153, Vulgar

"Redemption Ship, is it still the Redemption Ship?"

On the edge of the arena, a monk stood bare-chested in the heavy snow, holding two wooden drumsticks and striking a leather drum intensely, his eyes fierce like a wrathful deity.

Outside the arena, a blue-robed young Daoist lit a stick of incense in a bronze furnace. One stick of incense represents two hours, and if the respondent couldn't answer before it burned out, they had to admit defeat and another would take their place.

The drum stopped, the bell rang, people moved.

Among the monks, a young monk who had been meditating with his eyes closed now opened his eyes and looked toward the center of the arena.

Snowflakes swirled around; Chen Ji sat quietly on his cushion. A gust of wind from outside the villa carried the soft snow, dusting his shoulders, head, and knees, unmoving.

The young monk said softly, "The Bodhisattva lowers his gaze."

After speaking, he closed his eyes again and quietly fingered his prayer beads.