CHAPTER 39 

A Pill of Red Cinnabar Is Brought from Heaven; After Three Years the Monarch Is Revived

The story tells how the Great Sage Sun, his head aching unbearably, pleaded with his master: “Stop, stop, I’ll bring him back to life.” When Sanzang asked how, Wukong replied, “The only way is to go to the Underworld, find out which of the kings down there has his soul, and ask for it back to revive him with.”

“Don’t trust him, Master,” said Bajie. “He told me earlier there’d be no need to go to the Underworld because he could get him brought back to life in the world of the living. He thought that would be a good way of showing off his powers.”

The venerable elder, taken in once again by this breath of evil, started reciting the Band-tightening Spell, which threw Wukong into such a desperate state that he accepted the condition gladly: “I’ll cure him within the world of the living, I really will.”

“Don’t stop,” said Bajie, “carry on saying the spell.”

“You stupid, evil beast,” railed Wukong, “inciting the master to say that spell.”

Bajie was falling about with laughter. “You thought you could put one over on me, but you never imagined I’d put one over on you.”

“Stop, Master, stop!” pleaded Wukong. “I’ll bring him back to life without leaving the world of the living.”

“And how are you going to do that?” Sanzang asked.

“With a single somersault of my cloud I can rush in through the Southern Gate of Heaven,” said Wukong. “I won’t go to the Palace of the Dipper and the Bull or to the Hall of Miraculous Mist, but straight up to the Tushita Palace in the Lihen Heaven above the Thirty-third Heaven to see the Supreme Lord Lao Zi. I’ll ask him for one of his Nine-cycle Soul-returning Pills and that, I guarantee, will bring him back to life.”

“Off you go then,” said Sanzang, delighted to hear this, “and be as quick as you can.”

“It’s the third watch now; it’ll be after dawn by the time I get back,” said Pilgrim Sun. “But it’s an awful shame to see that king lying there dead and cold. There ought to be a mourner watching over him and weeping.”

“Don’t tell me,” said Bajie, “this ape wants me to be the mourner.”

“You most certainly will be,” said Wukong. “If you don’t weep for him I won’t be able to bring him back to life.”

“You go, brother,” said Bajie, “and leave the crying to me.”

“There’s more than one way of crying,” said Wukong. “Just yelling with your mouth is what they call wailing. Squeezing some tears out is weeping. What we need is sobbing and tears together, and sobbing as though your heart is broken, for really proper weeping and wailing.”

“Shall I give you a demonstration?” asked Bajie. He tore a strip of paper from somewhere, twisted it into a spill, and pushed it up his nose twice, which made him sneeze several times. Just watch as the tears come streaming down and his nose runs as he starts to wail. He sobbed and sobbed uncontrollably, talking all sorts of nonsense as if someone really had just died.

It was so distressing a performance that the Tang Priest started to cry, so upset was he. “That’s just the sort of grief I want,” laughed Wukong, “and you’re not to stop crying. It was you who tricked the master into sending me off, you idiot, and I’ll hear if you stop wailing. Carry on like this and you’ll be fine; but if you stop for even a few moments I’ll give you twenty blows of my cudgel on your ankles.”

“Off you go,” laughed Bajie. “Once I get crying like this I can keep it up for a couple of days.” Hearing all this fuss and bother, Friar Sand fetched some incense sticks and lit them as an offering.

“Very good,” said Wukong. “As you are all being so respectful I’ll be able to do my best.”

Thus the Great Sage left his master and two fellow-disciples in the middle of the night and shot up on a somersault cloud. He went in through the Southern Gate of Heaven, and was as good as his word: he did not go to the Hall of Miraculous Mist or the Palace of the Dipper and the Bull, but took his shining cloud straight up to the Tushita Palace in the Lihen Heaven. No sooner was he inside than he saw the Supreme Lord Lao Zi sitting in his elixir laboratory where immortal boys were using a plantain-leaf fan to fan the furnace where elixir was refined.

When the Supreme Lord saw that Wukong was there he told the boys who were looking after the elixir, “Be very careful: the elixir thief is back.”

Wukong paid his respects with a smile: “How dreary of you, old man. No need to be on your guard against me. I don’t do things like that any more.”

“Ape,” said Lao Zi, “you stole a lot of my magic pills five hundred years ago when you made havoc in Heaven. The Little Sage Erlang captured you and brought you up here to be refined for forty-nine days in my elixir furnace. Goodness only knows how much charcoal we used up. Since you’ve been lucky enough to escape and be converted to Buddhism, you’ve been escorting the Tang Priest on his journey to the Western Heaven to fetch the scriptures. When you subdued those monsters on Flat-top Mountain the other day you were very wicked; you refused to give me back my treasures. What are you here for now?”

“I really wasn’t being late with them,” said Wukong. “When the time came I gave you back your five treasures. What are you being so suspicious of me for?”

“Why have you come sneaking into my palace when you ought to be on your journey?”

“Since last I saw you,” said Wukong, “we’ve come to a country further west called Wuji, where an evil spirit disguised as a Taoist called up wind and rain, murdered the king, and turned himself into the king’s double. Now he’s sitting in the palace. Last night my master was reading sutras in the Precious Wood Monastery when he was visited by the king’s ghost, who begged me to subdue the fiend for him and sort right from wrong. I didn’t know whether to believe this, so I went with my fellow-disciple Bajie into the palace gardens that night. We smashed our way in and found where he was buried in an eight-sided well with glazed-tile walls. We fished up his body, and it was in perfect condition. When we went back to the monastery to see my master he ordered me in his compassion to bring the king back to life. He won’t let me go to the Underworld to ask for his soul back: I’ve got to find a way of saving him in the world of the living. The reason I’ve come to pay my respects to you is because there’s no other place I can get him revived. I beg you, great Patriarch, in your mercy to lend me a thousand of your Nine-cycle Soul-returning Pills to save him with.”

“What outrageous nonsense, you ape,” said Lao Zi. “A thousand? Two thousand? Do you want to make a meal of them? They’re not just pellets of dirt. Clear off! I’ve none left.”

“What about a hundred or thereabouts?” asked Wukong.

“Not even that.”

“Ten or so?”

“Stop pestering me, you wretched ape,” said Lao Zi. “None at all. Clear off!”

“If you really haven’t got any,” said Wukong with a laugh, “I’ll have to ask for help elsewhere.”

“Get out! Get out! Get out!” said Lao Zi, at which Wukong turned away and went.

It then suddenly occurred to the Supreme Lord that Wukong was so wicked that even after he had announced his departure and gone, he might slip back and steal some. So he sent some immortal boys to call Wukong back. “You’re so light-fingered, you monkey,” he said, “that I’d better give you a Soul-returning Pill.”

“Since you know my powers, old man,” said Pilgrim Sun, “bring out all your golden elixir and split it forty-sixty with me. You can consider yourself lucky. I might have taken the lot of them, like scooping up water in a leather sieve.” The patriarch produced the gourd and turned it upside-down. A solitary golden pill fell out. “It’s the only one I have,” said Lord Lao Zi, handing it to Wukong. “Take it. I’m giving it to you to revive the king with and you can take the credit for it.”

“Just a moment,” thought Wukong as he accepted it. “Let me taste it. He might be trying to fool me with a fake.” He popped it into his mouth, to the consternation of the patriarch, who grabbed him by the skullcap with one hand and seized his fist with the other. “Damned ape,” said Lao Zi, “if you’ve swallowed that I’ll have had you killed.”

“What a face,” laughed Wukong. “How petty you look. I wouldn’t want to eat your pill. It’s not worth tuppence, and it’s nothing like it’s cracked up to be. Here it is.” Wukong had a pouch under his chin in which he had been keeping the pill. The Supreme Lord felt it, then said, “Clear off, and never come back here to pester me again.” The Great Sage then thanked the patriarch and left the Tushita Palace.

Watch him as he leaves the jade gates in a thousand beams of light and comes down to earth amid ten thousand auspicious clouds. In an instant he was out through the Southern Gate of Heaven and back to the land in the east, where the sun was now rising. He brought his cloud straight down to land outside the gate of the Precious Wood Monastery, where Bajie could still be heard wailing. He approached and called, “Master.”

“You’re back, Wukong,” said Sanzang with delight. “Have you got the pill?”

“Yes,” said Wukong.

“Of course he would,” said Bajie, “even if he had to steal it.”

“Brother,” said Wukong, “you can go away now. We don’t need you to do that any more. Dry your tears or go and weep somewhere else.” Wukong then asked Friar Sand to fetch him some water. Friar Sand hurried to the well at the back where there was a convenient bucket and fetched Wukong half a bowlful of water. Wukong took the water, spat the pill out, and placed it between the king’s lips. Then he prized the body’s teeth apart with both hands and spurted the pill with a mouthful of clean water down into the king’s stomach. For the next hour wild noises could be heard from the stomach, but still the body could not move. “Master,” said Wukong, “not even fetching my golden elixir is going to save him. Are you really going to torture me to death?”

“Of course he will come back to life,” said Sanzang. “How else could a body so long dead swallow the water? This shows the miraculous power of the golden elixir. Once the golden elixir is in the stomach, the stomach starts singing; and when the stomach sings the blood-pulses move in harmony with it. The only thing is that the vital breath has been cut off and cannot extend itself. Iron would rust if it had been in a well for three years—how do you expect a human body to react? Now that his own vital breath has gone someone has to give him a mouthful of air.” Bajie stepped forward to do this, only to be grabbed by Sanzang, who said, “You won’t do. Get Wukong to come.”

Why did the master insist on this? It was because Bajie had been a vicious man-eater since childhood, which meant that his breath was impure; whereas Wukong had cultivated his conduct since he was young and lived off the fruits of pine, cypress and peach trees, which gave him pure breath. So the Great Sage stepped forward, made a terrible thunder-god face, put his mouth to the king’s lips, and blew in. The breath went down the kings mouth, through the High Tower,¹ round the Bright Hall² and straight to the Cinnabar Field,³ then flowed back from the Bubbling Springs⁴ to the Mud-pill Palace.⁵ With a noisy rush of air the king’s vital breath came together and his spirit refunded.

He sat up flexed his hands and feet, and called out, “Master.” Then he knelt in the dust and said, “I remember visiting you last night as a ghost, but I never expected to return to the world of the living today.”

Sanzang hastened to raise him to his feet and said, “Your Majesty, it was none of my doing. You should thank my disciple.”

“What a thing to say, Master,” laughed Wukong. “As the saying goes, ‘A house can’t have two masters.’ It’s quite right that you should accept his thanks.”

Sanzang, still uncomfortable about accepting this courtesy, helped the king to his feet and took him into the meditation hall. Here the king bowed in greeting to Bajie, Wukong and Friar Sand before taking his seat. By now the monks of the monastery had prepared breakfast, and they were going to bring it in when they saw the dripping wet king to their general alarm and suspicion.

Wukong leap out to say, “Don’t worry, monks. This is the king of Wuji, your true sovereign. Three years ago he was murdered by a demon, and I brought him back to life last night. Today we’ll be going to the capital to sort right from wrong. If you have any food, bring it in. We’ll eat and then we’ll be on our way.” The monks then brought in hot water for the king to wash with and a change of clothes. They took off the king’s yellow ochre robe and gave him two of the abbot’s cloth habits, with a yellow silk cord to tie around the waist instead of the belt of Lantian jade. They slipped off his no-worry shoes and put a pair of old monastic sandals on his feet instead. Then they all ate breakfast and the horse was saddled up.

“How heavy’s the luggage, Bajie?” Wukong asked.

“I’ve been carrying it for so long that I don’t know any more,” Bajie replied.

“Divide the stuff into two loads,” said Wukong, “and give one to the king to carry. We must be in town early to get on with the job.”

“I’m in luck,” said Bajie. “It took me one heck of an effort to carry him here, but now that he’s alive again he’s doing my work for me.”

The idiot asked the monastery for a carrying-pole and divided the luggage unfairly. He put all the light things into his load and the heavier ones into the king’s. “Your Majesty,” laughed Wukong, “don’t you feel hard done by, dressed like that and having to walk with us carrying a load?” The monarch fell straight to his knees and replied, “Master, you’re the father and mother who have given me a second life. Never mind carrying the baggage—I’d be your groom to serve you on your journey to the Western Heaven.”

“No need for you to go there,” said Sanzang. “We are bound to by fate. You’ll just have to carry the stuff the fifteen miles into town. Once we’ve captured the fiend you must go back to ruling again and we’ll go on to fetch our scriptures.”

Bajie’s comment on this was, “That means he’ll only carry it for those fifteen miles, and I’ll have to continue as the permanent porter.”

“That’s enough of that nonsense, brother,” said Wukong. “Hurry out and lead the way.” Bajie then led the way forward with the king while Friar Sand helped the master mount and Wukong brought up the rear. The five hundred monks of the monastery drew themselves up in an orderly procession to see them off to the accompaniment of music. “There’s no need for you to come any further to see us on our way,” said Wukong with a smile. “It would be disastrous if any official heard about it and news of what we are going to do leaked out. Please please go straight back. I’d just like you to get His Majesty’s clothes clean and tidy then send them into the capital this evening or tomorrow morning. I’ll see to it that you’re properly rewarded.” The monks obediently returned, and Wukong hastened his pace to catch up with his master as they pressed ahead. Indeed:

In the West there was a magic spell to yield the truth;

Metal and Wood together refined the spirit.

The Mother of Cinnabar had a mysterious dream,

The boy grieved over the useless body.

The true ruler had to be found at the bottom of a well,

And a visit to Lord Lao Zi in Heaven was required.

Realizing that matter is void, he regained his nature;

The Buddha indeed saves those who are so predestined.

It took master and disciples less than a morning to make their journey, and they were soon near the city. “Wukong,” said Sanzang, “I think that must be the capital of Wuji ahead of us.”

“You’re right,” said Wukong. “Let’s get there soon and do our job.” As they entered the city they saw that the people in the streets were well dressed and that there was an air of busy prosperity. The phoenix pavilions and dragon towers of the palace looked most magnificent, and there is a poem to prove it:

These palaces resemble those of a great state;

The singing and dancing here are like in Tang.

Flowers face precious fans, and red clouds sail above;

Robes shine emerald in the sun.

The peacock gates open on clouds of incense,

Coloured flags fly over the curtains of pearl.

Truly an admirable picture of prosperity:

The officials stand silent with nothing to report.

Sanzang dismounted and said, “Disciples, I think we should go to the palace and submit our travel document so as to avoid trouble from petty officials.”

“You’re right,” said Wukong. “We brothers will go in with you. It’ll be much easier to manage if there are several of us.”

“If you all go in,” said Sanzang, “don’t talk rough. Pay your respects to him as a subject would to his sovereign before you say anything.”

“Does that mean kowtowing?” Wukong asked.

“Yes,” said Sanzang, “the full obeisance with five bows and three kowtows.”

“You’re useless, Master,” laughed Xingzhe. “It would be really stupid to do obeisance to him. You’d better let me go in first and sort things out. I’ll see what he has to say before deciding how to reply. If I bow, you all bow; and if I squat, you all squat.”

Watch as the trouble-making Monkey King leads them to the palace gates and says to the official on duty there, “We are pilgrims sent by the Great Tang emperor in the East to worship the Buddha and fetch the scriptures from the Western Heaven. Today we have come to present our credentials and I would trouble you, distinguished sir, to pass them on for us. In this way you will not hinder our excellent achievement.”

The gate officer then went in through the southern gates of the palace, knelt on the steps, and reported, “There are five monks outside the gates who say that they are pilgrims sent by the Great Tang to worship the Buddha and fetch scriptures from the Western Heaven. They are now here to present their credentials, and rather than intrude uninvited they are awaiting their royal summons outside the gates.”

The fiend-monarch sent for them at once. As he went in through the palace gates with the Tang Priest, the king who had been brought back to life could not hold back his tears, which flowed down his cheeks. “How awful it is,” he thought, “that my kingdom, which is as strong as bronze and iron, has been secretly stolen from me.”

“Don’t upset yourself, Your Majesty,” said Wukong, “or you’ll give the game away. My cudgel is dancing in my ear and it’s absolutely bound to succeed. I guarantee that I’ll kill the fiend and sweep away all his filth. The kingdom will soon be yours again.” The king dared not disobey, so wiping away his tears with his clothes he took his life in his hands and followed them as they went into the main audience hall of the palace.

Next were to be seen the civil and military officials and the four hundred courtiers, all towering over them in majestic silence. Wukong led the Tang Priest to stand unmoving at the foot of the white jade steps. The officials below the steps all trembled with fear.

“What a stupid monk,” they said. “Fancy seeing our king without even bowing to him or saying anything polite. He hasn’t even made a respectful chant. What brazen effrontery.”

Before the words were out of their mouths the fiend-king asked, “Where is that monk from?”

To this Wukong boldly replied, “He is a pilgrim sent by imperial command from the land of Great Tang in the East of the Southern Jambu Continent to go to the Thunder Monastery in India in the West in order to worship the living Buddha and fetch the true scriptures. Now that he is here he does not wish to pass through your country without reporting his presence, which is why he has come today to submit his credentials.”

Hearing this, the fiend-king became angry and said, “What’s so special about your Eastern Land? I don’t pay tribute to your court or have any dealings with your monarch. So how dare you be so rude and not bow to me?”

“We in the East have long had a heavenly dynasty,” said Wukong with a smile, “and been regarded as a superior country, while yours is just an inferior frontier state. As the old saying has it,

The emperor of a greater land

Is the father and the superior,

The ruler of a lesser state

Is the son and the inferior.

You didn’t even come out to meet us. How dare you complain about us not bowing!”

In a raging fury the fiend-king ordered his civil and military officials, “Arrest that uncouth monk.” At the word “Arrest” the officials all rushed at Wukong, who gave a shout, pointed at them, and told them to keep back. By pointing at them he made magic that immobilized them. None of the officials could now move. Indeed:

The colonels before the steps became wooden figurines;

The generals in the hall were statues of clay.

Seeing that all his civil and military officials had been turned to statues, the fiend-king leapt down from his dragon throne and was just about to seize Wukong, who thought gleefully, “Just what I want. Even if his head is made of iron, one touch of my cudgel will be enough to make a hole in it.” But as the fiend started to move a rescuer came forward from beside him.

Do you know who it was? It was the crown prince of Wuji, who rushed forward to grab the fiend’s court robes, kneel before him, and say, “Please don’t be angry, Your Majesty.”

“Why, my boy?” asked the fiend.

“Let me tell you, Father. Three years ago I heard tell that a holy monk had been sent by the Tang emperor to worship the Buddha and fetch the scriptures from the Western Heaven. I never thought that he would be here in our country today. Your Majesty has a fiery temper, and I’m afraid that you will have the monk beheaded, and that the Great Tang emperor will be furious when he eventually hears the news. Since making himself ruler the Tang emperor Li Shimin has unified the country, but he isn’t satisfied yet. He has sent military expeditions overseas already. If he learns, sir, that you have killed this holy priest who is his sworn brother he’s bound to raise an army to wage war on you. Our forces are much too weak to cope, but by then it will be too late for regrets. If Your Majesty will accept your son’s suggestion you should have the four monks arrested and thoroughly questioned. Hold them on the charge of not paying obeisance to the royal presence; sentence can be passed later.”

All these suggestion to hold the fiend back were made because the crown prince was worried that the fiend would harm the Tang Priest. He did not realize that Wukong had deliberately done things in that way in order to get a crack at the fiend.

The fiend accepted the prince’s advice, stood before his throne, and roared, “Monk, when did you leave the East? Why did the Tang monarch send you to fetch scriptures?”

Wukong stood proud as he replied, “My master is the Tang emperor’s sworn brother, and his title is Sanzang. The Tang emperor has a minister called Wei Zheng who beheaded the old dragon of the Jing River in a dream because Heaven ordered him to. When the Tang emperor came back to life after dreaming that he had toured the Underworld, he held a Great Water and Land Mass to save the souls of all those who had been unjustly slain. Because my master preached on the scriptures with such broad compassion the Bodhisattva Guanyin instructed him to travel west. My master made a solemn vow volunteering gladly to do this in order to express his full loyalty to his country, and was given a letter of credence by the Tang emperor. This was three days before the full moon in the ninth month of the thirteenth year of the reign-period Tien Guan. After leaving the lands of the East he came to the Double-boundary Mountain, where he took me to be his senior disciple; my name is Sun Wukong, Sun Xingzhe, or Pilgrim Sun. Then he came to Gao Village in the land of Stubet, where he took his second disciple, called Zhu Bajie, or Wuneng. At the Flowing Sands River he took his third disciple, Sha Wujing, or Friar Sand. Then the day before yesterday he took on a lay brother at the Precious Wood Monastery to be our porter.”

On hearing all this the fiend, who had no way of searching the Tang Priest, or of using a crafty approach to questioning Wukong, glared angrily and said, “When you left the East you were travelling alone. Of the four followers you picked up the three regular monks are no problem. But I won’t stand for your taking that lay brother. I’m sure the fellow was kidnapped. What’s he called? Does he have an official ordination license? Bring him forward to make a statement.”

At this the real king began to tremble as he said, “Master, what shall I say?”

“Don’t be afraid,” said Wukong, giving him a pinch. “I’ll speak for you.”

The splendid Great Sage hurried forward and yelled to the fiend at the top of his voice, “Your Majesty, this old lay brother is dumb, and a bit deaf too. But when he was young he once went to the Western Heaven, so he knows the way. I’m very familiar with his background, so I beg Your Majesty in your mercy to allow me to speak on his behalf.”

“Unless you want to be punished you’d better make a full and frank statement at once,” said the fiend.

To this Wukong said,

“The brother now confessing is getting on in years,

Struck both deaf and dumb, and bankrupt too.

Long have his family lived in this region

Till five years ago catastrophe struck.

No rain fell, and the people suffered drought;

Monarch and commoners all kept and fast.

Incense was burned amid their prayers to Heaven,

But for hundreds of miles no clouds could be seen.

When all of the people were in agonies of hunger,

A wizard from Zhongshan suddenly arrived.

He showed his great powers to bring the wind and rain,

Then secretly murdered the ruler of the country,

Pushed him down the well in the palace’s garden,

Took the throne himself in the king’s own likeness.

Luckily I came and did a great good deed,

Raising the dead and restoring him to life.

Then he volunteered to act as our porter

And go to the West together with us monks.

The false king is really a very evil wizard;

The lay brother is in fact the true king in disguise.”

Hearing this as he sat in his palace’s throne hall, the fiend was so frightened that his heart leapt like a little deer, and his face flushed. He drew away at once and was just about to flee, but he was unarmed. He turned round to see that one of the officers of the palace guard who had a sword at his waist was standing stock-still like an idiot because Wukong’s magic had immobilized him.

The fiend grabbed the sword and rose into the air on a cloud, to the thunderous fury of Friar Sand and loud complaints from Bajie about Wukong’s impatience: “If you’d taken it a bit more gently you could have calmed him down and got him. If he gets away on his cloud now, where ever will you find him?”

“Stop that awful din, brothers,” laughed Wukong. “Let’s ask the prince to come down and pay his respects to his father, and invite the queen and the consorts to bow to their husband.” He then recited the words to lift the immobilizing spell, and said, “When the officials come to, tell them all to come and pay homage to their sovereign. Then it will be known who is the real king. Tell everyone what has happened so that the truth can be known. I’m off to find the demon.” The splendid Great Sage then gave Bajie and Friar Sand his parting instructions: “Look after them all—king and ministers, father and son, queen and consorts, and our master.” By the time he had finished speaking he had already disappeared.

He was already up in the ninth layer of cloud, looking all around for the fiend. He saw that the wretch had got away with his life and was fleeing back to the east. Wukong was soon close behind him and shouting, “Where do you think you’re going, monster? Old Sun’s after you.”

The fiend turned to look, raised his sword, and shouted, “You scoundrel! It was none of your business that I was sitting on someone else’s throne. Why did you have to come here righting wrongs and giving my secret away?”

“I’ll get you, you cheeky monster,” chuckled Wukong. “Don’t imagine you’ll ever be a king again. As you knew who I was you should have made yourself scarce instead of giving my master a bad time. What sort of confession were you trying to extort from him? The one you got just now? If you won’t go, tough guy, try a taste of my cudgel.” The fiend dodged the blow then struck back at Wukong’s face with his sword. Once the two of them were in action it was a splendid fight. Indeed:

Fierce was the Monkey King, and strong the demon monarch,

As cudgel parried sword while they fought against each other.

For one whole day the Three Worlds are in cloud

Just because a monarch recovered his throne.

After a few rounds the fiend realized that he was no match for Wukong and fled back to the city by the way he had come. He rushed through the two lines of civil and military officials before the white jade steps, turned himself into the likeness of the Tang Priest with a shake of his body, and stood holding his hands together before the steps of the throne hall.

When the Great Sage caught the monster up and had raised his cudgel to strike him down the monster said, “Disciple, it’s me, don’t hit me.” Wukong then raised his cudgel to strike the real Tang Priest, who also said, “Disciple, it’s me, don’t hit me.” Both Tang Priests were so alike as to be indistinguishable.

“If I kill the Tang Priest who is really the demon in disguise, that will be a great achievement,” thought Wukong. “But if I killed my real master that would be terrible.” So he had to stay his hand while he asked Bajie and Friar Sand, “Which one is the fiend and which is our master? Point the fiend out to me and I’ll kill him.”

“You made such a noise when you were fighting up there,” said Bajie, “that I blinked, and when I opened my eyes again there were two Masters. I don’t know which is the real one.”

As soon as he heard this Wukong made magic with his hands, said the words of the spell, and called on all the devas who guard the dharma, the Six Dings, the Six Jias, the Protectors of Five Quarters, the Four Duty Gods, and the Eighteen Guardians of the Faith, as well as the local deities and mountain gods: “I’m here to subdue a demon, but the demon has turned himself into my master. They’re so alike I can’t tell them apart. As you have secret understanding, please invite my master to enter the throne hall so that I can capture the fiend.”

Now the fiend was good at cloud-jumping, and the moment he heard what Wukong was saying he got out by leaping on the roof of the throne hall, so that when Wukong raised his cudgel he struck at the Tang Priest. Oh dear! Had he not called in those gods he would have beaten twenty Tang Priests to pulp there and then. Luckily the gods blocked his cudgel and said, “Great Sage, the fiend is a cloud-jumper. He’s got up on the roof.” But as soon as Wukong went up on the roof after him the fiend jumped down again, grabbed hold of the real Tang Priest, and got the two of them muddled up again in the crowds. They were once again indistinguishable.

Wukong was most upset, and on hearing Bajie’s mocking laughter from beside him he burst into a fury: “What’s wrong with you, cretin? You’ll have to be at the beck and call of two masters now, so why are you looking so pleased?”

“Call me stupid if you like, brother,” laughed Bajie, “but you’re even sillier than me. If you can’t tell which is the master, don’t waste your effort trying. If you can bear the headache, ask our master to say the spell. Friar Sand and I will each stand by one of them and listen. The one who doesn’t know the words will be the fiend. What’s the problem?”

“Good for you, Brother Zhu,” said Wukong. “Only three people know the words of that spell. They came from the heart of Lord Buddha and were taught to the Bodhisattva Guanyin, who passed them on to our master. Nobody else knows them. Very well then. Say the spell, Master.” The Tang Priest then really did begin to recite it. The fiend, who could not possibly have known the words, could only mumble some gibberish.

“This one here who’s mumbling is the fiend,” said Bajie, letting go of the monster and raising his rake to strike him with. The fiend leapt up into the air and flew away on a cloud.

With a great shout the splendid pig mounted another cloud and went after him. Friar Sand too was so excited that he abandoned the Tang Priest and brandished his own staff for battle. Only then did the Tang Priest stop saying the spell. Xingzhe grabbed his cudgel and joined in the aerial chase despite his headache. In this fight three ferocious monks had one wretched fiend surrounded. As the fiend was held in check by Bajie’s rake and Friar Sand’s staff, Wukong laughed and said, “I can’t go straight up to him and hit him head-on because he’s so scared of me that he’d run away. I’ll go up higher, turn myself upside-down, and hit him that way.”

The Great Sage then sprang up in auspicious light to the ninth layer of cloud, and was just about to deliver his blow when a multicolored cloud appeared to the northwest and a voice shouted loudly, “Don’t hit him, Sun Wukong.”

Wukong turned round to see that this was the Bodhisattva Manjusri. He checked his blow at once, and did obeisance. “Where are you going, Bodhisattva?”

“I’m here to collect that fiend for you,” said Manjusri. Wukong thanked him for his trouble. Manjusri produced the demon-revealing mirror from his sleeve to reveal the fiend’s true form, then Wukong called Bajie and Friar Sand to come to greet the Bodhisattva. When they all looked in the mirror they saw that the monster was quite appallingly ugly:

Eyes like glazed dishes,

A head like a steel cauldron.

His whole body blue as indigo in summer,

His claws as white as autumn frosts.

Two floppy ears,

A tail as long as a broom.

Blue hairs bristling with courage,

Red eyes shining with gold.

Flat teeth like jade flagstones,

Round whiskers sticking out like spears.

When his true image is shown in the mirror

He is Manjusri’s Lion King.

“Bodhisattva,” said Wukong, “he’s the blue-haired lion from under your throne. Why did he run away here to be an evil spirit, and why didn’t you subdue him before?”

“Wukong,” replied the Bodhisattva, “he didn’t run away. He was sent here by the Lord Buddha.”

“How could the Lord Buddha possibly have sent this beast here to become a spirit and usurp a throne? I could have done with some of his edicts to help me put up with the misery of escorting the Tang Priest.”

“There are some things you don’t know,” said Manjusri. “That king of Wuji was a benevolent man and used to feast monks. The Lord Buddha sent me here to bring him to the West, where he might become a golden arhat. Because I could not appear to him in my real form I turned into an ordinary monk and asked him for some vegetarian food. When he was unable to answer some questions I asked he took me for an evildoer, had me tied up, and immersed me in the palace moat for three days. Luckily the Six Jias saved me with their golden bodies and took me back to the West, where I reported to the Rulai Buddha. It was he who ordered that the king be pushed into the well and soaked for three years as punishment for my three-day soaking. ‘Every mouthful we eat or drink is predestined.’ By coming here you have now won a great merit.”

“You may have repaid your private grudge, like repaying every mouthful, but goodness only knows how many people that monster murdered,” replied Wukong.

“He never killed anyone,” the Bodhisattva replied. “In the three years since his arrival the winds and rains have come at the right time, the state has been strong and the people have known peace. He did nobody any harm.”

“Even if all that is granted,” said Wukong, “he’s been sleeping with the queen and the consorts in the harem. Surely this has sullied them and been an affront to morality.”

“He has not sullied them at all,” the Bodhisattva replied. “He’s a gelded lion.”

Hearing this Bajie went up to the creature and had a feel. “This evil spirit’s got a bad reputation he doesn’t deserve,” he chuckled, “like a teetotaler with a red nose.”

“In that case,” said Wukong, “take him with you. If you hadn’t come, Bodhisattva, I’d never have spared his life.”

The Bodhisattva then said a spell and shouted, “Return to the Truth, beast. What are you waiting for?” Only then did the fiend-king return to his original form, Manjusri placed a lotus-blossom over the monster to tame him, sat on his back, and left Wukong amid golden light. Ah!

Manjusri returned to Wutai Mountain

To hear the scriptures taught beneath the lotus throne.

If you don’t know how the Tang Priest and his disciples left the city, listen to the explanation in the next installment.

1. The throat.

2. The circulatory system.

3. The abdomen.

4. The soles of the feet.

5. The spot between the eyebrows.