Chapter 25

Now the three brothers reached the hall and said to their master, “The rice is nearly cooked. Why did you call us?” Sanzang said, “Disciples, I am not asking about the rice. In this temple of his there are some ginseng fruits, things resembling children. Which one of you stole and ate them?” Bajie said, “I am an honest man; I do not know and have never seen them.” Qingfeng said, “The one laughing is he; the one laughing is he.” The Pilgrim shouted, “This is simply the way my old Sun laughs. Just because you cannot find some fruit, are you not going to let me laugh?” Sanzang said, “Disciple, calm your anger. We are people who have left the household; do not tell falsehoods, and do not eat food against your conscience. If you truly ate his fruit, just apologize to him. Why stubbornly deny it like this?” Seeing that his master’s words were reasonable, the Pilgrim told the truth: “Master, this has nothing to do with me. Bajie heard the two Daoist boys next door talking about eating some ginseng fruit. He wanted to be the first to taste something new, so he had this old Sun strike down three. Each of us brothers ate one. Now that they have been eaten, what are we to do?” Mingyue said, “You stole four from me, and this monk still says he is not a thief!” Bajie said, “Amitabha! Since four were stolen, why did you bring out only three to divide among us? Were you already playing favorites by striking down one beforehand?” That blockhead turned around and shouted wildly. The two immortal boys, having learned that this was indeed the case, cursed them even more. The Great Sage gnashed his steel teeth until they rang and opened his fiery eyes wide. He gripped and regripped the Golden-Hooped Rod, restraining himself again and again, and said, “Let this boy say that striking someone to his face is one thing; I can endure a little of his abuse. I shall give him a plan that will cut off his posterity, and make it so that none of them can eat.” The good Pilgrim plucked one hair from the back of his head, blew upon it with immortal breath, and called, “Change!” It changed into a false Pilgrim, who stayed with Tang Sanzang, accompanying Wuneng and Wujing while enduring the Daoist boy’s shouting and abuse. His true body left a spirit behind, leaped onto the cloud, and sprang up, going straight to the ginseng orchard. He drew the Golden-Hooped Rod and struck the tree with a clang. Then he used the divine strength that could push mountains and move ridges, and with one shove pushed the tree down. Piteous was the sight: the leaves fell, the forked branches opened, and the roots emerged from the earth; the Daoist’s Grass-Returning Elixir was destroyed. After the Great Sage had pushed down the tree, he searched the branches for fruit, but where could he find even half of one? It turned out that this treasure fell when touched by metal. The two ends of his rod were wrapped in gold, and iron too was one of the five metals, so when it struck the tree the fruit was shaken down; once it fell, it encountered earth and sank into it. Therefore not a single fruit remained above. He said, “Good, good, good! Let everyone’s anger be dispersed.” He put away the iron rod, came straight back, shook the hair, and drew it back into his body. Those people, being fleshly eyes in mortal bodies, could not see clearly. Now, after the immortal boys had cursed for a good while, Qingfeng said, “Mingyue, these monks can certainly endure abuse. We have been cursing them for half this time as if we were cursing chickens, yet they have not made a single sound in reply. Perhaps they truly did not steal and eat them. If the tree was tall and the leaves dense, and we failed to count clearly, we should not have cursed them unjustly. Let us go and inspect it again.” Mingyue said, “That is also reasonable.” The two of them again went to the orchard, only to see the tree fallen, its forked branches exposed, and its leaves gone without a fruit in sight. Qingfeng was so terrified that his legs went weak and he fell headfirst; Mingyue’s waist went limp and he struck the dust. The souls of the two flew apart and their spirits scattered. There is a poem to attest this. The poem says: Sanzang journeys west to Longevity Mountain; Wukong destroys the Grass-Returning Elixir. The forked branches open, the leaves fall, the immortal root is exposed; Mingyue and Qingfeng’s hearts and gall turn cold. The two fell into the dust, their speech confused, crying only, “What shall we do? What shall we do? We have ruined the source of elixir in our Wuzhuang Temple and cut off the line of our immortal household. When the master comes home, what shall the two of us say?” Mingyue said, “Senior Brother, do not shout. Let us first straighten our robes and caps, and not alarm these few monks. There is no one else it could be. It must be that fellow with the hairy face and thunderous mouth. He came out in spirit and used magic arts, ruining our treasure. If we argue it out with him, that fellow will certainly deny it, and will surely contend with us. Once we contend, we will have to exchange blows and fight. How do you think the two of us can stand against the four of them? It would be better to deceive him for a while, saying only that there was plenty of fruit and that we had miscounted, then turn and apologize to him. Their rice is already cooked. When they eat, we will add a few more small dishes for them. Each of them will hold a bowl; you stand at the left of the door, and I shall stand at the right. Then, with a sudden bang, we will shut the door, fasten the lock, and lock all these layers of doors. Do not let them out. When the master comes home, let him dispose of them as he will. He is also the master’s old acquaintance; if he spares him, it will be the master’s favor; if he does not spare him, we will at least have caught a thief, and perhaps that will be enough to save us from our crime.” Hearing this, Qingfeng said, “Reasonable, reasonable.” The two forced themselves to recover their spirits and struggled to appear cheerful. They came straight from the rear garden to the hall, and, bending their backs and bowing to Tang Sanzang, said, “Master, our words just now were crude and gave much offense. Do not blame us, do not blame us.” Sanzang asked, “What do you mean?” Qingfeng said, “There was plenty of fruit. It was only because the tree’s leaves were tall and dense that we failed to see clearly. We have just gone to inspect it again, and the original number is still there.” Bajie took the opportunity to raise his foot and say, “You young boy, ignorant of worldly matters, came and cursed wildly, swore at us with your bare mouth, and wrongfully accused us as well. You are no proper human being.” The Pilgrim understood everything in his heart but said nothing aloud, thinking to himself, “A lie, a lie. The fruits have already been completely accounted for. Why are they saying such things? They must have some method of bringing the dead back to life.” Sanzang said, “If that is so, bring the rice. We will eat and be on our way.” Bajie then went to serve the rice, while Sha Seng arranged the table and chairs. The two boys hurriedly fetched the small dishes: pickled cucumbers, pickled eggplants, fermented radishes, vinegar-soaked yardlong beans, salted water caltrops, and blanched mustard greens—seven or eight small plates in all—which they set out for the master and disciples to eat with their rice. They also brought a pot of fine tea and two teacups, attending them on either side. The four master and disciples had only just picked up their bowls when the two boys, one on each side, suddenly shut the door and fastened it with a two-bar copper lock. Bajie laughed and said, “This boy has made a mistake. The customs here are bad indeed. Why have you shut us in to eat?” Mingyue said, “Exactly, exactly. In any case, eat your rice, and then we will open the door.” Qingfeng cursed, “You gluttonous, greedy, thieving bald thief! You stole and ate my immortal fruit, which already merits the crime of unauthorized eating of the fruits of a garden; then you pushed down my immortal tree and ruined the immortal root in my Wuzhuang Temple, and you still have the nerve to argue. If you are ever able to reach the West and behold the Buddha’s face, it will only be after you turn back, shake the cart, and be reborn again.” Hearing this, Sanzang set down his rice bowl and placed a stone upon his heart. The boy locked the front mountain gate and the second mountain gate as well. Then he came again to the front of the main hall and hurled evil words and vile curses, calling them thieves from beginning to end. He did not stop until the sky was growing dark, when he went to eat. After finishing his meal, he returned to his room. Tang S僧 complained to Xingzhe, saying: “You monkey-head, you keep causing trouble again and again. You stole his fruits, so you should have endured some of his anger and let him scold you a few times; that would have been the end of it. Why did you push down his tree as well? If matters were reported on account of this, even if your old father were an official, he could not explain it away.” Xingzhe said: “Master, do not make a fuss. Those children have all gone to sleep. We need only wait until they are asleep, then set out through the night.” Sha Seng said: “Brother, several gates have all been locked, and they are shut very tightly. How can we leave?” Xingzhe laughed and said: “Do not concern yourself, do not concern yourself. This old Sun has his own method.” Bajie said: “I was worried that you might not have a method. You will transform into some kind of insect or leech and slip out through the lattice before anyone notices. But we poor fellows who cannot transform will be left here to take the blame and suffer for it.” Tang Seng said: “If he carries out this deed and goes out without you and me, then I will recite the old scripture. How will he bear it?” Hearing this, Bajie was both worried and amused. He said: “Master, what are you talking about? I have only heard that among the Buddhist teachings there are the Lengyan Sutra, the Lotus Sutra, the Peacock Sutra, the Guanyin Sutra, and the Diamond Sutra. I have never heard of any ‘Old Words Sutra.’” Xingzhe said: “Brother, you do not know. The hoop I wear on my head was bestowed upon my master by Guanyin Bodhisattva. My master tricked me into putting it on, and it took root as if it had grown there; do not imagine that it can be removed. It is called the Tightening-Hoop Mantra, and it is also called the Tightening-Hoop Sutra. His ‘Old Words Sutra’ is precisely this. Whenever he recites it, my head aches, and so he has this method to trouble me. Master, do not recite it. I will certainly not fail you; I guarantee that we shall all leave together.” After they had spoken, the sky had already darkened, and they did not notice the moon rising in the east. Xingzhe said: “At this hour all sounds are silent, and the icy wheel shines clearly. It is just the right time for us to leave.” Bajie said: “Brother, do not play tricks. The gates are all locked and shut. Where are we supposed to go?” Xingzhe said: “Watch this method.” He twisted the Golden-Hooped Rod in his hand, used a “Lock-Unlocking Method,” and pointed once at the gate. They heard a sudden clanging sound; the double latches of the several gates all fell away, and with a whoosh the doors swung open. Bajie laughed and said: “What a fine skill! Even a little furnace maker using a poker could not work so neatly.” Xingzhe said: “What is so remarkable about this gate? Even if it were the Southern Heavenly Gate, I could open it with one point.” He then invited his master out through the gate. Tang Seng mounted the horse, Bajie took up the luggage, and Sha Seng led the horse as they headed straight along the western road. Xingzhe said: “You go on slowly for now. Wait for this old Sun to go take care of those two children and let them sleep for a month.” Sanzang said: “Disciple, you must not take their lives; otherwise, you will once again incur the crime of harming people for the sake of treasure.” Xingzhe said: “I know.” Xingzhe went back inside and came to the door of the room where the children slept. Around his waist he carried sleeping insects, which he had originally won while playing a finger-guessing game with the Heavenly King Zengzhang at the Eastern Heavenly Gate. He took out two of them and flicked them through the window lattice. They flew straight to the children’s faces, and the children sank into deep, snoring sleep, never dreaming of waking. Only then did he set his cloud-striding steps in motion, catch up with Tang Seng, and hurry westward along the main road. That night they traveled without pause, and by dawn they had reached the next day. Sanzang said: “This monkey-head is killing me! Because of your mouth, you have made me go without sleep for an entire night.” Xingzhe said: “Do not keep complaining. Now that daylight has come, rest for a while in the woods beside the road and restore your strength before continuing.” The Elder had no choice but to dismount and lean against a pine root, using it temporarily as a meditation seat. Sha Seng set down the luggage and dozed; Bajie used a stone as a pillow and fell asleep. The Great Sage Sun alone was in the mood for mischief; he leaped into the trees, pulled down branches, and played about. The four travelers rested; this need not be discussed further. Now, after the Great Immortal had dispersed the assembly at the Palace of Primordial Beginning, he led the assembled lesser immortals away from Doushuai Palace, descended directly from the Jade Heavens, and rode upon auspicious clouds until he soon arrived before the gate of Wanshou Mountain’s Wuzhuang Temple. Looking at it, they saw that the temple gate stood wide open and the ground was clean. The Great Immortal said: “Qingfeng and Mingyue have proved useful after all. Usually, even when the sun is three zhang high, they will not straighten their backs; today, when we were absent, they were willing to rise early, open the gate, and sweep the ground.” All the lesser immortals were pleased. They proceeded to the hall, where the incense and fire were entirely gone and not a trace of human presence could be seen. Where were Mingyue and Qingfeng? The immortals said: “The two of them must have taken advantage of our absence, stolen the things, and gone away.” The Great Immortal said: “How could that be? Would people who cultivate immortality dare to harbor such wicked intentions? Most likely, they forgot to close the gate last night and went to sleep; this morning they have not yet awakened.” The immortals went to the doors of their room and looked in. Indeed, the doors were shut, and the two were snoring deeply in sleep. No matter how loudly they beat upon the door and shouted from outside, they could not be awakened. The immortals pried open the door panels, reached in, and dragged them down from the bed, but still they did not wake. The Great Immortal laughed and said: “Fine immortal youths! Those who have become immortals possess spirits that are full and no longer think of sleep—how have you become so drowsy? Could someone have tampered with you? Quickly, bring water.” One child hurriedly fetched half a cup of water and handed it to the Great Immortal. The Great Immortal recited a spell, took a mouthful of water, and sprayed it onto their faces. At once, the spell of sleep was dispelled. Only then did the two awaken. They suddenly opened their eyes, rubbed their faces, and looked up. They recognized their Immortal Master, the Equal-to-the-World Lord, together with their immortal elder brothers and the others. Qingfeng hurriedly bowed his head, and Mingyue knocked his head to the ground, saying: “Master, your old acquaintance was a monk from the East, accompanied by a band of robbers, all exceedingly fierce.” The Great Immortal laughed and said: “Do not be frightened. Tell it slowly.” Qingfeng said: “Master, not long after we parted from you, there truly came a Tang monk from the Eastern Land. His party had four monks, and with the horse there were five in all. Your disciple did not dare disobey your command. When we asked the reason for their visit, we took two ginseng fruits and presented them. That Elder, with his worldly eyes and foolish heart, did not recognize the treasure of our immortal household. He said they were children not yet three days old, and refused them again and again. Your disciples each ate one. Unexpectedly, one of his three disciples was surnamed Sun, named Wukong Xingzhe, and he first stole four fruits and ate them. We disciples reasoned with him and spoke a few thoroughly truthful words to him. But he would not tolerate it and secretly employed some supernatural method. It was bitter!…” When the two children reached this point, tears could not help falling down their cheeks. The immortals said: “Did that monk beat you?” Mingyue said: “He did not beat us; he merely struck down our ginseng tree.” Hearing this, the Great Immortal was even less angry. He said: “Do not cry, do not cry. You do not know that the one surnamed Sun is also a Taiyi Loose Immortal, and that he once caused great turmoil in Heaven. His supernatural powers are vast. Since he knocked down the treasured tree, do you recognize those monks?” Qingfeng said: “We recognize them all.” The Great Immortal said: “Since you recognize them, come with me. —All of you disciples, prepare the instruments of punishment. Wait for me to return and beat him.” The immortals accepted his command. The Great Immortal, together with Mingyue and Qingfeng, raised auspicious radiance and went in pursuit of Sanzang. In an instant, they had traversed a thousand li. From within the clouds, the Great Immortal looked westward, but he could not see Tang Seng. When he turned his head and looked eastward, he had instead gone more than nine hundred li too far. It turned out that the Elder, traveling without pause through the night, had covered only one hundred and twenty li; the Great Immortal’s cloud, with a single leap, had passed more than nine hundred li. The immortal youth said: “Master, the one sitting beneath the trees beside the road is Tang Seng.” The Great Immortal said: “I have already seen him. You two return and arrange the ropes. I shall capture him myself.” Qingfeng and Mingyue returned first; this need not be discussed further. The Great Immortal lowered his cloud and shook his body, transforming into a wandering Quanzhen adept. You may ask how he dressed himself: Wearing a robe of a hundred patches, tied with a Lü Gong sash. He waved a horsetail whisk in his hand and lightly tapped a fisherman’s drum. Three-eared straw sandals were on his feet, and a Nine-Yang cap wrapped his head. His sleeves were filled with drifting wind, and from his mouth he sang, “The moon is high.” He came straight to the tree and called loudly to Tang Sanzang: “Elder, this poor Daoist offers you greetings.” The Elder hurriedly returned the courtesy and said, “I failed to see you, I failed to see you.” The Great Immortal asked, “Elder, from what region have you come? Why are you sitting in meditation along the road?” Sanzang said, “This poor monk is one dispatched from the Great Tang of the Eastern Land to the Western Heaven to obtain the scriptures. Passing through this place, I have stopped for a brief rest.” The Great Immortal feigned surprise and said, “Elder, coming from the east, did you perhaps pass through the barren mountain?” The Elder said, “I do not know which treasure mountain belongs to the Immortal Official.” The Great Immortal said, “Wanshou Mountain’s Wuzhuang Temple is where this poor Daoist dwells.” When the Pilgrim heard this, he had something on his conscience and hurriedly replied, “We did not, we did not. We came straight along the road.” The Great Immortal pointed at him and laughed: “You wretched monkey! Whom do you think you can deceive? You knocked down my ginseng-fruit tree in my temple, then fled here through the night, and still will not confess. What are you trying to conceal? Do not leave. Go at once and restore my tree to me.” When the Pilgrim heard this, anger rose in his heart. He drew his iron rod and, without another word, struck the Great Immortal over the head. The Great Immortal turned aside and avoided it, then mounted an auspicious radiance and went straight into the air. The Pilgrim also took to the clouds and hurried after him. In midair, the Great Immortal revealed his true appearance. Look how he was dressed: A purple-gold crown upon his head, A carefree crane cloak on his person. Boots and shoes covered his feet, A silk sash bound his waist. His body was like that of a youth, His face like a beauty’s countenance. Three whiskers drifted beneath his chin, Crow feathers layered his sideburns. Meeting the Pilgrim, he bore no weapon, But merely twirled a jade horsetail whisk in his hand. The Pilgrim, heedless of high or low, struck wildly with his rod. The Great Immortal used the jade horsetail whisk to ward him off on the left and right, enduring two or three exchanges. Then he employed the technique called “Universe in the Sleeve.” Amid the clouds, he spread his robe sleeve lightly into the wind; with a swish it came forward and enclosed the four monks and the horse within a single sleeve. Bajie said, “This is bad! We have all been stuffed into a 䌋縺!” The Pilgrim said, “Fool, it is not a 䌋縺. We have been enclosed in his sleeve.” Bajie said, “That is no great matter. Let me strike it with my muckrake and bore a hole in it. We can escape downward; we will simply say that he was careless, that his enclosure was not secure and failed to hold us.” The Fool struck wildly with his rake, but how could he make it move? Though what his hand grasped felt soft, once struck, it was harder than iron. The Great Immortal turned his auspicious cloud and descended straight to Wuzhuang Temple, where he sat down and ordered his disciples to bring ropes. All the little immortals attended to him one by one. Look how, from within his sleeve, he took Tang Sanzang out as though plucking puppets, and bound him to a pillar beneath the eaves of the main hall. He then took the other three out and bound one to each pillar. He also brought out the horse, tethered it below in the courtyard, and gave it some fodder. The luggage was thrown beneath the corridor. Then he said, “Disciples, this monk is a renunciant; we cannot use knives or spears, nor subject him to battle-axes or halberds. Instead, bring out the leather whip and give him a beating, to vent my anger over the ginseng fruits.” The immortals promptly brought out a whip—not one made of ox hide, sheep hide, roe-deer hide, or calf hide, but a Seven-Star Whip made from dragon hide, which had been soaking in water. He ordered a strong little immortal to take firm hold of the whip and said, “Master, whom shall I strike first?” The Great Immortal said, “Tang Sanzang has been gravely disrespectful. Strike him first.” When the Pilgrim heard this, he thought to himself: “My old monk cannot withstand a beating. What if a single whipping beats him to death? Would that not be a sin created by me?” Unable to hold back, he spoke: “Sir, you are mistaken. I stole the fruit, I ate the fruit, and I knocked down the tree as well. Why not strike me first? Why strike him?” The Great Immortal laughed and said, “This wretched monkey has a fierce tongue. In that case, strike him first.” The little immortal asked, “How many strokes?” The Great Immortal said, “According to the number of fruits, give him thirty strokes.” The little immortal swung the whip and began to strike. Fearing that the immortal punishment might be formidable, the Pilgrim opened his eyes wide and watched where the blows landed. As it happened, they struck his legs. The Pilgrim merely twisted his waist and cried, “Transform!” turning his legs into two legs of wrought iron. Let us see how the little immortal could strike him. The little immortal struck him thirty times, one after another, and the sky had already reached midday. The Great Immortal then instructed, “He should also be struck because Sanzang’s discipline and instruction were lax, allowing his rebellious disciple to run wild.” The immortal once more swung the whip to strike. The Pilgrim said, “You are mistaken again, sir. When the fruit was stolen, my master did not know. He was in the hall speaking with your two boys; it was the deed of us brothers. Even if there is a crime of lax instruction, I, as his disciple, should take the beating in his place. Strike me again.” The Great Immortal said, “This wretched monkey, though crafty, cunning, and obstinate, nevertheless possesses some filial devotion. Since that is so, strike him again.” The little immortal struck him another thirty times. The Pilgrim lowered his head and looked. His two legs were like bright mirrors, beaten until they shone, and he did not feel the slightest pain or discomfort. By now evening was approaching. The Great Immortal said, “Put the whip back in the water for now, and wait until tomorrow morning to continue beating him.” The little immortal gathered up the whip and went to soak it. Each returned to his room, and after the evening meal, all went to sleep; this need not be discussed. Tears streamed down both cheeks of the Elder’s face as he reproached his three disciples: “You caused trouble, yet dragged me along to suffer here. How did this come about?” The Pilgrim said, “Stop complaining for now. I was struck first, and you have not been beaten at all. Why are you sighing instead?” Tang Sanzang said, “Although I have not been beaten, my body still hurts from being tied up.” Sha Seng said, “Master, there are others here who are tied up alongside you.” The Pilgrim said, “Do not all shout. We will leave after a little while.” Bajie said, “Big Brother, you are putting on another show. Here the hemp ropes have been sprayed with water and tied tight; it is no better than being shut in the hall, where you used your lock-breaking technique to jab open the door and escape.” The Pilgrim said, “I am not boasting when I say this: even if they were three-ply hemp ropes sprayed with water, or even hemp cables as thick as bowls, they would be no more than the autumn wind to me.” While they were speaking, all the sounds of the world had already fallen silent; it was precisely the hour when the heavenly streets were still and people quiet. The capable Pilgrim made his body a little smaller, slipped free of the ropes, and said, “Master, let us go silently.” Sha Seng panicked and said, “Brother, save us too.” The Pilgrim said, “Quietly, quietly.” He then untied Sanzang, released Bajie and Sha Seng, straightened his narrow robe, saddled the horse, took the luggage from beneath the corridor, and all together they left the temple gate. He then instructed Bajie, “Go cut down four willow trees by the cliff.” Bajie said, “What do we need them for?” The Pilgrim said, “They will be useful. Quickly, bring them here.” The Fool possessed considerable brute strength. He went there, uprooted four trees, one with each bite, and carried them back in a single bundle. The Pilgrim broke off the branch tips and instructed the two brothers to go back inside and bind the original ropes around the pillars just as before. The Great Sage recited a spell, bit the tip of his tongue, sprayed blood onto the trees, and cried, “Transform!” One became the Elder, one became himself, and the other two became Sha Seng and Bajie. They were transformed into exact likenesses, their appearances identical. If questioned, they would speak; if called by name, they would answer. Only then did the two of them set off at a brisk pace to catch up with their master. Throughout the night, the horse continued without pause, and they put distance between themselves and Wuzhuang Temple. But when dawn came, the Elder, seated on the horse, swayed in the saddle and began to doze. Seeing this, the Pilgrim called out, “Master, you are not holding up well. How can a renunciant be so exhausted? This old Sun can go a thousand nights without sleep and never knows the least weariness. Come down from the horse. Do not let travelers see you and laugh. For now, let us rest beneath the mountain slope, in a place sheltered from the wind and gathered with vital energy, and then continue.” Not speaking of the master and disciples temporarily lodging on the road, let us speak of that Great Immortal. At dawn he rose, ate his vegetarian breakfast, and came out into the hall, ordering, “Bring the whip! Today it is time to beat Tang Sanzang.” That little immortal brandished the whip and said toward Tang Monk, “I’m going to beat you.” The willow tree also answered, “Beat him, then.” Pah-pah, he beat it thirty times. He swung the whip over and said toward Bajie, “I’m going to beat you.” The willow tree also answered, “Beat him, then.” When he beat Sha Seng, it too answered that he should beat him. When he reached the Pilgrim, the Pilgrim, on the road, happened to give a sudden shiver and said, “This is bad!” Sanzang asked, “What do you mean?” The Pilgrim said, “I transformed four willow trees into the four of us disciples and master. I only said that he beat me twice yesterday, and that today he would probably not beat me, yet he has beaten my transformation again; therefore my true body shivered from the blows. Let us withdraw the spell.” The Pilgrim hurriedly recited the spell and withdrew it. You should have seen how frightened those young Daoists became. They threw down the leather whip and reported, “Master, at first the one being beaten was the Tang monk, but just now all that was beaten was the roots of willow trees.” Hearing this, the Great Immortal gave a cold, mocking laugh and praised him without end: “Sun Wukong truly is a fine Monkey King. I once heard that he made a great disturbance in Heaven, and that when Heaven spread a net over the earth and a snare across the sky, they could not capture him. Indeed, there is truth in that. Yet if you left, that would be one thing—but why have you tied up some willow trees here and used them as substitutes under false names? By no means spare him. Go after him!” When the Great Immortal gave the order to pursue him, he sprang onto the head of a cloud and gazed westward. He saw the monk carrying the luggage and urging the horse, proceeding along the road. The Great Immortal descended from the clouds and called, “Sun Wukong, where are you going? Return my ginseng tree to me!” Bajie heard him and said, “That’s enough—the adversary has come again.” The Pilgrim said, “Master, put away the word ‘kindness’ for now and let us show a little ferocity. Let us finish him off all at once and escape.” Hearing this, Tang Monk trembled and quaked, without giving his consent. Sha Seng drew out his treasure staff, Bajie raised his muckrake, and the Great Sage wielded his iron cudgel. Together they advanced, surrounded the Great Immortal in midair, and struck and battered him wildly. This fierce battle is attested by a poem. The poem says: Wukong did not know the Zhenyuan Immortal, Whose marvel and mystery surpassed those of all beneath Heaven. Three divine weapons displayed their fierce might, While a single horsetail whisk drifted of itself. Left he warded, right he blocked, following their comings and goings; Behind he parried, before he met them, turning and wheeling at will. From night to dawn, from dawn to night, he could not cast them off; How long would this entanglement last before reaching the Western Heaven? The three brothers each raised a divine weapon and attacked together. The Great Immortal merely wielded his fly-whisk to parry and ward them off. Before half an hour had passed, he spread out his robe sleeve and once again swept all four monks, one horse, and the luggage into a single sleeve. He turned the head of his cloud and returned to the Temple, where all the immortals received him. The Immortal Master sat above in the hall and again took them out of his sleeve one by one: he tied Tang Monk beneath the steps to a low locust tree; Bajie and Sha Seng were each tied to the trees on either side; and he bound the Pilgrim and threw him down. The Pilgrim said, “I suppose he means to interrogate us.” Before long, the binding was finished, and he ordered them to bring ten bolts of long-headed cloth. The Pilgrim laughed and said, “Bajie, this gentleman is very considerate—he has brought out cloth to make inner sleeves for us. Let’s use a little less and make one mouthful of it instead.” The little immortal carried out the household-woven cloth. The Great Immortal said, “Wrap Tang Sanzang, Zhu Bajie, and Sha和尚 all in cloth.” All the immortals came forward together and wrapped them. The Pilgrim laughed and said, “Good, good, good—being alive, we are already being given a grand burial.” In a short while, the wrapping was finished. He then ordered lacquer to be brought out. The immortals immediately fetched some raw and cooked lacquer that they had gathered and dried themselves. They wrapped and lacquered the three of them from head to toe, leaving only their heads and faces exposed. Bajie said, “Sir, the top is not a problem, but you have left holes below, so that we can relieve ourselves.” The Great Immortal then ordered a great cauldron to be carried out. The Pilgrim laughed and said, “Bajie, what good fortune! They have brought out a cauldron—perhaps they intend to cook rice for us to eat.” Bajie said, “That will do. Let us eat some rice; even as ghosts who died with full bellies, we shall still look respectable.” The immortals indeed carried out a great cauldron and set it beneath the steps. The Great Immortal ordered dry firewood to be piled up and a fierce fire kindled, then commanded, “Pour a cauldronful of clear oil into it. When it is boiling, put Sun Wukong into the oil cauldron and fry him once, to avenge my ginseng tree.” Hearing this, the Pilgrim secretly rejoiced and thought, “This suits Old Sun’s wishes exactly. I have not bathed for some time, and my skin is rather dry and itchy. One way or another, a scalding will do me good, and I am deeply grateful for such generous kindness.” In an instant, the oil in the cauldron began to boil. But the Great Sage remained watchful, fearing that the immortal arts would make it difficult to work his tricks within the oil cauldron. He quickly turned his head and looked all around. He saw that to the east beneath the platform stood a sundial platform, while to the west there was a stone lion. The Pilgrim leaped with his body, rolled to the west, bit the tip of his tongue, and sprayed the stone lion with a mouthful of blood, crying, “Transform!” It changed into his own form and was bound up in the same manner. He, however, sent forth his primordial spirit, rose into the clouds, and looked down at the Daoists. The little immortal reported, “Master, the oil is thoroughly boiling.” The Great Immortal ordered, “Carry Sun Wukong down.” Four immortal youths could not lift him; eight came, and they still could not lift him; four more were added, and they still could not lift him. The immortals said, “This monkey is attached to the earth and difficult to move. Though small, he is quite solid.” They then ordered twenty little immortals to shoulder him and heave him into the cauldron. With a loud sound of boiling, some drops of hot oil splashed up and scalded several large blistering sores onto the young Daoists’ faces. They heard the child tending the fire shout, “The cauldron is leaking! The cauldron is leaking!” Before he had finished speaking, all the oil had already leaked out, and the bottom of the cauldron broke apart. It turned out that a stone lion had been placed inside. The Great Immortal flew into a rage and said, “This insolent monkey is truly without manners—he has played tricks right under my nose. If you had gone, that would have been one thing, but why did you tamper with my stove as well? This insolent monkey cannot be captured even after all this; and even if he were captured, it would be like kneading sand or playing with quicksilver, like catching shadows or seizing the wind. Enough, enough, enough—let him go. First untie Tang Sanzang, bring out another new cauldron, and bind him up, so that we may avenge the ginseng tree.” The little immortal truly set about it, removing the cloth and lacquer. The Pilgrim, hearing all this clearly from midair, thought, “My master is no good at this. If he reaches the oil cauldron, one boil will kill him, two boils will scorch him, and after three or five boils he will become a thoroughly mushy monk. I must go save him.” What a Great Sage he was! He lowered the head of his cloud, came forward, clasped his hands, and said, “Do not tear away the cloth and lacquer and bind my master. Wait for me to go into the oil cauldron instead.” The Great Immortal was startled and cursed, “You wretched monkey! How did you use your tricks to tamper with my stove?” The Pilgrim laughed and said, “Whenever you meet me, your stove is bound to fail. What has that to do with me? Just now I too wanted to receive some of your kindness in the form of oil and soup, but my need to urinate and defecate was urgent. If I opened the wind inside the cauldron, I feared I would soil your cooked oil and make it unfit for seasoning food. Now that I have completely relieved myself, it is suitable for me to enter the cauldron. Do not bind my master; bind me instead.” Hearing this, the Great Immortal gave a cold, mocking laugh, came out of the hall, and seized him by the arm. What words were spoken in the end, and exactly how he escaped, will not be known until the next installment.