After Tang Sanzang had recovered his disciple Sun Wukong, the four masters and disciples worked together as one and continued their journey westward. Since rescuing the princess in the Precious Elephant Kingdom, the king and his ministers had escorted them out of the city heading west. Along the way, they begged for food when hungry, sought out springs when thirsty, lodged at inns by night, and traveled by dawn . Before they knew it, the season had turned to the third month of spring , a time of such beauty as this:
Gentle breezes brushed the willows, green as silk threads—a scene most worthy of poetry. The season urged forth birdsong; warm sunlight coaxed blossoms to open, and fragrant flowers carpeted the earth. In the courtyard, a pair of swallows arrived beneath the crabapple trees—truly a time to savor spring. Along the dusty roads and purple paths , silk garments rustled and stringed instruments played , as folk gathered to play the grass-tossing game and pass around cups of wine .
As the masters and disciples were enjoying the spring scenery, a great mountain suddenly blocked their path. "Disciples, be careful," said Tang Sanzang. "With such a high mountain ahead, I fear there may be tigers and wolves lying in wait."
"Master," said the Pilgrim, "those of us who have left the household shouldn't keep speaking like those who stay at home . Do you remember the Heart Sutra that the Crow's Nest Monk taught us? It says, 'The mind should have no attachments; with no attachments, there is no fear, and one is far from inverted dreams and delusions .' Besides, it says, ' Sweep away the filth from your heart, wash the noise from your ears . Without suffering the bitterest of hardships, one cannot become a true person of the world.' Don't worry—with me here, even if the heavens collapse, I'll keep you safe. What need is there to fear tigers or wolves?"
The elder reined in his horse and sighed: "In those days when I received the imperial decree and left Chang'an, I thought only of journeying west to pay homage to the Buddha's countenance . I sought the golden images in the land of relics , and the jade-like gleam of the pagoda's spire . I have searched out every nameless river under heaven, and traversed every mountain beyond the reach of mortal men. Drifting endlessly through mist and waves, when will this body ever find true leisure?"
The Pilgrim laughed upon hearing this. "Master, if you seek leisure, what's so difficult about that? Once we have succeeded in obtaining the scriptures, all worries will vanish, every affliction will dissolve into emptiness. Then, naturally, you will find your leisure."
The elder, hearing this, set aside his melancholy for the moment, tapped his horse, and urged it onward up the mountain.
As the masters and disciples ascended, they discovered that this mountain was exceptionally steep and rugged. What a mountain it was: towering peaks and sharp, jagged crags rose on all sides. Deep, winding ravines held pythons twisting through the water, their movements sending splashing echoes through the cliffs. Solitary, precipitous bluffs stood where fierce tigers, lashing their tails, emerged from the woods. Looking upward, the mountain's summit pierced the blue sky; glancing back, the valleys pressed so close to the clouds that they seemed to touch them. The path upward was like a ladder or a staircase—steep and narrow; the trail downward resembled a moat or a deep pit—dangerous and dark. Truly, this was a bizarre and treacherous peak, a sheer and perilous cliff. On these jagged heights, even herb gatherers dared not tread; along the precipices, woodcutters could not take a single step. Wild goats and horses ran about in confusion, while hares and mountain cattle arranged themselves like soldiers in formation. The mountain was so tall it blocked the sun and stars, and strange beasts and wolves roamed freely. The overgrown paths were so difficult that even horses could barely pass. How could one ever reach the Thunderclap Monastery to see the Buddha by traveling through such a place?
The elder reined in his horse and gazed at the mountain, feeling anxious about the difficult road ahead. Suddenly, he spotted a woodcutter standing on a green, mossy slope. What was the woodcutter wearing? On his head, an old blue felt hat; on his body, a black cloth monk's robe. The old blue felt hat could shield him from smoke and sun—a rare sight indeed; the black cloth monk's robe made one forget all worldly cares—truly extraordinary. In his hand, he held a steel axe honed to a snowy brightness, and the dry firewood he had cut was tightly bound. The load on his carrying pole carried the breath of spring, radiating warmth through all four seasons; his body bore no worldly troubles, and his spirit was as tranquil as the three stars of longevity. He lived out his days in peace and stability, never once troubled by fleeting glory or disgrace.
This woodcutter was cutting dead wood on the slope when he suddenly saw the elder approaching from the east. He stopped his axe, stepped out of the forest, and quickly climbed onto a rocky ledge. Shouting loudly at the elder, he called out, "Elder who travels westward! Stop for a moment—I have something to tell you! In these mountains there lives a pack of vicious demons who especially enjoy devouring people like you who journey from east to west!"
Upon hearing this, the elder was so terrified that his soul nearly fled his body. Trembling uncontrollably, he could barely stay seated in his saddle. Hastily turning his head, he called to his disciples, "Did you hear what that woodcutter said? He claims there are poisonous demons and vicious monsters in these mountains. Who will go and question him carefully?"
"Master, set your mind at ease," said the Pilgrim. "I'll go and find out exactly what's going on."
So the good Pilgrim strode up the mountain, called out "Elder Brother" to the woodcutter, and made a bow. The woodcutter returned the greeting and asked, "Elder, why have you come here?"
"To be honest with you, Elder Brother," said the Pilgrim, "we are envoys sent by the Great Tang in the East to fetch scriptures from the Western Heaven. The one sitting on the horse is my master, and he has a timid nature. Just now I heard you mention something about poisonous demons and vicious monsters, so I came to ask: How old are those demons? Are they seasoned veterans or newcomers? Please, Elder Brother, speak the truth, and I'll have the Mountain God and the Earth Spirit drive them away."
Upon hearing this, the woodcutter threw back his head and laughed heartily. "You must be a mad monk!"
"I'm not mad at all!" said the Pilgrim. "I'm speaking the plain truth."
"You call that the plain truth?" said the woodcutter. "And you even dare to say you'll drive them away?"
"You're puffing up their reputation so much," said the Pilgrim, "spouting nonsense and blocking the road to deliver warnings. Are you related to them by any chance? If not a relative, then a neighbor; if not a neighbor, then a friend?"
The woodcutter laughed. "You mad monk have no sense of reason! I was trying to do you a kindness by warning you, so that you could be on your guard day and night as you travel. And now you turn around and blame me! Not only do I not know the details of these demons, but even if I did, where could you possibly drive them?"
"If they're demons from heaven," said the Pilgrim, "I'll drive them to the Jade Emperor. If they're demons from earth, I'll drive them to the Earth Spirit. The western ones answer to the Buddha, the eastern ones to the Sage; the northern ones I'll hand over to the True Warrior of the North , and the southern ones to the Fire Virtue Star Lord . If they're flood dragons, I'll deliver them to the Dragon King; if they're ghosts, to King Yama —each has its proper place. I, Old Sun, have acquaintances everywhere. I'll write up a document and have them sent away by nightfall."
At this, the woodcutter couldn't help but sneer coldly. "You mad monk, you must have traveled around and picked up some petty tricks like drawing talismans and chanting spells. They might be enough to drive away minor imps and little ghosts, but you've never seen demons as vicious as these."
"What makes them so vicious?" asked the Pilgrim.
"This mountain," said the woodcutter, "stretches for six hundred miles and is called Pingding Mountain. Deep within it is a cave called the Lotus Flower Cave, where two demon chieftains dwell. They have drawn portraits of monks to capture them, and they've written down names so they can eat Tang Sanzang. If you had come from any other place, it might be all right. But since your name bears the character 'Tang'—forget about passing through!"
"We happen to come from the Tang Dynasty," said the Pilgrim.
"Then they're just waiting to eat you!" said the woodcutter.
"Excellent! Excellent!" said the Pilgrim. "I wonder what method they use to eat people?"
"You want to know how they'll eat you?" asked the woodcutter.
"If they eat my head first," said the Pilgrim, "that would be bearable. But if they start with my feet, that would be truly miserable."
"What difference does it make if they start with the head or the feet?" asked the woodcutter.
"You've never experienced it, so you wouldn't know," said the Pilgrim. "If they eat my head first, one bite and I'm dead. Then no matter how they fry me, boil me, or stew me, I won't feel a thing. But if they start with my feet, they'll gnaw on my ankles, chew through my calves, and by the time they reach my waist, I'll still be alive! Won't I have to suffer piece by piece? That's why I say it's miserable."
"Monk, stop your clever talk!" said the woodcutter. "That demon carries five magic treasures on his person and possesses vast supernatural powers. Even if you were a jade pillar holding up the heavens or a golden beam spanning the sea, trying to protect that Tang monk and get through this mountain would scare you senseless several times over."
"Scare me senseless how many times?" asked the Pilgrim.
"Three or four times at least," said the woodcutter.
"No problem at all!" said the Pilgrim. "In a single year, I'm scared senseless seven or eight hundred times. Three or four times is easy—I'll just faint a few times and then we'll pass through."
So the Great Sage, utterly unafraid and with his mind fixed only on protecting Tang Sanzang, took his leave of the woodcutter and returned to the horse at the foot of the slope. "Master, there's nothing serious," he said. "There are a few demons, but the people here are timid and have blown them out of proportion. With me here, what is there to fear? Let's go! Let's go!"
Hearing this, the elder set aside his worries and continued onward.
As they walked, they suddenly noticed that the woodcutter had disappeared. "How did that woodcutter who warned us vanish so suddenly?" asked the elder.
"We must be out of luck," said Eight Rules, "running into a daylight ghost."
"Maybe he went into the forest to cut firewood," said the Pilgrim. "Let me go take a look." So the good Great Sage opened his fiery golden eyes and scanned the entire mountain, but he could find no trace of the woodcutter. Suddenly, he looked up into the clouds and spotted the Day Duty Mountain God. He leaped onto a cloud, chased after him, and cursed him several times as a "hairy ghost." "If you had something to say, why didn't you say it directly? Why disguise yourself and deceive me?"
The Mountain God hurriedly bowed. "Great Sage, I have come late with my warning. Please do not take offense. That demon is indeed vastly powerful and skilled in many transformations. It all depends on whether you can adapt cleverly, display your abilities, and carefully protect your master. If you are the least bit negligent, you will never reach the Western Heaven."
Upon hearing this, the Pilgrim dismissed the Mountain God, silently noting his words. He descended from the clouds and returned to the mountain, where he saw the elder, Eight Rules, and Sha Monk huddled together and moving forward. A thought crossed his mind: "If I tell Master the truth about what the Mountain God said, he has no real power and will surely start crying. But if I don't tell him and just lead him blindly, as the saying goes, 'When you first enter the reeds, you don't know how deep the water is.' If the demons capture him, I'll have to waste my energy rescuing him again. Better to let Eight Rules test the waters first, let him fight the demons. If he can win, good—that'll count as his merit. If he gets captured, I can go rescue him later, and it'll show off my skills as well."
He thought further: "But Eight Rules is lazy and might refuse to go, and Master will take his side. I need to think of a way to force him."
So the good Great Sage pretended, rubbing his eyes until they were red and wet with tears, and then walked toward his master with a mournful expression. When Eight Rules saw this, he immediately called out, "Sha Monk, put down that load and take out the luggage! Let's divide it up!"
"Second Elder Brother, why divide the luggage?" asked Sha Monk.
"Once we divide the luggage," said Eight Rules, "you can go back to the Flowing Sands River and be a monster again, and I'll go back to High Old Zhuang and find my wife. We'll sell the white horse and buy a coffin to give Master a proper funeral. Then we'll all go our separate ways. What's the point of going to the Western Heaven?"
The elder heard this from his horse and cursed, "You blockhead! We're in the middle of traveling, and you start spouting nonsense again?"
"Your son is the one spouting nonsense!" said Eight Rules. "Didn't you see Pilgrim Sun coming this way with tears streaming down his face? He's a man who can bore through heaven and burrow into the earth, who fears neither axe nor fire, who can jump into a cauldron of boiling oil without flinching. And now he's coming back with a worried face, crying! It must be that this mountain is too dangerous and the demons too fierce. With the rest of us being so weak, how can we possibly get through?"
"Don't talk nonsense," said the elder. "Let me ask him what's wrong." He turned to the Pilgrim. "Wukong, if you have something to say, say it to my face. Why are you worrying all by yourself and coming back with a long face to frighten me?"
"Master," said the Pilgrim, "that man who warned us was actually the Day Duty Mountain God in disguise. He said the demons are extremely fierce and this place is very hard to pass. The mountain is indeed too high and too dangerous. We can't make it through. It would be better to wait and go another day."
Hearing this, the elder was so frightened that he grabbed hold of the Pilgrim's tiger-skin kilt. "Disciple, we've already traveled two-thirds of the way! How can we talk about turning back now?"
"I'm not saying I won't do my best," said the Pilgrim. "I'm just afraid there are too many demons and our strength is insufficient. We're outnumbered and weak. 'Even a piece of iron, when put into a furnace, can only make so many nails!'"
"Disciple, what you say is true," said the elder. "One man alone truly finds it difficult. As the military texts say, 'When outnumbered, you cannot win.' But here I still have Eight Rules and Sha Monk, two other disciples who will follow your commands. They can serve as guards or as helpers. If we all work together with one mind to clear the mountain path and bring me through, then everyone will achieve their rightful reward."
This was exactly what the Pilgrim had been waiting to hear. He wiped his tears and said, "Master, if we want to cross this mountain, I need Zhu Eight Rules to agree to two things. Then we'll have a three-tenths chance of making it through. If he won't agree and won't help, then there's not even half a chance."
"Elder Brother," said Eight Rules, "if we're not going, let's just split up. Don't drag me into this."
"Disciple," said the elder, "first ask your elder brother what he wants you to do."
The blockhead had no choice but to say to the Pilgrim, "Elder Brother, what do you want me to do?"
"The first task is to watch over Master," said the Pilgrim. "The second is to go on patrol of the mountain."
"Watching over Master means sitting still," said Eight Rules, "and patrolling the mountain means walking around. You can't expect me to both sit and walk at the same time! How can I take care of two things at once?"
"I'm not asking you to do both," said the Pilgrim. "Just choose one."
Eight Rules grinned. "That's more like it. But I don't know what watching over Master involves, or what patrolling the mountain requires. Tell me first, and I'll pick the easier one."
"Watching over Master means this: when Master needs to relieve himself, you wait on him; when Master wants to walk, you support him; when Master wants to eat, you go begging for food. If Master goes hungry, you get beaten. If Master's face turns sallow, you get beaten. If Master loses weight, you get beaten."
Eight Rules was alarmed. "This is too hard! Too hard! Waiting on him and supporting him isn't so bad—I could even carry him on my back every day and manage. But if you send me to beg for food in the villages along this western road, the people here don't know I'm a monk on a pilgrimage to fetch scriptures. They'll take me for a fat pig that's wandered down from the mountains! A crowd of them will surround me with pitchforks and brooms, drag me home, butcher me, and salt me for the New Year's feast. Won't that be a miserable fate?"
"Then you should go on patrol," said the Pilgrim.
"What does patrolling the mountain involve?" asked Eight Rules.
"Go into these mountains," said the Pilgrim, "and find out how many demons there are, what the mountain is called, and what the cave is named. Then we'll know how to get through."
"That sounds easy enough," said Eight Rules. "I'll go on patrol!" So the blockhead hitched up his clothes, shouldered his rake, and strode boldly into the depths of the mountain, marching grandly along the main road.
Beside him, the Pilgrim couldn't help but chuckle coldly. The elder cursed him, "You mischievous monkey! You show no brotherly affection at all and are always jealous of him. You deliberately tricked him into going on patrol, and now you're laughing at him!"
"I'm not laughing at him," said the Pilgrim. "My laughter has a reason. You'll see that Zhu Eight Rules, once he's gone, won't do any patrolling at all. He won't dare to face the demons. He'll find some place to hide and slack off, and then come back with a pack of lies to fool us."
"How can you be sure he'll do that?" asked the elder.
"I'm just guessing," said the Pilgrim. "If you don't believe me, I'll follow him and see what he says. That way, I can help him subdue the demons, and also see if he has any true devotion to the Buddha."
"Fine, fine, fine!" said the elder. "But don't torment him too much."
The Pilgrim agreed and immediately went up the slope. With a shake of his body, he transformed into a tiny cicada. How light and nimble he became! Look at him: wings so thin that they barely needed effort to ride the wind; a waist so slender and delicate it was like a needle. He darted through reeds, brushed past grass, and slipped through the shadows of flowers, moving faster than a shooting star. His eyes were bright and gleaming; his voice was faint and barely audible. Among all the insects, he was the smallest, yet his movements were deliberate and cunning. At leisure, he would rest in the deep forest—his body completely invisible, impossible to find even with a thousand eyes.
The Pilgrim, transformed into this tiny cicada, fluttered his wings lightly and flew off, catching up to Eight Rules and landing on the bristly hair behind his ear. The blockhead just walked along with his head down, completely unaware that someone was following him. After walking seven or eight miles, he threw his rake to the ground, turned around to face the direction of Tang Sanzang, and began to gesture and curse. "You weak old monk, you mean-spirited Horse-Warmer, you simple-minded Sha Monk! All of you are back there taking it easy, while you send me, Old Pig, out to patrol this godforsaken mountain! We're all on this pilgrimage together, all hoping to achieve the right fruit—so why am I the only one sent to scout this broken mountain? Ha! If I know there are demons, I'll just avoid them and that'll be the end of it. We haven't even gone half the way, and you want me to go looking for monsters? What rotten luck! I'll find a place to sleep, and then go back and mumble something about having patrolled the mountain. That'll be the end of it!"
After cursing, the blockhead picked up his rake again, feeling lucky, and walked forward. Suddenly, he saw a patch of red grass in a hollow of the mountain. He plunged into it, used his rake to clear a flat spot, rolled over, and lay down, stretching his back. "Ah, this is the life!" he said. "Even that Horse-Warmer doesn't have it as good as this!"
But he didn't know that the Pilgrim behind his ear had heard every word. Unable to resist the urge to play another trick, the Pilgrim shook himself again and transformed into a woodpecker. Look at this bird: a sharp, gleaming red beak; bright green feathers that shimmered. A pair of steel-like claws, sharp as nails, that could find food even in the quietest forest. It loved to peck at dead wood and rotten branches, but had no taste for lonely old trees. With round eyes, a short tail, and a clever disposition, the sound of its pecking—"pi-bo, pi-bo"—was truly delightful.
This woodpecker was neither too big nor too small—weighing only two or three ounces on a scale—with a copper-red beak and iron-black feet. With a "shua," it flew down. Eight Rules was sleeping soundly when the bird pecked him right on the lips with a "ge-za" sound. The blockhead scrambled up in a panic, shouting wildly, "A demon! A demon! He stabbed me with a spear! My mouth hurts so much!" He reached up and touched his lips, only to find blood on his fingers. "What lousy luck!" he said. "I haven't even had any good news, so why am I seeing red on my mouth?"
He looked at his bloody hand and then stared around in all directions, but saw nothing. "There's no demon," he said. "So how did I get stabbed?" He looked up and saw a woodpecker hovering in the air. The blockhead gritted his teeth and cursed, "Damn you! It's bad enough that the Horse-Warmer bullies me, but now you have to bully me too! I get it now—that Horse-Warmer must not recognize me as a person, and he thinks my mouth is a piece of dead wood with bugs inside, so he sent this bird to peck for food! I'll just tuck my mouth into my chest and sleep!" With that, he lay down again and buried his face in the crook of his arm.
The Pilgrim flew down again and pecked him behind the ear. The blockhead jumped up and cursed, "Damn you! You're too much of a nuisance! This must be your nest, and you're afraid I'm taking it over, so you're making trouble! Enough, enough—I won't sleep anymore!" He picked up his rake, walked out of the red grass slope, and continued on his way. This delighted Pilgrim Sun so much that he rolled around laughing. "This blockhead has his eyes wide open and can't even recognize his own people!"
So the good Great Sage transformed back into the tiny cicada and landed behind Eight Rules' ear, following him. The blockhead walked another four or five miles into the deep mountains until he came upon three large blue stones, each the size of a tabletop. He put down his rake, clasped his hands, and bowed to the stones. The Pilgrim laughed to himself: "This blockhead! Stones can't talk and won't return his bow. What a waste of effort!"
As it turned out, the blockhead was pretending the stones were Tang Sanzang, Sha Monk, and the Pilgrim, practicing his report! He muttered to himself: "When I go back to see Master, he'll ask if there are any demons. I'll say there are demons. He'll ask what mountain this is. If I say 'mud mountain' or 'tin mountain' or 'paper mountain,' they'll call me stupid, so I'll say 'Stone Mountain.' He'll ask what cave, and I'll say 'Stone Cave.' He'll ask what kind of gate, and I'll say 'Iron-leaf gate studded with nails.' He'll ask how far inside it goes, and I'll say 'three levels.' If he asks how many nails are on the gate, I'll say, 'My mind was too busy—I couldn't remember the number.' I'll have this story all made up to fool that Horse-Warmer!"
Having finished composing his lies, the blockhead dragged his rake and started back. The Pilgrim, who had heard every word clearly from behind his ear, first spread his wings and flew back, then transformed back into his original form to see Tang Sanzang. "Wukong, you're back," said the master. "Why isnu Wuneng back yet?" The Pilgrim laughed. "He's still back there making up his lies. He'll be here soon."
"His two ears cover his eyes," said the elder. "He's an honest fellow. How could he make up lies? You must be falsely accusing him." "Master, you always take his side," said the Pilgrim. "But I have proof." And he told the elder all about how Eight Rules had hidden in the grass to sleep, been woken by the woodpecker, and then practiced his lies in front of the stones.
Just as he finished speaking, Eight Rules returned, still mumbling to himself, afraid of forgetting his fabricated story. The Pilgrim shouted, "Blockhead! What are you muttering about?" Eight Rules lifted his ears to look, and said, "I've arrived at the place!" Then he knelt down. The elder helped him up and said, "Disciple, you've worked hard."
"Indeed I have!" said Eight Rules. "Walking and climbing mountains is the most tiring work." The elder asked, "Are there any demons?" "There are!" said Eight Rules. "A whole bunch of them!" "How did they let you go?" asked the elder. Eight Rules made up a story: "They called me their Pig Ancestor and their Pig Grandfather, served me vegetarian soup, and said they would set up banners and drums to escort us across the mountain!"
"I'm afraid you were sleeping in the grass and talking in your sleep!" said the Pilgrim. The blockhead was so startled he shrank two inches. "Grandfather! How did you know I was sleeping?" The Pilgrim stepped forward and grabbed him. "Let me ask you—what mountain is this?" "Stone Mountain," said Eight Rules. "What cave?" "Stone Cave." "What kind of gate?" "Iron-leaf gate studded with nails." "How far inside?" "Three levels."
The Pilgrim laughed. "I know the rest too—when asked how many nails are on the gate, you say your mind was too busy to remember the number, isn't that right? And you bowed to the stones and said, 'I've made up my lies to fool the Horse-Warmer'—isn't that true?" The blockhead immediately kowtowed. "Elder Brother, did you follow me and listen to everything I said on patrol?"
The Pilgrim cursed him, "You rotten, good-for-nothing blockhead! In such a critical place, I send you to patrol the mountain and you go to sleep! If that woodpecker hadn't pecked you, you'd still be snoring! And after waking up, you make up a pack of lies to ruin everything! Hurry up and stretch out your ankle—I'll give you five strokes to remember this!"
Eight Rules was terrified. "That funeral staff of yours is so heavy! A single scrape tears the skin, a single twist breaks the sinews. Five strokes and I'll be dead!" "If you're afraid of being beaten, then don't make up lies!" said the Pilgrim. "Elder Brother, just this once! I won't do it again!" said Eight Rules. "Even once deserves three strokes!" said the Pilgrim. "Grandfather, I can't even take half a stroke!"
The blockhead had no choice but to grab the elder and beg for mercy. "Master, please put in a good word for me!" The elder said, "Pilgrim said you were making up lies, and I didn't believe him. But now it's clear you deserve a beating. However, since we're trying to cross this mountain and need all the help we can get, Pilgrim, let him off for now. We can beat him after we've crossed." The Pilgrim said, "The ancients said, 'To obey one's parents' wishes is the greatest filial piety.' Since Master says not to beat you, I'll let you off. Go patrol the mountain again. If you dare make up lies and cause trouble again, I will not forgive you!"
The blockhead had no choice but to get up and go patrol the mountain again. As he walked along the main road, he was so nervous and suspicious that he thought the Pilgrim had transformed into something to follow him. Everything he saw, he thought was the Pilgrim. After walking seven or eight miles, a tiger ran across the slope, but he wasn't afraid. He raised his rake and said, "Elder Brother, I won't make up lies anymore! Don't follow me!"
After walking a bit further, a gust of mountain wind blew down a dead tree, which rolled in front of him. He beat his chest and said, "Elder Brother! I already said I wouldn't lie anymore! Why have you turned into a tree to hit me?" As he walked on, an old crow with a white neck cawed at him. He said, "Elder Brother, aren't you ashamed? I've already said I won't lie anymore! Why have you turned into an old crow to spy on me?" In truth, the Pilgrim wasn't following him at all this time—it was all in the blockhead's own imagination.
Let us leave aside the blockhead's fears for now. Let us instead speak of this mountain, Pingding Mountain, where there was a cave called the Lotus Flower Cave, inhabited by two demon chieftains—one called the Golden Horn King, and the other the Silver Horn King. Golden Horn said to Silver Horn, "Brother, how long has it been since we last went on patrol?" "Half a month," said Silver Horn. "Let's go on patrol today," said Golden Horn. "What's the point of patrolling?" asked Silver Horn. "You don't know," said Golden Horn. "I've heard recently that a monk named Tang Sanzang has been sent by the Great Tang in the East to worship the Buddha in the Western Heaven. He travels with a group of four—Sun Wukong, Zhu Eight Rules, and Sha Monk—plus a horse, making five in all. Go see where they are and capture them."
"We can find people to eat anywhere," said Silver Horn. "Why not just let this monk pass?" "You don't understand!" said Golden Horn. "When I was in the celestial realm, I heard that Tang Sanzang is the reincarnation of the Golden Cicada Elder, a good man who has cultivated for ten lifetimes without spilling a drop of his primal yang. Eating his flesh will extend your life and grant you immortality!" "If eating his flesh can make us immortal," said Silver Horn, "then why bother with cultivation and alchemy? Let's go catch him!"
"Brother, don't be impatient," said Golden Horn. "Don't just grab any monk you see—what if it's not Tang Sanzang? I remember what they look like, so I've drawn a portrait. Take this with you, and when you see a monk, compare him to the picture." He also recited the names of the four masters and disciples. Silver Horn took the portrait, memorized the names, and led thirty little demons up the mountain to patrol.
As luck would have it, Eight Rules was walking right into their path. The little demons shouted, "Who goes there?" The blockhead looked up, saw it was demons, and panicked. He thought, "If I say I'm on a pilgrimage to fetch scriptures, they'll definitely catch me. I'll say I'm just a traveler." The little demons reported back, "Great King, it's just a traveler."
But among the little demons, there was one who recognized him. Pointing at Eight Rules, he said, "Great King, this monk looks just like the Zhu Eight Rules in the portrait!" Silver Horn ordered the portrait to be hung up. When Eight Rules saw it, he was shocked. "No wonder I've been feeling out of sorts lately—they've already drawn my picture!"
Silver Horn pointed at the portrait and said, "The one riding the white horse is Tang Sanzang. The one with the hairy face is Sun Wukong." Eight Rules muttered under his breath, "City God, they left me out. Next time I'll offer you a full sacrificial feast!" Silver Horn continued, "The tall, dark one is Sha Monk. The one with the long snout and big ears is Zhu Eight Rules." The blockhead hurriedly tucked his snout into his chest.
The demon called out, "Monk, stick out your snout!" "It's a congenital condition," said Eight Rules. "I can't stick it out." When the little demons brought out hooks to force it, Eight Rules had no choice but to stick out his snout. "What a petty bunch! If you want to see, just look—no need for hooks