八戒聞香 Bajie Gets Wind of It
噫！原來有這般事哩。他那道房，與那廚房緊緊的間壁，這邊悄悄的言語，那邊即便聽見。八戒正在廚房裡做飯，先前聽見說取金擊子，拿丹盤，他已在心；又聽見他說唐僧不認得是人參果，即拿在房裡自吃。口裡忍不住流涎道：「怎得一個兒嘗新？」自家身子又狼犺，不能夠得動，只等行者來，與他計較。他在那鍋門前更無心燒火，不時的伸頭探腦，出來觀看。不多時，見行者牽將馬來，拴在槐樹上，徑往後走。那獃子用手亂招道：「這裡來，這裡來。」噫！原来有这般事哩。他那道房，与那厨房紧紧的间壁，这边悄悄的言语，那边即便听见。八戒正在厨房里做饭，先前听见说取金击子，拿丹盘，他已在心；又听见他说唐僧不认得是人参果，即拿在房里自吃。口里忍不住流涎道：「怎得一个儿尝新？」自家身子又狼犺，不能够得动，只等行者来，与他计较。他在那锅门前更无心烧火，不时的伸头探脑，出来观看。不多时，见行者牵将马来，拴在槐树上，径往后走。那呆子用手乱招道：「这里来，这里来。」
逐句解 Line by line
Ah!
噫, yī — a sigh, and here a narrator's aside. The storyteller is leaning in to tell you something the characters do not know.
It so fell out that things went like this.
原來, yuán lái, "as it turns out" — the formula that introduces a fact the audience has been missing.
Their Daoist quarters and the kitchen shared a wall right up against each other, so that soft words spoken on the one side were heard at once on the other.
And here it is: the two rooms share a wall. 間壁 takes 間 as jiàn, "separated by a partition, next door" — the 隔壁 sense, distinct from the jiān of "between" or "amid" that turns up later at the ginseng tree. A whispered conversation on one side is audible on the other. The entire plot rests on a piece of building work.
Bajie, at that moment cooking in the kitchen, had earlier heard talk of taking the golden striker and the cinnabar tray, and had marked it well; and now he heard them say that the Tang Monk had not known it for the ginseng-fruit, so they had carried it off to their room to eat themselves.
Bājiè has been assembling the picture in fragments. First the striker and the tray, which he filed away; now the news that the monk did not recognise the fruit and the boys have taken it off to eat themselves. 已在心, he had taken note.
His mouth watering past all restraint, he said, "How am I to get one to taste?"
流涎, liú xián, to drool. 嘗新, cháng xīn, to have a taste of something new — the phrase used of first-of-the-season produce, which is a nicely inappropriate register for a fruit that comes round once a millennium. 怎得 takes 得 as dé.
His own body being clumsy and unwieldy, he could not stir to it, and could only wait for Pilgrim to come and scheme with him.
His obstacle is his own body. 狼犺, láng kàng, is a lovely piece of vernacular for bulky and ungainly — he is too big to sneak anywhere. So he needs an accomplice with a lighter tread. 計較, jì jiào, to plot, to work something out together.
Before the stove-mouth he had no more heart for the fire, but kept craning his neck and peering out to look.
He abandons the fire, which is a small betrayal of the one job he was given. 伸頭探腦, shēn tóu tàn nǎo, craning and peering — a stock four-character phrase for furtive looking. 觀看 takes the verb guān, held apart here from the temple-noun guàn.
Before long he saw Pilgrim leading the horse up; he tied it to a locust tree and went straight round to the back.
牽將 takes 將 as jiāng, a directional particle — "leading it along." 槐樹, the pagoda locust, a common courtyard tree.
The blockhead beckoned wildly with his hand: "Over here! Over here!"
亂招, luàn zhāo, beckoning frantically. Not a subtle conspirator.
A narrator's sigh — 噫, "Ah!" — opens the mischief, and then explains it in one sentence of architecture: the boys' room and the kitchen share a wall, close enough that a whisper on one side carries to the other. The entire disaster of this chapter descends from a piece of building work.
Bājiè, cooking on the other side, has been assembling the story in fragments. First the talk of a golden striker and a cinnabar tray, which he filed away without knowing what it meant. Then the news that the monk did not recognise the fruit, and that the boys had carried it off to eat themselves. By the time he has the whole picture his mouth is watering and he has stopped tending the fire.
What stops him acting is his own body — 狼犺, too bulky and ungainly to sneak anywhere. So he needs somebody quick, and he cranes out of the kitchen door until the quick one comes past. The passage is a small masterclass in vernacular texture: drooling, craning, peering, beckoning wildly with both hands.