Chapter 48

The Demon Stirs a Cold Wind and Sends Down Great Snow; the Monk, Set on Worshiping Buddha, Treads the Layered Ice

Now the faithful of Chen Family Farm, with pigs and sheep and offerings, and with Pilgrim and Bajie, in a hubbub of noise carried it all to the Temple of Divine Response and set it out; the boy and girl they placed at the head. Pilgrim looked round and saw on the offering table fragrant flowers and candles, and in front a gold-lettered tablet inscribed THE DIVINE-RESPONSIVE GREAT KING — and no other image at all. The faithful, all set out, bowed their heads upward together: “Great King and grandfather: in this year, this month, this day, this hour, we the faithful of Chen Family Farm, sacrifice-master Chen Cheng and the rest, of various ages, following the yearly custom, offer a boy child, Chen Guanbao, and a girl child, Chen One-Weight of Gold, with pigs and sheep and offerings in full number, for the Great King's enjoyment. Bless us with winds in season and rains in time, and the five grains standing thick.” The prayer done, they burned the paper horses, and each went home — no more of that.

When the people had gone, Bajie said to Pilgrim: “Let us go home.” Pilgrim said: “Where is home?” Bajie said: “Back to old Chen's to sleep.” Pilgrim said: “Idiot, raving again. Having promised them, you must see the vow through.” Bajie said: “You are no idiot — you call me one. We only meant to gull them for sport: why make a sacrifice of it and be in earnest?” Pilgrim said: “Whatever you do, do it thoroughly. We must wait for the Great King to come and eat: only so is it whole from start to end. Otherwise he would send down calamity on them again — a poor return.”

As they spoke they heard the rush of wind. Bajie said: “Bad — that wind means the fellow is coming.” Pilgrim only said: “Not a word. Let me do the answering.” In a moment a demon appeared outside the temple gate. See what a shape:

Golden mail and golden helmet, blazing new; at his waist a jeweled belt wound with red cloud.Eyes like late-rising stars, gleaming bright; teeth like ranks of saw-teeth, set in rows.Under his feet mist and rose-cloud drifted wide; about his body fog hung warm and thick.As he walked, wave upon wave of cold dead wind; where he stood, layer upon layer of killing air gone mild.Like the Curtain-Raising General aiding the imperial car; like the great gate-god that keeps a temple's door.

The monster barred the temple gate and asked: “Whose is the sacrifice this year?” Pilgrim, smiling, answered: “To answer your honor's question: at the village head are the houses of Chen Cheng and Chen Qing.” The monster, hearing, suspected in his heart: “This boy is bold, and quick of tongue. Those who come year after year to be eaten: ask them once and they say nothing; ask again and their souls are frightened out; lay hands, and they are dead men already. How does this boy answer so aptly today?” Not daring to seize him, the monster asked again: “What are the children's names?” Pilgrim laughed: “The boy Chen Guanbao; the girl One-Weight of Gold.” The monster said: “This sacrifice is the old yearly rule. You are offered to me now: I must eat you.” Pilgrim said: “We will not resist: please enjoy yourself.” The monster, hearing, still dared not lay hands, but barred the gate and shouted: “No back-talk. I have eaten the boy first year after year; this year I will eat the girl first.” Bajie, in a panic: “Great King, keep to the old way — do not spoil the custom!”

The monster, granting no explanation, let go and made to seize Bajie. The Idiot flopped down, showed his true form, whipped out the nail-toothed rake, and struck at his hand; the monster snatched back his hand and hurried off — and with a clang they heard it. Bajie said: “I have broken his mail.” Pilgrim showed his true form too and looked: two fish-scales, each big as a tray of ice. He shouted: “After him!” The two leapt into the air. The monster, come to the feast unarmed, asked empty-handed in the clouds: “What monks are you, to come here bullying folk, spoiling my incense and wrecking my name?” Pilgrim said: “This brazen thing does not know, it seems. We are the disciples of the holy monk Tripitaka of the Great Tang in the Land of the East, sent by imperial decree to the Western Heaven for scriptures. Last night, lodging at the Chens', we heard of an evil monster falsely styled Divine-Responsive, who demands boy and girl for sacrifice year after year. Out of mercy, to save living souls, we have come to take you, brazen thing. Confess truly, and quickly: two children a year — how many years have you been Great King here? How many boys and girls have you eaten? Reckon them one by one and repay me, and I will spare your life.” The monster, hearing, turned and ran; Bajie's rake struck at him again and missed; he turned into a wild gust of wind and dove into Reach-Heaven River.

Pilgrim said: “No need to chase him. This monster must be a creature of the river. Tomorrow we will find a way to take him, and get my master across.” Bajie followed his word, went back to the temple, carried the pigs and sheep and offerings, table and all, to the Chens'. The elder Tang and Sha Monk were with the Chen brothers in the hall, waiting for word, when suddenly the two came flinging pigs and sheep and all into the courtyard. Tripitaka came to meet them: “Wukong — how went the sacrifice?” Pilgrim told the whole of it: the names given, the monster chased, the diving into the river. The two old men rejoiced mightily, had the side rooms swept, beds made up, and begged master and disciples to sleep — no more of that.

Now the monster, alive, returned into the water, sat in his palace, and said nothing. The lesser kin of the water asked: “Great King, year after year you enjoy the sacrifice and come home merry — why troubled today?” The monster said: “Other years, when the feast was done, I brought you leavings to enjoy; today even I have not eaten. My luck is low: I ran into a match, and nearly lost my life.” The water folk asked: “Great King — who?” The monster said: “A disciple of the holy monk of the Great Tang in the Land of the East, bound west to worship Buddha and seek scriptures. He changed into the children and sat in the temple. When I showed my true form I nearly lost my life. I have long heard it said: the Tang monk Tripitaka is a good man who has cultivated himself through ten lives; one piece of his flesh, and one's life lengthens, ageless. Who would have thought he had such disciples under him? He has wrecked my name and spoiled my incense. I have a mind to seize the Tang monk — only I fear it cannot be done.”

From among the water folk there stepped forth a mandarin-fish crone in a robe of spots, who bobbed and bowed to the monster, smiling: “Great King, seize the Tang monk — what difficulty is there? Only: if you take him, will you reward me with a little wine and meat?” The monster said: “If you have a plan, and join your strength to mine, and we take the Tang monk, I will make you my sworn sister, and we will share the feast.” The crone bowed her thanks: “Long have I known the Great King's power to call the wind and summon the rain, his strength to churn the seas and overturn the rivers — but do you know how to make snow?” The monster said: “I can make it.” She said: “If you can make snow, can you make cold, and freeze the water to ice?” The monster said: “That better still.” The crone clapped her hands, laughing: “Then it is very easy, very easy.” The monster said: “Tell me this very-easy plan.” The crone said: “Tonight is the third watch. Great King, do not delay: set your art in motion early — raise a cold wind, send down a great snow, freeze Reach-Heaven River solid from end to end. Let those of us who are good at changes take human shapes, at the roadside: bundles on backs, umbrellas in hand, carrying loads, pushing carts, walking up and down on the ice without stop. The Tang monk's heart is set keenly on his scriptures: seeing men walk so, he will certainly take to the ice and cross. Great King, sit quiet in the heart of the river; and where his footsteps sound, burst the cold ice apart, and let him fall into the water with all his disciples — and the whole catch is ours in one net.” The monster, hearing, was delighted through and through: “Excellent, excellent!” He left the water palace at once, strode the open sky, raised the wind, made the snow, chilled and froze the water to ice — no more of that.

Now the elder Tang and his three disciples lodged at the Chens'; near daybreak, master and disciples shivered under cold quilts on cold pillows. Bajie coughed and shivered and could not sleep, and cried: “Brother, it is cold.” Pilgrim said: “You Idiot, hopeless creature. We who have left home are proof against cold and heat: why fear the cold?” Tripitaka said: “Disciples, it is cold indeed. Look — it is just as the verse says:

Double quilts hold no warmth; hands in sleeves like clutching ice.Now the dead leaves hang with frost-flowers; the gray pines carry frozen bells.The earth cracks with the bitter cold; the pools lie flat, the water congealed.No boatman on the fishing boats; where meet a monk at the mountain shrine?The woodcutter grieves his faggots few; the prince rejoices in more coal.The soldier's beard is iron-stiff; the poet's pen, a caltrop's point.The fur coat still feels thin; the sable cloak still far too light.The old monk stiffens on his rush mat; the traveler's soul starts in his paper tent.On embroidered quilts and doubled bedding, the whole body shudders, chime on chime.”

Master and disciples could sleep no more; they rose and dressed. They opened the door and looked — ah! White without, boundless: it had snowed. Pilgrim said: “No wonder you were cold — such snow as this!” The four looked out together. What snow! Behold:

Vermilion clouds massed thick; doleful fog soaked deep. Vermilion clouds massed thick: the north wind shrill and keen, howling in the void; doleful fog soaked deep: great snowflakes whirling, covering the earth. Truly: six-petaled flowers, flake upon flake of flying jade; a thousand groves, tree upon tree wearing white. In a moment, banks of powder; in a breath, drifts of salt. The white parrot loses its whiteness; the swan's white plumes are all one with it. It adds, unbidden, a thousand rivers to Wu and Chu; it bows the plum trees of the southeast. As if three million jade dragons had been put to rout — in truth like broken scales, shattered mail, filling the sky. Here no Dong Guo walking on his sandals, no Yuan An asleep beneath the drift, no Sun Kang reading by the snow's shine; no Youzi's boat, no Wang Gong's silken scarf, no Su Wu chewing his felt. Only a few village cottages like silver inlay; ten thousand li of rivers and mountains, one ball of jade. Fine snow: willow-catkins bridging the bridge; pear-blossoms roofing the cottage. Willow-catkins on the bridge — and by the bridge the fisherman hangs out his straw cape; pear-blossoms on the cottage — and in the cottage the old rustics roast their roots. The traveler cannot buy his wine; the servant grieves to find a plum spray. Sifting and drifting, cutting the shapes of butterflies; sailing and swaying, clipping the coats of geese. Round and rolling they follow the wind's humor; fold upon fold the roads are lost. Gust upon gust of cold pierces the little screens; whish upon whish of chill pries through the dark curtains. The omen of a plenteous year descends from heaven: good fortune in the world of men, worth congratulating!

That snow, sifting and whirling, was truly like cut jade and flying floss.

Master and disciples sighed over it and admired it a good while. The old men of the Chen house sent two servants to sweep open the road, and two more to bring hot water for washing; soon after, boiling tea and milk-cakes, and a brazier of charcoal besides. All came to the side rooms, and sat talking with master and disciples. The elder asked: “Worthy patron: in this place of yours, do the seasons divide into spring, summer, autumn, winter?” Old Chen laughed: “Ours is a secluded corner, and our customs and people differ from your great country; but for the rest — grain and crops, beasts and flocks — we are under the same heaven, sharing one sun: how should we not have the four seasons?” The Tang monk said: “If you have four seasons, why such snow now, such cold?” Old Chen said: “Though it is but the seventh month, yesterday passed into White Dew: it is already the eighth-month season. Here we have frost and snow every year in the eighth month.” The Tang monk said: “Nothing like our Land of the East: with us it waits for the coming of winter.”

As they spoke, servants came to lay the table and ask them to gruel. When the gruel was done, the snow was heavier than in the morning; in a moment it lay two feet deep on level ground. The Tang monk's heart burned, and tears fell. Old Chen said: “Master, be at ease: do not fret at the depth of the snow. I have in my house several shi of grain: I could keep you masters half a lifetime.” The Tang monk said: “Worthy patron, you do not know your humble monk's hardship. When I received the sacred decree by imperial grace, the whole court came out to see me through the passes; the Tang emperor lifted the cup with his own hand and drank my farewell, asking: ‘When will you return?’ Your humble monk, knowing nothing then of the peril of mountains and rivers, answered on the spot: ‘In three years I shall have the scriptures and come back to the country.’ Since that parting, seven or eight years have gone, and I have not yet seen the Buddha's face. I fear to break the imperial term; and I fear the fierceness of demons besides — hence my burning. Today, by good fate, I lodge in your worthy house; last night my disciples rendered a small service in thanks, and I truly hoped to hire a boat and cross the river. Instead, heaven sends this snow, and the roads are blotted out: when I shall win through and see my old country, who can say?” Old Chen said: “Master, be at ease. Longer days than these have passed — what are a few? Wait for clear skies, and the ice to melt: I will spend my house and estate to see you over the river.”

A servant came to invite them to the morning meal; they ate in the hall; they had hardly talked when the noon meal followed. The Tang monk, seeing the abundance, was ill at ease again and again: “Having sheltered us, treat us as a house treats its own.” Old Chen said: “Master, we owe you the grace of standing in for the sacrifice and saving our children's lives: though we set a feast every day, it could never repay nor thank you.”

After this the snow stopped, and people walked abroad. Old Chen, seeing the Tang monk low, had the garden swept, great braziers set, and begged them into the snow-grotto to divert themselves and shake off gloom. Bajie laughed: “The old fellow has no thrift. A garden is for viewing in the second and third months of spring: in such snow, and cold — what is there to admire?” Pilgrim said: “Idiot, you do not understand. Snow-scenery has its own quiet charm: first, to stroll and admire; second, to ease the master's heart.” Old Chen said: “Just so, just so.” So they were invited into the garden. And behold:

The season was deep autumn; the air like the twelfth month. Gray pines knotted with buds of jade; withered willows hung with silver bloom. Below the steps, jade moss heaped in crumbs of powder; before the window, green bamboo spitting buds of crystal. On the artful rockery; in the fish-rearing pool. On the artful rockery, sharp peaks ranked like jade bamboo-shoots; in the fish-rearing pool, clear living water turned a plate of ice. By the bank, lotus with their pale color faded; by the cliff, rose-of-Sharon on drooping young shoots. The autumn begonias clean buried; the winter plum trees putting out fresh twigs. The Peony Pavilion, the Pomegranate Pavilion, the Cassia Pavilion — pavilion on pavilion, drifts of goose-feather heaped; the Comfort Spot, the Guest Spot, the Whim Spot — spot upon spot, butterfly-wings strewn. Two hedges of yellow chrysanthemums, gold thread on jade gauze; a few trees of red maple, red flecked with white. Numberless quiet courts too cold to reach: look rather at the snow-grotto, cold as ice itself. Within it stood a bronze brazier on elephant feet with a beast mask, the charcoal fire just kindled, glowing hot; and about it, above and below, several lacquered folding chairs draped in tiger skins, with soft warm paper windows set round.

On the four walls hung some scrolls by famous old masters — namely:

The Seven Sages at the pass; lone angling on a cold river: folded peaks and layered crags in a ball of snow. Su Wu chewing felt; plum-bough bent to meet the envoy: woods of jade, trees of crystal, written in the script of cold. Beyond telling: a house hard by the water pavilion, where fish are easy to buy; snow blinding the mountain path, where wine is hard to find. A spot indeed to house one's knees — what need, when all is said, to visit the isles of Penglai?

The company admired a good while, then sat in the snow-grotto, talking with the old neighbors of the scripture-quest, and drank the fragrant tea that was offered. Old Chen asked: “Masters — do you drink wine?” The Tang monk said: “Your humble monk does not; the young disciples take a few cups of the plain wine.” Old Chen rejoiced, and called at once: “Bring plain fruits, warm the wine, and warm our masters against the cold.” The servants brought tables round the brazier, and with the two old neighbors each drank a few cups; then the things were cleared.

Unnoticed, the light was failing; they were invited back to the hall for the evening meal. In the street the passers-by were all saying: “Cold, cold! Reach-Heaven River has frozen over.” The Tang monk, hearing, said: “Wukong — the river frozen: what are we to do?” Old Chen said: “A sudden chill: no doubt the shallows near the bank have frozen.” The passers-by said: “The whole eight hundred li frozen like a mirror: folk are walking on it at the crossing.” The Tang monk, hearing that people walked, would go and look at once. Old Chen said: “Master, not tonight — it is late; look tomorrow.” So they parted from the old neighbors; the evening meal done, they lodged again in the side rooms.

At daybreak next morning Bajie got up: “Brother, colder still tonight — the river must be frozen.” The Tang monk stood at the gate, bowed toward heaven: “Great gods who guard the faith: your disciple has come west all this way, with a devout heart toward Buddha, through bitter mountains and rivers, and never a word of complaint. Now, arrived here, I have felt heaven's aid: the river frozen for me. I give thin thanks on an empty stomach: when the scriptures are won, I will report to the Tang emperor, and repay with all my heart.” His reverence done, he told Wujing to shoulder the horse, and cross on the ice. Old Chen said again: “Not so fast. Wait some days for the snow to melt and the ice to break: I will get a boat and see you over.” Sha Monk said: “To go now is one thing; to stay on is another. Words are no proof: hearing is not seeing. Let me shoulder the horse, and let Master go see with his own eyes.” Old Chen said: “That is reasonable.” He called: “Lads, quickly — bring our horses, all six. But do not bring the Tang master's horse.”

So six servants went along. The whole party came straight to the riverside to look — and truly:

Snow banked like mountains rearing; the clouds drawn off, the daybreak clear. Cold has pinched the Chu passes: a thousand peaks gone gaunt; ice has sheeted the rivers: one level plain. The north wind keen and biting; the frozen slick hard-edged. Pond-fish nestle in the dense weed; wild birds cling to the withered raft. On the marches the soldiers' fingers all dropped; at the river-head the boatmen chatter broken teeth. Splitting the serpent's belly, snapping the bird's track: a thousand feet of ice mountain, truly. Ten thousand ravines float cold silver; one river steeps in jade. In the east, they say, stiff silkworms come forth of themselves; in the north, truly, mice have their burrows in the ice. Wang Xiang lay on it; Emperor Guangwu crossed it: in one night the stream and the bridge froze solid to the bed. The crooked pools are folded in ice-layers; the deep pools locked in drifting cold. Reach-Heaven's broad water has no wave at all: the shining ice stretches level as a land road.

The Tang monk and the party came to the riverside, reined in, and looked: there truly were people walking on the ice at the crossing. The Tang monk asked: “Worthy patrons — where are those people bound, up on the ice?” Old Chen said: “Beyond the river is the Western Land of Women. These are all traders. What costs a hundred cash on our side fetches ten thousand there; what costs a hundred there fetches ten thousand here. The profit heavy, the outlay light: so men go regardless of life and death. In ordinary years, five or seven to a boat, or a dozen or more, they sail the crossing. Now the channel is frozen, and so they walk it at the risk of their lives.” The Tang monk said: “Of all things in the world, fame and profit weigh most. These, for profit, throw life away; my disciples, bearing the decree to prove loyalty, are after fame: how far apart are we?” He called: “Wukong, hurry back to our patron's house, pack the luggage, saddle the horse, and while this layered ice holds let us hurry west.” Pilgrim, smiling, agreed.

Sha Monk said: “Master, the saying goes: ‘A thousand days eats a thousand sheng of rice.’ We have been beholden to the Chen house; let us stay a few days more, wait for clear skies and the thaw, get a boat and cross: in haste there may be error.” The Tang monk said: “Wujing, how dull a view! Were it the first or second month, each day warmer than the last, we might wait for the thaw; but it is now the eighth month, each day colder than the last: how can we hope for the melting? Would that not lose half a year of road?”

Bajie jumped down from the horse: “Enough of your chatter. Let old Pig test how thick it is.” Pilgrim said: “Idiot, the other night, testing the water, you could throw a stone; now it is frozen over — how would you test it?” Bajie said: “Brother, you do not know. Let me raise the nail-rake and strike it once. If it breaks through, the ice is thin: we dare not walk. If it will not give, the ice is thick: why not walk?” The Tang monk said: “Right — well said.” The Idiot hitched up his gown, strode to the bank, raised the rake with both hands, and struck with all his force: with a thud — nine white marks, and his hands ached with the jar. The Idiot laughed: “It will bear, it will bear — frozen hard to the bottom!”

The Tang monk, hearing, was overjoyed, and went back with all to the Chens', calling only to pack and walk. The two old men could not hold them, and could only make up some dry provisions, roast and toasted, some baked cakes and steamed buns to send them off. The whole household knocked their heads, and brought out a plate of broken gold and silver besides, and knelt before them: “We owe you masters the grace of our children's lives: take this, a poor token, one meal's thanks for the road.” The Tang monk waved his hands and shook his head, and would not take it: “Your humble monk has left home: what use have I for goods? On the road I would not dare bring them out; begging a meal from day to day is the proper work. The dry provisions are enough.” The two old men begged again and again, and Pilgrim nipped up a little piece with his fingertips, four or five mace in weight, and handed it to the Tang monk: “Master, take it as offering-money at least — do not leave their kindness wholly unanswered.”

So they parted and came to the ice of the river; the horse's hoof slipped once, and the Tang monk all but came off. Sha Monk said: “Master, it is hard going.” Bajie said: “Wait. Ask old Chen for some rice straw for me.” Pilgrim said: “What do you want straw for?” Bajie said: “How would you know? Straw wrapped round the hooves keeps them from slipping — so Master is not thrown.” Old Chen, hearing on the bank, made haste to have a bundle of straw brought from the house, and begged the Tang monk up the bank and off the horse. Bajie wrapped the straw round the horse's feet, and then they took the ice.

Leaving old Chen, three or four li from the bank, Bajie handed his nine-ringed tin staff to the Tang monk: “Master, carry this crosswise on the horse.” Pilgrim said: “The Idiot is crafty. The staff was always yours to carry: why put it in Master's hands?” Bajie said: “You have never walked on ice and do not know. On any frozen sheet there are air-holes; tread on one, and down you drop: with nothing held crosswise you would go under like a man under a great pot-lid — how would you get up? It must be held so, to bar the way.” Pilgrim chuckled to himself: “The Idiot is an old hand at ice, after all.” And truly all followed his counsel: the elder held the staff crosswise, Pilgrim the iron staff crosswise, Sha Monk the demon-subduing staff crosswise, Bajie the luggage on his shoulder and the nail-rake crosswise at his waist, and master and disciples went forward with easy hearts. They went on until dark, ate some dry food, dared not stay long, and by starlight and moonlight, on the ice gleaming bright and white, they pressed on, truly never a halt of hoof. Master and disciples could not close their eyes, and walked all night. At daybreak they ate more dry food and pressed west again.

As they went, they heard under the ice a sudden crack and boom, which all but threw the white horse. The Tang monk, startled: “Disciples — what a noise!” Bajie said: “The river is frozen a thought too solid: the ground-ice is booming. Or perhaps it is frozen to the bottom, mid-channel, all of it.” The Tang monk, hearing, was frightened and pleased together, whipped up the horse, and pushed on — no more of that.

Now the monster, since returning to his water palace, had the whole pack of spirits waiting under the ice. He had waited long when he heard the hoofbeats; below he worked his power, and with a rip the frozen sheet burst open. The Great Sage Sun leapt into the air in a fright; the white horse dropped into the water, and the three got clear away.

The monster seized the Tang monk, led the pack of spirits straight back to the water palace, and called out at the top of his voice: “Where is my sister the mandarin-fish?” The old mandarin-fish crone met him at the door with a bow: “Great King — I dare not, I dare not.” The monster said: “Worthy sister, why such words? ‘A word once out, four horses cannot fetch it back.’ I said at the first I would follow your plan, and if we took the Tang monk I would make you my sworn sister. Today the plan has worked to a marvel and the Tang monk is taken: would you have me eat my word?” He called: “Lads, bring the table, whet the knives: we will open this monk's belly, gouge his heart, strip his skin and slice his flesh; on the other side let the music strike up: I will share the feast with my worthy sister, and live long and ageless.” The crone said: “Great King, do not eat him yet: his disciples may come looking and raise a row. Be patient two days: let the fellows come seeking and fail, then carve him, and beg the Great King to take the seat of honor, with all the kin and clan ranged round, pipes and strings and songs and dances, served up to the Great King, to enjoy at leisure and in state — would that not be well?” The monster followed her counsel, hid the Tang monk behind the palace, and clapped over him a stone chest six feet long — no more of that.

Now Bajie and Sha Monk, in the water, grabbed the luggage, loaded it on the white horse, parted the water-road, surged up through the waves and came out bearing all. Pilgrim, watching in mid-air, asked: “Where is Master?” Bajie said: “Master's surname was Chen — now it is ‘Sunk to the Bottom.’ There is no finding him: let us get ashore and take counsel.” It seems Bajie was Marshal Tianpeng come down to the world, once commander of the eighty thousand water-soldiers of the River of Heaven; Sha Monk was born of the Flowing Sand River; the white horse was grandchild of the Dragon King of the Western Sea: hence they knew the nature of water. The Great Sage directed from the air; in a moment they were back at the eastern bank, the horse scrubbed and dried, the clothes wrung and smoothed. The Great Sage came down with his cloud, and all together they came to Chen Family Farm. Word had already gone to the two old men: “Of the four scripture-seeking masters only three are coming.” The brothers hurried out the gate to meet them, and truly the clothes were still wet. They said: “Masters, we begged you so hard to stay, and you would not: it had to end this way. Where is the master Tripitaka?” Bajie said: “He is not Tripitaka now: his name is changed to Sunk-to-the-Bottom.” The two old men dropped tears: “The pity of it, the pity of it! We said we would wait for the snow to melt and get a boat to see you over — you would not hear of it, and now the life is lost.” Pilgrim said: “Old friend, do not borrow trouble for the dead. My master will not die — his span is long. Old Sun knows: it must be that Divine-Responsive Great King, scheming with his arts, who has him. Set your minds at ease: wring out our clothes for us, sun the rescript, get straw and fodder for the white horse. When we brothers have found the rascal, rescued Master, and rooted out the grass and dug up the root, your village will be rid of the menace once for all — and you may live in peace forever.” Old Chen, hearing, rejoiced, and ordered a meal made ready.

The three brothers ate their fill, gave horse and luggage into the Chens' keeping, armed themselves each with his weapon, and went straight to the river to seek their master and take the monster. And so it was:

A misstep on layered ice, and his true self takes hurt; the great elixir has leaked — how shall it be kept whole?

But how they would rescue the Tang monk? Listen to the next chapter to find out.

The Demon Stirs a Cold Wind and Drifts Down Great Snow; the Monk, Longing for the Buddha, Walks upon the Layered Ice.

Now the faithful of Chen Family Village, with their pigs, sheep, and offerings, in a great uproar carried Pilgrim and Bajie straight into the Temple of Answered Prayers and laid all out; the boy and the girl were set in the place of honor. Pilgrim looked back and saw on the offering table incense, flowers, and candles, and front and center a gold-lettered tablet reading "The God of the Great King of Answered Prayers," with no other image at all. The worshippers, all arranged, bowed together: "Grandpa Great King! In this year, this month, this day, this hour, we the faithful of Chen Family Village, with Chen Cheng as lord of the offering, of differing ages, faithfully follow the yearly rule and present one boy, Chen Guanbao; one girl, Chen One Weight of Gold; and pigs, sheep, and wine in full number, for the Great King to enjoy. Guard our rains in season, and grant rich harvests." The prayer done, they burned the paper horses, and each went home. No more of that for now.

When the people had gone, Bajie said to Pilgrim: "Let's go home." Pilgrim said: "Where is your home?" Bajie said: "Back to old Chen's to sleep." Pilgrim said: "Idiot, more nonsense. You gave your word—you must see the vow through." Bajie said: "You are not the Idiot—you call me one. We were only going to fool them a little. How did it turn into a real sacrifice?" Pilgrim said: "Whatever you do, do it through. We must wait till the Great King comes and eats—then it is a thing finished from start to end. Otherwise he will send calamity on them again, and that would be a poor business."

As they spoke they heard the rush of wind. Bajie said: "Bad! That sound means the one is coming." Pilgrim only said: "Not a word. Leave the answers to me." In a moment a demon stood outside the temple gate. Look at his looks:

Gold armor and a gold helmet, bright and new; a jeweled belt wound at his waist, ringed in red cloud.Eyes like stars just risen at evening, gleaming; teeth like a double row of saw-teeth set apart.Under his feet mist and sunset haze floated wide; about him the fog hung warm and fragrant.As he walked, gusts of chill dark wind blew cold; where he stood, layer upon layer of baleful air grew warm.He was like the curtain-lifting general attending the imperial carriage, like the great door god guarding a temple gate.

The monster blocked the temple door and asked: "Whose is the sacrifice this year?" Pilgrim answered with a smile: "For your kind question: at the village head it is the house of Chen Cheng and Chen Qing." The monster heard the answer and half doubted: "This boy is bold and quick of tongue. The ones who come year after year to be eaten—if you ask once, they say nothing; ask twice, and their souls fly; lay hands on them, and they are already dead men. How does this boy answer so well?" The monster dared not seize him and asked again: "What are the boy and girl called?" Pilgrim laughed: "The boy, Chen Guanbao; the girl, One Weight of Gold." The monster said: "This sacrifice is the old yearly rule. Since you are offered to me, I must eat you." Pilgrim said: "We will not resist. Please enjoy yourself." The monster heard and still dared not lay hands on them, but blocked the door and barked: "Don't answer me back. Year after year I eat the boy first. This year I will eat the girl first." Bajie panicked: "Great King, keep to the old way—don't spoil the custom."

The monster gave him no chance to argue; he let go and grabbed at Bajie. The Idiot flopped down off the tray, showed his true form, swung the nail rake, and struck at his hand. The monster snatched his hand back and ran forward, and there came a clang. Bajie said: "I broke his armor." Pilgrim showed his true form too and looked: two fish scales, big as ice trays. He shouted: "After him!" The two leaped into the air. The monster, who had come to the feast without his weapons, asked from mid-cloud with empty hands: "What monks are you, coming here to bully people, ruining my incense and spoiling my name?" Pilgrim said: "This foul thing does not know. We are the disciples of the holy monk Tripitaka of the great Tang in the Land of the East, sent by royal edict to fetch scriptures in the Western Heaven. Last night, lodging at the Chens', we heard of a demon falsely styled Answered Prayers, who year after year demands boys and girls for sacrifice. Out of mercy, to save living souls, we came to catch you, foul thing. Confess truly, and quickly: two children a year—how many years have you been king here? How many boys and girls have you eaten? Count them out to me one by one, and I will spare your life." The monster heard and ran; another rake-blow missed him; he turned into a wild gale and dove into the Heaven-Reaching River.

Pilgrim said: "No need to chase. This monster must be a creature of the river. Tomorrow we will find a way to take him and get Master across." Bajie did as told and went straight back to the temple, and the pigs, sheep, and offerings, table and all, were carried to the Chen house. The elder Tang, Sha Monk, and the Chen brothers were waiting in the hall for news when the two threw the pigs and sheep and the rest into the courtyard. Tripitaka came to meet them: "Wukong, how did the rite go?" Pilgrim told it all—the naming, the chase, the demon diving into the river. The two old men rejoiced, ordered the side rooms swept and beds made, and saw master and disciples to bed. No more of that.

Now the monster, with his life, returned into the water and sat in his palace, silent. His kin and followers of the water, great and small, asked: "Great King, every year you come back from the feast glad. Why so vexed today?" The monster said: "Other years, when the feast was done, I brought you the leftovers to enjoy. Today even I went unfed. My luck is low: I ran into a match, and it nearly cost me my life." The water folk asked: "Great King, who was it?" The monster said: "A disciple of the holy monk of the great Tang in the Land of the East, bound for the Western Heaven to worship the Buddha and seek scriptures. He took the shapes of the boy and the girl and sat in the temple. When I forced him to show his true form, it nearly cost me my life. People have long said: the Tang monk Tripitaka is a good man of ten cultivated lives; eat one piece of his flesh and you lengthen your years and live forever. Who knew he had such disciples under him! He has ruined my name and broken my incense. I have a mind to catch the Tang monk—but I fear I cannot manage it."

From among the water folk stepped forward a mandarin-fish wife in a spotted gown, curtseying and bowing to the monster, laughing: "Great King, if you want the Tang monk, what is hard about it? Only—if I help catch him, will you reward me with wine and meat?" The monster said: "If you have a plan and will join your strength to catch him, I will bow with you as brother and sister and share the feast." The fish wife thanked him: "I have long known the Great King can call wind and summon rain, churn the sea and turn rivers. Can you also bring down snow?" The monster said: "I can bring snow." She said: "If you can bring snow, can you also make cold and freeze ice?" The monster said: "That too." The fish wife clapped her hands and laughed: "Then it is most easy, most easy." The monster said: "Tell me this most easy plan." The fish wife said: "The third watch comes tonight. Great King, do not hesitate. Work your art at once: raise a cold wind, let fall a great snow, and freeze the whole Heaven-Reaching River over. Then let those of us skilled in change take human shapes, standing at the crossings with packs on their backs and umbrellas in their hands, carrying loads and pushing carts, walking on the ice without pause. The Tang monk's heart to fetch the scriptures is urgent; seeing men walk so, he will certainly try to cross on the ice. Sit quietly in the river's heart, Great King, and wait where his footsteps sound: burst the cold ice, and he and his disciples drop into the water together, and we take them at one sweep." The monster heard and was glad through and through: "Excellent, excellent." He came out of his water palace, trod the open sky, raised wind and snow, and froze the cold into ice. No more of that for now.

Now the elder Tang and his three disciples lodged at the Chens'. Toward dawn the master and disciples lay cold in quilt and pillow. Bajie coughed and shivered and could not sleep, and called: "Brother, I'm cold." Pilgrim said: "You Idiot, no improvement at all. Men who have left home feel neither cold nor heat—why fear the cold?" Tripitaka said: "Disciples, it is truly cold. Look—even this:

The heavy quilt gives no warmth; hands in sleeves are like holding ice. Now the dead leaves hang with frost buds, and the gray pines bear frozen bells. The ground cracks, so deep is the cold; the pond lies flat with frozen water. On the fishing boats no old men are seen; in the mountain temples where would you meet a monk? The woodcutter grieves his brushwood is thin; the young lord rejoices his charcoal grows. The soldier's whiskers are like iron; the poet's brush like a blade. The leather coat still feels thin; the sable cloak still too light. On the rush seat the old monk sits stiff; in the paper tent the traveler's soul starts. Embroidered quilts and piled mattresses, and still the whole body shakes and rattles.

Master and disciples could sleep no more, and got up and dressed. Opening the door they saw—ah! Everything outside lay white and vast: it had snowed. Pilgrim said: "No wonder you were cold—look at this snow." The four looked out together. Fine snow! Look:

Red clouds pressed close, and bleak mist soaked deep. Red clouds pressed close, and the north wind, biting, howled through the sky; bleak mist soaked deep, and great snow fell flake on flake, covering the earth. Truly: six-petaled flowers, flake after flake flying jade; a thousand groves of trees, every one hung with pearl. In a moment it piled like powder; in an instant it lay like salt. The white parrot lost its whiteness; the bright crane's feathers turned the same. It added level on level to the thousand rivers of Wu and Chu and bowed the plum trees of the southeast. It was as if three million jade dragons had been beaten back in war—truly, as if broken scales and shattered armor filled the sky. There was no East Guo trudging in his worn shoes, no Yuan An buried asleep, no Sun Kang reading by snow-light; nor Zixun's boat, nor Wang Gong's gauze, nor Su Wu chewing his felt. Only a few village houses, built as if of silver, and ten thousand li of rivers and mountains rolled into balls of jade. Fine snow—willow floss flooding the bridges, pear blossom roofing the houses. Willow floss flooding the bridges, and by the bridge the old fisherman hangs up his straw cape; pear blossom roofing the houses, and in the house the rustic warms himself over rootwood embers. The traveler can hardly buy wine; the servant sweats to find a plum branch. Sprinkle and sift, it cuts the shapes of butterflies' wings; drift and float, it clips the down of goose feathers. Round and rolling it runs before the wind; fold upon fold it blots the roads. Wave on wave its cold pierces the small curtains; whish on whish its chill seeps through the quiet drapes. A lucky omen of plenty falls from heaven—fit to be hailed as a blessing on the world of men.

That snow came sifting and whirling, truly like cut jade and flying floss.

Master and disciples sighed over it and admired it a long while. Then the old Chen sent two servants to sweep the paths and two more to bring out hot water for washing; soon came scalding tea and milk cakes; then braziers of charcoal were carried out. All came to the side room and sat talking with master and disciples. The elder asked: "Old patron, does your country keep the seasons—spring, summer, autumn, winter?" Old Chen laughed: "Though this is a remote corner, its ways and people differ from your great country; but for all grain and livestock we share the same sky and the same sun—how could we not keep the four seasons?" Tripitaka said: "If you keep the four seasons, why such snow and such cold now?" Old Chen said: "It is only the seventh month, but yesterday passed the White Dew, the eighth-month term. Here frost and snow come every year in the eighth month." Tripitaka said: "Nothing like my Land of the East—there it comes only past the first day of winter."

As they talked, servants came to set the tables and ask them to porridge. After the porridge the snow grew bigger than in the morning; soon it lay two feet deep on level ground. Tripitaka's heart burned, and tears fell. Old Chen said: "Take heart, my lord. Do not let the deep snow trouble you. My house has several dan of grain in store—we could keep you lords half a lifetime." Tripitaka said: "Patron, you do not know this humble monk's trouble. Years ago I received the holy grace of the edict; the great carriage saw me out the pass, and the Tang emperor held the cup with his own hands and poured my farewell wine, asking: 'When will you return?' Not knowing the peril of mountains and rivers, I answered offhand: 'In three years I can fetch the scriptures and return.' Since we parted it is now seven or eight years, and I have not yet seen the Buddha's face. I fear I have passed the appointed term; and I fear too the fierceness of demons—hence my worry. Today, by good fortune, I lodge in your honorable house, and last night my disciples repaid you with a small service, truly hoping to ask a boat and cross the river. Who knew Heaven would send this snow and bury the roads—who knows when the work will be done and I see my old home again." Old Chen said: "Take heart, my lord. The long days are past already—what are a few more? Wait for clear skies and melted ice, and I will spend my house and property if I must, but I will see you over the river."

Then a servant asked them in to the morning fast meal, which they ate in the hall. They had not talked long when the midday meal followed. Tripitaka saw the rich spread and grew uneasy again and again: "Since you keep us, a family meal would do." Old Chen said: "My lord, we owe you the grace of taking the children's place and saving their lives. Feasting you every day could never repay it."

After this the snow stopped, and people could walk abroad. Seeing Tripitaka low in spirits, old Chen had the garden swept, set great braziers burning, and invited them to idle and divert themselves in the snow grotto. Bajie laughed: "That old fellow has no sense. Gardens are for viewing in the second and third months. In snow like this, with this cold—what is there to admire?" Pilgrim said: "The Idiot doesn't understand. Snow scenery is naturally quiet and lovely: first, to stroll and admire; second, to ease Master's heart." Old Chen said: "Just so, just so." And so they were invited to the garden. Look:

The season was deep autumn, and the scene like the twelfth month. The gray pines knotted buds of jade; the withering willows hung flowers of silver. Below the steps the green moss piled like scattered powder; before the window the dark bamboo put out buds of crystal. On the crafted rockery, in the fish pond. On the crafted rockery, sharp peaks stood ranked like jade bamboo shoots; in the fish pond, clear living water made a plate of ice. By the bank the hibiscus showed a pale, tender color; along the cliff the rose of Sharon hung its young branches. The autumn begonias were buried clean under; the winter plum put out a few new sprays. The Peony Pavilion, the Pomegranate Pavilion, the Cinnamon Pavilion—pavilion by pavilion the goose feathers lay heaped; the places for easing the heart, for receiving guests, for letting off spirits—every place lay spread with butterflies' wings. Chrysanthemums like gold thread on jade silk lined both hedges; a few red maples mixed red with white. Countless quiet courts too cold to reach—but see the snow grotto, cold as ice itself. Inside it stood a bronze fire pan on elephant feet with a beast-face front, its charcoal newly lit and glowing hot; around it stood several lacquered folding chairs draped in tiger skins, and soft warm paper windows were fitted in.

On the four walls hung several scrolls of old paintings by famous hands. They were:

The Seven Sages crossing the pass, the lone fisherman on the cold river, range upon range of peaks gathered into snow scenes; Su Wu chewing his felt, breaking a plum branch and meeting the courier—forests of crystal and trees of jade written in cold script. Past all telling: the house near the water pavilion where fish are easy to buy, the snow-blinded mountain path where wine is hard to get. Truly a place to hold the knees and rest—why then go seeking Penglai?

The party admired it a long while and sat down in the snow grotto, talking with the old neighbor about the seeking of scriptures; then fragrant tea was offered and drunk. Old Chen asked: "My lords, do you drink wine?" Tripitaka said: "This humble monk does not; my young disciples may take a few cups of plain wine." Old Chen was delighted and gave the order: "Bring plain fruits and warmed wine, to warm my guests against the cold." The servants brought tables around the brazier, and with the two old neighbors each drank a few cups, and then the dishes were cleared.

Evening came before they knew it, and they were asked back to the hall for the evening meal. In the street the passers-by were all saying: "What a cold day! It has frozen the Heaven-Reaching River over." Tripitaka heard: "Wukong, the river is frozen—what are we to do?" Old Chen said: "A sudden cold snap—the shallows near the banks must be frozen." A passer-by said: "It is frozen for all eight hundred li, smooth as a mirror. People are walking across at the crossings." Tripitaka, hearing that men walked, wanted to go see at once. Old Chen said: "Don't hurry, my lord. It is late today; look tomorrow." So they took leave of the old neighbors, and after the evening meal lodged again in the side room.

At dawn the next day Bajie got up: "Brother, it is colder still tonight—the river must be frozen." Tripitaka stood at the door, bowed toward heaven, and prayed: "Great guardian spirits of the faith: your disciple has come all this long way west with a pious heart to worship the Buddha, toiling over mountains and rivers, and never once complained. Now, come to this place, I feel Heaven's aid has frozen the river over. Your disciple gives thanks with an empty belly; when the scriptures are brought back I will report to the Tang emperor and repay with all my heart." The bows done, he told Wujing to carry the horse: they would cross on the ice. Old Chen said again: "Don't hurry. Wait a few days for the snow to melt and the ice to break, and I will get a boat to see you over." Sha Monk said: "Going on like this is no use, and staying on is no use either. Words prove nothing; hearing is not seeing. Let me carry the horse, and let Master go and see with his own eyes." Old Chen said: "Well said." He gave the order: "Boys, quickly bring our six horses. But not the Tang monk's horse."

Six young servants came along. The party went straight to the river to look. Truly:

Snow lay piled like rising mountains; the clouds drew off and dawn turned clear. The cold gripped the passes of Chu and thinned a thousand peaks; ice closed the rivers and lakes into one flat sheet. The north wind, biting; the frozen surface, glassy hard. Pond fish nestled in the thick weeds; wild birds clung to the dry rafts. Beyond the passes the marching soldiers all lost fingers; on the river the boatmen chattered their teeth. Splitting the snake's belly, snapping the bird's legs—truly ice mountains of hundreds of feet. Ten thousand ravines floated cold silver; the whole stream lay steeped in icy jade. In the east there were surely frozen silkworms; in the north indeed the rat burrows. Wang Xiang lay on the ice, Emperor Guangwu forded the stream—overnight the creek and bridge froze solid to the bed. The winding pools grew shelves of ice; the deep pools froze over in folds. The wide water of Heaven-Reaching had not a ripple—the bright ice spread level as a land road.

Tripitaka and the party reached the river, drew rein, and looked: truly there were people walking at the crossing. Tripitaka asked: "Patron, where are those people going on the ice?" Old Chen said: "On the far side is the Women's Kingdom of Western Liang. These are all traders. What costs a hundred cash here is worth ten thousand there, and what costs a hundred there is worth ten thousand here. The gain is heavy and the stake light, so men go without care for life or death. In ordinary years five or seven share a boat, or ten or more, and sail across. Now the river is frozen, so they walk at the risk of their lives." Tripitaka said: "Of all things in the world, fame and profit weigh heaviest. These men forget life and death for profit; my disciples carry an edict and serve out their loyalty—and it too is for a name. How do we differ from them?" He gave the order: "Wukong, hurry back to our host's house, pack the baggage, saddle the horses; while this sheet of ice lasts, let us push west early." Pilgrim answered smiling.

Sha Monk said: "Master, the saying goes: 'A thousand days eats a thousand sheng of rice.' We have leaned on the Chen household—let us stay a few days more, wait for clear skies and melting ice, get a boat, and cross. In haste there may be mistakes." Tripitaka said: "Wujing, how dull a view! If it were the first or second month, each day warmer than the last, we could wait for the thaw. But this is the eighth month, each day colder than the last—how can we hope for melting? We would lose half a year of road."

Bajie jumped down from his horse: "Stop the chatter. Let old Pig test how thick it is." Pilgrim said: "Idiot, the other night, testing water, you could throw stones. Now it is frozen hard over—how would you test it?" Bajie said: "Brother, you don't know. Let me raise the rake and strike it once. If it breaks through, the ice is thin, and we dare not go; if it will not give, the ice is thick—then why not go?" Tripitaka said: "Right—well said." The Idiot threw back his robe and strode to the river's edge, raised the rake in both hands, and struck with all his might: with a thud he made nine white marks, and his hands smarted with the shock. The Idiot laughed: "We can go, we can go—it is frozen to the very bed."

Tripitaka heard, rejoiced, and returned with the others to the Chen house, giving the order only to pack and go. The two old men could not hold them back; all they could do was lay in dry food and roasted grain, bake cakes and steam buns for the road. The whole household kowtowed and bowed, and brought out a plate of broken bits of silver and gold, kneeling before them: "For the grace of saving our children, accept this small token of a meal on the road." Tripitaka waved his hands and shook his head, refusing: "This humble monk has left home. What use has he for money? I would not dare take it out on the road; begging a meal day by day is my proper work. The dry food is enough." The two old men begged again and again; Pilgrim pinched up a small piece with his fingertips, four or five qian in weight, and handed it to the Tang monk: "Master, take it as pocket money at least—do not leave the old men's kindness altogether unanswered."

So they parted and came straight to the ice. The horse's hoof slipped once, and Tripitaka nearly fell. Sha Monk said: "Master, it is hard going." Bajie said: "Wait. Let me ask old Chen for some straw." Pilgrim said: "What for?" Bajie said: "How would you know? Wrap straw round the horses' hooves and they will not slip, and Master will not be thrown." Old Chen heard from the bank, quickly had a bundle of straw fetched from the house, and asked the Tang monk to come up the bank and dismount. Bajie wrapped the horses' feet in straw, and then they walked out on the ice.

Having left old Chen and gone three or four li from the bank, Bajie handed the nine-ringed tin staff to the Tang monk: "Master, carry this crosswise on your saddle." Pilgrim said: "This Idiot is cunning. The staff was always your load—why give it to Master now?" Bajie said: "You have never walked the ice and do not know. Wherever water freezes, there are holes in the ice. Step in one and you go under—and with nothing held crosswise you would drop through like the lid of a great pot clapped over you, and how would you climb back up? You must brace like this." Pilgrim laughed to himself: "The Idiot is an old ice-walker after all." They all did as he said: the elder held the tin staff crosswise, Pilgrim the iron staff crosswise, Sha Monk the demon-subduing staff crosswise, Bajie the load on his shoulder and the rake across his waist. Master and disciples pushed on with easy hearts. They walked till dark, ate some dry food, dared not stop long, and pushed on under the stars and moon, over the ice gleaming bright and white, walking on and on—truly the horse's hooves never stopped. Master and disciples could not close their eyes, and walked the night through. At dawn they ate more dry food and pushed west again.

As they went there came a rending crack under the ice that nearly threw the white horse. Tripitaka, startled: "Disciples! What is that great crack?" Bajie said: "This river is frozen mighty solid—the ground ice is cracking. Or maybe the middle of it is frozen to the very bed." Tripitaka heard, part frightened and part glad, spurred ahead, and hurried on. No more of that for now.

Now the demon, ever since he returned to his water palace, had led his spirits beneath the ice. After waiting long, he heard the sound of hooves, worked his power below, and ripped the ice open. The Great Sage Sun leaped into the air; the white horse dropped into the water, and the three of them fell in together.

The demon seized Tripitaka, led his spirits straight back to the water palace, and called loudly: "Sister mandarin fish, where are you?" The old fish wife met him at the gate and bowed: "Great King, I dare not, I dare not." The demon said: "Worthy sister, why those words? 'Once the word is out, four horses cannot chase it back.' I promised to follow your plan, and having caught the Tang monk, to bow with you as brother and sister. Today your clever plan has truly caught him—would I now go back on my word?" He gave the order: "Little ones, bring the table, whet the knives. We will open this monk's belly, cut out his heart, flay his skin and slice his flesh. And set the music playing: I will eat him with my worthy sister, and we will lengthen life forever." The fish wife said: "Great King, do not eat him yet—his disciples may come hunting and raise a row. Be patient two days. If they do not come, then open him: you shall take the seat of honor, Great King, your kin and followers ringed around, with pipes and strings and dances, and offer him up to you, and you may enjoy him at ease—would that not be fine?" The monster took her advice, hid the Tang monk behind the palace, and covered him with a stone case six feet long. No more of that for now.

Now Bajie and Sha Monk, in the water, fished up the luggage, loaded it on the white horse, pushed aside the water, surged through the waves, and came up out of the river. Pilgrim watched from midair and asked: "Where is Master?" Bajie said: "Master's surname is Chen—and now he is 'Sunk to the Bottom.' There is no finding him; let us get ashore and take counsel." Bajie was of old Marshal Tianpeng come to earth: he once commanded the eighty thousand water soldiers of the River of Heaven. Sha Monk was born in the Flowing Sand River, and the white horse was a dragon grandchild of the Western Sea—so they knew the water. The Great Sage guided from the air; in a moment they were back at the east bank, where they dried and curried the horses and wrung out the clothes. The Great Sage came down from his cloud, and all together reached Chen Family Village. Someone had already told the two old men: "Of the four lords seeking scriptures, only three are coming back." The brothers hurried out the gate and found their clothes still wet: "My lords, we begged so hard for you to stay, and you would not—only to end like this. Where is Lord Tripitaka?" Bajie said: "Don't call him Tripitaka anymore. He has changed his name to Sunk-to-the-Bottom." The two old men wept: "Pity! Pity! I said wait for the snow to melt and get a boat—and you would not listen, and now he has lost his life." Pilgrim said: "Old man, do not grieve over what is past. My master is sure to live a long life—I guarantee it. Old Sun knows: it must be that Great King of Answered Prayers working his tricks to take him. Rest easy. Dry our clothes for us, air the travel papers, and feed the white horse. When we brothers find that fellow, rescue Master, and cut the grass and tear up the roots, ridding your whole village of the trouble, you can live in peace at last." Old Chen heard and rejoiced, and ordered a meal made ready.

The three brothers ate their fill, left the horses and baggage with the Chens to watch, each took up his weapons, and went straight to the river to find their master and take the monster. Truly:

By mischance they trod the shelf of ice and hurt the root of life; the great elixir spills—how can it be kept whole?

How they would save the Tang monk—listen to the next chapter to find out.