Hall of Literary Origin. Quinn Shepherd looked around. Compared to the grand halls of the other Cult Masters, the Young Heavenly Demon Patriarch’s Hall of Literary Origin was rather plain and shabby—likely because the Patriarch had never served as Cult Master, and so held a lower status than they did.
Yet in Quinn’s eyes, it was precisely because the Young Heavenly Demon Patriarch had never been Cult Master or Holy Teacher that he could set down burdens and achieve things no Cult Master ever had.
The Young Heavenly Demon Patriarch was half mentor, half friend to the Imperial Preceptor of Everpeace. When the Preceptor visited, he personally opened the Grand Fostering Heavenly Demon Sutra for him, explained the doctrinal core of the Holy Dao, and even wrote letters recommending him to Dao Gate and Great Thunderclap Temple.
The Imperial Preceptor’s great achievements owed much to him.
Later, the Imperial Preceptor’s reforms and the founding of the Imperial Academy were also deeply connected to the Young Heavenly Demon Patriarch.
He was the first Grand Rector of the Imperial Academy, and during the Preceptor’s reforms, the Imperial Preceptor would often seek his advice.
Everpeace had three great reformist leaders: the Imperial Preceptor and the Emperor in the open, and the Young Heavenly Demon Patriarch as the hidden third pillar behind them.
In terms of merit alone, throughout the Holy Cult’s history, only two or three Cult Masters ever matched the Young Heavenly Demon Patriarch’s accomplishments.
Yet because the Young Heavenly Demon Patriarch never served as Cult Master, he received no such honors in Nether City, which Quinn found deeply unfair.
“You, ah, still haven’t outgrown that wild streak of yours.”
The Young Heavenly Demon Patriarch led Quinn inside the hall. Bruno the Dragon-Qilin, all bone and armored scales, kept rubbing against him—so much so that the Patriarch’s clothes were torn and his thigh was rubbed raw.
He pretended not to notice and said to Quinn, “So what now? You’ve nearly beaten your way through all the Cult Masters! Do you think they’re easy to get along with? They’re the overlords of Nether City! After you die, how will you ever find a foothold here…?”
“Patriarch…”
Suddenly, Quinn hugged him tightly, voice trembling, unable to let go for a long time. “I missed you.”
This big skeleton tried to wipe his eyes, but had no tears to wipe. Choking up, he said, “I didn’t know you once blocked the gods of High Heaven in the Great Ruins. I only heard about it later from Yun Xiang, when the Guardian Elders brought me your ashes. I never managed to see you one last time, so now I’ve come to see you! I kept it from Bruno, didn’t dare tell him, but I can’t hide it from him anymore…”
The Young Heavenly Demon Patriarch paused, then patted Quinn’s back and sighed, “I’m just living a different way now. See, I have flesh and blood; in my eyes, it’s you who are dead. Should I be the one weeping instead? Enough, enough—just now Cult Master Quinn was scolding and thrashing all the ancestors, and now you’re acting like a lovesick child… Enough, Bruno! You’ve rubbed my thigh bloody! Haven’t you had enough?”
Bruno wanted to lick his wound, but only then remembered he didn’t have a tongue, so reluctantly backed away a little. After a moment, he couldn’t help but come back for another rub.
The Young Heavenly Demon Patriarch was utterly speechless. He hadn’t seen Bruno in ages; when they first reunited, it was all tears and affection, but now the fat dragon just wouldn’t stop rubbing against him, to the point of driving him crazy—he almost wanted to send the beast far, far away.
“This time, I also wanted to meet the Woodcutter Sage who preached from the stone, the Founding Patriarch, and the Three Holy Kings.”
Quinn asked, “Patriarch, are they here in Nether City too?”
“You won’t be able to meet the Three Holy Kings—their souls were scattered.”
The Young Heavenly Demon Patriarch grew somber and said, “They died in battle, and as they passed, they forced the stone-preaching into the next Cult Master, unable to preserve their own souls—and so they couldn’t enter Nether City. I thought I’d meet the Founding Patriarch here too, but I haven’t seen him. The Woodcutter Sage isn’t here either.”
Quinn was stunned. Besides Nether City, where else could the Woodcutter Sage and the Founding Patriarch have gone?
The Woodcutter’s body became a stone statue, standing in Little Jade Capital, still gazing toward the Great Ruins. His Primordial Spirit departed elsewhere. The Founding Patriarch founded the sect and doctrine, but never achieved great merit or became a saint, nor did he become a god; so he must have died of old age—where could he have gone then?
The Young Heavenly Demon Patriarch hesitated and said, “You beat up all the ancestral Cult Masters…”
“Patriarch, I’m a Cult Master too—they’re Cult Masters, so why should I be beneath them? I’m also the Human Emperor, which means my rank is above theirs. You want me to grovel and flatter them? I can’t do that.”
Quinn said, “The Holy Cult was never about seniority. The wise are teachers. They may be former Cult Masters, but a Cult Master must have backbone. If I didn’t beat them, they’d say my succession was illegitimate; but now they have nothing to say. Besides, in their hands the Holy Cult stagnated and decayed—they deserved a beating.”
The Young Heavenly Demon Patriarch sighed and asked curiously, “You have no body—how do you use your divine arts?”
Quinn replied, “I once came to the realm of the dead with the Village Chief, and that’s when I realized turning into a skeleton was just an illusion—losing my body was an illusion, too. You coming back to life is also an illusion (see chapters 86–89 for details; I didn’t write it in the earlier chapter because it was already 4,000 words—any more and it would have been too long). Grandpa Blind’s god-eye lets me see through all of Nether City. From then on, I could use my divine arts here, and I could sense my own body. Patriarch, you don’t know—in my eyes…”
Suddenly, a wave of endless sorrow surged in his heart, and he could not go on.