Chapter 139: Broken Legs

The cultivator's pale right hand lunged for Mo Hua's nape.

Everything had been part of his plan.

He first feigned defeat, rested his Qi, and waited until the Dao Ting Si's lackeys grew careless—then he struck suddenly, killing two men and sparing the woman to absorb her essence.

By absorbing the woman to death, he could restore his blood qi and spiritual energy.

His appearance would also return to normal.

Then, using this youthful, handsome body, he could deceive some naive young girl, slowly absorbing her essence while temporarily hiding away to lie low.

Once the storm passed, he could once again roam free.

If not for this brat!

He said he'd break his legs, shatter his meridians, and crush his dantian!

His plan might already have succeeded.

When the Dao Ting Si cultivator moved to sever his meridians, he could not surrender—he'd be powerless even if he had heavenly skills, once his meridians were cut and his Qi gone.

He had no choice but to strike first.

The two cultivators with knives were easy to handle, but the one with the sword was troublesome.

He'd only expected some difficulty, never imagined it would be this severe.

His relied-upon body technique gave him no advantage.

The sword-wielding man was unharmed, unbleeding; his sinister spiritual energy couldn't threaten him.

Added to his own countless wounds, he was already at his last breath—if he delayed further, he'd be worn down to death.

Even if he escaped, in Great Heishan, without clothes, food, or female cultivators to absorb, he'd die sooner or later!

So he could only settle for second best: seize this brat to threaten the man and seek a sliver of hope.

The cultivator's hand reached for Mo Hua's nape.

In his eyes, this brat had no escape.

Not even a late-stage Qi Refining cultivator could dodge it if caught off guard…

But he grasped nothing.

Mo Hua had sensed it in advance—he pulled his head back, crouched low, rolled sideways with his small frame, and was already several zhang away.

Leaving only the cultivator, standing dumbfounded in place…

Mo Hua had dodged; Zhang Lan exhaled in relief.

If Mo Hua were caught, he'd be utterly helpless—the situation would become a dead end.

Either a few would die, or all of them would.

Fortunately, Mo Hua was clever.

In such a short time, he'd sensed the danger and dodged with agility.

Zhang Lan felt a creeping dread, then his gaze turned cold—he activated his sword qi and attacked the cultivator.

He needed to kill this beast quickly, before more trouble arose.

The cultivator snapped back to awareness, glared at Mo Hua in the distance, his eyes icy.

"Brat, you got lucky."

He didn't believe Mo Hua could dodge his move—he'd escaped only by sheer fortune.

Mo Hua stood firm in the distance and sighed:

"Looks like I'll have to break your meridians, crush your dantian, and snap your legs—or you'll keep doing evil."

Mo Hua paused, then added:

"Break all three legs!"

Zhang Lan froze, then hurriedly said: "Don't provoke him!"

He turned his head—and saw the cultivator's eyes blazing red.

The cultivator's eyes burned crimson, fury boiling within—he'd never been humiliated so by a brat in his life.

In a flash, his figure darted, eyes venomous, straight toward Mo Hua.

Zhang Lan's heart turned cold.

Damn—it was a Qi Refining ninth-layer cultivator; Mo Hua couldn't handle this.

He'd just been relieved that Mo Hua had escaped, thinking if they ran far enough, they'd be safe.

Then he'd use spells to drive the cultivator back and plan their next move.

But Mo Hua had taunted him—the cultivator had already wanted to seize him as leverage, and now, insulted by his words, his rage consumed him—he'd never let this go.

Zhang Lan panicked, frantically directing his sword qi, hoping the cultivator would retreat.

But he was far from Mo Hua; the cultivator was close.

He needed time to form his spell, so by the time his sword qi flew, it was hard to hit the cultivator—only slow him down.

The cultivator's form twisted unnaturally, dodged several sword qi strikes, closed in on Mo Hua, and reached out to grab him.

Then—he grasped nothing again.

Mo Hua drifted slowly backward, slipping past his fingers, evading the downward grab.

The cultivator refused to believe it—he stepped forward, spun, and swept his left hand upward to grab again.

But Mo Hua flipped lightly backward, without leverage, without force—like a leaf carried by the wind, drifting effortlessly from his grasp.

The cultivator kept reaching for Mo Hua—but each time, he came within a hair's breadth; Mo Hua always slipped free.

His body technique was formless, like flowing water, adapting with the flow, impossible to predict.

It seemed right before his eyes—yet impossibly distant.

The cultivator nearly spat blood.

He's a flower-plucking thief! A flower-plucking thief who lives by his footwork!

Not even matching that Dao Ting Si's hound is bad enough—now even a brat this small can play with him?

The key is, he can't even beat this little brat!

Every round he thinks he can catch him, but he always misses.

As the cultivator's assault grew fiercer, Mo Hua's footwork grew even more composed.

Suddenly, Mo Hua pulled back, extended two fingers, and gathered Qi.

The cultivator froze—what was he doing?

Still trying to use a spell?

"Die!"

With this distance, by the time his spell releases, I'll already have snapped his neck.

The cultivator sneered and lunged forward.

But before he reached Mo Hua, a fireball had already formed and shot toward his face, slapping right onto it.

The cultivator couldn't believe it—his heart seized with dread.

"How could it be so fast?!"

The Fireball Spell isn't powerful, but hitting the face still causes sharp pain and dizziness.

The cultivator involuntarily staggered.

At that moment, Zhang Lan seized the opening and launched a Water-Form Sword Qi, striking the cultivator's heart meridian directly.

The cultivator's gaze blurred, then thudded to the ground.

The mountains and woods grew quieter.

The cultivator lay on the ground; Zhang Lan, who had felled him, remained frozen in place, his emotions surging.

What did he just see?

A Level Nine Qi Condensation cultivator's attacks—all dodged by Mo Hua?

Level Nine Qi Condensation? All dodged?

And what footwork was that?

Movement without fixed form, action without fixed shape, elusive and unpredictable, hard to grasp—simple and clear, yet bewildering…

Who taught him this footwork?!

Zhang Lan stood for a long while, memories slowly stirring, then he remembered.

Oh right—it was the Flowing Water Step!

This… seems like I taught it…

Mo Hua looked at the fallen cultivator, scanned him with his spiritual sense, and said:

"Uncle Zhang, come quick—he's not dead yet."

Zhang Lan snapped back to himself, his expression tightening as he rushed to the cultivator's side.

He examined the wounds and said: "Still alive, but his Qi is exhausted, his blood and vigor drained—he won't cause trouble anymore."

His Sword Qi had pierced the cultivator's heart meridian, but slightly off-target, so the cultivator hadn't died.

After Zhang Lan spoke, the cultivator even groaned a few times, opened his eyes, filled with hatred.

"What a tough bastard," Mo Hua remarked.

Zhang Lan gave Sister Situ and Sister Situ Xi some pills; they sat in meditation for a while, recovered, then prepared to drag the cultivator back to Dao Ting Si.

"Wait," Mo Hua said.

The others turned, puzzled, looking at Mo Hua.

Mo Hua walked to Zhang Lan's side and struggled to draw Zhang Lan's sword from his waist.

He gripped the sword with both hands, stepped before the cultivator, and said:

"That's right—I'm the one who's going to cut off your leg!"

Then he slashed, severing the cultivator's leg.