by Unknown
For sun and moon did this sage body forge.
Myself, cultivated, was no small thing—
Alert and keen, a great elixir source.
Named the Great Sage, I lived among the clouds
And fought the stars, relying on my power.
Ten thousand gods could not approach me even;
T’was easy to beat all planets of Heaven.
My fame was known in the world’s every part;
My wiles left a trail through the universe.
By luck I’ve now embraced the Buddhist faith
To help an elder on his westward way.
No one blocks the path I open on the mount
Though fiends worry when I build a bridge.
I’ll seize the forest tigers with my might;
My hands will tame leopards before the cliff .
The East’s Right Fruit is coming to the West:
Which monstrous deviate dares show his head?
Since you, cursed beast, dare my master devour,
Your life will surely perish within this hour.”
Alarmed and angered by these words, the fiend clenched his teeth, leaped forward, and struck out at Pilgrim with his iron club. Casually parrying the blow with his rod, Pilgrim wanted to talk some more with him, but our Eight Rules could not hold back any longer. He lifted his rake and madly attacked the vanguard of the fiend, who met him head-on with the other monsters. This was some brawl on the mountain meadow, truly a marvelous battle:
A priest from an eastern superior state
Went seeking true scriptures from the blissful West.
The South Mount’s great leopard belched wind and mist
And blocked the path; showing alone his might,
With a clever plan
And a wily scheme,
He bagged in ignorance the Great Tang Monk.
He met then the Pilgrim of vast magic power
And Eight Rules also of great renown.
When fiends on the mountain meadow fought,
Dust and dirt flew up to bedim the sky.
Little fiends shouted over there,
Madly raising their swords and spears;
Divine monks bellowed over here,
Lifting up both rake and rod.
The Great Sage was a hero without match;
Wuneng was both stalwart and strong in years.
The South Mountain old fiend
And his subject, the vanguard,
All because of the Tang Monk’s one piece of flesh,
Had quite forgotten the fear of life or death.
These two turned hostile for their master’s sake;
Those two grew violent, desiring the Tang Monk.
Back and forth they battled for quite a while;
Clashing and bumping, they fought to a draw.
When the Great Sage Sun saw how ferocious those little fiends were, how they refused to step back even when they were repeatedly attacked, he resorted to his Magic of Body-Division. Ripping out a bunch of his own hairs, he chewed them to pieces before spitting them out, crying, “Change!” At once they all assumed his appearance, each wielding a golden-hooped rod, and began to push in from the front line of the battle. Those one or two hundred little fiends found it difficult, of course, to look after both their front and their rear. Parrying the blows from the left, they could not attend to those coming from their right, and so all of them fled for their lives and retreated to the cave. As our Pilgrim and Eight Rules also fought their way out from the center of the battle, pity those monster-spirits who did not know any better: those running into the rake received nine bleeding holes, while those hugged by the rod had their bones and flesh turned into putt y. That Great King of South Mountain was so terrified that he fled for his life by mounting fog and wind. The vanguard, however, could not transform, and he was struck down by one blow of Pilgrim’s rod. His original form emerged as an iron-backed gray wolf. Dragging him closer and flipping him over for another look, Eight Rules said, “I wonder how many piglets and lambkins this fellow has stolen from people and eaten since his youth!”
With one shake of his body Pilgrim retrieved his hair, saying, “Idiot, we must not delay! Let’s chase down the old fiend quickly and ask him to pay for Master’s life.” When he turned his head and did not see those little Pilgrims, Eight Rules said, “The magic forms of Elder Brother have all disappeared?”
“I’ve retrieved them,” said Pilgrim.
“Marvelous! Marvelous!” said Eight Rules, and the two of them returned in delight and triumph.
We tell you now about that old fiend, who, when he fled back into his cave with his life, ordered the little fiends to move boulders and pole mud to the front door. Trembling all over, those fiends who managed to save their lives did indeed barricade the door and dared not show their heads at all. When our Pilgrim led Eight Rules to chase up to the front door, their shouts brought no answer from within, and when Eight Rules used his rake to strike at the barrier of mud, he could not budge it one whit. Realizing what had happened, Pilgrim said, “Eight Rules, don’t waste your strength. They have barricaded the door.”
“In that case,” said Eight Rules, “how shall we avenge our master?”
“Let’s go back to the grave to see how Sha Monk’s doing,” said Pilgrim.
The two of them went back to the site and found Sha Monk still weeping. Ever more grief-stricken, Eight Rules abandoned his rake and flung himself on the grave. As he pounded the dirt with his hands, he wailed, “O ill-fated Master! O far-removed Master! Where shall I ever get to see you again?”
“Brother, please calm your sorrow,” said Pilgrim. “If this monster-spirit has his front door stopped up, there must be a back door for him to go in and out. The two of you remain here, and let me go back to have another look around.”
“O Elder Brother,” said Eight Rules, shedding tears. “Do be careful! If they manage to grab even you, it’ll be difficult for us to weep. A sob for Master and a sob for Elder Brother—we’ll be all confused!” “Don’t worry!” replied Pilgrim. “I’ll be able to take care of myself.”
Dear Great Sage! Putting away his rod and tightening his skirt, he went past the mountain slope and immediately heard the sound of gurgling water. He saw, turning his head, that it came from a brook tumbling down from the peak. Then he discovered a little entrance on the other side of the brook, to the left of which there seemed to be a drainage sewer. “It goes without saying,” he thought to himself, “that this must be the back door. If I present my face like this, some little fiends opening the door might recognize me. I’ll change into a little water snake to get through—but wait! If the ghost of Master knew that I’d changed into a snake, he would blame me because a serpentine creature would ill become a priest. Why not a little crab then? That’s no good either, for Master’ll blame me for being a busybody priest.” Finally he changed into a water rat and, with a whoosh, darted across the brook. Through the drainage sewer he crawled into the courtyard and looked around: at the spot facing the sun were several little fiends hanging up, piece by piece, slabs of human flesh to be dried.
“O my dear children!” said Pilgrim to himself. “That has to be Master’s flesh! They couldn’t finish all of him, and so they want to cure some strips for inclement weather. I would like to reveal my true form, rush up there, and slaughter them all with one stroke of my rod, but that’ll only show that I have courage but little wisdom. I’ll change again and go inside to find the old fiend to see what’s happening.” He leaped out of the sewer and with one shake of his body changed into a tiny, winged ant. Truly
His name’s Dark Horse,1 a small and feeble thing,
But long cultivation has formed his wings.
In idle moments by a bridge he’d flit
Or roam beneath a bed to test his wit.
He seals his hole, knowing when rain would come;
Weighed down by dust he would ashes become.
So airy and agile he can quickly soar
/> A few times, unknown, past the firewood door.
Stretching his wings, without a shadow or sound, he flew directly into the center hall, where he found the old fiend sitting dejectedly. From behind him a small monster leaped out to say, “Great King, ten thousand delights attend you!”
“Where do these delights come from?” asked the old monster.
The little monster said, “Just now I was doing a bit of intelligence work by the brook at our rear entrance, and I heard someone wailing. When I climbed up the peak to take a further look, I found that it was Zhu Eight Rules, Pilgrim Sun, and Sha Monk who were mourning before a grave. They must have believed that human head was the Tang Monk’s and buried it. Now they are weeping beside the grave they dug.”
When Pilgrim heard this, he was secretly pleased, saying to himself, “If he could say this, my master must still be hidden here somewhere. He hasn’t been devoured. Let me go search further to find out indeed whether Master is dead or alive before I discuss the matter with these monsters.”
Dear Great Sage! Soaring high in the center hall, he looked this way and that and discovered to one side a little door, which was tightly shut. Crawling through a crack in the door, he found a large garden inside, from the center of which faint sounds of grief could be heard. When he flew deep into the garden, he came upon a clump of tall trees, beneath which two persons were tied: one of them was none other than the Tang Monk. Pilgrim was so excited by the sight that he could not refrain from changing back into his original form and approaching to say, “Master.”
Recognizing him, the elder said, as his tears fell, “Wukong, so you’ve come! Save me quickly! Wukong! Wukong!”
“Stop calling my name, Master!” said Pilgrim. “There are still people up front, and I fear that they may get wind of this. As long as you’re still alive, I can save you. That fiend told us that you had been devoured, using a false human head to deceive us. We have already fought bitterly with him. Please relax, Master. Just bear with me a bit longer. When I’ve knocked down that monster-spirit, I’ll be able to come back here to free you.”
Reciting a spell, the Great Sage at once changed back into an ant to return to the center hall and alight on the main beam. A crowd of those little monsters who had not lost their lives were milling about noisily. From their midst one little monster suddenly dashed out to say, “Great King, when they see that the door is barricaded and that they cannot break it open, they must also give up all hopes of recovering the Tang Monk. After all, the false human head has been turned into a grave. They’ll mourn for a day today and for another tomorrow. By the day after tomorrow, they should have fulfilled the obligation of three-day mourning and they will leave. When we have made sure that they have scattered, we can then bring out the Tang Monk and have him finely diced. Pan-fry him with some star anise and Sichuan pepper, and we can enjoy a nice fragrant piece to lengthen our lives.”
“Stop talking like that!” said another little monster, clapping his hands. “He’ll taste much better if we steam him.”
“But not as economical as plain boiling,” said another. “At least we can save some firewood that way.”
“He is, after all, a rare thing,” another spoke up. “We really should cure him with salt, so that we may enjoy him much longer.”
When he heard this, perched on the beam, Pilgrim was filled with rage, saying to himself, “What sort of enmity do you have against my master that you should make such elaborate plans to devour him?” Pulling out a bunch of his own hairs and chewing them to pieces, he spat them out lightly and recited in silence a magic spell. The hairs all changed into sleep-inducing insects, which he threw onto the faces of the monsters. As the insects crawled into their noses one by one, the little monsters gradually dropped off until, in no time at all, they had all fallen fast asleep. Only the old monster, however, remained restless as he continued to scratch his head and rub his face with both hands. He was sneezing repeatedly so that he kept pinching his nose.
“Could it be that he has found out something?” said Pilgrim. “Let’s give him a double-wick lamp!” Pulling off another piece of hair, he fashioned another creature like the ones before and threw it onto his face. Now he had two insects, one entering through his left nostril and the other through his right. Struggling up for a moment, the old monster stretched and yawned a couple of times, and then he too fell into a snoring slumber. Delighted, Pilgrim leaped down and changed back into his original form. Taking out his rod from his ear, he waved it once and it attained the thickness of a duck egg. With a loud clang he smashed the side door to pieces and ran into the rear garden, shouting, “Master!”
“Disciple, untie me quickly,” said the elder, “for I’m about to be ruined!”
“Don’t hurry, Master,” Pilgrim said. “Let me slay the monster-spirit first before I come rescue you.” He turned and dashed back into the center hall. As he was about to strike with upraised rod, he stopped and said, “No good! Let me untie Master first before I strike at him.”
He rushed back into the garden, only to think to himself, “I’ll slay him first before the rescue.” He went back and forth like this two or three times before finally dancing his way into the garden. This sight of him gave the elder some delight even in his sorrow. “Monkey,” he said, “it must be that you are overjoyed by the sight of my being still alive, and that is why you are dancing in this manner.”
Pilgrim then walked up to him to untie his ropes. As he led his master away, they heard the person tied to another tree facing them call out, “Venerable Father, please exercise your great mercy and save my life, too!”
Standing still, the elder said, “Wukong, please untie that person also.” “Who is he?” asked Pilgrim. “He’s a woodcutter,” replied the elder, “who had been captured a day before I was seized. He told me that he has an aged mother, whom he thinks of constantly. He’s a most filial person, and we might as well rescue him, too.”
Pilgrim agreed and untied the man’s ropes also; they went out through the rear entrance together and ascended the cliff to cross the swift-flowing brook. “Worthy disciple,” said the elder, “I thank you for saving his life and mine! Wuneng and Wujing, where are they?” “The two of them are mourning you,” replied Pilgrim. “You may call out to them now.” And the elder cried out in a loud voice: “Eight Rules! Eight Rules!”
As he had been weeping till he was half dazed, our Idiot wiped his snout and eyes and said, “Sha Monk, Master must have come home to reveal his soul! Isn’t it he who’s calling us from somewhere?”
Rushing forward, Pilgrim shouted, “Coolie! Who’s revealing his soul? Isn’t this Master who has returned?” When Sha Monk lifted his head and saw them, he fell to his knees and said, “Master, how you must have suffered! How did Elder Brother manage to rescue you?” Whereupon Pilgrim gave a thorough account of what had taken place.
When he heard this, Eight Rules grew so infuriated that he raised his rake, clenched his teeth, and hacked away the grave mound. Digging out the head, he pounded it to pieces. “Why did you beat it up?” asked the Tang Monk.
“O Master!” said Eight Rules. “I don’t know which family this outcast belongs to, but he has caused me to weep for him for a long time.”
“You should thank him instead for saving my life,” said the Tang Monk. “When you brothers fought your way to their door and demanded my return, the monsters used him as a substitute to ward you off. If it hadn’t been for him, I would have been killed. You should have him buried, simply as an expression of our priestly gratitude.” When he heard these words of the elder, our Idiot indeed packed up the mess of flesh and bones and buried it again by digging another grave.
With a chuckle Pilgrim said, “Master, please sit here for a moment, and let me go and finish them off.” He leaped down from the cliff and crossed the brook to return to the cave. Taking into the center hall the ropes that had been used to tie the Tang Monk and the woodcutter, he found the old monster still sleeping. After having hog-t
ied him, Pilgrim used his golden-hooped rod to lift the bundle up and carried it on his shoulder to leave by the rear entrance. When Eight Rules caught sight of them from a distance, he said, “Elder Brother just loves this lopsided business! Wouldn’t it be better if he had found another monster to give him a balanced load?”
Pilgrim drew near and dropped down the old monster, and Eight Rules was about to strike with his rake. “Wait a moment!” said Pilgrim. “We haven’t seized the little monsters in the cave yet.”
“O Elder Brother,” said Eight Rules, “lead me to them so I can hit them!”
“Hitting them is such a waste of energy,” said Pilgrim. “It’s better to find some firewood and finish them off that way.” On hearing this, the wood-cutter immediately led Eight Rules to the eastern valley to find some broken bamboos, leafless pines, hollow willows, snapped-off vines, yellow artemisia, old reeds, rushes, and parched mulberry. After they had hauled bundles of these into the rear entrance, Pilgrim lit a fire while Eight Rules fanned up a breeze with his ears. As he leaped out of the cave, our Great Sage shook his body once to retrieve his hairs. By the time those little monsters awoke, both smoke and fire were pouring out. Alas! Not even half a monster managed to escape, for the cave-dwelling was completely burned out.
When the disciples returned to their master, the elder saw that the old monster was stirring, and he called out: “Disciples, the monster-spirit is awake.” Going forward, Eight Rules slew the old fiend with one blow of his rake; its original form appeared to be that of a spotted leopard. “This sort of spotted leopard,” said Pilgrim, “can even devour a tiger. Now it has managed to assume human form. Putting it to death will prevent it from causing any further trouble.” The elder thanked them over and over again before climbing once more into the saddle.
“Venerable Father,” said the woodcutter, “toward the southwest not far from here is my humble abode. I would like to invite you there to meet my mother, so that she may bow to thank you all for saving my life. Then we will escort you to the main road.”
Delighted, the elder dismounted and headed southwest with the wood-cutter and the three disciples. After a short distance they came upon