"Ptooey, ptooey! Good luck, good fortune. At least the monks from Little Thunderclap Temple haven't tracked me down here."
Serena Clearbrook asked curiously, "What wicked thing did you do? Why is it that wherever you go, people chase you down?"
"Maybe I'm just too outstanding?"
Quinn Shepherd looked up, thought about it, and decided his answer was absolutely correct: "I'm just too outstanding. People get jealous, so wherever I go, someone tries to hunt me down."
He waved goodbye, and Serena hurriedly called out, "If I have time, I'll come play with you—just don't let your elders kill me!"
"Deal!"
As the sun dipped behind the western hills, Quinn finally arrived at Oldridge Village. The moment he stepped inside, he was surrounded by more than a dozen Brood-Hen Dragons, each taller than a person, all looking at him with unfriendly eyes.
Leading the pack was the old Brood-Hen Dragon herself. The moment she spotted Quinn, she got all riled up, flapping her wings and pointing at him, clucking away to the others—clearly telling them, 'This kid's the egg thief!'
"I've only been gone half a year, and suddenly the village is crawling with Brood-Hen Dragons."
Quinn braced himself for battle and shouted, "I'm not the same as before—now I'm the Cult Master and Holy Teacher of the Cult of the Heavenly Saint! Even if you chickens have numbers, I’m not scared of you at all!"
"Cluck! Cluck-cluck—!"
A whole flock of Brood-Hen Dragons charged at him, burying him under a mass of feathers. Their wings slashed like swords, they spat dragon-fire, and their claws could rend metal and stone. Fierce didn’t even begin to describe them.
Lina the Spirit Fox saw the chaos and quickly said, "Young Master, I’ll go check home first!" With that, she dashed off like a streak of smoke.
After a while, Quinn finally fought off the flock, panting and bloodied, his hair a mess and stuck with chicken feathers. The old hen strutted off with her brood, heads held high, patrolling the village like they owned the place.
The Nethervault Demon King laughed gleefully, "Brat, you can't even beat a bunch of chickens!"
Quinn pulled the feathers out of his hair and retorted, "And you lost to someone who can't even beat a flock of chickens! Granny Sue, Village Chief, I'm back! You saw me getting bullied by chickens and didn't help—hey, where is everyone?"
Quinn wandered through the village, baffled by the emptiness.
Village Chief’s and Apothecary’s rooms were empty, and the rest of the village was deserted too. All he found were a few notes. Quinn opened the first one: it said Village Chief, Apothecary, and the Heavenly Demon Patriarch had gone off to search for Carefree Haven. If any villagers came back, they should help feed Apothecary’s bugs.
The second note was in Butcher’s handwriting: Village Chief and the others were still missing, so Blind and Butcher had gone looking for them.
The third note was left by Mute Smith: Blind and Butcher hadn’t come back, so he’d gone after them.
The fourth note was left by Crippled Joe and Grandpa Mark. They wrote that Village Chief and the others might be in danger, so they set out quickly to look for them.
The fifth note was from Granny Sue, grumbling that the old codgers are all unreliable. She went out to round them up and told Quinn not to run around if he came home alone.
"Granny Sue and the rest really are a handful."
Quinn shook his head, put down his luggage, and went to the herb garden outside the village to pick a few spirit herb leaves. He opened the jar in front of Apothecary’s door and dropped them in. Instantly, a swarm of ravenous Gu insects scrambled for the food.
Quinn went into Apothecary’s house, dug out a few spirit pills, crushed them, and scattered them into the other jars. Then he washed his hands and started cooking.
"These busted jars..."
The Nethervault Demon King stared at the jars filled with insects, shocked. His gaze fell on the huge water vat in front of the smithy, and he jumped again. "That water vat... and that rake, and that pot, and all these treasures just lying around..."
"Your Majesty, quit wandering around. With all those arms, come help me stir-fry some vegetables," Quinn called out.
The last ray of sunlight faded. Suddenly, darkness rolled in from the west like a flood, surging toward the east, swallowing up mountains and drowning the Great Ruins along the way!
Quinn was long used to this and barely gave it a thought. He tied on his apron and brought out the food, while the Nethervault Demon King, seeing this terrifying sight for the first time, was left gaping, speechless for a long while.
Just as the darkness was about to swallow Oldridge Village, a thin old man with a book basket walked in. The darkness swept past behind him, howling eastward on either side of the village.
"Grandpa Deaf!"
Quinn was both surprised and delighted. He quickly set down his bowl and chopsticks and ran to greet him. Deaf’s clothes were ragged—he’d clearly had a rough time outside. He put down his book basket and said, "Got any food? I’ve been starving for days."
"Just finished cooking!"
Quinn hurried to wash another set of dishes. Deaf sat down and ate bowl after bowl, finally letting out a satisfied sigh. Quinn ladled him some soup and asked curiously, "Grandpa Deaf, where have you been all this time?"
Deaf’s eye twitched and he muttered, "Everpeace. I went looking for Mute Smith, but couldn’t find him. I ran out of money and had to sell paintings."
The old man said bitterly, "People aren’t what they used to be! Not a single painting sold, and I was so hungry I ran into Granny Sue. She gave me a few coins, then mocked me for ages. Oh, and don’t tell Apothecary—I’d never hear the end of it. He’s always saying selling medicine is easier money than painting."
The Nethervault Demon King stared wide-eyed. Was this old man really a peerless master—maybe even the legendary Sword-Painting Sage? How could someone so powerful nearly starve to death? If he had no money, why not just rob someone?
Quinn couldn’t help laughing. "Grandpa Deaf, times are rough. Who still buys paintings these days? Next time, sell them to the Imperial Preceptor’s Manor—he’d pay a fortune for your work."
Deaf shook his head. "Last time I wiped out tens of thousands of the Imperial Preceptor’s troops. If I showed up at his place selling paintings, he’d probably have me executed. Besides, I can’t beat him in a fight."