Chapter 86

The Wood-Mother Lends His Might Against the Monster; The Metal Lord's Art Extinguishes the Fiend

The Great Sage Sun, leading the horse and shouldering the load, called for the master all over the mountaintop, when up came Zhu Bajie, panting: "Brother, what are you bawling for?" The Pilgrim said: "The master is gone. Have you seen him?" Bajie said: "I only meant to be a monk following Tripitaka Tang; then you make a fool of me and dub me a general. I risked my life fighting that demon a round and got away with it. You and Sha Monk had the master in keeping, and now you ask me?" The Pilgrim said: "Brother, I do not blame you. Somehow your eyes bleared, and you let a demon back to take the master. I went to beat that demon, and told Sha Monk to watch the master—and now Sha Monk is gone too." Bajie laughed: "No doubt Sha Monk has taken the master somewhere to relieve himself." Before the words were done, up came Sha Monk. The Pilgrim asked: "Sha Monk, where has the master gone?" Sha Monk said: "Your eyes are both bleared; you let a demon through to take the master. I went to beat that demon; the master was sitting on the horse by himself." The Pilgrim, wild with anger, leaped: "We are tricked, we are tricked!" Sha Monk said: "Tricked how?" The Pilgrim said: "It is the Split-Petal Plum Blossom plan: they drew us three brothers apart, and snatched the master from between us. Heaven, heaven, heaven—what now?" And the tears would not stay from his cheeks. Bajie said: "Do not cry; cry, and you play the weakling. He cannot be far—he is on this mountain only. Let us go look."

The three, helpless, could only go into the mountain to search. Some twenty li on, they saw beneath a hanging cliff a cave dwelling:

Cut peaks shading one another; strange stones towering.Rare flowers and jade grasses breathing perfume; red apricots and green peaches in their glory.Before the cliff, ancient trees—bark sleek with rain, forty spans about; beyond the gate, gray pines—dark crowns reaching two thousand feet to heaven.Pair by pair the wild cranes come to dance in the clean wind at the cave mouth; couple by couple the mountain birds cry from the branches all the day.Tuft on tuft the yellow vines hang like ropes; row on row the misty willows trail like gold.A square pond holds its gathered water; a deep cave leans on the mountain.The pond's still water hides the horned dragon not yet changed; the deep cave in the mountain holds an old man-eating monster of many years.Truly not unworthy the home of immortals—a nest indeed where wind is stored and vapor gathered.

The Pilgrim saw it, jumped to the door in two or three strides, and looked: the stone door was shut fast, and athwart it lay a stone slab bearing eight great characters: Hidden-Mist Mountain, Broken-Peak Linked-Ring Cave. The Pilgrim said: "Bajie, to work! This is the demon's dwelling; the master must be within." The Idiot, bold in his strength, whirled up the rake and dug with all his might, knocking a great hole in the stone door, and called: "Demons! Hand out my master quickly, or the rake pulls down your door and the whole house of you settles accounts."

The doorkeeping little demons ran in haste to report: "Great King, calamity!" The old monster said: "What calamity?" The little demon said: "Someone has broken the door and is bawling for his master!" The old monster, greatly startled: "Who can have come looking?" The vanguard said: "Be not afraid; let me go look." The little demon ran to the front door and peered out, head aslant through the broken hole: a long snout and big ears. He turned and cried aloud: "Great King, fear him not: it is Zhu Bajie, a man of no powers, who dare not be insolent. If he is insolent, open the door and take him in to steam with the rest. What is to be feared is only that monk with the hairy face and the thunder-god beak." Bajie, hearing without, said: "Brother, they fear not me, but you. The master must be in their hands; go up quickly." The Pilgrim cursed: "You shameless evil beasts! Your grandfather Sun stands here. Hand out my master and I spare your lives." The vanguard said: "Great King, it is bad—Sun the Pilgrim has come looking too." The old monster complained: "It is all your 'petal-splitting, petal-splitting'; and now disaster is at the door. How shall it end?" The vanguard said: "Be at ease, Great King, and do not blame me yet. I remember Sun the Pilgrim is a monkey-head of vast, oceanic temper: for all his powers, he loves to be flattered. Let us take out a false head and gulled him with it, saying his master we have eaten. If we can gulled him off, Tripitaka Tang is still ours to enjoy; if not, we shall see." The old monster said: "Where get a false man's head?" The vanguard said: "Let me make one and see."

Good demon: with a fine steel knife and axe he carved the root of a willow into the shape of a man's head, spattered it with blood, daubed and smeared it, and gave it to a little demon, who bore it on a lacquer tray to the door, crying: "Great Sage, gracious sir, calm your wrath and hear us." Sun the Pilgrim truly loved flattery: at the words "Great Sage, gracious sir" he stopped Bajie: "Not yet—let us hear what they say." The little demon with the tray said: "Your master our Great King took into the cave; the little demons of the cave are rude clowns who know not good from bad: this one came to swallow, that one to gnaw; scratching and biting, they ate your master, and only this head is left." The Pilgrim said: "If eaten, so be it; only bring out the head, that I may see if it is true or false." The little demon tossed the head out through the hole. Zhu Bajie, seeing it, wept: "Poor soul! Such a master went in, and such a master comes out." The Pilgrim said: "Idiot, look first whether it is true or false, then weep." Bajie said: "For shame—a man's head, true or false?" The Pilgrim said: "This is a false man's head." Bajie said: "How do you know it false?" The Pilgrim said: "A true head tossed out lands with a dull thud; a false head rings like a clapper. If you will not believe me, let me toss it and you listen." He took it up and dashed it on the stone, and it rang out clang. Sha Monk said: "Brother, it rang." The Pilgrim said: "Ringing, it is false. Let me show you its true form." He swiftly pulled the gold-banded staff and smashed it with a blow. Bajie looked: it was a willow root. The Idiot could not forbear cursing: "You hairy scoundrels! You hide my master in your cave and put a willow root on your ancestor Pig—and is my master some willow spirit changed?"

The little demon with the tray fled trembling to report: "Hard, hard, hard—hard it is!" The old demon said: "How so many 'hards'?" The little demon said: "Zhu Bajie and Sha Monk we gulled well enough, but Sun the Pilgrim is a dealer in antiques—he knows the goods, he knows the goods. He saw at once it was a false head. If we give him a true man's head, perhaps he will go." The old monster said: "Where get a true man's head? In the Skin-Stripping Pavilion are heads we could not finish—choose one." The demons went to the pavilion, picked a fresh one, had it gnawed clean of skin, sleek and smooth, brought it out again on the tray, and called: "Great Sage, gracious sir, the former one was truly false. This is truly the head of the old master Tang, which our Great King kept to guard the house; we bring it out to you in person." And with a flop they tossed the head out through the hole, blood dripping, rolling every way.

Sun the Pilgrim saw it was a true man's head, and could not help weeping; Bajie and Sha Monk too broke out weeping aloud. Bajie, tears held back, said: "Brother, weep not yet. The weather is not good weather—the thing may spoil; let me take it, and bury it while the vital breath is in it, and then weep." The Pilgrim said: "Well said." The Idiot, disdaining no filth, took the head in his arms, ran up the cliff to the sunny side, found a place shut from wind and rich in gathered air, dug a pit with his rake, buried the head, and heaped up a grave mound. Then he called Sha Monk: "You weep with brother while I go find something to offer." He went down to the stream, broke a few great willow sprays, picked up a few pebbles, came back to the grave, stuck the willow sprays on this side and that, and piled the pebbles in front. The Pilgrim asked: "What is the meaning of this?" Bajie said: "The willow sprays stand for pine and cypress, to shade the master's grave top; the pebbles stand for sweetmeats, an offering to the master." The Pilgrim snapped: "Lout! The man is dead, and you offer him pebbles." Bajie said: "It shows the survivor's mind, and stands for a filial heart." The Pilgrim said: "No more fooling. Let Sha Monk stay here: first to keep the grave, second to watch the luggage and the horse. You and I go smash his cave dwelling, take the demon, chop him into ten thousand bits, and avenge the master." Sha Monk, tears dropping, said: "Big brother, well said. Go with care; I keep watch here."

Good Bajie: he stripped off his black brocade robe, girt up his close-fitting underclothes, raised the rake and followed the Pilgrim; the two pressed forward with all their strength, brooking no parley, broke the stone door outright, and with a shout that shook the sky cried: "Give us back our living Tang monk!" The goblins of the cave, great and small, one and all, felt their souls fly and spirits scatter, and all blamed the vanguard. The old monster asked the vanguard: "These monks have broken in—what is to be done?" The vanguard said: "The ancients said it well: 'Hand in the fish basket, and you cannot dodge the smell.' In for a penny, in for a pound: lead the house troops out and kill the monks." The old monster, no other counsel left, truly gave the order: "Little ones, be of one heart, every one; take up your finest weapons and follow me to war." And with one shout they came swarming out of the cave door.

The Great Sage and Bajie fell back a few steps to level ground in the mountain hollow, and there withstood the goblin host, roaring: "Which of you is the famous chief? Which the demon that took my master?" The goblin host pitched its camp, a flowered banner of brocade fluttering; the old monster, iron pestle in hand, answered in a loud cry: "You shameless monk, do you not know me? I am the Great King of the Southern Mountain, and these several hundred years I have ranged at will here. Your Tripitaka Tang I have taken and eaten—what will you do about it?" The Pilgrim cursed: "You audacious hairy beast! How many years have you lived, that you dare the words 'Southern Mountain'? Lord Lao was the begetter of heaven's opening and earth's dividing, and he sits yet at the right hand of Great Clarity; Buddha the Tathagata is the honored ruler of the world of men, and he sits beneath the Roc; Confucius the Sage is the honored teacher of the scholars, and men call him only 'the Master.' And you, evil beast, dare call yourself Great King of the Southern Mountain, ranging these several hundred years? Stand still, and taste your grandfather's staff!" The demon swerved aside to dodge, met the iron staff with his pestle, rounded his eyes, and said: "Your face is a monkey's face—how dare you load me with such talk? What powers have you, to rave at my gate?" The Pilgrim laughed: "You nameless evil beast! You do not know your old Sun. Stand there, harden your gall, and hear me:

My stock is the great god-continent of the east, held in heaven's and earth's embrace for tens of thousands of autumns.On Mount Flower-Fruit an immortal stone lay egg; the egg opened and brought forth my root and stock.Born, I was none of common womb and birth; my holy body was cousin to the sun and moon.My nature self-cultivated—no small matter; my heaven-given wit, an elixir head of the first water.Invested Great Sage, I dwelt in the cloud mansion; leaning on my strength I played the tyrant and fought at the Dipper and the Bull.A hundred thousand god soldiers could not come near me; the stars that fill the sky I gathered in with ease.My name rings through the universe, every quarter knows it; my wit threads heaven and earth and stays in every place.Now happily I have taken refuge in the Buddha's teaching, upholding the elder on his journey west.Meeting a mountain, I cut the road, and none can bar me; meeting water, I bridge it, and the demons grieve.In the wood I show my might and seize tigers and leopards; before the cliff, with a turn of the hand, I catch the pimao beast.From the eastern lands, in right earnest, to the western regions—what demon dare show his head?Evil beast, you hurt my master—truly hateful; I shall see your life ends this very hour.

The monster, hearing, was startled and furious at once; he set his teeth, jumped up close, and hammered at the Pilgrim with his iron pestle. The Pilgrim lightly parried with the staff, and would have talked with him still, but Bajie could not forbear, and dug away at the monster's vanguard. The vanguard led his host on together. And so, on the level ground in the mountain, a mingled battle—truly a fine fight:

A monk of the great kingdom of the eastern lands, bound for the western bliss to fetch the true scriptures. The great leopard of the Southern Mountain spouts wind and fog, barring the road in deep mountains, flaunting his powers alone. He lays his cunning plans, plays his clever tricks, and in his ignorance takes prisoner the Tang monk. He meets the Pilgrim, whose powers are vast, and worse, meets Bajie of sounding name. The goblin host fights pell-mell on the level ground; dust flies wildly, and the sky is not clear. On that side the little demons whoop and howl, spears and knives brandished at random; on this side the god monks shout their war cries, rake and staff rising together. The Great Sage, a hero with no equal; Wuneng, tough and stout, glad to wade in. The old monster of the southern peak and the vanguard beneath him—all for one piece of Tripitaka Tang's flesh, flinging away both death and life. These two, for their master's life, are made enemies; those two, for lust of the Tang monk, are cruelly set. They have fought back and forth the better part of a watch, charging and jostling, and neither has the win.

The Great Sage, seeing the little demons valiant and not to be beaten back with blow after blow, used the art of the divided body: he plucked a handful of hairs, chewed them in his mouth, sprayed them out, and cried: "Change!"—all took his own likeness, each with a gold-banded staff, and from the front drove in fighting. Those one or two hundred little demons, guarding the front could not guard the rear, warding the left could not ward the right; every one fled for his life and scuttled back into the cave in defeat. This Pilgrim and Bajie fought their way out from the midst of the host—poor creatures, the demons who could not tell good from bad: those who met the rake bled from nine holes; those who met the staff went to flesh and bone like mud. The Great King of the Southern Mountain, terror-struck, rolled wind and raised fog and fled for his life. The vanguard, who could not change, was early knocked down by the Pilgrim's staff, and showed his true form—an iron-backed gray wolf monster. Bajie came up, caught him by the foot, turned him over, and looked: "This fellow, from a pup, must have stolen and eaten I know not how many of the household's pigs and lambs." The Pilgrim shook his body, and the hairs came home: "Idiot, no dallying; after the old monster quickly, and ask him for the master's life." Bajie turned his head, and the little Pilgrims were gone: "Brother, your doubles are all away." The Pilgrim said: "I have called them in." Bajie said: "Fine, fine!" And the two went home in triumph, merry at heart.

Now the old monster, escaped with his life, came back to the cave and bade the little demons carry stones and earth and stop up the front door. Those little demons who had escaped, trembling one and all, stopped the door up, and dared not show so much as a head. The Pilgrim led Bajie up to the door and bawled; none within answered. Bajie dug at it with the rake—but stir it he could not. The Pilgrim knew it: "Bajie, waste no breath; he has stopped up the door." Bajie said: "The door stopped—how is the master's wrong to be avenged?" The Pilgrim said: "Let us go back to the grave and see Sha Monk."

The two came back and found Sha Monk still weeping. Bajie, grieved the more, dropped his rake, flung himself on the grave, beat the earth with his hands, and wept: "Master of the bitter life! Master of the far country! Where shall I see you again!" The Pilgrim said: "Brother, do not grieve yet. The demon has stopped the front door; he must have a back way in and out. You two stay here; let me go look again." Bajie, tears dropping: "Brother, be careful; do not let them net you too—we could not tell our weeping: a sob for the master, a sob for senior brother, and it would all come to tangles." The Pilgrim said: "No fear; I have my arts."

The Great Sage put up his staff, girt his skirt, strode out, and rounded the shoulder of the hill—when he heard the purl of water. Looking back, it was the brook, pouring down from above. And beyond the brook he saw a door, with a hidden drain letting out water at its left. He said: "No need to say: that is the back door. If I go in my own face, some little demon opening the door may know me; let me cross as a water snake. But stay—if I am a water snake, my master's hidden spirit may know it, and chide a monk of mine for twining like a snake. A little crab, then. No, not that either: he might chide me, a monk, for too many feet." So he became a water rat, whizzed across, drilled up through the drain into the court within. He put out his head and looked: in a sunny spot a little demon was laying out strips of man's flesh piece by piece to dry in the sun. The Pilgrim said: "My child! That must be the master's flesh they could not finish, dried in strips against a wet day. If I show my true form and run up and kill him with one blow, it shows courage without counsel; better change again, go in, find the old monster, and see how things stand." He jumped from the drain, shook himself, and changed into a winged ant. And truly:

Small of strength and tiny of body, named the dark colt; in long hiding it has grown wings and flies.At ease it deploys its ranks beside the bridge; in its joy it matches wits beneath the bed.Well it knows the coming rain, and seals its hole; its heaps of dust piled high turn to gray ash.Adroit and light, brisk and neat, time and again it slips past the wooden gate unmarked.

He spread his wings, soundless and shadowless, and flew straight into the middle hall. There sat the old monster, fuming and fretting, when a little demon came leaping from behind to report: "Great King, ten thousand joys!" The old demon said: "From where does this joy come?" The little demon said: "I was just scouting at the brookhead outside the back door when I heard someone weeping bitterly. I crept up the peak to look: it was Zhu Bajie, Sun the Pilgrim, and Sha Monk bowing at a grave and weeping. They must have taken that man's head for Tripitaka Tang's, buried it, and raised the tomb, and now they mourn at it." The Pilgrim, listening in the dark, rejoiced inwardly: "If that is so, my master is still hidden there, uneaten. Let me go look further, see how it stands with him, alive or dead, and then speak with him."

The Great Sage flew about the middle hall, looking this way and that, and saw a small door at the side, shut very close. Through the crack he drilled and looked: a great garden, and faintly the sound of grief. He flew deep in: a stand of great trees, and beneath them two men bound—one was Tripitaka Tang. The Pilgrim's heart itched past scratching; he could not forbear, showed his true form, came near, and called: "Master." The elder knew him, tears dropping: "Wukong, you have come? Save me quickly! Wukong, Wukong." The Pilgrim said: "Master, do not keep calling names: there are people near, and the word might get out. Since you live, I can save you. The monster thinks he has eaten you already; he gulled me with a false head, and we fought him bitterly. Master, be at ease, and endure a little longer; when I have felled the demon I will come and free you."

The Great Sage pronounced a spell, shook himself back into an ant, returned to the middle hall, and clung to the main beam. There the little demons whose lives were whole huddled and bustled, jabbering and shouting. Out of them leapt one and said: "Great King, they see the door stopped and cannot storm it; their hearts are sunk; they have given Tripitaka Tang up, made a tomb of the false head. Today they weep one day, tomorrow another, the third day they finish the rites and most likely go home. When we learn they are scattered, bring Tripitaka Tang out, carve him fine and chop him fine, fry him with spices, and we all eat a piece, fragrant—and gain long life and length of years." Another clapped his hands: "Say no more—steamed is the tasty way to eat him." Another said: "Boiled, and we save firewood." Another said: "He is a rarity by birth; pickle him with salt, and he keeps to eat longer." On the beam the Pilgrim heard, and his wrath blazed: "What deadly grudge has my master against you, that you scheme thus to eat him?" He plucked a handful of hairs, chewed them fine in his mouth, blew them out softly, and whispered a spell: all became drowsy-flies, and he tossed them into the demons' faces. One by one they drilled into their nostrils; the little demons nodded by degrees, and in no time all slept. Only the old monster slept ill: he kneaded his head and rubbed his face, sneezing and pinching his nose without stop. The Pilgrim said: "Can he have suspected? Give him a double dose." He plucked another hair, made one after the same pattern, tossed it on his face, and it drilled into his nostril: the two insects, one entering from the left, one from the right. The old monster arched up, stretched his back, yawned twice, and snored off to sleep.

The Pilgrim, rejoicing in the dark, jumped down and showed his true form. From his ear he drew the staff, flourished it to the thickness of a duck's egg, and with a bang broke open the side door, ran to the back garden, and called: "Master!" The elder said: "Disciple, come quickly and untie the ropes; the binding has racked me." The Pilgrim said: "Master, no hurry; let me kill the demon first, then untie you." He turned swiftly to the middle hall, raised the staff to strike—then stayed his hand: "No; untie the master first, then fight." Back to the garden; then he thought again: "Fight first, then rescue." So two or three times over, before he came dancing into the garden. The elder, seeing, made mirth of his sorrow: "Monkey, seeing I have not lost my life, you are so glad you know not what to do, and so you dance?" The Pilgrim came up at last, undid the rope, took the master by the arm, and went. Then from the tree opposite the bound man called: "My lord, of your great mercy, save my life too." The elder stopped: "Wukong, untie that man also." The Pilgrim said: "Who is he?" The elder said: "He was taken a day before me. He is a woodcutter, he says, with an old mother who longs for him—a man that truly serves his mother. Save him with the rest."

The Pilgrim did as he was told, untied the ropes, and brought them out together by the back door, up the stone crag, and over the steep brook. The elder thanked him: "Worthy disciple, it is you have saved his life and mine. Where are Wuneng and Wujing?" The Pilgrim said: "Both of them over there, weeping for you. Call to them once." The elder called aloud: "Bajie! Bajie!" The Idiot, wept silly, wiped his nose and eyes: "Sha Monk, the master's ghost is come home—it is calling us over there, is it not?" The Pilgrim came up and gave a bark: "Lout! What ghost? Is not this the master?" Sha Monk looked up, saw him, and hastened to kneel: "Master, what things you have suffered! How did brother save you?" And the Pilgrim told the whole story.

Bajie heard, and gnashed his teeth in wrath; he could not forbear but raised the rake and in a burst of digging leveled the tomb, dug out the man's head, and pounded it to pulp. Tripitaka Tang said: "Why pound that?" Bajie said: "Master, who knows whose dead man that was—I have been weeping to it." The elder said: "Yet it was that which saved my life. You brothers stormed his gate, bawling for me; they must have brought it out to put you off—or they would have killed me outright. Bury it again, and show the mind of men who have left home." The Idiot, at the elder's word, buried the bundle of pulped flesh and bone, and heaped up a grave again.

The Pilgrim laughed: "Master, sit you here a moment; let me go root the thing out." He jumped down the crag again, crossed the brook into the cave, took the ropes that had bound Tripitaka Tang and the woodcutter into the middle hall; the old monster still slept; he trussed him up four-limbed like a sacrifice, scooped him up with the gold-banded staff, and bore him on his shoulder, out the back door. Zhu Bajie, spying from afar, called: "Brother, you are fond of this shoulder business. Could you not find another to carry at the other end of the pole?" The Pilgrim came up and set him down; Bajie raised the rake to dig. The Pilgrim said: "Stay; there are little demons in the cave not yet taken." Bajie said: "Brother, if there are, take me in to beat them." The Pilgrim said: "Beating them costs labor; better find some firewood and rid ourselves of the root." At this the woodcutter led Bajie to the east hollow, where they gathered broken bamboo, leafless pine, hollow willow, rootless vine, yellow wormwood, old reeds, rushes, dry mulberry—a good load, and brought it in by the back door. The Pilgrim set it alight, and Bajie fanned the wind with his two ears. The Great Sage leapt on top, shook himself, and called home the drowsy-fly hairs. The little demons, just waking, found smoke and flame together. Alas! Not half a one escaped with life. The cave dwelling itself burned out clean. Then they returned to the master. The master, hearing the old monster just waking and moaning, called: "Disciple, the demon is awake." Bajie came up, and one blow of the rake finished the old monster; he showed his true form—a spotted leopard with mugwort-leaf markings. The Pilgrim said: "The spotted one could eat tigers, and now can turn man too. This beating to death ends the trouble for good." The elder thanked him past all telling, climbed the saddle, and mounted. The woodcutter said: "My lord, not far southwest is my home. Pray come to my house, see my mother, let her knock her head for the grace of life you have given, and see you on your way."

The elder was glad; he would not ride, but walked with the woodcutter and the four together, southwestward, winding on; and before many li, indeed there it was:

Stone paths overgrown again with moss; wicker gates wreathed in vine flowers.On four sides the mountain light runs together; in one grove, birds and sparrows clamor.Thick on thick the pines and bamboo green together; throng on throng rare herbs and strange blossoms.A place remote, deep in cloud—a household of bamboo fence and thatched roof.

From afar they saw an old woman leaning on the wicker door, eyes swimming with tears, weeping bitter, crying to heaven and earth for her son. The woodcutter, seeing his own mother, left the elder and ran in haste to the wicker door, knelt, and called: "Mother, your son is come." The old woman clasped him: "Child, these days you did not come home; I thought the mountain lord had taken you and ended your life, and my heart could not bear it. Since you were not killed, why come only today? Where are your carrying pole and axe?" The woodcutter knocked his head: "Mother, the mountain lord did take me and bound me to a tree; my life was truly lost—but thanks be to these gentlemen. This gentleman is an arhat of Tang in the Land of the East, bound for the Western Heaven to fetch scriptures. He too was taken by the mountain lord and bound to a tree. His three disciple gentlemen have powers wide as heaven: they beat the mountain lord to death—one spotted leopard with mugwort markings—and burned every one of the little demons, freed that old gentleman, and freed your child with him. This is a kindness high as heaven, deep as earth. Without them your child had died past doubt. Now the mountain is at peace; your son may travel all night and come to no harm."

The old woman heard, and came step by step, bowing at each, to welcome the elder and his four, and brought them within the wicker door to sit in the thatched hall. Mother and son knocked their heads and thanked without end, and hurried to lay a plain fast meal to repay them. Bajie said: "Woodcutter brother, I know your house is poor and spare; make do with a simple meal, and trouble not yourselves with great preparations." The woodcutter said: "I hide nothing from you, my lords: here in the mountains we are truly spare. We have no fragrant fungi, no mushrooms, no Sichuan pepper, no fine spice—only a few dishes of wild herbs to set before you, as a token of our hearts." Bajie laughed: "We trouble you, we trouble you. Only be quick about it; we are hungry." The woodcutter said: "At once, at once." And truly, in no long time, the tables and stools were wiped and laid; and it was indeed several dishes of wild herbs. Behold:

Blanched day-lily buds, tender; sour white dandelion pickle. Floating purslane; river cress and goose-gut greens. The swallow-comes-not, fragrant and tender; fist-small buds, crisp and green. Horse-blue tops boiled soft; dog's-footprints simmered white. Cat's-ears and wild basil; lamb's-quarters boiled soft and good to eat. Shears-blade and ox-pond herb, the backwater snail and broom cress; broken-rice cress and lettuce cress—several kinds, green and fragrant and slick. Dark blossoms fried in oil; the caltrop shoots much to be praised. Cattail-root greens and wild-rice stems—four kinds by the water, all pure and fine. The wheat-watcher, delicate and goodly; the tattered patch, that none would wear. Bitter-hemp by the terrace, trellised by the fence. The sparrow's cotton, the monkey's footprint, fried crisp and golden—only good for eating. Slant wormwood, green wormwood, the mother-clasping wormwood; the lamp moth lit on the buckwheat blades. Sheep's-ear baldhead and wolfberry tips, with the dark-blue leaf—no oil needed. Several wild herbs for one meal; the woodcutter's pure heart gives the thanks.

Master and disciples ate their fill, packed up, and took the road. The woodcutter would not hold them; he begged his mother out to bow again and thank again; took up a jujube-wood staff, girt his skirt and jacket, and came out to see them off. Sha Monk led the horse, Bajie carried the load, the Pilgrim kept close on either hand; the elder from the saddle raised his hands: "Woodcutter brother, be so good as to lead us first, and at the high road we part." Together they climbed the heights, went down the slopes, rounded the brook, sought the paths. The elder thought in the saddle: "Disciples,

Since I left my lord and came to the western regions, stage on stage the road runs far.River on river, hill on hill, the calamities will not fall off; demon upon demon, the life is hard to save.Heart on heart, only for the scriptures in three baskets; thought on thought, still seeking the ninth heaven.Toiling on and trudging on—when will it end? When shall my merits be full and I turn again to Tang?"

The woodcutter heard and said: "My lord, grieve not. Along this great road, less than a thousand li westward, is the land of India, the country of bliss." The elder heard, turned from the saddle and dismounted: "You have been at pains to see us far. Since this is the great road, I beg you, woodcutter brother, go home, and bear my greetings to your honored mother: just now we troubled you with a generous meal, and your poor monk has nothing to give in thanks, only this: morning and evening I will recite the scriptures, and pray peace for you mother and son, and a hundred years of long life." The woodcutter bowed and bowed and took his leave, and turned back on his road. Master and disciples went straight west. And it was just:

They felled the demon, loosed the grudge, and left the bitter straits;receiving kindness, they took the road, and walked with heedful hearts.

How many days yet to the Western Heaven, who could say? Listen to the next chapter to find out.

Wood-Mother Aids the Fight to Punish the Monster; The Metal Lord Works His Magic to Destroy the Demon

The story tells how the Great Sage Sun led the horse, carried the load, and searched the whole mountaintop, calling for the master, when Zhu Bajie came running up, panting: "Brother, what are you shouting for?" Pilgrim said: "The master is gone. Did you see him?" Bajie said: "I was only ever a monk following the Tang monk, and you had to play your tricks and make me some general or other. I risked my life fighting that demon and barely got back alive. The master was in your and Sha Monk's keeping, and now you ask me?" Pilgrim said: "Brother, I don't blame you. Somehow your eyes failed and you let the demon back through to take the master. I went to fight the demon and told Sha Monk to watch the master — and now Sha Monk is gone too." Bajie laughed: "Maybe Sha Monk has taken the master off somewhere to relieve himself." Before the words were done, Sha Monk arrived. Pilgrim asked: "Sha Monk, where has the master gone?" Sha Monk said: "Both your eyes are dim — you let the demon through to take the master. I went to strike the demon, and the master sat by himself on the horse." Pilgrim leaped in a rage: "We fell into her trick, we fell into her trick!" Sha Monk said: "What trick?" Pilgrim said: "The Split-Petal Plum Blossom trick. It drew us brothers apart, and she snatched the master right out from the middle. Oh heaven, heaven, heaven — what now?" The tears dropped down his cheeks despite him. Bajie said: "Don't cry — crying makes a milksop of a man. She can't be far. She's on this very mountain. Let's go look."

The three had no other choice and went up into the mountain searching. About twenty li on, below a hanging cliff, they saw a cave mansion:

Clipped peaks shimmer behind one another; strange rocks rear jagged and high.Rare flowers and jade grasses breathe perfume; red apricots and green peaches blaze with color.Before the cliff an ancient tree, frost-barked and rain-slick, forty armspans around;outside the gate a gray pine, dark against the sky, two thousand feet tall.Wild cranes in pairs come often to dance in the clear wind at the cave mouth;mountain birds in couples cry all day from the branches.Yellow vines hang clustered like roped coils; misty willows stand in rows like drooping gold.A square pond holds its water; a deep cave leans on the mountain.The square pond's water hides a scaled one not yet turned dragon; the deep cave in the mountain shelters an old maneater of many years.Truly no less than an immortal's realm — a real nest where wind is stored and vapor gathers.

Pilgrim saw it and in two or three leaps was at the door. The stone gate was shut fast; laid across it was a stone slab bearing eight great characters: "Linked-Ring Cave, Peak-Breaking Ridge, Mist-Hidden Mountain." Pilgrim said: "Bajie, to work! This is where the demon lives — the master must be inside." The Idiot, bold with backing, raised his nail rake and struck with all his strength, knocking a great hole in the stone door, and shouted: "Demon, hand over my master quickly — before this rake brings down your door and settles the whole household's account!"

The little demon keeping the gate ran in fast to report: "Great King, trouble has broken out!" The old demon said: "What trouble?" The little demon said: "Someone outside has broken the door open, yelling that he wants his master!" The old demon was badly frightened: "Who could have come looking?" The vanguard said: "Don't be afraid. Wait while I go out and look." The little demon rushed to the front gate, cocked his head through the broken hole, and peered out. Seeing the long snout and big ears, he turned back and called: "Great King, don't fear him. It's only Zhu Bajie — no great skill, he won't dare be rude. If he is rude, we open the gate, take him in, and steam him with the rest. The only one to fear is that monk with the hairy face and the Thunder god's beak." Bajie, hearing this from outside, said: "Brother, she's not afraid of me — only of you. The master must be in their house. Get up front, quick!" Pilgrim swore: "Foul evil beast — your grandfather Sun is here. Bring my master out, and I may spare your life." The vanguard said: "Great King, bad news — Sun the Pilgrim has come looking too." The old demon complained: "All your 'petals' and 'petals' of a plan, and now disaster is at the door. How does this end?" The vanguard said: "Rest easy, Great King, and stop blaming. I remember Sun the Pilgrim is a monkey with a wide, generous heart. For all his vast powers, he likes a bit of flattery. Let's take a false human head out and trick him — feed him a few soft words, and say only that we have eaten his master. If we can trick him into going, the Tang monk is still ours to enjoy. If we can't, we'll think again." The old demon said: "Where would we get a false human head?" The vanguard said: "Let me make one and see."

That clever demon took pure-steel knife and axe, carved a willow root into the shape of a human head, spattered it with human blood, all smeared and daubed, and had a little demon carry it on a lacquered tray to the gate, calling: "Grandpa Great Sage, calm your anger and hear us out." Sun the Pilgrim did love flattery. Hearing the words "Grandpa Great Sage," he stopped Bajie: "Hold your hand a moment. Let's hear what she has to say." The little demon with the tray said: "Our Great King carried your master into the cave. The little demons inside are rude country things who don't know good from bad — this one swallowing, that one gnawing, scratching and biting — and they ate your master. Only this head is left." Pilgrim said: "If he's eaten, so be it. Just hand out the head, and I'll see whether it is real or false." The little demon tossed the head out through the hole in the gate. Zhu Bajie saw it and burst out crying: "Poor thing! A master like that went in, and a master like this comes out!" Pilgrim said: "Idiot, look it over first, real or false, before you cry." Bajie said: "Shame on you — what human head is ever false?" Pilgrim said: "This is a false head." Bajie said: "How can you tell?" Pilgrim said: "A real head thrown out makes a soft flop, no ring; a false head rattles like a clapper. If you don't believe me, watch me throw it and listen." He picked it up and dashed it on the stone — a bright clang rang out. Sha Monk said: "Brother, it rang." Pilgrim said: "Then it's false. Let me make it show its true shape for you to see." He quickly pulled out the gold-banded staff and smashed it with one blow. Bajie looked: it was a willow root. The Idiot could not help cursing: "You pack of hairy things! You hide my master in the cave and trick your ancestor Pig with a willow root — as if my master were a willow spirit in disguise!"

The little demon with the tray ran back trembling to report: "Hard, hard, hard — too hard, too hard, too hard!" The old demon said: "Why so many hards?" The little demon said: "We fooled Zhu Bajie and Sha Monk well enough, but Sun the Pilgrim is an antiques dealer — he knows his goods, he knows his goods. He saw at once the head was false. If we can give him a real head, maybe he'll go." The old demon said: "Where would we get a real one? In our Skin-Stripping Pavilion there are heads we couldn't finish — choose one." The demons went to the pavilion, picked a fresh one, had the scalp gnawed clean and slick, and brought it out again on the tray, calling: "Grandpa Great Sage, the first one truly was false. This one is the true head of the honorable Tang. Our Great King was keeping it to guard the house, but today we offer it up specially." Plop — the head came tumbling out through the hole in the gate, dripping blood and rolling every way.

Sun the Pilgrim knew it for a real human head and, having no choice, wept; Bajie and Sha Monk joined in with loud wails. Bajie, tears held in his eyes, said: "Brother, don't cry yet. The weather is bad, and it might spoil. Let me take it and bury it while the life is still in it, and then we can cry." Pilgrim said: "That's fair." The Idiot, not minding the filth, took the head in his arms, ran up to a sunny spot on the cliff, and found a place shut off from wind and gathering vapor. With his nail rake he dug a pit, buried the head, and heaped up a grave mound. Then he said to Sha Monk: "You and brother go on crying. Wait while I find some offerings." He went down to the stream, broke off several big willow branches, and picked up a few pebbles. Back at the grave he planted the willow branches on either side and piled the pebbles in front. Pilgrim asked: "What is all this?" Bajie said: "These willow branches stand in for pines and cypresses, to shade the master's grave top. These pebbles stand in for cakes, as offerings to the master." Pilgrim said sharply: "You lout — the man is dead, and you offer him pebbles!" Bajie said: "To show the living man's regard — let it count as a filial heart." Pilgrim said: "Enough fooling. Let Sha Monk stay here — first to keep vigil by the grave, second to watch the luggage and horse. You and I will go break open her cave, take the demon, and cut him to ten thousand pieces, to avenge our master." Sha Monk, with falling tears, said: "Big brother, that is exactly right. You two see to it; I'll stand watch here."

That fine Bajie! He took off his black brocade robe, cinched up his close-fitting undergarment, raised his rake, and followed Pilgrim. The two drove forward without a word of parley, smashed the stone door outright, and their battle cry shook the sky: "Give us back our living Tang monk!" Inside the cave, demons great and small scattered in terror, souls fleeing, every one blaming the vanguard. The old demon asked him: "These monks have battered their way in — what do we do?" The vanguard said: "The ancients said it well: 'When your hand is in the fish basket, you can't escape the smell.' In for a penny, in for a pound — let us lead the household troops out and kill those monks." The old demon, with no other move, really did pass the order: "Little ones, stand together, every one of you. Take up your finest weapons and follow me to battle." With one shout they swarmed out of the cave gate.

The Great Sage and Bajie quickly fell back a few steps to level ground and held the demon host, shouting: "Which of you is the famous chief? Which is the demon that took my master?" The demon host pitched their line; a brocade banner flashed. The old demon, iron pestle in hand, answered in a loud voice: "You brazen monks — don't you know me? I am the Great King of the Southern Mountain, run wild here for several hundred years. Your Tang monk I have already taken and eaten. What can you do about it?" Pilgrim swore: "You bold hairy thing! How many years have you lived, that you dare use the words 'Southern Mountain'? Lord Lao is the ancestor who split heaven and opened the earth, yet he sits at the right hand of Highest Clarity; the Tathagata Buddha is the honored one who orders the world, yet he sits beneath the great roc; the sage Confucius is the honor of the Confucian teaching, and men still call him only 'the Master.' And you, evil beast, dare call yourself 'Great King of the Southern Mountain,' run wild a few hundred years! Don't run — take your grandfather's staff." The demon dodged sideways, caught the iron staff on his pestle, rounded his eyes, and asked: "Your face looks like some monkey's — and you dare bury me in a flood of words? What powers have you, to run so wild at my gate?" Pilgrim laughed: "You nameless evil beast! So you don't know old Sun after all. Stand still, stiffen your courage, and listen:

My ancestors dwelt in the Eastern Continent of Divine Land, held between heaven and earth some tens of thousands of autumns.On Mount Flower-Fruit's crown was an immortal stone egg; the egg split and gave birth to my stock.I was not born of common womb; my sacred body came of the sun and moon's company.My nature I cultivated myself, no small thing; my heaven-sent wit grasped the great elixir's head.Ennobled Great Sage, I dwelt in the cloud palace; leaning on my power I ran wild and fought at the Dipper-Ox.A hundred thousand divine soldiers could not come near me; the stars that fill the sky I gathered with ease.My name rings through the universe, known everywhere; my wisdom runs through heaven and earth, left in every place.Happily I have now taken refuge in the Buddha's teaching and escort the elder on his journey west.Meeting a mountain I open the road and none can stop me; meeting water I bridge the stream and demons despair.In the woods I show my might and seize tigers and leopards; at the cliff I reach out and take the pi-xiu.From the East I have come in truth to the Western land — what demon dares lift its head?Evil beast, you hurt my master — that is truly hateful, and I'll see your life ends this very hour.

Hearing this, the demon was both frightened and furious. Gritting his teeth he leaped close and swung his iron pestle at Pilgrim. Pilgrim lightly caught it on his staff, still meaning to talk — but Bajie could not contain himself, pulled his rake, and beat wildly at the demon's vanguard. The vanguard brought his whole force on. The melee on the mountain's level ground was a fine fight indeed:

A monk of the great nation, the sovereign land of the East, seeking true scriptures in the Western bliss.The great leopard of the Southern Mountain spouts wind and fog and bars the deep mountain road to show his power alone.He lays clever plans and plays his sly tricks, and in ignorance has seized the Tang monk of Great Tang by mistake.He meets the Pilgrim, whose powers are vast, and finds Bajie too a name to fear.The demon host blunders and brawls on the mountain's flat; dust flies everywhere and the sky grows dim.On that side the little demons howl, spears and knives tossed wild; on this side the holy monks shout, rake and staff rising together.The Great Sage, a hero with no equal; Wuneng, stout and strong, glad to charge in.The old demon of the southern slopes and his vanguard — all for one piece of the Tang monk's flesh — fling away death and forget life.These two, for their master's life, have made a mortal grudge; those two, for lust of the Tang monk, are wicked past measure.They fight back and forth through half a hundred rounds, charging and colliding, no victor yet.

Seeing the little demons fierce and unbroken by his blows, the Great Sage Sun worked his divided-body magic: he plucked a handful of hairs, chewed them in his mouth, sprayed them out, and cried "Change!" They all became his own likeness, each with a gold-banded staff, driving in from the front. Those one or two hundred little demons could guard front but not rear, left but not right, and every one fled for his life back into the cave. Pilgrim and Bajie cut their way out through the host. Poor senseless demons — those who met the rake bled from nine openings; those who caught the staff turned to pulp of bone and flesh. The Great King of the Southern Mountain, terrified, rolled up wind and bred fog and escaped with his life. The vanguard, having no transformations, was early knocked flat by one blow of Pilgrim's staff and showed his true form — an iron-backed gray wolf demon. Bajie came up, grabbed him by the foot, flipped him over, and looked: "This fellow in his day must have stolen who knows how many piglets and lambs from other folks to eat." Pilgrim shook his body, gathered in the hairs, and said: "Idiot, no dawdling. Quick — after the old demon, to demand the master's life!" Bajie turned around, saw the little Pilgrims were gone, and said: "Brother, your doubles have all gone." Pilgrim said: "I've gathered them in." Bajie said: "Wonderful, wonderful!" The two went back in triumph, happy at heart.

Now the old demon, escaped alive, ordered the little demons to move stones and carry earth and block up the front gate. The little demons who had kept their lives, every one trembling, blocked the door and dared not show a head again. Pilgrim led Bajie to the gate, yelling — no one answered within. When Bajie struck at it with his rake, he could not move it at all. Pilgrim knew why: "Bajie, don't waste your strength. He's blocked the gate." Bajie said: "Gate blocked — how do we avenge the master?" Pilgrim said: "Back to the grave first, and see how Sha Monk does."

The two came back to the same place and found Sha Monk still weeping. Bajie grieved the more. He dropped his rake, threw himself on the grave, beat the earth with his hands, and cried: "Master of a bitter fate! Master from the far country! Where shall we ever see you again!" Pilgrim said: "Brothers, no more grief. The demon has blocked the front gate — he must have a back door to come and go by. You two stay here while I go look again." Bajie, with falling tears, said: "Brother, be careful. Don't let them net you too — we couldn't bear the crying then: one wail for the master, one wail for our brother, till all our weeping turned to chaos." Pilgrim said: "No fear. I have my own arts."

That great Sage put away his staff, tucked his skirt, and strode off around the hillside, when he heard the murmur of running water. Turning to look, he found it was the stream in the ravine, pouring down from above. On the far side of the ravine stood a small door, with a hidden drainage channel on its left. He thought: "No question — that's the back door. If I go in my own face, some little demon may open the door and know me. Let me change into a water snake and slip over. Hold on — if I change into a snake, my master's spirit in the dark may know it and blame a monk for taking the long winding shape of a serpent. A little crab, then. No — that's no better; he may blame a monk for having too many feet." So he changed into a water rat, shot across with a swish, came up through the drainage channel into the inner courtyard, and put out his head to look. In the sunny spot a little demon was laying out strips of human flesh, piece by piece, to dry in the sun. Pilgrim said: "My child — that must be the master's flesh they couldn't finish, dried in strips against rainy days. If I show my true form, rush up, and smash him with one blow, it would show courage without cunning. Better to change again and slip in, find the old demon, and see how things stand." He jumped out of the channel, shook his body, and changed into a winged ant. Truly:

Small of body, slight of strength, men call him the dark colt; long hidden in practice, he grows wings and flies.Idly by the bridge he arrays his battle lines; in his delight beneath the bed he plays his subtle stratagems.Well he knows when rain will come, and seals his hole; the dust he piles up in the end turns to dust again.Deft and light and quick and neat — in a few moves, unmarked, he is past the wooden gate.

He spread his wings, soundless and shadowless, and flew straight into the main hall. The old demon sat there fretful and troubled, when a little demon came hopping from behind to report: "Great King, joy beyond measure!" The old demon said: "What joy now?" The little demon said: "I was just scouting out by the ravine outside the back gate when I heard loud wailing. I climbed the ridge for a look — it was Zhu Bajie, Sun the Pilgrim, and Sha Monk bowing at a grave and crying their hearts out. I suppose they took that head for the Tang monk's, buried it, and mourned at a grave." Pilgrim, listening in the dark, rejoiced in his heart: "If that is their story, my master is still hidden there, uneaten. Let me go look again, see how he does, alive or dead, and then talk to him."

That great Sage flew about the main hall, looking east and west, and saw a small side door, shut up very tight. Through the crack he slipped and looked: it was a great garden, and from deep within came the faint sound of weeping. He flew straight into the depths and saw a stand of great trees, and at the foot of the trees two people tied up — one was the Tang monk himself. Pilgrim's heart itched past all scratching. Unable to hold back, he showed his true form, came near, and called: "Master." The elder knew him and said with falling tears: "Wukong — you've come? Save me, quickly. Wukong, Wukong." Pilgrim said: "Master, don't keep calling my name — there are people near, and the word might leak. Since your life is still in you, I can save you. That demon claims he has eaten you and fooled me with a false human head, and we've been at death grips over it. Master, rest easy and bear it a little longer. When I've brought that demon down, then I'll come free you."

The Great Sage spoke a spell, shook his body back into an ant, returned to the main hall, and perched on the main beam. The little demons whose lives were yet whole were huddled in knots, buzzing and clamoring. Suddenly one of them hopped out and said: "Great King — seeing the gate blocked and storming it in vain, they've given up all hope, abandoned the Tang monk, and made a grave of that false head. They'll cry today, cry again tomorrow, and on the third day after they'll most likely go home. Once we learn they've scattered, we bring out the Tang monk, slice him and hash him, fry him up with strong spices, and we all eat a piece, fragrant and steaming — that will stretch our years and lengthen our lives." Another little demon clapped his hands: "Don't say it — steamed is the tasty way to eat him." Another said: "Boiled — and it saves firewood." Another said: "He is a rarity, after all. Salt him down in brine a while, and he'll keep to eat longer." Listening from the beam, Pilgrim's heart boiled with anger: "What deadly grudge has my master against you, that you scheme this way to eat him?" He plucked a handful of hairs, chewed them fine in his mouth, blew them out softly, and silently spoke the spell, turning them all into drowse-bugs. He flung them at the demons' faces. One by one they crawled up their noses; the little demons nodded off by degrees, and before long all were down asleep. Only the old demon could not settle to sleep. He rubbed his head and kneaded his face, sneezing and pinching his nose without stop. Pilgrim thought: "Can he have caught on? Then he gets a double trim of the lamp." He plucked another hair, made one just like the first, flung it at his face, and it crawled into his nostril. The two bugs went in, one from the left, one from the right. The old demon sat up, stretched his back, yawned twice, and with a snore went down asleep as well.

Pilgrim, secretly delighted, jumped down and showed his true form. He drew the staff from his ear, waved it to duck-egg thickness, and with one clang burst open the side door. He ran to the back garden, calling loudly: "Master!" The elder said: "Disciple, come quickly and undo these ropes — they're binding me to death." Pilgrim said: "Master, no hurry. Let me kill the demons first, then free you." He turned at once and ran back to the main hall; just as he raised his staff to strike, he stopped his hand: "No — free the master first, then fight." Back in the garden he thought again: "No — fight first, then free him." Two or three times he went and came, until at last he came dancing and prancing into the garden. Seeing him, the elder found joy inside his sorrow: "You monkey — seeing I'm not dead, you're so glad you don't know what to do with yourself, and so you dance?" Pilgrim came up, undid the ropes, and led the master away. Then from the tree opposite came the cry of the man still bound: "Your lordship, show great mercy and save my life too." The elder stood still and said: "Wukong, untie that man as well." Pilgrim said: "Who is he?" The elder said: "He was taken a day before me. He's a woodcutter, and says he has an old mother who misses him sorely — a truly filial son. Save him too, along with the rest."

Pilgrim did as he was told, untied him too, and brought them both out the back door, up the stone cliff, and across the steep ravine. The elder thanked him: "Worthy disciple, it is you who have saved his life and mine. Where are Wuneng and Wujing?" Pilgrim said: "The two of them are over there crying for you. Call out to them." The elder indeed called at the top of his voice: "Bajie! Bajie!" The Idiot, dizzy with crying, wiped his nose and eyes and said: "Sha Monk — the master's spirit has come home to haunt us. Isn't that him calling?" Pilgrim stepped up and barked: "Lout! What haunting? Isn't this the master himself?" Sha Monk looked up, saw him, and hurried to kneel before him: "Master, what torments you have suffered! How did our brother manage to save you?" Pilgrim told the whole story from the start.

Hearing this, Bajie ground his teeth in fury. Unable to help himself, he raised his rake and knocked the grave mound flat with a burst of blows, dug out the head, and pounded it to a pulp. The Tang monk said: "Why do you smash it?" Bajie said: "Master, who knew whose dead man that was — you had me weeping over a stranger!" The elder said: "But that head saved my life. When you brothers stormed their gate demanding me, they must have brought it out to fob you off — otherwise they would have killed me. Bury it again properly, to show the heart of us who have left home." At the elder's word the Idiot buried the bundle of pounded flesh and bone and heaped up a grave once more.

Pilgrim laughed: "Master, sit and rest a moment. Wait while I go wipe them out." He jumped down the stone cliff again, crossed the ravine, and entered the cave. He carried the ropes that had bound the Tang monk and the woodcutter into the main hall, where the old demon still lay asleep. He trussed him hog-tied, scooped him up with the gold-banded staff, hoisted him onto his shoulder, and went straight out the back door. Zhu Bajie saw him from afar and said: "Brother, you do like carrying things by the head. Why not find another and go balancing a pair on a pole?" Pilgrim set the demon down before him, and Bajie raised his rake to strike. Pilgrim said: "Hold on — there are little demons in the cave still untaken." Bajie said: "Brother, if there are, take me in and beat them." Pilgrim said: "Beating them costs time. Better to gather some firewood and end the line at the root." At that the woodcutter led Bajie into the eastern hollow, where they gathered broken bamboo tops, withered pine, hollow willow, root-severed vines, yellow wormwood, old reeds, rushes, and dry mulberry, and carried load upon load in through the back door. Pilgrim lit the fire, and Bajie fanned it with his two great ears. The Great Sage jumped clear, shook himself, and gathered in the drowse-bug hairs. The little demons, just waking, met smoke and flame together. Poor wretches! Not half a one escaped with his life. The cave itself burned out empty. They returned to the master. The master, hearing the old demon groan as he came awake, called: "Disciples — the demon is waking!" Bajie stepped up and killed him with one blow of the rake. He showed his true form: a mugwort-blotched leopard demon. Pilgrim said: "The spotted hide that eats tigers, and could turn into a man as well! Beaten to death like this, the future trouble is cut off for good." The elder thanked them without end and climbed into the saddle. The woodcutter said: "Your lordships, a little way to the southwest is my home. Please come to my house, meet my mother, let her knock her head in thanks for the gift of our lives, and see you on your way."

The elder, glad at heart, dismounted and walked with the woodcutter and the others, meandering southwest. Before many li, this is what they saw:

The stone path runs over and over with moss; the wicker gate is wreathed in vine flowers.Mountain light joins on every side; a whole wood of birds chatter and cry.Dense pines and bamboo cross their greens; rare blooms and strange flowers crowd and cluster.A spot remote with deep clouds — a home of bamboo fence and thatched hut.

From afar they saw an old woman leaning on the wicker gate, eyes brimming, crying her heart out, calling on heaven for her son. The woodcutter, seeing his own mother, left the elder and raced ahead to the gate, knelt, and cried: "Mother — your son is here!" The old woman seized him in her arms: "My child, these days you never came home, and I said to myself the mountain lord had taken you and done for you — the ache was past bearing. If no harm came to you, why only come today? Where are your carrying pole and your axe?" The woodcutter knocked his head: "Mother, the mountain lord did take me and tie me to a tree, and truly I thought my life was lost — till these lords came. This lord is an arhat of Tang in the Land of the East, bound for the Western Heaven to fetch scriptures. The mountain lord took even him and tied him to a tree. But his three disciple lords have vast powers; they beat the mountain lord to death — he was a mugwort-blotched leopard spirit — and burned every one of the little demons. Then they untied and rescued that venerable lord, and brought your son out alive as well. This is kindness high as heaven and thick as earth. Without them your son was surely dead. Now the mountain is at peace, and I could walk all night and come to no harm."

Hearing this, the old woman bowed at every step, and with her bows welcomed the elder and his three in, seating them inside the wicker gate and the thatched hut. Mother and son knocked their heads and thanked them without measure, then hurried to lay out a vegetarian meal in thanks. Bajie said: "Brother Woodcutter, I know your house is poor and simple. Just make do with a plain meal — don't trouble yourselves with a grand spread." The woodcutter said: "I won't hide it, your lordships — up here in these hills we truly are poor. No fragrant mushrooms, no field mushrooms, no Sichuan pepper, no fine spices. Only a few dishes of wild greens to offer you, as a token of a small heart." Bajie laughed: "Much obliged, much obliged. Only be quick about it — our bellies are empty." The woodcutter said: "At once, at once." Indeed before long they wiped the table and stools and set the meal out — truly several plates of wild greens. And this is what they were:

Tender blanched day-lily buds; sharp-sour cress of the white dandelion.Floating marsh-purslane and mouse-ear chickweed; riverside shepherd's purse and goose-gut greens.The swallow-doesn't-come herb, fragrant and tender; fist-small sprouts, crisp and green.Horse-blue tops boiled soft; dog's-footprint greens simmered plain.Cat's-ears and wild basil; lamb's-quarters stewed till soft and fit to eat;scissor-blade greens and ox-pond greens, snail-shell purslane and broom shepherd's purse;broken-rice shepherd's purse and lettuce-cress — several dishes green and fragrant and smooth.Black-blossom flowers fried in oil; water-chestnut shoots worth all praise.Cattail-root greens and wild-rice stems — four water-edge dishes, clean and fine.Foxtail greens, delicate and good; ragged patches, not to be worn —bitter-hemp beds under the fence trellis.Sparrow-cotton and monkey-footprints, fried glistening in oil, just made for eating.Slant wormwood, green wormwood, mother-clasping wormwood; lamp moths flying up over buckwheat leaves.Bald sheep's-ear greens and boxthorn tips, with dark blue greens added, no oil needed.Several dishes of wild greens for one meal — the woodcutter's devout heart giving thanks.

Master and disciples ate their fill, packed up, and made ready to go. The woodcutter dared not detain them. He asked his mother out to bow again and give thanks once more, knocked his head over and over, took up a jujube-wood staff, bound up his skirts, and came out to see them off. Sha Monk led the horse, Bajie carried the load, Pilgrim kept close on either side, and the elder saluted from the saddle: "Brother Woodcutter, pray lead the way, and we'll part at the high road." Together they climbed the high and came down the slopes, rounded the ravines and sought the paths. The elder mused in the saddle: "Disciples,

since I left my lord and came to the Western land, the road has led on and on, far, far away.River after river, mountain after mountain — the disasters never leave me; demon after demon — my life can hardly escape.Heart upon heart, only for the three baskets of scripture; thought upon thought, still begging to rise to the ninth heaven.Toiling and trudging — when will it end? When will the journey be full and I turn back to Tang?"

The woodcutter heard and said: "Your lordship, take no thought or sorrow. Along this high road, less than a thousand li west, lies the land of India — the home of bliss itself." Hearing this, the elder swung down from his horse: "Thank you for coming so far with us. Since this is the high road, let Brother Woodcutter go home, and carry many greetings to your honored mother: just now we troubled your generous table, and this humble monk has little to give in return, except that morning and evening I will chant the scriptures and pray that you and your mother live in peace to a hundred years." The woodcutter bowed and bowed in farewell and went back the way he had come. Master and disciples then headed straight west. And so:

Demons subdued, grudges dissolved, clear of suffering's bonds; accepting kindness, they took the road and walked it with all their hearts.

How many more days to the Western Heaven, who can say? Listen to the next chapter to find out.