騰雲未就 The Cloud-Crawling Lesson
忽一日，祖師與眾門人在三星洞前戲玩晚景。祖師道：「悟空，事成了未曾？」悟空道：「多蒙師父海恩，弟子功果完備，已能霞舉飛升也。」祖師道：「你試飛舉我看。」悟空弄本事，將身一聳，打了個連扯跟頭，跳離地有五六丈，踏雲霞去勾有頓飯之時，返復不上三里遠近，落在面前，扠手道：「師父，這就是飛舉騰雲了。」祖師笑道：「這個算不得騰雲，只算得爬雲而已。自古道：『神仙朝遊北海暮蒼梧。』似你這半日，去不上三里，即爬雲也還算不得哩。」悟空道：「怎麼為朝遊北海暮蒼梧？」祖師道：「凡騰雲之輩，早辰起自北海，遊過東海、西海、南海，復轉蒼梧。蒼梧者，卻是北海零陵之語話也。將四海之外，一日都遊遍，方算得騰雲。」忽一日，祖师与众门人在三星洞前戏玩晚景。祖师道：「悟空，事成了未曾？」悟空道：「多蒙师父海恩，弟子功果完备，已能霞举飞升也。」祖师道：「你试飞举我看。」悟空弄本事，将身一耸，打了个连扯跟头，跳离地有五六丈，踏云霞去勾有顿饭之时，返复不上三里远近，落在面前，扠手道：「师父，这就是飞举腾云了。」祖师笑道：「这个算不得腾云，只算得爬云而已。自古道：『神仙朝游北海暮苍梧。』似你这半日，去不上三里，即爬云也还算不得哩。」悟空道：「怎么为朝游北海暮苍梧？」祖师道：「凡腾云之辈，早辰起自北海，游过东海、西海、南海，复转苍梧。苍梧者，却是北海零陵之语话也。将四海之外，一日都游遍，方算得腾云。」
逐句解 Line by line
One day the Patriarch and his disciples were out before the Three-Star Cave, enjoying the evening.
忽一日, one day (yí rì, the 一 rising before the falling tone of 日). 門人 are the disciples, and 戲玩晚景 is amusing themselves in the evening light — a rare glimpse of the school off duty.
The Patriarch said: "Wukong, is the work accomplished yet?"
事成了未曾 — is the business done, or not yet? 未曾 is "not yet." It sounds like small talk. It is an examination.
Wukong said: "Thanks to the master's boundless grace, your disciple's merit is complete; I can already rise on the rosy clouds and ascend."
多蒙 is "much indebted to," 海恩 is grace as wide as the sea, and 功果 is merit or attainment. 霞舉飛升 (xiá jǔ fēi shēng) is to rise on the rose-coloured clouds and ascend, the standard phrase for a completed Daoist transcendence. He is claiming rather a lot.
The Patriarch said: "Try rising, and let me see."
Five words, and the whole boast is on trial. Try flying, and let me watch.
Wukong showed his skill: with a heave he sprang up, turned a connected somersault, and leapt five or six zhàng off the ground; treading the cloud-mist he went off for about the space of a meal, but came and went less than three li, and dropped down before them. Clasping his hands he said: "Master, that is rising and cloud-soaring!"
The demonstration is a disaster, told with lovely deadpan precision. 一聳 is one heave; 連扯跟頭 (lián chě gēn tou) is a connected somersault. He gets five or six 丈 off the ground — a 丈 being about 3.3 metres, left untranslated here — stays up for 頓飯之時, the time it takes to eat a meal, and covers 不上三里, under three 里: call it a kilometre and a half. Then he lands, clasps his hands respectfully (扠手, chā shǒu) and announces that this is cloud-soaring. 勾 (gōu) is colloquial for "about," standing in for 夠. (不上 takes bú before the falling tone of 上.)
The Patriarch laughed: "That doesn't count as cloud-soaring; it only counts as cloud-crawling. As the old saying goes, 'An immortal roams the North Sea at dawn and Cangwu at dusk.' For you to go less than three li in half a day — that can't even count as cloud-crawling."
The demolition is merciless. Not 騰雲, cloud-soaring, but 爬雲, cloud-crawling — and on the evidence, not even that. The proverb he quotes sets the real standard: 神仙朝遊北海暮蒼梧, an immortal roams the North Sea at dawn and Cangwu (蒼梧, Cāng wú), deep in the far south, by dusk. 朝 here is zhāo, morning, not cháo. (算不得 takes bù before the neutral 得, twice; 不上 takes bú.)
Wukong asked: "What is meant by 'roaming the North Sea at dawn and Cangwu at dusk'?"
He asks for the specification, as usual. 怎麼為 is "what is meant by," with 為 as wéi; 朝 is again zhāo.
The Patriarch said: "All who can cloud-soar set out from the North Sea in the early morning, roam through the Eastern, Western, and Southern Seas, and then turn back to Cangwu.
The full circuit: the North Sea at daybreak, then the Eastern, Western and Southern, then back to Cangwu. The whole world before dinner. 早辰 stands for 早晨, early morning; 輩 is bèi, a class of person; 復轉 is to turn back, with 轉 as zhuǎn.
Cangwu, now, is a term from Lingling by the North Sea.
A learned aside of the kind this novel enjoys: 蒼梧 is really a Lingling (零陵, Líng líng) expression. The master breaks off mid-scolding to gloss his own proverb.
To roam all the four seas in a single day — only that counts as cloud-soaring."
方算得, only then does it count (方 fāng, only then). Everything beyond the four seas, the lot of it, in one day. (一日 is yí rì.)
The chapter's comic rhythm reasserts itself: no sooner has Wukong mastered the great secret than his pride outruns his legs. Sent up to demonstrate his new power of flight, he manages a single connected somersault and a hop of a few 丈, drifts for about the length of a meal, covers less than three 里 — and then lands and proudly calls it 騰雲, cloud-soaring. The master's deflation is merciless and very funny: that is no soaring, that is 爬雲, cloud-crawling, and poor crawling at that. The exchange is of a piece with the lecture-hall scene and the riddle — the disciple's exuberance repeatedly checked, measured and corrected.
But the mockery carries a real cosmology. The standard of true transcendence comes in a proverb — 神仙朝遊北海暮蒼梧, the immortal who roams the North Sea at dawn and far-southern Cangwu by dusk — and the master spells out the whole circuit: north, then east, west and south, then back again, the world compassed in a single day. (His aside that 蒼梧 is really a Lingling expression is the kind of learned footnote the novel enjoys dropping mid-scene.) This sets the scale that the next passage will spectacularly meet, when the feeble somersault becomes the 筋斗雲, crossing a hundred and eight thousand 里 at a bound. And tellingly, the master will build that power not on some new technique but on the very clumsy tumbling motion Wukong is showing here.