Primordial Villain With A Slave Harem-Chapter 831: Leaving [Bonus]

"Leaving this prison? What do you mean, Uncle?" Feng Jiai asked, scooting closer to the meditating man and hugging him needily from behind while nuzzling her face into his back.

"Aren’t you a bit much? You remind me of my almost worryingly possessive daughter."

Quinlan’s giddy question was met with a strong pout. "Hmph! This is what I get for being distressed about your well-being..." But before her rude uncle said something in response, Feng added, "I tried to cultivate, but they sealed it somehow... I can’t gather qi properly. We can’t leave like this; we’re basically commoners now."

A cocky smirk was the first response she received. Then, he parted his lips and allowed his confident voice to leave his throat. "Are you blind, pipsqueak? What am I doing now if not gathering qi?"

Feng blinked rapidly, staring at the faint shimmer of qi that coiled around Quinlan’s seated form. She squinted, then gasped.

He really was gathering qi. And not just any qi.

"W-What?! That’s water qi!" she cried out. "You’re absorbing it?! Are you insane?!"

Quinlan tilted his head slightly, the corner of his mouth tugging upward. "It’s only impossible for mortals."

"You! But they gave us something! Some kind of medicine that cuts off our elemental affinity!" she exclaimed, clinging to his back like he might disappear. "My water qi’s completely blocked! Every time I try to cycle, it slips through my lesser meridians like it’s not even mine!"

He nodded. "It’s true. They fed us something nasty. A suppressant designed to target our cultivated element and sever the link temporarily."

"Then how?!" Feng’s hands gripped tighter around him, her voice rising in alarm. "Stupid Uncle, you’re a fire cultivator! Your body and core are attuned to fire. If you try to take in another element... your qi will go unstable! That’s suicidal!"

Quinlan’s only response was a lazy smirk and a wink. "Tsk, tsk. Brats shouldn’t underestimate their incredibly handsome elders. Just sit back and sip some tea while I rewrite the very laws of Zhenwu, Feng Jiai."

Feng scoffed, pouting again, but then froze.

Her eyes snapped wide open as if she’d just seen a ghost.

Her heart nearly leapt out of her chest.

Quinlan raised a brow, feeling her go stiff behind him. "What, did you forget how to breathe?"

"You..." she whispered. "You’re not just some prodigy, are you? You... Are you the...?" Her voice faltered, but she gulped, steeling her heart to proceed. "The fated Avatar from the prophecy?"

Quinlan’s shoulders shook with amusement. He didn’t even turn his head as he answered.

"Not yet. But I will be."

Feng’s breath hitched.

The world tilted.

She slumped forward against his back, suddenly weak, as if her legs had turned to water.

Her brain raced faster than a horse on fire. It all made sense now. His absurd rate of growth. His affinity for multiple elements. The way the world seemed to bend around his whims like reeds before a tide.

’Amnesia...’

He claimed to suffer from amnesia. But what if that was just a convenient lie?

What if...

Her dumb, rude, aloof uncle was truly...

... The savior of Zhenwu?

Her cheek pressed into his back, her mouth opening and closing in stunned silence.

...

Inside Quinlan’s Mind

While Feng Jiai was suffering from an existential crisis, Quinlan was smiling on the outside, but inwardly... things weren’t easy.

The qi trickling into his body was sluggish and unruly, like a foreign guest unwelcome in a home of fire. His meridians groaned as the first threads of water qi seeped into them. His dantian recoiled violently, the flame in his core rising like a beast stirred from sleep.

His body resisted it instinctively. Months of cultivating flame had left his meridians charred and quick, honed for explosive release, not the smooth flow of water, the rigid stability of earth, or the aloof nature of wind.

The water entered, and the fire lashed out. Sparks surged through his body, his inner world a storm of steam, pressure, and elemental conflict.

His breath hitched.

His fire wasn’t happy. It clawed at the intruder, trying to purge it. Every second felt like forcing two blades to coexist in a single scabbard. Painful. Impractical. Dangerous.

But Quinlan wasn’t afraid.

He clenched his jaw and focused his will, guiding the water, not into his core, but around it. He wasn’t trying to overwrite fire. He was building a framework—room for the others to live beside it. He wasn’t just gathering water qi; he was teaching his body to make room for it. To accept differences. To evolve.

Still... air alone wasn’t enough. The room’s ambient qi was too scattered, too diluted with natural qi, as well as the mixture of the little elemental qi that lingered.

’If I want true water qi... I need water.’

Without a word, Quinlan stood up.

Feng blinked. "H-Hey?! Where are you going?"

He didn’t respond. He simply strode toward the large bathing pool in the next chamber. Without ceremony, he undressed, tossing aside the much more comfy clothes he’d been given over the prison rags, and stepped into the water with a low exhale, perfectly ignoring Feng’s extreme blushing and yelping at the sight of his buck naked form.

Warm. Calm. Deep.

He crossed his legs and sank waist-deep beneath the surface, closing his eyes once more.

Feng watched from the doorway, red-faced and grumbling under her breath. "Uncle... you need to learn some manners!"

...

Within the Waters

The difference was immediate.

Here, the water qi wasn’t faint—it was dense. Heavy.

It pulsed through the surface of his skin, latching onto his spiritual sense. It didn’t welcome him. But it watched.

So he did the only thing he could: he welcomed it first.

Slowing his breath, he matched the rhythm of the rippling surface, syncing his inner world with the outer. Gradually, the water seeped into his pores—not violently, not eagerly, but with a quiet curiosity.

The fire in his core hissed again, but this time, it didn’t attack. It simply... made room.

Bit by bit, steam rose. Not from rejection, but from transformation. The early stages of balance.

’This is only the beginning,’ Quinlan thought. ’One drop at a time.’

And somewhere in the depths of his being, the innate potential of his very existence stirred.

...

The scent of incense hung in the air when soft footsteps echoed down the corridor. Two maids entered the chamber, their movements elegant, their smiles trained.

"Esteemed guest," one of them said gently, bowing toward Quinlan, who was seated at a table, scribbling some notes. "We bring word from Lady Serika."

Quinlan moved his head lazily toward them, lifting a brow.

"The old shack you pointed out, the one by the far cliff," the second maid explained, "was found. But... It’s been burned to the ground. Nothing left."

The first added quickly, "Lady Serika asks for your continued patience. She’s deploying many men to comb the region. She promises that she will find him as soon as possible. She asks you to remain here in case you could offer further insight into the case."

Quinlan merely nodded.

Just as he expected.

Of course it was burned. Of course there was no trace.

The old man was never meant to be found.

’He’s a ghost,’ Quinlan thought, gazing toward the barred window. ’Always has been. That’s why he was never caught before. That’s why I knew... If I waited for them to find him, I’d rot in this palace for years.’