OriginChapter 59
Several natures and dispositions are originally the same; the sea contains them without end. A thousand thoughts and ten thousand considerations ultimately become delusion; all colors and forms merge in harmony. One day, when the work is complete and conduct fulfilled, the perfect and luminous Dharma-nature will rise high. Do not let distinctions stray east and west; lock them tightly in a cage. Gather them and place them within the alchemical furnace, refine them until they are as red as the golden crow. Radiant and brilliant, fair and enchanting, let them come and go at will, riding on dragons.
Now the story tells that Tripitaka, following the Bodhisattva's decree, had taken in the Pilgrim, and together with Eight Rules and Sand Monk, cut off the two minds, locked the ape and reined the horse, and with one heart and united strength, hastened toward the Western Heaven. Time passed swiftly like an arrow, and the sun and moon raced like shuttles—this need not be told in full. They had endured the scorching days of summer, and now they encountered the frosty scene of late autumn. One could see:
Thin clouds break, the west wind sharpens;
Cranes cry from distant peaks, frosty woods like brocade.
The scene is desolate and chill;
Mountains long, waters longer still.
Wild geese come from the northern passes,
Dark swallows return to southern paths.
A traveler's road fears loneliness;
A monk's robe feels the cold all too soon.
The master and his four disciples, as they pressed forward, gradually felt a sweltering heat assailing them. Tripitaka reined in his horse and said, "Now it is autumn—how is it that we have this heat instead?" Eight Rules said, "You do not know. On the western road there is a country called Shari, which is the place of sunset, commonly known as the end of the sky. When it reaches the hour of Shen or You, the king sends men up the city wall to beat drums and blow horns, mingling their sounds with the roar of the boiling sea. The sun is the true fire of the yang principle; when it sets into the Western Sea, it is like quenching fire in water, and the rumbling sound roils up. Without the drum and horn sounds to confuse the ears, it would shake the children in the city to death. This place has heat that steams men—we must be near the place of sunset." The Great Sage, hearing this, could not help but laugh and say, "Idiot, do not talk nonsense. As for the country of Shari, we are still far from it. With the master delaying as he does, morning and evening, from childhood to old age, and from old age back to childhood, through three lives of growing old and young, we would still not reach it." Eight Rules said, "Brother! According to you, if this is not the place of sunset, why is it so fiercely hot?" Sand Monk said, "Perhaps the seasons are disordered, and autumn is exercising the order of summer." While the three were arguing, they saw by the roadside a manor, with houses roofed with red tiles, walls built of red bricks, red-lacquered doors and shutters, and red-painted plank beds—everything was red. Tripitaka dismounted and said, "Wukong, go ask at that house for some news, to learn the reason for this heat."
The Great Sage put away his golden-banded staff, straightened his clothes, assumed a refined and scholarly air, left the main road, and went straight to the gate to look. Suddenly, an old man walked out from within the gate, and he looked thus:
He wore a coarse hemp robe of a color neither yellow nor red,
And a bamboo-splint summer hat of a hue neither blue nor black.
In his hand he leaned on a knobby bamboo staff, neither crooked nor straight,
On his feet he wore a pair of sandal-boots, neither new nor old.
His face was like red copper, his beard like white silk.
Two long eyebrows of longevity shaded his blue-green eyes,
And his grinning mouth revealed golden teeth.
The old man suddenly raised his head, saw the Pilgrim, and was startled. Leaning on his bamboo staff, he shouted, "What strange creature are you, and what business have you at my gate?" The Pilgrim returned the greeting and said, "Old benefactor, do not fear me. I am no strange creature. I am a poor monk, a delegate from the Great Tang in the East, on a journey to the Western Heaven to seek scriptures. My master and I, four in all, have just arrived at your precious region. Seeing the sweltering heat, we do not understand the reason, nor do we know the name of this place. I have come especially to ask for your instruction." Only then did the old man feel at ease, and he said with a smile, "Elder, forgive me. My old eyes are dim, and I did not recognize your venerable countenance." The Pilgrim said, "Do not dare." The old man asked again, "Where is your master?" The Pilgrim said, "Is he not standing on the main road to the south?" The old man said, "Please invite him in, please invite him in." The Pilgrim was delighted and waved his hand. Tripitaka then, together with Eight Rules and Sand Monk, led the white horse and carried the luggage, approached, and all paid their respects to the old man.
When the old man saw Tripitaka's elegant bearing and the strange appearances of Eight Rules and Sand Monk, he was both surprised and pleased. He could only invite them inside to sit, told the young attendants to serve tea, and meanwhile had a meal prepared. Tripitaka, hearing this, rose and gave thanks, saying, "May I venture to ask, venerable sir: in your esteemed place, since it is autumn, why is it instead so hot?" The old man said, "This humble place is called the Flaming Mountain. It has neither spring nor autumn; all four seasons are hot." Tripitaka said, "Where is the Flaming Mountain? Does it block the road to the west?" The old man said, "The west cannot be reached. That mountain is about sixty li from here, and it is exactly the road one must take to go west. But there are eight hundred li of flames, and for four hundred li around, not a blade of grass grows. If you cross that mountain, even with a copper skull and an iron body, you would be melted into liquid." When Tripitaka heard this, his face turned pale with terror, and he dared not ask further.
Just then, a young man outside the gate pushed a red cart and stopped by the door, calling out, "Selling cakes." The Great Sage plucked a piece of his hair, changed it into a copper coin, and bought a cake from the man. The man took the money, and without any regard for quality, opened the cloth covering on the cart—a burst of hot steam arose—and took out a cake, handing it to the Pilgrim. The Pilgrim held it in his hand; it was like a burning coal from a fire or a red-hot nail from a smith's forge. See him pass it from his left hand to his right, and from his right back to his left, saying only, "Hot, hot, hot! Hard to eat, hard to eat!" The young man laughed and said, "If you fear heat, do not come here; it is always this hot." The Pilgrim said, "You fellow are quite unreasonable. As the saying goes, 'Without cold and heat, the five grains do not ripen.' Since it is so intensely hot here, where does your cake flour come from?" The man said, "If you want to know the rice for the cake flour, go and beg the Iron-Fan Immortal." The Pilgrim said, "What about the Iron-Fan Immortal?" The man said, "The Iron-Fan Immortal has a plantain fan. If you obtain it, one fan puts out the fire, the second fan brings wind, and the third fan brings rain. Then we sow our seeds and harvest in due season, thus gaining the five grains to sustain life. Otherwise, truly not a single blade of grass can grow."
When the Pilgrim heard this, he quickly withdrew and went back inside, handed the cake to Tripitaka, and said, "Master, set your mind at ease; do not let this worry fester for a whole year. Eat the cake, and I will tell you." The elder took the cake in hand and said to the old man of the house, "Venerable sir, please have some cake." The old man said, "My family's tea and rice have not yet been offered—would I dare eat your cake?" The Pilgrim laughed and said, "Old sir, you need not offer tea and rice. Let me ask you: where does the Iron-Fan Immortal live?" The old man said, "Why do you ask?" The Pilgrim said, "That cake-seller just now said that this immortal has a plantain fan. If one begs it, one fan puts out the fire, the second brings wind, and the third brings rain. Only then can you sow and harvest here and gain the five grains for sustenance. I wish to seek him out and borrow the fan to put out the flames of the Flaming Mountain so we may cross, and also enable this region to plant and harvest in season and live in peace." The old man said, "That is indeed a saying, but you have no gifts, and I fear that holy sage will not come." Tripitaka said, "What gifts does he require?" The old man said, "The people here make a pilgrimage once every ten years. We offer four pigs and four sheep, silk fabrics and red tokens, rare incense and seasonal fruits, chickens, geese, and fine wine. After bathing in reverence, we journey to that immortal mountain and beg him to emerge from his cave and come here to perform his work." The Pilgrim said, "Where is that mountain located? What is its name? How many li away? Let me go ask him for the fan." The old man said, "That mountain lies to the southwest and is called Green Emerald Mountain. In that mountain there is an immortal cave named Plantain Cave. The faithful people here, when they go to pay homage at the immortal mountain, take a full month for the round trip, a distance of some fourteen hundred fifty or sixty li." The Pilgrim laughed and said, "No matter—I shall go and return at once." The old man said, "Wait, have some tea and rice, prepare some dry provisions, and you must take a companion. There are no households along that road, and many wolves and tigers. It is not a day's journey—do not treat it lightly." The Pilgrim laughed and said, "No need, no need. I am off." As soon as he said this, he suddenly vanished. The old man, flustered, said, "Heavens! So he is a spirit being who rides clouds and mists!"
Not to mention how this household served the Tang monk with double devotion. Let us now speak of the traveler, who in an instant arrived directly at Cuiyun Mountain. He pressed down his auspicious light and was just looking for the cave entrance when he heard a ding-ding sound—it was a woodcutter felling trees in the forest. The traveler quickly stepped forward, and then heard him say:
“Through the clouds I dimly recognize the old grove,
On broken cliffs and withered grass the path is hard to find.
From the western hills I see the morning rain come,
And when I return by the southern stream, the ford is deep.”
The traveler drew near and made a bow, saying, “Brother Woodcutter, my respects.” The woodcutter set down his axe, returned the greeting, and asked, “Where is the elder going?” The traveler said, “May I ask, Brother Woodcutter, is this Cuiyun Mountain?” The woodcutter said, “Exactly.” The traveler said, “Where is the Banana Cave of the Iron Fan Immortal?” The woodcutter laughed and said, “Though this Banana Cave exists, there is no Iron Fan Immortal—only an Iron Fan Princess, also known as the Rakshasi.” The traveler said, “People say she has a banana-leaf fan that can extinguish the Flaming Mountain. Is that she?” The woodcutter said, “Exactly, exactly. This sage has that precious treasure, skilled at quenching fire and protecting the people of that region, hence she is called the Iron Fan Immortal. We people here have no use for her, so we only know her as the Rakshasi, wife of the mighty Bull Demon King.”
When the traveler heard this, he was greatly startled and thought to himself, “Another enemy. In earlier years I subdued Red Boy, and it was said he was this creature’s son. Before, at the Po'er Cave on Jieyang Mountain, I met his uncle, who still refused to give water and intended to take revenge; now that I meet his parents, how can I borrow this fan?” The woodcutter, seeing the traveler sunk in thought and sighing without cease, laughed and said, “Elder, you are a monk—what worry or doubt do you have? This little path leads east for no more than five or six li, and you will be at the Banana Cave. Do not fret.” The traveler said, “To be honest with you, Brother Woodcutter, I am the senior disciple of the Tang monk, sent from the Great Tang in the East to seek scriptures in the Western Heaven. Two years ago at the Fire Cloud Cave, I had some words with the Rakshasi’s son, Red Boy. I fear the Rakshasi bears a grudge and will not lend it, hence my worry.” The woodcutter said, “A true man reads the face and judges the moment. Only use borrowing the fan as your purpose, and do not mention the old squabbles—I guarantee you will get it.” When the traveler heard this, he made a deep bow and said, “Thank you for your instruction, Brother Woodcutter. I am off.”
He then took leave of the woodcutter and went straight to the Banana Cave entrance. He saw that the two doors were tightly shut and firmly barred, while outside the cave the scenery was lovely. What a fine place! Indeed:
The mountain takes stone as its bone,
And stone is the essence of earth.
Mist and haze hold lingering moisture,
Moss and lichen add fresh green.
Towering crags outdare Penglai isles,
Secluded fragrance like ocean fairlands.
Several tall pines shelter wild cranes,
A few withered willows echo mountain orioles.
Truly this is an ancient site of a thousand years,
A trace of immortals from ten thousand ages.
On the green parasol trees sing phoenixes,
In the living waters hide azure dragons.
Winding paths hang with vines and brambles,
Stone steps twined with creepers and rattan.
Gibbons cry on green cliffs, joyful as the moon rises,
Birds sing in tall trees, glad for the clear sky.
Two groves of bamboo give shade cool as rain,
One path of thick flowers outshines embroidered silk.
Now and then white clouds come from distant peaks,
Without fixed form, they drift idly with the wind.
The traveler stepped forward and called, “Brother Bull, open the door, open the door.” With a creak, the cave door opened, and from within came a hairy maid, carrying a flower basket in her hand and a hoe on her shoulder. Truly she was clad in ragged clothes with no adornment, yet her face was full of spirit and had the mind of the Way. The traveler went up to her, pressed his palms together, and said, “Young maiden, may I trouble you to report to the Princess: I am a monk on the scripture pilgrimage, and on the Western Road I cannot cross the Flaming Mountain. I have come especially to borrow the banana-leaf fan for one use.” The hairy maid said, “From which temple are you, monk? What is your name? So I may announce you.” The traveler said, “I come from the East—my name is Monk Sun Wukong.”
The hairy maid at once turned and went back into the cave, knelt before the Rakshasi, and said, “Mistress, outside the cave door is a monk named Sun Wukong from the East, who wishes to see you and beg for the banana-leaf fan to cross the Flaming Mountain.” When the Rakshasi heard the three words “Sun Wukong,” it was like throwing salt into fire, oil on flames—her face flushed crimson, and vicious anger blazed in her heart. She cursed, “This vile monkey! Today he comes.” She called, “Handmaidens, bring my armor and weapons.” Immediately she took her armor and two green-gem swords, buckled herself up, and came out. The traveler dodged aside outside the cave and stole a look at her attire. She wore:
A kerchief of gathered flowers on her head,
A robe of brocaded cloud-pattern silk.
Twice bound at the waist with a tiger-sinew sash,
Her embroidered skirt and thin silk train half revealed.
Phoenix-beak bow-shoes of three-inch span,
Dragon-whisker leggings with golden tassels.
In hand she raised her swords with a furious cry,
Her fierce look rivaling the moon goddess’s beauty.
The Rakshasi came out and called loudly, “Where is Sun Wukong?” The traveler stepped forward, bowed, and said, “Sister-in-law, old Sun here pays his respects.” The Rakshasi gave a sharp “Hah!” and said, “Who is your sister-in-law? Who wants your respects?” The traveler said, “Your husband, the Bull Demon King, once swore brotherhood with old Sun—we were close as seven brothers. Now I hear that Princess is the Bull Brother’s lawful wife, so how could I not call you sister-in-law?” The Rakshasi said, “You vile monkey! If you have such brotherly ties, why did you harm my son?” The traveler feigned ignorance and asked, “Who is your son?” The Rakshasi said, “My son is the Holy Infant King Red Boy of the Fire Cloud Cave in the Withered Pine Stream of Mount Hao. You destroyed him. We were just looking for you to take revenge, and now you come to our door offering your life—do you think I will spare you?” The traveler put on an ingratiating smile and said, “Sister-in-law, you are being unreasonable and blaming old Sun wrongly. Your son captured my master and was about to steam or boil him, but luckily the Bodhisattva Guanyin took him away and rescued my master. He now stays with the Bodhisattva as the Sudhana boy, having truly attained the Bodhisattva’s true fruit—neither born nor dying, neither defiled nor pure, sharing the lifespan of heaven and earth, and the age of sun and moon. Instead of thanking old Sun for saving his life, you blame me—what logic is that?” The Rakshasi said, “You glib-tongued vile monkey! Though my son is not dead, how will he ever come before me again? When shall I see his face?” The traveler laughed and said, “Sister-in-law, if you wish to see your son, what is so hard about that? Lend me the fan first, so I can quench the fire and take my master across; then I will go to the Bodhisattva at South Sea and ask him to come see you, and then return the fan to you—is that not acceptable? At that time, you can see if he has suffered the least injury. If he has any hurt, you would be right to blame me; if he is even handsomer than before, you ought to thank me.” The Rakshasi said, “Vile monkey! Stop your nonsense. Stick out your head and let me hack it a few times: if you can bear the pain, then I will lend you the fan; if you cannot endure, you will soon see King Yama.” The traveler folded his arms and stepped forward, laughing, “Sister-in-law, say no more. Old Sun offers his bare head for you to strike as you please—only stop when you have no strength left. But you must lend me the fan.” The Rakshasi would not listen to reason; she swung both swords with both hands and hacked at the traveler’s head with a clatter, ten or more blows—but the traveler did not take it seriously at all. The Rakshasi grew frightened and turned to leave. The traveler said, “Where are you going, Sister-in-law? Quickly lend it to me for use.” The Rakshasi said, “My precious treasure is not to be lightly lent.” The traveler said, “Since you won’t lend it, then take your old uncle’s staff.”
This splendid monkey king grabbed her with one hand, while with the other he pulled his staff from his ear, shook it once, and it became as thick as a bowl. The Rakshasi wrenched free, raised her swords to meet him. The traveler then swung his staff and struck. The two fought before Cuiyun Mountain, heeding no kinship, only enmity. This was a fine battle:
[END OF PART 2]
The womenfolk were originally monsters who had cultivated to become immortals; for the sake of her son, she harbored hatred for the wanton monkey. Though the Pilgrim was fiercely enraged, because his master’s way was blocked, he yielded to the woman’s fury. He first spoke of borrowing the Plantain Fan by courtesy, not displaying his valor but restraining his temper. Ignorant Rakshasi swung her sword to cut him; the Monkey King deliberately spoke of their relationship. How could a woman contend with a man? In the end, the male’s strength overcomes the female. This one’s Golden-Banded Cudgel was most fierce and violent; that one’s frosty-bladed green sword was very swift and thick. Striking at the face, throwing at the head, in bitter hatred they fought without cease. Left parry and right cover, displaying martial arts; forward meet and back ward off, employing cunning stratagems. Just as they had fought to the deepest point of intensity, imperceptibly the sun in the west began to set. Rakshasi hastily took her true fan and, with one wave, moved it—causing even ghosts and spirits to grieve.
That Rakshasi woman and the Pilgrim fought until evening. She saw that the Pilgrim’s cudgel was heavy, and his techniques were meticulous, so she knew she could not overcome him. Immediately she brought out the Plantain Fan, shook it once, and with one fan of dark wind sent the Pilgrim flying without trace or shadow, impossible to hold back. This Rakshasi returned in victory.
The Great Sage drifted and floated, sinking leftward but unable to land, falling rightward but unable to settle. He was like a whirlwind tossing withered leaves, or flowing water carrying scattered blossoms. He tumbled all night until dawn, when at last he landed on a mountain, clutching a peak-rock with both hands. He steadied his mind for a long time, then looked carefully and recognized it as Mount Sumeru Minor. The Great Sage gave a long sigh and said: “What a formidable woman! How did she send old Sun all the way here? I remember that in years past I came to this place to beseech Bodhisattva Lingji to subdue the Yellow Wind Monster and save my master. From Yellow Wind Ridge to here, straight southward, is over three thousand li; now, having come around from the western road, this is the southeastern quarter—I don’t know how many tens of thousands of li it is. Let me go down and ask Bodhisattva Lingji for news, so I can find my way back.”
While he was still hesitating, he heard the clear sound of a bell. He hurried down the slope and went straight to the monastery. The Daoist at the gate recognized the Pilgrim’s appearance and at once went inside to report: “That hairy-faced Great Sage who came two years ago to invite the Bodhisattva to subdue the Yellow Wind Monster has come again.” The Bodhisattva knew it was Wukong, and quickly descended from his jeweled throne to welcome him, entering and exchanging courtesies, saying: “Congratulations! Have you come from fetching the scriptures?” Wukong replied: “Not yet—not yet, early still, early still.” Lingji said: “Since you have not yet reached Thunderclap Monastery, why have you come back to this desolate mountain?” The Pilgrim said: “Since last year, thanks to your great kindness in subduing the Yellow Wind Monster, I have gone through untold hardships along the way. Now I have reached the Flaming Mountain and cannot proceed. When I asked the locals, they said there is an Iron-Fan Immortal whose Plantain Fan can quench the fire, so old Sun went especially to visit her. It turned out that that immortal is the wife of the Bull Demon King and the mother of Red Boy. She said that because I made her son a novice boy of Guanyin Bodhisattva, so he cannot see her often, she harbors a grudge against me and refuses to lend the fan. She fought with me. Seeing that my cudgel was heavy and she could not withstand it, she took her fan and gave me a blow, sending me floating and drifting until I landed here just now. Hence I have ventured to your monastery to ask the way back. How many li is it from here to the Flaming Mountain?” Lingji smiled and said: “That woman is called Rakshasi, also known as Princess Iron Fan. Her Plantain Fan is actually a spiritual treasure produced by Heaven and Earth since the creation of the world, behind Mount Kunlun—it is the essence-leaf of the Great Yin, and therefore can extinguish fire-qi. If it fans a person, they will drift eighty-four thousand li before the dark wind ceases. From this mountain to the Flaming Mountain is only a little over fifty thousand li; it is only because the Great Sage has the ability to restrain clouds that you stopped here. If it were an ordinary person, they could not have come to rest at all.” The Pilgrim said: “Terrible, terrible! How will my master ever cross that place?” Lingji said: “Great Sage, set your mind at ease. This coming here is also part of Tang Sanzang’s karmic destiny, and it is fitting that the Great Sage should accomplish a merit.” The Pilgrim said: “How does that show success?” Lingji said: “In former years I received the Tathagata’s decree, and he gave me one Wind-Fixing Pill and one Flying-Dragon Staff. The Flying-Dragon Staff has already subdued the wind demon. This Wind-Fixing Pill has not yet been used. Now I give it to the Great Sage, and I guarantee that that creature will not be able to move you with her fan. Then you can take the fan, extinguish the fire, and will you not have achieved this merit?” The Pilgrim bowed his head and saluted, thanking him without end. The Bodhisattva then took out a brocade pouch from his sleeve, placed the Wind-Fixing Pill into the Pilgrim’s collar, and tightly sewed it up with needle and thread. He saw the Pilgrim out and said: “I cannot detain you for a feast. Go northwestward, and there you will find Rakshasi’s domain.”
The Pilgrim took leave of Lingji, mounted his somersault cloud, and returned straight to Emerald Cloud Mountain, arriving in an instant. He struck the cave gate with his iron cudgel and called: “Open up, open up! Old Sun has come to borrow the fan for use.” The girl attendants inside were startled and hurriedly reported: “Grandmother, the fan-borrower has come again.” Hearing this, Rakshasi felt fear in her heart and said: “This wanton monkey truly has abilities. When my treasure fans a person, they must go eighty-four thousand li before they can stop. How is it that he has returned so soon after being blown away? This time I’ll fan him two or three times in succession and make him lose all path back.” She quickly leaped up, dressed herself fully, and with both hands holding her sword, came out of the gate and said: “Sun Wukong, aren’t you afraid of me? Have you come to seek death again?” The Pilgrim laughed and said: “Sister-in-law, do not be stingy—you must lend it to me for use. Once I have safely escorted Tang Sanzong across the mountain, I will return it to you. I am a gentleman of abundant sincerity, not some petty person who borrows things without returning them.” Rakshasi again cursed: “Vile monkey! Utterly unreasonable, utterly ignorant. The grievance of taking my son has not yet been avenged; how can you expect your wish to borrow the fan to be fulfilled? Don’t run away—taste this old woman’s sword.” The Great Sage stood openly unafraid and met her with his iron cudgel. The two of them went back and forth, fighting for five or seven rounds, when Rakshasi’s hands grew weak and she could hardly wield her sword, while Sun Wukong, strong of body, proved an able opponent. Seeing that the situation was unfavorable, she at once took out her fan and fanned it toward the Pilgrim—but the Pilgrim stood firm and unmoved. The Pilgrim put away his cudgel and said with a smile: “This time is not like that last time—fan as you will, if old Sun so much as stirs, I am no true man.” That Rakshasi fanned again twice. Indeed he did not move. Rakshasi, panicking, quickly put away her treasure and turned back, entering the cave and shutting the door tightly.
When the Pilgrim saw that she had closed the door, he resorted to a trick: he unstitched his collar, took the Wind-Fixing Pill into his mouth, and with a shake of his body transformed into a tiny cicada and slipped in through the crack of the door. He saw Rakshasi call out: “Thirsty, thirsty—quick, bring tea.” The attendant girl at once brought a pot of fragrant tea, poured a full bowl with a hissing sound, raising a froth of tea bubbles. The Pilgrim was delighted, and with a buzz he flew beneath the tea froth. That Rakshasi, extremely thirsty, took the tea and drank it down in two or three gulps. The Pilgrim was now inside her stomach; he resumed his original form and called out in a loud voice: “Sister-in-law, lend me the fan for use.” Rakshasi was greatly alarmed and shouted: “Little ones, have you shut the front gate?” They all said: ��It is shut.” She then said: “If the gate is shut, how is Sun Wukong calling from inside the house?” The girl attendant said: “He is calling from inside your own body.” Rakshasi said: “Sun Wukong, where are you playing your tricks?” The Pilgrim said: “Old Sun has never been good at playing tricks—all are true skills and real abilities. I am now playing inside your honored sister-in-law’s honored belly, and have already seen your innards. I know you are also hungry and thirsty; let me first give you a little bowl to quench your thirst.” With that, he kicked downward. The pain in Rakshasi’s lower belly became unbearable, and she sat on the ground crying out in agony. The Pilgrim said: “Sister-in-law, do not refuse—let me also give you a snack to fill your hunger.” He then butted his head upward. The pain in her heart was unbearable, and she rolled on the ground, her face turning sallow and her lips white, crying only: “Nephew Sun, spare my life!”
The Monkey King then withdrew his hands and feet and said, "Now you recognize your uncle, don't you? Out of regard for Brother Bull, I'll spare your life. Quick, bring me the fan so I can use it." Rakshasi said, "Uncle, I have the fan, I have the fan. Come out and take it." The Monkey King said, "Bring the fan out for me to see, then I'll come out." Rakshasi then ordered a serving girl to bring a palm-leaf fan and stand holding it at her side. The Monkey King probed up to her throat and, seeing it, said, "Elder Sister-in-law, since I've spared your life, I won't stab a hole through your ribs—I'll come out through your mouth. Open your mouth wide three times." Rakshasi indeed opened her mouth. The Monkey King once more transformed into a midge, flew out first, and alighted on the palm-leaf fan. Rakshasi, unaware, opened her mouth three times in succession, calling, "Come out, Uncle." The Monkey King reverted to his original form, took up the fan, and said, "Here I am, am I not? Thanks for the loan, thanks for the loan." He strode forward and made his way out. The little demons quickly opened the gate and let him out of the cave.
The Great Sage turned his cloud around and headed straight back east. In an instant he lowered his cloud and alighted beside the red-brick wall. When Eight Rules saw him, he exclaimed happily, "Master, elder brother is here, he's here." Sanzang then went out with the old man of the village and Sha Monk to welcome him, and they all entered the dwelling together. He set the palm-leaf fan down beside him and said, "Old sir, is this the fan?" The old man said, "Exactly, exactly." Tang Sanzang said joyfully, "Worthy disciple, you have performed a tremendous merit. Obtaining this precious treasure has been most toilsome." The Monkey King said, "As for toilsome, I won't speak of it. That Iron Fan Immortal—do you know who she is? That creature turned out to be Bull Demon King's wife and Red Boy's mother, named Rakshasi, also called Princess Iron Fan. I went to the cave to borrow the fan, and she started talking to me about old grievances and slashed at me with her sword several times. I threatened her with my staff, and she fanned me once with the fan—I was sent tumbling and drifting all the way to Little Mount Sumeru. Fortunately I met Lingji Bodhisattva, who gave me a Wind-fixing Pill and pointed out the way back. I returned to Emerald Cloud Mountain and saw Rakshasi again. She fanned me with the fan again, but I did not budge, so she went back into her cave. This Old Sun then changed into a midge and flew into the cave. That creature was just calling for tea, and I bored into the tea foam and got into her belly, where I made my moves. She was in such agony she couldn't bear it, and she kept calling me 'Uncle' and begging for her life, willingly offering to lend me the fan. I spared her and brought the fan back. Once we've passed the Flame Mountain, I'll return it to her." When Sanzang heard this, he gave thanks without end.
The master and disciples all took leave of the old man and journeyed westward. After traveling some forty li, the heat gradually became scorching. Sha Monk cried out, "The soles of my feet are burning!" Eight Rules added, "My paws are smarting with pain!" The horse moved faster than usual, for the heat made it impossible to stop, and it grew extremely restive. The Monkey King said, "Master, please dismount for a while, and brothers, do not walk on. Let me fan out the fire, and after the wind and rain, when the ground has cooled a bit, we'll cross the mountain." The Monkey King indeed raised the fan and went straight to the edge of the fire. With all his strength he gave one fan—the flames on the mountain burst up in a blazing roar. A second fan made it a hundred times worse. A third fan sent the fire soaring a thousand yards high, and gradually it began to singe his body. The Monkey King hurried back, his leg hairs completely burned away. He ran straight to Tang Sanzang and called out, "Go back, go back quickly. The fire is coming, the fire is coming!"
The master climbed onto his horse and, together with Eight Rules and Sha Monk, retreated eastward for over twenty li before they finally stopped. He said, "Wukong, what has happened?" The Monkey King threw down the fan and said, "No good, no good—that creature tricked me." When Sanzang heard this, his brows knit in worry and his heart filled with gloom; he could not hold back his tears, which streamed down, and he only said, "What are we to do?" Eight Rules said, "Brother, why were you in such a hurry calling us back?" The Monkey King said, "I fanned once and the fire blazed up; the second fan made it fiercer still; the third fan sent flames shooting up a thousand yards high. If I hadn't run fast enough, even my hairs would have been burned clean off." Eight Rules laughed and said, "You always say that thunder can't harm you and fire can't damage you—why are you afraid of fire now?" The Monkey King said, "You idiot, you know nothing at all. Back then I was on guard and took precautions, so I wasn't hurt. Today I was only trying to fan out the fire—I didn't recite the Fire-avoidance Spell or use the Body-protection Method, so my leg hairs got burned." Sha Monk said, "With the fire so fierce, there's no way through to the west—what are we to do?" Eight Rules said, "Let's just take a path where there's no fire." Sanzang asked, "Which direction has no fire?" Eight Rules said, "East, south, and north all have no fire." Sanzang asked again, "Which direction has scriptures?" Eight Rules said, "The west has scriptures." Sanzang said, "I only want to go where there are scriptures." Sha Monk said, "Where there are scriptures, there is fire; where there is no fire, there are no scriptures. Truly we are caught between advance and retreat."
While the master and disciples were still chattering and arguing, they suddenly heard someone call out, "Great Sage, do not fret. Come have some vegetarian meal first, and then we'll discuss further." The four of them turned to look and saw an old man, wearing a fluttering cloak and a crescent-moon hat, holding a dragon-head staff, and wearing iron boots. Behind him followed a ghost with a beak-like mouth and fish-like cheeks, carrying a copper basin on his head. Inside the basin were some steamed cakes, pastries, and yellow-millet rice. Standing at the western path, the old man bowed and said, "I am the Earth God of the Flame Mountain. Knowing that the Great Sage is escorting the holy monk and cannot advance, I have specially come to offer a meal." The Monkey King said, "A meal is a small matter—when will this fire be extinguished so that I may get my master across?" The Earth God said, "To extinguish the fire, you must borrow the palm-leaf fan from Rakshasi." The Monkey King picked up the fan by the roadside and said, "Isn't this it? But the fire only flares up more with each fan—why?" The Earth God looked at it and laughed, saying, "This fan is not the real one—you've been tricked by her." The Monkey King said, "Then how do I get the real one?" The Earth God bowed again, bending his back, and said with a faint smile:
If you would borrow the true banana fan,
You must seek out the Great Strength King.
But what the reason of the Great Strength King might be, we shall hear in the next installment.