Chapter 56

Poem: When the Spirit Terrace has no thing, it is called clear; Utterly still, not a single thought is born. The ape and horse must be firmly reined, let them not run wild; The spirit and essence must be cautious, do not let them be fierce. Remove the six thieves, awaken to the three vehicles; All myriad affinities are cast aside, and all becomes clear. The evil of form and desire is forever extinguished, transcending the true realm; Sitting in enjoyment, the Western Paradise of Ultimate Bliss. It is told that Tang Sanzang, biting nails and chewing iron, with sheer determination preserved an indestructible body, and was grateful that Wukong and the others had beaten to death the Scorpion Spirit and rescued him from Pipa Cave. Without further words along the way, it was soon the season of bright summer. But see: The warm breeze wafts the fragrance of wild orchids; After the washing rain has just cleared, the new bamboos are cool. Wormwood leaves cover the mountains, with no one to pluck them; Reed flowers fill the streams, vying in fragrance. The pomegranate blossoms are delicate and bright, delighting the roaming bees; The willows by the brook cast deep shade, where yellow orioles run wild. On the long road, how could one wrap zongzi? The dragon boats should honor the Miluo River. His master and disciples traveled along, enjoying the scenery of the Dragon Boat Festival, passing the noontide of midsummer in leisure, when suddenly they saw a high mountain blocking the way. The elder reined in his horse and turned back, calling out: "Wukong, there is a mountain ahead; I fear there may be monsters again, we must be on guard." Wukong and the others said: "Master, rest assured. We have submitted our lives to you in all sincerity; what monsters need we fear?" The elder was very pleased at these words. He whipped his fine horse, gave free rein to his dragon-steed, and in a moment they reached the top of the mountain slope. Raising his head to look, truly it was: On the summit, pines and cypresses reach the blue clouds; On the rocky cliffs, brambles hang with wild vines. Ten thousand fathoms of towering height, a thousand layers of overhanging cliffs. Ten thousand fathoms of towering peaks and rugged ridges, a thousand layers of hanging precipices and deep ravines. Green moss and dark lichen cover the shady rocks; Old junipers and tall locusts form great forests. Deep in the forest, listen to the secluded birds; Their lovely warbling truly deserves to be sung. In the ravine, the water flows like poured jade; By the roadside, falling flowers seem like piled gold. The mountain's aspect is fierce, not easy to traverse; For every ten steps, not half a step is level. Foxes and deer meet in pairs; White deer and dark apes come to greet. Suddenly the roar of a tiger startles one's courage; The cry of a crane pierces the ears and reaches the heavens. Yellow plums and red apricots can be eaten for food; Wild grasses and idle flowers are of unknown name. The four of them entered the mountain and walked slowly for a long while, then crossed the summit. Going down the western slope, it was a stretch of level open ground. Zhu Bajie, showing off his prowess, told Sha Wujing to carry the load, while he himself raised his rake with both hands and went forward to drive the horse. But the horse did not fear him in the least; regardless of the idiot's clucking and shouting, it still walked slowly and unhurriedly. Wukong said: "Brother, why do you drive it? Let it go slowly." Bajie said: "The day is getting late; we have been walking all day since we entered the mountain. My belly is hungry. Let us all move a bit faster and find some household to beg for a meal." When Wukong heard this, he said: "If that is so, let me make it go fast." He shook his golden-banded staff and gave a shout, and the horse slipped its reins and flew like an arrow, racing along the level road ahead. Now why was it that the horse did not fear Bajie but only feared Wukong? Because Wukong, five hundred years earlier, had been appointed by the Jade Emperor to the Imperial Horse Stables of the Great Luo Heaven, with the official title of Bima Wen. And so this reputation has been handed down to the present day: all horses fear monkeys. The elder could not hold the reins, but only gripped the saddle tightly and let it run at full gallop for some twenty li of open fields before it slowed to a walk. As they were going along, they suddenly heard the clang of a gong, and from both sides of the road more than thirty men leaped out, each with spears, knives, staffs, and clubs, blocking the way and shouting: "Monks, where do you think you are going?" The terrified Tang Sanzang trembled so that he could not sit steady, fell off his horse, and crouched in the grass by the roadside, crying only: "Spare my life, great king, spare my life." The two leaders among them said: "We won't strike you; just leave your travel money behind." Only then did the elder realize that they were a band of robbers. He raised himself and looked up. He saw: One had a green face and fangs, more fearsome than the Tai Sui star; The other had bulging eyes and round pupils, outdoing a mourning demon. Their red hair at the temples blazed like fire; Yellow whiskers under the chin stuck out like needles. On their heads they wore flowered tiger-skin helmets; Around their waists they tied colorful marten-fur battle skirts. One held a wolf-tooth club in his hand; The other shouldered a horizontal staff of knotted rattan. Truly they were no less than the tigers of Mount Ba; Indeed they were like dragons emerging from the water. Seeing their ferocious appearance, Sanzang had no choice but to stand up, press his palms together before his chest, and say: "Great kings, this poor monk was sent by the Tang emperor of the Eastern Land to fetch scriptures from the Western Heaven. Since leaving Chang'an, after many years and months, whatever travel money I had is all spent. A monk lives by begging for alms—how could I have any valuables? I beg the great kings to be accommodating and let this poor monk pass." The two chieftains advanced with their followers and said: "We have set our hearts like tigers here, blocking this vital road, and we want only valuables—what accommodation? If you truly have no valuables, then quickly take off your clothes, leave your white horse, and we will let you pass." Sanzang said: "Amitabha! This robe of this poor monk was gathered piece by piece—cloth from one household, needles from another, begged here and there. If you strip it off, would that not kill me? Only know that in this life you play the hero, but in the next life you will be reborn as beasts!" At these words the robbers flew into a rage, seized their great clubs, and came forward to strike. The elder did not speak aloud, but thought to himself: "Pitiful! You only speak of your club, but you do not know of my disciple's club." But the robbers would not listen to any explanation; they raised their staffs and struck at him without regard for head or face. The elder had never lied in his life, but in this desperate strait he could not help but utter a falsehood: "Two great kings, do not strike yet. I have a young disciple who will arrive soon behind; he has a few taels of silver on him, and I will give them to you." The robbers said: "This monk cannot stand to lose; tie him up." The bandits all set to work, bound him with a rope, and hung him high from a tree. Now the three troublemakers came along behind. Zhu Bajie laughed heartily and said: "Master has gone so fast, I wonder where he is waiting for us." Suddenly they saw the elder up in the tree, and he said: "Look at Master—if he is waiting, that is fine, but he has such a turn of mind as to climb a tree and swing on vines like a child playing on a swing." When Wukong saw this, he said: "Idiot, don't talk nonsense. Isn't Master hanging there? You two come slowly; let me go and have a look." The Great Sage hurried up a high slope and looked carefully. He recognized them as a band of robbers and thought with secret delight: "What luck, what luck—business has come to my door." He turned and shook his body, changing into a clean and neat little monk, wearing a black robe, about sixteen years old, carrying a blue cloth bundle on his shoulder. He strode forward and called out: "Master, what is this talk? Who are these villains?" Sanzang said: "Disciple, why do you not rescue me first—why are you still asking?" Wukong said: "What are they up to?" Sanzang said: "This gang blocked the road and demanded toll money. Since I had nothing on me, they hung me up here, waiting for you to come and make some plan. Otherwise, let us give them this horse." Hearing this, Wukong laughed and said: "Master, you are useless. There are many monks in the world, but few are as soft-skinned as you. Emperor Taizong of Tang sent you to the Western Heaven to see the Buddha—who told you to give away this dragon-horse?" Sanzang said: "Disciple, when they hang one up like this and beat one for money, what can one do?" Wukong said: "What did you tell them?" Sanzang said: "They beat me so hard that I had no choice but to give you away." Wukong said: "Master, you are really foolish. Why did you give me away?" Sanzang said: "I said you had some travel money on you, just to make them stop beating me—it was a temporary expedient to save myself." Wukong said: "Good, good, good. Thank you for your recommendation—that is exactly how to give me away. If you could do it seventy or eighty times a month, Old Sun would have all the more business." When those bandits saw the Traveler speaking with his master, they spread out and surrounded them, saying, "Little monk, your master says you have travel money on you. Bring it out at once and we'll spare your lives; if you say so much as half a word of 'no,' we'll send you all to your doom." The Traveler set down his bundle and said, "Elders, do not shout. There is some travel money in this bundle, not much—only about twenty ingots of horse-hoof gold, twenty or thirty ingots of powdered-silver, and some loose change not yet counted. If you want it, take the whole bundle and go, but please do not strike my master. An ancient book says: 'Virtue is the root; wealth is the branch.' This is a trivial matter. We mendicants have our own ways of begging; if we meet a benefactor who feeds monks, we get offerings and clothing—how much could we need? I only ask that you release my master, and I will give everything to you." When the bandits heard this, they were all delighted and said, "This old monk is stingy, but this little monk is generous." They ordered, "Let him down." The elder, having gained his life, leaped onto his horse and, disregarding the Traveler, whipped his mount and galloped straight back the way they had come. The Traveler hastily called out, "You're going the wrong way!" He picked up the bundle and was about to chase after them. The bandits blocked his way, saying, "Where are you going? Leave the travel money behind, or we'll have to use force." The Traveler laughed and said, "Let's be clear: the travel money should be divided into three parts." The bandit chief said, "This little monk is very clever—he wants to hide some from his master. Very well, bring it out and let us see; if there's a lot, we'll give you a share to buy fruit on the sly." The Traveler said, "Brothers, that's not what I mean. I don't have any travel money at all—I'm saying that you two rob others of gold and silver, and you must share some with me." When the bandits heard this, they flew into a rage and cursed, "This monk knows neither life nor death! You refuse to give us anything, yet you ask from us? Don't run—take this!" One of them swung a rattan cudgel and struck the Traveler seven or eight times on his bare head. The Traveler pretended not to feel it, and with a beaming smile said, "Brothers, if you hit like that, even if you keep on until the next spring, it won't hurt a bit." The bandits were astonished and said, "This monk has a hard head!" The Traveler laughed and said, "I wouldn't dare, I wouldn't dare—I'm flattered by your praise; it's just passable." The bandits would not let him explain, and two or three of them set to beating him wildly. The Traveler said, "Elders, calm your anger; let me bring it out." Now the Great Sage, reaching into his ear, pulled out an embroidered needle and said, "Elders, I am a monk and truly have not brought any travel money; I only offer you this needle." The bandits said, "What bad luck! We let a rich monk go and now we've caught this poor bald donkey. You wouldn't happen to be a tailor, would you? What use have I for a needle?" When the Traveler heard they did not want it, he took it in his hand, shook it once, and it turned into a staff as thick as a bowl. The bandits were frightened and said, "This monk is small, but he knows magic tricks." The Traveler stuck the staff into the ground and said, "Elders, if you can lift it, I'll give it to you." Two bandits stepped forward to seize it—but pitifully, it was like dragonflies trying to shake a stone pillar; they could not budge it in the least. This staff was the如意金箍棒 (Ruyi Jingu Bang), which on the scale weighed thirteen thousand five hundred catties—how could those bandits know that? The Great Sage stepped forward, lightly picked it up, and with a coiling snake stance and a turning step, pointed at the ruffians and said, "You have all met with bad luck, running into me, Old Sun." The bandits came forward and struck him another fifty or sixty times. The Traveler laughed and said, "You must be tired from all that hitting. Now let Old Sun give you one strike—but don't take it seriously." Watch him: he spread out his staff, shook it once, and it became as thick as a well curb, seven or eight zhang long. With a swish he brought down one stroke, knocking one bandit to the ground, his lips in the dirt, making no more sound. The other cursed, "This bald scoundrel is utterly insolent! No travel money, and instead you hurt one of my men." The Traveler laughed and said, "Wait a moment, wait a moment—let me strike you all one by one, and then I'll finish you off for good." With another swish he struck again and killed the second one. The rest of the gang, terrified, dropped their spears and clubs and fled in all directions. Now, Tang Sanzang was riding eastward when Bajie and Shaseng stopped him, saying, "Master, where are you going? You're on the wrong road." The elder reined in his horse and said, "Disciples, hurry and tell your elder brother to be merciful with his staff—do not kill those bandits." Bajie said, "Master, stay here; I'll go." The idiot ran all the way ahead and shouted loudly, "Brother, Master says not to kill people!" The Traveler said, "Brother, who has killed anyone?" Bajie said, "Where have the bandits gone?" The Traveler said, "The others have all scattered; only the two leaders are sleeping here." Bajie laughed and said, "You two unlucky wretches—you must have stayed up all night and are so tired you didn't go sleep elsewhere but chose to sleep right here." The idiot went up to them, looked, and said, "They're just like me—with their mouths wide open, drooling." The Traveler said, "Old Sun's staff has turned them into bean curd." Bajie said, "Is there bean curd on a human head?" The Traveler said, "I knocked out their brains." When Bajie heard that the brains had been knocked out, he hurried back and said to Tang Sanzang, "The gang has broken up." Sanzang said, "Goodness! Goodness! Which way did they go?" Bajie said, "They've been beaten so stiff that their legs won't move—how could they go anywhere?" Sanzang said, "What do you mean by 'broken up'?" Bajie said, "They're dead—if that's not broken up, what is?" Sanzang asked, "What did the beating look like?" Bajie said, "Two big holes were smashed in their heads." Sanzang ordered, "Untie the bundle, take a few coins of offering money, and quickly go buy two plasters to stick on them." Bajie laughed and said, "Master, you're being absurd—plasters can only stick on the sores of the living; how can they stick on the holes of the dead?" Sanzang said, "Truly killed?" He then grew angry, muttering incessantly, "Wretched monkey this, accursed ape that." He turned his horse around and, together with Shaseng and Bajie, went to where the dead lay, and saw them bloodily sprawled at the foot of the slope. The elder could not bear the sight and immediately told Bajie, "Quickly take your rake and dig a pit to bury them; I will recite the 'Scripture for the Deceased' for them." Bajie said, "Master, you're using the wrong man. The Traveler killed them—he should be the one to bury them; why make Old Pig do the earthwork?" The Traveler, already vexed by his master's scolding, yelled at Bajie, "You lazy, worthless lout! Get over there and bury them now—if you're late, you'll get a taste of my staff." The idiot, panicked, dug down about three chi deep at the slope, but below that it was all rock and stone that caught his rake-tines. He threw down the rake and used his snout to root. He rooted until he found soft earth—one snoutful went two chi five, two snoutfuls went five chi deep—and buried the two corpses, heaping up a mound. Sanzang called, "Wukong, bring incense and candles, so I may offer prayers and recite the scripture." The Traveler pouted and said, "How unreasonable! In the middle of these mountains, with no village ahead and no inn behind, where am I to find incense and candles? Even with money, there's nowhere to buy them." Sanzang said resentfully, "Get out of the way, Monkey; I shall gather earth as incense and pray." This was when Sanzang, leaving his saddle, grieved over the wild grave; the holy monk, with good thoughts, offered prayers at the desolate burial mound. The prayer said: Prostrate I pray, good fellows, hear the reason for my plea: I, your disciple, am a Tang man from the East. By order of His Majesty Emperor Taizong, I go west to fetch the scriptures. Just now arriving here, I met with many of you, but I do not know of what prefecture, prefecture, or county you are, yet you all band together in this mountain. I spoke good words and pleaded with utmost earnestness. You would not listen, but instead grew angry at my kindness. Then you met with the Pilgrim, who struck you down with his staff. I am deeply concerned that your corpses lie exposed, so I have covered them with earth and mounded graves. I broke green bamboo for incense and candles—though without brilliance, yet with devoted heart; I took rough stones as offerings—though without flavor, yet with sincere truth. If you go before King Yama to lodge a complaint and trace the root to the tree, know that he is surnamed Sun and I am surnamed Chen—we are of different families. Every grievance has its source, every debt its debtor; do not by any means accuse me, the monk who seeks scriptures. Bajie laughed and said, "Master has washed his hands clean. When he struck, neither of us was involved." Tripitaka truly again gathered earth and prayed, "Good fellows, if you make a complaint, complain only against the Pilgrim; it has nothing to do with Bajie or Sha Monk." When the Great Sage heard this, he could not help laughing and said, "Master, you have absolutely no sense of loyalty. For your quest for scriptures, I have expended so much diligence and toil. Now that I have killed these two knaves, you tell them to sue old Sun. Though I wielded the staff, it was all for your sake. If you were not going west to fetch scriptures, I would not be your disciple, so how would we have come here and how would I have killed anyone? Let me just offer my own prayer." He brandished his iron staff, pounded the grave three times, and said, "You cursed bandits, listen: you hit me seven or eight times from the front and seven or eight from behind, but it neither hurt nor itched. That roused my temper, and in a moment of error, I killed you. Go wherever you want to complain—old Sun truly is not afraid: the Jade Emperor knows me, the Heavenly Kings follow me; the Twenty-Eight Mansions fear me, the Nine Luminaries dread me; the city and county gods kneel to me, the Dongyue Tianqi is afraid of me; the Ten Kings of the Underworld once served as my attendants, the Five Paths of Wild Gods once acted as my juniors. Whether in the Three Realms, the Five Offices, or the Ten Directions and all the celestial ministers, all are deeply acquainted with me. Go wherever you wish to complain." When Tripitaka heard such fierce words, he was alarmed and said, "Disciple, my prayer was meant to teach you to honor the virtue of life and be a good man—why do you take it so seriously?" Wukong said, "Master, this is no joking matter. Let us hurry on and find lodging for the night." The elder could only mount his horse with resentment. The Great Sage Sun harbored discontent, and Bajie and Sha Monk also felt jealousy; the master and disciples all put up a front of unity while inwardly at odds. They headed west along the main road, when suddenly they saw a manor on the north side of the road. Tripitaka pointed with his whip and said, "Let us go there to seek lodging." Bajie said, "Exactly." So they rode to the side of the house and dismounted. Looking it over, it was indeed a fine place to stay. One could see: Wild flowers filled the paths, tangled trees screened the gate. Distant banks flowed with mountain streams, level fields planted with wheat and mallows. Reeds and rushes wet with dew—light gulls roosted; willows in gentle breeze—tired birds perched. Green cypresses vied with pines in emerald brightness; red lotus flowers reflected smartweed in fragrant beauty. Village dogs barked, evening chickens crowed; cattle and sheep fed full, the shepherd boy returned. Cooking smoke rose in misty haze as yellow millet cooked—just the time when the mountain folk entered dusk. The elder stepped forward and suddenly saw an old man come out from the gate of that village house. He immediately greeted him and exchanged salutations. The old man asked, "Monk, where do you come from?" Tripitaka said, "I am a poor monk from the Great Tang of the East, commissioned by imperial decree to seek scriptures in the Western Heavens. Just passing by your noble region, as dusk is falling, I have come especially to beg for one night's lodging in your honored abode." The old man laughed and said, "From your honored place to here, the journey is far and distant—how did you cross waters and climb mountains and come here alone?" Tripitaka said, "I have three disciples who came with me." The old man asked, "Where are your worthy disciples?" Tripitaka pointed with his finger and said, "The ones standing by the big road are they." The old man suddenly raised his head, saw their hideous faces, and hurriedly turned around to go back inside. Tripitaka caught hold of him and said, "Old benefactor, please have mercy and lend us shelter for a night!" The old man trembled, unable to speak, shaking his head and waving his hands, saying, "No, no, no—they don't look like humans! They are, are, are some demons." Tripitaka forced a smile and said, "Benefactor, do not be afraid. My disciples have such appearances by nature; they are not demons." The old man said, "Heavens! One is a yaksha, one a horse-face, and one a thunder-god." When Wukong heard this, he shouted loudly, "The thunder-god is my grandson, the yaksha is my great-grandson, and the horse-face is my great-great-grandson." When the old man heard that, his soul fled and his spirit scattered, his face losing all color, and he only wanted to get inside. Tripitaka supported him and went with him into the thatched hall, forcing a smile and saying, "Old benefactor, do not fear them—they are all so rough and cannot speak properly." While he was trying to soothe him, an old woman came out from the rear, leading a child of five or six, and said, "Grandfather, why are you so terrified?" Only then did the old man call out, "Mother, bring tea." The old woman indeed put down the child, went inside, and brought out two cups of tea. After tea, Tripitaka came down and bowed to the old woman, saying, "I am a poor monk from the Great Tang of the East, sent to fetch scriptures from the West. I have just arrived at your honorable place and humbly beg to lodge in your honored residence. It is because my three disciples are ugly that the old master was startled." The old woman said, "If a mere ugly face frightens him so, what would he do if he saw tigers or wolves?" The old man said, "Mother, ugly faces may be bearable, but their words are even more terrifying. I said he looked like a yaksha, a horse-face, and a thunder-god, and he yelled that the thunder-god is his grandson, the yaksha his great-grandson, and the horse-face his great-great-grandson. When I heard that, I was naturally frightened." Tang Monk said, "No, no. The one who looks like a thunder-god is my eldest disciple, Sun Wukong; the one who looks like a horse-face is my second disciple, Zhu Wuneng; and the one who looks like a yaksha is my third disciple, Sha Wujing. Though they are ugly, they nevertheless follow the teachings of the Buddhist order and have taken refuge in good fruit—they are no evil demons or poisonous monsters. Why fear them?" When the old man and his wife heard his names and the words about taking refuge in the Buddhist order, they finally calmed their minds and recovered from their fright, and said, "Please invite them in, please invite them in." The elder went outside to call them and also instructed, "Just now this old man was very displeased with you. When you enter to meet him, do not be defiant—each of you should show respect." Bajie said, "I am handsome and refined, not like Elder Brother who is so unruly." Wukong laughed and said, "If it weren't for your long snout, big ears, and ugly face, you would indeed be a fine fellow." Sha Monk said, "Do not argue—this is not a place to show off cleverness. Come in, just come in." So they brought the luggage and the horse into the thatched hall, all made a joint bow, and sat down. The old woman, being virtuous and wise, led the child away, ordered rice to be cooked, and prepared a vegetarian meal, which the master and disciples ate. As it gradually grew late, they lit the lamps once more and all sat conversing idly in the thatched hall. The elder then asked, "Benefactor, what is your honorable surname?" The old man said, "My surname is Yang." He asked his age as well. The old man said, "Seventy-four years." He asked again, "How many sons do you have?" The old man said, "Only one. The one the mother was just carrying was my little grandson." The elder invited the son to come and pay respects. The old man said, "That fellow is unworthy of paying respects. I am ill-fated and could not raise him properly; now he is not at home." Tripiṭaka said, "Where does he ply his trade?" The old man nodded and sighed, "Pitiful, pitiful! If he were willing to ply some honest trade, it would be my good fortune. That fellow nurses nothing but evil thoughts, neglects his proper work, and delights in highway robbery, murder, and arson. All his associates are a pack of jackals and dogs. He went out five days ago and has not returned to this day." When Tripiṭaka heard this, he dared not speak, but thought to himself, "Perhaps the one Wukong slew was he." The elder grew uneasy and rose slightly, saying, "Goodness! Goodness! With such virtuous parents, how could such a wicked son be born?" Sun Wukong stepped forward and said, "Old gentleman, with such a dissolute, unfilial, treacherous, thieving, depraved son who brings trouble upon his parents, what use have you for him? Let me find him and kill him for you." The old man said, "I too would like to be rid of him, but I have no other heir. Even if he is worthless, I must still keep him to bury me when I die." Sha Seng and Bajie laughed and said, "Elder Brother, meddle not in others' affairs. We are not officials. If his family is unwilling, what is it to us? Let us ask the benefactor for a bundle of straw, spread our beds over there, sleep, and be on our way at dawn." The old man then rose and had Sha Seng go to the back garden to fetch two straw mats, telling them to rest in the thatched hut in the garden. Wukong led the horse, Bajie shouldered the luggage, and together with the elder they all went into the hut to rest — no more of that. Now among that band of thieves there was indeed Old Yang's son. Early that morning, when Wukong had killed the two bandit chiefs in front of the mountain, the rest had scattered and fled for their lives. Around the fourth watch, they had regrouped and were now pounding on the front gate. When the old man heard the knocking, he put on his clothes and said, "Mother, those fellows are here." The old woman said, "Since they're here, go open the door and let them in." The old man then opened the door, and the band all shouted, "Hungry, hungry." Old Yang's son rushed inside and roused his wife to cook rice. But there was no firewood in the kitchen, so he went to the back garden to fetch some. In the kitchen he asked his wife, "Whose is that white horse in the back garden?" His wife said, "It belongs to the monks from the East who are going to fetch scriptures. They arrived last night to seek lodging, and Father and Mother gave them a vegetarian supper and had them sleep in the thatched hut." When that fellow heard this, he went out to the thatched hall, clapped his hands and laughed, saying, "Brothers, what luck, what luck! Our enemies are in my house." The bandits said, "Which enemies?" The fellow said, "They are the monks who killed our chiefs. They came to lodge at my house and are now sleeping in the thatched hut." The bandits said, "Excellent, excellent. Let us seize these bald monks and hack them all to mincemeat: first, to get their luggage and white horse, and second, to avenge our chiefs." The fellow said, "Don't hurry. You go and sharpen your knives. When the rice is cooked, we'll all eat our fill and then strike together." So the bandits set to sharpening knives and spears. The old man overheard this, quietly went to the back garden, and roused the four from Tang, saying, "That fellow has brought a crowd here. They know you are here and intend to harm you. I, old as I am, think of your long journey and cannot bear to see you hurt. Quickly pack your things, and I will let you out the back gate." When Tripiṭaka heard this, he tremblingly kowtowed to thank the old man, then called Bajie to lead the horse, Sha Seng to carry the load, and Wukong to take the nine-ringed monastic staff. The old man opened the back gate and let them out, then quietly returned to lie down in the front. Now those fellows had sharpened their knives and spears and eaten their fill. By the fifth watch, they all came to the garden, only to find no one there. They quickly lit lamps and torches and searched for a long while, but found no trace — only the back gate standing open. They all said, "They've gone out the back gate, gone!" With a shout, they gave chase. Like flying arrows they pursued until sunrise in the east, when they finally caught sight of Tripiṭaka. When the elder heard the shouting, he looked back and saw twenty or thirty men coming with spears and swords clustering behind. He called out, "Disciples, the bandits are upon us — what shall we do?" Wukong said, "Rest easy, Old Sun will go deal with them." Tripiṭaka reined in his horse and said, "Wukong, do not harm them — just scare them off." But Wukong would not listen. He quickly drew his staff and turned to meet them, saying, "Where are you gentlemen going?" The bandits cursed, "Bald fiend, you are insolent! Give back our king's life!" They formed a ring and surrounded Wukong, hacking and thrusting with their spears and swords. The Great Sage flourished his golden-banded staff, which swelled to the thickness of a bowl, and struck the bandits so that they scattered like stars and clouds. Those he touched died, those he brushed against perished; those he knocked broke bones, those he grazed lost skin. The more clever fled, while the stupid met King Yama. Tripiṭaka, seeing so many struck down from his horse, panicked and galloped westward. Zhu Bajie and Sha Heshang followed close by his heels. Wukong asked the wounded bandits who had survived, "Which of you is Old Yang's son?" One of them groaned and said, "Grandfather, the one in yellow." Wukong stepped forward, snatched a knife, cut off the head of the one in yellow, and carried it dripping blood in his hand. He put away his iron staff, rode the clouds, and caught up to the front of Tripiṭaka's horse. Holding up the head, he said, "Master, this is Old Yang's unfilial son — Old Sun has brought his head." When Tripiṭaka saw it, he was greatly alarmed and so startled that he fell off his horse, cursing, "You vile macaque, you've frightened me to death! Take it away, take it away at once!" Bajie stepped forward, kicked the head to the roadside, and used his rake to cover it with earth. Sha Seng set down his load and helped Tripiṭaka up, saying, "Master, please rise." The elder steadied himself on the ground and began reciting the Band-tightening Spell, causing Wukong's ears to redden and face to flush, his eyes to swell and head to spin, and he rolled on the ground, crying, "Stop, stop!" The elder recited it more than ten times and still did not stop. Wukong turned somersaults and stood on his head, unable to bear the pain, and only cried, "Master, forgive my offense — if you have something to say, say it, but stop reciting, stop reciting." Only then did Tripiṭaka stop and say, "I have nothing to say. I will not have you follow me anymore. Go back." Wukong endured the pain and kowtowed, saying, "Master, why do you drive me away?" Tripiṭaka said, "You vicious ape, you are too cruel — you are no scripture pilgrim. Earlier today you killed those two bandit chiefs at the foot of the slope, and I already blamed you for your unkindness. Then at night we came to the old man's house, where he kindly fed us and lodged us, and then opened the back gate to let us escape with our lives. Though his son was unfilial, he had nothing to do with us, and you should not have cut off his head; moreover, you killed many others, destroying so many lives and harming the harmony of heaven and earth. I have repeatedly urged you, yet you show not a trace of good will — what use are you to me? Go, go quickly, lest I recite the true words again." Wukong, terrified, only said, "Do not recite, do not recite — I am going." With that word "go," he shot away on a somersault cloud and vanished without a trace. Ah! This is exactly: When the heart is fierce and wild, the elixir is not ripe; When the spirit has no fixed abode, the Way is hard to achieve. If you do not know where the Great Sage went, listen to the explanation in the next installment.