Chapter 230 — Heaped With Evil Deeds

"Phooey, phooey — great fortune, great prosperity. The monks of Little Thunderclap Temple haven't found their way here."

Qixia'er asked curiously: "What wicked thing did you do, that you're hunted wherever you go?"

"Probably because I'm too outstanding?"

Shen Mu lifted his head and thought it over, and felt there could be no mistake in that: "I'm too outstanding, and it draws envy, so wherever I go, someone's out to kill me."

He waved farewell. Qixia'er said hastily: "If I have the time, I'll come find you to play — don't let your elders kill me!"

"All right!"

The sun sank behind the western hills, and Shen Mu came at last to Hidden Remnant Village. He had barely entered when a dozen plume-crested fire pheasant dragons, each taller than a man, gathered around him with unfriendly looks.

At their head was that old hen. The moment she set eyes on Shen Mu she grew agitated, raised a wing to point at him, and clucked and cackled without cease at the other pheasant dragons, as though telling them that this young rascal was the egg thief.

"I've only been away a little over half a year, and the village has gained this many plume-crested fire pheasant dragons."

Shen Mu, as if facing a mighty foe, shouted: "I am not what I was! I am now the Holy Master of the Heavenly Sage Cult — even if you chickens have the numbers, I fear you not at all!"

"Cluck! Cluck-cluck-cluck—"

The flock surged madly over him and swallowed him up. These pheasant dragons had feathers like swords, breathed fire like dragons, and claws that could split metal and shatter stone; they were savage beyond measure.

Seeing this, Xuehu'er said hurriedly: "Young Master, I'll go home and take a look first!" And with that she was gone in a puff of smoke.

A while later, Shen Mu, panting, drove the flock back. His head and face were scratched bloody, his hair was in disarray with a few chicken feathers stuck in it, and the old hen led her flock away, strutting proudly, to patrol the village.

The Demon King of Dutian laughed in gloating delight: "You little wretch, you can't even beat a flock of chickens!"

Shen Mu plucked the feathers from his hair: "And you're the one who was beaten by a fellow who can't even beat a flock of chickens. Granny! Headman! I'm back! You saw me bullied by a flock of chickens and never came to save me! Eh? Why is no one here?"

Shen Mu made a circuit of the village, astonished.

The headman's room and the alchemist's room were empty too; none of the others had come back either, and he found only a few notes.

Shen Mu opened them. The first said that the headman, the alchemist, the Demon Cult Patriarch and the rest had gone to seek the Land of No Sorrow, and that if a villager returned, he should first help the alchemist feed the insects.

The second was in the butcher's hand, saying that the headman and the others had not returned for a long time, and that, fearing for their safety, the blind elder and the butcher had gone to look for them.

The third was left by the silent craftsman: the blind elder and the butcher had not come back, so he was going to find them.

The fourth was left by the lame elder and Old Master Huo: the headman and the others might have run into danger, and since they were swift of foot, they would go and search.

The fifth was left by Granny Zhu: those old fellows were a worry, so she had gone out to fetch the old things back, and Shen Mu was not to go running about when he returned.

"Granny and the rest are all such a worry."

Shen Mu shook his head, set down his baggage, went to the herb plot outside the village, picked a few leaves of spirit medicine, opened the clay jar before the alchemist's door and put them in. Inside the jar, a swarm of starving insects at once fought madly over the food.

Shen Mu went into the alchemist's house, rummaged out a few spirit pills, crushed them and scattered them into the other jars, then washed his hands and cooked a meal.

"These cracked clay jars..."

The Demon King of Dutian, seeing those cracked jars that held the little insects, was greatly shaken; then his gaze fell on the water vat before the blacksmith's shop, and he was startled again. "This great water vat... and that rake, and that pot, and these treasures flung about on the ground..."

"Lord Demon King, stop wandering about. You've got plenty of arms — come help me stir-fry a dish," Shen Mu called.

The last ray of sunlight fell, and suddenly darkness came rolling in from the west, surging eastward like a great flood, devouring mountains along the way and drowning the Wasteland Ruins!

Shen Mu had long grown used to this sight and thought nothing of it; wearing his apron, he brought the food to the table. But the Demon King of Dutian was seeing this dreadful spectacle for the first time, and he was struck dumb, unable to speak for a long while.

Just as the darkness was about to swallow Hidden Remnant Village, a gaunt old man carrying a book basket on his back walked into the village; the darkness swept past right behind him, roaring eastward along both sides of Hidden Remnant Village.

"Grandpa Deaf!"

Startled and delighted, Shen Mu hurriedly put down his bowl and chopsticks and went to meet him. The Deaf Elder's clothes were worn and tattered; plainly he had not fared too well out there. He set down the book basket and said: "Is there food? I've been hungry for days."

"Just made!"

Shen Mu hurriedly washed another set of bowl and chopsticks. The Deaf Elder sat down and ate voraciously, putting away four or five bowls in a row, then let out a breath. Shen Mu filled a bowl of soup for him and asked doubtfully: "Where has Grandpa Deaf been all this time?"

The Deaf Elder's eye twitched; he said sullenly: "Jingping. I went to look for the silent craftsman, didn't find him, and spent all my travel money, so I had to sell paintings."

The old man said, sick at heart: "The world's heart is not what it was! Not what it was! Not a single one of my paintings sold. In the end, half-starved, I ran into old Dame Si, who spared me a few coins. And she laughed at me for a long while. By the way, don't tell the alchemist about this — that fellow always mocks me, saying my painting doesn't bring in money as fast as his pill-selling."

The Demon King of Dutian's eyes went wide. This old man was a peerless master — could he be that master of the painting dao who had painted the Sword God? A grand master like this, nearly starved to death — if he had no money, couldn't he simply rob someone?

Shen Mu did not know whether to laugh or cry: "Grandpa Deaf, times are troubled now — who's going to buy paintings to collect? Next time you're short of money, go sell them to the Imperial Preceptor's mansion in Jingping; the Imperial Preceptor of Jingping would surely be glad to pay a high price."

The Deaf Elder shook his head: "Last time I wiped out tens of thousands of the Jingping Imperial Preceptor's troops. If I go to his house to sell paintings, he'll certainly execute me. I can't beat him."

Shen Mu said with a smile: "Come find me at the Grand Academy. I have money to spare; however many paintings you've done, I can buy them all. Does Grandpa Lame have other paintings in his book basket? Sell them to me and I'll pay right now."

"I burned them."

The Deaf Elder said, unmoved: "What about the others in the village? Still not back?"

"Burned them?"

Shen Mu ached as if his flesh were being cut; had the Imperial Preceptor of Jingping been present, he would surely have vomited three pints of blood.

He took out the notes left by the alchemist and the others. The Deaf Elder read them through and said: "Ugly handwriting. I'll have a good sleep tonight and go look for them tomorrow. Who's he?"

Only then did he notice the Demon King of Dutian. The Demon King of Dutian said haughtily: "I am the Lord of Dutian, ruler of the Dutian World. You need not stand on ceremony."

"Ugly as sin," said the Deaf Elder, and he rose and went to his room to sleep.