The story tells how Sanzang took leave of the king of Zhuzi, had the saddle and horse made ready, and pressed on westward. Past how many hills and plains they traveled, through endless reaches of water, until, before they knew it, autumn was gone and winter worn away, and the light of spring shone bright once more. Master and disciples were strolling along the road, enjoying the spring verdure and the scenery, when suddenly they saw a grove with a cottage in it. Sanzang rolled from the saddle and stood at the side of the great road.
The Pilgrim asked: "Master, this road is smooth and free of harm—why do you not ride on?"
Bajie said: "Brother, what a way you have with you! Master has sat himself saddle-sore—let him get down and take in the view, I say." Sanzang said: "It is not to take in the view. I see what looks like a household over there, and I mean to go myself and beg a little food." The Pilgrim laughed: "Listen to what Master says! If you want food, I'll go beg it myself. As the common saying goes, 'a teacher for a day is a father for life'—how could there be a rule that the disciple sits on high while the master goes out to beg?"
Sanzang said: "That is not how to take it. Ordinarily the country stretches boundless on every side, and you have to go far or near to beg food; but today a household is close at hand, near enough to call to—if I go myself, food or no food, we can be back on the road at once."
Bajie said: "Master has no fixed intention. As the common saying goes, 'when three men travel abroad, the youngest suffers most'—and besides, you are of the father's generation, and we are all disciples. The old books say, 'when there is work to do, the disciple takes the toil of it.' Let old Zhu go."
Sanzang said: "Disciples, today the weather is clear and bright—quite unlike the days of wind and rain. In those times you would of necessity have to go far afield; but this household—let me go. With food or without, we can be back on the road directly."
The Sha Monk at the side said with a smile: "Brothers, no more talk. Such is Master's disposition; there is no crossing him. If you put him out of temper, even if you begged food and brought it back, he would not eat it."
Bajie gave in. He took out the alms bowl, and Sanzang changed into his finer hat and gown; then the elder stretched his stride and walked straight up before the farmstead to look. A fine dwelling it was. Just see:
A stone bridge rising high, ancient trees dense and even. A stone bridge rising high: plashing waters join the long stream; ancient trees dense and even: chattering hidden birds sing toward the distant hills. Beyond the bridge, a few rafters of thatched cottage, clean and elegant as an immortal's hermitage; and there a lattice window, white and bright, that would shame a Daoist abbey.
At the window four fair women suddenly came into view, all of them embroidering phoenixes and tracing luan-birds with their needles. The elder saw that the household had not a single man in it, only four women, and dared not go in; he stood fast and slipped into the shadow of the tall trees, and watched. Each of those women:
A maiden's heart firm as stone; an orchid nature glad as spring. A tender face set off with rosy clouds; crimson lips even-toned with rouge. Moth eyebrows like little crescent moons; cicada tresses like clouds newly folded. Were they to go and stand among the flowers, the roving bees would take them for blooms.
He stood there a good half double-hour, and it was utterly still—not so much as a cock-crow or a dog's bark. He communed with himself: "If I have not the skill to beg one meal of food, my disciples will laugh at me too: they'll say, if the master cannot beg a meal, how can the disciples ever go and worship the Buddha?"
The elder, having no way out of it, and feeling more than a little to blame, trotted up onto the bridge and walked a few steps further. There behind the thatched cottage he saw a pavilion of climbing roses, and beneath the pavilion three more women kicking an inflated ball. Look at those three women: they were made differently from the other four. Just see them:
Fluttering kingfisher sleeves; swaying silk skirts. Fluttering kingfisher sleeves hang low, veiling hands slender as bamboo shoots; swaying silk skirts shift aside, half showing golden lilies narrow and small.
In form and carriage they are complete in every part; in motion and in stillness their heels play a thousand steps. Heading the ball, they pass it high and low; lofted low or skipping, they send it true and clean. Turning, they kick the "flower over the wall"; stepping back, they turn it into "crossing the great sea." Lightly they catch a ball like a ball of clay; with a single spear-thrust they answer the hooked leg. A bright pearl set upon the Buddha's head—firmly caught upon a pointed boot. The narrow brick they somehow manage to tread; in the "sleeping fish" they trip a foot. Waist level, knees bent, they crouch; twisting their crowns, they cock their heels on high. Vaulting the bench, they shout and flourish; cast over the shoulder, it is done most gracefully. Cross-legged they weave to and fro; "locking the neck," they sway and swing. They kick till the Yellow River's waters run backward, and goldfish are bought upon the sands. That one misjudges it for a header; this one turns about and plays the hooked kick. Steadily they raise it upon the shin; properly pointed, they let it splash down. Heels lifted high, they splash in their straw sandals; reversed, they hook it back to carry off the prize. Stepping back, they feint along the shoulder; the hook is one wicked move. Out of the basket it comes spinning long; they slam it home for the "seizing of the gate." When a kick has pleased them to the heart's core, the fair ones all cry out their praise.
One and all, the sweat streamed through their silken dresses, pasting the powdered skin; and only when their zest grew lazy and their mood slackened did they cry enough.
Words cannot tell it all; there is a poem in witness:
Ball-playing there upon the field, beneath the third-month sky, As though immortal winds had blown fair sprites of white down to the earth. Sweat on their powdered faces—flowers holding dew; Dust on their moth-eyebrows—willow branches wreathed in mist. Kingfisher sleeves hang low, veiling hands like shoots of jade; Silk skirts trail aslant, baring golden lilies narrow. Rounds of kicking done, they are tender and devoid of strength; Their cloudlike hair disheveled, jeweled chignons hanging aslant.
Sanzang had watched a long while; at last he could only walk up to the bridgehead and call out in answer to the scene: "Bodhisattvas, will you not bestow a little food upon this poor monk, according to your inclination?"
The women heard him, and one and all, delighted, tossed aside their needlework and left off their ball, and came out laughing and singing to receive him: "Venerable One, forgive our failure to meet you! Now that you have come to our humble farmstead, we would never think of blocking a monk's way at our gate—pray come inside and sit."
Sanzang heard this, and thought secretly: "Excellent! Excellent! Truly the West is the land of Buddha! Even the womenfolk are set upon feeding monks—how much more devoutly must the men turn their hearts toward the Buddha!" The elder stepped forward and made his greeting, then followed the women into the thatched cottage. Past the rose pavilion he looked—ah!
There were no proper halls or galleries within at all. Only:
Scarps rising high, the earth-vein stretching far. Scarps rising high, they touch the clouds and mist; the earth-vein stretching far, it runs through to seas and mountains. The gate stands near the stone bridge, where nine turns and nine windings of water glance by; the garden is planted with peach and plum, a thousand trees, a thousand blooms contending in their glory. Vines and creepers hang from three or five trees; the scent of orchid and iris drifts through a myriad flowers. Seen from afar, the grotto-mansion outdoes the isle of Penglai; viewed close at hand, the wooded hills outweigh Mount Tai or Mount Hua. It is just the hidden retreat the demon immortals seek: no neighbor anywhere—a household complete in itself.
A woman came forward, pushed the two leaves of the stone gate open, and asked the Tang monk to sit inside. The elder could only enter; suddenly he lifted his head and looked—all the furnishings were stone tables and stone stools, and a cold air hung dank and dark.
The elder's heart lurched, and he thought within himself: "This place has little luck and much peril; it is assuredly not good."
The women all said, smiling and laughing: "Venerable One, pray be seated." The elder had no choice; he sat. Presently he gave one shiver of cold.
The women asked: "From what precious mountain is the Venerable One? What cause brings you to beg? Is it to build bridges and mend roads, to found temples and worship at pagodas, or to make Buddha-images and print the scriptures? Pray bring out your subscription book, that we may look it over."
The elder said: "I am no subscription-begging monk." The women said: "If you beg no subscriptions, what brings you here?" The elder said: "I am one sent from the great Tang empire of the East to seek the scriptures at the Great Thunderclap in the Western Heaven. Passing your precious region just now, my belly grew hungry, and I have come especially to your worthy house to beg a single meal of food; then this poor monk will go on his way." The women said: "Good! Good! Good! As the common saying goes, 'the monk from far away best reads the scriptures.' Sisters! We must not be remiss—quick, prepare the food!"
Now three of the women stayed to bear him company, trading word for word, talking over causes and conditions. The other four went into the kitchen, tucked up their skirts and rolled back their sleeves, lit the fire and scoured the pots. And what do you suppose they were preparing? It was human oil, fried and refined, and human flesh, boiled and stewed: the black paste they had cooked down stood in for wheat gluten, and the carved human brains were fried into slices of tofu.
Two platters were carried out and set down upon the stone table, and they said to the elder: "Our respects! At short notice we could not prepare good vegetarian food; make shift with this to fill your belly—there are more courses to come."
The elder sniffed at it, smelled the rankness, and dared not open his mouth. He rose slightly, pressed his palms together, and said: "Bodhisattvas, this poor monk has been a vegetarian from the womb." The women laughed: "Venerable One, this is vegetarian." The elder said: "Amitabha! If this is what vegetarian means, then if I, a monk, ate of it, I could never hope to look upon the World-Honored One, never win the scriptural scrolls." The women said: "Venerable One, you who have left the world must not pick and choose among your donors." The elder said: "How dare I, how dare I! This monk bears the mandate of Great Tang; all the way west I have not harmed the smallest living thing: I have rescued suffering wherever I saw it, picked up with my fingers each grain of rice that entered my mouth, joined and stitched every thread and strand that covered my body. How dare I pick and choose my donors!" The women laughed: "Though the Venerable One does not pick his donors, he is somewhat particular once he is at their door. Do not scorn our humble fare—eat a little of it!" The elder said: "Truly I dare not eat, for fear of breaking my vow. Bodhisattvas, I have heard it said that to nourish life is not so good as to spare it: let this monk go free, I beg you."
The elder struggled to be gone; the women barred the door—how would they let him go? They all said: "Trade that comes to one's very door—and not do it! It's like letting a fart and then covering it with your hand: where do you think you're going?" Every one of them knew some martial art, and their hands and feet were nimble. They seized hold of the elder, and leading him off like a sheep by the tether, flung him flat upon the ground.
The crowd pinned him down, bound him with cords, and slung him high up under the beam. This hanging had a name to it: it was called "the Immortal Points the Way." One hand was stretched forward, and from it he was strung up by the silk; the other arm was bound round his waist, and rope run over the beam; his two feet were drawn back and a rope run to them too. Three ropes slung the elder beneath the beam, back upward, belly downward.
The elder bore the pain, holding back the tears, hating bitterly in his heart: "What a bitter lot is this monk's! I thought only to beg a meal from a good household—who could have known I would fall into a fiery pit! Disciples! Come quickly and save me, and we may yet meet face to face; but delay two double-hours, and my life is done!"
Though the elder suffered, he still kept a careful eye upon those women.
The women, having hung him properly, began to strip off their clothes. The elder's heart jumped, and he thought within himself: "Now that they are stripping off their clothes, this must mean they intend to thrash me—or perhaps to eat me half-raw, there's no telling!" But the women only loosened the silken jackets of their upper bodies, bared their bellies, and each displayed her powers: from the holes of their waists silk cords burst forth, as thick as duck eggs, gushing like scattering jade and flying silver—and in a moment they had canopied the gate of the farmstead. Of this no more.
The story turns: the Pilgrim, Bajie, and the Sha Monk were at the side of the great road. Those two were minding the horse and watching the luggage; but the Pilgrim, restless wretch that he was, went leaping through the trees, clutching at branches, plucking leaves, hunting fruits. Suddenly he looked back and saw a sheet of glittering light. In a flurry he dropped from his tree and shouted: "Bad! Bad! Master's luck has run low!"
The Pilgrim pointed with his hand: "Look at that farmstead—what do you see?" Bajie and the Sha Monk looked together: that whole stretch was white as snow and bright as snow, like silver and shining like silver.
Bajie said: "Done for, done for! Master has met with demons! Quick—let's go save him!"
The Pilgrim said: "Quiet, brothers! You haven't seen it plain yet. Wait for old Sun to go and come." The Sha Monk said: "Brother, be careful." The Pilgrim said: "I know what I'm about."
What a Great Sage! He cinched up his tiger-skin skirt, whipped out the gold-banded cudgel, stretched his legs, and in two or three strides was at the front. He saw the silk cords wound layer upon layer, thousands and hundreds of them thick, crossing and recrossing like warp and weft. He pressed down on them with his hand: they were sticky, soft, and clinging.
The Pilgrim had no notion what the stuff might be. He raised his cudgel: "With this one stroke, never mind a few thousand layers—were there tens of thousands of layers, I would break them through!"
But just as he was about to strike, he stopped his hand: "If they were hard, I could smash through; but these are soft—nothing to do but flatten them. And if I startled them and they wound old Sun about, that would be worse by far. Let me ask somebody first, then strike."
Whom do you suppose he asked? He knotted a spell-sign, recited a charm, and summoned the old local deity, who spun round and round in his temple like a millstone turning.
The local deity's old wife said: "Old man, what are you spinning for? Surely the falling sickness has come upon you!"
The local deity said: "You don't know! You don't know! The Great Sage Equal to Heaven has come, and I never went out to receive him—and now he is summoning me!"
The old wife said: "Then go and see him—what's the use of standing here turning circles?"
The local deity said: "If I go to see him—that cudgel of his is none too light, I tell you! Never mind right or wrong, he just beats you!"
The old wife said: "Seeing how old you've grown, why should he beat you?"
The local deity said: "All his life he has loved drinking wine without paying for it, and he has a particular fancy for beating old men."
The old couple talked it over a while; there was nothing for it. The local deity had to walk out and kneel, trembling, at the roadside, crying: "Great Sage, the local deity of this place bows his head."
The Pilgrim said: "Get up, get up. None of your false hurry. For now I'll not beat you—I'll put it on account. Let me ask you: what place is this?"
The local deity said: "From which quarter has the Great Sage come?" The Pilgrim said: "I come from the east, bound for the west." The local deity said: "Coming from the east, was the Great Sage upon that ridge?" The Pilgrim said: "Just so, upon the ridge—our luggage and horse are resting there now, are they not?"
The local deity said: "That ridge is called Coiled Silk Ridge. Beneath the ridge there is a cave called the Coiled Silk Cave. In the cave are seven demons."
The Pilgrim said: "Male demons or female?"
"Female demons," said the local deity.
The Pilgrim said: "How great are their powers?"
The local deity said: "Your little god's strength is thin and his authority short—I cannot tell how great their arts may be. I know only that due south of here, some three li away, there is the Spring of Washing Away Stain, a hot spring born of nature herself. It was formerly the bathing pool of the seven immortal maidens from on high. Since the demons came to dwell here, they have seized their Spring of Washing Away Stain, and the immortal maidens never once contended with them—gave it up to them outright, for no reason at all. When I see heavenly fairies refusing to quarrel with demon monsters, I know the sprites must have great powers indeed."
The Pilgrim said: "What do they do with the spring?"
The local deity said: "The monsters took the bathing pool, and three times a day they come out to bathe. The hour of Si is already past now; the hour of Wu is coming on."
The Pilgrim heard him out: "Local deity, go back for now. Wait till old Sun takes them himself."
The old local deity knocked his head once and went trembling back to his own temple.
The Great Sage went to work alone. He shook himself and changed into a little gray fly, and stuck fast on a grass-blade at the roadside to wait. In a moment he heard a hissing, sucking sound, like silkworms eating leaves, like the sea engendering a tide. It lasted barely half a cup of tea's time, and the silk cords were gone altogether; the village and farmstead showed forth again, looking just as at the first. Then he heard a creak—the wooden gate swung, and from within, amid laughing and chattering, out came the seven women.
The Pilgrim watched them closely from his hiding place, and saw them come hand in hand and arm in arm, shoulder to shoulder and sleeve to sleeve, talking and laughing as they crossed the bridge. Pretty they were indeed. Just see:
Than fragrant jade they are more sweet; than flowers their speech more true. Willow eyebrows stretch toward the distant hills; sandalwood mouths part in cherry lips. Kingfisher plumes perch aslope upon the hairpin-tips; golden lilies flash beneath the crimson skirts. They are like Chang'e come down upon the world below, Or immortal nymphs fallen into the dust of men.
The Pilgrim laughed to himself: "No wonder Master wanted to come here and beg! So this is the style of the place. With seven beauties like these—were they to keep my master, there would not be enough of him for one meal; were they to put him to use, not enough for two days' work; and were they to set upon him and take their turns, he would simply die of it. Wait till I listen and hear what they are plotting."
What a Great Sage! With a chirr of his wings he flew over and stuck fast upon the cloud-coil of the woman walking in front.
Just as they crossed the bridge, the ones behind called up to those ahead: "Sisters, when we've had our bath, let's steam that fat monk and eat him!"
The Pilgrim laughed inwardly: "These monsters have no head for planning! Boiling would save firewood—why go to the trouble of steaming!" The women gathered flowers and plucked grasses as they came south, and before long they reached the bathing pool. There stood a gate and wall, very splendid: wild flowers fragrant and bright over all the ground, orchids and irises thick and dark on every side. A woman walked to the front, and with a whistle pushed open the two leaves of the gate—and within, sure enough, lay a pool of hot water.
Now as for this water: since the world was first parted, the sun-star had originally numbered ten; but the good archer Yi drew his bow and shot down nine crows, which fell to earth, leaving only the one star, the Golden Crow—the true fire of the sun. Heaven and Earth have nine hot springs, and all of them were transformed from those nine crows. Those nine springs of the nine yangs are: the Fragrant Cold Spring, the Mountain-Companion Spring, the Warm Spring, the Eastern Confluence Spring, the All-Mountain Spring, the Filial Peace Spring, the Broad Fen Spring, and the Hot Spring—and this one is the Spring of Washing Away Stain.
There is a poem in witness:
One breath, with neither winter nor summer; through three autumns it forever pours its spring. Its burning waves seethe as in a cauldron; its hot surge seems fresh-drawn from the kettle. Divided, its rills water the standing crops; held still, it washes the worldly dust away. Pearly tears well up, trickle after trickle; jade masses roll and tumble in the flow. Its sleekness was never brewed or vinted; its clear calm is warm of itself. Its auspiciousness is the country's native beauty; Creation's work is very innocence. Where the fair ones bathe, icy skin grows sleek and smooth; Washed clean of worldly care, the jade body is made new.
The pool was about five zhang across and ten-odd zhang long, with a depth of four feet, and the water was clear to the very bottom. From below, the water came welling up like rolling pearls and floating jade, gurgle and gush; on its four sides six or seven openings let the flow pass through. It ran off two or three li, and even streaming into the fields it was still warm. Above the pool stood a pavilion of three bays; near the back wall of the pavilion was a bench with eight legs; at the two gable-ends stood two garment racks, gilded and painted in colors. The Pilgrim chirred softly in his hiding place, flew over with a beat of his wings, and perched on the head of one of the garment racks.
The women, finding the water clear and hot, wanted their bath; they stripped off their clothes together and hung them on the racks, and plunged in together—and the Pilgrim saw it all:
Buttons undone, the silken knots loosened. Creamy breasts white as silver; jade bodies smooth as snow. Arms and elbows fair as congealed rouge; fragrant shoulders as though molded of powder. Bellies soft and yielding; backs gleaming and clean. Knees and wrists half-rounded; golden lilies narrow as three inches. Between them, one stretch of alluring charm, baring the bower of their gallantry.
The women all leapt into the water, one and another sporting through the waves, diving and frolicking.
The Pilgrim said: "If I meant to strike them, one stir of this cudgel in the pool would do it—like scalding water poured on rats: the whole nest dead in one go. Poor things! Poor things! I could beat them to death, to be sure—but it would cheapen old Sun's name. As the common saying goes, 'a man does not fight with women.' A grown man like me killing these girls would be truly shabby. No, I'll not beat them. I'll just play them a trick that leaves them heirless: I'll see to it they cannot stir a step nor leave the water—now wouldn't that be something?"
What a Great Sage! He knotted the spell-signs, recited a charm, shook himself, and changed into a hungry old eagle:
His feathers are frost and snow; his eyes like shining stars. Where the demon fox sees him, its soul is lost; when the cunning hare meets him, its gall dissolves in fear. Steel talons swift and sharp of edge; a stalwart form, a fierce and overbearing air. With old fists he serves his belly's needs, and shrinks not from pursuing on the wing. Through ten thousand li of cold sky he ranges, up and down at will; Threading the clouds he picks his prey wherever he pleases.
With a whir of wings he flew forward, wheeling his sharp talons, snatched all seven sets of clothes from off the racks, and headed straight back for the ridge. There he showed his true form and came before Bajie and the Sha Monk: "Look at these." The blockhead met him and said to the Sha Monk with a grin: "So Master was taken to the pawnshop!" The Sha Monk said: "How do you make that out?" Bajie said: "Don't you see Brother has seized all their clothes and carried them back here?"
The Pilgrim set them down: "These are the clothes the demons wear." Bajie said: "However did he come by so many?"
"Seven sets," said the Pilgrim. Bajie said: "How were they stripped so easily, and stripped so clean?"
The Pilgrim said: "Stripped! Nobody stripped anything. It seems this place is called Coiled Silk Ridge, and that farmstead is the Coiled Silk Cave. In the cave are seven female demons; they had seized my master and hung him up inside, and they had all gone off to the Spring of Washing Away Stain to bathe. That spring is a pool of hot water formed by Heaven and Earth. They had it all reckoned out: bathe first, then steam my master and eat him. I followed them there, and when they had stripped and gone into the water, I thought of striking them—but I feared to foul the cudgel, and feared to cheapen my name; so I never lifted it. I only changed into a hungry eagle and snatched their clothes away. And now they are squatting in the water, swallowing their shame, not daring to show their heads. Come—quick! Let's untie Master and be on our road."
Bajie laughed: "Brother, whatever you set your hand to, you always leave the root behind! Now that you've seen the demons, why not kill them first, and only then go free Master? They may hide their shame for now and not come out, but by evening they are bound to. They'll have old clothes at home; they'll put on a set and come chasing after us. And even if they don't chase—they've lived here a long while, and when we've fetched the scriptures we must come back down this very road. As the common saying goes, 'better to lack money by the roadside than to lack fists by the roadside.' If they stop us then and raise a row, won't they be enemies of ours for good?"
The Pilgrim said: "What's your plan, then?"
Bajie said: "Do it my way: first kill the demons, then go free Master. That's the plan of cutting the grass and digging out the roots."
The Pilgrim said: "I'm not going to beat them. If you want them beaten, go and beat them yourself."
Bajie roused his spirits, overjoyed, raised his rake, stretched his stride, and ran straight there. He shoved the gate open with a push and looked: the seven women were squatting in the water, cursing the eagle with one voice: "That flat-feathered beast! That cat-chewing wretch of a dead devil! He's snatched away every stitch of our clothes—how are we ever to stir a hand!"
Bajie could not hold back his laughter: "Bodhisattvas, so you're taking your bath—won't you take this poor monk in and give him a wash too?"
The demons saw him and answered in a rage: "You monk—what outrageous manners! We are womenfolk at home in the world, and you are a man who has left the world. The old books say, 'for seven years, male and female may not share a mat'—and you presume to bathe in the same pool with us?"
Bajie said: "The weather's hot; there's no help for it—just make room and let me have a little wash. Never mind your books and benches—same mat or no same mat!"
The blockhead would hear no more argument: he dropped his rake, stripped off his black brocade tunic, and with a plunge leapt into the water. The demons, their hearts aflame with vexation, all pressed forward to beat him—but little did they know that Bajie was a very master of the water. In the pool he shook himself and changed into a catfish spirit. The demons all went groping after the fish, but could not lay hands on him: they felt to the east, and he had flicked away west; they felt to the west, and he had flicked away east; slippery as could be, he went wriggling through their very legs. The water was chest-deep; he coiled about on the surface a while, then coiled along the bottom, until he had tangled every one of them, gasping and puffing, their spirits worn to rags.
Only then did Bajie leap up out of the water, show his true form, pull on his tunic, seize his rake, and shout: "Who am I? You took me for a catfish spirit!"
The demons saw him, and their hearts pounded and their gall quaked: "You came first as a monk; in the water you turned into a catfish; and when we could not catch you, you came out tricked out like this. Where in truth do you come from? You must leave your name!"
Bajie said: "So these brazen monsters truly do not know me! I am a disciple of the Venerable Tang of the great Tang empire of the East, come west for the scriptures—Marshall Tianpeng, Wuneng, Bajie in person! You strung my master up in your cave, plotting to steam him for your delectation! And do you suppose my master is good for steaming? Stretch your heads over here, the lot of you, and take a rake apiece—I'll put an end to your line!"
The demons heard, and their souls flew and scattered; they knelt in the water and pleaded: "We pray you, lord, show us what ease you can! We had eyes and saw no pearl—we took your master by mistake. Though he hangs there, we never dared add torment or torture. In your mercy, spare our lives! We will gladly put up the traveling money and see your master on his way to the Western Heaven!"
Bajie shook his head: "Say no more of that! The proverb has it well: 'Once burned by the sugar-seller's honeyed words, never again trust a sweet mouth.' Take your rake, one apiece, and let each go his way!" The blockhead, coarse and crude to the bone and out to show his prowess—what heart had he for cherishing the fair or pitying the fragile? He raised his rake and, telling good from bad not at all, charged in hacking wildly.
The demons lost their footing—what shame could count for anything now, with life itself at stake? They covered their shame with their hands, leapt out of the water, ran and stood within the pavilion, and worked their magic upon it: from the holes of their navels silk cords came gushing out, canopied the sky with a great silk awning, and shrouded Bajie within it. The blockhead looked up suddenly—neither sun nor sky to be seen. He pulled in his arms and started for the edge—and could not lift a foot! They had laid tripping cords: the ground was covered with silk ropes. He stirred a foot, and down he went: to the left, a face full of earth; to the right, a head-over-heels sprawl; a hurried turn, and another mouthful of mud; scrambling up, a headstand on his palms. Who knows how many falls he took in all? The blockhead was beaten till his body was numb and his legs like water, his head swimming and his eyes blurred; he could not so much as crawl, but lay on the ground groaning.
The monsters had him well and truly trapped; yet they neither beat him nor harmed him. One after another they hopped out the gate, the silk awning shutting off the light of day, and each made her way back to her own cave. On the stone bridge they stood still, recited their true words, and in an instant drew in the awning; then, stark naked, they ran into the cave, and covering their privates with their hands went scurrying, giggling, right past Tang Sanzang.
They went into the stone chamber, put on a few old garments, and came straight to the back gate, where they stood and called: "Children, where are you?" Now each of these demons had a son—but not sons they had borne: they were sworn sons, adopted by covenant. Their names were Bee, Wasp, Mud-wasp, Gadfly, Horsefly, Moth, and Dragonfly: Bee was a honeybee; Wasp a wasp; Mud-wasp the mud-nesting wasp; Gadfly the spotted gadfly; Horsefly the ox-gadfly; Moth the wax-moth; Dragonfly the dragonfly.
Now when the demons had first spread their nets across the sky and snared these seven kinds of insects, they had meant to eat them. But as the ancients said, "birds have their bird language, and beasts their beast speech"; the insects pleaded for their lives, offering to worship them as mothers. And so it was that in spring they gathered the hundred flowers to feed the monsters, and in summer they sought out every herb, dutiful to the sprites.
Suddenly hearing themselves called, they all came before them and asked: "Mothers, what is your command?" The monsters said: "Children, this morning we stirred up trouble by mistake with the monks come from Tang; and just now we were trapped in the pool by his disciple—we were shamed past all counting, and all but lost our lives! Rouse yourselves, go out the front, and beat them back for us. If you win the day, come to your uncle's house and meet us there." The monsters, thus escaping with their lives, went off to their fellow disciple's place, to breed fresh mischief with their wicked tongues—but of that no more. Watch these insects, one and all rubbing fists and palms, come out to face the foe.
The story turns to Bajie, beaten till his head rang and his brains swam. He looked up suddenly and saw that the silk awning and cords were gone; step by step, feeling his way, he clambered up, bore his pains, and groped his way back along the old road. Seeing the Pilgrim, he clutched at him with his hand: "Brother—my head isn't swollen, is it? My face isn't black-and-blue, is it?"
The Pilgrim said: "What has happened to you?"
Bajie said: "That pack of rascals shrouded me under silk cords and laid tripping-ropes—who knows how many falls I took! They fell me till my back drags and my spine feels broke, and I could not move an inch. Just now the awning and the cords all cleared away, and only then did I get my life back and come home."
The Sha Monk saw him and said: "Done for, done for! You have brought a plague down on us! The demons are sure to go back to the cave and harm Master—quick, let's go save him!" Hearing this, the Pilgrim strode off at once; Bajie led the horse, and they hurried to the front of the farmstead. But on the stone bridge seven little fiends barred the way, crying: "Halt, halt! We are here!"
The Pilgrim looked and said: "Laughable! Not a grown one in the lot! The tallest is barely two feet five or six inches—under three feet; the heaviest no more than eight or nine catties—under ten." He shouted: "Who are you?"
The little fiends said: "We are the sons of the seven immortal maidens! You have insulted our mothers, and still you dare, in your blind arrogance, to fight your way to our gate! Don't run! Beware!"
What little monsters! One and all, hands a-dance and feet a-prance, they came thrashing forward.
Bajie, seeing them, grew angry: he was in an ill temper from his falls already, and seeing that pack of small fry, he raged, raised his rake, and fell to swinging.
The little fiends saw how fierce the blockhead was, and one after another showed their true forms, flew up into the air, and cried "Change!" In a moment one had become ten, ten a hundred, a hundred a thousand, a thousand ten thousand—every one multiplying beyond all count. Just see:
Moths fill the whole sky with their flying; dragonflies dance over all the earth. Bees and wasps pursue their heads and foreheads; mud-wasps stab at their eyes. Gadflies bite them before and behind; horseflies sting them above and below. It beats upon their faces, black and swarming; the whirring would frighten gods and ghosts.
Bajie panicked: "Brother! They told us the scriptures would be easy to fetch—here on the western road, even the bugs bully a man!"
The Pilgrim said: "Brother, don't be afraid—forward, and fight!"
Bajie said: "They're swarming my head and face, layered a dozen deep all over my body—how am I supposed to fight?"
The Pilgrim said: "Nothing to it! Nothing to it! Old Sun has the means!" The Sha Monk said: "Brother, whatever the means, bring it out quick—in a moment our bald heads will be stung swollen!"
What a Great Sage! He plucked a handful of hairs, chewed them to pieces, and sprayed them out; they changed at once into yellow hawks, brown hawks, crested hawks, and white hawks, sea-eagles, ospreys, and sparrowhawks.
Bajie said: "Brother, what market slang are you speaking now—'yellow' and 'brown' and all the rest?"
The Pilgrim said: "You don't know. Yellow is the yellow hawk, brown the brown hawk, crested the crested hawk, white the white hawk, sea-eagle the sea-eagle, osprey the osprey, sparrowhawk the sparrowhawk. The demons' sons are seven kinds of insects; my hairs are seven kinds of hawks."
Hawks are the very masters of insects: one beak, one insect—talons striking, wings beating. In a moment they had beaten the swarm to the last one: the sky empty without a trace, and the ground piled a foot deep.
Only then did the three brothers cross the bridge and go straight into the cave. There they saw their venerable master hanging and moaning and weeping.
Bajie came up close: "Master, if you wanted to come here and hang yourself for fun, you might have let me in on it—I don't know how many falls it has cost me!"
The Sha Monk said: "Cut Master down first; talk afterwards." The Pilgrim picked the cords apart with his cudgel and let Tang Sanzang down; all of them asked: "Where have the demons gone?" Tang Sanzang said: "Those seven monsters, stark naked, ran out the back calling for their sons." The Pilgrim said: "Brothers, follow me—we'll search them out." The three took up their weapons and searched the rear garden—but no trace of them. They searched the peach and plum trees through and through—still nothing. Bajie said: "Gone, gone!" The Sha Monk said: "No need to hunt them; help me walk Master out." The brothers came round to the front again and helped the Tang monk onto the horse: "Master, next time there's food to beg, let us do the begging."
The Tang monk said: "Disciples—hereafter, though I starve to death, I will never again go my own way."
Bajie said: "You two help Master along; let old Zhu fell this house of theirs with a rake or two, so when they come back there'll be nowhere for them to nest." The Pilgrim laughed: "Felling is wasted labor—better gather some brush and make an end of the root." What a blockhead! He gathered some rotten pine and broken bamboo, dry willow and withered vines, set a torch to them—and in a roaring blaze the whole place burned clean.
Only then did master and disciples set out with easy minds.
Hah! But as for how the demons fared thereafter, in fortune or in peril—listen to the explanation in the next chapter.