恓恓惶惶 The Old Fiend Weeps
老妖道：「你大王並猱獅、雪獅、摶象、伏狸可曾來？」小妖道：「不見，不見。只是兩個和尚在山峰高處眺望。我看見回頭就跑，他趕將來，我卻閉門來也。」老妖聽說，低頭不語。半晌，忽的吊下淚來，叫聲：「苦啊！我黃獅孫死了，猱獅孫等又盡被和尚捉進城去矣。此恨怎生報得？」八戒綑在傍邊，與王父子、唐僧俱攢在一處，恓恓惶惶受苦。聽見老妖說聲眾孫被和尚捉進城去，暗暗喜道：「師父莫怕，殿下休愁。老妖道：「你大王并猱狮、雪狮、抟象、伏狸可曾来？」小妖道：「不见，不见。只是两个和尚在山峰高处眺望。我看见回头就跑，他赶将来，我却闭门来也。」老妖听说，低头不语。半晌，忽的吊下泪来，叫声：「苦啊！我黄狮孙死了，猱狮孙等又尽被和尚捉进城去矣。此恨怎生报得？」八戒捆在傍边，与王父子、唐僧俱攒在一处，恓恓惶惶受苦。听见老妖说声众孙被和尚捉进城去，暗暗喜道：「师父莫怕，殿下休愁。
逐句解 Line by line
The old fiend said: "Has your great king come back, and the Gibbon Lion, the Snow Lion, Elephant-Grappler and Crouching-Civet - have any of them come?"
曾 is céng in 可曾, the reading it takes as the adverb that asks whether something has yet happened, and not the surname zēng that shares the character. He is asking after five relatives at once and the sentence is a list of names with a question hung on the end.
The little fiend said: "Not a sight of them, not a sight.
不見，不見 doubled is somebody who cannot bring himself to say it once. The novel gives the bad news to the least important character in the room and lets him repeat himself.
"There were only two monks up on the high peak of the mountain, looking out.
He reports what he saw rather than what it means, which is exactly what a frightened underling does. The word for the two dangerous creatures on the mountain is simply monks.
"I saw them, turned my head and ran; they came chasing after, and I shut the door and here I am."
Six clauses of pure sequence with no adjectives at all - saw, turned, ran, chased, shut, came. It is how somebody talks when their heart is still going.
The old fiend heard him out, lowered his head and said nothing.
低頭不語 - head down, no words - is four characters, and they are the first thing in the chapter to make this creature look like a person. He has given orders, laid a plan and swallowed six people without a flicker. Here he goes quiet.
After a long while he suddenly let fall tears, and cried out: "The bitterness of it!
半晌 is a good long pause, the length of half a working period - the novel is holding the silence deliberately. And then 苦啊, which is bitterness with a wail on the end.
"My grandson the Yellow Lion is dead, and my grandsons the Gibbon Lion and the rest have every one of them been taken by monks into that city."
He says grandson twice, and the word does the work. Everything the reader has watched the pilgrims do for two chapters - the arson, the killing, the captures - is restated here as a family bereavement, by the only character in a position to feel it.
"How is this hatred ever to be repaid?"
得 is de here, the linking reading, attached to 報 as the mark of what can or cannot be managed - how could this grudge ever get itself avenged? It is a question with no answer expected, which is the third time in this chapter a grievance has been voiced into a vacuum.
Eight Rules, tied up at the side, huddled together in one place with the king and his sons and the Tang Monk, wretched and frightened and suffering,
傍 is páng here, standing for the character that means the side of something - it is naming a place, not doing the verb that means to lean on. 攢 is cuán again, to converge - the same word used for closing in on an enemy during the second day of fighting, turned round here to mean six prisoners pressed into one heap. And 恓恓惶惶 doubles two words for distress, one of them still in daily use.
heard the old fiend say that his grandsons had all been taken by the monks into the city, and quietly rejoiced: "Master, do not be afraid. Your highness, stop worrying.
The scene runs on two levels at once and this is where they touch. The fiend's worst news is the prisoners' best, and Eight Rules is tied up three feet away cheering silently at a grandfather's grief.
This is the passage where the chapter's villain becomes difficult. Up to now the nine-headed lion has been an arrangement of heads that gives orders and eats people. Here a subordinate brings him news, and he puts his head down and says nothing for a long time, and then cries.
What he cries about is entirely reasonable. His grandson is dead and the rest of his family is in chains in a city, and every bit of that was done by the protagonists. The word he uses over and over is grandson. The novel has spent two chapters letting us enjoy those victories and picks this moment to itemise the cost.
And then it undercuts itself immediately, because Eight Rules is tied up at the edge of the same room listening, and what he hears is that his side is winning. Two entirely opposite emotional readings of one report, in one chamber, in adjacent segments. The book refuses to tell you which one to take.