Chapter 20

On Yellow Wind Ridge the Tang monk Meets His Trouble; on the Mountain's Flank Bajie Presses Ahead

The law is born of the heart, and perishes again at the heart.Birth and perishing—whose work? Let each judge for himself.Since all is of one's own heart, why need another's word?Only ply the bitter labor: wrench the blood out of iron.Thread the cord through the nose, and tie a knot upon the void.Tether it to the tree of unworking, that it may not plunge and kick.Take not a thief for your son: heart and law alike forgotten.Let him not cozen you: strike home with the first blow.The heart revealed is heartless; the law shown, the law ends.When man and ox are seen no more, the blue sky's light is clear and cold.Round as the autumn moon, and no telling one from other.

This hymn was Master Xuanzang's, who had pierced the Sutra of the Heart of Many Hearts to the bottom and opened the gate: the elder recited it always and held it ever, and a spark of living light shone through of itself.

Now the three on the road ate the wind and lodged by the waters, wearing the moon and clothed in stars, and soon it was high summer, the season of blaze. Behold:

The flowers are done, and the butterflies have no heart for love; the trees are tall, and the cicadas fill the air with sound. Wild silkworms spin their cocoons, the pomegranate blazes; new lotus leaves rise in the pond.

As they went that day the sky darkened suddenly, and they saw a farmhouse by the mountain road. Tripitaka said: “Wukong, see: the sun goes down behind the western hills, hiding its mirror of fire, and the moon rises from the eastern sea, showing her wheel of ice. Happily there is a house by the road; let us beg a night's lodging and go on tomorrow.” Bajie said: “Well said; old Pig is something hungry too. Let us beg a meal at the house: with strength in me I can carry the load.” Pilgrim said: “You homesick ghost! A few days from home and you are already complaining.” Bajie said: “Brother, I am not like you, a fellow that drinks the wind and sups on smoke. These days since I followed master, I have often borne half a bellyful of hunger—do you know that?” Tripitaka heard and said: “Wuneng, if your heart is heavy for home, you are none of the monkhood: go back.” The Idiot in a fright knelt: “Master, do not listen to my senior brother; he somewhat slanders me. I have complained of nothing; he says I complain. I am a straight-gutted fool: I said my belly was hungry and we should find a house and beg a meal, and he calls me a homesick ghost. Master, I received the Bodhisattva's precepts, and I have your pity, and I gladly would serve you to the Western Heaven, vowing never to turn back nor repent. This is what is called 'training in bitterness.' How can you say I am none of the monkhood?” Tripitaka said: “If it is so, get up.”

The Idiot leapt up, muttering as he went, shouldered the load, and could only follow with his heart settled. Soon they were at the house by the road. Tripitaka dismounted, Pilgrim took the rein, Bajie set down the load, and they stood in the green shade. Tripitaka, leaning on the nine-ring tin staff, straightened his hooded cloak of bamboo weave, and went first to the door. There he saw an old man, lolling on a bamboo couch, murmuring Buddha's name. Tripitaka would not speak loudly, and called gently: “Donor, my greetings.” The old man rolled up in a start, gathered his clothes about him in haste, came out and returned the bow: “Elder, I failed to receive you. From what quarter do you come? What errand brings you to my poor gate?” Tripitaka said: “Your poor monk is a monk of the Great Tang in the Land of the East, sent by sacred edict up to the Thunderclap Monastery to bow before Buddha and fetch the scriptures. Coming to your place, the sky darkened; I wish to beg a night's lodging of your house. I beg you grant this favor.” The old man wagged his head and waved his hands: “You cannot go; the scriptures are hard to fetch in the West. If you want scriptures, go to the Eastern Heaven.” Tripitaka said nothing aloud, but thought deep: “The Bodhisattva pointed us west; why does this old man say go east? Where would scriptures be in the east?” Embarrassed, he could not speak, and was long without answer.

Now Pilgrim was fierce and headstrong by nature; he could not hold, but came up and cried out: “Old man, at your great age you understand nothing at all. We are men of religion come from afar to beg a lodging, and you must frighten us with your dull answers. If your house is truly too strait and there is no place to sleep, we can sit the night under the trees, and trouble you nothing.” The old man seized Tripitaka: “Master, you say nothing—but that disciple of yours, with that crooked face and canted jaws, that thunder-god mouth and red eyes, a very sprite of consumption—how does he affront me, an old man?” Pilgrim laughed: “Old man, you have no eyes. The pretty ones are the sort called 'fine to see and no good to eat.' I, old Sun, though small, am sound: under the skin a pack of sinews.” The old man said: “Then you must have some powers.” Pilgrim said: “I make no boast; I pass for something.” The old man said: “Where is your home? On what errand did you shave your head and become a monk?” Pilgrim said: “Old Sun's home is in Water Curtain Cave on Flower-Fruit Mountain, in the country of Aolai, by the eastern sea of Pūrvavideha. From childhood I learned to be a goblin, and was named Wukong; by my own powers I made myself Great Sage Equal to Heaven. Only because I would not take heaven's register, I turned against the heavenly palace, and brought a calamity on myself. Now, my distress past and my calamity cleared, I have bowed to the gate of the monkhood, to seek right fruition; and I guard this master of mine, of the court of the Tang, on a journey west to bow before Buddha. What are high mountains and hard roads to me, broad waters and wild waves? Old Sun can catch sprites, subdue demons, tame tigers and seize dragons, kick heaven and stir the wells—a little of everything. If your house has lost bricks or broken tiles, pots that cry or doors that open of themselves, old Sun can quiet them.”

The old man heard this speech and laughed aloud: “So you are a glib-tongued monk that begs from door to door.” Pilgrim said: “Your son is the glib tongue. These days, following my master on the road, I am too weary even to talk.” The old man said: “If you were not weary, and talked your fill, you would chatter me to death alive. If you have such powers, the West may be gone to—go, go. How many are your company? Pray come into the thatched house and lodge.” Tripitaka said: “I thank the old donor for not turning us away. We are three in company.” The old man said: “And where is the third?” Pilgrim pointed: “The old man's eyes are bleared: are not those two standing in the green shade?” The old man's eyes were bleared indeed; he raised his head and looked closely, and at the sight of Bajie's face and jaws he fell step for step, tumbling into the house, crying: “Shut the door, shut the door! The goblins are come!” Pilgrim ran and caught him: “Old man, do not fear; he is no goblin: he is my brother-disciple.” Trembling, the old man said: “Good, good, good—a monk uglier than the last.” Bajie came up: “Old gentleman, to judge men by their looks is clean wrong. Ugly we may be, but we are of use.”

While the old man stood at the gate talking with the three monks, two young men came from the south of the farm, with an old mother and three or four little children, clothes tucked up, barefoot, back from planting rice. Seeing a white horse and a load of baggage clamoring at their gate, not knowing what it meant, they crowded up together: “What is this?” Bajie turned his head, flapped his ears a few times, stretched out his long snout—and fright knocked them staggering and sprawling. Tripitaka called to them on every side: “Do not fear, do not fear. We are no wicked men: we are monks seeking the scriptures.” Only then did the old man come out the door, helping the old dame: “Mother, get up; there is no cause for fright. This master is come from the Tang; only his disciple's face is somewhat ugly—yet fierce of face and good of heart. Take the children in.” The old dame took the old man's arm, and the two young men led the children in.

Tripitaka sat on the bamboo couch under the gate tower and complained: “Disciples, your faces being ugly and your speech coarse, you have frightened this whole household into loss and hurt, and heaped up sins for me.” Bajie said: “I will not hide it from you, master: since I followed you, old Pig has grown much handsomer of late. Were it as in the old days at Gao Old Village—a thrust of the snout forward, a flap of the ears to either side—I would frighten thirty at a stroke.” Pilgrim laughed: “Idiot, no such talk; gather up some of that ugliness.” Tripitaka said: “Listen to Wukong. Faces are born with us; how would you have him gather his up?” Pilgrim said: “Let him tuck that rake-mouth of his in his breast and not bring it out; let him press those fan-ears back and not flap them: that is gathering up.” And Bajie truly tucked his snout and pressed his ears, and stood arching his head, right and left. Pilgrim carried the baggage in and tethered the white horse to the post.

Then the old man came with one of the young men, bearing a wooden tray with three cups of clear tea. Tea done, he ordered the meal prepared. The young man brought an old table, full of knots and without varnish, and two stools with broken heads and snapped legs, set them in the courtyard, and begged the three to sit in the cool. Tripitaka asked: “What is the old donor's honorable surname?” The old man said: “My humble name is Wang.” “How many sons?” “Two sons and three grandsons.” Tripitaka said: “Congratulations, congratulations.” And he asked: “What is your age?” “I have foolishly lived sixty-one years.” Pilgrim said: “Good, good, good—the full cycle met and met again.” Tripitaka asked again: “Old donor, you said at first that the scriptures of the West are hard to fetch—why so?” The old man said: “The scriptures are not hard to fetch; only the road is rough and hard to travel. Westward of us, thirty li or so, there is a mountain, called the Yellow Wind Ridge of Eight Hundred Li, and in that mountain goblins are many. Hence they are hard to fetch: that is what I meant. As for this young elder, if he has such powers as he says, you may indeed go.” Pilgrim said: “No matter, no matter. With old Sun and this brother-disciple of mine, be the goblins what they may, they will not dare to touch us.”

As they spoke the son brought the rice and set it on the table, saying: “Pray eat.” Tripitaka pressed his palms and began the grace. Bajie had already gulped down a bowl; before the elder's few lines were done the Idiot had made three bowls more. Pilgrim said: “This bran-belly has run into a hungry ghost.” Old Wang, knowing his cue, seeing him eat so fast, said: “This elder must be truly hungry; bring rice quickly.” The Idiot's belly was truly great: head never lifted, he ate fourteen bowls and more in a string, while Tripitaka and Pilgrim could not finish two. The Idiot had not done; he would eat more. Old Wang said: “In haste we have no relishes; I dare not press you—only take another mouthful.” Tripitaka and Pilgrim both said: “Enough.” Bajie said: “Old man, what is this dallying? Who asked you to cast a fortune, talking of this line and that? If there is rice, keep it coming, that is all.” The Idiot at that one meal ate the whole family out of house and home, and still said he was only half full. The things cleared, beds of bamboo couch and plank were made under the gate tower, and they slept.

Next day at dawn Pilgrim went to saddle the horse, Bajie to pack the load. Old Wang had the old dame make cakes and broth for them, and the three thanked him and took leave. The old man said: “If anything befalls you on the road, be sure to come back to this thatched house.” Pilgrim said: “Old man, no such talk. Men of religion do not walk backward on their road.” And they whipped up the horse and shouldered the load, away west.

Ah! On that going there was truly no good road toward the western regions, and surely demons would bring great calamity. The three had come no more than half a day when they met indeed a high mountain, perilous past telling. Tripitaka's horse came to the cliff edge; he raised his bridle awry and looked: indeed it was thus—

High the mountains, steep the ridges; to climb, the crags; deep, the ravines; sounding, the springs; bright, the flowers. Is the mountain high? Its top touches the blue vault. Is the ravine deep? At its bottom you look on the halls of the dead. Before the mountain: puffs on puffs of white cloud, crag upon crag of strange stone, and cliffs of a thousand fathoms and ten thousand that wrench the soul past counting. Behind the cliff: a dragon-hiding cave winding in and out; within the cave: a dripping rock that tinkles ring on ring. And there: deer with branching horns, awkward and gawking; river deer staring foolish at men; pythons of red scale coiled in coil; white-faced gibbons at play and sport. At dusk the tigers of the hills seek their dens; with dawn the dragons of the flood come out of the waves; the cave doors boom as they enter. In the grass the birds burst up with a whirr; in the wood the beasts go shuffling and grunting. Suddenly a pack of wolves and creatures passes, and the heart goes knock-knock with fright. Truly: where things must fall, they fall, and the cave falls with the ridge, and the ridge with the mountain. Green and dark are dyed to jade a thousand fathoms deep; blue gauze shrouds ten thousand heaps of mist.

The master urged his silver-gray gently; the Great Sage Sun stayed his cloud and went slow; Zhu Wuneng shifted his load and trudged. As they looked at the mountain, suddenly a whirlwind rose with a great burst. Tripitaka's heart quaked in the saddle: “Wukong, the wind is rising.” Pilgrim said: “What is a wind to fear? This is the air of the four seasons from heaven—what is there to dread?” Tripitaka said: “This wind is very wicked; it is not like the winds of heaven.” Pilgrim said: “How do you see it is not like heaven's winds?” Tripitaka said: “Look at this wind:

Toweringly, vastly, whistling and streaming; dimly, darkly, out of the blue vault it comes.Crossing the ridge one hears a thousand trees roar; entering the wood one sees ten thousand stalks sway.It shakes the willows at the bank down to the root; it blows the garden's flowers away with their leaves.The fishing boats that draw their nets make fast their cables; the traveler's skiffs, sails dropped, cast anchor all.The traveler halfway loses his road; the woodman on the hill can hardly bear his load.In the groves of immortal fruit the monkeys scatter; from the clusters of strange flowers the deer flee.Before the cliff juniper and cypress topple every one; below the ravine pine and bamboo shed leaf on leaf.It scatters earth and lifts dust, spraying sand; it overturns rivers and churns seas, wave upon wave.”

Bajie came up and caught Pilgrim: “Senior brother, the wind is very great; let us hide a while, and be safe.” Pilgrim laughed: “Brother, you are faint-hearted. Hide when the wind blows—but what if we run plump on the goblin face to face?” Bajie said: “Brother, have you never heard, 'Shun beauty as you would shun an enemy; shun wind as you would shun an arrow'? Let us hide a while; it costs us nothing.” Pilgrim said: “Say nothing yet; let me catch a handful of this wind and smell it.” Bajie laughed: “Senior brother is telling his empty tales again. Who ever caught a wind to smell it? Caught or not, it would wriggle away.” Pilgrim said: “Brother, you do not know old Sun's art of 'catching the wind.'” The good Great Sage let the wind's head pass, caught the wind's tail and sniffed it: there was a smell of fish. He said: “Truly no honest wind. By its savor this wind is no tiger wind, but a goblin wind, and there is something crooked in it, past doubting.”

He had hardly spoken when from below the slope came a striped tiger, tail clipped, hooves a-thunder. Tripitaka, startled, could not hold his carved saddle, turned a somersault off the white horse, and lay slant against the roadside, truly soul fled and spirit scattered. Bajie dropped the load, drew the rake, and, not yielding place to Pilgrim, ran forward and bawled: “Sin-beast, where are you running!” He caught him and struck at the head. The tiger rose straight up, swung his fore-left paw, clutched his own breast, and raked downward—with a ripping sound the skin came off, and he stood by the roadside. See how fierce his shape? Ah, that figure:

Blood-glossed his raw and flayed body; red-flushed his curved and circling legs.Flame-bristling his two shaggy temples; stiff-bristling his two eyebrows upright.White and gleaming his four fangs of steel; shining bright his one pair of golden eyes.Haughty and straining, he roars his great roar; gallant and fierce, he shouts his loud shout.

He cried: “Softly, softly. I am no other than the vanguard of the road before the Great King of Yellow Wind. By the Great King's strict command I patrol this mountain, to catch a few common men for our platter. What monks are you, from where, that you dare lift weapons and wound me?” Bajie cursed: “You sin-beast! You do not know me. We are no common travelers, but disciples of Tripitaka, royal brother of the Great Tang in the Land of the East, sent under seal to the West to bow before Buddha and fetch the scriptures. Run far away early, and clear the highroad; do not frighten my master, and I spare your life. Rampage as before, and where the rake falls there is no mercy.” The goblin would hear no parley; he stepped up quick, made his guard, and clawed at Bajie's face; Bajie dodged swiftly and swept the rake at him. The goblin, weaponless, turned and ran; Bajie followed hard; the goblin reached the tumbled rocks below the slope, drew two knives of red copper, swung them up in haste, and turned to meet him. The two fought back and forth before the slope, charging and wheeling.

Pilgrim raised the Tang monk: “Master, do not fear. Sit still; let old Sun go help Bajie, and when the monster is beaten down we go.” Tripitaka gathered himself up, trembling, murmuring the Sutra of the Heart of Many Hearts—no more of that.

Pilgrim drew the iron staff, crying “Take him!” Bajie braced his spirit; the goblin broke and fled. Pilgrim said: “Spare him not; we must run him down.” The two swung rake and iron staff and chased him down the mountain. The goblin, in a fluster of hands and feet, played the trick of the golden cicada slipping its shell: rolling over, he showed his true form, a fierce tiger still. Pilgrim and Bajie would not let go: they pressed the tiger, resolved to tear the root. The goblin, seeing them close upon him, clutched his breast again, stripped off his skin, spread it over the Crouching Tiger Stone, and, his true body freed, turned into a wild wind and made straight back to the road. There he saw the master murmuring the Sutra of the Heart of Many Hearts, seized him in one grab, and rode the long wind away with him. Poor Tripitaka: River Float was fated to grindings and trials; in the gate of quiet extinction merit is hard won.

The goblin carried the Tang monk to the cave mouth, stilled the wild wind, and said to the doorkeepers: “Go tell the Great King: the Tiger Vanguard of the road before has taken a monk, and waits outside for orders.” The cave lord gave the word to bring him in. The Tiger Vanguard, the two red copper knives stuck at his waist, bore the Tang monk in both hands, came up, and knelt: “Great King, your humble officer, unskilled, bore your command to patrol the mountain, and met with a monk—he is Master Tripitaka, royal brother of the Great Tang in the Land of the East, going west to bow before Buddha and fetch the scriptures. I took him and bring him to offer, a small dish for your feast.”

The cave lord heard and started: “I have heard it said: Master Tripitaka is a holy monk sent by the Tang under seal to fetch the scriptures; under him is a disciple called Pilgrim Sun, of vast powers and mighty strength. How could you take him?” The Vanguard said: “He has two disciples: the first wields a nine-toothed rake, long-mouthed and big-eared; the other wields an iron staff of the gold bands, with eyes of fire and pupils of gold. They were just upon me, fighting hard, when I played the trick of the golden cicada slipping its shell, slipped free in the opening, and took this monk, to offer to the Great King, a small token of one meal's respect.” The cave lord said: “Do not eat him yet.” The Vanguard said: “Great King, to see food and not eat it—is that not a weakling's way?” The cave lord said: “You do not understand. To eat him is a small matter; I only fear his two disciples will come to the door and raise an uproar: that is not safe. Bind him on the Wind-Settling Stake in the back garden. Wait three days or five: if the two do not come to trouble us, then, first, his body will be clean and fresh, second, no wrangling—shall we not do as we please? Boil him or steam him, fry him or braise him, and take our ease over him at leisure.” The Vanguard rejoiced: “Great King, deep your schemes and far your foresight—well said!” He called: “Boys, take him away.”

Seven or eight binders crowded up and carried the Tang monk off, like an eagle with a sparrow, roped and wound in cords. So it was: River Float of the bitter fate thought of Pilgrim; the holy monk in trouble thought of Wuneng. He cried: “Disciples! I know not on what mountain you take sprites, in what place you subdue goblins; I am seized by a demon and suffering this wicked wrong—when shall we meet again? Bitter, bitter! If you come soon, you may yet save my life; if you are very late, I am surely lost.” Sighing on one side, his tears fell like rain.

Now Pilgrim and Bajie chased the tiger down the slope, and saw it run and fall, crouched flat before the cliff. Pilgrim raised the staff and struck with all his force—the shock stung his own hand. Bajie struck again with the rake, and the teeth sprang back: it was a tiger skin spread over the Crouching Tiger Stone. Pilgrim was startled: “Bad, bad! We have fallen into his trick!” Bajie said: “What trick?” Pilgrim said: “It is called the golden cicada slipping its shell: he spread the skin here and is gone. Let us go back and look for master, before harm comes to him.” The two turned back in haste: Tripitaka was gone. Pilgrim shouted like thunder: “What now? Master is taken.” Bajie led the horse, tears dropping: “Heavens, heavens! Where shall we look?” Pilgrim, head up, said: “Do not weep, do not weep; weeping only blunts the edge. In any case he must be on this mountain; let us search.”

The two rushed into the mountain, over the ridges and across the spurs, a long while, till from beneath a rock cliff a cave dwelling thrust up. The two stood and gazed: perilous indeed. Behold:

Folded crags and pointed peaks; winding ridges and an ancient road. Green pines and emerald bamboo, gentle and swaying; green willows and glossy wutong, fresh and bending. Before the cliff strange stones in pairs; within the wood shy birds in couples. The ravine waters run far, dashing the rock walls; the mountain springs drip fine, spilling over the sand banks. Wild clouds in flakes; the immortal grasses thick and soft. Fox goblins and cunning hares dart and weave; horned deer and musk deer vie in valor. From the cloven cliff hangs slantwise a vine of ten thousand years; over the deep glen hangs half-suspended a cypress of a thousand ages. Grand and towering it outdoes Mount Hua; fallen petals and crying birds would match the Terrace of Heaven.

Pilgrim said: “Worthy brother, set the baggage in that wind-hidden hollow and turn the horses loose; do not show yourself. Let old Sun go fight at his gate: the goblin must be taken before master can be saved.” Bajie said: “No need of orders. Go quickly.”

Pilgrim straightened his gown, tightened his tiger-skin skirt, drew the staff, and made at the gate. On it were six great characters: YELLOW WIND RIDGE, YELLOW WIND CAVE. He planted his feet in a T, staff in hand, and cried aloud: “Goblins, send my master out quickly, and save me the trouble of overturning your nest and flattening your lodging.” The little goblins heard and trembled every one, and ran scuttling in to report: “Great King, ruin!” The Yellow Wind Goblin, sitting within, asked: “What is it?” The goblins said: “At the cave gate is a monk with a thunder-god mouth and hairy face, an iron staff of monstrous size in his hand, demanding his master.” The cave lord started, and called the Tiger Vanguard: “I sent you to patrol the mountain: you should have taken mountain oxen, wild swine, fat deer, or shaggy goats. How have you taken that Tang monk, and drawn his disciple here to make this uproar? How is it to be handled?” The Vanguard said: “Great King, be at ease and rest; pillow high and do not worry. Your humble officer, unskilled, will take fifty lads out and bring that Sun Wukong in to fill the pot.” The cave lord said: “Besides my officers great and small I have five or seven hundred lads: choose and lead as many as you will. Only take that Pilgrim, and we may eat our fill of that monk in peace and quiet; I will gladly be your sworn brother. But if you cannot take him and only get yourself hurt, do not then blame me.” The Tiger Goblin said: “Be at ease, be at ease. Let me go.”

He picked out fifty sturdy goblins indeed, beat the drum and shook the banners, twirled the two red copper knives, and came out the gate, crying loud and harsh: “You monkey-monk, from where, that you come shouting and bawling here?” Pilgrim cursed: “You flayed beast! You played your shell-slipping trick and made away with my master, and you ask me what for. Hand my master out quickly and well, and I may spare your life.” The Tiger Goblin said: “Your master I took, to make my Great King a supper. Know which way the wind sits, and go back; otherwise I take you too, and we make a meal of you both—buying one, and getting one into the bargain.” Hearing this, Pilgrim's heart blazed; his steel teeth ground with a crackle, his fiery eyes round and rolling; he drew the iron staff and roared: “What powers have you, to talk so big? Do not run—look to the staff!” The Vanguard hastily caught it with his knives. The fight was indeed no light matter: each showed his might. A fine fight:

That goblin was a true goose egg; Wukong was the stone of the goose yard.The red copper knives against the Handsome Monkey King—like a heap of eggs thrown at a boulder.How should the crow and magpie contend with the phoenix? How should the dove match the hawk and sparrowhawk?That goblin breathes wind and grays the mountain with ash; Wukong spits mist and clouds the sun.Before three rounds or five the Vanguard's loins went soft and all his strength was gone;He turned to flee for his life, and Wukong pressed him hard to the death.

The Tiger Goblin could ward no longer, and turned and ran. He had talked big before the cave lord, and dared not go back to the cave, but made up the slope for his life. Pilgrim would not let go: staff in hand, hot on him, roaring and howling, his cries unceasing—and so he chased him to the wind-hidden hollow. He lifted his head, and saw Bajie there watering the horse. Bajie heard the roar of pursuit, turned to look: it was Pilgrim chasing the beaten Tiger Goblin; he dropped the horse, raised the rake, and struck aslant at his head. Poor Vanguard: escaped from the net of yellow silk, who knew he would run into the fish-snarer? One blow of Bajie's rake punched nine holes in him, fresh blood welling; his skull drained of marrow to the last. There is a poem to prove it. The poem says:

Three times five years ago he turned to the true school; keeping fast, eating herbs, he woke to the empty truth.With a sincere heart he vowed to guard Tang Tripitaka: first taking the monk's vow, he wins this merit here.

The Idiot set a foot on his spine and swung the rake to strike again. Pilgrim saw and rejoiced: “Brother, just so! He brought a few score goblins to fight old Sun; I beat him, and instead of running to the cave he runs here to seek death. Good that you caught him, or he was off again.” Bajie said: “Was it he that raised the wind and carried master off?” Pilgrim said: “The very one.” Bajie said: “Did you ask where master is?” Pilgrim said: “The goblin has master in the cave, to make a supper for some goblin king of his. Old Sun flared up and fought him here—and it was you that ended his life. Brother, this merit is yours. Keep the horse and the load; I will drag this dead monster off, and go back to the cave mouth to defy them. That old goblin must be taken before master can be saved.” Bajie said: “Brother, well said. Go, go. If you beat that old goblin and he runs this way, old Pig will head him off and kill him.”

Good Pilgrim: one hand lifted the iron staff, one hand dragged the dead tiger, and he made straight for the cave mouth. Truly:

The master in distress meets with goblins; natures in accord subdue the raging fiends.

But whether he could subdue the goblin and save the Tang monk—listen to the next chapter to find out.

On Yellow Wind Ridge the Tang monk Meets His Trouble; on the Mid-Mountain Bajie Vies to Be First

The law is born from the heart, and in the heart it dies.Who rules that birth and death? Judge it yourself, my friend.Since all is your own heart, what use is another's word?Only bend the bitter effort: wring blood out of iron.A soft rope goes through the nose, tied to a knot of empty air.Tether it to the tree of non-action, and let it run wild no more.Do not take the thief for your son: forget both heart and law.Do not let it fool you: strike one blow first, and strike it through.Show the heart, and there is no heart; show the law, and the law too stops.When the man and the ox are both unseen, the blue sky's light is clean and bright.Round as the autumn moon, and past all telling which is which.

This gatha came of Master Xuanzang's full waking to the Sutra of the Many Hearts, which opened the gate for him. The elder said it often and kept it in his heart, and a spark of the living light shone through of itself.

Now the three on the road ate the wind and slept by the waters, under the moon and the stars, and soon it was the burning season of summer. Look:

The flowers are done, and the butterflies have no heart for talk; the trees are tall, and the cicadas are loud.Wild silkworms spin their cocoons, and the pomegranate blazes; on the pool the new lotus shows.

One day, as they went, evening fell suddenly, and they saw a farmhouse by the mountain road. Tripitaka said, "Wukong, look: the sun has gone behind the western hills and hidden its mirror of fire, and the moon is rising over the eastern sea, showing its wheel of ice. Luckily there is a house by the road. Let us beg a night's lodging and go on tomorrow." Bajie said, "Well said. Old Pig is somewhat hungry too. Let us beg a meal at the house; with strength in me I can carry the load." Pilgrim said, "You home-sick ghost! You have been away from home a few days, and already you complain." Bajie said, "Brother, I am not one of your wind-drinkers and smoke-eaters. These days since I followed master, I have borne half a belly of hunger half the time. Do you know that?" Tripitaka heard and said, "Wuneng, if your heart is heavy for home, you are not a man who has left home. You had better go back." The lout dropped to his knees in a fright: "Master, do not listen to my elder brother. He does some slanderous talking. I never complained of anything, and he says I complained. I am a straight-gutted simpleton: I said my belly was hungry, and that we should find a house and beg a meal, and he calls me a home-sick ghost. Master, I took the bodhisattva's vows, and by your mercy I am willing to serve you to the western heaven. I swear I will never turn back. This is what is called 'bearing the bitterness to practice.' How can you say I am no man of the left-home estate?" Tripitaka said, "If it is so, get up."

The lout sprang up, muttering as he went, shouldered the load, and settled his heart to follow. Soon they stood at the farmhouse by the road. Tripitaka got down; Pilgrim took the reins; Bajie set down the load; and all stood waiting in the green shade. Tripitaka leaned on his nine-ringed tin staff, settled his rattan-woven hood, and went first to the door. An old man lay tipped back on a bamboo couch, mumbling the Buddha's name. Tripitaka did not raise his voice, but called softly, "Patron, my greeting to you." The old man bounded up, gathered his gown, came to the door, and returned the courtesy: "Elder, forgive my poor welcome. From what quarter do you come? What brings you to my poor gate?" Tripitaka said, "I am a monk of Great Tang in the Land of the East, sent by the sacred decree to the Thunderclap Monastery to bow to the Buddha and seek the scriptures. It has grown late at your honorable place, and I wish to beg one night's lodging of you. I beg your kindness." The old man waved his hands and shook his head: "You cannot go. The scriptures are hard to fetch in the west. If you want scriptures, go east for them." Tripitaka said nothing aloud, but pondered within: "The bodhisattva pointed me west. Why does this old man say to go east? How could there be scriptures in the east?" He was put out and could not speak, and for a long while made no answer.

Now Pilgrim was fierce and headstrong by nature, and could not hold back. He came up and called out, "Old man, at your great age you have no sense at all. A man who has left home comes from far to beg lodging, and you frighten him with dull, graceless talk. If your house is truly too narrow and has no place for us to sleep, we can sit the night under the trees and trouble you not at all." The old man grabbed Tripitaka: "Master, you say nothing, but that disciple of yours, with that crooked face and jutting jaw, that thunder god's beak and those red eyes, a devil out of a wasting sickness — how dare he insult an old man like me?" Pilgrim laughed: "Old man, you have no eye at all. Your pretty ones are the kind that look well and eat ill. Old Sun here is small, but he is solid: a bundle of sinew under the skin." The old man said, "You must have some skill." Pilgrim said, "I will not boast. I will pass." The old man said, "Where is your home? What made you shave your head and become a monk?" Pilgrim said, "Old Sun's family seat is in the Water Curtain Cave on Mount Flower-Fruit, in the country of Aolai, east of the sea, in East Purvavideha. From childhood I learned to be a monster, and was named Wukong. By my own skill I became a Great Sage Equal to Heaven. Because I would not take heaven's register, I turned against the Heavenly Palace and brought a calamity on my head. Now my trouble is past and my calamity cleared; I have turned to the Buddhist gate and seek the true fruit. I guard this master of mine from the court of Tang on his journey west to bow to the Buddha. What are high mountains and hard roads to me, broad waters and wild waves? Old Sun can catch monsters, subdue devils, tame tigers and seize dragons, kick heaven and stir the wells — a little of everything. If there is anything amiss in your house — bricks thrown, tiles rattled, pots crying, doors opening of themselves — old Sun can settle it."

The old man heard all this and laughed aloud: "So you are a glib-tongued monk, going door to door for alms." Pilgrim said, "Your glib tongue, if you please. These days, walking with my master, I am too tired to talk much." The old man said, "If you were not tired, and did talk much, you would chatter me to death outright. Since you have such skill, the west can be reached after all. Go, go. How many are in your party? Come sleep in my thatched hut." Tripitaka said, "Many thanks for your kindness, old patron, in not turning us away. We are three." The old man said, "Where is the third?" Pilgrim pointed: "The old man's eyes are dim. Are they not standing there under the green shade?" The old man's eyes were truly dim. He looked up sharply, and at one sight of Bajie's face he fell stumbling, step by step, and ran into the house crying, "Shut the gate, shut the gate! A monster has come!" Pilgrim ran after him and held him: "Do not be afraid, old man. He is no monster; he is my brother-disciple." The old man, trembling, said, "Good, good, good — a monk uglier than the last." Bajie came up: "Old sir, if you take men by their faces, you are clean wrong. Ugly we are, but we are all of use."

While the old man stood at the gate talking with the three monks, two young men came up from the south of the farm with an old mother and three or four small children, gowns tucked up and barefoot, coming back from setting out rice. They saw a white horse and a load of baggage making a noise at their gate, and not knowing what it might be, crowded up together and asked, "What is this about?" Bajie turned his head, flapped his ears a few times, and thrust out his long snout, and the people toppled east and west, stumbling and falling in heaps. Tripitaka, in a flurry, called out on every side, "Do not be afraid, do not be afraid! We are not bad men. We are monks fetching the scriptures." The old man came out then, helped the old mother up, and said, "Get up, grandmother, and do not be frightened. This master is from the land of Tang; only his disciple's face is ugly. But a fierce face often hides a kind heart. Take the children inside." The old mother took the old man's arm, and the two young men led the children in.

Tripitaka sat on the bamboo couch under the gate tower and complained: "Disciples, since your faces are ugly, your tongues might be gentle; but you have frightened this whole family half to death, and heaped up sins against me." Bajie said, "I will not hide it from you, master: since I have followed you, old Pig has grown much handsomer. In the old days at Gao Village, I would thrust my snout forward and flap my ears to both sides, and frighten twenty or thirty people to death at a time." Pilgrim laughed: "Lout, do not talk wildly. Gather up some of that ugliness." Tripitaka said, "Listen to Wukong. A face is born with one. How would you have him gather it up?" Pilgrim said, "Tuck that rake of a snout inside your jacket, and do not bring it out. Press those fan-leaf ears back behind your head, and do not wag them. That is gathering it up." And Bajie truly tucked his snout, pressed back his ears, and stood at their sides with his head lowered. Pilgrim carried the baggage in and tied the white horse to the post.

Then the old man brought a young man with a wooden tray, bearing three cups of clear tea. After the tea he ordered a meal made ready. The young man brought out an old table, full of holes, without lacquer or finish, and two benches with broken ends and snapped legs, and set them in the courtyard, asking the three to sit in the cool. Tripitaka asked, "What is your honored name, old patron?" The old man said, "My name is Wang." "How many sons have you?" "Two sons and three grandsons." Tripitaka said, "Our congratulations, our congratulations." He asked again, "What is your age?" "I have foolishly lived to sixty-one." Pilgrim said, "Good, good, good! The flower sixty met again." Tripitaka asked again, "Old patron, at first you said the scriptures of the west are hard to fetch. Why so?" The old man said, "The scriptures are not hard to fetch; it is the road that is rough and hard to walk. Going west from here, thirty li or so, there is a mountain called Yellow Wind Ridge, eight hundred li across, and there are many monsters in it. That is why I say the scriptures are hard to fetch. As for this young elder, if he has all the skill he says, the road can be walked." Pilgrim said, "No matter, no matter. With old Sun and this brother-disciple of mine, no monster of any kind dare touch us."

While they talked, the son brought in the food and laid it on the table, saying, "Please eat." Tripitaka pressed his palms and chanted the meal scripture. Bajie had already swallowed a bowl. The elder's few lines of scripture were not yet done, and the lout had finished three bowls more. Pilgrim said, "This chaff-stuffed one has run into a hungry ghost." Old Wang, who knew the ways of the world, saw how fast he ate and said, "This elder must be truly hungry. Bring more rice, quickly." The lout's stomach was truly a great one. Without lifting his head he ate fourteen or fifteen bowls in a row, while Tripitaka and Pilgrim could not manage two. The lout still ate on. Old Wang said, "We have no dishes, it was all in haste; I dare not press you hard. Please take one more chopstick-full." Tripitaka and Pilgrim both said, "Enough." Bajie said, "Old man, what is all this dithering? Who asked you to cast fortunes and talk of fifth lines and sixth lines? If there is rice, just keep it coming." At that one sitting the lout ate his whole family's rice clean, and still said he was only half full. When the things were cleared, they made up bamboo couches and board beds under the gate tower and slept.

At dawn the next day Pilgrim went to saddle the horse, and Bajie to shoulder the load. Old Wang had the old mother prepare cakes and tea for them, and the three thanked him and made to go. The old man said, "If anything goes wrong on the road, be sure to come back to my thatched hut." Pilgrim said, "Old man, do not talk moonshine. We who have left home do not walk backward." So they whipped up the horse and shouldered the load, and went west.

Ah! On this going there was truly no good road to the western lands: devils were sure to come down with great calamity. Before half the day the three came upon a high mountain, most terribly steep, as the telling goes. Tripitaka's horse came to the cliff edge; he drew rein and looked. Truly:

High are the mountains, steep the ridges; to climb, the cliffs; to fathom, the ravines; sounding, the springs; fresh, the flowers. High as the mountain is, its top touches the blue sky; deep as the ravine is, at its bottom you see the dark world. Before the mountain hang puffs of woolly white cloud, and strange rocks stand in tiers, on cliffs that seize the soul, ten thousand fathoms deep, past all telling. Behind the cliffs winds the Dragon-Hiding Cave, crooked and curved; in the cave is the Dripping Rock, ting-a-ling with water. Then too: antlered deer with branching horns, river deer staring dull at passing men, red-scaled pythons coiling coil on coil, white-faced gibbons at their play. At evening the tiger that haunts the hills seeks its den; at dawn the dragon that rides the waves rises from the water, and the cave doors boom and rattle. Birds in the grass burst up whirring; beasts in the wood crash crackling through. Suddenly a wolf-pack streams past, and the heart thumps with fright. Truly: ridge answers ridge and hollow answers hollow, hollow rings to ridge and ridge to peak. The blue-black hills are dyed like a thousand fathoms of jade; kingfisher gauze wraps ten thousand heaps of mist.

The master urged his silver dapple slowly; the Great Sage Sun checked his cloud and walked slow; Zhu Wuneng ground along under his load. As they watched the mountain, they heard a whirlwind burst upon them. Tripitaka's heart quaked in the saddle: "Wukong, the wind is rising." Pilgrim said, "What is there to fear in wind? It is the air of the four seasons of heaven. Why dread it?" Tripitaka said, "This wind is evil, not like the wind of heaven." Pilgrim said, "How is it not like the wind of heaven?" Tripitaka said, "Look at this wind:

Lofty and surging, sighing and drifting, dim and vast, out of the blue empyrean.Over the ridge you hear a thousand trees roar; into the wood you see ten thousand stalks sway.Willows along the bank are torn up root and all; flowers in the garden go flying, leaves and all.The net-drawing fishing boats haul in their lines tight; the sail-lowering traveler's skiffs drop anchor every one.The traveler on the half-road loses his way; the woodcutter in the hills can hardly shoulder his load.In the groves of immortal fruit the monkeys scatter; in the thickets of strange flowers the deer flee.Before the cliff the junipers and cypresses topple one by one; in the ravine below the pines and bamboo shed leaf on leaf.Earth is thrown and dust raised, sand bursting on all sides; rivers are turned and seas churned, wave on towering wave."

Bajie came up, grabbed Pilgrim with one hand, and said, "Elder brother, the wind is very great. Let us hide somewhere out of it, and be safe." Pilgrim laughed: "Brother, you are no good. Hide when the wind is great! But suppose we come face to face with a demon: what then?" Bajie said, "Brother, have you never heard, 'Shun a beauty as you shun an enemy; shun the wind as you shun an arrow'? Let us hide a little; no shame in it." Pilgrim said, "Say nothing. Let me catch a handful of this wind and smell it." Bajie laughed: "Elder brother, there you go with your empty lies. Who can catch a handful of wind and smell it? Even if you caught it, it would slip through your fingers." Pilgrim said, "Brother, you do not know: old Sun has an art of 'catching the wind.'" A fine Great Sage: he let the head of the wind pass and caught its tail, brought it to his nose, and smelled it. There was a fishy smell in it. He said, "Truly this is no good wind. By its smell it is no tiger's wind; it is a monster's wind. There is certainly something crooked here."

He had barely said it when, down the slope, slashing its tail and galloping, sprang a striped tiger. Tripitaka, panicked, could not keep his seat on the carved saddle, tumbled head over heels off the white horse, and lay slumped by the roadside, truly with soul fled and spirit scattered. Bajie dropped the load, drew the rake, let no Pilgrim go before him, and shouted, "Wicked beast, where are you going!" He ran at it and struck down at its head. The tiger stood straight up on its hind legs, raised its left forepaw, clawed its own chest, and raked downward; with a tearing rip it stripped off its skin and stood there by the road. Look how terrible it seemed. Ah, that shape:

A gleaming body of raw red flesh; bent, curved legs and feet, fiery red.Both temples shaggy as leaping flame; two stiff eyebrows standing straight up.Four teeth of white, gleaming steel; one pair of gold eyes, blazing bright.Proud and straining, it bellowed aloud; bold and fierce, it shouted its challenges.

It shouted: "Slow, slow! I am no other than the forward vanguard under the Great King of Yellow Wind. By the Great King's strict order I patrol this mountain, to catch a few common men for our platters. What monks are you, from where, to dare take up weapons and wound me?" Bajie cursed: "You wicked beast! You do not know me. We are no common travelers. We are the disciples of Tripitaka, sworn brother of the throne of Great Tang in the Land of the East, sent by decree to the western heaven to bow to the Buddha and fetch the scriptures. Run far away in good time, clear the high road, and do not frighten my master, and I will spare your life. If you rage as before, when the rake comes down there will be no mercy." The demon gave him no time to argue, but stepped in quickly, set his stance, and clawed at Bajie's face. Bajie dodged in haste and swung the rake to strike. The monster had no weapon in his hand; he turned and ran. Bajie followed after. At the foot of the slope the monster got into a tumble of rocks, brought out two knives of red copper, swung them up in haste, and turned to meet him. The two fought back and forth, charging and parrying, before the slope.

Sun Pilgrim helped the Tang monk up: "Master, do not be afraid. Sit still a moment, while old Sun goes to help Bajie. Once the monster is beaten down we can go on." Tripitaka had just sat up, trembling, chanting the Sutra of the Many Hearts under his breath. Of this no more.

Pilgrim drew the iron rod and cried, "Take him!" By then Bajie had braced his spirit, and the monster gave way and fled the field. Pilgrim said, "Spare him not. We must catch him." The two swung rake and iron rod and chased him down the mountain. The monster's hands and feet went wild with panic. He used the trick of the golden cicada shedding its shell: he rolled once, showed his true body, and was a fierce tiger again. Pilgrim and Bajie would not let him go, and chased the tiger, determined to pull the root. The monster, seeing them close behind, clawed his chest once more, stripped off the skin, spread it over the Crouching Tiger Rock, and slipped out of his true body into a wild wind, back to the road. There he found the master just chanting the Sutra of the Many Hearts, seized him in one grab, rode a long wind, and carried him off. Poor Tripitaka: River Float was fated to meet blow on blow; in the gate of stillness the work of conduct is hard to win.

The demon brought the Tang monk to the cave mouth, checked the wild wind, and said to the doorkeepers, "Go report to the Great King that the Tiger Vanguard of the forward road has caught a monk, waiting outside for orders." The master of the cave gave the order to bring him in. The Tiger Vanguard, the two red copper knives stuck in his belt, carried the Tang monk in both hands, came forward, knelt, and said, "Great King, your humble general has no gifts. By your order I went to patrol the mountain, and met a monk. He is the priest Tripitaka, sworn brother of the throne of Great Tang in the Land of the East, on his way to the western heaven to bow to the Buddha and fetch the scriptures. I caught him and bring him to offer you, to make one meal."

When the master of the cave heard this, he was startled: "I have heard it said that the priest Tripitaka is a holy monk sent by decree from Great Tang to fetch the scriptures, and that under him is a disciple called Pilgrim Sun, of vast powers and mighty craft. How could you catch him?" The vanguard said, "He has two disciples. One fights with a nine-toothed rake; he is long in the snout and big in the ears. The other fights with a gold-banded iron rod; he has fire eyes and gold pupils. They were just pressing your humble general hard in the fight, when I used the trick of the golden cicada shedding its shell, slipped clear, and took this monk, to offer him to the Great King, as a token of one meal." The master of the cave said, "Do not eat him yet." The vanguard said, "Great King, food before you and not to eat — do you call that a botched job?" The master of the cave said, "You do not understand. To eat him is a small matter; I fear only that his two disciples will come to our door and raise a storm, and that is not safe. Tie him to the Wind-Fixing Stake in the back garden. In three or five days, if the two do not come to trouble us, then, first, his body will be clean for us, and second there will be no wrangling. Would that not be as we please? Boil him or steam him, fry him or stir-fry him, and take our ease over him at leisure; there is no hurry." The vanguard rejoiced: "Great King, you plan deep and see far. Well said!" He called, "Boys, take him away."

Seven or eight binders crowded up and carried the Tang monk off, like an eagle taking a sparrow, roped and corded. Truly it was: River Float of the bitter fate thinking of Pilgrim; the holy monk in trouble longing for Wuneng. He said, "Disciples! On what mountain are you catching monsters, in what place subduing demons, while the fiend has caught me and worked this cruelty on me? When shall we see each other again? Oh, bitter! If you come soon, you may yet save my life; if you are very late, there is no hope." He sighed on one side and wept like rain on the other.

Now Pilgrim and Bajie chased the tiger down the slope, and saw it fall and lie flattened before the cliff. Pilgrim raised the rod and struck with all his might — and the shock made his own hand smart. Bajie struck too with the rake, and the rake teeth threw sparks. It was a tiger skin, spread over the Crouching Tiger Rock. Pilgrim was shocked: "Bad, bad! We have fallen into his trick!" Bajie said, "What trick?" Pilgrim said, "It is called the golden cicada shedding its shell. He spread the tiger skin here and has slipped away. Let us go back and look after master, before he comes to harm." The two turned in haste, but Tripitaka was nowhere. Pilgrim thundered, "What now? Our master is taken." Bajie took the horse's rein, tears in his eyes: "Heavens, heavens! Where shall we look?" Pilgrim lifted his head: "Do not weep, do not weep. Weeping spoils the edge of courage. He must be in this mountain somewhere. Let us go and look."

The two rushed into the mountain, over ridges and across ranges, a long while, until under a stone cliff a cave dwelling rose before them. The two stopped and looked: truly a fierce and perilous place. Look:

Folded crags and sharp peaks; winding ranges and an old road. Green pines and kingfisher bamboo lean together; green willows and jade parasol trees stand fresh. Before the cliff strange rocks stand in pairs; in the wood shy birds call in couples. The ravine water runs far and beats the stone walls; the mountain springs drip fine over the sandy banks. Wild clouds drift in flakes; the magic grass grows thick. Demon foxes and cunning hares dart and weave; antlered deer and musk deer vie in courage. A ten-thousand-year vine hangs slant from the split cliff; a thousand-year cypress hangs half over the deep gorge. Proud and towering, it mocks Mount Hua; fallen flowers and crying birds vie with the Tiantai.

Pilgrim said, "Worthy brother, set the baggage down in that wind-sheltered hollow, and turn the horses loose. Do not show yourself. Let old Sun go to his gate and fight him. I must catch the demon before I can save master." Bajie said, "No need to tell me twice. Go quickly."

Pilgrim straightened his gown, cinched his tiger-skin skirt, drew his rod, and pushed up to the gate. Six great characters stood on it: "Yellow Wind Cave on Yellow Wind Ridge." He planted his feet in a T, rod in hand, and called out: "Monster! Send my master out to me quickly, and spare your nest from being torn over and your home from being flattened." The small demons, hearing this, were afraid, every one, and ran trembling inside to report: "Great King, disaster!" The Yellow Wind Monster was sitting in state. "What is it?" The imps said, "Outside the cave gate is a monk with a thunder god's beak and a hairy face, an iron rod thick beyond measure in his hand, demanding his master." The master of the cave was alarmed, and called the Tiger Vanguard: "I sent you to patrol the mountain. You should have taken mountain cattle, wild boar, fat deer, and wild sheep. Why bring me this Tang monk, and draw his disciples here to make this uproar? What is to be done?" The vanguard said, "Set your mind at rest, Great King, and sleep on a high pillow without a care. Your humble general is no great one, but I will lead fifty imps out and bring in that so-called Pilgrim Sun to fill out the meal." The master of the cave said, "Here, besides my officers great and small, I have five or seven hundred imps. Choose as you please, and lead as many as you will. Only catch that Pilgrim, and we shall eat our monk's flesh at our ease, and I will gladly be sworn brothers with you. But if you cannot catch him and he hurts you instead, do not blame me then." The tiger monster said, "Be at ease, be at ease. Wait till I go and come."

Truly he picked fifty strong imps, beat the drum, waved the flags, buckled on his two red copper knives, and burst out the gate, shouting, "You monkey monk, from where, that you dare stand here shouting and bawling?" Pilgrim cursed: "You skin-flaying beast! You used your shell-shedding trick and carried off my master, and now you ask me what I want! Send my master out properly this minute, and I will spare your life." The tiger monster said, "I have your master, to make a meal for my Great King. Know which way the wind blows, and go back. Otherwise I catch you too, and we eat you together: buy one and get one free, no?" Pilgrim, hearing this, raged in his heart, his steel teeth grinding and gnashing, his fire eyes rolling round and wide open. He drew the iron rod and cried, "And what great skill have you, to talk so big? Do not run! Look to my rod." The vanguard hurriedly met him with his knives. This bout was truly no child's play: each showed his powers, a fine fight:

That monster is a true goose egg; Wukong is the stone the egg is thrown at.The red copper knives fence the Handsome Monkey King: it is as if piled eggs came to batter stone.How should the wren contend with the phoenix? How dare the dove match the hawk and the sparrowhawk?That monster sprays wind, and ash covers the hill; Wukong breathes mist, and cloud hides the sun.Back and forth they went not five rounds, and the vanguard's back went soft, all his strength gone.He turned to flee for his life, and Wukong pressed him hard to the death.

The tiger monster could hold out no longer, and turned and ran. He had boasted before the master of the cave, and dared not go back to the cave; he made straight up the slope for his life. Pilgrim would not let him go. Rod in hand, he chased him roaring and shouting without pause, clear to the wind-sheltered hollow. Looking up, he saw Bajie there, watering the horses. Bajie heard the roaring and the shouts, turned to look, and saw it was the tiger monster whom Pilgrim had beaten and put to flight. He dropped the horses, raised the rake, and struck slantwise at its head. Poor vanguard! He had slipped his net to leap away, never thinking to meet the fisherman's cover again. Bajie's rake struck nine holes in him, fresh blood gushing, and all the brains in his head ran dry. There is a poem to prove it. The poem says:

Three times five years ago he turned to the right school, keeping the fast, eating clean, and waking to the empty truth.With a true heart he vowed to guard the Tang Tripitaka; new to the Buddhist gate, he won this first merit.

The lout set one foot on the monster's back, swung the rake in both hands, and struck again. Pilgrim, seeing it, rejoiced: "Brother, just so. He led fifty imps out and dared cross rods with old Sun. I beat him, and instead of running to his cave he ran here to seek death. Good that you caught him; otherwise he had slipped away again." Bajie said, "Was it he who raised the wind and carried off master?" Pilgrim said, "It was, it was." Bajie said, "Did you ask him where master is?" Pilgrim said, "The monster has him in the cave, to make a meal for that cursed Great King of his. Old Sun flared up and fought him all the way here, and you finished him. Brother, let this merit be set to your account. Keep watch on the horses and the baggage. Let me drag this dead monster off, and go demand battle at the cave mouth. Only by catching that old demon can master be saved." Bajie said, "Brother, well said. Go, go. If you beat that old demon and he runs this way again, old Pig will cut him off here and kill him."

A fine Pilgrim: the iron rod in one hand, the dead tiger dragged in the other, he went straight to the cave mouth. Truly:

The priest of the law in trouble meets the monsters; natures joined in concord put the fiends to rest.

But whether he could subdue the monsters and save the Tang monk, listen to the next chapter to find out.