Chapter 523: Nine Layers

An hour later, Mo Hua caught sight of Longquan Falls.

The Si River cut across, green mountains and black cliffs.

The rushing river hung like a white ribbon, plunging down to form a waterfall, then torn apart by the rocks, spilling down like silk.

Breathtaking and magnificent.

The three of them stared, wide-eyed and dazzled.

Xiancheng was rather dry, with many mountains and few rivers.

Mo Hua had never seen a waterfall this grand.

Though Bai Zisheng and Bai Zixi came from noble houses, they had been raised within the clan as children, and when they traveled they stuck to the main roads, so they too rarely saw such a natural marvel.

The waterfall struck the rocks, shattering into droplets, round and smooth as jade.

The mountain mists and the spray of the falls blurred together into one, weaving the sunlight into brilliant colors.

Mo Hua was lost in the sight, then suddenly puzzled:

"Master, why is this waterfall called Longquan Falls?"

It's just a waterfall—there's no dragon, and no spring.

And it doesn't look like a dragon either.

Mr. Zhuang's gaze swept past the falls toward the rainbow-tinted mist, his expression tinged with feeling:

"A sword was once hidden here, named Longquan, and so the waterfall took its name."

"The Longquan Sword…"

Mo Hua murmured it, then asked, "Was it a good sword?"

Mr. Zhuang paused, his gaze dim, and murmured:

"It was a fine sword, well-matched to its master…"

As if recalling some old affair, Mr. Zhuang's eyes grew wistful, with an inexpressible pang of regret.

Mo Hua's eyes lit up—he understood at once.

There was definitely a story here!

But he didn't ask; even if he did, Master would surely not tell.

"The Longquan Sword…"

Mo Hua silently committed the sword's name to memory.

……

Past Longquan Falls, the group continued south.

They were still far from the border of the Dali Mountain Province.

The cultivation world was vast, divided into nine provinces.

And within the nine provinces, each one's territory was broad, stretching endlessly to the eye.

Within each province, the land was further divided into regions by grade.

Every region's mountains and rivers differed, its scenery distinct; cultivators built cities against the hills, their food and clothing each had their own character, and customs varied as well.

Mo Hua walked and looked, broadening his horizons and gaining much experience.

Whenever he came across unusual ingredients, Mo Hua would buy them, ask the local cultivators how to prepare them, then try cooking a few dishes for Mr. Zhuang and his senior brothers and sisters to taste.

Though not all of them were delicious, they truly were distinctive in flavor, and very special to eat.

Old Gui had no taste for such fare.

He only liked nuts—pine nuts, hazelnuts, that sort.

When he came across any, Mo Hua would buy them and roast them for Old Gui.

Or if some ancient tree in the mountains bore unfamiliar pine nuts, seeds, or fruit, provided they weren't poisonous, Mo Hua would pick some and roast them for Old Gui to try.

In return, Old Gui would often give Mo Hua pointers on his spells:

"Your Fireball Spell is learned well and used well, but it's a bit muddled."

Mo Hua had the same question.

The Fireball Spell he used in reality was deep red, with faint signs of condensation.

But the Fireball Spell manifested in his Sea of Consciousness was bright red, its spiritual power instead thread-like, layer upon layer, like a ball of flame wound together from spiritual threads.

After explaining to Old Gui, Mo Hua asked:

"Grandpa Gui, which direction should I cultivate in?"

Deepening the spiritual power, or turning it thread-like.

Old Gui shook his head:

"When two choices are laid before you, don't think first about which to pick—think first about whether you can have both."

"If you can have both, take both."

"If you can't, then make the trade-off."

"Any cultivator who starts by thinking it's an either-or has an elm-wood head."

Mo Hua opened his mouth.

He hadn't expected the ever-stern Old Gui to say something like that.

"But what if there's no choice at all?" Mo Hua asked softly.

"Then don't waste your thoughts on it. Things you can't choose, even if you consider them, are meaningless—just a waste of time," Old Gui said.

Mo Hua nodded, deeply agreeing.

Then, recalling something, he frowned:

"Grandpa Gui, but suppose someday someone forces me into a dilemma?"

Old Kui said directly: "Then kill that man!"

Mo Hua froze.

Old Kui added: "Kill that man, and no one will force you to choose—you can have them all."

"But what if I can't beat him? What if I can't kill him?"

"Then it's only your own incompetence to blame," Old Kui rasped. "In such situations, everyone is driven by desperation—no matter how you choose, it doesn't really matter."

Mo Hua nodded. "So strength must be paramount—only then can I choose what I want in the future…"

Mo Hua pondered for a moment, then suddenly realized he had strayed too far, and returned to the topic of spells:

"Grandpa Kui, can I learn both variations of the Fireball Spell?"

Old Kui nodded. "The deep red fireball is the state of spiritual energy; the fireball turning into threads is its form. The two don't conflict—you can learn both. But…"

Old Kui glanced at Mo Hua. "It's hard."

Mo Hua asked: "How do I do it?"

Old Kui hesitated slightly. He hadn't wanted to say anything, but seeing the pile of sunflower seed shells at his feet, he felt somewhat indebted—so he spoke:

"You're learning too early, but you can understand it now."

Mo Hua immediately sat up straight, listening intently.

But Old Kui said nothing. Instead, he pulled out a wad of cotton from nowhere.

This wad of cotton was ordinary cotton.

Old Kui concentrated in his palm—the cotton compressed under pressure, twisting together into a single thread.

Mo Hua's eyes flickered with interest, lost in thought.

Old Kui then took out another wad of cotton and repeated the process—compressing and twisting it into another thread…

Until he had formed more than ten threads.

Old Kui's gaze turned cold; his spiritual sense stirred.

The ten-odd threads instantly twisted and entangled—seemingly random, yet secretly rhythmic—binding together into a single ball.

This ball was the same size as the original wad of cotton.

But its internal structure was utterly different.

Old Kui looked at Mo Hua and asked: "Understood?"

Mo Hua frowned and spoke honestly:

"I understand… a little…"

"It doesn't matter. Just remember it."

Old Kui flicked his hand—the newly spun ball instantly turned to ash, leaving not a trace on his palm.

"The principles of complex spells are often hidden in the simplest, most ordinary things."

"Like this ball of thread."

"Or like a single mountain, a single stream, a single cloud, a single raindrop, a single blade of grass, a single tree…"

Mo Hua nodded and said frankly:

"Grandpa Kui, I remember—but I don't fully understand yet…"

Old Kui's lips curled slightly, revealing a smile that didn't quite look like one. "It's fine. Watch more, learn more, think more—there will come a day when you understand."

"Yes!" Mo Hua nodded solemnly.

Old Kui thought for a moment, then added:

"I'll demonstrate this spell technique only once. Pay close attention."

Mo Hua's spirit sharpened.

Old Kui opened his palm—a fireball appeared, pale red and mist-like. Then, guided by his spiritual sense, the spiritual energy compressed inward, condensing into a deep red thread of fire.

The fire thread pulsed with astonishing spiritual energy, hovering in midair.

Then another fireball formed in Old Kui's palm.

And that fireball also condensed into a thread.

After ten or so repetitions, no more fireballs remained in his palm—only more than ten deep red, scorching-hot fire threads.

Old Kui's gaze darkened; his spiritual awareness stirred.

The fire threads twisted together, coalescing into a small fireball.

This Fireball Spell—woven from entwined fire threads—was less a fireball and more a spiritual ball of flame-thread.

Multiple compressions. Spiritual reconstruction.

It appeared to be a simple Fireball Spell, yet radiated astonishing pressure.

Old Kui flicked his hand—the fireball shot out and plunged into the raging river beside them.

A piercing, unnatural sound erupted.

Like cold water hitting hot oil, the river's surface instantly boiled.

Mo Hua turned to look—and his mouth dropped open.

A vast river, a huge lake surface—was violently evaporated by the tiny Fireball Spell, leaving behind a massive hollow.

Vapor from the surrounding water formed mist and steam.

Moments later, water rushed back in.

The roar of surging tides rose.

Water poured into the hollow, forming a gigantic whirlpool on the once-quiet river.

Mo Hua's heart, like the river, remained unsettled for a long time.

The spiritual energy Old Kui had just used was only Qi Refining stage—and the spell he cast was merely a Rank One Fireball Spell.

But how could a Fireball Spell produce such devastating power?

Mo Hua looked at Old Puppet, his expression stunned, filled with admiration.

Old Puppet felt content, yet his expression remained indifferent.

He patted Mo Hua on the shoulder. "Remember, learn more, practice more."

Mo Hua nodded slowly, dazed.

Old Puppet left, satisfied.

At the side, Mr. Zhuang scolded him: "Why did you teach him this?"

"If he can learn it, why can't I teach it?"

"He doesn't even know what it is, and you're teaching him this?"

Old Puppet said nothing. After a moment, he murmured:

"I'm afraid if I don't teach him now, I'll never get the chance..."

Old Puppet turned his head and glanced again at Mr. Zhuang. "Aren't you thinking the same?"

Mr. Zhuang fell silent, stunned. After a long while, he sighed helplessly.

Mo Hua, however, was energized.

Such a powerful Fireball Spell!

This level of power completely exceeded his understanding.

Mo Hua immediately tried it himself—but found he simply couldn't do it.

The principle seemed simple: Qi, like cotton fluff, first condensed into fine threads, then woven into a Qi ball...

But in reality, it was nothing like that.

Mo Hua's spiritual sense was already strong—at the peak of the thirteenth layer of Foundation Establishment, he had cultivated the Great Expansion Scripture and learned the Spirit Pivot Array; his Qi control was no weakling.

Yet even with such a powerful spiritual sense and such meticulous control, he couldn't even condense Qi into threads.

Mo Hua was surprised, disappointed.

But after thinking, he found it normal.

Such a powerful spell—if it could really be learned so easily, that would be pure fantasy.

Mo Hua memorized every single detail of Old Puppet's casting, perfectly and without omission.

He would ponder it whenever he had time, hoping one day he too could unleash a Fireball Spell of such terrifying power...

Mo Hua's eyes gleamed with anticipation.

Whether arrays or spells.

He still had much to learn.

As long as he kept learning, one day he would surely integrate them all, master profound arrays, and control powerful spells.

The rest of the journey passed mostly without incident.

Though they traveled day and night, exposed to wind and dew, it wasn't particularly arduous.

Mo Hua used local ingredients creatively, preparing a variety of meals; his cooking improved daily, the dishes growing ever more colorful, aromatic, and delicious.

The carriage rolled along leisurely.

Mr. Zhuang napped inside; Mo Hua and the other two sat around a small table, either drawing arrays, reading books, or doing their cultivation exercises.

Occasionally they stopped to rest; when time allowed, he played a few games of chess with Old Puppet.

They still played the simple Five Elements Chess.

Both enjoyed it immensely.

Though Mr. Zhuang had seen it often, he was still surprised—he hadn't expected Mo Hua could truly play chess well with Old Puppet.

Bai Zisheng and Bai Zi Xi were somewhat confused.

Sometimes, when Mo Hua went to buy groceries, took Da Bai for a walk, or searched for arrays, they too had played a few games with Old Puppet.

But without exception, Old Puppet had rejected them all.

Old Puppet thought Bai Zi Xi too clever—he played Five Elements Chess with cunning, never yielding a single move.

He thought Bai Zisheng too reckless.

He ate daily, fine—but even in Five Elements Chess, he only knew "capture," with no skill whatsoever.

Mo Hua was better.

When playing, he was natural.

Neither forced thought nor greedily grabbed pieces.

Of course, it was mainly because the two of them were evenly matched, without any competitive stakes—purely for fun.

Mo Hua played chess with Old Puppet.

Old Puppet also carved puppets for Mo Hua.

At first, they were only small tigers; later, as Old Puppet's pine nut cough worsened, he began accepting Mo Hua's various requests.

Wolves, beasts, tigers, leopards, strange and exotic demonic beasts.

Mo Hua would see one and beg Old Puppet to carve it for him.

After carving, Mo Hua would paint the Spirit Pivot Array onto it.

Then he could control a horde of demonic beast puppets, chasing, playing, and sparring on the grass—novel and lively.

Since he had carved for Mo Hua, Old Puppet couldn't favor one over the others.

He also carved some puppets for Bai Zisheng and Bai Zi Xi.

The dragon carved for Bai Zisheng was a dark dragon; though majestic, it could not fly, and even with the Spirit Pivot Array inscribed upon it, it could only crawl along the ground.

The one carved for Bai Zi Xi was a colorful phoenix.

Besides the Spirit Pivot Array, Mo Hua had painted a Five-Color Array upon the phoenix's wings.

Once its feathers spread open, it resembled a Kong Que displaying its tail—vividly multicolored, shimmering with spiritual light, exquisitely splendid…

From then on, whenever he had free time, Bai Zisheng would play beast-fighting on the grass with Mo Hua, controlling his dark dragon in fierce battles against Mo Hua's pack of large and small tigers and various demonic beasts.

Bai Zi Xi stood aside, cradling the magnificent phoenix, watching Mo Hua and Bai Zisheng revel in their game, his gaze as clear and crystalline as autumn water, holding a faint, gentle smile…

…

Thus, the group traveled onward.

They crossed mountains, waded through rivers, witnessed sunrises and sunsets, and watched clouds gather and disperse.

Along the way, they encountered many people and events.

Some were foolish bandit cultivators, vicious criminal cultivators, and heretical cultivators who strayed from the righteous path.

But most of them had low cultivation and weak Dao techniques.

Bai Zisheng, with his spear alone, held the pass like a single man against a thousand.

Mo Hua watched from the side like an audience, occasionally using Water Prison Technique to control the battlefield and Fireball Technique to finish them off, reducing them to scattered petals and broken flowers.

Most others were impoverished and destitute solitary cultivators.

Just like Tongxiancheng, Nanyuecheng, and other ordinary small Xianchengs.

The lives of solitary cultivators were mostly very hard.

Those who stood high up saw only blooming flowers and brocade.

Only those who truly walked upon the ground understood how harsh the world was, how much suffering people endured.

Array Masters should comprehend the Dao of Heaven and benefit all living beings.

Mo Hua remembered these words well; whenever he encountered impoverished people or suffering situations, he did his best to paint arrays to help them.

The journey continued, hooves clattering softly.

Six months later, Mo Hua finally arrived at the border of the third-grade Dali Mountain Province.

At this time, Mo Hua was fourteen years old; through daily, cumulative cultivation, like water dripping through stone, his cultivation had reached Qi Condensation Ninth Layer.

He stood just one step away from Foundation Establishment.

Tomorrow I will take a day off.

The novel has been running for seven months—I haven't taken a single day off or rested much.

So I'm rewarding myself with a day off~

The detailed outline has too much content; I need to reorganize it.

I also need to summarize my writing issues.

I'll also get a good night's sleep and adjust my mindset slightly.

There's still much to write, so I can't rush—I must persist long-term, with steady, gentle progress~

(End of Chapter)