Journey 013: I Shalt Not Kill?
Sun Wukong and his new master have a difference of opinion on when it’s ok for a Buddhist monk to spill someone’s brains and loot their clothes.
Transcript
Welcome to the Chinese Lore Podcast, where I retell classic Chinese stories in English. This is episode 13 of Journey to the West.
Last time, the scripture pilgrim Tang San Zang lost his two human attendants to a monster buffet, managed to escape with some supernatural help, almost got eaten by a tiger, was saved by a hunter, and then found himself under the protection of a powerful monkey that he freed from under a mountain. When we left him, though, he had run into yet another tiger.
While San Zang trembled with fear, his new naked monkey disciple Sun Wukong rejoiced.
“Master, don’t worry,” he said. “It’s delivering clothes for me.”
Sun Wukong put down the luggage, pulled a needle out of his ear, and gave it a shake in the wind. The needle immediately turned into a golden rod. Gripping the rod, Wukong laughed, “I haven’t touched this treasure in 500-some years. I’ll use it to get myself some clothes today.”
And so he stomped toward the tiger and shouted, “Damn beast, where are you going?!”
As soon as it saw him, the formerly ferocious tiger immediately crouched in fear and did not dare to even move. Wukong walked up to it and brought his rod down squarely on the tiger’s head, smashing it so hard that its brains spilled out, and its teeth went flying.
San Zang was scared that he fell off his saddle, bit his fingers, and exclaimed, “Heavens! When the hunter killed a tiger a couple days ago, he fought with the beast for half a day. But today, Wukong didn’t even need a fight. He just splattered that tiger with one swing of his rod. Truly, as the saying goes, ‘There’s always someone stronger.’ ”
While San Zang tried to collect himself, Wukong dragged the dead tiger’s body over and said, “Master, sit for a while. Let me pull off its clothes, and then we can get going again.”
“What clothes does the tiger have?” San Zang asked.
“Don’t you worry about it; I’ve got it handled,” Wukong said. He then pulled a hair off himself, blew on it, and said, “Change.” The hair turned into a sharp paring knife, which he used to slice the tiger’s pelt off, starting from its belly. He then cut off its claws and head, and cut out a square piece of skin. He put it against his own body, did a rough measurement, and then cut it into two halves. He stashed away one half and wrapped the other half around his waist. He pulled a vine from the roadside and used to fasten his new tiger skin tunic, which covered his lower half.
“Master, let’s get going,” he said. “Once we stop at someone’s house, I can borrow some needle and thread to stitch it up properly.”
He now turned his rod back into a needle and stashed it in his ear. Then, he picked up the luggage again and asked San Zang to mount his horse as they resumed their journey.
While they traveled, San Zang asked Wukong what happened to the steel staff that he used to kill the tiger. Wukong chuckled, “Master, you don’t understand. My rod came from the palace of the dragon king of the East Sea. It was a magical piece of metal used to measure the depth of the Heavenly River. It’s also called the Compliant Golden Band Rod. When I turned the Heavenly Palace upside down, it was all thanks to this rod. It can change size at will. Just now, I turned it into the size of a needle and stashed it in my ear. I’ll take it out when I need it.”
San Zang was secretly delighted to hear about his new disciple’s powers. He then asked, “Just now, when that tiger saw you, why did it freeze and let you kill it?”
“Master, to tell you the truth, even a dragon would not dare to disrespect me, much less a tiger. I have the skills to tame dragons and tigers, to churn rivers and roil the seas. I can judge people’s true nature at a glance, and discover the truth by merely listening to sounds. I can be as big as the universe, or smaller than a strand of hair. I can turn into anything and make myself appear and disappear at will. Skinning that tiger was easy. When we face a real obstacle, THEN you’ll see my true skills!”
This greatly reassured San Zang, and master and disciple now continued on their journey while they chatted. Before they knew it, the sun was hugging the horizon. The novel had a poem that described the sunset:
Soft glow of the fading twilight,
And distant clouds slowly retuning.
On every hill swells the chorus of birds,
Flocking to shelter in the woods.
The wild beasts in couples and pairs,
In packs and groups they trek homeward.
The new moon, hooklike, breaks the spreading gloom
With ten thousand stars luminous.
“Master, let’s pick up the pace,” Wukong said. “I see dense clumps of trees over there. That must be someone’s house. Let’s go ask for lodging.”
So they went up to the house in the distance. While San Zang dismounted, Wukong put down the luggage and started shouting, “Open up! Open up!”
From inside, an old man with a cane opened the door with a creak. The first thing that greeted him on the other side was this vicious looking monkey with a probably still bloody tiger skin wrapped around his waist, with a pointy face like the god of thunder. The old man was paralyzed with fear and could only stammer, “A ghost! A ghost!”
San Zang now hurried forward and helped the old man steady himself. “Old benefactor, don’t be afraid,” San Zang said. “He’s my disciple, not a demon.”
The old man saw that San Zang’s countenance was quite distinguished, and not ape-like. So he calmed down a bit and asked, “Which monastery do you come from, monk? Why did you bring this villain to my door?”
“I am from the Kingdom of Tang, on my way to the West to ask the Buddha for scriptures. We were passing through when it got late, so we wanted to see if we can spend the night at your estate. We will leave first thing tomorrow without any bother. I hope you will do us this favor.”
“You may be from the Tang, but surely that vicious looking one isn’t,” the old man said.
Wukong had heard enough. He shouted sternly, “You must be blind, old man! My master is the one from the Tang, and I’m his disciple. I am the Great Sage Equal to Heaven! Some folks from your family know me. And I’ve even seen you!”
“What? When did you see me?” the old man asked.
“When you were little, did you not forage for firewood and wild vegetables in front of me?”
“You’re speaking nonsense! Where do you live? How could I have come to forage for wood and vegetables in front of you?”
“Nonsense?! You must not recognize me. I am the Great Sage who was in the stone prison under the Twin Borders Mountain. Take a closer look!”
Only now did it occur to the old man who he was talking to. “You do look a bit like that monkey,” he said to Wukong. “But how did you get out?”
So Wukong recounted how the Bodhisattva Guanyin had arranged for San Zang to free him. Only then did the old man bow and invite San Zang and Wukong inside. He summoned his wife and children and introduced them to their guests for the night. They were all happy to receive the travelers and offered the duo tea.
After tea, the old man asked Wukong how old he was. Wukong turned the question around and asked, “How old are you?”
“I am 130 years old.”
“You’re like my great great great grandchild,” Wukong jest. “ I don’t remember when I was born, but I spent 500-some years just under that mountain.”
“Right, right,” the old man said. “I remember my great grandfather telling me that that mountain had descended from the sky one day and that a magic monkey was pinned under it. You only got out today. When I saw you in my childhood, you had grass on your head and dirt on your face, and I wasn’t afraid of you. But today, you don’t have dirt on your face or grass on your head. And you look a bit skinnier, and you have a big tiger pelt wrapped around your waist. You look just like a demon.”
At that, everyone broke into guffaws. The old man and his family then prepared a vegetarian meal. After dinner, Wukong asked the old man what his family name was. When he answered that it was Chen, San Zang chimed in and said, “Old benefactor, you and I are from the same clan.”
“Master, your family name is Tang, so how can you and he be from the same clan?” Wukong asked.
“My common family name was Chen,” San Zang explained. “They lived in the Haizhou (3,1) Prefecture in the Kingdom of Tang. And my Buddhist name was Chen Xuanzang. But when the Tang emperor took me to be his sworn brother and granted me the honorific name San Zang, he gave me the name of the kingdom for my last name.”
Wukong now said to the old man, “Hey Old Chen, I hate to impose on you, but I haven’t had a bath in 500-some years. Can you go heat up some water so my master and I can bathe? We’ll thank you when we leave.”
The old man accommodated him. After San Zang and Wukong bathed, they sat by the candlelight. Wukong then asked their host for needle and thread. At the same time, he noticed a short white tunic that his master had taken off while bathing. Wukong put on the tunic and took off the tiger pelt. He stitched the pelt into kind of a pleated kilt, which he tied back around his waist with the vine again. He now stepped in front of his master and asked, “How do I look compared to yesterday.”
“This is good,” San Zang said. “Now you actually look like a traveling monk. If you don’t mind the tunic being old and worn, then you can have it.”
Wukong thanked him for the gift and then went off to find grass to feed the horse while his master tended to his own business. The two, and their hosts, then turned in for the night.
The next morning, Wukong got up and asked San Zang to set out again. Once his master got dressed, he told Wukong to prepare the luggage. They were just about to say goodbye to their hosts when they noticed that the old man had already heated water for them to wash up and was preparing breakfast. So they ate and then set out once again.
They traveled on for some more days, and it was now early winter. And the novel had a poem describing this as well:
Frost-blighted maples and the wizened trees;
Few verdant pine and cypress still on the ridge.
Budding plum blossoms spread their gentle scent.
The brief, warm day —
A Little Spring gift!
But dying lilies yield to the lush wild tea.
A cold bridge struggles against an old tree’s bough,
And gurgling water flows in the winding brook.
Gray clouds, snow-laden, float throughout the sky.
The strong, cold wind
Tears at the sleeve!
How does one bear this chilly might of night?
One day, while the two of them were traveling, six men suddenly leaped out from the side of the road with a shout, all wielding sharp weapons.
“Hey you monk!” they barked. “Leave your horse and luggage, and we’ll let you go with your life!”
San Zang was scared witless and fell off his horse, unable to speak. Wukong helped him up and said, “Master, don’t worry. They’re coming to give us clothing and travel money.”
“Wukong, are you deaf?” San Zang said. “They told us to leave our horse and luggage. How can you be asking them for clothing or money?”
“Just stay here with our clothes, luggage, and horse. Let me go face off with them and see how it goes.”
“But one strong hand can’t match two fists, and two fists are no match for four hands,” San Zang cautioned. “There are six of them. How can you alone, being as small as you are, take them on?”
Wukong was like, puh-leeze. He now casually walked over to the bandits with hands folded and said, “Hey guys. Why are you blocking our path?”
“We are kings of the highway and philanthropic mountain lords. Our great names are known everywhere, but you don’t recognize us? Well, leave your stuff at once, and we’ll spare you. If you dare to utter so much as half a ‘no,’ we’ll cut you to pieces and ground your bones to powder!”
“Oh, well, I used to be a king and mountain lord too, back in the day. But I hadn’t heard of your great names.”
“Well then we’ll tell you! We are called the Eye That Sees and Delights; the Ear That Hears and Rages; the Nose That Smells and Loves; the Tongue That Tastes and Desires; the Mind That Perceives and Covets; and the Body That Bears and Suffers.”
“Pffft, turns out you’re six two-bit crooks!” Wukong chuckled. “And yet you don’t realize that you’ve run into your master and you’re trying to rob him. Hurry up and bring out whatever treasures you’ve seized. We’ll divide it seven ways, and I’ll spare you!”
The six bandits were irate and cursed, “Damn rude monk! You’re offering us nothing and asking US for stuff?!”
As they cursed, they raised weapons and started hacking at Wukong. He just stood there and let them have at it, completely oblivious to their attacks since, you know, he’s immortal and impervious to weapons in like six different ways at this point.
“This monk has a really hard head,” the bandits exclaimed after they had worn themselves out with their hacking.
“Oh it’s just ok,” Wukong laughed. “Looks like you are all tired. Let me show you this needle.”
“What is he, an acupuncturist?” the confounded bandits said. “We’re not sick. Why is he bringing out a needle?”
Wukong now took out the needle from his ear, shook it in the wind, and it turned into a rod. Raising the rod in his hand, he told the bandits, “Stand still, and let me have a whack at you.”
The six bandits were scared and scattered, but Wukong quickly caught up to them and killed each one with one slight tap with his rod. He then stripped off their clothes, took their money, and headed back to San Zang.
“Master, I’ve killed the bandits. Please resume your journey,” he said with a smile.
But San Zang was not smiling. “You’re such a troublemaker!” he scolded Wukong. “They may be highwaymen, but even if they’re taken to the magistrate, they won’t receive a death sentence. You may be skilled, but you could have just chased them away. Why must you kill them all? This is killing for no reason. How can you be a monk? We monks are afraid of harming ants when we sweep the ground, and we lament the moths that fly into the lamp. How can you kill them all just like that, without regard for right or wrong? You have no trace of compassion in your heart! Right now, we’re at least in the wilderness, where there’s no one to hold you responsible. But when we are in towns and cities, if someone sets you off and you kill them with your rod, then I would be held responsible.”
“Master, if I hadn’t killed them, they would’ve killed you!” Wukong protested.
“I am a man of religion, and I would rather die than kill,” San Zang retorted. “Besides, even if I died, it would just be one life. You just took six. How can you defend it? If this matter made it to the courts, even if your father was the magistrate, he won’t be able to let you off.”
“Master, to be honest, 500 years ago, when I was king of Flower and Fruit Mountain, I couldn’t even begin to count how many I killed.”
“It’s precisely because you have no restraint and acted recklessly in the mortal realm and offended heaven that you suffered your 500-year punishment. Now you’ve joined the Buddhist sect, and yet you are still as violent as before and do nothing but kill. You are not fit to go to the West! You are not fit to be a monk! Wicked! So wicked!”
Now, Sun Wukong had never been one to put up with crap from anyone. All this scolding from San Zang set his heart on fire.
“Well, if you think I’m not fit to be a monk or to go to the West, there’s no need to nag me!” he barked. “I’ll just leave then!”
Before San Zang could reply, Wukong said, “So long!” and flew off. San Zang barely had time to look up before Wukong vanished into the sky heading East.
San Zang was left all by his lonesome. He nodded and sighed in sadness, muttering to himself, “That scoundrel couldn’t stand being lectured. I just scolded him a bit, and he’s run off without a trace. Alas, alas. I guess I wasn’t destined to have a disciple or a companion. And now he’s nowhere to be found, and he won’t answer when I call out to him. Fine, go! Go!”
San Zang now had no choice but to load his luggage on his horse. He carried his Buddhist staff in one hand, took his horse’s rein in the other, and continued Westward on foot, alone. Before long, he was approaching a mountain and saw an old woman approaching while carrying a brocade shirt and a cap with a floral pattern. Seeing her come near, San Zang quickly stood to one side to let her pass.
“Elder, where are you from? Why are you traveling alone here?” the old woman asked when she saw him.
“I am a pilgrim from the East, sent by the Tang emperor to go see the Buddha in the West to obtain sacred scriptures.”
“But the Buddha resides in the Great Thunderclap Temple in India,” the woman said. “That’s 108,000 miles from here. How can you get there traveling alone without any companions or disciples?”
“I did take in a disciple some days ago,” San Zang replied. “But he was short-tempered and hot-headed. When I scolded him a bit, he refused to listen and ran off.”
The old woman now told him, “I have a brocade shirt and a golden flower cap here. They belonged to my son. He was a monk for all of three days before he died young. I just went to his monastery to mourn him and bid goodbye to his master. He gave me these two items as a memento. Elder, since you have a disciple, let me make a gift of the shirt and the cap to you.”
“Thank you so much, madam. But my disciple has already run off. I dare not accept your gifts.”
“Where did he go?”
“I just heard a whoosh and he vanished toward the East.”
“Ah, I live not far to the East of here. He must have gone to my house. Well, I have a spell. It’s called the True Words for Controlling the Mind, or the Band-Tightening Spell. You must memorize it secretly. Commit it firmly to memory, and don’t let anyone else learn of it. I’ll try to catch up with him and tell him to come back to you. Then you can give him the shirt and cap. If he refuses your command again, then you can utter this spell, and he won’t dare to act recklessly anymore, and he won’t dare to run off again.”
San Zang bowed to thank her. But as he did so, the old woman dissolved into a beam of golden light and vanished toward the East. San Zang realized that this was the Bodhisattva Guanyin in disguise, so he quickly picked up a pinch of soil and scattered it like incense, and kowtowed repeatedly toward the East to thank her. Then, he packed up the shirt and cap she had left, hid them in his bundle, and then sat down by the roadside, memorizing the spell. After reciting it a few times, he had it nailed down.
Meanwhile, after abandoning San Zang, Sun Wukong had flown all the way to the East Sea. There, he dove into the water and swam down to the crystal palace at the bottom of the sea, the abode of his … umm … let’s say old acquaintance, the Dragon King of the East Sea.
The dragon king was startled to hear that his favorite neighbor was back, so he came out to welcome him and invited him inside the palace. Once they greeted each other, the dragon king said, “I recently heard that you had completed your punishment. Belated congratulations! You must be going back to your mountain and cave to restore them to their former glory.”
“That’s what I had intended,” Wukong said, “but then I became a monk.”
“What? A monk?”
“Yeah, the Bodhisattva Guanyin told me to follow the righteous path and escort a Tang monk from the East to go to the West and see the Buddha. So I joined the Buddhist sect, and picked up the nickname Pilgrim.”
“Well, that’s worthy of congratulations!” the dragon king said. “You’re abandoning the wicked for the good and cultivating a compassionate heart. But if you’re heading West, why did you come back East? I mean, not that you’re not welcome here … umm … any time.”
Wukong laughed. “That monk doesn’t know anything about human nature. A few bandits tried to rob us, so I killed them, and that made him nag me and say I was wrong. How can I possibly put up with that?! So I ditched him. I’m on my way back to my mountain, but wanted to drop by to see you first and bum a cup of tea.”
“Oh of course, of course,” the dragon king said as he told his children to offer fragrant tea to his visitor.
Once he was done sipping tea, Wukong looked up and saw a painting hanging on the back wall. It depicted a young man kneeling to present a shoe to an old man on a bridge.
“What is this scene?” he asked.
“Ah, Great Sage, this scene happened after you were born,” the dragon king said. “That’s why you might not recognize it. It’s called, ‘Offering the Shoe Three Times on Yi (2) Bridge.’ ”
“What does that mean?”
“So, the old man in the painting is the immortal Huang (2) Shigong (2,1). The young man is Zhang Liang (2) from the Han Dynasty.”
And by the way, the Han Dynasty started in the year 202 BC, while the Tang Dynasty started in the year 618 AD. So the scene depicted in the painting would have taken place more than eight centuries before the current time in the novel.
The dragon king now continued, “The old immortal Huang Shigong (2,1) was sitting on Yi (2) Bridge. Suddenly, he dropped one of his shoes off the bridge. He asked the young man Zhang Liang to fetch it. So Zhang Liang got it and kneeled to present the shoe to Huang Shigong. And Huang Shigong repeated this twice more, and Zhang Liang repeated his actions twice more, showing no sign of pride or neglect. This impressed Huang Shigong. So he bestowed a divine book upon Zhang Liang at night and told him to use its knowledge to help establish the Han Dynasty. And in fact, Zhang Liang became a supreme strategist. Once he helped to bring peace to the land, he gave up his position at court and returned to the mountains. He then followed the Daoist, Master Red Pine, and became an immortal.”
Oh, and by the way, I actually covered this story about Zhang Liang and the shoe all the way back when I was retelling the Romance of the Three Kingdoms. Check out supplemental episode 5, “Legendary Advisors”, if you want to learn more.
And just in case Wukong didn’t pick up on the giant blinking PSA, the dragon king spelled it out for him. “Great Sage, if you don’t protect the Tang monk, if you are not willing to exercise diligence or accept instruction, then you will always be a bogus immortal, and you will never become truly enlightened in the way of immortality.”
Wukong fell silent when he heard this and contemplated for a long time. The dragon king then prodded him further. “Great Sage, you must decide for yourself. Don’t throw away your future in pursuit of being carefree.”
“Fine, no need to say more,” Wukong replied. “I’ll just go and protect that monk.”
The dragon king rejoiced. “Well in that case, I dare not keep you. Please exercise your compassion at once and don’t leave your master abandoned for too long!”
Getting the feeling that MAYBE he had overstayed his welcome, Wukong took his leave, swam up to the surface, and took to the air. And that’s where he ran into the Bodhisattva Guanyin, who was umm, just passing by and, hey, what a coincidence to run into you here!
“Wukong, why did you refuse my instruction?” she asked. “Why did you come here instead of protecting the Tang monk?”
Wukong quickly bowed and said, “As you had predicted, the Tang monk did arrive and peel away the paper on Five Elements Mountain to save me. So I became his disciple. But he nagged me for my violent ways, so I had to get away from him for just a bit. I’m on my way back to escort him now.”
“Then hurry up, before you change your mind again,” Guanyin said. And at that, they went their separate ways.
To see what’s in store for Wukong when he meets up with his master again, tune in to the next episode of the Chinese Lore Podcast. Thanks for listening!
Music in This Episode
- “Luỹ Tre Xanh Ngát Đầu Làng (Guzheng) – Vietnam BGM” by VPRODMUSIC_Asia_BGM
- “The Quiet Aftermath by Sir Cubworth (from YouTube audio library)
- “Ravines” by Elphnt (from YouTube audio library)
