The story resumes with Sanzang and his disciples arriving at the Zhenhai Chan Forest Monastery, where the monks received them and arranged a vegetarian feast. The four pilgrims finished eating, and the woman also got a little food in her. As dusk fell, lamps were lit in the abbot's quarters. The monks, first to ask about the Tang Priest's scripture-seeking journey, and second because they were eager to gaze at that woman, all crowded round in a cluster beneath the lamps.
Sanzang said to the Lama monk he had first met: "Abbot, tomorrow we will leave your precious mountain. How is the road westward?"
The monk fell to both knees. The elder hastily pulled him up and said: "Abbot, please rise! I only asked you about the road—why do you bow?" The monk said: "Venerable master, tomorrow when you travel west, the road will be flat and level; you need not worry. Only there is one small matter that is a bit awkward. I wanted to mention it the moment you arrived, but feared to give offense. Now that the meal is done, I venture to tell you: You, master, have come far from the east, weary and toilworn, and it would be fine for you to rest in the little monk's quarters. But this Lady Bodhisattva is not convenient to place—where to have her sleep, I don't know." Sanzang said: "Abbot, do not suspect us of any improper intention. This morning, passing through the Black Pine Forest, we came upon this woman tied to a tree. My disciple Sun Wukong would not save her, but I, out of bodhicitta, rescued her. Now we leave it to you, abbot, to find her a place to sleep." The monk thanked him and said: "Since the master is so generous, let us take her to the Hall of the Heavenly Kings, and set up a straw bedding behind the Heavenly King's image for her to sleep on." Sanzang said: "Excellent, excellent." And so the young monks led the woman away to sleep behind the hall.
The elder stayed in the abbot's quarters and told the abbots to make themselves free, and they all dispersed.
Sanzang instructed Wukong: "You've worked hard. Sleep early, rise early!"
And so they all bedded down in one place, not daring to leave his side, keeping watch over the master. As the night deepened, it was truly:
The Jade Rabbit rises high, all sounds grow still; The Heavenly Street is silent, no one passes by. The Milky Way gleams bright, the stars are brilliant; The watch drums from the tower mark the changing watches.
One night passed without further incident. When dawn came, the Pilgrim rose and told Bajie and the Sha Monk to pack up the baggage and the horse, then went to ask the master to set out. At this hour the elder was still sleeping heavily and had not woken. The Pilgrim went close and called: "Master!" The master lifted his head a fraction but could not manage to answer.
The Pilgrim asked: "Master, what is it?" The elder groaned: "Why is my head so dizzy and my eyes so swollen, and every bone and muscle in my body aching?" Bajie heard this and reached out to feel him—his body was somewhat hot to the touch.
The idiot laughed: "I know what it is. Last night he saw free food and ate a few extra bowls, then slept with his head tucked—indigestion!"
The Pilgrim shouted: "Nonsense! Let me ask the master what is truly the matter." Sanzang said: "In the middle of the night I got up to relieve myself and didn't put on my hat. I must have caught a draft." The Pilgrim said: "That could be. Can you travel now?" Sanzang said: "I cannot even sit up, let alone mount a horse. But what about delaying the journey!" The Pilgrim said: "Master, what are you saying! As the saying goes, 'A teacher for a day, a father for life.' We are your disciples, like your own sons. And another saying: 'You don't need your son to produce gold and silver; it's enough that he rises to the occasion.' Since you're unwell, what does it matter if we lose a few days? Resting a few days is no harm!" The brothers all attended to the master, and before they knew it morning was gone and evening came, a good night passed and dawn crept in.
Time flew; three days had already passed.
On that day, the master propped himself up and called: "Wukong, these two days I've been so ill I never asked—has anyone brought food to that woman we saved?"
The Pilgrim laughed: "Why worry about her? Just mind your own illness." Sanzang said: "True, true. But help me up, and fetch my paper, brush, and ink. Let me borrow an inkstone from the temple." The Pilgrim said: "What for?" The elder said: "I want to write a letter and seal it together with my travel pass. Take it to Chang'an and present it to Emperor Taizong." The Pilgrim said: "That's easy! Old Sun may have no talent for other things, but when it comes to delivering letters, I'm the best in the world. You get the letter ready and give it to me—one somersault and I'll be in Chang'an, hand it to the Tang king, another somersault and I'll be back before your ink is even dry. But why send a letter? Read me what you mean to write first, and then write it." The elder shed tears and said: "I would write:
'Your monk bows his head and thrice makes full kowtow, Crying "Long life!" to worship the sovereign lord. Let the civil and military ranks both read this, Let the four hundred ministers all know and hear: That year I received the decree and left the Eastern Land, Hoping to see the World-Honored One at Vulture Peak. I did not expect to meet disaster on the road, I never thought calamity would strike at mid-journey. The monk, gravely ill, cannot take another step; The Buddha's gate is far and deep, touching Heaven's gate. With scriptures unfetched and life spent—toil in vain! I beg my sovereign: send another in my stead.'"
When the Pilgrim heard this, he could not help laughing aloud: "Master, you're too feeble! A little illness and you think like this. If you were truly at death's door, you need only ask me. Old Sun has his ways—I'd ask, 'Which King of Hell dares harbor such a thought? Which judge dares issue a warrant? Which ghost officer dares come to fetch you?' If they angered me, I'd bring out the temper I had when I wreaked havoc in Heaven, take my staff, and fight my way into the underworld again, seize all ten Kings of Hell, and pull the sinews out of every one of them—and still not let them off!"
Sanzang said: "Disciple, I am very ill—do not speak such big words." Bajie stepped forward and said: "Elder Brother, the master says he's not well, and you keep saying he's fine—this is very awkward. Let's talk it over while there's time: first we sell the horse, pawn the baggage, buy a coffin, see him to the end, and then scatter." The Pilgrim said: "Idiot, more nonsense! Don't you know that the master is the Tathagata's second disciple, originally called the Elder Golden Cicada? Because he slighted the Buddha's Law, he was meant to endure this great trial."
Bajie said: "Brother, if the master slighted the Buddha's Law and was sent back to the Eastern Land, into the sea of right and wrong, the arena of gossip, to be born as a human and vow to go to the Western Heaven to worship Buddha and seek scriptures—if he gets tied up by demons and strung up by monsters, and suffers every kind of misery, isn't that enough? Why make him sick on top of it?"
The Pilgrim said: "What would you know? The venerable master, while listening to the Buddha lecture on the Law, dozed off. As he slumped, his left foot slipped and crushed a single grain of rice, and for that he was sent down to the mortal world—and so he must endure these three days of illness." Bajie was startled: "With the way Old Pig splashes and scatters his food, I must be in for years and ages of sickness!" The Pilgrim said: "Brother, the Buddha does not hold it against you common folk. And besides, as the poem goes:
'Hoeing the grain under the midday sun, Sweat drips into the soil beneath the grain. Who knows that the meal on the plate— Every single grain is the fruit of bitter toil!'
The master will be better by tomorrow." Sanzang said:
"Today is worse than yesterday. My throat is very dry. Go find some cool water for me to drink." The Pilgrim said: "Good! If the master wants water, that means he's getting better. Let me go fetch it."
He took the alms bowl at once and went to the monastery kitchen at the rear to draw water. There he saw the monks, every one of them red-eyed, weeping and sobbing, yet not daring to cry aloud. The Pilgrim said: "You monks are too petty! We've stayed a few days, and when we leave we'll thank you and pay for firewood by the day. Why so spineless!" The monks fell to their knees in alarm: "We wouldn't dare! We wouldn't dare!" The Pilgrim said:
"Why wouldn't you dare? Is it that long-snouted monk of ours, with his big appetite, has eaten you out of house and home?"
The monks said: "My lord, on this barren mountain, great and small, we have a hundred-odd monks. If each of us fed your lordship for one day, we could feed you for a hundred days. How would we dare be so petty as to quarrel over food!"
The Pilgrim said: "If you're not quarreling, then why are you weeping?"
The monks said: "My lord, we don't know where the demon that has come to this temple came from, but every night we send two young monks to ring the bell and beat the drum. We hear the bell and drum sound, but the monks never return. The next day, when we search for them, we find only their monk's cap and shoes left in the rear garden—their bones still there, the flesh eaten off. In the three days you've been here, six of our monks have vanished. And so, my brothers cannot help but fear, cannot help but grieve.
Seeing that your venerable master is so compassionate, we did not dare tell him. But we could not hold back our tears."
When the Pilgrim heard this, he was both startled and pleased. "No need to say more," he said. "There must be a demon here harming people. Let me exterminate it for you." The monks said: "My lord, if it's a demon, it's no ordinary spirit—it surely can ride clouds and drive mists, come and go through the dark. As the ancients said well, 'Don't believe in the straightness of the straight; beware the unkindness of the kind.'
"My lord, do not blame us for saying so: if you can catch it, you'll rid our barren mountain of this scourge—three lifetimes' good fortune! But if you can't catch it, there would be a number of inconveniences."
The Pilgrim said: "What inconveniences?"
The monks said: "To tell the truth, my lord: this barren mountain, though it has a hundred-odd monks, is made up of folk who left the world as children—letting their hair grow till the razor came, stitching their ragged robes. In the morning they rise and wash their faces, press their hands together, bow low, and take refuge in the Great Way;
At night they tidy up, burn incense, piously click their teeth, and recite the name of Amitabha. Looking up, they see the Buddha—the nine-grade lotus, the Three Vehicles, the vessel of mercy and the cloud of Dharma—yearning to see the World-Honored One in the Jetavana grove. Looking down, they see their own hearts—keeping the Five Precepts, saving the great chiliocosm, amid the ten thousand dharmas—yearning to awaken from stubborn emptiness to the emptiness of form.
When the benefactors come—old and young, tall and short, fat and thin—each one beats his wooden fish, strikes his golden chime, jostling and crowding, chanting two scrolls of the Lotus Sutra, performing one session of the Liang King's Repentance. When the benefactors don't come—new and old, green and seasoned, rustic and refined—each one presses his palms together, closes his eyes, and in silent stillness enters meditation on his rush mat, firmly shutting the door under the moon.
Let the orioles sing and the birds chatter and quarrel outside—they pay no heed, up on their great vehicle of expedient mercy. And so: they cannot subdue tigers, nor can they tame dragons; they know neither demon nor spirit. If your lordship provokes that demon, our hundred-odd monks would only be enough for one of its meals. First, it would send us all tumbling into the cycle of rebirth; second, it would wipe out this ancient Chan forest; and third, at the Tathagata's assembly, there would be not one speck of glory.
Those are the inconveniences."
When the Pilgrim heard the monks spell out this whole speech, anger rose in his heart and fury swelled in his breast. He cried out in a loud voice: "You monks are fools! You know all about the demon, but you know nothing of old Sun's reputation?"
The monks answered softly: "Truly, we do not know." The Pilgrim said: "Let me give you a brief summary today. Listen well:
I once subdued tigers and dragons on the Mountain of Flowers and Fruit! I once went up to Heaven and wreaked havoc in the Heavenly Palace! When hungry, I nibbled two or three of Lord Lao Zi's elixir pills; When thirsty, I downed six or seven cups of the Jade Emperor's wine. With a pair of golden eyes, neither white nor black, I made the sky turn sallow and the moon grow dim! With a staff, neither short nor long, the gold-banded cudgel, I come without a shadow, leave without a trace! Never mind the big demons and the small monsters— Who cares if they're lazy or festering or rotten? One chase—those who run, run; those who tremble, tremble; those who hide, hide; those who panic, panic! One grab—those to be filed, filed; those to be burned, burned; those to be ground, ground; those to be pounded, pounded! Truly, the Eight Immortals cross the sea, each showing his own divine power! Monks, I'll catch this demon and show it to you—then you'll know who old Sun is!"
The monks listened, nodding secretly: "This bald head opens a big mouth and talks big talk—he must have some background." They all murmured assent. Only the Lama monk said: "Wait! Your venerable master is ill—catching this demon is not urgent. As the proverb says, 'When a young lord attends a banquet, if he doesn't get drunk, he'll at least be full; when a warrior goes into battle, if he doesn't die, he'll be wounded.' If you and the demon clash and it brings trouble to your master, that would not be very convenient." The Pilgrim said: "Fair point! Fair point! Let me first bring the master some cool water, and then I'll come."
He lifted the alms bowl, filled it with cool water, left the kitchen, and went to the abbot's quarters. He called: "Master, here's your cool water."
Sanzang, in the midst of his feverish thirst, lifted his head, cradled the bowl, and drank it down in one breath. Truly, when you're thirsty, a single drop is sweet as nectar; when the right medicine comes, the illness departs.
The Pilgrim saw the elder's spirit reviving, his brow and eyes relaxing, and asked: "Master, would you like some soup and rice?"
Sanzang said: "This cool water is like an elixir—the illness has lifted by half. I could eat some soup and rice." The Pilgrim called loudly: "The master is better! He wants soup and rice!" He had the monks hurry and prepare. They washed rice, boiled porridge, rolled noodles, griddled flatbreads, steamed buns, made noodle soup—four or five tables' worth.
The Tang Priest managed only half a bowl of rice broth. The Pilgrim and the Sha Monk had one table's worth. The rest—all of it—Bajie devoured in one belly. When the dishes were cleared and the lamps lit, the monks dispersed.
Sanzang said: "How many days have we been here now?" The Pilgrim said: "Three full days. By tomorrow evening, it will be four." Sanzang said: "Three days—so much journey lost." The Pilgrim said:
"Master, it can't be counted as lost journey. Let's go tomorrow."
Sanzang said: "True—even with a touch of illness, there's no help for it." The Pilgrim said: "Since we're going tomorrow, let me catch that demon tonight." Sanzang was startled: "Catch what demon?" The Pilgrim said: "There's a demon in this temple. Let old Sun catch it for you." The Tang Priest said: "Disciple, I'm still sick—why do you take up such a notion! If that demon has magic powers and you can't catch it, wouldn't that be worse for me?"
The Pilgrim said: "You do love to dampen a man's spirits! Old Sun has subdued demons everywhere—have you ever seen me bested by anyone? I only need to strike—and when I strike, I win."
Sanzang caught hold of him and said: "Disciple, as the saying goes, 'When you can do a kindness, do a kindness; where you can spare a person, spare a person. To harbor a good heart is better than fretting; to swallow your anger is higher than fighting for pride!'" But the Great Sage Sun saw his master urgently pleading with him not to subdue the demon, so he told the truth: "Master, to tell you plainly, that demon has been eating people here." The Tang Priest was shocked: "Eaten whom?" The Pilgrim said: "In the three days we've been here, it has already eaten six young monks of this temple." The elder said: "When the rabbit dies, the fox grieves; when one of their kind is hurt, all feel the wound. Since it has eaten monks of this temple, and I am a monk too, I will let you go—only be careful." The Pilgrim said: "No need to say more. Old Sun's hand will clear it up."
See him, before the lamp, instruct Bajie and the Sha Monk to guard the master. Then he stepped gleefully out of the abbot's quarters and went straight to the Buddha hall. The stars were out in the sky, but the moon had not yet risen, and the hall was dark. He blew out true fire, lit the glazed lamp, beat the drum on the east side, and rang the bell on the west.
After the sounding, he shook his body and changed into a little monk, no more than twelve or thirteen years old, wearing a yellow silk tunic and a white cloth robe, tapping a wooden fish and reciting scripture with his mouth. He waited until the first watch—no sign of anything. At the second watch, the waning moon rose, and suddenly there came a great gust of wind. What a wind!
Black mists shrouded the sky in darkness; Sorrowful clouds cast a murky gloom on the earth. All around, it was like ink splashed everywhere; One whole expanse dyed in indigo haze. First it raised dust and scattered earth; Then it felled trees and wrecked the forest. When it raised dust and scattered earth, the starlight showed through; When it felled trees and wrecked the forest, the moon grew dim. It blew so hard that Chang'e clutched the cassia tree in the moon, And the Jade Rabbit scurried round and round looking for its mortar. The Nine Luminaries all shuttered their doors; The Dragon Kings of the Four Seas all shut their gates. In the temple, the City God searched for his little ghosts; In the air, how could the immortals ride their clouds? In the underworld, King Yama hunted for his horse-faced demon; The judges ran about, chasing their headgear. It blew the very rocks from the peak of Mount Kunlun, And churned the rivers and lakes into a muddy swirl.
As the wind passed, there came suddenly a fragrance of orchid and musk, the tinkling of jade pendants. The little monk lifted his head to look—and there was a beautiful woman, walking straight into the Buddha hall. The Pilgrim kept mumbling his scripture, wah-wah-wah.
The woman drew near, threw her arms around him, and said: "Little master, what scripture are you reciting?"
The Pilgrim said: "One I vowed to recite." The woman said: "Everyone else is free and sleeping—why do you still recite scripture?" The Pilgrim said:
"I vowed to recite it. Why wouldn't I?" The woman held him close and gave him a kiss: "Let's you and me go to the back and play a while." The Pilgrim deliberately turned his head away and said: "You don't know proper conduct!" The woman said: "Can you read faces?" The Pilgrim said: "I know a little." The woman said: "What do you read in mine?" The Pilgrim said: "I read that you're the sort who sneaks around with men and got chased out by your parents-in-law."
The woman said: "Wrong! Wrong! I wasn't chased out by my parents-in-law, and not for sneaking around with men.
My fate in my former life was thin and poor; I was matched to a husband too young. He knew nothing of the bridal chamber and the nuptial candles, So I fled my husband and ran away. Now, while the stars are bright and the moon is clear— 'Those fated to meet will meet across a thousand li'— Let's you and me go to the rear garden And make our match, our lovebird pair!"
The Pilgrim heard this and nodded inwardly: "Those foolish monks were all lured by lust, and so they lost their lives. Now she's come to seduce me too."
He answered casually: "My lady, I left the world young and don't know anything about such goings-on." The woman said: "Come with me—I'll teach you." The Pilgrim laughed inwardly: "All right, I'll go with her and see what she's up to."
The two of them walked arm in arm, hand in hand, out of the Buddha hall and straight to the rear garden. The demon threw a foot behind the Pilgrim's leg and tripped him to the ground, crying "Heart! Sweet brother!" pell-mell, and reached to grab his privates.
The Pilgrim said: "My child, you really want to eat old Sun!"
But the Pilgrim caught her hand, used a little wrestling trick, and flipped the demon over and onto the ground.
The demon, still on the ground, called: "Sweet brother, you do know how to throw your mother!"
The Pilgrim calculated inwardly: "If I don't strike now, when will I? As the saying goes, 'The first to strike gains the advantage; the one who strikes second suffers the harm.'" He thrust out his hand, arched his back, leapt up, and revealed his true form and dharma body. He swung the gold-banded iron cudgel and brought it crashing down on her head.
The demon was indeed startled. She thought: "This little monk is so fierce!"
She opened her eyes wide for a look—and saw that it was the Tang elder's disciple surnamed Sun. But she did not fear him. What kind of spirit was she? Just look:
Gold for her nose, snow for her pelt. Earth-paths serve as her door and house; Wherever she settles, her lair is secure. She had cultivated three hundred years of primal breath, And had visited Vulture Peak several times. After feasting on incense, flowers, and candles, The Tathagata ordered her sent down by the Heavenly Bureau. The Pagoda-Bearing Heavenly King's beloved daughter, Prince Nezha acknowledged her as sister of the same womb. She is no Jingwei bird that tries to fill the sea, No giant turtle that bears a mountain on its back. She fears not Lei Huan's legendary sword, She fears not Lu Qian's fabled blade. Coming and going, she goes where she pleases— Let the Yangtze and the Han flow as wide as they will! Up and down—what matter if mountains rival Mount Tai or Mount Heng in height? Just look at her moon-like face and flower-like beauty, so tender and frail— Who would know she is an old rat turned spirit, flaunting her cunning ways!
She trusted in her own vast magic powers, raised her twin swords, and clashed with him, ringing and clanging, parrying left and right, swaying east and west. The Pilgrim, though stronger, could not bring her down. Yin winds rose on all sides; the waning moon lost its light. Just look at the two of them—a fine battle in the rear garden!
Yin winds rose from the earth; The waning moon shed a faint glimmer. Silent was the hall of the Brahma King; Dim was the corridor of the little ghosts. In the rear garden lay a battlefield! The Great Sage Sun, a saint of Heaven, And the hairy fair maiden, queen among women— Each wagered divine powers, neither willing to yield. One turned her fragrant heart to rage at the black-headed monk; The other rounded his shining eyes, hating the painted face. Twin swords flew—who would recognize a Lady Bodhisattva? A single staff struck, fierce as a living vajra-warrior. Where it rang, the gold-banded cudgel flashed like lightning; In a flash, the iron gleamed like starlight. Jade towers had their kingfisher feathers torn; Golden halls had their mandarin-duck ornaments shattered. The ape cried beneath the small moon of Ba; The wild goose called in the long sky of Chu. The Eighteen Arhats silently cheered; The Thirty-Two Devas were all in a panic.
The Great Sage Sun fought with full vigor, his staff never missing a beat. The demon, seeing she could not best him, suddenly knitted her brow and a plan came to her. She pulled away and fled. The Pilgrim shouted: "You wretch! Where are you going? Come back and surrender!" But the demon paid no heed and kept retreating. When the Pilgrim pressed hard, she pulled the flowered shoe off her left foot, blew on it a fairy breath, recited a spell, and cried "Change!"—and the shoe became a copy of herself, wielding two swords and dancing forward to fight. Her true body flickered, turned into a breeze, and was gone. Was this not the Tang Priest's star of disaster?
She went straight to the abbot's quarters, seized Tang Sanzang, and carried him up onto the clouds. Far and dim, in the blink of an eye she arrived at the Mountain of Sunken Emptiness, entered the Bottomless Cave, and told her underlings to prepare a vegetarian banquet for the wedding. We shall speak no more of that for now.
Now the Pilgrim, fighting with mounting impatience, spotted a gap and swung his staff—down came the demon, but it was only a flowered shoe. The Pilgrim knew he had been tricked. He spun around to check on his master. But where was the master? He saw only the idiot and the Sha Monk, mouths moving, wah-wah-wah, saying he knew not what. The Pilgrim's chest filled with rage. Not caring about anything, he grabbed his staff and began thrashing them, shouting: "I'll beat you dead! I'll beat you dead!"
The idiot panicked and ran every which way. But the Sha Monk, a veteran of Vulture Peak, had seen much in his time. He came forward gently and submissively, knelt down, and said: "Elder brother, I understand. You want to beat us to death and then go rescue the master alone, without us—then go home."
The Pilgrim said: "Beat you two dead? I'll rescue him myself!" The Sha Monk laughed: "Elder brother, what are you saying? Without us two, it's as the saying goes: 'A single thread makes no string; a single hand makes no sound.' Brother, who would look after the baggage and the horse? Better to learn from Guan and Bao sharing their gold than to imitate Sun and Pang matching wits. As the old saying goes, 'To fight a tiger, you need real brothers; to go to war, you need father and son.' Please, brother, stay your staff. When dawn comes, we'll go together, heart and strength as one, and seek the master."
The Pilgrim, for all his vast magic powers, was also a reasonable man who knew when to yield. Hearing the Sha Monk's earnest plea, he relented:
"Bajie, Sha Monk, get up. Tomorrow, when we search for the master, you'll have to put your backs into it." The idiot, hearing that he was forgiven, could have wished the sky itself to fall down half: "Brother, it's all on old Pig!" The brothers sat and thought and fretted—there was no sleeping that night. They could have wished to nod and summon the sun from the Fu Sang tree, and blow away the stars from the sky.
The three of them sat until dawn. They packed up to leave, but the temple monks stopped them at the gate: "Where are you going, my lord?" The Pilgrim laughed: "I'm embarrassed to say. Yesterday I boasted to you all that I'd catch the demon. I never caught the demon—but my master has gone missing. We're going to find our master." The monks were alarmed: "My lord, over such a small matter, and now we've caused trouble for your venerable master! Where will you look?" The Pilgrim said: "There's a place to find him." The monks said: "Since you're going, don't rush—eat some breakfast first." They hurriedly brought out two or three bowls of soup and rice.
Bajie ate it all clean and said: "Good monks! When we find the master, we'll come back here and have fun."
The Pilgrim said: "Come back here and eat their food again! First go to the Hall of the Heavenly Kings and see if that woman is still there." The monks said: "My lord, she's gone, she's gone.
She stayed the one night, and the next day she was gone."
The Pilgrim took his leave of the monks, had Bajie and the Sha Monk lead the horse and carry the load, and set off back the way they had come, heading east. Bajie said: "Brother, you're wrong. Why are we going east again?" The Pilgrim said: "What do you know! Back in the Black Pine Forest, that woman tied to the tree—old Sun's fiery golden eyes saw right through her, but you all thought she was a good person. Today it was she who ate the monks, and she who took the master!
Some Lady Bodhisattva you saved! Now that she has carried off the master, we'll search for him along the old road."
The two sighed in admiration: "Good, good, good! Truly, the coarse hides the fine! Let's go, let's go!"
The three hurried into the forest, where they saw:
Clouds drifting thick, mists billowing wide; Layers of stone, a winding, coiling path. Fox tracks and rabbit prints crisscrossing; Tigers, leopards, wolves, and jackals prowling back and forth. Within the forest, not a trace of any demon— Where is Sanzang? No one knows.
The Pilgrim, burning with impatience, whipped out his staff. He shook his body and changed into his true form from the days of havoc in Heaven—three heads, six arms, and six hands, each wielding a staff. Through the forest he went, smashing and crashing with a tremendous clatter.
Bajie saw this and said: "Sha Monk, Elder Brother has lost his temper. He can't find the master, and he's gone mad with rage."
Now the Pilgrim, after flailing his way through the forest, thrashed out two old men. One was the mountain god, the other the local deity. They came forward and knelt: "Great Sage, the mountain god and local deity present themselves." Bajie said: "What a marvel! He thrashed through the forest and thrashed out two mountain gods and local deities. If he thrashed a bit more, he'd thrash out the God of the Year himself!"
The Pilgrim asked: "Mountain god! Local deity! What insolence! You have been colluding with bandits here—when the bandits pull off a robbery, they buy pigs and sheep to sacrifice to you. And you have been in league with the demon, banding together to seize my master! Where is he hidden? Tell me plainly and at once, or taste my staff!" The two deities panicked and said:
"Great Sage, you wrong us! The demon is not on my mountain, and not under my jurisdiction. But when the wind blew last night, we caught wind of a thing or two."
The Pilgrim said: "Since you know, tell me all!" The local deity said: "That demon seized your master and took him due south, a thousand li from here. There is a mountain there called the Mountain of Sunken Emptiness. In that mountain there is a cave called the Bottomless Cave. It is the demon of that mountain who came here in disguise and seized him." When the Pilgrim heard this, his heart secretly skipped a beat. He dismissed the mountain god and local deity, put away his dharma body, and showed his true form. To Bajie and the Sha Monk he said: "The master has gone far." Bajie said: "Far? Then we'll ride clouds and catch up!" Good idiot—he leapt up on a fierce gust of wind. The Sha Monk followed on cloud. The white horse, being a dragon prince by birth, bore the baggage and also rode the wind and mist.
The Great Sage launched his somersault cloud and flew due south. Before long, he saw a great mountain blocking the cloud's path. The three reined in and held their cloud still, looking at that mountain:
Its summit touched the azure sky; Its peaks reached the blue heavens. All around, a myriad of mixed trees; To and fro, flying birds chattered and clamored. Tigers and leopards marched in formations; Deer and roe deer moved in herds. On the sunny side, rare flowers and fairy grasses breathed fragrance; On the shady side, last year's snow and stubborn ice never melted. Rugged, steep ridges; sheer cliffs and hanging precipices. Straight-standing, lofty peaks; winding, deep ravines. Pines, dense and dark; rocks, jagged and sharp— Travelers who saw them felt their hearts go cold. Not a woodcutter was to be seen; No herb-gathering immortal lad appeared. Before your eyes, tigers and leopards could raise the mists; All over the ground, foxes made mischief in the wind.
Bajie said: "Brother, a mountain this fierce and steep must have demons."
The Pilgrim said: "No need to say it—where the mountains are high, there are always monsters; where the ridges are steep, there are always spirits!" He called: "Sha Monk, you and I wait here. Let Bajie go down into the mountain hollow first and scout around. See which road is good to take, whether there is in fact a cave, and where the gate opens. Scout it all out carefully, and then we can all go together to find and rescue the master." Bajie said:
"Old Pig's luck is bad! I'm the one they send as the goat!" The Pilgrim said: "Last night you said it was all on you. How come you're backing out now?" Bajie said: "Stop your shouting. I'll go." The idiot set down his rake, shook out his robe, and bare-handed, leapt down from the high mountain to search for a path.
How this scouting expedition turned out—listen to the explanation in the next chapter.