Stand still, stiffen your nerve, and hear me out:

Ten characters of stage direction. 硬著膽, to harden the gall, takes 著 as zhe — the gall being where Chinese locates courage, the way English locates it in the guts. The colon is the cue: twelve lines of verse follow.

My home was the Eastern Continent of Superior Spirit, where heaven and earth hold tens of thousands of autumns.

The edition this text follows writes the continent's name with the character for spirit rather than the character for body found in the Buddhist geography, so it is the Eastern Continent of Superior Spirit — and the second character means superior or excellent, not victory. An autumn stands for a year, the way English counts in summers.

On the peak of Flower Fruit Mountain, an immortal stone egg; the egg split, and the making of it produced my root and shoot.

This is Wukong retelling chapter one to somebody who has never heard it. 根苗, root and shoot, describes a person as a plant coming up — a modest word for a birth out of rock, and the only word for lineage available to a creature who has no parents.

Born so, I was not of the common womb-born kind; my sacred body came in the first place from the company of sun and moon.

凡胎 is the ordinary mortal womb, the standard contrast term for anything born the usual way. The claim is that he was made by the sky rather than by parents, which is the foundation everything else in the verse is built on.