八戒心動 Bajie's Heart Itches
那八戒聞得這般富貴，這般美色，他卻心癢難撓；坐在那椅子上，一似針戳屁股，左扭右扭的，忍耐不住。走上前，扯了師父一把道：「師父，這娘子告誦你話，你怎麼佯佯不睬？好道也做個理會是。」那師父猛擡頭，咄的一聲，喝退了八戒道：「你這個孽畜！我們是個出家人，豈以富貴動心，美色留意，成得個甚麼道理。」那八戒闻得这般富贵，这般美色，他却心痒难挠；坐在那椅子上，一似针戳屁股，左扭右扭的，忍耐不住。走上前，扯了师父一把道：「师父，这娘子告诵你话，你怎么佯佯不睬？好道也做个理会是。」那师父猛擡头，咄的一声，喝退了八戒道：「你这个孽畜！我们是个出家人，岂以富贵动心，美色留意，成得个甚么道理。」
逐句解 Line by line
Now Bajie, hearing of such wealth and such beauty, felt an itch he could not scratch; seated on that chair, he was as if a needle jabbed his backside, squirming left and right, unable to hold still.
聞得 resultative de. 這般富貴 “wealth and rank like this.” 心癢難撓 “the heart itches past scratching” — the idiom for irrepressible craving. 那椅子 (椅子, 子 the suffix zi); 一似 “just like,” 似 sì. Bajie's body betrays the desire the others suppress.
He stepped forward, gave the Master a tug, and said, “Master — this good lady is telling you her mind; why do you keep pretending not to hear?”
扯了師父一把 “gave the Master a pull.” 這娘子 (娘子, 子 the suffix zi) “this madam.” 告誦 (= 告訴) “to tell”; 佯佯不睬 “to feign not to notice.” Bajie speaks aloud the temptation the others will not name.
“Surely you ought at least to give her some answer.”
好道 “surely, one would think”; 做個理會 “to make some acknowledgment, to give a response.” Bajie urges the very engagement Tripitaka has labored to avoid.
The Master jerked up his head, gave a sharp “Tut!”, and rebuffed Bajie with a shout: “You accursed beast!”
那師父 nà. 咄的一聲 “with a sharp cry of ‘Tut!’”; 喝退 “to shout (someone) back.” 孽畜 “sinful creature, accursed beast,” Tripitaka's epithet for the wayward Pig.
“We are men who have left the household life. How should wealth and rank move our hearts, or fair looks hold our thoughts? What sort of principle would that amount to?”
出家人 “monks, those who have left home.” 豈以…動心 “how should… stir the heart.” 成得個甚麼道理 — 得 structural de, 甚麼 shénme — “what principle could it possibly come to.”
This is the chapter's pivot from silence to speech, and it is Bajie who breaks it. Where Tripitaka has met the widow's every word with feigned deafness, the Pig's appetite is written on his very body — the itch that cannot be scratched, the squirming on the chair as though needled — until he can bear it no longer and steps forward to speak the desire aloud.
The comedy of the exchange lies in its role-reversal of decorum. Bajie's ostensible complaint is on the Master's behalf — surely courtesy demands some reply — but the transparent motive is his own craving, and his urging that Tripitaka “give her an answer” is really a plea to keep the tempting conversation alive.
Tripitaka's rebuke — the jerked head, the sharp “Tut!”, the cry of “accursed beast!” — restates the monastic principle with sudden vehemence: those who have left the household life are precisely those whom wealth cannot move and beauty cannot hold. The confrontation crystallizes the chapter's design, ranging the disciplined master against the appetitive disciple, with the temptation itself waiting between them.