The gentleman shouted, "You impudent ape! Still wagging that clever tongue.

A J4 join: the vocative 這潑猢猻！ carries its own terminal and joins forward to the clause on the same source line. 喝 is *hè*, the shout, never *hē*.

Is my brother's son better off free and a king in his own right, or better off another's servant?

Both 還 are *hái* in the 還是…還是 alternative construction, and both 為 are *wéi*, the verb 'to be'. This is the immortal's real objection, and it answers Wukong's argument exactly: a promotion in someone else's household is still someone else's household.

No insolence — take this hook of mine!"

不得 takes 得 as *dé* in the modal sense, may not. Nine graphs, and the conversation is over.

The Great Sage blocked it with his iron rod and said, "Gentleman, let us have no talk of fighting; just give me a little spring water and I'll be off."

打的話 — the 世德堂本 prints 的 where 得 might be expected, and pypinyin mis-defaults it to *dī*. Read *de*, as with 疼的緊 at blk6. This was the predicted silent-error site (watch item W2) and it behaved exactly as forecast.

The gentleman cursed, "Impudent ape! You do not know life from death.

A second J4 join on the same pattern as the first. 不知死活 is the standard vernacular formula for reckless presumption.

If you can hold me for three bouts, I will let you have the water; if you cannot match me, I shall simply chop you into mincemeat and so avenge my nephew."

A J1 join at the ；, which bisects a single conditional. 敵得 is a potential complement, so 得 is *de*; 剁為 takes 為 as *wéi*. The terms are a wager, and the immortal proposes them as though they were reasonable.

The Great Sage cursed back, "You obstruction, that cannot tell up from down! If you want a fight, stand clear and look to my rod."

不識起倒 takes 倒 as *dǎo* by the standing ruling — the idiom is about not knowing which way is up. A J4/J3 join carries the vocative forward and the closing tail back.

The gentleman returned the blow, snatching at him with the as-you-will hook. The two of them fought a fine fight there at the Convent of Assembled Immortals:

劈手相還 takes 還 as *huán*, to give back, and 相 as adverbial *xiāng*. The 好殺： tag joins the narrative segment before it, so the boundary falls on the source's line break.

The holy monk ate in error of the conceiving water; Pilgrim came seeking the As-You-Will Immortal.

The rhapsody opens by restating the causal chain in a single couplet, which is the standard function of the first lines of a battle-piece: it tells the audience what is at stake before the blows begin.

Who could have known the True Immortal was a monster at heart, leaning on his strength to keep the Fetus-Dissolving Spring?

那曉 takes 那 as *nǎ*, the rhetorical 'how should one have known'. 倚強 takes 強 as *qiáng*. The line delivers the narrator's verdict flatly: whatever the man's title, his conduct is a monster's.

And when at last they met and spoke of the feud between them, the contention was not to be settled as one would wish.

相逢 takes 相 as *xiāng*. 如然 — as it should be — closes the line with a formula of frustrated expectation.

Word met word until it turned to vexation; malice of intent and savagery of feeling demanded requital.

僝僽 is a vernacular binome for torment or wrangling, and belongs to the language of Song and Yuan lyric rather than of classical verse. Its appearance in a battle rhapsody is a small register-shift downward.

This one, for a master's stricken life, came begging water; that one, for a nephew's ruin, would not give the spring.

為侄 takes 為 as *wèi*, purposive. The couplet is the rhapsody's fulcrum: 這一個…那一個 sets the two motives in exact parallel and declines to rank them, which is the fairest the poem gets to the immortal's case.

The as-you-will hook more potent than a scorpion's venom; the gold-banded rod more savage than a dragon's crest.

強如 takes 強 as *qiáng*; 似 is *sì*. The weapons are now compared rather than the men, which is how the form marks the transition from argument to combat.

Thrusting wildly at the chest, he plied his fierce might; hooking aslant at the feet, he unfolded his subtle art.

當胸 takes 當 as *dāng*, at or against. 著腳 takes 著 as *zhuó*, applied to — the same construction as 著手, to set hand to. The couplet begins the blow-by-blow, and every line from here to the end names a target and a stroke.

A backhand cast of the rod, and the wound was grave; over the shoulder the hook rose, and near the head it lashed.

傷處 takes 處 as *chù*; 重 is *zhòng*, grave. 陰手 is a backhanded stroke — the vocabulary here is technical rather than poetic.

A rod locking the waist, like a hawk seizing a sparrow; three hooks pressing the crown, like a mantis taking a cicada.

蜋 is printed for 螂 and encoded as printed. Both similes are predator-and-prey and both are drawn from the standard stock — 螳螂捕蟬 carries its own proverb about the hunter who is himself hunted.

Back and forth and back again they strove for the mastery; round upon round they turned and returned once more.

回還 takes 還 as *huán*. Four reduplications in fourteen graphs — 往往來來 and 返返復復 — enact the deadlock they describe.

Hook grappling and rod striking, with no telling first from last; nor could one see on which side lay the winning or the losing.

在那邊 takes 那 as *nǎ*, on which side. The rhapsody closes undecided, which is conventional — the verse states a stalemate and the prose that follows breaks it.