Tripitaka, steadying the old man, came up into the hall, where the lamps were wholly out and the three still tittered and guffawed.

The lamps are out, the hall is empty, and the three of them are still laughing. 藏 in 三藏 is zàng; 那 points — nà; 還 is hái, "still," and it is doing a lot of work in that sentence.

The Tang Monk scolded them: "You wretches, you are wholly graceless.

潑物 is roughly "you rough things" — 潑 carries the sense of unruly, splashing about. 十分不善: ten parts out of ten not good.

Morning after morning I instruct you, day after day I admonish you.

朝朝教誨，日日叮嚀 — morning after morning, day after day — is the exhausted rhythm of a teacher who has said it all before. 教 is jiào, to instruct; 叮嚀 is telling somebody something over and over in the hope it sticks.

The ancients said: 'Good without being taught — what is that but a sage?

Tripitaka reaches for the classics, which is what he does when he is angry. The edition puts the saying inside its own quotation brackets, marking it as words being quoted rather than narration, and it turns entirely on 教 — jiào, to teach. Good without being taught: what is that but a sage?

Good only after being taught — what is that but a worthy?

Second rung. Good once taught: what is that but a worthy man?

Not good even when taught — what is that but a fool?'

And the third. Not good even when taught — what is that but a fool? Sage, worthy, fool is standard Confucian sorting of human material, and Tripitaka has walked his disciples all the way down it in three breaths.

You lot, carrying on so unruly, are truly of the lowest and most foolish kind.

誠為至下至愚之類 takes 為 as wéi, "to be." He does not leave them to work out which rung they are on.

Blundering in at the door with no sense of high or low, you frightened the old patron off his feet, scattered the chanting monks, and wrecked the good rite of this household — is that not to bring guilt down on me?"

And here is what actually stings him. 不知高低 is having no sense of what is what; 好事 is the merit-rite, a family's good work, and they have wrecked it. 墮罪與我: the blame falls on me. A master answers for his disciples' conduct, and Tripitaka is the one who will carry it. 諕 is xià and 倒 is dǎo, toppled; 散 in 驚散 is sàn; 都 is dōu.

So he spoke, till they dared make no answer.

說得他們不敢回言 takes 得 as de — spoke to the point where they dared not answer. It is the only time in the chapter anybody shuts all three of them up.

The old man, now certain they were his disciples, turned quickly and made a bow: "Reverend, it is no great matter, no great matter.

作禮 is making a bow. The old man's instinct, watching a guest being scolded on his account, is to smooth it over — 沒大事, twice. 那 points — nà.

The lamps were just now put out and the flowers scattered; the Buddhist service was about to conclude in any case."

散了花 refers to the scattering of flowers that closes a Buddhist service; 散 is sàn. 佛事將收 takes 將 as jiāng, "about to." He is saying the rite was finishing anyway, which is kind and not quite true.

Eight Rules said: "Since the business is wound up, bring out the closing spread — wine and rice — and let us eat and sleep."

Bajie has heard the words "the service is over" and drawn his own conclusion. 了帳 takes 了 as liǎo, to settle up — the accounts are closed. 滿散, 散 again sàn, is the closing feast that winds up a Buddhist rite. Then 酒飯來: wine and rice. He is a monk, asking a Buddhist household for wine, at a funeral service he has just broken up. 睡覺 takes 覺 as jiào, sleep.

The old man called: "Bring lamps, bring lamps!"

掌燈 is holding up or bringing a lamp, doubled because he is calling across the house.

The household folk, hearing it, made a great to-do: "They were chanting in the hall with candles and incense enough — why call now for lamps?"

大驚小怪 — "great alarm, small wonder" — is still the ordinary Chinese for making a fuss over nothing, and here the household is using it about their own master. They have candles burning in the hall; why is he shouting for lamps? Nobody has told them the lamps were blown out. 聽得 takes 得 as dé; 教 is jiào.

When several serving-lads came out to look, all here was pitch-black; so they lit torches and lanterns and came thronging in.

黑洞洞的 is pitch-black, the doubled 洞 deepening it — cave-dark. So they light torches and lanterns and all crowd in together, which is the worst possible way to walk into this particular room.

Raising their heads of a sudden, they saw Eight Rules and Sha Monk, and in their fright dropped the torches and, wheeling round, slammed the middle gate.

慌得 takes 得 as de, flustered to the point of dropping everything; 中 in 中門 is zhōng. They drop the torches — leaving themselves in the dark again — and slam the inner gate.

Shouting toward the back: "The monsters have come!

往裡嚷: bawling toward the back of the house.

The monsters have come!"

And the cry doubles a second time. The servants have arrived at exactly the conclusion their master reached earlier the same evening, by exactly the same route.