Chapter 65

A Demon Sets Up a False Little Thunderclap Monastery; All Four Travelers Suffer a Great Calamity

This chapter's tale of cause and consequence urges us to do good, never evil. With a single thought the gods see what one intends to do. How can you learn from the clumsy fool or the crafty schemer? Neither offers a remedy for the heart. While alive, seek the Way and cultivate it; do not drift without purpose. Know your source, escape your old shell. If you seek long life, hold fast to it. See clearly at every moment and savor the purest teaching. Pass through the three gates and fill the dark sea; then the good may ride phoenixes and cranes. At last, with compassion for old companions, enter the land of bliss.

Tripitaka Tang was single-minded in his devotion. Gods had protected him, and even spirits of grass and trees had come to welcome him, share an elegant gathering for a night, and send him free of the thorns and clinging vines of Bramble Ridge. The four pressed westward. Time passed, winter ended, and the three months of spring arrived:

The splendor of things joins in harmony; the Dipper's handle points again to Yin.Green shoots cover the ground; willow buds color every bank.A whole ridge of peach flowers is steeped in crimson brocade;Half a stream of misty water shines like blue-green silk.So many winds and showers, such boundless feeling:Sunlight brightens the heart of flowers;Swallows lightly carry bits of moss in their beaks.Mountain colors have the subtle shades of a Wang Wei painting;Birds speak with the nimble tongues of a Ji Zi.No one admires the embroidered carpet of flowers,But butterflies dance and bees sing with delight.

The travelers followed the horse at an easy pace, enjoying the flowers and greenery. A high mountain appeared ahead, seemingly joined to the sky. Tripitaka pointed with his whip. “Wukong, how high must that mountain be? It seems to reach the blue heavens.” “An ancient poem says, ‘Only heaven stands above it; no mountain is its equal.’ That means the mountain is incomparably high, not that it touches heaven.” “If mountains cannot reach heaven,” Bajie asked, “why call Mount Kunlun the Pillar of Heaven?” “You don't understand. Since ancient times it has been said, ‘Heaven is incomplete in the northwest.’ Mount Kunlun stands in that northwest quarter, so it seems to prop up the sky, hence its name.” Sha Monk laughed. “Brother, don't explain such things to him. He'll repeat them to someone else to show off. Let's climb the mountain and see how high it is.”

The Idiot chased Sha Monk, teasing and scuffling with him. Their master's horse sped along. Soon they reached the cliff and began to ascend. They saw:

Wind rustles through the woods; a stream murmurs in the gorge.Crows and sparrows cannot cross it; immortals call it hard to climb.A thousand cliffs and myriad valleys, countless bends and turns;Dust swirls where no one comes, and strange rocks crowd the view.In one place clouds billow like water;Elsewhere bird calls throng the trees.Deer carry off lingzhi; monkeys return with peaches.Foxes and raccoon dogs leap along the cliffs;Musk deer play on the ridge.Suddenly a tiger's roar strikes fear into the heart,And leopards and gray wolves bar the way.

The mountain frightened Tripitaka, but Pilgrim Sun had great powers. With a roar and a flourish of his gold-banded staff he drove off wolves, tigers, and leopards and cleared a way for his master over the crest. On a level stretch down the western slope, they saw auspicious light, colored mist, and halls and towers, while bells and chimes sounded faintly. “Disciples, what place is that?” Tripitaka asked. Pilgrim shaded his eyes to examine it. It was a splendid sight:

Precious towers and jeweled seats, an eminent monastery on a famous site;The empty valley resounds with the earth's many voices;A heavenly fragrance drifts through the still enclosure.Rain-drenched green pines shade its high pavilions;Bamboo holds the clouds above its teaching hall.Softly glowing clouds reveal a dragon's palace;Colors float across an endless sea of worlds.Vermilion railings and jade doors, painted beams and carved rafters;When scriptures are discussed, incense fills the seats;When holy books are spoken of, moonlight fills the windows.Birds sing among crimson trees; cranes drink at a stone spring.Flowers bloom in a wondrous garden on every side;Three open gates shine with the light of Shravasti.High towers greet the peaks beyond their doors;Bells and chimes ring in slow, lingering tones.Windows admit a delicate breeze; raised curtains reveal distant mist.Monks have a serene air, their minds free of worldly care;The dust of the world never reaches this immortal realm,This pure, quiet ground for practicing the Way.

“It is a monastery,” Pilgrim told his master, “but behind the radiance and auspicious mist I sense an evil presence. It resembles Thunderclap Monastery, yet this is not the road. We must not enter uninvited; we could come to harm.” “If it looks like Thunderclap, perhaps we have reached Vulture Peak,” said Tripitaka. “Don't let me neglect my vows or delay my purpose.” “No. I've traveled the road to Vulture Peak several times, and this is not it.” “Even if it isn't,” Bajie said, “good people must live there.” “The road passes its gate,” Sha Monk said. “We'll soon see for ourselves.” “Wujing is right,” said Pilgrim.

The elder rode to the monastery gate, saw the words “Thunderclap Monastery,” tumbled from his horse, and fell to the ground. “Brazen ape, you've led me astray! It's plainly Thunderclap, and you deceived me.” Pilgrim smiled apologetically. “Don't be angry, Master. Look again. There are four characters over the gate; you read only three and blame me.” Trembling, Tripitaka stood and saw “Little Thunderclap Monastery.” “Even if it is Little Thunderclap, a Buddha must live within. The scriptures speak of three thousand Buddhas; they cannot all dwell in one place. Guanyin lives in the Southern Sea, Samantabhadra on Mount Emei, and Manjushri on Mount Wutai. Perhaps another Buddha dwells here. As the ancients say, ‘Where there is a Buddha and scripture, no place is without treasure.’ We should enter.” “Do not go in,” said Pilgrim. “I foresee more danger than good. Don't blame me if trouble comes.” “There must be at least an image of the Buddha. I vowed to bow whenever I meet a Buddha. How could I blame you?”

Tripitaka had Bajie fetch his cassock and changed his cap, arranged his robes, and advanced. A voice from within called, “Tang monk! You have come from the east to worship your Buddha. Why are you so slow to pay homage?” Tripitaka bowed at once; Bajie knocked his head on the ground, and Sha Monk knelt. Only the Great Sage stayed behind with the horse and baggage. Inside the second gate stood a hall of the Tathagata. On terraces outside it were five hundred arhats, three thousand guardians, four vajras, eight bodhisattvas, nuns, lay disciples, and countless holy monks and Daoists. Flowers and incense were magnificent, auspicious vapor everywhere. The elder, Bajie, and Sha Monk bowed at every step toward the dais, but Pilgrim would not. A stern voice called from the lotus seat, “Sun Wukong, why do you not bow to the Tathagata?” Pilgrim had looked closely and seen the deception. Dropping the horse's reins and baggage, he drew his staff. “Bold wretches! How dare you assume the Buddha's name and disgrace the Tathagata? Stand and fight!” As he swung, a clang sounded overhead and a pair of golden cymbals fell around him, sealing him in from head to foot. Bajie and Sha Monk hastily seized rake and staff, but the false arhats, guardians, monks, and Daoists surrounded and captured them. Tripitaka too was caught; all three were bound tightly with rope.

The figure on the lotus seat was a demon king, the supposed arhats little monsters. He cast off his Buddha shape and resumed his monstrous form. He had the three prisoners carried to a chamber at the rear. Pilgrim was to be sealed in the cymbals on the treasure dais for three days and nights until he dissolved into blood and pus. After that, the demon would steam the other three in an iron cage for his feast. Truly:

The bright-eyed monkey knows the false from the true;The meditative mind sees an image and bows to a golden body.The Yellow Matron blindly offers homage too;The Wood Mother joins the talk in foolish trust.The evil creature uses force against their true natures;The demon leader impersonates a heavenly being with malice.The Way is weak, the demon strong;Entering a false path wastes their lives.

The demons locked Tripitaka and his two disciples in the back and tethered the horse there. They stored the cassock and cap with the rest of the baggage and placed guards around them.

Inside the cymbals it was pitch dark and sweltering. Sweat poured from Pilgrim as he shoved and rammed in every direction without finding a way out. His staff could not budge them either. Desperate, he tried to burst the metal open by growing hundreds of fathoms tall, but the cymbals grew with him, leaving no gap or gleam of light. He shrank as small as a mustard seed; they shrank too, without leaving the slightest opening. He breathed on his staff and turned it into a flagpole to hold them apart, then pulled two long hairs from his head and changed them into five-pointed drills. He bored away beside the staff, but after a thousand blows they only rang loudly; the metal did not yield. At last Pilgrim formed a sign and recited a spell, summoning the Guardians of the Five Directions, the Six Ding and Six Jia, and eighteen monastery guardians. “Great Sage,” they said outside the cymbals, “we are guarding your master from harm. Why summon us?” “Master wouldn't listen to me,” Pilgrim said. “If he is killed, he will have earned it. But open these cymbals and let me out so I can act! It is dark and suffocating, and I am roasting alive.” The gods tried, but the cymbals might have grown together; no amount of force could separate them. “We don't know what treasure these are,” said the Golden-Headed Guardian. “The top and bottom have joined into one. Our strength cannot open them.” “Nor could any of my powers,” Pilgrim said.

The guardian left the Six Ding to protect Tripitaka, the Six Jia to watch the cymbals, and the monastery guardians to keep watch on all sides. In a moment he rose to the Southern Gate of Heaven, entered without waiting to be summoned, and bowed before the Jade Emperor. “Lord, I am the Guardian of the Five Directions. The Great Sage Equal to Heaven was protecting the Tang monk on his scripture journey when they found a place called Little Thunderclap Monastery. Mistaking it for Vulture Peak, the Tang monk entered. Demons had built a false monastery and trapped them; the Great Sage is sealed in golden cymbals without a way in or out and faces death. I have come to report this.” The emperor ordered the Twenty-Eight Lunar Mansions to free him and subdue the demon at once.

They accompanied the guardian to the monastery at the second watch. The old demon had rewarded his followers for capturing Tripitaka, and they were asleep. Without raising an alarm, the star gods approached the cymbals. “Great Sage, the Jade Emperor has sent the Twenty-Eight Mansions to rescue you.” Delighted, Pilgrim told them to break the cymbals with their weapons. “We dare not. They're solid gold and will ring, waking the monsters. We will try to pry them open. If you see the slightest light, slip out.” They thrust in spears, swords, knives, and axes, lifted and levered and pried until the third watch, but nothing moved. Inside, Pilgrim rolled and crawled about without glimpsing light.

The Horned Golden Dragon said, “Don't despair, Great Sage. This treasure must answer its owner's will and change shape. Find its seam with your hand. I'll force in the tip of my horn; then shrink and escape along the gap.” Pilgrim felt around inside. The star god made himself small as a needle's point and forced the tip of his horn through the seam with enormous effort. Then he grew and cried, “Grow! Grow! Grow!” His horn thickened to the width of a bowl. But the cymbals were like living flesh rather than cast metal: they clung tightly to his horn, leaving no gap. “This won't work,” said Pilgrim, feeling the horn. “Bear a little pain and carry me out.” He turned his staff into a steel drill and bored a hole in the horn's tip. Shrinking to a mustard seed, he climbed into it. “Pull your horn out!” The star god strained so hard to draw it free that he collapsed exhausted on the ground.

Pilgrim climbed out of the hole, resumed his form, and struck the cymbals with his iron staff. The clang was like a bronze mountain collapsing and a mine of gold bursting open. Alas, the instrument was shattered into hundreds of pieces. The Twenty-Eight Mansions started in fear, the Guardians of the Five Directions felt their hair rise, and the demons all woke from their sleep. Their king sprang up, hastily dressed, beat the drum, and assembled his armed followers. Near dawn they rushed to the treasure dais and saw Pilgrim and the star gods beside the broken cymbals. “Bar the front gate!” cried the startled king. “Let no one escape!”

Pilgrim led the stars into the ninth heaven on a cloud. The demon king gathered up the broken gold and formed his troops outside the gate. Angry but having no choice, he armed himself with a short, supple, spiked club and called, “Pilgrim Sun! If you're a man, stop flying away and fight me for three rounds.” Pilgrim could not resist. With the stars he descended to inspect his challenger. He saw:

Disheveled hair bound by a flat, thin golden band;Staring eyes beneath two tufts of upright yellow brows.A hanging-gallbladder nose with flared nostrils;A square mouth and sharp teeth.Interlocking ring mail covers his body,A tasselled raw-silk belt binds his waist.He wears a pair of black shoesAnd carries a spiked club in his hand.He looks like a beast, yet is no beast;He seems almost human, yet is not a man.

“What monster are you,” Pilgrim demanded, “to impersonate the Buddha and set up a false Little Thunderclap Monastery on this mountain?” “Monkey, you don't know my name and so have trespassed. This is Little Western Heaven. I cultivated myself and attained true fruition; Heaven granted me these towers and precious halls. My name is the Old Buddha Yellow Brows; the people here call me King Yellow Brows or Grandfather Yellow Brows. I heard long ago that you were heading west and had some skill. I set up this display to lure your master here so I could wager against you. If you beat me, I will release you all to attain your true reward. If not, I will kill you, meet the Tathagata myself, take the scriptures, and attain true fruition in China.” Pilgrim laughed. “Enough boasting! Come and face my staff.” The demon met it gladly with his spiked club. Fierce was the fight:

Two clubs unlike each other; hear their forms described:One short and supple, a Buddhist weapon;One hard, drawn from the treasury beneath the sea.Both change shape to answer their bearers' will;Now they meet to test their strength.The short spiked club is patterned like brocade;The hard gold-banded staff is marked like a flood-dragon.Each may grow thick or thin, as either wishes,Lengthen or shorten to suit the moment.Monkey and demon meet in battle,And this is no false tale.The tamed monkey, following the teaching, bears the mind-monkey's role;The brazen demon deceives heaven with a false image.Both fight without mercy, fierce in anger;One strikes overhead again and again,The other parries, flings, and cleaves, refusing to yield.Clouds they breathe darken the sun;The fog they spit conceals the peaks.Club answers club, and both forget their lives,All for the sake of Tripitaka.

They fought fifty rounds without a victor. At the monastery gate the demons beat drums and gongs, waved banners, and shouted. The Twenty-Eight Mansions and Guardians of the Five Directions, weapons raised, rushed to surround their king; the little demons outside shook with fear and could scarcely strike their gongs. The old demon alone was fearless. Wielding his club with one hand to hold off the gods, he took an old white cloth sack from his waist with the other and tossed it into the air. With a swish, it gathered the Great Sage Sun, all twenty-eight star gods, and the five guardians inside. The demon slung it over his shoulder and marched back in triumph with his followers. He called for dozens of hemp ropes, opened the sack, and had each captive bound in turn. Their bones and sinews were limp, their skin creased and shrunken. All were carried to the rear and tossed on the ground. The demon king ordered another feast and drank from dawn until dusk before retiring.

Bound with the gods, the Great Sage heard someone weeping at midnight. It was Tripitaka:

“I bitterly regret I would not listen to you;For that I face this danger now.The golden cymbals trapped and hurt you;Who knows that ropes now bind me too?Cruel fate has overtaken all four of us;Three thousand deeds of merit fall to ruin.How shall we escape this bitter hardshipAnd freely reach the west, then journey home?”

“He did not listen to me,” Pilgrim thought with pity, “but even now he remembers me in his distress. While the demons sleep and no one watches, I should free them all.”

The Great Sage used a shrinking spell, slipped his bonds, and whispered to Tripitaka, “Master.” The elder recognized his voice and asked how he had come there. Pilgrim explained, and Tripitaka said joyfully, “Save me quickly, disciple. From now on I will leave decisions to you and cease insisting on my own way.” Pilgrim freed his master, Bajie, and Sha Monk, then released each of the Twenty-Eight Mansions and five guardians. He brought the horse and told everyone to leave quickly. Once outside, he found he did not know where the baggage was stored and went back to search. “You value your possessions more than people,” said the Horned Golden Dragon. “Your master is free. Why look for baggage?” “People matter, but our sacred things matter too: our travel papers, brocade cassock, and purple-gold begging bowl. We cannot abandon them.” “Search, then,” said Bajie. “We'll wait on the road.” The stars gathered around Tripitaka and whisked him by a magical wind beyond the walls and down the mountain, where they waited on level ground.

At the third watch, the Great Sage slipped inside. Every door was locked. He climbed a high tower and found its windows shut too. Fearing the noise of opening one, he changed into a bat:

His pointed head is like a mouse's;His bright eyes resemble a mouse's too.He flies on wings at duskAnd shelters from daylight's glare.He slips between the roof tiles to hideAnd swoops for mosquitoes to eat.He loves the moon on a clear night,Knowing well when to take flight.

Through a gap beneath the tiles and rafters Pilgrim slipped in and passed from chamber to chamber. Beneath a third-story window a beam of light flashed, neither candlelight, firefly glow, sunset, nor lightning. He fluttered to the window: the baggage shone. The demon had carelessly stuffed Tripitaka's unfolded cassock in it. Its wish-granting pearls, mani jewels, red agates, purple coral, relics, and night-shining pearls gave out the light. Pilgrim rejoiced, resumed his form, seized the load, and hoisted it on his shoulder. But one end came loose and fell to the floor with a crash. The demon king happened to be sleeping below. “Someone is here!” he cried, leaping up. Demons lit lamps and rushed through the building, shouting. One reported that Tripitaka had escaped; another that Pilgrim and the others were gone. The king ordered every gate watched. Afraid of the magic sack, Pilgrim left the baggage and somersaulted through the window to safety.

The demons failed to find their prisoners. As dawn approached, their king took his club and led his troops after them. He saw the Twenty-Eight Mansions and five guardians gathered on clouds below the slope. “Where are you going? Here I am!” he shouted. The Horned Wood Flood-Dragon warned his brothers. The Horned Golden Dragon, Root Earth Bat, Chamber Sun Hare, Heart Moon Fox, Tail Fire Tiger, Winnowing Water Leopard, Dipper Wood Xiezhi, Ox Gold Ox, Girl Earth Raccoon Dog, Emptiness Sun Rat, Rooftop Moon Swallow, Encampment Fire Pig, Wall Water Beast, Legs Wood Wolf, Bond Gold Dog, Stomach Earth Pig, Hairy-Head Sun Cock, Net Moon Crow, Turtle-Beak Fire Monkey, Three-Stars Water Ape, Well Wood Jackal, Ghost Gold Sheep, Willow Earth Deer, Star Sun Horse, Extended-Net Moon Deer, Wings Fire Snake, and Chariot Water Earthworm charged with the Golden-Headed and Silver-Headed Guardians, the Six Jia and Six Ding, the monastery guardians, Bajie, and Sha Monk. They left Tripitaka and the white dragon horse behind. The demon laughed coldly and whistled up four or five thousand armed followers. Fierce battle raged on the western slope:

The wicked demon torments their true natures;Their gentle true natures cannot overcome him.A hundred stratagems fail to free them;A thousand clever arts bring no peace.The heavens come to defend them;The saints join them in battle.Wood Mother shows compassion;Yellow Matron moves them with his firm resolve.Their struggle shakes heaven and earth;They fight against the spread nets and traps.The demons wave flags and shout;The gods beat drums and gongs.Spears and swords flash with cold light;Blades and halberds stir a deadly air.The demon troops are bold and savage;How can the divine soldiers withstand them?Clouds of grief hide sun and moon;Dark mists shroud mountain and river.They drag and wrench one another in battle,All because Tripitaka bowed to a false Buddha.

The demon grew fiercer and led his troops in a charge.

With neither side victorious, Pilgrim's voice rang out: “I'm back!” “What of the baggage?” Bajie asked. “I barely escaped alive. How can you ask about baggage?” “Enough talking,” said Sha Monk. “Fight!” The gods were surrounded by demons, and their king attacked the three disciples with his club. Pilgrim and Sha Monk raised their staffs; Bajie met him with his rake. Darkness seemed to cover heaven and earth as they battled without advantage, until the sun set in the west and the moon rose from the eastern sea. At dusk the demon whistled to warn his followers, then took out his treasure. Pilgrim saw him unfasten the sack. “Run!” he cried, somersaulting into the ninth heaven without waiting for Bajie, Sha Monk, or the gods. The demon tossed the sack and gathered them all inside, except Pilgrim. Back at the monastery he bound them again. Tripitaka, Bajie, and Sha Monk were hung high from the rafters; the white horse was tied in back. The gods were bound and locked inside a cellar.

Alone in the ninth heaven, Pilgrim had saved his life. When the demon's troops returned without shouting victory, he knew the others were captured. He descended to the eastern summit, grinding his teeth at the monster, weeping for Tripitaka. He looked toward heaven and cried, “Master! What trouble did you bring upon yourself in a former life that demons beset you at every step of this one? How can we escape such misery?” After a long lament he gathered his thoughts. “What is that sack that holds so many people, even gods and heavenly soldiers? I might seek Heaven's aid, but the Jade Emperor could be displeased. The northern True Warrior, the Demon-Quelling Heavenly Worthy, now dwells on Mount Wudang in Southern Jambudvipa. I shall ask him to save Master.” Truly:

Before the immortal Way is won, monkey and horse are scattered;The heart has lost its guide, and the five elements wither.

What came of his appeal? Listen to the next chapter to find out.

A Demon Sets Up a False Little Thunderclap; the Four Pilgrims All Fall into Great Peril

This chapter's cause and fruit urge men to do good, and never to do evil.Let but one thought arise, and the bright gods see it and judge whatever a man does.Clumsy and dull, sharp and able—how should a man learn them? Both alike are only medicine for a heart that has no heart.While you live and the Way lies before you, cultivate it; do not drift.Know your root and source; shed your first husk.In seeking long life, you must hold fast.Hour by hour see clearly, and pour out the clarified butter with care.Drive it through the three passes and fill up the black sea, and the good are sure to ride the luan bird and the crane.Then, with pity for old friends and mercy still greater, they climb to the Land of Bliss.

Now the Tang monk Tripitaka, with one devout thought—and leaving aside the gods who guarded him—even the spirits of grass and trees had come out to see him off and keep him company one happy night; he was out of the bramble needles now, and never again would vines wind about him. The four went west, and after much travel winter was over, and it was the season of the three months of spring:

The splendor of things meets in peace; the Dipper's handle swings round to the first month of spring.Grass buds green the ground everywhere; willow eyes blue the banks from end to end.A hillside of peach blossom stains red like spilled brocade; a half stream of misty water shines blue like gauze.So much wind and rain; feeling without end.The sun bakes the hearts of the flowers bright; swallows carry moss buds, light as air.The hills' colors, thick and thin, are a painting by Wang Wei; the birds' voices run every way, like Jizi's tongue.Fragrant blooms spread like embroidery, with no one to admire them; but butterflies dance and bees sing with feeling.

Master and disciples too went seeking fragrance and treading the green, following the horse's slow steps. As they went, a high mountain suddenly rose, which from afar seemed to touch the sky. Tripitaka raised his whip and pointed: "Wukong, who knows how high that mountain is? It seems to join the blue sky and pierce the Milky Way." Pilgrim said: "Does not the old poem say, 'Only heaven is above, and no mountain rivals it'? It speaks of a mountain so high that nothing can match it—how could a mountain join the sky?" Bajie said: "If it does not join the sky, why is Kunlun named the Pillar of Heaven?" Pilgrim said: "You don't know. From of old, 'heaven is wanting in the northwest.' Kunlun stands in the northwest, in the quarter of qian, and so it has the look of propping the sky and damming the void, and so it is named the Pillar of Heaven." Sha Monk laughed: "Brother, don't tell him such fine talk. He will take it in and use it to put down somebody else. Let us be walking; once we are up that mountain, we will know high from low."

The Idiot chased Sha Monk, playing and fighting as they went; the master's horse went like flight. In a moment they stood at the edge of the cliffs and climbed step by step. And that mountain—

In the woods the wind sighs; at the ravine's bottom the water murmurs.Crows and sparrows cannot fly across it; even immortals call it hard.A thousand cliffs and ten thousand ravines; a million bends and a hundred turns.Rolling dust where no man comes; strange rocks bristling, never wearied of the eye.Here clouds lie like shifting water; there trees stand thick, loud with bird voices.A deer carries off magic fungus; an ape comes back with peaches in hand.Foxes and raccoon-dogs leap back and forth on the cliffs; river-deer and musk-deer play in and out at the ridge top.Suddenly a tiger's roar chills the heart; spotted leopards and gray wolves bar the way.

The Tang monk's heart jumped at the sight. Sun the Pilgrim's powers are vast: see him give one roar, staff in hand, scare off wolves, tigers, and leopards, cut a road open, and lead the master straight up the mountain. Past the ridge top, where the ground slopes away west, they suddenly saw auspicious light and banks of colored mist, a place of towers, halls, and pavilions, with bells and chimes ringing faintly. Tripitaka said: "Disciples, what place is that?" Pilgrim raised his hand to shade his eyes and looked carefully: a fine place over there. Truly it was:

Precious towers and jeweled seats: a famous monastery of the first rank.The empty valley thick with earth's own music; the silent air strewn with heaven's incense.Green pines trailing rain screen the high pavilions; kingfisher bamboo holding its cloud guards the lecture hall.Rosy light, dim and far, shows a dragon palace; colored rays adrift stretch over worlds countless as sands.Red balustrades and jade doors; painted rafters and carved beams.As they talk of scriptures, incense fills the seats; as they recite the books, the moon stands at the window.Birds call within the red trees; cranes drink beside the stone springs.Flowers open all around, a jade garden's loveliness; on three sides gates open with the light of Shravasti.Towers rise sheer, their gates meeting the screen of peaks; bells and chimes, far and slow, ring long.Windows open to a thin wind; blinds roll up into hazy mist.The monks there are easy and unforced; no vulgar thought, all mild and bright.The red dust cannot reach this true immortal land; quiet ground, a monastery, a fine place of practice.

Pilgrim finished looking and reported: "Master, that place is a monastery; but I cannot tell why, amid that glow of meditation and lucky haze, there is also a scent of evil. The look of it is like the Thunderclap, yet the road is not the same. When we get there we must on no account walk in unasked—we may meet with foul play." The Tang monk said: "If it has the look of the Thunderclap, might it not be Vulture Peak itself? Do not spoil my earnest wish and hold back my errand." Pilgrim said: "It is not, it is not. The road to Vulture Peak I have walked several times—is this it?" Bajie said: "Even if it is not, there must be good people living there." Sha Monk said: "No need for so much doubt. This road can hardly fail to pass its gate; whether it is or not, one look will tell." Pilgrim said: "Wujing talks sense."

The elder whipped up his horse, and at the mountain gate he saw three great characters: "Thunderclap Monastery." He tumbled off his horse in a flurry, fell on the ground, and cursed: "Brazen monkey! You have done for me. It is the Thunderclap Monastery itself, and you still fool me." Pilgrim said with an apologetic smile: "Master, don't fret. Look again. There are four characters on that gate—why did you read only three, and then blame me?" The elder, trembling, got up and looked again: truly there were four characters: "Little Thunderclap Monastery." Tripitaka said: "Little or not, there must be a Buddha within. The scriptures speak of three thousand Buddhas; they cannot all be in one place—Guanyin in the South Sea, Puxian on Emei, Wenshu on Wutai. Who knows whose place of practice this is? The ancients say: 'Where there is a Buddha there are scriptures; no land is without its jewel.' Let us go in." Pilgrim said: "We must not go in. This place holds little luck and much evil. If trouble comes, don't blame me." Tripitaka said: "If there is no Buddha, there is at least an image of one. It is my vow to bow to every Buddha I meet—how could I blame you?"

He told Bajie to fetch the kasaya and change into his monk's cap; they dressed themselves in cap and gown and walked in. From within the gate a voice called: "Tang monk, you come from the Eastern Land to worship our Buddha—why so slack about it?" At this Tripitaka bowed at once; Bajie knocked his head, and Sha Monk knelt too. Only the Great Sage led the horse and saw to the baggage behind. Just inside the second gate they saw the great hall of the Tathagata. Outside the hall door, beneath the jeweled platform, were ranged five hundred arhats, three thousand revealers, four vajras, eight bodhisattvas, nuns and lay brethren, holy monks and Daoist priests beyond count—truly incense flowers in splendor, lucky airs in drifting clouds. In his flurry the elder, with Bajie and Sha Monk, bowed at every step up to the altar dais. Pilgrim alone would not bow. Then from the lotus seat came a stern shout: "Sun Wukong, why do you not bow when you see the Tathagata?" But Pilgrim had looked carefully and seen that it was false; he dropped horse and packs, took the staff in hand, and roared: "You pack of cursed beasts, how dare you trade on the Buddha's name and disgrace the pure virtue of the Tathagata! Stand still!" With both hands he swung the staff and struck. From midair came a clang, and down dropped a golden cymbal, which clapped over Pilgrim, head and foot, and shut him inside. Bajie and Sha Monk, in a panic, grabbed up rake and staff, but the arhats, the revealers, the holy monks, and the Daoist priests swarmed forward and ringed them in; the two could not defend themselves and were both taken. Tripitaka was seized. All alike were wound and bound with cords, tied fast.

The one playing the Buddha on the lotus seat was a demon king, and all the arhats and the rest were small demons. He put off the Buddha's shape and showed his demon body again, had the three carried into the back and stored away, and left Pilgrim shut in the golden cymbal, never to be opened, set on the jeweled platform, there to melt into pus and blood within three days and nights. After that they would steam the three of them in an iron cage and make a meal of them. And so it was:

The green-eyed monkey knew false from true; caught by the sight of the sacred image, they bowed to a gilded body.The Yellow Dame, blind, joined in the worship; the Wood Mother, foolish of heart, joined in the talk.The false monster, grown strong, abused their true natures; the demon king, nursing evil, cheated men and gods.Truly the Way was small and the demon great; to stray into the side gate is to waste one's life.

The pack of demons stored the Tang monk and his two disciples away in the back; they tied the horse behind; they put his kasaya and monk's cap into the load of baggage and stored that too. All was kept fast and close—no more of that here.

Now Pilgrim, shut inside the golden cymbal, was in the dark, baking and sweating all over; he shoved left and bumped right and could not get out. In his desperation he hammered about with his iron staff, but it never stirred a hair. Out of other reckonings, he strained his body outward, trying to burst the cymbal; he made the sign and grew to hundreds and thousands of zhang tall—and the cymbal grew with his body, without so much as a crack to let in light. He made the sign again and shrank small as a mustard seed—and the cymbal shrank with his body, without so much as a pinhole. He blew magic breath on his iron staff, cried "Change!" and it became a banner pole propping up the cymbal. Then from the hairs at the back of his head he chose the two longest, plucked them, cried "Change!" and they became a five-flower-headed awl. Pressing it to work under the staff, he drilled a thousand blows, but got nothing but a thin ringing, and never moved it a hair. In his desperation he made the sign and said the spell—"Om, the still realm of the law; the origin, fortune and perseverance"—and summoned the revealers of the five quarters, the Six Ding and Six Jia, and the eighteen guardians of the Faith, who stood outside the cymbal and said: "Great Sage, we are all guarding your master, so that the demons cannot hurt him. Why do you summon us?" Pilgrim said: "My master would not listen to my warning—he deserves what he gets. But how can you quickly work your arts, lift this cymbal, and let me out? Then we can see what is to be done. There is no light in here, and I am roasting all over—will it not stifle me to death?" The gods truly tried to lift the cymbal, but it was as if cast in one piece; they could not stir it a hair. The golden-headed revealer said: "Great Sage, who knows what treasure this cymbal is—top and bottom cast in one lump. This small god's strength is too slight to lift it." Pilgrim said: "I have used every art I have in here, and it does not move."

At this the revealers set the Six Ding gods to guard the Tang monk, the Six Jia gods to watch the cymbal, and the guardians of the Faith to watch before and behind. Then the golden-headed one rode up his lucky light and in a moment burst in at the South Heaven Gate. Without waiting to be summoned, he went straight beneath the Lingxiao Hall and saw the Jade Emperor, bowed low, and reported: "Sovereign, your servant is a revealer of the five quarters. The Great Sage Equal to Heaven, guarding the Tang monk on his way for scriptures, met a mountain called Little Thunderclap Monastery. The Tang monk mistook it for Vulture Peak and went in to worship; it was a demon's sham after all, and the master and his disciples are trapped there. The Great Sage is shut inside a golden cymbal, with no way out and no way back, and is near death. I have come to report." The decree went out at once: "Send the twenty-eight star mansions—go quickly and end their distress and put down the demon."

The stars did not dare delay; with the revealer they went out of the heaven gate and reached the mountain gate at about the second watch. The demons, great and small, having got the Tang monk, had all been rewarded by the old demon and gone off to sleep. The stars made no stir, but came to the cymbal and reported: "Great Sage, we are the twenty-eight mansions, sent by the Jade Emperor to save you." Pilgrim was overjoyed: "Strike it open with your weapons, and I will be out." The stars said: "We dare not strike. This thing is a treasure of solid gold; struck, it must ring, and the ringing would wake the demons, and then you could not be saved. Let us pry at it with our weapons; the moment you see any light, come out." Pilgrim said: "So be it." See them: some with spears, some with swords, some with sabers, some with axes; shouldering, hoisting, lifting, prying. They worked till the third watch and never moved it—it might have been cast in one piece. And Pilgrim inside looked east and looked west, crawled and rolled, and never saw a gleam of light.

The Gold-Dragon of the Neck said: "Great Sage, do not rage. This treasure must be a thing that follows wishes—it can surely change. In there, feel along the seam with your hand, and wait till I work my horn's tip in through it; then change yourself and slip out where it is loosest." Pilgrim did as he was told and groped about inside. The star made his body small, and his horn's tip, fine as a needle point, worked in along the seam of the cymbal. Pity him—he used a thousand catties of strength before it pierced within. Then he made his body and his horn grow, crying "Grow! Grow! Grow!" and the horn thickened to the size of a bowl. The cymbal's mouth did not act like cast gold; it was as if grown of flesh and skin, gripping the horn of the Gold-Dragon tight, without a seam to pull anywhere. Pilgrim felt the horn and called: "No use—there is not a hair's looseness above or below. There is nothing for it: bear the pain a little, and carry me out." A fine Great Sage! He changed his gold-banded staff into a steel awl, drilled a hole in the tip of the horn, made his body small as a mustard seed, tucked himself into the drilled hole, and called: "Pull the horn out! Pull the horn out!" At what cost of strength who can say, the star finally pulled it free, spent to the last sinew, and fell on the ground.

Pilgrim came out of the drilled hole in the horn's tip, showed his true form, pulled out his iron staff, and struck the cymbal a blow with a clang like a mountain of copper collapsing or a vein of gold bursting. Pity—a vessel of the Buddha's own house beaten into a thousand broken pieces of scattered gold. The twenty-eight mansions started; the hair of the five quarters' revealers stood on end; the demons, great and small, woke from their dreams. The old demon king, startled out of his sleep, sprang up, threw on his clothes, beat the drum, mustered and counted his demons, each with weapons in hand. It was near dawn. In one rush they came to the foot of the jeweled platform and saw Sun the Pilgrim and the mansions standing outside the shattered cymbal, and their faces went white with fright. At once he gave his order: "Lads! Shut the front gate fast, and let no one out!"

Hearing this, Pilgrim gathered the stars and leapt on a cloud into the ninth heaven. The demon king gathered up the broken gold, deployed his demon soldiers, and lined up outside the mountain gate. Nursing his grudge, he had no choice but to buckle on his armor, take up a short, soft wolf-tooth club, come out before his lines, and call: "Sun Wukong, a true man does not fly far away! Come forward and fight me three rounds." Pilgrim could not contain himself; leading the stars, he brought his cloud down and looked at the demon's appearance. And he looked like this:

A shock head of hair bound by a thin flat gold hoop; bare glaring eyes under two tufts of yellow brow bristling up.A nose like a hanging gallbladder, nostrils flared wide; a square mouth full of sharp teeth.He wore linked-ring armor buckled tight, and a sash of raw silk with clustered tassels at his waist.On his feet a pair of black felt boots; in his hand a single wolf-tooth club.His shape was like a beast and yet not a beast; his face not a man's and yet like a man.

Pilgrim leveled his iron staff and roared: "What monster are you, to dare play the Buddha, seize a mountain, and set up a sham Little Thunderclap Monastery?" The demon king said: "This monkey does not know my name, and so comes affronting my immortal mountain. This place is called Little Western Heaven. Because I cultivated and won the true fruit, heaven bestowed these precious halls and towers on me. My name is Old Buddha Yellow Brow; the people here do not know it, and call me only the Yellow Brow King, Grandpa Yellow Brow. I have long known you were going west, with some skill in your hands, and so I set up the sham to show my power and lure your master in, meaning to make a wager with you. If you can beat me, I will spare you, master and disciples, and let you win your true fruit. If you cannot, I will have you all put to death, and I will go and see the Tathagata and fetch the scriptures myself, and bring the true fruit home to China." Pilgrim laughed: "Monster, save your big talk. If you want a wager, come up quickly and take my staff." The demon king, in high glee, met it with the wolf-tooth club. A fine battle:

Two clubs, not alike, and each has its shape when told of: one short and soft, a weapon of the Buddha's house; one hard and stubborn, kept in the sea's own store.Both have the art of changing as they wish; meeting now, they vie in strength.The short soft one, wolf-toothed and brocade-trimmed; the hard one gold-banded, like a flood-dragon.Thick or thin at will, worth all praise; short or long as needed, always just right.Monkey and demon fight it out together—no sham in this battle, truly.The tamed monkey, holding to the teaching, plays the Mind-Ape; the brazen monster defies heaven and works a sham shape.Anger and hate on both sides, without mercy; malice and fury, each with its style.That one strikes at the head and never slackens; this one parries and thrusts at the face, giving no quarter.They spew clouds that dim the sun, and breathe mist that veils the peaks.Club out, staff back, they meet and meet again, forgetful of life and death, all for Tripitaka's sake.

The two fought fifty rounds with no winner. At the mountain gate gongs rang and drums rolled, and the demons shouted and waved their banners. On this side the twenty-eight mansions of heavenly soldiers, with the revealers of the five quarters and the host of saints, shouldered their weapons, gave a shout, and ringed the demon in the middle—till the pack outside the gate could hardly beat their drums, and their hands shook too much to strike the gongs. The old demon showed no fear: with one hand he warded off the host with his wolf-tooth club, and with the other he unslung an old white cloth pouch from his waist, tossed it up, and with a soft slap it swept up the Great Sage Sun, the twenty-eight mansions, and the revealers of the five quarters, a whole bagful, and he slung them over his shoulder, turned, and strode away. The little demons went back in triumph, every one. The old demon had the lads fetch thirty or fifty hempen ropes; he opened the bag, took out one, and tied up one. Every one of them went bone-weak and sinew-loose, their skin puckered and shrunken. Bound and carried to the back, with no ceremony they were all thrown on the ground. The demon king then ordered a feast and drank from morning to night before dispersing, and all went to their quarters—no more of that here.

Now Pilgrim and the gods, tied up, lay till midnight, when suddenly came the sound of weeping. He turned his ear, and it was the Tang monk's voice, weeping:

I blame myself that I did not listen to him then, and so today I am in peril.Inside the golden cymbal you were hurt; who knows that I am bound in hempen rope?We four have met through bitter fate; three thousand works and merits all tumbling down.How shall this tangle of trouble be undone, that we may go openly to the West and come home again?

Hearing this, Pilgrim pitied him in his heart: "My master did not heed my word, and has met this harm; yet in his trouble he still remembers old Sun. While the night is quiet and the demons sleep and no one keeps watch, let me free the others and get us away."

A fine Great Sage! He used the art of slipping free, made his body small, worked off his rope, came near the Tang monk, and called: "Master." The elder knew the voice and called: "Why have you come here?" Pilgrim softly told him the whole story. The elder rejoiced: "Disciple, save me quickly. From now on, do as you think best—I will never overrule you again." Pilgrim set to work: first he freed the master, then loosed Bajie and Sha Monk, then untied the twenty-eight mansions and the revealers of the five quarters, every one. He led the horse over and told them to go out first. Once outside the gate, they did not know where the baggage was, and came back to hunt for it. The Gold-Dragon of the Neck said: "You value things above men. You have saved your master—that is enough. Why hunt for baggage?" Pilgrim said: "Men matter, but the robe and bowl matter more. In that bundle are our travel papers, the brocade kasaya, and the purple-gold alms bowl—all treasures of the Buddha's house. How could we leave them?" Bajie said: "Brother, you hunt for them; we will go on ahead and wait for you on the road." See the stars cluster round the Tang monk and, with the carrying art and their joined powers, sweep him out over the walls in a gust of wind, down the hillside and onto the open road, where they halted on the flat and waited.

About the third watch, the Great Sage Sun walked softly back inside. The doors, it turned out, were locked tight, layer on layer. He climbed the high tower to look: the windows were all shut. He would have gone down, but feared the lattices would rattle, and dared not push them. He made the sign, shook himself, and changed into an immortal rat, called in common speech a bat. And how did he look?

Head pointed like a rat's; eyes bright like its too.Winged, it comes out at dusk; lightless, it keeps indoors by day.It hides its body in the tile holes, and snaps up gnats for its meals.It loves a clear bright moon, and flying, best knows its hour.

He slipped in under the rafters where the tiles were not sealed, passed door after door, and came to the middle. There, beneath the window of the third story, flashed a stream of light—not the light of lamp or candle, nor of fireflies, nor of flying rosy clouds, nor of darting lightning. Flying and hopping to the window he looked: it was the baggage shining. The demon had pulled off the Tang monk's kasaya and, without folding it, crammed it anyhow into the bundle. That kasaya is a treasure of the Buddha's own house, set with wish-granting pearls, mani pearls, red agate, purple coral, sharira, and night-bright pearls—hence the light that shone through. Seeing robe and bowl, Pilgrim rejoiced in his heart, showed his true form, took up the load, never mind whether the carrying pole hung straight or crooked, hoisted it to his shoulder, and started down. But one end slipped, and down it crashed on the floorboards with a clatter. Ah, what a thing! The old demon was asleep just below; the noise woke him; he sprang up shouting: "Someone's here! Someone's here!" The demons, great and small, all got up, lit lamps and struck flints, and went hunting front and back, bawling as they went. One came to report: "The Tang monk has escaped." Another reported: "The Pilgrim and all his crowd have escaped." The old demon hastily gave his orders: "Watch every gate carefully." Pilgrim, hearing this, feared a fresh net, and since he could not manage the load, turned a somersault, jumped out of the tower window, and was gone.

The demon hunted everywhere for the Tang monk and could not find them; and seeing daylight near, he took his club and led his host in chase—and saw the twenty-eight mansions and the revealers of the five quarters and the other gods standing in cloud and mist at the foot of the hillside. The demon king gave a shout: "Where would you go? Here I come!" The Horn-Dragon of Wood called out quickly: "Brothers, the monster is coming!" The Gold-Dragon of the Neck, the Earth-Bat of the Root, the Sun-Hare of the Chamber, the Moon-Fox of the Heart, the Fire-Tiger of the Tail, the Water-Leopard of the Sieve, the Wood-Ram of the Dipper, the Gold-Ox of the Ox, the Earth-Raccoon of the Weaving Maid, the Sun-Rat of the Void, the Moon-Swallow of the Peril, the Fire-Pig of the Tent, the Water-Ape of the Wall, the Wood-Wolf of the Legs, the Gold-Dog of the Bond, the Earth-Boar of the Stomach, the Sun-Cock of the Mane, the Moon-Crow of the Net, the Fire-Monkey of the Beak, the Water-Ape of the Three Stars, the Wood-Dog of the Well, the Gold-Ram of the Ghost, the Earth-Cheviot of the Willow, the Sun-Horse of the Star, the Moon-Deer of the Extended, the Fire-Snake of the Wing, and the Water-Worm of the Axle—with the golden-headed revealer, the silver-headed revealer, the Six Jia and Six Ding and the other gods, and the guardians of the Faith, together with Bajie and Sha Monk (but not leading the Tang monk, and leaving the white dragon horse behind)—every one with weapons in hand, fell on in one rush. The demon king saw them, laughed coldly, gave a whistle, and out came four or five thousand demons, great and small, every one strong and bold, and the fight mixed together on the western slope. A fine battle:

The demon king, wild and wicked, abuses the true nature; but the true nature, gentle—what can it do against the demon?A hundred schemes cannot escape the suffering; a thousand subtle arts cannot soften it.The heavens come to shield them; the saints lend their arms.Feelings held back fail the Wood Mother; a settled will stirs the Yellow Dame.The melée shakes heaven and rocks the earth; in the fierce struggle nets are spread and snares are drawn.On that side banners wave and shouts rise; on this side drums roll and gongs ring.Spears and blades so thick their cold light sways; swords and halberds everywhere, heavy with the air of killing.The demon soldiers fierce and bold—what can the heavenly host do against them?Grieving clouds blot out sun and moon; grim mist shrouds the rivers and the hills.They strain and haul and battle on, all because Tripitaka bowed to Amitabha.

The demon, all the bolder, led his host forward to overwhelm them.

Just as the fight hung even, they heard Pilgrim shout: "Old Sun is here!" Bajie met him: "What about the baggage?" Pilgrim said: "Old Sun's own life was nearly lost—never mind the baggage!" Sha Monk, gripping his staff, said: "No time for talk—let us go beat the demon." The mansions, the revealers, the Ding and Jia gods and the rest were ringed in the heart of the melée, fighting hard, and the old demon came at the three with his club. Pilgrim, Bajie, and Sha Monk threw loose staff and rake and met him. Truly it was dark as night, and no victory could be won. They fought till the sun sank behind the western hills and the moon rose over the eastern sea. Seeing night fall, the demon gave a whistle, warned his demons to watch carefully, and took out his treasure. Sun the Pilgrim saw it plainly: the monster unslung his pouch and held it in his hand. Pilgrim cried: "Trouble! Run!" He thought nothing of Bajie, Sha Monk, and all the heavenly host, but turned somersaults straight up into the ninth heaven. The gods and Bajie and Sha Monk did not understand, and as the demon tossed the pouch they were all swept up into it again—all but Pilgrim, who escaped. The demon king drew off his host back to the monastery, had ropes brought out again, and bound them all as before. The Tang monk, Bajie, and Sha Monk he hung high from a beam; the white horse was tied at the back; the gods too were all bound, carried down into an underground cellar, and the cover locked down. The demons did as ordered, stored everything away, and there we leave it.

Now Sun the Pilgrim, up in the ninth heaven, had kept his life. Seeing the demon host turn back with no banners flying, he knew the rest were taken. He brought his light down and settled on the top of the eastern mountain, grinding his teeth at the monster, dropping tears as he thought of the Tang monk, turning his face up to the sky, and sighing aloud in spite of himself. He cried: "Master, in what former life did you plant this tangle of trouble, that in this life you meet a demon at every step? Such misery, and no way out—what are we to do?" Alone, he sighed a long while; then he stilled his mind and thought, asking his own heart: "What manner of pouch can this monster's be, to hold so many things? Now he has packed the gods and the heavenly generals, a whole crowd of them, inside it again. I would beg help from Heaven, but I fear the Jade Emperor would take it amiss. I remember there is a True Warrior of the North, styled the Honor-Scattering Celestial, now on Mount Wudang in South Jambudvipa. Let me go and ask him to come and free my master from this trouble." And so it was:

The immortal way not yet won, ape and horse scatter; the heart and its spirit masterless, the five elements wither.

But how he would fare on this errand, who could tell? Listen to the next chapter to find out.