Chapter 276: Spirit Slave

Mo Hua became interested.

He studied it several more times, confirming that the white-faced man's fireball technique indeed had some merit, different from ordinary fireball techniques.

Mo Hua wanted to study it further.

The scar-faced man and the white-faced man had already stopped.

This was Great Heishan Shanzhai; they had to guard the gate—if they caused trouble over a petty grudge, they'd all die.

So even when they fought, it was only superficial, never truly striking.

Mo Hua was disappointed.

He had hoped they'd fight to the death so he could pick up the leftovers.

But it was all thunder and no rain—just a few exchanges, and it was over.

The scar-faced man and the white-faced man each spat a few threats, then sat together drinking cheap wine, as if nothing had happened.

Yet in their glances, both carried murderous intent.

Mo Hua thought about it, still fixated on the white-faced man's fireball technique.

He now had a survival spell, but his offensive spells were inferior.

The fireball technique was fast and accurate, but its power was indeed average.

If he could learn the secrets of the fireball technique from the white-faced man, he wouldn't need to learn other spells—he could strengthen his offensive capabilities directly.

Mo Hua paid attention, so after daylight, he began tailing the white-faced man.

He saw the white-faced man finish his night watch and head straight to his room.

The white-faced man was just an ordinary evil cultivator; his room was no different from the others—spacious enough, but cluttered, not bloody, with only a large chest in the corner.

After a sleepless night, the white-faced man looked exhausted; he rested for a while, then rose and sat cross-eyed in meditation.

Mo Hua found this strange.

The white-faced man didn't use spirit stones while cultivating.

Without spirit stones, what could he cultivate? Air?

After a while, the white-faced man opened his eyes, a flicker of irritation passing through them.

He walked straight to the corner and opened the large chest.

Mo Hua, crouched on the beam, tilted his head and saw that the chest contained a living cultivator!

The cultivator was yellow-skinned and emaciated, cowering inside the chest, too afraid to make a sound.

The white-faced man ordered: "Come out."

The cultivator's gaze went blank, then he shuffled out.

"Kneel!"

The cultivator offered no resistance and knelt as commanded.

Seeing the man kneeling before him, the white-faced man's eyes gleamed with excitement, then he pressed his palm against the cultivator's forehead.

The cultivator's spiritual energy reversed, then flowed from the white-faced man's palm into his dantian.

The cultivator, long accustomed to suffering, wore a vacant expression—neither resisting nor crying out, like a log, like an inanimate object, enduring the extraction of his spiritual energy.

In the time it took to drink a cup of tea, the white-faced man had absorbed enough spiritual energy; he sighed contentedly, his deathly pale face now tinged with color.

He patted the cultivator's cheek and said, in a condescending tone:

"You must cultivate the technique I taught you diligently."

"Remember, I saved your life—I made you a 'spirit slave' as a favor; otherwise, you'd have been drained dry by other evil cultivators long ago."

"You're still alive only because of me!"

After speaking, the white-faced man pointed to the chest: "Go back. Don't make a sound."

The cultivator, now labeled a 'spirit slave,' walked back listlessly into the wooden chest, curled up silently, making not a single noise.

Mo Hua felt a chill.

He now understood: a 'spirit slave' was a cultivator treated as a slave, drained of spiritual energy.

These cultivators were less like people and more like living 'spirit stones.'

To turn humans into spirit slaves and spirit stones.

Mo Hua's small eyebrows furrowed.

As Elder Yu had said, the cultivators here were truly beasts.

After draining the 'spirit slave,' the white-faced man sat to refine the energy.

Spirit stone energy was pure; cultivator spiritual energy varied.

Refining other cultivators' spiritual energy was easier and more convenient, but it clashed with one's own, breeding aberrations, easily causing qi deviation.

Thus, spirit-draining techniques were universally deemed evil arts, forbidden by the Dao Court.

This was what Zhang Lan had told Mo Hua.

The white-faced man, after absorbing the spirit slave's energy, sat refining it—his expression shifted constantly.

One moment grotesque, the next ecstatic, then manic, then twisted with pain and pleasure.

Moments later, the white-faced man finished his cultivation, returning to his pale, frail appearance—but his cultivation aura had indeed strengthened slightly.

In good spirits, the white-faced man pulled a book from his storage pouch and began reading intently.

Mo Hua stole a glance, his heart leaping.

The book's cover was partially blocked by the white-faced man, but the two visible characters were "Fireball."

Fireball Technique!

Indeed, this white-faced man cultivated a special Fireball Technique!

If it were an ordinary Fireball Technique, he wouldn't treat it like a treasure, carry it with him, and study it repeatedly.

He carried the fireball technique manual with him, so Mo Hua couldn't steal it.

It seemed he could only wait for another opportunity.

Before leaving, Mo Hua glanced again at the wooden chest in the corner, inside which lay a spirit slave.

The spirit slave wasn't very old, but his face was yellow and his body thin, his spiritual energy drained, making him look much older.

Though now his expression was vacant and emotionless, he might once have been a cheerful and kind boy.

I wonder if his parents even know he's fallen into Great Heishan?

Thinking of this, Mo Hua sighed.

His current cultivation was too limited to save him.

If one day he achieved cultivation, he would surely kill every last one of these evil heretics!

Mo Hua thought angrily.

In the following days, Mo Hua continued focusing on drawing the map.

One day, Mo Hua grew hungry and went to Great Heishan's kitchen to find something to eat.

Great Heishan's kitchen was large and located in a remote area.

Inside, it was dirty and messy, stained with blood everywhere, and tables piled high with chunks of meat.

Mo Hua didn't know what kind of meat these were, so he dared not eat them.

He could only steal some wild fruits and pastries to fill his stomach.

Before arriving, he hadn't expected to stay in Great Heishan so long, so his storage pouch held little food.

Everything in his storage pouch had long been eaten up; now he could only make do with the cultivators' food.

The wild fruits were sour and astringent, tasting terrible.

Probably because the toxic miasma in Shenshan was too thick and the soil and water poor, so they bore no good fruit.

The pastries were even worse.

Mo Hua took one bite and nearly spat it out.

Far worse than what his mother made.

Mo Hua missed his mother's cooking, then suddenly thought: he'd been in Great Heishan for days—his parents had no news; they must be terrified.

Mo Hua sighed inwardly: "If only I'd told my parents beforehand, so they wouldn't worry."

But it was done; regret was useless.

He should finish the map quickly, find good news, and return home as soon as possible.

So his parents wouldn't worry.

Mo Hua nodded, then swallowed the pastries, enduring the strange stench.

Though the pastries were disgusting, at least they filled his stomach.

At this point, there was no point in being picky.

As Mo Hua ate, he suddenly heard voices.

One voice belonged to the old man cooking in the kitchen; the other voice, Mo Hua found familiar.

Mo Hua lifted his head from under the table and peeked— the other man was the Fatty cultivator.

The Fatty cultivator had killed the Thin Young Master, used his head to ask for directions, entered Great Heishan, yet only ended up with a job delivering meals.

The old man ordered the Fatty cultivator: "Take this meal to that young master; don't let him starve."

The Fatty cultivator nodded and replied, "Yes."

Mo Hua chewed on the pastry, then suddenly froze.

"Young master? What young master?"

Mo Hua frowned.

"Could it be… that Kong family's young master?"

Thank you to Yan Shushu and Anye Xingchen for the tips!