行者辭去 Old Sun Is Off
原來這猴子一生受不得人氣。他見三藏只管緒緒叨叨,按不住心頭火發道:「你既是這等,說我做不得和尚,上不得西天,不必恁般絮聒惡我,我回去便了。」那三藏卻不曾答應。他就使一個性子,將身一縱,說一聲:「老孫去也!」三藏急擡頭,早已不見。只聞得呼的一聲,回東而去。撇得那長老孤孤零零,點頭自歎,悲怨不已道:「這廝這等不受教誨,我但說他幾句,他怎麼就無形無影的徑回去了?罷罷罷,也是我命裡不該招徒弟,進人口。如今欲尋他無處尋,欲叫他叫不應,去來,去來。」正是:原来这猴子一生受不得人气。他见三藏只管绪绪叨叨,按不住心头火发道:「你既是这等,说我做不得和尚,上不得西天,不必恁般絮聒恶我,我回去便了。」那三藏却不曾答应。他就使一个性子,将身一纵,说一声:「老孙去也!」三藏急擡头,早已不见。只闻得呼的一声,回东而去。撇得那长老孤孤零零,点头自叹,悲怨不已道:「这厮这等不受教诲,我但说他几句,他怎么就无形无影的径回去了?罢罢罢,也是我命里不该招徒弟,进人口。如今欲寻他无处寻,欲叫他叫不应,去来,去来。」正是:
逐句解 Line by line
Now this monkey had, all his life, been unable to bear being slighted.
The narrator names the flaw that undoes the reconciliation: the monkey's pride, his lifelong inability to endure a slight. 猴子 reads 子 as neutral zi; 受不得 reads 得 as dé.
Seeing Sanzang go on and on nagging, he could not hold down the fire in his heart, and burst out:
It is the endlessness of the scolding — 緒緒叨叨, "nagging on and on" — that breaks him. 三藏 reads 藏 as zàng.
"If that is how it is — if you say I cannot be a monk and cannot reach the Western Heaven — then there is no need to keep scolding and despising me. I will go back, and that is that!"
His outburst throws the master's own words back at him and announces his departure. 做不得 and 上不得 both take 得 as dé.
Sanzang made no answer.
Sanzang's silence — no attempt to hold him — seals the rupture. 那三藏 reads 那 as nà; 答應 reads 應 as yìng.
So the monkey lost his temper; with a single bound of his body he cried out, "Old Sun is off!"
The departure is instant and total, the somersault-cloud carrying him off in a word. 性子 reads 子 as neutral zi; 將身 reads 將 as jiāng.
Sanzang looked up in haste, but he was already gone.
The monk looks up too late; the disciple has already vanished. 三藏 reads 藏 as zàng.
Only a whistling sound was heard as he made off eastward.
Only a whistle eastward marks his going, back toward Flower-Fruit Mountain. 只聞得 takes 得 as de.
Left all alone, the elder nodded to himself and sighed, grieving without end:
The abandoned monk's lament is the chapter's low point. 撇得 reads 得 as de; 那長老 reads 那 as nà, 長 as zhǎng.
"So this is how he takes correction! I say but a few words to him, and off he goes without form or shadow, straight back the way he came.
His self-pity mixes hurt and reproach: a few words, and the disciple vanishes. 教誨 reads 教 as jiào.
Enough, enough! It must be that it is not my fate to gather a disciple, to add to my company.
Resignation follows — perhaps he is fated to travel alone.
Now, though I would seek him, there is nowhere to seek; though I would call him, he does not answer. On, then; on." And so it was:
The lament closes on helplessness — nowhere to seek, no answer to his call — and a weary resolve to press on. 叫不應 reads 應 as yìng; the tag 正是 ("and so it was") cues the closing couplet.
Cast off self and stake your life, and go toward the West; lean not on others, but be your own master.
The closing couplet distils the chapter's lesson from Sanzang's plight. Abandoned, he must resolve to press on alone — and the maxim generalises: the way west demands that one stake everything and rely on one's own resolve rather than on another's help. The irony is that the lesson is premature: the monk cannot in fact go it alone, and Guanyin is already moving to restore the disciple he cannot do without.
The rupture comes swiftly and is rooted in character. The narrator is explicit: the monkey's undoing is his pride, his lifelong inability to bear a slight. Sanzang's rebuke was just in substance but merciless in delivery, and its endless nagging — not the killing itself — is what finally drives Wukong to fling the master's words back at him and vanish eastward in a single bound.
Sanzang's silence at the crucial moment — making no move to hold his disciple — completes the break, and the passage lingers on his solitary lament: the abandoned monk nodding and sighing on the empty road, resigning himself to travel alone. It is the chapter's emotional low, the newly formed fellowship broken almost as soon as it was made.
The closing couplet draws a brave moral — cast off self, stake your life, rely on no one — but the narrative immediately undercuts it. The monk manifestly cannot proceed alone, and even as he resolves to try, Guanyin is on her way with the remedy. The lesson of self-reliance is real, but so is its limit: on this journey, discipline must be supplied from without before it can be owned within.