This too is my destined lot. Take them away, take them away!"

緣法 is the karmic connection that brings a thing to you — it is fate, but the specific Buddhist kind, earned across lives. The demon is not saying he is lucky; he is saying the weapons were meant for him. And that is the same claim Wukong made about the rod earlier in this chapter, in almost the same words, when his own poem said he had the lot to fetch it away. The thief and the Great Sage justify their taking identically.

His covetous heart stirred once, he worked up a gust of force, gathered all three weapons in a single sweep and went straight back to his own cave.

愛心一動, the fond heart moving once, is all the motive the novel supplies — greed as a single twitch. 一股收之 is to take them in one bundle, in one movement. And it is done: the three weapons of the pilgrimage, gone in twenty-two characters, without a fight.

This is exactly it:

Three characters, the chapter's fifth and last verse tag.

The Way may not be left for an instant; what can be left is not the Way.

This is a quotation, and a famous one — the opening of the Doctrine of the Mean, one of the Four Books every educated Chinese memorised. The original says the Way cannot be departed from for a moment, and that anything you can depart from is not it. The novel is applying a Confucian sentence about moral cultivation to three men who put their weapons down in a shed.

The divine weapons have all come to nothing; the seekers have wasted their striving.

神兵, divine weapons, for the last time. 落空, falling into emptiness, means to come to nothing, and it is doing two jobs — the weapons have literally been carried off, and the word for empty is the same one in Wukong's own name. 參修 is religious practice, the sitting and the cultivating. The couplet turns a theft into a sermon and refuses to say how seriously it means it.