Chapter 81

Chapter 81

Here follows the account of the pilgrims' arrival at Zhenhai Chanlin Temple. The monks received them and arranged a vegetarian meal. When the four pilgrims had finished eating, the woman also received some sustenance. As dusk gradually fell, lanterns were lit in the abbot's quarters. The monks had two reasons for gathering: first, to ask Tripitaka about his pilgrimage for scriptures, and second, to gaze at the woman. They crowded together, arrayed beneath the lanterns. Tripitaka said to the lama monk he had first met, "Abbot, tomorrow we leave this precious mountain. What is the road to the west like?" The monk dropped to his knees. The elder, startled, quickly pulled him up saying, "Abbot, please rise. I asked you about the road—why do you bow?" The monk said, "Venerable Master, the road west tomorrow is smooth and level—you need not worry. But there is one matter that is awkward. I wanted to speak of it as soon as you entered, but I feared to offend your great dignity. Now that the meal is finished, I venture to tell you boldly: the Master has traveled from the east, the road is long and arduous. It would be well for you and your disciples to rest in the young monks' quarters. But as for this female Bodhisattva, it would be inconvenient. I do not know where to arrange her sleeping quarters." Tripitaka said, "Abbot, do not harbor suspicions that my disciples and I have any improper intentions. This morning, passing through the Black Pine Forest, we came upon this woman tied to a tree. My disciple Sun Wukong refused to save her, but I, moved by bodhi mind, rescued her. Now that we are here, please have her taken wherever you think suitable for her to sleep." The monk thanked him and said, "Since the Master is so generous, let us take her to the Heavenly King Hall. Behind the image of the Heavenly King, we can arrange a straw mat for her to sleep on." Tripitaka said, "Very good, very good." Thereupon the young monks led the woman to sleep behind the hall. The elder remained in the abbot's quarters, bid the other abbots go about their business, and they dispersed. Tripitaka told Wukong, "You've worked hard. Sleep early and rise early." They all slept in one place, none daring to leave the master's side, protecting their teacher. As the night deepened, it was just as the verse says:

The jade rabbit rises high—ten thousand sounds grow still;

The heavenly streets are silent, no travelers pass by.

The Silver River gleams, its starlight brilliant;

The watchman's drum sounds from the tower, hastening the change of the night watch.

We will not dwell on the events of that evening. When dawn broke, the Pilgrim rose and told Bajie and Sha Wujing to pack the luggage and prepare the horse, then to ask the master to set out. At this hour the elder was still drowsy and had not yet awakened. The Pilgrim approached and called, "Master." The master lifted his head slightly but could not make a reply. The Pilgrim asked, "Master, what is wrong?" The elder groaned, "Why is my head hanging and my eyes swollen like this? Every bone and sinew in my body aches." Bajie, hearing this, reached out to feel his body and found it somewhat warm. The fool laughed and said, "I know what it is—last night we had a free meal, and I ate too many bowls. I fell asleep with a full belly and got indigestion." The Pilgrim scolded him, "Nonsense! Let me ask the master what really happened." Tripitaka said, "In the middle of the night I got up to relieve myself. I was not wearing my hat—I think I caught a draft." The Pilgrim said, "That makes sense. Can you travel now?" Tripitaka said, "I cannot even sit up now, let alone mount a horse. I am only delaying the journey." The Pilgrim said, "Master, what are you saying? As the saying goes, 'Be a teacher for a day, be a father for life.' We who are your disciples are like your sons. And it is also said, 'Raising sons need not cost gold and silver—it is enough to respond to circumstances as they arise.' Since you are unwell, what does it matter if the journey is delayed? What harm is there in resting for a few days?" The brothers all attended to their master, and before they knew it, morning had passed and evening came again; a fine night had barely ended when dawn crept near once more.

Time passed swiftly, and three days went by. On one of those days, the master sat up with difficulty and called, "Wukong, these past two days my illness has been heavy, and I have not asked you: has anyone brought food to that female Bodhisattva whose life we saved?" The Pilgrim laughed and said, "Why do you concern yourself with her? Take care of your own illness first." Tripitaka said, "Yes, yes. Help me up and fetch my paper, brush, and ink. We can borrow an inkstone from the temple." The Pilgrim said, "What do you need them for?" The elder said, "I wish to write a letter and seal it together with the travel documents. I want you to deliver it to the court in Chang'an, to have an audience with Emperor Taizong." The Pilgrim said, "That is easy. In other matters I may be useless, but when it comes to delivering letters, I am the best in the mortal world. When you have the letter ready, give it to me. I will somersault to Chang'an and present it to the Tang Emperor, then somersault back, and your ink will not even have dried. But why are you sending a letter? Read me what you intend to say—you can write it after I have heard it." The elder shed tears and said:

"Your monk bows three times, touching his head to the ground;

Ten thousand years! I bow to my sacred lord.

Both civil and martial officials look on together;

Four hundred dukes and ministers all hear of this:

In years past, by imperial decree I left the Eastern Land,

Hoping to reach the Holy Mountain and see the World-Honored One.

Who could have known calamity would strike along the road,

Or that disaster would come midway on the journey?

This monk, gravely ill, can advance no further;

The Buddha's gate reaches far, touching the gates of heaven.

To have the scriptures but no life—all labor in vain.

I humbly petition the present throne to send another in my stead."

When the Pilgrim heard these words, he could not help but laugh loudly. "Master, you are truly incompetent! You have a slight illness, and already you entertain such thoughts. If your illness were severe, if you were at death's door, you need only ask me. I, Old Sun, have a skill: I would ask which King of the Underworld would dare to scheme? Which judge would dare to issue a warrant? Which ghostly messenger would dare to come and seize you? If they provoked me, I would unleash the same temper that I showed when I wreaked havoc in Heaven. With one sweep of my staff, I would storm the Underworld, seize the Ten Kings of Hell, strip the sinews from each one of them, and still not spare them!" Tripitaka said, "Disciple, I am gravely ill. Please do not speak such wild words."

Bajie stepped forward and said, "Elder Brother, when Master says he's not well, you keep insisting he's fine. It's terribly awkward. Let's discuss this early — sell the horse, pawn the luggage, buy a coffin for the final rites, and disband our company." Wukong said, "Idiot, you're talking nonsense again. You don't understand. Master was the second disciple of the Buddha Tathāgata, originally called the Golden Cicada Elder. He suffered this great calamity because he showed contempt for the Buddha's teachings." Bajie said, "Brother, since Master showed contempt for the Buddha's teachings and was banished back to the Eastern Land, amid seas of trouble and arenas of gossip, he was reborn as a mortal, vowing to travel west to worship the Buddha and seek the scriptures. He's been bound by demons and strung up by fiends — he's suffered enough. Why should he also fall ill?" Wukong said, "You don't understand that. Master once failed to listen attentively to the Buddha's sermon. He dozed off and nodded downward, and his left foot kicked down a single grain of rice. For this, he was destined to suffer illness for three days." Bajie said in alarm, "The way I, Old Pig, eat — sloppily spilling and scattering — I must be owed illness for countless ages!" Wukong said, "Brother, the Buddha does not concern himself with living beings, and you don't know this. As the saying goes: 'At noon they hoe the fields with care, / Sweat drips and falls to earth below. / Who knows that every grain within the bowl / Is born of bitter toil and pain.' Master will be well again tomorrow, just one more day." The Tripitaka said, "Today I feel different from yesterday — my throat is terribly parched. Go and find some cool water for me to drink." Wukong said, "Good! Master asking for water means he's getting better. I'll fetch some at once."

He took the alms bowl and went to the fragrant kitchen behind the temple to draw water. Suddenly he saw the monks with red-rimmed eyes, weeping and choking back sobs, not daring to cry aloud. Wukong said, "You monks are so petty. We've stayed only a few days. When we leave, we'll thank you and pay for firewood by the day. Why are you such cowards?" The monks hastily knelt down and said, "We dare not, we dare not." Wukong said, "Why dare not? You think my long-mouthed monk has an enormous appetite that's drained your resources?" The monks said, "Your Honor, in our humble mountain, we have a hundred or so monks. Even if each one of us fed Your Honor for a day, we could manage a hundred and ten days. How would we dare to be so ungrateful as to haggle over provisions?" Wukong said, "If you're not haggling, then why are you weeping?" The monks said, "Your Honor, some fiend from the mountains has come to this temple. Two nights ago, we sent two junior monks to strike the bell and drum. We heard the bell and drum sound, but they never returned. The next day we searched and found only their monks' caps and shoes in the back garden — their bones remained, but they had been eaten. In the three days you've stayed, six of our monks have vanished. That is why our brothers cannot help but fear and grieve. Because we saw your honored Master was ill, we dared not speak of it, and could not hold back our tears." Wukong, upon hearing this, was both alarmed and delighted. He said, "Say no more — it must be a demon here harming people. Let me exterminate it for you." The monks said, "Your Honor, a spirit that is not cunning is not truly powerful. It must be able to ride the clouds and mist, must be able to descend into the underworld. As the ancients well said, 'Do not trust in straightforwardness, / You must guard against those without benevolence.' Your Honor, don't take offense at what we say: if you can capture it, you will rid our humble mountain of this scourge — that would be the greatest fortune of three lifetimes. But if you fail to capture it, there would be considerable trouble." Wukong said, "What trouble?" The monks said, "We speak plainly to Your Honor: though our humble mountain has a hundred or so monks, all of us took the tonsure as children. When our hair grows long we cut it with a blade, and our clothes are stitched from tattered rags. In the morning we wash our hands and face, fold our bowels, and bow in homage to the Great Way. At night we burn incense, knock our teeth in devotion, and recite Amitābha's name. Raising our heads, we see the nine grades of the Buddha's lotus, cultivating the three vehicles of compassion and the Dharma-cloud together, praying to see the World-Honored One of Jetavana. Lowering our heads, we examine our hearts, receive the five precepts, vow to save the thousand worlds, and hope through all the lives of the Dharma to awaken to emptiness and formlessness. When the donors come — old and young, tall and short, fat and thin — each one strikes the wooden fish, taps the golden chime, and presses close together, reciting two scrolls of the Lotus Sutra and one copy of the Liang King's Repentance. When the donors do not come — new and old, raw and ripe, rustic and refined — each one joins palms, closes eyes, silently and still, sitting in meditation on the rush cushion, firmly closing the door beneath the moon. Let the orioles and birds contend in idle song — they do not reach our Great Vehicle of expedient means and compassion. Therefore, we cannot subdue tigers, nor can we vanquish dragons; we do not recognize monsters, nor do we recognize spirits. If Your Honor provokes that demon, a hundred or so of our monks would be enough for just one of his meals. First, it would drag us living beings back into the cycle of rebirth. Second, it would destroy this ancient site of our meditation grove. Third, it would mean the complete loss of all glory at the Buddha's assembly. These are the considerable troubles."

When Wukong heard the monks speak these words, anger rose in his heart and malice grew beside his gall. He cried out in a loud voice: "You foolish monks! You only know of that demon, but you don't know the deeds of old Sun, do you?" The monks answered softly: "Truly, we do not know." Wukong said, "Let me tell it briefly today—listen well. I once tamed tigers and subdued dragons on Flower-Fruit Mountain. I once went up to Heaven and caused a great uproar in the Celestial Palace. When hungry, I bit two or three of Laozi's pills; when thirsty, I lightly drank six or seven cups of the Jade Emperor's wine. With a pair of golden eyes neither white nor black, the sky was gloomy and the moon dim; wielding a golden-banded staff neither short nor long, I came without a shadow and went without a trace. What matter great demons or small monsters? I fear not even the most listless and pus-filled. When I chase them, some run, some tremble, some hide, some panic. When I catch them, some are filed, some burned, some ground, some pounded. Truly, like the Eight Immortals crossing the sea, each showing their divine power. Monks, let me capture this demon for you to see—then you'll recognize old Sun."

The monks listened and nodded secretly to themselves: "This bald thief speaks with a big mouth and grand words—he must have some background." They all murmured assent one after another. Only the lama monk said, "Hold on. Your revered master is ill, and capturing this demon is not urgent. As the saying goes, 'A guest at a feast is either drunk or full; a warrior in battle is either dead or wounded.' When you two fight, if it brings trouble upon your master, it would not be safe."

Wukong said, "You have a point, you have a point. Let me first bring cool water to my master and then come back." He picked up the alms bowl, filled it with cool water, left the kitchen, went straight to the abbot's quarters, and called out: "Master, drink some cool water." Sanzang was just then parched with thirst, so he raised his head, took the water, and drank it in one gulp. Truly: when thirsty, a drop is like sweet dew; when the right medicine is found, the illness is cured. Seeing the old master's spirit gradually revive and his brows relax, Wukong asked, "Master, can you eat some soup and rice?" Sanzang said, "This cool water is like a magic elixir—my illness is already half gone. I can eat some soup and rice." Wukong called out loudly in a high voice, "My master is better and wants soup and rice!" He had the monks quickly prepare things: washing rice and cooking, kneading dough and baking buns, steaming buns and making noodle soup—they set out four or five tables. Tang Seng only ate half a bowl of rice broth. Wukong and Sha Wujing used only one table. The rest was all devolved into Zhu Bajie's belly. The utensils were cleared away, lamps were lit, and the monks dispersed to their quarters.

Sanzang asked, "How many days have we stayed here?" Wukong said, "Three full days. Tomorrow evening will be the fourth day." Sanzang said, "Three days have delayed much of our journey." Wukong said, "Master, it doesn't count as a journey. Let's go tomorrow." Sanzang said, "Indeed. Even with some illness, there's nothing to be done." Wukong said, "Since we're going tomorrow, let me catch the demon tonight." Sanzang was startled and said, "Catch what demon again?" Wukong said, "There's a demon in this temple. Let old Sun catch it for you." Tang Seng said, "Disciple, my sick body is not yet recovered—how can you have such a notion again? If that monster has divine powers and you can't capture it, won't you be bringing harm upon me?" Wukong said, "You're destroying your own prestige. Old Sun has been subduing demons everywhere—have you ever seen me come off worse than anyone? I just don't act; when I act, I win." Sanzang grabbed him and said, "Disciple, as the saying goes: 'When convenient, do what is convenient; when you can spare someone, spare them.' 'What good is striving compared to keeping a good heart? What good is contending compared to bearing insult with patience?'" The Great Sage Sun saw his master earnestly pleading with him not to subdue the demon, so he spoke the truth: "Master, I won't hide it from you—that demon has been eating people here." Tang Seng was greatly shocked and said, "Eaten what people?" Wukong said, "We've stayed three days, and it has already eaten six young monks in this temple." The elder said, 'When the rabbit dies, the fox grieves; things of the same kind pity each other.' Since it has eaten monks of this temple, and I too am a monk, I will let you go—just be careful." Wukong said, "Needless to say—when old Sun's hand reaches it, the problem is solved."

Look at him: before the lamp, he instructed Bajie and Sha Wujing to watch over the Master. Then he jumped out of the abbot's quarters with delight and went straight to the Buddha Hall to have a look. The sky had stars, but the moon had not yet risen—the hall was pitch dark. He then breathed out true fire to light the glass lamps. He beat the drum on the east side and struck the bell on the west side. After the sounds, he shook his body and transformed into a small monk, only twelve or thirteen years old, wearing a yellow silk surplice and white cloth robe, knocking a wooden fish and chanting sutras. He waited until the first watch, but nothing stirred. At the second watch, the waning moon finally rose, and only then did he hear a whoosh of wind. What a wind:

Dark fog obscured the sky, gloomy clouds darkened the earth. The four directions were like spilled ink, all was dyed in indigo. First it blew up dust and scattered soil, then it uprooted trees and toppled forests. When dust flew and soil scattered, the stars appeared; when trees were uprooted and forests toppled, the moon grew dim. It blew so hard that: Chang'e tightly hugged the silk tree, the Jade Rabbit huddled looking for its medicine pot; the Nine Luminaries all closed their doors, the Dragon Kings of the four seas shut their gates; the City God in the temple searched for little ghosts, how could immortals in the sky ride clouds; King Yama of the underworld sought the Horse-Face demon, the Judge ran about chasing his hat. It stirred the stones atop Mount Kunlun and churned the waves of rivers and lakes into chaos.

No sooner had the breeze passed than he caught the heavy scent of orchid musk and the tinkling of jade pendants. He leaned forward and raised his head to look—ah! It was a beautiful woman, walking straight up to the Buddha hall. Wukong muttered and mumbled away inside, reciting sutras with all his might. The woman drew close and threw her arms around him, saying, "Little elder, what sutra are you reciting?" "One I vowed to recite," said Wukong. "Everyone else is sleeping peacefully. Why are you still reciting?" "I made a vow—how could I not recite?" The woman pulled him close and kissed him on the mouth. "Come play with me in the back." Wukong deliberately turned his head away. "You don't understand things very well." "Can you read faces?" she asked. "I know a little of it." "Then read my face—what do you see?" "I see someone who's a bit of a stolen-life pariah, driven out by her in-laws." "Wrong, wrong! It was not my in-laws who drove me out, nor was I a pariah of stolen life. It is simply that in a former life my fate was thin, and I was matched with a young man. I knew not the ways of the wedding chamber and nuptial candle, and so I fled from my husband. Now the stars are bright and the moon is clear—we are destined to meet across a thousand li. Come with me to the back garden, and let us join in bliss as mandarin ducks." Hearing this, Wukong nodded inwardly. "Those foolish monks were all lusted after by desire, and so they lost their lives. Now this one comes to deceive me too." He answered offhandedly, "Lady, I am a monk still young in years, and I know nothing of the art of bliss." "Come with me, and I'll teach you." Wukong laughed to himself. "Very well, I'll go with her and see what she does."

The two of them, shoulder to shoulder and hand in hand, left the Buddha hall and went straight to the back garden. The monster tripped Wukong with a leg sweep, knocking him to the ground. Crying "Darling brother!" she reached for his private parts. "My child," said Wukong, "so you really want to eat old Sun!" But Wukong caught her hand and used a small throwing technique, sending the monster tumbling to the ground in a heap. The monster still cried out, "Darling brother, you know how to throw your mother!" Wukong calculated: "If I don't strike now, when will I? As they say: 'He who strikes first prevails; he who strikes last suffers.'" He crossed his hands, bent his waist, leaped up, and revealed his true form. Whirling his golden-banded iron rod, he smashed it down upon her head. The monster was taken aback. She thought to herself: "This little monk is quite formidable." She opened her eyes and looked—it was none other than Elder Tang's disciple, Sun. But she was not afraid of him. What manner of spirit was this creature?

A nose of gold, fur spread like snow. The earth itself her doorway, her dwelling secure wherever she roamed. She had nurtured her vital essence for three hundred years and had once made several journeys to Spirit Mountain. She feasted on fragrant flowers and wax candles, and the Tathagata himself had commanded her descent to the heavenly realm. She was the beloved daughter of the Pagoda-Bearing Heavenly King, and the Third Prince Nezha acknowledged her as his own. She was neither the bird that fills the sea, nor the turtle that carries the mountain. She feared not Lei Huan's sword, nor Lü Qian's blade. Back and forth she came and went, indifferent as the swelling currents of the Yangtze and Han; up and down she moved, heedless as the towering heights of Mount Tai and Mount Heng. Look at her, blooming and lovely like the moon—who would know she was an old rat who had become a spirit, showing off her prowess?

Relying on her vast supernatural powers, she raised her twin swords at will, which clanged and clattered, blocking left and right, parrying east and west. Though Wukong was the stronger, he could not quite seize her. A dark wind rose on all sides, and the waning moon lost its light. Behold the two of them—what a battle in the back garden:

A dark wind rose from the ground, the waning moon flickered faint light. Still and silent was the Brahma King's hall, desolate the corridor of little ghosts—the back garden had become a battlefield. Sun the Great Sage, a saint of heaven; the Maiden of Fur, a queen among women—each vying in divine power, neither willing to yield. The one turned her tender heart in fury against the dark bald one; the other opened his bright eyes in wrath at the newly adorned face. Two flying swords—who would recognize a female Bodhisattva? One striking rod—fierce as a living vajra. Where the golden-banded rod sounded, it was like lightning flashing; in an instant, the iron gleamed white and blazed like starlight. Jade towers snatched at kingfishers, golden halls shattered mandarin ducks. The apes cried, and the moon over Ba seemed small; the wild geese called, and the sky over Chu seemed vast. The eighteen Arhats secretly cheered, and the thirty-two Devas trembled with alarm.

The Great Sage Sun, brimming with spirit, his rod without a single misstep. The demoness reckoned she could no longer withstand him. Suddenly she knit her brows, and a scheme rose in her heart. She withdrew and fled. Wukong roared, "Wretch, where do you think you're going? Surrender at once!" The demoness paid him no mind, retreating straight back. When Wukong pressed the pursuit to its most urgent point, she pulled off the flowered shoe on her left foot, blew a breath of immortal qi, recited an incantation, and cried out, "Transform!" It changed into her own likeness, brandishing two swords and coming at him. Her true form flickered once and she transformed into a clear breeze and departed. Was this not a calamity for Sanzang? She went straight to the abbot's quarters, seized Tripitaka Tang, and carried him onto a cloud. Vague and dim, in the blink of an eye they had arrived at Pitfall Mountain and entered the Bottomless Cave, where she ordered her miniors to prepare a vegetarian wedding feast—but of this, no more.

Now, Wukong had been fighting with mounting impatience and fury. He created an opening and brought his staff down on the demon, knocking it to the ground—only to find it was a flower shoe. Wukong realized he'd fallen for the demon's trick and turned quickly to look for his master, but the master was nowhere to be seen. Only the idiot and Friar Sand were there, babbling something in a confused jumble. Filled with rage, Wukong paid no heed to right or wrong, grabbed his staff, and began striking wildly, shouting again and again, "I'll beat you to death! I'll beat you to death!" The idiot panicked and didn't know where to flee. But Friar Sand, being a great general of Spirit Mountain and a man of wide experience, approached with gentle and softened manner, knelt down, and said, "Elder Brother, I understand. You mean to kill the two of us, not bother rescuing our master, and just go straight home." Wukong said, "After I kill the two of us, I'll rescue him myself." Friar Sand smiled and said, "Elder Brother, what kind of talk is that? Without the two of us, it truly is 'a single strand cannot make a thread, one hand cannot clap.' Brother, who would look after the luggage and the horse? Better to emulate Guan and Bao dividing gold than to imitate Sun and Pang scheming against each other. As the old saying goes: 'To catch a tiger, you still need your own brothers; to go into battle, you must rely on father and son fighting as one.' I hope Elder Brother will spare us from beating, and tomorrow we'll join forces with all our might to find our master." Though Wukong possessed vast magical powers, he was also reasonable and understood the times. Seeing Friar Sand's earnest pleading, he relented and said, "Bajie, Friar Sand, both of you get up. Tomorrow we'll search for our master. But you must put your strength into it." The idiot, hearing he was spared, was so grateful he wished the sky might lower half a side: "Brother, this is all on old Zhu!" The brothers thought and worried, and not a wink of sleep did they get. They wished they could nod and bring forth the sun from Fusang, or blow away the stars with a single breath.

The three of them sat until dawn, then prepared to leave. Before long, monks from the monastery blocked the door and asked, "Where are you going, Venerable Sirs?" Wukong laughed and said, "It's not a pretty story. Yesterday I boasted before everyone that I would capture the demon, but not only did I fail to catch it—my master has disappeared. We're going to find our master." The monks were alarmed and said, "Venerable Sirs, this is our little affair, and it has dragged our teacher into trouble. But where will you go to find him?" Wukong said, "There is a place to find him." The monks said hastily, "Since you must go, don't rush—have some morning congee first." They quickly brought out two or three bowls of soup and rice. Bajie ate every last bite with great effort and said, "Good monks, once we find our master, we'll come back here for some fun." Wukong said, "Come back here to eat their food? Go to the Heavenly King Hall and see if that woman is still there." The monks said, "Venerable Sirs, she's gone, she's gone. She stayed the night, and the next day she was nowhere to be found."

Wukong cheerfully took leave of the monks and had Bajie and Friar Sand lead the horse and carry the load, heading straight back east. Bajie said, "Brother, you've made a mistake. Why are we going east again?" Wukong said, "Don't you know? That woman who was tied up in the Black Pine Forest the other day—my Fiery Eyes and Golden Pupils saw right through her, but you all thought she was a good person. The one eating the monks today was her, and the one who spirited away our master was also her. You saved a fine 'bodhisattva.' Now that she has taken our master, we'll search along the same old path." The two of them sighed in admiration and said, "Good, good, good—truly rough on the outside but fine within. Let's go, let's go."

The three of them hurried into the forest, where they saw:

Clouds thick and heavy, mist stretching far and wide; layered rocks, winding paths. Fox tracks and rabbit prints crossed each other; tigers, leopards, wolves, and jackals darted back and forth. Within the forest there was no sign of any demon—and no one knew where Tripitaka had gone.

Wukong's heart burned with anxiety. He drew out his staff, shook his body, and transformed into the form he had taken when he stormed the Celestial Palace: three heads and six arms, with six hands grasping three staffs, striking wildly through the forest with a tremendous clatter. Bajie saw this and said, "Friar Sand, our brother has worked himself into a fury—he can't find our master and has gone mad with anger." Now, Wukong had been striking all along the way, and his blows knocked out two old men: one was the local Mountain God, and the other was the local Land God. They came forward and knelt down, saying, "Great Sage, the Mountain God and the Land God have come to pay their respects." Bajie said, "What spiritual roots! He struck his way along and knocked out a Mountain God and a Land God. If he strikes his way a bit further, he'll knock out the Grand Duke Jupiter too." Wukong demanded, "Mountain God, Land God, how dare you be so impudent? You've been in cahoots with bandits here. When the bandits succeed, they buy pigs and sheep to sacrifice to you, and you conspire with the demons to snatch our master. Where have you hidden him? Tell me the truth at once, or I'll beat you." The two deities panicked and said, "Great Sage, you wrong us! The demon is not on our mountain and does not fall under our jurisdiction. But when the wind blows at night, we know a little about it." Wukong said, "Since you know, tell me everything." The Land God said, "The demon has taken your master to the due south, a thousand miles from here. In that region there is a mountain called Bottomless Mountain. In the mountain there is a cave called the Bottomless Cave. It is the demon from that mountain who came here, transformed herself, and spirited him away." When Wukong heard this, his heart was secretly alarmed. He dismissed the Mountain God and Land God, withdrew his magical form, resumed his original appearance, and said to Bajie and Friar Sand, "Our master has been taken far away." Bajie said, "If he's far, let's ride the clouds and catch up."

The fine idiot set a wild wind in motion and soared up first; Friar Sand rode the clouds right after. The white horse, being a dragon prince by birth, carried the luggage and trod upon the mist as well; the Great Sage then rose on his somersault cloud. They headed straight south. Before long, they saw a great mountain blocking the foot of their clouds. The three of them reined in their horse and steadied themselves upon the cloud. They looked at the mountain:

The summit brushed the azure heavens; the peaks joined the blue clouds. Countless trees of every kind grew all around, and flocks of birds flew to and fro with raucous cries. Tigers and leopards moved in packs; roe deer and river deer roamed in herds. On the sun-facing slopes, rare flowers and jade-like grasses shed their fragrance; on the shadowed side, wintry snows and stubborn ice never melted. The rugged, precipitous ridges rose sheer like walls and cliffs. Towering peaks stood straight; deep winding gullies curved below. The pines grew dense and dark; the stones jagged and sharp—any traveler who saw them felt his heart shrink with fear. No woodcutter gathering firewood was to be seen; no immortal boy gathering herbs could be found. Before one's eyes, tigers and leopards could summon the mist; everywhere on the ground, foxes and wild dogs stirred up the wind at will.

Bajie said, "Brother, this mountain is so perilously steep—there must be fiends and demons here."

Wukong said, "Needless to say—high mountains always have monsters, and steep ridges are bound to harbor spirits!" He called out: "Sha Wujing, you and I will wait here. Let Bajie go down first into the hollow of the mountain to make inquiries and find out which road is easiest to travel. See whether there is indeed a cave dwelling, and from which side its gate opens. Investigate all this carefully, so that the three of us can go together to find our master and rescue him."

Bajie said, "Old Pig has rotten luck—I'm always the one they use to fill the cauldron first."

Wukong said, "Last night you said it all rested on your shoulders—how can you back out now?"

Bajie said, "Stop shouting. I'll go." The fool set down his rake, shook out his clothes, and with empty hands leaped down the mountain to search for a path.

What became of this venture—whether fortune or misfortune awaited him—let us listen to the explanation in the next chapter.