Chapter 50

Feelings Tangled, the Nature Led Astray, All Through Love's Craving; the Spirit Dazed, the Heart Stirred, They Meet the Demon Lord

The lyric says:

Sweep the ground of the heart again and again; brush the dust of passion away bit by bit. Let no pit and trench swallow the Buddha Vairocana. Only when the root-nature is ever pure may one speak of the First Beginning.The candle of the nature must be trimmed and watched; at the Brook of Cao let breath come and go freely. Do not let the ape and the horse grow rough of breath and cry. Let the breath flow soft through night and day: only so is the work made plain.

This lyric, to the tune “The Son of Nanke,” tells only how the Tang monk escaped the calamity of Reach-Heaven River's frozen ice, and was borne across to the farther shore on the back of the white turtle. The four of master and disciples took the great road, pressing west. It was the very scene of hard winter: the wood-light hazy and pale in the mist; the bones of the hills crisp and clear beyond the waters.

As master and disciples went, suddenly another great mountain rose and blocked the way. The road was narrow and the cliffs high, the rocks many and the ridges steep: hard going for man and horse. The Tang monk reined up on the horse and called: “Disciples.” Pilgrim Sun, with Zhu Bajie and Sha Monk, came near and stood attending: “Master, what are your orders?” The Tang monk said: “You see how high that mountain ahead: I fear tigers and wolves at mischief, demon beasts to hurt men. This time be careful!” Pilgrim said: “Master, set your heart at ease. We three brothers are one in heart and mind, turned to the right and seeking the truth: set loose our art of taming monsters and subduing demons — what tigers, wolves and demon beasts are there to fear?” The Tang monk, hearing, could only ease his mind and go on. At the mouth of the valley they spurred the horse up the cliff, and looked carefully up: a fine mountain:

Cragged and towering; sheared and sublime. Cragged and towering, it stabs the empyrean; sheared and sublime, it bars the azure void. Strange rocks heaped in confusion like a crouching tiger; gray pines slanting a-hang like flying dragons. On the ridge the birds cry, their sweet notes lovely; before the cliff the plum opens, its strange fragrance thick. The ravine waters ripple, running cold; the peak-clouds darken, coming ominous. And then the whirling snow, the biting wind, the roaring hungry tiger bawling in the mountain. The cold crows choose their trees and find no perch; the wild deer hunt their dens and leave no certain track. The pity of it — the traveler can hardly advance: brow knitted, face anxious, he muffles up his head.

The four of master and disciples braved the snow and charged the cold, shivering, and passed over those peaked ridges, and saw far off in a mountain hollow terraces and towers standing high, houses quiet and secluded. The Tang monk said gladly from the saddle: “Disciples, a day of hunger and cold both. Happily there are towers and houses in that hollow: surely farmsteads, or a nunnery, a temple. Let us beg a meal there, eat, and go on.” Pilgrim, hearing, opened his eyes wide and looked: on that side, baleful clouds banked dim, evil airs swarming thick. He turned to the Tang monk: “Master, that is no good place.” The Tang monk said: “There are towers and pavilions to be seen: why no good place?” Pilgrim laughed: “Master, how would you know? On the western roads are many demon monsters, deft at conjuring up manors. Towers and houses of any kind, halls and pavilions, they can all conjure and gull men with. You know the saying ‘The dragon breeds nine kinds’: one kind is named the shen, the mirage. The shen's breath casts a shine like towers over shallow pools. When the great rivers are wrapped in fog, the shen shows such sights. Let birds fly over, and they are sure to light and rest their wings: thousands upon thousands, every one swallowed down in one breath. No trick harms men worse. That quarter's airs are baleful: by no means enter.”

The Tang monk said: “If we must not enter — yet I am truly hungry.” Pilgrim said: “If Master is hungry, dismount, I beg, and sit here on this level ground, while I go elsewhere and beg a meal for you.” The Tang monk did as he was told and dismounted; Bajie held the reins; Sha Monk set down the load, opened the bundle, took out the alms bowl, and handed it to Pilgrim. Pilgrim took the bowl in his hand and charged Sha Monk: “Worthy brother, do not go forward. Guard Master well, sitting quiet here, and when I come back with the meal we go west.” Sha Monk took the word. Pilgrim said further to the Tang monk: “Master, this place has more bale than blessing: by no means stir and go elsewhere. Old Sun goes begging the meal.” The Tang monk said: “No more words: only go quick and come quick. I wait here.” Pilgrim turned to go — and came back again: “Master, I know you have no gift for sitting: I will give you a charm of rest.” He took the gold-banded staff, flourished it, and drew a circle in the level ground all about, and begged the Tang monk to sit in the middle, with Bajie and Sha Monk attending at either side, the horse and the luggage close at hand. Palms together to the Tang monk, he said: “This circle old Sun draws is stronger than walls of bronze and iron. Let there be tigers, leopards, wolves and beasts, demons, devils and monsters — none dare come near. Only you must not step outside the circle: sit quiet in the middle, and I promise you safe. But step outside the ring, and certain ruin meets you. A thousand times, ten thousand times — my earnest word, my earnest word.” The Tang monk followed his word, and master and disciples sat down in composure.

Pilgrim rode his cloud to find a village and beg a meal, and made straight south, when suddenly he saw ancient trees rearing to the sky: a village homestead. He pressed down his cloud and looked carefully — and this is what he saw:

Snow bullies the withered willows; ice has sealed the square pond. Sparse tall bamboo sways its green; dark and dense the tall pines hold their emerald. A few thatched cottages half done in silver; a little bridge aslant, laid in powder. By the hedge the narcissus just opening; under the eaves icicles hang like frozen chopsticks. The chill wind sighs, bearing a strange fragrance; the snow lies so deep one cannot find where the plum is in bloom.

Pilgrim walked about viewing the village, when he heard a creak: at the sound of the wicker gate out came an old man, a goosefoot staff in hand, a sheepskin cape over his head, a ragged gown on his body, rush sandals on his feet. Leaning on his staff, he tipped his face to heaven: “The northwest wind is up — clear tomorrow.” He had scarcely spoken when out from behind ran a lapdog, which fell to barking at Pilgrim, yap, yap. Only then the old man turned his head, saw Pilgrim holding the alms bowl, and made a salutation. “Worthy patron: your monk is of the Great Tang in the Land of the East, sent by imperial decree to the Western Heaven to worship Buddha and seek scriptures. Passing your honored place just now — my master's belly is empty, and I have come to your house to beg a meal.” The old man, hearing, nodded and tapped his staff: “Elder, beg no meal here: you have lost your road.” Pilgrim said: “Not lost.” The old man said: “The great road to the Western Heaven runs straight north. From here it is a thousand li: why not go back and find the great road?” Pilgrim laughed: “It is straight north. My master sits this moment on the great road, waiting for me to beg the meal.” The old man said: “Monk, you rave. Your master waits on the great road for your begging: at a thousand li, even walking, it would take you six or seven days, and six or seven days back — would that not starve him?” Pilgrim laughed: “To tell the truth, worthy patron: I left my master barely the time it takes a cup of tea to cool, and here I am already. Now I will beg the meal and hurry back for the noon meal besides.”

The old man, hearing, was frightened in his heart: “This monk is a ghost — a ghost!” He whipped about and made to go inside. Pilgrim seized him: “Where away, patron? If there is a meal, beg me some quickly.” The old man said: “Not convenient, not convenient. Try another house.” Pilgrim said: “Patron, you are past all sense. You say it is a thousand li from here: try another house, and is it not another thousand? You would starve my master outright.” The old man said: “To tell you the truth, my household, old and young, is six or seven mouths: I have but just washed three sheng of rice and put it on the fire, and it is not yet cooked. Go turn elsewhere and come back.” Pilgrim said: “The ancients said: ‘Better sit at one house than try three.’ Your humble monk will wait here.” The old man, pestered so close, lost his temper and raised the goosefoot staff to strike. Pilgrim, utterly unafraid, took seven or eight blows square on his bare pate, taking them for a scratching of itches. The old man said: “A knocking-head of a monk!” Pilgrim laughed: “Old gentleman, beat as you please — only keep the count exactly: one stroke, one sheng of rice. Measure it out slowly.” The old man, hearing, flung down the staff in haste, ran in, and clapped the door, bawling only: “A ghost, a ghost!” The whole household, terrified, shut the doors before and behind.

Pilgrim, seeing the door shut, thought: “The old wretch said he had just washed rice and set it boiling: true or false? The saying goes: ‘The Way converts the worthy; the Buddha converts the dull.’ Let old Sun go in and see.” The good Great Sage pinched the sign, worked the art of invisibility, and walked straight into the kitchen to look: truly the pot was steaming, half a pot of dry rice cooked. He pushed the alms bowl in and heaped it full, rode his cloud, and turned back — no more of that.

Now the Tang monk sat in the circle, waiting a long while, and Pilgrim did not come back. He leaned forward and gazed off blankly: “Where has the monkey gone begging?” Bajie laughed at his side: “Who knows where he has gone sporting? Beg a meal indeed — and here he keeps us in jail.” The Tang monk said: “What do you mean, in jail?” Bajie said: “Master, you do not know, it seems. The ancients drew a circle on the ground for a jail. He drew a ring with his staff, stronger than iron walls and bronze bulwarks: but if tigers, wolves or demon beasts should come, how would it stop them? We should only be handed over to be eaten for nothing.” The Tang monk said: “Wuneng — what would you have done?” Bajie said: “Here there is neither shelter from wind nor shield from cold. If you ask old Pig, we should follow the road and walk west a while. Brother, with his meal begged and his cloud mounted, will come quick as lightning, and catch us up. If he has food, we eat and go. Sitting here so long, my feet are freezing!”

The Tang monk, hearing this — it was the luckless star arrived. So he followed the Idiot, and out of the circle they went together. Bajie led the horse, Sha Monk shouldered the load, and the elder walked on along the road. Presently they came to the place of towers and pavilions: it was a house sitting north and facing south. Outside the gate, a whitewashed wall shaped in the character eight, and a gateway of inverted lotus, bracketed like a grain measure, all painted in five colors. The door stood half open, half shut. Bajie tied the horse to the stone drum of the threshold; Sha Monk set down his load; the Tang monk, fearing the wind, sat on the door-sill. Bajie said: “Master, this must be the seat of a duke or a marquis, the house of a minister. No one at the front gate: doubtless all inside warming at the fire. Sit you here, and let me go in and look.” The Tang monk said: “Be careful — do not give offense.” The Idiot said: “I know. Since I came over to the gate of Chan, I have learned a manner or two of late: no village lout, I.”

The Idiot slung the nail-rake at his waist, squared his green brocade gown, and walked in, prim and proper. Within were three great hall-rooms, curtains hung high, still and quiet, no trace of anyone, nor table, chair, or household gear. Round behind the screen door he went further in: a passage hall. Behind the hall stood a great tower, its latticed windows half open, where dimly showed a canopy of yellow damask. The Idiot said: “Someone must be asleep, afraid of the cold.” He made no distinction of without or within, but strode straight up into the tower. Lifting the curtain with his hand to look — the Idiot staggered back a step. For under that canopy, on an ivory bed, lay a heap of bones, gleaming white: a skull as big as a peck-measure, and shank-bones four or five feet long. The Idiot, steadied, could not keep the tears from dropping down his cheeks; he nodded at the skeleton and sighed: “You must have been—”

A marshal's frame in what age, what reign? A great general of what state, what kingdom?A hero then, contending for mastery; today, forlorn, sinew and bone laid bare.No wife or children come to tend you; no soldiers burning incense at your tomb.Vain to look on such a sight, and worthy all of sighs: the pity of it — a man of conquest and of crowns.”

Bajie was still sighing when a flash of firelight showed behind the canopy. The Idiot said: “Someone must keep the incense behind there.” He turned quickly, passed the curtain, and looked: it was only the light through the tower's pierced window. On that side stood a table of painted lacquer, and on the table, tumbled together, several pieces of brocade-padded clothing. The Idiot picked them up and looked: three quilted, brocade-stitched waistcoats.

Never stopping to ask if it were right, he carried them down the tower, out of the hall, straight to the gate: “Master, there is not a soul in this place: it is a house of the dead. Old Pig walked in and up to the high tower, and in the yellow damask canopy a heap of bones. By the passage tower were three brocade-stitched waistcoats, and I have brought them: luck of a kind for our journey. The weather is cold, and this is their very use. Master, take off your gown and wear one underneath, for comfort's sake — spare yourself the cold.” The Tang monk said: “No, no. The law says: ‘Taking openly or taking secretly, it is all theft.’ If someone learns of it and overtakes us, and the matter goes to the magistrate, theft it is, past question. Put them back where they hung. We will sit here out of the wind, and walk when Wukong comes. We who have left home must not love such trifles.” Bajie said: “Not a soul in sight — the very chickens and dogs do not know it: only we know. Who would inform against me? Where is the witness? It is as if I had picked them up: where is the open taking, where the secret?” The Tang monk said: “You do wrong. Though no man knows it, does heaven not see? The Dark Emperor gave his lesson: ‘In the dark room, the heart cheats — but the eyes of the spirits are as lightning.’ Take them back this instant, and do not love what is not yours by right.”

The Idiot would not hear it for anything, and said to the Tang monk, laughing: “Master, I have lived my life and worn a waistcoat or two, but never such brocade-stitched ones. If you will not wear one, let old Pig try the new thing, and warm his backbone. When brother comes, off they come, back they go, and on we walk.” Sha Monk said: “If you put it so, I will wear one too.” The two took off their outer gowns together and pulled the waistcoats on. They had but tightened the strings when, somehow, they could not stand steady, and flopped down in a fall. The waistcoats outdid the ropemaker's art: in a moment their arms were pinned behind, bound fast to the breast. The Tang monk, in an agony, stamped and complained, and hurried to untie them — but how should they untie? The three of them bawled without cease — and the shouting woke the demon lord.

That whole tower and house was truly the demon's conjuring, and all day he took men there. He sat in his cave when suddenly he heard the sound of woe, hurried out the door to look, and truly saw men bound. The demon called his little demons and came with them to that place, gathered in the shape of tower and house, helped up the Tang monk, led the white horse, shouldered the luggage, and carried Bajie and Sha Monk off to the cave together. The old demon mounted the terrace and sat high; the little demons pushed the Tang monk to the terrace's edge, and he knelt upon the ground. The demon asked: “What country's monk are you? How are you so bold, to steal my clothes in broad day?” The Tang monk, dropping tears, told him: “Your humble monk is sent by the imperial seal of the Great Tang in the Land of the East to the Western Heaven for scriptures. His belly being empty, I sent my eldest disciple to beg a meal, and he is not returned. I did not keep his words, and blundered into your immortal court to shelter from the wind. These two disciples of mine, loving trifles, brought out the clothes. I would never have the heart to spoil anything: I bade them carry the things back where they lay. They would not hear me, and would try them on to warm their backs — and so, unhappily, fell into the Great King's snare, and I am taken. I beg your mercy, spare this wretched life, let me seek the true scriptures, and the Great King's kindness shall be entered forever, and told through the Land of the East a thousand ages.” The demon laughed: “Here I have often heard it said: whoever eats one piece of the Tang monk's flesh, his white hair turns black again, his fallen teeth grow anew. Lucky today — you came uninvited: and you look for mercy still? What is your eldest disciple's name, and where did he go begging?” Bajie, hearing, opened his mouth at once and proclaimed: “My brother is Sun Wukong, the Great Sage Equal to Heaven, who wrecked the Heavenly Palace five hundred years ago.”

The demon, hearing it was the Great Sage Equal to Heaven, Sun Wukong, was greatly taken aback: he said nothing, but thought in his heart: “Long have I heard what powers that fellow has; now we have met unlooked for.” He called: “Lads, bind the Tang monk; take the treasures off those two, change them for two cords, and bind them too. Carry them behind for now. When I have taken his eldest brother, we will scrub the lot, and steam the whole cageful for our eating.” The little demons answered with a shout, bound all three together, and carried them behind; the white horse was tied at the trough, the luggage stored in the house. The demons whetted their weapons every one, ready to take Pilgrim — no more of that.

Now Pilgrim Sun, with his bowl of begged food from the village in the south, rode his cloud back by the old road, came to the level place on the slope, pressed down his cloud — and the Tang monk was nowhere to be seen, nor where he had gone. The circle drawn by the staff was still there; only men and horse were gone. He looked back at the place of towers and terraces: gone too, and nothing but strange rocks at the mountain's root. Pilgrim's heart sank: “No need to say it: they have met that deadly hand.” He hurried along the road, following the hoofprints, and gave chase westward.

Five or six li he went, in the very depths of grief, when from beyond the northern slope he heard voices. He looked: an old man, a felt cloak over his body, a warm cap over his head, on his feet a pair of half-new, half-old oiled boots, a dragon-head staff in his hand; and behind him a young page, carrying a spray of winter-plum blossom, walking down the slope humming a song. Pilgrim set down the bowl, met him face to face, and made his salutation: “Old sir — your humble monk greets you.” The old man returned the courtesy: “Where do you come from, elder?” Pilgrim said: “We come from the Land of the East, bound for the Western Heaven to worship Buddha and seek scriptures: master and disciples, four in company. My master being hungry, I went specially to beg a meal, and left the other three sitting on the level of the slope to wait. Coming back, they were gone: what road they took I cannot tell. May I ask, sir: did you see them?” The old man, hearing, laughed aloud, coldly: “Of your three, was one long of snout and big of ear?” Pilgrim said: “There was, there was.” “And another with a face the color of bad luck, leading a white horse, with a pale-faced fat monk?” Pilgrim said: “Yes, yes, yes.” The old man said: “You have lost the road. Do not look for them: let each look to his own life.” Pilgrim said: “The pale-faced one is my master; the oddly-fashioned ones my brothers. We swore one devout heart together, to go to the Western Heaven for scriptures: how should I not look for them?” The old man said: “As I passed just now I saw them take the wrong path and walk straight into the demon's mouth.” Pilgrim said: “I beg you, sir, instruct me: what demon is it? Where does he dwell? Then I can go to his door and demand them back, and get on west.” The old man said: “This mountain is called the Gold Mountain. Before the mountain is the Gold Cave, and in the cave dwells the One-Horned Rhinoceros King. That king's powers are vast, his might towering. Your three are dead men this time beyond doubt. If you go looking, I fear not even you are safe: better not to go. I dare not stop you, and dare not keep you: measure it in your own heart.”

Pilgrim bowed again and again in thanks: “My thanks for your instruction, sir. But how should I not seek them?” He poured the begged food out for the old man, and made the empty bowl his own care. The old man set down his staff, took the bowl, handed it to the page, showed his true form, and the two knelt down together, knocking their heads: “Great Sage, your humble gods dare not conceal it: we two are the mountain god and the local earth god of this mountain, waiting here to receive you. This meal, bowl and all, we will keep for you, Great Sage, that you may go light and put forth your powers. When the Tang monk is rescued from his trouble, we will render up the meal to him again: so will the Great Sage's courtesy and filial devotion appear.” Pilgrim shouted: “You hairy devils, asking for a beating! Knowing I had come, why not meet me early — instead of skulking with your heads half hidden? What reason is that?” The earth god said: “The Great Sage's temper is quick: your humble gods dared not be rash, fearing to offend your countenance — hence the hidden shapes and the telling.” Pilgrim, his anger cooling, said: “The beating stands against you. Keep my bowl carefully, while I go take that monster.” Earth god and mountain god took the charge.

The Great Sage then tightened his tiger-sinew sash, hitched up his tiger-skin kilt, took up the gold-banded staff, and made straight for the front of the mountain to find the demon cave. Round past a crag he saw jumbled rocks glistening, and by the emerald cliff two doors of stone, and outside the gate a crowd of little demons whirling spears and dancing swords. Truly:

Mist and cloud congealed in splendor; mosses heaped in green. Grim strange rocks in rows; a twisting path winding and rough. Gibbons whistled, birds sang, the scenery fair; larks and phoenixes flew dancing, like Penglai and Yingzhou. On the sunny side a few plum trees just opening; warming in the mild air, a thousand bamboo canes green of themselves. Below the steep cliff, in the deep ravine: below the steep cliff the snow heaped like powder; in the deep ravine the water sealed with ice. In both woods the pines and cypresses, fair a thousand years; a few clusters of mountain camellia, red as their fellows.

The Great Sage could not look his fill; he swung into his stride and came straight to the gate, and called at the top of his voice: “You little demons! In with you quickly, and tell your cave lord: I am the Great Sage Equal to Heaven, Sun Wukong, disciple of the holy monk of the Tang. Tell him to hand out my master quickly, and spare your lives.”

The little demons hurried into the cave to report: “Great King — outside is a hairy-faced, hook-beaked monk who calls himself the Great Sage Equal to Heaven, Sun Wukong, come to demand his master.” The demon king, hearing, rejoiced through and through: “Just the one I wanted. Since I left my own palace and came down into the world of dust, I have never tried my arts. Today he comes: surely a match for me.” He called the little demons to fetch out his weapon. The demons of the cave, great and small, braced every one in high spirits, and quickly carried out a steel-tipped spear twelve feet long and handed it to the old monster. The old monster gave the word: “Lads, each in his place! Forward, and rewarded; backward, and put to death!” The demons took the word and followed the old monster out the gate, calling: “Which of you is Sun Wukong?”

Pilgrim slipped aside and looked — and how fierce and ugly the demon king was:

One horn jagged; two eyes flashing bright. On his crown the hide rough and ridged; at his ear-roots black flesh shining smooth. His tongue so long it stirred his nostrils; his jaws so wide, the plate-teeth yellow. Hide blue-black as indigo; sinews kinked and hard as steel. Like a rhinoceros, yet he does not gaze at the water; like a bull, yet he plows no wild field. Nothing of the moon-gazing, cloud-plowing use; all of the heaven-bullying, earth-shaking strength. Two hands of burnt sinew, blue as indigo; with manly might upholds the steel-tipped spear. Look close at such a fierce array: fitly he is named the Rhinoceros King.

The Great Sage Sun came forward: “Your grandfather Sun is here. Hand over my master this instant, and neither of us takes hurt; say half the word ‘no,’ and I will leave you dead without a plot to bury you in!” The demon shouted: “You bold, brazen ape-fiend! What arts have you, to talk so big?” Pilgrim said: “You brazen thing! You have never seen old Sun's arts, have you?” The demon said: “Your master stole my clothes: truly I took him, and mean now to steam and eat him. What sort of hero are you, to come hammering at my door for him?” Pilgrim said: “My master is a monk loyal and upright: when would he steal any trifle of yours?” The demon said: “On the mountainside I conjured up an immortal manor: your master crept inside, his heart afire with greed, and stole three brocade-padded waistcoats and wore them on his body. With the stolen goods for proof I took him. If you truly have the art, match powers with me now: hold me three rounds, and I spare your master's life; fail, and I send you down the road to the dark land together.”

Pilgrim laughed: “Brazen thing! No more talk: match powers — that is old Sun's own mind. Step up, and taste my staff.” The monster feared no battle: he leveled the steel spear and met him full in the face. A fine fight! Look:

The gold-banded staff rises; the long-shafted spear comes on. The gold-banded staff rises, glittering, a golden snake struck by lightning; the long-shafted spear comes on, gleaming bright, a dragon leaving the black sea. There, before the gate, the little demons beat the drums and draw the ranks to swell the fierceness; here, the Great Sage works his art, free and sweeping, showing his craft. His one spear, braced in high spirits; my one staff, lofty in its art. Truly hero meeting hero: a match at last has found its match. The demon king's mouth spews purple vapor, coiling mist and smoke; the Great Sage's eyes flash radiance, knotting embroidered cloud. All because the monk of Tang is in peril: two houses, honor thrown away, wrangle bitterly.

The two fought thirty rounds with no decision. The demon king, seeing Pilgrim's staff-work so orderly, one thrust, one parry, without a flaw, could not clap enough: “Good monkey, good monkey — the very arts that wrecked the Heavenly Palace.” And the Great Sage loved his spear-work too, never in disorder, parrying right and blocking left, full of method, and cried: “Good monster, good monster — truly an elixir-stealing devil of the first order.” They fought another ten rounds, twenty, when the demon king set his spear-point in the ground, shouted the word, and the little demons came on together: those brazen fiends, knife and cudgel in hand, sword and spear swinging, ringed the Great Sage round in the middle. Pilgrim, utterly unafraid, only called: “Come on, come on — just as I would have it.” He plied the gold-banded staff, meeting in front, fending behind, blocking east, clearing west. That pack of demons would not give back for anything. Pilgrim, his temper fraying, flung the gold-banded staff into the air, cried “Change!”, and it turned into hundreds upon hundreds of iron staffs: like flying serpents, running pythons, they came raining down through the sky. That pack of spirits, seeing, scattered soul and spirit, hugging their necks, ducking their heads, fleeing for their lives into the cave. The old demon king laughed coldly, hee-hee: “Monkey, none of your rudeness — mind my art.” From his sleeve he swiftly took a circle, gleaming bright, gleaming white, tossed it into the air, and cried: “Light!” — and with a whoosh it gathered the gold-banded staff back into one and swept it away. The Great Sage Sun, empty-handed, turned a somersault and saved his life. The demon king, victor, went back to his cave; Pilgrim, dazed, knew not which way to turn. And this is it:

The Way grows a foot; the demon grows ten feet. Nature in disorder, feelings dim, he mistook the house.The pity of it — the dharma-body had no seat: at that moment the first stirring thought went wrong.

But how it would come out this time? Listen to the next chapter to find out.

Feelings Tangle and the Nature Follows Them, for Love and Desire; the Spirit Grows Dull, the Heart Is Stirred, and It Meets the Demon Chief.

The ci says:

Sweep the ground of the heart over and over; clear the dust of passion bit by bit. Let no pit or trench trap the Lord of the Boundless. Only when the root self is always pure can one speak of the very beginning.The candle of the nature must be trimmed and fed; let the breath of Caoxi rise and fall freely. Do not let the ape and the horse grow loud and rough of breath. Only when the breath runs soft and even, day and night, does the real work show.

This ci is to the tune "Song of the Southern Bough," and it speaks of nothing but the Tang monk, who escaped the disaster of the frozen Heaven-Reaching River and rode the white turtle's back to the far shore. Master and the three disciples went up the great road toward the west and met the depth of winter: look how the woods dim and pale in the mist, and the bones of the hills stand clear beyond the waters.

As master and disciples were going along, they met another great mountain barring the road. The path was narrow, the cliffs high, the rocks many and the ridges steep; neither man nor horse could enter. Tripitaka drew in the reins and called: "Disciples." Pilgrim Sun, with Bajie and Sha Monk, came up and stood in attendance: "Master, what are your orders?" Tripitaka said: "See how high that mountain ahead is. I fear tigers and wolves at their mischief, demon beasts hurting men. This time you must be careful!" Pilgrim said: "Master, set your heart at ease. We three brothers are one in heart and mind, turned to the right and seeking the true. With our arts for sweeping away monsters and subduing demons, what are tigers, wolves, and demon beasts to us?" Tripitaka heard and could only set his mind at rest and go forward. At the mouth of the valley he urged his horse up the slope and looked carefully. A fine mountain:

Jagged and towering, steep and grim. Jagged and towering, it pushes into the Milky Way; steep and grim, it blocks the blue sky. Strange rocks lie heaped like crouching tigers; gray pines hang aslant like flying dragons. On the ridges birds sing with sweet and lovely notes; before the cliffs plum blossoms open, strange and strong. The stream water gurgles out cold; the clouds on the summit come dark and menacing. And see the swirling snow, the biting wind, a starving tiger roaring in the mountains. The cold crows pick their trees and find no perch; the wild deer seek their dens and leave no fixed track. Alas, the traveler can hardly set his foot; he knits his brows, clouds his face, and muffles his head.

The four, braving snow and cold, shivering, crossed over the peaks and ridges, and far off saw in a mountain hollow towers rising high and houses quiet and retired. The Tang monk said gladly from the saddle: "Disciples, this day has been hunger and cold both. Luckily there are towers and houses in that hollow—certainly farm families, or a cloister, or a temple. Let us go beg a meal, eat, and go on." Pilgrim heard, looked quickly, and saw that on that side an evil cloud lurked and a wicked vapor swarmed. He turned to the Tang monk: "Master, that is no good place." Tripitaka said: "There are towers and pavilions to be seen—how is it no good place?" Pilgrim laughed: "Master, how would you know? The western road is full of demons and goblins, expert at conjuring up homesteads. Towers, houses, halls, pavilions—they can conjure the lot and fool people. You know the saying 'a dragon begets nine kinds'; one of the kinds is called the clam. The clam's breath shines like towers over shallow pools. When the great rivers lie dim and misty, the clam shows such shapes. If birds come flying, they will certainly stop to rest—and be they ten thousand or a thousand, he swallows the lot in one breath. Nothing harms men more than that. That air over there is evil: we must not enter."

Tripitaka said: "If we must not enter—yet I am truly hungry." Pilgrim said: "If you are truly hungry, Master, dismount, and let us sit down here on the flat. I will go somewhere else and beg a meal for you." Tripitaka dismounted as told; Bajie held the reins; Sha Monk set down the load, opened the bundle, took out the alms bowl, and handed it to Pilgrim. Pilgrim took the bowl in his hands and told Sha Monk: "Worthy brother, do not go on. Guard Master well, seated here, till I come back from begging; then we go west." Sha Monk agreed. Pilgrim said to the Tang monk: "Master, this place has little luck and much ill. Do not stir from here to go elsewhere. Old Sun goes begging." The Tang monk said: "Say no more—only go quickly and come quickly. I will wait here." Pilgrim turned to go, then came back: "Master, I know you have no gift for sitting. Let me give you something to keep you safe." He took the gold-banded staff, waved it, drew a circle on the flat ground all around, asked the Tang monk to sit in the middle, set Bajie and Sha Monk to stand at his sides, and put the horse and the baggage close by. With palms joined he said: "This circle old Sun has drawn beats walls of bronze and iron. Let it be tiger or leopard, wolf or beast, demon or devil—none dare come near. Only you must not step outside the circle. Sit steady in the middle, and you are safe. But step out of it, and you meet evil hands. Mind it, mind it—this is my earnest charge." Tripitaka did as told, and master and disciples sat down composed.

Pilgrim rose on his clouds to find a village and beg a meal, going straight south, and suddenly saw ancient trees reaching to the sky—a village of cottages. He lowered his cloud and looked carefully. There was only this:

Snow bullied the withering willows; ice closed the square pond. Thin tall bamboo swayed dark green; dense tall pines held their thick jade. A few thatched cottages half sheathed in silver; one little bridge built aslant with powder. By the hedge the narcissus just opened; under the eaves hung icicles like frozen chopsticks. The soughing cold wind carried a strange fragrance, but the snow lay so thick no plum tree could be seen in bloom.

Pilgrim walked about looking at the village, when with a creak a wooden gate opened and out came an old man, a goosefoot staff in hand, a sheepskin cape over his head, a worn patched robe on his body, rush shoes on his feet. Leaning on his staff, he tilted his face to the sky: "The northwest wind rises—clear tomorrow." He had barely spoken when a lapdog ran out from behind, barking away at Pilgrim. The old man turned and saw Pilgrim holding the bowl. Pilgrim made a greeting: "Old patron, this monk is sent under the Emperor's seal from the great Tang in the Land of the East to worship the Buddha and seek scriptures in the west. Passing your honorable country, my master is hungry, and I have come specially to your house to beg a meal." The old man heard, nodded, and tapped his staff: "Elder, stop begging. You have lost your road." Pilgrim said: "Not lost." The old man said: "The great road to the Western Heaven lies due north of here. From here it is a thousand li—why not go back and find the great road?" Pilgrim laughed: "It is due north indeed. My master is sitting this minute on the great road, waiting for me to beg his meal." The old man said: "Monk, that is nonsense. If your master sits on the great road waiting for your begged meal—at a thousand li, even a walker would need six or seven days to go, and six or seven more to come back—would that not starve him?" Pilgrim laughed: "To tell the truth, patron: I left my master no longer ago than it takes to brew a cup of hot tea, and here I am. Now, once I have begged this meal, I must still hurry back in time for the midday meal."

The old man heard and was frightened: "This monk is a ghost, a ghost!" He whipped round to go inside; Pilgrim caught his sleeve: "Patron, where are you going? If you have food, let me beg a little." The old man said: "Not convenient, not convenient. Try another house." Pilgrim said: "Patron, you are a poor hand at this. You say it is a thousand li from here; if I try another house, will that not be another thousand? You would starve my master for certain." The old man said: "To tell you the truth, my family is six or seven souls, and I have just washed three sheng of rice into the pot—it is not even cooked yet. Go somewhere else and come back another time." Pilgrim said: "The ancients say: 'Better sit at one house than call at three.' This humble monk will wait a bit." The old man, pestered so hard, lost his temper and raised the goosefoot staff to strike. Pilgrim, quite unafraid, let him land seven or eight blows on his bare head—it was no more than a scratching of an itch. The old man said: "Here is a monk with an iron skull." Pilgrim laughed: "Old gentleman, beat away—only keep the count clear: one blow, one sheng of rice. Measure it out slowly." The old man heard, threw down the staff in haste, ran in, and shut the door, shouting: "A ghost! A ghost!" The whole household, in terror, shut the front and back doors both.

Pilgrim saw the doors shut and thought: "The old thief just said he had washed rice into the pot—true or false? The saying goes: 'The Way converts the worthy; the Buddha converts the dull.' Let old Sun go in and see." Good Great Sage—he pinched the charm, used the art of invisibility, went straight into the kitchen and looked: there truly the pot steamed, half full of cooked rice. He pushed the bowl in and scooped it brimful, mounted the cloud, and headed back. No more of that.

Now the Tang monk sat in the circle and waited a long while, and Pilgrim did not come back. He leaned forward and gazed about: "Where has that monkey gone begging?" Bajie laughed at his side: "Who knows where he has gone off playing? Begging meals indeed—and here we sit in jail." Tripitaka said: "What do you mean, sitting in jail?" Bajie said: "Master, it seems you do not know. The ancients drew lines on the ground for prisons. He drew a ring with his staff and called it better than walls of iron and bronze. But if tigers, wolves, or demon beasts come, how would that hold them back? We would only be handed over to be eaten." Tripitaka said: "Wuneng, what would you have us do?" Bajie said: "Here there is no shelter from wind, no hiding from cold. If you ask old Pig, we should follow the road and walk west. When big brother has begged his meal he will ride his cloud, and he is sure to come fast—he can catch us up. If he has food, we eat and go on. Sitting here all this while, my feet are half frozen!"

When Tripitaka heard this, it was as if the star of bad luck had arrived. He followed the Idiot, and all together they stepped out of the circle. Bajie led the horse, Sha Monk carried the load, and the elder walked on along the road. Before long they reached the place of towers: it was a house facing south. Outside the gate stood whitewashed walls spreading in a figure eight, and a gateway like an inverted lotus with a rising measure on top, all decked in five colors. The gate stood half open. Bajie tied the horse to the stone drum of the doorsill; Sha Monk set down the load; the Tang monk, fearing the wind, sat on the threshold. Bajie said: "Master, this must be the seat of a duke or a minister's family. No one at the front gate—they must all be inside warming themselves at the fire. You wait here; let me go in and look." The Tang monk said: "Be careful. Do not offend the household." The Idiot said: "I know. Since I joined the Chan gate I have learned some manners—no more the village lout."

The Idiot stuck the rake at his waist, straightened his blue silk robe, and walked demurely in. He found a great hall of three bays, curtains hanging high, quiet, with no trace of anyone, no tables, chairs, or household goods. He turned the screen door and walked further in: a passage hall; and behind it a great tower, its latticed windows half open, where a yellow damask bed curtain could dimly be seen. The Idiot said: "Someone must be asleep, fearing the cold." Without regard for inner or outer, he strode up the stairs. He lifted the curtain with his hand—and the Idiot staggered back a step. Under that curtain, on an ivory bed, lay a heap of white bones; the skull as big as a peck measure, the leg bones four or five feet long. The Idiot steadied himself, and the tears would not stay from his cheeks; he nodded at the bones and sighed: "Who knows whether you were

the body of a marshal of some dynasty or reign, a great general of some kingdom or state.Then, a hero contending for mastery; now, bleak and bare, bone and sinew bared.No wife or child comes to serve you; no soldier comes to burn you incense.Vainly we look on such a sight—pity the man of conquest and kingly enterprise."

As Bajie sighed, a flash of fire light showed behind the curtain. The Idiot said: "Someone keeping the lamps must be behind there." He turned quick and passed the curtain to look: it was only the window shutters letting light through the tower. On that side stood a lacquered table, and on the table, tossed in disorder, lay several pieces of brocade padded clothing. The Idiot picked them up to look: three quilted satin vests.

He never stopped to ask if it was right or wrong, but carried them down and out of the hall, straight out the gate: "Master, there is no living soul here at all—it is a house of the dead. Old Pig went right in, up to the high tower, inside the yellow damask curtain—there is a heap of bones. By the passage tower hung three quilted vests, and I have brought them away—it is our luck on the road, too. It is cold now, just the thing for use. Master, take off your cassock and wear one underneath—warm yourself, and be done with the cold." Tripitaka said: "No, no. The law says: 'To take openly or take secretly is both theft.' If someone notices and catches up with us, and it comes before the magistrate, it is theft, past all doubt. Put them back where they lay. Let us sit out of the wind here, and go on when Wukong comes. Men of religion must not love such trifles." Bajie said: "No one looks on—not even a chicken or a dog would know. Only we know it. Who would inform on me? What witness is there? It is as if I had picked them up—what talk of open taking or secret taking?" Tripitaka said: "You do wrong. Though no man knows, does Heaven not see? The Dark Emperor taught: 'In the dark room, when the heart goes wrong, the gods' eyes flash like lightning.' Take them back quickly, and do not love things outside the rite."

The Idiot would not hear it at all. He laughed at the Tang monk: "Master, in all my days I have worn vests, but never quilted satin like this. If you will not wear one, let old Pig try it on, try the new thing, warm my backbone. When big brother comes, I will take it off and give it back, and we go on." Sha Monk said: "If you say so, I will wear one too." The two stripped off their outer robes and pulled the vests on. They had barely tied the strings when somehow they could not stand steady, and flopped down flat. Those vests beat any binder's ropes: in a moment both were tied, arms behind, fast to the skin. The Tripitaka stamped and wailed in a fright, and hurried to untie them—but untie them he could not. The three of them shouted without cease, and the shouting woke the demon chief.

That tower was truly the demon's conjuring, where he caught men all day. He sat in his cave, heard the sound of grievance, hurried out to look, and truly found some people tied. The demon called his little demons, came with them, took back the shape of tower and house, helped the Tang monk up, led the white horse, took the load, and carried Bajie and Sha Monk all together into the cave. The old demon mounted the platform and sat high; the little demons pushed the Tang monk up near the platform, and he knelt on the ground. The demon asked: "What monk are you? How are you so bold as to steal my clothes in broad day?" Tripitaka answered with falling tears: "This humble monk is sent under the Emperor's seal from the great Tang in the Land of the East to seek scriptures in the Western Heaven. Because we were hungry, I sent my eldest disciple to beg food; he has not returned, and I failed to heed his words, and blundered into this immortal court to shelter from the wind. I never thought these two disciples of mine would love such trifles and bring out these clothes. I would never have so evil a heart; I told them to carry them back where they lay. They would not hear me, and meant to wear them and warm their backs—and so, unlooked for, they fell into your snare, Great King, and I was taken. I beg your mercy: spare this poor life, that I may fetch the true scriptures, and your kindness be forever recorded and praised through the ages in the Land of the East." The demon laughed: "I have often heard it said: whoever eats one piece of the Tang monk's flesh, his white hair turns black again and his fallen teeth grow anew. Today you have come uninvited—and you still hope to be spared? What is your eldest disciple called? Where did he go begging?" Bajie heard and spoke up at once: "My brother is Sun Wukong, the Great Sage Equal to Heaven, who five hundred years ago wrecked the Heavenly Palace."

The demon, hearing it was Sun Wukong the Great Sage Equal to Heaven, was badly frightened, and said nothing, but thought: "That fellow's powers have long been famous—and now we meet unlooked for." He gave the order: "Little ones, bind the Tang monk. Take the treasure off those two, change it for two ropes, and bind them too. Carry them all to the back. When I have caught his eldest brother, we will scrub the lot of them and steam the whole cage together." The little demons answered with one voice, bound the three, and carried them to the back. The white horse was tied at the trough, and the luggage carried into the house. The demons whetted their weapons, ready to take Pilgrim. No more of that for now.

Now Pilgrim, having carried off a bowl of begged food from the village in the south, rode the cloud back the way he came, came straight to the flat of the hillside, and set down his cloud—and the Tang monk was gone, no one knew where. The circle his staff had drawn still stood, but man and horse had vanished. He looked back: the towers too were gone; nothing but strange rocks at the mountain's root. Pilgrim's heart jumped: "No need to say it—they have met those evil hands." He hurried along the road, following the hoofprints west.

Five or six li on, in the depth of his grief, he heard voices beyond the north slope. He looked: an old man, a felt cloak over his body, a warm cap over his head, on his feet a pair of half-new, half-old oiled boots, a dragon-head staff in his hand; behind him a young page, carrying a branch of winter plum, walking along the slope singing. Pilgrim set down the bowl, faced him, and made a greeting: "Old father, this humble monk greets you." The old man returned the bow: "Where do you come from, elder?" Pilgrim said: "We come from the Land of the East, bound for the Western Heaven to worship the Buddha and seek scriptures—master and disciples, four in company. Because my master was hungry, I went to beg food and left the other three waiting on the flat of this hillside. Coming back, they were gone—I do not know which road they took. Tell me, father: have you seen them?" The old man heard and laughed out coldly: "Among your three, was there one with a long mouth and big ears?" Pilgrim said: "There was, there was." "And one with a face the color of bad luck, leading a white horse, with a white-faced fat monk?" Pilgrim said: "Yes, yes, yes." The old man said: "You have lost your road. Do not look for them—each man look to his own life." Pilgrim said: "The white-faced one is my master; the odd-looking ones are my brothers. Together we made our pious vow to fetch scriptures in the Western Heaven—how can I not look for them?" The old man said: "As I passed just now, I saw them take the wrong path and walk straight into a demon's mouth." Pilgrim said: "Tell me, father, what demon is it? Where does he live? I will go to his gate and demand them back, and carry on to the Western Heaven." The old man said: "This mountain is called Golden Mountain. Before the mountain is a cave called the Golden Cave, and in the cave is a Great King, the Single-Horned Si. That king's powers are vast, his might towering. Your three companions are surely done for this time. If you go after them, I fear even you may not escape. Better not to go at all. I dare not stop you, and I dare not keep you—judge in your own heart."

Pilgrim bowed again and thanked him: "Many thanks for your teaching, father. How could I fail to look for them?" He poured the begged food out for him and packed up his own empty bowl. The old man set down his staff, took the bowl, handed it to the page, and showed his true form: the two knelt together and kowtowed: "Great Sage, this humble god will hide nothing: we two are the mountain god and the earth god of this mountain, waiting here to receive you. This meal and the bowl this humble god will keep, so the Great Sage may go light and use his powers. When the Tang monk is saved and out of trouble, this food shall be offered back to him—and so your utmost respect and filial devotion will appear." Pilgrim barked: "You hairy devil, you are asking for a beating. If you knew I was coming, why not meet me earlier—hiding your head and showing your tail like this? What sense is that?" The earth god said: "The Great Sage is quick of temper; this humble god dared not be rash, for fear of provoking your wrath—so I hid my shape and told you thus." Pilgrim's anger cooled: "I will spare you the beating for now. Keep that bowl safe for me, and mind you keep it well. I am off to take that demon." The earth god and the mountain god obeyed.

The Great Sage then tightened his tiger-sinew sash, hitched up his tiger-skin kilt, took up the gold-banded staff, and rushed to the front of the mountain to find the demon cave. Round the crag he saw a chaos of stones, and by the green cliff two stone doors, with many little demons outside swinging spears and brandishing swords. Truly:

Mist and cloud gathered in lucky shapes; mosses piled up dark green. Jagged strange rocks stood in ranks; the winding path coiled and climbed. Apes cried and birds sang, the scenery fine; luan birds flew and phoenixes danced, as if in Penglai and Yingzhou. Facing the sun, a few plum trees just opened; warming in the mild air, a thousand bamboo stems stayed green. Under the steep crag, in the deep ravine: under the steep crag the snow lay heaped like powder; in the deep ravine the water had frozen to ice. Two groves of pine and cypress, a thousand years fair; a few clusters of mountain camellia, red as red.

The Great Sage could not see enough, but swung his stride straight to the gate and shouted: "You little demons! Go in quickly and tell your cave's master: I am Sun Wukong, the Great Sage Equal to Heaven, disciple of the holy monk of the Tang. Tell him to hand out my master, and save your lives."

The little demons hurried in and reported: "Great King, before the gate is a monk with a hairy face and a hooked mouth, calling himself Sun Wukong, the Great Sage Equal to Heaven, come for his master." The demon king heard and was glad through and through: "Just the one I want. Since I left my own palace and came down into the world, I have never tried my arts. Today he comes—a match at last." He ordered the little demons to fetch out his weapons. The demons of the cave, great and small, braced themselves and hurriedly carried out a steel-pointed spear a full zhang and two long, and handed it to the old monster. The old monster gave the word: "Little ones, all in good order. Forward wins reward; backward, death!" The demons took the word and followed the old monster out the gate, calling: "Which of you is Sun Wukong?"

Pilgrim stepped aside and looked: the demon king was fierce and ugly indeed:

One horn, jagged; two eyes, flashing bright. On his crown the hide stood rough; at his ears black flesh shone smooth. His long tongue kept flicking at his nose; his wide mouth showed yellow teeth in rows. His hide was blue-black as indigo; his sinews hard as steel. He is no rhinoceros to gaze at his reflection in the water, no ox to plow the fallow: none at all of the use of plowing cloud under the moon, but all the strength to bully heaven and shake the earth. Two knotted, indigo-blue hands held a steel-pointed spear thrust out in pride of might. Look close at such a fierce shape: no wonder he is called the Great King Si.

The Great Sage Sun stepped up: "Your grandfather Sun is here. Give me back my master quickly, and neither of us is hurt. But say half a 'no,' and I will leave you nowhere to bury your bones!" The demon roared: "You bold, foul monkey spirit! What powers have you, to talk so big?" Pilgrim said: "You foul thing—have you never seen old Sun's powers?" The demon said: "Your master stole my clothes. I have him fast, and mean to steam and eat him. What sort of hero are you, to come hammering at my gate for him?" Pilgrim said: "My master is a monk loyal and upright—when would he steal any trumpery of yours?" The demon said: "I conjured up an immortal farmstead by the mountain road. Your master crept inside, and his heart ran after love and desire: he stole three of my quilted satin vests and wore them on his body. The stolen goods were plain to see—so I took him. If you truly have the skill, match me now: if you hold me three rounds, I spare my prisoner's life; if you cannot stand against me, I will send you down the road to the dark together."

Pilgrim laughed: "Foul thing! No more talk. A trial of skill suits old Sun to the ground. Come up and take my staff." The monster feared no contest at all: he leveled the steel spear and met him face to face. A fine fight! Look:

The gold-banded staff rose; the long-shafted spear came to meet it. The gold-banded staff rising, a glitter like lightning whipping a gold snake; the long spear meeting it, a gleam like a dragon leaving the black sea. Before the gate the little demons beat the drums and ranged their ranks to swell the noise; on this side the Great Sage worked his art, thrusting everywhere to show his craft. There, one spear, braced and spirited; here, one staff, its art towering. Truly heroes meeting heroes; only a match at last had found his match. The demon king breathed purple vapor that curled to mist; the Great Sage's eyes threw out light that wove embroidered cloud. All because the Tang monk was in trouble: two houses, void of honor, wrangle bitterly.

The two fought thirty rounds without a win. The demon king saw that Pilgrim's staff work was close and clean, one thrust answering another, without the least opening, and could not help crying out in praise: "Good monkey, good monkey—truly the powers that wrecked the palace of Heaven!" The Great Sage also loved his spear work, never out of order, parrying right and left with real method, and called too: "Good demon, good demon—truly an elixir-stealing fiend." They fought twenty rounds more, and the demon king set his spear point on the ground and called the little demons on. Those foul things, blade on blade and spear on spear, ringed the Great Sage Sun around. Pilgrim, quite unafraid, only called: "The more the merrier—just my wish!" He swung the gold-banded staff, meeting them before and behind, blocking east and clearing west, but that pack of demons would not give back. Pilgrim could contain himself no longer: he tossed the gold-banded staff into the air, shouted "Change!"—and it became hundreds and thousands of iron staves, like flying serpents and running pythons, raining down all over the sky. The pack of demons, seeing it, scattered soul from body, hugging their necks and pulling in their heads, all fleeing for their lives into the cave. The old demon king laughed out coldly: "Monkey, none of your rudeness. Look at my art." He hastily drew from his sleeve a gleaming, white-shining ring, tossed it into the air, called "Land!"—and with a rattle it gathered the gold-banded staves back into one and slipped over it. The Great Sage Sun was left empty-handed, and turned a somersault to save his life. The demon, victorious, went back into the cave; the Pilgrim, dazed, had lost his plan. Truly:

The Way grows a foot; the demon grows ten feet. When the nature is in disorder and the feelings dim, one mistakes the way home.It is bitter that the law-body had no place to sit; at that moment, moving, the thought went wrong.

How this round would end—listen to the next chapter to find out.