又遇風月魔 The Demon of Wind and Moon
只見那路傍閃出一個女子，喝道：「唐御弟，那裡走？我和你耍風月兒去來。」沙僧罵道：「賊輩無知！」掣寶杖劈頭就打。那女子弄陣旋風，嗚的一聲，把唐僧攝將去了，無影無蹤，不知下落何處。咦！正是：只见那路傍闪出一个女子，喝道：「唐御弟，那里走？我和你耍风月儿去来。」沙僧骂道：「贼辈无知！」掣宝杖劈头就打。那女子弄阵旋风，呜的一声，把唐僧摄将去了，无影无踪，不知下落何处。咦！正是：
逐句解 Line by line
Then from beside the road a young woman flashed out and shouted, 「Imperial brother of the Tang — where are you off to? Come along with me and let us dally at wind and moon.」
耍風月兒 — to dally at wind and moon — is the woman's own phrase for what she wants, and by the end of the passage it will have become her name. 那 occurs twice with different readings: 那路傍 is the pointing nà, 那裡走 the question word nǎ, whither. 傍 is páng; 女子 takes 子 as zǐ, the noun; 喝道 takes 喝 as hè, to shout; 風月兒 takes 兒 as the small-and-familiar ending er; in 一個 the 一 shifts to yí before the falling tone of 個.
「You villainous creature, have you no sense!」 Sha Monk cursed.
賊輩無知 is eight characters of pure abuse. Sha Monk, who has not spoken since the seating of the banquet, gets the first reaction — and the first blow.
He drew his precious staff and struck straight at her head.
劈頭就打 — split-the-head and strike at once. Seven characters, no hesitation and no consultation: the party's ordinary method resumes the instant a demon appears.
The woman raised a whirlwind and, with a whoosh, carried the Tang monk off — no shadow of him, no trace, and no knowing where he had come down.
Twenty-eight characters, and the chapter's entire achievement is undone. 攝 is to seize and carry off by magic. 攝將 takes 將 as jiāng; 下落 takes 落 as luò; 何處 takes 處 as chù; 嗚的 closes on the linking de; in 一聲 the 一 shifts to yì before the flat tone of 聲.
Ah! And this is just the way of it:
咦！is the storyteller's own exclamation, not any character's — a sharp intake of breath before the closing couplet, and 正是：is the colon that introduces it.
Escaped from the net of mist and flowers, he meets the demon of wind and moon.
Two characters out and two characters in. 煙花網 closes a circuit opened by the chapter's opening poem, 煙花圍困苦難當, and by the chapter's own title: the net has been escaped. Then 風月 — wind and moon — takes it all back, and the phrase is the woman's own, 耍風月兒 from the moment she stepped out, now turned into her name. 脫得 takes 得 as dé, attainment.
Everything the chapter built is taken away in twenty-eight characters. A woman steps out of the roadside, Sha Monk swings at her, she raises a whirlwind, and Tripitaka is gone — 無影無蹤, 不知下落何處, no shadow, no trace, no knowing where. The plan worked perfectly. The passport is sealed and stowed, the court is left standing at the western pass, the primal yang is intact, and none of it matters.
The structural joke is exact. For five thousand characters the danger has been a marriage, and the party has spent the whole chapter learning that its usual methods — the staff, the somersault, the freezing spell — were useless against it, because the people of Western Liang were 一國人身, the human bodies of a nation, and not demons. Here a demon appears, and the reflexes work instantly: Sha Monk curses and strikes without waiting to be told. And this time the reflex is too slow.
The couplet is the tightest writing in the chapter. 煙花 — mist and flowers, the pleasure quarter — was named in the opening poem and again in the chapter's own title, and it is the net that has just been escaped. 風月 — wind and moon — is what the new woman herself called what she wanted, and it is now her title. Two characters out and two characters in: the whole chapter's escape undone by an identical figure with the elements changed.
It is also, quietly, a correction. Tripitaka was in no real danger from the queen — she wanted a husband, an heir and a dynasty, and every step she took was lawful. The creature at the roadside wants the same thing by force, and the chapter closes by putting them side by side so the reader can see they are not the same thing at all. The queen is left behind in her palanquin, deceived and unharmed; the monk is carried off by something that will have to be fought.