In cultivating Zen, where must one direct one's effort? The unbridled horse, the capering ape—cut them away at once. Grasp tight, bind fast, and the five-colored radiance is born; Pause or tarry but a moment, and you fall into the Three Evil Paths. Let the restless spirit go free, and the divine elixir leaks away; Give ease its head, and the jadelike nature withers dry. Joy, anger, worry, brooding—all must be swept clean; Then you attain the dark and the wondrous, as if you had attained nothing.
The story tells how the four travelers, the Tang Priest and his disciples, left the city of Yuhua and traveled on in peace and ease—truly, as the saying goes, through a land of supreme bliss. After five or six days' journey they saw another walled city, and Tang Sanzang asked the Pilgrim: "What place is this?"
"It is a walled city," said the Pilgrim, "but there is a flagpole on the wall with no flag flying, so I cannot tell what place it is. Let us wait until we draw near, and then ask." When they reached the eastern outskirts, they saw the teahouses and wine shops on either side in a hubbub, and the rice market and oil shops bustling. On the streets were a few idle young dandies strolling about for pleasure; seeing that Zhu Bajie had a long snout, the Sha Monk a black face, and Sun Wukong red eyes, they all crowded around, jostling and vying to stare, though they dared not come near enough to ask questions.
Tang Sanzang was sweating with anxiety, afraid that they would make trouble.
They passed through several more lanes without reaching the city, when suddenly they caught sight of a monastery gate, over which were the three characters "Monastery of Compassionate Clouds." "Suppose we step in here for a while to rest the horse and beg a vegetarian meal?" said Tang Sanzang.
"Fine! Fine!" said the Pilgrim.
The four of them went in together. Inside they saw: Precious towers, magnificent and ornate; jeweled seats, lofty and imposing. Buddha pavilions rising beyond the clouds; monks' quarters still beneath the moon. Rosy mists drifting as the pagoda thrust upward; green trees in deep shade, the revolving scripture hall serene. A true pure land, a very dragon palace; over the Great Hero Hall, purple clouds hung. Along the two cloisters, strollers played without cease; a single pagoda, ever open, had visitors climbing. In the censers, incense and fire burned at every hour; on the altars, lamps and flowers gleamed every night. Suddenly the golden bell of the abbot's quarters rang out, and the monks, answering the Buddha, chanted the sutras aloud.
As the four travelers were looking about, a monk came out from beneath the cloister, bowed to Tang Sanzang, and asked: "Reverend master, where do you come from?"
"Your disciple comes from the Tang empire of China," said Tang Sanzang.
The monk threw himself to the ground in a deep bow. Alarmed, Tang Sanzang raised him up: "Why does the abbot do me such great honor?"
Pressing his palms together, the monk said: "We who live here and incline to good, who read the sutras and invoke the Buddha, all of us hope, through our cultivation, to be reborn in your China. Just now, seeing the bearing and dress of the reverend master, it is clear that you must have cultivated in a former life to enjoy such blessings now—and so I bowed down."
Tang Sanzang laughed: "I am overwhelmed! I am overwhelmed! Your disciple is but a traveling monk—what blessings have I to enjoy? If the abbot could pass his years here at ease, that would be the real happiness."
The monk led Tang Sanzang into the main hall, where he worshiped the images of the Buddha. Only then did Tang Sanzang call out: "Disciples, come here." It turned out that when the three disciples had seen the monk speaking with their master, they had all averted their faces, holding the horse and guarding the luggage, standing together apart; the monk had paid them no mind. When he suddenly heard Tang Sanzang call to his disciples and the three turned around, the monk was horrified and cried: "Gracious heavens! How can your worthy disciples be so hideous of aspect?"
"Ugly they are, to be sure," said Tang Sanzang, "but they have a good deal of magic power. I have relied on their protection all along the road." While he was speaking, several more monks came out from within and bowed. The first monk said to those who came after: "This reverend master is a personage from Great Tang in China, and those three are his worthy disciples."
The monks were both pleased and alarmed: "Reverend master, what business has a man of China's great nation here?"
Tang Sanzang said: "I was sent by the imperial decree of the Tang emperor to worship the Buddha at Numinous Mountain and seek the scriptures. As I happened to pass through your precious region, I have come especially to your honored monastery—first, to ask the way of the locality, and second, to beg a vegetarian meal before moving on." The monks were all delighted, and invited him into the abbot's quarters, where there were also several monks who performed vegetarian services for lay families.
The monk who had come in first called out again: "Come, all of you, and see the personages of China. It turns out that in China there are handsome folk and ugly ones—the handsome truly beyond painting or describing, and the ugly exceedingly strange."
The many monks, together with the feast patrons, all came to greet them. After the greetings, each took his seat. When tea was done, Tang Sanzang asked: "What is the name of this honored region?"
"Ours is an outlying prefecture of the Kingdom of Tianzhu," said the monks—"the Prefecture of Jinping."
"How far is your honored prefecture from Numinous Mountain?" asked Tang Sanzang.
"From here to the capital is two thousand li, which is a road we have traveled ourselves," said the monks. "As for the road west to Numinous Mountain, we have never traveled it, and do not know how much farther it is; we dare not answer at random." Tang Sanzang thanked them.
Presently the meal was laid out. When the meal was done, Tang Sanzang wanted to be on his way, but was detained by the monks and the feast patrons: "Reverend master, stay a couple of days more and enjoy yourself after the Lantern Festival."
Startled, Tang Sanzang asked: "On the road your disciple has known only mountains and rivers. My fear has always been of meeting monsters and demons, and the seasons have slipped past me unawares. I do not even know when the Lantern Festival falls."
The monks laughed: "The reverend master's heart is so set on worshiping the Buddha and comprehending Zen that you take no note of such things. Today is the thirteenth of the first month; tonight the lanterns will be tested, and the day after tomorrow, the fifteenth, is the full-moon festival. Only after the eighteenth or nineteenth is the lantern season brought to a close. We people here love such festivities. The governor of this prefecture is fond of his people, and in every district tall lanterns are hung and flutes and pipes play all night long. There is also a Golden Lantern Bridge, handed down from ancient times, richer in its display today than ever. If your honors will stay a few days, this poor mountain monastery can well afford to entertain you." Tang Sanzang had no choice but to stay.
That night they heard the bells and drums of the Buddha hall resounding to the heavens—it was the faithful of the neighborhood coming to offer lanterns before the Buddha. Tang Sanzang and the others all came out of the abbot's quarters to look at the lanterns, and then each returned to his rest.
The next day the monks offered another meal. After they had eaten, they strolled together in the back garden. It was indeed a fine place. This was:
The season was the first month, the year in its new spring. The garden was quiet and elegant, the scenery fair and luxuriant. Flowers and trees of the four seasons vied in wonder; Range upon range of peaks piled up their green. Fragrant grass sprouted at the foot of the steps; On the old plum's branches perfume was born. Red entered the peach blossom, tender; Green returned to the willow, fresh. Do not boast of the splendor of the Golden Valley Garden; Speak no more of the grace of the Wangchuan painting. A single stream flowed by, wild ducks appearing and vanishing; A thousand bamboo stalks stood, where scholars still could not settle their rhymes. Peonies, tree peonies, crape myrtles, smiling flowers— the loom of heaven just awakening; Camellias, red plums, winter jasmines, daphnes— their gorgeous forms the first to bloom. On the shady cliff the piled snow still held its frost; In distant trees the floating mist already carried spring. And one saw the deer mirroring itself by the pond, The crane come beneath the pines to listen to the zither. Halls to the east, pavilions to the west, where guests might lodge; Chambers to the south, pagodas to the north, where monks in stillness practiced Zen. Amid the flowers stood a building or two for nurturing the nature, with lofty double eaves; Among the waters and hills, three or four rooms for refining away the demon, with quiet desks and bright windows. Truly it was a natural place fit for retiring from the world— Why should one go seeking Penglai and Yingzhou elsewhere?
Master and disciples enjoyed the sights for a whole day; and after viewing the lanterns in the hall, they all went out to see the lantern games. One could see: A flower city of agate, a fairy grotto of colored glaze, palaces of crystal and of mica—like fold upon fold of brocade, tier upon tier of exquisite openwork. The star bridge's reflection swayed, and heaven and earth seemed to reel; look at the several fiery trees shaking their red. On the six streets, flutes and drums; at a thousand gates, moon-jade bright; from ten thousand households, fragrant breezes. In several places lofty turtle-mountains rose; there were fish and dragons coming forth from the sea, simurghs and phoenixes soaring in the sky. One envied the lantern light and the moonlight, their harmony so mellow. In trains of silks and satins, everyone delighted in the pipes and songs; carriages and horses rumbled past. One could not see all the flowerlike faces and jadelike forms, the gallants and the heroes—the lovely scenes were endless.
Having viewed the lanterns in the monastery, the company went on to amuse themselves in the streets of the eastern suburb. Only at the second watch did they turn back to their lodgings.
The next day Tang Sanzang said to the monks: "Your disciple has long cherished the vow to sweep the pagoda. Since today is the festival of the full moon, I beg the abbot to open the pagoda gate and let your disciple fulfill this vow of his heart."
The monks at once opened the gate. The Sha Monk took the cassock and followed Tang Sanzang; when they reached the first story, Tang Sanzang put on the cassock, worshiped the Buddha and prayed, and then took up a broom and swept the first story. He took off the cassock and handed it to the Sha Monk, and swept the second story—and so, story by story, swept all the way up to the very top. On that pagoda, every story had its Buddhas and windows opened on every side; as he swept each story, he admired and praised it.
By the time he had finished sweeping and come down, it was already evening, and the lamps were lit again everywhere.
This night was indeed the fifteenth, the night of the full moon. The monks said: "Reverend master, the other evening we only viewed the lanterns at our poor monastery and in the suburb. Tonight is the true festival—let us go into the city and see the golden lanterns, shall we?" Tang Sanzang gladly agreed, and went with the Pilgrim and his two other disciples, together with many monks of the monastery, into the city to see the lanterns. This was indeed:
A fine night of the full moon on the fifteenth; On the first full moon, the hues of spring are mild. Colored lanterns hang in the busy market, And all together sing songs of peace.
And one saw the lanterns gleaming through the six streets and three markets, while in mid-air a single mirror rose anew. The moon was like a plate of gleaming silver shoved up by the god Fengyi, and the lanterns like a brocade carpet woven by fairy maidens and spread over the ground. Lanterns mirroring the moon gained double their brightness; the moon shining on the lanterns added tenfold their splendor. One could not take in all the iron locks and star bridges; one could not view all the lantern flowers and fiery trees. Snowflake lanterns, plum-blossom lanterns—spring ice cut to pieces; embroidered-screen lanterns, painted-screen lanterns—five colors gathered together. Walnut lanterns, lotus lanterns, hung high from the lantern towers; green lion lanterns, white elephant lanterns, raised aloft on lantern racks. Shrimp lanterns, turtle lanterns, lifted high before the awnings; sheep lanterns, rabbit lanterns, full of spirit under the eaves. Eagle lanterns, phoenix lanterns, linked one with another; tiger lanterns, horse lanterns, trotting along together. Crane lanterns and white deer lanterns, ridden by the God of Longevity; goldfish lanterns and great whale lanterns, mounted aloft by Li Bai. The turtle-mountain lantern, where the immortals gather; the horse-revolving lantern, where generals and warriors do battle. From ten thousand homes, lanterns, lights, towers, and terraces; for a dozen li, a world of clouds and mist. On that side, with a jingling, a jade-tasseled saddle flew past; on this side, with a rumbling, a fragrant carriage rolled by. On the rouge-red tower, leaning on the railings, behind the parted curtains, shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand, pair after pair of lovely women gave themselves to pleasure; beside the green-water bridge, clamorous, thronged in brocade, tipsy, laughing aloud, pair after pair of strollers sported with the colored lanterns. In all the city flutes and drums clamored; all night long the pipes and songs never ceased. There is a poem in witness, and the poem says:
In the field of brocade they sing of the lotus-plucking; Within this realm of peace the people gather thick. The lanterns bright, the moon gleaming, this night of the full moon— With rain in season and wind in measure, the year shall be great and full.
At this hour the night curfew was lifted—no watchmen barred the streets, and anyone might roam at will. An immense, bustling crowd milled about: dancers, stilt-walkers, men dressed as ghosts, riders on elephants, clusters to the east, throngs to the west, too many to take in. They had just reached the Golden Lantern Bridge, and when Tang Sanzang and the monks drew near to look, it turned out to be three golden lanterns.
Those lanterns were as big as vats, and above them hung two-tiered pavilions, exquisitely worked and translucent, all woven of fine golden filaments, with thin sheets of colored glass set within. Their light swayed against the moon, and their oil sprayed fragrance all around.
Tang Sanzang turned and asked the monks: "What oil is this, that it strikes the nose with such an extraordinary fragrance?"
"The reverend master does not know," said the monks. "Behind our prefecture there is a county called Mintian, two hundred and forty li in extent. Every year, when the corvée and levies are assessed, it provides two hundred and forty households of great lamp-oil suppliers. The various levies of the prefecture and county may well be borne, but only these great households are sorely burdened: each family serves for one year, spending more than two hundred taels of silver. This oil is no ordinary oil—it is the fragrant ghee oil. One ounce of this oil costs two taels of silver, and one catty costs thirty-two taels. As for the three lanterns, each vat holds five hundred catties, and the three vats fifteen hundred catties in all, at a cost of forty-eight thousand taels of silver. Add the sundry charges and fees, and it comes to over fifty thousand taels—and it lights only three nights."
"With all that oil," said the Pilgrim, "how can it be burned up in three nights?"
"In each vat," said the monks, "there are forty-nine great lamp-wicks, bundles of rush pith wrapped in silk floss and as thick as an egg. It is only lit through tonight; when the Buddha has appeared in person, tomorrow night the oil will be gone and the lanterns will grow dim."
Bajie, standing beside them, laughed: "I suppose the Buddha takes the oil away with him."
"That is exactly the saying," said the monks. "In every household of the city, from ancient times to this day, the story has been told just so. When the oil is dry, people say the Buddha has taken away the lanterns, and naturally the five grains ripen abundantly. But if in some year the oil does not dry up, then the harvest is meager and lean, with drought and flood, wind and rain out of season. That is why every family must make this offering."
While they were speaking, they heard a whistling wind in mid-air, and the lantern viewers were so frightened that they scattered in every direction. The monks too could not keep their feet: "Reverend master, let us go back; the wind is coming. It is the Buddha descending with blessings to view the lanterns."
"How do you know it is the Buddha come to view the lanterns?" asked Tang Sanzang.
"It is like this every year," said the monks. "Before the third watch the wind always comes, and we know it is the Buddhas descending with blessings, and so everyone takes cover."
Tang Sanzang said: "Your disciple is one who has always yearned for the Buddha, invoked the Buddha, and worshiped the Buddha. Now that we meet this fine sight, and the Buddhas are indeed descending, to worship them here would be the best of good fortune." The monks urged him again and again to come back, but he would not. Presently three Buddha forms did indeed appear in the wind, drawing near the lanterns. In a fluster Tang Sanzang ran up onto the top of the bridge and threw himself down in worship.
The Pilgrim hastily pulled him up: "Master, these are not good people—they must be demons and devils!"
Before the words were out of his mouth, the lantern light went dim, and with a whoosh the wind scooped up Tang Sanzang and bore him away. Ah! Who could have known that the true monsters of some mountain cave had for years and years counterfeited Buddhas to view the golden lanterns! Bajie was terrified, searching this way and that; the Sha Monk called out to left and right.
"Brothers!" shouted the Pilgrim. "There is no need to call out here. Our master, in the very extremity of joy, has met with sorrow—he has been carried off by a demon!"
The monks were terrified: "Master, how do you know it was a demon that carried him off?"
The Pilgrim laughed: "It turns out that you mortals, for all these years, have never recognized them, and so you have been deceived by evil, taking it for true Buddhas descending with blessings to receive the lamp offering. The Buddha forms that appeared in the wind just now were three demons. My master could not recognize them either; he climbed up onto the bridge top and bowed, but they darkened the lantern light, and taking up the oil in their vessels, carried my master off along with it. I was a little slow in my pursuit, and so the three of them fled away on the wind."
"Elder Brother," said the Sha Monk, "what are we to do about this?"
"There is no need for hesitation," said the Pilgrim. "You two go back with the crowd to the monastery, watch over the horse and the luggage, and let old Sun chase after them on this wind."
Brave Great Sage! He swiftly spread his somersault cloud and rose into mid-air, and following the stench of the wind, made straight for the northeast. He pursued until daybreak, when the wind suddenly died down, and he saw a great mountain, extremely perilous, truly towering and craggy. A fine mountain: Ridge upon ridge of ravines and hollows, spring after winding spring. Vines and creepers hung from sheer cliffs; pines and cypresses thrust up from hollow rocks. Cranes cried in the morning mist; wild geese called among the dawn clouds. Lofty and towering, the peaks stood like ranked halberds; jutting and jagged, the boulders piled like a massive wall of rock. The summit soared ten thousand fathoms high; the steep ridges folded in a thousand curves. Wild flowers and fine trees knew to burst forth in spring; cuckoos and orioles matched the season in their beauty. Majestic, craggy, strange, rugged, perilous, and hard. For a long while he paused and admired, speaking not a word, hearing only the tigers and leopards snoring in their dens. Fragrant musk deer and white deer came and went; jade rabbits and gray wolves went off and came back again. The water of the deep ravine flowed on for ten thousand li; the swirling currents dashed against the rocks with a murmuring sound.
The Great Sage, standing on the cliff and searching for a path, suddenly saw four men driving three sheep down the western slope, all shouting together: "May fortune open wide!" The Great Sage flashed his fiery golden eyes and looked closely, and recognized them as the Duty Officers of the Four Seasons of the Year, the Month, the Day, and the Hour, come in hidden form and transformation. The Great Sage at once drew out his iron cudgel, shook it to the thickness of a bowl and a dozen or so feet in length, jumped down from the cliff, and shouted: "Hiding your heads and shrinking your necks like that—where do you think you're going?"
The Duty Officers of the Four Seasons, seeing that he had laid bare their doings, in fright dispersed the three sheep with a shout, revealed their true forms, slipped to the roadside, and bowed: "Great Sage, forgive us! Forgive us!"
The Pilgrim said: "I have had no use for you all this time, and seeing that old Sun was easygoing, you have one and all grown slack and lazy—you do not even come to pay your respects to me! What is the meaning of this! Instead of secretly protecting my master, where have you all gone off to?"
The Duty Officers said: "Your master let his Zen nature grow lax and indulged in pleasure in the Monastery of Compassionate Clouds in the Prefecture of Jinping; so when good fortune reached its extreme, ill fortune followed, and from the height of joy came sorrow, and now he has been captured by a demon. The Protectors of the Faith are keeping guard at his side. We knew that the Great Sage was pursuing through the night, and fearing that the Great Sage might not know the mountain and the forest, we came especially to bring you word."
"Since you came to bring word," said the Pilgrim, "why did you hide your names and drive three sheep, bawling and shouting all the while?"
The Duty Officers said: "We set up these three sheep to answer the saying of fortune opening wide—it is called the three yangs opening up good fortune—to break through the obstructed luck of your master."
The Pilgrim was furious and meant to strike them; but seeing their good intent, he spared them, put away his cudgel, and turned from anger to delight: "Is this mountain the den of the demon?"
"Exactly so, exactly so," said the Duty Officers. "This mountain is called the Green Dragon Mountain, and within it is a cave called the Cave of Dark Splendor. In the cave are three demons: the eldest is named the King Who Expels Cold, the second the King Who Expels Heat, and the third the King Who Expels Dust. These demons have been here a thousand years. From childhood they have loved to eat the fragrant ghee oil. In the year when they became spirits, they came here disguised as Buddha images, tricking the officials and people of the Prefecture of Jinping into setting up the golden lanterns, with the fragrant ghee oil as their fuel. Every year, at the half of the first month, they change into Buddha images to collect the oil. This year they saw your master and recognized his holy monk's body, and carried your master too into the cave. Before many days they mean to carve up your master's flesh and fry it in the fragrant ghee oil for their eating! You must hurry and work your arts to rescue him!"
Hearing this, the Pilgrim dismissed the four Duty Officers with a shout, turned about the cliff, and went in search of the cave dwelling. He had not gone several li when he saw a stone cliff by the ravine, and beneath the cliff a stone house with two gates of stone, half open and half shut. Beside the gate stood a stone tablet with six characters: "The Cave of Dark Splendor on the Green Dragon Mountain." The Pilgrim did not dare enter without ceremony. Planting his feet, he called out: "Demon! Bring my master out at once!"
There was a loud crash as the gates swung wide, and out ran a swarm of ox-headed demons, who asked dully and stupidly: "Who are you, that you dare raise your voice here?"
"I am the senior disciple of the holy monk Tang Sanzang of Great Tang in the eastern land, sent to fetch scriptures," said the Pilgrim. "Passing through the Prefecture of Jinping to view the lanterns, my master was carried off by your chief demon. Send him back at once, and I will spare your lives! If not, I will overturn your nest and turn every one of your demons into pus and blood!"
Hearing this, the little demons hurried inside and reported: "Great Kings! Disaster! Disaster!"
The three old demons had taken Tang Sanzang to the far depths of the cave, and without asking what was black or white, had ordered the little ones to strip off his clothes and wash him clean in the clear water of the rushing stream, planning to mince and shred him fine and fry him in the fragrant ghee oil. When they suddenly heard the cry of "disaster," they were greatly alarmed and asked what the matter was.
The little demon said: "At the great front gate there is a monk with a hairy face and a thunder-god beak, shouting that the Great King has carried off his master, and ordering you to send him out at once, to spare our lives; otherwise, he says, he will overturn our nest and turn us all into pus and blood!"
The old demons were alarmed at this, and said one and all: "We caught this fellow just now and have not yet asked his name and origin. Little ones, put his clothes back on him and bring him here for questioning—to find out exactly who he is, and where he has come from." The host of demons surged forward, untied Tang Sanzang's ropes, dressed him, and pushed him before the throne. Tang Sanzang was so frightened that he knelt trembling below, crying only: "Spare my life, Great Kings! Spare my life!"
The three demons said with one voice: "What monk are you, and where do you come from? How is it that when you saw our Buddha images you did not dodge out of the way, but blundered into our cloud-path?"
Kowtowing, Tang Sanzang said: "This poor monk was dispatched by the imperial court of Great Tang in the eastern land, on the way to the Great Thunderclap Monastery in the Kingdom of Tianzhu to worship the Buddha and fetch the scriptures. Because I came to the Monastery of Compassionate Clouds in the Prefecture of Jinping to beg a vegetarian meal, the monks there pressed me to stay for the Lantern Festival. I was on the Golden Lantern Bridge when I saw the Great Kings reveal their Buddha forms. This poor monk has but mortal eyes and a fleshly body, and worships whenever he sees a Buddha, and so I blundered into the Great Kings' cloud-path."
The demon said: "The road from your eastern land to this place is a very great distance. How many of you are there in your company, and what are all your names? Confess truly at once, and I will spare your life."
Tang Sanzang said: "This poor monk's lay name was Chen Xuanzang. From childhood I was a monk at the Jinshan Monastery. Later, by the command of the Tang emperor, I was made an officer of monks at the Hongfu Monastery in Chang'an. Then, because Chancellor Wei Zheng in a dream beheaded the Old Dragon of the Jing River, and the Tang emperor made his journey through the underworld and came back alive to the world of the living, he opened a Great Assembly of Land and Water to release the souls of the dead from suffering, and again selected this poor monk as master of the altar, to expound the great principles of the faith. Happily the Bodhisattva Guanyin appeared and, pointing out the way, told this poor monk that in the Great Thunderclap Monastery of the Western Heaven there were the true scriptures of the Tripitaka, which could deliver the dead and raise them to heaven, and sent this poor monk to fetch them, bestowing on me the name Sanzang. I have taken Tang as my surname, and so everyone calls me Tang Sanzang.
"I have three disciples. The eldest is surnamed Sun, named Wukong the Pilgrim—the Great Sage Equal to Heaven, returned to righteousness."
When the host of demons heard this name, they were startled: "Is this Great Sage Equal to Heaven the one who made a great uproar in Heaven five hundred years ago?"
"Exactly so, exactly so," said Tang Sanzang. "The second is surnamed Zhu, named Wuneng Bajie, the Grand Marshal Tianpeng reborn into the world. The third is surnamed Sha, named Wujing the monk, the Curtain-Raising General descended to earth."
Hearing this, the three demon kings were alarmed one and all: "It is a good thing we have not eaten him after all. Little ones, put the Tang Priest in iron chains in the rear; when we have captured his three disciples, we can eat them together." They then mustered a host of mountain-ox demons, water-buffalo demons, and yellow-ox demons, each with his weapons, and marched out the gate, sounding the signal, waving flags, and beating drums.
The three demons, fully armed and arrayed, went out the gate and roared: "Who is it that dares raise a clamor here?"
The Pilgrim hid himself on the stone cliff and looked carefully. The demons were born thus: Colored faces and round eyes, two horns jutting high. Four sharp-pointed ears, numinous apertures flashing with light. Their bodies were patterned like painted pictures, all over with brocade and embroidery, as if strewn with flowers. The first wore a warm cap of fox-fur with a flowered crown, his bristling face steaming with hot vapor; the second was draped in light gauze that sent up flying flames, his four hoofs flower-bright, translucent, jingling like jade; the third, majestic and fierce, roared with a voice like rolling thunder, his fangs sharp as silver needles. Each was brave and savage, each held one of three weapons: one wielded a battle-axe, one a mighty saber; but look at the third—across his shoulder he balanced a knotted cane of rattan. And one saw the seven-long eight-short, seven-fat eight-thin demons, great and small, all of them ox-headed monsters, each holding spears and staves. There were three great banners, on which were plainly written "King Who Expels Cold," "King Who Expels Heat," "King Who Expels Dust."
Sun the Pilgrim watched for a while, and unable to contain himself, went forward and called out in a loud voice: "Vicious thieving demons! Do you know old Sun?"
The demon roared: "Are you that Sun Wukong who made havoc in Heaven? Truly I have heard your name but never seen your face—and the sight of your face would shame the very gods! So you are nothing but such a macaque, and still you dare to talk big!"
The Pilgrim flew into a rage and cursed: "You thieving lamp-oil thieves! Oily-mouthed demons, enough of your nonsense! Give me back my master at once!" He rushed up close and swung his iron cudgel in a blow. The three old demons raised their three weapons and hastily met him. This battle in the mountain hollow was a fine one: Battle-axe, steel saber, and the knotted rattan cane—the Monkey King with one cudgel dared to meet them. The demons who expel Cold and Heat and Dust knew the name of the Great Sage Equal to Heaven. The cudgel rose, making gods and ghosts afraid; the axe came, the saber hacked, everything whirling in chaos. What a sight—the true emptiness form, wondrous and law-bearing, holding off the three demons' counterfeit Buddha forms! Those three thieves of oil, who moistened their noses with it, this year had met their doom, and were bound to seize the monk of the imperial envoy. One braved the distant mountain road for his master's sake; the others, for their mouths, had set up the lamp offerings year after year. With a clatter, only the clash of saber and axe was heard; with a crack, only the thud of the cudgel resounded. Charging and colliding, three closed on one; parrying and blocking, each displayed his skill. They fought until the sky was about to darken, and no one knew which side had lost and which had won.
With his single cudgel, Sun the Pilgrim fought the three demons for more than a hundred and fifty rounds; the sky was growing dark, and victory and defeat were still undecided. Then the King Who Expels Dust dodged aside with his knotted rattan cane, sprang to the front of the array, and waved his banner. The mob of ox-headed monsters surged forward, surrounded the Pilgrim in the very center of the field, and, whirling their weapons, struck wildly at him. Seeing that things were going badly, the Pilgrim spread his somersault cloud with a whoosh and fled from the field. The demons did not pursue him. They called back their host, prepared some evening fare, and all ate. They also had a little demon take a bowl of it to Tang Sanzang, meaning only to prepare the main dish after they had captured Sun the Pilgrim and the others. As for the master, what with his long fast on the one hand, and his grief and misery on the other, he wept and never dared touch a drop or a bite. No more of this.
Meanwhile the Pilgrim rode his cloud back to the Monastery of Compassionate Clouds and called out: "Younger brothers!" Bajie and the Sha Monk had been waiting and deliberating; hearing his call, they came out together to meet him: "Elder Brother, why have you been gone a whole day before returning? In truth, what has become of the master?"
The Pilgrim laughed: "Last night I followed the wind in pursuit, and at daybreak reached a mountain, but saw nothing. Happily the Duty Officers of the Four Seasons brought me word that the mountain is called the Green Dragon Mountain, and within it is a cave called the Cave of Dark Splendor. In the cave are three demons, named the King Who Expels Cold, the King Who Expels Heat, and the King Who Expels Dust. It turns out that for years they have been stealing oil here, disguised as Buddha images, tricking the officials and people of the Prefecture of Jinping. This year they met us, and knowing no better, went so far as to carry off the master too. Old Sun got to the bottom of the matter, and bade the Duty Officers and the rest protect the master in secret, while I went up to the very door and called abuse. The three monsters all came out, each shaped like an ox-headed ghost. The eldest wielded a battle-axe, the second a great saber, the third a rattan cane, and behind them trailed a whole den of ox-headed monsters, waving flags and beating drums. They fought old Sun for a whole day, and it was a draw. Then the demon kings waved their banners, and all the little demons came at me; I saw that it was growing late and feared I could not win, and so I somersaulted back here."
"Could it be," said Bajie, "that the ghost king of the City of Fengdu is making a racket?"
"How do you come to guess the ghost king of the City of Fengdu is making a racket?" asked the Sha Monk.
Bajie laughed: "Because you said the demons looked like ox-headed ghosts, that's how I know."
"No! No!" said the Pilgrim. "Judging by what old Sun saw of those monsters, they are three rhinoceros spirits."
"If they're rhinoceroses," said Bajie, "let's capture them and saw off their horns—they'd be worth quite a few taels of silver!"
While they were speaking, the monks asked: "Master Sun, would you care for some evening fare?" "A bite or two would not come amiss," said the Pilgrim, "but I could just as well do without." "After fighting a whole day, how could you not be hungry?" asked the monks.
The Pilgrim laughed: "What is a day or two, to make old Sun hungry! Old Sun once went five hundred years without eating or drinking!" The monks did not know this was the plain truth and took it for a jest. Presently the food was brought, and the Pilgrim ate some too, and said: "Let us tidy up and go to sleep. Tomorrow we will all go and give battle, and once we have captured the demon kings we may hope to rescue the master."
The Sha Monk put in: "Elder Brother, what kind of talk is that! As the saying goes, 'Delay breeds wisdom.' What if the demon, not sleeping tonight, should harm the master—what then? Better we go right now and raise such a clamor that he is taken off his guard; that is the only way to save the master. If we tarry a little longer, something may well be lost."
Hearing this, Bajie roused his divine might: "Brother Sha is right! Let us all go right now, by this moonlight, to subdue the demons!" The Pilgrim followed their advice and at once gave his orders to the monks of the monastery: "Guard the luggage and the horse. When we have captured the demons and brought them to the prefect of this prefecture as proof of their false Buddhas, the lamp oil levy will be abolished, and the poor folk of the whole county relieved of their burden—would that not be a good thing?" The monks accepted the orders and thanked him again and again.
The three of them then spread auspicious clouds and left the city. This was truly:
The Zen nature, lax and unbounded, falls into confusion; When disaster and danger are fated, the mind of the Way is darkened.
After all, who knows how the fortunes of this venture will turn out? Listen to the explanation in the next chapter.