Chapter 25

The Immortal Zhenyuan Chases and Seizes the Scripture-Seeking Monks; Pilgrim Sun Wreaks Havoc in the Five Hamlets Monastery

Now the three brothers came up into the hall and said to their master, "The rice is nearly done. What do you want with us?" "Disciples, it is not about the rice. There is some ginseng fruit in this monastery, a thing like a little child. Which of you stole and ate it?" "I am honest about it: I know nothing, I saw nothing," said Bajie. "He is the one who laughs! He is the one who laughs!" said Clear Breeze. "This smiling face is the face old Sun was born with," Pilgrim snapped. "Would you forbid me to laugh because your fruits have gone missing?" "Disciples, calm your anger," said Tripitaka. "We are religious. Tell no lies, eat no food that shames the heart. If you did eat his fruit, make him a bow of amends — why deny it to the last?" Pilgrim, hearing the master spoke reason, told the truth. "Master, it was none of my doing. Bajie heard through the wall that the two Taoist boys were eating some ginseng fruit; he wanted a taste for novelty, and had old Sun knock down three. We brothers ate one apiece. Eaten is eaten — now what would you have?" "He stole four of them," said Bright Moon, "and the monk still says he is no thief." "Amitabha!" said Bajie. "If he stole four, why were only three brought out to divide? Someone was playing favorites from the start!" — the Idiot turning around and bawling himself.

The two immortal boys, having gotten the truth, abused them the more. The Great Sage's steel teeth ground, his fiery eyes rounded; he gripped the gold-banded staff and gripped it again, bore it and bore it, and thought: "If these boys had only cursed me to my face, I could swallow the insult. But I will serve them a root-and-branch trick, so that none of us ever eats again." Brave Pilgrim! He plucked one hair from the back of his head, blew on it a breath of immortal air, and cried, "Change!" It became a false Pilgrim, who stayed close by the Tang monk, keeping Wuneng and Wujing company, enduring the Taoist boys' bawling. His true self sent out its spirit, mounted the cloud, sprang away, and came straight to the ginseng grove; drawing the gold-banded staff he whacked the tree with a crack, then exercised his divine strength of pushing mountains and moving ridges, and with one shove brought the tree down. Pity: leaves falling, boughs splitting, roots out of the earth — the Grass of the Returned Elixir cut off from the Taoists forever. The Great Sage, having pushed the tree down, hunted the boughs for fruit — and could not find so much as half a one. For the treasure falls at the touch of metal: his staff was banded in gold at both ends, and iron itself is one of the five metals, so at the knock the fruit shook loose — and once down, it met earth and sank in. So no fruit remained on the tree. "Good, good, good! Everyone scatter," he said, put away the iron staff, came straight on back, shook himself, and gathered the hair back onto his body. The others, mortal flesh with mortal eyes, saw nothing of it.

Now the immortal boys had scolded their fill, and Clear Breeze said, "Bright Moon, these monks can take an insult. We have scolded them this half hour like cursing chickens, and never a word of answer. It must be they did not steal and eat. But suppose the tree is high and the leaves thick and we miscounted? We should not have cursed them for nothing. Come, let us go and check again." "So it is," said Bright Moon. The two of them came again into the grove and saw the tree fallen, boughs split, fruit gone, leaves strewed. Clear Breeze's legs went soft and he pitched on his head; Bright Moon's loins turned to water and his joints clattered; soul and spirit fled from both of them. There is a poem to prove it. The poem says:

Tripitaka westward came to Longevity Mountain, and Wukong ruined the Grass of the Returned Elixir.Boughs split, leaves fallen, the immortal root laid bare: Bright Moon and Clear Breeze, hearts cold, galls chilled.

The two of them lay in the dust, their words tumbling head over heels, crying only, "What shall we do? What shall we do? He has ruined the elixir-stock of our Five Hamlets Monastery, cut off our immortal line. When our master comes home, what answer can the two of us give?" "Brother, do not wail," said Bright Moon. "Let us first straighten our caps and gowns, and not startle these monks. No one else could have done it: it must be that fellow with the hairy face and the thunder-god beak. He sent his spirit out and worked his arts and wrecked our treasure. If we argue with him, that fellow will only deny it to the end, and we are sure to quarrel; from quarrel it goes to blows — and do you think the two of us can stand against his four? Better to hoodwink them: say only that the fruit is all there, that we counted wrong, and turn about and make them our apologies. Their rice is cooked already. When they sit down to eat we will add them a few side dishes. Each holds a bowl in his hands — then you stand at the left of the door, I at the right, and slam: the door is shut, the lock locked, and every gate in the row locked after it. Do not let them out. When our master comes home he may deal with them as he pleases. He is our master's friend: if we spare them, it is our master's kindness; if we do not spare them, we have a thief in hand, and so may hope to lighten our own guilt." "Reasonable, reasonable," said Clear Breeze.

The two of them screwed their spirits up, forced themselves to smiles, came from the back garden straight into the hall, and bowed low to the Tang monk. "Master, our words just now were coarse; we gave you great offense. Forgive us, forgive us." "What is this?" asked Tripitaka. "The fruit is all there," said Clear Breeze. "The tree is high and the leaves thick, and we did not see clearly. Just now we went to count again: it is the original number." Bajie, quick to stand on his advantage, said, "You young boy, too green to know the world, to come raging and cursing at us, cursing out of an empty mouth and slander us for nothing — it is not to be borne!" Pilgrim understood in his heart and kept quiet, thinking to himself: "A lie, a lie. The account of those fruits is settled. Why talk this way? They must have some art of raising the dead to life." "Since it is so, serve out the rice," said Tripitaka. "Let us eat and be gone."

Bajie went to serve out the rice, and Sha Monk set the table and chairs. The two boys hurried to fetch side dishes — pickled melon, pickled eggplant, wined radish, vinegar beans, pickled mallows, blanched mustard greens — seven or eight dishes set out for the master and his disciples' meal, with a pot of good tea and two tea cups waiting at either hand. The four of them had just taken up their bowls when the boys, one at each side, slammed the door and shot home a double-bolted brass lock. Bajie laughed. "The boys have it wrong. Is the custom here so bad that you shut people in to eat?" "Just so, just so," said Bright Moon. "Eat your rice, and by and by the door opens." Clear Breeze cursed: "You gluttonous, stealthy-eating bald thief! You stole and ate my immortal fruit — that is already the crime of wantonly eating the melons and fruits of another's garden — and then you pushed over my immortal tree, wrecked the immortal root of our Five Hamlets Monastery, and still you give yourself airs! You will see the Buddha's face in the west only when you are rocked in the cradle and born again!" Hearing this, Tripitaka set down his rice bowl with a stone laid on his heart. The boys locked the front mountain gate and the second mountain gate, both; then came to the door of the main hall, foul words and filthy, "thief" before and "thief" behind, cursing until the sky grew dark, and only then went in to eat. After the meal they went to their rooms.

The Tang monk blamed Pilgrim: "You monkey-head, ever and ever into trouble! You stole and ate his fruit — then swallow some insult, let him curse a little, and be done. Why did you have to push over his tree? With a case like this, in court, even if your own father were the magistrate, it would not wash." "Master, no uproar," said Pilgrim. "The boys have gone to bed. As soon as they are asleep we rise and travel through the night." "Brother," said Sha Monk, "every gate in the row is locked and shut tight. How do we go?" "Never mind, never mind," Pilgrim laughed. "Old Sun has his ways." "As if you lacked ways!" said Bajie. "One change of yours, into some worm or gnat, and out you fly through the lattice. It is only we who cannot change, left here to stand the jar and take the beating." "If he works some trick and does not take you and me out with him," said the Tang monk, "I will begin the Old Words Sutra, and see how he likes that." Bajie heard this, half worried, half laughing. "Master, what talk is that? I have heard the Buddhists have a Shurangama Sutra, a Lotus Sutra, a Peacock Sutra, a Guanyin Sutra, a Diamond Sutra — but I never heard of any Old Words Sutra." "Brother, you do not know," said Pilgrim. "This fillet on my crown was given by the Bodhisattva Guanyin to my master. The master coaxed me into putting it on, and it took root like a tree — no power alive can get it off. It is called the Tight-Fillet Spell, and again the Tight-Fillet Sutra; his 'Old Words Sutra' is this very thing. The moment it is chanted my head splits — that is the trick he has to bind me. Master, do not chant it. I will never fail you: I promise you we all go out together."

By the time the talk was done the sky had darkened, and the moon was up in the east unawares. "All the world is still now, the ice wheel shining clear," said Pilgrim. "A fine time to be off." "Brother, none of your tricks," said Bajie. "Every door is locked and barred. Where would we go?" "Watch the craft." He held the gold-banded staff in his hand, played his art of unlocking, pointed at the door — with a sudden clack the double bolts of gate after gate dropped, and the door panels flew open. "Fine work!" laughed Bajie. "Even the tinker with his picklock could not be neater." "What is a door or two?" said Pilgrim. "Point at the South Gate of Heaven itself, and it opens." Then he begged the master out the gate and up onto the horse; Bajie shouldered the load, Sha Monk led the horse, and they made straight west. "Go on slowly," said Pilgrim. "Old Sun will go see those two boys comfortably asleep for a month." "Disciple, do not take their lives," said Tripitaka. "Or that is another crime — hurting men for gain." "I know." Pilgrim went back in to the door of the room where the boys slept. In his sash he carried sleep-bugs, won long ago at the finger game from the Heavenly King of Growth at the East Gate of Heaven. He fished out two, flicked them through the window slit, and they made straight for the boys' faces: snore upon snore, dead asleep, past any waking. Then he swung into his cloud stride, caught up the Tang monk, and down the high road they pounded west.

All that night, hooves never stopping, they rode till daybreak. Tripitaka said, "This monkey-head has worn me to death: for the sake of your mouth I have not closed an eye all night." "Quit your grumbling," said Pilgrim. "It is light now. Rest as best you can in this wood by the roadside, gather your spirits, and then we go on." The elder had no choice but to dismount and sit, leaning on a pine root for a meditation couch; Sha Monk set down his load and dozed; Bajie pillowed his head on a stone. But the Great Sage Sun's heart would not rest: see him leaping from tree to tree and swinging on the boughs at play. The four rested — but of this, no more.

Now the Great Immortal, the assembly in the Palace of the Primordial Beginning dismissed, led his young immortals out of Tushita, straight down the jade heavens, letting fall his auspicious cloud, and soon stood before the gate of the Five Hamlets Monastery on Longevity Mountain. He looked: the monastery gate stood wide open, and the ground was clean. "Clear Breeze and Bright Moon are good for something," said the Great Immortal. "Ordinarily, with the sun three zhang high, they will not stretch their backs. Today, with us away, they rise early and open the gates and sweep." The young immortals were all pleased. They came into the hall: no incense burning, not a soul stirring — and no Bright Moon or Clear Breeze anywhere. "The two of them must have run off with something, now we are away," said the immortals. "Never!" said the Great Immortal. "Would men cultivating the Way do so wicked a thing? More likely they forgot to shut the gate last night and went to bed, and are not awake yet this morning." The immortals came to their door and looked: truly the door was shut, and within they snored on, dead asleep; knock and shout outside as they would, there was no waking them. The immortals pried the door boards open, laid hands on them, and dragged them from the bed — still they did not wake. "Fine immortal boys!" the Great Immortal laughed. "One attained to immortality, spirit full to brimming, thinks of sleep no more. How are they so dead tired? Can someone have played a trick on them? Water, quickly!" A boy hurried and brought half a cup of water to the Great Immortal, who murmured a spell, took a mouthful, sprayed it on their faces, and at once the demon of sleep let go.

The two woke, eyes snapping open, wiped their faces, looked up, and knew the Immortal Master, Lord Coeval with the World, and the brother immortals about him. Clear Breeze bowed his head to the ground in alarm and Bright Moon knocked his forehead: "Master, your old friend was a monk from the east — a band of robbers, ferocious past telling." "No terror," said the Great Immortal, smiling. "Tell it slowly, from the beginning." "Master, soon after you left there truly came the Tang monk of the Land of the East, four monks in the company, five mouths counting the horse. Your disciples dared not fail your word; we asked his errand and took two ginseng fruits to present to him. The elder, with common eyes and a dull heart, did not know the treasure of our immortal house. He said they were children not three days old and refused again and again to eat; so your disciples each ate one. Who knew that of his three followers, one surnamed Sun, Pilgrim Wukong, had first stolen four fruits and eaten them. We went to reason with him and told him the truth in a few plain words; he would not hear it, and in secret worked some art of sending out his spirit. Woe is us!…" At this point in the story the two boys could not hold back the tears on their cheeks. "Did the monk strike you?" asked the immortals. "He did not strike us," said Bright Moon. "He only struck down our ginseng tree." Hearing this the Great Immortal showed no anger at all. "Do not cry, do not cry. You do not know that this Sun is an unattached immortal of the Grand One, who once wrought havoc in the Heavenly Palace, vast in divine powers. Since the precious tree is struck down — do you know those monks by sight?" "We know them all," said Clear Breeze. "If you know them, come with me. — Disciples, all of you, lay out the instruments of punishment; when I return we will beat them." The immortals took their orders.

The Great Immortal and Bright Moon and Clear Breeze rose on auspicious light to chase Tripitaka, and in a moment covered a thousand li. From the cloud the Great Immortal gazed west: no Tang monk. When he turned his head east he had overshot by nine hundred li and more. For all the elder's night of hooves never stopping he had covered only one hundred and twenty li; one bound of the Great Immortal's cloud had passed them by more than nine hundred. "Master, it is the Tang monk sitting under the trees by the road," said the immortal boys. "I have seen them," said the Great Immortal. "You two go back and lay out the ropes; I will take them myself." Clear Breeze and Bright Moon turned back first — but of this, no more.

The Great Immortal pressed down the cloud, shook himself, and changed into a wandering perfected one. How was he dressed? This is how:

A hundred-patch robe on his back; a Lü-style sash at his waist.In his hand a whisk of stag-tail hair, a fisherman's drum lightly tapped.Three-eared straw sandals on his feet; a Nine-Sun kerchief wrapped about his head.Wind filled his sleeves, fluttering; between his lips, a song of the Moon Gone High.

He came straight to the trees and called out to the Tang monk, "Elder, your humble Taoist gives you greeting." The elder hurried to return the courtesy. "I did not see you come — forgive me, forgive me." "Elder, from what quarter do you come? Why sit in meditation on the road?" asked the Great Immortal. "Your humble monk is sent by the Great Tang of the Land of the East to fetch scriptures in the Western Heaven. Passing this way, we rest a moment," said Tripitaka. The Great Immortal feigned surprise. "Coming from the east, elder, might you have passed my poor mountain?" "I do not know, immortal official, what precious mountain is yours?" "Longevity Mountain, the Five Hamlets Monastery — that is where your humble Taoist roosts," said the Great Immortal.

Pilgrim, who had something on his conscience, answered quickly: "Never, never. We came by the high road." The Great Immortal pointed at him and laughed: "You brazen ape! Whom would you hide it from? You knocked down my ginseng tree in my own monastery, fled through the night to this place, and still will not confess — what are you covering? Do not run. Restore my tree, and quickly." At this Pilgrim's heart boiled with rage; out came the iron staff, and without a word of parley he struck at the Great Immortal's crown. The Immortal swerved aside, trod his auspicious light, and rose straight into the air; Pilgrim too mounted the clouds and hotly gave chase. In mid-air the Great Immortal showed his true form. What did he look like? This:

A purple-gold cap upon his head; a carefree crane-feather cloak upon his shoulders.Shod shoes beneath his feet; a silken cord about his waist.A body like a boy's, a face like a beauty's.Three streamers of beard drifting under his chin; raven-plume temples, fold on fold.To meet the Pilgrim he carried no weapon: only a jade-handled whisk, twirling in his hand.

Pilgrim, high and low without measure, hammered about with his staff; the Great Immortal parried left and blocked right with the jade whisk, holding him two or three rounds. Then he played his art of the Universe in the Sleeve: in the clouds he spread his robe-sleeve lightly against the wind, swept it forward — and gathered up the four monks and the horse, the whole of them, in one sleeve. "We are done for — we are bagged like in a net!" cried Bajie. "Idiot, it is no net," said Pilgrim. "He has folded us into his sleeve." "That is no great matter," said Bajie. "Let me give it a bout of the rake, punch a hole, and we drop out — then let him say he was careless and could not hold his sleeve, and lost us." The Idiot struck wildly with his rake — and where could it bite? To the fingers' touch it was soft as cloth; struck, it was harder than iron.

The Great Immortal wheeled his auspicious cloud, alighted at the Five Hamlets Monastery, took his seat, and called his disciples to bring ropes; the young immortals attended one and all. See him now, drawing them from the sleeve like a puppeteer plucking figures: out came the Tang monk, bound to a pillar under the main hall's eaves; out came the three others, one tied to each of the pillars. The horse too was brought out and tethered in the court, with some hay and fodder; the luggage was flung down under the corridor. And he said: "Disciples, these monks are religious: no blades, no axes are to touch them. Bring out the leather whip and give them a thrashing, to vent my ginseng fruits' grievance." The immortals hurried and brought out a whip — no ox-hide, sheepskin, buckskin, or calfskin this, but a Seven-Star whip of dragon skin, steeped there in water. They gave the whip to a young immortal of strength, who gripped it firm. "Master, which do we whip first?" "Tripitaka Tang, head of the company and disrespectful in the place — whip him first," said the Great Immortal.

Hearing this, Pilgrim thought to himself: "My old monk cannot stand a beating. If a bout of the whip ruins him, is not the sin mine?" He could not hold his tongue. "Sir, you are wrong. I stole the fruit, I ate the fruit, I pushed down the tree. Why not whip me first? What has he done?" The Great Immortal laughed. "The brazen ape has spirit in his talk. Very well — whip him first." "How many strokes?" asked the young immortal. "By the count of the fruit: thirty strokes," said the Great Immortal. The young immortal swung the whip to strike. Pilgrim, fearing the immortals' strokes might be heavy, rounded his eyes and fixed them to see where the whip would fall. It was the legs: Pilgrim gave his waist a twist, cried "Change!" and turned his two legs into wrought iron — let him strike then. The young immortal struck, stroke on stroke, the full thirty, and the sky was tilting toward noon. The Great Immortal gave new orders: "Tripitaka too should be whipped, for disciplining loosely and letting his unruly disciples run wild." The immortal swung the whip at him. "Sir, you are wrong again," said Pilgrim. "When the fruit was stolen my master knew nothing of it; he was in the hall talking with your two boys. It was we brothers who did the deed. Grant there is a fault of loose instruction — then a disciple should take the stripes in his place. Whip me again." "This brazen ape," said the Great Immortal, "sly and unruly as he is, has some filial feeling after all. So be it — whip him again." The young immortal struck thirty more. Pilgrim looked down at his legs: bright as mirrors, polished by the whipping, without one smitch of pain or itch. By then the light was failing. "Steep the whip in water," said the Great Immortal. "Tomorrow we interrogate and beat them again." The young immortal put the whip away to steep, and each went to his room. Supper was done, and all slept soundly — but of this, no more.

The elder's eyes brimmed down both cheeks, and he blamed his three disciples: "You made the trouble, and drag me into suffering here. How did it come to this?" "Quit the complaints," said Pilgrim. "The whip took me first, and you have not been whipped at all — why this sighing and moaning?" "Whipped I was not," said the Tang monk, "but bound like this, my body aches all over." "Master," said Sha Monk, "there are two bound along with you here." "No one shout," said Pilgrim. "In a little while we walk." "Brother, at your tricks again," said Bajie. "Hemp ropes wetted with spray, binding us tight — is this like the hall, where your unlocking art shot the bolts for us?" "I say it not in boasting: three-strand hemp ropes wet through, or a palm cable thick as a bowl — to old Sun they are no more than an autumn wind."

While they talked, all sounds had died away: the sky-lane quiet, the world asleep. Brave Pilgrim! He shrank his body a little and slipped out of the ropes. "Master, it is time to go." Sha Monk, alarmed, said, "Brother, save us too." "Softly, softly," said Pilgrim. He loosed Tripitaka, freed Bajie and Sha Monk, straightened their monk's gowns, saddled the horse, took the luggage from under the corridor, and together they passed out the monastery gate. Then he sent Bajie: "Go cut me four willows from the cliff edge." "What are they for?" said Bajie. "They will be of use. Fetch them quickly." The Idiot had his brutish strength: off he went, and with his snout, one to a lunge, he rooted up four and brought them back in his arms. Pilgrim snapped off the branch tips, and sent the two brothers back inside to bind the original ropes to the pillars as before. The Great Sage murmured his spell, bit through the tip of his tongue, sprayed the blood on the willows, and cried, "Change!" One became the elder; one became himself; the other two became Sha Monk and Bajie. Each had the very face and figure of its model: question them and they spoke; call their names and they answered. Then the two of them stretched out their stride and caught up their master. All that night, hooves never stopping, they put the Five Hamlets Monastery far behind.

Only, by daybreak the elder was nodding in the saddle like a post. Pilgrim saw and called, "Master, this will never do. How is a religious so worn out? Old Sun could go a thousand nights without sleep and never feel drowsy. Dismount — do not let the people on the road see and laugh at you. Rest a while below the slope, in a place out of the wind where the breath gathers, and then we go on."

To leave master and disciples halted on the road: the Great Immortal rose at daybreak, ate his morning meal, came out into the hall, and ordered, "Bring the whip. Today it is Tripitaka Tang's turn for the beating." The young immortal swung the whip at the Tang monk. "Take your stripes." And the willow answered, "Let them fall." Thirty strokes came down with a smack. The whip swung around to Bajie. "Take your stripes." And that willow too answered, "Let them fall." When it came to Sha Monk, his willow answered and bade them whip. But when it came to Pilgrim's turn — Pilgrim, out on the road, shivered all at once. "Bad news!" "What is it?" asked Tripitaka. "I changed four willows into the four of us, master and disciples. I thought, twice whipped yesterday, they would spare us today — yet they are beating my doubles again, and so my true body shudders. Recall the spell!" And Pilgrim hurriedly murmured the charm and drew in his art.

See the Taoist boys, terror-struck, dropping the whip and reporting: "Master, the first we beat was the monk of the Great Tang — but all this bout we have been beating willow roots!" The Great Immortal heard, and laughed a cold haw-haw, praising without end: "Pilgrim Sun, a monkey king indeed! They say he wrought havoc in the Heavenly Palace, and nets on earth and snares in heaven could not hold him — there was truth in it, then. Well — go, if you must go; but to bind willows here and put them up in your names! He shall not be spared. After them!"

At the word "after them" the Great Immortal mounted his cloud, gazed west, and there were the monks, packs on shoulders, heels to the horse, trudging along. He dropped low out of the cloud and cried: "Pilgrim Sun, where would you run? Bring back my ginseng tree!" Bajie heard and said, "Done for — the adversary is back." "Master," said Pilgrim, "wrap the word mercy up for now. Let us play some ferocity, finish him off once and for all, and get free." The Tang monk heard, trembling all over, and made no answer. Sha Monk drew his precious staff, Bajie raised the nailed rake, the Great Sage swung the iron staff, and all together they closed on the Great Immortal in mid-air, hammering and hacking without order. It was a fierce fight, and there is a poem to prove it. The poem says:

Wukong did not know the Immortal Zhenyuan: the Lord Coeval with the World is subtler still.Three divine weapons raged in their violence; one stag-tail whisk floated serene.Blocking left, warding right, he followed their comings and goings; parrying behind, meeting before, he turned as he pleased.Night gone, morning come, and no slipping free of his body — lingering here, what day will they ever reach the Western Heaven?

The three brothers raised their divine weapons and attacked as one; the Great Immortal only fenced with his fly-whisk. Not half a watch had passed when he spread his robe-sleeve and again swept up the four monks, the horse, and the luggage, all in one fold. He wheeled his cloud back to the monastery, where the immortals met him. The immortal master sat in the hall and unloaded his sleeve one by one: the Tang monk bound to a low locust below the steps; Bajie and Sha Monk tied each to a tree at either side; Pilgrim trussed and thrown down. "Interrogation next, I suppose," said Pilgrim. In no long time the binding was finished, and he ordered ten bolts of long-warp cloth brought out. Pilgrim laughed. "Bajie, how kind the gentleman is — bringing cloth to make us sleeves for our gowns. Tell him to economize: just one wrap apiece will do." The young immortals carried out the home-loomed cloth. "Wrap Tripitaka Tang, Zhu Bajie, and Sha Monk in the cloth," said the Great Immortal, and the immortals together wrapped them. "Good, good, good," laughed Pilgrim. "Buried alive, with full funeral wrappings, and not yet dead." Soon the wrappings were done. Then he ordered lacquer brought out; the immortals fetched raw and boiled lacquer, gathered and sun-dried by themselves, and lacquered the three of them over the cloth, all bodies wrapped and lacquered, only the heads and faces left outside. "Sir," said Bajie, "the top does not matter so much, only leave a hole below, so we can do our office." The Great Immortal then ordered the great cauldron brought out. Pilgrim laughed. "Bajie, good fortune! A cauldron — they mean to boil rice for us." "So be it," said Bajie. "Let us have some rice: a ghost who dies on a full belly looks better too." The immortals indeed carried out a great cauldron and set it below the steps. The Great Immortal called for dry wood to be stacked and a fierce fire built, and ordered: "Pour clear oil in, a cauldronful, heat it to a boil, and drop Pilgrim Sun in the fryer for one crisp frying — vengeance for my ginseng tree!"

Hearing this, Pilgrim was inwardly delighted. "Just to old Sun's taste! I have not bathed this age, and my skin is dry and itchy: a scalding will do, and I am much obliged for the courtesy." In a moment the cauldron neared the boil. But the Great Sage kept his wits about him, fearing the immortal's art might be hard to fathom and his own hands tied in the oil; he looked quickly about and saw that east of the platform stood a sundial terrace, and west of it a stone lion. Pilgrim gave a spring, rolled to the west side, bit through his tongue-tip, sprayed the stone lion once, and cried, "Change!" It took his very likeness and lay trussed into a bundle just so. He himself sent out his true spirit, rose into the clouds, and looked down at the Taoists.

The young immortal reported: "Master, the oil is at a full boil." "Carry Pilgrim Sun down," said the Great Immortal. Four immortal boys could not lift him; eight came and could not; four more, and still they could not. "The monkey clings to the ground and will not shift," said the immortals. "Small he may be, but he is solid." So they had twenty young immortals hoist him up and slam him into the cauldron. With a great splash the oil burst up in scalding drops and blistered the little Taoists' faces with weals big as boiling-milk bubbles. Then the boy tending the fire bawled, "The cauldron leaks! The cauldron leaks!" And before the words were out, the oil had drained away to nothing: the cauldron bottom was smashed — for it was a stone lion lying inside.

The Great Immortal flew into a rage. "This brazen ape, insolent past all telling — playing his trick under our very eyes! Go, if you will go; but why smash my stove as well? This brazen ape cannot be caught, try as one may; even caught, it is like kneading sand or handling quicksilver, grasping at shadows, chasing the wind. Enough, enough, enough — let him go. For now: take Tripitaka Tang down, set up a fresh cauldron, and fry him instead — some vengeance for my ginseng tree." The young immortals set to work in earnest, unwinding the cloth and the lacquer.

From mid-air Pilgrim heard it all distinctly, and thought: "My master will never survive it. In the oil cauldron, one roll and he dies, two rolls and he scorches; by three or five rolls he is a pulped monk. I must go save him." Brave Great Sage! He pressed down the cloud and came forward with hands folded in salute. "Do not tear up the cloth and lacquer and fry my master. Wait — I am here to go into the oil cauldron." The Great Immortal cursed in astonishment: "You mangy ape! How dare you work your tricks and smash my stove?" Pilgrim laughed. "Meeting me, your stove was bound to fall to ruin — what is that to me? Just now I meant to accept your kind favor of oil-broth and oil-drippings, only nature pressed hard: had I opened the floodgates in the cauldron, it would have fouled your fine cooking oil and spoiled the dressing of your dishes. Now that everything is well and cleanly done, I can go into the pot. Do not fry my master — fry me again." The Great Immortal heard this, laughed his cold haw-haw, walked out of the hall, and seized him in one grip.

But what words would pass between them, and how they would truly get free — listen to the next chapter to find out.

The Immortal Zhenyuan Chases and Seizes the Scripture-Seeking Monks; Pilgrim Sun Wreaks Havoc in the Wuzhuang Monastery

The three brothers came up to the hall and said to the master: "The food is nearly done. What did you call us for?" Tripitaka said: "Disciples, this is not about food. There is some ginseng fruit in this abbey, a thing shaped like a child. Which of you stole it and ate it?" Bajie said: "Honestly, I do not know. I never saw any." Clear Breeze said: "The one laughing is the one! The one laughing is the one!" Pilgrim shouted: "Old Sun was born with this smiling face. Just because you have lost some fruit, am I not allowed to laugh?" Tripitaka said: "Disciple, calm your anger. We are men who have left the world. We must not tell lies or eat stolen food. If you truly ate his fruit, bow an apology and have done. Why carry on this denial?" Pilgrim saw that the master was right, so he told the truth: "Master, it is not my doing. Bajie heard the two Daoist boys next door eating some ginseng fruit, and he wanted a taste of something new. He had old Sun knock down three of them, and we brothers ate one each. They are eaten now. What do you want done about it?" Bright Moon said: "He stole four of ours, and the monk still says he is no thief." Bajie said: "Amitabha! If four were stolen, why were only three brought out to share? Someone was playing favorites from the start." And so the Idiot turned around and raised a ruction of his own.

When the two immortal boys saw the confession was true, they cursed all the harder. The Great Sage ground his steel teeth, rolled his fiery eyes, gripped and regripped his gold-banded staff, bore it and bore it again, and thought: "If these boys had only slapped my face, I could take the insult. But I will give them a plan with no future in it, so that none of them will ever eat that fruit." Good Pilgrim! He plucked one hair from the back of his head, blew on it a breath of magic, and called: "Change!" It became a false Pilgrim, who stayed beside the Tang monk with Wuneng and Wujing, enduring the boys' shouting and curses. His true spirit slipped out, jumped on a cloud, rose up, went straight to the ginseng garden, pulled out the gold-banded staff, and brought it down on the tree with a crash. Then he used his godlike strength that shoves mountains and moves ridges and pushed the tree clean over. Poor tree! Leaves fell, branches split, the roots came out of the earth, and the Grass-Returning Elixir was cut off from the Daoist house. The Great Sage, having pushed over the tree, looked along the branches for fruit. There was not half a fruit to be found. The truth is that this treasure falls at the touch of metal. His staff was capped with gold at both ends, and iron itself is one of the five metals, so one tap shook the fruit loose. And once it fell, it sank into the earth. That is why not one fruit was left above. He said: "Good, good, good! Let the whole household scatter." He put away his iron staff, came straight forward, shook himself, and drew the hairs back into his body. Those people had mortal eyes and mortal flesh, and they saw nothing of it.

Now the immortal boys had cursed a long time. Clear Breeze said: "Bright Moon, these monks can take an insult. We have been cursing like women scolding chickens for half a watch, and not one word of answer. I suppose they never stole the fruit after all. The tree is tall and the leaves are thick—maybe we counted wrong. We should not have cursed them for nothing. Let us go and check again." Bright Moon said: "That is fair." The two of them went back to the garden and saw the tree lying fallen, branches split, fruit gone, leaves scattered. Clear Breeze's legs went soft and he pitched on his head; Bright Moon's back went limp and his joints knocked. The souls of the two of them flew and scattered. There is a poem to prove it. The poem says:

Tripitaka came west to Longevity Mountain; Wukong ruined the Grass-Returning Elixir.Branches split and leaves fall, the immortal root laid bare; Bright Moon and Clear Breeze go cold to the heart.

The two of them lay in the dust, their words tumbling over each other, crying only: "What shall we do? What shall we do? The elixir of our Wuzhuang Monastery is destroyed, the stock of our immortal house cut off. When our master comes home, how are we to answer him?" Bright Moon said: "Brother, do not shout. Let us straighten our robes and caps and not startle these monks. No one else could have done this—it must be that fellow with the monkey face and the thunder-god mouth. He came and worked his spirit tricks and wrecked our treasure. If we argue with him he will only deny it, and we will have to fight. And when fighting starts, do you think the two of us can stand against the four of them? Better to go and soft-soap them. We will say the fruits are all there, that we miscounted, and beg their pardon. Their meal is cooked. When they sit down to eat, we will set out a few extra dishes. Then, each of them holding his bowl, you stand at the left of the door and I at the right, and we slam the door and lock it. We will lock every one of these gates and not let them go. When the master comes home he can deal with them as he pleases. He is the master's old friend. If he pardons them, that is the master's kindness. If he does not pardon them, we have caught a thief in the act, and perhaps our own fault will be forgiven." Clear Breeze heard this and said: "Good sense, good sense."

The two of them forced their spirits up, put on cheerful faces, came from the back garden straight to the hall, bowed low to the Tang monk, and said: "Master, our words just now were coarse, and we offended you. Do not be angry, do not be angry." Tripitaka said: "What is this?" Clear Breeze said: "No fruit is missing. The tree is tall and the leaves are thick, and we did not see clearly. We went back and counted again just now. The number is the same." Then Bajie jumped on his advantage: "You boy, you are young and know nothing, yet you curse people and spit out curses for nothing, and accuse us falsely. It is not a thing to be said." Pilgrim understood in his heart, though he said nothing, and thought: "That is a lie, a lie. The account of the fruit is closed for good. How can they talk this way? They must have some art to bring the dead back to life." Tripitaka said: "If that is so, dish up the food. Let us eat and be gone."

So Bajie went to fill the bowls, and Sha Monk set out the table and chairs. The two boys hurried to fetch side dishes: pickled melon, pickled eggplant, wine-soaked radish, beans in vinegar, pickled endive, blanched mustard greens—seven or eight dishes in all, set out for the master and his disciples. They also brought a pot of good tea and two cups, and waited at the sides. Just as the four of them picked up their bowls, the boys shut the door from either side with a clap and shot home a bolt of double copper. Bajie laughed and said: "This boy has it wrong. Is this the custom of your country, to shut people in to eat?" Bright Moon said: "Just so, just so. Eat your meal, and we will open the door." Clear Breeze cursed: "You bald thief, you glutton, you stealer of tastes! You stole and ate our immortal fruit—that alone is the crime of robbing an orchard. Then you pushed over our immortal tree and wrecked the immortal root of our Wuzhuang Monastery, and you still run your mouth! You will see the Buddha's face in the West only when you turn around and rock a cradle and are born again." When the Tang monk heard this, he dropped his bowl, and a stone settled on his heart. The boys locked the front gate and the second gate as well, and came to the door of the main hall, cursing with ugly words, "thief" before and "thief" behind, until the sky grew dark. Then they went to eat, and after the meal they went to their rooms.

The Tang monk blamed Pilgrim: "You monkey, you are forever brewing trouble. You stole and ate his fruit—you could have taken a few insults, let him curse a few sentences, and it would have passed. Why did you push over his tree? With facts like these, if the case went to court, even if your own father were the magistrate he could not make it come out right." Pilgrim said: "Master, do not fret. The boys are all in bed. As soon as they are asleep, we get up and go, this very night." Sha Monk said: "Brother, every gate is locked and bolted tight. How do we get out?" Pilgrim laughed and said: "Never mind, never mind. Old Sun has his own way." Bajie said: "As if you lacked a way! You can change into some worm or gnat and slip out through the lattice. But we poor ones who cannot change will have to stay here and take the blame." The Tang monk said: "If he works some trick and gets out without you and me, I will just recite the Old Talk Sutra, and see how he likes it." When Bajie heard this he was worried and amused at once: "Master, what talk is that? I have heard of a Shurangama Sutra, a Lotus Sutra, a Peacock Sutra, a Guanyin Sutra, a Diamond Sutra in the Buddhist canon, but I never heard of any 'Old Talk Sutra.'" Pilgrim said: "Brother, you do not know. This fillet on my head was given to my master by the Bodhisattva Guanyin. My master coaxed me into putting it on, and it took root there, and there is no taking it off. It is called the Tight-Fillet Spell, and also the Tight-Fillet Sutra. His 'Old Talk Sutra' is that very thing. The moment he recites it, my head splits. That is the trick he has to hold me with. Master, do not recite it. I will never fail you. I promise you we all go out together."

By the time the talk was over the sky had darkened, and the moon was rising in the east. Pilgrim said: "All the world is silent now, and the ice-white wheel is bright. It is the right time to go." Bajie said: "Brother, do not play tricks. Every door is locked. Where would we go?" Pilgrim said: "Watch my art." He held the gold-banded staff in his hand and used his lock-opening art. He pointed at the door, and with a sudden snap every bolt on every gate dropped loose, and the doors swung open with a clatter. Bajie laughed and said: "Fine work. Not even a tinker with his pick could do it so clean and quick." Pilgrim said: "What is a gate like this? Point at the South Gate of Heaven and it would open too." He asked the master to come out, helped him onto the horse; Bajie shouldered the load, Sha Monk led the horse, and they set off west along the road. Pilgrim said: "You go on slowly. Let old Sun go back and arrange for those two boys to sleep for a month." Tripitaka said: "Disciple, do not take their lives. Otherwise that is one more crime of taking a life for money." Pilgrim said: "I know." He went back in, to the door of the room where the boys slept. At his waist he had sleep bugs, won long ago at the East Heaven Gate in a finger game from the Heavenly King of Growth. He took out two, snapped them through the window, and they made straight for the boys' faces. The boys snored deep asleep, past any waking. Then Pilgrim stretched his cloud stride, caught up with the Tang monk, and ran west along the main road.

All that night the horse never stopped, and they went on until dawn. Tripitaka said: "This monkey has been the death of me. It was your mouth that got us into this, and I have not slept all night." Pilgrim said: "Stop grumbling. It is light. Rest a while there in the trees by the roadside and get your strength back, then we go on." The elder had to get down from the horse and sit leaning against the roots of a pine as if it were a meditation bed. Sha Monk set down the load and dozed; Bajie pillowed his head on a stone and slept. The Great Sage Sun alone was restless: see him leaping from tree to tree and swinging on the branches, playing. The four rested—we say no more of them.

Now the Great Immortal, when the assembly broke up at the Original Venerable's palace, led his young immortals out of the Tusita heaven, came straight down from the jade sky, dropped his lucky cloud, and soon stood before the gate of the Wuzhuang Monastery on Longevity Mountain. He looked: the abbey gate stood wide open, and the ground was swept clean. The Great Immortal said: "Clear Breeze and Bright Moon are good for something after all. Usually the sun is three zhang high before they stretch themselves. Today, with us away, they were willing to rise early and sweep." All the young immortals were pleased. They came to the hall: no incense burning, no trace of anyone. Where were Bright Moon and Clear Breeze? The immortals said: "They must have taken advantage of our absence, stolen things, and run off." The Great Immortal said: "Nonsense! Would men who cultivate the Dao do so base a thing? They must have forgotten to shut the gate last night and gone to bed, and they are not awake yet this morning." The immortals came to the boys' door and looked: the door was truly shut, and deep snores came from inside. Knocking and shouting outside did not wake them at all. The immortals pried the door boards open, reached in, and pulled them off the bed, and still they would not wake. The Great Immortal laughed and said: "Fine immortal boys! A man who becomes an immortal is full of spirit and never thinks of sleep. How are they so heavy with drowsiness? Could someone have played a trick on them? Bring water, quickly." One boy hurried and brought half a cup of water and gave it to the Great Immortal. He said a spell, took a mouthful, and sprayed it on their faces. The demon of sleep left them at once.

The two woke, opened their eyes, rubbed their faces, looked up, and saw their immortal master, Lord Even with the World, and their immortal brothers. In terror Clear Breeze knocked his forehead on the ground, and Bright Moon knocked his head, crying: "Master, your old friend turned out to be a monk from the East, and the whole lot of them are robbers, savage past all measure." The Great Immortal laughed and said: "Do not be frightened. Tell it slowly." Clear Breeze said: "Master, soon after you left, a Tang monk from the Land of the East really did come, four monks in the party, five mouths counting the horse. We did not dare disobey your order. We asked their business and took two ginseng fruits to offer him. The elder has the eyes and heart of a common man, and he did not know the treasure of our immortal house. He said they were babies not three days old, and refused again and again. So we ate one each ourselves. Then his three disciples—one of them surnamed Sun, called Pilgrim Wukong—stole four fruits first and ate them. We reasoned with him and spoke a few honest words, and he would not hear it. In secret he worked some trick that lets his spirit leave his body. Ah, the misery!..." At this point the two boys could not hold back the tears on their cheeks. The immortals said: "Did that monk beat you?" Bright Moon said: "He did not beat us. He only beat down our ginseng tree." When the Great Immortal heard this, he showed no anger at all and said: "Do not cry, do not cry. You do not know that this man Sun is also a scattered immortal of the Highest Unity. He once wrecked the Heavenly Palace single-handed, and his powers are very great. Since he has beaten down the precious tree—do you know those monks by sight?" Clear Breeze said: "We know them all." The Great Immortal said: "Since you know them, follow me. Disciples all, get out the instruments of punishment and make them ready. When I come back, we will beat them." The immortals took their orders.

The Great Immortal, with Bright Moon and Clear Breeze, rose on lucky light and went after Tripitaka. In a moment they had covered a thousand li. The Great Immortal looked west from the clouds and saw no Tang monk. When he turned his head to look east, he had overshot by more than nine hundred li. The truth is that the elder, horse never stopping all night, had gone only a hundred and twenty li, while one jump of the Great Immortal's cloud had passed them by more than nine hundred. The immortal boys said: "Master, that is the Tang monk sitting under the trees by the road." The Great Immortal said: "I have seen him. You two go back and lay out the ropes. I will take them myself." Clear Breeze and Bright Moon went back first—we say no more of them.

The Great Immortal pressed down his cloud, shook himself, and changed into a wandering Daoist priest. See how he was dressed:

He wore a robe of a hundred patches and a sash knotted in the pattern of Lü.In his hand he waved a whisk of deer tail, and he tapped lightly on a fish drum.Three-eared straw sandals were on his feet, and a Nine-Sun kerchief wrapped his head.Wind filled his floating sleeves as he sang the tune "The Moon Grows High."

He came straight to the trees, called out to the Tang monk, and said: "Elder, this humble Daoist salutes you." The elder hurried to return the bow and said: "My apologies, my apologies, for not seeing you." The Great Immortal asked: "Elder, where do you come from, and why sit in meditation on the road?" Tripitaka said: "I am a poor monk sent by the Tang of the Land of the East to fetch scriptures from the western heaven. I was passing this way and stopped for a rest." The Great Immortal feigned surprise and said: "Elder, coming from the east, did you pass a poor mountain of mine on the way?" The elder said: "I do not know, immortal officer, what precious mountain is yours?" The Great Immortal said: "The Wuzhuang Monastery on Longevity Mountain is where this humble Daoist dwells."

When Pilgrim heard this—he was a man with something on his conscience—he answered quickly: "No, no. We came along the high road." The Great Immortal pointed at him and laughed: "You brazen monkey! Who are you trying to fool? You were in my abbey. You knocked over my ginseng tree, and you ran away in the night to this place, and still you will not confess. What is the use of hiding it? Do not run. Go and give me back my tree, and quickly." When Pilgrim heard this, anger rose in his heart. He pulled out his iron staff and, without one word, struck down at the Great Immortal's head. The Great Immortal twisted aside, dodged, trod on lucky light, and rose into the sky. Pilgrim leaped on his cloud and hurried after. In midair the Great Immortal showed his true form. See how he was dressed:

On his head a cap of purple gold; over his shoulders a crane-feather cloak, free of every care.Shoes of cloth and leather on his feet; a silken cord bound at his waist.His body had the look of a boy; his face the bloom of a beauty.Three long whiskers floated under his chin; raven feathers lay layered at his temples.To meet Pilgrim he brought no weapon; he only twirled a jade-handled whisk in his hand.

Pilgrim swung his staff wildly, high and low. The Great Immortal parried left and blocked right with his jade whisk and held him off for two or three rounds. Then he used his art called "the universe in the sleeve." Among the clouds he spread his sleeve gently against the wind, swept it forward with a swish, and caught the four monks together with the horse inside it in one fold. Bajie said: "This is bad. We are all stuffed in a net bag." Pilgrim said: "Idiot, it is no net bag. He has folded us into his sleeve." Bajie said: "That does not matter. Let me give it one good bout with my toothed rake, punch a hole, and drop through. Then we will say he was careless and did not fold us in tight, and we slipped." The Idiot stabbed wildly with the rake, but he could not move it at all: to the touch it was soft, but under the rake it was harder than iron.

The Great Immortal turned his lucky cloud, came down at the Wuzhuang Monastery, sat, and called for ropes. The young immortals waited on him one by one. See him take the Tang monk out of his sleeve as if he were pulling puppets from a bag, and bind him to the pillar under the main hall's eaves. He took out the other three and tied one to each pillar. The horse he brought out too and tied in the yard, with hay and fodder; the luggage he threw down under the corridor. Then he said: "Disciples, this monk is one who has left the world. No blades, no axes. Bring me the leather whip, and give him a beating, to work off my anger over the ginseng fruit." The immortals quickly brought out a whip—not cowhide, or sheepskin, or buckskin, or calfskin, but a Seven-Star whip made of dragon skin, soaking in water. They gave it to a young immortal of strength, who held it and asked: "Master, which one is beaten first?" The Great Immortal said: "Tripitaka the Tang monk is the senior and showed no respect. Beat him first."

When Pilgrim heard this, he thought to himself: "My old master cannot stand a beating. If a round of the whip ruins him, the sin will be mine." He could not hold back, and he spoke: "Sir, you are wrong. I stole the fruit, I ate the fruit, I pushed over the tree. Why not beat me first? What has he done?" The Great Immortal laughed and said: "This brazen monkey has a loud tongue and a stout heart. Then beat him first." The young immortal asked: "How many strokes?" The Great Immortal said: "Counting the fruits, thirty strokes." The young immortal swung the whip to strike. Pilgrim, fearing the immortals' punishment would be heavy, fixed his eyes wide open to see where the blow would fall. It fell on the legs. Pilgrim gave his waist a twist, called "Change!" and turned his two legs into wrought iron. Let him beat them as he liked. The young immortal struck thirty times, one stroke after another, and by then the morning was near noon. The Great Immortal gave another order: "Tripitaka should also be beaten, for training his disciples badly and letting a rebellious pupil run wild." The immortal swung the whip again. Pilgrim said: "Sir, you are wrong again. When the fruit was stolen, my master did not know of it. He was in the hall talking with your two boys. It was my brothers and I who did the deed. If there is a fault of loose teaching, then I, as the disciple, should take the blows in his place. Beat me again." The Great Immortal said: "This brazen monkey is sly and stubborn, but he has some filial feeling. If that is so, beat him again." The young immortal gave him thirty more. Pilgrim looked down: his two legs shone like bright mirrors, polished by the beating, and he felt no pain or itch at all. By now the sky was darkening. The Great Immortal said: "Put the whip back in the water. Tomorrow we interrogate them again." The young immortal put the whip away to soak, and each went to his room. When the evening meal was over, all went to rest—we say no more.

The elder's eyes ran with tears, and he blamed his three disciples: "You have stirred up this trouble and dragged me here to suffer with you. How did this come about?" Pilgrim said: "Do not complain. The beating fell on me first, and you never took a stroke. Why these sighs?" The Tang monk said: "I was not beaten, true, but the ropes bind till my body aches." Sha Monk said: "Master, you have company in your binding right here." Pilgrim said: "Nobody shout. In a little while we are on our way." Bajie said: "Brother, there you go with your tricks again. Here we are tied with wet hemp ropes, tight as tight. This is not the main hall, where you could open the bolts with your lock-opening art and walk out." Pilgrim said: "I do not say this to boast: let them soak their three-strand hemp ropes in water if they like—even a palm cable as thick as a bowl would be no more than an autumn breeze to me."

While they talked, all the world had gone silent: the streets of heaven were still. Good Pilgrim! He shrank his body a little, slipped out of the ropes, and said: "Master, we go." Sha Monk, alarmed, said: "Brother, save us too!" Pilgrim said: "Quiet, quiet." He freed Tripitaka, let down Bajie and Sha Monk, straightened their robes, saddled the horse, took the luggage from under the corridor, and all together they went out the abbey gate. Then he told Bajie: "Go cut down four willows from the cliff edge." Bajie said: "What for?" Pilgrim said: "They will be useful. Fetch them quickly." The Idiot had real strength in him. He went, and with one thrust of his snout he uprooted a tree, four times over, and carried them back in his arms. Pilgrim broke off the branch tips, and had the two brothers go back in and bind the original ropes to the pillars as before. The Great Sage said a spell, bit the tip of his tongue, and sprayed his blood on the trees, calling: "Change!" One tree became the elder, one became himself, and the other two became Sha Monk and Bajie. Each looked exactly like the man it stood for; asked a question, it answered; called by name, it replied. Then the two of them stretched their legs, caught up with the master, and all that night, as before, the horse never stopped. They slipped away from the Wuzhuang Monastery.

At daybreak the elder was nodding in the saddle like a post. Pilgrim saw it and called: "Master, this will not do. How can a man who has left the world be worn out so? Old Sun can go a thousand nights without sleep and never feel drowsy. Get down from the horse. Do not let travelers see you and laugh. Let us rest a while below the hillside, in a place sheltered from the wind, and then go on."

We say nothing of the master and his disciples stopping on the road. The Great Immortal rose at dawn, ate his morning meal, came out into the hall, and said: "Bring the whip. Today it is Tripitaka's turn to be beaten." The young immortal swung the whip and said to the Tang monk: "Now we beat you." The willow answered: "Go on, beat." The whip cracked thirty times. He swung it at Bajie: "Now we beat you." The willow answered: "Go on, beat." When he came to Sha Monk it answered too. But when he came to Pilgrim—Pilgrim on the road happened to shiver, and said: "This is bad!" Tripitaka said: "What is it?" Pilgrim said: "I turned four willows into the four of us, master and disciples. I thought they had given me two beatings yesterday and would let today pass—but they are beating my doubles, and that is why my true body shivers. Let me take off the spell." Pilgrim hurriedly said the spell and took off the magic.

Look at the Daoist boys, frightened: they dropped the leather whip and reported: "Master, the one we beat first was the Tang monk, but all we are beating now is willow roots." When the Great Immortal heard this, he laughed coldly, and praised him without end: "Pilgrim Sun is a true Monkey King. I have heard that when he wrecked the Heavenly Palace they spread nets over earth and sky and still could not take him—and so it is. Well and good, let him run. But why did he bind willows here to stand in their places and cheat me? I will never pardon him. After him!"

At the word "after him," the Great Immortal leaped on his cloud and looked west. There were the monks, shouldering packs and whipping the horse, right on the road. The Great Immortal dropped his cloud low and called: "Pilgrim Sun, where are you going? Give me back my ginseng tree." Bajie heard and said: "It is over. The enemy is back." Pilgrim said: "Master, wrap up the word 'mercy' for now, and let us be wicked. Let us finish him off and get free." The Tang monk heard this and trembled, and had no answer. Sha Monk pulled out his treasure staff, Bajie raised his toothed rake, the Great Sage brought out his iron staff, and all together they closed around the Great Immortal in the air, striking and stabbing without order. Of this fierce fight there is a poem to prove it. The poem says:

Wukong did not know the Immortal Zhenyuan, Lord Even with the World, subtler than mystery itself.Three spirit weapons struck with all their fury; one deer-tail whisk floated calm and light.He parried left and blocked right as they came and went; he caught blows behind and met them in front, wheeling at will.Night gone and morning come, they could not break free—kept here like this, when would they ever reach the Western Heaven?

The three brothers raised their spirit weapons and attacked together, but the Great Immortal only warded them off with his fly whisk. Not half a watch had passed when he spread his sleeve, and again he folded the four monks, the horse, and the luggage into it in one sweep. He turned his cloud and came back to the abbey, where the immortals met him. The immortal master sat in the hall and took them out of his sleeve one by one. He had the Tang monk bound to a low locust tree below the steps; Bajie and Sha Monk he had tied to trees on either side; Pilgrim he had trussed up. Pilgrim said: "This must be an examination." In a moment the binding was done, and he called for ten bolts of long head cloth. Pilgrim laughed and said: "Bajie, this master is generous. He is bringing out cloth to make us long-sleeved jackets. Let us be frugal—have him make them one-piece." The young immortal brought out cloth woven at home. The Great Immortal said: "Wrap up Tripitaka the Tang monk, Zhu Bajie, and Sha Monk in the cloth." The immortals came forward together and wrapped them. Pilgrim laughed and said: "Good, good, good. Buried alive with the full rites." In a moment the wrapping was done. Then he called for lacquer. The immortals quickly brought raw lacquer and boiled lacquer, of their own tapping and drying, and painted the three of them over the cloth, from head to foot, leaving only their faces bare. Bajie said: "Sir, the top does not matter, only leave an opening below, so we can relieve ourselves." Then the Great Immortal called for the great cauldron to be brought out. Pilgrim laughed and said: "Bajie, good luck! They are bringing out the pot—looks like they mean to cook our dinner." Bajie said: "That suits me. Let us eat a meal and be well-fed ghosts—it looks better." The immortals really did carry out a great cauldron and set it below the steps. The Great Immortal called for dry wood to be stacked and a fierce fire lit, and said: "Fill the pot with clear oil and bring it to a boil, then drop Pilgrim Sun into the frying pan and give him one good frying, to pay him back for my ginseng tree."

When Pilgrim heard this, he was secretly delighted: "That suits old Sun perfectly. I have not had a bath in all this time, and my skin is dry and itchy. A good scald will be welcome—my thanks for the kindness." In a moment the oil was near boiling. But the Great Sage kept his wits about him, fearing the immortals' magic would be hard to gauge and he could not manage his tricks inside the pot. He looked quickly around: east of the terrace stood a sundial platform, and west of it a stone lion. Pilgrim gave a leap, rolled to the west, bit the tip of his tongue, sprayed the stone lion once, and called: "Change!" It took his own shape, trussed in a ball just as he had been. Then his spirit slipped out, rose into the clouds, and looked down at the Daoists.

The young immortal reported: "Master, the oil is boiling through." The Great Immortal said: "Carry Pilgrim Sun down." Four immortal boys could not lift him; eight could not lift him; four more made no difference. The immortals said: "This monkey sticks to the ground and will not stir. Small as he is, he is solid." So they had twenty young immortals hoist him up and dump him into the pot. There was a great splash, and drops of boiling oil flew out and raised big blistered burns on the faces of the young Daoists. Then the boy at the fire shouted: "The pot leaks! The pot leaks!" Before the words were out, the oil had run away entirely, the bottom of the pot was broken through, and inside lay a stone lion.

The Great Immortal flew into a rage: "This brazen monkey, what a brazen trick, to work his magic right in front of me! Let him run—but why must he smash my stove too? It is no use trying to take this monkey; even taken, he is like kneading sand or handling quicksilver, catching shadows and chasing wind. Enough, enough, enough. Let him go. Untie Tripitaka the Tang monk, set a new pot, and fry him instead, to pay for my ginseng tree." The young immortals really did set to work, unwrapping the cloth and the lacquer.

Pilgrim heard it all plainly from midair, and he thought: "My poor master! If he goes into the oil pot, one roll kills him, two rolls char him, and by three or five rolls he is a pulped monk. I must go save him." Good Great Sage! He pressed down his cloud, came forward, folded his hands, and said: "Do not tear off the cloth and lacquer to fry my master. Wait—I will come down into the oil pot myself." The Great Immortal cried out in amazement and cursed: "You ape! How did you work your trick and smash my stove?" Pilgrim laughed and said: "Whoever runs into me is bound to have his stove smashed. What business is that of mine? I was minded just now to enjoy the favor of your oil and broth, but I had pressing business of another kind. If I had let go in the pot, it would have fouled your good oil, and it would never do for dressing a dish. Now that I am quite clean inside and out, I am fit for the pot. Do not boil my master. Come and boil me." When the Great Immortal heard this, he laughed coldly, came out of the hall, and seized him by the arm.

What did he say, and how did Pilgrim truly get away? Listen to the next chapter to find out.