Chapter 94

Four Monks Feast and Make Merry in the Imperial Garden; One Fiend Cherishes Love and Desire in Vain

Now the three, Sun Pilgrim’s party, followed the summons officers to outside the Meridian Gate, and the yellow-gate officer at once reported and proclaimed them in. The three stood squarely where they were and did not bow. The king asked: “Are those three the noble disciples of the holy monk, my son-in-law? What surnames, what names? Where do they dwell? Why did they leave the household? What scriptures do they seek?” Pilgrim at once stepped forward, meaning to mount into the hall. At his side the guards of the carriage shouted: “Do not come! If you have words, stand below and speak them.” Pilgrim laughed: “We who have left the household—if given an inch, we take an ell.” Then Bajie and Sha Monk also stepped forward. The elder, fearing their coarseness would shock the sovereign, rose and called: “Disciples, his Majesty asks the cause of your coming; speak it up.” Pilgrim, seeing his master standing in attendance at the king’s side, could not contain himself, and cried out: “Your Majesty, you slight others and so slight yourself. Since you have taken my master as your son-in-law, why make him stand in waiting? In the world, a daughter’s husband is called a noble one—and when was a noble one not given a seat?” The king, hearing this, turned pale with alarm; he wanted to leave the hall, but feared to mar the spectacle before the court, and could only harden his gall, order attendants to bring an embroidered stool, and seat the Tang monk. Only then did Pilgrim present his statement:

“Old Monkey’s ancestors dwelt in the Water Curtain Cave on Mount Flower-Fruit, in the country of Aolai, the Eastern Continent of Divine Strength. Heaven was my father, earth my mother; the stone split and I was born. I bowed to a perfected man and mastered the great Way. Then I returned to the immortals’ country and gathered a band in the grotto-heavens and blessed lands. I went down into the sea and quelled dragons; climbed mountains and seized beasts. I struck my name from the rolls of death and set it on the rolls of life, and was made the Great Sage Equal to Heaven. I reveled in towers of jade and delighted in jeweled pavilions. I met with the immortals of Heaven, singing and rejoicing day by day; dwelt in the sacred realm, happy morning upon morning. Only because I threw the Peach Banquet into disorder and rose in great rebellion against the Heavenly Palace was I taken and subdued by the Buddha, pinned fast beneath Five Elements Mountain, fed on iron pellets when hungry, drinking molten copper when thirsty, tasting neither tea nor rice for five hundred years. Happily my master came out of the Eastern Land to bow toward the West; Guanyin ordained that I be freed from the calamity of Heaven and parted from the great ordeal, and I turned back to the right under the school of Yoga. My old name is Wukong; I am called Pilgrim.”

The king, hearing a name of such weight, hastily came down from the dragon couch, came over, and took the elder’s hand with his own imperial hand: “Son-in-law—this too is a heaven-sent affinity of mine, to meet you, immortal-tied, immortal-matched.” Tripitaka thanked him with a full mouth, and begged the king to take his throne again.

He asked again: “Which is your second noble disciple?” The Idiot thrust out his jaw and swaggered:

“This old pig in a former life was a man, greedy for pleasure, loving ease. A muddled lifetime, a nature in disorder, a heart bewitched. I never knew how high the sky, how thick the earth; I could not fathom how wide the sea, how far the mountains. In the midst of idle leisure I suddenly met a true man. Half a sentence undid the net of karma; two or three words broke open the gate of calamity. I woke on the spot, sought a master then and there, carefully worked the two-and-eight practice, and reverently refined the three-and-three before and after. When the work was full I soared aloft and rose past the heavenly mansion. Through the lavish grace of the Jade Emperor I was granted the office of Marshal Tianpeng, to command the river soldiery at ease in the Han palace towers. Only because I grew drunk on peach-banquet wine and teased Chang’e was my office stripped and I banished to the world; I misplaced the womb and was born in the shape of a pig. I lived on the Mountain of the Blessed Mound and did boundless evil, until I met Guanyin, who pointed out the good way. I took refuge in the Buddha’s teaching to guard the Tang monk, and went straight to the Western Heaven to bow and beg the wondrous scriptures. My name in the law is Wuneng; I am called Bajie.”

The king, hearing this, trembled and quaked and dared not look. The Idiot, with more spirit than ever, wagged his head, thrust out his jaw, pricked up his ears, and roared with laughter. Tripitaka, fearing to shock the sovereign, rebuked him: “Bajie, behave!” Only then did he fold his hands, stand bowing, and counterfeit good manners.

He asked again: “The third noble disciple—for what cause did he take refuge?” Sha Monk pressed his palms together and said:

“Old Sha was at first a common man who, fearing the wheel of rebirth, went seeking the Way. I wandered cloud-wise to the corners of the sea and drifted to the ends of the sky. Ever the robe and bowl went with me, and always I refined mind and spirit in their lodging. For this devotion I met with immortal companions. I nurtured the babe within, matched to the fair maiden. When the work was done at three thousand, the four forms came into one. I rose past the bounds of heaven and bowed before the dark vault, and was granted the office of Curtain-Raising General, to attend the phoenix carriage and dragon car, with the title of general. I too, at the Peach Banquet, let the glass cup slip from my hand and shatter, and was banished to the Flowing Sand River, face changed and features changed, doing evil and taking life. Happily the Bodhisattva traveled far to the Eastern Land and persuaded me to take refuge, to wait for the Buddha’s son of the Tang and go west to seek the scriptures and make the fruit true. From that standing I made myself new and set out again for the great awakening. The river gave me my surname; my name in the law is Wujing, and I am called the monk.”

The king, hearing it, was both much alarmed and much delighted: delighted that his daughter had caught a living Buddha, alarmed that the three were in truth demon gods. In the midst of alarm and joy the proper officer of yin and yang presented a memorial: “The wedding day is fixed: this year, this month, the twelfth day, at the good hour of renzi, favorable through the round of halls, fitting for joining in marriage.” The king said: “What day is today?” The officer memorialized: “Today is the eighth, the day of wushen, when the ape presents its fruit—the very day for receiving worthies and undertaking business.” The king rejoiced greatly, ordered the officers of the carriage to sweep the lodges, towers, and pavilions of the imperial garden, and asked the son-in-law and his three noble disciples to rest there, while the banquet of the joined cup was made ready and the princess matched to him. All obeyed the sovereign; the king left the court, and the officers dispersed—but no more of that.

Now the Tang monk and his disciples all came to the imperial garden. The sky grew late; a vegetarian meal was laid. Bajie said with delight: “It is time we ate, this day at least.” The stewards brought vegetarian rice and wheaten food by the carrying-pole load. Bajie ate, asked for more, ate again, and did not stop until his belly was propped and braced. Before long lamps were lit, bedding was set out, and each went to sleep.

The elder, seeing no one at hand, took the occasion to reproach Pilgrim, calling angrily: “Wukong, you monkey, forever bringing me to grief! I said we would only go to have the rescript countersigned, and not to go near the painted tower—why did you insist on leading me to look? And see what the looking has brought—what is to be done?” Pilgrim smiled and made his peace: “Master, you said: ‘My mother too was matched by a thrown ball, met an old affinity, and became a wife’—there was a touch of yearning for olden days in it, and that is why old Monkey led you. And remembering the words of the old monk of the Bestowed Gold Monastery, I meant to test true from false then and there. Just now I saw the emperor’s face: it was a little dark and dim—but I have not yet seen the princess.” The elder said: “What would seeing the princess do?” Pilgrim said: “Old Monkey’s fire eyes and gold pupils—once I see a face, I know true from false, good from evil, rich from poor. Then I can act, and make clear the fiendish from the true.” Sha Monk and Bajie laughed: “Elder brother has learned face-reading now.” Pilgrim said: “Face-readers—next to me they are grandsons.” Tripitaka rebuked him: “Enough of your talk. The point is, he is resolved to marry me—what is truly to be done?” Pilgrim said: “Wait till the twelfth, the day of the meeting of joy; the princess is bound to come out and bow to her parents, and old Monkey will watch from beside. If she is a true woman, then be the son-in-law and enjoy the glory of the kingdom—it is no great matter.” At this the elder’s anger rose the higher, and he cursed: “Fine monkey! You ruin me still. It is as Wuneng said: nine of the ten joints are strung and seven or eight parts done—and still you prick me with your hot tongue. Shut it up quickly, and keep that foul mouth closed; be rude once more and I will recite the spell, and you will not bear it.” At the mention of the spell Pilgrim knelt at once in dread: “Do not recite it, do not recite it. If she is a true woman, then at the time of the bows we will raise a great uproar in the palace together and carry you off.”

While they talked, the watches came in without their noticing. And so it was:

Deep, deep, the palace clepsydra; dim, dim, the scent of flowers.Embroidered doors hang curtains of pearls; the idle court is dark, its fires out.The swing ropes hang cold, leaving only their shadow; the Qiang flute’s notes die away, and the four quarters are still.Flowers wrap the house, veiling the moon’s bright shine; across the void no tree shows the glitter of stars.The cuckoo’s crying has ceased; the butterfly dream is long.The Silver River lies across the vault of heaven; the white clouds go home to their old country.It is just when the parted lover’s feelings are keenest—the wind shaking the tender willows makes it bleaker still.

Bajie said: “Master, it is deep night; let us take up the matter tomorrow morning. Sleep, sleep.” And master and disciples indeed slept the night through.

Morning came again, and the golden cock crowed the dawn. The king mounted the hall and held court. And there was:

The palace halls open their lattice to the purple vapor high; the wind bears the imperial music through the blue empyrean.Clouds shift the leopard tails, the banners stir; the sun strikes the horned heads, the jade pendants sway.Fragrant mists finely deepen the palace willows’ green; dewdrops faintly moisten the garden flowers’ charm.Mountain-shout and dance of a thousand officers arrayed; seas at peace, rivers clear—one unified court.

When the civil and military officials had ended their court, proclamation was made: “The Court of Imperial Entertainments shall arrange the banquet of the meeting of joy for the twelfth. Today, let the spring vessels be made ready, and the son-in-law be asked to enjoy the imperial garden.” The Office of Rites was ordered to lead the three worthy kinsmen to the Lodge of United Assembly to rest a while, and the Court of Imperial Entertainments to prepare three vegetarian banquets and go there to attend them. At both places the Office of Music was to play, serving them through the spring scenery and the lengthening days. Bajie, hearing it, called out: “Your Majesty, we master and disciples have not been apart one moment since we met. Since the feast is in the imperial garden today, take us along for two days’ fun, and let master be your son-in-law; otherwise this bargain will come to nothing.” The king, seeing how ugly he was and how coarse his talk, and seeing him twist his head and crane his neck, thrust out his jaw, and waggle his ears—like one touched with some twitching distemper—feared he would upset the match and had to comply. He ordered: “Set two tables in the Pavilion of the Pacifying of Hua and the Barbarians, where I will sit with the son-in-law; set three tables on the Spring-Retaining Pavilion and ask the three to sit apart, for master and disciples would be awkward at one seating.” The Idiot then bowed to the throne, crying “Many thanks,” and each withdrew. Word was further sent to the palace officers to lay a feast, and the consorts of the three palaces and six courts to lead the princess in the dressing of her hair, as an adornment and a sending-off gift, awaiting the fine match of the twelfth.

Toward the hour of the snake the king put out his carriage and asked the Tang monk and all to come into the imperial garden to look about. A fine place:

Paths were paved with colored stones, balustrades carved from the rail. Paths were paved with colored stones, and by the path, along the stones, grew rare and marvelous blossoms; balustrades were carved, and beyond the rail, along it, sprang strange and lovely herbs. The tender peach trees bewildered the kingfishers; the young willows flashed with yellow orioles. Walking, you felt hidden fragrance fill your sleeves; moving, you took the clean savor onto your clothes. The phoenix terrace, the dragon pool; the bamboo pavilion, the pine veranda. On the phoenix terrace, the playing of flutes drew the phoenix down to bow; in the dragon pool, fish were nurtured till they turned to dragons and went away. The bamboo pavilion held poems, worked out to the last word, cut like the White Snow air; the pine veranda kept anthologies, polished into pearls and jade and noted in the blue-bound books. Garden hills of fist-sized rocks, green; a winding stream with deep blue waves. The Peony Pavilion, the Rose Trellis, piled brocade and spread plush; the jasmine rails, the crabapple beds, heaped rose-cloud and paved jade. The peony’s strange perfume; the hollyhock’s strange beauty. White pears and red apricots vied in fragrance; purple orchids and gold daylilies strove in splendor. Corn poppies, magnolias, azaleas—blushing and glowing; michelias, balsams, hostas—trembling and swaying. Here and there red soaked through like moistened rouge; clump upon clump, fragrance thick as a wrapping of brocade. And best of all the east wind turning the days warm: the whole garden of charmed beauty flaunted its glory.

The king and his few companions gazed a long while. Then the officer of the Office of Rites invited the three, Pilgrim’s party, into the Spring-Retaining Pavilion, while the king led the Tang monk up into the Pavilion of Hua and the Barbarians, and each company feasted. The songs and dances, the pipes and strings, the spread of furnishings—truly:

High-raised, the gates of heaven open to the dawn’s first light; phoenix towers and dragon floors lie draped in auspicious haze.The colors of spring finely spread, an embroidery of grass and flower; the light of heaven strikes far, the brocade robes bright.Pipes and song wind round like an immortal banquet; cups fly back and forth, the jade liquor clear.King and ministers delight together in the sights; Hua and the barbarians pacified forever, the age whole and at peace.

The elder, seeing the king’s courtesy and having no way out of it, could only make the best of things—a joy without, a sorrow within. Sitting there he saw four gold screens hung on the wall, painted with the four scenes of spring, summer, autumn, and winter, each with an inscription, all poems by famous scholars of the Hanlin Academy:

The poem on the scene of spring says:

One breath circles heaven, turning the mighty pot; the great earth glows, the ten thousand forms renewed.Peach and plum vie in beauty, the flowers ablaze; swallows come to the painted beams, stirring the fragrant dust.

The poem on the scene of summer says:

The warm wind brushes and brushes, and thought moves slow; in the palace courts pomegranate and hollyhock flash against the sun.The jade flute’s notes startle the noonday dream; the scent of water-chestnut and lotus drifts to the courtyard curtains.

The poem on the scene of autumn says:

By the golden well the wutong turns a first leaf yellow; the pearl curtains are not rolled, for the night’s frost.The swallow knows the day of the altar and quits its nest; the wild goose breaks from the reed flowers for another land.

The poem on the scene of winter says:

Rain from heaven, flying clouds, a dark and dreary cold; the north wind drives the snow, piling a thousand mountains.The deep palace has its own warmth of the red-burning stove; word comes the plum has opened, jade filling the rail.

The king, seeing the Tang monk gazing freely over the poems, said: “Since the son-in-law delights in the flavor of these poems, he must be a master of song. If you do not begrudge your pearls and jade, will you match one to each, following the rhymes?” The elder was one to forget feeling before a scene, his mind bright, his nature seen. Honored by the king’s command to match the former rhymes, he could not help chanting a line: “The sun is warm, the ice melts, the great earth turns its pot.” The king rejoiced greatly and called to the guards: “Bring the four treasures of the study; let the son-in-law finish his matching and write it down, that I may savor it at leisure.” The elder gladly did not decline, lifted the brush, and matched:

His matching poem to the scene of spring says:

The sun is warm, the ice melts, the great earth turns its pot; in the imperial garden the flowers and herbs are new again.Gentle winds and kindly rains—the people share the moisture; seas at peace, rivers clear, the common dust all gone.

His matching poem to the scene of summer says:

The Dipper points to the south, the white days linger; locust clouds and pomegranate fire vie in their shining.Orioles and purple swallows cry in the palace willows, turning their double notes with skill into the crimson curtains.

His matching poem to the scene of autumn says:

Fragrance drifts from oranges green and tangerines gold; pines and cypresses, dark green, rejoice in the frost.Chrysanthemums by the hedge, half open, gather like brocade; pipes and song ring through the land of water and cloud.

His matching poem to the scene of winter says:

The auspicious snow newly clears, and the air is cold; strange peaks and cunning rocks—a hill of heaped jade.The stove burns beast-shaped charcoal, warming curds and cream; hands in sleeves, I sing aloud, leaning on the kingfisher rail.

The king, hearing the matching poems, rejoiced and cried out: “Bravo, ‘hands in sleeves I sing aloud, leaning on the kingfisher rail’!” He then ordered the Office of Music to set the new poems to music, and the day was spent before they parted.

The three, Pilgrim’s party, in the Spring-Retaining Pavilion also enjoyed themselves to the full, each drinking several cups and all a little merry. They were on the point of going to look for the elder when they saw him already with the king in a pavilion. The Idiot’s doltish nature took him, and he called out: “How fine, how free! Today too we have our enjoyment. Time to sleep off a full belly.” Sha Monk laughed: “Second brother, you have no manners at all. Stuffed with food and wind like this—how can you sleep?” Bajie said: “What do you know? The common saying: ‘If you will not lie stiff after eating, there will be no fat on the belly.’”

The Tang monk, parting from the king, came into the pavilion and scolded Bajie: “You blockhead, coarser than ever! What place is this, to go shouting and bawling? If you anger the king, will he not take your life?” Bajie said: “No matter, no matter. We are kin to him now, in all courtesy—he cannot take it amiss. As the saying goes: ‘Kin cannot be beaten away, neighbors cannot be cursed away.’ We are all having our fun—what is there to fear?” The elder rebuked him and ordered the Idiot brought, to give him twenty blows of the Chan staff. Pilgrim indeed seized him and threw him down, and the elder raised the staff and struck. The Idiot bawled: “Master son-in-law, pardon, pardon!” The banquet officers at hand begged him off. The Idiot scrambled up, grumbling and muttering: “Fine noble one, fine son-in-law—the marriage is not yet made, and already the royal law is at work.” Pilgrim smacked his mouth: “No nonsense, no nonsense—off to sleep with you.”

They spent another night in the Spring-Retaining Pavilion, and the next morning the feasting went on as before.

The merriment ran on unmarked three or four days, until the fine morning of the twelfth came round. The officers of the three bureaus of the Court of Imperial Entertainments memorialized: “Your servants, since receiving the decree on the eighth, have finished the mansion of the son-in-law, which waits only for the trousseau to be set out. The banquet of the joined cup is also ready: five hundred tables and more, meat and vegetarian together.” The king was glad at heart and about to invite the son-in-law to the feast, when a palace officer spoke before the throne: “Your Majesty, the lady of the chief palace requests you.” The king then withdrew into the inner palace, where the empress of the three palaces and the consorts of the six courts were leading the princess, all talking and laughing in the Zhaoyang Palace. Truly it was flowers massed and brocade clustered; that stretch of richness and charm outshone the moon palace of heaven, and yielded nothing to the jasper halls of the immortals. Four new songs of the meeting of joy and the fine marriage prove it:

The Song of Joy says:

Joy, joy, joy—glad and merry indeed! The marriage tie is made, love’s beauty complete.That cunning palace toilette—how could Chang’e compare? The dragon pin and the phoenix pin, gleaming gold threads aflight.Cherry lips, white teeth, a vermilion face; a body lithe and light as a blossom.Brocade heaped on brocade, in the thicket of five colors; fragrance that would brush a Buddha, in the ranks of a thousand gold.

The Song of Meeting says:

Meeting, meeting, meeting—bewitching, charming, fair.She outshines the beauty Mao, shames the fair of Chu; a beauty to topple states and cities, to be matched with flowers, with jade.Her adornment finer still, her pins and rings of dazzling beauty.An orchid heart, an orchid nature, lofty and pure; powdered face, icy skin, glorious and noble.Her kohl brows one line, far mountains faint; graceful and swaying, she gathers the brocaded host.

The Song of the Fine says:

Fine, fine, fine—the jade maiden, the fairy child. Deeply lovable, truly worth praise.Strange fragrance thick upon the air, rouge and powder heaped on heaped.The blessed land of Tiantai is far—how could it match the king’s own house?Laughter and talk in a whirl of charm; pipes and song winding in a clamor.Flowers heaped, brocade laid, a thousand kinds of beauty—look through the world of men, and who is like her?

The Song of the Marriage says:

Marriage, marriage, marriage—orchid and musk breathe their scent.A host of immortals, a company of the fair; the consorts change their colors, the princess dons new dress.Cloud tresses piled in raven chignons; rainbow skirts pressing down the phoenix robe.A stretch of immortal music ringing clear; two lines of crimson and purple in a swirl.In years past the pledge of riding the phoenix was sealed; this morning, happily, the fine marriage is met.

Now the king’s carriage arrived, and the consorts led the princess out with the painted maids and palace girls to meet him. The king, beaming with delight, entered the Zhaoyang Palace and sat. When the consorts had finished their homage, the king said: “Daughter, princess—since you raised the colored tower and threw the ball on the eighth and were so fortunate as to meet the holy monk, your wish is satisfied, I take it. The officers of every office have understood my heart, and every matter is complete. Today is the very fine day; go early to the banquet of the joined cup, and do not miss the hour.” The princess came near, bowed her whole body to the ground, and memorialized: “Father king, forgive your little daughter ten thousand offenses, and hear one word: these days I have heard the palace officers say that the holy monk of the Tang has three disciples, monstrous ugly. Your little daughter dare not see them, fearing that at the sight terror would seize her. I beg you, father king, send them out of the city—so much better—lest they frighten and hurt my frail body and turn blessing into bane.” The king said: “Child, had you not spoken, I had nearly forgotten. They are indeed somewhat hideous; I have had them entertained these days at the Spring-Retaining Pavilion in the imperial garden. This very day let them come up to the hall, that I may give them their rescript and send them out of the city—then to the feast the better.” The princess knocked her head and thanked him for the grace. The king then went out in state to the hall and gave the word to summon the son-in-law and his three.

Now the Tang monk had been counting the days on his fingers, and had endured until the twelfth; before it was light he took counsel with the three: “Today is the twelfth. What is to be done about this business?” Pilgrim said: “I have already made out that the king carries some taint of misfortune, though it has not yet touched him—not a great harm. But I must see the princess’s face. Let her but come out, and one look from old Monkey will tell true from false, and then I move. Set your mind at rest. They are certain now to come and ask us out, and send us from the city. You agree, and be not afraid; I will slip away and be back, and keep close at your side.”

While they were talking, the officers of the carriage and the Office of Rites came indeed to summon them. Pilgrim laughed: “Let us go, let us go. They are surely seeing us off, that master may stay for the wedding.” Bajie said: “A send-off means hundreds and thousands of taels of gold and silver—we can buy presents to carry home, and stop at my father-in-law’s for a family reunion and some fun.” Sha Monk said: “Second brother, shut your mouth and talk no nonsense; let elder brother decide.”

So the luggage and the horses followed those officers down to the vermilion steps. The king, seeing them, bade the three, Pilgrim’s party, come near: “Bring up your rescript of passage; I will set my seal and sign it, and deliver it to you, with traveling money besides, and send you three on early to Vulture Peak to see the Buddha. When you return with the scriptures there will be rich thanks besides. The son-in-law stays here—give yourselves no uneasiness.” Pilgrim thanked him, and had Sha Monk take out the rescript and hand it up. The king read it, set the seal at once, signed the flower characters, and took out ten ingots of gold and twenty of silver as a poor token of kinship. Bajie, whose heart was ever heavy with greed for money and beauty, went to receive it. Pilgrim bowed to the throne, crying: “Our thanks, our thanks,” and turned to go. Tripitaka scrambled up in a fright, caught Pilgrim, and ground his teeth: “Do you all go off and leave me?” Pilgrim took the Tang monk’s hand in his, and cast him a glance: “Stay here and take your ease in happy meeting; we will fetch the scriptures and come back to see you.” The elder, half believing, half not, would not let go. The officers all saw it, and took it for a true farewell. The king then invited the son-in-law up into the hall and ordered the officers to escort the three out of the city, and the elder had to let go and go up into the hall.

The three went out of the palace gates with the crowd, and each took his leave. Bajie said: “Are we really going?” Pilgrim said nothing, but walked back to the lodge. The lodge marshal received them, served tea, and laid a meal. Pilgrim said to Bajie and Sha Monk: “You two stay here and do not show yourselves. If the marshal asks anything, answer vaguely, and do not speak to me. I go to guard master.”

Great Sage that he was, he plucked a hair, blew on it a breath of immortal air, and cried: “Change!” It took his own likeness at once and stayed in the lodge with Bajie and Sha Monk, while his true body flashed up into mid-air and turned into a bee. Look at him:

Wings yellow, tongue sweet, sting sharp; riding the wind it dances, wild and reeling.None better at rifling the stamens and stealing the scent; through willows, through flowers, swaying.Many a toil of sifting and staining; flying here and flying there, busy for nothing.Who has ever tasted the honey so richly brewed? Only its name and its form are kept.

He flew lightly into the palace, and saw from afar the Tang monk seated on the embroidered stool at the king’s left, brow unsmoothed, heart in a fever of impatience. He flew straight to the Vairocana cap, crawled quietly to his ear, and called: “Master, I have come—do not be troubled.” Only the Tang monk heard the words; no mere mortal could have marked them. The Tang monk heard, and at once felt his heart ease. Before long a palace officer came to invite: “Your Majesty, the banquet of the joined cup is laid in the Magpie Palace; the consorts and the princess wait within, praying your Majesty to come with the noble one to meet the kin.” The king’s joy was boundless; he went with the son-in-law into the palace. And this was it:

The lord who loved flowers—flowers became his ruin; the mind of meditation stirred—thought gave birth to sorrow.

But how would the Tang monk win free of the inner palace? Listen to the next chapter to find out.

Four Monks Enjoy a Banquet in the Royal Garden; A Monster's Hope of Romance Comes to Nothing

Pilgrim Sun and his two brothers followed the officer to the palace gate. A palace official announced them, and they went in. All three stood without bowing. The king asked, “Are these the holy monk's disciples? What are your names? Where are you from, why did you become monks, and what scriptures are you seeking?” Pilgrim stepped toward the throne, but a guard shouted, “Stay there and speak!” Pilgrim smiled. “We monks move forward whenever we can.” Bajie and Sha Monk followed. Afraid they might offend the king, Tripitaka rose and said, “Disciples, answer His Majesty.” Seeing his master standing beside the throne, Pilgrim called out, “Your Majesty dishonors yourself and him. If you've chosen my master as your son-in-law, why make him stand? A son-in-law is an honored guest. Shouldn't he have a seat?” The king was startled. He wanted to withdraw but feared looking weak. Putting on a brave face, he ordered an embroidered stool for Tripitaka. Only then did Pilgrim explain:

“My old home is Water Curtain Cave on Mount Flower-Fruit in Aolai, on the continent of Purvavideha. Heaven was my father and earth my mother: I was born when a stone split open. I studied under a great master and learned the Way, then returned home and gathered followers in my cave. I went into the sea to subdue dragons and into the mountains to capture beasts. I erased my name from the register of the dead and put it among the living. I became the Great Sage Equal to Heaven and enjoyed heaven's fine buildings and treasures, the company of immortals, songs every day, and a happy life in their realm. But I disrupted the Peach Banquet and rebelled against the Heavenly Palace. The Buddha caught me and pressed me under Five Elements Mountain. For five hundred years I ate iron pellets and drank molten copper, without tea or proper food. Luckily my master came from the east to worship in the west. Guanyin had me freed from that punishment to follow him on the Buddhist path. My religious name is Wukong, and I'm called Pilgrim.”

Hearing Pilgrim's famous story, the king hurried down from his throne and took Tripitaka's hand. “It must be heaven's will that my daughter's marriage brings us such extraordinary relatives!” Tripitaka thanked him and asked him to return to his throne.

The king asked who the second disciple was. Bajie stuck out his snout proudly and said:

“I was originally human, fond of pleasure and idleness. I lived without direction or a clear mind, ignorant of how high the sky, how deep the earth, how wide the sea, and how far the mountains were. Then I met a master of the Way. A few words showed me how to escape my troubles, and I became his disciple. I worked carefully through the stages of cultivation. When my training was complete, I rose to heaven. The Jade Emperor kindly made me Marshal Tianpeng, in command of the River of Heaven's troops. I lived comfortably at court. But I got drunk at the Peach Banquet and bothered the moon goddess Chang'e. Stripped of my rank and sent to earth, I was reborn as a pig by mistake. I lived on Mount Fuling and did terrible things until Guanyin directed me toward a better path. I became a Buddhist and joined the Tang monk on his journey to seek scriptures in the west. My religious name is Wuneng, and people call me Bajie.”

The king was frightened and dared not look at him. Bajie was even more animated, tossing his head, sticking out his snout, lifting his ears, and laughing. Fearing for the king, Tripitaka snapped, “Bajie, control yourself!” Bajie folded his hands and tried to look polite.

The king asked why the third disciple had joined them. Sha Monk joined his palms and said:

“I was an ordinary man who sought the Way because I feared being reborn over and over. I roamed to the ends of the earth with my robe and bowl, training my mind and spirit. My devotion brought me to an immortal teacher. I nurtured the inner child and paired it with its female counterpart. After completing three thousand stages of practice and bringing the four elements together, I rose to heaven. There I was appointed the Curtain-Raising General and served the Jade Emperor's carriage. But at the Peach Banquet I accidentally broke a crystal cup and was banished to the Flowing Sand River. Changed in appearance, I harmed living things there. Guanyin came east and persuaded me to reform and await the Tang monk seeking scriptures in the west. I began anew, practicing to reach awakening. I took my surname from the river. My religious name is Wujing, and I'm called Sha Monk.”

The king was both pleased and afraid: pleased that his daughter had chosen a living Buddha, and afraid that the disciples were powerful beings who had once been monsters. Then the court astrologer announced, “The wedding should be on the twelfth of this month. It is an auspicious renzi day, favorable for marriage.” “What day is today?” the king asked. “The eighth, a wushen day. The monkey offers fruit, so it's a good day to welcome worthy people and start important business.” Delighted, the king ordered his attendants to prepare the halls and pavilions in the royal garden for the future son-in-law and his disciples. The wedding banquet would be held later. The court obeyed, the king withdrew, and the officials dispersed.

The four went to the garden. As evening fell, a vegetarian dinner was served. “It's about time we ate!” said Bajie. Servants brought in shoulder-loads of rice, noodles, and other dishes. Bajie had serving after serving until his stomach could hold no more. Later the lamps were lit, beds were made, and they went to rest.

When they were alone, Tripitaka angrily told Pilgrim, “You monkey, you keep getting me into trouble. I said we'd only have our documents stamped and shouldn't go near the tower. Why did you insist on taking me there? Now look what has happened! What can we do?” Pilgrim smiled apologetically. “You told me your mother found her husband by throwing an embroidered ball. I thought you admired the old custom. I also remembered what the monk at Gold-Paved Monastery said, and wanted to find out which princess was real. I saw that the king looked somewhat troubled, but I haven't seen the princess yet.” “What good would seeing her do?” “My fiery eyes can tell whether she's real or false, good or evil, rich or poor. Then I'll know what action to take.” Bajie and Sha Monk laughed. “Brother, have you learned to read faces too?” “Professional face readers are children compared with me,” Pilgrim said. “Stop joking,” Tripitaka demanded. “He insists I marry her. What can I do?” “Wait until the wedding on the twelfth. She'll have to come out and bow to her parents. I'll watch her. If she's an ordinary woman, you can marry her and enjoy all the kingdom's wealth.” Tripitaka grew furious. “You wicked monkey! You're still tormenting me! As Wuneng says, we've completed nine and nearly all of the tenth part of our journey, and you say this? Shut your filthy mouth. If you're insolent again, I'll recite the Tight-Fillet Spell until you can't stand it.” At the threat Pilgrim knelt. “Don't recite it! If she is an ordinary woman, we'll cause a disturbance at the wedding and take you away.”

While they talked, night fell. As the poem says:

The palace water clock sounded softly, and flowers filled the air with scent. Bead curtains hung at decorated doors; no light showed in the quiet courtyard. The swings hung motionless, and the last notes of a flute faded into silence. Flowers around the building caught the bright moonlight; without trees in the way, stars showed across the sky. Cuckoos stopped calling, and butterflies slept. The Milky Way crossed the heavens; white clouds drifted home. For one far from home, a breeze stirring young willows only made the night sadder.

“Master,” Bajie said, “it's late. Discuss this tomorrow. Let's sleep.” They rested for the night.

The rooster called at dawn, and the king held court:

Palace doors opened under purple clouds; wind carried royal music into the blue sky.Clouds passed over flags tipped with leopard tails; sunlight lit the jade ornaments on carved dragon heads.Fragrant mist deepened the green of palace willows; drops of dew moistened the garden flowers.A thousand officials bowed and acclaimed the king; peace ruled the rivers and sea of the united kingdom.

After the officials paid their respects, the king ordered the palace kitchens to prepare a wedding feast for the twelfth. “Today,” he said, “prepare spring wine and invite my son-in-law to enjoy the royal garden.” He told the ceremonial officers to take the three disciples back to the guesthouse and send three vegetarian tables there, with musicians at both places to entertain them. Bajie spoke up. “Your Majesty, we disciples never leave our master. If you want him to stay here and marry your daughter, take us into the garden too. Otherwise the arrangement won't work.” The king found him ugly and rude; the way he shook his ears, twisted his neck, and stuck out his snout made him seem half mad. Afraid the marriage would be disrupted, the king agreed. He ordered two tables in the Pavilion of Eternal Harmony, one for himself and one for Tripitaka, and three separate tables for the disciples at Springtime Pavilion, to avoid trouble over seating. Bajie bowed and thanked him. The king also ordered the queens, consorts, and princess to celebrate inside the palace with a banquet and gifts ahead of the marriage on the twelfth.

Around the hour of the snake, the king escorted Tripitaka and his disciples into the beautiful garden:

Colored stones paved the paths; carved rails bordered the terraces. Strange blossoms grew beside the stones, and unusual flowers bloomed among the railings. Young peach trees drew kingfishers, and orioles flashed among tender willows. As they walked, scent filled their sleeves and fresh fragrance clung to their clothes. There were a Phoenix Terrace and Dragon Pool, bamboo pavilions and pine-shaded halls. Flutes on the terrace seemed to call phoenixes; fish in the pool might someday become dragons. Poems about snow were composed in the bamboo pavilion; fine writings were collected in the pine hall. Small rocks made a green miniature mountain, and winding water ran deep and blue. Peonies around a pavilion and roses on a trellis were thick as brocade; jasmine by the rails and rows of crabapple flowers looked like clouds and jade. Herbaceous peonies smelled wonderful and hollyhocks bloomed brightly. White pears competed with red apricots, and purple orchids with golden daylilies. Poppies, magnolias, and azaleas shone, while smiling flowers, balsams, and hostas swayed. Red blooms filled every corner, and fragrant clusters covered the grounds. Warm spring winds and sunlight brought out the beauty of the entire garden.

The king and his guests looked around for some time. Then the ceremonial officers took the disciples to Springtime Pavilion, while the king and Tripitaka went up to the Pavilion of Eternal Harmony. They ate at separate tables, with music and dancing around them:

The great palace gates shone in morning light; blessed clouds lay across its towers.Spring spread a carpet of flowers and grass; sunlight gleamed on embroidered robes.Music wound around the guests as if at an immortal feast; cups of clear wine passed from hand to hand.King and guests enjoyed the view together, hoping for lasting peace at home and abroad.

Tripitaka could do nothing about the king's kindness, so he made an effort to enjoy the meal, though he was worried inside. He noticed four gold screens on the walls, painted with scenes of spring, summer, fall, and winter. Each bore a poem by a court scholar:

The poem on spring said:

A breath moves through the heavens and turns the great wheel; the whole earth is warm, and everything looks new.Peach and plum blossoms compete in bright colors; swallows return to painted beams and gather fragrant dust for their nests.

The poem on summer said:

Warm breezes blow, and thoughts move slowly; pomegranates and hollyhocks glow in the palace sun.A jade flute wakes someone from an afternoon dream; lotus fragrance drifts into the rooms.

The poem on fall said:

One leaf turns yellow on the tree beside the golden well; the beaded curtains remain down against the night's frost.Swallows know the season and leave their nests; geese fly with reed flowers toward another land.

The poem on winter said:

Clouds and rain darken the cold sky; north winds drive snow over a thousand mountains.A glowing stove warms the inner palace, and word comes that plum blossoms have opened by the jade railings.

Seeing Tripitaka absorbed in the poems, the king said, “You enjoy poetry, so you must write it yourself. Would you compose a reply to each poem in the same rhyme?” Tripitaka had found a moment's peace in the scenery. Honored by the king's request, he suddenly offered the line, “Warm sun melts ice across the balanced earth.” Delighted, the king ordered brushes, ink, paper, and inkstone brought so Tripitaka could write out his replies for the king to read later. Tripitaka gladly took up the brush:

His poem in reply to spring said:

Warm sun melts ice across the balanced earth; flowers in the royal garden bloom anew.Gentle winds and generous rain bless the people; peaceful rivers and seas are free of worldly dust.

His poem in reply to summer said:

The Dipper points south, and daylight lingers; green locust trees and red pomegranates compete in the sun.Orioles and swallows call among palace willows; their two voices travel into the scarlet curtains.

His poem in reply to fall said:

Fragrance rises from green tangerines and yellow oranges; pines and cypresses stay green in the welcome frost.Chrysanthemums partly open by the fence like bright brocade; music carries its rhythm across water and clouds.

His poem in reply to winter said:

The air is cold after fresh snow clears; unusual peaks and rocks lie white as jade.A stove burns fine charcoal to warm milk and cheese; with hands tucked in sleeves, I sing beside the green railing.

The king was delighted. “Excellent: ‘With hands tucked in sleeves, I sing beside the green railing!’” He had the court musicians set the new poems to music. The festivities lasted all day.

The three disciples had enjoyed themselves at Springtime Pavilion, drinking several cups each. A little drunk, they went to look for Tripitaka and found him with the king. Bajie called out, “How pleasant this is! We've finally had a good day. Now let's sleep on a full stomach.” Sha Monk laughed. “Brother, you shouldn't sleep right after eating so much.” “What do you know?” Bajie replied. “As the saying goes, if you don't lie down after dinner, you'll have no fat on your belly.”

After taking leave of the king, Tripitaka came over and scolded Bajie. “You fool, you're ruder than ever! Why shout in a place like this? If the king gets angry, he might have us killed.” “It's fine. We're family now, so he won't really be angry. As the saying goes, family ties can't be broken by blows or ties between neighbors by insults. We're having fun! Why be afraid?” Tripitaka ordered the fool given twenty blows with a monk's staff. Pilgrim grabbed and threw him down as Tripitaka raised it. “Your Highness, spare me!” Bajie cried. The officials attending the feast intervened. Bajie got up, muttering, “So he's an important son-in-law now. He isn't even married, and he's already throwing his weight around.” Pilgrim covered his mouth. “Stop it. Go to sleep.”

They spent another night in Springtime Pavilion. The next morning the feasting continued.

After three or four days of festivities, the twelfth arrived. Officers from three departments of the palace kitchens reported, “Since your order on the eighth, we've finished preparing the new son-in-law's residence. Only the dowry needs setting out. We've prepared more than five hundred tables of meat and vegetarian dishes for the wedding.” The king was pleased and about to invite Tripitaka to the feast when a palace officer announced that the queen wanted to see him. He went into the inner palace. There the three queens and six groups of consorts stood talking and laughing with the princess in Zhaoyang Palace. In their bright finery they were as splendid as the palace of the moon or an immortal's home. Four verses celebrated this happy marriage:

The verse of joy said:

Joy, joy, joy! Everyone is glad about a loving marriage. In her artful palace dress, she is fairer than the moon goddess. Dragon and phoenix hairpins shine with golden threads. She has red lips, white teeth, a rosy face, and a graceful body like a flower. Layers of brocade surround her in five colors; fine scents rise among the richly dressed women.

The verse of the gathering said:

Gather, gather, gather! Beautiful women meet, lovelier than the famous beauties Mao Qiang and the women of Chu. They could captivate a kingdom and rival flowers and jade. Their bright ornaments, hairpins, and bracelets shine. They have refined minds, powdered faces, fine skin, and elegant bearing. Dark eyebrows curve like distant hills as the graceful women crowd together in colorful clothes.

The verse of beauty said:

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful! These women look like jade maidens and immortal children, worthy of praise and affection. Scents mingle with perfume and face powder. What immortal mountain could compare with a king's home? Laughter and lively talk fill the air, along with the sound of music. Flowers and fine clothes make a thousand beautiful sights unlike any others in the human world.

The verse of marriage said:

Marriage, marriage, marriage! Orchid and musk scents rise among the immortals and beautiful women. Consorts put on bright colors, and the princess dresses anew. Dark hair is piled high in elaborate styles above her rainbow-colored clothes and phoenix skirt. Immortal music sounds; ranks of guests wear red and purple. A promise of marriage was made in another life, and today they happily meet.

The king entered Zhaoyang Palace, and the queens, consorts, princess, and attendants welcomed him. After they bowed, he said, “Daughter, when you threw the ball on the eighth and found the holy monk, you got what you wished for. The officials have completed all the preparations. Today is the wedding day. Let's go to the banquet before the favorable hour passes.” The princess knelt before him. “Father, forgive me for speaking, but I've heard that the Tang holy monk has three terribly ugly disciples. I dare not see them. It might frighten me so badly I become ill. Please send them outside the city first.” “I nearly forgot about them,” said the king. “They're indeed ugly. We've hosted them in Springtime Pavilion these last few days. I'll go to court now, give them their travel documents, and send them off before the wedding.” She thanked him. He returned to the throne hall and summoned Tripitaka and his three disciples.

Tripitaka had counted the days until the twelfth. Before sunrise, he asked his disciples what they should do. Pilgrim said, “The king looks a little troubled, but no serious harm has reached him. I must see the princess before I can act. One look will tell me whether she's genuine. Don't worry. He'll summon us soon and send us out of the city. Agree to whatever he asks. I'll slip back here and watch over you.”

As they spoke, attendants and ceremonial officers arrived with the summons. “Let's go,” Pilgrim said. “I'm sure they mean to send us away and keep Master for the wedding.” Bajie said, “They'll surely give us hundreds or thousands of taels of gold and silver. We can buy gifts to take home. I might visit my father-in-law's family again too!” Sha Monk said, “Brother, keep quiet and let Pilgrim make the decisions.”

They brought their horse and baggage to the court. The king called the three disciples forward. “Give me your documents to stamp and sign. I'll provide money for your journey and send you to Vulture Peak to see the Buddha. When you return with the scriptures, I'll reward you further. Your master will stay here as my son-in-law, so you needn't worry about him.” Pilgrim thanked him and told Sha Monk to present the documents. The king stamped and signed them and gave them ten ingots of gold and twenty of silver as a family gift. Bajie, always eager for wealth and pleasure, accepted them. Pilgrim thanked the king for the trouble and turned to leave. Tripitaka leaped up, caught his hand, and said through clenched teeth, “Are you all leaving me here?” Pilgrim squeezed his palm and gave him a meaningful look. “Enjoy yourself here. We'll come see you when we return with the scriptures.” Tripitaka could not decide whether to trust him and refused to let go. The officials took it for a real farewell. The king invited his son-in-law back to the throne, and ordered his officials to escort the disciples out of town. Tripitaka had to release Pilgrim's hand and return to his seat.

Outside the palace gate, the three said goodbye to the officials. “Are we really leaving?” Bajie asked. Without replying, Pilgrim walked back to the guesthouse. Its superintendent offered tea and food. Pilgrim told his brothers, “Stay here and don't draw attention. If the superintendent asks questions, give vague answers. Don't tell him what I'm doing. I'm going to protect Master.”

The Great Sage plucked out a hair, blew on it, and said, “Change!” It became another Pilgrim who stayed at the guesthouse with Bajie and Sha Monk. The real Pilgrim sprang into the air and turned into a bee:

Yellow wings, a mouth drawn to sweetness, and a sharp sting: it dances wildly on the breeze. It takes nectar and fragrance from flowers, passing through willows and blossoms.It makes trip after trip with great effort, flying busily back and forth. Yet it does not taste the rich honey it produces; only its name and appearance remain.

Pilgrim flew quietly into the palace. From afar he saw Tripitaka seated on an embroidered stool to the king's left, anxious and downcast. He flew onto Tripitaka's hat, crawled to his ear, and whispered, “Master, I'm here. Don't worry.” Only Tripitaka heard him. Feeling better, he waited. Soon a palace official announced, “Your Majesty, the wedding banquet is ready in the Magpie Palace. The queen and princess await you and the honored guest.” Delighted, the king led his prospective son-in-law into the inner palace. As the saying goes:

A king who loves flowers finds trouble through a flower;When a monk's mind wanders, anxious thoughts follow.

How would Tripitaka escape the inner palace? Listen to the next chapter to find out.