移山壓聖 Moving a Mountain onto the Sage
這大聖正算計要摜,原來那怪就知道了,且會遣山。就使一個「移山倒海」的法術,就在行者背上捻訣,念動真言,把一座須彌山遣在空中,劈頭來壓行者。這大聖慌得把頭偏一偏,壓在左肩臂上,笑道:「我的兒,你使甚麼重身法來壓老孫哩?这大圣正算计要掼,原来那怪就知道了,且会遣山。就使一个「移山倒海」的法术,就在行者背上捻诀,念动真言,把一座须弥山遣在空中,劈头来压行者。这大圣慌得把头偏一偏,压在左肩臂上,笑道:「我的儿,你使甚么重身法来压老孙哩?
逐句解 Line by line
Just as the Great Sage was reckoning to dash him down, it turned out the fiend already knew — and could summon mountains besides.
算計 (suàn jì), "reckoning it up, working out how." 原來 (yuán lái), "as it turned out" -- the storyteller's way of springing information he has been withholding. 遣山 (qiǎn shān), "to dispatch mountains," is the demon's particular art: he does not move himself, he sends peaks.
He worked a spell of "moving mountains and overturning seas": there on Pilgrim's back he made the finger-signs and intoned the true words, sent a Mount Sumeru through the air, and brought it crashing down head-on to crush Pilgrim.
移山倒海 (yí shān dǎo hǎi), "shift mountains and upend seas," is still in daily use for any feat of overwhelming force, and here it is meant literally, 倒 read dǎo. 捻訣 (niǎn jué) is working the finger-signs of a spell, the hand-shapes a Daoist priest makes. And what he drops is 須彌山, Mount Sumeru -- not a mountain but the axis of the entire Buddhist cosmos, with the heavens stacked above it. The scale is a joke and a threat at once.
The Great Sage, flustered, tilted his head to one side so it came down on his left shoulder, and laughed: "My boy — what heavy-body magic is this, to press down on old Monkey?
慌得 (huāng de) is the 得 that measures degree: flustered to the point of tilting his head. 我的兒 (wǒ de ér), "my boy," is mock-paternal insolence -- and here at last is 兒 as the full noun ér, exactly as promised when it turned up as a toneless suffix early in the chapter. 重身法 (zhòng shēn fǎ), "heavy-body magic," 重 again zhòng.
Forewarned by the grumbling above him, the demon strikes first, and in doing so reveals the power that gives the chapter its central image: he can send mountains through the air. From his seat on Pilgrim's own back he works the spell and drops Mount Sumeru -- not a mountain but the axis of the Buddhist universe -- straight onto his bearer. The scale is deliberately absurd. A threatened murder is answered with the weight of a world.
Pilgrim's reply is pure bravado. A flick of the head shifts Sumeru onto one shoulder, and he laughs up at his passenger with mock affection. The insouciance is funny, but it also sets the pattern the next two scenes will test to destruction: one peak, then two, then three, until even these shoulders give.