The Journey to the West, Revised Edition, Volume 2

by Unknown

  Most elegant features

  And a rugged physique.

  He spoke like a mandarin

  And moved with the grace of youth.

  Gifted as Zijian2 he could rhyme with ease;

  He looked like Pan An3 when they tossed him fruits.

  He put on his head a crow-tail cap,

  His hair gathered in smoothly;

  And wore on his body a lined, white silk robe

  With wide, billowy sleeves.

  Beneath his feet were patterned black boots;

  Around his waist shone the five-colored belt.

  He had the true bearing of a striking man:

  Handsome, tall, dignified, and full of strength.

  The princess was most pleased by what she saw. “Mistress,” said that fiend laughing, “is it a good transformation?” “Marvelous! Marvelous!” said the princess. “Just remember this: once you enter the court, many officials, both civil and military, will no doubt invite you to banquets, since it’s my Father King’s policy never to reject any relatives. You must be extra careful when you drink not to reveal your original appearance. For once you show yourself in your true form, you don’t look that civilized.” “No need for all that instruction,” said the old fiend. “I know what to do.”

  Look at him. He mounted the clouds and soon arrived at the Precious Image Kingdom. Lowering their direction, he went before the court and said to the guardian of the gate, “The third imperial son-in-law came especially to seek an audience with the Throne. Please report this for me.” The Custodian of the Yellow Gate went before the white jade steps and made the report, saying, “Your Majesty, the third imperial son-in-law has come to seek an audience with the Throne. He is outside the gate of the court and awaits your summons.” The king was just conversing with the Tang Monk; when he heard of the third imperial son-in-law, he asked his ministers, “We have only two sons-in-law. How is it that there is a third?” “The third imperial son-in-law,” said several of the ministers, “must be that monster.” “Shall we summon him in?” asked the king. Already apprehensive, the elder said, “Your Majesty, it’s a monster-spirit! If he’s not a spirit, he will not be intelligent. He must know the future and the past, for he is able to mount the clouds and ride the mists. He’ll come when you summon him, but even if you did not, he would come in anyway. You might as well summon him in so that we might be spared any kind of hassle.”

  The king gave his consent and ordered the fiend be summoned before the golden steps. He, too, went through an elaborate performance of court ritual to pay homage to the king. When all the officials saw how handsome he was, they dared not consider him a monster-spirit; being of fleshly eyes and mortal stock, they regarded him as a good man instead. When the king saw how lofty and dignified he appeared, he also thought that this was a man of distinguished abilities, fit to govern the world. “Son-in-law,” he said, “where is your home? What region are you from? When did you marry our princess? Why did you wait until today before coming to be recognized as our kin?”

  “My lord,” said the old fiend, kowtowing, “your subject comes from a household east of this city, in the Current-Moon Cave of the Casserole Mountain.” The king asked, “How far is your mountain from our place?” “Not far,” replied the old fiend, “only about three hundred miles.” “Three hundred miles,” said the king. “How could our princess possibly get there to marry you?”

  With clever words and the intent to deceive, the monster-spirit replied, “My lord, your subject has been fond of archery and riding since his youth, for I earn my livelihood by hunting. Thirteen years ago, I led scores of houseboys up to the mountain, and we were just sending out our hawks and hounds when we saw a large, striped tiger. It was going down the slope of the mountain carrying a young girl. It was your subject who shot the tiger with a single arrow and brought the girl back to our village, where she was revived with some warm liquids. When I questioned her about her home after saving her life, she never mentioned the word ‘princess.’ Had she declared that she was the third princess of your Majesty, would I dare be so insolent as to marry her without your consent? I would have tried to enter the golden palace and seek some kind of appointment, however lowly, in order to be worthy of her. Because she claimed, however, that she was a girl from some peasant household, your subject asked her to remain in my village. We seemed to be ideally suited for each other, and we were both willing; that’s why we’ve been married for these thirteen years. After our wedding, I was about to slaughter the tiger and use it to fete the relatives. The princess, however, requested me not to do so, and she put her reason aptly in these poetic lines:

  Heaven and Earth made us husband and wife;

  With no broker or witness we were wed.

  Red threads4 did bind our feet in previous lives:

  That’s why the tiger is our go-between.

  Because of what she said, your subject untied the tiger and spared its life. Claws flailing and tail wagging, it ran away still carrying the arrow wound. Little did I anticipate that after a few years, the tiger thus spared managed to become a spirit in the mountain through self-cultivation, bent on seducing and hurting people. Some years ago, your subject had heard of several scripture pilgrims, all priests sent by the Great Tang. The tiger, I think, must have taken their lives; he probably got hold of the travel documents and changed into one of their forms to come here to deceive my lord. My lord, the person sitting on that brocaded cushion over there is none other than the tiger which carried away the princess thirteen years ago. He is not a real scripture pilgrim.”

  Look at that capricious ruler! His foolish, undiscerning eyes of the flesh could not recognize the monster-spirit; instead, he regarded that entire specious speech to be the truth. “Worthy son-in-law,” he said, “how could you tell that this monk is a tiger, the one which carried away our princess?” “My lord,” said the fiend, “what your subject feeds on in the mountain are tigers; what he wears are also tigers. I sleep with them and rise with them. How could I not recognize them?” “In that case,” said the king, “make him appear in his true form.” The fiendish creature said, “Please give me half a cup of clean water, and your subject will make him appear in his true form.” The king ordered an official to fetch the water for the imperial son-in-law. Taking the cup in his hand, the fiend got up and went forward to exercise the Dim-Eyes, Still-Body Magic. He recited a spell and spat a mouthful of water on the Tang Monk, crying, “Change!” The true body of the elder at once became invisible; what everyone saw in the palace was a ferocious striped tiger instead. In those worldly eyes of the king and his subjects, the tiger truly had

  A white brow and a round head,

  A striped body and lightning eyes.

  Its four huge paws

  Were straight and rugged;

  Its twenty claws

  Were hooklike and sharp.

  Sawlike teeth filled its mouth;

  Pointed ears joined its eyebrows.

  Savage, it bore the form of a big cat;

  Raging, it had the shape of a brown steer.

  Steel hairs stood rigidly like silver strips;

  A red tongue, daggerlike, belched nasty air.

  It was indeed a striped, ferocious thing,

  Blasting the palace with its awesome breaths.

  When the king saw it, his soul melted and his spirit fled, while many of his subjects were frightened into hiding. A few courageous military officials led the captains and guards to rush forward and began hacking away with their weapons. If it had not been for the fact that the Tang Monk this time was not yet fated to die, even twenty monks would have been reduced to minced meat. Fortunately, he had at this time the secret protection of Light and Darkness, the Guardians, the Sentinels, and the Protectors of the Faith in the air. For that reason, the weapons of those people could not harm him. The chaos in the palace lasted until evening, when the officials decided to capture the tiger alive and lock it up with chains before placing it in an iron cage. It was then s
tored in one of the palace chambers.

  The king then gave the decree that the Court of Imperial Entertainments prepare a huge banquet to thank the imperial son-in-law for saving him from the monk. After the officials retired from court, the demon entered that evening into the Silver Peace Hall, where eighteen young palace ladies attended him; they sang, danced, and poured his wine for him. Sitting all by himself at the head table, he had on both sides of him all those lovely beauties. Look at him drink and enjoy! By about the hour of the second watch, he got drunk and could no longer refrain from mischief. Leaping up all of a sudden, he laughed hysterically for a moment and changed back into his original form. He grew violent then and grabbed one of the girls playing the pipa5 with that big winnowlike hand of his. With a crunch, he bit off her head. The other seventeen palace girls were so terrified that they dashed madly for hiding and shelter. Look at them:

  The palace ladies panicked;

  The maids-of-honor took fright—

  The palace ladies panicked

  Like rain-struck hibiscus bearing the night rain.

  The maids-of-honor took fright

  Like wind-blown peonia dancing in the spring wind.

  They smashed their pipas, eager to live;

  They broke their zithers, fleeing for life.

  They dashed out the doors, not knowing north or south!

  They quit the main hall, flying both east and west!

  They scraped their jadelike features;

  They bruised their lovely faces.

  Every one scrambled for her life;

  Each person darted for safety.

  Those people ran out, but they dared not even scream or holler for fear of disturbing the Throne so late at night. Quaking and shaking, they sought to hide beneath the eaves of the low palace wall and we shall speak no more of them.

  We tell you now about that fiendish creature who sat in the hall, pouring wine and drinking all by himself. After draining a glass, he would haul the bloody corpse near him and take a couple of bites. As he was thus enjoying himself inside, the people outside the palace began to spread a wild rumor that the Tang Monk was a monster-spirit. All the hubbub soon reached the Golden Lodge post-house. At that time, there was no one at the post-house except the white horse, which was consuming hay and feed in the stall. He was originally the dragon prince of the Western Ocean, you recall, but because of past offense against Heaven, his horns were sawed off and his scales were shorn. He was changed into the white horse so that he could carry the Tang Monk to acquire scriptures in the West. When he suddenly heard people saying that the Tang Monk was a tiger spirit, he thought to himself, “My master is definitely a true man. It had to be that fiend who changed him into a tiger spirit in order to harm him. What’s to be done? What’s to be done? Big Brother is long gone, and there is no news from either Sha Monk or Eight Rules.” He waited until it was about the second watch, and then he said to himself, “If I don’t try to rescue the Tang Monk now, this merit will be undone. Finished!” No longer able to contain himself, he bit through the reins and shook off the saddle; all at once he changed himself once more into a dragon and mounted the dark clouds to rise into the air. We have a testimonial poem for him, and the poem says:

  The priest goes West to seek the World-Honored One,

  Though foul and fiendish vapors clog the way.

  Tonight he’s a tiger, what hopeless ordeal!

  The white horse drops reins his master to save.

  In midair the young dragon prince saw that the Silver Peace Hall was aglow with lights, for there were eight huge candelabra standing inside with all their candles lit. As he lowered the direction of his clouds, he looked carefully and saw the monster seated alone at the head table and gorging himself with wine and human flesh. “What a worthless fellow!” said the dragon with a laugh. “He has shown his hand! He’s revealed himself! It’s not very smart, is it, to eat people! Since I don’t know the where-abouts of Master and I have only this lawless demon before me, I might as well go down there and have some fun with him. If I succeed, I might be able to catch the monster-spirit first and then rescue my master.”

  Dear dragon prince! With one shake of his body, he changed himself into a palace maid, truly slender of body and seductive in appearance. She walked swiftly inside and bowed to the demon, saying, “Imperial son-in-law, please don’t hurt me. I came to pour wine for you.” “Pour then,” said the fiend. Taking up the wine pot, the little dragon began pouring until the wine was about half an inch higher than the rim of the goblet, but the wine did not spill. This was, in fact, the Magic of Water Restriction used by the little dragon, though the fiend did not know it even when he saw it. “What uncanny ability you have,” he said, highly pleased. The little dragon said, “I can pour and make it go even higher.” “Pour some more! Pour some more!” cried the fiend. The little dragon took the pot and kept on pouring, until the wine rose like a pagoda of thirteen layers with a pointed top; not a drop of it was spilled. The fiendish creature stuck out his mouth and finished a whole goblet before he picked up the carcass and took another bite. Then he said, “You know how to sing?” “A little,” said the little dragon, who selected a tune and sang it before presenting another goblet of wine to the fiend. “You know how to dance?” said the monster. The little dragon said, “A little also, but I’m empty-handed, and the dance won’t be attractive.” Lifting up his robe, the fiend unbuckled the sword he wore on his waist and pulled the blade out of the sheath. The little dragon took the sword from him and began to dance in front of the dining table; wielding the sword up and down, left and right, she created intricate patterns of movement.

  Waiting until the fiend was completely dazzled by the dance, the little dragon suddenly broke the steps and slashed him with the sword. Dear monster! He lunged sideways and the blow barely missed him; the next thrust of the dragon was met by a candelabrum made of wrought iron and weighing about eighty or ninety pounds, which the monster picked up in a hurry. The two of them left the Silver Peace Palace as the little dragon changed back to his original form to do battle with the fiend in midair. This battle in the darkness was something! “How was it?” you ask.

  This one was a monster born and formed on Casserole Mount;

  That one was a chastised true dragon of the Western Ocean.

  This one gave off bright light

  Like white lightning;

  That one belched out potent air

  Like bursting red cloud.

  This one seemed a white-tusked elephant let loose among mankind;

  That one seemed a golden-clawed wild cat flown down to earth.

  This one was a jade pillar propping up Heaven;

  That one was a golden beam bridging the seas.

  The silver dragon flew and danced;

  The yellow demon flipped and flopped.

  The precious sword, left and right, did not slow down;

  The candelabrum, back and forth, went on and on.

  After the two of them had fought at the edge of the clouds for about eight or nine rounds, the little dragon’s hand grew weak and his limbs turned numb. The old demon, after all, was strong and powerful; when the little dragon found that he could no longer withstand his adversary, he aimed the sword at the monster and threw it at him. The monster, however, was not unprepared for this desperate move; with one hand, he caught the blade, and with the other, he hurled the candelabrum at the little dragon. Unnerved, the dragon did not duck fast enough and one of his hind legs was struck by it. Hastily he dropped down from the clouds, and it was his luck that the imperial moat was there to save his life. Chased by the demon, the little dragon dove headfirst into the water and all at once became invisible. Whereupon the demon took the sword and picked up the candelabrum to go back to the Silver Peace Palace; there he drank as before till he fell asleep, and we shall speak no more of him for the moment.

  We tell you instead about the little dragon, who hid himself at the bottom of the moat. When he did not hear a sound afte
r half an hour, he gritted his teeth to endure the pain in his leg and leaped up. Treading the dark clouds, he returned to the post-house where he changed once more into a horse and lay down in the stall. He looked pitiful indeed—completely soaked and wounded on his leg! At this time,

  Horse of the Will and Ape of the Mind are all dispersed;

  Metal Squire and Wood Mother are both scattered;

  Yellow Dame is wounded, from every one divorced;

  With reason and right so parted, what can be achieved?

  Let us say no more about how Tripitaka met disaster and the little dragon encountered defeat. We tell you instead about that Zhu Eight Rules, who, since abandoning Sha Monk, stuck his head deep into the bushes and lay there like a hog snoozing in a pool of mud. The nap, in fact, lasted till the middle of the night, and only at that time did he awake. When he became conscious, he did not even know where he was at first; only after he rubbed his eyes and collected his thoughts a little did he manage to cock his ears to listen to whatever might be happening. Well, what happened was that

  This deep mountain had no dog barking;

  These spacious wilds lacked even cock crowing.

  Looking up at the stars, he figured that it was about the hour of the third watch and he thought to himself, “I would like to try to rescue Sha Monk, but

  One silk fiber is no thread;

  A single hand cannot clap!

  Okay! Okay! Let me go back and see Master first. If I could persuade the king to give me some more help, old Hog would return to rescue Sha Monk tomorrow.”

  Idiot mounted the clouds quickly and went back to the city; in a little while, he reached the post-house. The moon was bright and people had become quiet at this time, but he searched the corridors in vain to find any trace of his master. All he saw was the white horse lying there: his whole body was soaked and on one of his hind legs was the mark of a bruise about the size of a pan. “This is doubly unfortunate!” said Eight Rules, greatly startled. “This loser hasn’t traveled. Why is he sweating like that, and with a bruise on his leg? It must be that some evil men have robbed our master, wounding the horse in the process.”