The story tells how Sanzang and his party, having slipped away from the Lesser Western Heaven, set out on their way rejoicing. After a journey of a whole month, in the very season when spring was deep and the flowers were opening, they saw that every garden and grove they passed had gone dark with green, and after a bout of wind and rain, evening fell once more.
Sanzang reined in his horse: "Disciples, it is growing late. Which road shall we take to beg lodging?"
"Don't worry, Master," said the Pilgrim, laughing. "Even if there is no place to stay, the three of us have our skills. Let Bajie cut the grass, the Sha Monk fell the pines, and old Sun do the carpentry, and we can build a thatched hut right here on the road—we could live in it for a year or more. What are you in such a hurry about!"
"Elder brother," said Bajie, "what sort of place is this to stay in! The whole mountain is full of tigers, leopards, wolves, and serpents, and the ground everywhere is crawling with demons and sprites. It is hard enough to travel by day—how dare we sleep here by night?"
"Blockhead!" said the Pilgrim. "You are getting worse and worse! It's not old Sun boasting, but with this cudgel of mine in my hand, even if the sky came crashing down, I could hold it up!"
As the master and disciples were discussing the matter, they suddenly saw a country hamlet not far off.
"Good!" said the Pilgrim. "There's a place to stay!"
"Where?" asked the elder.
"Isn't that a homestead among the trees?" said the Pilgrim, pointing. "Let's go and beg a night's lodging, and start on the road tomorrow morning."
The elder was delighted. He urged his horse on to the gate of the farmstead and dismounted. The wicket-gate of brushwood was shut fast. The elder knocked: "Open up! Open up!" From within came an old man, dragging a staff of chenopodium, wearing rush sandals, a black cap, and plain white clothes. He opened the door and asked: "Who is it that shouts so loudly here?"
Sanzang pressed his palms together before his breast and bowed: "Old benefactor, I am a poor monk sent from the Eastern Land to fetch scriptures from the Western Heaven. I have just arrived in your honored district, and as evening has fallen I have come specially to your noble house to beg a night's lodging. I earnestly hope you will make it convenient."
"Monk," said the old man, "you want to go west, but you cannot get through. This place is the Lesser Western Heaven; the Great Western Heaven is still very far away. And do not even speak of the difficulties ahead—even this very spot is already hard to pass."
"How is it hard to pass?" asked Sanzang.
The old man pointed and said: "More than thirty li west of this village there is a Rotten Persimmon Lane, on a mountain called Qijue."
"Why is it called Qijue?" asked Sanzang.
"This mountain," said the old man, "stretches for eight hundred li, and the whole of it is covered with persimmon trees. As the ancients said, the persimmon tree has seven excellences: first, it prolongs life; second, it gives abundant shade; third, no birds nest in it; fourth, no insects infest it; fifth, its frost-touched leaves are a delight to the eye; sixth, it bears fine fruit; seventh, its branches and leaves grow large and lush—and so it is called Qijue, 'Seven Excellences' Mountain. My humble district here is broad and thinly peopled, and no one has set foot into the deep mountain since the beginning of time. Every year the ripe persimmons rot and fall upon the road, filling up a narrow lane hemmed in by rock until it is quite choked; then, soaked by rain and dew, snow and frost, and turned mouldy through the summer, they become a road of filth. The folk of these parts call it vulgarly the Shit Lane. Whenever a west wind blows, a stench comes off it that would shame even a freshly emptied privy. Now that spring is deep and the southeast wind blows strong, that is why you do not smell it yet."
Sanzang was sick at heart and said nothing.
But the Pilgrim could not contain himself. "Old man, you make no sense at all! We have come from afar to beg lodging, and you start spinning all these tales to frighten us! Even if your house is too cramped for us to sleep in, we could squat under a tree and pass the night. Why all this endless chattering?"
The old man, seeing his ugly looks, pressed his lips together and stood aghast. Screwing up his courage, he gave a shout and, pointing with his staff, said: "You wretch! With that bony face, that knobbed forehead, that flat nose, those sunken cheeks, those hairy eyes, you consumptive ghost, you don't know your place! Sticking that pointed mouth out to pick a quarrel with an old man!"
The Pilgrim smiled appeasingly: "Old gentleman, so you have eyes but no pupils, and cannot recognize this consumptive ghost of mine! The art of physiognomy says: 'In strange and outlandish forms, fine jade lies hidden within the stone.' If you judge men by their words and looks alone, you will be quite mistaken. I am ugly, to be sure, but I have some skill nonetheless."
"What place are you from?" asked the old man. "What is your name? And what skill do you have?"
The Pilgrim laughed:
"I dwelled of old on the great continent of the East, By the Mountain of Flowers and Fruit I cultivated from my youth. I bowed to the Patriarch of the Numinous Terrace and Square Inch, And learned my martial arts, complete in every part. I can churn the sea and subdue the Dragon Mother, And am skilled at shouldering mountains and racing the sun; In binding monsters and seizing demons I am called the first; I shift the stars and turn the Dipper till ghosts and gods despair. My fame for stealing Heaven and turning Earth is great— I am the Handsome Stone Monkey of infinite transformations!"
Hearing this, the old man turned his anger to delight, bowed, and bade them: "Pray come into my humble house and settle yourselves." And so the four pilgrims, leading the horse and shouldering the loads, all went in. They saw thornbushes and brambles laid out on both sides; the second gate was a wall of brick and stone, thatched over with brambles; and only within was a tile-roofed house of three rooms. The old man drew up chairs, seated them, and served tea, and ordered a meal to be prepared. In a little while the table was brought in, spread with wheat gluten, bean curd, taro shoots, radishes, hot mustard, turnips, fragrant rice, and a soup of sunflower stewed in vinegar, and the master and disciples ate their fill.
When the meal was done, Bajie drew the Pilgrim aside and said: "Elder brother, this old man would not lodge us at first, yet now he spreads such a feast for us. Why?"
"How much can this be worth?" said the Pilgrim. "Tomorrow he'll be seeing us off with ten fruits and ten dishes!"
"No shame at all!" said Bajie. "You've tricked him out of a meal with your tall talk, and tomorrow we'll be running on our way—how is he going to see us off?"
"Don't be in such a hurry," said the Pilgrim. "I have my own way of handling it."
Before long dusk fell gradually, and the old man called for lamps to be lit.
The Pilgrim bowed and asked: "What is your honored surname, grandfather?"
"My surname is Li," said the old man.
"I suppose this is Li Family Village?" asked the Pilgrim.
"No," said the old man. "This place is called Tuoluo Village. There are more than five hundred households living here. There are many other surnames; only I am named Li."
"Benefactor Li," said the Pilgrim, "what good intention does your household have, to bestow such a fine meal upon us?"
The old man rose and said: "Just now I heard you say you can catch demons. There is a demon here, and I would trouble you to catch it for us. There will surely be a handsome reward."
The Pilgrim made a deep bow with clasped hands: "Thank you for your patronage!"
"Look at him asking for trouble!" said Bajie. "When he hears talk of catching a demon, he is friendlier than he would be to his own grandfather—he bows in advance!"
"Worthy brother," said the Pilgrim, "you don't understand. My bow is the deposit money; now he will not go hiring anyone else."
Hearing this, Sanzang said: "This ape always acts on his own authority. What if that demon's powers are vast and you cannot catch it? Would that not make us men of religion utterers of false words?"
"Master, don't blame me," said the Pilgrim, laughing. "Let me ask a few more questions."
"What more is there to ask?" said the old man.
"This honored district of yours," said the Pilgrim, "is level and well populated, and no out-of-the-way place at all. What demon would dare come up to your great gates?"
"To tell you the truth," said the old man, "this place has long been peaceful and well. But in the sixth month, three years ago, a wind suddenly rose. At that time the folk were very busy—the wheat-threshers in the yard, the rice-planters in the fields—and they were all thrown into a panic, thinking the weather had turned. But who would have thought that when the wind had passed, there was a demon that had eaten up the cattle and horses people had put out to pasture, eaten the pigs and the sheep, swallowed chickens and geese whole, and taken men and women alive in a single gulp. Since that time, these two years, it comes constantly to do harm. Elder, if you have the skill to catch it and sweep this land clean, we will surely reward you heavily and never treat you lightly."
"Ah, but this one is hard to catch," said the Pilgrim.
"Truly hard, hard to catch!" said Bajie. "We are traveling monks who begged a night's lodging; tomorrow we will be on the road. What demon would we catch!"
"So you are monks who trick people out of meals after all!" said the old man. "At first you boasted and bragged, saying you could shift the Dipper and move the stars, subdue demons and bind monsters—and now that it comes to the point, you make excuses and say it is hard to catch!"
"Old man," said the Pilgrim, "the demon is easy to catch. It is only because the folk of this region are not of one mind that it is hard."
"How do you make out that the people are not of one mind?" asked the old man.
"The demon has harried you for three years," said the Pilgrim, "and Heaven knows how many living creatures it has destroyed. I think that if each household gave a single tael of silver, five hundred households could raise five hundred taels; then you could find a magician anywhere to catch the demon. How could you quietly endure three years of its torments?"
"As for spending money," said the old man, "it is enough to make a man die of shame! Is there a single household among us that has not laid out three or five taels of silver! The year before last we heard of a monk south of the mountain, and invited him here to catch the demon, but he did not win the day."
"How did that monk go about catching it?" asked the Pilgrim.
"That monk," said the old man, "wrapped himself in his cassock. First he expounded the Peacock Sutra, then he chanted the Lotus Sutra. Incense was burned in the burner, and a bell taken up in his hand. But as he chanted, he roused the demon. Wind rose and clouds gathered, and it came straight to the village. Monk and demon fought—truly worth the telling: blow for blow he struck, grab for grab he clawed. The monk gave as good as he got, but what he got was a scalped head. In a moment the demon won and went straight back to its misty lair, leaving the poor fellow to dry his scars. When we came near to look, his shaven pate was beaten like a squashed watermelon!"
"So it was he who came off worse, then," said the Pilgrim, laughing.
"He lost only his own life," said the old man. "It was we who suffered. We bought his coffin and buried him, and gave some silver to his disciple besides. That disciple's heart is still not appeased; to this day he wants to bring suit against us, and the matter will not be settled!"
"Have you invited anyone else to catch it since?" asked the Pilgrim.
"Last year," said the old man, "we invited a Daoist."
"How did that Daoist go about it?" asked the Pilgrim.
"That Daoist," said the old man, "wore a golden cap and a robe of the law. He struck his talisman-board, worked with charmed water, drove gods and marshaled generals, and summoned the demon sprite. A wild wind rolled, black mists thickened. Then it faced the Daoist, and the two stood to it. They fought until evening, when the monster went back to its clouds and rainbows. All was clear and bright again, and we gathered together. We went out to look for the Daoist, and found him drowned in the mountain stream. When we fished him out for all to see, he looked like a drowned rooster!"
"So it was he who came off worse too," said the Pilgrim, laughing.
"He too lost only his own life," said the old man, "while we spent a good deal of money into the bargain."
"Never mind, never mind," said the Pilgrim. "Let me catch it for you."
"If you truly have the skill to catch it," said the old man, "I will invite a few elders of the village to write you a contract. If you win, you may ask whatever amount of silver you like, and not half a cent less will you be given; but if you come to grief, you must not come back to us making trouble—each must abide by Heaven's will."
"This old man has been frightened out of his wits by someone's bad faith," said the Pilgrim, laughing. "We are not that sort of people. Go quickly and invite the elders."
The old man, overjoyed, ordered his servant to invite a few of the neighbors, cousins, in-laws, and friends—eight or nine elders in all—who all came to meet them. When they had met the Tang monk and spoken of catching the demon, they were all delighted.
"Which of the worthy disciples is to go and catch it?" asked the elders.
"Your humble little monk, me," said the Pilgrim, folding his hands.
"No good! No good!" said the elders, in consternation. "That demon's powers are vast and its body is huge and unwieldy. This elder of yours, thin and small as he is, would not be enough to fill the cracks between its teeth!"
"Old gentlemen," said the Pilgrim, laughing, "you do not know how to judge a man. Small as I am, I am solid—I have drunk the knife-grinder's water, and all my fine qualities are on the inside!"
At this the elders had to give way. "Elder," they said, "if you catch the demon, how much reward do you want?"
"Why talk of rewards at all!" said the Pilgrim. "As the proverb says, gold dazzles the eye, silver is foolishly white, and copper coins stink! We are monks who store up merit, and we will take no money at all."
"If you say so," said the elders, "you are all high monks who keep the precepts. Since you will take no money, it would never do for you to labor for nothing! Each household among us makes its living from fish and fields. If you truly subdue the demon and cleanse the district, each household will give you two mu of good fields—a thousand mu altogether, all in one place—and there your master and disciples may build a monastery and sit in meditation, far better than wandering cloud-like through the world."
"Worse and worse!" laughed the Pilgrim. "If we took the fields, we would have to keep horses and do corvée, pay grain tax and supply fodder; we could not sleep at dusk or rest at the fifth watch. It would be the very death of us!"
"If you want none of these," said the elders, "how are we to thank you?"
"We are men of religion," said the Pilgrim. "A cup of tea and a bowl of rice are thanks enough."
"That is easy enough," said the elders, delighted. "But we do not know how you will catch it."
"Let it but come," said the Pilgrim, "and I shall catch it."
"That monster is enormous!" said the elders. "It props up the sky above and the earth below; it comes with the wind and goes with the mist. How could you ever get near it?"
"As for a demon that can summon the wind and ride the mist," said the Pilgrim, laughing, "I treat it as no more than a grandson. And as for its huge body—I have the skill to beat it!"
Just as they were speaking, they heard the wind blowing with a roar, and the eight or nine elders trembled in fright: "This monk has a salt-and-sauce mouth! He spoke of the demon, and here it comes!"
Old Li opened the side door and called to all his relatives, and Tang Sanzang too: "Come in! Come in! The monster is coming!" Bajie was all for going in too, and so was the Sha Monk.
The Pilgrim held the two of them back with both hands: "You are quite unreasonable! As men of religion, how can you not tell inside from outside! Stand where you are! Don't run! Come with me into the courtyard and see what sort of demon it is."
"Elder brother," said Bajie, "they have all been through this before; when the wind roars, that means the demon is coming. They all run to hide. We are no kin of theirs, we don't know them, and we are not old friends. Why should we go look at it?"
But the Pilgrim, strong as he was, would hear no argument; he dragged them out and made them stand in the courtyard. The wind grew wilder still. A fine wind indeed:
It uproots trees and wrecks the woods, to the wolves' and tigers' dread; It rolls the rivers and churns the seas, to the grief of ghosts and gods. It overturns the three-peak crags of Mount Hua, And lifts up the four continents of the whole world. Village cottages all bar their doors; The children of the whole village hide their heads. Black clouds in gloom veil the Milky Way; Lamps lose their light, and all the land is dark.
Bajie was so frightened he trembled in every limb, threw himself on the ground, rooted open the earth with his snout, and buried his head in it, as if he were a nail driven in. The Sha Monk covered his head and face and could hardly open his eyes.
The Pilgrim knew the demon by the wind. When the gust had passed, he saw two lamps dimly coming through the sky, and at once bent his head and called: "Brothers! The wind has passed. Get up and look!"
That blockhead pulled his snout out of the earth, shook off the dust, and looked up at the sky. Seeing the two lamp-lights, he burst out laughing: "Fine sport! Fine sport! So it's a demon of good breeding after all! I should make friends with it!"
"On such a dark night," said the Sha Monk, "and never having met it face to face, how do you know good from bad?"
"The ancients said," replied Bajie, "'When traveling by night, use a torch; without a torch, stop.' Look—it carries a pair of lanterns to light its way. It must be a good one."
"You're looking wrong," said the Sha Monk. "Those aren't a pair of lanterns—they're the demon's two shining eyes."
That frightened three inches off the blockhead's height. "Grandpa!" he cried. "If its eyes are as big as that, who knows how big its mouth must be!"
"Worthy brother, don't be afraid," said the Pilgrim. "You two guard the master while old Sun goes up to test its mettle and see what sort of demon it is."
"Elder brother," said Bajie, "don't give us away."
A fine Pilgrim! He sprang up with a whistle, leapt into the air, gripped his iron cudgel, and shouted in a stern voice: "Slow down! Slow down! I am here!"
The monster saw him, stopped its body, and whirled a long spear wildly about.
The Pilgrim held his cudgel at the ready and asked: "What demon are you, from what region? What sprite, from what place?" The monster would not answer, and only whirled its spear. The Pilgrim asked again; again there was no answer, only the whirling spear.
The Pilgrim laughed to himself: "So it is deaf and dumb! Don't run! Take this!" The monster, utterly unafraid, whirled its spear in defense. Up in the air, back and forth, up and down, they fought until the third watch without victory or defeat.
From the Li family's courtyard, Bajie and the Sha Monk saw it clearly: the monster only whirled its spear to parry, without a trace of attack, while the Pilgrim's cudgel never left the monster's head.
"Sha Monk," said Bajie, laughing, "you stay here and guard the master. Let old Hog go help in the fight—don't let that ape take all the credit and claim the first cup of wine."
A fine blockhead! He sprang up on his cloud, caught up, and struck; the monster produced another spear and held him off. The two spears flashed like flying serpents and darting lightning.
"This demon has fine spear-work!" Bajie praised. "It's not the behind-the-hill spear, nor the silk-winding spear, nor the family-of-Ma spear—it's what they call the soft-handled spear!"
"Blockhead, don't talk nonsense!" said the Pilgrim. "What soft-handled spear is there?"
"Look," said Bajie. "It holds us off with the spear-point, but there's no sign of the spear-handle. Who knows where it keeps it!"
"Perhaps it is a soft-handled spear after all," said the Pilgrim. "But this monster cannot speak, which suggests it has not yet entered the way of humanity, and its yin breath is still heavy. I fear that when dawn comes and the yang breath prevails, it will surely flee. When it does, we must catch up with it and not let it go."
"Just so! Just so!" said Bajie.
They fought on for a long while, until, before they knew it, the east turned pale. The monster dared not prolong the fight; it turned and fled. The Pilgrim and Bajie gave chase together, when suddenly a reeking stench assailed them—it was the Rotten Persimmon Lane of Qijue Mountain.
"Whose privy is being emptied around here!" said Bajie. "Phew! What a stench!"
The Pilgrim, pinching his nose, called out: "Hurry, catch the demon! Hurry, catch the demon!"
The monster shot across the mountain and showed its true form: a great python with red scales. See it:
Its eyes shoot forth the morning stars; its nostrils spout the dawn mist. Close-set teeth arrayed like steel swords; curved claws hooked like golden talons. On its head a single fleshy horn, as if pieced together of a thousand bits of agate; Over its body a coat of red scales, as if built up of ten thousand slips of rouge. Coiled on the ground, one would take it for a brocade quilt; Flying in the air, one might mistake it for a rainbow. Where it rests, a stench rises to the sky; where it moves, red clouds veil its body. Big?—so big that men on either side cannot see each other. Long?—so long that it spans a whole mountain from north to south.
"So it's a long snake like this!" said Bajie. "If it wanted to eat people, it would take five hundred at one meal and still not be full!"
"That soft-handled spear of yours," said the Pilgrim, "is nothing but its two forked tongues. We've worn it out chasing it—let's beat it out from behind!"
Bajie sprang forward, caught up, and struck with his rake. The monster dived head-first into a hole in the rock, leaving seven or eight feet of tail sticking out. Bajie set down his rake, grabbed hold with both hands, and cried: "Got it! Got it!" He pulled with all his might, but could not drag it out a hair's breadth.
"Blockhead!" said the Pilgrim, laughing. "Let it go in. I have my own way of dealing with it. Don't go pulling the snake backwards like that."
Bajie truly let go, and the monster shrank back inside. Bajie grumbled: "If I hadn't let go just now, we'd already have half of it! Now that it's shrunk back like this, how are we to get it out? Isn't this what they call having no snake to play with?"
"That brute's body is huge and unwieldy," said the Pilgrim, "while the hole is narrow. It certainly cannot turn around in there. It must have gone straight through, and there must be a back door for it to come out. You hurry around and block the back entrance, while I beat it from the front."
That blockhead, true enough, sped like smoke round the mountain, and sure enough found a hole there, and planted his feet. Before he could stand firm, the Pilgrim, at the front entrance, thrust his cudgel into the hole; the monster, guarding its pain, burst straight out the back. Bajie, caught unprepared, was knocked flat by a sweep of its tail, and lay on the ground bearing the pain, unable to scramble up.
The Pilgrim, seeing nothing left in the hole, took up his cudgel, went through, and shouted to give chase. Bajie, hearing the call and ashamed of himself, bore the pain, scrambled up, and flailed wildly with his rake.
The Pilgrim laughed at the sight: "The demon is gone—what are you flailing at?"
"Old Hog is beating the grass to startle the snake!" said Bajie.
"What a blockhead!" said the Pilgrim. "Catch up quickly!"
The two chased across the ravine and saw the monster coiled in a ball, raising its head and opening its great mouth to swallow Bajie. Bajie, in a flurry, fell back. The Pilgrim, on the contrary, rushed forward and was swallowed in one gulp.
Bajie beat his breast and stamped his feet, crying: "Elder brother! You're done for!"
Inside the demon's belly, the Pilgrim propped himself up with his iron cudgel and said: "Bajie, don't worry. I'll make it arch a bridge for you to see!" The monster arched its back, like a rainbow spanning the eastern road.
"It looks like a bridge," said Bajie, "but no one would dare walk on it."
"Then I'll make it turn into a boat for you to see!" said the Pilgrim. Inside its belly, he braced his iron cudgel against its belly-skin. The monster's belly flattened to the ground and it cocked up its head, like a little boat.
"It looks like a boat," said Bajie, "but it has no mast or sail, and can't make use of the wind."
"Get out of the way," said the Pilgrim, "and I'll make it sail on the wind for you to see." Again, inside, he thrust his iron cudgel with all his strength out through its spine—fifty or seventy feet of it—like a mast. That brute, bearing the pain and struggling for life, shot forward faster than any sail before the wind, back along the old road and down the mountain for over twenty li, until at last it toppled in the dust, unable to stir, and died with a groan.
Bajie came up behind and again raised his rake and struck wildly.
The Pilgrim bored a great hole through the creature and crawled out, saying: "Blockhead! It is dead and gone—why are you still striking at it?"
"Elder brother," said Bajie, "don't you know that old Hog has loved all his life to beat dead snakes?" So saying, he put away his weapon, grabbed the tail, and dragged it back.
Meanwhile, Old Li and the rest in Tuoluo Village said to Tang Sanzang: "Your two disciples have not come back all night. They must certainly have lost their lives."
"It can't be that," said Sanzang. "Let us go out and look."
In a moment they saw the Pilgrim and Bajie dragging a great python along, shouting and calling, and only then were the people pleased. Old and young, men and women from the whole village came to kneel and worship: "Grandfathers! This is exactly the demon that has been hurting people here! Now, thanks to your might and your magic, you have slain the monster and swept away the evil, and we may all live in peace at last!"
All the households were full of gratitude, inviting them east and west, each offering thanks. The master and disciples were kept there five or seven days, and only after they had pleaded to leave, and there was no help for it, did the villagers let them go. And because the Pilgrim would take neither money nor goods, each household prepared dried provisions and fruit, and they came riding on mules and horses, with flowers and colored banners, all to see them off. Of the five hundred households here, seven or eight hundred people came to escort them.
All along the road they were full of joy, and before long they reached the mouth of the Rotten Persimmon Lane of Qijue Mountain. Sanzang, smelling that foul stench and seeing the road all choked up, said: "Wukong, how are we to cross this?"
"This is hard, indeed," said the Pilgrim, pinching his nose. When Sanzang saw the Pilgrim say it was hard, tears fell from his eyes.
Old Li and the others came forward and said: "My lord, do not fret. We have escorted you here with a purpose already agreed upon. Your worthy disciple subdued the demon for us and removed the scourge of the whole village, so each of us has made a devout resolve: we shall open a new and proper road to carry you across, my lord."
"You old fellows," said the Pilgrim, laughing, "your words are quite wide of the mark. You said yourself that the mountain path stretches for eight hundred li. You are not the divine host of the Great Yu—how could you open a road through the mountain! If my master is to get across, it must be by our efforts; none of you could manage it."
Sanzang dismounted and said: "Wukong, how are we to exert ourselves then?"
The Pilgrim laughed: "As things stand, crossing the mountain at once is hard, and opening a new road is harder still. We must go through the old lane after all—my only fear is that no one will provide our meals."
"Elder, what talk is that!" said Old Li. "However long you four may tarry, we can support you all. How can you say no one will provide your meals!"
"In that case," said the Pilgrim, "go and prepare dry rations of two dan of rice, and make some steamed cakes and buns as well. When my long-snouted monk there has eaten his fill, he'll change into a great pig and root open the old road; my master will ride on the horse, and we'll steady him along. I guarantee we'll get across."
Hearing this, Bajie said: "Elder brother, you all want to come out of it clean—how is it that old Hog alone is made to do the stinking work?"
"Wuneng," said Sanzang, "if you truly have the skill to root open the lane and lead me across the mountain, I'll set this down as your first merit."
"Master above," said Bajie, laughing, "and you benefactors all here—do not laugh at me. Old Hog here is endowed with thirty-six transformations. When it comes to changing into light, dainty, soaring things, I truly cannot. But as for changing into a mountain, a tree, a boulder, a mound of earth, a scabby elephant, a boar, a water buffalo, a camel—all those I really can do. Only, when the body grows large, the belly and guts grow larger still, and I must be well fed before I can set to work."
"There's food! There's food!" said the people. "We have all brought dried provisions, fruit, flatcakes, and dumplings with us, meant for opening the mountain to see you across. Let's bring it all out for you to enjoy. And once you've changed and set to work, we'll send men back to cook and bring more."
Bajie was overjoyed. He took off his black robe, set aside his nine-toothed rake, and said to all: "Don't laugh at me. Watch old Hog do this stinking job."
A fine blockhead! He made a magic sign, shook himself, and changed—sure enough—into a great pig. Truly:
Long of snout, short of bristle, half fat and sleek, From his youth in the mountains he ate the magic herbs. His black face and round eyes shone like sun and moon; His round head and great ears spread like banana leaves. He had cultivated firm bones coeval with Heaven, And refined a thick hide tougher than iron. His snuffling nose gave snorts and grunts; His rumbling throat sent out belches and roars. Four white trotters stood a thousand feet high; A hundred fathoms of sword-bristled body and more. Men have seen fat pigs before in the world, But never such an old pig sprite as today! Tang Sanzang and the others praised him together, Admiring Marshal Tianpeng's mighty magic.
When Sun Wukong saw Bajie transformed like this, he ordered the escorts to push all the dried provisions and such into one pile for Bajie to enjoy. That blockhead, cooked or raw, swept it all up in one great wolfing, and then went forward to root the road open.
The Pilgrim told the Sha Monk to take off his shoes and carry the load with care, begged the master to sit firm in the carved saddle, and took off his own boots and shoes. Then he told the people to go back: "If you have any feeling for us, send some food quickly for my younger brother to renew his strength."
Of the seven or eight hundred people escorting them, more than half had mules and horses and sped back to the village like shooting stars to cook. Another three hundred on foot stood at the foot of the mountain, gazing after them from afar. From the village to the mountain was more than thirty li, and the round trip for fetching food another thirty li and more—some hundred li all told—by which time the master and disciples had already gone far.
The people could not bear to part with them. Urging their mules and horses into the lane, they hurried after them through the night and only caught up the next day, calling: "Scripture-seeking lords, slow down! Slow down! We have brought you your meals!"
Hearing this, the elder thanked them without end: "Truly good and faithful folk!" He bade Bajie stop and eat some more to strengthen his spirit. The blockhead, after rooting for two days, was famished. Those people had brought no less than seven or eight dan of food; whether rice or noodles, he gathered it all up and wolfed it down in one great meal, then went forward again to root the road.
Sanzang, the Pilgrim, and the Sha Monk thanked the people, and the two parties parted. Truly:
The guests of Tuoluo Village turn for home, As Bajie opens the mountain and passes through with the rest. Sanzang, sincere of heart, is borne by divine power; Wukong's arts displayed, the monsters' might decays. A thousand years of rotten persimmons are swept clean today; The Qijue lane is opened wide this day. The six desires and the passions of the dust are all cut away, And without hindrance they may worship at the lotus throne.
On this journey we do not know how far remains, or what demons they will meet—listen to the explanation in the next chapter.