攪海翻江 Churning the Ravine
這猴王拽開步，跳到澗邊，使出那翻江攪海的神通，把一條鷹愁陡澗徹底澄清的水，攪得似那九曲黃河泛漲的波。那孽龍在於深澗中坐臥不寧，心中思想道：「這才是福無雙降，禍不單行。我才脫了天條死難，不上一年，在此隨緣度日，又撞著這般個潑魔，他來害我。」你看他越思越惱，受不得屈氣，咬著牙，跳將出去，罵道：「你是那裡來的潑魔，這等欺我？」行者道：「你莫管我那裡不那裡，你只還了馬，我就饒你性命。」那龍道：「你的馬是我吞下肚去，如何吐得出來？不還你，便待怎的？」行者道「不還馬時看棍，只打殺你，償了我馬的性命便罷。」他兩個又在那山崖下苦鬥。鬥不數合，小龍委實難搪，將身一幌，變作一條水蛇兒，鑽入草科中去了。这猴王拽开步，跳到涧边，使出那翻江搅海的神通，把一条鹰愁陡涧彻底澄清的水，搅得似那九曲黄河泛涨的波。那孽龙在于深涧中坐卧不宁，心中思想道：「这才是福无双降，祸不单行。我才脱了天条死难，不上一年，在此随缘度日，又撞著这般个泼魔，他来害我。」你看他越思越恼，受不得屈气，咬著牙，跳将出去，骂道：「你是那里来的泼魔，这等欺我？」行者道：「你莫管我那里不那里，你只还了马，我就饶你性命。」那龙道：「你的马是我吞下肚去，如何吐得出来？不还你，便待怎的？」行者道「不还马时看棍，只打杀你，偿了我马的性命便罢。」他两个又在那山崖下苦斗。斗不数合，小龙委实难搪，将身一幌，变作一条水蛇儿，钻入草科中去了。
逐句解 Line by line
The Monkey King strode out, sprang to the brink of the gorge, and put forth that divine power of his for overturning rivers and churning seas.
拽開步 (zhuài kāi bù) is "to stride out, to take great strides"; 翻江攪海, "to overturn rivers and churn seas," is the set phrase for prodigious water-magic. 那 is demonstrative, nà.
The water of Eagle-Grief Steep Gorge, limpid to its very floor, he stirred until it was like the flood-swollen billows of the Yellow River in its nine bends.
攪得 takes the resultative 得 (de); 似 is read sì, "like." The 九曲黃河, "Yellow River of nine bends," is the standing image of turbid, tortuous water — the exact reverse of the gorge's earlier clarity, which the local gods will presently explain.
The vile dragon, down in the deep gorge, could find no rest sitting or lying, and thought within its heart: "This is what is meant by saying that blessings never descend in pairs, and misfortunes never walk alone.
坐臥不寧, "restless whether sitting or lying." The proverb 福無雙降，禍不單行 turns on 降 read jiàng, "to descend," and 行 xíng, "to travel": blessings do not descend twice, calamities do not walk alone.
I have but lately escaped a death-doom under the statutes of Heaven; not a year has passed, and while I bide here as karma allots, I run up against this rascally demon, who comes to do me harm."
天條 are "the statutes of Heaven"; 死難 takes 難 as nàn, "calamity, capital doom." 隨緣度日, "to pass one's days according to karmic circumstance," is Buddhist resignation (緣, Skt. pratyaya). 撞著 is verb-plus-resultative, "to run up against," and its 著 is read zháo: the encounter is attained, not a state accompanying some further act.
See how, the more it brooded, the angrier it grew. Unable to swallow the affront, it gritted its teeth and sprang out,
受不得屈氣, "unable to endure the wrong put upon him," is the negative potential with 得 read dé; 咬著牙 takes durative 著 (zhe); in 跳將出去, 將 is the directional particle.
cursing: "Where do you come from, you rascally demon, to bully me so?"
那裡 is interrogative here — "whence" — hence nǎ. Note that the dragon flings back Wukong's own epithet: 潑 (pō), "rascally," the word of the loach-jibe that first baited it out.
Said the Pilgrim: "Never mind where I come from or don't. Only give back the horse, and I will spare your life."
那裡不那裡, "wherever or not," both read nǎ. 還了馬 takes 還 as huán, "to give back." Wukong's terms have not shifted by a syllable since his first shout over the water.
Said the dragon: "Your horse I have swallowed down into my belly. How am I to spit it up again?
吐得出來 is the positive potential — "able to spit out" — with 得 read dé. There is an unanswerable practicality in the retort: what is eaten is eaten.
And if I do not give it back, what do you propose to do?"
還 again huán. 便待怎的, "then what do you mean to do about it," is a truculent vernacular challenge.
Said the Pilgrim: "If you won't give back the horse, then look to my cudgel. I shall simply beat you dead, and your life shall pay for my horse's, and there's an end of it."
看棍, "mind the staff," is the conventional cry before a blow; 償 is "to requite, to pay for." The source here prints 行者道 without the colon that elsewhere introduces speech; the punctuation of the edition is preserved as it stands.
The two of them fought bitterly once more beneath the cliff.
苦鬥, "to fight bitterly, doggedly." 那山崖 is demonstrative, nà.
They had not fought many bouts before the little dragon found it truly could not parry. Giving its body a shake, it changed into a water-snake and went boring away into a clump of grass.
合 (hé) is a "bout" or pass of arms. 難搪, "hard to fend off," reads 難 as nán, "difficult" — set against the nàn ("calamity") of 死難 a few lines above. In 將身一幌, 將 is the coverb; 草科 stands for 草窠, a clump or tussock of grass.
Denied a fight, Wukong destroys the conditions of hiding: he churns the gorge's transparent water into a likeness of the Yellow River in flood. The stroke is characteristic — where he cannot reach an enemy, he unmakes the enemy's world — and the simile is exact, since the gorge's defining property, as we are about to learn, is a clarity so perfect that birds drown in it. He has turned the place into its opposite.
What lifts the passage above a second bout is that the novel now gives us the dragon's mind. Its interior monologue is a small tragedy in two proverbs: it has "but lately escaped a death-doom under the statutes of Heaven," it bides here 隨緣度日 — passing its days as karma allots — and misfortune has found it anyway. That phrase is Buddhist to the core, and it quietly aligns the dragon with Wukong himself, another condemned offender serving out a sentence. Neither knows it. They are two of Guanyin's charges, each certain the other is a 潑魔, a rascally demon; and each hurls that word at the other across water that is no longer clear enough to show either a reflection.