Now the Tang Monk was sitting inside the ring. He waited a long while, and when Pilgrim did not come back he leaned forward and gazed out unhappily. "Where has that monkey gone to beg?" he said.

卻說, "now as for —", swings the narration back to the party left behind. 圈子 and 猴子 both take the zi ending. 往那裡 is a question, so 那 reads nǎ. 悵望, to gaze out in disappointment, is the first sign that the sitting is not going to hold.

Bajie laughed at his side: "Who knows where he has gone off to amuse himself? Begging what food? He has left us penned up in gaol here."

傍 is páng, at the side. 那裡 is again the questioning nǎ; 耍子 takes the zi ending; 甚麼 is shén me; 教 is jiào, to make someone do something. The 世德堂本 prints a narrow half-width question mark here, standardised to the full-width form. And there is the move: Bajie reframes the ring in a single word, 坐牢 — to sit in gaol.

Tripitaka said: "What do you mean, penned up in gaol?"

The master asks instead of dismissing. That he takes the question up at all is the opening Bajie needs, and he is quick enough to use it.

Bajie said: "Master, you would not know. In old times they marked out the ground for a prison. He has drawn a ring with his cudgel and called it better than a wall of iron and a rampart of bronze — but if tigers, wolves or monstrous beasts should come, how would that hold them off?"

劃地為牢 is Bajie's masterstroke, and it is a real phrase with a long pedigree: in the old story a magistrate so awed his district that he could draw a circle on the ground and a criminal would stand in it rather than run. It still gets used in Chinese today for hemming yourself in with rules nobody imposed on you. Bajie takes a phrase about a prison you do not need bars for and hands it to a man sitting inside a circle. 為 is the verb wéi, to make into. 將 is the jiāng that takes hold of the object; 棍子 takes the zi ending; 圈兒 the little er; 強 is qiáng, stronger than; 擋得他住 takes 得 as dé, could manage to. He also quotes Wukong's own boast, 強似鐵壁銅牆, with the two halves swapped round, and turns it into a question. The edition prints a narrow half-width question mark after 劃地為牢, standardised here to the full-width form; the clause reads as a statement, and other editions punctuate it as one.

We should only be handing ourselves over to be eaten, and no more."

罷了 ends the sentence, so 罷 reads ba. 白白的 is for nothing, to no purpose. The argument is now complete: the ring cannot stop anything, therefore sitting in it is surrender.

Tripitaka said: "Wuneng, how would you deal with it?"

處治 takes 處 as the verb chǔ, to deal with or dispose of, not the noun chù, a place. The master uses Bajie's religious name and asks him for a plan, and that settles the matter — you do not ask a man for a plan unless you have already half accepted it.

Bajie said: "This place shelters us from no wind and keeps out no cold. If you go by Old Hog, we should simply follow the road and press on west. Once elder brother has begged the food he will ride his cloud and be sure to come up quickly; let him catch us up."

此間 has 間 as jiān. 藏風 takes 藏 as cáng, to shelter or store — the same character that reads zàng in the master's own name, 三藏, in the line immediately above. 順著 uses zhe for a continuing state. The plan is reasonable in every particular except the one that matters.

If there is food, we eat it and travel on.

Seven characters, and the whole of Bajie's philosophy.

As it is, we have sat here a good while and my feet are frozen through!"

老大 is "very, a good deal", the colloquial intensifier. And this is where the argument actually ends — not on the precedent from antiquity, not on the challenge to the boast, but on cold feet. Bajie puts his real reason last, and it is the one that carries.