Chapter 59: Tripitaka's Path Is Blocked at Fiery Mountain; Sun Wukong First Seeks the Plantain Fan

CHAPTER 59: TRIPITAKA IS BLOCKED BY THE FIERY MOUNTAINS; THE GREAT SAGE SUN MAKES THE FIRST REQUEST FOR THE PLANT FAN

All natures are fundamentally the same, as the great sea contains what is limitless. A thousand thoughts and ten thousand cares ultimately become illusory; all forms and appearances are merged together. When the day comes that one’s merit is perfected and one’s practice is complete, the perfect and bright Dharma-nature rises high. Do not run east and west because of differences; tightly lock the cage. Bring it back and place it within the elixir furnace, refining it until it is as red as the Golden Crow. Bright, brilliant, and radiant, let it go out and in, riding the dragon.

Now, in accordance with the Bodhisattva’s decree, Tripitaka had taken on the Pilgrim, and together with Eight Rules and Sha Monk, they had cut off the two minds, locked up the Horse of the Mind and tied down the Ape of the Will, united in heart and strength as they rushed toward the Western Heaven. The passage of time could not be fully described: time flew like an arrow, days and months like a shuttle. After enduring the scorching heat of summer, they had now come to the frosty landscape of mid-autumn. What they saw was this:

Thin clouds break off, the west wind shrill;

Cranes cry from distant peaks, frosty woods brocade bright.

The scene is truly desolate;

The mountains long, the rivers longer still.

Wild geese come from the northern passes;

Dark swallows return to the southern paths.

The traveler’s road fears loneliness;

A monk’s robe easily feels the cold.

As the four of them, master and disciples, journeyed forward, they gradually felt a heat that steamed people. Tripitaka reined in his horse and said, “Now is the time of autumn; why is there instead this hot air?” Eight Rules said, “You don’t really know. Along the Western Road there is a country called Siha-li, which is where the sun sets, commonly called the end of the sky. If it reaches the hours of Shen and You, the king of that country sends people up the city walls to beat drums and blow horns, to mingle with the sound of the surging ocean waves. The sun is real fire; when it falls into the Western Sea, it is like quenching fire with water, and the sound boils and rolls. If the sound of drums and horns did not mingle with the ears, it would shake and kill all the little children in the city. This steam of hot air here—I suspect we have arrived at the place where the sun sets.” The Great Sage, hearing this, could not help laughing: “Idiot, don’t talk nonsense. If you’re talking about the country of Siha-li, it’s still far away. If our master keeps dallying with a divided mind like this, even if we started from childhood and grew old, then grew young again and old again, going through youth and old age three times, we still wouldn’t get there.” Eight Rules said, “Brother! If, as you say, it’s not the place where the sun sets, then why is it so scorching hot?” Sha Monk said, “Perhaps the weather is not following its proper season; autumn is carrying the order of summer.” As the three of them were disputing, they saw by the roadside a farmhouse, with tiles of red covering the roof, walls of red brick, doors of red lacquer, and plank beds painted red—everything was red. Tripitaka dismounted and said, “Wukong, go to that house and inquire about the news, to see what the reason for this intense heat is.”

The Great Sage put away his golden-banded staff, straightened his robe, and put on an air of refinement, leaving the main road and walking directly to the front of the gate to look. From within the gate there suddenly emerged an old man, and this is what he looked like:

He wore a coarse linen gown of a color neither yellow nor red,

And a hat woven from bamboo strips, neither green nor black.

In his hand he held a gnarled bamboo staff, neither bent nor straight,

And on his feet he wore a pair of slippers, neither new nor old.

His face was like red copper, his beard like white silk.

Two long eyebrows of longevity shaded his azure eyes,

And a smiling mouth revealed teeth of gold.

The old man suddenly looked up and saw the Pilgrim. Startled, he leaned on his bamboo staff and shouted, “Where did you come from, you strange creature? What are you doing at my gate?” The Pilgrim returned the greeting and said, “Old benefactor, do not be afraid of me. I am no strange creature. I am a poor monk from the land of the East, commissioned by the Tang emperor to go to the West to seek scriptures. Our party of four master and disciples has just arrived here, and seeing the steaming heat of the weather, we did not know the reason, nor the name of this place. I have come especially to pay my respects and ask for a little information.” Only then did the old man feel relieved. Smiling, he said, “Elder, do not take offense. My old eyes are dim; I did not recognize your honorable countenance.” The Pilgrim said, “I dare not.” The old man asked again, “Where is your master on the road?” The Pilgrim said, “Is that not he standing on the main road to the south?” The old man said, “Invite him here, invite him here.” The Pilgrim was delighted, and with a wave of his hand, Tripitaka, together with Eight Rules and Sha Monk, leading the white horse and carrying the luggage on poles, came near, and all bowed to the old man.

Seeing Tripitaka’s elegant and refined appearance, and the strange and unusual looks of Eight Rules and Sha Monk, the old man was both startled and delighted. He could only invite them inside to sit down, and told the servants to prepare tea, while also getting a meal ready. When Tripitaka heard this, he rose to express his thanks and said, “May I ask, venerable sir: This region is now in the midst of autumn; why is it instead so hot?” The old man said, “This place is called the Fiery Mountains. There is no spring and no autumn; the four seasons are all hot.” Tripitaka said, “Where are the Fiery Mountains? Do they block the road to the West?” The old man said, “One cannot go to the West. That mountain is about sixty miles from here, and it lies right on the path that must be taken to the West. It has a blaze eight hundred miles wide, and around it not a blade of grass grows. If you try to cross that mountain, even if you had a head of bronze and a body of iron, you would be melted into juice.” When Tripitaka heard this, his face turned pale with fright, and he dared ask no more.

Just then, a young man came to the door, pushing a red cart. He stopped by the gate and called out, “Selling cakes.” The Great Sage plucked out a hair, changed it into a copper coin, and went to buy a cake from the man. The man took the coin and, without any regard, lifted the cloth covering the cart. Steaming hot air rose up, and he took out a piece of cake and handed it to the Pilgrim. The Pilgrim held it in his hand; it was like a burning ember of fire, or a red-hot nail from a coal furnace. Look at him—he passed it from his left hand to his right, and from his right hand back to his left, saying only, “Hot, hot, hot! Hard to eat, hard to eat!” The young man laughed and said, “If you’re afraid of heat, don’t come here. This is just how hot it is here.” The Pilgrim said, “You, fellow, are not very reasonable. As the saying goes: ‘If it’s not cold and not hot, the five grains will not ripen.’ If it’s as hot as this, where did the flour for your cake come from?” The man said, “If you want to know where the rice for the cake flour comes from, you must respectfully request the Plant Fan Immortal.” The Pilgrim said, “What about the Plant Fan Immortal?” The man said, “The Plant Fan Immortal has a plantain-leaf fan. If you go and ask for it, with one wave it puts out the fire, with two waves it raises the wind, and with three waves it brings rain. Then we can sow and reap in time, and so we get the five grains to sustain life. Otherwise, truly not even an inch of grass could grow.”

When the Pilgrim heard this, he quickly turned and went back inside. He handed the cake to Tripitaka and said, “Master, rest your heart. Do not be anxious about next year’s harvest. Eat this cake, and I will tell you.” The elder took the cake in his hand and said to the old man of the house, “Venerable sir, please eat this cake.” The old man said, “My tea and rice have not yet been offered; would I dare eat your cake?” The Pilgrim laughed and said, “Elder, there is no need for tea or rice. I ask you: Where does the Plant Fan Immortal live?” The old man said, “Why do you ask about him?” The Pilgrim said, “Just now that cake seller said that this immortal has a plantain-leaf fan. If one goes to ask for it, with one wave it puts out the fire, with two waves it raises the wind, and with three waves it brings rain. Then you people here can sow and reap, and so obtain the five grains to sustain life. I was thinking of going to find him and borrow the fan to put out the fires of the Fiery Mountains so we can cross over, and also to allow this region to sow and harvest in due season, so that all may live in peace.” The old man said, “Indeed there is such a saying, but you have no gifts, and I fear that holy immortal may not be willing to come.” Tripitaka said, “What kind of gifts does he want?” The old man said, “The people here make a pilgrimage once every ten years. They bring four pigs, four sheep, flowery silks and gifts, rare incense and seasonal fruits, chickens, geese, and fine wine. After bathing and purifying themselves with devotion, they go to that immortal mountain and beg him to come out of his cave and exercise his power here.” The Pilgrim said, “Where is that mountain located? What is its name? How far is it? Let me go and ask him for the fan.” The old man said, “That mountain lies to the southwest; it is called the Mountain of Turquoise Clouds. Within the mountain there is an immortal cave, called the Plantain Cave. When our faithful people here go to pay homage at the immortal mountain, the round trip takes a month, about one thousand four hundred fifty or sixty miles.” The Pilgrim laughed and said, “No matter. I’ll go and be back in a moment.” The old man said, “Wait, wait. Eat some tea and rice, prepare some dry provisions, and you should have two people to accompany you. There is no human habitation on that road, and many wolves and tigers. It is not a journey of one day; don’t treat it as a joke.” The Pilgrim laughed and said, “No need, no need. I’m off.” With these words, he suddenly vanished. The old man, flustered, said, “Gracious heavens! He is a divine being who rides the clouds and mists!”

Let it not be told for now how this household doubled their offerings to the Tang Monk. Instead, in an instant the Pilgrim arrived straight at the Mountain of Turquoise Clouds. He stopped his auspicious light and was just looking for the cave entrance when he heard a “ding-ding” sound—it was a woodcutter inside the forest cutting firewood. The Pilgrim hurried forward, and then he heard the man recite this:

“At the edge of the clouds I recognize the old forest, yearning;

Broken cliffs, desolate grass—the path is hard to find.

Westward on the mountain I see the morning rain arrive;

Returning to the south stream, the crossing place is deep.”

Wukong stepped forward, bowed, and said, “Woodcutter, I have a question for you.” The woodcutter set down his axe, returned the bow, and asked, “Elder, where are you headed?” Wukong replied, “May I ask, woodcutter, is this the Green Cloud Mountain?” The woodcutter answered, “It is indeed.” Wukong then said, “There is a Banana Leaf Cave belonging to the Iron Fan Immortal. Where is it?” The woodcutter laughed and said, “Though the Banana Leaf Cave exists, there is no Iron Fan Immortal there—only an Iron Fan Princess, also known as Rakshasi.” Wukong said, “People say she has a banana-leaf fan that can extinguish the Flaming Mountain. Is that her?” The woodcutter replied, “Yes, yes. This sage possesses that treasure, skilled at putting out fires and protecting the people there, so she is called the Iron Fan Immortal. The folks around here have no use for her; they only know her as Rakshasi, the wife of the Great Strength Bull Demon King.”

When Wukong heard this, he was greatly startled, his face turning pale, and he thought to himself, “Another enemy! In the past, I subdued Red Boy, and I was told he was this creature’s offspring. Earlier, when I met his uncle at the Child-Breaking Cave on Solace Sun Mountain, he refused to give me water and even sought revenge. Now I encounter his parents—how can I possibly borrow this fan?” Seeing Wukong lost in thought, sighing repeatedly, the woodcutter laughed and said, “Elder, you are a monk. What worries or doubts plague you? Follow this small path east for less than a mile, and you’ll reach the Banana Leaf Cave. Don’t fret.” Wukong said, “To be honest, woodcutter, I am the senior disciple of the Tang monk from the East, sent to fetch scriptures from the Western Heaven. A few years ago at the Fire Cloud Cave, I had a falling out with Rakshasi’s son, Red Boy. I fear Rakshasi might bear a grudge and refuse to lend the fan, hence my worry and doubt.” The woodcutter replied, “A true man should read the situation. Focus on borrowing the fan as your sole purpose, and don’t bring up past grievances. I guarantee you’ll get it.” Wukong, upon hearing this, made a deep bow and said, “Thank you for your advice, woodcutter. I’m off.”

Thus, he took leave of the woodcutter and went straight to the entrance of the Banana Leaf Cave. He saw the two doors tightly shut, and the scenery outside the cave was beautiful. A fine place indeed! It was just as the verse says:

The mountain takes rock as its bones, and rock is the essence of earth.

Misty clouds carry lingering nocturnal moisture; moss adds fresh green.

The towering peaks surpass the Penglai immortal isles; the quiet fragrance of flowers resembles the Yingzhou of the seas.

Several tall pines shelter wild cranes; a few withered willows echo with mountain orioles’ songs.

Truly a thousand-year-old relic, a myriad-year trace of immortals.

On green parasol trees, colorful phoenixes sing; in flowing waters, azure dragons lurk.

Winding paths hang with creeping figs and vines; stone steps are entwined with kudzu and rattan.

Monkeys call on the emerald cliffs as the moon rises; birds chirp on tall trees under the clear sky.

Two groves of bamboo cast cool shadows like rain; a single path is buried under flowers, drowning embroidered silk.

Often white clouds drift from distant peaks, shapeless, drifting with the wind.

Wukong stepped forward and called out, “Brother Bull, open the door! Open the door!” With a creak, the cave door opened, and out came a maiden, carrying a flower basket and a hoe on her shoulder. Truly, she wore tattered clothes without adornment, yet her face was full of spirit with a sage-like heart. Wukong approached, pressed his palms together, and said, “Young lady, please trouble yourself to report to the princess: I am a monk from the East on my way to fetch scriptures. Unable to cross the Flaming Mountain, I have come especially to request the loan of the banana-leaf fan.” The maiden asked, “From which temple are you, and what is your name? Let me announce you.” Wukong replied, “I come from the East, and I am called Sun Wukong, the monk.”

The maiden turned and went into the cave, knelt before Rakshasi, and said, “Mistress, outside the cave door is a monk named Sun Wukong from the East, who wishes to see you and beg for the banana-leaf fan to cross the Flaming Mountain.” Upon hearing the name “Sun Wukong,” it was like throwing salt into fire or adding oil to flames—her face flushed red, and her heart burned with rage. She cursed, “That wretched monkey! Here he comes today!” She called out, “Maids, bring my armor and weapons!” She promptly donned her armor, took up two azure-steel swords, and emerged fully dressed. Wukong, lurking outside the cave, stole a glance at her appearance. She was:

Her head wrapped in a floral silk kerchief,

Clad in a brocade cloud robe.

A tiger-sinew sash bound her waist,

Revealing a thin silk skirt with side slits.

Phoenix-beaked bow shoes, three inches small,

Dragon-whisker leggings embroidered with gold.

In her hand, she brandished swords, her voice raised in fury,

Her visage fiercer than the moon goddess herself.

Rakshasi stepped out and called loudly, “Where is Sun Wukong?” Wukong approached, bowed, and said, “Sister-in-law, Old Sun is here to pay his respects.” Rakshasi spat, “Hah! Who is your sister-in-law? Who wants your respects?” Wukong replied, “Your husband, the Bull Demon King, once swore brotherhood with Old Sun—we were of the seven sworn brothers. Now I hear that you, Princess, are Brother Bull’s lawful wife, so how could I not call you sister-in-law?” Rakshasi said, “You wretched monkey! If we were sworn brothers, why did you harm my son?” Wukong feigned ignorance and asked, “Who is your son?” Rakshasi said, “My son is the Saintly Infant King, Red Boy of the Fire Cloud Cave at Withered Pine Stream on Horn Mountain. You harmed him! We had no place to seek revenge, but now you come to my doorstep to die. Do you think I’ll spare you?” Wukong smiled ingratiatingly and said, “Sister-in-law, you misunderstand the situation and have wrongly blamed Old Sun. Your son captured my master and wanted to steam or boil him, but fortunately, Guanyin Bodhisattva took him away and rescued my master. He is now with the Bodhisattva as the Child of Good Fortune, truly attaining the Bodhisattva’s rightful fruit—neither born nor dying, neither defiled nor pure, living as long as heaven and earth, as ageless as the sun and moon. Instead of thanking Old Sun for saving his life, you blame me—what sense does that make?” Rakshasi said, “You glib-tongued monkey! Even if my son isn’t dead, how can he come before me? When will I ever see him again?” Wukong laughed and said, “Sister-in-law, if you want to see your son, what’s so hard about that? First, lend me the fan so I can extinguish the fire and send my master across. Then I’ll go to the Southern Sea Bodhisattva’s place and invite him to see you, and I’ll return the fan to you—what’s wrong with that? When you see him, has he lost even a single hair? If he has any injury, you’ll have reason to blame me. If he’s even more handsome than before, you should thank me!” Rakshasi said, “Wretched monkey! Spare me your chatter. Stick out your head and let me chop it a few times. If you can bear the pain, I’ll lend you the fan. If you can’t, you’ll meet the King of Hell soon enough.” Wukong folded his arms, stepped forward, and laughed, “Sister-in-law, say no more. Old Sun will stretch out his bald head, and you may chop as much as you like, but if you tire, so be it. I must borrow the fan.” Without further word, Rakshasi swung both swords and struck Wukong’s head with a clatter, ten or more times, but Wukong paid it no mind. Frightened, Rakshasi turned to retreat. Wukong said, “Sister-in-law, where are you going? Hurry and lend it to me.” Rakshasi replied, “My treasure is not easily lent to others.” Wukong said, “Since you refuse, then take your uncle’s staff!”

Good Monkey King! He grabbed her with one hand and pulled out his staff from his ear with the other, shook it until it was as thick as a bowl. Rakshasi wrenched herself free, raised her swords, and met him. Wukong swung his staff and struck. The two fought before the Green Cloud Mountain, setting aside all kinship, driven only by enmity. A fierce battle ensued:

The woman was a demoness by cultivation,

Hating the monkey for her son’s sake.

Though Wukong was fierce and angry,

He held back his prowess, patient and mild, for his master’s path was blocked.

First, he spoke of borrowing the fan,

Not displaying his might, but using gentle words.

Ignorant Rakshasi swung her swords,

While the monkey king spoke of kinship.

How could a woman contend with a man?

In the end, male strength overpowers the female.

His gold-banded iron staff was fierce and mighty;

Her frost-edged azure swords were swift and dense.

Striking at the face, aiming at the head,

They fought bitterly without cease.

Blocking left and warding right, they displayed their martial arts,

Meeting front and parrying back, they schemed with cunning.

They fought until the heat of battle,

Unaware that the sun was setting in the west.

Rakshasi quickly took out her true fan,

And with one wave, stirred up demonic fright.

Rakshasi and Wukong fought until evening. Seeing that Wukong’s staff was heavy and his techniques thorough, she knew she could not overcome him. So she took out her banana-leaf fan, shook it once, and with a single wave, a sinister wind blew Wukong away without a trace—unable to hold him back. Rakshasi returned victorious.

That Great Sage drifted and floated, unable to sink to the ground on his left or stop himself on his right. He was like a withered leaf tossed in a whirlwind, or a fading flower swept along by flowing water. He tumbled all night long until daybreak, when he finally landed on a mountain, clutching a peak rock with both hands. After calming his mind and looking carefully, he recognized it as Little Sumeru Mountain. The Great Sage heaved a long sigh and said, "What a formidable woman! How did she manage to send Old Monkey all the way here? I recall coming here once before to beg Bodhisattva Lingji to subdue the Yellow Wind Monster and rescue my master. From the Yellow Wind Ridge to this place is over three thousand miles due south, but now, having been turned around on the western road, I've come from the southeast—who knows how many tens of thousands of miles it is? Let me go down and ask Bodhisattva Lingji for some news, so I can find my way back."

Just as he was hesitating, he heard the sound of a bell ringing. Hurrying down the mountain slope, he went straight to the meditation cloister. The Taoist at the gate recognized the Pilgrim's appearance and went in to report, "The hairy-faced Great Sage who came two years ago to ask the Bodhisattva to subdue the Yellow Wind Monster has come again." The Bodhisattva knew it was Wukong and quickly descended from his jeweled throne to welcome him. Entering the hall, they exchanged courtesies, and the Bodhisattva said, "Congratulations! Have you returned from fetching the scriptures?" Pilgrim replied, "Not yet, not yet; it's still far off, still far off." Lingji said, "Since you haven't reached Thunderclap Monastery, why have you turned back to come to my desolate mountain?" The Pilgrim said, "Since last year, when I was favored with your kindness in subduing the Yellow Wind Monster, I've endured countless hardships along the way. Now I've reached the Fiery Mountains and can go no further. I asked the local people, and they said there's an Iron Fan Immortaless who can put out the flames with a plantain fan. So Old Monkey went especially to seek her out. It turned out that this immortal is the wife of the Bull Demon King and the mother of Red Boy. She said I made her son a boy attendant to Guanyin Bodhisattva, so she can't see him often, and she bears a deep grudge against me. She refused to lend the fan and even fought with me. Seeing that my golden-banded cudgel was too heavy for her to handle, she fanned me with her fan, and I drifted and floated all the way until I landed here. So I've taken the liberty of coming to your cloister to ask the way back. How many miles is it from here to the Fiery Mountains?" Lingji laughed and said, "That woman is called Rakshasi, also known as the Iron Fan Princess. That plantain fan of hers originally came from behind Mount Kunlun; since the time when chaos was first divided, it has been a spiritual treasure born of heaven and earth, a leaf of the essence of the Great Yin, and therefore able to extinguish fire vapors. If it fans a person, they will drift to eighty-four thousand miles away before the yin wind stops. From this mountain to the Fiery Mountains is only a little over fifty thousand miles, and this is because the Great Sage has the power to halt clouds, so you stopped; if it were an ordinary person, they wouldn't be able to stop at all." The Pilgrim said, "Terrible, terrible! How will my master ever get past that place?" Lingji said, "Great Sage, set your mind at ease. This time, it is also the fate of Tang Sanzang, and he is meant to let the Great Sage succeed." The Pilgrim said, "How do you see this success?" Lingji said, "In years past, I received the decree of the Tathagata Buddha, who bestowed upon me a Wind-Calming Pill and a Flying Dragon Staff. The Flying Dragon Staff has already subdued the Wind Demon. This Wind-Calming Pill has never been used, and now I give it to the Great Sage. I guarantee that creature will not be able to move you with her fan. Then you can go and ask for the fan, put out the flames, and won't this be your achievement?" The Pilgrim bowed his head and was filled with gratitude beyond measure. The Bodhisattva then took a brocade bag from his sleeve, and placing the Wind-Calming Pill inside the Pilgrim's collar, he sewed it tightly with needle and thread. He saw the Pilgrim out and said, "I have no time to detain you for hospitality. Head northwest, and you will be in Rakshasi's territory."

The Pilgrim took his leave of Lingji, mounted his somersault cloud, and returned directly to Turquoise Cloud Mountain, arriving in an instant. He pounded on the cave gate with his iron staff and shouted, "Open up, open up! Old Monkey has come to borrow the fan to use." This so frightened the maids inside that one rushed to report, "Mistress, the one who came to borrow the fan is back again." When Rakshasi heard this, she was alarmed and thought to herself, "This brazen monkey really has some skill. When my precious fan fans a person, they go eighty-four thousand miles before stopping; how has he just been blown away and already returned? This time, let me fan him two or three times in a row, so he can't find his way back." Hurriedly bracing herself, she dressed and armed herself, then, holding her twin swords, she went out the door and said, "Sun the Pilgrim, aren't you afraid of me? Have you come to seek death again?" The Pilgrim laughed and said, "Sister-in-law, don't be stingy; you must lend it to me for a while. Once I've protected Tang Sanzang across the mountain, I'll give it back. I'm an honest and upright gentleman, not some petty person who borrows things and doesn't return them." Rakshasi cursed again, "Brazen monkey! You're utterly unreasonable and don't understand right from wrong. The enmity over stealing my son has not yet been avenged; how can you expect your wish to borrow the fan to be fulfilled? Don't run away—taste this old lady's sword." The Great Sage showed no fear and met her blow for blow with his iron staff. The two of them came and went, fighting five or seven rounds, until Rakshasi's hands grew weak and she could hardly wield her swords, while Sun the Pilgrim's body was strong and he resisted well. Seeing the situation was unfavorable, she took out her fan and fanned it at the Pilgrim; the Pilgrim stood firm as a mountain. The Pilgrim put away his iron staff and said with a smile, "This time is not like the last. Fan as you will—if Old Monkey so much as budges, I'm no true man." Rakshasi fanned him twice more, and indeed, he did not move. Rakshasi panicked, hastily put away her treasure, turned around, and went back into the cave, shutting the door tightly behind her.

When the Pilgrim saw that she had closed the door, he used a stratagem. He opened his collar, took the Wind-Calming Pill, and held it in his mouth. With a shake of his body, he transformed into a cicada-like insect and drilled in through the crack of her door. Inside, he heard Rakshasi call out, "Thirsty, thirsty—bring tea quickly." The maidservant nearby brought a pot of fragrant tea and poured a full bowl with a rustling sound, the tea frothing up. The Pilgrim was delighted; with a buzz, he flew down and hid beneath the tea froth. Rakshasi was terribly thirsty; taking the bowl, she downed it in two or three gulps. The Pilgrim had already entered her stomach. Resuming his original form, he called out loudly, "Sister-in-law, lend me the fan to use." Rakshasi's face turned pale with fright, and she cried out, "Little ones, has the front gate been closed?" They all said, "It's closed." She said, "Since the gate is closed, how is Sun the Pilgrim calling out inside the house?" The maids said, "He's calling out from inside your body." Rakshasi said, "Sun the Pilgrim, where are you working your magic?" The Pilgrim said, "Old Monkey never uses magic tricks in his life; it's all genuine methods and true skill. I'm already playing around inside your venerable sister-in-law's belly, and I've seen your lungs and liver. I know you're feeling hungry and thirsty too; let me first give you a bowl to quench your thirst." With that, he stamped his foot downward. Rakshasi felt a sharp pain in her lower abdomen, unbearable, and sat on the ground, moaning in agony. The Pilgrim said, "Sister-in-law, don't refuse; let me give you a snack to fill your stomach." He then pushed his head upward. The pain in Rakshasi's heart was so intense that she could only roll on the ground, her face turning yellow and lips white, as she cried out, "Uncle Sun, spare my life."

Only then did the Pilgrim stop his hands and feet and say, "So now you recognize your uncle? Out of regard for Brother Bull, I'll spare your life for now. Quickly bring the fan and let me use it." Rakshasi said, "Uncle, there is a fan, there is a fan. Come out and take it." The Pilgrim said, "Show me the fan first, then I'll come out." Rakshasi ordered a maidservant to bring a plantain fan and set it down nearby. The Pilgrim, peering up to her throat, saw it and said, "Sister-in-law, since I'm sparing your life, I won't bore a hole through your ribs to get out; I'll come out through your mouth instead. Open your mouth three times." Rakshasi indeed opened her mouth. The Pilgrim again transformed into the cicada insect, flew out first, and alighted on the plantain fan. Unaware, Rakshasi opened her mouth three times, calling, "Uncle, come out." The Pilgrim resumed his original form, took the fan, and said, "Am I not here? Thank you for lending the fan, thank you for lending the fan." With that, he strode forward and left. The little ones quickly opened the gate and let him out of the cave.

The Great Sage turned his cloud around and headed straight back east. In a moment, he brought his cloud down and stood beneath the red brick wall. When Bajie saw him, he said happily, “Master, Elder Brother has come, he has come.” Sanzang then went out the door with the old man of the estate and Sha Monk to greet him, and together they entered the house. Pilgrim leaned the palm-leaf fan against the wall and said, “Old sir, is this the fan?” The old man said, “Yes, indeed it is.” Sanzang said joyfully, “Worthy disciple, you have performed a great merit. It was very toilsome to obtain this precious object.” Pilgrim said, “I won’t speak of the toil. That Iron Fan Immortal—do you know who she is? That wretch is actually the wife of the Bull Demon King and the mother of Red Boy. Her name is Rakshasi, also called Princess Iron Fan. When I reached the cave and asked to borrow the fan, she started talking about old enmities and hacked at me with her sword several times. I scared her with my staff, and she fanned me once with her fan, sending me drifting and tumbling all the way to Little Sumeru Mountain. Fortunately, I met the Bodhisattva Lingji, who gave me a Wind-Calming Pill and showed me the way back. Then I went to Turquoise Cloud Mountain and saw Rakshasi again. When Rakshasi fanned me again, I didn’t move, so she went back into her cave. I, Old Sun, turned into a tiny cicada and flew into the cave. That wretch was just asking for tea, so I slipped under the tea leaves, got into her belly, and started moving my hands and feet. She was in such pain she couldn’t stop calling me ‘Uncle, spare my life,’ and willingly agreed to lend me the fan. So I spared her and took the fan. After we cross the Flaming Mountain, I’ll give it back to her.” When Sanzang heard this, he was filled with endless gratitude.

The master and disciples all took their leave of the old man and headed west. After traveling about forty miles, they gradually felt the scorching heat. Sha Monk kept shouting, “The soles of my feet are burning!” Bajie also said, “My trotters are aching from the heat.” The horse ran faster than usual, because it was so distressed by the heat that it rushed forward in great agitation. Pilgrim said, “Master, please dismount for a moment, and brothers, don’t move. Let me fan out the fire first. After the wind and rain pass and the ground cools down a bit, we can cross the mountain.” Pilgrim indeed raised the fan and went straight to the fire. He gave it a hard wave, and the flames on the mountain blazed up with a roar; he waved it a second time, and the fire grew a hundred times stronger; he waved it a third time, and the flames rose a thousand yards high, gradually burning toward his body. Pilgrim hastily retreated, but already two tufts of his hair had been burned off. He ran straight to Tang Monk and shouted, “Go back, quick, go back. The fire is coming, the fire is coming!”

The master scrambled onto his horse and, with Bajie and Sha Monk, headed east for more than twenty miles before stopping. He said, “Wukong, what’s the matter now?” Pilgrim threw down the fan and said, “Bad luck, bad luck. That wretch deceived me.” When Sanzang heard this, his brows knit in worry, his heart was dejected, and he could not hold back two streams of tears. He only said, “What can be done?” Bajie said, “Elder Brother, why did you call us back in such a hurry?” Pilgrim said, “When I fanned once, the flames blazed up; the second fan made the fire even fiercer; the third fan sent the fire shooting up a thousand yards. If I hadn’t run fast, even my hair would have been burned off.” Bajie laughed and said, “You always say thunder can’t hurt you and fire can’t burn you. How come you’re afraid of fire now?” Pilgrim said, “You dolt, you don’t understand anything at all. Back then, I was on guard, so I wasn’t hurt. Today, I only meant to fan out the fire, so I didn’t recite the fire-avoidance spell or use any protective arts. That’s why two tufts of my hair got burned.” Sha Monk said, “With such a fierce fire, there’s no road to the west. What’s to be done?” Bajie said, “Just find a place without fire and go there.” Sanzang said, “Where is there no fire?” Bajie said, “There’s no fire in the east, south, or north.” “And where are the scriptures?” asked Sanzang. Bajie said, “The scriptures are in the west.” Sanzang said, “I only want to go where the scriptures are.” Sha Monk said, “Where there are scriptures, there is fire; where there is no fire, there are no scriptures. Truly, we are in a dilemma.”

As the master and disciples were talking at random, they heard someone call out, “Great Sage, do not be troubled. First, eat some vegetarian food, and then we can discuss things.” The four turned to look and saw an old man, wearing a cloak that fluttered in the wind, a crescent-moon cap on his head, a dragon-head staff in his hand, and iron boots on his feet. Behind him came a ghost with a carved beak and fish cheeks, carrying a copper basin on its head. In the basin were some steamed cakes, pastries, rice porridge, and yellow millet. Bowing by the roadside to the west, he said, “I am the local spirit of the Flaming Mountain. Knowing that the Great Sage is protecting the holy monk and cannot advance, I have come specially to offer a meal.” Pilgrim said, “Having a meal is a small matter. When will this fire be extinguished, so that my master can pass through?” The local spirit said, “To extinguish the fire, you must borrow the palm-leaf fan from Rakshasi.” Pilgrim picked up the fan from the roadside and said, “Isn’t this it? But the fire only grows stronger when I fan it. Why?” The local spirit looked at it and laughed, saying, “This fan is not the real one. She tricked you.” Pilgrim said, “How can I get the real one?” The old man bowed again and said with a slight smile:

“If you want to borrow the true palm-leaf fan,

You must go seek the Great Strength King.”

If you want to know what the Great Strength King has to do with it, listen to the explanation in the next chapter.