The Great Sage heard this and could not keep from laughing. “Master, you are quite without feeling, sir.”

忒 is read tè, the reading the 漢語大詞典 gives for the sense of excess; the dialect form tuī is the noted alternative. 老人家 is a respectful way to address an elderly person — and Wukong uses it in the same breath as telling his master he has no heart.

“For the sake of your scriptures I have spent I know not how much diligence and toil; and now that I have killed these two petty thieves, you would have them go and lay a charge against old Monkey.”

為你取經 is the wèi of purpose — for your sake. 多少 uses 少 as an adjective, so shǎo. 毛賊 — hairy thieves — is a dismissive term for small-time bandits, and the dismissiveness is the argument.

“It was I who raised my hand, true enough — but it was only ever on your account.”

The purposive 為 again. Twelve characters, and the whole of Wukong's defence: the hand was mine, the reason was yours.

“If you were not going to the Western Heaven for scriptures, and I were not your disciple, how should I ever have come to this place, or have beaten anyone to death?”

A double counterfactual — if you were not going, and if I were not your disciple — and it is logically unanswerable and morally worthless. The same form would acquit any instrument of anything.

“I may as well say a prayer of my own over them.”

索性 is the adverb of going the whole way: since it has come to this, then. The 一 of 一祝 rises to yí before the falling tone of 祝.

He gripped the iron staff, thumped the grave-mound three times with it, and said: “You plague-taking robbers, hear me. You gave me seven or eight strokes in front and seven or eight behind, and beat me till I felt neither pain nor itch; you provoked my temper, and by one slip and two mischances I beat you to death.”

揝 is zuàn, to grip in the fist, a variant of 攥 — not zǎn, to gather up. 一差二誤 — one slip and two mistakes — takes 差 as chā, an error, which is a third job for that character in this chapter alongside the chāi of being dispatched and the chà of falling short. Because chā sits at the first tone rather than the fourth, the 一 before it stays at yì. Both instances of 著 are zhe, action under way. Note the arithmetic: he says he took seven or eight strokes in front and seven or eight behind, which is a good deal less than the narrator counted.

“Go and lay your charge where you please; old Monkey is truly not afraid. The Jade Emperor knows me; the Devarājas defer to me; the Twenty-Eight Lodgings dread me; the Nine Luminaries fear me; the City Gods of the prefectures and districts kneel to me; the Heavenly Equal of the Eastern Peak is in terror of me; the Ten Kings of the Underworld have served me as attendants; and the Wandering Spirits of the Five Roads have been my lackeys.”

The longest sentence in the chapter, at sixty-eight characters, and it is a roll call of everybody Wukong knows. 盡 is held at jìn throughout this project, but here it carries the concessive sense of 儘 — go right ahead and — so it takes jǐn. 那裡 is the vague nǎ of anywhere at all. The 宿 of 二十八宿 is xiù, a lunar lodging — one of the twenty-eight bands the sky is divided into — and it is the only xiù in a chapter that otherwise reads this character eight times as sù, lodging, and once as xiǔ, a night. 為僕從 is the linking wéi; 當後生 has 當 as dāng, to serve as. 東岳天齊 is the god of Mount Tai; 五路猖神 are the wandering spirits of the five roads.

“There is not one of the Three Realms and the Five Offices, nor any governor of the Ten Directions, but is on deep and familiar terms with me. Lay your charge where you like.”

情深面熟 — deep in feeling and familiar of face — is the language of patronage: I know people. 隨你那裡 is the vague nǎ of anywhere at all, again. The threat is addressed to two men in a grave.

When Tripitaka heard such wicked words come out of him he took fright again and said, “Disciple! That prayer of mine was meant to have you embody the virtue that loves life, and become a man of goodness. Why must you take it so much in earnest?”

好生之德 is from the 尚書, the Book of Documents — the virtue that loves life — and 好 is hào, to be fond of, one of only two places in this chapter where the character takes that reading. 為良善之人 has the linking wéi. 認真 is to take a thing as real, and the reproach is extraordinary: Wukong is being told off for having understood the prayer correctly.

Pilgrim said, “Master, this is no amusing business.”

勾當 is read gòu dàng, its second and last appearance in the chapter — the first was Wukong asking what line of business the robbers were in. 耍子 is suffixed, so 子 is zi.

“Let us get along and find lodging early.”

尋宿 has 宿 in its lodging sense, sù. Eight characters, and the subject is changed. Nobody has conceded anything.

The elder had no choice but to mount, with his anger inside him.

懷嗔 — carrying wrath in the breast — is compact and unusual, and 嗔 is the second of the three poisons: the same character the prayer used of the robbers a page ago, now attached to the man who wrote the prayer.