Primordial Villain With A Slave Harem-Chapter 830: Old Man

Serika perked her ears and leaned in ever so slightly.

"He didn’t speak. Just stood there for a second. Then attacked me without warning."

Her reaction was immediate.

She shot forward a half-step, a strange light entering her eyes. "Wait, he attacked you?"

Quinlan nodded, brow raised at her strong reaction.

"Didn’t say a word. Just came at me. Fast, precise, ruthless. I tried to defend myself. Ended up falling on my ass."

Serika’s composure cracked. "Tell me," she said urgently, voice breathless like a little girl hearing bedtime stories. "What did he look like?"

Quinlan blinked, a little taken aback by the sudden shift. "Why? Just who is he to you?"

"Just... please. Describe him."

He hesitated, then relented. "White beard. Long. Tangled. Looked like he hadn’t combed it in decades. His face was worn. Scarred. Eyes... sunken. Like someone who saw the worst parts of life and stopped expecting better."

He paused. "Also... all four of his limbs were prosthetic."

At that, Serika froze.

Then, with trembling fingers, she reached between the folds of her top, drawing a delicate silver chain from between her voluptuous breasts. A small, polished pocket watch hung from it. It was ornate and well-worn.

She flicked it open with a practiced thumb.

Inside, behind the glass, was a photo.

A younger Serika sat on a man’s knee, grinning like the sun. The man behind her wore half a smile, his hand resting gently on her back. No beard. Younger. Flesh limbs. Fewer scars. But the eyes...

The eyes were the same. Just full of life.

Serika held it out, voice a whisper.

"Was it him?"

Quinlan took the watch, staring.

At first, he wasn’t sure. The man in the picture looked far too different: more vibrant, less broken. But as he stared... the similarities emerged.

The bone structure.

The quiet stillness.

And those eyes...

He exhaled softly.

"...Yeah. That’s him."

Serika didn’t move.

She just stood there, staring at the picture as if she’d found a ghost she’d been chasing for a lifetime.

Quinlan gave her a moment before continuing.

"He took me in as his student, though he never said why. The bastard didn’t even give the two of us room in his shack, made us sleep outside... We didn’t talk much. Most of our time was spent training. He was an extremely harsh teacher. Brutal hours in the sun, fists bleeding, muscles torn. He didn’t teach through words but pain and repetition."

He glanced down at Feng, still sleeping soundly against his chest.

"I stayed for months. I was too stubborn to leave despite him being a terribly rude person. Deep down, I knew I was learning something priceless."

Serika finally smiled at his words and muttered tenderly, "Sounds just like him..." Her hands tightened over the pocketwatch as she next asked, "Do you remember where this took place?"

He nodded and gestured for a map.

One was brought instantly by a silent attendant who entered soundlessly like a shadow. Quinlan pointed at a region near the northern ridges of Zhaokun.

"Here. That’s where the shack was. Or at least close."

Serika immediately turned to the same attendant. "Send a scouting party now. Full elite wing. Fastest mounts."

The attendant vanished again.

She turned back to Quinlan, and the Sovereign in her stepped back, replaced by something more... human.

"Thank you. I mean it. For being so forthcoming despite everything. Despite how you were treated."

She hesitated, guilt flickering across her face.

"And... I’m truly sorry. My retainers acted out of panic. I didn’t order you to be harmed. You were supposed to be brought to me, not knocked unconscious like some common criminal."

Quinlan gave a weary half-smile. "Well, next time, send a letter."

She smiled faintly in return, and gestured to the guards. "Take them to the suite. Everything should be prepared."

They moved gently this time. Carefully. With respect.

Feng was still in his arms, breathing softly, as they walked the torchlit corridors. Up and out of the dungeons. Through grand, red-marble halls and into the warm light of the palace proper.

Eventually, they reached a tall door carved with dancing flames and set with golden accents.

It opened to a luxurious suite.

Silken drapes, crimson and gold. A large bath steaming in one corner behind a lattice screen. Plush rugs over gleaming black tiles. Fruit, wine, incense. A bed so soft it looked like a dream.

Inside, a gentle-faced elderly maid was already putting the final touches on the room, arranging fresh towels and smoothing the bedsheets.

She turned at their entrance and smiled, her expression as warm as a grandmother’s. "Ah, you’re here, esteemed guest. Just in time."

Her eyes settled on Feng, still asleep in Quinlan’s arms. "The young lady looks exhausted. If it pleases you, I can help you both bathe and get settled."

Quinlan nodded. "Please."

She guided them through the screen and helped undress them both gently, professionally. The bath was warm, fragrant with lavender and good-smelling herbs. Feng barely stirred even as the water was poured over her. Quinlan held her carefully the entire time.

Once clean and dried, she was tucked into bed. The moment her head touched the pillow, she was lost to the world again.

But instead of lying down next to her and allowing his tired body to rest, Quinlan took a corner of the large room and sat cross-legged and shirtless. His breathing turned slow and deep as he entered meditation. The lamplight glinted off scars along his shoulders and arms as he closed his eyes, drawing the surrounding qi inward.

The night passed quietly.

And then...

Feng stirred.

Her body shifted beneath the silken sheets, and a soft frown formed on her delicate face before her eyes even opened. Her arms reached out instinctively, searching...

But found nothing.

Her eyes fluttered open in alarm.

The warmth. It was gone.

Her heart skipped a beat, a strange panic bubbling in her chest as she sat up abruptly. The room was too large, too still, too empty beside her. For months now, she’d only ever slept curled up in his embrace. Through the long nights beneath open skies, his arms had become her blanket, his heartbeat the lullaby that carried her into dreams.

But now...

Now she felt cold. Off-balance. Like a part of her had been peeled away.

"Uncle...?" she called out softly, voice trembling, unsure.

Her eyes darted around the sunlit chamber, still adjusting to the golden rays spilling through silk-draped windows. The scent of lavender did nothing to soothe the emptiness gnawing in her chest.

And then she saw him.

There, across the room.

Sitting cross-legged in quiet meditation. A breeze stirred around him, the air shimmering with strands of qi curling around his frame.

Relief flooded her, so strong it nearly made her tear up.

She rubbed her eyes with a balled-up fist. "Uncle..." she murmured again, softer this time, more like a whisper of reassurance to herself.

His eyes didn’t open, but a slow smile curved his lips.

"We’re leaving this prison of silk and lavender, Feng Jiai," he said confidently.

His voice wasn’t loud.

But it was warm. Healthy. Back in control.

And in that moment, Feng’s heart calmed.

Because even if she wasn’t in his arms anymore, just hearing that assuringly confident voice of his... was enough.

For now.