Chapter 81

At Zhenhai Monastery the Mind-Ape Senses a Demon; In the Black Pine Forest the Three Seek Their Master

The story tells how Tripitaka and his disciples reached the Zhenhai Chan Monastery, where the monks came out to meet them and laid a vegetarian meal. When the four had eaten, the young woman got something down her as well. Dusk thickened by degrees, and lamps were lit in the abbot's quarters. The monks—half of them burning to ask the Tang monk the story of his quest for scriptures, half of them greedy for glimpses of the young woman—pressed close in rows beneath the lamps. Tripitaka said to the lama monk: "Abbot, tomorrow, when we leave this precious mountain, what is the road like going west?" The monk dropped to both knees, and the elder, alarmed, seized him by the arm and pulled him up. "Abbot, rise, I beg you. I only asked about the road—why do you bow?" The monk said: "Reverend teacher, when you travel west tomorrow the road is smooth and level; give it no thought. But there is something here not quite right, something I meant to say the moment you came through our gate, and dared not for fear of your great dignity. Only now that the meal is done do I make bold to tell you: you have come from the east, Teacher, a long and weary way, and it is well that all of you rest in this humble monk's quarters; but this lady bodhisattva—it is not convenient—and I could not think where to have her sleep." Tripitaka said: "Abbot, cherish no suspicion, as if my disciples and I harbored some wicked design. This morning, as we passed through the Black Pine Forest, we came upon this woman bound to a tree. My disciple Sun Wukong was unwilling to save her, but I raised the heart of bodhi and cut her down. Now that we are here, it is for you, Abbot, to send her wherever she may sleep." The monk thanked him: "Since you are so generous, Teacher, let her sleep in the Hall of the Heavenly King, on a straw pallet behind the august Heavenly King himself." Tripitaka said: "Very good, very good." Then the young monks led the woman behind the hall to her bed. The elder, sitting in the abbot's quarters, begged the abbots to make themselves at home, and they dispersed. Tripitaka told Wukong: "You have toiled enough—sleep early and rise early." So they all lay down together, none daring to leave his side, guarding their master. Deep night closed in, and it was just this:

The Jade Rabbit climbs high, and every sound sinks to rest;the streets of heaven fall silent, and travelers cease.The Milky Way glimmers, and the starlight burns bright;the drums of the watchtower beat out the changing watches.

No more of the night's talk. At daybreak the Pilgrim rose and told Bajie and Sha Monk to pack the luggage and ready the horse, then went to rouse the master for the road. The elder still lay asleep, loath to wake. The Pilgrim came close and called: "Master." The master lifted his head a little, but could not get an answer out. The Pilgrim asked: "What is it, Master?" The elder groaned: "Why does my head swim and my eyes bulge so, and why does my whole body ache, skin and bone?" Hearing this, Bajie reached out and felt the master's body: it was somewhat fevered. The Idiot laughed: "I know what ails him. Last night, seeing a meal that cost nothing, he ate a few bowls too many and lay straight down on a full stomach—his food has turned against him." The Pilgrim snapped: "Nonsense! Let me ask the master what is truly wrong." Tripitaka said: "I got up in the middle of the night to relieve myself and never put on my hat; I suppose the wind caught me." The Pilgrim said: "That sounds reasonable enough. Can you travel now?" Tripitaka said: "I cannot even raise myself to sit—how could I mount a horse? But it will hold up the journey." The Pilgrim said: "Master, what talk is this? The old saying goes: 'A teacher for a day, a father for a lifetime.' We who are your disciples are as sons to you. And again: 'A son need not pay you back in gold and silver; it is enough that he sees a thing and feels for you.' If your body is unwell, why speak of the journey? What harm in resting a few days?" The brothers waited on their master, and before they knew it morning drained away, noon came, dusk fell again; one good night passed, and dawn crept in.

Time ran swiftly, and three days went by. That day the master raised himself on his arm and called: "Wukong, these two days my sickness has lain heavy, and I never asked you: that lady bodhisattva whose life we saved—has anyone been sending her food?" The Pilgrim laughed: "Why fret over her? See to your own sickness first." Tripitaka said: "True, true. Only help me up, take out my paper, brush, and ink, and borrow an inkstone of the monastery." The Pilgrim said: "What for?" The elder said: "I mean to write a letter and seal it with my travel rescript, and you shall bear it up to Chang'an and lay it before Emperor Taizong." The Pilgrim said: "Easily done. Your old Sun is good for nothing else, but at carrying letters he is first under heaven. Have the letter ready and give it to me: one somersault carries me to Chang'an, I hand it to the Tang king, and a second somersault brings me back before the ink on your brush is dry. But why send a letter at all? Say the letter's meaning to me first; hear it recited, and there will be time enough to write." The elder, tears dropping, said: "I would write:"

Your monk and subject bows his head and kneels three times,crying ten thousand years as he worships his sacred lord.Let the two courts, civil and military, look upon this letter;let the four hundred dukes and ministers all hear and know:In years past I bore the edict out of the Land of the East,hoping to reach Vulture Peak and look upon the World-Honored One.Who foresaw the road would bring calamity,or that misfortune would strike me halfway?The monk lies gravely ill and cannot take one step;the gate of Buddha is deep and far, reaching heaven's own gate.With scriptures but no life, the toil is all in vain;I petition the reigning sovereign to send another man.

When the Pilgrim heard this he burst out laughing: "Master, you are too easily beaten down. A trifling sickness, and such thoughts come into your head. If your illness were mortal, life or death, you need only ask me—your old Sun has powers of his own. Ask me: which King Yama would dare conceive the wish? Which judge would dare sign the summons? Which demon runner would dare come to fetch you? If they angered me, I would call up the old temper of my havoc in heaven, club my way into the dark land, seize the Yama kings of all ten generations, pull the sinews from them one by one, and not spare them even then." Tripitaka said: "Disciple, my illness is grave—say no such boastful things."

Bajie came forward: "Senior brother, the master says he is bad off and you keep saying he is fine—this is going too far. Let us settle it early: sell the horse, pawn the luggage, buy a coffin, see him out, and scatter." The Pilgrim said: "The Idiot talks nonsense again—you do not understand. The master was the second disciple of our Buddha the Tathagata, once called Elder Golden Cicada; only because he slighted the Buddha's law did this great calamity fall due to him." Bajie said: "Brother, if the master slighted the Buddha's law and was banished to the Land of the East, reborn in a sea of strife, amid a field of tongues, housed in a human body, and bound by his vow to cross to the Western Heaven, worship Buddha, and seek the scriptures—meeting demon after demon, bound and strung up, drinking every cup of anguish—was that not enough, that he must fall sick too?" The Pilgrim said: "How would you know? Before our teacher ever heard the Buddha preach, he dozed off, and as he nodded a single grain of rice clung under his left foot; when he came down into the world, he owed this three-day illness for it." Bajie cried out in alarm: "Old Pig splashes his food about when he eats—who knows how many years of illness that must owe!" The Pilgrim said: "Brother, the Buddha does not hold such things against us living beings—though you would not know it. There is the old verse: 'Hoeing grain under the noonday sun, the sweat drips to the soil beneath the sprouts; who knows that the food on the plate—every grain comes hard and bitter.' The master owes only this one day of it; tomorrow he will be well." Tripitaka said: "Today I am not as I was yesterday: my throat burns with thirst. Go somewhere and find cold water, and bring it to me." The Pilgrim said: "Good—the master wants water; that means he is better. Wait while I fetch some."

At once he took the alms bowl and went for water to the kitchen behind the monastery. There he found the monks, every one of them red-eyed, sobbing and choking on their grief, yet not daring to weep aloud. The Pilgrim said: "You monks are a shabby lot. We have stayed a few days; when we go we will thank you, and pay for firewood and candles by the day—why play the weakling?" The monks threw themselves on their knees: "We dare not, we dare not." The Pilgrim said: "Why dare you not? Or is it that my long-jawed brother has such an appetite he has eaten into your capital?" The monks said: "Venerable sir, in this wild monastery, great and small, we number a hundred monks and more; had each of us kept you, venerable sir, for one day, we could have kept you a hundred days. How should we dare scheme, or reckon up your board?" The Pilgrim said: "If you are not reckoning, why do you weep?" The monks said: "Venerable sir, we do not know what demon from what mountain has come into this house. At night we used to send two young monks to ring the bell and beat the drum; when the bell and drum sounded, no man came back. Next day, searching, we found only a monk's cap and a monk's shoes flung into the back garden, the bones still lying there—the demon had eaten them. In the three days you have been with us, six monks of this house have vanished. And so we brothers cannot help our fear and cannot help our grief; and because we saw your honorable teacher gravely ill, we dared not spread the word, and our tears fell in secret." When the Pilgrim heard this, startled and delighted at once, he said: "Say no more. A demon is certainly here devouring men. Leave him to me; I will root him out for you." The monks said: "Venerable sir, a demon that was no demon would not have such power. It can certainly ride the clouds and mists, and certainly pass from the hidden world into the dark. The ancients said it well: 'Never trust the man who seems too straight; guard against the heart that has no kindness.' Venerable sir, do not take it ill if we say: if you can hold him fast, you will pluck this root of calamity out of our poor house, and it will be a blessing of three lifetimes; but if you cannot hold him, there will be a good deal of inconvenience." The Pilgrim said: "What do you mean, a good deal of inconvenience?" The monks said: "We will hide nothing from you, venerable sir. Though this poor house numbers a hundred monks, every one of us left home a child. Long hair waits on the razor; the robe is patched where it tears. At dawn we rise and wash our faces, folding hands and bowing, taking refuge in the great Way; at night we set things right and burn incense, chanting with reverent hearts and knocking teeth the name of Amida. We lift our eyes to the Buddha's ninefold lotus, and pray to serve the three vehicles, the ferry of mercy beneath the cloud of the Law; we pray to behold at the Jeta Grove the World-Honored Shakyamuni; we bow our heads and look into the heart, keep the five precepts, cross the great thousand worlds, and through the ten thousand dharmas of life after life pray to wake to stubborn emptiness and the emptiness of form. When donors come, old and young, tall and short, fat and thin, one by one we knock the wooden fish and strike the chime of gold, packed shoulder to shoulder, through two scrolls of the Lotus Sutra and one round of the Liang King's repentance; when no donors come, new and old, rough and polished, cloddish and fine, one by one we press our palms together, shut our eyes, still and shadowed, sinking into trance on the rush cushion, the gate sealed beneath the moon. Let orioles cry and birds quarrel at their leisure—it does not board our great vehicle of mercy and expedient means. And so we cannot tame tigers, cannot subdue dragons; we cannot tell a monster from a demon. Venerable sir, if you rouse that demon against us, your hundred monks would scarcely fill his belly for one meal. First, our living souls would sink into the wheel of transmigration; second, the ancient name of this Chan grove would be blotted out; third, at the Tathagata's assembly not half a ray of light would be left us. That is the good deal of inconvenience we meant."

When the Pilgrim heard the monks out, wrath rose from his heart and malice mounted to his gall, and he cried aloud: "You monks are fine fools! You know the demon, but you do not know what your old Sun is capable of?" The monks answered softly: "Truly we do not." The Pilgrim said: "Then hear a few items of my history. I have tamed tigers and subdued dragons on Mount Flower-Fruit; I have gone up to heaven and thrown the Heavenly Palace into an uproar. Hungry, I crunched two or three of the Supreme Lord Lao's elixir pills; thirsty, I called lightly for six or seven cups of the Jade Emperor's wine. With one pair of golden eyes, neither white nor black, I watched heaven gray and the moon go dim; with one gold-banded staff, neither short nor long, I came without shadow and went without trace. What of great demons and small—who cares how sluggish, how festering? One charge after them, and they run, they tremble, they hide, they panic; one grab, and they are filed, burned, ground, pounded—like the Eight Immortals crossing the sea together, each showing powers of his own. Monk brothers, let me catch this demon for you to see; then you will know your old Sun."

The monks listened, nodding to themselves: "The bald thief opens his mouth wide and talks big; he must have some history behind him." One after another they murmured yes, yes. Only the lama monk said: "Wait. Your honorable teacher lies gravely ill, and catching this demon is not the urgent thing. The proverb says: 'A lord at the banquet, if not drunk, is stuffed; a warrior in the field, if not slain, is wounded.' When the two of you lock horns, if harm comes to your teacher, it will be no small matter."

The Pilgrim said: "Well said, well said. Let me carry the cold water to my master first, then come back." He lifted the alms bowl, filled it with cold water, came out of the kitchen, went straight to the abbot's quarters, and called: "Master, cold water to drink." Tripitaka was in the thick of his parching thirst; he raised his head, took the bowl in both hands, and drank it down in one pull. Truly: to a thirst one drop is sweet dew; when the medicine arrives with the true prescription, the sickness is gone. When the Pilgrim saw the elder's spirit reviving and his brow easing, he asked: "Master, can you take some broth and rice?" Tripitaka said: "That cold water was an elixir; my sickness is half gone. If there is broth and rice, I can eat a little." The Pilgrim called out at the top of his voice: "My master is well! He wants broth and rice!" He bade the monks make haste: wash the rice and boil it, roll the dough and bake flat cakes, steam the bread, make the noodle soup—four or five tables were borne in. Tripitaka Tang managed only half a bowl of rice water; the Pilgrim and Sha Monk together went through one table; all the rest went down into Bajie's single belly. The dishes were cleared, the lamps lit, and the monks dispersed.

Tripitaka said: "How many days have we been here now?" The Pilgrim said: "Three whole days. Come tomorrow evening it will make four suns." Tripitaka said: "Three days—so much of the road thrown away." The Pilgrim said: "Master, it hardly counts against the road; tomorrow we go." Tripitaka said: "So it is; even with a touch of sickness, there is nothing for it." The Pilgrim said: "If we go tomorrow, then let me catch the demon tonight." Tripitaka started: "Catch what demon?" The Pilgrim said: "There is a demon in this monastery. Let your old Sun catch him for the brothers." Tripitaka Tang said: "Disciple, my sick body is not itself—why do you take up such a notion? If that monster has powers of his own and you cannot hold him, will he not be my ruin?" The Pilgrim said: "You do love to snuff out a man's glory. Your old Sun subdues demons wherever he goes; when did you ever see me the weaker for an enemy? I simply do not strike; when I strike, I win." Tripitaka caught his sleeve: "Disciple, the old sayings are good: 'Do a kindness when you can; spare a man where you may.' 'How is fretting better than a quiet heart? How is contending better than holding your temper?'" When the Great Sage saw his master pleading so hard and forbidding him to fight the demon, he told the plain truth: "Master, I will hide nothing from you: that demon has been eating people here." Tripitaka Tang was greatly shaken: "What people has it eaten?" The Pilgrim said: "In the three days we have been here it has eaten six young monks of this monastery." The elder said: "'When the rabbit dies the fox grieves; every creature mourns its kind.' It has eaten the monks of this house, and I too am a monk. Go, then—I let you go; only be careful, and be thorough." The Pilgrim said: "Say no more; where your old Sun's hand reaches, the thing is wiped away."

See him then: before the lamp he charged Bajie and Sha Monk to guard the master, and in high glee leaped out of the abbot's quarters and made straight for the Buddha hall. Stars filled the sky, the moon had not yet risen, and the hall lay black. He breathed out his true fire and lit the glass lamps, beat the drum on the east and struck the bell on the west. When the sound died, he shook himself and changed into a young monk of twelve or thirteen, draped in a yellow silk cassock over a white cloth robe, tapping a wooden fish and chanting sutras. Through the first watch nothing stirred. At the second watch the waning moon had just climbed when he heard a rushing wind. A fine wind:

Black fog veils the sky and darkens it; sorrowing clouds shadow the earth with gloom.The four quarters are like spilled ink; one wash of indigo, all blurred.First it threw up dust and scattered soil; then it felled trees and broke the forest.Dust thrown and soil scattered, the starlight showed; trees felled and forest broken, the moonlight failed.It blew till Chang'e hugged the sago tree close, and the Jade Rabbit spun in circles hunting its medicine bowl;till the nine radiant star officials all shut their doors, and the Dragon Kings of the four seas barred their gates;till the city gods in their temples hunted their little goblins, and the immortal maids in the sky—how could they ride the clouds?till King Yama in the dark land hunted for his Horse-Face, and the judges ran wild chasing their headcloths.It shook the stones loose from the crown of Mount Kunlun and rolled the waves of rivers and lakes into one churn.

As the wind went by he caught the perfume of orchid and musk and heard the tinkling of jade pendants. He leaned forward and raised his head to look—ah! a beauty of a woman, walking straight into the Buddha hall. The Pilgrim went on humming and mumbling at his sutras with all his heart. The woman came close, threw her arms around him, and said: "Little elder, what sutra are you chanting?" The Pilgrim said: "One I vowed to chant." The woman said: "Everyone else sleeps at ease—why do you sit chanting?" The Pilgrim said: "A vow is a vow; how could I leave off?" The woman hugged him and kissed him: "Come to the back with me and let us play." The Pilgrim deliberately turned his face away: "You do not quite understand the world." The woman said: "Can you read faces?" The Pilgrim said: "A little." The woman said: "Then read mine. What do you see?" The Pilgrim said: "I read that you were caught in some stolen love, and your husband's parents drove you out."

You read me wrong, you read me wrong: it was no parents-in-law's driving out,nor any stolen love.Only my fate in this life runs thin:I was matched to a man too young.We never knew the wedding candles of the bridal chamber—that is why I fled my husband and ran.

"While the stars are bright and the moon is clear—those fated to meet find each other across a thousand li—come, you and I will go into the back garden and be paired like phoenixes." The Pilgrim heard her out and nodded to himself: "Those foolish monks were all lured by lust, and it cost them their lives. Now she comes to gull me too." He answered offhand: "My lady, I left home so young that I know nothing of such loving." The woman said: "Come with me and I will teach you." The Pilgrim laughed in his sleeve: "Very well—I will follow and see how she means to manage me."

The two of them, arm in arm and hand in hand, left the Buddha hall and made straight for the garden behind it. There the demon hooked a leg and tripped the Pilgrim to the ground, crying "Darling, darling brother," and reached her hand to seize him by the groin. The Pilgrim said: "My dear child, so you truly mean to eat your old Sun." But he caught her wrist, used his little sitting-throw, and rolled the demon head over heels onto the ground. Still she cried: "Darling brother, you know how to throw your own mother!" The Pilgrim reckoned: "If I do not strike now, when? As they say: 'He who strikes first is strong; he who strikes second comes to grief.'" He spread his hand, bowed his back, sprang up with a bound, showed his own true form, whirled up the gold-banded iron staff, and smashed down at her head. The demon started in spite of herself, thinking: "What a terrible young monk!" She opened her eyes and saw it was that Tang elder's disciple, the one surnamed Sun. Even then she did not fear him. And what manner of demon was this demon?

A nose of gold, a coat of snow.Her doors and halls are tunnels underground; wherever she dens, all is safe and sure.Three hundred years she nursed her vapors, and more than once walked the road to Vulture Peak.One full meal of incense, flowers, and candles, and the Tathagata sent her down to the courts of heaven.She is the beloved daughter of Heavenly King Li, the Pagoda Bearer, and Crown Prince Nezha owns her as his kin.She is no sea-filling bird, no mountain-bearing turtle.Lei Huan's sword does not daunt her; Lu Qian's blade does not scare her.Coming and going, she cares nothing how wide the rivers Yangzi and Han run;up and down, she never reckons how high Mount Tai and Mount Heng climb.Look at her moon face and flower features, tender and sweet—who would know her for an aged rat grown demon, flaunting her little prowess?

Confiding in her vast powers, she met him with a pair of double swords, ringing and clashing, parrying left and blocking right, swaying east and toppling west. Strong as the Pilgrim was, he could not bring her down. Ghostly winds rose on every side; the waning moon lost its light. Look at the pair of them—a fine battle in the back garden:

A ghostly wind rises from the ground; the waning moon sways with faint light.Brahma's halls are hushed; the goblins' corridors go dim—in the back garden, a field of war.Sun, the great worthy, a saint of heaven;the hairy maiden, a queen among women:they match their powers, neither yielding.She twists her tender heart, raging at the black bald one;he rounds his piercing eyes, hating the fresh makeup.Her two swords fly—no more a lady bodhisattva;his one staff strikes—fierce as a living vajra.Where they ring, the gold bands flash like lightning; in a breath the white iron blazes starlight.The jade tower snatches at kingfisher plumes; the golden hall smashes mandarin ducks.Gibbons cry—the Ba moon hangs small; geese call—the Chu sky stretches long.The eighteen arhats cheer in secret; the thirty-two devas, every one, are frightened.

The Great Sage Sun, in high feather, never missed a beat with his staff. The demon, judging she was no match for him, knit her brows on a sudden; a scheme came into her head, and she turned to flee. The Pilgrim roared: "You shameless thing, where do you run? Surrender, and at once!" The demon paid no heed, backing away behind her swords. At the moment the Pilgrim pressed her hardest she slipped off the flowered shoe on her left foot, blew a breath of magic air, pronounced a spell, and cried: "Change!" It became her own likeness, whirling the two swords; her true body gave one flicker, turned into a wisp of clear wind, and was gone. And was this not the bane of Tripitaka? She darted straight into the abbot's quarters, swept Tripitaka Tang up over the clouds, far away into the dim dark; one blink of the eye, and they had reached Sunken Void Mountain and entered the Bottomless Cave, where she told her underlings to lay a vegetarian banquet for a wedding—of that no more.

Now the Pilgrim, wrought up and itching with the fight, let fall one blow in an opening and knocked the demon out of the air—it was only a flowered shoe. He knew he had been tricked, and spun about to look for his master. There was no master. Only the Idiot and Sha Monk, mumbling away at who knows what. Rage filled the Pilgrim's breast; he snatched up his staff without another thought and swung a storm of blows, crying over and over: "I will beat you to death! I will beat you to death!" The Idiot, terrified, had nowhere to run. But Sha Monk, a general of Vulture Peak, a man who had seen much, came forward gently, knelt, and said: "Elder brother, I have it: you mean to beat the two of us to death and never rescue the master—just go home by yourself." The Pilgrim said: "Beat you two to death, and I will go save him myself." Sha Monk laughed: "Elder brother, what talk! Without the two of us it is truly 'one strand makes no thread; one hand cannot clap.' Brother, this luggage, this horse—who would look after them? Better to learn of Guan and Bao dividing gold than to copy Sun and Pang matching wits. From of old: 'To fight the tiger you want your own brothers; to face the line you want father and son.' I beg you, elder brother, stay your hand; when day breaks we will join heart and strength to look for the master." The Pilgrim, for all his vast powers, understood reason and knew the hour; seeing Sha Monk plead so hard, he turned his heart: "Bajie, Sha Monk, get up. Tomorrow we look for the master—and we shall have to work." The Idiot, hearing himself reprieved, could have wished the sky would slip down half its height for joy: "Brother, all that on old Pig's shoulders." The brothers turned the thing over and over, and who slept? They could have nodded the sun up out of its mulberry tree and blown the stars from the sky in one breath.

The three sat up till daybreak, made ready to go, and already the monastery monks stood barring the gate to ask: "Venerable sirs, where are you going?" The Pilgrim laughed: "I can hardly say it. Yesterday I boasted before you all that I would catch your demon; the demon is not caught, and my own master has vanished. We are going to look for him." The monks said, frightened: "Venerable sirs, so small an affair of ours, and it has dragged you reverend teachers in. Where will you look for him?" The Pilgrim said: "There is a place to look." The monks pressed: "Since you go, do not hurry—take a morning meal first." And they quickly brought out two or three basins of broth and rice. Bajie swept them clean and said: "Good monks. When we find our master, we will come back here for a visit." The Pilgrim said: "Come back to eat your rice indeed! Go and look in the Hall of the Heavenly King—is the woman there or not?" The monks said: "Venerable sir, she is gone, she is gone. She slept the one night, and the next day she was seen no more."

The Pilgrim, light of heart, took leave of the monks, set Bajie and Sha Monk to lead the horse and carry the load, and made straight back east. Bajie said: "Brother, you are out—why east again?" The Pilgrim said: "How should you know? That woman tied in the Black Pine Forest the other day: my fiery eyes and golden pupils saw through her to the bone, but you all took her for a good soul. She it is who has been eating the monks, and she it is who has carried off the master. A fine lady bodhisattva you saved! Now that she has the master, back along the old road we go to look for her." The two sighed in admiration: "Good, good, good—there is fineness in the fellow's roughness. On, on, let us be gone."

The three came hurrying into the wood, and there it was:

Clouds massed, mists unbounded; rocks layered, roads coiling.Fox tracks and rabbit prints crisscrossed the ground;tigers, leopards, jackals, and wolves bored in and out.In the wood there was no shadow of any demon,and no telling where Tripitaka had got to.

The Pilgrim's heart burned. He pulled out his staff, shook himself, and changed into the very shape of his havoc in heaven: three heads, six arms, six hands wielding three staffs, thrashing through the wood with a great clatter. Bajie saw it and said: "Sha Monk, senior brother has lost his temper—cannot find the master, and now he has whipped himself into a fit." It turned out that down one stretch of thrashing he beat two old men into the open: one the mountain god, one the local earth god, who came forward and knelt. "Great Sage, the mountain god and the local earth god have come to pay their respects." Bajie said: "What a wonder-working staff! One stretch of beating knocks up two mountain and earth gods; another stretch would beat out the Year Star himself." The Pilgrim demanded: "Mountain god, earth god—fine manners! You keep a gang of robbers in this place. When they succeed they buy pigs and sheep to sacrifice to you, and you league with the demon and help spirit my master away. Where is he hidden? Confess the whole truth, quickly, and be spared the beating." The two gods panicked: "Great Sage, you wrong us. The demon is not on this small god's mountain, and not under his government. Only of the sound of wind at night does this small god know a little." The Pilgrim said: "If you know, then say it, item by item." The earth god said: "The demon carried your master off due south, a thousand li from here. In that direction stands a mountain called Sunken Void Mountain, and in the mountain a cave called the Bottomless Cave. It is a demon of that mountain, who changed her shape here and carried him off." At this the Pilgrim's heart went cold within him. He shouted the mountain god and the local earth god away, gathered in his transformed body, showed his own form, and said to Bajie and Sha Monk: "The master has gone a long way." Bajie said: "A long way—then ride the clouds after him."

Good Idiot: with one leap a wild wind rose before him; behind him Sha Monk mounted the clouds; the white horse, sprung from a dragon's line, took the luggage on his back and trod the wind and mist; and the Great Sage went up in a somersault: they drove straight south. Before long a great mountain rose and barred the feet of the clouds. The three steadied the horse and pressed down the cloud tops. See the mountain:

Its crown rubs the azure vault; its peaks touch the gray sky.Round about, tangled trees beyond counting; birds flying to and fro, chattering and crying.Tigers and leopards run in ranks; river deer and elk thread the thickets.On the sunny slopes, rare flowers and jasper grasses breathe perfume;in the shaded folds, winter snow and stubborn ice never melt.Rugged the steep ridges; sheer the cut cliffs and hanging crags.Peaks stand upright; ravines wind and deepen.Pines dark and dense, stones bright and keen—a traveler's heart would shake to see them.No woodcutter's shadow anywhere; no fairy boy gathering herbs in sight.Before your eyes tigers and leopards can raise the fog;foxes everywhere stir the wind at their sport.

Bajie said: "Brother, a mountain so sheer and forbidding must hold demons." The Pilgrim said: "No need to say it: high mountains have their monsters always—can sheer ridges be without their demons?" He called: "Sha Monk, you and I will wait here. Bajie will go down first into the vale and scout: find which road is passable, whether there truly is a cave dwelling, and where its gate opens. Scout everything carefully, and then we can all go together to look for the master and save him." Bajie said: "Old Pig's luck—always the first sent to plug the leak." The Pilgrim said: "Last night you swore it was all on your shoulders; how do you come to be backing out now?" Bajie said: "Stop your bawling; I am going." The Idiot put down his rake, shook out his clothes, and, empty-handed, jumped down the great mountain to look for the road.

In this going forth, what would come of it, good or ill? Listen to the next chapter to find out.

At Sea-Calming Monastery the Mind-Ape Learns of a Demon; In the Black Pine Forest the Three Companions Search for Their Master

The story tells how Tripitaka and his disciples reached the Sea-Calming Forest Monastery. The monks met them and set out a vegetarian meal. When the four had eaten, the woman also got some food to keep her strength up. Darkness slowly fell, and lamps were lit in the abbot's quarters. The monks crowded around and lined up under the lamps — partly to ask the Tang monk the story of how he came to fetch the scriptures, and partly because they wanted to keep looking at the woman. Tripitaka said to the lama monk he had met on first arriving: "Prior, tomorrow when I leave your worthy mountain, what is the road west like?" The monk fell on both knees. The elder hurriedly pulled him up and said: "Prior, please get up. I only asked you about the road. Why do you bow?" The monk said: "Worthy master, tomorrow you go west, and the road is smooth and level. Don't trouble yourself about that. But there is an awkward matter just now. We meant to say it the moment you came through the gate, but we were afraid of offending your great dignity. Only after the meal did we dare tell you boldly: you have come from the east, worn out by the long road, and all of you have rested very well in the little monks' rooms. But this lady bodhisattva — it is not convenient for her, and we don't know where to ask her to sleep." Tripitaka said: "Prior, don't grow suspicious and imagine that I and my disciples have any bad intent. This morning, passing through the Black Pine Forest, we came upon this woman tied to a tree. My disciple Sun Wukong did not want to save her, but I felt compassion in my heart and saved her. Now that we are here, let the prior send her wherever she should sleep." The monk thanked him and said: "Since the worthy master is so kind, please have her go to the Hall of the Heavenly Kings. Right behind the statue of the Heavenly King we will spread a straw bed for her to sleep on." Tripitaka said: "Very good, very good." Then the young monks led the woman behind the hall to sleep. The elder, still in the abbot's quarters, told the priors to make themselves comfortable, and everyone dispersed. Tripitaka told Wukong: "You have worked hard. Go to bed early and rise early." So they all slept in one spot, not daring to leave his side, guarding their master. Night deepened, and the moment was this:

The Jade Rabbit climbs high, and every sound grows still; the sky street is silent, and travelers stop passing.The Milky Way shines bright, the starlight glitters; the drum sounds from the watchtower and calls each new watch.

No more of that night's talk. When day broke, Pilgrim got up and told Bajie and Sha Monk to pack the bags and ready the horse, and then asked the master to set out. But the elder was still sleeping soundly and had not woken. Pilgrim came near and called: "Master." The master lifted his head a little but could not answer. Pilgrim asked: "Master, what do you say?" The elder groaned: "Why does my head swim and my eyes swell? My whole body, skin and bone, aches?" Bajie heard this and reached out to feel his body. There was some fever. The Idiot laughed and said: "I know what this is. Last night, seeing free food, you ate several bowls too many and fell asleep stuffed to the top. Your food has hurt you." Pilgrim shouted: "Nonsense! Let me ask the master what really happened." Tripitaka said: "I got up in the middle of the night to relieve myself and did not put on my hat. I think the wind got into me." Pilgrim said: "That makes sense. Can you travel now?" Tripitaka said: "Right now I cannot even sit up. How could I mount a horse? But it will hold up the journey." Pilgrim said: "Master, what talk is this? As the common saying goes: 'A teacher for a day is a father for life.' We who are your disciples are like your sons. And another saying goes: 'You don't raise a son by handing down gold and pissing out silver; it is enough if he shows his feeling when the moment comes.' Since you are unwell, why talk about holding up the trip? What harm in resting quietly a few days?" The three brothers waited on their master, and without their noticing, morning gave way to noon, noon to dusk; the fine night passed, and dawn crept in again.

Time flew, and three days passed. On that day the master raised himself up and called: "Wukong, these two days my sickness has been heavy, and I have not asked you: has anyone sent that lady bodhisattva, who escaped death, some food to eat?" Pilgrim laughed and said: "Why should you care about her? Look after your own sickness first." Tripitaka said: "True, true. Help me up, take out my paper, brush, and ink, and borrow an inkstone from the monastery for me to use." Pilgrim said: "What for?" The elder said: "I want to write a letter and seal it together with my travel papers. You will carry it up for me to the throne at Chang'an, to be seen by Emperor Taizong." Pilgrim said: "That's easy. Your old Sun is no good at anything else, but for delivering a letter I am first in the world. Get the letter ready and give it to me. One somersault takes me to Chang'an, I hand it to the Tang king, and one more somersault brings me back — your brush and inkstone will not even be dry yet. But why are you sending a letter? First chant me the sense of it. There is no hurry to write until you have chanted it." The elder, with falling tears, said: "I would write:

Your monk subject bows his head and knocks it three times, crying 'Ten thousand years!' as he bows to the holy ruler;may both ranks of civil and military officials read this, and the four hundred lords and ministers all hear it:years ago I received your decree and left the Land of the East, hoping to reach Vulture Peak and see the World-Honored One.Who would have thought that on the way I would meet hardship, and that halfway down the road misfortune would strike.Your monk lies gravely ill and cannot go forward; the gate of Buddha is deep and far, reaching the gates of heaven.With scriptures but no life, all my toil is wasted; I report to the present emperor: send another man."

When Pilgrim heard these words he could not help laughing out loud and said: "Master, you are too easily beaten. A slight little illness, and this idea comes into your head. If your sickness is grave — whether you live or die — just ask me. Your old Sun has his own tricks: ask which Yama king would dare form the thought? Which judge would dare draw up the warrant? Which demon runner would dare come to fetch you? If you anger me, I will bring out the temper I had when I wrecked the Heavenly Palace, take up my staff, batter my way into the dark underworld, seize the ten Yama kings, and pull the sinews out of them one by one — and even then I would not spare them." Tripitaka said: "Disciple, I am gravely ill. Don't talk such big talk."

Bajie stepped forward and said: "Brother, the master says he is bad off, and you keep saying he is fine. This is very awkward. Let's talk it over early: first sell the horse, pawn the luggage, buy a coffin, see him off at the end, and split up." Pilgrim said: "Idiot, more nonsense — you don't understand. The master was the second disciple of our Buddha the Tathagata, first named Elder Golden Cicada. Because he slighted the Buddha's law, this great calamity was due him." Bajie said: "Brother, if the master slighted the Buddha's law and was banished back to the Land of the East, reborn in a human body in a sea of quarrels and a field of gossip, and then he made his vow to go to the Western Heaven to worship Buddha and seek scriptures — meeting a demon he gets tied up, running into a demon lord he gets strung up — hasn't he suffered every kind of misery already? Why must he fall sick too?" Pilgrim said: "How would you know? Our master once dozed off while the Buddha preached the law, nodded downward, and one grain of rice caught on his left shoe. Coming down to the world below, he owed three days of sickness for it." Bajie said in alarm: "Old Pig spills and scatters his food when he eats. Who knows how many years of sickness I have got coming!" Pilgrim said: "Brother, the Buddha does not hold such things against you common creatures — not that you would know. Men quote this verse: 'Hoeing grain under the noon sun, / sweat drips onto the soil beneath the sprouts. / Who knows that every bite on the plate / is hard toil, grain by grain.' The master's sickness lasts only this one day; tomorrow he will be well." Tripitaka said: "Today I am different from yesterday: my throat is terribly dry. Go somewhere there is cold water and fetch me some to drink." Pilgrim said: "Good — the master wants water; that means he is better. Wait till I fetch some."

He took the alms bowl at once and went to the monastery kitchen behind the temple to get water. Suddenly he saw the monks, every one of them with red eyes, weeping and choking back sobs, not daring to cry out loud. Pilgrim said: "You monks are petty-minded. We have stayed a few days; when we leave we will thank you, and pay for firewood by the day. Why act like such milksops?" The monks hurriedly knelt and said: "We wouldn't dare, we wouldn't dare." Pilgrim said: "Why wouldn't you dare? Maybe my long-mouthed monk has such a big appetite that he has eaten into your capital?" The monks said: "Your lordship, this humble mountain of ours has a hundred and more monks, great and small. If each of us fed your lordship one day, we could feed you a hundred days and more. How would we dare cheat you or quibble about food?" Pilgrim said: "If you are not quibbling, why are you crying?" The monks said: "Your lordship, some evil thing from the mountains has come into this monastery — we don't know which. At night we send two young monks to strike the bell and beat the drum. When the bell and drum have sounded, no one ever comes back. The next day we search and find only the monk's cap and shoes thrown in the back garden, with the bones left behind — the man has been eaten. In the three days you have been here, six monks of our monastery have vanished. So we brothers cannot help being afraid, cannot help grieving. And because your worthy master is ill, we dared not speak of it, but we could not stop the tears from slipping down." Hearing this, Pilgrim was both startled and delighted. He said: "Say no more. A demon is surely harming people here. Wait, and I will wipe it out for you." The monks said: "Your lordship, a demon that is not cunning would have no power. It can certainly ride the clouds and mist, and certainly pass out of the dark places into the deep. The ancients said it well: 'Do not trust a man for looking honest; guard against people who mean harm.' Your lordship, don't be offended at what we say: if you can catch it, you will rid our humble mountain of this root of trouble, and that would be a blessing of three lifetimes. But if you cannot catch it, there will be quite a few inconvenient results." Pilgrim said: "What do you mean, inconvenient results?" The monks said: "We will not hide it from you, your lordship. Though our humble mountain has a hundred and more monks, every one of us left home young.Our hair grows long and we look for a knife to cut it; our clothes are thin and our patched robes are mended.Rising in the morning, we wash our faces, fold our hands, bow our bodies, and take refuge in the great Way;at night we tidy up and burn incense, and with devout hearts, tapping our teeth, we chant the name of Amitabha.Lifting our heads we see the Buddha's lotus seats in nine grades, the three vehicles, the raft of mercy, the cloud of the Law;we long to see the World-Honored One of the Jeta garden.Bowing our heads we look into our hearts, receive the five precepts, and would ferry across the great thousand worlds,life after life among the ten thousand things, hoping to wake to stubborn emptiness and the emptiness of form.When the donors come — old and young, tall and short, fat and thin — each of us taps the wooden fish, strikes the bronze chime, presses shoulder to shoulder, and gets through two scrolls of the Lotus Sutra and one volume of the Liang Emperor's repentance rite;when the donors do not come — new robes and old, raw ones and ripe ones, rustic ones and pretty ones — each of us presses his palms together, shuts his eyes, quiet and dark, sinks into trance on his rush cushion, and bars the gate under the moon.Let the orioles cry and the birds chatter and quarrel as they please; none of it reaches our great vehicle of mercy and good means.And so we cannot tame tigers and cannot subdue dragons; we don't know a monster when we see one, and we don't know a demon either.Your lordship, if you stir up that demon, a hundred and more of us monks would be just one full meal for it.First, it would drag all us living beings down the wheel of rebirth; second, it would blot out this ancient landmark of the meditation forest; third, the Tathagata's assembly would lose every bit of its glory. These are the inconvenient results."

When Pilgrim heard the monks speak out with such plain honesty, anger rose from his heart and malice grew at his gall. He cried out: "You monks are real fools! You know all about that demon, but you don't know how your old Sun behaves?" The monks answered softly: "Truly, we don't." Pilgrim said: "Then let me tell you a few things today, and you listen. I once tamed tigers and subdued dragons on Mount Flower-Fruit. I once went up to heaven and wrecked the Heavenly Palace. When hungry, I nibbled two or three of the Supreme Lord Lao's elixir pills; when thirsty, I casually drank six or seven cups of the Jade Emperor's wine. With my pair of golden eyes, neither white nor black, I watched the sky go gray and the moon turn hazy; with my gold-banded staff, neither short nor long, I came without shadow and left without trace. What big demon or little monster matters? I don't care how lazy or rotten they are. One chase, and they run, tremble, hide, and panic. One catch, and they are filed, burned, ground, and pounded. It was just like the Eight Immortals crossing the sea — each one shows his own magic on his own. Monk brothers, let me catch this demon for you to see. Then you will know your old Sun."

The monks listened, nodding to themselves in secret: "This thieving baldy opens his mouth wide and talks big. He must have some history." Every one of them murmured yes, yes. Only the lama monk said: "Hold on. Your worthy master is ill. Catching this demon for us is not urgent. As the common saying goes: 'A guest at the feast is either drunk or stuffed; a warrior in battle is either killed or hurt.' When the two of you grapple, if harm comes to your master because of it, that would not be safe."

Pilgrim said: "Good sense, good sense. Let me take the cold water to the master first, then come back." He picked up the alms bowl, filled it with cold water, came out of the kitchen, and went straight to the abbot's quarters, calling: "Master, here is cold water to drink." Tripitaka, just then tormented by thirst, lifted his head, took the water in both hands, and drank it down in one pull. Truly: to the thirsty a single drop is sweet dew; when the medicine comes with the true prescription, the sickness is drawn off at once. Seeing the elder's spirit brighten and his brows relax, Pilgrim asked: "Master, can you eat some soup and rice?" Tripitaka said: "That cold water was like a wonder drug. The sickness is half gone. If there is soup and rice, I can eat a little." Pilgrim called out loudly, again and again: "My master is better! He wants soup and rice!" He had the monks hurry to make preparations: rinse rice and boil it, knead dough and bake flat cakes, steam buns, make vermicelli soup — four or five tables were carried in. The Tang monk ate only half a bowl of rice water. Pilgrim and Sha Monk got through one table between them. All the rest went into Bajie's belly. The tableware was cleared away, the lamps were lit, and the monks dispersed.

Tripitaka said: "How many days have we been staying here now?" Pilgrim said: "Three full days. By tomorrow evening it will be four suns' worth." Tripitaka said: "Three days have cost us a lot of road." Pilgrim said: "Master, it hardly counts against the road. Tomorrow we go." Tripitaka said: "Right. Even if I still carry a bit of this sickness, there is no help for it." Pilgrim said: "Since we leave tomorrow, let me catch that demon tonight and see." Tripitaka said in alarm: "Catch what demon now?" Pilgrim said: "There is a demon in this monastery. Wait while old Sun catches it for them." The Tang monk said: "Disciple, my sick body is not yet well. Why does this idea come up again? If that creature has magic power and you cannot hold it, wouldn't that bring harm on me again?" Pilgrim said: "You do like to crush a man's spirit. Your old Sun subdues demons everywhere. Have you ever seen me lose to anyone? It is just that I don't set hands — but when I set hands, I mean to win." Tripitaka held him back and said: "Disciple, the common sayings are good ones: 'Do a favor when you can; spare a man when you may.' 'Worrying is never as good as a quiet heart; winning a quarrel is never as good as holding your temper.'" When the Great Sage saw his master pleading so hard, forbidding him to subdue the demon, he told the plain truth: "Master, I will not hide it from you. That demon has been eating people here." The Tang monk was shocked: "Whom has it eaten?" Pilgrim said: "In the three days we have been here, it has already eaten six young monks of this monastery." The elder said: "'When the rabbit dies, the fox grieves; every creature mourns its own kind.' Since it has eaten the monks of this monastery, and I too am a monk, I let you go — only be careful and pay close attention." Pilgrim said: "Say no more. When old Sun's hand arrives, the thing is destroyed."

See him now: by lamplight he told Bajie and Sha Monk to guard the master. Then, full of delight, he leaped out of the abbot's quarters and went straight to the Buddha hall. He looked: there were stars in the sky, the moon had not yet risen, and the hall was pitch dark. He blew out true fire and lit the glass lamps, beat the drum on the east and struck the bell on the west. When the sounds had died away, he shook his body and changed into a young monk of twelve or thirteen, wearing a yellow silk jacket over a white cloth robe, tapping a wooden fish in his hand and chanting scripture in his mouth. He waited through the first watch and nothing stirred. In the second watch the waning moon had just risen when there came a whooshing rush of wind. What a wind:

Black fog veils the sky in dark; grieving clouds dim the ground below.All four quarters look as if ink had been splashed; the whole scene is soaked in indigo.First it raises dust and flings sand; next it topples trees and breaks the forest.It raises dust and flings sand till the stars show; it topples trees and breaks the forest till the moonlight dims.It blows till Chang'e hugs the cassia tree tight, and the Jade Rabbit circles looking for her medicine bowl;till the star officials of the nine lights all shut their doors, and the Dragon Kings of the four seas cover theirs;the city god in his temple hunts for his little demons, and how can the fairy in the sky ride her cloud?In the dark underworld King Yama looks for the Horse-Face, and the judges run in disorder chasing their headcloths.It shakes the rocks on the top of Kunlun and rolls the waves of rivers and lakes into one churning mass.

When the wind had just passed, he suddenly smelled orchid and musk perfume and heard the tinkle of jade pendants. He leaned forward and looked up — ah! It was a beautiful woman, coming straight up into the Buddha hall. Pilgrim went on mumbling away, chanting his scripture with all his heart. The woman came close, threw her arms around him, and said: "Little elder, what scripture are you chanting?" Pilgrim said: "One I vowed to chant." The woman said: "Everyone else is sleeping comfortably. Why are you still chanting?" Pilgrim said: "I made a vow. How could I not chant it?" The woman held him and gave him a kiss and said: "Come with me to the back and have some fun." Pilgrim deliberately turned his head away and said: "You don't quite understand things." The woman said: "Can you read faces?" Pilgrim said: "I know a little." The woman said: "Then what do you read in mine?" Pilgrim said: "I read that you were sneaking around with a lover, and your in-laws drove you out." The woman said: "You read me wrong, you read me wrong. I —

was not driven out by a father- and mother-in-law,and no affair with a lover made me run.But my fate from a former life was thin:I was matched with a man still young.We never shared the wedding candles of the bridal chamber —only the sorrow of a wife who flees her husband."

"While now the stars shine and the moon is bright — they say that those fated to meet come together across a thousand li. Come, you and I will go to the back garden and join in pleasure as mates." Hearing this, Pilgrim nodded to himself: "Those foolish monks were all lured by lust, and so they lost their lives. Now she comes to trick me too." He answered offhand: "Lady, I left home to be a monk when I was still young. I know nothing of pleasures like that." The woman said: "Come with me and I'll teach you." Pilgrim laughed to himself: "Fine. I'll follow her and see how she means to manage me."

The two of them, arm over shoulder, hand in hand, left the Buddha hall and went straight into the back garden. The creature tripped Pilgrim with a leg and threw him to the ground, crying "Sweetheart brother" over and over, and reached out her hand to seize his privates. Pilgrim said: "My child, you really mean to eat old Sun!" But he caught her hand and used a small sitting-throw trick, flipping the creature head over heels onto the ground. The creature still cried: "Sweetheart brother, so you know how to throw your mother about!" Pilgrim reckoned to himself: "If I don't strike now, when will I? Just as they say: 'Strike first and be strong; strike late and take the harm.'" He crossed his hands, bent his waist, leaped up in one jump, showed his true form and figure, swung the iron staff with its gold bands, and smashed down at her head. The creature was indeed startled. She thought: "This little monk is fierce." Opening her eyes for a good look, she saw it was that Tang elder's disciple named Sun. Even so she did not fear him. Now what kind of creature was this demon?

A nose of gold, fur spread like snow.Burrows in the earth for her doors and rooms; wherever she beds down is safe and sure.She has nursed her spirit breath three hundred years, and traveled more than once to Vulture Peak.After gorging on fragrant flowers and candles, she was sent down out of heaven at the Tathagata's command.She is the beloved daughter of Heavenly King Li, the Pagoda Bearer, and Crown Prince Nezha counts her as his own kin.She is no bird that fills up the sea, no great turtle that carries mountains on its head.She does not fear the sword of Lei Huan, nor the blade of Lü Qian.Coming and going, she lets the waters spread as wide as the Yangzi and the Han; up and down, she cares nothing for how high Mount Tai or Mount Heng towers.Look at her moon face and flower looks, so tender — who would know she is an old rat turned demon, showing off her small share of power?

She trusted in her own vast magic. She raised her two-pronged sword, and it rang with a clanging din as she warded left and blocked right, swaying east and toppling west. Pilgrim was the stronger, but he could not bring her down. Dark wind rose on all sides; the waning moon gave no light. Look at the two of them — a fine battle in the back garden:

Dark wind rises from the ground; the waning moon sways with faint light.Brahma's halls stand silent; the little demons' corridors are dim — in the back garden a field of war.The Great Sage Sun, a saint of heaven; the painted girl, a queen among women: they match their magic, neither willing to yield.One twists her tender heart and rages at the black baldy; the other rounds his wise eyes and hates her fresh paint.Her two hands fly with swords — does she recognize a lady bodhisattva? His one staff strikes — fierce as a living vajra warrior.Where it rings, the gold bands flash like lightning; in a blink the white iron glitters like stars.The jade tower snatches its kingfisher gems; the gold hall shatters its pair of mandarin ducks.Apes cry under Ba's small moon; wild geese call across the long sky of Chu.The eighteen arhats secretly cheer; the thirty-two devas are every one in a panic.

The Great Sage Sun was full of fight, and his staff never missed by half a point. The demon saw she could not hold out against him. Suddenly her brow knitted — a plan came to her — and she turned to flee. Pilgrim shouted: "Foul thing, where do you run? Surrender, and quickly!" The demon paid no attention and only backed away. At the tense moment when Pilgrim pressed in, she slipped the embroidered shoe off her left foot, blew a breath of magic air, murmured a spell, and cried "Change!" It turned into her own likeness, wielding her two swords; her true body shook once, became a gust of clear wind, and was gone. And was this not the ill star of Tripitaka? She went crashing straight into the abbot's quarters, snatched the Tang Tripitaka up onto a cloud, and through the dim distance, in the blink of an eye, reached Sunken Hollow Mountain and entered the Bottomless Cave, where she told her little ones to lay out a vegetarian wedding feast. Of that no more.

Now Pilgrim, fretted and fuming from the fight, caught an opening and knocked the demon down with one blow of his staff. It was an embroidered shoe. Pilgrim knew he had fallen into her trap. He hurried back to look for the master — but where was any master? He found only the Idiot and Sha Monk mumbling something at each other. Pilgrim's anger filled his chest. He cared nothing for right or wrong, snatched up his staff, and laid about him, crying again and again: "I'll beat you to death, I'll beat you to death!" The Idiot panicked and had nowhere to run. But Sha Monk was a general of Vulture Peak, a man who had seen much. Gently and mildly he came forward, knelt down, and said: "Elder brother, I see it. You mean to beat the two of us to death, then skip saving the master and go straight home." Pilgrim said: "I'll beat you two to death, then go save him myself." Sha Monk laughed: "Elder brother, what talk is this? Without the two of us it is truly 'one thread alone makes no cord; one palm alone cannot clap.' Brother, who would look after the luggage and the horse? Better to be like Guan Zhong and Bao Shuya, who shared their gold, than like Sun Bin and Pang Juan, who schemed each against the other. From of old the saying goes: 'To fell a tiger you need blood brothers; to march to battle you need a father-and-son army.' I beg you, elder brother, spare us the beating. At first light we will join hearts and strength and search for the master." Though Pilgrim had vast magic, he also understood reason and knew the moment. Seeing Sha Monk plead so bitterly, he turned back and said: "Bajie, Sha Monk, get up, both of you. Tomorrow we look for the master — and you must put your backs into it." When the Idiot heard he was spared, he wished the sky itself would tip down half its rim, and said: "Brother, leave all that to old Pig." The brothers tossed and turned with their thoughts and got no sleep at all. They wished they could nod their heads and call up the sun from the Fusang tree, or blow with one breath and scatter every star in the sky.

The three sat until daybreak. As they packed to go, the temple monks were already blocking the door, asking: "Your lordships, where are you going?" Pilgrim laughed: "It's hard to say. Yesterday I boasted to everyone that I would catch the demon for them. The demon is not caught, and my master has vanished instead. We are going to look for him." The monks were frightened: "Your lordship, a small matter of ours has brought trouble on the worthy teacher. But where will you look?" Pilgrim said: "There is a place to look." The monks said quickly: "If you're going, no hurry — eat some breakfast first," and busily brought out two or three basins of soup and rice. Bajie ate it all up with all his might and said: "Good monks! When we find our master, we'll come back here for a visit." Pilgrim said: "Come back here to eat their rice? And besides — go look in the Hall of the Heavenly Kings. See if that woman is still there." The monks said: "Your lordship, she's gone, she's gone. She slept there that one night, and the next day she was gone."

Pilgrim, happy at heart, took leave of the monks. He had Bajie and Sha Monk lead the horse and carry the load, and went straight back east. Bajie said: "Brother, you're wrong. Why go east again?" Pilgrim said: "How would you know? That woman tied in the Black Pine Forest the other day — my fiery eyes and golden pupils saw through her completely, but you all took her for a good person. The one eating monks today is her, and the one who carried off the master is her too. A fine lady bodhisattva you saved! Now that she has carried off the master, we go back along the old road to look for them." The two sighed in admiration: "Good, good, good! There really is fine detail in all that roughness. Let's go, let's go."

The three hurried into the forest, and this is what they saw:

Clouds hang thick, mist spreads wide; rocks lie in layers, the road winds round and round.Fox tracks and rabbit prints cross each other; tigers, leopards, jackals, and wolves burrow back and forth.Inside the forest there is no trace of any demon, and no one knows where Tripitaka has got to.

Pilgrim's heart burned. He pulled out his staff, shook his body, and changed into the very form he had when he wrecked the Heavenly Palace: three heads and six arms, six hands gripping three staffs, whacking about the forest with great cracks and clatters. Bajie saw it and said: "Sha Monk, our brother is so vexed at not finding the master that he has worked himself into a fit of temper." It turned out that one round of his beating knocked up two old fellows: a mountain god and a local earth god. They came forward, knelt, and said: "Great Sage, the mountain god and the earth god come to see you." Bajie said: "What power! One round of beating brings out two gods. Another round and you'd knock even the Year Star out of hiding." Pilgrim asked: "Mountain god, earth god — such insolence! Here you two do nothing but gang up with bandits. When the bandits make a score, they buy pigs and sheep and sacrifice to you; and you joined with the demon in her raids, and helped her carry off my master. Where is she keeping him now? Confess the whole truth quickly and spare yourself a beating." The two gods were alarmed and said: "Great Sage, you wrong us. The demon is not on our little mountain and is not under our little authority. But about where that wind came from in the night, your humble gods know a thing or two." Pilgrim said: "If you know, then tell it all, point by point." The earth god said: "The demon carried your master off due south, a thousand li from here. There in that direction stands a mountain called Sunken Hollow Mountain. In the mountain is a cave called the Bottomless Cave. It was a demon of that mountain who came here, changed her shape, and carried him off." Hearing this, Pilgrim was secretly alarmed. He dismissed the mountain god and the earth god with a shout, gathered in his magic form, showed his true body, and said to Bajie and Sha Monk: "The master has been taken far." Bajie said: "Far? Then we ride the clouds and catch up."

That fine Idiot! With one spring he raised a wild wind and went first. Behind him Sha Monk rode his cloud. The white horse, sprung from a dragon's line, carried the luggage and trod the wind and mist as well. The Great Sage turned a somersault, and they came straight south. In no time a great mountain rose up and stopped the feet of their clouds. The three reined in the horse and held their cloud heads steady. This is the mountain they saw:

Its top rubs the blue heavens; its peaks touch the dark sky.All around grow countless tangled trees, and birds going to and fro chatter and clamor.Tigers and leopards travel in ranks; river deer and deer move in herds.On the sunny side, fine flowers and jade grasses give off perfume; on the shady side, the snow of the twelfth month and stubborn ice never melt.Rugged are its steep ridges; sheer are its walls and hanging cliffs.High peaks stand upright; deep ravines wind around.Pines grow dark and dense; the rocks gleam sharp — a traveler who sees it feels his heart go cold.Not a shadow of any woodcutter; no trace of any immortal boy gathering herbs.Before your eyes tigers and leopards can raise a fog; over the whole ground foxes stir up the wind at will.

Bajie said: "Brother, a mountain so steep and wild is sure to hold some demon." Pilgrim said: "No need to say it. High mountains always have monsters — how could sharp ridges be without demons?" He called: "Sha Monk, you and I will wait here. We'll have Bajie go down into the hollow first and scout around: see which road is walkable, whether there really is a cave home, and where its door opens. Scout it all carefully, so we can go together to find the master and rescue him." Bajie said: "Old Pig's luck — they always pick me to take the first knocks." Pilgrim said: "Last night you said it was all on your shoulders. How quickly you back out!" Bajie said: "Stop shouting. I'll go." The Idiot put down his rake, shook out his clothes, and, with empty hands, jumped down the high mountain to look for the path.

Now that he has gone, what came of it — good or ill? Listen to the next chapter to find out.