原文 Original text
繁體 Traditional
Reader's edition
良宵才過 Days Pass At The Bedside
便寧耐幾日何妨？」兄弟們都伏侍著師父，不覺的早盡午來昏又至，良宵才過又侵晨。便宁耐几日何妨？」兄弟们都伏侍着师父，不觉的早尽午来昏又至，良宵才过又侵晨。
逐句解 Line by line
便寧耐幾日何妨？」
便宁耐几日何妨？」
What harm is there in bearing it patiently a few days?"
寧耐 is to endure quietly, to sit tight. Pilgrim closes his argument with the least Pilgrim-like word in the language.
兄弟們都伏侍著師父，不覺的早盡午來昏又至，良宵才過又侵晨。
兄弟们都伏侍着师父，不觉的早尽午来昏又至，良宵才过又侵晨。
So the brothers all waited on their master, and before they knew it morning had run into noon and noon into dusk, and no sooner had the good night gone by than dawn came stealing in again.
著 is the sustained zhe, the attendance held open across days rather than done once. The last clause runs the hours together on purpose — 早盡午來 and 昏又至 pile up so that time blurs, which is what sitting with a sick person feels like.
The chapter changes gear. Up to now we have had scene and dialogue; here the narrator compresses days into a single run of clauses and the effect is genuinely disorienting.
That compression is also concealment. Somewhere in these blurred days, six monks of this monastery walk out to strike the watch-drums and do not come back. The reader is not told. The narrator's summary of time passing is, in retrospect, a summary of time in which people were being killed a courtyard away.
Pilgrim's advice to be patient is the last thing he says before the story starts hiding things from us. He gets his wish. They wait.