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.

After Tripitaka bade farewell to the King of Zhuzi Kingdom, he had the saddles set in order and moved west. He and his companions traveled through many mountains and plains and passed through endless waterways; without noticing, autumn had passed, winter had ebbed away, and bright spring arrived. The master and disciples were strolling the road and enjoying the spring scenery when they suddenly saw a hermitage grove. Tripitaka dismounted, sliding down from the saddle, and stood by the side of the main road. Sun Wukong asked, "Master, this path is flat and even; why are we not taking it?" Zhu Bajie said, "Brother, you are very inconsiderate. Master has sat on horseback too long; let him dismount and take a breath of fresh air." Tripitaka said, "Not for the wind. I see there is a household there, and I intend to go beg some vegetarian alms." Sun Wukong laughed. "What is Master saying? If you want alms, I can go and ask for them. As the saying goes, 'He who is master for one day is as a father for life.' How could a disciple sit high while the master goes begging?" Tripitaka said, "Not exactly that. On ordinary days with no village in sight, you all go out and beg this way and that. But today there is a house right nearby, so I can call on it and bring back a meal." Zhu Bajie said, "Master is wrong in this matter. As the old saying goes, 'When three go out, it is the junior who suffers.' You are elder like a father, and we are all disciples. The old books say, 'When the master has work, the disciples bear the strain.' Let this old pig go." Tripitaka said, "Disciples, today the weather is clear, unlike the windy and rainy times. At such times, you all can go far away. At this household, I will go. If there is alms or not, I can return to the road afterward." Sha Wujing laughed nearby, "Elder brother, no need for long arguing. Master is this way by temperament; do not oppose him. If we upset him, we can just bring the alms by transformation, though he may not eat it."

Zhu Bajie acted on the words, took out the bowl and robes, changed his clothing and headgear, and strode directly to the front of the manor to look. It was a place that seemed well set for a halt. He saw:

The stone bridge rose tall, and the old trees stood in dense ranks. The lofty stone bridge and rippling water joined the long stream below; the old trees stood dense, while faint birds called from the quiet woods. Beyond the bridge stood a few thatched cottages, pure and elegant like a hermit's hut. There was also a separate thatched pavilion, bright and white, boldly set as if defying the monastery gate. Before the pavilion, he suddenly saw four beautiful women, all of them stitching at their needles and thread, embroidering phoenix-and-bird motifs. Tripitaka saw that household had no men, only four women, and so he did not dare to enter. He stood still, hidden beneath a tall grove. He watched each of the women in turn: Her inner heart was firm as stone; her orchid-like nature rejoiced like spring. Her tender face was framed in rosy cloud-light; her lips were vermilion, her rouge evenly spread. Her brows arched like the moon, low and curved; her fresh layered hair rose like stacked new clouds. If she stood among flowers, even roaming bees might mistake her for another blossom.

For nearly half a watch, a profound stillness fell. No chickens or dogs made a sound. Tripitaka thought to himself: "If I cannot summon a bowl of alms-food, my disciples will laugh at me. How can it be said the master cannot beg alms, while the disciple still can go and worship Buddha?"

Tripitaka found no way out and with reluctance took a few uncertain steps onto the bridge. After a few more paces, he saw inside those thatched buildings a sandalwood pavilion, and beneath it three women were playing ball-kicking. Those three women seemed different from the first four. He saw:

Their green sleeves flew loose, and their reddish- ochre skirts were pulled and swayed. The green sleeves fluttered and drooped, softly cupping slender arms like jade shoots. The ochre skirts were tugged so the narrow lotus-gold feet flashed through the hem. Their bearing was complete in line and poise; stillness and motion, in every step, were a thousand patterns. Lifting the head with measured height, then bending and sending the next move, they made each kick exact. Turning, they kicked the ball beyond the wall-like flowers; withdrawing a step, their movement turned as if crossing a great sea. They brushed a clod of earth lightly, then with a quick thrust struck to the side. On the shining little shoes with pearl shine they pressed sharply with the tips. On narrow bricks they knew just how to handle it, the feet lying like sleeping fish. The waist stayed true, knees folded and bent; the top lifted and the heels turned up in perfect turns. They could spin a stool with one movement; their shoulders were open and free. Their waists twisted to and fro, and their jewelled necks swayed with each move. The kicks made yellow-river waters seem to run backward, as if bargained for on a golden-fish bank. One turned, mistaking head for foot; another spun and struck with the back-step. They raised the ball on the arm and snapped a keen, pointed pull. They lifted their feet from the straw-soled shoes and returned them backward in a sudden gather. A retreating step sent their sleeves to swing; one hook, one move, and they crossed long as basket-lines. Reaching the gate, they reached in to seize; when beauty rose in the heart, all the maidens cried out in one voice. Sweat ran through the powdered faces, spreading through silk robes, and though weariness showed in their spirit they still called out like roaring surf. Words were not enough, and there was a poem to prove it: Kicked in the spring of the third month, the fair game begins. Heaven wind descends, and pure moon-faces glow. Sweat beads the powdered faces, each flower holding dew. Dust in the midge-brows and willow-swayed smoke. Green sleeves droop, cupping jade-shoot wrists; the reddish skirt drags to reveal the narrow golden-lotus feet. After many kicks, the lovely ones grow faint; disheveled cloud-hair, jeweled buns set askew. Tripitaka watched on for quite some time, then climbed to the bridgehead and called out: "Lady Bodhisattva, this poor monk has come by chance and begs for some alms." Those women heard him. One by one, each set aside her stitching and dropped the ball, and all came laughing softly to welcome him at the gate: "Venerable Master, forgive our poor reception. We did not expect a monk to pass this wild house; we would not block alms-going monks. Please come in and sit." Tripitaka thought privately: "Good, good indeed. In these western Buddha lands, even women attend to alms-seeking monks; how much more should men be devout to Buddha."

After they exchanged greetings, Tripitaka entered with the women and passed into the cottage. When he passed by the sandalwood pavilion, he saw no real halls or side corridors. He saw:

Ridge-tops rose high, and the earth veins stretched far. Ridge-tops rose up to brush cloud and haze; the earth-vein ran deep and far, connecting seas and peaks. Near the bridge were nine winding bends of water, circling back upon themselves. In the courtyards, peaches and plums were planted, a thousand trees each in dense flower. Vines of vines and fig hung from three and five trees; orchid and all kinds of fragrance scattered in ten thousand blossoms. From afar, the caves seemed to mock Penglai Islet; up close, the woods and hills pressed down even Taihua. It was truly a place where demons and immortals hide from sight, and with no neighboring homes, it made a household all its own. One woman stepped forward, pushed open both stone doors, and invited Tripitaka inside. Tripitaka had no choice but to enter. When he looked up, everything had been laid with stone tables and stone stools, all cold and bleak. He grew inwardly alarmed and thought, "This place is not auspicious; it is plainly inauspicious." The women smiled and greeted him. Tripitaka could not avoid sitting. After a short while, one spoke gently: "Venerable, from what mountain do you come? By what vow does this begging arise? Are you repairing roads and bridges, building temple courtyards, erecting monastic halls, or carving images of Buddha? Show your merit ledger for us to see." Tripitaka said, "I am not a monk who begs alms as a profession." The woman said, "If you do not beg alms, why come here?" Tripitaka said, "I am a monk sent from Great Tang in the East to go west to Greater Thunder-Voice Mountain for the scriptures. We passed by not long ago, hungry through the road; I came only to this hall to receive a single meal and then depart." The women replied, "Very well. As people say, 'A monk who comes from afar is here to read the sutra.' Sisters, do not delay him. Prepare the alms quickly."

At that time three women stayed with him, talking over this and that, speaking of causes and conditions. The other four went to the kitchen, raising their robes and tucking their sleeves to work the fire and scrub the pans. What was it they had arranged? It was human fat rendered in oil, human flesh slowly fried and stewed; it was cooked to a black mash like dark flour-dough, and human brains were sliced into tofu-like blocks. Two dishes were carried and set down on the stone tables. "Please partake," they told Tripitaka. "In this haste we have not prepared good alms; do just enough to fill your belly. More can be brought later." Tripitaka smelled it and noticed the rank stink. He dared not speak, but bowed with clasped hands and said, "Lady Bodhisattvas, this poor monk is strictly vegetarian from the womb." The women laughed: "Venerable, this is vegetarian." Tripitaka said, "Amitabha Buddha! If this is what passes for vegetarian food, this monk will never see the World-Honored One or obtain the scriptures." The women said, "Venerable, as an ordained monk you must not choose and pick through what is offered." Tripitaka said, "How could I? I am a monk from the Great Tang, sent westward to bring back the teachings. Along this road, life by life is to be preserved; if one is suffering, I save; if I can touch a grain of grain with my fingers and put it in my mouth, if thread threads catch and entangle the body, I dare not step across what is not fitting. How then could I choose one giver over another?" The women laughed. "Venerable, though you say you do not choose, you have just arrived to a strange gate of guests. Do not despise coarse and plain food; eat at least a little." Tripitaka said, "I truly cannot eat. I fear breaking the precepts. For the sake of all life, release this monk and let me go."

Tripitaka struggled to leave, but the women blocked the doors; none were willing to let him out. "For a household where guests have come, this is no easy business," they all said. "You may pass wind and then hide your hand as if embarrassed—where do you think you're going?" Each woman had some martial skill, and their hands and feet were lively; they pulled him, seized him with easy timing, and with one move threw him flat to the ground. The others held him fast, bound him with rope, and hoisted him high from the beams. This hanging form had a name: "Immortal Pointing-Path." At the front, one hand drew a silken rope and pulled up; one hand bound his waist and lifted; the two legs were taken back by another rope. With three ropes Tripitaka was hung from the beam, his back facing upward and his stomach downward. Tripitaka endured the pain, eyes watering, and cursed inwardly: "My life as a monk is such bad fortune. I only said I was going to a good household for a single alms-meal, yet I have fallen into a fire pit. Disciple! Come quickly to save me, and at least let me be seen again. If you are two more periods late, my life will be gone."

Though the Venerable Elder was deeply troubled, he still kept watching those women. The women then held him at arm’s length and proceeded to disrobe. His heart started to race, and he thought to himself: “Now that they have taken off their robes, this must be to strike at my life-force. Or perhaps they mean to consume my vital essence as well.” In fact, those women had only loosened their silk tops, exposing their bellies, and then each displayed her art: from each waist-joint shot forth silk cords, thick as duck eggs, knotted and springing like living threads, flashing jade and silver as they leapt. For the moment they left the manor gate hidden; I leave it unstated here.

Meanwhile the Great Sage Sun Wukong, Zhu Bajie, and Sha Wujing were on the roadside by the Great Way. Zhu Bajie and Sha Wujing sat their horses and waited, while the Great Sage, as mischievous as ever, climbed a tree, leapt from branch to branch, and plucked leaves and fruit. Suddenly he turned and saw a burst of radiance, and in panic leapt down the tree, crying, “Bad, bad—Tripitaka’s allotted fortune has declined.” The Great Sage pointed and asked, “Look there at that manor-house. What do you see?” Zhu Bajie and Sha Wujing looked together. The place shone, white as snow, silver-bright and bright as polished silver. Zhu Bajie said, “Enough—enough. Master has fallen in with a demoness; we should rush to save him.” The Great Sage said, “Good brother, don’t shout. Since you have seen nothing clearly, let Old-Sun go and deal with it.” Sha Wujing said, “Elder brother, be careful.” The Great Sage replied, “I have a way.”

The Great Sage tightened the knot of his tiger-skin skirt, whipped out the Golden-Hooped Staff, pulled up his feet, and in two or three strides ran forward. He saw the cords had hundreds and thousands of tight twists, crossing as if in warp and woof. He pressed on them with his hand; they felt sticky and soft, clinging to the flesh. The Great Sage still did not know what they were. He then raised the staff and said, “With one strike, whether it be merely a thousand layers or as many as ten thousand, I can break them.” He was about to strike, then stopped and said, “If they were hard, I could break them. But this is soft—best I can do is beat against it like a board. If I frightened it and it wound itself around me and bound Old-Sun, that would be less than fitting. Let me ask it first; only then will I strike.”

Who was he asking? He pinched a formula and spoke a charm, making the old earth god in the shrine spin in wild circles like a mill-wheel. The earth lady said, “Old man, why are you spinning so? It looks like a sheep-flag wind has risen.” The earth god replied, “You don’t know. You don’t know at all. The Great Sage Equal to Heaven has come, and I have not received him; from there he has bound me.” The old lady said, “Go meet him, and then why stand spinning here?” The earth god said, “If I go to him, his staff is heavy indeed, and he’ll beat me depending on how he deems me.” She said, “He sees you’re so old—how could he strike you?” The earth god said, “He likes to beat old men who’ve run out of good wine and have no coin.” The two bickered for a while; with no choice, he finally went out, and, trembling, knelt by the roadside, calling, “Great Sage, the local earth lord bows.” Sun Wukong said, “Get up. No need for needless fuss. I will not strike you. Stay where you are. Tell me first: what place is this?” The earth god asked, “Great Sage, from which quarter do you come?” Sun Wukong said, “I come from the Eastern land, traveling west.” The earth god said, “Great Sage, coming from the East—did you pass this mountain ridge?” Sun Wukong said, “I was just there. Our baggage and horses are still resting on that ridge, are they not?” The earth god said, “It is called Pansi Ridge. Below it is a cave named Pansi Cave. Within the cave dwell seven demons.” Sun Wukong asked, “Are they male spirits or female spirits?” The earth god said, “Female spirits.” Sun Wukong said, “How powerful are they?” The earth god said, “Their little power is modest; I know not the full extent of their arts. Only this is known: a little to the south, about three li away, is a Hot Spring of Purification. It is natural hot water, once the bathing pool of the Seven Celestial Maidens. Since the demons came here and took up residence, they have occupied it, and even the celestial maidens did not contend with them, simply yielding it. If heaven-born spirits refrain from provoking demons, then these must possess great power.” Sun Wukong asked, “What use is it for this demon to hold that spring?” The earth god said, “This one has taken over the pool, and three times a day comes out to bathe. The Hour of Si has already passed; now the Hour of Wu is coming.” Hearing this, Sun Wukong said, “Earth Lord, go back now. I’ll handle him myself.” The earth god knelt and struck his head to the ground once, then, trembling, returned to his shrine.

The Great Sage displayed a wondrous transformation and changed himself into a large hairy fly, landing nailed to a tuft of grass beside the road to wait. Soon he heard a susurrant breath like silkworms eating leaves, yet also like the swelling surge of sea tide. Not quite half a teacup’s time passed before the silken ropes all came to an end and the manor and village reappeared as they had been. Then came a sudden “yaa” as a gate sounded shut, and inside rose laughter and noisy chatter. Seven women came out. In the dark he watched closely as each one walked arm in arm, shoulder to shoulder, speaking and smiling as they crossed the bridge. They were indeed strikingly beautiful. One could see:

Sweeter than perfume of jade, and truer than the speech of blossoms, Brow like distant ridges, willow-soft and arched, Hairpins tipped in green jade, golden-lotus hems flashing in vermilion silk, As if Chang’e descended to the mortal world, a celestial beauty fallen into dust. The Great Sage laughed: “No wonder Tripitaka came here to perform this ritual conversion; it is because of beauties like these. If these seven courtesans kept hold of my Master, he would not be enough for one meal, nor even for two days of use. If they all put hands to him by turns, one rough movement would leave him dead. Let me first listen to what plans he is making and then see what he intends.”

The Great Sage, with a clear chirping sound, flew and clung to the cloud-coiffed head-dress of the woman in front. As soon as the group passed onto the bridge, a woman from the back called forward: “Elder sister, we’ve bathed; let us steam that fat monk and eat him.” Sun Wukong laughed inwardly. “These fiends are clever in a strange way—if they are to boil him they would save fuel, why insist on steaming him?” The women moved southward, plucking flowers and pushing through weeds. Before long they reached the bathing pool. There stood a splendid gate and wall, and all around the ground bloomed wild flowers in rich fragrance, with dense mounds of orchids and sweet flag along both sides. A woman stepped forward from the back and with one whistle-like breath pushed open both doors. There, in the center, was a hot spring basin. The water was called:

Since creation began, there were ten solar stars in the heavens. Later Hou Yi drew his bow and shot down nine crows to earth, leaving only the golden crow, the true fire of the sun. In heaven and earth there are nine hot springs, all formed from the flock of crows. Those nine Yang springs are Xiangleng Spring, Banshan Spring, Warm Spring, Donghe Spring, Huangshan Spring, Xiaoan Spring, Guangfen Spring, Tang Spring, and this one, the Purification-of-Impurity Spring. There is a poem in witness: From a single breath there is no winter or summer; three autumns pour out as spring forever. Hot waves boil like a cauldron in upheaval; the white-crowned waves rise fresh as newborn broth. Its channels water the grain; its still flows sweep away common dust. Fine jetlets tremble like pearl tears, while thick surges rise like pearls at the edge of one’s tongue. The mellowing is no brewing, yet clear calmness stays warmly self-born. Auspicious signs show this land to be noble; creation itself is heaven’s plain truth. Where beauties bathe, their frosted skins grow smooth; purged of world-dust, their jade-like forms seem newly made.

That bathing pool was just over five zhang wide and more than ten zhang long, with depth and shallows of about four chi. Its water was clear through and through. Near the bottom it seemed like tumbling jade beads; white and pale gleams rose up, and in all four directions were six or seven outlets from which streams escaped. The water ran on for two or three li, reaching the fields still warm. Above the pool stood three pavilions. In one of them, near the back wall, stood an eight-legged bench; and on two hillocks by the side were two lacquered racks for garments. The Great Sage, delighted to himself, fluttered one wing and fastened himself on the top of a rack.

The women found the water clear and warm, and decided to bathe. They removed their clothes together and draped them on the rack before all going in together. They saw:

They unbuttoned, and unfastened the knots of their silk sashes. Soft breasts shone white like silver; moon-white bodies gleamed as pure as snow. Elbows and shoulders were like laid ice, fragrant shoulders faintly dusted like fine powder. Bellies soft and padded, backs still bright and clean. Ankles and calves were slimly full, the golden-lotus folds narrow as three inches. At the waist a little cleft opened, revealing a flirtatious hidden hollow. All the women leapt into the water, one after another, bouncing in waves and playing with the water in wild delight. The Great Sage thought, “If I strike them, I need only stir the pool with this staff and it will be like throwing hot water over a rat’s nest—there will be a whole brood dead in a moment. Alas, alas! To strike would indeed kill them, but it would tarnish Old-Sun’s name. There is an old saying: ‘A man should not contend with women.’ For me, a mere man, to slay these girls would not be fitting. I won’t strike them. I’ll give them a final stratagem that leaves them unable to move at all—at least that will do.” The Great Sage then formed a seal, spoke a spell, and changed himself into a hungry old eagle. He appeared thus: Fur like frost and snow, eyes like stars. Wherever a demon-fox turns up, its soul is lost; a wily hare at its moment of need is struck to terror. Steel claws flash with sharp gleams, while a fierce, lordly air rolls in mighty force. He can use cruel strength to feed his belly, never shrinking from his own grasp to rise skyward. Through ten thousand miles of cold sky, up and down, he passes through clouds and snatches what he finds. With one beat of his wing he flew forward, spread his talons and snatched away all seven suits of clothing from the rack, then turned straight toward the ridge. There he returned to his true form and came to report to Zhu Bajie and Sha Wujing.

Zhu Bajie looked back with a grin and said, 'So it seems Master was dragged off, all the way like goods from a pawnshop.' Sha Wujing asked, 'How can you tell?' Zhu Bajie said, 'Didn’t you see Elder Brother bring back some of his robes?' Sun Wukong set down the Golden-Hooped Staff and said, 'Those are not Tripitaka’s robes; they are clothes worn by a fiend.' Zhu Bajie said, 'How can there be so many?' Sun Wukong replied, 'Seven sets.' Zhu Bajie asked, 'How could you strip them off so easily, and so neatly?' Sun Wukong said, 'I did not strip them. This place is called Pan-Si Ridge, and the village-cottage is called Pan-Si Cave. In the cave are seven female monsters. They seized my master, hung him in the cave, and all went to bathe in the Hot Spring of Cleansing Silt. That spring was formed by Heaven and Earth, a whole pool of hot water. The plan was to bathe first, then steam him and eat him. I followed them there, and when he took off his clothes and went into the water, I wanted to strike him. But I feared soiling my staff, and I feared losing face; so I did not move the staff. Instead I became a hungry old eagle and grabbed his clothing. He endured it all in silent shame and, too ashamed, did not dare raise his head, staying crouched in the water. Let us quickly go free the Master and leave.' Zhu Bajie laughed and said, 'Brother, in every matter leave a root to hold to. Now that you have seen a fiend, how can you not kill him and yet go to free Master? Even if he hides now in shame, by evening he will surely come out. His place still has old garments; he can put one on and chase us. Even if he does not chase, he has stayed there long. Once we secure the Sutra, we can return by that road. There is a saying: “Better to be short of money by the roadside than short of fists by the roadside.” At this moment, he only stopped the clamour, and he is not an enemy, is he?' Sun Wukong said, 'On what plan do you insist?' Zhu Bajie said, 'In my opinion, first kill the fiend and then free Master. This is cutting the weeds at the root.' Sun Wukong said, 'I will not strike him. If you want to strike, then you strike him.'

Zhu Bajie shook himself together, happy and proud, lifted the pick, and strode straight there in great spirits. Suddenly he pushed the door open and saw the seven women crouching in the water, cursing the eagle wildly: 'This shaggy-mouthed beast, this cat-faced carrion, you snatched all our clothes—how are we to do anything now?' Zhu Bajie could not help laughing: 'Ladies Bodhisattvas, you are bathing here too? Let my monk wash as well, shall we?' The fiend saw him and grew angry: 'You monk are extremely impolite. We are household women, and you are a man of renunciation. The old books say, “Men and women should not sit together for seven years.” How can you bathe with us in the same pool?' Zhu Bajie said, 'The weather is hot; I cannot avoid it. Let me wash once. What has a book to do with this—same seat or not same seat?' He would not allow further words. He threw down the pick, removed his silk robe, and with a splash plunged into the water. The fiend, vexed, rushed forward to strike him. Not knowing how at home Zhu Bajie was in the water, he changed once within it and became a smelt spirit. The fiends all tried to grasp for fish, and they could not catch him: when they reached east, he suddenly slipped to the west; when they reached west, he suddenly slipped to the east. So slippery and slick, they only groped in confusion around their thighs and groins. The water was deep and swirling; he turned on the surface for a while, then went down to the bottom, and turned over again. He was all breath and panting, his spirit tired and waning.

Zhu Bajie at last rose up, restored his true form, put on the robe, gripped the pick, and shouted, 'Who is there? How could you take me for a smelt spirit?' The fiend, seeing him, was frightened and trembling. He said, 'At first you came as a monk and in the water changed into a smelt spirit; when I could not catch you and now you appear in this dress, from where did you come to this place? you must surely leave a name behind.' Zhu Bajie said, 'This lot of ruffians truly did not recognize me. I am Wuneng, the disciple of Tripitaka from the Great Tang, Zhu Bajie of the Tianpeng rank. You have hung my master in the cave and devised to steam him and eat him. Is my master even good for steaming? Hold out your head at once; let each of you take up a pick, so I can cut your roots.' On hearing this, the fiends’ spirits left them; in the water they knelt and spoke: 'Please, Great Lord, have mercy! We were blind with arrogance and wrongly seized your master. Though he hangs there, we did not dare to punish him further. Show pity and spare my life. I am willing to offer a little tribute and send Tripitaka westward.' Zhu Bajie shook his head and said, 'No need for that. A proverb says, “One who once had the sugar-seller trick a gentleman will never trust sweet words again.” So with a pick in hand, each of you, strike and be done.'

Zhu Bajie was rough and brutish and showed all his arts, with no compassion in him at all for pity and restraint. He raised the pick and, without pausing to distinguish right or wrong, rushed in and struck wildly. The fiend, flustered, lost all sense of order. When life itself was at stake, there was no concern for shame. He covered his shameful parts, sprang out of the water, and all stood in the pavilion. Then he wrought a spell: from each of their navel-caves bones sprang out as silk cords, and they spread a great silk canopy that hid the sky, enclosing Zhu Bajie within. Zhu Bajie suddenly raised his head and could not see sky or light; he pulled himself out and tried to go, but he could not lift his step. He had laid trip-wires; silk ropes covered the ground everywhere. He moved a foot and tripped and spun—leftward, one face-first fall; rightward, one倒倒-plant fall; he turned quickly and fell with his mouth in the dust; getting up in haste, he fell again like an upstanding dragonfly. No one could say how many turns he had taken. His head swam, his body tingled, his legs were weak and he could hardly crawl. At last he could only lie on the ground and groan.

The fiend captured him but did not strike or wound him. One after another they leapt out of the gate, covering the sky with the silk canopy, then each returned to its own cave. At the stone bridge they stood, chanted a spell, and in an instant drew back the canopy; then the one beneath ran into the cave, bare as he had been, and, lewdly showing himself, ran past Tripitaka with a grin. In the stone chamber he took off and put on several old garments, went straight to the rear gate, and stood calling, 'Where are my children?' The demon had not borne these children in her own body; every one was a foster-son she had sworn with. Their names were Mi, Ma, Lu, Ban, Meng, La, and Qing: Mi means honeybee, Ma means ant-bee, Lu means lu-bee, Ban means ban-hair, Meng means niu-meng, La means wax-slick, and Qing means dragonfly. Originally this monster had cast a net across heaven and earth and captured these seven kinds of insect-bodies to eat them. As the old saying goes, 'Birds have bird speech; beasts have beast speech.' At that time these insects pleaded for mercy and wished to take her as mother. So in spring they gathered a hundred flowers for her, and in summer sought out many plants for the monster to serve. At a sudden call they all came before her and asked, 'Mother, what is your command?' The children said, 'Child, this morning we offended a monk from the Tang court. His disciple caught him in the pond and brought him such humiliation he nearly lost his life. Go out and drive him off. If you gain the upper hand, come to your uncle’s house and meet me.' Those monsters were then free from death and gone, and what further misfortune from that wicked mouth was born need not be set out. See these leech-like insects—each rubs his hands and comes out to meet the enemy.

Zhu Bajie, dizzy and bewildered, then lifted his head and saw that both the silk canopy and the silk lines were gone. He tested each step carefully and crawled himself up, enduring the pain, then found the way back. When he saw Sun Wukong he grabbed him by the sleeve and said, 'Brother, is my head swollen? Is my face blue?' Sun Wukong said, 'How did this happen?' Zhu Bajie said, 'That scoundrel covered me with silk cords and set a tripping snare. I do not know how many somersaults I made; I fell so much that my back is bent and my waist is twisted—I can scarcely move an inch. Only when the silk canopy and cords had all disappeared did I save my life and return.' Sha Wujing saw him and said, 'Enough, enough—you have brought trouble upon yourself. The fiend has surely gone back into the cave to harm Master. We must quickly go and rescue him.'

When Sun Wukong heard this, he pulled up his pace and ran; Zhu Bajie held the horse. They hurried to the manor gate, and there on the stone bridge they saw seven little demons blocking the way: “Slow down, slow down—we are here.” Sun Wukong looked at them and said, “How funny. All these fellows are small persons. They are only two or three chi tall, not even three; even the heaviest are only eight or nine jin, not over ten jin.” He called out, “Who are you?” The monster said, “I am the son of Seventh Celestial Aunt. You insulted my mother and dare, still ignorant, to rush onto my gate. Do not run. Be careful.” At once the monsters came charging in a wild rush. Zhu Bajie, who is naturally fierce when angered, saw that band of little, squat creatures and, infuriated, raised his pike to strike them. When those fiends saw the ferocity of the bald one, each one showed his true form and leapt up, crying, “Transform!” In a moment, one became ten, ten became a hundred, a hundred became a thousand, and a thousand became ten thousand, each one into an unending number. Then this was seen:

All through the sky flew wax-moths, all over the ground dragonflies danced. Honeybees chased head and brow, hornets pierced the eyes. Fleas and horse-flies bit front and back, cicadas stung from above and below. Black, thick faces spread across everything; with rustling whispers, spirits and ghosts were frightened. Zhu Bajie panicked, “Brother, you kept saying it would be easy to fetch the sutras on the western road, but even bugs can bully people there.” Sun Wukong said, “Brother, do not fear. Go straight on and strike.” Zhu Bajie said, “They pummel me on face and body all over, with tenfold layers of stings—how can I fight them?” Sun Wukong replied, “No matter. No matter. I have my own method.” Sha Wujing said, “Brother, whatever your method, use it at once; in a little while my bare head will all be swollen.”

The Great Sage plucked a handful of downy hairs from himself, chewed them to powder, and spat them out; at once they turned into yellow, hemp, drake, white, eagle, fish, and kite-hawks. Zhu Bajie said, “Eldest brother, why are you saying such rough marketplace words—Yellow, hemp, drake, and so on?” Sun Wukong said, “You do not understand. The yellow is a yellow hawk, the hemp is a hemp hawk, the drake is a drake hawk, the white is a white hawk, the eagle is an eagle hawk, the fish is a fish hawk, and the kite is a kite hawk. The demon’s children are seven kinds of insects, while my hairs are seven kinds of hawks.” Hawks are the best at catching insects; one in the beak at a time, claws striking, wings hammering. In a moment they had all been cleared, with no traces left in the air and the ground scoured clean within the span of a foot.

The three brothers had only just forced their way across the bridge and gone straight into the cave when they saw Master Tripitaka hanging there, wheezing and crying. Zhu Bajie stepped forward: “Master, did you come here to hang yourself for sport? You have no idea how many times I have tumbled and rolled because of this.” Sha Wujing said, “First let us unbind Master and then speak of it.” Sun Wukong snapped at the rope and cut it, lowering Master Tripitaka. He asked, “Where has the fiend gone?” Tripitaka said, “Those seven all went bareback to the rear to call for their sons.” Sun Wukong said, “Brothers, come with me and search.”

The three men, each bearing his weapon, went into the back garden to search, but found no trace. They searched all over the peach and plum trees and still found nothing. Zhu Bajie said, “Gone, gone.” Sha Wujing said, “No need to look for him; let me help Master Tripitaka first.” The brothers came back to the front and had Master Tripitaka mounted on the horse. Zhu Bajie said, “You carry Master on foot; let old Pig give one pike strike and knock over this house of his, so that when he comes back he has no place to settle.” Sun Wukong laughed: “To knock it down is too much trouble. Better to fetch some firewood and give him a root-upding.” The fool looked for some rotten pine, broken bamboo, dry willow, and withered vine, lit them with one flame, and in a roaring blaze burned them all cleanly. Only then did Master and disciples feel at ease and come onward.

Ah! In the end, we still do not know what fortune or disaster awaits that fiend. Listen and see how it is resolved in the next chapter.