The story continues: the Great Sage Sun rose into the air, resentful and heartsick. He thought of returning to the Water Curtain Cave on the Mountain of Flowers and Fruit, but feared the little fiends of his old cave would laugh at him, sneering that he went back on his word, no man of consequence. He thought of taking refuge in the Palace of Heaven, but feared they would not let him stay long. He thought of fleeing to the islands of the sea, but was ashamed to face the immortals of the Three Isles. He thought of running to the Dragon Palace, but had no stomach to go begging favors of the Dragon King.
Truly without support or shelter, he brooded bitterly: "Enough! Enough! Enough! I'll go back to my master—there lies my true fruition after all."
So he brought his cloud down and went straight to stand before Sanzang's horse, saying: "Master, forgive your disciple this once! Never again will I do violence. I will accept your every teaching—only take me back to protect you to the Western Heaven!"
At the sight of him, Sanzang would not answer at all; he reined in his horse and at once recited the Band-Tightening Spell, over and over, back to front, another twenty-odd times, until the Great Sage was toppled to the ground, the band sunk an inch deep into his flesh. Only then did he stop: "You won't go away—why come pestering me again?"
The Pilgrim could only cry: "Don't recite! Don't recite! I have somewhere to pass my days. I only fear that without me you'll never reach the Western Heaven."
Sanzang flared up: "You ape, killing and destroying, dragging me into who knows how much trouble—I truly want you no more! Whether I can get there or not is no business of yours! Be gone, be gone! Any delay and I'll recite the spell again—this time I won't stop till I've squeezed your brains out!"
The pain past bearing, and seeing his master utterly unrelenting, the Great Sage had no choice but to mount his somersault cloud and rise into the sky. Suddenly it came to him: "This monk has betrayed my heart. Let me go and tell my troubles to the Bodhisattva Guanyin on Potalaka Cliff."
What a Great Sage! He wheeled his somersault around, and in less than a double hour he reached the Great Southern Ocean, checked his auspicious light, and came straight to Mount Potalaka. Bursting into the purple bamboo grove, he suddenly met Pilgrim Muzha, who saluted him: "Whither, Great Sage?"
"To see the Bodhisattva," said the Pilgrim.
Muzha led him to the mouth of the Tide-Sound Cave, where they met Sudhana the Goodwealth Boy, who saluted him: "Whence, Great Sage?"
"I have a matter to lay before the Bodhisattva," said the Pilgrim.
At the word "lay," Sudhana laughed: "What a sharp-tongued monkey! Still the same as when I'd caught the Tang monk and you bullied me! My Bodhisattva is a great, compassionate, merciful, vow-fulfilling, Great-Vehicle, suffering-relieving, boundless, measureless holy and saintly Bodhisattva—what fault could you find to lay against her?"
The Pilgrim, his breast already full of stifled vexation, flared into fury at this. With one sharp "Ha!" he made Sudhana stagger backward: "You ungrateful, treacherous little beast—thick as a plank! In those days you ran wild and became a fiend; it was I who asked the Bodhisattva to take you in, and you entered the orthodox fold and received the precepts. Now you've got this bliss of eternal life, free and unfettered, coeval with Heaven itself—and instead of bowing thanks to old Sun, you give me all this insolence! I've come to lay a matter before the Bodhisattva—why do you twist it into a sharp tongue faulting the Bodhisattva?"
Sudhana said with an apologetic smile: "Still the impatient monkey! I was only having a little fun with you—why fly into a face?"
Just then the white parrot came flying to and fro, and they knew the Bodhisattva was calling. Muzha and Sudhana led the way forward to the Precious Lotus Terrace. Catching sight of the Bodhisattva, the Pilgrim flung himself down in worship, and, unable to hold back, wept like a spring flood and wailed aloud.
The Bodhisattva had Muzha and Sudhana raise him up: "Wukong, what grief is this? Tell me plainly—don't weep, don't weep. I will save you from your suffering and avert the calamity."
The Pilgrim, tears streaming, bowed again: "In the old days, when did your disciple ever take such treatment from anyone? Since the Bodhisattva freed me from Heaven's punishment and I entered the school of the Buddha to protect the Tang monk on his journey to worship the Buddha and seek scriptures in the Western Heaven, your disciple has risked body and life to deliver him from his demonic ordeals—snatching brittle bones from the tiger's mouth, plucking live scales from the flood dragon's back. I hoped only to return to truth and win the true fruition, washing away my karma and casting out evil. Who knew that elder would betray my faith and forget my kindness, straightaway bewitched from a whole field of good karmic bonds, with never a care for the wrong done me, right or wrong!"
"Tell me this matter of right and wrong," said the Bodhisattva.
So the Pilgrim told the whole story from first to last of beating the bandits to death.
The Tang monk, he said, because of those deaths, had nursed a grudge, and with no discrimination of black from white had recited the Band-Tightening Spell and driven him off time after time; with no road to Heaven and no door into the earth, he had come especially to lay it all before the Bodhisattva.
The Bodhisattva said: "Tang Sanzang bears the imperial mandate and presses westward, his whole heart set on goodness and the monk's calling—he would never lightly harm a life. With your boundless magic powers, why kill so many common bandits? Bad as the bandits were, they were still human beings, and ought not to have been killed—they are not like your demon birds and monstrous beasts, ghosts and fiends and imps. Killing those is your merit; killing human bodies remains your want of mercy. You had only to scatter and drive them off—naturally you would have saved your master. By my fair judgment, it was still your unkindness."
The Pilgrim, tears in his eyes, knocked his head: "Even if your disciple was unkind, my merit ought to count against my offense—he should not have driven me off like this. I beg the Bodhisattva, in her great mercy, to recite the Band-Loosening Spell, slip off this golden band, and hand it back to you—let me flee back to the Water Curtain Cave and live out my days!"
The Bodhisattva laughed: "The Band-Tightening Spell was given me by the Tathagata. When he sent me to the Eastern Land to find a scripture pilgrim, he bestowed on me three treasures: the brocade cassock, the nine-ringed priestly staff, and three bands—gold, tight, and forbidding—secretly conferring on me the three spells with them. But there is no such thing as a Band-Loosening Spell."
"Then I'll take leave of you, Bodhisattva," said the Pilgrim.
"You leave me for where?" asked the Bodhisattva.
"I'm going to the Western Heaven to lay my complaint before the Tathagata and beg him to recite the Band-Loosening Spell."
"Stay a moment," said the Bodhisattva. "Let me look at your auguries—good or ill."
"No need to look," said the Pilgrim. "Just being this unlucky is quite enough."
"I'm not looking at yours—I'm looking at Tang Sanzang's." What a Bodhisattva! She sat upright upon the lotus throne, sent her mind ranging through the Three Realms, and gazed afar with her eye of wisdom till it compassed the whole universe. In a moment she spoke: "Wukong, within moments your master will meet a calamity that threatens his life, and before long he will come looking for you. Stay here with me, and I will speak with Tang Sanzang and have him take you back to fetch the scriptures and win the true fruition together."
The Great Sage Sun had no choice but to submit; he dared not act rashly, and stood in attendance below the Precious Lotus Terrace. Of him no more for now.
Now the elder Tang, after driving the Pilgrim away, had Bajie lead the horse and the Sha Monk carry the load; the four of them, counting the horse, pressed westward no more than fifty li or so, when Sanzang reined in: "Disciples, we left the farmhouse at the fifth watch, and then that Protector of Horses put me in a temper. Half the day gone, and I'm hungry and thirsty both—who will go beg some food for me?"
Bajie said: "Master, please dismount first, and let me see whether there's a village nearby where I can beg a meal." At these words Sanzang rolled off his horse. The blockhead leapt onto a cloud and peered carefully from mid-air: as far as the eye could see it was all mountain ridges—not a household to be found.
Bajie brought his cloud down and told Sanzang: "There's nowhere to beg. In every direction, not a farmhouse."
Sanzang said: "If there's nowhere to beg food, then at least get me some water to quench my thirst."
"Let me go to the ravine below the south mountain and fetch some water," said Bajie. The Sha Monk brought the alms bowl and handed it to him, and Bajie, holding the bowl, rose on cloud and mist and went. The elder sat by the roadside and waited a long, long while without his return—pitiful, his mouth dry, his tongue parched past bearing. There is a poem in witness. It says:
To guard the spirit and nurture the breath is called essence; Nature and feeling spring from one conferred form. When the mind runs wild and the spirit dims, a hundred sicknesses rise; When form decays and essence fails, the root of the Way gives way. Unformed, the three flowers—all your toil is vain; The four elements desolate—what use the strife? Earth and wood achieve nothing, metal and water run dry— When will the lazy, neglectful Dharmakaya be made?
The Sha Monk, standing by, saw the elder's hunger and thirst past bearing, and Bajie still not back with the water, so he could only steady the luggage and tie the white horse fast: "Master, rest easy while I go hurry the water along."
The elder, tears in his eyes, said nothing—only nodded his answer. The Sha Monk hastened onto cloud-light and made for the south mountain as well.
That master, simmering and stewing alone, his misery past bearing, was in the very midst of his desolation when he suddenly heard a loud report. Startled, the elder rose up to look—and there, kneeling by the roadside, was Sun the Pilgrim, holding out a porcelain cup in both hands: "Master, without old Sun you can't even get water. Here's a cup of nice cool water—drink a mouthful to quench your thirst, and I'll go beg some food."
"I won't drink your water! I'd rather die of thirst where I stand—I accept my fate! I want you no more! Go away!"
"Without me you'll never reach the Western Heaven," said the Pilgrim.
"Reach it or not—no business of yours! Wicked ape! Why keep on pestering me?"
At that the Pilgrim's face changed. Rage and spite boiled up, and he cursed the elder: "You heartless, wicked bald beast—you've insulted me once too often!" He swung his iron staff, flung the cup away, and brought the staff down across the elder's back. The elder fainted to the ground, unable to speak; and the other seized the two green felt bundles in his hands, mounted a somersault cloud, and vanished no one knew where.
Now Bajie, holding the alms bowl, made straight for the southern slope of the mountain—and suddenly saw, in a fold between the hills, a thatched farmhouse. It had been hidden before by the height of the mountain, so that he had missed it; only now, coming close, did he know there was a household there.
The blockhead thought to himself: "If I show up with this ugly mug, they'll certainly be frightened of me—all that scheming for nothing, and no meal to be begged, guaranteed. I must change! I must change!"
What a blockhead! He made the magic sign, recited a spell, shook his body seven or eight times, and turned into a consumptive, sallow, puffy monk, wheezing and coughing as he sidled up to the gate and called: "Patron! There's leftover rice in your kitchen and hungry men on the road. This poor monk is one journeying from the Eastern Land to the Western Heaven for scriptures. My master is hungry and thirsty on the road. If you have any crusts or cold rice in the house, I beg you, share a little to save our mouths."
It turned out the men of that household were away, all off planting rice seedlings, and only two women were home. They had just cooked the noon meal, dished up two basins, and were getting ready to carry it down to the fields; some rice and crusts were still in the pot, not yet dished out.
Seeing his sickly look, and hearing him talk of the Eastern Land and the Western Heaven, the women feared he was raving in his sickness, and feared too that he might collapse and die at their doorstep; so, humoring him with soothing words, they filled his bowl heaping full with leftover rice and crusts. The blockhead carried it back, resumed his own form, and took the old road. Just as he was walking along, he heard someone call "Bajie!"
Bajie looked up—it was the Sha Monk, standing on the cliff, shouting: "Over here! Over here!"
Coming down the cliff to meet him, the Sha Monk said: "There's fine clear water in this ravine—where were you off to?"
Bajie laughed: "I came over here, saw a farmhouse in the fold of the hill, and begged this bowlful of dry rice."
"Rice will serve," said the Sha Monk, "but Master's thirst is desperate—how do we get water?"
"Water's easy enough," said Bajie. "Hold this rice in your lapel, and I'll scoop water with the bowl."
The two of them, happy and pleased, returned to the road—only to find Sanzang face-down in the dust, the white horse broken loose from its reins, whinnying and prancing by the roadside, and the luggage load vanished without a trace.
Bajie stamped his feet and beat his breast, wailing at the top of his voice: "No need to say it! No need to say it! It must be that Sun the Pilgrim's gang, the ones he left behind—come back to beat Master to death and steal the luggage!"
"Tie up the horse first!" cried the Sha Monk, calling all the while: "What's to be done! What's to be done! This is truly what they call quitting halfway, stopping in mid-road!" He cried out: "Master!"—and pearls rolled from his eyes as he wept in heartbreak.
"Brother, stop your crying," said Bajie. "Things have come to this—let's say no more about fetching scriptures. You watch over Master's body; I'll ride the horse to some prefecture or county town, village or market, sell it for a few taels of silver, buy a coffin, bury Master, and then the two of us will each find his own road and split up."
The Sha Monk truly could not bear to give up. He turned the Tang monk's body over, warmed the master's face with his own, and cried: "Master of bitter fate!"—when he saw warm breath issue from the elder's mouth and nose, and his chest was warm. He called at once: "Bajie, come! Master's still alive!" Only then did the blockhead come near and raise him up.
The elder came to, groaned a while, and cursed: "That wicked ape—he nearly killed me!"
"Which ape?" asked the Sha Monk and Bajie.
The elder said nothing, only sighed. He asked for water, drank a few mouthfuls, and then spoke: "Disciples, you had hardly gone when that Wukong came pestering me again. I insisted on taking him back no longer, and he struck me a blow with his staff and made off with the green felt bundles."
Hearing this, Bajie ground his teeth till they rang, and fire flared up from his heart: "That insolent monkey—how dare he be so outrageous!" He told the Sha Monk: "You tend Master; I'm going to his house to demand our bundles back!"
"Stay your anger a moment," said the Sha Monk. "Let's help Master to that farmhouse in the fold of the hill, beg some hot tea, warm up the rice we begged, and look after Master first—then go look for him."
Bajie agreed. They helped the master onto the horse, took the bowl, carried the cold rice in a lapel, and came straight to the gate of that house—where only an old woman was at home now, and at the sudden sight of them she hurried to hide.
The Sha Monk pressed his palms together: "Good mother, we are ones sent from the Tang of the Eastern Land to the Western Heaven. Our master has taken ill; we have come especially to your honorable house to beg a mouthful of hot tea, and some to warm his rice."
The old woman said: "A little while ago there was a consumptive monk who said he was sent from the Eastern Land, and he begged food and went; and now what's this about another one from the Eastern Land? There's no one at home—please try elsewhere."
Hearing her, the elder steadied himself on Bajie's arm, dismounted, and bowed: "Old mother, your disciple has three disciples, of one mind and purpose, who protect me as I go to the Great Thunderclap Monastery in the land of India to worship the Buddha and seek scriptures. Because my first disciple, named Sun Wukong, has been violent and wicked all his life and would not follow the good way, I sent him away. I never thought he would creep back secretly, strike me a blow across the back, and make off with my luggage and robes. Now I must send a disciple to find him and demand them back; and since the open road is no place to sit, I have come to your honorable house, old mother, to rest a little while. As soon as the luggage is recovered we'll be on our way—I would never presume to stay long."
The old woman said: "Just now there was a consumptive, sallow, puffy monk begging food, and he too said he was from the Eastern Land bound for the Western Heaven—how comes there another lot of you?"
Bajie could not hold back his laughter: "That was me! Because I was born with a long snout and big ears, I feared your family would be scared and wouldn't give food, so I changed into that shape. If you don't believe me—isn't that your crust rice in my brother's lapel?"
The old woman saw that it was indeed the rice she had given, so she no longer refused them, asked them to be seated, heated a kettle of tea, and handed it to the Sha Monk to soak the rice in. The Sha Monk soaked the cold rice and passed it to the master. The master ate a few mouthfuls and sat collecting himself a long time, then said: "Who will go demand the luggage?"
Bajie said: "The year before last, when Master sent him home, I went looking for him once—I know his Water Curtain Cave on the Mountain of Flowers and Fruit. Let me go! Let me go!"
The elder said: "You may not go. That ape was never on good terms with you, and your talk is rough; if some word or two goes astray, he'll beat you. Let Wujing go."
The Sha Monk agreed: "I'll go, I'll go."
The elder instructed the Sha Monk further: "When you get there, watch how the wind sits. If he's willing to give you the bundles, thank him briefly and bring them; if he's not, on no account quarrel with him—go straight to the Bodhisattva in the Southern Sea, tell her the whole affair, and ask her to demand them from him."
The Sha Monk agreed to every word, then said to Bajie: "I'm off to find him now. Whatever happens, don't you go sour and neglectful—care for Master well. And no playing the wild man in this house, or they may refuse to feed us. I'll come back as soon as I'm done."
Bajie nodded: "I understand. But whether you get the luggage or not, come back first thing tomorrow morning—don't leave us carrying firewood on a pointed pole, dropped at both ends."
The Sha Monk then made the magic sign, rose on cloud-light, and sped straight for the Eastern Continent of Superior Body. Truly:
Body here, spirit flown, the house abandoned— A furnace with no fire: how can the elixir be fired? The Yellow Dame leaves her lord to seek the Old Man of Gold; The Wood Mother sends for her teacher, worn with sickness of face. This going—who knows what day of return? This parting—who can reckon the hour of coming back? The five elements breed and conquer, nothing in accord— All awaits the Mind-Ape's return through the pass.
The Sha Monk through the mid-air traveled three days and nights before he reached the Great Eastern Ocean. Suddenly he heard the sound of waves, looked down, and truly saw black mist swelling to the sky, the breath of darkness heavy; the vast deep holding the sun in its jaws, the light of dawn cold.
He had no heart for sightseeing. He crossed toward the immortal mountains, passed Yingzhou, and pressed eastward straight to the bounds of the Mountain of Flowers and Fruit. Riding the sea wind, treading the water's swell, after a long while more he saw the high peaks ranked like halberds, the sheer walls hanging like screens. Reaching the summit, he checked his cloud, looked for a path down the mountain, and sought the Water Curtain Cave. As he drew near, he heard a great clamor: the mountain was full of countless monkey spirits, all roaring and brawling in confusion.
The Sha Monk came closer and looked carefully: it was Sun the Pilgrim, sitting high on a stone terrace, holding a sheet of paper in both hands and reading it out in ringing tones: "Li, Emperor of the Great Tang of the Eastern Land, issues this permit to his sworn brother the holy monk and Master of the Law Chen Xuanzang, dispatched under imperial mandate to the Great Thunderclap Monastery on Vulture Peak in the land of India in the West, there to worship the Lord Buddha Tathagata and seek scriptures. We, stricken by sudden illness, wandered as a soul through the underworld; by grace our allotted span was extended, and the dark monarchs, moved to pity, sent us back to life. We have held a great convocation of goodness and built a Mass for the deliverance of the dead. The Bodhisattva Guanyin, reliever of suffering and distress, graciously appeared in her golden body and showed us that in the West there are Buddhas and scriptures able to deliver and free the souls of the dead. We have therefore specially commissioned the Master of the Law Xuanzang to journey far through a thousand mountains and seek out the scriptures and gathas. If he passes through the countries of the West, let them not break this bond of goodness, but honor this permit and give it effect. Given at the imperial court on an auspicious day in autumn of the thirteenth year of Zhenguan of the Great Tang. Since parting from the Great Country, passing through the various states, on the road we have taken as first disciple Sun Wukong the Pilgrim, as second disciple Zhu Wuneng, Bajie, as third disciple the monk Sha Wujing."
He read it through from the beginning and read it again.
Hearing that it was the travel permit, the Sha Monk could not hold back; he stepped forward and called out in a loud voice: "Brother—why are you reading Master's permit?"
At the sound of his voice the Pilgrim looked up sharply, but he did not recognize the Sha Monk, and shouted: "Seize him! Seize him!" The whole crowd of monkeys closed around, dragging and pulling the Sha Monk up before him. "Who are you," the Pilgrim thundered, "that you dare approach my immortal cave?"
Seeing that his face was changed and he would not acknowledge him, the Sha Monk could only bow and say: "I report to you, Brother: before, it was truly Master's hasty temper—he wrongly blamed you, recited the spell over you several times, and drove you home. For one thing, we disciples failed to plead for you; for another, we had gone to find water and beg food because Master was hungry and thirsty. We never thought you would kindly come back, and then take it amiss that Master stood firm and would not keep you, and so knock Master down in a faint and carry off the luggage. We brought Master back to life, and I have come especially to wait upon you, Brother. If you no longer hate Master—if you still remember the old kindness of your deliverance—then come with your little brother, bring the luggage back to see Master, and let us go together to the Western Heaven and win the true fruition. But if your grudge runs too deep to go with us, then by all means grant the bundles to me; you remain here in your deep mountains and enjoy the evening scene of your mulberry and elm—a perfect arrangement for us both."
At these words the Pilgrim gave a cold, cold laugh: "Worthy brother, that plan pleases me not at all. That I beat the Tang monk and took the luggage was not because I would not go to the West, nor because I love living in this place. I have now learned the permit by heart. I shall go to the Western Heaven myself, worship the Buddha, and fetch the scriptures, and carry them back to the Eastern Land myself—I alone will win the glory, and the people of the Southern Continent of Jambudvipa will set me up as their ancestor, my name handed down ten thousand generations!"
The Sha Monk laughed: "Brother, you speak amiss. Since ancient times there has never been any such thing as 'Sun the Pilgrim fetching scriptures.' Our Lord the Tathagata created the true scriptures of the Tripitaka and instructed the Bodhisattva Guanyin to find a scripture pilgrim in the Eastern Land and go seek them, so that we should bitterly trek through a thousand mountains, inquire our way through the kingdoms, and protect that scripture seeker. The Bodhisattva once said: the scripture seeker is the Tathagata's own disciple, called the Elder Golden Cicada; because he would not listen to the Buddha's discourses on the sutras, he was banished from Vulture Peak and reborn in the Eastern Land, there to win his fruition in the West and cultivate the Great Way again. On the road he was destined to meet these demonic ordeals, and we three were freed to serve as his guardians of the Law. Without the Tang monk, which Patriarch Buddha would ever transmit scriptures to you! Would it not be all that scheming for nothing?"
The Pilgrim said: "Worthy brother, you're muddled after all—you know the one thing, but not the other. Say what you like: you have your Tang monk to escort and protect—have I no Tang monk of my own? Here I have chosen another true monk of the Way; old Sun will support him single-handed—what's wrong with that? We set out tomorrow morning. If you don't believe me, let me invite him out for you to see."
He called: "Little ones, quickly invite the old Master out." Sure enough, they ran inside and led out a white horse, and invited out a Tang Sanzang, followed by a Bajie carrying the luggage on a pole, and a Sha Monk holding the priestly staff.
At the sight, the Sha Monk's fury blazed: "Old Sha here never changed his name on the road nor his surname at home—how comes there to be another Sha Monk! No more of your insolence—take a blow of my staff!"
What a Sha Monk! He raised the demon-quelling staff in both hands and with one blow to the head killed the false Sha Monk on the spot—he was a monkey spirit. At this the Pilgrim was enraged: he swung his gold-banded cudgel and led the whole crowd of monkeys to hem the Sha Monk in.
The Sha Monk charged east and battered west, fought his way out to the road, and fled for his life on cloud and mist, crying: "This insolent ape is past all shame! I'll go tell the Bodhisattva!"
When the Pilgrim saw the Sha Monk had killed a monkey spirit and forced the Sha Monk to flee, he did not give chase. He went back into the cave and had the little ones drag the dead fiend's corpse aside, skin it, cut the flesh and fry it, and with coconut wine and grape wine they all feasted, the whole crowd of monkeys. Then he chose another monkey fiend who knew transformation, had him turn into another Sha Monk, and drilled him afresh, meaning to set out for the West. Of that no more.
The Sha Monk left the Eastern Sea on his cloud, and after a day and a night of travel reached the Southern Sea. As he flew, he soon saw Mount Potalaka not far ahead, and hurried to it, slowing his cloud and mist to look. What a place! Truly:
It holds the innermost of Qian and encompasses the realm of Kun. It gathers a hundred rivers, bathing sun and stars; It receives the myriad streams, begetting wind and rippling moon. At tide's surge, the mighty Kun transforms; In the billows' rolling, the giant sea-turtle swims. Its waters reach the sea of the northwest; Its waves merge with the ocean due east. The four seas all joined by one vein of earth— Each immortal isle and island holds its immortal palace. Say no more of Penglai covering the land— Just look at Potalaka's cloudy caves.
What scenery! On the mountain's brow, rosy light magnifies the primal essence; beneath the crags, auspicious winds ripple the moon's crystal. In the purple bamboo grove, peacocks fly; on the green willow branches, numinous parrots talk. Jade flowers and gem-grasses flourish year upon year; jeweled trees and golden lotus grow age after age. White cranes come time and again to bow at the summit; white luan phoenixes many times visit the mountain pavilion. Even the roaming fish understand the cultivation of true nature, leaping the waves and threading the waters to hear the sutras expounded.
The Sha Monk strolled up Mount Potalaka, enjoying the immortal scenery, when Pilgrim Muzha came to meet him: "Sha Wujing—didn't you protect the Tang monk to fetch the scriptures? What brings you here?"
After the Sha Monk saluted, he said: "There is a matter on which I come especially to pay my respects to the Bodhisattva. I trouble you to announce me."
Muzha guessed well enough that he had come about the Pilgrim, but said nothing of it; he went in first and told the Bodhisattva: "Outside is the Tang monk's youngest disciple, Sha Wujing, come to pay homage."
Sun the Pilgrim, standing below the terrace, heard, and laughed: "This must mean the Tang monk is in trouble, and the Sha Monk has come to beg the Bodhisattva." The Bodhisattva bade Muzha call him in at the door.
The Sha Monk flung himself to the floor in worship. When the bows were done and he lifted his head, about to tell the whole affair, he suddenly caught sight of Sun the Pilgrim standing at one side. Waiting for no words, he whipped out his demon-quelling staff and struck straight at the Pilgrim's face. The Pilgrim did not strike back at all; he swerved aside and let it pass.
The Sha Monk raged aloud: "You wicked ape, guilty of the ten evils and of rebellion! You've come here to deceive the Bodhisattva too!"
The Bodhisattva cried: "Wujing, no violence! Whatever it is, tell me first."
The Sha Monk put away his precious staff, bowed again below the terrace, and said hotly to the Bodhisattva: "This monkey's violence on the road beggars counting. The other day at the foot of the slope he beat to death two road-blocking robbers, and Master blamed him. That very evening we lodged in the robbers' fence's house, and he beat that whole band to death, every man, and then held up a dripping human head for Master to see! Master was so frightened he fell off his horse, scolded him a few words, and sent him home. After we parted, Master's hunger and thirst grew desperate; he sent Bajie to look for water, and when he was long in coming, sent me to look for him. Who could know that Sun the Pilgrim, seeing the two of us gone, would come back, strike Master a blow of his iron staff, and carry off the two green felt bundles? When we returned and brought Master back to his senses, I came especially to his Water Curtain Cave to demand the bundles—never dreaming he would change his face and refuse to know me, reading Master's travel permit over and over. I asked him what he was reading it for, and he said that he would not protect the Tang monk—he would go to the Western Heaven himself to fetch the scriptures, carry them back to the Eastern Land, count it his own merit, and be set up as ancestor, renowned through all eternity. I said: without the Tang monk, who would ever transmit scriptures to you? And he said he had chosen a true monk of the Way. When he invited him out—sure enough, a white horse, a Tang Sanzang, followed by Bajie and a Sha Monk. I said: I am the Sha Monk—where's another Sha Monk from? I rushed up and gave that one a blow of my staff, and he turned out to be a monkey spirit. Then he led the whole crowd against me, and I have come especially to appeal to you, Bodhisattva. Who knew he could ride the somersault cloud and would arrive here before me? And who knows what clever words and honeyed phrases he has used to hoodwink you?"
The Bodhisattva said: "Wujing, don't go wrongly accusing people. Wukong has been here four days now, and I have never once let him leave—how could he have chosen another Tang monk and set off to fetch the scriptures himself?"
The Sha Monk said: "At this very moment there is a Sun the Pilgrim in the Water Curtain Cave—how would I dare lie?"
The Bodhisattva said: "If so, don't rage. I'll have Wukong go with you to the Mountain of Flowers and Fruit to see. What is true is hard to destroy; what is false is easily swept away. Go there, and all will be plain."
At these words the Great Sage took leave of the Bodhisattva together with the Sha Monk. And this journey—to that place:
Before the Mountain of Flowers and Fruit, black is told from white; At the mouth of the Water Curtain Cave, true is sorted from false.
But as for how they sorted them out—listen to the explanation in the next chapter.