Sniffing the stench in his own shoes is nothing but a normal act for Marcel Reed.
This act could determine whether he needed to change his socks.
But in the eyes of the Arhat, it was mockery!
Naked mockery!
"Impudent Taoist, spouting nonsense! Do you really not know the might of the West Sea?" Where was the Arhat's usual demeanor of delivering all beings from suffering now?
He held black Buddha Beads in hand, his eyes burning with angry flames!
"You bald donkey, you're not even a monk! How can a person who has left household life be so hot-tempered and impetuous?" Marcel Reed said with raised eyebrows: "Speak up, who's the phony here!"
The two traded barbs with explosive tension between them.
The Marshal was sweating buckets beside them.
He had to make a choice!
"Marshal, did you bring this man here?" The Arhat turned his head toward the Marshal and spoke with kind eyes: "The poor monk would like to hear the story between you and this person."
