Meeting you, I speak only of the causes of birth, And you become one of the assembly about the Tathagata. In one thought, quietly beholding, the world of dust is Buddha; In all ten quarters, together we watch the majestic power descend. If you would know today's true enlightened sovereign, You must inquire of the mother who bore him long ago. There is yet a sight the world has never seen: At every step he takes, a flower newly blooms.
The story continues: the crown prince of the Black Rooster Kingdom, having taken leave of the Great Sage, soon returned to the city. Indeed he did not hasten to the court gate or dare have his coming announced, but went straight to the Rear Gate, where several eunuchs stood guard. Seeing the prince come, they dared not delay him, and let him in.
What a prince! He squeezed his horse onward, plunged inside, and soon came beneath the Brocade Fragrance Pavilion, where the queen of the principal palace sat. On either side of her several dozen consorts held ceremonial fans, and the queen herself leaned on the carved railing, weeping.
Why was she weeping? Because at the fourth watch she too had had a dream; she remembered half of it, and half was hazy, and she was sunk deep in thought over it.
The prince dismounted, knelt beneath the pavilion, and called: "Mother!"
The queen forced her face into a look of joy and called: "Child, what happiness! What happiness! These two or three years, attending lectures with your father in the front hall, you could not come to see me, and I have missed you sorely. How is it you find leisure today to come look on my face? Truly a joy of ten thousand parts! A joy of ten thousand parts! But child, why is your voice so mournful? Your father the king is aged; one day the dragon will return to the jasper sea and the phoenix to the cinnabar clouds, and you will succeed to the throne—is there anything still to sadden you?"
The prince kowtowed: "Mother, let me ask you: who is it that mounts the throne and sits as sovereign? Who is it that styles himself the solitary one?"
The queen said: "This child has gone mad! The one who reigns as emperor is your father the king—why do you ask?"
The prince kowtowed: "I beg you, Mother, grant your son immunity, and I dare ask; without the grant, I dare not ask."
"What guilt could there be between mother and son?" said the queen. "I grant it, I grant it—speak quickly."
"Mother," said the prince, "let me ask you: the matters of the bedchamber three years ago, and the love of the three years since—were they the same?"
When the queen heard this, her soul scattered and her spirit flew. She hurried down from the pavilion, lifted him up, clasped him tight in her arms, tears dripping from her eyes: "Child! You and I have not seen each other so long—why do you come to the palace today and ask this?"
The prince flared up: "Mother, if you have something to say, say it quickly! If you do not, a great matter will be ruined."
Then the queen dismissed her attendants, and with tear-filled eyes said softly: "This affair, child—if you had not asked, I should never have understood it, not even in the Nine Springs. But since you ask, hear me:
Three years ago, warm and tender still; Three years since, cold as ice. I pressed him with whispered questions by the pillow, And he said: 'I'm old and frail; such things are past.'"
At these words the prince let go, broke free, and swung himself into the saddle.
The queen seized him with one hand: "Child, what business is this, that you leave before your words are done?"
The prince knelt before her: "Mother, I dare not say! This morning at the early audience, by imperial charge I led hawks and hounds out of the city to hunt, and happened to meet a holy scripture-seeking monk sent down from the Eastern Land, whose senior disciple, Sun the Pilgrim, is supremely skilled at subduing monsters. It turns out my father the king died in the eight-cornered glazed well of the imperial garden, and this Perfected One falsely changed into my father's shape and usurped the dragon throne. Tonight at the third watch my father entrusted a dream, asking him to come to the city and catch the monster. I dared not believe it whole, and came especially to ask you, Mother—and now you have spoken these words. It must be a demon indeed."
"Child," said the queen, "these are the words of outsiders. How can you take them for fact?"
"I dared not take them for fact outright," said the prince, "but my father left a token with him." The queen asked what it was, and the prince drew the white jade scepter inlaid with gold from his sleeve and handed it to her.
The queen recognized it as the treasure of the king her lord in bygone days, and her tears gushed forth like a spring. She cried out: "My lord! How is it that dead these three years, you did not come to see me, but went first to the holy monk and only now to me?"
"Mother, what do you mean by that?" asked the prince.
"Child," said the queen, "at the fourth watch I too had a dream. I dreamed your father stood before me, dripping wet, and said with his own lips that he was dead, that his ghost had gone to entreat the Tang monk to subdue the false emperor and deliver his former body. I remembered the words, it seemed, just so—but half of it I could not make clear, and I was still turning it over in doubt. How was I to know that today you would come speaking these very words, and bring out the treasure besides? Let me keep it. Go quickly and invite that holy monk to act, and act speedily. If he can indeed sweep away the demonic miasma and distinguish false from true, then we may repay your father the king for the kindness of his nurturing."
The prince mounted in haste, went out the Rear Gate, slipped away from the city. Truly:
With tears he kowtowed and bade farewell to the mother of the realm; With grief he bowed his head and returned to the Tang monk.
Before long he had left the city and ridden straight to the gate of Baolin Monastery, where he dismounted. The soldiers received the prince; the red wheel of the sun was about to sink. The prince gave orders that the soldiers must not stir, and went alone in through the monastery gate, straightened his cap and robes, and came to beg the Pilgrim.
The Monkey King came swaying and swaggering out from the main hall. The prince fell on both knees: "Master, I have come."
The Pilgrim stepped forward and raised him up: "Pray rise. In the city, whom did you ask?"
"I asked my mother," said the prince, and told him all that had passed.
The Pilgrim smiled faintly: "If he's grown that cold, I suppose he's some icy, frigid thing transformed. No matter! No matter! Wait till old Sun sweeps him away for you. But it is late today—not the time for action. Go back first, and I'll come tomorrow morning."
The prince knelt and kowtowed: "Master, let me only wait upon you here, and tomorrow I'll go with you."
"No good! No good!" said the Pilgrim. "If I enter the city together with you, that monster will grow suspicious. Instead of saying I chanced upon you, he'll say you invited old Sun—and wouldn't that set him blaming you in turn?"
"If I go back into the city now, he'll blame me anyway," said the prince.
"Blame you how?" asked the Pilgrim.
"This morning at the early audience I was charged to lead a train of men, horses, hawks, and hounds out of the city," said the prince, "and now a whole day has passed without one wild thing taken. How shall I show myself at court? If he charges me with the crime of incompetence and claps me in a prison like Youli—then when you enter the city tomorrow, whom will you lean on? And among all the benches of officials there is not one I can call a friend."
"What does that matter!" said the Pilgrim. "If you'd only spoken sooner, wouldn't I have laid in a stock to wait for you?"
What a Great Sage! Before the prince's very eyes he showed his arts: with one bound he leapt into the clouds, knotted his fingers in a spell, recited the true words "Om ram, purity of the Dharma realm," and summoned the mountain god and the local deity, who saluted him in mid-air: "Great Sage, you have called your little gods—what are your commands?"
"Old Sun is protecting the Tang monk here," said the Pilgrim, "and means to seize a demon. But the prince has hunted all day and taken nothing, and dares not return to court. I ask a favor of you: quickly find some roe deer, elk, hares—running beasts and flying birds, whatever you can—and send him back."
When the mountain god and local deity heard this, how dared they refuse? They only asked how many of each were wanted.
"No matter how many," said the Great Sage. "Just bring some."
The gods ordered their local shade-soldiers, raised a gathering wind of the shades, and caught wild cocks and mountain pheasants, antlered elk and fat roe deer, foxes, badgers, raccoon-dogs and hares, tigers, leopards, wolves, and wild beasts—a hundred and more of every kind—and presented them to the Pilgrim.
"Old Sun wants none of them," said the Pilgrim. "Cramp their sinews, and lay them out along both sides of that forty-li road, so the men there need not loose hawks or hounds, but can carry them back to the city—we'll count it as your merit."
The gods obeyed; they scattered the shade wind, and laid the game out to right and left.
Only then did the Pilgrim press down his cloud and say to the prince: "Your Highness, pray return. There is game along the road—go collect it."
The prince, having seen him work such magic in mid-air, how could he doubt? He could only kowtow, take his leave, go out the monastery gate, and give orders for the soldiers to return to the city. And sure enough, along both sides of the road there was wild game without number. The soldiers did not loose hawk or hound; one by one they seized the beasts with their hands, cheering, all saying it was the boundless fortune of the Young Prince—how could they know it was old Sun's divine power? Listen to them singing songs of triumph as they streamed back to the city in a crowd.
The Pilgrim protected Sanzang, and the monks of the monastery, seeing how intimate they were with the crown prince, how could they fail in reverence? They laid on a vegetarian feast and waited upon the Tang monk, and he lodged as before in the meditation hall.
It was close on the first watch. The Pilgrim, with business on his mind, could not sleep. He rolled over, clambered up, went to the Tang monk's bed, and called: "Master." The elder was not yet asleep, but knowing the Pilgrim's habit of startling people with strange alarms, he feigned sleep and did not answer. The Pilgrim felt his bald head and shook it roughly: "Master, how can you be asleep?"
The Tang monk said angrily: "You impossible scamp! Not asleep at this hour—what are you bawling about?"
"Master," said the Pilgrim, "there's a matter I want to talk over with you."
"What matter?" asked the elder.
"This day I boasted to the prince," said the Pilgrim, "that my skill is higher than mountains and deeper than seas, and that catching that monster would be like fetching a thing out of a bag—reach out the hand and bring it back. But now I can't sleep, and thinking it over, there's some difficulty in it."
"You say it's difficult," said the Tang monk, "then simply don't catch him."
"Catch him I shall," said the Pilgrim, "only the justice of it is not straightforward."
"This monkey talks nonsense!" said the Tang monk. "A demon has usurped a sovereign's throne—how can you say the justice is not straightforward?"
"You, old sir, know only reciting scripture, worshiping Buddha, sitting in meditation and probing Chan," said the Pilgrim. "Did you ever see Xiao He's code of laws? As the common saying goes: to take a thief, take him with the goods. That monster has been emperor three years, and never once shown a cloven hoof nor let a breath of rumor escape. He has slept with the empresses and consorts of the three palaces and made merry with both benches of civil and military officials. Old Sun might have the power to seize him, but there'd be no naming his crime."
"Why could no crime be named?" asked the Tang monk.
"Even if he were a gourd without a mouth, he'd still roll you over a few rounds," said the Pilgrim. "He could well say: 'I am the king of the Black Rooster Kingdom—what crime against Heaven have I committed that you come to seize me?' What warrant would I show to argue him down?"
"Then how will you manage it?" asked the Tang monk.
"Old Sun's plan is already made," said the Pilgrim with a laugh. "Only it touches on you, old sir—you're a little partial."
"How am I partial?" asked the Tang monk.
"Bajie was born stupid, and you favor him a little," said the Pilgrim.
"How do I favor him?" asked the Tang monk.
"If you don't favor him, then pluck up your courage now, and stay here with the Sha Monk," said the Pilgrim. "Let old Sun take Bajie and slip first into the Black Rooster city while it's still dark. We'll find the imperial garden, break open the glazed well, fish up the emperor's corpse, and wrap it in our bundle. Tomorrow we enter the city, and never mind exchanging travel documents—when we see that monster, I'll pull out my cudgel and strike. If he has anything to say, we'll show him the corpse and say: 'This is the man you murdered!' Then we'll bring the prince up to weep for his father, the queen out to identify her husband, the civil and military officials to behold their lord, and old Sun with his brothers will set to work. That's what's called a lawsuit with a plaintiff: a case that can be fought."
The Tang monk heard this with secret joy: "I only fear Bajie will not go."
"There, what did I say?" said the Pilgrim with a laugh. "I said you favor him—and how is it you already know he won't go? Just do as you did when I called you: don't answer, and in half a watch it will be settled! When I go, with this three-inch tongue of mine that never wears out—never mind Zhu Bajie; were he Zhu Jiujie, Zhu Nine-Prohibitions, I'd have the art to make him follow me."
"Very well," said the Tang monk, "go call him."
The Pilgrim left his master and went straight to Bajie's bed, calling: "Bajie! Bajie!" But that blockhead, weary from the road, had dropped his head and was snoring away—how could he be wakened by calling? The Pilgrim seized his ear, grabbed his bristles, and hauled him up with one pull, crying: "Bajie!" The dolt still struggled in his sleep. The Pilgrim called again, and the blockhead said: "Go to sleep, don't play! We have to walk tomorrow!"
"This isn't play," said the Pilgrim. "There's a little business—you and I should go do it."
"What business?" asked Bajie.
"Did you hear what the prince said?" asked the Pilgrim.
"I never met the man, and never heard him say anything," said Bajie.
"The prince told me," said the Pilgrim, "that the monster has a treasure, and courage beyond the strength of ten thousand men. Tomorrow when we go to court we can't avoid a fight with him; and if that monster grips his treasure and lays us low, wouldn't the whole thing turn to ashes? I figure: rather than be beaten, better strike first. You and I will go steal it from him—wouldn't that be fine?"
"Brother," said Bajie, "you're coaxing me into thieving. This business I could join—but only if I'm truly let in on it, and let's be clear about terms: once we've stolen the treasure and subdued the monster, I won't stand for any pettifogging division of the goods—the treasure shall be mine."
"What would you do with it?" asked the Pilgrim.
"I'm not clever and glib like the rest of you, able to beg a meal before anybody," said Bajie. "Old Pig's body is clumsy and his speech coarse; he can't recite scripture. If we come to some barren stretch where nothing can be begged and no one will give, wouldn't it be fine to trade the treasure for food?"
"Old Sun seeks only fame—what would I want with treasure?" said the Pilgrim. "Let it be yours, and there's an end to it."
When the blockhead heard that it would all be his, his heart brimmed with joy. He rolled up at once, pulled on his clothes, and set off with the Pilgrim.
Truly: clear wine reddens a man's face; yellow gold stirs a cultivator's heart. The two of them quietly opened the door, slipped away from Sanzang, rose on auspicious light, and sped straight toward the city.
Before long they arrived, and bringing their clouds down, they heard from the tower that it was just the second watch.
"Brother," said the Pilgrim, "it's the second watch."
"Perfect! Perfect!" said Bajie. "Everybody's in the deep of their first sleep."
The two did not head for the Great South Gate, but went straight to the Rear Gate, where they heard the clappers and bells of the watch.
"Brother," said the Pilgrim, "front and back gates are both closely guarded. How shall we get in?"
"Who ever heard of a thief going in by the door?" said Bajie. "Let's just scale the wall and jump over."
The Pilgrim took his advice: with one bound he leapt onto the inner wall, and Bajie leapt up after him. The two slipped inside, found the way, and went straight to look for the imperial garden. As they walked, they came upon a gateway tower of white clusters with triple eaves, on which three great characters glittered in the light of stars and moon: "The Imperial Garden."
The Pilgrim drew near and looked: several seals were pasted upon it, and the lock had rusted the door fast shut. He ordered Bajie to set to work. The blockhead raised his iron rake and struck with all his might, smashing the door to splinters.
The Pilgrim stepped in first—and could not help leaping up with loud cries and laments, frightening Bajie, who hurried forward and caught hold of him: "Brother! You'll be the death of me! Whoever heard of a thief bawling and carrying on like this! Wake the household, let them seize us and hand us to the magistrates—even if it isn't a capital crime, we'd be marched back to our native place and drafted into the army."
"Brother," said the Pilgrim, "you don't know why I cried out. Just look at this:
Painted balustrades wretched and broken; jeweled pavilions tilting and awry. The sedge isles and knotweed banks are all buried in dust; Peony and rose-mallow have withered away. Jasmine and rose, their fragrance faint; peony and lily blooming to no one. Hibiscus and hibiscia smothered in weeds; Rare plants and wondrous blossoms choked and ruined. The artful rocks and little peaks have all toppled; The pond is dry, its fishes gone. Green pines and purple bamboo are like dry faggots; The whole path is thick with tangled wormwood and mugwort. The cinnamon's boughs and the peach's limbs are broken; The pomegranate and crabapple lean askew at the root. On bridge-heads and winding paths the moss grows green— A garden fallen cold and desolate!"
"What's the use of sighing over it?" said Bajie. "Quick, let's get on with our business!"
The Pilgrim, moved as he was, kept his wits about him and recalled the Tang monk's dream: it was beneath the plantain tree that the well would be.
Walking on, sure enough they saw a plantain tree, growing lush and flourishing, unlike all the other flowers and trees. Truly:
A numinous seedling, elegant and rare, Born of Heaven with a body and nature empty. From every branch it puts forth sheets of paper; In every leaf it rolls a fragrant cluster. A thousand threads of kingfisher green, so fine; One dot of cinnabar at the crimson heart. Desolate, it sorrows in the night rain; Haggard, it shrinks before the autumn wind. Nurtured by the strength of the primal agent, Reared by the works of the Creator. Fold a letter on it—there is its wondrous use; Dip and dash the brush—there is its strange power. The phoenix plume is scarce like it; The luan-bird's tail alone matches its kind. Heavy dew drips and drips upon it; Light mist veils it thin and pale. Its green shade covers door and window; Its emerald shadow climbs the lattice blind. It will not let the wild goose perch upon it; How could the jade steed be tethered to it? In frosty skies its form grows gaunt and worn; On moonlit nights its color blurs and dims. Fit only to dispel the summer's heat, Fit still to shelter from the burning sun. It shames itself of peach and plum's fair colors, Left cold and lone east of the powdered wall.
"Bajie," said the Pilgrim, "set to! The treasure is buried under the plantain tree."
The blockhead raised his rake in both hands and knocked the plantain flat, then rooted with his snout, rooting down three or four feet, until he came upon a stone slab covering something beneath.
The blockhead rejoiced: "Brother, fortune! There really is treasure—a stone slab covers it! I wonder whether it's in a jar or packed in a chest."
"Lift it up and look," said the Pilgrim. The blockhead gave another thrust of his snout and rooted the slab aside; looking in, they saw a gleam of rosy light and a white glow bright and clear. Bajie laughed: "Fortune! Fortune! The treasure is giving off light!"
But when he drew near and looked closer—ah! It was only the light of stars and moon, shining on the water in the well.
"Brother," said Bajie, "whenever you take on a job, you always leave a snag behind."
"How do I leave a snag?" asked the Pilgrim.
"This is a well. Back at the monastery, if you'd said early on there was a treasure in a well, I'd have brought the two cords we tie our bundles with, and worked out some way to let old Pig down. Now, empty-handed—how am I to get down and up in there?"
"Will you go down?" asked the Pilgrim.
"Down I must—but there are no ropes," said Bajie.
The Pilgrim laughed: "Take off your clothes, and I'll show you a trick."
"What good clothes have I? This gown off, and that's all," said Bajie.
What a Great Sage! He brought out the gold-banded cudgel, pulled at both ends, and cried "Grow!"—and it was a good seven or eight zhang long. "Bajie," said he, "hold on to one end, and I'll let you down into the well."
"Brother," said Bajie, "let me down, let me down—but when I come to the water, stop."
"I understand," said the Pilgrim. The blockhead clasped the iron cudgel, and the Pilgrim lifted him gently and lowered him down. Before long he reached the water. "I'm at the water!" called Bajie. And the moment the Pilgrim heard him say it, he pushed the cudgel down.
With a great splash the blockhead went under, head over heels; he let go of the cudgel and came up spluttering, gurgling and grumbling: "This heaven-slain villain! I said 'water—don't let go,' and he pushes me straight down!"
The Pilgrim drew up the cudgel and laughed: "Well, brother—any treasure?"
"Treasure, my eye! It's nothing but a well full of water!"
"The treasure has sunk to the bottom of the water," said the Pilgrim. "Dive down and feel for it."
The blockhead was indeed a master of the water. He took a deep plunge and ducked down—and ah, how deep the well's bottom was! He ducked down again in earnest, and suddenly, opening his eyes, saw a gateway tower, on which were the characters "Crystal Palace."
Bajie was greatly startled: "Done for! Done for! We've taken the wrong road—plunged right into the sea! Crystal palaces are in the sea—how could there be one in a well?"
For Bajie did not know that this was the Crystal Palace of the Dragon King of the Well.
While Bajie was still staring, a water-patrolling yaksa opened the gate, caught sight of his appearance, hurried back inside, and reported: "Great King, disaster! There's a monk with a long snout and big ears come down from above the well—stark naked, without a stitch of clothes, and still not dead; he's out there flailing and talking."
When the Dragon King of the Well heard this he was greatly alarmed: "This must be Marshal Tianpeng come! Last night the Night-Wandering Spirit, bearing an imperial decree, came to fetch the soul of the king of the Black Rooster Kingdom to pay respects to the Tang monk and ask the Great Sage Equal to Heaven to subdue the demon. I fear this is the Great Sage Equal to Heaven and Marshal Tianpeng—no time to treat them slackly! Quick, go receive him!"
The Dragon King straightened his cap and robes, led his water tribes out the gate, and called out in a loud, respectful voice: "Marshal Tianpeng, pray come in and be seated."
Only then was Bajie pleased: "So it's an old acquaintance." And the blockhead, never mind whether it was proper, walked straight into the Crystal Palace. Knowing no better, stark naked as he was, he sat right down in the seat of honor.
"Marshal," said the Dragon King, "I have heard that lately you gained your life back, took refuge in the Buddhist teaching, and protect the Tang monk on his journey to the Western Heaven for scriptures. How is it you have come to this place?"
"That's just it," said Bajie. "My elder brother Sun Wukong sends abundant respects, and bids me ask you for a certain treasure."
"Alas," said the Dragon King, "how could we come by a treasure here? I'm not like the Dragon Kings of the Yangtze, the Huai, the Ji, and the great rivers, who fly and transform as they please and so have treasures. I have long been pent up here; I cannot even see sun and moon as often as I'd like—where indeed would a treasure come from?"
"Don't make excuses. If you have one, bring it out," said Bajie.
"Have one I do," said the Dragon King, "only it cannot be brought out. Let the Marshal come in person and look at it—what do you say?"
"Fine, fine, fine! I must have a look," said Bajie.
The Dragon King walked ahead, the blockhead following, past the crystal palace halls—and there in the corridor lay stretched out a body six feet long.
The Dragon King pointed with his hand: "Marshal, that yonder is the treasure."
Bajie went up and looked—ah! It was a dead emperor, wearing a crown that rose to heaven, dressed in a rust-yellow robe, shod in carefree shoes, girt with a Lantian belt, lying there straight and stiff.
Bajie laughed: "Hard, hard, hard! This hardly counts as a treasure! When old Pig was a monster in the mountains, I used to make meals of such things—never mind how many I've seen; I've eaten more than I can count. How is this called a treasure!"
"Marshal, you don't know," said the Dragon King. "This is the corpse of the king of the Black Rooster Kingdom. Ever since he came into the well, I have held his form fixed with the face-preserving pearl, so that he has not decayed. If you will carry him out, so that he is seen by the Great Sage Equal to Heaven—and should there truly be a means of raising the dead to life—then never mind treasures: whatever thing you ask for, you shall have."
"Since you put it that way, I'll carry him out for you," said Bajie. "Only tell me: how much burial money do you give me?"
"To be honest, we have no money," said the Dragon King.
"How kind of you—making me work for nothing! If there's truly no money, I won't carry him!"
"If you won't carry him, pray go," said the Dragon King. And Bajie walked off.
The Dragon King sent two strong yaksas, who carried the corpse out, delivered it beyond the Crystal Palace gate, dropped it there, and took away the water-parting pearl—at once there was the sound of water.
Bajie turned his head in alarm: the Crystal Palace gate was gone. Groping, he found himself holding the emperor's corpse. Panic made his legs weak and his sinews numb; he scrambled up out of the water, clutched the well wall, and cried: "Brother! Reach your cudgel down and save me!"
"Any treasure?" asked the Pilgrim.
"Where would there be! Only there's a Well Dragon King at the bottom of the water, who wanted me to carry a dead man up. I wouldn't do it—and he showed me out the door, and the Crystal Palace was gone. I found nothing but that corpse, and it scared me so my hands went soft and my sinews numb—I can't move a limb! Brother, for pity's sake, save me!"
"That corpse is the treasure," said the Pilgrim. "Why didn't you carry him up?"
"Who knows how long he's been dead? What do I want with carrying him?" said Bajie.
"If you won't carry him, I'm going back," said the Pilgrim.
"Going back where?" asked Bajie.
"Back to the monastery, to sleep with my master."
"And me—am I to stay down here?" cried Bajie.
"If you can climb up, I'll take you along; if you can't climb up, then stay there," said the Pilgrim.
Bajie panicked: "How could I ever climb! Think—the city wall was hard enough to get over! This well is big in the belly and small in the mouth, its walls sheer and round, and no one has drawn water from it for years; it's grown all round with slick moss, slippery as slick can be—how am I to climb? Brother, don't let's break the harmony between brothers. Let me carry him up after all."
"That's right! Carry him up quick, and we'll go back together and sleep," said the Pilgrim.
The blockhead took another deep plunge, ducked down, felt for the corpse, dragged it over, slung it on his back, and scrambled up out of the water. Holding the well wall, he called: "Brother, I've got him on my back." The Pilgrim opened his eyes and looked: sure enough, he bore it on his back. Then the Pilgrim reached the gold-banded cudgel down to the well's bottom. The blockhead, thoroughly provoked, opened his mouth, bit down on the iron cudgel, and the Pilgrim lifted him gently out.
Bajie set the corpse down, fished over his clothes, and put them on. The Pilgrim looked: the emperor's face was as of old, not changed by a hair from life.
"Brother," said the Pilgrim, "this man has been dead three years. How is his face still unspoiled?"
"You wouldn't know," said Bajie. "The Well Dragon King told me he'd fixed it with the face-preserving pearl, so the corpse never decayed."
"Fortune! Fortune!" said the Pilgrim. "First, his grievance is not yet avenged; second, success is meant for us. Quick, brother, carry him along."
"Carry him where?" asked Bajie.
"Carry him to see Master," said the Pilgrim.
Bajie muttered under his breath: "What a pass! What a pass! A man sleeping soundly, and this macaque, with his honeyed words and clever talk, coaxes me into some 'business'—and now here I am doing this, carrying a dead man! Carrying him, with his filthy, stinking water dripping down on me, fouling my clothes—and no one to wash them for me. There are patches on this gown already; let it get damp in a spell of wet weather, and how am I to wear it?"
"Just carry him along," said the Pilgrim. "At the monastery I'll get you a change of clothes."
"Shame on you! You've nothing of your own to wear—and you'll change mine!"
"With all that lip, then don't carry him!" said the Pilgrim.
"Don't carry him, then!"
"Then stretch out your ankles, and take twenty strokes!"
Bajie panicked: "Brother, that cudgel is heavy. Twenty strokes of it, and I'd be just like this emperor here."
"If you're afraid of a beating, then carry him quick and let's walk!"
And indeed Bajie feared the cudgel. Sulkily he dragged the corpse over, slung it on his back, and trudged out of the garden and away.
What a Great Sage! He knotted his fingers, recited a spell, drew a breath of air from the quarter of the southeast wind, and blew it out—and there rose a gust of wild wind that swept Bajie out of the inner palace, away from the city. When the wind's edge died, the two of them came to ground and walked on at ease. The blockhead nursed a secret grudge and schemed how to pay the Pilgrim back: "This monkey makes a fool of me. At the monastery I'll make a fool of him in turn: I'll put it to the master that he can cure the man alive; and if he can't cure him, I'll have the master recite the Band-tightening Spell and squeeze this monkey's brains out through his eyes—then my heart will be content!"
Walking along, he turned it over and over in his mind: "No good! No good! If it comes to curing a man, that's easy enough for him: he'd just go to King Yama's house and beg the soul back, and the man would live. No—I must say he's forbidden to go to the underworld, and must bring the man to life right here in the world of the living. Only that will serve."
Before the words were out of his mind, they had come to the monastery gate. They went straight in, and Bajie dumped the corpse in front of the meditation hall door, crying: "Master, get up and look what's here!"
The Tang monk, unable to sleep, was just talking with the Sha Monk about how the Pilgrim had coaxed Bajie off and stayed away so long. Suddenly hearing him call, the Tang monk rose quickly: "Disciple, look at what?"
"The Pilgrim's maternal grandfather—old Pig has carried him here," said Bajie.
"You chaff-guzzling blockhead!" cried the Pilgrim. "Since when have I a maternal grandfather?"
"Brother," said Bajie, "if he's not your maternal grandfather, why would old Pig have carried him here? And no small labor it was, either!"
The Tang monk and the Sha Monk opened the door and looked: the emperor's face was unchanged, as though he were still alive.
The elder was suddenly overcome with grief: "Your Majesty—who knows in what lifetime you crossed some enemy, that in this life you met him and lost your life in secret, casting off wife and child, so that the civil officials knew nothing and the court officers understood nothing! Poor wife of yours, sunk in blindness—who ever burned incense or offered tea to you?" His voice broke, and tears fell like rain.
Bajie laughed: "Master, his dying—is that your business? He's not your father or your grandfather. What are you crying for?"
"Disciple," said Sanzang, "for one who has left the world, compassion is the root and mercy the gate. How can your heart be so hard?"
"It's not that my heart is hard," said Bajie. "It's what my brother told me—that he can cure the man alive. If he couldn't cure him, I'd never have carried him here."
Now the elder was a man without a settled mind of his own, and the blockhead's talk shook him. He called at once: "Wukong, if you truly have the means to cure this emperor alive, that is better than saving a life—better than building a seven-story pagoda. It would do us more good than worshiping Buddha on Vulture Peak."
"Master, how can you believe this blockhead's raving!" said the Pilgrim. "When a man dies, after three sevens or five sevens, when the full seven times seven days are done and his punishment in the world of the living is complete, he passes on to be reborn. This man has been dead three years—how could anyone save him?"
Hearing this, Sanzang said: "So that's how it is."
But Bajie, nursing his spite, went on: "Master, don't let him fool you—he's got a touch of wind in the head. Just recite that little spell of yours, and I guarantee he'll hand you back a living man."
And in truth the Tang monk recited the Band-tightening Spell, tightening it till the monkey's eyes swelled and his head pounded.
But as for how the emperor was cured—listen to the explanation in the next chapter.