父子之仇 A Teacher for a Day
行者道：「你這個潑怪，豈知『一日為師，終身為父』？『父子無隔宿之仇』？你傷害我師父，我怎麼不來救他？你害他便也罷？卻又背前面後罵我，是怎的說？」妖怪道：「我何嘗罵你？」行者道：「是豬八戒說的。」那怪道：「你不要信他。那個豬八戒尖著嘴，有些會說老婆舌頭，你怎聽他？」行者道：「你这个泼怪，岂知『一日为师，终身为父』？『父子无隔宿之仇』？你伤害我师父，我怎么不来救他？你害他便也罢？却又背前面后骂我，是怎的说？」妖怪道：「我何尝骂你？」行者道：「是猪八戒说的。」那怪道：「你不要信他。那个猪八戒尖著嘴，有些会说老婆舌头，你怎听他？」
逐句解 Line by line
Pilgrim said, “You vile fiend — what should you know of ‘a teacher for a single day is a father for a lifetime’?
一日為師，終身為父, the proverb “whom one has served as teacher a day, one honours as father for life”; 為 read wéi.
Or of ‘between father and son no grudge lasts overnight’?
父子無隔宿之仇 (fùzǐ wú gé sù zhī chóu), “between father and son no enmity outlasts a night” — a proverb of familial forgiveness. 隔宿, over a night; 宿 read sù.
You have done my master harm — how should I not come to save him?
傷害 (shānghài), to injure, to do harm to.
That you harmed him might be let pass—
便也罷 (biàn yě bà), “might even be let go, would be one thing.”
but that you should revile me behind my back and to my face besides — what account is there of that?”
背前面後 (bèi qián miàn hòu), behind one’s back and to one’s face alike; 背 read bèi. 是怎的說 (shì zěn de shuō), “what is to be said of that?”
The fiend said, “When did I ever revile you?”
何嘗 (hé cháng), when ever, never in fact; 嘗 read cháng.
Pilgrim said, “It was Zhu Bajie who told me.”
說的 (shuō de), the one who said it, so reported.
The fiend said, “Do not believe him.
信 (xìn), to believe, to trust. 那 read nà.
That Zhu Bajie, with his jutting snout, is something of a tale-bearer — how can you heed him?”
尖著嘴 (jiān zhe zuǐ), with the snout thrust out; 著 read zhe. 老婆舌頭 (lǎopó shétou), “old-wife’s tongue,” idle gossip, tale-bearing. 那 read nà.
Wukong grounds his return in the two proverbs of filial and paternal bond — the teacher who is a father for life, the father and son whose quarrels do not outlast a night — the very commonplaces Bajie had used to move him in the earlier chapter, now turned outward as the justification of his rescue. The rhetoric dignifies what is, at bottom, a matter of wounded pride: he can forgive the harm to his master more readily than the insult to himself.
The turn to the reported insult exposes the true spring of his fury, and the demon’s denial — he never reviled anyone — quietly confirms what the reader has long known: the whole tirade was Bajie’s invention, the goad that first roused Wukong. The fiend’s shrewd counter, that Bajie is a mere tale-bearer with a gossip’s tongue, is nearer the mark than he can know, and lends the confrontation a final twist of dramatic irony before it gives way to the challenge of the closing passage.