The story tells how some fifty battered little demons, clutching their tattered banners and broken drums, rushed into the cave and reported: "Great King, the Tiger Vanguard could not prevail against that hairy-faced monk. He's been chased down the eastern slope of the mountain."
The old demon was greatly vexed at this news.
While he hung his head in silence, brooding over a plan, another little demon who guarded the front gate came in and said: "Great King, the Tiger Vanguard has been beaten to death by that hairy-faced monk, and the body's been dragged to our front gate—the monk is shouting a challenge there."
At this the old demon was more distressed than ever. "The scoundrel is utterly shameless!" he cried. "I never so much as tasted his master, and now he has gone and killed my vanguard. Hateful! Hateful!" Then he shouted: "Bring my armor! All I've heard is talk of some 'Pilgrim Sun.' Let me go out and see what sort of nine-headed, eight-tailed monk this is. I'll capture him and bring him in to pay for my Tiger Vanguard's life." The little demons hurriedly carried out his armor.
The old demon buckled it all on smartly, seized a three-pronged steel trident, and led his demon host bounding out of the cave. The Great Sage stood waiting outside the gate, and when he saw the demon come forth, he was truly formidable. See how he was dressed:
A golden helmet flashing in the sun, golden armor gleaming with light. From the helmet floated the plume of a mountain pheasant; over the armor, a gauze robe of pale goose-yellow. The armor-binding sash coiled with dragons, bright with color; the heart-protecting mirror dazzled the eye. Deerskin boots dyed the color of locust blossom; a brocade apron trimmed with willow-leaf velvet. In his hand a three-pronged steel trident, keen and sharp—no less a figure than the Illustrious Sage of old.
The old demon came out his gate and called in a stern, loud voice: "Which of you is Pilgrim Sun?"
The Pilgrim, one foot planted on the tiger monster's skin, his As-You-Will iron cudgel in hand, replied: "Your Grandpa Sun is here! Send my master out!"
The monster looked him over carefully. He saw that the Pilgrim had a scrawny, ill-favored body and a thin, wasted face, not four feet tall, and he laughed: "Pitiful! Pitiful! I thought you'd be some invincible, untopplable hero, and here you are—a skeleton of a sick ghost!"
The Pilgrim laughed: "You son of a fool, you've no eye at all! Your grandpa may be small, but if you're willing to give me one crack of your trident's handle on the head, I'll grow three feet taller."
"You dare," said the monster. "Harden that head of yours and take a blow from my handle!"
The Great Sage stood his ground without a flicker of fear.
The monster indeed brought the blow down, and the Great Sage merely bent at the waist—and lengthened three feet, standing a full zhang tall. The demon was so startled that he pressed down his trident and shouted: "Pilgrim Sun! How dare you come flaunt that body-protecting transformation trick at my very gate! None of your tricks! Come up here, and let's see what you can really do!"
The Pilgrim laughed: "Sonny, as the saying goes: 'He who shows mercy does not raise his hand; he who raises his hand shows no mercy.' Your grandpa's hand is heavy—I'm afraid you won't be able to take this cudgel of mine!"
The monster was in no mood for talk. He wheeled his trident around and thrust it straight at the Pilgrim's chest. But the Great Sage was one of those experts who are never flustered—the flustered are never experts. He swung his iron cudgel aside, executed the move called "Black Dragon Sweeping the Ground," parried the trident, and struck straight at the monster's head.
The two of them fought a splendid battle before the mouth of the Yellow Wind Cave:
The demon king raged; the Great Sage displayed his might. The demon king raged, hoping to seize the Pilgrim to pay for his vanguard; The Great Sage displayed his might, resolved to capture the fiend and rescue the elder. Trident thrust—cudgel parries; cudgel swings—trident meets it. One was the grand commander who ruled the mountain; One was the Dharma-protecting Handsome Monkey King. At first they fought amid the dust; then each rose into midair. The steeled trident, its points bright and keen; The As-You-Will cudgel, its body black and its bands gold. Whomsoever it pierced, his soul went down to the Courts of the Shades; Whomsoever it struck was sure to see King Yama. All depended on quick hands and quick eyes, and it surely took mighty strength and a sturdy body. The two of them fought a battle of life and death— And who could tell which would be safe and which would fall!
The old demon and the Great Sage fought thirty rounds without a victor. Wanting to press his advantage, the Pilgrim used the trick of the body outside the body: he plucked a handful of hairs, chewed them to pieces in his mouth, spat them out with a cry of "Change!"—and thereupon a hundred-odd Pilgrims appeared, all dressed exactly alike, each gripping an iron cudgel, surrounding the monster in midair.
The monster was alarmed, but he had a trick of his own. He turned his head sharply toward the quarter of the southeast, opened his mouth three times, and with a great whoosh blew out a breath—and all at once a yellow wind rose howling out of the sky. What a wind! Truly a fearful thing:
Cold and biting, it turned Heaven and Earth strange; formless and shadowless, it whipped up yellow sand. It pierced the forests, toppled the ridges, felled the pines and plums; it hurled soil and dust, and split the peaks apart. Waves of the Yellow River surged until the whole stream ran muddy; the waters of the Xiang River churned and rolled. The azure sky shook to the Palace of the Dipper and Ox, and all but toppled the Hall of the King of Hell. The five hundred arhats clamored to high Heaven; the Eight Great Vajra warriors cried out in confusion. Manjusri lost his blue-maned lion; Puxian's white elephant could nowhere be found. The Dark Warrior's tortoise and snake scattered from their flock; the mount of Zitong lost its saddle-cloth. Traveling merchants cried out, appealing to the gray heavens; boatmen bowed and vowed offerings of every kind. Lives drifted on the misty waves; folk who chased fame and gain gave their last breath to the waters. Immortal mountains and cave palaces turned black as pitch; the isles of Penglai on the sea went dim and dark. Lord Lao Zi could no longer tend his elixir furnace; the Star of Longevity put away his dragon-whisk fan. The Queen Mother, setting out for the Peach Banquet, had her sash and bracelet snapped by a single gust. Erlang lost his way in the city of Guanzhou; Nezha could not fetch the sword from its case. The Heavenly King could not find the pagoda in his palm; Lu Ban dropped his golden-headed drill. The precious towers of the Thunderclap Monastery toppled three stories; the stone bridge of Zhaozhou broke clean in two. The red sun wheeled, drained of all light; the stars across the sky were thrown into confusion. Birds of the southern mountains flew to the northern hills; the waters of the eastern lake spilled over into the western lake. Mates were torn from mates and could not call to one another; mothers were parted from children, and their cries went unheard. The Dragon Kings scoured the seas for their yakshas; the Thunder Lord searched everywhere for Lightning. The ten kings of the dead hunted for their judges; in the underworld, the Ox-Headed chased the Horse-Faced. The wind blew all the way to Mount Potalaka, and rolled up a scroll of Guanyin's sutras. White lotus petals shed, flying along the coast; it toppled the Bodhisattva's twelve courtyards. Since Pangu's day the world has known winds, but never a wind that came so evil as this. With a roar and a crash, all but burst the cosmos itself— And ten thousand li of rivers and mountains trembled!
When the monster loosed this gale, it caught all those little Pilgrims—the Great Sage's transformed hairs—and whirled them about in midair like so many spinning wheels, so that they could neither swing their cudgels nor close with the monster.
In alarm the Pilgrim shook his body, took back his hairs, and came on alone, raising his iron cudgel to strike. But the monster spat a mouthful of yellow wind full in his face, and it seared the Pilgrim's fiery eyes with golden pupils so that they squeezed tightly shut and would not open. Unable to use his cudgel, he was beaten off the field. The monster gathered his wind and returned to his cave, and of him we shall say no more for now.
Now let us speak of Zhu Bajie. Seeing the yellow wind rage and Heaven and Earth lose their light, he had held the horse and guarded the luggage, crouching in a hollow of the mountain, not daring to open his eyes, not daring to raise his head, his mouth ceaselessly reciting the Buddha's name and making vows; and he knew not whether the Pilgrim had won or lost, nor whether his master lived or died. As he agonized thus, the wind suddenly died away and the sky cleared. He raised his head and looked toward the mouth of the cave: no weapons in sight, no sound of gongs or drums.
But the blockhead dared not go up to the gate, and there was no one else to watch the horse and luggage. Truly he was caught in a dilemma, unable either to advance or retreat, in a fine state of panic and distress.
While he fretted, he heard the Great Sage Sun come shouting along from the west, and he rose at once to meet him: "Brother, what a mighty wind! Where have you come from?"
The Pilgrim waved his hand: "Formidable! Formidable! Since old Sun first came into the world, I have never seen such a wind. That old demon came out with a three-pronged steel trident to fight me. We fought thirty-odd rounds, and then old Sun used my body-outside-the-body trick and had him surrounded—but he grew desperate, and so he whipped up this wind. It was truly vicious. It beat me until I could not stand, and I had to take in my magic and flee before the gale. Whew, what a wind! Whew, what a wind! Old Sun can call up winds and summon rains himself, but never have I known a demon's wind so wicked!"
"Brother," said Bajie, "how was the monster's skill at arms?"
"Fair enough," said the Pilgrim. "His trident work is quite tidy. He fought old Sun to a standstill. Only his wind was too wicked—that's what makes him hard to beat."
"If it's like that, how are we ever to rescue Master?"
"Rescuing Master will keep for the moment," said the Pilgrim. "I wonder whether there's an eye doctor anywhere around here who could treat my eyes."
"What's wrong with your eyes?"
"The monster spat a gust of wind at me, and it blew my eyeballs sore and aching. This while, cold tears keep streaming down."
"Brother," said Bajie, "we're halfway up a mountain and the sky's getting dark. Never mind eye doctors—we haven't even got a place to spend the night!"
"A place to sleep is no problem. I reckon that demon won't dare harm our master just yet. Let's find the main road, look for some household, put up there for the night, and come back tomorrow at first light to subdue the fiend."
"Right, right."
So he led the horse and shouldered the luggage, and they came out of the hollow and onto the road. Dusk was gathering by degrees when they heard the sound of dogs barking on the slope south of the road. The two of them stopped to look: it was a farm manor, with the faint glimmer of lamplight showing. Neither caring whether there was a path or not, they pushed through the grass straight up to the gate. And this is what they saw:
Purple zhi-mushrooms spreading shade, white stones gray and ancient. Purple zhi-mushrooms spreading shade, and green grass all about; white stones gray and ancient, half mantled in moss. A few points of small fireflies glimmering bright; a whole wood of wild trees packed in dense array. Fragrant orchids breathing perfume; tender bamboo newly planted. A clear spring flowing down the winding ravine; ancient cypresses leaning on the deep cliff. So secluded a spot that no traveler ever comes; before the gate, only wild flowers bloom.
The two of them dared not enter unbidden, and could only call out: "Open up! Open up!"
There within was an old man, who came out with several young farmhands, all carrying pitchforks, rakes, and brooms, demanding: "Who's there? Who's there?"
The Pilgrim bowed and said: "We are disciples of a holy monk of the Great Tang empire in the East, journeying west to worship the Buddha and seek scriptures. Passing through this mountain, our master was captured by the Great King of the Yellow Wind, and we have not yet been able to rescue him. The sky is late, and we have come to your honorable house to beg a night's lodging. We pray you, grant us this convenience."
The old man returned the courtesy: "Forgive us for failing to welcome you. This is a place of many clouds and few people, and hearing someone at the gate just now, we feared it might be demon foxes, tigers, or bandits from the hills—hence these foolish lads of mine, so boorish in challenging you. We did not know you were two reverend elders. Please come in, come in."
The brothers led in the horse and carried in the luggage, went straight inside, tied up the horse and set down the load, greeted the master of the manor, and were seated with him in due form.
A gray-bearded servant brought tea, and when the tea was done, several bowls of sesame rice were set out.
When the meal was finished, bedding was laid out for them. The Pilgrim said: "Sleep is all very well, but may I ask, good sir—do the local folk here sell eye medicine?"
"Which of the reverend elders has an eye ailment?" asked the old man.
"I won't deceive you, venerable sir," said the Pilgrim. "We monks have always been free of sickness—never in our lives have we known an ailing eye."
"If your eyes are not ailing, why do you seek medicine?"
"Today at the mouth of the Yellow Wind Cave, while rescuing my master, that monster unexpectedly spat a gust of wind at me, and it blew my eyeballs sore and aching. Now my eyes are all a-swim with tears—that's why I'm looking for eye medicine."
"Bless us! Bless us!" said the old man. "You, reverend elder, so young in years—how can you tell lies? The Great Sage of Yellow Wind has the most dreadful wind of all. His wind is not like the winds of spring and autumn, or of pines and bamboo, or the winds of east, west, south, and north."
"Perhaps," said Bajie, "it's like a wind through the skull, or a wind behind the ears, or leprosy-wind, or a migraine on either side of the head?"
"No, no," said the old man. "His is called the Divine Samadhi Wind."
"How do you make that out?" asked the Pilgrim.
"That wind can blow Heaven and Earth dark; it can gale till ghosts and gods despair. It splits rocks and bursts cliffs with its fury, and any man it blows upon is done for. If you had been caught in that wind of his, could you hope to live? Only immortals escape it unharmed."
"Indeed! Indeed!" said the Pilgrim. "Though we are not immortals ourselves, the immortals are my juniors, so my life is not so easily done for. It's only that the wind blew my eyeballs sore and aching!"
"In that case," said the old man, "you are a man of consequence. In this poor place of ours there is no eye medicine for sale. But I too suffer from wind-damp and cold tears, and once I met a remarkable man who passed on to me a prescription called the Three-Blossom Nine-Seed Ointment, which can cure all wind-afflicted eyes."
Hearing this, the Pilgrim bowed his head and sang out a courteous thanks: "May I beg a little of it, just to try—just to try?"
The old man consented, went inside, and brought out a little jar of agate. He drew out the stopper, dipped in a jade hairpin, took out a small portion, and applied it to the Pilgrim's eyes, telling him not to open them, but to compose his mind and sleep—by morning he would be well. When the application was done, the old man put away the stone jar and withdrew with his young servants to the inner rooms.
Bajie untied the bundle and spread the bedding, inviting the Pilgrim to lie down.
The Pilgrim sat groping about with his eyes shut, and Bajie chortled: "Sir, where's your white stick?"
"You licker of swill, you blockhead!" cried the Pilgrim. "You're taking care of me as if I were blind!" The blockhead gave a silent, snickering laugh and lay down to sleep. The Pilgrim sat on the bed, circulating his divine arts, and only after the third watch did he lie down.
Before he knew it the fifth watch was passing and dawn approaching. The Pilgrim wiped his face, opened his eyes, and said: "Truly good medicine! Better than ever—a hundred percent more light than usual!"
Then he turned his head to look behind him—ah! Where were the houses, the windows and doors? He saw only old locust trees and tall willows, and his brothers were all asleep on a bed of green sedge.
When Bajie woke, he said: "Brother, what are you bawling about?"
"Open your eyes and look," said the Pilgrim.
The blockhead raised his head suddenly, saw that the household was gone, and scrambled up in a panic: "Where's my horse?"
"Isn't that it, tied to the tree?"
"Where's the luggage?"
"Isn't it there, beside your head?"
"That family is a passel of slackers!" said Bajie. "They moved off—why didn't they give us a shout? If old Pig had known, I could at least have seen them off with tea and fruit. I expect they were dodging their gate obligations, afraid the local constable might hear of it, and so they moved house overnight. Ugh! And we slept like the dead! How could they tear down a house without our hearing so much as a sound?"
The Pilgrim gave a sniggering laugh: "Blockhead, don't bawl. Look at that paper note up in the tree—what is it?"
Bajie went up, reached out, and took it down. On it were four lines of verse:
"This manor was no mortal's home, but a hut conjured by the Dharma-protecting Sangharamas. A wondrous medicine we gave to ease your eyes—now set your minds to subduing the fiend, and hesitate no more."
The Pilgrim said: "That pack of presumptuous gods! Ever since we traded for the dragon horse, I haven't once summoned them—and here they come playing tricks on me!"
"Don't put on airs, brother," said Bajie. "Why should they wait on your summons?"
"Brother, you don't know yet. These Dharma-protecting Sangharamas, the Six Ding and Six Jia, the Revealers of the Five Quarters, and the Four Duty Officers of the Hours are under the Bodhisattva's command to guard our master in secret. From the day they reported their names to us, it happened that once you came along we never needed them, and so I never summoned them—that's all."
"Brother, since they're under holy orders to guard Master in secret, they cannot show themselves openly—that's why they conjured up this immortal manor. Don't be angry with them. Yesterday you owed them for doctoring your eyes, and we owed them too for that vegetarian meal. They've done all they could, truly. Don't bear them a grudge; let's go and rescue Master."
"What you say is right, brother. It's not far from here to the Yellow Wind Cave. Don't stir from this spot—stay in the wood and watch the horse and the luggage while old Sun goes into the cave to scout things out and see how Master fares, before we do battle with the fiend again."
"Just so," said Bajie. "We need definite news, alive or dead. If Master is dead, each of us can plan his own affairs; if he lives, we can give our whole strength and all our hearts."
"No idle chatter—I'm off!"
He sprang straight to the cave gate, which was still shut while the demons slept. Not knocking, careful not to alarm the monsters, the Pilgrim made a spell with his fingers, recited a formula, shook his body, and transformed into a mosquito with spotted wings and legs. A tiny, nimble thing indeed! There is a poem in witness:
A tiny shape, a busy form, a sharp little beak; A fine thin hum, faint as thunder to the ear. Through gauze curtains of orchid chambers it slips at will, Loving best the warm airs of summer days. It only fears the smudge-smoke and the fan, Yet dotes upon the lantern's gleaming light. So light, so small, so very quick at darting— It flew into the demons' cave.
There he saw the little demon who kept the gate fast asleep and snoring. The Pilgrim lit on his face and stung him once. The little demon rolled over and woke: "My stars, what a mosquito! One bite and it's raised a great lump!" Then he opened his eyes suddenly: "It's daylight."
Again there came the sound of a creak as the inner gate opened. The Pilgrim hummed his way in, and there was the old demon giving orders for vigilance at every gate, while weapons were being readied at one side. "I only fear that yesterday's wind did not blow Pilgrim Sun to death," he was saying. "He is sure to come back today, and when he comes, I'll see to it that his life is finished once and for all."
Hearing this, the Pilgrim flew on past the great hall and went straight to the rear. There he saw a barred gate, shut most securely. The Pilgrim slipped in along the crack of the door, and found it was a great empty garden—and there, on the wind-fixing stake, Tang Sanzang was bound with cords and ropes. The master's tears fell in streams, his heart fixed only on Wukong and Wuneng, not knowing where they might be. The Pilgrim hovered and lit on his shining head, calling softly: "Master!"
The elder knew his voice. "Wukong! I've missed you to death! Where are you calling me from?"
"Master, I'm on your head. Don't be anxious; spare yourself the grief. We are determined to capture the fiend—only then can your life be saved."
"Disciple, when will you ever catch the demon?"
"The tiger monster who seized you has already been beaten to death by Bajie. Only the old demon's wind is formidable. I reckon that by today at the latest we're sure to take him. Set your heart at rest and don't weep. I'm off now."
At the word "off," he hummed his way to the front, where the old demon sat enthroned, mustering the commanders of the various posts.
Then a little demon before the cave, someone who had polished up a command flag, came rushing into the hall to report: "Great King, your little one was patrolling the mountain. The moment I left the gate I saw a long-snouted, great-eared monk sitting in the woods. If I hadn't run so fast, he'd very nearly have caught me. But I didn't see that hairy-faced monk from yesterday anywhere."
"Pilgrim Sun is nowhere about," said the old demon. "No doubt the wind blew him dead—or else he's gone off somewhere to fetch rescue troops!"
"Great King," said the assembled demons, "if it truly blew him to death, that's our good fortune. We only fear it didn't kill him, and that he'll go invite divine soldiers here—what then?"
"What's there to fear?" said the old demon. "Fear these divine soldiers, forsooth! To settle my wind there is only one hope—only if Bodhisattva Lingji comes. The rest are nothing to fear!"
From the roof beam the Pilgrim heard this one sentence, and his joy was beyond containing. At once he slipped out, resumed his own form, came back to the wood, and called: "Brother!"
"Brother," said Bajie, "where have you been? Just now a demon with a command flag came by, and I chased him off."
"Good for you! Good for you!" said the Pilgrim, laughing. "Old Sun turned into a mosquito and went into his cave to look for Master. It turns out they have him tied to the wind-fixing stake, weeping. Old Sun gave him my instructions—not to weep—and then flew up to the roof beam to listen. I saw the one with the command flag come puffing in to report: it was your chasing him that made him miss me. The old demon fell to guessing wildly—saying old Sun had been blown to death, or gone to fetch divine soldiers. And then he gave himself away—naming a name! Marvelous! Marvelous!"
"Whom did he name?"
"He said, 'What divine soldiers are worth fearing? Who could settle my wind? Only if Bodhisattva Lingji comes!' But where does Lingji live?"
As they were conferring, they saw an old gentleman come walking out from beside the main road. See what he looked like:
Hale of body, needing no staff; an icy beard and snowy temples, thick and flowing. Golden flowers dazzle the eye, his thoughts half-dim; but the gaunt bones and weary sinews are tough and strong. Bent of back, head bowed, walking slowly; bushy brows, a face as red as any child's. Look at his face and form—a man well-favored, Yet just like the Star of Longevity come forth from his cave.
Bajie caught sight of him and was delighted: "Brother, as the saying goes: 'To know the roads below the mountain, you must ask a man who's come and gone.' Go up and ask him—what do you say?"
The Great Sage hid his iron cudgel, dropped the flap of his robe, went forward, and saluted: "Grandfather, my respects."
The old man returned the bow half-heartedly: "What monks might you be? What business have you in this wild waste?"
"We are disciples of a holy monk seeking scriptures," said the Pilgrim. "Yesterday we lost our master in these parts. We've come specially to ask you, grandfather—where does Bodhisattva Lingji live?"
"Lingji lives due south of here, two thousand li away. There is a mountain called Little Mount Sumeru. On that mountain is a religious foundation, a chan monastery where the Bodhisattva preaches the sutras. Are you going there to fetch his scriptures?"
"Not to fetch his scriptures. There is a matter in which I must trouble him. Which road do we take?"
The old man pointed south with his hand: "This sheep-gut path is the one."
While the Great Sage turned his head to look at the road, the old gentleman dissolved into a pure breeze and vanished without a sound. Only there on the roadside lay a little note, bearing four lines of verse:
"Let this message be conveyed to the Great Sage Equal to Heaven: The old man was Li Changgeng. On Sumeru there is a Flying Dragon Staff, Which Lingji received from the Buddha's own hand."
The Pilgrim took up the note and turned back down the road.
"Brother," said Bajie, "our luck has run low these past days. The last two days, ill-luck has shown us ghosts! Who was that old fellow who turned into wind and went off?"
The Pilgrim handed him the note. Bajie read it through once and asked: "Who's this Li Changgeng?"
"That is the title of the Gold Star of Venus of the West," said the Pilgrim.
Bajie fell to bowing toward the sky in a fluster: "My benefactor! My benefactor! If old Pig hadn't had the Gold Star memorialize the Jade Emperor on my behalf back then, who knows what my life would have turned into by now!"
"So you do know how to be grateful, brother," said the Pilgrim. "But keep your head down—stay hidden deep in this wood and keep careful watch over the luggage and the horse, while old Sun goes to find Sumeru and invite the Bodhisattva."
"Understood! Understood! You just hurry along! Old Pig has learned the way of the tortoise: when it's time to pull in the head, he pulls in the head."
The Great Sage Sun leapt into the sky, mounted his somersault cloud, and headed due south—swift indeed! One nod of his head carried him three thousand li; one twist of his waist, eight hundred li more. In a moment he saw a lofty mountain, with auspicious clouds appearing halfway up, propicious mists drifting in profusion; and there in the mountain's hollow was indeed a chan monastery. He heard the lingering tones of bell and chime, and saw the incense smoke wreathe and curl. The Great Sage came straight to the gate, where he found a Daoist acolyte, a string of beads about his neck, reciting the Buddha's name.
The Pilgrim said: "My respects, acolyte."
The acolyte bowed in return: "From where do you come, my lord?"
"Is this the place where Bodhisattva Lingji preaches the sutras?"
"It is indeed. What is your business?"
"I must trouble you, venerable sir, to bear a message for me. I am the disciple of the Tripitaka Master Sanzang, the sworn brother of the Tang emperor of the East—Pilgrim Sun Wukong, the Great Sage Equal to Heaven. There is a matter on which I must see the Bodhisattva."
The acolyte laughed: "My lord, you have many titles and many words—I can't remember them all."
"Just say that Sun Wukong, disciple of the Tang monk, has come."
The acolyte did as he was told and went up to the lecture hall to report.
The Bodhisattva at once donned his cassock and lit more incense to receive the guest.
Only then did the Great Sage step through the gate and look within: the whole hall was brocade splendor, the room one of solemn majesty. The assembly of disciples recited the Lotus Sutra together; the old head monk lightly struck a gold-cast chime. Offerings before the Buddha were all immortal fruits and immortal flowers; what was arrayed on the altar tables was entirely vegetarian fare. Shining treasure candles sent out streak on streak of golden flame like rainbows; rich true incense wafted thread after thread of jade smoke flying in colored mists. Truly:
His lecture done, heart at ease, he enters into samadhi, As fragments of white cloud circle the pine-tips. Quietly sheathing the sword of wisdom, the demon's head is cut off; High and good is the assembly of prajna-paramita.
The Bodhisattva straightened his robes and came out to greet him. The Pilgrim mounted to the hall, took the guest's seat, and tea was ordered.
"No need for tea," said the Pilgrim. "But my master is in peril on Yellow Wind Mountain, and I have come especially to beg the Bodhisattva to exert his mighty magic to subdue the fiend and save my master."
"I received the Tathagata's command to be stationed here to keep the Yellow Wind Demon under restraint," said the Bodhisattva. "The Tathagata bestowed on me a wind-fixing pill and a Flying Dragon treasure staff. Long ago I captured him, spared his life, and released him to hide away in the mountains and mend his ways, forbidding him ever again to take life and work evil. I did not know that today he would seek to harm your master. He has disobeyed my command—the fault is mine."
The Bodhisattva wished to detain the Pilgrim and prepare a vegetarian feast for talk's sake, but the Pilgrim earnestly declined. So the Bodhisattva took up the Flying Dragon Staff, and together with the Great Sage rose into the clouds.
In a short while they reached Yellow Wind Mountain.
"Great Sage," said the Bodhisattva, "this fiend is somewhat afraid of me. I shall remain stationed here in the clouds. You go down and challenge him to battle; lure him out, and then I shall exert my magic power."
The Pilgrim did as he was told. Dropping out of the clouds, without further ado he drew his iron cudgel and smashed in the fiend's gate, crying: "Monster! Give me back my master!"
The little demons at the gate were panic-stricken and hurried in to report.
"That rotten monkey is thoroughly without manners!" cried the monster. "He would not submit, and now he's smashed my gate! This time when I go out, I'll loose a divine wind and blow him dead for certain!"
Once more he buckled on his armor, seized his steel trident, and came out the gate. At the sight of the Pilgrim, without a word he leveled his trident and thrust for the chest. The Great Sage sidestepped, raised his cudgel, and gave battle.
They had fought but a few rounds when the monster swung his head around toward the southeast and was just about to open his mouth and call up the wind—when in midair Bodhisattva Lingji hurled down the Flying Dragon treasure staff. Who knows what spell he recited, but it turned into an eight-clawed golden dragon. With a flourish it spread wide its two claws, seized the fiend in one grip, lifted him by the head, dashed him two or three times against the mountain rocks and cliff-side, and forced him back to his true form: a yellow-furred marten.
The Pilgrim rushed up, raised his cudgel, and would have struck—but the Bodhisattva stopped him: "Great Sage, do not take his life. I must still bring him before the Tathagata."
Then he said to the Pilgrim: "He was originally a rat that attained the Way at the foot of Vulture Peak. Because he stole the clear oil from a crystal lamp before the Buddha, the lamp's flame went dim, and fearing the Vajra guardians would seize him, he fled and came here to become a fiend and work mischief. The Tathagata saw him clearly and judged his crime not capital; therefore he ordered me to keep him under restraint. But now he has taken life and worked evil, and I shall bring him up to Vulture Peak. Today, moreover, he has affronted you, Great Sage, and done harm to the Tang monk. I take him to see the Tathagata, that his crime may be duly judged—only so will this deed of merit be complete."
Hearing this, the Pilgrim thanked the Bodhisattva, who turned back toward the West—and of him we say no more.
Now the story tells how Zhu Bajie, in the wood, was worrying over the Pilgrim when he heard a voice calling from below the slope: "Brother Wuneng! Bring the horse and the luggage!"
The blockhead knew the Pilgrim's voice, hastily gathered everything, and ran out of the wood. Meeting the Pilgrim, he said: "Brother, how did the business go?"
"I invited Bodhisattva Lingji, who used the Flying Dragon Staff to capture the fiend. It turned out to be a yellow-furred marten become a spirit, and the Bodhisattva has taken him to Vulture Peak to see the Tathagata. Come—you and I will go into the cave and rescue Master." At this the blockhead was joy itself.
The two of them charged inside and with rake and iron cudgel slaughtered out the whole nest—crafty hares, demon foxes, musk deer, and horned stags—then went to the rear garden to bow and rescue their master.
As the master came out the gate, he asked: "How did you two manage to capture the fiend? How was I saved at last?"
The Pilgrim recounted the whole affair of inviting Lingji to subdue the demon, and his master's thanks were beyond measure. The brothers laid out some vegetarian food from the cave, prepared tea and a meal and ate it, and only then left the cave, found the main road, and set off westward.
If you would know what lay ahead for them, listen to the explanation in the next chapter.