Quinn Shepherd let her lead him by the hand, feeling the girl's palm soft and smooth, sending a ripple through his heart. Still, Terry Fu's cruelty left him deeply unsettled.
He glanced back. On the platform in the lake, Terry Fu was slicing off his opponent's ten fingers—and he wasn't done yet. Next, he went for the boy's wrists, his excitement more savage than any beast.
"That guy's a lunatic! Come to think of it, this Terry Fu seems to have a strange connection to me."
Quinn mused: back when Granny Sue found him by the river, afraid he wouldn't survive infancy, she snuck into Dragoncrest City and kidnapped the City Lord's wife, who had just given birth. Disguised as a milk cow, she nursed Quinn through those perilous early days.
The child the City Lord's wife bore at the time must have been Terry Fu.
Quinn had grown up on milk from Terry Fu's mother. That was the link between them.
Quinn looked back again. The youth on the lake platform was beyond saving. For a hundred Dragoncrest coins, he'd entered the City Lord's arena. To dare step in meant he had some skill—but he never expected to lose his life.
Inside Town-River Pavilion, music and dance filled the air. Quinn followed Lynn Ling into the building, where dancers twirled—each movement of their fingers sent crisp, bell-like notes ringing out, the sound of their yuanqi. Every tilt of the head, every stamp of the foot, was woven with melody.
Dancing gracefully while weaving yuanqi into exquisite tunes—Quinn couldn't help but marvel at the spectacle.
On either side of the hall stood many tables, where distinguished guests sat drinking and making merry. Some watched the dancers, others fixed their gaze on the lake platform, enthralled by the duel.
The scene on the platform had grown truly gruesome. The copper-boned, iron-bodied youth was tortured beyond recognition—yet no one in the hall spoke up to stop it.
Lynn Ling pulled Quinn over and sat down cross-legged at a table, bold and casual, showing no hint of awkwardness.
Everyone in Town-River Pavilion was a formidable expert from all corners of the land. Seeing these two young people arrive, they were surprised but asked no questions.
In their minds, this handsome pair must be disciples of some great master, here to join the festivities and broaden their horizons at the Town-River Pavilion gathering.
The table before them was laden with rare fruits and delicacies—exotic beasts cooked to perfection, fragrant and colorful, so tempting that Quinn's fingers itched to dig in.
He'd been dragged by Granny Sue to sell cattle and sheep, buy supplies, and hadn't eaten dinner yet. Hunger gnawed at him.
Quinn tasted the food before him, eyes lighting up as the flavor melted on his tongue. He couldn't help but focus on the feast. Lynn Ling, though claiming she was hungry, only took two bites before stopping—amused by his ravenous eating.
Beside Quinn sat the breathtaking Cult Mistress, watching him and the girl at his side with playful interest.
Is she really Granny Sue? Quinn wondered.
Besides her, someone kept glancing Quinn's way. Sensing the gaze, Quinn looked up and froze. The armored figure, even at a banquet, hadn't removed his gear—it was General Quentin Shaw, whom he'd twice met on the Yong River.
"General Quentin Shaw is here too? He hasn't returned to the Everpeace Empire?"
Quinn was surprised, then buried himself in his food. Lynn Ling giggled, "That young general keeps staring at you. Do you two know each other?"
Quinn swallowed his food, thought for a moment, and said, "We've met twice. He used to travel with a chubby Lord Marcus, but I don't know where that guy went."
Lynn Ling pouted and twisted his arm.
Quinn had no idea why she was upset. He thought, "This girl is really odd. That General Quentin Shaw is strange too. When she pinched me, he nearly jumped up—then forced himself to sit still. But I'm the one being pinched, not him! What's he hurting for...?"
Suddenly, an elder spoke up: "City Lord, is that your son outside? Remarkable talent. I've long heard that Young Master Terry is the strongest of Dragoncrest City's youth, and seeing him now, it's true."
Felix Fu laughed, "Elder Hundred-Virtues flatters us. My son just picked up a few crude techniques, nothing worth mentioning."
Elder Hundred-Virtues smiled, "Not at all. Young Master Terry is known as the top martial artist within a thousand li. Last year alone, he fought 352 matches and killed 352 warriors from all over—none escaped him. To have such power at his age is truly impressive."
Quinn raised his eyebrows but kept eating.
Felix Fu hurriedly added, "He only killed outcasts from the Great Ruins. If they're outsiders, my son shows mercy."
Elder Hundred-Virtues said with a smile, "Even among outcasts there are strong ones. Young Master Terry's skills are truly impressive." He couldn't help but praise him.
Felix Fu chuckled, "My son is honest—he never forces anyone to fight him. He goes to the streets and invites outcasts from the Great Ruins to challenge him, offering money. But people die for money and birds for food—so the challengers keep coming, and all end up dead. My son has never spent a single Dragoncrest coin. Really, he's quite thrifty!" Felix laughed heartily.
The crowd burst into laughter as well.
Just then, a black-faced elder's smile vanished. His voice thundered over the laughter: "Cult Mistress, you've studied the Grand Fostering Heavenly Demon Sutra for years. Isn't it time you showed us what it's all about?"
The gaunt, black-faced elder sat opposite Quinn, his features shriveled, eyes lifeless—like a chunk of charred wood. Yet his voice boomed.
His words instantly drew every gaze in the hall to the mesmerizing Cult Mistress beside Quinn.
Quinn hurriedly set down his ivory chopsticks, sat motionless, mouth closed—though he couldn't help secretly chewing the food still in his mouth.
After swallowing, the boy hesitated, then couldn't resist grabbing another slice of slippery fish and stuffing it into his mouth.
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Black Venerable flew into a rage, glaring at Quinn: "Stop eating!"
The Cult Mistress beside Quinn burst out laughing. "So it's Black Venerable. Why get angry? The City Lord invited us here for a meal—why shouldn't we eat? City Lord, don't you agree?"
Felix Fu coughed, then said with a smile, "This grand event is also a banquet. I invited everyone to taste Dragoncrest City's finest delicacies. Naturally, we should all eat to our hearts' content."
The Cult Mistress smiled, picked up a rosy fruit and ate it, then delicately wiped her slender hands and watched Quinn devour his food with amusement.
Lynn Ling was astonished—she never imagined Quinn could keep eating in such a tense moment.
Soon, Quinn was half-full. He thought for a moment, then took out an oiled paper packet from his clothes, added some tender food from the table, and carefully wrapped it up.
Black Venerable, opposite him, couldn't help but scold, "Boy, you can't finish it and now you're packing it to go?"
Quinn, embarrassed, said, "Granny Sue and Grandpa Blind only arrived in town today. We ate nothing but dry rations on the road. The food here smells wonderful, but Granny Sue and Grandpa Blind have bad teeth, so I'm picking out some soft dishes to take back." He glanced at the Cult Mistress, puzzled: "Is she really Granny Sue? Wait, that scent—it's the rouge we bought together!"
A gentle light flickered in the Cult Mistress's eyes, as if deeply moved. She smiled, "You're a filial child. The more I look at you, the more I like you."
Everyone in the hall watched the scene with amusement, full of sympathy for Quinn: "The Cult Mistress is a notorious enchantress who despises all that filial piety nonsense. This kid's doomed to die a miserable death!"
Black Venerable waited for Quinn to finish packing, then asked coldly, "Are you done eating?"
Quinn answered honestly, "Half-full."
Black Venerable was furious and snorted. The sound echoed, rattling a hundred windows in Town-River Pavilion.
Quinn couldn't help but admire him. "Senior, your cultivation is truly powerful. I couldn't do that myself."
Black Venerable's forehead veins twitched twice as he held back his anger, waiting quietly for Quinn to finish eating. The ever-smiling Cult Mistress also set down her ivory chopsticks, no longer eating.
Black Venerable finally exhaled a long-held breath and said coldly, "Now that everyone's eaten, can we get down to business?"
Everyone in the hall fixed their sharp gazes on the Cult Mistress.
The Cult Mistress smiled, dazzling everyone as if the room grew brighter. She said, "Black Venerable, even if I handed you the Grand Fostering Heavenly Demon Sutra, do you really think you'd leave Dragoncrest City alive? The City Lord would be the first to want you dead—and I doubt anyone here would let you walk out of the Great Ruins."
Black Venerable stood up, his yuanqi suddenly turning pitch black and condensing behind his head into a four-armed heavenly demon—ferocious and menacing!
To wield yuanqi at such a peak—making it manifest as a demon god—this technique rivaled Felix Fu's Eight-Aspect Heavenly God Art!
Black Venerable swept his gaze around and said coldly, "If the Heavenly Demon Cult's sacred scripture falls into my hands, it's mine. If anyone covets it—aren't they afraid I'll slaughter them?"
The crowd said nothing, only smiled.
The Cult Mistress giggled, "There are honored guests from the Everpeace Empire here, and hidden masters of the Great Ruins. Which one could you destroy? This young general is from the Everpeace Empire, isn't he?"
She pointed to Quentin Shaw and smiled, "I've long heard of the Imperial Preceptor's number one disciple beneath the gods. His students must be exceptional too."
Quentin Shaw bowed slightly. "I am Quentin Shaw, disciple of the Imperial Preceptor of the Everpeace Empire. But I am not here for the Cult Mistress or the Grand Fostering Heavenly Demon Sutra. The Cult Mistress may be the world's greatest beauty, and the Sutra may grant godhood, but my master does not care for such things."
His words carried a natural arrogance. As the Imperial Preceptor's top disciple, he cared nothing for any technique—not even the legendary demon scripture said to grant godhood!
Suddenly, someone sneered, "This is the Great Ruins, not the Everpeace Empire. What do we care whether your Imperial Preceptor cares or not?"
Quentin Shaw's eyes flashed with murderous intent. He looked to his opposite—a burly, bearded man sprawled on the floor, half his shirt open, eating with one hand and rubbing dirt from his pocket with the other. Soon, he rolled the dirt into a black ball and flicked it away, who knows where.
Quentin Shaw frowned in disgust. "The rabble of the Great Ruins are truly crude—no need to stoop to their level. When the Imperial Preceptor's army arrives, every demon and monster will bow!"
He glanced at the girl beside Quinn, squirming with discomfort: "Why is the Seventh Princess mingling with a boy from Cripple Village? She even pinched him just now—far too intimate! If word gets out, what will become of the royal family's reputation...?"