再饒一次 Pardoned a Second Time
唐僧大驚道：「悟空，我當時只是菩薩暗受一卷緊箍兒咒，卻沒有甚麼鬆箍兒咒。」行者道：「若無松箍兒咒，你還帶我去走走罷。」長老又沒奈何道：「你且起來，我再饒你這一次，卻不可再行兇了。」行者道：「再不敢了。再不敢了。」又伏侍師父上馬，剖路前進。唐僧大惊道：「悟空，我当时只是菩萨暗受一卷紧箍儿咒，却没有甚么松箍儿咒。」行者道：「若无松箍儿咒，你还带我去走走罢。」长老又没奈何道：「你且起来，我再饶你这一次，却不可再行凶了。」行者道：「再不敢了。再不敢了。」又伏侍师父上马，剖路前进。
逐句解 Line by line
The Tang Monk started in alarm: "Wukong — at the time, the Bodhisattva only secretly gave me the one scroll of the Tight-Fillet Spell. There is no Band-Loosening Spell at all."
And here is the quiet horror at the bottom of the chapter. There is no loosening spell. Guanyin handed over one scroll — 暗受, received in secret, which is its own small chill — and that scroll binds. Nothing releases. The band that marks Wukong's redemption is a device with no off switch, and neither of the two men standing on this road can do a thing about it. (當時 takes 當 as dāng; 甚 is shén; the 兒 tags are the small toneless kind.)
Said Pilgrim, "If there's no Band-Loosening Spell, then you'll just have to take me along with you after all."
And Wukong turns it round in a single beat. No loosening spell? Then you will have to take me along after all. It is half a joke and half a checkmate: the master cannot free him, so the master cannot decently be rid of him. 走走, "go along a bit", makes the whole pilgrimage sound like a stroll — which is Wukong getting his footing back. (還 is hái, "then, after all"; the 兒 is the small toneless tag.)
The elder, at a loss once more, said, "Get up, then; I'll pardon you this once again — only you must do no more violence."
沒奈何 (méi nài hé) is "there being nothing to be done about it", and the narrator's choice of that phrase says everything about the quality of this pardon. The first one came from pity. This one comes from having run out of options. (行 is xíng.)
Said Pilgrim, "I'll not dare again.
He means it. He also cannot keep it, and the reader can see both facts at the same time: the demon has one costume left.
"I'll not dare again."
Said twice, the way his master doubled 善哉 earlier. Doubling in this novel is how a character shows he is in earnest — which is exactly why it is painful to read here.
And once more he waited on his master to mount, and cleared the way ahead.
And once again he helps the old man up onto the horse and goes ahead to clear the path. 剖路 is the same verb used of him cutting a way through the mountain in the chapter's opening pages. The cycle has closed exactly where the first one closed, in the same posture, with the same person doing the same work.
The passage delivers the chapter's quietest and most permanent cruelty: there is no Band-Loosening Spell. Guanyin gave Tripitaka the means to bind the Great Sage and none to release him. Wukong's reasonable request — free me if you cast me out — turns out to have no possible answer. What looked like a negotiation was a closed door.
Ironically, the dead end is what preserves the bond. Since the band cannot come off, the elder cannot honourably send him away, and Wukong's own plea now binds the master to keep him. The second pardon is granted less from mercy than from sheer impossibility — a reconciliation founded not on restored trust but on a shared inability to part.
With the doubled promise and the dutiful boosting of the master onto his horse, the second cycle closes exactly as the first did: strike, spell, plea, pardon, and the same hollow note at the end. The pattern has now run twice. The third disguise is waiting just ahead, and this time no impossibility of parting will prevent the rupture.