攙扶假道 Raising the False Adept
這怪從草科裡爬出,對長老馬前,乒乓的只情磕頭。三藏在馬上見他是個道者,卻又年紀高大,甚不過意。連忙下馬攙道:「請起,請起。」那怪道:「疼,疼,疼。」丟了手看處,只見他腳上流血。三藏驚問道:「先生啊,你從那裡來?因甚傷了尊足?」这怪从草科里爬出,对长老马前,乒乓的只情磕头。三藏在马上见他是个道者,却又年纪高大,甚不过意。连忙下马搀道:「请起,请起。」那怪道:「疼,疼,疼。」丢了手看处,只见他脚上流血。三藏惊问道:「先生啊,你从那里来?因甚伤了尊足?」
逐句解 Line by line
The fiend crawled out from the brush and, before the Elder's horse, knocked his head on the ground with a will, thump upon thump.
草科 (cǎo kē) is a clump of scrub. 乒乓 (pīng pāng) is the sound of a forehead hitting the ground -- the same two characters Chinese later reached for to name ping-pong -- and 只情 (zhǐ qíng) means "for all he was worth." The demon is overacting, and it works.
Tripitaka, from his horse, saw that he was a Daoist, and moreover well on in years, and felt exceedingly ill at ease.
年紀高大 (nián jì gāo dà), "far on in years." Now watch 甚: in 甚不過意 (shèn bú guò yì), "sorely embarrassed," it is the intensifier shèn, "exceedingly," and not the question-word shén the chapter has been using up to now. An old man knocking his head on the ground shames a monk, and shame is what gets Tripitaka out of the saddle.
Hastily he dismounted and, helping him up, said: "Rise, please, rise."
攙 (chān) is to take someone by the arm and help them up. It is pure reflex, and it brings the master bodily within reach of the thing he is helping.
The fiend said: "It hurts, it hurts, it hurts."
疼 (téng), "it hurts." Said three times, which keeps Tripitaka bent over him a little longer.
Letting go his hand to look, he saw that blood ran down the man's foot.
丟了手 (diū le shǒu), "let go his hold"; 看處 (kàn chù) is the storyteller's marker for the instant of looking. And here is the pay-off promised in the passage before: 血 in the plain phrase 流血 is xuè, the literary reading, where the vivid 血淋淋 took the spoken xiě. One character, two registers, a passage apart.
Startled, Tripitaka asked: "Sir, where have you come from? On account of what were your honored feet injured?"
那裡 here asks "where from," so 那 is nǎ; 因甚 (yīn shén), "on what account, why," is the question-word again. 尊足 (zūn zú), "your honored feet," is courtly address -- the master is being punctilious with a monster.
The demon plays the part with relish -- crawling out of the scrub, banging his head on the ground for all he is worth, crying that it hurts, it hurts -- and every gesture is aimed at one specific weakness. Tripitaka cannot bear to watch an old man abase himself. Courtesy gets him off his horse and down to the fiend's eye level, which is precisely where the fiend wants him.
It is a compact study in how a virtue is exploited. The master's discomfort at being kowtowed to, and his alarm at the sight of blood, are the two openings the demon counted on, and his polite questions -- where from, how hurt -- invite the elaborate lie that follows. The chapter also does a quiet piece of teaching here: 甚 shifts from the question-word shén it has carried all along to the intensifier shèn, and 血 is about to shift from its spoken reading to its bookish one.