The story goes that at the king's morning court, the civil and military officials all came forward with memorials in hand and pleaded: "Sovereign Lord, we beg you to pardon the crime of our breach of decorum."
"What breach of decorum?" said the king. "Your manners are as proper as ever."
"Sovereign Lord," said the officials, "for some unknown reason, every one of us lost all his hair in the course of a single night."
Holding the memorial about the vanished hair, the king came down from his dragon couch and said to his assembled ministers: "It is truly a mystery. Every soul in my palace, great and small, lost their hair in one night as well." Ruler and ministers alike wept streaming tears, saying: "From this day forward, never again shall we dare slaughter monks!" The king returned to his dragon throne, and the officials each took their places in their ranks.
The king said again: "Let those with business step forward to report it; if there is none, let the curtain be rolled up and court dismissed."
From the military ranks flashed the Grand Commander of the City Patrol; from the civil ranks came the Commissioner of Troops of the Eastern City. Kneeling at the steps, they reported: "By your sacred command we patrolled the city, and last night we seized a cabinet of stolen goods, and a white horse besides. We dared not act on our own authority; we await your decree."
The king was greatly pleased. "Bring them here, cabinet and all." The two officials withdrew to their offices, mustered a smart company of soldiers, and had the cabinet carried out.
Inside it, Sanzang's soul had all but left his body. "Disciples," he cried, "when we are brought before the king, how are we ever to explain ourselves?"
"Don't fret," said the Pilgrim with a laugh. "I have everything arranged. The moment the cabinet is opened, he'll be taking us as his masters. Just see that Bajie doesn't start any quarrels."
"As long as my life is spared," said Bajie, "that's blessings beyond all measure—how would I dare quarrel!"
Before they had finished talking, the cabinet was carried up to the palace, through the Tower of Five Phoenixes, and set down below the steps of the throne hall. The two officials asked the king to open and inspect it, and the king gave the command.
The lid had scarcely been lifted when Zhu Bajie could contain himself no longer and leapt right out, frightening the assembled officials till their gallbladders quaked and their tongues were tied. Then they saw Sun the Pilgrim helping out the Tang monk, and the Sha Monk hauling out the luggage. When Bajie saw the Grand Commander holding the horse by its rein, he walked up and barked: "That horse is mine! Hand it over!"—so terrifying the officer that he turned a somersault and fell flat on the ground. The four travelers all stood together amid the palace steps.
When the king saw that they were four monks, he hurried down from his dragon couch, summoned the queens and consorts of the three palaces, descended from the Golden Chimes Treasure Hall, and together with his ministers bowed in inquiry: "Venerable elders, whence do you come?"
"We are sent from the land of the East, from Great Tang," said Sanzang, "bound for the Great Thunderclap Monastery in the Land of India of the West, to worship the living Buddha and fetch the true scriptures."
"Venerable sir," said the king, "coming from so far away, why did you take your rest inside a cabinet?"
"This humble monk knew that Your Majesty had vowed to kill monks," said Sanzang, "and I dared not present ourselves openly at your honorable court. We disguised ourselves as laymen and at night sought lodging at an inn within your precious realm. Fearing lest our true identities be discovered, we took our rest in the cabinet. Unhappily, we were stolen away by thieves, seized by your Grand Commander, and carried here. Now that we have beheld Your Majesty's dragon countenance, it is truly as the saying goes—parting the clouds to behold the sun. We beg Your Majesty to release this humble monk; your grace would be deep as the sea!"
"Venerable sir," said the king, "you are a high monk of the celestial court of the Middle Kingdom, and I failed to go out to welcome you. It is true that I long nurtured a vow to kill monks. Once a monk slandered me, and I made a vow to Heaven to slay ten thousand monks to bring it to fulfillment. Who could have foreseen that last night I would turn to the faith, and that all of us would be made monks! Now ruler and ministers, consorts and queens, have had our heads shaven clean. We beg you, venerable teacher, not to begrudge your lofty wisdom: be willing to take us as your disciples."
When Bajie heard this, he burst out laughing. "If you want to take us as your masters, where is your gift of presentation?"
"If you, our teacher, will accept us," said the king, "we are willing to offer up all the treasure of the kingdom."
"Never mind treasure," said the Pilgrim. "We monks are monks who have the Way. Just have our travel permit stamped and send us out of the city, and I guarantee your royal house stands firm forever, with blessings and long life ever on the increase."
When the king heard this, he ordered the Court of Imperial Entertainments to lay out a grand banquet. Ruler and ministers together took the vows, bowing to the one faith; the travel permit was exchanged on the spot, and they begged Sanzang to change the name of their kingdom.
The Pilgrim said: "Your kingdom's name of 'Dharma-Extinguishing' has a fine enough sound to it—only the word 'extinguish' will not do. Now that we have passed through, you may change it to the Kingdom That Reveres the Dharma. I guarantee you calm seas and clear rivers, victory for a thousand generations; winds and rains in season, peace in every quarter."
The king gave thanks for the grace, ordered the full royal cortege made ready, and escorted the Tang monk and his three disciples out of the city and on their way west. Of ruler and ministers turning to goodness and to truth, we shall say no more.
Now the elder, having taken leave of the king of the Kingdom That Reveres the Dharma, said happily from horseback: "Wukong, this method of yours was splendid—a truly great deed of merit!"
"Brother," said the Sha Monk, "wherever did you find so many barbers, to shave so many heads in a single night?"
The Pilgrim then told the whole story of how he had used his transformations and magic powers, and master and disciples laughed until they could not close their mouths. And just at the height of their delight, they saw a high mountain blocking the road. The Tang monk reined in his horse and said:
"Disciples, look how steep and towering the mountain is before us. We must take great care!"
"Set your mind at ease! Set your mind at ease!" said the Pilgrim with a laugh. "I promise you no harm!"
"Don't speak so lightly of harm," said Sanzang. "I see those peaks standing up sharp and sheer; from far off there is something sinister in them, an evil cloud bursting forth. I feel a growing dread—my whole body has gone numb, and my spirit is ill at ease."
The Pilgrim laughed. "Have you forgotten the Heart Sutra of the Chan Master of the Crow's Nest?"
"I remember it."
"You may remember it, but there are four lines of gatha that go with it, and those you have forgotten."
"Which four?"
"The Buddha is on Vulture Peak—seek him not afar; Vulture Peak is only in your heart. Everyone has a Vulture Peak pagoda; Best cultivate beneath the Vulture Peak pagoda."
"Disciple," said Sanzang, "do you think I do not know? By those four lines, a thousand scriptures and ten thousand classics all come down to one thing: cultivating the mind."
"No need to say more," said the Pilgrim. "When the mind is pure, it shines alone in solitary brightness; when the mind is present, the ten thousand circumstances are all clear. Slip but a little, and you grow slack and listless—then for a thousand years, ten thousand ages, success will never come. It takes only a single strip of perfect sincerity, and the Thunderclap is right before your eyes. But if you go on like this, frightened and trembling, your spirit in turmoil—why, the Great Way is far off indeed, and the Thunderclap far off too. No more doubting—just follow me."
At these words the elder's heart and spirit revived at once, and all his cares fell away.
The four of them pressed on together. In a few steps they were up on the mountain, and lifting their eyes to look—what a fine mountain it was! Look closely, how its colors gleam in patches:
Above the summit, clouds go drifting; Before the cliffs, the tree-shadows are cold. Winged things scatter shrilling; the beasts are fierce and wild. In the woods, a thousand trunks of pine; On the crests, a few slender bamboos. The howling is gray wolves fighting over prey; The roaring is hungry tigers wrangling for their meal. Wild gibbons cry long, seeking fresh fruit; Elk and deer climb flowered slopes up into the green mists. The wind soughs, the water gurgles— Now and again a hidden bird warbles in the passes. Here and there, creepers tug and tangle; A whole brook of jade grass mixed with fragrant orchids. Glittering strange rocks; sheer-cut crags and peaks. Foxes and badgers troop along in herds; Monkeys and apes frolic in bands. The traveler already grieves at so much peril— And what can he do, when the old road twists and turns besides!
Master and disciples went on nervously, trembling as they walked—and just then they heard a great whishing as a wind rose.
The terrified Sanzang said: "The wind is rising!"
"In spring there are gentle breezes, in summer warm winds, in autumn golden winds, in winter north winds," said the Pilgrim. "Every season of the year has its winds. What is to fear from a rising wind?"
"This wind came on so suddenly—it is certainly no wind of nature."
"Since ancient times wind rises from the earth, and clouds come out of mountains. Where would a wind from Heaven come from?" But even as he spoke, they saw a fog rise besides. That fog was truly:
Vast and murky, darkening all the sky; Dense and hazy, dimming all the earth. The sunlight casts no shadow anywhere; No birdcall can be heard in any place. Just as if primal Chaos had come again, Or the whole world had turned to flying dust. The trees upon the mountaintop cannot be seen— And where now shall you meet the herb-gatherer?
Sanzang's alarm redoubled. "Wukong, the wind has not yet settled—why does this fog rise besides?"
"Don't be hasty," said the Pilgrim. "Please dismount, Master. You two brothers stay here and keep guard while I go and see whether this means fortune or ill."
Marvelous Great Sage! He arched his waist and rose straight into midair, set his hand above his brow, opened wide his fiery eyes, and looked down—and there, sure enough, on the edge of a jutting cliff sat a demon. Just look at him:
Brilliant dappled markings, gorgeous and bright; A haughty heroic bearing, brisk and bold. Firm teeth protrude from his mouth like steel awls; Sharp talons, sheathed in his paws, are like jade hooks. His golden round eyes frighten bird and beast; His silver whiskers bristle till they grieve the gods. With wild roars and growls he puts forth savage might, Breathing out fog, spraying wind, plying cunning schemes.
And at his left and right, thirty or forty little demons stood arrayed while he puffed out wind and belched fog with all his art.
The Pilgrim chuckled inwardly. "So my master had a premonition after all. He said it was no natural wind, and indeed it is not—a demon is putting on this show here. If old Sun were to bring his iron cudgel straight down on him now, that would be a garlic-pounding blow—pound him dead I certainly would, but it would hurt old Sun's good name."
For the Pilgrim was a hero to the end of his days, and never once had he stooped to striking a man from ambush.
"I'll go back," he thought, "and fix up Zhu Bajie a bit—get him to go meet this demon in battle first. If Bajie has the skill and fells the demon, we'll count it his merit; if he lacks the means and gets himself carried off, then I'll go rescue him, and only then will the fame be mine. Now Bajie is somewhat lazy and never eager to step forward, but there is one thing that loosens his tongue—his love of food. Let me dangle a bait before him and see what he says."
He dropped out of the clouds at once and came before Sanzang.
"Wukong," asked Sanzang, "what fortune lies in that wind and fog?"
"It has all cleared now," said the Pilgrim. "There's no more wind or fog."
"True—I can feel it has died down somewhat," said Sanzang.
The Pilgrim laughed. "Master, I generally read these matters well, but this time I read them wrong. I thought there might be a demon in that wind and fog, but there is none."
"Then what is it?"
"Not far ahead lies a village. The households there are kindly folk, steaming white rice and white-flour buns to feed monks. All that fog, I take it, was the steam rising from their steamer-baskets—the response Heaven makes to accumulated goodness."
When Bajie heard this, he took it for gospel truth, and pulling the Pilgrim aside he whispered: "Brother, did you eat their vegetarian food before you came back?"
"A little—not much. The vegetables were too heavily salted; I didn't care to eat a great deal."
"Pooh!" said Bajie. "Salted or not, I'd stuff myself one full bellyful! And if it made me thirsty, I'd come back and drink water."
"You want to eat, then?"
"That I do. My belly's a bit hungry—I'd like to go eat a little first. What do you say?"
"Brother, don't bring it up. As the ancient book says, 'While the father lives, the son may not act on his own authority.' And Master is sitting right here—who would dare go off first?"
Bajie laughed. "If you won't say anything, then I'm off."
"I won't say anything. Let's see how you manage to go."
Now that idiot had plenty of clever notions when it came to feeding his own mouth. He walked up, made an elaborate bow, and said: "Master, just now Elder Brother said there is a household in the village ahead that feeds monks. Now look at this horse—it's going to trouble somebody, wanting grass and wanting fodder; wouldn't that be a needless bother? And luckily the wind and fog have all cleared. Why don't the rest of you sit and rest a little while I go cut some tender grass and feed the horse first; after that we can go to that household and beg our meal."
The Tang monk was delighted. "Splendid! What makes you so diligent and careful today? Off with you—quickly there and quickly back."
The idiot set out, snickering to himself. But the Pilgrim caught up and grabbed hold of him. "Brother, that household feeds monks—feeds only handsome ones, not ugly ones."
"Then you mean I have to transform."
"Exactly. Go and change yourself a bit."
A fine idiot! He had his thirty-six transformations too. He walked into a hollow of the mountain, made a magic sign, recited a spell, shook his body, and transformed into a short fat monk, tapping a wooden fish in his hand, humming and droning away—but since he could not recite a sutra, all he could hum was the primer "Shang Da Ren"—"The Great Superior Man."
[Translator's note: Shang da ren is the opening of the traditional children's copybook text—the first characters a schoolboy ever learns to write.]
Now that monster had gathered in his wind and fog and marshaled his demon host. At the great crossroads he had arrayed them in an encircling ring formation, waiting expressly for travelers. And that idiot had the ill luck, before long, to blunder right into the middle of it. The demons closed round him: one seized his clothes, another clutched his silk sash; pushing and shoving, they all set on him at once.
"Don't pull!" said Bajie. "Let me eat my way from house to house."
"Monk," said the demons, "what is it you want to eat?"
"You people here feed monks," said Bajie, "so I've come for the food."
"You think this is a place that feeds monks? Don't you know this is a place that eats monks? We are demon immortals who have gained the Way in these mountains, and our whole trade is hauling you monks home, popping you into the steamer and eating you well boiled—and you have the gall to come here looking for a meal!"
Hearing this, Bajie was terrified, and he began to curse the Pilgrim: "That Protector of Horses is truly a good-for-nothing scoundrel! He fooled me into believing the villagers here feed monks. Where are there any village households here? What monks would anyone feed? It's nothing but demons, the whole pack of them!"
The idiot, hard pressed by all that tugging, reverted to his true form at once, whipped the rake from his belt, and delivered a wild flurry of blows that drove back the little demons.
They scurried off to report to the old monster: "Great King, disaster!"
"What disaster?"
"There's a monk come to the front of the mountain, and a clean, decent-looking fellow too. I said we'd carry him home and steam him for eating—if we couldn't finish him off, we'd keep some against a rainy day. But who could have known—the fellow knows transformations!"
"Transformed into what sort of shape?"
"He never made anything like a human shape! A long snout, great big ears, a mane down his back, both hands whirling a rake—blows raining down every which way, no head or face to them! Scared us all running back to report to you, Great King."
"Don't be afraid. Let me go and have a look." Wielding an iron pestle, he came up close—and saw that the idiot was indeed a fearsomely ugly creature.
He was:
A pestle of a snout, three feet and more in length; Tusks jutting from his jaws, outshining silver nails. A pair of round eyes flashing like lightning; Two ears fanning wind with a whooshing roar. Behind his head, a mane like rows of iron arrows; Over all his body, hide all scabby, coarse, and green. And in his hands he swings a wondrous rarity— A nine-toothed rake to strike them all with fright.
The demon screwed up his courage and shouted: "Where do you come from, and what is your name? Speak quickly, and spare your life!"
Bajie laughed. "My boy! So you don't know your Pig Grandpa either! Come forward, and I'll tell you:
A monstrous mouth, huge tusks, and strength divine— The Jade Emperor raised me Marshal Tianpeng, Commanding eighty thousand troops of the River of Heaven. In the Heavenly Palace, happy and free I ranged. But drunk on wine, I trifled with a palace maid, And there and then my hero's name was sold. One heave of my snout upset the Dipper-and-Ox Palace, And I ate the Queen Mother's purple-zhi greens. The Jade Emperor himself dealt me two thousand hammer blows And banished me down from the triple heavens, Bade me school my will and nurse my primal spirit— But down below I turned into a monster instead. Just as I was happily wedding at Gao Village, My luck ran low, and Brother Sun arrived. Beneath the gold-banded cudgel I was conquered, And only then bowed my head to take the Buddhist vows. Leading the horse, carrying packs, a beast of burden— I must have run short on the Tang Priest's account in a former life. The iron-footed Tianpeng, surnamed Zhu from birth, My religious name was changed to Zhu Bajie."
When the demon heard this, he shouted: "So you're a disciple of the Tang Priest! I've long heard it said the Tang Priest's flesh is good eating, and I was just looking to catch you—and here you've blundered right into my clutches! Think I'll spare you? Stand not! Taste my pestle!"
"You wretched beast," said Bajie, "so you were a dyer by trade!"
"How was I a dyer?"
"If you're not a dyer, how come you're so handy with a laundry club?"
The demon would hear no more argument, but closed in and struck out wildly.
The two of them, in that hollow of the mountain—what a battle they fought! A nine-toothed rake against an iron pestle. The rake spun out its patterns, rolling like a whirlwind; the pestle plied its cunning, flying like pelting rain. The one, a nameless wicked monster blocking the mountain road; the other, a guilty Tianpeng upholding his true-natured lord. When nature is upright, what fear of fiend or demon? Though the mountain be high, earth still brings forth its metal. That one's pestle-guard was like a python leaving its pool; this one's rake came on like a dragon quitting the shore. Their shouts and cries shook mountains and rivers; their roaring menaces terrified the very underworld. Two heroes, each exerting his powers, staking body and soul in a wager of magic arts.
Bajie's prowess swelled as he battled the demon—while the monster bellowed to his little demons to close Bajie in on every side, and of that we say no more.
Now the Pilgrim, standing behind the Tang monk, suddenly let out an involuntary cold laugh.
"Why do you laugh coldly, brother?" asked the Sha Monk.
"Zhu Bajie really is a fool! He heard the words 'feeding monks' and let me lure him off—and at this hour he still hasn't come back. If he beats the demon off with his rake, just watch him come swaggering back, clamoring over the fruits of his victory. But if he can't beat it and gets carried off—why, that's my hard luck! Behind my back and to my face, who knows how many times he'll curse me as that Protector of Horses! Wujing, not a word from you—let me go and have a look."
Marvelous Great Sage! Without letting the elder know, he quietly plucked a hair from the back of his head, blew on it a breath of magic air, and cried "Change!" It became his very image, keeping the Sha Monk company and attending upon the elder.
Then his true spirit slipped out, leaped into midair, and looked down: the idiot was hemmed in by the monster and his host, his rake strokes falling into disorder, weakening by degrees.
The Pilgrim could hold back no longer. He pressed down his cloud and cried in a ringing voice: "Don't panic, Bajie—old Sun is here!"
Hearing the Pilgrim's voice, the idiot took heart and his valor rose. With a burst of raking he charged forward, striking out wildly—and the demon could not withstand him. "This monk was no good just now," the demon marveled, "so how has he turned so fierce all of a sudden?"
"Don't bully me, my boy!" said Bajie. "My family has come!" And he pressed forward all the harder, raining down blows without head or face. Unable to hold out, the demon led his demon host off in defeat.
When the Pilgrim saw the demon flee, he did not go near, but wheeled his cloud around, returned to his place, gave the hair a shake, and took it back onto his body. The elder, with his mortal flesh and carnal eyes, could never have told the difference.
Before long the idiot came swaggering back in triumph, spent and streaming—snot and slaver and froth bubbling fresh at his mouth, gasping for breath. He came up and cried: "Master!"
The elder looked at him in astonishment. "Bajie, you went to cut grass for the horse. Why do you come back in such a sorry state? Could it be there were watchers from the mountain households who would not let you cut their grass?"
The idiot threw down his rake and beat his breast and stamped his feet. "Master! Don't ask! The very telling of it would shame a man to death!"
"Shame over what?"
"Elder Brother made a fool of me! First he said there was no demon in that wind and fog, nothing ominous at all—just a village of kindly folk steaming white rice and white-flour buns to feed monks. I took it all for the truth, and being hungry, I thought I'd go eat a little first, using grass-cutting as my cover. And what did I find? A whole pack of demons! They closed me round and gave me this bitter fight! If it hadn't been for Elder Brother's mourning-staff coming to my aid, I'd never have struggled out of that net and made it back!"
The Pilgrim laughed beside them. "What nonsense from this idiot! If you were a thief, you'd drag a whole jailful of men into the charge. I've been right here watching Master—when did I ever step away?"
"That's so," said the elder. "Wukong has not left my side."
The idiot hopped and bellowed: "Master! You don't know! He has a double!"
"Wukong," said the elder, "was there truly a demon or not?"
The Pilgrim could not hide it; he bowed and said with a laugh: "There was a small demon or two—but he dared not meddle with us. Bajie, come here, and I'll fix things up for you as well. Since we are escorting Master across this perilous mountain road, we should go at it like an army on the march."
"And what of an army on the march?"
"You be the general who opens the road, marching in front to clear the way. If the demon doesn't come, so much the better; if he comes, you fight it out with him—and if you fell the demon, we'll count it your merit."
Bajie reckoned that the demon's skill was about on a level with his own, and said: "Then even if I die at his hands, let me march first!"
"This idiot, speaking ill luck before anything else—how will he ever get ahead in life?" said the Pilgrim with a laugh.
"Brother," said Bajie, "don't you know the saying? 'The young lord at the banquet—if not drunk, then filled; the brave man at the front—if not dead, then wounded.' Say a word of ill luck first, and the glory comes after."
The Pilgrim was pleased. He saddled the horse at once, helped the master mount, the Sha Monk shouldered the luggage, and they followed Bajie, all the way into the mountains—and of that we say no more.
Now that demon, leading his few battered little fiends, returned straight to his cave and sat high on the rocky ledge, silent and glum.
There were many lesser demons keeping the cave, and they came up and asked: "Great King, whenever you go out, you come back pleased and merry. Why so downcast today?"
"Little ones," said the old demon, "when I used to leave the cave to patrol the mountain, no matter whose they were—men or beasts—I could always bag a few to bring home and keep you all fed. But today my fortune ran low, and I ran into a match for myself."
"Who was that match?"
"A monk—a disciple of the Tang Priest of the East who is fetching scriptures, by the name of Zhu Bajie. He beat me off with one burst of his rake. How vexing! All this while I've heard people say the Tang Priest is a luohan who has cultivated through ten lifetimes, and that whoever eats a single piece of his flesh may extend his years and live forever. And today he walks right into my mountain—the perfect chance to seize him and steam him! Who knew he had such disciples under him?"
Hardly were the words out of his mouth when, from among the ranks, a little demon stepped forward before the old monster and—hic!—heaved three sobs, and then burst into three peals of laughter.
"Why do you weep and laugh both?" the old demon barked.
The little demon knelt down. "Great King, you say you want to eat the Tang Priest—but the Tang Priest's flesh is not good to eat."
"Everyone says one piece of his flesh brings agelessness and length of days equal to Heaven's. How is it not good to eat?"
"If it were good to eat, he'd never have gotten this far—the demons everywhere else would have eaten him long ago. He has three disciples under him."
"And do you know which three?"
"His eldest disciple is Sun the Pilgrim; his third is the Sha Monk; and this one who beat you is his second disciple, Zhu Bajie."
"How does the Sha Monk compare with Zhu Bajie?"
"About the same."
"And how does this Sun the Pilgrim compare with them?"
The little demon stuck out his tongue. "I dare not say! That Sun the Pilgrim has vast magic powers and a thousand transformations! Five hundred years ago he wrecked the Heavenly Palace. The Twenty-Eight Constellations above, the Nine Luminaries and Star Officers, the Twelve Hour-Sovereigns, the Five Lords and Four Ministers, the Star-Dippers of East and West, the Two Gods of South and North, the Five Sacred Peaks and Four Rivers, all the divine generals under Heaven—none of them could get the better of him. How could you dare dream of eating the Tang Priest?"
"How do you know all this in such detail?"
"In days gone by I lived with that Great King in the Lion Camel Cave on Lion Camel Ridge. That Great King did not know what was good for him and wanted to eat the Tang Priest—and Sun the Pilgrim came smashing through the gate with one gold-banded cudgel. A pity! He pounded them till they all made the names of domino tiles, ones and sixes wiped out entire. Only because I had some sense did I slip out the back door and make my way here, where Your Majesty took me in—that is how I know his methods."
[Translator's note: "ones and sixes wiped out" translates a dominoes term for a winning hand—here a grim pun on the demons being wiped out to the last tile.]
At these words the old demon turned pale with horror. Truly, even a great general dreads an ill-omened word—and hearing his own household talk this way, how could he not be frightened?
And just as they were all quailing, another little demon stepped forward. "Great King, don't be vexed, don't be afraid. As the common saying goes, matters must be taken as they come. If it is the Tang Priest you want to eat, let me work out a scheme for catching him."
"What scheme have you?"
"I have the Plum-Blossom Split-Petal Stratagem."
"What is this Plum-Blossom Split-Petal Stratagem?"
"Draw up all the demons of the cave, great and small. From a thousand choose a hundred; from the hundred choose ten; and from the ten pick just three—and they must be capable fellows who know transformation. Let all three transform into Your Majesty's likeness, wear Your Majesty's helmet, don Your Majesty's armor, and wield Your Majesty's pestle, and lie in ambush at three places. Let the first engage Zhu Bajie, the second Sun the Pilgrim, and the third the Sha Monk—sacrifice three little demons to draw off the three brothers. Then Your Majesty, up in midair, need only reach down your cloud-seizing hand and pluck up this Tang Priest—as easy as fishing something out of a bag, as easy as snatching a fly from a basin of water! What difficulty is there in that?"
Hearing this, the old demon was delighted through and through. "This scheme is marvelous! Marvelous! This time, if we fail to catch the Tang Priest, so be it; but if we do catch him, I shall not treat you lightly—I will make you Vanguard of the Van."
The little demon knocked his head upon the floor in thanks, and called the roll of demons. All the demons of the cave, great and small, were drawn up, and sure enough three capable ones were chosen; all three transformed into the old demon, each grasping an iron pestle, and lay in ambush awaiting the Tang Priest—but of that we say no more.
Now this venerable Tang, without worry or care, followed Bajie onto the highway. After they had traveled a good long while, there came from the roadside, with a sudden crash, a little demon leaping out and darting forward to seize the elder.
"Bajie!" cried Sun the Pilgrim. "The demon's here! Why don't you strike?"
The idiot, not stopping to weigh false from true, whipped out his rake, gave chase, and struck out wildly. The demon hastily raised his iron pestle to meet him. The two of them, thrusting and parrying, were fighting out their wager below the mountainside—when from the deep grass came another crash, and out leapt a second monster, making straight for the Tang monk.
"Master! This is bad!" cried the Pilgrim. "Bajie's eyes have failed him and let the demon through to seize you—wait till old Sun beats him off!" He whipped out his cudgel and hurried forward, shouting: "Where are you going? Taste my staff!" The demon wasted no words, but raised his pestle to meet him. The two of them clashed and battered below the grassy slope—and just as they were locked in struggle, from behind the mountain came another whoosh of wind, and out leapt yet another demon, heading straight for the Tang monk.
When the Sha Monk saw this he cried out in alarm: "Master! Elder Brother's and Second Brother's eyes have both gone dim, letting the demons through to seize you! Stay on your horse—let old Sha handle this one!"
This monk, too, without pausing over true or false, whipped out his staff and blocked the demon's iron pestle head-on, battling bitterly. With shouting and bawling, wild yelling and wild fighting, they gradually drew farther and farther off. And the old monster, up in midair, saw the Tang monk sitting alone on his horse—he reached down his five-clawed steel hooks and snatched the Tang monk up in a single grab. The poor master lost his horse, slipped his stirrups, and was whisked away on a rush of wind by the demon. Alas! Truly it was:
His Chan nature meets the demon and the fruit of truth is hard to win; The River-Float meets again his star of bitter calamity!
The old demon brought his wind down to earth, carried the Tang monk into his cave, and called: "Vanguard!"
The little demon who had devised the scheme came forward and knelt. "I dare not! I dare not!"
"Why say that?" said the old demon. "A great general's word, once spoken, is like white silk dyed black—it cannot be made white again. I said then that if we failed to catch the Tang Priest, so be it; but if we caught him, I would make you Vanguard of the Van. Today your clever scheme has indeed prevailed—how could I break faith with you? Bring the Tang Priest here, have the little ones carry water and scrub the pots, fetch firewood and light the fires, and give him a good steaming. You and I shall each eat a piece of his flesh, and look to live long and never age."
"Great King," said the Vanguard, "we must not eat him yet."
"Now that we have him, why may we not eat him?"
"If Your Majesty eats him, no great harm: Zhu Bajie can be done a favor, and the Sha Monk can be done a favor. But I fear that master of theirs, Sun the Pilgrim, is a cruel one. If he learns it was we who ate him, he will not bother coming to trade blows with us. He will simply take that gold-banded cudgel of his and thrust it into the mountainside—punch a hole clean through it—and topple the whole mountain over, and then we shall have nowhere left to live!"
"Vanguard, what better counsel have you?"
"Do as I say: carry the Tang Priest to the back garden, tie him to a tree, and give him no food for two or three days. First, it will clean him out inside; second, we wait until those three stop searching at our gate and word comes that they have gone back—then we bring him out and enjoy him at our leisure. Wouldn't that be better?"
The old demon laughed. "Right! Right! The Vanguard speaks sense!" At one command the Tang Priest was carried into the back garden and bound fast with a rope to a tree, while the little demons all went to the front to stand by.
Look at that poor elder, bitterly enduring the rope's winding and binding, lashed tight and fast—he could not hold back the tears rolling down his cheeks, and he cried out: "Disciples! While you seize demons in the mountains, along what road do you chase the fiends? Taken by this wicked monster, I suffer here in captivity—what day shall we meet again? Oh, the pain of it kills me!"
And even as the two streams of tears flowed down, he heard someone on the tree opposite call out: "Elder, you've been brought in too!"
The elder steadied his nature and said: "Who are you?"
"I am a woodcutter of this mountain," said the man. "The master of this mountain caught me the other day and tied me up here. It has been three days now—they are reckoning to eat me."
The elder's tears fell. "Woodcutter, if you die, you die but one death, with nothing left holding you back. But my death will not be a clean one."
"Elder, you are one who has left the world—no parents above, no wife or children below. If you die, you die. What is unclean about that?"
"I am one sent from the East to fetch the scriptures of the Western Heaven, bearing the imperial mandate of Taizong, Emperor of the Tang, to worship the living Buddha and bring back the true scriptures, to save and deliver the masterless lonely souls of the nether world. If I now lose my life, will not that sovereign king be sick with waiting, and those loyal ministers be betrayed? And the countless wronged souls in the City of the Unjustly Dead—will they not be utterly dashed in their hopes, never to be delivered through all eternity? A whole work of merit, all blown away as dust and wind—how could that ever be called clean?"
When the woodcutter heard this, tears fell from his eyes. "Elder, if you die, it is only this. My own death is more heartbreaking still. I lost my father when I was young and lived alone with my mother, with no family estate at all—nothing to live on but my firewood. My old mother is eighty-three this year, and I am her one sole support. If I die, who will bury her body and see her to her end? Bitter, bitter! Oh, the pain of it kills me!"
Hearing this, the elder wailed aloud: "Pitiful! Pitiful! Even this mountain man has the heart that thinks upon his kin, while this poor monk can only recite his sutras! To serve one's sovereign and to serve one's parents—it is all one principle. You grieve for a parent's kindness; I grieve for my sovereign's." Truly it was tear-filled eyes gazing upon tear-filled eyes, one heartbroken man seeing off another heartbroken man!
But let us speak no more of Sanzang in his suffering, and tell instead of Sun the Pilgrim, who below the grassy slope had fought off the little demons and hurried back to the roadside—only to find his master gone, with nothing left but the white horse and the baggage.
In panic he led the horse and shouldered the load, searching over the mountain heights. Ah! Truly:
The River-Float, born to calamity, meets calamity once more; The Great Sage who quells the demons is himself beset by one.
If you would know how the search for the master turned out in the end, listen to the explanation in the next chapter.