三戰流沙 The Third Duel on the Sands
八戒笑道：「我把你少打的潑物，且莫管甚麼築菜，只怕蕩了一下兒，教你沒處貼膏藥，九個眼子一齊流血。縱然不死，也是個到老的破傷風。」那怪丟開架手，在那水底下，與八戒依然打出水面。這一番鬥，比前果更不同，你看他：八戒笑道：「我把你少打的泼物，且莫管甚么筑菜，只怕荡了一下儿，教你没处贴膏药，九个眼子一齐流血。纵然不死，也是个到老的破伤风。」那怪丢开架手，在那水底下，与八戒依然打出水面。这一番斗，比前果更不同，你看他：
逐句解 Line by line
Bajie said with a laugh: 'You under-thrashed rascal, never mind your talk of tamping cabbage —
少打的潑物, 'you under-beaten rascal' — a rascal who has had too few thrashings, which is a construction English has to unpack and Chinese does in three characters. Bajie picks up 築菜, the cabbage-tamping sneer (甚 shén), and throws it back.
'I'm only afraid that one swipe would leave you nowhere to stick a plaster,
沒處貼膏藥, 'nowhere left to stick a plaster' (教 jiào, the causative). A 膏藥 is the medicated patch of traditional practice, slapped on over an injury. The threat is that there will be too many holes to patch.
'with all nine holes running blood at once. And even if it didn't kill you, you'd have lockjaw to the end of your days.'
九個眼子, 'nine holes' — one per tooth of the rake (子 the light zi) — all bleeding at once. And then, if that somehow fails to kill: 破傷風, tetanus, lockjaw, for the rest of your life. It is a strikingly practical threat, and entirely in Bajie's register: even his brutality comes with an aftercare prognosis.
The monster threw open his guard and, down beneath the water, fought Bajie up once more to the surface.
丟開架手, 'threw open his guard' (那 nà twice). The fight climbs from the river-bed to the surface for the third time, on the same track as the last two.
This bout was indeed more furious than the last — behold:
比前果更不同, 'truly even more unlike the last one' (更 gèng), and 你看他, 'look at him.' The tag brings on the chapter's third and final battle-rhapsody. The narrator is insisting on novelty in a scene that is, structurally, an exact repeat — which is part of the joke.
The precious staff whirls, the nailed rake tamps; their speech not shared, they are no kin.
言語不通非眷屬, 'their speech not shared, they are no kin' (鈀 pá). On the surface it means they cannot talk and so cannot agree. Beneath it lies the chapter's real diagnosis, since these two are in fact kin of a sort — two disgraced officers of the same court — and nobody has said so.
It is only because the Wood-Mother overcomes the knife-and-spatula that the two are brought to clash and grapple.
The alchemy surfaces inside the fight itself. 木母, the Wood-Mother, is mercury, and it stands here for Bajie; 刀圭, the 'knife-and-spatula,' is the little measuring blade an apothecary used for powders, and by extension the measured dose of the elixir. 剋 is the technical verb for one of the five agents overcoming another — the cycle works rather like rock-paper-scissors, each element beating one and beaten by another. So the brawl is not enmity at all. It is chemistry, two ingredients reacting because that is what they do (相 xiāng).
No winning or losing, no give and take; churning the waves, they are all discord.
沒輸贏，無反覆 — no win, no loss, no turning of the tide — and 不和睦, 'not on good terms,' which after all that violence is a piece of magnificent understatement.
This one, in his wrath, how could he forbear? That one, cut to the heart, could scarce brook the shame.
怒氣怎含容, how could such anger be held in, against 傷心難忍辱, heartsick, he could scarcely bear the shame (那 nà, 難 nán). Note which is which: Bajie gets the rage, and the demon gets the wounded pride. The verse has been quietly taking the monster's side for some time.
Rake comes, staff parries — each plays the hero; the water boils the Flowing Sands, fierce and venomous.
水滾流沙, 'the water boils the Flowing Sands' (鈀 pá). The river stops being scenery and joins in.
Spirits high, toiling hard — all because Sanzang journeys toward the Western Regions.
多因三藏朝西域, 'all because Sanzang journeys toward the Western Regions' (藏 zàng, 朝 cháo). The same deflating move the last rhapsody made with 只為取經人: every rhapsody in this chapter builds to cosmic scale and then reminds you that the cause of it all is one man on a horse trying to get to the far bank.
The nailed rake is mighty fierce; the precious staff is thoroughly skilled.
釘鈀老大兇, the rake is mighty fierce (鈀 pá); 寶杖十分熟, the staff is thoroughly practised. Five characters each, weighed against each other like goods.
This one grips to haul him up onto the bank; that one claws to drag him and douse him in the water.
The whole chapter in one couplet. 要往岸上拖, one of them hauling toward the bank; 就將水裡沃, the other dragging back to duck him under (那 nà, 將 jiāng). Land against water, each pulling toward the ground where he cannot be beaten. That is the deadlock, drawn in a single image.
The din, like a thunder-clap, stirs the fish and dragons; clouds darken, the sky dims, gods and ghosts cower.
聲如霹靂, a noise like a thunderclap, and 雲暗天昏神鬼伏 — clouds dark, sky dim, gods and ghosts flat on the ground. The third rhapsody signs off exactly as the other two did, with the world unsettled and absolutely nothing resolved.
The last duel is prefaced by an exchange of grisly wit — Bajie promising nine bleeding holes and a lifetime of lockjaw — and then given the chapter's third battle-rhapsody. Formally it matches the first two, but here the alchemical reading breaks through into the verse itself: the fighters clash 只因木母剋刀圭, 'only because the Wood-Mother overcomes the knife-and-spatula.' The brawl is recast as a reaction between two elements, which is a considerably stranger thing than enmity.
One couplet names the true cause — 多因三藏朝西域, 'all because Sanzang journeys toward the Western Regions' — the same deflation the previous rhapsody managed with 只為取經人. Another draws the deadlock in a single picture: one fighter hauling toward the bank, the other dragging back into the water, each pulling for the ground on which he cannot lose. The set-piece ends, like its fellows, in an unsettled world — thunder in the deeps, the sky darkening, gods and ghosts cowering. Three formal duels have now been fought to no result whatever, and the reader is thoroughly prepared for the discovery that force was never going to win this crossing.