Journey 050: Goat vs. G.O.A.T.
Sun Wukong goes head-to-head against the last remaining demon Daoist priest of the Slow-Cart Kingdom.
Podcast: Play in new window | Download
Transcript
Welcome to the Chinese Lore Podcast, where I retell classic Chinese stories in English. This is episode 50 of Journey to the West.
Last time, the Daoist priests who had earned the king’s favor in the Slow-Cart Kingdom kept challenging the pilgrims to duels of magic, and it kept going badly for them. Sun Wukong disposed of the two senior priests by making off with their head and innards, respectively, in the midst of a couple gruesome contests. The lone remaining priest, Goat Immortal, just didn’t know when to quit. Instead, he challenged Sun Wukong to another contest, this time daring him to take a bath in boiling oil.
Now, we know from prior adventures that Sun Wukong is just fine with a dip in hot oil, so he happily obliged. But before he jumped in, he asked the king whether they were civil baths or martial baths. The king was quite puzzled by that question, so Wukong explained, “With a civil bath, one would not disrobe. We would just dive in, take a quick spin, and come back out. But you can’t stain your clothes. Whoever gets so much as a drop of oil on his clothes loses. But with a martial bath, then we need a clothes rack and a towel. We would disrobe, jump in, and tumble, do handstands, and play around in the oil.”
The king asked Goat Immortal which he preferred, and Goat Immortal said, “With a civil bath, he might have pretreated his clothing with special substance that makes it oil-proof. Let’s do a martial bath.”
So Wukong said, “The pardon me for going first again.” He then stripped off his clothes, and leaped into the boiling cauldron and started splashing around like he was in a jacuzzi or mini swimming pool.
Watching this display, Zhu Bajie said to Sha Zeng, “We had that monkey all wrong. Normally he just trades insults with us. Who knew he has such real skills?”
Umm … are we living in the same novel? Because I clearly remember Sun Wukong demonstrating his quote unquote real skills in basically every episode of this podcast. Anyway, Sun Wukong saw the two of them just standing around and shooting the breeze, and he thought to himself, “That dum-dum is laughing at me. As the saying goes, ‘The smart ones do all the work while the dumb ones get to chill.’ I’ve been so busy, while he gets to just stand around. Well, I’ll teach him.”
So in the midst of his bath, Sun Wukong suddenly made a splash, dived to the bottom, turned into a nail, and stayed there.
Once the bubbles stopped coming up, the head executioner went to tell the king, “Your highness, that little monk got cooked alive in the oil.”
The king was delighted and told his men to scoop out Sun Wukong’s bones. An executioner dipped a metal strainer into the cauldron and scooped, but Wukong had turned into a nail so small that he slipped through the holes in the strainer. After a few more attempts came up empty, the executioner told the king, “That monk’s body was small; he must have dissolved in the oil.”
The king now ordered his men to seize the other three pilgrims. The guards saw how vicious Zhu Bajie looked, so they started with him and tied him up. San Zang panicked and shouted to the king, “Your highness, please spare us for a moment. My disciple had rendered countless service since I took him in. Today, he offended your preceptors and died in the cauldron of oil. Alas, what can be done about it? He who dies first becomes a god. I would not dare to live on. The officials reign over the civilians. If your highness tells me to die, I would never dare to do otherwise. But I hope you will show a little mercy and give me half a bowl of cold gruel and three paper horses. Allow me to go to the cauldron and burn some sacrificial money so as to commemorate the bond between me and my disciple. Then, I will submit to punishment.”
“Yes, you people from the Central Kingdom are honorable,” the king said. Well, not honorable to spare their lives, but he was moved enough to grant San Zang’s dying wish. So San Zang and Sha Zeng walked down the steps, while several guards pulled the bound Zhu Bajie along by his ears. The three pilgrims stood by the cauldron, and San Zang mourned:
“My disciple Sun Wukong!
Ever since you joined the Buddhist school,
You’ve protected me on my journey west with the greatest love and kindness.
I had hoped we would attain the Great Way together,
But today you have gone to the underworld!
In life you were dedicated to fetching scripture,
And in death you remain devoted to the Buddha.
Your heroic soul, across 10,000 miles, must wait a moment,
In the underworld as a ghost, and then ascend to the Thunderclap Temple!”
When Bajie heard that eulogy, he told San Zang, “Master, that’s not the way to do this. Sha Zeng, offer up the gruel and let me pray.”
So Dum-Dum, still tied up, now kneeled and scoffed, “Damn troublesome ape, stupid ignorant stable monkey! Your cursed ape, you deep-fried stable monkey. May you be dead, and may your line end!”
Sun Wukong heard every word of those insults at the bottom of the cauldron, and he couldn’t tolerate it anymore. So he showed his true form and surfaced, dripping with oil.
“You damn fool! Who are you cursing?!” he barked.
San Zang exclaimed, “Pupil, you scared me to death!”
Sha Zeng chimed in, “Brother, why did you pretend to be dead?!”
The court officials were all stunned and rushed to tell the king that the monkey was very much alive. But the head executioner, fearful that this twist might make him a liar in the eyes of the king, told him, “That monkey did die, but his ghost has appeared.”
Well, turns out the one he should’ve been worried about offending was not the king, but Sun Wukong. Because when Wukong heard that report, he flew into a rage. He leaped out of the cauldron, toweled off, put his clothes back on, whipped out his golden rod, pulled the head executioner over, and smacked him on the head with the rod, turning him into a puddle of flesh.
“So my ghost was showing, huh?!” Wukong scoffed as he admired his bloody handiwork.
This very non-Buddhist act scared all the court officials, and they hurriedly untied Zhu Bajie, fell to their knees, and begged for mercy. The king tried to run from his throne, but Wukong cornered him and said, “Your highness, don’t run. You have to tell your Third Preceptor to go into the cauldron as well.”
So Goat Immortal followed Wukong’s example as he disrobed, jumped into the cauldron, and started taking a bath without any sign of distress. Wukong let go of the king, walked over to the cauldron, told the men tending the oil to stir the fire. But then he dipped his hand into the cauldron and discovered that the boiling oil was ice cold.
“Hmm, when I was bathing, it was boiling hot, but now it’s cold,” he thought to himself. “I know! Some dragon king must be protecting this guy.”
So Wukong quickly flew into the air, recited an incantation, and summoned the Dragon King of the North Sea.
“You horned earthworm! You scaly eel! Why did you send an ice dragon to protect that priest and help him show me up?!” Wukong fumed.
The dragon king was paralyzed with fear and could only mutter, “I would never dare to help him. Great Sage, you don’t understand. These wretched creatures cultivated their Dao to the point where they left their old forms behind and attained the Five Thunder Magic. All the rest of their powers are just parlor tricks, unworthy of the True Way. But this is the “Great Flaying” technique that they cultivated. You broke the other two priests’ magic and revealed their true form. This last one refined an ice dragon on his own. It can only fool mortal eyes, but not you, Great Sage! Let me apprehend that ice dragon, and he will be boiled alive.”
“Then make it quick, and I’ll spare you a beating,” Wukong ordered.
So the dragon king turned into a wind, flew to the cauldron, seized the ice dragon, and took it into the ocean. By the time Wukong descended from the sky to rejoin the party, he saw that Goat Immortal was struggling in the cauldron, trying to climb out. But it was too late. He slipped into the boiling oil, and was reduced to a tender lamb stew within moments.
When the king received this report from the new head executioner, he leaned against his desk and wept aloud:
“A human body is indeed hard to come by.
Don’t try to make elixirs without master instruction.
You may possess spells to command spirits and water,
Yet you have not the pill that prolongs life and preserves existence.
If clarity and completeness are lost, how can one achieve Nirvana?
All your scheming only leaves your fate unsettled.
If you had realized earlier how easily one may be broken and defeated,
Why not nourish yourself in secret and dwell securely in the mountains?”
While the king was crying his heart out on his throne, Sun Wukong approached and barked at him, “How can you be so muddle-headed?! Look at those priests’ carcasses. One is a tiger, one is a deer, and that Goat Immortal is a goat. If you don’t believe me, scoop out his bones and see. No human would have such bones. They were wild animals that turned into demons and they came here to harm you. But they saw that you were still strong, so they did not dare to make their move. In another couple years, when you start to decline, they would’ve killed you, and then your kingdom would belong to them. It’s a good thing that we came along when we did and killed those demons and saved your life. And yet you’re crying over them?! Enough already. Hurry up and give us our travel papers and see us off!”
Only now did the king come to his senses. And his court officials all told him, “The dead priests really did turn out to be a stag and a tiger, and those are indeed goat bones in the cauldron. You must listen to the sage monks.”
“In that case, we must thank the sage monks,” the king said. “It’s getting late, so have the royal tutor escort them back to the Building Wisdom Monastery. Tomorrow morning, have the Bureau of Royal Banquets set up a vegetarian feast to thank them.”
So the pilgrims returned to the monastery and rested there that night. The next morning at 5 a.m., the king held court, assembled his officials, and sent out a command to post royal decrees at all four gates to summon back all the Buddhist monks. He then traveled with his court to the Building Wisdom Monastery and invited the pilgrims to the eastern pavilion of the palace for a feast.
After the feast, the king gave the pilgrims their travel documents. Then, the entire court escorted them out of the palace. There, they saw a bunch of monks kneeling by the side of the road. These were the monks who had fled after Sun Wukong freed them. They had gotten word about the king’s decree summoning Buddhist monks back to the city, so they all streamed back to return the monkey hairs that Sun Wukong had given them as protection.
“How many of you are here?” Wukong asked.
“All 500 of us,” they replied.
Wukong now did a little shimmy and retracted all the hairs that he had given the monks. He then told the king and everyone else present, “I really did free these monks. And I was the one who smashed the carts. And I did kill those two wicked Daoist priests. Today, I have rid you of the demons and the wicked; only now do you recognize the power of Buddhism. From now on, don’t act recklessly again. I hope you will unite the three schools: Revere Buddhism, revere Daoism, and foster talent. Do that, and I will guarantee that your realm will endure forever.”
The king agreed and thanked him profusely before seeing the pilgrims off. Once they departed the city, master and disciples again traveled West every day. And soon, spring and summer had passed, and autumn was settling in again.
One day, as evening crept in, San Zang reined in his horse and asked where they were going to stay that night. Wukong told him, “Master, men of religion shouldn’t talk like common folk.”
“What do you mean?” San Zang asked.
“Common folk are in their warm beds right now, cuddling under blankets with their babies and their wives, sleeping carefree. But we men of religion can’t do that. We must use the moon and the stars as our covers, dine on the wind, and sleep by the water. If the road keeps going, then we keep going. Only when the road ends do we stop.”
Zhu Bajie chimed in, “Brother, you don’t know the half of it. The roads are mountainous, and I’m carrying a heavy load. It’s really hard to keep going. We have to find a place to sleep and rest up tonight, so that we can keep going tomorrow. Otherwise, I’ll be so tired that I’ll just collapse.”
“Let travel a bit farther under the moonlight, and stop when we find a homestead,” Wukong said.
As he pressed on, the others had no choice but to follow. They traveled a bit farther and started hearing the sound of waves.
“Oh great! A dead end!” Bajie said.
“It’s a river blocking our path,” Sha Zeng added.
“How can we cross it?” San Zang asked.
“Let me go see how deep it is,” Bajie said.
“Bajie, don’t speak nonsense,” San Zang said. “How can you test the depth?”
“I’ll throw a pebble into the water. If it splashes, then it’s shallow. If it just sinks, then it’s deep.”
So dum-dum found a rock on the side of the road and chucked it into the river. And the thing just disappeared without a trace.
“It’s deep! Really deep! We can’t cross.”
“You may have tested its depth, but do you know how wide it is?” San Zang asked.
“Let me go take a look,” Wukong said. He soared into the air and gazed into the distance. Here’s what he saw:
Brilliant light spreads and soaks the moon;
Vast reflections seem to float across the sky.
Its numinous current could swallow Mount Hua (2),
Its long flow runs through a hundred rivers.
A thousand surging waves roll in layers,
Ten thousand towering swells rise and crash.
No fishing lights gleam along the shores,
While herons sleep upon the sandy banks.
So boundless it seems, like the open sea—
One glance reveals no end in sight.
Wukong came back down to the shore and told San Zang, “Master, it’s really wide. We can’t cross. My fiery golden eyes can see everything within 300 miles during daytime, and even at night, I can see everything within 100 miles. But I couldn’t see the other side of the river. Who knows how wide it is?”
San Zang was so stunned that he couldn’t speak for a while. And then, he started to choke up and asked, “Then, what should we do?”
Well, the obvious answer here was to hit 1 on your speed dial and call in the Bodhisattva Guanyin, but then this book would be like 3 chapters long. So instead, Sha Zeng said, “Master, don’t cry. Look, there’s someone standing by the river.”
“That must be a fisherman,” Wukong said. “Let me go ask him.”
So Wukong ran over to the shadow by the water, only to discover that it wasn’t a person, but a stone tablet. It bore three large characters that read, “Heaven-Penetrating River.” Beneath that name were two lines of smaller characters that said, “Straight crossing 800 miles; since ancient times, few have crossed.”
“Master, come take a look at this,” Wukong shouted.
San Zang walked over, read the tablet, and cried some more. He said, “Oh pupils. When I left the Tang capital all those years ago, I thought the road West would be easy. But who knew that it would be riddled with demons, monsters, mountains, and rivers?”
Umm, dude. It wouldn’t be much of a pilgrimage if it were easy. It’s not like Guanyin didn’t warn you about the dangers when you first volunteered. In any case, Zhu Bajie now said, “Master, do you hear the sound of cymbals? Someone must be preparing a vegetarian meal. Let’s hurry up and go get a bite and ask about a boat. And then we can tomorrow.”
San Zang listened and indeed heard the sound of cymbals. “It must be either Daoists or Buddhists,” he said. “Let’s go.”
So Wukong led the way and the pilgrims headed in the direction of the music. There were no roads. They trudged across a beach and saw in the distance a cluster of about four or five hundred houses. And it looked like a pretty nice settlement.
San Zang dismounted and saw a house at the head of the path. Outside its doors stood a tall ceremonial banner. Inside the house there were candles and lights, and fragrant incense filled the air.
“Wukong, this place is different from a mountain crevice or the river bank,” he said. “With a roof over our heads, we can find shelter from the cold and sleep easy. But you all stay back. Let me go ask for lodging first. If they’re willing to let us stay, then I’ll call you over. But if they refuse, don’t act up. Your faces are ugly and might scare them. If you cause trouble, then we wouldn’t be able to find anywhere to stay.”
“You’re right. Master, you go on first, and we’ll stay here,” Wukong said.
So San Zang took off his hat, exposing his bald head. He tidied up his clothing, took hold of his Buddhist staff, and walked over to the house. He saw that the door was half open. He did not dare to intrude, so he just stood outside. Moments later, an old man came out. Around his neck hung a necklace of beads, and he was muttering the name of the Buddha as he came to close the door.
San Zang pressed his palms together and called out, “Old benefactor, greetings.”
The old man returned his greetings and said, “Monk, you’re too late.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re too late; we’re all out of food. If you had gotten here earlier, you would’ve been able to eat your fill, and I would have given you a bolt of white fabric and 10 copper coins. What took you so long?”
San Zang bowed and replied, “Old benefactor, I’m not here for the food.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I’ve been sent by the Great Tang Kingdom in the East to go West to fetch scripture. I was passing through your honorable estate and it was getting late. I heard the sound of cymbals from your residence, so I came to ask for lodging for just tonight. I will be on my way tomorrow.”
The old man waved his hands and said, “Monk, a man of religion shouldn’t speak nonsense. The Tang Kingdom is a thousand miles from here. How did you get here alone?”
“You’re right, old benefactor. But I have three disciples with me, and they’ve been paving the way and protecting me. That’s how I’ve managed to get here.”
“In that case, why didn’t your disciples come with you?” the old man said. “Please, there is room here for you to rest.”
So San Zang turned and called out, “Pupils, come here.”
The three disciples rushed over and were about to go inside, but the old man saw them and fell onto the ground, muttering, “Demons! Demons!”
San Zang helped him up and said, “Benefactor, don’t be afraid. They aren’t demons. They’re my disciples.”
“But, but, how did such a handsome master come by such ugly disciples?” the old man said.
“They may be lacking in appearance, but they know how to tame dragons and tigers and capture demons and monsters,” San Zang reassured him.
But the old man was skeptical. He just held on to San Zang and walked back inside slowly. The three disciples, meanwhile, rushed into the house. They tied up the horse and dropped the luggage on the ground. They saw a few monks in the main parlor reciting scripture, so Zhu Bajie poked his head in and asked, “Hey monks, what scripture are y’all reciting?”
The monks looked up and saw this hulking figure with a long snout and big ears, sounding like thunder. And behind him were two equally … umm … eccentric looking characters. All the monks in the parlor were scared. They dropped everything, knocked over their lamps, and scrambled out the door, tripping over the doorstep and knocking their heads on the way out. The three disciples just clapped and roared with laughter as they watched this slapstick comedy, and that just made the monks run even faster as they scampered off.
Now, San Zang, escorting the old man, came into the parlor. He saw the lights were out and his three disciples doubled over laughing. San Zang scolded them, “You fiends! You’re so wicked! I tell you all the time, “As the ancients said, ‘To be good without being taught—what else could that be but sagehood? To become good only after instruction—what else could that be but worthiness? To remain ungood even after being taught—what else could that be but folly?’ You guys are acting like the biggest fools! You crashed in here without any manners, frightened our host, and scared off the monks who were reciting scripture. You’ve disrupted their ceremony. And I’ll have to answer for it.”
The three disciples dared not talk back. Only now did the old man believe San Zang’s claim that they were his pupils. The old man told San Zang, “Sir, it’s no big deal. We had just finished the ceremonies anyway.”
“Well, in that case, bring out the leftover food, so we can eat and go to bed,” Bajie said.
The old man called for his attendants to bring light. The attendants were surprised, since they thought there were plenty of lights in the parlor, what with the monks sitting there and chanting scriptures. A few of them came over and saw that the parlor was pitch black. They lit some torches and lanterns and came in. But the first things they saw were Zhu Bajie and Sha Zeng, which scared them so much that they dropped the torches, ran out, and shut the doors, shouting, “Demons! Demons!”
Wukong picked up the torches, lit the candles in the room, and pulled over a chair for San Zang to sit in. The three disciples then sat down around him, and the old man sat down in front of them. Just then, the doors opened back up, and another old man came in, leaning on a wooden cane, and asking, “What demons are intruding on this good household at night?”
The first old man hurriedly went over and told the second old man, “Brother, no need for all this. They’re not demons. It’s a sage monk from the Tang Kingdom in the East, heading to fetch scripture. Even though his disciples look vicious, they’re kind at heart.”
The second old man now set down his cane and greeted the pilgrims before sitting down and calling for servants to bring tea. He had to call several times before a few young servants slowly came in, trembling in fear and not daring to go near.
Zhu Bajie couldn’t take it anymore and asked, “Old man, what’s up with your servants?”
The second old man said, “I told them to bring food for you.”
“How many servants do you have?”
“Eight.”
“And who are those eight supposed to be serving?”
“The four of you.”
“Well, my fair-faced master only needs one attendant. That hairy-faced god-of-thunder-looking one just needs two servants. But the sullen-looking one needs eight. And I need 20 attendants.”
“In that case, it sounds like you have a larger appetite,” the old man said.
“You’ve got that right.”
“No problem. I’ve got enough people,” the old man said. He then called out about 40 people to tend to the guests. When they saw their masters sitting and talking with the guests, the attendants set aside their fears and prepared dinner. They set up several tables, one each for the four pilgrims, and one for the two old men. First, they brought out fruits and vegetables, followed by noodles, rice, snacks, and soup.
Everything was set up neatly. San Zang lifted his chopsticks and recited a passage of scripture before eating. Bajie, however, was hungry and impatient. He couldn’t even wait for San Zang to finish before he picked up a red wooden bowl of white rice and swallowed it in one gulp in the blink of an eye.
One of his attendants said, “Sir, you’ve got no sense. Instead of stashing steamed buns, why are you stashing rice? Wouldn’t it stain your clothes?”
“I didn’t stash it; I ate it.”
“You didn’t even open your mouth; how could you have eaten it?”
“You’re lying! I ate it. If you don’t believe me, I’ll do it again to show you.”
So the attendant handed him another bowl, and just like before, he turned it upside down over his mouth and it went straight in and down.”
“Sir, you’ve got a throat as slippery as worn bricks!” the attendant exclaimed.
Before San Zang finished reciting a scroll of scripture, Zhu Bajie had already downed five or six bowls of rice. The rest of the party now started eating as well. Bajie, meanwhile, blew through the meal like a hurricane, and kept calling out for more rice. But gradually, the rice stopped coming out.
Wukong now said, “Bajie, don’t eat so much. This is better than starving in the mountains. But stop when you’re half full.”
“Bullcrap! As the saying goes, ‘A hungry monk might as well be buried alive.’ ”
Wukong, though, told the attendants to clean up and just ignore dum-dum. The two old men, however, bowed and said, “Sir, to tell you the truth, if it were daytime, it would be no problem. We can feed a hundred or so people with appetites as large as this fat elder’s But it’s late and we only cooked one stone’s worth of flour and five ladles of rice, along with a few spreads of vegetarian dishes for our relatives, neighbors, and the monks. We weren’t expecting you. The monks have been scared off, and we don’t dare to invite any relatives or neighbors now. So all the food is for you. If you’re still hungry, we can make some more.”
“Yes, yes, make more, make more!” Bajie said.
So I’m guessing at some point the plot will move past just everyone sitting and watching Zhu Bajie gorge himself. To see what’s in store for the pilgrims, 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
- “A Lost Story of the Wind” by Harumachi Music
- “Day of Recon” by Max Surla/Media Right Productions (from YouTube audio library)