Chapter 47

Chapter 47

Now, the king had been reclining on his dragon throne, his tears flowing like a spring, weeping without ceasing until late in the day. The Pilgrim stepped forward and called out loudly: "How can you be so muddled and confused? Right there before you are the corpses of those Taoist priests—one is a tiger, one is a deer, and the third, the Ram Power, is an antelope. If you don't believe it, fish out the bones and have a look. Where would a human being have such skulls? They were originally mountain beasts who had achieved spiritual essence and came here with one heart to harm you. Because they saw that your destiny was still flourishing, they dared not make their move. If two more years had passed and your destiny had declined, they would have taken your life and claimed your entire kingdom as their own. Fortunately, we arrived early and eliminated the fiends to save your life. Why do you still weep? Why still weep? Hasten to issue the travel permit and send us on our way." Only then did the king come to his senses. All the civil and military officials memorialized: "The dead ones are indeed a white deer and a yellow tiger, and the bones found in the oil vat are indeed those of a sheep. The words of the holy monk must not be disregarded." The king said: "Since this is so, I thank the holy monk. But today the evening has fallen," and he commanded: "Grand Preceptor, please escort the holy monks to the Zhiyuan Temple. Tomorrow at the early court, the East Pavilion shall be opened, and the Imperial Catering Bureau shall arrange a vegetarian banquet in thanks." And so they were escorted to the temple to rest.

At the fifth watch the following day, the king held court, assembling all his officials, and issued an edict: "Quickly post the proclamation calling for monks, to be displayed at all four gates and on every road." At the same time, a grand banquet was laid out, and the royal procession set out from the court, arriving at the gate of the Zhiyuan Temple, where Tripitaka and his companions were invited to enter the East Pavilion for the feast—of which no more need be said.

Now, the monks who had escaped with their lives heard of the proclamation calling for monks, and each of them joyfully entered the city to seek the Great Sage Sun, to return his hairs and express their gratitude. After the elder had dismissed the banquet, the king prepared a new travel permit, and together with the queen, the imperial consorts, and the two ranks of civil and military officials, escorted them out of the palace gate. There they saw those monks kneeling by the side of the road, crying out: "Great Sage, Equal to Heaven, we are the monks who escaped with our lives on the sandbank. We heard that the Great Sage swept away the fiends and saved us, and furthermore that our king has posted a proclamation calling for monks. We have come especially to return the hairs and kowtow in thanks for Heaven's grace." The Pilgrim laughed and said: "How many of you have come?" The monks said: "Five hundred, not a single one missing." The Pilgrim shook his body and collected the hairs back. He then addressed the monarch, ministers, monks, and laypeople, saying: "These monks were in fact released by old Sun; the carts were old Sun's doing—he maneuvered them through the double passes, pierced the spine, and crushed them. Those two fiendish Taoists were also killed by old Sun. Today the fiends have been destroyed, and now you know that the Chan school has true power. From now on, you must never act recklessly or believe blindly. I urge you to unite the three teachings: revere the monks, revere the Taoists, and nurture talented people as well. I will ensure that your kingdom stands forever." The king accepted his words, thanking him profusely, and escorted Tripitaka out of the city.

From this point on, it was all for the sake of Tripitaka's earnest devotion to the scriptures, and his diligent cultivation to illuminate the One Origin. They traveled by day and rested by night, drinking when thirsty and eating when hungry, unknowingly passing through the end of spring and the fading of summer, until once again the light of autumn was upon them. One day, as dusk fell, Tripitaka reined in his horse and said: "Disciples, where shall we find shelter tonight?" The Pilgrim said: "Master, a man who has left the household life should not speak the words of one who remains in the household." Tripitaka said: "What is it about those in the household? And what about those who have left it?" The Pilgrim said: "Those in the household, at this hour, are in warm beds with quilts over them, holding children in their arms, with their wives at their feet, sleeping at ease and in comfort. We who have left the household—how can we do that? We must travel cloaked in the moon and stars, sup on the wind and sleep on the water. When there is a road, we travel; only when there is no road do we stop." Eight Rules said: "Elder Brother, you know only one side and not the other. The road is very rugged now, and I am carrying a heavy load—it is truly difficult to walk. We need to find a place where I can sleep for a while and restore my strength, so that tomorrow I can bear the load; otherwise, won't I be worn out?" The Pilgrim said: "Let us take advantage of the moonlight and walk a bit further. We will stop when we come to a place where people live." The master and disciples had no choice but to follow the Pilgrim forward.

Before long, they heard the surging sound of waves. Eight Rules said: "We're done for—we've reached the end of the road." Sand Monk said: "It's a body of water blocking our path." Tripitaka said: "How can we get across?" Eight Rules said: "Let me test it and see how deep or shallow it is." Tripitaka said: "Wuneng, don't talk nonsense—how can you test the depth of water?" Eight Rules said: "Find a pebble and throw it into the middle. If it splashes up bubbles, it's shallow; if it sinks with a gurgling sound, it's deep." The Pilgrim said: "Go ahead and try it." That fool picked up a stone and tossed it into the water. They heard it gurgle as it stirred up fish spittle and sank to the bottom. He said: "Deep, deep, deep—we can't cross!" Tripitaka said: "Though you have tested the depth, you don't know how wide it is." Eight Rules said: "That I don't know, I don't know." The Pilgrim said: "Let me take a look." The Great Sage, leaping on his somersault cloud, jumped into midair and fixed his gaze, and this he saw:

Its vast radiance soaks the moon,

Its mighty shadow floats across the sky.

Its spiritual current swallows Mount Hua,

Its long flow threads through a thousand rivers.

A thousand layers of surging waves roll,

Ten thousand folds of towering crests surge.

No fisherman's fire at the riverbank,

But egrets sleeping on the sand.

Vast and boundless, it resembles the sea,

A single glance reveals no shore at all.

He hastily withdrew his cloud head and descended to the riverbank, saying: "Master, it's wide, so wide—we can't cross! This old Sun's Fiery Eyes with Golden Pupils can normally see a thousand miles in the daytime and know whether good or ill fortune lies ahead; at night he can still see three to five hundred miles. But now he cannot see the far shore at all—how can he determine the width of this river?"

The Great Sage was startled, unable to speak, his voice choked with sobs. "Disciples," he cried, "what are we to do?" Sha Wujing said, "Master, don't weep. Look—isn't that a man standing by the water?" Wukong said, "I think it must be a fisherman setting nets. Let me go and ask him." He took his iron staff and ran two or three paces forward to look—ah! It was not a man, but a stone stele. On the stele were three large seal-script characters, and below them two lines of ten smaller characters. The three large characters read "Tongtian River," and the ten smaller ones read "Crossing eight hundred li, few travelers since ancient times." Wukong called out, "Master, come and look." Tripitaka saw it and wept. "Disciples, when I left Chang'an years ago, I thought the journey to the Western Heaven would be easy. Who knew demons and monsters would block the way, and the mountains and rivers stretch so far?"

Bajie said, "Master, listen—isn't that the sound of gongs and cymbals? It must be a household holding a vegetarian feast. Let's go and beg some food, ask about a ferry, and cross tomorrow." Tripitaka listened from horseback and indeed heard the sound of gongs and cymbals. "That is not the music of Daoist rites—it is clearly Buddhist ceremony. Let us go." Wukong led the horse ahead, and they all followed the sound. There was no proper road—it was uneven, high and low, crossing sandy flats until they saw a cluster of dwellings, perhaps four or five hundred households, all well situated. They observed:

Houses nestled against the mountain with paths leading through, homesteads beside the shore overlooking the stream. Everywhere, brushwood doors were closed; each home's bamboo courtyard was shut. Roosting egrets on the sand dreamed with tranquil souls; birds crying beyond the boughs had cold throats. The short flute was silent; the cold washing-stone made no sound. Red knotweed branches swayed in the moon; yellow reed leaves wrestled with the wind. Village dogs at the roadside barked at sparse fences; old fishermen at the ferry slept in their skiffs. Lights were few, the people still—the bright moon hung in midair like a mirror suspended. Suddenly a fragrance of white water-fern drifted over—it was the west wind carrying it from the opposite bank.

Tripitaka dismounted. At the head of the path was a household, with a banner pole standing outside the gate, and within, lamps glowed brightly and incense smoke was rich and fragrant. Tripitaka said, "Wukong, this place is quite different from the mountain hollows and riverbanks. Under a human eaves, we can shelter from the cold dew and sleep in peace. None of you come—let me go first to the door of this donor and make our request. If he agrees to keep us, I will call you. If not, you must not cause a rascally disturbance. Your faces are ugly—you might frighten people and bring disaster upon us, and then we'd have nowhere to stay." Wukong said, "That makes sense. Please go first, Master, and we will wait here."

The elder took off his rain hat, bared his head, straightened his cassock, and carried his tin staff straight to the household's gate. He saw the door half open and half closed and dared not enter without permission. After standing for a moment, he saw an old man come out, wearing prayer beads around his neck and chanting "Amitabha Buddha" as he came to close the gate. The elder hastily pressed his palms together and called out, "Old benefactor, this poor monk greets you." The old man returned the greeting. "You monk, you've come too late." Tripitaka said, "What do you mean?" The old man said, "Too late, and there's nothing left. Had you come earlier, my household was offering a vegetarian feast to monks—a full meal, three sheng of cooked rice, a length of white cloth, and ten copper coins. Why have you come only now?" Tripitaka bowed and said, "Old benefactor, this poor monk is not here to beg for a meal." The old man said, "If not for a meal, then why have you come?" Tripitaka said, "I am an envoy from the Great Tang in the East, journeying to the Western Heaven to obtain the scriptures. Now I have reached your district, and it is already evening. Hearing the sound of gongs and cymbals from your household, I have come to beg lodging for the night and will leave at dawn." The old man waved his hand. "Monk, a man of the cloth should not tell lies. From the Great Tang in the East to here is fifty-four thousand li. How could you, a lone monk, have made the journey?" Tripitaka said, "Old benefactor, you speak truly. But I have three young disciples—they open paths through mountains and build bridges over rivers, protecting this poor monk, and only thus have we arrived." The old man said, "Since you have disciples, why didn't they come with you?" He said, "Please, please—my household has room for you to rest." Tripitaka turned and called, "Disciples, come here."

Now Wukong was impatient by nature, Bajie was coarse by birth, and Sha Wujing was no less rough. The three of them, hearing their master's call, led the horse and carried the load—without asking whether it was proper or not—and burst in like a gust of wind. The old man saw them and fell to the ground in terror, crying, "Demons have come! Demons have come!" Tripitaka helped him up. "Benefactor, don't be afraid—they are not demons, they are my disciples." The old man said tremulously, "What a handsome master you are—how did you end up with such ugly disciples?" Tripitaka said, "Though their looks are poor, they can subdue dragons and tigers, capture monsters and seize demons." The old man, half believing and half doubting, supported the monk and walked slowly.

Now the three rough fellows charged into the main hall, tied the horse, and dropped the luggage. In the hall there had been several monks chanting sutras. Bajie thrust out his long snout and roared, "You monks—what sutra are you chanting?" The monks, hearing the question, suddenly looked up:

They saw the strangers—

Long snouts, big ears,

Broad backs and thick frames,

Voices like thunder crashing.

Wukong and Sha Wujing

Were even uglier in appearance.

The monks in the hall—

Not one was not terrified.

The chanting monks stopped their sutras;

The head monk told them to cease.

They could no longer tend the chime-stones and bells,

And the Buddha images were cast aside.

All blew out the lamps at once,

Scattering the startled light.

Stumbling and crawling,

They never even crossed the threshold.

Heads bumped heads,

Like a pile of toppled gourds.

A pure and lovely place of the Way

Turned into a great joke.

The three brothers, seeing those men stumbling and crawling, clapped their hands and laughed heartily. The monks grew even more terrified, knocking their heads on the ground, each trying to save his own life, and all fled without a trace.

Sanzang helped the old man up and led him into the main hall. There was no light whatsoever, and the three of them were still laughing and chattering away. Tang Seng scolded them: "You wretched creatures, you are truly beyond redemption. Every morning I instruct you, every day I admonish you. The ancients said: 'Those who are good without being taught—are they not sages? Those who become good after being taught—are they not worthy? Those who remain ungood even after being taught—are not they fools?' You lot, with your outrageous behavior, truly belong to the lowest and most foolish of categories. You barged through the gate without any sense of propriety, terrified the old donor, scattered the monks who were chanting sutras, and ruined all the good work here—and you would pin the blame for this sin on me?" His words left them unable to reply. Only then did the old man believe they were indeed his disciples. He quickly turned back and bowed, saying, "Sir, it's nothing, it's nothing. We had just turned off the lights and dismissed the flowers—the Buddhist service was winding down." Zhu Bajie said, "Since the accounts are settled, bring out the farewell meal. Let's eat and then sleep." The old man called out, "Bring lamps! Bring lamps!" When the household servants heard this, they were greatly startled and said, "They were chanting sutras in the hall with so many incense sticks and candles—why are they asking for lamps now?" Several servants came out to look. It was pitch dark in there, so they lit torches and lanterns and rushed in together. When they looked up and saw Zhu Bajie and Sha Seng, they panicked, dropped their torches, hastily shut the middle gate, and shouted inward, "Monsters have come! Monsters have come!"

Sun Wukong took up a torch, lit the candles and lamps, pulled over a folding chair, and invited Tang Seng to sit in it. His brothers sat on either side, while the old man sat in front of them. Just as they were settling into their seats, they heard the inner gate open and another old old man came out, leaning on a walking stick. He said, "What sort of evil spirit dares come to my house of goodness in the dead of night?" The old man who had been sitting in front quickly rose and went to meet him behind the screen door. "Brother, don't shout," he said. "They are not evil spirits. They are arhats from the Great Tang in the East, on their journey to fetch the scriptures. The disciples may look fierce, but truly their appearances are harsh while their hearts are kind." Only then did the old man put down his walking stick and bow to the four of them. After the greeting, he also sat down in front and called out, "Serve tea! Prepare the vegetarian meal!" He called several times, but the servants trembled with fear and dared not approach.

Zhu Bajie could not help asking, "Old man, why are your servants running back and forth on both sides?" The old man said, "I'm having them prepare the vegetarian meal to serve you, sir." Bajie asked, "How many people to serve?" The old man said, "Eight." Bajie said, "Which of us do these eight serve?" The old man said, "They serve the four of you." Bajie said, "That pale-faced master only needs one, the hairy-faced thunder-mouthed one needs only two, the gloomy-faced one needs eight, and I need twenty servants to be sufficient." The old man said, "From what you say, I suppose you have a rather large appetite." Bajie said, "It will do well enough." The old man said, "We have people, we have people." Big and small, they called out some thirty or forty people.

As the monk and the old man conversed back and forth, the crowd finally lost their fear. They set up a table at the front and invited Tang Seng to sit at the head. Three tables were placed on either side for the three disciples, and one table in front for the two old men. First they laid out vegetarian fruits and vegetables, then noodle dishes, rice, snacks, and flour soup—all arranged neatly and in good order. Elder Tang raised his chopsticks and began reciting a chapter of the Sutra for Commencing the Meal. The Fool, partly because he was in a hurry to swallow and partly because he was hungry, could not wait for Tang Seng to finish the sutra. He grabbed a red-lacquered wooden bowl, dumped a bowl of white rice into his mouth, and that was that. A young servant nearby said, "This master has no sense at all—he didn't even grab a steamed bun, so how did he shovel in the rice? Won't he dirty his clothes?" Bajie laughed and said, "I didn't shovel. I ate it." The servant said, "You didn't even open your mouth—how did you eat it?" Bajie said, "You young fellows are lying. I clearly ate it. If you don't believe me, I'll eat another bowl for you to see." The young servants brought another bowl and handed it to Bajie. He swished it around and dumped it down his throat—done and done. The servants exclaimed, "Good heavens! Your throat must be built of polished bricks—truly smooth and slick!" Tang Seng had not yet finished one volume of the sutra, and Bajie had already put away five or six bowls. Only then did they all raise their chopsticks together and begin eating the vegetarian meal. Bajie made no distinction between rice, noodles, fruits, or snacks—he just swept everything in wildly, shoveling it down his throat while shouting, "More rice! More rice!" Gradually, no more came. Wukong called out, "Dear brother, eat a little less. Even this is better than starving in the mountain hollows—just enough to be half full will do." Bajie said, "Shame on you! As the saying goes: 'If you invite a monk to a meal and don't fill him up, you might as well bury him alive.'" Wukong said, "Put away the dishes. Pay him no mind." The two old men bowed and said, "To be frank with you, sirs, during the day we wouldn't be afraid—even a big-bellied elder like this could feed a hundred or more people. But it's late now. We had collected the leftover meal and only steamed about a stone of noodle rice, five bushels of rice, and several tables of vegetarian food. We had planned to invite some relatives and neighbors to share the blessed food with the monks. We didn't expect your arrival—you frightened away all the monks, and we didn't dare invite the relatives and neighbors either. Everything was offered entirely to you all. If you're still not full, we'll steam more." Bajie said, "Steam more! Steam more!"

The old man finished speaking, and the table and dishes were cleared away. Tripitaka bowed and thanked him for the meal, then asked, "What is your honored surname, Elder?"

"Chen," said the old man.

Tripitaka pressed his palms together. "Then we share the same clan, this poor monk and you."

"You are also surnamed Chen, Venerable Sir?"

"Yes, my lay surname is also Chen. May I ask what kind of memorial service you were performing just now?"

Zhu Bajie laughed. "Why does Master ask? Surely he must know. It must have been a Seedling Blessing, a Peace Blessing, or a Harvest Completion Blessing."

"No, no," said the old man.

Tripitaka asked again, "Then what was it truly for?"

"It was a Preparatory Funeral Feast."

Bajie laughed so hard he nearly fell over. "Grandfather, you have no eyes at all! We are great kings of lies and deception—how can you try to fool us with such nonsense? Do monks not know their own rites? There is a Preparatory Deposit Treasury Feast and a Preparatory Repayment Feast, but where does a 'Preparatory Funeral Feast' come from? No one in your family has died—why hold a funeral feast?"

Wukong heard this and secretly rejoiced. "This fool has grown a bit clever.—Old Grandfather, you have misspoken. What do you mean by a 'Preparatory Funeral Feast'?"

The two old men leaned forward. "You are on your scripture pilgrimage—why not take the proper road? Why have you strayed to our place?"

"We were on the proper road, but a body of water blocked our path and we could not cross. Hearing the sound of drums and cymbals, we came especially to your home to ask for lodging."

"When you reached the water's edge, did you see anything?"

"We saw only a stone tablet inscribed with three characters: 'River That Reaches Heaven,' and below it, ten characters reading: 'Eight hundred li across, few have crossed since ancient times.' Nothing else."

"Go a little further up the shore—not far from that tablet, about a li away, there is a Temple of the Inspired Great King. Did you not see it?"

"We did not. Please, Grandfather, tell us—what is this 'Inspired' about?"

Both old men shed tears together. "Ah, Venerable Sir, that Great King—

His power moves one region, raising temples to his name;

His might protects a thousand li, shielding the common folk.

Each year he sends sweet rain upon the farms;

Every year he bestows auspicious clouds upon the villages."

Wukong said, "Sending sweet rain and bestowing auspicious clouds—these are good things. Why then are you so grief-stricken and troubled?"

The old man stamped his foot and beat his breast, groaning aloud. "Ah, Venerable Sir—

Though his favors are many, resentment remains;

Though his mercy is great, he brings harm to people.

For he demands to eat young boys and girls—

He is no upright and illustrious god!"

Wukong said, "He demands to eat young boys and girls?"

"Yes."

"Then it must be your family's turn this year?"

"This year it falls upon our house. There are a hundred families living here. This place belongs to the Yuanhui District of the Kingdom of Chechi, and it is called Chen Family Village. This Great King requires offerings once a year—a boy, a girl, and pigs, sheep, and other sacrificial animals. After he eats them, he guarantees favorable weather for us. If we do not make the offering, he sends down calamity and disaster."

"How many sons do you have in your household?"

The old man beat his breast. "Pitiful, pitiful! What sons—it shames us to speak of it. This is my younger brother, named Chen Qing. I am called Chen Cheng. I am sixty-three this year; he is fifty-eight. We have both struggled to have children. At fifty I still had no son, so my relatives and friends urged me to take a concubine. I had no choice and found a second wife, who bore a daughter. She is only eight years old this year, and her name is One-Scale Gold."

Bajie said, "What a precious name! Why is she called One-Scale Gold?"

The old man said, "Because I struggled so to have children, I built bridges and repaired roads, erected temples and pagodas, and gave alms to monks. I kept a ledger—here three taels spent, there five taels spent. By the year my daughter was born, I had spent a total of thirty catties of gold. Thirty catties make one scale, so she is called One-Scale Gold."

"And the other child?"

"My younger brother has a son, also born late. He is seven years old this year, and his name is Chen Guanbao."

Wukong asked, "Why this name?"

"In our household we worship Lord Guan. We prayed before Lord Guan's shrine and were granted this son, so he is called Guanbao. My brother and I are one hundred and twenty years between us, and we have only these two children between us. It so happens that this year the lot has fallen to our family for the sacrifice, so we cannot but offer them. For this reason, the bond between father and child is hard to sever, and we held a service to help their souls be reborn first. That is why it is called a 'Preparatory Funeral Feast.'"

Upon hearing this, Sanzang could not stop the tears streaming down his cheeks. "This is exactly what the ancients said," he sobbed: '"The green plum does not fall but the yellow plum does. Heaven has a spite against those who have no sons.'" With a grin, Tripitaka's disciple said, "Let me ask him further, then. Old grandfather, how much property does you have?"

"We do have quite a bit," the two old men replied. "Some forty to fifty *qing* of irrigated fields, sixty to seventy *qing* of dry fields, eighty to ninety pastures. Two to three hundred water buffaloes, thirty to forty donkeys and horses, and countless pigs, sheep, chickens, and geese. In our home we have more old grain than we can eat and more old clothes than we can wear. Our family wealth and property can all be counted."

"With a property like that," Tripitaka's disciple said, "you must have been very thrifty to build it up."

"How can you tell I'm thrifty?" the old man asked.

"Since you possess such wealth," Tripitaka's disciple said, "how could you bear to sacrifice your own flesh and blood children in the sacrificial rites? You could spend fifty taels of silver to buy a boy, and a hundred taels to buy a girl. All told, it wouldn't cost you more than two hundred taels. You could have kept your own children and descendants instead. Wouldn't that have been better?"

The two old men shed tears. "Sir, you don't understand. That Great King is most efficacious. He often visits our homes."

"When he visits," Tripitaka's disciple asked, "what does he look like? How tall is he?"

"We never see his form," the two old men said. "We only smell a fragrant breeze, and we know that the Great King has arrived. We immediately burn incense by the bushel, and young and old bow to the wind. He knows every little detail of our households—the size of our spoons and bowls. He remembers the birth year and month of every person, old and young. He will only accept our own children. Let alone two or three hundred taels—even tens of millions of taels wouldn't be enough to buy children of exactly the same age and birth month."

"So that's how it is," Tripitaka's disciple said. "Very well, very well. Bring out your son and let me have a look."

Chen Qing hurried inside, carried little Guanbao out to the hall, and set him before the lamp. The child, knowing nothing of life or death, stuffed both sleeves with fruit and danced about merrily as he ate. Tripitaka's disciple saw this, silently recited an incantation, shook his body, and transformed himself into an exact likeness of Guanbao. The two children joined hands and danced before the lamp. The old man was so frightened that he fell to his knees immediately. "Sir," the old man said, "this is unworthy, this is unworthy."

"This gentleman was just speaking a moment ago, and now he has transformed himself into the exact likeness of my son," the old man said. "When you call to him, both respond and walk together. You are cutting short our years of life. Please reveal your true form, please reveal your true form."

Tripitaka's disciple wiped his face and revealed his original form. The old man knelt before him. "So you possess such abilities, sir."

"Can I pass for your son?" Tripitaka's disciple asked with a grin.

"Yes, yes, yes!" the old man said. "Indeed the same face, the same voice, the same clothes, the same height."

"You haven't looked closely enough," Tripitaka's disciple said. "Bring a scale and weigh me. Am I the same weight as him?"

"Yes, yes, yes! Exactly the same weight."

"Then can I be offered in sacrifice?"

"Too good, too good! You can certainly be sacrificed."

"I will take this child's place and preserve your family line and descendants," Tripitaka's disciple said. "I shall go and be sacrificed to that Great King."

Chen Qing knelt and kowtowed to the ground. "If you truly take his place out of compassion, sir, I will give a thousand taels of silver to the Venerable Tang as traveling expenses for his journey to the West."

"Don't you want to thank old Sun?" the old man asked.

"You have already taken the place of the sacrifice," the old man said. "You will be gone."

"How will I be gone?"

"The Great King will eat you."

"He would dare to eat me?"

"If he doesn't eat you, he might嫌弃 you as too fishy."

"Let fate decide," Tripitaka's disciple said with a laugh. "If he eats me, it means my life is short. If he doesn't, it's my good fortune. I shall go with you to the sacrifice."

Chen Qing kept kowtowing in gratitude and promised to give five hundred taels of silver. Only Chen Cheng neither kowtowed nor offered thanks; he simply leaned against the screen door and wept. Tripitaka's disciple noticed this, walked up, and grabbed him. "Elder brother, since you neither approve nor thank me, I suppose you can't bear to part with your daughter?"

Chen Cheng then knelt down. "Yes, I cannot bear to part with her. I am already deeply grateful, sir, for your kindness in saving my nephew. But I have no sons—this is my only daughter. Even if I die, she would grieve most bitterly for me. How could I bear to part with her?"

"Go quickly and steam five bushels of rice and prepare some good vegetarian dishes for my long-mouthed master to eat," Tripitaka's disciple said. "Have him transform himself into your daughter, and my brother and I will go together to the sacrifice. Let us do a good deed in secret and save both your children's lives. What do you say?"

When Bajie heard this, he was greatly alarmed. "Brother, you're just showing off. You don't care whether I live or die, and now you want to drag me into this."

"Wise brother," Tripitaka's disciple said, "as the saying goes: 'Even a chicken won't eat food it hasn't worked for.' When we entered their door, we were treated to a grand feast, and you still complained you weren't full. How can you refuse to help them in their time of trouble?"

"Brother," Bajie said, "I don't know how to transform."

"You also have thirty-six transformations. How can you not know?"

Tripitaka called out: "Wuneng, what your brother says is absolutely right and most appropriate. As the saying goes: 'To save one life is better than building a seven-story pagoda.' First, we should thank them for their generous hospitality; second, we should accumulate some hidden merit. Besides, the cool night is idle—you and your brother can go and have some fun."

"Look at what the master says," Bajie replied. "I can only change into a mountain, a tree, a rock, a mangy elephant, a water buffalo, or a big fat man. If you want me to change into a little girl, that's rather difficult."

The Pilgrim said, "Don't trust him, old man. Bring out your daughter and let me see her." Sailing rushed inside and returned to the hall carrying his daughter, One-pound Gold. All the wives and concubines, young and old, both inside and out, came out to kowtow and beg for the child's life. The girl wore an eight-jeweled pearl-flowered headdress on her head; a red-and-yellow ramie silk jacket on her body, over which was draped a dark green satin cape with a chessboard-patterned collar; a large red flowered silk skirt tied at her waist; and on her feet, a pair of pale red ramie silk shoes shaped like toad heads. She wore two pairs of golden-threaded knee covers on her legs. She was eating fruit too.

The Pilgrim said, "Eight Rules, this is the girl. Quickly transform yourself to look like her, and we'll go to the sacrifice." Eight Rules said, "Brother, how can I possibly change into something so dainty and pretty?" The Pilgrim said, "Hurry up, or you'll get a beating." Eight Rules panicked and said, "Brother, don't hit me. Let me try and see."

The idiot muttered his incantation, shook his head a few times, and cried, "Change!" His face truly transformed and now resembled a girl's, but his belly remained huge and ungainly. The Pilgrim laughed and said, "Change it again." Eight Rules said, "Go ahead and beat me. I can't change it any further. What can I do?" The Pilgrim said, "You can't end up with a girl's head on a monk's body—neither male nor female. What are we going to do? You must summon the astral winds." He then blew a breath of immortal air onto him, and at once Eight Rules's body transformed to match the child's exactly.

The Pilgrim then instructed: "You two elders, take your family, your son, and your daughter back inside. Don't get them mixed up. In a while, my brother and I, being lazy and crafty, will walk inside, and then it'll be hard to tell us apart. Give them good fruit to eat, and don't let them cry or call out, lest the Great King gets wind of things and we lose our chance. My brother and I are off to have some fun."

The Great Sage then told Sagely Sha to protect the Tang Monk. "I'll transform into Guanbao, and Eight Rules will become One-pound Gold." When both were ready, they asked, "How are we to be offered? Are we to be tied up and taken, or bound and taken? Are we to be steamed and cooked, or chopped to pieces?" Eight Rules said, "Brother, don't do this to me. I haven't got the ability." The elder said, "We wouldn't dare. We only have two red-lacquered vermilion trays. We'll ask the two of you to sit on the trays, place them on the table, and have two young men carry a table each to take you up to the temple." The Pilgrim said, "Good, good, good. Bring out the trays and let us try." The elder immediately produced the two vermilion trays. The Pilgrim and Eight Rules sat on them. Four young men lifted the two tables, carried them around the courtyard, then carried them back and set them in the hall. The Pilgrim was delighted and said, "Eight Rules, walking and riding like this, we're monks making a grand entrance!" Eight Rules said, "If they carry us there and then carry us back, carrying us back and forth all night until dawn, I wouldn't mind. But once they carry us to the temple, they'll eat us. That's no fun at all!" The Pilgrim said, "Just keep your eyes on me. The moment they start eating me, you run." Eight Rules said, "How do they eat them? If they eat the boy first, I can get away. But if they eat the girl first, what then?" The elder said, "In past years during the sacrifice, some bold ones from here hid behind the temple or under the offering table and saw that the Great King eats the boy first, then the girl." Eight Rules said, "Good fortune, good fortune!"

As the two brothers were talking, they heard gongs and drums thundering outside, and the bright glow of lanterns and torches. The people of the village opened the front gate and shouted, "Bring out the boy and girl!" The old man wept and wailed as the four young men carried the two of them out.

What would become of their lives? That will be told in the next chapter.