沙僧為證 Sha Wujing Named as Witness
公主道:「郎君,你差怪我了,我何嘗有甚書去?」老怪道:「你還強嘴哩,現拿住一個對頭在此,卻不是證見?」公主道:「是誰?」老妖道:「是唐僧第二個徒弟沙和尚。」原來人到了死處,誰肯認死,只得與他放賴。公主道:「郎君且息怒,我和你去問他一聲。果然有書,就打死了,我也甘心;假若無書,卻不枉殺了奴奴也?」公主道:「郎君,你差怪我了,我何尝有甚书去?」老怪道:「你还强嘴哩,现拿住一个对头在此,却不是证见?」公主道:「是谁?」老妖道:「是唐僧第二个徒弟沙和尚。」原来人到了死处,谁肯认死,只得与他放赖。公主道:「郎君且息怒,我和你去问他一声。果然有书,就打死了,我也甘心;假若无书,却不枉杀了奴奴也?」
逐句解 Line by line
The princess said: "My lord, you wrong me with your blame — when did I ever send any such letter?"
She lies, and she lies well. 差怪 is to blame someone by mistake — 差 in the sense "amiss, in error." 何嘗 is the rhetorical "when did I ever?"; and 甚書 stands for 甚麼書, "what letter," with 甚 read shén in its question-word sense.
The old demon said: "Still you talk back! I have one of the very adversaries seized and held right here — is that not proof enough?"
強嘴 is to answer back, to be stubborn of tongue, with 強 read qiáng; 還 is again hái, "still." Then the trap: 對頭 is the opposing party, the adversary, and 證見 is the witness, the proof. He has a living exhibit chained up in the next room.
"Who?" asked the princess. "It is Sha the Monk," said the old fiend, "Tripitaka's second disciple."
沙和尚 is Sha Wujing, whose full religious name is 沙悟淨. The demon calls him Tripitaka's 第二個徒弟, second disciple; the pilgrimage's usual reckoning makes Wukong first, Bajie second and Sha third, so the count here is the demon's own and loose. What interests him is not the rank but the use — a captured enemy who can be produced as evidence.
Now when a person is brought to the very brink of death, who will confess to a capital crime? She could only stall him with flat denial.
The narrator steps in to excuse her. 認死 is to own up to a capital offence; 放賴 is to brazen it out, to stall with flat denial. 只得 takes 得 as dé, "had no choice but." Nobody standing at the edge of the grave, says the storyteller, confesses to what would push them in.
The princess said: "My lord, quell your anger a moment; you and I will go and put the question to him."
息怒: to still one's anger. Her counter-proposal is a gamble of some nerve — go and ask the witness — and it stakes everything on a guess about a man she has met once, in a cell, and who has no reason on earth to protect her.
"If there truly was a letter, then beat me to death and I shall die content; but if there was none — would you not have slain your own handmaid for nothing?"
奴奴 is a woman's abject way of naming herself: "this slave, this handmaid of yours." Four lines ago she was calling him 郎君, my lord and husband. She has gone from wife to servant in the space of one argument, and she has done it on purpose.
The narrator breaks in with a proverb — that nobody at the point of death confesses to a capital charge — and in doing so reframes the princess's lie as the ordinary instinct of the condemned rather than as villainy. Moralising and sympathising in a single stroke is very much this storyteller's habit.
Her proposal to have Sha Wujing questioned is the hinge of the whole opening sequence. She stakes her life on a monk's discretion, and by doing so hands him the decision — which sets up the passage to come, where Sha chooses to shield her at what looks like the cost of his own life.
Track how she names herself. She begins by calling him 郎君, husband, and ends by calling herself 奴奴, slave. That slide from a wife's standing to a suppliant's measures exactly how far the ground has given way beneath her.