by Unknown
“We did manage to rescue my master earlier,” said Pilgrim, “but we ran into a Yellow Flower Abbey not far from where we left you. We went inside with our master to have a look, and we were met by the Abbey master. As we visited with him, my master and my brothers were poisoned by his tea. Luckily, I didn’t drink it and I attacked him with my rod. He began to talk about begging food at the Cobweb Cave and bathing in the Purgation Spring, and I knew that that fellow was also a fiend. Just as we were fighting, the seven girls came out and emitted their silk cords, but old Monkey was smart enough to escape. Since you have been a god here for some time, I thought you must know their background. What kind of monster-spirits are they? Tell me the truth, and I’ll spare you a beating.”
Kowtowing, the local spirit said, “The monster-spirits haven’t quite lived here for a decade. This humble deity made some investigation three years ago and uncovered their original form: they are seven spider spirits. Those silk cords they produce happen to be cobwebs.” Delighted by what he heard, Pilgrim said, “If what you say is true, it’s nothing unmanageable. You go back, and let me exercise my magic to bring them to submission.” After one more kowtow the local spirit left.
Pilgrim went up to the Yellow Flower Abbey and pulled off from his tail seventy pieces of hair. Blowing a mouthful of immortal breath on them, he cried, “Change!” They changed into seventy small Pilgrims. Then he blew also on the golden-hooped rod, crying, “Change!” and it changed into seventy rods forked at one end. To each of the small Pilgrims he gave one of these rods, while he himself took up one also. They stood by the mass of silk cords and plunged the rods into the web; at a given signal, they all snapped the cords and then rolled them up with their rods. After each of them had rolled up over ten pounds of the cords, they dragged out from inside seven huge spiders, each about the size of a barrel. With arms and legs flailing, with their heads bobbing up and down, the spiders cried, “Spare our lives! Spare our lives!” But those seventy small Pilgrims had them completely pinned down and refused to let go.
“Let’s not hit them yet,” said Pilgrim. “Let’s tell them to return our master and our brothers.” “Elder Brother,” screamed the fiends, “return the Tang Monk to him and save our lives!” Dashing out, the Daoist said, “Sisters, I wanted to eat the Tang Monk. I can’t save you.” Infuriated by what he heard, Pilgrim cried, “If you don’t return my master, take a good look at what your sisters will become!” Dear Great Sage! One wave of the forked staff and it changed back into his original iron rod, which he raised with both hands to smash to pulp those seven spider spirits. After he had retrieved all his hairs with two shakes of his tail, he wielded the iron rod and sped inside all by himself to search for the Daoist.
When the Daoist saw his sisters being beaten to death, he was struck by remorse and immediately met his opponent with upraised sword. In this battle each of them was full of hate as he unleashed his magic powers. What a marvelous fight!
The fiend wielded his treasure sword;
The Great Sage raised his golden-hooped rod.
Because of the Tang court’s Tripitaka,
All seven girls were first sent to their deaths.
Now the hands of rectitude showed their might
To work with magic the golden-tipped rod.
The Great Sage was strong in spirit,
The bogus immortal, audacious.
Their bodies went through the most florid moves;
Their two hands like a windlass spun and turned.
The sword and the rod banged aloud;
Low-hung and grey were the clouds.
With cutting words
And clever schemes,
As in a picture they charged back and forth.
They fought till the wind howled and sand flew to scare tigers and wolves;
Till Heav’n and Earth darkened, and the stars themselves removed.
That Daoist withstood the Great Sage for some fifty rounds when he gradually felt his hands weakening. All at once he seemed to have been completely drained of his strength. He therefore quickly untied his sash and took off his black robe with a loud flap. “My son!” said Pilgrim with a chuckle. “If you’re no match for someone, stripping isn’t going to help you!” But after the Daoist took off his clothes, you see, he raised up both of his hands and exposed a thousand eyes grown on both ribs. Emitting golden beams, they were terrifying indeed!
Dense yellow fog,
Bright golden beams.
Dense yellow fog
Spurted out from his two armpits like clouds;
Bright golden beams
Jetted from these thousand eyes like flames—
Like barrels of gold left and right,
Like copper bells both east and west.
This was a bogus immortal’s magic,
The divine might of a Daoist.
Blinding the eyes, the sky, and the sun and moon
This dried hot air descended like a coop
And had the Great Sage Sun, Equal to Heaven,
Confined in golden beams and yellow fog.
Terribly flustered, Pilgrim spun around and around in the golden beams, unable even to take a step forward or backward. It was as if he had been imprisoned inside a barrel. As the blast of heat became unbearable, he got desperate and leaped straight up into the air to try to pierce the golden beams. The beams were too strong, however, and he was sent hurtling back to the ground head over heels. Then he felt pain, and when he touched quickly that part of his head where it had rammed the golden beams, he could feel that the skin had softened somewhat. Sorely annoyed, he thought to himself, “What rotten luck! What rotten luck! Even this head of mine today has become useless! In former times, the blows of scimitars and axes could not harm it one whit. How could slamming into the golden beams now soften the skin? It may fester afterwards, and I may end up with a permanent sore even if it heals.” After awhile, the blast of heat was again becoming unbearable, and he thought to himself further, “I can’t go forward or backward, I can’t move left or right. I can’t even crash out of here by going upward. What shall I do? All right, I’d better take the low road and get the mother out of here!”
Dear Great Sage! Reciting a spell, he changed with one shake of his body into a pangolin, also named scaly anteater. Truly
His four iron claws
Could bore through hills and rocks like sifting flour;
His scaly frame
Could pierce cliffs and ridges like cutting scallions.
Two luminous eyes
Seemed like a pair of refulgent stars;
A sharp, pointed beak,
Stronger than any steel chisel or diamond drill.
This was pangolin of medical fame;
Scaly anteater was his vulgar name.
Look at him! Hardening his head, he burrowed right into the ground and did not emerge again until he was some twenty miles away. The golden beams, you see, had managed to cover a distance of only some ten or twelve miles. After he changed back to his original form, he was overcome by fatigue and his whole body ached. Bursting into tears, he wailed:
O Master!
Since I left by faith the mountain that year,
We came West together in unceasing toil.
We had no fear for billows of the sea.
How could we capsize in a small gully?
As the Handsome Monkey King vented his grief, he suddenly heard someone weeping also behind the mountain. He rose, wiped away his tears, and turned to look; a woman in garb of heavy mourning, with a bowl of cold rice soup in her left hand and a few pieces of yellow paper money in her right, came toward him, sobbing every step of the way. Nodding his head, Pilgrim sighed to himself, “Truly as they say,
The person shedding tears meets the tearful one;
He whose heart’s broken sees the broken heart.
I wonder why this woman is crying. Let me question her a bit.”
In a short while, the woman came up to where he was standing, and Pilgrim bowed to
say, “Lady Bodhisattva, for whom are you weeping?” “My husband,” said the woman, blinking back her tears, “had a dispute with the master of the Yellow Flower Abbey when he tried to buy some bamboos from him, and he was poisoned to death by that master with poisoned tea. I am taking some money to his grave to be burned, in order to repay his kindness as a spouse.” When Pilgrim heard these words, tears rolled down his cheeks. On seeing that, the woman said to him angrily, “You are so senseless! I grieve on account of my husband. How dare you mock me with your tears and your sorrowful countenance?”
Bending low, Pilgrim said, “Lady Bodhisattva, please don’t be angry. I am Pilgrim Sun Wukong, the senior disciple of Tripitaka Tang, the bond-brother and royal envoy of the Great Tang in the Land of the East. We were journeying to the Western Heaven when we had to rest the horse in the Yellow Flower Abbey. We ran into a Daoist in that Abbey, some kind of a monster-spirit, who had made a fraternal alliance with seven spider spirits. Those spider spirits wanted to harm my master in the Cobweb Cave, but Eight Rules, Sha Monk, my two brothers, and I succeeded in having him rescued. The spider spirits, however, went to the Abbey to tattle on us, claiming instead that we intended to assault them. My master and my brothers were poisoned by the tea offered by the Daoist, and all three of them, including our horse, are now trapped in the Abbey. Only I didn’t drink his tea. When I smashed his tea mug, he fought with me, and those seven spider spirits also came out to let loose their silk cords to try to ensnare me. When I escaped through my magic power, I questioned the local spirit and learned of their original form. Then I used my Magic of Body-Division and pulled out the fiends by rolling up their webs. After I beat them all to death with my rod, the Daoist wanted to avenge them and fought once more with me. When he was about to be defeated after some sixty rounds, he took off his clothes to expose a thousand eyes on his two ribs. They emitted countless golden beams to have me completely enclosed, and I found it practically impossible to move at all. That was when I had to change into a scaly anteater to escape by boring through the ground. I was grieving just now when I heard you weeping, and that was why I questioned you. When I saw that you had at least paper money to repay your husband but I had nothing at all to thank my late master, I grieved even more. How could I dare mock you?”
Putting down her rice soup and paper money, the woman bowed to Pilgrim and said, “Don’t be offended. I had no idea that you, too, are a victim. According to what you’ve told me, I can tell that you don’t recognize that Daoist. He is actually the Demon Lord of a Hundred Eyes, and he is also called the Many-Eyed Fiend. But if you are capable of such a transformation that you could do battle with him for so long and still escape his golden beams, you must have great magic powers. Nevertheless, you still can’t get near that fellow. Let me recommend a holy worthy to you; with her assistance, you will surely be able to overcome those golden beams and bring the Daoist to submission.”
On hearing this, Pilgrim bowed hurriedly and said, “Lady Bodhisattva, if you have such information, please instruct me. Tell me who is the holy worthy so that I can go and solicit her assistance. If I succeed in getting her here, I shall be able to rescue my master and avenge your husband’s death.” “Even if I tell you, however,” said the woman, “and even if you manage to get her here to subdue the Daoist, I fear that you will be able only to exact vengeance. You won’t be able to rescue your master.” “Why not?” asked Pilgrim.
The woman said, “That fellow’s poison is most potent. After a person has been poisoned by the drug, even his bones and marrow will deteriorate after three days. Your journey to find her may prevent you from saving your master in time.” “I know how to move fast on the road,” replied Pilgrim. “No matter how great the distance is, half a day is all I need.”
The woman said, “In that case, listen to me. About a thousand miles from here there is a mountain by the name of the Purple Cloud Mountain. At the Thousand Flowers Cave in the mountain, there is a holy worthy by the name of Pralambā.4 She is able to subdue this fiend.” “Where is this mountain?” asked Pilgrim. “Which direction should I take?” Pointing with her finger, the woman answered, “Due south of here.” When Pilgrim turned to look, the woman immediately vanished.
Pilgrim was so startled that he bowed hurriedly, saying, “Which one of the Bodhisattvas are you? Your disciple has been somewhat dazed from all that burrowing in the ground and he can’t recognize you. I beg you to leave me your name so that I can thank you properly.” From midair came the announcement: “Great Sage, it’s I.” Pilgrim looked up quickly and found that it was the Old Dame of Li Mountain.5 He rushed up to midair to thank her, saying, “Old Dame, where did you come from to enlighten me?” The Old Dame said, “I was just going home from the Festival of the Dragon-Flower Tree. When I learned of your master’s ordeal, I revealed myself under the guise of a mourning wife in order to deliver him from death. You must go to Pralambā quickly, but you must not reveal that it was I who gave you the instruction. That sage tends to put blame on people.”
After Pilgrim thanked her, they parted. Mounting his cloud somersault, Pilgrim at once arrived at the Purple Cloud Mountain. As he stopped his cloud, he saw the Thousand Flowers Cave, outside of which
Fresh pines enshroud the lovely scene;
Jade cedars surround a home divine;
Green willows fill the mountain paths;
Strange blossoms clog the brook and rill;
Fragrant orchids ring a stone house;
Scented grass on the ridges glistens.
The flowing stream’s jade-green throughout;
Clouds seal up aged hollow trunks.
Wild fowl sing melodiously;
Quiet deer walk leisurely.
Each bamboo’s refined, stalk by stalk;
Each red plum unfurls, leaf by leaf.
A cold crow rests on an old tree;
A spring bird squeals on a tall bough.
Summer wheat grows wide as the fields;
Autumn grain aplenty on the ground.
No leaf would fall in four seasons;
All flowers bloom in eight periods.
Auspicious air will rise often to the sky
And hallowed clouds will reach the great grand void.
In great delight, our Great Sage walked inside, level by level, and there was no end to the sight of this gorgeous scenery. But there was not a person in view; the place was completely silent, with not even the sound of a chicken or a dog. “Could it be,” he thought to himself, “that the sage is not home?” He walked further in for another few miles when he came upon a Daoist nun sitting on a couch. How did she look, you ask.
She wore a five-flower patterned silk cap;
She had on a robe of knitted gold threads.
She trod on cloud-patterned phoenix-beak shoes;
A double-tassel silk sash wrapped her waist.
Her face had age like autumn after frost;
Her voice cooed like spring swallows before the shrine.
She had long known the Three Vehicles Law,6
Her mind often fixed on the Four Great Truths.7
The void intuited bore true right fruit;
Intelligence formed gave freedom complete.
This was the Buddha of Thousand Flowers Cave,
Who was called Pralambā, a noble name.
Without stopping, Pilgrim walked right up to her and called out: “Bodhisattva Pralambā, I salute you.” Descending from her couch, the Bodhisattva folded her hands to return his greeting and said, “Great Sage, sorry for not coming to meet you. Where did you come from?” “How could you recognize me as the Great Sage all at once?” asked Pilgrim.
Pralambā said, “When you brought great disturbance to the Celestial Palace that year, your image was spread throughout the universe. Which person would not know and recognize you?” “Indeed,” replied Pilgrim, “as the proverb says,
The good thing will not leave the door;
The evil deed will go a thousand miles.
I bet you didn’t know that I have repented and entered the Buddhist gate.” “When did you do that?” said Pralambā. “Congratulations! Congratulations!”
“I escaped with my life recently,” said Pilgrim, “in order to give protection to the Tang Monk, who had been commissioned to go seek scriptures in the Western Heaven. My master ran into the Daoist of the Yellow Flower Abbey and was poisoned by his poisoned tea. When I fought with that fellow, he had me enclosed in his golden beams, though I escaped through my magic power. When I heard that the Bodhisattva could extinguish his golden beams, I came here especially to solicit your assistance.”
“Who told you that?” asked the Bodhisattva. “Since attending the Feast of Ullambana Bowl, I haven’t left my door for over three hundred years. With my name completely hidden, no one knows me. How did you know?” “I’m a devil in the earth!” replied Pilgrim. “No matter where you are, I can find you.” “All right! All right!” said the Bodhisattva. “I shouldn’t leave, but if the Great Sage comes here in person, I will not destroy the good deed of scripture seeking. I’ll go with you.”
After he thanked her, Pilgrim said, “Pardon my ignorance and my urging. But what sort of weapon do you need to take along?” The Bodhisattva said, “I have a little embroidery needle which can undo that fellow.” Pilgrim could not resist saying, “Old Dame has misled me! If I had known that only an embroidery needle was needed, I wouldn’t have troubled you. Old Monkey himself can supply a whole load of such needles!” Pralambā said, “That needle of yours is only made of steel or metal, and it can’t be used. This treasure of mine is not made of steel, iron, or gold. It is rather a product cultivated in the eyes of my son.”
“Who is your son?” asked Pilgrim. “The Star Lord Orionis,” replied Pralambā. Pilgrim was quite astonished. Soon, they saw the bright, golden beams, and Pilgrim said to her, “That’s where the Yellow Flower Abbey is.” Whereupon Pralambā took out from underneath her collar an embroidery needle, not more than half an inch long and as slim as a piece of eyebrow hair. Holding it in her hand, she threw it into the air, and after a little while, a loud crack at once dissipated the golden beams.
