Pilgrim slipped in through a chink in the door and flew on past the second gate.

門瑕 is a flaw or crack in the door-leaf — the gap a bee can use and a monkey cannot. 鑽將進去 slips 將 in between the verb and its direction word, where it does nothing but mark the action as under way; it reads jiāng.

There, seated upright in the very middle of a flower pavilion, he saw a woman fiend, with a few maidservants ranged to left and right in embroidered coloured gowns, their hair gathered in two knots; all of them were merry as could be, though what they were discussing there was no telling.

正當中 takes 當 as dāng and 中 as the locative zhōng — dead centre. 亭子 takes 子 as the light unstressed zi, against the full zǐ of 女子 two lines down; the same character, weighted differently. 兩揫 describes hair drawn up into a pair of knots.

Pilgrim flew lightly up and fixed himself on the latticework of the pavilion, and had just cocked an ear to listen when he saw two more girls, their hair in childish, tousled tufts, come up into the pavilion bearing two platters of steaming pastry, and say, “Madam: one platter is of meat buns with a filling of human flesh, and one of vegetarian buns filled with sweet bean paste.”

Two platters, and the second one gives the game away — but hold that until the commentary. 總角 is the tufted hairstyle children wore, tied in two bunches, and it reads jiǎo. 蓬頭, tousled, describes the hair as left uncombed — the same word behind the idiom 蓬頭垢面, messy hair and a dirty face, used of anyone got up in humble or careless circumstances. Paired with 總角, it marks these two as plainer than the maids in embroidered gowns a moment before — worth remembering once the household turns out to be staffed by captives rather than courtiers. 鄧沙 is a written variant of the usual spelling for strained sweet bean paste; the edition prints it this way and it is kept as printed. 格子 takes the light zi, 女子 the full zǐ.

The woman fiend said with a laugh, “Little ones, help the Tang emperor’s sworn brother out here.”

小的們 — "you little ones" — is how the head of a household addresses her servants. 攙 is chān, to hold someone up by the arm. She is not summoning a prisoner; she is having a guest helped in.

Several of the maidservants in embroidered coloured gowns went off to the back chamber and brought the Tang Monk out, supporting him between them.

扶出 repeats the physical sense of 攙 above. Tripitaka is not walking on his own, and the novel will keep noting it.

That master of theirs was yellow in the face and white about the lips, his eyes red and running with tears.

Four states, described entirely in colours — 黃 yellow, 白 white, 紅 red — and it is the reader's first sight of Tripitaka since he was snatched.

From his hiding place Pilgrim sighed and said to himself, “The master has taken poison.”

The two appearances of 中 in this line are different words. 暗中 is the locative zhōng, "in the dark"; 中毒 is zhòng, to be struck by something. The whole diagnosis hangs on that shift of tone.