萬全之策 Grief, and the Officials' Counsel
那學士讀罷家書,國王大哭,三宮滴淚,文武傷情,前前後後,無不哀念。國王哭之許久,便問兩班文武:「那個敢興兵領將,與寡人捉獲妖魔,救我百花公主?」連問數聲,更無一人敢答。真是木雕成的武將,泥塑就的文官。那國王心生煩惱,淚若湧泉。只見那多官齊俯伏奏道:「陛下且休煩惱。公主已失,至今一十三載無音,偶遇唐朝聖僧,寄書來此,未知的否。況臣等俱是凡人凡馬,習學兵書武略,止可佈陣安營,保國家無侵陵之患。那妖精乃雲來霧去之輩,不得與他覿面相見,何以征救?想東土取經者,乃上邦聖僧。這和尚道高龍虎伏,德重鬼神欽,必有降妖之術。自古道:『來說是非者,就是是非人。』可就請這長老降妖邪,救公主,庶為萬全之策。」那学士读罢家书,国王大哭,三宫滴泪,文武伤情,前前后后,无不哀念。国王哭之许久,便问两班文武:「那个敢兴兵领将,与寡人捉获妖魔,救我百花公主?」连问数声,更无一人敢答。真是木雕成的武将,泥塑就的文官。那国王心生烦恼,泪若涌泉。只见那多官齐俯伏奏道:「陛下且休烦恼。公主已失,至今一十三载无音,偶遇唐朝圣僧,寄书来此,未知的否。况臣等俱是凡人凡马,习学兵书武略,止可布阵安营,保国家无侵陵之患。那妖精乃云来雾去之辈,不得与他觌面相见,何以征救?想东土取经者,乃上邦圣僧。这和尚道高龙虎伏,德重鬼神钦,必有降妖之术。自古道:『来说是非者,就是是非人。』可就请这长老降妖邪,救公主,庶为万全之策。」
逐句解 Line by line
When the academician had finished reading the letter, the king wept aloud, the three chambers shed tears, and the officials, civil and military, were grieved to the heart; before the hall and behind, there was none but mourned.
三宮, "the three chambers," means the consorts; 前前後後 is "in front of the hall and behind it," which is where everybody was standing a moment ago to listen. The grief is total and it is public, which is what the staging of the previous scene was for.
The king wept a long while, then asked the two files of officials, civil and military, 'Who dares to raise troops and lead generals, to take the demon for me and rescue my Hundred-Flowers Princess?' He asked several times over, and not one man dared answer — the military officers truly as if carved of wood, the civil officials as if molded of clay. The king's heart grew vexed, and his tears fell like a welling spring.
And then the king asks for a volunteer, and gets the silence every reader has sat through in some meeting or other. 那個 is the interrogative nǎ, "who?"; 興兵 (興 = xīng) is to raise troops and 領將 (將 = jiàng) to command generals; 連問數聲 (數 = shù) is "asked several times running." The image the narrator lands on is a famous one — 木雕...泥塑, carved of wood and moulded of clay, which survives in modern Chinese as 木雕泥塑 for anyone struck useless and expressionless. The generals are the statues here, which is the point.
Then the assembled officials prostrated themselves as one and reported: 'Let Your Majesty not be vexed. The princess was lost, and for thirteen years to this day there has been no word; that a holy monk of Tang should chance to meet her and bring a letter here — we do not yet know if it be true. Moreover, we your servants are but common men on common horses, versed in the books of war and the arts of strategy, fit only to array battle-lines and pitch camps, to guard the state against the peril of invasion.
Their defence begins reasonably. 一十三載 (載 = zǎi) is thirteen years; 未知的否 is "we do not yet know whether it is so" — a fair objection, since the only evidence is a letter from a stranger. 凡人凡馬, "ordinary men and ordinary horses," pleads their merely human limits, and 佈陣安營, forming up and pitching camp, is an honest description of what an army can actually do.
'That demon is of the sort that comes on cloud and goes on mist; we cannot so much as come face to face with him — how then should we campaign and rescue? We think that this scripture-seeker from the Eastern Land is a holy monk of the superior realm: a monk whose Way is so high that dragon and tiger crouch before him, whose virtue is so weighty that ghosts and gods revere him. He must possess the art of subduing demons. As the old saying goes, "He who comes to speak of a trouble is the very man to settle it." Let us then ask this elder to subdue the fiend and rescue the princess — that would surely be the plan of perfect safety.'
Then it stops being reasonable and starts being clever. 雲來霧去, coming on cloud and going on mist, is a genuine problem — you cannot besiege weather. 覿面相見 (相 = xiāng) is to meet face to face. But the flattery that follows is doing work: 道高龍虎伏,德重 (重 = zhòng) 鬼神欽 — his Way so high that dragon and tiger lie down, his virtue so weighty that ghosts and gods defer — is praise with a job to do. 降妖 takes 降 as xiáng, to subdue. And the proverb they close on is the finest piece of self-preservation in the chapter: 來說是非者,就是是非人, "whoever comes reporting the trouble is the person the trouble belongs to." Anyone who has watched a problem get handed straight back to the colleague who raised it will recognise the move exactly. 庶為 (為 = wéi) is "would perhaps be," and what it introduces, 萬全之策, a plan safe in every respect, is still the everyday Chinese for a foolproof scheme. Safe for whom is the question the sentence does not ask.
The letter's aftermath is grief first and cowardice immediately after. The whole court dissolves in weeping — king, consorts and officials alike — but when the king puts the practical question, who dares raise troops and fetch the princess back, the answer is a silence the novel freezes into a famous image: the military officers as if carved of wood, the civil officials as if moulded of clay. The satire is pointed and characteristic. The pomp of this court, so admired a few scenes ago for its rites and its bearing, turns out to be hollow the first time anybody asks it for courage.
The officials then extricate themselves with an argument that is half sound and half self-serving. The sound half is real: a demon who comes on cloud and goes on mist is genuinely beyond the reach of an army trained to array camps against human invaders. The self-serving half is the conclusion — that the burden should therefore land on the visiting monk — clinched with a proverb about the bearer of bad news owning it. That manoeuvre, and not any zeal of Tripitaka's, is what drives the rest of the chapter: the fight the king cannot get out of his own men will now be pressed onto his guests, and the way is open for Eight Rules to be summoned and to start boasting.