The story continues: though the Great Sage had been driven away by the Tang monk, he went on thinking of him, sighing without end. Soon he caught sight of the Eastern Ocean. "It is five hundred years," he said, "since I last traveled this road!"
And then he saw the sea:
Misty waves spreading vast, great billows heaving slow. Misty waves spreading vast, they join the River of Heaven; Great billows heaving slow, they thread the veins of Earth. The tide comes surging in, the water soaks the winding bays— The tide comes surging, like spring thunder rolling its triple crash; The water soaking the bays, like a mad wind blowing through high summer. The blessed elders who ride dragons must come and go with furrowed brows; The immortal lads who straddle cranes must cross it, indeed, in care. Near the shore no village or shrine; Along the water few fishing boats. The waves roll up a thousand years of snow; The wind breeds autumn in the sixth month. Wild fowl come and go as they please; Sand birds sink and float at will. Before the eye no angler sits; Only the crying gulls are in the ear. The fish at play beneath the sea are glad; The passing geese at heaven's edge are sad.
The Pilgrim gave one leap and cleared the Eastern Ocean, coming at once to the Mountain of Flowers and Fruit. Pressing down his cloud, he opened his eyes and looked: on that mountain flowers and grass were gone, mists and rosy vapors utterly vanished; peaks and crags had collapsed, the forest trees scorched and withered. Why was it so?
Only because his havoc in Heaven had brought him up to the world above, this mountain had been burned and wrecked by Erlang the Sagely and Miraculous at the head of the seven brothers of Mount Mei. The Great Sage's grief redoubled, and there is an old-style poem on the ruined mountain's desolation in proof. It says:
I look back at the immortal mountain, and the tears fall in streams; Facing the mountain, in utter desolation, my sorrow deepens still. I thought at the time the mountain had come to no harm; Today at last I learn the very earth has suffered loss. Hateful it is that Erlang destroyed my home— The Little Sage, for shame, trampled on me so! He did his violence, digging up the tombs of my ancestors, For nothing wrecking the foundations of my fathers' graves. The rosy mists that filled the sky are all dissolved away; The winds and clouds that overspread the earth are scattered, thinned to air. On the eastern ridge no spotted tiger roars; On the western hill where is the white ape's cry? In the northern stream the fox and hare have left no trace; In the southern valley the roe and boar are gone without a shadow. The green rocks are burned to a thousand clods of earth; The azure sand has crumbled into a heap of mud. The tall pines by the cave all lean and topple; The emerald cypresses before the cliff are few and spare. The cedars and fir, the locust and juniper, chestnut and sandalwood, all scorched; The peach, apricot, plum and pear, the jujube trees—finished, all of them. With cudrania gone and mulberry gone, how shall we feed the silkworms? With willows sparse and bamboo scant, where shall the birds alight? The cunning stones upon the peaks are crumbled into dust; The springs at the ravine's bottom run dry, all overgrown with grass. Before the cliff the earth is black, no magic mushroom or iris there; Along the roadside red mud, with fig and vines for company. The birds that flew here yesterday—where do they fly today? The beasts that ran here once—on what mountains do they run? The leopard hates the python, in these tumbled ruins; The crane shuns the serpent, in this scene of decay. I must have done some evil deed in days gone by, To suffer such hard days before my eyes.
Just as the Great Sage stood grieving, there came a burst of sound from the slope of fragrant grass, out of the hollow of the brambles, and seven or eight little monkeys leapt forth. They crowded around him, ringed him in, and knocked their heads, crying loudly: "Grandpa Great Sage! So today you have come home!"
"Why do none of you play or sport," asked the Handsome Monkey King, "but every one of you hides away without a trace? I have been here a good while, and never a sign of you—why is that?"
When the monkeys heard, one and all they shed tears and told him: "Ever since the Great Sage was captured and taken up above, we have suffered at the hands of the hunters—past all enduring! How could we withstand their stiff crossbows and strong bows, their yellow hawks and savage dogs, their nets and nooses, their guns and hooks? So, each cherishing his own life, none of us dared come out and play; we could only hide deep in the caves and keep far from our old haunts, stealing grass to eat on the slopes when hunger came, and sucking clear water from the stream when thirst came. Just now we heard Grandpa Great Sage's voice, and came especially to greet you. We humbly pray you will protect and support us."
At these words the Great Sage's misery grew the deeper, and he asked: "How many of you are left on this mountain?"
"Old and young together, only a thousand or so."
"When I left, there were forty-seven thousand demons in all," said the Great Sage. "Where have they gone?"
"Ever after Grandpa left," the monkeys said, "Erlang set fire to this mountain, and more than half were burned to death. We crouched in the wells, burrowed into the stream, hid under the iron-slab bridge, and so kept our lives. When the fire died and the smoke cleared, we came out, but with no flowers or fruits to sustain us, we could hardly survive, and half went off elsewhere. Of the half that stayed and bore the bitterness in the mountain, these two years the hunters have carried off half again."
"What did they carry you off for?" asked the Great Sage.
"Those hunters are hateful!" said the monkeys. "The ones of us shot by arrows or speared, or poisoned or beaten to death, they carried off to skin and bone, stewed in sauce or steamed in vinegar, fried in oil or stir-fried with salt, and eaten as a relish with their rice. And any that were netted or noosed they took away alive, and made them leap through hoops and do tricks, turn somersaults and stand on their hands, while gongs crashed and drums rolled in the public streets—making playthings of them in every way imaginable."
At this the Great Sage's fury grew very great. "Who is in charge in the cave?" he asked.
"The two marshals Maliu and the two generals Benba still govern us," the demons said.
"Go in and tell them I have come."
The little demons bustled through the gates to report: "Grandpa Great Sage has come home!" At the news, Maliu and Benba hurried out, knocked their heads, and welcomed him into the cave.
The Great Sage sat in the midst, and the host of demons bowed in ranks before him, saying: "Grandpa Great Sage, we heard lately that you had won your life back, and were escorting the Tang monk to the Western Heaven for the scriptures. Why have you not gone to the West, but returned to your own mountain?"
"Little ones," said the Great Sage, "you do not know. That Tang Sanzang cannot tell the worthy from the worthless. For him I trapped monsters and seized demons all along the road, spending every power I ever had, time and again beating demons to death—and he said I did violence and worked evil. He would not have me for a disciple, and drove me back, writing a letter of banishment as warrant, never to employ me again."
At this all the monkeys clapped their hands and roared with laughter: "Luck! Luck! Who wants to be a monk? Come home, and take us along for a few years of fun!" And they called: "Quick! Bring in the coconut wine, to welcome Grandpa home!"
"No wine yet," said the Great Sage. "Tell me—how often do those hunters come to my mountain?"
"Great Sage," said Maliu, "there is no telling the season of it—they pester us here day after day."
"And why have they not come today?"
"They are coming now, by the look of it."
The Great Sage gave his orders: "Little ones, all of you go out and gather up the stones this mountain fire has baked brittle, and pile them up for me—thirty or forty to a pile, fifty or sixty to a heap. Pile them up; I shall have use for them."
The little monkeys swarmed like a hive of bees, leaping heaven and stabbing earth, and hauled the stones into a great many piles. When the Great Sage had seen to it, he cried: "Little ones, all of you hide away inside the cave, and let old Sun work his magic."
The Great Sage climbed to the mountain top and looked. There on the southern side drums were booming, gongs clanging, and up came a thousand and more men and horses, all with hawks on their arms and dogs at heel, swords and spears in hand. The Monkey King looked carefully at those men: they came on with a wicked air. Fine fellows, and truly doughty! Just look at them:
Fox pelts covering head and shoulder, Brocade and silk wrapped about chest and waist. Wolf-tooth arrows in the quiver, The jeweled carved bow at the hip. Men like mountain-searching tigers, Horses like ravine-leaping dragons. In packs they lead their dogs, On arm-fists their hawks are perched. Hawking baskets carry their cannon, And at their wrists the sea-east falcons. A hundred loads of birdlime poles, A thousand rabbit-forks and more. Ox-head nets to block the road, The King of Hell's own noose-ropes too. Together they raise a shouting clamor, Scattered wide as stars over the sky.
Seeing those men deploying onto his mountain, the Great Sage's heart filled with fury. His fingers formed the spell-sign, his mouth muttered the words of power; from the quarter of the southeast he drew in a breath of air, and whoosh!—blew it out, and it became a wild wind. What a wind! Just look:
It lifts the dust and sows the soil, It fells the trees and wrecks the woods. The sea waves tower up like mountains, The heaving floods come surging in. Heaven and earth swim dark and dizzy, Sun and moon turn dim and dun. One blast shakes the pines like a tiger's roar; Suddenly it whips through the bamboo like a dragon's moan. The ten thousand hollows howl with heaven's own breath, Flying sand and rolling stones wound men at random.
The Great Sage raised this great wind and sent the broken stones flying and whirling upon it. Poor thousand and more men and horses: stone after stone shattered crow-black heads to bits, sand flew and sea-horses were hurt every one.
[Translator's note: the following quatrain is built entirely on the names of Chinese drugs—ginseng, officinal cinnamon, aconite, betel nut, light-powder (a white cosmetic-cum-poison), and the "red bride" (a blister-beetle)—so that the battle scene reads as a druggist's inventory of the slain.]
The ginseng and the cinnamon hurry about the ridge; Blood dyes the cinnabar ground. The aconite cannot return to its old home; How shall the betel nut get back to its village? The corpses lie in light-white powder on the mountain field, While the red bride at home gazes and waits. There is a poem in proof:
The men dead, the horses dead—how shall they return home? Wild ghosts and lonely souls in tangles like hemp. Alas for the valiant heroes, so doughty once, Who could not tell the worthy from the worthless, and dyed the sand.
The Great Sage pressed down his cloud, clapped his hands, and laughed aloud: "Luck! Luck! Ever since I submitted to the Tang monk and turned monk, he was forever lecturing me: 'A thousand days of doing good, and the good is still not enough; one day of doing evil, and the evil is more than plenty.' The words are true indeed! I followed him, killed a few demons for him, and he blamed me for violence. Today I come home—and finish off this whole pack of hunters!"
He called: "Little ones, come out!" When the wild wind had passed, the monkeys heard the Great Sage calling, and one after another they came leaping out.
"Go down to the southern slope," said the Great Sage. "Strip the clothes off those dead hunters and bring them home; wash them clean of blood and wear them against the cold. Push the corpses of the dead into the ten-thousand-fathom deep pool. Drag the fallen horses here, skin them, make yourselves boots, and pickle the meat to eat slowly. Take their bows, arrows, spears, and swords and drill yourselves in arms. Gather up their flags of every color, and bring them to me for my own use."
The monkeys, one and all, took their orders.
The Great Sage took the flags apart, washed them, and pieced them into one great banner of many colors, bearing fourteen characters: "Rebuild the Mountain of Flowers and Fruit, Restore the Water Curtain Cave—The Great Sage Equal to Heaven."
He set up the pole and hung the banner outside the cave, and day by day he summoned demons and gathered beasts, laid in hay and stored grain—and of the word "monk" nothing more was said. His connections were great and his powers were high: he went to the dragon kings of the four seas and borrowed sweet rain and immortal water, and washed the mountain green again. Before, he planted elms and willows; behind, pines and nan-trees; peaches, plums, jujubes, and apricots—nothing was lacking. Free and unfettered, he dwelt in peace and took his ease. Of this we say no more.
Now the story tells how the Tang monk, giving ear to a crooked nature, had let loose the ape of his mind. He climbed into the saddle; Bajie cleared the way before, the Sha Monk bore the luggage behind, and they traveled west. Past White Tiger Ridge they went, and suddenly came upon a belt of wooded hills—truly a place of vines climbing and creepers winding, cypresses emerald and pines green.
"Disciples," called Sanzang, "the mountain road is rugged and hard going; and here again are clustered pine woods, trees serried and dense. We must be very careful—there may be demons and demon beasts."
Watch the blockhead bestir his spirit: he told the Sha Monk to lead the horse, and with his rake cleared the path, leading the Tang monk straight into the pine forest.
As they walked, the elder reined up his horse: "Bajie, I have grown truly hungry this day. Where can you find some food for me?"
"Master, pray dismount and wait here," said Bajie, "while old Hunter goes looking."
The elder dismounted; the Sha Monk set down the load, took out the alms bowl, and handed it to Bajie. "Off I go," said Bajie.
"Where to?" asked the elder.
"Never mind. This time I shall go chisel the ice for fire and bring back a meal; I shall press the snow for oil and come with rice."
Watch him leave the pine woods and travel westward more than ten li without ever meeting a single house—truly a place of wolves and tigers, without human habitation.
The blockhead walked himself weary, communing inwardly: "In the old days, when the Pilgrim was with us, whatever the old monk wanted, he had. Now it has fallen to my lot—truly it is, 'only the householder knows the price of fuel and rice; only the parent knows the debt of a child.' There is simply nowhere to beg."
And as he walked, drowsiness came over him. He thought: "If I go straight back and tell the old monk there was nowhere to beg food, he will not believe I walked all that way. I must dawdle another hour or so before I go back and report. Well, well—I'll just lie down for a nap in this grass." The blockhead poked his snout into the grass and lay down. He had meant to doze only a moment before getting up; but who knew that a man worn out with walking, once his head drops, just goes on snoring and snoring?
Leaving Bajie to his sleep, the story turns to the elder in the forest, with hot ears and twitching eyes, uneasy in body and mind. He turned quickly and called the Sha Monk: "Wuneng went out to beg food—why is he not back at this hour?"
"Master, you don't know him yet," said the Sha Monk. "He has seen how many households in the West feed monks, and his belly is a big one—do you suppose he thinks of you? He will only come when he has eaten his fill."
"Just so, just so," said Sanzang. "If he is off there feasting, how are we to find him? It is growing late, and this is no place to lodge—we must find ourselves shelter."
"No matter, Master," said the Sha Monk. "Sit you here, and I will go find him."
"Yes, yes. Never mind whether there is food or no—finding a lodging is what matters."
The Sha Monk grasped his precious staff and went straight out of the pine woods to look for Bajie.
The elder sat alone in the forest, weary and heavy at heart. Rousing his spirits, he sprang up, gathered the luggage together in one place, tied the horse to a tree, took off the bamboo hat he wore, planted his tin staff firm, straightened his black robe, and strolled slowly through the quiet wood, to ease his melancholy as best he could. The elder had looked his fill of wild grasses and mountain flowers when the noise of birds returning to their nests became past bearing. For the woods were all deep grass and narrow paths, and with his thoughts in such disorder, he went astray.
For one thing, he wished to ease his gloom; for another, he hoped to find Bajie and the Sha Monk. But the two of them had walked the straight westward road, while the elder, after wandering a while, had turned off toward the south. Out of the pine woods, he suddenly lifted his head: on the other side, golden light flashed and shimmered, colored vapors went billowing up. Looking closely, he saw it was a pagoda, its golden top gleaming. It was the light of the westering sun, shining upon the golden summit.
"A pity your disciple has no share of fortune!" he said. "Ever since leaving the East, I vowed: whatever temple I pass, I will burn incense; whatever Buddha I see, I will worship; whatever pagoda I meet, I will sweep. Is that not a pagoda of gold, shining yonder? How did I ever miss that road? Below the pagoda there must be a monastery; within the monastery there must be monks. Wait—let me go and see. The luggage and the white horse should be safe here, I suppose, for no one travels this way. If there is a convenient place, we can all lodge together when the disciples come."
Alas! The elder's ill luck had arrived. Watch him stride forward, straight to the side of the pagoda. And look:
Stone cliffs ten thousand fathoms high, The mountain great, touching the blue empyrean. Its roots join the deep earth, Its peak thrusts up to heaven. On either side, thousands of scattered trees; Before, behind, vines winding a hundred li. Flowers mirrored on grass-tips, wind-borne shadows; Water flowing through cloudy clefts, a moon without roots. Fallen trees lie bridging the deep ravine; Withered vines hang knotted on the gleaming peaks. Beneath the stone bridge, clear springs come rolling; On the terrace, white powder bright forever. Seen from afar, it is like the paradise of the Three Isles; Seen up close, it is as the blessed realm of Penglai. Fragrant pines and purple bamboo wind about the mountain stream; Crows, magpies, gibbons, and monkeys thread the towering ridges. Outside the cave door, beasts that come and go file past in rows; Within the woods, birds that sally out and return fly in flocks. Green, green, the fragrant grasses flourish; Bright, bright, the wild flowers open. The place, for all its seeming, is a haunt of ill; And the elder, unlucky, comes blundering in.
The elder stepped forward, and just as he came beneath the pagoda gate, he saw a speckled bamboo curtain hanging inside. Breaking stride, he entered, lifted the curtain, and went on in—and suddenly raised his head: on a stone bed, lying on its side, was a demon. And what did he look like?
A face of blue indigo, white tusks for teeth, One huge mouth gaping wide. On either side his temple-hair, in tangles wild, Is dyed with rouge to crimson hues; That beard of three or four stately rows Might be the clustered buds of lychees fresh. A parrot-beak of a nose thrusts upward, And eyes like morning stars stare hard. Two fists like a monk's alms bowl, A pair of blue feet like gnarled roots on a sheer cliff. Slung loosely on him, a pale yellow robe, Outshining any brocade cassock. The blade he grasps gleams bright and flashing; The slab he sleeps on is smooth and without flaw. He has ranked his imps in columns like a swarm of ants; He has held his court among the elder fiends like bees in session. Watch his awesome, towering majesty— The whole crowd shouts at once: "Sire!"
He has quaffed wine beneath the moon with shadow-companions three; He has poured his tea when wind rose 'neath his arms— Watch the vastness of his powers: One blink of those lowered eyes, and he has ranged the ends of the earth.
The wild woods clamor with birds; Deep in the thickets sleep dragons and snakes. Where the immortals plow, white jade grows; Where adepts tend the fire, cinnabar is bred. Small as this cave door is, it is not yet Avici Hell— [Translator's note: Avici, the lowest and most unrelentingly painful of the Buddhist hells.] But that grim-faced monster is a very ox-headed yaksa.
At the sight of him, the elder recoiled a step in terror, his whole body numb and prickling, both legs weak and soft, and he hastily turned to flee. He had barely turned when the demon—for his spiritual sense was truly keen—opened his golden-eyed demon orbs and called: "Little ones, see what sort of person stands outside the gate!"
A little demon poked his head out and looked, saw a bare-crowned elder, and scurried back inside to report: "Great King, there is a monk outside—a round head and a big face, ears hanging to his shoulders, a sleek and tender body all over, a fine delicate skin: a very fine monk!"
At this the demon laughed aloud: "This is what they call a fly on the snake's head—food and clothing that come of their own accord. Little ones, all of you—quick, after him! Seize him and bring him here, and there will be a rich reward!"
The little demons swarmed like a hive of bees, crowding forward in a body. Sanzang saw them: though his heart flew like an arrow and his feet sped like the wind, his heart pounded, his gall quivered, his legs were weak and his feet were numb—and besides, the mountain path was rugged, the woods were deep, the sun was setting: how could his steps move at all? The little demons picked him up flat and carried him off. Truly:
The dragon in shallow water is sport for the shrimp; The tiger fallen on the plain is bullied by dogs. If good fortune's path must always meet with hindrance, Who ever met such obstacles as the Tang monk going west?
Watch the little demons carry the elder in and set him down outside the bamboo curtain, then gleefully announce: "Great King, we have taken a monk and brought him in!"
The old demon stole a glance at him: straight from the crown, a face of dignity—truly a fine monk. And he thought in his heart: "A monk as fine as this must be a personage from above, no common thing. If I do not put on some awesomeness, how will he ever submit?" In a flash he borrowed the tiger's terror for the fox's use: his red beard bristled upright, his bloody hair stood toward heaven, his eyes cracked wide, and with one great shout: "Bring that monk in!" The demons thundered their answer—"Yes!"—and shoved Sanzang bodily inside.
This is the proverb indeed: "Under the low eaves, how dare one not bow the head!"
Sanzang could only press his two palms together and make his bow. The demon said: "What monk are you? From where have you come, and where are you going? Speak quickly, and plainly!"
Sanzang said: "I am a monk of the Tang empire, bearing the rescript of the Great Tang emperor, journeying to the West to seek the scriptures and gathas. Passing your honored mountain, I came especially to pay reverence at the pagoda. I little thought to disturb your awful majesty; I humbly beg forgiveness for my trespass. When I have gone on to the West and fetched the scriptures back to the East, your noble name shall stand recorded forever."
At this the demon roared with laughter: "I said he must be a personage from a great kingdom, and so it is! I was just wanting to eat you—and here you have come! Splendid! Splendid! To think I might have let you slip by! You are food for my mouth, fated to come blundering in: set free, you would not be set free; run, you would not run away!" He called to the little demons: "Take that monk away and bind him!" And sure enough the little demons crowded forward, roped and corded the elder, and lashed him to the soul-fixing stake. The old demon, blade in hand, questioned him again: "Monk, how many are in your party? Do not tell me one man would dare go up to the Western Heaven alone?"
Sanzang, seeing the blade in his hand, answered honestly: "Great King, I have two disciples, named Zhu Bajie and Sha Wujing. Both have gone out of the pine woods to beg food. There is also a carrying-pole of luggage and a white horse, all left in the pine woods."
More luck! thought the old demon. "Two disciples—with you, three; with the horse, four—enough for one meal!"
"We will go catch them," said the little demons.
"No, do not go out. Shut the front gate. When those two come back from begging food, they are sure to look for their master to eat; failing that, they are sure to come looking at my gate. The proverb says: business that comes to the door is easiest to do. We will wait and take them at our leisure." And the little demons shut the front gate.
Leaving Sanzang in his tribulation, the story tells how the Sha Monk left the woods to find Bajie, a good ten li and more, without seeing so much as a village. He was standing on a rise, looking about, when he heard voices in the grass. Hastily he poked the deep grass aside with his staff—and there was the blockhead in the midst of it, talking in his sleep!
The Sha Monk seized him by the ear and woke him with a shout: "A fine blockhead you are! Master sent you to beg food—did he give you leave to sleep here?"
The blockhead roused himself with a start: "Brother—what time is it?"
"Up, quick! Master says, food or no food, never mind—we are to look for a place to lodge."
Still half in a muddle, the blockhead took up the alms bowl, shouldered his rake, and came straight back with the Sha Monk. Reaching the woods and looking—no master to be seen.
The Sha Monk grumbled: "It is all your doing, blockhead, never coming back with the food. Some demon must have carried off Master."
"Brother, no nonsense," said Bajie with a laugh. "That wood is a clean and quiet place; there are certainly no demons there. I expect the old monk could not sit still, and went off somewhere to take the air. Let us go find him."
So the two of them led the horse, shouldered the load, gathered up the bamboo hat and tin staff, and went out of the pine woods to look for their master.
And this time the Tang monk was not fated to die. The two of them hunted a while without finding him, when suddenly they saw, away on the due south, a golden light flashing.
"Brother," said Bajie, "the lucky are lucky indeed! Look—Master has gone to that house of his. That shining thing is a pagoda: who would dare show him scant courtesy? They are sure to have laid on a vegetarian meal and kept him there to enjoy it. If we do not hurry, we can still catch up and get a share of the food."
"Brother," said the Sha Monk, "we cannot yet tell good fortune from bad. Let us go and see."
The two of them marched boldly up to the gate—and ah! it was shut. Across the top of the gate lay a white jade slab, carved with six great characters: "Wave-Moon Cave, Bowl Mountain."
"Brother," said the Sha Monk, "this is no monastery—it is a demon's cave. If our master is in there, it does not look good."
"Fear not, brother," said Bajie. "Tether the horse and guard the luggage while I go sound out the news." The blockhead raised his rake, strode forward, and bawled: "Open the gate! Open the gate!"
Within the cave, a little demon on gate duty opened the door, and at the sudden sight of the pair of them scurried back inside to report: "Great King! Business is at the door!"
"What business?" asked the old demon.
"Outside the cave gate," said the little demon, "there is a long-snouted, big-eared monk, and a monk of dismal complexion, calling at the door!"
The old demon was overjoyed: "It must be Zhu Bajie and the Sha Monk, come hunting for him! Ah, but they can hunt! However did they hunt their way to my very gate? With faces so fierce and stubborn, they are not to be slighted." He called: "Bring my armor!"
The little demons carried it out, he buckled it on, took his blade in hand, and marched out of the gate.
Now Bajie and the Sha Monk were waiting before the gate, and they saw the demon come out with a wicked and dangerous air. How was he dressed?
A green face, red beard, crimson hair streaming, Golden armor gleaming and flashing bright. A belly-guard at his waist, a chalcedony belt; Breast-plates and harness, a cloud-striding sash. Idly he stands before the mountain, the wind roaring; Gloomily he roams beyond the seas, the waves surging. A pair of indigo-blue hands of taut sinew Grip fast the soul-hunting, life-taking blade. Would you know this creature's name and surname? The sound of it rings out: "Yellow-Robe" he is called.
The old demon Yellow-Robe came out of the gate and demanded: "What monks are you, making this clamor at my door?"
"Your granddad's son!" said Bajie. "Don't you know me? I am your lord and master! I am sent by the Great Tang to the Western Heaven! My master is the emperor's sworn brother, Sanzang. If he is in your house, hand him out at once, and spare me the trouble of raking my way in!"
The demon smiled: "Yes, yes, yes—there is indeed a Tang monk in my house. I have not slighted him either: I have ordered him some human-meat dumplings for his meal. Why not come in and have one yourselves—what do you say?"
And the blockhead took him at his word and was actually about to go in, when the Sha Monk caught him fast: "Brother, he is fooling you! Since when have you eaten human flesh?"
Only then did the blockhead come to his senses. He whipped out his rake and struck straight at the monster's face. The creature turned aside and dodged, met it with his steel blade, and the two of them, both putting forth their powers, rose onto the clouds and leapt into mid-air to fight. The Sha Monk dropped the luggage and the white horse, raised his precious staff, and rushed to join the attack. Now it was two savage monks and one wicked demon, there in the clouds—and what a battle it was! Truly:
Staff rises, blade meets it; rake comes, blade parries. One demon general displays his might; Two holy monks reveal their powers. The nine-toothed rake is truly heroic; The demon-quelling staff is dreadful indeed. Come at them from before, behind, left, and right all together— That Yellow-Robe fears none of it. See his steeled blade gleam and flash like silver; Truly his powers are vast beyond telling. They fight till the whole sky is wreathed in fog and cloud, Till half the mountain's cliffs come crashing down. One fights for his good name—how could he ever quit? One fights for his master—fearless to the end.
The three of them, there in mid-air, back and forth, fought several dozen rounds, and still victory was undecided. Each with his life at stake, they could truly neither part nor spare.
How the Tang monk was saved—listen to the explanation in the next chapter.