The Journey to the West, Revised Edition, Volume 1

by Unknown

  Lo, this utterance at once led him

  To leap free of the Transmigration Net,

  And be the Great Sage, Equal to Heaven.

  All the monkeys clapped their hands in acclamation, saying, “Wonderful! Wonderful! Tomorrow we shall scour the mountain ranges to gather plenty of fruits, so that we may send the Great King off with a great banquet.”

  Next day the monkeys duly went to gather immortal peaches, to pick rare fruits, to dig out mountain herbs, and to chop yellow-sperms. They brought in an orderly manner every variety of orchids and epidendrums, exotic plants and strange flowers. They set out the stone chairs and stone tables, covering the tables with immortal wines and food. Look at the

  Golden balls and pearly pellets,

  Red ripeness and yellow plumpness.

  Golden balls and pearly pellets are the cherries,

  Their colors truly luscious.

  Red ripeness and yellow plumpness are the plums,

  Their taste—a fragrant tartness.

  Fresh lungans

  Of sweet pulps and thin skins.

  Fiery lychees

  Of small pits and red sacks.

  Green fruits of the Pyrus are presented by the branches.

  The loquats yellow with buds are held with their leaves.

  Pears like rabbit heads and dates like chicken hearts

  Dispel your thirst, your sorrow, and the effects of wine.

  Fragrant peaches and soft almonds

  Are sweet as the elixir of life:

  Crisply fresh plums and strawberries

  Are sour like cheese and buttermilk.

  Red pulps and black seeds compose the ripe watermelons.

  Four cloves of yellow rind enfold the big persimmons.

  When the pomegranates are split wide,

  Cinnabar grains glisten like specks of ruby:

  When the chestnuts are cracked open,

  Their tough brawns are hard like cornelian.

  Walnut and silver almonds fare well with tea.

  Coconuts and grapes may be pressed into wine.

  Hazelnuts, yews, and crabapples overfill the dishes.

  Kumquats, sugarcanes, tangerines, and oranges crowd the tables.

  Sweet yams are baked,

  Yellow-sperms overboiled,

  The tubers minced with seeds of waterlily,

  And soup in stone pots simmers on a gentle fire.

  Mankind may boast its delicious dainties,

  But what can best the pleasure of mountain monkeys.

  The monkeys honored the Monkey King with the seat at the head of the table, while they sat below according to their age and rank. They drank for a whole day, each of the monkeys taking a turn to go forward and present the Monkey King with wine, flowers, and fruits. The next day the Monkey King rose early and gave the instruction, “Little ones, cut me some pinewood and make me a raft. Then find me a bamboo for the pole, and gather some fruits and the like. I’m about to leave.” When all was ready, he got onto the raft by himself. Pushing off with all his might, he drifted out toward the great ocean and, taking advantage of the wind, set sail for the border of South Jambūdvīpa Continent. Here is the consequence of this journey:

  The Heaven-born monkey, strong in magic might,

  He left the mount and rode the raft to catch fair wind:

  He drifted across the sea to seek immortals’ way,

  Determined in heart and mind to achieve great things.

  It’s his lot, his portion, to quit earthly zeals:

  Calm and carefree, he’ll face a lofty sage.

  He’d meet, I think, a true, discerning friend:

  The source disclosed, all dharma will be known.

  It was indeed his fortune that, after he boarded the wooden raft, a strong southeast wind (which lasted for days) sent him to the northwestern coast, the border of the South Jambūdvīpa Continent. He took the pole to test the water, and, finding it shallow one day, he abandoned the raft and jumped ashore. On the beach there were people fishing, hunting wild geese, digging clams, and draining salt. He approached them and, making a weird face and some strange antics, he scared them into dropping their baskets and nets and scattering in all directions. One of them could not run and was caught by the Monkey King, who stripped him of his clothes and put them on himself, aping the way humans wore them. With a swagger he walked through counties and prefectures, imitating human speech and human manners in the marketplaces. He rested by night and dined in the morning, but he was bent on finding the way of the Buddhas, immortals, and holy sages, on discovering the formula for eternal youth. He saw, however, that the people of the world were all seekers after profit and fame; there was not one who showed concern for his appointed end. This is their condition:

  When will end this quest for fortune and fame,

  This tyrant of early rising and retiring late?

  Riding on mules they long for noble steeds;

  By now prime ministers, they hope to be kings.

  For food and raiment they suffer stress and strain,

  Never fearing Yama’s call to reckoning.

  Seeking wealth and power to give to sons of sons,

  There’s not one ever willing to turn back.

  The Monkey King searched diligently for the way of immortality, but he had no chance of meeting it. Going through big cities and visiting small towns, he unwittingly spent eight or nine years on the South Jambūdvīpa Continent before he suddenly came upon the Great Western Ocean. He thought that there would certainly be immortals living beyond the ocean; so, having built himself a raft like the previous one, he once again drifted across the Western Ocean until he reached the West Aparagodānīya Continent. After landing, he searched for a long time, when all at once he came upon a tall and beautiful mountain with thick forests at its base. Since he was afraid neither of wolves and lizards nor of tigers and leopards, he went straight to the top to look around. It was indeed a magnificent mountain:

  A thousand peaks stand like rows of spears,

  Like ten thousand cubits of screen widespread.

  The sun’s beams lightly enclose the azure mist;

  In darkening rain, the mount’s color turns cool and green.

  Dry creepers entwine old trees;

  Ancient fords edge secluded paths.

  Rare flowers and luxuriant grass.

  Tall bamboos and lofty pines.

  Tall bamboos and lofty pines

  For ten thousand years grow green in this blessed land.

  Rare flowers and luxuriant grass

  In all seasons bloom as in the Isles of the Blest.

  The calls of birds hidden are near.

  The sounds of streams rushing are clear.

  Deep inside deep canyons the orchids interweave.

  On every ridge and crag sprout lichens and mosses.

  Rising and falling, the ranges show a fine dragon’s pulse.14

  Here in reclusion must an eminent man reside.

  As he was looking about, he suddenly heard the sound of a man speaking deep within the woods. Hurriedly he dashed into the forest and cocked his ear to listen. It was someone singing, and the song went thus:

  I watch chess games, my ax handle’s rotted.15

  I chop at wood, zheng zheng the sound.

  I walk slowly by the cloud’s fringe at the valley’s entrance.

  Selling my firewood to buy some wine,

  I am happy and laugh without restraint.

  When the path is frosted in autumn’s height,

  I face the moon, my pillow the pine root.

  Sleeping till dawn

  I find my familiar woods.

  I climb the plateaus and scale the peaks

  To cut dry creepers with my ax.

  When I gather enough to make a load,

  I stroll singing through the marketplace

  And trade it for three pints of rice,

  With nary the slightest bickering

  Over a price so modest.

  Plots and sch
emes I do not know;

  Without vainglory or attaint

  My life’s prolonged in simplicity.

  Those I meet,

  If not immortals, would be Daoists,

  Seated quietly to expound the Yellow Court.

  When the Handsome Monkey King heard this, he was filled with delight, saying, “So the immortals are hiding in this place.” He leaped at once into the forest. Looking again carefully, he found a woodcutter chopping firewood with his ax. The man he saw was very strangely attired.

  On his head he wore a wide splint hat

  Of seed-leaves freshly cast from new bamboos.

  On his body he wore a cloth garment

  Of gauze woven from the native cotton.

  Around his waist he tied a winding sash

  Of silk spun from an old silkworm.

  On his feet he had a pair of straw sandals,

  With laces rolled from withered sedge.

  In his hands he held a fine steel ax;

  A sturdy rope coiled round and round his load.

  In breaking pines or chopping trees

  Where’s the man to equal him?

  The Monkey King drew near and called out: “Reverend immortal! Your disciple raises his hands.” The woodcutter was so flustered that he dropped his ax as he turned to return the salutation. “Blasphemy! Blasphemy!” he said. “I, a foolish fellow with hardly enough clothes or food! How can I bear the title of immortal?” The Monkey King said, “If you are not an immortal, how is it that you speak his language?” The woodcutter asked, “What did I say that sounded like the language of an immortal?” The Monkey King explained, “When I came just now to the forest’s edge, I heard you singing, ‘Those I meet, if not immortals, would be Daoists, seated quietly to expound the Yellow Court.’ The Yellow Court contains the perfected words of the Way and Virtue. What can you be but an immortal?”

  Laughing, the woodcutter said, “I can tell you this much: the tune of that lyric is named ‘A Court Full of Blossoms,’ and it was taught to me by an immortal, a neighbor of mine. He saw that I had to struggle to make a living and that my days were full of worries, so he told me to recite the poem whenever I was troubled. This, he said, would both comfort me and rid me of my difficulties. It happened that I was anxious about something just now, so I sang the song. It didn’t occur to me that I would be overheard.”

  The Monkey King said, “If you are a neighbor of the immortal, why don’t you follow him in the cultivation of the Way? Wouldn’t it be nice to learn from him the formula for eternal youth?” The woodcutter replied, “My lot has been a hard one all my life. When I was young, I was indebted to my parents’ nurture until I was eight or nine. As soon as I began to have some understanding of human affairs, my father unfortunately died, and my mother remained a widow. I had no brothers or sisters, so there was no alternative but for me alone to support and care for my mother. Now that my mother is growing old, all the more I dare not leave her. Moreover, my fields are rather barren and desolate, and we haven’t enough food or clothing. I can’t do more than chop two bundles of firewood to take to the market in exchange for a few pennies to buy a few pints of rice. I cook that myself, serving it to my mother with the tea that I make. That’s why I can’t practice austerities.”

  The Monkey King said, “According to what you have said, you are indeed a gentleman of filial piety, and you will certainly be rewarded in the future. I hope, however, that you will show me the way to the immortal’s abode, so that I may reverently call upon him.” “It’s not far,” the woodcutter said. “This mountain is called the Mountain of Mind and Heart, and in it is the Cave of Slanting Moon and Three Stars. Inside the cave is an immortal by the name of the Patriarch Subodhi, who has already sent out innumerable disciples. Even now there are thirty or forty persons who are practicing austerities with him. Follow this narrow path and travel south for about seven or eight miles, and you will come to his home.” Grabbing the woodcutter, the Monkey King said, “Honored brother, go with me. If I receive any benefit, I will not forget the favor of your guidance.” “What a boneheaded fellow you are!” the woodcutter said. “I have just finished telling you these things, and you still don’t understand. If I go with you, won’t I be neglecting my livelihood? And who will take care of my mother? I must chop my firewood. You go on by yourself!”

  When the Monkey King heard this, he had to take his leave. Emerging from the deep forest, he found the path and went past the slope of a hill. After he had traveled seven or eight miles, a cave dwelling indeed came into sight. He stood up straight to take a better look at this splendid place, and this was what he saw:

  Mist and smoke in diffusive brilliance,

  Flashing lights from the sun and moon,

  A thousand stalks of old cypress,

  Ten thousand stems of tall bamboo.

  A thousand stalks of old cypress

  Draped in rain half fill the air with tender green;

  Ten thousand stems of tall bamboo

  Held in smoke will paint the glen chartreuse.

  Strange flowers spread brocades before the door.

  Jadelike grass emits fragrance beside the bridge.

  On ridges protruding grow moist green lichens;

  On hanging cliffs cling the long blue mosses.

  The cries of immortal cranes are often heard.

  Once in a while a phoenix soars overhead.

  When the cranes cry,

  Their sounds reach through the marsh to the distant sky.

  When the phoenix soars up,

  Its plume with five bright colors embroiders the clouds.

  Black apes and white deer may come or hide;

  Gold lions and jade elephants may leave or bide.

  Look with care at this blessed, holy place:

  It has the true semblance of Paradise.

  He noticed that the door of the cave was tightly shut; all was quiet, and there was no sign of any human inhabitant. He turned around and suddenly perceived, at the top of the cliff, a stone slab approximately eight feet wide and over thirty feet tall. On it was written in large letters:

  The Mountain of Mind and Heart;

  The Cave of Slanting Moon and Three Stars.

  Immensely pleased, the Handsome Monkey King exclaimed, “People here are truly honest. This mountain and this cave really do exist!” He stared at the place for a long time but dared not knock. Instead, he jumped onto the branch of a pine tree, picked a few pine seeds and ate them, and began to play.

  After a moment he heard the door of the cave open with a squeak, and an immortal youth walked out. His bearing was exceedingly graceful; his features were highly refined. This was certainly no ordinary young mortal, for he had

  His hair bound with two cords of silk,

  A wide robe with two sleeves of wind.

  His body and face seemed most distinct,

  For visage and mind were both detached.

  Long a stranger to all worldly things

  He was the mountain’s ageless boy.

  Untainted even with a speck of dust,

  He feared no havoc by the seasons wrought.

  After coming through the door, the boy shouted, “Who is causing disturbance here?” With a bound the Monkey King leaped down from the tree, and went up to him bowing. “Immortal boy,” he said, “I am a seeker of the way of immortality. I would never dare cause any disturbance.” With a chuckle, the immortal youth asked, “Are you a seeker of the Way?” “I am indeed,” answered the Monkey King. “My master at the house,” the boy said, “has just left his couch to give a lecture on the platform. Before even announcing his theme, however, he told me to go out and open the door, saying, ‘There is someone outside who wants to practice austerities. You may go and receive him.’ It must be you, I suppose.” The Monkey King said, smiling, “It is I, most assuredly!” “Follow me in then,” said the boy. With solemnity the Monkey King set his clothes in order and followed the boy into the depths of the cave. They passed rows and rows of l
ofty towers and huge alcoves, of pearly chambers and carved arches. After walking through innumerable quiet chambers and empty studios, they finally reached the base of the green jade platform. Patriarch Subodhi was seen seated solemnly on the platform, with thirty lesser immortals standing below in rows. He was truly

  An immortal of great ken and purest mien,

  Master Subodhi, whose wondrous form of the West

  Had no end or birth by work of the Double Three.16

  His whole spirit and breath were with mercy filled.

  Empty, spontaneous, it could change at will,

  His Buddha-nature able to do all things.

  The same age as Heaven had his majestic frame.

  Fully tried and enlightened was this grand priest.

  As soon as the Handsome Monkey King saw him, he prostrated himself and kowtowed times without number, saying, “Master! Master! I, your pupil, pay you my sincere homage.” The Patriarch said, “Where do you come from? Let’s hear you state clearly your name and country before you kowtow again.” The Monkey King said, “Your pupil came from the Water-Curtain Cave of the Flower-Fruit Mountain, in the Aolai Country of the East Pūrvavideha Continent.”

  “Chase him out of here!” the Patriarch shouted. “He is nothing but a liar and a fabricator of falsehood. How can he possibly be interested in attaining enlightenment?” The Monkey King hastened to kowtow unceasingly and to say, “Your pupil’s word is an honest one, without any deceit.” The Patriarch said, “If you are telling the truth, how is it that you mention the East Pūrvavideha Continent? Separating that place and mine are two great oceans and the entire region of the South Jambūdvīpa Continent. How could you possibly get here?” Again kowtowing, the Monkey King said, “Your pupil drifted across the oceans and trudged through many regions for more than ten years before finding this place.” The Patriarch said, “If you have come on a long journey in many stages, I’ll let that pass. What is your surname (xing)?”17 The Monkey King again replied, “I have no temper (xing). If a man rebukes me, I am not offended; if he hits me, I am not angered. In fact, I simply repay him with a ceremonial greeting and that’s all. My whole life’s without ill temper.” “I’m not speaking of your temper,” the Patriarch said. “I’m asking after the name of your parents.” “I have no parents either,” said the Monkey King. The Patriarch said, “If you have no parents, you must have been born from a tree.” “Not from a tree,” said the Monkey King, “but from a rock. I recall that there used to be an immortal stone on the Flower-Fruit Mountain. I was born the year the stone split open.”