Journey to the West

59

Sanzang's Way Is Blocked at the Fiery Mountains

Monkey First Tries to Borrow the Plantain Fan

The many species are at root the same;

All flows into the boundless sea. Every thought and worry is in vain; All types and forms together blend. When the achievement is complete Great will be the full and shining dharma. Do not allow your differences to divide: Keep everything together. Gather all into the elixir furnace, Refine it till it is red as darkest gold. Then in its brilliance and beauty On dragons it may ride at will.

The story tells how Sanzang took back Brother Monkey as the Bodhisattva had instructed him and headed towards the Western Heaven, united in heart with Pig and Friar Sand. They were no longer in two minds, and the ape and the horse were firmly under control. Time shot by like an arrow; days and nights alternated with the speed of a shuttle. After the scorching heat of summer they were now in the frosts of late autumn. What they saw was:

The sparse clouds blown away by the wild West wind, Cranes calling in the distant hills amid the frosty woods. This is a chilly time

When mountain rivers seem longer than ever. The swan returns through the Northern frontier passes; Migrating birds go back to their Southern fields. The traveler feels lonely on the road; Monastic robes do not keep out the cold.

As master and disciples pressed ahead they began to feel hotter and hotter in the warm air. "It is autumn now, so why is it getting hotter again?" Sanzang asked, reining in his horse.

"Don't know," said Pig. "There's a country in the West, Sihali, where the sun sets. People call it 'the end of the sky'. At about six o'clock every evening the king sends people on the city walls to band drums and blow bugles to cover the sound of the sea boiling. That's because when the fire of the sun falls into the Western Ocean there's a great seething noise like something burning being plunged into water. If they didn't cover the noise with their drums and bugles the shock would kill all the little children in the city. That's where I think we are−−the place where the sun sets." When the Great Sage heard this he could not help laughing.

"Don't talk such nonsense, you idiot. We're a long way from Sihali yet. The way our master keeps dithering and changing his mind we won't get there in three lifetimes, even if we go on from childhood to old age, then to childhood again, and then to another old age and a third childhood."

"Tell me then, brother," said Pig, "if this isn't where the sun sets why's it so scorching hot?"

"The seasons must be out of joint," said Friar Sand. "I expect they're following summer rituals here although it's autumn." Just as the three disciples were arguing they saw a farm by the side of the road. It had a red tiled roof, red brick walls, and red painted doors, windows and furniture. It was red everywhere.

"Wukong," said Sanzang, dismounting, "go to that house and find out why it's so burning hot."

The Great Sage put his gold−banded cudgel away, neatened his clothes, and swaggered along the road like a fine gentleman. When he reached the gate to have a look an old man suddenly appeared from inside. This is what he looked like:

He wore a robe of hemp−cloth, Not quite brown or red, A sunhat of woven bamboo, In between black and green. The knobby stick in his hand Was neither crooked nor straight. His long boots of leather Were not new, but not yet old. His face was the color of copper, His beard bleached white like yarn. Long eyebrows shaded his jade−blue eyes And his smile showed golden teeth.

The old man had a shock when he looked up to see Monkey. "Where are you from, you freak?" he asked, steadying himself on his stick. "What are you doing at my gate?"