Chapter 32

On Flat-Top Mountain the Duty Officer Carries a Warning; in the Lotus Cave the Wood-Mother Meets Disaster

The story goes that when the Tang monk had regained Pilgrim Sun, master and disciples were one heart and one body, bound for the West together. Since rescuing the princess in Baoxiang, they had the king and his ministers see them out the western gate. No telling of their meals when hungry and drink when thirsty along the road, lodging at night and traveling at dawn. And now it was the height of spring, and in that season:

A light wind blew the willows green as silk—a scene most fit for song.The season quickened the birds' speech, warmth coaxed the flowers open, and fragrance lay over all the land.A pair of swallows came to the crab-apple courtyard—the very hour for delighting in spring.On the red-dust purple roads: silks and strings and flutes, the grass-matching game, the passing cup.

Master and disciples were journeying and feasting their eyes when another mountain rose to block the way. The Tang monk said, "Disciples, be careful: a high mountain lies ahead; I fear tigers and wolves may bar the road." Pilgrim said, "Master, a man who has left home should not talk like one who stays in it. Do you remember what the Monk of the Crow's Nest taught in the Heart Sutra: 'The mind without obstruction: with no obstruction there is no fear, far removed from delusion and inverted dreams'? And yet: 'Sweep the filth from the mind, wash the dust from the ears. Without tasting bitterness within bitterness, it is hard to be a man above men.' Do not give way to worry; while Old Sun is here, though the sky came tumbling down I could keep all safe—what are tigers and wolves to fear?" The elder reined his horse about and said:

"In years past I took the throne's word and left Chang'an, thinking only of going west to worship the Buddha's face.In the relic-lands the golden images gleam with color; in the pagoda towers glints the jade mark between the brows.I have sought to the end the uncounted waters of the world and crossed every mountain no man has reached.On and on through misted billows, range over range—when will this body know rest?"

Hearing this, Pilgrim chuckled: "If you want rest for your body, Master, what difficulty is that? When the work is done, the ten thousand ties will all be loosed and every dharma seen as empty. Then, naturally and of itself—will that not be rest?" Hearing this, the elder could only take joy and forget his cares. Loosening the reins he pressed his silver mount; gathering the bridle he hurried on the jade dragon.

Master and disciples climbed up onto the mountain—perilously steep, a truly towering place. What a mountain:

Lofty, steep-walled ranges; sheer, sharp-cut peaks.Below, the winding deep ravines; beside, the lonely sheer cliffs.In the winding ravines below, one heard only the rush and roar of the python rolling in the water; beside the lonely sheer cliffs, one saw the crag-backed tiger slashing its tail as it came out of the woods.Look up: the crests jut and pierce the blue empyrean; turn the eye: the gorges below plunge deep as the azure vault.Climbing high, it was ladder and stair; descending low, trench and pit.Truly a ridge of strange, crested peaks; indeed a wall of linked, sharp-cut cliffs.On the crested ridges the herb gatherers thought twice and feared to tread; before the sheer-cut walls the woodcutters could not move an inch.Wild goats and range horses darted and wove; cunning hares and mountain oxen moved like an army drawn up.The mountain's height shut out the sun and veiled the stars; one kept meeting demon beasts and gray wolves.The grassy paths wandered without end, hard going for the horse—how could one reach Thunderclap and see the Buddha King?

The elder reined in his horse to gaze at the mountain, and just at the hardest stretch of the way he saw, standing on the green sedge slope, a woodcutter. And how was he dressed, do you think?

On his head an old blue felt hat; on his body a black wool patchwork robe.The old blue felt hat kept off mist and sun—a rare thing indeed; the black wool patchwork robe wore joy and forgot care—seldom seen.In his hand a steel axe whetted bright; his blade felled dry wood, bundled tight.Spring colors hung at his carrying-pole, quietly mellow through the four seasons; his leisure of spirit stood beyond his work, calm as the faint Three Stars.To old age he simply lived as his lot allowed—what glory or disgrace ever touched his hills?

That woodcutter:

Was cutting rotten wood before the slope when he met the elder coming from the east.He stopped his axe, stepped out of the wood, and hurried up the rocky crag.

He called out loudly to the elder: "Elder bound west, stop a moment; I have a word for you: on this mountain is a pack of venomous demons and savage monsters, who feed on travelers going east and west." At this the elder's soul flew and his spirit scattered; trembling, he could not sit firm on his carved saddle. Turning quickly, he called in haste to his disciples: "Did you hear that woodcutter's report—'on this mountain are venomous demons and savage monsters'? Who dares go and question him closely?" Pilgrim said, "Set your heart at ease, Master; let Old Sun go and get to the bottom of it."

Brave Pilgrim! He strode up the mountain, hailed the woodcutter as "elder brother," and made a salutation. The woodcutter returned the courtesy: "Elder, what brings you here?" Pilgrim said, "To tell you the truth, elder brother, we are sent from the Land of the East to fetch scriptures from the Western Heaven. The man on the horse is my master, and he is somewhat timid. Just now you were good enough to tell us of venomous demons and savage monsters, so I have come to ask: how many years has that demon been a demon, how many years that monster a monster? Is he a past master of the trade, or still a fledgling? Tell me plainly, brother, and I will have the mountain god and the local earth god escort him on his way." Hearing this, the woodcutter threw back his head and laughed: "So you are a mad monk." Pilgrim said, "I am not mad; this is the plain truth." The woodcutter said, "You call it the plain truth—how dare you speak of having him escorted off?" Pilgrim said, "You puff up his prestige like this, babbling your warning in the middle of the road—could you be one of his kin? If not kin, then neighbor; if not neighbor, then friend." The woodcutter laughed: "You mad, brazen monk, you are beyond reason. I came meaning well, expressly to warn you, so that you would keep watch morning and night as you walked—and you turn it back on me. Never mind that I do not know where the demon comes from; even if I did, how would you dare have him escorted off—and to where?" Pilgrim said, "If a demon of heaven, hand him to the Jade Emperor; if a demon of earth, to the Terrestrial Office. Those of the west belong to the Buddha, those of the east to the Sage; those of the north go to the True Warrior, those of the south to the God of Fire. A flood-dragon spirit is handed to the lord of the sea; a haunting ghost, to King Yama. Each has his own ground and direction. Old Sun knows people everywhere: with one warrant issued, the demon is sent packing under escort through the night."

The woodcutter could not help a cold laugh: "You mad, brazen monk—wandering the countryside as a cloud-rover, you have picked up a little of the art of writing talismans and chanting spells, good for driving off evil and binding ghosts, but you have never yet run into a monster so savage as this one." Pilgrim said, "How is he savage?" The woodcutter said, "This mountain runs some six hundred li from end to end, and is called Flat-Top Mountain. In it is a cave called Lotus Cave. In the cave are two demon chiefs, who have had portraits drawn to catch monks and lists of names copied out to eat the Tang monk. If you had come from anywhere else it would be well—but run afoul of the one word 'Tang,' and think no more of passing, no more of passing." Pilgrim said, "We are from Tang, of all places." The woodcutter said, "He is wanting to eat you this very moment." Pilgrim said, "What luck, what luck! Only how does he mean to eat us?" The woodcutter said, "How would you have him eat you?" Pilgrim said, "If he starts with the head, it is no great matter; if he starts with the feet, that would be a hard pass." The woodcutter said, "What do you mean, start with the head? What do you mean, start with the feet?" Pilgrim said, "You have never been through it. If he starts with the head, one bite takes it off, and I am already dead—fry me, stir me, boil me after that, I feel no pain. But if he starts with the feet, he gnaws the ankle-bones, chews the shanks, eats his way to the small of the back, and still I do not die at once—is that not suffering piecemeal, bit by bit? That is what makes it a hard pass." The woodcutter said, "Monk, he has no time for such refinements. He will simply seize you, truss you in a cage, and steam and eat you whole." Pilgrim laughed: "Better still, better still. No pain to bear—only a little mustiness to endure." The woodcutter said, "Monk, none of your jesting. That demon carries five treasures on him, and his powers are immense and boundless. He is a jade pillar holding up the sky, a golden beam bridging the sea. Even to see the Tang monk past, you will have to swoon a time or two." Pilgrim said, "Swoon how many times?" The woodcutter said, "Three or four swoons." Pilgrim said, "No matter, no matter. In a year we commonly swoon seven or eight hundred times; three or four swoons are easy—blink and they are past."

Brave Great Sage! Utterly without fear, his one thought was to see the Tang monk through. He shook off the woodcutter, turned on his heel, and went straight to the horse's head on the slope: "Master, nothing much. There may be a demon or two, but the folk here are timid and let them weigh on their hearts. With me here, what is there to fear? On we go, on we go." At this the elder could only set his mind at rest and go on. As they went, the woodcutter had already vanished. The elder said, "How is it that the woodcutter who brought the message is gone?" Bajie said, "Our luck is low—we have met a ghost in broad daylight." Pilgrim said, "No doubt he slipped into the woods after firewood. Wait while I go look."

Brave Great Sage! He opened his fiery eyes, his pupils of gold, and searched over hill and ridge—not a trace. Suddenly he lifted his head for a look into the clouds and saw it was the Duty Officer of the Day. He leapt on a cloud, overtook him, cursed him a few times as a "hairy devil," and said: "Why not come and speak plainly, instead of disguising yourself like that to make a show of Old Sun?" The officer, in a fluster, made his obeisance: "Great Sage, forgive the lateness of my warning—pardon, pardon. That monster's powers are indeed vast, and his transformations endless. Everything turns on your nimble shifts and your divine resource: guard your master with the greatest care. Slacken by a hair, and think no more of the road to the Western Heaven."

Pilgrim dismissed the officer with a word and took it all keenly to heart; pressing down his cloud, he came straight back up the mountain. There were the elder, Bajie, and Sha Monk moving forward together. He thought to himself: "If I tell Master plainly what the officer said, Master will be no good at all—he will certainly cry. If I do not tell him the truth, but lead him along in the dark—well, as the saying goes, 'New to the reed marshes, you do not know their depth.' If a demon snatches him, will Old Sun not have to take the trouble after all? Let me look after Bajie a little first—send him forward to fight the monster and see. If he beats it, that is a merit to his account; if he has no arts and the monster takes him, there is time enough for Old Sun to rescue him—and good advertisement for my skill." Thus he planned, asking counsel of his own heart: "My only fear is that Bajie will shirk and refuse to step forward, and that Master will spoil him. Let Old Sun put a bridle on him first."

Brave Great Sage! Watch him play his trick: he rubbed his eyes until he rubbed out some tears, then walked straight ahead to meet his master. Bajie saw him and called out at once: "Sha Monk, set down the load and bring out the luggage—let the two of us divide it." Sha Monk said, "Second Brother, divide it for what?" Bajie said, "Divide it, I say: you go back to the Flowing Sand River to be a monster again, and this old pig to Gao Village to look in on his wife. We will sell the white horse, buy a coffin, and give Master a proper burial. Every man for himself—what is all this about the Western Heaven?" Hearing this from horseback, the elder said, "This blockhead—here we are on the road, why does he babble again?" Bajie said, "Your son is the one babbling! Have you not seen Pilgrim Sun coming along crying? He is the hero who fears nothing—boring through heaven, diving into the earth, axes, fire, the boiling cauldron. Now he comes along wearing a cap of sorrow, tears brimming. It must be that the mountain is sheer and the monsters savage. For weak creatures like us, how could we ever get through?" The elder said, "Stop this nonsense; let me ask him what this is about." He asked: "Wukong, if there is something to settle, settle it face to face—why torment yourself alone? That mournful face of yours—are you trying to frighten me?" Pilgrim said, "Master, the one who brought the warning just now was the Duty Officer of the Day. He says the demons are savage and this stretch is hard going—the mountain truly is high, the road truly is steep; we cannot go forward. Let us put it off to another day." At this the elder was frightened and dismayed; he clutched his tiger-skin kilt: "Disciple, of our three parts of road we have already walked one and a half—why speak of turning back?" Pilgrim said, "It is not that I would not give my whole heart. I only fear our demons are many and our strength small, our march a lonely one. 'Even a bar of iron—how many nails can one furnace hammer out?'" The elder said, "Disciple, what you say is true: one man alone truly finds it hard. The books of war say, 'The few cannot stand against the many.' But I have here Bajie and Sha Monk, both disciples too—deploy and use them as you please, as guards and helpers; with one heart and joined strength, sweep the mountain path clear and lead me over the mountain. Would that not bring every one of us to the true fruit?"

All this mummery of Pilgrim's had been played only to draw those very words out of the elder. Wiping his tears, he said: "Master, to get over this mountain, Zhu Bajie must consent to two things of mine; then there is a chance in three of getting through. If he will not take my word or stand in my place, do not imagine crossing even by half a degree." Bajie said, "Brother, if we are not going, let us break up the company. Do not drag me in." The elder said, "Disciple, ask your brother what he would have you do." The Idiot actually asked Pilgrim: "Brother, what would you have me do?" Pilgrim said, "First, watch over Master; second, scout the mountain." Bajie said, "Watching Master is sitting; scouting the mountain is walking. Surely you do not mean me to sit a while and then walk, walk a while and then sit? How could I manage both at once?" Pilgrim said, "I do not mean you to do both—take one and that is enough." Bajie laughed again: "That is a fair arrangement. But what is watching Master like, and what is scouting like? Explain first, and I will take whichever suits me better." Pilgrim said, "Watching Master: when Master goes to relieve himself, you attend him; when Master wants to walk, you support him; when Master wants his vegetarian meal, you go beg it. If he goes a little hungry, you deserve a beating; if his face turns a little pale, you deserve a beating; if his frame grows a little thin, you deserve a beating." Bajie panicked: "This is hard, hard, hard. Attending and supporting are nothing; even carrying him on my back, never leaving his side, would be easy. But if I am to go begging in the villages, these western roads do not know I am a scripture-seeking monk; they will take me for some strapping pig, half-wild, come wandering out of the hills, and turn out a crowd with pitchforks, rakes, and brooms to knock this old pig down, carry me home, slaughter me, and pickle me for the New Year—would not that be a plague on me?" Pilgrim said, "Scout the mountain, then." Bajie said, "And what does scouting involve?" Pilgrim said, "You go into the mountain and find out how many demons there are, what mountain this is, what cave—so we can get past." Bajie said, "That is a small matter. This old pig will scout the mountain." So the Idiot hitched up his robe, shouldered his muckrake, and marched dauntless into the deep mountains; chest out, head high, up the great road.

Pilgrim, standing by, could not help a snickering laugh. The elder cursed: "You brazen ape! You have no brotherly tenderness at all, nothing but jealousy in your heart. You play such tricks, with your smooth words and false looks, to push him off on this scouting—and now you stand here laughing at him." Pilgrim said, "I am not laughing at him—there is substance in my laugh. Just watch: Zhu Bajie, once he has gone, will scout no mountain and dare not face any demon. He will hide somewhere for half an hour, invent a lie, and come back to fool us." The elder said, "How can you know that already?" Pilgrim said, "I sized him up as that sort. Do not believe me? Wait while I follow and see, and listen in: first, to help him along with his demon-taming; second, to see whether he has any true devotion to the Buddha." The elder said, "Good, good, good—but do not you go playing tricks on him." Pilgrim agreed, hurried straight up the slope, shook himself, and changed into a tiny midge. His transformation was light and nimble indeed. Behold him:

Wings thin, dancing on the wind without effort; waist sharp and small as a needle.Through rushes and grass, past flower shade, swift as a shooting star—and swifter still.Eyes bright and glancing; voice faint and mute.Of all insects, none so small; poised and unhurried, deep in cunning.Many an idle day he rests in some hidden wood—a whole body nowhere to be seen; a thousand eyes could never find him.

With a whir of wings he flew off, overtook Bajie, and fastened behind his ear, under the roots of his bristles. The Idiot plodded on, never knowing a passenger rode his body. After seven or eight li he flung down the muckrake, swung his head round toward where the Tang monk was, and cursed, gesticulating: "You spineless old monk, you pinchpenny Bimawen, you faint-faced Sha Monk—sitting there at your ease while you play tricks on this old pig and send him tramping. We are all fetching scriptures, all hoping for the true fruit—yet I am the one sent to scout some mountain. Ha, ha! We know there are demons; we should be tiptoeing past, and even that is not caution enough—and he sends me to hunt them up. What luck is this! I am off to find a place to sleep. One good sleep, then back, mumble something to them, say I scouted the mountain, and close the account." So the Idiot, congratulating himself on his luck, shouldered his rake and walked on, till he spied a curve of red grass bank in a fold of the hills. He burrowed into it headfirst, spread the rake for a ground-bed, rolled over and lay down, stretched his back, and sighed: "Bliss! Even that Bimawen never had it this good."

Now Pilgrim, behind his ear, had heard every word. He could not resist flying up to tweak him again. He shook himself once more and changed into a woodpecker. Behold:

Iron beak, sharp-tipped, glossy red; kingfisher plumes brilliant bright.A pair of steel claws keen as nails. What matter a hungry belly, with the woods so still.He loves best dead branches rotting through, and scorns the old tree standing gaunt.Round eyes, snapping tail, a sprightly turn of mind. His tap-tap rapping is a sound to hear.

This bird, neither big nor small, would weigh on the scales two or three ounces. Copper-red beak, iron-black feet. With a swish he flew down. Bajie, head dropped, was fast asleep—and the bird drove straight at his lips, rap!

The Idiot scrambled up in a fright, bawling: "A demon! A demon! He speared me and flew off—my mouth hurts so!" He reached up and felt: blood was welling. He said, "Ill-starred that I am—I have no happy occasion; why is my mouth hung with red?" Gazing at his bloodied hand, muttering, he peered this way and that but saw nothing stirring. He said, "If there is no demon, who speared me just now?" Suddenly he looked up: it was a woodpecker, flying in midair. The Idiot ground his teeth and cursed: "You wretch! Let the Bimawen bully me—and now you too. Now I understand: he did not take me for a person at all—he took my snout for a stretch of black rotten wood with a worm inside, and pecked me a knock hunting the worm. I will tuck my snout in my shirt and go back to sleep." The Idiot rolled over and lay back down. Pilgrim flew in again and gave him another peck behind the ear. The Idiot scrambled up in a fright: "You wretch—now you are pestering me sorely! No doubt this is his nest, where he lays his eggs and broods his young, and he is afraid I will take it—that is why he pesters me so. Enough, enough—no more sleeping here." Shouldering his rake, he came straight off the red grass bank and took to the road again. And did not this delight Pilgrim Sun, whooping the Handsome Monkey King over with laughter! Pilgrim said, "This blockhead, eyes wide open, cannot tell his own folk when he sees them."

Brave Great Sage! He shook himself and changed again into the tiny midge, fastening behind his ear, never leaving his body. The Idiot went deep into the mountains and walked another four or five li, until in a fold of the hills he saw three square slabs of blue stone, each as big as a tabletop. The Idiot set down his rake and bowed low to the stones. Pilgrim laughed to himself: "This Idiot—stones are not people; they cannot talk, cannot return your bow. What is bowing to them for? A fine piece of folly." For the Idiot was taking the stones for the three of them—the Tang monk, Sha Monk, and Pilgrim—and rehearsing before them. He said: "When I go back and see Master, if he asks whether there are demons, I say there are demons. If he asks what mountain, and I say one molded of mud, built of earth, hammered of tin, cast of bronze, steamed of flour, pasted of paper, drawn with a brush—they will think me a fool. To say such things would be foolisher still. I will just say it is a stone mountain. If he asks what cave, I will say a stone cave. If he asks what gate, I will say a gate of iron plates, nailed fast. If he asks how far in, I will say three tiers within. If he presses further and asks how many nails on the gate, I will say this old pig was in a hurry and cannot recall for certain. That is the story complete—now to fool that Bimawen." His story finished, the Idiot dragged his rake and headed back the way he came.

Little did he know that Pilgrim, behind his ear, had heard it all, point by point. Seeing him turn back, Pilgrim beat both wings and got ahead of him, resumed his own form, and joined the master. The master said, "Wukong, you are back—why is Wuneng not with you?" Pilgrim laughed: "He is off cooking up his lie; he will be along presently." The elder said, "His two ears hang down over his eyes; he is a simple soul—what lie could he invent? Again you are inventing some tale to pin on him." Pilgrim said, "Master, you always take his part. This is something we can put to the question." Then he told it all in advance: how the Idiot had burrowed into the grass to sleep, been pecked awake by the woodpecker, bowed to the stones, and concocted his tale of a stone mountain, a stone cave, an iron-plated gate, and the demons.

Scarcely was this said when the Idiot came walking up. Afraid of forgetting his lie, head bowed, he was going over it under his breath. Pilgrim barked: "Idiot, what are you reciting?" Bajie lifted his ears to look and said, "Are we there already?" The Idiot came forward and knelt. The elder raised him up: "Disciple, hard work, I know." Bajie said, "It is that. Walking men, mountain-climbing men—nothing is harder." The elder said, "Are there demons?" Bajie said, "There are demons, there are demons—a whole heap of demons!" The elder said, "What did they send you back to say?" Bajie said, "They called me Ancestor Pig, Grandfather Pig, laid out some vermicelli soup and vegetarian dishes, gave me a fine meal, and said they would raise banners and drums to escort us over the mountain." Pilgrim said, "Most likely you fell asleep in the grass and are talking in your dream." At this the Idiot shrank two inches in terror: "Gracious Grandfather! I only slept—how could he know?" Pilgrim stepped up and seized him: "Come here; I have questions." The Idiot panicked again, trembling: "Ask, by all means—what is all this grabbing?" Pilgrim said, "What mountain is it?" Bajie said, "A stone mountain." "What cave?" "A stone cave." "What gate?" "A gate of iron plates, nailed fast." "How far within?" "Three tiers inside." Pilgrim said, "Say no more—the rest I remember perfectly. Fearing Master would not believe me, let me say it for you." Bajie said, "What a face! You never went—how would you know any of it, that you must say it for me?" Pilgrim laughed: "'How many nails on the gate? Say this old pig was in a hurry and cannot recall for certain.' Was that it?" The Idiot fell at once to his knees in a flurry. Pilgrim said, "You bowed to the stones, took them for the three of us, and asked and answered before them—was that it? And you said, 'When my lie is ready, I will fool that Bimawen'—was that it?" The Idiot could only kowtow again and again: "Brother, I went to scout the mountain—surely you did not follow along to listen?"

Pilgrim cursed: "You sack of chaff, you blockhead! I send you to scout so vital a place, and you go to sleep. If the woodpecker had not pecked you awake, you would be sleeping there still. And once pecked awake, you cook up so great a lie—would that not have ruined everything? Stick out those ankle-bones of yours quickly: five blows of the staff, to fix it in your memory." Bajie panicked: "That mourning staff is heavy—one graze and the skin splits, one swing and the sinews tear. Five blows would kill me." Pilgrim said, "If you fear the blows, why did you lie?" Bajie said, "Brother, only this once—never again, I swear." Pilgrim said, "Once is worth three blows." Bajie said, "Grandfather! I could not stand half a blow." At his wits' end, the Idiot clutched at the master: "Speak a word for me; make it easy." The elder said, "When Wukong said you had invented a lie I did not believe it; now it proves true, and you do deserve the blows. But just now, crossing this mountain, we are short of hands. Wukong, spare him for the present; once we are over the mountain, beat him then." Pilgrim said, "The ancients said, 'To do as father and mother say—that is called great filial devotion.' Master says no beating, so I spare you for now. Go and scout the mountain for him again. If you lie once more and wreck our business, I will not spare you one whit."

The Idiot had no choice but to get up and go again. See him hurrying up the great road—suspicion breeding dark ghosts—with every step suspecting that Pilgrim had transformed himself and was following him, so that anything he saw he took for Pilgrim. After seven or eight li he saw a tiger bound across the slope; unafraid, he raised his muckrake: "Come to hear me lie, Brother? This time I have made nothing up." Walking on, the mountain wind came fierce; with a whoosh it felled a dead tree, which rolled up before him. He stamped and beat his breast: "Brother, what is this now? I said I would not invent any lies—and you turn yourself into a tree to strike me?" Walking on again, he saw an old crow, white-necked, cawing right over his head, and he said: "Brother, for shame, for shame! I said I would make nothing up and I have made nothing up—why keep changing into an old crow? Come to listen, have you?" In fact this time Pilgrim had not followed him at all; the Idiot, all on his own, was startling and spooking himself, doubting and guessing wildly, so that wherever he went he suspected Pilgrim was at his side. But of the Idiot's terrors, no more for now.

Now that mountain was called Flat-Top Mountain, and the cave, Lotus Cave. Two demons lived in it: one called the Great King Golden Horn, one the Great King Silver Horn. Golden Horn was sitting in state when he said to Silver Horn: "Brother, how long has it been since we scouted our mountain?" Silver Horn said, "Half a month now." Golden Horn said, "Brother, come scout it with me today." Silver Horn said, "Why scout today of all days?" Golden Horn said, "You do not know? We hear that the Land of the East, the Tang, has sent its imperial brother, the Tang monk, west to worship the Buddha—a company of four, called Pilgrim Sun, Zhu Bajie, and Sha Monk; with the horse, five mouths in all. Find out where they are, and bring them to me." Silver Horn said, "When we want to eat men, can we not scoop up a few anywhere? If these monks pass by here, let them go." Golden Horn said, "You do not understand. When I left heaven long ago, I often heard it said: the Tang monk is the Elder Golden Cicada come down to the world, a good man ten lifetimes in religious practice, not one drop of his primal yang yet spilled. Whoever eats his flesh will lengthen his years and live forever." Silver Horn said, "If eating his flesh can lengthen life and make one immortal, what do we want with meditation, with merit, with refining dragon and tiger, pairing female with male? We should simply eat him. Wait—I will go take him." Golden Horn said, "Brother, you are hasty; do not rush. If you walk out that door and seize every monk you meet, careless of who he is, and he turns out not to be the Tang monk—there would be no living with the shame. I remember what they look like: I had a portrait made of the master and his disciples, their shapes drawn out. Take it with you, and when you meet monks, hold them up against it." Then he named each man for him, one by one. With the portrait in hand and the names by heart, Silver Horn left the cave at once, mustered thirty of the lesser demons, and set out to patrol the mountain.

Now Bajie, whose luck was running low, was walking along when—of all things—he ran smack into the demon band, which blocked his path: "Who goes there?" The Idiot raised his head, pushed back his ears, saw they were demons, and panicked. He thought to himself: "If I say I am a scripture-seeking monk, they will scoop me up." So he said only that he was traveling. The imp reported back: "Great King, he says he is a traveler." Of the thirty imps, some knew him and some did not. One standing by, watching and listening, said: "Great King, this monk looks like Zhu Bajie in the portrait." They were told to hang up the likeness. Bajie saw it and was aghast: "No wonder I have been feeling low of late—it is my portrait they have had carried out here." An imp held it up on his spear-point while Silver Horn pointed with his finger: "This one on the white horse is the Tang monk; this hairy-faced one is Pilgrim Sun. And..." Bajie, hearing this, said: "God of the walls and moats, if only they leave me out of it, this old pig vows a pig's head and the three sacrificial beasts, and twenty-four pure services." Muttering thus, he went on making his vows. The monster went on: "This tall black one is Sha Monk; this long-snouted, big-eared one is Zhu Bajie." At the mention of himself the Idiot, in a panic, tucked his snout into his shirt to hide it. The monster called: "Monk, stick out that snout." Bajie said, "A birth defect—it will not come out." The monster ordered the imps to hook it out. Bajie hurriedly stuck it out: "A mean little shape, that is all—is this not it? Look if you like; why the hooking?"

The monster saw it was Bajie, drew his precious blade, and made to hack. The Idiot raised his muckrake and held him off: "My child, none of your rudeness—taste the rake!" The monster laughed: "This monk took his vows along the way." Bajie said, "Good son, some perception you have! How do you know your lord took his vows along the way?" The monster said, "Any man who can handle that rake was surely leveling garden beds in someone's plot and stole it from him." Bajie said, "My child, what would you know of your lord's rake? It is not to be compared with a garden bed-rake. This is the rake that—"

Great teeth cast like a dragon's claws; gold-washed and shaped like a tiger's frame.When it meets a foe, a cold wind scatters; when it closes in combat, flames arise.It can sweep obstructions from the Tang monk's path and net demon spirits on the road to the Western Heaven.Set wheeling, its mists and vapor blot the sun and moon; set swinging, its dark clouds dim the stars of the Dipper.It can topple Mount Tai and terrify the tiger; heave over the great sea and startle the ancient dragon.Monster, clever as you are—one stroke of this rake leaves nine bloody holes.

At these words the monster would give no ground. He plied his Seven-Star Sword, throwing out all his schools of play, and with Bajie traded blow for blow in the mountains a good twenty rounds, no victor yet. Bajie turned savage and met him ready to die. The monster, seeing him flap his ears, spew sticky spittle, whirl his muckrake, and bellow and bawl, felt a real chill of dread; he turned at once to call his imps, and all fell on together. Man to man it would have been well enough. But when he saw the imps swarming in together he lost his nerve, could not parry them all, broke off the fight, and ran. The path was rough and he was not watching his feet when a vine of gourd-bine caught his step and he staggered. Scrambling up and hurrying on, he found an imp flat on the ground, who grabbed his heel and brought him down flat on his face. The pack caught up and pinned him: grasping his bristles, twisting his ears, tugging his legs, hauling his tail, shouldering and carrying, they bore him captive into the cave. Ah! And this was it:

One body's demons, once roused, are hard to quell; ten thousand kinds of calamity, once born, are not lightly cleared away.

But what would become of Zhu Bajie's life? Listen to the next chapter to find out.

On Flat-Top Mountain the Duty Officer brings word; in Lotus Cave the Wood-Mother meets disaster

Now that the Tang monk had won back Pilgrim Sun, master and disciples were one heart and one body, going west together. After they freed the princess in Baoxiang, the king and his ministers saw them out the western gate. There is no telling all their eating when hungry, drinking when thirsty, sleeping at nightfall, walking at daybreak. Then the season of mid-spring came on, and at that time:

A light wind blows the willows green as silk; the lovely scene is worth writing down.The season hurries the birds into song; warmth brings the flowers out; fragrant growth covers the ground.Pair swallows come to the courtyard of flowering crab apple; it is just the time to enjoy the spring.On the red dust of the violet roads: silk gowns, strings and flutes, the grass game and the passing cup.

As master and disciples walked and enjoyed the view, another mountain rose up and blocked the road. The Tang monk said, "Disciples, be careful. A high mountain ahead may have tigers and wolves to stop us." Pilgrim said, "Master, a man who has left home should not talk like a man who stays home. Do you remember what the Crow's Nest monk's Heart Sutra says: 'The mind without hindrance; without hindrance there is no fear, and one is far from upside-down dream-thinking'? But it is also written: 'Sweep the dirt from the heart; wash the dust from the ears. Without tasting the bitterest of the bitter, it is hard to become a person above all others.' Don't be anxious. While Old Sun is here, even if the sky fell in, I could keep you safe. What are tigers and wolves to us?" The elder reined in his horse and said: "I—

In those years I took the imperial order and left Chang'an, thinking only of going west to worship the Buddha's face.In the land of relics, golden statues shine with color; in the pagoda, the jade-white mark on the Buddha's brow glows.I have searched every nameless river under heaven and crossed every mountain people never reach.Mist and waves press on me, range upon range. When will this body ever know rest?"

Pilgrim heard this and laughed: "Master, if you want your body at rest, what is hard about that? Once the work is done, all ties are dropped and every law is seen as empty. At that point you are at rest naturally. Wouldn't that be rest for the body?" Hearing this, the elder could only be glad and forget his worries. He shook the reins and urged on the silver trappings; gathered the bridle and hurried the jade dragon onward.

Master and disciples climbed the mountain. It was very steep, truly rugged. A fine mountain:

Towering steep ridges, sharp-cut peaks. Below, winding dark ravines; beside them, lone sheer cliffs. In the winding dark ravines below, you hear the splash and roll of a python playing in the water; beside the lone sheer cliffs you see a tiger slashing its tail as it steps out of the woods. Look up: the peaks thrust through the blue sky. Look down: the gorges sink deep toward the heavens. Climbing up, it is like a ladder, like stairs; going down, like a trench, like a pit. Truly a strange range of peaks, truly linked cliffs with pared sides. On the peak ridges, herb gatherers think twice and fear to walk; before the pared cliffs, woodcutters can hardly move an inch. Wild goats and wild horses dart back and forth; cunning hares and mountain oxen range like troops in formation. The mountain is so high it hides the sun and the stars; now and then you meet demon beasts and gray wolves. The grassy paths are so tangled a horse can hardly pass. How could anyone get through to Thunderclap and see the Lord Buddha?

The elder reined in his horse and studied the mountain, right where the way was hardest. On the green sedge slope stood a woodcutter. Do you know how he was dressed?

On his head an old blue felt hat; on his body a black patched robe of hair.The old blue felt hat keeps off mist and sun—a rare thing indeed.The black patched robe is merry and free of care—truly seldom seen.In his hand a steel axe, honed bright and sharp; his knife cuts dead wood and binds it into tight bundles.Spring colors hang at his eaves; quietly all four seasons blend about him.Beyond the world, an idle heart, calm and faint as the Three Stars.To old age he simply lives as his lot allows; what glory or disgrace ever touches his hills?

And that woodcutter:

He was cutting rotten wood before the slope when he met the elder coming from the east.He stopped his axe, left the woods, and hurried up onto the rock ledge.

He called out to the elder at the top of his voice: "Elder going west, stop a moment. I have a word for you: on this mountain there is a band of cruel, poisonous demons who eat people traveling east and west." Hearing this, the elder's soul left him. Shaking, he could hardly sit his carved saddle. He turned quickly and called his disciples in a hurry: "Did you hear what that woodcutter said? 'On this mountain there are cruel, poisonous demons.' Who dares go and question him closely?" Pilgrim said, "Master, don't worry. Let Old Sun go find out exactly what's what."

The fine Pilgrim strode up the mountain, called "Big brother" to the woodcutter, and made a salutation. The woodcutter returned the greeting and said, "Elder, what brings you here?" Pilgrim said, "To tell you the truth, big brother, we were sent from the Land of the East to fetch the scriptures from the Western Heaven. The one on the horse is my master, and he is a little timid. You were kind enough to tell us there are cruel, poisonous demons here, so I've come to ask: how many years has this demon been a demon, how many years has this monster been a monster? Is he an old hand, or a greenhorn? Please tell me plainly, big brother, so I can have the mountain god and the local earth god take him into custody and move him along." The woodcutter looked up to heaven and laughed: "So you're a crazy monk." Pilgrim said, "I'm not crazy. This is the honest truth." The woodcutter said, "Honest, you say? How dare you talk of taking him into custody and moving him along?" Pilgrim said, "You build up his name like this and block the road with wild talk. Aren't you related to him? If not a relative, then a neighbor. If not a neighbor, then a friend." The woodcutter laughed: "You crazy, brazen monk, you make no sense at all. I meant well. I came specially to warn you, so you could be on guard morning and night as you walked. And you turn it around and pin it on me. Never mind whether I know where the demons come from. Suppose I did. How would you dare take him into custody? Custody to where?" Pilgrim said, "If he's a demon of heaven, I hand him to the Jade Emperor. If a demon of earth, to the Bureau of Earth. Those of the west go back to the Buddha; those of the east, to the Sage. A northern demon goes to Zhenwu; a southern one to the Lord of Fire. A flood-dragon spirit goes to the lord of the sea; a haunting ghost to King Yama. Each has his own ground and direction. Old Sun knows people everywhere. I write out one warrant and have him escorted flying through the night."

The woodcutter could not help a cold laugh: "You crazy, brazen monk. I suppose you've wandered about learning some tricks with charms and spell-water—good for driving off evil and tying up ghosts. But you have never yet run into a monster this vicious." Pilgrim said, "How is he vicious?" The woodcutter said, "This mountain runs six hundred li or so, and it is called Flat-Top Mountain. In it is a cave called Lotus Cave. Inside are two demon kings. They have had portraits drawn of the monks they want to catch, and copied out names, hunting for the Tang monk to eat him. If you came from anywhere else, fine. But if the word 'Tang' is on you, don't think of getting through. Not getting through." Pilgrim said, "We are exactly the ones from the Tang." The woodcutter said, "Then he means to eat you." Pilgrim said, "What luck, what luck! Only—how does he plan to eat us?" The woodcutter said, "How would you like him to eat you?" Pilgrim said, "If he starts at the head, it's all good fun. If he starts at the feet, that's rough." The woodcutter said, "What do you mean, starts at the head? What do you mean, starts at the feet?" Pilgrim said, "You've never been through it. If he starts at the head, one bite and it's done—I'm dead, and let him boil me, fry me, or stew me, I won't feel a thing. If he starts at the feet, he gnaws my shins, chews my legs, and works up to my waist bones while I'm still not quite dead. Wouldn't I suffer piece by piece? That's what makes it rough." The woodcutter said, "Monk, he has no time for all that. He'll just grab you, tie you in a cage, steam you whole, and eat you." Pilgrim laughed: "That's even better, even better. No unbearable pain—just some dull misery." The woodcutter said, "Monk, stop joking. That demon carries five treasures on him, and his powers are vast beyond measure. He is a jade pillar holding up the sky, a golden beam bridging the sea. If you mean to get the Tang monk through, you'll have to faint a few times." Pilgrim said, "Faint how many times?" The woodcutter said, "Three or four faints, at least." Pilgrim said, "No matter, no matter. We faint seven or eight hundred times a year. Three or four faints are easy. A few faints and it's over."

The Great Sage was not afraid at all; his one thought was to protect the Tang monk. He broke away from the woodcutter, strode back, and came straight to the horse's head on the slope: "Master, it's nothing much. There is a demon or two, but the people here are timid, and it weighs on them. With me here, what is there to fear? Walk on, walk on." Hearing this, the elder had to set his mind at ease and go on. As they went, the woodcutter was gone. The elder said, "How did that woodcutter who brought the warning vanish like that?" Bajie said, "Our luck is low—we've met a ghost in broad daylight." Pilgrim said, "I suppose he went into the woods to look for firewood. Wait while I go and see."

The Great Sage opened his fiery eyes and golden pupils and searched over hills and ridges. No trace anywhere. Suddenly he looked up into the clouds and saw it was the Duty Officer of the Day. He rode a cloud after him and cursed him several times, "Hairy devil!" and said, "Why didn't you come and tell me straight, instead of changing your shape like that and putting on a show for Old Sun?" The officer bowed in a fright: "Great Sage, forgive my late warning, forgive me. That monster truly has great powers and endless changes. It all depends on how nimble and clever you are, and how you use your wits. Guard your master carefully. If you slack even a little, don't think of the road to the Western Heaven."

Pilgrim heard him, waved the officer off, and took it all to heart. He brought his cloud down and came back up the mountain, where the elder was moving along with Bajie and Sha Monk close around him. Pilgrim thought to himself: "If I tell Master exactly what the Duty Officer said, he's no good in a crisis—he'll cry on the spot. But if I don't tell him and just lead him along blind, then as the saying goes, 'just stepped into the reed marsh, no knowing how deep it is.' If a demon snatches him, won't Old Sun have to worry all over again? Let me look after Bajie a bit—send him out first to trade blows with the monster and see. If he can beat it, the credit is his. If he has no skill and the monster takes him, Old Sun can go rescue him at his leisure—and that will show off my own powers and make my name." As he turned it over, he asked his own heart: "Only, Bajie may dodge the work and refuse to go out front, and Master may side with him. Let Old Sun rein him in."

The Great Sage put on an act. He rubbed his eyes until he rubbed out some tears, then walked straight toward his master, weeping. Bajie saw it and called out at once: "Sha Monk, put down the load and bring out the luggage. Let's split it between us." Sha Monk said, "Second Brother, split it for what?" Bajie said, "Split it and be done. You go back to the Flowing Sand River and be a monster again. This old pig goes back to Gao Village and waits for his wife. We'll sell the white horse, buy a coffin, and see Master to his grave. Everyone scatters—are we still going to the Western Heaven?" The elder heard this from the horse: "You clod. We're walking along—what is this nonsense?" Bajie said, "It's your son who talks nonsense. Can't you see Sun Wukong coming along crying? He's a hero who fears nothing—boring through the sky, digging into the earth, axes, fire, a vat of boiling oil. And now he comes along wearing a hat of sorrow, eyes swimming with tears. It must be that the mountain is too dangerous and the demons too fierce. Weaklings like us—how can we get through?" The elder said, "Stop your chatter. Let me ask him what this is about." He asked, "Wukong, if you have something on your mind, say it to my face. Why grieve by yourself? What's this crying face—are you trying to scare me to death?" Pilgrim said, "Master, the one who brought the warning just now was the Duty Officer of the Day. He says the monsters are fierce and this place is hard to get through. The mountain really is high and the road steep. We can't go forward. Let's go another day." Hearing this, the elder was frightened and gripped the tiger-skin kilt: "Disciple, we have walked more than a third of the road already. Why talk of turning back?" Pilgrim said, "I would never hold back my effort. I only fear the demons are many and my strength is thin, and we travel as a lonely handful. 'Even if you're a lump of iron, how many nails can one trip to the furnace make?'" The elder said, "Disciple, there's truth in that. One man alone really is not enough. The books of war say: 'The few cannot stand against the many.' I still have Bajie and Sha Monk here. They are disciples too. Use them and order them as you see fit—as guards, as helpers. With one heart, clear the mountain paths and lead me over, and won't the true fruit be won all round?"

All this fussing by Pilgrim only fished those few words out of the elder. He wiped his tears and said, "Master, to get over this mountain, Zhu Bajie must agree to two things of mine. Then there's a three-in-ten chance of getting through. If he won't take my word and can't stand in for me, don't dream of crossing, not half a tenth of it." Bajie said, "Big brother, if we're not going, let's scatter. Don't drag me in." The elder said, "Disciple, ask your big brother what he wants you to do." The Idiot really did ask Pilgrim: "Brother, what work do you want from me?" Pilgrim said, "First, watch Master. Second, scout the mountain." Bajie said, "Watching Master is sitting still; scouting the mountain is walking. You don't mean for me to sit a while and then walk, walk a while and then sit? How could I manage both at once?" Pilgrim said, "I'm not asking you to do both. Take one and that's enough." Bajie laughed again: "That can be arranged. But what's watching Master like, and what's scouting the mountain like? Explain it to me first, and I'll take whichever suits me better." Pilgrim said, "Watching Master: when Master goes to relieve himself, you wait on him. When Master wants to walk, you support him. When Master wants a meal, you beg for it. If he's a little hungry, you get beaten. If his face turns a little sallow, you get beaten. If his body gets a little thin, you get beaten." Bajie panicked: "That's hard, hard, hard. Waiting and supporting are nothing. I could even carry him on my back and not leave his side—that's still easy. But if I have to go into the villages begging for food—out here on the western road they won't know I'm a sutra-seeking monk. They'll think I'm a half-grown boar that wandered out of the mountains. A crowd will gather with pitchforks, rakes, and brooms, knock this old pig down, carry me home, slaughter me, and salt me away for the New Year. Wouldn't that be a plague on me?" Pilgrim said, "Then scout the mountain." Bajie said, "And what does scouting the mountain mean?" Pilgrim said, "Go into this mountain and find out how many monsters there are, what mountain it is, what cave it is. Then we'll know how to get past." Bajie said, "That's small work. This old pig will scout the mountain." The Idiot tucked up his robe, shouldered his nail rake, and marched stiff with pride straight into the deep mountains; chest out, he struck off down the high road.

Pilgrim stood to one side, unable to hold back a cold, quiet laugh. The elder scolded him: "You brazen monkey! You brothers have no love between you at all, only a heart full of jealousy. You cook up this tricksy scheme, talk him sweetly into scouting the mountain, and then stand here laughing at him." Pilgrim said, "I'm not laughing at him. There's a taste in my laugh. Watch: Bajie will not scout the mountain, and he won't dare face the monsters either. He'll go hide somewhere for a while, invent a lie, and fool us with it." The elder said, "How can you know that already?" Pilgrim said, "I can tell that's what he'll do. If you don't believe me, wait while I follow him and listen. First, to help him with his skill against the monsters; second, to see whether he has a true heart for the Buddha at all." The elder said, "Good, good, good. But don't go and play tricks on him." Pilgrim agreed, hurried up the slope, shook himself, and changed into a tiny gnat. He made a light, neat little change. See him:

Wings thin, dancing on the wind without effort; waist sharp and small as a needle.Through rushes and grass, past the shade of flowers; swifter than a shooting star, and more.Eyes bright and shining; voice faint and soundless.Of all insects, none is smaller; neat and light, and full of deep cunning.Many a lazy day it rests in a hidden wood: the whole body cannot be seen, and a thousand eyes could not find it.

With a whir of wings he flew off, caught up with Bajie, and stuck to the base of the bristles behind his ear. The Idiot just kept walking. How would he know someone was on him? After seven or eight li he dropped the nail rake, spun around, faced the Tang monk, and cursed him, waving his hands: "You spineless old monk, you pinched, skinflint Bimawen, you soft-faced Sha Monk—you're all taking it easy while you trick this old pig into tramping the roads. We're all fetching the scriptures, all hoping to win the true fruit—and me alone they send to scout some mountain. Ha ha ha! If there are monsters, dodge around them—that much is plain—and yet they send me out hunting for them. What rotten luck. I'll find someplace to sleep. I'll sleep a while, go back, give him some vague answers, say I scouted the mountain, and settle the account." Feeling pleased with his luck, the Idiot shouldered his rake and walked on, until he saw a bend of red grass in a hollow of the hills. He burrowed straight into it, spread his rake flat for a bed, rolled over, and lay down. He stretched his back and sighed: "This is the life. Even that Bimawen can't be as comfy as this."

Now Pilgrim, behind his ear, had heard every word. He could not help flying up to work another trick on him. He shook himself again and changed into a woodpecker bird. See him:

An iron beak, sharp-tipped, with a red sheen; kingfisher-green plumes, bright and brilliant.A pair of steel claws sharp as nails. A hungry belly—what does it care that the wood is still?It loves dead, rotten branches best, and scorns a lone old tree.Round eyes, quick tail, a nimble nature. Its tap-tap tapping is worth hearing.

The bird was neither big nor small: on the scales it weighed two or three ounces. A red-copper beak, black-iron feet. With a whirr of wings it flew down. Bajie lay with his head thrown back, fast asleep, and the bird gave his lips one hard peck.

The Idiot scrambled up in a fright, shouting: "A monster, a monster! Something stabbed me with a spear and flew off. My mouth hurts so bad!" He felt his lips, and blood welled out. He said, "What bad luck! I've no happy event at home—why is there red hanging on my lips?" Holding up his bloody hand, muttering away, he looked all around and saw nothing stirring. He said, "There's no monster here. What stabbed me with a spear?" Suddenly he looked up: it was a woodpecker bird flying in mid-air. The Idiot ground his teeth and cursed: "You wretch! Let the Bimawen bully me—but you too? Now I get it. He didn't know I was a person. He took my mouth for a black, rotten, dead tree with worms inside, and came hunting worms, and gave me that peck. Very well—I'll tuck my mouth inside my shirt and sleep." The Idiot rolled over and lay down again. Pilgrim flew back and pecked him once more behind the ear. The Idiot jumped up in a fright: "You wretch! You pester me hard. I suppose this is your nest, where you lay your eggs and raise your chicks, and you're afraid I'll take it over. That's why you keep at me. Enough, enough, enough—I'll sleep no more." He picked up his rake, came out of the red grass, found the path, and walked on. You can imagine how it delighted Pilgrim—how it felled the Handsome Monkey King with laughter. Pilgrim said, "This clod has two wide-open eyes, and he can't even know his own kin."

The Great Sage shook himself once more, changed back into the tiny gnat, stuck behind his ear again, and never left his body. The Idiot went deeper into the mountains, another four or five li, until he saw in a hollow three square slabs of bluestone, each as big as a table. The Idiot put down his rake and bowed low to the stones. Pilgrim laughed to himself: "This Idiot. Stones aren't people. They can't talk and can't bow back. What's the point of bowing to them? Isn't that the height of folly?" The truth is, the Idiot was taking the stones for the Tang monk, Sha Monk, and Pilgrim, and rehearsing in front of them. He said: "When I go back and see Master, if he asks if there are monsters, I'll say there are monsters. If he asks what mountain—well, if I said a mud-pinched mountain, a dirt-piled mountain, a tin-smithied mountain, a copper-cast mountain, a flour-steamed mountain, a paper-pasted mountain, a brush-painted mountain, they'd know I was being a fool. Talking like that would only sound more foolish. I'll just say it's a stone mountain. If he asks what cave, I'll say a stone cave. If he asks what gate, I'll say a sheet-iron gate with iron nails. If he asks how far in, I'll say three layers inside. And if he searches me further and asks how many nails are in the gate, I'll say this old pig was in a hurry and didn't get the number right. With the story built up here, I'll go fool that Bimawen." The Idiot patched his tale together, dragged his rake, and headed straight back the way he came.

How could he know Pilgrim was behind his ear, hearing it all plainly? Seeing him turn back, Pilgrim beat his two wings and flew ahead first. He showed his true form and met his master. The master said, "Wukong, you're back. Why hasn't Wuneng come?" Pilgrim laughed: "He's off somewhere inventing a lie. He'll be here soon." The elder said, "He's a dull soul with two ears hanging over his eyes. What lie could he invent? You've made up some tale again and pinned it on him." Pilgrim said, "Master, you always take his side. This is something we can put to the test." Then he told it all in advance: how Bajie had burrowed into the grass to sleep, been pecked awake by the woodpecker bird, bowed to the stones, and made up his stone mountain, stone cave, iron-sheet gate, and monsters talk.

When he finished, before long the Idiot came along. Afraid of forgetting his lie, he hung his head, going over it under his breath. Pilgrim shouted: "Idiot, what are you reciting?" Bajie lifted his ear and looked: "Am I at the place already?" The Idiot came up and knelt down. The elder helped him up: "Disciple, hard work." Bajie said, "It is. The one who walks the road, the one who climbs the mountain—he has the hardest lot." The elder said, "Are there monsters?" Bajie said, "There are monsters, there are monsters—a whole heap of monsters!" The elder said, "How did they treat you?" Bajie said, "They called me Pig Ancestor and Pig Grandfather. They laid out noodle soup and vegetarian dishes and gave me a good meal, and said they would raise banners and drums and escort us over the mountain." Pilgrim said, "I suppose you fell asleep in the grass and you're talking in your dream." At this the Idiot shrank two inches in fright: "Grandpa! I was asleep. How could he know that?" Pilgrim stepped up and grabbed him: "Come here. Let me ask you a few things." The Idiot panicked again and said, trembling: "Ask, by all means. Why grab and haul?" Pilgrim said, "What mountain is it?" Bajie said, "A stone mountain." "What cave?" "A stone cave." "What gate?" "A sheet-iron gate with nails." "How far inside?" "Three layers in." Pilgrim said, "You can stop there. I remember the last part well. For fear Master won't believe it, let me say it for you." Bajie said, "What a face! You never went. How would you know anything to say for me?" Pilgrim laughed: "'How many nails are in the gate? This old pig was in a hurry and didn't get the number right.' Isn't that it?" The Idiot dropped to his knees at once. Pilgrim said, "You bowed to the stones, took them for the three of us, and asked and answered by yourself. Isn't that it? And you said: 'Once I've got the lie built up, I'll go fool that Bimawen.' Isn't that it?" The Idiot could only knock his head on the ground: "Big brother, I went to scout the mountain. You didn't follow me to listen, did you?"

Pilgrim cursed: "You stuffed sack of chaff, you clod! I send you on such an urgent errand, to scout the mountain, and you go to sleep. If the woodpecker bird hadn't pecked you awake, you'd be sleeping there still. And once it pecked you awake, you built up this huge lie. Wouldn't that ruin everything? Stick out your shins quickly. Five staff strokes, to fix it in your memory." Bajie panicked: "That mourning staff of yours is heavy. A graze flattens the skin; a swing hurts the sinews. Five strokes would kill me." Pilgrim said, "If you're afraid of a beating, why do you lie?" Bajie said, "Brother, just this once. Never again." Pilgrim said, "Once means three strokes." Bajie said, "Grandpa! I can't take even half a stroke." The Idiot, at his wits' end, grabbed his master: "Say something for me. Get me off." The elder said, "Wukong said you'd invented a lie, and I didn't believe it. Now it turns out true. You do deserve a beating. But we're short of hands for crossing this mountain. Wukong, spare him for now. Once we're over, beat him then." Pilgrim said, "The ancients say: 'To fall in with what your father and mother say is called great filial piety.' Since Master says no beating, I'll let you off this once. Go scout the mountain for him again. But if you lie again and spoil the work, I won't spare you one stroke."

The Idiot had to get up and go again. See him striding down the high road, suspicion breeding dark ghosts. Every step he suspected that Pilgrim had changed shape and was tagging along, so anything he saw, he took for Pilgrim. After seven or eight li, a tiger ran across the slope. He wasn't even scared. He raised his nail rake and said, "Big brother, come to listen to my lie? I won't make one up this time." Walking further, a mountain gust came so hard that, with a whoosh, it blew a dead tree over, rolling right up to him. He stamped his feet and beat his chest: "Brother, what is this? I only just said I wouldn't make up lies, and now you turn into a tree to beat me?" Walking further, he saw an old crow with a white neck cawing at him, right over his head, several times in a row. He said, "Brother, no shame, no shame. I said I wouldn't make up a lie, and I won't. Why keep turning into an old crow? Come to listen, have you?" The truth is, this time Pilgrim was not following him at all. The Idiot was frightening himself, wondering and guessing wildly, so that everything he met seemed like Pilgrim tagging his heels. But let the Idiot's frights rest.

Now that mountain is called Flat-Top Mountain, and the cave is called Lotus Cave. There are two demons inside: one is called the Gold-Horned King, the other the Silver-Horned King. The Gold-Horned King was sitting when he said to the Silver-Horned King: "Brother, how long has it been since we scouted the mountain?" The Silver-Horned King said, "Half a month." The Gold-Horned King said, "Brother, come scout it with me today." The Silver-Horned King said, "What's the point of scouting today?" The Gold-Horned King said, "You don't know. Lately I've heard that the Land of the East, the country of Tang, has sent Tang Seng, the emperor's sworn brother, to the Western Heaven to worship the Buddha—a party of four, called Pilgrim Sun, Zhu Bajie, and Sha Monk; with the horse, five heads in all. Find out where they are and bring them to me." The Silver-Horned King said, "If we want to eat people, we can scoop some up anywhere. Let these monks go by." The Gold-Horned King said, "You don't understand. Back when I came out of heaven, I often heard it said: the Tang monk is Elder Golden Cicada come down to earth, a good man ten lifetimes in cultivation, and not one drop of his primal essence has ever leaked. Whoever eats his flesh will live long and never die." The Silver-Horned King said, "If eating his flesh gives long life and deathlessness, what do we want with sitting in meditation, building merit, refining dragon and tiger, pairing yin and yang? The thing to do is eat him. Wait—I'll go take him." The Gold-Horned King said, "Brother, you're too hasty. Don't rush. If you walk out that gate and grab every monk you see, and it turns out not to be the Tang monk, it would shame us before the world. I remember what he looks like. I had his whole party drawn—a portrait and a figure sheet. Take it, and when you meet any monk, check him against it." Then he told him which name went with which man, one by one. The Silver-Horned King took the picture, learned the names, came out of the cave, called up thirty little demons, and set out to patrol the mountain.

Now Bajie's luck was running low. As he walked, he ran straight into the band of demons. They blocked his way and shouted: "Who goes there?" The Idiot raised his head, flapped up his ears, and saw the demons. He panicked and thought: "If I say I'm a sutra-fetching monk, they'll scoop me up." So he only said he was a traveler. The little demons reported back: "Your Majesty, he's a traveler." Among the thirty little demons, some knew him and some did not. Some stood by, listening and pointing, and said: "Your Majesty, this monk looks like the Zhu Bajie in that picture." They called for the portrait sheet to be hung up. Bajie saw it and was shocked: "No wonder I've had no energy lately. It's because he's had my portrait carried here!" The little demons held it up on their spears, and the Silver-Horned King pointed with his finger: "This one on the white horse is the Tang monk; this furry-faced one is Pilgrim Sun. …" Bajie heard it and cried: "City God, it's fine if they leave me out. Pig heads and three whole beasts, twenty-four sets of clean offerings I'll vow!" He went on muttering, making one vow after another. The demon went on: "This tall dark one is Sha Monk; this long-mouthed, big-eared one is Zhu Bajie." Hearing his own name, the Idiot stuffed his snout inside his shirt in a fright. The demon called: "Monk, stick out that snout." Bajie said, "Born with it. It won't come out." The demon ordered the little demons to hook it out with a hook. The Idiot thrust his snout out in a panic: "It's just a homely snout, isn't it? Look if you want to look. Why hook at it?"

The demon saw it was Bajie, drew his precious blade, and came up chopping. The Idiot raised his nail rake and caught the blow: "My child, none of your rudeness. Take the rake!" The demon laughed: "This monk took his vows halfway down the road." Bajie said, "Good son, you've got some sense. How do you know this old gentleman took his vows halfway down the road?" The demon said, "You can swing that rake, so you must have hoed someone's garden and stolen it there." Bajie said, "My child, how would you know this old gentleman's rake? I'm not like those garden hoes. This is:

Cast with great teeth like a dragon's claw, dressed in gold like a tiger's shape.Met in battle, it scatters cold wind; locked in a fight, it brings flames to life.It can clear the road of trouble for the Tang monk and catch demons on the way to the Western Heaven.Swung, its mist and glow hide sun and moon; raised, its dark clouds dim the warring stars.It can knock down Mount Tai—tigers fear it; it can overturn the great sea—old dragons dread it.However much skill this demon has, one blow of this rake leaves nine bloody holes."

Hearing this, the demon would not give an inch. He swung his seven-star sword, threw out all his strokes, and fought Bajie back and forth in the mountains for twenty rounds, with no winner. Bajie turned fierce and met him ready to die. When the demon saw him flapping his ears, spitting froth, whirling the nail rake, and yelling at the top of his lungs, he felt some real fear. He turned and called the little demons, and they all attacked at once. One against one would have been fine. But when he saw all those little demons swarming in, his hands and feet went wild. He could not parry them all, lost the field, turned, and ran. The road was uneven and he was not watching. A melon vine caught his foot and he staggered. He got up and was running when a little demon lying flat on the ground grabbed his heel and pulled: down he went again, flat on his face. Then the whole crowd caught up and pinned him—grabbing his bristles, twisting his ears, tugging his feet, hauling his tail—and carried him off into the cave. Ah! Truly:

When demons rise against one man, they are hard to wipe out; ten thousand kinds of disaster, once born, are not easily ended.

But would Zhu Bajie live or die? Listen to the next chapter to find out.