跌得粉碎 Smashed To Powder
這大聖情知是毒，將茶鍾手舉起來，望道士劈臉一摜。道士將袍袖隔起，噹的一聲，把個鍾子跌得粉碎。这大圣情知是毒，将茶钟手举起来，望道士劈脸一掼。道士将袍袖隔起，当的一声，把个钟子跌得粉碎。
逐句解 Line by line
The Great Sage knew at once it was poison. He raised the cup in his hand and hurled it full in the Daoist's face.
情知 is to know in one's bones, to be perfectly aware — not deduction but recognition. He had suspected for several passages; the moment the three go down he simply knows. 劈臉, splitting the face, means straight at it, and it is the phrase the chapter will use again for the cudgel a page from now.
The Daoist threw up his gown-sleeve to fend it off, and with a clang the cup fell and smashed to powder.
得 is de here, because what follows it — 粉碎, smashed to powder — is a complement describing the result. Had it been a verb of perception with 得 fused on, or a modal in front, it would be dé. The chapter needs the distinction at thirty separate places. 噹 is the clang, a character that exists to be a noise.
The whole tone of the chapter breaks here, and it breaks on a thrown teacup. For forty-five passages this has been a story about manners — bows, seating, vegetarian meals, apologies for imperfect hospitality. Pilgrim ends it by throwing crockery at his host's head.
What is good about the staging is that the Daoist fends it off. He gets a sleeve up in time and the cup smashes on the floor instead of his face, which means both men now know exactly where they stand and neither has said a word. The clang does the announcing.
It is also, in its way, the correct move. Pilgrim cannot un-poison his master, cannot know the antidote, and cannot get anything useful out of a man who is still pretending. Throwing the cup ends the pretence in one second, which is faster than any question would have.