In this era, people revered both Buddhism and Daoism. Having lived in these mountains for years, Wen Xin and his disciples were well-respected by the locals.
The news of trouble at Evil Dragon Pool sent shockwaves through the village elders, who quickly dispatched messengers to warn the people. They repeatedly expressed their gratitude.
On the way back, Hong Ning told Bai Ling about the circular imprint on the stone wall.
Bai Ling asked, “What do you intend to do?”
Hong Ning tested the waters. “Why don’t we visit the temple first?”
Bai Ling did not object. With a flick of his fingers, he used a transmission talisman to inform Wen Xin of their plan, then set off with her toward the temple.
—
Hong Ning did not know the Earth-Shrinking Technique [缩地之法, a teleportation technique], and although Bai Ling could use it, he couldn’t carry a mortal body like hers with him. Thus, the two of them had to travel on foot.
By the time they reached the ancient temple, the sun was setting.
The golden glow of the evening sun cast an endless expanse of red clouds across the sky.
They climbed the clean, well-maintained stone steps leading up the mountain. The path was lined with towering trees, and the sound of trickling streams filled the air.
Before long, they reached the temple’s entrance.
The grand temple gate stood tall and imposing, with three large characters inscribed at the top:
Shen Zhong Temple [神钟寺, “Divine Bell Temple”].
Its presence was commanding.
As they stepped closer, the deep toll of the evening bell resounded within, accompanied by the steady chanting of Buddhist sutras.
It was indeed a sacred and tranquil place.
Bai Ling hesitated slightly at the threshold.
Hong Ning understood immediately.
“You can wait outside,” she said.
Bai Ling let out a disdainful snort and continued walking forward.
“It’s just a small temple. What’s there to be afraid of?”
Ordinary temples weren’t anything to fear. However, an ancient temple like this—one with over a hundred years of history, flourishing incense offerings, and strict monastic discipline—was different.
With high monks reciting sutras and chanting prayers day after day, the temple had accumulated divine Buddhist energy over time, providing spiritual protection.
For ordinary demons, even looking at such a place from a distance would make them tremble in fear.
Fortunately, Bai Ling had nearly four hundred years of cultivation. Entering wouldn’t harm him, but he wouldn’t be able to use any of his demonic powers inside.
—
At the temple gate, two young monks were chatting when they suddenly noticed a teenage boy, around seventeen or eighteen, approaching with a little girl.
They immediately fell silent and pressed their palms together in greeting.
“Benefactors, are you here to offer incense or to fulfill a vow?”
Bai Ling ignored them.
Hong Ning had no choice but to step forward and answer, “We’ve come to offer incense at your esteemed temple.”
The monks stepped aside and welcomed them in.
—
Hong Ning deliberately slowed her pace as she entered, taking the opportunity to observe her surroundings. At the same time, she feigned curiosity and struck up a casual conversation.
“Shen Zhong Temple… Master, this name is quite interesting.”
Seeing that she was still young and had a lively, charming demeanor, the monks didn’t mind her curiosity and smiled.
“Little benefactor, you may not know this, but our temple was originally called Xia Yin Temple. The name was changed only fifty years ago.”
Hong Ning asked, “So there’s a Divine Bell here?”
The monks shook their heads.
“No, there isn’t.”
Hong Ning grinned. “Then why call it Shen Zhong Temple?”
The younger monk was at a loss for words.
“This…”
The older monk, who enjoyed storytelling, chuckled.
“Little benefactor, you see, our temple almost received a divine bell fifty years ago—if not for a certain gatekeeper’s mistake.”
Hong Ning’s curiosity was piqued.
“What happened?”
The monk led them forward as he spoke.
“I only know what my senior uncle told me,” he began. “Fifty years ago, our abbot at the time, Elder Hai Kong, was widely renowned. Back then, our temple was still quite small. One night, the elder had a dream.
“In the dream, someone came to him, calling himself Jin Tong—a Golden Attendant—and the Time-Keeper of the Southern Heavenly Gate.
“He claimed that he admired the scenery of our temple and wished to descend to the mortal world to reside here permanently.
“He instructed the abbot to open the temple gates on the night of the fifteenth, precisely at midnight, under the full moon, to welcome him.”
Hong Ning asked, “So it really came?”
The monk, now fully engrossed in his storytelling, nodded eagerly.
0 Comments