The gatha says:
The Dharma is born from the mind, and by the mind it dies. Who is it that governs birth and death? Pray tell them apart yourself. Since all of it is your own mind, what need for others' words? You only need to labor hard, and wring the blood from out the iron. Thread the floss rope through the nose, and knot it fast to empty space; Tether it unto the Tree of Undoing, and let it rage no more. Mistake not the thief for your own son—let every mind-trick die away. Do not let him fool me: strike him first with one clean blow, and strike him through. The mind revealed is still no mind; the Dharma shown—the Dharma stops.
When neither man nor ox is seen, The vast sky's light is pure and white. As round as any autumn moon, The one and other can't be told apart.
[Translator's note: the "ox" is the traditional Buddhist metaphor for the progress of meditation; "neither man nor ox" is the eighth stage of the Ten Ox-herding Pictures, in which both seeker and object of seeking are forgotten.]
This gatha came of the Master Xuanzang's full awakening to the Heart Sutra—the opening of the gate. The Elder recited it constantly, kept it constantly, till of itself a point of numinous light shone through.
And now the story tells how the three of them, dining on wind and lodging by water, wearing the moon and draped in stars, came once more to the blazing heat of summer. Just see:
The flowers all gone, the butterflies confer no more; the trees grow tall, the cicadas clamor aloud. Wild silkworms spin their cocoons, the pomegranate blazes red; in the ponds the new lotus shows its face.
One day, as they were walking on, evening fell of a sudden, and beside the mountain road they spied a village house.
Sanzang said: "Wukong, look—'the sun sets in the west and hides the fiery mirror; the moon rises from the eastern sea and shows the wheel of ice.' Luckily there's a household by the road. Let's beg a night's lodging and travel on tomorrow."
Bajie said: "Well said. Old Pig's a bit hungry too. Let's get to that house and beg a meal—then I'll have the strength to carry the luggage." Pilgrim said: "You homesick devil! A few days away from home and you're already grumbling!" Bajie said: "Brother, I'm not like you, one who drinks the wind and swallows smoke. Since I've followed the Master these few days, I've gone with half a belly of hunger the whole time—did you know that?" Hearing this, Sanzang said: "Wuneng, if your heart is still so set on home, you're no man for the monastic life—you may as well go back." The blockhead dropped to his knees in a panic: "Master, don't listen to Elder Brother. He's one for pinning tales on people. I never grumbled about anything, and he says I grumbled. I'm a simple-hearted fool who speaks straight: I said my belly was empty, so we'd best find a household and beg a fast—and he calls me a homesick devil. Master! I've received the Bodhisattva's precepts, and you have shown me pity besides; I am willing and resolved to serve you all the way to the Western Heaven—I swear no turning back, no regret. This is what they call 'hating the bitterness and cultivating all the harder.' How can you say I'm not for the monastic life?" Sanzang said: "Since it's so, get up." The blockhead bounced up, still grumbling and mumbling, shouldered the load, and, his heart set fast, followed on.
Soon they reached the gate of the house by the road. Sanzang dismounted, Pilgrim took the reins, Bajie set down the luggage, and all three stood in the green shade. Leaning on his nine-ringed tin staff, settling his rattan-woven, bamboo-plaited cape, Sanzang first hurried to the door, where he saw an old man reclining on a bamboo couch, softly, softly intoning the Buddha's name.
Not daring to raise his voice, Sanzang slowly called out: "Patron, my greetings." The old man bounced up at once, hastily gathered his garments, came out the door, and returned the courtesy: "Venerable Sir, forgive my failure to welcome you. From what quarter do you come, and what brings you to my humble gate?" Sanzang said: "This humble monk is a monk of the Great Tang of the Eastern Land, bearing the sacred decree to go to the Thunderclap Monastery to worship the Buddha and seek scriptures. Coming to your honored region, we find the day late, and would beg a night's lodging at your benevolent house—a thousand prayers for your kindness." The old man waved his hands and shook his head: "You can't go. The scriptures are hard to win from the Western Heaven. If you'd seek scriptures, go to the Eastern Heaven instead." Sanzang said nothing, but sank into thought: "The Bodhisattva pointed the road to the west—why does this old man say to travel east? How could there be scriptures in the east?"... Too bashful to speak, he made no answer for a long while.
Now Pilgrim, unruly by nature, could contain himself no longer. He stepped forward and called out at the top of his voice: "Old man! All those years you've lived, and not a bit of sense in you. We monks come from afar to beg a night's lodging, and you scare us off with your ill-omened talk. If your house is really so cramped there's nowhere to sleep, very well: we'll sit under a tree the whole night through, and never trouble you."
The old man clutched Sanzang's sleeve: "Master, you say nothing, but that disciple of yours—that crooked face, those jutting jawbones, that thunder-god beak, those red eyes—some consumptive devil! How can he turn on an old man like me!" Pilgrim laughed: "You old man, you've no eye for quality at all! Your pretty-pretty sort is what they call 'fine to look at, no good to eat.' Old Sun here may be small, but he's solid—nothing under the hide but sinew." The old man said: "You must have some powers then." Pilgrim said: "I'd not boast—but they'll pass inspection." The old man said: "Where is your home, and why did you shave your head for monkhood?" Pilgrim said: "Old Sun's family, from way back, lived in the Water Curtain Cave on the Mountain of Flowers and Fruit, in the Aolai Country beyond the Eastern Sea of the Eastern Continent of Superior Body. From childhood I learned to be a monster, and my name is Wukong. By my own skill I won myself the title Great Sage Equal to Heaven. But because I would not accept Heaven's stipend, I rebelled against the Heavenly Palace and stirred up a world of trouble. Now, my tribulation past and the trouble discharged, I have turned and bowed to the gate of Sakya, seeking the true fruit, protecting this master of mine from under the Tang throne, bound for the Western Heaven to worship the Buddha. What have I to fear of high mountains or perilous roads, wide waters or wild waves? Old Sun can catch monsters and subdue demons. Taming tigers, seizing dragons, kicking down heaven and churning up wells—I know a little of all of it. If your honored house has bricks flying and tiles falling, pots crying out and doors opening by themselves, old Sun can set it all at rest."
Hearing this speech, the old man laughed aloud: "So you're one of those smooth-tongued monks who drum up alms door to door!"
Pilgrim said: "It's your son who's smooth-tongued! These days, what with the hard traveling with my master, I've been too weary to talk at all." The old man said: "If you weren't weary and didn't stint your talk, why, you'd chatter me to death alive! With powers like that, you may reach the west after all—you may indeed. How many in your party? Come into my thatched cottage and lodge." Sanzang said: "Deep thanks for the kindness of not scolding us. We are three in all." The old man said: "Where are the other two?" Pilgrim pointed: "You old man, your eyes must be dim—aren't those the very ones standing in the green shade?" The old man indeed was dim-sighted; he lifted his head and looked closely, and the moment he saw Bajie's face he was so frightened he staggered at every step and went scrambling into the house, crying: "Shut the door! Shut the door! A monster's come!" Pilgrim rushed up and caught him: "Old man, don't be afraid. He's no monster—he's my monastic brother." The old man said, trembling: "Fine! Fine! Fine! One monk uglier than the last!" Bajie stepped forward: "Old governor, if you judge men by their looks, you're clean wrong. Ugly we may be, but we're useful every one." As the old man stood at his gate bandying words with the three monks, from the south of the village came two young men leading an old granny, with three or four little children, girls and boys, their clothes gathered up, barefoot, coming back from setting out rice seedlings.
They saw a white horse and a load of luggage, and a crowd clamoring at their gate. Not knowing what it meant, they all surged forward, asking: "What's this? What's this?" Bajie swung his head around, wagged his ears a few times, and stuck out his long snout—whereupon the whole company toppled east and tumbled west, staggering and falling over each other.
Sanzang, in a flurry, called out with all his might: "Don't be afraid! Don't be afraid! We're not bad men—we're monks going to fetch scriptures."
Only then did the old man come out the door, supporting the granny: "Mother, get up—there's nothing to fear. This master comes from the Tang court; it's only that his disciples' faces are rather ugly. But the mountains are cruel and the men are kind. Take the children inside." So the granny took hold of the old man, and the two young men led their children in.
Sanzang sat down on the bamboo couch in the gate-tower and reproached them: "Disciples! Ugly faces you two have, and coarse speech besides—you've frightened this whole household out of seven parts of its eight, and all of it lays sin at my door!"
Bajie said: "I'll not deceive you, Master—old Pig has grown a deal handsomer since following you. Back when I went about in Gao Village, if I thrust my snout forward and swung my ears out both sides, I'd regularly scare two or thirty people out of their wits." Pilgrim laughed: "Blockhead, no more of that—put a bit of polish on your ugliness." Sanzang said: "Listen to Wukong! A face is born the way it's born—how can you tell him to polish it?" Pilgrim said: "Tuck that rake-snout into his breast and don't let him haul it out; paste those cattail-leaf ears flat behind his head and forbid them to wag—that's polishing." And Bajie truly tucked in his snout and flattened his ears, hunched his head, and stood to one side.
Pilgrim carried the luggage inside and tethered the white horse to a stake.
Presently the old man led in a young man bearing a board tray with three cups of clear tea to offer. Tea over, he ordered a meal prepared. The young man brought out an old table, holed and unvarnished, and set down two stools with broken heads and wrenched legs, in the courtyard, inviting the three to sit where it was cool.
Only then did Sanzang ask: "Old Patron, your honored surname?" The old man said: "This humble one is named Wang." "And how many worthy sons?" "Two little sons, and three little grandsons." Sanzang said: "Congratulations! Congratulations!" He asked again: "And your age?" "A useless sixty-one years." Pilgrim said: "Good! Good! Good! The full cycle of sixty, come round again!" Sanzang asked once more: "Old Patron, at first you said the scriptures of the Western Heaven were hard to win—why so?" The old man said: "The scriptures are not hard to win; it's the road that's rough and hard to travel. Westward from us, only thirty li or so, there is a mountain called the eight-hundred-li Yellow Wind Ridge, and that mountain is full of monsters. That is why I said the scriptures were hard to win. But for this little Venerable here, with all the powers you claim, it may be done." Pilgrim said: "No matter! No matter! With old Sun and this monastic brother of mine, whatever monster it is won't dare meddle with us."
As they talked, the son brought in the rice, set it on the table, and said: "Please, the meal." Sanzang pressed his palms together and began chanting the meal sutra. Bajie had already swallowed a bowl. Before the Elder had got through a few lines of sutra, the blockhead had eaten his fill of three bowls more.
Pilgrim said: "This chaff-guzzler! He must have run into a hungry ghost!"
Old Wang, a man of feeling, seeing how fast he ate, said: "This Venerable must be truly hungry—quick, more rice!" The blockhead indeed had a mighty gut: watch him, head never lifting, eat a dozen bowls and more on end. Sanzang and Pilgrim managed no more than two bowls apiece. The blockhead showed no sign of stopping—still eating.
Old Wang said: "In the hurry of the moment we've no dishes to speak of—we dare not press you. Pray take another helping."
Sanzang and Pilgrim both said: "Enough." Bajie said: "Old man, what's all this clacking? Who asked you to cast divinations—your fifth line and sixth line and all? If there's rice, just keep bringing it on!" In one session the blockhead ate the whole family's rice to the last grain—and said he was only half full. Only then were the dishes cleared, and under the gate-tower bamboo couches and plank beds were made ready, and they lay down.
At dawn next day Pilgrim went to saddle the horse and Bajie to square the load. Old Wang had the granny prepare tea and cakes and hot water to see them off, and the three gave thanks and took their leave. The old man said: "If you meet with any mischance on the road, you must come back to this thatched cottage." Pilgrim said: "Old man, none of your disgraceful talk. We monks never walk the road back." So they mounted, shouldered the load, and set out west.
Alas! This going promised no good road into the western regions, but surely evil demons bringing down great calamity. The three pressed on, and before half a day had passed, they indeed came upon a high mountain—and a fearsome, steep one to tell of. Sanzang's horse drew near the cliff's edge, and he reined in and looked carefully around. Truly:
The high ones are mountains, the steep ones are ridges; the sheer ones are cliffs, the deep ones are ravines; the sounding ones are springs, the fresh ones are flowers. Is that mountain high? Its summit touches the blue empyrean. Is this ravine deep? Its bottom looks down into the underworld. Before the mountain, white clouds puff unceasing, weird rocks tower precipitous. No tongue could tell of the Soul-Snatching Cliff, a thousand and ten thousand fathoms high. Behind the cliff, the winding, twisting Dragon-Hiding Cave; within the cave, the Dripping Water Rock, ding-dong ringing.
And see: fork-antlered deer; dazed and foolish river-deer that stare at men; red-scaled pythons coiled and coiling; white-faced apes romping and rollicking. At dusk, tigers seek their dens on the hillside; at daybreak, dragons toss the waves and leave the water, the cave-doors resounding with their thunder. Birds burst whirring from the grass; beasts shuffle hunched through the woods. A sudden pack of wolves and beasts sweeps past, and a man's heart goes thudding with fright. Truly, on that upside-down cave, upside-down cave—the cave's collapse brings down the mountain;
Blue-black dye stains the thousand-fathom jade; a gauze of green veils ten thousand heaps of mist.
The master urged his silver steed gently on; the Great Sage Sun stilled his cloud and stepped slowly; Zhu Wuneng trudged along, grumbling at his load. They were admiring the mountain when suddenly they heard a whirlwind springing up.
Sanzang's heart quaked on his horse: "Wukong, the wind is rising!" Pilgrim said: "What's to fear from wind? It's only the breath of the four seasons from Heaven's house—why be frightened?" Sanzang said: "This wind is evil—unlike the winds of the sky." Pilgrim said: "How do you make it out to be unlike the sky's wind?" Sanzang said: "Look at this wind:
Towering, surging, soughing and swirling, Dim and distant, it rises from the blue empyrean. Crossing the ridge, a thousand trees are heard to roar; Entering the wood, ten thousand bamboo stalks sway. The willows on the banks are shaken root and all; The flowers in the gardens go flying leaf and petal. The fishing boats hauling in their nets make fast their lines; The travelers' barges drop their sails and let go anchor. Halfway on their road, the marching men lose their way; The woodcutters in the hills can scarcely bear their loads. Through the groves of immortal fruit the monkeys scatter; Among the clusters of rare flowers the deer flee in panic. Cedar and cypress before the cliff fall tree by tree; Pine and bamboo below the ravine shed leaf on leaf. It strews the earth, blows up the dust, the sand goes flying; It churns the rivers, stirs the seas, the waves go rolling."
Bajie stepped forward and caught hold of Pilgrim: "Elder Brother, the wind's terrible! Let's get out of the way somewhere—it's only sensible."
Pilgrim laughed: "Brother, you're hopeless! Hiding when the wind blows—what if we came face to face with a demon, what then?" Bajie said: "Brother, haven't you heard: 'Flee beauty as you'd flee an enemy; flee the wind as you'd flee an arrow'? There's no shame in stepping aside." Pilgrim said: "Quiet now, and watch: I'll grab a handful of this wind and give it a sniff." Bajie laughed: "There's Elder Brother with another empty lie! Wind—grabbed and sniffed! Even if you grabbed it, it would slip away." Pilgrim said: "Brother, you don't know: old Sun has a method of grabbing the wind."
A fine Great Sage! He let the head of the wind pass, caught the tail of it, and sniffed. It had a raw, fishy smell. "This is no good wind!" he said. "The taste of this wind—either a tiger wind or a demon wind. There's something crooked here beyond doubt."
Hardly were the words out when, below the hillside, tail tucked and hooves flying, out leapt a dappled, fierce tiger. Sanzang was so frightened he could not sit the carved saddle; he tumbled head over heels off the white horse and leaned against the roadside, his soul truly flying and his spirit scattering. Bajie dropped the luggage, whipped out his rake, and—giving Pilgrim no chance to step forward—roared out: "Sinful beast! Where do you run!" He charged and struck at the head.
That tiger stood bolt upright, raised its left forepaw, clawed its own chest, and ripped downward with a slashing sound—stripping off its whole skin! There it stood by the roadside. Look what a fiendish sight! Ah, that shape:
A body bared and dripping blood, legs curved and red; temples aflame with bristling hair; brows stiff and stiffly standing; four steel fangs white and gleaming; a pair of golden eyes bright and blazing. High-hearted, it strains and gives a mighty roar; fierce and proud, it shrieks in a ringing voice.
It shouted: "Hold! Hold! I am none other than the Advance Guard of the Great King of the Yellow Wind! Charged this day by my Great King's stern command to patrol the mountain and take a few common mortals for his drinking relish. What monks are you, that dare lift weapons against me?"
Bajie cursed: "Damn you, sinful beast! You don't know me! We are no common passersby, but disciples of Sanzang, the Tang emperor's sworn brother of the Great Tang of the Eastern Land, bearing the imperial decree to the Western Heaven to worship the Buddha and seek scriptures. Clear off, far and fast, and open the great road! Frighten not my master, and I'll spare your life. Rampage as before, and where my rake falls, there'll be no mercy!" The demon waited for no argument: he closed in briskly, dropped into a stance, and clawed at Bajie's face.
Bajie dodged aside in haste and swung his rake to strike. The monster, weaponless, turned tail and fled, and Bajie chased after him. At the foot of the hillside, in a tangle of heaped stones, the monster drew out two red-bronze swords, whirled them up quickly, and turned to give battle. The two of them fought before that slope, back and forth, charge and counter-charge.
Meanwhile Sun Pilgrim was helping the Tang monk to his feet: "Master, don't be afraid. Sit here, and let old Sun go lend Bajie a hand; we'll fell that monster and be on our way."
Only then did Sanzang sit up, trembling, reciting the Heart Sutra under his breath—and of him we say no more.
Pilgrim drew out his iron staff and shouted "Take him!" Just then Bajie, his spirit roused, beat the monster back from the field.
Pilgrim cried: "Don't spare him! We must catch him up!"
The two of them, swinging the rake and raising the iron staff, chased down the mountainside. The monster lost his head and his hands: he played the "Golden Cicada Sheds Its Shell" trick, gave a roll, and returned to his true body—once more a fierce tiger. Pilgrim and Bajie would not give over: they chased that tiger determined to dig out the root. When the monster saw them hard upon him, he clawed his chest again, stripped off the skin, and draped it over the Crouching Tiger Rock; then, slipping his true body loose, he turned into a gust of wild wind and made straight back for the road.
At the roadside, the master was just reciting the Heart Sutra when the monster seized him in one grab, mounted the rushing wind, and carried him off. Ah, the pity of Sanzang! Born of the river's current, fated to tribulation on tribulation; in the gate of extinction, the work of merit is hard.
The monster bore the Tang monk captive to his cave mouth, reined in the wild wind, and said to the gatekeeper: "Go report to the Great King: the Tiger Vanguard of the Advance Guard has taken a monk, awaiting orders outside the gate."
The master of the cave gave orders to bring him in.
The Tiger Vanguard, two red-bronze swords stuck in his belt, bore the Tang monk in both hands, came forward, knelt, and said: "Great King, your humble general, unskilled though he is, was honored with your command to patrol the mountain, and suddenly met with a monk—the Master Sanzang, the Tang emperor's sworn brother from under the throne of the Great Tang of the Eastern Land, bound for the Western Heaven to worship the Buddha and seek the scriptures. I have seized him and present him here, a modest dish to set before you."
At this the master of the cave was startled: "I heard tell of this before now: the Master Sanzang is a holy monk of the Tang, bearing the imperial decree to fetch scriptures, and he has a disciple named Sun Pilgrim, of vast magic powers and mighty strength. How were you able to catch him?"
The Vanguard said: "He has two disciples. The first to come at me wielded a nine-toothed rake, and he was long of snout and great of ears; the other carried a gold-banded iron staff, and he had eyes of fire and gold. As they pressed your humble general in the fight, I played the 'Golden Cicada Sheds Its Shell' trick, slipped free at a stroke, took this monk, and present him to the Great King—a small token of a meal's respect."
The master of the cave said: "Let's not eat him just yet." The Vanguard said: "Great King—to see food and not eat it, that's called refractoriness." The master of the cave said: "You don't understand. Eating him would be a small matter—but I fear those two disciples will come raising a ruckus at our gate, and that would not be safe. Bind him to the Wind-Fixing Stake in the rear garden, and wait three or five days. If the two of them don't come stirring up trouble, why then: first, his body will be clean and whole; second, no war of words. Won't he then be ours to do with as we please? Boiled or steamed, fried or fricasseed, we can take our ease and enjoy him slowly—no hurry." The Vanguard rejoiced: "Deep plans and far sight, Great King—well said!" He called: "Little ones, take him away!"
Seven or eight binders swarmed up from the sides and hauled the Tang monk off, just as a hawk seizes a sparrow—roped and bound. Truly: the ill-fated son of the river thinks of Pilgrim; the holy monk in peril thinks of Wuneng.
He cried: "Disciples! On what mountain are you catching monsters, where subduing demons, while I am seized by this fiend and suffer this venomous harm! When shall we ever meet again? O bitter, bitter! If you had come a little earlier, my life might yet be saved; if you are too long delayed, it cannot be saved for certain!"
So he lamented on the one hand, and on the other his tears fell like rain.
Now the story tells how Pilgrim and Bajie chased that tiger down the slope—and saw the tiger tumble and sprawl flat before the cliff. Pilgrim raised his staff and struck with all his might, and the shock stung his own hand. Bajie struck a rake-stroke too, and the rake's teeth sprang back. It was a tiger skin, spread over a slab of Crouching Tiger Rock.
Pilgrim cried out in alarm: "Bad! Bad! We've fallen for his trick!"
Bajie said: "What trick?" Pilgrim said: "It's called 'the Golden Cicada Sheds Its Shell': he left the tiger skin draped here and made off. Let's hurry back and look to the master, before the poison hand falls on him." The two hurried back—and Sanzang was gone.
Pilgrim roared like thunder: "What's to be done! The master has been carried off!"
Bajie, leading the horse, tears dripping from his eyes, said: "Heaven help us! Heaven help us! Where are we to look for him!" Pilgrim lifted his head and leapt: "Don't cry! Don't cry! Crying blunts the fighting edge. One way or another he must be in this mountain—let's go search."
The two of them indeed plunged into the hills, threading ridges and crossing peaks. After they had gone a good long while, beneath a rocky cliff a cave dwelling rose before them. The two stopped and studied it: truly a dangerous place. Just see:
Range upon range of pointed peaks, ancient roads through curving hills. Green pines and emerald bamboo swaying; green willows and blue wutong trees bending. Before the cliff, weird rocks in pairs; within the woods, secluded birds two by two. The ravine's waters rush from far, striking the stone walls; the mountain springs drip thin, soaking the sandy banks. Wild clouds, sheet upon sheet; jasper grasses, lush and thick. Cunning foxes and crafty hares dart back and forth; antlered deer and musk deer vie in boldness. Down the cleft cliff hangs the ten-thousand-year vine; on the deep ravine's rim leans half the thousand-year cypress.
Gleaming, towering, it outdoes Mount Hua; fallen flowers and crying birds rival Mount Tiantai.
Pilgrim said: "Worthy brother, leave the luggage in the wind-sheltered hollow, let the horse graze, and stay out of sight. Old Sun will go to his gate and give battle. Only by taking the demon can we save the master." Bajie said: "No need to tell me—go quick!"
Pilgrim straightened his gown, tightened his tiger-skin kilt, drew his staff, and strode to the gate, where he saw six great characters on the doors: "Yellow Wind Ridge, Yellow Wind Cave." He planted his feet in a T-stance, gripped his staff, and called out at the top of his voice: "Demon! Send my master out at once, and save yourself the trouble of having your nest overturned and your dwelling stamped flat!"
At these words the junior demons, every one of them afraid, came trembling inside to report: "Great King! Disaster!" The Yellow Wind Demon, sitting there, asked: "What now?" The junior demon said: "Outside the cave gate is a monk with a thunder-god beak and a hairy face, carrying an iron staff as thick as all that, demanding his master!" The master of the cave was alarmed and summoned the Tiger Vanguard: "I sent you to patrol the mountain—you should have taken mountain oxen, wild boars, fat deer, stray sheep. Why seize the Tang monk! Now his disciple has come making this ruckus—what's to be done?" The Vanguard said: "Great King, set your heart at rest—sleep high and worry not. Your humble general, unskilled though he is, is willing to lead fifty junior demon troops out and fetch this Sun Pilgrim, whoever he is, to make a second course." The master of the cave said: "Besides the officers great and small, I have five or seven hundred junior troops here—choose as many as you please. Only take that Pilgrim, and we can eat that monk's flesh at our leisure, and I'll gladly swear brotherhood with you. But if you fail to take him and get hurt instead, don't blame me."
The tiger demon said: "Rest easy! Rest easy! Wait for me!"
And indeed he mustered fifty sturdy junior demons, beat drums and waved banners, belted on his two red-bronze swords, burst out through the gate, and cried in a fierce voice: "Where are you from, you ape of a monk, that dare howl and bawl here?" Pilgrim cursed: "You skinned beast! Playing your shell-shedding tricks, carrying off my master—and you ask what I'm about! Send my master out, nice and proper, and I'll spare your life!" The tiger demon said: "Your master was taken by me, for my Great King's supper. If you know what's good for you, go home! Or, when I've taken you too, we'll eat you together—'buy one, get one free,' as they say!" At this Pilgrim's wrath flared.
With a grinding sound his steel fangs gnashed together; in a wheeling flash his fiery eyes rolled round.
He drew his iron staff and roared: "What powers have you, to talk so big! Stand not! Taste my staff!"
The Vanguard gripped his swords and held his ground. This bout was a serious one indeed: each showed his full prowess. What a fight:
That monster was a real goose-egg, and Wukong a goose-egg stone. Red-bronze swords crossed the Monkey King's path—like eggs hurled against a rock. How can the magpie quarrel with the phoenix? How dare the tame dove match the hawk? The monster spewed wind, and ash filled the mountain; Wukong breathed fog, and cloud hid the sun. Back and forth they fought three rounds and five; the Vanguard's waist went limp, his strength all gone. He wheeled and broke, seeking life in flight— But Wukong, dogging him close, gave him no quarter.
The tiger demon could not hold out; he turned tail and ran. He had bragged before the master of the cave, so he dared not go back to the cave, but fled straight for the hillside. Pilgrim was not the man to let him go: staff in hand he simply chased on, bawling and roaring, his war-cries never ceasing—and chased him to the wind-sheltered hollow. Lifting his head, he saw Bajie there grazing the horse.
Bajie suddenly heard the whooping and yelling, turned to look, and there was Pilgrim chasing the beaten tiger demon. He dropped the horse, raised his rake, and struck him a slanting blow on the head. The pity of that Vanguard! Escaping one net, he had hoped to leap free of the yellow-silk snare—and met instead the fisherman with the casting net. With one rake-stroke Bajie punched nine holes in him, the fresh blood gushing; one whole headful of brains drained dry. There is a poem in witness:
Three years and five since he returned to the true line, He kept the fast, held to the greens, and woke to utter Void. With faithful heart to guard the Tang Sanzang, At his first keeping of the Way he won this deed of merit.
The blockhead set one foot on the corpse's spine and swung the rake with both hands to strike again.
When Pilgrim saw this he rejoiced: "Brother, that's the very thing! He led a few dozen junior demons and dared give battle to old Sun; I beat him, and instead of running for the cave he ran here to die. Well met, brother—another minute and he'd have slipped away."
Bajie said: "Was he the one who raised the wind and carried off the master?" Pilgrim said: "The very one, the very one." Bajie said: "Did you ask him where the master is?" Pilgrim said: "This monster has the master in his cave, meaning to make a meal of him for some damned Great King or other. Old Sun lost his temper, fought him all the way here, and you finished him. Brother, this merit is yours. You keep watch over the horse and the luggage, while I drag this dead monster off to the cave gate and demand battle. We must take that old demon before we can save the master." Bajie said: "Well said, Elder Brother. Go, go. If you beat the old demon, chase him here, and old Pig will cut him off and slay him." A fine Pilgrim! Iron staff in one hand, dragging the dead tiger in the other, he went straight to the cave mouth.
Truly:
The Law Master, meeting trouble, meets a demon; Their natures joined in harmony subdue the unruly fiend.
But whether that quest subdued the demon and saved the Tang monk—listen to the explanation in the next chapter.