第025回

Chapter 25

The three brothers arrived at the hall and said to their master, "The rice is nearly done. Why have you called us?" Tripitaka replied, "Disciples, this is not about the rice. In this abbey there is something called the Fruit of the Immortal, which looks like a small child. Which of you stole and ate it?" Zhu Bajie said, "I am an honest man. I know nothing of it. I haven't seen any such thing." Qingfeng said, "It was the one who was grinning—yes, the one who was grinning." Wukong shouted, "This is just the way my face looks. Just because you lost some fruit, you won't even let me smile?" Tripitaka said, "Disciples, calm yourselves. We are monks of the Buddhist order. Do not speak falsely, and do not eat what you have gained by dishonest means. If you truly did eat it, apologize and make amends. Why stubbornly deny it?" Wukong saw that his master spoke sensibly and told the truth: "Master, this has nothing to do with me. It was Bajie who overheard the two young Taoist boys through the wall talking about eating the Fruit of the Immortal. He wanted to try some fresh, so he asked me to go and fetch three. Each of us brothers ate one. Now it's eaten. What would you have us do?" Mingyue said, "They stole four, and this monk still claims he's no thief!" Bajie said, "Amitabha! If you stole four, why did you only bring out three to share? You must have secretly kept one back for yourself!" The fool was turning things around and making a racket.

The two young immortals had extracted the truth and cursed them all the more bitterly. The Great Sage ground his steel teeth and opened his fiery eyes wide, gripping and regripping his golden-banded staff, suppressing his anger again and again. He thought, "These boys say I struck them to their faces—very well, I'll put up with their insults. But I'll give them a plan to leave them with no descendants, so that none of them will ever eat the fruit again." The good Pilgrim plucked a hair from behind his head, blew on it with immortal breath, and cried, "Change!" It changed into a false Wukong, who stayed with Tripitaka, accompanying Wuneng and Wujing, enduring the boys' curses and shouts. His true self slipped out his spirit, mounted a cloud, and leaped straight into the Immortal Fruit Garden. He brandished his golden-banded staff and struck the tree with a bang, then exerted his divine power to push mountains and move ridges, and shoved the tree until it toppled over. Pitiful to see—the leaves fell, the branches split, and the roots tore from the earth; the way of the Immortal was cut off, the Grass of Returned Life destroyed. The Great Sage pushed the tree down and searched among the branches for fruit, but not a single one could be found. The reason was that this precious treasure fell at the touch of metal, and his staff was bound with gold at both ends; moreover, iron belonged to the five metals, so when it struck, the fruit shook loose. And once fallen, it entered the soil. Therefore not a single fruit remained on the tree. He said, "Good, good, good! Let them all scatter!" He put away his iron staff, went forward, and with a shake of his hair, drew it back to his body. Those people, with their mortal flesh eyes, could not see what had happened.

Meanwhile, the two young immortals had cursed long enough. Qingfeng said, "Mingyue, these monks have put up with quite enough. We've been cursing them like chickens for half the time, and not one of them has made a sound. Perhaps they didn't steal it after all. Or perhaps the tree is so tall and the leaves so dense that we miscounted. Let's not wrongly curse them. Let's go and check again." Mingyue said, "That makes sense." The two of them went back to the garden and saw the tree toppled with its branches split, the fruit gone and the leaves fallen. Qingfeng was so frightened his legs gave way and he tumbled to the ground; Mingyue's waist went weak and his bones trembled with fear. The two of them were utterly beside themselves. There is a poem that testifies to this:

Tripitaka came west to Longevity Hill,

Wukong destroyed the Grass of Returned Life.

The branches split, the leaves fell, the immortal root laid bare;

Mingyue and Qingfeng's hearts and gall blazed with fear.

They collapsed in the dust, speaking incoherently, crying, "What shall we do? What shall we do? We have ruined the elixir of our Five Villages Abbey, cut off the lineage of our immortal house. When our master returns, how shall we answer him?" Mingyue said, "Brother, don't shout. Let us straighten our robes and caps and not alarm these monks. There is no one else here. It must have been that fellow with the hairy face and thunder-mouthed features—he sent his spirit to work his magic and destroy our precious treasure. If we reason with him, he will certainly deny it and insist on a fight. And if it comes to a fight, we two can never match the four of them. Better to deceive them. We'll say the fruit is all there—we miscounted—and apologize to them. Their rice is already cooked. When they sit down to eat, we'll add a few small dishes for them. Each of them will take a bowl. You stand by the left door, and I'll stand by the right door, and we'll slam the doors shut and lock them, locking every door, and not let them out. We'll wait for our master to return and let him decide what to do with them. He is an old friend of our master's. If he spares them, that is our master's kindness. If he does not spare them, at least we will have caught a thief, and perhaps we can escape punishment ourselves." Qingfeng heard this and said, "You're right, you're right."

The two of them summoned their spirits and forced themselves to smile. They came from the rear garden straight to the hall, bowed their backs and bent their bodies to Tripitaka, and said, "Master, our language just now was coarse and rude. We offended you. Please forgive us, please forgive us." Tripitaka asked, "What do you mean?" Qingfeng said, "The fruit is all there. It was only because the tree's leaves were so dense that we couldn't see clearly. We just went to check again, and the count is the same as before." Bajie seized the opportunity to put on airs: "You young boy, you're too young to know any better. You came cursing at random, slandering us with your bare mouth, falsely accusing us—you ought to be ashamed." Wukong understood in his heart but said nothing. He thought to himself, "It's a lie, it's a lie. The fruit is already accounted for—why do they say such things? They must have a way to bring it back to life." Tripitaka said, "If that is so, serve the rice. We will eat and be on our way."

Bajie went to fetch the rice, while Shaseng set up the table and chairs. The two lads hurried to bring out the side dishes—pickled cucumbers, pickled eggplants, fermented radishes, vinegar-braised long beans, salted gourds, and brined mustard greens—arranging seven or eight small plates for the master and disciples to eat. They also poured a pot of fine tea and set out two teacups, attending on either side. The four pilgrims had barely lifted their bowls when the lads, one on each side, flung the doors shut with a slam and bolted them with a double-barreled brass lock.

Bajie laughed. "These boys have it all wrong. What kind of custom is this, shutting the doors to eat?" Mingyue said, "That's right, that's right—let's just finish eating and then open up." Qingfeng cursed, "You gluttonous, thieving bald rascal! You stole my sacred fruit—that alone is a crime for pilfering garden produce. And then you knocked down my sacred tree, destroying the immortal root of our Wuzhuang Temple. You still have the nerve to talk! If you ever make it to the West to visit the Buddha, it'll only be after you've been turned around in a wheelbarrow and reborn!"

At these words, Tripitaka dropped his rice bowl and felt as though a stone had settled in his heart. The lads locked the front gate and the second gate as well. Then they came to the main hall, cursing and hurling insults, calling them thieves left and right, until the sky grew dark before they went to eat their own supper. After eating, they retired to their rooms.

Tang Seng reproached Pilgrim: "You monkey head, always courting disaster. You stole his fruit—so put up with a little abuse, let him curse you a few times and be done with it. Why did you have to knock down his tree? If this matter were brought before a judge, even if your own father were the magistrate, he couldn't argue you free." Pilgrim said, "Master, don't make a fuss. The lads have all gone to sleep. Once they're sound asleep, we'll set off tonight." Shaseng said, "Brother, the gates on every level are locked tight. How can we get out?" Pilgrim laughed, "Don't worry, don't worry—this old Sun has his ways." Bajie said, "I'd be worried if you didn't have a way! You can transform into some tiny insect and fly right through the cracks in the lattice. It's the rest of us who can't transform that are left holding the pot and taking the blame." Tang Seng said, "If he pulls such a stunt and doesn't take us with him, I'll start reciting that old familiar sutra—how will he bear it?" At this, Bajie said with a worried laugh, "Master, what are you talking about? I've only heard of Buddhist scriptures like the *Shurangama Sutra*, the *Lotus Sutra*, the *Peacock Sutra*, the *Sutra of Guanyin*, and the *Diamond Sutra*. I've never heard of any 'old familiar sutra.'" Pilgrim said, "Brother, you don't know this. The band on my head was given to my Master by Guanyin Bodhisattva. The Master tricked me into wearing it, and it's taken root—there's no getting it off. It's called the Tight-Fillet Spell, or the Tight-Fillet Sutra. That's the 'old familiar sutra' he means. The moment he recites it, my head splits with pain—that's the one thing that can trouble me. Master, don't recite it. I swear I won't let you down—I'll get us all out together."

After this conversation, the sky had grown dark without their noticing, and the moon rose in the east. Pilgrim said, "Now all is silent, the ice-clear moon shines bright—this is the perfect time to go." Bajie said, "Brother, don't try any tricks. The gates are all locked. Where can we go?" Pilgrim said, "Watch my technique." He took his golden-banded staff in hand, performed an "Unlocking Spell," and pointed at the gates. With a sharp *clang*, the double locks on several gates fell away, and the doors flew open with a *whoosh*. Bajie laughed, "What skill! Even a master tinsmith with his tools couldn't do it so cleanly." Pilgrim said, "These gates are nothing special—I could point and open the Southern Heavenly Gate just as easily." He then led his Master out, helped him onto the horse, Bajie shouldered the load, and Shaseng led the horse as they headed straight west. Pilgrim said, "You all go slowly—let this old Sun go back and make sure those two lads sleep for a month." Tripitaka said, "Disciple, don't take their lives—otherwise we'll be guilty of murder for gain." Pilgrim said, "I know." He went back inside and came to the room where the lads were sleeping. He had two sleep-inducing bugs tucked in his waist—he'd won them from the Guardian of the Eastern Heavenly Gate while playing guessing games. He took them out, flicked them through the window crack, and they flew straight to the lads' faces. They fell into a snoring slumber from which they would never wake. Then Pilgrim strode off in the clouds, caught up with Tang Seng, and they raced west along the main road.

That night the horse never stopped, and they traveled until dawn. Tang Seng said, "This monkey head has done me in! Because of your mouth, you've dragged me through a sleepless night." Pilgrim said, "Stop complaining. It's light now—rest for a while in the woods by the road and gather your strength before we go on." The elder had no choice but to dismount and sit against a pine root, using it as a makeshift meditation couch. Shaseng set down the load and dozed off. Bajie used a rock as a pillow and fell asleep. But Great Sage Sun had other things on his mind—he could be seen leaping from branch to branch, playing among the trees. The four pilgrims rested, and we will speak of them no more.

Now after the Great Immortal had left the assembly at Primordial Origin Palace, he led his lesser immortals out of the Tuṣita Heaven, descended straight through the jeweled skies, and dropped his auspicious cloud to arrive at the gate of the Wuzhuang Temple on Longevity Mountain. When he looked, he saw the temple gate wide open and the ground swept clean. The Great Immortal said, "Qingfeng and Mingyu are actually useful after all. On ordinary days, when the sun is three rods high, they won't even stretch themselves; but today, while we were away, they were willing to rise early and open the gate to sweep." All the lesser immortals were pleased.

When they reached the main hall, there was no incense burning, no trace of anyone—no sign of Mingyu or Qingfeng. The immortals said, "Those two must have taken advantage of our absence and made off with something." The Great Immortal said, "Nonsense! People who cultivate immortality would never entertain such wicked thoughts. More likely they forgot to close the gate last night and went to sleep, and haven't woken up yet this morning." The immortals went to look at his door—sure enough, the door was shut, and he was snoring deeply in slumber. No matter how loudly they pounded on the door and shouted outside, there was no rousing him. The immortals pried open the door, reached in, and dragged him off the bed, but he still would not wake. The Great Immortal laughed and said, "What fine immortal lads! Those who have attained immortality are full of spirit and no longer crave sleep—how can they be so drowsy? Could someone have cast a spell on them? Quick, fetch water." A lad hastily fetched half a cup of water and handed it to the Great Immortal. The Great Immortal recited an incantation, spat a mouthful of water, and sprayed it on the boy's face, immediately dispelling the demon of sleep.

The two lads then woke, suddenly opened their eyes, rubbed their faces, and looked up. They recognized their immortal master, the World-Equal Lord, and their fellow immortals. Qingfeng bowed his head in alarm, and Mingyu knocked his head on the ground, saying, "Master! Your old acquaintance was actually a monk from the East—a bandit gang, extremely fierce and vicious!" The Great Immortal smiled and said, "Don't be frightened. Tell me slowly." Qingfeng said, "Master, not long after you left, a Tang monk from the Eastern Lands did indeed arrive. His party consisted of four monks, plus a horse—five in all. We did not dare disobey your orders, so we asked about his origins and presented two Immortal Peaches. But that elder had the eyes and heart of a common mortal—he couldn't recognize our immortal treasure. He said they were infants not yet three days old and absolutely refused to eat them. So we each ate one ourselves. We never expected that among his three disciples, there was one surnamed Sun, named Pilgrim Wukong, who had already secretly stolen and eaten four of the peaches. When we reasoned with him and spoke to him plainly, he would not listen and secretly used a trick of leaving his body. Oh, the suffering..." The two lads, speaking to this point, could not hold back the tears that streamed down their cheeks. The immortals said, "Did that monk beat you?" Mingyu said, "He didn't beat us—he knocked down our Immortal Peach tree." When the Great Immortal heard this, he was not angered at all. He said, "Don't cry, don't cry. You don't know that this Sun fellow is also a scattered immortal of the Supreme Unity rank; he once created a great havoc in Heaven and possesses vast supernatural powers. Since he has knocked down the precious tree, do you recognize those monks?" Qingfeng said, "We recognize them all." The Great Immortal said, "Since you recognize them, come with me. All my disciples, prepare the instruments of punishment. I shall return and beat them." The immortals obeyed.

The Great Immortal, with Mingyu and Qingfeng, rose on auspicious light to chase after Tripitaka. In an instant they had covered a thousand li. The Great Immortal looked toward the west from the cloud but could not see Tripitaka. When he turned his head to look east, he found they had overshot by more than nine hundred li. It turned out that the elder had traveled all night without resting his horse and had covered only a hundred and twenty li; the Great Immortal's cloud had leaped more than nine hundred li in a single bound. The immortal lad said, "Master, the one sitting under the tree by the roadside is Tripitaka." The Great Immortal said, "I have already seen him. You two go back and prepare the ropes—I will capture him myself." Qingfeng and Mingyu returned first—of them, no more.

The Great Immortal pressed down his cloud, shook his body, and transformed into a wandering Daoist of the Complete Truth. Observe how he was dressed:

He wore a robe of a hundred patches,

Tied a Lü Dongbin sash around his waist.

He waved a fly-whisk in his hand,

And lightly tapped his wooden fish clapper.

Three-eared straw sandals on his feet,

A Nine-Yang scarf wrapped round his head.

A swirling wind filled his sleeves,

As he sang the song of the crescent moon.

He came straight to the tree and called out loudly to Tripitaka: "Elder, this humble Daoist greets you!" The elder hastily returned the greeting: "Forgive my rudeness, forgive my rudeness." The Great Immortal asked, "Elder, where do you come from? Why are you sitting here on the road?" Tripitaka said, "This poor monk is from the Great Tang in the East, sent to the West to obtain scriptures. Passing through this place, I am resting here for a while." The Great Immortal feigned surprise and said, "Elder, coming from the East, did you pass through any desolate mountains?" The elder asked, "What immortal mountain does the Immortal Official call home?" The Great Immortal said, "Longevity Mountain, the Wuzhuang Temple—that is where this humble Daoist resides."

When Pilgrim heard this, being a man who knew what was in his heart, he quickly answered: "No, no—we came from the upper road." The Great Immortal pointed at him and laughed: "I'll teach you, you wretched monkey! Who are you trying to fool? You came to my temple and knocked down my Immortal Peach tree. You fled here in the middle of the night, and still you won't confess—what are you trying to cover up? Don't run off—come with me right now and return my tree." When Pilgrim heard this, anger rose in his heart. He seized his iron staff and, without a word of explanation, swung it at the Great Immortal's head. The Great Immortal dodged to the side, stepped on auspicious light, and rose straight into the air. Pilgrim also mounted the clouds and gave chase. The Great Immortal revealed his true form in mid-air. Observe how he was dressed:

On his head a crown of purple gold,

An unlined crane-feather cape he wore.

Sandal shoes upon his feet,

A silk sash bound round his waist.

His body had the appearance of a lad,

His face the beauty of a maiden.

Three beards floated beneath his jaw,

Crow-feather locks stacked at his temples.

He met Pilgrim with no weapon,

Only holding his jade fly-whisk between his fingers.

The Monkey King swung his staff wildly, striking high and low without discrimination. The Great Immortal parried left and right with his jade whisk, enduring two or three rounds of assault. Then he employed his "Sleeve Universe" technique—high in the clouds, he unfurled his robe sleeve with a gentle flourish against the wind, and with a swishing sound, swept up the four monks and the horse all in one sleeve. Zhu Bajie cried, "Bad news! We've all been stuffed into a sack!" Sun Wukong said, "Idiot, it's not a sack—he's trapped us inside his sleeve." Bajie replied, "No matter. Let me take my rake and hack a hole in it, then slip out. We'll just say he wasn't careful and the sleeve wasn't fastened tight enough, so it came loose." The idiot flailed wildly with his rake, but he couldn't budge it at all: though the fabric felt soft to the touch, when he struck it, it was harder than iron.

The Great Immortal turned his auspicious cloud and descended straight to the Wuzhuang Temple, where he sat down and ordered his disciples to bring ropes. The lesser immortals bustled about in attendance. Watch him—from his sleeve he pulled them out as easily as manipulating puppets: first he drew out Tang Sanzang and bound him to a pillar beneath the eaves of the main hall. Then he pulled out the other three, binding each to a separate pillar. He took out the horse and tied it in the courtyard, giving it some fodder. The luggage was tossed in the corridor. Then he said, "Disciples, these monks are Buddhist clergy—we cannot use blades or axes or halberds on them. Bring me the leather whip and let me give them a beating to vent my anger over the ginseng fruit." The immortals quickly produced a whip—not made of oxhide, sheephide, muntjac hide, or calfskin, but a seven-star whip fashioned from dragon hide, soaking in water. A strong lesser immortal took hold of the whip and asked, "Master, whom shall I strike first?" The Great Immortal said, "Tang Sanzang has failed in his duty as a master—strike him first."

When Wukong heard this, he thought to himself, "My old master can't take a beating. If he's crippled by a whipping, won't that be a sin I've caused?" Unable to restrain himself, he spoke up: "Sir, you've got it wrong. I was the one who stole the fruit, I was the one who ate the fruit, and I was the one who knocked down the tree. Why not strike me first? What's the point of hitting him?" The Great Immortal laughed: "This impudent monkey certainly has a fierce tongue. Very well, then—strike him first." The lesser immortal asked, "How many strokes?" The Great Immortal said, "According to the number of fruits, give him thirty." The lesser immortal raised the whip and began to strike. Wukong, fearing the power of immortal magic, opened his eyes wide and watched to see where the blows would land. They struck his legs, so Wukong twisted his waist, cried "Transform!" and changed his legs into two bars of wrought iron, letting the immortal strike away. The lesser immortal delivered thirty strokes one by one, and by then the morning had advanced toward noon. The Great Immortal then instructed: "We should also punish Sanzang for failing in his instruction and allowing his unruly disciple to run wild." The immortal raised the whip again to strike. Wukong said, "Sir, you're wrong again. When the fruit was stolen, my master knew nothing of it—he was in the hall talking with your two boy attendants while my brothers and I did the deed. Even if there is a fault in his lax discipline, as his disciple I should take the beating in his place. Strike me again." The Great Immortal said: "This impudent monkey, though cunning and stubborn, does show some filial devotion. Very well, then—strike him again." The lesser immortal gave him another thirty strokes. Wukong looked down: his two legs shone like bright mirrors, polished clean by the beating, and he felt no pain or it all. By now the sky was growing dark. The Great Immortal said, "Soak the whip in water for now; we'll continue the interrogation tomorrow." The lesser immortal took the whip to soak it, and everyone retired to their rooms. After the evening meal, they all settled into sleep—of which no more need be said.

The elder monk, tears streaming down both cheeks, reproached his three disciples: "You got us into this disaster, and now I'm the one suffering for it—how did this come about?" Wukong said, "Stop your complaining. They struck me first, and you haven't been beaten at all—why carry on so?" Sanzang said, "Though I wasn't struck, the ropes are tight and my body aches." Sha Wujing said, "Master, there are others bound here too." Wukong said, "None of you make a sound—in a little while we'll be on our way." Bajie said, "Brother, you're bluffing again. These hemp ropes have been soaked in water and are tied tight—it's worse than being locked in the hall, where you could use your lock-picking trick to open the door and walk out." Wukong said, "I'm not boasting: even if those three-strand hemp ropes have been soaked, even cables as thick as a bowl would be nothing but a breeze to me."

Even as they spoke, all sounds had already ceased—the heavenly streets were still and silent. The splendid Monkey King shrank his body a little, slipped free of his bonds, and said, "Master, be quiet." Sha Wujing panicked: "Brother, save us too!" Wukong whispered, "Quiet, quiet!" He then released Sanzang, untied Bajie and Sha Wujing, straightened his jacket, saddled the horse, took the luggage from the corridor, and they all slipped out of the temple gate together. He then told Bajie: "Go and cut down four willow trees from the cliff edge." Bajie said, "What do you want them for?" Wukong said, "They'll be useful—fetch them quickly." The idiot had some brute strength; he went over, knocked down four trees with his snout, one mouthful each, and carried them back in his arms. Wukong broke off the branch tips and told his two brothers to go back inside and tie themselves to the pillars with the original ropes as before. The Great Sage recited an incantation, bit his tongue, and spat blood onto the trees, crying "Transform!" One became the elder monk, one became himself, and the other two became Sha Wujing and Bajie—all transformed with identical faces and matching features. Ask them a question and they would answer; call their names and they would respond. Then the two of them set off at a brisk pace to catch up with their master. That night they pressed on without rest, putting distance between themselves and the Wuzhuang Temple.

By daybreak, the elder was swaying in his saddle, dozing. Pilgrim Sun saw him and called out, "Master, you're hopeless! How can a monk be so worn out? Old Sun could go a thousand nights without sleep and never feel the least bit tired. Come down from your horse. Don't let travelers on the road see you and laugh. Let's rest for a while in a sheltered spot on the hillside where the wind is blocked and the *qi* gathers, then continue on our way."

But let us leave the master and disciples resting briefly on the road. Let us tell instead of the Great Immortal, who rose at dawn, ate his morning meal, and came out into the hall. He ordered, "Bring me the whip. Today it's time to beat Tripitaka Tang." One of the young immortals raised the whip and said to the monk, "I'm going to beat you." The willow tree also answered, "Go ahead and beat." *Bang, bang*—thirty strokes were delivered. The whip was then raised toward Zhu Bajie. "I'm going to beat you," the young immortal said. The willow tree answered again, "Go ahead and beat." When Sha Wujing was beaten, the tree also answered that it should be beaten. When the whip struck Pilgrim Sun, he happened to shiver on the road and said, "Not good!" Tripitaka asked, "What do you mean?" Pilgrim said, "I transformed four willow trees into the four of us, master and disciples. I thought that since he beat me twice yesterday, he wouldn't beat me today. But he's beating my transformed bodies, so my true body shivers. I'd better withdraw the spell." Pilgrim hastily recited the incantation to withdraw the magic.

You should have seen how frightened the young immortals were. They threw down their whips and reported, "Master, the one we beat at first was the Tang monk from the Great Tang, but now we've been beating nothing but willow roots." The Great Immortal heard this and laughed coldly, praising him endlessly: "Sun Wukong is truly a worthy Monkey King. I have heard that he once caused havoc in the Heavenly Palace, and that no nets spread on earth or snares set in heaven could capture him—indeed, there is truth in this. You could have simply left, but why did you tie up these willows here to take your places and deceive us? I will not let you off. Go after them at once."

The Great Immortal gave the order to pursue, and rising on his cloud, he looked westward and saw the monk carrying his bags and urging his horse along the road. The Great Immortal lowered his cloud and shouted, "Sun Wukong, where do you think you're going? Return my ginseng tree to me." Bajie heard this and said, "It's over. The one we're up against has come again." Pilgrim said, "Master, put away your goodness for now. Let us show some fierceness and finish him off so we can get away." When Tripitaka heard this, he trembled with fear and did not reply. Sha Wujing drew his precious staff, Bajie raised his rake, and the Great Sage wielded his iron rod. They all advanced together and surrounded the Great Immortal in midair, striking and stabbing wildly. This fierce battle is attested by a poem, which says:

Wukong knew not the Immortal of Zhenyuan,

Whose mystery matched the Lord of the World in wonder.

Three weapons struck with savage force,

One fly-whisk floated calm and light.

Left and right they blocked his every move,

Front and rear they met his every turn.

Night and day they could not break free—

How long detained before reaching the Western Heaven!

The three brothers each raised their divine weapons and attacked together, while the Great Immortal merely parried with his fly-whisk. Before half an hour had passed, he spread his sleeve and once again swept up the four monks, the horse, and all their luggage into his sleeve in one motion. He returned on his cloud to the temple, where the other immortals greeted him. The Immortal Master sat in the hall and took them out one by one from his sleeve: Tripitaka was tied to a low locust tree at the foot of the steps; Bajie and Sha Wujing were tied to trees on either side; Pilgrim was bound and thrown down. Pilgrim said, "I suppose he's going to interrogate us." In no time the binding was complete, and the order was given to bring ten bolts of white cloth. Pilgrim laughed and said, "Bajie, this gentleman is so thoughtful—he's brought out cloth to make us undershirts. Let's be economical and make just one undershirt instead." The young immortals brought out bolts of homespun cloth. The Great Immortal said, "Wrap Tripitaka Tang, Zhu Bajie, and Sha Wujing in cloth." The immortals all stepped forward and wrapped them. Pilgrim laughed and said, "Good, good, good! It's a live burial!" In a moment the wrapping was finished. Then he ordered lacquer to be brought out. The immortals quickly fetched some raw and processed lacquer they had collected and dried themselves, and lacquered the three of them all over their cloth-wrapped bodies. Their entire bodies were lacquered, with only their heads and faces left exposed. Bajie said, "Sir, the top part doesn't matter much, but leave a hole down below so we can relieve ourselves." The Great Immortal then ordered a large cauldron to be brought out. Pilgrim laughed and said, "Bajie, how fortunate! They've brought out a cauldron—I suppose they want to cook us a meal." Bajie said, "Fine, let us eat a few meals so we can die with full bellies and look presentable." The immortals indeed brought out a large cauldron and set it up at the foot of the steps. The Great Immortal ordered dry firewood to be piled up and a fierce fire to be lit. He said, "Pour a cauldron of clear oil and bring it to a boil. Then lower Sun Wukong into the frying pan and give him a good deep-frying to avenge my ginseng tree."

When Pilgrim heard this, he secretly rejoiced and said, "This suits Old Sun perfectly. I haven't had a bath in a while, and my skin is a bit dry and itchy. A good scalding will be most welcome—I'm deeply grateful for his kindness." In a moment the oil in the cauldron was about to boil. The Great Sage, however, was cautious, fearing that the Immortal's magic might be hard to match and that it would be difficult to do anything inside the oil. He quickly looked around and saw that to the east of the platform was a sundial stand, and to the west was a stone lion. Pilgrim leaped over to the west, bit his tongue, and spat a mouthful of blood onto the stone lion. He cried out, "Change!" and transformed it into his own likeness, bound in the same manner. He then released his spirit, rose into the clouds, and looked down at the Taoist priests.

Just then the young disciple came in and reported, "Master, the oil in the cauldron is boiling." The Great Immortal ordered, "Throw Sun Wukong into it." Four young disciples could not lift him; eight came and could not lift him either; another four were added, but still they could not lift him. The immortals all said, "This monkey is attached to his native soil and hard to move. Small as he is, he is certainly solid." Finally, twenty young disciples hoisted him up together and flung him into the cauldron. There was a sizzling sound, and some drops of boiling oil splashed up, burning several large blisters on the faces of the young Taoist priests. They then heard the boy tending the fire shout, "The cauldron is leaking! The cauldron is leaking!" Before he could finish, all the oil had leaked out completely—the bottom of the cauldron had been broken through. It turned out to be a stone lion that had been placed inside.

The Great Immortal flew into a rage and said, "This wretched monkey is utterly disrespectful—he had the audacity to play his tricks right before my eyes. It would have been fine if you had simply left, but why did you have to wreck my stove? This wretched monkey—even if I tried my best, I could not hold him; and even if I caught him, it would be like trying to grasp sand or catch mercury, chasing shadows and catching the wind. Enough, enough, enough—let him go. Unbind Tang Sanzang instead, get a new cauldron, and let us boil him up to avenge the Ginseng Fruit Tree." The young disciples set about unwinding the lacquered cloth bindings.

Wukong, hovering in midair, heard everything clearly. He thought to himself, "My master won't survive it—if he goes into that cauldron of boiling oil, one roll and he'll be dead, two rolls and he'll be charred, and after three or five rolls he'll be reduced to a mushy monk. I must go and save him." The great Sage Equal to Heaven brought his cloud down, stepped forward with hands clasped, and said, "Don't unwind those lacquered bindings to boil my master—wait for me to go into the cauldron instead." The Great Immortal cursed him in shock, "You wretched monkey! How did you play your tricks and wreck my stove?" Wukong laughed and said, "The moment you met me, your stove was bound to be wrecked—what has it got to do with me? I would have been happy to accept a share of your warm oil and broth, but I was pressed by the call of nature, and if I had relieved myself in the cauldron, I would have feared contaminating your refined oil and spoiling your cooking. Now that I've emptied myself properly, I'm ready to go in. Don't boil my master—boil me instead." The Great Immortal heard this, let out a cold laugh, stepped out of the hall, and seized him by force.

What words were exchanged, and how exactly did he make his escape? Listen to the explanation in the next chapter.