The Iron Rod

T he Monkey King came home a master. While he had been off learning his seventy-two changes, a bully calling himself the Monster of Chaos had moved in on Flower-Fruit Mountain and pushed his people around — so the first thing the homecoming king did was march up the mountain and cut the brute down, walking back into the Water-Curtain Cave with the monster's great sword over his shoulder and his stolen children at his heels. The monkeys cheered him like a god come down. But cheering doesn't arm a kingdom, and when he looked his troop over he saw what he had to work with — clubs of green bamboo, spears whittled out of pine. Toys. If anyone came for them in earnest, these monkeys would be slaughtered with their own kindling. Now the Handsome Monkey King had returned home in glory. Having killed the Monster of Chaos and seized its great sword, he went back to the Water-Curtain Cave, where the monkeys welcomed him with joy. But when he reviewed his people he was troubled, for they had only bamboo poles and wooden spears for weapons, nothing fit for true war. If an enemy came against them, how could such arms stand?

One of the old monkeys had a tip. Eastward across the water lay a human kingdom, Aolai, with a city, and a city has an armory. The king didn't even need to land. He climbed onto a cloud, faced the wind-quarter of the sky and blew out a long breath, and a gale came howling down on the town that ripped the doors off the arsenal and sent every soldier diving under the bed. Then he plucked a fistful of his own hair, chewed it up, spat it out, and shouted change — and the air filled with a thousand little monkeys, each one of him, who swarmed the racks and carried off every blade, spear, bow, and helmet in the place. Back on the mountain the haul was enough to arm forty-odd thousand monkeys to the teeth. An old monkey told him that to the east lay the kingdom of Aolai, with soldiers and an armory full of weapons. The king pinched his fingers in a spell, faced the wind-quarter, drew a breath and blew it out, and it became a great wind that fell upon the city, so that every soldier hid in terror. Then he pulled out a handful of his hairs, chewed them small, spat them forth, and cried, Change — and they became a thousand little monkeys, who seized the weapons of the armory and bore them all away to the mountain.

Now the mountain bristled. He drilled the troop into an army — better than forty-seven thousand monkeys under arms — handed out the human swords and spears, and named four old apes his generals to keep the ranks in line. Word spread. Wolf-spirits and tiger-demons and the kings of seventy-two caves came up the mountain to bow and call him chief and swear they were his to command. The Monkey King had a kingdom with teeth now. There was only one thing missing, and it was the thing that nagged at him — every monkey on the mountain had a proper weapon, and their king was still swinging a dead demon's borrowed sword. He wanted something that was his. Something nobody had ever lifted but him. So he trained the monkeys into an army, more than forty-seven thousand strong, and gave out the weapons, appointing four veteran monkeys as commanders to marshal the ranks. The demon kings of seventy-two caves all came to do homage and acknowledge him as their lord. Yet the king himself was uneasy, for though his people were armed, he had no weapon truly worthy of his own hand, and the great sword did not suit him.

“He set down his cup, looked at the sea-iron glowing in the dark of the dragons' vault, and said: that one. Let me try that one.”

One of his generals had the answer — your majesty has the cloud-trick now — why not call on the Dragon King of the Eastern Sea and ask to borrow something fit for a king? The Monkey King liked that. He made a water-parting sign, stepped off the shore, and walked straight down through the sea to the dragon palace, where old Aoguang received him with bows and tea and a nervous smile. Weapons, said the king, I've come about weapons. The dragons hauled them out one after another. A nine-pronged fork, three thousand six hundred pounds of it — too light, he said, swinging it like a twig. A halberd, seven thousand two hundred pounds — light, light, he laughed, get me something with some weight. The Dragon King was running out of armory. A commander said, Your Majesty has the art of cloud-travel; the Dragon King of the Eastern Sea is near at hand — why not go and ask him for some weapon to suit your hand? Pleased, the king made a water-dividing charm and went down into the sea to the crystal palace, where the Dragon King Aoguang received him. When he asked for a weapon, the dragons brought out a nine-pronged fork weighing three thousand six hundred catties. Too light, said the king, and not handy. They fetched a halberd of seven thousand two hundred catties. Light, light, light, he said, still not handy — bring me something heavier yet.

The Dragon King was stumped, but his wife leaned in and whispered. There was that thing in the treasure-vault — the old sea-iron, the one that had been glowing and throwing off light these last few days. Maybe the monkey was the one it had been waiting for. They led him down to it, and even at a distance the great black bar was shining. It was the divine iron that fixed the depth of the Heavenly River — the measuring-rod Yu the Great had used to take the soundings of the flood and set the rivers in their courses, parked in the sea-bed ever since. Too big, said the dragons, you'll never carry it. The king laid a hand on it and said, out loud, that it was a touch long and thick — and the iron shrank. He blinked, and said maybe a little shorter still — and it shrank again, until it sat in his two hands the right size exactly, a black rod with a gold band at each end, and writing down the side that read As-You-Will Gold-Banded Cudgel, thirteen thousand five hundred pounds. He had never been so happy in his life. The Dragon King was at a loss, but his queen said, Your Majesty, this sage is no ordinary creature. In our treasury lies the divine iron that fixed the depths of the Heavenly River; these past days it has shone with a strange light and risen with auspicious vapor — perhaps it is meant to meet him. They brought the king to it, and it was glowing of itself. It was the rod Yu the Great used to measure the depth of the rivers and seas. Too heavy to move, said the dragons. But the king touched it and said it was a little too long and thick — and it grew smaller; he said shorter still, and again it shrank, until it fit his hand. Upon it was a line of writing that read, The As-You-Will Gold-Banded Cudgel, weight thirteen thousand five hundred catties. The king rejoiced beyond measure.

With the rod in his fist the king got greedy. A weapon's no good without a suit of armor, he announced — surely the four seas can outfit one monkey. Aoguang protested that he had no armor to spare, but the king sat down, started knocking the rod against the floor, and said he'd just keep trying it out until somebody found him something. So the Dragon King beat the water-drum and summoned his three brothers, the dragon kings of the southern, western, and northern seas, who arrived spoiling for a fight and were talked down fast. Better to give the rude little king his gifts and be rid of him. So one brought a phoenix-plume cap of purple gold, one a coat of golden chainmail, one a pair of cloud-walking shoes. The Monkey King put on the whole rig, twirled the rod once to clear a path through the water, and strode home decked out head to foot — and four dragon kings stood in the wreck of their courtesy and decided they would be writing to heaven about this. Now armed, the king said, A weapon without armor will not do; if you have no armor to give, I will simply stay and try out my rod here. The Dragon King, alarmed, beat the iron drum and summoned his three brothers, the Dragon Kings of the South, West, and North Seas. They came angry, but seeing the rod they grew afraid and chose to placate him. Aoshun of the North Sea offered a pair of cloud-walking shoes; Aorun of the West Sea, a coat of golden chainmail; Aoqin of the South Sea, a cap of purple gold with phoenix plumes. The king put them all on and, brandishing the rod, parted the water and went home. The four Dragon Kings, much aggrieved, resolved to send up a memorial against him.

Back on the mountain he showed off the rod — shrank it to a needle and tucked it behind his ear, grew it back out to bridge the sky — and the whole troop fell over themselves. Then came a feast, the way every good day on Flower-Fruit Mountain ends, and the king drank deep and went to sleep happy. But while his body lay there snoring, two figures came for the part of him that wasn't sleeping. They carried a writ with the name Sun Wukong inked on it, and before he could get a word out they dropped a noose over his soul and hauled it off, the way the dead are hauled, away from the warm cave and down toward the dark place under the world where the accounts are kept. Home again, the king displayed the rod, shrinking it to the size of an embroidery needle to hide behind his ear, then making it vast again, to the wonder of all. They held a feast, and he grew drunk and slept. While he slept, two men appeared bearing a warrant on which were written the three characters Sun Wukong. Coming close, without a word, they cast a rope over the Monkey King's soul and dragged it away — down toward the World of Darkness.

He came to himself outside a city wall, the wine clearing from his head as he went, and read the sign over the gate, Region of Darkness. All at once it dawned on him where he was. The underworld? he said. The two officers said nothing, only steered his soul on by the rope. I've climbed off the wheel of birth and death — what business have you with me? They wouldn't answer; they only tugged the rope and dragged him on, and that was when his temper went off like a struck match. He yanked the needle from behind his ear, snapped it out to full length, and beat both of them to pulp. Then he shook the rope off, hoisted the rod, and walked into the city of the dead swinging. When his soul reached a city wall, he saw above the gate an iron tablet bearing the words, Region of Darkness. The wine cleared, and all at once he understood where he was, and said, This is the dwelling of Yama, the place of the dead — why have I been brought here? I have already passed beyond the Three Realms and the Five Elements; I am no longer under your jurisdiction. The two officers paid no heed and only pulled him on; and at that his temper rose. He drew the rod from his ear, swelled it to thickness, and with one blow ground the two summoners to powder. Then he loosed the rope, shouldered the rod, and stormed into the city.

The ten kings who judge the dead came scrambling out in their robes to see what was wrecking their city, and the monkey backed them down on the spot. Names, he demanded. Bring me the books. Trembling, the clerks fetched the registers of life and death, and he flipped through category after category until, under the heading for soul number thirteen-fifty, he found it — Sun Wukong, stone monkey, born of heaven, allotted three hundred forty-two years, natural death. He called for a brush, licked it, and crossed his own name clean out. Then he turned the page to where the monkeys were listed and struck out every last one of them. Done, he said, slapping the book shut. Done. You don't run me anymore. The ten kings could only bow and smile and assure the honored immortal that there must have been some clerical error, and the moment his soul was out the gate they sat down to write heaven a letter of their own. The Ten Kings of the underworld came out in haste in their robes and, seeing his fury, bowed and asked his name. He demanded the registers of birth and death. The judges brought them, and he searched through the categories until, at number one thousand three hundred fifty under the heading Soul, he found his own name written there — Sun Wukong, a stone monkey born of heaven, allotted three hundred forty-two years, to die a natural death. He took a brush and struck out his own name, then crossed out the names of all monkey-kind, every one that was written there. Throwing down the book, he said, It is settled, settled — now I am no longer under your rule. The Ten Kings dared not oppose him, saying only that surely some summoner had blundered. When his soul had gone, they too prepared a memorial to send up to heaven.

He came awake with a snort, sprawled where he'd fallen asleep at the feast, and his generals were shaking him — your majesty, how much did you drink, you've slept the whole night. A dream, he thought, and then thought again. He told them where he'd been and what he'd done, and the monkeys whooped, because every monkey on the mountain was now struck off the books of the dead and would never grow old. Down in the sea and down in the dark, meanwhile, two memorials were already on their way up. The Dragon Kings wrote that a stone monkey had robbed their palace and shamed them; the underworld's kings wrote that the same monkey had stormed the courts of death and defaced the sacred register. Both letters climbed to the same high desk — the Hall of Miraculous Mist, where the Jade Emperor sat — and were laid before the lord of heaven, who read them, and frowned, and asked his court exactly what manner of creature this monkey was. The king woke with a start, stretched, and found it had been but a dream. His generals and the monkeys were calling, Your Majesty, how much wine did you drink? You have slept all night and not woken. He told them all that had happened in the World of Darkness, and that he had struck their names from the register, so that none of them would ever be subject to death again, and the monkeys rejoiced. Meanwhile, the Dragon King of the Eastern Sea sent up a memorial accusing the monkey of robbing his treasure, and the underworld, through the Bodhisattva Dizang and King Qinguang, sent up another, accusing him of wrecking the courts of the dead. Both came before the Jade Emperor in the Hall of Miraculous Mist, who, having read them, asked his ministers what manner of fiend this was.

龍宮 The original Chinese · honored as an artifact

四海千山皆拱伏，九幽十類盡除名。

Opening lines, classical Chinese · Journey to the West 西遊記 · Wu Cheng'en (attrib.)