This is a fresh, complete English translation of Wu Cheng’en’s public-domain one-hundred-chapter novel, produced with GPT-5.3-Codex-Spark assistance. It is an AI-assisted first edition, not a reproduction of an existing translation.

At this point, the master and disciple rode in on horseback and came right up to the mountain gate; as he had been told, it truly was a monastery. What they saw was:

Tier upon tier of halls, corridor upon corridor. Outside the gate of the Three Peaks, lofty heights were hidden by ten thousand folds of colored cloud; before the Hall of the Five Blessings, thousands of crimson veils of mist wound in vivid beauty. On both sides stood ranks of pines and bamboos. The twin ranks of pines and bamboos, timeless and beyond count, were naturally quiet and secluded; the stand of cypress and fir had color and complexion, and was proudly handsome. They also saw a tall bell-and-drum tower and a steep pagoda. The monks in meditation were fixed in calm, while birds in the singing trees made sparse sound. Truly desolate and dustless, pure emptiness itself is pure emptiness; in clear spaciousness the fruit of the Way is clarity and emptiness. Poem: On the upper shrine, Jetavana hides within emerald recesses; this vihara’s scene surpasses all Saha. Truly, pure lands in the human world are few; among the world-famous sacred peaks, monks are in the majority.

The Senior Monk dismounted, and the Master set down his load. He was about to enter when a group of monks came out from the gate. See how they looked:

A left-side clerical cap sat on the head. Paired bronze rings hung from the ears. A silk belt wrapped the waist. He walked steadily in straw sandals, with a wooden fish held inside his hand. In his mouth he constantly chanted, "Prajna is my total refuge."

Tripitaka saw them and stood by the gate to offer his greeting. The monk quickly returned the courtesy and, smiling, said, "Forgive me." Then he asked, "Where are you from? Please come in and receive tea in the abbot’s hall." Tripitaka said, "My disciple is an envoy from the Eastland, from Great Tang, come to Leiyin Temple to bow before Buddha and seek the scriptures. We have now reached this place and dusk is near, so I wish to borrow lodging here for one night." The monk said, "Please enter and be seated, please enter and be seated." Tripitaka then called the Master to lead in the horse. When the monk suddenly noticed the Master’s appearance, he was a bit fearful and asked, "What sort of thing is that leading the horse?" Tripitaka whispered, "Keep quiet. Keep quiet. He is quick-tempered; if he hears you call him something, he will be angry. He is my disciple." The monk gave a cold shiver and bit his finger, saying, "With such an ugly face and odd-headed nature, how could he be taken as a disciple?" Tripitaka said, "You cannot tell by looking. He is ugly indeed, but also highly useful."

That monk then went with Tripitaka and Sun Wukong through the gate. Inside the gate, above the main hall were four large characters: "Guanyin Zen Abbey". Tripitaka rejoiced greatly and said, "As a disciple, I have often felt the Bodhisattva’s holy kindness yet had not yet come to thank you. To come to this Zen abbey now is like seeing the Bodhisattva herself; it is most fitting, and I am glad to pay respect." Hearing this, the monk ordered a chan monk to open the hall doors and invited Tripitaka to bow. Sun Wukong untied the horse, dropped the baggage, and went up with Tripitaka. Tripitaka stretched his back and body, lowered himself to the ground, and before the golden image knelt and touched his forehead. The monk went to beat the drum. The Master went to strike the bell. Tripitaka prostrated before the altar and made his prayers. When the worship was over, the monk stopped the drum, yet the Master kept striking the bell without pause, fast and slow, for a long while. The chan monk said, "The worship is finished—why keep striking the bell?" The Master then dropped the bell-mace and laughed, "You cannot know this. I am keeping the rule, 'A monk for one day, a day of bell-striking.'" At that moment this alarmed monks and elders throughout the monastery. Hearing the wild clamor of bell and drum, all came out together and cried, "Which rabble is beating the bell and drum here?" Sun Wukong leapt out and shouted, "It is your old grand-uncle Sun making mischief with the clappers." When those monks saw him, they trembled and rolled on the ground, crying, "Leigong, Grandfather!" The Master said, "Leigong is my own prized grandson. Get up, get up, do not fear. We are lords from the Great Tang in the Eastern Lands." Then they only offered proper reverence. A resident abbot of the monastery said, "Noble ones, please come to the rear hall for tea." So they untied the reins, led in the horse, lifted the baggage, went around the main hall, and went straight into the rear room, where the seating order was set.

The abbey host offered tea, and then arranged the meal. It was still early in the day; Tripitaka had not yet finished his thanks when he saw two novice boys in the rear bringing out an old monk. See how he was dressed:

On his head was a Pílu square hat, with the brilliance of a cat-eye jewel on the crown. On his body he wore a close silk-velvet kasaya with gold-edged borders that shimmered with emerald-like sheen. A pair of monk shoes held together the Eight Treasures; his staff was inlaid with stars among the clouds. Wrinkles covered his whole face, like the old mother of Lishan; his two eyes were dim, yet they resembled the Dragon King of the East Sea. His mouth, with teeth fallen out, could not close against the wind; his back was bent and stooped, and his muscles knotted like twisted cords.

The monks said, "The patriarch has come." Tripitaka bowed and offered proper respect, saying, "Venerable abbey host, my disciple offers greetings." The old monk returned the courtesy and all sat in order. He said, "Only just now my boys informed me that the lord from Tang in the Eastern Land had arrived, so I have come out to pay my respects." Tripitaka said, "I have blundered into your treasure-shrine without understanding its worth; pardon me, pardon me." The old monk said, "No, no." Then he asked, "Sire, how far is it from the Eastern Lands to here?" Tripitaka said, "From the outskirts of Chang’an it is over five thousand li. We passed the Two Realms Mountains, took a number of junior disciples, and along the way passed through Western Barbarians, Xīfān and Habi, and after two months traveled another five or six thousand li to reach this honorable place." The old monk said, "That is ten thousand li away indeed. I, this servant, have wasted my life, never even left the monastery gate, truly what is called 'watching the sky from a well'—a sort of rotting-wood sort of man." Tripitaka asked, "What is the venerable abbey head’s age?" The old monk said, "I am two hundred and seventy, and this is still a little while." Sun Wukong heard this and said, "This is still my great-grandson across ten thousand generations." Tripitaka shot him a look and said, "Speak carefully. Do not forget place and rank, and do not crowd or collide with others." The monk then asked, "Lord, how many years have you lived?" The Master replied, "I dare not say."

The old monk made no more of that mad remark, gave no offense, and did not ask again; he only ordered tea. One boy brought out a lamb-skin jade tray and three blue-lacquered gilt tea cups. Another boy brought a white-bronze kettle and poured three cups of fragrant tea. In truth its color outshone blooming pomegranate flowers, and its flavor surpassed osmanthus blossom. Tripitaka saw it and praised it without limit: "What fine things, what fine things indeed—truly rare food and rare vessels." The old monk said, "Narrow eyes, narrow eyes. You are from the high realm in the Central Kingdom and have broad sight of wonders; for such vessels, praise is unnecessary. Since you come from a foreign land, do you have any treasures you could lend my disciples for a look?" Tripitaka said, "Pitifully, I have no precious things in my eastern land; even if there are, the road is long and such things cannot be carried." Sun Wukong said quietly, "Master, I once saw among the baggage that robe—you know, this kasaya. Why not show it to them to see?" On hearing "kasaya," all the monks each gave a cold laugh. Sun Wukong said, "Why do you laugh?" The abbey host said, "You said a kasaya is a treasure, but your words are really laughable. If you speak of kasaya, for fellows of our kind we have no mere two or three hundred pieces. If we speak of my preceptor, who has been a monk here for two hundred fifty to sixty years, there are at least seven or eight hundred." He said, "Bring it out and let us see." The old monk was showing off in one breath and so ordered the chan monk to open the storeroom. The novice monk lifted the cabinet and brought out twelve chests, set them in the courtyard, and unlocked them. Racks were set on both sides and ropes around all four sides; each kasaya was shaken open and hung up for Tripitaka to view. In truth the whole hall was bright with silk and brocade, and the walls with brocades.

The Master inspected them one by one; they were all robes of flower-inlaid, velvet-worked, and gold-embossed embroidery. He said, "Good, good, good. Put them away, put them away. Bring out ours as well." Tripitaka pulled him aside and whispered, "Disciple, do not compete in wealth with others. We travel alone in the world; this could cause mistakes." The Master said, "Why is it wrong to look at a kasaya?" Tripitaka said, "You have not understood. The ancients said, 'Fine and strange beautiful objects should not be shown to those whose eyes are greedy and deceitful.' If such a thing enters the eyes, it will stir the heart; once the heart is stirred, schemes will arise. You are the one to fear misfortune. If he asks for it, you must give in; if you do not, life may end in ruin. This is no small matter." The Master said, "Do not worry, do not worry; all is with your disciple." Seeing this, he went at once without waiting to be told, opened the bundle, and unwrapped two layers of oiled paper already fastened. When he removed the paper and took out the kasaya, when he shook it open the room filled with red light and the court with colored radiance. Every monk who saw it had no one among them who did not rejoice in heart and praise it aloud: it was indeed a fine kasaya. It bore these lines:

A thousand kinds of craftsmanship, pearl tassels with dazzling luster; ten thousand rare wonders, holy Buddhist treasures gathered together. Above and below, dragon-whiskered brocades laid in colored silks; all four sides trimmed with ribbon-silk borders. Hung on the body, the monsters and specters are eliminated from this day; when worn on the body, the fiends and ogres go down to the Yellow Springs. Made by the hand of the transformed Celestial Immortal; if one is not a true monk, one dares not wear it.

That old monk, when he saw such a treasure, did indeed let a wicked thought take hold of him. He stepped forward, knelt before Tripitaka, and with tears in his eyes said, "My disciple is truly without merit." Tripitaka helped him up and said, "What is it, Venerable monk?" He said, "Your Excellency’s treasure has just now been opened, and dusk had come. My eyes are dim, blurred with age; I cannot see clearly. Is it not because of no destined affinity?" Tripitaka ordered, "Bring the lamp on your palm and let you look again." The old monk replied, "My lord’s treasure is already bright; if I light a lamp, it will flash right in my eyes, and I cannot look closely." Sun Wukong said, "How should I look at it, then?" The old monk said, "If your lordly grace is kind, send the disciple to the rear room and let him inspect it slowly all night. In the morning return it to me before you go west. I do not know your honored intention." Hearing this, Tripitaka was startled and scolded the Great Sage: "It is all your doing, all your doing." The Great Sage laughed: "Why should we fear him? Let me pack it and let him take it to look. Yet if there is any mishap, it will all be through me." Tripitaka could not stop him. He handed the robe to the old monk, saying, "Just look at it. But in the morning, return it to me as before, and do not damage or soil the robe." The old monk rejoiced and commanded the fortunate novice to take the robe inside. He also told the monks to clean the front meditation hall, set out two rattan beds with quilts, and invite the two elders to rest there; in a separate room he had them prepare an early departure meal for the morning. Then everyone dispersed. Master Tripitaka and the disciples closed the meditation hall and slept; there is nothing further to add."

Yet the monk had tricked the robe into his hands. He brought it to the rear room, stood by the lamp, and howled and wept over the robe. The monks of that temple, frightened by what was happening, dared not fall asleep. The happy lucky novice, without knowing why, went and told the other monks: "The Reverend has been crying since the second watch and still has not quieted." Two disciple-monks, whom he loved dearly, stepped forward and asked, "Master, why do you cry?" The old monk said, "I cry out of no fate; I cannot bear to look at Tripitaka’s treasure." A junior monk said, "You are old and have lived long, Master, and are beyond your prime. His robe is right in front of you; simply untie it and look. Why must you cry so?" The old monk said, "To see it for long is impossible. I am two hundred and seventy years old this year. I have turned only hundreds of robes over the years. How could there be such a one? How could this be mine to wear as a Tang monk?" The young monk replied, "Master, you are mistaken. Tripitaka is a wandering monk from afar, who has left home and hearth. You, at this ripe age, have already enjoyed enough of your monastic life; why should you now want to be a traveling monk like him?" The old monk said, "Though I am a monk who lives at ease and finds joy in my old age, I have not yet worn this one. If he let me wear it for one day, even if I die I can close my eyes in peace. That would make my life of being a monk in this world worthwhile." The monks said, "This is no proper way. If you want to wear his robe, what is difficult? Tomorrow we can hold him here one day and then you wear it one day; hold him ten days, you wear it ten days. Enough, why cry like this?" The old monk said, "Even if he stays a whole year, I could only wear it for a year at most. In the end he will have to go anyway. When he departs, he departs with him. How can I keep him for long?"

At that moment, while he was speaking, a young monk named Guangzhi raised his head and said, "If the old monk wants him to stay long, it is simple." At these words the old monk became very joyful and said, "My son, what keen idea do you have?" Guangzhi said, "Tripitaka and the other one are on foot; the hardship of travel has been great. They are asleep now. We should gather a few strong men, take spears and swords, break into the meditation hall, kill them, bury the corpses in the back garden so only we householders know, then at the same time seize his white horse and baggage, but keep this robe as our family heirloom. Is this not a plan for our descendants to hold fast to for many generations?" The old monk heard this, his mind completely delighted, and just wiped away his tears, saying, "Good, good, good; this plan is excellent." At once he made ready the spears and swords."

There was then another young monk named Guangmou, Guangzhi’s fellow disciple. He came forward and said, "This plan is not sound. If we are to kill him, we should first watch for signs. The white-faced one seems easy; the hairy-faced one seems hard. If we fail to kill him, will it not invite ruin on ourselves? I have a way that does not require moving blade or spear. I wonder whether Your Honor approves." The old monk said, "My son, what method do you have?" Guangmou said, "According to Small Sun’s thought, now summon everyone of the East Mountain monk cells, each one to bring a bundle of dry wood. Leave the three meditation halls to one side, arrange the wood all around, and set them alight, leaving him no path to flee, and burn even the horse. The villagers in front of and behind the mountain, upon seeing it, will only say he was careless and set a fire that burned down our hall. Would those two monks not both be burned? Yet it will also shield suspicion. Would not that robe then be our family treasure?" The monks who heard this were all overjoyed and all said, "Strong, strong, strong. This plan is even better, even better." Then he ordered each room to bring in wood. Alas! This was just the plan that made the long-lived old monk’s life run to its end, and turned Guanyin’s Chan hall to dust. In fact, in that temple there were some seventy or eighty monk-houses, with more than two hundred disciples total. That night they all rushed together carrying firewood, surrounded the meditation hall before and behind and on all four sides so it was blocked, and arranged the fire—no further details need be recorded."

Now Tripitaka and the disciples had already settled to rest. The Great Sage, being a spirit-monkey, though he lay down he still gathered spirit and regulated breath, half awake in a blurred state. Suddenly he heard footsteps from outside, and a crackling, gusting sound of wood. He wondered, "At this silent hour, how can someone be walking with such a sound? Could it be robbers, plotting to harm us?" He rose in a single spring and wanted to open the door to look out, but feared waking Master. Watch him summon his energies, shift his body in an instant, and become a bumblebee. He was truly:

Sweetness in his mouth, poison in his tail; a slender waist and a light body. Flying through blossoms and crossing willows like an arrow, he clings for fragrance like falling stars. This small, tiny frame can bear heavy loads; with hasty wings that hum he rides the wind. Then beneath the rafters he bored through and saw clearly."

Only later did they see all the monks moving firewood and carrying brush, already surrounding the meditation hall and setting it alight. The Great Sage inwardly laughed: "As I said to my Master, he intends to take our lives and scheme for my robe, and thus raised this cruel scheme. I was going to take my staff and beat him, but sadly I could not—one strike of the staff would kill him, and then the Master would fault me for the assault. Enough, enough, enough. Let him have a chance at easy thievery; follow his plan as bait, and make him unable to stay."

Good monkey, with one great bound, leaped up into the Heavenly South Gate. A frightened crowd of Pang, Liu, Gou, and Bi bent low, and Ma, Zhao, Wen, and Guan folded their backs; all cried, "Disaster, disaster! The master who disturbed Heaven’s court has come again." Sun Wukong waved his hand and said, "No need for salutations. Do not be alarmed. I have come to seek Guangmu Heavenly King." He had barely said it when the king arrived at once and, greeting the Great Sage, said, "Long time no see, long time no see. I heard before that Guanyin Bodhisattva came to meet the Jade Emperor and borrowed the Four-Duty Magistrates, the Six Ding and Six Jia, along with Jie Di, to protect Tripitaka on his westward journey for the scriptures. They said you became his disciple. How are you free to be here today?" Sun Wukong said, "No need for long greetings. Tripitaka has met villains on the road; they have set fire to him. The matter is urgently urgent. I have come to ask you to lend a fire-proof ward to save him. Bring it quickly so I may use it and return at once." The king said, "You are mistaken. If it is villains setting fire, you should borrow water to save him; why a fire-proof covering?" Sun Wukong said, "You do not understand. If we only borrow water, the fire cannot be put out properly and it will only feed it. With this shield, Tripitaka will be protected from harm, while the rest of it burns as it will. Hurry, hurry, do not waste time with words; a major matter is at hand." The king laughed, "This monkey still has the same narrow heart: only concern for himself, not others." Sun Wukong said, "Quickly, quickly, do not quibble and spoil the task." The king had no choice but not to refuse, and so handed over the ward to Sun Wukong.

Sun Wukong took it, pressed on his cloud-head, and walked straight to the ridge of the meditation hall, covering Tripitaka, the white horse, and the baggage beneath it. Then he went up behind, to the abbot’s chamber where the old monk lived, and sat there to guard the robe. When he saw those people setting the fire, he twisted his seals and chanted an incantation; from the ground to the southeast he drew a breath and blew, and a wind rose, whipping the flames into wild, surging chaos. "Great fire, great fire!" Yet behold:

Black smoke spread dimly, red flames leapt high. Black smoke spread dimly, and in the open sky not a single star was visible; red flames rose high, and the earth was lit red for a thousand li. At first it blazed like a bright gold snake; later it surged like a fierce blood-red horse. From the southern three qi the heroism was spent, and the Great God returning Fortune showed its divine power. Dry tinder made fire ferocious by its nature—what need there is to speak of Sui-ren drilling wood to start flame; in front of hot oil, streaks of colored fire floated, outshining the old patriarch’s furnace. This was merciless firelet rising: how could one prevent this willful slaughter? It did not put out the disaster, but came to increase the cruelty. Following the wind, tongues of flame rose a thousand zhang higher; fire, vaunting its wind-power, sent embers spattering beyond the ninth heavens and the clouds above. "Ping-ping, pang-pang," it sounded like old cracked firecrackers; "plop-plop, rah-rah," it sounded like cannon fire in an army camp. The Buddha statues in that place could not flee; in the east court’s cloisters there was no refuge for the halls. It was like a night of ceaseless battle at Red Cliffs, outdoing the fires within Epang Palace. This was only sparks from a spark, yet they can burn ten thousand mu. In a moment, with wind howling and flame surging, the whole Guanyin monastery was red everywhere. Look: the monks hauled chests, lifted baskets, snatched tables and set down cooking pots, and all the courtyard echoed with cries of grief and pain. Sun Wukong guarded the rear abbot chamber and wrapped the front meditation hall with the fire-warding cover; the rest burned fiercely before and behind, truly red flames blazing in the sky and golden light shining through the walls.

No sooner had the fire begun than it startled a beast-demon of the mountain. Exactly twenty li south of this Guanyin monastery stood Black Wind Mountain, and in its slopes was Black Wind Cave, where a demon spirit was sleeping and turning over. He saw the light through the window cracks and thought it was dawn. When he looked again, however, he saw that the glow flickering from the true north was fire. The demon cried in alarm: "Ah! This must be the fire that has broken out in the Guanyin monastery. These monks are terribly careless. I should go and save them." He rose, lifting his cloud-head at once, and came down beneath the smoke and flames. Indeed, the fire rose to heaven; the front halls were already emptied, and the two corridors burned in a two-sided blaze. He strode in with force and crashed inside, calling out to fetch water, but saw no fire in the back rooms, while on the roof ridge of the hall a man stood fanning wind. At once he understood. He hurried in; at the center of the abbot’s chamber there was a strange rosy light, and upon the altar lay a blue felt bundle. He untied it and found a brocaded saffron robe, truly a precious treasure of the Buddha realm. Wealth moves the heart, does it not? He did not put out the fire, he did not call for water. Taking the robe, he looted in the confusion, hauled it away as he stepped into the clouds, and headed directly for the eastern mountain.

The fire burned until daylight at the fifth watch, and only then subsided. You could see the monks, face and body red and raw, sobbing and crying, all of them going into the ash to search for copper and iron, raking away charred coal, pawing for gold and silver. Some took shelter in wall baskets, patching together makeshift sheds; some kindled fires at the ends of broken hearthstones and set pots to cook. They shouted complaints and grievances, crying and yelling in wild disorder, too much to recount.

Afterward Wukong took the fire-blocking shield, carried it with all his strength up to the Southern Heavenly Gate, and handed it to the Guangmu Heavenly King, saying, "Thanks for lending, thanks for lending." The king took it and said, "Great Sage, such sincerity! I had worried that you would not return my treasure and that I could not trace it; I am glad you have brought it at last." Wukong said, "Am I, old Sun, one who deceives face to face? It is said, 'Borrow well and return well; borrowing again is no hardship.'" The king said, "You have long been out of sight. Please come sit in the palace for a while, what do you think?" Wukong said, "I am not as I was before; no more can I spend time on high talk and easy talk on fine benches. I am now guarding Tripitaka and have no leisure. Let us make an excuse and part." He quickly left at once from the cloud and saw the sun-star again. Then he came to the front of the meditation hall, changed form in an instant, becoming a bee, flew in, and when he showed his true form he saw that the Master was still in deep sleep.

Wukong called out, "Master, dawn has come—get up." Tripitaka had just awakened and said as he rolled over, "Right away." He put on his clothes, opened the door, and came out, then looked up to see only walls of red and black, with the halls and towers all gone. He cried in shock, "Ah! Why have all these halls vanished and only red walls remain?" Wukong said, "You are still dreaming. A fire passed through in the night." Tripitaka said, "How is that I did not know?" Wukong said, "I guarded the meditation hall and saw you in deep sleep, so I did not disturb you." Tripitaka said, "You had the strength to guard the hall—how could you not help with the fire in the other rooms?" Wukong laughed and said, "Excellent Teacher, you had it right from yesterday: they fixed on our robes and plotted to burn and kill us. If old Sun had not been aware, by now we would all be ash and bone." Hearing this, Tripitaka, frightened, said, "Was it their doing that this fire was set?" Wukong said, "Who else would it be?" Tripitaka said, "Could it be that I neglected you and thus you did this in your play?" Wukong said, "Old Sun, a man so lazy as me, would I do such foul work? Truly it was their doing. Seeing their poisoned intent, I did not at all help extinguish the fire; I only, to a small degree, stirred the wind." Tripitaka said, "Heavens! If fire breaks out, one should only summon water. Why instead summon wind?" Wukong said, "You know what the ancients said: 'A tiger has no intent to harm without a tiger's mind, and a man no intent to hurt without human intent.' If he did not set the fire, how could I dare to stir wind?" Tripitaka asked, "Where is the robe now? Could it have been burned?" Wukong said, "No matter; no matter. It is not burned, because the abbot room where the robe was laid had no fire." Tripitaka, angered, said, "I do not care about you, but if there is any damage at all, I will chant and chant mantras upon you, and you will die." Wukong, panicked, said, "Master, do not recite, do not recite. I only need to retrieve your robe and we can set off. Let me fetch it." Tripitaka then led the horse by the rein; Wukong took up the pole and burden and came out of the hall, heading straight for the back abbot chamber.

The monks, who were still wailing in sorrow, suddenly saw their master and disciples coming with the horse and carrying pole. Frightened, each one felt ghostly dread and cried, "A vindictive ghost has come to claim lives." Wukong shouted, "What ghost comes for life? Return my robe at once and leave!" All the monks knelt together and knocked their heads on the ground: "My lord, there is a grudge for a grudge and a debtor for a creditor. If he comes for life, it is no affair of ours. It was all Broad Plan and the old abbot who plotted to ruin you. Do not ask us for your life." Wukong snapped, "You accursed beasts! What life is it you are asking for? Just bring out the robe and go." In the midst of this, two of the braver monks said, "My lord, you were burned to death in the meditation hall; to come back now demanding a robe—are you truly human, or is it a ghost?" Wukong laughed, "These scoundrels, where is your fire now? Go look at the hall in front and then speak." The monks rose and went to see, and the doors and shutters of the hall outside had in no way been scorched. Trembling, they at last recognized that Tripitaka was a true sacred monk and that Wukong was a true guardian of law. All together they came forward and knelt, saying, "We had eyes without wisdom and did not know a true man had descended in mortal form. Your robe lies in the back abbot chamber, near Old Teacher's place." Tripitaka passed through three or five tiers of broken walls, groaning in grief all the while. He saw that the abbot chamber truly had no fire. The monks rushed inside and called out, "Lord, Tripitaka is a divine monk and was not burned; he has only harmed his own household goods. At once take out the robe and return it to him now."

It turned out this old monk had not found his cassock, and had burned the monastery buildings as well. At this moment of utmost distress, when he heard this, how could he dare to give any answer? Having no way of thought, no way to go forward or back, he pulled himself up, bent his back, and smashed himself against the wall. Alas, he only smashed his head so badly that blood flowed, his spirit scattered, his throat choked with breath and broke, and the sand was dyed red. A poem is given as evidence. 詩曰:

How mournful this poor old monk, so dull and deluded, one full life spent in the world. I sought to pass this cassock to distant ages, yet I did not know a Buddha treasure is never ordinary. I hoped to keep things easy and lasting, and in the end I made my ruin through neglect. What use are broad wisdom and deep planning? A scene of harming others and enriching oneself is but an empty victory. The whole host of monks cried out, “Master has broken his skull against the wall and is dead, and yet no one can find the cassock. What is to be done?” The Great Sage said, “I think you have hidden it away. Come out, all of you, and bring your name lists in hand, and I, Old-Sun, will check you one by one.” The warden of the upper and lower quarters made the temple monks, anchorites, young attendants, and Taoist menfolk produce two hand-written name rolls each. In all there were two hundred and thirty persons. The Great Sage made Master sit up high. Then he sang out their names from top to bottom and inspected one by one. Each had to loosen his clothing; he clearly checked them all and found no cassock at all. He also pulled out and examined carefully all the boxes and chests carried from each room, searching through every bit from beginning to end. Not a trace was found. Tripitaka, in vexation, blamed Sun Wukong for not having finished fully, and sat and murmured the spell. The Great Sage suddenly tumbled to the ground, clutching his head, hard-pressed and unable to hold himself back, crying, “Do not chant, do not chant. First, find and bring back the cassock.” The monks saw this and, trembling all over, moved forward, knelt, and pleaded. Only then did Tripitaka close his lips and stop reciting. The Great Sage sprang up like a broken skeleton, and a staff flashed out from his ear; he was about to strike those monks. Tripitaka shouted him down: “Monkey-Head, is your headache not frightening enough for you to be this rude? Do not use force. Do not hurt anyone. Let me question them a little more.” The monks knelt and worshipped, begging Tripitaka: “Master, spare us. We truly did not see it at all. All of this is the doing of that old, dead fool. Last night he watched your cassock till deep in the night and was weeping; he dared not even look long at it, but thinking to make it a long-lasting family treasure, he devised a plan—to burn and kill Master. At the start of the fire, a wild wind rose; everyone only hurried to save the blaze, carrying and seizing whatever they could, and no one knew where the cassock had gone.”

Great Sage grew angry and strode into the abbot’s chamber. He lifted up the corpse of that dead, slain ghost, disrobed it, and examined it closely; there was no treasure on the whole body. He even dug three feet into the floor of that abbot’s room and found no trace. After pondering for a while, he asked, “Are there any demons here who have taken on spirit form?” The warden answered, “Do not ask, Master, nothing may be known. To the southeast, not far off, rises Black Wind Mountain; in Black Wind Cave there is a Black Great King. I, this old monk, have often talked Dao with him—he is a demon. There is nothing else.” The Great Sage said, “How far is that mountain from here?” The warden said, “Just twenty li; you can see the mountain top from here.” The Great Sage laughed. “Master, do not worry. Do not speak more. He surely stole it without a doubt.” Tripitaka said, “He is twenty li away from here; how can you be certain it was him?” Sun Wukong said, “Have you not seen last night’s fire, whose light rose and stretched ten thousand li, bright through three skies? Not just twenty li—even at two hundred li it would have been visible. He must have seen that radiance, and at the right moment crept here in secret. Seeing that our cassock is a treasure, he surely used the confusion and carried it away. Let Old-Sun go and look for him.” Tripitaka asked, “Once you go, what shall I rely on?” Sun Wukong said, “In darkness there are protectors among spirits and gods. By daylight, wait till I summon those monks to wait on me.” He called the monks in and said, “Some of you go bury that old ghost. Some of you attend my Master. Some guard my white horse.” The monks promised to obey. The Great Sage added, “Do not just answer quickly by the mouth for no matter. If I am gone, do not return to flatter me. In caring for my Master, keep your faces pleasant and contented. In caring for my white horse, keep water and fodder in proper balance. If there is even a hair’s deviation, I will match you with the measure of this staff.” He yanked out the staff and struck the fire-scorched brick wall. With one crash it was turned to dust, and seven or eight layers of wall were toppled. The monks saw it and each felt bones gone soft and limbs numb. They knelt, knelt, and wept, crying, “Master, do not worry and go on. We will attend with all devotion, serve you with full devotion, and dare not for a single moment be negligent.”

Good pilgrim, he leapt at once upon the cloud of tight mass, and went straight to Black Wind Mountain to seek this cassock. As it is written:

Golden Wukong seeking the true Way departed beyond the capital bounds, Staff in hand, he rode west across green and blue heights. Tigers, leopards, wolves, and crawling things have their haunts there; men of trade and rank and guest-scholars are rarely seen. On roads through strange lands, ignorant monks are jealous; all depend on the might of the Great Sage Equal to Heaven. Fire blazed and wind rose, the temple went to ruin, and a black bear stole the brocade robe in the night.

After all, whether the cassock is found at all, and whether it brings fortune or disaster, we shall hear it out in the next chapter.