Now, who was it calling out there by the side of the great road?

The last chapter broke off on a shout from the roadside without saying whose it was, and this sentence picks it straight back up. 那 is nà, that — pointing back to the road already named — and not nǎ, which.

It was the mountain god of Gold-Helm Mountain and the local earth-spirit, who held up the purple-gold almsbowl and called: "Holy Monk, this bowl of rice the Great Sage Sun begged from a house of means.

The mountain is 金兜山, and its middle character is the one place in this chapter where the text cannot be shown quite as the woodblock has it. The old print writes a character built from 山 standing beside 兜, and no such character has ever been given a slot in the standard character set. 維基文庫 prints 兜 on its own and says so in a note; that is what is shown here, and the substitution is forced rather than chosen. 捧著 has 著 as zhe, marking an action still going on — he is standing there holding the bowl up. 好處 is chù, a place: Wukong begged the rice from a house of means, and the reading is not the hǎochu of the everyday noun meaning a benefit or an advantage.

Because you would none of you heed his good counsel, you blundered into the demons' hands, and put the Great Sage to a myriad labours before he could get you out at last today.

救得出 asks whether a thing can be done — able to be got out — and that shape takes 得 as the light, toneless de, the same one in 動不得 and 睡不得. It is not the dé of 曉得, where the character means to attain something. 方 is only then, and it puts the whole length of the ordeal into one character.

Come, eat the rice, and then take to the road again; do not slight the whole heart of reverent devotion the Great Sage Sun has shown."

孤負 — written 辜負 elsewhere — is to waste somebody's kindness, to let it go for nothing. The word to watch is 恭孝: 孝 is filial duty, what a son owes a father, not what a disciple owes a teacher. A minor local god has just described Wukong's conduct as a son's, and he says it to the man who has been behaving badly as a father.

Tripitaka said, "Disciple, I am ten thousand parts in your debt; words cannot exhaust my thanks.

盡 is jìn, in the falling tone, throughout this book; the same character reads jǐn in its concessive sense, to the utmost of, which is not what is wanted here. That governs the character in front of it: 不 is bù as a rule but shifts to bú before a falling tone, so 言謝不盡 runs bú jìn. 萬分 is fēn, parts — ten thousand parts in your debt, a set way of saying a debt that will not go into figures.

Had I known not to step outside the circle's mark, how should such deadly harm have come to me?"

那 is nǎ this time rather than nà: 那有 is the rhetorical how would there have been, not that has. 圈痕 is the ring Wukong scratched on the ground in chapter fifty. His master stepped over it, and everything since has followed from that step.

Pilgrim said, "I'll not deceive you, Master: just because you would not trust my circle, you were made to suffer another man's circle.

The retort turns on one word said twice. 圈子 is first the ring Wukong drew in the dust to keep his master inside it, then the demon's white hoop that swallowed every weapon thrown at it. Same word, two rings: one a shelter refused, the other a trap walked into. 卻教 has 教 as jiào, to make somebody undergo a thing.

So much bitterness! A pity, a pity!"

多少 is the exclamation here, not the question — how much bitterness!, not how much bitterness? English works the same way and marks it the same way, with the punctuation rather than the words.

Eight Rules said, "How does it come there was a second circle?"

Bajie is not being slow. The pilgrims were in the demon's hands for what the reader watched in chapter fifty-two, so somebody has to ask before the rest can be told. That job falls to him about once a chapter and he takes it without embarrassment.

Pilgrim said, "It was all you, you blundering lout with your wicked mouth and wicked tongue, who landed Master in this great calamity and set Old Monkey overturning heaven and earth — summoning the troops of Heaven, the water and fire divisions, and the Buddha's cinnabar sand, and every one of them was lassoed away by that stark white ring of his.

大難 is nàn, a disaster — the noun — and not nán, difficult. 著 is zhuó when it sends somebody off to do something, as it does here: it set Old Monkey turning heaven over. And 夯貨 is worth knowing, because Wukong comes back to it later in the chapter. A 夯 is a rammer, the heavy block builders drop to tamp earth flat; calling Bajie one is close to calling him a lump of pig iron with legs.

The Tathāgata gave the arhats a covert sign, and they told Old Monkey the demon's origin; only then was Lord Lao invited to subdue him, and it proved to be his green ox at its mischief."

根原 — spelled 根源 elsewhere — is where the demon came from, not what he is. The distinction settles the whole episode. The useful intelligence was never the creature's nature but its owner: three chapters of failed weapons, and the answer turned out to be a name on a receipt.

Tripitaka, hearing this, was moved past all telling, and said, "Worthy disciple, having come through this, next time I shall assuredly heed what you bid me."

感激不盡 takes bú before jìn, exactly as 言謝不盡 did a few lines back. As for the promise — next time I shall assuredly heed what you bid me — he has made it before and will make it again. The novel keeps a straight face.