Chapter 81

At that time, the scripture-seeking master and his disciples arrived at Zhenhai Chanlin Temple. The monks greeted them and arranged a vegetarian meal. After the four had eaten, the woman also gained some strength from the food. As dusk gradually fell, lamps were lit in the abbot's quarters. The monks, partly to ask about the Tang Monk's journey for scriptures and partly out of greed to gaze at the woman, all crowded together in a cluster, arranged beneath the lamps. Sanzang said to the lama monk whom he had first met, "Abbot, tomorrow we leave your precious mountain. How is the road to the west?" The monk knelt on both knees. The elder hurriedly pulled him up and said, "Abbot, please rise. I ask you about the route—why do you bow?" The monk said, "Venerable Master, if you travel west tomorrow, the road is level and straight—no need to worry. But there is a matter at hand that is somewhat awkward. I wanted to speak of it as soon as you entered, but feared to offend your mighty dignity. Only now that the meal is finished do I dare to venture my report: Master, you have come from the east, a long and toilsome journey. It would be perfectly fine for you all to lodge in this humble monk's quarters; only this female Bodhisattva—it is not convenient. I do not know where to ask her to sleep." Sanzang said, "Abbot, do not suspect that we master and disciples have any improper intent. Early this morning, as we passed through the Black Pine Forest, we came upon this woman tied to a tree. My young disciple Sun Wukong did not wish to save her, but I, out of my bodhi-mind, rescued her. Having arrived here, I leave it to you, Abbot, to arrange where she sleeps." The monk thanked him and said, "Since the Master is so generous, please let her go to the Hall of the Heavenly King, and behind the Heavenly King's statue we shall spread a straw bed and let her sleep there." Sanzang said, "Very good, very good." Thereupon the young monks led the woman to sleep behind the hall. The elder remained in the abbot's quarters, bade the various abbots make themselves at ease, and they all dispersed. Sanzang instructed Wukong, "You have worked hard—sleep early and rise early." Then they all slept in one place, not daring to leave his side, guarding the master. As the night deepened, it was indeed: The Jade Hare rose high, all sounds stilled; The heavenly street was quiet, no footfall heard. The Silver River shone bright with sparkling stars; The watch-drum from the tower urged the changing of the watches. The night's talk need not be told. When dawn came, the Reviver arose and told Bajie and Sha Seng to pack the baggage and horse, then invited the master to set out. At that time the elder was still drowsy and not yet awake. The Reviver approached and called out, "Master." The master raised his head slightly but could not answer. The Reviver asked, "Master, what is the matter?" The elder groaned, "Why do I feel so dizzy and my eyes swollen, my whole body aching in flesh and bone?" When Bajie heard this, he reached out and touched his body—it was somewhat feverish. The idiot laughed and said, "I know! Last night, seeing the free meal, you ate a few extra bowls, then slept with your head pressed down—it's indigestion." The Reviver scolded, "Nonsense! Let me ask the master what is really the matter." Sanzang said, "I got up in the middle of the night to relieve myself, and did not wear my cap—I suppose I caught a wind chill." The Reviver said, "That makes sense. Can you still travel now?" Sanzang said, "I cannot even sit up or lie down now—how can I mount the horse? But I fear delaying the journey." The Reviver said, "Master, don't say that. As the saying goes, 'One day as master, forever as father.' We who are your disciples are like your sons. It is also said, 'Raising a son does not require gold and silver—it is enough to respond to circumstances with feeling.' Since you are unwell, why speak of delaying the journey? What harm is there in waiting a few days?" The brothers all attended to the master, and before they knew it, morning passed, noon came, dusk arrived again, and the fine night had barely passed when dawn came again. Time flew swiftly—three days had passed. On that day, the master raised himself and called out, "Wukong, these two days my illness has been heavy, and I have not asked you: has that woman who escaped death been given any food by anyone?" The Reviver laughed and said, "Why do you concern yourself with her? Take care of your own sickness first." Sanzang said, "True, true. But help me up, and take out my paper, brush, and ink—borrow an inkstone from the temple for me to use." The Reviver said, "What for?" The elder said, "I wish to write a letter, and seal it together with the official passport. You must deliver it for me to the court at Chang'an, and see Emperor Taizong face to face." The Reviver said, "That is easy. This old Sun has no other talents, but if it comes to delivering letters, I am second to none in the human realm. Prepare the letter and give it to me—I will somersault to Chang'an, hand it to the Tang King, and somersault back before your brush and ink have even dried. But why do you send a letter? First recite the content to me, and after I hear it, you can write it—no delay." The elder, with tears falling, said, "I write: Your monk minister bows his head and thrice kowtows, Acclaims ten thousand years and worships the sage sovereign; Let both civil and military ranks behold it, Let all four hundred ministers know it together: In those years, by imperial decree I left the eastern land, Hoping to reach Spirit Mountain and see the World-Honored One. I did not expect to encounter calamity on the way, Nor did I foresee disaster midway. The monk's heavy sickness hinders his progress, The Buddha's gate is deep and far, reaching to heaven's gate. With scriptures but no life, all toil is in vain; I humbly petition the present throne to send another man." When the Reviver heard these words, he could not help but laugh heartily and said, "Master, you are truly feeble. At the slightest illness, you conceive such a thought. If your sickness were grave, and you feared for your life, you need only ask me—this old Sun has his own skill. I ask you: which King of Hell would dare to harbor ill intent? Which judge would dare to issue a warrant? Which underworld emissary would come to take you? If they anger me, I will bring out my nature from the great havoc in Heaven, take my staff, smash my way into the underworld, seize the Ten Kings of Hell, and pull out their sinews one by one—and even then I would not spare them." Sanzang said, "Disciple, my sickness is severe—do not speak such boastful words." Bajie stepped forward and said, "Elder Brother, the master says he is unwell, and you keep saying it is fine—that is most improper. We had better discuss it early: sell the horse, pawn the baggage, buy a coffin, and prepare for his funeral and dissolution." The Reviver said, "Idiot, you are talking nonsense again. You do not understand. Master is the second disciple of our Buddha Tathagata, originally called Elder Jinchan. It is precisely because he slighted the Buddha's teachings that he deserves this great ordeal." Bajie said, "Brother, if the master slighted the Buddha's teachings and was banished back to the eastern land, to be born as a human in the sea of right and wrong and the field of disputes, vowing to go west to worship the Buddha and seek scriptures—tied up by demons, hung by monsters, suffering all kinds of afflictions—has he not had enough? Why make him fall ill again?" The Reviver said, "How would you know? The venerable master was not listening attentively when the Buddha preached the Dharma—he dozed off, and in a lapse, his left foot kicked a single grain of rice. Upon descending to the mortal world, he deserved these three days of illness." Bajie exclaimed in alarm, "If that is so, then old Pig, who scatters and spills his food when eating, must have incurred many ages of sickness!" The Reviver said, "Brother, the Buddha does not think of sentient beings as you do—you would not understand. It is said: 'At noon they hoe the grain, Sweat drips on the soil below. Who knows that in each meal, Every grain is born of woe.' Master has only today—tomorrow he will be well." Sanzang said, "Today I am different from yesterday: my throat is extremely parched. Can you find some cold water somewhere and bring it for me to drink?" The Reviver said, "Good! If master asks for water, that means he is getting better. Wait while I fetch some water." Immediately he took up the alms bowl and went to the kitchen behind the temple to fetch cool water. Suddenly he saw that all those monks had reddened eyes, weeping and sobbing, yet they dared not cry out loud. Pilgrim said, "You monks are far too petty. We are staying only a few days, and when we leave we shall thank you—firewood and rice money will be reckoned by the day. Why are you such milksops?" The monks fell to their knees in fright and said, "We dare not, we dare not." Pilgrim said, "Why dare not? Is it because that long-mouthed monk of mine has such a big belly that he has eaten into your capital?" The monks said, "Venerable Sir, in this barren mountain of ours, great and small, there are also a hundred or more monks. Even if each man supported you for a single day, we could support you for a hundred days. How could we be so wicked as to begrudge any provisions?" Pilgrim said, "Since you do not begrudge, then why are you weeping?" The monks said, "Venerable Sir, we do not know from which mountain an evil spirit has come to this temple. At night we send two young monks to strike the bell and beat the drum, but as soon as the bell and drum sound, we never see them return. The next day when we search, we only find their monk's caps and shoes thrown in the back garden, and their bones still remain—they have been eaten by the monster. You have stayed here three days, and our temple has lost six monks. For this reason, we brothers cannot help being afraid, cannot help being grieved. And because your honoured master is ill, we dared not speak of it, but we could not keep the tears from stealing down." When Pilgrim heard this, he was both startled and pleased, and said, "Say no more—it must be a demon that is harming people here. Let me wipe him out for you." The monks said, "Venerable Sir, if a fiend is not cunning, it is not spiritual. It can surely ride the clouds and mist, surely enter the dark and pass through the netherworld. As the ancients said well: 'Do not trust that the straightforward are truly straight; beware that men may be unkind.' Venerable Sir, do not blame us for saying this: if you can capture him, then you will have removed this root of calamity from our barren mountain, and that would be a blessing for three lifetimes; but if you cannot capture him, then there will be sundry inconveniences." Pilgrim said, "What do you mean by sundry inconveniences?" The monks said, "To be utterly frank with you, Venerable Sir, though this barren mountain has a hundred or more monks, every one of us has been a monk since childhood. When our hair grows long we seek a knife to cut it; when our robes are thin we patch them with old rags. In the morning we rise and wash our faces, fold our hands and bow, taking refuge in the Great Way; at night we tidy up and burn incense, piously click our teeth and recite Amitābha. When we raise our heads we see the nine grades of the Buddha's lotus, the three vehicles, the compassionate ferry and the cloud of Dharma; we wish to see the honoured Śākyamuni in the Jetavana garden. When we lower our heads we see our own hearts, receive the five precepts, save the great trichiliocosm, and in the myriad dharmas of life after life, we wish to awaken to the emptiness of obstinacy and the emptiness of form. When patrons come, old and young, tall and short, fat and thin, every one beats the wooden fish and strikes the bronze chime, crowding together—two rolls of the Lotus Sūtra, one fascicle of the Emperor Liang's Repentance; when patrons do not come, new and old, raw and ripe, vulgar and handsome, every one joins his palms, closes his eyes, silent and still, entering concentration on his rush mat, firmly bolting the door under the moonlight. We let the orioles sing and the swallows chatter in their idle quarrels—they do not come near our expedient kindness and compassionate Great Vehicle. Thus, we have never subdued tigers, never tamed dragons; we do not recognise fiends, we do not recognise spirits. If you, Venerable Sir, should provoke that demon, then our hundred or more monks would only suffice for a single meal for him. First, that would cause us sentient beings to fall into reincarnation; second, it would obliterate this ancient monastery's sacred site; third, at the assembly of the Tathāgata there would be not a glimmer of glory. These are the sundry inconveniences." When Pilgrim heard the monks speak these words, anger rose in his heart and fierceness grew in his gall. He shouted aloud, "You monks are so dull! You know only about the fiend, but do you know anything of Old Sun's deeds?" The monks answered softly, "Truly we do not know." Pilgrim said, "Today I shall give you a brief account—listen carefully. I too have subdued tigers and tamed dragons on Flower-Fruit Mountain; I too have ascended to Heaven and thrown the Celestial Court into uproar. When hungry, I lightly bit off two or three of Old Lord's elixirs; when thirsty, I gently quaffed six or seven cups of the Jade Emperor's wine. I open a pair of neither-white-nor-black golden-gleaming eyes—the sky dims, the moon is hazy; I wield a neither-short-nor-long golden-banded staff—coming without shadow, going without trace. What talk of great fiends or little monsters? Even if they are lazy, rotten, and pus-filled, once I chase after them, they run, they tremble, they hide, they panic; once I catch them, I file them, burn them, grind them, pound them. Just as the Eight Immortals cross the sea, each displays his own divine power—I alone will show my prowess. You monks, I will catch this fiend and show you, then you will know Old Sun." The monks listened and secretly nodded, saying, "This shaven-headed rogue is opening his mouth wide and speaking big words—he must have some background." They all murmured yes, yes. Only the Lama monk said, "Hold on. Your honoured master is ill. It is no small matter for you to catch this fiend. As the saying goes: 'When a glutton sits at a feast, if not drunk then full; when a warrior faces battle, if not dead then wounded.' If the two of you engage in combat, and your master is thereby harmed, that would not be safe." Pilgrim said, "Reasonable, reasonable. Let me first take cool water to my master, and then I shall come back." He took up the alms bowl, filled it with cool water, went out from the kitchen, and straight to the abbot's quarters, calling, "Master, here is cool water to drink." Sanzang was just at a time of vexing thirst; he raised his head, took the bowl, and drank it in one draught. Truly: When thirsty, a single drop is like sweet dew; when the right medicine arrives, the ailment is at once removed. Seeing that the elder's spirit gradually revived and his brows relaxed, Pilgrim asked, "Master, would you eat some broth or rice?" Sanzang said, "This cool water is just like a miracle drug—the illness is half gone; I could eat a little broth and rice." Pilgrim called out loudly again and again, "My master is better! He wants broth and rice to eat!" He bade the monks busy themselves with preparations: washing rice and boiling it, kneading dough and baking cakes, steaming buns, making noodle soup, and setting out four or five tables. Tang Sanzang ate only half a bowl of rice-gruel; Pilgrim and Sha Monk consumed only one course; the rest was all devoured by Bajie in a single bellyful. The utensils were cleared away, lamps were lit, and all the monks dispersed. "Master," said Pilgrim, "we have been here three full days now. By tomorrow evening, that will make four sunsets." "Three days have cost us much distance," said Tripitaka. "Master," said Pilgrim, "we need not count it as distance; we can leave tomorrow." "True," said Tripitaka, "and even if I am still a bit unwell, there is no help for it." "Since we are to leave tomorrow," said Pilgrim, "let me capture that demon tonight and have a look." Tripitaka started in alarm: "Capture what demon again?" "There is a demon in this monastery," said Pilgrim, "and I shall catch it for you." "Disciple," said Tripitaka, "my sick body has not yet recovered—why do you stir up this notion again? If that monster has supernatural powers and you cannot subdue him, would that not bring harm upon me?" "You are undermining my prestige," said Pilgrim. "I have subdued demons everywhere. Have you ever seen me show weakness to any? It is only that I do not act; but when I act, I win." Tripitaka tugged at him and said, "Disciple, as the saying goes: 'When convenience offers, act conveniently; where you can spare others, spare them.' 'An anxious heart is not as good as a tranquil one; contentious spirit is not as good as forbearance.'" When the Great Sage Sun saw that his master was earnestly trying to dissuade him from subduing the demon, he spoke the plain truth: "Master, to tell you the truth, that demon has already eaten people here." Tripitaka was greatly shocked: "Eaten what people?" Pilgrim said, "In the three days we have stayed, he has already eaten six little monks of this monastery." The elder said, "'When the hare dies, the fox grieves; things feel for their own kind.' Since he has eaten the monks of this monastery, I too am a monk. I will let you go, but only be careful and thorough." Pilgrim said, "No need to say more—when Old Sun's hand reaches him, he is done for." You see him, before the lamplight, instructing Eight Rules and Sha Monk to keep watch over the master. Cheerfully he leaped out of the abbot's quarters and went straight to the Buddha hall. In the sky there were stars, but the moon had not yet risen; the hall was pitch dark. He blew out true fire and lit the glazed lamps, beat the drum on the east side, and struck the bell on the west. After the sounds ceased, he shook himself and changed into a little novice monk, only twelve or thirteen years old, wearing a yellow silk cassock and a white cotton robe, tapping a wooden fish and chanting scriptures. When the first watch came, there was no movement. At the second watch, the waning moon just rose, and there was heard the whoosh of a gust of wind. A fine wind: Black mist veils the sky dark, sorrowful clouds cast gloom on the earth. The four directions are like spilled ink; all is one murky blue. First it raises dust and scatters earth, then it fells trees and levels forests. When dust and earth rise, starlight appears; when trees fall and forests crash, moonlight dims. It blows so that: Chang'e clings tight to the cassia tree, the Jade Hare curls round seeking its mortar; the Nine Luminaries all shut their doors, the Four Sea Dragon Kings all bar their gates; the city god in his temple seeks his little ghosts, the immortals in air—how can they ride clouds? King Yama in the underworld looks for Horse-Face, the judges run about chasing after their headcloths. It shifts the rocks atop Mount Kunlun, and rolls the rivers and lakes into turbulent waves. Scarcely had the wind passed when suddenly there came the strong fragrance of orchids and musk, and the tinkling of jade pendants. He raised his head and looked—ah! It was a beautiful, charming woman, coming straight up to the Buddha hall. Pilgrim, still chanting with a mumbling drone, kept on reciting the scriptures. The woman came close, put her arms around him, and said, "Little elder, what scriptures are you reciting?" Pilgrim said, "Those I have vowed to recite." The woman said, "Everyone else is at ease sleeping—why do you still chant?" Pilgrim said, "If I have vowed them, how can I not chant?" The woman embraced him and gave him a kiss, saying, "Come with me to the back garden for some fun." Pilgrim deliberately turned his head away and said, "You are rather ignorant." The woman said, "Can you read faces?" Pilgrim said, "I know a little." The woman said, "What do you read in my face?" Pilgrim said, "I read that you have been sneaking out to meet strangers and have been driven out by your in-laws." The woman said, "Not right, not right. I am not driven out by in-laws, nor because of sneaking to meet strangers. It is my fate from a former life— I was matched to a man too young. He knew not the bridal chamber's joy, so I fled from my husband's home. Now under starlight and bright moon, fate brings us together across a thousand miles. Come with me to the rear garden, to couple and mate as phoenix and mate." When Pilgrim heard this, he nodded to himself and thought, "Those foolish monks were all led astray by lust, and so lost their lives. Now she comes to coax me too." So he answered in turn, "Lady, I am a monk still young and know nothing of coupling and mating." The woman said, "Come with me, and I will teach you." Pilgrim chuckled to himself: "Very well, I'll go with her and see how she manages." The two of them, shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand, left the Buddha hall and went straight to the back garden. The monster tripped Pilgrim with a leg-hook, throwing him to the ground. Crying "Heart's darling, big brother!" she reached out to pinch his privates. Pilgrim said, "My boy, you really do mean to eat Old Sun!" But he caught her hand and used a small sit-down throw, flipping her over on the ground with a roll. The monster still cried, "Heart's darling, big brother—you can even throw your own mother!" Pilgrim schemed inwardly: "If I don't strike now, when will I? As it is said: 'Strike first and you gain the advantage; strike later and you suffer disaster.'" He thrust his hands together, bent his waist, jumped up, and revealed his true body and dharma form, swinging his golden-hooped iron staff and striking straight at her head. The monster was indeed startled. She thought to herself, "This little monk is so formidable." She opened her eyes for a closer look—so it was the disciple of the Elder Tang, the one named Sun. Yet she did not fear him. What sort of spirit was this monster? Gold for nose, snow for fur. Earth serves as its gate and house; wherever it dwells, secure. It nurtured three hundred years of vital breath, and had traveled to Mount Spirit several times. Feasting on incense flowers and candles, Tathagata sent it down from heaven's court. Beloved daughter of Heavenly King Pagoda-bearer, acknowledged as sibling by Prince Nezha. Neither the bird that fills the sea, nor the tortoise that bears mountains. It fears neither Lei Huan's sword, nor Lü Qian's blade. Back and forth, letting rivers and Han flow wide; up and down, heedless of peaks Tai and Heng towering high. You see her moonlike face and flowerlike countenance, delicate and charming— who would know she is a mouse grown old, a sprite showing off her mettle? Relying on her vast supernatural powers, she raised her paired swords to parry, clashing and jingling, blocking left and warding right, following east and falling west. Pilgrim, though stronger, could not bring her down. A baleful wind rose from all sides; the waning moon lost its light. Behold the two of them in the rear garden—a fine battle: Yin wind rises from the earth, waning moon stirs faint gleams. Silent is the king's Brahma hall, desolate the ghosts' corridor— the rear garden a battlefield all around. Great Sage Sun, sage of heaven; Mao-cha Maiden, queen among women: each vies in magic, neither yields. One twists her fragrant heart, angry at the black baldhead; one rounds his wisdom eye, hating the new adornment. Twin swords fly—who knows she is a Bodhisattva? A single staff strikes—fierce as a living Vajra. Where it rings, the golden hoop flashes like lightning; in an instant, the iron-white staff glints with starry rays. Jade towers tear apart the kingfisher; golden halls shatter the mandarin ducks. Apes wail beneath the small Ba moon; geese call along the long Chu sky. The eighteen arhats secretly applaud; the thirty-two devas are all in panic. That Great Sage Sun, his spirit roused and his staff never a whit amiss, fought with vigor. The fiend, knowing she could not withstand him, suddenly knit her brows and a plan came to her heart; she turned and fled. Pilgrim cried out, "Vile wretch, where are you going? Surrender at once!" But the fiend paid him no heed and retreated straight back. When Pilgrim had nearly caught up with her, she took off the embroidered shoe from her left foot, blew on it a breath of immortal air, chanted a spell, and called out, "Change!" It transformed into an exact replica of herself, wielding two swords in a dance of attack; her true form flickered and turned into a clear breeze that vanished. Was this not a calamity for Tripitaka? She went straight to the abbot's quarters, seized Tripitaka, and carried him up into the clouds, far and dim, and in the twinkling of an eye reached Xiankong Mountain, entered the Bottomless Cave, and ordered her underlings to prepare a vegetarian feast for the wedding — but we shall not dwell on that. Now Pilgrim had grown so agitated and impatient in the battle that, seizing an opening, he brought his staff down and struck the fiend to the ground — only to find it was an embroidered shoe. Pilgrim knew he had fallen for her trick, and swiftly turned back to look for his master, but there was no master to be seen. He saw only that Idiot and Sha Monk, mumbling and muttering about something. Pilgrim's anger swelled in his chest, and without regard for right or wrong, he grabbed his staff and lashed out wildly, shouting, "I'll kill you both! I'll kill you both!" The Idiot was so terrified he could not find a way to flee. Sha Monk, however, had once been a great general of Spirit Mountain and had seen much of the world; he approached softly and gently, kneeling before Pilgrim, and said, "Elder Brother, I understand now. You want to beat us to death and not go rescue Master, but go straight home yourself." Pilgrim replied, "I'll kill you two, and then I'll go rescue him myself." Sha Monk smiled and said, "Elder Brother, how can you say such a thing? Without us two, it is truly 'A single strand does not make a thread, and one palm cannot clap.' Brother, who would look after the luggage and the horse? Better to learn from Guan Zhong and Bao Shuya in sharing gold than to imitate Sun Bin and Pang Juan in matching wits. As the old saying goes, 'To fight a tiger, you need your own brothers; to go into battle, you need father and sons.' I beg you, Elder Brother, to spare us the beating, and when dawn comes, we will unite our hearts and efforts to find our master." Though Pilgrim had vast supernatural powers, he was also reasonable and mindful of the moment. Seeing Sha Monk plead so earnestly, he relented and said, "Pigsy, Sandy, both of you get up. Tomorrow we search for Master, and you must exert yourselves." When that Idiot heard he was forgiven, he wished he could promise half the sky itself, and said, "Brother, leave it all to old Pig." The three brothers mulled over their thoughts, and not a one could sleep; they wished they could nod to call up the sun of Fusang and with one breath blow away the stars all across the sky. The three sat until dawn, packed up, and were about to leave when the monastery monks blocked the gate and asked, "Where are you going, venerable sirs?" Pilgrim laughed and said, "It's hard to say. Yesterday I boasted before all of you that I would catch the fiend, but not only did I fail to catch her — I've lost my master. We're going to find him." The monks were terrified and said, "Venerable sir, this small affair of ours has dragged your master into trouble — but where will you go to look for him?" Pilgrim said, "There's a place to find him." The monks hurriedly said, "Since you're going, don't rush off; at least have some morning gruel." They promptly brought out two or three basins of soup and rice. The Idiot ate it all clean and said, "Good monks, once we find our master, we'll come back here to play." Pilgrim said, "Still thinking of eating their food? Go to the Hall of the Heavenly King and see if that woman is still there." The monks said, "Venerable sir, she's gone, she's gone. She stayed that one night, and by the next day she was nowhere to be seen." Pilgrim cheerfully took leave of the monks, told Bajie and Sha Monk to lead the horse and carry the pole, and headed straight back east. Bajie said, "Brother, you're mistaken — why are we going east again?" Pilgrim said, "Don't you know? That woman we bound in the black pine forest the other day — old Sun's fiery golden eyes saw through her completely, but you all took her for a good person. Today, it was she who ate the monks, and she who abducted our master. What a fine lady bodhisattva you saved! Now that she has taken Master, we must search along the same road we came." The two sighed in admiration and said, "Good, good, good! Truly, roughness hides finesse. Let's go, let's go." The three hurried into the forest and saw only this: Clouds thick and hazy; mist rolling wide; Stones piled in layers; paths winding and turned. Fox tracks and hare trails crisscross and run, While tigers, leopards, wolves burrow and dive. Within the forest, no fiendish form appeared; Where could Tripitaka be, none could surmise. Pilgrim grew frantic, drew out his staff, and shook his body into the form he had used when he caused havoc in Heaven: three heads and six arms, six hands wielding three staves, wildly smashing left and right through the forest. When Bajie saw this, he said, "Sandy, Elder Brother is furious — he can't find Master and has worked himself into a fit of rage." Now Pilgrim, in his beating, roused two old men: one was the Mountain God, the other the Earth God. They stepped forward and knelt, saying, "Great Sage, the Mountain God and Earth God have come to pay respects." Bajie said, "What fine spiritual roots! With one bout of beating, he brings out two mountain and earth gods; if he beats another stretch, he'll bring out the God of Jupiter himself!" Pilgrim asked, "Mountain God, Earth God — how dare you be so insolent? You've been banding together as robbers here, and when you get your spoils, you buy pigs and sheep to sacrifice to yourselves. You've also colluded with the fiend, joined forces, and carried off my master. Where is he hidden now? Speak the truth at once, and I'll spare you the beating." The two gods panicked and said, "Great Sage, you wrong us! The fiend is not on our little god's mountain, nor does she fall under our jurisdiction. But when the wind howls at night, we have some slight knowledge." Pilgrim said, "If you know, tell me everything." The Earth God said, "That fiend has taken your master away to the due south, about a thousand li from here. There is a mountain called Xiankong Mountain, and in that mountain a cave called the Bottomless Cave. It was that mountain's fiend who came here in disguise and carried him off." Pilgrim was secretly alarmed upon hearing this. He dismissed the Mountain and Earth Gods, withdrew his Dharma-body, resumed his true form, and said to Bajie and Sha Monk, "Master has been taken far away." Bajie said, "If it's far, we'll catch up by cloud-somersault." That fine Idiot first mounted a fierce gale and took off; Sha Monk followed on his cloud; the white horse, being of dragon descent, bore the luggage and also trod upon wind and mist; and the Great Sage shot up on his somersault cloud — all heading straight south. Before long, they saw a great mountain blocking their cloud-path. The three reined in the horse and steadied their clouds. They saw the mountain: Its summit scraped the azure heavens; its peaks reached the blue vault. Around it, countless trees, myriad and dense; birds flew to and fro, chirping and chattering. Tigers and leopards moved in ranks; deer and roe deer went in herds. On the sunny side, wondrous flowers and jade grasses gave forth fragrance; On the shady side, winter snow and stubborn ice never melted. Rugged ridges, sheer cliffs and hanging precipices. Lofty peaks rose straight up; winding, deep ravines curved about. Pines grew luxuriant; rocks glistened sharp — travelers who saw them shuddered in their hearts. Woodcutters were nowhere to be seen; young immortals gathering herbs left no trace. Before their eyes, tigers and leopards could summon mists; everywhere, foxes and wildcats stirred the wind. Bajie said, "Brother, this mountain is so steep and treacherous — there must be demons here." Pilgrim said, "Need you say more? High mountains breed monsters; lofty peaks cannot lack spirits." He called out, "Sandy, you and I will stay here for now. Let Bajie go down into the ravine first to scout around and see which path is easier, whether there truly is a cave, and where its gate opens — investigate everything thoroughly, so we can all go together to find and rescue our master." Bajie said, "Old Pig is out of luck — I'm always the first to be sent in as the scapegoat." Pilgrim said, "Last night you said everything would be on you — why are you balking now?" Bajie said, "Don't make a racket — I'll go." The Idiot set down his rake, brushed off his clothes, went empty-handed, and leaped down the high mountain to find the way. This time, whether good or ill would befall him, we must hear explained in the next chapter.