Now as Bajie and Sha Monk stood waiting at the gate, they saw the fiend come out in fearsome force. And how was he arrayed? Behold:

那 is nà; 來得 takes the unstressed de. The second portrait of the same demon, and nothing about it will resemble the first.

Blue face, red whiskers, crimson hair astream; gold-mounted armor, ablaze with abundant light.

Seven-character lines this time, regular and stately — the metre of a hero, not of the staccato grotesque asleep on the couch. Same creature, upgraded genre.

A belt of tridacna-shell wraps his belly and lines his waist; a cloud-patterned cord clasps his chest and laces his mail.

磲石 is tridacna, giant clam shell, one of the seven treasures of Buddhist listing and a rich man's belt fitting. 步雲絛 is a cloud-tread sash. This is expensive kit, described the way the novel describes a general.

At ease before the mountain, the wind roars and roars; roaming glum beyond the seas, the waves surge and surge.

吼吼 and 滔滔 each double their own character — roaring and roaring, surging and surging — the doubling that gives Chinese description its rocking, continuous motion. Wind answers wave across the couplet, with the demon standing still in the middle of both.

A pair of indigo, sinew-scorched hands grips fast the soul-hunting, life-taking sabre.

焦觔 is scorched sinew, with 觔 again standing in for the standard 筋. 追魂取命刀 is the soul-hunting, life-taking sabre — and naming a weapon is how this novel signals that its owner is somebody.

Would you know this creature's name and style? Two ringing graphs proclaim him: Yellow Robe.

The name is held back to the very last line, which is standard practice for this kind of portrait: array first, identity after. 喚黃袍 — called Yellow Robe. He is named for the garment the reader first saw slung over him while he slept.