Zhu Bajie at Gao Village

The old man stood right in front of his gate, one hand on his walking stick, the other raised to count.

First, his son-in-law ate three to five pecks of rice at every meal.

Second, the morning meal was not a proper meal, only a bite to start the day, and still it took more than 100 baked flatbreads.

Third, all of that was only vegetarian rice and flatbreads.

The two strangers listened. They had not yet asked a single question.

The old man lowered his voice, as if coming to the worst part. And that was the lucky part. If he ate meat and drank wine too, the family's fields and gardens would be gone within half a year.

Then he sighed and spoiled his whole complaint. To be fair, the young man was a fine worker. He plowed without a buffalo. He cut rice without a sickle.

The village was Gao Village. The old man's family name was Gao, so people around there called him Old Master Gao. One stranger was a monk traveling west to bring back the Buddhist scriptures. The other was his disciple, small and hairy, with golden eyes and an iron staff in his belt. It was Sun Wukong, the Monkey King.

The tale comes from Journey to the West, a Chinese novel several hundred years old, traditionally said to be by Wu Cheng'en.

The old man had three daughters. The two older ones had long since married men of the village. Only the youngest, Cuilan, remained, and he meant to find a husband who would live in the family house. Three years earlier, a young man had come asking to marry in. At first he was very hardworking and did every job.

Then one day his face changed. His mouth stretched into a long snout, his ears grew big, and a stiff mane sprouted on the back of his neck. He could call up wind and summon clouds, make stones fly and sand whirl, and neither the family nor the neighbors had any peace. Then he locked Cuilan in the back of the house. For half a year, no one had seen her.

The old man went on, his voice no longer comic. I have invited three or four masters already. Each one chanted, and each one went home. Now I only ask that this be ended for good.

A servant named Gao Cai still stood there, holding the few taels of silver his master had given him to find someone to catch the monster. Now he did not need to go. Wukong said just one thing. Sir, take your youngest daughter to the front of the house and sit and talk with her. Leave me in the back room.

The door closed. In the dark, Wukong gave himself a shake, and on the bed sat a young woman, with the right figure, the right face, even the right way of brushing back her hair.

Night fell. Wind rose in the garden. The door opened.

The son-in-law came in. Seeing his wife sitting silent, he fussed over her, asking what was wrong today.

The wife only sighed. My parents complained all day. They said that after three years of marriage this family still does not know where my husband comes from or what he is called, and that it shames the house.

The son-in-law hurried to comfort her. Oh, if that is all. My home is on Fuling Mountain, in Yunzhan Cave. I took my family name from my own face, so my family name is Zhu, the Chinese word for pig. My name is Zhu Ganglie.

Then he talked on, more eager with every word. Since I came to this house, I have swept the yard. I have dug the ditches. I have plowed, harrowed and planted the rice seedlings. No family in this village has a son-in-law like me.

In the dark, the wife nodded along and added a few words of praise to keep him talking.

Then she raised a hand and rubbed her face once.

There was no young woman on the bed anymore. There was only a golden-eyed stone monkey, grinning.

The son-in-law panicked. He turned into a gust of wind and fled to his own mountain, and Wukong chased him on a cloud. Only there did the son-in-law take up his nine-toothed rake, and the two fought on the mountainside in the dark until nearly dawn. At last he turned into wind again and fled back to his cave, where he shut the door tight. Wukong found it and smashed the cave door to pieces.

The son-in-law crawled out, furious, asking what quarrel lay between them. Wukong answered briefly. I am the disciple of a monk from the east, traveling west to bring back the scriptures.

And here came the part nobody expected. The rake fell from his hand. He stood up straight, bowed low and long, and spoke in a completely different voice. He asked where the pilgrim who sought the scriptures was, and begged to be taken to meet him.

It turned out that, some time earlier, he had met Guanyin, the bodhisattva of compassion. Passing that way, she had touched his head and given him the Buddhist precepts and a religious name. She told him to wait for the pilgrim, follow him west, and make up for old wrongs with good deeds.

He really had waited, for years, with no word of the pilgrim. But while waiting, he married into a family and ate three to five pecks of rice a meal.

Hearing all this, Wukong answered in three short words. Then let's go.

The son-in-law went back into the cave, carried out armfuls of reeds and thorny brush, and set fire to his own home. He burned it until the cave was as black as a broken brick kiln. Only then would he come.

Back in the yard of the Gao family, he knelt before the monk and touched his head to the ground. The monk, Tang Sanzang, asked his name. He answered that Guanyin had named him Zhu Wuneng. Since receiving the precepts, he had given up the five pungent foods and the three kinds of forbidden meat.

The monk was delighted. Then I will give you one more name. From now on you are Bajie.

Ba means eight. Jie means precept, a rule to keep. In Buddhism, the eight precepts are no killing, no stealing, no wrongful conduct, no lying, and no drinking wine. Then come no adornments and no watching dancing and singing, no sleeping on high, wide beds, and no eating after the set hour. The monk added that for a monk, the rule against wine was the most important of all.

Old Master Gao brought out a red lacquer tray as thanks, holding 200 taels of gold and silver pieces and some lengths of cloth. Tang Sanzang pressed his palms together and refused. My disciples and I travel on foot, begging our rice from village to village. We dare not take gold or silver. At most we would take a few leftover cakes and fruit as dry food.

While everyone was still refusing the money, the former son-in-law went up to his father-in-law. This time, he was the one counting on his fingers.

First, I have been son-in-law in this house for several years. That must be worth at least three piculs of rice for the road.

Second, my senior brother tore my robe last night. Father, please give me a monk's robe of blue brocade.

Third, my shoes have burst. Father, please give me a decent new pair.

The day before, the old man had been paying silver to have him driven out. Now he quietly bought a new pair of shoes at once and brought out a robe for him to change into. The young man took them, then looked back and said with a straight face that if the scripture journey failed, he would come back and be a son-in-law again.

The luggage was tied into one load on a carrying pole, and he carried it. The monk mounted his horse, and Wukong walked ahead to lead the way. The whole village had feared him for so long. Yet when he left, no one punished him. He was only given a new name, a load to carry, and a task to do until the end of the road.

In Vietnam, when a child is scolded for being greedy or clumsy, someone always brings up Trư Bát Giới, called Pigsy in English. It is the Vietnamese name for Zhu Bajie. Few people notice that the name used for teasing stands for eight promises.

The old storytellers never said how far those shoes went. All we know is that from that day on, on the dusty road west, there was one more load of luggage, one more name made of eight precepts, and one pair of shoes still brand new.