The King of the Festival Kingdom, grateful that Sanzang and his disciples had retrieved the treasure and captured the demon, wanted to give them gold and jade, but the pilgrims would not accept a single piece. The king had no choice but to order his officials to make two sets of clothes, two pairs of shoes and socks, and two sashes for each of the four pilgrims, in the style they usually wore. He also prepared dried rations , changed their travel documents, and then arranged a grand procession. With his civil and military officials, the entire city's population, and the monks of the Dragon-Subduing Temple , they saw the four men out of the city, accompanied by the sound of flutes and drums .
After traveling twenty miles, the pilgrims first said goodbye to the king; the people escorted them another twenty miles before turning back. The monks of the Dragon-Subduing Temple, however, followed for fifty or sixty miles and still refused to stop. Some wanted to follow them to the Western Heaven, while others wished to stay and serve the pilgrims. Seeing that they would not leave, Pilgrim performed a spell: he plucked thirty or forty hairs, blew on them with a magic breath , and cried, "Change!" The hairs all turned into striped, fierce tigers that blocked the road ahead, roaring and leaping. This frightened the monks, who dared not go any further. The Great Sage then led his master away on horseback. Before long, they were far off, and the monks burst into loud wails, crying out, "Oh, our beneficent lords! We have no affinity with you; you are unwilling to take us with you!"
Let us leave aside the monks' tearful farewells for the moment. We shall instead speak of the four pilgrims who, having taken the main road and retrieved his hairs, continued westward. Winter had passed, spring had arrived , and the weather was neither cold nor hot, perfect for traveling. Suddenly, they saw a long mountain ridge stretching before them, with a path at its summit. Sanzang reined in his horse to look. The ridge was covered in brambles and entangled with vines and creepers . Although the trace of a path could be seen, it was flanked on both sides by thorny brambles, making it utterly impassable.
"Disciple," Sanzang called out, "how can we travel this road?" "Why can't we?" asked Pilgrim. "Disciple," Sanzang said again, "the path is below, and the thorns are above. Only snakes and insects crawling on their bellies could get through. For you to walk, you couldn't even straighten your backs, and how could I ride my horse?" "No problem!" said Eight Rules. "Let me use my 'Rake-and-Wood' technique to clear the thorns with my rake. Not only can you ride a horse, but even if you were in a sedan chair , I guarantee you'll get through!"
"You may have the strength," said Sanzang, "but we don't know how long this road is. How can you keep up such an effort?" "Don't discuss it," said Pilgrim. "Let me go and see how far it is." He leaped into the air and flew up to midair . Looking down, he saw that the thorns stretched endlessly into the distance. Truly it was: The thorns covered the earth and reached the distant sky, condensing mist and carrying rain. Along the path, soft grass grew in disarray, while over the mountains, a canopy of emerald leaves spread wide. Dense and tightly packed, the newly sprouted leaves intertwined and tugged at each other, full of fragrance. Gazing into the distance, one could not see where it ended; looking close by, it was like a vast, green mist. It was luxuriant and lush, thick and verdant. The wind rustled through it with a soft sound, and the sunlight cast a brilliant glow. In the midst of it all were pines, cypresses, and bamboos, with many plum trees, willows, and even more mulberries. Creepers and vines entwined the ancient trees, and rattan and kudzu wrapped around the drooping willows. They coiled like frames and linked like beds. In some places, blooming flowers were like spread brocade; in others, the endless profusion of herbs sent forth a distant fragrance. Who among men has not encountered thorns? But who has ever seen such a vast expanse of thorns in the Western lands!
After watching for a long time, Pilgrim descended from his cloud and said, "Master, this place is far indeed!" "How far?" asked Sanzang. "I can't see the edge," said Pilgrim. "It seems to be a thousand miles ." Sanzang was greatly alarmed. "What can we do?" Sha Monk laughed and said, "Master, don't worry. Let's learn from those who burn the wasteland. We'll set a fire and burn all the thorns away." "Nonsense!" said Eight Rules. "You burn the wasteland in the tenth month, when the grass is withered and the trees are yellow. Now the vegetation is lush and green. How can you set it ablaze!" "Even if we could burn it," said Pilgrim, "I'm afraid it might burn people." "So how are we going to get across?" asked Sanzang. Eight Rules laughed and said, "If we want to get across, you'll have to listen to me."
Good, that Fool! He recited a spell, bent over, and cried, "Grow!" His body immediately grew to twenty fathoms tall. He shook his rake and cried, "Change!" The handle became thirty fathoms long. Taking huge strides, he swung his rake with both hands, pushing the thorns aside to the left and right, and shouted, "Master, follow me!" Sanzang was delighted to see this and immediately urged his horse to follow. Behind them, Sha Monk carried the luggage, while Pilgrim also helped clear the thorns with his iron rod . They worked all day without stopping and covered over a hundred miles. As dusk was falling, they saw a clearing with a stone tablet on the path. On it were carved three large characters: " Thorns Ridge ." Below were two lines of smaller characters: "Thorns and brambles spread for eight hundred miles; since ancient times, there has been a path, but few have traveled it."
When Eight Rules saw this, he laughed and said, "Let Old Hog add a couplet to it: 'From now on, Eight Rules can break through and open it; straight through to the Western Heaven, the road will be level and smooth.'" Sanzang happily dismounted and said, "Disciple, you have worked hard! Let us spend the night here and set out again at dawn tomorrow." "Master, don't stop," said Eight Rules. "While it's still light and we have the strength, let's open the road and travel through the night!" Sanzang had no choice but to agree.
Eight Rules took the lead and worked hard to open the road. The pilgrims worked without rest, their hands and the horse's hooves never stopping, and traveled for another day and night. When it grew dark again, the dense thorns still lay ahead, but they heard the sound of wind in the bamboos and the rustle of pines. Just ahead was a clearing, in the middle of which stood an ancient temple. Outside the temple gate were evergreen pines and cypresses, with peach and plum blossoms vying for beauty. Sanzang dismounted and, with his three disciples, looked at the temple. They saw: An ancient temple by the cliff leans against the cold stream; the setting sun and desolate mist lock the abandoned hill. Among the white cranes, deep years pass; beneath the green moss-covered terrace, the spring and autumn come and go. The bamboos sway like green jade pendants, as if speaking; the birds' lingering notes seem to tell of sorrow. No dogs bark, no cocks crow, and few human footprints are seen; idle flowers and wild vines coil around the wall.
After looking at it, Pilgrim said, "This place looks unlucky. We shouldn't stay here long." "Brother, you're too suspicious," said Sha Monk. "In such a remote, uninhabited place, with no strange beasts or demons, what is there to fear?" Before he finished speaking, a gust of foul wind blew past, and from behind the temple door an old man emerged. He wore a horn-shaped headcloth, light-colored clothes, carried a staff, and had straw sandals on his feet. Behind him followed a demon attendant with a green face and fangs, whose whole body was bright red. The demon attendant knelt, holding a plate of cakes, and said, "Great Sage, I am the local spirit of Thorns Ridge. Knowing that the Great Sage had arrived, I have nothing worthy to offer. I have specially prepared a plate of steamed cakes to satisfy the hunger of the master and you all. For eight hundred miles, there are no human dwellings. Please, do not stand on ceremony and eat a little to fill your stomachs."
Eight Rules happily stepped forward to take the cakes, but Pilgrim watched for a long time and then gave a great shout. "Wait! This thing is not a good person! Don't be fooled! What kind of local spirit are you, daring to deceive me? Taste my staff!" When the old man saw Pilgrim about to strike, he turned his body and transformed into a gust of foul wind. With a "whoosh," he swept Sanzang away, drifting and floating, carrying him off to an unknown place. Pilgrim was so flustered he didn't know where to look. Eight Rules and Sha Monk were also frightened, their faces turning pale, and even the white horse neighed in alarm. The three disciples, together with the horse, making four mouths, anxiously looked around but could not find a single trace. They had no choice but to search back and forth. We will leave them for now.
Let us speak instead of the old man and the demon attendant, who carried Sanzang to a stone house shrouded in mist and clouds. They gently set him down, and the old man took his hand and said, "Holy Monk, do not be afraid. We are not evil people. We are the 'Eighteen Lords' of Thorns Ridge. Tonight, the wind is clear and the moon is bright. We have specially invited you here to discuss poetry with some friends, to pass the time and amuse ourselves." Sanzang finally calmed his spirit. Opening his eyes, he looked carefully at this place. Truly it was a fairyland: Vast and boundless, the place of mist and clouds; clear and pure, the home of immortals. Perfect for cleansing oneself and cultivating; suitable for planting bamboos and growing flowers. Often one sees cranes coming to the emerald cliffs; from time to time one hears frogs croaking in the green ponds. It even surpasses the alchemical furnace of Tiantai; one still hopes for the bright clouds of Huayue. Why speak of plowing clouds and fishing for the moon? The seclusion here is truly praiseworthy. Sitting long, one's deep feelings are like the sea; hazily, the moon rises over the gauze window.
As Sanzang was looking, the moon gradually became bright and the stars sparse. He heard someone say, "The Eighteenth Lord has invited the Holy Monk!" Sanzang looked up and saw three more old men approaching. The first had a face covered with white frost and an extraordinary bearing; the second had emerald-green hair and a graceful, swaying posture; the third had a tall, straight figure that revealed a humble heart. Their appearances and clothes were all different, but they all came to greet Sanzang. Sanzang returned the greeting and said, "This disciple has no virtue. How dare I trouble you immortal gentlemen with such kindness?"
The Eighteenth Lord laughed and said, "We have long heard of the Holy Monk's attainment of the Way. We have waited for a long time, and today we finally see you. If you do not mind, please sit down and have a chat with us, and let us hear some true Chan principles." Sanzang bowed and asked, "May I ask the honored names of the immortal gentlemen?" The Eighteenth Lord said, "The one with the frost-white face is called Lord Lone Uprightness. The one with the green hair is called Lord Soaring in the Void. The one with the humble heart is called Lord Whisking the Clouds. I am called Lord Unyielding Integrity." "How old are the four immortal gentlemen?" asked Sanzang.
Lord Lone Uprightness recited: My years have now passed a thousand ancient ones; my leaves, supporting the sky, are lush in all four seasons. Fragrant branches, dense and luxuriant, are like dragons and snakes; broken shadows, layer upon layer, are a body of frost and snow. From youth I have been strong and firm, able to endure old age; from now on, upright and honest, I delight in cultivating truth. Where crows perch and phoenixes nest is no common company; tall and dense, I am far from the vulgar world.
Lord Soaring in the Void laughed and recited: My age is a thousand years, proud of wind and frost; my tall stem and spiritual branches are naturally strong. In the quiet night, there is a sound like raindrops; on a clear autumn day, the shade is like clouds spreading. My coiled roots have already obtained the secret of long life; receiving my destiny, I am especially suited to the art of not aging. I keep cranes and transform into dragons, no common breed; lush and vigorous, I am close to the immortal realm.
Lord Whisking the Clouds laughed and recited: I have idly spent a thousand autumns in the cold of the year; my old appearance is serene, clearer and more secluded. Not mingling with the noisy dust, I am forever cold and indifferent; having fully experienced frost and snow, I am naturally elegant and free. The Seven Worthies were my companions in discussing the Dao; the Six Eremites were my friends in singing together. The sound of jade striking gold is not trivial; my natural disposition is to travel with immortals.
Lord Unyielding Integrity, the Eighteenth Lord, laughed and recited: My age, too, is over a thousand years; my verdant, chaste beauty is as it should be. I am grateful for the generative power of rain and dew, borrowing the mechanism of heaven and earth's creation. Among the myriad ravines, the wind and mist are mine alone; in the four seasons, I am free and unrestrained, letting me be sparse. I spread my emerald shade to entertain immortal guests; we play chess, tune zithers, and discuss the Daoist scriptures.
Sanzang thanked them and said, "All four immortal gentlemen are so advanced in age, especially Lord Unyielding Integrity, who is over a thousand years old. With such longevity and attainment of the Dao, and your extraordinary bearing, could you be the 'Four Greybeards of Mount Shang' from the Han Dynasty?" The four elders said, "You flatter us! We are not the Four Greybeards, but the 'Four Upright Ones' of the deep mountains. May we ask how old the Holy Monk is this year?"
Sanzang placed his palms together, bowed, and replied: Forty years ago, I emerged from my mother's womb; before I was born, my fate was already doomed. I escaped death and fell into the water, drifting with the waves; fortunately, I met with the Golden Mountain and shed my mortal frame. I nurtured my nature, reading the sutras without slackening; in sincere devotion to the Buddha, how dare I delay? Now, by imperial command, I am sent to the West; on the road, I have met immortal gentlemen who have shown me favor.
The four elders all praised him, saying, "The Holy Monk has believed in the Buddha since birth. Truly he is a virtuous monk who has cultivated since childhood! We are fortunate to see you. We would like to ask you to expound on Chan dharma, so that our hearts' wishes may be fulfilled."
Sanzang generously agreed and said to them: "Chan means stillness; dharma means crossing over. The crossing over within stillness cannot be achieved without enlightenment. Enlightenment means washing the mind and purifying one's thoughts, leaving the vulgar and departing the world of dust. The human body is hard to obtain; the Central Land is hard to be born in; the True Dharma is hard to encounter. To have all three of these is a great fortune. The ultimate virtue and the wonderful Dao are vast, indistinct, and rare. The six roots and six consciousnesses can then be swept away. Bodhi is neither death nor birth, neither surplus nor lack. It encompasses emptiness and form, and dismisses both sages and ordinary beings. To seek the truth is to master the primordial hammer and chisel; to realize the truth is to understand the means of Muni. Manifest the image of nothingness, trample upon Nirvana. One must realize within realization and awaken within awakening, completely protecting a single spark of spiritual light. Release the blazing flames to shine upon the Saha world; in the Dharma realm, it appears everywhere, independent and free. It is supremely subtle and mysterious; one must guard it steadfastly. Who can cross the mysterious pass by mere words? I originally cultivated the great Chan of enlightenment; only those with affinity and will can awaken."
The four elders listened attentively and were overjoyed. They all kowtowed and bowed, saying, "The Holy Monk truly understands the foundation of Chan principle!"
Lord Whisking the Clouds said, "Although Chan speaks of stillness and Dharma speaks of crossing over, one must have a firm mind and sincere intention. Even a true immortal must cultivate the Way of non-birth. Our 'Dao' is very different from yours." "The Dao is inherently not ordinary," said Sanzang. "Its substance and function are one. How can it be different?"
Lord Whisking the Clouds laughed and recited: We were born solid and firm; our substance and function are different from yours. We received our bodies by feeling Heaven and Earth; we were nourished and colored by the rain and dew. We laugh proudly in the wind and frost, consuming the sun and moon. Not a single leaf withers; a thousand branches have integrity and fortitude. Your words do not strike the essence of emptiness. You cling to Sanskrit words. The Dao is originally at peace in China; instead, you come seeking certification in the West. In vain you have worn out your straw sandals, not knowing what you are looking for. A stone lion has its heart and liver gouged out; the saliva of a wild fox has filled your marrow. You forget the root and practice Chan, vainly seeking the fruit of Buddhahood. You are all like the riddles of the creepers and vines on Thorns Ridge, the confused words of the melons and gourds. How can such a gentleman be guided? How can such a model be sealed and transmitted? You must examine the face before your eyes; in stillness, there is naturally a life to be lived. Draw water with a bottomless bamboo basket; let the iron tree without roots bear flowers. Firmly set your feet on the peak of the Spiritual Treasure Peak; return to the elegant assembly on the Dragon Flower Tree.
When Sanzang heard this, he kowtowed in gratitude. The Eighteenth Lord reached out to support him, and Lord Lone Uprightness also pulled him up. Lord Soaring in the Void laughed and said, "What Whisking the Clouds said has let the truth slip out. Holy Monk, please get up. Don't believe everything he says. Tonight, with this fine moonlight, we have not come to discuss cultivation. We simply want to recite some poems, have a chat, and relax our minds." Lord Whisking the Clouds laughed and pointed at the stone house, saying, "If we want to recite poems, why not go into the little convent and have a cup of tea? What do you think?"
Sanzang bowed and walked to the stone house. On the door were carved three large characters: "Wood-Immortal Convent." He followed them inside, and they took their seats. Suddenly, the naked demon attendant brought in a plate of poria-cocos cake and five cups of fragrant tea. The four elders invited Sanzang to eat first. Sanzang was a little suspicious and dared not eat. The four elders ate first, and then Sanzang ate two pieces and drank the fragrant tea. He carefully observed his surroundings. The convent was exquisitely bright, as if bathed in moonlight: Water flows from the side of the rocks; fragrance wafts in from the flowers. The whole place is empty, elegant, and refined, without a speck of dust.
Sanzang was very pleased with this fairyland, and his mood brightened. He could not help reciting a line: "My Chan mind is like the moon, far away and without dust."
Lord Unyielding Integrity laughed and responded: "My poetic inspiration is like the sky, clear and renewed."
Lord Lone Uprightness continued: "Fine lines are carelessly cut and woven into brocade."
Lord Soaring in the Void continued: "Superb essays are not embellished; they spit out rare treasures."
Lord Whisking the Clouds continued: "The Six Dynasties were washed away, all their splendor gone; the Four Beginnings were revised, dividing the Elegantiae and Eulogies."
Sanzang said, "This disciple's words were just spoken at random. Truly, I am showing off my slight skill before an expert. Just now, I heard the poems of the immortal gentlemen. They are fresh and elegant, truly poetic immortals!" "Holy Monk, you are too modest," said Lord Unyielding Integrity. "As a monk, you should be consistent from beginning to end. Since you have started, how can you not finish? Please, I still ask you to complete the poem." "This disciple is not good at writing," said Sanzang. "I trouble the Eighteenth Lord to help me finish it." "That is not right!" said Lord Unyielding Integrity. "You started the line, how can you be unwilling to finish it? Are you reluctant to show your talent? That is unreasonable."
Sanzang had no choice but to continue with two lines: "Half a pillow of wind in the pines, the tea is not yet brewed; my chanting heart is free and unrestrained, full of spring."
"Excellent line, 'my chanting heart is free and unrestrained, full of spring'!" said the Eighteenth Lord. "Unyielding Integrity," said Lord Lone Uprightness, "you understand poetry so well, you must want to compose another piece. Why not start another poem?" The Eighteenth Lord readily agreed and began with a line using the anadiplosis technique: "In spring it does not flourish, in winter it does not wither; clouds come and mists go, as if they were not there."
Lord Soaring in the Void also continued with the anadiplosis technique: "Without wind, it sways its graceful shadow; a guest comes, delighted with the picture of blessing and longevity."
Lord Whisking the Clouds continued with the anadiplosis technique: "The picture is like the firm old man of the Western Mountain; pure as the heartless man of the Southern Land."
Lord Lone Uprightness continued with the anadiplosis technique: "The man, because of his side leaves, is called a beam and pillar; the terrace, because of its horizontal branches, serves as a perch for crows."
Sanzang praised, "Truly noble and elegant poetry, its spirit soaring through the clouds! This disciple, though untalented, would also like to add two lines." "The Holy Monk is a man of the Way," said Lord Lone Uprightness. "There is no need to continue the linked verses. It would be better to write a complete poem, so that we can follow it with our responses."
Sanzang had no choice but to laugh and recite a regulated verse: Staff and alms bowl in hand, I come west to pay homage to the Dharma King, hoping to obtain the wonderful scriptures to spread far and wide. The golden mushroom, thrice blooming, is an auspicious sign in the poetic arena; the jeweled tree, with a thousand flowers, has the fragrance of the lotus. On a hundred-foot pole, one must still advance; in the ten directions, one establishes one's conduct and concealment. Cultivating a jade-like image, a solemn body; before the gate of Ultimate Bliss is the place of practice.
The four elders heard this and praised it highly. The Eighteenth Lord said, "I have no talent, but I take the liberty of also composing a response." His poem was: Unyielding Integrity, solitary and lofty, laughs at the King of Trees; the spiritual spring is not like my fame that spreads. In the empty mountain, the hundred-fathom shadows of dragons and snakes; the spring, oozing for a thousand years, has the fragrance of amber. I am able to share with Heaven and Earth a sense of grandeur; I delight in being transformed by wind and rain, my actions hidden. Decayed and decrepit, I am ashamed to have no immortal bones; only by means of the poria-cocos cake do I form a field for longevity.
Lord Lone Uprightness said, "This poem begins with boldness, is powerful in the middle, but the ending is too modest. Truly a fine poem! I too will compose a response." His poem was: My frosty form delights in being the lodging of the King of Birds; before the Hall of Four Perfections, my great vessel is renowned. When the dew is heavy, pearl tassels cover my emerald canopy; when the wind is light, stone teeth crush the cold fragrance. In the quiet night of the long corridor, the sound of chanting is fine; in the autumn shade of the ancient hall, the faint shadow is hidden. On New Year's Day, welcoming spring, I once offered longevity; in old age, I entrust my pride to the mountain field.
Lord Soaring in the Void laughed and said, "Fine poem! Fine poem! Truly a masterpiece of exquisite workmanship. How can I match it? But I cannot fail to join in the fun. I will casually write a few lines." His poem was: The material for beams and pillars is close to the emperor; outside the Grand Pure Palace, its sound is renowned. On a sunny veranda, it seems to come with a green aura; on a dark wall, it often emits an emerald fragrance. Its strong integrity is awe-inspiring, a beauty that lasts a thousand years; its deep roots are firmly planted, hidden in the nine springs. Its soaring momentum overshadows the graceful shadow; it does not belong to the crowd of fragrant beauties.
Lord Whisking the Clouds said, "The poems of you three are refined and pure, truly overflowing with talent! I have no talent and no learning. Thanks to your instruction, my dull mind has been opened. I have no choice but to dash off a few doggerel lines. Do not laugh at me: In the garden of Qi'ao, I delight in the Sage King; the thousand acres of the Weichuan River are allowed to spread. The emerald bamboo is not stained by the tears of the Xiang River maid; the spotted bamboo shoots can transmit the fragrance of Han history. The frosty leaves have never changed their color from the beginning; from now on, how can the color of the misty tips be hidden? Ziyou has passed away, and the one who understands the music is rare; my name will be left forever in the literary field."
Sanzang said, "The poems of the immortal gentlemen are truly a string of wonderful words. Even worthies like Ziyou and Zixia could not compare. I am grateful for your deep affection, and I am deeply moved. But now it is very late, and my three disciples do not know where they are waiting for me. This disciple can stay no longer. I wish to take my leave and go find them. I will remember this kindness in my heart. I also ask the immortal gentlemen to point me back to the road."
The four elders laughed and said, "Holy Monk, do not worry. For us to meet is a destiny that does not occur once in a thousand years. Besides, the weather is now clear and refreshing. Although the night is deep, the moon is as bright as day. Sit a while longer, and when dawn comes, we will see you across the ridge. You will surely see your disciples."
As they were speaking, two green-clad maidens came from outside the stone house, carrying a pair of red silk lanterns. Behind them followed a fairy maiden. The fairy maiden held a branch of apricot blossom in her hand and entered smilingly to pay her respects. This fairy maiden was truly beautiful to behold: Her green attire was adorned with kingfisher feathers; her red face rivaled rouge. Her starry eyes still held a sparkling light; her moth-like eyebrows were both beautiful and neat. Below, she wore a five-colored plum-blossom light red skirt; above, she wore a short, light jacket of smoke and fire. Her arched shoes were shaped like phoenix beaks; her damask socks were embroidered with trailing designs. She was bewitchingly delicate, like the maiden of Tiantai, not inferior to the charming Daji of old.
The four elders bowed and asked, "Why has the Apricot Immortal come?" The fairy maiden bowed to the assembly and said, "I heard that there is a distinguished guest here reciting poetry. I have come especially to visit and to witness it." The Eighteenth Lord pointed at Sanzang and said, "The distinguished guest is right here. There is no need to look further!" Sanzang bowed, but dared not speak. The fairy maiden called out, "Serve tea quickly!" Two more yellow-clad maidens came forward, carrying a red lacquer tray. On the tray were six fine porcelain teacups, each containing several kinds of rare fruits, along with spoons. Another maiden carried a white-iron teapot inlaid with brass, from which the fragrant tea emitted a rich aroma.
The maidens poured the tea. The fairy maiden extended her delicate jade-like hand and first offered a cup to Sanzang, then to the four elders, and finally took a cup for herself to drink along with them. Lord Soaring in the Void said, "Apricot Immortal, why don't you sit down?" Only then did the fairy maiden sit down. After finishing the tea, she bowed and asked, "Immortal gentlemen, you are so happy tonight. Could you recite some of your fine poems for me to hear?" "Our poems are all quite vulgar," said Lord Whisking the Clouds. "Only the Holy Monk's poem is in the true High Tang style, worthy of hearing."
"If you do not mind," said the fairy maiden, "please recite it for me to hear." The four elders recited all the poems Sanzang had composed and the Chan principles he had expounded. The fairy maiden, her face full of spring, said to the assembly, "I have no talent and should not presume to show off. But having heard such fine poems, I cannot help but want to compose a response. May I?" With that, she recited in a clear voice: My name was left by the Han Emperor Wu on the imperial seal; in the Zhou Dynasty, Confucius established a place for me. The Immortal Dong loved me and planted me in a grove; Sun Chu once pitied me for the fragrance of Cold Food. The rain moistens my red beauty, making it delicate and tender; the smoke steams my emerald color, now revealing, now hiding. I know that when overripe, I have a slightly sour taste; every year, when I fall, I keep company with the wheat field.
The four elders heard this and all praised it, saying, "Pure and refined, free from vulgarity. The poem even contains a hint of spring's intent. Fine line, 'The rain moistens my red beauty, making it delicate and tender'!" The fairy maiden smiled and said softly, "You flatter me! Just now, I heard the Holy Monk's poem. It truly overflows with talent. If the Holy Monk does not mind, could you also compose a poem for me?" Sanzang dared not agree.
The fairy maiden gradually revealed a look of admiration. She slowly moved closer to Sanzang and sat down, whispering, "Distinguished guest, do not be shy. On such a fine night, what are you waiting for if not to enjoy yourself? Life is short. How many such beautiful nights can there be?" "The Apricot Immortal admires you so much," said the Eighteenth Lord. "How can the Holy Monk not accept her feelings? If you refuse, you will be showing a lack of tact." "The Holy Monk is a famous man of the Way," said Lord Lone Uprightness. "He would certainly never do anything improper. By saying this, we are only bringing shame upon ourselves. To defile another's reputation and ruin another's virtue is not a wise thing to do. If the Apricot Immortal truly has feelings, let Whisking the Clouds and the Eighteenth Lord be the matchmakers, and let Soaring in the Void and myself be the guarantors. To bring this marriage to pass, would that not be wonderful?"
When Sanzang heard this, his countenance immediately changed. He leaped up and shouted, "You are all demons! Using such means to seduce me! If you wanted to discuss Chan and the Dao, or debate principles, that would be acceptable. But now you are using a beautiful woman to trick and harm me. What is the meaning of this?" When the four elders saw Sanzang's anger, they were all so frightened that they bit their fingers and dared not speak. The naked demon attendant, however, became irritable and said, "You monk are truly ungrateful! What is wrong with my sister? She is beautiful and talented. Is she not good enough for you? How can you refuse! Don't miss this good opportunity! Lord Lone Uprightness is right. If you are unwilling, I will be the one to preside over the wedding!"
Sanzang was so frightened that his face turned pale. No matter what they said, he would not agree. The demon attendant said again, "You monk, we have spoken kindly to you, but you will not listen! If we become fierce, we will seize you and keep you here. You will not be able to become a monk, nor will you be able to take a wife. You will live out your life in vain!" Sanzang's will was firm. He thought to himself, "My disciples do not know where they are looking for me!" At this thought, he could not help but shed tears.
The fairy maiden, still smiling, moved close to Sanzang. From her emerald sleeve, she took out a honey-yellow damask handkerchief to wipe his tears and said, "Distinguished guest, do not be troubled. Let me be affectionate with you and amuse you." Sanzang gave a great shout, leaped up, and tried to leave. But they pulled and dragged him, and the commotion lasted until dawn.
Suddenly, a shout was heard from afar: "Master! Master! Where are you talking?" It turned out that the Great Sage Sun, Eight Rules, and Sha Monk, leading the horse and carrying the load, had been clearing the thorns all night without stopping, searching for Sanzang. They had just passed the western edge of the eight-hundred-mile Thorns Ridge when they heard Sanzang's voice, and so they called out.
Sanzang broke free and shouted, "Pilgrim, I am here! Come quickly and save me! Come quickly and save me!" In an instant, the four elders, the demon attendant, the fairy maiden, and the maidens all disappeared.
Before long, Eight Rules and Sha Monk also arrived and asked, "Master, how did you come to be here?" Sanzang grabbed hold of Pilgrim and said, "Disciple, you have worked hard! Last night, that old man who called himself the