He gave a whistle, sprang up into the air, and with his fiery eyes and golden pupils shaded his brow with a hand and scanned every quarter — but of the horse there was still not the least trace.

火眼金睛 huǒ yǎn jīn jīng, "fiery eyes and golden pupils", is Wukong's best-known faculty, and he came by it the hard way: forty-nine days roasting in Laozi's furnace, out of which he got sight that pierces disguise and carries an enormous distance. The phrase long ago left the book — in Chinese today it is what you say of somebody nothing gets past. 搭涼篷 is "to put up an awning", which is what a flat hand held above the eyes looks like. 更 gèng sharpens the negative: not merely no horse, but no horse whatsoever.

He brought his cloud down and reported: "Master, our horse has surely been eaten by that dragon; there is nothing to be seen anywhere I look."

按落雲頭, "to press the cloud-head down", is the standard phrase for landing after flight. 斷乎 is emphatic — beyond doubt. 那龍 is the pointing nà. He has the right answer now, and it does him no good at all.

Said Sanzang: "Disciple, ah — how big a mouth can that creature have, to swallow so large a horse, saddle, bridle and all?

那廝 nà sī is contemptuous: "that fellow", "that thing". 將 again fronts the object — "took that great horse and ate it" — and 都, read dōu, sweeps in the tack as well. What we are watching is an ordinary man measuring a marvel against common sense and finding it will not fit.

It must have shied and slipped its rein, and wandered off into some fold of the hills.

驚張 is to take fright; 溜韁 is to let the rein slip. 山凹 shān āo is a dip or hollow between hills, and 凹 is one of those characters that draws its own meaning. Sanzang would much rather have a bolted horse than a swallowed one.

Look again, and carefully."

仔細 is "carefully". Three words, and an accusation inside them: look properly this time. Wukong hears it that way.

Said the Pilgrim: "You do not know what I am capable of.

本事 běn shì is what a person can actually do — skill, capability — and modern Chinese still uses it in exactly that sense. The boast is starting.

These two eyes of mine can commonly make out good and ill fortune a thousand lǐ off in broad daylight.

白日裡 is "in daylight"; 吉凶 is "the lucky and the ominous", a pairing straight out of a diviner's handbook. A 里 lǐ is the Chinese mile, roughly half a kilometre. He is not describing eyesight so much as a forecasting instrument.

Within that thousand lǐ, let a dragonfly so much as spread its wings and I would see it — how then should I fail to see so large a horse?"

蜻蜓 qīng tíng is a dragonfly, 展翅 to open the wings, 何期 "who would have thought". The argument works by absurdity: if he can see an insect unfold its wings five hundred kilometres off, then a missing horse is not a matter of looking harder. The horse is gone.

Said Sanzang: "If it has indeed been eaten, how am I to go forward?

既是 is "since it is so". The monk accepts the fact and leaps straight past it to the consequence — the journey itself now impossible — which is his habit, and the start of his collapse.

Alas — with all these thousand hills and myriad streams, however am I to travel it?"

千山萬水 qiān shān wàn shuǐ, "a thousand hills and ten thousand rivers", is the standing phrase for a punishing journey, and it is thoroughly alive in Chinese today. 走得 is the "able to" sense, 得 read dé. Keep the phrase in mind: Guanyin hands it back to Sanzang later in the chapter, with the halves swapped round, and turns it into an argument for the very horse he is weeping over.

As he spoke, his tears fell like rain.

In 說著話 the 著 is unstressed zhe, marking one thing going on while another happens: "as he was speaking". 淚如雨落, "tears falling like rain", is a set phrase. Sanzang weeps often, and the novel is not entirely kind about it.

When the Pilgrim saw him break into weeping, how could he hold in his hot temper? He raised his voice and shouted:

哭將起來 is "burst out crying", where 將 jiāng is only a hinge before the direction word 起來. 那裡忍得住 is a question that is not a question — "how was he to stand it?" — so 那 is nǎ and 得 is dé, "able to". 暴燥 is written here for 暴躁, a temper that goes off like a firework.

"Master, don't put on this spineless act — sit down, sit down, and let old Sun go find that creature and make it give me back my horse, and there's an end of it."

膿包 nóng bāo is, in plain terms, a boil full of pus; as an insult it means a weakling with nothing in him. Chinese still uses it. It is not a word a disciple has any business aiming at his master, and it is entirely in character. 老孫, "old Sun", is Wukong's own name for himself, half swagger and half self-affection. 還 is huán, give back, and it is about to become his war cry. Two of the 著 in this line are different words: the doubled 坐著 takes the unstressed zhe of an action left running ("stay sitting"), while 尋著 is zháo, the 著 that says the search actually landed — find, not merely look for.

But Sanzang caught hold of him and said: "Disciple, ah — where would you go to look for it?

扯住 is to grab and hold back. 那裡去尋 is another question — "where would you even go?" — so nǎ. And the monk's fear has quietly changed target. A moment ago it was the horse; now it is being left alone.

I only fear that if it should come lunging out from hiding, would it not then do me harm as well?

暗地裡 is "out of hiding"; 攛將出來 is to come bursting out, 將 once more the hinge before 出來. 連我都害 is "harm even me as well", with 都 read dōu. He is no longer arguing about the horse; he is picturing himself alone on that mound.

Then it would be man and horse both lost — however would that do?"

那時節 is "in that case", the pointing nà. 人馬兩亡, "man and horse both lost", is a neat and horrible little phrase. And 怎生 is back — the tic that means Sanzang has run out of ideas.

Hearing these words, the Pilgrim grew angrier still, and shouted out like a thunderclap: "You are no good at all — no good!

聞得 is "heard", the unstressed de again tying hearing to what came of it. 嗔怒 chēn nù is indignant rage, and 嗔 is a Buddhist technical term — anger, one of the three poisons — which is a quiet joke at the expense of a disciple on a pilgrimage. 忒 tè is "far too"; 不濟 is "no use". They are now openly quarrelling.

You want a horse to ride, yet you won't let me go; sit here minding the baggage like this, then, till we grow old, and be done!"

似這般 is "at this rate", with 似 read sì. 看著行李 takes the unstressed zhe once more, minding the bags as a standing job. 坐到老, "sit here till we are old", is exasperation doing arithmetic: if he is forbidden to act, then nothing will ever happen.