Chapter 44

The Dharma Body, in Its Prime Course, Meets the Toil of Carts; the Heart Held Upright Passes the Spine Pass Past the Fiends

The poem says:

Seeking scriptures, shaking free of hindrances, journeying west: famed mountains without number, and never an end.The hare runs and the crow flies, hurrying day and night; birds cry and blossoms fall, each season on its own.Beneath the eye, three thousand worlds like motes of dust; at the tin staff's head, four hundred provinces.Sleeping by streams, eating the wind, they take the purple roads; no day yet set for the turning of the head.

Now the Tang monk Tripitaka, thanks to the dragon prince subduing the demon and the Black River's god opening the road, had crossed the Black River with his disciples and taken the great road due west. Truly they braved the wind and faced the snow, wearing the moon and mantled in stars. They traveled a long while, and it was the weather of early spring. Here is what they saw:

The three suns turn the wheel, and the ten thousand things shine. The three suns turn the wheel: the whole sky, bright and fair, opens like a painted scroll; the ten thousand things shine: the ground everywhere fragrant, spread like an embroidered carpet. A few last flakes of snow on the withered plums; a whole river-plain of cloud where the wheat is rising. Ice melts by degrees and the mountain springs run; sprouts break everywhere over the burned stubble. And this indeed: Taihao rides the trigram Zhen, Goumang governs the hour; flowers scent the warm wind, clouds are pale and the sunlight new; by the roadside the willows unclench their green eyes, and the rich rain quickens the ten thousand shapes of spring.

Master and disciples were on the road, viewing the scenery and walking their horse slowly, when suddenly they heard a great shout, like the battle-cry of thousands upon thousands of men. The heart of the Tang monk Tripitaka quailed; he reined in and could not go on, and turned in haste: “Wukong, where is that thunderous noise coming from?” Bajie said: “Like the earth splitting and mountains falling.” Sha Monk said: “Like thunder and lightning.” Tripitaka said: “Rather men shouting and horses neighing.” Pilgrim Sun laughed: “None of you has guessed it. Wait here, while old Sun sees what it is.”

Good Pilgrim: with a bound he stepped on the light of cloud and rose into the air; opening his eyes he saw, far off, a city. Nearer, there was indeed a hidden glow of auspicious light, with no flurries of baleful air to be seen. Pilgrim murmured to himself: “A fine place — but why the roar in one's ears? No banners or halberds in that city, no boom of cannon: why this din of men and horses?” While he wondered, he saw that outside the city gate, on a stretch of open sand, a great crowd of monks had gathered, hauling carts. It seemed they were pulling together with all their might in a work-chant, all crying “Bodhisattva the Great-Strength King!” — and so the Tang monk was startled.

Little by little Pilgrim brought his cloud down to look — ah! The carts were loaded with brick and tile, timber, and unburnt clay. The sandbank's slope rose highest of all, and up it ran a narrow pass between ridges, with two great barriers; and below the barriers the road ran up cliffs sheer as a wall. How would those carts be hauled up? Mild as the weather was, the men were in rags, and looked hard beset. Pilgrim wondered: “Perhaps they are building a temple. The land here is rich in grain, and they can find no hired hands, so the monks must labor themselves.” While he was still guessing, out of the city gate swayed two young Daoists. Look how they were dressed:

A starry crown on the head, brocade on the body. The starry crown on the head glittered and shone; the brocade on the body trailed like rosy cloud. Cloud-toed shoes on their feet; a cord of twisted silk at the waist. Faces like the full moon, clever and handsome; figures like fair guests from the jade heaven.

At the sight of the Daoists the monks, one and all, went weak with fear and pulled at the carts redoubled, toiling in bitterness. Pilgrim understood: “Aha! These monks must be afraid of the Daoists — else why pull like this? I have heard it said that on the western road there is a place that honors the Way and crushes the monks: this must be it. I would go back and report to Master, but the matter is not clear, and I would only draw his rebuke: ‘A clever fellow like you, and you can't get at the truth.’ Better go down and get it clear, and then report.”

And whom do you think he went to ask? The good Great Sage pressed down his cloud to the foot of the walled town, shook himself, and changed into a wandering Daoist of cloud and water, a fire-and-water basket hung on his left arm, tapping a fish-drum, singing a Daoist lay. At the gate he met the two Daoists, bowed, and said: “Reverend sirs, your humble Daoist gives you greeting.” The Daoists returned the bow: “Where do you come from, sir?” Pilgrim said: “Your disciple has wandered the corners of the sea and drifted to the ends of the earth. Today I come to this place, hoping to beg at kind households. May I ask you two reverend sirs: which street in this city is fond of the Way? Which lane loves the worthy? Your humble Daoist would gladly beg a meal.” The Daoists laughed: “Sir, why do you talk such dispiriting stuff?” Pilgrim said: “What is dispiriting about it?” The Daoists said: “You want to beg a meal — is that not dispiriting?” Pilgrim said: “We who have left home live by alms; if we did not beg our food, how would we find money to buy it?” The Daoists laughed: “You have come from far away, and do not know the ways of this city of ours. Never mind the civil and military officers who love the Way, the rich gentry who cherish worthies, the grown men and little children who bow and offer vegetarian fare to the likes of us — no need to speak of those. First and foremost, the sovereign of ten thousand years loves the Way and cherishes worthies.”

Pilgrim said: “Your humble Daoist, first, is young, and second, has but just come from far away, and truly does not know. I beg you two reverend sirs to tell me the name of this place and the story of how the sovereign loves the Way and cherishes worthies — a full account would show the feeling of one Way for another.” The Daoist said: “This city is called the Kingdom of Cart-Slow. The sovereign on his jeweled throne is kin to us.” Pilgrim, hearing, laughed aloud: “A Daoist has turned emperor, has he?” The Daoist said: “No. It was twenty years ago: the people met a killing drought — not a drop from the sky, not a shoot from the earth. Prince and commoner, great house and small, every family bathed and burned incense, every household bowed to heaven and prayed for rain. Just as all hung by a thread, three immortal elders came down from the sky and looked down in mercy on living things.” Pilgrim asked: “What three immortals?” The Daoist said: “Our own masters.” Pilgrim said: “What are your masters called?” The Daoist said: “Our first master is called the Great Immortal Tiger Strength; our second master, the Great Immortal Deer Strength; our third master, the Great Immortal Goat Strength.” Pilgrim asked: “What powers have these worthy masters?” The Daoist said: “Our masters call the wind and summon the rain between the turning of a hand; they turn water to oil and touch stone to gold as easily as turning round. With such powers they can wrest the workings of heaven and earth and swap the subtleties of the stars; lord and minister revered them and made them kin.”

Pilgrim said: “That emperor has fortune indeed. As the saying goes: ‘Art moves dukes and ministers.’ With such skill in your masters, the alliance was no loss to him. Ah! Might your humble Daoist have some little thread of fate, to see those worthy masters face to face?” The Daoist laughed: “You want to see our masters — what difficulty is there? We two are the disciples who lie against their breasts; and our masters are so fond of the Way and of worthies that at the mere word ‘Way’ they come out the great gate. With us two to introduce you, it is the effort of blowing off ash.” Pilgrim bowed deeply: “Many thanks for the introduction. Let us go in now.” The Daoist said: “Wait a little while. Sit here, and when we two have finished our official business we will come and take you in.” Pilgrim said: “We who have left home are bound by nothing, free and easy — what official business?” The Daoist pointed at the monks on the sandbank: “They are doing our house's work, and for fear they shirk, we go to take their roll call and come back.”

Pilgrim, hearing, seized the Daoist, with tears: “I said I had no fate, and truly I have none — I shall not see your masters' faces.” The Daoist said: “How so, no seeing?” Pilgrim said: “Your humble Daoist wanders the countryside: first for the sake of my life, and second to look for kin.” The Daoist asked: “What kin have you?” Pilgrim said: “I had an uncle who left home young and shaved his head for a monk. In years of famine he too went out begging. These several years he has not come home; mindful of my forefathers' kindness, I have come along the way to look for him. Perhaps he is stuck in some place like this and cannot get away — who can say. Unless I find him and see his face, I cannot go in with you.” The Daoist said: “That much is easy. We two will sit down; do you go to the sandbank and take the roll for us — only count off the five hundred heads, and see whether your uncle is among them. If he is, then, for the fellowship of the Way, we will let him go, and go into the city with you — how is that?”

Pilgrim thanked him past telling, bowed long and low, left the Daoists, tapped his fish-drum, and went straight to the sandbank. Past the two barriers, around through the spine pass — and the monks all knelt and knocked their heads: “Grandpa, we have not shirked: of the five hundred, not half a one is missing; we are all here hauling carts.” Pilgrim looked and chuckled inwardly: “These monks have been beaten into terror by the Daoists — at a sham Daoist like me they are in this fright. A real one, and they would never live.” He waved his hands: “No kneeling, no fear. I am no overseer — I came looking for kin.” At the word “kin” the monks closed round him in a ring, every one thrusting out his face and clearing his throat, dying to be claimed. “Which of us might be his kin?” Pilgrim looked a while, then burst out laughing. The monks said: “Master, if you will not claim kin, why laugh?” Pilgrim said: “Do you know what I am laughing at? At you monks for being such poor stuff. Your parents gave you birth because fate had set the Canopy Star on you, cursing father and cursing mother — or because you would never marry or have sisters — and so they gave you up to the cloister. And do you keep the Three Treasures? Do you honor the Buddha's law? Do you read scripture and make confession? No — you hire out to Daoists, and serve as menials and slaves!” The monks said: “Master, you have come to mock us. You, sir, must be from outside; you do not know our case here.” Pilgrim said: “From outside it is, truly; and truly I do not know what case there is here.”

The monks, dropping tears, said: “The king of this whole country is partial and without the Way: those he loves are the masters' sort; what he hates is us, the Buddha's children.” Pilgrim said: “How so?” The monks said: “It was all the wind-calling, rain-summoning: the three immortals came here and destroyed our standing, gulled the king into belief, tore down our temples, revoked our ordination papers, refused us leave to go home, and forbade us to take service or draw pay — we were handed over to the immortals' houses to be used. The misery is past bearing. Let but a wandering Daoist come here, and he is invited to court and rewarded; let a monk come, near or far, and he is seized for the immortals' service.” Pilgrim said: “Surely those Daoists have some cunning art that bewitched the king. If it were only calling wind and summoning rain, that is a side-alley trick, a small art — how could it move a king's heart?” The monks said: “They can knead sand and smelt mercury, sit in meditation and guard the spirit, turn water to oil and touch stone to gold. Now they are raising the Temple of the Three Pure Ones, reading scripture day and night before heaven and earth, making confession, praying the king ten thousand years without age: and so the king's heart has been bewitched.”

Pilgrim said: “So that is how it is. Then why don't you all run away?” The monks said: “Master, there is no running. The immortals petitioned the king, and our likenesses were drawn and posted up on every side, forever. This kingdom of Cart-Slow is a wide realm: every prefecture, department, county, village and market has its picture of a monk, inscribed by the royal brush itself. An official who takes a monk is promoted three grades; a commoner who takes a monk is rewarded with fifty taels of silver. So there is no running. Never mind monks — a man with cropped hair, a bald head, thin hair even, can hardly escape. The constables are many on every side, the manhunt is everywhere: run as you may, there is no getting free. We have no choice but to drag out our days here in misery.”

Pilgrim said: “In that case, you might as well be dead.” The monks said: “Master, some are dead. Snatched up from everywhere and herded with the monks of this place, we were two thousand and more. Those who could not endure the misery, the roasting, the cold, the water and soil of the place — six or seven hundred died, and seven or eight hundred took their own lives. Only we five hundred cannot die.” Pilgrim said: “How so, cannot die?” The monks said: “The rope breaks at the hanging; the knife does not bite at the throat; they who leap into the river float up and do not sink; they who take poison stay hale and unhurt.” Pilgrim said: “Then you are lucky — heaven has granted you long life.” The monks said: “Master, you have dropped a word: it is ‘long suffering’ heaven grants. Our three meals a day are thin gruel of unpolished rice; at night we lie on the sandbank under the dew. And hardly are our eyes closed before spirits stand guard about us.” Pilgrim said: “Worn out, I suppose, and seeing ghosts?” The monks said: “No ghosts — the Six Dings and Six Jias, and the guardians of the faith. Every night they come to protect us. Any of us who wants to die they hold back and will not let die.” Pilgrim said: “Those spirits are unreasonable. They ought to let you die early and be born in heaven — what do they protect you for?” The monks said: “In our dreams they reason with us, and tell us not to seek death but to hold on in misery, waiting for the holy monk of the Great Tang in the Land of the East, bound for the Western Heaven for scriptures. He has a disciple, the Great Sage Equal to Heaven, of vast powers, whose heart is set on loyalty and right, who rights wrongs in the world of men, relieves the needy and props the falling, pities orphans and remembers widows. We wait for him to come and show his power, destroy the Daoists, and restore the honor of the Buddha's teaching.”

At this Pilgrim chuckled to himself: “Say not old Sun has no means — the spirits have published his name beforehand.” He slipped away at once, tapping his fish-drum, left the monks, and came back to the gate to the Daoists. The Daoists met him: “Sir, which one is your kinsman?” Pilgrim said: “All five hundred are kin to me.” The two Daoists laughed: “How did you come by so many kin?” Pilgrim said: “A hundred are my left-hand neighbors, a hundred my right; a hundred are my father's people, a hundred my mother's, and a hundred my sworn friends. If you will release all five hundred, I will go in with you; if not, I am not going.” The Daoist said: “You must have the falling sickness, to talk such nonsense on the spot. Those monks were bestowed by the king himself. To release one or two, we should have to file a sickness report with our masters, then a death report to fill the place — and you say, release them all? The thing will not stand — it will not stand. Never mind having no one to work in our house: the court itself would blame us. The district head would send officers to inspect, and very likely the royal carriage itself would come to take the roll. How dare we release them?” Pilgrim said: “You will not release them?” The Daoists said: “We will not!” Three times over Pilgrim asked, and then his anger rose. From his ear he drew the iron staff, kneaded it once against the wind to the thickness of a bowl, flourished it, and swept it at the Daoists' faces. Poor souls — heads burst, blood streaming, they fell to the ground: skin split, necks snapped, brains spilled.

The monks on the sandbank, seeing from far off that he had beaten the two Daoists dead, dropped the carts and came running up: “Bad, bad! He has killed the royal kin!” Pilgrim said: “Who is royal kin?” The monks ringed him round like a winnowing basket: “Their masters go up to the throne without bowing to kings, and leave the hall without taking leave of the host; the court calls them ‘elders of the state preceptors.’ How could you come here and stir up this trouble? Their disciples came out to oversee the work — no business of yours — how could you beat them dead? The immortals will not say you killed them: they will say we, the work-gang overseers, took their lives. What will become of us? You must come into the city and answer for the lives.” Pilgrim laughed: “Gentlemen, no shouting. I am no wandering Daoist of cloud and water: I have come to save you.” The monks said: “You have beaten men to death and ruined us, and hung a fresh weight on us — how is that saving us?” Pilgrim said: “I am the Pilgrim Sun Wukong, disciple of the holy monk of the Great Tang, come here on purpose to save your lives.” The monks said: “No, no — that master we know by sight.” Pilgrim said: “You have never met him — how would you know him?” The monks said: “In dreams we have often seen an old man, who said he was the Gold Star of Venus, and he has often taught us, describing what the Pilgrim Sun looks like, so we would not mistake him.” Pilgrim said: “And what did he tell you?” The monks said: “He said the Great Sage—”

A corrugated brow, gold eyes gleaming bright; a round head, a hairy face, no jowls. Gap teeth and a pointed snout, a wayward temper. In looks like a thunder-lord, a wonder and a fright.Old hand with the gold-banded iron staff; once he battered open heaven's gates. Now returned to the right, he guards the monk's road. Set wholly on ending the world's calamities.

Pilgrim, hearing, was vexed and glad at once. Glad: “Publishing old Sun's name for him!” Vexed: “The old rascal — blurting my true body to a pack of mortals.” Suddenly he cried out: “You are right — I am not Pilgrim Sun. I am a pupil of his, come here to learn how to stir up mischief. Look — is not that Pilgrim Sun coming now?” He pointed with his hand toward the east, gulled the monks into turning their heads, and showed his true form. Then they knew him, and cast themselves down one by one: “Grandpa! We are mortal stock with fleshy eyes — we did not know it was you transfigured. We beg you to wipe out our wrong and clear away our calamity, and go early into the city, cast down the wicked and side with the right.” Pilgrim said: “Then follow me.” The monks kept close at his side.

The Great Sage went straight to the sandbank, used his power, hauled the carts over the two barriers and through the spine pass, lifted them, and smashed them to splinters; the brick and tile and timber he pitched all down the slope. He called to the monks: “Scatter! Do not hang about my hands and feet. Tomorrow I will see this emperor and destroy those Daoists.” The monks said: “Grandpa! We dare not go far: we fear the officers would seize us and haul us back for the lash and the ransom — fresh calamity again.” Pilgrim said: “Then I will give you each a charm of protection.” The good Great Sage plucked out a fistful of hairs, chewed them fine, and gave each monk a piece, telling them: “Push it under the nail of your nameless finger, clench your fist, and walk on your way. If no one seizes you, so much the better; if anyone seizes you, clench the fist tight and call on the Great Sage Equal to Heaven, and I will come and protect you.” The monks said: “Grandpa, if we have gone too far to see you, and you do not answer the call — what then?” Pilgrim said: “Set your minds at rest. Though it were ten thousand li, you shall come to no harm.” A few of the bolder ones clenched their fists and softly called: “Great Sage Equal to Heaven!” — and there stood a thunder-lord before each, iron staff in hand, whom a host of a thousand horse and ten thousand men could not have come near. Then a hundred and more called together, and a hundred and more Great Sages stood guarding them. The monks knocked their heads: “Grandpa, it truly works!” Pilgrim gave his word further: “Cry the one word ‘Recall,’ and I take them back.” And truly, at the cry of “Recall” they were hairs again, tucked in the cracks of their fingernails. Then at last the monks went off rejoicing, scattering every way. Pilgrim said: “Do not stray too far. Listen for news from the city: the moment a proclamation inviting monks is posted, come into the city and give me back my hairs.” So the five hundred monks scattered east, scattered west, walking and standing, every which way — no more of that.

Now the Tang monk, unable to wait by the roadside for Pilgrim's report, had told Zhu Bajie to lead the horse westward, and they had met monks fleeing along the way. Near the city wall they found Pilgrim still there with a dozen or so monks who had not yet scattered. Tripitaka reined in: “Wukong, you went to find out what the noise was — why so long away?” Pilgrim brought the dozen monks forward; they bowed before the Tang monk's horse, and he told the whole story. Tripitaka was greatly alarmed: “If that is how it is, what will become of us?” The dozen monks said: “Be at ease, master. The Great Sage Sun is a god descended from heaven, of vast powers: he will surely keep you from harm. We are monks of the Temple of the Abyss of Wisdom, built by imperial decree, in this city. Because that temple was raised by the founding emperor's own hand, his sacred image stands within, and it alone has not been torn down: every temple in the city, great and small, has been. We beg you, master, to go into the city early and lodge in our poor mountain hall; tomorrow at morning court the Great Sage Sun will have his plan.” Pilgrim said: “You talk sense. Very well — let us into the city at once.”

The elder then dismounted and came to the gate of the city. The sun was already sinking in the west. Over the drawbridge, in through three gates: the people in the streets, seeing the monks of the Temple of the Abyss of Wisdom leading a horse and carrying packs, all drew aside. Presently they came to the temple gate. High on it hung a great gold-lettered plaque: IMPERIALLY ENDOWED TEMPLE OF THE ABYSS OF WISDOM. The monks pushed open the gate, passed through the Hall of the Guardians, and opened the door of the main hall. Tang monk took out his kasaya, put it on, bowed before the golden body, and went in. The monks called for the keeper, and an old monk came out, saw Pilgrim, and bowed at once: “Grandpa, you have come!” Pilgrim said: “Which grandpa do you take me for, that you bow and hail me so?” The monk said: “I know you: Grandpa Sun, the Great Sage Equal to Heaven. We see you in our dreams night after night. The Gold Star of Venus often comes to us in dreams and says that only when you come shall we get our lives back. Today we see your face, and it is the very face of our dreams. Grandpa — how good you came early! A day or two later, and we should all be ghosts.” Pilgrim laughed: “Rise, rise. Tomorrow the matter will be settled.” The monks made a vegetarian meal, and master and disciples ate; they swept the abbot's room clean, and slept one night.

At the second watch the Great Sage Sun, his mind full of business, could not sleep, and heard music and drumming somewhere. Quietly he got up, dressed, and leapt into the air to look: it was away to the south, all a-blaze with lamps and candles. He brought his cloud down to look closer: it was the Daoists of the Temple of the Three Pure Ones, offering the star-rites of propitiation. And this is what it was like:

A numinous precinct, a lofty hall; a blessed ground, a true sanctuary. A numinous precinct, a lofty hall: towered and stately as the fairy isle of Penglai; a blessed ground, a true sanctuary: dim and clear as the Palace of Transforming Joy. On either side Daoists played the reed pipes; in front the high officer lifted the jade tablet. He proclaimed the confession that dispels calamity and opened the reading of the Scripture of the Way and Its Power. The raised regalia passed at every turn; the reader made his protest, and all bowed low. He charmed the water and issued the writ: candle flames swayed, streaming up to the higher spheres; he traced the stars and marshaled the Dipper: incense smoke, fragrant, pierced the clear empyrean. On the altar stood offerings fresh and new; on the table, a vegetarian feast in abundance.

Before the hall door hung a couplet of yellow damask inwoven with silk, embroidered with twenty-two large characters: “Rain in season, wind in tune — we vow to the Celestial Worthy his measureless dharma; rivers clear, seas at peace — we pray long years to spare for the sovereign of ten thousand ages.” Pilgrim saw three old Daoists robed in vestments — doubtless that Tiger Strength, Deer Strength and Goat Strength. Below were seven or eight hundred of the rank and file, drummers and bell-ringers, censer-bearers and readers, all standing in attendance on both sides. Pilgrim rejoiced inwardly: “I would go down and mix among them — but one thread makes no line, and one palm cannot clap. Back I go to fetch Bajie and Sha Monk, and we will come and play together.”

He pressed down his auspicious cloud and came straight to the abbot's room. Bajie and Sha Monk were sleeping sound as drains. Pilgrim called Wujing first; Sha Monk woke: “Brother, have you not gone to bed?” Pilgrim said: “Get up: come and enjoy something with me.” Sha Monk said: “Midnight and the third watch, mouth dry and eyes gummy — enjoy what?” Pilgrim said: “In this city there is indeed a Temple of the Three Pure Ones, and the Daoists are keeping their rite there. On the altar of the Three Pure Ones are offerings past counting: steamed buns big as a peck measure; baked fruits fifty or sixty catties apiece; rice piled high; fruit fresh and fine. Come enjoy them with me.” Zhu Bajie, hearing talk of good things in his sleep, woke at once: “Brother, you would go without me?” Pilgrim said: “Brother, if you want to eat, no shouting and squalling to wake Master — just come with me.”

The two threw on their clothes, slipped quietly out the door, and followed Pilgrim onto the cloud, and up they jumped. The Idiot saw lamplight and made to pounce; Pilgrim held him: “Not yet. Wait till they break up — then we go down.” Bajie said: “They have only just got into the swing of their chanting — how will they break up?” Pilgrim said: “Wait till I work a little art; then they will break up.” The good Great Sage pinched the sign, recited a spell, took a breath from the quarter of Xun and blew — and it was a wild gale, rolling straight into the hall of the Three Pure Ones, knocking over the flower vases and candlesticks and the tablets of merit hung on the four walls, till the lamps went dark. The Daoists' hearts quaked. The Great Immortal Tiger Strength said: “Disciples, disperse. This wind of spirits has passed and blown out lamps, candles, incense and flowers. Go each to his bed, rise early tomorrow, and chant several extra scrolls of scripture to make up the count.” And so the Daoists all withdrew.

Then Pilgrim led Bajie and Sha Monk down with the cloud and charged into the hall of the Three Pure Ones. The Idiot, raw or cooked, grabbed a baked fruit and set his teeth in it; Pilgrim whipped out the iron staff and smote his hand. Bajie snatched back his hand and dodged: “I have not even tasted anything, and I am beaten.” Pilgrim said: “None of your shabby manners. Sit down properly, let us make our courtesies, and then eat.” Bajie said: “Shame on you — stealing a meal, and making courtesies! If we had been invited, what would you do then?” Pilgrim said: “Who are the seated images here?” Bajie laughed: “You do not know the Three Pure Ones, and take them for some bodhisattvas?” Pilgrim said: “Which Three Pure Ones?” Bajie said: “The middle one is the Celestial Worthy of the First Origin; the left one is the Lord of the Numinous Treasure; the right one is the Supreme Lord Lao.” Pilgrim said: “We had best take their shapes, and eat in peace.” The Idiot, impatient — the fragrant offerings tormenting him — scrambled up the high altar and butted the Supreme Lord Lao off with one shove of his snout: “Old gentleman, you have sat long enough. Let old Pig sit a while.” Bajie took the form of the Supreme Lord Lao, Pilgrim the Celestial Worthy of the First Origin, and Sha Monk the Lord of the Numinous Treasure; the original images they shoved down below.

And no sooner were they seated than Bajie snatched at the big buns. Pilgrim said: “Not so fast.” Bajie said: “Brother, changed as we are — if we do not eat now, what are we waiting for?” Pilgrim said: “Brother, eating is a small matter; letting heaven's secrets leak is a large one. Those sacred images are shoved down on the floor: should some early-rising Daoist come to ring the bell and sweep, or trip over one head over heels — would not the news be out? Hide them away to one side.” Bajie said: “The ways here are strange to me; I cannot find the door — where would I hide them?” Pilgrim said: “When I came in just now there was a little door at the right hand, and inside was a stink to fell a beast: some wheel-of-the-five-grains place, I would say. Take them there.”

The Idiot, who had his hulking strength, hopped down, shouldered the three sacred images, and carried them out. Coming to that place, he kicked the door open and looked: it was a great privy. He laughed: “That Bimawen can surely turn a phrase — he has given a latrine a religious title, calls it a ‘wheel of the five grains.’” But the Idiot, the images on his shoulder, did not yet throw them in; mumbling and muttering, he made his prayer:

“Three Pure Ones, Three Pure Ones, hear what I say: from far away we have come, old hands at killing demons. We would enjoy your offerings, but there is nowhere quiet. We borrow your seats, only a moment's rest. You have sat long enough: step down a while into the privy. All your days you have enjoyed boundless ease, as pure Daoists; today you must taste something filthy too, and be Celestial Worthies of the bad smell!”

The prayer said, he slung them in with a splash, was drenched half down his front with foul water, and came back up into the hall.

Pilgrim said: “Hidden well?” Bajie said: “Hidden well enough — only the water splashed up and fouled my clothes, and there is a stink of it. Do not be sickened.” Pilgrim laughed: “Very well — come and enjoy yourself. Though whether you will get out of this place with a clean skin is another question.” The Idiot took the shape of the Supreme Lord Lao again; the three sat down and ate their fill. First the big buns, then the clustered platters, the rice, the pastries, the oven cakes, the biscuit ingots, the oil-fried crisps, the steamed shortbreads — never mind hot or cold, they ate at will. Now Pilgrim Sun cared little for cooked food: he had a few fruits only, to keep the other two company. That one meal, like a shower of stars chasing the moon, like wind sweeping dead leaves, ate everything clean: nothing was left. And still they did not go, but sat there chatting at their ease, digesting and playing.

Ah! But here is a thing. Under the eastern corridor a little Daoist had just gone to bed when suddenly he sat up: “My hand-bell — I left it in the hall. If it is lost, Master will take me to task tomorrow.” He told his bedfellow: “Sleep on; I will go look for it.” In his haste he did not dress but flung a gown over him and went straight to the main hall after the bell. Feeling here and there, he found it. Just as he turned to go, he heard breathing. The Daoist took fright and hurried for the door — and somehow trod on a lychee stone and slipped, and fell; and with a crash the bell was dashed to pieces. Zhu Bajie could not contain himself and burst out laughing. The little Daoist was scared clean out of his three souls and his seven spirits; stumbling at every step he tumbled to the abbot's door, hammered on it, and cried: “Grand-master, bad news — disaster!” The three old Daoists were not yet asleep; they opened the door and asked: “What disaster?” Quaking, he said: “Your disciple forgot his hand-bell, and went to the hall to look for it, and heard somebody laughing fit to burst — I was near frightened to death.” The old Daoists, hearing, called: “Bring lights! Let us see what demon thing this is.” At the word of command the whole two corridors of Daoists, great and small, scrambled up, lit lamps and torches, and went to look into the main hall.

What came of it all? Listen to the next chapter to find out.

The Law-Body Meets the Cart Pullers in Its Turn of Fate; the Heart Set Right Passes the Spine Gate Past the Fiends.

The poem says:

Seeking scriptures and breaking through blocks, they traveled west; famous mountains without number, never an end.The hare runs and the crow flies, hurrying day and night; birds cry and flowers fall, spring and autumn passing on their own.Under the eye's fine dust lie three thousand worlds; beside the tin staff's head pass four hundred provinces.Sleeping by water, eating the wind, they took the purple roads—who knows on what day they will turn back.

The story goes that the Tang Tripitaka, thanks to the dragon prince subduing the demon and the Black River god opening the way, crossed the Black River with his disciples and found the great road westward. Truly they faced the wind and braved the snow, wore the moon and carried the stars. They traveled a long time, and it came on to be early spring. Look:

The three lights of yang turned in their course, and all things shone. The three lights turned, and the bright sky opened like a painted scroll; all things shone, and fragrant growth spread a brocade carpet over the ground. A few spots of snow still clung to the plum; the wheat rose like a cloud across the plain. The ice broke bit by bit, and mountain springs began to run; buds burst out everywhere, burying the marks of old burning. It was just then that Taihao rode his thunder sign and Goumang held the season; flower scent filled a warm wind, clouds were thin and the sunlight new; the willows by the road unrolled their green eyes, and rich rain bred spring in all things.

Master and disciples went along the road, admiring the scenery and walking the horses slowly, when suddenly they heard a great shout, like the cry of ten thousand men. The Tang Tripitaka was frightened and pulled up his horse, unable to go on, and turned quickly: "Wukong, where is that great noise coming from?" Bajie said: "It's like the earth splitting and the mountains falling." Sha Monk said: "It's like thunder and lightning." Tripitaka said: "Or men shouting and horses neighing." Pilgrim Sun laughed: "None of you can guess. Wait; let old Sun see what it is."

Good Pilgrim—he gave a leap, stepped onto cloud light, rose into the air, opened his eyes, and looked: far off he saw a city. Coming nearer, he saw a kind of hidden auspicious glow and no sign of any evil air. Pilgrim murmured to himself: "A fine place—so why the din in the ears? No banners or halberds in that city, and it isn't the roar of cannon—why all this clamor of men and horses?" While he wondered, he saw outside the city gate a stretch of open sand, crowded with many monks pulling carts. It turned out they were all straining together with a work chant, all crying "Bodhisattva of Great Strength"—that was what had startled the Tang monk.

Pilgrim gradually let his cloud down to look. Ah! The carts were loaded with bricks, tiles, timber, mud bricks, and such. From the sands the slope rose highest of all, and there was a narrow path squeezed between ridges, with two great gates. The road below the gates ran up a sheer, upright cliff—how could a cart be hauled up that? Though the weather was mild, the men were in rags and looked hard pressed. Pilgrim wondered: "I suppose they're raising a temple. The harvests here are rich, so they can't hire laborers, and these monks must do the work themselves." While he was still guessing, two young Daoists came swaying out of the city gate. Look how they were dressed:

Star-crowned hats on their heads, brocade robes on their bodies. Star-crowned hats glittering and bright; brocade robes drifting like rosy clouds. Cloud-toed shoes on their feet; a smooth silk sash at the waist. Faces like the full moon, clever and handsome; figures as fine as guests from the jade heaven.

When the monks saw the Daoists come, every one of them shook with fear and strained all the harder, dragging the carts in bitter toil. Pilgrim understood: "Ah! These monks must be afraid of the Daoists—else why pull like that? I once heard it said that somewhere on the western road they honor the Dao and wipe out the monks. This must be the place. I'd like to go back and report to Master, but the business is not clear. If I go now he'll only scold me: 'A clever fellow like you can't even learn the truth.' Better wait, get it clear, and then give my report."

Now whom did he go and ask? Good Great Sage—he set down his cloud at the foot of the city, shook himself, and turned into a wandering Daoist of clouds and water, with a water-and-fire basket hung on his left arm, tapping a fish drum and singing a Daoist ballad. Near the gate he met the two Daoists, bowed low, and said: "Masters, your humble Daoist greets you." The Daoists returned the bow: "Where do you come from, sir?" Pilgrim said: "I have wandered cloud-like to the corners of the sea and drifted to the ends of the earth. Today I come here hoping to beg at some kind house. May I ask you two masters: which street in this city loves the Way? Which lane loves the worthy? I would go and beg a meal." The Daoist laughed: "Sir, why do you talk such unlucky talk?" Pilgrim said: "What is unlucky about it?" The Daoist said: "You want to beg a meal—isn't that unlucky?" Pilgrim said: "We who have left home live by begging. If I don't beg meals, where would I get money to buy?" The Daoist laughed: "You've come from far away and don't know how things stand in this city. Never mind the civil and military officials who love the Way, or the rich who cherish the worthy, or the men, women, and children who bow to us and send us fasts—those are not worth mentioning. First of all, the king himself loves the Way and honors the worthy."

Pilgrim said: "I am young, and newly come from far away; I truly don't know. Please tell me, masters, about this place—its name, and how the king loves the Way and honors the worthy—so I may see the fellowship of our calling." The Daoist said: "This city is called the country of Cart Slow. The king on his throne is kin to us." Pilgrim laughed out loud: "So a Daoist has become the emperor?" The Daoist said: "No. It is because twenty years ago the people met a great drought. Not a drop of rain fell from the sky, and not a seedling grew from the ground. King, ministers, and common folk, great houses and small—all bathed and burned incense, every household worshipping Heaven and begging for rain. Just when they were hanging between life and death, three immortal masters came down from Heaven to rescue the people." Pilgrim asked: "What three immortals?" The Daoist said: "Our own teachers." Pilgrim said: "What are your teachers called?" The Daoist said: "Our eldest teacher is the Great Immortal Tiger Strength; our second teacher is the Great Immortal Deer Strength; our third is the Great Immortal Goat Strength." Pilgrim asked: "What powers do these three teachers have?" The Daoist said: "My teachers can call the wind and summon the rain between the turning of a hand; point at water and make oil, touch stone and make gold—as easy as turning around. With such powers they can seize the crafting of heaven and earth and change the workings of the stars. King and ministers honor them, and they have become kin to us."

Pilgrim said: "What luck for this emperor. The saying goes: 'Skill moves dukes and ministers.' With a teacher of such powers, and kinship into the bargain, the emperor loses nothing. Ah! Might I, humble as I am, have a thread of luck and get one look at your teacher's face?" The Daoist laughed: "You want to see my teacher? What is hard about that? We two are the disciples closest to his heart. And my teacher loves the Way and honors the worthy—the very word 'Way' brings him out the front gate. If we two introduce you, it's as easy as blowing away dust." Pilgrim made a deep bow: "Many thanks for the recommendation. Let's go in now." The Daoist said: "Wait a bit. Sit here while we finish our work, and then we'll take you in." Pilgrim said: "We who have left home are free and unbound. What work do you have?" The Daoist pointed at the monks on the sand: "They are doing our house's work. For fear they shirk, we'll call the roll and come straight back." Pilgrim laughed: "Masters, you have it wrong. Monks and Daoists are all men who have left home. Why should they work for you and answer your roll call?" The Daoist said: "You don't know. Back when we prayed for rain, the monks worshipped the Buddha on one side and the Daoists prayed to the Dipper on the other, both fed by the court's grain. But the monks proved useless: they recited empty sutras and could do nothing. When my teachers came, they called the rain and the wind and saved the people from their misery. Then the court was angry, said the monks were useless, tore down their temple gates, smashed their Buddha images, took back their ordination papers, and would not let them go home; by royal gift they were handed over to my teachers' house to work like servants. They tend our fires, sweep our floors, prop our doors. Because the lodging at the back is still not finished, these monks were set to haul bricks and tiles, drag timber, and raise the buildings. We fear they would rather play than pull carts, so we two were sent to check on them."

Pilgrim heard this, seized the Daoist, and said with tears: "I said I had no luck—truly no luck; I cannot see your teacher's face." The Daoist said: "Why not?" Pilgrim said: "I wander the roads, first to earn my living, and second to look for a kinsman." The Daoist asked: "What kinsman?" Pilgrim said: "An uncle of mine left home as a boy and became a monk. In the famine years he too went out begging. These last years he has not come home. Thinking of my ancestors' kindness, I came this way to look for him. Maybe he is stuck in some such place as this, unable to get away—who can say? Unless I find him and see him first, I cannot go into the city with you." The Daoist said: "If that is all, it is easy. We'll sit down, and you go to the sand and make the count for me—just check that the heads number five hundred, and see whether your uncle is among them. If he is, out of regard for our common calling we will let him go, and then we'll take you into the city—how is that?"

Pilgrim thanked him without end, made a long bow, left the Daoists, tapped his fish drum, and went straight to the sand. Past the two gates, down into the spine pass, the monks all knelt and kowtowed: "Grandpa, we have not shirked. Five hundred men, not half a one missing—all here pulling carts." Pilgrim looked and laughed to himself: "These monks have been beaten by the Daoists so often that they tremble at a fake Daoist like me. A real one—and it would be the end of them." Pilgrim waved his hands: "Don't kneel. Don't be afraid. I am no overseer; I have come looking for a kinsman." When the monks heard "looking for kin," they closed around him in a ring, each pushing out his face, coughing and clearing his throat, eager to be recognized: "I wonder which one is his kin." Pilgrim looked a while and burst out laughing. The monks said: "Sir, you haven't found your kin—why laugh?" Pilgrim said: "Do you know what I am laughing at? At you monks—you have never grown up at all. Your parents gave you up because of your fate: unlucky stars crowding your father and mother, or no luck with brothers and sisters, so you were cut off and sent into holy orders. Why do you not keep to the Three Treasures, respect the Buddha's law, read the sutras, and do the penances? Why hire out to Daoists and let them use you like slaves?" The monks said: "Sir, you have come to shame us. You must be from outside; you don't know how things are here." Pilgrim said: "Indeed I am from another land, and truly don't know what is so terrible here."

The monks wept: "The king of this country is partial and without the Way. He loves only your sort, sir, and hates us Buddha's sons." Pilgrim said: "Why?" The monks said: "It is those three immortals who call the wind and rain. They came here and wiped us out, fooled the king into believing them, tore down our temples, took our ordination papers, and will not let us go home or take other work; they gave us to the immortals' house to use, and the misery is past bearing. Any wandering Daoist who comes here is received at once and led before the king for rewards; if a monk comes, near or far, he is seized for the immortals' house to labor." Pilgrim said: "I suppose those Daoists have some clever magic that beguiled the king. If it were only calling wind and rain, that is just small side-gate trickery—how could it move a king's heart?" The monks said: "They can knead sand and smelt mercury, sit in trance and hold the spirit, point at water and make oil, touch stone and make gold. Now they are building a Hall of the Three Pure Ones, reading scriptures and doing penance day and night before Heaven and earth, praying that the king live ten thousand years without aging—that is what bewitched the king's heart."

Pilgrim said: "So that is how it is. Why don't you all run away?" The monks said: "Sir, we cannot get away. The immortals petitioned the king and had our portraits drawn, and they are hung up everywhere, always. This country of Cart Slow is a wide land. In every prefecture, department, county, village, inn, and market there is a picture of a monk, with the king's own writing on it. An official who catches a monk is promoted three grades; a commoner who catches one is rewarded with fifty taels of silver. That is why we cannot get away. Never mind monks—even men with clipped hair, bald heads, or thin hair cannot escape. There are quick runners in every direction and a wide net of informers; however we try, it is hard to get free. We have no way out; we can only endure here in misery."

Pilgrim said: "In that case, some of you have died, I suppose." The monks said: "Sir, some have. They were caught everywhere and brought here with the local monks, more than two thousand in all. Those who could not bear the misery, the scorching, the cold, the strange water and soil—six or seven hundred died, and seven or eight hundred killed themselves. Only we five hundred cannot die." Pilgrim said: "How can you not die?" The monks said: "The rope breaks when we hang ourselves; the knife does not hurt when we cut our throats; those who jump into the river float up and do not sink; those who take poison stay sound and unhurt." Pilgrim said: "You are lucky. Heaven has granted you long life." The monks said: "Sir, you have left out a word: it is 'long suffering.' Our three meals a day are thin gruel of coarse rice. At night we lie out on the sand in the dew. The moment we close our eyes, spirits come to guard us." Pilgrim said: "Maybe you are worn out and seeing ghosts?" The monks said: "Not ghosts—the six Dings and six Jias, and the guardian spirits of the faith. Every night they come to protect us. Whoever wants to die, they hold him back and will not let him." Pilgrim said: "Those spirits are unreasonable. They ought to let you die soon and be reborn in heaven—why protect you?" The monks said: "In our dreams they reason with us: do not seek death; endure the misery and wait for the holy monk of the great Tang in the Land of the East, on his way to the Western Heaven for scriptures. One of his disciples is the Great Sage Equal to Heaven, vast in power, whose heart is set on loyalty and right, who rights the wrongs of the world, helps the needy and props up the weak, cares for orphans and remembers widows. Wait till he comes and shows his power, wipes out the Daoists, and restores honor to your Buddhist teaching."

Pilgrim heard and laughed to himself: "Don't say old Sun has no powers—the spirits announced my name ahead of time." He slipped away quickly, tapped his fish drum, left the monks, and came to the city gate, where he met the Daoists. The Daoist came toward him: "Sir, which one is your kinsman?" Pilgrim said: "All five hundred are kin to me." The two Daoists laughed: "How did you come by so many kin?" Pilgrim said: "A hundred are my left-hand neighbors, a hundred my right-hand neighbors, a hundred my father's clan, a hundred my mother's clan, and a hundred my sworn friends. If you will release all five hundred, I'll go in with you. If not, I am not going." The Daoist said: "You must have a fever; you are talking nonsense. Those monks were given by the king himself. To release one or two we would have to file a sickness report with our teacher, then a death report, and even then it would be a business. Release the lot of them? It makes no sense, none at all. Never mind that our house would have no servants—the court itself would blame us. The district head would send officers to inspect, and perhaps the king would come in person to count. How dare we release them?" Pilgrim said: "You won't release them?" The Daoist said: "We won't!" Pilgrim asked three times, and his anger rose. He took the iron staff from his ear, gave it a twist toward the wind, and it grew as thick as a bowl. He swung it once and struck at the Daoists' faces. Poor men—their heads burst and blood poured; they fell to the ground, skin split, necks snapped, and brains spilled out.

The monks on the sand saw from afar that he had beaten the two Daoists to death. They dropped the carts and ran up: "Bad, bad! He has killed the royal kin!" Pilgrim said: "Who is royal kin?" The monks ringed him around like a winnowing basket: "Their teachers go up to court without saluting the king and come down without taking leave of the host—the court calls them 'the elder brothers of the state preceptor.' How did you come here to make trouble? Their disciples came out to oversee the work—what business was that of yours? Why did you beat them to death? Those immortals will not say you killed them; they will say that we, the work gang, killed them. What will become of us? Come into the city with us and answer for the murder." Pilgrim laughed: "Friends, stop the shouting. I am no wandering Daoist. I have come to save you." The monks said: "You have killed men and gotten us into trouble and added to our burdens—how is that saving us?" Pilgrim said: "I am Sun Wukong the Pilgrim, disciple of the holy monk of the great Tang, come here on purpose to save your lives." The monks said: "No, no. We know that lord—it is not you." Pilgrim said: "You have never met him—how do you know him?" The monks said: "In our dreams we often see an old man who says he is the Gold Star of Venus. He keeps teaching us what that Pilgrim Sun looks like, so that we will not mistake him." Pilgrim said: "What does he tell you?" The monks said: "He says the Great Sage is—

a knotted brow and golden eyes a-shimmer; a round head, a hairy face, no cheeks. Gapped teeth, a pointed mouth, an unruly temper. In looks stranger than the Thunder God himself.He wields the gold-banded iron staff, and once broke open the gates of Heaven. Now he has turned to the right and come to guard a monk. He spends himself on ending the troubles of mankind."

Pilgrim heard, part vexed and part glad. Glad: "Spreading old Sun's fame!" Vexed: "That old rascal with his loose tongue has told my true shape to a pack of mortals." Then he said without thinking: "Friends, you are right—I am not Sun Wukong. I am one of Sun Wukong's disciples, come here to learn how to make trouble for fun. And look there—could that be Sun Wukong coming now?" He pointed east with his hand, tricking the monks into turning their heads, and showed his true form. Only then did the monks know him. They fell to the ground bowing: "Grandpa, we are mortal eyes and common flesh; we did not know it was you in disguise. We beg you to wipe out our wrongs and clear away our troubles—go into the city soon, cast down the false, and follow the true." Pilgrim said: "Then follow me." The monks kept close at his side.

The Great Sage went straight to the sand, used his divine power, hauled the carts over the two gates and through the spine pass, lifted them, and smashed them to pieces. He threw the bricks, tiles, and timber all down the slope. He called to the monks: "Scatter! Do not stay near my hands and feet. Tomorrow I will see this emperor and cast down those Daoists." The monks said: "Grandpa! We dare not go far. We fear the officers will catch us and haul us back for beating and ransom, and the trouble would only grow." Pilgrim said: "In that case, I will give you each a protective charm." Good Great Sage—he pulled out a fistful of hairs, chewed them to bits, and gave each monk a piece. He told them all: "Tuck it under the nail of your ring finger, clench your fist, and just walk on. If nobody grabs you, so much the better. If anyone grabs you, clench your fist tight and call out 'Great Sage Equal to Heaven,' and I will come to protect you." The monks said: "Grandpa, if we go far and cannot see you, and call and you do not answer—what then?" Pilgrim said: "Do not worry. Even ten thousand li away, you will be quite safe." One bold monk clenched his fist and softly called: "Great Sage Equal to Heaven!" And there stood a thunder god before him, iron staff in hand—with a thousand armies and ten thousand horses he could not have been touched. Then a hundred or more called together, and there were a hundred or more Great Sages guarding them. The monks kowtowed: "Grandpa, it truly works." Pilgrim gave another order: "Say the word 'Rest,' and I will take them back." Truly, at the word "Rest" they were hairs again, tucked in the cracks of their nails. Only then were the monks glad to run for their lives, and they scattered together. Pilgrim said: "Do not go too far away. Listen for news from the city. As soon as a proclamation calling the monks back appears, come into the city and return my hairs." The five hundred monks went east and west, some walking, some standing, scattering in all directions. No more of that for now.

Now the Tang monk, unable to wait for Pilgrim's report, had Bajie lead the horse westward, and on the way they met some monks hurrying along. Near the city they found Pilgrim still standing there with a dozen or so monks who had not scattered. Tripitaka drew rein: "Wukong, you went to find out about a noise—why have you been gone so long?" Pilgrim brought the dozen monks up, saluted before the Tang monk's horse, and told the whole story. Tripitaka was shocked: "In that case, what will become of us?" The dozen monks said: "Do not worry, reverend sir. Grandpa the Great Sage Sun came down from Heaven itself; his powers are vast, and he will surely keep you safe. We are monks of the Zhiyuan Temple in this city, built by imperial order. That temple was raised by the founding emperor with his own hand, and his sacred image stands inside it, still not torn down. Every temple in the city, great and small, has been torn down. We beg you, sir, to come into the city early and lodge at our poor temple. Tomorrow at morning court the Great Sage Sun will surely have a plan." Pilgrim said: "You are right. Very well—into the city, and quickly."

The elder dismounted and walked to the city gate. By then the sun was sinking in the west. They crossed the drawbridge and passed in through the three layers of gates. The people in the street, seeing monks of the Zhiyuan Temple leading a horse and carrying packs, all gave way. Walking on, they reached the temple gate. On it hung a great plaque of golden characters: "Zhiyuan Temple, Built by Imperial Order." The monks pushed open the gates, passed through the hall of the Guardian Kings, and opened the main hall. The Tang monk took out his cassock, put it on, bowed before the sacred image, and then went in. The monks called: "Is the keeper there?" An old monk came out, saw Pilgrim, and bowed: "Grandpa, you have come!" Pilgrim said: "Which grandpa do you take me for, that you bow and hail me so?" The old monk said: "I know you are Grandpa Sun, the Great Sage Equal to Heaven. We see you in our dreams night after night. The Gold Star of Venus often comes in dreams and says that only when you come will we get our lives back. Today I see your face, just as in the dream. Grandpa! How good that you have come early. One or two days more and we would all be ghosts." Pilgrim laughed: "Get up, get up. Tomorrow things will be settled." The monks laid a meal, and master and disciples ate. They swept the abbot's room clean and slept one night.

At the second watch, the Great Sage Sun, his mind full of business, could not sleep, and he heard pipes and drums sounding somewhere. He rose quietly, dressed, jumped into the air, and looked: away to the due south, lamps and candles were blazing. He lowered his cloud and looked again: it was the Daoists of the Hall of the Three Pure Ones, praying to the stars. Look:

A hallowed ground and a lofty hall, a blessed site and a true sanctuary. The hallowed lofty hall, grand as the view of Penglai; the blessed true sanctuary, quietly pure as the palace of Happy Transformation. On both sides Daoists played the reed pipes; in front, the aged master held up the jade tablet. He read out the penance that clears away trouble and opened the lecture on the Classic of the Way and Its Power. Time after time they bowed to the ground and passed up the talismans; through a full declaration all bowed low. They charmed the water and sent up the dispatch; candle flames swayed and leaped toward the upper world; they traced the Dipper stars and laid out the constellations, and the incense smoke, rich and fragrant, pierced the clear sky. On the altar stood fresh offerings; on the table a generous fast feast.

On the hall door hung a couplet of yellow damask brocade, embroidered with twenty-two large characters: "For rain in season and winds that follow, we pray the Heavenly Honored One's boundless law; for rivers clear and seas at peace, we ask the sovereign ten thousand years and more." Pilgrim saw three old Daoists wearing ritual robes—no doubt the Tiger Strength, Deer Strength, and Goat Strength Great Immortals. Below them, seven or eight hundred of the rank and file kept the drums and bells, tended the incense, and made the declarations, all standing in attendance on both sides. Pilgrim was glad to himself: "I would like to go down and mix among them, but one thread alone cannot make a line, and one hand cannot clap. Back I go to fetch Bajie and Sha Monk, and we'll come have our fun together."

He set down the auspicious cloud and came straight to the abbot's room. Bajie and Sha Monk lay fast asleep, feet to head. Pilgrim called Wujing first. Sha Monk woke: "Brother, you haven't slept yet?" Pilgrim said: "Get up. Come enjoy something with me." Sha Monk said: "In the middle of the night, with dry mouth and tired eyes, what is there to enjoy?" Pilgrim said: "There really is a Hall of the Three Pure Ones in this city, and the Daoists are holding a service. On the dais of the Three Pure Ones there are piles of offerings: steamed buns as big as a peck measure, baked fruits fifty or sixty catties apiece, mountains of rice, and fresh fruit. Come and enjoy them with me." Zhu Bajie, hearing talk of good things to eat even in his sleep, woke at once: "Brother, wouldn't you bring me along a little?" Pilgrim said: "Brother, if you want to eat, don't shout and wake Master. Follow me, both of you."

The two threw on their clothes, slipped quietly out the door, and rode the clouds up after Pilgrim. The Idiot saw lamplight and made to start. Pilgrim held him: "Not yet. Wait till they break up; then we go down." Bajie said: "They are just getting into the swing of their chanting—how will they ever stop?" Pilgrim said: "Watch me work a little magic, and they will stop." Good Great Sage—he pinched the charm, said a spell, drew in a breath from the trigram Xun, the windy quarter, and blew it out: a wild gale swept straight into the Hall of the Three Pure Ones, knocked over their flower vases and candlesticks and the merit tablets hung on all four walls, and put out the lights. The Daoists' hearts jumped with fright. The Great Immortal Tiger Strength said: "Disciples, break up for now. That wind of the spirits has blown out the lamps, candles, incense, and flowers. Everyone go to bed; rise early tomorrow and recite a few extra scrolls of scripture to make up the count." The Daoists did indeed all withdraw.

Pilgrim led Bajie and Sha Monk down through the clouds and into the Hall of the Three Pure Ones. The Idiot, not caring whether things were raw or cooked, grabbed a baked fruit and opened his mouth to bite. Pilgrim drew the iron staff and hit his hand. Bajie snatched his hand back and dodged: "I haven't even tasted anything, and you hit me." Pilgrim said: "None of your small-house manners. Let us make our bows and sit down and enjoy it properly." Bajie said: "Shame on you—stealing food, and still we must make bows. If we had been invited, what would you do then?" Pilgrim said: "What Bodhisattvas sit up there?" Bajie laughed: "You don't know the Three Pure Ones and take them for Bodhisattvas?" Pilgrim said: "Which Three Pure Ones?" Bajie said: "The one in the middle is the Primeval Lord of Heaven; the one on the left is the Lord of the Numinous Treasure; the one on the right is the Supreme Lord Lao." Pilgrim said: "We should all take their shapes—then we can eat in peace." The Idiot, worked up by the fragrant offerings and wanting to eat, climbed onto the high dais and nudged the Supreme Lord Lao off the seat with one shove of his snout: "Old gentleman, you have sat long enough. Let old Pig sit a while." Bajie turned into the Supreme Lord Lao, Pilgrim into the Primeval Lord of Heaven, and Sha Monk into the Lord of the Numinous Treasure. They pushed the original statues down.

The moment they sat, Bajie grabbed the big buns to eat. Pilgrim said: "Not so fast." Bajie said: "Brother, we are wearing these shapes already—what are we waiting for?" Pilgrim said: "Brother, eating is a small thing; letting heaven's secrets leak out is a big one. The sacred statues are all pushed down on the floor. Suppose an early-rising Daoist comes to ring the bell and sweep, and trips over one—wouldn't the news leak out? Hide them away to one side." Bajie said: "I don't know my way here; I cannot even find the door. Where would I hide them?" Pilgrim said: "When I came in, there was a small door on the right. A foul smell pours out of it; I would say it is the place where the five grains go round again. Take them there."

The Idiot had plenty of crude strength. He hopped down, shouldered the three sacred statues, and carried them out. At that place he pushed the door open with his foot and looked: it was a great privy. He laughed: "That Bimawen certainly has a way with words—giving even a latrine a religious title and calling it 'the place where the five grains go round again.'" The Idiot, with the statues still on his shoulder and not throwing them down yet, muttered and mumbled a prayer:

"Three Pure Ones, Three Pure Ones, hear what I say: I have come from far away, in the trade of killing demons. I want to enjoy your offerings, and I find no peace anywhere. Lend me your seats for a little rest. You have sat long enough; step down to the privy a while. You have had comforts without end, fine clean Daoists that you are; today you can have a taste of foul things, and be Heavenly Honored Ones who enjoy a bad smell!"

The prayer done, he flung them in with a splash, and dirty water spattered half his shirt front; then he walked back into the hall.

Pilgrim said: "Hidden well, are they?" Bajie said: "Hidden well enough, but the water splashed up and fouled my clothes, and there is a dirty stink on me—don't be disgusted." Pilgrim laughed: "Fine. Come and enjoy yourself anyway. Though I wonder whether you will get out of here with a clean body." The Idiot turned back into the Supreme Lord Lao; the three sat down and ate with a will. First the big steamed buns, then the layered platters, the rice, the pastries, the oven breads, the cakes, the fried crisps, the steamed shortbread—hot or cold, no matter—they ate freely. Pilgrim Sun, it turns out, ate little cooked food: he had a few fruits and kept the other two company. That meal went like a shooting star chasing the moon, like wind sweeping dead leaves; they ate it bare, and there was nothing left to eat. Still they did not go, but sat there chatting, letting the food settle and having their fun.

Ah! Now here is what happened. Under the east corridor a young Daoist had just gone to bed when he suddenly got up: "I left my hand bell in the hall. If it is lost, my teacher will scold me tomorrow." He told his bedfellow: "You sleep on; I'll go find it." In his hurry he did not put on his underclothes, just pulled a robe over himself, and went straight into the main hall to hunt for the bell. Feeling here and there, he found it. Just as he turned to go, he heard the sound of breathing. The Daoist, frightened, hurried out; and somehow, stepping on a lychee pit, he slipped and fell with a crash, and the bell smashed to pieces. Zhu Bajie could not help himself and burst out laughing. The young Daoist's three souls bolted and his seven spirits fled; stumbling at every step, he ran to the abbot's door, pounding on it and crying: "Teacher! Bad news! Disaster!" The three old Daoists were not yet asleep; they opened the door and asked: "What disaster?" Trembling, he said: "Your disciple forgot his hand bell, and went to the hall to look for it. I heard someone laughing out loud—I nearly died of fright." The old Daoist called at once: "Bring lights! Let us see what foul thing this is." At the word, the Daoists of both corridors were stirred up, big and small, and all crawled up to light lamps and candles and went to look at the main hall.

How it all turned out—listen to the next chapter to find out.