Wu Cheng-en - Journey to the West (vol. 2)

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?”

“Venerable patron,” replied Monkey with a bow, “don't be afraid. I'm no freak. My master and we three disciples have been sent by the Great Tang emperor in the East to fetch the scriptures from the West. As we've now reached your residence I have come to ask you why it's so boiling hot here and what this place is called.”

Only then did the old man stop feeling worried and reply with a smile, “Please don't take offence, reverend sir. My old eyes are rather dim and I failed to recognize your distinguished self.”

“There's no need to be so polite,” said Monkey. “Which road is your master on?” the old man asked.

“That's him, standing on the main road due South,” Monkey replied.

“Ask him over, ask him over,” the old man replied, to Monkey's pleasure. Monkey waved to them, and Sanzang came over with Pig and Friar Sand leading the white horse and carrying the luggage. They all bowed to the old man.

The old man was at the same time delighted by Sanzang's fine appearance and alarmed by Pig's and Friar Sand's remarkable ugliness. Inviting them in, he told the younger members of the family to bring tea and cook a meal. Hearing all this Sanzang rose to his feet to thank the old man and ask, “Could you tell me, sir, why it has turned so hot again although it is autumn now?”

“These are the Fiery Mountains,” the old man replied. “We don't have springs or autumns here. It's hot all the year round.”

“Where are the mountains?” Sanzang asked. “Do they block the way to the West?”

“It's impossible to get to the West,” the old man replied. “The mountains are about twenty miles from here. You have to cross them to get to the West, but they're over 250 miles of flame. Not a blade of grass can grow anywhere around. Even if you had a skull of bronze and a body of iron you would melt trying to cross them.” This answer made Sanzang turn pale with horror; he dared not to ask any more questions.

Just then a young man pushing a red barrow stopped by the gate, shouting, “Cakes! Cakes!” The Great Sage pulled out one of his hairs and turned it into a copper coin with which he bought a cake off the young man. The man accepted the money and without a worry he lifted the cover off his barrow to release a cloud of hot steam, took out a cake and passed it to Monkey. When Monkey took it in his hand it was as hot as a burning coal or a red-hot nail in a furnace.

Just look at him as he keeps tossing the cake from one hand to another shouting, “It's hot, it's hot, I can't eat it.”

“If you can't stand heat don't come here,” the young man replied. “It's always this hot here.”

“You don't understand at all, my lad,” said Monkey. “As the saying goes,

If it's never too cold and it's never too hot

The five kinds of grain will be harvested not.”

“If it's so hot here how do you get the flour to make your cakes?” To this the young man said,

“You ask me where we can obtain the flour for the pan:

Politely we request it from Immortal Iron Fan.”

“What can you tell me about this immortal?” Monkey asked.

“The immortal has a plantain fan,” the young man replied. “If you ask it to, the fan puts out the fire at the first wave, makes a wind blow at the second wave, and brings rain at the third wave. That is how we can sow and reap the crops to support ourselves. Without it nothing would be able to grow.”

On hearing this Monkey rushed back inside, gave the cakes to Sanzang, and said, “Don't worry, Master: Don't get upset about what's going to happen the year after next. East these cakes up and I'll tell you all about it.” Sanzang took the cakes and said to the old man, “Please have a cake, sir.”

“I could not possibly eat one of your cakes before we've offered you any of our tea and food,” the old man replied. “Sir,” Monkey replied, “there's no need to give us food or tea. But could you tell me where the Iron Fan Immortal lives?”

“What do you want to know about the immortal for?” the old man asked. “The cake-seller told me just now that the immortal has a plantain fan,” said Monkey. “If you borrow it the first wave puts the fire out, the second raises a wind and the third brings rain. That's why you're able to sow and reap the crops to support yourselves. I want to go to ask the immortal to come so we can put out the flames on the Fiery Mountains and cross them. And you'll be able to sow, reap and live in peace.”

“It's a nice idea,” said the old man, “but as you have no presents the immortal wouldn't come.”

“What sort of presents would be wanted?” Sanzang asked.

“Every ten years,” the old man replied, “we go to visit the immortal. We take four pigs and four sheep, all decorated with flowers and red ribbons, delicious fruit in season, chickens, geese and the best wine. We bathe ourselves and go very reverently to pay a respectful visit to the mountain and ask the immortal to leave the cave and come here to perform magic.”