Hearing these words, the pilgrim rejoiced in secret: "What luck, what luck — the Bodhisattva must have a remedy!"

Wukong reads the reproach correctly and instantly: if she is annoyed he did not come sooner, she must have what he needs. 造化 is good fortune, luck, a windfall. 聞得 is hearing, 得 the toneless de.

He pressed forward again and earnestly entreated her.

懇求 is to beg in earnest. Hope has put fresh urgency into a plea that was, a moment ago, close to hopeless.

The Bodhisattva said, "The sweet-dew water at the bottom of my pure vase can well heal an immortal tree or numinous sprout."

Here it is. 淨瓶, the pure vase, is Guanyin's emblem -- the flask every image of her carries, holding 甘露水, sweet-dew water, which is compassion in liquid form. 善治得 is is well able to heal, 得 toneless de. Three islands of the finest elixirs in the cosmos could not do it; a vase of water can.

The pilgrim said, "Has it ever been tried and proven?"

經驗過 is tested by experience, proven. Wukong is delighted and still asks for references, which is very much him.

The Bodhisattva said, "It has been proven."

A flat, confident yes. The demonstration follows.

The pilgrim asked, "And what was the proof?"

He wants the case history, and Guanyin obliges with a story about a bet she once had with Laozi.

The Bodhisattva said, "In years past, the Most High Lord Lao made a wager with me: he pulled up my willow-branch, put it in his elixir-furnace, roasted it black and dry, and sent it back to me."

太上老君 is Laozi in his deified form, keeper of the elixir-furnace -- the same furnace Wukong was once cooked in. 楊柳枝 is the willow-branch Guanyin dips in her sweet dew; it appears in her hand in temple images everywhere. 炙得焦乾 is roasted till scorched and dry, 得 the toneless de, 乾 = gān, dry; 送來還我 is sent it back to me, 還 = huán.

"I took it and set it in my vase, and in a day and a night it regained its green boughs and leaves, just as before."

一晝夜 is one day and one night. 復得青枝綠葉 is regained green boughs and leaves, 得 = dé, to regain; 與舊相同 is the same as before, 相 = xiāng. A branch burnt to charcoal, back in leaf overnight -- that is the precedent, and it is exactly the case the ginseng tree needs.

The pilgrim laughed. "True luck indeed, true luck indeed!"

The doubled 真造化, truly fortunate, is Wukong's delight breaking loose. The willow settles his last doubt.

"If even a thing roasted black could be healed back to life, how much less trouble is a mere toppled tree!"

And the swagger is back within one line. 烘焦 is roasted, scorched; 推倒的 is the toppled one, 倒 = dǎo; 有何難哉 is what difficulty is there, 難 = nán. If you can save a cinder, a tree that is merely knocked over should be nothing.

The Bodhisattva instructed her assembly, "Keep watch over the grove; I shall go and soon return."

吩咐 is to instruct, to give orders. 我去去來, I go and will come back, is a homely, colloquial promise -- the Bodhisattva of Compassion telling her household she won't be long.

Then, bearing her pure vase in hand, with the white parrot warbling sweetly before her, she set out, the Great Sage Sun following behind.

白鸚哥 is the white parrot, another of Guanyin's attendants, 囀 = zhuàn, to warble. 隨後相從 is following behind, 相 = xiāng. Note the order of the little procession: the parrot in front, the Great Sage bringing up the rear.

There is a poem to prove it:

有詩為證, there is a poem in witness.

The poem says:

詩曰, the poem says, heads a verse in praise of Guanyin.

Her jade-white brow-curl, her golden form — the world can find no words for them; she is indeed the Compassionate One who saves from suffering.

玉毫 is the jade brow-tuft, the 白毫 -- the radiant curl of hair between a Buddha's eyebrows, one of the standard marks of an enlightened body. 金象 is the golden form. 慈悲救苦尊, the Honoured One of Compassion who rescues from suffering, is Guanyin's defining title. 難 is read nán.

In a past kalpa she met the Undefiled Buddha; and to this day has become a manifest, active body.

過去劫 is a bygone kalpa, an aeon so long that Buddhist texts describe it by parable rather than number. 無垢佛 is the Undefiled Buddha, Vimala. 成得有為身 is has become a 有為 body, 得 the toneless de, 有為 = yǒu wéi, the conditioned and active body -- meaning she chose to keep working inside the world instead of departing it, which is what a bodhisattva is.

Through many lives she has stilled the waves of the sea of desire; her whole field of heart is without a mote of dust.

慾海, the sea of desire, is the standard Buddhist figure for the passions; 心田 is the field of the heart; 絕點塵 is without a speck of dust. Sea stilled, field swept clean -- two images of the same perfect purity.

Her sweet dew, long proven, is a truly wondrous art — it will surely keep the precious tree in everlasting spring.

甘露 is the sweet dew from her vase; 真妙法 is a truly marvellous method; 永長春 is everlasting spring, 長 = cháng. The poem ends by promising the very thing the chapter has been chasing since its first page.