One by one, gazes sweep over from the gleaming lotus thrones.
Some are curious, some appraising, but most are openly indifferent, keeping their distance. A hint of disdain is barely concealed in their eyes.
As if to ask: Where did these lowlifes crawl out from, and what makes them think they can set foot in the pure land of Spirit Mountain?
The stares make Zhu Bajie deeply uncomfortable. He instinctively hunches his mud-caked neck and nudges Tang Sanzang in front of him with an elbow, lowering his brassy voice.
“Master, take a look. These great Bodhisattvas at the foot of Spirit Mountain are into looking down on people too?”
Sun Wukong spits in disgust. “Bah! In this world, there are no true Buddhas. They’re all fakes hiding behind masks!”
