山中叫喚 A Cry from the Mountainside
三藏聞言，也似信不信的，只得攀鞍在馬，順路奔山前進。正行時，只聽得叫聲：「救人！」長老大驚道：「徒弟呀，這半山中，是那裡甚麼人叫？」行者上前道：「師父只管走路，莫纏甚麼人轎、騾轎、明轎、睡轎。這所在，就有轎，也沒個人擡你。」唐僧道：「不是扛擡之轎，乃是叫喚之叫。」行者笑道：「我曉得，莫管閑事，且走路。」三藏闻言，也似信不信的，只得攀鞍在马，顺路奔山前进。正行时，只听得叫声：「救人！」长老大惊道：「徒弟呀，这半山中，是那里甚么人叫？」行者上前道：「师父只管走路，莫缠甚么人轿、骡轿、明轿、睡轿。这所在，就有轿，也没个人抬你。」唐僧道：「不是扛抬之轿，乃是叫唤之叫。」行者笑道：「我晓得，莫管闲事，且走路。」
逐句解 Line by line
Tripitaka, hearing this, half-believing and half-doubting, could only take hold of his saddle, mount the horse, and press on toward the mountain along the road.
也似信不信的 catches Tripitaka exactly: half believing, half not, and moving anyway. 藏 is zàng. 似 is sì, fixed that way across the project — this is not the 似的 pairing. 只得 takes the full-weight 得, dé.
Just as they were traveling on, they heard a voice calling: "Save me!"
And there it is. 正行時 has 行 as xíng; 只聽得 takes the full-weight 得, dé, "came to hear."
The elder, greatly startled, said: "Disciple, here in the middle of the mountain — what person is it that cries out?"
長老 has 長 as zhǎng; 這半山中 takes zhōng. Then two of the chapter's running readings in one clause: 那裡 questioning, nǎ lǐ, and 甚麼 with 甚 as shén.
Pilgrim came forward and said: "Master, just keep to the road, and don't trouble yourself over any sedan-chairs — man-chairs, mule-chairs, bright-chairs, or sleeping-chairs.
Here is the chapter's best joke and it does not survive translation, so it is worth spelling out. The Master says he hears a 叫 — a cry. Wukong pretends to hear 轎 — a sedan chair. The two words sound nearly identical, and he runs with the misunderstanding into a straight-faced catalogue of chair types: chairs carried by men, chairs slung on mules, open chairs, sleeping chairs. It is the sound of somebody burying an awkward question under nonsense. 甚 is shén.
In a place like this, even were there a chair, there'd be no one to carry you."
He keeps the joke running one line longer than it needs to. 沒 is méi.
The Tang Monk said: "It's not a chair to be shouldered and carried — it's a cry of calling out."
The Master, with great patience, explains the difference between the two words to a disciple who understood it perfectly well. 不 lifts to bú before the falling tone of 是.
Pilgrim laughed and said: "I understand — pay no heed to idle matters, and let's just get on down the road."
"I understand" — which he did all along. 我曉得 takes the full-weight 得, dé. 莫管閑事 is "mind no idle business," and it will not work.
The war of nerves turns into a comic double act. The demon, hanging in his pine, starts crying 救人, "save me"; Tripitaka, all compassion, immediately wants to know who is calling; and Wukong, determined to keep everyone moving, resorts to deliberate mishearing. He takes the Master's 叫, a cry, as 轎, a sedan chair — the two words sound almost the same — and buries the question under a nonsense list of chair types. The pun cannot be carried into English, but its function is plain enough: Wukong is stalling, and doing it by playing the fool.
Underneath the wordplay the passage stages the collision that will drive the rest of the chapter. Tripitaka is 信不信, half-believing and half-doubting, which is his exact position: he cannot see what Wukong sees, and Wukong cannot make him see it in the time available. Each of the Master's virtues is being pulled in an opposite direction — his trust in his disciple against his pity for the voice — and the demon's whole strategy depends on that tension. The longer Wukong evades, the harder the Master's compassion strains against his obedience, until the crying child becomes impossible to ride past. The comedy is real, but it is laid over a trap that is closing.