Chapter 20

The Dharma originally arises from the mind; It likewise perishes from the mind. By whom are arising and perishing wholly brought about? Please, sir, distinguish them for yourself. Since all are your own mind, what use is there in what another says? You need only apply bitter effort, and wring blood from iron. Put a velvet cord through his nose, and pull it tight into a knot in empty space. Tie it to the tree of Non-Action, and do not let him stumble and become unruly. Do not mistake a thief for your son, lest all mind-dharma be utterly forgotten. Do not let him deceive me; first strike through with a single fist. When the manifest mind is also no-mind, and the manifest Dharma, Dharma too, is stopped. When neither man nor ox is seen, the azure sky shines bright and pure. Round as the autumn moon, the two are difficult to distinguish. This verse was what Dharma Master Xuanzang realized through and through—the 《Duoxin Jing》—opening the gateway. The Elder constantly recited it and kept it in mind, and a point of numinous radiance naturally shone forth. Now, the three of them on the road ate in the wind and slept by the water, clothed in moonlight and draped in stars; before long, summer’s blazing days arrived once more. They saw only: The flowers had all fallen, and the butterflies showed no feeling; the trees were tall, and the cicadas made a noisy sound. The wild silkworms had formed cocoons, and the fire-pomegranates were radiant; within the marsh, fresh lotus blossoms appeared. That day, as they were traveling, the sky suddenly grew dark. Then they saw a village dwelling beside the mountain road. Sanzang said: “Wukong, look: the sun sets and hides the fiery mirror behind the western mountains; the moon rises and reveals the icy wheel over the eastern sea. Fortunately, there is a household beside the road. Let us borrow lodging for one night and continue tomorrow.” Bajie said: “That is well said. This old pig is somewhat hungry too. Let us go to the household and beg some vegetarian food to eat. With strength, I can carry the luggage.” The Pilgrim said: “What a home-loving ghost you are. You have only been away from home a few days, and already you have begun to complain.” Bajie said: “Brother, I am not like you, who drink wind and smoke. Since I have followed the Master these few days, I have long endured half a belly of hunger. Do you know that?” Hearing this, Sanzang said: “Wuneng, if your heart is so attached to home, then you are not a man who has left the household. You may go back.” The Fool hastily knelt down and said: “Master, do not listen to our elder brother’s words. He is somewhat given to slandering people. I never complained of anything, yet he says that I complained. I am a foolish, straight-gutted fellow. I said that my belly was hungry and that we should find a household from which to beg vegetarian food; he then cursed me as a home-loving ghost. Master, I accepted the Bodhisattva’s precepts and have also received your compassion. I willingly wish to attend you on the journey to the Western Heaven, and I swear I have no regret or retreat. This is called ‘hating bitter cultivation.’ How can you say that this is not the speech of one who has left the household?” Sanzang said: “Since this is so, rise.” The Fool sprang upright, muttering and grumbling, and carrying the burden, he could only resign himself completely and follow them onward. They soon arrived before the gate of the household beside the road. Sanzang dismounted; the Pilgrim took the reins; Bajie set down the luggage; and they all stood beneath the green shade. Leaning on his nine-ringed tin staff and adjusting his rattan-bound, bamboo-woven cloak, Sanzang went first toward the gate. He saw an old man leaning obliquely against a bamboo couch, murmuring Buddhist invocations. Sanzang did not dare speak loudly, but slowly called out: “Patron, greetings.” The old man sprang up with a jerk, hurriedly gathered his robe at the chest, and came out to return the courtesy. “Elder,” he said, “I have failed to welcome you. From what direction have you come? For what reason have you come to my humble gate?” Sanzang said: “This poor monk is a Buddhist monk from the Great Tang of the Eastern Land. By imperial command, I am going to Vulture Peak Monastery to worship the Buddha and seek the scriptures. We have just reached your honored region, and the sky has grown dark. I intend to lodge at your worthy residence and beg to borrow one night’s lodging. I earnestly beg you to grant us this convenience.” The old man waved his hands and shook his head. “You cannot go,” he said. “It is difficult to obtain the scriptures in the Western Heaven. If you wish to obtain scriptures, go to the Eastern Heaven instead.” Sanzang said nothing, but pondered inwardly: “The Bodhisattva pointed out the way and instructed me to go west. How can this old man say that I should travel east? How could there be scriptures in the east?” Embarrassed and unable to speak, he gave no answer for a long while. Now, the Pilgrim was naturally fierce and unruly, and could not bear it any longer. He stepped forward and shouted: “Old man, at your great age you understand nothing at all. We people who have left the household have come from afar to borrow lodging, yet you use such hateful, dull words to frighten me. If your house is truly too narrow and there is no place for us to sleep, we can sit beneath the trees for one night; surely that will not disturb you.” The old man seized Sanzang and said: “Master, you yourself say nothing, yet that disciple of yours has such a crooked face, jutting chin and cheeks, a Thunder-God’s mouth, red eyes, and the appearance of a consumptive demon. How can he instead affront an old man such as I?” The Pilgrim laughed and said: “You old man, you truly have no eye for appearances. Those who are somewhat handsome are called pleasing to look at but unfit to eat. Though my Old Sun is small, I am quite sturdy; I have nothing but a mass of sinews wrapped in skin.” The old man said: “You must surely possess some abilities.” The Pilgrim said: “I dare not boast, but I can passably be regarded as worth looking at.” The old man said: “Where is your home? For what reason did you shave your head and become a monk?” The Pilgrim said: “My Old Sun’s ancestral home is Huaguo Mountain, Water-Curtain Cave, in the Kingdom of Aolai, east of the Eastern Vulture Divine Continent. From childhood I learned to become a monster and took the name Wukong. Relying on my abilities, I became the Great Sage Equaling Heaven. Only because I would not accept the heavenly register did I greatly rebel against Heaven and bring upon myself a disaster. Now that I have escaped hardship and dispelled calamity, I have turned to the Buddhist path and seek the right fruition. I am escorting this Master of mine, under the Tang dynasty, to the Western Heaven to worship the Buddha and make the journey. What mountain heights and road dangers should I fear, or what broad waters and raging waves? I, Old Sun, can also seize monsters, subdue demons, tame tigers and capture dragons, kick Heaven and toy with wells; I know a little of all these things. If your household should have any bricks thrown or tiles struck, pots crying out or doors opening, my Old Sun can pacify and guard it.” Hearing this speech, the old man laughed heartily. “So you are a slick-tongued monk who knocks heads to beg alms.” The Pilgrim said: “Your son is the slick-tongued one. These days, simply because following my Master on the road has been arduous, I have even been too lazy to speak.” The old man said: “If it were not arduous for you and you were not lazy to speak, you would surely chatter me to death alive. Since you possess such abilities, you can still go to the West—you can go, you can go. How many people are in your party? Please come into the thatched cottage and lodge.” Sanzang said: “We are greatly indebted to the old patron for not rebuking us. There are three of us in our party.” The old man said: “Where is the other one?” The Pilgrim pointed and said: “This old man’s eyes are dim. Is not the one standing beneath the green shade there?” The old man’s eyes were indeed dim. When he raised his head and looked carefully, he caught sight of Bajie’s appearance, and was so frightened that he stumbled backward step by step, fleeing wildly into the house and crying only: “Bar the door! Bar the door! Monsters have come!” The Pilgrim caught up with him and seized him. “Old man, do not be afraid,” he said. “He is not a monster; he is my younger fellow disciple.” The old man trembled and said: “Good, good, good—each of these monks is uglier than the last.” Bajie stepped forward and said: “Old sir, if you judge people by their appearance, you are entirely mistaken. We are ugly, ugly indeed, but all of us are useful.” While the old man was speaking with the three monks before the gate, two young men came from the south of the village, bringing an old mother and three or four little boys and girls. Gathering up their garments and walking barefoot, they had returned from planting rice seedlings. Seeing a white horse and a load of luggage making a commotion before his gate, and not knowing their origin, they all crowded forward and asked: “What are you doing here?” Bajie turned his head, flapped his ears several times, and stretched out his long snout. Those people were so frightened that they fell and reeled in all directions, stumbling and scrambling about. Sanzang hurriedly called out again and again: “Do not be afraid, do not be afraid. We are not bad people; we are monks seeking the scriptures.” Only then did the old man come out of the gate. Supporting the old mother, he said: “Mother, rise; do not be overly frightened. This Master has come from the Tang dynasty. It is only that his disciple’s face and mouth are somewhat ugly; though his appearance is fierce, he is kind at heart. Take the men and children home.” Only then did the old mother pull at the old man, while the two young men led the children inside. Sanzang nevertheless sat upon the bamboo bed inside his gate tower, complaining, “Disciples, the two of you are not only ugly in appearance, but coarse in speech as well. You have frightened this entire household half to death, and made me incur sin upon my body.” Bajie said, “Not to conceal the truth from Master, ever since this old pig followed you, I have become much more handsome. If I had looked as I usually did at Gao Laozhuang, thrusting my mouth forward and waving my ears to either side, I would often have frightened two or three dozen people to death.” The Pilgrim laughed and said, “Fool, do not talk nonsense. Put away some of that ugliness as well.” Sanzang said, “Listen to what Wukong says. His appearance is inborn—how do you expect him to put it away?” The Pilgrim said, “Tuck that rake-like mouth into your bosom and do not take it out; press those palm-fan ears against your back and do not move them. That is how you put it away.” Bajie truly tucked in his mouth and pressed back his ears, hunching his head as he stood to either side. The Pilgrim carried the luggage inside the gate and tethered the white horse to a post. Just then the old man led over a youth, who carried a wooden tray bearing three cups of clear tea to offer them. When the tea was finished, he ordered a vegetarian meal to be prepared. The youth then brought out an old table, unpainted and full of holes, and two broken stools with cracked heads and broken legs. He placed them in the courtyard and invited the three monks to sit in a cool spot. Sanzang then asked, “What is your honored surname, old benefactor?” The old man said, “My surname is Wang.” “How many sons do you have?” “Two little sons and three little grandsons.” Sanzang said, “Congratulations, congratulations.” He then asked, “How many years have you lived?” “I have foolishly grown to sixty-one.” The Pilgrim said, “Good, good, good—you have met the cycle of sixty a second time.” Sanzang again asked, “Old benefactor, at the beginning you said that the scriptures of the Western Heaven would be difficult to obtain. Why is that?” The old man said, “The scriptures are not difficult to obtain; it is merely that the road is arduous and hard to travel. Going west from here, only about thirty li away, there is a mountain called the Eight-Hundred-Li Yellow Wind Ridge. There are many demons in that mountain. That is why I said they would be difficult to obtain. As for this little venerable master, he is said to possess many abilities, and thus may perhaps pass through.” The Pilgrim said, “No matter, no matter. With this old grandson and my junior brother here, whatever sort of demon it may be, it will not dare provoke me.” While they were speaking, they again saw the son bring the food and set it on the table, saying, “Please partake of the vegetarian meal.” Sanzang immediately pressed his palms together and began reciting the vegetarian-meal scripture. Bajie had already swallowed a bowl. Before the Elder’s few lines of scripture were finished, that fool had eaten another three bowls. The Pilgrim said, “This glutton of husks and bran must have run into a hungry ghost.” Old Wang was quite perceptive; seeing how quickly he ate, he said, “This venerable master must truly have been hungry. Quickly bring more rice.” That fool truly had a great appetite. Without lifting his head, he ate more than ten bowls in succession. Sanzang and the Pilgrim each managed less than two bowls. The fool did not stop, but continued eating. Old Wang said, “We have prepared hastily and have no side dishes, so I dare not press you too much. Please take another chopstickful.” Sanzang and the Pilgrim both said, “That is enough.” Bajie said, “Old man, why are you dribbling on? Who is casting a divination with you, speaking of the fifth and sixth lines? If there is rice, just keep bringing it.” In one sitting, the fool ate all the food prepared for the entire household, yet still said he was only half full. Only then did they clear away the household utensils and arrange a bamboo bed beneath the gate tower for them to sleep upon. At dawn the next day, the Pilgrim went to load the horse, while Bajie went to arrange the luggage. Old Wang again instructed Mother Wang to prepare some refreshments and soup to attend them. Only then did the three monks offer their thanks and take their leave. The old man said, “If, on the road ahead, anything unexpected should happen, you must come back to my humble cottage.” The Pilgrim said, “Old man, do not speak idle words. We members of the monastic life do not travel back along the road we have come.” Thus they mounted the horse, shouldered the luggage, and traveled westward. Alas! On this journey westward there would indeed be no good road to the Western Regions; surely there would be demons and monsters bringing great calamity. The three monks had not traveled half a day before they encountered a lofty mountain, exceedingly perilous when described. When Sanzang’s horse reached the edge of the cliff, he lifted the precious saddle obliquely to look, and indeed it was: High was the mountain, steep was the ridge; precipitous was the cliff, deep was the gorge; ringing was the spring, fresh were the flowers. Was that mountain high? Its summit touched the azure sky. Was that ravine deep? At its bottom one could see the Netherworld. Before the mountain were billowing white clouds and towering strange rocks; there were countless cliffs a thousand and ten thousand zhang high that clasped the souls. Behind the cliffs were winding, twisting Dragon-Hiding Caves; within the caves were tinkling, clanging Dripping-Water Rocks. There were also branching, forking antlered deer; muddy, foolish muntjacs staring at people; coiling, winding red-scaled pythons; and frolicking, unruly white-faced apes. By evening, tigers sought their caves along the mountains; at dawn, dragons emerged from the water, churning the waves. The gates of the caves they climbed rang with a whoosh and clatter. Birds in the grass took flight with flapping rustles; beasts in the forest moved with snuffling sounds. Suddenly a pack of wolves and insects passed by, startling people’s hearts into pounding alarm. Truly it was that dang-dao cave, dang-dang-dao cave; cave dang-dang-dao cave, dang mountain. The blue-green hills were dyed into jade a thousand zhang high; azure gauze shrouded ten thousand heaps of mist. The Master urged on his silver-gray steed, Sun the Great Sage halted the clouds and walked slowly, and Zhu Wuneng led the load at an unhurried pace. As they were looking at that mountain, they suddenly heard a whirlwind rise with great force. Sanzang was startled on horseback and said, “Wukong, the wind has risen.” The Pilgrim said, “Why fear the wind? This is merely the qi of Heaven’s four seasons. What is there to fear?” Sanzang said, “This wind is exceedingly evil, unlike the wind of Heaven.” The Pilgrim said, “How can you tell that it is unlike the wind of Heaven?” Sanzang said, “Look at this wind: Majestic, vast, rustling, it whirls and flutters; Vast and dim, it emerges from the azure vault. Crossing the ridge, it makes a thousand trees roar; Entering the forest, ten thousand stalks merely sway. Upon the bank it rocks the willows, roots and all; Within the garden it blows flowers and leaves aloft. Fishing boats that have gathered their nets all tighten their cables; Passenger skiffs that have lowered their awnings all cast out their anchors. Midway along the road, travelers lose their way; In the mountains, woodcutters find their loads hard to shoulder. Among the immortal-fruit groves, the monkeys scatter; Within the clusters of strange flowers, the fawns flee. Before the cliffs, every cypress and arborvitae falls; Below the ravines, every leaf of pine and bamboo withers. It scatters earth and raises dust, sand bursting everywhere; It overturns rivers and stirs seas, waves and billows surging.” Bajie stepped forward and seized the Pilgrim, saying, “Brother, the wind is terribly strong. Let us hide for a while and be done with it.” The Pilgrim laughed and said, “Brother, you are useless. You hide whenever the wind is strong; what will you do if you happen to meet a demon face-to-face?” Bajie said, “Brother, have you never heard, ‘Avoid beauty as you avoid an enemy; avoid wind as you avoid arrows’? If we hide for a while, it will not harm anyone.” The Pilgrim said, “Say no more. Let me grab a handful of this wind and smell it.” Bajie laughed and said, “Brother, you are telling another empty-headed lie. How can wind be grabbed and brought over to smell? Even if it could be grabbed, it would simply slip away.” The Pilgrim said, “Brother, you do not know that this old grandson has a method called ‘Grasping Wind.’” What a Great Sage he was! He let the head of the wind pass, seized its tail, and smelled it. There was a somewhat rank odor. He said, “Indeed, this is no good wind. The odor of this wind is not that of a tiger wind; it must be a monster wind. There is certainly something strange about it.” Before he could finish speaking, they saw a mottled fierce tiger spring out from below the mountainside, running with its tail clipped and hooves pounding. Sanzang was so startled that he could not remain steady in the carved saddle; he toppled head over heels from the white horse and fell beside the road, leaning askew, truly with his soul flying and spirit scattered. Bajie cast down the luggage, drew his iron rake, and would not let the Pilgrim step forward. With a great shout he said, “Beast, where do you think you are going?” He chased after it and struck it squarely on the head. That tiger stood straight up, raised its front left claw, seized its own chest, and raked downward. With a ripping sound, it stripped off its hide and stood beside the road. Look at how wickedly it appeared! Ah! Its form was: A blood-dripping, crimson, flayed body, Red and swollen, with crooked, curling legs and feet. His two temples were bristling like flames, and his two stiff, bristling brows stood straight up. Four steel teeth gleamed white as frost, and a pair of golden eyes shone brightly. He puffed himself up and roared with all his might, shouting fiercely in a booming voice. He shouted: “Slowly, slowly. I am no one else, but the Vanguard of the Front Route under the command of the Yellow Wind Great King. I have now received the Great King’s strict order to patrol the mountain and seize several mortals to serve as wine-food for the feast. What sort of monk are you, that you dare recklessly wield a weapon and injure me?” Bajie cursed: “You wicked beast! You do not recognize me. We are not those passing mortals, but disciples of the Imperial Younger Brother, the Sanzang of the Great Tang of the Eastern Land, who, having received an imperial decree, are journeying west to worship the Buddha and seek the scriptures. You had best promptly withdraw far away to another place and clear the main road. Do not alarm my master, and I will spare your life; but if you are as reckless as before, once my rake is raised, I will show no mercy.” The demon would not allow him to say another word. He rushed forward, made a feint, and lunged toward Bajie’s face to seize him. Bajie hastily dodged and swung his rake to strike. The monster had no weapon in his hands, so he turned and fled; Bajie pursued close behind. When the monster reached the rocks below the mountain slope, he took out two red-copper sabers, quickly swung them up, and turned to meet him. The two fought before the slope, coming and going, charging and clashing in fierce combat. Sun Wukong helped Tang Sanzang to his feet and said: “Master, do not be afraid. Sit still for now and wait for your old disciple to go help Bajie. Once we beat down that monster, we can leave.” Sanzang had only just managed to sit up, trembling with fear, while he recited the *Heart Sutra*; but this need not be discussed further. The Pilgrim drew his iron staff and shouted: “Take him!” At this, Bajie gathered his spirit, and the monster was defeated and driven from the field. The Pilgrim said: “Do not spare him; be sure to catch up with him.” The two of them swung their rake and raised their iron staff, chasing him down the mountain. The monster, thrown into confusion, employed the Stratagem of the Golden Cicada Sheds Its Shell: he rolled on the ground, revealed his true form, and once again became a fierce tiger. The Pilgrim and Bajie were unwilling to let him go and pursued the tiger, determined to eradicate him to the root. Seeing that they had come very close, the monster again clawed at his chest, peeled off his skin, and spread it over the Reclining Tiger Stone. He shed his true body, transformed into a fierce wind, and went straight back to the road entrance. Suddenly he saw that his master was reciting the *Heart Sutra*. He seized him in one grasp and carried him away upon the long wind. Alas for Sanzang! The River-Flow was fated to suffer many trials; within the Gate of Extinction, the work of cultivation was difficult. The monster captured Tang Sanzang and brought him to the cave entrance. There he checked the fierce wind and said to the gatekeeper: “Go report to the Great King that the Tiger Vanguard of the Front Route has captured a monk and is waiting outside for his command.” The Cave Lord issued an order for him to be brought in. The Tiger Vanguard, with the two red-copper sabers stuck at his waist, held Tang Sanzang in both hands, stepped forward, and knelt down, saying: “Great King, your little general, though untalented, received your command to patrol the mountain. Suddenly I encountered a monk. He is the Imperial Younger Brother, the Sanzang Dharma Master, of the Great Tang of the Eastern Land, who was journeying west to worship the Buddha and seek the scriptures. I captured him and have brought him here to present to Your Majesty, merely providing a single dish.” When the Cave Lord heard this, he was startled and said: “I have heard people say before that the Dharma Master Sanzang is the divine monk who, under the command of the Great Tang, has gone to obtain the scriptures. He has a disciple under him named Sun Wukong, whose supernatural powers are vast and whose wisdom and strength are great. How were you able to capture him?” The Vanguard said: “He has two disciples. The first to come wielded a nine-toothed iron rake; he had a long snout and large ears. The other wielded a golden-hooped iron staff; he had fiery eyes and golden pupils. They were pursuing me and struggling with me when I employed the Stratagem of the Golden Cicada Sheds Its Shell, withdrew my body to gain an opening, and captured this monk. I have presented him to Your Majesty merely to show the respect due for a single meal.” The Cave Lord said: “Do not eat him just yet.” The Vanguard said: “Great King, if one sees food and does not eat it, what is that but being a worthless lout?” The Cave Lord said: “You do not understand. Eating him would not be a problem; I fear only that his two disciples might come to our door and make a commotion, which would not be safe. Tie him for now to the Wind-Calming Stake in the rear garden. Wait three or five days. If the two of them do not come to cause trouble, then, first, we can keep his body clean, and second, we will not have to expend our tongues in argument. Would that not leave us free to do as we please? Whether boiled or steamed, fried or stir-fried, we can slowly and leisurely enjoy him; there will be no delay.” The Vanguard was delighted and said: “The Great King’s profound foresight is most reasonable.” He ordered: “Little ones, take him away.” At once, seven or eight torturers crowded forward and took Tang Sanzang away, binding him with ropes and cords, just as an eagle seizes a swallow. This was the suffering River-Flow thinking of the Pilgrim, the distressed divine monk thinking of Wuneng. He cried: “My disciples! I do not know on what mountain you are capturing monsters or where you are subduing demons, while I have been seized by a demon king and made to suffer this torment. When shall we be able to meet again? How bitter this is! If you come a little sooner, you may yet save my life; but if you are too late, there is certainly no way to preserve it.” As he lamented, his tears fell like rain. Now, the Pilgrim and Bajie pursued the tiger down the mountain slope. They saw that the tiger had fallen and was lying collapsed before the cliff. The Pilgrim raised his staff and struck with all his strength, but the blow rebounded so violently that his own hand hurt. Bajie struck again with his rake, and its tines likewise sprang up. It turned out to be a tiger skin covering a Reclining Tiger Stone. The Pilgrim was greatly startled and said: “This is bad, this is bad! We have fallen into his stratagem!” Bajie said: “What stratagem of his?” The Pilgrim said: “This is called the Stratagem of the Golden Cicada Sheds Its Shell. He covered this place with a tiger skin, while he himself escaped. Let us return at once to look for our master, lest he suffer the demon’s cruel hands.” The two hurried back, but Sanzang was already nowhere to be seen. The Pilgrim cried out like thunder: “What shall we do? The master has already been captured by him.” Bajie immediately led the horse, tears dripping from his eyes, and said: “Heaven! Heaven! Where shall we go to search for him?” The Pilgrim raised his head and said: “Do not cry, do not cry. Once you cry, you blunt your sharp spirit. In any case, I think he can only be in this mountain. Let us go search.” The two of them indeed rushed into the mountain, crossing ridges and passing over peaks. After traveling for quite some time, they saw a cave dwelling rising beneath a rocky cliff. The two halted and gazed at it; indeed, it was perilous. They saw: Layered barriers and sharp peaks, winding ranges and ancient paths. Green pines and emerald bamboo leaned gently; green willows and blue parasol trees swayed slowly. Before the cliff stood paired strange rocks; within the forest, secluded birds called in pairs. Stream waters flowed from afar, rushing against the stone walls; mountain springs dripped finely, spreading across the sandy banks. Wild clouds drifted in patches; jade grasses grew luxuriantly. Demonic foxes and crafty rabbits darted and scrambled; horned deer and musk deer contended bravely together. Ancient vines, ten thousand years old, hung slantwise from the split cliffs; thousand-year cypresses half dangled over the deep ravines. Lofty and magnificent, they rivaled Mount Hua; falling flowers and crying birds competed with Heavenly Terrace. The Pilgrim said: “Worthy younger brother, you may rest the luggage in the hollow between the mountains where the wind is hidden, and turn the horses loose. Do not show yourself. Let your old brother go to his gate and contend with him. We must capture the demon before we can rescue our master.” Bajie said: “There is no need to instruct me. Please go quickly.” The Pilgrim straightened his zhiduo robe, tightened his tiger-skin skirt, drew forth his staff, and rushed to the gate. He saw that six large characters were written upon it: “Yellow Wind Ridge, Yellow Wind Cave.” He planted his feet in a T-shape, gripped his staff, and shouted loudly, “Monster, send my master out at once, so that I need not overturn your nest and trample your dwelling flat.” Hearing this, the little monsters were each terrified, and trembling, they ran inside to report: “Great King, disaster has struck.” The Yellow Wind Monster was seated there and asked, “What has happened?” The little demon said, “Outside the cave gate has come a monk with a Thunder-God’s mouth and a hairy face, holding an iron staff as thick as that. He demands his master.” The cave lord was alarmed and immediately summoned the Tiger Vanguard, saying, “I instructed you to patrol the mountains; you should have brought back only mountain cattle, wild boars, fat deer, and fat sheep. Why did you bring that Tang Monk here, thereby provoking his disciple to come make a disturbance? What are we to do?” The vanguard said, “Great King, rest easy and sleep soundly without worry. Though I, your little general, am unworthy, I am willing to lead fifty little officers out and bring back that Sun Wukong fellow for us to eat as a side dish.” The cave lord said, “Apart from the large and small leaders here, I have another five or seven hundred little officers. Choose as you please and take however many you want. So long as you capture that Pilgrim, we can comfortably eat a piece of that monk’s flesh, and I shall willingly acknowledge you as my sworn brother. But I fear you may fail to capture him and instead be injured; when that happens, do not blame me.” The tiger monster said, “Rest easy, rest easy. Wait for me to return.” Sure enough, he summoned fifty sturdy little demons, beat the drums and waved the flags, fastened two red-bronze blades at his side, and came out through the gate. In a stern voice he shouted, “Where did you come from, you monkey-monk? What are you doing shouting and yelling here?” The Pilgrim cursed him: “You skinning beast! What sort of shell-shedding magic did you use to spirit away my master, and now you ask me what for? Send my master out properly at once, and I will still spare your life.” The tiger monster said, “I captured your master to make him a meal for my great king. If you know what is good for you, go back; otherwise, once we capture you, we shall eat you together. Is that not like buying one and getting one free?” Hearing this, the Pilgrim was furious. His steel teeth ground together with a clatter, his fiery eyes opened round and wide, and he drew his iron staff and shouted, “How great are your abilities, that you dare speak such boasts? Do not run—look at my staff.” The vanguard hurriedly raised his blades to meet him. This encounter was indeed no ordinary one, for both displayed their might. It was a fine battle: The monster was a genuine goose egg, Wukong was a goose-egg stone. The red-bronze blades met the Handsome Monkey King, Just as eggs are piled up to strike a stone. How could a magpie contend with a phoenix? How would a pigeon dare oppose an eagle or hawk? The monster breathed wind, filling the mountain with dust; Wukong exhaled mist, veiling the sun with clouds. They came and went no more than three or five bouts, And the vanguard’s waist weakened, utterly without strength. Turning around, he fled to save his life, But Wukong pressed him relentlessly from behind. The tiger monster could no longer withstand the blows and turned to flee. Originally, he had boasted before the cave lord and did not dare return to the cave, so he fled straight up the mountain slope to save his life. The Pilgrim had no intention of letting him go. Gripping his staff, he chased after him with all his might, huffing and roaring, his shouts unceasing, until they reached the hollow between the mountains where the wind was hidden. Raising his head, he saw Bajie releasing the horses there. Bajie suddenly heard the huffing and shouting, turned to look, and saw that it was the tiger monster whom the Pilgrim had driven into defeat. He abandoned the horse, raised his rake, and thrust it diagonally from the side with a single blow. Poor vanguard! He had escaped the moment he tried to leap from the yellow silk net, never knowing that he would again encounter the man who covered the fish. Bajie’s rake struck him, making nine holes from which fresh blood spurted, while all the brains in his head flowed dry. A poem offers proof, and the poem says: Three or five years ago I returned to the orthodox path, Observed abstinence and vegetarianism, and awakened to true emptiness. With a sincere heart I vowed to protect Tang Sanzang; At the beginning, taking up the monastic way, I established this merit. The Idiot planted one foot upon his spine, while with both hands he swung his rake and struck him again. Seeing this, the Pilgrim was delighted and said, “Brother, that is exactly right. He led several dozen little demons and dared to fight old Sun. I defeated him, and instead of turning back toward the cave, he came here seeking death. Fortunately you intercepted him; otherwise he would have escaped again.” Bajie said, “Was he the one who used wind to spirit away our master?” The Pilgrim said, “Exactly, exactly.” Bajie said, “Did you ever ask him where our master was?” The Pilgrim said, “This monster took our master into the cave and intended to make him a meal for some bird of a great king. Old Sun became angry and fought him all the way here, but you sent him to his death. Brother, this merit counts as yours. You continue guarding the horses and luggage. I will drag this dead monster away, then go to the cave gate and challenge them again. Only after capturing that old demon can we rescue our master.” Bajie said, “What Elder Brother says is reasonable. Go, go. If you defeat this old demon, come back here again, and this old hog will intercept him and kill him.” The good Pilgrim, with one hand carrying his iron staff and the other dragging the dead tiger, went straight to the gate of his cave. It was precisely so: When the Dharma Master encounters trouble, he meets a monster; Temperaments join together to subdue the disordered demon. In the end, whether he can subdue the monster on this journey and rescue Tang Monk, we shall leave for the next installment to explain.