Chapter 18

At the Guanyin Convent the Tang monk Escapes His Trouble; at Gao Old Village the Great Sage Clears Away the Demon

Pilgrim took leave of the Bodhisattva, pressed down his cloud, hung the kasaya on a fragrant nan tree, drew out his staff, and beat his way into Black Wind Cave—where was there one goblin to be found? It seems that, seeing the Bodhisattva appear and the old monster rolling on the ground in subjection, they had all scattered and fled in haste. Pilgrim went further in his violence: he piled dry wood on every one of the doors, layer upon layer, set it all alight at once, front and back, and burned Black Wind Cave into a Red Wind Cave; then he took up the kasaya, rode the auspicious light, and turned back due north.

The tale goes: Tripitaka, watching for Pilgrim and seeing him not come, was full of doubt: was it that the Bodhisattva would not come at his asking, or that Pilgrim had found an excuse and fled? In the midst of such wild guessing he saw colored mist glittering in mid-air, and Pilgrim suddenly dropped before the steps and knelt: “Master, here is the kasaya.” Tripitaka rejoiced greatly; the monks too rejoiced, every one: “Good, good! Today at last our lives are spared.” Tripitaka took the kasaya: “Wukong, when you went this morning it was by meal-time, by noon at the latest—why do you come back only now, the sun past west?” Pilgrim told the whole story of begging the Bodhisattva and of her changes and the subduing of the goblin. Tripitaka heard, set up an incense table, bowed toward the south, and when the bows were done said: “Disciple, now that the Buddha's garment is here, let us pack quickly and be off.” Pilgrim said: “No hurry, no hurry. The day is nearly spent; it is no hour for travel. Wait till tomorrow morning and go.” The monks knelt together: “Master Sun says well. First, the day is late; second, we have some vows of our own. Now, by this peace, and the treasure restored, let us pay our vows and beg the masters to share our thanks, and send you west tomorrow morning.” Pilgrim said: “Just so, just so.” See those monks: they emptied purse and pocket, brought out all they had snatched from the fire, each giving of his store, and made ready a vegetarian offering, burned paper for peace and freedom from harm, and recited several scrolls of the sutra that averts calamity and looses distress. That night the work was done.

Early next day they groomed the horse, packed the bags, and went out the gate, the monks seeing them far before turning back. Pilgrim led the way; it was the season of melting spring, and behold:

Grass cushions the jade-gray horse's soft-printed hooves; willows sway their golden threads in fresh-lit dew.Peach and apricot fill the wood, vying in loveliness; vine and cypress wreath the path and breathe their spirit.On the sandy dike in the warm sun the mandarin ducks sleep; in the mountain ravine the flowers' scent, and butterflies grown tame.So autumn gone, winter spent, spring half over—and who knows in what year the journey ends and the true texts are won?

Master and disciples went five or seven days of lonely road, when one day, the sky darkening, they saw far off a village of households. Tripitaka said: “Wukong, there is a mountain farm hard by. Suppose we beg a night's lodging and go on tomorrow?” Pilgrim said: “Let old Sun look at the luck of it first, and then we shall settle.” The master reined in; the disciple fixed his eyes, and truly:

Wattle fences thick and close; thatched roofs, range upon range. Wild trees meet the gate, reaching the sky; a bending stream and footbridge mirror the doors. Willows by the road, green and swaying; flowers in the garden, fragrant and thick. Now the sunset sank west, and every wood and hill rang with birds; supper smoke rose from the hearths, and down every path the oxen and sheep came home. And there: fowls and pigs, gorged, slept in the house corners; and an old neighbor, mellow with drink, came along singing.

Pilgrim looked and said: “Go on, master; a fine household, fit to lodge in.” The elder whipped up the white horse, and they were soon at the mouth of the lane. They saw a young fellow with a cotton kerchief on his head and a blue jacket on his body, an umbrella in hand and a pack on his back, trousers tucked, a pair of three-lugged straw sandals on his feet, striding out up the street in a hurry. Pilgrim seized him with one hand: “Where away? Answer me a question: what place is this?” The fellow only struggled hard, shouting: “There is no one at our farm but me—is it me you must question?” Pilgrim said smiling: “Donor, do not be vexed. 'Convenience to others is convenience to yourself.' What harm to tell me the place's name? It may ease your troubles too.” The man could not free his arm, and hopped with rage: “Bad luck, bad luck! The master's sullen temper I can bear; now I run into this bald-pate and must stomach his ill humor.” Pilgrim said: “If you are able, split my grip, and you may go.” The man twisted left, twisted right—twist as he would, it was as if clamped in iron. In his rage he dropped his pack, let go the umbrella, and flew at Pilgrim with both hands like falling raindrops. Pilgrim held the luggage with one hand and fended the man off with the other; struggle as he might, he could not reach him. The more he struggled the tighter Pilgrim held, till the man burst out in fury like thunder. Tripitaka said: “Wukong, is there not someone else you might ask? Why keep hold of this man? Let him go.” Pilgrim laughed: “Master, you do not know: to ask another is to ask in vain; this is the one to ask—there is trade in him.” Held fast, the man could only say: “This place is in the bounds of the country of Wusizang, and is called Gao Old Village. More than half the households of the village are surnamed Gao; hence Gao Old Village. Let me go.” Pilgrim said again: “In such traveling gear you are no near-road traveler. Tell me truly: where are you bound, and on what business? Then I will let you go.”

The man could do nothing but tell the truth: “I am a servant of Squire Gao; my name is Gao Cai. My squire has a grown daughter, just twenty, never yet matched. Three years ago a goblin took her, and for three whole years that goblin has played the son-in-law. My squire is displeased, and says: 'To have given our daughter to a goblin is no way to go on: it shames the family gate, and there is no kin to visit us.' He has long wanted rid of the goblin. The goblin would not be rid; instead he shut our daughter in his own back rooms these half years past, never letting her out to see her family. My squire gave me a few taels of silver and told me to look for a priest of the law to take the goblin. I have not rested my feet these many days; time after time I have hired three or four men—good-for-nothing monks, milksop Daoists—none that could subdue the goblin. Just now he rated me soundly, saying I did not know my business; then gave me five mace of silver for expenses and told me to go find a proper priest to subdue it. And on the way I run into you, this baleful star of a fellow, held fast, my journey delayed; so I am squeezed between sullen tempers, and that is why I shouted at you. I did not think you had your own grip too strong for me, so I have told you the truth. Let me go.” Pilgrim said: “Your luck is come, and here is my trade: a bargain of four and six made whole. You need not travel far, nor spend your silver. We are no good-for-nothing monks, no milksop Daoists; we truly have our arts and are used to taking goblins. As the saying goes: 'One stroke serves the doctor, and two the eye it heals.' Go back and tell your master we are the sagely monk, royal brother, sent under seal from the Land of the East, bound for the Western Heaven to bow before Buddha and fetch the scriptures, and well able to subdue demons and bind goblins.” Gao Cai said: “Do not fail me. I am a man full of sullen wrongs; if you cozen me amiss, and have no arts, and cannot take the goblin, do I not bear the anger again?” Pilgrim said: “You shall not be failed. Lead me to your master's gate.” The man, without any remedy, truly took up his pack and umbrella, turned about, led master and disciples to the gate, and said: “Two elders, sit a moment on the mounting-block, while I go in and tell my master.” Pilgrim let go, set down the load, led the horse, and master and disciples waited by the gate.

Gao Cai went in the great gate and straight up the middle hall, and ran plump upon Squire Gao. The squire rated him: “You thick-skinned brute! Why are you not out seeking a man, back here again?” Gao Cai set down pack and umbrella: “May it please my master: I had but passed the mouth of the lane when I ran upon two monks—one riding, one carrying the load. He seized me and would not let go, asking where I went. I put him off again and again; he worried me so that I could not get free, and so I told him my master's whole business. And he was overjoyed, and would take the goblin for us.” The old man said: “From where do they come?” Gao Cai said: “He says they are the sagely monk, royal brother, sent under seal from the Land of the East, going to the Western Heaven to bow before Buddha and fetch the scriptures.” The squire said: “Monks come so far may well have real powers. Where are they now?” Gao Cai said: “Waiting outside the gate.”

The squire changed his clothes at once and came out with Gao Cai to meet them, crying: “Elders!” Tripitaka heard and turned quickly; he was already before him. The old man wore a black silk kerchief, a shallot-white Shu brocade gown, a pair of boots of coarse leather, and a black-green cord at his waist, and came out greeting them smiling: “Two elders, my salutations.” Tripitaka returned the bow; Pilgrim stood unmoving. The old man, seeing his fierce ugly face, dared not salute him. Pilgrim said: “Why not bow to old Sun?” The old man, somewhat afraid, called Gao Cai: “You rascal, would you be the death of me? We have one goblin-headed son-in-law in the house already that we cannot be rid of—and now you bring this thunder god to plague me?” Pilgrim said: “Old Gao, for all your great age you do not understand. To judge men by their looks is clean wrong. Ugly old Sun may be, but he has his arts. Let him take the goblin for your house, and catch your sprites, seize your son-in-law, and give you back your daughter—that is good work. Why be forever dinning about looks?” The squire heard, trembling; he could only screw up his spirits and call: “Come in, then.” At the invitation Pilgrim led in the white horse, had Gao Cai carry the load, and went in with Tripitaka. He cared neither for fit nor place: he tethered the horse to a pillar of the open hall, dragged up a chair of polished lacquer for the master to sit in, and pulled another chair and sat beside him. The old man said: “This young elder is quite at home.” Pilgrim said: “If you will keep me half a year, I shall be quite at home.”

When they had sat, the old man asked: “Just now the boy said you two elders come from the Land of the East?” Tripitaka said: “We do. Your poor monk goes by the court's command to the Western Heaven to bow before Buddha and fetch the scriptures; passing your honored farm, I begged a night's lodging, and go on early tomorrow.” The old man said: “You two came only to lodge—how is it you talk of taking goblins?” Pilgrim said: “Lodging being the business, we take a goblin or two by the way, for fun. How many goblins has your house?” The old man said: “Heavens! How many should we have? The one goblin son-in-law has worried us out of our senses.” Pilgrim said: “Tell me the whole of the goblin's story from the beginning—what powers he has—and I will take him for you.” The old man said: “In this village of ours, from of old to now, we have never known ghost or goblin, demon or sprite, to do mischief. Only I, unhappy man, have had no son, only three daughters. The eldest is called Xianglan; the second Yulan; the third Cuilan. The two elder were matched in childhood with households of the village. Only the youngest was to have a husband brought in, one to live in our house with me, a son-in-law for my old age, to prop the gate and hold the door, to work and serve. But three years ago there came a man, well-favored enough to look at, who said he was of the households of Mount Fuling, surname Zhu, without father or mother above, without brother or sister below, willing to be a son-in-law in any house. I, seeing him a man without root or tie, took him in. When he first entered the door he was diligent enough: he plowed and harrowed without ox or gear; he reaped the harvest without sickle or flail; off in the dark and back at dawn—truly well enough. Only one thing: he has a way of changing his face.” Pilgrim said: “How does he change?” The old man said: “At first he was a black fat fellow; later he turned into a long-mouthed, big-eared lout, with a ridge of bristles down the back of his neck, a body coarse and fearsome, head and face just like a pig. And his belly is great: at a meal he wants three or five pecks of rice, and at breakfast a hundred or more bakes are not enough. Happily he eats vegetables; if he took to flesh and wine, all my estate and acres would not last him half a year.” Tripitaka said: “It is because he works that he eats.” The old man said: “Eating is a small thing. Now he raises winds too, comes in cloud and goes in mist, hurls stones and scatters sand, till my household and the neighbors round are past all quiet. And he has shut my youngest, Cuilan, in the back rooms; for half a year I have not seen her, and know not if she lives. So we know he is a goblin, and would hire a priest to drive him out.”

Pilgrim said: “What difficulty is in that? Old man, set your mind at rest: tonight I will take him, and make him write a paper dissolving the match, and give you back your daughter—how would that be?” The old man rejoiced: “That I took him in is a small matter; he has spoiled my good name and estranged my kin. Take him, and what need of papers? Only be pleased to root him out entirely.” Pilgrim said: “Easy, easy. When night comes, you shall see.”

The old man rejoiced mightily, and had tables and chairs set out and the meal laid. The meal done and evening near, the old man asked: “What weapons do you want? How many men to follow? There is time to make ready.” Pilgrim said: “Weapons I have of my own.” The old man said: “You two have but that tin staff—how would a tin staff beat that goblin?” Pilgrim drew from his ear an embroidery needle, rolled it in his fingers, waved it at the wind—and it was an iron staff of the gold bands as thick as a bowl. He showed the old man: “Look at this staff. How does it compare with your household weapons? Will it do for that goblin?” The old man said: “Having weapons, do you want men to follow you?” Pilgrim said: “I want no men. Only let a few aged and worthy old gentlemen sit at ease with my master and gossip, and I can leave him and go. When I have brought the goblin back, I will take his confession before you all, and root him out for you.” The old man called his servants and invited a few kinsmen and friends; they all came in a moment, greetings done, and Pilgrim said: “Master, sit at ease; old Sun is off.”

See him: staff gripped, he pulled the old man: “Lead me to the goblin's quarters in the back, and let me look.” The old man led him to the door of the back rooms. Pilgrim said: “Go fetch the key.” The old man said: “Look first; if a key were any use, would we have sent for you?” Pilgrim laughed: “Old man, for all your years you do not know play. I was fooling you, and you took it for earnest.” He stepped up, felt the door: the lock was poured of molten bronze. In his wrath he rammed it with the gold-banded staff and burst the door open; within it was black dark. Pilgrim said: “Old Gao, call your daughter, and see whether she is within.” The old man, hardening his heart, called: “Third sister!” The daughter knew her father's voice, and answered faint and feeble: “Father, I am here.” Pilgrim flashed his golden eyes into the dark and looked closely—and how do you suppose she looked? Behold:

Cloud-temple tresses tumbled, uncombed; jade face unwashed, stained with dust.The one heart of orchid still the same; all her tender grace bowed down.Cherry lips without blood or color; waist bent and drooping.Brows of the moth knitted with sorrow, and pale; voice faint and low with wasting.

She came out, saw the old man, seized him, and wept upon his shoulder. Pilgrim said: “Do not weep yet, do not weep. Tell me: where has the goblin gone?” The girl said: “I do not know where. All this while, off at daybreak and back at nightfall, in cloud and fog, no telling where he goes or comes. Because he knows my father would drive him out, he is always on his guard; hence off at dawn and back at dusk.” Pilgrim said: “Say no more. Old man, take your daughter to the house in front and talk over old times at leisure, and let old Sun wait for him here. If he does not come, blame me not; if he comes, I will cut the grass and tear the root for you.” The old man, glad and gleeful, led his daughter away before him.

Pilgrim played his power, shook his body, and changed into the very likeness of the girl, and sat alone in the room waiting for the goblin. Before long a wind came—truly hurling stones and flying sand. A wind, this:

At first it sways soft and light; then after it dims far and vast.Soft and light, it makes heaven and earth great; far and vast, nothing stands in its way.It strips the flowers and snaps the willows easier than pulling hemp; it fells trees and crushes woods like pulling greens.It overturns rivers and churns seas, and gods and spirits grieve; it splits rocks and crashes mountains, and heaven and earth cry out.The flower-bearing deer loses its track; the fruit-picking gibbon wanders lost.The seven-storied iron tower bows the Buddha's head; the eight-sided streamers wound the jeweled canopy.Golden beams and jade pillars rock from the root; roof tiles fly like swallows on the wing.The boatman at the oar makes his vow; the boat puts off, and pigs and sheep are promised in sacrifice.The earth god of the place quits his shrine; the Dragon Kings of the four seas bow toward the court.On the strand it staves in the yaksha's boat; on the Great Wall it scrapes away half a frontier town.

When that wild wind had passed, out of mid-air came a goblin, ugly indeed to see: black face, short bristles, long snout, great ears; a jacket of plain weave neither black nor blue, and a flowered cotton kerchief at his waist. Pilgrim chuckled in secret: “So this is the trade.” The good Pilgrim neither met him nor spoke to him, but lay on the bed feigning sickness, groaning and sighing without pause. The goblin, knowing no true from false, walked into the room, took her in his arms, and made to kiss her. Pilgrim chuckled in secret: “Truly come to try old Sun, is he?” He played his hold, propped up the goblin's long snout—what is called a little trip—shook him head over heels, and flopped him off the bed. The goblin scrambled up, held by the bedstead: “Sister, why are you so strange with me today? I fear I came too late?” Pilgrim said: “Not strange, not strange.” The goblin said: “If not strange, why throw me such a fall?” Pilgrim said: “Why so small of soul, that you must embrace and kiss at once? I am a little out of sorts today; when I am well as always, I get up and open the door and wait for you. You may undress and sleep.” The goblin, not catching the drift, truly began to undress. Pilgrim sprang up and sat on the night stool. The goblin came back to the bed and groped for her, found no one, and called: “Sister, where have you gone? Undress and sleep.” Pilgrim said: “You sleep first; I must go to the privy.” The goblin truly undressed and got into bed.

Suddenly Pilgrim sighed and said: “My luck is out.” The goblin said: “What vexes you? How is your luck out? Since I came to your house, though I have eaten your tea and rice, I have not eaten them for nothing: I have swept your floors and cleared your ditches, carried bricks and borne tiles, built up earth and raised walls, plowed and harrowed, sown wheat and set out rice seedlings, made the family and founded the estate. Now you wear silk and wear gold, have flowers and fruit to enjoy in their seasons and dressed vegetables at the eight festivals: what more would you have, that you sigh long and short, and talk of luck out?” Pilgrim said: “It is not that. Today my father and mother, over the wall, pelted me with bricks and tiles, and beat and scolded me past bearing.” The goblin said: “What do they beat and scold you for?” Pilgrim said: “They say I have taken you for husband, that you are a son-in-law under their gate, and yet not a grain of propriety in you. Such an ugly face as yours: unfit to greet the kin, unfit to see the connections; and no one knows where your home is, or your name, coming in cloud and going in mist—a scandal to their virtue, a stain on their family. So they beat and scold, and so I grieve.” The goblin said: “I may be somewhat ugly; to be handsome is not hard. When I first came I told them so; they were willing, or they would never have taken me in. Why talk so now? My home is in the Cloud-Ladder Cave on Mount Fuling. I take my surname from my looks, and so am surnamed Zhu; my proper name is Zhu Ganglie. If they question you again, tell them that.”

Pilgrim rejoiced in secret: “The goblin is honest: no tortures wanted, and his confession is clear. With place and name, take him I will, whatever it costs.” Pilgrim said: “They mean to hire a priest to take you.” The goblin laughed: “Sleep, sleep, and never mind them. I have the changes of the Tally of Heaven and a nine-toothed rake: what priest, monk, or Daoist do I fear? If your father were devout enough to bring down the Patriarch Who Tames Demons of the Nine Heavens, I have been his acquaintance before, and he dare not touch me.” Pilgrim said: “They say they will get that Great Sage Equal to Heaven, Sun by name, who five hundred years ago made havoc in the heavenly palace, to come take you.” At that name the goblin took fright, three parts in ten: “If it is so, I had better be off; husband and wife we can be no longer.” Pilgrim said: “Why so suddenly?” The goblin said: “You do not know: that Bimawen who wrecked the heavenly palace has some powers. I fear I may not master him, and lose my standing—it would not look well.”

With that he threw on his clothes, opened the door, and made to go. Pilgrim seized him, smoothed his own face, and showed his true shape, crying: “Fine goblin, where are you running! Lift your head and see who I am!” The goblin turned his eyes, saw Pilgrim—grinning teeth and jutting jaw, eyes of fire and pupils of gold, a hairy knock-about face, the very picture of a live thunder god—and fright turned his hands to floss and his feet to water; with a rip he burst his clothes, changed to a wild wind, and tore himself away. Pilgrim darted after, drew the iron staff, and smote once at the wind. The goblin turned into ten thousand beams of fire-light and made straight for his own mountain. Pilgrim rode the cloud hard after, crying: “Where are you running! If you go up to heaven, I chase you to the Palace of the Dipper and the Ox; if you go under the earth, I follow you to the prison of the wrongfully dead.”

Ah! But where would that chase lead, and who would win? Listen to the next chapter to find out.

The Tang monk Escapes His Trouble at the Guanyin Monastery; the Great Sage Roots Out the Demon at Gao Village

Pilgrim took leave of the bodhisattva, brought his cloud down, hung the cassock on a fragrant nanmu tree, drew out the rod, and stormed into the Black Wind Cave — and not one small demon was there. The truth was that when they saw the bodhisattva appear, and the old monster rolling on the ground subdued, they had all scattered in haste. Pilgrim carried his violence further: he piled dry wood on every gate, set the fire all round, front and back, and burned the Black Wind Cave into a Red Wind Cave. Then he took the cassock, rode the holy light, and turned back north.

Now Tripitaka, seeing Pilgrim so slow in coming, was full of doubt: he could not tell whether the bodhisattva had refused to come, or whether Pilgrim had found an excuse to run away. While he guessed wildly, colored mist glittered in mid-air, and Pilgrim dropped suddenly before the steps and knelt: "Master, here is the cassock." Tripitaka rejoiced, and the monks were glad without exception: "Good, good! Only today are our lives safe." Tripitaka took the cassock: "Wukong, when you went this morning we agreed on the end of a meal, or noon at latest. Why do you come back only now, with the sun already west?" Pilgrim told the whole story of inviting the bodhisattva and of her changes that subdued the demon. Tripitaka heard it, set up an incense table, bowed toward the south, and said, "Disciple, since we have the Buddha's robe, let us pack the bundles and go quickly." Pilgrim said, "No hurry, no hurry. It is near evening, no hour for the road. Let us start tomorrow morning." The monks knelt together: "Master Sun is right. The day is late; and we have some vows to pay. Now that all is safe and the treasure is back, let us pay our vows and ask the masters to share our thanksgiving feast, and tomorrow morning we will see you on your way west." Pilgrim said, "Just so, just so." See how the monks emptied their purses to the bottom, each bringing what the fire had spared, pooled what they had, made a proper offering, burned paper for peace and safety, and chanted several scrolls of scripture to end calamity. That night the work was done.

Early the next morning, as soon as the horse was groomed and the bags packed, they went out the gate, and the monks saw them far on their way. Pilgrim led them off. It was the season of softening spring, and look:

The grass makes soft the hoofprints of the dappled jade horse; the willows wave gold threads with dew fresh upon them.Peach and apricot fill the woods, vying in beauty; vines and creepers along the path put on their bravest show.On the sandy dike, in the warm sun, mandarin ducks sleep; in the mountain ravine, among flower scents, butterflies grow tame.So autumn goes, winter wastes, spring passes its half: in what year, who knows, will the journey end and the true word be won?

Master and disciples traveled five or seven days of wild road, when one day, toward evening, they saw far off a village. Tripitaka said, "Wukong, look: there is a mountain farm hard by. Shall we beg a night's lodging and go on tomorrow?" Pilgrim said, "Let old Sun look at the luck of it first, and then we will decide." The master reined in the silken bridle, and Pilgrim looked hard. Truly:

Bamboo hedges close-set; thatched roofs row upon row. Wild trees that scrape the sky greet the gates; winding water and a brook bridge mirror the doors. Willows by the road stand deep in green; flowers in the garden breathe thick perfume. Now the evening sun sinks in the west, and everywhere in woods and hills the birds are loud; the smoke of supper rises, and along every path the cattle and sheep come home. Then too: fowls and pigs, well fed, doze in the house corners, and the old man next door comes singing home in his cups.

Pilgrim looked and said, "Master, go on. It is surely a good village, just the place to ask for lodging." The elder urged on the white horse, and soon they reached the corner of the lane. There they saw a young man, his head wrapped in padded cloth, in a blue jacket, carrying an umbrella and a pack, trousers girt and tucked, on his feet a pair of three-eared straw sandals, striding out of the lane in a hurry. Pilgrim caught him with one hand: "Where are you going? Answer me one question: what place is this?" The man struggled hard and shouted, "There is no one at my farm. Must it be me you question?" Pilgrim said, smiling: "Patron, do not be angry. 'Make things easy for others, and things are easy for yourself.' What harm to tell me the name of the place? Perhaps I can ease your trouble too." The man could not pull free, and hopped about in fury: "Bad luck, bad luck! I cannot stomach my master's temper, and now I run into this bald-pate and must swallow his airs." Pilgrim said, "If you have the skill, pry my hand open, and you may go." The man twisted left and right, but could not stir it; it was as if clamped in iron. In his rage he dropped his pack, let go his umbrella, and clawed at Pilgrim with both hands like driving rain. Pilgrim held the baggage with one hand and kept the man off with the other; do what he would, the man could not touch him. And the more Pilgrim would not let go, the more the man raged like thunder. Tripitaka said, "Wukong, are there not other people coming? Question someone else. Why keep hold of him? Let him go." Pilgrim laughed: "Master, you do not know: questioning others would be dull. It is him I must question if there is business to be had." Held fast and unable to escape, the man could only say, "This is the border of the land of Wusizang, and the place is called Gao Village. More than half the households of the village are named Gao, and so it is called Gao Village. Let me go." Pilgrim said again: "In that outfit you are no man on a shortcut. Tell me truly where you are going and what your business is, and then I will let you go."

The man, with no way out, told the truth: "I am a servant of Old Squire Gao, and my name is Gao Cai. My master has a younger daughter, just twenty, never yet betrothed. Three years ago a demon took her, and the demon has been son-in-law these three whole years. My master is not pleased, and says: 'To marry a daughter to a demon is no lasting way: first it shames the family name, and second there is no in-law to visit with.' He has long wanted to send the demon away, but the demon would not go. Instead he shut the daughter up in his rooms at the back, and for about half a year has never let her out to see the household. My master gave me a few taels of silver and told me to look for a master of the law to catch the demon. I have not rested these weeks. Front and back I have called in three or four men, all useless monks and blob Daoists, none able to subdue the demon. Just now he scolded me, saying I cannot do my work, gave me five mace of silver for expenses, and told me to go find a good master of the law to subdue him. And then I run into this evil star of yours, who grabs me and holds up my errand. So I catch it from both sides. That is why I shouted at you. I did not think you had your own grip; I could not twist free of you, so I told you the truth. Let me go." Pilgrim said, "You are in luck, and I am in business: here is a job where six corners meet. You need not travel far, and need not spend your silver. We are no useless monks, no blob Daoists. We truly have some skill, and are old hands at catching demons. As the saying goes: 'First the doctor gets the custom, and second the eye is truly healed.' Go back and tell your master that we are the holy monk, sworn brother of the throne, sent from the Land of the East, on our way to the western heaven to bow to the Buddha and seek the scriptures, and that we are skilled in subduing demons and binding monsters." Gao Cai said, "Do not fail me. I am a man full of anger already. If you trick me and have no skill, and cannot catch the demon, will you not bring me more grief?" Pilgrim said, "I promise you will not be failed. Lead me to your master's gate." The man could do nothing but shoulder his pack, take his umbrella, turn, and lead master and disciple to the gate: "Two elders, sit a moment on the mounting block. I will go in and tell my master." Pilgrim then let go, set down the load, and held the horse; master and disciples waited by the gate.

Gao Cai went in the great gate and walked straight toward the middle hall, and by chance ran into Old Squire Gao. The squire cursed: "You hide-covered beast! Why have you not found a man? What are you back for?" Gao Cai put down his pack and umbrella: "Let your master know: I had barely reached the corner of the lane when I met two monks, one riding and one carrying the load. He grabbed me and would not let go, asking where I was going. I would not tell him, try as I might, but he worried me until I could not get free, and so I told him your whole affair, master. He was overjoyed, and wants to catch the demon for us." Old Gao said, "Where do they come from?" Gao Cai said, "He says they are the holy monk, sworn brother of the throne, sent from the Land of the East, on the way to the western heaven to bow to the Buddha and seek the scriptures." The squire said, "If he is a monk come from so far, he must truly have some skill. Where are they now?" Gao Cai said, "Waiting outside the gate."

The squire changed his clothes at once, came out with Gao Cai to meet them, and called, "Elder." Tripitaka heard and turned, and they were already face to face. The old man wore a black silk kerchief, a shallot-white Shu brocade gown, rough rice-leather calf boots, and a black-green sash, and came out greeting them with smiles, calling, "Two elders, my courtesy to you." Tripitaka returned it; Pilgrim stood without moving. The old man, seeing how fierce and ugly he was, dared not make his bow. Pilgrim said, "Why do you not bow to old Sun?" The old man, somewhat afraid, called to Gao Cai: "You rascal, would you be the death of me? I have one ugly, misshapen son-in-law at home I cannot be rid of, and now you bring this thunder god to destroy me?" Pilgrim said, "Old Gao, you have lived all these years for nothing, if you have not learned sense. To take men by their faces alone is a clean mistake. Old Sun is ugly, but he has some skill. Let him catch your demon and net your ghost, seize that son-in-law of yours, and give you back your daughter, and that will be a good deed. Why go on and on about faces?" The squire, trembling, could only summon his spirits and call, "Please come in." Only then did Pilgrim lead the white horse, tell Gao Cai to carry the baggage, and go in with Tripitaka. He did not stand on ceremony: he tied the horse to a pillar of the open hall, dragged up a chair of polished black lacquer for his master, and pulled another chair for himself beside him. Old Gao said, "This young elder is quite at home." Pilgrim said, "If you will keep me half a year, I shall be quite at home indeed."

When they were seated, Old Gao asked, "My man here said that you two elders come from the Land of the East?" Tripitaka said, "That is so. I am a poor monk sent by the court to the western heaven to bow to the Buddha and seek the scriptures. Passing your fine farm, I beg a night's lodging, and I will go on early tomorrow." Old Gao said, "Then you are only lodging guests. How do you come to speak of catching monsters?" Pilgrim said, "Because we are lodging, we may as well catch a few monsters for fun. Tell me, how many monsters has your house?" Old Gao said, "Heavens! As if we could stand any more. This one demon son-in-law has worn us to rags already." Pilgrim said, "Tell me the whole story of the monster, and how great his powers are, from the beginning, and I will catch him for you." Old Gao said, "In this village, from old times to now, no ghosts or specters, no evil devils ever troubled us. Only I have been unlucky: I had no son, only three daughters. The eldest is called Xianglan, the second Yulan, and the third Cuilan. The two older ones were matched from childhood with families of this village. Only the youngest was to take a son-in-law into the house, to live with me in my old age: a son-in-law to keep the gate, hold the door, and do the work and the errands. Three years ago there came a man, fairly neat in his looks. He said he was of a family on Mount Fuling, that his surname was Zhu, that he had no parents above him and no brothers below, and that he wished to be a son-in-law in some house. I saw a man with no roots and no ties, and so I took him in. When he first came he was diligent enough: to plow and harrow the fields he needed no ox or gear; to reap the harvest he needed no sickle or hook. He went in the dark and came at dawn, and that was all very well. Only there was one thing: he had a way of changing his face." Pilgrim said, "How did he change?" Old Gao said, "When he first came he was a black, fat fellow. Later he changed into a long-mouthed, big-eared lout, with a ridge of bristles down the back of his neck. His body was coarse and fearsome, and his head and face just like a pig's. And his stomach is monstrous: one meal takes three to five pecks of rice, and his morning snack must have a hundred-odd bakes before it is enough. Happily he eats vegetarian food. If he took to meat and wine, all this estate and farmland of mine would be eaten clean in half a year." Tripitaka said, "Because he works so much, he eats so much." Old Gao said, "Eating is a small matter. Now he can raise the wind too, coming on clouds and going in fog, hurling stones and driving sand, till my whole household and the neighbors on every side have no peace. And he has shut my young daughter Cuilan in the back rooms; for half a year I have not seen her, and do not know if she lives or dies. So we know he is a demon, and I want to hire a master of the law to send him away."

Pilgrim said, "What is hard in that? Old man, set your mind at rest. Tonight I will certainly catch him, make him write a paper dissolving the marriage, and give you back your daughter. How is that?" Old Gao rejoiced: "That I took him in is not the worst of it: he has spoiled my good name and estranged my kin. Only catch him — what need of papers? I beg you to root him out for me altogether." Pilgrim said, "Easy, easy. Tonight, when night comes, you shall see."

The old man was delighted, and had the tables wiped and the offering laid. After the meal, as evening came, he asked, "What weapons will you want? How many men to attend you? Best get them ready early." Pilgrim said, "I have weapons of my own." The old man said, "You two have only that tin staff. How can a tin staff beat that demon?" Pilgrim drew an embroidery needle from his ear, rolled it in his fingers, waved it at the wind, and it was a gold-banded iron rod thick as a bowl. He showed it to Old Gao: "Look at this staff of mine. How does it compare with your weapons? Can it beat this monster or not?" Old Gao said again, "If you have weapons, will you want men to follow you?" Pilgrim said, "I want no men. Only a few aged and worthy elders to sit quietly and chat with my master, so that I may slip away. When I have caught the demon, I will take his confession before you all and root him out for you." The old man called his servants and invited several kin and friends, and before long they had all come. When greetings were done, Pilgrim said, "Master, sit secure and easy. Old Sun is off."

See him take up the iron rod, pull Old Gao along, and say, "Lead me to the back rooms where the demon lives, and let me look." Old Gao led him to the door of the back rooms. Pilgrim said, "Go fetch the key." Old Gao said, "Look first. If the key would serve, would I have needed to hire you?" Pilgrim laughed: "Old man, you are old, but you do not know a joke. I only teased you with that word, and you took it as gospel." He stepped up, felt the door: it was a lock cast of copper. In fury he smashed it with the gold-banded rod and broke the door open; inside it was pitch dark. Pilgrim said, "Old Gao, call your daughter once. Is she in there?" The old man, steeling himself, called, "Third sister!" The daughter knew her father's voice, and answered faintly and feebly, "Father, I am here." Pilgrim flashed his gold eyes and looked carefully into the dark, and what do you think she looked like? This:

Cloud hair heaped in disorder, never combed; her jade face unwashed, stained with dust. One orchid heart still as of old; all her tender beauty sunk and ruined. Her cherry lips have lost their color; her waist is bowed and cowering. Her brows knitted with sorrow, faint as moth-feelers; her voice, frail and thin, sinks low.

She came out, saw Old Gao, grabbed him, and wept against his shoulder. Pilgrim said, "Do not weep, do not weep. Tell me: where has the demon gone?" The girl said, "I do not know where. All this time he goes at dawn and comes at nightfall, in cloud and fog, and no one knows where he goes and comes. Because he knows my father wants to drive him out, he is always on his guard, and so he comes in the dark and goes at dawn." Pilgrim said, "Say no more. Old man, take your daughter to the front house and visit with her at your leisure, and leave old Sun here to wait for him. If he does not come, do not blame me; if he comes, I will cut the grass and pull the root for you." Old Gao went off gladly with his daughter.

Pilgrim worked his power, shook himself, and changed into the very likeness of the girl, and sat alone in the room waiting for the demon. Before long a wind came, truly hurling stones and driving sand. A fine wind:

At first it swayed, soft and light; then it spread, vast and blind.Soft and light, it filled the great universe; vast and blind, nothing could bar its way.It stripped flowers and snapped willows, better than pulling hemp; it felled trees and broke forests, as if pulling greens.It churned rivers and boiled seas, and grieved the gods; it split rocks and burst mountains, and startled heaven and earth.The flower-bearing deer lost its track; the fruit-picking ape wandered lost outside.The seven-storied iron tower struck at the Buddha's head; the eight-sided banners hurt the jeweled canopy.Gold beams and jade pillars shook from their roots; tiles flew from the roofs like swallows' wings.The boatman at his oar made a vow, and hurried the launch with pigs and sheep for offering.The local earth god fled his shrine; the Dragon Kings of the four seas bowed toward heaven.On the sea it stove the yaksha boats; it scraped down half the wall of the Great Wall passes.

When the gust had passed, a demon came down out of mid-air, truly ugly to see: black face and short bristles, long snout and big ears; in a jacket of coarse cloth neither black nor blue, with a flowered cloth towel at his waist. Pilgrim laughed to himself: "So this is the business." A fine Pilgrim: he neither met him nor spoke to him, but lay on the bed feigning illness, groaning and sighing without pause. The monster, who could not tell true from false, came into the room, threw his arms around her, and made to kiss her. Pilgrim laughed to himself: "So he truly means to make game of old Sun." He used his grip, caught the monster's long snout, gave what is called a little tumble, shook his head once, and flung him plump off the bed. The monster scrambled up, holding the bed rail: "Sister, why are you so cross with me today? Is it that I came late?" Pilgrim said, "Not cross, not cross." The demon said, "If you are not cross with me, why throw me down like that?" Pilgrim said, "How small of you! You throw your arms about and kiss me at once. I am a little out of sorts today. If it were an ordinary good day I should have got up and opened the door for you. Take off your clothes and sleep." The monster did not catch the meaning, and truly began to undress. Pilgrim jumped up and sat on the night tub. The monster came back to the bed and felt about, felt no one, and called, "Sister, where have you gone? Come take off your things and sleep." Pilgrim said, "You sleep first. I have stepped out to relieve myself." The demon truly undressed first and got into bed.

Pilgrim suddenly sighed: "My luck has run low." The monster said, "What are you vexed about? How has your luck run low? Since I came to your family, though I have eaten your tea and rice, I have not eaten it for nothing: I have swept your floors and cleared your ditches, carried bricks and hauled tiles, tamped earth and built walls, plowed and harrowed, sowed wheat and set out rice shoots, made the farm and founded the estate. Now you wear silk and wear gold; in the four seasons you have fruit to enjoy, at the eight festivals vegetables cooked in oil. What more could you want, that you sigh long and short and talk of luck gone low?" Pilgrim said, "It is not that. Today my father and mother threw bricks and tiles over the wall at me, beating and cursing me sorely." The monster said, "Why do they beat and curse you?" Pilgrim said, "They say that you and I have lived as man and wife, and you are a son-in-law under their roof, yet you show no manner of respect. A fellow with such an ugly face, who can meet no uncle and be seen by no kin, and no one knows where your clouds come from or your fogs go, what house you belong to, what your name is: you shame their honest name and stain their family honor. So they beat me and curse me, and so I grieve." The monster said, "Though I am somewhat ugly, if it is handsomeness you want, that is not hard. When I first came I told them plainly, and it was only because they were willing that they took me in. Why do they speak so now? My home is the Cloud Pathway Cave on Mount Fuling. I take my surname from my face, and so I am surnamed Zhu; my formal name is Zhu Gangli. If they question you again, just tell them this."

Pilgrim rejoiced in secret: "The monster is honest enough: without a touch of the torture he has made a confession as clear as this. With his place and his name, catch him I will, whatever it takes." He said, "They mean to hire a master of the law to catch you." The monster laughed: "Sleep, sleep, pay him no mind. I have the changes of the Dipper count and a nine-toothed rake. What master of the law, what monk, what Daoist do I fear? If your father had the devotion to invite the Patriarch Who Subdues Devils of the Nine Heavens down into the world, I was once acquainted with him, and even he dare not touch me." Pilgrim said, "He says he has hired the Great Sage Equal to Heaven, surnamed Sun, who wrecked the Heavenly Palace five hundred years ago, to come and catch you." At that name the monster was three parts afraid: "If it is so, I had better go. We two can be husband and wife no longer." Pilgrim said, "Why go so soon?" The monster said, "You do not know. That Bimawen who wrecked the Heavenly Palace has some real skill. I fear I cannot manage him, and should lose my name and cut a poor figure."

With that he threw on his clothes, opened the door, and made to walk out. Pilgrim grabbed him with one hand, wiped his own face, and showed his true form, shouting, "Fine monster, where are you going! Look up and see who I am!" The monster turned his eyes and saw Pilgrim with cracked teeth and thrust-out jaws, fire eyes and gold pupils, knobby head and hairy face, the very picture of a living thunder god. His hands went numb and his legs went soft; with a rending tear he burst out of his clothes, turned into a wild wind, and tore himself free. Pilgrim rushed forward, swung the iron rod, and struck once at the wind. The monster turned into ten thousand rays of fire and fled back to his own mountain. Pilgrim rode the cloud and chased after, calling, "Where will you go! If you go up to heaven, I will chase you to the Dipper-and-Ox Palace; if you go into the earth, I will follow you to the prison of wrongful death."

Ah! But where this chase would lead, and who would win, listen to the next chapter to find out.