The Journey to the West, Revised Edition, Volume 1

by Unknown

  “Who is going through an ordeal?” asked the elder.

  Pilgrim answered with a laugh. “The women of that household happened to be some bodhisattvas from somewhere, who had waited for us to teach us a lesson. They must have left during the night, but unfortunately Zhu Eight Rules has to suffer.” When Tripitaka heard this, he quickly folded his hands to make a bow. Then they saw a slip of paper hanging on an old cedar tree, fluttering in the wind. Sha Monk quickly took it down for his master to read. On it was written the following eight-line poem:

  Though the old Dame of Li Shan5 had no desire,

  Guanyin invited her to leave the mount.

  Mañjuśri and Viśvabhadra, too, were guests

  Who took in the woods the form of maidens fair.

  The holy monk’s virtuous and truly chaste,

  But Eight Rules’s profane, loving things mundane.

  Henceforth he must repent with quiet heart,

  For if he’s slothful, the way will be hard.

  As the elder, Pilgrim, and Sha Monk recited this poem aloud, they heard a loud call from deep in the woods: “Master, the ropes are killing me! Save me, please! I’ll never dare do this again!”

  “Wukong,” said Tripitaka, “is it Wuneng who is calling us?”

  “Yes,” said Sha Monk. “Brother,” said Pilgrim, “don’t bother about him. Let us leave now.”

  “Though Idiot is stupid and mischievous,” said Tripitaka, “he is at least fairly honest, and he has arms strong enough to carry the luggage. Let’s have some regard for the Bodhisattva’s earlier intention, let’s rescue him so that he may continue to follow us. I doubt that he’ll ever dare do this again.” Sha Monk thereupon rolled up the bedding and put the luggage in order, after which Great Sage Sun untied the horse to lead the Tang Monk into the woods to see what had happened. Ah! So it is that

  You must take care in the pursuit of truth

  To purge desires, and you’ll enter the Real.

  We do not know what sort of good or evil was in store for the Idiot; let’s listen to the explanation in the next chapter.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  At Long Life Mountain the Great Immortal detains his old friend;

  At Five Villages Abbey, Pilgrim steals the ginseng1 fruit.

  We shall tell you about the three of them who, on entering the forest, found Idiot tied to a tree. He was screaming continuously because of the unbearable pain. Pilgrim approached and said to him, laughing, “Dear son-in-law! It’s getting rather late, and you still haven’t got around to performing the proper ceremony of thanking your parents or announcing your marriage to Master. You are still having a grand old time playing games here! Hey! Where’s your mama? Where’s your wife? What a dear son-in-law, all bound and beaten!” When Idiot heard such ridicule, he was so mortified that he clenched his teeth to try to endure the pain without making any more noise. Sha Monk, however, could not bear to look at him; he put down the luggage and went forward to untie the ropes. After he was freed, Idiot could only drop to his knees and kowtow toward the sky, for he was filled with shame. For him we have as a testimony this lyric to the tune of “Moon Over West River”:

  Eros is a sword injurious:

  Live by it and you will be slain.

  The lady so fair and lovely at sixteen

  Is more vicious than a yakṣa!

  You have but one principal sum;

  You can’t add profit to your purse.

  Guard and keep well your precious capital,

  Which you must not squander and waste.

  Scooping up some dirt and scattering it like incense, Eight Rules bowed to the sky. “Did you recognize those bodhisattvas at all?” asked Pilgrim. “I was in a stupor, about to faint,” replied Eight Rules. “How could I recognize anyone?” Pilgrim then handed him the slip of paper. When Eight Rules saw the gāthā, he was more embarrassed than ever. “Second Brother does have all the luck,” said Sha Monk with a laugh, “for you have attracted these four bodhisattvas here to become your wives!” “Brother,” said Eight Rules, “let’s not ever mention that again! It’s blasphemy! From now on, I’ll never dare do such foolish things again. Even if it breaks my bones, I’ll carry the pole and luggage to follow Master to the West.” “You are finally speaking sensibly,” said Tripitaka.

  Pilgrim then led his master up the main road, and after journeying for a long time, they suddenly came upon a tall mountain. Pulling in the reins, Tripitaka said, “Disciples, let’s be careful as we travel up this mountain before us, for there may be monsters seeking to harm us.” “Ahead of your horse you have the three of us,” said Pilgrim. “Why fear the monsters?” Reassured by these words, the elder proceeded. That mountain is truly a magnificent mountain:

  A tall mountain most rugged,

  Its shape both lofty and grand.

  Its root joins the Kunlun2 ranges;

  Its top reaches to the sky.

  White cranes come oft to perch on junipers;

  Black apes hang frequently on the vines.

  As the sun lights up the forest,

  Strands upon strands of red mist are circling;

  As wind rises from dark gorges,

  Ten thousand pink cloud pieces soar and fly.

  Hidden birds sing madly in green bamboos;

  Pheasants do battle amidst wildflowers.

  You see that Thousand-Year Peak,

  That Five-Blessings3 Peak,

  And the Hibiscus Peak—

  They all glow and shimmer most awesomely;

  That Ageless Rock,

  That Tiger-Tooth Rock,

  And that Three-Heaven Rock—

  Where auspicious air rises endlessly.

  Below the cliff, delicate grass;

  Atop the ridge, fragrant plum.

  The thorns and briars are thick;

  The orchids are pale and pure.

  The deep woods’s phoenix musters a thousand fowls;

  An old cave’s unicorn rules countless beasts.

  Even the brook seems caring:

  She twists and turns as if looking back.

  The peaks are continuous:

  Row upon row circling all around.

  You also see those green locust trees,4

  Those mottled bamboos,

  And those verdant pines—

  Rivals ever fresh in their dense lushness;

  Those pears milk-white,

  Those peaches red,

  And those willows green—

  All competing in their Triple-Spring hues.

  Dragons sing and tigers roar;

  The cranes dance and the apes wail;

  The musk deer from flowers walk out;

  The phoenix cries facing the sun.

  It’s a mount divine, land of true blessings,

  The same as Penglai, wondrous fairy land.

  See those flowers blooming and dying—this mountain scene,

  Where clouds draw near or leave the soaring peaks.

  With great delight, Tripitaka said as he rode along, “Disciples, since I began this journey to the West, I have passed through many regions, all rather treacherous and difficult to traverse. None of the other places has scenery like this mountain, which is extraordinarily beautiful. Perhaps we are not far from Thunderclap, and, if so, we should prepare in a dignified and solemn manner to meet the World’s Honored One.”

  “It’s early, much too early!” said Pilgrim, laughing. “We are nowhere near!”

  “Elder Brother,” said Sha Monk, “how far is it for us to reach Thunderclap?”

  “One hundred and eight thousand miles,” said Pilgrim, “and we have not even covered one-tenth of the distance.”

  “Elder Brother,” said Eight Rules, “how many years do we have to travel before we get there?”

  “If we were talking about you two, my worthy brothers,” said Pilgrim, “this journey would take some ten days. If we were talking about me, I could probably make about fifty round trips in a day and there would still be sunlight. But if we are
talking about Master, then don’t even think about it!” “Wukong,” said the Tang Monk, “tell us when we shall be able to reach our destination.”

  Pilgrim said, “You can walk from the time of your youth till the time you grow old, and after that, till you become youthful again; and even after going through such a cycle a thousand times, you may still find it difficult to reach the place you want to go to. But when you perceive, by the resoluteness of your will, the Buddha-nature in all things, and when every one of your thoughts goes back to its very source in your memory, that will be the time you arrive at the Spirit Mountain.”

  “Elder Brother,” said Sha Monk, “even though this is not the region of Thunderclap, a place of such scenic splendor must be the residence of a good man.” “That’s an appropriate observation,” said Pilgrim, “for this can hardly be a place for demons or goblins; rather, it must be the home of a holy monk or an immortal. We can walk leisurely and enjoy the scenery.” We shall say no more about them for the time being.

  We now tell you about this mountain, which had the name of the Long Life Mountain. In the mountain there was a Daoist Abbey called the Five Villages Abbey; it was the abode of an immortal whose Daoist style was Master Zhenyuan5 and whose nickname was Lord, Equal to Earth. There was, moreover, a strange treasure grown in this temple, a spiritual root that was formed just after chaos had been parted and the nebula had been established prior to the division of Heaven and Earth. Throughout the four great continents of the world, it could be found in only the Five Villages Abbey in the West Aparagodānīya Continent. This treasure was called grass of the reverted cinnabar,6 or the ginseng fruit. It took three thousand years for the plant to bloom, another three thousand years to bear fruit, and still another three thousand years before they ripened. All in all, it would be nearly ten thousand years before they could be eaten, and even after such a long time, there would be only thirty such fruits. The shape of the fruit was exactly that of a newborn infant not yet three days old, complete with the four limbs and the five senses. If a man had the good fortune of even smelling the fruit, he would live for three hundred and sixty years; if he ate one, he would reach his forty-seven thousandth year.

  That day, the Great Zhenyuan Immortal happened to have received a card from the Celestial Worthy of Original Commencement, who invited him to the Miluo Palace in the Heaven of Highest Clarity to listen to the discourse on “The Daoist Fruit of the Chaotic Origin.” That Great Immortal, you see, had already trained countless disciples to become immortals; even now he had with him some forty-eight disciples, all Daoists of the Quanzhen Order who had acquired the Way. When he went up to the region above to listen to the lecture that day, he took forty-six disciples along with him, leaving behind two of the youngest ones to look after the temple. One was called Clear Breeze, and the other was named Bright Moon. Clear Breeze was only one thousand two hundred and twenty years old, while Bright Moon had just passed his one thousand two hundredth birthday. Before his departure, Master Zhenyuan gave instructions to the two young lads, saying, “I cannot refuse the invitation of the Great Honorable Divine, and I’m leaving for the Miluo Palace to attend a lecture. You two must be watchful, for an old friend of mine will be passing by here any day. Don’t fail to treat him kindly: you may, in fact, strike down from the tree two of the ginseng fruits for him to eat as a token of our past friendship.”

  “Who is this friend of yours, Master?” asked one of the lads. “Tell us, so that we may take good care of him.” “He is a holy monk serving the Great Tang Emperor in the land of the East,” said the Great Immortal, “and his religious name is Tripitaka. He is now on his way to the Western Heaven to acquire scriptures from Buddha.”

  “According to Confucius,” said one of the lads, laughing, “‘One does not take counsel with those who follow a different Way.’7 We belong to the Mysterious Fold of the Great Monad. Why should we associate with a Buddhist monk?”

  “You should know,” said the Great Immortal, “that that monk happens to be the incarnate Gold Cicada, the second disciple of Tathāgata, the Aged Sage of the West. Five hundred years ago, I became acquainted with him during the Feast of the Ullambana Bowl, when he presented me tea with his own hands as the various sons of Buddha paid me their respect. That’s why I consider him an old friend.” When the two immortal lads heard these words, they accepted them as the instruction of their master. As the Great Immortal was about to leave, he cautioned them again, saying, “Those fruits of mine are all numbered. You may give him two, but no more.” “When the garden was opened to the public,” said Clear Breeze, “we shared and ate two of the fruits; there should be still twenty-eight of them on the tree. We wouldn’t think of using any more than you have told us to.” The Great Immortal said, “Though Tripitaka Tang is an old friend, his disciples, I fear, may be somewhat rowdy. It’s best not to let them know about the fruits.” After he had finished giving these instructions to the two lads, the Great Immortal ascended to the region of Heaven with all his disciples.

  We tell you now about the Tang Monk and his three companions, who were making a tour of the mountain. Looking up, they suddenly discovered several tall buildings by a cluster of pines and bamboos. “Wukong,” said the Tang Monk, “what sort of place do you think that is over there?” After taking a look at it, Pilgrim said, “It’s either a Daoist abbey or a Buddhist monastery. Let’s move along, and we’ll find out more about it when we get there.” They soon arrived at the gate, and they saw

  A pine knoll cool and serene;

  A bamboo path dark and secluded;

  White cranes coming and leaving with clouds afloat;

  And apes climbing up and down to hand out fruits.

  Before the gate, the pond’s wide and trees cast long shadows;

  The rocks crack, breaking the moss’s growth.

  Palatial halls dark and tall as the purple Heaven;

  And towers aloft from which bright red mists descend.

  Truly a blessed region, a spiritual place

  Like the cloudy cave of Penglai:

  Quiet, untouched by the affairs of man;

  Tranquil, fit to nurse the mind of Dao.

  Bluebirds may bring at times a Queen Mother’s note;

  A phoenix oft arrives with a Laozi scroll.

  There’s no end to the sight of this noble Daoist scene:

  It’s the spacious home of immortals indeed!

  As the Tang Monk dismounted, he saw on the left a huge stone tablet, on which the following inscription was written in large letters:

  The Blessed Land of the Long Life Mountain.

  The Cave Heaven of the Five Villages Abbey.

  “Disciples,” said the Elder, “it’s indeed a Daoist abbey.” “Master,” said Sha Monk, “with such splendid scenery, there must be a good man living in this temple. Let us go in and take a look. When we return to the East after completing our merits, this may be the place for another visit because of its marvelous scenery.” “Well spoken,” said Pilgrim, and they all went inside. On both sides of the second gate they saw this New Year couplet:

  Long-living and ever young, this immortal house.

  Of the same age as Heaven, this Daoist home.

  Pilgrim said with a snicker, “This Daoist is mouthing big words just to intimidate people! When I, old Monkey, caused disturbance in the Heavenly Palace five hundred years ago, I did not encounter such words even on the door of Laozi!” “Never mind him!” said Eight Rules. “Let’s go inside! Let’s go inside! You never know, maybe this Daoist does possess some virtuous accomplishment.”

  When they passed through the second gate, they were met by two young lads who were hurrying out. Look how they appear:

  Healthy in bone and spirit with visage fair,

  On their heads were short bundled tufts of hair.

  Their Daoist gowns, free falling, seemed wrapped in mists;

  Their feathered robes, more quaint, for the wind-blown sleeves.

  Dragon-heads had their sashes knotte
d tight;

  Silk cords laced lightly their sandals of straw.

  Such uncommon looks were of no worldly-born;

  They were Clear Breeze and Bright Moon, two lads divine.

  The two young lads came out to meet them, bowing and saying, “Old Master, forgive us for not coming to meet you. Please take a seat.” Delighted, the elder followed the two lads to the main hall to look around. There were altogether five huge chambers facing south, separated by floor-length windows that had carved panes and were translucent at the top and solid at the bottom. Pushing open one of these, the two immortal lads invited the Tang Monk into the central chamber, with a panel hanging on the middle wall on which two large characters—“Heaven, Earth”—were embroidered in five colors. Beneath the panel was a cinnabar-red lacquered incense table, on which there was an urn of yellow gold. Conveniently placed beside the urn were several sticks of incense.

  The Tang Monk went forward and with his left hand, took up some incense to put into the urn. He then prostrated himself three times before the table, after which he turned around and said, “Immortal lads, your Five Villages Abbey is in truth a godly region of the West. But why is it that you do not worship the Three Pure Ones, the Thearchs of Four Quarters, or the many Lords of High Heaven? Why is it that you merely put up these two words of Heaven and Earth to receive the oblation of fire and incense?” Smiling, one of the lads said, “To tell you the truth, Master, putting these two words up is an act of flattery on the part of our teacher, for of these two words, the one on top,8 may deserve our reverence, but the one below is hardly worthy of our fire and incense.” “What do you mean by an act of flattery?” asked Tripitaka. The lad replied, “The Three Pure Ones are friends of our teacher; the Four Thearchs, his old acquaintances; the Nine Luminaries, his junior colleagues; and the God of the New Year, his unwanted guest!”

  When Pilgrim heard this remark, he laughed so hard that he could barely stand up. “Elder Brother,” said Eight Rules, “why are you laughing?” “Talk about the shenanigans of old Monkey!” said Pilgrim. “Just listen to the flimflam of this Daoist kid!” “Where is your honorable teacher?” asked Tripitaka. “Our teacher,” said the lad, “had been invited by the Honorable Divine of the Origin to attend a lecture on ‘The Daoist Fruit of the Chaotic Origin’ at the Miluo Palace in the Heaven of Highest Clarity. He’s not home.”