Chapter 67

The Meditative Nature Holds Firm in Saving Tuoluo; The Heart That Seeks the Way Escapes Defilement and Grows Clear

Glad to have escaped Little Western Heaven, the four travelers took the road again. A month passed; spring was deep and flowers were blooming. They passed groves darkened by new leaves; rain and wind brought evening. Tripitaka reined in his horse. “Disciples, it's getting late. Where shall we seek lodging?” Pilgrim smiled. “Don't worry, Master. If no one will house us, we three have skills enough: Bajie can cut grass, Sha Monk can collect pine branches, and I can build a wooden shelter beside the road. We could live there for a year if we wished. Why hurry?” “Brother, this is no place to stay,” said Bajie. “Tigers and wolves roam the mountains, spirits and monsters the ground. The road is hard enough by daylight. How could we sleep here at night?” “Idiot, have you learned nothing? This staff in my hand could hold up the sky if it fell.”

While they spoke, they saw a village nearby. “There's our lodging,” said Pilgrim, pointing to a house among trees. Tripitaka rode to its closed brushwood gate, dismounted, and knocked. “Open up!” An old man came out, wearing a black headcloth, plain robe, and rush shoes, leaning on a goosefoot staff. “Who is making such a noise?” Tripitaka folded his hands and bowed. “Good sir, I am a monk sent from the Land of the East for scriptures in the Western Heaven. Night has fallen. May we spend it in your home?” “Monk, you cannot go west from here. We are near Little Western Heaven, but the Great Western Heaven is still far away. Even leaving the rest of the journey aside, this place is hard to cross.” “How so?” asked Tripitaka. “Thirty li west of this village lies the Alley of Rotten Persimmons on Seven Wonders Mountain. The mountain road runs eight hundred li through persimmon trees. The ancients listed seven wonders of the persimmon: it promotes long life, gives much shade, has no birds' nests, harbors no insects, bears lovely frost-red leaves, produces excellent fruit, and has broad branches and leaves. Hence the mountain's name. Few live here, and no one has entered the deep mountain since ancient times. Every year ripe persimmons fall and fill the stone-walled alley. Rain, dew, snow, and frost rot them from year to year, until the whole road is foul. We call it the Alley of Rotten Filth. When the west wind blows, even a freshly emptied privy doesn't smell as bad. Now it's late spring and the southeast wind is strong, so you cannot smell it yet.” Tripitaka fell silent in distress.

Pilgrim cried, “Old man, we're asking for shelter, and you heap frightening tales on us. If your house is too small, we'll sit under a tree for the night. Why talk so much?” At the sight of his ugly face, the old man gripped his staff and bravely snapped, “You bony-faced, jutting-browed, flat-nosed, hollow-cheeked, hairy-eyed ghost of a consumptive! How dare you come here with your pointed mouth and insult me?” Pilgrim smiled. “You have eyes but cannot see me for what I am. As the physiognomists say, ‘A strange appearance may hide fine jade inside the stone.’ Don't judge me by my face. Ugly I may be, but I have skill.” “Where are you from? What's your name? What can you do?” Pilgrim answered in verse:

“My ancestral home is in the Eastern Continent;On Mount Flower-Fruit I cultivated myself from youth.I studied under the Patriarch on Mount Spirit-Tower HeartAnd mastered every martial art.I can stir the sea and subdue dragon mothers;I can carry mountains and chase the sun.None excels me at binding monsters and catching demons;When I shift the stars, ghosts and gods tremble.My name is famed for stealing from heaven and turning the earth:I am the wondrous stone monkey of endless transformations.”

The old man's anger turned to joy. Bowing, he invited them into his humble home. The four brought in the horse and baggage, passing thorn hedges and a second gate of stone and brick covered with brambles. Beyond stood three tiled rooms. The old man seated them, brought tea, and ordered a meal: wheat gluten, tofu, taro shoots, radishes, spicy mustard greens, turnips, fragrant rice, and a soup of greens with vinegar. They all ate their fill.

Afterward Bajie drew Pilgrim aside. “He wouldn't house us at first. Why such a lavish meal now?” “How much could this cost? Tomorrow he'll send us away with ten dishes of fruit and ten of vegetables as well.” “Shameless! You boasted your way into supper, and now you expect gifts as we leave?” “Be patient. I have a plan.”

As dusk fell, the old man ordered lamps lit. “May I ask your surname?” Pilgrim asked. “Li.” “Then this must be Li Family Village?” “No, this is Tuoluo Village, with more than five hundred households of many surnames. Mine alone is Li.” “Master Li, what has prompted such generous hospitality?” The old man rose. “You said you catch monsters. One has been troubling us. Catch it, and we will reward you handsomely.” Pilgrim bowed. “Thank you for the charge.”

“See how he courts trouble,” said Bajie. “At the word ‘monster’ he bows as warmly as if meeting his grandfather.” “Brother, that bow was my earnest money. He won't hire someone else now.” “You monkey,” Tripitaka said, “always deciding everything on your own! What if the monster is too powerful for you? Then you will have made us monks into liars.” “Don't be angry, Master. I'll ask him more.”

“What else do you need to know?” asked Li. “Your village lies on level ground among many households, not in some remote wilderness. How can a demon dare enter it?” “We lived in peace for years. Then one June, three years ago, a wind arose while people were threshing wheat and transplanting rice. They thought a storm had come, but when the wind passed a monster appeared. It ate our cattle, horses, pigs, and sheep, swallowed chickens and geese whole, and devoured men and women alive. It has returned regularly these last two years to harm us. If you can catch it and clear our land, we shall repay you well.” “It will be hard to catch,” said Pilgrim. “Yes, hard indeed,” Bajie added. “We're traveling monks here for a night's rest. We leave tomorrow. Why catch a monster?” “So your boast was just to get a free meal,” said the old man. “First you claimed you could move stars and bind demons; now you say it is too hard.”

“It's easy to catch the monster,” Pilgrim said, “but your people are not united.” “How so?” “For three years it has killed your neighbors. If each of your five hundred households gave one tael of silver, you'd have five hundred taels to hire a master of magic from anywhere. Why endure it so long?” “Do not shame us about money. Every family has spent three or five taels at least. The year before last we fetched a monk from south of the mountain. He did not prevail.” “How did he fight?” The old man explained:

“The monk put on his cassock;First he recited the Peacock Sutra, then the Lotus Sutra.Incense burned in a censer; he rang a handbell.His chanting roused the monster:Wind and clouds carried it straight into the village.The monk fought bravely with the creature:One struck with a fist, the other tore with a claw;The monk answered blow for blow,Until the blows had left him without a hair.The monster won and returned to the clouds.When we approached, we found the bald monkWith a head smashed like an overripe melon.”

“So he suffered a loss,” Pilgrim said. “He lost his life, but we paid for his coffin and burial and gave his disciple money. The disciple remains dissatisfied and threatens to sue us.”

“Did you ask anyone else?” “Last year we engaged a Daoist priest.” “How did he fare?”

“He wore a golden crown and ritual robes,Struck his command tablet, and sprinkled talisman water.He called on gods and generals to summon the fiend.A wild wind rolled in, thick with black fog,And he and the monster fought.At evening the creature returned to the clouds.When the sky cleared, we searched togetherAnd found the priest drowned in a mountain stream.We hauled him out, soaked like a bird in the rain.”

“He too suffered a loss,” Pilgrim observed. “He gave only his life,” said Li, “but we spent another dismal sum of money and provisions.”

“Never mind. I'll catch it,” said Pilgrim. “If you can, I'll have the village elders draw up an agreement,” said Li. “We will pay whatever silver you ask if you succeed, but if you fail, do not blame us. Everyone takes his own chance.” “You've been cheated too often. We're not like that. Summon your elders.”

Delighted, Li had a servant fetch neighbors, cousins, relatives by marriage, and friends—eight or nine old men altogether. They met Tripitaka and eagerly discussed the monster. “Which disciple will catch it?” “This young monk,” said Pilgrim, clasping his hands. The elders started. “Impossible! The monster is huge and powerful. A thin little monk like you wouldn't fill a gap between its teeth.” “You cannot judge me by my size. I'm small but tough; like a blade washed in whetstone water, I have strength within.” They agreed. “How much would you like as a reward?” “Why speak of that? They say gold dazzles the eyes, silver glares white, and copper coins smell foul. We are monks who gather merit; we want no money.” “Then you must be true monks. But you should not work without reward. We live by farming and fishing. If you rid us of the monster, each household will give you two acres of good land: a thousand acres together. Build a monastery, sit and meditate; it is better than wandering.” “Worse still! With land come horses and labor, grain taxes and fodder. We couldn't sleep at dusk or rest at the fifth watch. It would wear us to death.” “Then what can we give you?” “For a monk, a cup of tea and a meal are thanks enough.” “Easy! But how will you catch it?” “When it comes, I'll seize it.” “It's vast as heaven and earth, coming with wind and departing in mist. How can you get near it?” “A monster that rides wind and fog is a child to me. If it's huge, I know how to fight it.”

A howling wind sounded as they spoke. The elders shook. “This monk's mouth has called the monster here!” Li opened an inner door and urged his kin and Tripitaka inside. Bajie and Sha Monk would have joined them, but Pilgrim seized both. “We monks must stand apart from the householders. Come into the courtyard with me and see what it is.” “Brother,” protested Bajie, “these people know the signs. They hide when the wind blows. They aren't our relatives or old friends. Why should we look at it?” Pilgrim's grip was too strong for argument. The wind grew fiercer:

It fells trees, shatters forests, alarms wolves and tigers;It churns rivers and seas, distressing ghosts and gods.It could overturn Mount Hua's three peaksAnd lift all four continents of the world.Every village door is closed;Its men, women, and children hide their heads.Black clouds conceal the River of Stars,And lamps shine no light through the gloom.

Trembling, Bajie dropped to the ground and buried his snout in the earth as though nailed there. Sha Monk covered his face; he could scarcely open his eyes.

Pilgrim knew a monster by its wind. When the gust passed, he saw what looked like two lamps in the sky. “The wind is over. Look up,” he told his brothers. Bajie shook the dirt from his snout and peered upward. “What fun! A well-mannered monster. We ought to make friends.” “How can you tell without meeting him in the dark?” Sha Monk asked. “As the ancients say, ‘Walk at night by a light; if you have none, stop.’ He carries two lamps to light his way, so he must be good.” “Those aren't lamps. They're its eyes.” Bajie shrank with terror. “If its eyes are so big, how big is its mouth?” “Don't be afraid. Guard Master while I ask what kind of monster it is.” “Don't tell it about us,” said Bajie.

Pilgrim whistled, leaped into the air, and shouted with staff in hand, “Stop! I am here!” The creature halted and flourished a long spear. “What monster are you?” Pilgrim asked. It answered only by brandishing its weapon. Pilgrim asked again, with the same result. “Deaf and mute, are you? Taste my staff!” The monster parried fearlessly. They fought back and forth, high and low in the sky, until the third watch without a victor. Watching from Li's courtyard, Bajie and Sha Monk saw that the creature only parried and made no attack; Pilgrim's staff never strayed far from its head. “Sha Monk, guard Master,” said Bajie. “I'll help. We mustn't let that monkey take all the credit and the first cup of wine.”

The Idiot rose on a cloud and struck with his rake. The creature held him off with a second spear, the two spears flashing like snakes and lightning. “Fine spear-work!” Bajie said. “Not the Mountain-Behind spear, but the Coiling-Silk spear; not the Ma-family spear, but the Soft-Shaft spear.” “Nonsense,” said Pilgrim. “What's a Soft-Shaft spear?” “I see the points parrying us, but no shafts. Where can it be holding them?” “Perhaps. The creature cannot talk; it may not have attained human form, and its yin nature is still strong. At daybreak the yang breath will grow, and it will flee. Pursue it then. Don't let it go.” Bajie agreed.

At first light the creature turned to flee. The brothers chased it toward Seven Wonders Mountain and the Alley of Rotten Persimmons. A foul stench struck them. “Who emptied a privy here?” Bajie groaned. “I can't bear this stink!” “Keep chasing!” Pilgrim cried, holding his nose. The monster crossed the mountain and revealed its true form: a great red-scaled python. Look:

Its eyes shoot rays like morning stars;Its nostrils breathe the mist of dawn.Teeth rank close together like steel swords;Curved claws hook like gold.A fleshy horn crowns its head, made of a thousand agates;Its red scales seem tiled from countless pieces of rouge.Coiled on the ground, it resembles a brocade quilt;Flying in the sky, a rainbow.Where it rests, a rank vapor rises;When it moves, red clouds shroud its body.So vast that those on either side cannot see each other;So long it stretches across the whole mountain.

“A snake like that could eat five hundred people in a meal and still be hungry,” Bajie said. “Its soft-shaft spears were its two forked tongues,” Pilgrim replied. “We've tired it out. Let's strike from behind.” Bajie raced after it with his rake, but the monster slipped into a hole, leaving seven or eight feet of tail outside. Bajie dropped his rake and seized the tail. “Got you!” He hauled with all his strength but could not shift it. “Let it go in,” Pilgrim laughed. “I have a plan. Stop pulling a snake backward.” Bajie released it, and the tail vanished. “Half the creature was ours! Now it's gone. How will you get it out?” “It's too big to turn inside that narrow tunnel. It must go straight through to a second exit. Block that exit while I attack here.”

The Idiot hurried around the mountain and found another hole. Before he could plant his feet, Pilgrim thrust his staff into the first entrance. The snake shot out behind, striking Bajie with its tail. He fell and lay in pain. Pilgrim found the tunnel empty and ran after it, calling Bajie. Ashamed, the Idiot struggled up and swung his rake at the grass. “The monster's gone. What are you striking?” Pilgrim laughed. “I'm beating the grass to startle the snake,” said Bajie. “You fool. Chase it!”

Beyond a ravine they found the monster coiled up, head raised and mouth wide to swallow Bajie. The Idiot retreated, but Pilgrim went forward and was swallowed whole. Bajie beat his chest and stamped. “Brother, you're done for!” “Don't worry. I'll make it into a bridge for you,” Pilgrim called from its belly, bracing his staff. The snake arched like a rainbow above the road. “It looks like a bridge,” said Bajie, “but no one would dare cross it.” “Then I'll make you a boat.” Pilgrim pressed the staff against its belly. The snake's belly sank flat and its head rose like a boat's prow. “It looks like a boat, but without sail or mast the wind won't move it.” “Get aside. I'll give it a wind.” Pilgrim thrust his staff upward through its back, raising five or seven zhang of it like a mast. The snake shot forward in pain faster than wind could drive a ship. It raced back down the mountain over twenty li before collapsing dead in the dust. Bajie caught up and rained blows on it with his rake. Pilgrim climbed out through the wound. “It's dead, Idiot. Why keep striking?” “Brother, I've always enjoyed beating a dead snake.” They gathered their weapons, took its tail, and dragged it home.

At Tuoluo Village, old Li told Tripitaka, “Your two disciples have been gone all night. Surely the monster killed them.” “I doubt it. Let's go and look.” Soon Pilgrim and Bajie came shouting, hauling the huge python. The villagers rejoiced. Men, women, old and young bowed. “This was the creature that killed our people. By your powers you have destroyed it. Now we can live in peace!”

Grateful households invited the travelers to stay and offered rewards. Only after five or seven days of pleading to leave were they allowed onward. Since they would take no money or goods, families prepared food and fruit for their journey, brought mules and horses, flowers and colored flags, and accompanied them. Seven or eight hundred people went to see them off from the five hundred households.

They traveled happily to the entrance of the Alley of Rotten Persimmons on Seven Wonders Mountain. Tripitaka smelled the filth and saw the road blocked. “Wukong, how can we cross?” “This really is hard,” Pilgrim said, holding his nose. Tears filled Tripitaka's eyes. Old Li came forward. “Don't worry, sir. Since your disciples saved our village, we have agreed to make another good road to carry you across.” “You speak without thinking,” Pilgrim laughed. “You said the road through this mountain is eight hundred li. You aren't the divine soldiers of Great Yu, able to carve through mountains. We must do the work ourselves.” “How?” asked Tripitaka, dismounting. “To cross now is hard, and to make a new road harder. We must use the old alley; the trouble is that no one may bring us food.” “However long you stay, we can feed four men,” said Li. “Then prepare two shi of cooked rice and steamed cakes and buns. Let our long-snouted monk eat his fill, become a giant pig, and root open the old road. You ride, Master, while we support you.”

“So you all stay clean while I alone must get filthy?” Bajie protested. “If you clear the alley and lead me across,” said Tripitaka, “you shall have chief credit.” Bajie smiled. “Master and good people, do not laugh. I know thirty-six transformations. I cannot easily become something light and graceful that flies, but I can become a mountain, tree, boulder, mound, mangy elephant, huge pig, buffalo, or camel. When my body grows, so does my appetite. Feed me first, and I can work.” “We have provisions, fruit, flatbreads, and buns to feed the workers who were going to make the road. Take them all. We'll send more from the village when you're underway.” Delighted, Bajie took off his black robe, set down his nine-toothed rake, and said, “Don't laugh at this dirty work.”

The Idiot formed a sign, shook himself, and became a huge pig. Truly:

Long-snouted and short-haired, with thick fat on his flanks;He fed on medicinal shoots in the mountains as a child.His face is black, his round eyes like sun and moon;His round head and great ears resemble banana leaves.He has cultivated bones as firm and enduring as heaven,And refined a hide as strong as iron.His snout snorts deeply; his throat grunts and bellows.Four white hooves rise a thousand feet;His bristled body is over a hundred zhang long.People have seen fat pigs on earth,But never such a pig spirit as this.The Tang monk and all his company praiseThe mighty powers of Marshal Tianpeng.

Pilgrim had the villagers pile their provisions together. The Idiot devoured them all, cooked and uncooked alike, then began rooting out the road. Pilgrim told Sha Monk to go barefoot and carry the baggage carefully, and seated his master securely in the saddle. He took off his own shoes and told the villagers to return and send more food if they cared for Bajie. Most of the seven or eight hundred escorts had mules and horses and raced back to make it; three hundred on foot watched from below the mountain. The village was thirty li from the mountain, and the journey there and back for food added some sixty li; by then the travelers were far ahead. The villagers hurried their pack animals through the alley and caught up the following day. “Wait, lords! We have brought food!” Tripitaka thanked the faithful people and stopped Bajie to eat and regain his strength. After rooting for two days, Bajie was hungry indeed. The villagers had brought seven or eight shi of rice and flour dishes. He ate them in a single meal, without distinction, and resumed clearing the road. Tripitaka, Pilgrim, and Sha Monk thanked their helpers and parted. Truly:

The villagers of Tuoluo return to their homes;Bajie roots through the mountain alley.Divine powers support Tripitaka's faithful heart;Wukong's magic makes the demons yield.A thousand years of rotting persimmons are cleared today;The alley of Seven Wonders opens at last.The dust and desires of the six senses are cut away;Unhindered and safe, they may worship at the lotus dais.

How far did they still have to go, and what monsters would they meet? Listen to the next chapter to find out.

Delivering Tuoluo Village, the Nature of Meditation Holds Firm; Out of the Filth, the Heart of the Way Grows Clear

After the four left Little Western Heaven behind, they went on their way gladly. After a month's travel it was deep spring and the flowers were out; they saw gardens here and there all dark green, and wind and rain brought evening on again. Tripitaka reined in his horse: "Disciples, it is late. Which way shall we look for lodging?" Pilgrim laughed: "Master, don't worry. If there is nowhere to lodge, all three of us have our arts: Bajie can cut brush, Sha Monk can pull down pines, and old Sun makes a fair carpenter—we could throw up a shed right on the road and stay a year or so in it. Why the hurry?" Bajie said: "Brother, is this a place to stay? The hills are full of tigers, leopards, wolves, and beasts, and the ground crawling with goblins and sprites. By daylight it is hard going—how would we dare sleep in the dark?" Pilgrim said: "Idiot, you grow more hopeless every day. Not to boast: while this staff is in my fist, I could prop up the sky if it fell."

As they talked, a farmstead came in sight, not far off. Pilgrim said: "Good—lodging." The elder asked: "Where?" Pilgrim pointed: "Isn't that a house in those trees? We will ask a night's lodging and walk on in the morning." The elder gladly urged his horse on, dismounted at the farm gate, and found the wooden door shut fast. The elder knocked: "Open, open." An old man came—goosesfoot staff in hand, rush sandals on his feet, a black kerchief on his head, plain clothes on his body. He opened the door and asked: "Who is shouting out here?" Tripitaka, hands together at his breast, bowed: "Honored elder, I am a poor monk sent from the Eastern Land to fetch scriptures in the Western Heaven. Having just reached your place, and the night falling, I have come to your honored house to beg a night's lodging. I beg your kindness." The old man said: "Monk, you want to go west—but you cannot get there. This place is Little Western Heaven; Great Western Heaven is a long way off. Never mind the hardships ahead—this very spot is hard to pass." Tripitaka asked: "How is it hard to pass?" The old man pointed with his finger: "Thirty-odd li west of this farm of ours is a lane called the Lane of Rare Filth, on a mountain named Seven Perfections." Tripitaka asked: "What is 'Seven Perfections'?" The old man said: "This mountain runs eight hundred li, and the whole of it is persimmon trees. The old saying goes: 'The persimmon tree has seven perfections: first, it lengthens life; second, it gives much shade; third, no bird nests in it; fourth, no worm attacks it; fifth, its frosted leaves are a delight; sixth, its fruit is fine; seventh, its boughs and leaves grow plump.' So it is called Seven Perfections Mountain. Our poor place is broad and thinly peopled, and those deep mountains have never known a traveler. Every year the ripe persimmons rot and fall on the road, filling that stony lane from wall to wall, and rain and dew, snow and frost, and the mold of summer make of it one long stretch of filth; the people here call it, in common speech, the Dung Lane. When the west wind blows there is a stench of corruption—filthier than the cleaning of the common privy. Now it is deep spring, and the southeast wind blows hard; that is why you do not smell it yet." Tripitaka's heart was heavy, and he said nothing.

Pilgrim could not contain himself and called out: "You old man, how untactful! We come from afar seeking lodging, and you pour out all this to frighten us. If your house is truly too cramped for sleeping, we can squat under a tree here and pass the night. Why all this cackle?" The old man, seeing his ugly face, shut his mouth, quaking, then made bold with a gulp and snapped, pointing with his goosesfoot staff: "You fellow—bones for cheeks, lumpy brow, sunken nose, hollow temples, hairy eyes—a consumptive ghost that knows no bounds, with that sharp snout—how dare you affront an old man?" Pilgrim said with an apologetic smile: "Old sir, you have eyes but no pupils—you do not know this consumptive ghost. The physiognomists say: 'A strange look hides fine jade in the stone.' Judge men by words and looks, and you go clean wrong. Ugly I may be, but I have some skill in me." The old man said: "What country are you from? What is your name? What skill?" Pilgrim laughed: "I...

My old home is East Victory, the great continent; before Flower-Fruit Mountain I cultivated from childhood.I bowed to the master of Mount Spirit-Tower Heart, and learned my soldier's arts complete:I can stir the sea and subdue the dragon mother; I am skilled at carrying mountains and chasing the sun;binding monsters and catching demons I am called the first; I shift the stars and turn the Dipper, and ghosts and gods despair.I robbed heaven and turned the earth, my name is great: I am the handsome stone monkey of endless changes.

The old man's anger turned to joy; he bowed and called: "Come in, come into my poor house and rest." So the four led the horse and carried the loads and went in together. Bramble spikes and thorn needles lined both sides. The second gate had walls of brick and stone, thatched over with brambles. Within were three tiled rooms. The old man drew up chairs, waited on them with tea, and ordered a meal. Soon a table was brought, set with many fried gluten twists, bean curd, taro shoots, radishes, hot mustard, turnips, fragrant rice, and vinegar-braised mallow soup, and master and disciples ate their fill.

When they had eaten, Bajie pulled Pilgrim aside and whispered: "Brother, the old man would not lodge us at first, and now he lays out this grand vegetarian feast—why?" Pilgrim said: "What does this cost? Tomorrow he will send us off with ten fruits and ten dishes." Bajie said: "Shame on you. A few big words of yours got you a dinner, and tomorrow we walk on—why should he feed us and see us off?" Pilgrim said: "No hurry; I have my plan."

Soon dusk fell, and the old man called for lamps. Pilgrim bowed and asked: "What is your honored surname, sir?" The old man said: "Li." Pilgrim said: "Then this must be Li Family Farm?" The old man said: "No. This place is called Tuoluo Village; more than five hundred households live here. There are plenty of other surnames, but Li is mine." Pilgrim said: "Honored patron Li, what kindness is this, giving us so grand a meal?" The old man rose: "Just now I heard you say you can catch monsters. We have a monster here, and I beg you to catch it for us; there will be rich thanks." Pilgrim bowed toward the seat of honor: "Much obliged."

Bajie said: "Look at him stirring up trouble! At the word 'catch a monster' he bows like that—warmer than if it were his own grandfather." Pilgrim said: "Brother, you don't understand: that bow was a down payment—he will ask nobody else now." Tripitaka heard and said: "This monkey must always have his own way in everything. If that monster's powers are vast and you cannot take him, would I not be a religious man telling lies?" Pilgrim laughed: "Master, don't be vexed. Let me ask a little more."

The old man said: "What more is there to ask?" Pilgrim said: "Your honored place lies level and at peace, with all these households—not some lonely corner. What monster would dare trouble such great houses?" The old man said: "To tell the truth, we lived in peace a long time. Only, three years ago in the sixth month a wind suddenly rose. Everyone was busy that day—the threshers on the floor, the rice planters in the fields—and all were thrown into panic, crying that the heavens had changed. Who knew that when the wind had passed, a monster had come, ate the cattle and horses the village grazed, ate the pigs and sheep, swallowed fowls and geese whole, and gobbled up men and women alive. From that time it has come to do harm these two years. Elder, if you have the skill to take this monster and sweep this ground clean, we will repay you richly, and never treat you lightly." Pilgrim said: "That one will be hard to take." Bajie said: "Truly hard, hard. We are traveling monks, lodging one night, walking on tomorrow—what monster would we catch?" The old man said: "So you are monks who live by cheating meals. At first meeting you boasted and wagged your tongues about shifting stars and moving the Dipper, subduing demons and binding monsters—and when the matter comes up, you say it is too hard."

Pilgrim said: "Old man, the monster would be easy to catch, if only your people here would pull together—that is why it is hard." The old man said: "How do you make out that the people do not pull together?" Pilgrim said: "This monster has troubled you three years, and who knows how many lives it has taken. If each household gave but one tael of silver, five hundred households would make five hundred taels; anywhere in the land you could find a master of the arts to take the monster—how can you bear three years of this torment?" The old man said: "Talk of spending money shames us—we have spent three and five taels apiece already. The year before last we heard of a monk south of the hills and invited him here to take the monster, and he did not win." Pilgrim said: "How did the monk go about it?" The old man said:

That monk had a kasaya over his shoulders.First he discoursed on the Peacock Sutra, then chanted the Lotus.He burned incense in the censer, a bell in his hand.Just as he chanted, the demon was stirred.Wind rose and clouds gathered, and it came straight to the village.Monk and monster fought, and well it could be praised:one punched in, the other grabbed.The monk held his own—and a monk has no hair to lose.In a moment the monster won and went straight back into the mist.What was left of him was scabs dried hard in the sun. We came up to look: his bald head beaten soft as a rotten watermelon.

Pilgrim laughed: "So he took the loss." The old man said: "He only risked his one life; we were the losers: we bought his coffin and buried him, and gave silver to his disciple. And that disciple's heart would not rest—to this day he talks of bringing suit, and we are not rid of it."

Pilgrim said: "Did you ask anyone else to take him?" The old man said: "Last year we asked a Daoist." Pilgrim said: "How did the Daoist go about it?" The old man said: "That Daoist:

A gold cap on his head, a ritual robe on his body.He cracked his command tablet and worked his talisman water.He drove gods and sent generals and summoned the demon up.A wild wind came rolling, black fog thick and blinding.Demon and Daoist locked together.They fought till dusk; the monster went back into the clouds.Heaven and earth stood clear and bright, and we all came out as one.We hunted for the Daoist: he was drowned in the mountain creek.We fished him up for all to see: just a chicken fished out of the pot!"

Pilgrim laughed: "So he took the loss too." The old man said: "He only risked his one life; but we spent money and grain till we were sick of counting it."

Pilgrim said: "No matter, no matter. I will take him for you." The old man said: "If you truly have the skill to take him, I will call several elders of the village to write you a paper: if you win, ask whatever silver you like for thanks, and not half a fen short; if things go ill, do not turn on us and dig in—the decision rests with heaven." Pilgrim laughed: "The old man has been cheated once too often. We are not that kind. Go call the elders quickly."

The old man, delighted, sent his servant boys to call the neighbors on left and right, cousins and wife's brothers, in-laws and friends—eight or nine old men in all—and they came, met the Tang monk, heard of the monster business, and were glad without exception. The elders asked: "Which worthy disciple will take him?" Pilgrim, folding his hands, said: "This small monk of mine." The elders started back: "No good, no good. That monster's powers are vast and its body huge. This elder of yours is thin and small—he would hardly fill a gap between its teeth." Pilgrim laughed: "Old sir, you cannot size up a man. Small I am, but solid—all my cleverness is within, like a whetstone steeped in water." The elders had to give in: "Elder, if you take the monster, what thanks do you ask?" Pilgrim said: "Why speak of thanks? The proverb says: 'Speak of gold and it dazzles; speak of silver and it stares pale; speak of copper cash and it stinks.' We are monks who store up virtue; we will take no money." The elders said: "Since you are all monks under vows and will take no money, surely you will not work for nothing? We all live by fish ponds and fields. If you truly subdue the monster and cleanse the place, each of us will give you two good mu of land—a thousand mu together, lying in one block—where you master and disciples may build a monastery and sit in meditation. Better than wandering the roads." Pilgrim laughed again: "That is worse yet. Take land, and you must keep horses for the corvée, pay grain tax and fodder—no sleep at dusk, none before the fifth drum—it would be the death of us." The elders said: "You refuse everything—with what shall we thank you?" Pilgrim said: "For a religious man, a cup of tea and a meal of rice are thanks enough." The elders were pleased: "That is easy. But how will you take him?" Pilgrim said: "The moment he comes, I will take him." The elders said: "The monster is big: head against the sky, feet on the ground; it comes with wind and goes with fog. How will you ever get near it?" Pilgrim laughed: "A monster that rides the wind and fog, I treat as my grandson. As for a big body, I have the arts to beat it."

As they talked, the wind was heard sighing. The eight or nine old men trembled: "This monk has a salt-and-sauce mouth—mention a monster and here it comes." Old Li opened the waist door and called his kinfolk, and the Tang monk too: "Come in, come in—the monster is coming." Bajie wanted in, and Sha Monk too. Pilgrim gripped one in each hand: "You two are past all reason—should a religious man make no difference between inside and out? Stand still. Come with me into the courtyard, and we will see what monster it is." Bajie said: "Brother, they have been through this before—when the wind sighs, the monster comes. They all hide. We are no kin or acquaintance or old friends of theirs—why should we look at it?" But Pilgrim's strength was too great for argument: he dragged them both into the courtyard and set them down. The wind grew wilder—a fine wind:

It fells trees and wrecks the woods, and wolves and tigers fret; it sweeps the rivers, churns the seas, and ghosts and gods despair.It tips the three-peak rocks of Mount Hua and hoists the four continents of the world.In village and farmhouse every door is shut; the children of the whole village hide their heads.Black clouds, vast and dim, veil the River of Stars; lamps give no light, and darkness lies over the ground.

Bajie, shaking with fright, hugged the ground, snouted the earth open, and buried his face in it, nailed there like a peg. Sha Monk wrapped his head in his arms, his eyes all but shut.

Pilgrim knew the monster by the wind, and in a moment, when the wind's head had passed, two dim lamps showed in midair. He called, head down: "Brothers, the wind is past—get up and look." The Idiot pulled his snout out, shook off the dust, and turned his face up to the sky. Seeing two lamps, he burst out laughing: "Fine sport, fine sport! Here is a monster of good manners—it deserves our friendship." Sha Monk said: "On a black night like this, before you have even met face to face, how do you know its manners?" Bajie said: "The ancients say: 'He who walks by night walks by candle; no candle, no walking.' See how it goes with a pair of lanterns to light the way—it must be well-bred." Sha Monk said: "You are looking wrong: those are not a pair of lanterns; they are the monster's two bright eyes." The Idiot shrank three inches: "Grandpa! Eyes as big as that—who knows how big its mouth is!" Pilgrim said: "Brothers, don't be afraid. You two guard the master; old Sun will go up and sound it out, and learn what monster it is." Bajie said: "Brother, don't give us away."

A fine Pilgrim! He whistled, leapt into the air, took his iron staff, and called out sharply: "Not so fast, not so fast! I am here." The monster, seeing him, held its ground and whirled a long spear about. Pilgrim held his staff at guard and asked: "What monster are you, from what quarter? What spirit?" The monster did not answer at all, but went on whirling the spear. Pilgrim asked again—no answer, only the spear. Pilgrim chuckled to himself: "Deaf and dumb, are we? Stand still—take the staff!" The monster did not care; it whirled its spear and parried. In midair they came and went, up and down, till the third watch, and no winner showed. Bajie and Sha Monk saw it plainly from Li's courtyard: the monster only whirled its spear in parry, and never made one thrust of attack, while the Pilgrim's staff never left its head. Bajie laughed: "Sha Monk, you keep guard here. Let old pig go help in the beating—I won't let that monkey have all the credit and the first cup of wine."

A fine Idiot! He leapt up on a cloud, caught up, and struck with the rake. The monster met him with its spear, and the two spears flashed like flying snakes and darting lightning. Bajie applauded: "The monster has a fine spear style! Not the spear of the hills behind, but the silk-winding spear; not the Ma family spear either—it is called the soft-hafted spear." Pilgrim said: "Idiot, no nonsense. Where is there such a thing as a soft-hafted spear?" Bajie said: "Look, it reaches its spear tip out to parry us, but you never see the haft—where is it stowed?" Pilgrim said: "Maybe it is a soft-hafted spear. But this monster does not talk yet—perhaps it has not yet come into the human way, and its yin breath is still heavy. I fear that when day breaks and the yang breath wins, it will surely run. If it runs, we must be after it, and not let it go." Bajie said: "Right, right."

They fought a long time more, and the east went white before they knew it. The monster dared not linger over the fight; it turned and ran. Pilgrim and Bajie came after, and suddenly a stench of filth assailed them: it was the Lane of Rare Filth on Seven Perfections Mountain. Bajie said: "Who is cleaning out a privy? Phew! The stink!" Pilgrim held his nose and called only: "After the monster! After the monster!" The beast shot over the mountain and showed its true form: a great serpent with red scales. And it looked like this:

Its eyes shot like morning stars; its nose spouted morning fog.Its teeth stood ranked like steel swords, close set; its claws curved like golden hooks.On its head a fleshy horn, like a thousand agates heaped together; its body clothed in red scales, like ten thousand flakes of rouge laid course on course.Coiled on the ground you would take it for a brocade quilt; flying through the sky you would mistake it for a rainbow.Where it slept, a raw reek rushed to heaven; where it moved, a red cloud wrapped its body.Was it big? Men on either side could not see across it. Was it long? It lay across a mountain, north to south.

Bajie said: "So it is a long snake of this size. If it ate men, five hundred at a meal would not fill it." Pilgrim said: "That soft-hafted spear is its two forked tongues. We have driven it soft—strike from behind." Bajie leapt after it and raked. The beast dove headfirst into its hole, with seven or eight feet of tail left outside. Bajie dropped the rake, seized the tail in both hands, and cried: "Got it, got it!" He pulled with all his might, and could not move it a hair. Pilgrim laughed: "Idiot, let it go in—there are other ways. Don't tug a snake backward." Bajie let go, and the snake drew itself in. Bajie grumbled: "While I held on, half of it was ours. Now it has drawn in—how will we get it out? This is what they call left with no snake to play with." Pilgrim said: "The brute is huge and the hole narrow—it cannot turn around; it must have gone straight through, and there must be a back way out. Go quickly and bar the back entrance, and I will strike from the front."

The Idiot shot like smoke over the mountain and found a hole indeed, and set his feet. Before he was settled, Pilgrim at the front entrance rammed his staff inside; the monster, guarding its pain, shot out the back. Bajie, unready, took a blow of its tail and fell, too hurt to rise, lying on the ground bearing the pain. Pilgrim, seeing nothing left in the hole, took up his staff and ran over, calling to chase the monster. Bajie heard the shouting, was ashamed of himself, bore the pain, scrambled up, and flailed about with his rake. Pilgrim laughed: "The monster is gone—what are you flailing at?" Bajie said: "Old pig is beating the grass to startle the snake." Pilgrim said: "You living Idiot—after it!"

The two chased it over the stream and saw the monster coiled in a ball, head reared, mouth spread wide to swallow Bajie. Bajie fell back in a panic; but Pilgrim went forward to meet it—and the beast swallowed him in one gulp. Bajie beat his chest and stamped and yelled: "Brother, you are done for!" Pilgrim, inside the monster's belly, braced his iron staff and called: "Don't grieve, Bajie. I will make it build you a bridge." The monster arched its back, like a rainbow across the road. Bajie said: "It looks like a bridge, but nobody dares walk it." Pilgrim said: "I will make it a boat, then." Inside, he propped the iron staff against the belly wall; the monster's belly flattened to the ground and its head reared up like a canal boat. Bajie said: "It looks like a boat, but it has no mast or sail—we cannot work the wind." Pilgrim said: "Stand out of the way, and I will make it sail." Inside again he drove the iron staff out through its spine, five or seven zhang of it, like a mast. The beast, bearing the pain and fighting for life, shot forward, faster than any sail, back along its old road, down the mountain, twenty li and more, before it dropped in the dust, unable to stir, and breathed its last. Bajie caught up and flailed away with his rake again. Pilgrim, having bored a great hole through it, crawled out: "Idiot, it is dead—why keep beating it?" Bajie said: "Brother, don't you know—old pig's whole delight in life is beating dead snakes?" So they put up their weapons, took it by the tail, and dragged it home behind them.

Now old Li of Tuoluo Village and the others said to the Tang monk: "Your two disciples have not come back all night; surely they have lost their lives." Tripitaka said: "Nothing of the kind, I am sure. Let us go out and look." In a moment Pilgrim and Bajie came along, dragging a great serpent, shouting as they came, and everyone rejoiced. Old and young, men and women of the whole village knelt and bowed: "Sirs, this is the very monster that has hurt our people. Thanks to your honors' arts, the monster is dead and evil done away, and we may live in peace at last."

All were grateful, and feasted them now here, now there, each household doing it honor. Master and disciples were kept five or seven days, and only against their repeated refusals were let go. And since they would take no money, every household prepared dried food and fruit, mules and horses to ride, red flowers and colored banners, all to give them a send-off. In this village of five hundred households, seven or eight hundred people came to see them off.

Gladly they went, and soon stood at the mouth of the Lane of Rare Filth on Seven Perfections Mountain. Tripitaka smelled the foul stench and saw the road choked up, and said: "Wukong, how are we ever to pass this?" Pilgrim held his nose: "This is hard." Seeing Pilgrim call it hard, Tripitaka's eyes filled with tears. Old Li and the others came up: "Sirs, do not be troubled. We have agreed among ourselves, as we see you off here: your worthy disciples rid us of the monster and swept away the scourge of the whole village, and each of us keeps a devout heart; we will open a new and good road and see you over." Pilgrim laughed: "Old man, you all talk foolishly. You said yourself this mountain runs eight hundred li; you are no army of the Great Yu—how would you cut a road through the hills? For my master to cross, it must be our work; you could never manage it." Tripitaka dismounted: "Wukong, how will you set about it?" Pilgrim laughed: "To cross the mountain just now is hard; to cut a new road is hard too. The only way is the old lane—but who will feed us on the way?" Old Li said: "Elder, what talk is that? Stay as long as you four please—we can feed you all—how could no one provide the rice?" Pilgrim said: "So be it. Get together the cooked rice of two piculs as dry rations, and bake some steamed cakes and buns. When my long-mouthed brother has eaten his fill and turned into a great pig, he will snout the old road open; my master rides the horse, and we hold him steady, and we are certain to get through."

Bajie heard and said: "Brother, you all want to keep clean, and old pig alone must stink for it?" Tripitaka said: "Wuneng, if you truly have the skill to snout open the lane and take me over the mountain, I record this as your crowning merit." Bajie laughed: "Master, and all you patrons here—don't laugh. This old pig has thirty-six transformations. If it is a question of turning into anything light and pretty and flying, I truly cannot; but to change into a mountain, a tree, a boulder, an earth mound, a rogue elephant, a sow, a water buffalo, a camel—that I can do, truly. Only, the bigger the body I take, the bigger the belly and guts; I must eat my fill before the work can be done." The people said: "There is food, plenty of food. We all brought dried rations, fruit, baked cakes, and buns, meant for the road-cutting feast; bring them all out for his use. When he has changed and set to work, we will send men back to cook and bring more." Bajie's heart was glad; he stripped off his black robe, dropped the nine-pronged rake, and said to them all: "Don't laugh—watch old pig do this filthy work."

A fine Idiot! He made the sign, shook himself, and changed—and truly became a great pig. Truly it was:

Long snout, short bristles, half a lard of tallow; in the mountains from childhood it fed on medicine sprouts.Black face ringed with eyes like sun and moon; round head and great ears like plantain leaves.Bones cultivated hard for heaven's length of days; hide refined coarse, stronger than iron.Its snout snuffled and squealed; its throat rattled and roared.Four white hooves stood a thousand feet high; its sword-bristled length ran a hundred zhang and more.Men have seen fat pigs in the world, but never such an old pig-goblin as today.The Tang monk and all the rest praised it together, marveling at Marshal Tianpeng's high powers.

Seeing Bajie so changed, Sun the Pilgrim had the send-off crowd pile the dried food and everything else together at once for him to eat. The Idiot, raw or cooked, swept it all down, and went forward to snout the road. Pilgrim told Sha Monk to slip off his sandals and mind the loads well, and begged the master to sit steady in the saddle; he too slipped off his boots, and told the people: "If you mean well, send food early, to keep my brother's strength up." Of the seven or eight hundred in the send-off, more than half had mules and horses, and flew home like stars to cook; three hundred more went on foot, standing at the mountain foot to watch them go. The village lies thirty-odd li from the mountain; to fetch food and come back was thirty-odd li again—near a hundred li lost coming and going, and by then master and disciples had gone far. The people could not bear it; they whipped up their mules and horses, pushed into the lane, hurried all night, and caught up only the next day, calling: "Sirs who fetch the scriptures, go slower, go slower—here is your rice!" The elder heard and thanked them without end: "Truly good and faithful people." He told Bajie to stop and eat again and build up his strength. The Idiot, two days at his snouting and hungry as he was, took no count whether it was rice or noodles of the seven or eight piculs they brought, but swept it all in, ate his fill, and went forward snouting again. Tripitaka, Pilgrim, and Sha Monk thanked the people, and the two parties parted.

The guests of Tuoluo Village go home; Bajie cuts the mountain and comes through the lane.Tripitaka's true heart draws the gods' strength round him; Wukong's powers shine and the monsters dwindle.A thousand years of rotten persimmons cleaned in a morning; the Seven Perfections lane opened in a day.The six desires and the dust of passion all cut away; safe and unhindered they bow before the lotus seat.

How much road was left, and what monsters they would meet, who could say? Listen to the next chapter to find out.