拂袖關門 The Door Slammed
那婦人見他們推辭不肯，急抽身轉進屏風，撲的把腰門關上。師徒們撇在外面，茶飯全無，再沒人出。八戒心中焦燥，埋怨唐僧道：「師父忒不會幹事，把話通說殺了。你好道還活著些腳兒，只含糊答應，哄他些齋飯吃了，今晚落得一宵快活。明日肯與不肯，在乎你我了。似這般關門不出，我們這清灰冷灶，一夜怎過？」那妇人见他们推辞不肯，急抽身转进屏风，扑的把腰门关上。师徒们撇在外面，茶饭全无，再没人出。八戒心中焦燥，埋怨唐僧道：「师父忒不会干事，把话通说杀了。你好道还活着些脚儿，只含糊答应，哄他些斋饭吃了，今晚落得一宵快活。明日肯与不肯，在乎你我了。似这般关门不出，我们这清灰冷灶，一夜怎过？」
逐句解 Line by line
The woman, seeing them decline and refuse, sharply drew back, turned in behind the screen, and with a bang shut the side-door.
推辭不肯, to decline and refuse; 抽身轉進, to pull back and turn inside. 撲的 is the sound of a slam; 腰門 is a small inner side-door; 關上, to shut it, with 上 as the completing tail.
Master and disciples were left cast out in front, with neither tea nor food, and no one came out again.
撇在外面, left flung outside; 茶飯全無, no tea and no rice at all. Withdrawing the hospitality is both a punishment and the next turn of the screw — and the screw is aimed at exactly one of them.
Bajie, fretting in his heart, grumbled at the Tang Monk: "Master, you're far too clumsy at handling things — you've said it all clean dead."
心中焦燥 is fretful and anxious inside, with 心中 read xīn zhōng. 埋怨 is to grumble at somebody; 忒不會幹事, far too inept at managing things; 說殺了, talked it to death, meaning he left no opening.
"You'd have done better to leave yourself some room to maneuver — just answer vaguely, coax a little vegetarian fare out of her to eat, and win a night's comfort this evening."
還活著些腳兒 is a lovely colloquial image: keep a bit of your footing loose — that is, do not commit, leave yourself somewhere to stand. 還 is hái, still; 活 here means unfixed, flexible; 著 is the running zhe. 含糊答應 is to answer vaguely; 落得一宵快活, end up with a night's comfort, takes the light de. He is offering the master lessons in how to string a woman along.
"As for whether we'd consent tomorrow or not — that would rest with you and me."
肯與不肯, willing or not; 在乎你我, that would rest with you and me. Read it twice. He is proposing to keep the marriage open as an option for tomorrow, and he says so out loud.
"But shut in like this behind a closed door, with our cold ashes and chill stove — how are we to pass the night?"
似這般, in this manner, with 似 as sì and 般 as bān. 清灰冷灶, cold ash and a chilly stove, is the set phrase for a lodging with no fire and no supper in it — and Bajie mourning a missed meal is where the public half of the chapter ends.
Her exit is as abrupt as her anger: behind the screen, and the inner door slammed, and with it goes the tea, the meal and any further welcome. The pilgrims are left out in the cold, which is retaliation for the refusal and, as it turns out, one more pressure applied to the weakest of them.
The scene now belongs to Bajie's grievance, and his complaint against Tripitaka convicts him as he makes it. The master was clumsy to refuse so flatly — better to have hedged, wheedled a meal out of her, and banked a comfortable night, keeping the marriage available for tomorrow. He offers this as tactics. It is a full confession of where his own heart has gone.
The closing image is the hinge of the chapter: a shut door, cold ash, a chill stove, and a hungry night to get through. The open, public phase of the temptation is over and has been survived. The covert phase is opening — and Bajie fretting over a missed supper is precisely the appetite through which the four saints' test will find its way in.