The story goes that the Tang monk and his three disciples, having escaped their peril, pressed on, and in no more than a day had crossed the eight hundred li of Yellow Wind Ridge and entered a level stretch of open country to the west. Time flew swiftly; they passed through summer and on into autumn, saw the cold cicadas shrilling in the withered willows, and watched the Fire Star drift westward across the sky.
As they journeyed on, there suddenly appeared a great river, raging torrents, turbid waves surging and swelling. From horseback Sanzang cried out in alarm: "Disciples, look how broad the water stretches ahead, yet not a single boat is to be seen. How are we to get across?"
When Bajie saw it he said: "It is a raging flood indeed. No boat can cross it."
The Pilgrim leapt into the sky, shaded his eyes with his hand, and looked—and even his heart was daunted. "Master," he said, "it is truly hard going, truly hard! If it were a question of old Sun's crossing this river, I'd only have to twist my waist once and I'd be over. But for you, master, it would be a thousand times hard to ferry, ten thousand years hard to cross."
"As far as I can see, there is no end to it in any direction," said Sanzang. "Just how wide is it?"
"It is a good eight hundred li straight across."
"Brother," said Bajie, "how do you fix the distance so exactly?"
"I'll not deceive you, worthy brother. These eyes of old Sun's can commonly see the fortunes and misfortunes of a thousand li of road in broad daylight. Just now, up in the sky, I took a look: I couldn't tell how far this river runs up or down, but straight across it is a full eight hundred li."
The elder sighed with worry and distress. Wheeling his horse around, he suddenly saw a stone tablet on the bank.
When the three of them went up to look, they found three seal-script characters on it: "The Flowing Sands River." On the tablet's face were four small lines in regular script:
"Eight hundred li of flowing sands, Three thousand li of feeble waters. A goose feather could not float upon it; Reed down would sink straight to the bottom."
Suddenly there emerged from the waves, with a fearsome roar, a demon, hideous and fierce:
A head of flame-red hair, wild and shaggy; Two round eyes, gleaming bright as lamps. A face neither black nor blue, but the hue of indigo; A voice like thunder, like drums—the voice of an aged dragon. Over his body a goose-yellow cape; About his waist a double-twisted belt of white rattan. Beneath his neck, nine skulls hung dangling; In his hand a treasure staff, awesome and grand.
With the whirl of a wind the monster dashed up the bank and made straight for the Tang monk. In alarm, the Pilgrim scooped up his master, hastened up the high bank, and escaped with him. Bajie set down the load, drew out his iron rake, and struck at the demon; the monster parried with his treasure staff. The two of them, on the bank of the Flowing Sands River, each displayed his heroism. What a battle this was:
The nine-toothed rake, the demon-quelling staff—two foes met on the riverbank. This one was the Grand Marshal Tianpeng, that one the banished Curtain-Raising General. In years gone by they met in the Hall of Divine Mists; today they struggle, each betting on his strength. This one's rake strikes out like a dragon stretching its claws; That one's staff parries like an elephant grinding its teeth. They spread wide their great four-square stances, and bore into the wind head-on. This one claws at head and face without pause; that one lets fly with never a wasted stroke. One was a man-eating fiend, long lord of the Flowing Sands; One was a general who held the faith and kept the discipline.
The two of them went back and forth, fighting twenty rounds without a victor.
The Great Sage, guarding the Tang monk, leading the horse and watching over the luggage, saw Bajie locked in combat with the monster—and it made him grind his teeth in frustration, rub his palms and flex his fists, unable to hold back from joining in. He drew out his cudgel and said: "Master, you sit here, don't be afraid. Let old Sun go have a bit of fun with him."
The master could not hold him back. He gave a whistle and leapt to the front. Now the monster and Bajie were fighting at the very best pitch, locked in a struggle neither could break, when the Pilgrim swung up his iron cudgel and brought it down on the monster's head. The monster spun round in a flash and dodged in panic, then plunged straight into the Flowing Sands River.
Bajie hopped with rage: "Brother! Who asked you to come! The monster was slowing down—he could barely parry my rake. Another three or five rounds at most and I'd have taken him! Now he's seen your ferocity and fled the field in defeat—what are we to do!"
The Pilgrim laughed: "Brother, to tell you the honest truth, ever since we subdued the Yellow Wind Demon and came down from the mountain, I haven't swung my staff for a month or more. Seeing how sweetly you and he were fighting, my feet itched unbearably, and so I jumped in for a turn of play. Who knew the fellow couldn't take a joke—he ran off!"
The two of them walked arm in arm, chatting and laughing, and returned to the Tang monk.
"Did you catch the monster?" asked Sanzang.
"The monster couldn't stand the fight," said the Pilgrim. "Beaten, he fled back into the water."
"Disciple," said Sanzang, "this monster has lived here a long time; he knows the depths and the shallows. With boundless feeble waters like these, and no boat to be had, we truly need someone who knows the ways of the water to lead us across."
"That's just it," said the Pilgrim. "As the saying goes, 'He who stays near vermilion gets stained red; he who stays near ink gets stained black.' Since that monster lives here, he must certainly know the water's ways. If we capture him now, let's not kill him—let him ferry Master across, and then take it from there."
"No need to hesitate, brother," said Bajie. "Go take him first; old Pig will guard Master."
"Worthy brother," said the Pilgrim, laughing, "this is one job where I daren't boast. Water business is not old Sun's strong suit. Even to walk through it empty-handed, I have to make a spell with my fingers and recite the water-repelling formula before I can move. Otherwise I'd have to transform into some fish or shrimp, crab or soft-shelled turtle, before I could go in. If it's a contest of tricks—whatever strange and wondrous feats you like up in the clouds and high mountains—old Sun can do them all. Only the water trade is a bit beyond me."
"Old Pig, back in the day, was Grand Marshal of the Heavenly River," said Bajie, "commanding a host of eighty thousand water soldiers, so I did pick up a few water skills. My only fear is that down there he has family, old and young—a whole seven nests and eight generations of them all coming at once. Then I couldn't handle him, and mightn't I get dragged under?"
"When you get into his water and fight him, don't become enamored of the fight. Feign defeat—no victories allowed. Lure him out, and old Sun will step in and help you."
"Well said. I'm off."
At the word "off," he stripped off his black-brocade tunic, removed his shoes, brandished the rake in both hands, parted the waters, brought out the old skills of his former days, leapt the waves and rolled the billows, plunged in, and went straight to the river bottom, walking onward.
Now the monster, beaten from the field, had just gotten his breath back when he heard someone pushing through the water with a splashing. He rose abruptly to look: it was Bajie, rake in hand, driving through the water.
The monster raised his staff and shouted to his face: "Where do you think you're going, monk! Look sharp and take my blow!"
Bajie parried with his rake: "What kind of demon are you, daring to block the road here?"
"Don't you know me either?" said the monster. "I am no demon ghost or evil spirit, nor am I one of no name and no family."
"If you're no evil demon or ghostly monster," said Bajie, "how is it you take life here? What, in the end, is your name? Tell me truly, and I'll spare your life."
The monster said:
"From birth my spirit was stout and strong; I roved ten thousand li of heaven and earth. A hero whose fame filled all the world, a pattern for the bold and great. The ten thousand kingdoms and nine provinces—everywhere I might walk; the five lakes and four seas—wherever I pleased to charge. All because I studied the Way and ranged to the sky's edge, seeking a master through the endless wastes. Year on year my robe and bowl were ever at my side; day upon day I never let my mind and spirit wander. I roamed the clouds over the earth a dozen times, idled along a hundred journeys through the lands. And so at last I met a true immortal, who opened for me the great Way, all golden light. First I gathered in the infant boy and the wondrous maiden; then I released the Mother of Wood and the Lord of Metal. The kidney waters of the bright hall flowed into the flower pond; the liver fire of the tiered tower was cast into the heart. When my three thousand works were complete I bowed before the face of Heaven, with a loyal heart paying court toward the shining west. The Jade Emperor then promoted me, with his own lips appointing me Curtain-Raising General. Within the South Gate of Heaven I stood highest; before the Hall of Divine Mists I was named the best. At my waist hung the tiger-head tally; in my hand I grasped the demon-quelling staff. A golden helmet on my head, dazzling in the sunlight; armor on my body, bright as glowing haze. Escorting the imperial presence, I went always in the van; attending court, in and out, I stood above the rest. It was all because the Queen Mother held her Peach Banquet, feasting at the Jasper Pool, inviting all the generals: My hand slipped and broke a jade glass, and every heavenly god's soul flew away in fright. The Jade Emperor flew into a rage and wrath, and bade the Left Minister of the court: 'Strip off his cap, pull off his armor, revoke his rank, and push his body to the execution ground.' It was only thanks to the great barefoot immortal, who stepped from the ranks and memorialized for my release, That I was spared death and given back my life, exempted from punishment—banished to the eastern bank of the Flowing Sands. When full, I lie drowsing in these hills; when hungry, I churn the waves in search of food. Woodcutters who met me lost their lives; fishermen who saw me gave up the ghost. Coming and going, I have eaten many men; over and over, I have spread the miasma of death. And now you dare bring violence to my very door! Today my belly has hopes at last. Never mind if the meat's too coarse to taste—once you're caught, I'll mince you fine for pickled sauce!"
At this Bajie flew into a rage and cursed: "You rotten beast, you've no eye at all! Old Pig here could still pinch the froth from water—how dare you call me coarse and threaten to mince me for sauce! It seems you take me for a dried-up old ham! None of your insolence! Take this rake of your ancestor's!"
When the monster saw the rake coming, he ducked aside with a "Phoenix Nods Its Head" move. The two of them fought their way up out of the water, each treading the waves and mounting the billows. This contest was different from the one before. Just look at them:
The Curtain-Raising General, the Marshal Tianpeng, each displaying his powers—a wondrous sight. That one wheels his demon-quelling treasure staff; this one's nine-toothed rake is quick as thought. Leaping waves that shake the hills and streams, thrusting billows that darken the whole world. Fierce as the Year Star crashing into the banners; evil as the Death-Gate spirit overturning the canopy. This one, red-hearted and steadfast, protects the Tang monk; That one, steeped in crime, has become a monster of the waters. One rake-claw leaves nine trails; one staff-blow routs the very soul. Striving mightily, they delight in the grapple; intent and cunning, each would win the wager. All this, reckoned up, is for the scripture seeker—their anger mounts to heaven and cannot be contained. They churn the waters till bream and carp and perch shed their fresh scales; till turtles, soft-shelled turtles, and giant water lizards bruise their tender shells. Red shrimp and purple crabs perish together; all the gods of the water palace bow toward the surface. You hear the billows rolling like thunder crashing, while sun and moon go dark and all the world is strange.
The two of them fought fully two watches without victory for either. It was truly a case of the copper basin meeting the iron broom, the jade chime set against the golden bell.
Now the Great Sage, guarding the Tang monk, stood by at one side, gazing eagerly at the two of them struggling on the water, but with no way to lend a hand. Presently Bajie feinted once with his rake, feigning defeat, turned, and made for the eastern bank. The monster followed in pursuit, and as they neared the bank the Pilgrim could hold back no longer. Leaving his master, he drew his iron cudgel, leapt to the riverside, and brought it down on the demon's head.
The fiend dared not face it—with a splash he dove back into the river.
Bajie bawled: "You Protector of Horses! You really are a hasty monkey! If you'd held off just a little, I'd have lured him up to high ground, you'd have cut off the riverside so he couldn't turn back—and we'd have taken him, wouldn't we! Now that he's gone in, when will he ever come out again?"
"Blockhead, don't bawl! Don't bawl!" said the Pilgrim, laughing. "Let's go back and see Master."
So Bajie went with the Pilgrim up onto the high bank to see Sanzang.
"You've worked hard, disciple," said Sanzang, rising.
"Never mind the hard work," said Bajie. "Only when we've subdued the fiend and gotten you across the river will the matter be truly settled."
"How went your battle with the fiend just now?"
"The fiend's skill is a match for old Pig's. Right in the thick of it I faked a defeat, and he chased me to the bank. The moment he saw Brother raise his staff, he ran off."
"In that case, what are we to do?"
"Set your mind at rest, Master, and don't fret," said the Pilgrim. "The sky is getting late. Sit here beneath the cliff while old Sun goes to beg a vegetarian meal. Eat and sleep, and we'll decide tomorrow."
"Well said," said Bajie. "Go quickly and come back quickly."
The Pilgrim leapt at once into the clouds, went straight to a household due north, and returned with a bowl of vegetarian food, which he offered to his master.
The master marveled at his speed: "Wukong, when you went to that house to beg food, why didn't you ask them for a plan to cross the river? Wouldn't that be better than struggling with this monster?"
"That house is a long way off—five to seven thousand li from here," said the Pilgrim, laughing. "How would they know the ways of this water? What good would asking them do?"
"There you go lying again, brother," said Bajie. "Five to seven thousand li—how could you go and come so fast?"
"What do you know?" said the Pilgrim. "Old Sun's somersault cloud covers 108,000 li at one leap. A mere five or seven thousand li—I only have to nod my head twice and bend my waist once, and the round trip is done. What's hard about that?"
"Brother," said Bajie, "if it's that easy, why don't you carry Master on your back—just a nod of the head, a bend of the waist, and leap across? Why all this weary fighting with the fiend?"
"Don't you know how to ride the clouds? Why don't you carry Master across?"
"Master's flesh and bones are mortal and heavy as Mount Tai. How could my cloud-riding bear him? It would take your somersault cloud."
"My somersault cloud, mind you, is also cloud-riding—only it goes somewhat farther. If you can't carry him, how could I? As the ancients said: 'To move Mount Tai is light as a mustard seed, but to carry a mortal man—the red dust cannot be shed.' With fiends and venomous monsters like this one, they can use their snatching magic and raise a wind, dragging a man hither and thither along the ground—but they cannot carry him up into the sky. Tricks of that sort, old Sun can use as well as anyone. There's also the body-hiding spell and the land-shrinking spell—old Sun knows them all.
"But the point is that Master must journey through all these strange lands to the last; he cannot be carried over his sea of suffering. That is why he cannot advance a single step.
"You and I can only act as his guards, keeping his body alive and his life in being. We cannot suffer these trials in his place, and we cannot fetch the scriptures for him. Even if you or I could go ahead and see the Buddha, the Buddha would not willingly give the scriptures to the likes of us. As the saying goes: 'What is gotten easily is held cheap.'"
At this the blockhead listened meekly and accepted it all.
So they ate a bit of plain vegetarian food without any dishes, and master and disciples rested beneath the eastern cliff of the Flowing Sands River.
Early the next morning Sanzang said: "Wukong, what's the plan for today?"
"No great plan—Bajie must go into the water again."
"Brother," said Bajie, "you like to keep your hands clean, so you arrange for me to go into the water."
"Worthy brother, this time I won't be hasty. Just lure him up, and I'll block the riverbank so he can't get back. We're determined to capture him."
A fine Bajie indeed! He wiped his face, roused his spirits, took his rake in both hands to the river's edge, parted the waters, and once more dove down to the fiend's lair.
The monster had just awakened from sleep when he heard the water splashing, and turned his head sharply, opening his eyes to see Bajie descending, rake in hand. He bounded out, blocked his way, and shouted: "Not so fast! Not so fast! Look to my staff!"
Bajie raised his rake and parried: "What sort of mourner's staff is that, that my ancestor should 'look to' it!"
"You really don't know a thing!" said the monster. "This treasure staff of mine has a name of great renown—it is a branch of the suolo tree in the palace of the moon. Wu Gang cut it from the tree, and Lu Ban's craftsmanship fashioned it. Within it runs a core of gold; around it wind ten thousand strands of pearly silk. It is named the treasure staff, skilled at quelling demons; it guards the Hall of Divine Mists and subdues monsters. Because I was commissioned a great general, the Jade Emperor granted it me to carry at my side. Long or short, as my heart pleases; thick or thin, just as I will. It escorted the imperial presence at the Peach Banquet; it attended the court on high. Standing watch in the halls, it was saluted by the assembled sages; raising the curtain, it received the bows of the immortals. It has been nurtured into a numinous, divinely weapon—not some mortal tool of the human world. Since I was banished from the Gate of Heaven, it has ranged freely with me across the outer seas. I don't mean to boast, but no spear or sword under heaven can compare with it. Look at that rusty nail-rake of yours—it's fit for nothing but hoeing fields and banking up vegetables!"
Bajie laughed: "You under-beaten rotten beast! Never mind banking vegetables—just one brush of this rake will leave you nowhere to stick a plaster, with nine holes bleeding all at once! And if you don't die of it, you'll carry tetanus to your grave!"
The monster cast aside all form and, beneath the water, fought Bajie once more up to the surface. And this bout was indeed different from the others. Just look:
The treasure staff wheels; the nail-rake strikes—words mismatched, they are no kin. Only because the Mother of Wood overcomes Earth's blade do the two of them clash like this. No winner yet, no turning of the tide; churning waves and washing billows, no peace between them. How can this one's fury be contained? How can that one's hurt endure the shame? Rake comes, staff parries—each plays the hero; the rolling waters of the Flowing Sands turn vicious. Haughty and high-strung, toiling and moiling—all for Sanzang's journey to the western regions. The nail-rake, hugely fierce; the treasure staff, perfectly mastered. This one grabs hold and drags toward the bank; that one clutches and plunges him into the water. Their cries like thunderclap stir the fish and dragons; clouds darken, sky goes dim, gods and demons cover. This round they fought back and forth thirty rounds, and still neither had the better.
Once more Bajie played his feigned-defeat trick, dragging his rake behind him as he fled. The monster came chasing after, riding wave and catching billow, pursuing him all the way to the cliffside.
Bajie cursed: "You rotten monster! Come up here! Up on this high ground, with solid footing underfoot, we can fight properly!"
The fiend cursed back: "You scoundrel, you're trying to lure me up so your helper can come at me again! You come down here, and we'll fight in the water." The fiend had grown wary and would not come ashore again; he only sparred with Bajie along the river's edge.
When the Pilgrim saw that the fiend would not come ashore, he burned with impatience, longing to snatch him up in one grab.
"Master," he said, "you sit here while I give him the 'hungry hawk pouncing on its prey.'"
He leapt on his somersault into midair and came swooping down to seize the fiend. The monster was just brawling with Bajie when he heard the wind whistle. He turned his head in a flash, saw the Pilgrim dropping from the clouds, and quickly stowing his staff, plunged headfirst into the water, hiding his tracks and vanishing without a trace.
The Pilgrim stood on the bank and said to Bajie: "Brother, this fiend has grown slippery. He simply won't come ashore. What now?"
"Hard! Hard! Hard! We can't beat him. Even if I used up all the strength I had at my mother's breast, I could only fight him to a draw."
"Let's go see Master."
The two went back up the high bank to see the Tang monk and told him fully how hard the capture was. The elder's eyes brimmed with tears: "With such difficulties, how shall we ever cross!"
"Don't distress yourself, Master," said the Pilgrim. "This monster lurks deep on the river bottom; it's truly hard going. Bajie, you stay here and guard Master—don't fight him any more—while old Sun makes a trip to the Southern Sea."
"Brother, what are you going to the Southern Sea for?"
"This scripture-seeking enterprise was Guanyin's doing from the start; and it was Guanyin who freed us all. Today the road is blocked at the Flowing Sands River and we can't go on—if we don't have her, what can we do? Let me go fetch her; that's better than battling with this fiend."
"True, true," said Bajie. "Brother, when you go, be sure to give her a message for me: 'Many thanks for your guidance in days past.'"
"Wukong," said Sanzang, "if you're going to invite the Bodhisattva, don't delay—go quickly and come back quickly."
The Pilgrim mounted his somersault cloud at once and headed straight for the Southern Sea. Ah! Before half a watch was spent, he already sighted the borders of Mount Potalaka.
In a moment he dropped from his somersault outside the Purple Bamboo Grove, where the Twenty-Four Heavenly Guardians came forward to meet him: "What brings the Great Sage here?"
"My master is in peril," said the Pilgrim. "I have come to pay my respects to the Bodhisattva."
"Please be seated while we report."
The Guardians on day duty went straight to the mouth of the Tide-Sound Cave and announced: "Sun Wukong has business and requests audience." The Bodhisattva was just at the side of the Treasure Lotus Pond, leaning on the railing admiring the flowers with the Dragon Girl who holds the pearl. Hearing the announcement, she turned from the cloudy rock, opened the door, and bade him enter.
The Great Sage bowed with reverent solemnity and worshipped. The Bodhisattva asked: "Why are you not protecting the Tang monk? What matter brings you to me again?"
The Pilgrim reported: "Bodhisattva, my master, back at Gao Village, took on another disciple called Zhu Bajie—for which we thank the Bodhisattva, who also bestowed on him the religious name Wuneng. We had just passed Yellow Wind Ridge and now have come to the eight-hundred-li Flowing Sands River, which is three thousand li of feeble water. Master could never cross it. And in the river there is a monster of great martial skill. Wuneng fought him three great battles on the water and did him considerable hurt, but could not prevail; the fiend blocks us, and we cannot cross. So I have come especially to tell the Bodhisattva, in hopes you will take pity and carry him across—carry him across."
"You monkey!" said the Bodhisattva. "Showing off your pride again! Couldn't you bring yourself to say you were protecting the Tang monk?"
"We only wanted to capture him and make him ferry my master across," said the Pilgrim. "But water matters—I can't manage them cleverly. Wuneng found his lair and talked with him, but I suppose the scripture-seeking business was never mentioned."
"The monster of the Flowing Sands River is the Curtain-Raising General descended into the world," said the Bodhisattva. "He too is a believer I converted, whom I instructed to protect the scripture seeker. If you had only said you were the scripture seekers from the East, he would never have fought you—he would have submitted without doubt."
"But the fiend is now battle-shy," said the Pilgrim. "He won't come up on the bank, only lurks under the water. How am I to get his submission? How is my master to cross the feeble waters?"
The Bodhisattva then summoned Hui'an, took from her sleeve a little red gourd, and instructed him: "Take this gourd and go with Sun Wukong to the surface of the Flowing Sands River. Just call 'Wujing,' and he will come out. First lead him to submit to the Tang monk; then string those nine skulls of his together and arrange them in the pattern of the Nine Palaces, and set this gourd in the middle. That will make a Dharma boat, able to ferry the Tang monk across the bounds of the Flowing Sands River."
Hui'an respectfully obeyed his master's command, and at once, carrying the gourd, he and the Great Sage left the Tide-Sound Cave and took formal leave of the Purple Bamboo Grove. There is a poem in witness:
The five elements matched and joined with heaven's truth, They recognized the master they served of old. Refining the self and founding the base—that is the wondrous use; Discerning false from true, the cause is seen. When metal returns to its nature, it rejoins its kin; When wood goes seeking feeling, together they sink once more. The two earths complete their work in stillness and silence, And water and water fire are harmonized, without a speck of dust.
The two of them soon brought their clouds down, arriving at the bank of the Flowing Sands River. Zhu Bajie recognized Pilgrim Muzha and led his master forward to greet him. Muzha exchanged courtesies with Sanzang, then greeted Bajie.
"Formerly I was favored with the Venerable One's guidance," said Bajie, "and so attained audience with the Bodhisattva. Old Pig has truly followed the holy teaching, and is happy now to have entered the gates of the Buddha. But with all this rushing about on the road, I have not yet come to give thanks—forgive me, forgive me!"
"Never mind the reunion talk," said the Pilgrim. "Let's call that fellow out."
"Call whom?" asked Sanzang.
"Old Sun saw the Bodhisattva and laid the whole matter before her," said the Pilgrim. "The Bodhisattva said: this monster of the Flowing Sands River is the Curtain-Raising General descended to the world. Because of his crime in Heaven he fell into this river, lost his true form, and became a fiend. He was once converted by the Bodhisattva and vowed to follow a master on the journey to the western heaven. But since we never mentioned the matter of seeking scriptures, he fought us so bitterly. Now the Bodhisattva has sent Muzha with this gourd, to have that fellow join them in making a Dharma boat to ferry you across."
Sanzang bowed to the ground in unending gratitude, made his salute to Muzha, and said: "I beg the Venerable One to make haste."
Muzha took up the gourd and, half on cloud and half on mist, went straight to the surface of the Flowing Sands River, where he called out in a loud, stern voice: "Wujing! Wujing! The scripture seeker has long been here—why do you not submit?"
Now the monster, fearing the Monkey King, had gone back to the river bottom, where he was resting in his lair. Hearing his religious name called, he knew it must be on the Bodhisattva Guanyin's business. Then he heard the words "the scripture seeker is here," and with no fear of axe or halberd, he churned through the waves and thrust out his head—and recognized Pilgrim Muzha.
See how he came up all smiles, bowing in greeting: "Forgive me for failing to welcome you, Venerable One. Where is the Bodhisattva now?"
"My master has not come," said Muzha. "She sent me ahead to instruct you to join the Tang monk at once as his disciple. She bids you take the skulls you wear at your neck, together with this gourd, arrange them by the Nine Palaces, and bind them into a Dharma boat to ferry him across this feeble water."
"Where is this scripture seeker?" asked Wujing.
Muzha pointed: "Isn't that him, sitting on the eastern bank?"
When Wujing saw Bajie, he said: "That wretched beast—wherever he sprang from—he's fought me these two days solid, and never once said a word about seeking scriptures!"
Then he saw the Pilgrim: "And that one—that master of his, his helper—fierce beyond bearing! I won't go."
"That is Zhu Bajie, and this is Sun Wukong the Pilgrim," said Muzha. "Both are disciples of the Tang monk; both were converted by the Bodhisattva. What is there to fear? Come, let us go see the Tang monk together."
Only then did Wujing put away his treasure staff, straighten his yellow-brocade tunic, and leap up onto the bank. Kneeling on both knees before the Tang monk, he said: "Master, your disciple's eyes were without pearls—I did not know your honored face, and I gave you much offense. I beg you, forgive my crime."
"You pus-bag!" said Bajie. "Why didn't you submit sooner? What was all that fighting me about? What kind of talk is that!"
"Don't blame him, brother," said the Pilgrim, laughing. "It's just that we never told him the scripture business or our names."
"Are you truly willing to submit with a sincere heart to my teaching?" asked the elder.
"Your disciple was long ago converted by the Bodhisattva," said Wujing. "She gave me the river for a surname and bestowed my religious name, Sha Wujing—'Sand Awakened to Purity.' How could I not follow the master!"
"Since it is so," said Sanzang—"Wukong, fetch the razor and tonsure him."
The Great Sage did as he was told and shaved his head for him at once.
Wujing came and worshipped Sanzang, then bowed to the Pilgrim and to Bajie, and their precedence by seniority was settled. When Sanzang saw how he bore himself in ritual—truly in the style of a monk—he called him the Sha Monk.
"Since the discipline has been taken," said Muzha, "let's not dwell on formalities. Quickly—make the Dharma boat."
Wujing dared not dawdle. He took down the skulls that hung at his neck, knotted them with cords into the pattern of the Nine Palaces, set the Bodhisattva's gourd in the center, and invited his master down to the bank. The elder boarded the Dharma boat and sat upon it, and it was as steady as a light skiff indeed.
With Bajie supporting him on the left and Wujing holding him on the right, and Pilgrim Sun following behind leading the dragon horse, half on cloud and half on mist, while overhead Muzha kept guard, the master crossed the bounds of the Flowing Sands River floating serene and steady, over the feeble river with waves calm and wind still. Truly swift as flight, fast as an arrow—before long they had landed on the farther shore, escaped the great flood, with no mud or dragging water; happily with feet dry and hands dry, pure and still, master and disciples stood on solid ground.
Muzha pressed down his auspicious cloud and took back the gourd—and the skulls all at once dissolved into nine gusts of dark wind and vanished without a sound. Sanzang bowed his thanks to Muzha and worshipped the Bodhisattva to the sky.
Truly:
Muzha returned straight to the Eastern Ocean; Sanzang mounted his horse and set his face to the West.
If you would know when at last they won the true fruit and gained the scriptures, listen to the explanation in the next chapter.