The root of passion and desire is ever the same: Where there is passion and desire, things go on of themselves. Many are the monks who train and cultivate— To cut off desire and forget passion, that is Chan. You must set your mind on it; your will must be firm, Spotless as the moon in mid-sky. Take care not to err as you advance by stages in your work; When conduct is complete and merit fulfilled, you become an enlightened immortal.
The story continues: The Tang Priest and his disciples, having broken open the net of desire and leapt free of the prison of passion, let their horse travel westward. After they had gone a long while, summer was ending and autumn beginning, and a fresh coolness pierced to the skin. Just look at it:
Swift rain sweeps away the last of summer's heat; A single wutong leaf gives autumn's first alarm. Fireflies flit along the sedge-grass paths at evening; Crickets chirp beneath the bright moonlight. Yellow mallows open, dew upon their petals; Red smartweed spreads over every sandy islet. The reeds and willows are the first to shed their leaves; The cold cicadas sing in keeping with the season's law.
As the elder was traveling along, he suddenly saw a high mountain ahead, its peaks thrusting into the azure void—it truly scraped the stars and blocked the sun.
The elder's heart filled with fear, and he called to Wukong: "Look at this mountain ahead of us. It towers dreadfully. I only wonder whether there is a road through it."
"Master, what kind of talk is that?" said the Pilgrim with a laugh. "As the old saying goes, 'Where the mountain is high there is always a road for travelers; where the water is deep there is always someone to ferry you across.' How could there be no way to get through? Set your mind at ease and let's go forward."
At these words the elder's face bloomed with delight. He raised his whip, urged on his horse, and rode straight up onto the high crags.
After they had traveled a few li, they saw an old man: his temples were tousled, his white hair streaming and fluttering; his beard was sparse, its silver threads swaying. Around his neck hung a string of beads, and in his hand he bore a staff with a dragon's head at its top.
Standing far off on the mountain slope, he shouted loudly: "Elder traveling west! Halt your noble steed a while and tighten your jade bridle! On this mountain there is a pack of demons who have eaten up every soul in the world of Jambudvipa. You must not go forward!"
When the Tang Priest heard this he was so horrified that his face changed color. In the first place the ground under his horse's hoofs was uneven, and in the second place he sat unsteadily in his carved saddle—thump! He tumbled off his horse, struggled but could not rise, and lay in the grass moaning.
The Pilgrim came up close, helped him to his feet, and said: "Don't be afraid! Don't be afraid! You have me here!"
"Elder brother, listen to that old man on the high crag," said the elder. "He reports that on this mountain there is a pack of demons who have eaten up everyone in the world of Jambudvipa. Who would dare go and ask him what the truth of it really is?"
"You just sit here, and let me go ask him."
"But your looks are ugly and your speech coarse. I'm afraid you'd give offense and wouldn't get any reliable information out of him."
The Pilgrim laughed and said: "Then I'll change into something more presentable and go ask him."
"Show me how you change," said the Tang Priest.
Marvelous Great Sage! He made a magic sign with his fingers, shook his body, and changed into a neat and clean little monk—truly a lovely sight: refined eyes and elegant brows, a round head and a well-formed face, a genteel and scholarly air in his every movement, and no vulgar words ever passing his lips. He shook out his brocade cassock, strode forward, and said to the Tang Priest: "Master, have I changed well?"
The Tang Priest saw him and was delighted. "You've changed very well!"
"What do you mean, well!" said Zhu Bajie. "He's just put the rest of us to shame! Old Pig could roll around for two or three years and still never turn out anything that handsome!"
Marvelous Great Sage! He slipped away from the others, walked straight up to the old man, bowed, and said: "Venerable Grandpa, this humble monk greets you."
The old man saw that he was elegant in appearance, young, and light of bearing, and half-heartedly returned his bow. Reaching out his hand to pat the little monk's head, he asked with a chuckle: "Little monk, where do you come from?"
"We come from the land of the east, from Great Tang," said the Pilgrim, "bound for the Western Heaven to worship the Buddha and seek scriptures. Just now as we arrived here, we heard your honorable self report that there are monsters about. My master is timid and fearful, so he sent me to ask a question: what sort of monster can it be, that dares to waylay travelers on this road? I beg you, Grandpa, to tell me all the details, so that I can send the creature packing."
The old man laughed. "Little monk, you are young and don't know what's good for you—your tongue runs ahead of your strength. Those demons have enormous magic powers. How could you talk of sending them packing?"
"From what you say," the Pilgrim replied with a smile, "you seem inclined to protect them. You must be kin to them, or else close neighbors and sworn friends. Otherwise, why would you puff up their prestige and vaunt their courage, refusing to open your heart and tell me plainly where they come from?"
The old man nodded and chuckled. "This monk certainly has a clever tongue! I suppose you travel about with your master, picking up magic arts here and there—you can perhaps exorcise hobgoblins and ward off evil for householders. But you've never run into a truly vicious monster!"
"How vicious?" asked the Pilgrim.
"When that demon sends a single letter to the Vulture Peak, five hundred arhats come out to welcome him," said the old man. "When a single note of his goes up to the Heavenly Palace, the eleven great luminaries each pay him reverence. The Dragon Kings of the Four Seas have been his friends; the immortals of the eight grottoes hold regular gatherings with him. The Kings of Hell of the Ten Courts address him as brother; the gods of the soil and the city walls cherish him as an honored guest."
When the Great Sage heard this, he could not help bursting into loud laughter. Seizing the old man by the hand, he cried: "Enough! Enough! That demon was a young lackey and servant to me, one of my brothers and friends—there's nothing so exalted about him. If he knew this little monk was coming, he'd pack up and move away overnight!"
"Nonsense, little monk!" said the old man. "Shame on you! What god or sage could ever have been your young lackey?"
"I'll tell you the truth," said the Pilgrim with a smile. "This little monk's ancestral home is the Water Curtain Cave on the Mountain of Flowers and Fruit in the land of Aolai. My surname is Sun, my name Wukong. In years past I too was a monster, and I did great deeds. Once, at a gathering of demons, I drank a few cups too many and fell asleep. In a dream I saw two men carrying a summons to drag me off to the Palace of Darkness. In a flash of fury I took my gold-banded cudgel and wounded the ghost judges, terrified the King of Hell, and very nearly overturned the Hall of Judgment. The officer in charge of the records scrambled for paper, and all ten Kings of Hell signed their names and marked their seals, begging me to spare them a beating—declaring themselves willing to be my lackeys and servants!"
When the old man heard this, he said: "Amitabha Buddha! This monk has told such an outrageous lie, he'll never grow any taller!"
"Old sir," said the Pilgrim, "a size like mine is quite big enough."
"How old are you, then?"
"Take a guess."
"Seven or eight, no more."
"I have ten thousand seven-or-eights! Let me show you my old face—then see if you dare blame me."
"What do you mean, another face?" asked the old man.
"This little monk has seventy-two faces," said the Pilgrim.
The old man, not knowing enough to leave well enough alone, kept right on questioning him, so the Pilgrim gave his face a wipe—and instantly revealed his true form: fangs bared, cheeks blazing red on both sides, a tiger-skin kilt tied round his waist, the gold-banded cudgel gripped in his hand as he stood beneath the rocky crag—the very image of a live Thunder God.
At the sight the old man's face drained of color. His legs went numb and weak and would not hold him—down he flopped! He scrambled up, then tumbled into another squatting sprawl.
The Great Sage came forward and said: "Old sir, don't be alarmed. We may look fierce, but our hearts are good. Don't be afraid! Don't be afraid! Just now you were kind enough to warn us of demons. How many monsters are there, really? Do go on and tell me, and I'll thank you for it."
The old man trembled from head to foot, unable to speak a word; he pretended to be deaf and answered not a syllable.
Seeing that he would say nothing, the Pilgrim turned and went back down the slope.
"Wukong, you're back?" said the elder. "What did you learn?"
"It's nothing! It's nothing!" said the Pilgrim with a laugh. "If the Western Heaven has a demon or two, so what? The people here are just timid and take such things to heart. No matter! No matter! You have me here!"
"But did you ask him what mountain this is, what cave, how many monsters there are, and which road leads to the Thunder Monastery?"
"Master, don't take this amiss," put in Bajie, "but when it comes to contests of transformation, sly tricks, and making fools of people, three or five of us couldn't match Elder Brother. But when it comes to plain honesty—line up a whole column of Elder Brothers, and they still couldn't match old me."
"Exactly! Exactly!" said the Tang Priest. "You are the honest one."
"He pokes his head into things without a thought for his tail," said Bajie. "He asked a question or two, then came scurrying back without any proper word. Wait here—old Pig will go ask and get the truth of it."
"Wuneng, be careful," said the Tang Priest.
Marvelous idiot! He tucked his rake into his belt, straightened his black cassock, and minced and wobbled his way up the mountain slope. Calling out to the old man, he said: "Grandpa, your servant bows!"
Now that the Pilgrim had gone, the old man had managed to get to his feet with the help of his staff and was preparing, trembling, to make off—when suddenly he caught sight of Bajie, and his terror redoubled. "Merciful ancestors!" he cried. "What nightmare did I dream last night, to run into this pack of horrors! That first monk was ugly, to be sure, but still had some three-tenths of a human look. But this monk—what a mallet of a snout, ears like winnowing fans, a face of iron plate, a neck of bristles! Not one scrap of human air left in him!"
Bajie chuckled. "You're a disagreeable grandpa, I must say, always running people down. What's wrong with how I look? Ugly I may be, but I'm well worth looking at. Give me an hour or two and I'll grow handsome."
When the old man heard him produce actual human speech, he had no choice but to speak. "Where do you come from?"
"I'm the Tang Priest's second disciple," said Bajie. "My religious name is Wuneng, and I'm called Bajie. That one who asked you just now is called Wukong the Pilgrim—my elder brother. Our master was vexed that he gave you offense and got no true word out of you, so he sent me especially to pay respects and inquire. What mountain is this, truly, and what cave? What monster lives in the cave, truly? And which is the great road west? I beg you, Grandpa, to point us the way."
"Are you an honest one?" asked the old man.
"In all my life I've never dared tell even a hair's worth of a lie."
"Don't be like that monk who just came, all flowery words and fancy water."
"I'm not like him."
Leaning on his staff, the old man said to Bajie: "This mountain is called Lion Camel Ridge, eight hundred li across. In its midst there is the Lion Camel Cave, and in that cave there are three demon chiefs."
Bajie spat. "What a suspicious old fellow you are! Three monsters, and you trouble yourself to come all this way with the news!"
"Aren't you afraid?"
"I'll tell you the truth," said Bajie. "Of those three monsters, my elder brother could kill one with a single blow of his staff. I could finish one off with one rake. And I have another junior brother—one stroke of his demon-quelling staff would account for the third. With all three dead, my master could simply ride on through. What's so hard about that?"
The old man laughed. "This monk has no notion of the depths! Those three demon chiefs have vast and mighty magic powers. And the little fiends under them: five thousand on the southern ridge, five thousand on the northern ridge, ten thousand at the eastern pass, ten thousand at the western pass; four or five thousand on patrol duty, another ten thousand guarding the gates; those who tend the fires are past counting, and those who gather firewood likewise—altogether some forty-seven or forty-eight thousand. Every one of them is a registered name with a badge on his body, and all they do here is devour human beings."
When the idiot heard this, he came scurrying back in a tremble. Drawing near the Tang Priest, he said not a word, but set down his rake and relieved himself on the spot.
When the Pilgrim saw this he shouted: "You don't make your report—what are you squatting there for?"
"The fear's squeezed the crap out of me!" said Bajie. "There's nothing more to say. Let's each of us hurry and look out for his own life!"
"What an idiot!" said the Pilgrim. "When I went to ask, I wasn't scared in the least, but the moment you go asking you panic and lose your wits!"
"What really happened?" asked the elder.
"That old man says this mountain is called Lion Camel Mountain, eight hundred li across," said Bajie. "In its midst is the Lion Camel Cave, and in that cave are three old demons with forty-eight thousand little ones who do nothing there but eat people. If we so much as brush the edge of their mountain, we're food in their mouths—there's no getting past!"
At this the Tang Priest trembled, every hair standing on end. "Wukong, what are we to do?"
"Master, set your mind at ease," said the Pilgrim with a laugh. "It's nothing serious. I expect there are a few demons here, but the local people are timid, so they multiply them into many monsters of great size, frightening themselves with their own fancies. You have me here!"
"Brother, what kind of talk is that!" said Bajie. "I'm not like you. What I asked about was the truth, and there's not one false word in it. The whole mountain and every valley are full of demons—how are we to go forward?"
"Idiot's talk! Don't work yourself into a fright," said the Pilgrim with a smile. "If it's a question of fiends filling the mountains and valleys, one round of old Sun's cudgel would smash the lot of them to pieces by midnight!"
"Shame! Shame! No more of your boasting!" said Bajie. "Just to call the roll of those little demons would take seven or eight days—how could you smash them all so fast?"
"Then how would you have me do it?" asked the Pilgrim.
"Knock them down, tie them up, freeze them with a body-fixing spell—even then it couldn't be that quick."
"I don't need any grabbing or tying," said the Pilgrim. "I take this cudgel of mine and pull at both ends, crying 'Grow!'—and it's forty zhang long. I give it a shake and cry 'Thicken!'—and it's eight zhang around. Then I roll it once along the south of the mountain—five thousand crushed; once along the north—another five thousand; and one roll from east to west—forty or fifty thousand little fiends ground to meat paste and mush!"
"Brother," said Bajie, "if it's a flour-kneading sort of battle like that, you might have the whole business done by the second watch."
Standing beside them, Sha Monk said with a laugh: "Master, with Elder Brother's powers like these, what is there to fear from them? Please mount the horse and let's be off."
Seeing them all expounding their skills, the Tang Priest had no choice but to compose his mind, mount his horse, and ride on.
As they were traveling along, the old man who had brought the report was nowhere to be seen. "He was a monster himself," said Sha Monk, "deliberately borrowing the tiger's might to come and scare us with his warning."
"Don't be hasty," said the Pilgrim. "Let me go and have a look."
Marvelous Great Sage! He leaped onto a high peak and looked all around, but there was no trace of anyone. Then, turning quickly, he saw a colored radiance shimmering in midair. Soaring up on his clouds to give chase, he found it was the Gold Star of Venus.
Going up to him, the Pilgrim seized hold of him with his hand, calling over and over by his personal name: "Li Changgeng! Li Changgeng! What a lazy rascal you are! If you had something to say, you could have said it to our faces. Why dress yourself up as some old mountain wraith to muddle me?"
The Gold Star hurriedly returned his courtesy. "Great Sage, forgive me for bringing my warning so late! Forgive me! These demon chiefs do indeed have vast magic powers and towering strength. Whether you pass through depends entirely on your shifts and transformations, your cleverness and cunning. If you are careless in the least, it will truly be hard to get through."
"Thank you! Thank you!" said the Pilgrim. "It's a hard road indeed. Old Star, go up to the upper regions and put in a word with the Jade Emperor—lend old Sun some heavenly soldiers to help out."
"You shall have them! You shall have them!" said the Gold Star. "You need only carry back my verbal message—even a hundred thousand heavenly soldiers can be had."
The Great Sage took leave of the Gold Star, brought his cloud down, and went to the Tang Priest. "That old man just now," he said, "was really the Gold Star of Venus, come to bring us the news."
The elder pressed his palms together. "Disciple, hurry after him and ask whether there's another road somewhere, so we can go around."
"We can't go around," said the Pilgrim. "This mountain runs straight through eight hundred li, and who knows how much farther it stretches on every side? How could we get around it?"
When the Tang Priest heard this, he could not hold back his tears. "Disciple, with hardships like these, how am I ever to worship the Buddha?"
"Don't cry! Don't cry!" said the Pilgrim. "The moment you cry, you turn coward. There must be some exaggeration in his report; he only wanted us to keep up our guard and be careful. As the saying goes, 'the teller overstates.' Dismount and sit down a while."
"What are you planning now?" asked Bajie.
"No plan at all," said the Pilgrim. "You stay here and keep careful watch over Master. Sha Monk, guard the luggage and the horse well. Let old Sun go up the ridge first and scout about—see how many demons there are, front and back. I'll seize one and question him closely, make him write out a deposition and a roster, get every last one of them, old and young, checked and registered, and order him to shut the cave doors and not bar our road. Then we'll invite Master to pass through quietly and peacefully. That will show old Sun's true craft!"
"Do be careful! Do be careful!" was all Sha Monk could say.
"No need for all the instructions," the Pilgrim said with a laugh. "On this trip of mine, even the Eastern Ocean would open a road, and even a mountain cased in iron and silver would have its gate battered through!"
Marvelous Great Sage! With a whistle he sprang onto his summit on his somersault cloud, clutching at vines and haulng himself up by creepers, surveying the mountain level. The mountain was silent and empty of anyone.
He suddenly cried out loud: "Wrong! Wrong! I should never have let old Gold Star go. He was just trying to scare me—there isn't a single demon here! If they were out gamboling in the wind at play, they'd surely be twirling spears and flourishing staves, drilling in the martial arts. Why is there not one of them?"
As he was puzzling it over by himself, he heard, from behind the mountain, the ting-ting-tang-tang and the rat-a-tat-tat of watchman's clapper and bell. Turning hastily to look, he saw it was a little fiend, carrying a flag marked "Order," a bell hanging at his waist, a clapper beating in his hand, walking from north to south. Looking at him closely, the Pilgrim saw he had a body one zhang two feet tall.
The Pilgrim chuckled to himself. "He must be a courier fiend. I expect he's carrying dispatches and delivering notices. Wait till I go listen to him a bit and hear what he says."
Marvelous Great Sage! He made a magic sign, recited a spell, shook his body, changed into a fly, and lightly alighted on his hat, pricking up his ears to listen.
The little fiend went striding along the highway, beating his clapper, swinging his bell, and muttering to himself: "We scouts must all be on our guard against Sun the Pilgrim: he can turn into a fly!"
When the Pilgrim heard this he was secretly startled and suspicious. "This fellow has seen me! If he hadn't, how would he know my name, and how would he know I can turn into a fly?" In fact the little fiend had not seen him at all; it was just that the demon chief had somehow given him those instructions—the rumor was abroad, and he was made to gabble it as he went.
The Pilgrim, not knowing this, suspected that the fiend had seen him, and was about to pull out his cudgel and finish him. But he held back, thinking: "I remember when Bajie was questioning the Gold Star, he said there were three old demons and forty-seven or forty-eight thousand little ones. Little fiends like this, even tens of thousands more of them, wouldn't matter. What I don't know is how great the powers of those three old demons are. Wait till I ask him a thing or two—then it won't be too late to strike."
Marvelous Great Sage! And how do you suppose he went about asking?
He flew down off the fiend's hat, clung to a treetop, and let the little fiend walk on a few paces. Then he turned quickly about, transformed with a shake of his body into another little fiend, dressed exactly like the first, beating the same clapper, swinging the same bell, carrying the same flag—only he stood three or four inches taller. Muttering the same words as he went, he hurried forward and called: "Hey, traveler! Wait for me!"
The little fiend turned his head. "Where are you from?"
"What a fine fellow!" said the Pilgrim with a laugh. "Don't you know your own family?"
"There's no one like you in my household."
"How could there not be me? Take a good look."
"Strange face—can't say I know you! Can't say I know you!"
"That's just it—my face is strange to you. I'm one of the fire-tenders. You seldom meet any of us."
The little fiend shook his head. "No, no! Even the fire-tending brothers in our cave—there's not one with a pointed snout like that."
The Pilgrim thought to himself: "So this snout of mine has changed a bit too pointed." Dropping his head at once, he covered his mouth with his hand and gave it a rub. "My snout isn't pointed," he said—and sure enough, it wasn't any longer.
"How was it pointed just now," said the little fiend, "and not pointed after one rub? What a suspicious creature! Very hard to recognize! You're not one of our family! Good-bye, good-bye! Doubtful, doubtful! Our Great King's household rules are strict: fire-tenders tend only fires, scouts do only scouting. It's hardly likely they'd have you tend fires and then send you out scouting too."
The Pilgrim, quick of tongue, slid right along with it. "You don't know," he said. "The Great King saw how well I kept the fires, and promoted me to scout."
"Very well, then. We scouts go in squads of forty, ten squads in all—four hundred men. Each has his own age, his own looks, his own registered name. The Great King feared we'd mix up our squads and make the roll call difficult, so he gave each of us a badge as a token. Have you a badge?"
Now the Pilgrim, seeing how the fiend was dressed and how he reported his duties, had transformed himself in that same fashion; but since he had never seen the fiend's badge, he had none on him.
Marvelous Great Sage! Far from admitting he had none, he answered glibly: "How could I have no badge? Only, mine is newly issued—I've just collected it. Bring yours out and let me see."
The little fiend, quite unsuspicious of the trick, lifted his garment. Next to his skin he wore a badge of gilt lacquer, strung on a cord of floss silk, and pulled it out to show the Pilgrim.
The Pilgrim saw that on the back of the badge was a gold plate inscribed "Awing All Demons," and on the front three characters in formal script: "Little Wind-Chaser."
"No need to say more," he thought to himself. "All who scout the mountain must have 'Wind-Chaser' at the end of their names."
Then he said: "Just you put your garment down and walk over. Let me show you my badge." Turning away, he thrust down his hand, plucked a single tiny hair from the tip of his tail, pinched it, and cried "Change!" It became a badge of gilt lacquer, likewise strung on a green floss-silk cord, inscribed with three characters in formal script—"Chief Wind-Chaser." He took it out and handed it over for the fiend to see.
The little fiend was greatly astonished. "We're all called 'Little Wind-Chaser'—why should you alone be called some kind of 'Chief Wind-Chaser'!"
The Pilgrim, who carried every scheme through to perfection and spoke always to the purpose, said: "The truth is, you don't know. The Great King saw how well I kept the fires, so he promoted me to chief of the scouts and gave me a new badge called Chief Wind-Chaser, appointing me to command your squad of forty brothers."
When the fiend heard this he hastened to bow and greet him: "Your honor! Your honor! Newly appointed, and strange of face—I spoke out of turn, forgive me!"
The Pilgrim returned his courtesy with a laugh. "Forgive you I shall—but there's one thing: I'll be wanting my meeting-money. Five taels from each of you."
"Your honor, don't be impatient," said the little fiend. "Wait till I go to the southern ridge and gather up my whole squad—then we'll settle up all at once."
"In that case, I'll go along with you."
The little fiend walked on ahead, and the Great Sage followed.
After a few li they came upon a Brush-Peak Peak. Why was it called Brush-Peak? From the summit of that mountain there grew up a single spire, four or five zhang high, like a brush standing in a rack—hence the name.
When the Pilgrim came to its foot, he cocked his tail, leaped up, and sat down on the very tip of the peak, calling out: "Wind-Chasers! All come here!"
The little Wind-Chasers below bowed and said: "At your service, your honor."
"Do you know why the Great King sent me out?"
"We do not."
"The Great King wants to eat the Tang Priest," said the Pilgrim, "but he fears the vast powers of Sun the Pilgrim. He's heard that the fellow knows transformations, and he worries that he may turn himself into a Little Wind-Chaser, sneak along these paths, and spy out the news. So he promoted me to Chief Wind-Chaser, to inspect your squad and see whether there's any fake among you."
"We're all genuine, your honor!" the little Wind-Chasers cried with one voice.
"If you're genuine, then you know what powers the Great King has. Do you?"
"Yes, we know."
"If you know, then out with it, quick, and let me hear. If what you say squares with what I know, you're genuine. If you're off by even a hair, you're fakes, and I'll surely haul you before the Great King for punishment."
The little Wind-Chasers, seeing him perched up there on high, putting on airs and bawling them out, had no choice but to tell the truth. "Our Great King has vast magic powers and mighty skills. With one swallow he once took in a hundred thousand heavenly soldiers."
When the Pilgrim heard this, he let out a snort. "You're fakes!"
The little fiends panicked. "Your honor, my lord, we're genuine! Why call us fakes?"
"If you were genuine, how could you talk such rubbish? How big is the Great King's body, that he could swallow a hundred thousand heavenly soldiers in one gulp?"
"Your honor doesn't know," said the little fiend. "Our Great King knows transformations. If he wants to be big, he can prop up the heavens; if he wants to be small, he's no bigger than a mustard seed. That year, when the Queen Mother held the Peach Banquet and invited all the immortals, no summons came to him. Our Great King thought to contend for Heaven, and the Jade Emperor sent a hundred thousand heavenly soldiers to subdue him. Our Great King then transformed his body, opened his great mouth till it was wide as a city gate, and made to swallow them down with all his might. The heavenly soldiers were so terrified that none dared engage him, and they shut the Southern Gate of Heaven. That's why we say one swallow took in a hundred thousand soldiers."
When the Pilgrim heard this he chuckled inwardly: "If it's a matter of boasts like that, old Sun has done the same himself." Then he went on aloud: "And what powers has the Second Great King?"
"The Second Great King is three zhang tall, with silkworm-brow eyes like a phoenix's, a beautiful voice, teeth like a carrying-pole, and a nose like a dragon's. When he fights, one sweep of his nose carries off his foe. Even if you had a back of iron and a body of bronze, your soul would still fly from you in fright!"
"A monster who hauls people off with his nose—easy enough to catch," said the Pilgrim, pressing on: "And what powers has the Third Great King?"
"Our Third Great King is no common monster of this mortal world," said the little fiend. "His style is the Great Peng of Ten Thousand Li in the Clouds. When he moves, he wheels on the wind and plies the seas, beating north and turning south. He carries about with him a treasure called the yin-yang two-qì vase. If a man is put inside that vase, within an hour and three quarters he is dissolved into liquid."
When the Pilgrim heard this, he was secretly alarmed. "The demons themselves are nothing to fear—but I'd best be careful of that vase." Then he said aloud: "You've not done badly in describing the powers of the three Great Kings—it matches what I know. But which of the Great Kings is it that wants to eat the Tang Priest?"
"Don't you know, your honor?" asked the little fiend.
"Do I not know more than you!" the Pilgrim thundered. "It's because I feared you underlings didn't know the details that I was sent to put the questions to you sharply!"
"Our First Great King and Second Great King have long lived in the Lion Camel Cave on Lion Camel Ridge. The Third Great King doesn't live here. His former home is about four hundred li to the west of here. There is a city there called the Kingdom of Lion Camel. Five hundred years ago he ate the king of that city and all his civil and military officials; every man, woman, and child in the city was devoured clean away. That is how he seized the kingdom, and now it is all monsters there. Some years ago he learned that the Tang court in the eastern lands had sent a monk to the Western Heaven to fetch scriptures, and that this Tang Priest is a good man who has cultivated his conduct through ten lifetimes—anyone who eats a single piece of his flesh will live long and never grow old. But because he feared one of the disciples, Sun the Pilgrim, so formidable a fellow, and could hardly manage him alone, he came straight here to swear brotherhood with our two Great Kings, so that, of one mind and purpose, they might together seize that Tang Priest."
When the Pilgrim heard this, rage blazed up in his heart. "What outrageous insolence from these wicked demons! I'm protecting the Tang Priest so he may attain the true fruit—and they plot to eat the man under my care!" With a grinding of his steel teeth he whipped out his iron cudgel, leaped down from the high peak, and brought the staff down on the little fiend's head and ground it in. Alas! The fiend was crushed into a shapeless lump of flesh.
Even the Pilgrim himself could not bear the sight. "Ai!" he said. "He meant well enough—he told me all the family gossip. How could I finish him off with one blow like that? Well—what's done is done!"
Marvelous Great Sage! Only because the road was blocked for his master did he, having no alternative, do this deed. He untied the fiend's badge and hung it on his own waist, slung the "Order" flag over his back, hung the bell at his waist, took the clapper in his hand, made a magic sign against the wind, recited a spell, shook his body, and changed into the very image of the Little Wind-Chaser. Then he turned about and retraced the old road, seeking out the cave, to probe the real strength of those three old demon chiefs.
This was truly:
A Monkey King of a thousand transformations, True mastery of ten thousand shifts and dodges.
Bursting deep into the mountains, he was following the old road along when suddenly he heard the shouts of men and the neighing of horses. Raising his eyes to look, he saw that before the mouth of the Lion Camel Cave ten thousand little fiends stood arrayed with spears, swords, halberds, and daggers, banners and standards, streamers and plumes. The Great Sage rejoiced inwardly: "What Li Changgeng said was no lie! No lie!"
There was an order to this array: two hundred and fifty made one great company. Seeing some forty long banners of mixed colors dancing wildly in the wind, the Pilgrim knew there must be ten thousand men—and he reasoned to himself: "Old Sun has turned into a Little Wind-Chaser. Once I go in, if the old demon asks me about scouting the mountain, I can improvise my answers as it goes. But if I slip up in a single word and they recognize me, how am I to get clear? And if I try to bolt for the door, that crowd of gatekeepers will block the way—how would I ever get out? If I want to seize the demon kings inside the cave, I must first get rid of the crowd of monsters outside the gate!"
And how do you suppose he got rid of the crowd of monsters? Marvelous Great Sage—he thought it over: "That old demon has never met me face to face, yet he already knows old Sun's reputation. Let me lean on that very reputation, ride on its prestige, and let fly a few big boasts, and see if I can't frighten them. If the monks of the Middle Land are fated and have their share of destiny, and the scriptures are to be fetched home, then a few hero's words from me will put those crowds of monsters to rout before the gate. But if the monks have no fate, no share, and the true scriptures cannot be had—why, even if I talked till lotus flowers bloomed in the air, I still couldn't clear the fiends from outside the Western cave."
He questioned his heart, and his heart questioned his mouth; weighing this plan over, he beat his clapper, swung his bell, and marched straight up to the mouth of the Lion Camel Cave. The little fiends of the forward camp barred his way at once: "Little Wind-Chaser's back?"
The Pilgrim made no answer, but walked on with lowered head. When he reached the second line of camp, the little fiends grabbed hold of him again: "Little Wind-Chaser's back?"
"I'm back."
"You went out scouting at dawn—did you run into any Sun the Pilgrim?"
"Run into him? I certainly did. He's down there honing his pole."
The little fiends quaked. "What does he look like? What pole is he honing?"
"He was squatting by the stream like some road-opening god," said the Pilgrim. "If he stood up, he'd be ten-odd zhang tall! In his hand he held an iron staff, a great pole as thick as a bowl. He'd scoop up a handful of water from the rocks, grind his weapon on it a stroke or two, and mutter as he worked: 'Ah, my pole! It's been an age since I brought you out to show your powers. On this trip, were there a hundred thousand demons, you'd kill them all for me! When I've slain those three demon chiefs, I'll offer sacrifice to you!' And before he's done honing it bright, he means to start by crushing the ten thousand fiends at your gate!"
At these words every one of the little fiends felt his heart quake and gallbladder tremble, soul scattered and spirit in flight.
The Pilgrim went on: "Gentlemen, there's not many pounds of meat on this Tang Priest—it'll never come our way in the shares. Why should we carry the blame for him? Better we all scatter, each for himself."
"What you say is right," the crowd of fiends agreed. "Let's each look out for his own life."
Had these been soldiers or civilians who had drunk in the sagely transformation of the empire, they would not have dared run even at death. But these were all wolves, beasts, tigers, panthers, running creatures and flying fowl—and with one howl they all dissolved away in a rout. This was not merely a few bluffing words from the Great Sage Sun—it was the songs of Chu scattering eight thousand soldiers!
The Pilgrim rejoiced inwardly: "Splendid! The old demon is as good as dead! The moment they heard the news they ran—who'd dare face him in the flesh? If only it goes as well as this inside! But if I put a word wrong, and one or two of this crowd of little fiends has slipped inside and heard it, won't the news leak out?"
Just look at him:
With fixed resolve he seeks the ancient cave; With boldened heart he enters the deep gates.
If you would know which of the old demon chiefs he will meet, and whether for good or ill, then listen to the explanation in the next chapter.