Wu Cheng-en - Journey to the West (vol. 1)

The terrified Palace Beauties

Were like lotuses beaten by the rain at night;

The panic-stricken Concubines

Were like peonies swaying in the spring breezes.

Smashing their lutes, they fled for their lives,

Trampling on zithers as they ran away.

As they went out through the doors they knew not where they went;

In their flight from the hall they rushed everywhere,

Damaging their faces of jade

And bumping their pretty heads.

Every one of them fled for her life;

All of them ran away to safety.

The women who had fled did not dare to shout as they did not want to disturb the king in the middle of the night, so they all hid trembling under the eaves of walls, where we shall leave them.

The monster, still in his seat of honour, thought for a moment then drank another bowl of wine, dragged the woman towards him, and took two more gory mouthfuls of her. While he was enjoying himself inside the palace the news was being spread outside that the Tang Priest was really a tiger spirit. The rumour spread like wildfire, and it soon reached the government hostel. Nobody else was there but the white horse, who was eating fodder from a trough. This horse had once been a young dragon prince from the Western Sea who as a punishment for offending against the Heavenly Code had lost his horns and scales and been turned into a white horse to carry Sanzang to the West to fetch the scriptures.

When he heard it being said that the Tang Priest was a tiger spirit he thought, “My master is clearly a good man. That evil spirit must have changed him into a tiger to harm him, whatever shall I do? Monkey's been gone for ages, and there's no news of the other two.” By the middle of the night he could wait no longer.

He jumped up and said, “If I don't rescue the Tang Priest I'll win no merit at all.” He could restrain himself no longer, so he snapped his halter, shook his bridle and girths loose, and changed himself back into a dragon. Then he went straight up on a black cloud to the Ninth Heaven. There is a poem to prove it that goes:

On his journey West to worship the Buddha

Sanzang met an evil demon.

Now that he had been changed into a tiger

The white horse came to his rescue, trailing its halter.

From up in the air the dragon saw the bright lights in the Hall of Silvery Peace, where eight wax candles were burning on eight great candlesticks. Bringing his cloud down for a closer look he saw the monster sitting by himself in the seat of honour and drinking as he ate human flesh. “Hopeless beast,” thought the dragon with a grin, “giving his game away like that. He's broken the counterpoise of his steelyard-he has exposed himself! A man-eater can't be a good fellow. Now I know what has happened to our master: he's met this foul ogre. I'll try to fool him. If it comes off there's still time to rescue our master.”

With a shake the splendid dragon king turned himself into a slim and seductive Palace Beauty. Hurrying inside he greeted the ogre and said, “If you spare my life, Your Highness, I'll hold your cup for you.”

“Pour me out more wine,” he said. The young dragon took the pot and used a Water-controlling Spell to fill his cup so full that the wine stood several inches higher than the rim without spilling.

The monster, who did not know this piece of magic, was delighted with the trick; and when the dragon asked, “Shall I fill it higher still?” he replied, “Yes, yes.” The dragon lifted the pot and poured and poured. The wine rose till it towered as tall as a thirteen-storied pagoda, and still hardly any spilled over. The ogre opened his mouth wide and swallowed the lot, then pulled the dead girl towards him and took another bite.

“Can you sing?” he asked, and the dragon replied, “Yes, in a way.” He sang a short song and handed the ogre another cup of wine.

“Can you dance?” the ogre asked. “Yes, in a way,” he replied, “but I can't dance well empty-handed.” The ogre pushed his robe aside, brought out the sword he wore at his waist, unsheathed it, and handed it to the dragon, who took it and did a sword dance in front of the banqueting table.

As the monster gazed pop-eyed the dragon stopped dancing and hacked at his face. The ogre side-stepped and immediately seized a cast-iron lantern, that must have weighed a good hundredweight with its stand, with which to parry the sword. As the pair of them came out of the Hall of Silvery Peace, the dragon reverted to his true form and went up into mid-air on a cloud to continue the fight. It was a really vicious combat:

One was a monster born and bred on Bowl Mountain;

The other was an exiled dragon from the Western Sea.

One shone as if he were breathing out lightning;

The other's vigor seemed to burst through the clouds.

One was like a white-tusked elephant in a crowd;

The other was a golden-clawed wildcat leaping down to earth.

One was a pillar of jade, towering to heaven,

The other was one of the ocean's golden beams.

The silver dragon danced,

The yellow monster soared,

As the blade cut tirelessly to left and right,

And the lantern flashed to and fro without a pause.

The old monster was as strong as ever, after eight or nine rounds of their battle in the clouds the young dragon was tiring and unable to keep up the fight, so he hurled his sword at the monster. The ogre used a magic trick to catch it, went for the helpless dragon, throwing the lantern at him and hitting him on the hind leg. The dragon brought his cloud straight down to earth, where the canal in the palace saved his life: once he had dived in, the ogre could not find him. Instead he went back to the Hall of Silvery Peace, clutching the sword and the candlestick. There he drank himself to sleep.

The dragon hid at the bottom of the canal for an hour, by which time all was quiet. Gritting his teeth against the pain from his leg, he leapt out of the water and went back to the hostel on a black cloud, where he turned himself back into a horse and bent over the trough once more. The poor animal was covered with sweat, and his leg was scarred.

The Thought-horse and the Mind-ape had scattered,

The Lord of Metal and the Mother of Wood were dispersed.

The Yellow Wife was damaged, her powers divided,

The Way was finished, and how could it be saved?

We will leave Sanzang in danger and the dragon in defeat to return to Pig who had been hiding in the undergrowth ever since he abandoned Friar Sand. He had made himself a pigsty there, and slept through to the middle of the night. When he woke up he could not remember where he was. He rubbed his eyes, pulled himself together, and cocked up his ear. In these wild mountains no dogs barked and no cocks crowed. From the position of the stars he worked out that it was around midnight, and thought, “I must go back and rescue Friar Sand. It's all too true that 'You cannot make thread with a single strand, or clap with a single had,' No, no. I'd better go back to the city, see the master, and report on this to the king. He can give me some more brave soldiers to help me rescue Friar Sand.”

The idiot went back to the city on his cloud as fast as he could, and in an instant he was back at the hostel. It was a still, moonlit night, and he could not find his master in either wing of the building. There was only the white horse asleep there, his body covered in sweat, and with a greenish wound the size of a dish on his hind leg.

“This is double trouble,” thought Pig in horror. “Why is this wretch covered with sweat and injured on his leg? He hasn't been anywhere. Some crooks must have carried off the master and wounded the horse.”

Seeing Pig, the horse suddenly called out, “Elder brother.” Pig collapsed from shock, got up again, and was about to flee when the horse took his clothes between his teeth and said, “Brother, don't be afraid of me.”