The brazen voice was not loud, but it carried unbridled arrogance and smug delight. Though it sounded far away, it pierced the evening wind, every word reaching the young man's ears with perfect clarity.
As soon as the speaker finished, another voice chimed in with praise:
"Of course! With Worthy Master Luo taking action, success was assured. Besides, Brother Luo has recently attained the realm of Three Flowers Gather at the Crown. He's quite different from when we were in Zhenyang..."
At the word "Zhenyang," the young man, who had still been feeling drowsy, jolted in alarm and cried inwardly:
This is bad!
He sprang up, intending to wake everyone, but a muffled boom rang out, and flames shot skyward outside the ruined temple's windows. Amid a furious crackling, the bamboo-and-wood window frames were licked clean away by the darting tongues of fire.
The sudden blaze was far fiercer than Xing Yan had expected. Before he could shout more than a few times, the beggars leaning against the temple door were hurled up by the raging surge of fire outside and flung toward him like sacks.
Caught off guard, even Xing Yan's quick eyes and hands could barely break the fall of the nearest elderly beggars. Their impact drove him stumbling back four or five steps before he crashed to the floor. Before he could rise, he endured the pain and shouted, just before the roaring flames could lick his body:
"Qiong Rong, splash water, quick!"
Hearing her brother's cry, the sleepy-eyed little girl reacted almost instinctively. With a great splash, a torrential deluge descended before the mountain god's altar, in a space less than ten feet across, instantly dousing the fiercely lashing flames!
Once the fire had stopped, Qiong Rong ran across the still-smoking bricks to Xing Yan's side