The story goes that the Six Mighty Generals left the cave gate and headed off southwest, following the road.
The Pilgrim thought to himself: "He means to invite the Old Great King to eat my master. The Old Great King must certainly be the Bull Demon King. In the old days old Sun kept company with him—truly we were of one mind and feeling, the closest of friends. But now old Sun has returned to the true Way, while he is still a fiend of evil. Long as we've been parted, I still remember his looks. Let old Sun change into the Bull Demon King and hoax him a bit, and see what comes of it."
What a Pilgrim! Slipping away from the six little imps, he spread his wings and flew ahead some dozen li or more, then shook his body and changed into the Bull Demon King. He plucked a few hairs, cried "Change!"—and they became several little imps. There in the mountain hollow, with hawk on fist and hounds in leash, crossbow set and bow bent, they played at hunting, waiting for the Six Mighty Generals.
That crew, dragging and hauling one another along, had just caught sight of the Bull Demon King seated in their midst when Rising-Heat and Heat-Arising fell on their knees in a fright: "Old Great King, Grandfather—here you are!"
Cloud-in-Mist, Mist-in-Cloud, Swift-as-Fire, and Quick-as-Wind, all of them mortal flesh and common eyes, could not tell true from false; they too knelt down together and knocked their heads: "Grandfather! We little ones are sent from the Great King Holy Infant of the Fire Cloud Cave, to invite you, Grandfather Old Great King, to come eat Tang monk's flesh and live a thousand spans of years!"
The Pilgrim answered in borrowed words: "Rise, children, and come home with me; I'll change my clothes and go."
The little imps knocked their heads: "We beg you, Grandfather, grant us this favor—no need to return to your palace. The road is long; we fear our Great King's rebuke. Let us set out from here, we beg."
The Pilgrim laughed: "Good obedient children. So be it, so be it. Lead the way ahead, and I'll come along."
The six monsters roused their spirits and shouted the road clear ahead, and the Great Sage followed.
Before long they reached the cave. Quick-as-Wind and Swift-as-Fire dashed inside to report: "Great King, the Old Great King, your grandfather, has come."
The demon king was delighted: "You've proved useful—so quick as all that!"
He at once commanded: "Chiefs of every route, form the ranks, unfurl the banners and beat the drums, to welcome the Old Great King!"
The whole cave's host of imps obeyed the command and marched out in perfect order. The Pilgrim, proud and martial, chest thrust out, gave his body one shake, drew back into himself the hairs that held hawk and hounds, then strode with great paces straight in through the gate and sat down in the center, facing south.
The Red Boy knelt before him, bowing toward him and knocking his head: "Father King, your child salutes you."
"Rise, my child, no ceremony," said the Pilgrim. The demon king made four great obeisances, then stood at the lower hand.
"I sent for you, my child," said the Pilgrim. "What is the matter?"
The demon king bowed and said: "Your child, though lacking in talent, captured a man yesterday—a monk of the Great Tang empire of the Eastern Land. I have often heard it said that he is a man who has cultivated the Way through ten lifetimes, and that whoever eats a piece of his flesh will live as long as the ageless immortals of Penglai and Yingzhou. Your foolish son dared not eat him alone, but has especially invited Father King to share the Tang monk's flesh with me, and lengthen your years by a thousand spans."
At this the Pilgrim gave a start of alarm. "My child—which Tang monk?"
"The one journeying to the Western Heaven for scriptures."
"My child—not the Pilgrim Sun's master?"
"The very one."
The Pilgrim waved his hands and shook his head. "Don't meddle with him! Don't meddle with him! Others might be meddled with, but this Pilgrim Sun is another sort altogether. Have you never met him, my worthy son? That monkey's magic is vast, his transformations past counting. He once made havoc in the Heavenly Palace; the Jade Emperor sent a hundred thousand celestial soldiers and spread the nets of Heaven and the snares of Earth, and even so they could not catch him. How dare you eat his master! Send him back quickly, and don't provoke that monkey. If he learns you have eaten his master, he won't even come to fight you. He'll just ram that gold-banded cudgel of his through the mountainside, bore a hole, and scoop up the whole mountain in his two hands. And then, my child, where would you live, and whom would I lean on in my old age?"
The demon king said: "What talk is this, Father King—swelling another's spirit and quenching your own child's majesty! That Pilgrim Sun and his brothers, three in all, were escorting the Tang monk through the middle of my mountain when I played a transformation and carried off their master. He and that Zhu Bajie came hunting to my gate at once, spouting all that talk of kinship and old acquaintance. My wrath blazed to heaven; I fought him a few rounds—he was nothing out of the ordinary, I saw no brilliant strokes. Then that Zhu Bajie came slantwise in to help, and your child spewed out the samadhi true fire and burned them off in one bout. In a panic they went and asked the Dragon Kings of the Four Seas for rain, but it could not quench my samadhi true fire; I smoked one of them into a dead faint, and he hurriedly sent Zhu Bajie to invite the Bodhisattva Guanyin of the Southern Sea. So I changed into a false Guanyin, lured Zhu Bajie here, and he now hangs in my wish-fulfilling bag—I mean to steam him too, for my little ones to eat. This morning that Pilgrim came bawling at my gate again. I gave orders to seize him, and he was so frightened he dropped even his bundle and ran. Only then did I send for Father King, to come look at the Tang monk, alive and whole, before we steam him for you to eat—lengthening your years, immortal and unaging."
The Pilgrim laughed: "Ah, my worthy son! You know only that your samadhi fire can beat him—you don't know he has seventy-two transformations!"
"Let him change as he will," said the demon king, "I'll know him. He'd never dare enter my gate."
"My child," said the Pilgrim, "you may know him—but he won't change into anything big, like a wolf or an elephant; those might not fit through your gate. If he changes into something small, you'll have a hard time knowing him."
"Let him change into any small thing he likes," said the demon king. "At every gate I keep four or five little imps on guard—how could he get in?"
"You don't know," said the Pilgrim. "He can change into a fly, a mosquito, a flea, a bee, a butterfly, a little cicada, and the like; and he can change into my very likeness too—how would you know him then?"
"No matter," said the demon king. "Even with guts of iron and a heart of bronze he'd not dare come near my gate."
"Since you say so," replied the Pilgrim, "my worthy son has real skill of his own, quite able to best him—which is why you've asked me to eat Tang monk's flesh. But alas, today I'm not eating yet."
"Why not eat?" asked the demon king.
"I've grown old of late," said the Pilgrim, "and your mother is forever urging me to do some good deeds. I thought I had no way to do good—so I've taken up fasting."
"Is Father King fasting for life," asked the demon king, "or by the month?"
"Neither for life nor by the month," said the Pilgrim. "It's called the Thunder Fast—only four days in each month."
"Which four days?" asked the demon king.
"The three xin days and every sixth day," said the Pilgrim. "Today is a xin-you day: first, it's a fast day; and second, on a you day I receive no guests. Wait until tomorrow, and I'll come scrub him and steam him myself, and share him with you all."
Hearing this, the demon king thought to himself: "My father has lived on human flesh all his days, and he's past a thousand years old—how is it he's suddenly taken up fasting? Think of all the evil he did in the old days—would three or four days of fasting ever make that good? There's something false in this. Suspicious! Suspicious!"
He slipped out under the second gate, called the Six Mighty Generals, and questioned them: "Where did you invite your Old Great King from?"
"From the middle of the road," said the little imps.
"I said you came back too quick—so you never reached his home?"
"No, we never reached it."
"This is bad! He's put one over on you! That's not the Old Great King!"
The little imps all knelt down together: "Great King—you don't know your own father?"
"His looks and bearing are all right, but his talk isn't. I fear we've been taken in by a fake and he'll do us a mischief. Every one of you, be on your guard: those who can use knives, out of the sheath with them; those who can use spears, brighten the points; those who can use staves, use staves; those who can use ropes, use ropes. Let me go question him again and hear how he speaks. If it truly is the Old Great King, then never mind not eating today, or tomorrow—even a month's delay would be no matter! But if his words don't answer, the moment you hear my shout, all set to work together."
The host of monsters each received his orders.
The demon king turned back inside and bowed once more before the Pilgrim.
"My child," said the Pilgrim, "home is no place for ceremony—no more bowing. Whatever you have to say, say it."
The demon king prostrated himself and said: "Your foolish son has invited you, first, to offer you the Tang monk's flesh; and second, there is a matter on which I would consult you. The other day, strolling idly, I rode an auspicious light straight up into the ninth heaven, and there I suddenly met the patriarch Zhang of the Way of Lengthening Years."
"Do you mean Zhang the Daoist, the Heavenly Preceptor?" asked the Pilgrim.
"The very one," said the demon king.
"What did he have to say?" asked the Pilgrim.
"He saw that your child was well formed in every feature, all three stations equal, and he asked in what year, month, day, and hour I was born. Being young, I can't remember truly. The master is perfect in the art of the Five Planets reckoning, and wished to cast my fortunes. Now that I have invited Father King, it is just this I would ask. If ever I meet him again, I can trouble him to do the casting."
Hearing this, the Pilgrim, sitting up above, laughed inwardly: "What a monster! Since old Sun won the fruit of Buddha and took to protecting the Tang master, I've caught a fair few monsters on this road, but none so grasping as this fellow. Had he asked me about family matters—gossip of the long and the short, no rice, no firewood—I could have bandied any nonsense back. But now he asks the year, month, and day of my birth—how am I to know that?" What a Monkey King—he was cunning past all praise. Towering erect in the central seat, without one flicker of fear, his face all smiles, he laughed: "Rise, worthy son. I am grown old, and these days, with one thing and another weighing on my heart, I have clean forgotten the hour of your birth. Wait till tomorrow, when I go home and ask your mother—then we shall know."
The demon king said: "Father King is forever quoting my eight birth-characters, saying I have a life that will not age with Heaven itself. How could you forget them all at once today? There's no such thing! This must be a fake!"
With one fierce shout, the host of imps closed in with spear and blade and struck at the Pilgrim, head and face together.
The Great Sage caught them all on his gold-banded cudgel, showed his true form, and said to the demon: "Worthy son, this is ungrateful of you. Where else in the world does a son beat his own father?"
The demon king's face burned with shame; he dared not look up. The Pilgrim turned to golden light and walked out of the cave.
The little imps said: "Great King, the Pilgrim Sun has gone."
"Enough, enough, enough! Let him go! I've taken my beating at his hands. Shut the gate, have no words with him—just scrub the Tang monk down and steam him, and there's an end of it."
Now the Pilgrim came back from across the ravine, trailing his iron cudgel and laughing heartily.
The Sha Monk heard him, hurried out of the wood, and met him: "Brother, back at last after half a day! What's all this laughing—have you saved the master?"
"Brother," said the Pilgrim, "though I haven't saved the master, old Sun has had the upper hand for once!"
"What upper hand?"
"It turns out Bajie was lured back by that monster in the shape of a false Guanyin, and now hangs in a leather bag. I was just plotting how to rescue him when the monster sent off what he called his Six Mighty Generals, to invite the Old Great King to come eat the master's flesh. Old Sun reasoned that the Old Great King must be the Bull Demon King, so I changed into his likeness and bluffed my way in, and sat down in the middle of the hall. He called me Father King, and I answered him; he knocked his head, and I took it straight—such sport! Truly the upper hand!"
"Brother," said the Sha Monk, "you may relish these little advantages, but the master's life may not hold out."
"No fear. Let me go ask the Bodhisattva to come."
"But your waist still pains you."
"It doesn't pain me now. As the ancients said: joy makes the spirit brisk. Watch the luggage and the horse, and wait till I return."
"You've left a feud behind you—fear he'll harm the master. You must go quickly and come quickly."
"I'll be quick—no longer than it takes to eat a bowl of rice, and I'll be back."
What a Great Sage! As he spoke he slipped away from the Sha Monk, mounted the somersault cloud, and made straight for the Southern Sea. In midair, before half a watch had passed, he caught sight of Mount Potaraka's scenery. Presently he brought down his cloud, went straight to the Potaraka cliff, and was walking with grave and proper bearing when the Twenty-Four Protectors of the Four Quarters met him: "Great Sage, where are you bound?"
The Pilgrim returned their courtesy. "I would see the Bodhisattva."
"Wait a moment, while we announce you." Then the Protectors, among them the Mother of Devils, came outside the Tide Sound Cave and reported: "Bodhisattva, Sun Wukong has come to pay his respects."
At the report the Bodhisattva bade him enter. The Great Sage gathered his robe, gave himself to her command, and stepped steadily within; seeing the Bodhisattva, he cast himself down and worshipped.
"Wukong," said the Bodhisattva, "why are you not escorting Golden Cicada westward to seek the scriptures? What brings you here?"
"I report to the Bodhisattva: your disciple was protecting the Tang monk on his way, and we came to a place called the Fire Cloud Cave in the Withered Pine Ravine of Hao Mountain. There a demon, the Red Boy, called the Great King Holy Infant, carried off my master. Your disciple and Zhu Wuneng hunted him to his gate and fought him; he let out his samadhi fire, and we could not prevail or save the master. I hastened to the Eastern Ocean, invited the Dragon Kings of the Four Seas to pour down rain, but even that could not conquer the fire—and your disciple was smoked half dead, and nearly lost his life."
"If he has the samadhi fire and magic so vast," said the Bodhisattva, "why did you go asking the Dragon Kings instead of coming to ask me?"
"I meant to come," said the Pilgrim, "but your disciple was smoked and could not ride the cloud, so I sent Zhu Bajie to invite the Bodhisattva."
"Wuneng never came," said the Bodhisattva.
"Just so," said the Pilgrim. "Before he ever reached your blessed mountain, the demon changed into the Bodhisattva's own likeness, lured Zhu Bajie into his cave, and now hangs him in a leather bag—meaning to steam and eat him too."
Hearing this, the Bodhisattva's heart blazed with wrath. "That impudent demon—dare he change into my likeness!" With one cry of anger she flung the precious pearl-pure vase in her hand straight down into the heart of the sea. The Pilgrim's hair stood on end; he rose at once and stood in attendance below, thinking: "This Bodhisattva hasn't cooled her fiery temper. It must be my words went wrong and spoiled her virtue—there goes the pure vase flung away! A pity! A pity! Had I known, she might have given it to old Sun—wouldn't that have been a grand favor?" Before he could finish, out in the midst of the sea, waves rolled and leapt, and the vase came boring up out of the water—carried out on the back of a monster.
The Pilgrim looked closely at the monster bearing the vase. What was it like?
Its root and source is called the Bank-Crawler— A turtle, sole in glory bright beneath the waters. Long hidden, it knows the nature of Heaven and Earth; Safely lodged, it fathoms the workings of ghosts and gods. Drawn in, it hides itself, no head nor tail; Stretching forth its feet, it travels swifter than flight. King Wen, painting the trigrams, once used it in divination; It oft attended the court and terrace beside Fuxi.
Cloud-dragons glimmer through it, a thousand graces showing; It stirs the waters, pushing waves and blowing billows. Threads of gold line through to form its shell; Dots and speckles deck it like tinted tortoiseshell. The Nine Palaces and Eight Trigrams wrap it as a robe; Scattered scales overlay it in glistering green. Living, it loved valor and won the Dragon King's favor; Dead, it bears the tablet of the Buddha's shrine. Would you know this creature's surname and name? A wicked turtle that rears the winds and waves.
The turtle bore the pure vase, crawled up the cliffside, and nodded twenty-four times to the Bodhisattva—counting for twenty-four obeisances. Seeing this, the Pilgrim laughed to himself: "So this is the vase-keeper. I suppose if the vase goes missing, he's the one they dun for it."
"Wukong," said the Bodhisattva, "what are you muttering down there?"
"Nothing at all," said the Pilgrim.
The Bodhisattva ordered: "Bring up the vase." The Pilgrim went to take it—alas! It would not budge. It was just a dragonfly trying to shake a stone pillar: how could he stir it half a hair's breadth?
The Pilgrim stepped forward and knelt. "Bodhisattva, your disciple cannot lift it."
"You monkey," said the Bodhisattva, "you can only talk big. If you can't even lift the vase, how will you subdue demons and bind monsters?"
"To tell the Bodhisattva truly," said the Pilgrim, "ordinarily I could lift it—it's only today I can't. I must have taken such a beating from the demon that my strength is drained."
"Ordinarily it was an empty vase," said the Bodhisattva. "Now I have flung the pure vase into the sea, and in one brief while it has circled the Three Rivers and Five Lakes, the Eight Seas and Four Streams, all the springs and fountains and pools and caves, and borrowed a whole sea of water inside it. Where would you find the strength to shoulder a sea? That is why you cannot lift it."
The Pilgrim pressed his palms together. "Your disciple did not know." Then the Bodhisattva stepped forward, with her right hand lightly lifted the pure vase, and rested it on her left palm.
The turtle nodded its head and dove back under the water.
"So it's a housekeeping, vase-watching clodhopper!" said the Pilgrim.
The Bodhisattva took her seat. "Wukong, the sweet dew in this vase is not like the Dragon Kings' private rain: it can quench that demon's samadhi fire. I would send it with you—but you cannot carry it. I would send the Dragon Girl of Wealth with you—but yours is not a good heart; you do nothing but swindle folk. You see my Dragon Girl is beautiful, and the pure vase is a treasure—suppose you swindled them away, where would I find the leisure to go hunting you? You must leave something as pledge."
"Poor Bodhisattva—so suspicious!" said the Pilgrim. "Since your disciple took the gate of the Way, I've done nothing of that sort. You tell me to leave a pledge, but what have I to give? This cloth tunic I wear—your own venerable self gave it me. This tiger-skin kilt—what's it worth, a few coppers? This iron cudgel—I need it morning and evening to guard my life. Only this band on my head is gold; but then your venerable self fixed it on me with some trick, and it cannot come off. If you want a pledge, I'll gladly pledge this—recite the Band-Loosening Spell and take it off, and there's your pledge. Else, what have I to give?"
"How easy you make it!" said the Bodhisattva. "I want neither your clothes, nor your cudgel, nor your golden band. Just pull off one of those life-saving hairs behind your skull and give it me as pledge."
"This hair, too, your venerable self gave me," said the Pilgrim. "But pull out one, and the whole company of them may come unraveled—and then they couldn't save my life either."
The Bodhisattva cursed: "You monkey! You won't pull one hair—do you wonder I call you grasping even of wealth?"
The Bodhisattva—she too was over-suspicious," said the Pilgrim with a laugh. "Still, as they say: if not for the monk's sake, then for the Buddha's—by all means save my master from this one ordeal!"
Then, at ease and well pleased, the Bodhisattva came down from the lotus terrace; with cloudlike steps and wafting fragrance she mounted the stone cliff.
Only because the holy monk had met his bane, She would subdue the monster and bring him back. The Great Sage Sun, brimming with delight, invited Guanyin out of the Tide Sound immortal cave. All the great Protectors ranged themselves on Potaraka Rock.
The Bodhisattva said: "Wukong, cross the sea."
The Pilgrim bowed. "I beg the Bodhisattva to go first."
"You go first," said the Bodhisattva.
The Pilgrim knocked his head. "Your disciple dare not show off before the Bodhisattva. If I rode the somersault cloud, I'd be baring my body—I fear the Bodhisattva would blame me for disrespect."
Hearing this, the Bodhisattva bade the Dragon Girl of Wealth go to the lotus pond, break off one petal of a lotus, and set it on the water below the rock; then she told the Pilgrim: "Get on that lotus petal, and I will ferry you across the sea."
The Pilgrim looked at it. "Bodhisattva, that petal is light and thin—how can it bear me up? If it tips over and I tumble in the water, won't it soak my tiger-skin kilt? The saltpeter will wash out—what shall I wear when the cold comes?"
The Bodhisattva commanded: "Get on and see!"
The Pilgrim dared not refuse; he took his life in his hands and leapt on.
It had looked light and little, but once he was aboard it was a good three parts bigger than a sea-going ship. The Pilgrim rejoiced: "Bodhisattva, it bears me!"
"Since it bears you," said the Bodhisattva, "why don't you cross?"
"There's no pole, no oar, no sail, no mast—how am I to cross?"
"You need none." She simply blew it open with one breath, drew it together with another, and then with one solid puff blew it across the bitter sea of the Southern Ocean, till he reached the farther shore.
The Pilgrim planted his feet on solid ground and laughed: "This Bodhisattva loves to show off her magic—bidding old Sun here and haling him there, all without spending a scrap of strength!"
The Bodhisattva instructed the host of Protectors to keep to their blessed isle, and bade the Dragon Girl of Wealth shut the cave door. Then she rose on an auspicious cloud, departed from Potaraka Rock, and on the far side called: "Where is Hui'an?"
Now Hui'an was the second son of Heavenly King Li, the Pagoda-Bearer; his common name was Muzha. He was the Bodhisattva's own initiated disciple, never leaving her side, and was called the Pilgrim Hui'an, Protector of the Dharma. At once he pressed his palms together and waited upon her command.
"Go quickly to the upper world," said the Bodhisattva, "see your father the King, and ask him to lend me the Heavenly Blades."
"How many does Master need?" asked Hui'an.
"The whole set."
Hui'an received the command, rode his cloud straight in through the South Gate of Heaven, came to the Cloud Tower Palace, and bowed to his father. The Heavenly King saw him and asked: "From where come you, my son?"
"Master has been invited by Sun Wukong to subdue a demon," said Muzha, "and sends your son to bow to you, Father King, and beg the loan of the Heavenly Blades."
The Heavenly King at once called Nezha to fetch thirty-six of the blades and hand them to Muzha.
Muzha said to Nezha: "Brother, go home and bow many times to our mother: my business is urgent—when I've delivered the blades I'll come kowtow."
Hurriedly they parted. He brought his auspicious light down and went straight to the Southern Sea, where he presented the blades with both hands to the Bodhisattva. She took them, flung them forth, recited a spell—and the blades turned into a thousand-leaf lotus terrace. The Bodhisattva leapt up and sat upright in its midst.
The Pilgrim, watching from the side, laughed inwardly: "This Bodhisattva is thrifty in her housekeeping. There in the lotus pond she has a five-colored precious lotus terrace, too dear to her heart to bring along—yet she goes borrowing from someone else!"
"Wukong," said the Bodhisattva, "no more talk. Follow me."
Then they all mounted the clouds and left the sea.
The white parrot spread its wings and flew before them; the Great Sage Sun and Hui'an followed.
In a moment a mountain came in sight. "That is Hao Mountain," said the Pilgrim. "From here to the demon's gate is about four hundred li and more."
Hearing this, the Bodhisattva commanded the auspicious cloud to halt, and on the mountaintop she recited the spell of the sacred syllable "Om"—and at once, from left and right of the mountain, out came a host of gods and spirits: the local deities and all the gods of the mountain, who came and knocked their heads beneath the Bodhisattva's precious lotus seat.
The Bodhisattva said: "Do not be alarmed. I have come today to seize this demon king. Sweep clean the ground round about—three hundred li in every direction; not one living creature may remain upon the earth. Send the young beasts from their dens and the fledglings from their holes up to the highest peaks, there to be safe."
The gods obeyed and withdrew. In a little while they came back to report. "Since all is clean," said the Bodhisattva, "return each to your shrine."
Then she tipped over the pure vase, and with a great rushing noise the water came pouring out, sounding like thunder. Truly:
It floods across the mountainheads and bursts the rocky walls. Flooding the mountainheads, it moves with the ocean's power; Bursting the rocky walls, it rolls like a boundless main. Black mist swells to the sky, all breath of water; Gray waves shadow the sun, shaking out cold light. Jade billows strike along the whole cliff's face; Golden lotuses grow over all the sea. The Bodhisattva spreads her demon-quelling power, And from her sleeve brings forth the Body-Binding Chan.
It turns into the immortal scenery of Potaraka, Each bit the very image of the Southern Sea. Graceful rushes thrust up, tender as udumbara flowers; Fragrant grasses spread open, fresh as patra leaves. A few stems of purple bamboo where parrots perch; Clusters of green pines where partridges clamor. Ten thousand folds of waves join on to all four wilds; One hears but wind roaring and water drowning the sky.
The Great Sage Sun saw it and praised her in his heart: "Truly a Bodhisattva of great mercy and compassion! If old Sun had magic like this, I'd tip the vase over the mountain and let the whole brood of creatures—bird, beast, serpent, and insect—look out for themselves!"
The Bodhisattva called: "Wukong, hold out your hand." The Pilgrim hastily drew back his sleeve and held out his left hand.
The Bodhisattva pulled up a willow twig, dipped it in the sweet dew, and wrote in his palm the character for "beguile." "Clench your fist," she bade him, "go quickly and challenge that demon to battle. Yield—never win. Flee before him back to me, and by my own magic power I shall take him."
The Pilgrim received the command, wheeled his cloud back, and came straight to the cave mouth—one hand a fist, the other his cudgel—shouting: "Monster! Open up!"
The little imps ran in again to report: "The Pilgrim Sun has come again!"
"Bar the gate tight!" said the demon king. "Pay him no heed!"
"Good son!" the Pilgrim shouted. "Turning your own father out of doors—and still you won't open!"
The imps reported again: "The Pilgrim Sun has worked round to the insults!" The demon king only said: "Ignore him!"
The Pilgrim called twice; the gate stayed shut; his fury blazed. He raised his iron cudgel and smashed a hole clean through the door.
The little imps tumbled over themselves inside in a panic: "The Pilgrim Sun has broken the door!"
Reported to several times, and now hearing the front gate smashed, the demon king leapt out in haste, leveled his long spear, and cursed the Pilgrim: "You monkey—you know neither rise nor fall! I let you take your little advantages, and not content, you come bullying me again! Breaking down my gate—what punishment does that deserve?"
"My son," said the Pilgrim, "driving your own father out the gate—what punishment does that deserve?"
The demon king burned with shame and wrath; he grasped his long spear and thrust at the Pilgrim's chest. The Pilgrim raised his iron cudgel, parrying and returning. Once they had closed, they fought four or five rounds; then the Pilgrim clenched his fist, trailed his cudgel, and broke off in defeat.
The demon king stood before the mountain: "I'm off to scrub the Tang monk!"
"Good son—Heaven is watching you! Come on!"
At this the demon's wrath redoubled; with a shout he charged up and thrust again with his spear. The Pilgrim wheeled his cudgel, fought a few more rounds, and fled once more, beaten.
The monkey," cursed the demon king, "you had the strength for twenty or thirty rounds before—why do you run off in mid-fight now? What's the matter?"
"Worthy son," said the Pilgrim with a laugh, "your father fears your fire."
"No fire this time. Come up, then!"
"If there's no fire, stand off a little. A real man doesn't beat people at his own front door."
The demon, unaware of the trick, truly raised his spear and gave chase again. The Pilgrim trailed his cudgel and let his fist hang open; the demon king, spell-bound, pursued him for very eagerness.
The one fleeing went like a shooting star crossing the sky; the one pursuing like a crossbow bolt off the string.
In a moment they came in sight of the Bodhisattva. "Monster," said the Pilgrim, "I yield—I yield! Spare me! You've chased me all the way to the Bodhisattva Guanyin of the Southern Sea—why don't you turn back?"
The demon king would not believe it; gnashing his teeth, he only pressed the chase. The Pilgrim swayed his body and hid within the halo of the Bodhisattva's radiance.
The demon, finding the Pilgrim gone, drew near, rounded his eyes, and said to the Bodhisattva: "Are you the rescue troops the Pilgrim Sun has invited?"
The Bodhisattva did not answer.
The demon king twirled his long spear and barked: "Ha! Are you the rescue troops the Pilgrim Sun has invited?"
The Bodhisattva still did not answer. The demon aimed his spear at her heart and thrust. The Bodhisattva turned into a beam of golden light and went straight up into the ninth heaven.
The Pilgrim kept close at her side. "Bodhisattva, you do love to bully me! The demon asked you over and over—why did you play deaf and dumb, not daring to answer? One spear-thrust and off you flew, leaving even that lotus terrace behind!"
"Hush," said the Bodhisattva, "and watch what more he will do." By now the Pilgrim and Muzha stood together in the sky, shoulder to shoulder, watching.
They saw the demon laugh coldly: "Impudent monkey—you took me for someone else! Who does he take me, the Holy Infant, to be? He couldn't beat me time after time, so he went and invited some paste-pot of a Bodhisattva—one thrust of my spear, and she's fled without shape or shadow, leaving her precious lotus terrace behind. Well then—let me go up and sit in it a while."
What a demon! He too imitated the Bodhisattva, crossed his hands and crossed his feet, and sat down in the middle.
The Pilgrim, seeing it, cried: "Good! Good! Good! The lotus terrace makes a fine present!"
"Wukong," said the Bodhisattva, "what are you saying now?"
"What am I saying? What am I saying? The lotus terrace has been given away! The monster's sitting on it under his backside—are you never going to want it back?"
"Just so—I want him to sit," said the Bodhisattva.
"His body is small and neat," said the Pilgrim. "He sits steadier than you do."
"Say no more—watch the power of the Dharma." She pointed her willow twig downward and cried: "Withdraw!" And at once the lotus terrace lost all its flowered splendor, its auspicious light all scattered—the demon king was sitting on the points of blades.
She then commanded Muzha: "Take your demon-quelling pestle and beat down the knife-hilts."
Muzha brought down his cloud, and with the demon-subduing pestle, as if tamping a wall, pounded a good thousand strokes and more. The demon—the blades ran clean through both legs and out again, blood flowed in pools, skin and flesh split open. What a monster! Watch him: gritting his teeth against the pain, he flung away the long spear and with both hands tore wildly at the blades.
"Bodhisattva," said the Pilgrim, "the monster fears no pain—he's pulling out the knives!"
Seeing this, the Bodhisattva called Muzha up: "Do not harm his life." Then she let down her willow twig, pronounced the spell of "Om," and every one of the Heavenly Blades turned into barb-backed hooks like wolves' teeth, so that not one could be pulled out.
Now at last the demon panicked. Gripping the blade-points, he cried out in bitter pleading: "Bodhisattva! Your disciple has eyes but no pearls—he knew not your vast magic power. A thousand times I beg your mercy—spare my life! Never again shall I presume to do evil; I will enter the gate of the Law and keep the precepts."
Hearing this, the Bodhisattva brought her golden light down—with the two pilgrims and the white parrot—to stand before the demon and asked: "Will you receive my precepts and practice?"
The demon king nodded, tears dropping. "If you spare my life, I will receive the precepts."
"Will you enter my gate?"
"If indeed you spare my life, I will enter the gate of the Law."
"Since it is so, I will tonse you and administer the precepts." From her sleeve she took a golden razor, drew near, and with a few strokes tonsured the monster's crown, shaving it into a "Mount Tai pressing on the head," but leaving three tufts of hair, which she tied up into three little horn-knots.
The Pilgrim laughed beside her: "This monster's luck has turned black! Neither man nor woman—who knows what he looks like now!"
"Since you have now received my precepts," said the Bodhisattva, "I shall not slight you. I shall call you the Boy of Wealth. How is that?"
The demon nodded and accepted, hoping only for his life. Then the Bodhisattva pointed her hand and cried: "Withdraw!" With a clatter the Heavenly Blades all dropped away into the dust, and the Boy's body was unharmed. The Bodhisattva called: "Hui'an, carry the blades back up to the Heavenly Palace and return them to your father the King. Do not come back for me—go first to Potaraka Rock and wait with the assembled Protectors." Muzha received the command, delivered the blades to the upper world, and returned to the sea—of that no more.
Now the Boy's wild nature was not yet settled. Finding that where his legs had pained there was no pain, where his seat had been split there was no split, and that his head bore three little knots, he strode off, snatched up his long spear, and cried to the Bodhisattva: "What true magic power of yours has subdued me? It was all a trick of stage-scenery! I'll take no precepts—taste my spear!" And he thrust the spear at her face.
The Pilgrim, seething, wheeled his iron cudgel to strike, but the Bodhisattva only cried: "Strike not! I have my own chastisement."
Again from her sleeve she brought out a golden band. "This treasure was given me by our Buddha the Tathagata, when he sent me to the East to find the scripture-seeker: three bands there were—Gold, Tight, and Stop. The Tightening band has already been put on your head; the Stopping band was used to take in the Great Spirit of the Mountain Guard. Only this Golden band have I never yet had the heart to bestow. But seeing this monster's insolence—let it be his."
What a Bodhisattva! She flourished the band in the wind, cried "Change!"—and it became five bands; she flung them at the Boy and shouted: "Bind!" One clasped his crown, two clasped his left and right hands, two clasped his left and right feet.
"Wukong," said the Bodhisattva, "stand off a little, while I recite the Golden Band Spell."
The Pilgrim panicked: "Bodhisattva! We invited you here to subdue a demon—why do you recite a spell against me?"
"This spell is not the Band-Tightening Spell, for you," said the Bodhisattva. "It is the Golden Band Spell, for the Boy."
Only then was the Pilgrim's mind at ease, and he kept close at her side, listening to her recite. The Bodhisattva pinched the spell-fingers and silently recited it a few times over—and the demon wrung his ears, scrubbed his cheeks, hooved his feet, and rolled over and over. Truly:
One phrase can reach throughout the sands of worlds— Vast, boundless, deep the power of the Dharma.
But how the Boy came to take refuge—listen to the explanation in the next chapter.