With that they carried the luggage and led the horse in, entered the main room, made a respectful call of greeting, and sat down. The good and able wife took the child out and gave orders for rice to be cooked and a vegetarian meal prepared. When master and disciples had eaten it the night was drawing in, so a lamp was fetched and they sat talking in the main room. Only then did Sanzang ask his host's surname.
“Yang,” the old man replied, and on being asked his age said he was seventy-three.
“How many sons do you have?” Sanzang asked.
“Only one,” the old man replied. “It was my grandson that my wife brought in just now.”
“Won't you ask your son in? I would like to greet him,” said Sanzang.
“He's not worth your courtesy, the wretch,” the old man replied. “I was fated to raise a worthless son, and he isn't at home now.”
“Where does he make his living?” Sanzang asked.
The old man nodded and sighed as he replied, “It's sad story. I would be very happy if he were willing to make an honest living, but his mind is set on evil and he won't work at farming. All he wants to do is to rob houses, hold up travelers, burn and kill. His cronies are all worse than foxes and dogs. He went away five days ago and he hasn't come back.”
Sanzang did not dare to breathe a word when he heard this, but he thought, “Perhaps he was one of the ones Wukong killed.” Feeling very uneasy, he bowed as he sat there. “Oh dear,” he said, “oh dear. How could such good parents have so wicked a son?”
Monkey went up to the old man and said, “What do you want a rotten son like that for? He's a murderer and a rapist, and he'll get both of you into trouble too. Let me find him and kill him for you.”
“I wish I could be rid of him,” said the old man, “but if I did I have no other son. Evil though he is I'll need him to bury me.”
“Stop meddling in things that are none of your business, brother,” said Friar Sand and Pig. “We're not the government. What's it to us if his son's a bad lot? Benefactor, could you give us a bundle of straw to spread out and sleep on over there? We'll be on our way tomorrow morning.” The old man rose to his feet and sent Friar Sand to take two bundles of rice straw to the yard at the back, where they were to spend the night in a thatched shed. Monkey led the horse and Pig carried the luggage as they took their master to the shed and slept the night there, where we shall leave them.
Now old Mr. Yang's son was indeed one of the bandits who had fled for their lives after Monkey killed their two chiefs on the mountainside the previous morning. Late that night, in the small hours, a group of them gathered together again and knocked at the front gate. Hearing the noise the old man pulled some clothes over his shoulders and said, “Wife, those damned bandits are here.”
“Then open the gate and let them in,” she replied. Only then did he open up, and what he saw was a crowd of bandits shouting, “We're starving, we're staving.” Old Mr. Yang's son rushed in, and made his wife get up to cook some rice. As there was no firewood in the kitchen he went into the yard to fetch some.
Back in the kitchen he asked his wife, “Where did the white horse in the yard come from?”
“There are some monks from the East who are going to get scriptures,” she replied. “They asked to stay here last night. Your parents treated them to supper and put them up in the thatched shed.”
The news made the bandit clap his hands with glee as he came out of the hall saying, “What a piece of luck, brothers, what a piece of luck. Our enemies are right here in my own home.”
“What enemies?” the others all asked.
:The monks who killed our chiefs came here for the night,” he replied, “and they're asleep in the shed.”
“Lovely,” said the other bandits. “Let's get those bald-headed donkeys. We can chop them all up and pickle them in soy sauce. We'll have their things and their horse and be avenging the chiefs into the bargain.”
“Take it easy,” said Yang the bandit. “You lot go and sharpen your swords while we cook the rice. Let's all have a good feed before we do them in.” Whereupon the bandits sharpened their swords and their spears.
The old man had heard all this, so he crept stealthily round to the back to tell the Tang Priest and his disciples, “That evil son of mine has brought the gang here. They know you're here and they want to murder you. Knowing how far you've come I couldn't bear to see you murdered, so please pack your bags as fast as you can. I'll let you out through the back gate.”
Sanzang, now shivering with fright, kowtowed to the old man in thanks then told Pig to lead the horse while Friar Sand shouldered the carrying pole and Monkey took the nine-ringed monastic staff. The old man opened the back gate to let them out then made his way quietly back to the front to go to bed.
By the time the bandits had sharpened their weapons and eaten a good meal it was the fifth watch and almost dawn. They crowded into the backyard to find their intended victims gone. Quickly lighting lamps and fires they made a long search but could find no traces of them anywhere except that the back gate was open. “They've got away out the back,” they all exclaimed. “After them! Catch them!”
They all rushed along as fast as arrows, and when the sun rose in the East they finally saw Sanzang, who looked back when he heard shouts and saw a crowd of twenty or thirty men armed with spears and swords coming after him.
“Disciples,” he called, “the bandits have caught up with us. Whatever shall we do?”
“Don't worry,” said Monkey. “I'll finish them off.”
“Wukong,” said Sanzang, reining in his horse, “you're not to hurt them. Just scare them off.”
Not a blind bit of notice did Monkey take of this as he swung his cudgel and turned to face them. “Where do you gentlemen think you're going?” he asked.
“Bloody baldies,” they shouted back abusively, ringing Monkey in a circle, “give us back our chiefs.” When they started thrusting and hacking at him with their spears and swords the Great Sage whirled his cudgel once around, made it as thick as a ricebowl, and scattered the lot of them. Those who took the full impact of it were killed outright; glancing blows broke bones, and even a touch left an open wound. A few of the nimbler ones managed a getaway, but the slower ones all had to pay their respects to King Yama in the Underworld.
At the sight of so many people being struck down a panic-stricken Sanzang made his horse gallop West as fast as it could, with Pig and Friar Sand rushing along beside. “Which of you is old Yang's boy?” Monkey asked the wounded bandits who were still alive.
“The one in yellow, my lord,” they groaned.
Monkey went over, took his sword from him, and sliced off his head. Holding the gory head in his hand he put his cudgel away and caught up with the Tang Priest by cloud. “Master,” he said, waving the head in front of the horse, “here's the head of old Yang's wicked son.”
Sanzang, pale with horror, fell out of the saddle. “Evil macaque,” he said, “you will be the death of me, terrifying me like that. Take it away at once.” Pig kicked the head to the side of the path and buried it with his rake.
“Do get up, Master,” said Friar Sand, putting down the carrying pole and supporting the Tang Priest. Pulling himself together as he sat there on the ground the venerable elder started to recite the Band-tightening Spell. Monkey's skull was squeezed so tight that his face and ears turned bright red, his eyes bulged and his head ached. “Stop! Stop!” he pleaded, rolling around in agony, but even when Sanzang had said it a dozen times or more he still carried on.
In his unbearable agony Monkey turned somersaults and stood on his head, screaming, “Forgive me, Master. Say what you have to say. Stop, stop!” Only then did Sanzang stop reciting the spell.