三分轉意 A Third of His Heart Turns
行者見說起菩薩,卻有三分兒轉意道:「兄弟,既這等說,我且不打你。你卻老實說,不要瞞我。那唐僧在那裡有難,你卻來此哄我?」八戒道:「哥哥,沒甚難處,實是想你。」行者罵道:「這個好打的劣貨,你怎麼還要者囂我?老孫身回水簾洞,心逐取經僧。那師父步步有難,處處該災,你趁早兒告訢我,免打。」行者见说起菩萨,却有三分儿转意道:「兄弟,既这等说,我且不打你。你却老实说,不要瞒我。那唐僧在那里有难,你却来此哄我?」八戒道:「哥哥,没甚难处,实是想你。」行者骂道:「这个好打的劣货,你怎么还要者嚣我?老孙身回水帘洞,心逐取经僧。那师父步步有难,处处该灾,你趁早儿告䜣我,免打。」
逐句解 Line by line
At the mention of the Bodhisattva, Pilgrim's heart turned some three parts, and he said: "Brother, since you put it so, I'll not beat you just yet.
Guanyin's name works on Wukong like a key in a lock, and the novel measures the effect like an accountant. 三分兒轉意, sān fēn'r zhuǎn yì, is a change of heart by some three-tenths — 分 being read fēn as a fraction, with the 兒 suffix rounding it off. A thirty-per-cent thaw, no more.
But speak honestly now, and don't try to deceive me.
老實, lǎo shí: honest, plain-dealing, no games.
Where is the Tang Monk in some plight, that you come here to hoodwink me?"
Two 那 in one sentence, read two different ways — a good illustration of why this chapter needs its ruby. The first, in 那唐僧, is the pointing nà, "that"; the second, in 那裡, is the questioning nǎ, "where." 有難, yǒu nàn, "to be in peril," takes 難 as the noun nàn, an ordeal.
Bajie said: "Brother, there's no great trouble at all — the truth is, I missed you."
And here is 難 again, one line later, in its other life: 難處, nán chù, "difficulty," with 難 the adjective nán, "hard." 沒甚, méi shén, "nothing much."
Pilgrim cursed: "You beating-worthy good-for-nothing — how dare you still bluster and wrangle with me?
劣貨, liè huò, "worthless creature" — the same "goods" formation as 夯貨 a page earlier. 者囂, zhě xiāo, is a colloquialism for badgering, for bandying words back at someone who outranks you.
This old Sun's body has returned to the Water-Curtain Cave, yet his heart still follows the scripture-seeking monk.
This is the line to keep. Two halves balanced against each other — 身回… 心逐…, body returned, heart still following — and between them the whole tension of the exile. 水簾洞, Shuǐlián Dòng, is the Water-Curtain Cave on Flower-Fruit Mountain, the home he went back to.
That master of ours meets peril at every step and disaster at every turn — tell me early, and spare yourself a beating."
Another matched pair: 步步有難,處處該災, "step by step there is peril, place by place calamity is due." 趁早兒, chèn zǎo'r, "the sooner the better." The last word is a textual curiosity: 告訢, gào xīn, to tell, to inform. The character on the page is 訢, read xīn, and that is what has been encoded — though the sense wanted is that of 告訴, whose second character differs from this one by a single element on the right.
The Bodhisattva's name does what an appeal to the master's face could not. Guanyin bound Wukong to the pilgrimage in the first place, and hers is the authority he will not defy, so the mention turns his heart outright — by "some three parts," which the novel states with a precision worth savouring. Nobody else in Chinese fiction relents by a stated percentage.
The heart of the passage is the couplet Wukong speaks about himself: his body has gone home to the Water-Curtain Cave, but his heart still follows the monk westward. It is the plainest statement of the exile that has run since chapter 27 — the Mind-Monkey cannot in fact detach itself from the enterprise it belongs to — and it clears the ground for his return. Having relented, he demands the one thing Bajie has been dodging: the plain truth about the danger.