The story continues: the Great Sage Sun, his head aching past all bearing, pleaded piteously: "Master, don't recite! Don't recite! Wait till I've cured him!"
"How will you cure him?" asked the elder.
"Only by going down to the underworld, finding out at which King Yama's house his soul is kept, and inviting it back to save him," said the Pilgrim.
"Master, don't believe him," said Bajie. "He said before that he needn't go to the underworld—he'd cure the man alive right here in the world of the living. Only then would his skill show!"
The elder caught the fever of it and recited the Band-tightening Spell again, till the Pilgrim, in a panic, capitulated on every point: "In the world of the living! In the world of the living, then!"
"Don't stop! Keep reciting! Keep reciting!" cried Bajie.
"You wicked, addled beast!" the Pilgrim cursed. "You're egging my master on to spell me!"
Bajie laughed till he staggered: "Brother! Brother! You only knew how to make a fool of me—you didn't know I could make a fool of you in return!"
"Master, don't recite! Don't recite!" cried the Pilgrim. "Let old Sun cure him in the world of the living."
"And how do you cure a man in the world of the living?" asked Sanzang.
"With one somersault cloud I'll storm in through the South Gate of Heaven," said the Pilgrim. "I'll not stop at the Hall of the Dipper and Ox, nor enter the Hall of Divine Mists, but go straight up to the Palace of the Highest Sorrow at the thirty-third heaven, to the Tushita Palace within it, and see Lord Lao Zi. There I'll beg one grain of his nine-cycle elixir of returning souls—and that, I guarantee, will bring the king alive again."
Hearing this, Sanzang was overjoyed: "Then go, and come back quickly."
"It's just past the third watch now," said the Pilgrim. "By the time I return it will be broad day. Only—this man lying here, cold and stark, is hardly a proper sight; someone ought to hold a mourning and watch over him and weep. Then all will be well."
"No need to say more," said Bajie. "This monkey wants me to do the weeping, of course."
"Suppose you wouldn't weep!" said the Pilgrim. "If you don't weep, I can't work my cure!"
"Brother, go your way," said Bajie. "I'll do the weeping."
"There are several kinds of weeping," said the Pilgrim. "A dry bawling with open mouth is called howling; squeezing out a few tears is called wailing. You must weep tears and weep with heart as well—only then does it count as howling and wailing in bitter grief."
"Then let me weep you a sample to look at," said Bajie. From somewhere he got a strip of paper, twisted it into a paper probe, poked it up his nostrils a couple of times, and let off a few sneezes—and watch him: eyes brimming, slobber streaming, he fell to weeping, mumbling and muttering without stop, running down this and running down that, truly like a man bereaved.
He wept to such a piteous pitch that the Tang elder himself dropped tears and his heart grew sour. The Pilgrim laughed: "That's the very style of grief—only don't you dare stop. You blockhead, once you've coaxed me out of the way, you'll quit weeping—I'll still be listening! Weep like that, and well and good. But if you so much as pause for breath, it'll be twenty strokes across the ankles!"
"Go on, go!" said Bajie with a laugh. "Once this weeping of mine gets started, I can keep it up two days."
Seeing him carry on so, the Sha Monk went to find a few sticks of incense to burn as an offering. "Good, good, good!" said the Pilgrim with a laugh. "The whole household shows some reverence—now old Sun can get to work."
What a Great Sage! It was now the depth of midnight. He took leave of his master and the two others, rose on his somersault cloud, and went straight in through the South Gate of Heaven. Indeed he paid no call at the Hall of Divine Mists, nor climbed to the Palace of the Dipper and Ox, but sped on one stream of cloud-light straight to the Tushita Palace in the Heaven of Highest Sorrow at the thirty-third heaven. As he entered the gate, there sat Lord Lao Zi in the elixir chamber, with his immortal boys waving plantain-leaf fans to fan the fire as he refined the elixir.
When he saw the Pilgrim coming, he at once warned the boys who watched the elixir: "Every one of you be on guard—the elixir thief has come again!"
The Pilgrim saluted him with a smile: "Old sir, what nonsense is this—what do you fear from me? I don't do such things anymore."
"You monkey!" said Lord Lao Zi. "Five hundred years ago you made havoc in Heaven and stole and ate I know not how many of my elixirs. It took the Little Sage Erlang to catch you and bring you up here, and I had you put in my elixir furnace and smelted forty-nine days—who knows how much charcoal I spent on you! Now by luck you've escaped with your life, taken refuge in the fruit of Buddha, and protect the Tang monk on the road to the Western Heaven. Lately, on Flat-Top Mountain, you subdued the demons but played your tricky games and wouldn't give me back my treasures—and now what brings you here again?"
"Of that affair," said the Pilgrim, "old Sun delayed not an instant: I returned all five of your treasures on the spot—and you still bear a grudge and suspect me?"
"If you're not traveling your road, why sneak into my palace?" asked Lord Lao Zi.
"Since we parted," said the Pilgrim, "we have journeyed west and come to a kingdom called the Black Rooster Kingdom. Its king was done to death in secret by a demon who disguised himself as a Daoist, summoned wind and called rain, and then took on the king's own appearance and now sits upon the throne in the Golden Chimes Hall. My master was sitting at night in Baolin Monastery reading scripture when that king's ghost came and paid his respects to my master, and begged old Sun earnestly to subdue the demon and sort out the false from the true. Since old Sun had no proof in hand, I went with my brother Bajie by night into the garden, broke it open, and found the hiding place—an eight-cornered glazed well. We fished up the king's corpse, his face unchanged. When I brought him to my master in the monastery, my master took pity and ordered old Sun to cure him—but he forbade me to go to the underworld to fetch the soul, and told me to work the cure right here in the world of the living. I thought: there is nowhere else to turn for a return to life, so I have come especially to pay my respects. I earnestly hope the Patriarch of the Way will take pity and lend old Sun a thousand grains of the nine-cycle elixir of returning souls, to save this man."
"This monkey talks rubbish!" cried Lord Lao Zi. "What do you mean, a thousand grains, two thousand grains! You'd eat them like rice! Do you think they're dirt pellets pinched off the ground, to come so easily? Bah! Be off! There are none!"
"A hundred or so, then," said the Pilgrim with a smile.
"There aren't," said Lord Lao Zi.
"Ten or so, then," said the Pilgrim.
Lord Lao Zi flared up: "This impudent monkey is a pest! There are none, none! Out with you, out!"
The Pilgrim laughed: "If there truly are none, I'll go beg somewhere else to save him."
"Go! Go! Go!" Lord Lao Zi thundered. And the Great Sage swung round and started to walk away.
Suddenly Lord Lao Zi thought: "This monkey is a sly, lazy rascal—he says go and goes; but I'll wager he'll sneak back in and steal." At once he ordered an immortal boy to call him back. "You monkey," he said, "your hands are never still. I'll give you one grain of the returning-soul elixir."
"Old sir," said the Pilgrim, "since you know old Sun's tricks, then quick, bring out the golden elixir and split it with me, six and four—count yourself lucky. Otherwise I'll give you a rattan sieve and strain you dry."
The old Patriarch took up a gourd, turned it upside down, shook out one grain of golden elixir, and handed it to the Pilgrim: "That's all there is. Take it, take it! This one grain is my gift. Cure the emperor alive with it, and count it your own merit."
The Pilgrim took it and said: "Not so fast—let me taste it first. It might be false; I'd hate to be cheated." And plop! he tossed it into his mouth. The old Patriarch lunged forward in a panic, seized him, grabbed him by the scalp, and clenched his other fist, cursing: "If this scoundrelly monkey swallows it, I'll beat him to death on the spot!"
"Look at you! Such a pettifogging temper!" said the Pilgrim with a laugh. "Who's eating your elixir? What's it worth? More show than substance—and there it is, safe and sound, isn't it?"
Now it happened that the monkey had a pouch beneath his chin, and he had tucked the golden elixir into that pouch. The old Patriarch pinched it out of him: "Off with you! Off with you! Don't come pestering here again!" Only then did the Great Sage thank the old Patriarch and leave the Tushita Palace.
Watch him: a thousand streams of auspicious mist leaving the jasper towers, ten thousand paths of propitious cloud descending to the world's dust. In a moment he had come down through the South Gate of Heaven, returned to the Eastern Prospect—and there, already, was the sun star rising.
He brought his cloud down outside the gate of Baolin Monastery, and could hear Bajie still weeping. He came close and called: "Master."
"Wukong is back," said Sanzang gladly. "Have you the elixir?"
"I have," said the Pilgrim.
"How could he not have?" said Bajie. "If all else failed, he'd go steal somebody's!"
"Brother, step aside—you're not needed now," said the Pilgrim with a laugh. "Wipe your tears and go do your weeping somewhere else." Then he called: "Sha Monk, fetch me some water." The Sha Monk hurried to the well behind the monastery, where there was a handy bucket, and passed the Pilgrim half a bowl of water.
The Pilgrim took the water, spat the elixir from his mouth, and set it against the emperor's lips; with both hands he pried open the teeth, and with one mouthful of clear water washed the golden elixir down into his belly. Half a watch passed, and they heard a great rumbling and gurgling in the corpse's belly—but the body still could not stir.
"Master," said the Pilgrim, "if even my golden elixir can't revive him, isn't this old Sun being strung along?"
"How could he not live?" said Sanzang. "But a corpse dead so long as this—how could it swallow water? That was the immortal power of the golden elixir. Since the elixir entered his belly, his guts have begun to sound; when the guts sound, the blood and pulse are moving and stirring. Only his breath is cut off and cannot return and stretch. Never mind a man soaked three years in a well—even raw iron would have rusted. His primal breath is utterly spent. What he needs is someone to breathe a breath of life into him, and then all will be well."
Bajie stepped forward ready to breathe into him, but Sanzang caught him with one hand: "Not you! It must be Wukong."
The master knew what he was about. Zhu Bajie, from his youth, had sinned against life and eaten men, and his was a mouthful of turbid breath; but the Pilgrim had cultivated from childhood, chewing pine nuts and cypress seeds, living on peaches and fruits—and his was a breath of pure clarity. The Great Sage came forward, pressed his Thunder-God mouth over the emperor's lips, and with one long breath drew the air down his throat, breathed it down the storied tower of the chest, round the Hall of Light, straight to the Cinnabar Field, and back from the Bubbling Spring to the Muddy Wall Palace of the head.
With a great sound the king's breath gathered and his spirit returned. He rolled over, swung his fists, curled his legs, and cried aloud: "Master!" Then he fell on both knees in the dust: "I remember how my ghost paid respects last night—who could know that this day at dawn my yang-soul would return!"
Sanzang hurriedly raised him up: "Your Majesty, it was none of my doing—you must thank my disciple."
"Master, what kind of talk is that?" said the Pilgrim with a laugh. "As the common saying goes, no house has two masters. Take his bow; it costs you nothing."
Sanzang, quite overcome, raised up the emperor, and they went together into the meditation hall, where the king bowed to Bajie, the Pilgrim, and the Sha Monk, and only then did they all take their seats.
Just then the monks of the monastery had got the morning meal in order and were coming in to offer it, when suddenly they caught sight of the soaking-wet emperor—every one of them startled, all of them murmuring in doubt.
Sun the Pilgrim leapt out: "Monks, no need for such alarm and suspicion. This is the king of the Black Rooster Kingdom—your true sovereign. Three years ago a demon took his life; it was old Sun who revived him this night. Now we are going into his city to distinguish the false from the true. If the meal is ready, bring it out, and we'll eat and be on our way."
The monks at once offered basin and water, washed the king's face, and changed his clothes. They took off his rust-yellow robe, and the monastery's monastic official dressed him in two cloth gowns; they untied his Lantian belt and bound it round him with a yellow silk sash; they drew off his carefree shoes and gave him a pair of old monk's shoes to slip on. Then all ate the morning meal and saddled the horses.
The Pilgrim asked: "Bajie, how heavy is the luggage?"
"Brother," said Bajie, "I've been carrying it day after day—how would I know how heavy it is?"
"Divide that load of yours into two," said the Pilgrim. "One load you carry; the other let this emperor carry. We're going into the city early to attend to business."
Bajie rejoiced: "Fortune! Fortune! Carrying him here cost me no telling how much sweat—and now that he's cured alive, he turns out to be my understudy!"
The blockhead played his little trick: he split the luggage, asked the monastery for a carrying pole, took the lighter load himself, and gave the heavier one to the emperor to carry.
The Pilgrim laughed: "Your Majesty—dressed up like that, carrying a load, walking along with us—doesn't it put you out?"
The king hastily knelt: "Master, you are as my parents who gave me life a second time. Never mind carrying a load—I would gladly hold the whip and walk beside your stirrup, waiting upon you venerable lords all the way to the Western Heaven."
"No need for you to come to the Western Heaven—I have my reasons. You need carry only the forty li into the city. Once we've caught the demon, you'll go on being your emperor, and we'll go on fetching our scriptures."
At this Bajie said: "So he carries forty li, and old Pig is a hired man for life!"
"Brother, no nonsense," said the Pilgrim. "Quick now, go ahead and lead the way."
And indeed Bajie led the emperor in front; the Sha Monk helped the master mount; the Pilgrim brought up the rear; and the five hundred monks of the monastery, in neat and solemn ranks, piping and drumming fine music, escorted them all out beyond the gate.
"Monks, no need to see us farther," said the Pilgrim with a laugh. "I only fear that if someone at court gets wind of it, my whole plan may leak out, and that would spoil everything. Go back quickly! Go back! Only have the emperor's robes, crown, and girdle cleaned and in order, and tonight or tomorrow morning bring them into the city, and I'll ask for a reward and a feast to thank you."
The monks obeyed and each went back. The Pilgrim stretched his long strides, caught up with his master, and they pressed straight on. Truly:
In the West there is a secret for seeking the true; Metal and wood in harmony refine the spirit. The Mother of the elixir vainly dreams her foggy dreams; The infant forever mourns his worthless wood of the stinking tree. One must seek the true sovereign at the bottom of a well, And still must climb to heaven to bow before Lord Lao Zi. Awake to form and emptiness, return to one's own nature— Truly the Buddha saves those bound to him by fate.
Master and disciples had not been half a day on the road before the city came into view ahead. "Wukong," said Sanzang, "that must be the Black Rooster Kingdom ahead."
"Just so," said the Pilgrim. "Let's hurry into the city and get to business."
When master and disciples entered the city, they found the streets and markets orderly, the scene lively and bustling; and soon they saw phoenix towers and dragon pavilions, magnificent beyond words. There is a poem in witness:
Palace towers overseas rival the superior kingdom; Songs and dances of the human world recall the former Tang. Flowers greet the precious fans, red clouds entwining; Sunlight on fresh robes gleams through emerald mist. Peacock screens unfold, fragrant haze arising; Pearl curtains roll up, colored banners spread. A sight of peace well worth the celebrating— The ranked officials silent, no memorials to read.
Sanzang dismounted: "Disciples, let us go straight to court and exchange our travel permit, and save ourselves the trouble of calling on government offices."
"Well said," said the Pilgrim. "Let all us brothers go in—more voices make better talk."
"All of us will go in," said the Tang monk, "but no boorish talk. First perform the rite of subject to sovereign, and then speak."
"Performing the rite of subject to sovereign means bowing to the ground," said the Pilgrim.
"Exactly—the great rite of five bows and three kowtows," said Sanzang.
"Master, you're no good at this," said the Pilgrim with a laugh. "To bow to him would be downright foolish. Let me walk in front first—I have my own arrangements. If he has anything to say, let me answer him. If I bow, you bow; if I squat, you squat."
Watch that trouble-making Monkey King, then, leading them up to the court gate, where he said to the ambassador of the gate: "We are sent from under the canopy of the great Tang of the Eastern Land, going to the Western Heaven to worship the Buddha and seek scriptures. Now that we are here to exchange our travel permit, we trouble Your Honor to announce us—that our good work may not be hindered."
The yellow-gate officer went in through the main portal, knelt below the vermilion steps, and reported: "Outside the court gate are five monks, who say they are imperial envoys from the Tang empire of the Eastern Land, sent to the Western Heaven to worship the Buddha and seek scriptures. Having come here to exchange their travel permit, they dare not enter unbidden and now await your summons outside the gate."
The demon king ordered them summoned in. The Tang monk entered within the court gate, the revived king walking in his train. As they walked, the king could not keep the tears from his cheeks, and thought bitterly: "Pitiful! My kingdom, a bronze-bucket realm, my altars of state hemmed in iron—who could have dreamed he would take them all by stealth!"
"Your Majesty, no grief," said the Pilgrim. "It might leak the news. This cudgel is hopping in my ear. Now, at last, it must show its work—I guarantee we'll beat that demon dead and sweep the evil thing away, and this realm will soon be yours again." The king dared not answer, and could only dab his tears with his sleeve, staking death on life, and walk on till they came below the Golden Chimes Hall. There again were the two benches of civil and military officials, four hundred court officers, every one stern and solemn, imposing and dignified of face.
The Pilgrim led the Tang monk to stand before the white jade steps, upright and unmoving. The officials below the steps were all dismayed: "This monk is a perfect dullard! Seeing our king, why does he not bow, nor even speak a greeting? He hasn't so much as sung one salute. What insolent nerve!"
Before the words were out, they heard the demon king open his mouth and ask: "That monk—from what quarter do you come?"
The Pilgrim answered proudly: "I come from the Tang empire of the Eastern Land in the Southern Continent of Jambudvipa, an imperial envoy bound for the Great Thunderclap Monastery in the land of India in the Western regions, to worship the living Buddha and seek the true scriptures. Now that we have reached your realm, we dare not pass it idly by, and come especially to exchange our travel permit."
The demon king heard, and anger rose in his heart: "And what of your Eastern Land! I send no tribute to your court; my kingdom holds no dealings with yours. How dare you stand before me on equal terms, refusing to bow!"
The Pilgrim laughed: "My Eastern Land has stood from of old as the Celestial Court, long acclaimed a superior kingdom. Yours is a borderland of the lower earth. From antiquity it has been said: the emperor of a superior kingdom is father and sovereign; the emperor of an inferior kingdom is vassal and son. You never came out to receive us—and you dare dispute my not bowing?"
The demon king, in a fury, shouted to the civil and military officials: "Seize this wild monk!" At the word "seize," watch all the officials surge forward together.
The Pilgrim gave a shout, pointed with one hand, and cried: "Not another step!" With that one point he cast the body-freezing spell, and none of the officials could move. Truly: the officers below the steps stood like wooden puppets; the generals in the hall stood like clay men.
When the demon king saw his civil and military officials frozen stiff, he leapt in haste from the dragon couch and came himself to seize them.
The Monkey King rejoiced in secret: "Good! Just what old Sun wanted. Coming at me like this—even a head of cast iron, touched by my cudgel, would get a hole knocked in it!"
But as he was moving, unexpectedly a saving star stepped out from the side.
And who was it? None other than the crown prince of the Black Rooster Kingdom. He rushed forward, caught hold of the demon king's court robes, and knelt before him: "Father King, let your anger rest."
"What has the child to say?" asked the demon.
"Let me report to my father the king," said the prince. "Three years ago word reached us of holy monks, imperial envoys from the Tang court of the Eastern Land, traveling to the Western Heaven to worship the Buddha and seek scriptures—and today, unforeseen, they have at last come to our kingdom. My father's august nature is fierce and fiery; if you have this monk seized and beheaded, I fear only that some day the Great Tang may learn of it, and their wrath will surely kindle. Consider: Li Shimin, having proclaimed himself king and united all the realm under him, was still not satisfied at heart, and raised armies to cross the seas and conquer abroad. If he learns our king has done his sworn brother, the holy monk, to death, he will surely send troops and horses to make war on our king. With our few soldiers and slender generals, by then it would be too late for regret. Let my father follow his son's counsel: first question these four monks closely, establish clearly whence they come, settle first the charge of their not bowing to the royal presence—and only then may the punishment be fixed."
This speech, in truth, was the prince's caution, for fear the Tang monk should come to harm: he meant to hold the demon back by craft—all unaware that the Pilgrim was squaring away to strike.
And indeed the demon king believed him. Standing before the dragon couch, he thundered: "That monk—when did you leave the Eastern Land? And on what business did the Tang king send you to fetch scriptures?"
The Pilgrim answered proudly: "My master is the Tang king's sworn brother, styled Sanzang. Now there was in the Tang court a minister, one Wei Zheng by name, who, obeying a statute of Heaven, beheaded the old dragon of the Jing River in a dream. The great Tang king, after his dream-journey to the underworld and his return to life, held a great Mass of Land and Water to deliver all the wronged ghosts and sinful souls. Because my master expounded the sutras and spread compassion abroad, the Bodhisattva Guanyin of the Southern Sea suddenly appeared and directed him to come west. My master swore a great vow, his heart gladly set on repaying his country with perfect loyalty, and the Tang king bestowed on him a travel permit. It was then the third day before the full moon of the ninth month of the thirteenth year of Zhenguan of the Great Tang. Leaving the Eastern Land, we came first to the Two-Boundary Mountain, where he took me as his senior disciple—my surname Sun, my name Wukong the Pilgrim. Then, at the border of the Wuji kingdom at Gao Family Village, he took a second disciple—surname Zhu, name Wuneng, Bajie. At the borders of the Flowing Sands River he took a third disciple—surname Sha, name Wujing, the Sha Monk. And the other day, at Baolin Monastery built by imperial command, he newly took on a lay brother, a novice, to carry the load."
Hearing this, the demon could find no way to search the Tang monk himself, so he tried his cunning to cross-question the Pilgrim, glaring: "That monk—you set out from the Eastern Land a single man, and have taken on four followers. The three monks might pass; this one Daoist is past bearing. That novice is surely kidnapped. What is his name? Has he an ordination certificate or none? Bring him up and take his deposition!"
The king trembled in terror: "Master—how am I to give a deposition?"
Sun the Pilgrim pinched him: "Don't be afraid. I'll depose for you."
What a Great Sage! He strode forward, faced the monster, and called out in a loud voice: "Your Majesty, this old Daoist is a mute, and somewhat deaf besides. It is only because in his youth he once traveled to the Western Heaven and knows the road that we took him on. The whole story of his rise and fall I know perfectly. I beg Your Majesty's indulgence—let me depose for him."
"Then make haste and depose truthfully for him," said the demon king, "and save yourself a charge."
The Pilgrim said:
"I depose: a novice, in years grown old, Half-witted, deaf and mute, his fortune wrecked. His ancestral home was in this very land; Five years ago his house met its downfall. No rain from heaven; the people withered dry; King and common folk all fasted and took rites. They burned incense, bathed, and cried to the Lord of Heaven— Ten thousand li, not one cloud veiled the sky. The people starved as if hung upside down, When from Zhongnan there came a Perverted 'Perfected One.' He summoned wind and rain and showed his powers— Then secretly took the king's life away. He pushed him down the garden's water well And stole the dragon throne, past all men's ken. By luck came I: great was the work of merit; I raised the dead to life, free of all let. The king now gladly takes the vows, a novice, To journey with us monks toward the western bounds. The false king is that Daoist; the Daoist's double Is the true king, restored to take his place."
When the demon king, in the Golden Chimes Hall, heard this whole recital, he was frightened out of his wits—his heart pounded like a deer, red clouds rose on his face. He drew back at once and would have fled, but he had no weapon in hand. Turning his head, he saw a hall-guarding general, a precious sword at his waist, frozen stiff and dumb under the Pilgrim's body-freezing spell, standing there straight as a post. He darted over, snatched the precious sword, rose on a cloud, and fled into the sky.
This so enraged the Sha Monk that he boiled over like thunder, and Zhu Bajie bawled aloud, blaming the Pilgrim for being a hasty monkey: "If only you'd gone about it slowly—couldn't you have kept him quiet? Now he's fled on his cloud! Where are we to chase him?"
"Brothers, no bawling," said the Pilgrim with a laugh. "First let us bring the prince down to bow to his father, and the queen and consorts out to bow to their husband." Then he recited a spell, undid the body-freezing charm, and said: "Let the officials wake and come back to bow to their sovereign; then they will know he is the true emperor. Let him tell them the story of what happened, and all will be plain; then I'll go find that demon." What a Great Sage! He instructed Bajie and the Sha Monk: "Guard well their sovereign and ministers, father and son, queen and consorts—and my master!" One heard the word "gone"—and he had vanished without a trace.
He had leapt up into the clouds of the ninth heaven, opened his eyes, and searched the four quarters for the demon king. And there indeed was that beast, escaped with his life, fleeing away toward the northeast.
The Pilgrim overtook him and thundered: "Where do you flee, monster! Old Sun is here!"
The demon king whipped round in alarm, drew his precious sword, and shouted: "Sun the Pilgrim, you meddlesome wretch! I came to take another's throne—what is that to you? Why must you champion the wronged and leak my secrets!"
The Pilgrim roared with laughter: "You bold, impudent monster! And was the emperor's seat yours for the taking? Since you knew I was old Sun, you should have fled far away. Yet you dared cross-question my master and demand depositions! Was that deposition just now the truth or not? Don't run! Be a man, and take this cudgel of old Sun!" The demon swerved aside to dodge, then drew his precious sword and struck back at the Pilgrim's face.
The two closed grips, and what a battle it was! Truly:
The Monkey King fierce, the Demon King strong; Sword greets cudgel, cudgel guards sword—well matched indeed. One whole sky of cloud and mist beclouds the Three Realms— All for the setting of an emperor upon the throne.
They had fought several rounds when the demon, unable to withstand the Monkey King, turned abruptly, leapt back along the old road into the city, burst in among the two benches of civil and military officials before the white jade steps, shook his body, changed, and became the very image of Tang Sanzang, standing hand in hand at the foot of the steps with the other.
The Great Sage caught up, raised his cudgel to strike—but that monster cried: "Disciple, don't strike—it is I!" He whipped round the cudgel to strike the other Tang monk—and again came the cry: "Disciple, don't strike—it is I!" Two identical Tang monks—truly past all telling apart.
"If one blow killed the monster's counterfeit Tang monk, why, the work would be done," thought the Pilgrim. "But if one blow killed my own true master—what then!" He could only stay his hand and call Bajie and the Sha Monk to ask: "Which of these two is the monster, and which is my master? Point him out to me, that I may strike him."
"You two were battling and bawling up in mid-air," said Bajie. "I blinked, and there were two masters—how should I know which is true and which false?"
At this the Pilgrim knotted his fingers, recited a spell, and called upon the Guardian Devas of the Dharma, the Six Dings and Six Jias, the Revealers of the Five Quarters, the Four Duty Officers, the eighteen Guardian Sangharamas of the Chariot, the local deity of the ward, and the mountain god of the region: "Old Sun has come here to subdue a demon, and the demon has changed himself into my master—same breath, same body, past all telling apart. Let those of you who know in the dark show the true master up the hall, that I may seize the demon."
Now the monster was a master of cloud-riding, and hearing the Pilgrim's words, he let go at once, leapt up onto the golden-chimes throne dais. The Pilgrim raised his cudgel and struck at the Tang monk. Pitiful! Had those guardian gods not been summoned, that one blow would have pounded two thousand Tang monks to meat paste!
Happily the gods caught hold of the iron cudgel: "Great Sage—the demon can ride the clouds; he went up onto the dais first!"
The Pilgrim dashed up onto the dais, but the demon leapt down again, seized the Tang monk, and mixed himself once more into the crowd—still impossible to tell apart.
The Pilgrim's heart was heavy, and then he spied Bajie standing by with a cold smile on his face. He flared up: "What are you after, you lout? Now there are two masters—you'll have one to call, one to answer you, one to wait on. Aren't you the delighted one!"
Bajie laughed: "Brother, you call me a blockhead—you're a worse one than I! If the master can't tell his own self, why wear yourself out? Just bear a little pain in your head, have our master recite that little spell of his, and the Sha Monk and I will each take one of them by the arm and listen. The one who can't recite it is bound to be the monster. What's hard about that?"
"Brother, well said!" said the Pilgrim. "True—only three people alive know that spell. It sprouted from the heart of our Lord the Tathagata, who passed it to the Bodhisattva Guanyin, and the Bodhisattva passed it to my master—no one else in the world knows it. Very well—Master, recite!"
And in truth the Tang monk began to recite. How could the demon king know it? He could only hum and haw at random.
"This hummer is the monster!" cried Bajie. He let go his master's arm, raised his rake, and struck. The demon king leapt up, trod the clouds, and fled. What a Bajie! With a shout he too rose on a cloud in pursuit; the Sha Monk, in a panic, let go of the Tang monk, drew out his precious staff and struck too; and only then did the Tang monk stop the spell. The Great Sage Sun, enduring the ache in his head, clutched his iron cudgel and gave chase into the sky. Ah! What a battle—three fierce monks hemming in one impudent demon monster!
The demon king was hard-pressed on left and right by Bajie's rake and the Sha Monk's staff. "If I close in and strike him face to face," thought the Pilgrim, "he fears me somewhat—there's a chance he'll slip away again. Let old Sun leap up higher and give him the garlic-pounding stroke, and finish him."
The Great Sage rose on auspicious light into the ninth heaven, and was just about to strike his decisive blow, when suddenly from the northeast, from within a many-colored cloud, came a stern voice calling: "Sun Wukong, stay your hand!"
The Pilgrim turned to look—it was the Bodhisattva Manjusri. He hurriedly put up his cudgel, came forward, and saluted: "Bodhisattva, where are you bound?"
"I have come to take in this monster for you," said Manjusri.
"I have put you to trouble," said the Pilgrim, thanking him. The Bodhisattva drew from her sleeve the demon-revealing mirror, and in it pinned the monster's true form. Only then did the Pilgrim call Bajie and the Sha Monk to come and greet the Bodhisattva together.
And looking into the mirror, how fierce the demon king appeared: eyes like glazed lamps, a head like a furnace-caldron, his whole body indigo of deepest summer, his four paws frost of late autumn. Two great ears hanging down, a broom of a tail a full length long. Blue hair bristling fierceness, red eyes shooting golden light. Flat teeth ranged like jade boards, round whiskers stiff as spears. And the true shape in the mirror: the blue-maned lion, Manjusri's own lion-king mount.
"Bodhisattva," said the Pilgrim, "this is the green-maned lion that carries you on its back. How came it here to turn spirit? And you never reined it in?"
"Wukong," said the Bodhisattva, "it did not run away. It was sent by the Buddha's command."
"This beast turned spirit and usurped a throne—and by the Buddha's command was sent, was it! If that's how it is, then old Sun, suffering as he does protecting the Tang monk, ought to be handed a few such decrees of his own!"
"You don't know," said the Bodhisattva. "Long ago this king of the Black Rooster Kingdom was a lover of good deeds and a patron of monks, and the Buddha sent me to deliver him to the West and bring him soon to the golden body of an arhat. Since I could not appear before him in my own form, I changed into a common monk and begged alms of him. I crossed him with a few words of argument; he did not know me for a good man, had me bound with a rope, threw me into the palace moat, and soaked me three days and three nights. The Six Jias of the golden body thankfully rescued me and brought me back to the West, where I reported to the Tathagata. And the Tathagata sent this monster here to push him down the well and soak him three years, in payment for my three days of water suffering. Every sip and every peck is fixed by fate beforetime. Now you have all come here, and the work is complete."
"You may have repaid your little grudge of a sip and a peck," said the Pilgrim, "but who knows how many people that monster has harmed?"
"He harmed no one," said the Bodhisattva. "Since he came, these three years, wind and rain have come in season and the state has been at peace and the people secure—what harm was there?"
"That's as may be," said the Pilgrim. "But the queen and the consorts of the three palaces have slept and risen with him. He has defiled her body and wrecked the bonds of propriety right and left—and you call that harming no one?"
"He could not defile her," said the Bodhisattva. "He is a gelded lion."
At this Bajie drew near, felt him over once, and laughed: "So this monster is a red-nosed man who never drinks wine—famed for a vice he never had!"
[Translator's note: a Chinese proverb—"the red nose is taken for a drunkard's nose," borne in vain by an innocent.]
"Well then, since that's how it is, take him away," said the Pilgrim. "But had you not come in person, I'd never have spared his life."
The Bodhisattva recited a spell and commanded: "Beast! Submit to the truth—what do you wait for?" Only then did the demon king show his true form. The Bodhisattva let fall a lotus canopy to hold the monster, sat down upon his back, trod auspicious light, and took leave of the Pilgrim. Ah!
Straight back to the Terrace of the Five Terraces Mountain, Beneath the lotus throne, to hear the sutras expounded.
But as for how the Tang monk and his disciples left the city—listen to the explanation in the next chapter.