Chapter 72

In the Cave of Coiled Silk, Seven Passions Bewilder the Root; In the Cleansing Spring, Bajie Forgets His Form

The story tells how Tripitaka took leave of the king of Zhuzi, put saddle and horses in order, and pushed west. They traveled past how many hills and plains, forded endless waters, and before they knew it autumn was gone and winter had died away, and bright spring lay all about them. Master and disciples were walking the road, treading the green and viewing the scenery, when they came suddenly upon a grove with a small nunnery in it. Tripitaka tumbled from the saddle and stood at the side of the highway. The Pilgrim asked, “Master, this road is smooth and harmless—why do we not walk it?” Bajie said, “Senior brother, how little you understand. The master is weary of sitting the horse; let him come down and get a breath of air.” Tripitaka said, “It is not for the air. I see there is a household over there, and I mean to go myself and beg a meal.” The Pilgrim laughed: “Master, what kind of talk is that? If you want a meal, I will go and beg one. The proverb says: ‘A master for a day is a father for life.’ Would the disciples sit at ease while the master goes begging?” Tripitaka said, “That is not how it is. Usually the road stretches empty to the horizon, and you must go far, with no telling how far, to beg. Today the houses lie close by, within hail—let me go and beg this one.” Bajie said, “Master, you have no plan. The saying goes: ‘When three go out together, the youngest has the hard time of it.’ And you are father to us all; we are but disciples. The old books say: ‘When there is work, the disciples do the labor.’ Let your old pig go.” Tripitaka said, “Disciples, today the sky is clear and bright—unlike days of wind and rain, when you would certainly have to go far. If I go to this household myself, meal or no meal, I can come straight back and we take the road.” Sha Monk smiled beside them: “Senior brother, say no more. The master’s nature is as it is; do not cross him. Cross him, and even if you begged the meal he would not eat it.”

Bajie yielded to this, brought out the alms bowl, and helped the master change hat and gown. Tripitaka strode off to the front of the hamlet to look: it was a fine place to live, to be sure. Behold:

The stone bridge stood high, its murmuring water joining a long stream; the old trees stood in ordered ranks, chattering hidden birds singing toward the far ridges.Beyond the bridge stood a thatched cottage or two, neat and refined as an immortal’s hermitage; and a window of woven brush, white-bright, outshining a Taoist cloister.Before that window four fair women could suddenly be seen, all embroidering phoenixes and drawing luan birds at their needlework.

The elder, seeing that the household had no man in it, only four women, dared not go in, but stood his ground and slipped beneath the tall trees. He watched the women, one by one:

A maiden’s heart firm as stone; an orchid nature glad as spring.Lovely faces set off by rosy clouds; crimson lips, even as rouge.Moth brows arched like a sliver of moon; cicada temples piled like fresh clouds.Should they stand among the flowers, roving bees would take them for the real thing.

He waited the better part of half a watch, and all was quiet—no sound of dog or cock. He thought to himself: “If I cannot manage to beg a meal, I will earn my disciples’ laughter. They will say: the master cannot beg so much as a meal—how can disciples such as we ever expect to bow before the Buddha?”

The elder, out of devices, made his way, not without fault, quickly over the bridge. A few steps more, and he saw that within the thatched cottage there stood a fragrant-wood pavilion, and beneath the pavilion three more women playing kickball. Look at those three: unlike the four in look as well. Behold:

Kingfisher-green sleeves went fluttering; pale-gold skirts swung and swayed.Green sleeves fluttering, half sheltering fingers slim as jade shoots; gold skirts swaying, half revealing golden lilies, small and tight.Her form and carriage perfect to the last; in motion and at rest, her heels worked a thousand kinds of steps.She took the ball’s head and passed it now high, now low; she spread the send and set it coming true and clean.Turning, she kicked a flower over the wall; stepping back, she flipped it into the great crossing of the sea.Lightly she caught it, soft as a lump of clay; single lance, she met the hooked kick head-on.A bright pearl riding over the Buddha’s head; caught firm in the pointed boot.On the narrow bricks she knew just how to take it; lying fish, she scooped it with her foot.Waist level, knees bent in a crouch; hip twisting, heel lifted in its shoe.She could mount a bench and raise a roaring rally; shoulders draped, she was all grace and abandon.Thighs crossed, she let it come and go at will; neck locked, she swayed with its every swing.She kicked the Yellow River running backward; she kicked the goldfish bought upon the shoal.One of them mistook the ball’s head; another turned and hooked it home.Squarely she cupped it up her shin; true to the point it came down to snatch.Heel raised she flicked it like a straw sandal; reversing, she planted and reached back to pluck.Stepping back she bore it on her shoulder like a dancer; one wicked hook of the foot.Down from the peddler’s basket it came long, and she stuffed it through the seized gate.When the kicking reached its sweetest moment, the fair ones cheered as one.Each one sweat-soaked, powder smeared, through silken gowns; spent of zest and mood gone slack, they cried “enough.”

Words could not exhaust it. There is a poem to prove it. The poem says:

Kickball played upon the field in the third month’s weather; the immortal wind blew down a pure-browed beauty.Sweat on the powder-pale face like blossom holding dew; dust on the moth brows like willow trailing mist.Green sleeves hanging low, sheltering jade-shoot fingers; pale-gold skirt drawn askew, baring golden lilies.After kicks upon kicks, delicate and spent; cloud tresses loose, the jeweled chignon awry.

Tripitaka watched so long that at last he had to walk up to the bridgehead and call out: “Bodhisattvas of the female kind! This poor monk asks alms, as karma allows, of a little food.” The women heard, threw down their needlework one and all, abandoned the ball, and came laughing and smiling out through the gate to meet him: “Elder, forgive us for not welcoming you sooner. That you have come today to our poor hamlet—far be it from us to bar the road against a begging monk. Come in and sit.” At this Tripitaka thought to himself: “Blessed indeed! The West is truly Buddha land: even women here set store by feeding monks—how could men fail to bow their hearts to Buddha?”

The elder made his salutation and followed the women into the cottage. Passing the fragrant-wood pavilion he looked—and ah! there was no hall or corridor within, only this:

Peaks rose sheer; the veins of the land ran far.Peaks standing sheer to meet the cloud-mist; earth-veins running far to sea and mountain.The gate near the stone bridge, where water nine-bent, nine-curved, comes calling; the garden planted with peach and plum, a thousand trunks, a thousand blossoms vying in splendor.Vines of moss hung from three trees, or five; iris and orchid scenting ten thousand flowers.From afar the cave abode outshone the Penglai isles; up close the wooded hills out-topped Mount Taihua.This truly was a demon-immortal’s hiding place: no neighbor anywhere—a household all its own.

One of the women stepped forward, pushed open the two leaves of the stone door, and asked the Tang monk to sit within. The elder had no choice but to enter. Suddenly he looked up: everything arranged there was stone tables and stone benches, and the air was chill and shadowed. The elder’s heart jumped, and he thought to himself: “This place promises little luck and much harm—it is surely no good.” The women, laughing gaily, all said: “Pray sit, elder.” The elder could do nothing but sit. In a little while a shiver shook him. The women asked: “Elder, from what holy mountain do you come? What alms do you beg? Is it to build bridges and mend roads, raise temples and honor pagodas—or to cast Buddha images and print scriptures? Bring out your alms book and let us look.” The elder said: “I am not a monk who begs alms.” The women said: “If you do not beg alms, what have you come here for?” The elder said: “I was sent by the Great Tang of the eastern lands to seek scriptures at the Great Thunderclap in the Western Heaven. Passing through your precious country, my belly empty and pinched, I came specially to your house to beg a meal; then this poor monk will go on.” The women said: “Good, good, good! The proverb says: ‘A monk come from afar reads scripture best.’ Sisters, do not slight him—hurry and prepare a meal.”

Then three of the women kept him company, trading words and discoursing on karma; the other four went to the kitchen, tucked up their gowns and sleeves, built the fire, and scoured the pot. And what do you suppose they prepared? Human fat, fried and rendered; human flesh, stewed and simmered: stewed black and molded into the shape of wheat gluten, human brains scooped out and fried into squares of bean curd. Two dishes were carried to the stone table and set down. “Please,” they said to the elder. “In this sudden haste we made no fine meal; make do with this to fill your belly. More will come after, to change the dishes.” The elder took one sniff, marked the rank and reeking smell, and dared not open his mouth. He bowed with palms together: “Bodhisattvas, this poor monk has been a vegetarian from the womb.” The women laughed: “Elder, this is vegetarian.” The elder said: “Amida Buddha! If this is vegetarian, then once I, a monk, have eaten it, I may forget ever seeing the World-Honored One or fetching the scriptures.” The women said: “Elder, you are a man who has left the world—never be one to pick and choose among alms.” The elder said: “How would I dare, how would I dare. I, a monk, bear the decree of the Great Tang and have come west the whole way: I have not destroyed the smallest life; I save wherever I see suffering; a grain of grain I pick up and eat; a thread of silk I piece together to cover my body. How could I dare be choosy about a host’s alms?” The women laughed: “Elder, choosy you may not be, but you are a troublesome guest at our gate. Do not scorn it as coarse and plain—eat a little.” The elder said: “Truly I dare not eat, for fear of breaking my vows. I beg you, Bodhisattvas: better to spare a life than to raise one—let me, a monk, go out.”

The elder struggled to leave; the women barred the door and would by no means let him go. All together they said: “Business that walks into your own gate is the worst business to refuse. ‘What is dropped must be covered with the hand.’ Where do you think you are going?” Every one of them knew some martial art, quick of hand and foot, and they seized the elder, led him away like a goat by a rope, and floored him with a thud. They held him down, bound him with cords, and hung him high from the beam. This hanging had a name: it was called “The Immortal Points the Way.” One hand was stretched forward, drawn up by a silk cord; one hand was bound at the waist and slung up by a cord; both feet were stretched back and hoisted by another cord: three cords hung the elder from the beam, back upward and belly down. The elder bore the pain, swallowed his tears, and cursed his lot in silence: “Bitter is this monk’s fate! I only thought to beg a meal at a good house—who knew I had fallen into a pit of fire? Disciples, come quickly and save me, if we are to see each other again. Two watches late, and my life is done.”

Though the elder suffered, he still kept his eyes on the women. When they had him hung to their liking, they went to strip off their clothes. The elder’s heart jumped and he thought: “Once those clothes come off, it is my feelings they mean to play with. Perhaps they mean even to eat me half-cooked.” Now the women only loosened the silk jackets from their upper bodies, baring their bellies, and each displayed her magic: from the whorl of each waist there spouted silk cord, thick as a duck egg, gouting and gouting, jade shards flying, silver spilling—and in a moment the hamlet gate was draped and hidden—no more of that.

Now the Pilgrim, Bajie, and Sha Monk waited by the highway; the other two held the horse and watched the baggage, while the Pilgrim, being a mischievous one, jumped in the trees and clambered the branches, picking leaves and hunting fruit. Suddenly he turned his head and saw a sheet of gleaming brightness. He leaped down from the tree in alarm and shouted: “This is bad, this is bad—our master’s luck has run out.” The Pilgrim pointed with his finger: “Look over there—what do you make of that hamlet?” Bajie and Sha Monk looked where he pointed: a sheet like snow, and bright as snow; like silver, and gleaming like silver. Bajie said: “It is over, it is over! The master has fallen in with a demon. We must hurry and save him.” The Pilgrim said: “Good brothers, no shouting. Since none of you can see it clearly, let Old Sun go.” Sha Monk said: “Brother, take care.” The Pilgrim said: “I have my way of it.”

Good Great Sage! He cinched his tiger-skin kilt, drew out the gold-banded staff, and in two or three strides was up front. He saw the silk cords wound a thousand layers thick, crossing and recrossing like warp and weft. He pressed them with his hand: somewhat sticky and soft, clinging to the touch. The Pilgrim could not tell what the stuff was. He raised the staff: “One blow of this—and I do not care if it is a few thousand layers or tens of thousands—it will cut through.” But as he made to strike, he stayed his hand: “If it were stiff, a blow would cut it; being soft, this will only flatten. Suppose I startle them, and they wrap Old Sun up in it—that would be worse than useless. Let me ask a question first, then strike.”

And whom do you suppose he asked? He pinched a spell-sign, murmured a charm, and summoned the local earth god, who went spinning round his temple like a millstone. The earth god’s wife said: “Old man, why do you spin so? Has the falling sickness come upon you?” The earth god said: “You do not know, you do not know. The Great Sage Equal to Heaven has come, and I have not gone out to greet him; that is why he summons me.” The wife said: “Then go and see him—why turn in circles here?” The earth god said: “Go see him? That staff of his is heavy past bearing. Good or bad, he is sure to beat me.” The wife said: “Seeing you are so old, would he really beat you?” The earth god said: “He has loved all his life to drink wine that costs him nothing, and he has a way of beating old men in particular.” The two of them talked a while, and at last, helpless, he went out, trembling, and knelt by the roadside, crying: “Great Sage—the local earth god of these parts knocks his head.” The Pilgrim said: “Get up, and none of your pretended haste. I will not beat you for now; I will keep it in store. Answer me: what place is this?” The earth god said: “Great Sage, from which direction do you come?” The Pilgrim said: “I come from the eastern lands, heading west.” The earth god said: “Coming from the east, did you cross that ridge over there?” The Pilgrim said: “It was on that very ridge. Our baggage and horses are resting on it even now!” The earth god said: “That is called Coiled Silk Ridge, and below the ridge is a cave called the Cave of Coiled Silk. In the cave live seven demons.” The Pilgrim said: “Male demons or female?” The earth god said: “Female.” The Pilgrim said: “What powers have they?” The earth god said: “This small god’s strength is thin and his authority short; I do not know how great their arts are. I know only this: due south, three li from here, there is a spring called the Cleansing Spring, naturally hot water, once the bath of the Seven Fairy Maidens above. Since the demons came to live here they have seized the Cleansing Spring, and the fairy maidens never made a contest of it—they yielded it up for nothing. I have seen that immortals do not provoke demon kind; those sprites must have great power.” The Pilgrim said: “What do they want the spring for?” The earth god said: “Having seized the bath, they come out to bathe three times a day. The hour of the snake is past now, and the hour of the horse is coming.” The Pilgrim heard and said: “Earth god, go back. I will take them myself.” The old earth god knocked his head once and went trembling back to his temple.

The Great Sage, working his wonders alone, shook himself once and changed into a speckled fly, stuck fast to a grass tip by the road to wait. Presently there came a sound of huffing and sucking, like silkworms eating leaves, like the tide rising from the sea. In about half the time of a cup of tea the silk cords were all gone; the hamlet reappeared as it was, looking just as at first. Then came a creak: the wicker gate swung, laughter and chatter sounded within, and out walked seven women. The Pilgrim watched closely from hiding: arm in arm they went, shoulder to shoulder, sleeve touching sleeve, talking and laughing as they crossed the bridge—true beauties, every one. Behold:

Perfume outrivaling jade; speech more true than flowers.Willow brows spanning distant peaks; a sandalwood mouth breaking through cherry lips.Kingfisher plumes tilting from the hairpin heads; golden lilies flashing beneath crimson skirts.Just like Chang’e coming down to visit the world; a fairy fallen into mortal dust.

The Pilgrim laughed to himself: “No wonder my master wanted to come begging. So this is the fine merchandise! These seven beauties: if they keep my master, he is not enough for one meal if they eat him, nor for two days’ use if they employ him; and if they take turns at him, one round of handling and he is dead. Let me listen a moment and hear what they scheme.”

Good Great Sage! With a faint whine he flew and stuck fast on the chignon of the woman walking in front. Once across the bridge, one from behind came up calling: “Sisters, once we have bathed, let us steam that fat monk and eat him.” The Pilgrim laughed inwardly: “What planners! Boiling would save firewood—why go to the trouble of steaming?” The women picked flowers and gathered grasses as they came south, and before long reached the bathing pool. Behold a gate and wall, altogether splendid: wildflowers everywhere, fragrant and bright; orchids thick and dark along the banks. The last woman came up, gave a whistle, and pushed open the two leaves of the door; and within, truly, there lay a pool of hot water. This water:

Since heaven and earth were first divided, the sun has properly held ten stars; but Yi, master of the bow, drew and shot down nine crows that fell to earth, leaving only the one Golden Crow star—the true fire of the sun. Heaven and earth have nine hot springs, all of them transformed from those crows. The nine yang springs are: the Spring of Cold Fragrance, the Spring at the Mountain’s Side, the Warm Spring, the East Union Spring, the Yellow-Marsh Mountain Spring, the Filial Peace Spring, the Broad Fen Spring, the Hot Spring—and this spring is the Cleansing Spring.

There is a poem to prove it. The poem says:

One breath knows no winter or summer; through the three autumns spring pours on forever.Hot waves seething like a tripod over fire; snow-white waves fresh as drawn bathwater.Diverted, it nourishes the standing crops; standing still, it settles the world’s dust.Trickling, it floats like beads of pearl; rolling, it wells from jade.Its sleekness was never brewed; clear and mild, it warms of itself.The auspiciousness is the place’s own beauty; the crafting is heaven’s own artlessness.Where fair ones bathe, ice-smooth skin; washed of dust and care, jade bodies made new.

The bathing pool was some five zhang and more across, ten zhang and more long, four feet deep, and the water clear to the bottom. From below, the water gushed up like rolling pearls and floating jade, bubbling; on four sides six or seven vents let the flow through. It ran off two or three li, spilling into the fields, still warm. On the pool stood a pavilion of three bays. Inside the pavilion, against the back wall, stood a bench with eight legs; at the two gables stood two lacquered, painted clothes racks. The Pilgrim whinnied softly to himself in hiding, and with one beat of wings flew and stuck fast on the head of a clothes rack.

The women, seeing the water so clear and hot, made to bathe. All together they took off their clothes, hung them on the racks, and went down together. The Pilgrim watched:

Buttons slipped undone; silken sashes unknotted.Bare breasts white as silver; jade bodies all of snow.Elbows and arms like spread ice; fragrant shoulders as if kneaded of powder.Bellies soft as floss; backs smooth and clean.Knees and ankles half an arm around; golden lilies three inches narrow.Between them a stretch of passion, baring the cave of delight.

The women all jumped into the water, riding the waves and turning in the breakers, sporting in the pool. The Pilgrim said to himself: “If I strike them, one swirl of this staff in the pool and it is ‘boiling water poured on rats’—a whole nest dead together. Pity, pity! Beat them I could—but it would tarnish Old Sun’s name. The saying goes: ‘A man does not fight with women.’ For a fellow like me to beat a few girls to death is poor work indeed. I will not strike them; I will only play them a childless trick—leave them unable to stir. How would that be?” Good Great Sage! He pinched the spell-sign, murmured a charm, shook himself once, and changed into a hungry old hawk. Behold:

Feathers like frost and snow; eyes like bright stars.At the sight of him demon foxes lose their souls; when crafty hares meet him, gall bursts with fright.Steel talons, sharp and swift; a bold bearing, fierce spirit rampant.He knows how to strike with practiced fists to fill his belly; he never shrinks from hunting on the wing with his own strength.Ten thousand li of cold sky, rising and falling at will; through cloud he picks his quarry and goes where he pleases.

Whoosh—one beat of wings, and he flew ahead, swept out his sharp talons, and snatched away every one of the seven suits of clothes hung on the racks. Then he flew straight back to the ridge-top, showed his true form, and came to Bajie and Sha Monk.

Look at the Idiot, meeting him with a grin: “So the master has been carried off to the pawnshop.” Sha Monk said: “How do you make that out?” Bajie said: “Do you not see senior brother carrying off all their clothes?” The Pilgrim set them down: “These are clothes the demons wore.” Bajie said: “How came there to be so many?” The Pilgrim said: “Seven suits.” Bajie said: “How did you strip them so easily, and so clean?” The Pilgrim said: “Strip them? Nothing of the sort. This place is called Coiled Silk Ridge, and the hamlet there the Cave of Coiled Silk. In the cave are seven women demons; they took our master and hung him inside, and all went off to bathe at the Cleansing Spring. That spring is a natural work of heaven and earth—a pool of hot water. Their plan was to bathe, then steam and eat our master. I followed them there and saw them strip and go into the water. I would have struck them, but I feared to foul my staff, and feared to tarnish my name, so I did not lift it. I only changed into a hungry old hawk and snatched their clothes. Now they are swallowing shame, not daring to show their faces, crouching there in the water. Come, let us hurry and untie our master and be on the road.” Bajie laughed: “Senior brother, whatever you do, you always leave the root. Having seen the demons, why not beat them to death, instead of going off to untie the master? Though they hide in shame now, by evening they must come out. They have old clothes at home; they will dress and come after us. Even if they do not come after us, they live here, and when we have fetched the scriptures we must return by this same road. The saying goes: ‘Better to be short of money by the roadside than short of fists.’ Then they will bar the road and raise a row—will that not make enemies of them?” The Pilgrim said: “And what is your plan?” Bajie said: “My way: beat the demons to death first, then free our master. That is the plan of cutting the grass and tearing out the root.” The Pilgrim said: “I will not beat them. If you want to beat them, go beat them.”

Bajie roused his spirits, in high glee, hoisted his muckrake, strode off, and ran straight there. He pushed the door suddenly open and looked: the seven women were crouching in the water, cursing the hawk between them: “That flat-feathered beast, that cat-chewing wretch, has carried off every stitch of our clothes—how are we to lay hands on anything?” Bajie could not help laughing: “Bodhisattvas! Bathing here? Might you take a monk along to wash too?” The demons saw him and flew into a rage: “Monk, this is the height of rudeness. We are women of lay households; you are a man who has left the family. The old books say: ‘From the age of seven, boys and girls do not share a mat.’ And you would bathe in one pool with us?” Bajie said: “The weather is burning hot; there is nothing for it—just let me wash a little. Why come over all bookish—shared mat, not shared mat?” The Idiot wasted no more talk: down went the muckrake, off came the black brocade robe, and splash! he jumped into the water. The demons, vexed through and through, closed in together to beat him. They did not know how thoroughly at home Bajie was in water: in the pool he shook himself once and changed into a catfish sprite. The demons all groped for the fish, and chasing him they could not catch him: grope east, and he shot west in a flash; grope west, and he shot east again. Slippery as mess, he burrowed this way and that between their thighs. The water was chest deep; he circled on the surface a while, then dove and circled below, and worked them all over, till they stood panting and blowing, their strength quite spent.

Bajie then jumped up out of the water, showed his true form, put on his robe, took up his muckrake, and roared: “Who am I now? You took me for a catfish sprite!” The demons saw and their hearts quaked. They said to Bajie: “You came first as a monk, then changed into a catfish in the water; and when we could not catch you, you showed up in this getup. Where in truth have you come from? You must leave your name.” Bajie said: “So you brazen demons really do not know me. I am the disciple of Elder Tang, who left the Great Tang of the east to fetch scriptures: I am the Marshal Tianpeng, Wuneng, Bajie. You hung my master in the cave, scheming to steam and eat him. And my master is fit for steaming? Stick out your heads, quick, and take a rake apiece—we will have this business at the root.” The demons, at these words, felt their souls fly and their spirits scatter; kneeling in the water they begged: “Lord, be merciful, be merciful! We had eyes but no pupils, and took your master by mistake. Hang him though he is, we never dared put him to the torture. In your mercy spare our lives; we will gladly pay your traveling costs and see your master off to the Western Heaven ourselves.” Bajie waved his hand: “None of that talk. The proverb puts it well: ‘Once cheated by a candy-selling gentleman, never again trust a man with a honeyed mouth.’ One rake apiece, and then each goes her way.”

The Idiot was a lout through and through, and out to show his hand: no pity for fragrance, no tenderness for jade in him. Rake aloft, he charged and struck away, right or wrong. The demons lost their heads; shame was nothing now—life was all. Each covered her privy parts with her hands, sprang out of the water, ran to stand in the pavilion, and worked her art: from each navel gouted silk cord, gouting and gouting, until they had thrown a great silk canopy across the sky, covering Bajie inside it. The Idiot looked up suddenly: no sky, no sun. He turned to bolt outside—but could not lift his feet. They had laid tripping cords: the ground was all silk lines, and every step was a spill. To the left, and he went down flat on his face; to the right, and over backward headfirst; he wheeled and fell again, mouth in the dirt; scrambled up, and stood on his head like a dragonfly. Who knows how many tumbles he took? They left the Idiot numb of body and weak of leg, head spinning and eyes swimming, unable even to crawl, lying on the ground groaning.

The demons, having snared him, neither beat him nor hurt him, but one by one jumped out the door, screened the sky with their silk canopy, and went back each to her cave. At the stone bridge they stopped, murmured their true words, and in a moment the silk canopy was gathered up; naked as they were born they ran into the cave, covering their privy parts, and skipped laughing past the Tang monk’s face. They went into the stone chamber, put on some old clothes, walked straight to the back gate, stood, and called: “Where are the children?” Now each of these demons had a son—not of her body, but sons sworn in adoption. Their names were Mi, Ma, Lu, Ban, Meng, La, Qing: Mi was the honeybee, Ma the hornet, Lu the borer wasp, Ban the blister beetle, Meng the gadfly, La the wax cicada, Qing the dragonfly. It happened that when the demons hung their net across the sky they had netted these seven sorts of insects and meant to eat them. The old saying goes: “Birds have bird language; beasts have beast speech.” At that time the insects begged piteously for their lives, offering to bow and be their mothers’ sons. And so in spring they gathered the hundred flowers to feed the monsters, and in summer they sought out all manner of plants to do the demons filial service. Hearing the call just now, they all came before them and asked: “Mother, what are your commands?” The demons said: “Children, this morning we wronged a monk from the Tang, and just now his disciple trapped us in the pool, shaming us past bearing—we nearly lost our lives. Strive now! Go out quickly and drive him back a little. If you win, come to your uncles’ home and find us.” So the demons, having escaped with their lives, went off to their senior brother’s place, where wicked mouths were to breed new woe—no more of that. And look at these insects: every one rubbing fists and palms, they came out to give battle.

Now Bajie, dizzy from his tumbles, suddenly looked up: the silk canopy and cords were all gone. Then, feeling his way a step at a time, he crawled up, bore his aches, and groped back along his original path. Seeing the Pilgrim, he seized his hand: “Brother—is my head swollen? Is my face green?” The Pilgrim said: “What happened to you?” Bajie said: “That wretch canopied me in silk cords and laid tripping lines—no telling how many tumbles I took. My back is bent and my spine broken; I could not move an inch. Only when the canopy and cords were gone could I bring my life back here.” Sha Monk saw and said: “It is over, it is over—look what a mess you have made. Those demons will certainly go back to the cave and hurt our master. Quick—we must go save him.”

At this the Pilgrim strode off fast, Bajie leading the horse. In haste they reached the front of the hamlet, and there on the stone bridge stood seven little demons blocking the way: “Slow there, slow there—we are here.” The Pilgrim looked and laughed: “Well now—nothing but small fry. The tallest of them only two and a half feet, not three; the heaviest only eight or nine catties, not ten.” He shouted: “Who are you?” The demons said: “We are the sons of the Seven Fairy Maidens. You have shamed our mothers, and now in your ignorance you storm our gate. Stand still—look out!” Good monsters! They all came pelting in to attack. Bajie, already sore and cross from his falls, and seeing the insects so small, set his teeth and swung his rake to strike. The demons, seeing the Idiot so fierce, one by one showed their true forms and flew up, crying, “Change!” In a moment one became ten, ten became a hundred, a hundred became a thousand, a thousand became ten thousand—every one of them become a number past counting. Behold:

Wax cicadas filled the sky with flight; dragonflies danced over all the ground.Bees and hornets chased at brow and forehead; borer wasps stabbed at the eyes.Blister beetles bit before and behind; gadflies stung above and below.A blackness whelmed the face; a whirring dread fit to startle gods and ghosts.

Bajie panicked: “Brother! They say the scriptures are easy to fetch—on the western road even the insects bully a man!” The Pilgrim said: “Brother, do not be afraid. Close in and strike.” Bajie said: “They are on my head, in my face, over my whole body, a dozen layers thick—how am I to strike?” The Pilgrim said: “No matter, no matter; I have my means.” Sha Monk said: “Brother, whatever your means, bring them out quickly—in a moment my bare head will be stung swollen.”

Good Great Sage! He plucked out a fistful of hairs, chewed them to bits, and blew them out, whereupon they became yellow, speckled, swallow, white, eagle, fish, and sparrowhawk. Bajie said: “Senior brother, what trade cant is this—yellow, speckled?” The Pilgrim said: “You do not know. Yellow is the yellow hawk, speckled the speckled hawk, swallow the swallow hawk, white the white hawk, eagle the eagle hawk, fish the fish hawk, sparrowhawk the sparrowhawk hawk. The demons’ sons are seven kinds of insects; my hairs are seven kinds of hawks.” The hawk is the best of insect snappers: one beak, one insect; talons beating, wings striking. In a moment they had beaten them all to nothing—not a trace in the empty sky, and on the ground a drift a foot deep.

The three brothers then forced their way over the bridge and straight into the cave, where they found their old master hanging there, humming and weeping. Bajie came up close: “Master, so you came here to hang for fun—never mind how many tumbles it cost me.” Sha Monk said: “Untie the master first; talk after.” The Pilgrim at once cut the cords loose and set the master down, then asked: “Where have the demons gone?” The Tang monk said: “All seven, naked as they were, went off back there calling their sons.” The Pilgrim said: “Brothers, come with me; we will look for them.”

Weapons in hand, the three searched the back garden: no trace. They searched every peach and plum tree: nothing. Bajie said: “They are gone, they are gone.” Sha Monk said: “No need to hunt them. Let me help the master along.” The brothers came back to the front and helped the Tang monk into the saddle. Bajie said: “You help the master along. Let your old pig knock that house flat with one round of the rake, so that when they come back they have nowhere to live.” The Pilgrim laughed: “Knocking it down is weary work. Better to find some firewood and give them the root of the matter.” Good Idiot! He gathered some rotten pine, broken bamboo, dry willow, and withered vine, set a torch to it, and burned the whole place clean away. Only then did master and disciples go on their way with easy minds.

Ah! But after this, how the demons fared for weal or woe? Listen to the next chapter to find out.

In Silk-Coiling Cave, Seven Passions Befog the True Self; At the Stain-Washing Spring, Bajie Forgets Himself

The story tells how Tripitaka took leave of the king of Zhuzi, set his saddle and horse in order, and pushed on west. They traveled over hills and plains past counting, crossed waterways without end, and before they knew it autumn was gone and winter had run its course, and it was bright spring weather again. Master and disciples were walking the road, enjoying the green and the view, when suddenly they saw a grove with a religious house in it. Tripitaka rolled from the saddle, got down, and stood at the side of the great road. Pilgrim asked: "Master, this road is smooth and free of trouble; why are we not going on?" Bajie said: "Brother, you have no feeling. Master is weary of sitting in the saddle; let him come down and get a breath of air." Tripitaka said: "It is not the air. I see that place is a household; I mean to go myself and beg a meal." Pilgrim laughed: "Listen to what Master is saying! If you want a meal, I will go and beg it. The common saying goes: 'A teacher for a day, a father for life.' How could a disciple sit at ease and send his master out to beg?" Tripitaka said: "That is not how it is. On ordinary days the view runs on without bound, and you beg your meals far and near without measure. Today the houses stand close by; one can call out and be answered. Let me go and beg this one." Bajie said: "Master, you have no plan. There is a common saying: 'When three go out together, the youngest does the hard work.' Besides, you are of the fathers' generation, and we are all disciples. The old books say: 'When there is work to do, the disciples do the toil.' Let this old pig go." Tripitaka said: "Disciple, today the sky is clear and bright, not like a day of wind and rain. On a bad day you would surely have to go far. This household is close at hand; if I go, whether there is a meal or not, I can turn right around and we can be on the road." Sha Monk said, smiling beside them: "Brother, say no more. That is Master's nature; do not cross him. If you vex him, he will not eat even if you do bring the meal back."

Bajie did as he was told, took out the alms bowl, and helped him change his robe and cap. Tripitaka strode off to the front of the farmstead to look; and a fine place it was. See:

A stone bridge towered high; ancient trees stood dark and even. The stone bridge towered high — babbling water running on into a long stream; the ancient trees stood dark and even — chattering birds calling from the far hills. Beyond the bridge stood a few thatched huts, neat and quiet as an immortal's cell; and there too was a latticed window, white and bright, outshining a Daoist cloister. Before the window four lovely women suddenly appeared, all embroidering phoenixes and drawing luan birds at their needlework.

The elder saw that the household had no man in it, only four women, and did not dare go in; he stood still and slipped under the tall trees. The women were, one by one, like this:

A maiden's heart firm as stone; an orchid nature glad as spring.Lovely faces set off with red clouds; vermillion lips evenly rouged.Moth eyebrows arched like little moons; cicada-wing hair piled like fresh clouds.Were they to stand among the flowers, the roving bees would take them for the real thing.

He waited a good half hour, and all was still — no sound of dog or rooster. He thought to himself: "If I have not the skill to beg a single meal, my disciples will laugh at me: 'If the master cannot beg a meal, how are the disciples to worship Buddha?'"

The elder, having no other way, went on — feeling a little in the wrong — and hurried up onto the bridge. A few steps farther he saw that within the grounds there was a wood-rose pavilion, and under the pavilion three more women kicking a ball for play. See those three women, differently made again from the four. See them:

Green sleeves floated; pale-yellow skirts swayed. Green sleeves floated, low over slender jade-shoot fingers; pale-yellow skirts swayed, half showing narrow golden-lotus feet. Their figures and postures were perfect in every part; between still and moving, their feet played a thousand tricks. Catching the ball overhead, now high, now low; tossing it back, true and square. Turning, they kicked a "blossom over the wall"; stepping back, they flipped a "great crossing of the sea." Lightly they received a "clod of mud"; with one spear they hastily matched a "crutch." A bright pearl onto the Buddha's head; a firm pinch onto the pointed boot. The skewered brick caught at a tilt; the lying fish with foot held high. Waist level, knees bent in a crouch; crown twisted, heel tipped up. Over the bench with a flourish; the shawl flying free. Legs crossed, letting it pass to and fro; neck locked, swaying with the game. They kicked until the Yellow River ran backward and goldfish were sold on the sandbar. One mistook the play of the head; another turned and struck a "crutch." Squarely they caught it on the shin; neatly they snapped it with the toe. Heel lifted, they flicked the straw sandal; planted backward, they stole a look behind. Stepping back, a flourish off the shoulder; the hook, one false stroke only. Down from the carrying-pole and long; then a shove straight through the gate. When the kicking came to its sweetest, the beauties cheered together. One by one the sweat streamed, powder soaking through silk gowns; interest dulled and mood cooled, only then did they call the game.

Words cannot tell it all; there is a poem to prove it. The poem says:

Kickball on the field in third-month weather; an immortal breeze blows down the fair ones from the moon.Sweat stains powdered faces, like flowers holding dew; dust smudges moth brows, like willows wrapped in mist.Kingfisher sleeves hang low, caging jade shoots; pale-yellow skirts trail aslant, showing golden lotus.Round after round of kicking leaves the beauties weak; cloud-hair loosened, the jeweled bun tipped awry.

Tripitaka watched until a long hour had gone by; then he had to walk to the bridgehead and call out: "Bodhisattvas, your poor monk begs here, as his luck allows, a little food in alms." The women heard him, and one and all gladly threw down their needlework, dropped the ball, and came laughing and humming through the door to meet him: "Elder, forgive our poor welcome. That you should come today to our humble farm — we would never dare stand in the road and refuse a monk his meal. Please come in and sit." Tripitaka heard, and thought to himself: "How good, how good! The West is truly the land of Buddha — here even the women think of feeding monks. How much more devoutly must the men bow to Buddha!"

The elder came forward, saluted with joined palms, and followed the women into the hut. Passing the wood-rose pavilion, he looked — ah! There were no rooms or corridors inside at all. He saw only this:

Peaks towered high; the veins of the land ran long. Peaks towered high, meeting cloud and mist; the veins of the land ran long, reaching sea and mountains. The gate stood near the stone bridge, looked upon by nine bends and nine turns of flowing water; the garden grew peach and plum, a thousand trees, a thousand fruits vying in blossom. Vines and creeping fig hung over three trees and five; the scent of lingzhi and orchid drifted over ten thousand flowers. From afar the grotto outdid the isle of Penglai; up close the woods bore down on Mount Hua. Truly it was a hiding place for demon-immortals, with never a neighbor — a household all its own.

One of the women came forward, pushed open the two leaves of the stone door, and asked the Tang monk to sit inside. The elder had no choice but to enter. He looked up suddenly: everything was set with stone tables and stone stools, and the air was cold and dank. The elder's heart jumped, and he thought: "This place promises little luck and much harm — surely no good." The women, all smiles and soft words, said: "Please sit, elder." The elder, having no choice, sat. After a moment, he shivered once. The women asked: "Elder, what is your honored mountain? What alms do you beg? Is it to mend bridges and patch roads, to build a temple or honor a pagoda, or to cast a Buddha and print scriptures? Bring out your alms book and let us see it." The elder said: "I am not a begging monk." The women said: "If you do not beg alms, what have you come here for?" The elder said: "I am one sent by the Land of the East, the Great Tang, to the Western Heaven, the Thunderclap Monastery, to seek the scriptures. Passing your honored region just now, my belly was pinched with hunger, so I called at your house to beg one meal; and then your poor monk will go on his way." The women said: "Good, good, good! There is a common saying: 'The monk from afar reads the scriptures best.' Sisters, we must not be slack. Bring the meal quickly."

Three of the women stayed with him meanwhile, trading words and chatting of one thing and another. The four went into the kitchen, tucked up their skirts and sleeves, built the fire, and scrubbed the pot. And what do you think they prepared? It was human oil for frying, human flesh for stewing: stewed black and mushy, passed off as wheat gluten; scooped human brains fried into slabs like bean curd. Two dishes were carried out, set on the stone table, and they said to the elder: "Please. In this sudden hurry we had no time to prepare a fine meal. Make do with this to fill your belly; more will be brought to change the courses." The elder sniffed at it, saw how rank it smelled, and dared not open his mouth. Bending forward with palms joined, he said: "Bodhisattvas, your poor monk has kept away from meat from the womb." The women laughed: "Elder, this is vegetarian." The elder said: "Amitabha! If this is what you call vegetarian, then this monk might eat it and never hope to see the World-Honored One or win the scriptures." The women said: "Elder, you are a man who has left home; never pick and choose among those who give alms." The elder said: "How would I dare, how would I dare! This monk carries the decree of the Great Tang and has come all the way west, harming not the smallest living thing, saving whom he finds in distress; if he meets a grain of grain he picks it up and eats it, and if he meets a thread he knots it on to cover his body. How would I dare pick and choose among my hosts?" The women laughed: "Elder, though you do not pick and choose among alms, you are something of a fussy guest all the same. Do not scorn it as coarse and plain; eat a little." The elder said: "Truly I dare not eat, for fear of breaking my vows. I beg the Bodhisattvas: better to release a life than to feed one. Let this monk go out."

The elder struggled to leave, but the women barred the door — how would they let him go? They all said: "A bargain that walks in our own gate is not to be thrown away. 'Break wind, then cover it with your hand' — and where would you go?" Every one of them knew some martial art, and their hands and feet were quick. They seized the elder and, as one leads a goat by a rope, threw him flat on the ground. They all pinned him down, trussed him with ropes, and hung him high from a beam. This hanging had a name; it was called "the Immortal Points the Way." It went like this: one hand stretched forward, hoisted up on a rope; one hand bound at the waist, hung up on a rope; both feet bent backward, lifted on a third rope. Three ropes hung the elder from the beam, back upward and belly downward. The elder bore the pain, swallowed his tears, and hated in his heart: "Bitter is this monk's fate! I thought only to beg a meal at a good family — who knew I would drop into a pit of fire! Disciples, come quickly and save me, and we shall meet again; but if you are two hours late, my life is done."

Though the elder was in agony, he still kept his eyes on the women. When they had hung him securely, they went off to strip off their clothes. The elder's heart jumped, and he thought: "Once they have stripped, it is my body they are after. Or perhaps they mean to eat me half-cooked." Those women only untied the silk jackets on their upper bodies and bared their bellies, each showing her art: from the whorls of their waists there spouted silk cord, thick as a duck's egg, gushing and welling, flying jade and silver. In a moment they had the whole farm front curtained in silk — but no more of that.

Now Pilgrim, Bajie, and Sha Monk were all at the side of the great road; the other two minded the horse and the load, but Pilgrim, being a naughty one, jumped about the trees, climbing branches, plucking leaves, hunting for fruit. Suddenly he looked back and saw a patch of brightness; startled, he jumped down from the tree and shouted: "Bad, bad! Master's luck has run out." Pilgrim pointed with his finger: "Look at that farmstead — what do you see?" Bajie and Sha Monk fixed their eyes on it together: a patch of it like snow, and bright as snow; like silver, and gleaming like silver. Bajie said: "It is over, it is over! Master has fallen in with a demon. Let us hurry and save him." Pilgrim said: "Brother, do not shout. Since you cannot see what it is either, wait while old Sun goes and looks." Sha Monk said: "Brother, be careful." Pilgrim said: "I have my own way of it."

The good Great Sage tightened his tiger-skin kilt, drew out the gold-banded staff, and in two or three strides ran up front. He saw the silk cord wound to a thickness of hundreds and thousands of layers, crossing and crisscrossing, like warp and weft. He pressed it with his hand: it was somewhat sticky and soft, and clung to the skin. Pilgrim had no idea what the stuff was. He raised his staff: "One blow of this — never mind a few thousand layers; were there tens of thousands, I would snap them." He was about to strike, then stopped his hand: "If it were stiff, I could break it; being soft, I could only beat it flat. And if I startled them, and they wound old Sun up in the threads, that would be an ugly business. Let me ask a question or two before I strike."

And who do you think he asked? He pinched a sign, murmured a spell, and summoned the local earth god, who spun about in his temple like a millstone. The earth god's wife said: "Old man, why do you spin about? Have you got the falling sickness?" The earth god said: "You do not know, you do not know. That Great Sage Equal to Heaven has come, and I did not go out to meet him; he is summoning me over there." The wife said: "Then go and see him — why spin in place?" The earth god said: "If I go to see him, that staff of his is none too light; for any fault he will likely thrash me." The wife said: "Seeing how old you are, would he really strike you?" The earth god said: "All his life he has loved wine he does not pay for, and old folks are the very ones he likes to beat." The two talked it over a while; then, having no choice, he went out and knelt trembling at the roadside, calling: "Great Sage, the local earth god of this place knocks his head to you." Pilgrim said: "Get up, and none of your fuss. I will not beat you yet; I let the matter stand. Answer me: what place is this?" The earth god said: "Great Sage, from which side do you come?" Pilgrim said: "I come from the Land of the East, going west." The earth god said: "Great Sage, coming from the east, did you pass over that ridge over there?" Pilgrim said: "Just over that ridge. Our baggage and horses are resting on it this very minute." The earth god said: "That is called Silk-Coiling Ridge. Below the ridge is a cave called Silk-Coiling Cave, and in the cave are seven demons." Pilgrim said: "Male demons, or female?" The earth god said: "Female." Pilgrim said: "How great are their powers?" The earth god said: "This little god has thin strength and short power; I do not know how great their arts are. I know only that due south of here, three li away, there is a Stain-Washing Spring, hot water made by nature; it was once the bath pool of the seven immortal maidens of the upper world. Since the demons came to live here, they have seized the Stain-Washing Spring, and the immortal maidens never contended with them; they gave it up to them for nothing. I have seen that immortals do not quarrel with demon fiends; surely these fiends have some great ability." Pilgrim said: "What do they want the spring for?" The earth god said: "Having seized the bath pool, they come out to bathe three times a day. The hour of the Snake is already past, and the hour of the Horse is coming on." Pilgrim heard this and said: "Earth god, you go back; I will take them myself." The old earth god knocked one head on the ground and went trembling back to his own temple.

The Great Sage alone showed his magic: he shook himself and changed into a brindled fly, stuck himself on a grass tip by the road, and waited. In a little while he heard a hissing, sucking sound, like silkworms eating leaves, like the sea giving birth to a tide. About the time it takes to drink half a cup of tea, the silk was all drawn in, and the farm reappeared, looking just as it had at first. Then he heard a creak: the brushwood door sounded, and with laughter and chatter out came seven women. Pilgrim watched them closely from hiding: one and all arm in arm, shoulder to shoulder, sleeves touching, talking and laughing as they came over the bridge — and beauties they truly were. See:

Fairer than jade, and more fragrant; truer than flowers, their speech.Willow brows arched like far hills; red-wood lips parting over cherry mouths.Kingfisher jade tilts in their hairpins; golden lotus flashes under crimson skirts.They were like Chang'e come down to the world, a fairy fallen among mortal dust.

Pilgrim laughed: "No wonder my master wanted to come begging — such goods as these! These seven beauties: if they meant to keep my master, they could not eat him in one meal nor use him up in two days; but if they laid hands on him in turn, one round of their handling and he would be dead. Let me go listen a while, and see what they are plotting."

The good Great Sage gave a little whine, flew to the cloud-piled chignon of the woman walking in front, and stuck there. Just as they crossed the bridge, one of those behind came up and called: "Sisters, when we have bathed, let us steam that fat monk and eat him." Pilgrim laughed to himself: "What poor planning these monsters have! Boiling would save some firewood; why must they insist on steaming him?" The women picked flowers and matched grass as they came south, and before long reached the bath pool. They saw a gate and wall, very grand; wild flowers all over the ground, bright and fragrant; orchids thick and dark along the sides. The woman behind came up, gave a whistle, and pushed open the two leaves of the door; in the middle indeed lay a pool of hot water. This water:

Since heaven and earth were first split apart, the Sun Star originally numbered ten; later the good archer Yi bent his bow, shot down nine sun-crows, and they fell to earth, leaving only the one star, the Golden Crow — the true fire of the sun. Heaven and earth have nine hot springs, all made from those crows. The nine yang springs are the Sweet Cold Spring, the Hillside Spring, the Warm Spring, the East Confluence Spring, the Yellow-Hill Spring, the Filial Peace Spring, the Broad Fen Spring, and the Hot Spring — and this one is the Stain-Washing Spring.

There is a poem to prove it. The poem says:

One breath, and no winter or summer; through three autumns, spring forever.Hot waves seethe like a cauldron; snow-white waves fresh as if new scalded.Its streams part to nourish the crops; its still pool lays the dust of the world.Drop by drop, pearl tears float up; roll upon roll, jade gives forth its juice.Smooth and sleek, yet never brewed; clear and calm, and warm of itself.Its blessing is the native beauty of the place; its making, the innocence of nature.Where the fair ones bathe, ice-flesh grows sleek; the dust and care washed away, jade bodies made new.

The pool was about five zhang across and a good ten zhang long, four feet deep or so, and the water was clear to the bottom. From below, the water welled up like rolling pearls and floating jade, gushing and gushing; on the four sides six or seven openings let the flow through. It ran two or three li away, draining into the fields, and still warm. On the pool stood a three-bay pavilion. In the pavilion, near the back wall, was a bench with eight legs; at the two ends stood two clothes racks lacquered in colors. Pilgrim chirped softly to himself in hiding, and with one flick of wings flew to the head of a clothes rack and stuck there.

The women saw that the water was both clear and hot, and meant to bathe; together they stripped off their clothes, hung them on the racks, and went down together. And Pilgrim watched:

Loosening the buttons, untying the knots of the silk sashes.White bosoms like silver; jade bodies wholly like snow.Elbows and arms a sheet of ice; fragrant shoulders as if pinched from powder.Bellies soft as floss; backs smooth and clean.Knees and wrists half a span around; golden lotuses three inches narrow.And in the middle, that one place of passion: the opening of their charms lay bare.

The women all jumped into the water and frolicked, riding the waves in play. Pilgrim said: "If I were to strike them, I need only stir this staff once around the pool — it is what they call pouring boiling soup on rats in a burrow: the whole nest dies together. Pity, pity! Beat them I could, but it would cheapen old Sun's name. There is a common saying: 'A man does not fight with women.' For a fellow like me to beat a few wenches to death would be poor stuff indeed. I will not strike them; I will play them one trick that ends them at the root, so that they cannot stir — how much better that would be!" The good Great Sage pinched a sign, murmured a spell, shook himself, and changed into a hungry goshawk. See:

Feathers like frost and snow; eyes like bright stars. Where the fox demon sees him, her soul is lost; when the cunning rabbit meets him, his gall turns cold with fright. Steel talons, swift in their edge; a masterful bearing, fierce in its sweep. He knows how to serve his belly with blows of the old fist, and does not shrink from giving chase on the wing with his own feet. Through ten thousand miles of cold sky he rises and dips; through clouds he stoops on his quarry, going where he will.

With a whoosh of wings he flew forward, spread his keen talons, and snatched away all seven sets of clothes hung on the racks; then he flew straight back to the ridge top, showed his true form, and came to Bajie and Sha Monk.

See the Idiot meet him with a laugh: "So Master was carried off by a pawnshop after all." Sha Monk said: "How do you make that out?" Bajie said: "Do you not see our brother coming back with the whole wardrobe?" Pilgrim set the clothes down and said: "These are the clothes the demons wore." Bajie said: "How did there come to be so many?" Pilgrim said: "Seven sets." Bajie said: "How did you strip them off so easily, and so clean?" Pilgrim said: "There was no stripping to be done. This place is called Silk-Coiling Ridge, and that farmstead Silk-Coiling Cave. In the cave are seven she-demons; they took my master and hung him inside, and all went off to bathe at the Stain-Washing Spring. That spring is a work of heaven and earth by nature, a pool of hot water. Their plan was to bathe first, then steam my master for their meal. I followed them there and saw them strip and go into the water. I wanted to strike them, but I feared to foul my staff, and feared too to cheapen my name; so I did not lift the staff, but only changed into a hungry goshawk and snatched their clothes. Now they sit swallowing their shame, not daring to show their heads, huddled in the water. Let us go quickly, cut my master down, and be on our way." Bajie laughed: "Brother, in everything you do you leave the root. You saw the demons — why not kill them, instead of going to free Master? Even if they hide in shame now and will not come out, by evening they are sure to come out. They have old clothes at home; they will put some on and come after us. And even if they do not chase us, they live here for good, and when we have won the scriptures we must return by this very road. There is a common saying: 'Better to go short of money by the roadside than short of fists by the roadside.' Then they would bar the road and raise a row — would they not be enemies to us?" Pilgrim said: "And what would you have us do?" Bajie said: "My way: first kill the demons, then go free Master. That is the plan of cutting the grass and tearing out the root." Pilgrim said: "I will not strike them. If you want to strike them, go and strike them yourself."

Bajie stirred up his spirits, glad and joyful, raised his nail rake, swung out his stride, and ran straight there. He suddenly pushed the door open and looked: the seven women were crouching in the water, cursing that hawk between them: "That lousy feathered beast, that cat-chewed corpse of a bird, has snatched every stitch of our clothes — how are we to lay hands on anything now?" Bajie could not help laughing: "Bodhisattvas, bathing here? Why not take this monk in with you — how about it?" The demons saw him and flared up: "Monk, you are utterly without manners. We are women who live at home; you are a man who has left home. The old books say: 'From seven years of age, boys and girls do not sit on one mat.' And you would bathe with us in one pool?" Bajie said: "The weather is hot, and there is no help for it; make do and let me wash a little. Why come over all bookish about it — on one mat or off one mat?" The Idiot wasted no more words: he dropped the nail rake, stripped off his black silk cassock, and flopped into the water. The demons were vexed to the heart and all came at him to beat him. But Bajie was a master in the water: there he shook himself and changed into a catfish fiend. The demons all groped for the fish and could not catch him: they groped east — whoosh, he shot west; they groped west — whoosh, he shot east. Slippery as jelly, he darted about between their legs. The water was chest-deep; he swam round on the surface a while, then swam round at the bottom, and had them all whirled and toppled, panting and gasping, their strength spent.

Then Bajie leaped out of the water, showed his true form, put on his cassock, gripped his nail rake, and roared: "Who am I now? You took me for a catfish fiend!" The demons saw him; their hearts jumped and their galls shook. They said to Bajie: "You came as a monk; in the water you turned into a catfish; we could not catch you; and now you stand dressed like this. Where in truth do you come from? You must tell us your name." Bajie said: "So you brazen monsters really do not know me! I am the disciple of the Tang elder of the Land of the East, the Great Tang, who seeks the scriptures — Marshal Tianpeng, Wuneng, Bajie! You hung my master in the cave, plotting to steam him for your pleasure. And is my master fit for steaming? Thrust out your heads quickly, one rake-blow each, and I will cut you off at the root." The demons heard this; their souls flew and their spirits scattered, and they knelt and bowed in the water: "Spare us, my lord — have mercy! We were blind and foolish and took your master by mistake; though we hung him there, we never dared put him to the torture. In your mercy, spare our lives: we will gladly put up travel money and see your master off to the Western Heaven ourselves." Bajie waved his hand: "None of that talk. The proverb has it well: 'Once fooled by a sugar-selling gentleman, you will never again trust a sweet-talking man.' One rake-blow apiece, and then we each go our way."

The Idiot was all one coarse clod, out to show his hand, with no thought of pitying the fragrant or cherishing the jade. Rake raised, he made no distinctions but chased and struck at random. The demons lost their heads; shame was nothing now — life was the thing — so they covered their privy parts with their hands, leaped out of the water, and all ran into the pavilion, where they worked their art: from their navel whorls there gushed silk cord, gout upon gout, and they threw up a great canopy of silk over the sky, catching Bajie in the middle of it. The Idiot looked up suddenly: no sky, no daylight. He turned to rush outside, but could not lift his feet: they had laid trip-cords, and the ground was all silk. One step and down he pitched; left — a face plant on the ground; right — a headfirst somersault; a quick turn — another fall, mouth in the dirt; up in a scramble — down again, a standing cartwheel. Who knows how many tumbles he took? The Idiot was tumbled numb in body and weak in the legs, dizzy and bleary; he could not even crawl, but lay on the ground groaning.

The monsters, having trapped him, did not beat him nor hurt him; one and all they jumped out the door, shaded the daylight with the silk canopy, and went back each to her cave. On the stone bridge they stopped, murmured a true word, and in an instant drew in the canopy; naked as they were born, they ran into the cave, hands over their privy parts, scampering past the Tang monk with smiles on their faces. They went into the stone rooms, put on a few old clothes, came to the back gate, stood, and called: "Where are our children?" Now each of these demons had a son — not sons of their own bodies, but sworn adopted sons. Their names were Mi, Ma, Lu, Ban, Meng, La, and Qing: Mi was the honeybee, Ma the hornet, Lu the wasp, Ban the blister beetle, Meng the gadfly, La the plaster bee, and Qing the dragonfly. When the demons hung their web across the sky and caught these seven insects, they meant to eat them. The old saying goes: "Birds have bird speech; beasts have beast talk." Those insects begged piteously for their lives and offered to bow to them as mothers. So from then on, in spring they gathered the hundred flowers to serve the monsters, and in summer they sought out every blossom to do the demons honor. Hearing the call, they all came before them and asked: "Mother, what are your orders?" The monsters said: "Children, this morning we wronged a monk from the Tang, and just now his apprentice penned us in the pool; we were disgraced past telling, and nearly lost our lives. Do your best: go out quickly and turn him back for us. If you win, you may come to your uncle's house to meet us." Those monsters, having gotten their lives back, went off to their mother's elder brother of the same school — their wicked mouths breeding fresh trouble — but no more of that. And see the insects: one and all they rubbed their fists and palmed their claws, and came out to give battle.

Now Bajie, tumbled dizzy, looked up sharply: canopy and cords were all gone. Then, feeling his way a step at a time, he crawled up, bore the pain, and found his way back along the road. He saw Pilgrim and seized his hand: "Brother, is my head swollen? Is my face green?" Pilgrim said: "What happened to you?" Bajie said: "That wretch shrouded me in silk cord and laid trip-ropes; heaven knows how many tumbles I took — I was bent double, my back nearly broken, unable to move an inch. Just now the canopy and the cords all vanished, and so I got my life back and came." Sha Monk saw him and said: "It is over, it is over! You have brewed trouble. Those demons are surely gone to the cave to harm Master. Let us hurry and save him."

Hearing this, Pilgrim strode off at once; Bajie led the horse. They hurried to the front of the farm, and there on the stone bridge stood seven little fiends barring the way: "Slow, slow! We are here." Pilgrim looked and laughed: "How funny — neat little fellows every one. The tallest of them is two feet five or six inches, under three feet; the heaviest is eight or nine catties, under ten." He barked: "Who are you?" The fiends said: "We are the sons of the seven immortal maidens. You have shamed and abused our mothers, and now you dare, ignorant as you are, to storm our gate. Do not run; look out for yourselves!" The good monsters — every one of them came pelting in to attack. Bajie's temper was already soured by his tumbles, and seeing the insects so small, he set his teeth and raised the rake to strike. The fiends saw how fierce the Idiot was; each showed his true form in a flash and flew up, crying: "Change!" In a moment one became ten, ten became a hundred, a hundred became a thousand, a thousand became ten thousand, and every one of them became a number past counting. See:

Plaster bees fill the sky in flight; dragonflies dance over the ground.Honeybees and hornets strike at forehead and brow; wasps jab at the eyes.Blister beetles bite fore and aft; gadflies sting above and below.A blackness swarms into your face, whirring — gods and ghosts would startle.

Bajie panicked: "Brother, they say the scriptures are easy to win — on the western road even the insects bully a man!" Pilgrim said: "Brother, do not be afraid. Get up there and strike." Bajie said: "They are on my head, in my face, over me from top to toe, ten and twenty layers thick — how do I strike?" Pilgrim said: "No matter, no matter; I have my own art." Sha Monk said: "Brother, what art? Bring it out quickly — in a moment the bald head will be stung swollen."

The good Great Sage plucked out a handful of hairs, chewed them to bits, and sprayed them out; at once they became hawks — the yellow, the speckled, the dai, the white, the eagle, the fish, and the sparrowhawk. Bajie said: "Brother, what shop talk is this — 'yellow' this and 'speckled' that?" Pilgrim said: "You do not know. The yellow is the yellow hawk, the speckled the speckled hawk, the dai the dai hawk, the white the white hawk, the eagle the eagle hawk, the fish the fish hawk, and the sparrowhawk the sparrowhawk hawk. The demons' sons are seven kinds of insect; my hairs are seven kinds of hawk." A hawk is the best of all at snapping up insects, one to a beak; with claw-blows and wing-beats, in a moment they beat them down to the last one. The sky was empty of them, and they lay piled a foot deep on the ground.

The three brothers then charged across the bridge and straight into the cave, and there was the old master hanging, moaning and weeping. Bajie came up close: "Master, so you wanted to hang here for fun! Little you knew what a cargo of tumbles it cost me." Sha Monk said: "First cut Master down; talk after." Pilgrim at once picked the cords apart, let his master down, and asked: "Where have the demons gone?" The Tang monk said: "All seven went streaking naked out the back, calling for their sons." Pilgrim said: "Brothers, come with me; we will hunt them out."

The three took up their weapons and searched the back garden; no trace of them. They searched every peach and plum tree through, and found nothing. Bajie said: "They are gone, they are gone." Sha Monk said: "No need to hunt them; let me help Master along." The brothers came back to the front and helped the Tang monk into the saddle. Bajie said: "You help Master along, and let this old pig knock that house flat with one bout of the rake, so that when they come back they have nowhere to live." Pilgrim laughed: "Knocking it down is slow work; better to fetch some firewood and give them the root-cutting treatment." The good Idiot gathered some rotten pine, broken bamboo, dry willow, and withered vine, set a light to it, and burned the whole place clean. Only then did master and disciples go on their way with easy minds.

Ah! As they go on from here, what good luck or what disaster falls to those monsters? Listen to the next chapter to find out.