The Journey to the West, Revised Edition, Volume 3 Read online

  Pilgrim said, “Just now the Bodhisattva Guanyin, in her epiphany, revealed to us that it was a scorpion spirit. She told us further that only you, sir, could overcome it. That is why I have come to call on you.” “I should first go back and report to the Jade Emperor,” said the god, “but the Great Sage is already here, and you have, moreover, the Bodhisattva’s recommendation. Since I don’t want to cause you delay, I dare not ask you for tea. I shall go with you to subdue the monster-spirit first before I report to the throne.”

  When the Great Sage heard this, he at once went out of the East Heaven Gate with the god and sped to the State of Western Liang. Seeing the mountain ahead, Pilgrim pointed at it and said, “This is it.” The god lowered his cloud and walked with Pilgrim up to the stone screen beneath the mountain slope. When Sha Monk saw them, he said, “Second Elder Brother, please rise. Big Brother has brought back the star god.” His lips still pouting, Idiot said, “Pardon! Pardon! I’m ill, and I cannot salute you.” “You are a man who practices self-cultivation,” said the star god. “What kind of sickness do you have?” “Earlier in the morning,” replied Eight Rules, “we fought with the monster-spirit, who gave me a stab on my lip. It still hurts.”

  The star god said, “Come up here, and I’ll cure it for you.” Taking his hand away from his snout, Idiot said, “I beg you to cure it, and I’ll thank you most heartily.” The star god used his hand to give Eight Rules’s lip a stroke before blowing a mouthful of breath on it. At once, the pain ceased. In great delight, our Idiot went to his knees, crying, “Marvelous! Marvelous!” “May I trouble the star god to touch the top of my head also?” said Pilgrim with a grin. “You weren’t poisoned,” said the star god. “Why should I touch you?” Pilgrim replied, “Yesterday, I was poisoned, but after one night the pain is gone. The spot, however, still feels somewhat numb and itchy, and I fear that it may act up when the weather changes. Please cure it for me.” The star god indeed touched the top of his head and blew a mouthful of breath on it. The remaining poison was thus eliminated, and Pilgrim no longer felt the numbness or the itch. “Elder Brother,” said Eight Rules, growing ferocious, “let’s go and beat up that bitch!” “Exactly!” said the star god. “You provoke her to come out, the two of you, and I’ll subdue her.”

  Leaping up the mountain slope, Pilgrim and Eight Rules again went behind the stone screen. With his mouth spewing abuses and his hands working like a pair of fuel-gatherer hooks, our Idiot used his rake to remove the rocks piled up in front of the cave in no time at all. He then dashed up to the second-level door, and one blow of his rake reduced it to powder. The little fiends inside were so terrified that they fled inside to report: “Madam, those two ugly men have destroyed even our second-level door!” The fiend was just about to untie the Tang Monk so that he could be fed some tea and rice. When she heard that the door had been broken down, she jumped out of the flower arbor and stabbed Eight Rules with the trident. Eight Rules met her with the rake, while Pilgrim assisted him with his iron rod. Rushing at her opponents, the fiend wanted to use her poisonous trick again, but Pilgrim and Eight Rules perceived her intentions and retreated immediately.

  The fiend chased them beyond the stone screen, and Pilgrim shouted, “Orionis, where are you?” Standing erect on the mountain slope, the star god revealed his true form. He was, you see, actually a huge, double-combed rooster, about seven feet tall when he held up his head. He faced the fiend and crowed once: immediately the fiend revealed her true form, which was that of a scorpion about the size of a lute. The star god crowed again, and the fiend, whose whole body became paralyzed, died before the slope. We have a testimonial poem for you, and the poem says:

  Like tasseled balls his embroidered neck and comb,

  With long, hard claws and angry, bulging eyes,

  He perfects the Five Virtues forcefully;

  His three crows are done heroically.

  No common, clucking fowl about the hut,

  He’s Heaven’s star showing his holy name.

  In vain the scorpion seeks the human ways;

  She now her true, original form displays.

  Eight Rules went forward and placed one foot on the back of the creature, saying, “Cursed beast! You can’t use your Horse-Felling Poison this time!” Unable to make even a twitch, the fiend was pounded into a paste by the rake of the Idiot. Gathering up again his golden beams, the star god mounted the clouds and left, while Pilgrim led Eight Rules and Sha Monk to bow to the sky, saying, “Sorry for all your inconvenience! In another day, we shall go to your palace to thank you in person.”

  After the three of them gave thanks, they took the luggage and the horse into the cave, where they were met by those maids, who knelt on both sides to receive them. “Fathers,” they cried, “we are not fiends. We are all women from the State of Western Liang who have been kidnapped by this monster-spirit some time ago. Right now your master is weeping in a scented room in the rear.” On hearing this, Pilgrim stared at them and saw that there was indeed no demonic aura about them. He therefore went to the rear, crying, “Master!” When the Tang Monk saw them, he was very pleased. “Worthy disciples,” he said, “I have caused you a lot of trouble. What happened to that woman?” “She was a huge female scorpion,” replied Eight Rules. “We are fortunate to have received the revelation from the Bodhisattva Guanyin, whereupon Big Brother went to Heaven to acquire the assistance of the Star Lord Orionis. He came here and subdued her, and she has been reduced to mud by old Hog. Only then did we dare walk in here to see your face.” The Tang Monk could not end his thanks to them. Then they found some rice and noodles with which they prepared a meal, after which they showed the way home to those girls who had been taken captive. Lighting up a fire, they burned out the entire cave-dwelling before they found the main road to the West once more. Thus it was that

  They cut worldly ties to leave beauty and form;

  They drained the gold sea to know the mind of Chan.

  We do not know how many more years they still need in order to perfect the art of realized immortality; let’s listen to the explanation in the next chapter.

  FIFTY-SIX

  Wild Spirit slays brutish bandits;

  Wayward Way sets loose Mind Monkey.

  The poem says:

  That mind1 is called pure when it holds nothing—

  All quiet with not one thought arising.

  Firmly restrain the monkey and the horse.

  Guard both spirit and sperm to stay on course.

  Discard the Six Robbers;

  Awake to the Three Wains;2

  Causations halted, all things will be plain.

  Depraved forms destroyed, to true realm you rise

  To sit and enjoy the Western paradise.3

  We were telling you about our Tripitaka Tang, who, with such grim determination that he would have bitten through an iron nail, had managed to preserve his body from ruin. Moreover, he was fortunate enough to have had Pilgrim and his other assistants slaughter the scorpion spirit and rescue him from the Cave of the Lute. As they set out on their journey, it was the season of clear, clement weather again, when

  Warm breezes oft wafted the wild-orchid scent;

  Young bamboos cooled off as cleansing rain ceased.

  None picked the moxa leaves all o’er the hills;

  Rush flowers filled the streams to display their hues.

  Bright pomegranates pleased the wandering bees.

  Yellow birds bustled in the brook’s willow-shade.

  Rice-cakes4 were not wrapped on a long journey

  Though dragon boats now mourned at Miluo Stream.

  As master and disciples enjoyed this scenery of the Double Fifth Festival season when the sun was high in the sky, they found once more a tall mountain blocking their path. Reining in his horse, the elder turned his head to address his disciples: “Wukong, there’s a mountain ahead of us. I fear that it may breed fiends. Please be careful.”

  “Please don’t worry, Master,” replied Pilg
rim. “We make submission to the faith in complete obedience. Why worry about fiends?” Delighted by what he heard, the elder urged his horse forward, and in a little while they arrived at a tall ledge on the mountain. This was what they saw as they looked around:

  The peak’s pines and cedars join the clouds in blue;

  Wild creepers hang on the cliff’s briars and thorns.

  Ten thousand feet, lofty—

  A thousand tiers, sheer hanging—

  Ten thousand feet of lofty, rugged peak;

  A thousand tiers of sheer, hanging buff.

  Jade-green moss and lichen on dark rocks spread;

  Large forests formed by tall junipers and elms.

  Deep in the forest,

  Listen to the birds:

  Their skillful voices make singable songs.

  The brooklet’s water flows like splashing jade;

  The roadside’s petals rest as mounds of gold.

  This wretched mount

  So hard to scale!

  Walk ten steps and not even one is flat!

  Travelers meet in pairs the foxes and deer;

  They face in twos both black apes and white fawns.

  All at once there’s a fearsome tiger-roar,

  Or the crane-cry that reaches Heaven’s court.

  Yellow plums, red apricots make worthy fruits;

  Wild grass and flowers are of name unknown.

  The four of them entered the mountain and journeyed slowly for a long time. After they passed the summit, they went down the west slope until they came to a piece of level ground. Attempting to show off his energy, Zhu Eight Rules asked Sha Monk to pole the luggage while he raised high his muckrake with both his hands and went forward to drive the horse. The horse, however, was not at all afraid of him; though Eight Rules whooped and hollered, he kept on trotting slowly. “Brother,” said Pilgrim, “why are you driving him? Let him walk slowly.” “It’s getting late,” answered Eight Rules, “and we’ve been walking for a whole day since we ascended this mountain. I’m getting hungry. Let’s hurry and see if we can find a house where we can beg some food.” When Pilgrim heard this, he said, “In that case, let me make him run.” He waved the golden-hooped rod once and gave a shout: immediately, the horse shot away like an arrow on the level road. For what reason, you say, is the horse afraid of Pilgrim and not of Eight Rules? Pilgrim, you see, was appointed an official, the title being BanHorsePlague, at the Imperial stable in Heaven by the Jade Emperor five hundred years ago. Ever since that time, horses have been afraid of apes. Unable to hang on to the reins, our elder at this moment could only cling to the saddle and allow the horse to go in a gallop some twenty miles before it slowed again as it came upon some open fields.

  At that moment, a sudden clang of gongs brought out from both sides of the road some thirty men, all armed with spears, scimitars, staffs, and rods. They barred the way and cried, “Monk! Where are you off to?” The Tang Monk was so terrified and shaking so violently that he fell down from the horse. Crouching in the bushes by the road, he could only say, “Great kings, spare me! Please spare me!” Two burly men at the head of the band said, “We won’t hit you, but you must leave us your travel money.” Only then did the elder realize that these were bandits. As he got up slowly, he stole a glance at them and saw that

  One had a green face with fangs beating Jupiter’s;

  One had round and bulging eyes like Death himself.

  Their temples’ red hair seemed like soaring flames;

  Like pins stuck to their chins were their yellow beards.

  The two had striped tiger-skin caps on their heads

  And sable battle kilts around their waists.

  One held in his hands a wolf-teeth club,

  And on one’s shoulder rested a knotty staff.

  Indeed, this one was no less than a hill-pawing tiger!

  Truly, that one looked like a dragon darting out of water!

  When he saw how ferocious they were, Tripitaka had no choice but to get up, and pressing his palms together before him, he said, “Great kings, this humble priest is someone sent by the Tang emperor in the Land of the East to go to the Western Heaven to acquire scriptures. Since I left our capital, Chang’an, it has been many years; even if I had any travel money, I have long spent it. Those of us who have left the family live by begging. Where do I have cash? I beg the great kings to be kind and let this humble priest pass through.” The two bandit chiefs drew near and said, “We have resolved to stand guard by this main road like a tiger with the sole intention of picking up some cash or money. What do you mean by kindness? If you don’t have any money, take off your clothes quickly and leave us the white horse, too. We’ll let you pass then.” “Amitabha!” replied Tripitaka. “The robe on this poor priest has been made from cloth begged from one family and needles from another. It is a garment, in fact, that has come from patchwork begging! Wouldn’t it be just like killing me if you stripped me of it? You might be valiant men in this life, but you might become beasts in the next.”

  Angered by what he heard, one of the bandits wielded a big rod and wanted to hit the elder, who did not say a word but thought to himself, “Alas! Now you boast of your rod, but you have little idea of my disciple’s rod!” The bandit, of course, did not permit any further discussion; lifting his rod, he started to shower the elder with blows. Now, our elder had never lied in his life before, but faced with such a dilemma, he had no choice but to mouth falsehood. “Please do not raise your hands, great kings, both of you,” he said. “I have a young disciple, who should arrive any moment. He has on him several ounces of silver, which I’ll be glad to give to you.” “This monk,” said the bandit, “can’t take any pain. Let’s tie him up.” His followers acted at once and bound their victim with a rope, after which he was hung high on a tree.

  We tell you now about those three rowdy troublemakers, who were chasing the horse from behind. Laughing uproariously, Eight Rules said, “Master has gone off so quickly! I wonder where he’s waiting for us.” Then he caught sight of the elder hanging on a tree in the distance, and he said, “Look at master! He should have just waited for us. But no, he’s so spirited that he has to climb a tree for fun, swinging back and forth on a vine!” When Pilgrim saw that, he said, “Idiot, don’t babble! Isn’t master being hung up there? The two of you stay back, and let me go take a look.” Dear Great Sage! He jumped up to a knoll nearby, and when he stared in front of him, he recognized at once that there was a group of bandits. Secretly pleased, he thought to himself: “Lucky! Lucky! Business is at the door!” Walking down from the knoll, he changed with one shake of his body into a young priest wearing a clerical robe. He was only about sixteen years old, and he had a blue cloth-wrap on his shoulder. In big strides, he came up to where his master was, crying, “Master, what do you have to say for yourself? Who are these bad men?” “O disciple,” replied Tripitaka, “aren’t you going to rescue me? Why all these questions?”

  “What sort of business are they engaged in?” asked Pilgrim. Tripitaka replied, “They are highwaymen; they barred my way and asked for toll money. As I had nothing on me, they tied me up and hung me here. They are waiting for you to show up to finish the discussion with them. If nothing works, we may have to give them this horse of ours.”

  On hearing this, Pilgrim chuckled and said, “Master, you are so weak! There are many monks in the world, but few are as thin-skinned as you. The Tang emperor, Taizong, sent you to see Buddha in the Western Heaven. But who told you to give away this dragon horse?” “O disciple!” said Tripitaka. “They’ve already tied me up like this. If they want to beat me for fun, what shall I do?” “What did you say to them anyway?” asked Pilgrim. “They threatened me with beatings,” said Tripitaka, “until I had no choice but to make a confession about you.” “Master,” said Pilgrim, “you are such a lark! What kind of confession did you make about me?” Tripitaka replied, “I said that you had some travel money, just to make them stop hitting me. It was something to get
me out of a jam.” “Fine! Fine! Fine!” said Pilgrim. “Thanks for doing me this favor! That’s exactly the sort of confession about me I want! If you can make it seventy or eighty times a month, old Monkey will have lots of business.”

  When those bandits saw him chatting with his master like that, they spread out and had them entirely surrounded. “Little monk,” one of them said. “Your master told us that you had some travel money. Take it out quickly and your lives will be spared. If you but utter half a no, both of you will die on the spot!” Putting down his cloth wrap, Pilgrim said, “Officers, don’t make a clamor! There is some travel money, not much, in this wrap: about twenty shoes of gold and perhaps thirty ingots of polished silver. I haven’t made a count of the small change. If you want it, take the wrap, too, but please don’t hit my master. As an ancient book says:

  Virtue is fundamental;

  Riches are accidental.

  What you want is really the most peripheral thing. We are those who have left the family, and there will be other places for us to beg. When we run into some aged person who wishes to feed and supply the monks, we will have allowances and we will have clothing. How much can we use or spend? I just hope that you will release my master, and I’ll offer you everything.” When those bandits heard these words, they were most pleased, all saying, “That old monk is so stingy, but this young one is quite generous.” One of the chiefs gave this command: “Release him!” When that elder got his life again, he leaped on the horse; without another thought for Pilgrim, he took whip in hand and headed straight back on the road from which he came.

  “You are going the wrong way!” shouted Pilgrim hurriedly. Picking up his wrap, he gave chase at once, only to be barred by the bandits. “Where do you think you are going?” said the bandit leader. “Put your money down, before I start the torture!” “As I was saying,” chuckled Pilgrim, “the travel money ought to be divided into three portions.” “This young priest,” said a bandit chief, “is pretty cagey! Now he wants to keep a little for himself after his master’s gone. All right! Take it out first and let’s have a look. If there’s enough, we’ll let you have a tiny bit—so that you can buy some goodies to eat when you are by yourself.” “Oh, dear elder brother,” said Pilgrim, “that’s not what I meant. You think I really have travel money? What I meant was, that gold and silver you robbed from other people you must divide with me.” When the thief heard this, he became enraged. “This monk doesn’t know what’s good for him!” he hollered. “You are not willing to give me anything, and you ask me instead for something? Bah! Watch the beating!” He raised up his knotty staff and gave the bald head of Pilgrim seven or eight blows, but Pilgrim behaved as if nothing whatever had happened. “Dear elder brother,” he said, full of smiles, “if that’s how you hit people, you can hit me until next spring and I won’t consider you doing it for real.” Horrified, the bandit said, “This monk has quite a hard head!” “Hardly! Hardly!” said Pilgrim, chuckling. “You praise me too much! It’s just passable!” Without permitting further discussion, two more of the bandits joined their leader and started to shower blows on Pilgrim. “Please calm your anger, all of you,” said Pilgrim. “Let me take out something.”