Granny Sue's vital energy surged, and behind her appeared an eight-armed, eight-faced heavenly god—exactly the same as Felix Fu's Eight-Aspect Heavenly God Art. Quinn Shepherd scrutinized it closely, but couldn't spot any difference.
"The Creation Chapter of the Grand Fostering Heavenly Demon Sutra truly is remarkable—no wonder it's a technique that can make one a god or a demon."
Grandpa Blind praised her, then asked, "Is this the Creation Heavenly God Art from the Creation Chapter?"
Granny Sue nodded, her voice still coming out as Felix Fu's. "The Creation Chapter of the Grand Fostering Heavenly Demon Sutra is divided into sections like Heaven, Earth, Man, God, Ghost, Demon, and Spirit. This is the Creation Heavenly God Art, which excels at imitating other techniques."
Grandpa Blind was silent for a moment, then said, "There’s something I’ve been meaning to say—now that Quinn is fourteen, it’s time. He’s already been named Young Cult Master of the Cult of the Heavenly Demon and will eventually leave the Great Ruins. When will you teach him the Grand Fostering Heavenly Demon Sutra?"
Quinn was puzzled too. For more than two years, Granny Sue hadn’t taught him the Grand Fostering Heavenly Demon Sutra, not even mentioning it once.
Granny Sue sighed, "If he cultivates the Grand Fostering Heavenly Demon Sutra now, I fear it will twist his mind and consciousness. This technique is far too demonic."
Grandpa Blind nodded. As the Cult of the Heavenly Demon's sacred scripture, capable of turning one into a god or a demon, the Grand Fostering Heavenly Demon Sutra was indeed deeply demonic. Even mature adults could be tempted astray by its myriad bizarre arts, losing themselves to its allure.
Take, for example, that demonic porter who practiced the Freeborn Innate Art. He misunderstood its cultivation method, raising strange snakes to devour the innate qi of newborn infants in order to train it, and ended up killed by Granny Sue and Grandpa Blind.
In truth, if one could fully comprehend the Grand Fostering Heavenly Demon Sutra, cultivating this sacred scripture would be no different from orthodox techniques and wouldn’t lead to evil. But if your understanding strays even a little, you’ll lose your way—and yet, you’ll still achieve results.
Granny Sue rubbed her temples, clearly troubled. "And its power is formidable, even stranger and more unpredictable. It leaves huge flaws, but the upside is you can master it quickly. That's why people call it the Cult of the Heavenly Demon. Actually, at the beginning, it was called the Heavenly Saint Cult. Legend says a saint descended from the heavens and founded it, intending to enlighten the masses—that’s how the technique was passed down. But over time, disciples twisted their cultivation, and the methods became increasingly bizarre and sinister. So it came to be known as the Cult of the Heavenly Demon. Quinn may be clever, but if I recklessly hand him the Grand Fostering Heavenly Demon Sutra, I fear he’ll misinterpret its meaning."
Suddenly, she shot into the air, heading toward Dragoncrest City. Her voice echoed back: "I'll go ahead and make preparations in the city—get ready for the Everpeace Empire's advance force! You two settle in when you arrive!"
Soon after, Quinn and Grandpa Blind returned to Dragoncrest City. By day, the city had lost last night's lively chaos, but plenty of villagers from all over still lingered.
Quinn and Grandpa Blind went back to the same inn. The innkeeper, a cult member, had already arranged their room.
Grandpa Blind was thrilled. "Quinn, today I'll take you to the gambling house for some real-world experience! The two of us are bound to win big and rake in a fortune!"
Quinn remembered how Grandpa Blind got carried out of the gambling house and dumped onto the street last night. He shook his head. "I'm not going."
Grandpa Blind hesitated. "Then give me some Dragoncrest coins…"
Quinn handed over his coin pouch. Grandpa Blind reached in with his big hand and grabbed a hefty handful, then strode out eagerly with his bamboo cane. Quinn couldn’t help but laugh—Grandpa Blind loved gambling, but stubbornly refused to use his powers, relying only on luck against others.
As a child, Quinn learned to listen to the wind and pinpoint positions from Grandpa Blind. Dice, cards, tiles—he could tell them all by ear. If Quinn could do it, how much more so Grandpa Blind?
Add in Grandpa Blind’s mind’s eye, and he could win any bet. Yet he insisted on relying on luck alone, which meant he always lost.
Quinn walked downstairs. The innkeeper approached with a polite smile. "Young Cult Master, heading out? Would you like me to arrange anything for you?"
Quinn shook his head. "There are too many eyes and ears in the inn. No need to call me Young Cult Master—just 'sir' will do."
"Yes, sir."
Quinn thought for a moment, then asked, "Who owns the gambling house next door?"
The innkeeper beamed. "Why, that's yours too, sir. Would you like to inspect your property? I can notify the gambling house boss to come serve you…"
"My property?"
Quinn jumped in shock, a bit bewildered. "No need. Just how much of Dragoncrest City do I own?"
The innkeeper paused to calculate. "The market, the gambling house, the inn, the tavern, the brothel, antiques, utensils, pharmacy, blacksmith, weapons shop… Sir, more than half of Dragoncrest City is your property, and most of the city's power is yours. Every gambling house, every brothel, every market vendor, butcher, tea master, blacksmith, pharmacy clerk and apothecary, weapons shop owner—if you give the word, they'll go through fire and water for you, no questions asked!"
"No wonder so many people helped me last night, cutting down those pursuers."
Quinn stared, dizzy with realization. After a moment, he said slowly, "Tell the gambling house—about the blind old man who came with me, don’t always win against him. Let him win a few rounds. But don’t let him win them all; as long as he wins some and loses some, he’ll be happy."
"Understood."
The innkeeper withdrew and bustled off. Soon he returned, leading in a middle-aged man dressed in floral silk and mink, fingers glittering with jade rings. He bowed to Quinn. "This is the gambling house owner, Han—the Incense Master of our sacred cult."
Han looked troubled. "Sir, it’s not that I don’t want the blind man to win. The problem is, he cheats in public, and his tricks are pretty shameless. If he weren’t so blatant about it, it’d be less of an issue."
Quinn was puzzled. "How did he cheat?"
Han explained, "When playing Pai Gow, if the blind man drew a bad tile, he’d point out the window and say there was a divine bird outside. Then, right in front of everyone, he’d blatantly swap tiles with sleight of hand. Also, our Pai Gow tiles are black, but the ones he pulled from his pocket were green. I’m at my wit’s end, sir—please give me an easier job."
Quinn couldn’t help but laugh. After a moment, he said, "Let him win a few rounds. If he gets caught cheating, just go easy on him."
"At your command, sir."
Han turned and left. Quinn steadied himself—more than half of Dragoncrest City was actually his property? Most of its power, his?
When did I become the richest man in the world?
"The title Young Cult Master of the Cult of the Heavenly Demon really is something. Compared to that, the three thousand Dragoncrest coins I won last night are nothing at all."
A strange thought crept into Quinn’s mind—was the real lord of Dragoncrest City Felix Fu, or was it him now?
Especially now that Granny Sue had killed Felix Fu and was wearing his skin—didn’t that mean the whole city was his?
The idea felt absurd. Quinn shook his head and left the inn to explore. Last night, he’d only seen the ancient temple near the City Lord’s manor; this time, he set out to look at Dragoncrest’s dragon pillars.
Dragoncrest City was enormous, and these dragon pillars could actually keep the darkness at bay—they must be extraordinary.
Quinn opened his Divine Firmament Heaven Eye and studied the dragon pillar before him, full of admiration. Carved onto it was a dragon god, massive—almost as huge as the dragon king’s remains he’d seen at Yong River Dragon Palace.
These dragon gods coiled around stone columns over thirty zhang thick, sculpted so lifelike they seemed to breathe. The pillars soared a hundred sixty or seventy zhang tall—just imagine how enormous the dragon gods must have been.
Quinn gazed upward; the dragon gods seemed to come alive atop the pillars, fierce and menacing yet also sacred and awe-inspiring.
"On the Great Ruins Geographical Map, this city isn’t Dragoncrest—it’s called Celestial Dragon Star Palace. A work of divine hands. If I could study the carved lines and flow, it’d do wonders for my painting and calligraphy. Who knows, I might even glean a divine technique!"
Quinn eagerly examined the pillar’s carved patterns, bit by bit. The artisan hadn’t meant to embed his cultivation into the work, but the flow of the carving naturally bore the imprint of his powers. To others, the dragon pillar was just relief sculpture; but Quinn, having learned painting from Grandpa Deaf, understood its deeper meaning.
"On the Geographical Map, beside Celestial Dragon Star Palace is the Star Sea, less than two hundred li from here. Judging by the name, the palace must be where celestial dragons lived. Could this vast city have been a dragon clan gathering place? The darkness invaded, turning even the dragons to ruin."
As Quinn examined the pillar, lost in thought, a surprised voice called down from above: "Hey, cowherd—why are you still in Dragoncrest City?"
The voice was familiar. Quinn looked up, following the sound, and saw a small head poking out from atop the dragon pillar—it was the girl who’d snuck him into the City Lord’s manor for free food and drink.
Serena Clearbrook waved at him. "Can you get up here?"
Quinn eyed the height and hesitated. The pillar was so tall, and with no wind to boost him, he’d have to run straight up.
He could run up cliffs, sure—but cliffs were only thirty or fifty zhang high. Running vertically up a hundred sixty, seventy zhang of dragon pillar? He’d never tried that before.
Quinn backed up a dozen steps, then suddenly channeled his power and charged at the pillar. In just a few strides, his speed hit its peak—light flashing, shadow trailing—he ran parallel to the ground, racing up the dragon pillar!
His speed was astonishing, his momentum fierce—he shot up more than a hundred zhang in one go, aiming straight for the top!
"Damn, I’m not going to make it…"
Quinn felt his momentum hit its limit; his speed slowed, and he was still three or five zhang from the top.
He managed to surge another three zhang upward before his strength gave out and he began to fall. Just then, a silk ribbon dangled down from the pillar, looped around his wrist, and with a gentle flick, tossed him upward.
In midair, Quinn twisted his body and landed atop the dragon pillar. Looking around, he saw it was perfectly flat—a gigantic stone platform. On the southern edge, a dragon’s head was carved; he could crawl over and stand on its snout.
Serena Clearbrook stepped forward, untied the ribbon from his wrist, and smiled. "You actually ran all the way up here. Didn’t you know there’s a staircase inside the pillar? You could’ve just taken that."
Quinn eyed her ribbon, surprised. "That’s some fine silk you’ve got there."
"Of course."
Serena Clearbrook grinned, a bit proud. "It’s woven from Heavenly Fragrant Silk—a tribute for the emperor, so naturally it’s top-notch. Smell it, it’s got a natural scent that never fades."
Quinn lowered his head and sniffed; sure enough, a fresh fragrance. He laughed. "I’ve got a handkerchief made from Heavenly Fragrant Silk too—smells just as nice." With that, he fished out his own 'handkerchief' from his pocket.