The story continues: the Bull Demon King caught up with the Great Sage Sun and saw him coming along, cheerful and beaming, with the plantain fan carried on his shoulder.
The Demon King was greatly alarmed. "So the macaque has managed to wangle the secret of working the thing as well!" he thought. "If I ask him for it to his face, he'll never hand it over. And if he gives me one wave of that fan, it will blow me 108,000 li away—wouldn't that be playing right into his hands? I hear the Tang monk is waiting on the high road. His second disciple is a pig spirit, and his third is a sand-flow spirit; I met them both back in my demon days. Let me turn myself into the pig spirit's likeness and swindle the fan back from him. The macaque will be puffed up with his success—he's bound to be off his guard."
A capable Demon King indeed! He too commanded seventy-two transformations, and his martial skill was every bit the Great Sage's equal; only his body was somewhat bulkier, slower to dodge, less quick and limber. He put away his precious sword, recited a spell, shook himself, and changed at once into the very image of Bajie. Then he took a shortcut and came to meet the Great Sage face on, calling out:
"Elder Brother, here I am!"
And the Great Sage was delighted, just as the ancients said: a cat that has won its fight swaggers like a tiger. Relying on his own prowess, he never paused to study the newcomer's meaning. Seeing what looked like Bajie, he called out: "Brother, where are you bound?"
The Bull Demon King slipped cleverly into his part: "Master saw you gone so long and feared the Bull Demon King's powers were too great—that you couldn't beat him and couldn't get his treasure—so he sent me to meet you."
The Pilgrim laughed: "No need to trouble yourself. I've already got it."
The Bull King asked: "How did you get it?"
The Pilgrim said: "That old bull fought me a good hundred rounds and more, and neither of us won. Then he dropped me and went off to the bottom of the Green-Wave Pool on Boulder Mountain, to drink with a pack of flood-dragon spirits and dragon spirits. I followed him in secret, turned myself into a crab, stole his golden-eyed water-repelling beast, changed into the old bull's likeness, went straight to Plantain Cave, and tricked that Rakshasi. The lady went through a whole sham marriage with old Sun—it was old Sun who coaxed and conned the fan out of her."
The Bull King said: "Then you've had a hard time of it! Elder Brother has wearied himself sorely. Give the fan to me to carry."
The Great Sage Sun, who could not tell true from false and never thought to doubt, handed the fan right over.
Now that Bull King knew the root and secret of the fan's shrinking and growing. The moment he had it in his hand, he made some pinch or other with his fingers, and shrank it to the size of an apricot leaf, showed his true form, and opened with a curse: "Audacious macaque! Do you know me now?"
At the sight of him the Pilgrim repented in his heart: "This time the fault is mine!" He gnashed his teeth, stamped his feet, and cried aloud: "Bah! Year after year old Sun has gone hunting wild geese, and today a gosling has pecked out his eye!"
Furious past all restraint, he roared like thunder, whipped out his iron cudgel, and struck straight at the Demon King's head. The Demon King waved the fan at him once—but remember, when the Great Sage had earlier changed into a tiny cricket and slipped into the Rakshasi's belly, he had held the Wind-Fixing Pill in his mouth, and all unawares he had swallowed it into his stomach. So now his five viscera were all firm and his hide and bones all sound; wave as the Bull King might, he could not budge him an inch. The Bull King panicked, popped the treasure into his own mouth, swung his sword with both hands, and hacked away.
And what a battle the two of them fought there in midair! Truly:
The Great Sage Equal to Heaven, Sun, And the Bull Demon King, that fiend who muddles the world— All for the plantain fan they've met, And each displays his strength to the utmost. The careless Great Sage cheated the other, The bold Bull King swindled the fan away. This one's gold-banded cudgel rises, merciless; That one's two-edged green blade is full of cunning. The Great Sage lords his power, spraying colored mists; The Bull King vents his savagery, vomiting beams of light. Both strain in valor, neither one good, Gnashing teeth, grinding jaws, fury rampant. Dust is flung aloft, earth blots out Heaven and Earth; Sand flies and stones roll, ghosts and gods go hide. This one cries: "How dare you swindle me in return!" That one cries: "My wife was yours to take to bed!" Rustic insults, filthy words, fierce tempers, unyielding pride. That one cries: "You cozened a man's wife—you deserve to die! Sue me at court, and you'll pay for your crimes!" The nimble-witted Sage Equal to Heaven, The savage and stubborn King of Great Strength— Each with one thought only: kill! No parley, no quarter, no delay. Cudgel strikes, sword parries, both straining to win; Whoever slackens a hair goes down to King Yama.
Leave the two of them locked in battle for now, and speak of the Tang monk sitting on the road, steamed by the fiery air and fretting with thirst. He said to the local deity of the Flaming Mountain: "May I presume to ask, honored god—how great is this Bull Demon King's magic power?"
"Great indeed," said the local deity. "His powers are no small thing; his magic is past all measure. He is a match for the Great Sage Sun himself."
"Your brother Wukong is a swift traveler," said Sanzang. "Usually even two thousand li he covers in a flash. How is it he's been gone a whole day now? He must be locked in combat with that Bull King." He called: "Wuneng! Wujing! Which of you will go meet your elder brother? If you run into the enemy, lend him your strength. Get me that fan, end my torment, and let us cross this mountain and be on our way!"
"It's getting late in the day," said Bajie. "I'd been thinking of going to meet him, only I don't know the road to Jilei Mountain."
"This humble god knows it," said the local deity. "Let the Curtain-Raising General stay and keep your master company; I'll go with you."
Sanzang was delighted: "We are indebted to you, honored god. When the work is done, we shall give thanks."
Bajie shook out his spirits, tightened his black brocade tunic, shouldered his rake, and rose on cloud and mist with the local deity, heading straight back eastward. As they went, they suddenly heard the cries of battle rising and wild winds rolling.
Bajie pressed down his cloud and looked—and there, sure enough, was Sun the Pilgrim locked in combat with the Bull King.
"Why doesn't the Marshal of the Heavenly Reeds charge in?" asked the local deity.
The blockhead whipped out his nail-rake and bawled: "Elder Brother, here I am!"
"You lout!" snarled the Pilgrim. "You've ruined old Sun's grand affair!"
"Master sent me to meet you," said Bajie. "Since I didn't know the road, we talked it over a good while, and the local deity agreed to guide me—that's why I'm late. How have I ruined anything?"
"It's not your lateness I blame. That fiendish bull is outrageous past all bounds! Old Sun had won the fan from the Rakshasi, but this wretch turned himself into your likeness, claimed he'd come to meet me, and I, fool that I was, went and put the fan into his hand. Then he showed his true form, and now he's been matching powers with old Sun here—that's how the whole thing was ruined!"
At this Bajie boiled with rage. He raised his rake and cursed to the Bull King's face: "You blood-bloated plague! How dare you turn yourself into your own grandfather's likeness to swindle my elder brother and set brother against brother!" And watch him: rake flying wildly, blows raining down with never a pause at head or face.
Now the Bull King had fought the Pilgrim a whole day, and his strength was spent and his spirit weary; and then too Bajie's rake came on so furiously that he could not ward it off. He broke off the fight and fled—and there, dead ahead, the local deity of the Flaming Mountain commanding his spirit soldiers blocked his way, shouting: "King of Great Strength, hold your hand! Tang Sanzang is on his way to the Western Heaven to fetch the scriptures; there is no god that does not protect him, no power of Heaven that does not bless him. The Three Realms all know of him, the Ten Quarters all stand guard for him. Bring out the plantain fan at once, fan down these flames, let him pass this mountain without calamity or hindrance. If you refuse, Heaven will call you to account, and you are doomed to die."
"You local deity," said the Bull King, "have you no sense at all? That fiendish monkey stole my son, insulted my concubine, and cheated my wife—outrage upon outrage, without a shred of law or reason. I could swallow him whole and pass him out as dung to feed the dogs! How should I ever lend him my treasure?"
Even as he spoke, Bajie came charging up, roaring: "You festering lump of gland-rot! Bring out the fan, and I'll spare your life!" The Bull King had no choice but to turn back and fight Bajie with his precious sword, while the Great Sage Sun raised his cudgel to help. And what a battle that was! Truly:
A pig become a spirit, a bull become a fiend, Plus a monkey who stole his way to the Way. The Chan nature, trained through battle, holds; Earth must be called on to compound the source. The nine-tined rake, sharp and keen; The double-edged precious sword, swift and supple. The iron cudgel, rolling out and in, the chief of weapons; The local god lends force to knot the elixir crown. Three powers clash and conquer, each contending, Each unfolding valiant arts, each scheming mastery. Seize the bull to plow the field, and metal-money grows; Call the pig back to the furnace, and the wood-breath gathers. If the mind runs wild, what Way is there to make? The spirit must keep its house—the monkey must be tethered. Wild yelling, bitter struggling, three weapons whistling shrill. Rake strikes and sword wounds know no kindness; The rise of the gold-banded cudgel has its reasons. They fought till the stars gave no light and the moon no luster, One whole sky of cold fog, black and louring!
The Demon King fought furiously, giving ground as he battled, on through the whole night without a decision—till morning came.
Ahead lay the gate of his Moyun Cave on Jilei Mountain, and the three of them and the local deity's spirit soldiers were making such an ear-splitting din that they startled the Jade-Faced Princess, who called her maids to see who was making the row.
The little demon guarding the gate came in to report: "It's our own master, fighting that thunder-beaked fellow from yesterday, and a big-eared long-snouted monk, and the local deity of the Flaming Mountain and his crowd!"
Hearing this, the Jade-Faced Princess at once ordered the outside-guard chieftains to take up spears and blades and go to the rescue.
They mustered a hundred and more of all sizes and descriptions, and every one of them swaggering with valor, spear in hand and cudgel at the ready, they all announced: "Great King, we have come under the Princess's inner command to lend you our strength!"
"Well come! Well come!" cried the delighted Bull King, and the demon host surged forward, hacking on every side. Caught off guard, Bajie dragged his rake behind him and fled in defeat; the Great Sage leapt clear of the encirclement on his somersault cloud, and the spirit soldiers scattered in all four directions. The old bull, victorious, gathered his demons and went back into his cave, shutting the door fast. Of him no more for now.
"What a fighter this wretch is!" said the Pilgrim. "From about the hour of Shen yesterday he's fought old Sun without pause, right up to this night, and still no winner. Then you two arrived to relieve me. Half a day and a whole night of this bitter fighting, and he shows no weariness at all. And that pack of little demons just now—sturdy ruffians every one. Now he's shut his gate and won't come out. What are we to do?"
"Elder Brother," said Bajie, "you left Master yesterday at the hour of Si—how is it you only started fighting the Bull King at the hour of Shen? Where were those two or three watches of yours?"
"After I left you," said the Pilgrim, "I reached this mountain in a moment. I met a young woman exchanging greetings—she turned out to be his beloved concubine, the Jade-Faced Princess. I gave her one scare with my iron cudgel and she ran into the cave and called out the Bull King. He came out and bandied words with old Sun, we bawled at each other a while, then crossed hands and fought a full watch or so. Right in the middle of it, someone came and invited him off to a banquet. So I followed him down to the bottom of the Green-Wave Pool on Boulder Mountain, turned myself into a crab, gathered my information, stole his golden-eyed water-repelling beast, changed into the Bull King's likeness, went back to Plantain Cave on Cuiyun Mountain, and tricked the Rakshasi—coaxed the fan right out of her. Once outside I tried the working of it: the fan grew all right, only I didn't know how to shrink it back. And just as I was striding along with it on my shoulder, he turned himself into your face and swindled it back—there's my two or three watches lost."
"That's just what the proverb says," said Bajie. "A tofu ship capsized in the ocean—what came in the soup goes out in the sea. Now the fan's beyond our reach—how are we to get Master over this mountain? Let's go back and find some other road, the devil with it!"
"Great Sage, don't despair," said the local deity, "and Marshal, don't slacken. As for finding another road—that's the outer path, not the way of one who cultivates. As the ancients said, the walker walks not by the byways; how can you turn aside? Your master sits waiting on the true road, gazing and gazing for you to succeed."
"Just so! Just so!" snapped the Pilgrim. "Blockhead, none of your nonsense! The local deity speaks sense. We'll match him, stake all on winning or losing, ply our arts, and let old Sun perform the transformations of the Dharma:
Since I came westward I've had no match— The Bull King is but the Mind-Ape transformed. This bout is just the meeting of source and stream: Hold out to the end, and the precious fan is won. Seize on the coolness, still the flames, Smash the stubborn void, behold the Buddha's face. When the work is done, ascend to the Heaven of Joy; All together we shall feast at the Dragon Flower banquet!"
And Bajie, hearing this, bestirred himself and sang back with a will:
"Yes, yes, yes! Go, go, go! Never mind Bull King's arts or none: Wood born in Hai is matched to the pig; Twist round the ox, and back to earth it goes. Shen below brings forth metal—born the monkey: No clash, no conquest—all in harmony. Use the plantain, for it means water; When flames die out, the Water-over-Fire is won. Day and night, never leave your labors; When the work is done, hasten to the Feast of Ghosts' Deliverance!"
The two of them, leading the local deity and his spirit soldiers, charged forward—rake swinging, cudgel wheeling, ping-pang-pong—until they had battered the front gate of Moyun Cave to splinters.
The terrified outside-guard chieftains stumbled in to report: "Great King! Sun Wukong has led a host and smashed in the front gate!"
The Bull King was just then recounting the whole affair to the Jade-Faced Princess and seething with hatred of Sun the Pilgrim. At the news his rage blazed up. He hastily donned his armor, took up an iron rod, and came storming out cursing: "Audacious macaque! What a nobody you are, to come brazenly to my gate and smash my doors!"
Bajie advanced, cursing back with gusto: "You flayed old hide! What sort of creature are you, to measure yourself against anybody? Stand fast! Taste my rake!"
The Bull King shouted: "You slop-guzzling lout, you're nothing to see! Call that monkey out here!"
"You grass-grazing beast, past all sense of favor!" cried the Pilgrim. "Only yesterday we still spoke as brothers—today we are enemies! Look sharp, and take this cudgel of mine!"
The Bull King flung himself into the fray.
This battle surpassed the last. Three heroes tangled together in one mellay. Truly:
Rake and iron cudgel flaunt divine power, Leading spirit soldiers against the old beast. The beast alone unfolds his savage strength, His magic filling all the sky it shares with them. Rake digs in, cudgel pounds, The cudgel's hero rises with new wonders. Three weapons ring and clatter— Who yields in parry, who gives way? Each claims to be the champion, each claims the crown. The soldier gods bear witness: none can part them; Wood and earth contend, and rise and fall together. These two cry: "Why will you not lend the plantain fan!" That one cries: "How dare you trick my wife! You drove out my concubine, destroyed my son— The vengeance is unpaid, and now you storm my gates!" This one cries: "Look to yourself before the As-You-Will cudgel: So much as graze you, and your hide comes off!" That one cries: "Mind well the rake's nine tines: One wound, nine holes, blood streaming down!" The Bull King, nothing daunted, flaunts his might, His iron rod held high, alert to every chance. He tumbles clouds and overturns the rain, back and forth; He spews out fog and sprays the wind, free to unfold his power. Bitterly, desperately, this bout is fought to death, Each nursing malice, each delighting in the struggle. Guards dropped, high and low conceded, Front pressed and rear defended, never a loss. The two brothers strive with all their might; One single rod, alone, works its will.
From the hour of Mao they fought past the hour of Chen, and when the battle ended the Bull King withdrew helpless. The three had fought utterly reckless of life, another hundred rounds and more. Then Bajie fell into one of his stubborn rages; backed by the Pilgrim's magic, he charged with rake flailing. Unable to hold out, the Bull King turned in defeat and made for his cave gate—but the local deity's spirit soldiers blocked the entrance, shouting:
"King of Great Strength, where do you run? We are here!"
Barred from his cave, the old bull jerked back—and there were Bajie and the Pilgrim closing in. In desperation he stripped off his armor, flung away the iron rod, shook himself, turned into a wild swan, and flew off into the sky.
The Pilgrim saw it and laughed: "Bajie! The old bull's gone!"
The blockhead stared around blankly, and the local deity was none the wiser either; one and all they peered east and squinted west, hunting up and down about Jilei Mountain.
The Pilgrim pointed: "Isn't that what's flying up there?"
"That's a wild swan," said Bajie.
"That's the old bull transformed," said the Pilgrim.
"Since that's so," said the local deity, "what are we to do?"
"You two smash in this gate," said the Pilgrim, "wipe out that demon pack to the last one, tear down his den, and cut off his road home. Old Sun is going to wager transformations with him."
Bajie and the local deity fell to storming the gate, and of them no more for now.
The Great Sage put away his gold-banded cudgel, pinched his fingers, recited a spell, shook himself, and changed into a white gyrfalcon of the eastern sea. Whirr—with one beat of its wings it shot up into the eye of the clouds, then dropped headlong, landed on the swan's back, clamped its neck, and pecked at its eyes. The Bull King knew it must be Sun the Pilgrim transformed; in haste he shook his plumes and turned into a yellow eagle, wheeling to strike back at the gyrfalcon. The Pilgrim changed again, into a black phoenix, bent on nothing but running down the eagle.
The Bull King knew that too; he changed into a white crane, gave one long cry, and flew away south. The Pilgrim stood fast, shook out his plumes, changed into a scarlet phoenix, and gave one shrill ringing cry. Now when the crane beholds the phoenix, the king of birds, no fowl dares stir; with one flick of its wings it plunged down the cliff face, changed as it fell into a musk deer, and stood there dazed and stupid, nibbling grass before the crags.
The Pilgrim knew it. Down he fluttered and changed into a hungry tiger, tail lashing, hoofs flying, bent on running down the deer for its dinner. The Demon King, losing his footing in panic, turned into a great spotted leopard, gold-coined and brindled, ready to savage the hungry tiger. At this the Pilgrim faced the wind, gave his head one shake, changed into a golden-eyed lion-beast, its voice like thunderclaps, forehead of iron and head of bronze, wheeled round, and made to devour the leopard.
Hard pressed, the Bull King turned into a man-ape, flung wide his strides, and came to seize the lion-beast. The Pilgrim rolled over once and turned into a ragged-tusked elephant, trunk like a long snake, tusks like bamboo shoots, unwound that trunk, and made to coil up the man-ape. At that the Bull King chuckled, and bared his own true body: a monstrous great white bull, head like a mountain ridge, eyes like twin lightning flashes, two horns like two iron pagodas, teeth ranked like keen blades. Head to tail he measured a thousand-odd zhang; hoof to back, eight hundred zhang high. He bellowed at the Pilgrim: "Audacious macaque! What can you do to me now?"
Then the Pilgrim too bared his own true body. He whipped out his gold-banded cudgel, bowed his back, and shouted: "Grow!" And he grew to ten thousand zhang tall, head like Mount Tai, eyes like sun and moon, mouth like a pool of blood, teeth like door leaves, and swinging his iron cudgel he brought it down on the bull's head. The Bull King lowered his head and thrust with his horns. What a battle that was—truly shaking the ridges and rocking the mountains, startling Heaven and startling Earth!
There is a poem in witness:
The Way rises a foot, the demon a thousand fathoms; By cunning arts the Mind-Ape strives and prevails. If the fire mountain is to lose its raging flames, The precious fan must surely hold the cooling dew. The Yellow Dame keeps faith and props the Elder; The Mother of Wood shows mercy, sweeps the demons away. When the Five Elements are one in peace, the true fruit ripens: Smelt the demon, scour the filth, and rise into the West.
The two of them unfolded their powers to the utmost, wagering battle there on the mountainside, until every god who passed through the empty air, with the gold-headed Revealers, the Six Jias and Six Dings, and the eighteen Guardian Sangharamas, came and ringed the Demon King in. Unflinching he met them: watch him butting east and butting west, his two iron horns thrusting stiff and gleaming; charging south and charging north, his bristling, sinew-knotted stiff tail swinging and hammering left and right.
The Great Sage Sun met him head on, and the host of gods battered him from all four sides. At his wits' end, the Bull King rolled over on the ground, resumed his own form, and made a bolt for Plantain Cave. The Pilgrim put away his magic semblance and gave chase with the host of gods hard behind. The Demon King burst into his cave and shut the door; the whole host sealed Cuiyun Mountain watertight.
As they were all storming the gate, suddenly they heard Bajie and the local deity's spirit soldiers come clamoring up.
The Pilgrim hailed them: "How went it at Moyun Cave?"
Bajie laughed: "The old bull's lady—I killed her with one stroke of my rake, and when I ripped her clothes to look, she was a jade-faced civet spirit! And that demon pack—donkeys, mules, calves, bulls, badgers, foxes, raccoon-dogs, deer, sheep, tigers, elk and such—every one of them wiped out. Then I set fire to their halls and corridors and burned the den down. But the local deity says the old bull keeps another household here on this mountain, so I've come to sweep this one out too."
"Well done, worthy brother!" said the Pilgrim. "A joy! A joy! Old Sun wagered transformations with the old bull and won no victory. He turned into a white bull huge past all hugeness, and old Sun grew a body vast as Heaven and earth, matching his thrusts and buttings; then, happily, the gods descended and penned him in a good long while—till he took his own form again and bolted into the cave."
"Would that be Plantain Cave?" asked Bajie.
"It is! It is!" said the Pilgrim. "The Rakshasi lives there right now."
Bajie cried with fury: "Then why in the world don't we smash in and wipe the wretch out, and make him hand over the fan—instead of leaving him lurking there to grow wise, the pair of them billing and cooing!"
What a blockhead! Shaking out his prowess, he raised his rake and brought it down on the gate—crash!—and felled half the stone cliff-face along with the door.
The terrified maid ran in to report: "Master! Someone's smashed the front gate all to pieces!"
The Bull King had barely rushed inside, still gasping and panting as he told the Rakshasi of the battle over the fan with Sun the Pilgrim. At the report his fury blazed; he spat the fan from his mouth and handed it to the Rakshasi.
She took the fan in her hands, tears streaming from her eyes. "Great King," she said, "give the fan to that macaque and make him withdraw his troops."
"Lady," said the Bull King, "the thing is small, but the grudge runs deep. Sit fast—let me go out and have another bout with him." The demon donned his armor anew, chose another pair of precious swords, and strode out the gate—straight into Bajie, still battering the door with his rake. Without a word the old bull whipped out a sword and hacked at his face. Bajie raised his rake to meet it, gave ground a few steps, and backed outside—where already the Great Sage wheeled his cudgel overhead.
The Bull Demon King leapt from his cave on a roaring wind, and there on Cuiyun Mountain they closed again. The host of gods ringed him round on all four sides; the local deity's soldiers attacked from left and right. And what a battle this was too! Truly:
Clouds bewilder the world, fog shrouds the cosmos. Soughing, sighing, the dark wind rolls sand and stones; Towering rage swells the very sea to mud. Two swords ground anew, full armor hung again. A grudge deep as the sea; hatred breeding hatred fresh. Look at the Great Sage Equal to Heaven: for merit's sake He heeds no whit their old comradeship. Bajie displays his might, all for the fan; The host of gods guards the Faith to seize the bull. The Bull King's two hands never rest a moment, Warding left and right, plying all his spirit. They fought till the passing birds dropped their wings and could not fly, The roaming fish sank their fins and would not leap; Ghosts wept and gods howled, Heaven and Earth went dark, Dragons grieved and tigers cowered, the sunlight dimmed!
Fighting with total abandon, reckless of his life, the Bull King held out some fifty rounds more; then, unable to endure, he broke the battle and fled north.
There already the Vajra of Awesome Magic Power from Secret Magic Cliff on Mount Wutai blocked his way: "Bull Demon, where are you running? We are sent by the Lord Buddha Shakyamuni, who has spread a net of Heaven and earth to seize you here!"
Even as they spoke, the Great Sage, Bajie, and the host of gods came surging up behind.
The Demon King wheeled in panic and fled south—and ran full into the Vajra of Boundless Magic Power from the Cool Refreshing Cave on Mount Emei, who barred the way and thundered: "By the Buddha's command I stand here, and I am going to take you!"
Heart pounding and legs gone soft, the Bull King jerked loose and fled east—straight into the Vajra of Great Strength from Ear-Rubbing Cliff on Mount Sumeru, who closed with him: "Where now, old bull? By the Tathagata's secret command I have come to capture you!"
The Bull King shrank back and fled west—and met the Vajra of Eternal Abiding, the Unbreakable Honored King, from Golden Haze Ridge on Mount Kunlun, who barred his way: "And where does this wretch think he's going? By the personal word of the Buddha of the Great Thunderclap Monastery in the Western Heaven I hold this pass—who lets you through?"
The old bull's heart shuddered and his gall trembled; regret came too late. On every side, all four quarters, there were Buddha's soldiers and Heaven's generals—a net truly spread high, and no way out. And in the midst of his panic he heard the Pilgrim leading his host in pursuit; so he mounted his cloud and flew straight upward.
And there, just in place, stood Heavenly King Li with the Pagoda and Prince Nezha, leading the fish-belly yakshas and the Giant Spirit God, canopying the empty sky, who called out: "Not so fast! Not so fast! By decree of the Jade Emperor we are come to wipe you out!"
Desperate, the Bull King did as before: he shook himself and turned again into the monstrous great white bull, thrusting his two iron horns at the Heavenly King, who slashed at him with his sword. Then Sun the Pilgrim came up, and Prince Nezha cried in a great voice: "Great Sage, I am in armor and cannot make my courtesy. Yesterday my father and I saw the Lord Buddha, who memorialized the Jade Emperor that the Tang monk's road was blocked by the Flaming Mountain and the Great Sage Sun could not subdue the Bull Demon King. The Jade Emperor issued his decree and sent my father specially to lead us to your aid."
"This wretch's powers are no small thing!" said the Pilgrim. "He's turned himself into that monstrous body again—what's to be done?"
"Have no fear, Great Sage," said the Prince with a smile. "Watch me take him." The Prince shouted "Change!"—and grew three heads and six arms, sprang through the air onto the Bull King's back, swung the demon-slaying sword at his neck, and with one stroke the bull's head fell. The Heavenly King put up his sword and only then exchanged greetings with the Pilgrim. But from the Bull King's trunk another head thrust out, belching black vapor, its eyes shooting golden light. Nezha struck again, and where the head fell, another thrust out. A dozen strokes of the sword he dealt, and a dozen heads grew anew. Then Nezha took out his fire-wheels, hung them on the old bull's horns, and blew true fire upon them—blazing, roaring, until the Bull King bellowed madly, shaking his head and lashing his tail.
Just as he would have changed his shape and slipped free, the Pagoda-Bearing Heavenly King caught his true form in the Demon-Revealing Mirror, so that he could not budge or save himself by any art. He could only cry: "Spare my life! I submit—I submit to the house of Buddha!"
"Since you prize your life," said Nezha, "then hand over the fan, and quickly!"
"The fan is in my wife's keeping," said the Bull King.
At that Nezha uncoiled the demon-binding rope, cast it about the bull's neck, seized him by the nose, threaded the rope through his nostrils, and led him along by hand. Then Sun the Pilgrim gathered the four Vajra warriors, the Six Dings and Six Jias, the Guardian Sangharamas, Heavenly King Li with the Pagoda, the Giant Spirit God, and Bajie with the local deity and his spirit soldiers, and all in a throng around the white bull they came back to the gate of Plantain Cave.
The old bull called out: "My lady! Bring out the fan and save my life!"
Hearing his call, the Rakshasi hastily pulled off her hairpins and rings, shed her colored dress, knotted her black tresses like a Daoist nun, and put on plain white like a bhikkhuni. With both hands she bore the plantain fan, a zhang and two chi long, and came out the gate. And when she saw the host of Vajra warriors and sages and the Heavenly King and his son, she fell to her knees and knocked her head in worship: "I beg the Bodhisattvas to spare my husband's life and mine! I gladly present this fan, that Uncle Sun may accomplish his work!"
The Pilgrim stepped forward and took the fan, and all together they mounted auspicious clouds and returned by the eastern road.
Now tell it of Sanzang and the Sha Monk, who stood a while and sat a while, longing for the Pilgrim's return—so long delayed! What anxiety was theirs! Suddenly the whole sky filled with auspicious clouds, the whole earth with propitious light, floating and streaming, as the host of gods drew near. The elder quailed: "Wujing! What troops of gods are those approaching?"
The Sha Monk knew them: "Master, those are the four Vajra warriors, the gold-headed Revealers, the Six Jias and Six Dings, the Guardian Sangharamas, and all the passing gods. The one leading the bull is the Third Prince Nezha; the one with the mirror is Heavenly King Li. Big Brother bears the plantain fan; Second Brother and the local deity follow behind; the rest are all guardian god-soldiers."
Hearing this, Sanzang changed into his Vairocana hat and donned his cassock, and with Wujing went to bow and welcome the host of sages, thanking them: "What merit or power has your disciple, that he dares trouble all you honored sages to descend into the world!"
"Holy monk, rejoice!" said the four Vajra warriors. "Your work of merit is nearly complete! We were sent by the Buddha's command to aid you. Strive now with all your strength to cultivate, and never slacken for an instant." Sanzang chattered his teeth and knocked his head, receiving the teaching on his body and his destiny.
The Great Sage Sun bore the fan down to the mountain's edge, and summoning all his strength gave one mighty wave. The Flaming Mountain's flames sank utterly still, its light died wholly away. In high delight the Pilgrim waved it again—and felt the gentle breeze rise, soft and soughing; a third wave, and the whole sky filled with clouds, and fine rain came drifting down. There is a poem in witness:
The Flaming Mountain stretches eight hundred li; Its firelight blazed a name across the earth. Fire seethed the Five Leakings—no elixir ripened; Fire scorched the Triple Pass—the Way ran foul. In season came the plantain fan to spread rain and dew; Happily Heaven's generals lent their magic power. The bull led home to Buddha, cease his wild capering: When water and water are joined, the nature finds its peace.
Then Sanzang's fret and fever left him, his heart cleared and his mind was at rest. The four travelers took refuge and gave thanks to the Vajras, who returned each to his precious mountain. The Six Dings and Six Jias rose into the sky to keep guard; the passing gods scattered to the four quarters; the Heavenly King and his Prince led the bull straight back to the Buddha's realm to hand him over. Only the local deity of the mountain stood by in attendance, holding the Rakshasi in charge.
"Rakshasi," said the Pilgrim, "why are you not on your way, still standing there waiting for something?"
The Rakshasi knelt: "I beg the Great Sage's mercy a thousand times over—give me back the fan."
"You shameless hussy, past all sense of what's what!" bawled Bajie. "Sparing your life is already more than enough—and you'd beg for the fan besides? We'll carry it over the mountain with us; can't we sell it for a few cakes? After all this sweat and spirit we've spent, and you'd have it back! It's drizzling—aren't you gone home yet?"
The Rakshasi bowed again and again: "The Great Sage promised from the first: when the fire was fanned out, he would return it. As for this whole affair, I repent too late. It was my own churlishness that stirred up armies and troubled the host. We too had cultivated to human birth, but never yet attained the true fruit. Now that his true form has been shown and has gone west, I dare never again do evil. I beg you grant me my own fan; from this day I shall turn over a new leaf, cultivate my person and nourish my life."
"Great Sage," said the local deity, "since this woman knows so well the way to quench the fire, let her cut off the fire's very root; give her back the fan. This humble god dwells here in a poor corner; save the living folk of this region and grant them their blood-offerings—that would be a true kindness and convenience."
"But I asked the local people at the time," said the Pilgrim, "and they said that once the fire on this mountain is fanned out, it brings only one year of grain, and then the fire breaks out again! How is the root to be destroyed?"
"To destroy the fire's root forever," said the Rakshasi, "needs only forty-nine waves of the fan, one after another—then it will never blaze again."
Hearing this, the Pilgrim gripped the fan and put forth all his strength, waving it forty-nine times at the mountain's crest. Down came the rain in torrents on the heights—and it was a treasure indeed: where there had been fire, rain fell; where there had been none, the sky shone clear. Master and disciples stood on the fireless ground, untouched by the rain.
They sat through the night, and only next morning did they pack horse and luggage. The Pilgrim returned the fan to the Rakshasi, saying: "Were old Sun not to give it back, folk would say I have no word to keep. Take your fan and go back to your mountain—stir up no more trouble. Seeing you have won a human body, I spare you. Be off!"
The Rakshasi took the fan, recited a spell, pinched it into an apricot leaf, and held it in her mouth. She bowed her thanks to the host of sages, hid her name and went away to cultivate; in time she too attained the true fruit, her name remembered down all the ages in the storehouse of the sutras. Rakshasi and local deity both, grateful, gave thanks and escorted them on their way. Then the Pilgrim, Bajie, and the Sha Monk, guarding Sanzang, pressed forward on the road—bodies cool and cleansed at last, feet treading moist and fertile ground. Truly it is said:
When Water and Fire have both done their work, the primal unity joins; When water and fire stand even, the Great Way is achieved.
But as for how many years it would be before they returned to the Eastern Land—listen to the explanation in the next chapter.