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.

The poem says:

At Ling Terrace there is no thing to name, and yet it is called pure; still and silent, not a single thought is born. Restrain ape and horse, forbear from wildness; keep your spirit and vigilance, and do not rise in proud frenzy. Cast out the six thieves, awaken to the Three Vehicles, and all conditions will cease, each made clear. When lust and evil are forever extinguished, one passes beyond the realm of true purity and rests in bliss in the Western Heaven’s land of joy.

It is said that Tripitaka, biting nails and chewing iron, risked his life and kept from himself an unbroken body; by the help of Sun Wukong and the others, they slew the scorpion demon and rescued Pipa Cave. They traveled on in silence, and already it was the Zhu Ming hour. They saw this:

Warm wind now carried wild orchid scent; after the rain had washed everything clean, the new bamboo was cool. Mugwort leaves filled the hills, yet no travelers came to pluck them; cattail flowers filled the ravines and contended for sweetness in bloom. Pomegranates bloomed in beauty, and bees rejoiced among them; creek-side willows made thick shade while the yellow warblers played wildly. A long road cannot bear even a pair of horned millet-bags; dragon boats belong to mourning on the Miluo River. The master and his disciples admired the Duanwu sights and idled through the midday holiday. Suddenly they saw a high mountain blocking the way. The elder pulled the reins and called back, “Sun Wukong, there is a mountain ahead. It may be where another demon lies in wait, so we must be careful.” The others said, “Master, do not worry. We have returned and pledged our devotion. What demon can frighten us?” Hearing this, the elder was heartened. He cracked the reins and, with a signal, spurred the good horses onward. In a moment they reached the cliff. Looking up, what they saw was: At the summit, pine and cypress touched the cloud-blue heights; rock walls, thorns and briars, and wild vines hung from them. Ten thousand feet of severe ridges, thousand-fold suspended cliffs cutting sharply down. Mosses of green and blue moss spread over the shadowed stones. Old firs and tall locusts together made one vast forest. Deep in the woods, strange birdsong could be heard, subtle and clear enough to invite verse. In the ravine water rushed as though jade were being poured. Flowers along the way lay fallen like heaps of gold. The mountain was so cruel, not fit for passing, and in every ten steps there was not half a step of level ground. Fox and deer came in pairs; a white stag and black ape faced one another. Suddenly, a tiger roar startled one’s courage, and a crane cry rang all the way through the sky and court. Yellow plums and red apricots were fit for eating; wild grasses and stray blooms, whose names were unknown, grew in the shade. The four entered the mountain and moved slowly for a long while, then passed over the crest. Down the westward slope was a stretch of open plain. Zhu Bajie showed off his vigor and told Sha Wujing to carry the load, while he walked ahead with both hands raising his spade, trying to drive the horse. The horse was no more afraid of him; though that fool kept tapping and scolding, it still moved only slowly. Sun Wukong said, “Brother, why make him hurry? Let him go at a slow pace.” Zhu Bajie said, “Evening is coming. Since morning we have climbed and travelled all day, and our bellies are empty. Let us go on a bit, find a household, and break fast.” Sun Wukong heard and said, “Very well. Then wait while I tell him to run.” He flicked the Golden-Hooped Staff once, gave a shout, and the horse slipped the bridle and went off like an arrow down the even road.

You say the horse is not afraid of Zhu Bajie, so what is it that it fears in Sun Wukong? Five hundred years ago he had been appointed by the Jade Emperor in Great Pure Heaven to oversee horse tending in the Horse Bureau, with the title Bimawen. The charge remained in force to this day, and all horses still fear the monkey.

The elder could not hold the reins; he only tightened the cinch on the saddle and let the bridle go. He allowed him to run full course, and only after about twenty li across open fields did he finally slow into an easy stride.

While they were proceeding, suddenly there was a strike of drum and gong; from both sides of the road thirty-odd men burst out, each armed with spear, knife, staff, or club, and blocked the way, saying, “Monk, where do you go?” Tripitaka, startled, trembled so much that he could not sit steady. He fell from the horse and crouched in the roadside grasses, crying only, “Great King, spare my life, Great King, spare my life.” The two men in front said, “We will not strike you; just leave toll money.” Only then the elder understood that this was a band of hard men. He bowed slightly and raised his head to look. He saw that they were:

One had a green face and fang-like teeth, bold as if to insult the Year Lord. One had raging eyes, round as a funeral gate. Red hair at the temples burned like drifting fire; yellow beard beneath the chin stood like inserted needles. The two wore tiger-skin caps with painted cloth and bound ermine-trimmed war sashes at the waist. One held a wolf-tooth staff in hand, the other carried a split cane lash on his shoulder. Truly they were not inferior to the tigers of Bashan and looked very much like dragons come from water. Seeing how wild and terrifying they were, Tripitaka could only rise and bring his palms together at his chest: “Great King, this poor monk is Tripitaka, sent by the Tang king of the Eastern Capital to travel west for scriptures. Since leaving Chang’an, many years have passed; whatever toll money I once had is spent. As a monk he begs only by request for alms—how could he obtain silver and grain? I beg your mercy; let this poor monk pass.” One of those two bandit chiefs came forward: “We set up a tigerheart bandit post here and stop the road to levy tribute. What is this talk of mercy? If you truly have no money, quickly strip off your robe, leave the white horse, and then we will let you through.” Tripitaka replied, “Amitabha Buddha! This robe of mine is patched with cloth from one house, stitched with needles from another, pieced together bit by bit. If you strip it off, will you not kill me with it? One who is a hero in this life may become a beast in another.” Hearing this, the thieves grew furious and drew their clubs. One raised his club and came forward to beat him. The elder gave no reply. In his heart he thought, “How pathetic. He only says he has his club, but he does not know my disciple’s club.” The thief gave no chance to answer, held up his staff and struck at him wildly. A monk never learned to lie, but in this urgent moment with no way out, he had to speak a falsehood: “Great Kings, do not strike yet. I have a young disciple behind; he has a few taels of silver. I will give him to you.” The thief said, “A monk who gives like this may be trying to trick us. Bind him up.” The roughs rushed together, bound him with one rope, and hung him high on a tree.

Then the three calamity fiends arrived running behind. Zhu Bajie laughed aloud, saying, “Master, you escaped quickly. I wonder where you waited for us.” Seeing the elder hanging in a tree, he added, “Look, while we wait this while, he has a heart like this one—he climbs the tree and pulls vines to swing and play like a child.” Sun Wukong saw this and said, “Idiot, stop your chatter. Is not the Master hanging there? You both come slowly; let me go see what has happened.”

Great Sage hurried up a high bank and looked closely. He recognized them as a gang of rough men and thought inwardly, “How fated, how fated—profit has come to my doorstep.” Then he turned and shifted form, becoming a neat little monk. He wore a black robe and looked only about twenty-eight, with a blue cloth bundle on his shoulder. He pulled forward, coming before them, and called, “Master, what is this? What sort of villains are these?” Tripitaka said, “Disciple, why not save me first and then ask all these questions?” Sun Wukong asked, “What are they making such a racket about?” Tripitaka said, “This crowd who blocked the road held me up for toll. I had nothing at hand, so they hung me up here and told me to wait until you came to settle things. If not, give this horse to them.” Sun Wukong, smiling, said, “The master is not wise enough. There are monks under heaven, yes, but few with skin as loose as yours. Emperor Taizong sent you west to see Buddha—who taught you to give away the Dragon Horse?” Tripitaka answered, “Disciple, being hung up like this for toll, what else can I do?” Sun Wukong said, “What did you tell him?” Tripitaka replied, “He beat me hard and drove me to it, so in panic I gave you away.” Sun Wukong said, “Master, you have no sense at all. How could you give my name like that?” Tripitaka replied, “I only said you had some toll money with you and told him not to strike me; that was the only emergency word.” Sun Wukong said, “Very well, very well. Thanks for your help. Exactly the line I needed. If he were willing to trade like this for seventy or eighty turns in a month, Old Sun would have excellent business.”

When the robbers saw Sun Wukong speaking with his master, they dropped their airs and closed in around him, saying, “Little monk, your master has told us there is money tied at your waist. Bring it out at once if you want your lives spared. If he says even one ‘no’, we will all send your life on its way.” Sun Wukong set down his bundle and said, “Officials, do not raise such noise. There is some money in this bundle; not much. There are only about twenty ingots of horse-hoof gold and twenty or thirty pieces of powder-faced silver, not counting scattered small change, which I have not counted. If needed, take the whole bundle at once, but do not strike my master. In the old books it is written: ‘Virtue is the root; wealth is the husk.’ This is trifling. We monks can always take recourse to alms; if we meet a vegetarian elder monk, there is alms money and there are robes enough. What use is this for us? Just let my master be released and I will give everything together.” Hearing that, the robbers were all delighted and said, “This old monk is stingy, but this little monk is generous.” “Let him down,” they ordered. The master, who had gained his life, leapt onto the horse, did not even glance back at Sun Wukong, cracked his whip, and rode swiftly back by the old road.

The Great Sage cried out in haste: “We have gone the wrong way.” He snatched up his bundle and tried to chase them. The gangsters blocked him and said, “Where are you going? Hand over the travel money so we needn’t torture you.” Sun Wukong smiled. “Let us be clear. The travel money should be divided into three shares.” Their leader said, “This little monk is too sly; he wants to hide some of it from his master. Very well, take it out and show it. If there is a lot, I’ll share some with you so you can secretly buy fruit.” Sun Wukong said, “Brother, not so. Do I really have any travel money? You two are looting other people’s gold and silver—surely you should give me a share.” Hearing this, the thief flew into a rage and barked, “This monk knows nothing of life and death. You won’t give me anything and you ask to question me. Don’t run; I’ll show you how.” He lifted a heavy rattan cane and struck Sun Wukong on the shaven head seven or eight times. Sun Wukong acted as if he did not notice and kept smiling broadly: “Brother, if you strike like this, even if you go on all this way until next spring, it would not be the real thing.” The thief was shocked. “This monk has a hard head!” Sun Wukong smiled. “No offense, no offense—thank you for being kind. I can only endure this for now.” The thief gave him no chance to speak; two or three rushed him in disorder and beat at him together. Sun Wukong said, “Everyone calm down. Let me bring it out.”

The Great Sage touched his ear and drew out an embroidered needle. “Everyone, I am a monk; truly I carried no travel money. Take this needle and be done with it.” One thief said, “Ill omen! You let a prosperous monk go free, yet catch this poor, bald donkey. So you can sew, can you? What use is this needle?” Sun Wukong, hearing this, did not argue. He pinched it in his hand, flicked it once, and turned it into a staff the thickness of a bowl. The thief said fearfully, “Though this monk is small, he can truly do magic.” Sun Wukong planted the staff in the ground and said, “If you can move it, I’ll give it to you.” Two thieves surged forward to seize it; they were like dragonflies shaking a stone pillar, unable to move it by even a hair’s breadth. This staff was the Golden-Hooped Staff, weighing 13,500 jin by heavenly scales—how could that lot of robbers know it? Sun Wukong stepped up, lifted it lightly, and with a coiling staff-flip and a twisting foot-step, pointed at the tough one: “Your fate is poor; you have met Sun Wukong.” That thief came forward again, and he was struck fifty or sixty times more.

Sun Wukong laughed. “Your hands are tired of striking, so let old Sun do one staff blow—do not take it as real.” See how he spread the staff and swung it: thick as the curb of a well, seven or eight zhang long, one sweep. One robber crashed to the ground with dirt on his mouth and made no sound. The one who still had breath cursed, “This bald brute is outrageously rude! No travel money, yet you maimed one of our men!” Sun Wukong smiled. “Sit down and quiet yourselves. I will take them one by one; with one strike I’ll cut your root out.” He swung again and felled the second. Frightened, the rest of the rowdies dropped their spears and clubs and fled in all directions.

Now Tripitaka rode on his horse and ran eastward; Zhu Bajie and Sha Wujing blocked him. “Master, where are you going? You have taken the wrong way.” Tripitaka turned the horse and said, “Disciple, go at once and tell your elder brother to show restraint with his staff and not to kill those robbers.” Zhu Bajie said, “Master, stay here; I will go.” The pig-brother ran ahead and shouted at full voice, “Brother, Master told you not to hit people.” Sun Wukong said, “Brother, when did I hit anyone?” “Where did those robbers go?” Zhu Bajie asked. “The others have all dispersed; only two captains are still asleep here,” Sun Wukong answered. Zhu Bajie laughed. “You two cursed ones, you must have stayed up all night in misery. After so much hardship, why sleep here instead of elsewhere?” Zhu Bajie went to them and looked: “It’s right up my sleeve to be like me—lying with their mouths wide open, with sticky saliva running out.” Sun Wukong said, “Old Sun has broken tofu loose with one staff swing.” Zhu Bajie said, “Tofu from a man’s head?” Sun Wukong said, “Their brains have been knocked loose.”

When Zhu Bajie heard that he had knocked out their brains, he hurried back to Tripitaka and said, “The lot is scattered.” Tripitaka said, “Good! Good! Which road did they take?” Zhu Bajie said, “They were beaten until their legs went stiff. Where else can they now go?” Tripitaka said, “How can you call that scattered?” Zhu Bajie said, “They were killed. What else is that but scattering?” Tripitaka asked, “What did the beating look like?” Zhu Bajie said, “Two large hollows in their heads.” Tripitaka ordered, “Open the pouch and take out a few bits of money. Quickly fetch two plasters and apply them to both.” Zhu Bajie laughed. “Master, that is no way at all. Plasters can only be pasted on a living person’s wound; how can they be pasted on a dead man’s hole?” Tripitaka asked, “Were they truly dead?” He became angry, his muttering never stopping, monkey-tongue long and monkey-word short. Turning the horse, he went with Sha Wujing and Zhu Bajie to where the dead lay and saw them blood-soaked and fallen below the slope.

This elder could not bear to watch. He ordered Zhu Bajie, “Quickly use the pick and dig a pit to bury them. I will recite the Dao Tou Jing over them.” Zhu Bajie said, “Master, this is what you told him too. Sun Wukong killed people; he should be the one to burn and bury them. Why make old Pig do earthwork?” Sun Wukong was annoyed at Master’s scolding and shouted, “You slovenly idiot! Go bury them at once. If you delay, I’ll give you a staff.” Zhu Bajie panicked. Down the hillside he dug three feet deep, but beneath were stone legs and roots that caught the pick teeth. He dropped the pick and used his mouth to dig. At soft spots he dug 2.5 feet with one snout, 5 feet with both, and buried the two bandit bodies, forming a grave mound. Tripitaka said, “Sun Wukong, bring incense and candles. Let me offer the rite, then I can recite scripture.” Sun Wukong pinched his lips and said, “You have no sense. In this middle of the mountain there is no village in front, no inn behind. Where can we get incense? Even if we had money there is no place to buy it.” Tripitaka muttered angrily, “Monkey-head, go. I will gather soil and burn incense and offer the prayer.” This is where Tripitaka, dismounting, wept beside the wild grave, and the holy monk prayed for this barren tomb. The prayer ran:

Homage to valiant men; hear the cause of this plea: remember my disciple, a monk of the Eastern Land of Tang. By the command of Emperor Taizong, I came to the Western Regions to fetch the Dharma. Coming to this place, I met you many in number, and I do not know what prefecture, district, or county you belong to, yet all of you have formed gangs in these mountains. I spoke kindly and begged you with earnestness, but you did not listen and turned instead to anger. You were struck in the body under Wukong’s staff. I grieve that the bodies lie exposed, and I will cover them and make a grave. Green bamboo is bent for incense candles—no bright flame, but diligent in heart; hard stones are set as food offerings—no taste, but true in sincerity. You may raise words at the Hall of the Net and search roots by overturning trees. He is surnamed Sun and I am surnamed Chen; we belong to different clans. Every grievance has its head, every debt has its claimant. Do not accuse this pilgrim monk of seeking sutras. Zhu Bajie laughed. “Master has purged it cleanly. When he struck, neither of us two was there.” Tripitaka truly took more soil and prayed, “The complaint to heroic men names only Sun Wukong and does not involve Zhu Bajie or Sha Wujing.”

The Great Sage, hearing this, could not hold back his laughter. “Master, you are very lacking in loyalty. For your pilgrimage, how much sincere and strenuous toil I have endured. Now I have beaten these two rough thieves to death, and you still tell me to accuse old Sun. Though I was the one who struck, it was entirely for you. If you had not gone to the West for the scriptures, I would not have become your disciple. How would I have come here and killed anyone? Let me offer him a blessing once.” Clutching the iron staff, he looked at the grave and pounded it three times with it: “Wicked bandits, listen! It was seven or eight blows at first, then seven or eight more. You hit me and I did not flinch, yet you provoked my temper, and in one fault and another I killed you. Report wherever you choose. Old Sun fears no one. The Jade Emperor knows me; the Heavenly King can follow me. The Twenty-Eight Astral Mansions fear me; the Nine Luminous Stars fear me. Prefectural and county city gods kneel before me; the Eastern Peak ruler Tianqi trembles before me. The ten Yama Lords have once had me as a servant; the five-route wild gods have once had me as a sworn younger brother. Regardless of the Three Realms or Five Offices, the stewards of the Ten Directions are all deeply close to me; you can complain wherever you like.” Tripitaka, hearing such evil words, was frightened and said, “Disciple, this prayer of mine was meant to teach you good life-force and virtue, to make you a worthy man. How can you take it all so seriously?” Sun Wukong said, “Master, this is not a proper jesting performance. Come, let us get ready to find lodging quickly.” The elder, annoyed, mounted his horse.

Sun Wukong was not at ease with the others, and Zhu Bajie and Sha Wujing likewise carried resentment; master and disciples wore fair faces while inwardly being at odds. As they continued west along the main road, they suddenly saw a manor on the lower ground to the north. Tripitaka tapped his whip and said, 「Let's go there and borrow a night’s lodging.」 Zhu Bajie answered, 「Right.」 So they walked to the edge of the manor and dismounted. When they arrived, it truly was a pleasant place to stay. They saw:

Wildflowers filled the path, and mixed trees covered the gate. On the distant bank flowed river and mountain; on even terraces wheat and marigold had been planted. Reeds and rushes, moistened by dew, held light gulls at rest; the willows in the gentle wind gave weary birds place to settle. Between green cypresses and pines the pines contended for the deepest verdancy; red dock and smartweed contended in fragrance. Village dogs barked, evening hens called; cattle and sheep were fed, and the herdboy went home. Cooking smoke knotted into mist; the yellow millet was done—true that it was the hour when mountain folk went into evening. The abbot went forward. Just then an old man came out through the manor gate and met them to exchange greetings. He asked, 「From where does this monk come?」 Tripitaka said, 「I am a poor monk from the Great Tang in the Eastern Lands, an imperial envoy sent to seek the sutras in the Western Heaven. Passing through Baofang and with dusk coming, I have come here to beg this humble house for a night’s lodging.」 The old man laughed, 「From your noble place to here is a long road. How did you cross waters and climb hills to come alone?」 Tripitaka replied, 「I have three disciples with me.」 The old man asked, 「Where are these high disciples?」 Tripitaka pointed, 「Those standing by the road there.」 The old man looked up sharply, saw their ugly faces, and hurried back inside. Tripitaka grabbed him and said, 「Respected householder, have compassion. Permit us a night’s lodging!」 The old man trembled, could scarcely speak, and with his head shaking and hands waving said, 「N-no, n-no, n-no, this is not the shape of human beings; yes, yes, yes, it is a few demons.」 Tripitaka smiled and said kindly, 「Please do not fear. They are only rough in appearance; they are not demons.」 The old man said, 「My goodness! One looks like a yaksha, one like a horse-faced ghost, and one like Leigong.」 Hearing this, Sun Wukong shouted in a loud voice, 「Leigong is my grandson, the yaksha my great-grandson, and the horse-faced ghost my great-grandgrandson!」 The old man heard it, turned pale, and his soul seemed to rise and flee; he only hurried inside. Tripitaka stayed with him, and led him together to the thatched hall, smiling as he said, 「Old householder, do not fear him. He is only this rough sort, and cannot speak much.」

While he was trying to calm him, a granny came out from behind carrying a child of five or six and said, 「Elder, why are you so frightened?」 The old man called, 「Mother, bring tea.」 The old woman truly set down the child and went in, carrying out two measures of tea. After the tea was served, Tripitaka dismounted and bowed to the old woman, saying, 「I am the poor monk from the Great Tang in the Eastern Lands, sent to go west for the sutras. I have only just come to your place, so I ask your honored house for one night. My three disciples have ugly faces, and this householder, on seeing them, was startled in vain.」 The old woman replied, 「If ugly faces frighten you so, what would happen if one saw a tiger or a wolf?」 The old man said, 「Mother, I see ugly faces are still tolerable; it is the voice that frightens people. I said he looked like a yaksha, horse-face, and Leigong, and then he shouted: Leigong is his grandson, the yaksha his great-grandson, horse-face his great-grandgrandson. When I heard this, I was terrified in truth.」 Tripitaka said, 「No, no. The one like Leigong is my first disciple Sun Wukong. The one like horse-face is my second disciple Zhu Bajie. The one like yaksha is my third disciple Sha Wujing. Though they are ugly, they bear the vows of monks, have taken refuge in the good fruit of Dharma, and are no evil demonic fiends. Why should one fear them?」

The old couple, having heard their names and that they were true monks, settled their fear at once and said, 「Come, come in.」 The abbot called to them from outside and also warned, 「This old fellow just now was greatly troubled by you. When you go in to meet him now, do not be rough, each of you must show proper respect.」 Zhu Bajie said, 「I am handsome, and scholarly; I am not as rash as my elder brother.」 Sun Wukong laughed and said, 「Even with long faces, big ears, and ugly countenances, one can still be a good man.」 Sha Wujing said, 「Do not argue. This is no place for flirtation and banter. Just go in, just go in.」 So they took their bundles and horses into the thatched hall, made a collective bow, and sat. The old woman, wise and kind, immediately gathered the child and ordered rice cooked, arranging a vegetarian meal. The four ate it together.

Night deepened gradually. Lamps were brought out, and all chatted idly in the hall. Then Tripitaka asked, 「What is your surname, householder?」 The old man said, 「Yang.」 He was asked his age. 「Seventy-four.」 How many sons? 「Only one. The child Mother just carried is a grandson.」 Tripitaka invited the son to come and bow. The old man said, 「That brute does not bow. This poor old fool has hard fortune and cannot keep him; he is not at home now.」 Tripitaka asked, 「How is that, exactly?」 The old man nodded sadly. 「Alas, alas! If there were any way to settle him, it would be my good fortune. He was born with evil thoughts, cares only nothing for his proper station, and delights only in robbery and stopping travelers, in killing and arson. The ones he keeps company with are all foxes and jackal-spirits in human form. He went out five days ago and has not returned yet.」 Tripitaka grew anxious but said nothing aloud, secretly thinking, 「Perhaps it was him whom Sun Wukong killed as well.」 The abbot was clearly unsettled and said in a gentle voice, 「Excellent indeed. Excellent indeed. What worthy father and mother—how came such a rebellious son?」

Sun Wukong came forward and said, 「For a child so unruly, dissolute, and full of lust and robbery, who brings trouble upon his parents, what use is he? Let me go find him and kill him.」 The old man answered, 「I too intended to give him up, but there is no one else in the household line. However poor and worthless he is, I must still keep him to bury with this old man.」 Sha Wujing and Zhu Bajie laughed and said, 「Master Brother, mind your own affair. We are not officials. If this house refuses, what is that to us? Ask him, instead, to give us a bundle of straw and we will make bedding on that side and sleep. In morning we will leave by the road.」 The old man rose, sent Sha Wujing to the back garden to fetch two bundles of straw, and told them to settle in the straw-heap there. Sun Wukong took the horse, Zhu Bajie picked up the luggage, and with Tripitaka they all rested in the hay-pit. No further matter need be told.

It turned out that in that gang was indeed the son of Master Yang. Early that morning, before dawn, Sun Wukong had already beaten two bandit heads to death in front of the mountain, and the rest had fled in four directions. About the fourth watch, they regathered and came to beat upon the gate. Hearing the noise, old Yang said, 「Mother, they have come.」 The old woman answered, 「Now that they have come, you open the door and let them in.」 Old Yang then opened the gate. As soon as they entered, all shouted, 「Hungry, hungry.」 The son rushed in first, called out to his wife, and ordered her to cook rice. There was no firewood in the kitchen, so he went to the back garden for wood and then in the kitchen asked his wife, 「Whose white horse is in the back garden?」 She said, 「It belongs to the monk from the Eastern Lands going to fetch the sutras. Last night he lodged here; grandpa and grandma fed him a night of vegetarian fare and told him to sleep in the straw bundle.」

Hearing this, that brute stepped out from the hall, clapped his hands, and laughed. 「Brothers, fate, fate—an enemy is in my own house too!」 「Which enemy?」the bandits asked. He said, 「It is the monk who beat our chief dead, who came to my house for lodging and now sleeps in the straw bundle.」 「Good then, good then.」one of them said. 「Catch these bald-monk rogues and chop each into meat paste: first we get their bundles and white horse; second, we avenge our chief.」 The same one added, 「No hurry yet. Go sharpen your knives. Let me finish cooking first. Once we have all eaten our fill, then all strike at once.」 They truly ground knives against grindstones and sharpened spears upon spear-stones.

The old man heard all this, then quietly went to the back garden and called all four of Tripitaka: 「That brute has gathered the others and come. He knows you are here and intends to harm you. This poor fool, because I have pity on you who came from afar, dare not harm you. Quickly pack your luggage. I will send you out through the back gate.」 Hearing this, Tripitaka, trembling, bowed and thanked the old man, then called Zhu Bajie to lead the horse, Sha Wujing to shoulder the pack, and Sun Wukong to carry the Golden-Hooped Staff. The old man opened the back gate and sent them out. He then returned and, as before, quietly lay down in front.

The gang had finished sharpening swords and spears, eaten their meal, and by first light they reached the garden to look for them. They were gone. They quickly lit lamps and searched for a long while; there was no trace at all, but only the back gate stood open. All said, 「They left by the back gate, they left." Calling out, they gave chase. Each ran like an arrow and together followed all the way to the east as the sun rose, when they suddenly saw Tripitaka. Just then the abbot heard the shouts and looked back. Behind them were two or three dozen men, with spears and blades pressed thick together. He called, 「Disciple! The bandits are upon us. What shall we do?」 Sun Wukong said, 「Do not worry, do not worry. This old grandson will settle them.」 Tripitaka pulled on the reins and said, 「Wukong, do not strike down others. It is enough to frighten them away.」 Sun Wukong would not obey. He jerked out his staff and turned to meet them, shouting, 「Where are you going, all of you?」 The robbers cursed, 「Rude bald monk! Return the life of our King!」 Those rogues formed a ring formation around Sun Wukong and raised spears and blades to hack and thrust at random. The Great Sage made one sweep with the Golden-Hooped Staff, making it swell and narrow from broad as a bowl. He hit that band of brigands so that they scattered like stars in the clouds: those struck full-on died, those dragged in by the impact perished, those hit off-center had bones broken, those merely grazed were skin-scratched. Only a few fled in time; the dull ones all saw King Yama.

Tripitaka was on horseback, and when he saw the Master having beaten down so many men, he panicked and drove his horse hard to the west. Zhu Bajie and Sha Wujing hurried after him in close pursuit. Sun Wukong asked the still-living, wounded bandit, “Which of them is old Yang’s son?” The bandit answered with a grunt, “Sir, it is the one wearing yellow.” Sun Wukong stepped forward, snatched up a knife, cut off the head of the yellow-clad man, held the blood-soaked head in his hand, took up the iron staff, broke into cloud-step, and hurried to the front of Tripitaka’s horse. Holding up the severed head, he said, “Master, this is old Yang’s rebellious son. The Great Sage has taken his head as well.” When Tripitaka saw it, he was shaken and pale, and in panic he fell off the horse, shouting, “That wild monkey has nearly scared me to death! Take it away, take it away.” Zhu Bajie stepped forward, kicked the head off to the roadside, and with his spade he heaped a little earth over it.

Sha Wujing set down his load, supported Tripitaka, and said, “Master, please rise.” As he regained his senses on the ground, Tripitaka began chanting the Tightening Headband Spell. It squeezed Sun Wukong so that his ears reddened, his face turned crimson, his eyes bulged, and his head swam as he rolled on the earth, crying only, “Stop the spell, stop the spell.” Tripitaka chanted it more than ten times and still would not stop. Sun Wukong rolled in somersaults and bucked like a cicada on end; unable to bear the pain, he only cried, “Master, forgive my fault and end this. If you must speak, speak now. Don’t chant, don’t chant.” Tripitaka finally stopped and said, “There is nothing to say. I do not want you to stay with us. Go back.” Sun Wukong, enduring the pain, knelt and begged, “Master, why are you sending me away?” Tripitaka said, “You wild monkey are too savage and ferocious; you are not one fit for the pilgrimage. Yesterday, when we were below the slope, you killed those two bandit chiefs, and I already blamed you for your cruelty. Later, when it grew late we came to that old man’s home; he gave us alms for the meal, offered us lodging, and even opened the back gate so we could escape with our lives. His son may be wayward, but it is none of my concern, and it was not right to immediately chop off his head; besides that, you have already killed many men, destroying many lives and injuring heaven and earth’s harmony. I have repeatedly urged you, and there is not one grain of goodwill in your heart. What else could you be aiming for? Go quickly, go quickly, lest I have to chant the true words again.” Sun Wukong, now afraid, only pleaded, “Stop the spell, stop the spell—I’ll go.” He said he would go and then leapt through the clouds in a somersault; without sound or trace he vanished. Aha—this is exactly:

A heart still filled with wild ferocity, uncured by the elixir, has no abiding place for the spirit, and the Way cannot be achieved.

In the end it was still unknown in which direction the Great Sage had gone. Listen now to the explanation that follows.