"What do you mean?"
"I don't know, I can't understand."
"I thought the Master was right!"
"No, the Master is contemplating, it's the little monk from the Central Plains who has gained the upper hand!"
The sharp words.
The noisy crowd suddenly quieted, heads clustered together as they turned to stare at the dark-skinned middle-aged man who said the little monk had the upper hand.
A cold wind blew past, mixed with the smell of oily hair from the crowded people, and the sulfur smell of last night's firecrackers.
"How do you know?"
The dark-skinned middle-aged man scratched the back of his head, his rough index finger pointing towards the central high platform: "Isn't the little monk reprimanding the Master? Naturally, he has the upper hand. After the little monk spoke, the Master is also contemplating and did not respond immediately."
"Nonsense!"
"Ridiculous!"
Around them, devout followers were both embarrassed and angry, harshly scolding him.
