The poem says:
When the Numinous Terrace holds no thing, it is called pure; In utter stillness, not one thought is born. Lock up the ape and horse—let them not run loose; Guard well your spirit—never let it tower. Cast out the six thieves, awaken to the Three Vehicles, And when the myriad ties are done away, all is clear of itself. Lust and evil extinguished forever, you transcend the true realm, And seated at ease, enjoy the city of Western bliss.
The story goes that Tang Sanzang, biting on nails and chewing iron, had by desperate resolve preserved a body unspoiled, and was grateful to the Pilgrim and the others for beating the Scorpion Demon to death and rescuing him from the Pipa Cave. The road was uneventful for a while, and soon it was the season of Vermilion Brightness—summer. Just look at what he saw:
The warm wind wafted the scent of wild orchids from time to time; Fresh from bathing rains, the new bamboo was cool. Mugwort leaves covered the hills, with no one to pick them; Sweet-flag flowers filled the ravines, vying in fragrance. The pomegranates' flaunting blooms delighted the roving bees; By the willow-shaded streams the orioles went wild. On a long road, who could wrap rice dumplings in leaves? The dragon boats should mourn over the Miluo River.
Master and disciples were taking in the scenery of the Double Fifth festival, idling through the midyear season, when suddenly they saw a high mountain blocking the way.
The elder reined in his horse, turned his head, and called: "Wukong, there is a mountain ahead. I fear more demons will spring up—we must be on our guard."
The Pilgrim and the others said: "Master, set your mind at ease. We have surrendered ourselves in all sincerity—what demons need we fear!" Hearing this, the elder was greatly pleased; he whipped on his fine steed and let loose the reins to hurry the dragon-horse along. Presently they climbed the mountain crags and lifted their heads to look. Truly it was a mountain whose summit pines and cypresses touched the blue of the clouds, whose stone walls were hung with brambles and wild vines. Ten thousand fathoms of towering height, a thousand layers of sheer-cut cliff.
Ten thousand fathoms of towering height—peak upon towering peak; A thousand layers of sheer-cut cliff—gorge and precipice deep. Green moss and emerald lichen spread over the shaded rocks; Ancient junipers and tall locust trees wove a great forest. Deep in the woods one heard the hidden birds, Their clever voices rippling—truly fit for song. In the ravines the water ran like pouring jade; By the roadside fallen flowers lay heaped like gold. The mountain's temper was savage, ill for traveling— Ten steps along it, not half a step was level. Foxes and elk crossed the path in pairs; White deer and black gibbons came to meet them two by two. Suddenly a tiger's roar would freeze the traveler's marrow; A crane's cry rang in the ear and pierced the vault of heaven.
Yellow plums and red apricots were fit to eat; Wild grasses and idle flowers bore no names they knew.
The four travelers entered the mountains and walked slowly for a good while, crossed the summit, and went down the western slope onto a stretch of level ground. Zhu Bajie, showing off his spirit, had the Sha Monk carry the load while he raised his rake in both hands and went ahead to drive the horse. But the horse did not fear him in the least; let the blockhead clatter and crack away as he would, it only kept its slow, unhurried pace.
"Brother," said the Pilgrim, "why drive him? Just let him walk along slowly."
"The sky's getting late," said Bajie. "We've been in these mountains all day, and my belly's hungry. Let's all move faster and find some household where we can beg a meal of vegetarian food." Hearing this, the Pilgrim said: "If that's how it is, let me make him go fast." He flourished the gold-banded cudgel once and gave a shout—at which the horse bolted like a loose rein, flying swift as an arrow down the level road ahead. You ask: the horse feared not Bajie, but feared only the Pilgrim—why?
Five hundred years before, the Pilgrim had been appointed by the Jade Emperor to tend horses in the Imperial Stables of the Great Pure Heaven, with the official title of Protector of Horses; and so it has been handed down to this day that all horses fear the monkey. The elder could not hold the rein; he could only grip the saddlebow tight and let the horse run free with the bit in its teeth. It was twenty li, until they came to open fields, before it slowed to a walk.
Just as they were going along, they suddenly heard a clash of gongs, and thirty-some men sprang out from both sides of the road, every one with spear, sword, cudgel, or staff, blocking the way and shouting: "Monks! Where do you think you're going!" The Tang monk was terrified out of his wits; he could not sit steady, tumbled off his horse, crouched in the grass beside the road, and could only cry: "Great Kings, spare my life! Great Kings, spare my life!" The two big men at their head said: "We won't beat you—only leave your travel money." Only then did the elder come to his senses and know them for a band of robbers. He raised himself up to look at them: one had a green face and protruding fangs, more terrible than the Tai Sui star; one had bulging eyes and round glaring orbs, a very God of Death.
Red hair floated at their temples like drifting fire; Yellow whiskers bristled below their chins like planted needles. The two of them wore flowered tiger-skin helmets, And girded at their waists sable furs and colored battle skirts. One clutched in his hand a wolf-toothed mace; Across the other's shoulder lay a knotted rattan staff. Truly they lost nothing to the tigers of Mount Ba, And verily resembled dragons risen from the water.
Seeing them so fierce and savage, Sanzang had no choice but to get up, press his palms together before his chest, and say: "Great Kings, this poor monk is one sent by the Tang king of the Eastern Land to fetch scriptures from the Western Heaven. Since I left Chang'an, so many years and days have passed that even if I had some travel money, it is long since spent. A man who has left the world lives by begging his food—what money or goods could I have?
"I beg you, Great Kings, show a little mercy and let this poor monk pass!"
The two robber chiefs led their band forward and said: "We've set up our tiger hearts here and block this main road precisely because we want money and goods. What mercy is there to show? If you truly have none, then quickly strip off your clothes, leave the white horse, and be on your way!"
Sanzang said: "Amitabha! This robe of mine was begged thread by thread—cloth from one house, thread from another, pieced and patched together bit by bit. If you strip it off me, would you not be the death of me? You may be bold fellows in this life, but in the next you'll turn into beasts!" At these words the robbers flared up in wrath, seized their big staves, and came forward to beat him.
The elder said nothing with his mouth, but thought to himself: "Pitiful! You boast of your staves—you don't yet know my disciple's staff!"
The robbers gave him no chance to argue; they raised their clubs and beat at him head and face.
All his life the elder had never known how to lie, but faced with this desperate strait he had no choice and could only tell a fib: "Two Great Kings, stay your hands a moment. I have a young disciple coming along behind—he'll be here soon. He has a few taels of silver on him; take those instead."
The robbers said: "This monk knows how to look out for his own skin. Bind him up first."
The whole gang of ruffians laid hands on him together, tied him with a rope, and strung him up high in a tree.
Now tell it of the three disaster-breeding spirits who came hurrying along behind.
Bajie roared with laughter: "Master gets along so fast—he must be waiting for us somewhere ahead!"
Then he suddenly saw the elder hanging in a tree, and said: "Look at Master! Waiting's one thing, but he's got such a playful streak—climbed up a tree and taken hold of a vine to swing on a swing for fun!" When the Pilgrim saw it, he said: "Blockhead, no nonsense. Isn't that Master strung up there? You two come along slowly; let me go take a look." What a Great Sage! He hurried up a rise and looked carefully, recognized them for a band of robbers, and rejoiced inwardly: "Luck! Luck! Business has come to my door!" At once he turned, shook himself, and changed into a clean, neat little monk in a black robe, barely sixteen years old, a blue cloth bundle slung over his shoulder. Striding forward, he came up to them and called: "Master, what's the meaning of this? What sort of rascals are these?"
"Disciple!" said Sanzang. "Won't you rescue me? Why all the questions?"
"What business are they in?" asked the Pilgrim.
"This band of road-blockers stopped me and demanded toll money. Since I had nothing on me, they strung me up here, saying they'd wait for you to come and settle matters—otherwise I was to give them the horse."
Hearing this, the Pilgrim laughed: "Master, you're no use at all. There are monks enough in the world, but few as soft-skinned as you. The Tang emperor Taizong sent you to the Western Heaven to see the Buddha—who told you to go giving away dragon-horses?"
"Disciple," said Sanzang, "strung up like this and beaten upon—what am I to do?"
"What did you tell them?" asked the Pilgrim.
"They beat me so hard I had no choice—I gave you away."
"Master, how shabby of you! What did you give me away for?"
"I said you had some travel money on you, so they'd stop beating me—it was a lie to save my skin in the moment."
"Fine! Fine! Fine!" said the Pilgrim. "Much obliged for the compliment—that's just the way to betray me. If you'd only do it seven or eight times a month, old Sun would have all the more business."
Seeing the Pilgrim talking with his master, the robbers spread out and closed around him: "Little monk, your master says you've got money at your waist. Hand it over quick and we'll spare your lives! Say half a 'no,' and we'll send every one of you to your graves!"
The Pilgrim set down his bundle and said: "Good sirs, no shouting. There is some travel money in this bundle—not much. Only twenty-odd ingots of horse-hoof gold, thirty or so ingots of fine white silver, and then the loose odds and ends I haven't counted. If you want it, take the whole bundle—only don't beat my master. The ancient books say: virtue is the root, wealth is the branch; this is a branch matter. We men who have left the world have our own places to beg. When we meet a worthy elder who feeds monks, there is alms-money and there are robes to be had—how much can we use? I only ask you to take my master down, and I'll hand it all over."
Hearing this, the band of robbers were all greatly pleased. "The old monk was a skinflint, but the little one's downright generous," they said, and called: "Let him down." The elder, having gained his life, leapt onto his horse and, with never a thought for the Pilgrim, laid on his whip and galloped straight back the way they had come.
The Pilgrim hurriedly called after him: "Wrong road!" and, picking up his bundle, made to chase after him.
The robbers blocked his way: "Where do you go? Leave the travel money and spare yourself the torture!"
The Pilgrim laughed: "Let's be clear—the travel money must be split three ways."
The robber chief said: "This little monk's too sharp by half—he means to hold some back behind his master's back. Well, then, bring it out and let's see. If there's plenty, we'll cut you in on a share to buy fruit with on the sly."
"Brother," said the Pilgrim, "it's not like that. What travel money would I have? I mean, you two rob other people of their gold and silver—now that's money you ought to share with me."
At this the robbers flew into a rage and cursed: "This monk doesn't know his luck! Not only won't you give us any—you demand it of us! Don't run! Take that!" They swung a knotted rattan staff and gave the Pilgrim seven or eight blows on his bald crown.
The Pilgrim pretended not to notice, smiling all over his face: "Brother, if it's going to be like this, you can keep it up till next year past the spring equinox—it won't amount to anything."
The robbers were startled: "This monk's got a hard head!"
The Pilgrim laughed: "You flatter me, you flatter me—still, I daresay it'll pass inspection."
The robbers would hear no more; two or three of them laid on together in a flurry of blows. "Good sirs, calm your anger," said the Pilgrim, "and let me bring it out." What a Great Sage! He felt inside his ear, pulled out an embroidery needle, and said: "Gentlemen, your monk truly carried no travel money—only this needle. Take it as a gift."
The robbers said: "What luck! We let a rich monk go and laid hands on this penniless bald ass! What are you, a tailor? What do I want with a needle?"
Hearing that they didn't want it, the Pilgrim took it between two fingers, gave it a flourish, and it turned into a staff as thick as a rice bowl.
The robbers were frightened: "Small as this monk is, he knows some magic tricks!"
The Pilgrim planted the staff in the ground: "If any of you gentlemen can lift it, it's yours." Two robbers came forward to seize it—and pitiful to relate, it was like dragonflies trying to shake a stone pillar: they could not budge it half a hair. This staff was the As-You-Will gold-banded cudgel, weighed on Heaven's scales at thirteen thousand five hundred catties—how could that gang of thieves have known?
The Great Sage stepped forward, lifted it lightly, and threw himself into a "Python Turns Its Body" feinting stance, pointing at the robbers: "Your luck's all out—you've run into old Sun!"
The robbers came up and gave him another fifty or sixty blows.
The Pilgrim laughed: "Your hands must be getting tired. Let old Sun strike one blow—don't take it seriously."
Watch him unfurl the staff, flourish it till it is thick as a well-curb and seven or eight fathoms long, and with one resounding swipe knock one of them flat to the ground, lips pressed in the dirt, never to make a sound again.
The other opened his mouth and cursed: "You bald lout, what outrageous behavior! No travel money to give, and you've done one of my men to death!"
"Pace yourself, pace yourself!" said the Pilgrim with a laugh. "Let me strike them one by one, and finish the job down to the roots!" With another resounding blow he beat down the second one as well, dead. At this the whole gang of ruffians flung away their spears and staves and fled for their lives by every road.
Now the Tang monk was galloping eastward when Bajie and the Sha Monk stopped him: "Where are you going, Master? You've taken the wrong road."
The elder wheeled his horse: "Disciples, go quickly and tell your senior brother to show mercy with that staff of his, and not beat those robbers to death."
Bajie said: "Master, you stay here; I'll go." The blockhead trotted all the way to the front and called out in a loud voice: "Brother! Master says stop beating people!"
"Brother," said the Pilgrim, "when did I beat anyone?"
"Where did the robbers go?"
"The others scattered; only the two chiefs are sleeping right here."
Bajie laughed: "You two plague-ridden wretches—must have been up all night, working so hard you'd sleep anywhere rather than some proper place!" The blockhead walked up to them, had a look, and said: "Well, they're one of us now—lying there clean-mouthed asleep, dribbling sticky slaver."
"That's old Sun's staff knocking the tofu out of them," said the Pilgrim.
"Whoever heard of tofu in a man's head?"
"Knocked their brains out!"
Hearing it was brains, Bajie turned and ran back in a hurry and reported to the Tang monk: "The gang's all broken up!"
"Good! Good!" said Sanzang. "Which road did they take?"
"Beaten stiff and straight-legged—where could they go walking?"
"Why do you say the gang's broken up?"
"Beaten to death—if that's not breaking up the gang, what is?"
"What condition are they beaten into?" asked Sanzang.
"Two big holes knocked in their heads."
Sanzang told him: "Open the bundle, take a few coppers of alms-money, go quickly and buy two plasters, and patch those two up."
Bajie laughed: "Master, what nonsense! Plasters are for patching boils and swellings on living men—who ever heard of patching holes in dead ones?"
"They're really dead?" Sanzang grew angry, and began an endless droning and muttering—"that ape" this and "that monkey" that—wheeled his horse around, and with the Sha Monk and Bajie came before the dead men, and saw them lying bloody at the foot of the slope.
The elder could not bear the sight; he ordered Bajie: "Quickly take your rake and dig a pit to bury them in, and I will recite a sutra for the dead over them."
Bajie said: "Master, you've got the wrong man for the job. The Pilgrim did the killing—the burning and burying ought to be his errand. Why make old Pig the gravedigger?"
The Pilgrim, nettled by his master's scolding, snapped at Bajie: "You lazy lout! Go bury them this instant! Any delay, and it's a taste of the staff!"
The blockhead panicked. He dug at the foot of the slope some three feet down, but below was all bedrock and stone roots, gripping his rake's teeth fast. The blockhead threw down the rake and started rooting with his snout; where he rooted to soft ground, one rooting made two and a half feet, two rootings made five feet deep. He buried the two robber corpses and heaped them into a single grave mound.
Sanzang called: "Wukong, fetch incense and candles, that I may pray and then recite the sutra."
The Pilgrim pursed his lips: "How unperceptive! Midway up this mountain—no village ahead, no inn behind—where would one get incense and candles? Even with money, there'd be nowhere to buy them."
Sanzang said resentfully: "Ape! Stand aside! Let me scoop up earth for incense and pray." This was Sanzang dismounting in grief by a wilderness grave, the holy monk breathing kind thoughts over a desolate tomb. He prayed, saying:
"We bow to you, bold men—hear the cause of this prayer. Think on your servants, men of the Tang in the East. Bearing the mandate of the Emperor Taizong, We go to the Western Heaven to seek the scriptures. Just now we came to this place and met you and your fellows— We know not from what prefecture, what department, what county, All of you banded in gangs within these mountains. With kind words I entreated you earnestly. You would not listen; good words turned to wrath, And you met the Pilgrim's staff and lost your lives. Grieving that your corpses lay exposed, I have covered them with earth and raised a mound. I break green bamboo for incense and candles— No radiance there, but a diligent heart; I take coarse stones for offerings of food— No savor there, but a true and honest will. If you go to file suit at the Hall of King Yama, And seek the root by pulling up the tree: He is named Sun, and I am named Chen— Different surnames, different houses. Every wrong has its author, every debt its debtor; By no means bring suit against these scripture-seeking monks."
Bajie laughed: "Master's washed his hands clean enough—but when they were being beaten, it wasn't done without the two of us, either."
Sanzang truly scooped up more earth and prayed: "Bold men, when you file your suit, sue only the Pilgrim; it is no affair of Bajie's or the Sha Monk's."
Hearing this, the Great Sage could not hold back his laughter: "Master, you old man are a fine one for brotherhood! For the sake of your scripture journey I've worn myself out with who knows how much toil and trouble, and now, having beaten these two thieving rascals to death, you tell them to go and sue old Sun! True, it was my hand that struck—but it was all for your sake. If you weren't going to the Western Heaven for scriptures, and I hadn't become your disciple, how would I ever have come here and beaten men to death? Let me finish by saying a prayer over them myself." Clutching his iron staff, he pounded the grave three times and said: "Plague-ridden robbers, you listen! You gave me seven or eight blows from the front and seven or eight from behind—beat me till it neither hurt nor itched—till my temper was roused, and by slip and error I did you to death. Go sue wherever you please: old Sun truly is not afraid. The Jade Emperor knows me; the Heavenly Kings are my cronies; the Twenty-Eight Constellations stand in awe of me; the Nine Luminaries are afraid of me; the city gods of every prefecture and county kneel to me; the Grand Sacred Emperor of the Eastern Peak trembles at me; the Ten Kings of the Dead once served me as pages; the rampant gods of the five roads once ran errands for me as boys. Whether it's the Three Realms and the Five Bureaus, or the ten directions' hosts of officials—every one of them is an old familiar friend of mine. Go sue wherever you like!"
Seeing him speak such wicked words, Sanzang was alarmed again: "Disciple! This prayer of mine was meant to teach you the virtue of cherishing life, to be a good and gentle man—how can you go taking it seriously?"
"Master," said the Pilgrim, "this is no business to trifle with. Let's be off and find lodging early." The elder could only swallow his anger and mount his horse.
The Great Sage Sun now bore a grudge in his heart; Bajie and the Sha Monk harbored jealousy too; master and disciples were all smiles to the face and malice behind the back. They were pressing westward along the main road when they suddenly saw, on the north side of the road, a farmstead.
Sanzang pointed with his whip: "We'll go there and ask for lodging."
"Right," said Bajie. So they went to the farm buildings and dismounted. Looking it over, it was a fine homestead. Just look:
Wild flowers filled the paths; scattered trees shaded the gates. From distant banks flowed water down the mountains; In level plots were planted wheat and mallow. Dew-drenched rushes where the light gulls slept; Willows in a gentle breeze where weary birds roosted. Green cypresses vied with pines in kingfisher blue; Red lotus mirrored knotweed, contending in fragrance. Village dogs barked; evening cocks crowed; Cattle and sheep fed full, the herd boys turned for home. Cooking smoke knotted into mist—the millet was ripe; It was the hour when mountain households sink into dusk.
The elder went forward, and just then out of the farmhouse gate came an old man, whom he greeted with a salutation.
The old man asked: "Where do you come from, monk?"
Sanzang said: "This poor monk is one sent by imperial command from the Great Tang of the Eastern Land to seek scriptures in the Western Heaven. Passing just now through your honored region and finding the sky growing late, I have come especially to your honored gate to beg a night's lodging."
The old man laughed: "From your honored country to here the road is long and far—how did you ford the streams and climb the mountains to arrive alone?"
Sanzang said: "This poor monk came with three disciples."
"And where are your honorable disciples?"
Sanzang pointed with his hand: "Those standing there by the main road." The old man looked up sharply, saw how ugly and grotesque they were, spun around at once, and would have gone back inside—but Sanzang caught hold of him: "Old Patron, have mercy, I beg you—grant us one night's lodging!"
The old man trembled, his mouth clamped shut, shaking his head and waving his hands: "No, no, no—not human-looking! They're—they're—demons!"
Sanzang said with an apologetic smile: "Patron, don't be afraid. My disciples were just born with these faces—they're not demons!"
The old man said: "Merciful Heaven! One's a yaksha, one's a horse-face, one's the Thunder God!"
Hearing this, the Pilgrim called out in a ringing voice: "The Thunder God is my grandson! The yaksha is my great-grandson! The horse-face is my great-great-grandson!"
At these words the old man's soul scattered and his spirit flew; the color left his face, and he wanted only to get inside.
Sanzang held him up and walked with him to the thatched hall, saying soothingly: "Old Patron, don't fear them. They're always this rough—they don't know how to talk."
Just as he was calming him, out from the back came an old woman leading a child of five or six, who said: "Grandfather, why such fright?" Only then did the old man call: "Mother, bring tea."
The old woman truly set the child down, went inside, and brought out two cups of tea.
When the tea was done, Sanzang stepped down and bowed to the old woman: "This poor monk is one sent from the Great Tang of the Eastern Land to fetch scriptures in the Western Heaven. Just arrived in your honored place, I have begged a night's lodging from your honorable house; but because my three disciples are so ugly, the old master here has had a bad fright."
The old woman said: "If ugly faces give him such a fright, what would he do if he saw a tiger or a wolf?"
The old man said: "Mother, ugly faces are one thing—but their talk is more frightening still. I said they looked like yakshas, horse-faces, and the Thunder God, and that one shouted back that the Thunder God was his grandson, the yaksha his great-grandson, the horse-face his great-great-grandson. When I heard that, no wonder I shook!"
Tang monk said: "It's not so, it's not so. The one who looks like the Thunder God is my first disciple, Sun Wukong; the one who looks like a horse-face is my second disciple, Zhu Wuneng; the one who looks like a yaksha is my third disciple, Sha Wujing. Ugly as they are, they have taken refuge in the school of the Buddha and turned toward the fruits of goodness. They are no fiends or venomous monsters—what is there to fear?"
When the old couple heard the names and how they had entered the orthodox fold, only then did their hearts settle and their fright subside, and they called: "Ask them in! Ask them in!" The elder went out the door and called them, then instructed them: "That old gentleman just now was quite put out with you. Going in to meet him now, don't stand on ceremony—each of you show some respect."
"I'm handsome and I'm refined," said Bajie. "I'm not like my senior brother, always acting wild."
The Pilgrim laughed: "If it weren't for the long snout, the big ears, and the ugly face, you'd be a fine figure of a man."
"No arguing," said the Sha Monk. "This is no place for showing off your cleverness. In we go! In we go!"
So they brought the baggage and horses into the thatched hall, all bowed together with a resounding "ha," and sat down. The good woman, kind and sensible, took the little child aside, ordered rice cooked, and laid out a vegetarian meal, which master and disciples ate. As it gradually grew dark, lamps were lit, and they all sat chatting in the hall. At last the elder asked: "Patron, what is your honorable surname?"
"Yang," said the old man.
He asked his age.
"Seventy-four," said the old man.
"And how many worthy sons?"
"Only one. The little one the mother was carrying just now is my grandson."
The elder said: "Please let me meet your worthy son and greet him."
"That scamp's not worth your bow," said the old man. "Old fool that I am, my fate was hard—I couldn't raise him right. He's not at home now."
"Where does he practice his trade?" asked Sanzang.
The old man nodded and sighed: "Pitiful! Pitiful! If only he practiced any trade anywhere—that would be my blessing! That scamp breeds wicked thoughts only; he'll follow no honest calling. He loves nothing but robbing houses and blocking roads, killing and burning! The friends he keeps are a pack of foxes and curs! He went out five days ago and hasn't come back yet."
Hearing this, Sanzang dared not breathe a word, but thought to himself: "Could it be that these are the ones Wukong beat to death?"
The elder sat ill at ease, then rose and said: "Good! Good! Such worthy parents—how could they beget so wicked and unnatural a son!"
The Pilgrim came near: "Old friend, with a son so bad, so worthless, so thieving, lecherous, and depraved—a curse on his own parents—what use is he? Let me go find him and beat him to death for you!"
The old man said: "I'd gladly be rid of him myself, but I have no other offspring to follow; worthless as he is, someone must stay to throw the last spade of earth over old man Yang when he dies."
The Sha Monk and Bajie laughed: "Brother, don't meddle in other people's affairs—you and I are not the magistrate. If their son is a wastrel, what is it to us? And we beg you, Patron, grant us a bundle of straw; we'll bed down over there and be on the road at first light."
The old man rose at once, had the Sha Monk fetch two straw bundles from the back garden, and put them up for the night in the straw shelter in the garden.
The Pilgrim led the horse; Bajie shouldered the luggage; and together with the elder they settled into the straw shelter. Of that no more need be said.
Now among that gang of robbers there truly was old Yang's son. Early that morning, when the Pilgrim had beaten the two robber chiefs to death in the mountains, they had scattered for their lives; but toward the fourth watch they banded together again and came beating on the gate. Hearing the knocking, the old man threw on his clothes and said: "Mother, that scamp and his crew have come."
"Since they've come, go open the gate and let them in," said the old woman.
When the old man opened the gate, the whole gang of robbers came clamoring: "Hungry! Hungry!" Old Yang's son bustled inside, roused his wife, and had her wash rice and cook.
But there was no firewood in the kitchen. Going to the back garden for firewood and carrying it to the kitchen, he asked his wife: "Where's that white horse in the back garden?"
His wife said: "It belongs to the scripture-seeking monks from the Eastern Land. They came here last night to beg lodging; grandfather and grandmother gave them a supper of vegetarian food and put them up to sleep in the straw shelter."
Hearing this, the scamp walked out of the hall, clapping and slapping his hands in glee: "Brothers! Luck! Luck! Our enemies are in my house!"
The robbers said: "What enemies?"
"The monks who beat our chiefs to death—they've come to my house for lodging, and they're sleeping right now in the straw shelter!"
"Splendid! Splendid!" cried the robbers. "We'll seize these bald asses, chop every one of them into meat paste—first we get their baggage and the white horse, and second we avenge our chiefs!"
The scamp said: "No hurry. Go and sharpen your knives. When my rice is cooked and we've all eaten our fill, we'll set on them together." And truly those robbers sharpened knives and whetted spears.
The old man heard all this, stole quietly to the back garden, roused the Tang monk and his three companions, and said: "That scamp has led the whole gang back. They know you're here and mean to do you harm. But old fool that I am, I remember how far you've come, and I cannot bear to let you be hurt. Quickly gather your things, and I'll let you out through the back gate."
Hearing this, Sanzang trembled as he knocked his head in thanks to the old man, then called Bajie to lead the horse, the Sha Monk to shoulder the load, and the Pilgrim took the nine-ringed priestly staff. The old man opened the back gate, let them out, and quietly returned to bed in front.
Now when those scamps had sharpened their knives and spears and eaten their fill, it was already the hour of the fifth watch. They came in a body to the garden to look—and the monks were gone.
They hurriedly lit lamps and torches and hunted for a long while, but there was no trace anywhere; only the back gate stood open. "They've gone out the back gate! Gone!" they all cried. With one great shout—"After them! Seize them!"—each one of them flew like an arrow, and they chased straight on until the sun rose in the east before they caught sight of the Tang monk.
The elder suddenly heard the clamor behind him, turned to look, and saw thirty or twenty men coming on with a forest of spears and blades. "Disciples!" he cried. "The robber band is upon us—what is to be done?"
"Set your mind at ease! Set your mind at ease!" said the Pilgrim. "Old Sun will see to them!"
The elder reined in his horse: "Wukong, by no means hurt anyone—just frighten them off, that's all."
But the Pilgrim would not heed. He whipped out his staff and turned to meet them: "Where are you bound, gentlemen?"
The robbers cursed: "Bald lout, outrageous! Give us back our chiefs' lives!" The scamps wheeled round in a ring, hemmed the Pilgrim in the middle, and fell to hacking and stabbing with spear and blade.
The Great Sage flourished his gold-banded cudgel till it was thick as a bowl and beat that robber band till they scattered like stars and clouds: those he touched died, those he grazed perished; those he butted got broken bones, those he brushed, torn skin. The sharper-witted ones ran off; the duller ones all went to see King Yama!
Seeing so many beaten down, Sanzang in a panic let his horse gallop west. Zhu Bajie and the Sha Monk followed hard on whip and stirrup.
The Pilgrim questioned one of the surviving, wounded robbers: "Which is old Yang's son?"
The robber groaned out: "Your Lordship—the one in yellow!"
The Pilgrim stepped up, wrenched the knife from his hand, sliced off the head of the one in yellow, and, dripping with blood, carried it in his hand. Putting away his iron staff, he strode off on his cloud-walking feet, caught up with the Tang monk's horse, held up the head, and said: "Master, this is old Yang's unnatural son—old Sun has brought back his head!"
At the sight, Sanzang turned white with terror, tumbled off his horse in a panic, and scolded: "You wicked ape—you've frightened the life out of me! Take it away! Take it away!" Bajie stepped forward, kicked the head off into the roadside, and raked some earth over it with his nail rake.
The Sha Monk set down the load and helped the Tang monk up: "Master, please rise." The elder collected himself on the ground and began to recite the Band-Tightening Spell, till the Pilgrim's ears turned red and his face flushed, his eyes swelled and his head reeled, and he rolled on the ground crying only: "Don't recite! Don't recite!" The elder recited a good dozen-odd rounds and still would not stop.
The Pilgrim turned somersaults and stood on his hands, the pain past bearing, crying only: "Master, forgive me this once! If you have something to say, say it! Don't recite! Don't recite!"
Only then did Sanzang stop: "There is nothing to say. I'll have you follow me no more. Go back!"
The Pilgrim endured the pain and knocked his head: "Master, why do you drive me away?"
"You wicked ape! Your cruelty is past all bounds—you are no man for seeking scriptures. Yesterday at the foot of the slope you beat those two robber chiefs to death, and I already blamed you for your want of mercy. Then at evening we came to the old man's house, received his food and lodging, and were let out the back gate by him to escape with our lives. Though his son is a wastrel, it was no affair of ours—you should never have cut off his head! And then to kill so many, destroying so many lives, wounding the harmony of Heaven and Earth past all counting! Time after time I have warned you, and never a scrap of goodness shows in you—what use are you to me? Be gone! Be gone! Or I'll recite the spell again!"
The Pilgrim was frightened, and could only cry: "Don't recite! Don't recite! I'm off!" And at the word "off," one somersault cloud—and he was gone without shadow or trace.
Ah! Truly it was:
The heart still fierce and wild—the elixir is not ripe; The spirit has no fixed abode—the Way is hard to achieve.
But as for where the Great Sage went—listen to the explanation in the next chapter.