Chapter 17

Pilgrim Sun Wreaks Havoc on Black Wind Mountain; Guanyin Subdues the Bear-Goblin

The tale goes: Pilgrim Sun leapt up in one somersault, and the monks of the Guanyin Convent, great and small, with friars, pages, and attendants, bowed toward heaven every one: “Grandfather! A cloud-riding, fog-treading holy one came down among us—no wonder the fire could not hurt him. Curse that senseless old flayed skin of ours, plotting with his heart against other hearts: today he has only destroyed himself.” Tripitaka said: “Gentlemen, rise; there is no need of cursing. If this going finds the kasaya, all is well; but if it cannot be found, my disciple's temper is none of the best, and what would become of your lives I cannot say—I fear not one of you would escape.” The monks heard, and their hearts hung on threads; they prayed to heaven and made vows, wishing only that the kasaya be found and their lives spared—no more of that.

The Great Sage Sun came into the air, gave his waist a twist, and was on Black Wind Mountain. He checked the cloud and looked carefully: indeed a fine mountain, and it was the season of spring light. Behold:

Ten thousand ravines race their waters; a thousand cliffs vie in beauty. Birds cry, and no man is seen; flowers fall, and the trees keep their scent. After rain the sky joins the wet green walls; with wind the pines unroll screens of jade. Mountain grasses sprout, wild flowers open, on cliff and precipice; creepers trail, fine trees are fair, on steep ridge and level knoll. If you do not meet a hermit, where look for a woodcutter? By the stream two cranes drink; on the rocks wild gibbons frisk. Towering they pile like coiled snails, ranks of dark green; majestic they embrace the emerald, playing with the mist's light.

As Pilgrim looked at the mountain scene he suddenly heard voices before the slope of fragrant grass. He went lightly of foot and hidden of trace, slipped beneath a rocky shelf, and peeped. Three goblins sat on the ground: at the head a black fellow; at the left, below him, a Daoist; at the right, a white-robed scholar—all talking loftily of setting tripods and fixing furnaces, kneading cinnabar and refining mercury, white snow and yellow sprout, the by-ways and side gates of the art. As they talked the black fellow laughed: “The day after tomorrow is the day of my mother's labor; will you two gentlemen honor me?” The white-robed scholar said: “Year after year we wish the Great King long life; how should we fail to come this year?” The black fellow said: “Last night I came by a treasure called the kasaya of woven brocade, a garment of the Buddha—truly a thing for a connoisseur. Tomorrow I will make it my birthday feast, open a great banquet, and invite the priests of every mountain to celebrate the Buddha's garment: let us call it the Assembly of the Buddha's Garment—how would that be?” The Daoist laughed: “Fine, fine, fine! Tomorrow I come first to offer my congratulations, and the day after I come again to the feast.”

Hearing the word Buddha's garment, Pilgrim made no doubt it was his treasure. He could not hold his wrath, leapt from the rock, raised the gold-banded staff in both hands, and cried: “You pack of thieving goblins! You stole my kasaya—what Assembly of the Buddha's Garment do you mean to hold? Hand it back quickly.” He shouted “Do not run!”, swung the staff, and struck at the head. The black fellow turned to wind and fled; the Daoist rode a cloud away; only the white-robed scholar was beaten dead with one blow. He dragged the body over to look: a white-spotted serpent spirit. He took it up in earnest and dashed it in five or seven pieces, then went straight into the deep mountains to seek the black fellow. Round the sharp peak, past the steep ridge, before a beetling cliff he saw a cave dwelling thrust out. Behold:

Mist and rose-cloud far and dim; pine and cypress dark and dense. Mist and rose-cloud far and dim—colors brim the gate; pine and cypress dark and dense—green winds round the door. The bridge treads on dry rafters of wood; about the peak winds the vine. Birds carry red buds into the cloudy valley; deer tread the fragrant thickets up the stone terrace. Before the gate the season hurries the flowers open, and the wind carries their scent. On the dike green willows, orioles turning; by the bank young peach trees, pink butterflies fluttering. Though a wild field not to be boasted of, it outdoes the scenery below Penglai mountain.

Pilgrim came to the gate, and the two stone doors were shut fast. Over the gate was a slab of stone, plainly carved with six great characters: BLACK WIND MOUNTAIN, BLACK WIND CAVE. He swung his staff at once, crying: “Open the door!” Within, the door-keeping goblins opened and came out: “Who are you, to come beat upon our immortal cave?” Pilgrim cursed: “You death-seeking sin-beasts! What place is this, to call itself an immortal cave? Is 'immortal' a word for you? In quickly, and tell that black fellow of yours to send out the master's kasaya at once, and I will spare your whole nest's lives.” The goblins ran in headlong and reported: “Great King, the Assembly of the Buddha's Garment is off: at the gate is a monk with a hairy face and a thunder-god's mouth, demanding the kasaya.” The black fellow had been chased by Pilgrim before the slope of fragrant grass and had only just shut the door and sat down, not yet settled, when he heard this, and thought in his heart: “Wherever can this fellow come from, to be so unmannerly as to shout at my very gate?” He called for his armor, dressed himself, took up a black-tasseled spear, and came out the door. This Pilgrim stood aside without, iron staff in hand, eyes wide, and looked: the monster was truly fierce to see—

An iron helmet like an inverted bowl, lacquered bright with fire; black-gold armor gleaming splendid.A black gauze robe hoods the wind-swept sleeves; black-green silk cords trail their long tassels.In his hand a black-tasseled spear; on his feet a pair of black leather boots.His eyes flash gold like lightning's stroke—truly the Black Wind King of the mountain.

Pilgrim chuckled to himself: “This fellow is truly like a kiln bake, the very brother of a coal heaper; no doubt he makes his living charring here—how else so black all over?” The monster cried out loud and harsh: “What monk are you, to be so bold in my presence?” Pilgrim, staff in hand, came right up to him and roared: “No idle talk! Give back your grandfather's kasaya, and quickly.” The monster said: “Of what temple are you, monk? Where did you lose your kasaya, that you come demand it of me?” Pilgrim said: “My kasaya lay in the abbot's room behind the Guanyin Convent due north. Only, the convent caught fire, and you rascal plundered in the tumult and stole it away, meaning to hold an Assembly of the Buddha's Garment and celebrate your birthday. How dare you deny it? Return it quickly and I spare your life; if you so much as crack half a 'no' through your teeth, I will push over Black Wind Mountain, flatten Black Wind Cave, and grind every goblin in it to powder.”

The monster heard and laughed coldly: “You wretched thing—so last night's fire was your doing. You played your violence on the abbot's roof and raised the wind; I took away one kasaya—what of it? Where are you from? What is your name? What powers have you, to talk so big?” Pilgrim said: “You do not know your grandfather, it seems. Your grandfather is the disciple of Tripitaka, royal brother at the court of the mighty land of the Tang: surname Sun, given name Wukong, the Pilgrim. If you ask after old Sun's powers—when I tell you, your souls will fly and scatter, and death will stand before your eyes.” The monster said: “I have not met them. What powers have you? Speak, that I may hear.” Pilgrim laughed: “My son, stand firm and listen well. I:

From childhood my powers and arts ran high; changing with the wind I flaunted my daring.I nursed my nature, trained the truth, wearing through the days and moons, and leapt the wheel of rebirth to slip my fate.With one sincere heart I sought the Way, gathering herb shoots on Mount Spirit-Tower Heart.On that mountain dwelt an old immortal lord, his years a hundred and eight thousand high.Old Sun bowed to him as master, and he showed me one road to length of days.He said the elixir is within the body; to gather it abroad is idle toil.He gave me the great formula of the celestials—without the root and ground, hard indeed to bear.Turn the light inward, sit with heart at rest; within the body sun and moon, Water and Fire, exchange.Think nothing of the myriad things, keep every desire spare; the six roots clean, the body stands fast.To turn the old back to the young is easily won; the road beyond the world to sagehood is not far.In three years, leak-free, I won an immortal frame, no more to stew and seethe with common men.I roamed and played through the ten isles and three islands, and swung a round past sea-corners and sky-ends.I owed a span of three hundred years and more, and might not rise aloft to the nine heavens.I went down to the sea and tamed a dragon for a true treasure: then I had the gold-banded staff.Before Flower-Fruit Mountain I was marshal and head; in Water Curtain Cave I gathered the goblin throng.The Jade Emperor sent down his edict, sealing me Great Sage Equal to Heaven, the highest rank.Time and again I wrought havoc in the Hall of Numinous Mist; more than once I stole the Queen Mother's peaches.A hundred thousand heavenly soldiers came down on me, rank upon rank, dense with spears and blades.I beat the Heavenly Kings back to the upper world; Nezha, smarting, fled with his troops.The Illustrious Sage True Lord knows transformations; old Sun matched him fall for fall, a drawn fight.The Ancestor of the Dao, Guanyin, and the Jade Emperor together watched from the South Gate of Heaven the subduing of the goblin.But the Supreme Lord Lao lent a turn of aid, and Erlang took me prisoner to the courts of heaven.I was bound to the demon-subduing pillar, and spirit soldiers ordered to take off my head.Blades hacked and hammers rang and could not mar me; they bade the thunder strike and the fire burn.Old Sun truly has his arts, and feared it not a hair's breadth.They popped me in the Lord Lao's furnace, to simmer slow in the spirit fire of the Six Dings.When the days were full they opened the furnace and out I leapt, iron staff in hand, running round the sky.Everywhere I swept, and nothing barred me: through the thirty-three heavens I ran my havoc.Our Tathagata Buddha put forth his power: Five Elements Mountain pressed down old Sun's loins.A full five hundred years the weight was mine, till happily Tripitaka came out of the Tang.Now I have turned to the right and go to the West, up to the Thunderclap to see the Buddha of the jade curls.Go ask through heaven and earth and the four seas: of all the famed goblins of every age I am the first.”

The monster heard and laughed: “So you are that Bimawen who wrecked the heavenly palace?” Now what Pilgrim could least bear was to be called Bimawen. At the word his heart blazed: “You thieving goblin! You stole the kasaya and will not return it, and you mock your master besides. Do not run—look to the staff!” The black fellow swerved aside, swept up his long spear, and met him hand to hand. A fine battle between the two:

The As-You-Will staff, the black-tasseled spear; at the cave mouth the two flaunt their hardihood. One thrusts at breast and face; the other strikes at arm and head. This one swings the dark staff sideways; that one twists the hurried triple thrust. The White Tiger climbs the hill, reaching claws; the Yellow Dragon lies across the road, turning brisk. Spraying colored mist, spitting gleams of light—two goblin immortals past all measuring. One is the righted sage, equal of heaven; one the Black King, grown to a goblin's power. This struggle in the hills had but one cause: for a kasaya, neither of them honest.

The monster and Pilgrim fought a dozen rounds and more without a victor; the red sun climbed to noon by degrees. The black fellow raised his spear to bar the staff: “Pilgrim Sun, let us call a truce; when I have eaten, we will fight again.” Pilgrim said: “You sin-beast—and you call yourself a man? A fine man, needing his rice at midday! Old Sun lay pressed at the mountain root five hundred years and more and never tasted broth or water—was I hungry then? Do not put me off. Do not run. Give back my kasaya first, and then you may go eat.” The monster feinted once with his spear, slipped into the cave, shut the stone door, called in his goblins, and fell to setting the feast and writing invitations to the demon kings of every mountain for the celebration—no more of that.

Now Pilgrim, the gate unyielding, had to go back to the Guanyin Convent. The monks had buried the old monk and were all in the abbot's room attending the Tang monk; the morning meal was done and the midday set out. As they poured broth and changed water, Pilgrim came down out of the air; the monks worshiped, brought him into the abbot's room, and he saw Tripitaka. Tripitaka said: “Wukong, you are back? How of the kasaya?” Pilgrim said: “The clue is found. Happily we did not wrong these monks: it was the goblin of Black Wind Mountain stole it. Old Sun went quietly to look for him, and found him sitting before the fragrant slope talking with a white-robed scholar and an old Daoist. A goblin that confesses without the torture: he said of a sudden that the day after tomorrow is the day of his mother's labor, and he had invited the fiends to keep his birthday; that last night he had come by a kasaya of woven brocade, and would make it his birthday gift and hold a great feast called the Assembly of the Buddha's Garment. Old Sun sprang up before him and dealt a blow; the black fellow turned to wind and fled, the Daoist vanished, and only the white-robed scholar was beaten dead—a white-spotted serpent grown to a spirit. I hurried to his cave mouth and called him out to fight. He owned the theft—it was he carried it home. We fought half the day without victory. The monster went into his cave for his meal and shut the stone door, fearing to come out and fight. So old Sun came back to see you, master, and bring the news first. The kasaya's whereabouts are known: he shall not keep it from me.”

The monks heard, pressed their palms, knocked their heads, and murmured: “Homage to Amitabha! Now the trail is found, our lives are spared.” Pilgrim said: “Do not be too merry yet: I have nothing in my hand, and my master is not out the door. Only when the kasaya is won, and my master sent off safe and sound, will you be at rest; if anything goes least awry—old Sun is no gentle customer! Have you given my master good tea and food? Have you fed the horse well?” The monks all promised eagerly: “Yes, yes, yes; not a hair of discourtesy to the masters.” Tripitaka said: “In the half day you were gone I have had three cups of tea and two meals, and they never dared be slow with me. Only do you go with all your heart and strength and fetch the kasaya back.” Pilgrim said: “No hurry: the trail is found, and I will catch the fellow and restore you your property, be sure. Be at ease, be at ease.”

As they spoke the prior of the upper rooms laid out a vegetarian offering and invited Master Sun to eat. Pilgrim took a few mouthfuls, mounted the auspicious cloud again, and went looking. On the way he saw a little goblin coming down the high road with a rosewood box under his left arm. Pilgrim reckoned the box must hold some letter; he raised the staff and cracked him over the head—poor wretch, he could not bear it: he was beaten flat as a meat patty. He dragged him to the roadside, opened the box: indeed an invitation. On it was written:

“Your junior Xiong Pi bows his head in greeting, to the lodgings of the venerable Elder Jinchi: again and again I have received your kindness, and my gratitude is deep as an abyss. Last night I watched the calamity of the fire and failed to come to the rescue; I trust your immortal person took no harm. I have happened on a Buddha's garment, and wish to hold a refined assembly; I have made ready wine and flowers, and beg the honor of your presence. At the appointed hour I beg you a thousand times to grace me with your visit and a talk. I shall be honored. Written two days before.”

Pilgrim saw it and roared with laughter: “That old flayed skin did not die a hair too soon: he was leagued with goblins. No wonder he lived two hundred and seventy years—no doubt that goblin taught him some little art of swallowing breath, hence his years. Old Sun remembers his looks well enough: let me change into that monk and go into the cave, and see where my kasaya is kept. If I can lay hands on it, I fetch it home, and save my pains.”

The good Great Sage pronounced the charm, changed with the wind, and indeed was the very picture of the old monk. He stowed the iron staff, stretched his stride, came to the cave mouth, and called: “Open the door!” The goblins opened, and seeing this shape ran back to report: “Great King, Elder Jinchi is come.” The monster was startled: “I only just sent my boy down with the invitation; he has not even reached the convent yet—how has he come so fast? The boy cannot have met him; it must be Sun Wukong changed into him, come to demand the kasaya. Steward, hide the Buddha's garment; do not let him see it.”

Pilgrim came in the front gate, and saw in the courtyard pines and bamboo in woven green, peach and plum vying in bloom, clusters of flowers opening, tufts of orchid breathing—a very heaven of lesser skies. On the second gate hung a couplet: “Still he hides in deep hills, free of vulgar cares; quiet he dwells in an immortal cave, joyful in simple truth.” Pilgrim thought: “This fellow too is one washed of filth and parted from the dust, a goblin who knows his fate.” Within the gate he went forward, through the third gate, all painted beams and carved rafters, bright windows and colored doors. There sat the black fellow in a black-green silk jacket, a cape of raven-and-flower gauze over it, a black horn soft kerchief on his head, black boots of muntjac hide on his feet. Seeing Pilgrim come in, he tidied gown and kerchief and came down the steps to greet him: “Old friend Jinchi, we have been strangers too long. Sit, sit.” Pilgrim greeted him with courtesy; the greetings done, they sat; they were seated, and tea came. Tea done, the goblin leaned forward: “Just now a little note was sent you, for a meeting the day after tomorrow—why does my old friend come down today?” Pilgrim said: “I was coming to offer my congratulations when, on the way, I met with your letter, and saw word of a refined assembly for the Buddha's garment; so I hurried here, wishing to see it.” The goblin laughed: “Old friend, you are out. This kasaya belongs to the Tang monk; he lodged at your house—did you never see it, that you come to me to look?” Pilgrim said: “Your poor monk had borrowed it; because the night was late I had not yet unfolded it, when the Great King took it away. Then the fire burned our hill and we lost our goods; and that disciple of the Tang monk is somewhat doughty, and we hunted high and low and could not find it. It seems the Great King's great fortune gathered it in—hence I have come specially to see.”

While they talked a goblin on mountain patrol came running to report: “Great King, ruin! The boy who carried the invitation has been beaten dead by Sun Wukong at the roadside; and he has played on it, and changed into Elder Jinchi, and come to cozen the Buddha's garment!” The monster heard, and thought: “I said, how comes the elder here today, and so fast: it is he.” He sprang up in haste, snatched his spear, and stabbed at Pilgrim. Pilgrim whipped the staff from his ear, showed his own shape, caught the spear point on the staff, leapt from the middle hall, and fought from the courtyard out past the front gate. Fright took all the courage of the goblins in the cave; old and young of the house lost their souls. This battle on the mountain top was of another kind than the first. A fine fight:

The Monkey King, bold, plays the monk; the black fellow, wily, hides the Buddha's garment. Words pass and answers come, each turn well timed; each shifts with the moment, never a slip. He would behold the kasaya, and has no way to see it; the treasure's mystery is mystery indeed. The little goblin on patrol tells of the calamity; the old goblin in his wrath shows his might. Wheeling, they fight their way out of Black Wind Cave; spear against staff they contend for right. The staff bars the long spear with a mighty ring; the spear meets the iron staff in flying light. Wukong's changes are few in the world of men; the goblin's powers are rare on earth. One would hold the Buddha's garment to grace his birthday; the other, without his kasaya, will not go home content. This bitter struggle cannot be parted—a living Buddha come down could hardly break the ring.

The two fought from the cave mouth up the mountain top, from the mountain top out into the clouds, spitting fog and blowing wind, flying sand and rolling stones, until the red sun sank west, and neither had the better. The monster said: “Sun, stay your hand. The day is late; it is no hour for fighting. Go you, go you; come at dawn tomorrow, and we will settle it, life against life.” Pilgrim cried: “My son, do not run! If you will fight, fight like a fighter—do not push it off on the lateness of the day.” And see him hammering away at head and face, smiting with the staff with a will. The black fellow turned into a gust of clear wind again and slipped back to his cave, and barred the stone door fast.

Pilgrim, without a stratagem, had to go back to the Guanyin Convent, and pressed down his cloud, crying: “Master.” Tripitaka had been watching with weary eyes; to see him before him rejoiced him; to see no kasaya in his hand dismayed him. He asked: “How is it you come again without the kasaya?” Pilgrim drew a letter from his sleeve and handed it to Tripitaka: “Master, that monster and this dead old flayed skin were friends. He sent a goblin down with this letter, asking him to his Assembly of the Buddha's Garment. Old Sun beat the goblin dead, changed into the old monk, went into the cave, and cozened a cup of tea. I asked to see the kasaya; he would not bring it out. Just as we sat, some mountain patroller let the wind out of the bag, and he fell to fighting me. We fought till this hour, neither uppermost. Seeing the day late he dodged back into his cave and barred the stone door fast. Old Sun could do nothing, and came back for the present.” Tripitaka said: “And your skill beside his?” Pilgrim said: “I am not much the harder: we fought to a draw.”

Tripitaka read the letter, then handed it to the prior: “Was your master then a goblin too?” The prior knelt in haste: “Master, my master was a man. Only, the Black King, having cultivated himself into human form, often came to the convent to discourse the sutras with my master, and taught him some art of nursing the spirit and swallowing breath; hence they called each other friends.” Pilgrim said: “These monks have no goblin taint: every one of them is round of head to prop the sky and square of foot to tread the earth, only somewhat fatter and taller than old Sun—no goblins. But look what the letter says: 'Your junior Xiong Pi.' The creature must be a black bear grown to a spirit.” Tripitaka said: “I have heard the ancients say: 'The bear and the ape are kin.' Both are beasts. How then is he a spirit?” Pilgrim laughed: “Old Sun is a beast, and has been made the Great Sage Equal to Heaven—what difference between us? Generally, of all things in the world, whoever has nine openings may practice and become an immortal.” Tripitaka said again: “You say his skill is equal to yours: how then will you win, and fetch back my kasaya?” Pilgrim said: “Never mind, never mind; I have my way.”

As they took counsel the monks set out the evening meal for master and disciples. Tripitaka had the lamps lit, and they went to the Chan hall in front to sleep. The monks huddled against wall and side, threw up huts of matting, and lay down each in his place, leaving the abbot's room behind to the priors. The night was still, and behold:

The Silver River shows its shine; the jade sky knows no dust. Stars in their thousands blaze; one sheet of water has smoothed its waves. Every voice is stilled; over a thousand hills the birds are gone. By the stream the fishing fires are out; on the pagoda the Buddha lamp burns dim. Last night the monastery rang with bell and drum; tonight one sound of weeping fills the air.

That night they lodged in the Chan hall. Tripitaka's thoughts were on the kasaya; how should he sleep sound? Tossing over, he saw the window pale, and rose calling: “Wukong, it is day; after the kasaya, quickly.” Pilgrim rolled up, and saw the monks standing in attendance with hot water ready. Pilgrim said: “You attend my master well; old Sun is off.” Tripitaka came down from the couch and caught him: “Where are you going?” Pilgrim said: “I think the whole matter lies at the Bodhisattva Guanyin's door: she has this convent here, takes the incense of the people, yet lets a black bear spirit live next door. I go to the Southern Sea to find her, and talk with her, and make her come herself and ask the goblin for the kasaya and give it back.” Tripitaka said: “This going of yours—when will you return?” Pilgrim said: “If it goes quickly, by meal-time; if slowly, by noon—and done. These monks will serve you well. Old Sun is off.”

He said he was going, and already he was gone. In a moment he was at the Southern Sea, and halted his cloud to look. Behold:

The ocean stretches far, the waters join the sky. Auspicious light canopies the universe; propitious vapor lights the hills and streams. A thousand layers of snow-wave roar against the blue vault; ten thousand folds of misty surge tumble in broad day. Water flies to the four wilds; waves roll all around. Water flying to the four wilds thunders; waves rolling all around crash like thunderbolts. Say no more of the waters—look to the middle: a treasure mountain heaped in five dim colors, red and yellow, purple and black, green and blue. Behold the true fair realm of Guanyin: look on Potalaka of the Southern Sea. A fine place: peaks climb high, tops piercing the void; within are a thousand strange flowers and a hundred auspicious herbs. Wind sways the jeweled trees; the sun shines on golden lotuses. The Guanyin hall is roofed with glaze; the Tide-Sound cave is paved with tortoise shell. In the green willow shade parrots talk; in the purple bamboo grove peacocks cry. On the grained rocks the guardians of the law stand stern; before the agate strand Moksa stands mighty.

Pilgrim could not see to the end of such strange scenery; he pressed his cloud straight down under the bamboo grove. The devas came out to meet him: “The Bodhisattva lately told the assembly of the Great Sage's turning to good, and proclaimed it far and wide. Now you guard the Tang monk—how have you leisure to come here?” Pilgrim said: “Guarding the Tang monk I met with a matter, and have come specially to see the Bodhisattva; be so good as to announce me.” The devas went and told at the cave mouth, and the Bodhisattva called him in. Pilgrim came as the law bade, bowed beneath the jeweled lotus seat. The Bodhisattva asked: “What do you come for?” Pilgrim said: “My master passed your convent on the road. You take the incense of men, and yet you let a black bear spirit live next door; and he stole my master's kasaya. Time and again we have asked it back, and he will not give it: so I come to ask it of you.” The Bodhisattva said: “What unmannerly talk is this from a monkey! If the bear spirit stole your kasaya, why come you asking it of me? It is you, you wicked monkey, so bold: you flaunted the treasure, and let little men set eyes on it; then you did violence, raised wind and fire, and burned my Cloud-Lodging Abbey below—and now you come snarling at my door.” Pilgrim, hearing her speak so, knew she knew things past and to come, and bowed in haste: “Bodhisattva, forgive your disciple his fault: it was indeed so and so. Only that monster will not give me the kasaya, and my master recites that spell of his, and old Sun cannot bear the head-ache: hence I come to trouble you. May the Bodhisattva's mercy aid me to seize the goblin, fetch the garment, and go on west.” The Bodhisattva said: “That monster has many powers, and is not a whit your lesser. Very well: for the Tang monk's sake I will go the journey with you.” Pilgrim thanked the grace and bowed again. He begged the Bodhisattva out the door, and they rode the auspicious cloud together, soon at Black Wind Mountain, and dropped the cloud and followed the road to find the cave.

As they went a Daoist came walking before them on the hillside, a glass dish in his hand, and in the dish two immortal pills, going on his way. Pilgrim ran full into him, whisked out the staff, and cracked him over the head: brain-matter spurted, blood leapt from the breast. The Bodhisattva was startled: “You monkey, still so wanton! He never stole your kasaya; he was never acquainted with you; he owed you no grudge—why beat him dead?” Pilgrim said: “Bodhisattva, you do not know him: he is the black bear spirit's friend. Yesterday he sat talking before the fragrant slope with a white-robed scholar; the day after tomorrow is the black goblin's birthday, and he has asked them to celebrate the Assembly of the Buddha's Garment. Today he comes first with his congratulations; tomorrow he comes to the assembly. So I knew him: he is surely going today to offer the goblin his birthday gift.” The Bodhisattva said: “If it is so, very well.” Pilgrim took the body up and looked: a gray wolf. And on the under side of the dish was graved writing: “Made by Master Lingxu.”

Pilgrim saw and laughed: “Luck, luck! It is profit for old Sun and pains saved for the Bodhisattva. That monster confesses without the torture; and this goblin his fellow is done for today.” The Bodhisattva said: “Wukong, what do you mean?” Pilgrim said: “Bodhisattva, your Wukong has a word for it: turn the plot upon the plotters. Will the Bodhisattva consent?” The Bodhisattva said: “Speak.” Pilgrim said: “Bodhisattva, you see in this dish two immortal pills: they shall be our introduction to the goblin. And those four characters graved behind the dish—'Made by Master Lingxu'—they shall be our thread to him. If the Bodhisattva will do as I say, I will devise the whole for you: no need of arms, no need of battle. The goblin shall be plagued this very hour, and the Buddha's garment shall appear this very hour. But if the Bodhisattva will not, then the Bodhisattva goes west and Wukong goes east; the Buddha's garment may be given for lost, and the Tang monk's quest for naught.” The Bodhisattva laughed: “You monkey with the glib tongue.” Pilgrim said: “I dare not—it is but a device.” The Bodhisattva said: “And what is your device?” Pilgrim said: “The dish is graved 'Made by Master Lingxu': no doubt the Daoist was called Lingxu. Bodhisattva, if you will do as I say, change into that Daoist; I will eat one of the pills and change into the other, somewhat the bigger. Then take this dish with the two pills and go offer the goblin his birthday gift, and let him have the bigger pill. When he has swallowed it, old Sun will ply his business within: if he will not give up the Buddha's garment, old Sun will twist him a garment of his own bowels.” The Bodhisattva could do nothing but nod and consent. Pilgrim laughed: “How is that?”

Then the Bodhisattva, with her boundless mercy and her measureless power, with her hundred-myriad transformations, matched mind to mind and mind to body, and in a blink became the fairy Lingxu:

Crane-feather cloak, an immortal's air, rustling; floating, fain to tread the void.Gray face like ancient pine and cypress; a beauty past all ages.Going, going, yet never gone; thus-thus, and of itself unique.All in the end returns to the one law: only the flesh is set between.

Pilgrim looked and said: “Wonderful, wonderful! Is it the goblin Bodhisattva, or the Bodhisattva goblin?” The Bodhisattva laughed: “Wukong: Bodhisattva or goblin, it is all one thought; in their original nature, both are nothing.” Pilgrim's heart woke at once, and he turned and became an immortal pill:

Rolling the dish-rim, never off the mark; round and bright, and never square.Three threes, and the sliding pass is joined; six sixes, and the Old Lad haggles.Potsherd-trash beside the gold flame's blaze; the Mani pearl's light in broad day.The lead without and the mercury within—not to be idly weighed or told.

Pilgrim, having become the pill, was somewhat the bigger. The Bodhisattva marked it, took the glass dish, and came straight to the goblin's cave door; and indeed:

The cliffs are deep, the glens are grim, and clouds are born upon the ridges; the cypresses are gray, the pines are green, and wind sweeps whistling through the wood. The cliffs are deep, the glens are grim—indeed a place where goblins prowl and men are few; the cypresses are gray, the pines are green—yet also a place where immortals hide and the love of the Way runs deep. The mountain has its ravines, the ravines their springs: the plash of running water is a sobbing lute, fit to wash the ears; the cliff has its deer, the wood its cranes: the hidden music of the immortals stirs the quiet hills, and gladdens the heart. This is a goblin-immortal whose lot it is to meet the Bodhi tree; a boundless vow hangs down in mercy.

The Bodhisattva looked, and rejoiced in secret: “This sinful beast has taken this mountain and cave, yet there is some share of the Way in him.” And so a mercy was already in her heart.

She came to the cave mouth, and the goblins keeping the door all knew her somewhat: “Fairy Lingxu is come!” One ran in to report, one came out to receive. The goblin was already at the gate to meet her: “Lingxu! Your immortal visit honors my thatched gate and makes it shine.” The Bodhisattva said: “Your humble Daoist ventures to offer an immortal pill, and to wish you a thousand years.” The two bowed, and then sat down, and fell to talking over yesterday's matters. The Bodhisattva made no answer, but hastened to take up the pill dish: “Great King, see my poor intent.” She marked out the bigger pill and pushed it to the goblin: “A thousand years to the Great King.” The goblin pushed a pill back and handed it to her: “And may Lingxu share the wish.” The courtesies done, the goblin was about to swallow—and the pill rolled straight down his throat. He showed his true form and squared himself for battle; then the goblin rolled on the ground. The Bodhisattva showed her true shape, took the Buddha's garment from the goblin; and Pilgrim was already out through his nostrils. The Bodhisattva, fearing the goblin's violence, tossed a fillet on his head. The goblin sprang up, snatched his spear to stab; but Pilgrim and the Bodhisattva were already aloft, and pronounced the true words. The monster's head panged again; he dropped the spear and rolled about the ground. In mid-air the Handsome Monkey King laughed himself over; on the level ground the Black Bear goblin rolled himself sore.

The Bodhisattva said: “Sinful beast—will you take refuge now?” The goblin cried with all his mouth: “I wish to take refuge; only spare my life.” Pilgrim, fearing loss of time, would have struck at once. The Bodhisattva hastily stopped him: “Do not take his life; I have a use for him.” Pilgrim said: “Such a monster, and not beaten dead—where will you use him?” The Bodhisattva said: “Behind my Potalaka there is none to keep watch; I will take him to be the god who guards my mountain.” Pilgrim laughed: “Truly a merciful lord who saves from suffering, and not a soul the worse. If old Sun had such a spell, I would recite it a thousand times over: there would be a fine pack of black bears settled with at once.” Now the goblin had come to himself a good while, and finding the pain past bearing, could only kneel on the ground and beg: “Spare my life, and I will take the right fruition.” The Bodhisattva came down in her auspicious light, laid her hand on his crown and gave him the precepts, and bade him take up the long spear and attend at her side. And so the black bear's boundless wild ambition was settled that day, and his endless stubbornness gathered in that hour.

The Bodhisattva charged him: “Wukong, go back, and serve the Tang monk well; and slacken no more, and breed no more mischief.” Pilgrim said: “Deeply I thank the Bodhisattva for coming so far; your disciple should see you home.” The Bodhisattva said: “No need to see me.” Then Pilgrim bore the kasaya in his hands, knocked his head, and parted; and the Bodhisattva took the bear and went straight back over the sea. There is a poem to prove it. The poem says:

Auspicious light, soft and thick, gathers about the golden image; ten thousand beams, in bright confusion, are past all praise.She pities all the world, and bends in mercy; she surveys the whole dharma world, and golden lotuses appear.Now she came for the sake of the preaching of the scriptures; she went away without one spot or stain.The goblin subdued, made true, she turns again to the great sea; the gate of the void has won its brocade kasaya.

But what befell afterward—listen to the next chapter to find out.

Pilgrim Sun Wrecks Havoc on Black Wind Mountain; Guanyin Subdues the Bear Demon

The story goes that when Pilgrim Sun shot up in one somersault, the monks of the Guanyin Monastery, great and small, with the pilgrims, pages, and lay brothers, bowed toward the sky one and all, crying, "Grandfather! A holy one riding cloud and mist came down among us. No wonder the fire could not touch him. Curse that old flayer of ours, who never knew a man when he saw one: he schemed with his scheming heart, and today it has destroyed only himself." Tripitaka said, "Gentlemen, get up. There is no need for cursing. If the cassock is found, all is well; but if it is not found, my disciple's temper is not good, and I cannot say how your lives will go. I fear not one of you will get away." At these words the monks' hearts hung in their mouths. They prayed to heaven and made vows, asking only that the cassock be found and all their lives spared. Of this no more.

Now the Great Sage Sun rose into the air, gave his waist a twist, and was at once on Black Wind Mountain. He checked the cloud and looked carefully: truly a fine mountain, and in the very season of spring. Look:

In ten thousand ravines streams race; on a thousand cliffs beauties vie. Birds cry, and no one is seen; flowers fall, and the trees are still fragrant. After rain the sky leans on walls of wet green; wind comes, and the pines unroll screens of kingfisher color. Mountain grasses sprout; wild flowers open on cliffs and sheer crags. Vines grow; fine trees are lovely on steep ridges and level hills. Unless you met a hermit, where would you find a woodcutter? By the stream two cranes drink; on the rocks wild gibbons frolic. Peak on peak piles up like coiled snails in dark green; range on range gathers kingfisher blue to play with the light of the mist.

As Pilgrim looked at the mountain scene, he suddenly heard voices on a slope of fragrant grass. He stepped lightly and hid his tracks, slipped under a rock ledge, and stole a look. Three demons sat on mats on the ground: at the head a black fellow; on the left a Daoist; on the right a white-robed scholar. All were talking grandly of setting tripods and fixing furnaces, kneading cinnabar and refining quicksilver, white snow and yellow sprouts — the byways and outside paths of the art. As they talked, the black fellow laughed: "The day after tomorrow is the day of my mother's suffering — my birthday. I hope you two gentlemen will grace it." The white-robed scholar said, "Every year we wish the Great King long life. How could we fail to come this year?" The black fellow said, "Last night I came by a treasure, called the brocade robe of the Buddha. Truly a fine plaything. Tomorrow I will make it my birthday gift, spread a grand feast, and invite the Daoist masters of every mountain to celebrate the Buddha's robe. We might call it the Assembly of the Buddha's Robe — what do you say?" The Daoist laughed: "Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful! Tomorrow I will come early to offer birthday wishes, and come again the day after to the feast."

When Pilgrim heard talk of the Buddha's robe he was sure it was his treasure. His anger could not be held. He leaped out from under the rock cliff, raised the gold-banded staff in both hands, and shouted, "You pack of thieving monsters! You stole my cassock, and now you plan an Assembly of the Buddha's Robe? Hand it back to me quickly!" He cried "Do not run!", swung the rod, and struck at the head. The black fellow, in alarm, became a wind and fled; the Daoist rode a cloud away; only the white-robed scholar was struck dead with one blow. Pilgrim dragged the body over and looked: it was a white-spotted snake demon. He simply took it up and smashed it into five or seven pieces, then went straight into the deep mountains to look for the black fellow. Around sharp peaks, past steep ridges, he came again to a sheer cliff, where a cave dwelling rose. Look at it:

Mist and rosy haze, soft and far; pines and cypresses, dark and dense. Mist and rosy haze, soft and far, fill the gate with color; pines and cypresses, dark and dense, girdle the door in green. The bridge is trodden driftwood; over the peaks hang vines. Birds carry red petals down to cloudy valleys; deer tread the fragrant thickets up the stone terrace. Before the gate flowers are forced open as the season hurries them; the wind brings the scent of blossoms. On the bank green willows turn with orioles; by the water peach trees in first bloom flip pink butterflies. Though a wild spot that cannot be boasted of, it vies with the scenery below Penglai's mountain.

Pilgrim came to the gate and found the two stone doors shut fast. Over them ran a stone slab, plainly cut with six great characters: "Black Wind Cave on Black Wind Mountain." He swung the rod at once and cried, "Open the door!" Small demons within opened the doors and came out, asking, "Who are you, to come and beat on our immortal cave?" Pilgrim cursed: "You suicidal beasts! What place is this, to call itself an immortal cave? Is 'immortal' a word for the likes of you? Go in quickly and report to that black fellow of yours. Tell him to send out my cassock at once, and I will spare the lives of your whole den." The small demon ran in headlong and reported, "Great King, the Assembly of the Buddha's Robe is off. Outside the gate is a monk with a hairy face and a thunder god's beak, demanding his cassock." The black fellow had been chased by Pilgrim from the fragrant slope and had only just shut the door; he was hardly seated when he heard this. He thought to himself, "Who knows where this fellow comes from, so rude as to shout at my very gate?" He called for his armor, made himself ready, took up a black-tasseled spear, and walked out the door. Pilgrim stood outside, iron rod in hand, eyes wide, and saw that the monster was truly fierce of aspect:

An iron helmet like a bowl, gleaming with lacquer of fire; black-gold armor, bright and splendid.A robe of black gauze with wind-hooded sleeves; a black-green silk sash with long dangling tassels.In his hand a spear with a black tassel; on his feet a pair of black leather boots.His flashing gold eyes darted like lightning: truly the Black Wind King of this mountain.

Pilgrim laughed to himself: "This fellow is just like a kiln-fired man, the very twin of a coal heaper. No doubt he makes his living charring wood here. How does he come to be so black all over?" The monster called out sharply, "What monk are you, to be so bold on my ground?" Pilgrim, rod in hand, pushed up to his face and thundered, "No idle talk! Give back your great-grandfather's cassock, and quickly." The monster said, "What temple are you from? Where did you lose your cassock, that you come to demand it of me?" Pilgrim said, "My cassock was lying in the abbot's room behind the Guanyin Monastery due north. The monastery caught fire, and you took the chance to loot it and steal it here, to hold your Assembly of the Buddha's Robe and celebrate your birthday. How dare you deny it? Give it back quickly and I will spare your life. If half the word 'no' passes your teeth, I will push over Black Wind Mountain, flatten Black Wind Cave, and grind every demon in this den to powder."

The monster heard him and laughed coldly: "You brazen thing! So it was you who set that fire last night. You stood on the abbot's roof working violence and raising wind. I took one cassock away — what of it? Where are you from? What is your name? What great powers have you, to stand there boasting and talking wild?" Pilgrim said, "So you do not know your own great-grandfather! Your great-grandfather is the disciple of the priest Tripitaka, sworn brother at the court of the great kingdom of Tang. My surname is Sun, my name Wukong, and men call me Pilgrim. If you ask about old Sun's powers, the telling of them will scatter your soul and dash your spirit, and death will stand before your eyes." The monster said, "I have never met them. What powers have you? Tell me, and I will listen." Pilgrim laughed: "My child, stand firm and listen closely. I:

Since childhood my powers and arts have been high; I changed with the wind and played the hero.I nursed my nature, practiced the truth, and wore down suns and moons; I leaped out of rebirth and ran for my life.With one point of a true heart I went seeking the Way, gathering herb shoots on Mount Spirit-Tower Heart.On that mountain was an old immortal lord, his years a hundred and eight thousand high.Old Sun bowed to him as master, and he pointed out to me one road of long life.He said the elixir lies within the body; to gather it outside is wasted toil.I received the great formula of the immortals of heaven; without that root, the way is truly hard to bear.Turn the light inward, look within, sit with the heart at rest: sun and moon within the body, Water and Fire, cross and join.Think nothing of the ten thousand things, keep all wants few: the six roots pure, the body firm and strong.To turn the old back into the young is easily won; the road beyond the common and into the holy is not far.In three years, without leak, I won an immortal body, no longer one of the common crowd to boil and roast.I roved and played through the ten isles and three islets, and made a round of sea corners and sky edges.I lived to more than three hundred years, but could not rise and fly to the ninth heaven.I went down to the sea and tamed a dragon — a true treasure — and so I had the gold-banded staff.Before Mount Flower-Fruit I was chief of captains; in Water Curtain Cave I gathered the demon host.The Jade Emperor sent down his summons and made me Great Sage Equal to Heaven, of the very highest rank.Many a time I wrecked the Palace of Numinous Sky; more than once I stole the Queen Mother's peaches.A hundred thousand heavenly soldiers came to subdue me, rank on rank of spears and knives spread thick.I fought the Heavenly Kings back to the upper world; Nezha fled in pain, leading his troops away.The Illustrious Sage True Lord could change his shape; old Sun fought him hard to a fall that evened the score.The Patriarch of the Way and Guanyin, with the Jade Emperor, watched from the South Heaven Gate the taming of the demon.But the Supreme Lord Lao lent a blow to the fight, and Erlang seized me and carried me to the courts of heaven.My body was bound to the demon-subduing pillar, and the spirit soldiers were ordered to take my head.Sword cuts and hammer blows could not destroy me; they ordered thunder to strike me and fire to burn me.Old Sun truly had the art: not half a hair of me was afraid.They gave me to the Lord Lao's furnace to be smelted, in the slow torment of the divine fire of the six dings.When the days were full and the furnace opened, I leaped out, iron rod in hand, and ran circles round the sky.Free everywhere, with nothing to block me, I raised havoc through the thirty-three heavens.Our Buddha the Tathagata put forth his power: Five Elements Mountain pressed down old Sun's back.A full five hundred years I lay pinned, till Tripitaka happily came out of Tang.Now I have turned back to the right and go west, up to the Thunderclap to see the Jade-Haired One.Go ask through the four seas and the whole wide world: I am the first-named demon of all the ages."

The monster heard it and laughed: "So you are that Bimawen, Keeper of the Heavenly Horses, who wrecked the Heavenly Palace?" Nothing wounds Pilgrim more than to be called Bimawen. At the words his heart flared into fury and he cursed, "You thieving monster! You stole the cassock and will not give it back, and you wound your master's name into the bargain. Do not run! Look to my rod!" The black fellow twisted aside, took up his long spear, and met him. The fight the two of them had:

The as-you-will rod, the black-tasseled spear: the two of them flaunted their strength at the cave mouth. One stabbed at heart and face; the other struck arm and head. This one swung his hidden rod-strokes across; that one twisted his swift three-thrust spear. The White Tiger climbs the hill, stretching out claws; the Yellow Dragon lies across the road, turning in haste. They spray colored mist, they breathe out rays of light: two demon immortals past all measure. One is the mended Great Sage Equal to Heaven; one the Black King grown to a demon. This quarrel in the mountains had one cause: for the cassock, each was up to no good.

The monster and Pilgrim fought a dozen rounds and more, with no victory on either side, and the red sun slowly climbed to noon. The black fellow raised his spear to fence off the iron rod: "Pilgrim Sun, let us draw off our troops. Let me take my meal, and then we will fight again." Pilgrim said, "You wicked beast, do you call yourself a man? A fine man, needing his dinner after half a day! Old Sun lay pinned at the mountain foot for more than five hundred years and never tasted soup or water. Do you think I go hungry so soon? Do not make excuses. Do not run. Give back my cassock, and then you may go eat." The monster feinted with his spear, slipped into the cave, shut the stone doors, called in his imps, and set about the banquet, writing invitation cards to ask the demon kings of every mountain to the feast. Of this no more.

Pilgrim could not break the gate, and could only return to the Guanyin Monastery. The monks had already buried the old monk and were all waiting on the Tang monk in the abbot's room. The morning meal was done, and the midday meal was being laid. They were just bringing fresh soup and water when Pilgrim came down from the sky. The monks bowed, brought him into the abbot's room, and he saw Tripitaka. Tripitaka said, "Wukong, you are back? How of the cassock?" Pilgrim said, "The thread has an end now. And lucky it is I did not wrong these monks: it was a monster of Black Wind Mountain that stole it. Old Sun went and watched for him in secret, and saw him sitting on the fragrant slope with a white-robed scholar and an old Daoist, talking. He was a monster who confessed without a beating: he suddenly said that the day after tomorrow is his birthday, and he is inviting all the devils to keep it; that last night he came by a brocade robe of the Buddha, and means to make it his birthday gift at a grand feast, to be called the Assembly Celebrating the Buddha's Robe. Old Sun rushed up and struck him one blow of the rod. The black fellow became a wind and fled, the Daoist vanished, and only the white-robed scholar was beaten dead — a white-spotted snake become a demon. Then I hurried to his cave mouth and called him out to fight. He has admitted he took it. We fought half the day with no victory on either side. The monster went back into his cave, wanting his meal, shut the stone doors, and will not come out for fear of the fight. So old Sun came back to see you, master, and bring the news first. We know now where the cassock is; he cannot escape giving it back."

When the monks heard this, some pressed their palms, some knocked their heads, and all chanted, "Homage to Amitabha Buddha! Now that it is found, our lives are safe." Pilgrim said, "Do not rejoice too soon. I have not laid hands on it yet, and my master is not out of your doors. Only when the cassock is in hand and my master is sent on his way safe and sound will you be at ease. If the least thing goes wrong, old Sun is not a master to be trifled with! Have you given my master good tea and food? Have you fed my horse well?" The monks all promised with full mouths: "Yes, yes, yes! Not one hair of neglect has touched you, master." Tripitaka said, "In the half day you were gone I have had three teas and two meals, and they never dared slight me. Only go with all your heart and strength, and bring the cassock back." Pilgrim said, "No hurry. Since we know where it is, I will surely catch the fellow and give you back your own. Be at ease, be at ease."

While they talked, the keeper of the upper rooms set out a vegetarian offering and asked Master Sun to eat. Pilgrim ate a little, rode the holy cloud again, and went on looking. On the way he saw a small demon coming along the great road with a rosewood box under his left arm. Pilgrim guessed the box must hold some letter, raised the rod, and brought it down on his head. Poor thing, he could not stand a blow: he was beaten flat as a meat cake. Pilgrim dragged him to the roadside, opened the box, and found indeed a card of invitation. On it was written:

Your junior, Xiong Pi, bows his head in homage and writes to the venerable elder Jinchi, Grand Chief of Monks, at his elixir chamber: Again and again I have received your kindnesses, and my gratitude is deep. Last night I watched the plague of fire, and failed to come to your rescue; I trust the immortal's fate saved you from harm. I have lighted by chance on a robe of the Buddha, and wish to hold an elegant gathering. I have modestly prepared a cup of wine, and beg the honor of your refined company. When the day comes, I beg a thousand times that your immortal carriage will favor me with a visit and a talk. It will be a grace. Written two days ahead.

Pilgrim read it and laughed aloud: "That old flayer did not die a hair's-breadth too soon. He was in league with demons, all along. No wonder he lived to two hundred and seventy. The demon must have taught him some little trick of breathing practice, and so he had this long life. Old Sun remembers his face. Let me change into that monk and walk into the cave, and see where my cassock is kept. If I can get hold of it, I will take it back at once, and save myself the labor."

A fine Great Sage: he said the spell, changed with the wind, and was the very picture of the old monk. He hid the iron rod, swung out his legs, came straight to the cave mouth, and cried, "Open the door!" The small demon opened it, and at the sight ran back to report: "Great King, Elder Jinchi has come." The monster was startled: "I only just sent a boy with my card to invite him. He cannot have got there yet, so how has he come back so fast? The boy must have missed him. It is surely Sun Pilgrim, changed to demand his cassock. Steward, hide the Buddha's robe. Do not let him see it."

Pilgrim came in the front gate and saw a courtyard where pines and bamboo vied in green, peaches and plums vied in beauty, clusters of flowers bloomed, and tufts of orchids were sweet — truly a place of a grotto heaven. Over the second gate hung a couplet: "Quietly hidden in deep mountains, no common cares; dwelling at ease in an immortal cave, joy in truth's simplicity." Pilgrim thought: "This fellow too is a monster washed clean of the dust, one who knows his destiny." Inside the gate he went on to the third gate, all painted beams and carved rafters, bright windows and colored doors. The black fellow wore a black-green figured-silk jacket under a crow-and-flower damask cloak, a soft black-horn kerchief on his head, and muntjac-leather black boots. Seeing Pilgrim come in, he straightened his clothes and came down the steps to greet him: "Old friend Jinchi, I have missed you these days past. Sit, sit." Pilgrim returned the courtesy. When greetings were done they sat, and when they had sat they had tea. When the tea was done the demon leaned forward: "I sent a little card but now, for a gathering the day after tomorrow. Why does my old friend come down today of all days?" Pilgrim said, "I was just coming to offer my respects, when I met your fine letter on the road. Seeing the elegant Assembly of the Buddha's Robe, I hurried straight here, hoping to see it." The monster laughed: "Old friend, you are mistaken. The cassock belongs to the Tang monk, who stayed at your place. Have you not seen it there, that you come to look at mine?" Pilgrim said, "I borrowed it, and because the night was late I had not yet unrolled it, when the Great King took it away. Then fire burned this poor mountain and lost me all my goods. The Tang monk's disciple is something of a fighter too, and in the turmoil he searched everywhere and could not find it. It turns out the Great King's great fortune gathered it in, and so I have come especially for a look."

While they talked, a small demon patrolling the mountain came to report: "Great King, disaster! The boy who carried your invitation has been beaten dead by Sun Pilgrim by the roadside. Taking his cue, he has changed into Elder Jinchi and come to trick you out of the Buddha's robe." The monster heard and thought: "I wondered why the elder came today, and came so fast. It is he, sure enough." He sprang up in haste, snatched his spear, and stabbed at Pilgrim. Pilgrim whipped the rod from his ear, showed his own shape, fenced off the spear point, and leaped out of the hall: they fought from the central hall through the courtyard to the front gate. The demons in the cave lost heart, and the whole household, old and young, lost their souls. This fight on the mountain top was quite another from the first. A fine fight:

That Monkey King was bold enough to play the monk; this black fellow's clever heart hid the Buddha's robe. Words went and came with lucky turns; each shifted with the moment, never a hair astray. To see the cassock there was no way; the treasure's mystery was fine beyond finesse. The small imp, patrolling, told of the disaster; the old demon flared and showed his power. Wheeling, they fought out of the Black Wind Cave; spear and rod crossed in the trial of right and wrong. The rod fenced the long spear with a mighty clang; the spear met the iron rod and flashed out light. Wukong's changes are rare among men; the monster's powers are rare in the world. This one would celebrate his birthday with the Buddha's robe; that one, without his cassock, would not give it up in kindness. In this bitter fight there was no separating them: had a living Buddha come down, he could not have parted them.

The two fought from the cave mouth up to the mountain top, and from the mountain top out beyond the clouds, spitting mist and blowing wind, flying sand and rolling stones, until the red sun sank in the west, and still no victory. The monster said, "Mister Sun, stop your hand. The day is late, and we cannot go on. Go away, go away, and come tomorrow morning; we will settle it then, to the death." Pilgrim cried, "My child, do not run! If you mean to fight, fight like a fighter, and do not push it off on the lateness of the day." And he laid on with the rod at head and face without mercy. The black fellow turned into a breath of clean wind again, went back to his cave, and shut the stone doors tight.

Pilgrim had no scheme to force the matter, and could only go back to the Guanyin Monastery and bring his cloud down. "Master," he said. Tripitaka had been watching for him with eager eyes; at the sight of him he was overjoyed — and seeing no cassock in his hand, afraid again. He asked, "How is it that this time too you have no cassock?" Pilgrim drew the invitation from his sleeve and handed it to Tripitaka: "Master, the monster and this dead old flayer were friends of old. He sent a small demon with this card, inviting him again to the Assembly of the Buddha's Robe. Old Sun beat the small demon dead, changed into the old monk, went into the cave, and tricked a cup of tea out of him. I asked to see the cassock, but he would not bring it out. Just as we sat there, some patroller of his mountain gave away the wind, and he fell on me. We fought till this hour with no victory on either side. Seeing the day late, he dodged back into his cave and shut the stone doors tight. Old Sun could do nothing, and so came back for now." Tripitaka said, "How does your skill match his?" Pilgrim said, "I am not much the stronger. We fight to a draw."

Tripitaka read the card, then handed it to the keeper: "Can it be that your master too was a demon?" The keeper knelt in haste: "Master, my master was a man. The Black King had cultivated himself into a man's way, and often came to the monastery to talk scripture with my master. He taught my master some arts of resting the spirit and guiding the breath, and so they called each other friends." Pilgrim said, "These monks have no demon air about them. Every one has a round head that props the sky and square feet that tread the earth — only plumper and taller than old Sun, and no demons. Look at the card: 'Your junior, Xiong Pi.' This creature must be a black bear become a demon." Tripitaka said, "I have heard the ancients say, 'The bear is kin to the ape.' They are all beasts. How can a beast become a demon?" Pilgrim laughed: "Old Sun is a beast too, and has been made the Great Sage Equal to Heaven. How am I different from him? In this world, in general, anything with nine openings may practice and become an immortal." Tripitaka said again, "You say his skill is level with yours. How then will you win and get my cassock back?" Pilgrim said, "Never mind, never mind. I have my way."

While they took counsel, the monks laid the evening meal, and master and disciples ate. Tripitaka had lamps lit, and they went to sleep again in the Chan hall in front. The monks leaned against walls and put up huts of hurdles, and each lay down, leaving the back abbot's room to the keepers of the courts. The night was quiet, and look:

The Silver River shows its light; the jade sky is without dust. Stars blaze over the whole heavens; the water's waves have smoothed away their marks. Ten thousand sounds are still; on a thousand hills no bird is heard. By the stream the fishermen's fires are out; on the pagoda the Buddha lamps are dim. Last night the monks' bells and drums rang; tonight there is one long sound of weeping.

They slept that night in the Chan hall. Tripitaka kept thinking of the cassock; how could he sleep sound? He turned over, saw white light through the window, got up quickly, and called, "Wukong, it is day. Go quickly for the cassock." Pilgrim rolled up in a bound, saw the monks standing in attendance with soup and water, and said, "You wait on my master with care. Old Sun is off." Tripitaka got down from the couch and grabbed him: "Where are you going?" Pilgrim said, "I have been thinking: in this whole matter the Bodhisattva Guanyin is in the wrong. She has this Chan monastery here, takes the incense of the local people, and lets a bear demon live as a neighbor. I will go to the Southern Sea and find her, and have a talk with her, and make her come herself to ask the demon for the cassock and give it back to me." Tripitaka said, "On this trip, when will you be back?" Pilgrim said, "If the time is short, by the end of a meal; if long, by noon, it will be settled. These monks will serve you well. Old Sun is off."

With the word "off," he was gone without a trace. In a moment he was at the Southern Sea. He stopped his cloud and looked. Look:

The boundless ocean stretches far; the waters join the sky. Holy light wraps the universe; lucky air shines on hills and streams. A thousand layers of snowy waves roar at the blue sky; ten thousand folds of misty billows boil in broad daylight. Water flies to the four wilds; waves roll round about. The flying water thunders; the rolling waves crash like lightning. Say no more of the waters: look to the middle. A five-colored treasure mountain stands hazy: red, yellow, purple, black, green, and blue. Here first you see Guanyin's true holy realm: look on Potalaka of the Southern Sea. A fine place: peaks rise steep and their tops pierce the void. Within are a thousand strange flowers, a hundred lucky herbs. Wind shakes the treasure trees; the sun shines on gold lotuses. In the Guanyin hall the tiles are of glass; at the Tide-Sound Cave the doors are faced with tortoise shell. In the shade of green willows parrots talk; in the purple bamboo grove peacocks cry. On ribbed stone the guardians of the law stand stern; on the agate sands Moksha stands strong.

Pilgrim could not see enough of the strange sights. He brought his cloud straight down beneath the bamboo grove. The gods of heaven came to meet him: "The bodhisattva has told us all how the Great Sage has turned to goodness, and spread it abroad. Now you guard the Tang monk — how do you find leisure to come here?" Pilgrim said, "In guarding the Tang monk I met with a matter, and I must see the bodhisattva. Please announce me." The gods went to the cave mouth and reported, and the bodhisattva called him in. Pilgrim came in as the law required, bowed beneath the treasure lotus seat, and the bodhisattva asked, "Why have you come?" Pilgrim said, "My master passed your Chan monastery on the road. You take the incense of men, yet you let a black bear demon live there as a neighbor, and he stole my master's cassock. I have asked for it again and again, and it is not given. So I have come to ask it of you." The bodhisattva said, "What shameless talk is this from a monkey? If the bear demon stole your cassock, why come and demand it of me? It is all your own fault, you wicked monkey: you were so bold as to show off the treasure and let a petty creature see it. Then you turned violent, raised wind and set fire, and burned my Cloud-Retaining dependency — and now you come here and put on airs." When Pilgrim heard this he knew she knew the past and the future. He bowed in haste: "Bodhisattva, forgive your disciple's fault. It was truly so and so. But I am vexed that the monster will not give me the cassock, and my master keeps threatening that spell of his, and old Sun cannot bear the headaches. So I have come to beg your help. In your mercy, help me catch the demon and take the cassock, and we will go on west." The bodhisattva said, "That monster has many powers, and they are not less than yours. Very well: for the Tang monk's sake I will go with you." Pilgrim thanked her and bowed again. He begged her to come out, and they rode the holy cloud together and soon reached Black Wind Mountain. They let the cloud down and searched along the road for the cave.

As they went, a Daoist came out before them on the hillside, carrying a glass dish with two immortal pills set in it, walking on ahead. Pilgrim ran full into him, whipped out the rod, and struck him one blow on the head: his brains ran out and his blood burst from his chest. The bodhisattva was shocked: "You monkey! Still so wild! He never stole your cassock. He is no friend of yours, and there is no feud between you. Why did you kill him?" Pilgrim said, "Bodhisattva, you do not know him. He is a friend of that black bear demon. Yesterday he sat talking with a white-robed scholar on the fragrant slope. The day after tomorrow is the black demon's birthday, and he asked them to the Assembly of the Buddha's Robe. Today he comes early with birthday wishes, and tomorrow for the Assembly. That is how I know him: he was surely coming today to offer the demon his respects on his birthday." The bodhisattva said, "If it is as you say, very well." Pilgrim took the body up then and looked: it was a gray wolf. Under the dish beside him were cut four characters: "Made by Master Lingxu."

Pilgrim saw it and laughed: "Good luck, good luck! Old Sun is served, and the bodhisattva is spared the labor. This monster is one who confesses without a beating — and that monster has sent this one to his end today." The bodhisattva said, "Wukong, what do you mean by this?" Pilgrim said, "Bodhisattva, I, Wukong, have a plan called turning a plot against the plotter. Will you go along with me?" The bodhisattva said, "Speak." Pilgrim said, "Bodhisattva, look: in this dish are two immortal pills, and they shall be our calling gift to the demon. And the four characters cut behind the dish, 'Made by Master Lingxu,' shall be our lure to the demon. If you will follow my plan, I will contrive it for you: no arms need move, no battle need be fought. The demon will take the plague this very hour, and the Buddha's robe will appear this very hour. But if you will not follow me, then you go west and I, Wukong, go east; you may count the Buddha's robe as gone for good, and the Tang monk Tripitaka as lost." The bodhisattva laughed: "You monkey, with your glib tongue." Pilgrim said, "I dare not. But it is a plan." The bodhisattva said, "And how does your plan go?" Pilgrim said, "The dish is cut with 'Made by Master Lingxu.' No doubt this Daoist was called Master Lingxu. Bodhisattva, if you will follow me, change into that Daoist. I will eat one of the pills, and change into the other, a little bigger. Bodhisattva, carry the dish with the two pills and go offer the demon birthday wishes, and press on him the bigger pill. The moment he swallows it, old Sun will go to work inside: if he will not give up the Buddha's robe, old Sun will knit his own bowels into one for him." The bodhisattva had no way out, and could only nod and agree. Pilgrim laughed: "Well?"

Then the bodhisattva, with her great mercy and her boundless power, her hundred million transformed bodies, matched mind to mind and mind to body, and in a blur became the fairy Master Lingxu:

A crane-feather cloak, the immortal wind sighing; swaying, as if to walk the void.A gray face, old as pine and cypress; a beauty seen in no other age.Going, going, yet never staying; thus and thus, of itself unique.In the end all comes back to the one law; only the sinful body stands between.

Pilgrim looked and said, "Wonderful, wonderful! Is this a demon become bodhisattva, or a bodhisattva become demon?" The bodhisattva laughed: "Wukong, bodhisattva and demon are all one thought. In their root nature, both are nothing at all." Pilgrim's heart woke at once. He turned and changed into an immortal pill:

It rolls about the dish and never stops; round and bright, it has never had corners.Three threes join in the passes of Koulu; six sixes match the Lesser Old Man.A fleck of tile smelts into golden flame; a Mani pearl gives light at noonday.For the lead and quicksilver within, no easy talk is allowed.

Pilgrim, changed into the pill, was after all a little bigger. The bodhisattva marked it, took the glass dish, and went straight to the demon cave gate to look. Truly:

Cliffs deep, hollows steep, with cloud rising over the ridge; cypresses gray, pines green, with wind sighing in the wood. Cliffs deep, hollows steep: truly a place where demons prowl and men are few. Cypresses gray, pines green: yet a place where immortals hide and the love of the Way is much. The mountain has its ravine, the ravine its spring: the murmuring water sobs like a struck lute, fit to be washed and listened to. The cliff has its deer, the wood its crane: the hidden music of the immortals stirs the high hills, and glad the heart may rest there. This is where a demon immortal, by his lot, comes down to the bodhi tree; boundless are the vows of mercy that are lowered over it.

The bodhisattva looked, and secretly rejoiced: "This wicked beast has taken this mountain and cave, yet he has something of the Way in him." And so mercy was already in her heart.

Coming to the cave mouth, the guard imps half knew her: "Fairy Lingxu has come!" Some ran in to report, some came out to receive. The demon met her at the gate: "Lingxu, I am honored that your immortal carriage should grace my humble place; it sheds a light on my poor hut." The bodhisattva said, "This humble Daoist offers an immortal pill, and dares to wish you a thousand years." When the two had bowed, they took their seats, and began talking of yesterday's affairs. The bodhisattva did not answer, but quickly raised the dish of pills: "Great King, see my humble wish." She marked the bigger pill and pushed it to the demon: "A thousand years to the Great King." The demon pushed back a pill and handed it to her: "May Lingxu share it with me." When the courtesies were done the demon was about to swallow it, and the pill rolled straight down his throat. There it showed its true form and stood the demon flat on his back. He rolled on the ground. The bodhisattva showed her true form, took the Buddha's robe from the demon, and Pilgrim had already gone out through his nostrils. The bodhisattva, fearing the demon's rudeness still, threw one of the bands onto his head. The demon got up, raised his spear to stab; but Pilgrim and the bodhisattva were already up in the air, saying the true words. The monster's head ached as before. He dropped the spear and rolled about the ground. In mid-air the Handsome Monkey King laughed till he fell over; on the ground the black bear monster rolled and suffered.

The bodhisattva said, "Wicked beast, will you take refuge now?" The monster cried out with all his mouth: "My heart is willing to take refuge. Only spare my life." Pilgrim, fearing loss of time, meant to beat him then. The bodhisattva stopped him quickly: "Do not take his life. I have a use for him." Pilgrim said, "A monster like this, not beaten dead — where would you keep him, and for what use?" The bodhisattva said, "Behind my Mount Potalaka no one keeps watch. I will take him to be the great god who guards my mountain." Pilgrim laughed: "Truly a merciful lord who saves from suffering, and not one soul destroyed. If old Sun had such a spell, I would say it a thousand times over, and all the black bears hereabout would be settled with." Now the monster had come to himself a good while, and could not honestly bear the pain. He could only kneel on the ground and beg: "Spare my life, and I will turn to the true fruit." Then the bodhisattva let down her holy light, laid her hand on his crown and gave him the vows, told him to take up the long spear, and had him follow at her side. Only now was the black bear's one wild ambition settled for good, and his endless stubbornness gathered in.

The bodhisattva gave her orders: "Wukong, go back. Wait on the Tang monk well, and never again be lazy or make trouble." Pilgrim said, "I am deeply grateful to the bodhisattva for coming so far. Your disciple ought to see you home." The bodhisattva said, "No need." Then Pilgrim bore the cassock in his hands, knocked his head, and parted from her; and the bodhisattva, leading the bear, went straight back over the sea. There is a poem to prove it. The poem says:

Holy air, soft and thick, gathers about the golden image; ten thousand rays, in a thousand colors, are worth all praise.She pities and relieves the people of the world; her golden lotus shows through all the fields of the law.This coming was mostly for the scriptures' sake; that going was without one spot of flaw.The monster subdued, made true, she returned over the sea; the empty gate has its brocade cassock again.

But how things went afterward, listen to the next chapter to find out.