陷虎穴 The Fall into the Tiger's Den
及雞方鳴，隨喚從者，卻又驚動寺僧，整治茶湯齋供。齋罷，出離邊界。這長老心忙，太起早了。原來此時秋深時節，雞鳴得早，只好有四更天氣。一行三人，連馬四口，迎著清霜，看著明月，行有數十里遠近，見一山嶺，只得撥草尋路，說不盡崎嶇難走，又恐怕錯了路徑。正疑思之間，忽然失足，三人連馬都跌落坑坎之中。三藏心慌，從者膽戰。卻才悚懼，又聞得裡面哮吼高呼，叫：「拿將來！拿將來！」只見狂風滾滾，擁出五六十個妖邪，將三藏、從者揪了上去。這法師戰戰兢兢的偷眼觀看，上面坐的那魔王十分兇惡。真個是：及鸡方鸣，随唤从者，却又惊动寺僧，整治茶汤斋供。斋罢，出离边界。这长老心忙，太起早了。原来此时秋深时节，鸡鸣得早，只好有四更天气。一行三人，连马四口，迎着清霜，看着明月，行有数十里远近，见一山岭，只得拨草寻路，说不尽崎岖难走，又恐怕错了路径。正疑思之间，忽然失足，三人连马都跌落坑坎之中。三藏心慌，从者胆战。却才悚惧，又闻得里面哮吼高呼，叫：「拿将来！拿将来！」只见狂风滚滚，拥出五六十个妖邪，将三藏、从者揪了上去。这法师战战兢兢的偷眼观看，上面坐的那魔王十分凶恶。真个是：
逐句解 Line by line
As soon as the cock had crowed he roused his attendants; but he startled the temple's monks as well, who set about preparing tea and the vegetarian fare. When the meal was done they left the border behind. This elder's heart was in haste, and he had set out far too early. It happened that the season was deep autumn, when the cocks crow early, and it was only about the fourth watch. The party of three, with the horse a fourth, went on facing the clear frost and watching the bright moon; they had gone some tens of lǐ when they came upon a mountain range, and had no choice but to part the grass and search out a path. The ruggedness of the going was more than words can tell, and they feared, besides, that they had missed the way. In the very midst of their misgiving they suddenly lost their footing, and all three, horse and all, tumbled into a pit. Sanzang's heart quailed, and his attendants trembled with fear. Scarcely had they recovered from their fright when they heard, from within, a roaring and a loud shouting: "Seize them! Bring them here!" Then a fierce wind came rolling out, and fifty or sixty fiends surged forth and hauled Sanzang and his attendants up. The trembling Master stole a glance, and saw that the Monster King seated above was ferocious beyond measure. This was the very sight of him:
Here is the price of that order to start before daybreak. 四更 (sì gēng) is the fourth of the five night-watches, roughly one to three in the morning — so when the text says the cock crowed early and it was "only about the fourth watch," it is telling you the party set out in the middle of the night by mistake. The previous passage closed with Xuanzang charging his attendants to be ready before light; he has now obeyed his own instruction far too well. 里 (lǐ) is left untranslated. In 拿將來 ("bring them here!") the 將 (jiāng) is not the verb "to take" but a small grammatical word pushing the action along, the way English "come on over" uses "on" for nothing but momentum.
In martial might his frame is awesome; in savage temper his mien is grand.
The rhapsody now paints the Monster King, who will turn out two scenes later to be 寅將軍, General Yin. Watch what it does: it will describe him for six full couplets without once using the word "tiger."
His lightning eyes flash a darting brilliance; his thunder-voice shakes all four quarters.
Eyes like lightning, voice like thunder — stock equipment for a terrifying supernatural being, then and now. The verse is still keeping up the pretence that this is a king.
Saw-like teeth thrust out past his lips; chisel-fangs show beside his jaws.
And the mask slips. 鋸牙 (jù yá), "saw-teeth," and 鑿齒 (záo chǐ), "chisel-fangs" — both named for carpentry tools, both unmistakably an animal's mouth in a face that is supposed to belong to a lord.
Brocade wraps about his body; patterned stripes enfold his spine.
The giveaway continues. 錦繡 is brocade, which a king might wear — but 文斑 (wén bān), "patterned stripes," running down the spine, is not clothing. The poem is describing a pelt and calling it a wardrobe.
Steel whiskers, with scarce a glimpse of flesh; hooked claws as keen as frost.
鉤爪 (gōu zhǎo), "hooked claws," compared to frost — for the cold of them and for the cutting edge.
The Yellow Duke of the Eastern Sea would quail before him — the white-browed king of the Southern Mountains.
The riddle is closed with two names. 東海黃公 (Dōnghǎi Huáng Gōng), the "Yellow Duke of the Eastern Sea," is a figure from old lore who could charm tigers with spells until his powers failed him and one ate him — a cautionary tale about overconfidence around big cats. 白額 (bái é), the "white brow," and 南山, the Southern Mountains, are both stock epithets for a great tiger. Six couplets of not saying it, and now everyone knows.
The chapter's first disaster is caused by a man being conscientious. Told to leave before dawn, Xuanzang leaves at one in the morning, and walks his party straight into tiger country in the dark. The novel does not editorialise; it just notes that the cocks crow early in late autumn and that the elder's heart was in haste.
The prose is fast and physical — frost, moonlight, grass parted by hand, the sudden drop — and then it stops dead for a formal portrait of the Monster King. This is one of the book's signature moves: a monster arrives, and the narration hands over to verse.
The portrait is built as a riddle. Six couplets heap up saw-teeth, chisel-fangs, striped hide, hooked claws, and never once say the word. Only at the end, with the white-browed king of the Southern Mountains and the luckless Yellow Duke, does it let you name what you have been looking at. The pleasure is the reader's recognition, and the technique recurs every time the pilgrims meet something new.