Juezheng had already walked more than a hundred feet ahead, yet even at that distance, he heard Hu Xiaotian's words perfectly clearly. Turning around, he smiled. "There is no need for suspicion, benefactor. Our Spirit Sound Temple is a thousand-year-old temple of the orthodox Chan tradition. We act openly and honorably, guiding others through virtue." With that, he continued forward with his buckets. None of the six monks used a carrying pole; each held two buckets with his arms extended straight out. The buckets were a size larger than ordinary ones. Though painted vermilion on the outside, they were made not of wood but solid cast iron. Even without the water, each bucket alone weighed around fifty jin.
Despite bearing such weight on their outstretched arms, all six monks walked as swiftly as if their feet had wings, proving that their martial arts were far from ordinary. Their leader, Juezheng, was even more remarkable. Although Hu Xiaotian had not used Secret Voice Transmission, his voice had been no louder than a mosquito's hum, yet Juezheng had heard every word clearly.
Huo Shengnan smiled at Hu Xiaotian and whispered, "You needn't worry. Although Spirit Sound Temple lies in a remote mountain valley, it is one of Great Yong's Seven Great Ancient Temples and enjoys a considerable reputation."
Hu Xiaotian sighed inwardly. What good would all his worrying do now? If trouble really arose, he could only wait helplessly for death. Still, since Huo Shengnan had said so, she was probably right.
Rounding the foot of the mountain ahead, they saw an ancient temple standing beside the water. Its red walls shone brilliantly in the setting sun, bronze bells at the corners of its halls chimed in the wind, and the evening drums sounded with a lingering resonance for the nightly prayers.