二聖鬥口 The Two Sages Trade Words
大聖見了，笑嘻嘻的將金箍棒掣起，高叫道：「你是何方小將，輒敢大膽到此挑戰？」真君喝道：「你這廝有眼無珠，認不得我麼？吾乃玉帝外甥、敕封昭惠靈顯王二郎是也。今蒙上命，到此擒你這造反天宮的弼馬溫猢猻，你還不知死活。」大聖道：「我記得當年玉帝妹子思凡下界，配合楊君，生一男子，曾使斧劈桃山的，是你麼？我行要罵你幾聲，曾奈無甚冤仇；待要打你一棒，可惜了你的性命。你這郎君小輩，可急急回去，喚你四大天王出來。」大圣见了，笑嘻嘻的将金箍棒掣起，高叫道：「你是何方小将，辄敢大胆到此挑战？」真君喝道：「你这厮有眼无珠，认不得我么？吾乃玉帝外甥、敕封昭惠灵显王二郎是也。今蒙上命，到此擒你这造反天宫的弼马温猢狲，你还不知死活。」大圣道：「我记得当年玉帝妹子思凡下界，配合杨君，生一男子，曾使斧劈桃山的，是你么？我行要骂你几声，曾奈无甚冤仇；待要打你一棒，可惜了你的性命。你这郎君小辈，可急急回去，唤你四大天王出来。」
逐句解 Line by line
The Great Sage looked, then grinning broadly raised his gold-banded cudgel and cried aloud, "What petty officer are you, that you make so bold as to challenge me here?"
笑嘻嘻, grinning, all smiles. The monkey meets the most formidable god yet sent against him not with rage but with breezy amusement, and that sets the key for the whole exchange. 何方小將, what petty officer are you (將 is jiàng), is calculated insult: he is pretending not to recognise one of the best-known gods in China.
The True Lord shouted, "You wretch, have you eyes but no pupils? Do you not know me?
有眼無珠, to have eyes but no eyeballs, is the stock idiom for failing to recognise somebody who matters — still exactly what you say to a person who has just snubbed the boss. Erlang answers scorn with scorn.
I am the Jade Emperor's nephew, the Erlang invested by decree as King of Resplendent Kindness, Numinous and Manifest.
He recites his full investiture-title, 昭惠靈顯王, King of Resplendent Kindness, Numinous and Manifest. This is the formal style of his cult, deployed here the way a man might slap down a business card to end an argument.
Now by command from on high I have come to seize you — you Bimawen ape who rebelled against the Heavenly Palace — and still you don't know whether you're alive or dead!"
弼馬溫, Bimawen, Keeper of the Horses, is the lowly stable post the monkey once held and has never got over. Throwing it in his face is the sharpest taunt available, and Erlang goes straight for it. 不知死活, not knowing life from death — heedless of what is about to happen to you.
Said the Great Sage, "I recall that years ago the Jade Emperor's younger sister longed for the mortal world and went down to it, mated with one Lord Yang, and bore a son — the one who took an axe and cleft Peach Mountain. Is that you?
The monkey answers not with a title but with gossip. He recounts the scandal of Erlang's own birth: the Jade Emperor's sister who longed for the mortal world, her union with 楊君, Lord Yang, and the son who took an axe to 桃山, Peach Mountain, to free her. Naming a foe's parentage this precisely is not a general insult but a targeted one.
I'd give you a good cursing, but as it happens there's no real grudge between us;
我行, on my part, as for me — where 行 is read háng, an old vernacular postposition meaning side or quarter, the kind of thing you find in Yuan drama and not in classical prose. 曾奈, but, however, alas, is this edition's way of writing the standard 怎奈: the character 曾 is read zěn, standing in for 怎 purely by sound. Spoken language showing through the page.
and I'd give you a whack of my cudgel, but it would be a pity about your life.
Mock-magnanimity, and beautifully done: he would hit Erlang, but it would be such a shame about the corpse. Pure swagger, and the register in which every one of his pre-combat speeches is pitched.
You young squire, you'd best hurry back and call out your Four Heavenly Kings instead."
郎君小輩, young gentleman, stripling. Having dismissed Erlang as a junior not worth his time, he asks for the Four Heavenly Kings instead. It is the last provocation before blows.
Before the weapons come out, the two Sages fight with words, and the exchange is one of the small comic gems of the chapter. It follows the conventional pattern of pre-combat boasting in the Chinese martial novel — each combatant proclaims his name and titles and belittles the other — but Wú Chéng'ēn gives it a particular savour by matching insult to insult with real wit. Erlang opens with his cult-honorifics and then the cruellest taunt available, the monkey's despised stable-keeper title 弼馬溫. The monkey answers not with anger but with a grin and a piece of intimate scandal.
That riposte is beautifully judged. Instead of trading titles, he reaches for Erlang's own origin-myth — the Jade Emperor's sister who longed for the mortal world, her union with Lord Yang, the son who cleft Peach Mountain with an axe — and asks, with feigned innocence, is that you? It is the very legend the portrait-rhapsody has just recounted in tones of reverence (斧劈桃山曾救母), now turned into a needle: what the 賦 presented as filial heroism, the monkey reframes as the awkward fruit of a goddess's indiscretion. He crowns it with mock-magnanimity — he would curse Erlang, but there is no real grudge; he would strike him, but it would be a pity about his life — and dismisses the god as a mere 郎君小輩, a stripling, asking for the Four Heavenly Kings instead.
The textual interest of the passage lies in its early-vernacular flavour, preserved in this edition's characters. The monkey's 我行, on my part, uses 行 in its old Yuan-drama sense of side or quarter, read háng; and his 曾奈, but, alas, writes with 曾 what the standard text writes 怎 (zěn) — a character borrowed purely for its sound, and a giveaway that spoken language is running underneath the page. Such forms are part of what makes this edition worth reading in the original: the swagger is carried not only by what the monkey says but by the colloquial idiom he says it in. The verbal duel done, both sides have talked themselves to the pitch of violence, and the next passage opens with Erlang's fury and the second great battle-rhapsody. (For the monkey's 弼馬溫 office and his resentment of it, see Chapter 4.)