Canonical Classics ← 第二十回
第二十回
huángfēnglǐngtángsēngyǒunàn
bànshānzhōngjièzhēngxiān

On Yellow Wind Ridge the Tang Monk Meets Adversity · Halfway Up the Mountain Bajie Strives for the Lead

跳出一隻斑斕猛虎
模式 Mode Read Study
拼音 Pinyin Off
字體 Script
原文 Original text 繁體 Traditional Reader's edition 含詞賦 With rhapsody

跳出一隻斑斕猛虎 Out Springs a Striped and Savage Tiger

shuōliǎozhǐjiànshānxiàjiǎnwěipǎotiàochūzhībānlánměnghuāngdesānzàngzuòwěndiāoānfāngēntóudiēxiàbáixiézàipángzhēnshìhúnfēisànjièdiūlexíngchèdīngràngxíngzhězǒushàngqiánshēngdào:「nièchùzǒu!」gǎnjiāngtóujiùzhùzhīzhítǐngtǐngzhànjiāngláiqiánzuǒzhǎolūnkōuzhùjiādexiōngtángwǎngxiàzhuāhuádeshēngbāojiāngxiàláizhàndàopángkànzěnshēngèxiàngyàngshuōliǎozhǐjiànshānxiàjiǎnwěipǎotiàochūzhībānlánměnghuāngdesānzàngzuòwěndiāoānfāngēntóudiēxiàbáixiézàipángzhēnshìhúnfēisànjièdiūlexíngchèdīngràngxíngzhězǒushàngqiánshēngdào:「nièchùzǒu!」gǎnjiāngtóujiùzhùzhīzhítǐngtǐngzhànjiāngláiqiánzuǒzhǎolūnkōuzhùjiādexiōngtángwǎngxiàzhuāhuádeshēngbāojiāngxiàláizhàndàopángkànzěnshēngèxiàngyàng

xuèjīnjīndechìbāoshēnhóngchīchīdewānhuántuǐxuèjīnjīndechìbāoshēnhóngchīchīdewānhuántuǐ
huǒyànyàndeliǎngbìnpéngsōngyìngshuòshuòdeshuāngméizhíshùhuǒyànyàndeliǎngbìnpéngsōngyìngshuòshuòdeshuāngméizhíshù
báisēnsēndegāngguāng耀yào耀yàodeshuāngjīnyǎnbáisēnsēndegāngguāng耀yào耀yàodeshuāngjīnyǎn
ángángdexiàoxióngjiūjiūdeshēnggāohǎnángángdexiàoxióngjiūjiūdeshēnggāohǎn

逐句解 Line by line

shuōliǎozhǐjiànshānxiàjiǎnwěipǎotiàochūzhībānlánměng shuōliǎozhǐjiànshānxiàjiǎnwěipǎotiàochūzhībānlánměng

He had not finished speaking when, from under the slope of the mountain, with tail lashing and hooves flying, out sprang a striped and savage tiger.

說不了 takes as the full verb liǎo, "to finish," which means the in front of it is the plain . 剪尾跑蹄, tail scissoring and hooves running; 斑斕, striped and splendid, is the standard epithet for a tiger.

huāngdesānzàngzuòwěndiāoānfāngēntóudiēxiàbáixiézàipángzhēnshìhúnfēisàn huāngdesānzàngzuòwěndiāoānfāngēntóudiēxiàbáixiézàipángzhēnshìhúnfēisàn

Sanzang was so alarmed that he could not keep his seat on the carved saddle: he went head over heels off the white horse and lay slumped beside the road, his soul flown and his spirit scattered.

慌得, the result-linking de. 翻根頭, to turn a somersault — the Tang Monk falls off his horse on very nearly every mountain of this journey, and the novel never tires of saying so. 魂飛魄散 is still the ordinary phrase for being frightened out of your wits, and it is worth knowing what it literally claims: the is the cloud-soul and the the body-soul, and to have both leave you is to be no better than dead. 路傍 writes .

jièdiūlexíngchèdīngràngxíngzhězǒushàngqiánshēngdào:「nièchùzǒu!」 jièdiūlexíngchèdīngràngxíngzhězǒushàngqiánshēngdào:「nièchùzǒu!」

Bajie flung down the luggage, drew out his muckrake, and, not letting the Pilgrim get in front of him, roared aloud, "Cursed beast, where are you going?"

釘鈀, the muckrake, takes as . 不讓行者走上前 — Bajie will not let his brother go first, and that is worth marking, because it is the pig who charges the tiger. 孽畜 takes as chù; 那裡走 is the question-word , "where do you think you are going."

gǎnjiāngtóujiùzhùzhīzhítǐngtǐngzhànjiāngláiqiánzuǒzhǎolūnkōuzhùjiādexiōngtáng gǎnjiāngtóujiùzhùzhīzhítǐngtǐngzhànjiāngláiqiánzuǒzhǎolūnkōuzhùjiādexiōngtáng

He rushed at it and struck straight down at its head. But the tiger reared bolt upright, raised its left forepaw, and hooked its claws into its own breast;

趕將去 and 站將起來 both take the direction-marking , jiāng. 直挺挺站將起來 — the tiger rises onto its hind legs, which is the first sign that it is not a tiger. 摳住自家的胸膛: it takes hold of its own chest.

wǎngxiàzhuāhuádeshēngbāojiāngxiàláizhàndàopáng wǎngxiàzhuāhuádeshēngbāojiāngxiàláizhàndàopáng

it drew downward with a single rip, and with a slithering sound peeled the whole hide away, and stood at the roadside.

滑剌的一聲: reads , per the ruling of chapter 18 at 劃剌的一聲. 皮剝將下來 takes as bāo, the everyday "to peel," with again marking direction. The image is unforgettable and completely literal: the beast unzips itself.

kànzěnshēngèxiàngyàng kànzěnshēngèxiàngyàng

You may look at the evil shape of him. Ah! The look of him was this:

怎生惡相 takes as xiàng, appearance; 模樣 takes as . The cue 那模樣: stays with the prose segment, as all verse cues do.

xuèjīnjīndechìbāoshēnhóngchīchīdewānhuántuǐ xuèjīnjīndechìbāoshēnhóngchīchīdewānhuántuǐ

A body flayed raw and running with blood; legs and feet bowed round and hideously red.

Four couplets of eight characters against eight, each half opening on a doubled adjective plus : 血津津的, 紅媸媸的. That shape belongs to the , not to regulated verse. 赤剝 takes as bāo, flayed bare.

huǒyànyàndeliǎngbìnpéngsōngyìngshuòshuòdeshuāngméizhíshù huǒyànyàndeliǎngbìnpéngsōngyìngshuòshuòdeshuāngméizhíshù

Whiskers at either temple like flame, tangled and loose; brows stiff as driven stakes and standing bolt upright.

火燄燄, 硬搠搠, shuò, is to thrust or to stake, and the brows stand up like driven stakes.

báisēnsēndegāngguāng耀yào耀yàodeshuāngjīnyǎn báisēnsēndegāngguāng耀yào耀yàodeshuāngjīnyǎn

Four steel fangs, white and bristling; a pair of golden eyes with a glittering light.

白森森 of the fangs, 光耀耀 of the eyes. The catalogue works downward from blood and limbs to hair, brow, tooth, eye and finally voice, which is the order in which a thing coming at you arrives.

ángángdexiàoxióngjiūjiūdeshēnggāohǎn ángángdexiàoxióngjiūjiūdeshēnggāohǎn

A breath of fury as he strained and roared aloud; a bristling manliness as he shouted in a savage voice.

雄糾糾 is written for 赳赳, and takes jiū by the borrowed-character rule, per chapter 19. The last two couplets give up sight for sound, and hand the passage straight on to the shouted challenge that opens the next one.


總評 Commentary

The tiger comes out of the rhapsody. Three passages back the mountain was said to hold, at dusk, a tiger of Ba's hills hunting out its lair; here it is on the road. And the moment it is threatened it does the one thing no tiger does: it stands up on its hind legs, hooks a forepaw into its own chest, and pulls its skin off in a single downward rip, 滑剌的一聲 — with a slithering noise. The sentence is one of the small horrors of the book, and it is written without a single adjective.

Notice who acts. Sanzang falls off his horse and lies in the road with his souls gone. The Pilgrim, who has just been smelling the wind and pronouncing on where it came from, does nothing whatever. It is Bajie — hiding-Bajie, proverb-quoting Bajie — who throws down the luggage, pulls out the muckrake, refuses to let his brother go first, and charges. He is answered by a thing that takes off its skin. The four couplets that follow give the reader the flayed shape, working from blood down to voice, and that voice is the first word of the next passage.