Chapter 64

Chapter 64

The King of Saishai thanked Tripitaka and his disciples for recovering the treasure and capturing the demons, but he refused to accept the gold and jade they offered. Instead, he ordered his officials to have two sets of clothing made for each of the four monks according to what they normally wore, two pairs of shoes and sashes for each, and provisions of dried and roasted food. He also had their travel permits renewed, arranged a grand imperial procession with his civil and military officials, the entire city's population, and the monks of Fulong Temple, and escorted the four monks out of the city with great fanfare. After about twenty miles, they first took leave of the king. The others escorted them for another twenty miles before turning back. The monks of Fulong Temple escorted them for fifty or sixty miles and still would not return—some wanted to go with them to the Western Heaven, others wanted to serve and cultivate themselves under them. Seeing that none of them would turn back, Pilgrim Sun resorted to a trick, plucking thirty or forty of his hairs, breathing on them with immortal breath, and crying, "Transform!" They all became fierce tigers blocking the road, roaring and leaping. The monks were frightened and dared not advance. The Great Sage then led his master away on horseback, and in a short time they had gone far. The monks wept aloud, crying, "Benevolent and righteous lords! We are without fortune—you refuse to save us!"

But let us not speak of the weeping monks. The four masters and disciples set out on the great road, and only then did Pilgrim Sun collect his hairs, heading straight west. Indeed, the seasons change easily, and soon winter ended and spring arrived—neither warm nor cold, perfect for traveling at ease. Suddenly they saw a long ridge, with a road along its top. Tripitaka reined in his horse and looked—the ridge was tangled with brambles and thorns, with creeping vines entwined about. Though there were traces of a road, on both left and right were only brambles and thorns. Tang Monk called out, "Disciples, how can we travel this road?" Pilgrim said, "Why can't we?" Tripitaka replied, "Disciples, the road traces are below and the thorns above. Only snakes and insects crawling on the ground could get through. If you try to walk, you can barely straighten your waists—how then can I ride a horse?" Zhu Bajie said, "No worry. Let me use my rake hands to part the brambles with my rake—not only will you ride a horse, but I'll even carry you in a sedan chair across." Tripitaka said, "Though you have strength, it will be hard to endure in the long run. Who knows how far this goes? How can we spend so much energy?" Pilgrim said, "No need to discuss. Let me go take a look." He leaped into the air and looked—it stretched endlessly. Truly:

Reaching far across the ground to the horizon, misty and rain-laden. Soft grasses tangled along the path, green canopies spread across the mountains. Dense and thick, the leaves just beginning to sprout; climbing and clinging, just coming into their fragrance. Gazing afar, one cannot see where it ends; looking near, it seems like a boundless green cloud. Hazy and downy, lush and verdant. The wind rustled and whispered; the sunlight shone brilliantly. Among them were pines and cypresses and bamboo, many plums and willows and even more mulberries. Creeping vines entwined ancient trees, wisteria and kudzu wrapped around drooping willows. Coiled and tangled like frames, connected like beds. In places, flowers bloomed like brocade spread out; endlessly, plants sent their fragrance afar. Who among men does not encounter thorns? But who has seen thorns on the Western road stretch so long?

Pilgrim looked for a long time, then descended on his cloud and said, "Master, this place is far." Tripitaka asked, "How far?" Pilgrim said, "Endless—it seems a thousand miles away." Tripitaka was greatly alarmed and said, "What can we do?" Sha Seng laughed and said, "Master, don't worry. We can learn from those who burn the fields—set a fire and burn all the thorns away." Zhu Bajie said, "Don't talk nonsense. Burning fields must be done in the tenth month or so, when grass withers and trees are dry, only then can you set a fire. Now is the flourishing season—how can you burn it?" Pilgrim said, "Even if we could burn it, we'd still be afraid of people." Tripitaka said, "Then how can we get across?" Zhu Bajie laughed and said, "If you want to get across, follow me."

The good idiot, forming a hand sign, reciting an incantation, bending his waist and calling, "Grow!"—he grew to a body some twenty zhang tall. He waved his rake and said, "Transform!"—the rake handle grew to thirty zhang long. He strode forward, using both hands with the rake to push the brambles aside left and right: "Please follow me, Master." Tripitaka was overjoyed and immediately urged his horse to follow closely. Sha Seng carried the luggage; Pilgrim also used his iron staff to part the brambles. That entire day they did not rest their hands, traveling over a hundred miles. As evening approached, they saw an open clearing. On the road stood a stone tablet with three large characters: "Bramble Ridge." Below were two lines of fourteen small characters: "Brambles and creepers stretch eight hundred miles—since ancient times there has been a road, but few have walked it." Zhu Bajie saw it and laughed, saying, "Let me, Old Zhu, add two more lines: 'From now on Zhu Bajie can break through—straight through to the Western road, smooth and level.'" Tripitaka dismounted joyfully and said, "Disciples, you have tired yourselves. Let us stay here for the night and continue when the morning light comes." Zhu Bajie said, "Master, don't stay. Taking advantage of this clear weather and our high spirits, let us push through the night clearing the road." The elder had no choice but to comply.

Zhu Bajie went forward with effort. The masters and disciples did not rest their hands, nor did the horses stop their hooves. They traveled another full day and night, and again evening approached. Ahead the brambles grew dense and tangled, and they heard the sound of wind tapping bamboo and the rustling of pines. Fortunately, there was another clearing, and in the middle stood an ancient temple. Outside the temple gate, pines and cypresses stood green, and peach and plum trees vied in beauty. Tripitaka dismounted and looked with his three disciples. They saw:

An ancient temple before the cliff nestled by a cold stream,

In the setting sun, wild smoke enveloped the ruined mound.

Among white cranes, deep years had passed;

Beneath the green-weathered terrace, springs and autumns went by on their own.

Bamboo swayed—green pendants seemed to speak;

Birds played their lingering notes, as if telling of sorrow.

No dogs or chickens, few traces of people—

Wild flowers and vines encircled the temple walls.

Wukong looked at the place and said, "This land harbors more ill than good fortune. We should not stay long." Sha Wujing said, "Elder Brother, you are mistaken. In this desolate place where no people dwell, where there are not even strange beasts or demon birds, what is there to fear?" Before he finished speaking, a sudden gust of cold wind blew, and from behind the temple door emerged an old man wearing a horn-hemmed scarf, dressed in pale robes, carrying a walking staff, and wearing straw sandals. Behind him followed a demon messenger with a blue face, fangs, red whiskers, and a bare body, carrying a plate of steamed cakes on his head. Kneeling, he said, "Great Sage, this humble deity is the local earth god of Thorny Ridge. Knowing the Great Sage had arrived, I had nothing to offer, so I prepared a plate of steamed cakes to present to your master teacher. Each of you please take one meal. For eight hundred *li* around there are no other households—please eat a little to stave off hunger." Zhu Bajie was delighted. Stepping forward, he stretched out his hand to take a cake. But Wukong had already been studying the situation for some time and shouted, "Hold! This fellow is no good. Do not be discourteous. What earth god are you, to try to deceive old Sun? Take my staff!" When the old man saw him coming, he turned his body and transformed into a gust of cold wind. With a great whoosh, he swept the Elder Master up and carried him away, drifting and fluttering, no one knew where. The Great Sage was frantic and had nowhere to look for him. Bajie and Sha Wujing exchanged horrified glances, and the white horse neighed in alarm. The three brothers and the horse, four in all, wandered in a daze, gazing into the distance, but there was no trace of him anywhere. They searched back and forth—but let us leave this aside.

Now then, that old man and the demon messenger carried the Elder Master to a stone house wreathed in mist and rosy clouds, set him down gently, and taking him by the hand, led him inside, saying, "Holy Monk, do not be afraid. We are no villains. We are the Eighteen Lords of Thorny Ridge. On this clear night of wind and moon, we have especially invited you to meet friends and discuss poetry, to amuse our hearts, that is all." The Elder Master calmed himself and opened his eyes to look carefully. Truly it was:

A misty, cloud-wreathed dwelling beyond the world,

A pure and clear immortal's home.

A fine place to cultivate oneself,

Suitable for planting bamboos and growing flowers.

Often cranes were seen coming to the green cliffs,

And at times frogs sang in the green ponds.

It surpassed even the cinnabar stove of Mount Tiantai,

And rivaled the bright clouds of Mount Hua.

Why speak of plowing the clouds and fishing the moon?

The reclusion here was truly worthy of praise.

Sitting long, the hidden feelings swelled like the sea,

And dimly the moon climbed the window gauze.

As Sanzang was inspecting the surroundings, he gradually became aware that the moon was bright and the stars were clear. Then he heard the sound of people talking. All were saying, "The Eighteen Lords have succeeded in inviting the Holy Monk!" The Elder Master raised his head to look. There were three more old men: the first had a frosty bearing and a handsome appearance; the second had green hair swaying gracefully; the third was dark-hued and hollow-hearted in appearance. Each had a different face and different clothing. They all came forward to bow to Sanzang. The Elder Master returned the courtesy and said, "What virtue does this disciple possess, that such venerable Immortals would deign to honor me?" The Eighteen Lords laughed and said, "We have long known that the Holy Monk possesses the Way. We have waited for this opportunity for a long time, and now at last we have the joy of meeting you. If you would not begrudge us your precious words, sit with us and share your thoughts, and we may witness the true lineage of your Chan understanding." Sanzang bowed and said, "May I ask the honored titles of the Venerable Immortals?" The Eighteen Lords said, "The one with the frosty bearing is called Lord Guzhi; the one with the green hair is called Master Lingkong; the hollow-hearted one is called Old Master Fuyun; and this old fellow's name is Jinjie." Sanzang said, "What ages do the four Venerable Immortals enjoy?" Lord Guzhi said:

"My age now spans a thousand years of antiquity,

My branches reach the sky, my leaves flourish through all four seasons.

My fragrant boughs coil like dragons and snakes,

My broken shadows layer like frost and snow.

From youth I have been firm and strong, able to endure age,

From now on I delight in uprightness and the cultivation of the Real.

Where the crow roosts and the phoenix rests is no ordinary company—

Tall, straight, and remote from the dusty world."

Master Lingkong laughed and said:

"My thousand years have defied the wind and frost,

My tall trunk and spirit branches are naturally strong.

In the quiet of night there is a sound like falling rain,

In the clear autumn the shade spreads like unfurling clouds.

My twisting roots have already attained the secret of long life,

And my destiny is especially suited to the formula of agelessness.

To keep cranes and transform dragons is no common affair—

Lush, vigorous, and near to the immortal realm."

Old Master Fuyun laughed and said:

"A thousand years I have passed through the cold of age,

My venerable scene is carefree, pure, and still more remote.

Unmixed with clamor and dust, ever aloof and cold,

Having endured frost and snow, naturally elegant and free.

The Seven Sages are my companions in discussing the Way,

The Six Recluses are my friends in singing and responding.

The sound of jade struck and gold chinked is not trivial—

My nature is innate and wanders with the immortals."

Jinjie, the Eighteen Lords, laughed and said:

"My years too are roughly over a thousand,

Dark and upright, self-possessed, at ease.

Pity the power that rain and dew have given me to grow,

Borrowing the creative mechanism of Heaven and Earth.

Through ten thousand valleys of wind and mist, I alone flourish,

Through all four seasons of scattering and falling, I am left unrivaled.

My spreading emerald shade retains the immortal guest,

Playing chess, tuning the qin, discussing the Way and books."

Sanzang expressed his thanks and said, "The four Venerable Immortals all enjoy great longevity, but Lord Jinjie has more than a thousand years. To attain the Way at such an advanced age, with such a pure and extraordinary bearing—are you not perhaps the 'Four White-Haired Ones' of the Han dynasty?" The four old men said, "You overpraise us, you overpraise us. We are not the Four White-Haired Ones—we are the 'Four Virtues' of the deep mountains. May I ask the Holy Monk, how old are you?" Sanzang joined his palms, bowed, and replied:

"Forty years ago I left my mother's womb,

But before I was born, my life was already imperiled.

I escaped death, fell into the water, and was tossed by the waves,

And by good fortune came to Golden Mountain and shed my mortal shell.

I have cultivated my nature and studied the sutras without懈怠,

I have bowed to the Buddha with sincere heart, never daring to delay.

Now the Emperor has sent me on a journey west,

And on the road I have received the favor of these Immortals."

All four elders praised him, saying: "Since the Holy Monk left his mother's womb, he has followed the Buddhist faith. Truly one who cultivated from youth—a truly orthodox and virtuous superior monk among the Way. We are fortunate to receive your honored presence and dare to seek your great teaching. We hope you will instruct us in the dharma of Chan, even briefly, to satisfy our hearts for a lifetime."

Hearing these words, the Elder showed no fear and addressed the assembly, saying:

"Chan means stillness; dharma means deliverance. Deliverance within stillness cannot be accomplished without enlightenment. Enlightenment means cleansing the heart and purifying thought, breaking away from the vulgar and leaving the dust behind. A human body is hard to obtain, birth in the Central Land is hard to attain, and encountering the true dharma is hard to meet. To preserve all three of these is a fortune beyond measure. The supreme virtue and wondrous Way are vast, silent, and beyond perception—the six roots and six consciousnesses can thereby be swept away. Bodhi means neither death nor birth, neither excess nor deficiency; it embraces both form and emptiness, and casts aside both sage and commoner. Seeking the truth, one understands the hammer and tongs of the Primordial Beginning; realizing actuality, one understands the methods of Śākyamuni. Giving full play to the formless, one treads upon Nirvāna. One must attain enlightenment within enlightenment and realization within realization, protecting entirely that single point of spiritual light. Unleash the blazing flame to illuminate the sahā world—the dharma realm stretches freely in all directions, manifesting alone. Reaching the most profound and subtle, hold fast all the more—who can deliver you through the dark gateway? I have originally cultivated the great Chan of awakening; only with the right conditions and resolve can one attain realization."

The four elders listened attentively and received his words with boundless joy. One by one they bowed their heads in submission, prostrated themselves, and said with deep gratitude: "The Holy Monk is indeed the very root of Chan insight."

The Cloud-Brush Elder said: "Though Chan is stillness and dharma is deliverance, one must have a settled nature and a sincere heart. Even if one becomes a true immortal of great awakening, one still rests upon the Way of unborn stillness. Our mystery is yet again quite different."

Tripitaka said: "The Way is extraordinary—substance and function are united. How can it be different?"

The Cloud-Brush Elder smiled and said: "We have been born solid and firm; our substance and function differ from yours. We were moved by heaven and earth to receive form, nourished by rain and dew to flourish in color. We laugh at wind and frost, and while away the days and months. Not a single leaf withers; a thousand branches maintain their integrity. If words like these do not strike at the void, you cling to Sanskrit phrases. The Way itself is rooted in the Central Land, yet you come seeking proof in the West—wasting your straw sandals, not knowing what you are looking for. A stone lion has had its heart and liver gouged out; the saliva of wild foxes has soaked clear to the marrow. Forgetting the root and practicing Chan, deludedly seeking the fruit of Buddhahood—it is all like our Thorny Ridge with its tangled riddles and confused babbling. How can such gentlemen be guided? How can such a framework be transmitted? One must examine and correct what lies before one's eyes; within stillness, there is naturally a path of life. Draw water with a bottomless bamboo basket; make a rootless iron tree bloom. Stand firm upon the summit of the Precious Peak, and when you return, you will gracefully attend the assembly of the Dragon Flower."

Hearing these words, Tripitaka knocked his head and bowed in thanks. The Eighteen Gentleman raised him with his hands, the Solitary Straight Elder pulled him up by the body, and the Sky-Drifting Elder laughed and said: "The Cloud-Brush's words have clearly let the secret slip. Holy Monk, please rise—do not believe everything. Taking advantage of this bright moonlight, we did not originally intend to discuss cultivation. Let us instead chant and wander freely, giving full rein to our hearts."

The Cloud-Brush Elder pointed with a smile toward the stone cottage and said: "If you wish to chant, why not enter our small hermitage for a cup of tea?"

The Elder indeed leaned forward and looked toward the stone cottage. Above the door were three large characters: "Wood Immortal Hermitage." Thereupon they all entered together and took their seats in order. Suddenly they saw the bare-bodied ghostly attendant present a plate of poria paste and five cups of fragrant tea. The four elders invited the Tang Monk to eat first, but Tripitaka was startled and suspicious, not daring to eat. The four elders partook together, and only then did Tripitaka eat two pieces. Each drank the fragrant tea, and the cups were taken away. Tripitaka secretly observed the place, and saw that it was luminous and radiant, like the light beneath the moon:

Water flowed from beside the rocks,

Fragrance drifted from among the flowers.

The whole seat was pure and refined,

Without a speck of dust anywhere.

The Elder, seeing this immortal realm, felt a sense of fulfillment. His spirits lifted and his heart opened; he was exceedingly delighted and could not help but recite a line:

"The Chan heart is like the moon—far removed from all dust."

The Sturdy Joint Elder smiled and immediately responded:

"Poetic inspiration is like the sky—ever fresh and ever green."

The Solitary Straight Elder said:

"Fine lines are freely woven like brocade and embroidery."

The Sky-Drifting Elder said:

"Excellent verse needs no polishing—it is a marvel spat from the mouth."

The Cloud-Brush Elder said:

"The six dynasties washed away, all splendor exhausted;

The four beginnings re-edited, the elegant and the hymned divided."

Tripitaka said: "This disciple spoke carelessly for a moment, babbling a few words—truly what is called 'wielding an axe at Lu Ban's door.' But having just heard the immortals' words, so fresh and elegant, you are truly masters of poetry."

The Sturdy Joint Elder said: "Holy Monk, let us not idle in conversation. A monk should see things through from beginning to end. Since you have an opening line, why not a closing one? We hope you will complete it."

Tripitaka said: "This disciple cannot. I would trouble the Eighteen Gentleman to complete the poem."

The Eighteen Gentleman said: "What a kind heart you have! You began the line—why are you unwilling to bring it to fruition? To be stingy with pearls and gems is not the way."

Tripitaka had no choice but to add the final two lines:

"Half a pillow of pine wind, the tea not yet done brewing—

A chanting heart, free and easy, brimming with spring in every vein."

The Eighteen Gentleman said: "What a fine line—'A chanting heart, free and easy, brimming with spring in every vein'!"

The Solitary Straight Elder said: "Sturdy Joint, you truly understand the flavor of poetry, so you savor it endlessly. Why not begin another poem?"

The Eighteen Gentleman, not declining, said: "I will begin with a linking-spring pattern:

In spring it does not flourish; in winter it does not wither—

Clouds come and mist departs, as if nothing were there at all."

The Sky-Drifting Elder said: "I too will follow the linking-spring pattern with two lines:

No wind stirs the swaying shadows;

A guest delights in the image of fortune and longevity."

The Cloud-Brush Elder also linked:

"The image resembles the firm and jointed elder of the Western Hills;

Pure as the heartless gentleman of the Southern Land."

The Solitary Straight Elder also linked:

"The gentleman, because of his lateral leaves, is called a beam and rafter;

The terrace, because of its horizontal branches, serves as a model crow."

The Elder listened and praised without end, saying: "Truly this is 'Spring Snow'—a soaring, noble spirit. This disciple is unworthy, but I dare to add two more lines."

The Solitary Straight Elder said: "The Holy Monk is a man of the Way, one who has greatly nurtured himself. Let us not continue linking lines. Please bestow upon us a complete poem, so that we too may strive to match it."

Tripitaka had no choice but to smile and chant a regulated verse:

"With staff and alms bowl I came west to pay homage to the Dharma King,

Wishing to seek the wondrous canon and spread it far and wide.

Three-fold blooming golden fungi—an auspicious sign in the poetry garden;

A thousand-petaled precious tree—lotus fragrance on every bough.

At the top of the hundred-foot pole, one must advance yet further;

In the ten directions of the world, establish your conduct and your concealment.

Cultivate to completion the solemn body of jade—

Before the gate of Ultimate Bliss is the place of the Way."

The four old ones, having heard it through, praised it highly. The Eighteen-Scholar Lord said, "This old fool has no talent, and has boldly presumed to intrude, yet I too shall force myself to compose a matching poem." He said:

"Lofty and solitary, I laugh at the king of trees,

The sacred chun-tree cannot match my fame.

In the empty mountain, a hundred-span shadows of dragon and snake,

From the spring, a thousand years of amber fragrance drawn.

I share with Heaven and Earth a spirit of vigor,

And delight in wind and rain to transform my comings and goings.

Decayed and feeble, I shame myself for lacking immortal bones—

Only can I bind a field of fuling fungus for long life."

The Solitary Straight Lord said, "This poem's opening line is bold and heroic, its couplets forceful, but its closing lines are too self-deprecating. Most admirable! Most admirable! This old fool shall also compose a matching poem." He said:

"Frosty bearing, ever pleased to host the king of birds,

Before the Hall of Four Perfections, great talent is displayed.

Heavy dew bejewels the emerald canopy with pearl tassels,

Light wind crushes the cold fragrance through stone teeth.

In the long corridor, still at night, chanting voices are soft,

In the ancient hall, autumn shadows lie dimly hidden.

On New Year's Day, I once offered longevity at the spring welcome,

In old age, I lodge my pride in the mountain retreat."

The Soaring-into-Empty-Space Lord laughed and spoke, saying, "Fine poem, fine poem! Truly it is the flank of the moon and the heart of Heaven. What ability has this old fool to compose a match? But we cannot let the moment pass in vain—I too must toss out a few lines." He said:

"A beam and rafter's timber, near to emperors and kings,

Beyond the Palace of Supreme Purity, my fame is proclaimed.

In the bright pavilion, I seem to bring the azure air,

On the dark wall, I regularly pass the emerald fragrance.

My sturdy integrity stands awe-inspiring, a thousand ages' grace,

My deep roots are bound, hidden in the nine springs.

My cloud-surpassing stature overshadows the swaying shadows—

I do not belong among the gaudy splendor of the flower garden."

The Cloud-Brush Sire said, "The three lords' poems, lofty and pure, have truly opened the brocade pouch. My body has no strength, my belly has no talent. Having received the three lords' instruction, my rustic ignorance is suddenly dispelled. Since I must, I shall dash off a few crude lines—pray do not laugh." The poem said:

"In the garden of Qi and Ao, I delight in the sage king,

By the thousand acres of Wei River, my fame spreads far.

The green bamboo is not stained by the tears of Xiang's queens,

The mottled husks can transmit the fragrance of Han history's page.

Frost-touched leaves come of themselves, their hue unchanged,

Misty tips from this day—where is their color hidden?

Since Master You died, kindred spirits have been few,

Through all ages, I leave my name in the field of brush and ink."

Tripitaka said, "The poems of the venerable immortals are truly like spouting phoenixes and spraying pearls—even You and Bu could not add praise. Your deep affection and noble sentiment move me profoundly. But the night is now deep, and my three young disciples do not know where they wait for me. This disciple cannot linger long—I venture to take leave and go seek them out, with boundless gratitude for your extraordinary kindness. I hope the venerable immortals will point me the way home."

The four old ones laughed and said, "Holy monk, do not worry. For us too this is a once-in-a-thousand-years encounter. Moreover, the sky is clear and bright—though the night is deep, the moon shines as brightly as day. Sit a while longer, and when dawn comes we shall personally escort you across the ridge. Your esteemed disciples will certainly be found."

Even as they spoke, they saw beyond the stone cottage two young maidens in blue, carrying a pair of crimson gauze lanterns, escorting behind them a celestial maiden. That fairy was holding a branch of apricot blossoms, smiling as she entered to greet them. What did that fairy look like? She was:

A jade-green form adorned like kingfisher feathers,

A cinnabar face rivaling rouge.

Star-bright eyes that still held luster,

Moth eyebrows elegant and even.

Below, a five-colored plum-blossom skirt of light red,

Above, a light jacket of "fire within smoke."

Her slippers curved like a phoenix beak,

Her silk stockings trailed brocade in the mud.

Enchanting and lovely, like a maiden from the Terrace of Heaven,

No less charming than the seductive Daji of old.

The four old ones bowed and asked, "Apricot Fairy, whence do you come?" The maiden bowed to all and said, "Knowing that honored guests are here composing verses, I have come to pay a visit, presumptuously seeking an audience." The Eighteen-Scholar Lord pointed to Tripitaka and said, "The honored guest is here—why seek an audience?" Tripitaka bowed and dared not speak. The maiden called out, "Quickly, bring tea!" Two more maidens in yellow brought a red-lacquered cinnabar tray, on which were six fine porcelain tea cups, each containing several rare fruits, with spoons laid across; they also carried a white-iron-and-brass-inlaid teapot, from whose interior the fragrant tea exhaled its aroma. After pouring the tea, the maiden revealed her spring-onion fingers, and holding the porcelain cup, first offered it to Tripitaka, then to the four old ones, then took a cup for herself and sat as their companion.

The Soaring-into-Empty-Space Lord said, "Why does the Apricot Fairy not sit?" The maiden then went to sit. After tea, she bowed and asked, "The venerable immortals' grand amusement tonight—might I ask to hear a poem or two?" The Cloud-Brush Sire said, "We have all been composing rustic, vulgar lines—only the holy monk's are true works of the High Tang, most worthy of admiration."

The maiden said, "If you would not begrudge the instruction, I beg to be shown." The four old ones then recited for her the elder's earlier and later poems, along with his discourses on the dharma. The maiden's face was full of spring as she said to all, "This humble body has no talent and ought not to display its ugliness. But having heard these fine poems, I feel I cannot let the occasion pass in vain. Might I presumptuously compose a matching verse to the later poem?" She then recited aloud:

"Above, I leave my name with Han's martial king,

In Zhou times, Confucius established his altar and spread my fame.

Master Dong loved me, forming groves in abundance,

Sun Chu once pitied my Cold Food Festival fragrance.

Rain moistens my red form, tender and lovely,

Mist steams my emerald hue, revealed yet hidden.

I know myself that overripe brings a faint sourness—

Where I fall, year after year I accompany the wheat field."

The four old ones, hearing the poem, all congratulated her, saying, "Pure and refined, beyond the dust—within the lines lies the breath of spring. Excellent—'Rain moistens my red form, tender and lovely'! 'Rain moistens my red form, tender and lovely'!"

The maiden smiled and softly replied, "I am flattered, I am flattered. Having just heard the holy monk's verses, truly they are a brocade heart and embroidered lips. If you would not begrudge your pearls and jade, might you grant me a verse in return?" Tripitaka dared not agree.

The maiden gradually conceived a feeling of fondness, pressing closer and closer, gradually nearing his seat, speaking in a low, soft voice: "Honored guest, do not be like this. Seizing this fine night, what else should we do if not enjoy ourselves? How long is the span of a human life?"

The Eighteen-Scholar Lord said, "The Apricot Fairy has every sentiment of looking up to the high—how can the holy monk lack the inclination to condescend? If you show no favor, that would be failing to appreciate the situation."

The Solitary Straight Lord said, "The holy monk is a man of the Way and of reputation—he certainly would not act improperly. To proceed in such a manner would be for us to commit an offense. To stain a man's name and ruin a man's virtue is not far-sighted conduct. If indeed the Apricot Fairy has intentions, let the Cloud-Brush Sire and the Eighteen-Scholar Lord act as go-betweens, and I and the Soaring-into-Empty-Space Lord stand as guarantors of the match. To bring about this union—what could be more beautiful?"

Upon hearing these words, Tripitaka changed color, leaped to his feet, and cried out loudly: "You are all creatures of the same kind, luring me with such tricks! At first, you could have spoken of the profound Way in humble terms, discussing the mysteries of philosophy. But now you set up a beauty trap to deceive and harm this poor monk—what principle is this?" The four elders saw Tripitaka's anger and, one and all, bit their fingers in alarm, saying no more. The naked demon attendant, fierce as thunder, roared: "This monk knows not how to appreciate kindness! What is wrong with my sister? She is graceful in person and delicate in form. Needlework aside, even her poetic talent alone is a match for you. How can you refuse so stubbornly? Do not miss this chance. The words of Lord Guzhi are most fitting. If you cannot consent to a union, let me act as the matchmaker for you." Tripitaka turned pale with fright. No matter how they ranted and raved, he would not yield. The demon attendant said again: "You monk! We speak to you with good words, but you refuse to listen. If we let loose our rustic nature, we will carry you off and make it so you can neither be a monk nor take a wife—would that not be a waste of a human life?" The elder's heart was firm as metal and stone; he stood resolute and would not comply. Secretly he thought: "I wonder where my disciples are searching for me!" As he spoke, he could not stop the tears from falling. The woman, smiling, drew close to him. From her emerald sleeve she brought out a honey-colored silk handkerchief and wiped his tears, saying: "Do not trouble yourself, fair guest. Come, let us lean on jade and nestle in fragrance—let us amuse ourselves." The elder gave a sharp shout, leaped to his feet, and tried to leave. But they pulled and dragged him, shouting until dawn broke.

Suddenly, from somewhere came a cry: "Master! Master! Where are you speaking?" It was the Great Sage Sun, together with Bajie and Sha Wujing, leading the horse and carrying the load. They had not stopped all night, pushing through brambles and thorns, searching east and west. They had just passed through the eight hundred leagues of the Bramble Ridge, half in cloud and half in mist, when they heard Tang Sanzang's shout, and so they called out. The elder broke free from the door and cried: "Wukong! I am here! Come quickly and save me! Come quickly and save me!" The four elders, the demon attendant, the woman, and the young girls—all flickered and vanished.

In an instant, Bajie and Sha Wujing arrived at his side. "Master, how did you get here?" Tripitaka seized the Pilgrim and said: "Disciples, I have put you through much trouble. Last evening, when I met that old man who said the Earth God was offering you food, it was because you raised your voice to strike him that he carried me here. He took my hand and led me inside, where I met three more elders who had come to greet me, all calling me 'Holy Monk.' One and all, their conversation was refined and they were most skilled at poetry. I exchanged verses with them, and before I knew it, it was the middle of the night. Then a beautiful woman carrying a lamp came to join us as well. She recited a poem and called me 'fair guest.' Seeing my appearance, she wished to seek a mate with me. Only then did I realize the truth. Just as I was refusing, they pressed on—some acting as matchmakers, some as go-betweens, some as officiators of the wedding—but I swore I would not consent. As I struggled to leave and argued with them, I did not expect you to arrive. First, it was dawn, and second, they feared you, so they only pulled and dragged me—and then suddenly they were gone." The Pilgrim said: "Since you conversed and exchanged poems with them, did you not ask their names?" Tripitaka said: "I did ask their titles. The old man was called Shiba Gong, styled Jinjie; the second was Lord Guzhi; the third was Lingkong Zi; the fourth was Fu Yun Sou. The woman was called Apricot Immortal." Bajie said: "Where are these creatures? Which way did they go?" Tripitaka said: "I do not know where they went; but the place where we discussed poetry is not far from here."

The three of them went with their master to look, and there they saw a stone cliff, on which were carved the three characters "Wood Immortal Hermitage." Tripitaka said: "This is the place." The Pilgrim examined it carefully and discovered that it was, in fact, a great cypress tree, an old cedar, an old pine, and an old bamboo, behind which stood a red maple. Looking at the other side of the cliff, there was also an old apricot, two wintersweet trees, and two osmanthus trees. The Pilgrim laughed and said: "Did you see any demons?" Bajie said: "No." The Pilgrim said: "You do not know it, but these very trees have become spirits here." Bajie said: "How does Big Brother know the spirits are trees?" The Pilgrim said: "Shiba Gong is the pine tree, Lord Guzhi is the cedar, Lingkong Zi is the cypress, Fu Yun Sou is the bamboo, the naked demon is the maple, the Apricot Immortal is the apricot tree, and the young girls are the osmanthus and the wintersweet." When Bajie heard this, he made no distinction between good and bad. With a few strokes of his rake and his long snout, pushing and striking, he knocked down the two wintersweet trees, the osmanthus, the old apricot, and the maple, so that blood flowed freely from their roots. Tripitaka stepped forward and seized him: "Wuneng, do not harm them! Although they have attained a certain power, they did not injure me. Let us find our way and go." The Pilgrim said: "Master, do not pity them. I fear that in time they will become great monsters and bring no small harm to people." The fool, not to be stopped, gave another round of strikes with his rake and felled the pine, the cedar, the cypress, and the bamboo all at once. Only then did he invite his master to mount the horse, and together they traveled west along the main road.

What happened next on their journey will be told in the following chapter.