"What did that mean?"
"Don't know, I couldn't understand it."
"I thought the master had the upper hand!"
"No, the master was thinking. It was the Little Master from the Central Plains who had gained the upper hand!"
The words were piercing.
The clamorous noise abruptly fell silent. Dark and dense heads turned, staring at the swarthy middle-aged man who had said the Little Master held the advantage.
A cold wind scraped past, carrying the greasy stench of heads crammed together and the sulfur smell of last night's firecrackers.
"How did you know?"
The swarthy middle-aged man rubbed the back of his head, his rough index finger pointing toward the central platform. "Wasn't the little monk scolding the master? Naturally, that meant he had the upper hand. After the little monk finished, the master started thinking instead of answering right away."
"Bullshit!"
"What nonsense!"
Devout believers nearby immediately flew into a humiliated rage and shouted rebukes.
"It is that little monk who knows no manners! He just has a loud voice! You crude fellow, if you don't understand, don't spout nonsense!"
"Exactly! Nonsense! The master simply couldn't be bothered to argue with him! Reason isn't—reason isn't..."
"Reason does not lie in who shouts louder!"
"Right!"
The middle-aged man opened his mouth, scratched his itching scalp, scraping down flakes of skin and lice beneath his nails. He wanted to retort, yet feared arousing the crowd's fury and being beaten by them, so he pressed his lips shut.
The dignitaries in the inner circle paid no heed to the villagers' clamor beyond. They looked toward Sang Jie's disciples. The monks had previously been disdainful of everyone, but now each looked as if facing a formidable enemy, as though they already knew the outcome of the exchange.
"This Hanging Temple Buddha Child... was