The two of them forced up their spirits, worked up a show of cheer, and came from the back garden to the hall, where they bowed low before the Tang Monk and said, "Master, just now our words were coarse and gave much offence—forgive us, forgive us."

Working up a smile you do not feel is hard labour, and the Chinese says so: 強打精神, "force up your spirits," and 勉生歡喜, manufacturing cheer. 控背躬身, kòng bèi gōng shēn, is bending the back and bowing the body, a deep formal salute. 適間, shì jiān, is "just now, a moment ago," with 間 as jiān, "an interval," not jiàn, "gap, next-door."

Sanzang asked, "How do you mean?"

The master has no idea what they are apologising for, which is the joke. His name keeps its 藏, zàng, reading.

Clear Wind said, "The fruits are not short. It was only that the leaves grew tall and dense, so that we did not see clearly.

果子不少, "the fruits are not short," with 子 as the toneless suffix zi. 看得明白, kàn de míng bái, "see clearly," with the toneless linking 得, de.

"Just now we went and looked again—it is the original number after all."

And here is 數 in its other reading: 原數, yuán shù, "the original number," the noun, where three passages ago 數得不明 had the verb shǔ, "to count." 才然, cái rán, is "just now."

At this Bajie seized the moment and chimed in: "You child, so young and knowing nothing of decency—coming to rail at us for no cause, cursing with an empty mouth, wrongly slandering us—you are no proper son of man."

Bajie cannot let a free shot go by. 趁腳兒蹺, chèn jiǎo'r qiāo, is seizing the opening to stick your oar in. 咀咒 is a loan-writing of 詛咒, "to curse," and reads zǔ, not the jǔ of 咀 "to chew." 不當人子, "not fit to be counted a human being's child," is a proper Ming curse; 當 is dàng, "to deem, count as," and because that is a falling tone the 不 in front of it lifts to bú. The 子 of 人子 is the full noun zǐ.

The Pilgrim, clear in his own mind, said nothing aloud but thought within: "It's a lie, it's a lie.

Wukong says nothing and thinks a great deal, which is the reverse of Bajie. 心上明白, xīn shàng míng bái, "clear in his own mind"; 口裡不言, not a word out loud.

"The fruits are long since settled and done for—why do they talk like this?"

了了帳, liǎo liǎo zhàng, is "the account is closed" — a bookkeeper's phrase for a matter finished and written off. Wukong knows the fruit is gone past recovery, so the boys' cheerful arithmetic can only mean one thing.

"There must be some art of raising the dead and restoring life."

想必, xiǎng bì, "there must surely be." 起死回生之法, qǐ sǐ huí shēng zhī fǎ, "an art of raising the dead and restoring life" — 起死回生 is still the everyday phrase for a spectacular recovery, whether of a patient or a football team. Wukong guesses right, and the next chapter will prove it.

Sanzang said, "If that is so, bring in the rice and let us eat and be on our way."

Sanzang, who has understood none of this, asks for dinner. 盛將飯來, chéng jiāng fàn lái, "dish the rice up and bring it," with 將, jiāng, as a directional syllable. 吃了去罷, eat and be on our way.