Chapter 9: Senior Brother Dislikes the Binding Spell

But this old woman was none other than the incarnation of the Bodhisattva Guanyin. Seeing that Tang Sanzang could not control Hu Rong, she transformed herself into an old woman and brought the Golden Fillet Chant. She continued, “I have here a cotton robe and a golden-embroidered hat, which once belonged to my son. He was a monk for only three days before his untimely death. I went to his temple, wept for him, took leave of his master, and brought these two items back as mementos. Master, since you have a disciple, let me give these garments and hat to you.”

Though Tang Sanzang was reluctant, he could not refuse her kindness and replied, “I am grateful for your gift, but my disciple is of a slender build; I fear these clothes will not fit him. That is why I hesitate to accept them.”

The old woman laughed lightly, thinking Tang Sanzang might be too protective of his disciple, but she still said, “No matter, no matter. My son, too, was thin and small. Perhaps fate has brought this about?”

Tang Sanzang had no choice but to accept the clothes and hat, bowing in thanks. The old woman glanced around and asked, “Where has your disciple gone?”

Tang Sanzang set the clothes aside and replied, “I heard a swoosh, and he flew eastward.”

The old woman said, “Not far to the east is my home. Perhaps he went there. I also have a chant, called the Mind-Calming Incantation, or the Golden Fillet Spell. You must learn it in secret and keep it firmly in your heart—never let anyone else know. I will go and fetch him for you. When he returns, let him wear the robe and hat. If he disobeys you, silently recite this spell, and he will not dare defy you or run away again.”

Tang Sanzang found this strange, but for some reason, he remembered the chant clearly after hearing it only once. Resigned, he bowed his thanks to the old woman. Yet when he raised his head, there was no old woman to be seen, only the Bodhisattva Guanyin seated upon her lotus throne, gazing at him with a gentle smile, before turning into a shaft of golden light and soaring away.

Only then did Tang Sanzang realize it was Guanyin herself who had imparted the incantation. He hastily gathered earth, burned incense, and bowed eastward in sincere reverence. After his devotions, he collected the robe and hat and tucked them away in his bundle. Though he could not understand why Guanyin would have him restrain such a well-behaved disciple, he nevertheless obeyed, sitting within a circle and practicing the Mind-Calming Incantation repeatedly until he knew it by heart.

Just then, from the sky came a sharp whistle, and a cloud of seven-colored auspicious light drew near. It was Hu Rong, returning from the Western Sea with the Water-Dividing Pearl.

Thanks to the green light that had transformed his Somersault Cloud, its speed had doubled to two hundred thousand miles per leap, and it now wrapped around him in a rainbow-like aura, reminiscent of the ancient Lu Ya’s rainbow transformation technique. Hu Rong leapt down from the cloud, holding a begging bowl in one hand, a sack of buns in the other, and a branch of pomegranate, laden with fat, red, bursting fruit, slung over his shoulder.

“Master, seeing your homesickness, I specially returned to Chang’an and picked these ripe pomegranates for you to taste.” Hu Rong lied without hesitation, never fearing to be caught in a falsehood.

“Wukong…” Tang Sanzang, moved by his disciple’s filial devotion, was at a loss for words. He recalled how he had just reproached his disciple in his heart, and a wave of guilt washed over him. Rising, he took Hu Rong’s hand, saying, “Wukong, to have you as my disciple is a blessing earned over three lifetimes!”

“Master, you honor me too greatly. You rescued me from the Mountain of Five Elements and gave me new life. It is only right that I serve you faithfully as your humble attendant!” Hu Rong replied, his flattery flowing as easily as ever. After all, later there would be that fat fool Bajie, who would talk this way as well—so why should he be denied?

Tang Sanzang was deeply moved by this wily monkey, feeling ever more dissatisfied with Guanyin’s methods. Buddhism, he believed, should rely on compassion and guidance, not coercion. Was not his disciple so gentle and obedient thanks to the power of Buddhist affinity? How could such a cruel device as the Golden Fillet be necessary?

Hu Rong handed Tang Sanzang the vegetarian meal, then picked the pomegranates one by one. He left two for Tang Sanzang as after-meal fruit and prepared to stuff the rest into their bundle. Just then, he caught sight of the shining robe and hat and instantly guessed that Guanyin had visited Tang Sanzang and delivered the Golden Fillet Spell while he was away.

Casting a glance at his master, who was not paying attention, Hu Rong quickly slipped on the cotton robe underneath his clothes, plucked a hair, and transformed it into a brocade hat, secretly swapping out the real golden fillet. Then, acting as if he had seen nothing of the dazzling hat, he packed the pomegranates away and sat on a nearby stone to cut the fruit for Tang Sanzang.

After finishing the buns, Tang Sanzang saw his disciple preparing pomegranate for him and felt even more ashamed of his earlier thoughts. Naturally, he forgot all about Guanyin’s instructions regarding the Golden Fillet. In this way, after lunch, master and disciple continued on their way, and by dusk arrived at a household bearing the surname Chen—Tang Sanzang’s own family name before ordination. Their host warmly invited them to stay the night, and the next morning they resumed their journey.

Talking and laughing along the road, the scenery around them grew ever more tranquil and secluded. Frost-withered red leaves thinned the forests; a few pines and cypresses stood out on the ridges. Plum buds had yet to open, but their fragrance hinted at spring; the brief warmth of the little spring season lingered, with withered chrysanthemums, spent lotuses, and flourishing camellias. Ancient trees by a cold bridge contended for space, while a winding stream trickled below. Light clouds hovered, promising snow, and a sudden north wind tugged at their sleeves, making the evening chill hard to bear.

But good times are fleeting. Not many steps had they gone when, with a sudden whistle from the roadside, six men leapt out. Each brandished a long spear or short sword, sharp blades and strong bows at the ready, and shouted, “Monks, where do you think you’re going? Leave your horse and baggage if you value your lives!”

The sudden cry startled Tang Sanzang, but knowing his disciple’s capabilities, his courage had grown. He composed himself, remained seated on his horse, and said to Hu Rong, “Wukong, remember the precepts of our order—do not take lives.”

“Yes, Master,” Hu Rong replied. Standing before the white horse, he pointed at the six men and called out, “You blind fools, you dare rob your Grandpa Sun? You’re looking for death!”

Without waiting for a reply, Hu Rong charged in and with a few simple moves knocked them all to the ground. Not wishing to ruin his image in Tang Sanzang’s eyes, he held back, only beating them into unconsciousness.

Even so, the bewildered Tang Sanzang cried, “Oh, Wukong! Though they are vicious bandits, they have not committed a capital crime. You may have skills, but you should have merely driven them off—why have you killed them all?”

Hu Rong brought the white horse closer and said, “Master, there is no need to worry. Your disciple has strictly observed the Buddhist precepts. I only knocked these bandits out. See for yourself.”

Tang Sanzang dismounted and checked the outlaws, saw their chests still rising and falling, and realized he had wronged his disciple again. He chanted a Buddhist benediction and said, “Wukong, when I first took you as my disciple, I feared you might abuse your strength and kill without restraint. But now I see you have already grasped the compassionate core of our faith. Amitabha!”

Hu Rong smiled, “To tell you the truth, Master, even five hundred years ago, when I was king of Flower-Fruit Mountain, I never bullied the weak. I’d look back every three steps when walking, lest I step on an ant and take its life.”

“Amitabha!” Tang Sanzang nodded, “Wukong, you truly are destined for enlightenment. Even before joining our order, you cherished all life and refrained from killing. So good, so good!”

Hu Rong, with modesty, said he simply followed his heart toward goodness, which made Tang Sanzang feel their bond as master and disciple grew ever deeper. They paid no further heed to the bandits and rode on, gradually disappearing into the forest together.

But after all, these six were ruthless murderers. How could Hu Rong truly let them go unpunished? The moment Tang Sanzang was out of sight, a hidden hair-spawned Wukong appeared, staff in hand, and slew the six bandits before departing without a trace.