修書解縛 The Letter Sealed, the Captive Freed
那公主急轉後面，即修了一紙家書，封固停當。到樁前解放了唐僧，將書付與。唐僧得解脫，捧書在手道：「女菩薩，多謝你活命之恩。貧僧這一去，過貴處，定送國王處。只恐日久年深，你父母不肯相認，奈何？切莫怪我貧僧打了誑語。」公主道：「不妨，我父王無子，止生我三個姊妹，若見此書，必有相看之意。」三藏緊緊袖了家書，謝了公主，就往外走。被公主扯住道：「前門裡你出不去，那些大小妖精都在門外搖旗吶喊，擂鼓篩鑼，助著大王，與你徒弟廝殺哩。你往後門裡去罷。若是大王拿住，還審問審問；只恐小妖兒捉了，不分好歹，挾生兒傷了你的性命。等我去他面前說個方便。若是大王放了你啊，待你徒弟討個示下，尋著你一同好走。」三藏聞言，磕了頭，謹依吩咐，辭別公主，躲離後門之外，不敢自行，將身藏在荊棘叢中。那公主急转后面，即修了一纸家书，封固停当。到桩前解放了唐僧，将书付与。唐僧得解脱，捧书在手道：「女菩萨，多谢你活命之恩。贫僧这一去，过贵处，定送国王处。只恐日久年深，你父母不肯相认，奈何？切莫怪我贫僧打了诳语。」公主道：「不妨，我父王无子，止生我三个姊妹，若见此书，必有相看之意。」三藏紧紧袖了家书，谢了公主，就往外走。被公主扯住道：「前门里你出不去，那些大小妖精都在门外摇旗呐喊，擂鼓筛锣，助着大王，与你徒弟厮杀哩。你往后门里去罢。若是大王拿住，还审问审问；只恐小妖儿捉了，不分好歹，挟生儿伤了你的性命。等我去他面前说个方便。若是大王放了你啊，待你徒弟讨个示下，寻着你一同好走。」三藏闻言，磕了头，谨依吩咐，辞别公主，躲离后门之外，不敢自行，将身藏在荆棘丛中。
逐句解 Line by line
The princess turned quickly to the inner chamber, wrote out a letter home upon a single sheet, and sealed it fast. Coming to the post, she loosed Tripitaka and put the letter into his hands.
Five verbs in one breath — 轉 (turn), 修 (write), 封 (seal), 解放 (untie), 付 (hand over) — and she has done it. 修書 is "to compose a letter," 封固停當 "sealed and made all secure," and 將書付與 uses 將 (jiāng) to carry the letter across to him. The speed of the sentence is the speed of her mind.
Freed at last, Tripitaka held the letter up in both hands and said, 'Bodhisattva-lady, I thank you for the gift of my life. On this journey, when I pass through your honored land, I shall be sure to deliver it to the king. My one fear is that, after so long a lapse of years, your father and mother may be unwilling to own the connection — and what then? Do not blame me, this poor monk, if I must speak a falsehood.'
Freed, and immediately worrying. 得解脫 is "obtained release," with 得 as dé; 相認 is to acknowledge a kinship. What he is warning her about is that he may have to lie: 打了誑語, "told a falsehood," and 誑語 is precisely the false speech that Buddhist precept forbids. So he asks permission in advance, which is very Tripitaka — scrupulous about the form of a sin he has already decided to commit. 奈何 = "and what is to be done then?"
Said the princess, 'No matter. My royal father has no son; he begot only us three sisters. If he sees this letter, he will surely wish to receive you.'
無子 — 子 is zǐ, "son" — establishes that the king has three daughters and no heir. That single fact is what will give the letter its force at court, and it is why the whole kingdom will presently be in tears over one missing girl. 相看之意, "the intention to see you," takes 相 as xiāng pointing the verb at its object.
Tripitaka tucked the letter snugly into his sleeve, thanked the princess, and made to leave; but she caught him back, saying, 'By the front gate you cannot get out — all the demons great and small are out there waving flags and shouting, beating drums and clashing gongs, aiding the Great King in his fight with your disciples. Go out by the back gate. Should the Great King seize you, he would at least question you first; but I fear the lesser imps might take you, and, drawing no distinction, do you a rough and mortal harm. Wait while I go before him and put in a good word. If the Great King lets you go, then wait for word from your disciples, find them, and make off together.'
Now she stage-manages the escape, and she is good at it. Two stock four-character phrases carry the din of the battle outside: 搖旗吶喊, waving flags and yelling, which modern Chinese still uses for anyone cheering loudly from the sidelines, and 擂鼓篩鑼, beating drums and banging gongs. Her reasoning is coldly practical: 還審問審問 (還 = hái) — the Great King would at least interrogate you first, whereas the rank and file would not bother. 小妖兒 and 挾生兒 both use 兒 as the colloquial suffix (er), and 挾生 means "roughly, while you are still alive." 說個方便 is to put in a good word — she will go and handle him.
Hearing her, Tripitaka kowtowed, obeyed her instructions to the letter, took his leave of the princess, and slipped out beyond the back gate; not daring to go on alone, he hid himself away within a thicket of brambles.
There is a small joke buried in this sentence that only works in Chinese. Tripitaka's name 三藏 reads zàng, "the Three Baskets" of scripture; and what he does at the end of the line is 將身藏在荊棘叢中 — hide himself in the brambles — where the same character 藏 reads cáng, "to hide." The Tripitaka hides. 謹依吩咐 is "carefully following her instructions," and 將身 takes 將 to move the body into position. The 荊棘, the bramble thicket, will be where his disciples find him.
The sealing of the letter is the device that turns a captivity into an embassy: one sheet of paper, tucked into a sleeve, carries the whole action out of the Wave-Moon Cave and into a royal court. The novel is careful to raise the moral difficulty at the exact moment of the rescue — Tripitaka's objection to 打了誑語, telling a falsehood, a precept he flags in advance because he can see himself breaking it. That anticipatory conscience is entirely in character: he is forever punctilious about small pieties while larger deceptions are being forced on him.
Her practicality is the counterweight to his scruple. The disclosure that the king has 無子 — no son, only three daughters — is both the letter's persuasive lever and the seed of the court's grief later on; and her stagecraft is exact, routing him out the back gate, weighing the Great King's habit of asking questions against the imps' habit of not asking any, promising to go and smooth things over herself. She, not the pilgrims, manages this entire reprieve. The novel does this repeatedly: the captive women in its demon-lairs are very often the shrewdest tacticians in the room.