Chapter 1
The host of monkeys ushered the Handsome Monkey King to the seat of honour and sat down below him according to age. Each of them took it in turns to bring him wine, flowers, and fruit, and they drank hard for a whole day. The next morning the Handsome Monkey King got up early and ordered, "Children, tear down some old pines and make me a raft. Find a bamboo pole to punt with and load it up with fruit. I'm going." He went aboard the raft all by himself, pushed off with all his might, and floated off towards the waves of the ocean. He intended to sail with the wind and cross over to the Southern Jambu Continent.
The heaven−born monkey, whose conduct was so noble,
Left his island to drift with heaven's winds.
He sailed oceans and seas to find the Way of Immortality,
Deeply determined to do a great deed.
The predestined one should not have vulgar longings;
He can attain the primal truth without care or worry.
He is bound to find a kindred spirit,
To explain the origins and the laws of nature.
He had chosen just the right time for his journey. After he boarded his raft the Southeasterly wind blew hard for days on end and bore him to the Northwestern shore of the Southern Continent. Testing the depth of the water with his pole he found that it was shallow, so he abandoned the raft and jumped ashore. He saw humans by the coast, fishing, hunting geese, gathering clams, and extracting salt. He went up to them, leaping around and making faces, which so scared them that they dropped their baskets and nets and fled in all directions as fast as they could. The Monkey King grabbed one of them who was a poor runner, stripped him of his clothes, and dressed himself in them like a human. He swaggered through the provinces and prefectures, learning human behavior and human speech in the market places. Whether he was eating his breakfast or going to bed at nigh he was always asking about Buddhas, Immortals and Sages, and seeking the secret of eternal youth. He observed that the people of the world were too concerned with fame and fortune to be interested in their fates.
When will the struggle for fame and fortune end?
Toiling from morning till night, never pleasing yourself.
Those who ride donkeys long for stallions,
The Prime Minister always wants to be a prince.
They only worry about having to stop work to eat or dress;
They never fear that the King of Hell will come to get them.
When trying to ensure their sons and grandsons inherit their wealth and power, They have no time to stop and think.
Although he asked about the way of the Immortals, the Monkey King was unable to meet one. He spent eight or nine years in the Southern Jambu Continent, going through its great walls and visiting its little counties. When he found that he had reached the Great Western Ocean he thought that there must be Sages and Immortals on the other side of it, so he made himself another raft like the last one, and floated across the Western Ocean until he came to the Western Continent of Cattle−gift. He went ashore and made extensive and lengthy enquiries until one day he came upon a high and beautiful mountain, thickly forested on its lower slopes. Not fearing wolves, and undaunted by tigers or leopards, he climbed to the summit to see the view. It was indeed a fine mountain:
A thousand peaks brandishing halberds,
Screens ten thousand measures tall.
In the sunlight the mountain haze is lightly touched with blue;
After the rain the black rocks look coldly green.
Withered creepers coil round ancient trees,
And the old ford marks the bounds of the mysterious.
Strange flowers and precious plants,
Flourishing in all four seasons, rivaling fairyland.
The nearby cry of a hidden bird,
The clear running of a spring.
Valley upon valley of mushroom and orchid,
Lichen grows all over the cliffs.
The range rises and dips in dragon−like majesty.
Surely there mush be lofty hermits here.
As he was looking at the view the Monkey King heard a human voice coming from the depths of the forest. He rushed into the trees, and when he cocked his ear to listen he heard a song:
"Watching the chess game I cut through the rotten,
Felling trees, ding, ding,
Strolling at the edge of the cloud and the mouth of the valley,
I sell firewood to buy wine,
Cackling with laughter and perfectly happy.
I pillow myself on a pine root, looking up at the moon.
When I wake up it is light.
Recognizing the old forest
I scale cliffs and cross ridges,
Cutting down withered creepers with my axe.
When I've gathered a basketful
I walk down to the market with a song,
And trade it for three pints of rice.
Nobody else competes with me,
So prices are stable.
I don't speculate or try sharp practice,
Couldn't care less what people think of me,
Calmly lengthening my days.
The people I meet
Are Taoists and Immortals,
Sitting quietly and expounding the Yellow Court."
The Monkey King was overjoyed to hear this, and he said with glee, "So this is where the Immortals have been hiding." He bounded deeper into the woods for a closer look and saw that the singer was a woodcutter cutting firewood. He was wearing the most unusual clothes:
On his head he wore a hat
Woven from the first skin shed by new bamboo shoots.
The clothes on his body
Were made of yam from the wild cotton−tree.
The belt round his waist
Was of silk from an old silkworm.
The straw sandals under his feet
Had straps torn from rotten sago trees.
In his hand he held a steel axe
On his back he carried a hempen rope At climbing pines and felling dead trees,
Who was a match for this woodcutter?
The Monkey King went closer and called to him. "Old Immortal, your disciple greets you."
The woodcutter dropped his axe in astonishment and turned round to say, "No, no. I don't even have enough to eat or drink, so how can I possibly let you call me an Immortal?"
"If you're not an Immortal," the Monkey King said, "why do you talk like one?"
"I don't talk like an Immortal," the woodcutter said.
"At the edge of the wood just now," the Monkey King replied, "I heard you say, 'The people I meet are Taoists and Immortals, sitting quietly and expounding the Mantingfang.' The Mantingfang contains the truth about the Way, so if you're not an Immortal, what are you?" The woodcutter laughed.
"It's quite true that the song is called 'The Fragrance of the Mantingfang,' and an Immortal who lives near my hut taught me it. He said he saw how hard I had to work and how I was always worried, so he made me sing this song when things were getting me down. It lightens my cares and makes me forget my weariness. I was singing it just now because I had some problems on my mind, and I never imagined that you would be listening."
"If you've got an Immortal for a neighbour, you ought to learn from him how to cultivate your conduct and get him to teach you a recipe for eternal youth."
To be continue......(16)