The Journey to the West, Revised Edition, Volume 4 Page 3

  He bounded quickly up the mountain, but he said spitefully to himself, “Since Idiot wanted to curse me to death, I’m not about to gratify him so easily. I’ll follow the monster-spirits and see how they plan to treat him. Let him suffer a little first, and then I’ll rescue him.” Thereupon he recited a magic spell; with one shake of his body, he changed into a tiny mole cricket. Darting away, he alighted on the base of one of Eight Rules’s ears and went back to the cave with the monster-spirits. The second demon led the three thousand little fiends, all blowing bugles and beating drums, up to the entrance of the cave where they were to be stationed. He himself took Eight Rules inside and said, “Elder Brother, I’ve caught one.” The old fiend said, “Bring him here and let me have a look.” The second demon loosened his trunk and flung Eight Rules on the ground, saying, “Isn’t this the one?” “This one,” said the old fiend, “is quite useless!”

  On hearing this, Eight Rules spoke up: “Great King, let the useless one go. Find the useful one instead and catch him.” “Though he may be useless,” said the third fiend, “he is still Zhu Eight Rules, a disciple of the Tang Monk. Let’s tie him up and send him to soak in the pond in the back. When his hairs are soaked off, we’ll rip open his belly, cure him with salt, and sundry him. He’ll be good with wine when it turns cloudy.”

  Horrified, Eight Rules said, “Finished! Finished! I’ve run into a fiend who’s a pickle merchant.” The various fiends all joined in and had Idiot hog-tied before hauling him to the edge of the pond. After shoving him out toward the center of the pond, they turned and left.

  The Great Sage flew up into the air to have a look, and he found our Idiot half floating and half submerged in the pond, with his four legs turned upward and his snout downward, snorting and blowing water constantly. He was a laughable sight indeed, like one of those huge black lotus roots of late autumn that has cast its seeds after frost. When the Great Sage saw those features, he was moved to both anger and pity. “What am I to do?” he thought to himself. “He is, after all, a member of Buddha’s Birthday Feast. But I’m so mad at him, for at the slightest excuse he will divide up the luggage and try to run off. And he’s always egging Master on to cast that Tight-Fillet Spell on me. I heard from Sha Monk the other day that he had managed to put away some private savings. I wonder if it’s true. Let me give him a scare!”

  Dear Great Sage! Flying near Eight Rules’s ear, he assumed a different voice and called out: “Zhu Wuneng! Zhu Wuneng!” “Of all the rotten luck!” mumbled an apprehensive Eight Rules. “Wuneng happens to be a name given to me by the Bodhisattva Guanshiyin. Since I followed the Tang Monk, I have also been called Eight Rules. How is it that someone at this place should know me as Wuneng?” Unable to restrain himself, Idiot asked, “Who is calling me by my religious name?”

  “It is I,” replied Pilgrim. “Who are you?” asked Idiot, and Pilgrim said, “I’m a summoner.”

  “Officer,” said Idiot, growing more and more alarmed, “where did you come from?”

  Pilgrim said, “I’ve been sent by the Fifth Yama King to summon you.” “Officer,” said Idiot, “please go back. Inform the Fifth Yama King that, for the excellent friendship he enjoys with my elder brother, Sun Wukong, I should be spared one more day. Have me summoned tomorrow.” “Rubbish!” replied Pilgrim. “As the proverb says,

  When Yama at third watch wants you to die,

  Who dares detain you till fourth watch goes by?

  Hurry up and follow me, so I don’t have to put the rope on you and pull you along.”

  “Officer,” said Idiot, “I’m asking no big favor of you. Just look at my face. You think I can live? I know I’m going to die, but I want to wait one more day—until those monster-spirits have my master and the rest of them captured and brought here. We can then enjoy a last reunion before we all expire.”

  “All right,” said Pilgrim, smiling to himself, “I have about thirty other people here to be rounded up. Let me go get them first, and that’ll give you another day. You have any travel money? Give me some.” Idiot said, “How pitiable! Where does a person who has left home have any travel money?” “If not,” said Pilgrim, “I’ll rope you up and you can follow me!” “Officer,” cried Eight Rules, horrified, “please don’t rope me! I know that little rope of yours has the name of the Life-Dispatching Cord. Once you put it on me, I’ll breathe my last. Yes! Yes! Yes! I do have a little, but not much.” “Where is it?” demanded Pilgrim. “Take it out quickly!”

  “Pity! Pity!” replied Eight Rules. “Since I became a priest, I have bumped into a few philanthropic families who wanted to feed the monks. When they saw that I had a large appetite, they handed me a few pennies more than they gave my companions. Altogether I have managed to save about five maces3 of silver, but all that loose cash is hard to carry. When I last visited a city, I asked a silversmith to have it forged into a single piece. He turned out to be most unscrupulous, for he stole a few candareens and I was left with a piece of silver weighing but four maces and six candareens. You may take it.”

  “This Idiot,” said Pilgrim to himself, smiling, “doesn’t even have a pair of pants on him. Where can he be hiding it?” He asked, “Hey, where’s your silver?”

  “It’s stuffed inside my left ear,” replied Eight Rules. “I’m all tied up, and I can’t get it for you. Take it out yourself.”

  On hearing this, Pilgrim reached into the ear and found the piece of silver: shaped like a saddle, it did in fact weigh about four mace and six candareen. When he took hold of it, he could no longer refrain from letting out a loud guffaw. Recognizing at once that it was the voice of Pilgrim, our Idiot, floating in the water, began to let loose a string of abuses. “You damned BanHorsePlague!” he cried. “I’m in such straits already, and you have to come extort money from me!”

  “You overstuffed pig!” said Pilgrim, laughing. “In his attempt to protect Master, old Monkey has undergone who knows how much affliction. But you even manage to stash away private savings!” “Shame on you!” replied Eight Rules. “What sort of private savings is this? It’s something that has been shaved off my teeth! I couldn’t bring myself to spend it on my mouth. I was hoping to save it for one garment on my back, but you have to scare it out of me. Give me back a little of that silver!” “Not even half a candareen,” answered Pilgrim.

  “I’ll give it to you as ransom money then,” scolded Eight Rules, “but you’d better rescue me.” “Don’t be impatient,” said Pilgrim. “I’ll rescue you.”

  He put away the silver and changed back into his original form; with the iron rod he teased and guided Idiot in and then hauled him out of the pond by his feet. After he was untied, Eight Rules leaped up and took off his shirt to wring out the water. Shaking it a couple of times, he draped it on his body again, still dripping wet. “Elder Brother,” he said, “open the back door and let’s scram!”

  “Escaping through the back door,” said Pilgrim, “is that manly behavior? Let’s fight our way out through the front door.” Eight Rules said, “But my feet are numb from being tied up. I can’t move.” “Just be quick and follow me,” said Pilgrim.

  Dear Great Sage! He opened up with his iron rod and fought his way out; Eight Rules, though still feeling the numbness, had no choice but to follow him. When they reached the second-level door, they found the muckrake standing there. Pushing the little fiends aside, Eight Rules grabbed his weapon and began to rain blows left and right. After he and Pilgrim went through those three or four levels of door in this manner, they managed to slaughter countless little fiends. When the old demon heard of it, he said to the second demon, “That’s some fine person you’ve caught! Now look at what Pilgrim Sun has done! He has robbed us of Zhu Eight Rules and they have struck down the little fiends at our door!”

  Leaping up hurriedly, the second demon grasped the lance and ran out of the main gate. “Brazen ape!” he shouted in a loud voice. “You insolent creature! How dare you insult us like this!”

  On hearing this, the
Great Sage stood still, while the fiendish creature, without another word, attacked at once with the lance. Pilgrim, the expert (as it were) was not exercised; wielding his iron rod, he faced his opponent head on. Thus the two of them began a magnificent battle outside the cave:

  An old, yellow-tusked elephant became a man

  And sworn bond-brother to a lion king.

  Because the big demon prodded and urged,

  They all plotted to eat the priest of Tang.

  Great Sage, Equal to Heav’n, of vast magic powers

  Would help the Right to quell spirits perverse.

  Inept Eight Rules fell to malicious hands,

  But Wukong saved him, got him out the door.

  When the fiend king gave chase, flaunting his strength,

  Rod and lance joined up, each showing its might.

  The lance of that one came like a python slicing through the woods;

  The rod of this one soared like a dragon rising from the sea.

  The dragon, cloud-shrouded, rose from the sea;

  The python, mist-enwrapped, sliced through the woods.

  Come to think of it, ’twas for the Tang Monk

  That they strove bitterly without restraint.

  Though that Eight Rules saw the Great Sage fighting with the monster-spirit, he did not step forward to help his companion at all. Standing the muckrake on the ground at the mouth of the mountain, he merely stood there and stared dumbly at them. When the monster-spirit saw how heavy Pilgrim’s rod was, how tautly executed were his thrusts and parries, without the slightest hint of weakness or mistake, he blocked the rod with his lance and stretched out his trunk to seize his opponent. Pilgrim, however, knew exactly what was happening; raising the golden-hooped rod horizontally high above his own head with both hands, he permitted the monster-spirit to wrap his trunk around his waist, but his hands remained free. Look at him! His two hands played with the rod on top of the monster-spirit’s trunk like a drum majorette twirling a baton!

  When he saw that, Eight Rules beat his breast and cried, “Alas, that monster-spirit’s so unfortunate! When he caught hold of a ruffian like me, he had even my hands wrapped up so that I could not move at all. But when he caught hold of a slippery creature, he didn’t bother to wrap up his hands. All those two hands need to do is to jab the rod into his trunk. There’ll be pain and snivel in that nostril. How could he hold on to his prisoner?”

  Now Pilgrim actually had not thought of doing that, but this time Eight Rules managed to give him an idea. Waving the rod once to turn it into a staff over ten feet long and having the thickness of a chicken egg, he jabbed it into the monster’s trunk. Horrified, the monster-spirit loosened his hold at once with a loud snort. Pilgrim changed hands and, grabbing hold of the trunk, gave it a mighty tug. To lessen his pain, the monster-spirit walked forward in the direction he was pulled. Only then did Eight Rules have the courage to approach them and rain blows onto the monster-spirit’s side with his muckrake.

  “No! No!” cried Pilgrim. “You have sharp teeth on your rake. If you puncture his skin and make him bleed, Master will blame us again for hurting life when he sees this. Just hit him with your rake handle.” Accordingly, our Idiot lifted the rake handle and gave the monster a blow with each step he took, while Pilgrim pulled him in front by the trunk. Like two elephant tenders, they herded the monster down the slope, where Tripitaka stood waiting with unblinking eyes. When he caught sight of them approaching noisily, he called out, “Wujing, can you see what it is that Wukong is dragging along?”

  Sha Monk took one look and said, smiling, “Master, Big Brother is pulling a monster-spirit by his trunk. What a lovely sight!”

  “My goodness! My goodness!” said Tripitaka. “Such a huge monster-spirit! And what a long nose he has! Go and tell him, if he is gracious enough to escort us across this mountain, we’ll spare him. We shouldn’t hurt his life.”

  Hurrying forward to meet them, Sha Monk said in a loud voice, “Master says not to hurt him if that fiend is willing to escort us across this mountain.” On hearing this the fiend immediately went to his knees and made a sort of wheezing reply. Since his trunk was gripped by Pilgrim, you see, he sounded as if he had a severe cold. “Venerable Father Tang,” he huffed, “if you’re willing to spare my life, we’ll fetch a palanquin to escort you.”

  Pilgrim said, “We master and disciples are all gracious winners. We believe you, and we’ll spare your life. Go fetch the palanquin quickly. If you change your mind again, we’ll certainly not spare you once we capture you.” After he had been freed, the fiend kowtowed and left, while Pilgrim and Eight Rules gave a full report to the Tang Monk. Overcome by embarrassment, Eight Rules began sunning his clothes in front of the slope to dry them, and we shall leave them for the moment.

  The second demon, trembling all over, went back to the cave. Before he arrived, the little fiends had already made the report that he was taken captive and led away by the trunk. In dismay, the old demon and the third demon were just in the process of leading the troops out when they saw the second demon returning alone. After they had welcomed him back and asked him what had happened, the second demon gave them a complete account of the Tang Monk’s kind words and the claim of being a gracious winner. As they stared at each other, no one dared speak up for a long time. Then the second demon said, “Elder Brother, are we ready to escort the Tang Monk?”

  “What are you saying, Brother?” asked the old demon. “Pilgrim Sun is in truth a kind and benevolent ape. When he was first in my belly, he could have finished me off a thousand times if he wanted to harm me. Just now, when he caught hold of your trunk, he could have given you a lot of trouble if he had refused to set you free and squeezed the tip of your trunk until it was punctured. Let’s make the necessary preparations quickly and go escort them.”

  “Yes, let’s escort them! Let’s escort them!” said the third demon with a laugh.

  “Worthy Brother,” said the old demon, “you sound as if you are miffed. If you don’t want to escort them, the two of us will go instead.”

  “Let me inform my two elder brothers,” said the third demon, laughing some more. “If those priests did not want us to escort them and simply chose to sneak across this mountain, they would have been lucky. But since they insisted on our escorting them, they would certainly fall into my ploy of ‘Seducing the Tiger to Leave Its Mountain.’”

  “What do you mean by ‘Seducing the Tiger to Leave Its Mountain?’” asked the old fiend.

  “Call up all the fiends in our cave,” replied the third fiend. “We’ll select one thousand from ten thousand of them, one hundred from that thousand, and then sixteen from that hundred. In addition, we want to select thirty more.”

  “Why is it,” asked the old fiend, “that you want to select sixteen little fiends and then thirty more?”

  “The thirty little fiends,” replied the third demon, “will be selected for their culinary skills. We’ll give them some fine rice, thin noodles, bamboo shoots, tea sprouts, fragrant mushrooms, straw mushrooms, bean curds, and wheat glutens, along with the order that they should set up camp at every twenty- or thirty-mile interval to prepare meals for the Tang Monk.” “And what do you want the sixteen fiends for?” asked the old fiend.

  “Eight of them will haul the palanquin,” said the third fiend, “and eight will shout to clear the way. We three brothers will accompany all of them for a distance. Some four hundred miles west of here will be my city, where I will have my men and horses to relieve us. Once we get near the city, all we need do is this, this, and this, so that those master and disciples will have no chance at all to look after each other. If we want to seize the Tang Monk, we’ll have to rely on those sixteen demons to bring us success.”

  When he heard these words, the old fiend could not have been more pleased; it was as if he indeed had snapped out of a hangover or awakened from a dream. “Marvelous! Marvelous! Marvelous!” he cried, and he at once called together all the fiends. He first selected t
he thirty members to whom he gave the foodstuff. Then he selected sixteen of them and they were told to haul out a palanquin made of fragrant vines. As they walked out the door, he gave them this instruction also: “You are not permitted to wander off somewhere in the mountain. Pilgrim Sun happens to be a monkey full of suspicions. If he sees all of you milling about, he may suspect something and see through our plot.”

  Leading the throng up to the side of the main road, the old fiend cried out in a loud voice: “Venerable Father Tang, today does not clash with the dread day of Red Sand.4 We are here to invite the Venerable Father to cross this mountain.”

  On hearing this, Tripitaka said, “Wukong, who are those people that are calling me?” Pointing with his finger, Pilgrim said, “That’s the monster-spirit old Monkey subdued. He has brought a palanquin to escort you.”

  “My goodness! My goodness!” said Tripitaka, his palms pressed together as he bowed to Heaven. “If it hadn’t been for the ability of my worthy disciple, how would I be able to proceed?” He then went forward to salute the various fiends, saying, “I am greatly beholden to your love. When this disciple returns eastward with the scriptures, he will proclaim your virtuous fruits to the multitudes of Chang’an.”

  As they kowtowed, the fiends said, “Let the Venerable Father ascend the carriage.” Being of fleshly eyes and mortal stock, that Tripitaka did not perceive that this was a trick. The Great Sage Sun, too, was a golden immortal of the Great Monad, who was by nature honest and upright. Since he thought that the experience of captivity and release had truly subdued the fiend, he did not expect any intrigue nor did he examine the situation carefully before he complied with his master’s wishes. After telling Eight Rules to load the luggage onto the horse and Sha Monk to follow the rear, he himself took up the lead, his iron rod resting across his shoulders. Eight of the little fiends lifted up the palanquin while eight others shouted to clear the way. With the fiend chiefs supporting the carrying-poles of the palanquin on both sides, the master sat amiably in the middle of the carriage as they took the main road up to the tall mountain.