亂砍無傷 No Harm from the Blows
那賊聞言，喜的喜，怒的怒，愛的愛，思的思，慾的慾，憂的憂，一齊上前亂嚷道：「這和尚無禮。你的東西全然沒有，轉來和我等要分東西。」他掄槍舞劍，一擁前來，照行者劈頭亂砍，乒乒乓乓，砍有七八十下。悟空停立中間，只當不知。那賊道：「好和尚，真個的頭硬。」行者笑道：「將就看得過罷了。你們也打得手困了，卻該老孫取出個針兒來耍耍。」那賊道：「這和尚是一個行針灸的郎中變的。我們又無病症，說甚麼動針的話？」那贼闻言，喜的喜，怒的怒，爱的爱，思的思，欲的欲，忧的忧，一齐上前乱嚷道：「这和尚无礼。你的东西全然没有，转来和我等要分东西。」他抡枪舞剑，一拥前来，照行者劈头乱砍，乒乒乓乓，砍有七八十下。悟空停立中间，只当不知。那贼道：「好和尚，真个的头硬。」行者笑道：「将就看得过罢了。你们也打得手困了，却该老孙取出个针儿来耍耍。」那贼道：「这和尚是一个行针灸的郎中变的。我们又无病症，说甚么动针的话？」
逐句解 Line by line
Hearing this, the robbers — the glad one glad, the angry one angry, the loving one loving, the longing one longing, the lustful one lustful, the careworn one careworn — rushed forward together, clamouring:
The joke of the names is extended into the fight itself: the glad one is glad, the angry one angry, and so on down the line — 喜的喜，怒的怒. Even charging at him they cannot stop being what they stand for. 那賊 reads 那 as nà.
"This monk has no manners! You have no goods at all, and now you turn round and want a share of ours!"
Their outrage is beautifully misplaced: the cheek of a penniless monk asking for a cut of somebody else's stolen goods. 要分東西 reads 分 as fēn.
They wielded spear and sword and pressed in all together, hacking down at the Pilgrim's head with a clatter and a clang — seventy or eighty blows in all.
Seventy or eighty blows to the head, and the text spells out the noise: 乒乒乓乓, the clang written straight into the characters. 行者 reads 行 as xíng.
Wukong stood planted in their midst, acting as though he felt nothing.
He stands in the middle of it and behaves as though nothing were happening — which, for a body tempered in Laozi's furnace back in the novel's opening arc, is roughly true. 中間 reads 中 as zhōng.
The robbers said, "What a monk! His head really is hard."
The robbers pause to admire the head they cannot dent, and hand him his opening.
The Pilgrim laughed and said, "It will pass well enough. And you have beaten till your hands are tired — now it is old Sun's turn to bring out a little needle for some sport."
'It'll do', he says, and then: you must be tired, so now it is my turn to bring out a little needle and play. The reader knows what the needle is; the robbers do not. 將就, 'make do', reads 將 as jiāng; 看得過 and 打得手困 both take 得 as de.
The robbers said, "This monk must be some acupuncture doctor in disguise.
They take 'needle' at face value and decide he is an acupuncturist in disguise. 行針灸 reads 行 as xíng; 郎中, a doctor, reads 中 as zhōng.
We have no illness — what talk is this of plying needles?"
We are not ill, so what is all this talk of needles? It is the last thing they say before the needle turns into a bar of iron the thickness of a bowl. 說甚麼 reads 甚 as shén.
The fight is played wholly for comedy and for the figure underneath it. Dozens of blows clang off Wukong's skull while he stands there unconcerned, which recalls the indestructible body he came out of Laozi's furnace with in the opening arc, and which reduces six fearsome bandits to a crowd of men hitting a rock.
The running joke of the disguised needle carries the scene: Wukong offers to bring one out for sport, the robbers sneer at the idea of an acupuncturist, and the reader waits for the punchline. On the other level, the senses' assault on a disciplined mind is being shown to be useless — they can clamour and strike as much as they like, and they cannot mark what has been tempered.
The passage sets the chapter's pivot. The comedy is about to turn: in a moment the cudgel appears and all six are dead — at once the triumphant vanishing of the Six Robbers that the title promises and the reckless slaughter that will break the bond between master and disciple.