Chapter 42: Chapter Forty-Two: The Path of the Heart

Among the mountains, clouds and mist drifted; within the mist lay a courtyard, with a bamboo gate, and before the gate, a narrow path winding to Mo Hua's feet.

It appeared utterly ordinary.

Mo Hua stepped forward, treading upon the path, and immediately his spiritual sense sensed a ripple—as if something had been triggered.

Yet as he looked around, the surrounding peaks remained peaks, the trees remained trees, the flowers and grass remained flowers and grass—no change at all.

Mo Hua halted, scanning the surroundings, but still saw nothing unusual.

Mo Hua had heard that some senior cultivators enjoyed setting up arrays or trials to test others; he wondered if the teacher on the mountain shared this habit.

Or perhaps, this very path before him was already the trial?

Mo Hua felt a faint, inexplicable tension.

Since he was an array master, and since his spiritual sense had detected a ripple, there must be an array set upon this path.

But what kind of array was it?

With Mo Hua's limited experience in arrays, he had no clue. No matter how he stared, the scenery around him showed no difference.

As he walked, he pondered—but came to no conclusion.

He could only recall the instructor's advice: keep his heart clear and natural, neither forcing nor discouraging himself.

Walking thus, he eventually reached the courtyard's gate.

The bamboo gate was simple yet exuded quiet charm.

Beyond the gate, the view opened widely: a beautiful courtyard, several elegant bamboo dwellings, emerald grass carpeting the ground, mist rising from a pond, immortal cranes sipping dew—just gazing brought peace and delight.

Standing in the courtyard was a withered old man; Mo Hua hurriedly bowed and said, "Mr. Good day."

The old man's voice matched his appearance—raspy and dry, like the sound of decaying wood weathered by time:

"I am not Mr. The Mr. is inside. Follow me."

He led Mo Hua into one of the bamboo dwellings, which was refined and open to the breeze from all sides.

In the center of the room sat a middle-aged cultivator in white robes, his features exquisitely handsome, his demeanor naturally elegant, his glances radiating freedom and unrestraint, as if nothing in heaven or earth had ever weighed upon his heart.

He was the most transcendentally Daoist figure Mo Hua had ever seen.

The middle-aged cultivator smiled warmly at Mo Hua: "You must be Mo Hua. Yan Mr. told me about you. I'll ask you questions; answer as you think, no need to be formal—say exactly what comes to mind."

Mo Hua bowed and replied, "Yes, Mr."

The middle-aged cultivator said, "My surname is Zhuang. Call me Zhuang Mr."

Mo Hua bowed again. "Zhuang Mr."

Zhuang Mr. nodded slightly. "As you passed the path on the mountain, what did you see?"

Mo Hua thought a moment. "Mountains, trees, flowers, grass—and a path."

"Anything else?" Zhuang Mr. asked with interest. "Didn't you see anything else? Like a person or an event?"

Mo Hua shook his head.

Zhuang Mr. said, "That path holds an array—a gift from a former Daoist friend. It's called the Water Mirror Array. The first person to walk it reveals glimpses of their own fate or foresees future events."

Mo Hua was stunned—could such an array truly exist? Revealing one's fate and future?

If I saw nothing… what does that mean? Does it mean I have no future…?

Mo Hua felt uneasy, but remembering Yan Instructor's advice, he answered honestly: "I saw nothing else…"

Zhuang Mr. blinked in mild surprise, then nodded. "I understand." He took out an array diagram and continued:

"Here are brush and ink. Draw this array—draw as much as you can."

Mo Hua glanced at the diagram—it was the Still Water Array, the same one Yan Instructor often used for testing.

"Yes."

Mo Hua took the paper and brush and began drawing the array, matching the diagram.

An hour later, his spiritual sense was exhausted—he could only draw five and a half array lines.

It had been only a few days since he last drew the Still Water Array; his spiritual sense had not grown fast enough to draw six lines in such a short time.

This time, his drawing was slightly more refined, his strokes neater.

Zhuang Mr. studied Mo Hua's drawing, his brow lifting slightly, then said:

"Not bad. Would you like to become my registered disciple? I won't teach you sect-specific arrays, but any common array in the cultivation world—I'll teach you if you wish."

Though he didn't know why, Mo Hua felt he had passed Zhuang Mr.'s test.

Mo Hua was overjoyed and bowed deeply to Zhuang Mr. "Thank you, Mr. I accept!"

In the cultivation world, master-disciple relationships came in two forms: registered disciples and direct disciples.

Direct disciples called their master "Master," received personal instruction, and upheld the principle: "Once a master, forever a father"—their bond ran deep.

Registered disciples were far more casual: the master taught what he wished; the disciple could not call him "Master," only "Mr."; there was affection, but not the same depth as direct discipleship.

Still, for Zhuang Mr. to accept Mo Hua as a registered disciple filled him with profound gratitude.

Zhuang Mr. nodded. "Go home today. Come back tomorrow at Chen Shi—I'll begin teaching you arrays."

"Yes, Mr.!"

Mo Hua bowed again—this time as a disciple to his master—then took his leave, his steps light as he departed Zhuang Mr.'s courtyard.

At the mountain's base, Mo Hua found Yan Instructor still waiting. Upon learning Zhuang Mr. had agreed to take Mo Hua as a student, Yan Instructor exhaled in relief and said with satisfaction:

"To be valued by Zhuang Mr. is your fortune. Cherish this opportunity. Zhuang Mr. is a great one—show him utmost respect."

"Yes, Instructor," Mo Hua replied.

As they walked along the mountain path, Mo Hua suddenly asked curiously: "Instructor, have you ever been to Zhuang Mr.'s courtyard? When you passed that path, what did you see?"

Yan Instructor turned to look at Mo Hua, silent for a moment, then said:

"When I walked that path, I glimpsed fleeting images—images that told me Zhuang Mr. would accept you as his disciple, and that you would one day become a remarkable array master."

With that, Yan Instructor finished speaking; they had reached a fork in the path ahead, leading to Xiancheng.

Instructor Yan looked at Mo Hua and suddenly said solemnly, "Mo Hua."

Mo Hua turned his head. Instructor Yan paused for a moment, then said:

"Array masters seek the Heavenly Dao, but the Heavenly Dao is boundless while a human life is finite. Only by passing down array formations from generation to generation can cultivators possibly pierce through the Heavenly Dao, and can array formations possibly benefit all living beings."

"One day in the future, if you become a first-grade array master, even up to first grade and above, and you meet a cultivator with good character and natural talent for array formations, I hope you will not be stingy in guiding them. The Dao of arrays is like water — only by being passed on does it flow far and long; otherwise it will be nothing but a stagnant pool that cannot move."

Mo Hua suddenly felt his shoulders grow a little heavy. He bowed to Instructor Yan and said solemnly, "This disciple will remember it!"

A look of relief crossed Instructor Yan's face.

Mo Hua could not help asking, "Instructor, are you leaving Xiancheng?"

Instructor Yan nodded. "I can no longer stay at Tongxian Gate, and I still have some personal matters. I will leave in a few days."

"Then will I be able to see you again?"

Instructor Yan looked at Mo Hua's dark, clear eyes, smiled, and said, "Leave it to fate."

Instructor Yan reached out and patted Mo Hua's head. "Head back early, and let your parents know."

Mo Hua walked toward the city gate. After a few steps, he turned back and bowed to Instructor Yan.

Instructor Yan waved his hand and said gently, "Go on." He kept watching Mo Hua until Mo Hua's back grew small, then turned and left.

At that moment Mo Hua also turned back, looked at Instructor Yan, and bowed deeply once more.

Instructor Yan's figure gradually receded into the distance, faintly vanishing among the cloud-wreathed mountains.