Chapter 73

Old Hatred Breeds Poison and Calamity; the Mind's Lord, Demon-Beset, Is Saved by Broken Light

The story tells how the Great Sage Sun, supporting the Tang monk, with Bajie and Sha Monk hurried onto the great road, heading ever west. Before half a day they saw suddenly a place of storied buildings, rank upon rank, and towering halls. The Tang monk reined in his horse: “Disciples, what place is that?” The Pilgrim raised his head and looked, and suddenly saw:

Hills girdled the storied towers; a stream wound about the pavilions and terraces. Before the gate mixed trees stood thick and dark; outside the walls wildflowers glowed bright and fragrant.Egrets roosting in the willows, flawless jade adrift in the mist; orioles warbling in the peach trees, gold with color in the midst of fire.Wild deer in pairs, forgetful of the world, treading idly the green sedge; mountain birds in couples, calling as they flew, high in the tops of the red trees.Truly like the Tiantai grotto of Liu Chen and Ruan Zhao; no less than the fairy gardens of Langyuan, home of the immortals.

The Pilgrim reported: “Master, that place is no prince’s mansion, no rich man’s house, but looks like a Taoist abbey or monastery. When we reach it we will know for certain.” At this Tripitaka whipped up his horse. Master and disciples came to the gate and looked: inlaid on it was a stone slab bearing the three words “Yellow Flower Abbey.” Tripitaka dismounted. Bajie said: “The Yellow Flower Abbey is a Taoist household. It would be well for us to go in and pay our respects: though our dress differs from his, our cultivation is the same.” Sha Monk said: “Well said. First, we may go in and view the scenery; second, we can rest and relieve the beasts. Wherever is convenient, we will arrange a meal for our master to eat.”

The elder did as he said, and all four went in together. On the inner gate they saw a pair of spring couplets: “Yellow sprouts and white snow: an immortal’s mansion; jasper grasses and rare flowers: a feathered scholar’s home.” The Pilgrim laughed: “Here is a Taoist who burns thatch and refines drugs, plays with furnace fire, and tends his crucibles.” Tripitaka pinched him: “Watch your words, watch your words. We are strangers to him, not kin; we only stop a moment—what does it matter to us?” Before the words were done they had passed the inner gate and saw the main hall shut fast, while in the east corridor sat a Taoist, rolling pills of medicine. Look at his dress:

On his head a red-gleaming cap with gold inlay; on his body a black-glossy robe of raven; on his feet green-sheened shoes with cloud toes; at his waist a yellow-fringed scholar’s sash.His face like melon-hued iron; his eyes like shining stars. A great high nose like a Persian’s; lips rolled out wide like a Tartar’s.A Taoist heart holding hidden thunder—a true feathered gentleman, subduer of tigers and dragons.

Tripitaka saw him and called aloud: “Old immortal, this poor monk salutes you.” The Taoist looked up suddenly, started at the sight, dropped the drug in his hand, pressed down his hairpin, straightened his clothes, and came down the steps to welcome them: “Old master, forgive my late welcome. Pray come in and sit.” The elder went up to the hall gladly. He pushed open the door and saw images of the Three Pure Ones, with censer and incense on the offering table. He took incense, lit it in the censer, and bowed three times around, and only then saluted the Taoist. Then they went to the guest seats, and he sat down with his disciples. The Taoist hastily called his acolyte boys to serve tea. Two small boys went inside at once, hunting the tea tray, washing the cups, wiping the spoons, preparing tea and fruit, bustling this way and that—and soon startled those old foes within.

Now the seven women demons of the Cave of Coiled Silk had studied the arts under the same roof as this Taoist. Since putting on their old clothes, they had called out their sons and come straight here. They were cutting and sewing clothes in the back when they saw the boy preparing tea, and asked: “Boy, what guests have come, to put you in such a bustle?” The acolyte said: “Four monks came in just now; our master told us to serve tea.” The woman demon said: “Is there a white fat monk among them?” He said: “There is.” She asked again: “Is there one with a long mouth and big ears?” He said: “There is.” The woman demon said: “Go quickly and hand out the tea; then give your master a wink, and have him come in. I have something urgent to say.” And truly the acolyte carried out five cups of tea. The Taoist gathered his robes, took a cup in both hands and offered it to Tripitaka, then to Bajie, Sha Monk, and the Pilgrim. When the tea was done and the cups taken away, the small boy gave his wink, and the Taoist rose, bowed, and said: “Gentlemen, be seated.” He told the boy: “Put down the tea tray and keep them company. I will go and come.” Then the elder and the disciples, with one small boy, went out before the hall to look about—no more of that.

Now the Taoist walked into his abbot’s chamber and saw the seven women all kneeling together, crying: “Senior brother, senior brother, hear one word from your little sisters.” The Taoist raised them with his hand: “When you came this morning you had something to say to me; but it happened I was rolling pills today, and this drug must not see a woman, so I did not answer you. Now there are guests outside as well; let your words wait and be said slowly.” The demons said: “We must report, senior brother: only because the guests have come dare we tell this business; once the guests are gone, it is of no use to say.” The Taoist laughed: “Listen to you, good sisters. Why must it be said only while the guests are here? Have you gone mad? Never mind that I am one who cultivates in quiet for immortality; even in a common household, with wife and children and family affairs, one waits till the guests are gone to settle things. How can you be so unseemly as to make me a laughingstock? Let me go out.” Again the demons caught hold of him together: “Senior brother, calm your anger. Answer us: where do the guests in front come from?” The Taoist scowled and would not answer. The demons said: “When the small boy came in just now for the tea, I heard him say they are four monks.” The Taoist flew into a rage: “What of it if they are monks?” The demons said: “Four monks, among them one white-faced and fat, one with a long mouth and big ears. Senior brother, did you ask where they come from?” The Taoist said: “Those two are indeed among them. How do you know? Could you have seen them somewhere?”

The woman said: “Senior brother, you do not know the grievance. Those monks are the ones the Tang court sent to the Western Heaven to fetch scriptures. This morning they came to our cave begging a meal; in truth we sisters had heard the name of the Tang monk, and we took him.” The Taoist said: “What did you take him for?” The woman said: “We have long heard it said that the Tang monk is a true body refined through ten lifetimes; whoever eats one piece of his flesh will lengthen his years and live forever—so we took him. Then the monk with the long mouth and big ears trapped us in the Cleansing Spring: first he snatched our clothes, then showed his tricks, forcing himself to bathe with us, and there was no stopping him. He jumped into the water and changed into a catfish, burrowing back and forth between our thighs, bent on his shabby ravishing—utterly shameless. Then he jumped out again and showed his true form. Seeing we would not yield to him, he made at us with a nine-toothed muckrake to take our lives. Had we not had some wit about us, we would have perished by his cruel hand; so we fled trembling for our lives. Then we sent your foolish nephews out to fight him, and we do not know whether they live or died. We have come specially to throw ourselves on you, elder brother: remember the fellowship of our old school days, and be our avenger today.” At these words the Taoist was moved to hate, and his face and voice changed: “So this monk is so rude, so shameless! Set your minds at rest, all of you; I will handle him.” The women thanked him: “Senior brother, if you come to blows, let us all come and help beat him.” The Taoist said: “No need to beat him, no need. The saying goes: ‘Fists first lose you three parts of the argument.’ All of you follow me.”

The women followed at his side. He went into the room, took down a ladder, went around behind the bed, climbed up to the roof beam, and brought down a small leather chest. The chest was about eight inches high, a foot long, four inches wide, locked with a little copper lock. From his sleeve he took out a square napkin of goose-yellow silk, with a little key tied to its tassel. He opened the lock and brought out a packet of drug. This drug was:

Droppings of the hundred birds of the mountain, swept and piled to a thousand catties.Boiled in a pot of copper, simmered over an even fire.A thousand catties simmer down to one ladle; one ladle refines to three parts.The three parts still must be roasted, then calcined and smoked again.Thus is made this deadly drug, more precious than pearls and treasure.But taste of it, and at the first mouthful you meet King Yama.

The Taoist said to the seven women: “Sisters, as for this treasure of mine: give it to a mortal and one grain’s worth kills him once it enters the belly; give it to an immortal and three grains finish him. These monks may have some cultivation too—they will need three grains. Bring the scales, quick.” One of the women hurriedly brought a small balance: “Weigh out one part and two grains, and divide it into four portions.” He took twelve red dates, pinched each open a little, pressed a grain of the drug inside, and divided them among four tea cups; then he took two black dates for one more cup, set on a tray, and said to the women: “I will go and ask. If they are not of the Tang, it is nothing; but if they are from the Tang, I will have the tea changed, and you shall have this tea carried out by the boy. Once they drink it, they die to a man, and your vengeance is done, and your grief eased.” The seven women could not thank him enough.

The Taoist changed into different clothes and came out with hollow courtesies, all deference, asking the Tang monk and the rest to sit again in the guest seats: “Do not blame me, old master. I went back just now to give my little disciples instructions to pick some fresh greens and turnips and prepare a vegetarian meal for you; hence my absence.” Tripitaka said: “This poor monk came empty-handed to pay his respects; how could I dare trouble you for a meal?” The Taoist laughed: “We are both of us out of the world’s households: wherever there is a mountain gate there are three pecks of stipend grain. What talk of empty hands! May I ask, old master, from what precious mountain do you come, and on what errand?” Tripitaka said: “This poor monk was sent by the court of the Great Tang of the eastern lands to fetch scriptures at the Great Thunderclap Monastery in the Western Heaven. Passing your immortal palace just now, I came in all sincerity to pay my respects.” Hearing this, the Taoist’s whole face flowered: “You, master, are a Buddha of loyalty and great virtue. This small Taoist did not know, and failed to come far out to meet you—pardon, pardon.” He called: “Boy, hurry and change the tea; and quickly make ready the meal in the meantime.” The small boy went in, and the women hailed him: “Here is good tea ready made—carry it out.” The boy really did carry out five cups of tea. The Taoist hastened to take up a cup of tea with red dates in both hands and offer it to the Tang monk. Seeing that Bajie had the biggest body, he took him for the eldest disciple; Sha Monk he took for the second; and seeing the Pilgrim small of stature, he took him for the third. So it was the fourth cup that he offered to the Pilgrim.

The Pilgrim, sharp of eye, took the cup—and had already seen that on the tray the other cup held two black dates. He said: “Master, let us trade cups.” The Taoist laughed: “I will not hide it from you, elder: I am a poor Taoist in the wild hills, with no tea fruit ready at hand. I was just in back picking fruit myself, and found only these twelve red dates, made into four cups to offer you. And your humble Taoist could not sit with empty hands, so I made one cup of two inferior dates to keep you company. Such is this poor Taoist’s courtesy.” The Pilgrim laughed: “What talk is that? The ancients said: ‘Poverty at home is no poverty; poverty on the road kills a man.’ You live in your own house—how can you speak of poverty? Wandering monks like us are the truly poor. Let us trade, you and I. Let us trade.” Tripitaka heard and said: “Wukong, this immortal master means only kindness to his guests. Drink it—why trade?” Helpless, the Pilgrim took it in his left hand, covered it with his right, and watched the others.

Now Bajie, hungry on the one hand and thirsty on the other, having by nature a vast feed-bag, saw the three red dates in his cup, popped them in his mouth, and gulped them down. The master ate too, and Sha Monk ate too. In an instant Bajie’s face changed color, Sha Monk’s eyes brimmed with tears, and the Tang monk’s mouth foamed. None of them could stay seated; they fainted to the floor.

The Great Sage knew it was poison. He raised the tea cup and dashed it full in the Taoist’s face. The Taoist threw up his sleeve to block it; with a clang the cup smashed to pieces. The Taoist stormed: “You monk, how churlish! Why smash my cup?” The Pilgrim cursed: “You beast! Look what you have done to those three of mine! What quarrel had I with you, that you should drug my people with poisoned tea?” The Taoist said: “You churlish beast, look what trouble you have stirred up—do you not know it?” The Pilgrim said: “We have barely crossed your gate, barely taken our seats and spoken of our native places; no high word has passed. What trouble could we have stirred?” The Taoist said: “Did you ever beg a meal at the Cave of Coiled Silk? Did you ever bathe at the Cleansing Spring?” The Pilgrim said: “The Cleansing Spring belongs to seven woman demons. If you speak so, you must be in league with them, and a demon yourself. Stand still—take my staff!” Good Great Sage! From his ear he pulled the gold-banded staff, gave it a shake to the girth of a bowl, and struck at the Taoist’s face. The Taoist twisted away and drew a precious sword to meet him.

The two of them cursed and fought, and soon the woman demons inside were alarmed. All seven came pouring out, crying: “Senior brother, do not trouble your heart; let your little sisters take him.” At the sight the Pilgrim’s rage redoubled: both hands swinging the iron staff, he opened his repertoire and rolled in among them, striking wildly. Then the seven threw open their collars and thrust out their snow-white bellies, and from their navels worked their art: silk cords gouted and gouted, and they threw up a canopy of sky, covering the Pilgrim beneath it. Seeing things going ill, the Pilgrim turned a somersault, murmured a spell, and burst through the canopy with a crash. Suppressing his fury, he hung in the air and watched: the demons’ silk cords glinted bright, crossing and recrossing like the warp and weft of a shuttle, and in a moment every tower and hall of the Yellow Flower Abbey was blotted out of sight. The Pilgrim said: “Dreadful, dreadful. It is luck I was not taken. No wonder Bajie took such tumbles. With this, what is to be done? And my master and brothers have drunk the poison. These demons plot with one heart and one mind—who knows what manner they are? I will go and ask the earth god again.”

Good Great Sage! He brought his cloud down, pinched the spell-sign, murmured the true word “om,” and summoned the old earth god once more. Trembling, the old man knelt by the roadside and knocked his head: “Great Sage, did you not go to save your master? Why come back?” The Pilgrim said: “I saved my master this morning; we had gone only a little way when we came upon a place called the Yellow Flower Abbey. My master and I went in to look, and the abbot came out to receive us. We had barely exchanged words when he drugged my master and the others with poisoned tea. I alone escaped the tea by luck, and raised my staff to strike. Then he spoke of begging at the Cave of Coiled Silk and bathing at the Cleansing Spring, and I knew the wretch was a demon. We had barely crossed weapons when seven women ran out and spouted silk cords—Old Sun, thanks to his wits, got away. You are the god of this place and must know their history. What manner of demons are they? Speak honestly, and be spared the beating.” The earth god knocked his head: “Those demons have lived here not ten years. Only three years ago, at my last inspection, did I see their true forms: seven spider demons. The silk cords they spout are spider silk.” The Pilgrim heard and was overjoyed: “If that is all, it is a small matter. In that case, go back; I will work my arts and quell them.” The earth god knocked his head and went.

The Pilgrim went back outside the Yellow Flower Abbey, plucked seventy hairs from his tail, blew on them a breath of immortal air, and cried, “Change!”—and they became seventy little Pilgrims. Then he blew a breath of immortal air on the gold-banded staff and cried, “Change!”—and it became seventy-one double-pronged forked staves. To each little Pilgrim he gave one, keeping one for himself, and outside they set the prongs into the silk cords, all straining together, chanting a work-song, and twisted the silk apart—more than ten catties apiece. Out from inside they dragged seven spiders, bodies a full bushel-measure big, every one hugging its legs, hunching its head, crying only: “Spare us! Spare us!” The seventy little Pilgrims held the seven spiders down and would not let go. The Pilgrim said: “Do not beat them yet—only make them give back my master and brothers.” The demons called aloud: “Senior brother, give back their Tang monk, and save our lives!” The Taoist ran out: “Sisters, it is the Tang monk I mean to eat. I cannot save you.” The Pilgrim heard and in great rage said: “Since you will not give back my master, look then on your sisters’ fate.” Good Great Sage! He shook the forked staves back into one iron staff, lifted it in both hands, and beat the seven spider demons to a pulp.

Then he shook his tail twice, gathered back his hairs, and alone, staff swinging, drove in after the Taoist. The Taoist, seeing his junior sisters beaten to death, could not bear it; he set his teeth, raised his sword, and came to meet him. Each nursed his fury, and each displayed his powers to the full. It was a fine slaughter:

The demon swung his precious sword; the Great Sage raised the gold-banded staff.Both for the sake of Tripitaka of the Tang—first to bring the seven women to their death.Now each spreads wide his practiced hand, showing might, working magic, flaunting his art.The Great Sage’s spirit blazed strong; the demon immortal’s gall ran bold.His whole repertoire like flowered brocade; both hands wheeling like a well-windlass.Ping and pong rang sword on staff; wild clouds drifted, drear and dim.Cutting taunts, cunning schemes—one coming, one going, like a painted scroll.They fought till wind screamed and sand flew and wolves and tigers feared; till sky darkened, earth blackened, and the Dipper’s stars were gone.

The Taoist fought the Great Sage fifty or sixty rounds and began to feel his hands weaken. All at once his sinews and joints went slack; he loosened his sash, and with a sharp rasp stripped off his black robe. The Pilgrim laughed: “My son, if you cannot beat a man with your clothes on, you cannot beat him stripped either.”

Now, the Taoist’s clothes off, he raised both hands together, and there beneath his two arms were a thousand eyes, and from the eyes burst golden light, terrible past telling:

Yellow mist, rank on rank; golden light, bright on bright.Yellow mist rank on rank, jetting like cloud from both flanks; golden light bright on bright, like fire kindled in a thousand eyes.Right and left like a golden bucket; east and west like a bronze bell.Thus the demon immortal spent his magic power; the Taoist showed his spirit arts: dazzling the eyes, befogging heaven, hiding sun and moon; netting men in a scorching, choking haze—and there was the Great Sage Sun, Equal to Heaven, trapped in the golden light and yellow mist.

The Pilgrim’s hands went numb with fright; he could only wheel within the golden glare—one step forward was impossible, one step back impossible, like a man turning inside a bucket. The scorching too was past bearing. In desperation he jumped with all his might, burst through the golden light, and fell flat on his head with a crash; his head ached from the blow. He felt it hastily: the skin of his crown had been knocked soft. He fumed to himself: “Ill luck, ill luck—even this head of mine fails me today. Knife and axe never could mark it; how has this golden light bruised the flesh soft? It will fester before long. Even if it heals, it will be a wound gone bad.” A while the scorching was past enduring, and he thought again: “No going forward, no falling back, no going left, no going right, no bursting upward—what now? Then below, and the devil take the rest.”

Good Great Sage! He murmured a spell, shook himself once, and changed into a pangolin, called in common speech the scale-carp. Truly it was:

Four iron claws, boring hills and crushing stone like pounded flour; a body sheathed in scale armor, breaking ridges and piercing rock like scallions sliced.Two eyes full of light, like a pair of stars gleaming; a mouth sharp-pointed, better than a steel drill or gold awl.In the pharmacopoeia its nature is known—the pangolin; in common speech, the scale-carp.

Look at him: head hardened, he bored into the earth and tunneled twenty li and more before he came up. It turned out the golden light only covered a dozen or so li. Out he came, showed his true form, his strength gone and sinews slack, his whole body aching, tears streaming from his eyes despite himself. Suddenly he cried out: “Master—

In those years, taking the teaching, I came out of the mountains, and together we pressed west, laboring at the work.The great waves of the open sea held no terror for me; yet in a little gutter I have met the wind.”

The Handsome Monkey King was at the height of grief when he heard someone weeping behind the hill. He straightened up, wiped his eyes, and turned to look. He saw a woman in deep mourning, in her left hand a dish of cold offering-rice and water, in her right hand some sheets of burning paper and yellow coin, coming step by step and wail by wail. The Pilgrim nodded and sighed: “Just as they say: ‘A weeping eye meets a weeping eye; a broken heart meets a broken heart.’ This woman—who is she weeping for? Let me ask her.” Before long the woman came up and faced him. The Pilgrim bowed and asked: “Bodhisattva of the female kind, for whom do you weep?” Choking on tears the woman said: “My husband quarreled with the abbot of the Yellow Flower Abbey over the price of bamboo poles, and the man killed him with poisoned tea. I am burning this packet of paper money to repay our bond of wife and husband.” The Pilgrim heard, and tears came to his own eyes. The woman saw and flew into a rage: “How heartless you are! I am grieving for my husband, and you—why weep and look woeful, mocking me to my face?”

The Pilgrim bowed: “Bodhisattva of the female kind, calm your anger. I am the Pilgrim Sun Wukong, eldest disciple of Tang Tripitaka, imperial brother and envoy of the Great Tang of the east. On my way to the Western Heaven I passed the Yellow Flower Abbey and stopped to rest my horse. The Taoist of that abbey—I know not what manner of demon he is—has sworn brotherhood with seven spider demons. The spiders, in the Cave of Coiled Silk, tried to harm my master; my brothers Bajie and Sha Monk and I freed him from their hands. The spiders came here to this man and poisoned his ear with tales, saying we meant to cheat them. So the Taoist drugged my master and brothers, three men and a horse, and holds them all in his abbey. Only I drank none of his tea; I smashed the cup, and he fell on me. While we were still raging at each other the seven spiders ran out and spouted silk cords and netted me in; I used my magic and got away. I asked the earth god, who told me their true forms. Then I worked the art of the divided body, twisted all the silk to shreds, dragged out the demons, and beat them to death with my staff. This Taoist, to avenge them, raised his precious sword against me. After sixty rounds he lost the field, stripped off his clothes, and from beneath his two arms put forth a thousand eyes and ten thousand rays of golden light that netted me fast. So I could neither advance nor retreat, and only by changing into a scale-carp did I bore my way out of the ground. In my grief I heard you weeping, and so I asked. Seeing you repay your husband with this paper money, and my master lying dead with nothing of mine to honor him, I grieved at my own helplessness. How would I dare mock you?”

The woman set down the offering-rice and paper money and apologized to the Pilgrim: “Do not blame me, do not blame me—I did not know you were one who had suffered calamity. But from your story I can tell you do not know that Taoist. He is by nature the Hundred-Eyed Demon Lord, also called the Many-Eyed Demon. That you have such transformations, that you broke through the golden light and fought so long, shows you must have great powers—yet you can never come near that wretch. Let me send you to a sage who can break the golden light and subdue the Taoist.” The Pilgrim heard and hastened to salute: “Since you know this history, Bodhisattva of the female kind, be so good as to instruct me. Who is the sage? I will go and beg his aid, save my master from his plight, and avenge your husband too.” The woman said: “If I tell you and you go and subdue the Taoist, you may take your vengeance—but I fear you cannot save your master.” The Pilgrim said: “Why not?” The woman said: “That wretch’s poison is the cruelest: once it fells a man, within three days marrow and bone rot together. Your journey there and back may come too late; that is why you cannot save him.” The Pilgrim said: “I am a traveler. However far it is, I need only half a day.” The woman said: “If you are such a traveler, hear me: from here to that place is a thousand li. There is a mountain there called Purple Cloud Mountain, and in the mountain a cave called the Cave of a Thousand Flowers, and in the cave a sage called Pilanpo, who can subdue this monster.” The Pilgrim said: “Where does the mountain lie? By what road does one go?” The woman pointed with her finger: “Due south, that is the way.” The Pilgrim turned his head to look, and the woman was gone. He made haste to bow: “Which Bodhisattva are you? Your disciple, muddled with burrowing, could not know you. Leave me your name, I beg, that I may give thanks.” From mid-air came the call: “Great Sage, it is I.” The Pilgrim looked up quickly: it was the Old Mother of Mount Li. He hurried up into the air to thank her: “Old Mother, from where did you come to instruct me?” The Old Mother said: “I was just returning from the Dragon-Flower Assembly, and seeing your master in distress I took the shape of a mourning wife, borrowing a husband’s death to spare him his. Go quickly and ask for her; but do not say I sent you—that sage is something of a grudge-keeper.”

The Pilgrim thanked her, took his leave, and with one leap of the somersault cloud was at Purple Cloud Mountain. He steadied the cloud and saw the Cave of a Thousand Flowers. Outside the cave:

Green pines shade the blessed scene; kingfisher cypresses girdle the immortal dwelling.Green willows fill the mountain path; strange flowers throng the stream-cut channels.Fragrant orchids ring the stone hut; sweet grasses brighten crag and nook.Flowing water joins the creek in blue; cloud seals the ancient trees in mist.Wild birds cry, clamorous; hidden deer step slow.Tall bamboo, each branch elegant; red plum, each leaf unfurled.Cold rooks roost in ancient trees; spring birds chatter in the tall ailanthus.Summer wheat fills the broad fields; autumn grain overruns the ground.In all four seasons no leaf falls; at all eight feasts the flowers hold.Auspicious haze ever rising to join the River of Heaven; blessed cloud always spreading to touch the great void.

The Great Sage, glad and easy, walked in, stage by stage, unable to exhaust the boundless scenery. Straight into the innermost court—and not a soul there, all quiet and still, no sound of cock or dog. He thought to himself: “The sage must be away from home.” He went on several li further and saw a Taoist nun sitting on a couch. Look at her appearance:

On her head a five-flowered brocade cap; on her body a robe woven with gold.On her feet cloud-pointed shoes with phoenix toes; at her waist a twisted-silk sash with double tassels.Her face like autumn’s look grown old past frost; her voice like a spring swallow’s charm before the village altar.Within her, long versed in the Dharma of the Three Vehicles; on her heart, ever cultivated, the riches of the Four Truths.She has awakened to the emptiness of emptiness, the true fruit; refined the clear clarity, free and at ease.Truly the Buddha within the Cave of a Thousand Flowers: Pilanpo the Bodhisattva, her name held high.

The Pilgrim could not stop his feet; coming up close, he called: “Bodhisattva Pilanpo, my salutations!” The Bodhisattva came down from the couch, pressed her palms together, and returned the courtesy: “Great Sage, forgive my late welcome. From where do you come?” The Pilgrim said: “How is it you knew me for the Great Sage at a glance?” Pilanpo said: “When you wrought havoc in the Heavenly Palace long ago, your likeness was published over the whole earth. Who does not know it? Who does not know your face?” The Pilgrim said: “Just so: ‘Good news does not leave the gate; bad news travels a thousand li.’ Now that I have taken refuge in the Buddha’s gate, you no longer know me?” Pilanpo said: “When did you take refuge? Congratulations, congratulations.” The Pilgrim said: “Lately I escaped with my life and now guard the Tang monk on his way to the Western Heaven to fetch scriptures. My master met the Taoist of the Yellow Flower Abbey, who felled him with poisoned tea. I matched weapons with the wretch, and he put forth golden light and netted me in; I used my powers and broke free. Hearing that the Bodhisattva can quench his golden light, I have come specially to beg your aid.” The Bodhisattva said: “Who told you of me? Since I attended the Ullambana assembly, three hundred years and more ago, I have not gone out my gate. I have buried my name and hidden my surname; not a soul knows me—how do you come to know?” The Pilgrim said: “I am an earth-burrowing goblin; wherever it is, I can find it out for myself.” Pilanpo said: “Well then, well then. I would not go—but since the Great Sage has come down to me in person, and the good work of seeking scriptures must not be undone, I will go with you.”

The Pilgrim thanked her and said: “I have been too hasty, pressing you without leave. But—what weapon do you carry?” The Bodhisattva said: “I have an embroidery needle that can break that wretch.” The Pilgrim could not help himself: “The Old Mother misled me! Had I known it was an embroidery needle, I need not have troubled you—Old Sun has a catty of them if you want one.” Pilanpo said: “Your embroidery needles are steel or iron or gold—useless for this. This treasure of mine is no steel, no iron, no gold: it was refined within the sun-eye of my son.” The Pilgrim said: “Who is your son?” Pilanpo said: “My son is the Star Officer of the Pleiades.” The Pilgrim was astounded past words. Soon the golden glare was in sight, bright on bright, and he turned to Pilanpo: “Where the golden light is, there is the Yellow Flower Abbey.” Pilanpo drew from inside her collar an embroidery needle, thin as an eyebrow, five or six fen long, held it in her fingers, and tossed it into the air. In a moment, with a sound, the golden light was broken. The Pilgrim cried gladly: “Bodhisattva, wonderful, wonderful! Find the needle, find the needle.” Pilanpo held it up on her palm: “Is this not it?” They pressed their clouds down together and walked into the abbey, where the Taoist stood with eyes shut, unable to lift a step. The Pilgrim cursed: “So you brazen monster play the blind man!” From his ear he took the staff to strike him. Pilanpo held him: “Great Sage, do not beat him. Come and see to your master first.”

The Pilgrim went straight back to the guest seats: all three lay on the ground, spitting phlegm and foam. The Pilgrim wept: “What now? What now?” Pilanpo said: “Great Sage, do not grieve. Since I have come out of doors today, let me stock up secret merit. I have pills here that undo poison: I will give you three.” The Pilgrim turned and bowed, begging for them. The Bodhisattva drew from her sleeve a torn paper packet with three red pills inside and handed them to the Pilgrim, telling him to put them in their mouths. The Pilgrim pried open their teeth and pressed a pill into each mouth. In a moment the medicine reached their bellies, and they vomited together, casting out the poison, and got their lives back. Bajie was first to crawl up: “I was smothered to death!” Tripitaka and Sha Monk woke too: “What dizziness!” The Pilgrim said: “There was poison in your tea. We owe it to the Bodhisattva Pilanpo—come quickly and thank her.” Tripitaka rose, straightened his robe, and gave thanks.

Bajie said: “Senior brother, where is that Taoist? Let me ask him why he tried to murder us so.” The Pilgrim told the whole tale of the spider demons. Bajie gnashed: “Brothered to spiders as he is, he must be a demon.” The Pilgrim pointed: “He stands outside the hall, playing the blind man.” Bajie made at him with his rake, but Pilanpo stopped him again: “Marshal Tianpeng, calm your anger. The Great Sage knows no one is left in my cave; let me take him back to keep my gate.” The Pilgrim said: “We are grateful for your great kindness—how could we not oblige? Only, let him show his true form, that we may see it.” Pilanpo said: “Easily done.” She stepped up, pointed with her hand, and the Taoist fell flat in the dust, showing his original shape: a great centipede spirit seven feet or so long. Pilanpo picked him up with her little finger, mounted the auspicious cloud, and went straight back to the Cave of a Thousand Flowers.

Bajie lay back and stared: “That old mother is a formidable one—how did she subdue so vile a thing?” The Pilgrim laughed: “I asked her what weapon could break his golden light, and she said an embroidery needle, refined in her son’s eye, which is the sun. I asked who her son was, and she said the Star Officer of the Pleiades. Now the Pleiades day star is a cock, so that old mother must be a hen. And the cock is the great subduer of centipedes—that is how she could take him.”

Tripitaka heard and bowed his head to the ground without end. He told the disciples: “Gather things; we go.” Sha Monk found some rice and grain inside, made up a meal, and they all ate their fill. Leading the horse and shouldering the loads, they asked the master out the gate. The Pilgrim set a fire in the kitchen and burned the whole abbey to ash and cinder in a moment; then they strode away on the long road. And it is well said:

Tripitaka, saved, gave thanks to Pilanpo; his nature cleared, the Many-Eyed Demon was no more.

But what befell them farther on the road ahead? Listen to the next chapter to find out.

Passion, Out of an Old Grudge, Breeds Poison and Disaster; the Mind's Lord Meets the Demon and Luckily Breaks the Light

The story goes that the Great Sage Sun, steadying the Tang monk, with Bajie and Sha Monk hurried up the great road and made straight west. In less than half a day they suddenly saw a place of storied buildings rising tier upon tier, palaces and halls tall and grand. The Tang monk drew in his horse: "Disciples, what place is that you see?" Pilgrim raised his head to look, and suddenly saw:

Hills ringed the towers, and streams wound about the terraces. Before the gate, mixed trees stood dark and dense; outside the house, wild flowers bloomed bright and fragrant. Among the willows rested white egrets, like flawless jade in the mist; in the peach trees warbled yellow orioles, like gold keeping its color in the fire. Pairs of wild deer, without a care, idly trod the green sward; matched mountain birds flew crying, calling from the tips of the red trees. Truly like the Tiantai cave where Liu and Ruan wandered; not beneath the immortal gardens of Langyuan.

Pilgrim reported: "Master, that place is neither the mansion of a prince nor the house of a rich man; it looks like a Daoist abbey or a monastery. We shall know for certain when we get there." Tripitaka heard and whipped his horse on. Master and disciples came to the gate and looked: set in it was a stone slab bearing the three characters "Yellow Flower Abbey." Tripitaka got down. Bajie said: "Yellow Flower Abbey is a Daoist house; it would be good to go in and meet them. Though his garb differs from ours, his practice of the Way is the same." Sha Monk said: "Well said. First, we can go in and see the sights; second, we can water and rest the animals. Find a convenient spot and prepare some vegetarian food for Master to eat."

The elder did as they said, and the four went in together. On the inner gate was a pair of spring couplets: "Yellow sprouts and white snow — the house of immortals; jasper herbs and rare flowers — the home of a Daoist." Pilgrim laughed: "This is one of those Daoists who burn herbs and boil drugs, play with furnace fires, and mind the pots." Tripitaka pinched him: "Mind your words, mind your words. We are no acquaintances of his, nor kin of his; we are only stopping a moment — what does it matter what he is?" As he spoke they passed the inner gate and saw the main hall tightly shut; under the east corridor sat a Daoist, rolling pills of medicine. See how he was dressed:

On his head a bright red crown striped with gold; on his body a black-glossed dark robe; on his feet a pair of green-tinted cloud-toe shoes; at his waist a yellow fluttering sash after the manner of Lü Dongbin. His face like a gourd of iron; his eyes like bright stars. His nose was high and broad like a man of the western tribes; his lips rolled and spread like a man of the steppes. A heart of the Way that hid a clap of thunder; a true Daoist who could tame tigers and subdue dragons.

Tripitaka saw him and called in a loud voice: "Old immortal, your poor monk salutes you." The Daoist suddenly raised his head; at one look his heart jumped. He dropped the drugs in his hand, straightened his hairpin, tidied his clothes, and came down the steps to meet them: "Old master, forgive my poor welcome. Please come in and sit." The elder gladly went up into the hall. Pushing the door open, he saw holy images of the Three Pure Ones, and on the altar table a censer with incense. He took up incense, set it burning in the censer, bowed three rounds, and only then exchanged courtesies with the Daoist. They went to the guest seats, and he sat down with his disciples. The Daoist hurriedly called his immortal pages to serve tea. Two small pages at once went inside to find the tea tray, wash the tea cups, wipe the tea spoon, and set out tea fruits, bustling and hurrying about — and so they startled those old enemies within.

Now the seven she-demons of Silk-Coiling Cave had studied the Way in the same hall as this Daoist. Since they had put on their old clothes and called out their sons, they had come straight here. They were in the back cutting and sewing clothes when they saw the pages serving tea, and asked: "Pages, what guests have come, that you are so busy?" The immortal page said: "Just now four monks came in; the master told us to serve tea." The she-demon said: "Is there a white fat monk among them?" He said: "There is." She asked again: "Is there one with a long mouth and big ears?" He said: "There is." The she-demon said: "Go quickly and hand out the tea, then wink at your master and send him in to me; I have something urgent to say." Sure enough, the immortal page carried out five cups of tea. The Daoist gathered his robes and offered one cup with both hands to Tripitaka, then to Bajie, Sha Monk, and Pilgrim. The tea was drunk and the cups taken away. The small page winked, and the Daoist rose and bowed slightly: "Gentlemen, please be seated." He told the page: "Set down the tea tray and keep them company. I will go and come back." Just then the elder and the disciples, with one small page, went out before the hall to look at the sights — but no more of that.

Now the Daoist walked into his study and saw the seven women all kneeling together, crying: "Brother, brother, hear your little sisters' one word." The Daoist helped them up with his hands: "When you came this morning you wanted to tell me something; but it happened that today I was rolling drugs, and this drug must not look on a woman, so I could not answer you. Now there are guests outside as well; let your matter wait and be told slowly." The monsters said: "We report to you, brother: it is precisely because of those guests that we dare tell it; once the guests are gone, even telling it would be useless." The Daoist laughed: "Listen to your sisters' talk! How is it 'because of the guests'? Have you gone mad? Not to speak of my being one who cultivates immortality in purity — were I but a common householder with wife and children and household affairs, I would still wait till the guests had gone to deal with it. How can you be so unwise as to make a show-thing of me? Let me go out." The monsters all seized him together: "Brother, calm your anger. We ask you: where do those guests in front come from?" The Daoist turned his face away and would not answer. The monsters said: "Just now the small page came in for the tea, and we heard him say they are four monks." The Daoist said angrily: "What of it if they are monks?" The monsters said: "Four monks, among them one with a white fat face and one with a long mouth and big ears. Brother, did you ask where they come from?" The Daoist said: "There are indeed those two among them. How do you know? Could you have seen them somewhere?"

The woman said: "Brother, you do not know the whole story. Those monks are sent by the Tang to the Western Heaven to seek the scriptures. This morning they came to our cave to beg a meal, and truly, we sisters, having heard the name of the Tang monk, took him." The Daoist said: "Why did you take him?" The woman said: "We had long heard it said that the Tang monk is a true body refined through ten lifetimes, and that whoever eats one piece of his flesh will lengthen his years and live forever; so we took him. But afterward that long-mouthed, big-eared monk penned us in at the Stain-Washing Spring. First he snatched our clothes; then he showed his tricks and forced himself to bathe with us, and we could not stop him. He jumped into the water, changed into a catfish, and burrowed back and forth between our legs, meaning to work his lewd deceit — a thoroughly shameless fellow! Then he jumped out of the water and showed his true form. Seeing we would not submit, he swung a nine-toothed nail rake to take our lives. Had we not had some wit about us, we would have perished by his deadly hand; so we fled for our lives, trembling. Then we sent your foolish nephew to fight him, and whether he lives or dies we do not know. We have come specially to throw ourselves on you, elder brother. We beg you, remembering our old fellowship as schoolmates, to be the one to avenge us today." The Daoist heard this and burned with hate; his voice and face changed: "So that monk is so rude, so shameless! Set your hearts at rest, all of you; leave him to me to deal with." The women thanked him: "Brother, if you set hands on him, let us all come and help beat him." The Daoist said: "No need to beat him, no need. There is a common saying: 'Whoever strikes first loses three parts of his case.' You all come with me."

The women followed at his side. He went into his room, took up a ladder, went around behind the bed, climbed to the roof beam, and took down a small leather box. The box was about eight inches high, a foot long, and four inches wide, locked with a small brass lock. From his sleeve he took a square goose-yellow silk handkerchief, on whose tassel hung a small key. He opened the lock and took out a packet of drugs. This drug was:

Dung of a hundred birds of the mountains, swept and piled to a thousand catties.It must be boiled in a copper cauldron, simmered over an even fire.A thousand catties boil down to one ladleful; one ladleful refines to three parts.The three parts must yet be roasted, calcined again, and smoked again.This poison thus finished is dearer than pearls and treasure.If anyone but tastes its flavor, at the mouth he meets King Yama.

The Daoist said to the seven women: "Sisters, this treasure of mine: given to a common man, one hair's weight kills him the moment it is in his belly; given to an immortal, three hairs' weight and he perishes; these monks may have some cultivation of their own — they too must have the three parts. Fetch the scales quickly." One of the women hurriedly brought a small steelyard: "Weigh out one part and two hairs, and divide it in four." He took twelve red dates, pinched each open a little, tucked in one hair's dose, and divided them among four tea cups; then he took two black dates for one more cup, set it on a tray, and said to the women: "I will go and ask them first. If they are not of the Tang, it is nothing; but if they are of the Tang, I will have the tea changed, and you send this tea out with the page. Once they drink it, every one dies, and your wrong is avenged, and your sorrow ended." The seven women thanked him without end.

The Daoist changed his clothes, put on shallow, polite airs, walked out, invited the Tang monk and the rest to the guest seats again, and said: "Old master, do not be offended. Just now I went to the back to instruct my young disciples, telling them to pick some green vegetables and turnips and prepare a vegetarian meal in your honor; that is why I left you." Tripitaka said: "Your poor monk came with empty hands to pay his respects; how dare we trouble you to give us a meal?" The Daoist laughed: "You and I are both men who have left home. Wherever there is a mountain gate there are three pecks of stipend grain; what talk of empty hands? May I ask, old master, what honored mountain you are from, and what brings you here?" Tripitaka said: "Your poor monk is one sent by the Land of the East, the Great Tang, to the Thunderclap Monastery in the Western Heaven to fetch the scriptures. Passing your immortal abbey just now, we came in sincerely to pay our respects." The Daoist heard, and his whole face bloomed like spring: "Old master, you are a Buddha of loyalty and great virtue; this little Daoist did not know it and failed to come far out to meet you. Pardon, pardon." He called: "Page, hurry and change the tea, and get the meal ready quickly." The small page walked inside, and the women called him over: "Here is good tea, ready made; carry it out." The page indeed carried out five cups of tea. The Daoist hurriedly took up with both hands one red-date cup and offered it to the Tang monk. Seeing Bajie's big body, he took him for the eldest disciple; Sha Monk he took for the second; and seeing Pilgrim's small size, he took him for the third. So it was the fourth cup that he handed to Pilgrim.

Pilgrim had sharp eyes; taking his cup, he had already seen that the cup on the tray held two black dates. He said: "Sir, let us exchange cups." The Daoist laughed: "I will not hide it from you, elder: I am a poor Daoist in the wild hills, and tea fruits were not ready to hand. I was just in the back myself hunting for fruit, and there were only these twelve red dates, made into four cups of tea for your honor. And this little Daoist could not sit with you empty-handed, so I took two inferior dates for my own cup to keep you company. Such is this poor Daoist's respect." Pilgrim laughed: "What talk is that? The ancients said: 'Poor at home is no great poverty; poverty on the road kills a man.' You are a man with a home; how can you speak of poverty? Wandering monks like us are the truly poor. Let us change — let us change." Tripitaka heard and said: "Wukong, this immortal truly means to honor his guests. Drink it; what need to change?" Pilgrim, having no choice, took the cup in his left hand, covered it with his right, and watched the others.

Now Bajie was hungry first and thirsty besides, and his belly was built on a grand scale; seeing three red dates in the cup, he picked them up and gulped them down. The master ate too, and Sha Monk too. In an instant, Bajie's face changed color, Sha Monk's eyes filled with tears, and the Tang monk's mouth foamed. None of them could keep his seat; they fainted to the floor.

The Great Sage knew it was poison. He raised the tea cup and dashed it full in the Daoist's face. The Daoist parried with his robe sleeve; with a clang the cup fell and smashed to pieces. The Daoist raged: "You monk, how boorish! Why do you smash my cup?" Pilgrim cursed: "You beast! Look what has become of my three! What have I ever done to you, that you drug my people with poisoned tea?" The Daoist said: "You boorish beast — you have brewed trouble; do you not know it?" Pilgrim said: "We only just came in your gate, took our seats, and spoke of our home places; never a loud word was said. Where is the trouble I brewed?" The Daoist said: "Were you ever at Silk-Coiling Cave begging a meal? Did you ever bathe at the Stain-Washing Spring?" Pilgrim said: "The Stain-Washing Spring belongs to seven she-demons. If you speak so, you must be in league with them — you must be a demon too. Do not move; taste my staff!" The good Great Sage felt in his ear, brought out the gold-banded staff, waved it once to the thickness of a bowl, and struck at the Daoist's face. The Daoist twisted aside to dodge, drew a precious sword, and came to meet him.

The two of them cursed and fought, and soon the she-demons inside were alarmed. The seven came swarming out, crying: "Brother, do not trouble yourself; let your little sisters take him." Pilgrim saw them, and his anger rose the higher; with both hands he whirled the iron staff, threw loose his art, rolled in among them, and struck at random. Then the seven threw open their jackets, thrust out their snow-white bellies, and worked their art from their navel whorls: silk cord gushed and gushed, throwing up a canopy of sky that covered Pilgrim beneath it. Seeing matters going ill, Pilgrim turned over, murmured a spell, turned a somersault, and crashed clean through the canopy. Curbing his temper, he stood aloof in the air and looked: the monsters' silk shone and glinted, crossing and crisscrossing like the warp and weft of a shuttle, and in a moment it had shaded the towers, halls, and pavilions of Yellow Flower Abbey out of sight. Pilgrim said: "Terrible, terrible! It is well I did not fall into their hands. No wonder Bajie took so many tumbles. What is to be done now? My master and my brothers are poisoned too. These monsters act with one heart and one mind — but what their history is I do not know. I will go and ask that earth god again."

The good Great Sage let down his cloud, pinched a sign, murmured the true word "om," and summoned the old earth god again. Trembling, the god knelt at the roadside and knocked his head: "Great Sage, you went to save your master; why have you come back?" Pilgrim said: "This morning I saved my master, and before we had gone far we came upon a Yellow Flower Abbey. My master and I went in to look, and the abbot came out to receive us. While we were still talking, he drugged my master and the others with poisoned tea. Happily I did not drink, and I raised my staff at once. Then he spoke of begging a meal at Silk-Coiling Cave and bathing at the Stain-Washing Spring, and I knew the fellow was a demon. Just as I lifted my hand against him, out ran those seven women, spitting silk cord, and old Sun — thanks to his wits — got away. I think that as the god of this place you must know their history. What kind of demons are they? Speak honestly, and escape a beating." The earth god knocked his head: "That demon has been here less than ten years. It was only three years ago, at my round of inspection, that I saw his true form: he is a spider spirit — seven spider spirits. The silk cord they spit is spider silk." Pilgrim heard and was overjoyed: "By your account, it is a small matter. Since that is so, go back; I will work my art and subdue them." The earth god knocked his head and went.

Pilgrim came back outside Yellow Flower Abbey, stripped seventy hairs from his tail, blew on them a mouthful of magic breath, and cried: "Change!" They became seventy little Pilgrims. Then he blew on the gold-banded staff, cried: "Change!" and it became seventy-one forked staves with double prongs. He gave one to each little Pilgrim and kept one himself. Standing outside, they stirred the forks into the silk and pulled with all their strength together, keeping time with a work chant, until the silk was all stirred apart, each gathering ten catties and more of it. Inside they dragged out seven spiders, each with a body as big as a peck measure. One and all they clutched hands and feet together, heads tied, crying only: "Spare us! Spare us!" The seventy little Pilgrims held the seven spiders down and would not let go. Pilgrim said: "Do not beat them yet; only make them give me back my master and my brothers." The monster called in a loud voice: "Brother, give him back his Tang monk, and save our lives!" The Daoist ran out from inside: "Sisters, I mean to eat the Tang monk; I cannot save you." Pilgrim heard, and in a great rage said: "Since you will not give me back my master, then look to your sisters." The good Great Sage waved the forked staff back into one iron staff, raised it in both hands, and beat all seven spider spirits to a pulp.

Then he shook his tail twice, took back his hairs, and alone, staff swinging, chased inside to fight the Daoist. The Daoist, seeing his younger sisters beaten to death, could not bear it; he gritted his teeth, raised his sword, and met him. Both burned with wrath, and each displayed his magic power. It was a fine fight:

The demon swings his precious sword; the Great Sage raises the gold band. Both for the sake of the Tang Tripitaka — first they made the seven women breathe their last. Now they spread wide the sleeves of their statecraft, show their might, work their art, and flaunt their guardian steel. The Great Sage's divine light blazes; the demon-immortal's gall is coarse. Every art of the body like embroidered flowers; both hands circling like a well-windlass. Clang and clatter of sword on staff; wild clouds drift, gray and dreary. Cutting words, cunning plots; now one comes on, now the other, like figures in a painting. They fight till the wind screams and the sand flies and wolves and tigers cower, till sky is dark and earth black and the stars of the Dipper are gone.

The Daoist and the Great Sage fought fifty or sixty rounds; gradually his hands grew weak. Suddenly he loosened his sinews and joints, undid his sash, and with a sharp rustle stripped off his black robe. Pilgrim laughed: "My son, if you cannot beat a man with your clothes on, you cannot beat him stripped either."

Now this Daoist, having stripped off his clothes, raised both hands together — and look: under his two arms were a thousand eyes, and from the eyes burst golden light, terrible to see:

A dark deep yellow fog; a brilliant golden light. The dark deep yellow fog — like cloud spouting from both sides under his arms; the brilliant golden light — like fire from a thousand eyes. Left and right like a golden barrel; east and west like a bronze bell. This was the demon-immortal working his power, the Daoist showing his magic: the dazzle blinded the sky and shrouded sun and moon; the covering scorched and stifled, the air thick and dim; and the Great Sage Sun, Equal to Heaven, was caught fast in the golden light and the yellow fog.

Pilgrim's hands and feet went weak with fright; he could only spin inside the golden light: a step forward could not be taken; a step backward could not be moved — just like spinning inside a barrel. Worse, the air was scorching and stifling. In his extremity he jumped straight up with all his might, broke through the golden light, and fell with a crash head over heels, feeling his head ache from the blow. He hurriedly reached up and felt: the skin of his crown had been knocked soft. He fretted to himself: "Ill luck, ill luck! This head of mine is no good today. Knife blows and axe strokes could never hurt it — how has this golden light knocked the skin soft? Before long it will fester. Even if it heals, it will be a broken-wound fever." For a while the scorching was past bearing; then he schemed with himself: "I cannot go forward; I cannot go back; not left, not right; and upward I cannot break through. What now? Then down it is — the devil take the rest."

The good Great Sage murmured a spell, shook himself, and changed into a pangolin, also called the scale-carp. Truly:

Four iron claws, boring through hills and breaking stone as if pounding flour; a body all of scale armor, splitting ridges and piercing rock like cutting scallions. Two eyes shining, like a pair of bright stars; a snout sharp and keen, stronger than a steel drill or a golden awl. The pangolin has its nature among the drugs; in common speech it is called the scale-carp.

See him stiffen his head and bore into the ground; he bored more than twenty li before he put his head out. The golden light, it turned out, only covered ten li and a little more. He came out and showed his true form: strength gone, sinews slack, his whole body aching, tears running from his eyes without stop. Suddenly he cried out: "Master —

From the mountain I came out, schooled in the faith, and westward we labored together.We feared nothing on the ocean's great waves — and in a little ditch we met the wind."

The Handsome Monkey King was in the midst of his grief when he heard someone weeping behind the hill. He straightened up, wiped his eyes, and looked back. He saw a woman in deep mourning, a cup of cold rice and water offering held in her left hand and several sheets of yellow paper money for burning in her right, coming step by step, crying as she walked. Pilgrim nodded and sighed: "It is truly as they say: 'A weeping eye meets a weeping eye; a broken heart meets a broken heart.' What is this woman weeping for? Let me ask her." In a moment the woman came up and met Pilgrim. Pilgrim bowed and asked: "Bodhisattva, for whom do you weep?" Holding back her tears, the woman said: "My husband quarreled with the abbot of Yellow Flower Abbey over the price of bamboo poles, and the abbot poisoned him to death with drugged tea. I am burning this bundle of paper money to pay the debt of love between husband and wife." Pilgrim heard, and tears came to his own eyes. The woman saw, and said angrily: "How senseless you are! I grieve for my husband, and you answer with tearful eyes and sorrowful brows — a cruel heart, mocking me?"

Pilgrim bowed: "Bodhisattva, calm your anger. I am Pilgrim Sun Wukong, eldest disciple of the Tang Tripitaka, imperial brother and envoy of the Land of the East, the Great Tang. On our way to the Western Heaven we passed Yellow Flower Abbey and stopped our horse there. The Daoist of that abbey — some demon, I know not what — has sworn brotherhood and sisterhood with seven spider spirits. The spiders, at Silk-Coiling Cave, tried to harm my master; I with my brothers Bajie and Sha Monk freed him. The spiders ran here and turned the tale against us, saying we meant to cheat them. The Daoist drugged my master and my brothers, three men, and the horse too — four lives in all — and trapped them in his abbey. Only I did not drink his tea; I smashed the cup, and he fell upon me. While we shouted at each other, the seven spider spirits ran out, spitting silk cord, and netted me in; by my magic I got away. I asked the earth god, and he told me their true forms. I used the art of divided bodies to stir the silk apart and dragged the demons out, and beat them to death with the staff. This Daoist, to avenge them, raised his precious sword and fought me. After sixty rounds he lost the field, stripped off his clothes, and from under his two arms put out a thousand eyes, with ten thousand beams of golden light, that pinned me fast. So I could neither go forward nor back, and changed into a scale-carp and bored my way out under the ground. I sat grieving when I heard you weeping, and so I asked you. And because I saw you paying your husband's ghost with this paper money, while my master too has lost his life and I have nothing to offer him, my sorrow turned on myself. How would I dare toy with you?"

The woman set down the rice offering and the paper money, and made her bow to Pilgrim: "Do not be offended, do not be offended. I did not know you had met with disaster. From what you tell me, you do not know that Daoist. He is in truth the Demon King of a Hundred Eyes, also called the Multitude-of-Eyes Demon. You have the skill to change your shape, to slip out of the golden light, to fight so long — you must have great powers; but you cannot come near that fellow yet. I will teach you to go beg help from a sage who can break the golden light and subdue the Daoist." Pilgrim heard, and hastened to salute: "Bodhisattva, since you know his history, I beg you to instruct me. Tell me truly who the sage is, and I will go beg his help, save my master from his trouble, and avenge your husband besides." The woman said: "I will tell you. But though you go and beg him and subdue the Daoist, you will only have your revenge; I fear you cannot save your master." Pilgrim said: "Why can I not save him?" The woman said: "That fellow's poison is the cruelest: once a man is drugged, within three days his marrow rots through. By the time you have gone and come back I fear it will be too late; so you cannot save him." Pilgrim said: "I can travel; however far it is, half a day is enough." The woman said: "Since you can travel, hear me: from here to that place is a thousand li. There is a mountain there called Purple Cloud Mountain. In the mountain is the Cave of a Thousand Flowers, and in the cave dwells a sage called Pilanpo, who can subdue this demon." Pilgrim said: "Where does that mountain lie? From which direction do we go?" The woman pointed with her finger: "Due south — that way." Pilgrim turned his head to look; the woman was already gone. He hurried into a bow: "Which Bodhisattva was that? Your disciple, dazed from his boring under the earth, could not recognize you. I beg you a thousand times to leave your name, that I may thank you." From mid-air came the call: "Great Sage, it is I." Pilgrim looked up quickly: it was the Old Mother of Mount Li. He hurried up into the air to thank her: "Old Mother, from where did you come to instruct me?" The Old Mother said: "I was just coming back from the Dragon-Flower Assembly and saw your master in trouble. I took the shape of a mourning wife and borrowed the name of a dead husband, to spare him his death. Go quickly and beg her help; but do not say I sent you. That sage is somewhat quick to take offense at strangers."

Pilgrim thanked her and took his leave; he vaulted onto the somersault cloud and in a moment was at Purple Cloud Mountain. He steadied his cloud and saw the Cave of a Thousand Flowers. Outside the cave:

Green pines shade the blessed ground; kingfisher cypresses gird the immortal home.Green willows fill the mountain road; rare flowers crowd the ravine streams.Fragrant orchids ring the stone hut; sweet grasses brighten the rocky nook.Flowing water joins the brooks in blue; cloud seals the hollows of old trees.Wild birds cry and chatter; hidden deer walk slow and stately.Tall bamboo, every branch graceful; red plum, every leaf uncurling.Cold rooks roost in ancient trees; spring birds chatter in the tall ailanthus.Summer wheat fills the wide fields; autumn grain covers the ground.In all four seasons no leaf falls; at all eight festivals the flowers are as one.Ever the blessed haze rises to join the heavens; ever the auspicious cloud goes out to meet the void.

The Great Sage walked in glad and merry, stage by stage, never done gazing at the boundless scenery. He went straight inside: no person was to be seen; all was still and quiet — not even the sound of dog or rooster. He thought to himself: "I suppose the sage is not at home." He went several li farther in, and then saw a Daoist nun sitting on a couch. See how she looked:

On her head a five-flowered quilted cap; on her body a robe woven with gold.On her feet cloud-point phoenix-head shoes; at her waist a twisted-silk sash with double tassels.Her face like autumn after frost, grown old; her voice like a spring swallow before the feast day, sweet.In her heart long versed in the law of the Three Vehicles; on her mind ever keeping the Four Truths in full.She has woken to emptiness, the true fruit; she has refined clear sight, free and at ease.Truly the Buddha of the Cave of a Thousand Flowers; the Bodhisattva Pilanpo, high in name.

Pilgrim could not stop his feet; he came up close and called: "Bodhisattva Pilanpo, your disciple salutes you." The Bodhisattva came down from the couch, put her palms together, and returned the courtesy: "Great Sage, forgive my poor welcome. From where do you come?" Pilgrim said: "How is it you knew me for the Great Sage at a glance?" Pilanpo said: "When you wrecked the Heavenly Palace long ago, your likeness was carried over all the earth. Who does not know you? Who does not know your face?" Pilgrim said: "Just so: 'A good deed never leaves the gate; a bad deed travels a thousand li.' Now that I have turned to the Buddha's gate, you no longer know me?" Pilanpo said: "When did you turn? Congratulations, congratulations." Pilgrim said: "Of late I escaped with my life and now guard my master, the Tang monk, on his way to the Western Heaven to fetch the scriptures. My master fell in with the Daoist of Yellow Flower Abbey, who drugged him with poisoned tea. I wagered a fight with the fellow, and he put out golden light and shrouded me; by my magic I got away. Hearing that the Bodhisattva can quench his golden light, I have come specially to beg your help." The Bodhisattva said: "Who told you of it? Since I went to the Ullambana feast, three hundred years and more ago, I have not gone out my gate. I hid my name and buried it; not a soul knows of me. How could you know?" Pilgrim said: "I am an earth-burrowing devil; wherever it may be, I can hunt it out myself." Pilanpo said: "Very well, very well. I should not go; but the Great Sage has condescended to come, and I cannot blot out the good work of seeking the scriptures. I will go with you."

Pilgrim thanked her and said: "I was too rude, hurrying you so. But — have you any weapon with you?" The Bodhisattva said: "I have an embroidery needle that can break him." Pilgrim could not help saying: "The Old Mother has wasted my time! Had I known it was an embroidery needle, there was no need to trouble you — ask old Sun, and I could give you a full load of them." Pilanpo said: "Your embroidery needles are only steel and iron and gold; they will not serve. My treasure is neither steel nor iron nor gold: it was refined in my son's sun-eye." Pilgrim said: "Who is your son?" Pilanpo said: "My son is the Sun-Rooster Star Officer of the Pleiades." Pilgrim was amazed past words. Soon he saw the golden light shining bright in the distance, and turned to Pilanpo: "Where the golden light is — that is Yellow Flower Abbey." Pilanpo drew from her collar an embroidery needle, as thick as an eyebrow and five or six fen long, held it in her fingers, and tossed it into the air. In a moment, with a crack, the golden light was broken. Pilgrim rejoiced: "Bodhisattva, wonderful, wonderful! Find the needle, find the needle!" Pilanpo held it up on her palm: "Is this not it?" They pressed down their clouds together and walked into the abbey: the Daoist stood with his eyes shut, unable to take a step. Pilgrim cursed: "You brazen monster, playing the blind man!" He pulled the staff from his ear to strike. Pilanpo held him back: "Great Sage, do not strike. First go and look to your master."

Pilgrim went straight to the guest room at the back and looked: all three lay on the ground, spitting and frothing. Pilgrim dropped tears: "What now? What now?" Pilanpo said: "Great Sage, do not grieve. Since I have come out today, let me heap up some hidden virtue. I have an antidote pill here; I will give you three." Pilgrim turned and bowed to beg them. The Bodhisattva took from her sleeve a torn paper packet, took out three red pills, and handed them to Pilgrim, telling him to put them into their mouths. Pilgrim pried open their teeth and tucked one pill into each mouth. In a moment the medicine reached their bellies; together they heaved and vomited, threw up the poison, and got back their lives. Bajie was first to crawl up: "I was near smothered!" The Tripitaka and Sha Monk woke too: "What dizziness!" Pilgrim said: "There was poison in your tea. It is this Bodhisattva Pilanpo who saved you. Come quickly and thank her." The Tripitaka rose, tidied his clothes, and gave thanks.

Bajie said: "Brother, where is that Daoist? Let me ask him why he would harm us so." Pilgrim told him the whole story of the spider spirits. Bajie set his teeth: "Being sworn brother and sister to spiders, he must be a demon." Pilgrim pointed: "He is standing outside the hall there, playing the blind man." Bajie raised his rake to strike, but Pilanpo stopped him again: "Marshal Tianpeng, calm your anger. The Great Sage knows there is no one in my cave; let me take him back to keep my gate." Pilgrim said: "We are grateful for your great kindness — how could we presume to meddle? Only let him show his true form, that we may have a look." Pilanpo said: "Easily done." She stepped up, pointed one finger, and the Daoist fell with a flop in the dust, showing his original body: a great centipede spirit, seven feet or so long. Pilanpo picked him up with her little finger, rode the auspicious cloud, and went straight back to the Cave of a Thousand Flowers.

Bajie tipped his head back and laughed: "So the old mother is a match for anything — how does she tame such a vile creature?" Pilgrim laughed: "I asked her what weapon breaks his golden light; she said an embroidery needle, refined in her son's sun-eye. I asked who her son was; she said the Sun-Rooster Star Officer of the Pleiades. Now I think the Pleiades Sun Star is a rooster, so this old mother must be a hen. Of all things the hen best subdues the centipede — that is how she could take him."

The Tripitaka heard and bowed without end. He told the disciples: "Pack up and let us go." Sha Monk searched out some rice and grain inside, prepared a meal, and all ate their fill. They led the horse, took up the load, and asked their master out the gate. Pilgrim set a fire in the kitchen and burned the whole abbey to ash in an instant; then they strode off on their long way. Truly:

The Tang monk, his life restored, gives thanks to Pilanpo; his nature cleared, the Multitude-of-Eyes Demon is undone.

As they go on ahead, what still awaits them? Listen to the next chapter to find out.