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“Nine holes, only one blow.” Zhu Erniang warned him. “This matter is of great consequence. Don’t mess around with it.”
The xun looked neither quite like it was made of metal nor clay. Its surface was a dark brown-black, utterly plain, without the faintest pattern. He Lingchuan raised a finger and tapped it lightly. “What is it made of?”
“It was refined from my elder sister’s eye socket,” Zhu Erniang said in a gloomy, distant tone. “In the Ancient Era, her magical energy was stronger than mine.”
He Lingchuan’s hand froze mid-fidget. “Huh? Your elder sister?” Zhu Erniang’s elder sister, so… “Was she called Zhu Daniang[1]? Or Lady One, I suppose.”
“Naturally.”
Their mother really hadn’t bothered with naming, had she? That raises an obvious follow-up question. “Lady Two, how many siblings did you have?”
“At birth, there were 765 of us.”
“…” How incredibly prolific. “And how many are still alive today?”
Zhu Erniang fell silent, then smoothly changed the subject. “You leave tomorrow. I need at least one night of rest before I can pass you a divine technique.”
No one objected. And so, they spent the night at the Jiana Tribe ruins.
Steward Zhao understood perfectly that his only hope of leaving the swamp rested on He Lingchuan. He treated both He Lingchuan and Dong Rui with the...
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