第四十六回
第四十六回 外道弄强欺正法 心猿显圣灭诸邪
话说那国王见孙行者有呼龙使圣之法，即将关文用了宝印，便要递与唐僧，放行西路。那三个道士，慌得拜倒在金銮殿上启奏。那皇帝即下龙位，御手忙搀道：“国师今日行此大礼，何也？”道士说：“陛下，我等至此，匡扶社稷，保国安民，苦历二十年来，今日这和尚弄法力，抓了丢去[1]，败了我们声名。陛下以一场之雨，就恕杀人之罪，可不轻了我等也？望陛下且留住他的关文，让我兄弟与他再赌一赌，看是何如。”那国王着实昏乱，东说向东，西说向西，真个收了关文，道：“国师，你怎么与他赌？”虎力大仙道：“我与他赌坐禅。”国王道：“国师差矣。那和尚乃禅教出身，必然先会禅机，才敢奉旨求经，你怎与他赌此？”大仙道：“我这坐禅，比常不同，有一异名，教做‘云梯显圣’。”国王道：“何为‘云梯显圣’？”大仙云：“要一百张桌子，五十张作一禅台，一张一张叠将起去，不许手攀而上，亦不用梯凳而登，各驾一朵云头，上台坐下，约定几个时辰不动。”
国王见此有些难处，就便传旨问道：“那和尚，我国师要与你赌云梯显圣坐禅，那个会么？”行者闻言，沉吟不答。八戒道：“哥哥，怎么不言语？”行者道：“兄弟，实不瞒你说，若是踢天弄井，搅海翻江，担山赶月，换斗移星，诸般巧事，我都干得；就是砍头剁脑，剖腹剜心，异样腾那，却也不怕；但说坐禅，我就输了。我那里有这坐性？你就把我锁在铁柱上，我也要上下爬蹅，莫想坐得住。”三藏忽的开言道：“我会坐禅。”行者欢喜道：“却好！却好！可坐得多少时？”三藏道：“我幼年遇方上禅僧讲道，那性命根本上，定性存神，在死生关里，也坐二三个年头。”行者道：“师父若坐二三年，我们就不取经罢，多也不上二三个时辰就下来了。”三藏道：“徒弟呀，却是不能上去。”行者道：“你上前答应，我送你上去。”那长老果然合掌当胸道：“贫僧会坐禅。”国王教传旨，立禅台。国家有倒山之力，不消半个时辰，就设起两座台，在金銮殿左右。
那虎力大仙下殿，立于阶心，将身一纵，踏一朵席云，径上西边台上坐下。行者拔一根毫毛，变做假像，陪着八戒、沙僧，立于下面，他却作五色祥云，把唐僧撮起空中，径至东边台上坐下。他又敛祥光，变作一个蟭蟟虫，飞在八戒耳朵边道：“兄弟，仔细看着师父，再莫与老孙替身说话。”那呆子笑道：“理会得！理会得！”
却说那鹿力大仙在绣墩上坐看多时，他两个在高台上，不分胜负，这道士就助他师兄一功：将脑后短发，拔了一根，捻着一团，弹将上去，径至唐僧头上，变作一个大臭虫，咬住长老。那长老先前觉痒，然后觉疼。原来坐禅的不许动手，动手算输。一时间疼痛难禁，他缩着头，就着衣襟擦痒。八戒道：“不好了！师父羊儿风发了。”沙僧道：“不是，是头风发了。”行者听见道：“我师父乃志诚君子，他说会坐禅，断然会坐，说不会只是不会。君子家，岂有谬乎？你两个休言，等我上去看看。”好行者，嘤的一声，飞在唐僧头上，只见有豆粒大小一个臭虫叮他师父，慌忙用手捻下，替师父挠挠摸摸。那长老不疼不痒，端坐上面。行者暗想道：“和尚头光，虱子也安不得一个，如何有此臭虫？……想是那道士弄的玄虚，害我师父。哈哈！枉自也不见输赢，等老孙去弄他一弄！”这行者飞将去，金殿兽头上落下，摇身一变，变作一条七寸长的蜈蚣，径来道士鼻凹里叮了一下。那道士坐不稳，一个筋斗翻将下去，几乎丧了性命，幸亏大小官员人多救起。国王大惊，即着当驾太师领他往文华殿里梳洗去了。行者仍驾祥云，将师父驮下阶前，已是长老得胜。
那国王只教放行。鹿力大仙又奏道：“陛下，我师兄原有暗风疾，因到了高处，冒了天风，旧疾举发，故令和尚得胜。且留下他，等我与他赌隔板猜枚。”国王道：“怎么叫做‘隔板猜枚’？”鹿力道：“贫道有隔板知物之法，看那和尚可能够。他若猜得过我，让他出去；猜不着，凭陛下问拟罪名，雪我昆仲[2]之恨，不污了二十年保国之恩也。”
真个那国王十分昏乱，依此谗言，即传旨，将一朱红漆的柜子，命内官抬到宫殿，教娘娘放上件宝贝。须臾抬出，放在白玉阶前，教僧道：“你两家各赌法力，猜那柜中是何宝贝。”三藏道：“徒弟，柜中之物，如何得知？”行者敛祥光，还变作蟭蟟虫，叮在唐僧头上道：“师父放心，等我去看看来。”好大圣，轻轻飞到柜上，爬在那柜脚之下，见有一条板缝儿。他钻将进去，见一个红漆丹盘，内放一套宫衣，乃是山河社稷袄，乾坤地理裙；用手拿起来，抖乱了，咬破舌尖上，一口血哨喷将去，叫声：“变！”即变作一件破烂流丢一口钟[3]；临行又撒上一泡臊溺，却还从板缝里钻出来，飞在唐僧耳朵上道：“师父，你只猜是破烂流丢一口钟。”三藏道：“他教猜宝贝哩，流丢是件甚宝贝？”行者道：“莫管他，只猜着便是。”
唐僧进前一步，正要猜，那鹿力大仙道：“我先猜。那柜里是山河社稷袄，乾坤地理裙。”唐僧道：“不是，不是！柜里是件破烂流丢一口钟。”国王道：“这和尚无礼！敢笑我国中无宝，猜甚么流丢一口钟！”教：“拿了！”那两班校尉就要动手，慌得唐僧合掌高呼：“陛下，且赦贫僧一时。待打开柜看，端的是宝，贫僧领罪；如不是宝，却不屈了贫僧也？”国王教打开看。当驾官即开了，捧出丹盘来看，果然是件破烂流丢一口钟。国王大怒道：“是谁放上此物？”龙座后面，闪上三宫皇后道：“我主，是梓童[4]亲手放的山河社稷袄，乾坤地理裙，却不知怎么变成此物。”国王道：“御妻请退，寡人知之。宫中所用之物，无非是缎绢绫罗，那有此甚么流丢？”教：“抬上柜来，等朕亲藏一宝贝，再试如何。”
那皇帝即转后宫，把御花园里仙桃树上结得一个大桃子——有碗来大小——摘下，放在柜内，又抬下叫猜。唐僧道：“徒弟呵，又来猜了。”行者道：“放心，等我再去看看。”又嘤的一声飞将去，还从板缝儿钻进去，见是一个桃子，正合他意，即现了原身，坐在柜里，将桃子一顿口啃得干干净净，连两边腮凹儿都啃净了，将核儿安在里面。仍变蟭蟟虫，飞将出去，叮在唐僧耳朵上道：“师父，只猜是个桃核子。”长老道：“徒弟呵，休要弄我。先前不是口快，几乎拿去典刑，这番须猜宝贝方好。桃核子是甚宝贝？”行者道：“休怕，只管赢他便了。”
三藏正要开言，听得那羊力大仙道：“贫道先猜。是一颗仙桃。”三藏猜道：“不是桃，是个光桃核子。”那国王喝道：“是朕放的仙桃，如何是核？三国师猜着了。”三藏道：“陛下，打开来看就是。”当驾官又抬上去打开，捧出丹盘，果然是一个核子，皮肉俱无。国王见了，心惊道：“国师，休与他赌斗了，让他去罢。寡人亲手藏的仙桃，如今只是一核子，是甚人吃了？想是有鬼神暗助他也。”八戒听说，与沙僧微微冷笑道：“还不知他是会吃桃子的积年[5]哩！”
正话间，只见那虎力大仙从文华殿梳洗了，走上殿道：“陛下，这和尚有搬运抵物之术。抬上柜来，我破他术法，与他再猜。”国王道：“国师还要猜甚？”虎力道：“术法只抵得物件，却不抵得人身。将这道童藏在里面，管教他抵换不得。”这小童果藏在柜里，掩上柜盖，抬将下去，教：“那和尚再猜，这三番是甚宝贝。”三藏道：“又来了！”行者道：“等我再去看看。”嘤的又飞去，钻入里面，见是一个小童儿。好大圣，他却有见识。果然是腾那天下少，似这伶俐世间稀！
他就摇身一变，变作个老道士一般容貌，进柜里叫声：“徒弟。”童儿道：“师父，你从那里来的？”行者道：“我使遁法来的。”童儿道：“你来有甚教诲？”行者道：“那和尚看见你进柜来了。他若猜个道童，却又不输了？是特来和你计较计较，剃了头，我们猜和尚罢。”童儿道：“但凭师父处治，只要我们赢他便了。若是再输与他，不但低了声名，又恐朝廷不敬重了。”行者道：“说得是，我儿过来。赢了他，我重重赏你。”将金箍棒就变作一把剃头刀，搂抱着那童儿，口里叫道：“乖乖，忍着疼，莫放声，等我与你剃头。”须臾，剃下发来，窝作一团，塞在那柜脚纥络[6]里，收了刀儿，摸着他的光头道：“我儿，头便像个和尚，只是衣裳不趁。脱下来，我与你变一变。”那道童穿的一领葱白色云头花绢绣锦沿边的鹤氅，真个脱下来，被行者吹一口仙气，叫：“变！”即变做一件土黄色的直裰儿，与他穿了。却又拔下两根毫毛，变作一个木鱼儿，递在他手里道：“徒弟，须听着。但叫道童，千万莫出去；若叫和尚，你就与我顶开柜盖，敲着木鱼，念一卷佛经钻出来，方得成功也。”童儿道：“我只会念《三官经》、《北斗经》、《消灾经》，不会念佛家经。”行者道：“你可会念佛？”童儿道：“阿弥陀佛，那个不会念？”行者道：“也罢，也罢，就念佛，省得我又教你。切记着，我去也。”还变蟭蟟虫，钻出去，飞在唐僧耳轮边道：“师父，你只猜是个和尚。”三藏道：“这番他准赢了。”行者道：“你怎么定得？”三藏道：“经上有云：‘佛、法、僧三宝。’和尚却也是一宝。”
正说处，只见那虎力大仙道：“陛下，第三番是个道童。”只管叫，他那里肯出来？三藏合掌道：“是个和尚。”八戒尽力高叫道：“柜里是个和尚！”那童儿忽的顶开柜盖，敲着木鱼，念着佛，钻出来。喜得那两班文武，齐声喝采。唬得那三个道士，拑口无言。国王道：“这和尚是有神鬼辅佐！怎么道士入柜，就变做和尚？纵有待诏[7]跟进去，也只剃得头便了，如何衣服也能趁体，口里又会念佛？——国师呵！让他去罢！”
虎力大仙道：“陛下，左右是‘棋逢对手，将遇良材’。贫道将钟南山幼时学的武艺，索性与他赌一赌。”国王道：“有甚么武艺？”虎力道：“弟兄三个都有些神通。会砍下头来，又能安上；剖腹剜心，还再长完；滚油锅里，又能洗澡。”国王大惊道：“此三事都是寻死之路！”虎力道：“我等有此法力，才敢出此朗言，断要与他赌个才休。”那国王叫道：“东土的和尚，我国师不肯放你，还要与你赌砍头剖腹，下滚油锅洗澡哩。”
行者正变作蟭蟟虫，往来报事，忽听此言，即收了毫毛，现出本相，哈哈大笑道：“造化！造化！买卖上门了！”八戒道：“这三件都是丧性命的事，怎么说买卖上门？”行者道：“你还不知我的本事。”八戒道：“哥呵，你只像这等变化腾那也够了，怎么还有这等本事？”行者道：“我呵：
砍下头来能说话，剁了臂膊打得人。
铡去腿脚会走路，剖腹还平妙绝伦。
就似人家包匾食，一捻一个就囫囵。
油锅洗澡更容易，只当温汤涤垢尘。”
八戒、沙僧闻说，呵呵大笑。行者上前道：“陛下，小和尚会砍头。”国王道：“你怎么会砍头？”行者道：“我当年在寺里修行，曾遇着一个方上禅和子[8]，教我一个砍头法，不知好也不好，如今且试试新。”国王笑道：“那和尚年幼不知事。砍头那里好试新？头乃六阳之首，砍下即便死矣。”虎力道：“陛下，正要他如此，方才出得我们之气。”那昏君信他言语，即传旨，教设杀场。
一声传旨，即有羽林军三千，摆列朝门之外。国王教：“和尚先去砍头。”行者欣然应道：“我先去！我先去！”拱着手，高呼道：“国师，恕大胆，占先了。”拽回头，往外就走。唐僧一把扯住道：“徒弟呀，仔细些。那里不是耍处。”行者道：“怕他怎的！撒了手，等我去来。”
那大圣径至杀场里面，被刽子手挝住了，捆做一团，按在那土墩高处，只听喊一声：“开刀！”嗖的把个头砍将下来。又被刽子手一脚踢了去，好似滚西瓜一般，滚有三四十步远近。行者腔子中更不出血。只听得肚里叫声：“头来！”慌得鹿力大仙见有这般手段，即念咒语，教本坊土地神祇：“将人头扯住！待我赢了和尚，奏了国王，与你把小祠堂盖作大庙宇，泥塑像改作正金身。”原来那些土地神祇因他有五雷法，也服他使唤，暗中真个把行者头按住了。行者又叫声：“头来！”那头一似生根，莫想得动。行者心焦，捻着拳，挣了一挣，将捆的绳子就皆挣断，喝声：“长！”嗖的腔子内长出一个头来。唬得那刽子手，个个心惊，羽林军，人人胆战。那监斩官急走入朝奏道：“万岁，那小和尚砍了头，又长出一颗来了。”八戒冷笑道：“沙僧，那知哥哥还有这般手段。”沙僧道：“他有七十二般变化，就有七十二个头哩。”
说不了，行者走来，叫声：“师父。”三藏大喜道：“徒弟，辛苦么？”行者道：“不辛苦，倒好耍子。”八戒道：“哥哥，可用刀疮药么？”行者道：“你是摸摸看，可有刀痕？”那呆子伸手一摸，就笑得呆呆挣挣道：“妙哉！妙哉！却也长得完全，截疤儿也没些儿！”
兄弟们正都欢喜，又听得国王叫领关文：“赦你无罪。快去！快去！”行者道：“关文虽领，必须国师也赴曹砍砍头，也当试新去来。”国王道：“大国师，那和尚也不肯放你哩。你与他赌胜，且莫唬了寡人。”虎力也只得去，被几个刽子手，也捆翻在地，幌一幌，把头砍下，一脚也踢将去，滚了有三十馀步，他腔子里也不出血，也叫一声：“头来！”行者即忙拔下一根毫毛，吹口仙气，叫：“变！”变作一条黄犬，跑入场中，把那道士头一口衔来，径跑到御水河边丢下不题。
却说那道士连叫三声，人头不到，怎似行者的手段，长不出来，腔子中，骨都都红光迸出。可怜空有唤雨呼风法，怎比长生果正仙？须臾，倒在尘埃。众人观看，乃是一只无头的黄毛虎。
那监斩官又来奏：“万岁，大国师砍下头来，不能长出，死在尘埃，是一只无头的黄毛虎。”国王闻奏，大惊失色，目不转睛看那两个道士。鹿力起身道：“我师兄已是命到禄绝了，如何是只黄虎！这都是那和尚惫懒，使的掩样法儿，将我师兄变作畜类！我今定不饶他，定要与他赌那剖腹剜心！”
国王听说，方才定性回神，又叫：“那和尚，二国师还要与你赌哩。”行者道：“小和尚久不吃烟火食，前日西来，忽遇斋公家劝饭，多吃了几个馍馍；这几日腹中作痛，想是生虫，正欲借陛下之刀，剖开肚皮，拿出脏腑，洗净脾胃，方好上西天见佛。”国王听说，教：“拿他赴曹。”那许多人搀的搀，扯的扯。行者展[9]脱手道：“不用人搀，自家走去。但一件，不许缚手，我好用手洗刷脏腑。”国王传旨，教：“莫绑他手。”
行者摇摇摆摆，径至杀场，将身靠着大桩，解开衣带，露出肚腹，那刽子手将一条绳套在他膊项上，一条绳扎住他腿足，把一口牛耳短刀，幌一幌，着肚皮下一割，搠个窟窿。这行者双手爬开肚腹，拿出肠脏来，一条条理够多时，依然安在里面，照旧盘曲，捻着肚皮，吹口仙气，叫：“长！”依然长合。国王大惊，将他那关文捧在手中道：“圣僧莫误西行，与你关文去罢。”行者笑道：“关文小可，也请二国师剖剖剜剜，何如？”国王对鹿力说：“这事不与寡人相干，是你要与他做对头的。请去，请去。”鹿力道：“宽心，料我决不输与他。”
你看他也像孙大圣，摇摇摆摆，径入杀场，被刽子手套上绳，将牛耳短刀，唿喇的一声，割开肚腹。他也拿出肝肠，用手理弄。行者即拔一根毫毛，吹口仙气，叫：“变！”即变作一只饿鹰，展开翅爪，嗖的把他五脏心肝，尽情抓去，不知飞向何方受用。这道士弄做一个空腔破肚淋漓鬼，少脏无肠浪荡魂。那刽子手蹬倒大桩，拖尸来看，呀！原来是一只白毛角鹿！
慌得那监斩官又来奏道：“二国师晦气，正剖腹时，被一只饿鹰将脏腑肝肠都刁去了，死在那里。原身是个白毛角鹿也。”国王害怕道：“怎么是个角鹿？”那羊力大仙又奏道：“我师兄既死，如何得现兽形？这都是那和尚弄术法坐害我等。等我与师兄报仇者。”国王道：“你有甚么法力赢他？”羊力道：“我与他赌下滚油锅洗澡。”国王便教取一口大锅，满着香油，教他两个赌去。行者道：“多承下顾。小和尚一向不曾洗澡，这两日皮肤燥痒，好歹荡荡去。”
那当驾官果安下油锅，架起干柴，燃着烈火，将油烧滚，教和尚先下去。行者合掌道：“不知文洗，武洗？”国王道：“文洗如何？武洗如何？”行者道：“文洗不脱衣服，似这般叉着手，下去打个滚，就起来，不许污坏了衣服，若有一点油腻算输。武洗要取一张衣架，一条手巾，脱了衣服，跳将下去，任意翻筋斗，竖蜻蜓，当耍而洗也。”国王对羊力说：“你要与他文洗，武洗？”羊力道：“文洗恐他衣服是药炼过的，隔油。武洗罢。”行者又上前道：“恕大胆，屡次占先了。”你看他脱了布直裰，褪了虎皮裙，将身一纵，跳在锅内，翻油斗浪，就似负水一般顽耍。
八戒见了，咬着指头，对沙僧道：“我们也错看了这猴子了！平时间劖言讪语[10]，斗他耍子，怎知他有这般真实本事！”他两个唧唧哝哝，夸奖不尽。行者望见，心疑道：“那呆子笑我哩！正是‘巧者多劳拙者闲’。老孙这般舞弄，他倒自在。等我作成他捆一绳，看他可怕。”正洗浴，打个氼子[11]，淬在油锅底上，变作个枣核钉儿，再也不起来了。
那监斩官近前又奏：“万岁，小和尚被滚油烹死了。”国王大喜，教捞上骨骸来看。刽子手将一把铁笊篱，在油锅里捞。原来那笊篱眼稀，行者变得钉小，往往来来，从眼孔漏下去了，那里捞得着！又奏道：“和尚身微骨嫩，俱扎[12]化了。”
国王教：“拿三个和尚下去！”两边校尉见八戒面凶，先揪翻，把背心捆了。慌得三藏高叫：“陛下，赦贫僧一时。我那个徒弟，自从归教，历历有功，今日冲撞国师，死在油锅之内，奈何先死者为神，我贫僧怎敢贪生！正是天下官员也管着天下百姓。陛下若教臣死，臣岂敢不死？只望宽恩，赐我半盏凉浆水饭，三张纸马，容到油锅边，烧此一陌纸，也表我师徒一念，那时再领罪也。”国王闻言道：“也是，那中华人多有义气。”命取些浆饭、黄钱与他。果然取了，递与唐僧。
唐僧教沙和尚同去，行至阶下，有几个校尉，把八戒揪着耳朵，拉在锅边，三藏对锅祝曰：“徒弟孙悟空！
自从受戒拜禅林，护我西来恩爱深。
指望同时成大道，何期今日你归阴！
生前只为求经意，死后还存念佛心。
万里英魂须等候，幽冥做鬼上雷音！”
八戒听见道：“师父，不是这般祝了。沙和尚，你替我奠浆饭，等我祷。”那呆子捆在地下，气呼呼的道：
“闯祸的泼猴子，无知的弼马温！该死的泼猴子，油烹的弼马温！猴儿了帐，马温断根！”
孙行者在油锅底上，听得那呆子乱骂，忍不住现了本相，赤淋淋的站在油锅底道：“馕糟的夯货！你骂那个哩！”唐僧见了道：“徒弟，唬杀我也！”沙僧道：“大哥干净[13]推佯死惯了！”慌得那两班文武，上前来奏道：“万岁，那和尚不曾死，又打油锅里钻出来了。”监斩官恐怕虚诳朝廷，却又奏道：“死是死了，只是日期犯凶，小和尚来显魂哩。”
行者闻言大怒，跳出锅来，揩了油腻，穿上衣服，掣出棒，挝过监斩官，着头一下，打做了肉团，道：“我显甚么魂哩！”唬得多官连忙解了八戒，跪地哀告：“恕罪！恕罪！”国王走下龙座，行者上殿扯住道：“陛下不要走，且教你三国师也下下油锅去。”那皇帝战战兢兢道：“三国师，你救朕之命，快下锅去，莫教和尚打我。”
羊力下殿，照依行者脱了衣服，跳下油锅，也那般支吾洗浴。
行者放了国王，近油锅边，叫烧火的添柴，却伸手探了一把，——呀！那滚油都冰冷，心中暗想道：“我洗时滚热，他洗时却冷。我晓得了，这不知是那个龙王，在此护持他哩。”急纵身跳在空中，念声“唵”字咒语，把那北海龙王唤来：“我把你这个带角的蚯蚓，有鳞的泥鳅！你怎么助道士冷龙护住锅底，教他显圣赢我！”唬得那龙王喏喏连声道：“敖顺不敢相助。大圣原来不知，这个孽畜苦修行了一场，脱得本壳，却只是五雷法真受，其馀都了傍门，难归仙道。这个是他在小茅山学来的‘大开剥’。那两个已是大圣破了他法，现了本相。这一个也是他自己炼的冷龙，只好哄瞒世俗之人耍子，怎瞒得大圣！小龙如今就收了他冷龙，管教他骨碎皮焦，显甚么手段。”行者道：“趁早收了，免打！”那龙王化一阵旋风，到油锅边，将冷龙捉下海去不题。
行者下来，与三藏、八戒、沙僧立在殿前，见那道士在滚油锅里打挣，爬不出来，滑了一跌，霎时间骨脱皮焦肉烂。
监斩官又来奏道：“万岁，三国师煠化了也。”那国王满眼垂泪，手扑着御案，放声大哭道：
“人身难得果然难，不遇真传莫炼丹。
空有驱神咒水术，却无延寿保生丸。
圆明混，怎涅槃？徒用心机命不安。
早觉这般轻折挫，何如秘食稳居山！”
这正是：点金炼汞成何济，唤雨呼风总是空！毕竟不知师徒们怎的维持，且听下回分解。
[1] 抓了丢去：抓了尖去、抢了功去、占了先去的意思。
[2] 昆仲：指兄弟。长为昆，次为仲。
[3] 破烂流丢一口钟：破烂的僧衣。流丢，多用在形容词后边，用来强化形容效果，如“黑不流丢”。一口钟，参看第二十五回注释。
[4] 梓童：指皇后。多用于皇帝对皇后的称呼，有时亦为皇后自称。
[5] 积年：老内行、老油子。
[6] 纥（ɡē）络（luò）：旮旯的同音字。就是阁落、角落。
[7] 待诏：本为官名，后也用以称呼工匠手艺人等。
[8] 禅和子：指打坐参禅的和尚。
[9] 展：作挣解。
[10] 劖（chán）言讪语：刻薄、嘲讽、玩笑的意思。
[11] 打个氼（mèi）子：做出一个向下潜水的动作。氼，潜水。
[12] 扎：“炸”的借字。
[13] 干净：此处是“敢情”的意思，表示以前虽然有发现，但不敢肯定，此时可以肯定了。
CHAPTER 46. Heresy flaunts its strength to mock orthodoxy; Mind Monkey in epiphany slays the deviates.
We were telling you that when the king saw Pilgrim Sun’s ability to summon dragons and command sages, he immediately applied his treasure seal to the travel rescript. He was about to hand it back to the Tang Monk and permit him to take up the journey once more, when the three Daoists went forward and prostrated themselves before the steps of the Hall of Golden Chimes. The king left his dragon throne hurriedly and tried to raise them with his hands. “State Preceptors,” he said, “why do you three go through such a great ceremony with us today?” “Your Majesty,” said the Daoists, “we have been upholding your reign and providing security for your people here for these twenty years. Today this priest has made use of some paltry tricks of magic and robbed us of all our credit and ruined our reputation. Just because of one rainstorm, Your Majesty has pardoned even their crime of murder. Are we not being treated lightly? Let Your Majesty withhold their rescript for the moment and allow us brothers to wage another contest with them. We shall see what happens then.”
That king was in truth a confused man: he would side with the east when they mentioned east, and with the west when they mentioned west. Indeed, putting away the travel rescript, he said, “State Preceptors, what sort of contest do you wish to wage with them?” “A contest of meditation,” said the Tiger-Strength Great Immortal. “That’s no good,” said the king, “for the monk is reared in the religion of meditation. He must be well trained in such mysteries before he dares receive the decree to acquire scriptures. Why do you want to wage such a contest with him?” “This contest,” said the Great Immortal, “is not an ordinary one, for it has the name of the Epiphany of Saintliness by the Cloud Ladder.” “What do you mean by that?” asked the king. The Great Immortal said, “We need one hundred tables, fifty of which will be made, by piling one on top of the other, into an altar of meditation. Each contestant must ascend to the top without using his hands or a ladder, but only with the help of a cloud. We shall also agree on how many hours we shall remain immobile while sitting on the top of the altar.”
When he learned that it was to be such a difficult contest, the king put the question to the pilgrims, saying, “Hey, monks! Our State Preceptor would like to wage with you a contest of meditation, called the Epiphany of Saintliness by the Cloud Ladder. Can any one of you do it?” When Pilgrim heard this, he fell silent and gave no reply. “Elder Brother,” said Eight Rules, “why aren’t you saying anything?” “Brother, to tell you the truth,” said Pilgrim, “I’m quite capable of performing such difficult feats as kicking down the sky or overturning wells, stirring up oceans or upending rivers, carrying mountains or chasing the moon, and altering the course of stars and planets. I’m not afraid, in fact, of even having my head split open or cut off, of having my stomach ripped apart and my heart gouged out, or of any such strange manipulations. But if you ask me to sit and meditate, I’ll lose the contest even before I begin! Where could I, tell me, acquire the nature to sit still? Even if you were to chain me to an iron pillar, I would still try to climb up and down. I can never manage to sit still.”
“But I know how to sit and meditate,” the Tang Monk blurted out suddenly. “Marvelous! Just marvelous!” said Pilgrim, highly pleased. “How long can you do this?” “I met some lofty Chan masters when I was young,” said Tripitaka, “who expounded to me the absolutely crucial foundation of quiescence and concentration in order to preserve my spirit. Shut up alone in the so-called Life-and-Death Meditative Confinement, I had managed to sit still for two or three years at least.” “If you do that, Master,” said Pilgrim, “we won’t need to go acquire scriptures! At most, I don’t think it will be necessary for you to sit for more than three hours here before you will be able to come down.” “But Disciple,” said Tripitaka, “I can’t get up there.” “You step forward and accept the challenge,” said Pilgrim. “I’ll send you up there.” Indeed, the elder pressed his palms together before his chest and said, “This humble priest knows how to sit in meditation.” The king at once gave the order for the altars to be built. Truly, a nation has the strength to topple mountains! In less than half an hour, two altars were built on the left and right of the Hall of Golden Chimes.
Coming down from the hall, the Tiger-Strength Great Immortal went to the middle of the courtyard. He leaped into the air and at once a mat of clouds formed under his feet and took him up to the altar to the west, where he sat down. Pilgrim meanwhile pulled off one strand of his hair and caused it to change into a spurious form of himself, standing down below to accompany Eight Rules and Sha Monk. He himself changed into an auspicious cloud of five colors to carry the Tang Monk into the air and lift him to sit on the altar to the east. He then changed himself into a tiny mole cricket and flew to alight on Eight Rules’s ear to whisper to him, “Brother, look up and watch Master with care. Don’t speak to the substitute of old Monkey!” Laughing, Idiot said, “I know! I know!”
We tell you now about the Deer-Strength Great Immortal sitting on the embroidered cushion in the hall, where he watched the two contestants for a long time and found them quite equally matched. This Daoist decided to give his elder brother some help: pulling a stubby piece of hair from the back of his head, he rolled it with his fingers into a tiny ball and filliped it onto the head of the Tang Monk. The piece of hair changed into a huge bedbug and began to bite the elder. At first, the elder felt an itch, after which it changed to pain. Now, one of the rules in meditation is that one cannot move one’s hands; when one does, it is an immediate admission of defeat. As the elder found the itch and pain to be quite unbearable, he sought to find relief by wriggling his head against the collar of his robe. “Oh dear!” said Eight Rules. “Master is going to have a fit!” “No,” said Sha Monk, “he might be having a headache.” Hearing this, Pilgrim said, “My master is an honest gentleman. If he said he knew how to practice meditation, he would be able to do it. A gentleman does not lie! Stop speculating, the two of you, and let me go up to take a look.”
Dear Pilgrim! He buzzed up there and alighted on the head of the Tang Monk, where he discovered a bedbug about the size of a bean biting the elder. Hurriedly, he removed it with his hand, and then he gave his master a few gentle scratches. His itch and pain relieved, the elder once more sat motionless on the altar. “The bald head of a priest,” thought Pilgrim to himself, “can’t even hold a louse! How could a bedbug get into it? It must be, I suppose, a stunt of that Daoist, trying to harm my master. Ha! Ha! Since they haven’t quite reached a decision yet in this contest, let old Monkey give him a taste of his own tricks!” Flying up into the air until he reached a height beyond the roof of the palace, he shook his body and changed at once into a centipede at least seven inches in length. It dropped down from the sky and landed on the Daoist’s upper lip before his nostrils, where it gave him a terrific bite. Unable to sit still any longer, the Daoist fell backwards from the altar head over heels and almost lost his life. He was fortunate enough to have all the officials rush forward to pull him up. The horrified king at once asked the Grand Preceptor before the Throne to help him go to the Pavilion of Cultural Florescence to be washed and combed. Pilgrim, meanwhile, changed himself again into the auspicious cloud to carry his master down to the courtyard before the steps, where he was declared the winner.
The king wanted to let them go, but the Deer-Strength Great Immortal again said to him, “Your Majesty, my elder brother has been suffering from a suppressed chill; when he goes up to a high place, the cold wind he’s exposed to will bring on his old sickness. That was why the monk was able to gain the upper hand. Let me now wage with them a contest of guessing what’s behind the boards.” “What do you mean by that?” asked the king. Deer-Strength said, “This humble Daoist has the ability to gain knowledge of things even if they were placed behind boards. Let’s see if those monks are able to do the same. If they could outguess me, let them go; but if not, then let them be punished according to Your Majesty’s wishes so that our fraternal distress may be avenged and that our services to the kingdom for these twenty years may remain untainted.”
Truly that king is exceedingly confused! Swayed by such fraudulent words, he at once gave the order for a red lacquered chest to be brought to the inner palace. The queen was asked to place a treasure in the chest before it was carried out again and set before the white-jade steps. The king said to the monks and the Daoists, “Let both sides wage your contest now and see who can guess the treasure inside the chest.” “Disciple,” said Tripitaka, “how could we know what’s in the chest?” Pilgrim changed again into a mole cricket and flew up to the head of the Tang Monk. “Relax, Master,” he said, “let me go take a look.” Dear Great Sage! Unnoticed by anyone, he flew up to the chest and found a crack at the base, through which he crept inside. On a red lacquered tray he found a set of palace robes: they were the empire blouse and cosmic skirt. Quickly he picked them up and shook them loose; then he bit open the tip of his tongue and spat a mouthful of blood onto the garments, crying, “Change!” They changed instantly into a torn and worn-out cassock; before he left, however, he soaked it with his bubbly and stinking urine. After crawling out again through the crack, he flew back to alight on the Tang Monk’s ear and said, “Master, you may guess that it is a torn and worn-out cassock.” “He said that it was some kind of treasure,” said Tripitaka. “How could such a thing be a treasure?” “Never mind,” said Pilgrim, “for what’s important is that you guess correctly.”
As the Tang Monk took a step forward to announce what he guessed was in the chest, the Deer-Strength Great Immortal said, “I’ll guess first. The chest contains an empire blouse and a cosmic skirt.” “No! No!” cried the Tang Monk. “There’s only a torn and worn-out cassock in the chest.” “How dare he?” said the king. “This priest thinks that there is no treasure in our kingdom. What’s this worn-out cassock that he speaks of? Seize him!” The two rows of palace guards immediately wanted to raise their hands, and the Tang Monk became so terrified that he pressed his palms together and shouted, “Your Majesty, please pardon this humble priest for the moment. Open the chest; if it were indeed a treasure, this humble priest would accept his punishment. But if it were not, wouldn’t you have wrongly accused me?” The king had the chest opened, and when the attendant to the throne lifted out the lacquered tray, sitting on it was indeed one torn and worn-out cassock! “Who put this thing here?” cried the king, highly incensed, and from behind the dragon seat the queen of the three palaces came forward. “My lord,” she said, “it was I who personally placed the empire blouse and the cosmic skirt inside the chest. How could they change into something like this?” “Let my royal wife retire,” said the king, “for we are well aware of the fact that all the things used in the palace are made of the finest silk and embroidered materials. How could there be such a shabby object?” He then said to his attendants, “Bring us the chest. We ourselves will hide something in it and try again.”
The king went to his imperial garden in the rear and picked from his orchard a huge peach, about the size of a rice bowl, which he placed in the chest. The chest was brought out and the two parties were told to guess once more. “Disciples,” said the Tang Monk, “he wants us to guess again.” “Relax,” said Pilgrim. “Let me go and take another look.” With a buzz, he flew away and crawled inside the chest as before. Nothing could have been more agreeable to him than what he found: a peach. Changing back into his original form, he sat in the chest and ate the fruit so heartily that every morsel on both sides of the groove was picked clean. Leaving the stone behind, he changed back into the mole cricket and flew back onto the Tang Monk’s ear, saying, “Master, say that it’s a peach’s pit.” “Disciple,” said the elder, “don’t make a fool of me! If I weren’t so quick with my mouth just now, I would have been seized and punished. This time we must say it’s some kind of treasure. How could a peach’s pit be a treasure?” “Have no fear,” said Pilgrim. “You’ll win, and that’s all that matters!”
Tripitaka was just about to speak when the Goat-Strength Great Immortal said, “This humble Daoist will guess first: it is a peach.” “Not a peach,” said Tripitaka, “but a fleshless peach’s pit.” “It’s a peach we put in ourselves,” bellowed the king. “How could it be a pit? Our third Preceptor of State has guessed correctly.” “Your Majesty,” said Tripitaka, “please open the chest and see for yourself.” The attendant before the throne went to open the chest and lifted up the tray: it was in truth a pit, entirely without any peel or flesh. When the king saw this, he became quite frightened and said, “O State Preceptors, don’t wage any more contests with them. Let them go! The peach was picked by our own hands, and now it turns out to be a pit. Who could have eaten it? The spirits and gods must be giving them secret assistance.” When Eight Rules heard the words, he grinned sardonically to Sha Monk, saying, “Little does he realize how many years of peach eating are behind this!”
Just then, the Tiger-Strength Great Immortal walked out from the Pavilion of Cultural Florescence after he had been washed and combed. “Your Majesty,” he said as he walked up the hall, “this monk knows the magic of object removal. Give me the chest, and I’ll destroy his magic. Then we can have another contest with him.” “What do you want to do?” asked the king. Tiger-Strength said, “His magic can remove only lifeless objects but not a human body. Put this Daoist youth in the chest, and he’ll never be able to remove him.” The youth indeed was hidden in the chest, which was then brought down again from the hall to be placed before the steps. “You, monk,” said the king, “guess again what sort of treasure we have inside.” Tripitaka said, “Here it comes again!” “Let me go and have another look,” said Pilgrim. With a buzz, he flew off and crawled inside, where he found a Daoist lad. Marvelous Great Sage! What readiness of mind! Truly
Such agility is rare in the world!
Such cleverness is uncommon indeed!
Shaking his body once, he changed himself into the form of one of those old Daoists, whispering as he entered the chest, “Disciple.”
“Master,” said the lad, “how did you come in here?” “With the magic of invisibility,” said Pilgrim. The lad said, “Do you have some instructions for me?” “The priest saw you enter the chest,” said Pilgrim, “and if he made his guess a Daoist lad, wouldn’t we lose to him again? That’s why I came here to discuss the matter with you. Let’s shave your head, and we’ll then make the guess that you are a monk.” The Daoist lad said, “Do whatever you want, Master, just so that we win. For if we lose to them again, not only our reputation will be ruined, but the court also may no longer revere us.” “Exactly,” said Pilgrim. “Come over here, my child. When we defeat them, I’ll reward you handsomely.” He changed his golden-hooped rod into a sharp razor, and hugging the lad, he said, “Darling, try to endure the pain for a moment. Don’t make any noise! I’ll shave your head.” In a little while, the lad’s hair was completely shorn, rolled into a ball, and stuffed into one of the corners of the chest. He put away the razor, and rubbing the lad’s bald head, he said, “My child, your head looks like a monk’s all right, but your clothes don’t fit. Take them off and let me change them for you.” What the Daoist lad had on was a crane’s-down robe of spring-onion white silk, embroidered with the cloud pattern and trimmed with brocade. When he took it off, Pilgrim blew on it his immortal breath, crying, “Change!” It changed instantly into a monk shirt of brown color, which Pilgrim helped him put on. He then pulled off two pieces of hair which he changed into a wooden fish and a tap. “Disciple,” said Pilgrim, as he handed over the fish and the tap to the lad, “you must listen carefully. If you hear someone call for the Daoist youth, don’t ever leave this chest. If someone calls ‘Monk,’ then you may push open the chest door, strike up the wooden fish, and walk out chanting a Buddhist sūtra. Then it’ll be complete success for us.” “I only know,” said the lad, “how to recite the Three Officials Scripture, the Northern Dipper Scripture, or the Woe-Dispelling Scripture. I don’t know how to recite any Buddhist sūtra.” Pilgrim said, “Can you chant the name of Buddha?” “You mean Amitābha,” said the lad. “Who doesn’t know that?” “Good enough! Good enough!” said Pilgrim. “You may chant the name of Buddha. It’ll spare me from having to teach you anything new. Remember what I’ve told you. I’m leaving.” He changed back into a mole cricket and crawled out, after which he flew back to the ear of the Tang Monk and said, “Master, just guess it’s a monk.” Tripitaka said, “This time I know I’ll win.” “How could you be so sure?” asked Pilgrim, and Tripitaka replied, “The sūtras said, ‘The Buddha, the Dharma, and the Saṅgha are the Three Jewels.’ A monk therefore is a treasure.”
As they were thus talking among themselves, the Tiger-Strength Great Immortal said, “Your Majesty, this third time it is a Daoist youth.” He made the declaration several times, but nothing happened nor did anyone make an appearance. Pressing his palms together, Tripitaka said, “It’s a monk.” With all his might, Eight Rules screamed, “It’s a monk in the chest!” All at once the youth kicked open the chest and walked out, striking the wooden fish and chanting the name of Buddha. So delighted were the two rows of civil and military officials that they shouted bravos repeatedly; so astonished were the three Daoists that they could not utter a sound. “These priests must have the assistance from spirits and gods,” said the king. “How could a Daoist enter the chest and come out a monk? Even if he had an attendant with him, he might have been able to have his head shaved. How could he know how to take up the chanting of Buddha’s name? O Preceptors! Please let them go!”
“Your Majesty,” said the Tiger-Strength Great Immortal, “as the proverb says, ‘The warrior has found his peer, the chess player his match.’ We might as well make use of some martial arts we learned in our youth at Zhongnan Mountain and challenge them to a greater competition.” “What sort of martial arts did you learn?” asked the king. Tiger-Strength replied, “We three brothers all have acquired some magic abilities: cut off our heads, and we can put them back on our necks; open our chests and gouge out our hearts, and they will grow back again; inside a cauldron of boiling oil, we can take baths.” Highly startled, the king said, “These three things are all roads leading to certain death!” “Only because we have such magic power,” said Tiger-Strength, “do we dare make so bold a claim. We won’t quit until we have waged this contest with them.” The king said in a loud voice, “You priests from the Land of the East, our Preceptor of States are unwilling to let you go. They wish to wage one more contest with you in head cutting, stomach ripping, and going into a cauldron of boiling oil to take a bath.”
Pilgrim was still assuming the form of the mole cricket, flying back and forth to make his secret report. When he heard this, he retrieved his hair that had been changed into his substitute, and he himself changed at once back into his true form. “Lucky! Lucky!” he cried with loud guffaws. “Business has come to my door!” “These three things,” said Eight Rules, “will certainly make you lose your life. How could you say that business has come to your door?” “You still have no idea of my abilities!” said Pilgrim. “Elder Brother,” said Eight Rules, “you are quite clever, quite capable in those transformations. Aren’t those skills something already? What more abilities do you have?” Pilgrim said,
“Cut off my head and I still can speak,
Sever my arms, I still can beat you up!
My legs amputated, I still can walk.
My belly, ripped open, will heal again,
Smooth and snug as a wonton people make:
A tiny pinch and it’s completely formed.
To bathe in boiling oil is easier still;
Like warm liquid cleanse me of dirt it will.”
When Eight Rules and Sha Monk heard these words, they roared with laughter. Pilgrim went forward and said, “Your Majesty, this young priest knows how to have his head cut off.” “How did you acquire such an ability?” asked the king. “When I was practicing austerities in a monastery some years ago,” said Pilgrim, “I met a mendicant Chan master, who taught me the magic of head cutting. I don’t know whether it works or not, and that’s why I want to try it out right now.” “This priest is so young and ignorant!” said the king, chuckling. “Is head cutting something to try out? The head is, after all, the very fountain of the six kinds of yang energies in one’s body. If you cut it off, you’ll die.” “That’s what we want,” said Tiger-Strength. “Only then can our feelings be relieved!” Besotted by the Daoist’s words, the foolish ruler immediately gave the decree for an execution site to be prepared.
Once the command was given, three thousand imperial guards took up their positions outside the gate of the court. The king said, “Monk, go and cut off your head first.” “I’ll go first! I’ll go first!” said Pilgrim merrily. He folded his hands before his chest and shouted, “State Preceptors, pardon my presumption for taking my turn first!” He turned swiftly and was about to dash out. The Tang Monk grabbed him, saying, “O Disciple! Be careful! Where you are going isn’t a playground!” “No fear!” said Pilgrim. “Take off your hands! Let me go!”
The Great Sage went straight to the execution site, where he was caught hold of by the executioner and bound with ropes. He was then led to a tall mound and pinned down on top of it. At the cry “Kill,” his head came off with a swishing sound. Then the executioner gave the head a kick, and it rolled off like a watermelon to a distance of some forty paces away. No blood, however, spurted from the neck of Pilgrim. Instead, a voice came from inside his stomach, crying, “Come, head!” So alarmed was the Deer-Strength Great Immortal by the sight of such ability that he at once recited a spell and gave this charge to the local spirit and patron deity: “Hold down that head. When I have defeated the monk, I’ll persuade the king to turn your little shrines into huge temples, your idols of clay into true bodies of gold.” The local spirit and the god, you see, had to serve him since he knew the magic of the Five Thunders. Secretly, they indeed held Pilgrim’s head down. Once more Pilgrim cried, “Come, head!” But the head stayed on the ground as if it had taken root; it would not move at all. Somewhat anxious, Pilgrim rolled his hands into fists and wrenched his body violently. The ropes all snapped and fell off; at the cry “Grow,” a head sprang up instantly from his neck. Every one of the executioners and every member of the imperial guards became terrified, while the officer in charge of the execution dashed inside the court to make this report: “Your Majesty, that young priest had his head cut off, but another head has grown up.” “Sha Monk,” said Eight Rules, giggling, “we truly had no idea that Elder Brother has this kind of talent!” “If he knows seventy-two ways of transformation,” said Sha Monk, “he may have altogether seventy-two heads!”
Hardly had he finished speaking when Pilgrim came walking back, saying, “Master.” Exceedingly pleased, Tripitaka said, “Disciple, did it hurt?” “Hardly,” said Pilgrim, “it’s sort of fun!” “Elder Brother,” said Eight Rules, “do you need ointment for the scar?” “Touch me,” said Pilgrim, “and see if there’s any scar.” Idiot touched him and he was dumbfounded. “Marvelous! Marvelous!” he giggled. “It healed perfectly. You can’t feel even the slightest scar!”
As the brothers were chatting happily among themselves, they heard the king say, “Receive your rescript. We give you a complete pardon. Go away!” Pilgrim said, “We’ll take the rescript all right, but we want the Preceptor of State to go there and cut his head off too! He should try something new!” “Great Preceptor of State,” said the king, “the priest is not willing to pass you up. If you want to compete with him, please try not to frighten us.” Tiger-Strength had no choice but to go up to the site, where he was bound and pinned to the ground by several executioners. One of them lifted the sword and cut off his head, which was then kicked some thirty paces away. Blood did not spurt from his trunk either, and he, too, gave a cry, “Come, head!” Hurriedly pulling off a piece of hair, Pilgrim blew on it his immortal breath, crying, “Change!” It changed into a yellow hound, which dashed into the execution site, picked up the Daoist’s head with its mouth, and ran to drop it into the imperial moat. The Daoist, meanwhile, called for his head three times without success. He did not, you see, have the ability of Pilgrim, and there was no possibility that he could produce another head. All at once, bright crimson gushed out from his trunk. Alas!
Though for wind and rain he can send and call,
’Gainst a right-fruit god he’s no match at all.
In a moment, he fell to the dust, and those gathered about him discovered that he was actually a headless tiger with yellow fur.
The officer in charge of the execution went again to memorialize. “Your Majesty,” he said, “the Great Preceptor of State’s head was cut off, but it could not grow back again. He perished in the dust and then he became a headless tiger with yellow fur.” On hearing this, the king paled with fright and stared at the remaining two Daoists with unblinking eyes. Rising from his cushion, Deer-Strength said, “My Elder Brother must have been fated to die at this particular moment. But how could he be a yellow tiger? This has to be that monk’s roguery. He is using some kind of deceptive magic to change my elder brother into a beast. I won’t spare him now. I insist on having a competition of stomach ripping and heart gouging.”
When the king heard this, he calmed down and said, “Little priest, our Second Preceptor of State wants to wage another contest with you.” “This little priest,” said Pilgrim, “has not eaten much prepared food for a long time. The other day when we were journeying to the West, a kind patron kept asking us to eat and I stuffed myself with more pieces of steamed bread than I should have taken. I have been having a stomachache since, and I fear that I may have worms. This contest, therefore, can’t be more timely, for I want very much to borrow Your Majesty’s knife to rip open my stomach, so that I may take out my viscera and clean out my stomach and spleen before I dare proceed to see Buddha in the Western Heaven.” When the king heard this, he gave the order, “Take him to the execution site.” A throng of captains and guards came forward to pull and tug at Pilgrim, who pushed them back, saying, “I don’t need people to hold me. I’m going to walk there myself. There’s one thing, however. I don’t want my hands tied, for I want to wash and clean out my viscera.” The king at once gave the order, “Don’t tie his hands.”
With a swagger, Pilgrim walked down to the execution site. Leaning himself on a huge pillar, he untied his robe and revealed his stomach. The executioner used a rope and tied his neck to the pillar; down below, another rope strapped his two legs also to the pillar. Then he wielded a sharp dagger and ripped Pilgrim’s chest downward, all the way to his lower abdomen. Pilgrim used both his hands to push open his belly, and then he took out his intestines, which he examined one by one. After a long pause, he put them back inside, coil for coil exactly as before. Grasping the skins of his belly and bringing them together with his hands, he blew his magic breath on his abdomen, crying, “Grow!” At once his belly closed up completely. So astonished was the king that he presented with both his hands the rescript to Pilgrim, saying, “Holy monk, please do not delay your westward journey any further. Take your rescript and leave.” “The rescript is a small matter,” said Pilgrim, chuckling. “How about asking Second Preceptor of State to go through with the cutting and ripping?” “Don’t put the blame on us,” said the king to Deer-Strength. “It’s you who wanted to be his opponent. Please go! Please go!” “Relax!” said Deer-Strength. “I don’t think I’ll ever lose to him!”
Look at him! He even imitated the swagger of Pilgrim Sun as he headed for the execution site. There he was bound with ropes, and then his stomach was also ripped open by the dagger of the executioner. He, too, took out his guts and manipulated them with his hands. Pilgrim at once pulled off a piece of his hair, on which he blew a mouthful of his divine breath, crying, “Change.” It changed into a hungry hawk; spreading its wings and claws, it flew up to the Daoist and snatched him clean of his guts. Then it flew off somewhere to enjoy its catch leisurely, while the Daoist was reduced to
Of torn belly and empty trunk a ghost so drippy,
With less innards and no guts a soul most ditsy!
Kicking down the pillar, the executioner dragged the corpse over to have a closer look. Ah! It was actually a white-coated deer with horns.
The officer in charge of the execution again ran hurriedly to make the report: “Second Preceptor of State is most unlucky! As his stomach was ripped open, his viscera were snatched away by a hungry hawk. After he perished, his original form was a white-coated deer with horns.” More and more alarmed, the king asked, “How could he turn into a deer with horns?” The Goat-Strength Great Immortal said, “Yes, how could my elder brother die and turn into the form of a beast? It has to be the magic of that monk, used by him to plot against us. Let me avenge the deaths of my elder brothers.” “With what magic can you triumph over him?” asked the king, and Goat-Strength replied, “I’m going to wage with him the contest of bathing in a cauldron of hot oil.” The king indeed sent for a huge cauldron filled with fragrant oil and told them to begin the contest. “I thank you for your kindness,” said Pilgrim, “for this young priest has not had a bath for a long time. My skin, in fact, has been rather dried and itchy these past two days, and I must have it scalded to take away the irritation.”
The attendant before the throne indeed lighted a great fire on a huge pile of wood, and the oil in the cauldron was heated to boiling. When he was asked to step into it, Pilgrim pressed his palms together in front of him and asked, “Will it be a civil or a military bath?” “What’s the difference?” asked the king. Pilgrim said, “A civil bath means that I shall not remove my clothing. With my hands on my hips, I’ll jump in and jump out again after one little roll, so swiftly, in fact, that the clothes are not permitted to be soiled. If there’s the tiniest speck of oil on the garments, I lose. A military bath, however, will require a clothes rack and a towel. I’ll undress before I dive in, and I shall be permitted to play in there as I wish, including doing somersaults and cartwheels.” The king said to Goat-Strength, “How do you want to compete with him? A civil or a military bath?” “If we take the civil bath,” said Goat-Strength, “I fear that his robes may have been treated so that oil will slide off him. Let’s have the military bath.” Stepping forward instantly, Pilgrim said, “Pardon me again for the presumption of taking my turn first.” Look at him! He took off his shirt and untied his tiger-skin kilt. With a bound, he leaped straight into the cauldron, splashing and frolicking in the boiling oil as if he were swimming in it.
When Eight Rules saw this, he bit his finger and said to Sha Monk, “We truly have misjudged this ape! During those sarcastic exchanges and the banter between us all this time, I thought he was simply joking! Little did I realize that he really had such ability!” They could hardly refrain from their marveling, but when Pilgrim saw them whispering back and forth to each other, he became highly suspicious and thought to himself, “That Idiot must be laughing at me! This is what the proverb means: ‘Intelligence has its work and incompetence its leisure.’ Old Monkey has to go through all this, and he’s quite comfortable over there! Let me put some ropes on him and see whether he’ll be more cautious!” As he bathed himself, he suddenly dove toward the bottom of the cauldron with a splash. There he changed himself into a small tack and all but disappeared.
The officer in charge of the proceedings went forward again to make the report: “Your Majesty, the young priest has been fried to death by the boiling oil.” Delighted, the king gave the order for the bones to be fished out for him to see, and the executioner went forward to rake the oil with an iron strainer. The holes in the strainer, however, were quite large, whereas the tack into which Pilgrim had changed himself was very tiny, and repeatedly, it fell through the holes after it had been scooped up. The officer had no choice but to come back with this word: “The priest’s body is tender and his bones are frail. He seems to have melted completely!”
The king at once shouted, “Seize those three monks!” Seeing how savage were the looks of Eight Rules, the palace guards rushed at him first and threw him to the ground, tying both of his hands behind his back. Tripitaka was so terrified that he cried out in a loud voice, “Your Majesty, please pardon this humble cleric for the moment. Since that disciple of mine embraced our faith, he has made merit again and again. Today his affront to the Preceptor of State has led to his death in a cauldron of oil, and this humble cleric certainly has no desire to cling to my own life. Moreover, just as the officials are ruling over the people, so are you the ruler above all, and if you as king ask me, your subject, to die, how could I dare not die? But the one who died first has already become a spirit, and this is the reason I beg you for a moment’s grace. Grant me half a cup of cold water or a bowl of thin gruel; give me also three paper horses and permit me to go before the cauldron to present these offerings and to express my regard for him as a disciple. Then I will accept whatever punishment you have for me.” On hearing this, the king said, “All right! The Chinese are a very loyal people indeed!” He asked that the Tang Monk be given the rice gruel and paper money.
The Tang Monk requested that Sha Monk go with him below the steps, while a few of the guards dragged Eight Rules by the ears up to the cauldron. Facing it, the Tang Monk offered the following invocation:
“My dear disciple, Sun Wukong!
Since taking precepts at the grove of Chan,
What love you showed me on our westward way.
We hoped jointly to perfect the Great Dao.
How could I know you would perish this day!
You lived for finding scriptures when alive;
In death your mind from Buddha must not stray.
Your gallant soul afar should wait to rise
To Thunderclap as ghost from Hades’ dark sway.”
On hearing this prayer, Eight Rules said, “Master, that’s not the proper invocation. Sha Monk, hold up the rice offering for me. Let me pray!” Bound and pinned to the ground, Idiot gasped out these words:
“You brazen, disaster-courting ape!
You ignorant BanHorsePlague.
You brazen, death-deserving ape!
You deep-fried BanHorsePlague!
Monkey is bumped off!
HorsePlague’s uprooted!”
Pilgrim Sun was, of course, still in the bottom of the cauldron. When he heard these castigations from Idiot, he could no longer restrain himself and at once changed back into his original form. Standing up stark naked in the cauldron, he shouted, “You overstuffed coolie! Whom are you castigating?” “Disciple,” said the Tang Monk when he saw Pilgrim, “you almost frightened me to death!” Sha Monk said, “Elder Brother simply loves to play dead!” The civil and military officials all rushed up the steps to report: “Your Majesty, that priest did not die. He has emerged again from the cauldron.” Fearing that he might be found guilty of making a false report to the throne, the officer in charge of execution said, “He is dead all right. But today happens to be a rather inauspicious day and the ghost of that young priest is now manifesting itself.”
Maddened by what he heard, Pilgrim leaped out of the cauldron, dried himself from the oil, and threw on his clothes. Dragging that officer over, he whipped out his iron rod and one blow on the head reduced him to a meat patty. “What ghost is this who’s manifesting itself?” he huffed. Those officials were so terrified that they freed Eight Rules at once and knelt on the ground, pleading, “Pardon us! Pardon us!” The king, too, wanted to leave his dragon throne, but he was caught by Pilgrim, who said, “Your Majesty, don’t walk away. Tell your third Preceptor of State to go into the cauldron also.” Trembling all over, the king said, “Third Preceptor of State, save our life. Go into the cauldron quickly so that the monk won’t hit us.” Goat-Strength went down the steps from the hall and took off his clothes like Pilgrim. Leaping into the cauldron of boiling oil, he began to cavort and bathe himself.
Letting go of the king, Pilgrim approached the cauldron and told the fire tenders to add more wood while he put his hand into the oil. Aha! That boiling oil felt ice cold. He thought to himself: “It was very hot when I took the bath, but feel how cold it is now that he’s washing in there. I know. It has to be some dragon king who is giving him protection here.” Leaping into the air, he recited a spell that began with the letter Oṁ and instantly summoned the Dragon King of the Northern Ocean to his side. “You horn-growing earthworm!” said Pilgrim to him. “You scaly lizard! How dare you assist that Daoist by coiling a cold dragon around the bottom of the cauldron? You want him to display his power and gain the upper hand on me?”
Terribly intimidated, the Dragon King stammered out his answer: “Aoshun dares not do that! Perhaps the Great Sage has no knowledge of this: this cursed beast did go through quite an austere process of self-cultivation, to the point where he was able to cast off his original shell. He has acquired the true magic of the Five Thunders, while the rest of the magic powers he has are all those developed by heterodoxy, none fit to lead him to the true way of the immortals. The performance of this right now is also part of the Great Ripoff, which he has learned in the Little Mao Mountain,1 but the magic of his two associates had already been destroyed by the Great Sage and they had to reveal their original forms. This cold dragon which he has managed to cultivate by himself may deceive worldly folks, but how could it ever deceive the Great Sage? I shall arrest that cold dragon at once, and you can be certain that he will be deep-fried—bones, skins, and all!” “Take him away,” said Pilgrim, “and you’ll be spared a whipping!” Changing into a violent gust of wind, the Dragon King swooped down to the cauldron and dragged the cold dragon back to the ocean.
Pilgrim dropped down from the air and stood again before the steps with Tripitaka, Eight Rules, and Sha Monk. They saw that the Daoist was bobbing up and down in the oil, but his desperate efforts to get out were all to no avail. Every time he climbed up the wall of the cauldron, he would slip back down; in no time at all, his flesh dissolved, his skin was charred, and his bones left his body. “Your Majesty,” another officer in charge of execution went forward to report, “the Third Preceptor of State has passed away!” As tears streamed from his eyes, the king clutched at the imperial table before him and sobbed uncontrollably, crying:
“The human form is hard, hard indeed, to get!
Make no elixir when there’s no true guide.
You have charms and water to send for gods
But not the pill to make your life abide.
If perfection’s undone,
Could Nirvāṇa be won?
Your life’s precarious, your efforts are vain.
If you knew before such hardships you’d meet,
Why not stay safely in the mount? Abstain!”2
Truly
To touch gold, to smelt lead—of what use are they?
To summon wind, to beckon rain—still all is vain!
We do not know what will happen to master and disciples; let’s listen to the explanation in the next chapter.