第八回 · 流沙河景 The Flowing-Sands River — Journey to the West

原文 Original text 繁體 Traditional Reader's edition 含詞賦 With rhapsody

流沙河景 The Flowing-Sands River

師shī徒tú二èr人rén正zhèng走zǒu間jiān，忽hū然rán見jiàn弱ruò水shuǐ三sān千qiān，乃nǎi是shì流liú沙shā河hé界jiè。菩pú薩sà道dào：「徒tú弟dì呀ya，此cǐ處chù卻què是shì難nán行xíng。取qǔ經jīng人rén濁zhuó骨gǔ凡fán胎tāi，如rú何hé得dé渡dù？」惠huì岸àn道dào：「師shī父fù，你nǐ看kàn河hé有yǒu多duō遠yuǎn？」那nà菩pú薩sà停tíng立lì雲yún步bù看kàn時shí，只zhǐ見jiàn：师shī徒tú二èr人rén正zhèng走zǒu间jiān，忽hū然rán见jiàn弱ruò水shuǐ三sān千qiān，乃nǎi是shì流liú沙shā河hé界jiè。菩pú萨sà道dào：「徒tú弟dì呀ya，此cǐ处chù却què是shì难nán行xíng。取qǔ经jīng人rén浊zhuó骨gǔ凡fán胎tāi，如rú何hé得dé渡dù？」惠huì岸àn道dào：「师shī父fù，你nǐ看kàn河hé有yǒu多duō远yuǎn？」那nà菩pú萨sà停tíng立lì云yún步bù看kàn时shí，只zhǐ见jiàn：

東dōng連lián沙shā磧qì，西xī抵dǐ諸zhū番fān，南nán達dá烏wū戈gē，北běi通tōng韃dá靼dá。东dōng连lián沙shā碛qì，西xī抵dǐ诸zhū番fān，南nán达dá乌wū戈gē，北běi通tōng鞑dá靼dá。

徑jìng過guò有yǒu八bā百bǎi里lǐ遙yáo，上shàng下xià有yǒu千qiān萬wàn里lǐ遠yuǎn。径jìng过guò有yǒu八bā百bǎi里lǐ遥yáo，上shàng下xià有yǒu千qiān万wàn里lǐ远yuǎn。

水shuǐ流liú一yí似sì地dì翻fān身shēn，浪làng滾gǔn卻què如rú山shān聳sǒng背bèi。水shuǐ流liú一yí似sì地dì翻fān身shēn，浪làng滚gǔn却què如rú山shān耸sǒng背bèi。

洋yáng洋yáng浩hào浩hào，漠mò漠mò茫máng茫máng，十shí里lǐ遙yáo聞wén萬wàn丈zhàng洪hóng。洋yáng洋yáng浩hào浩hào，漠mò漠mò茫máng茫máng，十shí里lǐ遥yáo闻wén万wàn丈zhàng洪hóng。

仙xiān槎chá難nán到dào此cǐ，蓮lián葉yè莫mò能néng浮fú。仙xiān槎chá难nán到dào此cǐ，莲lián叶yè莫mò能néng浮fú。

衰shuāi草cǎo斜xié陽yáng流liú曲qū浦pǔ，黃huáng雲yún影yǐng日rì暗àn長cháng堤dī。衰shuāi草cǎo斜xié阳yáng流liú曲qū浦pǔ，黄huáng云yún影yǐng日rì暗àn长cháng堤dī。

那nǎ裡lǐ得dé客kè商shāng來lái往wǎng？何hé曾céng有yǒu漁yú叟sǒu依yī棲qī？那nǎ里lǐ得dé客kè商shāng来lái往wǎng？何hé曾céng有yǒu渔yú叟sǒu依yī栖qī？

平píng沙shā無wú雁yàn落luò，遠yuǎn岸àn有yǒu猿yuán啼tí。平píng沙shā无wú雁yàn落luò，远yuǎn岸àn有yǒu猿yuán啼tí。

只zhǐ是shì紅hóng蓼liǎo花huā蘩fán知zhī景jǐng色sè，白bái蘋pín香xiāng細xì任rèn依yī依yī。只zhǐ是shì红hóng蓼liǎo花huā蘩fán知zhī景jǐng色sè，白bái苹pín香xiāng细xì任rèn依yī依yī。

逐句解 Line by line

師shī徒tú二èr人rén正zhèng走zǒu間jiān，忽hū然rán見jiàn弱ruò水shuǐ三sān千qiān，乃nǎi是shì流liú沙shā河hé界jiè。师shī徒tú二èr人rén正zhèng走zǒu间jiān，忽hū然rán见jiàn弱ruò水shuǐ三sān千qiān，乃nǎi是shì流liú沙shā河hé界jiè。

As master and disciple were walking along, of a sudden they came upon the Three Thousand Weak Waters — the bourne of the Flowing-Sands River.

弱水三千, the Three Thousand Weak Waters, is a river out of myth whose water is too thin to hold anything up. The phrase is still quoted today in a line about love — of the three thousand weak waters I drink only one ladleful, meaning I could have had anyone and chose you. 流沙河, the Flowing-Sands River, is the home of the future Sha Wujing.

菩pú薩sà道dào：「徒tú弟dì呀ya，此cǐ處chù卻què是shì難nán行xíng。取qǔ經jīng人rén濁zhuó骨gǔ凡fán胎tāi，如rú何hé得dé渡dù？」菩pú萨sà道dào：「徒tú弟dì呀ya，此cǐ处chù却què是shì难nán行xíng。取qǔ经jīng人rén浊zhuó骨gǔ凡fán胎tāi，如rú何hé得dé渡dù？」

The Bodhisattva said: "Disciple, here the way is hard. The scripture-pilgrim, of muddy bone and mortal flesh, how shall he cross?"

難行 is hard going, 難 read nán. 濁骨凡胎 — muddy bones and a common womb — is the stock phrase for an ordinary human body: the kind that sinks.

惠huì岸àn道dào：「師shī父fù，你nǐ看kàn河hé有yǒu多duō遠yuǎn？」惠huì岸àn道dào：「师shī父fù，你nǐ看kàn河hé有yǒu多duō远yuǎn？」

Huian said: "Master, how wide do you judge the river to be?"

看 is kàn. Huian asks how wide before anybody has mentioned what lives in it, and the answer comes back as measurement rather than description.

那nà菩pú薩sà停tíng立lì雲yún步bù看kàn時shí，只zhǐ見jiàn：那nà菩pú萨sà停tíng立lì云yún步bù看kàn时shí，只zhǐ见jiàn：

The Bodhisattva, staying her cloud-steps to look, saw only:

只見, all they saw was, is the cue for a set-piece description of the river.

Eastward it joins the sandy wastes, westward it reaches the foreign tribes; southward it gains Wuge, northward it runs to the Tatars.

Four compass points, all of them nowhere: the river is being placed at the ragged edge of the known world. 韃靼 is the Tatars.

Straight across it stretches eight hundred li; up and down, a thousand thousand li.

Eight hundred li across, thousands up and down. The figures are conventional rather than surveyed, and their job is to make the crossing sound impossible.

Its current rolls as though the earth were turning over; its billows surge like mountains arching their backs.

一似 is just like; the 一 takes yí before the falling tone of 似, which is read sì.

Vast and boundless, dim and measureless — ten li off one hears the mighty flood.

Four doubled words in a row — 洋洋浩浩漠漠茫茫 — and not one verb among them. The river arrives as noise and size before it arrives as water.

仙xiān槎chá難nán到dào此cǐ，蓮lián葉yè莫mò能néng浮fú。仙xiān槎chá难nán到dào此cǐ，莲lián叶yè莫mò能néng浮fú。

An immortal's raft could scarce reach here; a lotus-leaf could never float.

仙槎 is the legendary raft that sails up the river of stars, and even that would go under here. 蓮葉 is a lotus leaf, 葉 in its everyday reading yè rather than the shè of Kāśyapa's name.

Withered grass and slanting sun along the winding shore; yellow clouds shadowing the day darken the long dyke.

長堤 is the long embankment; 長 is cháng.

那nǎ裡lǐ得dé客kè商shāng來lái往wǎng？何hé曾céng有yǒu漁yú叟sǒu依yī棲qī？那nǎ里lǐ得dé客kè商shāng来lái往wǎng？何hé曾céng有yǒu渔yú叟sǒu依yī栖qī？

Where here would merchants come and go? When was there ever a fisherman to dwell?

Two questions that expect no answer. 那 is standing in for the modern 哪 — where, how — and is read nǎ.

平píng沙shā無wú雁yàn落luò，遠yuǎn岸àn有yǒu猿yuán啼tí。平píng沙shā无wú雁yàn落luò，远yuǎn岸àn有yǒu猿yuán啼tí。

On the level sand no wild goose alights; on the far bank an ape cries out.

落 is luò, to come down. The couplet fixes the place with two absences and one presence: no goose lands, and the only voice is a gibbon on the far bank.

Only the red knotweed and dense blossom know the season's hue; the white duckweed, faintly fragrant, sways just as it will.

紅蓼 and 白蘋 are riverside knotweed and duckweed — the plants that grow where nobody comes.

總評 Commentary

Guanyin reaches the first real obstacle on the future route: the Flowing-Sands River, the Three Thousand Weak Waters, whose water is too thin to hold anything up. A full 賦 sets the scene, a desolate, uncrossable stretch at the wild margin of the world.

The description is built entirely out of negatives. No raft crosses it, no leaf floats, no merchant passes, no fisherman lives there. The emptiness is doing a job: it establishes the crossing as a genuine barrier, one that the muddy bones and common womb of the coming pilgrim could never manage alone — and so it explains in advance why the river's monster has to be recruited rather than killed.

Yu reads the desolation as carrying an allegorical charge too. Water that will bear nothing is the unredeemed world itself, over which only the disciplined and converted can ferry a soul. Plaks notes how reliably the novel's landscape set-pieces externalise the spiritual stakes of whatever passage they decorate.