“Splendid, splendid,” the women all said. “As the saying goes, monks from afar most love to read the scriptures. Sisters! We must treat them well. Let's give them some vegetarian food as quickly as we can.”

While three of the women kept him company, talking about such matters as primary and secondary causation, the other four went into the kitchen, where they tucked up their clothes, rolled up their sleeves, fanned the fire and scrubbed the cooking pots. Do you know what it was they prepared? They were frying in human fat, and what they cooked was human flesh, stewed into black paste as if it were wheat gluten, and human brain cut out to fry like pieces of beancurd.

Then they placed the two dishes on a stone table and said to Sanzang, “Do eat. We were too rushed to prepare anything good, so please make do with this. It'll stave off the pangs of hunger. There will be some more dishes to follow.”

As soon as Sanzang used his nose and smelled the stench of flesh he would not eat, but bowed with his hands together be; re his chest and said, “Bodhisattvas, I have been a vegetarian since birth.”

“But this is vegetarian food, reverend sir,” the women all replied with smiles.

“Amitabha Buddha!” exclaimed Sanzang. “If as a monk I ate vegetarian food like that I would never have any hope of seeing the Buddha or fetching the surras.”

“Reverend sir,” the women said, “as a monk you shouldn't be so choosy about what you're given.”

“I never could be,” Sanzang said, “I never could be. I am under the orders of the Great Tang emperor to harm not even the tiniest life, to save all I see suffering, to put all the food-grain I am given into my mouth with my fingers, and to cover my body with the threads of silk that come my way. I would never dare pick and choose among my benefactors' gifts.”

“Even if you're not picking and choosing,” the women replied with smiles, “you do seem to have come here to complain. Please eat some of the food and don't mind if it's a little coarse and flavorless.”

“It's not that I don't want to eat it,” Sanzang said, “it's that I'm afraid I'd be breaking my vows. I hope that you Bodhisattvas will remember that setting living beings free is better than keeping them with you and let me go on my way.”

As Sanzang struggled to get out the women blocked the gateway and refused to let him go. “Business bringing itself to our door!” they all said. “You've no more chance of getting away from here than of covering up a fart with your hands. Where do you think you're going?”

They were all quite skilled in the martial arts and quick movers too, and after they had grabbed Sanzang they dragged him like a sheep and threw him to the ground. Then they all held him down, tied him up, and suspended him from the rafters. There is a special name for the way they hung him up there: The Immortal Shows the Way. One hand was strung up by a rope so that it pointed forward. The other hand was fastened to his waist by another rope that was also holding him aloft, and his legs were both held up by a third rope behind him. The three ropes had him suspended from a beam with his back on top and his belly pointing down.

As Sanzang endured the agony and held back his tears he thought with bitter regret, “How evil my destiny is. I thought I was coming to beg for a vegetarian meal from good people. I never imagined I'd be falling into the fiery pit. Disciples! Rescue me as soon as you can if I am ever to see you again. If you don't get here within four hours I shall be dead.”

Despite his misery Sanzang kept a careful eye on the women. When they had him tied up securely and hanging there they started to remove their clothes. This alarmed the venerable elder, who thought, “They must be taking their clothes off because they are going to beat me. Perhaps they are going to eat me too.” The women only unbuttoned their gauze blouses, exposing their stomachs. Then each of them produced a silken rope about as thick as a duck egg from her navel. These they made move like bursting jade or flying silver as they fastened the gates of the farm.

We leave them and go back to Monkey, Pig and Friar Sand, who were all still waiting by the main road. While the other two were pasturing the horse and looking after the baggage Monkey was amusing himself by leaping from tree to tree and climbing around the branches as he picked leaves and looked for fruit. Suddenly he turned round and saw a sheet of light.

This so alarmed him that he jumped out of the tree with a shout of, “This is terrible! Terrible! The master's luck is out.” He pointed as he continued, “Look at the farm. What do you think?” When Pig and Friar Sand both looked they saw a sheet of something like snow but brighter and like silver but shinier.

“That's done it,” said Pig, “that's done it. The master's run into evil spirits. We'd better go and rescue him straight away.”

“Stop yelling, brother,” said Monkey. “Neither of you can see just what's there. Wait while I go and take a look.”

“Do be careful, brother,” said Friar Sand.

“I can cope,” Monkey replied.

The splendid Great Sage tightened his tigerskin kilt, pulled out his gold-banded cudgel and took a few strides forward to see that the silken ropes had formed something like a web with thousands of strands. When he felt it with his hands it was somewhat soft and sticky. Not knowing what it was, Monkey raised his cudgel and said, “Never mind thousands of strands. This cudgel could break through tens of thousands of them.”

He was just about to strike when he stopped to think, “If they were hard I could certainly smash them, but then soft ones would only be knocked flat, and if I alarm the demons and get caught myself that would be a disaster. I'd better make some enquiries before I do any hitting.”

Who do you think he asked? He made a spell with his hands, said the words of it and sent for an old local god, who ran round and round in his shrine just as if turning a mill. “Old man,” his wife asked, “what are you rushing round and round for? You must be having a fit.”

“You don't understand,” the local god replied. “There's a Great Sage Equaling Heaven here. I didn't go to meet him. But he's sending for me.”

“Go and see him then,” his wife replied, “and that'll be that. Why charge round and round in here?”

“But if I go and see him that cudgel of his hits very hard,” the local deity said. “He doesn't care what you're like-he just hits you.”

“He won't possibly hit you when he sees how old you are,” his wife replied.

“He's been cadging free drinks all his life,” the local god said, “and he really loves hitting old people.”

After talking for a while with his wife the local god had no choice but to go outside and kneel shivering and shaking by the roadside, calling out, “Great Sage, the local deity kowtows to you.”

“Get up,” Brother Monkey replied, “and stop pretending to be so keen. I'm not going to hit you. I'm just passing through. Tell me where this is.”

“Which way have you come, Great Sage?” the local deity asked.

“I've come from the East and I'm heading West,” said Monkey.

“Which mountain have you reached on your journey from the East?” the local deity asked.

“That ridge there,” Monkey replied. “Our baggage and the horse are there, aren't they?”

“That is Gossamer Ridge,” the local deity replied. “Under the ridge there's a cave called Gossamer Cave where seven evil spirits live.”

“Male or female ones?” Monkey asked.

“She-devils,” the local deity replied.

“How powerful is their magic?” Monkey asked.

“I'm much too weak and insignificant to know that,” the local god replied. “All I can tell you is that a mile due South of here there is a natural hot spring called the Filth-cleansing Spring,” the local god said, “where the Seven Fairies from on high used to bathe. When the seven evil spirits settled here and took over the Filth-cleansing Spring the good spirits didn't try to fight them for it. They let the spirits have it for nothing. I reckon that if even good spirits from Heaven don't dare offend them the evil spirits must have tremendous powers.”