Miss Fang's pragmatic attitude—"It doesn't cost anything, so I might as well believe a little"—was a reaction rooted in most people's instincts.
But when it came to true faith, another saying often applied: faith that wasn't absolute was no faith at all!
A broad tunnel bored deep through a fissure in the mountain. Farther in lay a natural cavern that appeared to have been enlarged with explosives. Soot stains and marks left by blades, axes, shovels, and chisels still covered the rock walls, and the ground was uneven.
The air inside smelled strongly of dust and mold—and of too many people packed together.
Crowds poured in from several branching passages like swarms of ants converging on a nest.
Some of them had exceptionally pale faces and moved with uncanny lightness. They slipped past the "mortals" without a sound and easily gathered at the very front.
Many more followed behind them, most dressed in worn clothing. Some wore headscarves; others still had dirt and ash on their faces.
Most remained silent, studying one another uneasily. In the end, though, their gazes fixed on the unusually high, flat rock at the back of the cavern.
It formed a broad natural platform.
For now, no one stood on it.
Slots for torches had been cut into the rock walls, but their light was barely sufficient and failed to reach everyone below.
By then, the cavern was almost full. People stood from its innermost reaches to the tunnel entrance, packed tight in many places. Those who arrived later could scarcely do more than listen.
The air was stifling. Many elderly people in headscarves were already struggling to breathe, yet they gritted their teeth and held on.
No one was willing to leave. The cavern reeked of sweat and bodies—and simmered with a suppressed excitement.