padded cloth robe and a gold-flowered cap. They belonged to my son. He was a monk only three days when, alas, his short life ended. I have just come from his monastery, where I wept a while, took leave of his master, and brought these two garments away to remember him by. Elder, since you have a disciple, let me make you a present of this cap and robe." Sanzang said: "I am grateful for your generous gift; but my disciple has gone away, and I dare not accept it." The old woman said: "Which way did he go?" Sanzang said: "I heard a whoosh—he went back east." The old woman said: "Not far east is my house; he has most likely gone to my home. I have there, besides, a spell called the True Word for Settling the Mind, also known as the Band-tightening Spell. Learn it by heart in secret, keep it locked in your mind, and let no one else know. I shall go catch him and make him come back and follow you; then you shall dress him in this cap and robe. If he will not obey your orders, recite this spell silently, and he will never dare violence again, nor dare run off again."
Hearing this, Sanzang bowed his head in thanks. The old woman transformed into a streak of golden light and went off eastward. Sanzang understood well that it was the Bodhisattva Guanyin who had bestowed this true word; he hastily gathered up a pinch of earth as incense, and bowed earnestly toward the east. When the bows were done, he put away the cap and robe, and hid them in the middle of his bundle. Then he sat at the roadside and recited the True Word for Settling the Mind, over and over, until he knew it by heart and held it fast in his breast—but no more of this.
Now Wukong, having left his master, mounted his somersault cloud and went straight back to the Eastern Ocean. Pressing down the cloud, he parted the waters and came straight before the Crystal Palace, and the Dragon King came out in haste to welcome him. He was received into the palace and seated; the courtesies done,
the Dragon King said: "I have lately heard that the Great Sage's term of suffering was fulfilled—my congratulations were late! I suppose you are reordering your immortal mountain and returning to your old cave?"
Wukong said: "I'd half a mind to; but I've gone and become a monk instead." The Dragon King said: "How so, a monk?" The Pilgrim said: "Thanks to the kindness of the Bodhisattva of the Southern Sea, who urged me to goodness and a true fruit, I now follow the Tang monk of the Eastern Land to worship the Buddha in the West, have taken refuge in the Buddha's gate, and am called Xingzhe, the Pilgrim, as well." The Dragon King said: "Then this is truly to be congratulated! Congratulated indeed! That is what is called turning from evil back to goodness, punishing and reforming the heart. But if so, why not go west? Why turn back east?" The Pilgrim laughed: "That Tang monk has no understanding of men. A few hairy thieves held up the road; I killed them, and he nagged and nagged, laying all sorts of faults on me. Old Sun, you may imagine, is not one to swallow a scolding. So I left him, meaning to return to my own mountain; and I thought I'd stop in and see you first, and beg a cup of tea." The Dragon King said: "Honored by your visit! Honored indeed!" At once the dragon sons and grandsons brought fragrant tea and offered it.
When the tea was done, the Pilgrim glanced back and saw hanging on the rear wall a painting of "Presenting the Shoe at the Yi Bridge."
The Pilgrim said: "What scene is this?" The Dragon King said: "It happened after your time, Great Sage, and so you don't know it. It is called 'Thrice Presenting the Shoe at the Yi Bridge.'" The Pilgrim said: "What is 'thrice presenting the shoe'?" The Dragon King said: "The immortal in the picture is Huang Shigong, the Yellow Stone Patriarch; the young man is Zhang Liang of the Han dynasty. The old man sat upon the Yi Bridge, and suddenly his shoe fell off beneath it, and he called Zhang Liang to fetch it. The young man fetched it at once and knelt to present it. Three times this happened, and Zhang Liang never showed a trace of pride or impatience; the old man, loving him for his diligence and care, bestowed on him at night the heavenly book, and bade him uphold the Han. And in time it was truly said of him: 'He devised his strategy within the tent and decided the victory a thousand li away.' When peace was won, he resigned his office, returned to the mountains, wandered with Master Red Pine, and awakened to the way of immortality. Great Sage, if you do not protect the Tang monk, if you will neither toil nor take instruction, you will remain a demon-immortal to the end, and never think of attaining the true fruit." Hearing this, Wukong brooded a long while in silence.
The Dragon King said: "The Great Sage must judge for himself. Do not cling to your ease and throw away your future."
Wukong said: "Say no more; Old Sun will go back and protect him." The Dragon King said with delight: "In that case I dare not keep you. I beg the Great Sage to show his mercy early, and not let your master be left too long neglected." Seeing him pressed to be gone, the Pilgrim sprang up, left the sea's treasury, mounted his cloud, and took leave of the Dragon King.
He was on his way when he met the Bodhisattva of the Southern Sea.
The Bodhisattva said: "Sun Wukong, why do you refuse instruction, refuse to protect the Tang monk? What business brings you here?"
The Pilgrim was startled, and saluted her in the clouds: "Thanks to your kind words, Bodhisattva, the Tang monk truly came, lifted the seal, and saved my life, and I followed him as his disciple. But he found me fierce and stubborn, so I slipped away from him a moment—and now I am just going back to protect him." The Bodhisattva said: "Go quickly, then, and do not miss your destiny." With that, each went their way.
In a very short while the Pilgrim caught sight of the Tang monk sitting gloomily at the roadside.
He came up and said: "Master! Why are you not on the road? What are you doing sitting here?"
Sanzang raised his head: "Where have you been? You told me I dared neither go nor stay, and I've been sitting here waiting for you all this time." The Pilgrim said: "I went to the Eastern Ocean to drink tea with the old Dragon King." Sanzang said: "Disciple, we who have left the world must not lie. You left me not one double-hour ago, and you say you drank tea at the Dragon King's?" The Pilgrim laughed: "I'll hide nothing from you, Master: I can ride the somersault cloud—one somersault carries me 108,000 li. That's how I could go and come in a moment." Sanzang said: "I spoke a little sharply to you, and you took offense, threw one of your tantrums, and abandoned me. A capable fellow like you can get his tea; but what of one like me, who cannot go—sitting here starving? Your conscience ought to trouble you!" The Pilgrim said: "Master, if you're hungry, I'll go beg you some food." Sanzang said: "No need to beg. In my bundle there's still some dried food that Warden Liu's mother gave us. Fetch the alms bowl and find some water, and I'll eat a little and then we'll walk."
The Pilgrim went and untied the bundle, and in the middle of it found several coarse-flour biscuits, which he took out and handed to his master.
He also saw, gleaming bright, a padded cloth robe and a gold-flowered cap. The Pilgrim said: "These clothes—were they brought from the Eastern Land?"
Sanzang answered offhand: "They were what I wore when I was small. If you put on that cap, you'll be able to recite scripture without being taught; if you wear that robe, you'll know all the rites without being drilled in them." The Pilgrim said: "Good Master, give them to me to wear." Sanzang said: "I only fear they won't fit; but if they do, put them on." So the Pilgrim took off his old white-cloth robe, put on the padded robe—and it fit as though measured to his body—and set the cap upon his head.
The moment Sanzang saw the cap on his head, he stopped nibbling his biscuit and silently recited the Band-tightening Spell once through. The Pilgrim cried out: "My head! My head aches!" The master went steadily on reciting it several more times, until the Pilgrim rolled on the ground in agony, scratching and tearing the gold-flowered cap. Sanzang, fearing he would tear apart the gold fillet, stopped and did not recite. When the reciting stopped, the pain stopped too.
The Pilgrim felt his head with his hand: there, like a thread of gold, it was bound tight upon it; it would not come off and could not be wrenched away—it had taken root. He took the needle from his ear, thrust it under the fillet, and pried outward with all his might. Sanzang, fearing he would pry it apart, began reciting again; and the pain came back as before, till the Pilgrim stood on his hands like a dragonfly, turned somersaults, his ears red, his face scarlet, his eyes swollen, his body numb.
Seeing him so, the master could not bear it, and once more stopped; and the pain stopped again.
The Pilgrim said: "So this head of mine was your doing—your spell on me!"
Sanzang said: "I was reciting the Band-tightening Sutra—when did I put a spell on you?" The Pilgrim said: "Recite it again and see." Sanzang truly recited it again.
The Pilgrim truly ached again, crying only: "Don't recite! Don't recite! The moment you recite, it hurts! What is the meaning of this?"
Sanzang said: "Now will you heed my instruction?" The Pilgrim said: "I'll heed it!"—"And will you be insolent again?" The Pilgrim said: "I dare not!"
Though his mouth consented, his heart still harbored no good; he shook the needle till it was a bowl's thickness round, and raised it toward the Tang monk to strike. In terror the elder recited two or three more times, and the monkey fell to the ground, dropped the iron rod, and could not lift a hand, crying only: "Master! I understand! Don't recite! Don't recite!"
Sanzang said: "How could you be so wicked-hearted as to strike your own master?" The Pilgrim said: "I dared not strike. I was only asking you, Master: who taught you this trick?" Sanzang said: "An old mother I met just now bestowed it on me." The Pilgrim raged: "No need to say more! That old mother must have been that Guanyin! How could she do this to me! Wait till I go to the Southern Sea and beat her!" Sanzang said: "Since she it was who gave me the spell, she must have known of you beforehand. If you went looking for her, she would only recite it—and wouldn't you be dead?" Seeing the force of this, the Pilgrim truly dared not set out, but could only turn his heart back, kneel down, and plead: "Master! This is her way of mastering me, to make me follow you to the West. I won't go provoke her; and you, don't take it into your head to recite it as a regular habit. I will protect you, and I shall never repent and draw back again." Sanzang said: "Since it is so, help me onto the horse and let us go." Only then did the Pilgrim, his heart truly won, shake his spirit together, bind up his padded robe, saddle the horse, gather the luggage, and press westward.
But as for what was said along the road that followed—listen to the explanation in the next chapter.