Chapter 28

On Flower-Fruit Mountain the Demons Gather in Fellowship; in the Black Pine Wood the Tripitaka Meets a Demon

Now the Great Sage, though banished by the Tang monk, went pining and sighing without end, and soon descried the Eastern Ocean. "It is five hundred years," he said, "since I last took this road!" And the sea water was like this:

Misty waves broad and swaying; huge billows drifting far.Misty waves broad and swaying join the River of Heaven; huge billows drifting far run down to the veins of earth.The tide comes surging; the water floods and winds around.The tide comes surging, like thunder splitting the third spring month; the water floods and winds around, like a wild wind sweeping the height of summer.The blessed elders riding dragons must travel it frowning; the immortal boys straddling cranes pass and repass in sober care.Near the shore no villages; along the water few fishing boats.Waves roll up a thousand years of snow; the wind brews an autumn in the sixth month.Wild fowl come and go at will; sand birds sink and rise as they please.Before the eyes never an angler; at the ears nothing but gulls.In the sea's depths the fish are glad; at the sky's rim the passing geese grieve.

Pilgrim gave one spring, vaulted the Eastern Ocean, and was soon over Flower-Fruit Mountain. Pressing down the cloud he opened his eyes and looked: on the mountain neither grass nor flower, the mists and rose-light all gone; peaks and crags fallen, forest trees scorched and withered. And why was it so? Because when he wrought havoc in the Heavenly Palace and was carried up to the upper world, this mountain was fired and ruined by the Illustrious Sage True Lord Erlang, leading his seven brothers of Meishan. The Great Sage's grief was doubled. There is an old-style poem of the mountain's ruin to prove it. The old-style poem says:

He looks back at the immortal mountain, and both eyes rain tears; face to face with the mountain, desolation upon grief.In those days I thought the mountain could take no harm; only today I learn the ground itself was broken.Hateful Erlang, who would have made an end of me; galling little sage, who mocks the fallen.In fury I will dig up the graves of your ancestors; unprovoked, I will shatter your fathers' tomb.The rose-light and mists of the whole sky are washed away; wind and cloud over the face of the earth scattered and thinned.On the eastern ridge no more the cry of spotted tigers; on the western mountain where now the white gibbons call?In the northern stream the fox and hare leave no track; in the southern valley roebuck and doe are seen no more.Blue rocks burned to a thousand lumps of clay; emerald sands turned to a heap of mud.Outside the caves the tall pines lean and lie; before the crags the kingfisher cypresses grown few.Ailanthus and fir, locust and juniper, chestnut and sandalwood scorched; peach, apricot, plum, pear, and jujube, done.Cudrania gone and mulberry none — how feed the silkworms? Willows sparse and bamboo few — where should birds lodge?On the peaks the fancied rocks are dust; at the ravine's bottom the spring is dry, all grass.Before the crags the soil black, zhi and orchid gone; by the roadside the mud red, vines and ivy crawling.Where have the birds of yesterday flown? On what mountains do the beasts of old time walk?The leopard scorns, the python loathes the ruin; the crane shuns, the serpent turns from the decay.It must be that in the old days an evil thought was acted — hence the hardship suffered now.

The Great Sage was in the midst of his sorrow when, before the fragrant-grass slope, in the bramble hollow, there was a rustle, and out leaped seven or eight little monkeys, who swarmed up and knelt around him knocking their heads. "Grandfather Great Sage! Have you come home today?" The Handsome Monkey King said: "Why are you not out at play, every one of you hidden away? I have been here a good while and seen neither shape nor shadow of you. Why?" At this the monkeys wept, one and all, and told him: "Since the Great Sage was seized and carried to the upper world, we have suffered under the hunters past all bearing. Their stiff crossbows and strong bows, their yellow hawks and fierce dogs, their nets and nooses, spears and hooks — each of us has clung to his life, not daring to show our heads at play, only hiding deep in the cave-abodes, far off in our lairs. Hungry, we sneak to the slope to graze; thirsty, we come down to the ravine to drink the clear spring. Just now we heard Grandfather Great Sage's voice, and came out to meet you. We look up to your protection." At these words the Great Sage's sorrow deepened. "How many of you are still on this mountain?" "Old and young together, barely a thousand," said the monkeys. "In the old days I had forty-seven thousand demons in my train. Where have they all gone?" "Since you left, Grandfather, this mountain was fired by the Bodhisattva Erlang, and more than half were burned or killed. We crouched in the well, burrowed into the ravine, hid under the Iron-Plate Bridge, and kept our lives. When the fire died and the smoke cleared and we crept out, there were no flowers and fruits to feed on; it was hard to live, and half the rest went elsewhere. We of this half have lived on in the mountain in our misery. And these two years past the hunters have carried off half of even us." "What do they want, carrying you off?" said Pilgrim. The monkeys said: "Those hunters — hateful! Those of us shot with arrow or spear, poisoned or beaten dead, they take and flay and bone, boil in sauce, steam in vinegar, fry in oil, stir in salt, and eat with their rice. And those taken in the nets or in the nooses, taken alive, they teach to leap hoops and do tricks, turn somersaults, stand on their heads, while gongs rattle and drums beat in the open street — every sort of sport there is."

The Great Sage heard this and burned with rage. "Who keeps the house now?" "The two marshals Ma and Liu, and the two generals Beng and Ba, still keep it," said the demons. "Go tell them I am come," said the Great Sage. The little demons tumbled in through the gate to report: "Grandfather Great Sage is home!" Ma and Liu, Beng and Ba, hearing the report, hurried out the gate, knocked their heads, and welcomed him into the cave. The Great Sage sat in their midst, the fiends bowed in ranks before him, and they said: "Grandfather Great Sage, we heard you had escaped with your life and gone to guard the Tang monk west to fetch the scriptures. Why are you not on the western road, but back at your own mountain?" "Little ones, you do not know. That Tripitaka Tang cannot tell the worthy from the worthless. For him I have seized monsters and caught demons the whole road, spent every art of my life, beaten demons to death time after time; and he says I deal death and work evil, will not have me for a disciple, has banished me home with a written letter of dismissal for witness — never to be used again."

The monkeys clapped their hands and laughed aloud. "Fortune, fortune! What do you want with being a monk? Stay home, and take us along for a few years' sport." "Quick, lay on the coconut wine, to welcome grandfather home!" "No wine yet," said the Great Sage. "Tell me: when do those hunters come up my mountain?" "Great Sage," said Ma and Liu, "no special season: they pester us here every single day." "How is it they have not come today?" "They will be here any moment," said Ma and Liu. The Great Sage gave his orders: "Little ones, all of you out, and bring me the stones the fire has crumbled, up on the mountain — pile them. Twenty or thirty to a heap, fifty or sixty to a heap: I have a use for them." The little monkeys, a swarm of bees, went helter-skelter and piled many heaps. The Great Sage looked them over and said: "Little ones, all of you hide inside the cave, and leave old Sun to work his art."

The Great Sage went up the mountaintop to watch: on the southern half he saw drums going dong-dong, gongs ringing clang-clang, and up the slope more than a thousand men and horses, hawks and hounds on their arms, knives and spears in their hands. The Monkey King looked carefully: a fierce company, fine men, gallant and bold indeed. And what he saw was this:

Fox pelts over their shoulders; brocade wrapped about waist and chest.Wolf-fang arrows in the quiver; precious carved bows at the hip.Men like tigers raking the hills; horses like dragons clearing the ravines.In packs, leading their dogs; on every arm a perched hawk.Fire-cannons borne on wicker frames; the sea-falcon led in training.Sticky poles by the hundred-load; hare-spears by the thousand shaft.Ox-head nets across the road; Yama's noosing cords.All together they yell and halloo, scattering like stars across the sky.

The Great Sage, seeing the men spread up his mountain, was very great in wrath; he pinched the sign in his hand, muttered words between his lips, drew in one breath toward the southeast, and blew it out with a hoo — and it was a wild gale. A wind! And what a wind:

It lifts the dust and scatters the soil; it fells trees and batters woods.Sea waves heaped like mountains; murky billows pressing fold on fold.Heaven and earth reel darkling; sun and moon sink dim.One gust shakes the pines like a tiger's roar; suddenly in the bamboo it is a dragon's moan.Ten thousand openings howl in fury at the sky's great breath; flying sand and running stones wound men without order.

The Great Sage raised this great wind, and the crumbled stones went flying and dancing on it. Pity those thousand men and horses, every one:

Stones beat the black heads to powder; flying sand wounded the sea-horses all.Ginseng and court-cassia hurry before the ridge; blood stains the ground of cinnabar red.The aconite root will hardly reach his old home; how should the betel palm return to his village?Bones lie on the field like powder of white mercury; the red lady at home watches and hopes.

The poem says:

Men dead and horses dead — how shall they reach their homes? Wild ghosts and lonely souls tangled like hemp.Pity the heroes, bold and brave, who could not tell the worthy from the worthless: blood staining the sand.

The Great Sage pressed down the cloud, clapped his hands, and laughed aloud. "Fortune, fortune! Since I yielded to the Tang monk and became a monk, he was forever exhorting me: do good a thousand days, and still the good falls short; do evil one day, and the evil is already more than enough. The words were true, then. With him, I beat a few demons to death and he charged me with dealing death. Home today, and I have finished off this crowd of hunters." "Little ones, come out!" he called. The monkeys, the wild wind past, heard the Great Sage's call and came hopping out one by one. "Go down below the southern mountain," said the Great Sage. "Strip the dead hunters' clothes and bring them home; wash out the blood and wear them against the cold. Push the dead men's bodies into that bottomless black pool. Drag in the fallen horses, flay them, make boots of the hides; salt down the meat and eat it at your leisure. Take the bows and arrows, spears and knives, and drill in arms; gather up those motley banners: I have a use for them." The monkeys took the orders, one and all.

The Great Sage took the banners apart and washed them, and stitched them into one great banner of motley colors, with fourteen characters written on it: "Rebuild Flower-Fruit Mountain; Restore the Water Curtain Cave; the Great Sage Equal to Heaven." He raised the pole and hung the banner outside the cave. Day by day he gathered demons, mustered beasts, stored grass and grain — and never mentioned the word monk. His connections were great and his arts high: he went and borrowed sweet rain and immortal water from the Dragon Kings of the four seas and washed the mountain green again. Elms and willows planted in front, pines and nan-mu behind, peach, plum, jujube, and plum trees — nothing wanting. Free and easy, content in his work, settled at rest — but of this, no more.

Now the Tang monk had listened to cunning and loosed the monkey of his heart, and mounted into the saddle. Bajie opened the road ahead; Sha Monk shouldered the load, and they went west. Past White Tiger Ridge they came suddenly on a stretch of wooded hills — truly vines climbing and creepers twining, cypresses dark green and pines blue. "Disciples," called Tripitaka, "the mountain road is rough and hard; and here the pines crowd thick and the trees stand ranked: be very careful, for fear of demon spirits and demon beasts." See the Idiot brace himself: he had Sha Monk lead the horse, opened the way with his rake, and brought the Tang monk straight into the pine wood. As they went the elder checked his horse: "Bajie, I am truly hungry today. Find me somewhere some vegetarian food to eat." "Dismount, Master, and wait here while old Pig goes to look." The elder dismounted; Sha Monk set down his load, took out the alms bowl, and handed it to Bajie. "I go," said Bajie. "Where to?" asked the elder. "Never mind where. This trip of mine: through the ice for fire I go to find your food; under the snow for oil I beg your meal."

See him out of the pine wood, walking west ten li and more, never meeting a single household — truly a country of wolves and tigers and no men. The Idiot trudged wearily, brooding: "In the old days, while Pilgrim was here, whatever the old monk wanted he had; now it falls to me — truly as the saying goes, only keeping house teaches you the price of firewood and rice; only raising a son teaches you your parents' kindness. There is truly nowhere to beg." Then drowsiness came over him as he walked. "If I go back now and tell the old monk there was nowhere to beg, he will not believe I walked all this way. I must dawdle another watch before I report. Oh well, oh well — a nap in this grass first." The Idiot burrowed his head into the grass and slept — meaning only to doze a little and get up; who knew that a man worn out with walking, once his head drops, snores on and on.

To leave Bajie sleeping there: the elder, in the wood, felt his ears burn and his eyes twitch, his body and mind unsettled. He turned and called Sha Monk: "Wuneng went to beg the meal — how is it he does not come back at this hour?" "Master, you do not know him yet. He sees the west is full of households that feed monks, and his belly is big — what does he care for you? He will come when he is full." "Just so. If he lingers over the food, when would we ever meet him? It grows late, and this is no place to lodge; we must find some lodging place." "No matter, Master. Sit here, and I will go find him." "Right, right," said Tripitaka. "Food or no food, so be it — the lodging is the thing." Sha Monk took up his precious staff and went straight out of the pine wood to look for Bajie.

The elder, sitting alone in the wood, weary and oppressed, screwed his spirits up at last, sprang up, gathered the luggage in one place, and tied the horse to a tree. He took off his broad hat, planted his tin staff, straightened his black robe, and walked slowly into the deep wood to ease his gloom. The elder looked over wild grasses and mountain flowers, and could not bear the noise of birds going to their nests. Now the wood was all deep grass and narrow paths, and his thoughts being in a tangle, he took the wrong way. Partly he meant to shake off his gloom, partly to look for Bajie and Sha Monk; but those two had gone straight west, and the elder, wandering a while, drifted south. Coming out of the pines he looked up suddenly and saw, thataway, a golden light flashing, colored vapors rising. Looking closely he found it a jeweled pagoda, its golden summit shining — the light of the westering sun caught on the golden top. "But I have no luck at all," he said. "Since I left the Land of the East I have vowed: burn incense at every temple, bow to every Buddha I see, sweep every pagoda I meet. Is not that a pagoda of gold, shining there? How did I never take that road? There must be a temple under the pagoda, monks within the temple. Let me go over. The luggage and the white horse — no one travels here, I reckon; they will be safe. If there is lodging to be had, we will all beg a night's rest when the disciples come."

Ah! But the elder's dark hour had come. See him stride on, straight to the pagoda's side. And what he saw was this:

Stone crags ten thousand feet high; the mountain mass joins the blue sky.Roots joined fast in the thick earth; peaks thrust high into heaven.Some thousands of trees of many kinds on either side; creepers twining a hundred li before and behind.Flowers on the grass tips, shadows in the wind; water through the cloud-holes, the moon without root.Fallen trunks lie across the deep ravines; withered vines hang knotted from the bright peaks.Under the stone bridge, clear water rolling on; on the terrace seat, an ever-burning blaze of white.From afar, the very heaven of the three isles; up close, a fairy realm like Penglai.Sweet pines and purple bamboo wind round the mountain streams; crows and magpies, gibbons and monkeys thread the sheer ridges.Outside the grotto gate, beasts going and coming in files; in the woods, birds flying out and in in flocks.Green the fragrant grasses, fine and fresh; bright the wildflowers, open everywhere.This place was plainly an evil region — and the elder, in his dark hour, walked straight into it.

The elder stepped forward, and had just come beneath the pagoda gate when he saw a bamboo-bead curtain hanging within. He stepped boldly in, lifted the curtain, and went inside — and, looking up abruptly, saw on the stone bed a demon lying on its side. And what do you think he looked like? This:

A face of indigo blue; white tusks; one great mouth yawning wide.His shaggy temple-hair on either side was dyed the color of rouge;his three or four mustaches, bristling purple, might have been lychee buds in ranks.A parrot's beak of a nose, poking out; eyes like morning stars, staring.Two fists like an alms bowl of a monk; two blue feet like gnarled roots on a cliff.A pale-yellow robe thrown aslant across him outshone a woven brocade kashaya.In his hand a knife whose keen light flashed; his bed a slab of stone, fine and smooth, without a flaw.He has marshaled his little demons like ants in battle; he has held his court like old wasps in their hive.See him, terrible in his might, while all the horde roars out and calls him master.He has drunk wine under the moon that made three men; he has taken tea with wind rising under both arms.See him, vast in his powers, eyes cast down, roaming to the sky's far ends.Wild woods clamorous with birds; deep thickets where dragons and serpents lodge.The immortal maids till fields where white jade springs; the Taoists master fire and rear their cinnabar.A little grotto gate — it cannot reach the Avici hell; yet this bold demon is none other than an ox-head yaksha.

The elder, seeing him in this shape, started back in terror, his whole body numb and creepy, both legs gone weak and soft, and made to hurry away. He had barely turned when the demon — his numinous spirit being truly keen — flung wide his golden devil eyes and called: "Little ones, what is that outside the gate?" A little demon poked his head out, saw a bare-headed elder, and scampered in to report: "Great King, it is a monk outside! Round head, broad face, ears down to his shoulders; tender plump flesh all over, delicate fine skin — a very fine monk, truly." The demon laughed aloud at this. "A fly on the serpent's head: food and clothing walking in of themselves. All you little ones, hurry after him and seize him for me — rich rewards here." The little demons, a swarm of bees, closed in together. Tripitaka's heart might fly like an arrow, his feet run like wind, but his heart quaked and his gall trembled, his legs were soft and his feet numb; and the mountain path rough, the wood deep, the day dark — his steps would not carry him. The little demons took him up bodily and carried him off. Truly:

A dragon in shallow water is sported with by shrimps; a tiger on the plain is bullied by dogs.Even the best of undertakings meet with hindrance upon hindrance — but who ever had it like the Tang monk journeying west?

See the little demons carry the elder in, set him down outside the bamboo curtain, and report joyfully: "Great King, we have taken the monk and brought him in." The old demon stole a look at him: Tripitaka held his head high, a stately figure — a fine monk indeed. He thought to himself: "A monk this fine must be someone from the upper world, no common catch. If I do not put on some majesty, will he ever submit?" In a flash he borrowed the tiger's might, red whiskers bristling upright, blood-red hair to the sky, eyes starting from his head, and roared: "Bring the monk in here!" The demons answered as one, loud and ready: "Yes!" — and shoved Tripitaka straight inside. It was the old case: under a low lintel, how dare one not bow the head. Tripitaka could only join his hands and make his obeisance. "What monk are you, and from where? Where bound? Speak, and quickly!" "I am a monk of the Tang, sent by the Emperor of the Great Tang to seek the sutras and gathas in the west. Passing your honorable mountain, I came to pay my respects beneath this pagoda, little thinking I should disturb your majesty. I beg your pardon for the offense. When I have fetched the scriptures from the west back to the Eastern Land, your name shall be forever held in honor." The demon heard and hawed with laughter. "I said a man of the upper kingdom — and it is you indeed. I was just wanting to eat you, and here you come — very good, very good! Otherwise I might have missed you altogether. You are food for my mouth; you would have blundered in of yourself. Loose you, I could not; run you, you could not!" He called to the little demons: "Bind that monk." They swarmed up indeed, wound the elder round with cords and ropes, and lashed him to the Spirit-Fixing Stake.

The old demon, knife in hand, questioned him again: "Monk, how many are in your company? Surely no one man dares go up to the Western Heaven alone?" Seeing the knife, Tripitaka told the simple truth. "Great King, I have two disciples, Zhu Bajie and Sha Monk; both are out of the pines begging food. There is a load of luggage and a white horse, all left in the pine wood." "More fortune still!" said the old demon. "Two disciples, three with you, four with the horse: enough for one good meal." "We will go take them," said the little demons. "Do not go out; shut the front gate. When those two come back from begging, they are sure to look for their master to eat — failing to find him, sure to come to my gate. The proverb says: trade that walks up to the door is easy trade. We will take them at leisure." The little demons shut the front gate.

To leave Tripitaka meeting his calamity: Sha Monk went out of the wood looking for Bajie, a good ten li and more, and never saw a village. Standing on a rise and looking about, he heard a voice in the grass; hastily parting the deep growth with his staff he found the Idiot talking in his sleep. Sha Monk took him by the ear and woke him. "Fine Idiot! The master sent you to beg food — did he license you to sleep here?" The Idiot woke with a jolt. "Brother, what time is it?" "Up quickly. The master says food or no food, so be it — he sends us both to find lodging somewhere."

The Idiot, still in a fog, bore the alms bowl and clutched his rake, and went straight back with Sha Monk. In the wood they looked: no master there. "It is all your doing, Idiot — dawdling over the begging," said Sha Monk reproachfully. "A demon must have taken the master." "Brother, no nonsense," laughed Bajie. "That wood is a quiet, refined spot: no demon in it, surely. The old monk could not sit still, most likely, and has gone off sightseeing somewhere. Let us go find him." The two had no choice but to lead the horse and shoulder the load, gather up the hat and the tin staff, and go out of the pines looking for their master.

This time, too, the Tang monk was not fated to die. The two searched a while without finding him, then saw due south a golden light flashing. "Brother," said Bajie, "the fortunate are simply fortunate. Look, the master has gone to that house there. A jeweled pagoda shining like that — who would dare be lax? They are sure to have laid a meal and be keeping him in comfort. Let us hurry and catch up and share the food." "Brother," said Sha Monk, "there is no telling good from ill. Let us go and see."

The two came striding up to the gate: "Eh! The door is shut." Across the gate lay a slab of white jade, with six great characters carved on it: "Wave-Moon Cave, Bowl Mountain." "Brother," said Sha Monk, "this is no temple: it is a demon's den. If our master is inside here, he is not to be seen." "Fear nothing, brother," said Bajie. "Tie up the horse and mind the luggage; I will go ask after him." The Idiot raised his rake, came up, and bawled: "Open the door! Open the door!" A gate-keeping demon opened it, glimpsed the two of them, whipped back inside, and reported: "Great King, trade has come." "What trade?" said the old demon. "Outside the cave gate, a monk with a long snout and great ears, and one of a sullen dark cast, calling at the gate." The old demon was delighted. "Zhu Bajie and Sha Monk, come hunting them! Ah, he can hunt, can he — hunting them straight to my gate? Those are fierce, unruly faces: we must not be lax with them." "Bring my armor!" The little demons carried it out; he buckled it on, took his knife in hand, and strode straight out the gate.

Now Bajie and Sha Monk stood waiting before the gate when out came the demon, ferocious and dark. And what was he wearing? This:

A blue face, red whiskers, scarlet hair streaming; golden armor flashing bright on bright.A belly-guard and waist-cloth, a chalcedony belt; a breast-strap binding the mail, a cloud-walking sash.Standing at ease before the mountain, the wind roars and roars; roaming sullen overseas, the waves surge and surge.A pair of hands scorched indigo-blue grip fast the soul-chasing, life-taking knife.If you would know this creature's name and surname: two syllables ring through the world — Yellow Robe.

The old demon Yellow Robe came out his gate and demanded: "What monks are you, bawling at my door?" "My son, you do not know me? I am your lord father. I am sent by the Great Tang to the Western Heaven, and my master is Tripitaka, the Emperor's sworn brother. If he is inside your house, hand him out at once, and spare my rake the trouble of coming in after him." The demon laughed. "Yes, yes, yes — there is a Tang monk in my house, and I have not been lax with him either: I have set out little meat dumplings for his supper. Will you come in and have one too?"

The Idiot, in earnest, made to go in; Sha Monk caught him: "Brother, he is mocking you. When did you ever eat human flesh?" The Idiot came to himself, swung the nailed rake, and struck full at the demon's face; the creature swerved aside and met it with his steel knife, quick to parry. Both brought out their powers, mounted the cloud, and leaped into the air to battle. Sha Monk left the luggage and the white horse, raised his precious staff, and hurried to the attack. So two fierce monks and one brazen demon fought it out in the clouds — a fine great battle. And truly:

Staff rose and knife met it; rake came and knife parried.One demon captain put forth his might; two holy monks showed their transforming power.The nine-toothed rake was heroism itself; the demon-quelling staff truly terrible.Without before, behind, left, right, they came all together — and Yellow Robe showed no fear at all.See him: his steel knife flashes bright as silver, and his powers are truly vast.They fought till all the sky was fog and tangled cloud, and on the half of the mountain crags split and ridges crashed.One, for his name's sake, would never call it done; the other, for his master's sake, knew no fear at all.

The three of them came and went in mid-air, fighting dozens of rounds, with victory to neither. Each fought for his life's sake, and truly neither could be loosed from the other.

But how the Tang monk would be rescued — listen to the next chapter to find out.

The Demons of Mount Flower-Fruit Gather Under One Banner; in the Black Pine Wood the Tang monk Meets a Demon

Though the Tang monk had driven him off, the Great Sage went on thinking of him and sighing, until he saw the Eastern Ocean ahead, and said: "It is five hundred years since I took any other road than this!" And the sea water:

Misted waters heaved; the great billows rolled slow.The misted waters reached to the River of Heaven; the great slow billows ran down to the veins of the earth.The tide came surging in; the water flooded round the bays.The surging tide roared like thunderclaps of spring; the flooding of the bays looked like a gale of high summer.The blessed elders who ride dragons would surely furrow their brows in passing; the immortal boys on cranes truly crossed in worry and care.Near the shore, no villages; by the water, few fishing boats.The waves rolled up snows of a thousand years; the wind turned June into autumn.Wild birds came and went as they pleased; sand birds rose and sank at their will.Before the eye, no anglers; in the ear, nothing but gulls.The fish played happy at the bottom of the sea; the goose passing along the sky was sad.

Pilgrim gave a leap, jumped over the Eastern Ocean, and soon reached Mount Flower-Fruit. He brought down his cloud, opened his eyes, and looked: on the mountain there was neither flower nor grass; mist and rosy cloud were all gone; peak and crag had fallen in, and the trees of the woods stood charred and withered. How did it come to this? Because he had wrecked the Heavenly Palace and been taken up, the mountain had been burned by the Illustrious Sage True Lord Erlang at the head of the seven brothers of Meishan. The Great Sage's misery doubled. There is an old-style poem of the mountain's ruin to prove it. The old-style poem says:

He looked back at the immortal mountain, and tears fell from both eyes; facing the mountain in its misery, his sorrow only deepened.In those days he thought the mountain unharmed; only today does he learn how the land itself suffered.Hateful Erlang, who sought his ruin; anger at the little lord who so insulted him.He raged as though digging up the graves of my ancestors, needlessly shattering the tomb mound of my forebears.The rose clouds and mists of the whole sky are swept away; the winds and clouds everywhere have scattered thin.On the east ridge no roar of the striped tiger; on the west mountain, where is the cry of the white gibbon?In the north ravine, fox and rabbit have left no track; in the south valley, roe and muntjac have vanished from sight.Green stones burned into crumbling clods; blue sand turned into a heap of mud.The tall pines outside the caves all lean and fallen; the green cypresses before the cliffs grown few.Chun and shan, locust and juniper, chestnut and sandalwood are charred; peach, apricot, plum, pear, and jujube are done for.With the silkworm oak cut and the mulberry gone, how feed the silkworms? Willows thin and bamboo scant, hard for birds to roost.On the peaks the strange rocks have crumbled to dust; at the ravine bottoms the springs are dry and all is grass.Before the cliffs the earth is black, without zhi or orchid; by the roads the mud is red with climbing vines.Where do the birds of yesterday fly now? On what mountains do the beasts of old times roam?Leopards shun and pythons hate the ruin; cranes avoid it, snakes turn from the broken ground.It must be that evil thoughts were harbored then, and so this hardship is suffered now.

While the Great Sage stood in his grief, he heard a crash from the fragrant grass slope and the bramble hollow, and seven or eight little monkeys jumped out and swarmed up around him, knocking their heads. They cried: "Grandfather Great Sage, have you come home today?" The Handsome Monkey King said: "Why do you not play and roam as before, hiding away one and all? I have been here a long while and seen no sign of you. Why is that?" The monkeys, at these words, dropped tears and answered one by one: "Ever since the Great Sage was carried up in bonds, we have suffered cruelly at the hunters' hands. We could not stand against their stiff crossbows and strong bows, their yellow hawks and fierce dogs, their nets and snares and spears and hooks. So each of us has hugged his own life and dared not show his face to play, but hides deep in the cave homes, far from our nests. When hungry we steal grass on the slopes; when thirsty we drink the clear springs below the ravines. Just now we heard the Great Sage Grandfather's voice, and we have come out especially to greet you, and we beg your protection." When the Great Sage heard this, his misery grew heavier. He asked: "How many of you are still on this mountain?" The monkeys said: "Old and young together, only about a thousand." The Great Sage said: "I once had forty-seven thousand demons in my band. Where have they all gone?" The monkeys said: "After you were taken, grandfather, this mountain was fired by the Bodhisattva Erlang, and more than half of us were burned or killed. We crouched in wells, hid in ravines, and sheltered under the iron bridge, and so kept our lives. But when the fire died and the smoke cleared, there were no flowers or fruits to feed us, and life was hard. Half of those left went elsewhere. The half of us that stayed have suffered on in the mountains. These last two years the hunters have carried off half of even these." Pilgrim said: "What do they want, carrying you off?" The monkeys said: "Speaking of those hunters—it is hateful! Those of us hit by arrows or spears, poisoned or beaten down, they take away, skin and bone, and boil in sauce or steam in vinegar, fry in oil or stir-fry in salt, for side dishes with their rice. Those who fall into nets or snares they take alive, and teach to jump through hoops and do tricks, turn somersaults, and stand on their hands, while they beat gongs and drums in the public streets, making sport of us every way they can."

When the Great Sage heard this he boiled over with rage and said: "Who is left in charge in the cave?" The demons said: "The two marshals Ma and Liu, and the two generals Beng and Ba, still keep it." The Great Sage said: "Go and tell them I have come." The little demons rushed in and reported: "Grandfather Great Sage has come home." When Ma, Liu, Beng, and Ba heard the report, they hurried out the door, knocked their heads, and welcomed him into the cave. The Great Sage sat in the middle, and the demons bowed in ranks before him and said: "Grandfather Great Sage, we have heard you lately escaped with your life, and that you guard the Tang monk west to fetch the scriptures. Why do you not take the western road, but come back to your own mountain?" The Great Sage said: "Little ones, you do not know. That Tripitaka of the Tang cannot tell the worthy from the worthless. For him I caught monsters and seized demons all along the road, and spent every art I had in a lifetime, and struck down demons again and again. And he said I did violence and worked evil, would not have me for a disciple, drove me back home, and wrote a letter of dismissal to prove it. I am done for good."

The monkeys clapped their hands and laughed: "Luck, luck! What do you want with being a monk? Stay home, and take us along in your games for a few years." They called: "Quick—set out the coconut wine, to welcome grandfather home." The Great Sage said: "No wine yet. Tell me: when do those hunters come up my mountain?" Ma and Liu said: "Great Sage, there is no set time. They pester us here every single day." The Great Sage said: "Why have they not come today?" Ma and Liu said: "They should be along soon." The Great Sage gave his orders: "Little ones, all of you go out and gather up the stones the fire has cracked loose on the mountain, and pile them up for me. Twenty or thirty in one pile, fifty or sixty in another. I have a use for them." The little monkeys swarmed like a hive of bees, and soon heaps stood everywhere. The Great Sage looked, and said: "Little ones, all of you hide inside the cave, and let old Sun work his art."

The Great Sage went up to the mountain top and looked. On the southern half below came the boom of drums and the clash of gongs, and more than a thousand horse and foot flashed into view, hawks and hounds on their arms, knives and spears in their hands. The Monkey King looked carefully: these men came fierce and dangerous. Fine fellows, truly bold and hard. And this is what they were:

Fox fur covered their shoulders and heads; brocade wrapped their waists and chests.Wolf-tooth arrows stood in their bags; carved treasure bows hung at their hips.Men like tigers combing the hills; horses like dragons leaping ravines.In packs they led their dogs; on every arm they carried their hawks.Wicker baskets carried the fire cannon; the sea-hawk of the east rode bound.Sticky poles by the hundred-load; rabbit spears by the thousand.Ox-head nets to bar the road; King Yama's noosing cords.All together they shouted and halloed, scattering like stars across the sky.

When the Great Sage saw them spreading up his mountain, his heart flamed with rage. He pressed his fingers in a sign, muttered a spell, drew in a breath toward the southeast, and blew it out—there was a wild wind. What a wind! Look:

It raised dust and scattered earth; it pushed over trees and broke the woods.Sea waves stood up like mountains; muddy billows pressed in, fold upon fold.Heaven and earth swung dim; sun and moon sank dark.One gust shook the pines like a tiger's roar; the next it entered the bamboo like a dragon's cry.Ten thousand hollows howled as the sky breathed out its anger; flying sand and rolling stones wounded men in the tumult.

The Great Sage raised this great wind, and the broken stones flew and danced with it. Poor men! To every one of that thousand of horse and foot it came about like this:

Stones struck the aconite heads to powder; flying sand wounded the seahorses every one.Ginseng and cassia bark bustled before the ridge; blood dyed the cinnabar ground red.The aconite root could not return to its old country; how could the betel palm ever see its village again?Their bodies, white as calomel, lay on the hillside, while the red ladybird watched and waited at home.

The poem says:

Men dead and horses killed, how could they go home? Wild ghosts and lonely souls tangled like hemp.Pity the bold and stirring captains, who could not tell good men from bad—blood dyed the sand.

The Great Sage brought down his cloud, clapped his hands, and laughed aloud: "Luck, luck! Since I submitted to the Tang monk and became a monk, he was forever lecturing me: 'Do good a thousand days, and the good is still not enough; do evil one day, and the evil is already too much.' There was truth in it. When I followed him and killed a few demons, he scolded me for violence. Today I come home, and finish off this many hunters at a stroke." He called: "Little ones, come out!" The monkeys, when the wild wind had passed, heard the Great Sage call, and came leaping out one by one. The Great Sage said: "Go down the south slope, strip the clothes from those dead hunters, and bring them home. Wash off the blood and wear them against the cold. Push the corpses into that bottomless pool. Drag the dead horses here, strip the skins for boots to wear, and salt the meat down for slow eating. Take their bows, arrows, spears, and knives and drill with them. And gather up their banners of every color for my use." The monkeys took the orders one by one.

The Great Sage took the banners apart, washed them, and stitched them into one great flag of many colors, bearing fourteen characters: "Restoring Mount Flower-Fruit, refounding the Water Curtain Cave—the Great Sage Equal to Heaven." He raised the pole and hung the flag outside the cave. Day by day he gathered demons and beasts, stored fodder and grain, and spoke the word "monk" no more. His credit was great and his skill was high: he went and borrowed sweet immortal rain from the Dragon Kings of the four seas and washed the mountain green again. He planted elms and willows in front, pines and nan trees behind, and lacked for nothing in peach, plum, jujube, and pear trees. Free and at ease, happy in his work, he settled in his home—and we say no more.

Now the Tang monk, heeding a cunning tongue, had let the ape of his heart run loose. He mounted his horse; Bajie led the way, and Sha Monk carried the load, and they traveled west. Past White Tiger Ridge they suddenly saw a stretch of wooded hills, truly wrapped in vines and creepers, with green cypresses and dark pines. Tripitaka called: "Disciples, the mountain road is rough and hard, and the pines crowd thick and the trees stand dark as ranks. You must be careful—a demon or evil beast may lurk there." Look at the Idiot bracing his spirit. He told Sha Monk to lead the horse, opened the road himself with his toothed rake, and led the Tang monk straight into the pine wood. As they went, the elder reined in and said: "Bajie, I am truly hungry today. Where can you find some vegetarian food for me?" Bajie said: "Master, get down from the horse and wait here while this old pig goes to look." The elder got down, Sha Monk set down the load, took out the alms bowl, and handed it to Bajie. Bajie said: "I am off." The elder asked: "Where are you going?" Bajie said: "Never mind. When I come back, I will have brought fire from the ice and a meal to beg, oil from the snow and food to share."

See him: he left the pine wood and walked more than ten li west without meeting a single house—a place of wolves and tigers and no men at all. The Idiot, tired with walking, sank into thought: "In the days when Pilgrim was here, whatever the old master wanted he had. Now the turn is mine. Truly it is as they say: 'Only when you keep house do you learn the price of firewood and rice; only when you raise a son do you know your parents' kindness.' There is truly nowhere to beg." Then drowsiness came over him as he walked, and he thought: "If I go straight back and tell the old master there was nowhere to beg a meal, he will not believe I walked so far. I must wander another hour or two before I report. Very well, very well. Let me sleep a while here in the grass." The Idiot buried his head in the grass and lay down. He meant to doze a little and get up, but a man worn out with walking, once his head is down, snores on and on.

We say nothing of Bajie sleeping there. The elder, waiting in the wood, felt his ears burn and his eyes jump, and his heart would not settle. He quickly turned and called to Sha Monk: "Wuneng went to beg food. Why is he not back at this hour?" Sha Monk said: "Master, you do not know him yet. He sees that the people of the West give alms to monks freely, and his belly is big. Would he think of you? He will come back when he is full." Tripitaka said: "That is just it. If he is gorging himself somewhere, when would we meet him? It is getting late, and this is no place to stay. We must find lodging." Sha Monk said: "No matter, Master. You sit here, and I will go find him." Tripitaka said: "Yes, yes. Food or no food, it does not matter—finding a lodging is what matters." Sha Monk took up his treasure staff and went straight out of the pine wood, looking for Bajie.

The elder sat alone in the wood, dull and weary past bearing. He had to force his spirits up. He jumped to his feet, gathered the luggage in one place, tied the horse to a tree, took off his bamboo hat and planted his tin staff, straightened his black robe, and walked slowly into the quiet wood to ease his spirits. He looked over the wild grasses and mountain flowers, but could not bear the noise of birds going to their nests. Now the paths in that wood were all deep grass and narrow ways, and because his thoughts were tangled he took the wrong turning. Partly he wanted to shake off his gloom, and partly he wanted to find Bajie and Sha Monk. But those two had gone straight west, while the elder, after turning about a while, had gone off south. When he came out of the pine wood he looked up suddenly and saw golden light glittering and colored vapors rising. Looking carefully, he found it was a pagoda with a gilded top throwing out light—the light of the setting western sun caught on its golden crown. He said: "I am a man without luck. Since I left the Land of the East I have vowed to burn incense at every temple, bow before every Buddha I see, and sweep every pagoda I meet. Is that not a pagoda of yellow gold, shining? Why did I never take that road? There must be a monastery at its foot, and monks in the monastery. Let me go and see. As for the luggage and the white horse, no one travels here, so they are safe. If there is a place to stay, I will wait for my disciples, and we can all beg a night's rest together."

Ah! Misfortune had come for the elder. See him stride forward, straight to the pagoda. And this is what met him:

Stone cliffs rose ten thousand feet; the mountain touched the blue sky.Its roots ran deep into the thick earth; its peaks stabbed at the high heavens.Thousands of mixed trees stood on either side; creepers tangled for a hundred li before and behind.Flowers lit the tips of the grasses, and the wind cast shadows; water flowed from the cloud holes, and the moon had no root.Fallen trunks lay across the deep ravines; withered vines hung knotted on the bright peaks.Under the stone bridge rolled a rushing spring of clear water; on the terrace stood a lamp always bright, whitewashed and plain.From far off it looked like a heaven of the three islands; up close it was like a fairy scene of Penglai.Fragrant pines and purple bamboo ringed the mountain streams; crows and magpies and gibbons threaded the steep ridges.Outside the cave gate, beasts passed and repassed in files; in the woods, birds flew out and in in troops.Green the fragrant grasses, and lush; bright the wild flowers, and open.The place was plainly a den of evil—and the elder, in his bad luck, walked straight into it.

The elder stepped forward, and had just come under the pagoda door, where a bamboo curtain hung inside. He stepped through the doorway, lifted the curtain, and went in; and as he raised his head he saw on a stone bed a demon lying on its side. See what it looked like:

An indigo face, white tusks, one great mouth yawning wide.The shaggy hair at both temples was all dyed the color of rouge; three or four stalks of purple whisker looked like buds of the lychee.A nose like a parrot's beak pushed and snuffled; eyes like morning stars stared and blinked.Two fists shaped like a monk's alms bowl; two blue feet gnarled as old roots on a cliff.Across his shoulders hung a robe of pale yellow, finer than any woven kasaya.He gripped a knife that flashed with light; he slept on a stone, fine and smooth, without a flaw.He had marshaled his little demons like an army of ants, and ruled like an old monster holding court among his bees.Look at him, stern in his majesty, while all around shout together and cry him sire.He has made the moon a third guest and poured wine from his pot; he has raised wind under both arms and tipped the tea cup high.Look at him, vast in his powers, half-lidding his eyes as he roams the ends of the earth.In wild woods birds and sparrows clamor; in deep thickets dragons and snakes lie the night.The immortal who tills the fields grows white jade; the Daoist who tames fire nurtures cinnabar.Through his little cave gate one would not reach the hell of Avici; yet this grim demon is nothing else than an ox-headed yaksha.

When the elder saw what a thing it was, he stumbled backward in terror, his whole body numb and shaking, his legs gone weak and soft, and turned at once to run. He had barely turned when the demon, whose spirit was truly sharp, spread wide its two golden devil eyes and called: "Little ones, what is that outside the door?" A little demon poked his head out, saw a bald-headed elder, rushed back in, and reported: "Great King, there is a monk outside. Round head and big face, both ears hanging to his shoulders; a body of tender plump flesh, a skin soft and fine. A very fine monk indeed." When the demon heard this, it laughed out loud: "This is what they call 'the fly on the serpent's head—food and clothing come of themselves.' All you little ones, hurry after him and bring him here to me. There will be a rich reward." The little demons swarmed out like a hive of bees. Though Tripitaka's heart raced like an arrow and his feet flew, still his courage shook and his legs were numb; and the mountain road was rough, the wood deep, the day dying—how could his steps carry him? The little demons simply picked him up and carried him off. Truly:

The dragon in shallow water is teased by shrimps; the tiger on the plain is bullied by dogs.Good things, it is true, meet many obstructions—but who ever had it as hard as the Tang monk going west?

The little demons carried the elder in and set him down outside the bamboo curtain, crying out happily: "Great King, we have caught a monk and brought him in." The old demon peeked at him with half an eye: Tripitaka's head was held high and his face was noble—he was truly a fine-looking monk. The demon thought: "A monk this fine must be somebody from above. He is not to be taken lightly. If I do not put on some majesty, how will he ever submit?" And in a moment he borrowed the tiger's fierceness: his red whiskers stood on end, his blood-red hair rose to the sky, his eyes burst with fury, and he roared: "Bring the monk in!" The demons thundered one answer: "Yes!"—and shoved Tripitaka inside. This is "under a low eave, a man must bow his head." Tripitaka could only press his palms together and make his bow. The demon said: "What monk are you? Where from? Where to? Speak, and quickly!" Tripitaka said: "I am a monk of the Tang, sent by the Emperor's edict of the Great Tang to the Western Heaven to seek the scriptures and gathas. I was passing your honored mountain and came under the pagoda to pay my respects. I did not mean to disturb your majesty. I beg your pardon. When I have fetched the scriptures in the West and carried them back to the Eastern Land, your high name shall be recorded forever." When the demon heard this, he laughed aloud: "I said this was a man of a great kingdom—and it is you. I was just going to eat you. What a fine time to come, what a fine time! Otherwise I would have missed you. You were meant to be food in my mouth, so you blundered in of your own accord. I could not let you go now if I would, and you could not walk away if you tried!" He called his little demons: "Take that monk away and tie him." And the little demons rushed up, wound the elder in cords and ropes, and bound him to the soul-fixing stake.

The old demon, knife in hand, asked further: "Monk, how many are there in your party? Surely one man does not dare cross to the Western Heaven alone?" Seeing the knife, Tripitaka answered honestly: "Great King, I have two disciples called Zhu Bajie and Sha Monk. Both have gone out of the pine wood to beg food. There is a load of luggage and a white horse, all left standing in the pine wood." The old demon said: "More luck still. Two disciples, three with you, four counting the horse—enough for one good meal." A little demon said: "Let us go catch them." The old demon said: "Do not go out. Shut the front gate. When those two come back from begging, they will surely look for their master to feed him. Not finding him, they will come straight to my gate. As the saying goes, 'Business that walks in the door is easy business.' We can catch them at our leisure." And the little demons shut the front gate.

We say no more of Tripitaka's calamity. Sha Monk went out of the wood looking for Bajie, a good ten li or more, and saw no village. He was standing on a rise looking about when he heard a man's voice in the grass. He quickly pushed his staff into the deep grass and parted it: it was the Idiot inside, talking in his sleep. Sha Monk took him by the ear, and only then woke him: "Fine Idiot you are! The master sent you to beg food. Did he give you leave to sleep here?" The Idiot woke in a muddle and said: "Brother, what time is it?" Sha Monk said: "Up, quickly! The master says food or no food, and tells us to find somewhere to lodge."

The Idiot, still fuddled, took his alms bowl in one hand and gripped his toothed rake, and came straight back with Sha Monk. In the wood they looked: the master was gone. Sha Monk reproached him: "It is all you, Idiot—no food begged, no coming back. A demon has surely carried the master off." Bajie laughed and said: "Brother, no nonsense. That wood is a quiet, genteel place. There are no demons there, that is certain. I expect the old master could not sit still and has gone off sightseeing. Let us go look for him." There was nothing for it but to lead the horse, shoulder the load, gather up the bamboo hat and the tin staff, and go out of the pine wood looking for their master.

It was not the Tang monk's fate to die this time. The two searched a while without finding him, and then saw a golden glitter to the south. Bajie said: "Brother, the lucky are always lucky. Look—the master has gone to someone's house. That shining thing is a pagoda. Who would dare slight him there? They are sure to lay out a meal and keep him in comfort. Should we not walk a little faster and catch up, and share the food?" Sha Monk said: "Brother, one cannot tell good luck from bad at this distance. Let us go and see."

The two came up to the gate, full of spirit: "Ah! The door is shut." Across the top of the door lay a slab of white stone, carved with six great characters: "Wavy Moon Cave of Bowl Mountain." Sha Monk said: "Brother, this is no monastery. It is a demon's cave. If our master is in here, he is in a bad way." Bajie said: "Brother, do not be afraid. Tie up the horse and watch the luggage, and let me ask after him." The Idiot raised his rake, came up, and shouted: "Open the door! Open the door!" A little demon guarding the door opened it, saw what the two of them looked like, whipped back inside, and reported: "Great King, business has come." The old demon said: "What business?" The little demon said: "Outside the cave gate there is a monk with a long mouth and big ears, and a monk with a gloomy color, calling at the door." The old demon was delighted: "It is Zhu Bajie and Sha Monk, come looking. Well now, so they can search too—to think they have traced them right to my door! Since their faces look fierce and unruly, we must not slight them." He called: "Bring my armor!" The little demons carried it out; he dressed, took his knife in hand, and came straight out the door.

Now Bajie and Sha Monk stood waiting before the gate when they saw the demon come out, fierce and dangerous. See how he was dressed:

An indigo face, red whiskers, streaming red hair; golden armor blazing with light.A belly cloth at his waist, a belt of agate stone; breast straps binding his armor, a cloud-walking cord.Standing at ease before the mountain, the wind roared; wandering sullen over the seas, the waves piled high.A pair of hands scorch-blue as indigo, gripping the soul-chasing, life-taking knife.If you would know this creature's name and surname: two syllables of fame call him Yellow Robe.

When the old monster Yellow Robe came out the door he demanded: "What monks are you, bawling at my gate?" Bajie said: "My son, do you not know me? I am your lord father. I am sent by the Great Tang to the Western Heaven. My master is the Emperor's sworn brother Tripitaka. If he is in your house, hand him out at once, and save my rake the trouble of coming in after him." The monster laughed and said: "Yes, yes, yes—there is a Tang monk in my house, and I have not slighted him. I am just laying out some little buns of human meat for him to eat. Would you like to come in and have one too?"

The Idiot took it seriously and made to go in. Sha Monk held him back: "Brother, he is fooling you. When did you ever eat human flesh?" Then the Idiot came to himself. He pulled out his toothed rake and struck at the monster's face. The monster twisted aside, dodged, and met him with his steel knife. Each showed his powers, jumped on the clouds, and rose into the air to fight. Sha Monk dropped the luggage and the white horse, raised his treasure staff, and hurried to join the attack. Two fierce monks and one brazen demon fought it out among the clouds—a fine battle. And this is how it went:

The staff rose and the knife met it; the rake came and the knife turned it.One demon general showed his might; two holy monks revealed their power.The nine-toothed rake was truly heroic; the demon-taming staff fearsome to hear.Blows came from front and back, left and right, and Yellow Robe showed no fear at all.Look at his steel-dipped knife flashing like silver: his powers truly were vast.The fight wrapped the whole sky in fog and tangled cloud, and cliff crashed on ridge down the mountainside.One fought for his name's sake and would not stop; one fought for his master and knew no fear.

The three of them came and went in midair, and fought dozens of rounds with no victory on either side. Each had his own life to look to, and truly neither could break loose from the other.

How the Tang monk was to be saved—listen to the next chapter to find out.