Chapter 15

On Snake-Coil Mountain the Gods Shield Him in Secret; at Eagle-Sorrow Ravine the Horse of the Mind Is Reined In

Now Pilgrim attended the Tang monk westward, and they had gone some days: it was the cold of the twelfth month, the north wind bitter, the frost slick and glazing. The way ran over hanging cliffs and sheer faces, a rough road, folded ridges and stacked crags, mountains steep and grim. From the saddle Tripitaka heard afar a clashing roar of water in his ears, and turned his head: “Wukong, where is that water sounding?” Pilgrim said: “I remember this place is called Eagle-Sorrow Ravine of Snake-Coil Mountain; doubtless it is the ravine water sounding.” He had scarcely spoken when the horse reached the ravine's edge, and Tripitaka reined in and looked. Behold:

A cold spring threads through, piercing the clouds; clear waves, glassy, mirror the red sun.Its sound shakes the night rain, heard in the hidden valley; its colors breathe the dawn clouds, dazzling the open sky.From a thousand fathoms the spray flies, shattering jade; one pool of water roars against the clear wind.It flows away to the misty waters, ten thousand acres wide; gull and heron forget each other, and no angler comes.

Master and disciple stood gazing when from the middle of the ravine came a crash, and a dragon bored up out of it, heaving wave and rolling billow, shot from the cliff and made straight at the elder. In his fright Pilgrim dropped the baggage, lifted his master from the horse, and turned and ran. The dragon could not catch them, but swallowed the white horse, saddle and bridle and all, in one gulp, and sank into the water and hid. Pilgrim set his master on a high knoll, then came to lead the horse and shoulder the load: there was only the one load of baggage, and the horse was gone. He carried the load to his master's feet: “Master, that wicked dragon too has vanished without a trace—it has only frightened off my horse.” Tripitaka said: “Disciple, how then shall we ever find the horse?” Pilgrim said: “Be at ease, be at ease; let me go and look.”

He gave a whistle and leapt into the air, and with his fiery eyes and golden pupils, shading them with his hand, he looked all about—but nowhere was any trace of the horse. He pressed down the cloud and reported: “Master, our horse is certainly eaten by that dragon; look where you will, it is not to be seen.” Tripitaka said: “Disciple, how big a mouth can the creature have, to swallow that great horse, saddle and bridle and all? I suppose it was startled, slipped its rein, and ran into some hollow of the hills. Look again, and carefully.” Pilgrim said: “You do not know my powers. This pair of eyes of mine can see a thousand li of road by daylight, its luck and its ruin. Within a thousand li I can see a dragonfly spreading its wings—and you think I could miss a great horse?” Tripitaka said: “If he has eaten it, how am I to go forward? Alas—over these thousand mountains and ten thousand waters, how shall I travel?” As he spoke the tears fell like rain. When Pilgrim saw him begin to cry he could no longer hold his temper, and shouted: “Master, do not be such a milksop! Sit you down, sit you down; let old Sun go find the fellow and make him give back my horse.” Tripitaka caught hold of him: “Disciple, where would you look for him? I fear he may dart out in the dark and destroy me too; then man and horse would both be lost—what then?” Hearing this, Pilgrim grew angrier still, and shouted like thunder: “You are no good at all, no good at all! You want the horse to ride, yet you will not let me go. Sit here and watch the baggage till you are old!”

He was still bawling, his anger not yet cooled, when a voice came from the air: “Great Sage Sun, be not wroth; royal brother of the Tang, weep no more. We are a company of gods sent by the Bodhisattva Guanyin, come in secret to guard the seeker of the scriptures.” The elder heard and made haste to worship. Pilgrim said: “Which of you are there? Report your names, that I may take the roll.” The gods said: “We are the Six Dings and Six Jias, the Revealers of the Five Quarters, the Officers of the Four Watches, and the eighteen Sangharama Guardians of the Faith, taking turns on duty, awaiting orders.” Pilgrim said: “Who begins today?” The Revealers said: “The Dings and Jias, the Officers, and the Guardians take their turns; we of the Five Quarters—only the Gold-Headed Revealer keeps to your side day and night.” Pilgrim said: “Then let those off duty withdraw; the six Ding generals, the Officer of the Day, and the Revealers shall stay and guard my master. Let old Sun go find the wicked dragon in the ravine and make him give back my horse.” The gods took the order. Tripitaka set his heart down, sat on the rock ledge, and bade Pilgrim be careful. Pilgrim said: “Set your mind at ease.” The good Monkey King tightened the wadded gown, tossed up the tiger-skin skirt, gripped the iron staff of the gold bands, braced his spirit, and came straight to the ravine, half cloud and half fog, and over the water cried aloud: “You brazen loach, give back my horse! Give back my horse!”

Now the dragon, having eaten Tripitaka's white horse, lay in the bottom of the ravine, nursing his spirit in secret, when he heard someone shouting and cursing and demanding his horse. He could not keep the fire down in his breast; he leapt up through wave and billow and sprang out: “Who dares stand here and swagger, to wrong me?” Pilgrim saw him and roared: “Do not run! Give back my horse!” and swung the staff at his head. The dragon bared fangs and raked claws to seize him. The two of them fought at the ravine's edge—a battle of true champions. Behold:

The dragon stretches his keen claws; the monkey lifts the gold bands. The one's whiskers hang like threads of white jade; the other's eyes flash like lamps of red gold. From beneath the one's whiskers the bright pearl sprays colored mist; in the other's hand the iron staff whirls up a wild wind. The one is the wicked son who broke his father's and mother's hearts; the other is the goblin who defied the generals of heaven. Both, for their sins, have met grinding and trial; now each would win his work and show his power.

They came and went and fought a long while, wheeled and circled; the dragon's strength went soft and his sinews slack; he could hold out no longer. He wheeled about, darted back into the water, lay deep in the bottom of the ravine, and never showed his head again. Though the Monkey King cursed without cease, he only made as if deaf.

Pilgrim, at his wits' end, had to go back to Tripitaka: “Master, old Sun cursed this monster out; he fought me a good while, then turned coward and ran, and hides in the water and will not come out again.” Tripitaka said: “Do we truly know it was he who ate my horse?” Pilgrim said: “Listen to you! If he had not eaten it, would he come out and take up the quarrel with old Sun?” Tripitaka said: “When you beat the tiger the other day you said you had the art of taming dragons and subduing tigers; why can you not tame this one today?” Now the monkey could not bear to be taunted. This one cut from Tripitaka stung him, and he flared into his full might: “Say no more, say no more! Let me have another round with him and settle it.”

The Monkey King stretched his stride, sprang to the ravine, and brought out his power to overturn rivers and churn seas, till the water of the steep ravine, clear to the bottom, churned like the swelling flood of the Yellow River of nine bends. The wicked dragon in the deep ravine could sit still no longer, and thought in his heart: “Truly blessings never come in pairs, and calamities never come alone. I had scarcely escaped the death-dealing law of heaven; not a year had passed of my living quietly here, and I run into such a brazen fiend coming to destroy me.” See him: the more he thought the angrier he grew; he could not stomach the wrong; he ground his teeth, sprang out, and cursed: “You brazen fiend, from where do you come, to wrong me so?” Pilgrim said: “Never mind where I come from. Give back the horse, and I will spare your life.” The dragon said: “Your horse is swallowed in my belly; how can I spit it up again? I do not give it back—what then?” Pilgrim said: “If you will not give back the horse, look to the staff: I will beat you dead, and that shall pay for my horse's life.” The two of them fought bitterly under the cliff again. Within a few rounds the young dragon truly could hold out no longer; with a shake of his body he turned into a water snake and slipped into the grass.

The Monkey King, staff in hand, ran up, parting the grass in search of the snake—but not a shadow could he find. He was so vexed that the three corpse-gods chattered in him and smoke rose from his seven apertures; he pronounced the charm-syllable OM and summoned the earth god of the place and the mountain god of the district, who came and knelt together: “The mountain god and the earth god wait upon you.” Pilgrim said: “Stick out your shins, and take five strokes each, to ease old Sun's mind.” The two gods kowtowed and begged: “Great Sage, be merciful, and let your humble gods speak.” Pilgrim said: “Say what you have to say.” The two gods said: “The Great Sage has been long in distress, and your humble gods did not know when you would come out; so we failed to receive you. We beg forgiveness.” Pilgrim said: “So be it; I will not beat you. I ask you: this dragon in Eagle-Sorrow Ravine—from what quarter does it come? How did it dare to seize and eat my master's white horse?” The two gods said: “The Great Sage never had a master before: you were a primordial true one who bowed to neither heaven nor earth—how should there have been any master's horse?” Pilgrim said: “You do not know the matter. It was for that business of defying those above me that I bore five hundred years of misery. Now, moved by the Bodhisattva Guanyin's exhortation, a true monk of the Tang has freed me and told me to be his disciple and go to the Western Heaven to bow before Buddha and fetch the scriptures. Passing this place, we lost my master's white horse.” The two gods said: “So that is how it is. This ravine has never harbored evil; only it is deep and steep and wide, and the water is clear to the bottom, so that crows and magpies dare not fly across: seeing their own shapes in the clear water, they take them for birds of their own flock and cast themselves headlong in—hence the name Steep Eagle-Sorrow Ravine. But some years ago the Bodhisattva Guanyin, going in search of the scripture-seeker, rescued a jade dragon and placed him here, charging him to wait for that man and to do no wickedness. He only comes ashore when hungry, to pounce on a few birds or catch roe deer for his food. How he came to be so witless today as to affront the Great Sage, we do not know.” Pilgrim said: “The first time he crossed hands with old Sun and they circled a few rounds; the second time old Sun cursed him and he would not come out. So I used my art of overturning rivers and churning seas and muddied his ravine water; then he darted up and would fight again. He did not know how heavy old Sun's staff is: he could not ward it, and turned into a water snake and slipped into the grass. I ran in search of him and found no trace.” The earth god said: “The Great Sage does not know: this ravine has ten thousand holes and channels running through it, and so its waters run deep and far. Doubtless there is a hole here too, and he has slipped down it. There is no need for the Great Sage to rage and search here. To take this creature you need only send for Guanyin; she will subdue him of herself.”

Pilgrim heard and called the mountain god and the earth god to come with him to Tripitaka, and told the whole story. Tripitaka said: “If we must send for the Bodhisattva, how long before you are back? How shall your poor monk bear hunger and cold?” He had scarcely spoken when the Gold-Headed Revealer called from the dim air: “Great Sage, you need not stir; your humble god will go beg the Bodhisattva to come.” Pilgrim rejoiced: “I am beholden, beholden! Go quickly, quickly!” The Revealer leapt to the clouds and made straight for the Southern Sea. Pilgrim charged the mountain god and the earth god to guard the master, sent the Officer of the Day to seek food, and himself went circling the ravine—no more of that.

The Gold-Headed Revealer rode his cloud and soon reached the Southern Sea. He lowered the auspicious light and went straight into the purple bamboo grove of Mount Potalaka, asked the gold-armored devas and Moksa Hui'an to announce him, and was admitted to the Bodhisattva. She said: “What do you come for?” The Revealer said: “The Tang monk has lost his horse at Steep Eagle-Sorrow Ravine on Snake-Coil Mountain, and Great Sage Sun is hard beset, unable to go on or back. He asked the earth god of the place, who said it was the wicked dragon the Bodhisattva placed in the ravine that swallowed it. The Great Sage has sent your humble god to entreat the Bodhisattva to subdue the wicked dragon and restore the horse.” The Bodhisattva heard and said: “This fellow is the son of Ao Run of the Western Sea. Because he set fire and burned the bright pearl in the hall, his father denounced him as unfilial, and he lay under sentence of death at the heavenly court. I went myself to the Jade Emperor and begged him down, to be a mount for the Tang monk. How has he come to eat the Tang monk's horse? If it is so, I will go myself.” The Bodhisattva left her lotus seat, went straight from her immortal grotto, and rode the auspicious light with the Revealer across the Southern Sea. There is a poem to prove it. The poem says:

The Buddha preached the sutras of the three treasuries, the raft to the far shore; the Bodhisattva exalts goodness the whole rampart's length.The wondrous words of Maha reach through heaven and earth; the true words of prajna rescue ghosts and spirits.Hence the golden cicada slips its shell a second time; hence Xuanzang cultivates himself once more.Only because the road was blocked at Eagle-Sorrow Ravine does the dragon prince return to truth and take a horse's form.

In a short while the Bodhisattva and the Revealer reached Snake-Coil Mountain and checked the auspicious cloud in mid-air; looking down they saw Pilgrim Sun at the ravine's edge, shouting curses. The Bodhisattva told the Revealer to call him. The Revealer lowered his cloud, passed by Tripitaka, and came straight to the ravine's edge, saying to Pilgrim: “The Bodhisattva is come.” Hearing it, Pilgrim leapt up to the clouds in haste and cried to her: “You who are teacher to seven Buddhas, merciful mistress of the teaching—how could you devise a scheme to injure me?” The Bodhisattva said: “You bold baboon, you clodpoll with the red tail! I took pains again and again to bring a scripture-seeker to birth, and charged him earnestly to save your life; and you, instead of coming to thank me for your life, come here to brawl with me?” Pilgrim said: “A fine thing you have made of me! If you freed me, you might have let me roam at ease and enjoy myself. The other day on the sea you met me and cut me with a few words, telling me only to serve the Tang monk with all my heart and strength—and why then did you give him a flowered cap to cozen me into wearing and suffer for? And let this fillet grow onto old Sun's head, and taught him some Tight-Fillet Spell, so that the old monk recites and recites, and my head aches and aches. If this is not your doing, what is it?” The Bodhisattva laughed: “You monkey, you would not keep the teaching nor accept right fruition; if you were not tethered so, you would defy heaven and those above you again, knowing no good from bad. If you broke out into mischief again as before, who would take you in hand? It needed this very fiend to bring you into the gateway of my yoga.” Pilgrim said: “Let it pass that she is my fiend. But why did you send that criminal wicked dragon here to become a spirit and eat my master's horse? That is letting a bad man loose to do evil—too bad a deed.” The Bodhisattva said: “That dragon I myself petitioned the Jade Emperor and begged to be placed here, to be a mount for the seeker of the scriptures. Think: how could an ordinary horse of the Land of the East cross these ten thousand waters and thousand mountains, or ever come to Vulture Peak, the Buddha land? It needs this dragon-horse before the road can be gone.” Pilgrim said: “And since he is so afraid of old Sun, lurking and refusing to come out—what then?” The Bodhisattva told the Revealer: “Go to the ravine's edge and call: 'Ao Run's jade dragon, third prince—come out; the Bodhisattva of the Southern Sea is here.' He will come out.”

The Revealer went to the ravine and called twice. The young dragon tumbled wave and leap, sprang out of the water, changed into a man's shape, trod the cloud's head, came into the air, and bowed to the Bodhisattva: “Once I was favored with your grace, freed and given life, and here I have waited long, and never a word of the scripture-seeker.” The Bodhisattva pointed at Pilgrim: “Is not this the chief disciple of the scripture-seeker?” The young dragon saw him and said: “Bodhisattva, he is my enemy. I was hungry yesterday and truly did eat his horse. Relying on his strength he fought me till my strength failed and I fell back, and cursed me so that I shut my door and dared not come out; and never once did he breathe the word 'scriptures.'” Pilgrim said: “And you never asked my name—how was I to say it?” The young dragon said: “Did I not ask what brazen fiend you were, and where from? You bawled: 'Never mind where from—give back my horse!' When did you say half the word 'Tang'?” The Bodhisattva said: “That monkey-head leans always on his own strength and will never praise another. Go on now, and there are more you must yet submit to. When you ask, first breathe the word 'scriptures,' and you need take no pains: they will bow at once.”

Pilgrim gladly took the lesson. The Bodhisattva stepped forward, plucked the bright pearl from beneath the young dragon's chin, dipped the willow sprig in sweet dew, passed it once over his body, blew a breath of immortal air, and cried “Change!”—and the dragon became the very horse he had been, the same coat and all. And she charged him: “Set your heart on working off this karma; when the work is done you shall rise above common dragons and win the right fruition of a golden body.” The young dragon, the cross-bone in his mouth, took it to heart. The Bodhisattva told Wukong to lead him to Tripitaka: “I am going back to the sea.” Pilgrim caught her and would not let her go: “I will not go, I will not go. The west road is so rough; guarding this common monk, when shall we ever arrive? With so many grindings and turnings, old Sun's own life will hardly be spared—how shall any merit be won? I will not go, I will not go.” The Bodhisattva said: “Before you were a man of the Way you could give your heart to practice; now you are free of heaven's calamity, and you grow lazy? In my gate truth is won through quiet extinction; you must have faith and win right fruition. And if you come to places that grind the body with bitter toil, I promise you: call on heaven and heaven will answer; call on earth and earth will respond. And if you come to some pass past all escaping, I will come myself to save you. Come here; I will add one more power to you.” The Bodhisattva plucked three leaves from the willow, set them behind Pilgrim's head, and cried “Change!”—and they became three life-saving hairs. She taught him: “When you come to some strait where nothing avails and no help is near, let them shift with the occasion and deliver you out of your pressing calamity.” With all this good speech Pilgrim at last thanked the Bodhisattva of great mercy and great pity. And she, on a wind of fragrance and a drift of colored mist, went straight back to Putuo.

Pilgrim pressed down the cloud's head, seized the dragon horse by its mane, and came to Tripitaka: “Master, the horse is found.” Tripitaka saw and rejoiced: “Disciple, how is it the horse is fatter and finer than before? Where did you find it?” Pilgrim said: “Master, you are dreaming. Just now the Gold-Headed Revealer brought the Bodhisattva here, and she changed the dragon in the ravine into our white horse—the very same coat, only wanting saddle and bridle—and told old Sun to fetch it along.” Tripitaka was astonished: “Where is the Bodhisattva? I must go and thank her.” Pilgrim said: “The Bodhisattva is by now in the Southern Sea; she would not wait.” Tripitaka pinched up earth for incense and bowed toward the south. The bows done, he rose and made ready with Pilgrim to go forward. Pilgrim dismissed the mountain god and the earth god, gave his orders to the Revealer and the Officer, and asked the master to mount. Tripitaka said: “A horse without saddle and bridle—how am I to ride it? Let us find a boat, cross the ravine, and settle it after.” Pilgrim said: “Master, how little you know the times! In these empty mountains, where would a boat come from? This horse has lived here long; he must know the ways of the water. Ride him across, and he shall be your boat.”

Tripitaka had no choice but to comply, and mounted the unsaddled horse, while Pilgrim shouldered the packs. At the ravine's edge they saw upstream an old fisherman poling a raft of dry timber, coming down with the current. Pilgrim saw him and hailed him with his hand: “Old fisherman, come, come. I am going to the West to fetch the scriptures; my master is stopped here, unable to cross. Come ferry him over.” The fisherman heard, and poled in at once. Pilgrim helped the master down from the horse and supported him on either side. Tripitaka stepped onto the raft, the horse was pulled aboard, the baggage stowed. The old fisherman pushed off, swift as wind, quick as an arrow, and before they knew it they were over Steep Eagle-Sorrow Ravine and on the western bank. Tripitaka told Pilgrim to untie the bundle and take out a few coppers of the Great Tang to give the fisherman. The fisherman pushed off with one thrust of his pole: “No money, no money!” and faded away into mid-stream, dim and distant. Tripitaka was most ill at ease, and went on bowing with palms pressed. Pilgrim said: “Master, save your thanks. Do you not know him? He is the water god of this ravine. He never came out to receive old Sun; old Sun had a mind to thrash him. Being let off the thrashing is grace enough for him—would he dare take money!” The master half believed and half did not, and could only mount the unsaddled horse again and follow Pilgrim straight to the high road, away west. Truly: by the great and boundless thus-true one mounts the far shore; with a sincere heart one sees the nature and climbs Vulture Peak.

On with the master, and the red sun sank west unawares, the light failing. Behold:

Pale clouds in tangles, the mountain moon dim. Frost colors fill the sky and breed cold; on every side the wind's voice strikes through the body. When the lone bird is gone the gray shoals widen; where the sunset blaze is bright the far hills lie low. In the thin wood a thousand trees roar; on the empty ridge a single gibbon cries. The long road shows no traveler's print; the home-going boats put in with the night.

Tripitaka gazed from the saddle and suddenly saw a farmstead by the road. Tripitaka said: “Wukong, there is a house ahead; we can beg lodging and go on in the morning.” Pilgrim looked up and said: “Master, that is no farmstead.” Tripitaka said: “How is it not?” Pilgrim said: “A farmstead would not have ridge-poles of flying fish and crouching beasts; that is surely a temple or a cloister.”

Talking as they went, master and disciples were soon at the gate. Tripitaka dismounted, and on the gate were three great characters: the Shrine of the Village God. They went in. Within was an old man, beads at his neck, who came to meet them with palms pressed, crying: “Master, be seated.” Tripitaka returned the courtesy in haste, went up into the hall, and worshiped the sacred images. The old man called a boy to serve tea. Tea done, Tripitaka asked the old man: “Why is this shrine called the Village God?” The old man said: “This is the border of the Habi country of the western tribes. Behind the shrine is a farming village whose people joined in devout hearts to found this shrine. 'Li' means the ground of one village; 'she' means the earth god of one parish. Whenever the days of spring plowing, summer weeding, autumn harvest, and winter storing come round, each brings his three sacrificial beasts and flowers and fruit to sacrifice here, praying for peace through the four seasons, plenty of the five grains, and thriving of the six herds.” Tripitaka heard, nodded, and praised it: “Truly, 'three li from home, and the customs of another country.' The folk of my land have no such goodness.” The old man asked: “Master, where is your honored home?” Tripitaka said: “Your poor monk is of the Great Tang in the Land of the East, sent by imperial order to the Western Heaven to bow before Buddha and fetch the scriptures. Passing your holy place, and the sky darkening, I have come specially to the sacred shrine to beg a night's lodging, and will start at first light.” The old man rejoiced mightily, said several times over “Pardon our poor welcome,” and called the boy to prepare food. Tripitaka ate and gave thanks.

Pilgrim, quick of eye, saw under the eaves a clothesline; he went over, snapped it with one pull, and tethered the horse with it. The old man laughed: “Where was this horse stolen from?” Pilgrim flared: “You old fellow, you do not know high words from low. We are sagely monks who bow to Buddha—and we steal horses?” The old man laughed: “If it was not stolen, why has it neither saddle nor bridle nor rein, and why snap my clothesline?” Tripitaka made his apologies: “This rascal is only hot of temper. If you want to tether the horse, ask the old gentleman politely for a rope; why snap his clothesline? Old sir, forgive him, forgive him. And my horse—I will not hide it from you—was not stolen. Yesterday, coming from the east, we reached Steep Eagle-Sorrow Ravine. I had a white horse I rode, saddle and bridle complete; but in the ravine was a wicked dragon become a spirit, who swallowed my horse, saddle and all, in one gulp. Thanks to my disciple's powers, and to the Bodhisattva Guanyin, who was moved to come to the ravine and seize the dragon, he was made to change into the very white horse I rode, the same coat and all, to carry me west to bow before Buddha. Today, in crossing the ravine, we had not gone a day when we came to your sacred shrine, and have had no chance yet to buy saddle and bridle.” The old man said: “Master, do not take offense; this old man was only joking. Who knew your worthy disciple would take it seriously? When I was young I had a few country coppers, and rode a fine horse too. But through years of misfortune, deaths in the family and fire, I came down to nothing, and so I serve as keeper of this shrine, tending the incense. Thanks to the donor families of the village behind I get my living by alms. I have there in my keeping a saddle and bridle, the things I loved best all my days; poor as I am, I could never bear to sell them. But hearing what the master told, that the Bodhisattva would even rescue a spirit dragon and make him a horse to carry you, how could this old man hold back some small help? Tomorrow I will fetch that saddle and bridle and gladly give them to the master, to girth and go—I beg you accept them with a smile.” Tripitaka heard and thanked him without end. Soon the boy brought out the evening meal. The meal done, the lamps were lit, the beds made, and each went to sleep.

Early the next morning Pilgrim rose: “Master, that old shrine-keeper promised us a saddle and bridle last night. Ask him for it; do not let him off.” He had not finished when the old man indeed came bearing a saddle and bridle, pad, reins and headstall, everything a horse could want, complete, and laid them under the eaves: “Master, here are saddle and bridle.” Tripitaka saw and gladly accepted, and told Pilgrim to take them and try them on the horse, to see whether they matched. Pilgrim took up the pieces one by one and looked: truly fine things. There is a poem to prove it. The poem says:

The carved saddle gleams, starred with silver sparks; the precious stirrups flash, bright with threads of gold.Layer on layer the pad is quilted with soft plush; the leading rein is three-ply cord of purple silk.The bridle-head of pieced leather glitters with clustered flowers; the cloud-fans are traced in gold with dancing beasts.Ring and bit are wrought of burnished iron; the two cheek-tassels, dipped in water, hang in tufted hair.

Pilgrim rejoiced in his heart, and girthed the saddle on the horse—as if it had been measured for him. Tripitaka bowed in thanks to the old man, who raised him up in haste: “We are abashed, abashed—why all this thanks?” The old man did not press them to stay, and asked Tripitaka to mount. The elder came out the gate and climbed into the saddle; Pilgrim shouldered the baggage. The old man drew from his sleeve a whip—a fragrant rattan handle studded with leather at every inch, its lash plaited of tiger sinew—and offered it with clasped hands by the roadside: “Holy monk, I have one leading-whip besides; let me send you that too.” Tripitaka took it from the saddle: “I thank you for the gift, I thank you for the gift.”

Even as he made his salutation the old man was gone. Looking back at the Village God Shrine they saw only bare ground. And from mid-air came a voice: “Holy monk, forgive our poor entertainment. I am the mountain god and earth god of Potalaka, sent by the Bodhisattva to bring you the saddle and bridle. Press on west with your might, and do not slacken.” Tripitaka rolled from the saddle in alarm, bowed toward the empty sky, and said: “Your disciple has mortal eyes and mortal flesh, and did not know your honored face. I beg your pardon. Be pleased to carry to the Bodhisattva word of my deep gratitude for her grace and guarding.” See him bowing toward heaven and knocking his head past all counting. By the roadside the Great Sage Sun laughed till he fell, and the Handsome Monkey King near died of delight; he came up and pulled the Tang monk: “Master, get up. He is far away by now; he cannot hear your prayers nor see your knocking. Why keep bowing?” The elder said: “Disciple, I knock my head like this, and you will not bow to him one bow, but stand by grinning—what reason is in that?” Pilgrim said: “How should you know? A fellow that hides his head and shows his tail like that deserves a thrashing; but for the Bodhisattva's sake I spared him the beating—is that not enough? Would he dare receive old Sun's bow? Old Sun has been a bold fellow since he was little and does not know how to bow to men: if I met the Jade Emperor himself, or the Supreme Lord Lao, I would only salute with a bow of the head and be done.” Tripitaka said: “For shame—do not talk such empty talk. Get up quickly; do not delay the journey.” The master rose, packed, and they went west.

From there they traveled two months of peaceful road, and those they met were Lolo tribesmen and Hui folk and wolves and tigers and leopards. Time flew, and it was early spring. Behold: the hills and woods in woven green; grass and trees putting out blue buds; plum petals all fallen, willow eyes just opening. Master and disciples walked enjoying the spring light, and the sun sank west again. Tripitaka reined in and gazed afar: in a fold of the hills were towers dim and halls shadowy. Tripitaka said: “Wukong, what place is that?” Pilgrim looked up: “If not a temple hall, then surely a monastery. Let us hurry and lodge there.” Tripitaka gladly agreed, gave the dragon horse its head, and made straight for it.

But what place that going proved to be—listen to the next chapter to find out.

On Snake-Coil Mountain the Gods Guard Him in Secret; at Eagle-Sorrow Ravine the Mind-Horse Is Reined In

Now Pilgrim waited on the Tang monk as they went west. After some days it was the cold of the twelfth month; the north wind cut sharp, and the ice was slick. Their road ran along cliffs and crags, a rough track over folded ridges and layered peaks. From the saddle Tripitaka heard a rattling roar of water and called back, "Wukong, where is that water sounding?" Pilgrim said, "I remember this place is called Eagle-Sorrow Ravine on Snake-Coil Mountain. It must be the water in the ravine." He had barely finished when the horse reached the ravine, and Tripitaka reined in to look. This is what he saw:

A cold spring trickles through the clouds; clear waves, deep and still, mirror the red sun.Its sound stirs like night rain heard down a hidden valley; its colors flash like dawn clouds dazzling the open sky.Waves fly up a thousand fathoms, spraying broken jade; one pool of water roars against the clean wind.Its stream runs away into ten thousand acres of misty waves, where gulls and egrets forget the fisherman's hook.

As master and disciple stood looking, a sound rang out in mid-ravine and a dragon shot up. Pushing waves and heaving water, it leaped at the cliff and made for the elder. Pilgrim, in alarm, dropped the baggage, lifted his master down from the horse, and turned to run. The dragon could not catch them, but swallowed the white horse, saddle and bridle and all, in one gulp, then sank into the water and hid. Pilgrim seated his master on a high bank, then went to lead the horse and carry the load, and found only the one load of baggage; the horse was gone. He carried the baggage to his master and said, "Master, the wicked dragon has vanished, but it has run off with my horse." Tripitaka said, "Disciple, how will you ever find the horse?" Pilgrim said, "Be at ease, be at ease. Let me go and look."

He gave a whistle, jumped into the air, and, with fire eyes and gold pupils, shaded his hand over his brow and looked all around, but no horse was to be seen. He brought his cloud down and reported, "Master, that dragon certainly ate our horse. Look as I may, I cannot see it anywhere." Tripitaka said, "Disciple, how big a mouth can the creature have, to swallow a whole horse, saddle and bridle and all? Perhaps the horse broke its rein in the fright and ran into some hollow of the hills. Look again, carefully." Pilgrim said, "You do not know my powers. These eyes of mine can see a thousand li of good and evil luck in broad daylight. Within a thousand li I can see a dragonfly spread its wings. How could I miss a horse that big?" Tripitaka said, "If the dragon ate it, how can I go on? Oh dear: over these thousand mountains and ten thousand streams, how can I travel?" As he spoke, tears fell like rain. When Pilgrim saw him begin to cry, he could not hold his temper, and shouted, "Master, do not be such a weakling! Sit down, sit down. Old Sun will go find the creature and make it give back my horse." Tripitaka grabbed him: "Disciple, where will you look for it? Suppose it leaps out suddenly from hiding and destroys me too? Then man and horse would both be lost. What good would that be?" Hearing this, Pilgrim grew angrier still and thundered, "You are hopeless, hopeless! You want a horse to ride, but you will not let me go. Then watch the baggage and sit there till you are old!"

He was still growling and fuming, unable to cool his anger, when a voice in the air called, "Great Sage Sun, do not rage; brother of the Tang Emperor, do not weep. We are a company of gods sent by the Bodhisattva Guanyin, come to guard the scripture-seeker in secret." The elder hurried to bow. Pilgrim said, "Which of you are there? Give your names, and I will take the roll." The gods said, "We are the Six Dings and Six Jias, the Guardians of the Five Quarters, the Duty Officers of the Four Hours, and the eighteen Guardians of the Faith, taking turns on watch day by day." Pilgrim said, "Who takes the first watch today?" The guardians said, "The Dings and Jias, the officers, and the guardians take turns. Of us Guardians of the Five Quarters, the Gold-Headed Guardian never leaves his side, day or night." Pilgrim said, "Then let those off duty withdraw. Leave the six Ding generals, the officer of the day, and the guardians to watch my master. Old Sun will go find that wicked dragon in the ravine and make it give back my horse." The gods took the order. Tripitaka's heart came down at last. He sat on a rock ledge and told Pilgrim to be careful. Pilgrim said, "Set your mind at rest." A fine Monkey King: he tightened the padded gown, hitched up his tiger-skin skirt, gripped the gold-banded iron rod, braced his spirit, and came down on the ravine, half cloud and half mist, shouting over the water: "You brazen loach! Give back my horse! Give back my horse!"

Now the dragon, having eaten Tripitaka's white horse, lay at the bottom of the ravine, resting its spirit and nursing its nature. When it heard someone yelling and demanding his horse, it could not hold down the fire in its heart, shot up through the waves in a bound, and cried, "Who dares stand here boasting and insult me?" Pilgrim saw it and thundered, "Do not run! Give back my horse!" and swung the rod at its head. The dragon spread fangs and claws to seize him. The two of them fought there by the ravine, truly a match of heroes. Look:

The dragon stretched out sharp claws; the monkey raised his gold band. The one wore whiskers hanging like threads of white jade; the other's eyes flashed like lamps of red gold. From the one's whiskers sprayed pearls in colored mist; in the other's hand the iron rod whirled up wild wind. The one was an evil son who had grieved his father and mother; the other a monster who had defied the generals of heaven. Both, for their troubles, had known grinding hardship; now, to win success, each showed his power.

Back and forth they fought a long time, wheeling and circling. Then the dragon's strength failed and its muscles went numb; it could not hold out. It turned, dove into the water, sank deep into the bottom of the ravine, and would not show its head again. The Monkey King cursed on without stop, but the dragon only played deaf.

Pilgrim, out of resources, could only go back to Tripitaka and say, "Master, I cursed the monster out. It fought me a long while, then lost heart and ran, and now it hides in the water and will not come out." Tripitaka said, "But are you sure it was he who ate my horse?" Pilgrim said, "Listen to yourself! If he had not eaten it, would he have come out and answered my challenge and crossed rods with old Sun?" Tripitaka said, "When you killed the tiger the other day you said you had the arts to tame dragons and subdue tigers. Why can you not tame this one today?" Now the monkey could not bear to be goaded. At this rebuke his divine power rose: "Say no more, say no more! Let me have it out with him once and for all."

The Monkey King swung out his legs, jumped to the ravine, and used his power to churn rivers and boil seas. He stirred the clear-to-the-bottom water of the steep Eagle-Sorrow Ravine into waves like the flooding Yellow River in all its bends. The wicked dragon, deep in the ravine, could not sit or lie still, and thought: "Truly, luck never comes twice, but trouble never comes alone. It is scarcely a year since I escaped death under heaven's law, and here I was living quietly on what came, and now I have run into this brazen devil come to destroy me." See how the more it thought the angrier it grew, until it could not stomach the wrong. Gritting its teeth, it leaped out and cried, "You brazen devil, where do you come from, to bully me so?" Pilgrim said, "Never mind where I come from. Give back the horse, and I will spare your life." The dragon said, "I did swallow your horse. How can I spit it out again? I will not give it back. What then?" Pilgrim said, "If you will not give back the horse, look to my rod. I will beat you dead to pay for my horse's life, and that will be the end of it." The two fought bitterly below the cliff again. Within a few rounds the little dragon truly could not hold out. With a flick of its body it became a water snake and slipped into the grass.

The Monkey King, rod in hand, ran up, parting the grass to look for the snake, but not a trace could he find. In his fury the three corpse-spirits howled and smoke rose from his seven openings. He recited the spell of the syllable "om" and summoned the local earth god and the mountain god, who came at once and knelt: "The mountain god and the earth god present themselves." Pilgrim said, "Stick out your ankles. Five blows each, by way of introduction, to cheer old Sun up." The two gods knocked their heads on the ground and begged, "We beg the Great Sage to be patient and hear your humble gods out." Pilgrim said, "What have you to say?" The two said, "The Great Sage was shut up so long that we did not know when he would come out, and so we failed to meet you. We beg forgiveness." Pilgrim said, "In that case I will not beat you. Answer me: what strange dragon is this in Eagle-Sorrow Ravine? Why did it seize my master's white horse and eat it?" The two gods said, "The Great Sage never had a master before; you were a primal true one who obeyed neither heaven nor earth. How should you have a master, or a master's horse?" Pilgrim said, "You know nothing. For that crime of defying heaven I suffered five hundred years of hardship. Now the Bodhisattva Guanyin has urged me to goodness: a true monk of the Tang court freed me and told me to be his disciple and go to the western heaven to bow to the Buddha and seek the scriptures. Passing this place, we lost my master's white horse." The two gods said, "So that is how it was. This ravine has never known an evil thing. It is only deep and steep and wide, its water clear to the very bottom, so clear that crows and magpies dare not fly over: seeing their own shapes mirrored in the clear water, they take them for birds of their own flock and often fling themselves into the water. That is why it is called the Steep Ravine That Grieves Eagles. Some years ago the Bodhisattva Guanyin, on her way to seek the scripture-seeker, saved a jade dragon and placed him here, telling him to wait for the scripture-seeker and do no evil. He only comes ashore when hungry, to catch birds and crows, or to seize river deer for food. We do not know how he was so foolish as to offend the Great Sage today." Pilgrim said, "The first time, he crossed hands with old Sun for a few rounds. The second time, when I cursed him out, he would not come at all. So I used my art of churning rivers and boiling seas, stirred his ravine water to mud, and he shot up and made a fight of it. He did not know the weight of old Sun's rod, could not ward it off, changed into a water snake, and slipped into the grass. I ran to look, but he is nowhere." The earth god said, "The Great Sage does not know: this ravine has ten thousand holes and channels running through it, and that is why its waters lie so deep. There must be a hole here too, and he has slipped down it. The Great Sage need not rage and search. To catch this creature you need only invite the Bodhisattva Guanyin; she will subdue him naturally."

Pilgrim, hearing this, called the mountain god and the earth god, went with them to Tripitaka, and told him the whole story. Tripitaka said, "If we go to invite the bodhisattva, how long before you are back? How is this poor monk to bear hunger and cold?" Before the words were done, the Gold-Headed Guardian called from the hidden sky, "Great Sage, you need not stir. This humble god will go invite the bodhisattva." Pilgrim was delighted: "I am in your debt, in your debt. Go quickly, go quickly." The guardian whipped up his cloud and made straight for the Southern Sea. Pilgrim told the mountain god and the earth god to guard the master, sent the duty officer of the day to look for food, and went off to patrol the ravine. Of this no more.

The Gold-Headed Guardian rode his cloud and soon reached the Southern Sea. He checked the holy light and went straight into the purple bamboo grove of Mount Potalaka, asked the gods in golden armor and Moksha Hui'an to announce him, and was received by the bodhisattva. She said, "Why have you come?" The guardian said, "The Tang monk has lost his horse at the Steep Eagle-Sorrow Ravine on Snake-Coil Mountain, and the Great Sage Sun is at his wits' end. He asked the local earth god, who said a wicked dragon placed in the ravine by the bodhisattva swallowed it. The Great Sage sent this humble god to beg the bodhisattva to subdue the wicked dragon and get the horse back." The bodhisattva said, "That creature is a son of Ao Run of the Western Sea. He burned the bright pearl in his father's hall, and his father accused him of unfilial conduct, a capital crime at the heavenly court. I went myself to the Jade Emperor and begged him for the dragon, to be a mount for the Tang monk. Why has he gone and eaten the Tang monk's horse? If it is so, I will go at once." The bodhisattva came down from her lotus seat, left her immortal grotto, and rode the holy light with the guardian across the Southern Sea. There is a poem to prove it. The poem says:

The Buddha preached the three baskets of the scripture of deliverance; the bodhisattva spreads goodness along the whole long wall.Mahayana's wondrous words reach heaven and earth; the true words of wisdom save ghost and spirit.So the Golden Cicada sheds its shell once more, and Xuanzang practices the way anew.Only because the road was blocked at Eagle-Sorrow Ravine did the dragon son return to the truth and take a horse's form.

In no long time the bodhisattva and the guardian reached Snake-Coil Mountain and held their holy cloud in mid-air, looking down. There was Sun Pilgrim at the ravine, cursing. The bodhisattva told the guardian to call him over. The guardian brought his cloud down, passed Tripitaka by, went straight to the ravine, and said to Pilgrim, "The bodhisattva is here." Pilgrim heard it, whipped his cloud into the air, and cried out to her, "You who were teacher to seven Buddhas, merciful head of the teaching! How could you plot against me?" The bodhisattva said, "You bold baboon, you rustic red-rumped ape! I labored over and over to bring a scripture-seeker into being, and warned him to save your life. Why do you not come to thank me for saving you, and instead come shout at me?" Pilgrim said, "A fine thing you have done for me! If you let me out, let me roam free and enjoy myself. That day at sea you met me and gave me a few harsh words: serve the Tang monk with all my heart, and that was enough. Why did you give him a flowered cap and trick me into wearing it and suffering? You let this band grow onto old Sun's head, and taught him some Tight-Fillet Spell, so that the old monk chants it over and over, and my head aches and aches. Is this not your doing?" The bodhisattva laughed: "You monkey! You did not obey the teaching and would not win the true fruit. If you were not held this way, you would defy heaven again. What right and wrong would you know? If you burst out into trouble again as before, who would take charge of you? You needed this devil of a band before you would enter the way of yoga at all." Pilgrim said, "Let the band be my devil then, and be done. But why did you plant that criminal dragon here to become a demon and eat my master's horse? This is letting an evil man loose to do evil — too bad on your part." The bodhisattva said, "That dragon I begged from the Jade Emperor myself, to serve the scripture-seeker as a mount. Think: how could an ordinary horse from the Land of the East cross these ten thousand waters and thousand mountains, and reach Vulture Peak, the Buddha land? Only this dragon-horse can carry you there." Pilgrim said, "And when he hides in terror from old Sun and will not come out, what then?" The bodhisattva told the guardian: "Go to the ravine and call, 'Third Prince, the Jade Dragon, son of Ao Run the Dragon King, come out! The Bodhisattva of the Southern Sea is here.' He will come out."

The guardian went to the ravine and called twice. The little dragon broke through the waves, leaped out of the water, changed into a man's form, stepped onto a cloud, bowed to the bodhisattva in the air, and said, "Thanks to your grace in freeing me, bodhisattva, I have waited here so long and heard nothing at all of the scripture-seeker." The bodhisattva pointed at Pilgrim: "Is this not the scripture-seeker's chief disciple?" The little dragon saw him and said, "Bodhisattva, he is my enemy. Yesterday I was hungry, and I did eat his horse. Relying on his strength he fought me till I fled in weakness, and cursed me so that I dared not come out of my door. Never once did he speak the word 'scriptures.'" Pilgrim said, "You never asked my name. How was I to tell you?" The little dragon said, "Did I not ask where you came from, you brazen devil? You only shouted, 'Never mind where from. Give back my horse.' When did you say one word of 'Tang'?" The bodhisattva said, "That monkey-head always leans on his own strength; he will never praise another. Go on now, and there will be more who must submit. When you meet anyone, speak of the scriptures first, and you need not trouble yourselves: they will bow of their own accord."

Pilgrim gladly took the lesson. The bodhisattva came forward, drew the bright pearl from under the little dragon's neck, dipped the willow twig in sweet dew, brushed it over his body, blew a breath of immortal air, and cried, "Change!" The dragon at once became a horse again, of the very same coat. She charged him: "You must labor with all your heart to wipe out your sins. When the work is done you will rise past the common dragons and win the true fruit, a golden body." The little dragon, the crosswise bone in his mouth, took it to heart and agreed. The bodhisattva told Wukong to lead him to Tripitaka. "I am going back to the sea." Pilgrim grabbed her and would not let go: "I will not go, I will not go! The road west is this rough, guarding this common monk — when shall we ever arrive? So many hardships and setbacks; old Sun's own life can hardly be kept. What success or fruit could ever come of it? I will not go, I will not go!" The bodhisattva said, "Before you were a man at all, you were willing to labor and wake to the truth. Now that you are free of heaven's punishment, how can you turn lazy? In our school truth is won through stillness, and the true fruit needs a faithful heart. When you come to the places that wear the body and grind the soul, I promise you: call to heaven and heaven will answer, call to earth and earth will heed. And if ever you come to a place you truly cannot escape, I will come and save you myself. Come here: I will give you one more power." She plucked three leaves from the willow, set them behind Pilgrim's head, cried, "Change!", and they became three life-saving hairs. She told him: "When you come to a place where nothing avails and no one helps, use them as the moment requires, and they will save you from urgent disaster." After so many kind words, Pilgrim at last thanked the bodhisattva of great mercy and great pity. A wind of incense wound about her, colored mist drifted, and she went straight back to Putuo.

Pilgrim brought his cloud down, took the dragon horse by its mane, and came to Tripitaka: "Master, here is the horse." Tripitaka saw it and rejoiced: "Disciple, how is it the horse is plumper than before? Where did you find it?" Pilgrim said, "Master, you are dreaming. Just now the Gold-Headed Guardian brought the bodhisattva, and she changed the dragon in the ravine into our white horse — same coat and all, only missing saddle and bridle — and had old Sun lead it here." Tripitaka was astounded: "Where is the bodhisattva? Let me go thank her." Pilgrim said, "By now the bodhisattva is back in the Southern Sea; she would not wait." Tripitaka pinched up earth, burned incense, and bowed toward the south. When he had bowed, he rose and made ready to go on with Pilgrim. Pilgrim sent the mountain god and the earth god away, gave the guardians and the duty officer their orders, and asked his master to mount. Tripitaka said, "How can I ride a horse with no saddle or bridle? Let us find a boat, cross the ravine, and decide after that." Pilgrim said, "What a master, who never knows the time or the place! In these empty mountains, where would a boat come from? This horse has lived here a long while and must know the water. Ride him and let him be your boat across."

Tripitaka could only do as he was told and mounted the horse bareback, and Pilgrim carried the bags. At the ravine they saw upstream an old fisherman poling a raft of dry wood, coming down with the current. Pilgrim waved his hand and called, "Old fisherman, come here, come here! I am on my way from the Land of the East to fetch the scriptures. My master cannot get across. Come ferry him over." The fisherman at once poled in. Pilgrim helped his master down from the horse and held him on either side. Tripitaka got onto the raft, hauled the horse on, and stowed the baggage. The old fisherman pushed off, swift as wind and arrow, and before they knew it they were over the Steep Eagle-Sorrow Ravine and on the west bank. Tripitaka told Pilgrim to open the bundle and take out a few cash of Tang money for the old fisherman. The fisherman pushed off with one stroke of his pole: "No money, no money," and went off down the middle of the stream, dwindling into the distance. Tripitaka felt very ill at ease and could only press his palms together in thanks. Pilgrim said, "Master, spare your thanks. Do you not know him? He is the water god of this ravine. He never came out to meet old Sun, and old Sun meant to beat him. That he escapes a beating is enough for him — would he dare take money!" The master half believed it and half did not. He mounted the horse again and followed Pilgrim onto the great road, pushing west. Truly: with the great truth wide as the sky they climb the farther shore; with a sincere heart they see their nature and mount Vulture Peak.

Going on with his master, he did not notice the red sun sinking west, the light failing. Look:

Thin clouds tumble in disorder; the mountain moon is dim. Frost color over the whole sky breeds cold; wind from the four quarters pierces the body. When the lone bird is gone the gray shoals seem wider; where the sunset clouds glow the far hills lie low. In the thin woods a thousand trees roar; on the empty ridge a single gibbon cries. The long road shows no traveler's tracks; ten thousand li from home the boats come in with the dark.

Tripitaka looked far from the saddle and suddenly saw a farmstead by the road. He said, "Wukong, there is a house ahead. We can ask for lodging and go on tomorrow." Pilgrim looked up and said, "Master, that is no farmhouse." Tripitaka said, "How is it not?" Pilgrim said, "A farmhouse would not have flying fish and guardian beasts on its ridge. That must be a temple or a monastery."

As master and disciple talked, they reached the gate. Tripitaka got down, saw three great characters on it, "The Village Shrine," and went in. An old man inside, beads hanging at his neck, came to meet them with palms pressed: "Master, please sit." Tripitaka returned the courtesy, went up into the hall, and bowed to the sacred images. The old man called a boy to serve tea. When the tea was done, Tripitaka asked, "Why is this temple called a 'village shrine'?" The old man said, "This place is on the border of the Haba country of the western tribes. Behind the temple is a farm whose people joined in devotion to build it. 'Village' means the ground of one village; 'shrine' means the earth god of one parish. At the times of spring plowing, summer weeding, autumn harvest, and winter storing, they each bring three animals, flowers, and fruit to sacrifice here, so that the four seasons be calm and lucky, the five grains plentiful, and the six herds thrive." Tripitaka heard this and nodded in praise: "Truly it is said, 'Three li from home and the customs are already different.' Where I come from, people have no such goodness." The old man asked, "Where is your honored home, Master?" Tripitaka said, "I am a poor monk of Great Tang in the Land of the East, sent by royal order to the western heaven to bow to the Buddha and seek the scriptures. Passing your holy place, and with the sky darkening, I have come to this shrine to beg a night's lodging, and I will leave at first light." The old man was delighted, said several times that he had failed to welcome them, and told the boy to prepare food. Tripitaka ate, and thanked him.

Pilgrim, with his sharp eye, saw a clothesline under the eaves, went over, snapped it with one pull, and tied the horse's legs. The old man laughed: "Where was this horse stolen?" Pilgrim flared up: "You old man, you do not know high words from low! We are holy monks bowing to the Buddha. When did we ever steal a horse?" The old man laughed again: "If it was not stolen, why has it no saddle, bridle, or reins — and why come snapping my clothesline?" Tripitaka made his apology: "This naughty one is only hasty. If you wanted to tether the horse, you should have asked the old gentleman properly for a rope. Why snap his clothesline? Old sir, forgive him, forgive him. I will not hide it from you: this horse was not stolen. Coming from the east yesterday, at the Steep Eagle-Sorrow Ravine, I had a white horse I was riding, saddle and bridle complete. A wicked dragon had become a demon in that ravine, and swallowed my horse, saddle and all. Luckily my disciple has some skill, and the Bodhisattva Guanyin came to the ravine and caught the dragon, and had it change into the very white horse I rode, the same coat and all, to carry me west to bow to the Buddha. We crossed the ravine today, not a day ago, and have come to your shrine, old sir, and have not yet got a saddle or bridle." The old man said, "Master, do not be angry. I was only joking, and did not know your worthy disciple would take it seriously. When I was young I had a little country money too, and rode a fine horse. But year after year of misfortune — deaths, and fire — brought me down to nothing, and so I became the keeper of this temple and tend the incense. I live on what the patron family at the farm behind gives in alms. I still have a saddle and bridle there, things I have loved all my days; poor as I am, I could never bear to sell them. Hearing what the master said just now — that the bodhisattva would even save a spirit dragon and turn it into a horse to carry you — how could I, an old man, not help a little? Tomorrow I will fetch the saddle and bridle and give them to you, to buckle on and go with. I beg you to accept them with a smile." Tripitaka thanked him without end. Soon the boy brought the evening meal; after it lamps were lit, beds were made, and each went to sleep.

Early the next morning Pilgrim got up and said, "Master, that old temple keeper promised us a saddle and bridle last night. Ask him for it; do not let him off." He had barely finished when the old man came out carrying a saddle and bridle, a saddle pad, reins and headstall — everything used on a horse, complete — and set it under the eaves: "Master, here is the saddle and bridle." Tripitaka saw it and gladly accepted it, and told Pilgrim to take it and put it on the horse to see whether it fit. Pilgrim took up each piece and looked at it: they were truly fine things. There is a poem to prove it. The poem says:

The carved saddle glitters with flakes of silver starlight; the precious stirrups flash bright as threads of gold.The pad is layered, fold on fold of soft wool; the leading rein is three-stranded purple silk.The bridle head of piebald leather is bright with clustered flowers; the cloud-fan, traced in gold, shows dancing beasts.Ring and bit are wrought of tempered iron; two tassels, dipped in water, hang like knotted plumes.

Pilgrim was secretly delighted. He put the saddle and bridle on the horse, and it fit as if measured for it. Tripitaka bowed to thank the old man, who hurried to raise him up: "You shame me, you shame me! Why thank me?" The old man did not press them to stay, and asked Tripitaka to mount. The elder went out the gate, took the saddle, and mounted. Pilgrim shouldered the baggage. The old man then drew a whip from his sleeve — a handle of fragrant rattan a hand-span long, with a lash woven of tiger sinew — bowed with joined hands by the roadside and offered it: "Holy monk, I have a leading whip as well. Take it too." Tripitaka took it from the saddle: "Thank you for your gift, thank you for your gift."

Just as he made the salutation, the old man was gone. Looking back at the Village Shrine, they saw only bare ground. A voice in mid-air said, "Holy monk, forgive my poor hospitality. I am the mountain god and earth god of Mount Potalaka, sent by the bodhisattva to bring you the saddle and bridle. Press on west with all your hearts, and do not grow careless." Tripitaka tumbled from the horse in alarm, bowed toward the sky, and said, "Your disciple has fleshly eyes and a common body, and did not know your honored face. I beg your pardon. Please carry word to the bodhisattva: we are deeply in her debt and her protection." See him kowtow to heaven without counting. By the roadside the Great Sage Sun laughed until he fell over, and the Handsome Monkey King shook with delight. He came up, pulled the Tang monk up, and said, "Master, get up. He is long gone; he cannot hear your prayers or see your kowtows. Why go on bowing?" The elder said, "Disciple, when I kowtow like that, will you not bow to him once? You stand at the side and only grin. What is the reason?" Pilgrim said, "How should you know? A sneaking creature like that deserves a beating. Only out of respect for the bodhisattva did I let him off, and that was plenty. Would he dare accept a bow from old Sun? Since childhood old Sun has been a hero and has never learned to bow. If I met the Jade Emperor himself, or the Supreme Lord Lao, I would only give a bow with joined hands, and that is all." Tripitaka said, "Shame on you! Do not talk such empty talk. Get up quickly, and let us not delay the journey." Then the master rose, packed, and went west.

For two months after that the road was peaceful. Those they met were Lolos and Huis, wolves, tigers, and leopards. Time ran fast, and it was early spring: the mountain forests gleamed in kingfisher color; grass and trees put out green shoots; the plum petals had all fallen, and the willow eyes were just opening. Master and disciples enjoyed the spring light as they walked, and then the sun sank west again. Tripitaka reined in and looked far off: in a hollow of the hills were the shadows of towers and the dark shapes of halls. He said, "Wukong, what place is that?" Pilgrim looked up and said, "Those are no halls; they must be a monastery. Let us hurry and lodge there." Tripitaka gladly agreed, gave the dragon horse its head, and made straight for it.

But what place did they come to? Listen to the next chapter to find out.