Canonical Classics ← 第九回
第九回
chénguāngruǐrènféngzāi
jiāngliúsēngchóubàoběn

Chen Guangrui, Going to His Post, Meets Disaster · The River-Float Monk Avenges the Wrong and Requites His Origin

光蕊還魂
模式 Mode Read Study
拼音 Pinyin Off
字體 Script
原文 Original text 繁體 Traditional Reader's edition

光蕊還魂 Guangrui Returns to Life

quèshuōyīnxiǎojiědiànzhàngfānyòujiāngshēnshuǐérhuāngdexuánzàngpīnmìngchězhùzhèngzàicānghuángzhījiànshuǐmiànshàngshīláikàojìnjiāngànzhīpángxiǎojiěmángxiàngqiánrènkànrènshìzhàngdeshīshǒuháotáozhòngrénláiguānkànzhǐjiànguāngruǐshūquánshēnjiǎoshēnzijiànjiànzhǎndòngjiāngláizuòxiàzhòngrénshèngjīnghàiguāngruǐzhēngkāiyǎnzǎojiànyīnxiǎojiězhàngrényīnchéngxiàngtóngzhexiǎoshàngzàishēnbiānquèshuōyīnxiǎojiědiànzhàngfānyòujiāngshēnshuǐérhuāngdexuánzàngpīnmìngchězhùzhèngzàicānghuángzhījiànshuǐmiànshàngshīláikàojìnjiāngànzhīpángxiǎojiěmángxiàngqiánrènkànrènshìzhàngdeshīshǒuháotáozhòngrénláiguānkànzhǐjiànguāngruǐshūquánshēnjiǎoshēnzijiànjiànzhǎndòngjiāngláizuòxiàzhòngrénshèngjīnghàiguāngruǐzhēngkāiyǎnzǎojiànyīnxiǎojiězhàngrényīnchéngxiàngtóngzhexiǎoshàngzàishēnbiān


逐句解 Line by line

quèshuōyīnxiǎojiědiànzhàngfānyòujiāngshēnshuǐér quèshuōyīnxiǎojiědiànzhàngfānyòujiāngshēnshuǐér

Now Yin Wenjiao, having wept her sacrifice over her husband, was about to throw herself into the water and die,

卻說, now to tell of, is the storyteller switching cameras. 哭奠, weeping the offering; and then 赴水而死, to go into the water and die. She was talked down from the rope an hour ago and has simply moved on to the river. The chapter is not treating her despair as a scene to be played once and cleared away.

huāngdexuánzàngpīnmìngchězhù huāngdexuánzàngpīnmìngchězhù

when Xuanzang, frantic, risked his life to seize and hold her back.

慌得, panicked to the point that, with as the unstressed de that ties a verb to what came of it. 拚命, throwing your own life away, takes as pīn, and the phrase is still everyday Chinese for doing something with everything you have. 扯住, grabbed and held on.

zhèngzàicānghuángzhījiànshuǐmiànshàngshīláikàojìnjiāngànzhīpáng zhèngzàicānghuángzhījiànshuǐmiànshàngshīláikàojìnjiāngànzhīpáng

Just at that panic-stricken moment, a corpse suddenly floated up on the water and drew near the riverbank.

倉皇, flustered and scrambling; 之際, at the very moment of. The novel has kept this corpse offstage for eighteen years and brings it up on the one line where it does the most work.

xiǎojiěmángxiàngqiánrènkànrènshìzhàngdeshīshǒuháotáo xiǎojiěmángxiàngqiánrènkànrènshìzhàngdeshīshǒuháotáo

The lady hurried forward to look, recognized her husband's body, and burst into unrestrained wailing.

認看, to look in order to identify, and then 認得, looked and knew — as the unstressed de that turns an attempt into a result. 嚎啕大哭 is howling, a rougher and louder verb than any of the weeping in this chapter so far, and 一發, all the more, sets it going. The sight does not steady her. It lets go of everything she has been holding.

zhòngrénláiguānkànzhǐjiànguāngruǐshūquánshēnjiǎoshēnzijiànjiànzhǎndòngjiāngláizuòxià zhòngrénláiguānkànzhǐjiànguāngruǐshūquánshēnjiǎoshēnzijiànjiànzhǎndòngjiāngláizuòxià

Everyone came to look, and saw Guangrui stretch his fists and legs, his body gradually stirring and moving, until all at once he crawled up and sat down.

This is the miracle, and the novel refuses to make it ethereal. 舒拳伸腳, the fists unclenching and the legs straightening; 漸漸展動, the body opening out and beginning to move, with 身子 keeping unstressed as zi. Then 爬將起來坐下: he crawls up and sits. Not rises. Crawls. A soul coming back is described entirely from the outside, as something a crowd on a riverbank would actually have seen.

zhòngrénshèngjīnghài zhòngrénshèngjīnghài

The crowd could not master their astonishment.

不勝, unable to bear up under it — the same construction that will measure the Chancellor's wife being overcome with joy two passages from now. And 驚駭 is fright, not wonder. Nobody on that bank finds this beautiful.

guāngruǐzhēngkāiyǎnzǎojiànyīnxiǎojiězhàngrényīnchéngxiàngtóngzhexiǎoshàngzàishēnbiān guāngruǐzhēngkāiyǎnzǎojiànyīnxiǎojiězhàngrényīnchéngxiàngtóngzhexiǎoshàngzàishēnbiān

Guangrui opened his eyes, and at once saw Yin Wenjiao, his father-in-law Chancellor Yin, and the little monk all weeping at his side.

睜開眼, the eyes opening. 丈人 is a wife's father, the everyday word beside the more courtly 岳丈 the Dragon King used. 同著, along with, takes as zhe — one of three readings this chapter gives the character, beside the zháo of seeking and finding and the zhuó of sending somebody on an errand. And the first thing he sees is a son he has never met.


總評 Commentary

The miracle at the centre of the chapter is staged with almost stubborn physicality. No light, no music, no immortal descending. A body drifts to the bank, the fists unclench, the legs straighten, the trunk starts to move, and the man crawls up and sits down. Every detail is given from where the crowd is standing, which is exactly why it works.

The timing is providential to the point of comedy. Yin Wenjiao has just been argued out of hanging herself and has moved on to drowning; her son has both arms around her; and it is at that precise moment that the river hands back the man she was going in after. It took him at night in secret, and it returns him in daylight in front of witnesses, on the one day she tries to give it a second body.

The crowd's reaction is the detail to keep. Not awe — 不勝驚駭, fright they cannot manage. A resurrection at close range is a hole torn in how the world is supposed to work, and the people on that bank react the way people actually would.