Chapter 14: The Mind-Monkey Returns to the Right Path; The Six Thieves Vanish Without a Trace

A verse says:

Buddha is mind, and mind is Buddha;
from the first, the two have never been two things.
If you know the place where there is no thing and no mind,
there you will find the true mind, the Buddha of the dharma body.
The Buddha of the dharma body has no shape,
yet one round light contains the ten thousand forms.
The body with no body is the true body;
the form with no form is the real form.
Not matter, not emptiness, not even not-emptiness;
not coming, not going, not turning back.
No difference, no sameness, no being, no nonbeing;
hard to cast off, hard to seize, hard even to hear or behold.
Within and without, the numinous light is one;
a Buddha-land is held inside a grain of sand.
One grain of sand contains the great thousand-world cosmos;
one body and one mind contain all teachings alike.
To know this you must grasp the secret of no-mind:
unstained, unhindered, that is pure practice.
When good and evil in their thousand forms no longer stir you to action,
then you may truly cry homage to Shakyamuni.

Now to return to Liu Boqin and Tripitaka. They were still startled and uneasy when once again they heard the cry, "Master, you've come!"

The servants all said, "That must be the old ape in the stone casket at the foot of the mountain."

The hunter-lord said, "It is. It is him."

Tripitaka asked, "What old ape is this?"

Boqin said, "This mountain used to be called Five Elements Mountain. When our Great Tang king pacified the western lands, it was renamed Two-Boundary Mountain. Years ago I heard old folk say that when Wang Mang usurped the Han, this mountain fell from heaven and pinned down a divine monkey. It feared neither heat nor cold, ate no food, and drank nothing. Earth spirits kept watch over it, feeding it iron pellets for hunger and molten copper for thirst. From that time to this, it has never frozen and never starved. That cry can only be his. Reverend sir, don't be afraid. Let us go down and look."

Tripitaka had no choice but to agree, and so, leading his horse, he followed Boqin down the mountain.

They had not gone far before they saw, in the very crack of the stone casket, a monkey with his head sticking out and one arm stretched free, frantically waving. He shouted, "Master, why have you come only now? But no matter, no matter, you've come at last! Get me out of here, and I'll protect you all the way to the Western Heaven."

Tripitaka stepped closer and looked carefully. What did he see?

Sharp muzzle, sunken cheeks, golden eyes, a fiery gaze.
Moss piled on his head; creepers grew from his ears.
There was little hair at his temples and plenty of grass instead;
no beard under his chin, only green sedge.
Dirt clung to his brow, mud caked his nose.
He was a ragged sight indeed.
His fingers were thick, his palms broad, and dust and grime covered him everywhere.
Yet his eyes still moved lively in his head, and his voice was clear when he spoke.
His tongue was sharp enough still, though his body could not stir.
This was the Great Sage of five hundred years before,
now nearing the end of his trial and escape from heaven's snare.

Liu Boqin was bold enough. He stepped forward, plucked the grass from the monkey's temples and the sedge from beneath his chin, and said, "What is it you want to say?"

The monkey answered, "Nothing to you. Let that master come closer. I want to ask him something."

Tripitaka said, "What do you wish to ask?"

The monkey said, "Are you the one sent by the king of the Eastern Land to go west and seek the scriptures?"

"I am," said Tripitaka. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I," said the monkey, "am the Great Sage Equal to Heaven, who raised havoc in the Heavenly Palace five hundred years ago. For deceiving those above me I was pressed down here by the Buddha. Earlier the Bodhisattva Guanyin came by, carrying the Buddha's decree and seeking a pilgrim bound for the Eastern Land. I begged her to save me, and she told me only this: that I must do violence no more, take refuge in the Buddha's Law, and protect the pilgrim with all diligence on his road to the West to worship the Buddha. When the work was done, she said, good fortune would come of it. So night and day I've waited in fear and hope, watching for the master who would free me. I am willing to guard you on the scripture quest and become your disciple."

Hearing this, Tripitaka was overjoyed. "If you truly bear so good a heart," he said, "and have been instructed by the Bodhisattva and wish to enter the Buddhist path, then all is well. But I have neither axe nor chisel. How can I free you?"

The monkey said, "No axe and no chisel are needed. If only you are willing to save me, I can get out by myself."

"If I save you, how will you come out?"

"On the summit of this mountain there is a sealing tablet of golden letters laid down by the Tathagata. Go up and peel it away, and I shall be free."

Tripitaka turned at once to Liu Boqin. "Good Boqin, come with me up the mountain."

Boqin said, "Who knows whether this is truth or trick?"

The monkey shouted, "It is true! I would never dare lie of such a thing."

So Boqin called to his servants to take the horse, while he himself supported Tripitaka and climbed the high slope once more. Clinging to vines and roots, they reached the very top, and there indeed they found shafts of golden light and ribbons of auspicious air. There stood a square stone, and upon it was fixed a seal bearing six golden characters:

Om mani padme hum.

Tripitaka knelt before the stone, gazed at the golden script, bowed several times, and prayed facing west:

"Your disciple Chen Xuanzang has come by imperial command to seek the scriptures. If this monkey and I truly have the fate of master and disciple, let me lift these golden words, free the divine monkey, and together attain Lingshan. But if no such bond is ordained, and this is only a vicious and stubborn monster trying to deceive me, then may the seal not come free."

He bowed again. Then he stepped forward and gently lifted away the six golden words. At once a fragrant gust of wind snatched the sealing slip into the sky, and a voice cried, "We are the wardens set to keep watch over the Great Sage. Today his trial is complete. We return to the Tathagata to deliver up this seal."

Tripitaka and Boqin were so frightened they bowed at once toward the heavens. Then they hurried back down the mountain, returned to the stone casket, and said to the monkey, "The seal is gone. Come out now."

The monkey cried with delight, "Master, stand a little farther off. I am coming out, and I mustn't frighten you."

Boqin immediately led Tripitaka and the others back east. After they had gone some two or three miles, they heard the monkey yelling again, "Farther! Farther still!" Tripitaka went on some distance more, down off the mountain, and then there came a crash like earth splitting and cliffs collapsing.

All of them trembled with fright. But the monkey had already reached Tripitaka's horse. Naked as he was, he dropped to his knees and said, "Master, I'm out."

He bowed to Tripitaka four times, leapt up again, and gave Boqin a deep salute. "Much obliged, elder brother, for escorting my master this far, and for pulling the grass from my face."

Then he went straight to collecting the luggage and fastening it to the horse's back. The horse, the instant it saw him, went weak in the legs and shook so violently it could barely stand. This was because the monkey had once served as Keeper of the Heavenly Horses and still carried something of that mastery with him; ordinary horses were terrified of him.

Tripitaka saw that his intention was good, and that he truly looked something like a man of the Buddhist order. So he asked, "Disciple, what is your surname?"

The Monkey King said, "My surname is Sun."

"Then let me give you a Dharma name, so I may call you properly."

"Master needn't trouble himself. I already have a Dharma name. It is Sun Wukong."

Tripitaka was delighted. "That suits our lineage very well. As for your appearance, you look very like a young itinerant monk. Let me give you a by-name and call you the Pilgrim. What do you say?"

Wukong grinned. "Good, good, good."

And from that time he was also called the Pilgrim.

Liu Boqin saw that Sun the Pilgrim was set on leaving with his new master, so he turned and bowed to Tripitaka. "Reverend sir, you are fortunate indeed to have found so fine a disciple here. I am glad of it, very glad. This one can truly go the whole way. I must now take my leave."

Tripitaka bowed in thanks. "You have gone to such trouble for me; I cannot thank you enough. When you return home, I beg you present my respects to your honored mother and your good wife. I caused great disturbance in your house. On my return I will come in person to thank you again."

Boqin returned the bow, and so they parted.

Now Sun the Pilgrim invited Tripitaka to mount up, while he himself went ahead barefoot, carrying the luggage. Before long they had passed Two-Boundary Mountain when suddenly a fierce tiger came lashing toward them, tail whipping, with a roar that shook the road. Tripitaka nearly died of fright on horseback.

But the Pilgrim laughed by the roadside. "Master, don't fear him. He's only here to bring me some clothes."

He set down the luggage, drew from his ear what seemed a tiny needle, shook it once into the wind, and it grew into an iron staff as thick around as a bowl. He took it in hand and said with a grin, "I haven't used this treasure in more than five hundred years. Today I'll bring it out and earn myself something to wear."

Then he strode out to meet the tiger and shouted, "Where do you think you're going, you brute?"

At once the tiger crouched low in the dust and did not dare stir. Wukong brought the staff down squarely on its head. Brain flew in peach-red spray and teeth burst out like shards of white jade. The sight was so terrifying that Chen Xuanzang rolled right out of the saddle and bit his finger in alarm.

"Heavens! Heavens!" he cried. "The other day even Liu Boqin had to wrestle a striped tiger for half the day. But today Sun Wukong struck once and smashed this beast to pulp. Truly, among the strong there is always one stronger."

The Pilgrim dragged the tiger over and said, "Master, sit for a moment while I strip off his clothes and get us moving."

"What clothes could a tiger possibly have?"

"Master, never mind me. I know what I'm doing."

The fine Monkey King plucked a hair from his body, blew a breath of immortal force on it, and cried, "Change!" It turned into a sharp knife. He slit open the tiger's belly, peeled off the whole skin in one piece, cut away the claws, chopped off the head, and trimmed one square panel of hide. Then he measured it and said, "A little too broad. One panel will do for two."

So he cut it in half, put one piece away, and wrapped the other around his waist. Snatching a vine from beside the road, he bound it tight and covered himself. "Come on, Master, let's go. When we reach a house we can borrow some needle and thread and stitch it properly."

Then he twisted the iron staff back down till it was no more than a needle and tucked it in his ear again. He shouldered the luggage and helped his master remount.

As they went on, Tripitaka asked from horseback, "Wukong, where has that iron staff of yours gone?"

The Pilgrim laughed. "Master, you don't understand. This cudgel of mine came from the Dragon Palace of the Eastern Sea. It's called the divine iron that fixes the bottom of the Milky Way, and it's also called the Ruyi Jingu Bang, the Golden-Hooped Rod. When I rebelled in Heaven, I owed a great deal to this treasure. It changes size as I please, grows large or shrinks small. Just now I made it like an embroidery needle and tucked it away in my ear. Whenever I need it, I can take it out again."

Tripitaka was secretly delighted. Then he asked, "And why was it that the tiger didn't move when it saw you, but let you strike it as you pleased?"

Wukong said, "To tell you plainly, Master, not just a tiger but even a dragon would not dare act rude before me. Old Sun has ways to subdue dragons and tame tigers, powers to churn rivers and stir seas. I read a face and know its color; I hear a sound and know its meaning. I can stretch to fill the universe or contract into a single hair. My transformations have no end; my hiding and appearing cannot be guessed. Skinning this tiger is nothing worth mentioning. Wait till real trouble comes, and then you'll see my skill."

Hearing this, Tripitaka felt far easier in his mind, and so they went forward, talking as they traveled, until the sun dropped westward. And then:

The slanting light flamed in the west,
returning clouds gathering at the world's edge.
Birds chattered through a thousand hills,
flying in flocks toward their sleeping woods.
Wild beasts came in pairs,
all returning by kind and clan to their dens.
A new moon-hook split the dusk,
and ten thousand stars began to blur with light.

The Pilgrim said, "Walk your horse on, Master. It's getting late. See there, where the trees stand thick? That looks like some village manor. Let us hurry and find lodging."

Tripitaka urged the horse onward, and soon they reached the place and dismounted before the gate.

The Pilgrim threw down the luggage, stepped up, and shouted, "Open up! Open the gate!"

Inside, an old man leaning on a staff came hobbling out and pulled the gate wide. The moment he saw the Pilgrim's fierce face, with a strip of tiger-skin tied about his waist so that he looked like some thunder-spirit, his legs went weak and his whole body went numb. Babbling in terror, he cried, "A ghost! A ghost has come!"

Tripitaka hurried forward to steady him. "Good sir, don't be afraid. He is my disciple, not a ghost or demon."

The old man lifted his head, saw Tripitaka's refined and uncommon face, and managed at last to steady himself. "What monastery are you from," he asked, "that you bring such a terrifying fellow to my door?"

Tripitaka said, "I am a monk from Great Tang, bound westward to worship the Buddha and seek the scriptures. We happened to pass this way. Night is upon us, and so I have come to your honorable house to ask shelter for a single night. At dawn, before the day's light has fully come, we shall be on our way. I beg a little kindness."

The old man said, "You may be a man of Tang, but that evil-looking one surely is not."

Wukong shouted at once, "Old fellow, you've no eyes in your head at all! My master is the man of Tang, and I'm his disciple. I'm no sugar-man or honey-man either. I'm the Great Sage Equal to Heaven! There are people around here who know me. I've seen you too."

"Where did you ever see me?"

"Didn't you gather brushwood in front of me when you were little? Didn't you pick vegetables right in my face?"

The old man said, "Nonsense! Where did you live and where did I live, that I'd gather wood and vegetables before your face?"

Wukong said, "You're too old to remember me. I am the Great Sage who was pressed in the stone casket under this very mountain. Look again."

Only then did the old man understand. "Yes... you do look something like him. But how ever did you come out?"

Wukong then told him in detail how Guanyin had urged him toward repentance and ordered him to wait for Tripitaka to lift the seal and free him.

At this the old man bowed at once, invited Tripitaka inside, and summoned his wife and children to come and hear the whole story. All were delighted. Tea was brought, and after they had drunk it the old man asked Wukong, "Great Sage, you must be a fair age by now?"

Wukong said, "How many years have you yourself lived?"

"One hundred and thirty, to my shame."

The Pilgrim laughed. "Then you count as my great-great-grandson. As for my true age, I don't know when I was born. But I've been under this mountain for more than five hundred years."

"Yes, yes," said the old man. "I remember my grandfather saying that this mountain fell from heaven and pinned down a divine monkey. It's only now that you've slipped free. When I saw you as a child, you had grass on your head and mud on your face, and I wasn't afraid. Now the mud is gone, the grass is gone, you've grown lean, and with that big tiger-skin round your waist you're hardly less frightening than a ghost."

At this the whole household burst out laughing.

The old man was a worthy fellow and immediately ordered a vegetarian meal prepared. After they had eaten, Wukong asked, "What is your family name?"

"Chen."

At that Tripitaka rose and bowed. "Then the good sir and I belong to the same ancestral line."

The Pilgrim said, "Master, your surname is Tang. How are you of the same line as old Chen here?"

Tripitaka replied, "My family name in the lay world is also Chen. I come from Juxian Village in the Hongnong district of Haizhou under Great Tang. My Dharma name is Chen Xuanzang. Only because Emperor Taizong of Great Tang bestowed on me the title of Imperial Brother Tripitaka, and gave me Tang as a surname, am I called the Tang monk."

Hearing they shared a surname, old Chen was all the more delighted.

Then Wukong said, "Old Chen, since we're troubling your house anyway, and since I haven't bathed in more than five hundred years, could you have some water heated so my master and I may wash? That way we can thank you properly before we leave."

The old man immediately ordered water heated and basins brought, and lamps lit. Master and disciple bathed and then sat before the light.

Wukong said, "Old Chen, one more favor. Could I borrow some needle and thread?"

"Of course, of course."

So the old man told his wife to bring them, and handed them over. Wukong, who missed little, had noticed that while bathing his master had taken off a short, old, white cloth robe and left it aside. Wukong snatched it up and draped it over himself. Then he took off the tiger-skin, pieced it together properly, folded it into a horse-face shape, wrapped it again about his waist, and tightened it with a vine belt. Striding up before his master, he asked, "Old Sun's looking better today than yesterday, eh?"

Tripitaka said, "Good, good, good. Now you truly look like a pilgrim."

Then he added, "Disciple, if you don't mind that it's worn and old, you may wear that robe."

Wukong bowed. "Much obliged, much obliged."

After that he found some fodder for the horse. All matters settled, master and disciple, along with old Chen, each retired to sleep.

At dawn Wukong rose and asked his master to set out. Tripitaka dressed and told the Pilgrim to pack the bedding and luggage. Just as they were about to take their leave, the old man came in with hot water for washing and breakfast laid out before them.

When they had eaten, they finally took their leave. Tripitaka mounted his horse and the Pilgrim led the way. Thus they traveled on, eating when hungry, drinking when thirsty, lodging by night and walking again at dawn.

It was now the start of winter, and this was the scene:

Frost thinned the red leaves till a thousand groves looked lean;
here and there on the ridges a few pines and cypresses still shone green.
The plum buds had not yet opened, but a hidden fragrance had begun to stray.
The daylight was short and warm in that little after-season.
Chrysanthemums were spent, lotus gone, yet camellias flourished in the hills.
On cold bridges, old trees fought one another with bare branches.
In winding gullies spring-water trickled on.
Pale clouds, heavy with snow, floated across the sky.
The north wind rose in sudden gusts and tugged at their sleeves.
Toward evening the cold bit hard. How could a traveler bear it?

Master and disciple had gone some distance when suddenly a whistle sounded from the roadside and six men sprang out before them. Each bore a weapon: spears, swords, strong bows, gleaming blades. With one great shout they cried, "Where do you think you're going, monk? Leave the horse, drop the luggage, and we'll spare your life."

Tripitaka was so frightened his soul flew out of him. He tumbled off the horse and could not speak. Wukong took him by the arm and said, "Master, don't worry. It's nothing. These fellows are only here to bring us clothes and traveling money."

Tripitaka said, "Wukong, I think your ears are stopped up. They told us to leave the horse and the luggage, and you're asking what clothes and money they're bringing us?"

Wukong said, "Just keep watch over the robe, the baggage, and the horse. Let old Sun have a few words with them and see what comes of it."

Tripitaka said, "Two fists cannot match four hands, and four hands are no match for six strong men. How can a little fellow like you dare contend with six such brutes?"

But Wukong's courage had always been immense. He would not listen. He stepped forward, folded his hands at his chest, and saluted the six men.

"For what reason do you block this poor monk's road?"

One of them said, "We are kings of the highway, mountain lords who do good works in our own fashion. Our great names are famous far and wide, though clearly you've never heard them. Hand over your goods and go on with your life. But say even half a word of refusal and we'll smash your corpse to powder."

Wukong said, "I too am a hereditary king and an old mountain lord, yet I have never once heard your mighty names."

"Then hear them now," said the man. "One is called Eye-that-Sees-Joy. One is Ear-that-Hears-Anger. One is Nose-that-Smells-Love. One is Tongue-that-Tastes-Thought. One is Mind-that-Holds-Desire. And one is Body-that-Bears-Sorrow."

Wukong burst out laughing. "So you're the six thieving passions. And you don't even recognize that this monk is your rightful master, yet you dare block his road. Hand over the valuables you've stolen, and I'll divide them with you seven ways and let you off."

At this the thieves all flared according to their natures: joy rejoiced, anger raged, love burned, thought spun, desire lusted, sorrow fretted. With one voice they roared, "This monk is insolent. He has nothing of his own, and yet he comes demanding a share of ours!"

They whirled spears and swords and rushed him all at once, chopping at his head in a great clatter of steel. They hacked at him seventy or eighty times, but Wukong merely stood there as though he felt nothing at all.

The thieves cried, "Well now, this monk truly has a hard head."

Wukong laughed. "Hard enough, I suppose. But your arms must be tired by now. It's old Sun's turn to take out a little needle and play."

The thieves said, "This monk must be some doctor of acupuncture in disguise. We aren't sick. What does he mean by talk of needles?"

Wukong reached into his ear and drew out what looked like an embroidery needle. He gave it a shake in the wind, and it became an iron staff thick as a bowl. Gripping it in both hands, he said, "Don't run. Let old Sun try a single blow and see how it feels."

That terrified the six thieves. They scattered in all directions. But Wukong strode after them, caught them one by one, and beat every last one of them to death. Then he stripped off their clothes, took their travel money, and came back smiling.

"Master, let's be on our way. Old Sun has cleaned those thieves out."

Tripitaka said, "You've made a dreadful disaster. Though they were highway robbers, even if they had been taken to the authorities they would not have been sentenced to death. For all your skill, you should only have driven them off. Why did you have to kill them all? That is to take human life for no cause. How can such a man be a monk? We of the religious life sweep the ground for fear of hurting an ant; we shield the lamp for fear of singeing a moth. How could you strike six men dead without thought, with not a shred of compassion or love of goodness in you? In the wilderness perhaps no one is here to inquire into it. But in a city, what then? If someone should offend you by accident, would you fly into a rage and start striking people down with your staff there too? I would be implicated as your companion and could never clear myself."

Wukong said, "Master, if I hadn't killed them, they would have killed you."

Tripitaka answered, "I am a monk. Better death than violence. If I die, it is only one body gone. But you have killed six men. What argument can justify that? If the matter were brought before a magistrate, not even if your own father held office could you talk your way out of it."

Wukong said, "To tell you the truth, Master, when old Sun ruled as king at Flower-Fruit Mountain five hundred years ago, I neither knew nor cared how many I struck dead. If every such matter had gone before the magistrate, I would never have made myself the Great Sage Equal to Heaven."

Tripitaka said, "And it was precisely because you ran wild with no restraint, tyrannized among men, and deceived Heaven and those above you, that you suffered your trial of five hundred years. Now that you have entered the Buddhist path, if you still act as you once did, killing creatures in blind violence, then you can never go to the West and never be a monk. Wicked! Wicked indeed!"

Now this monkey had never been able to endure another man's nagging. Hearing Tripitaka go on and on in that tone, he could not suppress the fire rising in his heart.

"Since you insist on saying this," he burst out, "and say that I am not fit to be a monk and can't go to the West, then don't keep harping on it to disgust me. I'll go back, and that's that."

Tripitaka did not answer.

So Wukong gave way to his temper. With a leap he shouted, "Old Sun is off!" Tripitaka looked up in alarm, but he was already gone, vanished clean away. Only a rush of air was heard, flying eastward, leaving the elder utterly alone. Tripitaka sighed, full of grief and resentment.

"So this creature cannot bear correction. I only said a few words to him, and he disappears without a trace and runs back east. Enough, enough. It seems it was never in my fate to take a disciple at all. I can neither find him nor call him back. Better to go on, better to go on."

Truly:

Risk your body and stake your life to go west,
but do not depend on others where your own resolve must lead.

So the elder gathered the luggage, tied it upon the horse, and went on westward in deep desolation, one hand gripping his tin staff and the other holding the reins, but not daring to ride.

He had not gone far when he saw up ahead on the mountain road an old mother, very aged, carrying a padded robe with a flowered cap laid over it. Seeing that she had drawn near, Tripitaka hurriedly led the horse aside and stood respectfully to one side to let her pass.

The old mother asked, "From where comes this reverend elder, traveling all alone in such lonely fashion?"

Tripitaka answered, "Your disciple is from the Eastern Land of Great Tang, sent westward to worship the living Buddha and seek the true scriptures."

The old mother said, "The Buddha of the West dwells in the land of India at Thunderclap Monastery. That is a road of a hundred and eight thousand miles. With only one man and one horse, no companion and no disciple, how do you mean to make the journey?"

Tripitaka said, "A few days ago I did take a disciple, but his temper was fierce and unruly. I spoke a few words to him, he would not accept the teaching, and so he vanished and left me."

The old mother said, "I have this padded cotton robe and this flowered cap inlaid with gold. They belonged to my son. He was a monk only three days before his short life ended. I had just gone to his monastery to weep, taken leave of his teacher, and brought back these two things in remembrance. Reverend elder, since you do have a disciple, let me give them to you."

Tripitaka said, "I am deeply grateful for your generosity, but my disciple has gone, and I dare not accept them."

"Which way did he go?"

"I heard a rush of wind, and he went back east."

"East is not far from my house. Most likely he went there. I also have a charm, called the True Words to Steady the Mind, and also known as the Tightening Spell. Learn it silently and fix it in your heart, but tell it to no one. I will go after your disciple and send him back to you. When he returns, give him this robe and cap to wear. If he refuses your discipline, recite the spell silently and he will never again dare violence or leave you."

Tripitaka lowered his head and thanked her. Then the old mother transformed into a streak of golden light and went eastward. Tripitaka knew at once that this had been Guanyin in disguise, bestowing the true words on him. He quickly gathered up some earth, offered incense, and bowed earnestly toward the east. Then he hid the robe and cap in his bundle, sat down by the roadside, and practiced the spell over and over until he knew it by heart.

Now to return to Wukong. Having left his master, he turned one somersault-cloud eastward to the great ocean. Pressing his cloud down, he parted the waters and went straight to the Crystal Palace. This at once startled the Dragon King, who came out to greet him and escorted him inside.

When the formal courtesies were done, the Dragon King said, "I have lately heard that your trial is completed, Great Sage, though I was unable to offer congratulations. I suppose you mean to restore your mountain and return to your old cave?"

Wukong said, "I had some thought of it, but as it happens I've become a monk again."

"A monk? What monk?"

"Thanks to the Bodhisattva of the South Sea, who urged me to goodness and showed me the path to true fruition, I am now following a Tang monk westward to worship the Buddha. I have taken refuge in the Buddhist order and am called the Pilgrim."

The Dragon King said, "Then congratulations indeed. This is what it means to leave evil and return to the right path. But if so, why are you not heading west instead of coming back east?"

Wukong laughed. "That Tang monk understands nothing of human nature. A few roadside bandits tried to rob us, so I killed them. Then Tripitaka began buzzing on and on with his scolding. Tell me, is old Sun the kind to swallow such sulks? So I left him and meant to return to my own mountain. On the way I thought to come here, visit you, and beg a cup of tea."

"Your descent does me honor," said the Dragon King.

At once dragon sons and grandsons brought out fragrant tea. When it was finished, Wukong happened to glance up and saw on the back wall a painting of "Taking the Shoe on the Bridge at Yi."

"What's that picture?" he asked.

The Dragon King said, "This was after your time, Great Sage, so you would not know it. It is called 'Three Times Taking Up the Shoe at the Bridge of Yi.'"

"And what does that mean?"

The Dragon King replied, "The immortal in the picture is Huang Shigong, and the young man is Zhang Liang of the Han. Huang Shigong sat upon the Yi Bridge and suddenly dropped one of his shoes below. He told Zhang Liang to fetch it. Zhang Liang hurried to obey and then knelt to present it. This happened three times, and not once did Zhang Liang show arrogance or impatience. Because Huang Shigong admired his diligence and humility, he taught him heavenly writings by night and enabled him to help the House of Han. In time he plotted within the command tent and won victory a thousand miles away. Once peace was won, he cast off office, went into the mountains, followed Chisongzi, and attained immortality. Great Sage, if you will not protect Tripitaka, labor faithfully, and submit to instruction, then in the end you will be no more than a demon-immortal. Do not dream of true fruition."

Wukong heard this and fell silent for some time.

The Dragon King added, "Great Sage, decide carefully for yourself. Do not love ease so much that you ruin your future."

Wukong said, "Enough talk. Old Sun will go back and protect him."

The Dragon King was delighted. "If so, I dare not detain you. Great Sage, set out quickly in your mercy and do not keep your master waiting long."

Seeing that he was being politely driven out, the Pilgrim leapt up, left the sea-realm, mounted his cloud, and took his leave. But while he was on the way, he happened to meet Guanyin of the South Sea.

The Bodhisattva said, "Sun Wukong, why do you refuse instruction, abandon Tripitaka, and come here?"

Wukong, alarmed, bowed from within the clouds. "Thanks to your kind words, Bodhisattva, the monk from Tang truly came, lifted the seal, and saved my life. I followed him and became his disciple. But he blamed me for being fierce and unruly, so I slipped away from him for a little while. I am on my way back to protect him now."

Guanyin said, "Go quickly, then. Do not let the right thought pass you by."

After that, each went his own way.

In a moment the Pilgrim spotted Tripitaka sitting gloomily by the roadside. He went up and said, "Master, why aren't you on the road? Why are you sitting here?"

Tripitaka looked up. "Where have you been? I didn't dare go on, and I didn't dare move. I've only sat here waiting for you."

Wukong said, "I went to the old Dragon King's house in the Eastern Sea to beg a cup of tea."

Tripitaka said, "Disciple, a monk must not lie. You were gone less than an hour, and you claim to have gone all the way to the Dragon King's palace for tea?"

Wukong laughed. "To tell you plainly, Master, I ride the somersault-cloud. One somersault carries me a hundred and eight thousand miles. So yes, I went and came back in no time."

Tripitaka said, "I only spoke a little more sharply than before, and you took offense, flew into a temper, and left me behind. A capable one like you can go find tea to drink; a helpless one like me can only sit here and go hungry. Doesn't that trouble you at all?"

Wukong said, "If you're hungry, Master, I can go beg some food for you."

"No need. There is still some dry food in my bundle, sent by Liu Boqin's mother. Go take the alms bowl and find some water so I can eat a little before we go on."

Wukong untied the bundle and found a few coarse wheat cakes inside. He handed them to his master. Then he saw the shining cotton robe and the flowered cap inlaid with gold.

"Were these brought from the Eastern Land?" he asked.

Tripitaka answered carelessly, "Yes. I wore them when I was young. Put on that cap and you will know how to recite sutras without being taught. Wear that robe and you will know how to perform the rites without learning them."

Wukong said, "Good Master, then let me have them."

Tripitaka said, "I'm afraid the size may not fit. But if they do, you may wear them."

So Wukong took off his old white robe and put on the padded cotton one. It fit as neatly as if it had been cut to his measure. Then he set the cap on his head. The moment it was in place, Tripitaka stopped eating and silently recited the Tightening Spell once.

At once Wukong cried out, "My head! My head!"

Tripitaka kept reciting it several more times, and the Pilgrim rolled on the ground in agony, clawing at the gilded cap until he tore it. Fearing he might break the golden band itself, Tripitaka fell silent. The pain ceased at once. Wukong reached up and touched his head. There, tight against it, was something like a thread of gold. He could not remove it. He could not pull it loose. It had already taken root in him.

He drew the "needle" from his ear, slipped it beneath the band, and tried to pry it off. Afraid he might break it, Tripitaka began reciting again. The pain came back worse than ever. Wukong turned cartwheels and somersaults, his ears red, his face flushed, his eyes swollen, his limbs numb. Seeing him like this, Tripitaka was unable, for all his resolve, to go on, and once more he stopped.

Again the pain ceased.

Wukong cried, "So it was your spell, Master, that was tormenting my head!"

Tripitaka said, "I was only reciting the fillet scripture. When did I curse you?"

"Then recite it again and see."

Tripitaka truly did recite it again, and Wukong truly suffered again. He shouted, "Don't recite it, don't recite it! The instant you recite it, my head splits. What kind of thing is this?"

Tripitaka said, "Will you obey my teaching now?"

"I will."

"And will you still be rude?"

"I won't dare."

Though he said so aloud, in his heart he was still far from yielding. He gave the needle a shake until it grew thick as a bowl, and turned to strike Tripitaka. Terrified, the elder quickly recited the spell two or three more times. The monkey fell to the ground, dropped his iron staff, and could no longer lift a hand.

"Master, I understand! Don't recite it again, don't recite it again!"

Tripitaka said, "How could you harbor such wickedness as to strike me?"

Wukong said, "I didn't dare strike you. I only want to know: who taught you this trick?"

Tripitaka said, "An old mother I met just now gave it to me."

Wukong flew into a rage. "There's no need to say more. That old mother had to have been Guanyin. How could she do such a hateful thing to me? I'll go to the South Sea and beat her for it."

Tripitaka said, "If she taught it to me, then she surely knows it already. If you go after her and she recites it, wouldn't you die on the spot?"

Wukong saw the sense in that and truly did not dare move. At last he yielded, knelt down, and begged:

"Master, this is the means she used to force me to follow you west. I won't go trouble her, and you mustn't treat this as a common thing and keep reciting it for nothing. I am willing to protect you. I will not repent of it again."

Tripitaka said, "If that is so, then help me mount the horse."

Only then did the Pilgrim submit with all his heart. He gathered himself, tightened the cotton robe about him, fastened the baggage to the horse, picked up the luggage, and set out west once more in full earnest. But what later befell them on that road is another story, to be told in the next chapter.