駕雲而來 We Came and Went by Cloud
行者道:「這獃子全不察理。這路雖是走過幾遍,那時只在九霄空裡,駕雲而來,駕雲而去,何曾落在此地?事不關心,查他做甚?此所以不知。卻有甚蹺蹊,又捉弄你也?」行者道:「这呆子全不察理。这路虽是走过几遍,那时只在九霄空里,驾云而来,驾云而去,何曾落在此地?事不关心,查他做甚?此所以不知。却有甚跷蹊,又捉弄你也?」
逐句解 Line by line
Wukong said, "This idiot will not think a thing through. I have been over this road a few times, true — but I was up in the ninth heaven then. I came by cloud and I went by cloud. When did I ever set foot down here?"
The retort is also a piece of information, and a good one. Wukong has covered this ground before, in the years when he could cross the whole distance in a single leap, and it did him no good at all: he was too high up to see any of it. That is quietly one of the novel's own arguments about itself. The journey has to be walked. Wukong could carry Tripitaka to the mountain in an afternoon and everybody knows it, and the ground still has to go under somebody's feet before it counts as travelled. ⚠ 何曾 is céng, the word for ever having done a thing. The plain chain reads it as the surname instead, at this one site out of four in the chapter — the three plain 不曾 come out right without help. It is a good example of how these errors arrive: not in the hard places, but in the one spot where the surrounding words happen to look different.
"It was no concern of mine, so why would I have looked into it? That is why I don't know. And what's odd about that? Where am I having you on?"
⚠ Read what he throws back. Bajie accused him of two things in the passage before — of something being 蹺蹊, off, and of 捉弄, playing a trick — and Wukong closes his speech by handing back both words, in order, unchanged. That is not a coincidence of vocabulary; it is how an argument between these two sounds. Wukong does not usually answer Bajie's charges. He repeats them until they sound as silly as he thinks they are. 事不關心 — a thing that does not touch your heart — is the middle of his case, and it is oddly bleak for a joke. He did not look because he did not care. The novel will spend the rest of this chapter among people who care enormously about a thing that does not touch them either.
Wukong's answer is funnier than it looks and more useful than it sounds. He is not making an excuse; he is describing what the last five hundred years were like from up there. Roads he had crossed a dozen times were weather under his feet, and he never once looked down at a town.
The speech is also built to be thrown. Every charge Bajie made comes back — the same two words, in the same order, with a question mark on the end. It is the oldest form of winning an argument and it works on Bajie every time, which is why the passage ends with him saying nothing at all.
And underneath the bickering the book is making its own case for why this story is ninety-nine chapters long. A pilgrimage done by cloud is not a pilgrimage. The one who could skip it is the one explaining, here, that skipping it taught him nothing about the ground.