This chapter's karmic tale Bids men do good— Beware of doing evil! At the first stirring of a thought, The gods above look down and mark it plain; Let each man do as he will. The dull and the cunning, the crafty and the clever—how should you learn from them? Both alike are but the medicine of the mindless. While life is before you and the Way awaits, right it is to cultivate— Do not drift with the waves. Know your root and origin; cast off your mortal shell. Seek long life; you must seize and hold it fast. See clearly hour by hour, and savor the ambrosia of the Dharma. Pierce through the Three Passes and fill up the Black Sea, And be assured that the good shall ride the cranes and the luan. There, mindful of old ties, they grow yet more compassionate, And climb at last to Paradise.
The story tells how Tang Sanzang, with a single sincere thought—and let us not speak of the protection of the gods of heaven—was seen off by these very spirits of grass and trees after an elegant night of company, and escaped the thorns and spines of the brambles, with no more vines to cling and tangle about him. The four pilgrims pressed on west. When they had traveled a good while, winter was waning again and the days of the third month of spring had come:
All things flourish in their turn; the Dipper's handle points back to the Tiger hour. Grass shoots spread their green over all the ground; Willow buds line the whole bank in green. One ridge of peach blossoms red as woven brocade; Half a stream of misty water bright as blue gauze. So much of wind and rain along the way, And the heart's feelings without end.
The sun warms the flower-hearts to brightness; The swallows bear moss-tips lightly away. The mountain hues, like a painting by Wang Wei, now deep, now pale; The birds' songs, like the eloquence of Su Qin, range wide and free. The fragrant blossoms spread their brocade with none to admire them; Yet the dancing butterflies and the humming bees have their own affection.
The master and disciples, too, wandered among the flowers and trod the green, pacing slowly after the horse. As they traveled, they suddenly saw a lofty mountain that, seen from afar, seemed to join the sky itself.
Sanzang pointed with his whip and said: "Wukong, that mountain—I wonder how many miles high it is. It seems to touch the blue heavens, to pierce through to the azure vault."
"The old poem says," replied the Pilgrim, "'Above is only the sky; no mountain can match it in height.' It simply means that the mountain is so high that nothing can compare with it—how could it truly touch the sky!"
"If it doesn't touch the sky," said Bajie, "how is it that Mount Kunlun is called the Pillar of Heaven?"
"You don't understand," said the Pilgrim. "Since ancient times, Heaven has been incomplete in the northwest. Mount Kunlun stands in the northwest, in the qian position, and so it has the look of propping up the sky and stopping up the void—that is why it is called the Pillar of Heaven."
The Sha Monk laughed: "Elder brother, don't feed him such fine talk. Once he hears it, he'll only pass it off on other people. Let's get on the road; when we've climbed that mountain, we'll know how high it is."
That blockhead chased after the Sha Monk, roughhousing and tussling with him, while the master's horse flew along as fast as the wind. In a moment they came to the foot of the mountain crags and made their way upward step by step. What a mountain it was:
In the woods the wind sighs; In the ravines the water murmurs. Crows and sparrows cannot fly across; Even the immortals call it hard. A thousand cliffs, ten thousand ravines, A hundred million bends and turns. Dust rolls and swirls—no man comes here; Grotesque rocks stand dense, never wearying to look upon. In some places the clouds drift like shimmering water; Everywhere trees stand, and the birds' songs throng. Deer carry zhi fungus away; apes pick peaches and come back. Foxes and badgers leap to and fro upon the cliffs; Milu and musk deer romp and play about the ridge-tops. Suddenly a tiger's roar frightens the boldest heart, And spotted leopards and gray wolves bar the way.
Tang Sanzang's heart trembled at the sight. But Sun Wukong was mighty in his powers. See him—one roar with his gold-banded cudgel frightened off the wolves, insects, tigers, and leopards; he cut open a way and led his master straight up the high mountain. When they had crossed the ridge-top and come down to the level ground in the west, they suddenly saw auspicious light in gentle waves and colored mist drifting all around, and there was a cluster of towers, terraces, halls, and pavilions, with the faint, lingering music of bells and chimes.
"Disciples," said Sanzang, "see what sort of place that is."
The Pilgrim raised his head, shaded his eyes with his hand, and looked carefully. What a fine place it was! Truly:
Jeweled towers and precious thrones, a famous place of the highest rank. In the empty valleys the sounds of earth abound; in the still realm the heavenly incense spreads. Green pines veiled in rain screen the lofty pavilions; Emerald bamboo holding the clouds guards the lecture hall. Radiant mist, faint and far, reveals the dragon palace; Rich colors floating and drifting stretch the Buddha-land. Cinnabar balustrades and jade doors, painted beams and carved rafters. Discoursing on the sutras, fragrance fills the seats; Speaking of talismans, the moon shines upon the window. Birds cry within the red trees; cranes drink beside the stone springs. All around the flowers bloom—the garden of Qiyuan is fair; On three sides the gates stand open—the light of Shravasti gleams. Towers and terraces rise abrupt; the gate faces the peaks; Bells and chimes linger slow, their notes drawn long. The windows open to a fine wind; the curtains roll in the misty gloom. Monks here are free and easy in their feelings; no worldly ways, but harmony and peace. The dust of the world never reaches this true immortal scene; In this quiet land, this monastery, is a fine field of the Way.
Having looked his fill, the Pilgrim reported: "Master, that place is indeed a monastery, but I cannot tell why there is some baleful air amid its Chan light and auspicious vapor. The look of it resembles the Thunderclap, yet the road is somewhat different. When we reach it, we must on no account go in rashly, lest we fall into some deadly hand."
"Since it has the look of the Thunderclap," said Tang Sanzang, "might it not be Numinous Mountain itself? Don't be mistaking my sincerity and delaying the purpose of my coming."
"No, no!" said the Pilgrim. "I have walked the road to Numinous Mountain several times—this is not that road!"
"Even if it isn't," said Bajie, "there must be some good person dwelling there."
"No need for so much suspicion," said the Sha Monk. "This road must pass by that gate anyway. Whether it is or not, we shall know at a glance."
"Wujing speaks sense," said the Pilgrim.
The elder spurred his horse to a gallop and reached the mountain gate, where he saw three large characters: "Thunderclap Monastery." In a flurry he rolled off the horse and threw himself on the ground, crying in fury: "Wicked macaque! You have done me to death! This plainly says Thunderclap Monastery, and still you try to deceive me!"
The Pilgrim smiled appeasingly: "Master, do not be angry. Look again. There are four characters on the mountain gate—how is it you read out only three, and then blame me?"
The elder scrambled to his feet, trembling, and looked again. It was indeed four characters: "Lesser Thunderclap Monastery."
"Even if it is the Lesser Thunderclap Monastery," said Sanzang, "there must still be some Buddha within. The scriptures say there are three thousand Buddhas, and I suppose they do not all dwell in one place: Guanyin is on the Southern Sea, Samantabhadra on Mount Emei, and Manjusri on Mount Wutai. I wonder which Buddha's field this may be. The ancients said: where there is a Buddha, there are scriptures; where there is a land, there are treasures. Let us go in."
"Do not go in," said the Pilgrim. "This place holds more bane than blessing. If some calamity befalls, you must not blame me."
"Even if there is no Buddha," said Sanzang, "there must be an image of Buddha. Your disciple has made a vow: when I meet a Buddha, I worship a Buddha. How could I blame you?" He at once ordered Bajie to bring out the cassock, changed into his monk's cap, and, properly robed and capped, stepped forward.
Then they heard a voice call from within the mountain gate: "Tang Sanzang, you come from the Eastern Land to worship our Buddha—how can you be so remiss in your manners?"
At these words Sanzang at once prostrated himself; Bajie knocked his head on the ground; the Sha Monk knelt down. Only the Great Sage stayed behind, holding the horse and looking after the luggage. When they had entered within the second gate, they saw the great hall of the Tathagata. Outside the hall, below the jeweled dais, were ranged five hundred arhats, three thousand Revealers, four vajra guardians, eight Bodhisattvas, bhikkhunis, upasakas, and countless holy monks and adepts—truly, flowers and incense in their beauty, auspicious vapor drifting in profusion.
The elder, with Bajie and the Sha Monk, in a flurry bowed at every step as they made their way up to the altar; the Pilgrim would not bow at all.
Again they heard a harsh voice call from the lotus throne: "Sun Wukong, why do you not bow when you see the Tathagata?"
But the Pilgrim had been looking closely all the while, and saw that it was all false. He cast aside the horse and the luggage, snatched up his cudgel, and shouted: "You herd of evil beasts! How dare you! How dare you borrow the name of Buddha and corrupt the pure virtue of the Tathagata! Don't run!" Wielding the cudgel in both hands, he sprang forward to strike. There came a ringing crash from midair—a pair of golden cymbals dropped down and clapped over the Pilgrim, head and feet together, sealing him within.
Zhu Bajie and the Sha Monk, in their alarm, hastily plied rake and staff, but the arhats and Revealers, the holy monks and adepts, surged forward and surrounded them. The two of them, caught off guard, were all seized; Sanzang too was taken; and all of them were bound with cords and ropes, tightly trussed and secured.
It turned out that the one who wore the appearance of the Buddha on the lotus throne was a demon king, and the host of arhats were all little fiends. They cast off the Buddha's image and showed once more their demon forms. The three were carried off to be stored in the rear, while the Pilgrim was shut inside the golden cymbals, never to be opened again, and set upon the jeweled dais, to be melted into pus and blood within three days and three nights. When he was melted, they would steam the other three in an iron cage and make a meal of them. Truly:
The green-eyed ape knew the false from the true; Seeing the image, the Chan mind would bow to the golden body. The Yellow Matron, blind of both eyes, joined in the worship; The Wood Mother, simple-hearted, took part in the talk. The evil fiend, grown strong, oppressed the true nature; The demon chief, nursing malice, deceived gods and men. Truly the Way was small and the demon great; Wrongly entering the by-path, they wasted their bodies in vain.
Then the host of fiends stored the three away in the rear, tied up the horse behind, and packed his cassock and monk's cap into the luggage bundle, which they too stored away. Then they kept strict watch on all sides. Of that no more.
Now the Pilgrim, shut inside the golden cymbals in pitchy blackness, was burning with heat, his whole body streaming with sweat. He rammed left and bumped right, but could not get out. In desperation he struck wildly with his iron cudgel, but could not move the cymbals a hair's breadth. With no plan left to him, he strained his body outward, meaning to burst the cymbals open; he made a magic sign and grew to a height of a thousand fathoms and more—but the cymbals grew with him, without the slightest seam or chink of light.
Then he made another sign and shrank his body down, smaller even than a mustard seed—but the cymbals shrank along with him, without a single hole or opening. He blew a breath of immortal air on his iron cudgel and cried, "Change!" and it changed into a banner pole, bracing the cymbals apart. Then he plucked out two of the longest hairs from the back of his head and cried, "Change!" They turned into five-petaled plum-blossom drills, which he set to work at the foot of the pole. He drilled a thousand and more times, but only a dull grinding sound resulted, and not a particle would shift.
The Pilgrim grew frantic. He made a magic sign and recited a spell—"Om! Lan! Still the Dharma realm! Qian's primal power, all things prosper!"—and summoned the Guardians of the Five Quarters, the Six Dings and Six Jias, and the eighteen Protectors of the Faith, who all stood outside the golden cymbals and said: "Great Sage, we are all of us guarding the master and keeping the demon from harming him—why have you summoned us here?"
"My master refused to listen to my advice," said the Pilgrim, "and even if you were to let him be killed, it would serve him right! But why don't you work your magic quickly and pry these cymbals open to let me out? We can deal with things afterward. There is no light in here, and my whole body is burning and stifling—am I to be smothered to death?"
The gods did indeed try to pry the cymbals open, but it was as if they had grown together into one piece; they could not lift them a hair's breadth.
"Great Sage," said the Gold-Headed Revealer, "I know not what treasure these cymbals may be, but top and bottom have grown into a single block. This little god's strength is slight—I cannot move them."
"Inside here," said the Pilgrim, "I have used no end of magic power, and still they will not budge."
Hearing this, the Revealer bade the six Ding gods guard Tang Sanzang, the six Jia gods watch over the golden cymbals, and all the Protectors keep watch before and behind. He himself rose on his auspicious light, and in a moment burst in through the South Gate of Heaven. Without waiting for a summons, he went straight beneath the Hall of Miraculous Mist, saw the Jade Emperor, prostrated himself, and memorialized: "Your Majesty, your servant is the envoy of the Guardians of the Five Quarters. The Great Sage Equal to Heaven, escorting the Tang monk to fetch the scriptures, has met on the road with a mountain where there is a Lesser Thunderclap Monastery. The Tang monk mistook it for Numinous Mountain and went in to worship, but it was all a falsehood set up by a demon, who has trapped and confined the master and disciples. He has clapped the Great Sage inside a pair of golden cymbals, with no way in or out, and he is near death. I have come especially to memorialize Your Majesty."
The Jade Emperor at once gave a decree: "Send the twenty-eight constellations, and go quickly to dispel the calamity and subdue the demon."
The constellations dared not delay in the least. Following the Revealer, they left the Heavenly Gate and came within the mountain gate. It was about the second watch. Because the demon had captured the Tang monk, the old demon had rewarded the big and little fiends, and they had gone to sleep, each to his own place.
The constellations made no disturbance at all, but went up to the outside of the cymbals and announced: "Great Sage, we are the twenty-eight constellations sent by the Jade Emperor to rescue you."
The Pilgrim was overjoyed to hear it. "Strike with your weapons and break it open—old Sun will come out!"
"We dare not strike it," said the constellations. "This thing is a treasure of solid gold; if we strike it, it will ring out, and the ringing will startle the demons—and then it will be hard indeed to rescue you. Let us pry at it with our weapons; when you see any glint of light inside, come out."
"Just so," said the Pilgrim. See them—those with spears use spears, those with swords use swords, those with sabers use sabers, those with axes use axes. Some shouldered it, some lifted it, some pried, some wrenched—they labored away until the third watch, and still it would not stir in the least, as if it had been cast in one single piece. Inside, the Pilgrim peered this way and that, crawled over and rolled over, but could not see a trace of light.
The Golden Dragon of the Horn mansion said: "Great Sage, do not fret. This treasure must be an As-You-Will thing, and certainly it can change its size. Inside there, feel about with your hand along the joining seam; let me push my horn-tip in, and you can transform yourself and slip out through the loosened place."
The Pilgrim did as he was told, groping about inside. The constellation shrank his body, and his horn-tip, fine as a needle's point, was worked in along the seam of the cymbals. It took the poor fellow every ounce of his strength—a thousand jun of it—before he could thrust it through to the inside. Then he worked his magic on his body and his horn and cried, "Grow! Grow! Grow!" and the horn grew until it was as thick as a rice bowl.
The rim of the cymbal did not seem to be of cast gold at all, but as if grown of flesh and skin, and it gripped tightly about the Golden Dragon's horn, without the slightest gap anywhere around. The Pilgrim felt his horn and called out: "It's no good! There is not a hair's breadth of looseness above or below! There is nothing for it—bear the pain a little and carry me out."
A fine Great Sage! He changed his gold-banded cudgel into a steel drill, bored a hole through the tip of the dragon's horn, shrank his body to the size of a mustard seed, crouched inside the drill-hole, and called: "Pull your horn out! Pull your horn out!" The constellation again spent no end of effort before he could pull it out, and when he did, his strength was spent and his sinews slack, and he collapsed to the ground.
The Pilgrim then slipped out through the drill-hole in the horn-tip, showed his true form, snatched up his iron cudgel, and brought it down upon the cymbals with a thunderous crash—like a bronze mountain collapsing—splitting the golden cymbals open. Alas, that holy vessel of the Buddhist faith was smashed into a thousand and more scattered bits of gold! The twenty-eight constellations were startled out of their wits, the hair of the Guardians of the Five Quarters stood on end, and the host of big and little fiends all woke from their dreams. The old demon king, starting up in alarm from his sleep, flung on his clothes, beat the drum, and mustered the host of fiends, each grasping his weapon.
It was nearly dawn by then. They surged up to the foot of the jeweled dais and saw Sun Wukong and the ranked constellations standing round the shattered cymbals. The demon king turned pale with fright and at once commanded: "Little ones! Bolt the front gate tight—do not let a single soul out!"
Hearing this, the Pilgrim at once took the constellation host with him, mounted the clouds, and leapt away into the ninth heaven. The demon king gathered up the broken gold, drew up his demon troops, and arrayed them outside the mountain gate.
Nursing his grievance, the demon king armed himself, took up his short, supple wolf-toothed club, and came out before his ranks, shouting: "Sun Wukong! If you are a real man, you won't take yourself off to the far skies! Come forward quickly and fight three rounds with me!"
The Pilgrim could not contain himself. He led the constellations down, brought his cloud to rest, and looked at the demon to see what manner of creature he was. This was his appearance:
His hair was disheveled, bound with a flat, thin gold band; His eyes blazed, and two yellow brows bristled vertically above them. His nose hung like a gall bladder, with wide-flaring nostrils; His mouth was square, with sharp and pointed teeth. He wore a suit of riveted chain-mail armor, Girt with a sash of raw silk with clustered tassels. On his feet a pair of black leather boots; In his hand a single wolf-toothed club. His form was beast-like, yet no beast; His face was human, yet no man.
The Pilgrim thrust forward his iron cudgel and shouted: "What sort of monster are you, that dare pass yourself off as the Buddha, seize a mountain, and set up a false Lesser Thunderclap Monastery!"
"This ape," said the demon king, "does not know my name, and so he comes to affront my immortal mountain. This place is called the Lesser Western Heaven. Because I cultivated the Way and won the true fruition, Heaven bestowed on me these jeweled towers and precious halls. My name is the Old Buddha of the Yellow Brows; the folk hereabouts do not know it, and only call me the Yellow-Browed Demon, or Grandfather Yellow-Brow. I have long known that you were traveling west and had some skill, and so I set up this image to display my powers, to lure your master in, and to make a wager with you. If you can outfight me, I will spare your master and disciples and let you all win the true fruition; if you cannot, I will beat you all to death, and go myself to see the Tathagata and fetch the scriptures, and become the true fruit of the Central Land."
The Pilgrim laughed: "Demon, no more tall talk! If you want a wager, come up quickly and take this cudgel!"
The demon king, grinning with delight, parried with his wolf-toothed club. A fine battle it was:
Two cudgels, not alike— Tell of them, and each has its own shape: One short and supple, a weapon of the Buddhist faith; One hard and strong, hidden away in the ocean treasury. Both have the art of changing at their master's will; This time they meet to contend in strength. The short, supple wolf-toothed club, decked in mixed brocade; The hard gold-banded cudgel, in dragon-serpent form. Thick or thin, both worthy of praise; Long or short, both handy to wield. Ape and demon fight together— This battle is no sham at all. The tamed ape, upholding the faith, plays the Heart-Ape; The wicked fiend, cheating Heaven, puts on false semblances. Anger and hatred—neither shows any mercy; Fierce and fell, each has his own style. One strikes at the head, hand up, with never a slackening; The other parries and thrusts full in the face, with no yielding. Spitting clouds, they darken the shining sun; Belching mist, they blot out the peaks and ridges. Cudgel meets cudgel as the two clash— Forgetting life and death, all for Sanzang's sake.
Watch the two of them fight through fifty rounds without victory or defeat.
At the mountain gate, gongs clashed and drums rolled as the host of fiends shouted and waved their banners. On this side, the twenty-eight constellations, the heavenly soldiers, together with the Guardians of the Five Quarters and the host of sages, each shouldering his weapon, raised a great shout and surrounded the demon chief in their midst. The fiends outside the mountain gate were so frightened that they could hardly beat their drums, and their hands trembled so that they could not strike the gongs.
But the old demon was utterly unafraid. With one hand he wielded his wolf-toothed club against the host, and with the other he undid an old white cloth bag from his waist. He tossed it up into the air; with a swish it swept up the Great Sage Sun, the twenty-eight constellations, and the Guardians of the Five Quarters—all of them, in a single toss of the bag. He swung it over his shoulder and stalked back the way he had come, while the little fiends, every one of them, returned rejoicing in victory.
The old demon ordered the little ones to fetch thirty or forty hempen cords. When the bag was untied, they took one and bound one, until all were bound fast, their bones soft and their sinews numb, their skin wrinkled and shrunken. Bound tight, they were carried to the rear and, good or bad, thrown to the ground. The demon king again ordered a feast and drank his fill, from morning till evening, before they scattered to their quarters. Of that no more.
Then the Great Sage Sun and all the gods lay bound until midnight, when suddenly they heard the sound of bitter weeping. Listening closely, they found it was Sanzang's voice, weeping:
"I hate myself for not heeding you then, Which has brought this disaster upon me now. Within the golden cymbals you were hurt— But who knows that I lie bound in hempen cords? The four of us have met with bitter fate; Three thousand deeds of merit all cast down. How can this strait and difficult pass be solved, That we may go free and return to the Western land!"
Hearing this, the Pilgrim felt pity for him and thought: "Although the master would not listen to me and has now met this cruelty, still, in the midst of his calamity, he has thoughts of old Sun. While the night is still and the demons sleep, with no one on guard, let me go and loose them all, that they may escape with their lives." A fine Great Sage! He used the art of evasion, shrank his body, slipped out of his bonds, came up to Tang Sanzang's side, and called softly, "Master."
The elder recognized his voice and said: "Why have you come here?" The Pilgrim quietly told him the whole story. The elder, greatly delighted, said: "Disciple! Save me at once! From now on, all matters shall be as you decide—I will never be obstinate again!"
Only then did the Pilgrim set to work. First he untied the master, then released Bajie and the Sha Monk, then loosed the twenty-eight constellations and the Guardians of the Five Quarters one by one, and led the horse over, telling them to hurry out ahead. But once he was out the door, he did not know where the luggage was, and went back to look for it.
"Great Sage, you put things above people!" said the Golden Dragon of the Horn mansion. "Since you have rescued your master, that should be enough—what are you looking for luggage for?"
"People are certainly important," said the Pilgrim, "but the robe and the bowl are even more so. In that bundle are the travel documents, the brocade cassock, and the purple-gold alms bowl—all of them supreme treasures of the Buddhist faith. How could I not want them!"
"Elder brother," said Bajie, "you go and look for it. We'll go on ahead and wait for you on the road." See the constellation host clustering round Tang Sanzang, working their magic and divine arts together, whisking them all out of the walls on a gust of wind, to the main road and down the mountain slope, where they halted on level ground to wait.
About the third watch, the Great Sage Sun, moving softly and stepping slowly, went back inside. The doors and gates were fast, layer upon layer. He climbed up to the high tower to look, but the windows were all shut. He wanted to go down again, but feared the lattice would creak and dared not push it. Making a magic sign, he shook himself and changed into a spirit mouse—commonly called a bat. Do you know what he looked like?
Pointed head, just like a rat's; Eyes bright, just like a rat's too. With wings it comes out at dusk; In the darkness of day it hides. It hides its body in the crevices of the tiles, And hunts its food by snapping up mosquitoes. It loves best the clear bright moon, And flies out when the time is right.
Slipping in through the unsealed gap beneath the eaves-tiles, he crept on, crossing doors and passing thresholds, until he came to the middle of the place and saw, beneath the window of the third tower, a brilliant beam of tiny light—not the light of lamp or candle, not the light of incense-fire, nor the light of flying clouds, nor of flashing lightning. Half flying, half hopping, he drew near to the light and saw that it was the luggage bundle giving off light.
The demon had taken off Tang Sanzang's cassock and, without folding it, had stuffed it carelessly into the bundle. The cassock was after all a treasure of the Buddha, set with As-You-Will pearls, mani pearls, red agate, purple coral, relics, and night-shining pearls—that was why its radiance shone through.
At the sight of the robe and bowl, his heart was glad. He showed his true form, took up the bundle, and without troubling whether the carrying ropes were straight or crooked, swung it onto his shoulder and made off downstairs. But one end slipped loose, and with a thud it fell to the floorboards with a loud clatter.
Ah! Just think of it: the old demon, as luck would have it, was sleeping downstairs. The noise startled him awake; he leapt up and shouted wildly: "Someone's here! Someone's here!"
The big and little fiends all rose, lit lamps and kindled torches, and shouted together as they searched before and behind. Some came to report: "Tang Sanzang has escaped!" Others came to report: "The Pilgrim and all the rest have escaped!"
The old demon at once sent the order: "Seize them! Be watchful at every gate!" Hearing this, the Pilgrim feared he would fall into the demon's net again; he could not carry the bundle, so he somersaulted out through the tower window and fled.
The demon searched before and behind but could not find Tang Sanzang and the rest. Seeing that dawn was about to break, he took up his club and led his host in pursuit, until he saw the twenty-eight constellations, the Guardians of the Five Quarters, and the other gods, in surging clouds and mists, halted below on the mountain slope.
The demon king gave a shout: "Where do you think you're going! Here I come!"
The Wood Flood-Dragon of the Horn mansion called out urgently: "Brothers! The monster is coming!" Then the Golden Dragon of the Horn mansion, the Earth Bat of the Woman mansion, the Sun Hare of the Room mansion, the Moon Fox of the Heart mansion, the Fire Tiger of the Tail mansion, the Water Leopard of the Winnowing Basket mansion, the Wood Xiezhi of the Dipper mansion, the Golden Ox of the Ox mansion, the Earth Raccoon of the Root mansion, the Sun Rat of the Emptiness mansion, the Moon Swallow of the Rooftop mansion, the Fire Boar of the House mansion, the Water Beast of the Wall mansion, the Wood Wolf of the Straddler mansion, the Golden Dog of the Bond mansion, the Earth Swine of the Stomach mansion, the Sun Cock of the Pleiades mansion, the Moon Crow of the Net mansion, the Fire Monkey of the Beak mansion, the Water Ape of the Triad mansion, the Wood Hound of the Well mansion, the Golden Ram of the Ghost mansion, the Earth Deer of the Willow mansion, the Sun Horse of the Star mansion, the Moon Deer of the Extended Net mansion, the Fire Serpent of the Wings mansion, and the Water Earthworm of the Chariot mansion—leading the Gold-Headed Revealer, the Silver-Headed Revealer, the six Jias and six Dings and the other gods, and the Protectors of the Faith, together with Bajie and the Sha Monk—but not Tang Sanzang, and having left behind the white dragon horse—each grasping his weapon, they surged forward together.
The demon king saw them and laughed a cold laugh. He gave a whistle, and four or five thousand big and little fiends, each mighty in strength and prowess, joined in a confused battle on the western slope. A fine fight:
The demon chief, fierce and evil, oppressed the true nature; The true nature, gentle and soft—how could it withstand the demon? A hundred schemes were tried, yet hard to escape the suffering; A thousand clever arts, yet none could bring accord. The gods of heaven came to protect; The host of sages lent their arms to the fray. For sparing him, the Wood Mother suffered loss; For firmness of purpose, one must thank the Yellow Matron. The confused battle shook Heaven and Earth; The fierce contest spread nets and set snares. Over there they wave banners and shout; Over here they beat drums and clash gongs. Spears and sabers dense, cold light flickering; Halberds and swords in droves, much murderous air. The demon troops were fierce and bold— How could the heavenly soldiers hold them off! Sad clouds veiled the sun and moon; Gloomy mists covered the hills and rivers. Bitterly struggling and tugging, they fought on— All because Sanzang bowed to Amitabha.
The demon grew all the more fierce and bold, leading his host forward in a sweeping attack. Just at the moment when neither side could claim victory, they heard the Pilgrim shout aloud: "Old Sun is here!"
Bajie met him and asked: "What about the luggage?"
"Old Sun's life was almost more than he could save," said the Pilgrim, "and you talk of luggage!"
The Sha Monk, gripping his precious staff, said: "No more talk! Hurry up and fight the demon!"
The constellations, the Revealers, the Dings and Jias, and the other gods were surrounded by the host of fiends in the thick of the fight, and the old demon came with his club to strike at the three of them. The Pilgrim, Bajie, and the Sha Monk cast aside cudgel and staff, and plied cudgel and rake to hold him off. Truly the sky grew dark and the earth dim; they could not win the day, and they fought on until the sun star sank in the west at the root of the mountains and the moon star rose in the east over the sea-cliffs.
Seeing that evening had come, the demon gave a whistle, told the host of fiends to be on their guard, and brought out his treasure. Sun Wukong saw it plainly: the monster untied the cloth bag and took it in his hand.
"Oh no! Run!" cried the Pilgrim. Heedless of Bajie, the Sha Monk, and the host of gods, he somersaulted away up into the ninth heaven. The gods, Bajie, and the Sha Monk did not understand what was happening, and the bag was flung up again and took them all in—only the Pilgrim got away.
The demon king withdrew his troops to the monastery, ordered ropes fetched, and had them bound as before. Tang Sanzang, Bajie, and the Sha Monk were hung high from the beams, the white horse was tethered in the rear, and the gods were all bound and carried into a cellar, whose cover was sealed and locked. The host of fiends obeyed, and stowed them all away. Of that no more.
The Pilgrim, having leapt into the ninth heaven and saved his life, saw the demon troops turn back without unfurling their banners, and knew that all the others had been captured. He pressed down his auspicious light and landed on the summit of the eastern mountain. Gnashing his teeth at the monster, shedding tears for Tang Sanzang, gazing up at the sky, he suddenly burst into lamentation: "Master! In what former life did you build up this pass of calamity, that in this life you should meet a demon at every step? With such bitter suffering that cannot be escaped, what is to be done!"
Alone, he sighed for a long time, then composed his spirit and thought, asking his heart of his heart: "This demon—what sort of bag can it be, that it can hold so many things? Now it has taken in the heavenly gods and generals, so many of them. I would ask Heaven for help, but I fear the Jade Emperor will take offense. I remember there is a True Warrior of the North, titled the Demon-Quelling Celestial Venerable, who now dwells on Mount Wudang in the Southern Continent of Jambudvipa. Let me go and invite him to rescue my master from this calamity." Truly:
The immortal Way not yet achieved, ape and horse are scattered; Heart and spirit without a master, the Five Elements run dry.
But what came of this journey we do not know—listen to the explanation in the next chapter.