原文 Original text
繁體 Traditional
Reader's edition
旗豎重修
The Banner Raised
那大聖把旗拆洗,總鬥做一面雜彩花旗,上寫著「重修花果山,復整水簾洞,齊天大聖」十四字。豎起杆子,將旗掛於洞外。逐日招魔聚獸,積草屯糧,不題「和尚」二字。他的人情又大,手段又高,便去四海龍王借些甘霖仙水,把山洗青了。前栽榆柳,後種松柟,桃李棗梅,無所不備。逍遙自在,樂業安居不題。那大圣把旗拆洗,总斗做一面杂彩花旗,上写著「重修花果山,复整水帘洞,齐天大圣」十四字。竖起杆子,将旗挂于洞外。逐日招魔聚兽,积草屯粮,不题「和尚」二字。他的人情又大,手段又高,便去四海龙王借些甘霖仙水,把山洗青了。前栽榆柳,后种松柟,桃李枣梅,无所不备。逍遥自在,乐业安居不题。
逐句解 Line by line
那大聖把旗拆洗,總鬥做一面雜彩花旗,上寫著「重修花果山,復整水簾洞,齊天大聖」十四字。
那大圣把旗拆洗,总斗做一面杂彩花旗,上写著「重修花果山,复整水帘洞,齐天大圣」十四字。
The Great Sage had the banners unstitched and washed, and pieced them all together into a single many-colored flower-flag, on which were written fourteen graphs: “Rebuilder of Flower-Fruit Mountain, Restorer of the Water-Curtain Cave, the Great Sage Equal to Heaven.”
重修 chóng (“rebuild”), not zhòng; 上寫著 zhe. 齊天大聖 Wukong's old self-conferred title, now re-raised. 那 nà.
豎起杆子,將旗掛於洞外。逐日招魔聚獸,積草屯糧,不題「和尚」二字。
竖起杆子,将旗挂于洞外。逐日招魔聚兽,积草屯粮,不题「和尚」二字。
He raised a pole and hung the flag outside the cave. Day by day he summoned demons and gathered beasts, stockpiled fodder and stored grain, and made no more mention of the two graphs “the monk.”
將旗 jiāng; 不題 bù. 招魔聚獸 the reassembling of his old monster-host.
他的人情又大,手段又高,便去四海龍王借些甘霖仙水,把山洗青了。
他的人情又大,手段又高,便去四海龙王借些甘霖仙水,把山洗青了。
His connections were wide and his powers high; so he went to the Dragon Kings of the Four Seas to borrow some sweet-rain immortal water, and washed the mountain green again.
四海龍王 the Dragon Kings of the Four Seas; 甘霖 sweet, timely rain. 洗青了 le — the scorched mountain restored to green.
前栽榆柳,後種松柟,桃李棗梅,無所不備。逍遙自在,樂業安居不題。
前栽榆柳,后种松柟,桃李枣梅,无所不备。逍遥自在,乐业安居不题。
In front he planted elms and willows, behind he set pines and nanmu; peaches, plums, jujubes, and mei — nothing was left wanting. Free and at ease, contented in his settled life — of which no more need be said.
松柟 nán (= 楠, nanmu). 樂業安居 lè — the formulaic close of contentment; 不題 dropping the thread. The scene of ease before the narrative turns to Tripitaka.
總評 Commentary
The chapter's first movement closes on restoration. The banner Wukong raises — stitched from the dead hunters' standards — proclaims the three titles of his old identity, “Rebuilder of Flower-Fruit Mountain, Restorer of the Water-Curtain Cave, the Great Sage Equal to Heaven.” The washing of the mountain green with borrowed dragon-rain undoes, cosmetically, the very devastation the poems have just lamented; the scorched slope is made to bloom again.
And with “no more mention of the two graphs ‘the monk,’” the pilgrimage is, for Wukong, formally over. The narrator's parting phrase — free, at ease, contented, “of which no more need be said” — seals him back into the paradise-kingdom of the novel's opening. It is a false ending, and a pointed one: the story now cuts away to Tripitaka walking unprotected into the Black Pine Forest, so that the reader holds Wukong's contentment and his master's peril in the same glance.