花散刀現 The Petals Vanish, the Blades Appear
他將楊柳枝往下指定，叫一聲：「退！」只見那蓮臺花彩俱無，祥光盡散，原來那妖王坐在刀尖之上。即命木叉：「使降妖杵，把刀柄兒打打去來。」那木叉按下雲頭，將降魔杵如築牆一般，築了有千百餘下。那妖精穿通兩腿刀尖出，血注成汪皮肉開。好怪物，你看他咬著牙，忍著痛，且丟了長槍，用手將刀亂拔。他将杨柳枝往下指定，叫一声：「退！」只见那莲台花彩俱无，祥光尽散，原来那妖王坐在刀尖之上。即命木叉：「使降妖杵，把刀柄儿打打去来。」那木叉按下云头，将降魔杵如筑墙一般，筑了有千百余下。那妖精穿通两腿刀尖出，血注成汪皮肉开。好怪物，你看他咬着牙，忍着痛，且丢了长枪，用手将刀乱拔。
逐句解 Line by line
She pointed the willow sprig downward and cried out: "Withdraw!"
One word springs it. 將 in 將楊柳枝 is jiāng.
At once the lotus throne's flowery colors were all gone and its auspicious light wholly scattered — and there sat the demon king upon the points of the blades.
The flowers and the light go out like a lamp, and there he is, sitting on the points. Both instances of 那 point, so nà; 盡 in 盡散 is jìn, wholly, and 散 is sàn, scattered.
She at once ordered Moksha: "Ply the demon-subduing mace, and hammer the blade-hilts down."
The 降妖杵 is a demon-subduing mace, a standard weapon of Buddhist guardian figures. 降 is xiáng, to subdue; 兒 in 刀柄兒 is the light er ending.
That Moksha pressed down his cloud-head and, wielding the demon-quelling mace as if tamping a wall, struck some hundreds and thousands of blows.
The comparison is the memorable thing: he hammers the hilts down as if tamping earth into a wall — the ordinary, rhythmic, unhurried work of a builder. 那 points, so nà; 將 in 將降魔杵 is jiāng; 降 is xiáng.
The blades ran clean through the fiend's two thighs, their points coming out the other side, blood pooling and flesh laid open.
Through both thighs, points out the other side. 那 points, so nà.
What a monster! — see him grit his teeth and bear the pain, throwing down his long spear and clutching wildly at the blades with his hands to pull them out.
And the book will not let him be merely pitiful: teeth gritted, spear thrown down, hands clawing at the blades. Both instances of 著 in 咬著 and 忍著 are zhe; 長 in 長槍 is cháng; 將 in 用手將刀 is jiāng.
At Guanyin's word the lotus throne's illusion dissolves — flowers and light gone in an instant — and the demon is revealed sitting on the naked points of the thirty-six blades, impaled. The image is the chapter's central reversal made literal: the counterfeiter of Guanyin who had sat serene is now the demon himself, transfixed in the very posture he was copying. Moksha hammers the blades home as if tamping earth into a wall, and they run clean through the thighs. Yet even here the book marks his ferocity — he grits his teeth, bears the pain, throws down his spear and claws at the blades barehanded, refusing to yield. The trap has caught him, but it has not broken him.
The comparison the book chooses for Moksha's work is deliberately unheroic. He hammers the hilts down as a laborer tamps earth into a wall — steady, rhythmic, unhurried — and the flatness of it is the point. Nothing about the demon's capture is presented as a duel or a triumph; it is carpentry. The scene withholds the glory that a fight would have given him, and leaves him with the pain instead.