Chapter 23

Tripitaka Does Not Forget His Roots; the Four Sages Test the Chan Heart

Bearing the law they came west, and the road runs long; the autumn wind soughs, and frost flowers fall.The clever ape is chained fast — let no one loose the rope; the vicious horse needs diligent turning, no lash of the whip.Wood Mother and Metal Lord were joined from the first; Yellow Dame and Scarlet Child were never at odds.Bite open the iron pellet for the true message: prajna-paramita carries them to that home.

This chapter tells how the way of fetching scriptures never departs from the way of keeping to one's own root. Master and disciples, the four of them, awoke to true thusness, burst the lock of dust in a moment, leaped free of the sea of nature and the flowing sand, unencumbered altogether, and took the high road west. They had crossed all the blue hills and green waters, wearied their eyes on wild grasses and idle flowers; and truly time ran swift, for it was deep autumn again. They saw such things as these:

Maple leaves redden the whole mountainside; yellow blossoms bear up under the evening wind.The old cicada's song grows languid; the sorrowful cricket's thoughts have no end.The lotus breaks like a green silk fan; orange scent drifts from the golden-balled clusters.Pity the few lines of wild geese: dot by dot they file across the far sky.

As they went, dusk came upon them unawares. "Disciples," said Tripitaka, "the light is failing again. Where shall we lodge?" "Master, that is said amiss," said Pilgrim. "For us religious, wind is our meal and water our bed; we lie in moonlight and sleep in frost — every place is home. Why ask where we will lodge?" "Brother," said Zhu Bajie, "you may find walking easy, but who cares how it wearies the rest of us? Since we crossed the Flowing Sand River it has been climb and ridge and climb, with this heavy load on my shoulders — it is very hard to bear. We must find a household: beg some tea and rice, rest our spirits — that would be sense." "Idiot," said Pilgrim, "words like that smell of complaining. You would like to lounge at ease like the old days at Gao Village, asking no blessings — I fear those days are gone. Having taken the upright rule of the Buddhist gate, you must eat bitterness and bear hardship before you can call yourself a disciple." "Brother, do you know how heavy this load of luggage is?" "Brother," said Pilgrim, "since you and Sha Monk came along I have not carried it once — how should I know?" "Then count it out, brother:"

Four panels of yellow rattan splint; eight ropes, long and short.Then, against rain and wet, three or four layers of felt wrapping.The carrying pole still feared to slip, so nails were driven at both ends.A nine-ring staff of copper-bound iron; a great rain cloak of splint-woven rattan.

All this luggage, and old Pig alone to shoulder it day after day! You follow the master as a disciple, and I am used like a hired hand." Pilgrim laughed. "Idiot, whom are you telling?" "You, brother." "You told the wrong one. Old Sun's charge is the master, good or ill; you and Sha Monk mind the luggage and the horse. Slack at that by a hair, and the first thing you feel is a rough cudgel on your shinbones." "Brother, never mind beating — beating is bullying with strength. I know your proud nature: carry the load you never will. But the master's horse is tall and fat and strong, and carries only one old monk. Let him bear a few pieces — it would be brotherliness."

"You call him a horse, but he is no common horse," said Pilgrim. "He was son of Ao Run, Dragon King of the Western Sea, the third prince called the dragon horse. Because he set a fire that burned the bright pearl in the palace hall, his own father accused him of rebellion; he stood condemned under the law of Heaven, and only Guanyin Bodhisattva saved his life. He waited long for our master in the Eagle-Sorrow Gorge; and when the Bodhisattva graciously came in person, she drew off his scales, took away his horns, plucked the pearl from under his throat, and turned him into this horse, willing to bear our master west to worship the Buddha. Each of us works out his own merit; do not hold it against him." Sha Monk heard this and said, "Brother, is he truly a dragon?" "A dragon," said Pilgrim. "Brother," said Bajie, "the ancients say: dragons can spout cloud and breathe fog, heave earth and fling sand; they have the skill to climb mountains and split ridges, the power to overturn rivers and churn seas. How is it he walks so slowly today?" "You want him to go fast? I will make him go fast, and you shall see."

Brave Great Sage! He grasped the gold-banded staff, and ten thousand rays of colored cloud sprang up. The horse, seeing the staff drawn, feared a beating: his four hooves went swift as flying lightning, and off he tore like the wind. The master's hands went weak and could not rein him; the beast had his head, racing his wicked pace up the mountain cliff, until at last he slowed to a striding walk. The master's breath was just settling when, looking up, he saw a stand of pine shade far off, with a few rooms of houses within, imposing indeed. And this is what they were:

Green cypresses droop over the gate; the house stands near the blue mountains.A few pines, softly tall; a few bamboo stems, speckled and dark.By the fence wild chrysanthemums burn bright with frost; by the bridge hidden orchids flame red against the water.Plastered clay walls; a compound built of brick.The lofty hall full splendid; the great house deeply at peace.No oxen, no sheep, no chickens, no dogs — harvest over, the farm at rest.

The master was reining in slowly, taking in the view, when Wukong and the brothers came up. Wujing said, "Master, you did not fall from the horse?" "That brazen ape Wukong!" the elder cried. "He frightened the horse — lucky I kept my seat at all." Pilgrim said with an apologetic smile, "Do not curse me, Master. It was Zhu Bajie who complained the horse walked too slowly, so I made him hurry." The Idiot, having hurried after the horse, stood puffing and blowing, muttering and grumbling: "Done for, done for — my belly hangs and my sash is loose. The load is heavy past carrying, and now I am run ragged chasing the horse." "Disciples, look — there is a farmstead over there," said the elder. "We can beg lodging there." Pilgrim looked up quickly at this and saw that auspicious clouds hung mantled in mid-air, halos of grace brimming — he knew it must be the doing of a Buddha or immortal — but he did not dare leak heaven's secret, and only said, "Good, good, good. Let us go beg our lodging."

The elder made haste to dismount. There was a gate tower with hanging lotus and elephant-trunk carvings, painted rafters and carved beams. Sha Monk set down his load, Bajie led in the horse, saying, "This is a household of extraordinary wealth." Pilgrim would have walked straight in, but Tripitaka said, "No. We are religious; let each of us avoid what looks amiss. Do not enter uninvited. Wait till someone comes out, and ask lodging with proper courtesy." Bajie tied the horse and leaned against the wall base; Tripitaka sat on the stone drum; Pilgrim and Sha Monk sat by the terrace edge. No one came out for a long while, and Pilgrim's temper being quick, he sprang up and stepped in through the gate to look: there were three great halls facing south, their curtains hung high. On the screen door hung a horizontal scroll painting of the Mountain of Longevity and the Sea of Blessing; on the gold-lacquered pillars at either side was pasted a pair of spring couplets on bright red paper, which read: "Silk threads drift from the frail willows at the level bridge in evening; snow dots the fragrant plum in the small courtyard in spring." In the very middle stood a black-lacquered incense table with a dull sheen, and on it an ancient bronze censer wrought as a beast. Six folding chairs stood about, and on the side walls hung painted screens for the four seasons.

Pilgrim was still peering about when footsteps sounded behind the inner door, and out came a woman neither old nor young, who asked in a tender voice: "Who is this that walks uninvited through a widow's gate?" The Great Sage, flustered, bowed again and again. "Your humble monk comes from the Great Tang in the Land of the East, bearing an imperial decree to worship the Buddha in the west and fetch scriptures. We are four travelers passing through your precious land; the light is late, and we have come in person to the manor of your old ladyship to beg a night's lodging." The woman met them with a smile. "Elder, where are the other three? Please bring them." Pilgrim called out loudly, "Master, come in!" Then Tripitaka came in with Bajie and Sha Monk, leading the horse and carrying the load, and the woman came from the hall to receive them. Bajie stole a bleary-eyed look at her. And how was she dressed? Listen:

She wore a woven damask jacket of official green ramie-silk, over it a shallow-red sleeveless vest;a goose-yellow brocade skirt tied with ribboned knots, and beneath it high-soled embroidered shoes.Her chignon was of the newest mode, wound in black gauze, set off by a two-colored coil of dragon-twisted hair;an ivory court-style comb flashed vermilion and kingfisher-blue, with two gold hairpins thrust aslant.Cloud-dark temples half gray, wings like flying phoenixes; at her ears twin pendants ranked in pearls.With no paint or powder she was beautiful still, with all the charm of a girl in her prime.

Seeing the three of them, the woman grew the more delighted and invited them courteously into the hall. When greetings and courtesies were done she asked them to be seated and have tea. From behind the screen suddenly came a young girl with tresses hanging loose, bearing a gold tray and white jade cups; the fragrant tea breathed warmth, rare fruits scattered their subtle perfume. With colored sleeves drawn back, her fingers slim as spring bamboo shoots, she raised the jade cups and served the tea around, bowing to each in turn. After tea she ordered a meal prepared. Tripitaka raised his joined hands. "Old Bodhisattva, what is your family name? What is this place called?" The woman said: "This place is in the land of the Ox-Gift Continent of the west. My maiden family name is Jia, my married name Mo. In my youth fortune was unkind: my husband's parents died early, and my husband and I kept the family estate together. We had wealth in ten thousand strings, good fields by the thousand qing. Heaven gave us no son: we had only three daughters. Two years ago came our great sorrow — my husband died too. I have lived a widow, and this year my mourning is done. The fields and the estate are left empty, with never a kinsman or relative remaining; only we women, mother and daughters, hold them. I thought to marry again, but it is hard to let the estate go. Then you elders graciously descended: you are four, master and disciples; we are four, mother and daughters. I have thought to sit at home and take husbands for my daughters by solicitation — you four would fit exactly. I do not know whether your honors would consent." Tripitaka, hearing this, played deaf and dumb, shut his eyes, stilled his heart, and made no answer at all.

The woman said: "My house has three hundred qing and more of wet-rice fields, three hundred qing of dry fields, three hundred qing of mountain orchards; more than a thousand yellow water buffalo, mules and horses in herds, pigs and sheep past counting; east, south, west, and north, manors, forts, and grazing grounds, some sixty or seventy in all; in the house, grain enough for eight or nine years' need, silks enough for ten years' wearing, gold and silver enough for a lifetime's spending. It beats brocade curtains hiding the spring — never mind two rows of golden hairpins. If you master and disciples would turn your hearts about, marry into our humble house, you would live at your ease, enjoying wealth and honor — is that not better than toiling west?" But Tripitaka went on like one entranced, like a simpleton, saying nothing.

The woman said: "I was born in a dinghai year, on the third day of the third month, at the hour of the rooster. My late husband was three years my senior; I am forty-five this year. My eldest daughter is Zhenzhen, twenty this year; my second, Aiai, eighteen; my youngest, Lianlian, sixteen — none of them promised yet. Though I am a plain woman, my daughters have each some share of beauty, and there is no woman's craft or needlework they cannot do. Their father having no son, we brought them up as sons, and taught them some of the scholars' books when little, so they can versify and match couplets too. Though we live on a mountain farm, we are nothing like the coarse and common sort, and I reckon they would match your elders well enough. If you would open your hearts and let your hair grow long again, and be the head of this house, you would wear silks and satins — far better than that alms bowl of clay and robe of black, those straw sandals and cloud-gray hat." Tripitaka sat there above like a child startled by thunder, like a toad drenched by rain — dazed and dumbstruck, rolling his white eyes and leaning back.

Bajie, hearing of such riches and such beauty, itched past all scratching. He sat on his chair as if a needle had stabbed his backside, twisting left and right, quite unable to contain himself. He stepped forward and tugged his master's sleeve. "Master, this lady is speaking to you. Why do you pretend not to hear? You might at least consider it." The master's head came up with a snap, and with a bark of "Tsch!" he drove Bajie back. "You sinful beast! We are religious. For us to be moved by riches or take note of beauty — what sort of conduct would that be?"

The woman laughed. "Pity, pity! What good is there in being a religious?" "Lady Bodhisattva," said Tripitaka, "what good is there in being a layperson?" "Sit down, Elder, and let me tell you the good of the lay life. How shall it be shown? There is a poem to prove it. The poem says:

In spring cut patterned kerchiefs of fresh silk; in summer change to light gauze and admire the green lotus.Autumn brings new-brewed, sweet glutinous wine; winter comes, and in the warm chamber your face glows with drink.For the four seasons, enjoyments of every kind; at the eight festivals, delicacies past counting.Brocade beneath you, damask spread out, on the night of the flower candles — better than tramping the roads bowing to Amitabha.

"Lady Bodhisattva," said Tripitaka, "you of the lay life enjoy honor and wealth, have things to wear and things to eat, and children gathered about you — truly fine. But I, who have left the world, have my portion of good too. How shall it be shown? There is a poem to prove it. The poem says:

To leave the world and set one's will is no common thing: cast down the old hall of love and affection.Let outer things breed no idle talk; within the body there is a fine yin and yang of its own.When deeds are done and works complete, bow at the golden gates; seeing one's nature, lighting the heart, return to the true home.Better than dwelling at home greedy for flesh and blood, and dropping in old age into this stinking bag of skin.

At this the woman flew into a rage. "This insolent monk! If I did not respect your long road from the Land of the East I would drive you out. I spoke in all sincerity, offering my estate if you would marry into it — and you turn around and wound me with your words. Say you have taken the vows and sworn never to return to the lay life — your followers, surely, could be taken into my house. Why hold so stiffly to the rule?" Seeing her anger, Tripitaka could only be meek and mild. "Wukong, you stay here." "From childhood I have never known how to do that sort of thing," said Pilgrim. "Let Bajie stay." "Brother, do not pin it on me," said Bajie. "Let us all take counsel calmly." "If you two will not, then Wujing shall stay here." "Master, hear yourself," said Sha Monk. "Your disciple was converted by the Bodhisattva, took the discipline, and waited for you. Since you graciously took me in and taught me, I have followed you not yet two months and have not earned half a grain of merit. How dare I scheme for such riches? I would die a thousand deaths before I gave up going to the Western Heaven — I will never do this thing that shames my heart."

Seeing them all decline, the woman whisked behind the screen and slammed the inner door. Master and disciples were left outside; no more tea, no more food, and no one came out again. Bajie burned with impatience and blamed the Tang monk. "Master, you have no knack for business — you killed the matter with your talk. You might at least have humored her, mumbled a maybe, tricked her into some food and a comfortable night. Whether you said yes tomorrow would still have been up to you and me. Now the door is shut on us all: with cold ash and a dead stove, how do we get through the night?"

"Second brother," said Wujing, "why not be their son-in-law?" "Brother, do not pin it on me. Let us take counsel calmly." "Counsel about what?" said Pilgrim. "If you are willing, then let the Master stand father-in-law to that lady, and you be the son-in-law who marries into the house. With such riches she would throw in a dowry on top, lay on a feast for the kin — we would all get some good of it, and you could return to lay life right here. Is that not the best of both worlds?" "That is the way the talk runs," said Bajie, "but I left the lay life and went back to it, and besides I would be taking a second wife while my wife yet lives." "So second brother has a sister-in-law?" said Sha Monk. "You do not know his story," said Pilgrim. "He was son-in-law to Squire Gao of Gao Village in Wusizang, till old Sun subdued him. He took the Bodhisattva's discipline as well; there was no help for it — I caught him and made a monk of him, so he left his first wife and followed our master west to worship the Buddha. I suppose, parted so long, he has been hankering after that old business, and the moment he heard today's business the hankering came back for certain. Idiot, go be this household's son-in-law — only bow a few extra times to old Sun, and I will say nothing against you." The Idiot said: "Nonsense, nonsense! You all have the same itch, and old Pig alone is made the fool. The proverb says: monks are hungry ghosts in the land of beauty. Who does not want such a thing? Only you all mince and posture and put on airs, till the good thing split apart — and now we cannot get so much as tea and water, and nobody tends the lamp and fire. However we suffer through this night, that horse has to carry a man and walk tomorrow, and if it fasts another night you might as well flay it. Sit there; old Pig is going out to walk the horse."

The Idiot untied the reins in a lather of hurry and led the horse out. "Sha Monk, stay and keep the master company," said Pilgrim. "Old Sun will go along with him and see where he walks the horse." "Wukong, go watch him if you will," said Tripitaka, "only do not keep mocking him." "I know," said Pilgrim. The Great Sage walked out of the hall, shook himself, changed into a red dragonfly, flew out the front gate, and caught up with Bajie.

The Idiot led the horse past the grassy patches without letting it graze, clucking and hissing as he drove it around to the back gate. There stood the lady with her three daughters, idling outside the back gate, admiring the chrysanthemums. The moment they saw Bajie coming, the three girls slipped inside. The woman stood waiting at the gate. "Where are you going, little elder?" The Idiot dropped the reins, came up with a bow, and said, "Mother, I have come to walk the horse." "Your master is over-refined," said the woman. "To take a son-in-law under my roof — is that not better than dangling like a beggar monk, tramping the roads west?" Bajie laughed. "They hold a decree from the Tang Emperor and dare not defy their lord's command, so they will not do the thing. Just now they were all planting it on me in the front hall, and I am a little backward between hope and fear — I was afraid, mother, you would dislike my long snout and big ears." "I do not dislike them," said the woman. "The house lacks a head, and taking one in would do well enough. Only I feared my youngest daughter might find you plain." "Mother, tell your dear daughters not to pick over men so," said Bajie. "Take that Tang monk of ours: handsome enough, but no earthly use. Ugly I may be — ugly I own — but I have a few rhymes to my credit." "And what do they say?" asked the woman. "They say: I —"

Plain of face I may be, but diligent and full of service.For a thousand qing of land you need no ox to plow: one turn of my rake, and the sowing sprouts in season.When rain is lacking I can pray it down; when wind is still I can whistle it up.If the house seems low, I will raise it two or three stories.Floor unswept? I will sweep it. Drain blocked? I will clear it.Household matters great and small — kick the sky, stir the well — I can do them all.

"Since you can do the house's work," said the woman, "go consult with your master once more; if there is no awkwardness, we will take you in." "No need to consult," said Bajie. "He is not my born father; whether I do it or not rests with me." "Very well, very well. Let me speak with my daughters." And she slipped inside, pulling the back door shut behind her.

Bajie did no walking of horses, but led the animal straight back. He never knew that the Great Sage Sun had heard and seen it all; the pilgrim beat his wings about, resumed his true form, and went first to the Tang monk. "Master, Wuneng has brought the horse back." "If he did not walk it, it may frisk off again," said the elder. Pilgrim burst out laughing and told the whole of what had passed between the woman and Bajie, from first to last; Tripitaka half believed and half did not.

In a little while the Idiot came leading the horse and tied it up. "So you walked the horse?" said the elder. "There was no good grass; nowhere to walk him," said Bajie. "Nowhere to walk him — was there anywhere to lead him?" said Pilgrim. At these words the Idiot knew his secret had leaked: he hung his head, twisted his neck, pushed out his lips, knit his brows, and said nothing for a long while. Then with a creak the inner door opened: two pairs of red lanterns and a set of hanging censers, cloud of incense thick, jade pendants chiming — the woman came out leading her three daughters, Zhenzhen, Aiai, and Lianlian, to bow before the scripture-seekers. The girls ranked themselves in the hall and bowed toward the head of the room. Beautiful they truly were. Look at them:

Each with moth brows swept in kingfisher green, powdered faces quick with spring;bewitching, a beauty to topple kingdoms; graceful, a charm to move the heart.Floral hairpins flashing, full of tender airs; embroidered sashes swaying, clean above the dust.Their half-parted smiles were cherries bursting; at each slow step, orchid and musk breathed out.Head to crown in pearls and kingfisher, a tremble of countless jeweled pins; from crown to foot a hidden fragrance, delicate as flowers stitched in threads of gold.Never mind the beauty of the maids of Chu or the charms of Xishi: truly it was as if a fairy of the nine heavens had dropped from the sky, as if Chang'e were stepping out of the moon palace.

Tripitaka joined his palms and looked down; the Great Sage Sun pretended not to see; Sha Monk turned his back. But look at Zhu Bajie: eyes unmoving, lustful thoughts in a tangle, boldness of beauty running wild, he screwed out a whisper and said low, "You honor us, fair ones, coming down. Mother, take the sisters in, do." The three girls passed behind the screen, leaving a pair of gauze lanterns. The woman said: "Four elders, would you be so kind as to consider which of you might match my daughter?" "We have consulted already," said Wujing. "It is the one surnamed Zhu who will marry into the family." "Brothers, do not pin it on me," said Bajie. "Let us take the general counsel." "Consult about what?" said Pilgrim. "You had it all settled at the back gate, mother and all — what is left to consult? The Master shall stand father of the groom, this good dame mother of the bride; old Sun will be the bondsman, Sha Monk the matchmaker. No need to consult the almanac: today is a grand auspicious day by heaven's grace. Bow to your master and go in and be a son-in-law." "It will not do, it will not do," said Bajie. "How could we manage such a business?" "Idiot, none of your shilly-shallying. You have called that woman mother who knows how many times, and still it will not do? Say yes quickly, and let us share in the wedding wine — that is a kindness too." With one hand he gripped Bajie and with the other he took the woman's arm. "Mother-in-law, take your son-in-law inside." The Idiot shuffled and stumbled after her. The woman called to her maids: "Spread and wipe the tables and chairs, lay the evening meal, and look after our three in-laws. I will take uncle to his room." On one side she ordered the cook to lay a banquet for the meeting of the families tomorrow morning. The maids took their orders and went. The three travelers ate their meal, made up their beds in haste, and settled down to sleep in the guest seats — but of this, no more.

Now Bajie followed his mother-in-law deep into the house, story upon story, rooms past counting, stumbling and knocking, every doorstep out to trip his feet. "Mother, walk slower," said the Idiot. "The ways in here are strange to me. Take me by the hand, do." "These are the granaries, the storehouses, the milling rooms," said the woman. "We have not come near the kitchen yet." "What a great household," said Bajie. Knocking and stumbling, turning and twisting, they walked on another good while before they reached the inner hall. "Son-in-law," said the woman, "your brother said today was a grand auspicious day by heaven's grace, so he pressed you into the family. Only it was all in haste: no yin-yang master could be had for the rites of bowing in the hall and scattering the bridal canopy. You may bow eight times toward the seat of honor instead." "Mother speaks well," said Bajie. "You take the seat of honor, and I will bow a few times: let it be the hall-bowing, let it be the bride-thanking — two in one, does that not save trouble?" His mother-in-law laughed. "Very well, very well. A thrifty, businesslike son-in-law indeed. I will sit; do you bow."

Ah! Silver candles blazed through the hall, and the Idiot bowed toward the seat of honor. When the bows were done he said, "Mother, which sister will you give me?" "There lies the difficulty," said his mother-in-law. "If I give you my eldest, the second will take offense; the second, and the youngest takes offense; the youngest, and the eldest takes offense. So I have wavered and not decided." "Mother, if you fear their quarreling, give me all three," said Bajie. "It will spare the household the din and keep the family rules unbroken." "What talk is this!" said his mother-in-law. "Would one man engross all three of my daughters?" "Mother, hear yourself! Who has not three chambers and four concubines? Give me a few more and your son-in-law will smile and take them. In my young days I studied the art of long campaigns: I promise you I would serve them each and every one to their liking." "That will not do, that will not do," said the woman. "Here is a kerchief: tie it over your head and cover your face, and we will try a heaven-made match: my daughters shall walk past you, and whichever you catch by the outstretched hand, that one shall be yours." The Idiot did as told, took the kerchief, and tied it over his head. There is a poem to prove it. The poem says:

Foolish and blind to the root of things, by the sword of beauty he was wounded in the dark.There has always been, men say, the rite of the Duke of Zhou: today the bridegroom wears the veil.

The Idiot, veiled and tied, said, "Mother, will you ask the sisters to come out?" His mother-in-law called: "Zhenzhen, Aiai, Lianlian, come and try the heaven-made match and be given to your bridegroom." There was a chiming of jade pendants, a breath of orchid and musk, as if fairies came and went. The Idiot truly reached out his hands to catch someone, lunging this way and that — left, he missed; right, he missed. Back and forth he went, who knows how many maidens passing, and never a one could he catch. Lunging east, he hugged a pillar; west, he pawed a board wall. Dizzy with running both ways, he could not stand, and toppled and fell. Forward, he kicked the door panels; back, he ran into the brick wall; knock after knock, till his lips swelled and his brow blackened, and he sat down on the ground. Puffing and blowing, he said, "Mother, your daughters are too quick and slick for me. I could not catch one of them. What now, what now?"

The woman lifted his veil. "Son-in-law, it is not that my daughters are quick and slick: they are too modest, each yielding to the others, and none would take you." "Mother," said Bajie, "if they will not take me, then you take me." "A fine son-in-law!" said the woman. "So little regard for who is elder and who is younger — you would have your wife's own mother too? My three daughters are the cleverest of creatures: each has knitted a brocade undershirt set with pearls. Put on whichever fits you, and the one whose shirt it is shall take you." "Good, good, good!" said Bajie. "Bring all three and let me try them on: if they all fit, let them all take me." The woman went into the inner room and brought out only the one shirt, which she handed to Bajie. The Idiot stripped off his blue cotton gown, took the shirt, and pulled it on — and before he could knot the sash, whump! he tripped and fell flat. It was ropes, drawn tight as bands. The Idiot lay in pain past bearing — and the people were long since gone.

Now Tripitaka, Pilgrim, and Sha Monk woke from their sleep to find the east growing white. They opened their eyes and looked up: where were the great halls and lofty chambers, the carved beams and painted rafters? One and all they lay in a forest of pines and cypresses. The elder cried out in alarm for Pilgrim. "Brother," said Sha Monk, "we are done for, done for — we have fallen among ghosts." The Great Sage Sun, clear in his own mind, smiled faintly. "How do you mean?" "Look where we have slept!" said the elder. "Under these pines we have slept pleasantly enough," said Pilgrim. "But I wonder where the Idiot is suffering just now." "Who is suffering?" asked the elder. Pilgrim laughed. "That household of mother and daughters yesterday — some bodhisattvas from who knows where, testing us with an apparition. They must have gone off at midnight, and only poor Zhu Bajie is left to suffer." Tripitaka joined his palms and bowed in reverence. And there, on an old cypress behind them, a note hung swaying. Sha Monk hurried to fetch it for his master: eight lines of verse, which said:

The Ancient Mother of Mount Li had no wish for the world of men; the Bodhisattva of the Southern Sea begged her down the mountain.Samantabhadra and Manjushri were guests as well, taking the forms of beauties in the wood.The holy monk held to virtue and was without the vulgar; Bajie, without chan, was vulgar through and through.From this day still the heart and mend the fault: let slackness rise, and the road ahead is hard.

The elder, Pilgrim, and Sha Monk were still chanting this verse when from deep in the wood came a great cry: "Master! I am bound to death! Save me — I will never dare again!" "Wukong, is that Wuneng crying?" said Tripitaka. "It is," said Sha Monk. "Brother, pay him no heed," said Pilgrim. "Let us go." "That Idiot, dull and stubborn as his nature is, is at least simple and straight, and has strength in his arms to carry the load," said Tripitaka. "For the Bodhisattva's sake that day, let us save him and take him along. I reckon he will never dare again." Sha Monk rolled the bedding and packed the load; the Great Sage Sun loosed the reins and led the horse; and they brought the Tang monk into the wood to search. Ah! And so it was:

Hold to the right discipline with care; sweep away love and lust, and you return to truth of your own accord.

But whether good or ill would befall the Idiot — listen to the next chapter to find out.

Tripitaka Does Not Forget His Roots; Four Sages Test the Heart Devoted to Zen

Holding to the Law they came west on a long road; the autumn wind rustled and the frost flowers fell.The clever ape locked fast—let no one loosen the rope; the stubborn horse kept in hand—the whip need not fall.Wood Mother and Metal Lord are joined from the start; the Yellow Dame and the Red Child were never at odds.Bite open the iron pellet and the true message comes out; the perfection of wisdom reaches that home at last.

This chapter tells that the way of fetching the scriptures never departs from the way of keeping to one's own root. Now the master and his three disciples, awaked to true thusness, broke open the locks of the dust. They had leaped free of the sea of nature and the flowing sand, and nothing held them back. They took the main road west. They passed through blue mountains and green waters and never came to the end of wild grasses and idle flowers. Time truly moved fast, and it was deep autumn again. They saw:

Maple leaves redden the whole mountain; yellow flowers stand up to the evening wind.The old cicadas grow lazy in their song; the sorrowing crickets carry endless longing.The lotus leaves are torn like green silk fans; the oranges smell sweet, golden balls in clusters.Poor wild geese in a few long lines, dot by dot, arrayed far across the sky.

As they were walking, evening came on without their noticing. Tripitaka said: "Disciples, it is getting late. Where do we stop for the night?" Pilgrim said: "Master, that is the wrong way to talk. A monk eats the wind and sleeps by the water, beds in the moonlight and lies in the frost. Every place is his home. Why ask where we will sleep?" Zhu Bajie said: "Brother, you know how easy you make walking look. Do you care how heavy it is for the rest of us? Ever since we crossed the Flowing Sand River we have been climbing mountains and ridges, and I carry the heavy load the whole way. It is very hard to bear. We need to find a house, first to beg some tea and food, and second to rest our spirits. That would be reasonable." Pilgrim said: "Idiot, talk like that sounds like complaining. You will never be as easy as you were at Gao Village, shirking and asking nothing of heaven. Once you have joined the true order, you must eat hardship and take pain. Only then can you be a disciple." Bajie said: "Brother, look how heavy this load of luggage is." Pilgrim said: "Brother, since you and Sha Monk came, I have never carried it. How would I know how heavy it is?" Bajie said: "Brother, count the things with me:

Four sheets of yellow rattan matting, and eight ropes, long and short.Then there must be shelter from rain: felt wrappings, three or four layers deep.The carrying pole is slick and must be worried over; nails are driven in at both ends.A nine-ringed staff of copper and iron, and a great hood of rattan wound with bamboo fiber.

With all this luggage, it is hard on this old pig to trudge along with it on his shoulder day after day. You get to be the master's disciple, and I am made the hired hand." Pilgrim laughed and said: "Idiot, who are you talking to?" Bajie said: "Brother, I am talking to you." Pilgrim said: "Then you are talking to the wrong one. Old Sun answers only for the master, good or bad. You and Sha Monk are in charge of the luggage and the horse. If either of you slacks off at all, the first payment comes as a few rough blows on your shinbones." Bajie said: "Brother, do not talk of beating. Beating is ruling people by force. I know your proud nature. You will never carry the load. But that horse the master rides is so tall and fat and strong. It carries only one old monk. Letting it carry a few things would be simple brotherliness."

Pilgrim said: "You call it a horse, but it is no common horse. It is the son of Ao Run, Dragon King of the Western Sea, the Third Prince called the dragon horse. Because he set fire to the bright pearl in his father's hall, his father accused him of rebellion. He broke the laws of heaven, and only the Bodhisattva Guanyin saved his life. He waited long in the Eagle's Sorrow Gorge for the master, and it was lucky the Bodhisattva came in person. She stripped off his scales and his horns, took the pearl from under his neck, and turned him into this horse, willing to carry the master west to worship the Buddha. These are each man's own merit and reward. Do not try to shift your work onto him." When Sha Monk heard this, he said: "Brother, is it truly a dragon?" Pilgrim said: "It is a dragon." Bajie said: "Brother, I have heard the old men say: a dragon can spout clouds and breathe out mist, throw up earth and fling sand; it has the skill to scale mountains and leap ridges, and the power to overturn rivers and stir up seas. How does it come to walk so slowly today?" Pilgrim said: "You want him to go fast? I will make him go fast, and you can watch."

Good Great Sage! He gripped his gold-banded staff, and ten thousand streaks of colored cloud rose up. The horse saw the staff raised and feared a beating. All four hooves flew like lightning, and off it shot with a whish. The master's hands went weak, and he could not hold the reins. The horse gave way to its wild nature and rushed up a cliff before it slowed to a walk. The master got his breath back, looked up, and saw far off a stand of pine shade with a few houses inside, truly stately. This is what they were:

Green cypresses hung over the gate; the house stood close by the green hills.A few pines rose graceful and tall; several stalks of bamboo stood dark and speckled.By the fence wild chrysanthemums held their beauty in the frost; by the bridge hidden orchids glowed red, reflected in the water.The walls were white plaster; the yard was ringed with brick.The high hall was stately and grand; the great house was quiet and still.No oxen or sheep, no chickens or dogs were to be seen—perhaps the harvest was in and the farm work done.

The master was reining in and looking slowly about when Wukong and the brothers came up. Wujing said: "Master, you did not fall off the horse?" The elder said: "That brazen ape Wukong scared the horse. It is lucky I kept my seat." Pilgrim said with an apologetic smile: "Master, do not scold me. It was Zhu Bajie who said the horse walked too slowly, so I made him hurry." The Idiot had run after the horse too fast. He puffed and panted, muttering: "It is too much, it is too much. My belly is empty and my back is breaking. The load is too heavy to carry, and then I am sent running up and down chasing the horse." The elder said: "Disciple, look over there. There is a farmhouse. We can ask for a night's lodging." When Pilgrim heard this he looked up quickly, and indeed saw lucky clouds hanging in the air above and bright mists filling them. He knew at once that this was the work of a Buddha or an immortal, but he dared not let out heaven's secret. He only said: "Good, good, good. Let us go ask for a bed."

The elder quickly got down from the horse. There was a gate tower with hanging lotus and elephant-trunk carving, painted beams and carved rafters. Sha Monk set down his load, and Bajie tied the horse, saying: "This is a household of great wealth." Pilgrim was for going straight in, but Tripitaka said: "No. You and I are monks. Let each of us keep clear of suspicion. Do not walk in uninvited. Wait until someone comes out, and ask for lodging politely. That is the proper way." Bajie tied the horse and leaned against the foot of the wall. Tripitaka sat on a stone drum, and Pilgrim and Sha Monk sat at the edge of the terrace. No one came out for a long time. Pilgrim, impatient by nature, jumped up and stepped inside to look. There were three great halls facing south, their curtains hung high. On the screen door hung a wide picture of the Mountain of Longevity and the Sea of Blessing. On the gold-lacquered pillars at both sides were pasted spring couplets on big red paper, which read: "Threads of silk drift over the weak willows by the flat bridge at evening; flakes of snow dot the fragrant plums in the small courtyard in spring." In the very middle stood an incense table of dull black lacquer, and on the table an old bronze censer cast as a beast. Six folding chairs were set out, and on the side walls hung painted screens for the four seasons.

While Pilgrim was still peeping about, he heard footsteps behind the back door, and a woman who was neither young nor old came out. She asked in a soft voice: "Who walks uninvited into the house of a widow?" The Great Sage, taken aback, answered over and over: "This humble monk is from the Tang of the Land of the East, sent by imperial order to go west, worship the Buddha, and fetch the scriptures. We are four travelers who were passing through this rich land. It is late. We have come especially to your honored house, old Bodhisattva, to beg a night's lodging." The woman welcomed him with a smile and said: "Elder, where are the other three? Ask them in." Pilgrim called out: "Master, come in!" Tripitaka came in with Bajie and Sha Monk, leading the horse and carrying the load, and the woman came out of the hall to meet them. Bajie peeked at her with drowsy eyes. And how was she dressed?

She wore a woven brocade jacket of official green silk gauze, over it a light-red sleeveless vest; a bright goose-yellow embroidered skirt was knotted at her waist, and high-soled flowered shoes showed beneath.Her fashionable coil of hair was veiled in black gauze, set off by a two-colored chignon worked in coiled dragons; a court-style ivory comb flashed vermilion and kingfisher blue, with two heavy gold hairpins slanted through it.Her cloudy temples, half gray, spread like the wings of a flying phoenix, and two rows of pearl drops hung from her ears.Without powder or paint she was beautiful still; in charm she was like a girl in her prime.

When the woman saw the three of them, her joy grew, and she invited them politely into the hall. When they had all been introduced and the greetings were done, she asked them to be seated and ordered tea. From behind the screen suddenly came a young serving girl with loose hair at her temples, carrying a tray of gold and white jade cups. The fragrant tea breathed warm steam, and rare fruits spread a faint perfume. The girl drew back her colored sleeves—slender as spring bamboo shoots—lifted the jade cups, and served the tea to each in turn, bowing to each one. After the tea, she was told to prepare a meal. Tripitaka raised his hands and said: "Old Bodhisattva, what is your family name? And what is this place called?" The woman said: "This is part of the Western Continent of Niuhe. My family name before marriage was Jia, and my husband's was Mo. I was unlucky young: my husband's parents died early, and my husband and I kept the estate we inherited from our ancestors. We had wealth by the ten thousand strings of cash and good fields by the thousand acres. Husband and wife were fated to have no son, and we had only three daughters. Two years ago came a greater misfortune: I lost my husband. I have lived as a widow, and this year my mourning ended. The fields and the estate are left with no relative or clansman of any kind. Only my daughters and I carry them. To marry again would mean giving up the estate. Now it happens that you elders have come down to us. You are a master and three disciples, and I am a mother with three daughters. I mean to stay on this mountain and take husbands into the family, and you four are just the number. I do not know whether you would be willing." When Tripitaka heard this, he played deaf and dumb. He shut his eyes, stilled his heart, and sat silent without one word of answer.

The woman said: "In my house there are more than three hundred acres of wet fields, more than three hundred acres of dry fields, and more than three hundred acres of hillside orchards. There are more than a thousand yellow water buffalo; mules and horses go in herds, and pigs and sheep are past counting. East, west, south, and north, our farmsteads and pastures come to sixty or seventy places. In the house is grain enough for eight or nine years, silks enough for ten years and more of wearing, and gold and silver enough for a lifetime of spending. That is better than hiding spring behind brocade curtains—never mind two rows of golden hairpins. If you, master and disciples, would turn your hearts around and marry into my humble house, you would live at ease and enjoy wealth and honor. Would that not be better than toiling on the road west?" But Tripitaka only sat like a man stupid and slow, and said nothing at all.

The woman said: "I was born in a Dinghai year, on the third day of the third month, at the hour of the rooster. My late husband was three years older than I. I am forty-five this year. My eldest daughter is called Zhenzhen, twenty years old; my second is called Ai'ai, eighteen; my youngest is called Lianlian, sixteen. None of them is promised to any family. I am plain myself, but luckily my daughters all have some good looks. There is no woman's work with needle or thread that they cannot do. Since their late father had no son, we brought them up as if they were sons, and when they were small we even taught them to read the scholars' books, so they know something of verse and couplets. Though we live on a mountain farm, they are not the least bit coarse. I think they would make worthy wives for you reverend elders. If you would open your hearts, let your hair grow and keep your heads, and be the head of this house, you would wear silk and brocade—far better than an alms bowl and a black robe, straw sandals and a bamboo hat." Tripitaka sat there above them like a child startled by thunder or a toad drenched by rain. He could only sit stiff and blinking, rolling his white eyes and leaning back.

When Bajie heard of such riches and such beauty, his heart itched past all scratching. He sat in his chair as if needles were pricking his backside, twisting left and right, and he could not hold still. He stepped forward, gave the master a tug, and said: "Master, this good wife is speaking straight to you. Why do you sit there and pretend not to hear? You might at least give some answer." The master jerked his head up and barked at Bajie to make him fall back: "You wicked beast! We are men who have left the world. If riches could move us, or beauty catch our eyes, what kind of monks would we be?"

The woman laughed and said: "Poor man, poor man. What good is there in being a monk?" Tripitaka said: "Bodhisattva of the laity, and what good is there in being a layman?" The woman said: "Sit down, Elder, and let me tell you the good things of a layman's life. How can I show you? There is a poem to prove it. The poem says:

In spring, cut a square-flower gown of new silk gauze; in summer, change to light muslin and admire the green lotus.In autumn there is fresh-brewed sweet glutinous wine; in winter, a warm chamber and a face flushed with drink.In all four seasons, every comfort is at hand; at the eight feasts of the year, delicacies in plenty.Brocade bedclothes and spread silk on the night of the wedding candles—far better than tramping the roads to worship Amitabha."

Tripitaka said: "Bodhisattva of the laity, in a layman's life you enjoy honor and riches, you have things to wear and things to eat, and your children stay around you. Truly it is good. But you should know that we who have left the world also have a good thing of our own. How can I show you? There is a poem to prove it. The poem says:

To leave home and set one's heart on the Way is no common resolve: it pulls down the hall of past love and affection.Outside things raise no idle quarrels; within the body there is its own fine balance of yin and yang.When works are full and deeds complete, one bows at the golden gates; seeing one's nature and lighting the heart, one returns to the true home.Better than staying home to crave flesh and blood and falling in old age into a stinking bag of skin."

When the woman heard this she flew into a rage and said: "That shameless monk has no manners! If I did not respect your long road from the Land of the East, I would order you out of the house. I spoke with a true heart and meant to give my estate to you in marriage, and you answer me with words that wound. Suppose you have taken the vows and sworn never to return to the world. Still, someone under you might marry into my house. Why are you all so set on the rule?" When Tripitaka saw her anger, he could only be meek and mild. He called: "Wukong, you stay here." Pilgrim said: "Since I was small I have known nothing of that sort of business. Let Bajie stay here." Bajie said: "Brother, do not pin it on me. Let us all think it over together." Tripitaka said: "If you two will not, then let Wujing stay here." Sha Monk said: "Listen to what the master says. I was converted by the Bodhisattva and took the vows, and I waited for the master. Since he took me in and taught me, I have followed him not yet two months, and I have not earned one scrap of merit. How dare I reach for such riches? I would rather die than give up the journey west. I will never do a thing so false to my heart."

When the woman saw them all refuse, she turned quickly and went in behind the screen, and slammed the side door. Master and disciples were left outside with no tea and no food, and no one came out again. Bajie's heart burned with vexation, and he complained of the Tang monk: "Master, you truly do not know how to handle things. You talked it all to death. You might have kept a little room to move, answered vaguely, coaxed some food out of her, and had one pleasant night into the bargain. Whether we said yes tomorrow would have been up to you and me. Now she has shut the door and will not come out. At this cold hearth of ours, how do we get through the night?"

Wujing said: "Second brother, why don't you be the son-in-law in this house?" Bajie said: "Brother, do not pin it on me. Let us think it over together." Pilgrim said: "What is there to think over? If you are willing, let the master stand as the man's kin to this woman, and you be the son-in-law who marries into the house. A family as rich as this would surely pay out a dowry on top and set a feast to bring the two families together. We would all get some good out of it, and you would leave the order here. Would that not suit everyone?" Bajie said: "That is how the talk goes, true enough. But I would be leaving the world and coming back to it, and taking a second wife while I still have a first." Sha Monk said: "So second brother has a wife already?" Pilgrim said: "You do not know his story. He was the son-in-law of old Squire Gao of Gao Village in Wusizang, until old Sun took him down. He had taken the Bodhisattva's vows, but there was no help for it—I caught him and made him a monk. So he left his first wife and followed the master west to worship the Buddha. He has been away a long time, I expect, and is thinking of that old business again. The moment he heard about this, the wish came back for sure. Idiot, why not be this family's son-in-law? Only bow to old Sun a few more times, and I will not report you." The Idiot said: "Nonsense, nonsense. You all have the same wish, and you make this old pig the laughingstock. As the saying goes, 'A monk is a hungry ghost in the land of beauty.' Which of us does not want the same? But you all put on these prissy airs, and a good thing is torn to pieces for it. Now there is no tea or water to be had, and no one to see to the lamp. We may get through this night, but that horse has to carry a man and walk a road tomorrow. Let it go hungry one more night and you might as well strip its hide. You all sit here. This old pig will go turn the horse out to graze."

The Idiot untied the reins in a hurry and led the horse out. Pilgrim said: "Sha Monk, you stay here and keep the master company while old Sun follows him and sees where he grazes the horse." Tripitaka said: "Wukong, go watch him if you like, but do not keep mocking him." Pilgrim said: "I know." The Great Sage walked out of the hall, shook himself, changed into a red dragonfly, flew out the front gate, and caught up with Bajie.

The Idiot led the horse along. Where there was grass, he did not let it graze, but clicked and clucked it around to the back door. There he saw the woman with her three daughters standing idly outside the back gate, looking at the chrysanthemums. When mother and daughters saw Bajie coming, the three girls slipped inside. The woman stood at the door and said: "Where are you going, young elder?" The Idiot dropped the reins, came up, made a bow, and said: "Mother, I have come to turn the horse out." The woman said: "Your master is too particular. To take a husband here in my house—would that not be better than hanging on a hook like a wandering monk, trudging the road west?" Bajie laughed and said: "They hold an edict from the Tang king. They dare not defy a royal command, so they will not do this thing. Just now they all pinned it on me in the front hall, and I am half in and half out myself. I am only afraid you would find fault with my long mouth and big ears, Mother." The woman said: "I find no fault. It is only that a house with no head of the family—a son-in-law would do very well. I am only afraid my daughters might dislike your looks." Bajie said: "Mother, tell your daughters for me not to pick over their men. That Tang monk of mine is handsome enough, but he is really no use at all. Ugly I may be, but I have a little verse to my credit." The woman said: "And how does it go?" Bajie said: "I—

Ugly as my person is, I am diligent and get things done.Give me a thousand acres, and no ox is needed to plow.One round with the rake, and the seed is spread and springs up on time.With no rain I can beg for rain; with no wind I can call the wind.If the house seems too low, I can raise it two or three stories.If the floor is unswept, I sweep it; if the drain is stopped, I open it.All the household jobs, big and small—and kicking over heaven and stirring up wells—I can do them all."

The woman said: "Since you can do the work of a house, go and talk it over with your master once more. If nothing stands in the way, we will take you." Bajie said: "No need to talk it over. He is not my own father and mother. Whether I do it or not is up to me." The woman said: "Very well, very well. Let me speak to my daughters." And she slipped inside and shut the back door with a clap.

Bajie did not graze the horse at all, but led it back toward the house. How could he know that the Great Sage Sun knew every word of it? He turned his wings, flew back, took his own form, and went first to the Tang monk: "Master, Wuneng is bringing the horse back." The elder said: "If the horse were not led, it might frisk away again." Pilgrim burst out laughing and told the whole story of what the woman and Bajie had said. Tripitaka half believed it and half did not.

Before long the Idiot came up, leading the horse, and tied it. The elder said: "Did you graze the horse?" Bajie said: "There was no good grass. Nowhere to graze it." Pilgrim said: "Nowhere to graze it? Was there nowhere to lead it either?" When the Idiot heard this he knew the secret had slipped out. He hung his head, twisted his neck, pushed out his lips, knit his brows, and said nothing for a long time. Then came the creak of the side door opening. Two pairs of red lanterns and a pair of hanging censers came out, fragrant clouds drifting and jade pendants tinkling. The woman came out with her three daughters and called Zhenzhen, Ai'ai, and Lianlian to bow before the men who were fetching the scriptures. The girls stood in a row in the hall and bowed toward the head of the room. They were truly pretty. This is what they were like:

Each had moth eyebrows over kingfisher green, and powdered faces blooming like spring.Charm to overthrow a kingdom; slender grace to move the heart.Flower ornaments at their hair showed a hundred tender poses; embroidered sashes floated, far above the common dust.Where a smile half broke, cherries opened; as they walked slowly, orchid and musk breathed out.Their heads were full of pearls and kingfisher jewels, trembling on countless gold hairpins; a faint perfume hung over them all, dainty as gold-threaded flowers.Never mind the beauty of the girls of Chu or the pretty face of Xizi.It was truly as if a fairy of the nine heavens had dropped from the sky, or Chang'e had walked out of the Moon Palace.

Tripitaka pressed his palms together and lowered his head. The Great Sage Sun sat as if he saw nothing, and Sha Monk turned his back. But look at Zhu Bajie: his eyes never left them. Lustful thoughts ran wild in him, and boldness in beauty gave him nerve. He sidled up and whispered: "A thousand thanks, fair ones, for coming down. Mother, please ask the young ladies to go in." The three girls turned in behind the screen, leaving a pair of gauze lanterns. The woman said: "Which of you four elders is willing to take my youngest daughter?" Wujing said: "We have already talked it over. The one surnamed Zhu is to marry into the family." Bajie said: "Brothers, do not pin it on me. Let us all take counsel." Pilgrim said: "What counsel is left? You settled everything at the back gate. You called her Mother already. What more is there to settle? The master will stand for the man's side, this good wife for the woman's side, old Sun will stand witness to the match, and Sha Monk will be the go-between. There is no need to look in the almanac. Today is a high lucky day by heaven's grace. Bow to the master, and go in and be the son-in-law." Bajie said: "It will not do, it will not do. How can I go through with such a thing?" Pilgrim said: "Idiot, stop pretending. How many times have you called that woman Mother already? And now it 'will not do.' Say yes quickly, and treat us to the wedding wine. That is a good turn too." With one hand he seized Bajie, and with the other he took the woman's arm: "Mother of my in-laws, take your son-in-law inside." The Idiot shuffled his feet along as he was drawn in. The woman called the serving boys: "Clear the tables and chairs, lay out the evening meal, and look after the three in-laws. I will take the uncle to his room." At the same time she ordered the cook to lay a feast for the morning, when the two families would meet. The serving boys took their orders. The three travelers ate their meal, made up their beds briskly, and settled down to sleep in the guest room—we say no more of them.

Now Bajie followed his mother-in-law inside. They went through room after room, past counting, and he bumped and stumbled at every step, tripping over door sills the whole way. The Idiot said: "Mother, walk slower. I do not know these rooms. Take me by the hand." The woman said: "These are the granary, the storehouse, the mill room, and the rest. We have not reached the kitchen yet." Bajie said: "What a great house this is." Bumping and stumbling, turning and twisting, they walked a long while more before they came to the inner rooms. The woman said: "Son-in-law, your brothers said today was a high lucky day by heaven's grace, and so you were brought in at once. But it was all in a hurry. We could not hire a yin-yang master, so there were no wedding bows and no scattering of the curtain. You may bow eight times toward the high seat and have done." Bajie said: "Mother, that is well said. Take the seat of honor, and let me bow a few times. Let it count as the wedding bow, and count as thanking the family too—two for one. Does that not save trouble?" His mother-in-law laughed and said: "Very well, very well. A thrifty, sensible son-in-law indeed. I will sit, and you may bow."

Ah! Silver candles blazed through the hall, and the Idiot bowed toward the seat. When he had finished he said: "Mother, which of the young ladies will you give me?" His mother-in-law said: "That is just the trouble. If I give you my eldest, I fear the second will take offense. If I give you the second, I fear the third will take offense. If I give you the third, I fear the eldest will take offense. So I keep doubting, and nothing is settled." Bajie said: "Mother, if you are afraid of quarrels, give me all three. It will save all this noise and keep the family peace." His mother-in-law said: "What a thing to say! Would one man take all three of my daughters?" Bajie said: "Listen to Mother. Who has not three rooms of wives or four? Give me a few more and your son-in-law will take them with a smile. When I was young I learned the art of the long campaign, and I promise every one of them would be served to her liking." The woman said: "No, no. I have a handkerchief here. Tie it over your head and cover your face, and try your luck at the blind wedding: my daughters will walk past you, and whichever one you reach out and catch, her I will give you." The Idiot did as he was told. He took the handkerchief and tied it over his head. There is a poem to prove it. The poem says:

The fool did not know what all this meant; the sword of lust would wound him and stop him in the dark.Men have always trusted the marriage rites of the Duke of Zhou; today the bridegroom wears the covering veil.

When the Idiot was tied up and covered, he said: "Mother, bring the young ladies out." His mother-in-law called: "Zhenzhen, Ai'ai, Lianlian, come and play the blind wedding, and take your brother-in-law." Then he heard pendants ringing and orchid and musk breathing sweet, as if fairies were passing to and fro. The Idiot really did reach out to catch someone. He lunged this way and that, but nothing came to his left and nothing to his right. He heard footsteps coming and going, who knows how many girls, yet not one could he catch. He lunged east and hugged a pillar; he lunged west and felt a board wall. He ran from end to end till his head spun, could not keep his feet, and kept falling over. Forward he kicked a door panel; backward he ran into a brick wall. Knocking and crashing, he fell until his mouth was swollen and his head bruised, and he sat down on the ground, panting: "Mother, your daughters are too quick and sly for me. I cannot catch one. What am I to do? What am I to do?"

The woman lifted the cloth from his head and said: "Son-in-law, it is not that my daughters are quick and sly. They were all being modest, and none of them would take you." Bajie said: "Mother, if none of them will have me, then you take me yourself." The woman said: "Fine son-in-law! No sense of what is proper—now you would take your own mother-in-law? My three daughters are clever with their hands. Each of them has sewn a pearl-studded brocade undershirt. Whichever one you can put on, her I will give you." Bajie said: "Good, good, good. Bring all three and let me try them on. If they all fit, then let all three take me." The woman went into the room and brought out only one, and handed it to Bajie. The Idiot took off his blue cloth gown, picked up the shirt, and pulled it on. Before he had tied the sash, down he went with a crash. It was ropes that had sprung tight around him. The Idiot could hardly bear the pain, and all those people had long since vanished.

Now Tripitaka, Pilgrim, and Sha Monk woke from sleep, and the east was turning light. They opened their eyes and looked up. Where were the great hall and the lofty rooms, the carved beams and painted rafters? Every one of them lay in a pine and cypress wood. In alarm the elder called to Pilgrim. Sha Monk said: "Brother, it is over, it is over. We have fallen in with ghosts." The Great Sage Sun understood it all in his heart, and he smiled a little: "What is it?" The elder said: "Look where we are sleeping!" Pilgrim said: "Under these pines is pleasant enough. But I wonder where the Idiot is paying for his sins." The elder said: "Paying for his sins?" Pilgrim laughed and said: "That household of women yesterday—some bodhisattvas or other, showing themselves in that form to test us. They must have gone off at midnight. Only poor Zhu Bajie was left to pay for it." When Tripitaka heard this, he pressed his palms together and bowed. Then they saw, hanging from an old cypress tree behind them, a paper slip fluttering in the wind. Sha Monk hurried to fetch it and gave it to the master. It bore these eight lines of verse:

The Old Mother of Mount Li felt no wish for the world of men; the Bodhisattva of the South Sea begged her down the mountain.Samantabhadra and Manjushri came as guests too, changed into pretty girls among the pines.The holy monk held his virtue and kept no taint of the world; Bajie had no Zen in him, and all the common man besides.From now on quiet the heart and mend your ways; if slackness rises, the road ahead will be hard.

While the elder, Pilgrim, and Sha Monk were reading the verses aloud, a loud voice came from deep in the wood: "Master, the ropes are squeezing me to death! Save me! It will never happen again, never!" Tripitaka said: "Wukong, is that Wuneng calling?" Sha Monk said: "It is." Pilgrim said: "Brother, pay him no mind. Let us go." Tripitaka said: "The Idiot is dull and stubborn by nature, but he is honest at bottom, and he has strength in his arms and can carry the luggage. Remember what the Bodhisattva did for him that day. Let us save him and take him with us. I expect he will never dare again." Sha Monk rolled up the bedding and packed the load. The Great Sage Sun untied the reins and led the horse, and they guided the Tang monk into the wood to look for him. Ah! This was just it:

Hold to the right practice and walk carefully; sweep away love and desire, and you come home to the truth of yourself.

What became of the Idiot, good or bad? Listen to the next chapter to find out.