Chapter 56

The Frenzied God Slays the Brigands; the Way Lost, the Mind-Ape Is Set Loose

The poem says:

When nothing dwells on the spirit tower, that is called pure; in utter stillness, not one thought arises.The ape and the horse well tethered, no more roaming; the spirit kept watchful, no flaunting.Slay the six bandits, wake to the three vehicles; all ties let fall, and all is clear.The fiend of lust quenched forever, beyond the true realm — seated at ease in the city of Utmost Bliss in the West.

Let it be told: the Tang monk Tripitaka, teeth set like iron, had kept by dying resolve a body unharmed, and was beholden to Pilgrim and the rest for killing the scorpion spirit and freeing him from the Lute Cave. On the road, not a word — and soon it was the season of scarlet brightness. And see:

The warm wind now and then bears the scent of wild orchids; the washing rain just cleared, new bamboo cool.Mugwort leaves fill the hills, no traveler to pick them; cattail blooms crowd the gullies, vying in scent.The shore pomegranates, brilliant, delight the roving bees; the willows by the brook, deep in shade, madden the yellow sparrows.On the long road, who can wrap a horned rice dumpling? The dragon boats must be mourning the Miluo River.

As the master and his disciples went, taking their pleasure in the Duanwu scenery and idly letting the mid-sky festival pass, they saw again a high mountain blocking the road. The elder reined in and turned his head: "Wukong, there is a mountain ahead — demons may breed there again. Be sure to keep watch." Pilgrim and the rest said: "Master, be at ease. We have given our lives in allegiance — what demon could frighten us?" The elder was much pleased. He whipped on the fine horse and loosed the reins on the dragon steed. In a moment they had climbed the cliff; lifting their heads they looked — and truly:

On the crown pines and cypresses rise to meet the blue clouds; on the stone walls brambles hang with wild vines. Ten thousand fathoms sheer; a thousand layers of overhang. Ten thousand fathoms sheer — the peaks are steep; a thousand layers of overhang — the ravines are deep. Gray moss and green lichen carpet the shaded stones; ancient junipers and tall locusts make a great wood. Deep in the wood, listen to the hidden birds, their clever notes so sweet they beg for verse. In the gully the water runs like poured jade; by the road the fallen flowers lie like heaped gold. The mountain's temper is fell — no traveling there: ten steps, and not half a step of level. Foxes and elk meet two by two; white deer and dark apes come in pairs to greet you. Suddenly a tiger's roar startles the gall; a crane's cry rings through, piercing to the courts of heaven. Yellow plums and red apricots are fit for eating; the wild grasses and idle flowers are past naming.

The four went into the mountains, walking slowly a good while, and passed over the summit. Down the western slope lay a stretch of level ground. Zhu Bajie, showing off his vigor, made Sha Monk carry the load, while he raised the rake in both hands and went on ahead to drive the horse. The horse feared him not at all: let the Idiot cluck and switch as he might, it only ambled on unhurried. Pilgrim said: "Brother, why drive it? Let it walk slowly." Bajie said: "The sky darkens; we have been climbing since morning, and my belly is empty. Let us all quicken our pace and find a house to beg a meal at." Pilgrim heard and said: "If so, wait while I make it hurry." He flourished the gold-banded staff, gave a shout — and the horse slipped its rein and flew like an arrow down the level road ahead.

And why should the horse fear Bajie but fear Pilgrim? Because five hundred years ago the Jade Emperor appointed Pilgrim to the Imperial Stable of the highest heaven to keep the horses, with the office of Bimawen, Keeper of the Heavenly Horses; and so the tradition has come down to this day: all horses fear the monkey.

The elder could not hold the rein; he could only cling to the saddle and let the reins run a whole stretch — some twenty li — until open fields appeared, before the beast slowed to a walk.

As they went, suddenly a gong sounded, and from both sides of the road stepped out more than thirty men, every one with spear, blade, staff, or club, barring the way: "Monk — where are you going?" The Tang monk, trembling, could not keep his seat and fell from the horse, crouched in the grass at the roadside, crying only: "Spare my life, great kings! Spare my life!" The two big men at the head said: "We will not strike you — only leave your travel money." The elder came to himself then, knowing them for a band of robbers, and raised himself to look up at them. And see them:

One, blue-faced with tusked fangs, outdoing the Year Star; one, glaring round-eyed, a match for the Plague Gate.Red hair drifts at their temples like blown fire; yellow whiskers bristle under their chins like planted needles.Both wear tiger-pelt hoods with patterned guards; at their waists are sable war skirts of many colors.One carries a wolf-tooth club in hand; one shoulders a gnarled rattan staff across his back.Truly no less than the Tiger of Mount Ba; in very deed like dragons rising from the water.

Tripitaka, seeing how fell they were, could only rise, join his palms at his breast, and say: "Great kings, this poor monk was sent by the Tang sovereign of the Land of the East to fetch scriptures from the Western Heaven. Since leaving Chang'an, with the years long and the days many, whatever travel money I had is spent. Men of religion live by begging; where would wealth come from? I beg you, great kings, be gracious, and let this poor monk pass." The two robber chiefs, leading their band forward, said: "We have raised a tiger's heart here, blocking the highway, all for money — what graciousness? If you truly have no money, strip off your clothes quickly, leave the white horse, and you may pass." The Tang monk said: "Amitabha! This robe of mine was begged — cloth from one house, needle from another, stitched together piece by piece. If you strip it from me, would that not be the death of me? Do such things in this world, and in the next you will be born beasts." The robbers, hearing, flew into a rage, drew a great club, and came on to strike. The elder said nothing aloud, but thought in secret: "Pitiful! You speak only of your own clubs — you do not yet know my disciple's." The robber would brook no words; club raised, he rained blows at head and face. The elder, who had never told a lie in his life, in this pinch of peril had no choice but to tell one: "My two great kings, stay your hands. I have a young disciple close behind; he carries a few taels of silver on him — take them from him." The robbers said: "This monk cannot bear a loss — truss him up." The rascals fell on together, bound him with one rope, and hoisted him high in a tree.

Now the three sprites of mischief came hurrying up behind. Bajie laughed aloud: "The master has gone on fast — somewhere he is waiting for us." Then he saw the elder in the tree, and said: "Look at the master — waiting were one thing; but see the turn of his mind, climbing a tree and swinging on the vines for play!" Pilgrim saw and said: "Idiot, no idle talk. Is not the master hanging there? You two come slowly; I will go and look."

Good Great Sage! He hurried up a rise and looked closely, and knew them for a band of robbers; his heart rejoiced in secret: "Luck, luck — trade has come to the door!" He turned, shook himself, and changed into a neat little monk in a black cassock, no more than sixteen years old, a blue cloth bundle on his shoulder. Striding ahead he came up and called: "Master — what is this talk? Who are these wicked men?" The Tang monk said: "Disciple, will you not first save me — and then ask questions?" Pilgrim said: "What were they after?" The Tang monk said: "This gang blocked the road and demanded toll. As I had nothing about me, they hung me here, and are only waiting for you to settle it — or else give them this horse." Pilgrim heard and laughed: "Master, you are poor stuff. There are monks in the world, but few so slack-skinned as you. Emperor Taizong sent you west to see the Buddha — who told you to give away the dragon horse?" The Tang monk said: "Disciple, hung up like this and beaten for it — what was I to do?" Pilgrim said: "What did you tell them?" The Tang monk said: "They beat me so hard I had no choice but to give you away." Pilgrim said: "Master, how witless of you! Why give me away?" The Tang monk said: "I said you had some travel money about you — only to stop them beating me; a word for the moment's rescue." Pilgrim said: "Good, good, good — much obliged for the recommendation; that is the way to give me away. If you would do it seventy or eighty times a month, old Monkey's trade would thrive."

The band of robbers, seeing Pilgrim talking with his master, broke stride and crowded up: "Little monk, your master says you have travel money at your waist. Hand it out now, and we spare your lives; say half a 'no,' and we finish off the pair of you." Pilgrim set down the bundle: "Gentlemen officers, no shouting. There is some travel money in this bundle — not much: some twenty-odd ingots of horseshoe gold, thirty-odd of powdered silver, and loose bits I have not counted. If you want it, take it bag and all — only do not beat my master. The old books say: virtue is the root; wealth is the branch. This is branch-business. We men of religion have our begging; should we meet an elder who gives alms to monks, there will be gifts of cloth and robes besides — how long would it last? Only let my master down, and I will serve it all up together." The robbers heard and were delighted: "The old monk is a miser; the little monk is free-handed at least." They called: "Let him down." The elder, his life restored, leaped onto the horse and, never minding Pilgrim, plied the whip and galloped back the way he had come.

Pilgrim called in haste: "Wrong way!" and, bundle in hand, made to go after him. The robbers barred the way: "Where are you off to? Leave the travel money and spare the torture." Pilgrim laughed: "Let us be plain: the money must be cut in three shares." The robber chief said: "This little monk is too clever — meaning to hide a share from his master. Very well: hand it out and let us see. If there is much, we will cut you a share to buy fruit with, on the side." Pilgrim said: "Brother, it is not so. What travel money have I? Rather say you two have robbed other men of gold and silver — you must share some with me." The robbers, hearing, raged: "This monk does not know life from death — he will not give, and demands of us! Do not run — take this!" Swinging a gnarled rattan club he brought it down seven or eight times on Pilgrim's bare head. Pilgrim took no notice, only smiled all over his face: "Brother, if this is the beating, you may beat till after next year's Opening of Spring — it will not count for anything." The robbers were startled: "What a hard head this monk has!" Pilgrim laughed: "You are too kind, too kind — I am complimented. It passes, just passes." The robbers would brook no more; two or three together beat on wildly. Pilgrim said: "Gentlemen, calm your wrath — wait while I bring it out."

Good Great Sage! He felt in his ear, drew out an embroidery needle, and said: "Gentlemen — a man of religion truly carries no travel money. Take this needle for a gift." The robbers said: "What ill luck! They let the rich monk go and catch this beggarly bald donkey. Are you a tailor, then? What would we do with a needle?" Pilgrim, hearing them refuse, held it in his fingers, flourished it once, and it became a staff as thick as a bowl. The robbers were afraid: "Small as this monk is, he knows some magic art!" Pilgrim planted the staff in the ground: "If any of you can lift it, it is yours." Two robbers stepped up to grab it — poor things! Like dragonflies shaking a stone pillar, they could not stir it a hair. This staff was the As-You-Will Gold-Banded Staff, weighed on the scales at thirteen thousand five hundred catties — how would a band of robbers know it? The Great Sage walked up, lifted it lightly, threw himself into the Python's Somersault with a twisted step, and pointed at the robbers: "Your luck has run out — you have met old Monkey." The robbers came on and beat him another fifty or sixty blows.

Pilgrim laughed: "Your hands must be tired with all that beating. Let old Monkey have one stroke — do not take it seriously." See him flourish the staff — thick as a wellhead, seven or eight zhang long — and sweep one blow: one man went down, lips in the dirt, silent forever. The other began to curse: "Bald scoundrel, the height of insolence! No travel money, and you maim a man of ours!" Pilgrim laughed: "Peace, peace. Let me beat you one by one, and be done with your line altogether." Another sweep — and the second was struck dead too. The rascals in terror dropped their spears and clubs and fled for their lives in all directions.

Now the Tang monk was galloping east when Bajie and Sha Monk barred the way: "Master, where are you going? You have taken the wrong road." The elder turned the horse: "Disciples, go quickly and tell your brother to stay his staff, and not beat those robbers to death." Bajie said: "Master, wait; I will go." The Idiot ran ahead and called at the top of his voice: "Brother — the master tells you to spare the men." Pilgrim said: "Brother, when did I beat anyone?" Bajie said: "Where are the robbers, then?" Pilgrim said: "The rest have scattered; only the two chiefs are here, sleeping." Bajie laughed: "You two plague-stricken things, up all night and so weary you sleep anywhere — and you choose to sleep here!" The Idiot came close and looked: "They are lying just as I do — mouths wide open, drooling a little." Pilgrim said: "Old Monkey's one stroke has pounded tofu out of them." Bajie said: "Tofu from a man's head?" Pilgrim said: "Brains came out."

Bajie heard the brains had been pounded out, hurried back, and told the Tang monk: "The partnership is broken." The Tang monk said: "Good indeed! Good indeed! Which way did they go?" Bajie said: "Beaten stiff and straight — where would they walk to?" The Tang monk said: "Why do you say the partnership is broken?" Bajie said: "Beaten to death — what else would you call it?" The Tang monk asked: "How did they look?" Bajie said: "Two great holes knocked in their heads." The Tang monk ordered: "Open the bundle, take a few coins, go quickly and beg two plasters, and stick them on the two of them." Bajie laughed: "Master, how wrong-headed! A plaster serves the sores and swellings of the living — how would it patch the holes of dead men?" The Tang monk said: "Truly beaten to death?" And he fell into a temper, muttering on without pause — monkey long, monkey short. He turned the horse, and with Sha Monk and Bajie came to where the dead men lay, bloody, at the foot of the slope.

The elder could hardly bear the sight. He told Bajie: "Quick — dig a pit with the rake and bury them; I will chant a round of the Sutra for the Laid-Out Dead over them." Bajie said: "Master, you have the wrong man at the task. Pilgrim did the killing; he should do the burning and the burying — why set old Pig to earthwork?" Pilgrim, sore from the master's scolding, shouted at Bajie: "Slack clumsy brute! Go bury them quickly, or another stroke for you." The Idiot, frightened, dug three feet down the slope, but below were all stones and roots that caught the rake-teeth. The Idiot dropped the rake and shoveled with his snout; at the soft spots one push of the snout made two and a half feet — two pushes made five — and he buried the two corpses and heaped up a grave mound. The Tang monk called: "Wukong, fetch incense and candles, that I may pray, and chant the sutra." Pilgrim curled his lip: "How unreasonable! Here in these mid-hills, no village before and no inn behind — where would I find incense and candles? If I had money there would be nowhere to buy it." The Tang monk said bitterly: "Monkey-head, stand aside. Let me scoop up earth and burn it as incense, and pray." So the Tang monk left the saddle and grieved at the wild grave; the holy monk in goodness prayed over the barren mound. His prayer:

"I bow and say, good heroes: hear the cause of this prayer. Your suppliant is a disciple, a man of Tang of the Land of the East, bearing the edict of Emperor Taizong to go west and seek the scriptures. Coming to this place I met your company — of what prefecture, what province, what county I do not know — banded together here in these mountains. With good words I pleaded humbly; you would not hear, but turned goodness to wrath — and met the Pilgrim, and lost your lives beneath his staff. Considering your bones exposed, I have followed with earth and heaped your mound. I break green bamboo for incense and candles — without radiance, but with diligence of heart; I take dull stones for the food of offering — without taste, but in sincerity true. When you come before the Hall of the Kings of Darkness to lodge your suit, trace the tree to its root: he is surnamed Sun, I am surnamed Chen — we are of different families. Wrongs have their heads, debts their masters; by no means sue the scripture-seeking monk."

Bajie laughed: "The master has washed his hands clean. When he beat them, we two had no part in it." The Tang monk truly scooped earth again and prayed: "Good heroes, if you sue, sue only the Pilgrim; Bajie and Sha Monk have no part in it."

The Great Sage heard and could not help laughing: "Master, you are an old man without feeling. For your sake, in quest of scriptures, I have toiled through how much drudgery and pain! Now I have beaten these two hairy thieves to death, and you send them to sue old Monkey. True, my hand struck the blow — but it was for you. Had you not gone west for the scriptures, I had not been your disciple — how would I ever have come here, or learned to kill? Let me offer them a prayer of my own." Grasping the iron staff he struck three blows on the grave, saying: "Plague-stricken robbers, listen! You beat me seven or eight blows from the front and seven or eight from behind — it did not so much as ache or itch, but it stirred my temper, and by some slip or other I have beaten you dead. Sue wherever you please; old Monkey fears nothing. The Jade Emperor knows me; the Heavenly Kings attend me; the twenty-eight mansions dread me, the Nine Luminaries fear me; the city gods of prefecture and county kneel to me; the Grand Lord of the Eastern Peak dreads me; the ten kings of the darkness have served as my followers, the rampant spirits of the five roads have run my errands. Of all the Three Realms and Five Offices, of all the rulers of the ten quarters, not one but knows me well and owes me favor — sue where you like." The Tang monk, hearing such wicked words, was alarmed in spite of himself: "Disciple, my prayer was to teach you the virtue that cherishes life, to make you a good and honest man — why take it in earnest?" Pilgrim said: "Master, this is no laughing matter. Come — let us hurry and find lodging." The elder could only mount, nursing his anger.

The Great Sage Sun had a heart out of joint; Bajie and Sha Monk too nursed jealous thoughts; master and disciples were smiles before and grudging behind. They went west by the great road, when suddenly below the road to the north they saw a farmstead. The Tang monk pointed with his whip: "Let us beg lodging there." Bajie said: "Just so." They came to the farm and dismounted. Looking, it was a fine place to lodge. Behold:

Wild flowers fill the paths; mixed trees shade the gate. From the far banks mountain waters flow; on level beds wheat and sunflowers are sown. The reeds are dew-moist where light gulls roost; the willows sway in a light wind where weary birds settle. Green cypresses among the pines vie in emerald; red lotus against the smartweeds contends in fragrance. Village dogs bark; evening cocks crow; the oxen and sheep fed full, the herd boys come home. The hearth smoke knots into mist, the millet is ripe — the hour when the mountain household gathers in the dark.

The elder went forward, and suddenly from within the farmhouse gate came out an old man, whom he greeted with a salutation. The old man asked: "Where do you monks come from?" The Tang monk said: "This poor monk is the duly commissioned pilgrim of the Great Tang of the Land of the East, bound to the Western Heaven for scriptures. Passing through your honored country just now, and the sky darkening, I have come specially to your worshipful house to beg a night's lodging." The old man laughed: "From your honorable country to mine the road is long and far — how have you forded rivers and climbed mountains, and come here alone?" The Tang monk said: "This poor monk has three disciples with him." The old man asked: "Where are your lofty disciples?" The Tang monk pointed: "They stand by the high road there." The old man looked up suddenly, saw their ugly faces, and turned in haste to hurry inside. The Tang monk caught him: "Old patron, be merciful by all means — lend us a night's lodging!" The old man, trembling, jaw tight, could not speak; shaking his head and waving his hands: "N-n-n-not like men at all! D-d-demons, several of them." The Tang monk smiled apologetically: "Patron, do not be afraid. My disciples were simply made with such faces — they are no demons." The old man said: "Grandfather! One a yaksha, one a horse-head, one a thunder god." Pilgrim heard and called loudly: "The thunder god is my grandson, the yaksha my great-grandson, the horse-head my great-great-grandson." The old man heard, his soul scattered and spirit fled, his face went white, and all he wanted was to get inside. The Tang monk steadied him and brought him to the thatched hall, smiling apologetically: "Old patron, do not fear them. They are all this rough, and do not know how to talk."

As he soothed him, an old wife came out from behind, leading a child of five or six, and said: "Old man, why are you so terrified?" The old man called: "Wife, bring tea." The wife truly left the child, went inside, and brought out two cups of tea. Tea done, the Tang monk came down and saluted the wife: "This poor monk was sent by the Great Tang of the Land of the East to fetch scriptures from the west. Just come to your honorable country, I begged your worshipful house for lodging; because my three disciples are ill-favored, the old head of the house was startled." The wife said: "So startled at ill-favored faces — what would you do if you saw tigers and wolves?" The old man said: "Wife, ugly faces one could bear — but their talk frightens worse. I said they were like yaksha, horse-head, and thunder god, and he bawled that the thunder god was his grandson, the yaksha his great-grandson, the horse-head his great-great-grandson. Hearing that, I was frightened." The Tang monk said: "No, no. The one like the thunder god is my eldest disciple Wukong; the one like the horse-head, my second disciple Zhu Wuneng; the one like the yaksha, my third disciple Sha Wujing. Ugly as they are, they have taken the discipline of the Buddha's gate and turned to the good fruit; they are no evil demon or venomous fiend — what is there to fear?"

Hearing their names, and that they had turned to the right gate of the Buddha, the old couple steadied themselves and recovered from their fright, and said: "Ask them in, ask them in." The elder went out to call them, and charged them first: "Just now the old man was bitterly offended with you. Going in to meet him now, do not be disrespectful; let each of you show proper deference." Bajie said: "I am the handsome one, the refined one — not a brawler like my brother here." Pilgrim laughed: "If I had not the long mouth, big ears, and ugly face, I too would be a fine fellow." Sha Monk said: "No bickering — this is no place for showing off. In, in." So with the baggage and the horse they all came to the thatched hall, saluted together, and sat. The good wife took the child by the hand, ordered the rice cooked, and set out a vegetarian meal, which the master and his disciples ate.

It grew late, the lamps were lit, and they sat talking idly in the thatched hall. The elder asked: "Patron, what is your honorable name?" The old man said: "My name is Yang." Asked his age: "Seventy-four." Asked: "How many sons have you?" The old man said: "Only one. The child the wife was leading just now is a little grandson." The elder asked that his son be called to pay his respects. The old man said: "That fellow is not worth a bow. My lot is bitter — I never could raise him; he is not at home now." The Tang monk asked: "What trade is he in?" The old man nodded and sighed: "Pitiful, pitiful! That he would follow any honest trade would be my blessing. That fellow breeds nothing but wicked thoughts, keeps none of his proper station, loves only to sack houses and hold up roads, kill men and set fires. His companions are all a pack of foxes and curs. He went out five days ago and has not come back." The Tang monk heard, dared not breathe a word, and thought in secret: "Perhaps it was this man Wukong beat to death." The elder's spirit was uneasy; he leaned forward: "Good indeed! Good indeed! Such worthy parents — how could they breed so wicked a son?"

Pilgrim came near: "Old gentleman, a son like this — wicked and worthless, a thieving, lewd rogue, a burden to his parents — what use is he? Let me go find him for you and beat him dead." The old man said: "I was minded to disown him; but there is no other child behind him. Worthless or not, I must keep him to pile my grave-mound when I die." Sha Monk and Bajie laughed: "Brother, mind your own business — we are no officers of the law. His family will not have it — what is that to us? Let us ask the patron for a bundle of straw, make our beds over there, and be on the road at dawn." The old man rose at once, had Sha Monk fetch two armfuls of straw from the back garden, and had them sleep in the straw hut in the garden. Pilgrim led the horse, Bajie carried the luggage, and with the elder they settled in the hut — but of that no more.

Now among that band of robbers truly was old Yang's son. Since the morning, when Pilgrim beat their two chiefs to death before the mountain, they had all fled in four directions. About the fourth watch they banded together again and came beating at the gate. The old man heard the door and threw on his clothes: "Wife — that fellow and his crowd have come." The wife said: "If they have come, go open the gate and let them into the house." The old man opened the gate, and the band of robbers all shouted: "Hungry! Hungry!" Old Yang's son hurried inside, roused his wife, and had rice boiled. But there was no firewood in the kitchen; he went to the back garden for wood, and asked his wife in the kitchen: "Whose is the white horse in the back garden?" His wife said: "Monks from the Land of the East seeking scriptures, who came last night for lodging. Your father and mother served them an evening meal and set them to sleep in the straw hut."

Hearing this, the fellow walked out to the thatched hall, clapping his hands and laughing: "Brothers — luck, luck! Our enemy is in my own house!" The robbers said: "What enemy?" The fellow said: "The monk who beat our chiefs to death — come to lodge at my house, asleep this moment in the straw hut." The robbers said: "Good, good. Catch those bald donkeys and chop them every one to mincemeat: first we get the bags and the white horse, and second we avenge our chiefs." The fellow said: "Not so fast. Go grind your knives. When the rice is cooked we will all eat our fill, and fall on together." And truly the robbers ground knives who ground knives, ground spears who ground spears.

The old man heard this, slipped quietly to the back garden, roused the four of the Tang, and said: "That fellow has brought his crowd, and knows you are here, and means to work you harm. I, an old man, thinking of your long journey, could not bear to see you hurt. Gather your bags quickly, and I will let you out by the back gate." The Tang monk heard, and trembling kowtowed his thanks to the old man, called Bajie to lead the horse, Sha Monk to carry the load, Pilgrim to take the nine-ring tin staff. The old man opened the back gate and let them out, then quietly went back to bed as before.

Now those fellows, knives and spears ground sharp and bellies full, at the fifth watch came together into the garden to look — and they were gone. They lit lamps and torches at once and searched a long while; no trace in any direction, only the back gate standing open. All said: "They have gone out the back — gone, gone!" With a shout they gave chase. Like flying arrows they pressed on till the sun rose in the east, and then caught sight of the Tang monk. The elder heard the shouting, turned to look, and saw behind him thirty or more men coming in a thicket of spears and blades. He called: "Disciples — the robber band is on us! What now?" Pilgrim said: "Be at ease, be at ease — old Monkey will deal with them." The elder reined in: "Wukong, by no means harm them — only frighten them off." Pilgrim would not hear it; he drew the staff at once and turned to face them: "Where away, gentlemen?" The robbers cursed: "Bald scoundrel, no manners! Give back our great kings' lives!" In a ring they hemmed Pilgrim in and hacked and stabbed with spear and blade. The Great Sage flourished the gold-banded staff to a bowl's thickness and beat the robbers till stars fell and clouds scattered: who was touched died; who was brushed fell; who was struck broke bones; who was grazed lost skin; the nimble few ran clear, and the dull ones all went to see King Yama.

The Tang monk, seeing so many struck down, in panic whipped his horse west. Zhu Bajie and Sha Monk pressed after at whip and stirrup. Pilgrim asked the wounded robbers who yet lived: "Which is old Yang's son?" One groaned: "Master, the one in yellow." Pilgrim went up, snatched away a blade, struck off the yellow one's head, and lifted it dripping in his hand; then, staff put away and cloud-strides loosed, he overtook the Tang monk's horse and, head in hand, said: "Master — this is old Yang's wicked son; old Monkey has brought you his head." The Tang monk saw and turned pale with horror; in fright he fell from the horse, cursing: "Brazen ape, you have frightened me to death! Take it away, take it away!" Bajie came up, kicked the head to the roadside, and dug some earth over it with the rake.

Sha Monk set down the load and helped the Tang monk up: "Master, rise, I beg you." The elder, on the ground, composed himself and began to recite the Tight-Fillet Spell, and it bound Pilgrim till his ears burned and his face flamed, his eyes bulged and his head swam; he rolled on the ground crying only: "Do not chant it, do not chant it!" The elder went on more than ten times over, and still did not stop. Pilgrim turned somersaults and stood on his head, the pain past bearing, and only cried: "Master, forgive my offense — whatever you have to say, say it; do not chant, do not chant!" Only then did the Tang monk stop, saying: "Nothing to say. I will not have you following me; go back." Pilgrim bore the pain and kowtowed: "Master, why drive me away?" The Tang monk said: "You brazen monkey, too wicked altogether — no man for the scriptures. Yesterday at the foot of the slope you beat those two robber chiefs to death, and I already blamed your cruelty. Then late at the old man's house, beholden to him for a meal and lodging, beholden to him for the back gate that saved our lives — worthless as his son was, and none of our affair, you had no cause to take his head; and you killed many men besides, destroyed so many lives, wounded so much of the harmony of heaven and earth. Time after time I have admonished you, and not one grain of goodness stirs in you. What do I want with you? Be off, be off, or I will chant the spell again." Pilgrim, afraid, only said: "Do not chant it, do not chant it — I am going." At the word he went, a line of somersault clouds, without trace or shadow, gone from sight. Ah! Truly:

The heart run wild and fierce, the elixir never ripens; the spirit without its seat, the Way is hard to win.

But where the Great Sage had fled, no one could say? Listen to the next chapter to find out.

The wild spirit kills the brigands; The strayed Way sets the Mind-Monkey loose

The poem says:

When nothing is left on the spirit tower, it is called clear; in utter stillness not one thought arises.Pen the ape and the horse fast, and let them not run loose; watch your spirit carefully and let it never grow wild.Root out the six thieves, wake to the three vehicles; when the ten thousand ties are all cut, all is plain.The demon of form destroyed forever, you rise past the true border and sit at ease in the city of Highest Joy in the West.

Tripitaka Tang, with teeth set to bite nail and chew iron, had kept, at the price of death itself, a body unharmed, and thanks to Pilgrim and the others, who beat the scorpion spirit to death, he was rescued from the Pipa Cave. The road gave them nothing to tell, and already it was the season of high summer. See how:

The warm wind now and then sends the perfume of wild orchids; the rinsing rain has just cleared, and the new bamboo is cool.Mugwort leaves fill the hills, with no traveler to pick them; cattail flowers fill the ravines, vying in fragrance on their own.The pomegranates are tender and bright, and the roving bees delight in them; the willows by the creek cast deep shade, and the yellow sparrows go wild.On the long road, who can wrap the festival dumplings? The dragon boats by now must be mourning on the Miluo River.

The master and disciples walked along, enjoying the scenery of the Dragon Boat Festival and idly letting the midsummer feast pass, when suddenly a high mountain blocked the road. The elder reined in and called back: "Wukong, there is a mountain ahead. I fear more monsters will appear. You must guard carefully." Pilgrim and the others said: "Master, be at ease. We have given our lives to the faith. What monster could we fear?" The elder was delighted to hear it. He whipped on the fine horse and gave the dragon his head. In a moment they were up the cliff. Looking out, truly:

On the peak, pines and cypresses touch the clouds, green; on the stone walls brambles hang with wild vines.Ten thousand zhang towering, a thousand layers of sheer drop.Ten thousand zhang towering are the steep peaks and ridges; a thousand layers of sheer drop are the deep ravines and cliffs.Gray moss and green lichen pave the shaded stones; old junipers and tall locusts join into a great wood.Deep in the wood, listen: hidden birds with cunning voices, sweet and lovely, worth a song.In the ravine the water pours like spilled jade; by the road fallen flowers lie like heaped gold.The mountain is savage, no place to walk: ten steps without one level half-step.Foxes and elk are met in pairs; white deer and black gibbons come to meet them two by two.Suddenly a tiger's roar terrifies the gall; a crane's cry rings in the ears and pierces to the vault of heaven.Yellow plums and red apricots are good for eating; the wild grasses and idle flowers have no names one knows.

The four went into the mountains and walked slowly a long while, over the top of the mountain and down the west slope, into a stretch of level land. Zhu Bajie, showing off his vigor, made Sha Monk carry the load while he raised his rake in both hands and went ahead to drive the horse. The horse did not fear him at all: let the Idiot cluck and switch all he liked, it only ambled on unhurried. Pilgrim said: "Brother, why drive it? Let it walk slowly." Bajie said: "It is getting late. Since we came up the mountain we have walked all day, and my belly is empty. If we all move a little faster, we can find a house and beg a meal." Pilgrim said: "If that is so, wait while I make it hurry." He brandished the gold-banded staff and gave a shout; the horse slipped its rein and flew off like an arrow down the level road.

Why did the horse fear Pilgrim and not Bajie? Five hundred years ago the Jade Emperor gave Pilgrim charge of the imperial stables in the highest heaven, with the office of Bimawen, Keeper of the Heavenly Horses. So the word has come down to this day: every horse fears a monkey.

The elder could not hold the rein; he only clung to the saddle and let it run with a slack rein for some twenty li, until they came to open fields, when it slowed to a walk.

As they went, a gong suddenly sounded, and from both sides of the road stepped out more than thirty men, each with spear, blade, or club, blocking the way: "Monk, where do you think you are going?" The Tang monk, trembling, lost his seat and fell from his horse, crouched in the grass by the road, crying: "Spare my life, Your Majesty, spare my life!" The two big men at the head said: "We will not hurt you. Only leave your traveling money." The elder came to himself then, knowing them for a band of robbers, and looked up at them. See:

One, blue-faced with jutting fangs, outdoes the Year Star in menace; the other, glaring eyes rolled round, could rival the Star of Funerals.Red hair at their temples like drifting fire; yellow whiskers under their chins like stuck-in needles.On their heads tiger-skin caps with patterned flaps; at their waists sable fur and colored war skirts.One holds a wolf-tooth club in his hand; one shoulders a knotted vine staff athwart.Truly no less than the tiger that climbs the mountains; really like the dragon that comes up out of the water.

Seeing how fierce they were, Tripitaka could only get up, palms pressed to his chest, and say: "Your Majesties, I am a poor monk sent by the Tang king of the East to fetch scriptures from the Western Heaven. Since I left Chang'an the years and days have been long, and whatever traveling money I had is all spent. We who have left the world live by begging; where would we get money? I beg Your Majesties to be generous and let this poor monk pass." The two robbers, leading the band, came forward: "We have set our tiger hearts here, blocking the road, set on money alone. What do you mean, generous? If you truly have no money, strip off your clothes quickly, leave the white horse, and we will let you pass." Tripitaka said: "Amitabha Buddha! These clothes of mine, poor monk, were begged—a bolt of cloth from this house, a needle from that, scrap by scrap. If you strip them off me, would you not be my death? In this life you play the hero; in the next you will be born beasts." The robber, hearing this, flew into a rage, drew his big club, and came at him to strike. The elder said nothing, but thought to himself: "Poor fools! You speak only of your own club; you do not know my disciple's club." The robber would hear nothing, raised his club, and belted away at him head and face. The elder had never told a lie in his life; at this desperate pass he had no choice but to tell one: "Your Majesties, do not strike. I have a young disciple coming along behind, and he has a few taels of silver on him. Take it from him instead." The robber said: "So this monk cannot bear a beating. Tie him up." The whole band fell on him at once, tied him with one rope, and hoisted him high in a tree.

Meanwhile the three trouble-bringers came on behind. Bajie laughed loud and long: "The master has gone on fast. Who knows where he is waiting for us?" Then he saw the elder in the tree and said: "Look at the master! Waiting was not enough—he had to climb a tree and swing on the vines like a swing!" Pilgrim saw and said: "Idiot, no silly talk. Is the master not hanging there? You two come slowly; let me go look."

Good Great Sage! He hurried up the high slope, looked carefully, saw it was a band of robbers, and thought with secret joy: "Luck, luck! Business has come to the door." He stepped aside, shook himself, and changed into a neat little monk in a black robe, about sixteen years old, with a blue cloth bundle on his shoulder. He strode up front and called: "Master, what is this talk? Who are these villains?" Tripitaka said: "Disciple, will you not save me first? What are you asking about?" Pilgrim said: "What is their business?" Tripitaka said: "This gang blocked my way and demanded road money. As I had nothing on me, they hung me up here, just waiting for you to decide what to do. Otherwise—give them this horse." Pilgrim, hearing this, laughed: "Master, you are feeble. The world has its monks, but few are as slack-skinned as you. Emperor Taizong sent you west to see the Buddha. Who told you to give away the dragon horse?" Tripitaka said: "Disciple, hanging here while they beat me for it—what am I to do?" Pilgrim said: "What did you tell them?" Tripitaka said: "They beat me so hard I had no choice but to give you up." Pilgrim said: "Master, how shabby of you. Why give me up?" Tripitaka said: "I said you had some traveling money on you, just to stop them beating me—words to save me in the moment." Pilgrim said: "Good, good, good. Thank you for the honor. That is just the way to give evidence. If you could do it seventy or eighty times a month, Old Sun would have all the more business."

The robbers, seeing Pilgrim talking with his master, rushed up in a ring: "Little monk, your master says you have money at your waist. Hand it over quickly and we spare your lives. Say one word of 'no,' and we take your worthless lives as well." Pilgrim set down the bundle: "Gentlemen officers, no shouting. There is some money in this bundle—not much: about twenty horseshoe ingots of gold and thirty of silver powder, and the loose pieces I have not counted. If you want it, take it bag and all, only do not beat my master. The old books say: 'Virtue is the root; wealth is the branch.' This is a branch-matter. We who have left the world can always beg our bread: meet some elder who gives alms to monks, and we have both offering money and clothes. How much could we use? Only put my master down, and I will give you the whole thing." The robbers were all delighted: "The old monk was a skinflint; the young monk is generous." They ordered: "Put him down." The elder, his life safe, jumped on his horse and, not even looking at Pilgrim, whipped away back along the old road.

Pilgrim called quickly: "Wrong way!" Picking up the bundle, he made to chase. The robbers blocked him: "Where are you going? Leave the money and spare yourself the rope." Pilgrim laughed: "Well then, the money must be split in three." The robber chief said: "This little monk is too clever—planning to keep some behind his master's back. Very well, bring it out and let us see. If there is plenty, we will share some with you, for buying fruit on the sly." Pilgrim said: "Brothers, it is not like that. What money have I? I say you two have robbed other people of gold and silver—you must share some with me." The robbers, furious, cursed: "This monk does not know death! He will not give us his, and asks for ours. Do not run—take this!" They swung their knotted vine clubs and rained seven or eight blows on Pilgrim's bare head. He took no notice, and said, smiling all over his face: "Brothers, if this is the way you hit, you can go on till next spring is over and done, and it will never count." The robbers were amazed: "What a hard head this monk has!" Pilgrim laughed: "Dare not, dare not. Thanks for the praise. It will just about pass." The robbers would hear nothing, and two or three of them pounded him together. Pilgrim said: "Gentlemen, calm your anger. Let me bring it out."

Good Great Sage! He felt in his ear, pulled out an embroidery needle, and said: "Gentlemen, I truly have no traveling money—only this needle, which I give you." The robbers said: "What luck—release a rich monk and catch a bald beggar! I suppose you are a tailor? What would we want with a needle?" Hearing they did not want it, Pilgrim twirled it in his hand, gave it a shake, and it became a club as thick as a bowl. The robbers were frightened: "Small as this monk is, he knows magic tricks!" Pilgrim stuck the club in the ground: "Gentlemen, if you can lift it, it is yours." Two robbers rushed up to snatch it—and, poor souls, like dragonflies shaking a stone pillar, they could not move it a hair. This club was the As-You-Will Gold-Banded Staff, thirteen thousand five hundred catties by the scales; how could that band of robbers know it? The Great Sage walked up, lifted it lightly, threw himself into a python-turning, twisting-step stance, pointed at the robbers, and said: "You all have low luck—you have met Old Sun." The robbers came on and gave him fifty or sixty more blows.

Pilgrim laughed: "Your hands must be tired by now. Let Old Sun land one stroke—do not take it seriously." See him spread the club, brandish it—thick as a well curb, seven or eight zhang long—and with one sweep knock one man to the ground, mouth in the dirt, never to speak again. The other cursed: "You bald wretch, how rude! No money, and you wound my man." Pilgrim laughed: "Hold on, hold on. Let me beat you one by one, and finish you off at the roots." Another sweep of the club, and the second lay dead too. The lesser robbers, terrified, dropped their spears and clubs and fled in four directions.

The Tang monk, meanwhile, was galloping east when Bajie and Sha Monk blocked him: "Master, where are you going? This is the wrong road." The elder reined about: "Disciples, go quickly and tell your big brother to show mercy under that staff, and not beat the robbers to death." Bajie said: "Master, wait here. I will go." The Idiot ran up front and called at the top of his voice: "Big brother, the master says do not beat people." Pilgrim said: "Brother, who is beating anyone?" Bajie said: "Then where have the robbers gone?" Pilgrim said: "The rest have scattered; only the two chiefs are here sleeping." Bajie laughed: "You two plague-stricken fellows must have sat up all night, so tired—no other place to sleep but here!" The Idiot walked over, looked, and said: "Just like me—they sleep with open mouths, clean, drooling a little." Pilgrim said: "Old Sun's club knocked tofu out of them." Bajie said: "Tofu? Out of a man's head?" Pilgrim said: "It knocked out his brains."

Hearing that brains had been knocked out, Bajie hurried back and said to the Tang monk: "The partnership is broken." Tripitaka said: "Blessings! Blessings! Which way did they go?" Bajie said: "Beaten till their legs went straight—where would they go?" Tripitaka said: "Why do you say the partnership is broken?" Bajie said: "They are beaten to death. What is that but breaking up?" Tripitaka asked: "What do they look like, beaten?" Bajie said: "Two big holes in their heads." Tripitaka said: "Untie the bundle, take a few offering coins, go quickly and buy two plasters, and stick them on the two of them." Bajie laughed: "Master, how mad! A plaster will stick to the sores of living men, but who ever stuck one over a dead man's holes?" Tripitaka said: "Really beaten to death?" And he grew angry, muttering on and on: "Monkey this, ape that." He turned his horse, and with Sha Monk and Bajie came to where the dead men lay, blood streaming, below the slope.

The elder could not bear the sight and told Bajie at once: "Quick, dig a pit with your rake and bury them, and I will recite a passage over them." Bajie said: "Master, you have the wrong man. Pilgrim did the killing; he should do the burying. Why put this old pig to digging?" Pilgrim, worked up by the master's scolding, snapped at Bajie: "You lazy clod! Go dig now, or the next stroke is for you." The Idiot panicked, dug a pit some three feet deep below the slope, but struck stone and roots below that jammed the rake's teeth. He dropped the rake and shoveled with his snout: one snoutful two and a half feet, a second snoutful five feet, and he buried the two corpses and heaped up a grave mound. Tripitaka called: "Wukong, bring incense and candles, that I may pray and recite the sutra." Pilgrim, curling his lip, said: "How unreasonable. Here in the middle of the mountain, a village ahead nowhere, an inn behind nowhere—where would we get incense and candles? With money in hand there would be nowhere to buy them." Tripitaka, bitterly, said: "Monkey, stand aside. Let me gather a handful of earth, burn it as incense, and pray." So Tripitaka left the saddle, grieving at a wild grave; the holy monk, in kindness, blessed the bare mound. His prayer:

I bow to you, good heroes, and tell you why I pray. Your servant is a man of Tang in the Land of the East, sent by Emperor Taizong's edict to the west to fetch the scriptures. Just now, coming to this place, I met you, many men—I do not know of what prefecture, what province, what county—banded together in this mountain. I begged you with good words, earnestly and humbly. You would not listen, but turned my kindness into anger. Then you met Pilgrim, and fell under his staff. Thinking with grief of your bodies lying bare, I have covered them with earth and heaped this grave. I break green bamboo for incense and candles: it has no light or gleam, but the heart is earnest. I take stubborn stones for the offering of food: it has no taste, but the sincerity is true. When you come to the Hall of King Yama to file your suit and trace the tree to its root—his surname is Sun, mine is Chen; we bear different surnames. Every grudge has its head, every debt its master: do not name the monk who fetches the scriptures.

Bajie laughed: "Master, you have washed your hands clean. When he was beating them, we two were not there." Tripitaka really did gather earth again and pray: "Good heroes, name only Pilgrim in your suit; it has nothing to do with Bajie or Sha Monk."

The Great Sage heard and could not help laughing: "Master, you are too heartless. For your scriptures I have spent toil and hardship past counting, and now, because I beat these two hairy thieves to death, you tell them to name Old Sun. True, my hand struck the blow, but it was all for you. Had you not gone west for the scriptures, and I not become your disciple, how would I ever have come here and beaten men to death? Let me pay them a call of my own." He raised the iron staff, pounded the grave three times, and said: "Plague-stricken robbers, listen! You gave me seven or eight clubs from the front and seven or eight from behind, and could not make it hurt or itch; you stirred up my temper, and by one slip or another I beat you to death. Sue me where you like—Old Sun truly is not afraid. The Jade Emperor knows me; the Heavenly Kings follow me. The Twenty-Eight Mansions dread me; the Nine Luminaries fear me. The city gods of prefecture and county kneel to me; the God of the Eastern Peak trembles before me. The ten kings of the dead once served as my servants; the five ways of wild spirits once waited at my back. In all the Three Realms and Five Offices, all the rulers of the ten quarters, I have old friendship and familiar faces—sue me wherever you please." Hearing such fierce words, Tripitaka's heart jumped: "Disciple, my prayer was to teach you to keep the virtue that spares life and to be a good and gentle man. Why do you take it in earnest?" Pilgrim said: "Master, this is no joking matter. Come, let us hurry and find lodging for the night." The elder could only mount his horse with anger in his heart.

The Great Sage Sun felt estranged; Bajie and Sha Monk felt a grudging jealousy; master and disciples were smiling in front and sour behind. Along the high road they went west, and suddenly saw a farmhouse below the road to the north. Tripitaka pointed with his whip: "Let us ask for lodging there." Bajie said: "Right." They came to the farm and dismounted. It was a fine place to stay. See:

Wild flowers crowd the path; mixed trees shade the gate.From the far bank mountain waters flow; on level beds wheat and sunflowers grow.Dew-moist reeds where the light gulls roost; faint wind in willows where the tired birds settle.Green cypress and pine vie in emerald; red lotus and smartweed contend in fragrance.Village dogs bark, evening roosters crow; oxen and sheep fed full, the herd boys come home.The cooking smoke knots into mist, the millet is ripe: just the hour when the mountain household turns to evening.

The elder went forward, and an old man came out of the farmhouse gate; they met and exchanged salutations. The old man asked: "Monk, where do you come from?" Tripitaka said: "I am a poor monk, sent under imperial commission by the Great Tang of the East to seek scriptures in the Western Heaven. Passing through your honored land just now, with the sky darkening, I came specially to your house to beg a night's lodging." The old man laughed: "From your country to mine is a long, long road. How did you cross the waters and climb the mountains, all alone?" Tripitaka said: "I have three fellow disciples with me." The old man asked: "Where are your fine disciples?" Tripitaka pointed: "There they stand, by the high road." The old man looked up quickly, saw how ugly their faces were, turned, and hurried inside. Tripitaka caught him: "Old patron, mercy, I beg you—lend us one night's lodging!" The old man, trembling, could hardly speak, shook his head and waved his hands: "Not—not—not like men at all! They—they—they are spirits!" Tripitaka said with an apologetic smile: "Patron, do not be afraid. My disciples were born with these faces; they are no spirits." The old man said: "Oh sir! One a night-demon, one a horse-face, one a thunderclap god!" Pilgrim, hearing, called at the top of his voice: "The thunder god is my grandson, the night-demon my great-grandson, the horse-face my great-great-grandson!" The old man heard, and his soul flew and his spirit scattered, the color draining from his face; he wanted only to get inside. Tripitaka held him and brought him to the thatched hall, saying with an apologetic smile: "Old patron, do not fear them. They are always this rough; they cannot talk properly."

While he was calming him, an old wife came out from behind, leading a child of five or six, and asked: "Old man, why this terror?" The old man called: "Mother, bring tea." The wife really did set the child down, went inside, and brought out two cups of tea. When the tea was done, Tripitaka came down and bowed to the wife: "I am a poor monk, sent by the Great Tang of the East to fetch the scriptures from the Western Heaven. I have just reached your land and asked your house for a night's lodging. My three disciples' faces are ugly, and the old father here has had a fright." The wife said: "If ugly faces frighten him so, what would he do seeing tigers and wolves?" The old man said: "Mother, ugly faces one can bear, but their talk is more frightening still. I said they looked like a night-demon, a horse-face, and a thunder god, and this one yelled that the thunder god was his grandson, the night-demon his great-grandson, the horse-face his great-great-grandson. That is why I trembled." The Tang monk said: "No, no. The one like the thunder god is my eldest disciple, Wukong; the one like the horse-face is my second disciple, Zhu Wuneng; the one like the night-demon is my third disciple, Sha Wujing. Ugly they may be, but they have taken the vows of the Buddhist order and turned to good ends. They are no evil or poisonous monsters. What is there to fear?"

Hearing their names and their turning to the Buddhist order, the old man and wife calmed their fright and said: "Call them in, call them in." The elder went to the door and called them, and warned them: "That old man was very set against you just now. Now, when you go in to meet him, do not be rude; each of you be respectful." Bajie said: "I am the handsome one, the refined one—not like big brother, sputtering." Pilgrim laughed: "Without the long snout, the big ears, and the ugly face, you might be a fine fellow yourself." Sha Monk said: "No arguing. This is no place for showing off. In, in." So with the bags and the horse they all came to the thatched hall, saluted together, and sat down. The good wife took the child away, ordered dinner cooked, and set out a vegetarian meal, which the master and disciples ate.

It grew late, and the lamp was lit; they all sat talking idly in the thatched hall. The elder asked: "Patron, what is your honorable surname?" The old man said: "My name is Yang." Asked his age, he said: "Seventy-four." Asked how many sons he had, he said: "Only one. The child my wife led just now is my little grandson." The elder asked to see the son and pay his respects. The old man said: "That fellow is not worth bowing to. My life is hard; I could not raise him right, and he is not at home now." Tripitaka said: "What trade is he in?" The old man nodded and sighed: "Pitiful, pitiful! If only he would take up some trade anywhere, it would be my good luck. That fellow breeds nothing but evil thoughts, will not do an honest day's work, loves nothing but housebreaking and road-blocking, killing and burning. The company he keeps is a pack of foxes and dogs. He went out five days ago and has not come back." Tripitaka heard and dared not breathe a word, but thought to himself: "Perhaps it was he whom Wukong beat to death." The elder's spirit was troubled; he leaned forward: "Blessings, blessings! Such worthy parents—and such a wicked son!"

Pilgrim came forward: "Old gentleman, a son like that—wicked, good for nothing, a thief and a lecher, dragging down his own parents: what use is he? Let me go find him and beat him dead for you." The old man said: "I was minded to disown him myself. But I have no other child behind him; worthless or not, I must keep him to cover my grave when I die." Sha Monk and Bajie laughed: "Big brother, do not meddle. We are no officers of the law. If his family will not have it, what is it to us? Let us beg the patron for a bundle of straw, make our beds over there, and be on the road at daybreak." The old man rose at once, had Sha Monk fetch two bundles of straw from the back garden, and put them up for the night in the round straw hut in the garden. Pilgrim led in the horse, Bajie carried in the bags, and with the elder they settled in the hut—and no more of that.

Now among that band of robbers there really was old Yang's son. Since morning, when Pilgrim had beaten the two chiefs to death before the mountain, they had all fled four ways. About the fourth watch they banded together again and came hammering at the gate. The old man heard and threw on his clothes: "Mother, those fellows have come." The wife said: "Since they have come, go open the door and let them into the house." The old man opened the door, and the whole band shouted: "We are starving, starving!" Old Yang's son hurried inside, woke his wife, and set rice boiling. But there was no wood in the kitchen, so he went to the back garden for firewood, and asked his wife in the kitchen: "Whose is that white horse in the back garden?" His wife said: "He belongs to monks from the East fetching scriptures. They came last night to lodge; your father and mother served them an evening vegetarian meal and put them to sleep in the straw hut."

Hearing this, the fellow walked out to the thatched hall, clapped his hands, and laughed: "Brothers, luck, luck! Our enemy is in my own house!" The robbers asked: "What enemy?" He said: "The monk who beat our chiefs to death has come to lodge at my house, and is asleep in the straw hut this minute." The robbers said: "Good, good! Catch these bald donkeys and chop every one of them into mincemeat: first we get the bags and the white horse, and second we avenge our chiefs." He said: "Not so fast. Go sharpen your knives first. When the rice is cooked we will all eat our fill, and then strike together." And truly those robbers sharpened knives and whetted spears.

The old man, hearing all this, crept quietly to the back garden and woke the four Tang pilgrims: "That fellow has brought his band, and knows you are here, and means to do you harm. Thinking how far you have come, I could not bear to see you hurt. Pack up your bags quickly, and I will let you out by the back door." Tripitaka, trembling, knocked his head and thanked the old man, then called Bajie to lead the horse, Sha Monk to carry the load, and Pilgrim to take the nine-ringed tin staff. The old man opened the back door and let them out, then crept quietly back to bed in front.

The robbers, their knives and spears whetted sharp and their bellies full, came at the fifth watch into the garden to look—and the place was empty. They lit lamps and torches at once and searched a long while, finding no trace anywhere, only the back door standing open. "They have gone by the back door, gone!" With a yell they set off in pursuit, flying like arrows, until the sun rose in the east and they caught sight of the Tang monk. The elder, hearing the shouts, turned to look: behind him came thirty men or so, spears and blades in a bristling bunch. He called: "Disciples, the robber band has caught us up. What now?" Pilgrim said: "Be at ease, be at ease. Old Sun will finish them." Tripitaka reined in: "Wukong, do not hurt anyone. Only scare them off." Pilgrim would not hear it: he drew the staff, turned to meet them, and called: "Gentlemen, where away?" The robbers cursed: "Bald wretch, no manners! Give us back our kings' lives!" They ringed Pilgrim round, spears and blades hacking and thrusting. The Great Sage brandished the gold-banded staff, thick as a bowl, and battered the band till stars fell and clouds scattered: those it met died; those it caught perished; those it struck broke bones; those it grazed lost skin. The clever few ran free; the slow all went before King Yama.

The Tang monk, from the saddle, saw so many beaten down, and in a panic gave his horse its head and bolted west. Zhu Bajie and Sha Monk followed close at whip and stirrup. Pilgrim asked one of the robbers who lived, wounded: "Which one is old Yang's son?" The robber, groaning, said: "Sir, the one in yellow." Pilgrim stepped up, snatched the man's blade, cut off the yellow one's head, and lifted it dripping in his hand. He put away the iron staff, stretched his cloud-striding steps, and caught the Tang monk's horse, holding up the head: "Master, this is old Yang's wicked son; Old Sun has brought you his head." Tripitaka saw and turned pale with shock, tumbling from his horse, cursing: "You brazen ape, you have frightened me to death! Take it away, take it away!" Bajie stepped up, kicked the head to the roadside, and raked some earth over it.

Sha Monk set down the load and helped the Tang monk up: "Master, please rise." The elder, straightening himself on the ground, began reciting the Tight-Fillet Spell, and it squeezed Pilgrim till his ears burned and his face flamed, his eyes bulged and his head swam, rolling on the ground, crying only: "Do not recite, do not recite." The elder recited a good dozen times and still would not stop. Pilgrim turned somersaults and stood on his head, the pain past bearing, crying only: "Master, forgive me. Speak your mind—only do not recite, do not recite." Tripitaka stopped at last: "Nothing to say. I do not want you with me. Go back." Pilgrim bore the pain and knocked his head: "Master, why drive me away so soon?" Tripitaka said: "You brazen monkey, too savage by far—not a man for fetching scriptures. Yesterday below the slope you beat those two robber chiefs to death, and already I blamed you as unfeeling. Then at evening we came to the old man's house, and were given a meal and lodging, and he opened his back door and let us escape with our lives. His son may be worthless, but that was no business of ours, and you should never have cut off his head; besides, you killed many more, destroyed many lives, and wounded the harmony of heaven and earth. Time and again I have urged you, and not one grain of goodness have you shown. What do I want with you? Go, go quickly, or I will recite the spell again." Pilgrim, afraid, cried only: "Do not recite, do not recite. I am going." At the word he rose on the somersault cloud, without shadow or trace, and was gone. Ah! Truly:

While the heart runs fierce and wild, the elixir never ripens;with the spirit no fixed seat, the Way is hard to win.

But where would the Great Sage go? Listen to the next chapter to find out.