The auspicious clouds dispersed.
The last glimmer of Buddhist light on the horizon gradually vanished into the depths of the clouds.
The mountain path fell quiet again.
Only the rustling of wind through the leaves still echoed softly in their ears.
Yet the five hundred monks remained rooted to the spot.
Their eyes were wide open.
For a long while, no one moved.
Some instinctively looked up toward where Guanyin Bodhisattva had just disappeared.
Some stared blankly down at their hands.
Others pinched themselves hard, sucking in a breath at the pain.
Even now.
Their minds were still a jumble.
The White Jade Arena.
A sky full of stars.
Three contests.
Immortals clashing with magic.
Even Guanyin Bodhisattva had appeared in person.
Those images were still churning through their minds.
Like some absurd, outlandish dream.
But when the mountain wind blew over them.
They abruptly came back to their senses.
Because those three "National Preceptors" were still standing nearby, dusty and bedraggled.
Their heads hung low, their spirits wilted.
Not a trace remained of their earlier lofty arrogance.
The Three Powers stood ramrod straight, obedient as could be.
They did not dare move a muscle.
Now they understood completely.
What the Great Sage Equal to Heaven meant.
And what the Holy Monk meant.
One dared to block the Celestial Venerable's doorway.
Even the Celestial Venerable had to find a pretext before hitting him.
And after being hit, he still dared to talk back.
The other was addressed by the Celestial Venerable as a fellow Daoist.
The Celestial Venerable had personally bestowed a treasure on him.
What league were these two in?
And what league were they themselves in?
Where had they found the nerve to challenge these people?
The more the Three Powers thought about it, the lower their heads