一遍成誦 禪師示路 Learned at a Hearing; the Chan Master Foretells the Road
此時唐朝法師本有根源，耳聞一遍《多心經》，即能記憶，至今傳世。此乃修真之總經，作佛之會門也。那禪師傳了經文，踏雲光，要上烏巢而去。被三藏又扯住奉告，定要問個西去的路程端的。那禪師笑云：此时唐朝法师本有根源，耳闻一遍《多心经》，即能记忆，至今传世。此乃修真之总经，作佛之会门也。那禅师传了经文，踏云光，要上乌巢而去。被三藏又扯住奉告，定要问个西去的路程端的。那禅师笑云：
逐句解 Line by line
Now the Master of the Law of the Tang had roots and origins of his own: hearing the Heart Sutra once, he could hold it in memory, and it is handed down to this day.
本有根源, "he had roots and an origin of his own" — the novel's entire explanation for a feat of memory that ought to be impossible. It is a reminder of who this monk actually is underneath the nervousness: Golden Cicada, on his tenth time round. 耳聞一遍, heard once, by ear.
This is the summary scripture of cultivating the real, the gate of assembly for becoming a buddha.
修真之總經, the summary scripture of cultivating the real, and 作佛之會門, the assembly-gate of becoming a buddha. The narrator has just praised a Buddhist sutra in Daoist vocabulary and Buddhist vocabulary inside a single sentence, and shows no sign of having noticed. This is how the religion of this book actually behaves — not a doctrine it argues for, a habit of speech.
The Chan Master, having transmitted the text, trod the cloud-light and would have gone up to his crow's nest.
踏雲光, to tread the cloud-light. He has delivered what he came down to deliver and fully intends to leave.
But Sanzang caught hold of him again and pressed him, determined to learn exactly what the road westward held. The Chan Master laughed and said:
路程端的: 端的 means the truth of the matter, the real facts, and takes 的 as dì. Two 的 stand in this one segment with different readings, and only their positions tell them apart.
The road is not hard to travel; only listen while I tell you.
The prophecy comes in five-character lines, the metre of the old ballads, and its opening statement is a flat lie. The road is nothing but hard, as the next ten couplets are about to establish in detail.
A thousand hills, a thousand waters, deep; miasmas many and demons many.
千山千水, a thousand hills and a thousand streams — the standing hyperbole for a long journey, and here for the whole remaining book.
When you come to the crag that touches heaven, set your heart at rest and have no fear.
接天崖, the Cliff that Joins Heaven. And note 休恐怖, have no fear: he has reached for 恐怖, the sutra's own word, four lines after teaching Sanzang a text that promises freedom from exactly that.
When you reach the Rub-the-Ear Cliff, go sideways and feel out every step.
摩耳巖 is Rub-the-Ear Crag, a ledge so narrow your ear scrapes the rock as you pass. 側著腳蹤步 takes 著 as the ongoing zhe: go sideways, feeling for each footprint.
Take care in the Black Pine Wood, where fox-spirits often cut the road.
仔細 takes 仔 as zǐ. 截路 is to cut off the road — highway robbery, the technical term for it, here performed by foxes.
Sprites fill the walled cities; demon lords are lodged all over the hills.
精靈, sprites, and 魔主, demon lords. Watch the prophecy drift from geography into administration: it started with hills and rivers and is now listing who holds which post.
Old tigers sit in the hall of judgment; grey wolves serve as clerks of the register.
And here it arrives. 琴堂, the "zither hall," is a magistrate's courtroom — the name comes from an ancient governor said to have ruled his district so well he could do it by playing the zither. 主簿 is the registrar of a county office. Tigers on the bench and wolves keeping the files: the beasts have taken over the civil service, and this is a joke the novel never gets tired of.
Lions and elephants all style themselves king; tigers and leopards are the drivers of the coach.
作御 is to serve as charioteer, to drive. 獅象盡稱王 takes 盡 as jìn, all of them, every one. And every creature in this list will turn up in person before the book is done.
A wild boar shoulders the carrying-pole; a water-monster is met with up ahead.
野豬挑擔子 — a wild boar shoulders the carrying-pole. This is not prophecy at all; it is a plain description of the marching order set a few passages ago, and the boar in question is standing right there holding the load.
An ancient stone ape of many years — there he nurses his spite.
多年老石猴, an old stone ape of many years, and 那裡懷嗔怒, there he nurses his wrath, with 那 as the pointing nà. Also a description, also delivered to the subject's face, and therefore also an accusation. Wukong takes it as an insult and proves the line correct inside a minute.
Ask that acquaintance of yours; he knows the road that runs west.
那相識: 相識 is an acquaintance, someone you know, with 相 read xiāng. Which acquaintance is never specified, and the Chan Master is up his tree before anybody can ask him.
Sanzang hears the sutra once and knows it by heart. The narrator explains this in four characters — 本有根源, he had roots and an origin — and then, speaking in his own voice, calls the Heart Sutra 修真之總經，作佛之會門: the summary scripture of Daoist self-cultivation and the assembly-gate of buddhahood, in one breath, with no sense of strain whatsoever. The blending of the two religions in this novel is not a position it defends. It is simply how the sentences come out.
The prophecy that follows is a table of contents. Rub-the-Ear Crag, the Black Pine Wood, sprites filling the cities, tigers sitting on the magistrate's bench, wolves keeping the registers, lions and elephants styling themselves kings — every one of them will be met on the road. And then the last few lines turn and face the audience: 野豬挑擔子, a wild boar shoulders the carrying-pole; 多年老石猴，那裡懷嗔怒, an old stone ape of many years nurses his spite. Bajie is standing there holding the baggage. Wukong is about to confirm the second line by trying to smash the man's house.