四面圍拜 The Fourfold Farewell Bow
他將書摺了，留在袖內，卻又軟款唐僧道：「師父，我也是跟你一場，又蒙菩薩指教，今日半塗而廢，不曾成得功果，你請坐，受我一拜，我也去得放心。」唐僧轉回身不睬，口裡唧唧噥噥的道：「我是個好和尚，不受你歹人的禮。」大聖見他不睬，又使個身外法，把腦後毫毛拔了三根，吹口仙氣，叫：「變！」即變了三個行者，連本身四個，四面圍住師父下拜。那長老左右躲不脫，好道也受了一拜。他将书折了，留在袖内，却又软款唐僧道：「师父，我也是跟你一场，又蒙菩萨指教，今日半涂而废，不曾成得功果，你请坐，受我一拜，我也去得放心。」唐僧转回身不睬，口里唧唧哝哝的道：「我是个好和尚，不受你歹人的礼。」大圣见他不睬，又使个身外法，把脑后毫毛拔了三根，吹口仙气，叫：「变！」即变了三个行者，连本身四个，四面围住师父下拜。那长老左右躲不脱，好道也受了一拜。
逐句解 Line by line
He folded the letter, tucked it into his sleeve, and then, softening his words to the Tang Monk, said: "Master, I have kept you company all this while, and had besides the Bodhisattva's instruction; to give it all up half-done today, with no merit-fruit achieved — I beg you, sit, and receive a bow from me, and I'll go the more content."
He folds the letter and puts it in his sleeve — he is keeping it — and then 軟款, softens his voice. What he asks for is a bow. Not a reprieve and not an apology: the ordinary courtesy a disciple owes a master, so that he can go with his mind at rest. 半塗而廢 is a way of writing 半途而廢, to give a thing up halfway, and 功果 is the merit-fruit, the spiritual result the whole journey was meant to produce. He is grieving the unfinished work quite as much as the parting. (將 fronts the object; both instances of 得 are the toneless complement marker.)
The Tang Monk turned his body away and would not face him, muttering under his breath: "I am a good monk — I'll not take the bow of a wicked man like you."
And the master turns his back. 唧唧噥噥 is muttering under the breath, the sound of somebody grumbling rather than speaking — and what he grumbles is that he is a good monk and will not accept the bow of a 歹人, a bad man. It is the coldest moment in the chapter, and it is very small and very human: an old man refusing to look at someone.
The Great Sage, seeing he would not turn, worked an out-of-body art: he plucked three hairs from the back of his skull, blew on them a breath of immortal air, and cried, "Change!"
身外法 is the outside-the-body art, Wukong's signature trick of turning his own hairs into copies of himself. He normally uses it to fight armies. Here he uses it to obtain a bow.
At once they changed into three more Pilgrims; with his own body, four in all, they surrounded the master on four sides and bowed down.
Four of him, one at each point of the compass, and the master in the middle. It is funny, and it is heartbreaking, and the novel is entirely aware of both. (行 is xíng.)
The elder, unable to dodge to left or right, could not but receive one bow after all.
好道也 is something like "well, after all" — a shrug in three characters. He could not dodge, so he took the bow. Wukong has conjured out of him the one thing he asked for and was refused, and there is no triumph in it at all. (那長老 points, nà, with 長 as zhǎng.)
This is one of the most affecting passages in the whole novel. Facing expulsion, Wukong asks for nothing but a farewell bow — the ordinary courtesy between master and disciple — so that he can go with his mind at rest. It is a request for form, for dignity in the parting, from someone who has just been called a murderer and thrown out on a slanderer's word. That he asks so humbly is the measure of his loyalty.
The elder's refusal is the chapter's coldest stroke. He turns his back and mutters that he will not take the bow of a wicked man, denying Wukong even the last small ritual of respect. And Wukong's response is entirely characteristic: not force and not fury, but three hairs plucked from the back of his head, three doubles, and the master surrounded on four sides so that, dodge as he may, he must face a bowing disciple.
The fourfold bow is where comedy and pathos meet, as they so often do in this book. There is something absurd in the Great Sage multiplying himself to extract a farewell from an unwilling master, and something deeply moving in his refusal to leave without one. He takes by magic the dignity he is denied freely, and the small victory is soaked in grief. It is the last courtesy of a bond about to be cut.