Chapter 27

The next day at dawn, Sanzang and his disciples gathered their things and prepared to continue. Zhenyuanzi had become sworn brothers with Wukong; the two were of one heart and one mind, and he absolutely refused to let them go. He therefore arranged their entertainment and hospitality, and they stayed there for five or six days in succession. After the Elder had taken the Grass-Restoring Elixir, he truly seemed to have shed his mortal body and exchanged his bones; his spirit was refreshed and his body vigorous. His heart was set on obtaining the scriptures—how could he be willing to linger? Having no choice, they thus departed. The master and disciples bade farewell and set out on the road. Before long, they saw a lofty mountain. Sanzang said, “Disciple, there is a steep and perilous mountain ahead. I fear the horse will be unable to proceed. Everyone must be exceedingly careful.” Wukong said, “Master, rest assured. We naturally understand.” What a splendid Monkey King! Carrying his iron staff crosswise before the horse, he split open a mountain path and climbed the high cliffs. One could not see the end of it: Peaks and crags lay piled upon one another; ravines and gullies wound in twisting rings. Tigers and wolves ran in formations; musk deer and deer moved in herds. Countless roebuck and wild beasts burrowed and clustered together; foxes and rabbits gathered thickly throughout the mountains. Pythons a thousand feet long, serpents ten thousand zhang in length. The pythons sprayed sorrowful mists; the long serpents exhaled strange winds. Thorns beside the road sprawled and caught at them; pines and nanmu trees on the ridges were luxuriant and beautiful. Vines and trailing creepers filled the eyes; fragrant grasses stretched to the heavens. Their shadows fell upon the northern blue sea; the clouds opened toward the southern Dipper. For ten thousand ages they constantly held the primal qi and grew old; myriad peaks stood loftily arrayed, their sunlight cold. The Elder was frightened in his heart atop the horse. Sun the Great Sage displayed his methods, brandished his iron staff, and gave a roar. It terrified the wolves and other beasts into scattering in panic, while tigers and leopards fled. The master and disciples entered this mountain and were just proceeding through a lofty and rugged place when Sanzang said, “Wukong, I am hungry today. Go somewhere and obtain some vegetarian food for me.” Wukong accompanied his words with a smile and said, “Master, how can you be so unintelligent? In this sort of place halfway up a mountain, there is no village ahead and no shop behind. Even if we had money, there is nowhere to buy anything. Where are we to seek vegetarian food?” Sanzang was displeased in his heart and scolded him aloud: “You monkey! Think of how, at Two-Boundary Mountain, you were pressed beneath the Tathagata in a stone casket. Your mouth could speak, but your feet could not move. It was only through my saving your life, receiving the tonsure, and accepting the precepts that you became my disciple. How is it that you are unwilling to make an effort and constantly harbor a lazy heart?” Wukong said, “This disciple is also quite diligent. When have I ever been lazy?” Sanzang said, “Since you are diligent, why do you not obtain vegetarian food for me to eat? How can I travel with my belly hungry? Moreover, in this place there are mountain miasmas and pestilential vapors. How are we to reach Thunderclap Temple?” Wukong said, “Master, do not be angry. Please say no more. I know your exalted nature is proud; if you defy and slight me too much, you will want to recite that spell. Dismount and sit securely. Wait while I search for a household from which to obtain vegetarian food.” Wukong made a leap and sprang up into the clouds. He raised his hand as a shade, opened his eyes, and looked around. Alas, the western road was exceedingly desolate. There were no fortified villages or human dwellings at all; it was truly a place where trees were frequently encountered and traces of human habitation seldom seen. After looking for a long while, he saw that directly to the south there was a lofty mountain. On the sunward side of that mountain was a patch of vivid red. Wukong lowered the head of his cloud and said, “Master, there is something to eat.” The Elder asked what it was. Wukong said, “There are no households here from which to obtain food. On that southern mountain there is a patch of red; I suppose they must be fully ripened mountain peaches. I shall go pick several and bring them back for you to relieve your hunger.” Sanzang joyfully said, “If a monastic has peaches to eat, that is already more than enough.” Wukong took the alms bowl, raised auspicious radiance, and—look at him!—his somersaults flashed, the cold air whistled, and in a moment he hastened to the southern mountain to pick peaches. But let that pass. It is said that, as the common saying goes: “Where the mountain is high, there must be a monster; where the ridge is steep, an essence is born.” Indeed, there was a demon on this mountain, and when Sun the Great Sage went there, he startled the monster. Treading an overcast wind in the clouds, it saw the Elder sitting on the ground and was beside itself with joy. “Fortune, fortune! For several years now, people in my household have been speaking of the Tang monk from the Eastern Land who is obtaining the Great Vehicle. He is in fact the incarnation of Jinchanzi, the original body of one who cultivated for ten lifetimes. Whoever eats a piece of his flesh will enjoy longevity and eternal life. Truly, he has arrived today.” The demon came forward and was about to seize him, but it saw two mighty generals guarding him on his left and right and did not dare approach. Who were these two mighty generals? They were Bajie and Sha-seng. Although Bajie and Sha-seng possessed no great abilities, Bajie had been Marshal Tianpeng, and Sha-seng had been General Juanlian. Their formidable auras had not yet dissipated, and therefore the demon did not dare draw near. The demon said, “Let me play a little game with him and see what he says.” What a demon! It stopped the overcast wind, and in a mountain hollow it shook its body and transformed into a maiden with the appearance of the moon and the beauty of flowers. No words could fully describe her clear brows and lovely eyes, her white teeth and red lips. In her left hand she carried a green-sand jar; in her right hand she carried a green porcelain bottle. Coming from west to east, she went straight toward Tang Sanzang: The holy monk rests his horse beside the mountain crag; Suddenly he sees a skirted maiden approaching. Jade-green sleeves lightly sway, enfolding bamboo-like fingers; A Xiang-style skirt is drawn askew, revealing golden-lotus feet. Sweat flows over her powdered face, like flowers holding dew; Dust brushes her mothlike brows, like willow branches trailing smoke. When he fixes his eyes and looks carefully, She is already walking right up to them. Sanzang saw her and called, “Bajie, Sha-seng, Wukong just said that this place was a wilderness without people. Look—where did a person suddenly walk out from?” Bajie said, “Master, you and Sha-seng sit here. Let this old pig go take a look.” The Fool set down his muckrake, straightened his one-piece robe, and swayed and rocked his way forward, pretending to have the bearing of a refined gentleman as he went directly to greet her. Truly, from a distance her features were not clear, but up close they were distinct. That maiden was born with: Skin like ice concealing bones of jade; Her collar revealed breasts as creamy as fine curd. Willow brows gathered dark emerald; Apricot eyes flashed like silver stars. Her countenance was lovely as the moon; Her nature was pure by birth. Her body was like a swallow hiding among willows; Her voice like an oriole warbling in the forest. A half-open crabapple enfolded by the dawn sun; A peony just opening, playing in the bright spring sky. When Bajie saw how comely she was, the Fool’s mortal heart was stirred. Unable to restrain himself, he babbled nonsense, calling, “Female Bodhisattva, where are you going? What things are you carrying in your hands?” She was plainly a demon, yet he was unable to recognize her. The maiden answered repeatedly, “Elder, this green jar contains fragrant rice; this green bottle contains fried wheat gluten. I have come here for no other reason than to fulfill a vow and offer food to monks.” Hearing this, Bajie was filled with joy. He hastily turned around and ran off in a pig’s mad wind to report to Sanzang: “Master, ‘the fortunate receive Heaven’s recompense.’ You were hungry and instructed elder brother to obtain vegetarian food, but that monkey has gone off somewhere to pick peaches and amuse himself. Eating too many peaches can also make one’s stomach rumble, and they can also weigh one down. Look—is that not someone who has come to offer food to monks?” Tang Monk did not believe him and said, “You lump of a fellow, you are speaking nonsense. We have traveled in this direction and have not even encountered a single good person. From where could someone offering food to monks have come?” Bajie said, “Master, hasn’t she arrived right here?” The moment Tripitaka saw her, he hurriedly sprang to his feet, clasped his palms before his chest, and said: “Female Bodhisattva, where is your residence? What sort of household are you from? What vow have you made, that you have come here to offer alms to monks?” Clearly she was a demon, but the Elder did not recognize her. When the demon saw Tang Sanzang ask about her origins, she immediately conjured up a false story and, with flowery words and honeyed speech, sought to deceive him: “Master, this mountain is called White Tiger Ridge, where serpents turn back and beasts fear to tread. My home lies directly to the west below. My parents are both still living; they delight in reading the scriptures and doing good, and widely offer vegetarian meals to monks from near and far. Only because they had no son did they pray to the gods and perform meritorious deeds, and give birth to this slave-girl. They wished to marry me into a family of standing, but then feared that in their old age they would have no one to depend upon, so they could only take a son-in-law into the family, to care for them in their old age and see them to their end.” Hearing this, Tripitaka said: “Female Bodhisattva, your words are mistaken. The sage scripture says: ‘While one’s parents are alive, one should not travel far; if one travels, there must be a fixed destination.’ Since your parents are still living, and you have taken a son-in-law into the family, and have made a vow, if you have your husband return, then that would be acceptable. But why are you walking about in the mountains by yourself? Nor do you have a maidservant or attendant following you. This is not observing the way of a wife.” The woman, smiling sweetly, hurriedly replied in coy and flattering words: “Master, my husband is in a hollow on the northern side of the mountain, carrying hoes with several farmhands to till the fields. This is the noon meal I cooked, which I am taking to those people to eat. It is only because these are the fifth and sixth months, when there is no one to employ, and my parents are also old, that I have come in person to deliver it. I suddenly encountered the three of you who have come from afar, and, thinking that my parents delight in doing good, I therefore bring this meal to offer to monks. If you do not disdain it, I wish to present this humble offering.” Tripitaka said: “Good! Good! My disciples have gone to pick fruit and will soon return. I dare not eat it. Suppose I, a monk, eat your food, and your husband learns of it and scolds you—would he not then also blame this poor monk?” Seeing that Tang Sanzang refused to eat, the woman’s whole face once more blossomed with spring, and she said: “Master, my parents offering alms to monks is a small matter; my husband is an even greater man of virtue. All his life he has delighted in building bridges and repairing roads, loving the old and showing compassion to the poor. But if he heard that this meal had been sent for you to eat, then, in consideration of the affection between husband and wife, he would treat me even more differently than usual.” Tripitaka still would not eat. Beside them, however, Zhu Bajie was angered to the utmost. The blockhead thrust out his lips and grumbled: “There are countless monks beneath Heaven, but never one as timid and useless as this old monk. Food ready at hand, and he will not eat even a third of it; he waits only for that monkey to return, so that he can eat a quarter of it.” Without allowing any argument, he shoved the jar over with his snout and was about to start eating. Just then the Pilgrim, having plucked several peaches from the summit of Southern Mountain, carrying them in his alms bowl, returned in a single somersault and landed beside them. Opening his Fiery Eyes and Diamond Pupils to look, he recognized that the woman was a demon. He set down the alms bowl, drew his iron cudgel, and struck straight at her head. The Elder was so frightened that he seized him by the hand and said: “Wukong, you have come running here—whom are you striking?” The Pilgrim said: “Master, this woman before you—do not take her for a good person. She is a demon who has come to deceive you.” Tripitaka said: “You monkey-head, at the time you did have some discernment, but how can you speak such nonsense today? This female Bodhisattva has such a good heart that she has brought this food to offer to us. How can you say she is a demon?” The Pilgrim laughed and said: “Master, how could you recognize her? When I was a demon in Water-Curtain Cave, whenever I wanted to eat human flesh, I did it in just such ways: sometimes I transformed into gold and silver, sometimes into a manor estate, sometimes into a drunkard, and sometimes into a woman’s beauty. If some foolish-hearted person fell in love with me, I would lure him into my cave and indulge myself as I pleased, steaming him or boiling him for my enjoyment; if I could not finish eating him, I would even dry him in the sun to guard against cloudy days. Master, if I had come any later, you would certainly have fallen into her trap and suffered her poisonous hands.” Tang Sanzang would not believe him at all, insisting only that she was a good person. The Pilgrim said: “Master, I know you. Seeing such a countenance, you must surely have stirred up mortal thoughts. If that is indeed your intention, have Bajie cut down several trees and Sha Seng find some grass; I will be the carpenter, and right here we shall build a little nest. You can consummate your marriage with her, and we can all go our separate ways. Would that not be an accomplishment? Why go through all this hardship to fetch some scriptures?” The Elder had always been a mild and kindly man; how could he endure such words? His bald head and ears flushed crimson with shame. While Tripitaka was still feeling ashamed, the Pilgrim again gave way to his temper. He drew his iron cudgel and slashed the demon squarely in the face. The monster possessed some skills and employed the “Corpse-Disjointing Technique.” When she saw the Pilgrim’s cudgel coming, she gathered her spirit, fled in advance, and left a false corpse to be struck dead upon the ground. The Elder was so frightened that he trembled from head to foot and murmured: “This monkey is truly without courtesy. Repeatedly admonished, he will not obey, and for no reason he has taken an innocent person’s life.” The Pilgrim said: “Do not blame me, Master. Come and see what is in this jar.” Sha Seng supported the Elder as they approached to look. Where was there any fragrant rice? It was a jarful of long-tailed maggots crawling everywhere. Nor was it dough gluten; it was several frogs and toads, leaping wildly all over the ground. Only then did the Elder believe him three parts. But how could Zhu Bajie bear the injustice? Standing nearby, he whispered provocatively, adding eight parts to the story: “Master, speaking of this woman, she is a farmwife from this area. Because she was taking food down to the fields, she encountered us on the road—how could you falsely call her a monster? Brother’s cudgel is heavy; he came running over and struck her once merely to test his hand, and unexpectedly killed her. Afraid that you would recite some Tightening-Crown Spell, he deliberately used a blinding trick, transforming her into such things as these to deceive your eyes, so that you would not recite the spell.” From that one remark by Tripitaka onward, misfortune had arrived. He truly believed the blockhead’s incitement, formed a hand seal, and began reciting the spell. The Pilgrim cried out: “My head aches, my head aches. Do not recite it, do not recite it. If you have something to say, then say it.” Tang Sanzang said: “What is there to say? A monastic should always be ready to show mercy; every thought should remain apart from the mind of goodness. One sweeps the floor, fearing to injure the lives of ants; one cherishes moths, covering the lamp with gauze. How can you commit violence at every step, beating to death this innocent commoner? What use is there in fetching the scriptures? Go back.” The Pilgrim said: “Master, where do you tell me to return?” Tang Sanzang said: “I do not want you as my disciple.” The Pilgrim said: “If you do not want me as your disciple, I fear you will not be able to reach the Western Heaven.” Tang Sanzang said: “My life is in Heaven’s hands. If I am fated to be steamed and eaten by that demon, then even if I am boiled, it cannot be counted otherwise. Surely you cannot save me from my appointed end? Hurry and go back.” The Pilgrim said: “Master, I shall go back, and that will be that. It is only that I have never repaid your kindness.” Tang Sanzang said: “What kindness have I shown you?” Hearing this, the Great Sage hurriedly knelt and knocked his head upon the ground: “Because Old Sun caused great turmoil in Heaven, I brought upon myself the calamity of bodily injury and was imprisoned beneath Two-Boundary Mountain by my Buddha. Fortunately, the Bodhisattva Guanyin accepted me and gave me the commandments; fortunately, Master rescued me from my body’s imprisonment. If I did not accompany you to the Western Heaven, it would show that I, knowing kindness yet failing to repay it, was no gentleman, and for all ages I would bear a name of disgrace.” As it happened, this Tang Sanzang was a compassionate and merciful holy monk. Seeing the Pilgrim plead in sorrow, he changed his mind and said: “Since you put it that way, I shall spare you this once. Do not be discourteous again. If you continue to do evil as before, I shall recite this spell twenty times in succession.” The Pilgrim said: “Even thirty times, if you wish; only, I will not strike people anymore.” He then attended upon Tang Sanzang as he mounted the horse, and offered him the peaches he had picked. Seated upon the horse, Tang Sanzang also ate several of them, merely to allay his hunger for the moment. It so happened that the demon escaped with her life and rose into the air. As a matter of fact, that blow from the Pilgrim had not killed the demon; the demon had departed in spirit. There in the clouds, she gnashed her teeth and secretly hated the Pilgrim, saying, “For several years I have only heard people speak of his abilities, but today I find that the stories were indeed not false. Tang Sanzang no longer recognizes me and is about to eat. If he lowers his head and takes a sniff, I will grab him in one sweep—is he not then mine? Unexpectedly, that fellow came along and ruined my scheme, and I was nearly struck by his staff. If I spare this monk, then truly all my effort will have been in vain. I will go down and toy with him once more.” What a demon she was! She pressed down the dark cloud, and beneath the slope of the front mountain she shook herself and transformed into an old woman, more than eighty years old, leaning on a crooked-headed bamboo staff and walking toward them, crying at every step. When Bajie saw her, he was greatly alarmed and said, “Master, this is bad! That old mother has come looking for someone.” Tang Sanzang said, “Looking for whom?” Bajie said, “The woman our elder brother struck dead must have been her daughter. This must be her mother, who has come looking for her.” The Pilgrim said, “Brother, do not talk nonsense. That woman was eighteen years old, while this old woman is eighty. How could she have given birth when she was more than sixty? She is certainly a fake. Wait here while I, Old Sun, go take a look.” What a Pilgrim he was! He stretched out his stride and went forward to observe closely. That monster was: Falsely transformed into an old mother, with temples white as snow. She walked slowly and sluggishly, her steps weak and faltering. Her frail body was thin and spindly, her face like a withered cabbage leaf. Her cheekbones jutted upward, her lips turned downward and twisted. Old age is unlike the time of youth; her whole face was folded like a lotus leaf. The Pilgrim recognized that she was the demon and did not argue at all. He raised his staff and struck straight at her head. When the monster saw the staff rise, she once again gathered herself and sent forth her spirit, escaping from her true body; the false corpse was struck dead beside the mountain road. When Tang Sanzang saw this, he was so startled that he came down from his horse and lay by the roadside. Without another word, he merely recited the Tightening Fillet Spell through and through a full twenty times. Poor Pilgrim—his head was constricted until it resembled a wasp-waisted gourd, and the pain became utterly unbearable. He rolled about and pleaded, saying, “Master, stop reciting it. If you have something to say, then say it.” Tang Sanzang said, “What is there to say? A monastic who listens to wholesome words does not fall into hell. I have been trying to convert you in this way, so how can you keep committing violence? You have beaten one innocent person to death, and then beaten another to death. What do you have to say for this?” The Pilgrim said, “She was a demon.” Tang Sanzang said, “This monkey is talking nonsense. Could there really be so many demons? You are one who has no intention of turning toward goodness and one who deliberately does evil. Go away.” The Pilgrim said, “Master, are you again ordering me to leave? If I return, then return I shall; it is only that one matter does not accord.” Tang Sanzang said, “What matter of yours does not accord?” Bajie said, “Master, he wants to divide the baggage with you. After following you and being a monk these several years, he cannot return empty-handed, can he? Give him a couple of things from the bundle—some old bian-shan robe, a broken hat, or the like.” Hearing this, the Pilgrim became so angry that he leaped about and said, “You sharp-beaked, stupid lout! Old Sun has always upheld the teachings of the Buddhist Order, and has never had the slightest thought of jealousy or greed. Why would I want to divide any baggage?” Tang Sanzang said, “If you are neither jealous nor greedy, then why will you not leave?” The Pilgrim said, “To tell you the truth, Master, five hundred years ago, when I was displaying my heroic might in the Water-Curtain Cave on Flower-Fruit Mountain, I subdued the fiendish demons of seventy-two caves. Beneath my command were forty-seven thousand little monsters. Upon my head I wore the Purple-Gold Crown, upon my body the Ochre-Yellow Robe, around my waist the Lantian Belt, upon my feet the Cloud-Treading Shoes, and in my hand I held the Ruyi Jingu Bang. In truth, I had once been a person of consequence. Ever since passing through nirvana and expiating my sins, shaving my head, and taking up the orthodox Buddhist Order, I became your disciple. You had this golden fillet fastened around my head, and if I return, it will be difficult for me to face the people of my native land. If Master truly does not want me, recite the Loosening Fillet Spell, remove this fillet, and give it to you; put it on someone else’s head, and I will be happily content. Would it be that even these human sentiments no longer exist?” Tang Sanzang was greatly startled and said, “Wukong, at that time I merely secretly received one scroll of the Tightening Fillet Spell from the Bodhisattva; there was no Loosening Fillet Spell.” The Pilgrim said, “If there is no Loosening Fillet Spell, then take me along with you for a while.” The Elder had no choice but to say, “Get up for now. I will spare you this once more, but you must not commit violence again.” The Pilgrim said, “I dare not again. I dare not again.” He then helped his master mount the horse, cleared a path ahead, and continued forward. It so happened that the demon had not been killed by the Pilgrim’s second blow either. In midair, the monster praised him without end, saying, “What a Monkey King! His eyes are truly sharp. Though I transformed myself in that manner, he still recognized me. These monks travel fast. Once they cross this mountain and go forty li westward, they will no longer fall under my jurisdiction. If they are captured by some other demon elsewhere, others will laugh their mouths apart, and it will break my own heart. I will go down and toy with him once more.” What a demon she was! She summoned the dark wind, and beneath the mountain slope she shook herself and transformed into an old gentleman. Indeed, he was: His white hair was like Pengzu’s, his gray beard rivaling the Star of Longevity. Jade chimes sounded in his ears, and golden stars flashed before his eyes. He leaned upon a dragon-headed staff and wore a light crane-feather cloak. He fingered a rosary in his hand, and his mouth recited the Namo scripture. Tang Sanzang saw him from horseback and was greatly delighted, saying, “Amitabha Buddha! The Western Regions truly are a land of blessings. That old gentleman cannot even walk along the road, yet the poor fellow is still reciting scriptures.” Bajie said, “Master, do not praise him just yet. That one is the root of calamity.” Tang Sanzang said, “How is he the root of calamity?” Bajie said, “Our elder brother struck his daughter dead, and then struck his wife dead. This is surely their old father who has come looking for them. If we run into his arms, Master, you will have to pay with your life and receive the death penalty; as an accessory, Old Pig will be sentenced to military exile; and Sha Seng, for shouting orders, will receive the punishment called ‘standing at the station.’ That elder brother will use an escape technique and run away—would that not leave the three of us to suffer for him?” The Pilgrim heard this and said, “This blockhead is talking such nonsense—will he not frighten the Master? Let this old Sun go take another look.” He hid his cudgel at his side, stepped forward, and called to the monster, “Old sir, where are you going? How is it that you are walking along and reciting scriptures at the same time?” The demon mistook the fixed star and took the Great Sage Sun to be an ordinary man, so he answered, “Elder, my old home has always been here. All my life I have loved goodness, fed monks, read scriptures, and recited the Buddha’s name. Fate gave me no sons; I had only one daughter, and she married a son-in-law. This morning I took food down to the fields, and I suppose he encountered a tiger’s jaws. My old wife came first to search for him, but she did not return either. We know absolutely nothing of their whereabouts, so this old man has come especially to look for them. If indeed the tiger has injured and killed them, there is nothing to be done; I shall gather their bones, take them home, and bury them in the graveyard.” The Pilgrim laughed and said, “I am the ancestor of tiger-catchers. How can you be carrying a ghost in your sleeve to deceive me? You may deceive everyone else, but you cannot deceive me. I recognize you as a demon.” The demon was so frightened that he suddenly became speechless. The Pilgrim drew out his cudgel and thought to himself, “If I do not strike him, it will look as though he has gotten the better of me; but if I strike him, I fear the Master will recite that spell.” Then he thought again, “If I do not kill him, he may seize an opening and carry off the Master, and would I not then have to spend my strength and effort rescuing him? I had better strike him. If I kill him with one blow, the Master will begin reciting that spell. As the saying goes, ‘A tiger, however vicious, does not eat its cubs.’ Relying on my clever words and glib tongue, I will deceive him a little; perhaps it will be all right.” The Great Sage was indeed resourceful: he recited a spell and called to the local Land God and the Mountain God of that place, saying, “This demon has come three times to play tricks on my Master. This time I am going to kill him. Bear witness for me in midair, and do not let him escape.” The assembled gods heard the command; who would dare disobey? They all gave support from among the clouds. Wherever the Great Sage’s cudgel rose, the demon fell, until his spiritual light was utterly extinguished. Tang Sanzang, on horseback, was again trembling with fright and unable to speak. Bajie, standing nearby, laughed and said, “What a splendid Pilgrim! He has gone wild. We have traveled for only half a day, and he has already beaten three people to death.” Tang Sanzang was just about to recite the spell when the Pilgrim hurried to the front of the horse and called, “Master, do not recite it, do not recite it. Come and look at his appearance.” But there was only a heap of powder-white bones lying there. Tang Sanzang was greatly astonished and said, “Wukong, this man has only just died. How has he already turned into a heap of bones?” The Pilgrim said, “He was an animated corpse whose hidden spirit made trouble. He was here confusing people and ruining their foundations. I beat him to death, and he has now revealed his true form. On his spine is a line of words reading, ‘Lady White Bone.’” When Tang Sanzang heard this, he believed it after all. But Bajie, beside him, could not refrain from whispering slanderously: “Master, his hand is heavy and his cudgel fierce. He has beaten the man to death, and perhaps, fearing that you would recite that spell, he deliberately transformed himself into this appearance to deceive your eyes.” Tang Sanzang’s ears were indeed soft, and he believed him again, so he began reciting the spell once more. The Pilgrim could not endure the pain, and knelt beside the road, crying, “Do not recite it, do not recite it. If you have something to say, say it quickly.” Tang Sanzang said, “Monkey-head, what more is there to say? A person who leaves home and practices goodness is like the grass in a spring garden: its growth is not seen, yet each day it increases. A person who practices evil is like a stone used to sharpen a knife: its loss is not seen, yet each day it diminishes. Here in these desolate fields beyond the reach of men, you have beaten three people to death in succession, and there is still no one to report it and no one to oppose us. But if we reach a city, a place where people are gathered thickly, and you take up that mourning cudgel and, not knowing good from bad, begin beating people indiscriminately, causing a great calamity, how will I escape? You had better go back.” The Pilgrim said, “You have unjustly blamed me, Master. This fellow was plainly a demon, and he truly intended to harm you. I killed him and removed the danger for you, yet you do not recognize it. Instead, you believe that blockhead’s slanderous and cold words, and repeatedly drive me away. As the saying goes, ‘A matter does not go beyond three times.’ If I do not leave, I shall truly be a low and shameless creature. I am going, I am going. I will leave—but you will have no one under your command.” Tang Sanzang grew angry and said, “This impudent monkey is becoming more and more insolent. It seems that only you are a human being, while Wuneng and Wujing are not human?” When the Great Sage heard him say that the other two were human beings, he could not restrain his sorrow and grief. He said to Tang Sanzang, “What misery! When you left Chang’an, Liu Boqin escorted you onto the road. At Two-Worlds Mountain, you rescued me and accepted me as your disciple. I passed through ancient caverns, entered deep forests, captured demons and seized monsters, took in Bajie, obtained Sha Wujing, and endured every imaginable hardship. Today, pretending to be clear-minded while acting foolishly, you merely tell me to go back. This is truly the meaning of the saying: ‘When the birds are gone, the bow is put away; when the hare is dead, the hound is cooked!’ Enough, enough, enough—but there is still that tightening-circlet spell.” Tang Sanzang said, “I will never recite it again.” The Pilgrim said, “That is difficult to say. If you reach a place of poisonous demons and bitter calamity and cannot escape, and Bajie and Sha Wujing cannot save you, then you will think of me and be unable to restrain yourself from reciting it again. Even if I am ten thousand li away, my head will hurt. If I came to see you again after that, it would be better not to entertain such a thought.” Seeing that every word from him only added to his anger, Tang Sanzang rolled down from the saddle and ordered Sha Wujing to take paper and brush from the luggage. He then drew water from beneath the ravine, ground ink on a stone, wrote a dismissal letter, and handed it to the Pilgrim, saying, “Monkey-head, take this as proof. I no longer want you as a disciple. If I ever see you again, may I fall into the Avīci Hell.” The Pilgrim hurriedly accepted the dismissal letter and said, “Master, there is no need to swear an oath. This old Sun will leave.” He folded the letter and kept it in his sleeve, then gently pleaded with Tang Sanzang: “Master, I have followed you for some time, and have also received the Bodhisattva’s instruction. Today I am abandoned halfway through, before I have accomplished any merit. Please sit down and accept one bow from me, so that I too may leave with peace of mind.” Tang Sanzang turned his back and ignored him, muttering, “I am a good monk; I do not accept the courtesy of an evil person.” Seeing that he ignored him, the Great Sage used a body-outside-the-body technique. He plucked three hairs from the back of his head, blew a breath of immortal qi upon them, and called, “Change!” They immediately became three Pilgrims. Together with his true body, there were four of them, surrounding the Master and bowing. The Elder could not dodge to either side and, in the end, had to accept one bow. The Great Sage sprang up, shook his body, and gathered back the hairs. Then he instructed Sha Wujing: “Worthy younger brother, you are a good man, but you must be careful to guard against Bajie’s slanderous chatter, and be especially watchful along the road. If a demon should seize the Master, tell him that old Sun is his senior disciple. Monsters of the Western Regions have heard of my abilities and will not dare injure my Master.” Tang Sanzang said, “I am a good monk. I will not mention the name of an evil person like you. Go back.” Seeing that the Elder, after going back and forth three times, still refused to change his mind, the Great Sage had no choice but to leave. Look at him: With tears in his eyes, he knocked his head and bade the Elder farewell; With grief in his heart, he earnestly warned Sha Wujing. He wiped the tears that sprang onto the grass before the slope, And kicked both feet, overturning the vines upon the ground. Above heaven and below earth, he spun like a wheel; Crossing seas and flying over mountains, he was foremost in ability. In an instant his shadow disappeared; In a moment he hastened back along the old road. You see, he swallowed his anger, parted from his Master, mounted the somersault cloud, and went straight back to the Water-Curtain Cave at Flower-Fruit Mountain. Alone, sorrowful and wretched, he suddenly heard the sound of water roaring in his ears. When the Great Sage looked from midair, it turned out to be the sound of the tide rising in the Eastern Ocean. Seeing it, he thought again of Tang Sanzang, and could not stop tears from falling down his cheeks. He halted the cloud and stopped his steps, and only after a long while did he leave. In the end, what happened when he went away and returned? Let us listen to the explanation in the next installment.