Chapter 230 — Heaped With Evil Deeds
The Herdsman of the Wasteland · Page 2 of 4
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.