The story continues: the faithful of the Village of Chen, with pigs and sheep and sweet sacrificial wine, amid a great din of drums and shouting, carried the Pilgrim and Bajie straight to the Temple of Inspiration and set them out in order, placing the boy and girl at the head. The Pilgrim looked around and saw on the offering table incense, flowers, and candles, and square in the center a gilded memorial tablet inscribed "The Spirit of the Great King Inspiration"—and no other divine image at all.
When the faithful had arranged everything, they kowtowed together toward the front: "Lord Great King! In this year, this month, this day, and this hour, we, the faithful of the Village of Chen, with Chen Cheng as master of the sacrifice—our years unequal, but strictly following the annual custom—offer up a boy, Chen Guanbao, and a girl, Chen Yichengjin, with pigs, sheep, and sacrificial wine, all as due. We present them for the Great King's enjoyment, and pray him to bless us with mild winds and timely rains and an abundant harvest of the five grains."
When the prayer was done, they burned the paper horses and returned each to his own house.
Seeing the people gone, Bajie said to the Pilgrim: "Let's go home."
"And where is your home?" asked the Pilgrim.
"To old Chen's house, to sleep," said Bajie.
"There you go talking rubbish again, blockhead," said the Pilgrim. "Since we promised them, we must finish this vow of theirs properly."
"You're the blockhead, and you call me one! We were only fooling them for fun—how did it turn into a real sacrifice, in earnest!"
"No nonsense. If you'd help a man, help him to the end. We must wait for the Great King to come and eat, and only then is it finished from first to last. Otherwise he'll send down disasters and harm again, and that would spoil everything."
Even as they spoke, they heard the wind whistling.
"It's bad!" cried Bajie. "That whistling wind means that thing has come!"
"Quiet," said the Pilgrim. "Let me answer."
In a moment there arrived outside the temple gate a demon-monster. And see what he looked like:
Golden armor, golden helmet, gleaming new, A jeweled belt round his waist wound with red clouds. His eyes like evening stars come out, shining bright, His teeth like ranged saw-blades, set row on row. Beneath his feet, mist and haze drift swirling, About his body, fog and vapor steaming warm. Where he walks, chill wind after chill wind blows cold; Where he stands, layer upon layer of baleful air. Just like a curtain-raising captain escorting the emperor's carriage, Or a guardian door-god standing watch at a temple gate.
The monster blocked the temple door and asked: "Which household offers the sacrifice this year?"
The Pilgrim answered with a smiling drawl: "Thanks for asking. The manor-heads are the houses of Chen Cheng and Chen Qing."
Hearing the answer, the monster thought, suspicious: "This boy has a bold nerve and a ready tongue. The ones brought in other years, when I called, made no answer; call again, and their souls left them with fright; reach out and grab, and they were dead men. How is it that today this boy can bandy words so well?" The monster dared not seize him, and asked again: "And what are the boy's and girl's names?"
The Pilgrim laughed: "The boy is Chen Guanbao, the girl Yichengjin."
"This sacrifice is last year's old rule," said the monster. "Now that you are offered up to me, I mean to eat you."
"We dare not resist," said the Pilgrim. "Please help yourself at your ease."
Hearing this, the monster dared not strike either. Blocking the door, he shouted: "Don't answer back! Other years I always ate the boy first; this year I'll eat the girl first!"
The monster gave him no chance to say more: he opened his claws and grabbed for Bajie. The blockhead sprang down with a thump, showed his true form, whipped out his nail-rake, and struck at him with both hands. The monster snatched back his claws and fled out the front—there was a ringing clang!
"Cracked his armor!" cried Bajie.
The Pilgrim too showed his true form and went to look: there on the ground were two fish scales, each the size of an ice-plate. He shouted "After him!" and the two leapt into the air.
The monster, having come to a feast, had brought no weapon. Empty-handed in the clouds, he demanded: "What monks are you, from what quarter, coming here to bully folk, wrecking my incense offerings and ruining my good name?"
"You wretched thing, so you don't know," said the Pilgrim. "We are the disciples of the holy monk Sanzang of the great Tang of the Eastern Land, sent by imperial mandate to fetch scriptures in the Western Heaven. Last night we lodged at the Chen house and heard of an evil demon falsely styling himself 'Inspiration,' demanding a boy and girl for sacrifice year after year. Out of mercy, to save living souls, we have come to catch you, you wretch! Tell the truth, and quickly! Two children a year—you've played king here how many years, and eaten how many boys and girls? Reckon them up to me one by one, and I'll spare you the death penalty!"
At these words the monster turned to flee, and Bajie gave him another blow of the rake—but missed him. The monster turned into a whirlwind and plunged into the Heaven-Reaching River.
"No need to chase him," said the Pilgrim. "This monster must be some creature of the river. Tomorrow we'll devise a way to catch him and get my master across."
Bajie agreed and went straight back to the temple, where he carried the pigs and sheep and sacrificial wine, tables and all, back to the Chen house. By this time the Tang elder and the Sha Monk, together with the Chen brothers, were waiting in the hall for news, when suddenly the two of them came in and dumped the pigs and sheep and offerings in the courtyard.
Sanzang came out to meet them: "Wukong, how went the sacrifice?"
The Pilgrim told the whole story—the naming of names, the chasing of the monster, his plunging into the river. The two old men were overjoyed, and at once had the side rooms swept and beds made ready, and invited master and disciples to sleep—of this no more.
Now the monster escaped with his life and returned to the water, where he sat in his palace, silent and glum. His household, great and small, all asked: "Great King, every year when you enjoy your sacrifice you come home delighted. Why so troubled today?"
"Other years, when the feast was done, I brought back the leavings for you all to enjoy," said the monster. "This year I never got so much as a bite. My luck was low—I ran afoul of a nemesis and nearly lost my life."
"Great King, who was it?" asked the water folk.
"A disciple of a holy monk from the great Tang of the Eastern Land, going to the Western Heaven to worship the Buddha and seek scriptures," said the monster. "He changed himself into the boy and girl and sat there in the temple. He made me show my true form, and I barely escaped with my life. I have long heard it said: the Tang Sanzang is a good man of ten lives of cultivation, and whoever eats a piece of his flesh extends his years and gains long life. Who could have foreseen he'd have disciples like that under his hand? He ruined my name and wrecked my incense offerings. I have a mind to catch the Tang monk—but I fear it may not be managed."
Then from among the water folk there stepped up a variegated mandarin-fish crone, who bobbed and bowed to the monster, smiling: "Great King, what's so hard about catching the Tang monk? Only—once he's caught, will you reward me with a little wine and meat?"
"If you have a plan," said the monster, "we'll join our strength together. Catch the Tang monk, and I'll swear you in as my sister—we'll sit at one table and share him."
The fish crone bowed her thanks and said: "I have long known the Great King's powers of calling wind and summoning rain, your might to churn seas and overturn rivers. But—can you make it snow?"
"I can make it snow," said the monster.
"And since you can snow—can you freeze it cold and make ice?"
"Still better!" said the monster.
The fish crone clapped her hands and laughed: "Then it is the easiest thing in the world! The easiest!"
"Tell me this easy plan of yours, then," said the monster.
"Tonight will bring the third watch," said the crone. "Great King, don't hesitate—work your magic early: raise a cold wind and send down a great snow, and freeze the Heaven-Reaching River through and through. Then let those of us who are good at changing take human shape and stand at the crossings, packs on backs and umbrellas in hands, shouldering loads and pushing carts, walking back and forth on the ice without stop. The Tang monk's heart is hot upon fetching scriptures; when he sees people walking like that, he'll certainly cross on the ice. Your Majesty sits quiet in mid-river, and where his footsteps sound, split the freezing ice asunder—and master and disciples alike will tumble into the water. One drumbeat, and he's yours!"
At these words the monster's heart brimmed with delight: "Excellent! Excellent!" Out he went from the water palace, up into the long sky, raising wind and making snow, freezing cold and congealing ice—of this no more.
Now the Tang elder and his four disciples were resting at the Chen house. Toward dawn, master and disciples lay under cold quilts on cold pillows. Bajie, chattering and shivering, could not sleep, and called: "Brother, it's cold!"
"You blockhead," said the Pilgrim, "you've no gumption at all! A man who has left the world fears neither heat nor cold—why shiver?"
"Disciples, it is cold indeed," said Sanzang. "Look:
Even quilts upon quilts hold no warmth; Hands tucked in sleeves like clutching ice. Now the withered leaves droop with frosty hearts, And hoarfrost bells hang on the gray pines. The ground cracks with the bitter cold; The pools lie flat, their waters frozen stiff. In the fishing boat, no old angler seen; At the mountain temple, where would one meet a monk? The woodcutter grieves his firewood's scarce; The young lord rejoices, charcoal's on the rise. The marching man's beard turns to iron wire; The poet's brush is stiff as water-chestnut. A sheepskin coat is yet too thin; A sable robe still seems too light. The old monk sits frozen on his rush mat; In papered beds the traveler's startled soul. Though quilt on quilt and mattress upon mattress, The whole frame shivers like a trembling bell."
Master and disciples, unable to sleep, got up and dressed, and opened the door to look—and oh! Outside, all was a white blur: it was snowing!
"No wonder you're cold," said the Pilgrim. "A snow like this!"
The four of them watched together. What snow! And this is what they saw:
Dark clouds massed dense, dreary fogs steeped deep. Dark clouds massed dense—the north wind shrilled and howled through the sky; Dreary fogs steeped deep—great snowflakes flurried down to cover the earth. Truly flowers of six petals, every flake flying jade; A thousand groves of trees, every trunk bearing jade. In a moment, drifts of powder; in an instant, banks of salt. The white parakeet loses its whiteness; The snow-white crane's plumes are one with it all. It swells the thousand rivers of Wu and Chu in one night, And beats down the few plum trees of the southeast.
It was as if three million jade dragons had been beaten back in battle— Truly like broken scales and shattered armor filling the sky.
Where now to find Dongguo's shoes, Yuan'an in his snow-buried sleep, Sunkang reading by the snow's reflected light? No more to be seen Wang Ziyou's boat, Wang Gong's sash, Su Wu gnawing his felt. Only a few village cottages like walls of silver, and ten thousand li of rivers and hills like balls of jade. What snow!
Willow catkins mantle the bridge, Pear blossoms roof the cottages. Willow catkins mantle the bridge—by the bridge, the old fisherman hangs up his straw cape; Pear blossoms roof the cottages—under the eaves, the country elder roasts his gnarled roots. The traveler finds it hard to buy his wine; The gray-headed serving-man trudges to seek his plum branch. Sprinkling, drifting, it snips out butterfly wings; Floating, swaying, it cuts out garments of goose-down. Rounded and rolling, rolling and rounded, it follows the wind's will; Fold on fold and layer on layer, the roads are lost. Gust after gust of cold pierces the little blinds; Whistling, the freezing air seeps through the curtained bed. The lucky omen of a rich year descends from heaven— Worth celebrating, a happy thing for the world of men.
That snow came swirling and scattering down, truly like cut jade and flying floss. Master and disciples gazed and sighed over it a long while. Then the old man of the Chen house sent two servants to sweep the paths, and two more to bring out hot water for washing. Presently they brought steaming tea and fresh milk-cakes, and carried out braziers of coals, all brought to the side rooms, where master and disciples sat talking.
The elder asked: "Old patron, does your honored region divide the seasons into spring, summer, autumn, and winter?"
Old Chen laughed: "Though this is an out-of-the-way corner, and our customs and people differ from the superior kingdom's, yet all our grains and livestock live under the same heaven and the same sun—how could there be no dividing of the four seasons?"
"Since the four seasons are divided, how can there be such snow and cold as this?"
"Though it is still the seventh month," said Old Chen, "yesterday we passed White Dew—it is, so to speak, the eighth month already. Hereabouts, every year, frost and snow come with the eighth month."
"How different from my Eastern Land! There we have them only at the start of winter."
As they were speaking, the servants came to set the tables and invite them to porridge. After the porridge, the snow fell harder than in the morning, and in a little while it lay two feet deep on the level ground.
Sanzang fretted and shed tears. Old Chen said: "Your lordship, set your heart at ease—don't be troubled by the depth of the snow. My humble house has a good few dan of grain; we could keep your lordships fed half a lifetime."
"Old patron, you don't know this poor monk's hardship. Years ago, favored with the sage grace of an imperial mandate, I was escorted out the passes with full imperial ceremony; the Tang king himself held the cup at the farewell feast and asked when I would return. This poor monk knew nothing then of the perils of mountains and rivers, and answered lightly: only three years, and I would fetch the scriptures and come home. Since we parted, seven or eight years have passed, and still I have not seen the Buddha's face. I fear to break the imperial time limit; I fear, too, the fierceness of demons and monsters—hence my anxiety. Today, by happy fate, we lodge in your deep mansion. Last night my foolish disciples rendered a small kindness in repayment, and I truly hoped only to get a boat and cross the river. Unlooked-for, Heaven has sent down this great snow; the roads are lost in whiteness—who knows when I shall ever succeed and return to my native land?"
"Your lordship, rest easy," said Old Chen. "You've come through the many days—what are a few more? Wait till the sky clears and the ice melts; this old fool will empty my whole estate if I must, but I shall surely see your lordship across the river."
Then a servant came to invite them to the morning meal. They ate in the hall, and scarcely had they talked a while before the noon meal followed it in.
Sanzang, seeing the lavish plenty of the dishes, was uneasy again and again: "Since you honor us by keeping us, plain household fare would be quite enough."
"Your lordship," said Old Chen, "for the grace of your taking our children's place at the sacrifice and saving their lives, though we set a banquet every day, we could hardly thank and repay you enough."
After this the great snow stopped, and folk began to walk abroad. Seeing Sanzang out of spirits, Old Chen had the garden swept, fires built in great braziers, and invited them to amuse themselves and dispel their cares in the snow-chamber. Bajie laughed: "That old fellow has no sense at all! Gardens are for the second and third months of spring—with snow like this and cold like this, what is there to see?"
"You know nothing, blockhead!" said the Pilgrim. "A snow scene is naturally quiet and lovely. First, for the viewing; second, to ease Master's heart."
"Exactly, exactly," said Old Chen. So they were invited into the garden, and this is what they saw:
The season at autumn's height, the scenery like deep winter. The gray pines knotted with jade buds, The fading willows hung with silver flowers. Below the steps, jade moss heaped with powder-dust; Before the windows, emerald bamboo puts forth jasper shoots. On the artful rocks of the rockery, In the fish-keeping pool— On the artful rocks, sharp peaks ranked like jade bamboo-shoots; In the fish-keeping pool, living water clear, a plate of ice. Along the bank, the cotton roses' delicate hues grown pale; By the cliff, the hibiscus' tender branches drooping. The autumn begonias utterly bowed down; The winter plum trees just putting out new shoots. The Peony Pavilion, the Pomegranate Pavilion, the Cassia Pavilion— Every pavilion heaped with goose-feather snow; The lounging place, the guest place, the musing place— Everywhere spread with butterfly wings. Two hedges of yellow chrysanthemums, gauze of jade and gold; A few trees of red maples, red interlaced with white. Countless idle courts, the cold can never reach; Come look into the snow-chamber, cold as ice itself. Within, a bronze fire-basin on beast-mask legs, elephant feet below, The charcoal freshly lit, blazing warm; Above and below, folding chairs lacquered and covered with tiger skins, Soft and warm, paper windows fitted everywhere. On the four walls hang several scrolls of old paintings by famous masters: The Seven Sages Crossing the Pass, Lone Fishing on the Cold River, Peaks on peaks and ranges on ranges rolling with snow; Su Wu gnawing his felt, plucking plum to meet the envoy, Groves of jasper and trees of jade, all writing a scene of cold. Tell it never ending—house by the water, fish cheap to buy; Snow-choked mountain paths, and wine so hard to purchase. Truly a place where one may rest one's knees content— Why go seeking, pray, the isle of Penglai?
All the company gazed and enjoyed themselves a long while, then sat down in the snow-chamber and talked with the neighboring elders about the quest for scriptures, and hot tea was brought and drunk. Old Chen asked: "Will your lordships take a little wine?"
"This poor monk drinks none," said Sanzang, "but my disciples may take a few cups of unfermented wine."
Old Chen was delighted and ordered at once: "Bring fruits and dainties, warm the wine well, and drive the cold from your lordships." The servants carried the tables round the brazier, and they drank a few cups each with the two elder neighbors, then cleared the vessels away.
Unnoticed, the sky drew toward evening, and they were invited again into the hall for the evening meal. Then they heard the people walking in the streets all saying: "What cold weather! The Heaven-Reaching River has frozen solid!"
"Frozen over!" said Sanzang. "Wukong, what are we to do?"
"Sudden cold, sudden freeze," said Old Chen. "It must be frozen only at the shallow water near the bank."
"They've frozen the whole eight hundred li smooth as a mirror," said the passersby, "and people are walking on it at the crossings!"
Hearing that people were walking, Sanzang wanted to go at once and look.
"Your lordship, no hurry," said Old Chen. "It is late today—tomorrow we shall go look."
So they took leave of the elder neighbors, finished the evening meal, and retired again to the side rooms.
When day broke the next morning, Bajie got up and said: "Brother, it was colder still last night—the river must be frozen solid."
Sanzang stood facing the door and bowed to Heaven, praying: "All you great guardian gods of the faith! Your disciple has come ever westward, worshipping the Buddha with a devout heart, enduring the bitter passage of mountains and rivers without one word of complaint. Now that I have come to this place, I am moved that Imperial Heaven has aided me and frozen the river's waters. Your disciple thanks you with empty stomach for the moment; when I have fetched the scriptures and returned, I shall memorialize the Tang emperor and repay you with all devotion." When the bows were done, he told Wujing to lead the horse and cross the river upon the ice.
"No hurry," said Old Chen again. "Wait a few days till the snow melts and the ice breaks; this old fool will provide a boat to carry you over."
"Going at once is no answer, and staying on is no answer either," said the Sha Monk. "Words are no proof—what the ear hears is not as good as what the eye sees. Let me lead the horse, and pray let Master go himself and look."
"Well said," said Old Chen. "Little ones! Quickly fetch our six horses! But do not lead the lord Tang monk's horse." Six servants followed, and the whole party went straight to the riverside to look. And truly:
Snow heaped up like mountains towering; Clouds gathered off, day breaking fair. Cold congealed the thousand peaks of the Chu frontier, gaunt and thin; Ice bound the rivers and lakes, one sheet level and flat. The north wind biting, the slick freeze ridged and sharp. Pool fish nestle close among the dense weeds; Wild birds cling to withered branches. Beyond the passes, marching men all lose their fingers; At the river head, boatmen chatter teeth in haphazard fear. Snake bellies split, birds' feet snap— Truly a mountain of ice a thousand hundred feet. Ten thousand ravines afloat with silver; One whole river steeped in jade. The East, they say, truly brings forth frozen silkworms; The North, forsooth, has burrows of ice-rats. Wang Xiang lay upon the ice; Guangwu crossed the frozen ford— Overnight the bridges and streams were solid to the bottom. The curving pools freeze in ridged layers; The deep abysses frozen fold on fold. The broad waters of the Heaven-Reaching River, waveless quite, Bright, pure ice spread over all, a road of land.
Sanzang and the party reached the riverside, reined in the horses, and looked—and truly there were people walking at the crossings.
"Patron," asked Sanzang, "where are those people going, out on the ice?"
"Across the river lies the Western Land of Women," said Old Chen. "All that company are traders. What costs a hundred cash on this side is worth ten thousand on that; what costs a hundred on that side is worth ten thousand here. The profit is heavy and the capital light, so folk go regardless of life and death. Other years, five or seven to a boat, or a dozen-odd to a boat, they crossed the waters. Now that the river is frozen, they risk their lives on foot."
"In this world nothing weighs so much as profit and fame," said Sanzang. "Those men, for profit's sake, forget life and death. Your disciple, fulfilling his mandate in perfect loyalty, goes only for fame's sake—how little we differ, they and I! Wukong, quick—back to the patron's house, pack the baggage, saddle the horses! Across this layered ice, let us make all speed for the West!"
The Pilgrim answered with a smiling hum.
"Master," said the Sha Monk, "as the saying goes: a thousand days, a thousand sheng of rice eaten. We've already imposed on the Chen household—let's stay a few days more, wait for clear skies and thawing ice, and cross by boat. Haste may breed error."
"Wujing, what a foolish notion!" said Sanzang. "Were this the first or second month, each day warmer than the last, we could wait for the thaw. But this is the eighth month, each day colder than the last—how can you hope for the ice to break? Would that not delay our journey another half year?"
Bajie jumped down from his horse: "Never mind all this talk—let old Pig try how thick it is."
"Blockhead," said the Pilgrim, "the other night you tested water with a thrown stone—but now the river's frozen deep and solid; how will you test it?"
"You don't know, brother. Let me raise my rake and strike it a blow. If the strike breaks through, the ice is thin and we'd best not go; if the strike doesn't dent it, the ice is thick—why shouldn't we go?"
"Right—well said," said Sanzang.
The blockhead tucked up his robe, strode to the riverside, raised the rake in both hands, and struck with all his might. There was a thud: nine white marks, and his hands stung with the shock. The blockhead laughed: "We can go! We can go! It's frozen solid to the very bottom."
Hearing this, Sanzang was overjoyed, and they all went back together to the Chen house, where he gave the word to pack and be off. The two old men could not hold them by any pleading, and could only prepare some dried provisions, parched grain, and baked cakes and buns to send them off with.
The whole household kowtowed and bowed, and then brought out a platter of scattered gold and silver, and knelt before them: "Deep is the grace of your lordships, who gave our children back their lives. Let this trifling gift show our respect—one meal for your journey."
Sanzang waved his hands and shook his head, and would take nothing: "This poor monk has left the world—what use have I for treasure? I dare not even carry it on the road. Begging food from day to day is my proper business; the dried provisions are quite enough."
The two old men begged again and again, and at last the Pilgrim pinched off with a fingernail one small piece, four or five qian in weight, and handed it to the Tang monk: "Master, take it as pocket alms—don't let the two old men's kindness go for nothing." Then they faced each other, took leave, and went straight down to the ice on the river. The horse's hooves slipped once, and all but threw Sanzang from the saddle.
"Master, it's hard going," said the Sha Monk.
"Hold on!" said Bajie. "Ask old Master Chen for a bundle of straw for my use."
"What do you want straw for?" asked the Pilgrim.
"What do you know? Wrap the straw round the horses' hooves and they won't slip—saves Master taking a fall."
Old Chen, hearing this from the bank, hurriedly had a bundle of straw fetched from a house, and asked the Tang monk to come ashore and dismount. Bajie wrapped the horses' hooves, and then they set out upon the ice.
They left Old Chen and the riverside behind and had gone some three or four li when Bajie handed the nine-ringed staff to the Tang monk: "Master, carry this crosswise on your horse."
"The blockhead's up to his tricks!" said the Pilgrim. "The staff was yours to carry—why hand it to Master?"
"You've never walked on ice—you don't understand. Wherever there's a freeze, there are ice-holes. Suppose you tread on an ice-hole and slide in: without something carried crosswise, down you gulp into the water, and it's like a great cauldron-lid clapped over you—how would you ever claw your way out? It must be braced crosswise like this—only then it will do."
The Pilgrim snickered to himself: "This blockhead turns out to be an old hand at walking ice!"
Indeed, they all did as he said. The elder carried the ringed staff crosswise, the Pilgrim his iron cudgel, the Sha Monk his demon-quelling precious staff; Bajie shouldered the luggage, the rake across his waist; and master and disciples advanced with easy hearts.
They walked straight on till evening, ate some dried provisions, and dared not linger long. By the light of stars and moon they watched the ice shine glittering and white, and pressed on without pause—truly the horses never checked their hooves, master and disciples never closed their eyes, and they walked all night. At daybreak they ate a little more dried food and pressed on westward again.
As they were walking, there came from beneath the ice a great rending crash that all but frightened the white horse off its feet.
"Disciples! What was that crash?" cried Sanzang in alarm.
"This river's frozen remarkably solid," said Bajie. "That's the ground-ice groaning. Maybe it's frozen clear through to the bottom, middle and all."
Sanzang heard, alarmed and glad at once, and spurred his horse forward, hurrying on their way.
Now that demon-monster, since returning to his water palace, had led his fiends beneath the ice and waited a long while. When he heard the horses' hooves above, he worked a magic power below—and with a shivering crack the frozen river burst asunder. The Great Sage Sun leapt into the air in a flurry, but the white horse had already fallen into the water, and the three others plunged in after.
The demon seized Sanzang and led his fiendish host straight back to the water palace, calling loudly: "Where is Sister Fish?"
The old mandarin-fish crone met him at the door with a bow: "Great King, I dare not, I dare not!"
"Sister, why say such things!" said the monster. "A word once spoken—even four horses cannot overtake it. I promised to follow your plan, and when the Tang monk was caught, to swear you in as my sister. Today your clever plan has succeeded, the Tang monk is caught—shall I eat my own words?" He ordered: "Little ones! Bring the table, grind the knives sharp! Cut open this monk's belly, cut out his heart, strip his hide and carve his flesh. Strike up the instruments on one side, and I'll share him at table with my sister—we shall extend our years and live forever!"
"Great King, don't eat him yet," said the fish crone. "I fear his disciples will come seeking and raise a tumult. Let us wait patiently a couple of days; when those fellows stop coming to look, then cut him open. Let Your Majesty sit in the place of honor, all your household ranged around, with flutes and strings, song and dance—serve him up to Your Majesty, and enjoy him at your leisure. Wouldn't that be better?"
The monster heeded her, hid the Tang monk behind the palace, and shut him in a stone coffer six feet long—of this no more.
Now Bajie and the Sha Monk fished the luggage out of the water, loaded it on the white horse, parted the waters—surging waves and rolling billows—and bore up out of the flood. The Pilgrim, watching from mid-air, saw them and called: "Where is Master?"
"Master's surname is Chen, and his name is 'Sank-to-the-Bottom,'" said Bajie. "There's nowhere to look for him now—let's get ashore and plan afresh."
[Translator's note: a pun—Chen is the household's surname, and "Chen daodi" means "Chen all the way to the bottom" of the river.]
Now Bajie was in truth the Marshal of the Heavenly Reeds come down to the world, who in his day had commanded the host of eighty thousand water soldiers of the River of Heaven; the Sha Monk was born of the Flowing Sands River; and the white horse was a grandson of the dragon of the Western Sea—hence they knew the ways of the water.
The Great Sage guided them from the air, and in a moment they turned back to the eastern bank, dried and brushed down the horses, wrung out and dried their clothes. The Great Sage brought his cloud down, and together they came to the Village of Chen.
Someone had already reported to the two old men: "Of the four lords fetching scriptures, only three are come."
The brothers hurried out to greet them, and indeed their clothes were still wet. "Your lordships," they said, "we begged you so bitterly to stay, and you would not—you would have it this way and no other. But where is Lord Sanzang?"
"He's not called Sanzang anymore," said Bajie. "He's changed his name to Chen Through-to-the-Bottom."
The two old men shed tears: "Pitiful! Pitiful! I said we should wait for the snow to melt and send you by boat—but you would not be persuaded, and it has cost him his life!"
"Old man, don't grieve for the ancients," said the Pilgrim. "My master, trust me, is one whom death can't claim. Old Sun knows: it must be that Great King Inspiration playing his magic tricks and spiriting him away. Set your hearts at ease—starch and press our clothes, dry our travel permit in the sun, fetch fodder and feed the white horse, and let my brothers and me find that rascal and rescue our master. We'll mow the grass and dig out the roots for good, and rid your whole village of this menace, so that you may live in peace forever after."
Old Chen heard, and his heart filled with gladness, and he at once ordered a vegetarian meal prepared. The three brothers ate their fill, left the horses and luggage in the Chens' keeping, each took up his weapon, and they went straight to the roadside to seek their master and seize the monster. Truly:
He trod the layered ice in error and wounded his true nature— Once the great elixir leaks away, how shall it be made whole?
But how they managed to rescue the Tang monk—listen to the explanation in the next chapter.