太子潛歸 The Prince Steals Home
卻說那烏雞國王太子自別大聖,不多時,回至城中。果然不奔朝門,不敢報傳宣詔,徑至後宰門首,見幾個太監在那裡把守。見太子來,不敢阻滯,讓他進去了。好太子,夾一夾馬,撞入裡面,忽至錦香亭下。只見那正宮娘娘坐在錦香亭上,兩邊有數十個嬪妃掌扇,那娘娘倚雕欄兒流淚哩。你道他流淚怎的?原來他四更時也做了一夢,記得一半,含糊了一半,沉沉思想。却说那乌鸡国王太子自别大圣,不多时,回至城中。果然不奔朝门,不敢报传宣诏,径至后宰门首,见几个太监在那里把守。见太子来,不敢阻滞,让他进去了。好太子,夹一夹马,撞入里面,忽至锦香亭下。只见那正宫娘娘坐在锦香亭上,两边有数十个嫔妃掌扇,那娘娘倚雕栏儿流泪哩。你道他流泪怎的?原来他四更时也做了一梦,记得一半,含糊了一半,沉沉思想。
逐句解 Line by line
Now the crown prince of the Wuji kingdom, having taken his leave of the Great Sage, in no long while came back into the city.
卻說 is the storyteller clearing his throat. It means roughly 'now, to take up the tale,' and it marks a change of scene the way a cut does in film. 烏雞國, Wuji, means something close to 'Black-Cock Kingdom'; its rightful king was drowned three years ago, and the prince has only just parted from Wukong — the 大聖, the Great Sage — out at the hunt. In 太子 the 子 keeps its full tone, zǐ, because it means 'son and heir' and is not the light noun-ending.
True to his word he did not make for the court gate, nor dare have his coming announced, but went straight to the Rear Steward's Gate, where several eunuchs stood on watch.
A palace has a front door and a tradesmen's entrance, and the prince chooses the tradesmen's entrance. 後宰門 — 宰 read zǎi — is the rear gate used for household traffic, and he takes it to avoid the 朝門 (cháo), the formal court gate, where his arrival would have to be announced. Wukong had told him to come home unnoticed. 那裡 here just means 'there,' with 那 as the pointing nà.
Seeing the prince arrive, they dared not hold him back, and let him pass inside.
太子 again keeps 子 at zǐ. The little 了 at the end is le, which does no more than round the action off: they let him through, and that was that.
The fine prince gave his horse a squeeze of the knees, dashed on in, and came of a sudden below the Brocade-Fragrance Pavilion.
夾一夾馬 is a rider's gesture caught exactly — a squeeze of the knees against the horse's flanks, the vernacular equivalent of putting your foot down. 錦香亭, the 'Brocade-Fragrance Pavilion,' is the queen's own garden retreat, which is why he heads there and nowhere else.
There he saw the principal consort, the queen herself, seated upon the Brocade-Fragrance Pavilion, some dozens of palace ladies holding fans to either side, while the lady leaned against the carved railing and wept.
The camera pans up and finds her crying. 正宮娘娘 is the principal palace consort, the reigning queen — the same 嫡母 the opening poem told us to question. 數 is shù, 'several.' 扇 is shàn, the fan being held, not shān, the verb 'to fan' (which in other contexts means to whip up a crowd). And the 兒 of 雕欄兒 is the light northern ending er, not the standalone noun 兒 (ér), 'child.'
And why, you ask, was she weeping?
你道…怎的 — 'and why, do you suppose?' The narrator turns and speaks straight to the audience, a habit left over from the days when this was told aloud in a teahouse and the teller wanted you leaning forward.
It turned out that she too, at the fourth watch, had dreamed a dream — half of it she remembered, half had gone blurred — and she sat sunk in brooding thought.
Both of them dreamed, at the same hour, and each remembers only half. 四更 (更 read gēng) is the fourth night-watch, roughly one to three in the morning — the very hour the drowned king appeared to Tripitaka in the chapter before. The matching dreams tie mother and son together before either knows it. 記得 takes 得 as dé, 'to retain, to hold in mind.'
The story resumes by following the prince home, and the narrator's craft is on display: the throat-clearing 卻說, the secret entry by the back gate, the eye travelling from the guarded threshold up to the weeping queen on the pavilion. We are shown her grief before we are told its cause, and the cause turns out to be a dream — which pulls her inner life straight into the machinery of the plot.
That she 'too' (也) has dreamed, and at the fourth watch exactly, rhymes with the drowned king's appeal to Tripitaka in the previous chapter. Mother and son are each holding half a dream. The chapter's work will be to fit the halves together, and to let one wife's knowledge of one husband become the thing that unmasks a demon.
Wuji's 'Black-Cock' name and its stolen throne have long invited a second reading: a false king in the true king's seat is the mind under the rule of delusion. On that reading the prince's furtive return is the first movement of repair — knowledge slipping back into the palace by a side door.