呼天之嘆 The Cry to Heaven
行者聽見「當值」二字，卻也心驚。仰面朝天，高聲大叫道：「蒼天，蒼天！自那混沌初分，天開地闢，花果山生了我，我也曾遍訪明師，傳授長生秘訣。想我那隨風變化，伏虎降龍，大鬧天宮，名稱大聖，更不曾把山神、土地欺心使喚。今日這個妖魔無狀，怎敢把山神、土地喚為奴僕，替他輪流當值？天啊！既生老孫，怎麼又生此輩？」行者听见「当值」二字，却也心惊。仰面朝天，高声大叫道：「苍天，苍天！自那混沌初分，天开地辟，花果山生了我，我也曾遍访明师，传授长生秘诀。想我那随风变化，伏虎降龙，大闹天宫，名称大圣，更不曾把山神、土地欺心使唤。今日这个妖魔无状，怎敢把山神、土地唤为奴仆，替他轮流当值？天啊！既生老孙，怎么又生此辈？」
逐句解 Line by line
Hearing the words “stand duty,” Pilgrim too was startled at heart. Lifting his face to the sky, he cried aloud: “Blue Heaven! Blue Heaven!
當值 (dāng zhí), “to serve on duty” — the phrase that stings him. 仰面朝天 (yǎng miàn cháo tiān), “raising his face toward heaven.” 蒼天 (cāng tiān), “azure Heaven.”
“Ever since the primal chaos first parted, when heaven opened and earth was cleaved and the Mountain of Flowers and Fruit gave me birth, I too sought out enlightened masters and had the secret of long life imparted to me.
混沌初分 (hùn dùn chū fēn), “the primal chaos first divided.” 花果山, the “Mountain of Flowers and Fruit,” Monkey's birthplace. 長生秘訣 (cháng shēng mì jué), “the secret formula of long life,” 長 read cháng.
“Think of my wind-borne transformations, my taming of tigers and subduing of dragons, my great uproar in Heaven, my very title of Great Sage — and yet never once did I bully or wrongfully order about a mountain-god or earth-god.
伏虎降龍 (fú hǔ xiáng lóng), “to tame tigers and subdue dragons,” 降 read xiáng. 欺心使喚 (qī xīn shǐ huàn), “to order about with a bullying heart.” Even in rebellion, Pilgrim never abused the humble gods.
“Yet today this outrageous fiend dares to summon mountain-gods and earth-gods as his slaves, to serve him duty by turns!
無狀 (wú zhuàng), “outrageous, without decency.” 喚為奴僕 (huàn wéi nú pú), “to summon [them] to be slaves,” 為 read wéi, “to be, as.” Pilgrim's outrage is on the gods' behalf.
“O Heaven! Having given life to old Monkey, why must you also give life to such creatures as these?”
既生…又生 (jì shēng…yòu shēng), “having produced… why also produce” — an echo of the famous lament of Zhou Yu over Zhuge Liang, here turned to comic self-regard. 此輩 (cǐ bèi), “such a sort, these creatures.”
The word that undoes Pilgrim is not his own defeat but “stand duty” — the discovery that a mere demon has reduced the local gods to conscript servants. His cry to Heaven is a genealogy of his own greatness: born of the primal chaos on the Mountain of Flowers and Fruit, schooled in immortality, tamer of tigers and dragons, wrecker of Heaven, titled Great Sage — and, he insists, never once a bully of the humble gods, even at the height of his rebellion.
The lament is characteristic in its blend of genuine principle and towering vanity. Pilgrim's indignation on the gods' behalf is real, a point of honor: power does not license the abuse of the weak. But the closing outburst — echoing Zhou Yu's famous cry, “why, having made me, did you also make him?” — tips the grievance into comic self-regard, the Great Sage affronted that Heaven should trouble to create anyone so far beneath him. The novel lets his nobility and his ego speak in a single breath.