A poem says:
Seeking scriptures, escaping ordeals, they journey west; Countless famous mountains, and no end of rest. The hare runs, the crow flies, driving night and day; Birds cry, flowers fall, of themselves spring and autumn pass. In a speck of dust before the eye, three thousand worlds; At the tip of the monk's staff, four hundred prefectures. Sleeping by water, dining on wind, they climb the purple roads— Who knows which day they may turn their heads.
The story goes that Tang Sanzang, thanks to the Dragon Prince subduing the demon and the Black Water River God opening the road, had crossed the Black Water River with his disciples and found the high road, pressing ever westward.
Through wind and snow they pressed, beneath the moon and stars they traveled. After walking a good while, the season turned to early spring. The three yangs turned in their course, and all things shone with new life. The three yangs turning—a brightness opened across the sky like a painted scroll; all things shining—fragrant blossoms spread a brocade carpet over the earth.
A few last flakes of snow on the fading plum; A whole river of clouds in the swelling wheat. Ice loosening, mountain springs beginning to flow; All the sprouts emerging, hiding the old burn-marks. This was the season when Tai Hao rides the spring thunder, And Gou Mang, god of trees, takes his turn. Flowers fragrant, the wind warm; Clouds pale, the sunlight new. By the road, the willows open their green eyes; The sweet rain gives life to ten thousand forms of spring.
Master and disciples rode on, admiring the scenery, letting the horse go at an easy pace, when they suddenly heard a great shout—like the sound of tens of thousands of people crying out together. Sanzang's heart clenched with fear. He reined in his horse, unable to go forward, and turned his head in alarm: "Wukong! Where does that thundering sound come from?"
Bajie said: "It sounds like the earth splitting or a mountain collapsing."
The Sha Monk said: "Or like thunder and lightning."
Sanzang said: "It sounds more like men shouting and horses neighing."
The Pilgrim Sun laughed: "You're all guessing wrong. Wait—let old Sun see what it is."
What a Pilgrim! He sprang up and rode the clouds into the sky, opened his eyes and looked. Far off he saw a city. He peered closer: the light was auspicious, with no ominous haze about it.
The Pilgrim mused: "A good-looking place! Why such an ear-splitting noise? There are no banners flashing or weapons gleaming in the city, no cannon-crash—why does it sound like the clamor of men and horses?"
As he debated with himself, he saw that outside the city gate there was a stretch of sandy open ground, and a crowd of monks gathered there, hauling carts. The shouting was them all heaving together, crying "Great Mighty King Bodhisattva!" in unison—that was what had startled the Tang monk.
The Pilgrim gradually lowered his cloud to look. Ha! The carts were loaded with bricks, tiles, timber, and earthen blocks. The slope up the bank was the steepest part, and there was a narrow path over a spine-ridge with two great gates; the road below the gates ran along sheer cliff faces. How could they ever haul those carts up?
Though the weather was warm, the men were dressed in tattered rags, looking utterly wretched.
The Pilgrim wondered: "Maybe they're building a monastery. This land is rich and at peace—they probably can't find hired labor, so the monks are doing the work themselves."
He was still guessing when, from inside the city gate, two young Daoist priests came swaggering out. Just look at them:
Star-crowns on their heads, brocade on their bodies. Star-crowns gleaming bright; Brocade robes trailing rosy clouds. On their feet, cloud-tread shoes; At their waists, spun-silk sashes. Faces like the full moon—clever and handsome; Forms like the guests of the Jasper Heaven—fair and refined.
When the monks saw the Daoists coming, every one of them was seized with terror and redoubled his efforts, hauling frantically at the carts.
The Pilgrim understood at once: "Ha! I suppose these monks are afraid of the Daoists. Otherwise, why would they haul so desperately? I've heard people say that on the Western road there's a place that honors Daoists and oppresses monks—this must be it. I'd go back and tell the master, but the matter isn't clear yet, and I'd only invite his scolding. Surely a clever fellow like me can get to the bottom of it? Let me go down and ask."
Who did he go to ask? The Great Sage brought down his cloud, went to the foot of the city wall, shook his body, and changed into a wandering Daoist priest of the clouds-and-water school. He hung a water-and-fire basket on his left arm, tapped a fish drum, and sang a Daoist ballad. Approaching the gate, he met the two Daoists face-to-face and bowed: "Reverend Masters, this poor priest salutes you."
The Daoists returned the courtesy: "Where does the gentleman come from?"
The Pilgrim said:
"I wander at the edge of the sea, I roam to the end of the sky. Today I come to this place, seeking kindly folk to help me by. I ask you two reverend masters: which street in this city loves the Way? Which alley honors the sage? This poor priest would go beg a meal."
The Daoists laughed: "What a dismal thing to say, sir!"
The Pilgrim said: "What's dismal about it?"
The Daoists said: "You want to go begging for a meal—isn't that dismal?"
The Pilgrim said: "We who have left the world live by begging. If I don't beg for food, where would I get money to buy any?"
The Daoists laughed: "You're from afar and don't know the affairs of our city. In this city, to say nothing of the civil and military officials who love the Way, or the rich folk and elders who honor the sage, or the great and small, men and women, who see us and invite us to receive their offerings—all that's not worth mentioning. The very first and foremost is our sovereign lord the King, who loves the Way and honors the sage."
The Pilgrim said: "This poor priest is young and newly come from afar; I truly don't know. I trouble you two reverend masters to tell me in detail the name of this place and the matter of the King loving the Way and honoring the sage—that would show the spirit of our shared faith."
The Daoists said: "This city is called the Kingdom of Chechi. On the throne in the precious hall, the King is kin to us."
The Pilgrim laughed: "I suppose a Daoist has become the Emperor?"
The Daoist said: "Not so. Twenty years ago, the people suffered a great drought—no rain from Heaven, no grain sprouting from the earth. High and low, from the ruler to the common folk, from the greatest house to the least, every family bathed and burned incense, every household prayed to Heaven for rain. They were at the very point of death when suddenly three deathless immortals descended from the sky and came to save the living."
The Pilgrim asked: "Who were these three immortals?"
The Daoists said: "They are our masters."
The Pilgrim said: "What are your masters' honored names?"
The Daoists said: "Our first master is called the Immortal Tiger Power; the second, the Immortal Deer Power; the third, the Immortal Antelope Power."
The Pilgrim asked: "How much magic do your three honored masters possess?"
The Daoists said: "Our masters can summon wind and call rain at the turn of a hand; turn water into oil, change stone into gold, as easily as turning around. With such powers, they can seize the transformations of Heaven and Earth, alter the subtleties of the stars and constellations. The ruler and ministers all revere them and have made them kin."
The Pilgrim said: "The Emperor is truly blessed. As the saying goes: skill moves the great lords. With such abilities, it's only right that they've been made kin. But I wonder—has this poor priest even the tiniest bit of fate, to meet your honored masters face to face?"
The Daoists laughed: "You want to see our masters? What's hard about that? We two are their closest disciples, and our masters love the Way and honor the sage. The moment they hear the word 'Way,' they come out the great gate to meet you. If we two introduce you, it's as easy as blowing away a speck of dust."
The Pilgrim made a deep bow: "Much obliged for the recommendation. Let us go in at once."
The Daoists said: "Wait just a moment. Have a seat here while we two attend to some business; then we'll go in with you."
The Pilgrim said: "We who have left the world have no ties or bounds, free and easy—what business could you have?"
The Daoist pointed at the monks on the sandy ground: "They're doing our house's work, and we fear they'll shirk. We'll go take a roll-call and come back."
The Pilgrim laughed: "Reverend Masters, you're mistaken! Monks and Daoists are all who have left the world. Why should they do work for us and submit to our roll-call?"
The Daoists said: "You don't know. When the great drought came that year, the monks prayed to Buddha on one side and the Daoists prayed to the Dipper on the other, both living on the court's grain. But those monks were useless—all their empty sutras accomplished nothing. Then our masters came and called the wind and summoned the rain, saving the people from their torment. The court was wroth and declared the monks worthless. The King tore down their temple gates, smashed their Buddha images, confiscated their ordination certificates, and would not let them return home. By imperial decree, they were given to our house as laborers, to be used as menservants. In our house, the one who tends the fire is a monk; the one who sweeps the floor is a monk; the one who props the door shut is a monk. Because there are still dwellings in the rear that haven't been finished, these monks are made to haul bricks and tiles and timber, to build the houses. We fear they'll play and shirk and not haul the carts, so we two were sent to check on them."
When the Pilgrim heard this, he seized the Daoist and wept: "I said I had no fate—truly no fate! I cannot see my honored masters' venerable faces!"
The Daoists said: "Why can't you see them?"
The Pilgrim said: "This poor priest wanders the world, first for his livelihood, and second to seek a kinsman."
The Daoists asked: "What kinsman do you have?"
The Pilgrim said: "I have an uncle who left home in his youth, shaved his head and became a monk. In the famine years, he too went out to beg. He hasn't come home in years. Mindful of my family's debt to him, I've come this way seeking him. I fear he may have been detained in some such place as this, unable to free himself—I don't know. How can I go in with you unless I find him and see his face?"
The Daoists said: "That's easy enough. We two will sit here. Just go to the sandy ground and take a roll for us—count off the five hundred names of the work-crew, that's all. See if your uncle is among them. If he is, we'll let him go, for the sake of our shared faith, and then we'll go into the city with you. How about it?"
The Pilgrim thanked them endlessly, made a long bow, bade them farewell, tapped his fish drum, and went straight to the sandy ground.
Past the two gates and down the spine-ridge path, the monks all knelt and kowtowed: "Grandfather! We haven't been shirking! All five hundred are here, not one missing, all pulling carts!"
The Pilgrim saw this and laughed to himself: "These monks have been beaten so badly by the Daoists that they kneel in terror at the sight of me, a false Daoist. If a real Daoist came, they'd drop dead on the spot." He waved his hand: "Don't kneel! Don't be afraid. I'm not the overseer—I've come to seek a kinsman."
Hearing the word "kinsman," the monks crowded around him, each one craning his neck, coughing and making noise, desperate to be recognized, saying: "Which one of us is his kin, I wonder?"
The Pilgrim looked them over for a while, then burst out laughing.
The monks said: "Grandfather, if you haven't found your kinsman, why are you laughing?"
The Pilgrim said: "Do you know what I'm laughing at? I'm laughing at you monks—you've no sense at all! Your parents bore you, and because your fate was blighted by the Hua Gai star, or because you were inauspicious to your father or mother, or because you were fated to have no siblings, they gave you up to leave the world and become monks. Why don't you honor the Three Jewels, revere the Buddha Dharma, go read the sutras and say the repentances? Instead you work as hired labor for Daoists, to be ordered about like slaves!"
The monks said: "Grandfather, you shame us! You must be from outside—you don't know how things stand here."
The Pilgrim said: "Indeed I'm from afar. I truly don't know what's so terrible here."
The monks said, weeping: "The ruler of this kingdom is biased and unjust. He loves only your sort, and he hates us sons of Buddha."
The Pilgrim said: "Why is that?"
The monks said: "Because three immortals came who could summon the wind and call the rain. They crushed us, beguiled the King, and had our temples torn down, our ordination certificates confiscated. He won't let us return home, nor let us serve in any other capacity—he's given us to the immortals' household as servants. The torment is unbearable! Whenever a wandering Daoist comes through, he's invited to court and given a reward. But if a monk comes, no matter from how near or far, he's seized and made to work for the immortals' household."
The Pilgrim said: "I suppose those Daoists have some special magic that beguiled the King? Summoning wind and rain is just a minor side-door trick—how could it move the King's heart so?"
The monks said: "They can knead cinnabar and refine mercury, sit in meditation and preserve their spirit, turn water to oil, change stone to gold. Now they've raised a temple to the Three Pure Ones, and there, before Heaven and Earth, they read the scriptures and say repentances day and night, praying that the King may live ten thousand years without aging. That's what has bewitched the King's heart."
The Pilgrim said: "I see. Why don't you all just run away?"
The monks said: "Grandfather, we can't escape! The immortals got the King to issue a decree, and our portraits were painted and posted far and wide, all year round. This Kingdom of Chechi is vast—in every prefecture, county, village, and market town, there's a poster of a monk, inscribed in the King's own brush. Any official who catches a monk is promoted three ranks; any commoner who catches one gets fifty taels of silver. So we can't escape. And it's not just monks—even men with thinning hair or shaved heads have a hard time. The fast-runners are many, the spies are everywhere—no matter what, you can't get away. We have no choice but to suffer here."
The Pilgrim said: "In that case, why don't you just die and be done with it?"
The monks said: "Grandfather, some have died. All told, over two thousand monks have been caught and brought here. Unable to bear the torment, the agony, the cold, and the unfamiliar climate, six or seven hundred died; seven or eight hundred took their own lives. Only we five hundred couldn't die."
The Pilgrim said: "Why couldn't you die?"
The monks said: "The rope for hanging snapped; the knife for cutting wouldn't cut; those who threw themselves into the river bobbed up and wouldn't sink; those who took poison remained unharmed."
The Pilgrim said: "You're a lucky lot—Heaven has granted you long life!"
The monks said: "Grandfather! You're one word short—it's long suffering! We eat three meals a day—thin gruel of brown rice. At night we sleep on the sandy ground, exposed to the dew. The moment we close our eyes, a spirit comes to protect us."
The Pilgrim said: "Maybe you were exhausted and seeing ghosts?"
The monks said: "Not ghosts—the Six Dings and Six Jias and the Protectors of the Faith. They come every night to guard us. Whenever anyone wants to die, they protect him and won't let him."
The Pilgrim said: "These spirits have no sense! They should let you die early and rise to Heaven early—what's the point of protecting you?"
The monks said: "They counsel us in our dreams, telling us not to seek death, but to endure and wait for the holy monk of the Great Tang empire in the Eastern Land, a罗汉 [luóhàn] going west to fetch the scriptures. He has a disciple called the Great Sage Equal to Heaven, whose powers are vast, who upholds a loyal and righteous heart, who rights the wrongs of the world, aids the needy and the imperiled, and cares for the orphaned and the widowed. When he comes and shows his magic, he'll destroy the Daoists and restore honor to your Buddhist teaching."
When the Pilgrim heard this, he laughed inwardly: "Never mind old Sun's powers—the spirits have spread my name already!"
He hurried back, tapping his fish drum, bade farewell to the monks, and went straight to the city gate to find the Daoists.
The Daoists met him: "Sir, which one was your kinsman?"
The Pilgrim said: "All five hundred are my kin."
The two Daoists laughed: "How can you have so many kin?"
The Pilgrim said: "One hundred are my neighbors on the left; one hundred, my neighbors on the right; one hundred, my father's kin; one hundred, my mother's kin; one hundred, my friends. If you'll let all five hundred go, I'll go in with you. If not, I'm not going."
The Daoists said: "You must have some brain-fever, talking such nonsense. Those monks were given by the King himself. If we let even one or two go, we'd have to file a sickness report with our master, then file a death certificate—that's how complicated it is. Let them all go? Impossible! Impossible! Never mind that our house would have no servants—even the court would be angry. The King is always sending officers to inspect, or even coming in person to take the roll. How dare we let them go?"
The Pilgrim said: "You won't let them go?"
The Daoists said: "We won't!"
The Pilgrim asked three times, and his temper flared. He drew the iron cudgel from his ear, blew on it in the wind, and it grew to the thickness of a rice bowl. He gave it a flourish and brought it down on the Daoists' faces. Pitiful! The blow smashed their heads open, blood spattering, bodies falling, skin splitting, necks breaking, brains spilling!
The monks on the sand, seeing from afar that he'd killed the two Daoists, abandoned their carts and ran up: "Disaster! Disaster! He's killed the King's kin!"
The Pilgrim said: "Who is the King's kin?"
The monks ringed him round and said: "Their master doesn't bow to the King when he enters the court, nor take leave when he leaves—the court always calls him 'Royal Brother, the Elder先生 [xiānshēng].' How could you come here and make trouble like this? His disciples came out to supervise the work; it had nothing to do with you—how could you beat them to death? The immortals won't say you killed them; they'll say we, the overseers, killed them. What'll become of us? Come into the city with us and answer for the deaths."
The Pilgrim laughed: "Quiet, all of you! I'm no wandering Daoist—I've come to save you."
The monks said: "You've killed someone and gotten us in trouble, adding to our burden—how is that saving us?"
The Pilgrim said: "I am Sun Wukong the Pilgrim, disciple of the holy monk of the Great Tang empire, and I've come specially to save your lives."
The monks said: "No! No! We know what that Grandfather looks like."
The Pilgrim said: "You've never met him—how do you know him?"
The monks said: "In our dreams we often see an old man who calls himself the Golden Star of the Great White. He always instructs us, saying: 'Don't mistake the Sun Pilgrim's appearance.'"
The Pilgrim said: "What did he tell you about me?"
The monks said: "He said of the Great Sage:
Brow jutting, golden eyes flashing bright, Round head, hairy face, no cheeks to speak of. Buck teeth and pointed snout, a wayward temper, Looks stranger than the Thunder Duke. Wields the gold-banded iron cudgel, Once smashed open the gates of Heaven. Now he's turned righteous and guards the monk, Saving the world from every woe."
The Pilgrim heard this—both vexed and pleased. Pleased, that they'd spread his name! Vexed, that the old scoundrel was so free with his mouth, telling his true form to a pack of mortals!
He blurted out: "Gentlemen, you're right—I'm not the Sun Pilgrim. I'm his disciple, come here to practice making trouble for fun. The Sun Pilgrim isn't here—where is he?"
He pointed east with his hand. The monks all turned to look, and he showed his true form. Only then did the monks recognize him. One by one they bowed to the ground: "Grandfather! We are mortal flesh and mortal eyes; we didn't know it was you in disguise. We beg you to avenge us and lift our curse! Come into the city early and crush the evil and restore the true!"
The Pilgrim said: "Follow me." The monks pressed close behind him.
The Great Sage went to the sandy ground, used his magic to haul the carts over the two gates, through the spine-ridge path, hoisted them up, and smashed them to splinters. He flung the bricks, tiles, and timber down the slope, and shouted to the monks: "Scatter! Don't hang around me. Wait till I see the King tomorrow and destroy those Daoists!"
The monks said: "Grandfather! We dare not go far. If the authorities catch us and haul us back, we'll be punished and made to pay again—more trouble."
The Pilgrim said: "In that case, I'll give you a charm of protection." The Great Sage plucked a handful of hairs, chewed them to fragments, and gave a piece to each monk, instructing them: "Tuck it under the nail of your ring finger. Clench your fist and just walk. If no one tries to seize you, fine. If someone does, clench your fist tight and call out 'Great Sage Equal to Heaven,' and I'll come to protect you."
The monks said: "Grandfather, if we go far away and can't see you, and we call but you don't answer—what then?"
The Pilgrim said: "Don't you worry. Even at ten thousand li, you'll be safe."
Some bolder monks clenched their fists and softly called "Great Sage Equal to Heaven!"—and there stood a Thunder Duke before them, iron cudgel in hand. Even a host of a thousand men or ten thousand horses could not come near. When a hundred or more called at once, a hundred or more Great Sages stood guard. The monks kowtowed: "Grandfather! It really works!"
The Pilgrim further instructed: "When you call 'Hush,' they'll return to me." And truly, when they called "Hush!"—there was nothing but a hair under the fingernail. The monks rejoiced at their deliveral and scattered all at once.
The Pilgrim said: "Don't go too far. Listen for news from the city. When you see a proclamation summoning monks, come into the city and return my hairs."
The five hundred monks went east, west, walking, standing—scattered, and of them no more.
Now the Tang monk, waiting by the roadside for the Pilgrim's report and unable to wait any longer, told Zhu Bajie to lead the horse westward. They encountered some monks running along, and as they neared the city they saw the Pilgrim still there with a dozen or so monks who hadn't yet scattered.
Sanzang reined in his horse: "Wukong, you went to investigate a noise—why so long?"
The Pilgrim brought the dozen monks forward, bowed before the Tang monk's horse, and told the whole story. Sanzang was greatly alarmed: "If that's the case, what are we to do?"
The dozen monks said: "Do not worry, my lord. The Great Sage Grandfather Sun is a deity descended from Heaven, with vast powers—he will surely keep you safe. We are monks of Zhiyuan Monastery, built by imperial decree in this city. Because this monastery was built by the first King, the dynastic founder, and still holds his sacred image, it was not torn down—though every other temple in the city, great and small, was. We invite you to hurry into the city and take shelter at our humble temple. By tomorrow morning's court, the Great Sage will surely have a plan."
The Pilgrim said: "You speak sense. Very well—let's go into the city early." The elder dismounted and walked to the city gate. By now the sun was sinking westward.
They crossed the drawbridge and passed through three gates. In the streets, people seeing the monks of Zhiyuan Monastery leading a horse and carrying bundles all made way. Presently they reached the temple gate, where a great golden plaque hung high: "Zhiyuan Monastery, Built by Imperial Decree."
The monks pushed open the gate, passed through the Guardian Hall, and opened the main hall. Sanzang put on his cassock, bowed to the golden Buddha images, and then entered.
The monks called: "Caretaker!" An old monk came out, saw the Pilgrim, and bowed: "Grandfather! You've come?"
The Pilgrim said: "Which grandfather do you take me for, that you bow and call out like that?"
The old monk said: "I know you are Grandfather Sun, the Great Sage Equal to Heaven. We see you in our dreams every night. The Golden Star of the Great White often comes to us in dreams, saying: 'Only when he comes will you keep your lives.' Today at last we see your face, and it's just as in the dream. Grandfather—thank Heaven you've come early! Another day or two, and we'd all be ghosts!"
The Pilgrim laughed: "Up, up—there'll be an answer tomorrow." The monks prepared a vegetarian meal, which master and disciples ate, then swept the abbot's quarters clean, and they bedded down for the night.
At the second watch, the Great Sage Sun, with matters on his mind, could not sleep. He heard the sound of wind and percussion instruments somewhere. He quietly slipped up, dressed, and leapt into the sky to look. Directly to the south, lamps and candles blazed. He lowered his cloud to look closer—and there it was: a Daoist temple of the Three Pure Ones, where the priests were performing a star-warding rite. Just look:
A high hall in a numinous realm, a true hall in a blessed land. The high hall in a numinous realm—towering, grand as the isles of Penglai; The true hall in a blessed land—dimly pure as the Palace of Joyful Transformation. On both sides, Daoists played the reed pipe and the sheng; At the center, the high priest held up his jade tablet. They recited the Repentance to Dispel Disaster And lectured on the Dao De Jing. Several times they scattered dust and transmitted talismans; In turn, all prostrated themselves. Spells were spoken, water was sprinkled, writs were dispatched; Candle flames wavered and rose to the upper realm. They trod the Dipper and spread the constellations; Incense smoke pierced the clear sky. On the altar, fresh offerings were laid; On the table, a lavish feast was spread.
Before the hall door hung a couplet of yellow silk brocade, embroidered with twenty-two large characters:
"May rain fall and winds be fair— we pray the Heavenly Honored One's boundless Dharma; May rivers run clear and seas be peaceful— we beg His Majesty ten thousand years and more."
The Pilgrim saw three old Daoists in ceremonial robes—these must be the Immortals Tiger Power, Deer Power, and Antelope Power. Below them stood seven or eight hundred acolytes, beating drums, striking bells, tending incense, making proclamations, all ranged on either side.
The Pilgrim rejoiced inwardly: "I'd like to go down and mix with them, but a single thread makes no string, a single hand makes no sound. Let me go back and get Bajie and the Sha Monk, and we'll all go have some fun."
He brought down his auspicious cloud and went straight to the abbot's quarters, where Bajie and the Sha Monk were sleeping foot to foot.
The Pilgrim first called Wujing. The Sha Monk woke up: "Brother, you haven't slept yet?"
The Pilgrim said: "Get up—I've got something for us to enjoy."
The Sha Monk said: "In the middle of the night, mouth dry and eyes heavy—what's to enjoy?"
The Pilgrim said: "There's a Three Pure Ones temple in this city. The Daoists are holding a rite, and the Three Pure Ones Hall is loaded with offerings: steamed buns the size of a bowl, baked cakes fifty or sixty catties each, platters of rice, fruits fresh and fine. Come and enjoy them with me!"
Zhu Bajie, half asleep, heard "good things to eat" and woke at once: "Brother, you're not taking me along?"
The Pilgrim said: "Brothers, if you want to eat, don't shout and holler and wake the master. Follow me." They threw on their clothes, slipped quietly out the door, mounted the clouds with the Pilgrim, and leapt into the sky.
The idiot saw the lamplight and wanted to dive right in. The Pilgrim held him back: "Not so fast—wait till they disperse, then we go down."
Bajie said: "They're just getting into it—why would they disperse?"
The Pilgrim said: "Let me work a little magic, and they'll scatter."
The Great Sage pinched the spell, muttered the incantation, sucked in a breath from the direction of the southeast, and blew it out—a gale of wind that swept straight into the Three Pure Ones Hall, knocking over the flower vases, candle stands, and the merit plaques on the walls. The lamps flickered out.
The Daoists were terrified. The Immortal Tiger Power said: "Disciples, disperse! This divine wind has blown out the lamps, candles, and incense flowers. Each of you go to bed. Tomorrow morning, rise early and recite a few extra scrolls of scripture to make up the count."
The Daoists all withdrew.
Then the Pilgrim led Bajie and the Sha Monk down from the clouds and into the Three Pure Ones Hall. The idiot, not caring whether things were raw or cooked, grabbed a baked cake and bit into it. The Pilgrim whipped out his cudgel and raised it to strike. Bajie snatched back his hand and dodged: "I haven't even tasted it yet, and you're already hitting!"
The Pilgrim said: "Don't be so coarse. Let's take our seats properly and then enjoy."
Bajie said: "Shameless! Stealing food and still wanting manners! If you'd been invited, what then?"
The Pilgrim said: "Who's the deity sitting up there?"
Bajie laughed: "Can't you even recognize the Three Pure Ones? What deity did you think?"
The Pilgrim said: "Which Three Pure Ones?"
Bajie said: "In the middle is the Celestial Venerable of Primordial Beginning; on the left, the Lord of Spiritual Treasure; on the right, Lord Lao Zi."
The Pilgrim said: "We'd better change into their likenesses, or we won't eat in peace."
The idiot, impatient and ravenous for the fragrant offerings, clambered onto the altar and with one thrust of his snout knocked Lord Lao Zi down: "Old fellow, you've sat long enough—let old Pig take a turn."
Bajie turned into Lord Lao Zi; the Pilgrim turned into the Celestial Venerable of Primordial Beginning; the Sha Monk turned into the Lord of Spiritual Treasure. The original images were all pushed to the floor.
As soon as they were seated, Bajie grabbed a big steamed bun and started eating. The Pilgrim said: "Not so fast!"
Bajie said: "Brother, I've changed into this form—what else am I waiting for?"
The Pilgrim said: "Brother, eating is a small thing, but leaking Heaven's secrets is a big one. Those sacred images are all lying on the floor. If some early-rising Daoist comes to ring the bell or sweep the floor and trips over one, won't the cat be out of the bag? Hide them somewhere."
Bajie said: "I don't know this place—I can't find my way. Where do I hide them?"
The Pilgrim said: "When I came in, there was a small door on the right. A foul stench came from inside—I suppose it's a place of, shall we say, the cycling of the five grains. Take them there."
The idiot, who was nothing if not strong, jumped down, hoisted the three sacred images onto his shoulders, and carried them out.
When he got there, he kicked the door open and saw it was a great privy. He laughed: "That Bimawen [Keeper of the Heavenly Horses]—what a mouth on him! He even gave the crapper a Daoist name: 'The Place of the Cycling of the Five Grains'!"
[Translator's note: "Bimawen" was the Pilgrim's old title in Heaven, which Bajie mockingly uses here.]
The idiot, still carrying them on his shoulders and not yet dropping them, muttered a prayer: "Three Pure Ones, Three Pure Ones, hear me well: I've come from far, an expert at crushing demons. I'd have enjoyed your offerings, but found no peace. Lend me your seats for a little while. You've sat long enough—take a turn in the privy. All your life you've enjoyed boundless blessings as a pure and clean Daoist; today you must sample something foul, and be a Heavenly Venerable of stinks!"
His prayer done, he gave a toss—and splashed up half an apron's worth of foul water. He climbed back to the hall.
The Pilgrim said: "Did you hide them well?"
Bajie said: "Hid them well enough. But I splashed up some water and dirtied my clothes—there's a bit of a stink. Don't be sickened."
The Pilgrim laughed: "Never mind. Come and enjoy. But I wonder if you'll be able to leave with a clean body." The idiot was still wearing the form of Lord Lao Zi.
The three of them sat down and feasted to their hearts' content. First the big steamed buns, then the platters, the side dishes, the pastries, the oven-fresh cakes, the fried fritters, the steamed buns—they ate without regard for hot or cold, stuffing themselves freely. The Pilgrim Sun, who didn't eat much cooked food, only had a few fruits to keep the other two company.
That meal was like a shooting star chasing the moon, a wind rolling away the scattered clouds—they ate everything bare. When there was nothing left, they still didn't leave, but lingered, chatting and joking to help the food settle.
Well! What should happen but this: in the east corridor, a young Daoist who had just fallen asleep suddenly sat up: "I left my hand-bell in the hall. If I lose it, my master will scold me tomorrow." He said to his bunkmate: "You sleep—I'll go find it." In his hurry he didn't put on his underclothes, but just threw on a robe and went straight to the main hall to search for the bell.
He fumbled here and there, found the bell, and was about to turn back when he heard the sound of breathing. The Daoist was terrified. He stumbled toward the door to flee, but somehow he stepped on a lychee pit, slipped, and fell with a crash—smashing the bell to pieces.
Zhu Bajie couldn't hold back a hearty laugh. The little Daoist's three souls fled and his seven spirits scattered. Stumbling and falling at every step, he crashed back to the abbot's quarters behind the hall, beat on the door, and cried: "Master Grandfather! Disaster! Disaster!"
The three old Daoists hadn't yet gone to sleep. They opened the door: "What disaster?"
He stammered, trembling: "I lost my hand-bell and went to the hall to find it. I heard someone laughing out loud—I was scared half to death!"
The old Daoists at once called: "Bring lights! Let's see what evil thing is there!" The command went out, startling the Daoists in both corridors, great and small, who all scrambled up, lit lamps and torches, and went to the main hall to see.
What happened next—listen to the explanation in the next chapter.