山後又叫 The Cry Comes Again from Behind
他再拽開步，趕上唐僧，一路奔山。只見那三藏又聽得那山背後叫聲：「救人！」長老道：「徒弟呀，那有難的人大沒緣法，不曾得遇著我們，我們走過他了。你聽他在山後叫哩。」八戒道：「在便還在山前，只是如今風轉了也。」行者道：「管他甚麼轉風不轉風，且走路。」因此，遂都無言語，恨不得一步踏過此山，不題話下。他再拽开步，赶上唐僧，一路奔山。只见那三藏又听得那山背后叫声：「救人！」长老道：「徒弟呀，那有难的人大没缘法，不曾得遇着我们，我们走过他了。你听他在山后叫哩。」八戒道：「在便还在山前，只是如今风转了也。」行者道：「管他甚么转风不转风，且走路。」因此，遂都无言语，恨不得一步踏过此山，不题话下。
逐句解 Line by line
He stretched his stride again, caught up with the Tang Priest, and pressed on along the mountain road.
拽開步 has 拽 as zhuāi, to yank or stretch out — he lengthens his stride. 一 shifts to yí before the falling tone of 路.
Then he saw the Tang Priest hear, once more, a voice calling from behind the mountain: "Save me!"
And the cry comes from behind. Two pointing 那, both nà; 藏 is zàng; 聽得 takes the full-weight 得, dé; 背後 has 背 as bèi.
The elder said: "Disciple, that person in distress has poor luck indeed — he never got to meet with us, and we've walked right past him.
The Master draws the wrong conclusion with perfect kindness: the poor soul simply has bad luck. 長 is zhǎng; 那有難的人 takes the pointing nà and 難 as nàn, calamity. In 不曾得遇著, 得 is the full-weight dé and 著 is the one that marks an action landing, zháo — 遇著 is "manage to meet," a meeting that came off. The chapter's sealed note called this the ongoing 著, zhe; the reading baked into the text is zháo, and that is the correct one.
Listen, he's calling behind the mountain now."
He is pointing out, without knowing it, that the demon has changed perch.
Eight Rules said: "He was in front all right — it's only that the wind has shifted round now."
Pigsy's explanation — the wind has turned — is wrong about the cause and right that something has shifted. 還在山前 takes 還 as hái; 風轉了 the completed 了, le.
Pilgrim said: "Never mind whether the wind's turned or not — just keep to the road."
Wukong will not be drawn, and the terseness is the tell. 甚 is shén; 不 keeps the plain bù before the dipping tone of 轉.
And so they all went on without a word, longing to cross this mountain in a single stride, and no more will be said of it here.
恨不得一步踏過此山 is a lovely idiom of frustrated haste — literally "to resent not being able to cross this mountain in a single stride." 都 is dōu; 得 is the full-weight dé; 一 shifts to yí before 步. And 不題話下, "no more will be said of it here," is the storyteller putting one thread down to pick up another.
Wukong's trick with space is quietly undone. The cry that was ahead now sounds from behind the mountain, and the Master, all innocence, registers only that the poor soul in distress has had bad luck — they have walked straight past him. What he cannot know is that the demon has shed his ropes and flown to a new perch. Wukong bent the road; the enemy simply moved. Pigsy's explanation, that 風轉了, the wind has shifted and carried the voice round, is the comic wrong answer that nevertheless registers the right fact: something has changed direction.
The economy is worth noticing. In a few lines the passage conveys the failure of the previous passage's cleverness without stating it at all. Wukong does not explain, does not react to the returning cry, and simply orders the road kept — 管他甚麼轉風不轉風, never mind whether the wind has turned. His silence carries the whole point. The war of nerves goes on, and the storyteller's closing formula deliberately breaks the pilgrims' thread to cross back to the demon, where we will see what Wukong's tricks have cost him and what he decides to do about it.