Early the next morning Sun Wukong woke up and asked his master to set out. Sanzang dressed and told Monkey to pack the bedding and the rest of the luggage. They were just on the point of leaving when the old man appeared. He had prepared hot water for washing as well as breakfast. After breakfast they set out, Sanzang riding the horse and Brother Monkey leading. They ate when they were hungry and drank when they were thirsty, travelling by day and resting by night. Thus they went on until they realized it was early winter.
When the frost destroys the red leaves the woods are sparse;
On the ridge only pine and cypress flourish.
The unopened plum buds exhale a dark perfume,
Warming the short days,
A touch of spring.
When the chrysanthemum and lotus is finished, the wild tea blossoms.
By the cold bridge and the ancient trees the birds quarrel for branches.
In the twisting gully the waters of the spring run low,
Pale snow clouds drift across the sky.
The North wind blows strong,
Tugging at your-sleeves:
Who can bear the cold towards evening?
When master and disciple had been travelling for a long time they heard a whistle from beside the path, and six men rushed out with spears, swords, cutlasses, and strongbows.
“Where do you think you're going, monk?” they roared. “If you give us your horse and luggage we'll spare your life.” Sanzang fell from his horse, scared out of his wits and unable to utter a word. Brother Monkey helped him to his feet and said, “Don't worry, master, it's nothing serious. They're come to bring us some clothes and our travelling expenses.”
“Are you deaf, Wukong?” the other asked. “They told us to give them our horse and luggage, so how can you ask them for clothes and money?”
“You look after the clothes, the luggage and the horse while I go and have a bash at them. We'll see what happens.”
“A good hand is no match for two fists,” said Sanzang, “and a pair of fists is no match for four hands. They are six big men against little you, all by yourself. You can't possibly have the nerve to fight them.”
The brave Brother Monkey did not stop to argue. Instead he stepped forward, folded his arms across his chest, bowed to the six bandits and said, “Why are you gentlemen obstructing our way?”
“We are mighty robber kings, benevolent lords of the mountain. We have been very famous for a long time, although you don't seem to have heard of us. If you abandon your things at once, we'll let you go on your way; but if there's even a hint of a 'no' from you, we'll turn your flesh into mincemeat and your bones into powder.”
“I too am a hereditary robber king, and have ruled a mountain for many years, but I've never heard of you gentlemen.”
“Since you don't know our names, I'll tell them to you: Eye-seeing Happiness, Ear-hearing Anger, Nose-smelling Love, Tongue-tasting Thought, Mind-born Desire, and Body-based Sorrow.” Sun Wukong laughed at them. “You're just a bunch of small-time crooks. You can't see that I'm your lord and master although I'm a monk, and you have the effrontery to get in our way. Bring out all the jewels you've stolen, and the seven of us can share them out equally. I'll let you off with that.”
This made the bandits happy, angry, loving, thoughtful, desirous, and sorrowful respectively, and they all charged him, yelling, “You've got a nerve, monk. You've got nothing to put in the kitty, but you want to share our stuff.” Waving their spears and swords they rushed him, hacking wildly at his face. Seventy or eighty blows crashed down on him, but he simply stood in the middle of them, ignoring everything.
“What a monk!” the bandits said. “He's a real tough nut.”
“I think we've seen enough of that,” said Brother Monkey with a smile. “Your hands must be tired after all that bashing. Now it's my turn to bring out my needle for a bit of fun.”
“This monk must have been an acupuncturist,” said the bandits. “There's nothing wrong with us. Why is he talking about needles?”
Taking the embroidery needle from his ear, Brother Monkey shook it in the wind, at which it became an iron cudgel as thick as a ricebowl. With this in his hand he said, “Stick around while I try my cudgel out.” The terrified bandits tried to flee in all directions, but Monkey raced after them, caught them all up, and killed every one of them. Then he stripped the clothes off them, took their money, and went back with his face wreathed in smiles.
“Let's go, master; I've wiped those bandits out,” he said.
“Even though they were highwaymen, you're really asking for trouble,” Sanzang replied. “Even if they had been arrested and handed over to the authorities, they wouldn't have been sentenced to death. You may know a few tricks, but it would be better if you'd simply driven them away. Why did you have to kill them all? Even taking a man's life by accident is enough to stop someone from becoming a monk. A person who enters the religious life
Spares the ants when he sweeps the floor,
Covers the lamps to save the moth.
What business did you have to slaughter the lot of them, without caring which of them were the guilty and which were innocent? You haven't a shred of compassion or goodness in you. This time it happened in the wilds, where nobody will be able to trace the crime. Say someone offended you in a city and you turned murderous there. Say you killed and wounded people when you went berserk with that club of yours. I myself would be involved even though I'm quite innocent.”
“But if I hadn't killed them, they'd have killed you, master,” protested Sun Wukong.
“I am a man of religion, and I would rather die than commit murder,” said Sanzang. “If I'd died, there'd only have been me dead, but you killed six of them, which was an absolute outrage. If the case were taken to court, you couldn't talk your way out of this even if the judge were your own father.”
“To tell you the truth, master, I don't know how many people I killed when I was the monster who ruled the Mountain of Flowers and Fruit,” said Sun Wukong, “but if I'd acted your way I'd never have become the Great Sage Equaling Heaven.”
“It was precisely because you acted with such tyrannical cruelty among mortals and committed the most desperate crimes against Heaven that you got into trouble five hundred years ago,” retorted Sanzang. “But now you have entered the faith, you'll never reach the Western Heaven and never become a monk if you don't give up your taste for murder. You're too evil, too evil.”
Monkey, who had never let himself be put upon, flared up at Sanzang's endless nagging.
“If you say that I'll never become a monk and won't ever reach the Western Heaven, then stop going on at me like that. I'm going back.”
Before Sanzang could reply, Monkey leapt up in a fury, shouting, “I'm off.” Sanzang looked up quickly, but he was already out of sight. All that could be heard was a whistling sound coming from the East. Left on his own, the Priest nodded and sighed to himself with great sadness and indignation.
“The incorrigible wretch,” he reflected. “Fancy disappearing and going back home like that just because I gave him a bit of a telling-off. So that's that. I must be fated to have no disciples or followers. I couldn't find him now even if I wanted to, and he wouldn't answer if I called him. I must be on my way.” So he had to strive with all his might to reach the West, looking after himself with nobody to help.
Sanzang had no choice but to gather up the luggage and tie it on the horse. He did not ride now. Instead, holding his monastic staff in one hand and leading the horse by the reins with the other, he made his lonely way to the West. Before he had been travelling for long he saw an old woman on the mountain path in front of him. She was holding an embroidered robe, and a patterned hat was resting upon it. As she came towards him he hurriedly pulled the horse to the side of the path to make room for her to pass.