Behind the Jade Pendant glimmered a pair of bright, clear eyes. Quinn Shepherd might have been only eleven, but he understood far more than most kids his age.
Once, he’d followed Granny Sue to another village where a woman was giving birth. The delivery went smoothly, and the sight of the happy little family left a deep impression on him.
Quinn had asked Granny Sue how he’d been born, where his parents were. Granny Sue couldn’t answer, so she told him he’d been found—when they picked him up, this Jade Pendant was already hanging from his neck.
That’s why Quinn cherished the Jade Pendant so much. He hoped that one day, it might help him find his real parents—and ask them why they’d abandoned him.
After a long while, the boy tucked away the Jade Pendant, letting it hang against his chest as usual. His face was calm, but the pendant’s strange power lingered in his heart. Behind him, Granny Sue quietly returned to her room.
The next day, Grandpa Mark, Grandpa Blind, Crippled Joe, and Mute Smith went out hunting again, bringing back even more Four Spirit Bloods to help Quinn replenish his strength. Within a few hundred li, the Four Spirit Beasts had been nearly wiped out by these four infamous elders, forcing them to venture even farther afield for new prey.
The Village Chief couldn’t get around easily, the Apothecary was always out gathering herbs, the Butcher was a bitter cynic prone to fits of madness, and Grandpa Deaf only cared about his calligraphy and painting. Most days, the only one left to help Quinn with his training was Granny Sue.
But even Granny Sue was often away from the village. She was both the local tailor and midwife, regularly called to nearby settlements to make clothes or deliver babies.
Today, Granny Sue had left early, the Apothecary was out picking herbs, and the Butcher and Grandpa Deaf had hauled the Village Chief out to the gate. One was sharpening his blade, the other sketching away.
Quinn was bored out of his mind. He wandered alone to the riverbank. Ever since the milk cow had turned into a woman and gotten stabbed to death by Crippled Joe, he’d had a lot less work to do.
At the riverbank, the boy took a deep breath, his chest swelling as if inflated. His lungs expanded until they could hold no more, then, channeling his yuanqi, he slowly let his chest deflate.
He didn’t exhale; instead, his yuanqi nourished his lungs, making them exceptionally tough. He compressed the air inside, shrinking it from full to just a tenth its volume!
Quinn kept inhaling, his chest no longer swelling, until he reached his limit. Suddenly, his foot slammed down—he shot forward like an arrow loosed from a bow!
Two waves parted on the river’s surface. Between them, Quinn ran atop the water, surging ahead at breakneck speed!
Suddenly, a flash of blade gleamed in the river. While sprinting, Quinn drew his butcher’s knife, its edge flickering like a dragon—up and down, twisting and turning—that was the Butcher’s saber art!
The saber art mirrored the man: the Butcher’s pig‑slaughtering style was wild, defiant, refusing heaven and earth alike. The blade light churned, grinding its way across the river’s surface.
Suddenly, the blade vanished. Quinn slung the butcher’s knife behind his back and switched to Grandpa Mark’s fist art. Yuanqi surged through his arms and into his fingertips; he curled his fingers into fists, his body surging forward like the river charging into the sea—highland torrents breaking the sky, unstoppable.
Thunder Chant Eight‑Form, first move: Spring‑Thunder Charge to the Eastern Sea!
He punched again and again, his mind filled with visions of a mighty river rushing onward—waves thundering, surging into the ocean. Unknowingly, his fists began to embody the same spirit.
Suddenly, his fists sprang open, his palms vibrating violently. The air before his hands compressed sharply, then exploded outward, blasting the river’s surface into a spray of water.
"Still no good. I can’t pull off palm thunder yet."
Quinn felt a pang of disappointment. Grandpa Mark’s Thunder Chant Eight‑Form required at least palm thunder as its lowest standard—every punch and palm should explode with thunder, not just mesmerizing the soul but packing real power.
If you mastered the deeper levels, it became true sorcery: controlling thunder itself. That was far beyond him for now.
As he sprinted, Quinn slung a bamboo staff from his back. Its tip danced—not a simple staff technique, but spearwork. He’d learned from Grandpa Blind, whose staff was really a spear in disguise. Each thrust whipped up the river like an angry dragon, every strike sending water churning around the bamboo.
Quinn put the staff away and pulled out a heavy iron hammer—the one Mute Smith had forged for him. The hammer art was clumsy and ancient, but packed a crushing force, the polar opposite of Quinn’s swift footwork!
After a long while, he felt his yuanqi running low, his body weary and strength almost spent. Looking around, he realized he’d run far from Oldridge Village, now more than a hundred li downstream.
"I ran this far without even noticing?"
Quinn spotted a green oasis rising from the river’s heart, water rushing past on both sides. Curious, he dashed toward the island.
Moments later, he set foot on solid ground and climbed onto the oasis.
The oasis wasn’t large—like a small hill in the river, about a li across, rising forty zhang above the current, lush with greenery.
No birdsong echoed in the dense woods, only the rush of water. Not far ahead, a ruined temple hid among the trees, its broken walls peeking through.
Quinn approached and saw the temple was decrepit, abandoned for years and thick with cobwebs. Still, it seemed a decent spot to rest.
He stopped at the entrance. One temple door had fallen away, and inside, dim light revealed a giant Buddha statue covered in gold leaf, glimmering faintly.
But no one had visited for ages. Much of the gold leaf had peeled off, exposing the bronze underneath, which was inscribed with strange, tadpole-like script.
Thick chains bound the Buddha, stretching from the statue out of the temple, across the oasis, and plunging deep into the river.
"Weird—why chain up the Buddha? Grandpa Blind says you have to burn incense before entering a temple. It’s tradition. I didn’t bring any, so I’ll just rest outside."
Quinn cleared his throat and bowed toward the temple: "I’m from Oldridge Village, living by the river. Passing by this sacred place, I’m just stopping to rest. Sorry to disturb the local spirits—please forgive me."
He hesitated, then recited the line Grandpa Blind had taught him: "I’ve been kidney-weak since childhood, my yang energy leaks early. If there’s any fairy-sister in the temple, please don’t harm me."
Grandpa Blind was an old hand at this sort of thing, so Quinn trusted him completely. If Grandpa Blind said to do it this way, it had to be safe.
After finishing his prayer, Quinn sat on the stone steps, took off his iron shoes, loosened the weights tied to his calves, and practiced breathing exercises to recover his strength.
He’d run all this way over the river with iron shoes and leg weights—the ones Mute Smith had reforged for him, even heavier than before.
Suddenly, a girl’s light laughter rang out from the temple behind him. "You do have a way with words," she teased. "Fine, I won’t eat you."
Quinn spun around. Sitting in the Buddha’s palm was a little girl about his age, maybe eleven or twelve, with three braids—two thin ones over her chest, a thick one down her back—swinging her bare feet and grinning at him.
Her feet swung back and forth, gold rings on her ankles clinking. The sound made her smile seem as bright and warm as early spring sunlight.
Quinn scrambled up. "Fairy-sister—" he began.
"Who’s a fairy-sister?"
The girl hopped down from the Buddha’s palm, laughing and flashing two little tiger teeth. "I’m Serena Clearbrook—I live nearby. Never seen any real fairy-sisters. What’s your name?"
Quinn relaxed, seeing her cheerful smile. "I’m Quinn Shepherd—just a cowherd with the Shepherd name. I used to have a cow. Granny and the grandpas always made me look after it."
Serena peeked out from behind the temple door, looking him up and down and then behind him. Suddenly, she giggled, "Where’s your cow?"
Quinn hesitated. "The cow turned into a woman. I don’t have one anymore."
Serena’s eyes widened, delighted. "That’s amazing! How’d it happen? Can you do it yourself?"
Quinn shook his head. "Not yet. My Granny can."
Serena looked disappointed. "I thought you could. Got any other fun stories? Come inside and tell me!"
Quinn lifted his foot, about to step into the temple, but then his gaze drifted past Serena. Behind the Buddha, he spotted several white bones. A chill ran through him. Foot poised in midair, he hesitated. "Grandpa Blind says you have to burn incense before entering a temple. I didn’t bring any, so I’d better not go in."
"Come in!" Serena coaxed sweetly.
Quinn blinked, pulled his foot back, and smiled with a goofy honesty even Crippled Joe would envy. "No, I’ll stay out here. You come out, and I’ll tell you some fun things."
Serena’s eyes flashed. She bit her lip and giggled, voice turning sly. "I know some naughty secrets only boys and girls can share. Come in and I’ll teach you."
Her breath was fragrant as orchids, her voice suddenly alluring. Just moments ago she’d seemed innocent, but now she was strangely seductive.
Quinn’s face flushed bright red. He stammered, "I’ve been kidney-weak since I was little…"
"Get in here!" The little girl’s voice exploded in a thunderous roar.