徒眾問誓 The Disciples' Question
玄奘亦回洪福寺裡。那本寺多僧與幾個徒弟，早聞取經之事，都來相見，因問：「發誓願上西天，實否？」玄奘道：「是實。」他徒弟道：「師父啊，嘗聞人言，西天路遠，更多虎豹妖魔。只怕有去無回，難保身命。」玄奘道：「我已發了洪誓大願，不取真經，永墮沉淪地獄。大抵是受王恩寵，不得不盡忠以報國耳。我此去真是渺渺茫茫，吉凶難定。」又道：「徒弟們，我去之後，或三二年，或五七年，但看那山門裡松枝頭向東，我即回來；不然，斷不回矣。」眾徒將此言切切而記。玄奘亦回洪福寺里。那本寺多僧与几个徒弟，早闻取经之事，都来相见，因问：「发誓愿上西天，实否？」玄奘道：「是实。」他徒弟道：「师父啊，尝闻人言，西天路远，更多虎豹妖魔。只怕有去无回，难保身命。」玄奘道：「我已发了洪誓大愿，不取真经，永堕沉沦地狱。大抵是受王恩宠，不得不尽忠以报国耳。我此去真是渺渺茫茫，吉凶难定。」又道：「徒弟们，我去之后，或三二年，或五七年，但看那山门里松枝头向东，我即回来；不然，断不回矣。」众徒将此言切切而记。
逐句解 Line by line
Xuanzang, too, returned to the Hongfu Temple. The many monks of that temple and several of his disciples, having already heard of the scripture-seeking, all came to see him, and asked: 'Is it true that you have sworn a vow to go up to the Western Heaven?'
那 is the pointing nà; 都 in 都來, all came, is dōu; 相 in 相見, to see him, is xiāng.
Xuanzang said: 'It is true.' His disciples said: 'Master — we have often heard it said that the road to the Western Heaven is long, and full besides of tigers and leopards, of demons and monsters. We fear only that you will go and not return, and that your life cannot be preserved.'
更 in 更多, more still, is gèng; 難 in 難保, hard to preserve, is nán — not the nàn of calamity that ran through the earlier passages, though calamity is exactly what they are talking about. 有去無回, a going with no coming back, is still current.
Xuanzang said: 'I have already sworn a great and solemn vow: that if I do not fetch the true scriptures, I shall fall forever into the hell of perdition.'
He repeats to his own disciples, word for word, the vow he swore before the emperor and the Buddha. It does not soften in the retelling.
'In the main, having received the king's grace and favor, I cannot but exhaust my loyalty to repay the state. This journey of mine is truly vast and uncertain, and whether it ends in fortune or in ill is hard to say.'
得 in 不得不, cannot but, is dé. Watch which vocabulary he reaches for when explaining himself to fellow monks: 盡忠報國, exhaust one's loyalty and repay the state, is Confucian to the bone. The pilgrimage is being justified to Buddhists in the language of the court.
And he said: 'My disciples, after I have gone — it may be two or three years, it may be five or seven — only watch the pine-branch within the temple gate: when its tips turn to the east, I shall be coming back; if not, then I shall surely not return.'
那 is the pointing nà; 向 in 向東, turning east, is xiàng. A pine bough turning eastward is a folk sign that a traveller is coming home, and it is the one homely thing in a chapter of golden robes and heavenly light. He has just sworn to accept hell rather than fail, and now he tells them to keep an eye on a tree.
The disciples earnestly took his words to heart.
將 in 將此言 is the disposal jiāng. The doubled 切切 is earnestly, urgently — they will watch that branch.
Back at his own temple, Xuanzang meets the natural fear of those who love him: the road is long and beset with monsters, and they doubt he will return alive. His answer joins the two moral vocabularies the chapter has braided throughout — he cannot but exhaust his loyalty to repay the state, the language of the Confucian minister, in service of a Buddhist vow sworn on pain of eternal hell.
And to the abstract terror of the journey he adds one concrete, human token: the pine-branch by the gate, whose eastward turning will signal his return. It is a small domestic detail of great tenderness, grounding a cosmic undertaking in the ordinary hope of those left behind, and it will indeed be watched, years hence, for the sign of his coming home.