高才訴苦 Gao Cai's Tale
這人無奈，只得以實情告訴道：「我是高太公的家人，名叫高才。我那太公有個老女兒，年方二十歲，更不曾配人。三年前被一個妖精占了，那妖整做了這三年女婿。我太公不悅，說道：『女兒招了妖精，不是長法：一則敗壞家門，二則沒個親家來往。』一向要退這妖精。那妖精那裡肯退，轉把女兒關在他後宅，將有半年，再不放出與家內人相見。我太公與了我幾兩銀子，教我尋訪法師，拿那妖怪。我這些時不曾住腳，前前後後，請了有三四個人，都是不濟的和尚，膿包的道士，降不得那妖精。剛才罵了我一場，說我不會幹事。又與了我五錢銀子做盤纏，教我再去請好法師降他。不期撞著你這個紇刺星扯住，誤了我走路，故此裡外受氣，我無奈，才與你叫喊。不想你又有些拿法，我掙不過你，所以說此實情。你放我走罷。」这人无奈，只得以实情告诉道：「我是高太公的家人，名叫高才。我那太公有个老女儿，年方二十岁，更不曾配人。三年前被一个妖精占了，那妖整做了这三年女婿。我太公不悦，说道：『女儿招了妖精，不是长法：一则败坏家门，二则没个亲家来往。』一向要退这妖精。那妖精那里肯退，转把女儿关在他后宅，将有半年，再不放出与家内人相见。我太公与了我几两银子，教我寻访法师，拿那妖怪。我这些时不曾住脚，前前后后，请了有三四个人，都是不济的和尚，脓包的道士，降不得那妖精。刚才骂了我一场，说我不会干事。又与了我五钱银子做盘缠，教我再去请好法师降他。不期撞着你这个纥刺星扯住，误了我走路，故此里外受气，我无奈，才与你叫喊。不想你又有些拿法，我挣不过你，所以说此实情。你放我走罢。」
逐句解 Line by line
Having no help for it, the man told him the truth. "I am a servant of Squire Gao, and my name is Gao Cai.
只得 takes 得 as dé — he had no choice but to. 家人 here means a household servant, not a member of the family; the word looks warmer than the arrangement. And now the name: 高才 is high talent, which is precisely what this man has just been scolded for lacking. The novel does not point at the joke, but it is there.
My squire has a youngest daughter, just twenty years old, who has never yet been given in marriage.
老女兒 is the youngest daughter, not the eldest — 老 in the sense of last-born, the same 老 as 老兒子, the baby of the family. The 兒 of 女兒 is the full ér. 更不曾配人: never yet matched to a husband.
Three years ago a monster took possession of her, and for these three whole years the monster has been his son-in-law.
占了 is to take possession, and it carries both senses at once — of a woman, and of ground held. 整 in 整做了這三年女婿 means for a full three years, and the emphasis is the servant's own. Note that from the first sentence the monster is described not as a besieger but as a resident.
My squire was not pleased, and said, 'For a daughter to take a monster to husband is no lasting arrangement:
長 is cháng, lasting, not zhǎng, to grow; the default reading goes the wrong way. A 長法 is an arrangement that will hold up over time — and note what the squire is objecting to. Not that his son-in-law is a monster: that the arrangement will not last.
for one thing it ruins the good name of the house; for another, no proper in-laws come and go.' From the first he has wanted to be rid of the creature.
Weigh the two grievances. One is reputation. The other is the absence of 親家 — the in-laws whose visiting back and forth is what makes a marriage socially real. Squire Gao's complaint is social from top to bottom. The monster works his fields and eats his rice; what he cannot do is be introduced.
But the monster would not be got rid of. Instead he shut the girl away in the back court,
那妖精那裡肯退: the pointing nà and then the question word nǎ, three characters apart — as if he would go. 轉 here means instead, on the contrary.
and for near half a year now he has not let her out to see so much as one of the household.
將 is again the adverbial jiāng, here meaning nearly: going on half a year. 相 in 相見 is xiāng, to see one another.
My squire gave me a few taels of silver and bade me seek out an exorcist to take the fiend.
A 法師 is a ritual specialist — an exorcist — and the household is entirely indifferent whether he comes from a temple or a Daoist abbey, as the next line makes plain. 教 is jiào here: to have someone do a thing, not to teach.
In all this while I have not rested my feet. Back and forth I have gone, and I have fetched three or four men —
不曾住腳: never once stopped to rest his feet. And 前前後後, back and forth, is the same phrase the narrator used of the firewood heaped before and behind the gates of Black Wind Cave a few passages ago — four characters put to entirely different work.
worthless monks, every one of them, and spineless Daoists, who could not subdue the monster at all.
不濟 is good for nothing; 膿包 is a boil, hence a weakling. Note that 和尚 and 道士, monks and Daoists, are dismissed in one breath: the villager does not distinguish between the two religions, he only notices that neither worked. 降 is xiáng, to subdue, and 得 the dé of ability, negated.
Just now he railed at me for a good while, and said I could do nothing right.
剛才, just now, attaches to the scolding and not to the hiring. Gao Cai is being beaten from both directions, and the novel gives him a full page to say so.
Then he gave me another five mace of silver for my expenses, and told me to go again and find a better exorcist.
五錢銀子 is five mace — half a tael, a derisory sum to send a man on the road with. 盤纏 is travelling money, the coin you wind round your waist. 降 is xiáng again.
I never thought to run into you, you ill-starred creature, and be seized and hindered on my road,
紇刺星 is vernacular abuse: a jinx, a bringer of bad luck, roughly our unlucky star. Some editions write the middle character 剌 instead of 刺 — two characters that differ by a single stroke and have been confusing copyists for centuries. The 世德堂本 has 刺, and we follow the character that is actually on the page rather than the one editors prefer. 撞著 is zháo — the collision landed.
so that I take abuse both indoors and out. I could not help it, and so I shouted at you.
裡外受氣: taking abuse indoors and out. The phrase closes the pair he began in the street — 屈氣 from his master, 清氣 from a stranger — and now he has named them both.
I did not think you would have some trick of holding, and that I could not wrench free of you; and so I have told you the whole truth. Now let me go."
拿法 is a technique of seizing, a hold. The man reads the grip as a kind of magic, which is exactly what it is. 掙不過 keeps 掙 as zhèng.
This is the first full account of Zhu Ganglie anybody gives, and look at the conditions: a man with a grudge, in a hurry, held by the wrist. Everything the reader learns about the monster over the next several pages arrives through witnesses like this one — a resentful servant, an embarrassed father-in-law, a frightened girl. The novel plainly enjoys withholding the creature's own version until it can be got out of him in the dark, while he is drunk on his own boasting.
Squire Gao's two stated objections repay a pause. Neither is that his daughter is unhappy, nor that a monster is dangerous. He complains of 敗壞家門, the ruin of the family name, and of having no in-laws to exchange visits with. This is a household that would tolerate a son-in-law of any species provided he could be shown to the neighbours — and the whole of Zhu Bajie's later career, the appetite, the shame, the endless wish for a place at somebody's table, is folded into the sentence that shuts him out of one.