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.

It is said that Tripitaka steadied his primal Yang and shook off the burning snares of illusion. He and his three disciples marched westward, and it was not yet noticed that it was summer. It happened to be the season when the first perfumed breeze had begun to stir, when the plum rains came in thin threads—a beautiful scene:

Slowly the green shade thickens, and the light wind sends swallows to guide their chicks. New lotus leaves turn over the pond-surface; tall bamboo gradually stirs to life. Fragrant grasses stretch the sky-blue hue across the ground; mountain flowers carpet the earth. By the stream, cattail blades stand like swords; pomegranate flame gives boldness to the scene. The four pilgrims, weary under the heat and blazing weather, were on the move when, by the roadside, they suddenly saw two rows of tall willows. From the willow shadow stepped an old mother, supporting a child in her right arm and left hand. She shouted to Tripitaka, "Monk, do not go on! Turn your horse east quickly; going west is all a road to death." Startled, Tripitaka dismounted and made his greeting: "Bodhisattva, as the ancients said, 'The sea is wide for fish to leap; the sky open for birds to fly.' How then is there no road if we go west?" The old mother pointed westward: "Five or six li beyond here is the Country of Mie-fa. In a former life, the king of that country formed a grudge with you; in this life he has sinned without cause. Two years ago he made a great vow in Luo Heaven to kill ten thousand monks. Over these two years, one by one, he has killed nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-six nameless monks. He needs only four famous ones to make one full ten thousand and complete the vow. If you go there, and enter the city, all become victims of the King-Bodhisattva who sends men to death." Hearing this, Tripitaka trembled inwardly and said in a quivering voice, "Honored Bodhisattva, I am deeply grateful and can never thank you enough. Yet may I ask whether there is a safe way to avoid entering the city? I can ride back and turn about." The old mother laughed: "You cannot turn back, cannot turn back. Only those who can fly can pass." Zhu Bajie, chatting at his side, said, "Mommy, don't speak in dark terms. We all can fly."

Wukong, with fire eyes and golden pupils, truly recognized them at a glance: that old mother supporting the child was Guanyin and Shancai Tongzi. In his panic, he prostrated himself flat and cried, "Bodhisattva, your disciple failed to welcome you." The bodhisattva touched a lotus of auspicious cloud and gently rode out of it. So frightened was Tripitaka that he had no ground to stand on and only knelt, bumping his head in reverence. Zhu Bajie and Sha Wujing also panicked and knelt, bowing toward heaven. In an instant the pale cloud drifted far and returned to the South Sea.

Wukong rose, supported Tripitaka, and said, "Please rise. The bodhisattva has already returned to her treasure mountain." Tripitaka stood up and said, "Wukong, since you recognized it was a bodhisattva, why did you not say so at once?" Wukong laughed: "You still ask questions—after I knelt in submission, how could I have said it any sooner?" Zhu Bajie and Sha Wujing said to Wukong, "By the bodhisattva's instruction, the way ahead is the Mie-fa country where monks are to be killed. What shall we do?" Wukong answered, "Bajie, do not be afraid. We have withstood venomous demons and cruel monsters, tiger’s lairs and dragon pits, and suffered no wound. This place is but a kingdom of ordinary mortals—what have we to fear? Only, this is no proper place to stay. Evening draws near, and there are villagers, and people from nearby hamlets returning from city trade. If they see us as monks, they will cry out and spread our names. It will not be safe. So lead Master from the main way to a little side path and find a quiet place; then we can deliberate." Tripitaka followed, and all four moved off the road and sat beneath a ditch. Wukong said, "Brothers, guard Master well. Once I transform and go into the city to look for a back lane, I will return before dawn." Tripitaka warned, "Disciples, do not act lightly. The king’s law permits nothing. Be very careful." Wukong laughed, "Do not worry. Old Wukong has his ways."

When he had finished, he gave one great leap, whistled, and jumped into the air. Wonderful indeed:

Above, no rope to pull from, below, no staff to lean upon. Though father and mother begot him like any other, his bones are light. He hovered in the clouds and looked down. He saw the city full of joy, auspicious light shimmering everywhere. Wukong said, "What a fine place. Why would it be called a place that destroys the Dharma?" He watched for a time, and as twilight came he saw this: Cross-shaped streets blazed with lantern light, nine-tiered halls spread fragrance as the bells rang. Seven-point bright stars shone over the blue heavens, travelers from eight directions set down their traces. In the camp of six regiments, faintly the war-horns had only just begun to sound; in the five-drum tower, the first drops from bronze vessels tapped. Around the four directions, dusk clouds lay dim; in the three markets, cold mist spread softly. In pairs, couples returned under embroidered curtains, and a full moon rose in the eastern sky. He thought, "I will go down and check the streets. With this face, if I meet people I will surely be taken for a monk. I should change form first." He muttered the formula, recited the true mantra, and with a body-shift transformed into a moth: My form was small, wings light and deft, made for hovering. I swooped to snuffing lamps and flew at the candles, offering myself to light. The original face became formed in a new shape, a spirit-shape in withered reeds. Each one loves to touch hot flame and move without pause, circling busily. Purple-fragrant wings pursue the drifting fireflies. It most loves the windless deep of night. In this way he fluttered and twirled, flying toward the six streets and the three markets, along eaves and near corners. As he flew, he saw at a corner-house near an alley-bend that every household had a lantern hung at the gate. He thought, "This village is in the midst of Lantern Festival brightness. Why does every place have lanterns lined up?" He beat his wings hard, flew nearer, and looked closely. In the middle household, on the lantern was written, "Rest for Travelling Merchants," six characters, and below that four characters: "Wang Xiao'er Shop." Wukong only then knew it was an inn. Leaning forward to peer again, he saw eight or nine people; they had already eaten their evening meal, loosened their robes, removed their headcloths, washed hands and feet, and each had gone to bed. He quietly rejoiced, "Master will get through." As if to ask how he could know this, he had a wicked thought: when those men slept, he would steal their clothes and headcloths, and disguise himself as a commoner to enter the city.

Ah! There came this ill-timed misfortune: just as he was considering, he saw the inn-keeper come forward and tell everyone, "Gentlemen, be careful. In my place, gentlemen and commoners are different kinds. Each person must guard clothing and baggage carefully." Think of those who trade far from home—how can they fail to be cautious? Again he heard the host make his warning more strictly. Then all of them got up and said, "The master has reason. We who travel by road endure hardship. If we fall asleep and cannot wake, we may lose our things at once in a moment. What can we do? Please put these clothes, headcloths, and robes together inside, and when dawn comes, return them to us so we can take leave." Wang Xiao'er truly carried in all such garments and belongings in earnest into his room. Wukong, growing impatient, spread his wings and flew inside, alighting on a rack for headcloths. He then saw Wang Xiao'er remove the lantern at the door, take down the hanging awning, close door and windows, and only then enter the room to undress and sleep. That Wang Xiao'er had a maidservant, who brought two children; they chattered loudly, and sleep would not come quickly. The woman, too, took a ragged garment and busied herself patching and mending, and still did not fall asleep.

Wukong thought in secret, "If I wait for this woman to fall asleep before I act, Master may be delayed." Afraid also that the city gate would close, he could no longer bear it; he swooped down and pounced upon the lantern. Truly it was like casting himself into flame, with singed brow seeking what remained of life. The lamp had already been extinguished. He shifted again in a body-change and became a mouse, then gave two angry, squealing cries and jumped down, took the clothes and headcloth, and walked out. The woman cried out in confusion, "Old man, trouble! A night rat spirit it must be." Hearing her words, Wukong once more used his arts, blocked the gate, and called out loudly, "Wang Xiao'er! Do not listen to your wife’s nonsense. I am not a night rat spirit. An honest person does not do dark deeds by night. I am the Great Sage Equal to Heaven, descending into the mortal world to protect Tripitaka on his journey to obtain sutras in the West. Your king is unjust. I have come only to borrow this set of clothes and headgear to disguise my master. I will pass through the city once and then return them at once." Hearing this, Wang Xiao'er, with a clumsy motion, scrambled up in terror and bewilderment, fumbled wildly for clothing in the dark and grabbed a pair of trousers for his robe, unable to pull them on the right way nor the wrong way.

The Great Sage used a seizing spell and had already gone out riding on clouds. Turning again, he came straight to the edge of the road by the pit. Tripitaka saw the starlight and bright moon, leaned over and looked, and as soon as he saw Sun Wukong come near, he called out, “Disciple, can we pass into Mie-fa Country?” Sun Wukong came forward, set down his robes, and said, “Master, if we must cross into Mie-fa Country, I cannot do so as a monk.” Zhu Bajie said, “Brother, what are you fussing over? Not becoming a monk is easy—only refrain from shaving for six months and you can grow hair.” Sun Wukong said, “Where can we wait six months? We must be laymen at once.” The idiot panicked, “But your words do not add up. We are all monks now, and now we are to be laymen—how can we put on headcloths? Even if I tighten the side strap, there is no place to tie the top knot.” Tripitaka barked, “Enough of trifling—do the work first. What should be done?” Sun Wukong said, “Master, I have already seen this city. Though its king is tyrannical and has killed monks, it is still a true Son of Heaven, for auspicious light and joy shine over the walls. I know the streets of the town and understand the local speech. I have just borrowed a few garments and headcloths at an inn. Let us pass as civilians, enter the city and take rooms for the night; by the fourth watch rise and have the innkeeper set out our fast meal. When dawn reaches the fifth watch, leave by the city gate and head west along the Great Road. If someone sees us and catches hold of us, we can explain it well: we are imperial envoys from the upper court sent to this realm, and the king who suppresses Dharma dare not bar our way.” Sha Wujing said, “Brother Sun has judged it best; do as he says.”

The elder truly had no choice. He took off his monk’s close-fitting robe and his monastic cap, put on common clothes, and tied on a headcloth. Sha Wujing changed also. Zhu Bajie’s head was too large to fit a cloth, so Sun Wukong took some needle and thread, tore a headcloth into two and stitched it into one, then placed it on his head. He chose a wide garment and made him wear it. Then Sun Wukong changed into another set himself and said, “Gentlemen, from here on we must for the moment put away the words ‘Master’ and ‘disciple.’” Zhu Bajie asked, “Besides these four words, how are we to address one another?” Sun Wukong said, “Let us all take brotherly terms: the Master is Tang Great Official, you are Zhu Third Official, Sha is Sha Fourth Official, and I am Sun Second Official. But in the inn, you are to stay silent and let only me answer. If they ask what goods we have, say we are horse traders and use this white horse as our sample. Say we are ten brothers; the four of us have come first to rent rooms to lodge and sell horses. Then the host will certainly receive us. We shall be fed there. When it is time to leave, wait until I pick up a shard of tile and change it to a silver coin as payment, then go.” Tripitaka, though unwilling, had no choice but to agree.

The four hastily led the horses and shoulder-poles and ran over to that side. Here it was a realm of peace and order; at the watch turn, the gates were still not yet closed, so they went directly in. When they arrived at the door of Wang the Second’s inn they heard voices inside: someone shouted, “I cannot find my headcloth.” Another said, “I cannot find my robes.” Sun Wukong made no answer, and led them to an inn diagonally opposite to rest. In that house the lanterns had not yet been put out; he called from near the door, “Innkeeper, is there a room free? We wish to lodge.” A woman answered, “Yes, yes, please come upstairs, gentlemen.” Before she could finish, a man came to lead the horses in. Sun Wukong handed over the horses. He led the Master through the shadows of the lamps straight up the stair to the upper room, where there were convenient tables and stools. He opened the lattice, and in the moonlight they sat down all together. When someone came and lit a lamp, Sun Wukong blocked the threshold and, with a blast of breath, said, “With this moonlight, no lamp is needed.”

The same woman came up, looked to be about fifty-seven or eight years old, stood by the side, and asked, “Honored guests, where do you come from? Do you bring precious cargo?” Sun Wukong said, “We come from the north, with a few rough horses for sale.” The woman said, “A horse merchant is usually rather young.” Sun said, “This one is Tang Great Official, this one Zhu Third Official, this one Sha Fourth Official. My pupil is Sun Second Official.” She smiled, “Different surnames.” Sun said, “Just so: different surnames living together. We are ten brothers in all. The four of us have come first to rent rooms and light the fire to sell horses; the other six are outside the city at present, resting and tending a string of horses, for it is late and hard to enter. Once we have rented rooms, all will come in at first light tomorrow. We will return only after the horses are sold.” She asked, “How many horses is the group?” Sun said, “One hundred ten, roughly, all of the same build as this horse, only their coat colors differ.” She smiled, “Sun Second Official, your trade is truly one of guestliness and good bookkeeping. Before this you reached a house in the same quarter and the second one would not have dared to take you in. At my establishment the courtyard is broad, stalls are in order, and there is forage; even if you had a few hundred horses you could keep them. But there is one matter: my shop has been here a long while and has a low name. My first husband was Zhao and he has long since died. I am called Widow Zhao’s inn. In my inn there are three ways of receiving guests.” Sun said, “You are right. What are your three kinds? As the saying goes, ‘Goods may have three levels of price, but a guest is judged the same though from near or far.’ Tell me what you mean by the three kinds.” Widow Zhao said, “Mine are upper, middle, and lower. The upper is a table of five fruits and five dishes, with lion-shape sugar delicacies set out; two may share one table, and a little girl is invited to sing and keep them company while resting. Each person pays five qian in silver, room fee included.” Sun laughed, “As expected. Even I could not afford enough silver from here to invite a little girl.” The widow continued, “The middle is a mixed table, only fruit and hot wine, with shelling game and amusements as one wishes, no little girls, each person paying two qian silver.” Sun said, “Again just right. How is the lower?” She said, “I dare not speak of that before honored guests.” Sun said, “Say it anyway, there is no harm. We should choose the fitting one.” She said, “The lower: no attendants at all; in the pot there is plain rice, and one may eat as one likes. When full, take some grass and lay a bed on the ground floor, then sleep where convenient. At dawn, offer the innkeeper a few wen for the meal and leave no haggling.” Zhu Bajie said in excitement, “Heavenly destinies! Zhu has found his trade! Let me just see me eat my fill from the pot, then sleep by the stove!” Sun said, “Brother, what are you saying? We on this river-road are not people who fail to earn silver in a few taels; have the upper fare prepared.”

The woman was overjoyed and said, “Have good tea ready; hasten and prepare everything in the kitchen.” She went downstairs and called, “Kill chickens, kill geese, cook the pickled rice. Kill a pig and a sheep—today we may not need them; tomorrow it can be done. Watch the wine, cook white-rice with white grain, and make white-meal cakes.” Tripitaka heard upstairs and said, “Sun Second Official, is this fitting? If she butchers chicken and goose, pig and sheep and brings them up, we are all on full fast; who of us would eat?” Sun said, “I have a plan.” He went to the stair-door and stamped, then called, “Lady Zhao, come up.” She came and asked, “Second Official, what is your instruction?” Sun said, “Today, make no slaughter at all.” She stared in surprise, “Are your honored guests on monastic fast, moon fast?” Sun said, “Neither. We call it Geng-Shen Fast. This is a Geng-Shen day, and we must fast. Only after the third watch, when it becomes Xin-You, will we break it. Slaughter tomorrow if you wish. For now, set out vegetarian dishes at the upper price.”

The widow, happier still, ran downstairs to command, “Do not slaughter. Take some wood-ear mushrooms, Fujian bamboo shoots, tofu, and wheat gluten; pull up greens from the garden, make flour gruel, ferment dough and steam rolls, then cook white rice and brew fragrant tea.” The kitchen hands—who did this kind of work every day as a matter of routine—finished everything in a moment. They set it upstairs, and there was already some lion-sweetmeat ready; the four partook freely. Then someone asked, “Will there be vegetarian wine?” Sun said, “Tang Great Official must not; the rest of us can each have a few cups.” The widow took up a warm jug and poured for three of them. Just then they heard a clatter like a clapperboard. Sun said, “Mother, what kind of cooking-fire has fallen downstairs?” The widow said, “No, that is not from here. A few guests from my rear house brought their rent rice late, and I told them to sleep downstairs. Since your guests are here, no one is using that space, so I told them to carry a sedan-chair into the yard and ask a little girl to attend you. Perhaps the sedan-pole struck the floorboards.” Sun said, “As I said, do not send for that. First, this is still fast-day; second, my brothers have not yet arrived. Let them come in tomorrow; then invite one girl and spend a little time at the residence, and once the horses are sold, depart.” The widow said, “Good men, good men—no loss of courtesy and still raising the spirit.” She ordered, “Bring up the sedan-chair, do not go to invite.” The four ate wine and meal, doused the hearth-fire, and then dispersed.

Tripitaka whispered near Sun Wukong’s ear: “Where shall we sleep?” Sun Wukong said, “Upstairs.” Tripitaka replied, “That is unreliable. We are all so weary. If we sleep and, just at that time, someone comes to tidy this house, and sees us with our hats rolled off, showing shaven heads, they will recognize us as monks and shout to wake everyone. How can that be good?” Sun Wukong said, “Yes.” He went again to the front of the stairs and stamped his feet. The widow came up again and asked, “Master Sun, any other instructions?” Sun Wukong said, “Where shall we sleep?” The woman said, “Upstairs is good for sleep—no mosquitoes, south wind, and the windows are wide open. It is excellent for sleeping.” Sun Wukong said, “It is not sleepable. I, Zhu Bajie, have a little damp-cold qi; Sha Wujing has a little wind in his shoulders; Tripitaka needs a dark place; and I, too, am somewhat averse to brightness. This place is no place to sleep.”

The mother came downstairs, leaned on a chest frame, and sighed. She had a daughter who came forward holding a child and said, “Mother, there is a saying: ‘Sit on the ford for ten days, and in one day cross nine fordings.’ In this hot weather, though there is little trade, by the time autumn turns, there is still business not yet done. Why do you sigh?” The woman said, “Child, it is not that I fear there is no trade. This evening we were already going to close the shop; at the watch-change it was then that these four horse-dealers came to rent room space. I had really hoped to earn a few taels from them, but he had taken a vegetarian meal and so could not earn a few silver from him. That is why I sigh.” The daughter said, “Since he has already eaten, he should not go to another house. Tomorrow we can arrange meat and wine well. How is it that we cannot earn silver from him?” The woman said, “They all have illnesses: fear of wind, shyness of light, and all want to sleep in darkness. Think of our house—just single-walled rooms with scattered clay tiles. Where can we find a dark place? Better let him eat one meal and send him to another house.” The daughter said, “Mother, we have a dark place at home, with no wind at all. Very good, very good.” The woman asked, “Where is it?” The daughter said, “Father once made a great chest. It is four chi wide, seven chi long, and three chi high, and six or seven men can sleep in it. Send them to sleep inside the chest.” The woman said, “I do not know if it is suitable. Let me ask first. —Master Sun, this inn has only cramped rooms and no dark corner, only one large chest, and it is neither drafty nor bright. How about sleeping in the chest?” Sun Wukong said, “Good, very good.” She told a few of the guests to bring out the chest, open the lid, and invited them downstairs.

Sun Wukong led Tripitaka, and Sha Wujing bore the shoulder-pole; following the light behind the lamp, they went to the chest. Zhu Bajie, caring for nothing, slipped into the chest first. Sha Wujing passed in the luggage, helped Tripitaka in, and then also came inside. Sun Wukong asked, “Where is my horse?” Someone attending nearby said, “The horse is tied in the back room eating fodder.” Sun Wukong said, “Bring it. Bring up the tether and feed rack and tie it close beside the chest.” As soon as they were inside, he said, “Mrs. Zhao, close the lid, set the locking pegs, put on the lock. Also check where there is any light and paper over it. Come early tomorrow to open it.” The widow said, “You are too careful.” Then they each closed their doors and went to sleep; no further details.”

When they all got into the chest, poor fellows—first they were wearing headscarves hastily, and second the weather was hot, with air trapped and suffocating. They all took off their headscarves, and removed their clothes; having no fans, they only fluttered their monk’s hats back and forth. So close one beside another, until about two watches had passed, all of them had fallen asleep. Only Sun Wukong, eager to create trouble, slept not. He stretched out his hand and pinched Zhu Bajie’s leg. The idiot pulled in his feet, and grumbled through his mouth, “Sleep already. After such hardship, what kind of heart is it, still pinching hands and feet in tricks?” Sun Wukong, with a prankster’s mind, said, “We originally had five thousand taels. Before, we sold one horse for three thousand; now in the two of us’s present tally there are four thousand. If we sell this bunch of horses, there will be three thousand more. There is a profit too. It is enough, enough.” Zhu Bajie, wanting to sleep, did not answer.”

Unbeknownst to them, the inn’s hall runner, water-carrier, fire-tender, and others were in a band with thieves. Hearing Sun Wukong speak of so much silver, a few slipped out and rounded up over twenty rogues, torching torches and carrying staves, they came to rob the horse merchants and burst through the gate. The widow and women of the Zhao household, frightened, trembled and bolted the inner doors, and hurriedly took care of themselves outside. As it happened, the thieves sought no household goods of the inn itself, only the guests. They found no trace of anyone upstairs. Waving torches, they searched all around and saw in the courtyard a large chest, with one white horse tied to one of its legs. The chest lid was tightly locked and could not be pried up. The bandits said, “Those who travel the world have sharp eyes. Looking at this heavy chest, it must surely lock up baggage and silver inside. If we steal the horse and carry out the chest, then open it and divide the goods, is that not just right?” Those men at once fetched ropes and poles, lifted the chest, and carried it off with a swaying rush. Zhu Bajie woke up and said, “Brother, stop this—why are you shaking?” Sun Wukong said, “No speech. No one is shaking.” Tripitaka and Sha Wujing suddenly woke as well and said, “Who is carrying us?” Sun Wukong said, “No shouting, no shouting. Let them carry us. Let them carry us all the way to the West Heaven, and we can spare the walking.”

The thieves, having got hold of it, did not go west. Instead they carried it eastward out of the city, killed the gate guards, and opened the gate to leave. At once the alarm roused the armored watchmen of six streets and three markets; they all reported it to the patrol commander and the Eastern City Military Office. The commander, who was in charge of military affairs, immediately ordered mounted archers and riders to go out of the city in pursuit. The thieves, seeing the official army force, did not dare to resist. They dropped the big chest, threw away the white horse, and each one fled into the brush. The troops captured not a single bandit, only seized the chest and the horse, and returned in victory. Under lantern light, the commander saw the horse—a fine horse:

Its mane parted in silver threads; its tail hung like jade ribbons. What shall I call it? A dragon colt among the Eight Noble Steeds, surpassing the swiftest charger. Bones worth a thousand gold for its frame; it chases wind across ten thousand li. Whenever it climbs a mountain it meets the blue clouds, and its cry under the moon is smooth and white as snowfall. It is truly a flood-drake leaving the sea-island, and on earth men rejoice at a jade qilin. The commander did not ride his own horse, but mounted this white one, led the troops into the city, and had the chest lifted to the command office. There the soldiers and horsemen prepared a sealed cover for it; guards were sent to watch through the night and report at dawn, requesting an imperial order to settle the seizure. The dispersal of the troops is not further recorded.

Tripitaka in the chest then complained to Sun Wukong: “You monkey-chief, you have nearly killed me. If we had been taken outside, and handed to the King of Subduing Demons, we could still have argued a way out. But now we are locked in this chest, robbed by bandits and then taken by soldiers. Tomorrow, seeing us before the king, he will have the blade laid open and ask for execution at once. Would even ten thousand not be too few for this?” Sun Wukong said, “If someone outside opens the chest, we will be taken out either bound or hung. Endure a little so as to avoid being bound and hung. Tomorrow when we face that foolish ruler, old Sun will have an answer ready; not a hair of yours will be harmed. So now, sleep.”

When the third watch came, Sun Wukong contrived a method, pulled out his staff, blew out a breath of magic, and cried, “Transform!” At once he became a three-pronged drill, bored two or three holes at the base of the chest, bored one eye, and withdrew the drill. Changing in an instant, he became an ant and scuttled out. He returned to his true form and leapt onto the clouds, heading straight for the palace gate outside. The king was then in deep sleep. He employed the “Great Multi-body Universal Assembly Divine Method,” plucked every hair from his left arm, breathed out a heavenly breath, and cried, “Transform!”—they all became little Sun Wukongs. He plucked the hairs from his right arm as well, blew out the breath, and cried, “Transform!”—they all became sleep bugs. Reciting once the truth-word mantra “Om,” he ordered the local Earth Gods to send their troops throughout the inner court of the palace, the Five Ministries and Six Departments, and the houses of officials in every office, from high to low rank; each rank-holder received one sleep bug, and all lay still asleep, not permitted to turn over. Then he took the Golden-Hooped Staff in hand, weighed it once, swung once, cried, “Treasure, transform!” and at once it became a hundred shaving knives. He took one and told each of the little Sun Wukongs to take one and all to the palace inner court, the Five Ministries and Six Departments, and each office to shave heads. Now this was the point:

The Dharma King who extinguishes doctrine has endless Dharma; Dharma threads through Heaven and Earth, the Great Way is unobstructed. All dharmas return to one single source; the wondrous forms of the three vehicles are one in essence. Drill open the jade chest and make the message clear; spread the golden hairs and tear apart the obscuring veil. Then the Dharma King will surely attain the perfected fruit, neither born nor extinguished, moving in and through emptiness. Thus by half the night the shaving was completed. He uttered mantras and sent away the Earth Gods. Shaking his body once, the hairs on both arms settled back. He twisted all the shaving knives back into true form, recognized his original nature, and became once again one Golden-Hooped Staff, collected it into a small shape, and hid it in his ear. Again he changed into an ant, drilled into the chest, regained his true form, and kept watch with Tripitaka—no further account.

Now, within the inner precincts of the imperial palace, at daybreak not yet come, the palace maids and court maidens rose to dress themselves—and one by one they all had no hair on their heads. The great and small eunuchs serving within the palace too were all likewise bareheaded. They all assembled and came to the outer hall of the sleeping chamber, where music was played to rouse the king, and each, with tears held in, dared not speak a word. Soon the Empress of the three palaces awoke, and she too had no hair. She hurriedly moved a lamp beneath the dragon bed and looked in: in the brocade-covered nest beneath it a monk was sleeping. Unable to restrain herself, she spoke, and so startled the king awake.

The king, opening his eyes in alarm, saw the Empress’s bare head; he immediately sprang up and said, “Zitong, how has this come to pass?” The Empress answered, “Your Majesty is the same.” The emperor touched his head and, frightened, seemed as if the Three Corpses cried out and the Seven Souls flew off into the air: “How has this befallen me?” Just then, in that confusion, the six courtly consorts, the palace maids and court beauties, and the great and small eunuchs all knelt there, headless, and said, “Your Majesty, we have all become monks.” When the king saw this, tears came into his eyes as he said, “I suppose the lone sovereign has done harm to a monk…” He then issued an order: “None of you must speak of this matter of our hair falling away, or the civil and martial ministers may criticize and censure the state. Let everyone go at once and hold audience in the hall.”

Now of the Five Ministries and the Six Boards, all the officials of every office, whether high or low, were to go before daylight to court and pay homage at the king’s hall. In truth, in the middle of the night each one of them also had no hair. Each person submitted a memorial on the matter. Only this was heard:

With three gentle crackings of the whip, a memorial is presented to the emperor: this is the cause for the present tonsuring.

In the end it remains unknown how the Commander-in-Chief seized the thieves’ plunder from the cabinet, and how the lives of Tripitaka and the four companions fare. Let us await the next chapter for the unraveling.