Blaise Rift kept his eyes fixed on Quinn Shepherd, who worked diligently and meticulously to graft the leg, seamlessly stitching the severed limb to the stump without a word of complaint.
“You’re not human, are you, Brother Blaise?”
Quinn checked the nerves carefully, activating the severed neural system with medicine. “Your body’s built differently from humans. What race are you?”
A shimmering light surged at Blaise’s brow, and from it burst his Primordial Spirit—a snow-white dragon-horse, wings flared, horn gleaming, mane streaming, radiating exuberant dragon-horse spirit.
Quinn glanced up and praised, “Magnificent! That’s a rare kind of Primordial Spirit.”
“Magnificent is just the word for me,” Blaise said, pleased.
Blaise’s Primordial Spirit watched Quinn’s every move. He spoke up: “But I rarely reveal my true form. Back in the Pioneer Era—well, ancient times, before little fellows like you were born—creatures as magnificent as me were just messengers and mounts. What a waste of talent.”
Quinn’s expression flickered. “So how did you end up in High Heaven, Brother Blaise?”
Blaise sighed. “Times changed, the world shifted. Even lowly gods like me got our chance. When the upheaval hit, I surrendered early. After the Great Ruins appeared, those who surrendered with me all moved up—some were better at currying favor and left this world for a life of luxury. Only a few of us stayed behind. Those guys are real flatterers. I’ve got ‘horse’ in my name, but I’m not half as good at it. Still, better to be a chicken’s beak than an ox’s rump.”
He laughed. “Those guys may have climbed high, but up there, they’re still at the bottom. Down here, we get to lord it over the masses and enjoy their worship.”
“And yet, you’re still just a runner,” Quinn said with a smile.
Blaise’s eyes flashed coldly, divine power surging. “What did you say?”
Quinn looked up and smiled, “Don’t get excited. If I miss a nerve, you’ll be limping for life—even if the graft takes.”
Blaise let out a long sigh. “You’re right, I’m nothing but a runner. Used to deliver letters, now I deliver disasters. All the dirty work falls to me, and it’s dirtier than ever. But what choice do I have? If I refuse, I die. The Four Lords of High Heaven are mighty, far stronger than me, but even they have to run errands—risking their lives every time! Who knows how many will survive?”
Worry crept into his face. No other Celestial Phenomenon Weapon had been triggered yet—Jo Star Lord and the others were likely doomed.
Behind Quinn, the Flood-Dragon King roared, revealing his true form and coiling around the entire courtyard, his dragon head looming over Blaise’s Primordial Spirit.
Quinn said, “Surrender to me and I’ll make you a mountain god—worship, offerings, the works. Why not settle by the Yong River, keep the Dragon-Keeper Lord company? Every year, the ones who hang themselves or leap off cliffs are your meals. I’ve got just the spot: Hundred-Years Hill, beside Lu County. Scenic, majestic, ten thousand zhang tall—perfect for a god like you.”
“Damn!” Blaise spat.
Blaise cursed, “I’m not like the shameless Dragon-Keeper Lord—I’ve surrendered once, I won’t do it again! What about my pride? Besides, I’m a vegetarian, born that way—I don’t eat people. I used to dream of being a mountain god, but I ran too fast and ended up just a messenger. If I’d been slower, maybe I’d have landed a real post.”
Quinn couldn’t help but laugh. “Your talent’s been your curse.”
Quinn thanked him. “It’s always good to have an escape route. I’ve wanted to visit High Heaven for ages, but I don’t have divine incense—no way to make contact.”
“That’s easy. I’ve got some.”
Blaise’s eyes glinted. “Heal me up and let me finish this disaster mission, and I’ll take you to High Heaven.”
Quinn sprinkled powder on the stump; nerves sprouted, wriggling like tiny white worms. He grinned, “I plan to bind you with Tu Bo’s Pact, keep you from spreading disasters. Yet here you are, trying to recruit me! Once the leg’s set, we’ll sign that pact—no backing out!”
Blaise watched Quinn’s hands—ten fingers flying, moving so fast they blurred, yet every motion was delicate, like a tailor threading a needle, mixed with healer’s precision. “Did you study sewing? You work like a master tailor!” he exclaimed.
“A little,” Quinn replied.
Quinn wove vital-qi into silk, stitching nerves with lightning speed. “I studied for a few years.”
Blaise grew curious. “What else have you learned?”
Quinn’s fingers flew even faster. “Formations, boxing, eye arts, saber arts, movement, smithing, painting, carpentry, poetry, songs—you name it, I’ve dabbled.”
As the nerves of Blaise’s severed leg linked with the divine limb, sensation flooded back—he could feel his leg as part of himself again. Amazed and delighted, he glanced at Quinn, thinking, 'This kid’s got real skills and a good heart. Shame I might have to kill him… what a waste.'
Quinn reconnected blood vessels, set the broken bone, and used Dragon-Qilin’s Dragon Spittle Elixir to regrow flesh. “Now for the hardest part—fusing the bone marrow. Marrow makes blood, so I’ll need medicine to nourish it, then stimulate your leg’s marrow to start producing blood. Once that’s done, we’ll sign Tu Bo’s Pact: no more disasters from you, and I’ll let you return to High Heaven.”
Blaise checked every herb, making sure Quinn hadn’t tampered with anything. “Fine by me,” he said, grinning.
Quinn relaxed and ordered a cauldron brought in, filling it with herbs and water. “Give it two days—your marrow will be making blood again.”
Blaise quickly insisted, “Move the cauldron closer. My hand can’t leave the Five-Thunder War Gourd.”
(Irrelevant webnovel navigation text—skip translation.)
Quinn chuckled. “Brother Blaise, you’re thorough to the last drop. Still afraid I’ll pull a trick? The cauldron stays here. If you keep your hand on the War Gourd, I worry you’ll trigger it by accident.”
Blaise stared at him, their gazes locked. Quinn didn’t budge.
Blaise, feeling refreshed and full of dragon-horse spirit, burst out laughing. “Fine, have it your way!”
Quinn sat nearby, quietly waiting, with the Flood-Dragon King standing guard. Blaise’s Primordial Spirit hovered overhead, ready to trigger the War Gourd, while Blaise himself soaked in the cauldron, feeling the medicine seep into his wounded leg, nourishing flesh, bone, and finally marrow.
“Feels good,” Blaise sighed.
Blaise Rift, bored out of his mind, suddenly quipped, "So, Cult Master Quinn, are you married yet?"
"I am," Quinn replied.
He fetched his sundial, tracking the time. The dial was etched with countless, fine gradations. "I've actually been married twice," he added.
"What a shame. I was planning to introduce you to some beauties from my clan when you make it to High Heaven."
Blaise Rift laughed. "If you two had kids, maybe they'd be half-human, half-horse. Just imagine—hilarious! Hahahaha!"
Quinn didn't answer, keeping his eyes on the sundial.
Blaise Rift, clearly in high spirits, kept up a lazy stream of banter, breaking out in loud laughter now and then, entirely pleased with himself.
Unnoticed, a day and a half slipped by. Blaise Rift's laughter grew louder and his gaze toward Quinn more and more unfriendly.
"Cult Master Quinn, let me tell you a joke. Once there was a man boiling a duck. Just as the duck was cooked and he was about to eat, it suddenly flew away. Hahaha! Why aren't you laughing? Here's another: that boiled duck flew back, and ate the fool instead! Hahahaha..."
Quinn stayed still, eyes locked on the sundial.
Blaise Rift's eyes flashed with menace. He sneered, "You won't laugh, you won't talk—is it because you look down on me? If you're disrespecting me, I'll kill you!"
Quinn looked up at last, a faint smile on his lips. "Time's up. Do it."
As soon as he spoke, the ground trembled. Five fierce-faced, tusked ghosts spun up around the Fragrant Well, and the Five-Thunder War Gourd vanished into thin air!
Blaise Rift's Primordial Spirit shot out to seize the gourd, but grasped only empty air—he managed to catch one of the ghostly apparitions, crushing it in fury. Thunder boomed, shaking all of Purple Thorn City!
Behind Quinn, the Flood-Dragon King roared and revealed his true form, coiling his massive body around the entire courtyard, dragon head fixed on Blaise Rift's Primordial Spirit.
Blaise Rift crushed the ghost, then instantly recalled his Primordial Spirit. As it slipped back into his body, a surge of evil qi erupted from his wounded leg, racing through his flesh, swirling between his Primordial Spirit and Divine Treasuries. He shuddered—then frantically tried to suppress it with all his power!
"Damn it! I guarded against everything—except this!"
The Flood-Dragon King seized the moment, pouncing and locking Blaise Rift in his coils, squeezing so tightly that veins bulged on Blaise's forehead.
Quinn rose, drew the Worryless Sword, and tossed it at Blaise's feet, smiling. "Brother Blaise, my cooked ducks never fly away. The sword's yours—now you can slice off the poisoned parts. Flood-Dragon King, let him go. I like my ducks to carve themselves. With my poison, Brother Blaise, you can only cut from the neck down. Everything below is worthless."
The Flood-Dragon King hesitated, then unwound and released Blaise Rift.