"Quinn, the temple fair is the best place for a kid to broaden his horizons."
Grandpa Mark set a pair of newly-made crutches in front of his stall and said with heartfelt seriousness, "There are all sorts of villages in the Great Ruins, and plenty of big shots who couldn't make it on the outside, so they ended up settling here. They take on disciples, but only show up together at the temple fair. Here, you can see just about every martial art and skill under the sun!"
Quinn looked thoughtful, half-understanding. "I've never really fought for my life, so my cultivation doesn't turn into real strength. Is that why you want me to use this chance, Grandpa Mark? To spar with all sorts of fighters during the fair?"
Grandpa Mark grinned, eyes full of hope. "That's exactly it."
"But... why are you selling crutches?"
Quinn scratched his head. "And why did Grandpa Blind set up a betting stall? Butcher's beast clearly isn't a Flood-Dragon, so why shout about 'Flood-Dragon Treasure Blood'? And why does Apothecary already have trauma medicine ready to go?"
Grandpa Mark gave a couple of dry coughs. "Grown-up business. Kids shouldn't pry. Get up there already!"
With no other choice, Quinn climbed onto the platform and stuck Deaf's giant calligraphy sign to one of the pillars.
Soon, more and more villagers from all around crowded below the platform, the noise rising to a racket. Quinn thought Deaf's sign was a bit much, but seeing the crowd it drew, he couldn't help feeling impressed.
"Kicks across the Yong River, undefeated! Sweeps through all eight hundred villages of the Great Ruins! What a load of hot air! Kid, you look eleven, maybe twelve—what, did you start training in the womb? You still wouldn't amount to much!"
A voice rang out, full of righteous indignation: "Hanging a sign that arrogant—are you picking a fight with every village in the Great Ruins? Who gave you the nerve?"
Quinn flushed, feeling embarrassed, then shot a glare at Grandpa Blind—he recognized that voice anywhere.
Grandpa Blind doubled down, his voice practically hypnotic: "What, the Great Ruins doesn't have any real men left? Letting this brat strut around up there? He's just a little punk, eleven or twelve, and you all just stand there? Where's your backbone? Where's the pride of the Great Ruins men?"
That did the trick—a dozen young men leapt onto the platform, and Quinn looked like he'd swallowed a frog.
But the tough guys of the Great Ruins weren't about to let him look down on them.
Grandpa Blind's voice boomed like a gong, making everyone's ears ring: "Since he set up a challenge platform, we play by the rules. He's here for a duel, not a brawl. One at a time! The kid's at Spirit Embryo realm—so only Spirit Embryo realm fighters can challenge. Don't embarrass your village!"
The moment he finished, the crowd of young men hopped off the platform, leaving just one challenger behind.
Quinn let out a breath, relieved. "So, uh, what's your name, senior...?"
"Just fight! I'm not here to make friends!"
The young man suddenly dropped into a crouch. His yuanqi exploded, and tiger stripes rippled across his skin—he looked like a wild beast ready to pounce.
Yuanqi sharpened his hands and feet into claws like knives. He sprang forward, a blur of motion, lunging straight at Quinn!
As he lunged, Quinn felt like a wild beast was hunting him—a rush of wind in his face, the roar of a tiger echoing on the ridge. That raw, deadly aura was something Quinn lacked; it only comes from real life-and-death battles.
"No wonder fighters from other villages all have their own tricks!"
Dragon patterns shimmered behind Quinn, curling around him. His steps thundered like the Yangtze River pouring into the sea. He channeled Black Tortoise water yuanqi into the first form of the Thunder Chant Eight-Form. No palm-thunder yet, but he unleashed the force of mountain water crashing down into the ocean!
The moment their fists collided, Quinn's Black Tortoise water yuanqi erupted, swirling into a dragon's head around his knuckles, surging forward!
The young man felt the crushing power of Quinn's strike—his yuanqi shattered, and he was sent flying like a rag doll.
Even as he was knocked back, the guy twisted in midair, both feet lashing out at Quinn's chest like tiger claws—ripping his shirt and nearly gutting him!
Quinn spun on one foot, fell backward, and lashed out with a lightning-fast kick, sending the challenger tumbling more than thirty meters (about a hundred feet) off the platform.
The man scrambled to his feet, but his leg gave a loud crack—Quinn's kick had snapped the bone.
Apothecary called out in a leisurely drawl, "Premium trauma medicine! Heals broken bones in a day—won't slow down your hunting!"
Grandpa Mark hollered, "Crutches! Dragon-eye wood—tough as nails!"
Grandpa Blind called out, "Feeling unlucky? Step right up—I'll change your fate!"
"A pair of Fortune charms—may luck flood your doorstep!" Deaf shouted.
Quinn scowled as he steadied himself. That was a close call, and all Grandpa Mark and Apothecary cared about was selling their wares!
But Grandpa Mark had a point—I really do lack life-and-death experience. That guy's cultivation was way below mine, but he nearly gutted me with that tiger kick as he flew past—almost stealing the win!
Quinn took a deep breath, eyes flashing. "I'm way too green at this. The temple fair is my shot to spar with fighters from villages within a hundred kilometers (about sixty miles) and soak up their battle smarts! I have to defend this platform till the very end!"
The crowd below the platform kept growing, the noise rising to a roar. After watching Quinn's fight, everyone could see he had plenty of cultivation, but not much experience.
To survive in the Great Ruins, every village had its share of warriors—some even boasted divine-ability users. Danger was everywhere, so villagers grew up wild, tough, and fierce.
It wasn't long before another challenger hopped up—a girl with a strange twist on Black Tortoise yuanqi. She fought dirty, her yuanqi snaking around Quinn's legs like a python and squeezing tight.
Once she'd trapped his legs, she slithered around him like a female python, striking from every angle.
Her yuanqi was odd, twisting into a giant serpent that coiled around her body. It wasn't pure Black Tortoise yuanqi, just a weird offshoot.
Black Tortoise is both turtle and snake. Her Spirit Embryo was probably snake-type, no turtle—just a branch of the Black Tortoise line, which made her moves slippery and unpredictable.
Quinn countered with Thousand-Arm Buddha, his arms multiplying in a blur. No matter how she twisted, it was like he had a hundred hands everywhere—she took hundreds of hits in seconds and went out cold.
Grandpa Mark wasted no time selling a stretcher.
It was Quinn's first time up against such a bizarre movement technique—he took a few knocks, but nothing serious.
The battles kept rolling on the platform, while Grandpa Blind's fortune-telling stall drew crowds of gamblers. The Great Ruins didn't use coins—everyone traded goods, and bets were the same: jade, ore, jewelry, cattle, sheep, you name it.
Behind Grandpa Blind, the pile of loot grew—everything from trinkets to a massive hen with rainbow feathers, taller than a man and sporting a mouthful of sharp fangs. When it flapped its wings, dust and sand shot out like arrows!
This was a Brood-Hen Dragon—not your average chicken, but a dragon-chicken hybrid. Not much dragon blood, but the eggs were pure treasure.
"Next round, I bet on my disciple to win," came a deep, monkish voice.
Suddenly, a Buddhist chant echoed. An old monk elbowed through the crowd to Grandpa Blind's stall and slammed his meditation staff onto the table—so hard the legs sank into the dirt. He sat across from Grandpa Blind, pressed his palms together, and announced, "This is my wager! Who dares take me on?"
Grandpa Blind felt a chill run through him. He asked, "Great Thunderclap Temple?"
The old monk nodded, "Great Thunderclap Temple."
Grandpa Blind glanced at Grandpa Mark. "Your move, Old Mark."
Grandpa Mark set down his crutches and sat across from the old monk. The monk looked up, face blank. "Junior brother."
Grandpa Mark replied with a stone face, "Senior brother."
"You taught outsiders our temple's sacred techniques. You broke the rules of Great Thunderclap Temple."
The old monk's long white brows drooped. He spoke softly, "Years ago, you severed your own arm and sent it to the temple, claiming you were returning our sacred techniques. Your arm is still in the Thousand-Buddha Pagoda. But now you've taught our temple's techniques to that boy on the platform—gone back on your word."