Chapter Forty-Four: The Inexpensive Master

The next morning, as soon as day broke, Qin Feng arrived early at the Divine Dragon Pavilion. After entering, he headed straight for the first floor’s lending desk.

The chubby old man was still there, leisurely sipping his tea. Upon seeing Qin Feng, he shot him a look of disdain and paid him no further attention.

Qin Feng snorted coldly, reached out, and lifted the old man bodily out from behind the counter.

“Let go, you little rascal! What are you doing, trying to disrespect your elders again?” The old man’s face betrayed panic, but the slyness in his eyes was even more pronounced.

“You sure know how to play dumb, you old geezer!” Qin Feng shook the old man up and down, left and right, several times. The old man’s face turned crimson, his head spinning, utterly disoriented. He hurriedly cried, “You brat, stop! Stop! I can’t take it anymore!”

“Old man, are you still going to deny it? Was it you last night—?”

“Hush, you brat! Are you tired of living—speaking so loudly here!” The old man glanced around warily, then his expression suddenly grew solemn.

Qin Feng paused, still holding the old man single-handedly, which, given his tall stature and the old man’s rotund frame, made for a comical sight.

“If you want answers, put me down at once!” The old man, though annoyed, did not scold Qin Feng as he had before. Instead, he hinted with his eyes that this was not the place for conversation.

Qin Feng nodded. He knew well that there must be experts stationed in the Divine Dragon Pavilion; if he caused a scene, the secret of his body would surely be exposed. Thus, he obeyed and set the old man down.

Once his feet touched the ground, the old man straightened his golden dragon robe, then took a borrowing exemption token from beneath the wooden desk and placed it on top.

He beckoned Qin Feng to follow him. Leaving the pavilion, the old man waddled ahead, leading Qin Feng to a secluded, deserted spot. Only then did he turn around, his face stern, but his eyes burning with an intensity Qin Feng had never seen before.

That look made Qin Feng’s heart skip a beat—could this old man have some peculiar proclivities...?

“Boy, your name is Qin Feng, isn’t it?”

The old man asked seriously. Qin Feng nodded.

“Good. Qin Feng, from this day forward, you are my disciple!”

Qin Feng: “…!”

“Disciple? Are you joking?”

A string of bizarre events had happened to him lately, and now, out of nowhere, a master appeared, claiming him as a disciple without so much as asking his consent? Even Qin Feng’s usually resilient nerves found it hard to take.

“I am not joking. In the vast city of Tianfeng, and even in the entire Qin family of Eastern Qingxuan, none but I have the right to guide your cultivation.”

As he spoke, the old man radiated an overpowering confidence, making his otherwise shifty appearance suddenly seem imposing.

Yet Qin Feng could sense only the faintest fluctuation of energy from him.

Qin Feng frowned.

Though he said nothing, the old man seemed to discern his doubts. A shadow of sadness flickered in his eyes, but he replied calmly, “Your senses are not wrong. My current cultivation is only at the eighth level of the Mortal Force Realm. I am not hiding it—this is the truth. In other words, I am simply an ordinary mortal.”

“A mortal?”

A mortal, boldly claiming he’d take Qin Feng as his disciple?

Absurd! It was truly bizarre.

Yet he spoke with such confidence, declaring that only he in the Qin clan could guide Qin Feng’s cultivation. Qin Feng was momentarily stunned, but he was no fool. The old man clearly wasn’t joking. If he had no ulterior motive, then he must have a special reason.

“Who are you? What qualifies you to take me as your disciple? Why are you so certain that, apart from you, no one in the Qin family can help me?”

A barrage of questions surged in Qin Feng’s mind.

From what had happened last night, it was obvious the old man knew about his mutated bloodline soul. If so, he must be confident he could help Qin Feng unravel the secrets of his own body.

“Me? Hah! I presume you’ve read an ancient book in the Divine Dragon Pavilion called ‘The Transformation of the Dragon Soul Blood’?”

“Hm!?”

Qin Feng’s brows shot up, and a name sprang to his lips. “Could it be you—?”

The old man straightened his posture proudly. “Indeed. I am the author of that book—Qin Aotian!”

“What?!”

Qin Feng was stunned, nearly choking.

Qin Aotian—such a bold and formidable name, yet spoken by a chubby, unassuming old man. The contrast was striking.

Yet for the first time, Qin Feng regarded the old man with genuine respect.

An ordinary mortal, living so many years in the Qin clan, so well-versed in the mutations of bloodline souls, unable to advance further—could it be that the old man himself possessed a mutated bloodline soul?

“You guessed right. The reason I could write that book is that my bloodline soul is also a mutated one.” Meeting Qin Feng’s searching gaze, the old man nodded.

His words struck Qin Feng like a stone thrown into a lake, sending ripples through his heart.

Qin Aotian’s casual revelation left Qin Feng utterly speechless.

A surge of guilt and admiration welled up in him.

It was not hard to imagine—judging from the old man’s eyes, filled with disappointment yet unyielding spirit, that Qin Aotian’s mutated bloodline was a defective one. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have such low strength at his age. Having suffered himself, Qin Feng understood that pain.

“Senior, I apologize for having offended you earlier,” Qin Feng bowed his head, seeking the old man’s forgiveness. He was not a proud man by nature; when wrong, he would admit it, especially before those born seemingly weak yet persevering, holding onto the belief in strength—a man deserving respect.

“It’s not your fault,”

The old man stroked his graying beard, his eyes full of comfort. He nodded and continued, “In you, I see the shadow of my former self. Only you are luckier than I. My dragon soul is a useless one—though it has some minor abilities, it lost the qualification to cultivate further, and I was forever cut off from the path of immortality. Yet I did not lose heart, for I possess an extraordinary wisdom others lack. All these years in the Divine Dragon Pavilion, reading countless books, has benefited me immensely. Though my strength is low, I am qualified for you to call me Master.”

“And you shall carry forward the will of Qin Aotian. I will show the world, and all those who once mocked me, that I, Qin Aotian, even as a mere mortal, can nurture an unrivaled genius!”

“You, Qin Feng, will be my only disciple!”

“Come, child, kneel and perform the ceremony! Once you do, I, Qin Aotian, will bestow upon you a grand gift—a gift so extraordinary that even the entire Qin clan of Eastern Qingxuan will tremble in envy!”

With those words, Qin Aotian’s face showed a hint of madness. He changed tone and laughed heartily to the heavens.

But—

“They shall not have it, for this is the gift I’ve prepared for my sole disciple! Ha!”

A powerful aura radiated from Qin Aotian. His rotund frame now exuded authority, and the golden dragon robe he wore seemed to grant him a commanding presence.

Yet—

Qin Feng raised his brows and voiced his final doubt.

“Why did you choose me?”

The old man’s aura instantly faded. Rolling his eyes, he struck Qin Feng on the head.

“You brat, do you think mutated dragon souls are so common? In the whole city of Tianfeng, there are only two—you and me!”

…