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.

Whenever thought rises and clings all at once, love held on will surely bring disaster. Clarity of spirit cannot tell apart the three platforms. When the course is fulfilled, one naturally returns to the Primordial Sea. Whether one becomes an immortal or becomes Buddha, it must be settled from within. Pure and clean, free from all dust. Then truly one’s fruit will rise and ascend to the upper realms.

Now it is said that Temple-Monk Tianming did not find Tripitaka and his three disciples, and all said, “We did not keep them, we did not see them off, we did not even hear them ask to leave; somehow we let a living Bodhisattva go away plainly and unimpeded.” Just then, several householders from the south gate side came to make requests. The monks clapped their hands and said, “Last night we had no guard to stop them; tonight they all took to the clouds and left.” Everyone at once looked up into the air and bowed in thanks. When this was spoken, every official and commoner in the city all came to know it. Those same wealthy houses were all ordered to organize full sacrificial offerings—five kinds of livestock and flowers and fruits—and to make offerings at the Shrine of Rebirth in thanks; the particulars need not be recorded.

Yet Tripitaka and his four companions had eaten wind and drunk water, lodging only by the road, and after more than half a month of travel, all was peaceful. Suddenly one day they came upon a high mountain. Tripitaka said in alarm, “Disciple, the mountain ridge in front is steep and formidable; we must be careful.” Wukong laughed, “This road is near the Buddha lands, so surely there are no fiends or demons here. Master, keep your heart at ease and do not worry.” Tripitaka replied, “Disciple, although the Buddha lands are not far, that temple monk said only recently that from here to Heaven-India is two thousand li; we still do not know how much farther remains.” Wukong said, “Master, have you once again forgotten what Wuchao Chan Master taught as the Heart Sūtra?” Tripitaka said, “The Prajñā Heart Sūtra is stitched into my robe and alms bowl. Since Wuchao Chan Master taught it to me, on what day did I not recite it? At what moment could I have forgotten? Even if recited in reverse I can still recite it; how could I forget?” Wukong said, “Master, you only recite it, but you never asked the master for explanation.” Tripitaka said, “Monkey-head, how can you say I did not understand? Do you understand it?” Wukong said, “I understand. I understand.” From then on, Tripitaka and Wukong were silent. At that moment Zhu Bajie laughed himself into fits, and Sha Wujing was just as delighted, saying, “Mouthful one, you were born, like me, as a demon spirit; you have not heard this Chan and Zi kind hear teachings, nor have you seen any Buddha monk give Dharma talks. You swagger with an empty head, looking for a pose, saying things like ‘I know’ and ‘I understand.’ Why are you now silent? Please explain for us to hear.” Sha Wujing said, “Second Brother, do you even believe him? The Elder Brother is spinning long words to lead Master astray on the path. He only knows how to use the staff—how could he understand a sermon?” Tripitaka said, “Wuneng, Wujing, stop talking nonsense. Sun Wukong’s understanding is not in words and letters; it is genuine understanding.”

Their party kept walking while speaking and had already gone many paces, passed a few hills, and now beside the road saw a large monastery. Tripitaka said, “Wukong, there is a monastery ahead. Look at that temple:

It is neither small nor large, yet it has green-glazed-tile roofs; Half-new and half-old, yet it has red walls in the Eight-Character pattern. Dimly one sees dark pines spreading overhead, and one cannot know how many hundreds or thousands of years it has remained until now; Water runs on, murmuring like music-struck strings, and one cannot tell to which age the cleaving of the mountain belonged. On the gate is written in large characters: ‘Bujin Chan Monastery’; on the hanging plaque is inscribed: ‘Remnant of Antiquity.’” Wukong saw that it was “Bujin Chan Monastery,” and Zhu Bajie also called it “Bujin Chan Monastery.” On horseback, Tripitaka thought to himself, “‘Bujin’…‘Bujin’… Could this not be the border of Śrāvastī?” Zhu Bajie said, “Master, wondrous! After these years with you I have not seen any roads; today I can recognize one?” Tripitaka said, “No. I have often read sutras and histories: it says that in Śrāvastī, in Jīvaka’s Park, Buddha gave teachings under a sacred tree. The park was that of the lay patron Jiguodu, who asked the prince to sell it. The prince replied, ‘I will not sell this park. If he wants to buy it, he must spread gold across the entire grounds.’ Jiguodu did so, laying gold bricks thickly over the land and bought the park, then invited the World-Honored One to teach Dharma. I am thinking this Bujin monastery may be that very story?” Zhu Bajie laughed, “By fate, if this is truly that story, we can even go and feel a brick and give one to him.” Everyone laughed for a while, and then Tripitaka dismounted.

As they entered the mountain gate, under it were porters with shoulder poles, pack-carriers, cart-drivers, and carts fully settled in place; some went to sleep and some went on talking. Suddenly seeing Tripitaka’s party of four—handsome and more handsome, ugly and more ugly—everyone seemed a little afraid, yet they made some room to let them pass. Fearing to cause trouble, Tripitaka kept crying out, “Polite ones, polite ones.” At that moment everyone all at once grew restrained. After passing the Vajra Hall, a Chan monk appeared with extraordinary composure, truly:

His face was as bright as full moonlight, his body like a bodhi tree. With robe sleeves over the shoulder, wind rose in them; his straw sandals met the stony road. Tripitaka asked and offered courtesy. The monk hastened back with a bow and asked, “Where do you come from, Master?” Tripitaka said, “My disciple is Tripitaka, sent by order of the Great Tang Emperor of the Eastern Land to go to the Western Heaven to worship Buddha and seek the scriptures. Passing through Baofang, I respectfully request one night lodging, and will depart tomorrow.” The monk said, “This remote mountain is always home to those dwelling in all ten directions; all may be joyfully welcomed. How much more so, venerable elder from Great Tang—if you can make offerings, it is indeed a great blessing.” Tripitaka thanked him and at once invited all three of them to walk with him. After passing the incense-circling corridor they went directly into the abbot’s hall. Courtesy was exchanged, and host and guest sat in order. Wukong and the two others also sat down with hands respectfully hanging at their sides.

At this time, hearing that a monk from Great Tang had come to fetch scriptures from the Western Heaven, every monk in the temple—great or small, whether long-staying resident, bed-matted elder, master, or young attendant—came to pay respects. After tea was finished, the monastic meal was set out. At that moment the elder was still opening the fast reciting verse; Zhu Bajie, of course, being eager, swallowed steamed buns, vegetarian fare, and flour soup all in a rush. There were many in the abbot’s hall: those with learning praised Tripitaka’s dignified bearing, and those fond of mockery just watched Zhu Bajie eat. Sha Wujing, stealing a glance, saw at the crown of his head and pinched Zhu Bajie hard, saying, “Polite ones.” Zhu Bajie, startled, quickly stood and said, “Polite ones, polite ones, my belly is empty.” Sha Wujing laughed and said, “Second Brother, you don’t know. Across all under heaven, when it comes to the belly, it is exactly the same as for you and me.” Only then did Zhu Bajie agree to sit still. Tripitaka finished the meal, the attendants cleared the seats on both sides, and Tripitaka expressed thanks.

The temple monk asked about the reason for Tripitaka coming from the Eastern Land. Tripitaka spoke of ancient sites, and only then asked why the Bujin monastery bore that name. The monk replied, “This temple was originally the Gift-Solitary Patron’s Garden Monastery of Śrāvastī, also called Jetavana. Because the patron Jiguodu invited Buddha to preach and covered the ground with golden bricks, the name later changed. From where one can see this monastery from afar, this was once Śrāvastī. At that time Jiguodu was living in Śrāvastī, and this wild mountain was originally the patron’s Jetavana, so it came to be called Gegu Bujin Monastery. At the back of this temple there is still the site of the Jetavana foundations. In recent years, when a heavy downpour comes, gold and silver beads still seep out. Some fortunate folk often pick them up.” Tripitaka said, “I take these words as no fiction.” He asked again, “We just entered Baoshan and saw along the two side corridors many mule-and-horse carts and laborers with loads. Why are they lodging here?” The monks said, “This mountain is called Baijiao Mountain. In earlier years it was all peace; of late, for reasons no one can quite explain, several centipede spirits have appeared and often wound travelers on the road below. Though they do not actually kill, people still dare not travel. At the foot of the mountain is a pass called Cockcrow Pass, but only when it is cockcrow can one dare to pass. Those travelers arrive late, and fearing inconvenience, they borrow this desolate mountain for one night, then wait and travel after cockcrow.” Tripitaka said, “We too shall wait until cockcrow and then go.” As they were still speaking, food was brought again, and they ate together with Tripitaka.

At this moment the waxing moon was bright. Tripitaka and Sun Wukong walked at ease in its light when a Daoist messenger came with the words, “Our teacher wishes to meet a person from Zhonghua.” Tripitaka turned quickly and saw an old monk holding a bamboo staff. He stepped forward and bowed, saying, “Is this the master who has come from Zhonghua?” Tripitaka answered with folded hands, “I dare not say so.” The old monk praised him endlessly, then asked, “How long have you lived, Master?” Tripitaka replied, “I have already lived forty-five years. May I ask the abbot’s age?” The old monk laughed and said, “I am older than you by six full decades.” Sun Wukong said, “I am now one hundred and five years old. Tell me what my age looks like to you.” The monk said, “Your face is ancient and spirit-clear; and on a moonlit night one’s eyesight can blur. I cannot read it at a glance.” After talking awhile, he looked back toward the rear corridor. Tripitaka asked, “You only just spoke of the Ji-gu Garden site—where is it?” The monk replied, “It is just outside the back gate. Open it quickly.” They saw only an open patch of ground, and a wall base stacked from broken stones. Tripitaka joined his palms and sighed:

“I remember, in past days, Tana-mu-su-da-duo, who once used gold and treasure to relieve the poor and the afflicted. In Jiyuan the name remains through ages unending; O elder, where now is companion Jueluo?” He moved on under the moon, strolling slowly. As he neared the back gate and came to the platform, he sat down for a while, and suddenly heard weeping. Tripitaka listened carefully. It was the sound of children crying out their mother and father’s grief, in language no one in the room could grasp. Moved to the heart, tears fell before he could stop them, and he asked all the monks, “Where is this one who cries so bitterly?” The old monk, seeing the question, ordered the monks first to return and prepare tea. When none were near, he only then bowed before Tripitaka and Sun Wukong. Tripitaka lifted him and said, “Abbot, why offer me such worship?” The monk said, “I am past a hundred years of age and only loosely know worldly matters, yet in moments of meditative stillness I have seen several scenes. As for you and your disciples, holy monk, I understand you in part—you are unlike the rest. As for this matter of sorrow, this disciple thinks Tripitaka alone cannot fully discern it.” Sun Wukong said, “Then speak: what is it?” The monk said, “Last year today, when I was in that hour of bright-moon contemplation, I suddenly heard the wind and a cry of grief. I got up and went to the Jiyuan platform, and saw there was a beautiful, refined young woman. I asked her, ‘Which house do you belong to, and why have you come here?’ She answered, ‘I am a princess of Tianzhu. While watching flowers under the moon, I was blown here by the wind.’ I confined her in an empty broken room and made it like a prison cell, leaving only a small hole in the door through which I passed her a bowl. That day I told the monks, ‘It is a demon spirit; I have bound it.’ But I am a monk, and one of compassion, and would not dare take her life. I have fed her two rough meals each day, simple tea and plain gruel, to keep her alive. The girl understood my intent at once. Fearing she would taint the monks, she feigned wind-spirits, and slept in urine, and lay in filth. By day she muttered foolish words, vacant and muddled; when night fell silent she thought on crying for her parents. I made several trips into the city to investigate the matter of the real princess and found nothing. So I kept the shackles tightened and did not release her. Now that you have come to this country, I hope when you reach the capital you will broadly exert your powers and make the truth clear—first to rescue the innocent and compassionate, and second to manifest divine attainment.” Tripitaka and Sun Wukong listened, and both held the words deeply in their hearts.

They were still speaking when two young monks came to offer tea and make ready, then withdrew. In the abbey hall, Zhu Bajie and Sha Wujing muttered in a low rumble, “We are to start at rooster-crow. Why are you not asleep at this late hour?” Sun Wukong said, “What is that muddle-headed fool saying now?” Zhu Bajie said, “Come to sleep. It is so late—what beauty of scene remains to watch?” The old monk dispersed, and Tripitaka lay down to rest. At that time, truly,

The night grows still; moonlit blossoms keep silent dreams. A warm wind slips lightly through wall and gauze. Copper kettles dip and clink for three small pails, The River of Heaven shines bright over Nine-hua. Before long, before he had slept much, he heard the rooster. The merchants ahead all rose in a bustle, lit lamps, and began cooking. The abbess awakened also, calling Zhu Bajie and Sha Wujing, saddling the horse and gathering things; Sun Wukong called for lamps. The temple monks had already risen, and they set out tea, broth, and light fare, waiting afterward in attendance. Zhu Bajie was delighted and ate a plate of cakes, then had their luggage and horses led out. Tripitaka and Sun Wukong thanked the rest. The old monk once more said to Sun Wukong, “That sorrowful matter I spoke of is in your heart.” Sun Wukong laughed, “I understand; I understand. In town I can hear and test what is true, and by face and mien distinguish colors of intent.” A group of merchants, loud and noisy, followed them onto the highway. At the hour of the tiger, they passed the Rooster-Crow checkpoint. By the hour of the snake, the city wall came into view. It was truly a city of cast-iron walls and gold-locked battlements, a heavenly estate of this divine isles. The city was: Tiger-coiled high, dragon-entwined in lordly posture; Phoenix pavilions, qilin halls, with colored light swaying. The royal moat flows like a circling belt; Blessed land, with banners along hills like brocade spires. At dawn, banners and standards light the avenues; Spring wind drums and flutes ring across every bridge. The king’s rule is orderly, robes and caps in noble rank; Five grains are full, and prosperity shows the worth of its lords. That day they entered the East Market street, and the merchants went to various inns. Tripitaka and his disciples entered the city; while crossing, they came to a guest inn- and yamen hall and entered directly. The clerk inside reported to the station chief: “Outside there are four unusual monks and a white horse.” On hearing of a horse, the station chief knew they must be officials’ escorts and came out to receive them. Tripitaka bowed and said, “I am a poor monk from Great Tang in the Eastern Land, a humble envoy sent by the Son of Heaven to Mount Lingji’s Great Thunder-voice assembly to seek the Tripitaka scroll, with credentials on my person to present at court. Please allow a halt in your exalted office; once my business is finished I will go.” The station chief answered with courtesy, “This office was established to receive messengers and envoys; naturally we should welcome you. Please, please come in.” Tripitaka rejoiced and had his disciples come forth for introductions. The station chief, seeing their ugly faces, was secretly alarmed and could not tell whether they were men or ghosts; trembling, he merely arranged tea and a vegetarian meal. Tripitaka saw his fear and said, “Do not be startled, Great Officer. Though my three disciples look severe, our hearts are all good. As the saying goes, ‘A man may look grim and yet be gentle in spirit.’ Why should you fear?”

The station chief, now somewhat steady, asked, “Master of the Scriptures, where is Tang in this world?” Tripitaka answered, “In the land of Zhonghua on South Shengtu and the four continents.” The chief asked, “When did you leave home?” Tripitaka replied, “In the thirteenth year of Zhenguan, and now fourteen years have passed, and I have borne down through ten thousand waters and a thousand mountains to arrive here.” The station chief said, “Divine monk, divine monk!” Tripitaka asked, “How old is your upper kingdom now?” The station chief answered, “This place is the great Tianzhu kingdom. From Great Ancestor and Great Ancestor’s successor down to now, more than five hundred years have passed. Now the reigning father-emperor, who loves mountains, waters, and flowers, is known as Emperor Yizong, with the reign title Jingyan; twenty-eight years have elapsed.” Tripitaka said, “Today I must go to present my credential paper and seek audience; I do not know whether I will be able to meet the court.” The station chief replied, “Good, good—just right. At present, the princess of this realm has just entered her twentieth spring. At the Crossroads Street she now has a silk-crowned pavilion where she throws embroidered balls and seeks a husband by divine match. It is in the thick of festivity. The king himself has not yet left court; if you want to present your pass, now is the time to go.” Tripitaka gladly prepared to depart, but they brought out the meal first, and he then ate with the station chief and Sun Wukong.

It was past noon. Tripitaka said, “I should go now.” Sun Wukong said, “I will go with Master.” Zhu Bajie said, “I will go.” Sha Wujing said, “Let the second elder go. Why should you, with your face, go before the gates and pretend to be corpulent? Let your elder brother go.” Tripitaka said, “Sha Wujing said well. The bungling one is rough in manner; Sun Wukong has at least a little more subtlety.” The bungler cupped his mouth and said, “Apart from Master, the three of us look no different in face.” Tripitaka put on his kasaya anyway, and Sun Wukong took the lamp-bag and went with him. In every quarter, scholars, farmers, artisans, merchants, literati, clerks and ordinary folk all said in passing, “Go and watch the embroidered-ball game!” Tripitaka stood by the roadside and told Sun Wukong, “The people here, their dress and hats, their palaces and furnishings, their speech and manner, are very much like our Great Tang. I thought that in my former life as a layman too, they played the silk-ball tossing game, and by that old bond of destiny husband and wife were joined. Here the same custom exists.” Sun Wukong said, “Shall we go and look?” Tripitaka said, “No, no. Your robes and complexion are not fitting; they may take suspicion.” Sun Wukong said, “Master, have you forgotten what the monk at Ji-gu Temple said? One: go look at the pavilion. Two: examine true and false. In this rush, if we go there, the emperor will be occupied with the princess’s glad announcement and not with court business. So we should both go and come.” Tripitaka, hearing this, truly followed Sun Wukong and saw all the crowds watching the match. Ah—what they had gone to see would be this:

The old fisherman cast out hook and line; From this day onward he will haul in contention.

Now this is how it came to be in the Tianzhu kingdom: Because the king loved mountains, waters, and blossoms, he had last year taken his queen and princess to the imperial flower garden and in moonlit viewing set loose all manner of distraction. That stirred a demon spirit, which carried off the true princess and made it become a counterfeit princess in her place. Knowing that Tripitaka would arrive this year, this month, this very day and hour, he feigned the abundance of his kingdom, raised the silk-bannered pleasure pavilion, and sought to invite Tripitaka as a companion, to draw out his primal yang essence and thereby become the Supreme Immortal of Taiyi.

At exactly the third quarter of the noon hour, Tripitaka and Sun Wukong mixed into the crowd and came near the base of the tower. Only then the Princess lifted incense, set it burning, and offered her blessing to Heaven and Earth. On either side stood five or seventy coy, rouged embroidery girls, attendants holding embroidered balls. The tower was filigreed with eight bright windows. The Princess turned her gaze and saw Tripitaka nearing; she took the embroidered ball in hand and threw it herself onto Tripitaka’s head. Tripitaka was startled; his Pilu hat was knocked sideways, and with both hands he hurriedly held on to the ball. The ball rattled and rolled, coming to rest inside his robe sleeve. From above in the tower there was a single loud cry: “A monk has been struck, a monk has been struck.” At the cross-shaped street, the merchants and buyers, thick in noisy clusters, rushed in to seize the ball. Sun Wukong shouted once, let out a hard clacking sound with his tooth-implement, bent his waist in a crouch, and his divine might rose as if he were three zhang tall, making a grotesque face. The men, frightened, stumbled and crawled away, unwilling to come near; at once they dispersed. Sun Wukong then resumed his true form.

Those embroidered girls, palace maidens, and high and low eunuchs came down from the tower and knelt before Tripitaka: “Noble one, noble one, please enter the court hall and share our joy.” Tripitaka hastily returned their courtesy, raised them, and then turned to scold Sun Wukong: “You monkey head, why are you teasing me again?” Sun Wukong laughed: “The embroidered ball struck you and rolled into your sleeve; what is that my affair? Why complain?” Tripitaka asked, “What should I do now?” Sun Wukong said, “Master, do not worry. Go in and present yourself before the king. I’ll return to the relay station and tell Zhu Bajie and Sha Wujing to wait. If the Princess does not summon you, then leave and we can simply exchange the travel permit. If she must summon you, tell the king: ‘Call my disciples, I have a word for them to hear.’ If I bring these three in then, I can distinguish the truth from falsehood then and there. This is the strategy of taming a monster through a marriage bargain.” Tripitaka could not help but accept his words, and Sun Wukong turned back toward the station.

The elder monk was surrounded and escorted by the palace maidens and eunuchs to the front of the tower. The Princess came down, took his jeweled hands together with her own, and mounted the jewel-litter; the ceremonial order was arranged, and they turned back to the gate. A gate official had already announced, “May Your Majesty live long. The Princess, carrying a monk, believes he was struck by the embroidered-ball toss and now waits beyond the noon gate for an audience.” The king heard and was quite displeased, wanting to send him away, but not knowing the Princess’s intention, he could only graciously allow him in. The Princess and Tripitaka then came to the Hall of Golden Lanterns. It was just then a pair of spouses called out blessings for ten thousand years, with both proper and improper doors bowing in reverence for a thousand autumns. After the rites were complete, they were again summoned to the upper hall. The king asked, “From where does this monk come, and how did he come by your throwing him the embroidered ball?” Tripitaka knelt and said, “This poor monk is sent by the emperor of Great Tang in the Southern Ocean to go west to Great Sound of Thunder Monastery to worship the Buddha and seek the sutras. As there is a long-road permit, I came to beg your Majesty to exchange it. Passing beneath the painted tower at Crossroads Street, I did not expect the Princess to cast the embroidered ball and strike it upon my head. I am a monk, one who has left home, who follows another teaching; how could I dare to be paired with one of jade leaf and golden bough? I beg that my death offense be forgiven, that my travel pass be exchanged, and that I be sent at once toward Ling Mountain to meet the Buddha for the sutras, and return to my land to bring long favor upon Your Majesty.” The king said, “You are a holy monk from the Eastern land, truly one of those fated by a thread from a thousand li. My Princess, now twenty years of age and unmarried, chose today’s date and hour as auspicious, and so held this painted tower ball game to seek an ideal bridegroom. Yet the ball struck you. Though Your Majesty says you are not to my taste, I do not know what the Princess intends.” The Princess knelt and said, “Father king, it is said, ‘Marry the rooster for a rooster, marry the dog for a dog.’ I had a vow in advance. When I tied this ball and proclaimed before Heaven, Earth, and the spirits that I was striking for a sky-wedded marriage, I struck today’s holy monk. This is the fate of a former life and therefore the meeting of this life; how could I change it now? I wish to take him as my prince-consort.” The king rejoiced and immediately ordered the Astronomical Office and Court Bureau to choose an auspicious date. In one hall the bridal ornaments and furnishings were readied, and then an imperial order was issued to announce it throughout the realm.

After hearing this, Tripitaka offered no more thanks and simply called out, “Pardon, pardon, pardon.” The king said, “This monk does not understand. I, with a kingdom’s wealth, invite you to be my son-in-law, and why should you not enjoy yourself here? Your only thought is still obtaining sutras. If you persist in refusing, I will have the brocade-clad guards drag you out and behead you.” Tripitaka was so frightened he seemed not in his body, and at last, trembling, he knelt and appealed, “With Your Majesty’s heavenly grace, I am your debtor. Yet this poor monk has three disciples traveling with me, and they are still outside. When I now receive you as a son-in-law, I have not had one word to give them. Please summon them here, exchange the permit, and send them on at once, so as not to delay the purpose of our western journey.” The king asked, “Where are your disciples?” Tripitaka answered, “They are at the Huitong Relay Station.” An official was immediately sent to summon the holy monk’s disciples, to send them out west, leaving the holy monk here as prince-consort. Tripitaka only then rose and stood attending. There is a poem in evidence:

The Great Elixir must not leak; one must bring it to fulfillment in all three, else painful asceticism cannot conquer a bitter bond. The Way is in the holy transmission, but cultivation must be in oneself; merit is accumulated by man, blessing descends from heaven. Do not let the six sense gates run after greed and desire; instantly open the original single nature. With no attachment and no brooding, keep your purity clear; and surely release will arise to transcendence. At that time officials were dispatched to the Huitong Relay Station to summon Tripitaka’s disciples, and there is no further notice.

After this, Sun Wukong took leave of Tripitaka beneath the painted tower, walked two steps, laughed twice, and returned to the station in good spirits. Zhu Bajie and Sha Wujing met him and said, “Elder Brother, why are you smiling so?” “How is Master now?” Sun Wukong said, “Master is pleased.” Zhu Bajie said, “We have not even reached the end of the road and have not seen you returned from Buddha with the sutras; why this joy?” Sun Wukong laughed: “Bajie and I only walked with Master as far as the base of the painted tower at Crossroads Street, where by sheer luck the reigning Princess’s embroidered ball struck Master. She then had palace girls, embroidery girls, and eunuchs escort him to the tower front, and together with the Princess he entered the court and was called as prince-consort. What else could be joyful?” Hearing this, Zhu Bajie stamped his feet and thumped his chest: “If I had known I would have come here sooner. It was all that Sha Wujing was indolent. If you had not stopped me, I would have run straight under the painted tower; if just one embroidered ball struck me, old boar, and the Princess chose me, would that not be splendid and fitting? Handsome and handsome to look at, proper and complete in shape, and fate making a playful match between us—how entertaining!” Sha Wujing stepped forward and smacked his face: “No shame, no shame, what kind of mouth you have. For three silver pieces you bought an old donkey, yet you brag that you can ride it well. If one embroidered ball had struck you, we would have burned the return papers and gone back that very night, and still have called it too late. How could we let such bad luck as you into the gate?” Zhu Bajie retorted, “You dark-skinned brute know no propriety. Hideous you may be, but it has some charm. As it has been said from old times: ‘Rough skin and flesh, sturdy bones; each has its own kind of worth.’” Sun Wukong said, “Don’t ramble with lustful words, fool. Prepare your baggage. I fear Master may panic and call for us; we should get to court and protect him.” Zhu Bajie said, “You are mistaken again. If Master is now a prince-consort, he will be in the palace making love with the king’s daughter. This is not like climbing hills and rugged roads where demons and monsters appear. Why do you need to protect him? At that age of his, he barely knows what is done in the nest; do you expect me to hold up his bedchamber?” Sun Wukong grabbed him by the ear, drew up his fist, and shouted, “You lecherous oaf, what filth is that you are saying?”

While they were still arguing, a station chief arrived with the report: “His Majesty commands. Officials have come to fetch the three holy monks.” Zhu Bajie asked, “For what purpose are we summoned?” The station chief said, “The holy monk was fortunate in being struck by the Princess’s embroidered-ball throw and chosen as prince-consort, so officials have come to invite him.” Sun Wukong said, “Where is that official? Bring him in.” The official, after saluting Sun Wukong, bowed through the ceremony and dared not look up; inside, he muttered in fear, “Is it a ghost? A monster? A Thunder Lord? A yaksha?” Sun Wukong said, “Official, if you have something to say, why this hesitation?” The official, trembling all over, held out the imperial order in both hands and stammered, “The Princess has invited for the marriage rite; my sovereign king has invited for the imperial audience.” Zhu Bajie said, “I have no instruments here to punish you; I will not strike you, so speak slowly and do not fear.” Sun Wukong said, “Are we to think you are afraid of being beaten? You are afraid of what your own face looks like. Quickly pack the pole-bundles and harness the horses; we are going to court to meet Master and discuss matters.” This was just so:

On a narrow road one cannot avoid being trapped; intense love can be forced into enmity.

In the end we still do not yet know what the king said after seeing him. Listen and await its explanation in the next installment.