Canonical Classics ← 第三十四回
第三十四回
wángqiǎosuànkùnxīnyuán
shèngténgnuópiànbǎobèi

The Demon King, by artful reckoning, confounds the Mind-Monkey; the Great Sage, by shifting sleight, filches away the treasures.

詐化誆魔
模式 Mode Read Study
拼音 Pinyin Off
字體 Script
原文 Original text 繁體 Traditional Reader's edition

詐化誆魔 Feigning to Melt, He Gulls the Fiend

shèngzuòlezhǔnbèiguàitānjiǔyáoshèngzuòsizhǐshìhǒngláiyáoránjiàodào:「tiānguǎidōuhuàle。」yáoshèngyòujiàodào:「niángaliányāojiédōuhuàle。」lǎodào:「huàzhìyāoshídōuhuàjìnjiētiēerkànkàn。」shèngzuòlezhǔnbèiguàitānjiǔyáoshèngzuòsizhǐshìhǒngláiyáoránjiàodào:「tiānguǎidōuhuàle。」yáoshèngyòujiàodào:「niángaliányāojiédōuhuàle。」lǎodào:「huàzhìyāoshídōuhuàjìnjiētiēerkànkàn。」


逐句解 Line by line

shèngzuòlezhǔnbèiguàitānjiǔyáoshèngzuòsizhǐshìhǒngláiyáoránjiàodào:「tiānguǎidōuhuàle。」yáo shèngzuòlezhǔnbèiguàitānjiǔyáoshèngzuòsizhǐshìhǒngláiyáoránjiàodào:「tiānguǎidōuhuàle。」yáo

The Great Sage made his preparations, but the fiend, bent on his wine, did not shake it. So the Great Sage worked a little trick, meaning only to coax him into shaking, and suddenly cried out: “Heavens! My ankle-bones have all melted.” Still the fiend did not shake it. The Great Sage cried again: “Mother! Even my waist-bones have melted through.”

那怪貪酒不搖 (nà guài tān jiǔ bù yáo), "the fiend, bent on wine, did not shake it" — deictic . 孤拐都化了 (gū guǎi dōu huà le), "my ankle-bones have all melted" — read dōu. 連腰截骨都化了 (lián yāo jié gǔ dōu huà le), "even my waist-bones melted through.”

shèngyòujiàodào:「niángaliányāojiédōuhuàle。」lǎodào:「huàzhìyāoshídōuhuàjìnjiētiēerkànkàn。」 shèngyòujiàodào:「niángaliányāojiédōuhuàle。」lǎodào:「huàzhìyāoshídōuhuàjìnjiētiēerkànkàn。」

The old fiend said: “When it's melted to the waist, it's all melted through — lift the seal and take a look.”

化至腰時,都化盡矣 (huà zhì yāo shí, dōu huà jìn yǐ), "melted to the waist, it's all melted through" — read jìn. 揭起帖兒看看 (jiē qǐ tiē er kàn kàn), "lift the seal and take a look" — diminutive er; the fiends taking the bait.


總評 Commentary

The trick works by patience and performance. The fiend's absorption in his wine — the same distraction that let the cord be swapped — delays the shaking, so Wukong must escalate: not sound alone but a running commentary on his own dissolution, ankles first, then waist, staged cries of a body coming apart. The false report is calculated to a demon's credulity, feeding the melting-lore back to those who taught it to him.

The old fiend's conclusion is the perfect dupe's inference: melted to the waist means melted through, so lift the seal. His reasoning is sound and his premise is a fiction, and the order to unseal — 揭起帖兒看看 — springs the trap Wukong laid. The whole exchange turns the demons' own knowledge against them: they know exactly how the gourd unmakes a man, and that knowledge, exploited, is precisely what persuades them to open it on the one captive it never touched.