Chapter 37

The Ghost King Calls on Tang Tripitaka by Night; Wukong's Divine Transformations Bring On the Young Prince

Now Tripitaka sat beneath the lamp in the meditation hall of the Treasure Grove Monastery, chanting a while in the Liang Emperor's Water Penitential and reading a while in the True Scripture of the Peacock, and it was the third watch before he wrapped the volume in its bag. He was rising to go to bed when he heard outside the door a sudden crash and a wild wind blustering chill. The elder, fearing the lamp would be blown out, hurriedly screened it with his stole's sleeve. The lamp burned now bright, now dim, and his heart took fright and his gall trembled. Drowsiness then came over him, and he dozed slumped on the scripture desk. Though his eyes were shut in a haze, his mind stayed clear; his ears caught the soughing of the dark wind whistling past the window. What a wind! Truly:

Sighing and sifting, drifting and driving.Sighing and sifting, it whirled the fallen leaves; drifting and driving, it rolled the floating clouds.The stars of all the sky were dimmed; the dust and sand of all the ground were whirled abroad.Now a burst of fury, now a stretch of even flow.When even, it tapped clear music from the pines and bamboo; when fierce, it muddied the waves of river and lake;it gusted till the mountain birds could hardly perch, choking in their cries, and the fish of the sea, unquiet, leapt and spouted;east and west the doors and windows of the pavilions tore loose; before and behind, the cloister rooms stood glaring like gods and ghosts;the flower vases of the Buddha hall were blown to the ground; the glazed lamps swung and guttered, and the lamp of wisdom dimmed;the censers tilted and spilt their ash; the candle stands listed, and the candle flames smoked.Streamer and canopy shook and tore; the tower of bell and drum rocked to its roots.

In his drowsy dream the elder heard the wind pass, and then, faintly from outside the meditation hall, a voice calling "Master!" He looked up in his dream and saw a man standing outside the door, drenched from head to foot, tears in his eyes, crying "Master!" over and over. Tripitaka half rose: "Are you some goblin or sprite, some spirit or demon, come at the deep of night to mock me? I am none of the covetous and wrathful sort; I am a monk of the open and upright way, sent by the mandate of the great Tang of the eastern lands to worship the Buddha in the Western Heaven and seek scriptures. I have three disciples, heroes all, who subdue dragons and tame tigers, stalwarts who sweep away monsters and root out demons. Were they to see you, they would shatter your corpse and powder your bones to fine dust. That is the mercy I speak with—a deed of forbearance. Go now, hide yourself far away, and come no more to my meditation door." The man stood leaning at the meditation hall: "Master, I am no demon or devil, no goblin or imp." "If you are none of that kind, why come here at this dead hour?" said Tripitaka. "Master, open your eyes and look at me," said the man. The elder did indeed fix his eyes on him—and ah! Behold:

On his head a crown that reached toward heaven; at his waist a belt of jade-green stone; on his body a robe of ochre yellow, flying dragons and dancing phoenixes; on his feet cloud-topped shoes of embroidered make, the carefree kind; in his hand a scepter of white jade arrayed with the stars of the Dipper. His face was like the Long-Life Emperor of the Eastern Peak; his bearing like the Lord Wenchang, the Opener of Culture.

Tripitaka was greatly startled and lost color; he bowed low at once and called out loudly: "What sovereign is this? Pray be seated." He reached out in haste to help him up—and grasped at emptiness. Turning back and composing himself to sit, he looked again: the man was there still. The elder asked: "Your Majesty, emperor of what realm? A prince of what state? No doubt your land is unquiet, slanderous ministers oppress you, and you have fled in the night to this place. Whatever you would say, say it and let me hear." Then at last the man, tears dropping on his cheeks, told his old tale, sorrow knotting his brows as he set out its causes. He said: "Master, my home lies due west, only forty li or so from here. There in that quarter stands a city—it is where my house was founded." "What is the place called?" asked Tripitaka. "To tell you the truth, Master, it was there that I founded my house and gave it the name of the Black Rooster Kingdom." "Your Majesty, in such alarm—what matter has brought you here?" "Master, five years ago the seasons here turned dry, not a seed of grass sprang up, and the people starved to death—a grievous thing." Hearing this, Tripitaka nodded and smiled: "Your Majesty, the ancients said: 'When the state is upright, the heart of heaven complies.' I suspect you had no pity on your myriad people. Famine had struck—why did you flee the city walls? Go instead and open the granaries, relieve the common folk, repent your former faults, renew goodness now, and free those wronged by crooked law; then the heart of heaven will come into accord, and the rains will fall in season and the winds blow fair." The man said: "The granaries of my kingdom stand empty; money and grain are spent outright. The stipends of civil and military alike are stopped, and there is no meat even in the sovereign's meals. I took pattern from King Yu who tamed the waters: I bore sweet and bitter with the myriad people, bathed and fasted, burned incense and prayed day and night. Three years of this, and the rivers dried and the wells ran dry. And just at the crisis, from Zhongnan Mountain came a Perfect Truth adept who could summon wind and call down rain, touch stone to gold. He first saw my civil and military officers, then saw me; we asked him at once to mount the altar and pray—and there was answer indeed. At the crack of his command tablet, in a moment the rain came down in torrents. I had hoped for three chi of rain, no more; he said so long a drought could not be softened with so little, and he added two inches beyond. Seeing such righteousness in him I swore brotherhood with him, eight bows deep, and called him brother." "That was a joy ten thousandfold for Your Majesty," said Tripitaka. "And where does the joy come in?" said the man. "Since the adept had such powers, when you wanted rain you had but to ask it of him; when you wanted gold, ask him to make it. What more could you lack, that you have left your palace walls and come here?" The man said: "I ate at his board and slept under his roof two years only. Then came the warmth of spring: red apricot and tender peach broke into blossom and bud. In every house the young men and maidens, everywhere the lords' sons, went out to take the spring air and delight themselves. In that season the civil and military went back to their offices, the consorts to their courts. The adept and I walked hand in hand at an easy pace into the imperial garden, and coming suddenly to the octagonal glazed-tile well, he dropped some object or other in, and ten thousand rays of golden light shone up from the well. He coaxed me to the well's edge to see what treasure, then his heart turned murderous: with a plunge he pushed me down into the well, clapped a stone slab over the mouth, heaped earth upon it, and set a banana plant growing on top. Pity me! Three years dead now—a wronged ghost, done to death down a well."

Tang monk, hearing he was a ghost, went weak in bone and sinew with fright, hair standing and marrow chilled. There was nothing for it; he could only question him again: "Your Majesty, none of this is reasonable. You have been dead three years—when the civil and military officials and the consorts of the three palaces came to audience at court, how is it none of them sought you?" The man said: "Master, as for his arts, they are indeed rare in this world. The moment he had done me to death he shook himself in the garden and took my very shape, without the least difference. He now occupies my rivers and mountains, secretly usurps my realm. My two ranks of civil and military, my four hundred officers of court, the consorts of the three palaces and the ladies of the six courts—he has made all of them his own." "Your Majesty, you were too weak," said Tripitaka. "Weak how?" said the man. "Your Majesty, the monster has real powers: he took your shape and usurped your heaven and earth, and none of the civil and military knew it, none of the consorts perceived it—only you died knowing it. Why did you not lodge a full complaint with King Yama in the dark jurisdiction, and state your wrongs there?" The man said: "His powers are vast and his connections close: the City God of the capital drinks with him often; the Dragon Kings of the sea are all kin to him; the Equal-of-Heaven of the Eastern Peak is his good friend; the kings of the Ten Courts of Yama are his sworn brothers. For such reasons I had no door left to knock at."

Tripitaka said: "Your Majesty, if you had no power to accuse him in the dark jurisdiction, why come into my world of the living?" The man said: "Master, how could one spark of a wronged soul like mine dare come to your gate? Before the mountain gate ride the guardian devas of the Law, the Six Dings and Six Jias, the guardians of the five quarters, the Duty Officers of the Four Watches, and the eighteen Sangharama guardians of the faith, close at your saddle. Only just now the Night-Wandering God, with a gust of his divine wind, sent me in. He said my three years' water calamity had run its course, and bade me come pay my respects to you, Master. He said you had a great disciple, the Great Sage Equal to Heaven, of supreme skill at cutting down monsters and subduing demons. So I come with singleness of heart to beg you: a thousand times I beg you to come to my kingdom, seize the demon, and make the false and the true plain. I will repay you as the grass-knot and the ring repay their benefactors." "Your Majesty, you have come to ask my disciple to rid you of that demon?" said Tripitaka. "Just so, just so," said the man. "My disciple is no great hand at other business, but at subduing demons and catching monsters he is just the man. Your Majesty, though we set him to take the monster, I fear the right of the matter will be hard to carry." "Hard to carry how?" said the man. Tripitaka said: "That monster's powers are vast and he is changed into your very likeness; the civil and military of the whole court are one by one at peace with him in word and heart; the consorts of the three palaces are one by one of a mind with him. However great my disciple's arts, he will never dare lightly take up arms. If the assembled officials seize him and charge us with bullying a state and extinguishing a kingdom, and arraign us for high treason, trapped in that city—would that not be painting a tiger and ending with a goose?" "There is still one man of mine at court," said the man.

"Good, good!" said Tripitaka. "No doubt some elder kinsman of the royal house, dispatched to hold some post elsewhere?" "No," said the man. "In my own palace there is a prince, the heir of my own begetting." "That prince, I suppose, the demon has banished?" said Tripitaka. "No. He is ever on the Golden Chime Hall, in the Tower of Five Phoenices—expounding books with the academicians, or ascending the dais with the adept. For three years now the prince has been barred from the inner palace and may not see the queen mother." "What is the reason of that?" asked Tripitaka. "It is a stratagem of the monster's. He fears that if mother and son met, their idle talk would bring the truth to light and the secret would leak. So the two are kept apart, and he endures forever in his place," said the man. Tripitaka said: "Your calamity, I take it, was heaven's allotment—and it is like my own. In those days my father was slain by river pirates, and my mother was dishonored by them; three months on, she gave birth to me. I escaped with my life in the water, and by the grace of my kindly master of Golden Mountain Monastery I was reared to manhood. I remember my childhood without father and mother; this prince, too, has lost both parents—truly a piteous case!"

He asked again: "Even granting you have a prince at court, how am I to meet him?" "How should you not meet him?" said the man. "He is held in the demon's control; he may not so much as see the mother who bore him. How should a monk like me find means to see him?" "He comes out of court tomorrow morning," said the man. "Out of court to do what?" asked Tripitaka. "Tomorrow at morning court he leads three thousand men with hawks and hounds out the city gate to the chase. You are certain to meet him, Master; and if when you meet him you will say to him what I have said, he will believe it." "He is mortal flesh with mortal eyes, fooled by the demon there on the dais—what day does he not call him Father King? Why should he believe me?" said Tripitaka. "If you fear he will not believe, let me leave you a token," said the man. "What token?" asked Tripitaka. The man set down the gold-cased white jade scepter he held: "This thing will serve for a sign." "What of this thing?" said Tripitaka. The man said: "Since the adept took my shape he has lacked only this treasure. In the palace he says the rain-seeking adept made off with this scepter; for three years now it has not been seen. If my prince but sees it, the sight of the thing will bring the man to mind, and this wrong he will surely avenge." "Very well. Leave it with me, and my disciples shall see to it for you. But where am I to wait?" said Tripitaka. The man said: "Neither dare I wait. From here I must beg the Night-Wandering God to send another divine wind and bear me into the inner palace, to plant a dream in the mind of my lawful queen, that mother and son be of one mind, and you master and disciples of one heart." Tripitaka nodded his assent: "Go, then."

The wronged ghost knocked his head in farewell, and the elder rose to see him out—when somehow he caught his foot, took a somersault, and Tripitaka woke with a start. It had been a dream of Nanke after all. In a flurry, facing that dim lamp, he called: "Disciples, disciples!" Bajie woke: "Earth god, earth god, is it? When I played the bold fellow I lived on men, made my meals of rank meats—and it was merry enough. Then you must leave the world and set us to trudge along guarding you. We were told we would just be monks; now we are handled like slaves—by day shouldering the packs and leading the horse, by night fetching the chamber pot and rubbing your feet! You will not sleep at this hour—what do you want with your disciples?" "Disciple, I just dozed off on the desk and had a strange dream," said Tripitaka. Pilgrim sprang up: "Master, dreams are born of brooding. Before ever you climbed this mountain you were in dread of monsters; you fret that Thunderclap lies far and you may never arrive; you pine for Chang'an, not knowing what day you turn home—and so the heart breeds dreams as it breeds thoughts. Old Sun has but one true thought—to see the Buddha in the west—and not one dream ever comes to me." "Disciple, this dream was no dream of homesickness," said Tripitaka. "I had scarcely closed my eyes when a wild wind swept past, and outside the meditation room stood an emperor of some dynasty, who said he was the king of Black Rooster—soaked from head to foot, tears streaming." Thus and thus, so and so, he told Pilgrim every word of the dream, item by item. Pilgrim laughed: "Say no more. He sends you this dream expressly to put a piece of business in Old Sun's way. Some monster has usurped the throne there and plotted for the kingdom; I shall go sort true from false with him. Wherever Old Sun's staff lands on that demon, the enterprise is done." "Disciple, he says the monster's powers are vast," said Tripitaka. "Vast or not, what of it?" said Pilgrim. "Once he knows Old Sun has come, he will have nowhere to run." "I remember too that he left a treasure for a token," said Tripitaka. "Master, do not wind yourself up," said Bajie. "A dream is a dream—why keep taking it for real?" Sha Monk said: "'If you will not believe straightforwardness straight, you must guard against kindness unkind.' Let us make a light, open the door, and see how it stands."

Pilgrim did open the door, and they looked together: there, in the light of stars and moon, on the step beneath the eaves, lay a gold-cased white jade scepter in very truth. Bajie came near and took it up: "Brother, what is this thing?" Pilgrim said: "This is the treasure a king holds in his hand, called the jade scepter. Master, since the thing is here, I take the matter for true. Tomorrow the taking of the demon rests all on Old Sun—only it will cost you three turns of ill luck." "Good, good, good!" said Bajie. "A dream was all it was, and you tell him everything. Is there anything that fellow cannot play on people? So he prices you three turns of ill luck." Tripitaka, going back inside, said: "Which three?" "Tomorrow you are to take the blame, take the abuse, and take the plague," said Pilgrim. Bajie laughed: "One would be hard enough—how will you bear three?" Tang monk was an elder of good sense, and asked: "Disciple, what do these three things mean?" "No need to explain yet," said Pilgrim. "Wait while I first get you a thing or two."

Brave Great Sage! He plucked a hair, blew on it a breath of immortal air, cried "Change!"—and it became a red gold-lacquered box, in which he placed the white jade scepter. He said: "Master, hold this thing in your hands. At daybreak put on the brocade kasaya and go sit in the main hall chanting scriptures, while I go see that city of his. If it is truly a monster, I shall beat him to death and win a merit here besides; if it is not, do not go picking quarrels." "Just so, just so," said Tripitaka. Pilgrim said: "If the prince does not leave the city, well and good; but if in truth he rides out, as the dream foretold, I will be sure to lead him to you." "And how shall I greet him when I see him?" said Tripitaka. Pilgrim said: "When he comes I will signal you first. Draw the box lid open a little, and I shall change into a little monk two inches long and lie inside it, and you hold me in your hands, box and all. When the prince enters the temple he will be sure to worship the Buddha. Let him bow as he will; take no notice of him. Seeing you do not stir, he will be certain to order you seized. Let him seize you; let him beat you, bind you, kill you—all as he pleases." "Ai! His military authority is great. If he truly kills me, what then?" said Tripitaka. "No matter—I am here. If it comes to the crisis I shall shield you of myself," said Pilgrim. "If he questions you, say you are the imperial envoy of the eastern lands, a monk bound west to worship the Buddha, fetch the scriptures, and present treasure. He will ask: 'What treasure?' Then tell him of the brocade kasaya, and say: 'This is a treasure of the third rank; there are finer things yet of the first rank and the second.' Whatever he asks, say that within this box is a treasure that knows the five hundred years above, the five hundred years between, and the five hundred years below—fifteen hundred years of past and future, all to the last particular. Then let Old Sun out. I shall tell the prince everything said in the dream. If he believes it, he will go seize the demon—first, to avenge his royal father; second, we win a name for honor. If he does not believe, then show him the white jade scepter. I only fear he is young, and may not recognize it." At this Tripitaka rejoiced: "Disciple, what a scheme! But these treasures—one is called the brocade kasaya, one the white jade scepter—by what name shall we call the one you have changed into?" "Let it be called the King-Making Curio," said Pilgrim. Tripitaka took the name to heart. That night master and disciples slept hardly at all, waiting for dawn, fain to nod the sun up out of Fusang and blow the stars from all the sky with one breath.

Before long the east grew white. Pilgrim instructed Bajie and Sha Monk: "Do not harass the monks or go wandering out. When I have succeeded we shall travel on together." With that he whistled, turned a somersault, and leapt into the air. Opening his fiery eyes to gaze west, he saw indeed a city. And how did he see it, do you think? The city, we were told, was only forty li from the temple, so from that height he spied it. Drawing near and looking carefully, he saw monstrous mists and grieving clouds lying thick, demon winds and rancorous vapors drifting everywhere. Up in the air Pilgrim sighed:

"Did a true king sit upon the jeweled seat, auspicious clouds of five bright colors would attend him.Only because a monster has invaded the dragon's place do surging black vapors lock the golden gate."

While Pilgrim thus mused he heard the boom of cannon, and at the opening of the east gate a column of horse and men flashed out—truly a hunting host, and of mettlesome force. Behold:

At dawn they rode out the forbidden city's east and spread their circle through the shallow grass.Bright banners unfurled, flashing in the sun; white horses plunged to meet the wind.Alligator drums went boom and boom; paired javelins charged in files.The hawk-bearers were savage; the hound-leaders dashing.The cannon shook the very sky; the lime-smeared poles glowed red against the sun.Every man braced a crossbow bolt; every man slung a carved bow.Nets were strung below the slopes; cords were laid across the little paths.At one startling thunderclap a thousand riders closed like bears and picai.The cunning hare could not save its skin; the wily roe's wits failed too.The fox's allotted span ran out; elk and deer perished in the press.The mountain pheasant could hardly fly clear; how should the wild fowl escape the slaughter?They chose to hold the hunting grounds and take the fierce beasts; they laid waste the woods and shot the winged things.

Those men came out the city and spread through the eastern meadows. Before long, twenty li into the high fields, they saw in the center camp a small-framed general: helmet on head, armor laced, the belly-guard flowered with eighteen plates, a precious sword of blue steel in his hand, a yellow isabella horse beneath him, a strung bow at his waist. Truly:

Dimly, the likeness of a sovereign; proudly, the countenance of an emperor.His frame was no common stripling's; his motion showed the true dragon.

Pilgrim in the air rejoiced within: "No need to ask—that is the emperor's son. Let me have some sport with him." Brave Great Sage! He pressed down his cloud, dashed into the host before the prince's horse, shook himself, and changed into a white rabbit, frisking to and fro before the prince. The prince saw it, and his hunting heart leapt; he nocked an arrow, drew the bow to the full, and his shaft struck the rabbit true.

It was the Great Sage's doing that the arrow struck: quick of eye and hand, he caught the arrowhead in his fingers, let the feathered shaft drop on ahead, and was off at a run. The prince, seeing his arrow strike the jade rabbit, wheeled his horse and raced after it alone. Though the horse ran fast, the Pilgrim ran like the wind; when the horse slowed, the Pilgrim slowed: he kept ever just before him. Stage by stage, li by li, he lured the prince to the foot of the Treasure Grove Monastery gate—and there showed his own form. No rabbit now, but an arrow standing in the doorsill. He darted straight inside and met Tang monk: "Master, he is coming, he is coming." Then he changed again into the two-inch little monk and burrowed into the red box.

Now the prince came galloping up to the temple gate: no jade rabbit, only a carved-feather arrow standing in the doorsill. The prince was greatly startled and paled: "Strange! Strange! My arrow clearly struck the jade rabbit—where is the rabbit gone, and only the arrow here? The creature must have grown into a spirit with years and days." He pulled the arrow and looked up: over the gate, in five great characters, "The Treasure Grove Monastery, Built by Imperial Decree." The prince said: "Now I understand. Years ago, I remember, my royal father sent officers from the Golden Chime Hall with gold and silk for these monks to repair their Buddha hall and images. Who would have thought I should come here today? As the verse says: 'Passing a temple, I fell to talk with monks, and gained from this floating life half a day of ease.' I will go in and look about."

The prince dismounted and was about to enter when the officers of his escort and the three thousand men came up, crowding and thronging, and all poured in the gate. The monks of the temple were flustered and all came bowing and kowtowing to receive them, ushering them into the main hall to worship the Buddha. They had but just raised their eyes to look about and were for strolling the cloisters when suddenly they saw a monk seated in the very middle. The prince flew into a rage: "This monk has no manners! Half a court's procession enters his hill today; lacking an edict to announce us, he need not have come far out to meet us—but with the troops at his very gate he should at least have risen. Why does he sit unmoving?" He cried: "Seize him!" At the word "seize," the guardsmen on both hands fell to together, hauled Tang monk down, and made haste to coil their ropes about him. Inside the box Pilgrim silently recited his spell, charging them: "Guardian devas of the Law, Six Dings and Six Jias: I am setting my wits to subdue a monster. This prince, in his ignorance, would bind my master with ropes; you must shield him at once. If he is truly bound, the guilt is yours." When the Great Sage gave his charge in secret, who dared disobey? They stood guard over Tripitaka so fast that those men could not so much as touch his bare head; it was as if a wall were set between, and no hand could close on him.

The prince said: "Where do you come from, to delude me with this art of invisibility?" Tripitaka came forward and saluted: "This poor monk has no art of invisibility; he is the Tang monk of the eastern lands, bound for Thunderclap Monastery to worship the Buddha, seek the scriptures, and present treasure." "Your eastern lands may be the central flowery country, but they are poor beyond telling. What treasure do you carry? Speak and let me hear," said the prince. "This kasaya I wear is a treasure of the third kind. There are finer things yet of the first kind and the second," said Tripitaka. "That garment of yours half covers your body and half bares your arms. What can it be worth, that you dare call it treasure?" said the prince. "The kasaya does not cover me entire, but it has a few verses to it," said Tripitaka. "The poem says:

That the Buddha robe bares one shoulder is not the point: hidden within is the Thus-Come, clear of the world's dust.Ten thousand threads and a thousand stitches make the true fruit; nine pearls and eight jewels join the primal spirit.Immortal maids and holy daughters made it with reverence and left it to a Chan monk, to still the body's stains.That you did not rise to meet the royal presence might pass—but with your father's wrong unavenged, you live in vain."

At this the prince raged within: "Brazen monk, what talk! That rag of a garment—you gild it with your glib tongue and boast it fine. My father's wrong unavenged—how so? Speak and let me hear." Tripitaka came a step nearer, pressed his palms, and asked: "Your Highness, in this life lived between heaven and earth, how many debts of grace does a man owe?" "Four," said the prince. "Which four?" said Tripitaka. "The grace of heaven and earth that canopied and carried us; the grace of sun and moon that shone upon us; the grace of king and realm, its water and soil; the grace of father and mother who reared us," said the prince. Tripitaka laughed: "Your Highness, you have miscounted. A man has heaven and earth to canopy and carry him, sun and moon to shine upon him, a king and realm to give him water and soil—but where would the grace of father and mother come from?" The prince said in wrath: "You monks are an idle, begging, shaven-haired, lord-defying lot! If men were not reared by fathers and mothers, where would their bodies come from?" "Your Highness, this poor monk does not know," said Tripitaka. "But within this red box is a treasure called the King-Making Curio: it knows the five hundred years above, the five hundred years between, and the five hundred years below—fifteen hundred years of past and future, all to the last particular. It knows whether there is such a thing as the grace of father and mother, and it is for that this poor monk has waited here so long."

Hearing this, the prince said: "Bring it out for me to see." Tripitaka lifted the box lid, and out leapt the Pilgrim, hopping this way and that in a clatter. "What can a tiny manikin like this know?" said the prince. Pilgrim, hearing himself called small, worked a power of his own: he stretched at the waist and grew to three chi four or five inches. The soldiers were astonished: "At that rate of growing, in a few days he would burst the sky." Pilgrim grew only to his own proper stature, and stopped. Then the prince asked: "King-Making Curio—this old monk says you can know the luck, good and ill, of things to come and things gone by. Have you a tortoise to divine with, yarrow stalks to cast? By what written lines do you judge men's fortunes?" "I use none of them," said Pilgrim. "I rely wholly on this three-inch tongue, and there is nothing I do not know." "More nonsense from this fellow," said the prince. "From antiquity the Book of Changes has been most profound and mysterious: it settles the good and ill fortune of all the world and teaches men what to pursue and what to shun—that is why the tortoise serves for divining and the yarrow for casting. By what principle do you claim warrant? You prate idle words of luck and ruin to beguile men's hearts."

"Your Highness, no hurry," said Pilgrim. "Hear me out. You are the son of the king of Black Rooster. In your country five years ago the seasons failed, drought struck, and the myriad people suffered; your king and his ministers prayed with single hearts. At the moment when not a drop of rain would fall, there came from Zhongnan Mountain a Daoist adept, skilled at summoning wind and calling rain, at turning stone to gold. Your king, all too ready to think small of it, swore brotherhood with him. Is that matter so?" "It is, it is, it is. Go on," said the prince. Pilgrim said: "For the last three years the adept has not been seen. Who, then, is it that calls himself the Solitary One?" "There truly was such an adept; my royal father swore brotherhood with him; they ate at one board and slept under one roof," said the prince. "Three years ago, viewing the garden of the imperial park, the adept raised a divine wind and spirited away the gold-cased white jade scepter from my father's hand, back to Zhongnan Mountain. To this day my father mourns him. Since he could not be found, my father lost all taste for pleasure and shut the garden fast—these three years. And the one who sits as emperor—who should it be but my father?"

Hearing this, Pilgrim broke into unending jeering laughter. The prince asked again, and got no answer—only the jeering laughter. The prince said in wrath: "This fellow, with what he ought to say unsaid—why laugh like that?" "There is a great deal more to say," Pilgrim replied, "but with all these men around us this is no place to say it." The prince, hearing meaning in his words, swept out his sleeve and ordered the soldiers back. The officers of the escort passed the word at once, and the three thousand men were quartered outside the gate. The hall was cleared; the prince sat above, the elder stood before him, Pilgrim in attendance at his left hand; the monks of the temple had all withdrawn. Then Pilgrim came forward in earnest: "Your Highness, the one who rode away on the wind was the father and mother who begot you; the one you see on the throne is that rain-praying adept." "Nonsense, nonsense," said the prince. "Since the adept left, the winds have blown fair and the rains fallen in season, the realm is at peace and the people content. By your telling, the man is not my father at all! It is only that I am young, and let you be. Had my royal father heard such treason, he would have you seized and hacked to ten thousand pieces." With a bark he shouted Pilgrim down. Pilgrim said to Tang monk: "What did I tell you? I said he would not believe—and there it is, there it is. Now give him that treasure, exchange our travel rescripts, and let us be off to the west." Tripitaka handed the red box to Pilgrim. Pilgrim took it, shook his body—and the box was gone; it had been his hair changed, and he drew it back into himself. Then with both hands he raised the white jade scepter and presented it to the prince.

At the sight the prince said: "Fine monk, fine monk! Five years ago you were the adept, who tricked my house of its treasure; now you dress as a monk and come making presents." He called: "Seize him!" At the word of command the elder, frightened out of his wits, pointed hastily at Pilgrim: "You Bimawen! Forever courting unearned calamity—and now you have brought it on me!" Pilgrim stepped up and barred them all together: "No shouting—do not let the wind out of the secret! I am not only called the King-Making Curio; I have a true name besides." The prince said in wrath: "Step up here. Give me your true name, that I may send you to the courts for sentence!" Pilgrim said: "I am that elder's eldest disciple, named Wukong, Pilgrim Sun. Traveling with my master west to fetch the scriptures, we stopped here last night for lodging. My master was reading scriptures in the night, and at the third watch had a dream. He saw your royal father, who told him the adept had done him violence and pushed him into the octagonal glazed-tile well of the imperial garden, and that the adept had taken his shape. Not an official of the court could tell; you, being young, could not either. You were barred from the palace and the garden shut—the whole point being to stop the secret leaking. Your royal father came expressly this night to beg me to subdue the demon. I feared it might be no demon, so I looked down from the sky: it is a spirit-fiend beyond doubt. I was on the point of seizing him when you must ride out of the city to hunt. The jade rabbit your arrow struck was Old Sun. Old Sun has led you here to the temple, to see my master and hear this whole heart's matter, true in every word. Since you know the white jade scepter, why do you not remember the grace that reared you, and avenge your own father?"

At these words the prince's heart turned heavy with grief, and he sorrowed to himself: "If I do not believe these words, there is yet a third part of truth in them; if I believe, how can it be, when the man upon the throne is my own royal father?" Here indeed it was: advancing and retreating both barred, the heart questioning the mouth; pondering thrice and bearing with it, the mouth questioning the heart. Seeing him unresolved, Pilgrim came forward again: "Your Highness need not doubt. Ride back to your own capital and ask one question of your mother the queen: is the love between her and her lord what it was three years ago? That one question, and true and false are known."

The prince turned it over: "True. Let me go and ask my mother." He leapt up, tucked away the white jade scepter, and made to go. Pilgrim caught his sleeve: "If all these troops go back with you, will not the secret leak, and my work be spoiled? You must go into the city alone on a single horse, and make no display. Enter not by the front main gate but by the rear postern. When you see your mother within the palace, be careful not to raise your voice; whisper and speak low. I fear the monster's vast powers: let the secret out for a moment, and the lives of you mother and son will hardly be safe." The prince carefully obeyed the instruction. Outside the gate he gave his officers their orders: "Encamp here steady, and stir not. I have a matter to see to; I go and return, and then we enter the city together." And see him:

At a word of command he stationed his soldiers; mounted as if on wings, he was away to the city.

But what he said when he came before the queen—who could say? Listen to the next chapter to find out.

A ghost king calls on the Tang monk by night; Wukong by his magic leads in the young prince

Now Tripitaka sat under the lamp in the meditation hall of Baolin Monastery. He chanted a while from the Emperor Liang's Water Repentance and read a while from the Peacock True Scripture, until the third watch, when he finally bundled the texts into their bag. He was rising to go to bed when he heard a loud crack outside the door and a wild gust ripping through. Fearing the lamp would blow out, the elder hurriedly shielded it with his sleeve. The lamp flared bright and dim by turns, and his heart pounded and his courage shook. Then drowsiness came over him, and he dozed off on the scripture desk. Though his eyes were shut and his senses dim, his mind stayed clear; in his ears came the soughing of the chill wind at the window. What a wind! Truly:

Sighing and whistling, drifting and swirling.Sighing, whistling, it strips the falling leaves; drifting, swirling, it rolls the drifting clouds.The stars of all the sky are dulled; dust and sand are scattered over all the ground.Now it rages, now it softens.Soft, it knocks clear notes from pine and bamboo; fierce, it muddies the waves of lakes and rivers.It strips the mountain birds of rest, so they cry hoarsely; the fish of the sea leap and splash and cannot settle.Doors and windows shake loose from halls east and west; in the corridors front and back, ghosts and spirits glare.The vases of the Buddha hall are blown to the ground; the glazed lamps swing, and the lamp of wisdom gutters.The censer tips and scatters incense ash; the candle stands lean, and the flames smoke.Banners and canopies shake and tear; bell tower and drum tower shiver to their roots.

In his drowsy dream the elder heard the wind pass by, and then, faint and far, a voice outside the meditation hall call "Master!" He looked up, still in the dream: outside the door stood a man, dripping wet from head to foot, tears in his eyes, calling "Master!" over and over. Tripitaka half rose: "Are you some goblin or demon, some sprite or fiend, come at midnight to make game of me? I am none of the greedy or wrathful. I am an open, upright monk, sent by the Tang throne of the Land of the East to worship the Buddha in the west and seek the scriptures. I have three disciples, all of them heroes who tame dragons and tigers, stout fighters who sweep away monsters. If they saw you, you would be ground to dust and powder. Take this as my great mercy and my kindly warning: hide yourself far away, quickly, and don't come to my gate of meditation." The man leaned at the hall's door: "Master, I am no demon or monster, no goblin or evil spirit." Tripitaka said, "If you're none of these, why come here at midnight?" The man said, "Master, open your eyes and look at me." The elder really did look hard—and ah! See him:

On his head a sky-piercing crown; at his waist a sash of jade-green.On his body an ochre-yellow robe of flying dragons and dancing phoenixes; on his feet cloud-topped shoes with embroidered cuffs, the carefree kind.In his hand a white jade tablet arrayed with the stars of the Dipper.A face like the Long-Life God of the Eastern Peak; a form like Wenchang, Lord of Opening Illumination.

Tripitaka, startled, lost his color, bowed in haste, and cried: "Which dynasty's Majesty is this? Please sit." He reached out his hands to support him—and grasped empty air. He sat back, looked again: the man was still there. The elder asked: "Your Majesty, emperor of what land, sovereign of what country? I suppose your realm is in turmoil, slanderous ministers oppressing you, and you fled for your life here in the night. Whatever you have to say, say it to me." The man's tears dropped down his cheeks as he spoke of what had been; sorrow knotted his brows as he told the cause. He said: "Master, my home lies due west, only forty li or so from here. There stands a city—that is where my house was founded." Tripitaka said, "What is the place called?" The man said, "To tell you the truth, Master: it was I who founded that house and state, and named it the Black-Rooster Kingdom." Tripitaka said, "Your Majesty, so alarmed—what has brought you here?" The man said: "Master, five years ago here the skies were dry; not a blade of grass grew, and the people starved to death. A grievous time." Hearing this, Tripitaka nodded and said with a smile: "Your Majesty, the ancients said: 'When the state is upright, the heart of heaven is in accord.' I suppose you had no mercy on your people. Famine came—and instead of opening the granaries to relieve them, you fled the city? Go back, open the storehouses, aid the common people, repent your past wrongs, renew today's goodness, and free those wronged by unjust laws. Then heaven's heart will come into accord, and rains will fall in season and winds blow fair." The man said: "My state's granaries were empty, money and grain all gone. The civil and military officials drew no pay, and I myself had no meat at my meals. Like King Yu taming the floods, I shared the bitter and the sweet with all my people, bathed and fasted, and burned incense praying day and night. Three years of this, and the rivers ran dry and the wells went dry. Just at the crisis a perfected master came from Zhongnan Mountain who could summon wind and call rain and turn stone to gold. He first met my civil and military officials, then saw me. We asked him at once to mount the altar and pray, and he had true power: at the crack of his command tablet, within moments the rain poured down. I only hoped for three feet of rain, but he said a long drought needed more to soak the ground, and gave us two inches over. Seeing such righteousness in him, I bowed to him eight times as a sworn brother, and called him brother." Tripitaka said, "Then Your Majesty has ten thousand joys." The man said, "What joys?" Tripitaka said, "If that perfected master has such skill, when you want rain, have him make rain; when you want gold, have him make gold. What more could you want? Why leave your city and come here?" The man said: "I ate and slept with him only two years. Then came a warm spring day: red apricots and young peaches burst into flower. The sons and daughters of every house, the young lords everywhere, all went out to enjoy the spring. Then the civil and military officials went back to their offices, the consorts to their courts. That perfected master and I walked hand in hand into the imperial garden, and came to the eight-sided glazed well. He threw down some thing or other, and ten thousand beams of golden light shone in the well. He coaxed me to the edge to see what treasure it was—and his heart turned murderous. With a splash he shoved me into the well, covered the mouth with a stone slab, piled earth on it, and planted a banana-leaf tree above. Poor me—I have been dead three years: a wronged ghost, done to death at the bottom of a well."

When the Tang monk heard he was a ghost, his strength went soft and his hair and bones stood on end. Helpless, he could only question him again: "Your Majesty, what you say makes no sense at all. Dead three years—and the civil and military officials, the queens of the three palaces, at every court assembly in the hall—how could they not miss you?" The man said: "Master, his skill is truly rare in this world. From the moment he murdered me he shook himself in the garden and took my very shape, without the least difference. He has seized my rivers and mountains and crept into my realm. My two ranks of civil and military officers, my four hundred court officials, the queens of the three palaces, the consorts of the six courts—all are his now." Tripitaka said, "Your Majesty, you are too weak of will." The man said, "Weak how?" Tripitaka said, "Your Majesty, that monster does have some magic. He took your shape and usurped your realm. The officers cannot tell, the queens cannot know—only you, being dead, know the truth. Why not lodge a complaint with King Yama in the world below, and state your grievance there?" The man said: "His magic is vast, and he is thick with the officials of the other world. The City God of the capital drinks with him often; the Dragon Kings of the sea are all related to him; the God of the Eastern Peak and the Sage Equal to Heaven are his good friends; the ten kings of the dead are his sworn brothers. With all that, where could I take a complaint?"

Tripitaka said, "Your Majesty, if you have no power to accuse him down below, what do you come to the world above for?" The man said: "Master, how would this wisp of a wronged soul dare come to your gate? Before the mountain gate stand the guardian devas, the six Dings and six Jias, the guardians of the five quarters, the duty officers of the four watches, and eighteen sangha-guardians of the faith, all close about your saddle. Just now the Night-Rambling God swept me in with a gust of magic wind. He said my three years of water calamity were now complete, and told me to come call on Master. He said you have an eldest disciple, the Great Sage Equal to Heaven, with matchless power to cut down monsters. So I have come with a true and earnest heart to beg you a thousand times: come to my kingdom, seize the demon, and tell the false from the true. I will repay your kindness to the end of my days." Tripitaka said, "Your Majesty, you've come to ask my disciples to get rid of this monster for you?" The man said, "Exactly, exactly." Tripitaka said, "My disciples are no good at other things, but at subduing demons and catching monsters, that is their line. Still, Your Majesty, though I would set them on the monster, I fear it would be hard to justify." The man said, "Hard how?" Tripitaka said, "The monster's magic is vast, and he is made just like you. The whole court, civil and military, speaks with him in harmony, heart at ease; the consorts of the three palaces all match his every wish. However skilled my disciples are, they would never dare move weapons lightly. If the officials seized them and charged us with bullying a state and overthrowing a realm, and pinned great treason on us, we would be trapped in the city—wouldn't the whole plan go wrong?" The man said, "There is still someone in my court."

Tripitaka said, "Good, good. I suppose a prince of the realm or a chief attendant, posted off somewhere on garrison duty?" The man said, "No. In my own palace there is a prince—my own son, heir to the throne." Tripitaka said, "Then the demon must have banished him?" The man said, "No. He stays in the throne hall, in the Tower of Five Phoenixes, now reciting lessons with the scholars, now mounting the seats with the perfected master. For three years the prince has been barred from the inner palace, and cannot see his mother the queen." Tripitaka said, "Why so?" The man said, "It is the monster's scheme. He fears that if mother and son met, idle talk might draw out the truth, and the secret would leak. So the two never meet, and he stays on safe forever." Tripitaka said, "Your calamity, I suppose, was heaven's allotment—yet it is like my own. Once, bandits of the water killed my father and wrongfully took my mother; after three months she bore me. I escaped death in the water, and the kind master of Golden Mountain Monastery saved me and raised me to manhood. I remember having no father or mother in my childhood, and here this prince is losing both parents. Truly pitiable!"

He asked again: "Even if you have a prince at court, how would I meet him?" The man said, "Why could you not?" Tripitaka said, "He is held in the demon's keeping—he may not see even the mother who bore him. What claim has a mere monk like me to see him?" The man said, "Tomorrow morning he comes out of the palace." Tripitaka asked, "Out for what?" The man said, "Tomorrow at morning court he will lead three thousand troops, with hawks and hounds, out of the city to hunt. You are certain to meet him then, Master. If you will tell him what I have said, he will believe." Tripitaka said, "He is mortal-eyed, mortal flesh, and the demon has fooled him into the throne hall. What day does he not call that man 'Royal Father'? How would he believe my words?" The man said, "If you fear he won't believe, let me leave you a token." Tripitaka asked, "What thing?" The man set down the gold-rimmed white jade tablet from his hand: "This can serve as the token." Tripitaka said, "How will this serve?" The man said, "Since the perfected master took my shape, this one treasure he failed to counterfeit. In the palace he says the rain-making master ran off with this tablet. For three years it has been missing. If my prince sees it, the sight will bring his father to mind, and the revenge will surely come." Tripitaka said, "Very well. Leave it with me, and my disciples will manage this. Where shall we wait?" The man said, "I dare not wait. As I go, I will beg the Night-Rambling God to send another magic wind and carry me into the inner palace, to send a dream to my true queen, that mother and son may be of one mind, and you master and disciples of one heart." Tripitaka nodded and agreed: "Go, then."

The wronged soul knocked his head, said farewell, and Tripitaka rose to see him out—when somehow he caught his foot, tumbled head over heels, and woke with a start. It had all been one brief dream. He turned to the dim lamp in a hurry and called: "Disciples, disciples!" Bajie woke: "What 'disciples, disciples'? Back when I was a bold fellow I lived on eating people, feasting on rank meat—honestly happy. Then you had to take vows, and now we guard you on the roads. It was to be monk's work only; instead they have made us slaves—by day hauling bags and leading horses, by night holding the chamber pot and warming feet! No sleeping at this hour—what do you want with disciples now?" Tripitaka said, "Disciples, dozing at the desk just now, I had a strange dream." Pilgrim jumped up: "Master, dreams come from thoughts. Before you even climbed the mountain you feared monsters; you fret that Thunderclap is far and you may never arrive; you long for Chang'an and don't know when you'll turn back—so the mind is crowded, and the dreams are many. Old Sun has but one true wish, to see the Buddha in the west, and not one dream ever comes to him." Tripitaka said, "Disciples, this was no homesick dream. I had hardly closed my eyes when a wild wind blew past, and outside the meditation hall stood an emperor of some dynasty who said he was the King of Black-Rooster. Soaked through, eyes streaming with tears." In this way and that, he told Pilgrim the dream word by word. Pilgrim laughed: "Say no more. He came to send you this dream—it plainly means business for Old Sun. There must be a monster there, usurping the throne and plotting for the state. Wait till Old Sun sorts true from false with him. Let my staff reach that monster, and the job is done." Tripitaka said, "Disciples, he said the monster's powers were vast." Pilgrim said, "Vast—what of it? Let him learn Old Sun is coming, and he will have nowhere to run." Tripitaka said, "I remember too: he left a treasure as a token." Bajie said, "Master, don't run on. A dream is a dream—why take it so seriously?" Sha Monk said, "'If you won't trust the straight-spoken, beware the kindly-seeming false.' Let's raise a light, open the door, and look."

Pilgrim did open the door, and they all looked: in the light of stars and moon, up on the step by the eaves, there truly lay a gold-rimmed white jade tablet. Bajie came near and picked it up: "Brother, what is this thing?" Pilgrim said, "It is the treasure a king holds in his hand—the jade tablet. Master, since the thing is here, the business must be true. Tomorrow, catching the monster is all on Old Sun. Only, it will cost you three pieces of bad luck." Bajie said, "Fine, fine, fine. A dream, and you tell him everything. Isn't he just the one to play tricks? And so—three pieces of bad luck for you." Tripitaka came back inside: "Which three?" Pilgrim said, "Tomorrow you are to take the blame, take the abuse, and take the plague." Bajie laughed: "One would be hard. How will you bear three?" The Tang monk, a clever elder, asked: "Disciples, what do these three things mean?" Pilgrim said, "No need to explain. Wait while I give you two things first."

The Great Sage plucked a hair, blew on it a breath of immortal air, called "Change!"—and made a red and gold lacquered box. He put the white jade tablet inside: "Master, hold this in your hands. At daybreak, put on the brocade kasaya, sit in the main hall chanting scriptures, and wait while I go see that city of his. If it truly is a monster, I will beat him to death and win merit here too. If not, don't go stirring up trouble." Tripitaka said, "Right, right." Pilgrim said, "If the prince doesn't leave the city, well and good. But if he really does come out as the dream foretold, I will be sure to lead him to you." Tripitaka said, "When he sees me, how do I answer him?" Pilgrim said, "When he comes, I will give you warning first. Pull the box lid open a little, and I will turn myself into a two-inch little monk and lie inside the box while you hold it, me and all. When the prince enters the temple he is sure to worship the Buddha. Let him bow as he likes—pay him no heed. Seeing you don't stir, he will order you seized. Let him seize you: let him beat you, bind you, kill you even." Tripitaka said, "Ai! His military orders are mighty. If he truly kills me, what then?" Pilgrim said, "No matter. I am here. At the critical moment I will protect you. If he questions you, say you are the envoy-monk of the Land of the East, bound west to worship the Buddha, fetch the scriptures, and present treasure. He will say: 'What treasure?' Then tell him about the brocade kasaya, and say: 'This is only the third-rank treasure. There are first-rank and second-rank treasures besides.' Wherever he asks, say that in this box is a treasure that knows the five hundred years above, the five hundred years below, and the five hundred years between—one thousand five hundred years of past and future, all of it known. Then let Old Sun out. I will tell the prince what was said in the dream. If he believes, he will go seize the monster—that repays his father's wrong, and it wins us name and honor too. If he won't believe, show him the white jade tablet. Only I am afraid he is young and may not know it." Hearing this, Tripitaka was overjoyed: "Disciples, a splendid scheme! But these treasures: one is called the brocade kasaya, one the white jade tablet. And the treasure you become—what is it called?" Pilgrim said, "Call it the Emperor-Maker." Tripitaka took his word and kept it in mind. That night master and disciples got no sleep at all. They waited for dawn, wishing they could but nod and call up the sun from Fusang, or blow one breath and sweep the stars from the sky.

Before long the east grew light. Pilgrim gave Bajie and Sha Monk their orders: "Don't bother the monks or wander about outside. When I have succeeded, we'll all go on together." With a whistle he left them, turned a somersault, and jumped into the air. His fiery eyes swept west: there truly was a city. How could he see it so soon? The city was only forty li from the temple, so from on high he spotted it at once. Flying nearer, Pilgrim looked carefully and saw demon mists and sorrowful clouds spreading everywhere, a monstrous wind and grievous vapors swirling. He sighed in the air:

If a true king sat the jeweled seat, auspicious light and five-colored clouds would rise.But a monster has stolen the dragon's place: rolling black vapor locks the golden gate.

As he sighed, a cannon cracked, and at the opening east gate a column of troops flashed out—a hunting force, bold indeed. See:

At dawn out the forbidden city's east gate; they spread their lines through the shallow grass.Colored banners open, flashing sun; white horses plunge to meet the wind.Alligator drums boom and boom; paired javelins charge in pairs.The hawk-bearers fierce; the hound-leads bold.Fire cannons shake the sky; lime poles blaze red against the sun.Every man readies crossbow bolts; every man slings a carved bow.Nets spread below the slopes; lines laid across the byways.One startling thunderclap—and a thousand riders close like bears and tigers.The cunning hare cannot save its skin; the clever river deer's wit runs out.Fox and badger have met their fated hour; elk and deer fall in the thick of it.The mountain pheasant cannot fly clear; how should the wild fowl escape the fierce?They pick their grounds and seize the beasts, and ravage the woods, shooting the flying things.

The party came out of the city and spread through the eastern outskirts. In no great time, some twenty li on toward the high fields, they saw in the center camp a slight young general: helmet on head, armor donned, flowered belly-guard, eighteen plates, a green-edged precious sword in hand, a dun-yellow horse beneath him, a strung bow at his waist. Truly:

A kingly likeness, dim yet clear; a sovereign's bearing, proud and high.Nothing small in his make; every move shows the true dragon.

In the air Pilgrim rejoiced to himself: "No need to ask—that is the emperor's son. Let me have some fun with him." The Great Sage brought his cloud down, darted into the column before the prince's horse, shook himself, and became a white hare, frisking right before the prince's mount. The prince saw it and his heart leaped with delight. He nocked an arrow, drew the bow to the full, and one arrow struck the hare square.

The Great Sage had let himself be hit on purpose. Quick-eyed and quick-handed, he caught the arrowhead, dropped the fletching ahead on the path, and scampered off. Seeing the arrow strike the white hare, the prince wheeled his horse and raced after it alone. If the horse ran fast, Pilgrim went like the wind; if the horse slowed, Pilgrim walked slow—never much farther than a few lengths ahead. Stage by stage, li by li, he lured the prince down to the very gate of Baolin Monastery, and then showed his true self. No hare anywhere—only an arrow standing in the threshold. He darted inside, found the Tang monk, and said, "Master, he's coming, he's coming." Then he changed again into a two-inch little monk and tucked himself inside the red box.

The prince galloped up to the mountain gate: no white hare—only a carved-feather arrow standing in the threshold. The prince was astonished and paled: "Strange! Strange! My arrow clearly struck the white hare. Where did the hare go, leaving only the arrow? Some creature of many years, turned spirit, I would say." He pulled the arrow and looked up: on the gate, five great characters—"Baolin Monastery, Built by Imperial Decree." The prince said, "Now I understand. Years ago, I remember, my royal father sent officers with gold and silk to these monks to repair their Buddha hall and statues. Who would have thought I would come here today? Truly: passing a temple, meeting a monk for talk—you win half a day's ease from this floating life. Let me go in and look around."

The prince dismounted and was about to enter when the officers of his guard and the three thousand troops caught up and crowded in after him through the gate. The temple's monks hurried to knock their heads and receive them, ushering them into the main hall to bow before the Buddha. They had hardly looked about and were turning to stroll the corridors when the prince saw a monk sitting square in the middle, and raged: "This monk has no manners! I have brought half a court's procession into these hills. No edict announced it, so no far-out welcome was owed—but with troops at the gate he should at least rise. Why is he sitting there without moving?" He ordered: "Seize him!" At the word "seize," the guards on both sides moved at once, hauled the Tang monk down, and made haste with their ropes to tie him. In the box Pilgrim muttered a spell: "Guardian devas, six Dings and six Jias: I am laying my trap for the monster. This prince does not understand, and means to tie my master with ropes. Protect him at once. If he is truly bound, the guilt is yours." When the Great Sage gave his hidden orders, who dared disobey? They guarded Tripitaka so sure that those men could not so much as touch his bare head—as if a wall stood in the way and their hands could never reach him.

The prince said, "Where are you from, cheating me with invisibility magic like this?" Tripitaka stepped up and saluted: "This poor monk has no invisibility magic. I am the Tang monk of the Land of the East, bound for Thunderclap Monastery to worship the Buddha, seek the scriptures, and present treasure." The prince said, "Your Land of the East may be the central country, but it is poor beyond compare. What treasure? Speak and let me hear." Tripitaka said, "This kasaya I wear is the third-rank treasure. There are first-rank and second-rank things better still." The prince said, "That garment of yours covers half your body and leaves half your arms bare. What is it worth, that you dare call it a treasure?" Tripitaka said, "Though the kasaya does not cover all, a few lines say what it is. The poem says:

A Buddha robe bares one shoulder—never mind that; hidden within is the true suchness, free of the world's dust.Ten thousand threads and a thousand needles weave the true fruit; nine pearls and eight jewels join with the primal spirit.Fairy maidens and holy women made it reverently; it was bestowed on a meditation monk to cleanse a stained body.That you were not met at the gate is a small thing. But your father's wrong unavenged—you live in vain."

Hearing this, the prince flew into a rage: "You brazen monk, what talk! That rag of a robe—you gild it with your glib tongue. My father's wrong unavenged? Explain that, and let me hear." Tripitaka stepped forward one pace and asked with joined palms: "Your Highness, living between heaven and earth, how many debts of gratitude does a man owe?" The prince said, "Four." Tripitaka said, "Which four?" The prince said, "The grace of heaven and earth that cover and bear us; the grace of sun and moon that shine upon us; the grace of king and country, its soil and water; the grace of father and mother who raised us." Tripitaka laughed: "Your Highness, you have slipped. A man has heaven and earth to cover and bear him, sun and moon to shine on him, a king's soil and water—but where would father and mother's nurture come in?" The prince raged: "You monks, idle hands and begging bowls, shaved heads and rebels against your kings! Without father and mother to raise a man, where would his body come from?" Tripitaka said, "Your Highness, this poor monk would not know. But in this red box there is a treasure called the Emperor-Maker. It knows the five hundred years before, the five hundred years after, and the five hundred years between—one thousand five hundred years of past and future all told. It knows all about the grace of father and mother. It has made this poor monk wait here a long while."

Hearing this, the prince said: "Bring it; let me see." Tripitaka lifted the lid, and Pilgrim jumped out, wobbling this way and that. The prince said, "This tiny little man—what could he know?" Hearing himself called small, Pilgrim used his magic, stretched at the waist, and shot up to three chi four or five. The soldiers marveled: "If he grows that fast, in a few days he would burst the sky." Pilgrim grew back to his own height and stopped. Then the prince asked: "Emperor-Maker, this old monk says you can know the good and ill of future and past. Do you divine on a tortoise shell? Cast lots with yarrow stalks? Judge men's fortunes from the written lines?" Pilgrim said, "Not one of them. I rely wholly on this three-inch tongue, and know everything there is." The prince said, "More nonsense. From ancient times the Book of Changes, deep past fathoming, has settled all the good and ill under heaven and taught men what to pursue and what to shun; that is why the tortoise shell serves for divining and the yarrow stalks for casting. By what principle do you speak? Idle talk of fortune, stirring up men's minds."

Pilgrim said, "Your Highness, wait. Listen. You are the son of the King of Black-Rooster. Five years ago in your country the year was parched, the people suffered, and your emperor and his ministers prayed with all their hearts. Just when not a drop of rain would fall, a Daoist came from Zhongnan Mountain, skilled at calling wind and rain, at turning stone to gold. Your king was altogether taken with him and bowed to him as a brother. Did this happen or not?" The prince said, "It did, it did, it did. Go on." Pilgrim said, "For the last three years the perfected master has not been seen. Then who is it that styles himself the Solitary One on the throne?" The prince said, "There truly was such a perfected master. My royal father bowed to him as a brother; they ate together and slept together. Three years ago, viewing the sights in the imperial garden, the master called up a magic wind and carried off the gold-rimmed white jade tablet from my father's hand, back to Zhongnan Mountain. My father misses him still. Since he vanished, father has had no heart for pleasure, and the garden has stayed shut these three years. The one who is emperor—who else but my royal father?"

Pilgrim heard this and smiled on and on. The prince questioned him again; no answer, only that smiling. The prince flared: "This fellow, with words to say and holding them—why does he grin so?" Pilgrim said, "There is much more to say. But with all these people standing around, this is no place to say it." Seeing his words had cause behind them, the prince swept his sleeve and ordered the soldiers back. The officers of the train passed the order quickly, and the three thousand troops encamped outside the gate. The hall was empty now. The prince sat above; the elder stood in front; Pilgrim stood at his left hand; the temple's monks withdrew. Then Pilgrim came forward, his face grave: "Your Highness: the one who turned to wind and vanished was your own father, who begot you. The one you see seated on the throne is that rain-praying master." The prince said, "Nonsense, nonsense. Since the master left, my father's realm has had rains in season, peace within and security without. By your telling, that is not my father on the throne. I am young, so I tolerate you. If my royal father heard such treasonous talk, he would have you seized and cut to ten thousand pieces." With a bark he shouted Pilgrim down. Pilgrim said to the Tang monk: "What did I tell you? I said he would not believe—and so it is, so it is. Now let us present the treasure to him, get our travel papers stamped, and be off to the west." Tripitaka handed the red box to Pilgrim. Pilgrim took it, shook himself, and the box vanished: it was his own hair changed, and he drew it back onto his body. Then with both hands he raised the white jade tablet and presented it to the prince.

Seeing it, the prince said: "Fine monk, fine monk! Five years ago you were that perfected master, come to trick my house of its treasure—now you dress as a monk and offer it back." He called: "Seize them!" At the command the elder panicked and pointed at Pilgrim in a fluster: "You Bimawen! Always stirring up trouble out of nothing—and dragging me into it." Pilgrim stepped up and stopped them all: "Quiet—don't let the secret out! Emperor-Maker is not my only name. I have a true one." The prince raged: "Come here. Tell me your true name, so I can hand you to the courts and have your crime fixed!" Pilgrim said, "I am that elder's eldest disciple, called Wukong, Pilgrim Sun. Traveling with my master west to fetch the scriptures, we came last night seeking lodging. My master was reading scriptures by night, and at the third watch he had a dream. He dreamed your royal father came and said he had been wronged by that perfected master, shoved into the eight-sided glazed well in the imperial garden, while the master took his very shape. The court officials cannot tell; you are young and cannot know. He bars you from the palace and shuts the garden, mostly for fear the secret will out. Your royal father came last night specifically to ask me to subdue the demon. I feared it might be no fiend, so I watched from the air: it is a monster, surely. I was just moving to seize him when who should come out of the city hunting? The white hare your arrow struck was Old Sun himself. Old Sun led you to this temple, to my master, and told you what was in his heart—every word true. Since you know the white jade tablet, why not remember the grace that raised you, and avenge your own flesh and blood?"

Hearing this, the prince felt a chill of grief and sorrowed in secret: "If I do not believe it, still there is a three-parts truth in it. If I do believe—yet the man on the throne is my own father, to my eyes." Truly: advancing or retreating, hard either way, the heart questions the mouth; thinking it over thrice and holding still, the mouth questions the heart. Seeing him wavering, Pilgrim stepped up again: "Your Highness, no need to doubt. Return to your country and put one question to her Majesty your mother: how does the love between her and the king compare with three years ago? One question, and you will know true from false."

The prince's mind turned: "Right. Wait while I go question my mother." He sprang up, tucked the white jade tablet away, and made to go. Pilgrim held him: "If all these troops go back with you, won't the secret leak, and my work be spoiled? Go in alone, one man, one horse. Make no show of your name. Don't enter by the front main gate—go in by the rear gate. In the palace, when you see your mother, no loud voices: soft words and low. That monster's magic is vast. If word slips out even for a moment, you and your mother may both lose your lives." The prince strictly obeyed. Outside the gate he told his officers: "Encamp right here. Do not move. I have one matter; I will go and return, and we enter the city together." See him:

Giving his orders to the massed soldiers, he leaped on his horse and flew back toward the city.

What would he say when he saw the queen? Listen to the next chapter to find out.