Chapter 56

Chapter 56

The poem says:

A mind free of all things is called pure;

In utter stillness, not a single thought arises.

Restrain the monkey and the horse, let them not roam free;

Guard the spirit with care, let it not surge with pride.

Eliminate the six thieves, awaken to the three vehicles—

When all ten thousand entanglements cease, all becomes clear.

Lust and evil forever destroyed, one transcends to the true realm,

And sits in enjoyment of the Western Paradise of Supreme Bliss.

The tale tells that Tang Sanzang, biting down on nails and iron, preserved an unblemished body at the risk of his life. He was grateful to the others for scorpion-spirit and freeing them from the Pipa Cave. They journeyed on without incident, and soon it was the season of the Red Brightness (early summer). They saw:

The warm breeze wafts the fragrance of wild orchids from the hills;

Freshly washed by rain, the new bamboo is cool after the clearing.

Mugwort leaves fill the mountains, yet no travelers gather them;

Calamus flowers crowd the streams, vying in bloom on their own.

The sea pomegranate glows lovely, delighting the roaming bees;

The shady willows along the brook are thick, maddening the yellow finches.

How could the long road wrap zongzi rice dumplings?

The dragon boats should mourn by the Miluo River.

As the master and his disciples admired the scenery of the Dragon Boat Festival, passing the holiday in idle fashion, they suddenly saw another tall mountain blocking their way. The Elder pulled his horse around and called out: "Wukong, there is a mountain ahead—I fear more demons may arise. We must be on our guard." The others said: "Master, have no fear. We have given our lives in devotion—why should we dread demons?" The Elder was greatly pleased to hear this. He urged his steed with the whip and gave rein to the dragon-horse. In no time they ascended the mountain cliff. Lifting their heads to gaze, they truly saw:

Pines and cypresses at the summit join the green clouds;

Wild brambles and thorns hang from the rocky walls.

Ten thousand feet of towering height, a thousand layers of sheer cliff.

Ten thousand feet of towering height—the peaks are steep;

A thousand layers of sheer cliff—the gorges are deep.

Green moss and emerald lichen cover the shady stones;

Ancient junipers and tall locusts form great forests.

Deep in the forest, one hears the hidden birds—

Their clever, clear notes are truly worth chanting.

The water within the gorge pours forth like cascading jade;

The fallen flowers beside the road are heaped like piles of gold.

The mountain is harsh, unfit to traverse—

In ten steps there is not half a step of level ground.

Foxes and elk appear in pairs;

White deer and dark apes greet each other in twos.

Suddenly a tiger's roar startles the human heart;

A crane's cry resounds piercingly through the heavens.

Yellow plums and red apricots are fit for eating;

Wild grasses and idle flowers are of unknown names.

The four pilgrims entered the mountain and slowly traveled for a long while, then passed over the mountaintop. Descending the western slope, they came upon a stretch of flat, open land. Zhu Bajie put on a show of spirit, telling Sha Wujing to carry the load himself. He raised his rake with both hands and went forward to hurry the horse. The horse, however, was not the least afraid of him. Despite the fool's clattering trot, it still ambled slowly without haste. Wukong said: "Brother, why are you chasing him? Let him walk slowly as he pleases." Bajie said: "The sky is growing dark. We've been traveling all day since we came up the mountain, and my stomach is hungry. Let's all move a bit faster, find a household, and beg some food." When Wukong heard this, he said: "In that case, let me make him go quick." He waved his golden-banded staff, gave a shout, and the horse slipped its bridle and flew like an arrow down the level road ahead.

You may ask: why was the horse not afraid of Bajie but feared Wukong? Five hundred years ago, Wukong had received an appointment from the Jade Emperor to raise horses in the Imperial Stables of the Great Lofty Heaven, with the official title of "Protector of the Horses." This reputation has been handed down to the present day—all horses fear monkeys.

The Elder could not hold the bridle. He could only grip the saddle firmly and let the horse run free for a stretch of road, covering some twenty li of open country, before it finally slowed to a gentle walk.

As they proceeded, they suddenly heard the sound of a gong, and from both sides of the road appeared over thirty men, each with spears, swords, staves, and clubs, blocking the way. They cried: "Monks, where do you think you're going?" The monk Tang was so terrified he trembled, could not sit steady, and fell from his horse. He crouched in the roadside grass, crying only: "Great King, spare my life! Great King, spare my life!" The two leading ruffians said: "We won't hit you—just leave your traveling money." The Elder then came to his senses and knew they were a band of robbers. He rose slightly and lifted his head to look at them. He saw:

One with a blue face and fangs rivaling the Grand Duke of Jupiter;

One with glaring, round eyes surpassing the God of the Funeral Gate.

The red hair at his temples floated like fire;

The yellow whiskers on his chin were like inserted needles.

Both wore tiger-skin caps with floral trim;

Both were girded in marten-fur battle skirts of bright colors.

One held a wolf-toothed club in his hand;

One carried a gnarled vine staff across his shoulders.

Truly they were no less fearsome than the Tiger of Ba Mountain;

They were truly like a dragon emerging from the water.

Seeing them so ferocious, Sanzang had no choice but to stand up, press his palms together before his chest, and say: "Great Kings, this poor monk is sent by the Tang Emperor of the Eastern Land to the Western Heaven to fetch the scriptures. Since leaving Chang'an, many years have passed, and whatever traveling money I had has long been spent. A monk lives by begging—how could I have any wealth or goods? I earnestly beg you, Great Kings, to show me kindness and let me pass." The two bandit chiefs advanced with their men and said: "We have raised a tiger's heart here and blocked this road, wanting nothing but wealth and goods—what kindness, what mercy? If you truly have no money, quickly take off your clothes, leave your white horse, and we'll let you go." Sanzang said: "Amida Buddha! This robe of mine was made with cloth begged from one household and needle begged from another, gathered bit by bit. If you strip it from me, would you not be killing me? Only know this: a man who plays the hero in this life will be reborn as a beast in the next." The bandits, enraged at these words, drew their great clubs and came forward to strike. The Elder said nothing aloud, but thought to himself: "Pitiful! You speak only of your clubs, but you do not know about my disciples' clubs." The bandits would not listen to reason. Raising their clubs, they struck him about the head and body without mercy. The Elder had never told a lie in his life, but faced with this desperate situation, he had no choice but to utter a falsehood: "Great Kings, do not strike yet. I have a young disciple who will arrive shortly. He has a few ounces of silver on him—I will give it to you." The bandits said: "This monk cannot suffer even a small loss. Tie him up!" The bandits all set upon him at once, bound him with a rope, and hung him high from a tree.

Then the three troublemakers came hurrying after them. Bajie laughed heartily and said, "The Master has gone off awfully fast—I wonder where he's waiting for us." Suddenly he caught sight of the Elder up in a tree and remarked, "Look at the Master! If he wanted to wait, fine, but he's got to go and climb a tree and swing on the vines for fun." When Wukong saw this, he said, "Don't talk nonsense, Idiot. Isn't the Master tied up there? You two come slowly—let me go take a look."

The splendid Great Sage quickly climbed the high slope for a closer look and recognized the bandits. Secretly delighted, he thought, "What luck! What luck! Business has come to me." He turned, shook his body, and transformed himself into a neat and clean little monk. He wore a black robe, looked no more than sixteen years old, and carried a blue cloth bundle on his shoulder. He strode forward and called out, "Master, what's all this about? Who are these villains?"

Tripitaka said, "Disciple, won't you save me? What are you asking questions for?"

Wukong said, "What are they doing?"

Tripitaka said, "These highwaymen stopped me and demanded a toll. Since I had nothing on me, they tied me up here and said they'd wait for you to come and sort things out. Otherwise, they'd take the horse."

Hearing this, Wukong laughed and said, "You're no good, Master. There are monks in the world, but few as soft-skinned as you. When the Tang Emperor sent you to the Western Heaven to see the Buddha, who told you to give away the dragon horse?"

Tripitaka said, "Disciple, what am I supposed to do, strung up here and beaten like this?"

Wukong said, "What did you tell them?"

Tripitaka said, "They beat me so hard that I had no choice—I gave you away."

Wukong said, "Master, you really are hopeless. What good did it do to give me away?"

Tripitaka said, "I told you had some money on you, and asked them not to beat me. It was just a desperate way to save myself."

Wukong said, "Very good, very good! I'm flattered that you thought so highly of me—and that's exactly the kind of giving away you did. If you'd do that seventy or eighty times a month, old Sun would have even more business."

When the bandits saw Wukong talking with his master, they spread out and surrounded him. "Little monk," they said, "your master says you've got money on you. Hand it over quickly and we'll spare your lives. If you say the word 'no' even once, we'll finish you off."

Wukong set down his bundle and said, "Honorable gentlemen, don't shout. I do have some traveling funds in this bundle—not much, only about twenty ingots of horse-hoof gold and twenty or thirty of powdered silver. The loose change I haven't counted. If you want it, take the whole bundle, but please don't beat my Master. The ancient texts say: 'Virtue is the root; wealth is the branch.' This is a matter of the branch. We monks have our own ways of getting by. If we meet a generous donor, we get stipends and clothes too—what do we need much for? Just let my Master down, and I'll give you everything."

When the bandits heard this, they were all delighted. "The old monk is stingy, but the little monk is generous." They said, "Let him down." Having saved his life, the Elder leaped onto his horse, paid no attention to Wukong, took up his whip, and galloped straight back along the old road.

Wukong called out hastily, "You've taken the wrong road!" He picked up his bundle and was about to chase after him. The bandits blocked his way. "Where do you think you're going? Leave the traveling funds and we won't have to use force."

Wukong smiled and said, "Since we're being open about it, the funds should be divided three ways."

The bandit chief said, "This little monk is crafty—he wants to hide some from his master. All right, bring it out and let's see. If there's plenty, we'll share some with you to buy fruit on the side."

Wukong said, "Brother, it's not like that. I don't have any traveling funds. You two have robbed other people's gold and silver—you ought to share some with me."

When the bandit heard this, he flew into a rage and cursed, "This monk doesn't know what's good for him. You won't give me anything, and now you're asking me for some? Don't move—take this!" He swung a rattan stick and struck Wukong's bald head seven or eight times. Wukong acted as if he felt nothing and said with a smiling face, "Brother, if that's how you're going to hit me, you could keep it up until next spring and it still wouldn't be real."

The bandit was astonished. "This monk has a hard head!"

Wukong laughed and said, "Not at all, not at all—I don't deserve the compliment, but I'll let it pass."

The bandit would not listen to reason. Two or three of them set upon him all at once. Wukong said, "Gentlemen, calm down—let me bring it out."

The splendid Great Sage reached into his ear, pulled out a tiny embroidery needle, and said, "Gentlemen, as a monk I truly have no traveling funds. I can only give you this needle."

The bandit said, "What bad luck! We let a rich monk go and caught this poor bald ass. Do you think I'm a tailor? What use is a needle to me?"

When Wukong heard that they didn't want it, he held it in his hand, waved it once, and it turned into a staff as thick as a bowl. The bandit was frightened. "This monk is small, but he knows magic tricks."

Wukong stuck the staff in the ground and said, "If you can lift it, I'll give it to you." Two bandits stepped forward to grab it, but it was like a gnat trying to shake a stone pillar—they couldn't budge it one bit. This staff was the As-You-Will Golden-Hooped Rod, weighing thirteen thousand five hundred pounds on the celestial scales. How could the bandits have known? The Great Sage stepped forward, picked it up lightly, threw himself into a serpent-twisting stance, and pointed at the bandits. "You're all out of luck—you've met old Sun." The bandits rushed forward and struck him another fifty or sixty times.

The Sage laughed and said, "You must be tired of swinging that staff. Let old Sun take a turn with my rod, and don't take it to heart." Watch him as he unfurled his rod and gave it a shake — it was as thick as a well railing and some seven or eight zhang in length. With a sweeping blow, he struck one of them to the ground, his lips covered in dirt, not uttering another sound. The other one opened his mouth and cursed: "You bald rascal, how outrageously rude! He had no traveling money, and yet he turns around and strikes me!" The Sage laughed and said, "Easy now, easy now. Let me deal with them one by one, and I'll root you all out once and for all." With another sweeping blow, he struck down the second one as well. Terrified, the bandits threw aside their spears and staffs and fled in all directions.

Now, Tripitaka had been riding his horse, fleeing eastward, when Eight Rules and Sha Monk stopped him. "Master, where are you going? You've taken the wrong road." The elder pulled his horse around. "Disciples, go quickly and tell your elder brother to show mercy with his rod and not kill those bandits." Eight Rules said, "Master, stay here. I'll go." The fool rushed forward at once and called out in a stern voice, "Brother, the Master tells you not to hit people!" The Sage said, "Brother, who's been hitting people?" Eight Rules said, "Where did the bandits go?" The Sage said, "The rest have all scattered. Only the two leaders are sleeping here." Eight Rules laughed and said, "You two wretched fellows — you must have stayed up all night and worked so hard that you're too tired to sleep anywhere else, so you fell asleep right here." The fool walked over and took a look. "Well, they're from the same gang as me — sleeping with their mouths wide open, and some sticky drool is running out." The Sage said, "Old Sun cracked their heads open with one strike and brought out the tofu." Eight Rules said, "There's tofu in a man's head?" The Sage said, "I knocked out their brains."

When Eight Rules heard that their brains had been knocked out, he hurriedly ran back to Tripitaka. "They've disbanded, Master." The Tripitaka said, "Blessed! Blessed! Which road did they take?" Eight Rules said, "He beat them so soundly their legs went stiff — where else could they go?" The Tripitaka said, "Why did you say they'd disbanded?" Eight Rules said, "He killed them. If that's not disbanding, what is it?" The Tripitaka asked, "How badly did he beat them?" Eight Rules said, "He made two big holes in their heads." The Tripitaka said, "Unpack and take some coins. Go quickly and get two plasters to put on their wounds." Eight Rules laughed and said, "Master, you're being quite absurd. Plasters are meant for the sores of living men — how can you plaster the holes of dead men?" The Tripitaka said, "He really killed them?" He grew angry and began to mutter without cease, babbling about "monkey" and "monkey brat." He turned his horse around, and together with Sha Monk and Eight Rules, went to where the dead men lay, their blood streaming, sprawled on the hillside.

The elder could not bear to see this. He immediately told Eight Rules, "Quick, use your rake and dig a pit to bury them. I'll chant the 'Head-recitation Sutra' for them." Eight Rules said, "Master, you're putting the wrong man to work. The Sage is the one who killed them — he should be the one to burn and bury them. Why make old Pig do the digging?" The Sage, vexed by the Master's scolding, shouted at Eight Rules, "You lazy lout! Dig them up right now, or if you delay even a moment, you'll get a strike from my rod." The fool was frightened and dug three feet down the hillside, but beneath it were rock and stone that caught the teeth of his rake. Eight Rules dropped the rake and began to nuzzle with his snout. Where the ground was soft, one snout-push went two feet and five inches deep. Two snout-pushes made five feet. He buried the two bandit corpses and piled them into a mound. The Tripitaka called out, "Wukong, bring some incense and candles. I want to pray before I chant the sutra." The Sage pouted and said, "How unreasonable! Here in the middle of the mountain, with no village ahead and no inn behind, where are we supposed to get incense and candles? Even if we had money, there's nowhere to buy them." The Tripitaka said bitterly, "You monkey, stand aside. Let me scoop up some earth and burn incense to pray." Thus did the Tripitaka dismount beside a sorrowful wild grave, the holy monk chanting with kind thoughts over a desolate tomb. He prayed:

"I bow to you, good men, and hear the reason for my prayer: I am a disciple from the Tang land of the East, sent by the decree of Emperor Taizong to the West to obtain the sacred scriptures. When I arrived here, I encountered many of you. I do not know from what prefecture, what province, or what county you came, but you gathered together in bands within this mountain. I spoke to you with kind words and pleaded earnestly. You would not listen, but instead grew angry in return. You then met the Sage, who struck you down with his rod. Now I think of your exposed corpses, and I have followed to cover your earth and pile your grave. I break green bamboo for incense and candles — they have no radiance, but they are offered with diligence. I take rough stone for offerings — they have no flavor, but they are given with sincerity. When you arrive before the court of the underworld and raise your case, tracing the root and seeking the branch, know this: he is surnamed Sun, and I am surnamed Chen — we bear different surnames. The one who wronged you has a head, and the one you owe has a master. Do not bring a case against this monk who goes to fetch the scriptures."

Eight Rules laughed and said, "Master, you've washed your hands clean. But when he was beating them, he didn't consult the two of us." The Tripitaka then really did scoop up earth and pray: "Good men, if you bring a case, bring it against the Sage alone. It has nothing to do with Eight Rules or Sha Monk."

The Great Sage could not hold back his laughter at these words. "Master," he said, "you are truly devoid of all gratitude. I have spared no effort or toil on your behalf to obtain the sutras, and now that I have beaten these two hairy brigands to death, you would have him go and accuse old Sun. It was I who struck the blow, but I did it only for you. Had you not been journeying west to fetch the sutras, I would not have become your disciple—how then could I have come here, how could I have killed anyone? Let me just make an offering over them." He gripped his iron staff and struck the grave mound three times, saying: "You pestilent robbers, hear me! You struck me with seven or eight blows before and seven or eight blows after, and they did not hurt or itch me at all. But you roused my temper, and by a slip of the hand I killed you. Go ahead and report me wherever you like—I, old Sun, am not in the least afraid. The Jade Emperor knows me, the Heavenly Kings defer to me; the Twenty-Eight Constellations fear me, the Nine Luminaries dread me; the prefectural and county City Gods bow to me, the Heavenly Duke of the Eastern Peak is terrified of me; the Ten Generations of Kings of Hell were once my servants, the Five-Road Demon Gods were once once my underlings. Whether the Three Realms and Five Ministries, or the Ten Directions and All Rulers—all are on familiar and friendly terms with me. Report me wherever you please!"

When the Tripitaka heard such fierce and terrible words, he was alarmed again. "Disciple!" he said, "when I prayed just now, I was teaching you to cherish the virtue of compassion and to be a good and virtuous person. How can you take it so seriously?" The Pilgrim said, "Master, this is no laughing matter. Let us hurry and find lodging early." The elder could only mount his horse with indignation in his heart.

The Great Sage Sun harbored resentment, and Pigsy and Sandy also nursed feelings of jealousy. Master and disciples alike were at odds behind a façade of harmony. They proceeded westward along the main road, and suddenly saw a manor nestled below the road to the north. The Tripitaka pointed with his whip and said, "Let us go there to seek lodging for the night." "Just so," said Pigsy. They went to the manor and dismounted. It was indeed a fine dwelling, and this is what they saw:

Wild flowers filled the paths, and a tangle of trees screened the door. Distant shores carried flowing waters; level plots grew wheat and mallows. Dew-dampened reeds sheltered resting gulls; in the light breeze of willows weary birds roosted. Green cypresses and pines vied in emerald splendor; red lotus and smartweed competed in fragrant beauty. Village dogs barked; evening chickens cried; cattle and sheep, their fill eaten, the herd boy drove them home. Cooking smoke wove into mist as millet ripened—it was the hour when mountain households settle into dusk.

The elder went forward and suddenly saw an old man emerge from the doorway of the village house. He approached and exchanged greetings. The old man asked, "Where have you come from, venerable monk?" The Tripitaka said, "I am a poor monk, an envoy from the Great Tang in the East, traveling to the West to seek the sutras. Happening to pass through your precious region, and the day being nearly done, I have come to your honorable home to request lodging for the night." The old man smiled and said, "From your noble land to this place, the journey is long and far. How did you cross rivers and climb mountains to arrive here all alone?" The Tripitana said, "I have three disciples traveling with me." "Where are your esteemed disciples?" asked the old man. The Tripitaka pointed with his finger and said, "Those standing by the roadside." The old man raised his head sharply and saw their hideous faces. He turned quickly and hurried back inside. The Tripitana seized him and said, "Old benefactor, have mercy and let us stay the night!" The old man trembled, speechless, shaking his head and waving his hands. "No, no, no—they don't look human! They, they, they are several demons." The Tripitana said with an appeasing smile, "Good sir, do not be frightened. My disciples were born with such faces—they are not demons." "Oh heavens!" said the old man. "One is a yaksha, one a Horse-Face, one a Thunder God." Upon hearing this, the Pilgrim cried out in a loud and stern voice: "The Thunder God is my grandson, the Yaksha is my great-grandson, and the Horse-Face is my great-great-grandson!" When the old man heard this, his soul scattered and his spirit fled; his face lost all color, and he only wanted to go inside. The Tripitaka supported him and accompanied him to the thatched hall, saying with an appeasing smile, "Old benefactor, do not fear him. He is simply rough-mannered and does not know how to speak."

While they were soothing him, an old woman emerged from the back, holding a child of five or six by the hand. "Grandfather," she said, "why are you so frightened?" Only then did the old man say, "Mother, bring some tea." The old woman indeed set the child aside and went inside to bring out two cups of tea. When the tea had been served, the Tripitaka turned and bowed to the old woman. "I am a monk sent from the Great Tang in the East to the West to seek the sutras. Having just arrived in your noble region, I begged your esteemed household for lodging. It was because my three disciples are ugly in appearance that the elder was so alarmed." The old woman said, "If you are so frightened merely by their ugly faces, what would you do if you met a tiger or a wolf?" The old man said, "Mother, ugly human faces are still bearable, but their words are terrifying. I said they looked like a yaksha, a Horse-Face, and a Thunder God, and he shouted that the Thunder God was his grandson, the Yaksha his great-grandson, and the Horse-Face his great-great-grandson. Hearing these words, I was naturally terrified." The Tang monk said, "It is not so, it is not so. The one who looks like the Thunder God is my eldest disciple Sun Wukong; the one who looks like the Horse-Face is my second disciple Zhu Wuneng; the one who looks like the Yaksha is my third disciple Sha Wujing. Though they are ugly, they have all received the teachings of the Buddhist faith and devoted themselves to goodness—they are no fiendish demons. Why fear them?"

When the old couple heard their names and that they had devoted themselves to the true Buddhist path, their spirits were calmed and their alarm dispelled. They said, "Please come in, please come in." The elder went outside to call them and gave instructions: "Just now this elder man spoke very harshly of you. When you go in to meet him, do not be disrespectful—you must all show proper courtesy." "I am handsome and refined," said Pigsy. "Unlike my elder brother, who is so coarse." The Pilgrim laughed and said: "It's not about having a long mouth, big ears, and an ugly face—I too am a fine man." Sandy said: "Stop arguing. This is not the place for clever tricks. Let us go in, let us go in." Thereupon they brought their luggage and horses to the thatched hall, saluted together, and sat down. The mother was a virtuous woman; she took the child back inside, gave orders to cook, and prepared a vegetarian meal, which master and disciples ate.

As evening drew on, lamps were lit, and they all sat in the thatched hall chatting casually. The elder asked, "What is your honored surname, benefactor?" The old man replied, "Yang." He was asked his age, and said, "Seventy-four." Asked how many sons he had, he answered, "Only one. The little one my wife was carrying just now is my grandson." The elder asked to meet his son and exchange greetings. The old man said, "That fellow is not worth greeting. This old man's fate has been bitter—I cannot keep him at home. He is not here now." Tripitaka asked, "What trade does he follow?" The old man nodded and sighed, "Pitiful, pitiful! If only he would follow some trade, that would be my good fortune. That fellow breeds nothing but evil thoughts, he does not attend to honest work, he specializes in plundering homes, waylaying travelers, killing people, and setting fires. His companions are nothing but a pack of foxes and curs. He left five days ago and has not returned to this day." When Tripitaka heard this, he dared not speak, but thought to himself, "Perhaps this is the very one Wukong killed." The elder, deeply unsettled, leaned forward and said, "How sad, how sad! Such worthy parents—how could they give birth to such a wicked, unfilial son?"

The Pilgrim stepped forward and said, "Old sir, a son who is so depraved and unworthy, so given to robbery, lechery, and evil, who brings trouble upon his parents—what use is him? Let me find him for you and beat him to death." The old man said, "I would gladly be rid of him myself, but I have no other sons. Incompetent though he is, I must still keep him to bury me when I die." Sha Wujing and Zhu Bajie laughed and said, "Elder Brother, don't meddle in other people's business. We are not the authorities. If his own family won't do it, what is it to us? Tell the benefactor to give us a bundle of straw so we can spread our bedding in that side room and sleep. We'll be on our way at dawn." The old man rose and sent Sha Wujing to the back garden to fetch two bundles of straw, instructing them to rest in the grass hut in the garden. The Pilgrim led the horse, Bajie carried the luggage, and they all went with the elder to rest in the grass hut—but no more of that.

Now, among that band of brigands was indeed the son of old Yang. That morning, two of their chieftains had been beaten to death by the Pilgrim in front of the mountain, and the rest had scattered in all directions to save their lives. Around the fourth watch, they regrouped and came pounding on the gate. The old man heard the knocking, threw on his clothes, and said, "Wife, they're here." His wife said, "Since they've come, go open the gate and let them in." The old man opened the gate, and the whole band of brigands clamored, "We're starving, we're starving." Old Yang's son hurried inside, woke his wife, and told her to measure rice and cook a meal. But there was no firewood in the kitchen, so he went to the back garden to fetch some. On his way to the kitchen he asked his wife, "Where did that white horse in the back garden come from?" His wife said, "It belongs to a monk from the East on his scriptures pilgrimage. He stopped here last night to lodge. Your father and mother treated him to a vegetarian supper and let him sleep in the grass hut."

When the fellow heard this, he walked out of the thatched hall, clapped his hands, and laughed, "Brothers, what luck, what luck—our enemy is right here in my house!" The brigands asked, "What enemy?" He said, "It's the monk who killed our chieftains. He came to my house to lodge and is sleeping right now in the grass hut." The brigands said, "Excellent, excellent! Let's seize those bald donkeys and chop them into mincemeat, one by one. We'll get their baggage and the white horse, and avenge our chieftains at the same time." He said, "Not so fast. You go sharpen your knives. Let me finish cooking the rice. When everyone has eaten his fill, we'll all strike together." And so the brigands sharpened their knives and spears.

The old man overheard all this. He crept quietly to the back garden and roused the four monks. "That fellow has brought his gang," he said. "He knows you are here and means to do you harm. This old man, mindful that you have come from far away, cannot bear to see you harmed. Quick, pack your things—I'll let you out through the back gate." When Tripitaka heard this, he trembled, kowtowed in thanks to the old man, and called for Bajie to lead the horse, Sha Wujing to carry the luggage, and Wukong to take up the nine-ringed monk's staff. The old man opened the back gate and let them go, then crept quietly back to lie down in his room.

Now, the brigands had sharpened their weapons and eaten their fill. By the fifth watch, they all went together to the garden to look—but the monks were gone. They quickly lit lamps and torches and searched for a long time, but found no trace in any direction. Only the back gate stood open. They all cried, "They've escaped through the back gate, they've escaped!" With a shout they gave chase, flying like arrows, and only when the sun rose in the east did they catch sight of Tripitaka. The elder suddenly heard shouting and looked back. Behind him were twenty or thirty men, their spears and blades glinting as they came. He called out, "Disciples, the bandits have caught up to us—what shall we do?" The Pilgrim said, "Don't worry, don't worry. Old Sun will settle this for them." Tripitaka reined in his horse and said, "Wukong, on no account harm them—just frighten them away." The Pilgrim would not listen. He hastily pulled out his staff, turned to face them, and called out, "Where are you gentlemen going?" The brigands cursed, "Insolent bald donkey! Give us back our chieftain's life!" They formed a ring and surrounded the Pilgrim, slashing and stabbing at him with spears and blades. The Great Sage brandished his golden-banded staff—as thick as a bowl—and beat the bandits until they scattered like stars and clouds. Those who were struck dead, those who were brushed perished; those who were knocked had their bones shattered, those who were grazed had their skin torn. The clever ones managed to escape; the foolish ones went to see the King of Death.

Tang Seng, from atop his horse, saw that many men had been struck down and, in a panic, let his horse gallop westward. Zhu Bajie and Sha Wujing followed closely at the stirrups. Sun Wukong asked the bandits who had survived with injuries: "Which one is the son of old man Yang?" The bandits groaned and told him, "Venerable one, it's the one in yellow." Wukong stepped forward, snatched the knife, and cut off the head of the man in yellow. Dripping with blood, he held it in his hand, put away his iron staff, and strode through the clouds until he caught up with Tang Seng's horse. Holding up the head, he said, "Master, this is the rebellious son of old man Yang. Your old Sun has taken his head." Tang Seng was so shocked that his face turned pale. In a panic, he fell from his horse and cursed, "This wretched monkey has scared me to death! Take it away, take it away!" Bajie stepped forward and kicked the head to the side of the road, then used his rake to pile some dirt over it.

Sha Wujing set down the load and helped Tang Seng up, saying, "Master, please rise." The elder, still on the ground, composed himself and began reciting the Tightening-Crown Incantation. Wukong was squeezed until his ears turned red, his face flushed, his eyes bulged, and his head swam. He rolled on the ground, crying, "Stop, stop!" The elder recited the spell more than ten times without ceasing. Wukong turned somersaults and stood on his head, but the pain was unbearable. He called out, "Master, spare my guilt! If you have something to say, say it, but stop, stop!" Only then did Tang Seng cease. "I have nothing to say," he declared. "I no longer want you with me. Go back." Wukong, enduring the pain, kowtowed and said, "Master, why are you driving me away?" Tang Seng replied, "You wicked monkey are far too savage—no sort of person to seek the scriptures. Yesterday on the hillside you killed two bandit chiefs, and I already faulted you for your lack of compassion. Then last night at the old man's home, he gave us a meal and let us stay, and even opened the back door to let us escape with our lives. Although his son was unfilial, that had nothing to do with me—you should not have beheaded him. Moreover, you killed many men, destroying so many lives and injuring the harmony of Heaven and Earth. I have admonished you time and again, yet you show not a shred of goodness. What use is there in keeping you? Go, go, before I recite the spell again." Wukong was terrified and cried, "Stop, stop—I'm gone!" With that, he set off on a somersault cloud and vanished without a trace. Ah! As the verse says:

When the heart harms wild ambition, the elixir cannot ripen;

When the spirit lacks stability, the Way cannot be fulfilled.

Where the Great Sage went, you will hear in the next chapter.