第023回

Chapter 23

The Dharma journey westward stretches far and long,

As autumn winds sough and frost flowers drift along.

Restrain the wayward ape—slacken not his chain;

Spur not the stubborn horse with whip again.

The Wood Mother and Metal Lord were fated to unite;

The Yellow Dame and the Crimson Child were matched aright.

Crack open the iron pellet to learn the truth within—

Prajñāpāramitā shall lead you home again.

This chapter speaks of the path to fetch the sutras, which is none other than the Way of cultivating the root within one's own body. Now it is told that the master and his disciples, having awakened to True Suchness and cast off the dust of the world, had freed themselves from the sea of nature and the flowing sands of desire, without hindrance of any kind, and journeyed straight westward along the great road. They passed through green hills and blue waters without end, and gazed upon wild grasses and idle flowers beyond counting. Truly time flew swiftly, and it was now the ninth month of autumn. They saw only:

Maple leaves filling the mountains in red,

Late chrysanthemums braving the wind unsaid.

Old cicadas sing with ever-weary tone,

While mournful crickets brood and grieve alone.

Lotus leaves torn like green silk fans appear,

And golden oranges sweeten the grove so dear.

How pitiful—those rows of wild geese in flight,

Dotting the distant sky in lonely sight.

As they pressed on, before they knew it, the sky grew dark. Tripitaka said, "Disciples, the sky is growing dark again—where shall we find lodging tonight?" Pilgrim Sun said, "Master, your words are amiss. A monk of the Way sleeps in the wind and rests by the water, slumbers beneath the moon and lies upon the frost—everywhere is home. Why ask where we should lodge?" Zhu Bajie said, "Elder Brother, you walk so lightly and easily—you don't know what it's like for others to be weighed down! Ever since we crossed the Flowing Sands River, we've been climbing mountains and fording ridges all this while. I carry this heavy burden day in, day out—it's truly unbearable! We ought to find a household, first to beg some tea and rice, and second to rest and restore our strength. That would only make sense." Pilgrim said, "Blockhead, such words of yours smack of complaint. You must still be thinking of the lazy, carefree days back at the Gao Village, where you sought no blessings—but I fear that won't do anymore. Since you have embraced the orthodox path of a śramaṇa, you must endure hardship and suffering to be worthy of being a disciple." Bajie said, "Elder Brother, just look at how heavy this load of luggage is!" Pilgrim said, "Brother, ever since you and Sha Wujing joined us, I haven't carried it myself—how should I know how heavy it is?" Bajie said, "Elder Brother, just count the pieces for me:

Four panels of yellow rattan strips,

Eight ropes of varying lengths.

Then there are three or four layers of felt wrapping against the rain,

And the flat carrying pole, slippery at best, with nails at both ends.

There's the copper-mounted, iron-forged nine-ringed staff,

And the great cloak bound with rattan and bamboo thread.

With so many pieces of luggage, it's all old Pig can do to carry them day after day—yet you just follow the Master as a disciple, and use me as a hired laborer." Pilgrim laughed and said, "Blockhead, who are you talking to?" Bajie said, "Elder Brother, I'm talking to you." Pilgrim said, "You're talking to the wrong person. Old Sun looks only after the Master's welfare. You and Sha Wujing are in charge of the luggage and the horse. If you slack off even a little, you'll get a good beating with this iron rod on your shins first." Bajie said, "Elder Brother, don't talk about beating—beating is just using strength to bully others. I know your proud and lofty nature—you certainly won't carry it yourself. But the horse the Master rides, so tall and fat and strong, carries only the old monk on its back. Let it carry a few pieces as well—that's only fitting among brothers."

Pilgrim said, "You think he's just a horse? He is no ordinary horse. He is the third prince of Ao Run, Dragon King of the Western Sea, called the Dragon Horse Third Prince. Because he set fire and burned a pearl on the palace hall, his father accused him of filial impiety, and he committed a crime against the Heavenly Mandate. It was only thanks to the Bodhisattva Guanyin that his life was spared. He waited for the Master for a long time at the Eagle Sorrow Steep Gorge, and when the Bodhisattva herself arrived, she stripped away his scales and horns and removed the pearl from beneath his jaw. Only then was he transformed into this horse, willing to carry the Master on his pilgrimage westward to worship the Buddha. This is each person's own merit and achievement—do not try to pull him into this." When Sha Wujing heard this, he said, "Elder Brother, is he truly a dragon?" Pilgrim said, "He is a dragon." Bajie said, "Elder Brother, I have heard the ancients say: dragons can spew clouds and mist, kick up earth and sand; they have the power to uproot mountains and the magic to overturn rivers and seas. Why does he walk so slowly today?" Pilgrim said, "If you want him to go fast, let me show you how to make him go fast."

The great Sage then brandished the golden-banded staff once, and ten thousand rays of colored clouds arose. The horse, seeing the staff raised, feared he was about to be struck, and in panic his four hooves flew like lightning—whoosh!—and away he ran. The Master's hands were too weak to rein him in, and the horse gave full rein to his stubborn nature, galloping straight up the mountain ridge. Only after a great distance did he slow to a walk. The Master, his breathing finally settled, raised his head and saw in the distance a cluster of pine shade, within which stood several houses, truly stately and grand. He beheld:

Doors set among emerald cypress,

The dwelling near the green hills.

Several pines stand tall, serene,

A few bamboo stalks mottled and clean.

By the hedge, wild chrysanthemums brave the frost with brilliance,

By the bridge, hidden orchids mirror the water's radiance.

Plastered walls of pink and clay,

Brick-built enclosures all arrayed.

The lofty halls are grand and fine,

The great mansions calm and benign.

No cattle or sheep are seen, no fowl or hound—

Doubtless the autumn harvest is done, and farm work lies abound.

As the Master gently reined his horse and gazed about, he saw that Pilgrim and his brothers had just arrived. Wujing said, "Master, you didn't fall off the horse, did you?" The elder scolded, "This wretched Monkey Sun—he startled the horse! It's only because I managed to hold on." Pilgrim said with an apologetic smile, "Master, don't scold me. It was all Zhu Bajie complaining that the horse was slow, so I made him go a bit faster." Blockhead, having been rushing after the horse and over-exerting himself, puffed and panted, grumbling and muttering to himself: "Done for, done for! My belly's gone, my waist's gone slack. The load is too heavy to carry, and now they make me run and chase the horse on top of it." The Master said, "Disciples, look—over there is a manor house. We can go and ask to lodge there for the night." When Pilgrim heard this, he quickly raised his head and looked. He could indeed see auspicious clouds hovering and auspicious mists gathering in the mid-air above the place. Knowing full well that this was the work of a Buddha or immortal testing them, he dared not reveal the heavenly secret. He simply said, "Good, good, good—let us go and lodge there."

The Elder hastily dismounted his horse. Before him stood a gatehouse with drooping lotus-shaped eaves and an elephant-trunk design, its painted beams and carved rafters magnificent. Sha Seng set down the luggage, and Zhu Bajie led the horses, saying, "This household is evidently a family of substantial wealth." Sun Wukong was about to enter, but Tang Seng said, "No, we are monks; each of us must avoid suspicion. We must not enter without permission. Let us wait until someone comes out, and then courteously request lodging—only then may we go in." Bajie tied the horses and leaned against the wall. Tang Seng sat on a stone drum; Wukong and Sha Seng sat on the edge of the terrace. For a long while no one emerged. Wukong, impatient by nature, leaped up and went inside to look. He found three large halls facing south, with curtains and blinds drawn high. Hanging on the screen door was a horizontal scroll painting of "Longevity Mountain and Blissful Sea." On either side, gold-lacquered pillars bore a pair of large red-paper spring couplets, which read: "Silken threads drift from frail willows as evening falls on the level bridge; Snow dots the fragrant plum blossoms in the small courtyard of spring." In the center stood a black-lacquered incense table with a dull finish, upon which rested an ancient bronze censer shaped like a beast. Six folding chairs stood about, and on both walls hung four seasonal hanging scrolls.

As Wukong was secretly observing all this, he suddenly heard footsteps from the back gate, and out came a woman—neither old nor young—who asked in a coquettish voice, "Who are you, that you dare enter the gate of a widow's house?" The Great Sage, flustered, stammered his greetings repeatedly: "This humble monk has come from the Great Tang in the East, bearing an imperial decree to worship the Buddha and seek the scriptures in the West. Our party of four passes through your precious region. The day is already late, and we have come especially to your esteemed household, Mother, to beg lodging for one night."

The woman received him with a smile and pleasant words: "Elder, where are the other three? Please invite them in." Wukong called out loudly: "Master, please come in!" Only then did Tang Seng enter with Bajie and Sha Seng, leading the horses and carrying the luggage. They saw the woman come out of the hall to greet them. Bajie stole a glance through his bleary eyes—and what an outfit she wore:

She wore a padded jacket of woven brocade in official green silk, over which was a light-red sleeveless vest; she was bound by a colorful skirt of embroidered goose-yellow brocade, beneath which peeked high-soled embroidered shoes. Her hair was done in the fashionable temple-top style, covered with black gauze, set off by coiled dragon hair in two colors; a palace-style ivory comb with red and green ornaments dangled, and two gold hairpins with bangles were tucked in at an angle. Her cloud-like temples, half streaked with gray, spread like phoenix wings; her earrings hung in paired rows of precious pearls. Without powder or rouge she was yet beautiful, her charm still like that of a woman in her youth.

When the woman saw the three of them, she was even more delighted and invited them courteously into the hall. After they had all exchanged greetings, she bade them be seated and tea was served. From behind a screen emerged a young maid with hair hanging in childish coils, bearing a golden tray and white jade cups. The fragrant tea steamed with warmth, and rare fruits gave off a subtle perfume. The woman raised her colorful sleeves, her fingers slender as spring bamboo shoots; she lifted the jade cups and presented the tea with a bow. They all bowed in return. When the tea was finished, she ordered a vegetarian meal to be prepared.

Tang Seng folded his hands and said, "Mother, may I ask your honored surname and the name of this place?"

The woman replied: "This is the land of the Western Continent of Brahman. My maiden surname is Jia, and my husband's family name was Misfortune. In my youth I was unfortunate—my parents-in-law died early, and I managed the inherited estate with my husband. We had ten thousand strings of cash and a thousand acres of fertile fields. But fate denied us a son; we had only three daughters. Two years ago, another great misfortune struck—my husband also died. I have been in mourning, and this year the mourning period is complete. I am left with only the land and property, and no relatives or kin—only my mother-in-law and daughters and I remain. I thought of remarrying, but could not bear to abandon the household. Now that you, Reverend, have arrived, I think of it—we are four women, and you are four monks. I wish to 'recruit a husband to the mountain,' and you four are just right. I wonder what your esteemed opinion might be."

Upon hearing this, Tang Seng pretended to be deaf and mute, closed his eyes, stilled his heart, and sat in silence without a word.

The woman said: "My household has over three hundred acres of paddy fields, over three hundred acres of dry fields, and over three hundred acres of mountain orchards and timber; over a thousand head of yellow water buffalo, horses in herds, pigs and sheep beyond counting; manor farms and pastures in every direction, some sixty or seventy in all; grain in the household sufficient for eight or nine years, brocade and silk enough for ten or ten-odd years, and gold and silver enough for a lifetime. It surpasses the brocade curtains that hide spring—what need to speak of two rows of golden hairpins? If you, Master and disciples, would but change your minds and be married into my humble home, you could live in ease and enjoy wealth and honor—would that not be better than toiling westward?"

But Tang Seng remained as if dazed and stupid, silent and unresponsive.

The woman said: "I was born in the year of Dinghai, on the third day of the third month, at the hour of You. My late husband was three years older than I; I am now forty-five. My eldest daughter is named Zhenzhen, and is twenty this year; the second is Aiai, eighteen; the youngest is Lianlian, sixteen—none of them are betrothed. Though I myself, this humble woman, am plain, fortunately my daughters all have some beauty, and they are skilled in all manner of needlework. Because my late husband had no son, we raised them as sons, and in their youth we had them study some Confucian books—they all know something of composing poetry and writing couplets. Though we live in a mountain village, we are not of the coarse and vulgar sort. I imagine we would be a worthy match for you, honored Elders. If you would but open your hearts, grow your hair, and become the heads of my household, wearing brocade and silk—would that not be better than earthen bowls and black robes, straw sandals and bamboo hats in the clouds?"

Tang Seng sat there, like a child startled by thunder or a toad drenched by rain—stupefied and rigid, rolling his eyes upward.

When Bajie heard of such wealth and such beauty, his heart itched unbearably. He sat on his chair as if his backside were being pricked by needles, squirming left and right, unable to contain himself. He stepped forward and tugged at his master's sleeve: "Master, this lady has been speaking to you—why do you pretend not to hear? At the very least, give her some kind of answer!"

The Master raised his head sharply and snapped: "You wretch! We are monks—how could we let wealth move our hearts or beauty capture our attention? What kind of principle would that be?"

The woman laughed and said, "How pitiful, how pitiful! What good is there in being a monk?" Tripitaka said, "Laywoman, what good is there in being a householder?" The woman said, "Elder, please sit down, and let me tell you the benefits of being a householder. How do you know? There is a poem as proof. The poem says:

In spring we cut new patterns and wear fresh silk gauze,

In summer we change to light gauze and admire the green lotus;

In autumn there is fragrant glutinous wine from new fodder,

In winter we grow rosy-faced with wine in warm pavilions.

In all four seasons we enjoy everything in abundance,

At every festival we have delicacies in plenty.

Brocade and satin, flowered candles on the wedding night—

This is far better than a wandering monk paying homage to Amitabha."

Tripitaka said, "Laywoman, as a householder you enjoy glory and wealth, you have clothes to wear and food to eat, and your children are gathered around you—truly this is good. But you do not know that we who have left home also have our own benefits. How do you know? There is a poem as proof. The poem says:

To leave home and set one's will is truly extraordinary,

Overthrowing the former hall of love and affection.

External matters give rise to no idle gossip,

Within the body itself there is good yin and yang.

When merit is complete and practice fulfilled, one ascends to the golden gate,

When nature is seen and mind is enlightened, one returns to the homeland.

This is far better than staying home craving bloody food,

And in old age falling into a foul skin-bag."

When the woman heard these words, she flew into a rage and said, "This scoundrel of a monk has no manners! If I did not consider that you have come from the Eastern Lands so far, I should have driven you out on the spot. I was being utterly sincere, wanting to take you all into my family by marriage, and you repay me with words that wound me. Even if you have received the precepts and made your vows never to return to lay life, surely among my household there is someone you could take. Why must you be so rigid in your observance?"

Tripitaka, seeing her anger, could only stammer and call out, "Wukong, you stay here then." Wukong said, "I've never known anything about that sort of thing since I was little. Let Bajie stay here." Bajie said, "Brother, don't put this on me. Let's all discuss it at length." Tripitaka said, "If you two won't do it, then let Wujing stay here." Sha Wujing said, "Look at what the Master is saying. I was converted by the Bodhisattva, received the precepts, and have been waiting for the Master. Since the Master took me in and has been instructing me, I have followed him for not yet two months, and I have not yet achieved the slightest merit. How could I covet such riches? I would rather die and go to the Western Heaven—I would never do such a thing that goes against my conscience."

When the woman saw them all refuse and decline, she hastily withdrew behind the screen and slammed the inner gate shut. The master and disciples were left outside with not a bite of tea or rice, and no one came out. Bajie, burning with irritation, grumbled at Tang Seng: "Master, you really don't know how to handle things—you've killed the conversation completely. You could have left yourself some room to maneuver, just given a vague promise to coax some vegetarian food out of her, and enjoyed a pleasant night. Whether she agrees tomorrow or not would be up to us. But now she's shut the door and won't come out—we'll spend the whole night with cold ashes and a dead stove. How are we supposed to get through it?"

Wujing said, "Second Brother, why don't you be her son-in-law?" Bajie said, "Brother, don't put this on me. Let's discuss it at length." Wukong said, "What's there to discuss? If you're willing, we'll have the Master become relatives with that woman, and you can be a live-in son-in-law. Since her family has such wealth and treasure, they'll certainly provide a dowry and prepare a wedding feast. We'll all get some benefit, and you can return to lay life here—wouldn't that be the best of both worlds?" Bajie said, "The words may be so, but it would mean I'd have to renounce the monastic life and return to lay life, abandoning a wife and taking another wife." Wujing said, "So Second Brother already has a wife?" Wukong said, "You don't know about him yet. He was originally the son-in-law of Squire Gao of Gaolaozhuang in Wusang. He was subdued by old Sun here. He had also received the Bodhisattva's precepts, but having no choice, I captured him and made him become a monk. So he abandoned his former wife and followed the Master westward to worship Buddha. I suppose he's been separated from her for so long that he's been thinking about that business again, and now that he's heard about this business, his heart is definitely stirring. Fool, you go be this family's son-in-law. Just kowtow to old Sun a few extra times, and I won't report you." The fool said, "Nonsense, nonsense! Everyone has the same idea, but you single out old Zhu to make a fool of. As the saying goes, 'Monks are starving ghosts when it comes to lust.' Who wouldn't want this? But you all put on such airs and act so prim and proper that you've spoiled the whole thing. Now we can't even get tea or a glimpse of anyone, and no one's tending the lamps. We may get through this night, but tomorrow that horse has to carry someone and travel on foot. If he goes hungry another night, we'll have nothing left but his skin. You all sit here—old Zhu is going to graze the horse."

The fool hurriedly untied the reins and led the horse out. Wukong said, "Wujing, you stay here and keep the Master company. Let old Sun follow him and see where he grazes the horse." Tripitaka said, "Wukong, you may go and watch him, but don't keep mocking him." Wukong said, "I understand." The Great Sage walked out of the hall, shook his body, and transformed into a red dragonfly. He flew out the front gate and caught up with Bajie.

The fool led the horse along, not letting it graze even where there was grass, but clucking and chattering as he drove it, rounding about to the back gate. He saw the woman standing idly outside the back gate with her three daughters, enjoying the chrysanthemums. When mother and daughters spotted Bajie approaching, the three girls slipped back inside. The woman remained standing at the gate and said, "Little senior monk, where are you off to?" The fool dropped the reins, stepped forward, pressed his palms together, and said, "Mother, I've come to graze the horse." The woman said, "Your master is too fussy. If he married into my family here, wouldn't that be better than being a wandering monk trudging west?" Bajie laughed and said, "They act on the Tang Emperor's orders and dare not disobey the sovereign's command, so they won't do this. Just now they were all trying to shove the match onto me up in the front hall, but I have my scruples—I was afraid Mother might find my long mouth and big ears disagreeable." The woman said, "I have no objections, but there's no man of the household, so taking one in wouldn't be bad. I'm only afraid my youngest daughter might find you a bit ugly." Bajie said, "Mother, tell your honored daughter not to be so picky about a husband. For all that Tang Seng's a handsome man, he's actually useless. I may be ugly, but I have my credentials." The woman said, "What do you mean?" Bajie said: "I may be ugly, but I'm diligent and have my uses. Plow a thousand acres and you won't need an ox. One swing of my rake and the seed is sown in season. When there's no rain I can summon rain; when there's no wind I can call up wind. If the house is too low, I can add two or three stories. If the ground hasn't been swept, I'll sweep it; if the drains are clogged, I'll clear them. Family affairs of every sort, I can handle anything under heaven."

The woman said, "Since you can manage household matters, go talk it over with your master. If there's no awkwardness, we'll take you in." Bajie said, "No need to discuss it—he's not my real father or mother. Whether it happens or not is my decision." The woman said "Very well, very well. Let me speak to my youngest daughter." She watched him slip inside, then slammed the back gate shut.

Bajie didn't even graze the horse; he led it back around front. But Great Sage Sun knew everything. He flapped his wings, flew back, resumed his true form, and went first to Tang Seng. "Master," he said, "Wuneng has led the horse back." The elder said, "If he hadn't led it back, it might have bolted." The Pilgrim laughed and told him everything the woman and Bajie had said, from beginning to end. Sanzang half believed it and half didn't.

A little later they saw the fool lead the horse over and tether it. The elder said, "Have you grazed the horse?" Bajie said, "There wasn't any good grass—nowhere to graze it." The Pilgrim said, "If there's nowhere to graze it, is there somewhere to *lead* it?" When Bajie heard this, he knew word had gotten out. He hung his head, twisted his neck, pursed his lips, and knitted his brows, not saying a word for a long time. Then there was a creak—the inner gate opened. Two pairs of red lanterns and an incense burner appeared; fragrant clouds swirled and jade pendants tinkled. The woman came out with her three daughters, whose names were Zhenzhen, Ai'ai, and Lianlian, to pay their respects to the scripture pilgrims. The young women stood in the hall and bowed toward the sky. Indeed they were beautiful—just look at them:

Each had brows like moth antennae jade-green, faces blooming like spring. Their grace could topple kingdoms; their elegance stirred men's hearts. Their hair ornaments revealed their charms; their embroidered sashes floated above the dust of the world. Where their smiles half showed, cherry lips bloomed; where they walked slowly, orchid and musk perfumed the air. Their heads were laden with pearls and jade—countless jeweled hairpins trembling on them. Their whole bodies exhaled a tender fragrance, wrapped in flowered, gilded, finely woven silk. What need to speak of the beauty of Chu or the grace of Xizi? They were truly celestial maidens descended from the ninth heaven, the Lady Chang'e emerging from the Lunar Palace.

Tang Seng pressed his palms together and lowered his head. Great Sage Sun pretended not to notice. Sha Monk turned his back. But look at Zhu Bajie—his eyes were riveted, his lust in turmoil, his lechery running wild. He twisted and squirmed, whispering softly, "How kind of you fair ladies to descend. Mother, please take your daughters inside." The three young women withdrew behind a screen, leaving a pair of gauze lanterns. The woman said, "Will you four venerable monks give your consent? Which of you will marry my youngest daughter?" Wujing said, "We've already discussed it—the one surnamed Zhu will be taken into the family." Bajie said, "Brother, don't try to pin it on me—let's all decide together." The Pilgrim said, "What's there to decide? You already settled everything at the back gate, 'Mother' and all—what more is there to discuss? Master will be the groom's side, this woman will be the bride's side, old Sun will be the guarantor, and Sha Monk the matchmaker. No need to check the almanac—today is a Heaven-blessed auspicious day. Come, bow to your master, and go in and become a son-in-law." Bajie said, "It won't do, it won't do—how could I do such a thing?" The Pilgrim said, "Fool, stop making such a racket! You've called 'Mother' so many times already—what do you mean, it won't do? Agree quickly, and bring us along to enjoy some wedding wine—that would be a fine thing!" With one hand he seized Bajie and with the other he took hold of the woman. "Mother-in-law, take your son-in-law inside." The fool shuffled his feet, trying to pull back. The woman immediately called to the servant boys: "Clear the tables and chairs, set out the evening meal, and entertain the three in-laws. I'll take the groom to the bedchamber." At the same time she ordered the kitchen to prepare a banquet for the next day's formal meeting of the families. The servant boys received their orders and withdrew. The three of them ate the vegetarian supper, quickly spread their bedding, and settled down in the guest quarters.

Now Zhu Bajie followed the mother-in-law inside, passing through layer upon layer of rooms — he could not count how many. He stumbled and bumped into things at every turn, his feet catching on threshold after threshold. "Mother," the fool said, "walk a little slower. I'm not familiar with these inner paths — do lead me along." The old woman replied, "These are all the granary rooms, storehouses, and mill rooms. We haven't even reached the kitchen yet." "What a huge household!" Bajie exclaimed. Stumbling and bumping, turning this way and that, they walked for another half a good while before they reached the inner chambers. The old woman said, "Son-in-law, your elder brother said that today is an auspicious day blessed by Heaven's grace, so he had you taken in on the spot. But it was all so sudden — we didn't have time to invite a geomancer or perform the proper wedding rites with bowing and canopy-spreading. Just bow eight times toward heaven." Bajie said, "Mother speaks well. Please sit in the honored seat, and let me bow a few times. I'll count it as both the wedding ceremony and the thank-you to my new family — two birds with one stone, isn't that efficient?" His mother-in-law laughed and said, "Very well, very well. Truly a practical and industrious son-in-law. I shall sit here. Go ahead and bow."

Ah! The whole hall blazed with silver candles, and the fool bowed toward the heavens. When he finished, he said, "Mother, which of the young ladies will you give me?" His mother-in-law said, "That is precisely the difficulty. If I give you the eldest daughter, the second will be jealous. If I give you the second, the third will be jealous. If I give you the third, the eldest will be jealous. So I remain undecided." Bajie said, "Mother, if you fear rivalry, give them all to me. That way there's no bickering or quarreling to upset the household order." His mother-in-law said, "What nonsense! You can't have all three of my daughters!" Bajie replied, "Look at what you're saying, Mother — which man doesn't have three or four concubines? Even if there were a few more, your son-in-law would gladly accept them. In my younger days, I learned the art of the battle of the bedchamber. I guarantee I can please each and every one of them." The old woman said, "No, no, no. Here — I have a handkerchief. Put it on your head to cover your face, and let Fate decide. I'll have my daughters walk past you, and whichever one you reach out and grab, that one shall be yours." Bajie did as he was told, took the handkerchief, and placed it on his head. A poem testifies to this:

Foolish and dull, he knows not his own nature's root,

The sword of lust brings harm, and secretly all is for naught.

Since ancient times the rites of the Duke of Zhou have been revered,

But today the bridegroom wears the bride's veil.

When the fool had the handkerchief properly in place, he said, "Mother, please bring the young ladies out." His mother-in-law called, "Zhenzhen, Aiai, Lianlian — come, all of you, and let Fate decide which shall be matched with your husband-in-law." At once the ringing of jade pendants was heard, and the fragrance of orchids and musk wafted through the air, as though fairies were passing by. The fool truly stretched out his hands to grab someone, flailing wildly to both sides — but to the left he caught nothing, to the right nothing. Back and forth, he knew not how many women moved past, but he could not seize a single one. Lunging east, he embraced a pillar; lunging west, he groped a wall. He ran himself dizzy at both ends and could not stand steady — he only stumbled and fell. Charging forward, he kicked the door; retreating, he crashed into a brick wall. Bumping and crashing, he ended up with a swollen mouth and a bruised head, sitting on the ground, panting heavily. "Mother!" he gasped. "Your daughters are so slippery — I couldn't catch a single one. What shall I do? What shall I do?"

The old woman removed the veil from his head and said, "Son-in-law, it's not that my daughters are slippery — they are all being polite and deferring to one another, unwilling to claim you." Bajie said, "Mother, if they are unwilling to take me, then you take me instead." The old woman said, "What a son-in-law! So shameless and improper — you even want your mother-in-law? My three daughters are the most clever of heart. Each one has woven a pearl-sewn brocade vest. Whichever one's vest fits you, that daughter shall be yours." Bajie said, "Good, good, good! Bring all three and let me try them on. If they all fit, then have them all take me." The old woman went back into the inner room but brought out only one, which she handed to Bajie. The fool took off his blue cotton robe, took the vest, and put it on. But before he could even tie the sashes, *whoosh* — he crashed to the ground. It turned out the vest had tightened into several ropes that bound him fast. The fool was in such pain he could not bear it, and by then all the people had vanished.

Now Tripitaka, the Pilgrim, and Sha Wujing woke from their sleep, and without realizing it, the east was already growing light. They suddenly opened their eyes and raised their heads to look around — there was no grand mansion or lofty hall, no carved beams or painted pillars. They were all sleeping in a pine and cypress grove. The elder cried out in alarm and called for the Pilgrim. Sha Wujing said, "Brother, it's over, it's over — we've encountered ghosts!" Sun Wukong understood in his heart, and said with a faint smile, "What do you mean?" The elder said, "Look where we are sleeping!" The Pilgrim said, "These pine woods are pleasant enough. I just wonder where that fool is suffering his punishment." The elder said, "Who is suffering?" The Pilgrim said with a smile, "Yesterday, that mother and her daughters — I don't know what bodhisattvas they were, manifesting themselves to test us. They must have left in the middle of the night, leaving only Pig to suffer his ordeal." Upon hearing this, Tripitaka pressed his palms together and bowed in reverence. Then they noticed, hanging and fluttering from an old cypress tree behind them, a slip of paper. Sha Wujing hurried to fetch it and brought it to the Master. It was a verse of eight lines:

The Old Mother of Mount Li left her earthly cares,

The Bodhisattva of the Southern Sea invited her down.

Samantabhadra and Manjusri were guests as well,

Transformed into fairies in the forest glade.

The holy monk had virtue and was free of the vulgar,

But Pig lacked meditation and was full of the mundane.

From this day forward he must still his heart and reform,

For if he grows lax, the journey ahead will be hard.

The elder, the Pilgrim, and Sha Monk were chanting this hymn when they heard a loud voice calling from deep within the forest: "Master! I'm dying! Save me, save me! I won't dare do it again!" Tripitaka said, "Wukong, is that Wuneng calling out?" Sha Monk said, "It is indeed." The Pilgrim said, "Brother, pay him no mind. Let's be on our way." Tripitaka said, "Although that fool is dull-witted and stubborn, he is straightforward and honest, and he does have some strength—he can carry our luggage. Let us remember the Bodhisattva's kindness from that day and save him to come along with us. I trust he won't dare do it again." And so Sha Monk rolled up the bedding and packed the load; the Great Sage Sun loosened the reins and led the horse, guiding Tripitaka into the forest to find him. Ah! This is precisely:

In proper cultivation, one must be cautious and careful;

Sweep away love and desire, and return to truth on your own.

As for whether that fool meets fortune or disaster, listen to the explanation in the next chapter.