The story tells how Tang Sanzang, full of gloom and anxiety, followed the king to the rear palace, where he heard drums and music resounding to the heavens and a strange fragrance assailing his nostrils. He kept his head bowed and dared not look up. The Pilgrim, secretly delighted, perched on top of the elder's vairochana cap, mustering his divine light and opening his fiery eyes and golden pupils to look. He saw the two ranks of painted maids arrayed there like fairy maidens in the palace of the Queen Mother of the West, surpassing even the spring breeze behind embroidered curtains. Truly they were:
Graceful and slender, delicate and lissom, With bodies of jade and flesh of ice. In pairs they shamed the beauties of Chu; Two by two they outshone the lady Xi Shi. Their cloud-knotted locks rose high, pinned with flying colored phoenixes; Their mothlike brows were faintly traced, like distant hills low in the west. Flutes and strings played in mingled chorus, Pipes and drums sounded without pause. The five notes gong, shang, jue, zhi, yu Rose and fell, high and low, in perfect accord. Fresh songs and exquisite dances were ever a joy to behold; Brocade heaped and flowers massed, every hue a delight.
When the Pilgrim saw that his master was not moved in the least, he smacked his lips in private praise: "A fine monk! A fine monk! Living amid silk and splendor, his heart knows no desire; treading on jasper and jade, his mind is not led astray."
Before long, the queens and imperial concubines came crowding round the princess out of the Zhique Palace and advanced together to welcome the king, all crying: "Ten thousand years to Your Majesty! Ten thousand, ten thousand years!" This so flustered the elder that he trembled and did not know what to do. But the Pilgrim knew the truth of it already. He saw a wisp of demonic vapor faintly showing above the princess's head, though it was not very fierce. He hurriedly crept close to the elder's ear and called: "Master, this princess is a fake."
"If she is a fake," said the elder, "how can you make her show her true form?"
"I shall bring out my dharma body and seize her on the spot," said the Pilgrim.
"No, no!" said the elder. "I am afraid it would startle His Majesty. Wait until the king and the consorts have withdrawn, and then use your magic powers."
But the Pilgrim was impatient by nature and would not wait a moment. He gave a great shout, resumed his own form, sprang forward, seized the princess, and cursed: "Wicked beast! Here you are, making the false pass for the true, and after enjoying yourself like this, which should have been more than enough, you are still not satisfied—you want to deceive my master as well, to break his true yang and gratify your lewd desires!" The king stood as if struck dumb, the queens and consorts fell over each other in their scrambling flight, and not one of the palace maids or painted girls did anything but scurry into hiding, each bent on saving her own life.
It was as if:
The spring breeze blew, gently, gently; The autumn air came, sighing, sighing. The spring breeze passing over the gardens set a thousand flowers swaying; The autumn air sweeping through the paths sent ten thousand leaves drifting. The peonies were snapped off, tilting beneath the balustrades; The mallow roses were blown askew, lying by the rails. By the ponds and banks the hibiscus was tossed in confusion; On the terrace steps the chrysanthemum petals lay heaped. The crabapple, strengthless, sank into the dust; The rose, all fragrance, slept by the wild lane. The spring breeze snapped the lotus leaves, And winter snow weighed down the tender plum buds.
Pomegranate petals Lay scattered east and west through the inner courts; Willow branches along the banks Hung slanting south and north across the imperial palace. One wild night of wind and rain for the fair flowers— Countless fallen petals broidered the ground like a carpet of silk.
Sanzang was now beside himself with fright. Trembling, he clung to the king, crying: "Do not be afraid, Your Majesty, do not be afraid! This is only my unruly disciple using his magic powers to tell the true from the false."
When the demon realized that things had gone wrong, she wrenched herself free, stripped off her outer garments, shook her head to knock loose her hairpins and ornaments, and ran straight into the little temple of the local deity in the imperial garden. There she took out a short cudgel shaped like a pestle, whirled round, and came at the Pilgrim in a fury. The Pilgrim followed close behind and met her head-on with his iron cudgel. Shouting and bawling, the two of them fought in the garden, and then, each displaying his great magic powers, they mounted their clouds and carried the battle into the air.
This battle: the gold-banded iron cudgel had its fame, but the pestle-shaped short staff no one knew. One had come to this region for the sake of the true scriptures; the other had come to dwell here for love of the strange flowers. The demon had long known of the holy monk of Tang and wanted to match with him to take his primal essence. In earlier years she had carried off the true princess and taken her form, cherishing the mortal body. Now she met the Great Sage, who saw through her demonic vapor and, to rescue the living and distinguish the false from the true, fought. The short staff struck fiercely, aiming at the head; the iron cudgel showed its might, meeting her face to face. Noisy and clamorous, the two held each other fast, their clouds filling the sky and hiding the sun.
The two of them fought and waged their battle in midair, frightening the common people of the whole city out of their wits and making every official at court tremble with fear. The elder supported the king and kept calling: "Be not alarmed! Pray tell the ladies and everyone else not to be afraid. Your princess is a false one wearing a true form. Wait until my disciple has caught her, and then you will know good from bad."
Among the imperial consorts there were some bold enough to pick up the clothes and jewelry the demon had cast off and show them to the queen, saying: "These are what the princess wore and put on. Now she has thrown them all away, and, stark naked, is fighting the monk up in the sky—she must certainly be a demon." Only then did the king, the queens, and the consorts begin to compose themselves, and they all looked up into the sky—but of that no more.
The demon and the Great Sage fought for half a day without either prevailing. The Pilgrim tossed up his cudgel, cried "Change!", and made one into ten, ten into a hundred, a hundred into a thousand. High in the sky they writhed like serpents and coiled like pythons, battering the demon without let. Flustered, the demon dodged aside, turned into a puff of clear wind, and fled straight up into the blue void. The Pilgrim recited a spell, gathered his iron cudgel back into one, and shot off in pursuit on his auspicious light.
As he neared the West Gate of Heaven, he saw banners gleaming and blazing there. The Pilgrim shouted at the top of his voice: "You guards of the Heavenly Gate, block that demon! Don't let her get away!"
And sure enough, on the gate the Protector of the Nation Heavenly King stood commanding the four great marshals Pang, Liu, Gou, and Bi, who all spread their weapons to bar the way. The demon could advance no further, so she turned sharply back and, heedless of death, fought the Pilgrim again with her short staff.
The Great Sage wielded his iron cudgel with all his might, and looking carefully as he met her, saw that the short staff was thick at one end and thin at the other, shaped just like the pestle of a springtime hulling mortar. He gave a thunderous shout: "Wicked beast! What weapon is that you hold, that you dare stand against Old Sun? Surrender at once, or this one blow of mine will shatter your skull!"
The demon ground her teeth and said: "You know nothing of my weapon! Hear me tell of it:
A root of immortal stock, a length of white mutton-fat jade, Worn and carved into form through years past all counting. When Chaos was parted I already had it; When the primal mist was divided, mine was the first. Its source is no thing of the mortal world; Its nature was born of itself in Heaven above. One body of golden light matches the Four Images; The auspicious breath of the Five Elements joins the Three Powers. It has dwelt with me long within the Toad Palace, And kept me company by the cassia halls. For love of flowers I came down to the mortal world, And so to Tianzhu I came, a counterfeit beauty. To make merry with you I had no other thought Than to wed the monk of Tang and end a bond from a former life. How can you, with evil heart, break a happy match And press the fight in savagery, courting death? This weapon of mine is of no small name, And it comes before your gold-banded cudgel: In the Palace of Broad Cold it is the pestle that pounds the medicine— One stroke of it, and a man's life goes down to the springs!"
At this the Pilgrim laughed a cold, mocking laugh: "Wicked beast! If you have lived in the Toad Palace all along, how is it you do not know Old Sun's powers? And still you dare to brazen it out here? Show your true form and surrender at once, and I will spare your life!"
The demon said: "I know you—you are the Protector of the Horses who made that great disturbance in Heaven five hundred years ago. By rights I should yield to you. But to break up a man's marriage is a grudge like the murder of a parent, and so in all conscience I cannot give way. I mean to beat you, you Heaven-defying Protector of the Horses!"
Those words "Protector of the Horses" enraged the Great Sage. When he heard them, fury rose in his heart, and he raised his iron cudgel and struck at her face. The demon whirled her pestle to meet him, and there before the West Gate of Heaven they fought with all their might. This battle: the gold-banded cudgel, the medicine-pounding pestle—two immortal weapons truly matched. One had come down to the world to make a marriage; the other was here protecting the monk of Tang. It was all because the king had no sense of propriety, and his love of flowers had delighted the demon. And so today they fought in bitter hatred, both sides stirring up their stubborn hearts. They charged and clashed, wagering for victory, bandying taunts and curses as they wrangled. The pestle's prowess was rarely seen on earth, but the iron cudgel's godlike might was finer still. Golden light glimmered, dazzling the Heavenly Gate; colored mists shone, reaching down to the earth. Back and forth they fought a dozen bouts, until the demon, her strength failing, could hardly hold her ground.
After the demon had fought the Pilgrim another dozen or so bouts, she saw how tightly his cudgel was closing in and knew she could not win. She flung her pestle in a feint, shook her body, and in a blaze of ten thousand rays of golden light fled in defeat due south. The Great Sage pursued her, and presently came to a great mountain. The demon landed her golden light, slipped into a mountain cave, and vanished without a trace. Fearing she might make her way back to the kingdom by another road and secretly harm Tang Sanzang, he marked the shape of the mountain, turned his cloud around, and went straight back to the kingdom. By then it was the hour of the Monkey.
The king was still clinging to Sanzang, trembling, and crying: "Holy monk, save me!" The queens and consorts were still in their panic, when they saw the Great Sage drop down out of the clouds and call: "Master, here I am!"
"Wukong, stand still and do not startle His Majesty," said Sanzang. "Let me ask you: what, in the end, is this business of the false princess?"
Standing outside the Zhique Palace with his hands clasped before his chest, the Pilgrim said: "The false princess is a demon. First I fought her for half a day, and when she could not prevail against me, she turned into a puff of clear wind and made straight for the Heavenly Gate. It was I who shouted to the heavenly hosts to block her. When she showed her own form again, she fought me for another dozen bouts, and then turned her body into a beam of golden light and fled in defeat to a mountain due south. I chased her there at once, but could find no trace of her. Fearing she might come back here to harm you, I turned around and came back specially."
When the king heard this, he tugged at Tang Sanzang and asked: "Since the false princess is a demon, where is my true princess?"
The Pilgrim answered promptly: "Wait until I have caught the false princess, and your true princess will come of herself." When the queens and consorts heard this, their fears were all dispelled, and they came forward one after another to bow and plead: "We beg the holy monks to rescue our true princess and separate the dark from the light—we shall surely reward you heavily."
"This is no place for us to talk," said the Pilgrim. "I beg Your Majesty to leave the palace with my master and go up into the hall. Let the ladies each return to their own apartments. Summon my younger brothers Bajie and the Sha Monk to come and protect my master, and then I can go and subdue the demon. In this way, first, the inner and the outer will be kept apart, and second, I shall be free of anxiety. I shall make all clear and show the worth of my labors."
The king followed his advice, thanking him without cease, and walked out of the palace hand in hand with Tang Sanzang, straight to the great hall, while the queens and consorts each returned to their own quarters.
On the one hand the king ordered vegetarian fare prepared, and on the other he summoned Bajie and the Sha Monk. In a moment the two had arrived. The Pilgrim told them everything that had gone before and charged them to guard their master with all their hearts. Then the Great Sage mounted his somersault cloud and flew away into the sky, while all the officials before the hall bowed toward the sky in worship—but of that no more.
The Great Sage went straight to the mountain in the due south to search. Now, when the demon had been defeated, she had come to this mountain and slipped into her lair, blocking the door with stones, hiding in fear and not daring to come out. The Pilgrim searched for a while and saw no sign of movement. In great irritation he made the magic sign, recited the true spell, and summoned the local deity and the mountain god of that mountain for questioning.
Before long the two gods arrived and kowtowed: "We did not know, we did not know! Had we known, we should have come out to greet you from afar. We beseech you, forgive our offense!"
"I won't beat you for now," said the Pilgrim. "I'll ask you: what is the name of this mountain? How many demons are there here? Tell me the truth, and I'll pardon your offense."
The two gods reported: "Great Sage, this mountain is called Mount Maoying. In the mountain there are only three rabbit burrows. Since ancient times down to today there have been no demons here at all—it is a blessed land of the Five Links. If the Great Sage wants to find demons, there are plenty along the road to the Western Heaven."
The Pilgrim said: "Old Sun has reached the Kingdom of Tianzhu in the Western Heaven. The king there had a princess who was carried off by a demon and flung into the wilderness. The demon then took the princess's form, made a fool of the king, set up a bower of colored silks, and threw a silk ball, hoping to take a prince consort. As I was escorting the monk of Tang beneath her tower, she deliberately struck the monk of Tang with the ball, meaning to make him her husband and lure away his primal yang. I saw through the plot, appeared in the palace, and went to seize her. She then threw off her human clothes and ornaments, took out a short staff called the medicine-pounding pestle, fought me for half a day, and then turned into a clear wind and fled. Old Sun chased her to the West Gate of Heaven, where we fought another dozen bouts. Knowing she could not win, she changed again into a beam of golden light and fled here—how can she not be found?"
Hearing this, the two gods led the Pilgrim to search the three burrows. When they came first to the burrow at the foot of the mountain and looked, they saw a few wild rabbits there, which fled in fright. When they searched the burrow at the very summit, they saw two great boulders blocking the mouth of the cave.
"This is certainly where the demon slipped in in a hurry," said the local deity. The Pilgrim at once prized the boulders apart with his iron cudgel, and sure enough the demon was hiding inside. With a whoosh she leapt out and raised her medicine pestle to strike. The Pilgrim whirled his iron cudgel to block her, so frightening the mountain god that he reeled backward and the local deity that he fled in panic. The demon, muttering and grumbling, cursed the mountain god and the local deity: "Who told you to bring him here to look for me?"
Gritting her teeth, she held her pestle against the iron cudgel, fighting and retreating, until the fight drifted up into the air. Just as she was in dire straits, it had grown late in the day.
The Pilgrim, more savage still, struck with deadly intent, longing to kill her with one blow, when suddenly from amid the highest heavens someone called: "Great Sage, stay your hand! Stay your hand! Show mercy beneath your cudgel!"
The Pilgrim turned to look, and it was the Star Lady of the Moon herself, followed by the fairy maidens of Chang'e, descending on colored clouds to his very front.
In a flurry the Pilgrim put away his iron cudgel, bowed, and said: "Old Star Lady, where do you come from? Old Sun failed to keep out of your way."
"This demon you have been fighting," said the Star Lady of the Moon, "is the jade rabbit of my Palace of Broad Cold, the one who pounds the immortal elixir of Dark Frost. She secretly broke the jade locks and golden bolts and stole out of the palace, and a whole year has passed since. I have calculated that at present she is fated to meet a fatal disaster, and so I have come especially to save her life. I beg the Great Sage, for my sake, to spare her."
The Pilgrim assented with repeated bows, saying: "I dare not do otherwise! No wonder she can wield the medicine-pounding pestle—so she is a jade rabbit after all! But the old Star Lady does not know: she carried off the daughter of the King of Tianzhu and hid her away, and then put on the true form, meaning to break the primal yang of my holy master. Is there no crime in that? How can we lightly forgive her?"
"You do not know either," said the Star Lady of the Moon. "The king's princess is no ordinary mortal either—she was originally Su'e of the Toad Palace. Eighteen years ago, she once struck the jade rabbit a blow with her hand, and then she conceived a longing for the mortal world and came down to earth. A single beam of her spirit entered the womb of the principal queen of the king, and she was born at the proper time. The jade rabbit, nursing the grudge of that blow, therefore left the Palace of Broad Cold last year and flung Su'e out into the wilderness. But she should not have thought of wedding the monk of Tang—that is a crime indeed that cannot be forgiven. Fortunately you kept your wits about you and saw through the true and the false, and your master came to no harm. I beg you, for my sake, to forgive her fault. I shall take her back with me."
The Pilgrim laughed: "Since there is this chain of cause and effect, Old Sun dares not disobey. But if you take the jade rabbit away, I fear the king will not believe it. Might I trouble the Star Lady, together with all the fairy maidens, to bring the jade rabbit to that place and prove it clearly before the king—first, to show Old Sun's skill, and second, to explain the causes of Su'e's descent to earth? Then the king may bring back the body of the princess Su'e, to show the meaning of this manifest retribution."
The Star Lady of the Moon took his words to heart. Pointing at the demon with her hand, she cried: "Wicked beast, will you not yet return to the right and come with me!" The jade rabbit rolled over and resumed her true form. Truly:
A split lip, sharp teeth, Long ears, sparse whiskers. Her body curled in a ball, fur white as jade; Her legs stretched out, her feet flew over a thousand hills. A straight nose with a dewy tip, truly outdoing frost's white powder; Eyes twin crimson pools, as if rouge were dotted upon snow. Crouched on the ground, a pile of white silk; Stretching her back, a frame of silver thread. Many a time she sipped the clear dew till the jade sky dawned— The wondrous jade pestle that pounds the medicine of long life.
The Great Sage was delighted at the sight. Treading his cloud of light, he led the way, while the Star Lady of the Moon, guiding the fairy maidens of Chang'e and carrying the jade rabbit, went straight back to the borders of the Kingdom of Tianzhu. By this time dusk had fallen and the moon was just rising. As they drew near the city wall, they heard the drums on the watchtower rolling. The king and Tang Sanzang were still in the great hall, and Bajie, the Sha Monk, and all the officials were before the steps, just discussing the ending of court, when they saw a great patch of colored cloud due south, bright as daylight.
As everyone looked up, they heard the Great Sage Sun shouting at the top of his voice: "Majesty of Tianzhu, pray bring out your queen and imperial consorts to look! Beneath this jeweled canopy is the Star Lady of the Moon of the moon palace, and the fairy sisters on either side are the Chang'e of the moon. This jade rabbit here is your false princess, now showing her true form!"
The king hurriedly summoned the queen, the consorts, the palace maids, and the painted girls, and they all bowed in worship toward Heaven, while he, Tang Sanzang, and all the officials also bowed and gave thanks toward the sky. In the whole city there was not one household that did not set out incense tables and knock their heads in worship, calling on Buddha.
While everyone was watching, Zhu Bajie was stirred by lewd desire and could not contain himself. He leapt up into the air, threw his arms around the Fairy of Rainbow Robes, and said: "Sister, you and I are old acquaintances. Come, let you and me go and have some fun!"
The Pilgrim came up, seized Bajie, gave him two slaps, and cursed: "You boorish blockhead! What place do you think this is, that you dare stir up your lewd heart!"
"I was only passing the time with a bit of small talk!" said Bajie.
The Star Lady of the Moon ordered the fairy canopy turned about, and with the Chang'e maidens took back the jade rabbit and went straight up to the moon palace. The Pilgrim dragged Bajie down into the dust.
Then the king, on the dais, thanked the Pilgrim and asked further about the cause: "Much obliged to the divine monk for his great magic in seizing the false princess. But where is my true princess?"
"That true princess of yours is no mortal child either," said the Pilgrim. "She is Su'e, the fairy of the moon palace. Because eighteen years ago she struck the jade rabbit a blow with her hand, she conceived a longing for the mortal world and came down, entering the womb of your principal queen and being born into this world. The jade rabbit, nursing the old grudge, therefore stole out through the jade locks and golden bolts last year, carried off Su'e, and flung her into the wilderness, while it changed its form to deceive you. This whole chain of cause and effect was told me by the Star Lady of the Moon in her own person. Now that the false one is gone, tomorrow let the imperial carriage go and seek the true one."
When the king heard this, his heart sank with shame and sorrow, and he could not hold back the tears streaming down his cheeks: "My child! I have sat on the throne since I was a boy and have never once gone outside the city gate—where am I to go to look for you?"
The Pilgrim laughed: "No need for worry. Your princess is at this moment feigning madness in the Monastery of the Elder of the Orphans Who Spread the Gold. Let everyone disperse for now, and by daybreak I shall give you back your true princess."
All the officials prostrated themselves and memorialized: "Let Your Majesty's mind be at ease. These divine monks are gods and Buddhas who ride the clouds and mists; they must know the causes of past and future. Tomorrow we need only ask the four divine monks to go in search together, and we shall know the whole matter."
The king followed their advice, and invited them to the Pavilion of Lingering Spring, where a vegetarian banquet was laid and they rested for the night. It was now close to the second watch, and truly:
The copper clepsydra drips, the moonlight is bright; The golden bells tinkle, borne on the wind. The cuckoo cries, for spring is half gone; Falling petals mark the road to the third watch. In the imperial garden the swing's shadow lies lonely; The azure void hangs empty, the Silver River stretched across. The three markets and six streets have no passers-by; All night long the stars shine clear.
That night each went to his rest. The king, his demonic vapor dispelled, suddenly regained his spirit, and at the third drum of the fifth watch he came out again to hold court.
When the audience was over, he ordered that the four monks of Tang be summoned to discuss the search for the princess. The elder came in attendance and performed the ritual of reverence toward the throne, while the Great Sage and his two companions gave a salutation together.
Rising in his seat, the king said: "The matter of my daughter the princess spoken of yesterday—might I trouble the divine monks to search her out and rescue her?"
The elder said: "Your poor monk came from the east the day before yesterday and, as the day was drawing to a close, saw a Monastery of the Elder of the Orphans Who Spread the Gold and went in especially to beg lodging, and was fortunate in the welcome of the monks there. That night, after the vegetarian meal, I was strolling idly in the moonlight, and walked to the old garden of the Elder of the Orphans Who Spread the Gold to look at the foundations, when suddenly a sound of weeping came to my ears. When I asked the cause, an old monk of that monastery, more than a hundred years of age, dismissed everyone about him and told me the whole matter in detail, saying: 'The weeping comes, at the height of last spring, when I was sitting in the moonlight in my own illumination, and suddenly a gust of wind arose, and with it the sound of bitter lament. When I got up and went to the site of the old garden to look, there was a young woman. When I asked her the reason, she said: "I am the daughter of the King of the Kingdom of Tianzhu. Because I was enjoying the moon and the flowers by night, the wind carried me to this place."' That old monk, well versed in human propriety, locked the princess in a quiet, out-of-the-way room, and for fear that the unruly monks of his monastery would defile her, told everyone only that a demon had been locked up by him. The princess understood his meaning: by day she talked nonsense and begged a little tea and rice; and deep in the night, where no one was about, she wept for her parents in longing. The old monk also came several times to the capital to make inquiries, and seeing the princess safe in the palace, dared not speak of it in a memorial. Then, because he saw that my disciples had some magic powers, that old monk charged me over and over to come here and make inquiry. Who would have thought that she was originally the jade rabbit of the Toad Palace turned demon, putting on the true form and changing into the shape of the princess—and that she even had a mind to break my primal yang! Thanks to my disciples' show of might and magic, the true was told from the false, and now she has been taken away by the Star Lady of the Moon. The worthy princess is at this moment feigning madness in the Monastery of the Elder of the Orphans Who Spread the Gold."
When the king heard such a detailed account, he burst into loud weeping.
His cries soon roused the Three Palaces and Six Courts, and they all came to ask the cause. There was not one who did not weep bitterly. After a long while, the king asked again: "How far is the Monastery of the Elder of the Orphans from the city?"
"It is only sixty li," said Sanzang.
The king then issued his decree: "Let the Eastern and Western Palaces guard the palace, and the Grand Preceptor in charge of state affairs protect the kingdom. I myself, with the principal queen, leading all the officials and the four divine monks, shall go to the monastery to fetch the princess."
Then the imperial carriage was prepared and the whole company set out from court. And just see the Pilgrim: he leapt into the air, gave his waist a twist, and was at the monastery before anyone else.
The monks all knelt in haste to receive him: "When you left, sir, you were walking with the rest—how is it that today you come down from the sky?"
The Pilgrim laughed: "Where is your old abbot? Quickly call him out and set up an incense table to receive the imperial carriage. The King of Tianzhu, the queen, all the officials, and my master are coming." The monks did not understand what he meant, but they at once brought out the old monk. When the old monk saw the Pilgrim, he prostrated himself and bowed: "Sir, how goes the matter of the princess?"
The Pilgrim told him everything in full: how the false princess had thrown the silk ball meaning to wed the monk of Tang, how he had pursued and fought her, and how the Star Lady of the Moon had taken away the jade rabbit.
The old monk again knocked his head and bowed in thanks. The Pilgrim raised him up, saying: "Do not bow yet, do not bow yet! Quickly make ready to receive the imperial carriage."
Only then did the monks realize that what was locked in the rear room was a young woman. Filled with mingled surprise and joy, they set out incense tables before the monastery gate, put on their cassocks, struck up the bells and drums, and waited. Before long the imperial carriage arrived. Truly:
Colored auspicious clouds in profusion, fragrance filling the sky, A lone wild mountain suddenly bathed in grace. Rainbows streamed for a thousand years, cleansing rivers and seas; Lightning curled about eternal spring, outshining Yu and Tang. The grass and trees, touched by favor, put on fresh beauty; The wild flowers, moistened, gave out yet more fragrance. Of old the elder left his traces here; Today, how glad, a wise king comes down to the jeweled hall.
When the king reached the monastery gate, he saw the monks all standing neatly in rows, prostrating themselves in welcome, and there in their midst stood Sun the Pilgrim. The king said: "Divine monk, how is it you arrived here first?"
The Pilgrim laughed: "Old Sun just gave his waist a little twist, and there he was. How is it you all took half a day to make the journey?" Then Tang Sanzang and the rest arrived.
The elder led the imperial carriage round to the room at the back, where the princess was still feigning madness and talking wildly. The old monk knelt and pointed: "Inside this room is the princess who was blown here by the wind last year."
The king ordered the door opened at once. The iron lock was smashed and the door swung open. When the king and the queen saw the princess, they recognized her features. Caring nothing for her filth and squalor, they rushed forward and clasped her in their arms: "Our child, who has suffered so! How did you come to endure such torment and suffer here!"
Truly, the meeting of parent and child is different from any other—the three of them held each other and wept aloud. After they had wept a while and finished telling all the griefs of their separation, the king ordered fragrant hot water brought, and bade the princess bathe, change her clothes, and mount the carriage to return to the kingdom.
The Pilgrim then saluted the king with folded hands: "Old Sun has one more matter to lay before you."
The king returned the courtesy: "If the divine monk has anything to command, I shall obey at once."
"This mountain here is called Hundred-Legs Mountain," said the Pilgrim. "Of late it is said that centipedes have turned demon, harming people by night, and travelers coming and going find it very inconvenient. I think centipedes can only be subdued by chickens. Select a thousand huge cocks, turn them loose in the mountain, and rid it of these poisonous insects. And you might also change the name of the mountain, and grant a written decree of royal appointment—that may serve as thanks to these monks for sheltering and keeping the princess."
The king was greatly pleased and accepted the suggestion. He at once sent officers into the city to fetch chickens; and he changed the mountain's name to Precious Flower Mountain, ordered the Board of Works to supply materials for its rebuilding, and bestowed a title upon it, calling it "The Monastery of the Elder of the Orphans Who Spread the Gold on Precious Flower Mountain, Founded by Imperial Decree." The old monk was enfeoffed as "Monk-Official Who Serves the Realm," hereditary forever, with a salary of thirty-six bushels of grain. The monks thanked the king for his grace, and escorted the carriage back to court. The princess entered the palace and was reunited with all; a banquet was laid to cheer her and congratulate her. The consorts and the mother and child were together again in a happy circle, and the king and his ministers rejoiced and feasted the whole night through—but of that no more.
The next morning, the king issued a decree summoning painters to draw the happy likenesses of the four holy monks, to be enshrined on the Tower of All Realms. He also asked that the princess, in fresh array, come out of the palace and thank the four monks of Tang for the grace of their deliverance. When the thanks were done, Tang Sanzang took his leave of the king to go west. But the king would by no means let him go. He laid on a great feast, and for five or six days running the blockhead Bajie had the best of it, opening his belly wide and enjoying himself to the full.
Seeing that their hearts were set on worshiping the Buddha and that no urging could keep them, the king took out two hundred ingots of gold and silver and a platter each of precious things as a thank-offering, but master and disciples would not accept a single jot. He ordered the imperial carriage prepared and invited the reverend master to mount it, and dispatched officers to escort him far along the way, while the consorts, the ministers, and the people all knocked their heads in thanks without end. When they came to the road ahead, they saw the monks of the monastery kneeling to see them off, none of them able to bear the parting.
Seeing that those who had come to see them off would not turn back, the Pilgrim had no choice but to make the magic sign, blow a breath of immortal air toward the quarter of Xun, and raise a dark wind that blinded the eyes of all who had come to send them off—and only then could they escape and go on their way. This is truly:
Washed clean in the waves of grace, they return to their true natures; Escaping the sea of gold, they awaken to the true Void.
If you do not know what lay ahead on the road, listen to the explanation in the next chapter.