紅瓦紅牆 A House All In Red
大聖聽說,忍不住笑道:「獃子莫亂談。若論斯哈哩國,正好早哩。似師父朝三暮二的這等擔閣,就從小至老,老了又小,老小三生,也還不到。」八戒道:「哥啊!據你說,不是日落之處,為何這等酷熱?」沙僧道:「想是天時不正,秋行夏令故也。」他三個正都爭講,只見那路傍有座莊院,乃是紅瓦蓋的房舍,紅磚砌的垣牆,紅油門扇,紅漆板榻,一片都是紅的。三藏下馬道:「悟空,你去那人家問個消息,看那炎熱之故何也?」大圣听说,忍不住笑道:「呆子莫乱谈。若论斯哈哩国,正好早哩。似师父朝三暮二的这等担阁,就从小至老,老了又小,老小三生,也还不到。」八戒道:「哥啊!据你说,不是日落之处,为何这等酷热?」沙僧道:「想是天时不正,秋行夏令故也。」他三个正都争讲,只见那路傍有座庄院,乃是红瓦盖的房舍,红砖砌的垣墙,红油门扇,红漆板榻,一片都是红的。三藏下马道:「悟空,你去那人家问个消息,看那炎热之故何也?」
逐句解 Line by line
When the Great Sage heard this he could not hold in his laughter. 'Idiot, don't talk nonsense.'
獃子, "Idiot," is what the Great Sage has always called Eight Rules; the 子 is the light unstressed zi that just rounds off a noun, not the dignified zǐ of 弟子, "disciple."
'As for the kingdom of Sihali — we are a very long way too early for that.'
A flat piece of sarcasm: not "early" but "nowhere near." Two 哩 sit in this one short line and they are read differently — the first belongs to the place name and keeps its full tone, the second is the weightless sentence-closer.
'At the rate Master dawdles — three things by morning and two by dusk — we could go from young to old, and from old to young again, three lifetimes of it, and still not arrive.'
Here is a joke with a pedigree. 朝三暮二 plays on 朝三暮四, "three in the morning, four at dusk," which comes from Zhuangzi's monkey-keeper who offered his monkeys three chestnuts at dawn and four at dusk, met with outrage, and then offered four at dawn and three at dusk, to universal delight. Zhuangzi's point was that the total never changed. In everyday speech the phrase drifted away from that and now means simply dithering and delay, which is the sense Pilgrim wants. 擔閣 is a written form of 耽擱, to hold things up.
Eight Rules said, 'Brother! By your account this is not the place where the sun sets — then why should it be so fiercely hot?'
為何 takes wèi, the "for what purpose" reading, against the linking wéi of 俗呼為 a few lines back. The same character, two readings, a few seconds apart in the same conversation.
Sha Monk said, 'It must be that the seasons are out of joint — autumn keeping summer's ordinance.'
Sha Monk reaches for the textbook. 秋行夏令 — autumn keeping summer's ordinances — comes out of the 月令, the ritual calendar in the Book of Rites, where a season behaving like the wrong season is a sign that something has gone wrong in the government of the realm. 令 is lìng, the ordinance. It is the learned answer and it is wrong: the cause here is local and personal.
While the three of them were still disputing, they saw beside the road a farmstead: a house roofed in red tile, a wall laid up in red brick, door-leaves oiled red, plank benches lacquered red — a whole stretch of it, and every part red.
Five clauses, and every one of them contains 紅. The hammering repetition is the source's own device, not something the English has added. 傍 is bàng, "beside." In 門扇 the character 扇 is the noun shàn, a door-leaf — the same character that will shortly name the fan the whole chapter is about.
Tripitaka dismounted and said, 'Wukong, go over to that house and ask for news — find out what the cause of this burning heat may be.'
The errand that starts everything. Both 那 here are the pointing nà, "that one over there," fixed by their position in the sentence.
The Great Sage's rebuttal is about distance, not about facts. He does not deny that Sihali exists; he says they are nowhere near it, and then turns immediately to mocking his master's slowness. The line about going from young to old and back again for three lifetimes is affectionate and insubordinate in the usual proportions, and it is also the only moment in the passage when anyone mentions how long this journey has been taking.
Sha Monk gives the orthodox answer. 秋行夏令 belongs to the ritual-calendar tradition, where a season behaving like the wrong season is read upward as a portent — bad weather means bad government. It is the educated reply, and the chapter will throw it away as completely as it throws away Eight Rules'. The cause is a private grudge held by one demon against one monkey.
Then the argument is interrupted by the thing itself. The farmstead comes in five clauses and every single one contains 紅: red tile, red brick, red-oiled doors, red-lacquered benches, and then the flat summary that the whole stretch of it was red. After two men have reasoned about the heat from first principles, the narrator simply shows it, soaked into the local architecture.
Tripitaka's response is entirely in character and, for once, exactly right: stop theorising, go and ask somebody who lives here. The errand he hands Wukong is what actually moves the plot, and it does so by the least heroic method on offer.