The Journey to the West, Revised Edition, Volume 1

by Unknown

  “Because of our absence, the two of them must have stolen away with our things,” said the rest of the immortals. “Nonsense!” said the Great Immortal. “How could those who seek the way of immortality dare to engage in such wickedness? They must have forgotten to close the gates last night and gone to sleep. They are probably not yet awake this morning.” When they all reached the door of the Daoist lads, they found the door tightly shut and heard heavy snoring from within. They pounded on the door and attempted to rouse them, but the lads could not be wakened by all that clamor. Finally, the immortals managed to pry open the door and pull the lads off their beds; even then they did not wake up. “Dear immortal lads!” said the Great Immortal, laughing. “Those who have attained immortality should not be so desirous of sleep, for their spirits are full. Why are they so fatigued? Could it be that someone has played a trick on them? Quickly, bring me some water!” One of the lads brought half a cup of water to the Great Immortal, who recited a spell before spitting a mouthful of water on the lads’ faces. The Sleep Demon was thus exorcised.

  Both lads woke up, and as they opened their eyes and wiped their faces, they suddenly saw all the familiar faces of their teacher, Lord, Equal to Earth, and the other immortals. Clear Breeze and Bright Moon were so startled that they knelt down at once and kowtowed, saying, “Master, your old friends, the monks who came from the East, were a bunch of vicious thieves!” “Don’t be afraid!” said the Great Immortal, smiling. “Take your time and tell me about them.”

  “Master,” said Clear Breeze, “Shortly after you left that day, a Tang Monk from the Land of the East did indeed arrive with three other monks and a horse. In obedience to your command, your disciples, having ascertained their origin, took two of the ginseng fruits and served them. That elder, however, had worldly eyes and a foolish mind, for he could not recognize the treasures of our immortal house. He insisted that they were newborn infants not yet three days old and absolutely refused to eat them. For this reason, each of us ate one of the fruits instead. We didn’t expect, however, that one of his three disciples, a fellow whose surname was Sun and whose given name was Wukong Pilgrim, would steal and eat four of the fruits. When we discovered the theft, we tried to reason with him, speaking rather forthrightly to that monk. But he refused to listen to us and instead used the magic of the spirit leaving the body to—oh, this is painful!” When the two lads reached this point in their discourse, they could not hold back their tears. “Did that monk strike you?” asked the rest of the immortals. “He did not hit us,” said Bright Moon, “but he struck down our ginseng tree.”

  When the Great Immortal heard this, he was not angry. Instead, he said, “Don’t cry! Don’t cry! What you don’t know is that the fellow with the name of Sun is also a minor immortal of the Great Monad; he has great magic power and has caused much disturbance in Heaven. If our treasure tree is struck down, all I want to know is whether you will be able to recognize these monks if you see them again.” “Certainly,” said Clear Breeze. “In that case,” said the Great Immortal, “follow me. The rest of you disciples can prepare the instruments of punishment. When I return, they shall be whipped.”

  The various immortals took this instruction, while the Great Immortal mounted the auspicious luminosity with Clear Breeze and Bright Moon to give chase to Tripitaka. In a moment they had covered a thousand miles, but when the Great Immortal looked toward the West at the tip of the cloud, he could not see the Tang Monk anywhere. When he turned around and stared eastward instead, he found that he had overtaken the pilgrims by some nine hundred miles, for that elder, even with his horse galloping nonstop all night, had managed to travel only one hundred and twenty miles. Reversing the direction of his cloud, the Great Immortal made the trip back in an instant. “Master,” said one of the lads, “that’s the Tang Monk sitting beneath a tree by the road.” “I see him,” said the Great Immortal. “You two go back and prepare the ropes. Let me capture them by myself.” Clear Breeze and Bright Moon went back to the Abbey at once.

  Dropping down from the clouds, the Great Immortal changed himself into a mendicant Daoist1 with one shake of his body. “How was he dressed?” you ask.

  A priestly robe patched a hundred times

  And a sash in the style of Mr. Lü.2

  His hands waved a yak’s-tail

  And lightly tapped a fish-drum.

  Straw sandals with three loops shod his feet;

  A sinuous turban wrapped around his head.

  With wind-filled sleeves all aflutter,

  He sang of the rising moon.

  He came straight to the tree and said in a loud voice to the Tang Monk, “Elder, this poor Daoist raises his hands!” Hastily returning the salutation, the elder said, “Pardon me for not paying respects to you first.” “Where did the elder come from,” asked the Great Immortal, “and why is he sitting in meditation here beside the road?” Tripitaka said, “I am a scripture seeker sent by the Great Tang of the Land of the East to the Western Heaven.” Feigning surprise, the Great Immortal said, “When you came from the East, did you pass through my humble mountain abode?” “Which precious mountain is the abode of the venerable immortal?” asked the elder. The Great Immortal said, “The Five Villages Abbey in the Long Life Mountain is where I reside.”

  The moment he heard this, Pilgrim, having something very much on his mind, replied, “No! No! We came by another route up there.” Pointing a finger firmly at him, the Great Immortal said with a laugh, “Brazen ape! Who are you trying to fool? You struck down my ginseng fruit tree in my Abbey, and then you fled here in the night. You dare deny this? Why try to cover up? Don’t run away! Go quickly and bring back another tree for me!” When Pilgrim heard this, he grew angry and whipped out his iron rod; without waiting for further discussion, he struck at the head of the Great Immortal. Stepping aside to dodge the blow, the Great Immortal trod on the auspicious luminosity and rose into the air, closely followed by Pilgrim, who also mounted the clouds. The Great Immortal changed back into his true form in midair, and this was how he appeared:

  He wore a cap of purple gold,

  And a carefree gown trimmed with crane’s down.

  He had on his feet a pair of shoes;

  A silk sash was tied round his waist.

  His body seemed that of a lad

  His face, that of a lady fair,

  But with flowing moustaches and beard.

  Some crow feathers adorned his hair.

  He faced Pilgrim but without a weapon,

  Save a jade yak’s-tail3 which he twirled in his hand.

  Above and below, Pilgrim struck wildly with his rod, only to be parried again and again by the Great Immortal wielding his jade yak’s tail. After two or three rounds of fighting, the Great Immortal displayed his magic of the cosmos in the sleeve. Standing on the tip of a cloud and facing the wind, he gently flipped open the wide sleeve of his gown and sent it toward the earth in a sweeping motion. All four of the monks and the horse were at once scooped up into the sleeve. “This is dreadful!” said Eight Rules. “We have been placed in a clothes bag!” “It isn’t a clothes bag, Idiot!” said Pilgrim. “We’ve been scooped up into his sleeve.” “In that case,” said Eight Rules, “it shouldn’t be too difficult! Let me use my rake and make a hole in his gown. When we make our escape, we can claim that he was careless and didn’t hold us securely, so that we fell out of his sleeve.” Idiot started to dig into the garment madly with his rake, but all to no avail: although the material was soft to the touch, it was harder than steel when it came into contact with the rake.

  Turning around the direction of his auspicious cloud, the Great Immortal went back to the Five Villages Abbey and sat down, ordering his disciples to fetch some ropes. As the little immortals went about their business, he fished out the pilgrims one by one like puppets from his sleeve: first he brought out the Tang Monk and had him bound to one of the large pillars in the main hall. Then he took out the three disciples and had them tied to three other pillars. F
inally he took out the horse and had it tied up in the courtyard; it was given some hay while the luggage was thrown into one of the corridors. “Disciples,” said the Great Immortal, “these monks are persons who have left home, and they should not be harmed by knives or spears, hatchets or battle-axes. Bring out my leather whip instead and give them a beating—as an act of vengeance for my ginseng fruit!” Some of the immortals went quickly to fetch the whip—not the sort made of cow hide, sheep hide, suede, or buffalo hide. It was, rather, a whip of seven thongs made of dragon hide. After soaking it in water for a while, one of the more robust little immortals took it up and asked, “Master, which one shall be flogged first?” The Great Immortal replied, “Tripitaka Tang is the unworthy senior member of his party. Beat him first.”

  When Pilgrim heard what he said, he thought to himself, “That old monk of mine cannot stand such flogging. If he’s destroyed by the whip, wouldn’t that be my sin?” Unable to remain silent any longer, he said, “Sir, you are mistaken! It was I who stole the fruits, and it was I who ate the fruits. Moreover, I also pushed down the tree. Why don’t you flog me first? Why do you have to whip him?” “This brazen ape,” said the Great Immortal, laughing, “does know how to speak courageously! All right, let’s flog him first.” “How many lashes?” asked the little immortal. “As many as the original number of the fruits,” said the Great Immortal. “Thirty lashes.” Lifting high the whip, the little immortal was about to strike. Fearing that this weapon of an immortal’s house might be a formidable one, Pilgrim opened his eyes wide to see where he was going to be struck and found that the little immortal was about to flog his legs. With a twist of his torso, Pilgrim said, “Change!” and his two legs became hard as steel, all ready to be flogged. With measured strokes, the little immortal gave him thirty lashes before putting down the whip.

  It was already almost noon when the Great Immortal said again, “We should now give Tripitaka a flogging, since he did not know how to discipline his mischievous disciples and permitted them to indulge in unruly behavior.” As the immortal took up the whip again, Pilgrim said, “You are again mistaken, sir. When the fruits were stolen, my master was conversing in this hall with the two lads; he had no knowledge whatever of what we brothers had perpetrated. Though he might be guilty of not being strict enough in his discipline of us, those of us who are his disciples should receive the punishment for him. Flog me again.” “This lawless ape!” said the Great Immortal. “Though he is sly and devious, he does possess some filial sentiments! In that case, let’s flog him again.” The little immortal again gave him thirty lashes. When Pilgrim lowered his head to take a look, he saw that his two legs had been beaten until they were shining like mirrors, though he had no sensation whatever, either of pain or of itching. By this time it was getting late, and the Great Immortal said, “Soak the whip in water. Wait until tomorrow, and then we shall punish them again.” The little immortals retrieved the whip and placed it in water, after which everyone retired to his own chamber. When they had finished their evening meal, all went away to sleep, and we shall say no more of them now.

  With tears flowing from his eyes, the elder began to complain bitterly to his three disciples, saying, “You all have caused this trouble, but I have to suffer with you in this place. What are you going to do about it?” “Stop this complaining,” said Pilgrim. “They flogged me first, and you haven’t even had a taste of it yet. Why do you have to grumble like that?” “Though I have not been flogged,” said the Tang Monk, “this rope is causing me to ache all over.” “Master,” said Sha Monk, “there are others here who are your companions in bondage!” “Stop this racket, all of you!” said Pilgrim. “In a little while, we’ll all be on our way again.”

  “Elder Brother,” said Eight Rules, “you are fibbing again. We are tightly bound now in hemp ropes sprayed with water. They are not like the locks on those doors that you opened so easily with your magic!”

  “This is no exaggeration,” said Pilgrim, “but I’m not afraid of a three-ply hemp rope sprayed with water. Even if it were a coir cord as thick as a small bowl, I would consider it as insubstantial as the autumn wind!” Hardly had he finished speaking when it became completely quiet everywhere. Dear Pilgrim! He contracted his body and at once freed himself from the ropes, saying, “Let’s go, Master!”

  “Elder Brother,” said a startled Sha Monk, “save us, too!” “Speak softly! Speak softly!” said Pilgrim. He untied Tripitaka, Sha Monk, and Eight Rules; they put on their clothes, saddled the horse, and picked up the luggage from the corridor. As they walked out of the Abbey gate, Pilgrim said to Eight Rules, “Go to the edge of the cliff there and bring back four willow trees.” “What do you want them for?” asked Eight Rules. “I have use for them. Bring them quickly.”

  Idiot did possess some sort of brutish strength. He did as he was told, and with one shove of his snout he felled one of the willow trees. Knocking down three more, he gathered them up into a bundle and hauled them back. Pilgrim stripped the branches off the trunks, and the two of them carried the trunks inside, where they fastened them to the pillars with the ropes with which they had earlier been tied up themselves. Then the Great Sage recited a spell; biting the tip of his own tongue, he spat some blood on the trees and cried, “Change!” One of them changed into the elder, another changed into a figure like himself, and the two other trees changed into Sha Monk and Eight Rules. They all seemed to look exactly alike; when questioned, they knew how to make replies; when their names were called, they knew how to answer. Only then did the two of them run back out and catch up with their master. As before, the horse did not pause to rest for that whole night as they fled the Five Villages Abbey. When morning arrived, however, the elder was nodding on the horse, hardly able to remain in the saddle. When Pilgrim saw him like that, he called out, “Master, you are terribly soft! How is it that a person who has left home like yourself has so little endurance? If I, old Monkey, went without sleep even for a thousand nights, I still would not feel fatigue. Well, you had better get off the horse, so that travelers won’t see your condition and laugh at you. Let’s find a temporary shelter beneath the mountain slope and rest awhile before we move on again.”

  We shall not tell you any more now about master and disciples resting by the way; we shall tell you instead of the Great Immortal, who rose at the crack of dawn and went out at once to the main hall after taking his morning meal. He said, “Bring out the whip. It’s Tripitaka’s turn today to be flogged.” The little immortal wielded the whip and said to the Tang Monk, “I’m going to beat you.” “Go ahead,” said the willow tree, and he was given thirty lashes. Changing the direction of his whip, the little immortal said to Eight Rules, “I’m going to flog you.” “Go ahead,” said the other willow tree, and the one that was changed into the form of Sha Monk gave the same reply when it was his turn. By the time they reached Pilgrim, the real Pilgrim, resting by the wayside, was suddenly sent into a violent shudder. “Something’s wrong!” he exclaimed. “What do you mean?” asked Tripitaka. Pilgrim said, “I transformed four willow trees into the four of us, thinking that since they flogged me twice yesterday, they would not beat me again today. But they are giving my transformed body a beating, and that’s why my true body is shivering. I had better stop the magic.” Hastily, Pilgrim recited a spell to suspend the magic.

  Look at those frightened Daoist lads! The one who was doing the flogging threw away the whip and ran to report, saying, “Master, at first I was beating the Great Tang Monk, but now I am only striking at some willow roots!” When the Great Immortal heard these words, he laughed bitterly, saying, “Pilgrim Sun! Truly a marvelous Monkey King! It was rumored that when he caused great disturbance in Heaven, even the cosmic nets that the gods set up could not hold him. I suppose there must be some truth to that! So, you escaped! But why did you have to tie up these willow trees here to impersonate you and your companions? I’m not going to spare you! I’ll pursue you!” Saying this, the Great Immortal at once rose i
nto the clouds; he peered toward the West and saw the monks fleeing, poling the load of luggage and riding the horse. The Great Immortal dropped down from the clouds, crying, “Pilgrim Sun! Where are you running to? Give me back my ginseng tree!” Hearing this, Eight Rules said, “We’re finished! Our foe is here again!” “Master,” said Pilgrim, “let’s pack up that little word ‘Kindness’ for the moment. Allow us to indulge in a little violence and finish him off so that we can make our escape.” When the Tang Monk heard these words, he trembled all over, hardly able to reply. Without even waiting for his answer, however, Sha Monk lifted his precious staff, Eight Rules brought out his muck-rake, and the Great Sage wielded his iron rod. They all rushed forward to surround the Great Immortal in midair and began to strike at him furiously. For this vicious battle, we have the following poem as testimony:

  Wukong knew not that Zhenyuan Immortal—

  Lord, Equal to Earth—was wondrous and strange.

  Though three weapons divine showed forth their might,

  One yak’s-tail flew up with natural ease

  To parry the thrusts on the left and right,

  To block the blows struck at the front and back.

  Night passed, day came, still they could not escape!

  How long would it take them to reach the West?

  The three brothers all raised their divine weapons and attacked the immortal together, but the Great Immortal had only the fly brush with which to meet his adversaries. The battle, however, had not lasted for half an hour when the Great Immortal spread open his sleeve and with one scoop, recaptured the four monks, the horse, and their luggage. Reversing the direction of his cloud, he went back to his Abbey, where he was greeted by the other immortals. The Master Immortal took a seat in the main hall and again took out the pilgrims one by one from his sleeve. The Tang Monk was bound to a short locust tree in the courtyard, while Sha Monk and Eight Rules were fastened to two other trees, one on each side. Pilgrim, however, was tightly bound but left on the ground. “I suppose,” thought Pilgrim to himself, “they are going to interrogate me.” After the immortals had finished tying up the captives, they were told to bring out ten large bales of cloth. “Eight Rules,” said Pilgrim with a laugh, “this gentleman must have the good intention of making us some clothes! He might as well be more economical and just cut us a few monks’ bells!”4 After the little immortals had brought out the homespun cloth, the Great Immortal said, “Wrap up Tripitaka Tang, Zhu Eight Rules, and Sha Monk entirely in the cloth.” The little immortals obeyed and wrapped the three of them completely. “Fine! Fine! Fine!” said Pilgrim, laughing. “We are prepared to be buried alive!” After they were wrapped, the Daoists brought out some lacquer that they had made themselves, and the Great Immortal gave the order that the wrappings of the pilgrims be completely coated with the varnish. Only their faces were left uncovered. “Sir,” said Eight Rules, “I’m all right on top, but leave me a hole down below so that I can unburden myself!”