Journey 060: Fun with Bandits
An encounter with a group of robbers reignites some long-simmering relationship issues between San Zang and Sun Wukong.
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Transcript
Welcome to the Chinese Lore Podcast, where I retell classic Chinese stories in English. This is episode 60 of Journey to the West.
Last time, after surviving close encounters of the hot and sweaty kind with humans and demons of the fairer sex in the Kingdom of Women, San Zang and company resumed their journey West. After traveling for a while, it was now the middle of summer. Soft summer winds carried the fragrance of wild orchids, and fresh bamboo shot up after a cleansing rain. The hills and valleys were carpeted with mugwort and cattail blossoms, while pomegranates bloomed in dazzling splendor, drawing wandering bees. By the stream, yellow sparrows revelled in the deep shade of the willows.
The pilgrims took in the lovely sights as they walked, but then one day, they came upon yet another tall mountain standing in their way, and San Zang again did his usual “I have a bad feeling about this” thing, and Sun Wukong gave his usual “Oh it’ll be fine” response.
And you know what? It actually was fine. How about that? They made their way over the mountain and descended down the western slope without incident. They now found themselves on flat ground once more. Zhu Bajie told Sha Zeng to take over the luggage while he grabbed his rake and tried to rush the horse along. The horse paid him no mind, however, and just proceeded at its own leisurely pace.
“Hey brother, why are you rushing the horse?” Wukong asked. “Let him be.”
“But it’s getting late. We spent the whole day climbing that mountain. I’m starving. Let’s all pick up the pace and find a place to beg for a meal.”
“In that case, let me tell the horse to go faster,” Wukong said. He whipped out his golden rod and let out a shout. The horse immediately darted off like an arrow. Now, according to the novel, the horse was afraid of Sun Wukong because 500 years ago, Wukong once served a brief tenure as heaven’s stable boy, and that’s why all horses have come to fear monkeys, even, apparently, a horse that was really a dragon.
Anyway, as the horse galloped, San Zang could not rein it in and could only hang on for dear life in his saddle. Only after sprinting for six or seven miles did the horse slow down again.
Just then, a gong rang out from the side of the road, and 30-some men leaped out, all wielding weapons and blocking the path.
“Monk, stop!” the men shouted.
San Zang was so scared that he fell out of the saddle, kneeled in the grass by the side of the road, and called out, “My lords, please spare me!”
The two leaders of the gang said, “We wouldn’t beat you, but leave us your travel money!”
Only now did San Zang realize that these were bandits. He looked up and saw that, of the two leaders, one had a blue-green face with jutting teeth, while the other had bulging round eyes. Crimson hair streamed from their temples like flames, and yellow whiskers bristled from their chins like needles. They both wore tiger-skin caps and colorful battle skirts. One gripped a wolf-toothed mace, while the other carried a rattan cudgel on his shoulder.
San Zang stood up, pressed his palms together, and said, “My lords, I am a scripture pilgrim sent to the West by the Tang emperor in the East. It has been many years since I left my capital. Even if I had any travel money, it’s long gone. We monks survive by begging. What riches could I have? I hope you will do me a favor and let me pass.”
“Favor?” the two bandit leaders scoffed. “We’re waiting here specifically for riches. If you don’t have any, then take off your clothes and leave your horse. Then we’ll let you pass.”
“Mercy! My clothing was cobbled together from material that we begged from here and there. If you strip it off me, it’ll be the death of me. You may be a hero in this life, but you’ll turn into an animal in the next!”
One of the bandit leaders was enraged at that remark. He raised his cudgel and threatened to beat San Zang. San Zang didn’t say it, but he thought to himself, “You just know about your own rod; you have no clue about my disciple’s rod.”
But still, in that moment, the only rod of concern was the one the bandit was swinging toward his head. San Zang, who had never lied in his life, had no choice but to tell them, “My lords, please don’t hurt me. I have a disciple who is not far behind. He has a few taels of silver on him. We’ll give them to you.”
“Yeah, this monk can’t take any beatings. Let’s tie him for now,” the bandits said as they tied up San Zang and hung him up in a tree, , essentially signing their own death warrants.
Meanwhile, the three disciples were coming this way. As they walked, Bajie laughed and said, “Master went so fast. I wonder where he’s waiting for us.”
Well, they soon found out, as they saw San Zang hanging from a tree.
“Look at master,” Bajie said. “He couldn’t just wait for us. What’s he doing, climbing a tree and swinging from vines!”
“Dum-dum, stop it!” Wukong chided him. “Can’t you see that master is being hung up there? You two take your time. I’ll go on ahead and see what’s up.”
So Wukong bounded onto a tall hill to have a look. He saw the gang of bandits and secretly rejoiced, thinking to himself, “What great luck! Business has delivered itself to my door!”
So he quickly turned into a cleanly dressed little monk, about 28, clad in a black monk’s robe, and carrying a blue bundle on his shoulder. He now approached the tree and called out, “Master, what’s going on? Who are these villains?”
“Pupil, stop asking and save me!” San Zang cried out.
“What’s their business?” Wukong asked.
“They’re robbers. They stopped me and demanded money for passage. I had nothing, so they hung me up and were waiting for you to come sort it out. Otherwise, we’d have to give them the horse.”
“Oh master, listen to you! You can’t take any hardship. The Tang emperor sent you to the West to see the Buddha. Who told you you can give that dragon horse to someone else?”
“But I’m being hung up here! It’s an emergency! What should we do?”
“What did you tell them?”
“They were threatening to beat me, so I had no choice but to tell them about you.”
“What? Master, what did you tell them about me?”
“I said you had some travel money with you and asked them to not beat me. I was in danger.”
“Ok, ok. Well thanks a lot! If you would only say that 70 or 80 times a month, my business would be booming.”
While the two of them were chitchatting, the bandits swarmed in and surrounded Wukong.
“Little monk, your master said you had money. Hurry up and give it to us, and we’ll spare your lives. If you dare to utter half a no, we’ll kill you both!”
Wukong put down his bundle and said, “Good sirs, no need to shout. I do have some money in this bundle. It’s not much. Just 20 ingots of gold, about 30 ingots of silver, and some loose change I haven’t counted yet. If you want, take the bundle. Just don’t beat my master. As the ancient books say, ‘Virtue is the core, and wealth is peripheral. This is peripheral. We monks will find somewhere to beg for more. When we find a generous benefactor, they’ll give us whatever money and clothing we ask for. How much can we actually use? Just let my master down, and I’ll give this to you.”
The bandits were delighted and said amongst themselves, “That old monk is stingy, but this young monk is pretty generous.”
So they let San Zang down from the tree. As soon as he was freed, San Zang hopped on his horse, gave it a quick whip, and galloped back in the direction from which he came, nevermind Sun Wukong.
“Hey, you’re going the wrong way,” Wukong called out.
He was just about to take off after San Zang, but the bandits blocked his path and said, “Hey, where are you going?! Leave the money, or it’s gonna get ugly!”
“Well, in that case, let’s divide it three ways,” Wukong said with a laugh.
The bandit leaders chuckled, “This little monk is a shrewd one. He’s stashing a bit on the side without his master’s knowledge. Alright, take it out and let’s have a look. If there is a lot, we can let you keep some to buy some fruit for yourself.”
“Oh brothers, you misunderstand me,” Wukong told them. “I don’t have any money. I meant that you guys should give me some of the money you’ve robbed from others.”
The bandits were furious. “Damn monk! You don’t know any better! You refuse to give us money and dare to ask us for ours?! Stand still and take this!”
As they cursed, one of the bandit leaders raised his rattan cudgel and whacked Wukong on the head seven or eight times, but Wukong didn’t even seem to feel it. He just grinned and said, “Brother, if that’s all you’ve got, you can beat me until next spring and it wouldn’t do a thing.”
“This monk has a hard head!” the bandit leader exclaimed.
“Oh you’re too kind! It’s just ok.”
The other bandits now joined in and hacked and stabbed at Wukong with their weapons. He let them have their fun, and then said, “Everyone, chill. I’ll show you what I have.”
At that, he reached into his ear and pulled out a needle, telling them, “I’m a monk, so I don’t have any money on me. I only have this needle that I can give you.”
“What rotten luck!” the bandit leader lamented. “We let the rich monk go and instead kept this poor bald donkey! What are you, a tailor? Why the hell would I want a needle?!”
Wukong gave the needle a shake, and it turned into a rod. The bandit leader was taken aback. “That monkey may be small, but he knows some magic.”
Wukong stuck the rod into the ground and said, “If you all can move it, it’s yours.”
Two bandits rushed forward to lift it, but it was like dragon flies trying to move a stone pillar. Wukong now picked up the rod with ease, struck a fighting pose, pointed at the bandits, and said, “What bad luck you all have, to run into me!”
The bandits rushed forward and hacked at him again for a good while, but to no avail. Wukong laughed, “Your hands must be tired. Let me try hitting you once with my rod. Don’t take it seriously.”
With that, he brought the rod down on one of the bandit leaders, and the guy immediately fell dead to the ground.
The other leader cursed, “This bald scoundrel has gone too far! He had no money, and now he has killed one of our men!”
“No rush, no rush,” Wukong chuckled. “I’ll take care of each of you one by one and end you all!”
As he spoke, his rod connected with this other bandit, and he too fell dead to the ground. The rest of the gang promptly scattered, dropping their weapons and running for their lives.
Meanwhile, San Zang was galloping for his life in the wrong direction when Bajie and Sha Zeng blocked his path and shouted, “Master, where are you going? You’re heading the wrong way!”
Reining in his horse, San Zang said, “Pupils, hurry up and go restrain your brother. Tell him to show mercy and not kill those bandits.”
Bajie rushed ahead and called out, “Brother, master said to tell you not to hit anyone!”
“Brother, I didn’t hit anybody,” Wukong replied.
“Then where did the bandits go?”
“The rest scattered, but these two leaders are taking a nap here.”
“Are you two sick?” Bajie laughed at the two men lying on the ground. “Of all the places to sleep, you had to pick this spot?”
Then, he walked up to them and took a closer look. “Hey, they’re like me. They’re sleeping with their mouths open and drooling.”
“That’s no drool! They are dripping tofu after taking a blow from my rod.”
“Wait, how can tofu come out of someone’s head?”
“It’s their brains, dum-dum!”
When he heard that, Bajie turned and ran back up the road. He told San Zang, “They’ve disbanded!”
“Oh good! Where did they go?” San Zang asked.
“They’re stiffs! Where can they possibly go?”
“Then why did you say they disbanded?”
“Well, they’re dead, so doesn’t that mean the band has broken up?”
“How bad is it?”
“They’ve got a big hole in their heads.”
“Hurry! Take a few coins from the bundle and go somewhere to buy some poultice to patch them up!”
“Master, you’ve got no sense!” Bajie chuckled. “Poultice can only treat live people’s wounds. It can’t do anything for the dead.”
“So they’re really dead?!” San Zang exclaimed. Thoroughly annoyed, he now cursed Sun Wukong’s name as he and the other two disciples headed down the road. Soon, they saw the two bloody corpses lying at the foot of the hill.
San Zang couldn’t bear to see this. He told Bajie, “Quick, use your rake to dig a hole and bury them. I will read some scripture for their souls.”
“Master, you’re asking the wrong person. That monkey killed them; you should tell him to bury them. Why are you putting me on burial detail?”
Sun Wukong, annoyed from hearing San Zang griping about him, snapped at Bajie, “You lazy good-for-nothing! Hurry up and bury them. If you dawdle, you’ll get a taste of my rod!”
That put the fear of monkey into Bajie, and he started digging. Three feet down, he hit rock. So he tossed the rake aside and used his snout to push the rocks out of the way and deepened the hole to five feet. He put the two bandits’ bodies in the hole and piled earth on top of them to make a burial mound.
San Zang now said, “Wukong, bring me incense so I can read scripture.”
Wukong, however, pouted and muttered, “You really don’t know any better! We’re in the middle of nowhere. Where would I find incense? Even if I had the money, there’s nowhere to buy any.”
San Zang seethed, “Monkey, get out of the way. I’ll use soil as incense.”
And so, he stood in front of the grave and said, “Valiants, please hear the reason for my prayer. I am from the Tang kingdom in the East. On my emperor’s command, I am heading West to request scriptures. While passing through here, I encountered the lot of you. I don’t know where you hail from, but you had banded together as a gang. I tried to plead with you courteously and earnestly, but you refused to listen. Instead of accepting kindness, you responded with anger. But then you encountered Sun Wukong, and his rod killed you. Not wanting your remains to be exposed, I buried you in this raised earthen grave. I’m using broken green bamboo as incense. It doesn’t give off any light, but my devotion is sincere. I’m presenting you with stones in place of food. It doesn’t taste good, but my heart is true. When you reach the underworld and trace the matter to its root, remember that the monkey’s last name is Sun, while my last name is Chen. Every grievance should be taken up with the rightful offender, and every debt with the rightful debtor. Please don’t include me in your accusations.”
Hearing this, Bajie laughed and said, “Well, master sure is absolving himself nicely. But remember, neither me nor Sha Zeng was here when the monkey killed them.”
That prompted San Zang to pick up another pinch of soil and add to his prayer, “Valiants, when you file your complaint, only file it against Sun Wukong. Bajie and Sha Zeng had nothing to do with this.”
Standing there and listening to all this passive-aggressive blame-casting, Sun Wukong couldn’t help but laugh. “Master, you really have no feelings! How much effort have I expended for the sake of your pilgrimage? All I did today was kill a couple two-bit criminals. And yet you’re telling them to accuse me in the underworld? Yes, I killed them, but it was for your sake! If not for your pilgrimage and the fact that I’m your disciple, how would I even be here? And how would I have committed murder? Fine, let me give them a prayer, too!”
So Wukong now poked his rod into the earthen grave three times and said, “Listen up, you cursed crooks! You hit me a bunch of times, but it just made me itch and annoyed the hell out of me, so I accidentally killed you. Go accuse me wherever the hell you like. I’m not afraid. The Jade emperor is afraid of me, and so are all the gods of heaven and hell! Go file your complaint wherever you want!”
San Zang was taken aback when he heard Wukong rubbing it in the dead men’s faces. “Pupil, my prayer was meant to teach you to cultivate your virtue and act kindly,” he nagged. “How can you take it so seriously?!”
“Master, this is not a fun business. Let’s just go find a place to spend the night,” Wukong huffed.
So the pilgrims resumed their journey, with everyone in the party pissed off at each other. After traveling for a bit on the main road, they saw a manor to the north. San Zang suggested they seek lodging there, and so the group approached the house.
It was a pretty little place, with flowers carpeting the paths and trees screening the cottage gate. Beyond the distant bank, mountain streams flowed gently. In the level fields wheat and sunflowers grew. Dew-moistened reeds sheltered resting gulls, and a light breeze stirred the willows where weary birds had come to roost. Green cypresses and pines vied with one another in emerald splendor, while crimson fleabane and smartweed contended in brilliant bloom. Village dogs barked, evening roosters crowed, and well-fed cattle and sheep followed the young herdsmen home. Kitchen smoke mingled with the evening mist as yellow millet finished cooking. It was just the hour when mountain households settled into dusk.
San Zang was approaching the door when an old man walked out from inside. They greeted each other, and San Zang explained who he was and that he was hoping to spend the night there. The old man smiled and asked how he had come to this place so far from where he started.
“I have three disciples with me,” San Zang said.
“Where are they?” the old man asked.
San Zang pointed to the side of the road. The old man looked up and saw three uggos standing there. He was so scared that he turned and tried to run back inside, but San Zang grabbed his arm and pleaded, “Old benefactor, please show compassion and allow us to stay just one night!”
Shaking his head and hands, the old man just stuttered, “No, no. They … they’re not human! They are … demons!”
San Zang forced a smile upon his face and said, “Benefactor, please don’t be afraid. My disciples may be ugly, but they are not demons.”
“Sir, one of them looks like a yaksha. Another looks like Horse Face. And the third looks like the god of thunder!”
Well, Wukong heard that remark, and he shouted, “The god of thunder is my grandson. The yaksha is my great-grandson! And Horse Face is my great-great grandson!”
Unsurprisingly, that outburst did not put the old man at ease. He was pale with fright and wanted to go back inside. San Zang helped him stay on his feet and they went into the thatched parlor. There, San Zang again said with a forced smile, “Old benefactor, please don’t be afraid. They’re all rough around the edges and don’t know how to speak properly.”
Just then, an old woman came out from the back, carrying a five- or six-year-old child, who asked, “Grandpa, what’s wrong?”
The old man collected himself and asked his wife to bring tea. The old woman put down the child and brought out two cups of tea. After tea, San Zang bowed to the woman and explained, “I am sent by the Tang kingdom in the East to go West for scriptures. I was passing through your honorable estate and sought lodging for tonight. But my three disciples’ ugly appearance startled your husband.”
The old woman chided her husband, “If you’re going to be so scared just because of a few ugly people, what are you going to do if you ran into tigers or wolves?”
“Honey, their ugly appearances are one thing. But they are even scarier when they talk!” the old man said. “I said they looked like yakshas, horse-faces, and gods of tunder, and one of them shouted that those were all his grandsons and great grandsons. That’s what scared me.”
“Oh no, no,” San Zang explained. “The one that looks like the god of thunder is my senior disciple Sun Wukong. The horse-faced one is my second disciple Zhu Bajie. And the yaksha-looking one is my third disciple Sha Zeng. They may be ugly, but they have all joined the Buddhist school and followed the right path. They are not evil monsters or demons. There’s no need to fear them!”
Thus reassured, the old couple calmed down and told San Zang that his disciples could come in. So San Zang went out and summoned the trio over. He told them, “Just now, the old gentleman was afraid of you. When you go in, you must not be rude. Behave yourselves.”
“Heh, I’m handsome and proper, not wild like brother Sun,” Bajie laughed.
“Yeah, your snout may be long and your ears huge and your face ugly, but you’re still a good man,” Wukong teased him back.
“Alright, let’s not squabble,” Sha Zeng said. “This is not the time or place. Let’s go in.”
So they entered with horse and luggage in tow and gathered in the parlor. After paying their respects, they sat down, and the old woman sent word for a vegetarian meal to be prepared. As night fell, candles were lit, and the party and their hosts sat in the parlor and shot the breeze. Their host introduced himself as a Mr. Yang who was 74.
“How many sons do you have?” San Zang asked.
“Just one. The child that my wife is taking care of is our grandson,” Mr. Yang said.
“May we meet your son?”
“Oh that kid is not worth meeting. I have a hard life and can’t support him. He’s not at home.”
“Where has he gone to make a living?”
Sighing, the old man lamented, “Alas! If he were willing to go somewhere to make a living, that would be my great fortune! But that scoundrel turned wicked. Instead of doing something proper, he’s robbing and pillaging! He runs with a bunch of riffraffs. He went out five days ago and hasn’t come back yet.”
Uh oh! Things just got real awkward in here. San Zang did not say anything, but he was certainly thinking, “Umm … did we already ‘meet’ his son?”
Feeling unsettled, he lamented, “What a pity! How come such good parents are saddled with such a wicked son?!”
Wukong, however, moved closer to the old man and said, “What use is a wicked, villainous son who brings trouble for his parents? Why don’t I just find him and kill him for you.”
“I would be willing to bury him as well,” the old man said. “But I have no one else in my family. So no matter how rotten he is, I have to keep him so there’s someone to bury me.”
Sha Zeng and Bajie now chuckled and said to Wukong, “Brother, just mind your own business. We are not the authorities. What’s it to us that there’s trouble in his family? Benefactor, can you give us a bale of straw so we can make a bed and go to sleep? We’ll hit the road tomorrow.”
The old man led Sha Zeng to the back yard to fetch a couple bales of straw and told the pilgrims to sleep on straw mats in the backyard. Wukong brought horse back there, and Bajie did likewise with the luggage. Host and guests then bade each other good night and turned in.
Well, as it turns out, old Mr. Yang’s son was indeed part of the gang that met the pilgrims earlier that day, though he wasn’t among the two that tasted Wukong’s rod. After the two bandit leaders were slain, the rest of the gang had scattered to the wind. But around 4 a.m., they had regrouped and were now knocking on old Mr. Yang’s door.
Putting on a shirt, Mr. Yang said to his wife, “Those scoundrels have come back.”
“Then open up and let them in,” she said.
As soon as the old man opened the door, the gang stomped in, shouting, “We’re starving!”
Mr. Yang’s no-good son now went in and woke up his wife, telling her to go cook some rice. There was no firewood in the kitchen, so he went to the backyard to get some. He came back to the kitchen with firewood, but then asked his wife, “Where did that white horse in the back come from?”
“It belongs to a monk, a scripture pilgrim from the East,” she told him. “He asked for lodging last night, so mom and dad fed him dinner and told him to sleep among the straws in the back.”
The no-good son now went back into the parlor, clapping and smiling, telling his fellow riffraffs, “Brothers, what great luck! Our enemy is in my house!”
“Which enemy?!” they asked.
“The monk who killed our leaders came here for lodging. They’re sleeping in the backyard.”
“Great! Let’s catch them and chop them into meat paste!” the gang said. “We’ll get their luggage and horse, and we can avenge our leaders!”
Oh boy. Sounds like things are gonna get ugly. To see just how ugly, 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)
- “Dark Toys” by SYBS (from YouTube audio library)