"If it weren't for the South Heavenly Buddha himself, the Great Zen Masters would surely rise up to condemn verbally and in writing, to let Yanshan realize the cost of his reckless words."
While observing the thoughts of the Zen Masters, and listening to Yanshan's sincere replies, the South Heavenly Buddha, who sat like a dried-up tree, finally smiled. From his dark red monk's robes, he extended his withered right hand, the nails of which had not been tended to for many years and were curled like discs, especially blackened parts curled inward.
Raising his hand was already very inconvenient, but the South Heavenly Buddha still forcefully pointed at Yanshan. His three hundred years of silent meditation had caused his lips to seal shut, so he could only speak through a chant: "All Zen Masters in this hall are not as good as this young monk."
