Tower of Myriad Mirrors: A Supplement to Journey to the West (Michigan Classics in Chinese Studies) (3 page)

We have maintained the names Monkey, Pigsy, Sandy, and other incidental proper names coined by Arthur Waley in his
Monkey
, an abridged translation of
Journey to the West
. Following Tung Yüeh's preference, however, Hsüan-tsang is referred to as the T'ang Priest, rather than Tripitaka, as in
Monkey
.

In preparing this translation, we have followed the 1955 edition of the
Hsi-yu pu
published by Wen-hsüeh ku-chi k'an-hsing-she in Peking. This edition appends Liu Fu's sketch of Tung Yüeh's life and writings from which most of the biographical information in this introductory note has been drawn. The Shih-chieh shu-chü edition (Taipei, 1970) was also consulted.

Bringing Monkey, his master, and brother pilgrims into print again is like happening upon a fellow traveler from one's past—someone last seen through a wave of the hand in a Rangoon station or on a dusty street in Kaifeng. The road to the West takes many turns and, along with its trials, holds a few pleasant surprises. Thanks to the University of Michigan's Center for Chinese Studies, Shuen-fu Lin and I have renewed our acquaintance with
The Tower of Myriad Mirrors
and are pleased that new readers will be able to experience this unique narrative and its intricate web of imagery. We have taken advantage of this new edition to make a few changes in the introduction, and corrections as well as revisions to the body of the novel, under the insightful editorial eye of Terre Fisher. We are grateful to her for her guidance.

Larry J. Schulz
Atlanta, 2000

1
Little monkeys are assistants Monkey magically summons by chewing his fur into bits and then blowing them out.

The myriad things have ever been one body;

Each body, too, contains a cosmos.

I dare open a clear eye on the world
,

And strive to root anew its hills and streams.

                                           —An Old Rhyme

This chapter describes how the Ch'ing Fish confuses and bewitches the Mind-Monkey.
¹
One sees throughout that the causes of all emotions are floating clouds and phantasms.

As the story goes, after the T'ang Priest and his three disciples left the Flaming Mountain, days turned into months, until they came again to the time of green spring. The T'ang Priest sighed, “We four have traveled day in and day out, never knowing when we'll see Sakyamuni. Wu-k'ung,
²
you've been over the road to the West several times, how much farther do we have to go? And how many more monsters will we meet?”

Monkey replied, “Don't worry, Master. If we disciples pool our strength, we needn't fear even a monster as big as heaven.”

He had hardly finished speaking when all at once they spied before them a mountain road. Everywhere flowers old and newly fallen covered the ground like a tapestry. There, where tall bamboo leaned over the road stood a peony tree:

The famous flowers no sooner bloom'd than form'd this tapestry;

Clusters of blossoms press together, competing with beauty strange
.

Like finely tailor'd brilliant clouds they face the sun and smile
,

Tenderly holding fragrant dew and bending with the breeze
.

Clouds love these famed beauties and come to protect them;

Butterflies cling to their heavenly fragrance and tarry over leaving
.

Were I to compare their color with the ladies in the Spring Palace
,

Only Yang Kuei-fei coquettishly leaning, half-drunk, would do.
³

                                                                  —An Old Rhyme

Said Monkey, “Master, those peonies are so red!”

The T'ang priest responded, “No they're not.”

“Master,” said Monkey, “Your eyes must be scorched by the hot spring sun if you insist that peonies so red aren't red. Why not dismount and sit down while I send for the Bodhisattva Great King of Medicine to clear up your eyes. Don't force yourself to go on while your vision is blurred. If you take the wrong road, it will be no one else's fault.”

The Priest snapped, “Rascal monkey! You're the one who's mixed up. It's backwards to say that my eyes are blurred.”

Monkey said, “Master, if your eyes aren't blurred, why do you say the peonies aren't red?”

The Priest replied, “I never said the peonies aren't red. I only said that it's not the peonies that are red.”

Monkey said, “If it's not the peonies that are red, Master, it must be the sunlight shining on them that makes them so red.”

When the Priest heard Monkey suggest sunlight, he decided that his disciple's thinking was even farther off. “Stupid ape!” he scolded. “It's you who's red! You talk about peonies, then about sunlight—you certainly drag in trivialities!”

Monkey said, “You must be joking, Master. All the hair on my body is mottled yellow, my tiger-skin kilt is striped, my monk's robe is gray. Where do you see red on me?”

The Priest said, “I didn't mean that your body is red. I meant that your heart is red.” Then he said, “Wu-k'ung, listen to this
g
th
of mine.” From his horse he recited:

The peonies aren't red;

It's the disciple's heart that's red
.

When all the blossoms have fallen
,

It's as if they hadn't yet bloomed
.

He finished the
g
th
, and rode on a hundred paces.
⁴
There before them several hundred lasses, each one rosy as a spring bud, suddenly appeared beneath the peony tree. They frolicked, picking flowers, weaving grass mats, carrying baby boys and girls, and showing off their loveliness. When they saw the monks coming from the east, they giggled, covering their mouths with their sleeves.

The Priest was troubled. He called to Wu-k'ung, “Let's go by way of some other less traveled route. I'm afraid that in this spring meadow so fresh and green these beautiful children will lead us straight into trouble and entanglements.”

Monkey said, “Master, I've been meaning to say a few words to you, but I'm always afraid of offending you, so I haven't dared speak. All your life you've suffered from two great ills. One is using your mind too much, the other is literary Ch'an.
⁵
What I mean by using your mind too much is that you are always fretting over this and that. Literary Ch'an means reciting poems and discussing principles, bringing up your past to verify the present, and talking about scriptures and
g
th
s
. Literary Ch'an has nothing to do with our real goal, and using the mind too much actually invites demons. Overcome these ills and you'll be well prepared to go to the West.”

The Priest was displeased. Monkey insisted, “You're mistaken, Master. They are homebodies, we're monks. We share one road, but we have two kinds of hearts.”

Hearing this, the T'ang Priest sharply urged his horse forward. But suddenly eight or nine children jumped out from the crowd and surrounded him—a wall of boys and girls. They stared at him, then began to jump up and down, shouting, “This little boy has grown up, but he still wears raggedy beggar-boy clothes!”

Being by nature a man who loved tranquillity, how could the Priest put up with these children? He tried to talk them nicely into leaving, but
they would not go. He scolded them, yet still they would not go, and only kept up their taunts, “This boy has grown up, but he still wears beggar-boy clothes!”

The Priest could not think of anything to do, so he dismounted, took off his robe, hid it in his bundle, and sat down on the grass. The children would not leave him alone, and taunted again, “Give us this one-colored raggedy beggar's robe. If you don't, we'll go home and ask our mothers to make us patched robes of apple green, dark green, willow green,
pi-i
bird color,
⁶
evening-cloud, swallow gray, sauce-brown, sky-blue, peach-pink, jade, lotus stem, lotus-green, silver-green, fish-belly white, ink-wash, pebble-blue, reed-flower green, five-color weave, lichee, coral, duck's head green, color of the palindrome weave, and love-weave. Then we won't need your robe!”

The T'ang Priest closed his eyes and remained silent. Pigsy did not know what was bothering the Master and only wanted to play with the boys and girls. He jokingly called them his adopted children.

Monkey watching this became restless and upset. He took his iron cudgel from behind his ear
⁷
and brandished it, forcing the crowd back. The children, now frightened, ran away, stumbling over one another. But Monkey's temper did not abate. In a flash he overtook them, swung his cudgel, and struck. Those sweet snail-horn tufts and peachy cheeks passed into oblivion, becoming so many butterflies and will-o'-the-wisps.

When the crowd of beauties under the peonies saw Monkey beating the children to death, they quickly dropped their flower baskets and ran to the edge of a nearby stream. Picking up slabs of rock, they came forward to meet Monkey. But Monkey did not hesitate; he knocked them dead to the ground with one sweep of his cudgel.