Chapter 74

Changgeng Brings Word of the Demon Kings' Fierceness; the Pilgrim Puts Forth His Arts of Transformation

Passion and desire, at the root, are all one thing; with passion and desire in us, so we are.Of the many souls that cultivate in the Buddhist gate, to cut desire and forget passion is itself chan.Take heed, and keep the heart firm; with one mote of dust unstained, the moon hangs in the sky.In practice and progress let nothing go wrong; when deeds are full and work complete, a greatly awakened immortal.

The story tells how Tripitaka and his disciples tore open the net of desire, leapt free of the jail of passion, and loosed their horses westward. They had not gone long when summer ended and early autumn came, and a fresh coolness struck through their clothes. Behold:

A sudden rain gathers in the last of the summer heat; one leaf startles on the wutong.Fireflies fly over the sedge paths at dusk; crickets chirp in the bright moonlight.Yellow mallows open, bright with dew; red knotweed covers the sandy isles.The willows of the banks are first to shed their leaves; cold cicadas cry in tune with the season.

As Tripitaka went along he saw suddenly a high mountain, its peaks thrust into the blue sky, truly brushing the stars and barring the sun. Fear took the elder's heart. He called to Wukong: “Look how that mountain ahead towers. Is there a road through it?” The Pilgrim laughed: “What talk is that, Master? The old saying goes: ‘However high the mountain, it has a traveler's road; however deep the water, it has a ferryman.’ How could there be no way through? Go on with an easy heart.” At this the elder brightened, cracked his whip, urged his horse on, and rode up the high crag.

They had gone a few li when they saw an old man, temples tousled, white hair drifting; beard sparse and bright, silver threads swaying; a string of rosary beads at his neck, a dragon-headed staff in his hand. From far up the slope he called: “Elder bound west! Rein in your steeds a while, and hold tight the jade bridle. There is a band of demons on this mountain who have eaten their fill of the people of this mortal world—you must not go on.” At this Tripitaka went white with fright. First, the ground was uneven under the horse's feet; second, his carved saddle sat unsteady; he pitched off the horse, could not scramble up, and lay in the grass groaning. The Pilgrim came and raised him: “Do not fear, do not fear; I am here.” The elder said: “You heard the old man on the crag report that demons on this mountain have eaten the people of this mortal world. Who would dare go and ask him the truth of it?” The Pilgrim said: “Sit where you are; I will go and ask.” Tripitaka said: “Your face is ugly and your speech is coarse; I fear you will offend him and get nothing true.” The Pilgrim laughed: “Then I will change into someone handsomer and ask.” Tripitaka said: “Change, and let me see.” Good Great Sage! He pinched the spell-sign, shook himself once, and changed into a clean, comely little monk, truly bright of eye and clear of brow, round of head and even of face; in his movements the air of a scholar, from his lips no vulgar word. He shook out his brocade robe, strode forward, and said to the Tang monk: “Master, how is my change?” Tripitaka saw and rejoiced: “A fine change.” Bajie said: “Why not? Only it puts the rest of us in the shade. If your old pig rolled along two or three years, he could never turn out so handsome.”

Good Great Sage! He drew away from the others, went straight up to the old man, bowed, and said: “Venerable grandfather, this poor monk salutes you.” The old man, seeing him so handsome and young and light of person, answered half-heartedly, returned his bow, patted his head with his hand, and asked, all smiles: “Little monk, where do you come from?” The Pilgrim said: “We come from the Great Tang of the eastern lands, bound specially for the Western Heaven to worship the Buddha and seek scriptures. We reached this place just now and heard your report of demons. My master is timid and afraid, so he sent me to ask: what demons are they truly, that they dare block the road like this? Trouble yourself, grandfather, to tell me all, and I can send them packing.” The old man laughed: “Little monk, you are young and know no better; your words do not help you. That demon's powers are vast indeed. How dare you talk of sending him packing?” The Pilgrim laughed: “The way you talk, you seem to be protecting him; you must be kin of his, or a close neighbor and sworn friend. Why else lengthen his prestige, trumpet his spirit, and refuse to open your heart and tell his history?” The old man nodded and laughed: “This monk knows how to wag his tongue. I suppose you wander with your master and have picked up some arts here and there—maybe you can drive out and bind sprites, and garrison houses and quell demons for families. But you have never yet met a truly fierce monster.” The Pilgrim said: “How fierce?” The old man said: “That demon sends one letter to Vulture Peak, and five hundred arhats all come out to welcome him; one note up to the Heavenly Palace, and the eleven great luminaries bow to him, every one. The dragons of the four seas have been his friends; the immortals of the eight grottoes hold meetings with him; the ten kings of hell call him brother; the local gods and city gods cherish him as guest and friend.”

At this the Great Sage could not help laughing out loud, and took the old man's arm: “Say no more, say no more. That demon taking my young underlings for brothers and friends shows he is nothing very grand. If he knew it was I, this little monk, coming, he would pack up and move in the night.” The old man said: “Little monk, what nonsense—shame on you. What divine personage would be your young underling?” The Pilgrim laughed: “I will not hide it from you: I, this little monk, my ancestors dwelt in the Water Curtain Cave on Mount Flower-Fruit in the land of Aolai; my surname is Sun, my name Wukong. In those days I too was a demon, and I did great things. Once, meeting the assembled demons, I drank a few cups too many and fell asleep, and in a dream saw two beings with a warrant to drag me to the netherworld. My rage boiled up at once; with the gold-banded staff I wounded the ghost judges, terrified King Yama, and all but overturned the Hall of Darkness. The record-keeping judge was so frightened he clutched his papers, and the ten kings of hell signed their names and set their seals, begging me to spare them the beating, glad to be my young underlings.” The old man heard and said: “Amida Buddha! With such overreaching talk, this monk need never hope to grow up.” The Pilgrim said: “Officer, being as big as I am is big enough.” The old man said: “How old are you?” The Pilgrim said: “Guess.” The old man said: “Seven or eight years old.” The Pilgrim laughed: “Seven or eight years, ten thousand times over. Let me bring out my old face for you to see—but do not take offense.” The old man said: “How is it you have another face?” The Pilgrim said: “This little monk truly has seventy-two faces.”

The old man, knowing no better, went on questioning him. The Pilgrim wiped his face with his hand and showed his true form: teeth grinning, mouth gaping, both haunches scarlet, a tiger-skin kilt at his waist, the gold-banded staff in his hand, standing beneath the stone crag like the Thunder God alive. The old man saw and his face drained; his legs went weak and numb; he could not stand, and pitched forward in a fall; he scrambled up, and staggered again. The Great Sage came up: “Old officer, no need for false alarms. My face is ugly but my nature is kind; do not fear, do not fear. Just now you were kind enough to report demons. How many monsters are there truly? Go on and tell me all, and I will thank you for it.” But the old man, trembling, could not speak; he feigned deafness instead, and answered not a word.

Seeing him say nothing, the Pilgrim turned back down the slope. The elder said: “Wukong, you are back—what did you learn?” The Pilgrim laughed: “No matter, no matter. There may be a demon or two on the road west, but the people here are timid and take them to heart. Nothing to it, nothing to it—I am here.” The elder said: “Did you ask him what mountain this is, what cave, how many demons, which road leads to the Thunderclap?” Bajie said: “Do not take it amiss, Master, but in contests of change, in tricks and mischief, in making sport of people, three or five of us are no match for senior brother; in honesty, though, line up a whole troop of senior brothers and they are no match for me.” The Tang monk said: “True, true—you are the honest one.” Bajie said: “Who knows how he poked his head in without a thought for his tail, asked a word or two, and came sauntering back. Let your old pig go and get the truth of it.” The Tang monk said: “Wuneng, be careful.”

Good Idiot! He stuck the muckrake in his sash, straightened his black robe, minced and primped up the slope, and called to the old man: “Grandfather, my salutations!” The old man, seeing the Pilgrim gone back, had just managed to rise, leaning on his staff, and was making off trembling, when suddenly he saw Bajie and was more frightened still: “Heavens! What evil dream did I dream last night, to meet such a crew of horrors? That first monk was ugly, but there was still a share of human in his looks; this monk—what a pestle of a mouth, ears like palm-leaf fans, a face like sheet iron, a neck all bristling fur—not one part of him human!” Bajie laughed: “You old grandfather hide no delight—you do love to run people down. And what do you see when you look at me? Ugly I may be, but I am worth looking at; wait a while and I will be handsome.” The old man, hearing human speech from him, could only ask: “Where do you come from?” Bajie said: “I am the second disciple of the Tang monk; my religious name is Wuneng, Bajie. The one who asked just now, called Wukong the Pilgrim, is my senior brother. Our master was vexed that he gave offense and got no true answer, so he sent me specially to inquire. What mountain is this place truly? What cave? What demons in the cave? Where does the great westward road lie? Trouble yourself to point the way, grandfather.” The old man said: “Will you be honest?” Bajie said: “All my life I have not dared say one word of falsehood.” The old man said: “Do not glib-and-gabble like that monk just now.” Bajie said: “I am not like him.”

The old man, leaning on his staff, told Bajie: “This mountain is called the Eight-Hundred-Li Lion-Camel Ridge, and in its middle is the Lion-Camel Cave, and in the cave are three demon kings.” Bajie spat: “You old man are over-careful. Three demons—must you wear yourself out coming to bring us word?” The old man said: “Are you not afraid?” Bajie said: “I will not hide it from you: of these three demons, my senior brother kills one with a single blow of the staff; I kill one with a single thrust of my rake; and I have a junior brother whose demon-quelling staff kills the third. All three dead, and my master goes through—what difficulty is there?” The old man laughed: “This monk knows not shallow from deep. Those three demon kings have powers vast indeed. Their little demons under them: five thousand on the southern ridge, five thousand on the northern ridge; ten thousand at the east road's mouth, ten thousand at the west road's mouth; four or five thousand on patrol, another ten thousand guarding the gates; the fire-tenders past counting, the wood-cutters past counting: forty-seven or forty-eight thousand in all. Every one of them has a name and wears a tag, and their trade here is eating men.”

At these words the Idiot came tearing back trembling. Coming near the Tang monk, instead of answering he put down his rake and squatted there to relieve himself. The Pilgrim saw and shouted: “You give no report—why squat there?” Bajie said: “It frightened the dung out of me. No need to talk now—the sooner we each save our own lives, the better.” The Pilgrim said: “You blockhead root: when I ask after news I am not scared; you go to ask and come back witless with fright.” The elder said: “What did he say, truly?” Bajie said: “The old man says: this mountain is called the Eight-Hundred-Li Lion-Camel Mountain, and in its middle is the Lion-Camel Cave, and in the cave are three old demons with forty-eight thousand little demons, and their trade there is eating men. If we so much as brush the edge of that mountain, we are food in their mouths. There is no going on.” Tripitaka heard and shuddered, hair standing and bones chilled: “Wukong, what is to be done?” The Pilgrim laughed: “Master, set your mind at rest; it is no great matter. There may be a few demons here, but the people are timid, so they inflate the numbers and the size, frightening themselves. I am here.” Bajie said: “Brother, what talk! I am not like you. What I asked is the truth, with no word of error. Demons fill the mountains and the valleys—how do we go forward?” The Pilgrim laughed: “Silly face, no false alarms. As for demons filling mountains and valleys, one sweep of Old Sun's staff in the night would finish the lot.” Bajie said: “Shame, shame—none of your big talk. Merely calling that roll of demons would take seven or eight days—how would you finish them off?” The Pilgrim said: “And how would you finish them?” Bajie said: “By seizing them, or binding them, or fixing them with the body-fixing spell—there is no way so fast as that.” The Pilgrim laughed: “No seizing, no catching, no binding needed. I pull this staff at both ends and cry ‘Long!’ and it is forty zhang long. I shake it and cry ‘Thick!’ and it is eight zhang around. One roll on the southern slope crushes five thousand; a roll on the northern slope crushes five thousand; one roll from east to west and I fear four or five myriad are ground to meat paste and running sauce.” Bajie said: “Brother, rolled like a noodle-maker's pin, by the second watch you might be done with them.” Sha Monk laughed beside: “Master, with a senior brother of such powers, what is there to fear? Get on your horse and let us go.” The Tang monk, hearing them bandy arts, could do nothing but compose himself, mount, and go.

As they went, the old man who had brought the report was gone. Sha Monk said: “He must have been a demon, coming with a borrowed tiger's fierceness to frighten us.” The Pilgrim said: “No hurry; let me go and see.” Good Great Sage! He leaped to the high peak and looked all around: no trace. He turned sharply and saw in mid-air a shimmer of bright colored cloud, and leaped on his cloud in chase. It was the Gold Star of Venus. He came up to him, took his arm, and called his pet name over and over: “Li Changgeng! Li Changgeng! What a sly one you are. If you had something to say, why not say it to my face, instead of dressing up as an old hermit to haunt Old Sun?” The Gold Star hastened to salute: “Great Sage, my report came late—pardon, pardon. This demon king's powers are truly vast and his standing proud. Only if you use all your transformations, your cleverness and cunning, can you pass; slacken but a little and it is truly hard going.” The Pilgrim thanked him: “I am grateful, grateful. Since the road here is truly hard, I beg you, old Star, speak to the Jade Emperor in the upper world, and borrow some celestial soldiers to help Old Sun.” The Gold Star said: “Yes, yes, yes! Only carry my message up, and even a hundred thousand celestial troops can be had.”

The Great Sage parted from the Gold Star, brought his cloud down, and told Tripitaka: “That old man just now was the Gold Star of Venus come to bring us word.” The elder pressed his palms together: “Disciple, hurry and catch him; ask him whether there is another road somewhere, that we may turn aside.” The Pilgrim said: “We cannot turn. This mountain is eight hundred li across the path, and who knows how many more li all around—how could we turn?” Tripitaka heard, and tears would not stay: “Disciples, with such hardship ahead, how shall we ever bow to the Buddha?” The Pilgrim said: “Do not weep, do not weep—weep, and you are a pudding, and cannot go. His report must have some false part in it; he only wants us on our guard. As they truly say: ‘The fault lies with him who brings the tale.’ Get down and sit a while.” Bajie said: “And what is there to plan now?” The Pilgrim said: “Nothing to plan. Stay here and guard the master with all your heart; Sha Monk, watch the baggage and the horses well. Let Old Sun go up the ridge first and scout around: see how many demons there are front and back, catch one, question him closely, make him write a confession, draw up a roster with every name, old and young, one by one; order them to shut their cave gate and bar no road; then I will ask the master to come quietly and quietly past—that would show Old Sun's craft.” Sha Monk said only: “Be careful, be careful.” The Pilgrim laughed: “No need to charge me. This trip of mine: were it the great Eastern Sea, I would boil it open for a road; were it a mountain cased in iron and lined in silver, I would burst through its gates.”

Good Great Sage! With a whistle he sprang onto the somersault cloud and leaped to the high peak. Clambering vines, gripping creepers, ranging over the mountain and looking: within, all was still, not a soul. He cried out suddenly: “Wrong, wrong! I should not have let that old Gold Star go. He was only trying to scare me. Where would there be any demons here? If they came out to gambol on the wind, they would surely be handling spears and staves, drilling in arms—how could there not be one?” While he pondered thus, from behind the mountain came a clanging and clattering of watchboard and bell. He turned sharply and looked: a little demon, a “command” banner on his shoulder, a bell at his waist, a watchboard in his hand, walking from north to south. He looked him over carefully: a body of twelve feet. The Pilgrim laughed inwardly: “He must be a courier soldier, off to deliver dispatches and post notices. Let me listen to him a moment and hear what he says.”

Good Great Sage! He pinched the spell-sign, murmured a charm, shook himself once, and changed into a fly, flew lightly onto the little demon's cap, and cocked an ear to listen. The little demon walked up onto the highway, clattering the watchboard, swinging the bell, muttering: “We who patrol the mountain must all be on our guard against the Pilgrim Sun—he can change into a fly.” The Pilgrim heard, and marvels and doubts stirred in him: “Has this fellow seen me? If he has not seen me, how does he know my name, and know I can change into a fly?” Now the little demon had not seen him at all; the demon king, no one knew how, had charged him with those words—a rumor passed down for him to mutter so. The Pilgrim, not knowing this, suspected he had been seen, and made to pull out his staff and beat him; but he stopped, thinking: “I remember Bajie asking the Gold Star: three old demons, he said, and forty-seven or forty-eight thousand little ones. Little demons like this—even a few myriads more do not matter. What I do not know is how great the arts of these three old demons are. Let me question him first; there is no hurry to fight.”

Good Great Sage! And how do you think he went about his questioning? He hopped off the demon's cap, stuck fast on a tree top, and let the little demon walk some steps ahead. Then he spun round, and changed himself into a little demon too, clattering the watchboard, swinging the bell, shouldering the banner, dressed just the same, only some three or five inches taller, muttering the same words. He caught up, calling: “Fellow walker, wait for me.” The little demon turned: “Where do you come from?” The Pilgrim laughed: “Fine fellow! Do you not know your own household?” The little demon said: “There is no such one in my house.” The Pilgrim said: “How is there no me? Look again.” The little demon said: “A strange face—I do not know you, I do not know you.” The Pilgrim said: “No wonder the face is strange. I tend the fire; you have seen little of me.” The little demon shook his head: “No, no. Even the fire-tending brothers in our cave have no such pointed mouth.” The Pilgrim thought: “This mouth of mine has turned a bit too pointed.” He lowered his head, covered his mouth with his hand, and kneaded it: “My mouth is not pointed.” And truly it was pointed no more. The little demon said: “Just now your mouth was pointed; how is it not pointed after one kneading? Suspicious fellow, hard to place—not one of my house. Goodbye, goodbye—doubtful, doubtful. Our king's house law is very strict: fire-tenders mind the fire, and mountain patrols mind the mountain. Would he have you tend the fire and patrol the mountain too?” The Pilgrim, quick of tongue, turned it: “You do not know. The king saw how well I tended the fire and promoted me to patrol the mountain.”

The little demon said: “Well then. We who patrol the mountain go in squads of forty, ten squads to the four hundred, each with his own face and years, each his own name and rank. For fear we should mix up the squads and spoil the roll call, the king gave each of us a tag for a token. Have you a tag?” Now the Pilgrim, having copied his dress and his errand, had changed after his likeness, but since he had never seen his tag he had none on him. Good Great Sage! He did not say he had none, but answered full-mouthed: “How would I have no tag? Only mine is newly issued. Let me see yours.” The little demon, knowing nothing of the trap, lifted his clothes: against his skin hung a gold-lacquered tag on a green silk cord, and he pulled it out for the Pilgrim to see. The Pilgrim saw on the back of the tag the golden words “Terror of All Demons,” and on the face three characters in the true hand: “Little Wind-Darter.” He thought to himself: “Say no more: whoever patrols the mountain must have a ‘Wind’ to land his name on.” He said: “Walk on past with your clothes down; I will fetch my tag for you to see.” He turned, pulled out a small hair from the tip of his tail, pinched it, and cried, “Change!” It became a gold-lacquered tag too, strung on a green silk cord, bearing three characters in the true hand: “Chief Wind-Darter.” He brought it out and let him look. The little demon was greatly startled: “All of us are called Little Wind-Darter—how is it you are called some Chief Wind-Darter?” The Pilgrim, whose way was to carry a thing to its end and fit his words to it, said: “You truly do not know. The king saw how well I tended the fire, raised me to patrol the wind, and gave me a new tag too, calling me Chief Patrol-Wind, to have charge of your whole squad of forty brothers.” The little demon heard and hastened to salute: “Officer, officer! Newly appointed, so of course a strange face—forgive my forward words.” The Pilgrim returned the bow, laughing: “I do not blame you—only one thing: the meeting money is owed. Each man brings out five taels, and that settles it.” The little demon said: “Officer, do not be in haste. Let me go to the southern ridge and gather my whole squad, and pay up in a lump.” The Pilgrim said: “In that case I will go with you.” The little demon truly went in front, the Great Sage following.

A few li on, they came suddenly upon a brush-handle peak. Why is it called Brush-Handle Peak? From the mountaintop there grows out a spire four or five zhang high, like a brush set in a stand—hence the name. The Pilgrim came to its side, cocked his tail, and jumped up to sit on the point of the peak, calling: “Wind-Darters, all come over!” The little Wind-Darters below bowed: “Officer, at your service.” The Pilgrim said: “Do you know why the king sent me out?” The little demons said: “We do not.” The Pilgrim said: “The king means to eat the Tang monk, but he fears the Pilgrim Sun's powers are vast. They say he can change his shape; he may turn into a Little Wind-Darter and come here to feel out the road and fish for news. So I was made Chief Wind-Darter, to inspect whether your squad has any false ones in it.” The little Wind-Darters answered in a chorus: “Officer, we are all true.” The Pilgrim said: “If you are true, then—what powers has the king? Do you know?” The little demon said: “I know.” The Pilgrim said: “You know? Tell me quickly, and I will listen. If your telling squares with mine, you are true; if it is off by a hair, you are false, and I will surely seize you and take you to the king for judgment.” The little Wind-Darter, seeing him sit so high, put on his wise looks and bellow his orders, had no choice but to speak the truth: “My king's powers are vast and his arts mighty: with one gulp he once swallowed a hundred thousand celestial soldiers.” The Pilgrim heard and spat: “You are false.” The little Wind-Darter panicked: “Officer, my lord, I am true—why call me false?” The Pilgrim said: “If you are true, why talk nonsense? How big is the king's body, to swallow a hundred thousand celestial soldiers in one gulp?” The little demon said: “So you do not know, officer. My king can change his shape: when he wants to be big he can prop up the vault of heaven; when small, no bigger than a rapeseed. That year, when the Queen Mother held the Peach Banquet and invited all the immortals, no invitation card came to him. My king meant to contest heaven itself, and the Jade Emperor sent a hundred thousand celestial troops to quell him. My king changed into his dharma body, opened his great mouth wide as a city gate, and swallowed them up with all his force. The celestial soldiers dared not give battle, and shut the South Heaven Gate. So it is said: one gulp swallowed a hundred thousand soldiers.” The Pilgrim heard and laughed in himself: “If it is feats of the mouth we speak of, Old Sun has done that too.” He answered aloud: “And what powers has the second king?” The little demon said: “The second king stands three zhang tall, with silkworm brows and phoenix eyes, a beauty's voice and flat teeth, a nose like a flood dragon. When he fights with a man, one sweep of that nose and—even a man of iron back and bronze body—his soul is gone and his spirit spent.” The Pilgrim said: “A demon that noses men up is easy enough to take.” He answered aloud again: “And how many arts has the third king?” The little demon said: “My third king is no monster of the common world: his name is the Peng of the Cloud Road of Ten Thousand Li. When he moves, he wheels the wind and drives the sea, shakes the north and bends it toward the south. He carries with him a treasure called the vase of the twin breaths of yin and yang: put a man in that vase, and in a watch and three quarters he melts to juice.”

At this the Pilgrim's heart jumped in secret: “The demons I do not fear—but I must watch out for that vase.” He answered aloud: “The powers of the three kings you have told me well, and they match what I know. But which of the kings means to eat the Tang monk?” The little demon said: “Officer, you do not know?” The Pilgrim shouted: “I know rather more than you. It is because you lot do not know the bottom of things that I was charged to question you closely.” The little demon said: “My eldest king and second king have long lived in the Lion-Camel Cave on Lion-Camel Ridge. The third king does not live here; his old home is some four hundred li west and down of this. There stands a city there called the Lion-Camel Kingdom. Five hundred years ago he ate the king of that city and all its civil and military officers, and the men and women of the whole city, great and small, he ate clean up—so he took the country for his own. Now it is all demons. Some year or other he learned that the eastern land of Tang had sent a monk to the Western Heaven to fetch scriptures, and that this Tang monk is a good man refined through ten lifetimes: whoever eats one piece of his flesh will lengthen his years and live without old age. But because he feared that one disciple of his, the Pilgrim Sun, was terribly dangerous, and feared one demon alone could hardly manage it, he came straight here and swore brotherhood with my two kings, of one heart and one mind, to gang up and catch that Tang monk.”

The Pilgrim heard, and rage filled his heart: “What an unmannerly brazen demon. I am escorting the Tang monk to his true fruit—how dare they scheme to eat my man?” With a grind of his steel teeth he drew out the iron staff, leaped down from the peak, and brought the staff down once on the little demon's head—poor wretch, pounded flat as a meat ball. Seeing what he had done, he could not bear it: “Ah! He meant well, telling me all his household talk—and I ended him at one blow? Well, well; done is done.” Good Great Sage! Only because his master's road was blocked had he been driven to this deed. He untied the tag and hung it at his own waist, shouldered the “command” banner on his back, hung the bell at his waist, clattered the watchboard in his hand; against the wind he pinched the spell-sign, murmured a charm, shook himself once, and changed into the very likeness of Little Wind-Darter. Then he strode back along the old road to look for the cave, to sound out the truth of those three old demon kings. And it is truly said:

A thousand transformations—the Handsome Monkey King; ten thousand leaps and turns—true prowess!

He pushed into the deep mountains, following the old road. As he went he heard suddenly the shouting of men and neighing of horses. He raised his eyes: at the mouth of the Lion-Camel Cave some ten thousand little demons stood in ranks with spears, swords, and halberds, banners and flags streaming. The Great Sage rejoiced in secret: “What Li Changgeng said was no idle word—no idle word indeed.” Now the ranks stood in some order: two hundred and fifty made one great company. Seeing forty motley tall flags streaming in the wind, he knew there were ten thousand men and horses. And he thought to himself: “Old Sun has changed into Little Wind-Darter. Once inside, if the old demon questions me about the mountain patrol, I will answer as occasion serves. But if my words slip once and he knows me, how do I get out? If I run for the door, the gate guard will block me—how do I pass the gate? To take the demon kings in the cave I must first clear away the host before the gate.” And how, do you think, would he clear the host? Good Great Sage! He thought: “That old demon never met me, yet he knows Old Sun's name. Let me lean on this name of mine, ride my prestige, and talk big, and see if I cannot scare them. If the souls of the middle land truly have their lot and their share, and the scriptures are to be fetched home, then a few heroic words of mine this once will scare off those demons before the gate; but if the souls of men have no lot and no share, and the true scriptures cannot be fetched, then though my words opened lotus flowers, they would not rid the west of the sprites outside this cave.” Heart asked mouth, mouth asked heart; the plan fixed, watchboard clattering, bell swinging, he pushed straight for the mouth of the Lion-Camel Cave. The little demons of the front camp stopped him at once: “Little Wind-Darter is come?” The Pilgrim made no answer but walked on with head down.

At the second camp he was seized again: “Little Wind-Darter is come?” The Pilgrim said: “Come.” The demons said: “You went to patrol this morning—did you meet any such Pilgrim Sun?” The Pilgrim said: “I met him. He is there whetting his great club.” The demons were afraid: “What does he look like? What club is he whetting?” The Pilgrim said: “He crouches by the ravine like an open-road god; stood up, he would be ten zhang and more. In his hand an iron rod, a great club thick as a bowl; on the stone crag he scoops a handful of water, whets it, and mutters: ‘O club! All this while I never brought you out to show your powers; this trip I will beat to death ten myriad demons for you, and kill those three demon kings to sacrifice to you.’ Once he has whetted it bright, he will beat your ten myriad sprites dead before your gate first.” The little demons heard and every heart shook and gall trembled, souls streaming, spirits flying. The Pilgrim said again: “Friends, the Tang monk's flesh is not many catties, and none of it would fall to us—why should we carry this vat for him? Better we scatter, each his own way.” The demons all said: “Well said. Let us each look to our own lives,” and with a whoosh, a clamor, they were gone—for they were wolves and tigers, panthers and leopards, walking beasts and flying fowl. This was not the Pilgrim's few peddler's words—it was the songs of Chu scattering eight thousand soldiers.

The Pilgrim rejoiced in secret: “Good! The old demon's men are scattered. To leave at a word—how dare they meet him face to face? Inside, this same line will serve; but if I slip once, and one or two of those little demons who just left have sneaked back in to listen, the news will leak.” Look at him, his purpose set for the ancient cave, his courage mustered for the deep gate:

But what weal or woe would meet him when he faced that old demon king? Listen to the next chapter to find out.

Changgeng Brings Word of the Fierce Demon Kings; Pilgrim Puts Forth His Power of Transformation

Passion and desire, at the root, are all one thing; with passion and desire, so it goes of itself.Of the many who cultivate themselves in the Buddhist gate, to cut off desire and forget passion — that is meditation.Give it your mind, keep the heart firm, and not one speck of dust will stain the moon in the sky.Step by step in the work, let nothing go wrong; when the work is full and complete, you are an immortal of great waking.

The story tells how Tripitaka and his disciples broke through the net of desire and leaped out of the prison of passion, and gave their horses their heads and went west. They had not gone long when summer ended and early autumn came, with a new coolness going through the body. See how it was:

Quick rains gather in the last of the summer heat; one leaf startles the wutong tree.Fireflies fly over the grass path in the evening; crickets chirp under the bright moonlight.Yellow sunflowers open, glittering with dew; red knotweed spreads over the sand banks.The reeds are first to shed and fall; the cold cicadas cry as the season bids them.

As Tripitaka went along, he suddenly saw a high mountain, its peaks stabbing the blue sky — truly it scraped the stars and blocked the sun. The elder was afraid in his heart, and called to Wukong: "Look — that mountain ahead is terribly high and steep. Is there a road through it?" Pilgrim laughed: "What talk is that, Master? From of old the saying goes: 'However high the mountain, travelers have made a road; however deep the water, there is a ferryman.' How could there be no way through? Set your mind at rest and go forward." The elder heard, and his face blossomed with a smile; he raised his whip, urged his horse on, and went straight up the high rocks.

They had not gone a few li when they saw an old man, his temples in fluffy disorder, white hair blowing; his beard thin and bright, threads of silver swinging; a string of beads about his neck, a dragon-headed staff in his hand. From far off on the hillside he called out: "Elder bound west, rein in your steed a moment and hold tight the jade bridle. On this mountain is a band of demons who have eaten up the people of the whole world of Jambudvipa. Do not go forward." Tripitaka heard, and went white with fright. First, the horse's hoofs were on uneven ground, and second, the carved saddle was unsteady; with a flop he fell from the horse, could not struggle up, and lay in the grass groaning. Pilgrim came up and helped him: "Do not be afraid, do not be afraid; I am here." The elder said: "You heard that old man on the high rock report that there is a band of demons on this mountain who have eaten up the people of the world. Who would dare go and ask him the truth of it?" Pilgrim said: "You sit here; I will go and ask him." Tripitaka said: "You are ugly of face and rough of speech; I fear you would offend him and get nothing true out of him." Pilgrim laughed: "Then I will change into someone handsomer and ask him." Tripitaka said: "Change, and let me see." The good Great Sage pinched a sign, shook himself, and changed into a neat, clean little monk, truly with fine eyes and clear brows, round head and well-made face; in his bearing the air of a scholar, and never a word of the vulgar in his mouth. He shook out his brocade robe and cassock, strode up, and said to the Tang monk: "Master, do you think I have changed well?" Tripitaka saw him and was delighted: "You have changed well." Bajie said: "Why not well? Only he has put the rest of us in the shade. If this old pig rolled along for two or three years I could not turn out so pretty."

The good Great Sage drew away from the others, came straight up to the old man, bowed, and said: "Old grandfather, your poor monk salutes you." The old fellow saw how handsome and young he was, light and limber, and, half minded to answer, half not, returned his salute; then, patting his head with his hand, he asked with a smile: "Little monk, where do you come from?" Pilgrim said: "We come from the Land of the East, the Great Tang, going specially up to the Western Heaven to worship Buddha and seek the scriptures. Just as we reached this place we heard you report there are demons here. My master is timid and easily frightened, so he sent me to ask: what kind of demon is it in truth, that dares to cut the road like this? I beg you, grandfather, tell me all about it, so that I may drive him off and be on our way." The old man laughed: "You little monks are young; you do not know good from bad, and your talk is no help. Those demons have terribly broad magic powers. How would you dare talk of driving them off?" Pilgrim laughed: "The way you talk, you seem to be shielding him. You must be kin to him, or a close neighbor and sworn friend. Otherwise why would you build up his boldness, puff up his pride, and refuse to open your heart and tell his history?" The grandfather nodded and laughed: "This monk is a hand with his tongue. I suppose you wander with your master and have picked up a few charms here and there, and maybe you can drive out goblins and bind sprites, and keep houses safe and lay evil for people. But you have never run into a really vicious monster." Pilgrim said: "How vicious?" The grandfather said: "That demon — one letter of his to Vulture Peak, and five hundred arhats come out to meet him; one note of his to the Heavenly Palace, and the eleven great stars every one bows to him. The Dragon Kings of the four seas have been his friends; the immortals of the eight grottoes keep meetings with him; the ten kings of hell call him brother, and the local gods and city gods love him as a guest and friend."

The Great Sage heard, and could not help bursting into loud laughter; he took the old man by the arm: "Say no more, say no more! Those demons are sworn brothers and friends to this young page of mine — they do not amount to much. And if they knew it was this little monk of mine coming, they would pack up and move out that very night." The grandfather said: "Little monk, you talk nonsense — shame on you! What divine being would be your young page?" Pilgrim laughed: "I will not hide it from you. This little monk's family home is at Water Curtain Cave, Mount Flower-Fruit, in the Aolai Country; my surname is Sun, my name Wukong. In my time I too was a demon, and did great things. Once, at a gathering of the demons, I drank a few cups too many and fell asleep, and in my dream I saw two men with a warrant to take me down to the courts of the dead. In a flash of rage I beat the ghost judges with my gold-banded staff and frightened King Yama down, and I all but overturned the Hall of Darkness. The clerk of the records grabbed his papers in terror, and the ten kings of hell signed their names and set their seals, begging me to spare them the staff, and offering to be my young pages." The old grandfather heard and said: "Amitabha! A monk who talks such tall talk will never grow to be a man." Pilgrim said: "Official, this big is quite big enough." The grandfather said: "How old are you?" Pilgrim said: "Guess." The old man said: "Seven or eight, perhaps." Pilgrim laughed: "I am seven or eight times ten thousand. Let me put out my old face for you to see — but do not take offense." The grandfather said: "How is it you have another face?" Pilgrim said: "This little monk truly has seventy-two faces."

The old grandfather, slow to catch on, went on asking. Pilgrim smoothed his face with one wipe and showed his true form: teeth bared, mouth wide, both haunches bright red, a tiger-skin kilt at his waist and a gold-banded staff in his hand, standing under the stone cliff like the Thunder God alive. The old man saw him, and the color fell from his face; his legs went weak and numb, he could not stand, and fell in a heap; he crawled up and pitched over again. The Great Sage came up: "Old official, do not be alarmed. We are ugly of face but good of heart; do not be afraid, do not be afraid. Just now you were good enough to warn me of demons. How many monsters are there truly? Let me trouble you to tell me, so that I may thank you." The old man trembled all over, his tongue would not speak, and he fell back on deaf ears, answering not a word.

Seeing he would not speak, Pilgrim turned and went back down the slope. The elder said: "Wukong, you are back. What did you find out?" Pilgrim laughed: "It does not matter, it does not matter. There may be a demon or two on the way to the Western Heaven; only the people here are timid and take them to heart. No matter, no matter; I am here." The elder said: "Did you ask him what mountain this is, and what cave, and how many demons, and which road runs to Thunderclap?" Bajie said: "Master, do not be angry with me for saying it. At betting on transformations, playing tricks, and making game of people, three or five of us are no match for our brother; but at being honest — if you lined up a whole troop of brothers like him, they would not match me." The Tang monk said: "True, true — you are the honest one." Bajie said: "Who knows how he poked his head in and poked it out again, asked two questions, and came running back all sideways. Let this old pig go and get the truth of it." The Tang monk said: "Wuneng, be careful."

The good Idiot stuck his nail rake in his sash, straightened his black cassock, and minced and wiggled up the hillside, calling to the old man: "Grandfather, I salute you." The old fellow, once Pilgrim had gone back, had just managed to raise himself on his staff, trembling, and was about to make off, when he saw Bajie and was more frightened than ever: "Grandfather in heaven! What evil dream did I dream last night, to meet such a pack of evil folk? The first monk was ugly, granted, but still three parts human to look at. This monk — what a mouth like a pestle, ears like palm-leaf fans, a face like an iron sheet, a neck bristled with hair! There is not one part of him that smells of man." Bajie laughed: "You old grandfather, you do not hide your delight in finding fault. How do you like me, then? Ugly I may be, but bear with the look; in a moment I will be handsome." The old man, hearing him speak like a man, had to open his mouth and ask: "Where do you come from?" Bajie said: "I am the Tang monk's second disciple; my religious name is Wuneng, Bajie. The one who asked just now is called Wukong the Pilgrim, my elder brother. My master scolded him for offending you and getting no true answer, so he sent me specially to call on you. What mountain is this truly, and what cave, and what demons in the cave truly? And which is the great road west? I beg you, grandfather, point it out to me." The old man said: "Will you be honest?" Bajie said: "All my life I have never dared tell one hair of a lie." The old man said: "Do not be like that monk just now, with his flashy talk and his fooling." Bajie said: "I am not like him."

The grandfather, leaning on his staff, told Bajie: "This mountain is called Lion-Camel Ridge, eight hundred li across. In the middle of it is Lion-Camel Cave, and in the cave are three demon kings." Bajie spat: "You old fellow, what a worrier you are! Three little demons, and you wear yourself out coming to bring word of them?" The grandfather said: "Are you not afraid?" Bajie said: "I will not hide it from you: of these three demons, my brother kills one with a single stroke of his staff; I crush one with a single blow of my rake; and I have a younger brother who kills the third with his subduing-demon staff. All three killed, and my master goes through — what difficulty is there in that?" The old man laughed: "This monk does not know deep from shallow. Those three demon kings have terribly broad magic powers. The little demons under them: on the southern ridge there are five thousand, on the northern ridge five thousand; at the east road one ten thousand, at the west road one ten thousand; the patrols are four or five thousand, and the gate guards also one ten thousand; the fire-tenders are past counting, and the woodcutters past counting — all told, forty-seven or forty-eight thousand. And every one of them has a name and wears a tag, and their trade here is eating men."

The Idiot heard this and came running back trembling. Coming up to the Tang monk, instead of answering he dropped his rake and squatted there easing his bowels. Pilgrim saw him and shouted: "No answer for us, and you squat there — why?" Bajie said: "It frightened the shit out of me. No need to say anything now; the sooner we each run for our lives, the better." Pilgrim said: "This blockhead! When I asked, I was not frightened at all; you go and ask, and come back in such a panic you have lost your wits." The elder said: "What did he say, truly?" Bajie said: "The old man says: this mountain is called Lion-Camel Ridge, eight hundred li across; in the middle is Lion-Camel Cave, and in the cave are three old demons with forty-eight thousand little ones, whose whole trade is eating men. If we so much as brush the edge of that mountain, we are meat in their mouths. There is no going on." Tripitaka heard, and trembled, the hair of his flesh standing up: "Wukong, what are we to do?" Pilgrim laughed: "Master, set your mind at rest; it is no great thing. There may be a few demons here, but the people here are timid, and they swell the tale to so many, so big, and so they scare themselves. I am here." Bajie said: "Brother, what talk is that? I am not like you — what I asked is the truth, without a word of a lie. The whole mountain, the whole valley, is full of demons; how can we go forward?" Pilgrim laughed: "What a face, Idiot! Do not scare yourself. As for demons filling mountain and valley, one sweep of old Sun's staff in the night would finish every one." Bajie said: "Shame, shame! No boasting. Just to call those demons to roll call would take seven or eight days — how would you finish them all?" Pilgrim said: "And how would you do the fighting?" Bajie said: "Seize them, tie them, fix them with your freezing spell — there is no way it could be that fast." Pilgrim laughed: "No seizing, no grabbing, no tying. I pull this staff at both ends and call 'Long!' and it is forty zhang long. I wave it and call 'Thick!' and it is eight zhang around. One roll down the south of the mountain crushes five thousand; one roll down the north crushes five thousand; one roll from east to west, and I am afraid four or five ten thousands would be ground into meat paste and pulp." Bajie said: "Brother, if you beat the mountain like rolling out dough, then perhaps by the second watch it would all be done." Sha Monk said, smiling beside them: "Master, with a big brother of such magic power, what is there to fear? Please get on your horse and let us go." The Tang monk, hearing them discuss their arts, had no choice but to calm himself, mount, and go.

As they went, the old man who had brought the warning was gone. Sha Monk said: "If he was a demon, he came swaggering like a fox borrowing the tiger's might, to frighten us." Pilgrim said: "Do not be in a hurry; let me go and see." The good Great Sage jumped to a high peak, looked all around, and found no trace. He turned quickly and saw in mid-air a glow of colored cloud shining; he vaulted onto his cloud and gave chase, and it was the Gold Star of Venus. He came up to him, took hold of him with his hand, and kept calling out his childhood name: "Li Changgeng, Li Changgeng, what a sly one you are! If you had something to say, you might have said it to my face. Why disguise yourself as an old man of the wild hills and haunt old Sun with bad dreams?" The Gold Star hurried to make his bow: "Great Sage, the warning came late — pardon me, pardon me. These demon kings truly have broad magic power and towering strength. Only if you keep up your shifts and changes, your cleverness and your plots, can you get past; be lazy about it a hair's breadth, and it is truly hard going." Pilgrim thanked him: "I am grateful, grateful. If the road here is truly so hard, I beg you, old star of the upper world, to speak to the Jade Emperor and lend me some heavenly soldiers to help old Sun." The Gold Star said: "There are, there are. You need only carry the word, and even a hundred thousand heavenly soldiers can be had."

The Great Sage took leave of the Gold Star, let down his cloud, and told the Tripitaka: "That old man just now was the Gold Star of Venus, come to bring us word." The elder put his palms together: "Disciple, catch up with him quickly and ask whether there is another road somewhere, so we can turn aside." Pilgrim said: "There is no turning. This mountain runs eight hundred li straight through, and who knows how many more li all around it — how would we turn?" Tripitaka heard, and tears ran from his eyes: "Disciple, with such hardships, how are we ever to worship Buddha?" Pilgrim said: "Do not weep, do not weep; weep, and you are a soft-boiled noodle. There is surely some false in this warning — only a way of making us watch ourselves. Truly it is as the saying goes: 'The fault is with the one who tells.' Get down and sit a while." Bajie said: "What is there to plan now?" Pilgrim said: "Nothing to plan. You stay here and keep careful guard over Master; Sha Monk, watch the baggage and the horse well. Let old Sun go up the ridge first and scout, and see how many demons there are front and back. I will catch one and question him closely, and make him write a signed statement with a roll of names, old and young, every one accounted for; then I will order them to shut the cave gate and bar no road, and ask Master to slip quietly past — that would show old Sun's art." Sha Monk only said: "Be careful, be careful." Pilgrim laughed: "No need to tell me. Where I am going, I would boil a road through the Eastern Ocean itself, and batter a gate through a mountain cased in iron and silver."

The good Great Sage gave a whistle, vaulted onto the somersault cloud, and jumped to a high peak. Pulling on vines, clambering over creepers, he smoothed the mountain side and looked: within the mountain all was still, with no one there. Suddenly he cried out: "Wrong, wrong! I should not have let that old Gold Star go. He only meant to scare me. How could there be any demons here? If they came out to skip and play, they would surely flourish spears and swing staffs and drill at arms — how could there be not one?" While he was puzzling it over, he heard behind the mountain the ting-tang, tap-clack of clappers and bells. He looked back quickly: it was a little demon, carrying on his shoulder a flag with the character "Order," a bell hung at his waist, a clapper in his hand, walking from north to south. Looking at him closely, he stood one zhang two chi tall. Pilgrim laughed to himself: "He must be a courier postboy, out delivering papers and notices. Let me go listen a while, and hear what he says."

The good Great Sage pinched a sign, murmured a spell, shook himself, and changed into a small fly; lightly he flew onto his hat and cocked an ear to listen. The little demon walked onto the great road, beating the clapper, swinging the bell, murmuring to himself: "We who patrol the mountain must each be careful and guard against Pilgrim Sun — he can change into a fly." Pilgrim heard, and was startled and puzzled to himself: "Has this fellow seen me? If he has not seen me, how does he know my name, and know I can change into a fly?" In truth the little demon had not seen him; the demon king, for some reason of his own, had given them this order, and it was mere rumor-babble that they babbled so. Pilgrim, not knowing this, suspected he had been seen, and made to pull out his staff and strike — then stopped, and thought: "I remember Bajie asking the Gold Star: three old demons and forty-seven or forty-eight thousand little ones. Little demons like this — another few ten thousands would not matter. But I do not know how great the three old kings' arts are. Let me question him a bit; there is time enough to fight after."

The good Great Sage — and how do you think he went about asking? He jumped down from the little demon's hat, stuck on a tree top, and let the little demon walk a few steps ahead; then, turning quickly and nimbly, he changed into a little demon too, beating the clapper, swinging the bell, shouldering the flag, dressed just like him, only three or five inches taller, murmuring the same words in his mouth. He caught up and called: "Fellow walker, wait for me." The little demon turned: "Where do you come from?" Pilgrim laughed: "A fine friend — you do not know your own household?" The little demon said: "There is no one like you in my house." Pilgrim said: "How is there no one like me? Look again." The little demon said: "A strange face. I do not know you, I do not know you." Pilgrim said: "No wonder the face is strange. I tend the fire; you have seen little of me." The little demon shook his head: "No, no. Even the fire-tending brothers in our cave have no such sharp-pointed mouth." Pilgrim thought: "This mouth of mine has turned out too pointed." He lowered his head, covered his mouth with his hand, and rubbed it: "My mouth is not pointed." And truly it was not pointed. The little demon said: "Just now you had a pointed mouth; how does one rub make it not pointed? A suspicious fellow — I cannot take you for one of our house. Not for a moment, not for a moment; it is doubtful, very doubtful. My great king's house law is very strict: the fire-tenders do nothing but tend fire, and the mountain-patrols do nothing but patrol. Surely no one is told to tend the fire and then sent out to patrol the mountain?" Pilgrim had a ready tongue, and he turned it: "You do not know. The great king saw how well I tend the fire and promoted me to patrol the mountain."

The little demon said: "Very well. We mountain-patrols go in companies of forty, ten companies in all, four hundred men, each with his own age and face and his own name and tag. For fear we should mix up the companies and he could not call the roll, the great king gave each of us a tag for a sign. Do you have your tag?" Pilgrim had changed himself to look just like him, and done his business like him, but since he had never seen the little demon's tag, he had none about him. The good Great Sage, far from admitting it, agreed at the top of his voice: "How should I have no tag? Only it is a new one, just issued. Bring yours out and let me see." The little demon, who never guessed this trick, pulled up his clothes; close against his body hung a gold-lacquered tag on a green silk cord, and he pulled it out for Pilgrim to see. Pilgrim saw that on the back of the tag were the gold words "Terror of All Demons," and on the front three true characters: "Little Wind-Drill." He thought to himself: "It goes without saying — every mountain-patrol must have a 'Wind' word trailing his name." So he said: "Put your clothes down and step aside; let me fetch my tag for you to see." He turned away, slipped a hand down, plucked one small hair from the tip of his tail, twisted it, and cried: "Change!" It became a gold-lacquered tag, strung on a green silk cord as well, with three true characters written on it: "Chief Wind-Drill." He brought it out and let the little demon look. The little demon was greatly startled: "We are all called 'Little Wind-Drill,' and you must go and be called some 'Chief Wind-Drill'!" Pilgrim, who left nothing half done and always fitted his words, said: "You really do not know. The great king saw how well I tend the fire and promoted me to patrol the winds; he gave me a new tag too, and named me 'Chief Wind-Patrol,' to have charge of your company of forty brothers." The demon heard, and hastened to salute: "Commander, Commander, you were newly appointed; it is only that your face is strange. Forgive my rough words." Pilgrim returned the salute, laughing: "I will not hold it against you. Only there is one thing: the meeting-fee is owing — let each of you bring out five taels." The little demon said: "Commander, do not hurry; let me go to the head of the southern ridge and gather my company, and we will pay all together." Pilgrim said: "If it is so, let us go together." The little demon truly walked on ahead, and the Great Sage followed.

In a few li they came upon a pen-shaped peak. Why is it called the Pen Peak? From the mountain top a shaft of rock rises four or five zhang high, like a brush stuck in a stand, and so it is named. When Pilgrim got to the foot of it he cocked his tail and jumped up, sitting on the very tip of the peak. He called: "Wind-Drills, all of you, come here." The little Wind-Drills below bowed: "Commander, at your service." Pilgrim said: "Do you know why the great king sent me out?" The little demon said: "We do not." Pilgrim said: "The great king wants to eat the Tang monk, but he fears Pilgrim Sun, whose magic power is so broad. They say he can change his shape, and they fear he may change into a little Wind-Drill, come here to brush the paths and sniff for news. So I was made Chief Wind-Drill, to inspect you — is there a false one in this company?" The little Wind-Drills answered over and over: "Commander, we are all true." Pilgrim said: "If you are true, do you know what arts the great king has?" The little Wind-Drill said: "I know." Pilgrim said: "You know — then tell me quickly. If it squares with what I know, you are true; if it is off by a hair, you are false, and I will take you to the great king to deal with." The little Wind-Drill, seeing him sit up high, put on his wise looks, and bark his orders, had no choice but to tell the truth: "My great king's magic is broad and his skill is high: with one gulp he once swallowed a hundred thousand heavenly soldiers." Pilgrim heard, and spat: "You are false." The little Wind-Drill panicked: "Commander, master, I am true — why do you say false?" Pilgrim said: "If you are true, why do you babble? How big is the great king's body, that one gulp would swallow a hundred thousand heavenly soldiers?" The little Wind-Drill said: "Commander, you do not know. My great king can change his shape: he can be so big he props up the heavenly vault, and so small as a rapeseed. That year, when the Queen Mother gave the Peach Banquet and invited all the immortals, no card came to invite him, and my great king meant to contend for Heaven. The Jade Emperor sent a hundred thousand heavenly soldiers to put him down; my great king changed into his law body, opened his great mouth as wide as a city gate, and gulped them down by main force. The heavenly soldiers dared not come to grips and shut the South Heaven Gate. So it is that with one gulp he swallowed a hundred thousand soldiers." Pilgrim heard, and laughed to himself: "If we speak of such boasts, old Sun has done his share." He asked again: "And what arts has the second king?" The little Wind-Drill said: "The second king is three zhang tall, with brows like lying silkworms and phoenix eyes, a beauty's voice and teeth like a carrying-pole, and a nose like a flood dragon. If he fights a man, one roll of that nose and he is caught — iron-backed and bronze-bodied, his soul and spirit are gone." Pilgrim said: "A demon that rolls men up with his nose is easy enough to take." He asked again: "And how many arts has the third king?" The little Wind-Drill said: "My third king is no monster of the common world. His title is the Wan-li Cloud-Path Peng. When he moves, he gathers the wind and drives the sea, wheeling from the north to plan the south. On his body he carries a treasure called the Vase of the Two Breaths, Yin and Yang. If a man is put inside the vase, in an hour and three quarters he turns to thin grime and water."

Pilgrim heard, and was secretly alarmed: "The demons themselves do not frighten me — but I must take care against that vase." He asked again: "What you say of the three kings' arts is not far wrong — it is the same as what I know. Only, which of the kings wants to eat the Tang monk?" The little Wind-Drill said: "Commander, do you not know?" Pilgrim barked: "I know a little better than you. It was for fear you should not know the inside of the matter that I was ordered to come and question you closely." The little Wind-Drill said: "My eldest king and second king have long lived at Lion-Camel Cave on Lion-Camel Ridge. The third king does not live here; his old home is some four hundred li west of here. There stands a city called Lion-Camel Kingdom. Five hundred years ago he ate the king of that city and all his civil and military officers, and every man and woman in the city, big and little, he ate up clean, and so he seized the kingdom; now it is all monsters. Some year or other he learned that the Land of the East, the Great Tang, had sent a monk to the Western Heaven to fetch the scriptures; they said the Tang monk is a good man refined through ten lifetimes, and whoever eats one piece of his flesh will lengthen his life and live forever without old age. But because he feared that disciple of his, Pilgrim Sun, who is terribly fierce, and doubted he could manage him alone, he came straight here and swore brotherhood with my two kings; with one heart and one mind they plot together to take that Tang monk."

Pilgrim heard, and was greatly angered: "What insolence, this brazen monster! I guard the Tang monk that he may win his true fruit — how dare they plot to eat my man?" With a grind of his steel teeth, he pulled out the iron staff, jumped down from the high peak, and set the staff once on the little demon's head — and pity! it crushed it like a lump of meat. Seeing it himself, he could not bear it: "Ah! He meant well by me; he told me all his family talk. How could I finish him off at one stroke like this? Well, well — it is done, and done." The good Great Sage — only because his master's road was blocked had he been driven to do this thing. He untied the tag and wore it at his own waist, slung the "Order" flag on his back, hung the bell at his waist, and beat the clapper in his hand. Against the wind he pinched a sign, murmured a spell, shook himself, and changed until he looked the very picture of Little Wind-Drill. He turned back along the old road, straight for the cave, to sound out the truth of the three old demon kings. Truly:

A thousand shapes of change has the Handsome Monkey King; ten thousand turns of skill are his true art!

He pushed into the deep mountains, following the old road. As he went, he suddenly heard the shouting of men and the neighing of horses. He raised his eyes: it was ten thousand little demons drawn up at the mouth of Lion-Camel Cave with spears, blades, swords, and halberds, banners and flags. The Great Sage rejoiced in his heart: "Li Changgeng's word was no lie — no lie at all." The array had its system: two hundred fifty made one great company. Seeing forty long flags of mixed colors dancing in the wind, he knew there were ten thousand men and horses. And he thought it over: "Old Sun has changed into Little Wind-Drill; once inside, if the old king questions me about patrolling, I will answer as the moment allows. But if a word slips, and I am known — how do I get out? And if I run, the gate guards will block me; how do I pass the gate? To take the demon kings in the cave, I must first clear away the crowd of monsters before the gate." And how do you think he would clear the monsters? The good Great Sage thought: "The old king never met me, yet he knows old Sun's name. Let me lean on this name of mine, rely on my prestige, talk big, and see if I cannot frighten them. If the living souls of the Middle Land are fated, and their lot is good, and we win the scriptures and go home — then this once, a few heroic words of mine will scare off the many monsters before the gate. But if the souls have no fate, no lot, and the true scriptures cannot be won — then though my words could conjure up a lotus, they would not clear one fiend from before this western cave." Mouth asking heart, heart asking mouth, he thought out this plan; beating the clapper, swinging the bell, he strode straight up to the mouth of Lion-Camel Cave. The little demons of the front camp stopped him at once: "Little Wind-Drill has come?" Pilgrim made no answer; head down, he walked on.

At the second camp they seized him again: "Little Wind-Drill has come?" Pilgrim said: "Come." The demons said: "You went to patrol this morning — did you run into that Pilgrim Sun or not?" Pilgrim said: "I ran into him. He is there grinding his great club this very moment." The demons were afraid: "What does he look like? And what club is he grinding?" Pilgrim said: "He squats by the ravine looking like a road-opening god; if he stood up he would be a dozen zhang tall. In his hand is an iron club, thick as a bowl, a great bar of it; he scoops a handful of water from the rock cliff and grinds away, murmuring: 'Club, old friend — for a long while I have not brought you out to show your stuff. This time, if there are a hundred thousand demons, I will kill every one of them for you, and then sacrifice the three demon kings to you.' Once he has it ground bright, the first ten thousand fiends to die are those before your gate." The little demons heard, and one and all their hearts jumped and their galls shook, souls scattering and spirits flying. Pilgrim said further: "Gentlemen, there are not many catties of meat on that Tang monk, and none of it would fall to us. Why should we hold the bag for him? Better we each scatter." All the demons said: "Well said; let each of us go look to his own life." For they were all wolves, worms, tigers, and leopards, beasts that run and birds that fly; with a whoop the whole crowd broke and scattered. This was not merely a few patter words from the Great Sage Sun — it was like the songs of Chu on every side scattering eight thousand soldiers.

Pilgrim rejoiced to himself: "Good! The old demons are routed. They hear the word and run — how would they dare meet me face to face? It will serve to go in with this same talk; but if I slip a word, and one or two of those little demons run in and hear of it, the wind would be out of the bag." See him, his purpose set, come to the ancient cave, his heart for a shield, into the deep gate.

Whether the meeting with that old demon king brings good or ill — listen to the next chapter to find out.