四馬攢蹄 Trussed in the Gallery
好大聖，轉石屏，別了八戒，搖身還變個蜜蜂兒，飛入門裡。見那門裡有兩個丫鬟，頭枕著梆鈴，正然睡哩。卻到花亭子觀看，那妖精原來弄了半夜，都辛苦了，一個個都不知天曉，還睡著哩。行者飛來後面，影影的只聽見唐僧聲喚。忽擡頭，見那房廊下四馬攢蹄綑著師父。好大圣，转石屏，别了八戒，摇身还变个蜜蜂儿，飞入门里。见那门里有两个丫鬟，头枕着梆铃，正然睡哩。却到花亭子观看，那妖精原来弄了半夜，都辛苦了，一个个都不知天晓，还睡着哩。行者飞来后面，影影的只听见唐僧声唤。忽抬头，见那房廊下四马攒蹄捆着师父。
逐句解 Line by line
Splendid Great Sage! He went round the stone screen, parted from Bajie, shook himself and changed once more into a bee, and flew in at the door.
還變 takes 還 as hái, "once more". 蜜蜂兒 takes the curled-tongue ending er, as at the first transformation — same trick, same door.
Inside the door he saw two maidservants with their heads pillowed on the watchman's clapper and bell, sound asleep.
枕著 is the ongoing-action zhe. 梆 and 鈴 are the wooden clapper and the handbell used to sound the night watches — which is to say, the very instruments of the watch the demon posted a few passages back. They are being used as pillows.
He went on to the flower pavilion and looked about him: the fiend, it seems, had been at it half the night, and they were all of them worn out — not one aware that it was daylight, and still sleeping.
睡著 takes 著 as zháo, the reading for an action that has landed — "fallen asleep". 枕著 in the line above is the ongoing zhe, so two readings of the same character stand within two lines. 觀看 takes guān and kàn.
Pilgrim flew round to the back, and faintly he could hear the Tang Monk's voice calling.
影影的 is a doubled adverb meaning indistinctly or dimly, and keeps its ordinary reading.
Raising his head of a sudden, he saw his master under the gallery of the house, bound with all four limbs drawn together.
四馬攢蹄 — "the four hooves gathered" — is the name of the hogtie, the way a beast is trussed for carrying. 攢 is always cuán here; the zǎn reading, to save up, would be wrong. 綑著 is the ongoing-action zhe.
The reconnaissance is a small comic set-piece before it is anything else. The demon had posted two servants to 支更, keep the watches and listen for Pilgrim at the door; he finds them asleep with their heads on the clapper and the bell they were meant to sound. The instruments of vigilance have become pillows. Nothing in the household is guarding anything, and the narrator supplies a dry explanation: 弄了半夜，都辛苦了 — they had been at it half the night and were all worn out.
That clause is doing more than raising a laugh. The entire cave has been exhausted by an enterprise that produced nothing whatever: a night of tugging and pulling, a monk who would not loosen his belt, and now a household of women too tired to notice daylight. The demon's failure is registered not in her own words but in the state of her staff.
Then the tone drops. 四馬攢蹄 names the hogtie — all four limbs drawn together and bound, the way you truss an animal for carrying — and it is the second time in a few hundred characters that Tripitaka has been reduced to livestock, the first being the shaggy lion of the night before. He is not being tortured. He is being stored. It is the chapter's flattest statement of what the demon does with him once persuasion has failed.