皮開頸折 Skin Split And Neck Broken
好行者,拱手抽身就走。那妖依舊敲鑼前行。行者就行起兇來,掣出棒,復轉身,望小妖腦後一下,可憐,就打得頭爛血流漿迸出,皮開頸折命傾之。收了棍子,卻又自悔道:「急了些兒,不曾問他叫做甚麼名字。罷了。」好行者,拱手抽身就走。那妖依旧敲锣前行。行者就行起凶来,掣出棒,复转身,望小妖脑后一下,可怜,就打得头烂血流浆迸出,皮开颈折命倾之。收了棍子,却又自悔道:「急了些儿,不曾问他叫做甚么名字。罢了。」
逐句解 Line by line
Fine Pilgrim! He put his hands together, drew himself back and walked away.
拱手 is the same joined-hands salute the disguise opened with, now closing the interview. 抽身 is to draw one's body out of a situation — a set phrase, and the last civil thing that happens in this passage.
The fiend went on beating his gong and walking ahead as before.
依舊 puts the courier back exactly where the scene found him, and that is the point of the sentence: nothing has changed for him, he is walking and beating his gong as he was, and the next sentence kills him.
Then Pilgrim turned savage. He whipped out his rod, swung round and brought it down on the back of the little fiend's head — pity of it — so that the skull was crushed and the blood ran and the brains burst out, the skin split, the neck broke and the life was spilled.
The killing is told in a matched pair of seven-character members — skull, blood and brains against skin, neck and life — three items each, as tightly built as anything in the chapter's verse. It stays prose all the same: no colon announces it and the edition leaves it running on in the line. 得 is the light de, tying 打 to everything that follows from the blow. And 可憐, pity of it, is the storyteller leaning in mid-sentence to say so.
He put up his rod, and then reproached himself: "A shade too hasty — I never asked him what his name was. Well, it is done."
罷了 is bà le, the interjection for giving something up as lost — never mind, then — and not the sentence-final particle ba that turns a statement into a suggestion. 曾 is céng again, marking that the asking never happened.
Seventeen characters of courtesy and then a rod to the back of the head. Wukong salutes, withdraws, lets the man start walking again, and only then turns round. The courier is killed from behind doing exactly what he was doing when the scene opened, and the narrative marks the continuity deliberately: as before.
The description of the death is the most formal writing in the passage — six items in two matched sevens — and the storyteller drops pity of it into the middle of his own sentence. He is not withdrawing the sympathy and he is not stopping the blow either.
What Wukong regrets is not the killing. It is having been too quick to ask the name first, which is a professional complaint about an interrogation cut short. That regret is what sends him through the dead man's clothes, and everything the rest of the scene yields comes out of the search.