Canonical Classics ← 第八十回
第八十回
chàyángqiúpèiǒu
xīnyuánzhǔshíyāoxié

The Fair Girl, Nursing the Yang, Seeks a Mate · The Mind-Ape, Guarding His Master, Knows a Fiend

冬殘春盡
模式 Mode Read Study
拼音 Pinyin Off
字體 Script
原文 Original text 繁體 Traditional Reader's edition

冬殘春盡 Spring Ends a Peak Rises

zhòngxínggòuduōshíyòuguòledōngcánchūnjìnkànliǎohuāshānshùjǐngfāngfēiqiánmiànyòujiànzuògāoshānjùnlǐngsānzàngxīnjīngwèndào:「qiánmiàngāoshānyǒushìxiǎoxīn。」zhòngxínggòuduōshíyòuguòledōngcánchūnjìnkànliǎohuāshānshùjǐngfāngfēiqiánmiànyòujiànzuògāoshānjùnlǐngsānzàngxīnjīngwèndào:「qiánmiàngāoshānyǒushìxiǎoxīn。」


逐句解 Line by line

zhòngxínggòuduōshíyòuguòledōngcánchūnjìnkànliǎohuāshānshùjǐngfāngfēi zhòngxínggòuduōshíyòuguòledōngcánchūnjìnkànliǎohuāshānshùjǐngfāngfēi

The four of them travelled a good long while, and winter's remnant and the last of spring went by, with more wild flowers and hill-trees than the eye could take in, and the whole landscape sweet with growth.

Two whole seasons pass in eleven characters. 冬殘春盡 — winter's leavings, spring exhausted — is the book's standard way of skipping months it has no story for, the equivalent of a caption reading "some time later."

qiánmiànyòujiànzuògāoshānjùnlǐng qiánmiànyòujiànzuògāoshānjùnlǐng

Ahead of them there rose once again a high mountain with steep ridges.

The word , "once again," is doing the comic work. The reader has met this sentence perhaps sixty times by now, and so has Tripitaka.

sānzàngxīnjīngwèndào:「qiánmiàngāoshānyǒu sānzàngxīnjīngwèndào:「qiánmiàngāoshānyǒu

Tripitaka took fright and asked, "Disciples, on that high mountain ahead of us, is there a road or no road?

The question 有路無路 — road or no road — has only one sensible answer, which is why Pilgrim is about to laugh at it.

shìxiǎoxīn。」 shìxiǎoxīn。」

You must take care."

The line is four characters and needs no more. Tripitaka has one register for mountains and this is it.


總評 Commentary

This is the hinge of the chapter and it is worth pausing on, because everything that goes wrong later starts from the habit shown here. Tripitaka does not look at the mountain and assess it. He sees a mountain, feels fear, and asks a question that has no useful answer.

Note that his fear is not unfounded — mountains in this book really do have monsters in them, and he really has been carried off from them repeatedly. The trouble is that fear and judgement are different faculties, and he is running the wrong one. Within a few pages he will hear a voice crying for help and his fear will have switched polarity entirely, from suspicion of the landscape to pity for whatever is in it.