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 king of Sai Country thanked Tripitaka and his four disciples for the grace of recovering the treasure and subduing the demons and for the blessing they had bestowed; of the gold and jade he offered, he did not accept a single grain. He nevertheless ordered the officer in charge to have, for each of the four, two sets of the robes they usually wore, two pairs of shoes and socks each, two silk girdles each, and to provision roasted dry rations. He also exchanged their travel passes, arrayed a full ceremonial caravan, and with both civil and military officers, the whole city’s householders, and the monks of Fulong Temple, sent the four followers out of the city with music and shouting. After about twenty li they first took leave of the king. The others escorted them another twenty li and then turned back. The Fulong Temple monks escorted them for five to six tens of li and did not return: some wished to go west with them; some wished to cultivate in order to serve as attendants. Seeing that no one agreed to go home, the Monkey King made a device of it, plucked thirty to forty hairs from his body, blew out a breath of immortal qi, and cried, “Transform!” so they all turned into mottled ferocious tigers, blocked the road ahead, roared, and bounded with delight. Only then did the monks grow fearful and dare not go forward. Great Sage then led Master Tripitaka, who had his horse spurred, and in short time got far ahead. The monks gave voice to loud weeping and cried, “Old lord of benevolence and duty! We are not fated for this; we will not be ferried across with you.”

The weeping of the monks need not be described first. Now the four disciples went up onto the main road, and only after they had retracted their hair-forms did they proceed straight west. The seasons had already begun to change; it was late winter into early spring, not warm nor cold, perfect for carefree travel. Suddenly they saw a long ridge, with a road on the top of it. Tripitaka reined in and examined it. On that ridge were thorny branch and fork, and kudzu twining around, and though there were traces of a path below, on both sides were only thorn and prickles. Tripitaka said, “Disciple, how can this road be passed?” Sun Wukong answered, “Why cannot it?” He added, “Disciple, the traces are below while the thorns are above. Unless snakes and worms crawled along the ground, it cannot be crossed; if you all walk, your waists cannot even straighten. How can I ride a horse this way?” Zhu Bajie said, “Do not worry. Let me use the pike-shovel hand. I can split the thorns apart; not only riding, but even lifting you in a sedan chair I can get you across.” Tripitaka replied, “Though you have strength, this is far and long. You do not know how long it runs; how can it spend so much spirit?” Sun Wukong said, “Need not discuss it. Let me look.” He leapt into the air and, watching from there, saw for a long while without limit. Truly it was:

Around earth and sky, the smoke lies still, rain clinging to it. On either side of the track soft moss tangles in confusion, all the distant hills spread green canopies. Thick and knotted the fresh-budding leaves, climbing and tugging as fragrance rises. Looking afar, one cannot see where it ends; near at hand it is like a dim green cloud. Dim and soft, lush and vast. Wind sounds drift far away, and the sun’s image shimmers in brilliance. Among it stand pines and cypresses, also bamboo; here and there pears, willows, and even more mulberry. Vines of kudzu wrap old trees, and climbing gourd and kudzu girdle drooping willows. Entwined in coils like a frame, linked together like a bed. In some places flowers bloom, as if embroidered brocade; at no cause the grasses send forth deep far perfume. Who among men is not met by thorns? Who has seen the thorny wilds stretch so far to the West?” After looking long enough, Sun Wukong pressed down his cloud head and said, “Master, this place is very far.” Tripitaka asked, “How far is it?” Sun Wukong said, “From one look it is boundless, seems more than a thousand li.” Tripitaka was greatly startled: “How is this to be passed?” Sha Wujing laughed, “Do not worry, Master. We know how to burn wilderness; set a fire and burn the thorns right through.” Zhu Bajie said, “Do not speak that. To burn wild growth, one must wait ten months or more, when the grasses wither and trees are dry. At present it is in full green growth. How can it be burned?” Sun Wukong said, “Even if it could be burned, it would still imperil people.” Tripitaka said, “At this rate how can we cross?” Zhu Bajie laughed, “If we are to cross, depend on me.”

"Good simpleton, twist the technique, recite a charm, bend your waist once, and cry, ‘Long!’—then the body will grow to twenty or so zhang in height. Shake the spiked rake once, call, ‘Transform!’, and it changes into a rake-handle thirty zhang long. With a long pull of the feet and both hands wielding the rake, he opened the thorns aside to both sides: ‘Master, come behind me.’ Seeing this, Tripitaka rejoiced at once and set his horse, following close behind. Sha Wujing carried the baggage. Sun Wukong too parted the thorns with his iron rod. That day he never stopped at all; they went one hundred and ten li. At the next twilight they saw an open place. On the road there was a stone stele with three large characters: “Jingji Ridge.” Beneath it were two lines in small script, fourteen characters: “Jingji thickets climb eight hundred li; from old times few men have passed by road.” On seeing it, Zhu Bajie laughed and said, “Let old Bajie add two lines: ‘From this day forth, Bajie can break it wide open, And straight to the Western lands the road will at last be level.’ Tripitaka gladly dismounted and said, “Disciple, you are tired as well. We shall stay here for the night and depart again when light comes.” Zhu Bajie said, “Master, do not stop. In this clear weather seize the moment while we are stirred with vigor and go through the night by opening the way."

The abbot could only comply and follow.

After another day and one night of unceasing progress, and still in the evening, they saw ahead a dense thicket and heard, in the wind, a tapping of bamboo and a rustling of pines. Again there was a stretch of open ground, and in its middle stood an ancient temple. Outside the gate there was pine and cypress, cold and deep green, and peach and plum contending in brilliant bloom. Tripitaka dismounted and looked with the three disciples. What they saw was:

A cold current at the clifffoot, the old temple nestled against it, and smoke of ruin locks the ruined mound. In the white-heron thicket the long years of age are hidden, and below green weeds beneath the altar the cycles of spring and autumn return. Bamboo stirs the jade pendants as though speaking; birds make lingering sounds like sorrowful complaint. No chickens or dogs, no traces of people; lone flowers and wild vines wind over the wall edge. Sun Wukong said, “This place is not auspicious but inauspicious; not fit for lingering.” Sha Wujing said, “Elder Brother, you are too suspicious. In such a place with no sign of folk nor any monstrous beast or demon-bird, what have we to fear?” Before he could finish, an eerie wind rose. From behind the temple gate came an old man with a horned kerchief, pale robe, staff in hand, and straw sandals. Behind him followed a ghost-errand of green face, fang-toothed, red-bearded, naked to the waist, and bearing a flat cake upon his head. They knelt and said, “Great Sage, I am the Spirit-warden of Jingji Ridge. Knowing you have arrived and with no means to receive you properly, I prepared one tray of steamed cakes and offer them to you, Master Tripitaka, and each of you for one meal. From here to the next settlement is eight hundred li; there is no village at all. At least this may fill your hunger. Zhu Bajie was pleased and stepped forward to stretch out his hands and take the cakes. Unbeknownst, Sun Wukong had been observing long and now shouted, “Stay! This one is not a good man. Do not be insolent. What land spirit are you, deceiving old Sun? Show me your staff!” When that old one saw him coming, he turned and became a swirl of dark wind, and with one shout snatched up the Master, lifting him and carrying him away, drifting and tossing, none knowing to where. Startled, Great Sage could not follow at once; Zhu Bajie and Sha Wujing looked at one another in dismay, and even the White Horse only neighed in fright. The three disciples and horse, four mouths in all, reeled and stared off into the distance, then to the heights, with no trace of him at all; searching back and forth is not worth recounting.

Now it is said that the old man, with a ghostly messenger, carried Tripitaka to stand before a stone cottage wreathed in smoke-like radiance and set him down gently. He drew him beside him and said, ‘Holy monk, do not fear. We are no evil men; we are the Elders of Thorny Ridge, the Eighteen Elders. On this wind-clear, moon-clear night, we have specially invited you to come, for we wished to meet as friends, talk poetry, and pass the evening in fellowship.’

Only then did Tripitaka steady his nerves and open his eyes to look closely. Truly:

Faint drifting mists and clouds drift away, A clear immortal realm, its dwellings and homes. A fitting place to purify the body and cultivate, Suitable for planting bamboo and flowers. At every turn the jade-green crags receive the cranes, And at times one hears the frogs crying in the blue pond. More wondrous even than Heaven’s Terrace and the cinnabar kiln, We still hope for the bright rosy clouds of Mount Hua. What talk is there of tilling clouds and fishing the moon? This reclusive life is itself proud of praise. If one sits long, the hidden thoughts become sea-like, A faint moon rises over the gauze at the window.

Tripitaka had been studying silently; gradually the stars and moon grew clear. He only heard human voices in low conversation. They all said, ‘The Eighteen Elders have invited this holy monk.’

Tripitaka raised his head and looked. There were three elders: the first with a frost-like appearance, the second with green hair and draping locks, the third with a dark blue face. Their features and garments were all different, and all came to offer Tripitaka respect. Tripitaka returned the bow and said, ‘Disciple, what merit has he that he dares trouble the august immortals?’ The Eighteen Elders laughed, ‘We have long heard that the holy monk follows the Way; we have waited many times. If this meeting comes now, it is good fortune. If your generosity is not tight-fisted with pearl and jade, recline with us and share your heart. Then we shall see the true current of Zen insight.’

Tripitaka bent and said, ‘What are your honored names?’ The Eighteen Elders replied, ‘The one of frost-like form is called Guzhi Gong. The one of green hair is called Lingkongzi. The dark-faced one is called Fuyun Sou. This old fool is called Jingjie.’

Tripitaka said, ‘I thank you, honored sirs. All four elders enjoy great longevity, and Elder Jingjie has already surpassed a thousand years. With such age one may still reach realization; your countenance and talent are clear and strange. Are you not, in truth, the Four Worthies of the Han?’

The four said together, ‘You flatter us. No, we are not the Four Worthies. We are the Four Sects of the Deep Mountains. We ask you, holy monk, how old are you?’ Tripitaka joined his palms and bowed, answering:

Forty years ago I came from my mother’s womb, Though not yet born, my life was already marked by disaster. To save my life I was thrown into the water, rolling with the waves, Yet by good fortune on Mount Golden I escaped this mortal shell. I have nourished my nature and read the scriptures without slackness, And with a sincere heart I have dared to worship Buddha through hardship. Now, by imperial order, I have been sent westward, And on the way I have met the mercy of these immortals.

All four said, ‘The holy monk, from birth itself followed Buddhism from the moment you emerged from your mother’s body. Truly, you are a practitioner from youth, and a truly upright monk on the Way indeed.’

Then one and all, ‘By your fortune we have won the grace of your face; we dare ask the Great Teaching. We hope you will instruct us in Zen for a little while so that the whole life may feel fulfilled.’

Tripitaka, hearing this, was moved and unafraid, and said to the assembly:

Zen means stillness, and Dharma means passage. Passage within stillness cannot be completed without awakening. The awakened one is one who washes the heart and clears vexations, who sheds the world and leaves off dust. The human body is hard to obtain, the Central Kingdom hard to be born in, and meeting the true Dharma hard to find: to obtain all three together is the greatest blessing.

Supreme virtue and wondrous Way are vast, remote, and elusive. Then the six roots and six consciousnesses can be swept away. Bodhi means neither death nor birth, no remainder and no lack, emptiness and form in total embrace, saint and ordinary both set aside.

Seek the true and realize the primordial origin; awaken to the genuine method of Buddha. Reveal the images and illusions, and tread and shatter Nirvana. One must awaken within awakening and awaken by deeper awakening. The single point of spiritual light must guard all. Unloose the fierce flame to illuminate the dancing world of forms, and the Dharma realm, stretched in every direction, stands revealed on its own. Even in the most subtle mystery it is further sealed and held fast—who can ever say, at the dark secret gate, who is carried across? I am by original cultivation a monk of Great Awakening Zen; only one with affinity and will can truly be said to have awakened.’

The four elders listened with ears wide open and were joyfully moved without end. Each one bowed in homage and knelt to receive, then rose and thanked him, saying, ‘The holy monk is truly one born with the marrow of Zen insight.’

Fuyun Sou said, ‘Though Chan is stillness, and Dharma is passage, one must still fix the nature and make the heart sincere. Even if one is a truly awakened immortal, in the end he must still sit in the Way of no-birth. The profundity of us is altogether different.’

Tripitaka said, ‘The Way is indeed extraordinary; form and function are one. How, then, are they different?’

Fuyun Sou laughed and said, ‘We are born strong and substantial, and our form and function differ from yours. We owe Heaven and Earth with whom we are born, and rain and dew have nourished our complexion. We laugh and scoff at wind and frost, grinding away sun and moon. One leaf never withers; in a thousand branches our integrity remains in firm season. Such words as this do not strike against emptiness; yet you cling to Brahman speech. The Way, in essence, lies in the Central Kingdom, yet you came seeking proof in the West, wasting your grass sandals in vain, not knowing what you seek.

A stone lion had its heart and liver carved out; wild-fox saliva has soaked through its marrow. Forgetting your source while contemplating Chan and vainly seeking Buddha’s fruit—this is all like the thorny riddles of Thorny Ridge and the tangled nonsense of gourd vines and creeping gourds. How can one guide gentlemen of this kind? With such a standard, how can one bestow the seal of transmission? One must first inspect what appears before one’s eyes. In stillness itself there is one’s course of life.

Water drawn in a basket without a bottom; flowers blooming on a rootless iron tree. Fix your feet at Lingbao Peak, and when you return come to the elegant gathering on Dragon Flower.’

Tripitaka heard these words and knelt and thanked him. Elder Jingjie put out a hand and helped him up; Guzhi Gong pulled him to his feet; Lingkongzi laughed aloud and said, ‘Fuyun’s words are plainly too revealing. Holy monk, please rise; do not believe him entirely. We have taken this moonlit night for no lectures or cultivation. Let us rather recite, sing, and roam in free ease, letting our hearts wander at liberty.’

Fuyun Sou smiled and pointed to the stone cottage, saying, ‘If you wish to recite verses, come inside the small cell for a cup of tea. What say you?’

The abbott truly bent forward and looked toward the front of the stone cottage. On the gate were three large characters: “Wood Immortal Hermitage.” Then all entered, and the seating order was arranged. At once a bare-bodied ghost attendant appeared, carrying a tray of poria paste, and presented five cups of fragrant tea. The four elders invited Tripitaka to begin, but Tripitaka, startled and uncertain, did not dare to. The four elders all ate together; Tripitaka ate only two pieces. Each drank the fragrant tea and withdrew. Tripitaka watched carefully, and he saw dazzling brilliance there, as if moonlight had settled below:

Water flows out from the edge of rock, scent drifts from within flowers. The whole hall is clear and elegant, utterly free of dust. When that abbott beheld this fairy-like scene, he was pleased and delighted, his joy overflowing, and he could not help but recite: “A meditative mind is like moonlight, utterly free of dust.” Jiejie Elder laughed and at once linked a line: “Poetic mood, new as the blue of heaven.” Guzhi Gong said: “What a fine line, cast loose, richer than brocade and embroidery.” Lingkongzi said: “Good prose need not point out odd jewels to be rare and beautiful.” Fuyun Grandmaster said: “The splendor of six dynasties is all washed clean; once more the elegant hymn is carefully revised and divided.” Tripitaka said, “My disciple spoke only in haste and blundered, uttering a few words. Truly it is what they call ‘wielding a hatchet at Ban Gate.’ Now hearing these words from the Immortals, they are fresh and lofty, and truly poetic in the extreme.” Jiejie said, “Venerable monk, there is no need for idle elaboration. In one who has left home, a proper beginning already implies an ending. Since you already have the opening line, why have no closing line? Please bring it to completion.” Tripitaka said, “My disciple cannot do that. If you please, may Elder Shiba conclude it and make it a full piece.” Jiejie said, “You have such a true heart; how can you refuse to finish what you began? To be reluctant to give up pearls and jade is unreasonable.” Tripitaka therefore had to add the next two lines: “Tea in a half-pillowed pine-wind sleep, songing mood light and free, full of spring.” Elder Shiba said, “Excellent! ‘Songing mood light and free, full of spring.’” Guzhi Gong said, “Jiejie, you know well the flavor of poetry, so you may keep savoring it. Why not begin yet another piece?” Elder Shiba also replied, with no reluctance, “I begin by striking the key line: Spring will not boast of beauty, winter will not decay; clouds come and mists go, as if nothing at all.” Lingkongzi said, “I too can strike the answering key line: In windless space the dancing shadows sway; A guest finds joy, pitying the picture of blessings and long life.” Fuyun Grandmaster struck a key line, too: “Its form resembles the western mountain of firm-jointed Elders, clear as the southern land, cold-hearted to itself.” Guzhi Gong also struck a key line: “If the side leaf is called the梁梁 beam, let the hall become a crossing-bough and make a statute of a crow.” The abbott, hearing all this, praised them without end and said, “It is truly the pure white snow of spring, a mighty spirit rising to heaven. My disciple is lacking in talent and dares not add two lines.” Guzhi Gong said, “The holy monk is truly a man of the Way, a great cultivated man. There is no need to keep trying to pair lines further. Please teach us the full piece, so that we may try to match it as best we can.” Tripitaka had no choice but to smile and recite one regulated poem: “With staff and staff-bowl came from the west to bow before the Dharma King, praying to seek wondrous canons and spread them afar. Golden and green flowers bloom threefold on the judges’ verse throne; lotus fragrance rises from a thousand flowering trees. At the top of a hundred-foot pole one must still make progress; In the ten directions and all the realms, let one establish conduct and dwelling. To fashion the body of a worthy jade image; before the Gate of Bliss this is the altar of the Way.” All four elders listened to an end and praised highly. Elder Shiba said, “I am an old fool with no merit, and I have dared to intrude boldly, but I too will try to match this one.” “Jiejie stands aloof, laughing at Wood-king pride; the spirit-cypress does not spread my name. In mountain emptiness, dragon and snake shadows stretch a hundred zhang; a thousand-year spring draws up amber fragrance. Unbinding and sustaining the vital breath of heaven and earth, joy at once changed by wind and rain into hidden and manifest paths. In withered decline I blush to find no fairy-bone in me; only this poria-paste grounds a hall of longevity.” Guzhi Gong said, “This opening is imposing and forceful, the paired lines powerful, but the closing line is too much in self-abasement. Admirable! admirable! This old fool also matches a verse.” “I have always favored the plumage king among roosting birds; Before the Hall of Four Magnificences your great vessel is raised. Heavy dew, pearl tassels veiled by jade-green canopy; a light wind on stone teeth, cold fragrance shattered. In the long corridor the night is still, song-voices thin; ancient hall and autumn shade hide faint reflections. On New Year’s day, while welcoming spring, I once offered life-blessings; In old age I yet send my proud heart to the mountains.” Lingkongzi laughed and said, “Fine poem, fine poem—truly a moon that presses open heaven and heart. How can this old fool answer it? Yet I must not leave it all unsaid; I, too, must speak a few lines.” “The timber-beam timber of Liangdung is material for emperor and king; beyond the Hall of Supreme Clarity, sound rises. A clear pavilion appears like azure vapour arriving; On dark walls, as one passes often, passes along emerald fragrance. Magnificent integrity stands proud through a thousand ages; deep roots are knotted in the Nine Springs. Lingkong’s posture covers the dancing shadows; he does not belong in the showy field of brilliant flowers.” Fuyun Grandmaster said, “The poetry of these three elders is lofty and pure, exactly the opening of a brocade-satin casket. I am weak in strength and empty in talent; under the instruction of these three elders, the knot at my gate has burst open. I have no way but to make a few rough lines—please do not laugh at them.” He recited: “In Qi’ao Garden the Sacred King rejoices; ten thousand mu of Weichuan may be set to flourish. Green bamboo is unsullied by Xiang-goddess tears; a strip of reed, fit to transmit the fragrance of Han histories. Frosted leaves come and go without changing their hue; from the smoke-tipped tops, where now can color hide? Since Master Ziyou has left this world, true listeners are few; across ages he left his name in the hall of brush and ink.”

Tripitaka said: “The four Immortal elders’ poems are truly breathless—phoenixes giving forth pearl and jade, none among Xia can equal them. Your deep feeling and high excellence have moved me greatly. But the night is already deep, and my three young disciples do not know where they are waiting for me. My disciple cannot stay long; I beg leave to return and search them out. My love for them is without bound. Please, revered Immortals, show me the way home.” The four elders laughed and said, “Holy monk, do not worry. Such a strange meeting is one of a thousand-year chance. And though the sky is clear and bright, though night is late it is moonlit as bright as day. Sit a little longer. At daybreak we shall gladly escort you far beyond the ridge, and your disciples will surely meet you then as well.”

Tripitaka said: “Three young disciples are waiting somewhere outside, but I do not know where. They wait for no one but me?”

Just as this was being spoken, outside the stone hut two blue-robed maidens appeared carrying a pair of crimson-silk lanterns, followed by a fairy lady. The lady, twirling a sprig of apricot blossom, entered smiling. What did she look like? She was as follows:

Her complexion was painted azure, her face rosy-red like rouge. Her starry eyes still shone with color, her moth brows were bright and even. Below she wore a faint red five-colored plum skirt; above, a light jacket like fire glimmering through smoke. Her curved shoes had bent phoenix-beaks; her silk stockings dragged patterned silk in the mud. Lithe and seductive as a maiden of Heavenly Terrace, in no way below the famous beauty Daji of old. The four elders bowed and asked, “Where has Xingxian come from?” The woman offered full salutations to all and said: “I learned there were fine guests here giving poetry in response, so I came to visit. I dare ask to be granted one audience.” Eighteen Master pointed to Tripitaka, saying, “The guests are here; why trouble to seek an audience?” Tripitaka bowed low and could not speak. The lady called out, “Serve tea at once.” Then two yellow-robed maidens arrived carrying a red-lacquered cinnabar tray. Within the tray were six tiny porcelain tea bowls, and in the bowls were a few kinds of strange fruit; one carried a spoon across the shoulder. Another held a white-iron tea kettle inlaid with yellow copper, its fragrance strong. When tea was poured, the lady showed the color of spring scallions, and handed a porcelain bowl to Tripitaka first, then to the four elders, and after that took one bowl herself.

Lingkongzi said, “Why does Xingxian not take a seat?” The lady had just now gone to sit down. After tea, she bowed and asked, “The honored immortal’s feast is resplendent tonight—would you teach me one or two fine lines?” Fuyun replied, “We are but rough and common in speech; only the holy monk’s verse is truly grand, truly worthy of great admiration.” The lady said, “If you would be generous in instruction, I beg to read one.” The four elders then recited aloud Tripitaka’s earlier poem and later poem and expounded its Zen doctrine. With a full smile on her face, she spoke to everyone: “I am unworthy and have no talent with which to offer my poor verses. But after hearing these fine lines, it would be unworthy to stay silent. I will, with great effort, offer a matching regulated poem as a follow-up. Pray excuse it.” She then sang clearly:

“On the lid remains the name of Emperor Wu of Han; in Zhou times Confucius raised the altar and sang it forth. Dong Immortal cherished me into a forest’s accumulation; Sun Chu once pitied the fragrance of the cold-food rite. Rain-softens my red complexion, tender and fine; mist-smooths green color makes it plainly appear and yet still conceal it. Knowing my own overripe sourness, each place I fall, year after year I keep company with the wheat fields.” The four elders listened and all praised, saying: “Pure and elegant, free of dust, and the line contains the entire spring mood. Excellent is ‘Rain-softens my red complexion, tender and fine’! Excellent is ‘Rain-softens my red complexion, tender and fine’!” The lady smiled and answered softly: “I am afraid, I am afraid. At the hearing of the holy monk’s poems, my heart is truly brocade-fitted and embroidered. If you are not stingy with pearls and jewels, grant me instruction of one more song?” Tripitaka would not dare to agree. The lady’s interest grew, and she drew closer and closer, inching along, until near the seat. In a low whisper she said: “Excellent guest, do not withhold your attention. Why only stand and toy about? This beautiful night passes quickly—what can one’s life have in it?” Eighteen Master said, “Xingxian possesses lofty feeling that raises her eyes upward; can this holy monk have no intention worthy of yielding in return? If he does not show favor, then he does not understand true amusement.” Guzhi Gong said, “The holy monk is a man famed for the Way, and he does not act carelessly. With such conduct as this, we would indeed be committing offense. To sully a person’s name and spoil a person’s virtue is no route to true attainment. If Xingxian truly means to pursue this, you may make Fuyun and Shiba the betrothal matchmakers, and Lingkongzi and I stand as guarantors. Is that not a fine union?”

Tripitaka listened, and his expression changed at once. He leapt up and cried aloud: "You are all of one kind of demon, tempting me thus. Earlier you used gentle words, speaking of the mysteries and of the Dao—it was one thing. How can you now use a beauty’s snare to harm poor monk Tripitaka? What kind of reason is this?" The four elders saw Tripitaka in a rage and, one by one, bit their fingers in startled fear, then spoke no more. The naked-bodied demon envoy shouted in sudden thunderous rage: "This monk is terribly ignorant of what befits such matters. Are my elder sister and her companions not suitable? Her talent is handsome and her form delicate as precious jade; need we even mention the needle-fine grace of a maid’s hands—this one piece of poetry is enough to match you. Why do you refuse so? Do not let the chance slip away. The words of Guzhigong are quite proper; if you will not take a match here, I will arrange your marriage again." Tripitaka was greatly alarmed and pale. No matter how wildly they spoke, he would not yield. The demon messenger spoke again: "You, this monk, we spoke to you politely and you did not listen. If we release our rustic temper, we will seize you and make it so you cannot be a monk, cannot take a husband or wife, and thereby not live in vain as a man either." The elder’s heart was like gold and stone, unwavering. Silently he thought: "My disciples do not know where they are, to find me." Saying this, he could not stop tears from falling. The woman, still smiling, came near and with her emerald-green sleeve took out a silk handkerchief and dabbed his tears: "Good guest, do not be troubled. I will keep you to precious jade and sweet fragrance and play together." Tripitaka gave one sharp shout and sprang up to leave. They pulled and tugged him, shouting until dawn.

Then came a cry: "Master, Master, where are you speaking?" It was Sun Wukong, leading Zhu Bajie and Sha Wujing with the horse and loads on poles. They had not rested all night, crossing through thorns and brambles, searching east and west. Through half-cloud, half-mist they had gone over eight hundred li and descended to the west of Thorn Ridge when they heard Tripitaka shouting; he called at once in turn. Tripitaka burst out: "Wukong, I am here. Quickly come, save me, quickly come." The four elders, the demon envoy, the woman, and the maid all flashed and vanished in an instant.

After a while, Zhu Bajie and Sha Wujing both came up to the side and said, "Master, how did you come to this place?" Tripitaka held on to Wukong and said, "Disciples, I have made you work hard all this while. Last night I met that old man who spoke of the Earth God offering alms. It was you who cried out to beat him, and he lifted me to this place. He took my hand and led me in; then I saw three elders come here to meet me. All called me a 'holy monk.' One by one they spoke in elegant words and were excellent at reciting verse. Matching them in turn, I joined in and sang with them. By midnight I saw a beautiful woman with a lantern who also came here to meet me and recited a poem, calling me a 'good guest.' When she saw my face, she sought to take me as spouse, and I then understood. I refused. Yet those acting as matchmakers, as sponsors, and as wedding masters pressed me; I swore I would not agree. Just as I struggled up to leave and scolded with them, suddenly the two of you arrived. First it was dawn, and second, I was afraid of you; at once they pulled and dragged me, and then suddenly disappeared." Wukong asked, "If you talked with them and traded verse, did you not even ask one of them for a name?" Tripitaka replied, "I did ask his title. The first old man was called Shiba-gong, styled Jiejie; the second was called Guzhigong; the third, Lingkongzi; the fourth, Fuyun-sou. The woman was called Xingxian." Zhu Bajie said, "Where are these beings now, and where did they go?" Tripitaka said, "Where they went, I do not know. But the place where we were discussing poems is not far from here."

The three, together with the master, looked around and saw a cliff face with the three characters 'Wood Immortal Hermitage' carved there. Tripitaka said, "Here it is indeed." Wukong looked closely and saw, however, a great hinoki cypress, an old cypress, an old pine, and an old bamboo, with a scarlet maple behind the bamboo. Looking again along the cliff-side, there was also an old apricot, two plum trees, and two osmanthus trees. Wukong laughed: "Did you see any demons?" Zhu Bajie said, "No." Wukong replied, "You do not yet know that these very trees have become spirits here." Zhu Bajie asked, "Brother, how do you know that a spirit-beast is a tree?" Wukong answered: "Shiba-gong is a pine. Guzhigong is a cypress. Lingkongzi is a hinoki cypress. Fuyun-sou is the bamboo pole. The naked-bodied demon is a maple. Xingxian is the apricot tree. The maid is the osmanthus, and she is the plum as well." Hearing this, whether good or bad, Zhu Bajie gave one heavy downward strike with his spade-mace, and in three or five broad blows swept down the two plums, the osmanthus, the old apricot, and the maple; truly, fresh blood flowed from their roots. Tripitaka moved forward and restrained him: "Wukong, do not hurt them. Though they had become spirits, they have not injured me. We should leave and keep going." Wukong said, "Master, do not spare them. If they are left to grow later, they may become great demons and cause great harm." Zhu Bajie, determined, struck once more and felled pine, cypress, hinoki, and bamboo together. Only then did he summon the master back onto the horse, and all proceeded westward together along the main road.

In the end it is still unknown how to proceed; let the next chapter explain.