Chapter 47

But to return to the king: he leaned against the dragon couch, his tears gushing forth like a spring, and he wept without stopping until nightfall. The Great Sage stepped forward and called out loudly, "Why are you so muddled? Right before you lie the corpses of those Daoists—one is a tiger, one a deer, and the Yangli was a antelope. If you do not believe it, fish up their bones and look; how could any human have such skulls as those? They were mountain beasts who had become spirits, and they came here together to harm you. Only because they saw that your vital force was still strong did they dare not make their move. If another two years had passed and your vital force had declined, they would have taken your life and given your entire realm over to themselves. Fortunately we arrived early to rid you of these evil creatures and save your life. Why do you still weep? Why weep? Quickly prepare the travel documents and send us on our way." When the king heard this, he finally came to his senses. All the civil and military officials then memorialized, saying, "The dead ones are indeed a white deer and a yellow tiger, and in the oil cauldron there are indeed goat bones. The holy monk's words must be heeded." The king said, "If this is so, I am grateful to the holy monks. Today it is late." He ordered, "Grand Preceptor, please escort the holy monks to the Zhìyuān Monastery. Tomorrow at the morning court, I will open the Eastern Pavilion and command the Guanglu Temple to prepare a vegetarian feast as thanks." And indeed they were sent to the monastery to rest. The next day, at the fifth watch, the king held court, assembled the many officials, and issued a decree: "Quickly post the monk-recruiting proclamation at all four city gates and on every road." At the same time, a great banquet was laid out, and the royal procession set out from the court to the gate of Zhìyuān Monastery, where they invited Tripitaka and the others to enter the Eastern Pavilion for the feast. But of that no more. Now those monks who had escaped with their lives, upon hearing that there was a proclamation recruiting monks, were all delighted. They entered the city one after another to seek out the Great Sage Sun, to return their hairs and express their gratitude. After the elder had finished the banquet, the king exchanged the travel documents and, together with the empress, the imperial consorts, and the two rows of civil and military officials, escorted them out of the court gate. They then saw those monks kneeling by the roadside, calling out, "Great Sage Equal to Heaven, your grandfather! We are the monks who escaped with our lives on the sandy shore. Having heard that your grandfather has swept away the evil creatures and rescued us, and that our king has now posted a proclamation to recruit monks, we have come especially to return our hairs and kowtow in thanks for heaven's grace." The Great Sage laughed and said, "How many of you have come?" The monks replied, "Five hundred—not half a one missing." The Great Sage shook his body and collected the hairs. Then he said to the sovereign, his ministers, the monks, and the laypeople: "These monks were truly released by old Sun; the carts were spun by old Sun through the double pass and the spinal ridge and smashed to pieces; and those two fiendish Daoists were also beaten to death by old Sun. Now that the evil has been destroyed, you may know that the Zen school possesses the Way. From now on, never again act recklessly or give blind credence. I ask that you unite the three teachings as one: revere the monks, revere the Daoists, and nurture men of talent. I will ensure that your rivers and mountains remain secure forever." The king followed his words and gave endless thanks, then escorted Tang Sanzang out of the city. Now this journey—it was only for the sake of diligently seeking the Tripitaka scriptures and striving in cultivation to perfect the primordial unity. By day they traveled, by night they rested; when thirsty they drank, when hungry they ate. Before they knew it, spring had ended and summer waned, and again the weather turned to autumn. One day, as dusk was falling, Tang Sanzang reined in his horse and said, "Disciples, where shall we lodge tonight?" The Great Sage said, "Master, a renunciant should not speak the words of a householder." Tripitaka said, "How is a householder? How is a renunciant?" The Great Sage said, "A householder at this hour has a warm bed and a soft quilt, holds a child in his arms and pushes against his wife with his feet, sleeping at ease. How can we renunciants do the same? We must carry the moon and wear the stars, dine on the wind and sleep in the dew, walk when there is a road and stop only when there is no road." Bajie said, "Elder Brother, you know one thing but not another. The roads ahead are steep and perilous, and I carry a heavy load—it is truly hard to walk. We must find some place to rest, to sleep a while and regain our strength, so that tomorrow we can bear the load anew; otherwise, shall I not be worn out?" The Great Sage said, "Let us walk a bit further by the moonlight, until we reach some household where we can rest." The master and disciples had no choice but to follow the Great Sage forward. After they had gone but a little further, they heard the roaring sound of surging waves. Bajie said, "That's it—we've reached the end of the road." Sha Seng said, "It is a stretch of water blocking our way." Tang Sanzang said, "But how shall we cross?" Bajie said, "Let me test it, to see how deep or shallow it is." Tripitaka said, "Wuneng, do not talk nonsense. How can one test the depth of water in such a way?" Bajie said, "Find a pebble and toss it into the middle. If it splashes up bubbles, it is shallow; if it sinks with a gurgling sound, it is deep." The Great Sage said, "Go try it." That blockhead felt around for a stone and threw it into the water. They heard it gurgle as it stirred up fish-scum and sank to the bottom. He said, "Deep, deep, deep—we cannot cross!" Tang Sanzang said, "Though you have tested the depth, we still do not know how wide it is." Bajie said, "That I do not know, I do not know." The Great Sage said, "Let me take a look." O wondrous Great Sage, he sprang up on a somersault cloud, leaped into the air, and gazed fixedly below. He saw: The vast expanse shimmered, its light steeped in the moon; Boundless shadows floated, mirrored in the sky. The spirit current swallowed the great peaks; The long flow pierced through a hundred streams. A thousand layers of surging billows rolled; Ten thousand fold of towering waves uprose. No fishing lights along the banks; At the sandy shore the herons slept. Vast and dim, it seemed a sea; One glance and no shore could be seen. He quickly drew in his cloud, descended to the riverbank, and said, "Master, it is wide, it is wide—we cannot cross! Your disciple's fiery golden eyes can usually see a thousand leagues by day, and know good or ill fortune; by night they can still see three or five hundred leagues. Now I cannot even make out the opposite bank—how could I determine the measure of its width?" Tripitaka was greatly alarmed; his mouth could not speak, and his voice choked as he said, "Disciples, what are we to do in such a case as this?" Sha Seng said, "Master, do not weep. Look there by the water's edge—is that not a man?" The Great Sage said, "Perhaps it is a fisherman casting his net. Let me go ask him." He took up his iron staff, and in two or three strides reached the spot and looked. Alas! It was not a man but a stone stele. On the stele were three large seal-script characters, and below them two lines of ten small characters. The three large characters read "Tongtian He" (River That Reaches Heaven); the ten small characters read "Eight hundred li across, from ancient times few travelers." The Great Sage called, "Master, come look." When Tripitaka saw it, tears fell as he said, "Disciples, when I left Chang'an that year, I only thought that the Western Heaven would be easy to reach—how was I to know that demons would block the way and mountains and waters stretch so far?" Bajie said, "Master, listen—where is that sound of drums and cymbals? It must be a household holding a rites-feast. Let us go hurry and get some of that vegetarian food, and ask for a ferry crossing and find a boat, and cross over tomorrow." Tripitaka, still on his horse, listened and indeed heard the sound of drums and cymbals. "That is not a Daoist instrument—it must be an undertaking of our Buddhist order. Let us go there." The Great Sage led the horse in front, and the whole company followed the sound. There was no proper road; over uneven ground they crossed the sandy shore and saw a cluster of dwellings—some four or five hundred households, all quite well kept. They saw: Leaning against the hills, with roads leading through; By the banks, alongside the streams. Everywhere wicker gates were shut, Each bamboo courtyard closed. The herons sleeping on the sand had clear dreams; Beyond the willows, crying birds had chilled throats. The short flute was silent; the cold washing-block gave no tune. Red smartweed branches swayed in the moonlight; Yellow reeds' leaves wrestled with the wind. By the lane-head, village dogs barked at the sparse hedges; At the ferry, an old fisherman slept in his fishing boat. Lamplight was sparse; human smoke was still. Half the sky, the bright moon hung like a polished mirror. Suddenly came a fragrance of white duckweed— Carried by the west wind from across the river. Tripitaka dismounted from his horse and saw that there was a dwelling by the roadside, outside which stood a banner with streamers, while inside lamps and candles glowed brightly and fragrant incense filled the air. Tripitaka said, "Wukong, this place is quite different from that mountain hollow and riverbank. Under the eaves of a human dwelling, we can shelter from the cold dew and rest securely. None of you come along; let me first go to the door of this benefactor and beg for shelter. If he is willing to keep me, I will call you in; if not, you must not make a scene. Your faces are ugly, and I fear you might frighten people and stir up trouble, leaving us with no place to stay." Pilgrim said, "Well spoken. Please go ahead, Master; we will wait here." The elder then took off his bamboo hat, bared his head, shook out his cassock, and dragging his tin staff, went straight to the door of the dwelling. Seeing the door half open and half shut, Tripitaka did not presume to enter. He stood for a while, when an old man came out from inside, with a string of prayer beads hanging from his neck, intoning "Amitābha" as he came to close the door. Startled, the elder pressed his palms together and called out, "Old benefactor, this poor monk salutes you." The old man returned the salute and said, "Monk, you have come late." Tripitaka said, "What do you mean?" The old man said, "Coming late, there is nothing left. Had you come earlier, my humble abode would have fed monks—you could have eaten your fill, with three sheng of cooked rice, a piece of white cloth, and ten copper coins. Why have you come only at this hour?" Tripitaka bowed and said, "Old benefactor, this poor monk is not one who comes for the meal." The old man said, "If not for the meal, why have you come?" Tripitaka said, "I am a commissioner dispatched by the Great Tang in the East to fetch scriptures from the Western Heaven. Now I have arrived at your honorable place, and the day is already late. Hearing the sound of drums and cymbals from your mansion, I have come especially to beg for one night's lodging, and at dawn I will leave." The old man waved his hand and said, "Monk, a renunciant should not speak falsehoods. From the Great Tang in the East to this place is a distance of fifty-four thousand li. How could you have come alone?" Tripitaka said, "What the old benefactor sees is most true. But I have three young disciples, who open a road through mountains and build bridges over waters, protecting this poor monk, so that only now have I been able to arrive." The old man said, "If you have disciples, why not bring them along?" He bade, "Please, please—my humble abode has room for rest." Tripitaka turned his head and called, "Disciples, come here." Now Pilgrim was by nature impatient, Bajie was born coarse and rude, and Sha Monk was also brash. When the three heard their master summon them, they led the horse and carried the pole, and without asking right or wrong, they stormed in like a whirlwind. Seeing them, the old man was so terrified that he fell to the ground, crying, "Monsters have come! Monsters have come!" Tripitaka helped him up and said, "Benefactor, do not be afraid; they are not monsters, they are my disciples." The old man trembled and said, "Such a fine and handsome master—how could he find such ugly disciples?" Tripitaka said, "Though their appearance is unpresentable, they are able to subdue dragons and tame tigers, and to capture monsters and seize fiends." The old man, half believing and half doubting, supported Tang Monk and walked slowly inside. Now those three unruly ones entered the hall, tied up the horse, and set down the luggage. In that hall there were several monks reciting scriptures. Bajie stuck out his long snout and bellowed, "You monks—what scriptures are you reciting?" Hearing this question, those monks suddenly raised their heads: They saw the newcomers— Long snout and huge ears; Body stout, back broad, Voice loud as thunder. Pilgrim and Sha Monk, Their looks were even uglier. The many monks in the hall— Not one was unafraid. The shramanas still recited, But the head monk bade them stop. They heeded neither bell nor chime, And even cast aside the Buddha images. All together they blew out the lamps, Scattering in sudden fright. Stumbling and crawling, Never crossing the threshold; This one's head bumped that one's head— Like a frame of fallen gourds. The once pure and fine dharma assembly Turned into a great laughingstock. When these three brothers saw those men falling and scrambling, they clapped their hands and roared with laughter. The more those monks grew terrified, knocking heads and colliding, each caring only for his own life—they all fled clean away. Tripitaka helped the old man as they walked up into the hall; the lamps and fires were all out, and the three were still laughing hilariously. Tang Monk scolded, "You unruly creatures, utterly unworthy! Every day I instruct you, every day I exhort you. The ancients said: 'One who is good without being taught—is he not a sage? One who becomes good after being taught—is he not a worthy? One who is still not good after being taught—is he not a fool?' Such rioting as yours truly makes you the lowest and most foolish of all. Coming in without regard for propriety, you startled the old benefactor and scattered the chanting monks, spoiling a good deed of this household—is that not laying up sin for me?" They dared not reply. The old man then believed they were indeed his disciples, and hurriedly turned and saluted, saying, "Venerable Sir, no great matter, no great matter. We had just put out the lamps and ended the floral offerings; the Buddhist service was about to conclude." Bajie said, "If it's done, then bring out the final feast, wine and food, and we'll eat and sleep." The old man called, "Bring lamps! Bring lamps!" The household servants, hearing this, were astonished and said, "In the hall where scriptures were recited there were many incense candles—why call for lamps again?" Several young servants came out to look, and seeing the place pitch-dark, they lit torches and lanterns and crowded in. Suddenly looking up and seeing Bajie and Sha Monk, they dropped the torches in fright, turned and bolted, shutting the middle door. From inside they shouted, "Monsters are here! Monsters are here!" Pilgrim took up a torch, lit the lamps and candles, pulled over a chair, and invited Tang Monk to sit on it; the brothers sat on either side, and the old man sat in front. While they were thus arranging their seats, they heard the inner door open and another old man came out, leaning on a staff, saying, "What evil spirit comes to my good household in the dark of night?" The first old man hurriedly rose and went to the screen door, saying, "Elder brother, do not shout—these are no evil spirits, but arhats from the Great Tang in the East coming to fetch scriptures. Though the disciples' features are fierce, the truth is that ugly faces hide good hearts." Only then did that old man put down his staff and exchange salutations with the four of them. After the rites, he also sat down in front and called, "Serve tea! Prepare a feast!" He called several times, but the servants trembled with fear and dared not approach. Unable to restrain himself, Bajie asked, "Old man, why do your servants keep moving to both sides?" The old man said, "I am telling them to bring out the feast to serve you venerable masters." Bajie said, "How many people to wait on us?" The old man said, "Eight people." Bajie said, "Which one will these eight wait on?" The old man said, "They wait on you four." Bajie said, "For that white-faced master, one person is enough; for that hairy-faced thunder-god-mouthed one, two are enough; for that gloomy-faced one, eight are needed; but for me, twenty attendants would barely suffice." The old man said, "By that account, your appetite must be rather large." Bajie said, "It is passable, I suppose." The old man said, "We have people, we have people." And he called out seven or eight of all sizes, until thirty or forty people came forth. The monk and the old man conversed in question and answer, and only then did the众人 cease to be afraid. They then set up a table above, inviting Tang Sanzang to sit in the chief seat; on the two sides they placed three tables, inviting his three companions to sit; and before them one table, where the two old men sat. First they laid out vegetarian fruits and vegetables, then noodles, rice, snacks, and soup, all arranged neatly and in order. Elder Tang raised his chopsticks and first recited a scroll of the _Qizhai Scripture_. That idler, being somewhat hasty in eating and also somewhat hungry, did not wait for Tang Sanzang to finish the scripture; he took up a red-lacquered wooden bowl, tossed a bowl of white rice into his mouth, and finished it at once. A young attendant nearby said, "This venerable lord is most improvident—he does not wrap his馒头, yet he has wrapped his rice; will he not soil his clothes?" Bajie laughed and said, "I did not wrap it; I ate it." The young one said, "You did not lift your chopsticks—how could you have eaten?" Bajie said, "You boys speak falsely; I have clearly eaten. If you do not believe me, I will eat another for you to see." The young attendants then brought another bowl, filled it, and handed it to Bajie. The idler gave it a shake, tossed it into his mouth, and finished it again. When all the servants saw this, they said, "Grandfather! Your throat must be built of polished brick—truly smooth and slippery." Before Tang Sanzang had finished one scroll of scripture, Bajie had already dispatched five or six bowls. Only then did they all raise their chopsticks together and eat the vegetarian meal together. The idler, whether rice or noodles, fruits or snacks, simply scooped and gobbled recklessly, still shouting in his mouth, "More rice, more rice." Gradually, no more was brought. Pilgrim called out, "Worthy brother, eat a little less; it is still better than starving in the mountain hollow. To be half full is already good." Bajie said, "Shame on you. As the saying goes: 'If a monk is not fed full, better to bury him alive.'" Pilgrim said, "Clear away the things and pay him no heed." The two old men bowed and said, "To tell you the truth, venerable lords, during the day we are not afraid—even a big-bellied elder like this could be fed a hundred or more. But now it is late; we have put away the remnants of the meal. We had only steamed one _dan_ of flour, five _dou_ of rice, and several tables of vegetarian dishes, intending to invite some relatives and neighbors, together with the monks, to share in the blessing. We did not expect your venerable party to arrive; you frightened away the monks, and we did not dare invite the relatives and neighbors either. Everything has been offered to you. If you are not full, we shall have more steamed." Bajie said, "Steam more, steam more." When the talk was finished, they cleared away the utensils and tables. Sanzang bowed and thanked them for the meal, then asked, "Old benefactor, what is your honourable surname?" The old man said, "My surname is Chen." Sanzang pressed his palms together and said, "That makes us of the same clan, poor monk." The old man said, "Is the venerable lord also surnamed Chen?" Sanzang said, "Yes, in my lay family I am also surnamed Chen. May I ask what religious service you were performing just now?" Bajie laughed and said, "Why does Master ask him? Does he not know? It must be a Green Sprout Feast, a Peace Feast, or an End-of-Field Feast." The old man said, "No, no." Sanzang asked again, "What is it truly for?" The old man said, "It is a preparatory rite for the dead." Bajie laughed so hard he stumbled and said, "Old father, you have poor judgement. We are kings who trick people with lies and false bridges—why would you try to fool me with such lies? We monks surely know about feasts. There are only preparatory feasts for storing merit and preparatory feasts for repaying debts. Where is there a 'preparatory rite for the dead'? No one in your family has died—why hold a rite for the dead?" When Pilgrim heard this, he thought with secret delight, "This idler has grown a bit clever. —Old father, you have misspoken. What is meant by a 'preparatory rite for the dead'?" The two old men bowed and said, "You are seeking scriptures—why do you not take the proper road, but come stumbling here?" Pilgrim said, "We are taking the proper road, but a stretch of water blocks us and we cannot cross. Hearing the sound of drums and cymbals, we have specially come to your house to seek lodging." The old men said, "When you reached the water's edge, did you see anything?" Pilgrim said, "I saw only a stone tablet with the three characters 'Tongtian He' written on it, and below it the ten characters 'Spanning eight hundred _li_, from ancient times few have crossed'—no other things." The old man said, "If you go further up the bank, about a _li_ from that tablet, there is the temple of the Great King of Inspiration—did you not see it?" Pilgrim said, "I did not. Please, old fathers, tell me—what is this 'Inspiration'?" The two old men wept together and said, "Venerable lord, that Great King: In one region his influence raises temples, His mighty power for a thousand _li_ blesses the people. Year after year upon the fields he sends sweet rain, Season after season upon the village descends auspicious clouds." Pilgrim said, "Sending sweet rain and descending auspicious clouds—that seems a good thing. Why then are you so grieved and troubled?" The old man stamped his feet and beat his chest, gave a sigh, and said, "Venerable lord, Though his favours are many, there is still resentment; Though he shows kindness, he still harms men. Because he must eat boys and girls, He is no manifest, upright spirit." Pilgrim said, "He must eat boys and girls?" The old man said, "Exactly." Pilgrim said, "Then it must be your family's turn?" The old man said, "This year it has come to our humble household. There are about a hundred families living here. This place belongs to Yuanhui County of the Chechi Kingdom and is called Chenjia Village. This Great King has one sacrificial offering each year, requiring one boy, one girl, pigs, sheep, and wine to present to him. He eats them all at one meal and ensures us favourable wind and rain. If we do not make the offering, he brings calamities and disasters." Pilgrim said, "How many sons does your household have?" The old man beat his chest and said, "Pitiful, pitiful! What talk of 'sons'—it shames us to death. This is my younger brother, named Chen Qing. I am called Chen Cheng. I am sixty-three this year, and he is fifty-eight. We have both had difficulty with children. When I was fifty, I still had no son. My relatives and friends urged me to take a concubine. I could not help it, so I found a wife, and she bore a daughter, who is now just eight years old. We named her One-Scale Gold." Bajie said, "What a fine name. Why is she called One-Scale Gold?" The old man said, "Because I had such difficulty with children, I built bridges, repaired roads, established temples and erected pagodas, gave alms and fed monks—I kept an account, noting where I spent three _liang_, where I spent five _liang_. By the year she was born, I had spent fully thirty _jin_ of gold. Thirty _jin_ make one scale, so she is called One-Scale Gold." Pilgrim said, "And whose son is that?" The old man said, "My younger brother has a son, also born of a concubine. He is seven this year and is named Chen Guanbao." Pilgrim asked, "Why was this name chosen?" The old man said, "Our household enshrines the Holy Lord Guan. Because we obtained this son by praying before Guan's shrine, he is named Guanbao. We two brothers, whose combined age is over a hundred, have only these two heirs. But now the turn has come to our household to make the offering, so we dare not fail to present them. For this reason, the bond of father and son is hard to break and hard to part with. We are first performing a rite of deliverance for the children. That is why it is called a 'preparatory rite for the dead'." When Tripitaka heard this, he could not help but let tears stream down his cheeks, saying, “This is exactly what the ancients said: ‘When yellow plums do not fall, green plums fall; Heaven above is especially cruel to those without children.’” Wukong laughed and said, “Let me ask him again. Old gentleman, how large is your estate?” The two elders said, “We have a fair amount: about forty or fifty qing of paddy fields, sixty or seventy qing of dry fields, eighty or ninety pasture grounds; two or three hundred water buffalo, twenty or thirty donkeys and horses, and countless pigs, sheep, chickens, and geese. In our humble home there is also aged grain that cannot be eaten and clothes that cannot all be worn. Our family wealth and property are quite considerable.” Wukong said, “With such an estate, you must have been frugal to accumulate it.” The old man said, “How do you see that I am frugal?” Wukong said, “Since you have such family property, how can you bear to sacrifice your own flesh-and-blood children? If you were willing to spend fifty taels of silver, you could buy a boy; if you spent one hundred taels, you could buy a girl. Even with additional expenses, it would not exceed two hundred taels. Then you could keep your own children and posterity—would that not be better?” The two elders wept and said, “Venerable Sir, you do not know. That Great King is exceedingly perceptive; he often comes and goes among our households.” Wukong said, “When he comes and goes, what kind of face and appearance do you see him have? How tall is he?” The two elders said, “We do not see his form; we only smell a fragrant breeze, and then we know the Great King has arrived. We promptly fill the incense burner and burn incense, and old and young alike bow down in the direction of the wind. He knows even the smallest matters in our households—whether spoons are large or bowls small; he remembers the birth years and months of the old and young. Only if the children are one’s own flesh and blood will he deign to accept them. Not to mention that two or three hundred taels cannot buy such a child—even if one had tens of thousands of taels, one could not find a child of the exact same appearance, same year, and same month.” Wukong said, “So that is how it is. Well, well, bring your son out for me to see.” Chen Qing hurried inside, carried Guan Bao’er out to the hall, and set him down before the lamp. The little child, knowing nothing of life or death, clutched two sleeves full of fruit and danced about while eating and playing. When Wukong saw this, he silently recited a spell, shook his body, and transformed into an exact likeness of Guan Bao’er. The two children held hands and danced before the lamp. The old man was so startled that he hastily knelt. Tangseng said, “Venerable Sir, this is unseemly, this is unseemly.” The old man said, “This venerable sir was just speaking a moment ago, yet now he has transformed into the very image of my son—when I call out, they both answer and both move together! This shortens our years of life; please show your true form, please show your true form.” Wukong wiped his face and revealed his original form. The old man knelt before him and said, “So it turns out that you, Venerable Sir, possess such skill.” Wukong laughed and said, “Do I look like your son?” The old man said, “Yes, yes, yes—truly the same face, the same voice, the same clothes, the same height.” Wukong said, “You have not looked closely yet. Bring a scale and weigh him—is he the same weight?” The old man said, “Yes, yes, yes—he is the same weight.” Wukong said, “With such a likeness, would he be acceptable for the sacrifice?” The old man said, “Excellent, excellent—more than acceptable.” Wukong said, “I will now spare this child’s life and preserve your family’s line. I will go and be sacrificed to that Great King instead.” Chen Qing knelt and kowtowed, saying, “If you, Venerable Sir, are truly merciful enough to take his place, I will give one thousand taels of silver to Master Tang as travel expenses for his journey west.” Wukong said, “And won’t you thank Old Sun as well?” The old man said, “But once you have taken the sacrifice, you will be gone.” Wukong said, “How would I be gone?” The old man said, “The Great King will eat you.” Wukong said, “Would he dare eat me?” The old man said, “If he does not eat you, then perhaps he finds you too rank.” Wukong laughed and said, “I shall leave it to fate. If he eats me, then my life was short; if he does not, then it is my good fortune. I will go with you to the sacrifice.” Chen Qing kept kowtowing in thanks and also promised to give five hundred taels of silver. But Chen Cheng neither kowtowed nor expressed thanks; he merely leaned against the screen door and wept bitterly. Wukong, understanding this, stepped forward and took hold of him, saying, “Elder brother, you do not agree and you do not thank me—are you unwilling to part with your daughter?” Chen Cheng then knelt and said, “Yes, I am unwilling. I am already most grateful for your great kindness in saving my nephew—that is enough. But I, an old fool, have no son, only this one daughter. Even after I die, she will weep bitterly for me—how could I bear to part with her?” Wukong said, “Hurry and steam five dou of rice and prepare some good vegetarian dishes for my long-snouted master. Tell him to transform into your daughter, and I, your brother, will go together to the sacrifice. Let us do a deed of hidden virtue and spare both your children’s lives—what do you say?” When Bajie heard these words, he was greatly alarmed and said, “Elder Brother, if you want to show off your powers, do not care about my life or death, and drag me into it.” Wukong said, “Worthy Brother, as the saying goes: ‘A chicken does not eat food for nothing.’ When we entered this house, we were gratefully given a fine meal, and you were still complaining that you were not full—how can you then not help these people in their distress?” Bajie said, “Brother, when it comes to transformation, I am not skilled at that.” Wukong said, “You also have thirty-six transformations—how can you say you cannot?” Tangseng called out, “Wuneng, what your elder brother says is most right, and his arrangement is most proper. As the saying goes: ‘Saving one life is better than building a seven-story pagoda.’ First, to thank them for their kindness; second, to accumulate hidden virtue; besides, the cool night is idle, so you brothers go and have some sport.” Bajie said, “Look at the words Master speaks. I can only change into mountains, trees, rocks, leprous elephants, water buffalo, or fat big men—that is all right. But if I have to change into a little girl, that is somewhat difficult.” Wukong said, “Elder, do not believe him. Bring out your beloved daughter for me to see.” Chen Cheng hurried inside and brought out the child Yi Cheng Jin to the hall. The whole household—wives, concubines, old and young, male and female—all came out to kowtow and bow, begging only that the child’s life be saved. The girl wore on her head a floral beaded circlet with eight treasures and dangling pearls; on her body she wore a red-and-yellow shimmering ramie-silk jacket, over which was a court-green satin cape with a checkerboard collar; around her waist she wore a large red-flowered silk skirt; on her feet she wore light red ramie-silk shoes with toad-head tips; and on her legs she wore two silk-embroidered knee-covers. She was also eating fruit. Wukong said, “Bajie, this is the girl. Quickly transform to look like her, and we will go to the sacrifice.” Bajie said, “Brother, with such a delicate and pretty shape, how can I change?” Wukong called, “Hurry up, do not make me hit you.” Bajie, flustered, said, “Elder Brother, do not hit me—let me try to change.” This idiot recited the spell, shook his head several times, and called out, “Change!” He truly changed his head, and it did look like a girl’s face, but his belly was fat and bulky, ungainly and not at all similar. Wukong laughed and said, “Change again.” Bajie said, “You might as well beat me—I cannot change it any further, what can I do?” Wukong said, “Surely it cannot be a girl’s head on a monk’s body? Making it look neither male nor female—how will that do? You should assume the罡 posture.” Then he blew a mouthful of immortal breath on him, and indeed Bajie’s body instantly transformed to match the child exactly. He then instructed, “You two elders, take your precious family and your son and daughter inside, and do not make any mistake. In a little while, if we brothers shirk and play tricks and sneak inside, it will become hard to tell who is who. Give them good fruit to eat, and do not let them cry out, lest the Great King becomes aware and the wind is leaked. We two brothers are off to have our sport.” The Great Sage, having instructed Sha Seng to protect Tang Monk, said, "I will change into Chen Guanbao, and Bajie will change into Yicheng Jin." When the two of them were both ready, he then asked, "How are we to be offered? Are we to be tied up, or bound up? Are we to be steamed, or chopped up?" Bajie said, "Elder Brother, don't do this to me; I have no skill for such a thing." The old man said, "No, no. We only use two red-lacquered cinnabar trays, invite you two to sit in the trays, place them on tables, and have two young men carry one table each to carry you up to the temple." The Monkey King said, "Fine, fine, fine. Bring out the trays so we may try." The old man then brought out two cinnabar trays, and the Monkey King and Bajie sat upon them. Four young men lifted the two tables, took a walk with them in the courtyard, then carried them back and set them down in the hall. The Monkey King said happily, "Bajie, going for a stroll like this is fun enough; we too are monks who get to be on the trays now." Bajie said, "If they carry us there and carry us back, carrying us back and forth till dawn, I would not fear it. But if they carry us to the temple, they will want to eat us—that is no joke!" The Monkey King said, "You just keep your eyes on me; if they start eating me, then you can run away." Bajie said, "Who knows how they will eat? If they eat the boy first, then I can run; but if they eat the girl first, what can I do?" The old man said, "During the annual sacrifice, there are bold ones here who hide behind the temple or under the offering table and have seen that he eats the boy first and then the girl." Bajie said, "Lucky, lucky!" As the brothers were thus discussing, they suddenly heard outside gongs and drums resounding to heaven and torchlight blazing. The people of the same village opened the front gate and called out, "Bring out the boy and girl!" The old man wept and wailed, and the four young men carried the two of them out. As to whether their lives were to be spared or not, we must listen to the next chapter for the explanation.