Wu Cheng’en (attributed) · Complete work
Chapter 64
Chapter 64 of 100. Read it here for reference, or continue through the entire work without leaving the reader.
Open the complete readerOriginal Traditional Chinese
第六十四回 荊棘嶺悟能努力 木仙庵三藏談詩
話表祭賽國王謝了唐三藏師徒獲寶擒怪之恩，所贈金玉，分毫不受。卻命當駕官照依四位常穿的衣服各做兩套，鞋襪各做兩雙，絛環各做兩條，外備乾糧烘炒，倒換了通關文牒，大排鑾駕，並文武多官、滿城百姓、伏龍寺僧人，大吹大打，送四眾出城。約有二十里，先辭了國王。眾人又送二十里辭回。伏龍寺僧人送有五六十里不回：有的要同上西天，有的要修行伏侍。行者見都不肯回去，遂弄個手段，把毫毛拔了三四十根，吹口仙氣，叫：「變！」都變作斑斕猛虎，攔住前路，哮吼踴躍。眾僧方懼，不敢前進。大聖才引師父策馬而去，少時間去得遠了。眾僧人放聲大哭，都喊：「有恩有義的老爺！我等無緣，不肯度我們也。」
且不說眾僧啼哭。卻說師徒四眾走上大路，卻才收回毫毛，一直西去。正是時序易遷，又早冬殘春至，不暖不寒，正好逍遙行路。忽見一條長嶺，嶺頂上是路。三藏勒馬觀看，那嶺上荊棘丫叉，薜蘿牽繞，雖是有道路的痕跡，左右卻都是荊刺棘針。唐僧叫：「徒弟，這路怎生走得？」行者道：「怎麼走不得？」又道：「徒弟啊，路痕在下，荊棘在上，只除是蛇蟲伏地而遊，方可去了；若你們走，腰也難伸，教我如何乘馬？」八戒道：「不打緊，等我使出鈀柴手來，把釘鈀分開荊棘，莫說騎馬，就擡轎也包你過去。」三藏道：「你雖有力，長遠難熬，卻不知有多少遠近，怎生費得這許多精神？」行者道：「不須商量，等我去看看。」將身一縱，跳在半空看時，一望無際。真個是：
匝地遠天，凝煙帶雨。夾道柔茵亂，漫山翠蓋張。密密搓搓初發葉，攀攀扯扯正芬芳。遙望不知何所盡，近觀一似綠雲茫。蒙蒙茸茸，鬱鬱蒼蒼。風聲飄索索，日影映煌煌。那中間有松有柏還有竹，多梅多柳更多桑。薜蘿纏古樹，藤葛繞垂楊。盤團似架，聯絡如床。有處花開真佈錦，無端卉發遠生香。為人誰不遭荊棘，那見西方荊棘長？
行者看夠多時，將雲頭按下道：「師父，這去處遠哩。」三藏問：「有多少遠？」行者道：「一望無際，似有千里之遙。」三藏大驚道：「怎生是好？」沙僧笑道：「師父莫愁，我們也學燒荒的，放上一把火，燒絕了荊棘過去。」八戒道：「莫亂談。燒荒的須在十來月，草衰木枯，方好引火。如今正是蕃盛之時，怎麼燒得？」行者道：「就是燒得，也怕人了。」三藏道：「這般怎生得度？」八戒笑道：「要得度，還依我。」
好獃子，捻個訣，念個咒語，把腰躬一躬，叫：「長！」就長了有二十丈高下的身軀。把釘鈀幌一幌，教：「變！」就變了有三十丈長短的鈀柄。拽開步，雙手使鈀，將荊棘左右摟開：「請師父跟我來也。」三藏見了甚喜，即策馬緊隨後面；沙僧挑著行李；行者也使鐵棒撥開。這一日未曾住手，行有百十里。將次天晚，見有一塊空闊之處。當路上有一通石碣，上有三個大字，乃「荊棘嶺」；下有兩行十四個小字，乃「荊棘蓬攀八百里，古來有路少人行」。八戒見了，笑道：「等我老豬與他添上兩句：『自今八戒能開破，直透西方路盡平。』」三藏欣然下馬道：「徒弟啊，累了你也。我們就在此住過了今宵，待明日天光再走。」八戒道：「師父莫住，趁此天色晴明，我等有興，連夜摟開路走他娘。」那長老只得相從。
八戒上前努力，師徒們人不住手，馬不停蹄，又行了一日一夜，卻又天色晚矣。那前面蓬蓬結結，又聞得風敲竹韻，颯颯松聲。卻好又有一段空地，中間乃是一座古廟。廟門之外，有松柏凝青，桃梅鬥麗。三藏下馬，與三個徒弟同看。只見：
巖前古廟枕寒流，落目荒煙鎖廢丘。白鶴叢中深歲月，綠蕪臺下自春秋。竹搖青珮疑聞語，鳥弄餘音似訴愁。雞犬不通人跡少，閑花野蔓遶牆頭。
行者看了道：「此地少吉多凶，不宜久坐。」沙僧道：「師兄差疑了。似這杳無人煙之處，又無個怪獸妖禽，怕他怎的？」說不了，忽見一陣陰風，廟門後轉出一個老者，頭戴角巾，身穿淡服，手持拐杖，足踏芒鞋。後跟著一個青臉獠牙、紅鬚赤身鬼使，頭頂著一盤麵餅。跪下道：「大聖，小神乃荊棘嶺土地。知大聖到此，無以接待，特備蒸餅一盤，奉上老師父，各請一餐。此地八百里，更無人家，聊吃些兒充饑。」八戒歡喜，上前舒手，就欲取餅。不知行者端詳已久，喝一聲：「且住，這廝不是好人。休得無禮，你是甚麼土地，來誑老孫？看棍。」那老者見他打來，將身一轉，化作一陣陰風，呼的一聲，把個長老攝將起去，飄飄蕩蕩，不知攝去何所。慌得那大聖沒跟尋處，八戒、沙僧俱相顧失色，白馬亦只自驚吟。三兄弟連馬四口，恍恍忽忽，遠望高張，並無一毫下落，前後找尋不題。
卻說那老者同鬼使，把長老擡到一座煙霞石屋之前，輕輕放下，與他攜手相攙道：「聖僧休怕。我等不是歹人，乃荊棘嶺十八公是也。因風清月霽之宵，特請你來會友談詩，消遣情懷故耳。」那長老卻才定性，睜眼仔細觀看。真個是：
漠漠煙雲去所，清清仙境人家。正好潔身修煉，堪宜種竹栽花。每見翠巖來鶴，時聞青沼鳴蛙。更賽天臺丹灶，仍期華岳明霞。說甚耕雲釣月，此間隱逸堪誇。坐久幽懷如海，朦朧月上窗紗。
三藏正自點看，漸覺月明星朗，只聽得人語相談。都道：「十八公請得聖僧來也。」長老擡頭觀看，乃是三個老者：前一個霜姿丰采，第二個綠鬢婆娑，第三個虛心黛色。各各面貌、衣服俱不相同，都來與三藏作禮。長老還了禮，道：「弟子有何德行，敢勞列位仙翁下愛？」十八公笑道：「一向聞知聖僧有道，等待多時，今幸一見。如果不吝珠玉，寬坐敘懷，足見禪機真派。」三藏躬身道：「敢問仙翁尊號？」十八公道：「霜姿者號孤直公，綠鬢者號凌空子，虛心者號拂雲叟，老拙號曰勁節。」三藏道：「四翁尊壽幾何？」孤直公道：
「我歲今經千歲古，撐天葉茂四時春。香枝鬱鬱龍蛇狀，碎影重重霜雪身。自幼堅剛能耐老，從今正直喜修真。烏棲鳳宿非凡輩，落落森森遠俗塵。」
凌空子笑道：
「吾年千載傲風霜，高幹靈枝力自剛。夜靜有聲如雨滴，秋晴蔭影似雲張。盤根已得長生訣，受命尤宜不老方。留鶴化龍非俗輩，蒼蒼爽爽近仙鄉。」
拂雲叟笑道：
「歲寒虛度有千秋，老景瀟然清更幽。不雜囂塵終冷淡，飽經霜雪自風流。七賢作侶同談道，六逸為朋共唱酬。戛玉敲金非瑣瑣，天然情性與仙遊。」
勁節十八公笑道：
「我亦千年約有餘，蒼然貞秀自如如。堪憐雨露生成力，借得乾坤造化機。萬壑風煙惟我盛，四時灑落讓吾疏。蓋張翠影留仙客，博弈調琴講道書。」
三藏稱謝道：「四位仙翁，俱享高壽，但勁節翁又千歲餘矣。高年得道，丰采清奇，得非漢時之『四皓』乎？」四老道：「承過獎，承過獎。吾等非四皓，乃深山之『四操』也。敢問聖僧，妙齡幾何？」三藏合掌躬身答曰：
「四十年前出母胎，未產之時命已災。逃生落水隨波滾，幸遇金山脫本骸。養性看經無懈怠，誠心拜佛敢俄捱。今蒙皇上差西去，路遇仙翁下愛來。」
四老俱稱道：「聖僧自出娘胎，即從佛教，果然是從小修行，真中正有道之上僧也。我等幸接臺顏，敢求大教。望以禪法指教一二，足慰生平。」長老聞言，慨然不懼，即對眾言曰：禪者，靜也；法者，度也。靜中之度，非悟不成。悟者，洗心滌慮，脫俗離塵是也。夫人身難得，中土難生，正法難遇：全此三者，幸莫大焉。至德妙道，渺漠希夷，六根六識，遂可掃除。菩提者，不死不生，無餘無欠，空色包羅，聖凡俱遣。訪真了元始鉗鎚，悟實了牟尼手段。發揮象罔，踏碎涅槃。必須覺中覺了悟中悟，一點靈光全保護。放開烈焰照婆娑，法界縱橫獨顯露。至幽微，更守固，玄關口說誰人度？我本元修大覺禪，有緣有志方記悟。」四老側耳受了，無邊喜悅。一個個稽首皈依，躬身拜謝道：「聖僧乃禪機之悟本也。」
拂雲叟道：「禪雖靜，法雖度，須要性定心誠。縱為大覺真仙，終坐無生之道。我等之玄，又大不同。」三藏云：「道乃非常，體用合一，如何不同？」拂雲叟笑云：「我等生來堅實，體用比爾不同。感天地以生身，蒙雨露而滋色。笑傲風霜，消磨日月。一葉不凋，千枝節操。似這話不叩沖虛，你執持梵語。道也者，本安中國，反來求證西方，空費了草鞋，不知尋個甚麼？石獅子剜了心肝，野狐涎灌徹骨髓。忘本參禪，妄求佛果，都似我荊棘嶺葛藤謎語，蘿蓏渾言。此般君子，怎生接引？這等規模，如何印授？必須要檢點見前面目，靜中自有生涯。沒底竹籃汲水，無根鐵樹生花。靈寶峰頭牢著腳，歸來雅會上龍華。」三藏聞言，叩頭拜謝。十八公用手攙扶，孤直公將身扯起，凌空子打個哈哈道：「拂雲之言，分明漏泄。聖僧請起，不可盡信。我等趁此月明，原不為講論修持，且自吟哦逍遙，放蕩襟懷也。」拂雲叟笑指石屋道：「若要吟哦，且入小庵一茶，何如？」
長老真個欠身，向石屋前觀看。門上有三個大字，乃「木仙庵」。遂此同入，又敘了坐次。忽見那赤身鬼使，捧一盤茯苓膏，將五盞香湯奉上。四老請唐僧先吃，三藏驚疑，不敢便吃。那四老一齊享用，三藏卻才吃了兩塊。各飲香湯收去。三藏留心偷看，只見那裡玲瓏光彩，如月下一般：
水自石邊流出，香從花裡飄來。滿座清虛雅致，全無半點塵埃。
那長老見此仙境，以為得意，情樂懷開，十分歡喜，忍不住念了一句道：
「禪心似月迥無塵。」
勁節老笑而即聯道：
「詩興如天青更新。」
孤直公道：
「好句漫裁摶錦繡。」
凌空子道：
「佳文不點唾奇珍。」
拂雲叟道：
「六朝一洗繁華盡，四始重刪雅頌分。」
三藏道：「弟子一時失口，胡談幾字，誠所謂『班門弄斧』。適聞列仙之言，清新飄逸，真詩翁也。」勁節老道：「聖僧不必閑敘，出家人全始全終，既有起句，何無結句？望卒成之。」三藏道：「弟子不能，煩十八公結而成篇為妙。」勁節道：「你好心腸，你起的句，如何不肯結果？慳吝珠璣，非道理也。」三藏只得續後二句云：
「半枕松風茶未熟，吟懷瀟灑滿腔春。」
十八公道：「好個『吟懷瀟灑滿腔春』！」孤直公道：「勁節，你深知詩味，所以只管咀嚼。何不再起一篇？」十八公亦慨然不辭道：「我卻是頂針字起：
春不榮華冬不枯，雲來霧往只如無。」
凌空子道：「我亦體前頂針二句：
無風搖拽婆娑影，有客欣憐福壽圖。」
拂雲叟亦頂針道：
「圖似西山堅節老，清如南國沒心夫。」
孤直公亦頂針道：
「夫因側葉稱梁棟，臺為橫柯作憲烏。」
長老聽了，讚嘆不已道：「真是陽春白雪，浩氣沖霄，弟子不才，敢再起兩句。」孤直公道：「聖僧乃有道之士，大養之人也。不必再相聯句，請賜教全篇，庶我等亦好勉強而和。」三藏無已，只得笑吟一律曰：
「杖錫西來拜法王，願求妙典遠傳揚。金芝三秀詩壇瑞，寶樹千花蓮蕊香。百尺竿頭須進步，十方世界立行藏。修成玉像莊嚴體，極樂門前是道場。」
四老聽畢，俱極讚揚。十八公道：「老拙無能，大膽攙越，也勉和一首。」云：
「勁節孤高笑木王，靈椿不似我名揚。山空百丈龍蛇影，泉汲千年琥珀香。解與乾坤生氣概，喜因風雨化行藏。衰殘自愧無仙骨，惟有苓膏結壽場。」
孤直公道：「此詩起句豪雄，聯句有力，但結句自謙太過矣。堪羨！堪羨！老拙也和一首。」云：
「霜姿常喜宿禽王，四絕堂前大器揚。露重珠纓蒙翠蓋，風輕石齒碎寒香。長廊夜靜吟聲細，古殿秋陰淡影藏。元日迎春曾獻壽，老來寄傲在山場。」
凌空子笑而言曰：「好詩，好詩，真個是月脅天心。老拙何能為和？但不可空過，也須扯談幾句。」曰：
「梁棟之材近帝王，太清宮外有聲揚。晴軒恍若來青氣，暗壁尋常度翠香。壯節凜然千古秀，深根結矣九泉藏。凌雲勢蓋婆娑影，不在群芳豔麗場。」
拂雲叟道：「三公之詩，高雅清淡，正是放開錦繡之囊也。我身無力，我腹無才，得三公之教，茅塞頓開。無已，也打油幾句，幸勿哂焉。」詩曰：
「淇澳園中樂聖王，渭川千畝任分揚。翠筠不染湘娥淚，班籜堪傳漢史香。霜葉自來顏不改，煙梢從此色何藏？子猷去世知音少，亙古留名翰墨場。」
三藏道：「眾仙老之詩，真個是吐鳳噴珠，游夏莫贊。厚愛高情，感之極矣。但夜已深沉，三個小徒不知在何處等我。弟子不能久留，敢此告回尋訪，尤無窮之至愛也。望老仙指示歸路。」四老笑道：「聖僧勿慮。我等也是千載奇逢，況天光晴爽，雖夜深卻月明如晝，再寬坐坐，待天曉自當遠送過嶺，高徒一定可相會也。」
正話間，只見石屋之外，有兩個青衣女童，挑一對絳紗燈籠，後引著一個仙女。那仙女撚著一枝杏花，笑吟吟進門相見。那仙女怎生模樣？他生得：
青姿妝翡翠，丹臉賽胭脂。星眼光還彩，蛾眉秀又齊。下襯一條五色梅淺紅裙子，上穿一件煙裡火比甲輕衣。弓鞋彎鳳嘴，綾襪錦拖泥。妖嬈嬌似天臺女，不亞當年俏妲姬。
四老欠身問道：「杏仙何來？」那女子對眾道了萬福，道：「知有佳客在此賡酬，特來相訪，敢求一見。」十八公指著唐僧道：「佳客在此，何勞求見？」三藏躬身，不敢言語。那女子叫：「快獻茶來。」又有兩個黃衣女童捧一個紅漆丹盤，盤內有六個細磁茶盂，盂內設幾品異果，橫擔著匙兒；提一把白鐵嵌黃銅的茶壺，壺內香茶噴鼻。斟了茶，那女子微露春蔥，捧磁盂先奉三藏，次奉四老，然後一盞，自取而陪。
凌空子道：「杏仙為何不坐？」那女子方才去坐。茶畢，欠身問道：「仙翁今宵盛樂，佳句請教一二如何？」拂雲叟道：「我等皆鄙俚之言，惟聖僧真盛唐之作，甚可嘉羨。」那女子道：「如不吝教，乞賜一觀。」四老即以長老前詩後詩並禪法論，宣了一遍。那女子滿面春風，對眾道：「妾身不才，不當獻醜。但聆此佳句，似不可虛，勉強將後詩奉和一律如何？」遂朗吟道：
「上蓋留名漢武王，周時孔子立壇揚。董仙愛我成林積，孫楚曾憐寒食香。雨潤紅姿嬌且嫩，煙蒸翠色顯還藏。自知過熟微酸意，落處年年伴麥場。」
四老聞詩，人人稱賀，都道：「清雅脫塵，句內包含春意。好個『雨潤紅姿嬌且嫩』！『雨潤紅姿嬌且嫩』！」那女子笑而悄答道：「惶恐，惶恐。適聞聖僧之章，誠然錦心繡口。如不吝珠玉，賜教一闋如何？」唐僧不敢答應。那女子漸有見愛之情，挨挨軋軋，漸近坐邊，低聲悄語，呼道：「佳客莫者，趁此良宵，不耍子待要怎的？人生光景，能有幾何？」十八公道：「杏仙盡有仰高之情，聖僧豈可無俯就之意？如不見憐，是不知趣了也。」孤直公道：「聖僧乃有道有名之士，決不苟且行事。如此樣舉措，是我等取罪過了。污人名，壞人德，非遠達也。果是杏仙有意，可教拂雲叟與十八公做媒，我與凌空子保親，成此姻眷，何不美哉？」
三藏聽言，遂變了顏色，跳起來高叫道：「汝等皆是一類怪物，這般誘我。當時只以低行之言，談玄談道可也。如今怎麼以美人局來騙害貧僧？是何道理？」四老見三藏發怒，一個個咬指擔驚，再不復言。那赤身鬼使暴躁如雷道：「這和尚好不識擡舉。我這姐姐那些兒不好？他人材俊雅，玉質嬌姿，不必說那女工針指，只這一段詩材，也配得過你。你怎麼這等推辭？休錯過了。孤直公之言甚當，如果不可苟合，待我再與你主婚。」三藏大驚失色，憑他們怎麼胡談亂講，只是不從。鬼使又道：「你這和尚，我們好言好語，你不聽從。若是我們發起村野之性，還把你攝了去，教你和尚不得做，老婆不得娶，卻不枉為人一世也？」那長老心如金石，堅執不從。暗想道：「我徒弟們不知在那裡尋我哩！」說一聲，止不住眼中墮淚。那女子陪著笑，挨至身邊，翠袖中取出一個蜜合綾汗巾來，與他揩淚道：「佳客勿得煩惱。我與你倚玉偎香，耍子去來。」長老咄的一聲吆喝，跳起身來就走。被那些人扯扯拽拽，嚷到天明。
忽聽得那裡叫聲：「師父，師父，你在那方言語也？」原來那孫大聖與八戒、沙僧牽著馬，挑著擔，一夜不曾住腳，穿荊度棘，東尋西找。卻好半雲半霧的過了八百里荊棘嶺西下，聽得唐僧吆喝，卻就喊了一聲。那長老掙出門來，叫聲：「悟空，我在這裡哩。快來救我，快來救我。」那四老與鬼使，那女子與女童，幌一幌，都不見了。
須臾間，八戒、沙僧俱到邊前道：「師父，你怎麼得到此也？」三藏扯住行者道：「徒弟啊，多累了你們了。昨日晚間見的那個老者，言說土地送齋一事，是你喝聲要打，他就把我擡到此方。他與我攜手相攙，走入門，又見三個老者，來此會我，俱道我做『聖僧』。一個個言談清雅，極善吟詩。我與他賡和相攀，覺有夜半時候，又見一個美貌女子執燈火，也來這裡會我，吟了一首詩，稱我做『佳客』。因見我相貌，欲求配偶，我方省悟。正不從時，又被他做媒的做媒，保親的保親，主婚的主婚，我立誓不肯。正欲掙著要走，與他嚷鬧，不期你們到了。一則天明，二來還是怕你，只才還扯扯拽拽，忽然就不見了。」行者道：「你既與他敘話談詩，就不曾問他個名字？」三藏道：「我曾問他之號：那老者喚做十八公，號勁節；第二個號孤直公；第三個號凌空子；第四個號拂雲叟；那女子，稱他做杏仙。」八戒道：「此物在於何處？才往那方去了？」三藏道：「去向之方，不知何所；但只談詩之處，去此不遠。」
他三人同師父看處，只見一座石崖，崖上有「木仙庵」三字。三藏道：「此間正是。」行者仔細觀之，卻原來是一株大檜樹、一株老柏、一株老松、一株老竹，竹後有一株丹楓。再看崖那邊，還有一株老杏、二株臘梅、二株丹桂。行者笑道：「你可曾看見妖怪？」八戒道：「不曾。」行者道：「你不知就是這幾株樹木在此成精也。」八戒道：「哥哥怎得知成精者是樹？」行者道：「十八公乃松樹，孤直公乃柏樹，凌空子乃檜樹，拂雲叟乃竹竿，赤身鬼乃楓樹，杏仙即杏樹，女童即丹桂即臘梅也。」八戒聞言，不論好歹，一頓釘鈀，三五長嘴，連拱帶築，把兩顆臘梅、丹桂、老杏、楓楊俱揮倒在地，果然那根下俱鮮血淋漓。三藏近前扯住道：「悟能，不可傷了他。他雖成了氣候，卻不曾傷我。我等找路去罷。」行者道：「師父不可惜他，恐日後成了大怪，害人不淺也。」那獃子索性一頓鈀，將松、柏、檜、竹一齊皆築倒，卻才請師父上馬，順大路一齊西行。
畢竟不知前去如何，且聽下回分解。
Musean translation
Mouseia’s complete machine-assisted Musean translation, made directly from the Chinese, passage for passage, covering all 100 chapters and 3,782 source paragraphs of the Traditional Chinese text.
Wuneng Exerts His Strength on Bramble Ridge; Tripitaka Discusses Poetry at the Wood Immortals' Hermitage
The king of Jisai thanked Tripitaka Tang and his disciples for recovering the treasure and catching the monsters. They would take none of the gold and jade he offered, so he ordered his officers to make each traveler two sets of clothes like those they wore, two pairs of shoes and socks, and two belts with rings. He supplied dried and roasted provisions and renewed their travel papers. Then he led his court, the whole city's people, and the monks of Dragon-Subduing Monastery in a grand procession with drums and music to see them off. After twenty li they took leave of the king; after another twenty, the people returned. The monks traveled fifty or sixty li farther, refusing to go back. Some wished to accompany them to the Western Heaven, others to serve them while cultivating themselves. To stop them, Pilgrim plucked thirty or forty hairs, breathed immortal breath on them, and cried, “Change!” They became striped tigers, leaping and roaring across the road. The frightened monks halted. The Great Sage led his master away on horseback, and soon they were far off. Weeping aloud, the monks cried, “Kind and faithful lords! We lack the fortune to be taken with you!”
Leaving the monks to their tears, the four travelers took the main road. Pilgrim recalled his hairs, and they went steadily west. Winter ended and spring came, neither too warm nor too cold for pleasant travel. Then a long ridge rose before them, with the road running along its crest. Tripitaka reined in his horse. Brambles jutted from the ridge, vines twined together, and though a trace of road remained, thorns pressed in on both sides. “Disciples, how can we get through?” “Why not?” asked Pilgrim. “The path lies below the brambles,” Tripitaka said. “Only a snake or insect crawling on its belly could pass. You can hardly straighten your backs in there. How could I ride the horse?” “No matter,” said Bajie. “I'll put my brush-clearing rake to work and part the brambles. I'll get you through even if you ride in a sedan.” “You're strong, but how far can you keep at it? How long is this ridge?” “Let's see,” said Pilgrim. He leaped into the air and found that the thicket stretched beyond sight. Truly:
From nearby earth to the far horizon, mist and rain cling to it.Soft grasses crowd the path, green canopies spread across the mountain.Thick new leaves emerge in tangled masses;Climbing, clinging stems release their fragrance.From afar there seems no end to it;Close by it billows like a bank of green clouds.Hazy and luxuriant, deep and dark,It rustles in the wind and gleams beneath the sun.Pine, cypress, and bamboo grow among it,With plum trees, willows, and still more mulberries.Creepers grip ancient trunks; vines wind around drooping willows.They coil like frames and knit together like beds.Flowers bloom here as though brocade were spread;Unexpected blossoms fill the distance with scent.Who among us has never met with brambles?But who has seen brambles so long on the road west?
Pilgrim descended. “Master, this place runs a long way.” “How far?” “I cannot see the end. Perhaps a thousand li.” Alarmed, Tripitaka asked what they could do. Sha Monk smiled. “We could imitate those who burn wild land: set the thorns alight and cross.” “Nonsense,” said Bajie. “Land is burned in the tenth or eleventh month, when grass and trees are dry. How can we burn this lush spring growth?” “And even if we could,” said Pilgrim, “people might be hurt.” “How shall we cross, then?” Tripitaka asked. “Trust me,” Bajie said.
The Idiot formed a sign, uttered a spell, bent at the waist, and cried, “Grow!” He became twenty zhang tall. He shook his rake and cried, “Change!” Its shaft grew thirty zhang long. Striding forward, he swung it with both hands, clearing brambles to either side. “Follow me, Master!” Tripitaka gladly urged on his horse behind him. Sha Monk bore the baggage, and Pilgrim used his staff to help part the thicket. Bajie worked the whole day, covering over a hundred li. Toward evening they reached an open patch with a stone marker bearing the large words “Bramble Ridge.” Below, in fourteen smaller characters, were two lines: “Eight hundred li of brambles climb and spread; an ancient road that few have ever traveled.” Bajie laughed. “I'll add two lines: ‘From now on Bajie breaks a way straight through; the path lies level all the way to the west.’” Tripitaka dismounted happily. “Disciple, you have worked hard. Let us spend the night here and go on by daylight.” “Don't stop, Master. The weather is clear, we're in good spirits; let's clear the damned road all night.” The elder had to agree.
Bajie pressed on, all of them working without rest, the horse never stopping. After another day and night evening fell again. Tangled growth lay ahead; wind rattled bamboo and sighed through pines. In another clearing stood an ancient shrine among dark pines and cypresses, flowering peach and plum trees. Tripitaka dismounted to inspect it with his disciples. They saw:
An ancient shrine beside a cold stream under a cliff;Thin smoke veils the ruined hill where their gaze falls.White cranes have nested here for uncounted years;Green weeds grow beneath the platform, spring after spring.Bamboo rustles like jade pendants, as though speaking;Birdsong lingers as though telling of sorrow.No dogs or chickens sound; few people pass;Wild flowers and vines curl over the wall.
“This place seems more ill-omened than auspicious,” Pilgrim said. “We should not linger.” “You suspect too much, brother,” said Sha Monk. “There are no people here, but no savage beasts or monster birds either. What is there to fear?” Before he finished, a cold wind blew and an old man emerged from behind the shrine gate. He wore a pointed headcloth, a pale robe, and straw sandals and carried a staff. Behind him came a bare-bodied red-bearded spirit with a green face and tusks, carrying a tray of steamed cakes. The old man knelt. “Great Sage, I am the earth god of Bramble Ridge. Hearing of your arrival, I prepared these cakes for your master and all of you. There are no homes for eight hundred li here; take a little to satisfy your hunger.” Bajie reached eagerly for a cake, but Pilgrim had been scrutinizing the man. “Stop! This is no good man. What sort of earth god are you, trying to deceive me? Taste my staff!” At the blow, the old man turned into a cold gust that lifted Tripitaka away. The Great Sage could not follow its course. Bajie and Sha Monk stared at each other in dismay; the white horse whinnied in fright. The three disciples and the horse gazed far and wide, looking ahead and behind, but found no trace of him.
The old man and his attendant carried Tripitaka to a stone dwelling amid mist and rosy clouds and set him down gently. Taking him by the hand, the elder said, “Fear not, holy monk. We mean no harm. I am the Eighteenfold Elder of Bramble Ridge. On this clear, moonlit night I have brought you here simply to meet friends, discuss poetry, and pass the hours.” Tripitaka grew calm and looked around. Truly:
Thin mist and clouds veil the place;An immortal's dwelling stands serene.Here one may cleanse oneself and cultivate the Way,Plant flowers and tend bamboo.Cranes come often to green cliffs,Frogs call beside the blue marshes.It rivals the alchemist's furnace on Mount Tiantai,And the bright sunset over Mount Hua.Why speak of plowing clouds and fishing for the moon?A hermit's life here deserves all praise.After long sitting, quiet thoughts fill the heart like a sea;Moonlight softly touches the window gauze.
As Tripitaka looked about, the moon and stars shone brighter, and he heard voices: “The Eighteenfold Elder has brought the holy monk!” Three old men came forward. The first bore the dignified look of frost, the second had luxuriant green hair, and the third had a dark, hollow aspect. Each was dressed differently. They bowed, and Tripitaka returned the courtesy. “What virtue have I earned that such immortal elders should honor me?” The Eighteenfold Elder smiled. “We have long heard of your attainment and waited for this meeting. If you will share your precious thoughts and sit with us, we may learn the true workings of meditation.” Tripitaka asked their names. “The frosty one is Lord Solitary Upright; the green-haired one, Sky-Reaching Master; the hollow one, Old Cloud-Brusher. I am called Sturdy Joint.” “How old are you, gentlemen?” Lord Solitary Upright replied:
“A thousand ancient years have passed over me;My abundant leaves uphold the sky, green in all seasons.Fragrant branches coil like dragons and snakes;My shattered shadows layer a frost-white frame.Firm since youth, I have endured into old age;Upright still, I delight in cultivating truth.Crows roost and phoenixes shelter in me;I rise far from the dust of ordinary life.”
Sky-Reaching Master laughed:
“A thousand years I have stood against frost and wind;My high trunk and sacred branches retain their strength.In quiet nights I sound like falling rain;In clear autumn my shade spreads like a cloud.My coiling roots have learned the secret of long life;My allotted span follows the art of never growing old.I shelter cranes and can transform to a dragon;Fresh and green, I stand near the immortals' home.”
Old Cloud-Brusher laughed:
“A thousand winters I have passed with hollow heart;In old age I stand more solitary and clear.Unmixed with noisy dust, I remain austere;Through frost and snow I have acquired my grace.I joined seven worthies in their talk of the Way;With six hermits I traded songs.My knocking sounds like jade and gold, no small music;My native nature keeps company with immortals.”
The Eighteenfold Elder, Sturdy Joint, laughed:
“A little more than a thousand years have passed for me;In dark-green constancy and grace I remain myself.I honor the rain and dew that nurtured me,The creative power of heaven and earth that lent me life.Across ten thousand valleys my branches fill the mist and wind;Through every season my loose needles yield open air.My green canopy shelters immortal guestsAs they play chess, tune zithers, and discuss the Way.”
“Immortal elders,” said Tripitaka, “you have all lived long, and Sturdy Joint even more than a thousand years. At such an age you have attained the Way and still look extraordinary. Are you perhaps the Four White-Haired Elders of the Han?” “You flatter us. We are not those four elders; we are the Four Constancies of these deep mountains. And how old is the holy monk?” Tripitaka folded his hands and bowed:
“Forty years ago I came from my mother's womb;Before my birth disaster threatened my life.To escape death I floated away upon a river;At Gold Mountain I was saved and shed my former lot.I have studied scripture and nurtured my nature without rest;With sincere heart I worship the Buddha, never delaying.My emperor has sent me westward now,And on the road you immortal elders have welcomed me.”
“You have followed the Buddha since birth,” the four said. “A lifelong practitioner, you are indeed a righteous monk who knows the Way. We are fortunate to meet you. Teach us something of the method of meditation.” Tripitaka answered without fear: “Meditation means stillness; the teaching means deliverance. Deliverance through stillness cannot come without awakening. To awaken is to cleanse the heart of troubled thoughts and leave worldly dust behind. A human body is hard to attain; birth in the central lands is rare; the true teaching is difficult to meet. To possess all three is extraordinary fortune. The supreme virtue and subtle Way are beyond sound and form; the six senses and six kinds of consciousness may be swept away. Enlightenment knows neither birth nor death, lack nor excess; it encompasses form and emptiness and releases saint and ordinary man alike. Seek the truth and understand the primal smith's hammer and tongs; awaken to reality and know Shakyamuni's methods. Let the formless show itself and shatter even nirvana. One must awaken within awakening and know within knowing, guarding every spark of spiritual light. Send forth its fierce flame to illuminate the world; let it reveal itself throughout the realm of the Law. At the most subtle depth, guard the inner gate: who can convey this through mere speech? I have long cultivated the meditation of great awakening. Only those with both affinity and resolve can grasp it.” The four listened joyfully, bowed, and took refuge. “Holy monk, you understand meditation at its root.”
Old Cloud-Brusher said, “Meditation may be stillness and the teaching deliverance, but they require a steady nature and sincere heart. Even a truly enlightened immortal remains seated in the doctrine of nonbirth. Our mystery is altogether different.” “The Way is no common thing,” said Tripitaka. “Its substance and function are one. How does yours differ?” The elder laughed. “We are solid from birth, unlike you in substance and function. Heaven and earth gave us bodies, rain and dew their colors. We laugh at wind and frost, and wear down sun and moon. Not a leaf withers; a thousand boughs show our integrity. Such words need no inquiry into emptiness, while you cling to Buddhist phrases. The Way was native to China. Why seek confirmation in the west, wearing out your sandals to find what you cannot name? A stone lion's heart has been carved away; wild-fox spittle seeps to the bone. Forget your origins to pursue meditation and seek the Buddha's reward in vain: such things are riddles of creepers and tangled vine-words, like those on Bramble Ridge. How shall men of this sort be guided, or receive the seal? Examine your original face; in stillness lies a life of your own. Draw water in a bottomless bamboo basket; let a rootless iron tree flower. Plant your feet firm on Spirit-Treasure Peak, then return to meet at the Dragon-Flower assembly.” Tripitaka bowed in thanks. The Eighteenfold Elder helped him, Lord Solitary Upright drew him to his feet, and Sky-Reaching Master laughed. “Cloud-Brusher has given away too much! Rise, holy monk; don't take it all on trust. We met under this bright moon not to debate spiritual practice, but to wander freely in verse.” Old Cloud-Brusher pointed to the stone dwelling. “Shall we go into my little hermitage for tea and poetry?”
The elder bowed slightly and saw three large words above its entrance: “Wood Immortals' Hermitage.” They went in and took their seats. The bare-bodied spirit brought a plate of poria cakes and five cups of fragrant tea. The four elders urged Tripitaka to eat first, but he hesitated suspiciously. After they all ate, he tried two cakes, and all drank their tea. Looking discreetly about, Tripitaka saw a delicate brightness, as though bathed in moonlight:
Water flows out beside the stones;Fragrance drifts from the flowers.Every seat is graceful, airy, and clear;Nowhere is there a speck of dust.
Pleased with the immortal setting, the elder opened his heart in delight and could not resist reciting a line:
“The meditative heart is like a moon unstained by dust.”
Sturdy Joint smilingly supplied the next:
“The poet's thought, a sky washed clear and newly blue.”
Lord Solitary Upright said:
“A lovely line cut freely from embroidered silk.”
Sky-Reaching Master said:
“A fine verse needs no polish, a wondrous jewel.”
Old Cloud-Brusher said:
“Wash away the splendor of the Six Dynasties;Edit anew the ancient courtly hymns and songs.”
“I let a few words slip out without thinking,” said Tripitaka. “That was brandishing an axe before a master carpenter. Your lines are fresh and soaring: you are true poets.” “Do not change the subject,” said Sturdy Joint. “A monk finishes what he begins. You gave us the opening; now give us the ending.” “I cannot,” said Tripitaka. “Perhaps you could finish the poem.” “What a fine heart you have!” Sturdy Joint replied. “You begin it and refuse to bring it to fruition? You mustn't hoard your pearls.” Tripitaka added the last two lines:
“Half reclined among the pine winds, while the tea is yet unbrewed,My unburdened poet's heart brims with spring.”
“What a fine ‘poet's heart brims with spring’!” said the Eighteenfold Elder. “Sturdy Joint,” said Lord Solitary Upright, “you savor poetry so deeply. Why not begin another?” The elder readily agreed. “I'll begin by repeating the last word:
“In spring I have no flowers; in winter I do not wither;Clouds and mist come and go as though they were nothing.”
Sky-Reaching Master said, “I'll take the last word in turn:
“Without wind my graceful shadow sways;When guests arrive they admire my emblem of long life.”
Old Cloud-Brusher followed:
“The picture recalls the firm-jointed elder of the western hills,As pure as the hollow-hearted one of the southern land.”
Lord Solitary Upright continued:
“A husband to the slanting leaves, I serve as beam and pillar;My spreading boughs provide a platform for the magistrate's crow.”
Tripitaka was full of praise. “These are poems of the highest refinement, their noble breath reaching heaven. Let me try another two lines.” “As one of the Way, holy monk, your powers are well nurtured,” said Lord Solitary Upright. “Rather than linked lines, please give us an entire poem so that we may try to answer it.” Tripitaka had little choice but to recite a regulated poem:
“Staff in hand I journey west to worship the King of the Law,Seeking wondrous scriptures to spread afar.Three blooms of golden lingzhi bless the realm of verse;A thousand flowers on precious trees perfume the lotus buds.At the top of a hundred-foot pole, take one more step;Through ten directions let your deeds and being stand.When your form is shaped into an august jade image,The place of practice stands before the gate of paradise.”
The four elders praised him highly. “Though I have little skill,” said the Eighteenfold Elder, “I'll dare an answer.” He recited:
“My solitary, steadfast joints laugh at the king of trees;The sacred long-lived chun cannot spread its name like mine.A hundred zhang of dragon and serpent shadow fill the empty mountain;For a thousand years the spring draws amber fragrance from my roots.I lend heaven and earth an air of strength;Wind and rain reveal and hide my form at will.In my old age I lack an immortal's bones, alas;Only my poria cakes confer the gift of length of days.”
“A bold opening,” said Lord Solitary Upright, “and powerful linked lines, though the ending is too modest. Excellent! I too shall offer an answer.”
“My frosty form welcomes the king of birds to roost;Before the Hall of Four Marvels my usefulness is praised.Heavy dew hangs beaded tassels beneath my green canopy;Light wind scatters cool fragrance across stony teeth.By long galleries on still nights, soft recitations sound;In the ancient hall's autumn shade, my faint shadow hides.I once offered birthday blessings to welcome the new year;Now old, I live in proud seclusion on this mountain.”
“Fine verses, drawn from the heart of heaven and the flank of the moon,” said Sky-Reaching Master. “How could I answer them? But I must not sit idle. Let me try a few lines.”
“As timber for beams and pillars, I stand near emperors;My fame spreads outside the Palace of Great Purity.Beneath the sunny eaves a breath of green seems to arrive;Across a shadowed wall my scent passes as ever.My sturdy joints stay proudly green for a thousand years;My deep roots are bound and hidden in the depths below.My cloud-reaching crown spreads its gracious shadow,Far from the gaudy setting of common flowers.”
“The three gentlemen's poems are elegant and clear,” said Old Cloud-Brusher, “as though they had opened bags of brocade. I am weak and without talent, but their teaching has opened my mind. Let me improvise some lines; I hope you won't laugh.”
“The sage king delighted in the garden by the Qi's bends;A thousand acres beside the Wei spread my fame.My green stems bear no stain of Xiang's ladies' tears;My mottled sheaths carry the scent of Han histories.My leaves never change their color under frost;Why should my mist-veiled tips conceal their hue?Since Ziyou died, few understand me;Yet my name lives forever in the world of ink.”
“Your poems spill phoenixes and pearls,” Tripitaka said. “Even You and Xia could not praise them enough. I am deeply grateful for your kindness. But it is late, and my three disciples must be waiting for me somewhere. I cannot remain. Please tell me how to return.” The four laughed. “Do not worry, holy monk. Such a meeting comes once in a thousand years. The sky is clear, and though it is late, the moon makes it bright as day. Stay a little longer. At dawn we will escort you across the ridge, where you will surely meet your disciples.”
As they spoke, two maidservants in blue appeared outside the dwelling carrying crimson gauze lanterns. Behind them came an immortal woman bearing a spray of apricot blossoms. She entered smiling. What did she look like?
Her figure was green as kingfisher feathers,Her rosy face brighter than rouge.Her starry eyes shone with color;Her graceful moth-wing brows were even and fine.A pale-red skirt patterned with five-colored plum blossoms fell below;Above she wore a light vest like fire seen through smoke.Her curved shoes bore phoenix-beak tips;Brocade-edged silk stockings trailed beneath.As lovely as a goddess of Tiantai,She rivaled beautiful Daji of ancient days.
The four elders rose. “What brings you here, Apricot Immortal?” She bowed. “I heard a fine guest was exchanging verse here, so I came hoping to meet him.” The Eighteenfold Elder indicated Tripitaka. “Here he is. No need to ask.” Tripitaka bowed but said nothing. “Bring tea,” she ordered. Two girls in yellow brought a red lacquer tray bearing six fine porcelain bowls, each with rare fruits and a spoon, and a white-iron teapot inlaid with brass, fragrant with tea. Showing her slender fingers, she poured and served Tripitaka first, then the four elders, and finally took a bowl herself.
“Why don't you sit, Apricot Immortal?” asked Sky-Reaching Master. She sat, and after tea asked, “What lovely verses have graced your gathering tonight? Let me hear some.” “Ours were crude,” said Old Cloud-Brusher. “The holy monk's were worthy of the Tang at its height.” “If you are willing, let me hear them.” The elders recited Tripitaka's poems and his discourse on meditation. Beaming, she said, “I have little talent and should not disgrace myself, but these lines inspire me to answer the later poem. May I try?” She recited:
“My spreading boughs gave me a name with Emperor Wu of Han;Confucius raised his lectern near me in Zhou's time.Immortal Dong loved me and planted a forest;Sun Chu cherished my fragrance at the Cold Food feast.Rain moistens my tender, blushing beauty;Mist wraps my green form, now visible, now hidden.I know that when too ripe I taste a little sour;Year after year I fall beside the threshing floor.”
The four elders praised her. “Refined, free of dust, and alive with spring! How fine: ‘Rain moistens my tender, blushing beauty’!” She laughed softly. “You flatter me. The holy monk's verses reveal a heart of brocade and a mouth that breathes embroidery. If he will grant me a poem, I would be grateful.” Tripitaka did not answer. Growing more affectionate, she edged closer and whispered, “Dear guest, don't sit so solemnly. On such a fine night, why not enjoy yourself? Human life is so brief.” “The Apricot Immortal admires you,” said the Eighteenfold Elder. “Will you not return her feeling? That would be ungracious.” Lord Solitary Upright said, “The holy monk is a man of reputation and the Way. He would never behave improperly. Such advances may make us guilty of damaging his good name. If she wishes to marry, let Old Cloud-Brusher and the Eighteenfold Elder be matchmakers, while Sky-Reaching Master and I stand as guarantors. Wouldn't that make a fine union?”
Tripitaka's face changed. He sprang up and cried, “You are all monsters of the same kind, luring me here! I thought our humble talk was only of the mysteries of the Way. Now you try to entrap me with a beautiful woman! What is the meaning of this?” The four elders bit their fingers in alarm and fell silent. The bare-bodied spirit thundered, “Monk, you don't know a fine offer when you hear one! What is wrong with my sister? She's graceful and beautiful, skilled with needle and thread, and her poetic talent alone makes her your equal. Why refuse? Don't miss your chance. Lord Solitary Upright is right: if you won't join her without marriage, I'll conduct the wedding myself.” Tripitaka was appalled and refused them despite all their urging. “You ignore our kindness,” the spirit threatened. “If we let our wild natures out, we could carry you off so that you could neither be a monk nor marry a woman. What a wasted life!” The elder remained steadfast as stone and iron. “My disciples must be looking for me,” he thought, and began to weep. The woman came close with a smile, took a honey-colored silk handkerchief from her sleeve, and tried to wipe his tears. “Do not grieve, dear guest. Come, let us embrace and enjoy ourselves.” Tripitaka shouted, sprang up, and tried to flee. They pulled him back and struggled with him until dawn.
Suddenly he heard someone calling, “Master! Where are you?” Pilgrim, Bajie, and Sha Monk had searched through the thorns without rest all night, leading the horse and carrying the baggage. By cloud and on foot they had crossed the eight hundred li of Bramble Ridge to its western slope, where they heard Tripitaka shouting. “Wukong, I'm here! Come save me!” the elder cried as he struggled through the door. The four elders, spirit, woman, and maids shimmered and vanished.
Bajie and Sha Monk arrived at once. “Master, how did you get here?” Tripitaka clutched Pilgrim. “Disciples, what trouble I have caused you! Last night the old man you threatened while he offered us food as the earth god carried me away. He led me inside, where three more elders came to meet me. They called me ‘holy monk,’ spoke with refinement, and composed remarkable poems. We traded verses until midnight. Then a beautiful woman arrived with lanterns, recited a poem, and called me ‘dear guest.’ When she wanted to marry me, I realized the danger. I refused, but they offered to act as matchmakers and witnesses and conduct the wedding. I would not consent. They were struggling with me when you came. Perhaps daylight or fear of you made them vanish.” “Did you ask their names?” Pilgrim said. “The first was the Eighteenfold Elder, called Sturdy Joint. The others were Lord Solitary Upright, Sky-Reaching Master, and Old Cloud-Brusher. The woman was called the Apricot Immortal.” “Where are they?” Bajie asked. “I don't know where they went, but the place where we discussed poetry is near.”
They found a stone cliff inscribed “Wood Immortals' Hermitage.” “Here it is,” Tripitaka said. Pilgrim looked closely: there was a great juniper, an old cypress, an old pine, an old bamboo with a red maple behind it, and beyond the cliff an old apricot, two winter plum trees, and two cassias. “Do you see the monsters?” he laughed. “No,” Bajie said. “These trees have become spirits. The Eighteenfold Elder is the pine, Lord Solitary Upright the cypress, Sky-Reaching Master the juniper, Old Cloud-Brusher the bamboo. The bare-bodied spirit is the maple; the Apricot Immortal is the apricot, and the maids are the cassias and winter plums.” Bajie struck with his rake without waiting to judge. He uprooted and felled the two plums, two cassias, apricot, and maple; blood streamed from their roots. Tripitaka caught his arm. “Wuneng, don't hurt them. Though they have gained power, they did not harm me. Let us find our road.” “Don't pity them, Master,” Pilgrim said. “They may become dangerous monsters and harm others.” The Idiot then struck down the pine, cypress, juniper, and bamboo as well. He invited his master onto the horse, and all went west along the main road.
What would happen ahead? Listen to the next chapter to find out.
Plain English translation
Mouseia’s complete Plain English edition, made independently and directly from the Chinese, covering all 100 chapters and 3,782 source paragraphs of the Traditional Chinese text.
Wuneng Labors on Bramble Ridge; Tripitaka Talks Poetry in the Wood Immortals' Hut
Now the king of Jisai thanked the Tang monk Tripitaka and his disciples for winning back the treasure and catching the monster; the gold and jade they would not take, not a hair of it. He ordered the master of carriages to make two sets of each of the four pilgrims' everyday clothes, two pairs of shoes and stockings each, and two belts each, and to lay in dried provisions and roasted grain; he had their travel papers changed, brought out his state carriage, and with all the civil and military officers, all the townspeople, and the monks of the Dragon-Subduing Monastery, with pipes and drums playing, sent the four pilgrims out of the city. About twenty li out, they first took leave of the king; the crowd went another twenty li and turned back. The monks of the Dragon-Subduing Monastery followed fifty or sixty li and would not turn back: some wanted to go on with them to the Western Heaven, some wanted to stay and serve them in religion. Seeing that none of them would go home, Pilgrim worked a trick: he plucked thirty or forty hairs from his body, blew a mouthful of magic breath, cried "Change!" and they all became blazing tigers, barring the road ahead, roaring and leaping. Only then were the monks afraid and dared go no farther. The Great Sage led the master on at speed, and in a short while they were far away. The monks wept aloud, all crying: "Kind and faithful sirs! We have no fate with you—you will not save us after all."
Let the monks weep. Master and disciples took to the main road, recalled the hairs, and went straight west. The seasons move quickly: winter was ending and spring already at hand, neither warm nor cold, fine weather for traveling at ease. Suddenly a long ridge appeared, with the road running over its top. Tripitaka reined in and looked: on the ridge brambles branched out everywhere, and vines twined and tangled; though the track of a road was there, bramble spikes and thorn needles lay heaped on both sides. The Tang monk called: "Disciples, how can this road be walked?" Pilgrim said: "How can it not be walked?" He said again: "Disciples, the track of the road is below, and the brambles above. Only a snake or a worm crawling flat along the ground could get through. If you walk it, you cannot even straighten your back—how am I to ride a horse?" Bajie said: "No matter. Let me bring out my old firewood-raking skill and part the brambles with the nail rake. Never mind riding a horse—I would get a carried sedan through, I promise you." Tripitaka said: "Strong as you are, you cannot keep it up forever, and who knows how far it goes—how would you spend so much strength?" Pilgrim said: "No need to argue. Let me go and look." He gave a leap into the air and looked out: brambles without end. Truly it was:
They ringed the earth and reached to the sky, thick with mist and carrying rain.Along the road soft tangles lay in confusion; over the hills green canopies spread.Dense and clustered, new leaves breaking out; climbing and clinging, all in fragrant flower.From far off no end could be seen; from near, it was like a waste of green cloud.Hazy and shaggy; lush and dark.The wind hissed through them; the sun blazed down on them.Among them were pines and cypresses and bamboo, many plums, many willows, more mulberries.Vines wrapped the old trees; creepers twined the drooping willows.They coiled like trellises and linked like beds.Here flowers opened, truly a spread of brocade; there blossoms breathed their scent from far away.What man alive has not met brambles? But who ever saw brambles grow so long in the West?
Pilgrim looked a long while, brought his cloud down, and said: "Master, this place runs far." Tripitaka asked: "How far?" Pilgrim said: "It goes out past sight—perhaps a thousand li." Tripitaka was shocked: "What are we to do?" Sha Monk laughed: "Master, don't worry. Let us do as the burners of the wilds do: set a fire, burn the brambles off, and go through." Bajie said: "Don't talk nonsense. Burning the wilds is done in the tenth or eleventh month, when the grass is sere and the trees withered, and only then will the fire take. Now is the very time of their full growth—how would it burn?" Pilgrim said: "Even if it would burn, we should be feared for it." Tripitaka said: "Then how are we ever to cross?" Bajie laughed: "To cross, you must rely on me."
A fine Idiot! He made the sign, said a spell, bent his back, and cried "Grow!"—and his body rose some twenty zhang tall. He shook the nail rake and cried "Change!"—and the rake's handle stretched to some thirty zhang long. Striding out, he swung the rake with both hands and swept the brambles aside, left and right: "Master, follow me." Tripitaka rejoiced and urged his horse close behind; Sha Monk carried the loads; Pilgrim too parted the way with his iron staff. That day their hands never stopped, and they made a hundred-odd li. Toward evening they came to a stretch of open ground. In the middle of the road stood a stone tablet with three large characters: "Bramble Ridge"; and below them two lines of fourteen small characters: "Eight hundred li of brambles, tangled and climbing; since old times a road, and few the men who walk it." Bajie saw it and laughed: "Let old pig add two lines of his own: 'From today Bajie can break them open, and straight through to the West the road runs level.'" Tripitaka, pleased, dismounted: "Disciple, you have tired yourself. Let us pass the night here and go on at daylight." Bajie said: "Master, don't stop. While the sky is fair and I am in the mood, let us rake the road open all night and be done with it." The elder had to go along with him.
Bajie worked on ahead, and master and disciples, hands never stopping, hooves never halting, went another day and night, and the sky darkened again. Ahead the tangles thickened, and they heard the wind knocking on bamboo, and the rustle of pines. Then came another stretch of open ground, and in its middle an old temple. Outside the temple gate pines and cypresses stood dark green, and peach and plum trees vied in beauty. Tripitaka dismounted and looked with his three disciples, and saw:
Before the cliff an old temple pillowed on a cold stream; at sundown wild mist locked the ruined mounds.Among white cranes the years go deep; under terraces of green weeds spring and autumn pass of themselves.Bamboo swayed like green pendants, and one seemed to hear speech; birds played their lingering notes as if telling sorrow.No cockcrow and no dog bark, few human tracks; idle flowers and wild vines climbed over the wall top.
Pilgrim looked and said: "This place holds little luck and much danger; it is no good sitting here long." Sha Monk said: "Brother, you are too quick to suspect. A place like this, with no sign of men, and no monster beast or demon bird in it—what is there to fear?" Before the words were done, a chill wind blew, and from behind the temple gate turned out an old man, a horned cap on his head, plain clothes on his body, a staff in his hand, straw sandals on his feet. Behind him followed a demon footman with a blue face and jutting tusks, a red beard, and a bare body, carrying on his head a plate of steamed cakes. He knelt and said: "Great Sage, this small god is the earth god of Bramble Ridge. Knowing the Great Sage had come, and having nothing to receive you with, I have prepared this plate of steamed cakes to offer the elder master, one meal for each of you. For eight hundred li around there is not a house; take a little to stay your hunger." Bajie was delighted and reached out his hand for the cakes. But Pilgrim had been watching the man closely for a long time; he shouted: "Stop! This fellow is no honest man. None of your rudeness—what kind of earth god are you, to come fooling old Sun? Take the staff!" The old man, seeing the blow coming, turned his body into a gust of chill wind, and with a whoosh swept the elder up and away, floating and swaying, no one knew where. The Great Sage, frantic, had no trail to follow; Bajie and Sha Monk stared at each other and went pale, and the white horse only whinnied in fright. The three brothers, with the horse behind them, wandered dazed, gazing far and wide, and there was not a trace to be found; they hunted back and forth—no more of that here.
Now the old man and the demon footman carried the elder to a stone house wrapped in mist and colored glow, and set him down gently. Taking his hand, the old man said: "Holy monk, don't be afraid. We are no evil men: I am the Eighteenth Lord of Bramble Ridge. On a night of clear wind and bright moon I have asked you here to meet friends and talk of poems, to pass the evening pleasantly." The elder came back to himself, opened his eyes, and looked around carefully. Truly it was:
A dwelling far off in dim banks of cloud; a clear immortal land, and a household there.Just the place to cleanse oneself and cultivate; fit for planting bamboo and setting out flowers.Ever seen: cranes coming in over the green cliffs; often heard: frogs calling in the dark pools.Finer than the elixir furnaces of Tiantai; still awaiting the bright clouds over Mount Hua.Speak of plowing clouds and fishing by moonlight—here a recluse may hold up his head.Sitting long, the quiet heart is deep as the sea; dimly the moon climbs the gauze of the window.
Tripitaka was still looking about when the moon grew bright and the stars cleared, and he heard men talking together. All were saying: "The Eighteenth Lord has brought the holy monk." The elder looked up and saw three old men: the first of frosty grace and fine bearing; the second with green locks swaying; the third of hollow heart and dark-green hue. Each had his own face and his own dress, and all came and bowed to Tripitaka. The elder returned the bow and said: "What virtue has your disciple, that you immortal elders should stoop to show him such kindness?" The Eighteenth Lord laughed: "We have long heard that the holy monk has the Way, and we have waited long; today we are fortunate to see you. If you will not begrudge your pearls and jade, sit with us a while at ease and open your heart, and you will show us the true line of meditation." Tripitaka bowed: "May I ask your honored names?" The Eighteenth Lord said: "The frosty one is styled Lord Straight and Solitary; the green-locked one Master High in the Sky; the hollow-hearted one the Cloud-Brushing Old Man; and I am called Sturdy-Jointed." Tripitaka said: "How many years have you four venerable ones seen?" Lord Straight and Solitary answered:
My count runs past a thousand years; my leaves prop the sky and are lush in all four seasons.My fragrant boughs stand dense, shaped like dragons and snakes; my broken shadows fall layer on layer on this frost-and-snow body.From youth I have been hard, and able to bear old age; from now on, straight and upright, I delight in cultivating the truth.Crows roost in me and phoenixes lodge in me, no common stock; lofty and dense, far from the world's dust.
Master High in the Sky laughed and said:
My years are a thousand, and I defy wind and frost; high-trunked, with numinous branches, strong of myself.On quiet nights my sound is like dripping rain; on clear autumn days my shade spreads like cloud.My coiled roots have won the secret of long life; my allotted span would learn the recipe of never growing old.I keep cranes and would become a dragon, no common stock; gray and crisp, I border the immortals' land.
The Cloud-Brushing Old Man laughed and said:
For a thousand autumns I have idled through the cold of the year; in my old age at ease, clearer and quieter still.Unmixed with the noisy dust, I keep my coolness; full of frost and snow, I have my free ways all the same.With the seven worthies for companions I talk of the Way; with the six idle ones for friends I trade songs.My ring of jade and strike of gold are no petty things; my nature is heaven's own, and I roam with the immortals.
Sturdy-Jointed, the Eighteenth Lord, laughed and said:
I too am a thousand years and more; gray, true, and lovely, at ease with myself.Pity the rain and dew whose power made me; I borrow the skill of heaven and earth that shapes all things.Of ten thousand valleys' wind and mist, I am the most flourishing; in the fall of the four seasons none outdoes my open shade.I spread my green canopy to keep immortal guests; we play chess, tune the zither, and read the books of the Way.
Tripitaka thanked them and said: "You four immortal elders all enjoy great age, and Sturdy-Jointed has passed a thousand years. To win the Way at such an age, with such rare bearing—are you not the four white-haired elders of the Han time?" The four old men said: "You praise us too much, too much. We are not the four elders of Han but the four self-kept men of the deep mountains. May we ask the holy monk's age?" Tripitaka, hands together and bowing, answered:
Forty years ago I left my mother's womb; before I was born, calamity was already on my life.Fleeing death I fell into the water and rolled with the waves; luckily I reached Golden Mountain and was saved in the flesh.I nourished my nature and read the scriptures without slackening; with a true heart I worshiped the Buddha and would not idle.Now the emperor has sent me west, and on the road the immortal elders have stooped to love me.
All four praised him together: "Holy monk, from your mother's womb you followed the Buddha's teaching; truly you have cultivated yourself from childhood—a monk truly upright and on the Way. We are fortunate to see your face, and we dare beg instruction. Teach us a little of the law of meditation, and you will comfort our whole lives." The elder, hearing this, spoke out plainly and without fear, and said to them all: "Meditation is stillness; the law is the ferry across. The crossing made in stillness is not made without awakening. Awakening means washing the heart and rinsing the thoughts, leaving the vulgar and parting from the dust. A human body is hard to win; birth in the central land is hard; the true law is hard to meet: to have all three together is the greatest luck of all. The highest virtue and the subtlest Way are faint and far; yet the six roots and six senses can be swept away. Bodhi neither dies nor is born; nothing is left over, nothing wanting; it wraps both emptiness and form, and puts aside both saint and common man. Seek out the true grip of the Primal Beginning, and wake to the real art of Shakyamuni. Let the unseen mover have its way, and tread Nirvana underfoot. One must awaken within awakening, realize within realization, and guard whole that one spark of spirit-light. Let the blazing flame out to light the world of the living; through the whole field of the law it stands revealed alone. At its most hidden and most fine, guard it the more firmly: who can ferry a man through the pass of mystery by mere words? From the origin I have cultivated the great awakening of meditation; only those with fate and with will can hold it and wake." The four old men drank it in with both ears, in boundless joy. One after another they bowed their heads, took refuge in his teaching, bowed low in thanks, and said: "The holy monk is the very root of the awakening of meditation."
The Cloud-Brushing Old Man said: "Still as meditation is, and ferrying as the law is, they need a settled nature and a true heart. Even one who becomes a true immortal of great awakening sits at last in the way of the unborn. Our mystery is a different thing again." Tripitaka said: "The Way is no common thing; its substance and its use are one—how is yours different?" The Cloud-Brushing Old Man laughed: "We were born hard and solid, and our substance and use are not like yours. Heaven and earth gave us our bodies, and rain and dew give us our color. We laugh at wind and frost, and we wear away sun and moon. Not one leaf of ours withers; a thousand branches keep their integrity. If we are talking like this, it is not to knock at the gates of the void while you cling to Sanskrit words. The Way, at its root, is at home in the Middle Kingdom; you go seeking proof of it in the Western Heaven, wearing out your straw shoes for who knows what? You scoop the heart out of a stone lion, and pour the spit of foxes into the marrow of your bones. Forgetting the root, you study meditation; wildly begging for the Buddha's fruit—it is all riddles of bramble vines like the ones on my Bramble Ridge, tangled talk of vines and gourds. How should such gentlemen be led in? How should such goings-on be sealed and handed on? You must look to the face before your eyes, and in stillness you will find your living after all. A bottomless bamboo basket draws water; a rootless iron tree breaks into flower. Set your foot firm on the peak of the Numinous Treasure, and come back to the elegant meeting at the Dragon-Flower Feast." Tripitaka heard this, knocked his head, and bowed in thanks. The Eighteenth Lord helped him up with his hand, Lord Straight and Solitary pulled him to his feet, and Master High in the Sky gave a great laugh: "The Cloud-Brushing One's talk has plainly given the secret away. Holy monk, get up—do not believe it all. We asked you here under this bright moon not to discuss practice at all, but to chant verses at our ease and let our hearts out." The Cloud-Brushing Old Man laughed and pointed at the stone house: "If we are to chant, come into the little hut first for a cup of tea—what do you say?"
The elder really did rise and look at the stone house. Over the door were three large characters: "Wood Immortals' Hut." They went in together and took their seats in order. Suddenly the Bare-Bodied Demon Footman came in carrying a plate of poria jelly and offered five cups of fragrant broth. The four elders asked the Tang monk to eat first; Tripitaka, startled and in doubt, dared not eat. The four elders enjoyed it together, and only then did Tripitaka take two pieces. Each drank his fragrant broth, and the cups were taken away. Tripitaka watched on the sly, and saw that all around shone delicate and luminous, like a scene under the moon:
Water flows out from beside the stones; fragrance drifts in from within the flowers.The whole room is clear, empty, and refined, without one grain of dust.
The elder, seeing this immortal land, felt it all just right; his spirits lifted, his heart opened, and in his great delight he could not help reciting one line:
"The heart of meditation is like the moon, without a speck of dust."
Old Sturdy-Jointed laughed and joined in at once:
"The mood for poems is like the sky, bluer still for being clear."
Lord Straight and Solitary said:
"Fine lines are cut at ease and rolled out like woven brocade."
Master High in the Sky said:
"Good writing spits out rare pearls without an effort."
The Cloud-Brushing Old Man said:
"The Six Dynasties washed all their splendor away; the Four Beginnings trimmed anew, the airs and hymns kept apart."
Tripitaka said: "Your disciple let his tongue slip and babbled a few characters—it is truly the axe flashing at Lu Ban's own door. Hearing you venerable immortals, so fresh and free—you are true masters of poetry." Old Sturdy-Jointed said: "Holy monk, no more polite talk. A religious man must finish what he begins: you have the opening line—where is the closing one? Complete the piece, I beg you." Tripitaka said: "Your disciple cannot. Let the Eighteenth Lord close it and make the piece whole." Sturdy-Jointed said: "What a heart you have! You began the line—why will you not end it? To begrudge your pearls is not the way." Tripitaka had no choice but to add the last two lines:
"Half a pillow of pine wind, and the tea not yet brewed; the singing mood, free and easy, fills my breast with spring."
The Eighteenth Lord said: "A fine 'singing mood, free and easy, filling the breast with spring'!" Lord Straight and Solitary said: "Sturdy-Jointed, you know the taste of poetry well—that is why you go on chewing it. Why not begin another piece?" The Eighteenth Lord too gladly did not refuse: "I will begin with linked words, each line taking up the word the last one ended with:
Spring brings no bloom and winter brings no withering; clouds come and mists go, as if nothing were there."
Master High in the Sky said: "I too will carry on the linked word with two lines:
Nothing stirs the wind, yet the swaying shadow dances; a guest delights in the picture of blessing and long life."
The Cloud-Brushing Old Man also carried on the linked word:
The picture is like the firm-jointed elder of the western hills; the clarity of the hollow-hearted lord of the southern land."
Lord Straight and Solitary carried on the linked word too:
The lord, for his side-branching leaves, is counted a roof-beam; the terrace, for its level boughs, makes a perch for the censor bird."
The elder heard and praised them without end: "Truly the high spring snow of noble song—a noble spirit rushing at the sky. Your disciple is without talent, but may he begin two lines more?" Lord Straight and Solitary said: "The holy monk is a man of the Way, a man of great cultivation. There is no need to go on linking lines; pray give us a whole piece, so that we may try to answer it as best we can." Tripitaka could not refuse, and laughed as he chanted one:
Staff in hand I came west to bow to the King of the Law, wishing to win the wondrous scriptures to spread afar.The golden herb's threefold flower is the luck of the poets' stage; the jeweled tree's thousand flowers scent the lotus seed.On a hundred-foot pole one must step forward still; in the worlds of the ten quarters one settles how to go and how to stay.Cultivated into a jade image, a solemn body: before the gate of bliss itself is the place of practice.
The four elders heard it through and praised it to the skies. The Eighteenth Lord said: "Your servant has no talent, but he will be bold and overstep, and add one in answer." He said:
Sturdy of joint, tall and alone, I laugh at the king of trees; the magic chun tree is not so famed as I.On the empty mountain, a shadow of dragons and snakes a hundred feet tall; drawn from the spring, a perfume of thousand-year amber.I know how to lend spirit and bearing to heaven and earth; I delight in wind and rain to change my going and my staying.Old and worn, I am ashamed I have no immortal bones; only the poria jelly knots my field of long life.
Lord Straight and Solitary said: "This poem's opening is bold, its linked lines are strong, but the closing line humbles you too much. Admirable, admirable! Your servant will answer one too." He said:
My frosty grace has always loved to lodge the king of birds; before the Hall of the Four Wonders my great vessel is lifted high.Heavy dew and pearl tassels beneath the green canopy; light wind on the stone teeth, breaking the cold fragrance.In the long corridor on still nights my chanting is soft; in the old hall's autumn shade my pale shadow hides.On New Year's Day I greeted the spring and offered wishes of long life; in old age my pride is lodged in the mountain fields.
Master High in the Sky said, laughing: "Good poems, good poems—truly written from the moon's ribs and the heart of heaven. What skill have I to answer them? But I cannot let it pass without chipping in a few lines." He said:
Timber for roof-beams stands near kings; outside the Palace of Great Clarity its name rings out.Against the sunny porch it seems to bring the breath of green; past the dark wall it always goes, trailing fragrant green.Its stately joints stand stern, lovely through the ages; its deep roots are bound and hidden in the nine springs.A crown that pierces the clouds, a shadow swaying—it does not enter the gaudy lists of the common flowers.
The Cloud-Brushing Old Man said: "The poems of these three lords are lofty, elegant, and spare—you have truly opened the brocade bag. My body has no strength and my belly no talent; yet by the teaching of these three lords the fog in my head has suddenly cleared. Since it cannot be helped, I will dash off a few doggerel lines—please do not laugh at them." The poem says:
In the garden of Qiao'ao I delight in the sage kings; along the Wei River's thousand acres I let myself be cut and carried.Green jade unspotted by the Xiang goddesses' tears; striped sheaths fit to hand down the scent of the Han histories.Frost leaves from the first never change their color; misty tips—from now on, why should they hide their hue?Since Ziyu died, few know my music; my name lasts through all ages in the field of ink.
Tripitaka said: "The poems of you venerable immortals truly breathe out phoenixes and spit pearls—even Ziyou and Zixia could find nothing to add. Your deep kindness and warm feeling move me to the depths. But the night is already deep, and my three small disciples must be waiting for me somewhere. Your disciple cannot stay long; I beg leave to go back and look for them—that would be your greatest kindness of all. I ask you venerable immortals to show me the road home." The four laughed: "Holy monk, do not worry. For us too this is a meeting of a thousand years. The sky is clear and fine; though the night is deep, the moon is bright as day. Sit a while longer. At daylight we will see you far over the ridge, and you are sure to meet your worthy disciples."
As they talked, outside the stone house came two maids in green, carrying a pair of crimson gauze lanterns, leading a fairy maiden behind them. The maiden held an apricot blossom in her fingers and came in smiling to greet the company. How did she look? She was made like this:
Her green figure dressed like kingfisher wings; her red face outdid rouge.Her starry eyes still flashed with color; her moth brows were fine and even.Below, a five-colored plum-blossom skirt of pale red; above, a light jacket the color of fire in mist.Her curved shoes bent like phoenix beaks; her silk stockings trailed like brocade over mud.Charming and tender as the girl of Tiantai; no less lovely than Daji of old.
The four elders leaned forward and asked: "Where does the Apricot Immortal come from?" The girl made a deep bow to the company and said: "Hearing that a fine guest was here trading verses, I have come to call, and beg to meet him." The Eighteenth Lord pointed at the Tang monk: "The fine guest is here—no need to beg a meeting." Tripitaka bowed low and said nothing. The girl called: "Bring tea, quickly." Two more maids in yellow came in holding a red lacquered tray, on it six fine porcelain cups, each with a few rare fruits in it and a spoon laid across; and a teapot of white iron bound with yellow brass, breathing out fragrant tea. She poured the tea, showed her spring-onion fingers, and offered the porcelain cups first to Tripitaka, then to the four elders, and then took one herself and drank with them.
Master High in the Sky said: "Apricot Immortal, why don't you sit?" Only then did the girl sit. When the tea was done, she leaned forward and asked: "Venerable immortals, you are making merry tonight—may I beg a line or two of your fine verses?" The Cloud-Brushing Old Man said: "Our words are all doggerel; only the holy monk's are true high-Tang work, worthy of all admiration." The girl said: "If you will not begrudge the teaching, let me see one." The four elders then read out the elder's earlier poem, his later poem, and his discourse on meditation. The girl, all springtime smiles, said to the company: "I am without talent, and it is not for me to make a show; but hearing these fine lines, it seems a shame to let them pass. Would it be too much for me to answer the later poem with one of my own?" And she recited aloud:
Under the canopy I keep the name of Emperor Wu of Han; in the Zhou time Confucius raised his altar on high.Dong the immortal loved me and planted me grove on grove; Sun Chu prized me once for the Cold Food fire.Rain moistens my red beauty, delicate and tender; mist steams my green color, now shown, now hidden.I know myself overripe, with a tang of sourness; I fall year after year to lie by the threshing floor.
The four elders heard the poem, and everyone congratulated her: "Pure, elegant, above the dust; spring is folded into every line. Fine line—'rain moistens my red beauty, delicate and tender'! 'Rain moistens my red beauty, delicate and tender!'" The girl laughed and answered softly: "I am abashed, abashed. Just now I heard the holy monk's verses—truly a brocade heart and an embroidered mouth. If you will not begrudge your pearls and jade, might you grant me one more piece?" The Tang monk dared not answer. The girl began to show her fondness; sidling and pressing, she came near his seat and said in a low whisper: "Fine guest, on such a fine night, why not stay and enjoy yourself a while? How much of life's brightness does a man have?" The Eighteenth Lord said: "The Apricot Immortal is full of admiration from below; can the holy monk have no wish to come down and meet her? If you will not take pity on her, you do not know what is fitting." Lord Straight and Solitary said: "The holy monk is a man of the Way and a man of name; he will never do a thing in an underhand way. Such goings-on as this would only bring blame on ourselves—to sully a man's name and spoil a man's virtue is not far sight. If the Apricot Immortal truly means it, let the Cloud-Brushing Old Man and the Eighteenth Lord be the matchmakers, and Master High in the Sky and I stand godfathers to the match, and make this marriage—what could be finer?"
At these words Tripitaka changed color, sprang up, and cried out: "You are all one kind of monster, trying to lure me like this. At first it was well enough to talk of mysteries and the Way in humble words. But now you would cheat and injure this poor monk with a beauty trap—what kind of conduct is that?" The four elders, seeing Tripitaka's anger, bit their fingers in dismay and said no more. The Bare-Bodied Demon Footman stormed like thunder: "This monk has no sense of his good fortune! What is wrong with this elder sister of ours? Her looks are fine and graceful, her jade flesh and lovely form—never mind her needlework; that one stretch of poetic gift alone is a match for you. Why do you refuse so obstinately? Don't miss your chance. Lord Straight and Solitary is quite right: if it may not be done offhand, let me arrange the marriage for you." Tripitaka, frightened, went white; but say what they would, he would not consent. The demon footman said again: "Monk, we speak you fair and you will not listen. If we let out our country temper, we will carry you off, so that you can be neither monk nor husband—won't that be a life wasted?" The elder's heart was metal and stone; he stood fast and would not yield. He thought to himself: "Where are my disciples looking for me now?" At the thought the tears fell from his eyes. The girl, all smiles, crept to his side, took a honey-colored silk kerchief from her green sleeve, wiped his tears, and said: "Fine guest, don't be distressed. Come and lean on jade and nestle in fragrance with me—let us go and play." The elder cried "Ha!" with a bark, sprang up, and made to go. They pulled and dragged at him, and the row went on till daylight.
Suddenly a voice called: "Master! Master! Where are you, talking away over there?" It was the Great Sage Sun with Bajie and Sha Monk, leading the horse and carrying the loads, their feet never still all night, threading brambles, hunting east and west. They had just crossed, half on cloud and half in mist, past the western foot of the eight-hundred-li Bramble Ridge, when they heard the Tang monk shouting, and they shouted back. The elder struggled to the door and called: "Wukong, I am here! Come and save me, come and save me!" The four elders, the demon footman, the girl, and the maids gave one shimmer and were gone.
In a moment Bajie and Sha Monk were at his side: "Master, how did you come to be here?" Tripitaka clutched Pilgrim: "Disciples, how you have labored for me! Last night I saw an old man, saying he was the earth god bringing a meal. You shouted to strike him, and he carried me off to this place. Hand in hand he led me in the door, and three more old men came to meet me, all calling me 'holy monk.' Each one talked elegantly and chanted poems beautifully. I matched verses with them, and when it felt like midnight, a beautiful girl came carrying a lantern, also to meet me; she chanted a poem and called me her 'fine guest.' Seeing my face, she wanted me for a husband, and then I woke to what was happening. Just as I refused, they began playing matchmaker, godfather, and master of the wedding, and I swore I would not consent. I was struggling to break away and shouting at them when you arrived. Partly it was daylight, and partly they feared you: one moment they were pulling at me, the next they had vanished." Pilgrim said: "Since you talked with them and traded poems, didn't you ask their names?" Tripitaka said: "I did ask their titles: the old man is called the Eighteenth Lord, styled Sturdy-Jointed; the second is styled Lord Straight and Solitary; the third Master High in the Sky; the fourth the Cloud-Brushing Old Man; and the girl they call the Apricot Immortal." Bajie said: "Where do these things live? Which way did they go just now?" Tripitaka said: "Where they went I don't know; but the place where we talked of poetry is not far from here."
The three of them looked with the master and saw a stone cliff, and on it the three characters "Wood Immortals' Hut." Tripitaka said: "This is the very place." Pilgrim examined it closely: it was one great juniper tree, one old cypress, one old pine, and one old bamboo; behind the bamboo, a red maple. And beyond the cliff, one old apricot, two winter-plum trees, and two red cassias. Pilgrim laughed: "Have you seen the monsters yet?" Bajie said: "Not yet." Pilgrim said: "You don't know that these very trees are the spirits." Bajie said: "Brother, how do you know the spirits are trees?" Pilgrim said: "The Eighteenth Lord is the pine; Lord Straight and Solitary is the cypress; Master High in the Sky is the juniper; the Cloud-Brushing Old Man is the bamboo; the Bare-Bodied Demon Footman is the maple; the Apricot Immortal is the apricot; and the maids are the red cassias and the winter plums." Bajie, hearing this, without asking good or bad, let go with his nail rake—three or five thrusts of that long snout, digging and raking together—and knocked down the two winter plums, the two cassias, the old apricot, and the maple, and truly fresh blood ran from their roots. Tripitaka ran up and caught his arm: "Wuneng, don't hurt them. Though they became spirits, they never hurt me. Let us find the road and go." Pilgrim said: "Master, don't spare them. If some day they grow into great monsters, the harm they do will not be small." The Idiot settled it with one more burst of the rake, and laid the pine, the cypress, the juniper, and the bamboo all low together; then he asked the master to mount, and they all took the main road west.
But what lay ahead of them on this road, who could tell? Listen to the next chapter to find out.