The fine Monkey King recited a spell, rode a gust of wild wind, and brought his cloud down. "Open your eyes, children," he called.

駕陣狂風, riding a blast of wind (陣 is the measure word for a gust). And then the gentlest line in the chapter: open your eyes, children.

The monkeys' feet touched solid ground; recognizing their home, every one of them rejoiced and ran for the old paths to the cave-gate.

腳躧實地 — feet treading solid ground (躧 xǐ). They open their eyes on home, recognise it, and run. Note that Wukong had to hunt for the path a few passages back. They do not.

The monkeys who had stayed in the cave all thronged in together, ranged themselves by age, and did obeisance to the Monkey King.

分班序齒 is to form up in ranks by seniority — literally "by teeth," 齒 being the old way of reckoning age in animals and, by extension, in people. A colony of monkeys arranging itself into a court. (一齊 is yì qí.)

They set out wine and fruit, held a welcome feast and offered congratulations, and asked about the subduing of the demon and the rescue of the young.

接風 is the welcome feast thrown for somebody back from a journey, and it is still the ordinary word for one. 降 here is xiáng, to subdue and receive submission, not jiàng, to descend.

Wukong told it through in detail, and the monkeys praised him without end: "To think the Great King, going off to that far place, learned such arts!"

備細 is in full detail. And the compliment is nicely backhanded: nobody had expected him to come back with anything at all. (一遍 is yí biàn; 不盡 and 不意 both take bú.)

Wukong went on: "In that year I parted from you, drifted with the waves across the Eastern Ocean to the borders of the Western Continent, went straight on to the Southern Continent, learned to take human form, put on this robe and these shoes, and went swaggering along — wandering eight or nine years and more, yet never finding the Way.

The recap of the first chapter, and it repays reading for what he leaves out. 隨波逐流, drifting with wind and current, is a living idiom for having no direction of one's own. 學成人像 is learning to look human — the years of copying human speech, clothes and walking. 擺擺搖搖 is swaggering along. Eight or nine years of that, and 更不曾有道, still no Way. The two continents named are 西牛賀洲, Aparagodānīya in the west, and 南贍部洲, Jambudvīpa in the south — and the geography is characteristically loose, the names invoked more for their music than for their positions on any map. 著 is zhuó, to wear, not zhe. (不曾 keeps bù.)

Then I crossed the Western Ocean to the borders of the Western Continent, inquired for a long while, and was lucky enough to meet an old patriarch, who passed me the true attainment that is long-lived as Heaven, the great dharma-gate of deathless immortality."

And the whole of the mountain — twenty years, the four gates, the riddle, the third watch, the elixir, the calamities, the transformations, the cloud, the expulsion — comes out as 幸遇一老祖, "I was lucky enough to meet an old patriarch." He is keeping his promise already. No name, no school, no address. (一老祖 is yì lǎo zǔ; 不死 keeps bù.)

The monkeys offered congratulations, all crying: "A thing hardly met in ten thousand kalpas!"

萬劫難逢, not to be met with in ten thousand kalpas — a 劫 being a whole world-age, which makes this about the largest superlative available.

Wukong laughed again: "Little ones — and here's another joy, that this clan of ours now all has a surname."

一門 is a household or clan. And he has clearly been waiting to say this. (一門 is yì mén.)

The monkeys asked: "What is the Great King's surname?"

The straight line.

Wukong said: "My surname now is Sun, and my dharma-name Wukong."

法名 is a dharma-name, the one conferred on entering religion, as distinct from the surname. Both were given to him in a single scene in the last chapter — the surname carved out of 猢猻, macaque, with the animal radical stripped away.

Hearing this, the monkeys clapped and said joyfully: "The Great King is Old Sun, and we are all Second Sun, Third Sun, Fine Sun, Little Sun — a household of Suns, a nation of Suns, a whole nestful of Suns!"

Here is the joke the whole chapter has been walking toward. 孫 is a surname, but it is also the ordinary word for "grandson" — so when the king announces that he is 老孫, "Old Sun," his monkeys hear "Old Grandson" and take off with it. Second Grandson, Third Grandson, Fine Grandson, Little Grandson, and then 一家孫、一國孫、一窩孫: a household of them, a nation of them, a whole nestful. English can keep the surname or the pun but not both at once. 忻 is xīn, a variant of 欣, glad. (All three 一 take yì.)

All came waiting upon Old Sun, with big basins and small bowls of coconut wine and grape wine, immortal flowers and immortal fruits — truly the whole household made merry. Ah!

The stone basins and bowls, recovered from the demon's cave a page ago, go straight back into service. 合家歡樂 is the whole household making merry. And 咦 (yí) is the storyteller clearing his throat for the closing verse.

Joined through into a single surname, the self returns to its root;

貫通一姓, threaded through into a single surname, and 身歸本, the self returned to its root. This is the chapter title's 歸本 being cashed in. (一姓 is yí xìng.)

only awaiting glad promotion — a name on the immortals' roll.

仙籙 (xiān lù) is the Daoist register on which the names of the perfected are entered — heaven's roll, and by extension the ledgers where lifespans are kept. 榮遷 is a glad promotion. The line points forward, and readers who know what is coming will enjoy it: Wukong's next major act will be to get hold of a register very like this one and take a brush to it himself.

After all, there is no knowing how it will turn out, or how his dwelling in this realm will begin and end — so listen to the telling in the next chapter.

且聽下回分解 — "listen for the explanation in the next chapter" — is the fixed sign-off of the 章回小說, the chaptered novel, inherited directly from the storyteller's platform, where it meant: come back tomorrow. All hundred chapters end this way. (不知 keeps bù.)