Early next morning the Pilgrim rose and said: "Master, that old temple-keeper promised us a saddle and bridle last night. Go and ask him for it, and do not let him off."

廟祝老兒 is the old shrine-keeper. 不要饒他 is "don't let him off". Wukong has filed last night's spontaneous act of charity as an outstanding invoice, to be collected before breakfast. 那 is the pointing nà.

Before he had done speaking, they saw the old man come, indeed bearing up a saddle and bridle, saddle-cloths, rein and headstall and the like —

說未了 takes 了 as liǎo, to finish — not the everyday toneless le. 擎著 is to hold something up in both hands, its 著 the unstressed zhe. 襯屜 are the cloths that go under the saddle; 韁籠 is the rein and the headstall. He was promised two things and brings the whole equipage — and he is already outside the door before anyone has knocked.

everything that is used upon a horse, with nothing wanting; and he set them down beneath the eaves, saying: "Master, I offer up the saddle and bridle."

無不全備 is "there was nothing that was not complete"; 廊下 is beneath the gallery eaves. 奉上 is to present with both hands raised: the verb of a subject approaching a throne, used here by a man living on alms, to a monk passing through.

Sanzang, seeing them, received them with delight, and bade the Pilgrim take them up and lay them on the horse's back, to see whether they matched.

領受 is to accept a gift. 可相稱否 — 相 read xiāng, 稱 read chèn — is "whether they suit one another". The monk's first thought is whether it fits. The old man's first thought was the giving.

The Pilgrim went forward and lifted them one by one to look, and they were fine things indeed.

一件件的 is "piece by piece". Even Wukong, who proposed an hour ago to extort these things by force, is silenced by their quality.

There is a poem to attest it. The poem says:

有詩為證, with 為 read wéi, "to serve as". This is the chapter's third and last regulated poem, and the only one that describes an object rather than a scene.

The carved saddle glints with colour, bound about with stars of silver; the precious stirrups fly with light, and the gold thread shines.

雕鞍 is a carved saddle; 柬 is here in the sense of binding or fastening; 寶鐙 dèng are the stirrups. The poem is an inventory raised to praise — the manner of the old rhapsodies written on arms and chariots, applied to horse tack.

Saddle-cloths, layer on layer of felted matting piled; a leading-rein of three strands, of purple silken cord.

襯屜 are the under-cloths; 絨苫 róng shān is a felted mat; 三股 is "of three plaits". The catalogue is exact in the way a horseman's would be — because that is what it is, an old man's memory of everything a good horse ought to have.

The bridle-head, stitched in leather, is bright with rounded flowers; the cloud-shaped flaps, traced in gold, show beasts at their dancing.

轡頭 is the headstall; 皮劄 is stitched with leather; 團花 is the roundel-flower pattern. 雲扇 are the cloud-shaped leather flaps that hang at the saddle's side; 描金 is traced out in gold.

Ring and bit are beaten out of tempered iron; and from the two hanging straps, dipped in water, are knotted tassels of hair.

環嚼, with 嚼 read jiáo, is the ring and the bit. And note precisely where a bit sits: on the 橫骨, the crosswise bone of the mouth — which is exactly where the little dragon took it when Guanyin transformed him and he assented in his heart of hearts, having no other way left to speak. 磨煉鐵 is iron ground and tempered; 毛纓 are tassels of hair. Of everything the poem might have closed on, it closes on the rein.