菩薩試心 The Bodhisattva’s Trial
大聖道:「你這老官兒,著實無禮。縱放家屬為邪,該問個鈐束不嚴的罪名。」老君道:「不干我事,不可錯怪了人。此乃海上菩薩問我借了三次,送他在此,託化妖魔,試你師徒可有真心往西去也。」大聖聞言,心中作念道:「這菩薩也老大憊懶。當時解逃老孫,教保唐僧西去取經,我說路途艱澀難行,他曾許我到急難處,親來相救;如今反使精邪掯害。語言不的,該他一世無夫。若不是老官兒親來,我決不與他。既是你這等說,拿去罷。」大圣道:「你这老官儿,着实无礼。纵放家属为邪,该问个钤束不严的罪名。」老君道:「不干我事,不可错怪了人。此乃海上菩萨问我借了三次,送他在此,托化妖魔,试你师徒可有真心往西去也。」大圣闻言,心中作念道:「这菩萨也老大惫懒。当时解逃老孙,教保唐僧西去取经,我说路途艰涩难行,他曾许我到急难处,亲来相救;如今反使精邪掯害。语言不的,该他一世无夫。若不是老官儿亲来,我决不与他。既是你这等说,拿去罢。」
逐句解 Line by line
The Great Sage said: "You, old sir, are downright ill-mannered.
著實無禮 is "downright rude," 著 the adverbial zhuó; 老官兒 takes the suffix 兒 (er). Wukong has just been handed the solution to a two-chapter ordeal and his first instinct is to tell off the highest god in the Daoist pantheon.
You let your household turn to evil-doing — you ought to be charged with the crime of keeping too slack a discipline."
The complaint is framed as a legal charge, which is what makes it funny. 縱放家屬為邪 is "let your household do evil," 為 read wéi, to act as or do; 鈐束不嚴 is "lax in discipline" — and 罪名 is a formal criminal charge. He is effectively proposing to indict Laozi for failure to supervise staff.
Lord Lao said: "It is no doing of mine — you must not wrongly blame folk.
不干我事 (bù gān wǒ shì) — "no concern of mine." The 干 is gān, to concern or involve, not the gàn of doing a thing; and because that is a first-tone syllable, the 不 before it stays bù. Lord Lao deflects, and then explains.
This was the Bodhisattva of the sea, who asked to borrow them of me three times over, and sent them here to take demon-shape, to test whether you, master and disciples, had a true heart to go west."
The last revelation. 海上菩薩, "the Bodhisattva of the sea," is Guanyin, whose seat is the island of Putuo; 託化妖魔 is "sent them to take demon-shape." The whole ordeal was an examination, and the boys were borrowed three times over to set it.
The Great Sage, hearing this, made a thought in his heart: "This Bodhisattva is a great sluggard!
心中作念 is "made a thought in his heart," 中 read zhōng — the grumbling that follows is internal, which is the one concession to prudence Wukong makes. 老大憊懶 is "a great do-nothing."
In those days she freed and delivered Old Sun, bade me guard the Tang Monk on the westward scripture-quest — and when I said the road was hard and rough to travel, she once promised that at any moment of dire peril she would come herself to the rescue;
The grievance is specific and, it must be said, fair. 解逃 is "freed"; 教 is the jussive jiào; 相救 is "come to the rescue," 相 read xiāng. Watch the two readings of 難 in one sentence: 難行, "hard to travel," is nán, while 急難處, "a moment of dire distress," is nàn, calamity.
and now instead she sets goblins to plague me.
掯害 (kèn hài) is to harry or oppress. His point is sharp: she promised to come when things got desperate, and instead she arranged the desperation.
Her word not holding true, she deserves to be husbandless all her life."
語言不的 is "her word not holding true"; 該他一世無夫 is "she deserves to be husbandless all her life." As curses go it is startlingly rude — aimed at a celibate bodhisattva, for whom being without a husband is not a misfortune but the entire point. It is the sort of joke only Wukong gets to make, and he makes it under his breath.
Were it not that you, old sir, had come in person, I would by no means have given them up."
決不與他 — "would by no means give them up," with 兒 again the suffix in 老官兒 (er). Only the owner turning up in person carries the day.
Since you put it so, take them away then."
拿去罷 — "take them away, then," 罷 read bà, the softening final particle. He yields with as little grace as the situation allows.
The final revelation reframes everything. Guanyin, Lord Lao explains, borrowed his two furnace-boys three times over and sent them down as demons to test whether the pilgrims had a true heart for the westward road. Two chapters of terror are disclosed as a staged examination of the travellers' resolve — and nobody thought to tell the examinees.
Wukong's response is pure irreverent comedy. He grumbles that the Bodhisattva is a great sluggard who promised rescue in dire peril and then manufactured the peril herself, and caps it with a jest that the celibate Guanyin deserves to stay husbandless — an impudence nobody else in the novel would risk. Yet he hands the treasures over at once to Lord Lao in person, and the tension resolves into the wry accommodation with which this novel so often ends a trial.