The second fiend called out loud: “Sun the Pilgrim, quickly give me back my treasures and my mother, and I'll let you go fetch your scriptures with the Tang Monk.” The Great Sage, unable to hold his temper, cursed back: “You foul beast, you've mistaken your own Grandpa Sun! Hand back at once my master, my brothers, the white horse, and the baggage, hand me over some travel-money besides, and let me go west on my road; but if from between your teeth there comes half a ‘no,’ then go twist yourself a rope and be done with it — spare your Grandpa the trouble of a hand.”

The demon demands his mother back, not knowing she is dead on the road, and Wukong answers with the chapter's favourite joke. 孫外公 is Grandpa Sun: since 孫 is both his surname and the ordinary word for grandson, every demon who calls him Sun the Pilgrim is, if you squint, calling him grandson — so he insists on the other end of the family tree at every opportunity. 快還我寶貝 kuài huán wǒ bǎo bèi and 送還 sòng huán both take 還 as huán, to give back. 趕早兒 gǎn zǎo er, at once, and 繩兒去罷 shéng er qù ba, go and twist yourself a rope — the coaxing ba attached to an invitation to hang oneself.

The second fiend, hearing this, at once leapt astride a cloud, sprang into the air, and brandished his sword to stab; Pilgrim swung his iron cudgel to meet him face on.

急縱雲 jí zòng yún, at once leapt astride a cloud. 劈面相迎 pī miàn xiāng yíng, met him full in the face, with 相 read xiāng, the mutual one; 空中 kōng zhōng, in the air, 中 as zhōng.

The two of them, up in mid-air — this was a fine fight:

這場好殺 zhè chǎng hǎo shā, this was a fine fight — the cue phrase for a combat rhapsody, with 場 read cháng as the measure-word for an occasion. 半空中 bàn kōng zhōng, in mid-air, 中 as zhōng. The lines that follow are indented in the edition, and they are the chapter's longest set-piece.

Chess meets its match; the general finds his equal.

棋逢對手，將遇良才 qí féng duì shǒu, jiàng yù liáng cái — chess meets its match, the general meets his equal. This is a living proverb, still what Chinese says when two well-matched rivals finally face each other. 將 here is jiàng, a general, not the little handling-word that has been all over this chapter.

Chess meeting its match, one can scarce hide one's zest; the general finding his equal, one may put forth one's craft.

The couplet is now unrolled into its seven-character form, the way these rhapsodies always expand a compact saying. 難藏興 nán cáng xìng, hard to hide one's relish — 藏 read cáng, to conceal, and 興 read xìng, zest. 將遇良才可用功 jiàng yù liáng cái kě yòng gōng, meeting his equal, a general may put out his craft — 將 again jiàng. Both fighters are enjoying this.

Those two divine generals closing in were just like South-Mountain tigers battling, North-Sea dragons contending.

那兩員神將相交 nà liǎng yuán shén jiàng xiāng jiāo, those two divine generals closing — pointing 那, 將 as the rank-word jiàng, 相 as xiāng. 好便似 hǎo biàn sì, just like, with 似 read sì. South-mountain tigers and north-sea dragons are the stock pairing for two forces of nature colliding.

Where dragons contend, their scales cast a glitter;

龍爭處 lóng zhēng chù, where dragons contend — 處 read chù. 鱗甲生輝 lín jiǎ shēng huī, scales casting a glitter. The image works both ways at once: these are dragon scales and they are also the overlapping plates of armour, which is why the verse can hold the simile and the fight in the same words.

When tigers battle, their claws and fangs fly wild.

虎鬥時 hǔ dòu shí, when tigers battle. 爪牙亂落 zhǎo yá luàn luò, claws and fangs flying wild — the tiger half of the pair, answering the dragon half line for line.

Claws and fangs flying wild scatter silver hooks; scales casting a glitter brace up plates of iron.

The two images are now spliced together and cashed out as weapons. 撒銀鉤 sǎ yín gōu, scattering silver hooks — the fangs; 支鐵葉 zhī tiě yè, bracing up plates of iron — the scales. What began as a comparison has become the armour and the blades themselves.

This one, over and over, has a thousand cunning moves;

這一個翻翻復復 zhè yí gè fān fān fù fù, this one, over and over. 千般解數 qiān bān xiè shù, a thousand cunning moves: 解數 is a martial-arts term for a fighter's stock of techniques, and 解 takes the reading xiè in it, not the everyday one for untying.

that one, back and forth, gives not half a moment's ease.

那一個來來往往 nà yí gè lái lái wǎng wǎng, that one, back and forth — pointing nà, paired against the 這一個 of the line before. 無半點放閑 wú bàn diǎn fàng xián, not half a moment's slack.

The golden-banded cudgel, from the crown of the head just three-tenths apart;

金箍棒 jīn gū bàng, the golden-banded cudgel. 離頂門只隔三分 lí dǐng mén zhǐ gé sān fēn, only three parts clear of the crown of the head — a fēn is a tenth of a cùn, so the cudgel is missing the skull by something under a centimetre.

the seven-star sword, at the pit of the heart with but one thrust to vie.

七星劍 qī xīng jiàn, the seven-star sword — the answering half of the couplet. 向心窩惟爭一蹍 xiàng xīn wō wéi zhēng yì niǎn, at the pit of the heart with only one press to spare: 蹍 is the pressure of a tread, so the blade is a footfall's weight from the vitals. Head and heart, cudgel and sword, both a hair short.

That one's fierce might presses the Dipper and Ox to a chill; this one's wrathful air outmatches the peril of thunder and lightning.

那個威風逼得斗牛寒 nà gè wēi fēng bī de dǒu niú hán, that one's might presses the Dipper and the Ox to a chill — pointing nà, the how-far de, and 斗 read dǒu. 斗牛 are two of the twenty-eight lunar lodges, the Dipper and the Herd-Boy: the fight is being felt in the constellations, which is the rhapsody's way of saying it has gone on long enough.