This Buddhist verse came from the Dharma Master Xuanzang’s thorough understanding of the Heart Sutra, which had opened the gateway for him. The elder kept reciting it and holding it in his heart, and a spark of spiritual light shone through of its own accord.

That day, as they travelled, evening suddenly came, and they saw a village cottage beside the mountain road. Sanzang said, “Wukong, look: the sun sets behind the western mountains, hiding its fiery mirror; the moon rises from the East Sea, showing its icy wheel. Luckily there is a house beside the road. Let us ask for a night’s lodging and go on tomorrow.” Bajie said, “Quite right. Old Zhu is a little hungry too. Let us beg a vegetarian meal at the house. With some strength in me, I can carry the luggage.” Pilgrim said, “You homesick wretch! You’ve been away from home only a few days, and already you’re complaining.” Bajie said, “Brother, I’m no match for you, living on wind and smoke. These few days since I joined Master, I’ve been going about with my belly half empty all the time. Did you know that?” Hearing this, Sanzang said, “Wuneng, if your heart is so set on home, you are no man for the religious life. You had better go back.” Alarmed, the Idiot fell to his knees. “Master, don’t listen to Senior Brother. He’s laying false blame on me. I never complained about anything, and he says I’m complaining. I’m a simple fool who speaks his mind. I said I was hungry and we ought to find a house where we could beg a vegetarian meal, and he called me a homesick wretch. Master, I have accepted the Bodhisattva’s precepts and been shown your kindness. I willingly serve you on the journey to the Western Heaven, and I swear I will never turn back or regret it. This is what they call ‘cultivating through bitter hardship’. How can you say I’m no man for the religious life?” Sanzang said, “If that is so, get up.”

The Idiot sprang up, muttering on and on. With the load on his shoulder, he could only settle his heart once and for all and follow them. Soon they reached the door of the roadside house. Sanzang dismounted, Pilgrim took the reins and Bajie set down the luggage. They all stood beneath the green shade. Leaning on his nine-ringed monk’s staff and adjusting his broad hat woven of bamboo strips bound with vine, Sanzang went ahead to the door. He saw an old man reclining on a bamboo couch, murmuring invocations to the Buddha. Sanzang dared not raise his voice, but softly called, “Benefactor, my respects.” The old man jumped up in a tumble, hurriedly straightened his clothes and came out to return the greeting. “Elder, forgive me for not welcoming you. Where have you come from, and what brings you to my poor door?” Sanzang said, “This poor monk is from the Great Tang in the Eastern Land. By imperial command I am going to the Thunderclap Monastery to worship the Buddha and seek the scriptures. Evening has overtaken me here in your honoured district, and I hoped to ask a night’s lodging in your charitable house. I beg you to grant us this kindness.” The old man waved his hand and shook his head. “You can’t go there. It’s hard to fetch scriptures from the Western Heaven. If you want scriptures, go to the Eastern Heaven instead.” Sanzang said nothing, but pondered within himself: “The Bodhisattva directed me west. Why does this old man tell me to go east? Where could there be scriptures in the east?” Too embarrassed to speak, he stood a long while without answering.

Now, Pilgrim was fierce and unruly by nature. Unable to hold himself back, he stepped forward and called loudly, “You old fellow! At your age, you still don’t know how to behave. We monks have come a long way to ask for lodging, and you frighten us with this dreary talk. Even if your house is cramped and there’s nowhere to sleep, we could sit out the night beneath a tree without troubling you.” The old man caught hold of Sanzang. “Master, you say nothing, but look at that disciple of yours: a crooked face and jutting cheeks, a Thunder God’s mouth3 and red eyes, like a devil dying of consumption. Why does he turn on an old man like me?” Pilgrim laughed. “You old fellow, you have no eye for people at all. Those pretty ones are good to look at, but no good to use. Old Sun may be small, but he’s solid enough: a bundle of sinews wrapped in skin.” The old man said, “You must have some abilities, then.” Pilgrim said, “I wouldn’t boast, but they’ll just about pass muster.” The old man asked, “Where is your home, and what made you shave your head and become a monk?” Pilgrim said, “Old Sun’s ancestral home is the Water-Curtain Cave on Flower-Fruit Mountain, in the kingdom of Aolai beyond the sea in the Eastern Continent of Purvavideha. I learned to be a demon from childhood and took the name Wukong. By my own abilities I became the Great Sage Equal to Heaven. But because I would not submit to the Celestial Register, I rebelled against the Heavenly Palace and brought disaster and guilt upon myself. Now I have escaped that ordeal and put an end to the calamity. I have turned to the Buddhist order and am seeking the true fruit of attainment. I am guarding this Master of mine, who serves the Tang Emperor, on a journey to the Western Heaven to worship the Buddha. What do I care for high mountains and dangerous roads, broad waters and raging waves? Old Sun can catch monsters, subdue demons, tame tigers and capture dragons. Kicking the heavens about and stirring up wells — I know a little of all that. If anything in your house throws bricks and tiles4, makes the pots cry out or opens doors by itself, Old Sun can put it to rest.”

At this speech the old man burst out laughing. “So you’re a smooth-tongued monk who comes knocking about begging alms!” Pilgrim said, “Your son is smooth-tongued! These days I’ve been so tired from travelling with my Master that I can scarcely be bothered to speak.” The old man said, “If you weren’t tired and could be bothered, you’d fairly talk me to death. With abilities like yours, you can go west, yes, you can. How many are in your party? Please come into my thatched house and stay.” Sanzang said, “Many thanks, old benefactor, for your kindness in not turning us away. There are three of us.” The old man asked, “Where is the other one?” Pilgrim pointed. “Your eyes are failing, old fellow. Isn’t he standing there in the shade?” The old man’s eyes were indeed failing. He looked up for a closer look, caught sight of Bajie’s face and stumbled at every step as he fled wildly towards the house. “Shut the door! Shut the door! A demon’s come!” Pilgrim hurried after him and caught hold of him. “Don’t be afraid, old fellow. He’s no demon; he’s my junior brother.” Trembling, the old man said, “Well, well, well! Each monk uglier than the last.” Bajie came forward. “Old gentleman, if you judge people by their looks, you’re quite wrong. Ugly we may be, but we’re both useful.”

While the old man was talking with the three monks at the door, two young men appeared from the south side of the farmstead, bringing an old woman and three or four little boys and girls. Their clothes were hitched up and their feet bare: they were coming home from planting rice seedlings. Seeing a white horse, a load of luggage and all this commotion at their door, and not knowing what to make of it, they crowded forward together. “What are you doing here?” Bajie turned his head, flapped his ears a few times and stretched out his long snout. So frightened were they that they reeled this way and that, stumbling and falling in confusion. Sanzang, alarmed, called out over and over, “Don’t be afraid! Don’t be afraid! We are not bad men. We are monks going to fetch the scriptures.” Only then did the old man come out of the doorway and help the old woman up. “Get up, wife, and don’t be frightened. This Master comes from the Tang, and though his disciples have ugly faces, their looks are fierce but their hearts are good. Take the children inside.” The old woman then clung to the old man, while the two young men led the children into the house.

Sanzang sat on the bamboo couch beneath the gatehouse and scolded them. “Disciples, you both have ugly faces and rough tongues. You’ve frightened this whole family half to death, and all that sin falls on me.” Bajie said, “To tell you the truth, Master, Old Zhu has grown much better-looking since joining you. Back when I was at Gao Village, if I thrust my snout forward and flapped my ears out on either side, I’d regularly frighten twenty or thirty people to death.” Pilgrim laughed. “Don’t talk nonsense, Idiot. Tidy away some of that ugliness.” Sanzang said, “Listen to Wukong! He was born with those looks. How do you expect him to tidy them away?” Pilgrim said, “Tuck that rake of a mouth into his chest and don’t bring it out; lay those palm-fan ears flat behind him and don’t flap them. That’s tidying them away.” Bajie actually tucked in his snout, flattened his ears and stood beside them with his head bent down. Pilgrim carried the luggage inside the gate and tied the white horse to a post.

The old man now led out a young man carrying three cups of plain tea on a wooden tray. When they had drunk their tea, he ordered a vegetarian meal prepared. The young man brought an old table with holes in it and no lacquer left, along with two battered benches whose ends were broken and legs damaged. He set them in the courtyard and invited the three to sit where it was cool. Sanzang asked, “May I ask your honoured surname, old benefactor?” The old man said, “My humble surname is Wang.” “And how many sons have you?” “Two sons, and three grandchildren.” Sanzang said, “My congratulations, my congratulations.” Then he asked, “And your age?” “I have foolishly lived to sixty-one.” Pilgrim said, “Good, good, good! The sixty-year cycle5 has come round again.” Sanzang asked further, “Old benefactor, why did you say at first that it was hard to fetch the scriptures from the Western Heaven?” The old man said, “The scriptures aren’t hard to get; it’s the road that’s rough and difficult. About thirty li6 west of here is a mountain called Yellow Wind Ridge, which stretches for eight hundred li. There are many demons in that mountain. That is why I said it was hard. But if this young elder has all the abilities he speaks of, he can go.” Pilgrim said, “No trouble, no trouble. With Old Sun and this junior brother of mine here, no demon, whatever it may be, will dare to bother us.”

As they talked, the son brought the food and set it on the table. “Please take your meal.” Sanzang joined his palms and began reciting the meal prayer, but Bajie had already swallowed a bowlful. Before the elder had finished his few lines, the Idiot had eaten three more bowls. Pilgrim said, “You bran-stuffer! You must be possessed by a hungry ghost7.” Old Wang was considerate enough. Seeing how fast he ate, he said, “This elder must be very hungry. Bring more rice, quickly.” The Idiot’s appetite was immense. Without once raising his head, he put away a dozen or more bowls in succession. Neither Sanzang nor Pilgrim ate as much as two, but the Idiot kept going and was still eating. Old Wang said, “We had no time to prepare fine dishes, so I dare not press you too much. Please take another mouthful.” Sanzang and Pilgrim both said, “We’ve had enough.” Bajie said, “What are you mumbling about, old fellow? Who’s asking you to tell fortunes? What’s all this fifth line and sixth line8? If there’s rice, just keep bringing it.” In that one meal the Idiot ate up all the food in the house, and still said he was only half full. They cleared away the utensils, then arranged bamboo couches and plank beds beneath the gatehouse and settled down to sleep.

At daybreak next morning, Pilgrim saddled the horse and Bajie got the load ready. Old Wang had his wife prepare some cakes and broth to entertain them, and the three gave thanks and took their leave. The old man said, “If anything unexpected happens along the road, be sure to come back to my thatched house.” Pilgrim said, “No foolish talk, old fellow. We who have left home don’t turn back.” And so they urged on the horse, shouldered the load and went west.

Bajie stepped up and caught hold of Pilgrim. “Senior Brother, this is a very strong wind. We’d be better off taking shelter for a while.” Pilgrim laughed. “You’re no use, little brother. If you hide whenever the wind gets up, what will you do when you meet a demon face to face?” Bajie said, “Brother, haven’t you heard, ‘Avoid lust as you avoid an enemy; avoid wind as you avoid an arrow’? There’s no disgrace in taking shelter.” Pilgrim said, “No more talk. Let me catch a handful of this wind and smell it.” Bajie laughed. “Senior Brother is spinning empty lies again. Can you catch wind and smell it? Even if you caught it, it would slip away.” Pilgrim said, “Little brother, you don’t know that Old Sun has an art of catching wind.” A fine Great Sage! He let the wind’s leading edge go past, caught hold of its tail and sniffed it. There was a rank smell. “It’s bad wind, sure enough. From the smell, if it’s not tiger wind9, it must be demon wind. There’s certainly something strange about it.”

Pilgrim Sun helped the Tang Monk up. “Master, don’t be afraid. Sit here while Old Sun goes to help Bajie. Once we’ve knocked the monster down, we can go on.” Sanzang sat up, trembling, and began reciting the Heart Sutra. But let us leave him there.

Pilgrim drew his iron cudgel and shouted, “Take him!” Bajie redoubled his efforts, and the monster fled in defeat. Pilgrim said, “Don’t let him off! We must catch him!” The two whirled up rake and iron cudgel and chased it down the mountain. In a panic, the monster used the trick of the golden cicada shedding its shell10: it rolled on the ground and showed its original form, once more a fierce tiger. Neither Pilgrim nor Bajie would let it go. They chased the tiger, determined to finish it off, root and all. Seeing them close behind, the monster hooked its claws into its chest again, stripped off the skin and spread it over a rock shaped like a crouching tiger. Its true body slipped away, turned into a wild wind and went straight back to where the roads met. There it suddenly saw the Master reciting the Heart Sutra. It seized him with one hand, mounted a long gust and carried him off. Poor Sanzang! Jiangliu11 was fated to suffer trial upon trial; within the gate of nirvana, practice and merit were hard to fulfil.

The monster brought the Tang Monk to the cave entrance, checked the wild wind and told the gatekeeper, “Go and report to the Great King that his forward commander, Tiger Vanguard (Hu Xianfeng), has caught a monk and is waiting outside for orders.” The cave’s lord sent word to bring him in. With his two red-copper sabres tucked at his waist and the Tang Monk held in both hands, Tiger Vanguard went forward and knelt. “Great King, this humble officer, unworthy though he is, received your honoured orders to patrol the mountain. I happened upon a monk: the Dharma Master Sanzang, the Emperor’s brother under the sovereign of the Great Tang in the Eastern Land. He was going west to worship the Buddha and seek the scriptures. I have caught him and brought him as an offering to you, a modest contribution to your table.”

The cave’s lord was startled to hear this. “I heard someone say recently that the Dharma Master Sanzang is a holy monk sent by imperial command from the Great Tang to fetch the scriptures. He has a disciple called Pilgrim Sun, whose supernatural powers are vast, whose wit and strength are formidable. How could you have caught him?” The vanguard said, “He has two disciples. The first came at me with a nine-toothed rake; he has a long snout and big ears. The other carries a gold-banded iron cudgel and has fiery eyes and golden pupils. They were chasing this humble officer and fighting him, but I used the trick of the golden cicada shedding its shell. I slipped away, found my chance and caught this monk, whom I present to the Great King as the humble tribute of a meal.” The cave’s lord said, “Don’t eat him yet.” The vanguard said, “Great King, isn’t a man who sees food and won’t eat it called a miserable fool?” The cave’s lord said, “You don’t understand. Eating him is no great matter, but I’m afraid those two disciples will come making trouble at our door. That would hardly be convenient. Tie him to the Wind-Stilling Stake in the back garden for now. Wait three to five days. If the two don’t come to bother us, then for one thing his body will be clean, and for another there will be no wrangling. Won’t we be free to do as we please? Boil him or steam him, pan-fry him or stir-fry him: there will be time enough to enjoy him slowly and at our ease.” The vanguard said happily, “The Great King thinks far ahead. Your words are sound.” Then he ordered, “Little ones, take him away!”

Seven or eight binders crowded up from either side and took the Tang Monk away, as a hawk seizes a swallow or a sparrow, wrapping and binding him in cords. Here was ill-fated Jiangliu thinking of Pilgrim; here was the holy monk in peril longing for Wuneng. “Disciples!” he cried. “Who knows on which mountain you are catching that monster, or where you are subduing that demon? I have been carried here by a fiend and subjected to this cruelty. When shall we see one another again? What misery! If you come soon, you can still save my life. If you are very late, there will certainly be no saving me.” As he lamented, his tears fell like rain.

Meanwhile, Pilgrim and Bajie chased the tiger down the slope and saw it fall, lying flat before a cliff. Pilgrim raised his cudgel and struck with all his strength, only for the shock to jar his own hands painfully. Bajie struck with his rake too, and its teeth were knocked back. It was merely a tiger skin spread over a rock shaped like a crouching tiger. Pilgrim cried in alarm, “This is bad! This is bad! We’ve fallen for his trick!” Bajie asked, “What trick?” Pilgrim said, “It’s called the golden cicada shedding its shell. He left his tiger skin here and went away himself. Let us go back and look at Master, in case he’s come to harm.” The two hurried back, but Sanzang was already gone. Pilgrim roared like thunder. “What shall we do? He’s carried Master off!” Bajie took the horse by the reins, tears dripping from his eyes. “Heavens! Heavens! Where can we look for him?” Pilgrim raised his head. “Don’t cry, don’t cry! Crying only blunts our spirit. Whatever else, he must be somewhere on this mountain. Let us go and search.”

Pilgrim said, “Worthy younger brother, put the luggage down in a hollow sheltered from the wind, let the horse graze and keep out of sight. Old Sun will go to his door and challenge him. We must capture the demon before we can save Master.” Bajie said, “No need to tell me. Go quickly.”

Pilgrim straightened his straight-cut robe, tightened his tiger-skin skirt, drew his cudgel and rushed to the entrance. Above the door he saw six large characters: “Yellow Wind Ridge, Yellow Wind Cave.” Planting his feet in a T-shaped stance and gripping his cudgel, he shouted, “Demon! Send my Master out at once, or I’ll overturn your lair and trample your dwelling flat!” Every little monster who heard him was terrified. Trembling, they ran inside to report, “Great King, disaster!” The Yellow Wind Demon was sitting within. “What has happened?” he asked. A little demon said, “A hairy-faced monk with a Thunder God’s mouth has come to the cave entrance. He’s holding an enormous thick iron cudgel and demanding his Master.” The cave’s lord grew alarmed and summoned Tiger Vanguard. “I sent you to patrol the mountain. You ought to have caught mountain cattle, wild boars, fat deer or sheep. Why did you catch the Tang Monk and bring his disciple here to make trouble? What are we to do?” The vanguard said, “Rest easy, Great King. You may lie back on a high pillow without a care. Unworthy as this humble officer is, I am willing to lead fifty soldiers out and catch that Pilgrim Sun, or whatever he is called, to add to the meal.” The cave’s lord said, “Besides the officers of all ranks, I have five to seven hundred soldiers here. Choose whom you please and take as many as you like. Only catch that Pilgrim, so we can enjoy a piece of the monk’s flesh at our ease, and I shall gladly swear brotherhood with you. But I fear you may fail to catch him and be hurt yourself. Don’t blame me then.” The tiger monster said, “Rest easy, rest easy. I’ll be back.”

The Idiot planted one foot on the monster’s back, swung the rake with both hands and struck again. Pilgrim was delighted to see it. “Little brother, that’s just the thing! He brought a few dozen little demons out and dared fight Old Sun. When I beat him, instead of running back to his cave he came here to find his death. Lucky you stopped him, or he would have got away again.” Bajie asked, “Was he the one who raised the wind and carried Master off?” Pilgrim said, “Yes, yes.” Bajie asked, “Did you ask him where Master is?” Pilgrim said, “This monster has put Master in the cave to make a dish for his damned Great King, or whatever he is. Old Sun got angry, fought him all the way here, and then you sent him to his death. Little brother, the credit for this is yours. Keep watching the horse and luggage. I’ll drag this dead monster back and challenge them again at the entrance. We must catch the old demon before we can save Master.” Bajie said, “Brother is right. Go on, go on. If you beat this old demon, chase him here too, and let Old Zhu cut him off and kill him.”

Could he, after all, subdue the demon on this visit and rescue the Tang Monk? To learn what happened next, read the next chapter.