Chapter 27

The Corpse Demon Thrice Tries the Tripitaka Tang; the Holy Monk in Wrath Banishes the Handsome Monkey King

Now at daybreak the next morning Tripitaka and his disciples packed up to go on. But Zhenyuanzi and Pilgrim, sworn brothers now and of one mind and one heart, would not hear of parting, and laid on more entertainment; so they stayed five or six days together. The elder, having taken the Grass of the Returned Elixir, truly seemed reborn — body and bone exchanged, spirit clear, body hale. But his heart was set on the scriptures; stay he would not, and so at last they went.

Master and disciples took their leave and went on their way, and soon a high mountain came in sight. "Disciples," said Tripitaka, "the mountain ahead is sheer and perilous; I fear the horse cannot go forward. Let every one be careful, very careful." "Set your mind at rest, Master; we will see to it." Brave Monkey King! Across the road before the horse he carried his staff, cleaving a way up the mountain paths and on to the high crags — and there was no end to the view:

Peaks and crags fold upon fold; ravines and gorges wind and bend.Tigers and wolves go by in packs; muntjacs and deer move in herds.Countless roebuck burrow thick together; foxes and hares cluster over all the mountain.Pythons of a thousand feet; serpents of ten thousand spans.The pythons spout a mist of sorrow; the long snakes breathe a strange wind.Brambles drag and trail along the road; pines and nan-mu stand graceful on the ridges.Vines and moss fill the eye; fragrant grasses reach to heaven.Their shadows fall away north to the dark abyss; their clouds part southward at the Dipper's handle.Through ten thousand ages the old breath of the vital deep; a thousand peaks arrayed in grandeur, the sunlight cold.

The elder's heart quailed in the saddle. The Great Sage Sun put forth his arts: whirling the iron staff, with one thunder-shout he sent wolves and beasts tumbling headlong, tigers and leopards fleeing.

They entered the mountain, and just as they came to the craggy stretch, Tripitaka said: "Wukong, this whole day my belly has been hungry. Go somewhere and beg us some food." Pilgrim said with an apologetic smile, "Master, not very wise. Here in the half of the mountain, no village ahead, no inn behind, nowhere to buy with money in hand — where would you have me beg a meal?" Tripitaka took this ill and cursed: "You monkey! Recall the Two Boundaries Mountain, where the Tathagata had you pressed under a stone chest — mouth able to speak, feet unable to walk. It was I who saved your life, laid my hand on your crown, gave you the vows, made you my disciple. Why will you not exert yourself, forever nursing laziness in your heart?" "Your disciple is diligent enough; when was I lazy?" "If you are diligent, why not beg a meal for me? Hungry as I am, how do we travel? And in this mountain mist and miasma, how ever reach the Thunderclap?" "Do not be angry, Master; say less. I know your proud nature: cross you ever so little and you chant that spell. Dismount and sit steady while I find some household and beg the meal."

Pilgrim gave a spring and leaped into the clouds; shading his eyes with his hand he looked all about. Pitiable: the western road is desolate indeed, never a manor or household — a country of many trees and few hearth-smokes. He looked a long while and saw, due south, a high mountain; on its sunny side a patch of bright red dots. Pilgrim dropped the cloud and said, "Master, there is something to eat." "What thing?" asked the elder. "No household here to beg rice from. On that southern mountain a patch of red — mountain peaches, ripe through, most likely. I will pick some and ease your hunger." "For us religious," said Tripitaka gladly, "peaches to eat would be the highest of fortune." Pilgrim took the alms bowl, rose on his auspicious light, and see him: somersaults swaying, cold wind whistling — in a moment off to the southern mountain to pick peaches — but of this, no more.

Now the saying goes: a high mountain has always a monster, a steep ridge breeds a spirit. Truly on this mountain there was a demon, and as the Great Sage Sun went off he stirred the creature up. Treading her dark wind in the clouds she saw the elder sitting on the ground, and her joy was boundless. "Fortune, fortune! For years all the world has talked of the Tang monk of the east come fetching the Greater Vehicle. He is Golden Cicada incarnate, the original body of ten lives of cultivation. Whoever eats a piece of his flesh lives long and lives forever. And truly he is here today." The demon made to seize him on the spot — but on the elder's left hand and right stood two great captains guarding him, and she dared not close. And who were the two captains? Bajie and Sha Monk. Neither had any great skill, but Bajie had been Marshal Tianpeng and Sha Monk the Curtain-Raising General: their martial awe was not yet spent, and so she dared not close. "Let me play with him a little," said the demon, "and see how it goes."

Brave demon! She stilled her dark wind, and in the mountain hollow shook herself and changed into a girl with a moon's face and a flower's look — brows clean, eyes bright, teeth white, lips red, past all telling. In her left hand a green sandstone jar, in her right a green porcelain flask, she came from the west toward the east, straight at the Tang monk:

The holy monk rested his horse beneath the crag, and suddenly saw a damsel in skirts draw near.Kingfisher sleeves swayed lightly, hiding shoots of jade; a Xiang-silk skirt swung aslant, showing golden lotus feet.Sweat on her powdered face, like a flower bearing dew; dust brushed her moth brows, like willows trailed in mist.Fix your eyes and look intently: closer and closer she comes to his side.

Tripitaka saw her and called: "Bajie, Sha Monk — Wukong said but now this waste was empty of people. Do you see someone come walking out there?" "Master, sit with Sha Monk," said Bajie, "while old Pig goes to look."

The Idiot set down his rake, smoothed his gown, and swayed along, playing the man of breeding, straight to meet her face to face. Truly, far off it was not sure, but up close it was plain: the girl was like this —

Ice flesh hiding jade bone; at her collar's edge, a glimpse of soft breast.Willow brows deep in kingfisher dark; almond eyes flashing stars of silver.A moonlike beauty, deft and dainty; a temper natural and clear.Her body like a swallow hid in willows; her voice like an oriole turning in the wood.A crabapple half-open under the dawn sun; a peony just broken, toying with the spring sky.

Bajie, seeing her so pretty, felt his mortal heart stir; he could not hold his tongue, and blurted out: "Lady Bodhisattva, where are you bound? What is that in your hands?" A demon, plainly — but he could not know it. The girl answered sweetly: "Elder, in this green jar is fragrant rice; in the green flask, fried wheat-gluten. I came here for no other cause: to pay a vow, and feed monks." Bajie heard and his heart filled with joy; whipping about he careered off in a pig-gale, and reported to Tripitaka: "Master, heaven provides for the fortunate! You were hungry and sent our brother to beg; the monkey's gone off who knows where, picking peaches for his pleasure. Peaches, eaten to excess, set a body rumbling and drag one down. And look there — is not that a monk-feeder coming?" The Tang monk would not believe it. "You lumbering lout, no fooling. All this way we have met never a good soul — where would a monk-feeder come from?" "Master, here she is already," said Bajie.

Tripitaka at the sight sprang up at once and joined his palms at his breast: "Lady Bodhisattva, where does your house stand? What family are you? What vow brings you here to feed monks?" A demon, plainly — but the elder did not know it. The demon, questioned about her origins, stood and devised a false tale, with flowery words to beguile him: "Master, this mountain is called White Tiger Ridge, where serpents turn and beasts fear; west below it is my home. My parents are yet living; they read the sutras and love good works, and feed monks far and near. Having no son, they prayed the gods for blessing, and I was born. They thought to match me upward, to marry me out — but feared, in old age, to have none to lean on. So they took a son-in-law into the house, to support them and bury them." Tripitaka said: "Lady Bodhisattva, your words are wrong. The scripture says: while parents live, travel not far; if you travel, have your where and why. You have parents living, a husband taken in, a vow — send your man to pay it and be done. How come you walking the mountain alone, without a maid to follow? This is against the way of women." The girl, all smiles, made haste with pretty words: "Master, my husband is in the hollow on the north of the mountain with some hired hands, hoeing the fields. This rice is the noon meal I cooked, to carry to them. Only it is the heavy days of the fifth-and-sixth month, no one to send, and my parents old; so I brought it myself. Meeting you three from far away, and thinking of my parents' love of good works, I would feed you monks with this rice. If you will not scorn it, accept my humble offering." "Goodly! Goodly!" said Tripitaka. "My disciple is gone picking fruit; he will be back. I dare not eat: if this monk ate your rice and your husband learned of it and scolded you, would not the blame fall on me, a humble monk?" Seeing the Tang monk would not eat, her face filled with spring. "Master, my parents feeding monks is a small thing; my husband is a good man besides — all his life he has loved building bridges and mending roads, honoring the old, pitying the poor. If he heard this rice had gone to feed you, Master — between him and me, husband and wife, it would count beyond the ordinary." Still the Tripitaka would not eat.

Beside them Bajie was distressed past bearing. The Idiot pushed out his lips and grumbled: "Monks are numberless under heaven, but never one so spineless as this old monk of mine. The meal is here before him, and he will not touch it for three; he must wait for the monkey and make it four before he eats." Without leave or parley he butted the jar over with his snout and made to fall to. Just then Pilgrim, who had picked a few peaches on the southern mountaintop, came back somersaulting with the bowl on his palm, opened his fiery eyes and golden pupils, knew the girl for a demon, set down the bowl, drew the iron staff, and struck at her head. The elder, terrified, caught his arm. "Wukong, whom do you come striking?" "Master, do not take this girl before you for a good soul: she is a demon, come to deceive you." "You monkey-head, you had some eye in the old days — how do you talk wild now? This lady has the goodness to feed us with her rice, and you call her a demon?" Pilgrim laughed. "Master, how would you know it? When old Sun was a demon in the Water Curtain Cave and had a craving for man's flesh, it was just so: he turned into gold and silver, into a farmstead, into a drunken man, into a woman's beauty. Whichever fool fell in love with me, I lured him to the cave and enjoyed him at my will and leisure, steamed or boiled; and what I could not finish I dried in the sun against dark days. Master, had I come late, you would have walked into her snare for certain, and met her wicked hand." But the Tang monk would not believe it at all: a good soul, nothing more. "Master, I have your measure now," said Pilgrim. "At a face like that your mortal heart was certain to stir. If that is truly your wish, have Bajie fell a few trees, Sha Monk gather some grass, and I will play the carpenter: we raise you a bridal hut right here, you and she are wed, and we all scatter — there is an enterprise for you! Why trudge farther west to fetch what scriptures?" The elder, soft and good by nature, could not stomach these words: his bare scalp and both ears burned scarlet with shame.

While Tripitaka stood in his shame Pilgrim's temper broke out again; the iron staff swung and struck the demon full in the face. The creature had some craft: playing the art of casting off the corpse, at the sight of the staff coming she roused her spirit and slipped away beforehand, leaving a false body to be struck dead on the ground. The elder shook and trembled, murmuring: "This monkey is insolent past all telling. Warned again and again, he will not obey, and takes human life without cause." "Do not blame me, Master. Come look what is in this jar." Sha Monk helped the elder forward to look: no fragrant rice there, but a jarful of long-tailed maggots; no wheat-gluten either, but frogs and toads jumping about the ground. The elder was three-tenths persuaded. But Zhu Bajie, in his spite, leaned close and poured in the other eight parts: "Master, that girl was a farm wife of this very place, carrying the meal down to the fields, and she met us on the road. How can you pin demon on her? Our brother's staff is heavy: he came up to try his hand with one blow, and who knew it would kill her. Afraid of your Tight-Fillet Spell, he played some clouding art, changed the corpse into this stuff to trick your eyes — so you would spare him the spell."

With that one word Tripitaka's dark hour had arrived. He believed the Idiot's goading outright: he pinched the sign in his hand and chanted the spell. Pilgrim cried out: "My head! My head! Do not chant, do not chant — say what you have to say!" "What is there to say?" said the Tang monk. "We religious must be merciful at every hour; thought after thought must not leave the good heart: sweeping the ground, we fear to hurt the ants' lives; we shade the lamp with gauze, pitying the moths. How do you, step on step, deal death — kill this harmless commoner? What use to fetch scriptures then? Go back." "Master, where would you have me go back to?" "I do not want you for a disciple." "You do not want me for a disciple — but I fear you will never make the western road." "My life is with heaven. If that demon is fated to steam and eat me, to boil me — it is beyond reckoning anyway. Do you think you can overrule my appointed end? Go back, and quickly." "Master, go back I would — only I have not yet repaid your kindness." "What kindness do you owe me?" The Great Sage heard, dropped to his knees at once, and knocked his head: "For my havoc in the Heavenly Palace I brought the calamity on my body, and my Buddha pressed me under Two Boundaries Mountain. Blessed be the Bodhisattva Guanyin, who gave me the discipline; blessed be you, Master, who freed my body. Did I not go with you to the Western Heaven, I should be shown a wretch who knows a kindness and repays it not, my name cursed ten thousand ages." Now the Tang monk was a compassionate holy monk; seeing Pilgrim plead so piteously he turned his heart about. "Since you say so, I spare you this once. Offend no more. If you do evil as before, I will chant this spell round upon round, twenty times." "Thirty times, as you please — only I will strike no one." He helped the Tang monk into the saddle and presented the peaches he had picked; the Tang monk ate a few in the saddle to stay his hunger.

Now the demon had fled for her life into the sky: Pilgrim's blow had not killed her at all; she had sent her spirit out and gone. In the clouds she gnashed her teeth, hating Pilgrim in her heart: "For years I have only heard his skill talked of; today the talk proves no lie. That Tang monk did not know me, and was ready to eat. Had he but bowed his head and taken one breath of it, one grab and he were mine — would he not be mine? And then he must come walking up, spoil the whole business, and near knock me down with a staff of his own. To let this monk go is labor lost, truly. I will go down and play with him again."

Brave demon! She pressed down her dark wind and at the foot of the slope shook herself and changed into an old woman, eighty years of age, a crook-headed bamboo staff in her hand, walking toward them wailing at every step. Bajie saw her and cried in alarm: "Master, bad news! That granny is come looking for someone." "Looking for whom?" "The one our brother struck down was certainly her daughter; this must be her mother coming to look for her." "Brother, no nonsense," said Pilgrim. "The girl was eighteen; this old woman is eighty. How does a woman of sixty-odd bear a child? A fake for certain. Let old Sun go look."

Brave Pilgrim! He strode up close to look. The monster was like this:

A false-made granny, both temples like ice and snow.Walking slowly, slowly; stepping faint and fearful.A frail body, gaunt and trembling; a face like a withered cabbage leaf.Cheekbones tilted upward; lips turned down at the corners.Old age is not youth: her whole face is pleated like lotus leaves.

Pilgrim knew her for the demon and wasted no words: the staff rose and struck at her head. At the staff's rising the creature, as before, roused herself, cast out her primal spirit, and slipped her true self away, leaving the false body struck dead at the roadside.

The Tang monk, seeing it, tumbled from his horse in horror and lay at the roadside, no second word, chanting the Tight-Fillet Spell over and over, a full twenty rounds. Pity: the spell bound Pilgrim's head into a wasp-waisted gourd, the pain past bearing; he rolled up, pleading: "Master, chant no more — say what you have to say!" "What is there to say?" said the Tang monk. "For the religious, the ear that hears good words does not fall into hell. I reason with you thus, and still you deal death? One commoner struck down, and now another — what do you say to that?" "She was a demon." "Monkey, you babble. Where do all these demons come from? You are one who has no heart for good and a will for evil. Go." "Master, you send me away again? Go back I will — only one thing does not sit right." "What does not sit right?" "Master," said Bajie, "he wants his share of the luggage! He has been your monk these years — he cannot go home empty-handed. Give him a couple of things out of the bundle, those old gowns, the worn hat, and be done."

At this Pilgrim bounded with rage. "You sharp-snouted lout! Old Sun has held to the Buddha's gate from the first, without one grain of envy or one ounce of clinging — when did I ask a share of luggage?" "If you neither envy nor cling, why do you not go?" "To tell you the truth, Master: five hundred years ago, when old Sun dwelt in the Water Curtain Cave on Flower-Fruit Mountain in the fullness of his heroics, he took and tamed the devils of seventy-two caves; he had forty-seven thousand little fiends under him, wore the purple-gold crown on his head, the ochre-yellow robe on his back, the Lantian sash at his waist, cloud-walking shoes on his feet, and the As-You-Will Gold-Banded Staff in his hand — a true man among men, I was. Since I crossed over my sins at the Buddha's mercy and shaved my head to hold the upright rule of the Buddhist gate, and became your disciple with this gold fillet bound on my crown — if I go back, how should I face the people of my old home? If you truly do not want me, chant the Loosening-Fillet Spell, take this fillet off, and keep it — set it on some other head — and I will go gladly and willingly, for the sake of all my days with you. Surely you have that much feeling left?" Tripitaka was greatly startled. "Wukong, the Bodhisattva gave me the Tight-Fillet Spell in secret, that was all. There is no such thing as a Loosening-Fillet Spell." "If there is no Loosening-Fillet Spell, then take me along a while yet." The elder, at his wit's end again, said: "Rise. I spare you this once more. But no more dealing death." "Never again, never again." He helped the master into the saddle, and they cleaved their way forward.

Now as for the demon: Pilgrim's second staff had not killed her either. In mid-air the creature praised him without end: "A monkey king indeed, and sharp of eye! I changed so cunningly, and still he knew me. These monks travel fast. Once over this mountain, forty li down to the west, they are out of my jurisdiction. If some other demon scoops them up, others' mouths will laugh themselves wide and my own heart will crack with spite. I will go down and play with him once more."

Brave demon! She pressed her dark wind down, and at the foot of the slope shook herself and changed into an old grandfather. Truly he was:

White-haired as Pengzu; gray of beard, outdoing the Star of Longevity.In his ears a jade chime ringing; before his eyes golden stars a-shimmer.A dragon-head staff beneath his hand; a light crane-feather cloak about him.Prayer beads counting in his fingers; between his lips, the sutra of Namu.

The Tang monk saw him from the saddle and rejoiced: "Amitabha! The west is a blessed land indeed — the old gentleman can hardly walk, and all the while he murmurs his sutra." "Master, hold your praise," said Bajie. "That is the root of the trouble." "How the root of trouble?" "Our brother struck down his daughter, then his wife; this is the old man himself come looking for them. If we tumble into his arms, Master — you pay with your life, a capital crime; old Pig as accessory, sentenced to the frontier; Sha Monk under orders, sentenced to the post-road stations. And our brother works some escape art and is gone — are not the three of us left to stand the jar and take the blame?"

Pilgrim heard and said: "This idiot-root and his wild talk — he would frighten the master to death. Let old Sun go look again." He hid the staff at his side, came up to meet the monster, and called: "Old gentleman, where are you bound? Walking and chanting sutra both — how so?" The demon misread the beam of the scale: she took the Great Sage Sun for any common man, and answered: "Elder, this old man's family has lived here for generations. All my life I have loved good works, fed monks, read the sutras, said the Buddha's name. Heaven gave me no son: one little daughter only, and a son-in-law taken into the house. This morning she carried the meal down to the fields — and fell into a tiger's jaws, I fear. My old wife went first to look and has not come back either. Nothing known of either of them, so I have come to search. If truly their lives were taken, there is no help for it: I will gather their bones and carry them home to the family graves." Pilgrim laughed. "I am the very ancestor of tiger-baiters. How do you come, a ghost tucked in your sleeve, to gull me? You might deceive all these others; you cannot deceive me. I know you for a demon." The demon was struck dumb. Pilgrim drew out the staff and thought to himself: "If I do not strike, it looks as if her tricks had won the day; if I strike, I fear the master chants that spell." And again: "If I do not kill her, one opening is all she needs to grab the master away — and then is it not back to the toil and trouble of the rescue? Strike, then. One blow and she is dead; let the master chant his spell. The saying goes: however cruel the tiger, it does not eat its young. With my clever words and flowery tongue, quick mouth and nimble speech, I will talk him round — that may serve." Brave Great Sage! He murmured his spell and called the local earth god and the mountain god of the place: "This demon has come three times to toy with my master. This time I mean to strike her dead. Stand witness for me in mid-air; let her not slip away." The gods took their orders — who dared refuse? — and kept watch in the clouds. The Great Sage's staff came down, struck the demon low, and cut off her numinous light at last.

The Tang monk, in the saddle, shook and trembled once more, his tongue struck dumb. And Bajie beside him laughed: "Fine Pilgrim — clean mad now! Half a day's walking, and he has killed three people." The Tang monk was raising the spell when Pilgrim hurried to the horse's head: "Master, do not chant, do not chant. Come look at her shape." It was a heap of chalk-white bones. The Tang monk was astounded. "Wukong, the creature died this instant — how has it turned to a heap of skeletons?" "She was a corpse-demon, a lurking spirit working mischief here, beguiling men to their ruin. Struck down by me, she showed her true form. On her spine is a line of writing: Lady White Bone." Hearing this the Tang monk was indeed half persuaded. But Bajie beside him must pour in his poison: "Master, his hand is heavy and his staff fierce — he killed the woman, and only fears your spell; he has changed her into this shape on purpose, to blind your eyes." The Tang monk, soft of ear as he was, believed him again, and at once chanted once more. Pilgrim could not bear the pain, and knelt at the roadside crying only: "Do not chant, do not chant — say what you have to say, quickly!" "Monkey-head, what more is there to say? For the religious, doing good is like grass in a spring garden: you do not see it grow, yet daily it increases. Doing evil is like the whetstone: you do not see it wear, yet daily it lessens. Here in the wilds you have struck down three souls in a row, and no one to inform against you, no kin to demand justice. But in a city, where people throng — you with that mourning staff, not knowing good from bad in the moment, striking out at folk — a great disaster breaks, and how do I get clear of it? Go back." "Master, you wrong me. That creature was a demon to the bone, with her heart set on harming you. I struck her dead and rid you of the peril, and you would not know it — you believe the Idiot's poisonous whisperings, and banish me time after time. The saying goes: a thing does not pass three times. If I do not go now, I am truly a base and shameless wretch. I go, I go. Go I will — only you will have no one at your hand." The Tang monk flared: "This brazen ape grows more insolent by the minute! So only you are a man — are Wuneng and Wujing not men?"

The Great Sage, hearing those two called men, could not master his grief, bitter and desolate. "Bitter!" he said to the Tang monk. "When you left Chang'an that day, Liu Boqin saw you on the road. At Two Boundaries Mountain you freed me, and I bowed and took you for my master. I have threaded ancient caves and entered deep woods, seized demons and caught monsters, taken in Bajie, won Sha Monk, and eaten to the last the thousand hardships and ten thousand toils. And today, with clear eyes you play the fool, and only bid me go. It is the old story: the birds all shot, the bow is put away; the rabbit dead, the dog is boiled! Enough, enough, enough — only that Tight-Fillet Spell of yours remains." "I will never chant it again," said the Tang monk. "That is hard to promise. When some cruel demon's torment has you fast, and Bajie and Sha Monk cannot save you, you will think of me, and unable to help it, chant it once more. Across a hundred thousand li my head will ache at it still. If I must come back to you, better never have taken the notion."

Tripitaka, at his every word, grew the more enraged: he tumbled from the saddle, had Sha Monk bring paper and brush from the bundle, drew water from the stream below, ground the ink on a stone, and wrote out a letter of banishment, handing it to Pilgrim. "Monkey-head, take this as witness: you are my disciple no more. If ever I see you again, may I fall into the Avici hell." Pilgrim took the letter quickly. "Master, no need for oaths. Old Sun goes." He folded the letter away into his sleeve, then turned gently to the Tang monk: "Master, I have been with you all this while, and was taught by the Bodhisattva besides. To stop halfway, with the true fruit unattained — sit, I beg you, and take one bow from me, and I can go with an easy heart." The Tang monk turned his back and would not heed him, muttering: "I am a good monk; I take no homage from a wicked one." The Great Sage, ignored, played his bodies-beyond-the-body art: he plucked three hairs from the back of his head, blew on them a breath of immortal air, cried "Change!" — and three Pilgrims stood there, four with his true body, surrounding the master on every side and bowing down. The elder could not dodge them right or left, and so took the bow, after all.

The Great Sage sprang up, shook himself, and gathered in his hairs, and gave Sha Monk his charge: "Worthy brother, you are a good soul — only keep a careful watch on Bajie's whisperings, and be the more careful on the road. If ever a demon seizes the master, tell them old Sun is his eldest disciple. The hairy fiends of the west have heard of my methods: they will not dare harm my master." "I am a good monk," said the Tang monk, "and will not speak the name of such a wicked one. Go back."

The Great Sage, seeing the elder immovable, turned from him and from his purpose, and at last had no choice but to go. See him:

With tears held in his eyes he bowed his head and left his elder; with grief in his heart he turned and gave his charge to Sha Monk.One toss of the head burst the grass before the slope; two kicks spurned the vines across the ground.Up to heaven, down to earth, turning like a wheel; over seas and mountains first of all in skill.In an instant his shadow was gone; in a flash he was back along the old road.

See him, swallowing his anger, take leave of his master, mount the somersault cloud, and go straight back to the Water Curtain Cave on Flower-Fruit Mountain. Alone, desolate and wretched, he suddenly heard water roaring in his ears. The Great Sage looked out of mid-air: it was the sound of the tide rising in the Eastern Ocean. At the sight he thought again of the Tang monk, and could not hold back the tears on his cheeks. He stayed his cloud and stood a long while before he went.

But what turns and changes would follow from this going — listen to the next chapter to find out.

The Corpse Demon Plays Tricks Three Times on the Tang Tripitaka; the Holy Monk in Anger Banishes the Handsome Monkey King

At dawn the next day the Tang monk and his disciples packed up to go on. But Zhenyuanzi and Pilgrim had sworn brotherhood, and the two were so well matched in heart that he would not let them leave. He laid on feasts again, and they stayed five or six days in a row. Since the elder had taken the Grass-Returning Elixir, it was truly as if he had traded his old body for a new one: his spirit was fresh and his body strong. But his heart was set on fetching the scriptures, and he would not linger. In the end, they went on their way.

They took leave and set out on the road, and soon a high mountain came in sight. Tripitaka said: "Disciples, there is a steep mountain ahead. The horse may not be able to go on. Every one of you must be careful." Pilgrim said: "Master, rest easy. We will see to it." Good Monkey King! He carried his staff crosswise before the horse, cut open the mountain road, and led them up the high cliffs, where there was no end to see:

Peaks and crags piled on peaks; ravines and gullies curled in loops.Tigers and wolves moved in packs; muntjacs and deer traveled in herds.Countless roe deer burrowed in close clusters; foxes and rabbits gathered in thickets all over the mountain.Pythons a thousand feet long; snakes ten thousand feet long.The great pythons breathed clouds of gloom; the long snakes puffed out uncanny winds.Brambles dragged across the path; pines and nan trees stood lovely on the ridge.Vines filled the eye; fragrant grass ran to the sky.Its shadow fell on the northern deep; its clouds opened toward the southern Dipper.For ten thousand ages it has held the old breath of the beginning; a thousand peaks stand tall, and the sunlight on them is cold.

The elder's heart shook in the saddle. The Great Sage Sun showed his art: he whirled his iron staff and gave one great roar, and the wolves and beasts bolted, and tigers and leopards fled.

As master and disciples entered the mountain and reached the craggy places, Tripitaka said: "Wukong, I am hungry today. Go somewhere and beg some food." Pilgrim said with an apologetic smile: "Master, you are not very clever. Here in the middle of a mountain, with no village ahead and no inn behind, there is nowhere to buy food even with money. Where would you have me beg a meal?" Tripitaka took it ill and said: "You monkey! I remember you at Two-Boundary Mountain, pressed inside a stone casket by the Tathagata, able to speak but not to walk. It was I who saved your life, laid my hand on your head, and gave you the vows, and made you my disciple. Why will you not exert yourself? You are forever lazy at heart." Pilgrim said: "Your disciple is quite diligent. When have I ever been lazy?" Tripitaka said: "If you are diligent, why not beg food for me? How can I go on hungry? And with the miasmal vapors of these mountains, how will we ever climb to Vulture Peak?" Pilgrim said: "Master, do not be angry, and say no more. I know your proud nature—if I cross you once too often, you will recite that spell of yours. Get down and sit steady, and I will find some place where there are people, and beg a meal."

Pilgrim gave a leap and jumped up into the clouds. He shaded his eyes with his hand and looked hard. Poor man—the road west was truly desolate: no farmsteads, no houses, a place of many trees and few men. After looking a long while he saw a high mountain due south, and on its sunny side a scatter of bright red dots. Pilgrim brought his cloud down and said: "Master, there is something to eat." The elder asked what. Pilgrim said: "There is no house here to beg a meal from. There is a patch of red on the south mountain—ripe mountain peaches, I should think. I will pick a few for you to stay your hunger." Tripitaka was pleased and said: "For a man who has left the world, to have peaches to eat is the very best of fortune." Pilgrim took his alms bowl, rose on lucky light, and—see his somersault swaying, the cold wind whistling—in a moment he was off to the south mountain to pick peaches. We say no more of him.

There is a common saying: "Where the mountain is high there must be a monster; where the ridge is steep a spirit is sure to breed." And truly there was a demon on this mountain. When the Great Sage Sun went off, he startled it. Riding the dark wind among the clouds, it saw the elder sitting on the ground, and its joy was boundless: "Luck, luck! For years all have told of the Tang monk of the East who seeks the Greater Vehicle. He is Golden Cicada reborn, the original body of one who has cultivated himself through ten lifetimes. Whoever eats one piece of his flesh will live long and never die. And today he has truly come." The demon came forward to seize him, but saw two great captains guarding the elder on either side, and dared not close in. Who were the two captains? Bajie and Sha Monk. Neither had any great skill, but Bajie was Marshal Tianpeng and Sha Monk the Curtain-Raising General, and their aura of command had never been spent. So the demon dared not come near. It said: "Let me tease them a little first, and see how it goes."

Good demon! It stopped its dark wind, shook itself in a hollow of the mountain, and changed into a girl with a moon's face and a flower's looks—brows clear, eyes fine, teeth white, lips red, past all telling. In her left hand she carried a blue sand jar, and in her right a green porcelain bottle, and she came from the west toward the east, making straight for the Tang monk:

The holy monk rested his horse by the mountain rocks, and suddenly saw a woman in skirts draw near.Kingfisher sleeves swayed lightly, hiding shoots of jade; a Xiang silk skirt trailed aslant, showing her golden lotus feet.Sweat beaded her powdered face like dew on a flower; dust brushed her moth brows like mist on the willows.Look hard, and fix your gaze on the sight: step by step she came right up to him.

When Tripitaka saw her, he called: "Bajie, Sha Monk—Wukong just said there was no one in this wilderness. Look—is that not a person coming out there?" Bajie said: "Master, you and Sha Monk sit here. Let this old pig go and look."

The Idiot set down his toothed rake, straightened his gown, swayed and swaggered, put on the air of a refined gentleman, and went straight out to meet her face to face. Truly, from far off it was not sure; up close it was plain to see. The girl was formed like this:

Ice skin hid jade bones; her collar showed a soft white breast.Willow brows deepened with dark paint; almond eyes flashed silver stars.Her bearing was pretty as the moon; her nature pure, and natural.Her body was like a swallow hiding in the willows; her voice like an oriole warbling in the wood.A crab apple half open in the light of dawn; a peony just opening, playing in the spring sun.

When Bajie saw how pretty she was, the Idiot's mortal heart was stirred. He could not hold his tongue, and called out: "Bodhisattva of the laity, where are you going? What are you carrying in your hands?" It was plainly a demon, but he could not tell it. The girl answered readily: "Elder, in this blue jar is fragrant rice, and in this green bottle fried gluten cakes. I have come here for no other reason than to pay a vow, and give alms to monks." Bajie was delighted through and through. He turned at once and ran like a wind-blown pig to tell Tripitaka: "Master, 'the lucky man has heaven's own luck.' You were hungry, and sent our brother to beg food—and where has the monkey gone? Off picking peaches somewhere, playing. Too many peaches set up a rumbling in the belly anyway, and a dragging weight below. Look—is that not someone coming to feed the monks?" The Tang monk would not believe it: "You clod, stop your nonsense. We have walked all this way and not met one good person. Where would a alms-giver come from?" Bajie said: "Master, is she not here now?"

At the sight of her, Tripitaka jumped up at once, pressed his palms together at his breast, and said: "Bodhisattva of the laity, where is your house? What family? What vow brings you here to feed monks?" It was plainly a demon, but the elder could not tell it either. When the demon heard the Tang monk ask about her history, she invented a story on the spot, and with fair words she coaxed and tricked him: "Master, this mountain is called White Tiger Ridge, where snakes turn back and beasts fear to tread. My home is down to the west of it. My father and mother are alive, and they read the scriptures and love good works, and give alms freely to monks far and near. Having no son, they prayed to the gods for blessing, and I was born. They wanted to marry me out into a good family, but they feared having no one to lean on in old age. So they took a son-in-law into the house instead, to care for them and see them to their graves." Tripitaka said: "Bodhisattva of the laity, your words are wrong. The classic says: 'While father and mother live, do not travel far; and if you travel, have a fixed purpose.' You have parents at home, and a husband taken into the house. If you have a vow to feed monks, have your man do it. Why do you walk the mountain yourself, with no servant to attend you? This is against a woman's duty." The girl, all smiles, hastened to answer with pretty words: "Master, my husband is in the hollow north of the mountain with a few hired men, hoeing the fields. This rice I cooked is their midday meal, which I was carrying out to them. But it is the sweaty fifth month, and there is no one to send, and my parents are old. That is why I brought it myself. Then I met three travelers from afar, and I thought of my parents' love of good works, so I will give this rice to the monks. If you do not scorn it, I gladly make this small offering." Tripitaka said: "Goodness, goodness! My disciple has gone to pick fruit and will be back soon. I dare not eat. If I, a monk, ate your rice, and your husband found out and scolded you, would not the fault fall on this poor monk?" When the girl saw the Tang monk would not eat, spring came into her face, and she said: "Master, my parents feeding monks is a small thing. My husband is even better—a good man all his life. His delight is building bridges and mending roads, loving the old and pitying the poor. If he hears this rice went to you, master, then between husband and wife, we are closer than usual." But Tripitaka still would not eat.

Beside him Bajie was bursting with vexation. The Idiot pushed out his lips and grumbled: "There are monks past counting in this world, but never one as spineless as this old master of mine. The food is ready, and he will not touch it in three shares, but must wait for the monkey to come and eat it in four." Without letting anyone speak, he knocked the jar over with a thrust of his snout, ready to fall on it. Just then Pilgrim came back from the south mountain top, a few peaches picked, holding his alms bowl. One somersault, and he was back. He opened his fiery eyes and golden pupils, looked, and knew the girl for a demon. He set down the bowl, pulled out his iron staff, and struck at her head. The elder was terrified, and caught his hand: "Wukong, who are you striking as you come up?" Pilgrim said: "Master, do not take this girl before you for a good person. She is a demon, come to trick you." Tripitaka said: "You monkey, you had some judgment once. Why do you talk wild today? This good Bodhisattva of the laity means to feed us out of the kindness of her heart, and you call her a demon?" Pilgrim laughed and said: "Master, how would you know? When old Sun was a demon in the Water Curtain Cave, if I wanted to eat men, this is how it was done: I changed into silver and gold, or into a farmhouse, or into a drunken man, or into a pretty girl. Some fool would fall in love with me, and I would lead him into the cave and enjoy him as I pleased, steamed or boiled. What I could not eat I dried in the sun against rainy days. Master, if I had come late, you would have walked straight into her net and met her poisonous hand." But the Tang monk would not believe it, and still said she was a good person. Pilgrim said: "Master, I know you now. You saw her beauty, and your mortal heart was moved. If that is truly what you want, have Bajie fell a few trees, have Sha Monk gather some grass, and I will do the carpentry. We will put up a lean-to right here, you can consummate the match with her, and the rest of us can scatter. Would that not be an accomplishment? Then why trudge on, and what scriptures are there to fetch?" Now the elder was a soft, kind man by nature. He could not stomach such words. Shame burned his bare head and both his ears bright red.

While Tripitaka stood in his shame, Pilgrim's temper rose again. He pulled out his iron staff and struck the demon full in the face. The monster had some skill: it used the art of "slipping the corpse." As the staff came down it pulled itself together and slipped away in advance, leaving a false corpse beaten dead on the ground. The elder shook with fright and muttered: "This monkey is truly without manners. Warned again and again, he will not listen, and kills innocent people for nothing." Pilgrim said: "Master, do not blame me. Come and look into this jar—what is inside it?" Sha Monk helped the elder near, and they looked: it was no fragrant rice at all, but a jar of long-tailed maggots; and no gluten cakes, but frogs and toads jumping all over the ground. The elder was three parts convinced. But Bajie, still seething, could not let it be, and whispered his eight parts of poison: "Master, that woman was a farm wife of this place, carrying her husband's meal out to the fields. She met us on the road—how could you let him pin the name of demon on her? My brother's staff is heavy. He came up to try his hand with one blow, and it could not be helped—he beat her to death. He is afraid of your Tight-Fillet Spell, so he worked a fogging trick, changed her corpse into these things to trick your eyes, so you will not recite the spell."

With those words, misfortune truly came upon Tripitaka. He believed the Idiot's goading, pressed his fingers in a sign, and recited the spell. Pilgrim cried out: "My head, my head! Do not recite, do not recite. If you have words, say them." The Tang monk said: "What words are there? A man who has left the world must be merciful at all times, and never for a moment leave his good heart. He who sweeps the ground fears to hurt the lives of ants; he who loves the moth shades the lamp with gauze. How can you walk step by step in violence, and beat this innocent person to death? What use will the scriptures be when you fetch them? Go back." Pilgrim said: "Master, where would you have me go back to?" The Tang monk said: "I do not want you for a disciple." Pilgrim said: "You may not want me for a disciple, but I fear you will never make the road to the Western Heaven." The Tang monk said: "My life is in heaven's hands. If some demon means to steam me or boil me, no accounting can change it. Do you think you can put off my appointed end? Go back quickly." Pilgrim said: "Master, go back I would, only I have not yet repaid your kindness." The Tang monk said: "What kindness have I done you?" At that the Great Sage knelt down quickly and knocked his head: "Old Sun wrecked the Heavenly Palace, and so brought this calamity on his body, and the Buddha pressed me under Two-Boundary Mountain. It was the Bodhisattva Guanyin, in her mercy, who gave me my vows; it was you, Master, who freed my body. If I did not go with you to the Western Heaven, I should show myself no gentleman—one who knows kindness and does not repay it—and my bad name would last ten thousand ages." Now this Tang monk was a holy monk of great mercy. Seeing Pilgrim plead so piteously, he turned his heart again and said: "Since you say so, I pardon you this once. Do not be without manners again. If you go on doing evil as before, I will recite the spell twenty times over." Pilgrim said: "Thirty times, as you please—only I will strike no one." Then he helped the Tang monk onto the horse and offered him the peaches he had picked. The Tang monk ate a few in the saddle to stay his hunger.

Now the demon had fled for its life into the sky. Pilgrim's staff had never killed it at all—the demon had sent its spirit out. Gritting its teeth among the clouds, it seethed secretly at Pilgrim: "For years I have heard tell of his skill, and today the reports prove true. The Tang monk does not know me, and was about to eat. If he had bent his head to smell the food, one grab and he would have been mine. Who would have thought this fellow would come back and spoil my work—and very nearly gave me a staff into the bargain. If I let this monk go, all my labor is truly wasted. I will go down and tease him again."

Good demon! It pressed down its dark cloud, shook itself below the front slope, and changed into an old woman of eighty years, leaning on a bamboo staff with a crooked head, coming weeping, a cry at every step. Bajie saw her and cried out in alarm: "Master, this is bad! The old mother has come looking for her own." The Tang monk said: "Looking for whom?" Bajie said: "The girl our brother killed must be her daughter, and this must be her mother coming to find her." Pilgrim said: "Brother, do not talk nonsense. The girl was eighteen, and this old woman is eighty. How could a woman of sixty-odd bear a child? She is certainly false. Let old Sun go and look."

Good Pilgrim! He strode up close to look. The monster:

She had changed herself into an old granny, her two temples like ice and snow.She walked slowly, dragging her steps; each step tottered, unsure.Her frail body was thin and stooped; her face was like a withered leaf of greens.Her cheekbones stuck upward; her lips turned down and out.Old age is not what youth was: her whole face was creased like a folded lotus leaf.

Pilgrim knew her for the demon. He wasted no words, raised his staff, and struck at her head. When the staff came down the monster pulled itself together again, sent its true spirit out, and slipped away, leaving a second false corpse beaten dead at the side of the mountain road.

At the sight the Tang monk fell off his horse in shock and lay by the roadside. Without another word he recited the Tight-Fillet Spell over and over, a full twenty times. Poor Pilgrim—the fillet squeezed his head like a pinched-waist gourd, the pain past bearing, and he rolled over begging: "Master, stop reciting! If you have words, say them." The Tang monk said: "What words are there? For a man who has left the world, the ear that hears good words does not fall into hell. I warn you like this, and still you go on with violence. You have beaten one innocent person to death, and now another. What do you say to that?" Pilgrim said: "She was a demon." The Tang monk said: "You monkey, you lie. Are there demons thick as this? You are one who has no heart for good, and a bent for evil. Go." Pilgrim said: "Master, you send me away again? I can go back, only one thing does not suit me." The Tang monk said: "What does not suit you?" Bajie said: "Master, he wants to divide the luggage with you. He has been a monk at your side these years—do you think he will go home empty-handed? Give him a couple of things from the bundle, an old gown or two, a worn hat, and be done."

When Pilgrim heard this he jumped with rage: "You sharp-mouthed clod! Since old Sun entered the holy gate I have never had one spark of envy or greed in me. What luggage would I divide?" The Tang monk said: "If you are neither envious nor greedy, why do you not go?" Pilgrim said: "To tell you the truth, Master, five hundred years ago, when I held court in the Water Curtain Cave on Mount Flower-Fruit and showed my heroism, I subdued the wicked demons of seventy-two caves, and I had forty-seven thousand little demons under me. On my head was a cap of purple gold; on my body a robe of ochre yellow; at my waist the belt of Lantian; on my feet cloud-walking shoes; in my hand the As-You-Will Gold-Banded Staff. I was somebody in those days. Since I was washed of my sins and shaved my head to keep the true rule of the holy gate, and became your disciple, this gold fillet has been cinched on my head. If I go back, how could I face the people of my old home? Master, if you truly do not want me, recite that Loosening-the-Fillet Spell, take this fillet off, and hand it over to be cinched on someone else's head. Then I will go content—it has been an honor serving you. Or do I not deserve even that much consideration?" The Tang monk was greatly startled: "Wukong, all the Bodhisattva gave me in secret was the one scroll of the Tight-Fillet Spell. There is no Loosening-the-Fillet Spell." Pilgrim said: "If there is no spell to loosen the fillet, then you had better keep me and let me walk with you a while." The elder had no answer, and said: "Get up. I pardon you this once more, but no more violence." Pilgrim said: "I dare not, I dare not." He helped the master onto the horse again, cut a path, and they went on.

Now the demon—Pilgrim's second staff had not killed it either. The monster praised him without end in midair: "A fine Monkey King, with true eyes! With all my changing, he still knew me. These monks travel fast. Once they pass this mountain, forty li west and down, they will be out of my reach. If some other demon snaps them up, he will split other people's sides laughing, and grind my own heart to powder. I will go down and tease him once more."

Good demon! It pressed down its dark wind, shook itself below the slope, and changed into an old grandfather, truly:

White hair like Pengzu's; a gray beard to outdo the Star of Longevity.In his ears jade chimes seemed to ring; before his eyes golden stars seemed to flash.A dragon-head staff in his hand; a light crane-feather cloak on his body.Prayer beads counted in his fingers; his mouth reciting the sutra of "Homage to the Buddha."

The Tang monk saw him from the saddle and rejoiced: "Amitabha! The West is truly a blessed land. The old gentleman can hardly walk, and still he mutters his scriptures." Bajie said: "Master, do not praise him yet. That one is the root of the trouble." The Tang monk said: "How is he the root of trouble?" Bajie said: "Our brother killed his daughter, and killed his wife. This must be the old man himself coming to find them. If we run into his hands, Master, you will pay with your life—the death penalty. This old pig, as an accessory, gets military exile; Sha Monk, for his shouting, gets the post road in chains. And our brother works some escape art and slips away. Would it not be bitter for the three of us to bear the pot?"

Pilgrim heard and said: "This idiot root, such wild talk—he will scare the master. Let old Sun go and look again." He hid his staff beside him, went up, met the monster, and called: "Old sir, where are you going? Walking and reciting scriptures both at once?" The demon misjudged its man. Taking the Great Sage Sun for someone ordinary, it answered: "Elder, this old man's family has lived in this place for generations. All my life I have loved good works and fed monks, read scriptures, and said the Buddha's name. Fate gave me no son, only one young daughter, for whom we took a son-in-law into the house. This morning she carried the meal out to the fields, and I fear she fell into a tiger's mouth. My old wife went first to look, and has not come back either. We know nothing of where they are, so I have come to search. If their lives were truly taken, there is nothing for it: I will gather their bones and carry them home to bury them in the family ground." Pilgrim laughed and said: "I am the great ancestor of all who trap tigers. Why have you tucked a ghost up your sleeve to fool me? You may hide from everyone else, but not from me. I know you for a demon." The demon was struck dumb with fright. Pilgrim pulled out his staff, and thought to himself: "If I do not strike her, it will look as if she has winded me. If I strike her, I fear the master will recite that spell of his." And he thought again: "If I do not kill her, she may find her moment and snatch the master away—and then must I not spend more sweat and strength to save him? It is better to strike. If one blow kills her and the master recites his spell—as the saying goes, 'Fierce as the tiger is, it does not eat its own young.' With my clever words and ready tongue I can coax him round, and it will come right." Good Great Sage! He said a spell and called the local earth god and the mountain god of the place: "This demon has come three times to play tricks on my master. This time I mean to kill it. Stand witness for me in midair, and do not let it slip away." The gods took the order—dare they disobey?—and stood watch among the clouds. Then the Great Sage raised his staff, struck the demon down, and cut off its ghost-light for good.

The Tang monk in the saddle trembled again, and his mouth could form no words. Bajie laughed at his side: "Fine Pilgrim! He has gone mad. Half a day's walking, and he has beaten three people to death." The Tang monk was about to recite the spell when Pilgrim ran to the horse's head and cried: "Master, do not recite, do not recite. Come and see what it looks like." It was a heap of white powdered skeletons. The Tang monk was greatly startled: "Wukong, the person died only now—how has it turned into a heap of skeletons?" Pilgrim said: "It was a stiff corpse hiding its spirit and working mischief here, bewitching travelers and ruining their true selves. When I beat it down it showed its true form. There is a line of writing on its spine: 'Lady White Bone.'" When the Tang monk heard this he half believed. But Bajie could not let it alone, and whispered at his side: "Master, his hand is heavy and his staff fierce. He has beaten the person to death, and fearing your spell, he has changed it into this shape on purpose to pull the wool over your eyes." The Tang monk, weak of ear, believed him again, and recited once more. Pilgrim could not bear the pain, knelt by the roadside, and cried: "Do not recite, do not recite! If you have words, say them quickly." The Tang monk said: "Monkey, what more is there to say? For a man who has left the world, doing good is like grass in a spring garden: you do not see it grow, yet daily it increases. Doing evil is like a whetstone: you do not see it wear, yet daily it diminishes. Here in this wild open country you have beaten three people to death one after another, and no one has accused you, and there is no one to press the charge. But if we reach a city, where people throng, and you take up that funeral staff and, not knowing what you do, strike someone down and brew up a great disaster—how would I ever get free? Go back." Pilgrim said: "Master, you wrong me. This thing was plainly a demon, and it truly meant you harm. I killed it and rid you of the danger, and you do not know it, but believe that Idiot's whisperings and cold words, and drive me away again and again. As the saying goes, 'A thing must not pass three times.' If I do not go now, I am truly a low and shameless fellow. I go, I go. I will go—only you will have no one at hand." The Tang monk flew into a rage: "This brazen monkey grows worse and worse! So only you are a man, and Wuneng and Wujing are not men?"

When the Great Sage heard him say the two were men, his grief came over him, and he could not stop it. He said to the Tang monk: "What misery! When you left Chang'an, Liu Boqin saw you on your way. At Two-Boundary Mountain you rescued me, and I bowed to you as my master. I have gone through old caves and deep woods, caught demons and seized monsters, won over Bajie and gained Sha Monk, and eaten a thousand hardships and ten thousand pains. And today, with my wits about me, you make me play the fool, and only tell me to go home. Truly it is: 'The birds are shot, and the bow is put away; the hare is dead, and the dog is boiled!' Enough, enough, enough—only there is still that Tight-Fillet Spell of yours." The Tang monk said: "I will never recite it again." Pilgrim said: "That is hard to promise. If you come to some cruel demon's ground and cannot get free, and Bajie and Sha Monk cannot save you, you will remember me then, and the reciting will come of itself. Then, though it be a hundred thousand li away, my head will ache just the same. If I am to come back to you anyway, better not to take this thought at all."

The Tang monk, at all this talk, grew only the angrier. He rolled from the saddle, told Sha Monk to take paper and brush from the bundle, drew water from the stream below, ground ink on a stone, and wrote a letter of dismissal. He handed it to Pilgrim and said: "Monkey, take this as your proof. I will have you for my disciple no more. If I ever see you again, may I fall into the hell of Avici." Pilgrim took the letter quickly and said: "Master, no need to swear. Old Sun will go." He folded the paper and put it in his sleeve, then said to the Tang monk gently: "Master, I have been with you all this while, and was taught by the Bodhisattva besides. To stop halfway today, with the fruit of the work not won—please sit, and take one bow from me, and I can go with an easy heart." The Tang monk turned his back and paid no heed, muttering: "I am a good monk, and I take no gift from a wicked man." When the Great Sage saw he was not heeded, he used the body-beyond-the-body art again: he plucked three hairs from the back of his head, blew on them a breath of magic, and called: "Change!" At once there were three Pilgrims, four in all with himself, surrounding the master on every side to bow. The elder could not dodge right or left, and so, one way or another, he took the bow.

The Great Sage jumped up, shook himself, and gathered the hairs back in. Then he charged Sha Monk: "Younger brother, you are a good man, but keep a careful watch on Bajie's tattling tongue, and be doubly careful on the road. If at any time a demon takes the master, say that old Sun is his eldest disciple. The hairy monsters of the West have heard of my skill, and will not dare harm my master." The Tang monk said: "I am a good monk, and I will not speak the name of such a wicked man. Go."

When the Great Sage saw the elder turn against him three times over and would not change his mind, there was nothing for it but to go. Look at him:

With tears held back he knocked his head and said farewell to the elder; with sorrow in his heart he gave his parting charge to Sha Monk.His head dashed aside the grass before the slope; his feet kicked over the vines on the ground.Up to heaven, down to earth, wheeling like a wheel; across seas and over mountains, the first of all in skill.In a moment no trace of him was left; in a flash he sped back along the old road.

Look at him: holding down his anger, he said farewell to the master, jumped on his somersault cloud, and went straight back to the Water Curtain Cave on Mount Flower-Fruit. Alone and miserable, he suddenly heard water roaring in his ears. The Great Sage looked down from midair: it was the sound of the tide running in the Eastern Ocean. At the sight of it he thought of the Tang monk again, and the tears fell down his cheeks in spite of him. He stopped his cloud and stood still a long while before he went on.

What changes this parting would bring? Listen to the next chapter to find out.