The True Immortal, hearing this, was all beaming satisfaction, a whole bosom of spring; smiling broadly, with a gust of imposing air he levelled the as-you-will hook, came out of the gate and shouted, "Impudent ape! What have you come for now?"

作甚 takes 甚 as shén, what — not the intensifier shèn of greatly. 喜孜孜 and 笑盈盈 are both doubled descriptions of a man in high good humour. The counsel has worked.

The Great Sage said, "I have come only for water."

Nine characters, and the fourth time in the chapter he has said it. The request has never once changed and has never once been granted.

The True Immortal said, "The spring water is the well of my own household; though it were an emperor or a chief minister, he too must come with presentation silk and mutton and wine to ask for it, and only then would he get so much as a trifle; and you, who are moreover my enemy, dare to come for it empty-handed?"

宰相 takes 相 as xiàng, the minister. 吾家之井 — my household's well — is the whole legal theory of his position, asserted over a natural spring. 些須 is the merest trifle.

The Great Sage said, "You really will not give it?"

真個不與 asks for the refusal to be put on the record, which is exactly what Wukong needs before he can strike.

The True Immortal said, "I will not, I will not."

Seven characters, doubled for finality. The exchange is now formally complete and both men know it.

The Great Sage cursed, "You impudent obstruction! If you will not give the water — then look to my rod!"

看棍 takes 看 as kàn — look to my rod — the same formula he used before the first fight.

He threw himself into a stance, closed right in, and without waiting to talk struck straight at the head; and the True Immortal twisted aside to avoid it and brought up the hook to parry and return the blow.

著頭 takes 著 as zhuó, the same construction as 著腳 in the earlier battle verse; 相還 takes 相 as xiāng and 還 as huán, to give back. Both 子 are the light suffix zi.

This bout was better than the last. A fine fight:

更 is gèng, the comparative. The tag explicitly measures this description against the one at the first battle, which is unusual — the novel rarely cross-references its own set-pieces, and here it is inviting the reader to compare.

The gold-banded rod, the as-you-will hook; two men in fury, each nursing his grudge.

The verse opens on a three-three-seven measure rather than a flat seven, naming the two weapons before either man. 各懷仇 gives them a grievance apiece, which the first battle piece did not do.

Flying sand and rolling stones, and heaven and earth went dark; scattered earth and driven dust, and sun and moon were grieved.

乾坤 takes 乾 as qián, the trigram, against the gān, dry, of 乾飯. 走石 takes 石 as shí. The couplet is the standard heaven-and-earth-in-uproar formula of the form.

The Great Sage came for water to save his master; the demon immortal, for his nephew's sake, would not allow the asking.

為侄 takes 為 as wèi, for the sake of. The couplet restates the balanced pair from the first battle in almost the same grammar, and the word 妖仙 — demon immortal — is the narrator's own verdict slipped into the parallel.

Both households put out all their strength; in one place they staked it on peace or ruin.

一處 takes 處 as chù, and the 一 in front of it is yí, since it shifts before a falling tone. 賭安休 — to gamble on whether it ends — turns the fight into a wager, which is what the immortal proposed before the first one.

Teeth clenched, they fought for the mastery; jaws set, they settled hard against soft.

剛柔 — hard and soft — is the vocabulary of the Book of Changes pressed into service for a brawl. It is the kind of joke this form makes without signalling that it has made one.

Wits added, spirits roused the higher, they spewed cloud and belched mist till the ghosts and spirits grieved.

噯 is ǎi, to belch something forth, matching the 噴 beside it. The same character also serves as a sighing interjection, read āi, but an interjection cannot occupy a verb's slot, and this one is spewing mist.

Clack and clatter the hook and rod rang out; their shouts roared and bellowed till the hills shook.

哮 is xiào by the modern standard, in 咆哮 and 哮喘 alike; the reading xiāo is often seen and is not the standard one. 樸樸兵兵 imitates weapons striking and keeps its ordinary reading.

A wild wind rolled up and bowed the woods; the killing air spread thick and passed the Dipper and the Ox.

斗牛 takes 斗 as dǒu, never dòu. The Dipper and the Ox are lunar mansions, and naming them lifts the fight from the treeline to the sky.

The Great Sage, the more he strove, the better pleased he grew; the True Immortal, the more he struck, the closer he clung.

綢繆 is to be bound tightly together, and applied to a man in a fight it means he will not disengage. The couplet distinguishes the two temperaments precisely: one is enjoying himself, the other cannot let go.

With set heart and fixed purpose they contended; till life or death were settled there would be no leaving off.

相 is xiāng; 罷休 takes 罷 as bà, to leave off. Both 不 in this line stand before falling tones and so shift to bú. The verse closes on deadlock, as the first one did, and the prose again breaks it.