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

It was covered in mist and rain.

Soft was the carpet of grass on the path;

The mountain was covered in brilliant green.

New leaves were sprouting in dense abundance,

Fragrant creepers climbed all around.

When seen from afar no end was in sight;

From close to it seemed a mass of verdant cloud,

Luxuriant, mysterious and green.

The winds soughed everywhere

As the ridge shone bright in the sunshine.

There was pine and cypress and bamboo,

Many a plum and willow, and mulberry too.

Climbing figs coiled round ancient trees,

While creepers entwined the weeping poplars,

All twisted together like a frame,

Woven together in a bed.

Here the flowers made living brocade;

Far spread the scent of boundless blossom.

Everyone's life has brambles and thorns.

But none are as tall as those in the West.

Having looked for a long time, Monkey brought his cloud down and said, “Master, it's a very long way.”

“How far?” Sanzang asked.

“I can't see any end to it,” Monkey replied. “There must be at least three hundred miles of it.”

“That's terrible,” said Sanzang.

“Don't be miserable, Master,” said Friar Sand with a laugh. “We know how to burn undergrowth. Set fire to it with a torch and all the thorns will be burned away. Then we'll be able to cross.”

“Don't talk nonsense,” Pig replied. “You can only clear the ground that way in November or later when the grass has withered and there are dead trees. The fire won't take otherwise. It'd never burn now, when everything's growing.”

“Even if it did burn it would be terrifying,” said Monkey.

“Then how are we to get across?” Sanzang asked.

“You'll just have to depend on me,” said Pig with a grin.

The splendid idiot made a spell with his hands and said the words of it, leaned forward, and said, “Grow!” He grew two hundred feet tall, then waved the rake and shouted. “Change!” It became three hundred feet long. Then he strode forward and wielded the rake two-handed to clear the undergrowth from both sides of the path. “Come with me, Master,” he said. Sanzang was delighted to whip the horse along and follow close behind while Friar Sand carried the luggage and Monkey used his cudgel to help clear the way. They did not let their hands rest for a moment all day long, and they had covered over thirty miles when near nightfall they came to an empty stretch of ground where a stone tablet stood in the middle of the path.

On the tablet the words THORN RIDGE were written large, and under them two lines of smaller writing read, “Two hundred and fifty miles of rampant thorns; few travelers have ever taken this road.”

When Pig saw this he said with a laugh, “Let me add a couple more lines to that: 'Pig has always been good at removing thorns; he's cleared the roads right to the West.'“ Sanzang then dismounted in a very good mood.

“Disciples,” he said, “I've put you to a lot of trouble. Let's stop here for the night and carry on at first light tomorrow.”

“Don't stop now, Master,” said Pig with a smile. “It's a clear sky and we're in the mood. It's all right if we carry on all bloody night.” The venerable elder had to accept his suggestion.

While Pig was working so hard in the lead all four of them pressed ahead without stopping for the night and another day until it was evening once more. In front-of them the trees and undergrowth were densely tangled and the wind could be heard rustling in the bamboos and soughing in the pines. Luckily they came to another patch of empty land where there stood an old temple outside whose gates pine and cypress formed a solid green shade, while peach and plum trees rivaled each other in beauty. Sanzang then dismounted and went with his three disciples to examine it. This is what they saw:

Before the cliff an ancient shrine stood by a cold stream;

Desolation hung all around the hill.

White cranes in the thickets made the moon seem brighter;

The green moss on the steps had been there for years.

The rustle of green bamboo seemed like human speech;

The remaining calls of the birds seemed expressions of grief.

Dogs and hens never came, and few human souls;

Wild flowers and plants grew all over the wall.

“This place strikes me as very sinister,” said Monkey. “Let's not stay here long.”

“You're being overcautious, brother,” remarked Friar Sand. “As this is deserted and I don't think there are any monsters, wild beasts or fiends, there's nothing to be afraid of.” No sooner were the words out of his mouth than there was a gust of sinister wind and an old man emerged from the temple gateway. He wore a turban, a pale-coloured gown and grass sandals, and he held a crooked stick. He was accompanied by a devil servant with a blue face, terrible fangs, red whiskers and a red body who was carrying on his head a tray of cakes.

“Great Sage,” said the old man as they both knelt down, “I am the local god of Thorn Ridge. As I knew you were coming but had nothing better to offer you I have prepared this tray of steamed cakes for your master. Do all have some. As there are no other houses for hundreds of miles I hope you will accept a few to stave off the pangs of hunger.”

This was just what Pig wanted to hear: he went up and was just stretching out his hands to take a cake when Monkey, who had been taking a long, hard look at all this, shouted, “Stop! He's evil! Behave yourself!” He was now addressing the local god.

“You're no local god, trying to fool me like that. Take this!”

Seeing the ferocity of his attack, the local god turned round and transformed himself into a howling gust of negative wind that carried the venerable elder flying off through the air. Nobody knew where he had been taken. The Great Sage was desperate because he did not know where to look for the master, while Pig and Friar Sand stared at each other, pale with shock. Even the white horse was whinnying with fright. The three brother disciples and the horse were in utter confusion. They looked all around as far as they could see but without finding him.

We will not describe their search but tell how the old man and his devil servant carried Sanzang to a stone house that was wreathed in mist and gently set him down. Holding him by the hand and supporting him the old man said, “Don't be afraid, holy monk. We aren't bad people. I am the Eighteenth Lord of Thorn Ridge. I have asked you here on this cool, clear moonlit night to talk about poetry and pass the time in friendship.” Only then did Sanzang calm down. When he took a careful look around this is what he saw:

From where the banks of cloud set out

Stood a pure house for immortals, a place

To purify the self and refine elixir,

To plant groves of bamboo and grow one's flowers.

Cranes often came to the emerald cliff,

And frogs called in the pool's blue waters.

This was a match for the cinnabar furnace on Mount Tiantai,

And made one think of the sunsets at Mount Huashan.

Forget the vain effort of ploughing the clouds and fishing for the moon;

Here there is admirable privacy and ease.

Sit here for long enough and your mind becomes sea-vast;

The rising moon can be half seen through the gauzy curtains.

As Sanzang was looking around and noticing how brightly the moon and the stars were shining he heard the sound of voices saying, “The Eighteenth Lord has brought the holy monk here.” Sanzang looked up and saw three old men. The nearest one was white-haired and distinguished; the second one's temples had a green gloss and he was full of vigor; and the third had a pure heart and blue-black hair.

Their faces and clothes were all different, and they all came to bow to Sanzang, who returned their courtesy, saying, “I have done nothing to deserve this great affection you are showing for me.”