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.

One thought alone can awaken a hundred demons; in cultivation this is the hardest trial—what else can one do? Yet by washing away every trace of dust and stain, one may also gather and bind the will with steady cultivation. Sweep away the myriad entanglements and return to stillness and extinction; remove the thousand demons and never delay. Teach [the heart] to leap out of cages and enclosures, and let it rise, fulfilled in practice, to the Great Heavens.

Afterward the Great Sage, after using every stratagem, implored Buddha to take charge of all the monsters, so that Tripitaka and his disciples might be released from trouble. They left Shitou City and continued west. After several months, winter had already arrived. But behold:

The ridgelines and plum blossoms were near to splitting, as though shards of jade; the pond water slowly turned to ice. Red leaves all fell away, while the green pines took on fresh color. Faint clouds drifted as if to snow, and withered grass lay flat against the hills. A vast cold sheen filled the eye; a dim chill sank through the bones. The master and disciples, pressing through winter wind and deep cold, slept in rain and ate from the wind. As they journeyed on, they came upon a city. Tripitaka asked, “Wukong, what place is this?” The Monkey King answered, “We will know when we come near it. If this is a Western Court seat, we must have our travel pass checked; if a prefectural office or county yamen, we may pass straight through.”

Their words had scarcely ended when they had already reached the outside of the city gate. Tripitaka dismounted, and the four of them entered Yue City. They saw an old military man sleeping at the foot of a sunlit wall, curled against the wind. The Monkey King went forward and shook him, calling, “Officer.” The old man jolted awake, blinking in a daze. Seeing the Monkey King, he hurriedly knelt and kowtowed, crying, “Grandfather.” The Monkey King said, “Do not panic and make a fuss. I am no evil spirit—why do you call me that?” The old soldier knelt and said, “You are Lord Leigong.” The Monkey King replied, “Nonsense. I am a monk from the Eastern Land, journeying to the Western Heaven on a Buddhist pilgrimage. I have just arrived and know not the name of this place, so I asked you about it.” Hearing this, the old soldier returned to himself, yawned, got up, stretched his waist, and said, “Venerable, forgive this man. This place was once called Biqiu Country, now changed to Xiaozi City.” The Monkey King asked, “Is there no ruler in this country?” The old man answered, “Yes, yes, yes.” The Monkey King turned to Tripitaka: “Master, this was once Biqiu Country, and now it is called Xiaozi City, but I do not know why its name was changed.” Tripitaka, perplexed, said, “If it is called Biqiu, why call it Xiaozi?” Pigsy said, “Perhaps Biqiu’s king has died and a child was set on the throne; hence the name Xiaozi City.” Tripitaka said, “No, impossible. Let us enter and ask in the market streets.” Sha Wujing said, “Indeed. The old man does not know; he was frightened by Great Brother. Let us go in and inquire.”

Passing through three outer gates, they entered a broad thoroughfare and market. The streets and dwellings were orderly and elegant; the people looked graceful and refined. But see:

Wine taverns and theatres rang with noise, while silk shops and tea houses hung bright curtains. Ten thousand households, a thousand gates, business was brisk; six avenues and three markets swelled with wealth. Gold was bought and brocade sold, people scurried like ants, and all vied for profit and fame only for money. Manners were dignified, the scene itself majestic; clear waters and calm seas signaled a peaceful era. The four pulled the horses and hefted shoulder-poles, walking through the market street for a long while, unable to tire themselves of its splendor. Yet in every household’s doorway stood a goose-cage. Tripitaka asked, “My disciple, why does everyone in this city place goose-cages above every doorway?” Pigsy looked and confirmed it: yes, a cage each, draped with multicolored silk. He laughed, “Master, today seems an auspicious day under the yellow stars, fit for marriages and social ceremonies. It looks as if everyone is making ritual greetings.” The Monkey King said, “Idle talk. Why would every household be doing ceremonies at once? There must be some reason. Let me go ahead and see.” Tripitaka pulled him back: “Do not go; your face is unpleasant, they may be repelled.” The Monkey King answered, “I can change form and go.”

The Great Sage pinched his formula, muttered the incantation, and in a twist of transformation became a bee. He spread his wings and flew close, darting through the curtains to look inside. In the first cage sat a child. He entered a second home-cage, and it too held a child. House after house—eight or nine in succession—all held only children. They were boys, with no girls among them. Some climbed around in the cages, others cried; some were eating fruit, and some dozed while seated. Having seen all this, he resumed his original form and reported to Tripitaka: “The cages hold children. The oldest is no more than seven, the youngest only five. I do not know why.” Tripitaka, hearing this, was filled with doubt and uncertainty.

Soon they turned into a street and saw a yamen. It was the Jinting Pavilion Relay. The master said joyfully, “Disciple, let us enter this station: first we can ask about the place, next stable our horses, and because night has fallen we can lodge here.” Sha Wujing said, “Rightly said. Let us go in at once.” The four entered with pleasure. There an officer and the station chief both came out to receive them and each offered greeting. They sat down to exchange courtesies. When the station chief asked, “Venerable, from where do you come?” Tripitaka said, “This poor monk, a monk of the Great Tang, has been sent to the Western Heaven to fetch the sutras. Now I have come to your domain, where the travel pass must be checked. Please allow me to borrow your high yamen for a single night’s rest.” The station chief immediately ordered tea. After tea was served, he arranged provisions and told the attendant on duty to see to their care. Tripitaka thanked him and asked, “May we, this evening, gain audience at court so the pass can be checked?” The station chief said, “Not tonight. You must wait for tomorrow’s morning audience. For this night, please spend one night here at our yamen.”

Before long, once all was arranged, the station chief invited the four to a vegetarian meal together. He also ordered his men to sweep and ready the guest rooms for rest. Tripitaka could not express enough gratitude. Once seated, the master said, “I have one matter I do not understand and wish you to clarify. Your country raises children; I do not understand how you treat them.” The station chief answered, “The heavens have no second sun and people no second nature. A child is raised by a father’s essence and mother’s blood, carried in the womb ten months and born in due season. After three years of nursing, the form develops gradually. There is no place for confusion in this.” Tripitaka said, “By your words it is no different from our land. Yet when I entered the city, each household in every alley had a goose-cage, hiding a small child within. This matter is unclear, so I dare to ask.” The station chief lowered his voice: “Venerable, do not attend to it. Do not ask, do not care for it, do not speak of it. Settle in, and set out tomorrow at dawn.” Hearing this, the master seized the station chief’s sleeve, determined to ask clearly. The chief shook his head and gestured in refusal. “Careful with your words,” he warned. Tripitaka would not let go and held him fast, insisting he must answer in detail. The station chief, helpless, sent all the other officials out. Alone beneath the lamplight, he whispered, “What you asked about those cages is a shameful matter of this age’s ruler. But ask him about it if you wish.” Tripitaka asked, “What is unjust here? You must explain clearly so I can be at peace.” The station chief said, “This country was once Biqiu Country; of late there is a rumor, and now it is called Xiaozi City. Three years ago there was an old man dressed as a Daoist, bringing with him a girl of sixteen. She was lovely beyond telling, her appearance like Guanyin, and he presented her as tribute. The present king loved her beauty, favored her in the palace, and titled her the Beautiful Empress. Now he gives no proper eye to the queen and six inner courtiers, caring only for pleasure, day and night. At last this has ruined her spirit; she has grown thin and withered, her strength gone, she scarcely eats, and her life may fail at any hour. The imperial physicians have tested every good remedy and cannot cure her. That Daoist who brought her was ordered by the ruler and conferred the title State Father-in-Law. That official possesses a secret remedy from across the seas and three isles. It is complete and potent, but it has one dangerous ingredient: one must use the hearts and livers of one thousand one hundred and eleven little boys, boiled into a decoction and taken. Taken, it grants a thousand years of youth. The children in these cages are all carefully chosen and kept there. The parents, fearing the king’s law, dare not cry out. So rumors spread calling this place Xiaozi City. Tomorrow when you go to court, only have the pass checked and do not mention this matter.” He withdrew.

The master’s bones softened and his sinews numbed; tears fell from the corners of his mouth. He suddenly cried out, “Tyrant king! Tyrant king! For your greedy indulgence and love of beauty, you created this illness—how many children’s lives have you crushed? Alas, alas, may it kill me too!” A verse was recited:

Evil is ignorance that loses the true way, lusting for delight and not noticing the body’s ruin. In search of endless life, he wounds children’s lives, as if to stave off heaven’s disasters. Compassionate vows should not harden by severing mercy; yet the ruler’s decree is bitter beyond hearing. Tears poured at the lamp, long sighs and laments rose; he faintly sank in meditation toward the Buddha-knower. Pigsy came forward: “Master, why are you moved so? You carry other people’s coffin at your own door and weep here. Do not burden yourself. As it is said, ‘If a lord orders his minister to die, a minister who does not is disloyal; if a father orders his son to die, a son who does not is unfilial.’ He harmed his own people—what is that to you? Come, loosen your robes and sleep; do not grieve for those of old.” Tripitaka, still tearful, said, “Disciple, you are without pity. For a monk, whose merits are accumulated through many acts, the first duty is expedient compassion. How can this tyrant lord behave with such lawless desire at every turn? To my knowledge, never has anyone’s heart and liver been eaten to prolong life. In matters like this, how can I not be filled with sorrow?” Sha Wujing said, “Master, do not grieve so. Tomorrow, when the pass is checked, we will meet the king and speak directly. If he will not listen, we shall see what sort of State Father-in-Law this ruler has. It may be that he is a demon spirit who wishes to eat children’s hearts and livers and has devised this method—who can be certain?”

The Great Sage said, “Wujing spoke well. Master, lie down and sleep. Tomorrow, together with Old Sun, we will enter court and see what this country-lord is like. If he is human, I only fear he has gone off the side path, ignorant of the true Way, and takes this herb-gathering alone as genuine. I will then teach him the fundamental principles of the primordial way and turn him to the right path. If he is demon evil, I will seize him and show him to this king, teach him to rein in desire and guard his body, and never let him harm the lives of those children.” Tripitaka heard him, hurriedly bent low, and to the Great Sage in rebuttal said, “My disciple, this proposal is excellent—excellent indeed. Yet only one sees an ignorant king and asks this matter at once; he may not distinguish what is near or far, and may make rumors into charges. Then how could I deal with that?” The Great Sage laughed, “Old Sun has his own powers. Now first I will draw out the goose-caged children from this city. Have them arranged so that tomorrow nothing is taken from their hearts. Then the local magistrates will naturally submit a memorial. That king will certainly have an order, either consulting the country-lord or issuing another report. At that time, with this occasion presented, I will in no way be blamed or seated in judgment.” Tripitaka was very glad. He added, “How can these children leave the city now? If you can free them, truly such a worthy disciple has a great virtue under heaven. Do it at once; with a little delay there may be no time.” The Great Sage shook himself into divine majesty and stood. He called to Zhu Bajie and Sha Wujing, “Stay with Master and sit still. Wait until I make my move; if you feel a sudden cold wind sweep, then know the children have left the city.” The three of them together chanted, “Namo, Life-Saving Medicine Buddha! Namo, Life-Saving Medicine Buddha!”

As soon as the Great Sage stepped outside the gate, he gave a shrill whistle, rose into midair, pinched the formula, spoke the true mantra, and shouted, “Om, Pure Dharma Realm!” Summoning at once the City God, the Earth God, the Village Spirit Master, the true officials, and also the Dharma-enforcers of the five directions, the four-value examiners, the six Ding and six Jia, and the guards of the Dharma temples, all came into the air. Bowing to him, they said, “Great Sage, you called us at night. What urgent matter is this?” The Great Sage said, “We have passed through Monk Country. The king there is without the Way, listening to demons, wanting to take children’s hearts as the seed for medicine and to seek longevity. My Master could not bear it and wants to save lives and exterminate the monster. Therefore I specially ask you all, each according to your powers: carry out my order and take out of this city every child kept in goose cages from every street and household, carrying the cages too, and move them beyond the city into hollows among the hills or to deep forest groves. Hide them there for a day or two. Give them some fruit so they do not starve. Then protect them in secrecy and do not let them be frightened into crying out. When I have eliminated the demon and set right the country, and remonstrated with the upright king, return them to me when we are about to leave.”

The gods obeyed his command and each used their divine powers, pressing down cloud-heads. Across the city dark wind rolled in heavy gusts, and bleak mist spread all around:

The dark wind swept, dimming the stars of the day; bleak fog obscured the moon, dimming a thousand li. At first it drifted and meandered, then later it thundered in fierce, blazing blasts. At first, drifting and meandering, each one searched every doorway for the children; when the blasts roared, all watched the goose-cages, clutching bone and blood. A cold intrusion entered the body—how could any man hold up his head? The cold force passed through flesh and clothing like iron. Parents stared in confusion; brothers and wives alike were all in deep sorrow. All over the ground the shadow-wind coiled and rolled, and the cages were seized by the gods. Though this night was lonely and anguished, come dawn it ended in joy. There is a poem to bear witness, and it says: Since ancient times the Buddhist gate has held abundant compassion. The truly good and successful are praised in the words of Mahā. The thousand true ones and myriad saints all rely on accumulated virtue; the Three Refuges and Five Precepts should be taken up in harmony. In a kingdom with a monk’s ruler gone awry, a thousand children’s lives are but mis-ordered fate. The Great Sage protected with his Master, and in this wind of darkness this is a triumph of Boluo. At the third watch of that night, the divine spirits carried away the goose cages and concealed them in different places all around.

The Great Sage lowered his auspicious light and went straight to the relay courtyard, and only heard the three of them still chanting, “Namo, Life-Saving Medicine Buddha.” At heart he rejoiced. Coming forward, he called, “Master, I have returned. How did the dark wind arise?” Zhu Bajie said, “The dark wind is terrible.” Tripitaka said, “As for the matter of saving the children, what news?” The Great Sage said, “I have already saved them all outside; when we set out, I will return them.” The Elder thanked him again and yet again, and only then lay down to sleep.

By daybreak, Tripitaka woke and quickly arranged everything: “Wu Kong, I should go at once to court and have the credentials exchanged.” The Great Sage said, “Master, if you go by yourself, it may not succeed; let Old Sun come with you to see whether the country-lord is righteous or not.” Tripitaka said, “If you go, you do not bow when required, and the king may find it strange.” The Great Sage said, “I will not appear. I will follow you in secret and serve as protection.” Tripitaka was greatly pleased and told Zhu Bajie and Sha Wujing to keep watch over baggage and horses; only then did he step forward. That inn-warden arrived again to see him and regarded the Master’s attire, which looked utterly different from yesterday. He saw him as follows:

He wore a robe of brocaded silk, a Buddha cassock of wondrous jeweled pattern, and on his head a gold-crested Pilu hat. In his hand he held the nine-linked staff. A speck of divine light was guarded at his breast. The travel and border credentials remained tightly by his side, and the bundle of parcels was wrapped in brocade strings. He moved like an Arhat descending into the human world, truly a living Buddha in form. After the station inspector finished his bows, he leaned close and whispered in a low voice: do not interfere with idle matters. Tripitaka nodded in reply. The Great Sage lurked by the gate, uttered one spell, and in one shift transformed, becoming a chirping cicada-like insect. With a shrill cry he flew onto Tripitaka’s hat. Leaving the innyard, they ran straight for the capital.

When they reached the outside of the court gate, there was a Yellow Gate official. They offered formal greeting: “Your poor monk is sent from the Great Tang in the East, to fetch the sutras from the Western Heaven. Having arrived in your honored land, I ought to exchange the passes and seek audience with Your Majesty. I beg you, please transmit my plea again.” The Yellow Gate official duly made the report. The king was pleased: “A monk who has come from afar must have great attainment on the Way.” He ordered him invited in. The Yellow Gate official then, in obedience to the order, invited the Elder inside. After the salutation before the stairs was complete, he was again asked to ascend the hall and granted a seat. The Elder thanked him and sat. The king’s appearance was gaunt and weak, his spirit fatigued: when he raised his hand, his gestures of courtesy were clumsy; when he spoke, his voice broke in fragments. Tripitaka presented the document. The king’s eyes were dim and blurred. He looked at it again and again, and only then took up the treasure seal, impressed the floral vermilion stamp, and handed it to the Elder. The Elder received and set it away.

The king was just about to ask why the monk had come on pilgrimage when the chief court officer announced, “Your Excellency, the Country Lord has come.” The king immediately took hold of a young attendant, struggled down from the dragon bed, and bent himself in welcome. In sudden alarm the Elder hastily stood and kept to the side. Looking back, he saw a figure: an old Taoist who entered, swaying from the front of the jade steps. He saw him as follows:

On his head he wore a pale goose-yellow, nine-thread cloud-gauze kerchief. On his body he wore a robe of plum-top incense-scented silk-cotton, a crane-lined cowl. At his waist he tied a blue triple-braided gathered fleece belt. At his feet he stepped in a pair of hemp-and-linen cloud-head sandals. In his hand he held a nine-segment dried-vine coiling-dragon cane. At his chest hung a brocaded flower pouch embroidered with dragon and phoenix designs. His jade-like face was bright and smooth; a gray beard floated beneath his chin. His golden eyes burned like flying flame; his long eyes reached beyond the brows. In movement, clouds followed his every step; free and untroubled, he moved amid aromatic mist. The officials below the dais all received him with courtly bows; together they called, “The Country Lord enters the king’s court.” When the Country Lord reached the Hall of Treasures, he made no formal obeisance, strode in with proud force, and went straight to the hall. The king, bent low, said, “Country Lord’s immortal countenance, we are truly glad you have descended so early.” He then invited him to sit on the embroidered cushion at his left.

Tripitaka stepped forward one pace, bowed deeply and said, 'Your Excellency the Guozhang, this poor monk offers his respects.' The Guozhang sat upright without returning the courtesy, then turned toward the king and asked, 'Where does this monk come from?' The king said, 'A monk from the Tang court of the Eastern Land has been sent to the Western Heaven to fetch the scriptures; he has come now for credential inspection.' The Guozhang laughed: 'Why should one travel to the Western regions? They are dark and boundless—what could be good there?' Tripitaka replied, 'Since ancient times the West has been a blessed land of Ultimate Bliss. How could it be otherwise?' The king asked, 'I have heard from olden times: “A monk is a disciple of Buddha.” Yet I still do not understand—can a monk never die, and can he gain endless life by devotion to Buddha?' At this, Tripitaka quickly joined his palms and answered:

For a monk, all worldly ties are laid aside; for one who has awakened to true nature, all dharmas are empty. Great wisdom remains at leisure; calmness abides within non-arising. True insight is silent, and freedom roams within still extinction. The three realms are empty and a hundred things put in order; the six faculties are purified and a thousand pursuits exhausted. If one truly and steadily knows awareness, one must recognize the heart: when the heart is pure it is solitary light, self-luminous; when it stays clear, all ten thousand realms become clear. The true form has neither want nor surplus and can be seen in life; delusive forms, once formed, must decay. What further seeking is there? Practice and meditation are the source of entering samādhi; bestowing kindness and grace is truly the root of cultivation. Great skill appears clumsy, yet it knows every matter is without grasping; clever scheming is not true planning—one must let every head, every thought be let go. If the one mind does not move, all ten thousand acts are complete. To speak of drawing yin and supplementing yang is sheer falsehood. Prescriptions for longevity are empty words. As long as one abandons all dusty ties and all visible things and colors are empty. In simple and pure restraint, with scant desire, one naturally enjoys life without end. The Guozhang laughed it away. Pointing at Tripitaka, he said, 'Heh, heh, heh—you monk, your mouth is full of wind and twigs. In the gate of extinction one must speak of recognizing one’s nature. You do not know where that nature is extinguished. Dryly sitting in meditation is all blind labor and blind refining. There is a saying: “Sit and sit and sit, and your buttocks are torn apart. Fire long-simmered can turn to disaster.” You know nothing of what I practice: A cultivator of immortality has bones that are robust and fine; one who attains the Way has the most alert of spirits. Carrying bowl and gourd he enters the hills to seek companions, gathers a hundred herbs to save people of this world. He plucks heavenly flowers to patch his hat and cuts scented herbs to spread for bedding. He sings and claps, and when the dance is done he sleeps on drifting clouds. He expounds the Dharma, raising aloft the Supreme and Correct teaching; with talismanic water he clears the demonic miasma of this world. He seizes the fine qi of heaven and earth, gathers the floral essence of sun and moon. He works yin and yang and knots cinnabar; he presses water and fire and coagulates the inner embryo. The twenty-eight shades of yin vanish, and things seem faint and dim; the thirty-nine measures of yang lengthen, vast and obscure as midnight. He takes herbs by the four seasons, and nurtures ninefold transformation until the elixir is formed. He rides a blue phoenix and rises to the Purple Palace; he rides a white crane and climbs to Jade Capital. He gathers heaven’s flowers and bears witness to the profundity of the wondrous Way. Compared with your quiet Chan-style teaching, your talk of extinction is a lifeless spirit, and nirvana becomes a foul shell still not yet freed from earthly dust. Among the three teachings, the highest rank has ever named only Dao as supreme.' The king was deeply delighted. All the ministers shouted in approval, 'How apt: "Only Dao is praised as sovereign above all."' Tripitaka saw everyone praising him and could not hide his shame. The king again ordered the household of the banquet office to prepare a plain vegetarian feast and send this monk off after he went westward. Tripitaka thanked them and withdrew. As he descended from the hall and walked outward, Sun Wukong leapt down from the crown of his hat and spoke at Tripitaka’s ear: 'Master, this Guozhang is a demon fiend, and the king has absorbed demonic breath. You should first wait at the relay station for the meal; let Old Sun stay here and watch for news.' Tripitaka understood and, with only himself, left by the court gate; no further mention is given.

When Sun Wukong looked on, he flew in one bound and hid himself by the screen of green jade in the Golden Hall, when suddenly from among the retinue an officer from the Five-City troops burst forth and reported, 'Your Majesty, last night a bitter cold wind swept through. From the cages in every ward and every household, the children were snatched out—the cages themselves gone with them—and no trace remains.' The king heard this report, and was both shocked and furious, saying to the Guozhang, 'This is Heaven striking to destroy me! I have been ill for months with no effect from the imperial physicians. Fortunately the Guozhang bestowed me an immortal formula and set today’s noon hour for the surgery, to use a child’s heart and liver as the guide for the medicine. How could they be blown away by cold wind? Was it not Heaven’s wish that I should die?' The Guozhang laughed: 'Your Majesty, do not yet be anxious. The child being blown away is truly Heaven granting Your Majesty long life.' The king asked, 'You tell me a cage-child was blown away and yet Heaven sends me longevity—how can that be?' The Guozhang said, 'Since I just entered court, I have seen one extraordinary medicine-inducer, far stronger than the hearts of one thousand one hundred and eleven children. The heart of one of those children only extends the life of Your Majesty by a thousand years; this draught can extend it for ten thousand years.' Still not understanding what this inducer was, the king asked over and over; only then the Guozhang explained: 'That monk from the Eastern Land who has been sent to fetch scriptures—I see him: pure in deportment, neat of countenance, a true body of one who has practiced ten lifetimes. He has been a monk since youth, his primordial yang not yet released; he is ten thousand times stronger than any of those children. If we get his heart and liver in a decoction and he takes my immortal pill, his medicine will secure ten thousand years of life.' The deluded king, hearing this, believed it fully and said to the Guozhang, 'Why did you not speak sooner? If this truly works, then we should have held him and not let him leave.' The Guozhang said, 'What difficulty is there? Not long ago I told the banquet office to prepare vegetarian offerings for him; he would then eat and only afterward go out of the city. Now immediately issue an order: seal all gates, post troops at the entrances, surround the Jinding inn relay station and bring that monk here. If he submits, with ceremony request his heart and at once cut and remove it; then serve him an imperial burial, and raise a shrine for him to receive sacrifice. If he refuses, use force, bind him at once, and open him. Where is the difficulty?' As he said so, the foolish king gave the command at once, closing all gates. He then ordered officers and soldiers of the Yulin Guard, great and small, to surround the pavilion relay station.

When Sun Wukong heard this news, he flew at once to the pavilion relay and manifested his true form to Tripitaka: 'Master, the danger is done for, danger is upon us.' Tripitaka had just been leaving the king’s meal with Zhu Bajie and Sha Wujing when he heard this. He started so violently that the three corpse spirits scattered, smoke rose in his seven apertures, and he collapsed in the dust, all over in sweat, eyes unfocused, his mouth unable to speak. Sha Wujing hurried forward and steadied him, crying, 'Master, wake up, master, wake up.' Zhu Bajie said, 'What danger is it? What danger is it? Why not tell it slowly? You made master so frightened.' Sun Wukong said, 'Since Master left court, Old Sun looked back and saw that the Guozhang is a demon spirit. Soon after, five city officers came with a report that a cold wind had snatched children from their cages. The king was enraged, yet this fiend advised joy: "This is Heaven giving you long life." He now seeks Master’s heart and liver as a medicine-inducer to add ten thousand years to life. The deluded king believed the slander and so set elite troops, encircling the pavilion relay and sending a brocade-clad officer to request Master and demand his heart.' Zhu Bajie laughed: 'How grand was their compassion, how noble the rescue of the children, how well-summoned the cold wind; and yet from that comes disaster now.'

Tripitaka rose in trembling fear and crawled up, gripping Sun Wukong and crying out, 'Faithful disciple, what is to be done in this matter?' Sun Wukong said, 'If we are to make this go well, make what is great into the small.' Sha Wujing asked, 'What is it to "make the great the small"?' Sun Wukong replied, 'If we are to preserve your life, let the teacher become the disciple and the disciple become the teacher.' Tripitaka said, 'If you can save my life, I will even take you as my disciple and disciple-grandson.' Sun Wukong said, 'Then do not hesitate.' He ordered, 'Zhu Bajie, quickly get some mud.' The fool did so, driving his spade and piling up some earth. He dared not go outside for water, and then took his clothes off a little, wetted them in urine, mixed it with the earth into a foul lump, and handed it to Sun Wukong. Sun Wukong, having no other means, patted the mud into a sheet and set it on his own face, making a monkey-like face. He told Tripitaka to stand still and not move and not speak. Pressing it onto Tripitaka’s face, he chanted the true formula, blew a breath of immortal air, and cried, 'Transform!' Tripitaka instantly became the likeness of Sun Wukong. He removed his robes and put on Sun Wukong’s clothing. Sun Wukong then put on Tripitaka’s robes, twisted the secret art, chanted a spell, and shook himself into Tripitaka’s face and countenance. Even Zhu Bajie and Sha Wujing could hardly recognize him.

Precisely when the disguises were finished and settled, drums and gongs sounded together, and ranks of spears and blades advanced. It was indeed the Yulin Guards, whose officers with three thousand soldiers had encircled the pavilion relay. Then a brocade-clad officer came into the forecourt and asked, 'Where is the Tripitaka elder from the Tang of the Eastern Lands?' The inn master, terrified, knelt and pointed: 'In the guest room below.' The officer entered the guest room and said, 'Tripitaka elder, the king summons you.' Zhu Bajie and Sha Wujing stood on either side guarding the false Tripitaka. The false Tripitaka came out and bowed: 'Noble officer in brocade, the emperor has called this poor monk. What message is there to tell?' The officer came forward and grabbed him by force: 'Come with me to court. Surely there is something to accept there.' Ah! This was exactly:

A demon’s slander can defeat mercy, and mercy, in return, summons disaster.

As to what fate awaits them from here, it is not yet known. Listen to the explanation in the next chapter.