The Birth of the Monkey King and the Water Curtain Cave · II

Fortune smiled upon his voyage: from the hour he set sail, a steady southeasterly wind blew for days on end, carrying the raft toward the northwestern shore at the borders of the Southern Continent of the Sacred Tree. Feeling the waters shallow, he probed with his pole, leaped ashore, and landed on dry earth. On the strand he watched men fishing, hunting waterfowl, gathering clams, and boiling brine for salt. Drawing near with curious curiosity, he imitated their gestures, causing the fishermen to drop their baskets in terror and flee in all directions. The monkey caught one who stumbled in the sand, stripped him of his clothes, and put them on clumsily; then he swaggered through town, learning human speech and walking erect upon two legs.

For eight or nine years the Monkey King wandered through great cities, crowded capitals, and quiet villages of the Southern Continent, seeking earnestly for someone to teach him the secret of immortality. Yet among mortals he found only people obsessed with fleeting fame, striving for wealth, or enslaved by worldly desires; none gave thought to the salvation of their own souls. Weary of finding no true master, he came at last to the shores of the Great Western Ocean. Believing that immortals must dwell beyond those waters, he built another raft as before and crossed the Western Sea until he reached the Western Continent of Cattle Bounty. Stepping ashore, he resumed his solitary quest among steep mountains and silent valleys.

Walking one day through a deep forest, he caught the sound of a human voice echoing among the trees. Quickening his pace, he pressed through the thicket and listened: someone was singing a rustic song. The verses ran: ‘I watch a game of chess while the axe-handle rots with the passing ages; I fell wood with steady stroke and stroll unhurried beside valley clouds. I sell my timber to buy a jug of wine and laugh with a free and tranquil heart. The autumn path climbs through mist; at dusk I rest beneath the moon, the pine my pillow. At waking, dawn breaks over the peaks. I forget the world’s vanities and struggles for power; fame and gold are to me like dust on the wind. Wherever I walk I find peace; I sit upon the summit watching clouds, passing life as freely as an immortal.’

Hearing these words, the Handsome Monkey King bounded with delight and cried: ‘At last! The immortal I sought was hiding in this very grove!’ He dashed through the brush and looked closely: it was no celestial god, but a humble woodcutter swinging an axe and felling dead boughs. His dress was truly rustic:

Upon his head he wore a broad hat woven from young bamboo shoots; his robe was of coarse homespun hemp. About his waist hung a sash of wild silk spun by woodland worms, and on his feet were sandals of dry sedge. In his grip he held a sturdy steel axe, and over his shoulder hung hempen rope for binding faggots. His face breathed the quiet dignity of one who lives in harmony with the trees.

The Monkey King approached respectfully and bowed, saying: ‘Venerable immortal master, this humble disciple pays you homage!’ The woodcutter dropped his axe in surprise, turned, and answered hastily: ‘Hold, good sir, say no such foolish thing! I am merely a poor woodsman who can barely feed his aging mother; how dare you call me an immortal?’ The Monkey King replied: ‘If you are no immortal, why were you singing those lofty verses on detachment and eternity just now?’ The woodcutter smiled and explained: ‘That song is not mine. An authentic immortal, the Patriarch Subhuti, lives near here; he taught me those verses so that when I felt weary from labor I might sing them to soothe my cares. Just now I was singing heedlessly, never dreaming anyone was listening.’

The Monkey King said eagerly: ‘By your words I see you are a devoted son and a righteous man. I entreat you to show me where that venerable master dwells, so that I may hasten to prostrate myself before him.’ The woodcutter pointed up the ridge and said: ‘It is not far. This peak is called the Mountain of Mind and Spirit, and within its depths lies the Cave of the Slanted Moon and Three Stars. The Patriarch Subhuti dwells there, and has instructed countless disciples. Take that path southward, and you shall reach his threshold in less than eight li.’

The Monkey King thanked the woodcutter and bounded along the mountain trail. Leaving the dense woods behind, he climbed a steep slope and, after seven or eight li, caught sight of the immortal cave in the distance. He paused to gaze in wonder: it was truly a paradise! Luminous mists scattered iridescent hues; sun and moon seemed to caress the crags. A thousand ancient pines guarded the ravines, and slender groves of sacred bamboo reached toward the sky. The air breathed an infinite serenity that cleansed the soul of every worldly stain.

Drawing near, he found the heavy stone gates tightly shut and silence reigning over the sanctuary. Turning his head, he observed a massive stone stele erected beside the cliff, over three zhang high and eight chi wide. Carved upon it were ten large characters: ‘Mountain of Mind and Spirit, Cave of the Slanted Moon and Three Stars.’ The Monkey King rejoiced: ‘The woodcutter spoke true! This is the promised sanctuary!’ Hesitating to disturb the stillness, he did not dare knock, but climbed into the branches of a nearby pine to eat pine nuts while waiting patiently.

Before long, a gentle creak broke the silence, and the stone doors swung wide. From within stepped an immortal acolyte of noble bearing and refined grace, wholly unlike ordinary youths of the mortal world. His hair was bound in twin coils with silk ribbons, his loose robe drifted upon the breeze, and in his gaze shone the profound purity of one who contemplates the primordial void without attachment to earthly forms.

The youth stepped to the threshold and called aloud: ‘Who disturbs the quiet of this retreat?’ The Monkey King dropped from the pine, approached with a deep bow, and answered humbly: ‘Young immortal master, I am a seeker who has crossed two oceans in search of the Way; I come not to trouble your peace, but to beg for guidance.’ The acolyte smiled and asked: ‘Are you truly a seeker of the Way?’ The monkey nodded fervently: ‘Indeed I am!’ The youth said: ‘Just now my master the Patriarch descended from his platform and told me: ‘A seeker of the Dao waits outside; open the gate and bring him before me.’ He must have meant you. Follow me inside.’

Straightening his clothes with reverence, the Monkey King followed the acolyte into the depths of the cavern. They passed gleaming galleries, pearl pavilions, and tranquil chambers of peerless beauty. At last they reached the foot of a jade dais, where Patriarch Subhuti sat in majestic repose, attended by thirty celestial disciples standing in hushed respect. His presence radiated the august dignity of an enlightened sage commanding the secrets of Heaven and Earth.

At the sight of him, the Handsome Monkey King prostrated himself upon the flagstones, knocking his forehead against the floor countless times and crying with emotion: ‘Master, revered Master! This unworthy disciple offers you his most devoted homage!’ The Patriarch looked down from the dais and asked: ‘From what land do you hail? Declare clearly your home and family name before bowing further.’ The Monkey King answered: ‘This disciple comes from the Eastern Continent of Superior Divinity, from the land of Aolai and the Mountain of Flowers and Fruit.’

The Patriarch frowned and said: ‘Drive this rogue out! How can you expect me to believe you crossed two vast oceans and the entire Southern Continent to reach this place?’ The monkey struck his forehead against the tiles once more and pleaded: ‘I swear upon my life I speak no falsehood! I sailed upon a raft through stormy seas and wandered through distant lands for over ten years until I found your sacred mountain.’ The Patriarch recognized his sincere heart and softened his tone: ‘If your words are true, I shall accept you as disciple. But tell me, what is your family surname?’ The monkey answered in confusion: ‘I have no surname. If men revile me I take no offense; if they strike me I feel no anger; I simply offer an apology. All my life I have lived without a surname.’ The Patriarch chuckled and explained: ‘I speak not of your temper, but of the surname you inherited from your parents.’ The monkey said: ‘I had no father or mother of flesh and blood; I was born of a miraculous rock upon the mountain summit.’ The Patriarch understood the wondrous nature of his origin and said: ‘Since you were begotten by Heaven and Earth, I shall choose a fitting name. Your form resembles an ape, a hu-sun. Taking the character sun, which denotes monkey, and setting aside the beast radical, there remains the ideogram of a child beside a grandson, perfectly according with the doctrine of filial descent. Your surname shall thus be Sun. In our school twelve generation names are ordained, and yours corresponds to the character Wu, meaning Enlightened. Your religious name shall therefore be Wukong, meaning “Aware of Vacuity”. Does this name please you?’ The Monkey King leaped with boundless delight and shouted: ‘Splendid! Wonderful! Henceforth I shall be Sun Wukong!’ And thus was born the name that would echo through all the ages.