叩寺求師 Seeking the Master at the Temple
太子急忙上馬，出後宰門，躲離城池。真個是噙淚叩頭辭國母，含悲頓首復唐僧。不多時，出了城門，徑至寶林寺山門前下馬。眾軍士接著太子，又見紅輪將墜。太子傳令：不許軍士亂動。他又獨自個入了山門，整束衣冠，拜請行者。只見那猴王從正殿搖搖擺擺走來，那太子雙膝跪下道：「師父，我來了。」行者上前攙住道：「請起。你到城中，可曾問誰麼？」太子道：「問母親來。」將前言盡說了一遍。行者微微笑道：「若是那般冷啊，想是個甚麼冰冷的東西變的。不打緊，不打緊，等我老孫與你掃蕩。卻只是今日晚了，不好行事。你先回去，待明早我來。」太子急忙上马，出后宰门，躲离城池。真个是噙泪叩头辞国母，含悲顿首复唐僧。不多时，出了城门，径至宝林寺山门前下马。众军士接着太子，又见红轮将坠。太子传令：不许军士乱动。他又独自个入了山门，整束衣冠，拜请行者。只见那猴王从正殿摇摇摆摆走来，那太子双膝跪下道：「师父，我来了。」行者上前搀住道：「请起。你到城中，可曾问谁么？」太子道：「问母亲来。」将前言尽说了一遍。行者微微笑道：「若是那般冷啊，想是个甚么冰冷的东西变的。不打紧，不打紧，等我老孙与你扫荡。却只是今日晚了，不好行事。你先回去，待明早我来。」
逐句解 Line by line
The prince mounted in haste, went out by the Rear Steward's Gate, and slipped away from the walled city.
Out by the same back gate he came in through. 後宰門: 宰 = zǎi. 太子: 子 = zǐ.
Truly it was: with tears held back he kowtowed and took his leave of the queen-mother; bearing his grief he bowed his head and turned again to the Tang Monk.
真個是 ('truly it was') is the storyteller's flag for a matched pair of lines, and what follows is one: 辭國母 set against 復唐僧, taking leave of the queen-mother and turning back to the Tang Monk. The whole return journey is compressed into that single balanced pair. It sits inline here rather than being set out as a verse insertion, and the narrative simply carries straight on afterward.
In no long while he passed out through the city gate and came straight to the mountain gate of Baolin Temple, where he dismounted.
寶林寺, Baolin or 'Treasure-Grove' Temple, is where the pilgrims are staying. 了 = le.
The soldiers received the prince, and saw besides that the red wheel of the sun was about to sink.
接著, received him (著 = zhe). 紅輪將墜 — the red wheel about to sink — is a stock poetic name for the setting sun, 將 here meaning 'about to' (jiāng). Dusk is coming, which will matter in a moment. 太子: 子 = zǐ.
The prince gave the order: the soldiers were not to stir about in disorder.
He orders the troops to stay put. Whatever happens next, he wants no witnesses. 太子: 子 = zǐ.
He then went in alone through the mountain gate, set his cap and gown to rights, and reverently sought out the Pilgrim.
整束衣冠 is to straighten cap and gown before an audience — 冠 read guān, the cap. A crown prince tidying himself before kneeling to a monkey tells you how far the balance of power has shifted. 拜請行者: to seek out the Pilgrim with due ceremony (行 = xíng).
He saw the Monkey King come swaggering out from the main hall; and the prince, dropping to both knees, said: 'Master, I have come.'
搖搖擺擺 — rolling from side to side, swaggering. It is Wukong's signature walk, and the contrast with the kneeling prince is the joke. 那, twice, = nà; 太子: 子 = zǐ; 了 = le.
The Pilgrim stepped forward, helped him up, and said: 'Please rise.'
攙住 (chān) is to take someone under the arm and hold them steady — the gesture you make helping an older person up. 行 = xíng.
'When you reached the city, did you ask anyone?'
Straight to business. 城中: 中 = zhōng.
The prince said: 'I asked my mother.'
He answers in four words. 太子 keeps 子 at zǐ.
And he told over the whole of what had been said before.
將前言盡說了一遍: took the earlier conversation and told it all through once. 將 = jiāng; 盡 = jìn, 'wholly.' The novel spares us a repeat and skips to the diagnosis.
The Pilgrim said with a slight smile: 'If he was cold in that way, then likely it is some cold-natured thing that has taken his shape.'
A wife's word about a cold bed, and Wukong has his suspect's species. 那般冷 is 'cold in that way' (那 = nà), and 甚麼 reads shén me. His guess — some cold-natured thing wearing the king's shape — is a real clue, and the novel is playing fair with it. 行 = xíng.
'No matter, no matter — let old Sun sweep it away for you.'
不打緊, 'no matter, of no consequence' — and said twice, which is how Wukong says most things. 老孫, 'old Sun,' is what he calls himself, with the affectionate self-importance of a man referring to himself in the third person.
'Only it has grown late today, and this is no time to set to work.'
不好行事: no good time to get to work (行 = xíng, 'to do'). The sun went down two lines ago.
'Go back first; wait until early tomorrow, and I will come.'
Come back in the morning. It sounds like sensible scheduling; it is also a setup.
The scene shifts back to Baolin Temple and the mood lightens at once. The prince's grief-laden ride home is dispatched in a single inline couplet, after which the novel attends to homely particulars — soldiers met at the gate, the sun going down, an order to keep still, a young man straightening his robes before he kneels. Then Wukong comes swaggering out of the main hall and the comic energy the palace scenes had suspended is restored in one word, 搖搖擺擺.
Wukong's response is briskly practical. He needs exactly one detail — the cold marriage — to diagnose the impostor as 'some cold-natured thing,' and to promise, with his usual bravado, to sweep it away. Where the palace produced grief and dread, the demon-catcher sees a technical problem he has solved a hundred times.
His deferral — it is late, come back tomorrow — is both plausible stagecraft and a trap. The prince will refuse to be sent home quietly, and the negotiation that follows turns Wukong's caution into the seed of the next scene's comedy.