The old man, hearing all this, laughed aloud. "So you are one of those glib-tongued monks who go knocking at doors for alms."

聽得 takes 得 as toneless de. 撞頭化緣, "knocking heads and begging alms," is a slighting phrase for a mendicant who tries one door after another; 熟嘴, "a well-practised mouth," is the same slight aimed at the tongue. 熟嘴兒 takes the suffix er.

The Pilgrim said, "It is your son who is glib. These days, what with the hard walking behind my master, I have grown too lazy to talk at all."

The retort is an oath — "your son is the glib one." Watch the character 兒 switch jobs across two lines: in 兒子 it is the full noun and takes ér, while the 兒 tacked onto 熟嘴 a moment ago was the suffix, er. 還懶說話: 還 is the adverb hái.

The old man said, "If you were not weary, and not too lazy to talk, I dare say you would deafen me alive.

聒 is guō, "to din, to deafen," where the automatic reading gives guā. 活活的聒殺我, "deafen me alive," concedes the Pilgrim's point with the dry courtesy that is this old man's chief characteristic.

Since you have such arts, then the West may be reached after all — may be reached. How many are you in your party? Come into my thatched house and lodge."

去得，去得 is the "can be done" pattern, doubled: 得 reads dé. The old man has reversed himself inside a single sentence, and what reversed him was pure boasting. 一行幾眾: 行 is xíng, a travelling company, and 眾 the counting-word for religious.

Sanzang said, "I am much obliged to my aged benefactor for the kindness of not driving us off. We are three in our party."

不叱之恩, "the kindness of not scolding us away," is high formal courtesy. The Tang Monk has understood that hospitality has just been granted, and repays it with the dignity of a set phrase.

The old man said, "And where is that other one?" The Pilgrim pointed. "The old fellow's eyes are dim. Is that not he, standing under the green shade?"

Three of the character 那 in one line, in two readings: 那一眾 is the pointing nà, "that other one," and 那綠蔭下 likewise, while 在那裡 is the question-word nǎ, "where." 指著 takes zhe.

And the old man's eyes were dim indeed. He lifted his head of a sudden and looked closely; and the moment he saw Bajie's face and muzzle,

果然眼花 — the Pilgrim's taunt turns out to be a diagnosis. The old man's eyes really are dim, which is why he has not yet seen Bajie, and why what he sees when he looks closely undoes him.

he was so terrified that he stumbled at every step, ran headlong into the house, and could only cry, "Shut the door! Shut the door! A monster is come!"

諕 writes 嚇 and reads xià; the 得 after it is the result-linking de. 一步一跌, a fall at every step. The whole comic machinery of the farmhouse scene turns on this point: it is not the Great Sage who empties the house, it is the pig.

The Pilgrim ran after him and caught hold of him. "Old fellow, do not be afraid. He is no monster; he is my junior in religion."

師弟, junior brother in religion. The Pilgrim uses the correct term, and the correctness is itself the reassurance.

Trembling, the old man said, "Good, good, good — monks each uglier than the last."

戰兢兢的, trembling. 一個醜似一個 — each one uglier than the one before — takes 似 as sì, the comparative. The old man is placating them and insulting them in the same breath, and his three 好s are pure terror.

Bajie stepped up. "Venerable sir, if you take the measure of a man by his looks, you are clean mistaken. Ugly we are, and ugly we may be; but every one of us is good for something."

Here is the passage's best joke, and its argument. 以相貌取人 glances at the Analects, where Confucius admits he misjudged a disciple by his looks (以貌取人); 相 is xiàng, appearance. 乾淨 is here the adverb "clean, utterly," and takes gān; 差了, "you are mistaken," takes chà. The ugliest creature in the book has just quoted Confucius in defence of his own face.