Canonical Classics ← 第十六回
第十六回
guānyīnyuànsēngmóubǎobèi
hēifēngshānguàiqièjiāshā

At the Guanyin Monastery the Monks Plot for the Treasure · At Black Wind Mountain the Fiend Steals the Cassock

灰燼之中
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字體 Script
原文 Original text 繁體 Traditional Reader's edition

灰燼之中 Among the Ashes

chǎnghuǒzhǐshāodàogēngtiānmíngfāngcáimièkànzhòngsēngmenchìchìjīngjīngdōuhuīnèixúntóngtiětànjīnyínyǒudezàiqiángkuāngshānpéngyǒudechìgēntóuzhīguōzàofànjiàoyuānjiàoluànrǎngluànnàochǎnghuǒzhǐshāodàogēngtiānmíngfāngcáimièkànzhòngsēngmenchìchìjīngjīngdōuhuīnèixúntóngtiětànjīnyínyǒudezàiqiángkuāngshānpéngyǒudechìgēntóuzhīguōzàofànjiàoyuānjiàoluànrǎngluànnào


逐句解 Line by line

chǎnghuǒzhǐshāodàogēngtiānmíngfāngcáimiè chǎnghuǒzhǐshāodàogēngtiānmíngfāngcáimiè

That fire burned on until the fifth watch and the light of dawn, and only then went out.

五更 is the fifth night-watch, from about three to five in the morning; is gēng. The fire runs the whole night through, and dies of its own accord.

kànzhòngsēngmenchìchìjīngjīngdōuhuīnèixúntóngtiětànjīnyín kànzhòngsēngmenchìchìjīngjīngdōuhuīnèixúntóngtiětànjīnyín

See the monks: stripped bare, weeping and wailing, all of them poking in the ashes for copper and iron, raking over the rotted charcoal, scrabbling after gold and silver.

赤赤精精, "stark and stripped," is vernacular for stark naked; 啼啼哭哭, weeping and sobbing. Then the three verbs: copper and iron, the rotted charcoal, at gold and silver. In the ashes of a monastery, nobody is looking for a sūtra.

yǒudezàiqiángkuāngshānpéngyǒudechìgēntóuzhīguōzàofàn yǒudezàiqiángkuāngshānpéngyǒudechìgēntóuzhīguōzàofàn

Some were in the corners of the walls, thatching themselves lean-tos; some at the foot of a scorched wall were propping up a pot to cook rice.

苫搭窩棚, to thatch a rough shelter; 赤壁根頭, at the foot of a fire-blackened wall. The community reconstitutes itself instantly as a camp — pots, rice, lean-tos — with the efficiency of people who own things.

jiàoyuānjiàoluànrǎngluànnào jiàoyuānjiàoluànrǎngluànnào

They cried out on their wrongs and their injuries, shouting and clamouring in confusion — of which no more.

叫冤叫屈, "crying injustice, crying wrong." They are the arsonists. Not one graph of the sentence concedes it, and the storyteller closes the thread with 不題 and turns away without comment.


總評 Commentary

Seventy-two graphs, and no narrator anywhere in them. The fire goes out at dawn. The monks, naked and weeping, sift the ashes — and what they sift for is copper, iron, gold, silver. They put up lean-tos against the scorched walls and set pots on to boil. And they cry and , injustice and wrong, which is what a Chinese subject cries when the magistrate has ruled against him unfairly.

The passage is a masterpiece of withheld judgement. Wú Chéng'ēn could have written a single clause reminding us who lit the fire; he writes instead 叫冤叫屈,亂嚷亂鬧不題 and shuts the door. What survives the burning of the Guanyin Monastery is exactly what the monastery was: an appetite for metal, a talent for arrangements, and a conviction of having been wronged. It is worth remembering that the two guests they meant to burn alive slept through the whole night unharmed, and that the monks have not yet gone to look.