第三十五回 · 悶極瞌睡 Grief and Heavy Sleep — Journey to the West

原文 Original text 繁體 Traditional Reader's edition 含詞賦 With rhapsody

悶極瞌睡 Grief and Heavy Sleep

那nà老lǎo魔mó慚cán惶huáng不bù已yǐ，一yí步bù一yì聲shēng，哭kū入rù洞dòng內nèi。只zhǐ見jiàn那nà什shí物wù傢jiā火huǒ俱jù在zài，只zhǐ落luò得de靜jìng悄qiāo悄qiāo，沒méi個gè人rén形xíng，悲bēi切qiè切qiè，愈yù加jiā悽qī慘cǎn。獨dú自zì個gè坐zuò在zài洞dòng中zhōng，蹋tà伏fú在zài那nà石shí案àn之zhī上shàng，將jiāng寶bǎo劍jiàn斜xié倚yǐ案àn邊biān，把bǎ扇shàn子zi插chā於yú肩jiān後hòu，昏hūn昏hūn默mò默mò睡shuì著zháo了le，這zhè正zhèng是shì：那nà老lǎo魔mó惭cán惶huáng不bù已yǐ，一yí步bù一yì声shēng，哭kū入rù洞dòng内nèi。只zhǐ见jiàn那nà什shí物wù家jiā火huǒ俱jù在zài，只zhǐ落luò得de静jìng悄qiāo悄qiāo，没méi个gè人rén形xíng，悲bēi切qiè切qiè，愈yù加jiā凄qī惨cǎn。独dú自zì个gè坐zuò在zài洞dòng中zhōng，蹋tà伏fú在zài那nà石shí案àn之zhī上shàng，将jiāng宝bǎo剑jiàn斜xié倚yǐ案àn边biān，把bǎ扇shàn子zi插chā于yú肩jiān后hòu，昏hūn昏hūn默mò默mò睡shuì著zháo了le，这zhè正zhèng是shì：

人rén逢féng喜xǐ事shì精jīng神shén爽shuǎng，悶mèn上shàng心xīn來lái瞌kē睡shuì多duō。人rén逢féng喜xǐ事shì精jīng神shén爽shuǎng，闷mèn上shàng心xīn来lái瞌kē睡shuì多duō。

逐句解 Line by line

那nà老lǎo魔mó慚cán惶huáng不bù已yǐ，一yí步bù一yì聲shēng，哭kū入rù洞dòng內nèi。那nà老lǎo魔mó惭cán惶huáng不bù已yǐ，一yí步bù一yì声shēng，哭kū入rù洞dòng内nèi。

The old fiend, ashamed past bearing, went weeping into the cave, a cry at every step.

慚惶不已 — "abashed and distraught without end." 一步一聲, "a step and a wail," the rhythm of his grieving return.

只zhǐ見jiàn那nà什shí物wù傢jiā火huǒ俱jù在zài，只zhǐ落luò得de靜jìng悄qiāo悄qiāo，沒méi個gè人rén形xíng，悲bēi切qiè切qiè，愈yù加jiā悽qī慘cǎn。只zhǐ见jiàn那nà什shí物wù家jiā火huǒ俱jù在zài，只zhǐ落luò得de静jìng悄qiāo悄qiāo，没méi个gè人rén形xíng，悲bēi切qiè切qiè，愈yù加jiā凄qī惨cǎn。

He saw the household goods and gear all still in place, but left only silent and still, not a human shape among them; and his sorrow, cutting deep, grew more wretched yet.

什物傢火 — "household chattels and gear." 只落得, "left only [as]," 得 the resultative complement de; 沒個人形, "not a soul in human form."

獨dú自zì個gè坐zuò在zài洞dòng中zhōng，蹋tà伏fú在zài那nà石shí案àn之zhī上shàng，將jiāng寶bǎo劍jiàn斜xié倚yǐ案àn邊biān，把bǎ扇shàn子zi插chā於yú肩jiān後hòu，昏hūn昏hūn默mò默mò睡shuì著zháo了le，這zhè正zhèng是shì：独dú自zì个gè坐zuò在zài洞dòng中zhōng，蹋tà伏fú在zài那nà石shí案àn之zhī上shàng，将jiāng宝bǎo剑jiàn斜xié倚yǐ案àn边biān，把bǎ扇shàn子zi插chā于yú肩jiān后hòu，昏hūn昏hūn默mò默mò睡shuì著zháo了le，这zhè正zhèng是shì：

Alone he sat within the cave, slumped over the stone table, his treasure-sword leaned aslant at the table’s edge and the fan tucked behind his shoulder; and drowsily, dully, he fell asleep. This is just what is meant by:

睡著了 (shuì zháo le) — "fell asleep," 著 read zháo, the resultative "asleep" (not the durative zhe). 這正是：, "this is exactly [what is meant by]," the tag introducing a proverb-couplet.

When a man meets with joyful things, his spirits run bright; when gloom comes crowding on the heart, drowsiness comes in plenty.

A proverb-couplet on the drowsiness that grief brings. 人逢喜事精神爽 is a common saw; here it is turned to explain why the bereaved fiend, far from sleepless, sinks at once into slumber — setting him up for the theft to come.

總評 Commentary

A quiet, almost elegiac passage before the action resumes. The demon-chief returns to a cave emptied of his host — the gear still there, but "not a soul in human form" — and, worn out with grief, slumps over the stone table and falls asleep, sword and fan laid carelessly aside. The stillness is the calm the next scene will exploit.

The closing proverb-couplet, introduced by the storyteller’s 這正是, gives the moment its point: sorrow, contrary to what one might expect, brings not wakefulness but heavy sleep. It is both a naturalistic touch — exhaustion after weeping — and a plot device, since the sleeping fiend, with the Plantain Fan tucked loose behind his shoulder, is about to be robbed of it.