天那天那 Heaven, oh Heaven!
行者道：「老孫是這等憊懶之人，幹這等不良之事？實實是他家放的。老孫見他心毒，果是不曾與他救火，只是與他略略助些風的。」三藏道：「天那，天那！火起時，只該助水，怎轉助風？」行者道：「你可知古人云：『人沒傷虎心，虎沒傷人意。』他不弄火，我怎肯弄風？」三藏道：「袈裟何在？敢莫是燒壞了也？」行者道：「沒事，沒事，燒不壞，那放袈裟的方丈無火。」三藏恨道：「我不管你，但是有些兒傷損，我只把那話兒念動念動，你就是死了。」行者慌了道：「師父莫念，莫念，管尋還你袈裟就是了。等我去拿來走路。」三藏才牽著馬，行者挑了擔，出了禪堂，徑往後方丈去。行者道：「老孙是这等惫懒之人，干这等不良之事？实实是他家放的。老孙见他心毒，果是不曾与他救火，只是与他略略助些风的。」三藏道：「天那，天那！火起时，只该助水，怎转助风？」行者道：「你可知古人云：『人没伤虎心，虎没伤人意。』他不弄火，我怎肯弄风？」三藏道：「袈裟何在？敢莫是烧坏了也？」行者道：「没事，没事，烧不坏，那放袈裟的方丈无火。」三藏恨道：「我不管你，但是有些儿伤损，我只把那话儿念动念动，你就是死了。」行者慌了道：「师父莫念，莫念，管寻还你袈裟就是了。等我去拿来走路。」三藏才牵着马，行者挑了担，出了禅堂，径往后方丈去。
逐句解 Line by line
The Pilgrim said, "Is old Sun so idle a rogue as to do so ill a thing? It was truly their own household that set it.
憊懶 (bèi lǎn) is slovenly, good-for-nothing; 不良之事 is an ill deed. The indignation is real, its grammar is a rhetorical question, and its content is a technicality: the match was not in his hand.
"Old Sun saw how venomous their hearts were, and so, it is true, did not help them put it out — I only helped them a little with a touch of wind."
果是不曾與他救火 — "it is true I did not help them fight it" — followed by 只是與他略略助些風的, "I only helped them a little with some wind." The word 略略, "just a trifle," is the smallest word in the chapter and carries the whole of its moral weight. He does not lie once.
Sanzang said, "Heaven, oh Heaven! When a fire breaks out you should have helped with water. How came you to help with wind instead?"
天那 is an exclamatory flourish, read na — "Heavens!" — and not the demonstrative nà. Sanzang's objection is unanswerable, and he does not press it: 只該助水，怎轉助風？ When a fire breaks out you help with water. How did you come to help with wind?
The Pilgrim said, "Do you not know the ancient saying: if a man has no heart to injure a tiger, a tiger has no mind to injure a man? Had they not played with fire, why should I have played with wind?"
人沒傷虎心，虎沒傷人意 is proverbial: no man means harm to the tiger, and the tiger means none to him. Wukong quotes it as a law of just retaliation. It is nothing of the sort — it is a saying about mutual forbearance, an argument for not striking first, and he has cited it to license a night of arson.
Sanzang said, "Where is the cassock? Can it be it has been burned to ruin?"
Sanzang drops the argument and asks after the robe. It is the third time in this chapter that a spiritual question has been abandoned in favour of the whereabouts of a garment, and the third different person to do it.
The Pilgrim said, "No matter, no matter, it cannot burn. The abbot's quarters where the cassock was had no fire in them."
燒不壞: it cannot be burned. He is right, and for the wrong reason — the cassock is fireproof because Heaven made it, not because the abbot's roof happened to be spared.
Sanzang said bitterly, "I care nothing for that. If there is the least damage to it, I shall recite that little speech of mine over and over, and you are a dead thing."
那話兒 ("that little thing of mine") is the Tight-Fillet Spell, taught to Sanzang by Guanyin in chapter fourteen; both instances of 兒 are the neutral er. 你就是死了 — "then you are a dead thing." The master who could not bring himself to refuse a stranger a night's loan now threatens his disciple with agony over a coat.
The Pilgrim was alarmed. "Master, do not recite it, do not recite it. I will see the cassock found and returned to you, and there's an end. Let me go and fetch it, and we shall be on our road."
尋還: 還 is huán, "to give back." Wukong, who has spent the night making certain that a promise to return a treasure could not possibly be kept, now makes exactly that promise himself — and, being Wukong, will spend two chapters keeping it.
So Sanzang led the horse and the Pilgrim shouldered the load; they came out of the meditation hall and went straight to the abbot's quarters at the rear.
牽著馬 and 挑了擔 (擔 is dàn, the load): the same two verbs and the same division of labour with which they arrived at the gate yesterday evening. The monastery in between has ceased to exist.
Wukong's defence is that he did not light the fire, and it is true. Pressed, he adds that he did not put it out, and that too is true. Pressed no further — for Sanzang does not press — he volunteers the rest unprompted: 只是與他略略助些風的, "I only helped them a little with some wind." Wú Chéng'ēn hands him the diminutive 略略, "just a trifle," and lets it stand there. It is the confession of a being who has not yet grown the faculty by which such an act could be recognised as needing confessing, and it is delivered to a master with none of the equipment to receive it.
Then the proverb. 人沒傷虎心，虎沒傷人意 — if a man bears no wish to harm the tiger, the tiger bears none to harm the man — is a saying about forbearance, an argument for not striking first. Wukong deploys it as the law of reprisal: they played with fire, so I played with wind. He has taken a maxim of peace and turned it into a licence, and he does it in the same breath in which he cites 古人云, "the ancients say," exactly as Sanzang did when warning him against all of this. Master and disciple quote the same tradition at one another and reach opposite conclusions, and neither notices.
And then Sanzang settles it. Not with a rebuke for the arson, not with a word for two hundred homeless men — but with the Tight-Fillet Spell, threatened over a damaged coat: 但是有些兒傷損，我只把那話兒念動念動，你就是死了. The chapter has now shown us every character it possesses in the presence of the cassock, and there are no exceptions. The old monk wept for it. The monks burned for it. The bear stole for it. The monkey fanned a fire beside it. And the Tang monk, who slept through the destruction of a monastery, wakes to threaten his rescuer with torture in case it has been scratched.