二十七年 The Twenty-Seventh Year
太宗看了，乃貞觀一十三年九月望前三日給。太宗笑道：「久勞遠涉，今已貞觀二十七年矣。」牒文上有寶象國印、烏雞國印、車遲國印、西梁女國印、祭賽國印、朱紫國印、比丘國印、滅法國印，又有鳳仙郡印、玉華州印、金平府印、天竺國印。太宗覽畢，收了。太宗看了，乃贞观一十三年九月望前三日给。太宗笑道：「久劳远涉，今已贞观二十七年矣。」牒文上有宝象国印、乌鸡国印、车迟国印、西梁女国印、祭赛国印、朱紫国印、比丘国印、灭法国印，又有凤仙郡印、玉华州印、金平府印、天竺国印。太宗览毕，收了。
逐句解 Line by line
Taizong looked at it: issued on the third day before the full moon of the ninth month, in the thirteenth year of Zhenguan.
The document's own date, and it is the same day the novel gave in chapter thirteen and again at the top of this one — the third day before the full moon of the ninth month. 給 is the last word and it is the verb issued. It is read jǐ — the supply-and-issue band, which the dictionaries gloss as to make enough, to provide. The gěi of everyday giving is a later development and appears nowhere in this novel: all twenty-seven of its uses are this one. 一十三年 — note the extra character. The narrative writes thirteenth year; the document writes one-ten-three, the formal numeral style you use on a legal instrument so a figure cannot be altered.
Taizong smiled and said, “You have laboured long and travelled far. It is already the twenty-seventh year of Zhenguan.”
Do the arithmetic with him. Thirteen when he left, fourteen rounds of cold and heat, so twenty-seven now. The novel's own numbers are consistent. And the year does not exist. The Zhenguan era is recorded as running twenty-three years, and Taizong died in the last of them. By the book's own calendar the emperor sitting here, smiling, and telling a monk how long he has been away, has been dead four years. The novel says it in passing and does not come back to it. Every reader who knew the dynastic tables in 1592 would have felt the floor tilt.
On the rescript were the seals of the Precious Elephant Kingdom, the Black Rooster Kingdom, Cart Slow, the Women's Kingdom of Western Liang, Jisai, Purpuria, Bhiksu and the Dharma-Destroying Kingdom, and also the seals of Phoenix Immortal District, Jade Flower Prefecture, Golden Peace Prefecture and India.
Twelve seals, and the reader knows every one of them. The Precious Elephant Kingdom is where he was turned into a tiger. Cart Slow is where the monks hauled carts up a pass. Bhiksu is where eleven hundred children sat in cages waiting to have their hearts taken. And look at the shape of the list: eight 國, kingdoms, and then four smaller units — a district, a prefecture, a prefecture, and a country. The administrative rank drops as the road goes on, which is a real fact about the geography and a strange thing for a novel to bother getting right. What is on the page is a stamped travel document. What the reader sees is the whole second half of the book, reduced to a customs record.
Taizong read it through and put it away.
收了 — took it in, filed it. Five characters to close the paperwork on a fourteen-year journey. The rescript is not discussed. It is received, read, and pocketed.
The emperor reads the rescript and finds his own date on it, in the formal numeral style you use on a legal instrument. Then he does the arithmetic out loud: thirteen when you left, so it is the twenty-seventh year now.
That year never happened. The Zhenguan era is recorded as lasting twenty-three years, and Taizong died in the last of them. By the novel's own reckoning the man smiling across the hall has been dead four years — and the book mentions it once, in passing, in a compliment about how long the journey took.
Then the seals, and they are the second half of the book on one sheet. Twelve stamps: the kingdom where he was turned into a tiger, the pass where monks hauled carts, the city where children waited in cages. Every catastrophe the reader lived through is now a mark on a customs document.
And the emperor reads it, and puts it away. Five characters.