Seeing that none of them was willing to turn back Monkey decided to use his powers. He pulled out thirty or forty of his hairs, blew on them with magic breath, shouted, “Change!” and turned them into ferocious striped tigers that leapt roaring about on the path ahead. Only then were the monks scared into going back. The Great Sage then led the master as he whipped his horse forward and they were soon far away.

At this the monks began to weep aloud, shouting, “Kind and honorable sirs, fate must be against us since you won't take us with you.”

Let us tell not of the wailing monks but of how the master and his three disciples headed along the main path West for a while before Monkey took his hairs back. Once again the seasons were changing, and it was now the end of winter and the beginning of spring, neither hot nor cold. As they were making their way along without a care they saw a long ridge in front of them over which the road led. Sanzang reined in his horse to look. He saw that the ridge was overgrown with brambles and creepers. Although the line of the path could be made out there were brambles and thorns all over it. “How are we going to manage that path, disciples?” he asked.

“No problem,” Monkey replied.

“But, disciple, the path is covered with thorns. We could only manage it by crawling on our bellies like snakes or insects. Your backs will be bent with walking, and I'll never be able to ride the horse.”

“There's nothing to worry about, Master,” Pig replied. “I'll clear the thorns away with my rake. It'll be just like gathering up kindling for the fire. Never mind about riding your horse-I promise we could even get up there in a carrying-chair.”

“You are very strong,” the Tang Priest replied, “but it is a long way and it will be hard. I don't know where you'll find the energy to do that distance: goodness only knows how far it is.”

“There's no need to guess,” said Monkey. “I'll go and have a look.” When he jumped up into the air he saw it stretching away endlessly. Indeed:

Vast was its size;

It was covered in mist and rain.

Soft was the carpet of grass on the path;

The mountain was covered in brilliant green.

New leaves were sprouting in dense abundance,

Fragrant creepers climbed all around.

When seen from afar no end was in sight;

From close to it seemed a mass of verdant cloud,

Luxuriant, mysterious and green.

The winds soughed everywhere

As the ridge shone bright in the sunshine.

There was pine and cypress and bamboo,

Many a plum and willow, and mulberry too.

Climbing figs coiled round ancient trees,

While creepers entwined the weeping poplars,

All twisted together like a frame,

Woven together in a bed.

Here the flowers made living brocade;

Far spread the scent of boundless blossom.

Everyone's life has brambles and thorns.

But none are as tall as those in the West.

Having looked for a long time, Monkey brought his cloud down and said, “Master, it's a very long way.”

“How far?” Sanzang asked.

“I can't see any end to it,” Monkey replied. “There must be at least three hundred miles of it.”

“That's terrible,” said Sanzang.

“Don't be miserable, Master,” said Friar Sand with a laugh. “We know how to burn undergrowth. Set fire to it with a torch and all the thorns will be burned away. Then we'll be able to cross.”

“Don't talk nonsense,” Pig replied. “You can only clear the ground that way in November or later when the grass has withered and there are dead trees. The fire won't take otherwise. It'd never burn now, when everything's growing.”

“Even if it did burn it would be terrifying,” said Monkey.

“Then how are we to get across?” Sanzang asked.

“You'll just have to depend on me,” said Pig with a grin.

The splendid idiot made a spell with his hands and said the words of it, leaned forward, and said, “Grow!” He grew two hundred feet tall, then waved the rake and shouted. “Change!” It became three hundred feet long. Then he strode forward and wielded the rake two-handed to clear the undergrowth from both sides of the path. “Come with me, Master,” he said. Sanzang was delighted to whip the horse along and follow close behind while Friar Sand carried the luggage and Monkey used his cudgel to help clear the way. They did not let their hands rest for a moment all day long, and they had covered over thirty miles when near nightfall they came to an empty stretch of ground where a stone tablet stood in the middle of the path.

On the tablet the words THORN RIDGE were written large, and under them two lines of smaller writing read, “Two hundred and fifty miles of rampant thorns; few travelers have ever taken this road.”

When Pig saw this he said with a laugh, “Let me add a couple more lines to that: 'Pig has always been good at removing thorns; he's cleared the roads right to the West.'“ Sanzang then dismounted in a very good mood.

“Disciples,” he said, “I've put you to a lot of trouble. Let's stop here for the night and carry on at first light tomorrow.”

“Don't stop now, Master,” said Pig with a smile. “It's a clear sky and we're in the mood. It's all right if we carry on all bloody night.” The venerable elder had to accept his suggestion.

While Pig was working so hard in the lead all four of them pressed ahead without stopping for the night and another day until it was evening once more. In front-of them the trees and undergrowth were densely tangled and the wind could be heard rustling in the bamboos and soughing in the pines. Luckily they came to another patch of empty land where there stood an old temple outside whose gates pine and cypress formed a solid green shade, while peach and plum trees rivaled each other in beauty. Sanzang then dismounted and went with his three disciples to examine it. This is what they saw:

Before the cliff an ancient shrine stood by a cold stream;

Desolation hung all around the hill.

White cranes in the thickets made the moon seem brighter;

The green moss on the steps had been there for years.

The rustle of green bamboo seemed like human speech;

The remaining calls of the birds seemed expressions of grief.

Dogs and hens never came, and few human souls;

Wild flowers and plants grew all over the wall.

“This place strikes me as very sinister,” said Monkey. “Let's not stay here long.”

“You're being overcautious, brother,” remarked Friar Sand. “As this is deserted and I don't think there are any monsters, wild beasts or fiends, there's nothing to be afraid of.” No sooner were the words out of his mouth than there was a gust of sinister wind and an old man emerged from the temple gateway. He wore a turban, a pale-coloured gown and grass sandals, and he held a crooked stick. He was accompanied by a devil servant with a blue face, terrible fangs, red whiskers and a red body who was carrying on his head a tray of cakes.

“Great Sage,” said the old man as they both knelt down, “I am the local god of Thorn Ridge. As I knew you were coming but had nothing better to offer you I have prepared this tray of steamed cakes for your master. Do all have some. As there are no other houses for hundreds of miles I hope you will accept a few to stave off the pangs of hunger.”

This was just what Pig wanted to hear: he went up and was just stretching out his hands to take a cake when Monkey, who had been taking a long, hard look at all this, shouted, “Stop! He's evil! Behave yourself!” He was now addressing the local god.

“You're no local god, trying to fool me like that. Take this!”

Seeing the ferocity of his attack, the local god turned round and transformed himself into a howling gust of negative wind that carried the venerable elder flying off through the air. Nobody knew where he had been taken. The Great Sage was desperate because he did not know where to look for the master, while Pig and Friar Sand stared at each other, pale with shock. Even the white horse was whinnying with fright. The three brother disciples and the horse were in utter confusion. They looked all around as far as they could see but without finding him.