When the Pilgrim had done looking he said, "Go forward, Master. It is certainly a village of decent folk, and a fit place to beg a lodging."

看罷, done looking, closes the frame that 定睛觀看 opened before the rhapsody. And note the pair: 告宿 is to beg a lodging, 借宿 to borrow a night. Sanzang used the humbler word; his disciple uses the easier one.

The elder urged the white horse on, and they came shortly to the mouth of the street.

街衢, jiē qú, is a crossing of ways — a slightly bookish word for so plain a village, as though the narrator were dressing the place up. 那 in 那長老 is the pointing nà.

There they saw a young fellow, a cotton cloth wound about his head, a blue jacket on his back, an umbrella in his hand and a pack on his shoulder, his breeches gathered and bound,

A clothes inventory, which in this novel reliably signals that the figure is about to matter. 斂褌劄褲 — drawers gathered, trouser-legs tied off — is how a man dresses to walk a long way. 劄 is zhā, to bind fast, the reading settled for this site back in chapter fifteen.

straw sandals of the three-eared sort upon his feet, striding along in a great hurry out of the street.

三耳草鞋 are straw sandals with three loops at the heel. 踏著 takes 著 as zhe, the ending that marks a state going on: shod and walking. 雄糾糾 writes 赳赳, and it means swaggering. He is swaggering, and he is about to be stopped dead.

The Pilgrim reached out and caught him fast. "Where away?" he said. "I have a question for you. What place is this?"

Both question words turn up in one line: 那 as nǎ in 那裡去, where are you off to, and 甚 as shén in 甚麼, what. 信兒, a scrap of news, takes the softening 兒, read er. The Pilgrim wants information. He grabs first and asks second.

The man only struggled the harder, shouting, "Is there nobody else in my village? Am I the only man fit to be asked the road?"

掙 is zhèng, to strain and wrench, the reading this site holds to throughout. The retort is pure exasperation — 只是我好問信？, am I the only man in the village worth asking? — and the joke is that he is.

The Pilgrim said, smiling upon him, "Do not be vexed, patron. 'A kindness done another is a kindness done yourself.'

陪著笑: the smile is worn rather than felt, and 著 is again zhe, a state kept up. 與人方便，自己方便 — do another a kindness and you do yourself one — is a commonplace of popular morality. It is a quoted saying rather than verse, and we set it as prose.

What harm is there in telling me the name of the place? I may even be able to dissolve your troubles for you."

解得: the 得 is the full dé of ability, I can undo them. The offer is not idle. He will indeed dissolve this man's trouble, at the cost of a good deal more trouble to the household.

The man could not wrench his hand free, and hopped about in a rage. "Ill luck!" he cried. "Ill luck!

蹭蹬, cèng dèng, is a pair of rhyming syllables from the spoken language meaning hard luck, a run of misfortune; the sound of the word is half its meaning. In 氣得亂跳 the 得 is the unstressed de — angry to the point of hopping.

The master's temper I cannot bear, and now I run into this bald-head besides, and take his insolence too!"

屈氣 and 清氣 are a matched pair: the anger you swallow from a master, and the free insolence you get from a stranger. 撞著 takes 著 as zháo, the ending for hitting a target — he ran smack into this one. 受不了 keeps 了 as liǎo, cannot bear.

The Pilgrim said, "If you have the strength, prise open my hand, and you may go for all of me."

你便就去了也罷 — then off you go, and welcome to it. The concession is a boast in disguise, and the reader already knows that hand will not open.

The man twisted left and twisted right, but where could he twist himself loose? It was as though an iron pincer had gripped him.

One line, both readings again: the first 那 is the pointing nà, the second the question word nǎ, and 得 is the dé of ability — where could he twist himself free? 鐵鈐拑 puts an iron clamp and a pincer into the same phrase. 似 is sì, like; the default reading shì is wrong.