Through the twelve hours of day it must not be forgot; In all the hundred watches, gather in the work. Five years, ten myriads, eight thousand rounds— Let not the sacred water run dry, Give no rein to the sorrow of the fire's glare. When water and fire are tempered, no place suffers harm; The Five Elements link together like hooks. When yin and yang in harmony mount the tower of clouds, Riding the luan, ascend the purple mansions; Straddling the crane, haste to Yingzhou.
This set of verses is to the tune "The Immortal at the River." It tells only of how Tang Sanzang and his four followers, water and fire both brought to accomplishment, their true nature cool and clear, had borrowed the purely yin precious fan, fanned the raging fire out, and crossed the mountain. In less than a day they had covered the eight hundred li of the way, traveling on westward at ease and leisure; and it was just the turn from late autumn to early winter, and they beheld such sights as these:
Wild chrysanthemums' last petals falling; New plum trees' tender buds unfolding. In every village the harvest is gathered in; In every household they savor fragrant broth.
In the level woods the leaves are down, the far hills stand bare; In winding ravines the frost lies thick, the hidden valleys clear. The breath of the Zhong pitch moves; the burrowing creatures fold their nests; Pure yin, pure yin—the Moon Lord reigns in dark profound, The virtue of water at its full; the sun of Shun takes pity on clear skies.
The breath of earth sinks downward; the breath of Heaven rises up. The rainbow hides, its shadow seen no more; Ponds and marshes slowly breed their ice. On the sheer cliffs the hanging vines' flowers wither; Pines and bamboo congeal with cold, their color all the greener.
The four travelers had gone a good long while when they saw another city drawing near. The Tang monk reined in his horse and called to his disciple: "Wukong, look at those towers and lofty pavilions yonder—what sort of place can that be?"
The Pilgrim raised his head and looked: it was a walled city. And truly:
A dragon coiling, a tiger crouching in a wall of gold. On all four sides the canopy of state hangs near; Through a hundred turns the purple market-squares lie level. Jade and stone bridge-rails rank their cunning beasts; On golden daises sit the wise and worthy. Truly the metropolis of a divine land, A jade capital, a seat of Heaven. Ten thousand li of royal domain made fast; A thousand years of imperial fortunes flourishing. The barbarians bow and yield—the sovereign's grace runs far; Seas and mountains pay their court—the sacred assembly brims. The palace steps are clean, the carriage road serene. In wine-shops the songs grow loud; In flower towers joy springs up. Before the Weiyang Palace, trees forever green— Fit for the phoenix of morning sun to sing upon.
"Master," said the Pilgrim, "that walled city is the seat of some realm's king."
Bajie laughed: "Every prefecture in the world has a prefecture city, every county a county seat—how do you make it out to be a king's seat?"
"You don't understand," said the Pilgrim. "A king's residence is different from a prefecture's or county's. Look: on all four sides it has a dozen-odd gates; the circuit of its walls runs a hundred-odd li; towers rise tall, clouds and mists wreath them in many colors. If it were not an imperial capital, how could it be so magnificent?"
"Sharp eyes, Brother," said the Sha Monk. "You know it's a king's seat—but what's its name?"
"There's neither tablet nor banner," said the Pilgrim. "How could I know? We must go into the city and ask—then we'll find out."
The elder rode on, and presently they came to the gates. He dismounted, crossed the bridge, and went in to look about: six avenues and three markets, trade and wealth flowing, dress and caps splendid, people gay and prosperous.
As they walked along, they suddenly came upon a dozen-odd Buddhist monks, every one wearing cangue and chains, begging from door to door, ragged and wretched past bearing.
Sanzang sighed: "When the hare dies the fox grieves—each creature sorrows for its kind." He called: "Wukong, go up and ask them why they suffer such punishment."
The Pilgrim did as he was told, calling out: "Monks! What monastery are you from? Why do you wear cangue and chains?"
The monks fell to their knees: "My lords, we are the wronged monks of the Golden Light Monastery."
"Where does the Golden Light Monastery stand?" asked the Pilgrim.
"Round the corner, just there," said the monks.
The Pilgrim brought them before the Tang monk and asked: "How are you wronged? Tell me, and I'll listen."
"My lords," said the monks, "we don't know where you've come from, but you seem somehow familiar to us. This is no place to tell it—come to our humble temple, and we'll recount our misery there."
"So be it," said the elder. "Let us go to their monastery and inquire into the matter carefully."
Together they came to the monastery gate, across which was written in seven characters of gold: "The Golden Light Monastery for the Protection of the Realm, Built by Imperial Command."
Master and disciples entered and looked about:
In the ancient hall, incense lamps burn cold; Through empty corridors, wind sweeps the leaves. A thousand-foot tower climbs the clouds; A few pine trees nurse their nature. Fallen flowers cover the ground—no guests pass by; Before the eaves the spiderwebs hang free for aught to snare. Idly the drum is mounted; vainly the bell is hung; On painted walls the dust lies thick, the sacred images dim. The lecture seat stands silent—the monks are gone; The Chan hall, still and lone, where birds are often met. Desolate—enough to draw a sigh; Forlorn and bitter, past all bounds of grief. Though incense burners stand before the Buddha, The ash is cold, the flowers withered—every rite is void.
Sanzang's heart ached, and he could not hold back his tears. The monks, cangue and all, pushed open the main hall and invited the elder up to worship the Buddha. The elder entered, offered the incense of his heart, and chattered his teeth three times in homage. Then he passed to the rear, and there, chained to the pillars of the abbot's porch, were six or seven more young monks. Sanzang could hardly bear the sight.
When they reached the abbot's quarters, all the monks came and knocked their heads, asking: "Honored lords of varied aspect—can it be you come from the Great Tang of the Eastern Land?"
The Pilgrim laughed: "What arts of prophecy do you monks have? We do indeed. How did you know us?"
"My lords," said the monks, "we have no arts of prophecy. It's only that we suffer under a wrong past all telling, with nowhere to plead it, and day after day we've cried to Heaven and cried to earth. Perhaps we stirred the gods: last night, every one of us had the same dream—that a holy monk come from the Great Tang of the Eastern Land would save our lives, and this grievance might at last be cleared. And today, sure enough, we see your honors' wondrous aspect. That is how we knew."
Sanzang heard this with great joy. "What place is this?" he asked. "What is your grievance?"
The monks knelt and told him: "My lord, this city is called the Kingdom of Jisai, a great center of the Western lands. In former years the four barbarian realms paid it tribute: the Yuetuo Kingdom of the south, the Gaochang Kingdom of the north, the Xiliang Kingdom of the east, and the Benbo Kingdom of the west—year after year they sent fine jade, bright pearls, lovely consorts, and swift horses. We raised neither spear nor shield here, marched out on no campaigns, and yet they of themselves revered this as the superior realm."
"If they revered it as the superior realm," said Sanzang, "I suppose your king walks in the Way, and his civil and military ministers are worthy men."
"My lord, neither civil nor worthy, neither martial nor able—and the king is no follower of the Way either. It was all because of our Golden Light Monastery: from of old, the precious pagoda here was wreathed in auspicious clouds and propitious mists rising high; at night it shed its radiance, seen from ten thousand li away; by day it breathed colored vapors, beheld in all four kingdoms alike. Therefore it was accounted a divine capital, a seat of Heaven, and the four barbarians paid it tribute. But three years ago, on the first day of the first autumn month, at the midnight hour of Zi, there fell a rain of blood. When day broke, every household was terrified, every family in mourning. The ministers memorialized the king, not knowing how Heaven had been offended; Daoists were summoned to perform the rites and monks to read sutras, in thanks to Heaven and earth. Who could know that the golden pagoda of our monastery had been defiled? These two years past the foreign lands have sent no tribute. Our king would have marched to war, but his ministers remonstrated: 'The monks of our monastery stole the treasure from the pagoda; that is why there are no auspicious clouds or propitious mists, and the foreign lands no longer pay court.' The muddled king looked no deeper into the matter; his thieving officials seized our brotherhood and tortured them a thousand ways, squeezed them by every art. Of the three generations of monks in this place, the first two died under tortures past all bearing; and now they have taken our generation, clapped us in cangue and chains, and put us on trial. Your honors above—we would never steal the treasure in that pagoda, never so wrong our own hearts! We beg your mercy: like draws to like, and kind to kind. Bestow your great compassion, spread abroad your magic power, and save our lives!"
Hearing this, Sanzang nodded and sighed: "A dark business, and hard to see through. It is partly the court's misgovernment, and partly your own calamity. Since Heaven sent down a rain of blood and defiled the pagoda, why did you not memorialize the king at the time, instead of letting yourselves suffer so?"
"My lord," said the monks, "we are common clay—how could we know the mind of Heaven? Our elders before us could not clear it; what could we do?"
"Wukong," said Sanzang, "what hour is it?"
"About the hour of Shen," said the Pilgrim.
"I would go before the king to exchange our travel permit," said Sanzang, "but this affair of the monks is still obscure; I could hardly speak of it to the king. When I left Chang'an, I made a vow in the Famen Monastery: going westward, whatever temple I meet, I will burn incense; whatever monastery, worship the Buddha; whatever pagoda, sweep the pagoda. Today I have come here and found wronged monks, all on account of that pagoda. Get me a new broom; let me bathe, go up, and sweep it. Then we shall see how the defilement stands, and why it gives no light; when we've learned the truth, it will be time to face the king, speak out, and deliver these men from their misery."
At this the monks in cangue and chains hurried to the kitchen and fetched a kitchen knife, which they handed to Bajie: "My lord, take this knife and break the iron locks on the little monks chained to the pillars—let them go prepare the meal and the scented bath-water, to serve your honors at table and at the bath. We'll go into the streets and beg a new broom or two for your honor to sweep the pagoda."
Bajie laughed: "What's hard about opening locks? No need of knife or axe—just get our hairy-faced lord there; he's an old hand at opening locks."
And indeed the Pilgrim stepped up, worked the lock-opening charm, passed his hand once over them, and the locks fell off every chain. The young monks scampered to the kitchen, scrubbed pots and stove clean, and laid out tea and rice. When Sanzang and his disciples had eaten, the sky slowly darkened, and the chained monks came back with two new brooms. Sanzang was well pleased.
As they talked, a young monk came in with a lamp to invite the elder to his bath. By now the whole sky was bright with stars and moon, and the watch-drums sounded together from the watchtower. It was truly that hour when:
On all four walls the cold wind rises; In ten thousand homes the lamps shine clear. The six avenues shut doors and windows; The three markets close their gates. The fishing boats retreat to deep trees; The plows put by their short traces. The woodman's axe is still; The schoolboy reads his book aloud.
When Sanzang had bathed, he put on a narrow-sleeved robe, bound his sash, changed into a pair of soft slippers, and took a new broom in his hand. "Go and rest," he said to the monks. "I am going to sweep the pagoda."
"Since the pagoda was defiled by that rain of blood," said the Pilgrim, "and has so long been without light, I fear some evil creatures may have bred there. The night is still and the wind cold, and you'd have no companion—something might go amiss. What if old Sun goes up with you?"
"Very good! Very good!" said Sanzang.
Each taking a broom, they went first to the great hall, lit the colored-glass lamp, burned incense, and bowed before the Buddha: "Your disciple Chen Xuanzang, sent by the Great Tang of the Eastern Land to Vulture Peak, to behold my Lord the Tathagata and fetch the scriptures, has now come to the Golden Light Monastery in the Kingdom of Jisai, where the monks report the precious pagoda defiled; the king suspects the monks of stealing the treasure, and they bear the charge in misery, with none above or below to clear them. Your disciple sweeps this pagoda with all his heart. May the awesome spirit of my Buddha soon show the cause of the pagoda's defilement, and suffer no wrong to common men."
When he had prayed, he and the Pilgrim opened the pagoda door and swept upward from the lowest story.
And what a pagoda it was—towering against the Milky Way, sheer into the empty sky. Truly it was:
A five-colored colored-glass pagoda, A thousand-gold peak of sarira relics. The winding stair like threading through a cave; Each opened door like leaving some closed cage. The sacred vase casts back the moon at heaven's rim; The golden bells send forth the wind from off the sea. Look at its deep eaves and architraves, its crown holding the clouds— Deep eaves and architraves, made a phoenix threading cunning flowers in stone; Its crown holding clouds, made a pagoda-writhing dragon in the mists. Gaze far from it, and a thousand li lie open to the eye; Climb high on it, and one seems standing in the ninefold heavens.
On every story's door a colored-glass lamp, Dusty and unlit; step after step, white jade rails Furred with grime and winged vermin. In the pagoda's heart, Before the Buddha's seat, the incense smoke has died; Outside the lattice, before the gods, the spiderwebs hang veiled. The censer brims with mouse droppings; The lamp-cups want for melted oil. Only because the treasure in its heart was lost in secret Do bitter monks see all their lives come void— Now Tang the monk has vowed to sweep the pagoda, And it shall don its countenance of former days.
The Tang monk swept one story with his broom, then climbed to another. Thus sweeping, he reached the seventh story, and it was already the second watch.
The elder began to tire. "If you're weary," said the Pilgrim, "sit and rest, and let old Sun sweep in your stead."
"How many stories does this pagoda have?" asked Sanzang.
"No fewer than thirteen, I should think."
Weariness and all, the elder pressed on: "It must be swept, to fulfill my vow." He swept three stories more, till his back ached and his legs pained, and sat down on the tenth: "Wukong, sweep those last three stories down for me."
The Pilgrim shook out his spirits, mounted to the eleventh story, and in a moment was up at the twelfth. As he swept, he heard voices at the very top of the pagoda. "Strange! Strange!" said the Pilgrim. "It's close on the third watch—how should there be anyone talking at the top? It must be some evil creature! Let's go see."
What a Monkey King! Tucking his broom gently under his arm, he hitched up his clothes, slipped out the front door, trod a cloud-head, and looked. There on the thirteenth story, in the pagoda's heart, sat two demons, with a plate of food before them, a bowl and a jug, playing finger-guessing games over their wine.
The Pilgrim worked a magic: he dropped the broom, whipped out his gold-banded cudgel, barred the pagoda door, and shouted: "Fine monsters! So it's you who stole the pagoda's treasure!"
The two monsters panicked, jumped up, and hurled jug and bowl about wildly; but the Pilgrim barred the way with his iron cudgel: "If I beat you to death, there'll be no one to make a confession." He only pressed in upon them with the cudgel.
Pinned flat against the wall, past all struggling, the creatures could only cry: "Spare us! Spare us! It's none of our doing! The ones who stole the treasure are somewhere else!"
The Pilgrim worked the seizing charm, grabbed one in each hand, and bore them straight down to the tenth story.
"Master," he announced, "I've caught the thieves who stole the treasure!"
Sanzang, just dozing, woke with a start at once both frightened and glad: "Where did you catch them?"
The Pilgrim dragged the monsters up and forced them to their knees: "They were up at the top of the pagoda, playing drinking games and making merry. Old Sun heard the racket, sprang on a cloud to the top, and barred the way, without ever striking a blow—afraid that one stroke of the cudgel would kill them and leave no one to confess. So I brought them down alive. Master, take their statements; find out what demons they are and where the stolen treasure lies."
Trembling and quaking, the monsters cried "Spare us!" and then confessed the whole truth: "We two were sent by the Dragon King of Ten Thousand Saints of the Green-Wave Pool on Boulder Mountain to patrol the pagoda. He is called Benbo'erba, and I am called Babo'erben. He is a catfish monster, and I am a black-fish spirit. Our old dragon of Ten Thousand Saints had a daughter, called the Princess of Ten Thousand Saints—a girl with the face of a flower and the moon, beauty twenty parts perfect. She took a son-in-law called the nine-headed prince, whose magic powers are vast. Two years ago he came here with the Dragon King, displayed his great magic power, sent down a rain of blood, defiled the precious pagoda, and stole the sarira relic, the Buddha-treasure, from it. Then the princess went up to the Great loftiest Heaven, before the Hall of Divine Mists, and stole the Queen Mother's nine-leafed lingzhi herb, and keeps it at the bottom of the Pool, shining with golden light and rosy radiance, bright day and night. Of late we heard that one Sun Wukong is going to the Western Heaven for scriptures—men say his powers are vast, and all along the road he does nothing but hunt out other people's wrongs. So all this while they have kept sending us here to patrol and watch; if this Sun Wukong should come, we were to give warning."
The Pilgrim heard this and gave a cold, sneering laugh: "What impudence from these wicked beasts! No wonder they invited the Bull Demon King to a feast there the other day! So they consort with this pack of fiendish demons and do nothing but evil!"
Hard was this said when Bajie and two or three young monks came up the pagoda stairs, carrying a couple of lanterns: "Master, you've finished sweeping—why not go sleep? What are you talking about here?"
"You've come at just the right moment, Brother," said the Pilgrim. "The treasure on the pagoda was stolen by the old Dragon King of Ten Thousand Saints. He sent these two little demons to patrol the tower and spy out the news of our coming—and just now I caught them."
"What are their names? What sort of demons?" asked Bajie.
"They've just confessed," said the Pilgrim. "One is called Benbo'erba, the other Babo'erben; one is a catfish monster, the other a black-fish spirit."
Bajie whipped out his rake to smash them: "If they're demons, and we've got their confession, why let them live?"
"You don't understand," said the Pilgrim. "Keep them alive to speak before the king—and to serve as our eyes in hunting down the thieves and recovering the treasure."
What a blockhead! He actually put away his rake, took one demon under one arm, and helped bring both down the pagoda.
The monsters could only cry "Spare us!" Said Bajie: "Just right—we'll make fresh soup of catfish and black fish for those wronged monks to eat!" The two or three young monks, delighted, held up their lanterns and guided the elder down the pagoda.
One ran ahead to announce to the monks: "Saved! Saved! We've seen the blue sky at last! The demons who stole the treasure—the honored lords have caught them and brought them here!"
The Pilgrim instructed: "Bring iron chains, thread them through their collarbones, and lock them here. Guard them well; we're going to sleep, and tomorrow we'll see to the rest." The monks all stood close guard, and let Sanzang and the others rest.
Unnoticed, day dawned. "Wukong and I will go to court," said the elder, "to exchange our travel permit." He put on his brocade-edged cassock, set his Vairocana hat on his head, made his dignified array complete, and strode forward. The Pilgrim too tightened his tiger-skin kilt, straightened his cotton tunic, and took the travel permit to go along.
"Why not bring these two demon thieves?" asked Bajie.
"Once we've memorialized the king," said the Pilgrim, "a warrant will come of itself, with men to fetch them."
So they came to the outer gate of the court—past all that vermilion-bird and yellow-dragon splendor, those pure precincts and crimson towers there was no end of seeing.
At the East Flourishing Gate Sanzang made courtesy to the ambassador of the gate: "I trouble Your Honor to announce us. This humble monk is sent by the Great Tang of the Eastern Land to the Western Heaven for scriptures, and would look upon the king to exchange our travel permit."
The yellow-gate officer made the report indeed, coming before the steps to announce: "Outside are two monks of strange appearance and foreign dress, who say they are sent by the Tang court of the Eastern Land, in the Southern Continent of Jambudvipa, to worship the Buddha in the West and seek scriptures. They would look upon Your Majesty and exchange their travel permit."
Hearing this, the king gave command to summon them, and the elder led the Pilgrim into the court. When the civil and military officials saw the Pilgrim, there was none but started in fear: some called him the monkey monk, some the thunder-beaked monk; every one of them shuddered and dared not gaze long.
The elder performed the full bows and mountain-shout of homage before the steps, while the Great Sage stood at the side with arms folded, one shoulder cocked, not stirring an inch.
The elder made his memorial: "Your subject-monk was sent by the Great Tang empire of the Eastern Land in the Southern Continent of Jambudvipa to worship the Buddha at the Great Thunderclap Monastery in the land of India of the West and seek the true scriptures. Passing through your precious realm, we dared not go by unannounced. We carry our travel permit with us, and beg that it be examined and stamped before we proceed."
At this the king was delighted, and gave command to invite the holy monks of Tang up into the Golden Chimes Hall, with embroidered stools granted for their seats. The elder went up alone, first presenting the travel permit, then giving thanks for the grace before he dared sit.
The king read the permit through, joyful at heart: "To think that your Great Tang king, though ailing, could choose so high a monk, who shuns not roads so far, to worship our Buddha and seek the scriptures—while the monks of my realm think of nothing but thieving, ruining the state and overturning the sovereign!"
At this Sanzang put his palms together: "How have they ruined the state and overturned the sovereign?"
"My realm," said the king, "is a superior kingdom of the Western regions, and the four barbarian lands paid it tribute—all because within our borders there is the Golden Light Monastery, and in the monastery a golden pagoda, and from the pagoda radiance once shot to the sky. Of late, thieving monks of that very monastery have secretly stolen the treasure within it, and for three years there has been no radiance; these two years the foreign lands have sent no tribute. My heart is bitter with hatred over it."
Sanzang put his palms together and smiled: "Your Majesty—a hair's breadth astray, and one is a thousand li off. Last evening this humble monk reached your celestial city, and at the very gate I saw a dozen-odd monks in cangue and chains. I asked their offense, and they said they were wronged men of the Golden Light Monastery. I went to the monastery and examined the matter closely: it is no doing of the monastery's monks at all. Last night this humble monk swept the pagoda, and has already caught the demon thieves who stole the treasure."
"Where are the demon thieves?" cried the king, overjoyed.
"They are locked, at this moment, in the Golden Light Monastery by my disciple."
The king at once cast down the gold tablet of command: "Let the Brocade Guards go swiftly to the Golden Light Monastery and fetch the demon thieves; I will judge them myself."
Again Sanzang memorialized: "Your Majesty—though there are the Brocade Guards, my disciple must go as well, or it cannot be done."
"Where is this eminent disciple of yours?" asked the king.
Sanzang pointed with his finger: "The one standing beside the jade steps."
The king looked, and started in alarm: "Holy monk, with so fine a presence as yours, how comes your disciple to look like that?"
The Great Sage Sun heard, and cried out in a great voice: "Your Majesty—men are not judged by their faces, nor the sea measured with a bucket. If you love a fine presence only, how will you ever catch demon thieves?"
At this the king turned fright to delight: "The holy monk speaks sense. In my realm we shall look for no comely figure; to capture the thieves and return the treasure to the pagoda—that is the first thing." Again he ordered the officer of attendance to see to carriage and canopy, and bade the Brocade Guards wait upon the holy monk and bring the demon thieves.
That officer at once prepared a great sedan chair and one yellow umbrella; the Brocade Guards mustered their captains, and the Pilgrim was borne in an eight-man chair with eight bearers at the shafts, the road cleared with loud cries at every stage, straight to the Golden Light Monastery.
This stirred the whole city: there was nowhere, not one place, where the folk did not come out to behold the holy monk and the demon thieves.
Bajie and the Sha Monk heard the street-cries and, supposing it the king's officers, hurried out to receive them—and there was the Pilgrim sitting in the sedan. The blockhead grinned in his face: "Brother, you've come into your own at last!"
The Pilgrim got down from the chair and steadied Bajie by the arm: "How have I come into my own?"
"You ride under a yellow umbrella in an eight-man sedan—isn't that a Monkey King's proper office? That's why I say you've come into your own."
"None of your jokes now," said the Pilgrim. Then they untied the two demons and escorted them to the king.
"Brother," said the Sha Monk, "take your little brother along too—take him along!"
"You stay here," said the Pilgrim, "and guard the luggage and horses."
Said the monks in cangue and chains: "You honored lords all go and receive the king's grace; leave us here to stand guard."
"Since that's so," said the Pilgrim, "let me memorialize the king first, then come back and free you."
Bajie gripped one demon thief, the Sha Monk gripped the other, and the Great Sage Sun sat in his sedan as before; with banners borne before them, they escorted the two monsters to the court.
In a moment they reached the white jade steps. "The demon thieves are fetched," they announced to the king.
The king came down from the dragon couch, and with the Tang monk and his civil and military officers looked upon them together. The one monster had gill-sacs thrust out, shell-black and mailed, a pointed beak and keen teeth; the other had slippery hide and a huge belly, a giant mouth and long whiskers. They had legs and could walk, true—but by and large they were made into the semblance of men.
The king demanded: "What land are you thieves from, what place you demons? How many years have you invaded our soil? What year did you steal our treasure? How many thieves in the whole pack, and what are all their names? Confess the truth, one item at a time!"
The two monsters knelt facing upward, the flesh of their necks still dripping blood and feeling no pain, and confessed: "More than three years ago, on the first day of the seventh month, there was a Dragon King of Ten Thousand Saints, who led a host of his kin and dwells southeast of this realm, a hundred-odd li from here—the pool is called Green-Wave, the mountain Boulder. He had a daughter, dainty and delicate, a beauty alluring and fair, and took in a son-in-law, the nine-headed prince, whose magic has no rival. He knew of the marvels on Your Majesty's pagoda, plotted with the Dragon King to turn thief, first sent down a rain of blood, then made off with the sarira. It shines now in the dragon palace: even blackest night is bright as day. The princess, plying her powers, secretly and silently stole the Queen Mother's lingzhi as well, and warms and nurtures the treasures in the pool. We two are not the thief-chiefs; we are petty soldiers sent by the Dragon King. Taken captive this night, this confession is the truth."
"You've confessed," said the king, "why not confess your own names?"
Said the monsters: "I am called Benbo'erba, and he is called Babo'erben. Benbo'erba is a catfish monster, and Babo'erben a black-fish spirit."
The king ordered the Brocade Guards to lock them up securely, and issued his command: "Loose the cangue and chains of the monks of the Golden Light Monastery! Quick, let the Court of Imperial Entertainments lay a banquet, in the Hall of the Qilin, to honor the holy monks for catching the thieves—and let us ask the holy monks to plan the capture of the thief-chiefs!"
The Court of Imperial Entertainments at once prepared two banquets, one of meat and one of vegetarian fare. The king invited the Tang monk and his disciples up into the Hall of the Qilin to be seated, and asked: "Holy monk, your honored style?"
"This humble monk's family name at home was Chen," said the Tang monk, palms together, "my religious name Xuanzang. The sovereign of Tang bestowed on me his own surname, and my lowly style is Sanzang."
"And your eminent disciples' styles?" asked the king.
"My disciples have no styles," said Sanzang. "The first is named Sun Wukong, the second Zhu Wuneng, the third Sha Wujing—names given them by the Bodhisattva Guanyin of the Southern Sea. Because they took me as their master, I call Wukong the Pilgrim, Wuneng Bajie, and Wujing the Monk."
When the king had heard all, he seated Sanzang in the place of honor, Sun the Pilgrim at the left side-seat, and Zhu Bajie and the Sha Monk at the right side-seat—all with vegetarian fruits, vegetables, tea, and rice.
At the head, one meat banquet was spread where the king sat; below, a hundred-odd meat tables for the civil and military officials. The ministers gave thanks for the sovereign's grace, the disciples begged their master's pardon for faults, and all sat down. The king lifted the cup; Sanzang dared not drink wine, but his three each accepted the settling wine. Below, pipes and strings struck up together—the Conservatory of Music playing. And watch Bajie: throat wide open, swallowing like a tiger, bolting like a wolf, he ate a whole table of fruits and vegetables down to nothing.
Presently more soup and rice were brought and changed in, and that too he left not a crumb of; when the wine came round the table, he never refused a cup. The banquet went merrily on till past noon before it broke up.
Sanzang gave thanks for the feast, but the king pressed them to stay: "This banquet was but a small token of the holy monks' merit in catching the monsters." He ordered the Court of Imperial Entertainments: "Move the feast to the Jianzhang Palace, and there let us ask the holy monks to settle the plan for capturing the thief-chiefs and returning the treasure to the pagoda."
"If it's thieves to capture and treasure to recover," said Sanzang, "no need of another banquet. Let us take leave of Your Majesty now and go seize the monsters."
The king would have it no other way, but must invite them into the Jianzhang Palace, where they ate one more banquet.
The king raised his cup: "Which holy monk will lead the host to war, subdue the demons, and capture the thieves?"
"Let my senior disciple Sun Wukong go," said Sanzang.
The Great Sage bowed and accepted. "Since Elder Sun is going," said the king, "how many men and horses will you need? At what hour will you leave the city?"
Bajie could hold back no longer, and bawled aloud: "What need of men and horses! And what's all this about hours! Now, while we're drunk with wine and stuffed with rice, I'll go with my elder brother—it'll be catch them with hands as easy as reach!"
"How diligent Bajie has grown of late!" said Sanzang, greatly pleased.
"Since that's how it is," said the Pilgrim, "let Brother Sha guard the master, and we two will go."
"If the two elders need no men and horses," said the king, "will you need weapons?"
Bajie laughed: "Your household weapons we couldn't use. We brothers carry our own."
Hearing this, the king at once took up the great goblet to speed the two elders on their way.
"No more wine," said the Great Sage Sun. "Only have the Brocade Guards bring out the two little demons—we'll take them along for eyes and guides."
The king gave command, and they were brought out at once. The two of them tucked a little demon apiece under their arms, mounted the wind, worked the snatching charm, and made straight away to the southeast. Ah!
Sovereign and ministers, seeing them ride the wind and fog, Knew at last that master and disciples were holy monks.
But as for how they went and made their capture—listen to the explanation in the next chapter.