Chapter 554: Ten Thousand Demons

The emaciated old man suddenly felt a surge of inexplicable fear.

But then, that fear vanished without a trace, as if it had merely been a fleeting illusion.

The old man relaxed, exhaustion immediately washing over him; thinking the night was late and tomorrow would again demand exhausting mental strain and endless complications, he decided to close his eyes for a brief nap.

Yet, half-asleep, just as he was about to drift off, he suddenly felt hunger in his belly and unconsciously pulled several Qi-Abstaining Pills from his storage pouch, placing them in his mouth to chew…

But Mo Hua, beside him, grew increasingly alarmed.

For he saw clearly—the emaciated old man was not chewing Qi-Abstaining Pills, but his own fingers!

He was putting his fingers into his own mouth and chewing them!

Blood dripped from the corners of his mouth.

His fingers had already exposed white bone.

Meanwhile, the middle-aged cultivator, lost in thought, pulled out a knife and pressed it against his own throat.

Young Master Yun drew his sword and stabbed it into his own chest.

It was Soul-Seeding Demon!

"Master's elder brother wants to kill these three!"

Mo Hua panicked instantly; his mind raced, recalling everything he'd learned about "Soul-Seeding Demon." His gaze darkened, his small hand moved, and with just a few quick strokes, he altered the array patterns of the Warm Fire Array on the ground.

As soon as the Warm Fire Array's patterns were changed, they clashed violently and self-destructed instantly.

With a "Boom—," the array exploded, emitting a piercing sound.

Simultaneously, flames erupted in a burst of crimson, spreading thickly through the night, blinding the Daoist of Deception and distracting him.

It also broke his Soul-Seeding Demon.

The commotion jolted the three—emaciated old man, middle-aged cultivator, and Young Master Yun—back to their senses; their gazes were all dazed.

The emaciated old man suddenly felt searing pain in his hand; he looked down and saw his fingers drenched in blood, white bone clearly visible. A wave of terror surged through him.

"What happened? What's going on?"

He looked around and happened to see the little child across from him, his expression slightly anxious, lips moving as if speaking—but as if afraid of something, he made no sound.

The old man gritted his teeth against the pain, studied the child for a long moment, then finally deciphered the words from his lip movements.

He was saying two words:

"Run!"

"Run!"

Run?

The emaciated old man froze, then widened his eyes.

He recognized him!

This child was the little arrayist from Nan Yue City!

That is, Master Zhuang's apprentice!

He was now anxious, silently warning them… to run?!

The emaciated old man trembled inside; cold dread surged like a tide through his heart. He immediately recalled the Daoist hidden in the shadows when they entered.

He wanted to turn and look—but forcibly restrained his gaze.

His lifelong intuition for calculating karmic threads told him: this man was treacherous—he must not look!

The old man instinctively reached for the Three Talents Divination Coins in his storage pouch—but his hand met only scattered fragments; after a light touch, his pupils dilated in shock.

Broken?

The Three Talents Divination Coins… completely shattered?!

Even this life-or-death crisis could not be averted by the Three Talents Divination Coins!

"Run!"

The emaciated old man's trembling hands gripped tightly onto the middle-aged cultivator and Young Master Yun; fear still burned in his eyes.

Young Master Yun and the middle-aged cultivator, confused, opened their mouths to ask—when the old man shook his head.

Both men were startled; only then did they realize their own behavior had been strange, that this ruined temple held danger and strangeness—and they solemnly nodded.

No time to waste; the three suppressed their qi, rose swiftly, moved without sound, and slipped away in silence.

The Daoist of Deception's gaze flickered slightly—but until the three had left, no further changes occurred; he merely regarded Mo Hua with a long, meaningful stare.

Mo Hua scratched his head and smiled sheepishly. "Master's elder brother, I didn't master the array well—I messed up…"

The Daoist of Deception's face was utterly expressionless; he clearly didn't believe Mo Hua's excuse.

But he said nothing, closing his eyes once more to rest.

Seeing this, Mo Hua exhaled in relief.

Fortunately, Master's elder brother was wary of him and used only the simplest, most basic form of "Soul-Seeding Demon"—the three, Young Master Yun included, had been only lightly seeded.

Otherwise, if he'd used a profound "Seeding Demon" technique, it would've been disastrous.

Even if I'd wanted to save them, I'd have been powerless.

Seeing the three far away, Mo Hua finally relaxed—but then he remembered the old man's words…

"Gui Xu Tian Zang…"

What was Gui Xu?

And what did Tian Zang mean?

Did it concern a heavenly-level opportunity? An ancient secret? A lineage? A scripture? Or…

An array?

Mo Hua shook his head, utterly baffled.

"Forget it—no point chasing after far-fetched dreams…"

Master said that such an opportunity carries too great a karmic burden; one misstep could mean death, and right now, it's better for me not to know.

Mo Hua nodded.

He lowered his head, glanced at the Warm Fire Array, and felt deep regret.

The array self-destructed, burning to ash everything he had roasted—sweet potatoes, yams, wild fruits, and a large fish—leaving nothing but a pile of black charcoal…

That fish was almost done, the aroma already filling the air, yet after all that roasting, he hadn't taken a single bite…

"My fish…"

Mo Hua felt a pang of pain and sighed involuntarily.

He drew another Warm Fire Array, then took out the remaining sweet potatoes from his storage pouch and, as if no one else were there, resumed roasting…

…

The three emaciated elders hurriedly left the ruined temple, ignoring the night, walking nonstop for an hour until they were far enough to stop.

The emaciated elder's back was soaked in cold sweat.

The middle-aged cultivator exhaled and asked, "What exactly happened?"

The emaciated elder's hand was still dripping blood.

He sprinkled medicinal powder on his hand, swallowed a few pills, and his complexion gradually improved.

Recalling the events in the ruined temple, he still trembled with fear; he turned to look at the other two and said in a shaky voice:

"The Three Talents Change Coins shattered…"

"We three nearly died…"

Yun Young Master was startled.

The middle-aged cultivator frowned. "That can't be that sinister…"

"Do you remember that little kid roasting by the fire in the temple?"

"The kid roasting by the fire?"

The middle-aged cultivator froze, furrowed his brow in thought, then suddenly changed expression—he remembered:

"He… he's that little array master?!"

Yun Young Master also recalled, his eyes brightening. "It's Little Mo!"

He muttered under his breath: "Strange… why couldn't I remember him before?"

The emaciated elder sighed:

"This little kid is very likely the disciple of that person. Though young, he is certainly extraordinary…"

"In the ruined temple, we unknowingly fell prey to our inner demons…"

"It was this little kid who made the strange noise and woke us up."

"Later, it was he who warned us to 'hurry and leave'…"

"Otherwise, we would have been doomed this time…"

…

The middle-aged cultivator was puzzled. "What exactly was the danger in that ruined temple?"

The emaciated elder's face was clouded with doubt.

What kind of danger was it?

Why did we fall prey to our inner demons?

Was it that Daoist who struck us down?

Why did none of us sense anything?

The emaciated elder pondered deeply, then suddenly froze—he remembered the Daoist sitting in the corner of the temple, half-hidden in shadow, indistinct.

An unmentionable honorific title surfaced in his mind.

The emaciated elder trembled like a sieve.

"It's…"

"What?" the middle-aged cultivator asked curiously.

The emaciated elder swallowed the three words "Ghoul Daoist" in his throat and merely said: "That man… is a Daoist…"

"A Daoist?!"

The Mo Sect's "Daoist" is no ordinary figure.

None are anything but true, monstrous evildoers!

The middle-aged cultivator's expression turned solemn, yet he remained deeply curious. "Which Daoist, exactly?"

The emaciated elder gave him a cold glance. "If I speak his title, all three of us will die—and we'll die in the most horrific way imaginable!"

The scene from the ruined temple flashed back into his mind.

The middle-aged cultivator slashed his own throat; Yun Young Master stabbed himself with his sword; the emaciated elder devoured his own flesh…

Just thinking of it, all three turned pale.

The middle-aged cultivator dared not ask again.

The emaciated elder frowned in thought, then suddenly had a flash of insight—he exclaimed: "Of course!"

The middle-aged cultivator blinked. "What?"

The emaciated elder's emotions surged. "Do you remember when we entered Nanyue City and sensed the stench of corpses spreading across Manshan? After I divined it, what did I say?"

The middle-aged cultivator thought for a moment, then shook his head:

"You ramble on and on, speaking in cryptic riddles—how am I supposed to remember which one of your many words you mean?"

Yun Young Master, however, seemed to recall something. "Master Wen, are you referring to… good fortune?"

He faintly remembered the emaciated elder's earlier words:

"In recent days, I've occasionally felt my heart race and my flesh tremble..."

"It feels as if great terror lies ahead, extraordinarily perilous, life and death uncertain."

"And if we can suppress the corpse mine and save the entire city of Nan Yue, even all the cultivators in this province, perhaps we can forge a good karmic connection—should we one day face a nine-deaths-one-life predicament, it might grant us a sliver of hope..."

The emaciated elder's gaze sharpened. "Now it seems this karmic thread has come to rest upon this child!"

"If back in Nan Yue City we had not intervened, had not quelled the corpse unrest, had not forged this good karmic bond, had not met this child..."

"Then today, without this child saving us..."

"We would all die without even a grave to bury us!"

The middle-aged cultivator and Young Master Yun were deeply shaken.

The emaciated elder sighed with emotion. "Karmic cause and effect, every sip and bite—Mr. Zhuang gave us a choice back then, and in doing so, gave us a sliver of hope..."

Mr. Zhuang...

All three felt both mystified and burdened.

After a moment, Young Master Yun suddenly remembered something and exclaimed urgently:

"If that Daoist is a great demon, then Little Mo..."

The emaciated elder shook his head, smiling bitterly. "Don't even think about it—we can barely save ourselves, let alone rescue that child..."

Young Master Yun's face flushed with shame.

The emaciated elder comforted him:

"Don't worry—he's Mr. Zhuang's disciple. He should be fine..."

In the ruined temple, Mo Hua's eyes sparkled, his face flushed with warmth, the image of him roasting fire, fish, and sweet potatoes rising again in his mind.

The emaciated elder sighed inwardly.

Indeed, he is Mr. Zhuang's disciple—his nature is truly strong...

Traveling alongside a great demon like that Daoist... and still having the leisure to roast food...

Moreover, even after defying that "Daoist's" taboos to save us, that "Daoist" didn't even grow angry—he simply let them go...

The emaciated elder found this unbelievable.

Their lineage specialized in celestial fate calculations and had long heard of the Daoist's fearsome reputation.

That Daoist was never easy to deal with.

They had never seen him be so "lenient," let alone so "permissive," toward anyone...

The emaciated elder sighed. "A blessed person has heavenly protection. We should... return now."

Young Master Yun remained deeply troubled.

The middle-aged cultivator suddenly froze. "Return? Return where?"

The emaciated elder snapped, "Where you came from, back you go!"

The middle-aged cultivator panicked. "What about the opportunity? You're just giving it up? We've gone through so much already..."

The emaciated elder sneered. "Don't you understand? This matter is no longer within our reach..."

"Or rather—it never was!"

"We were merely pawns sent to gather intelligence. Now that the news has been delivered, those above will handle the planning."

"The realm of Da Li Mountain will soon become a slaughterhouse."

"If we stay any longer, we'll have absolutely no path to survival!"

The middle-aged cultivator frowned. "Because of Xuan Mo the Ancestor?"

The emaciated elder sighed. "Not just him..."

He turned back to glance at the ruined temple, his eyes clouded with shadow and dread.

"When the Daoist arrives, it means the true demons of the Mo Sect are coming too..."

Though suppressed by the Dao Court for years, the Mo Sect remains deeply entrenched—it's impossible they have only Xuan Mo the Ancestor as their one Liu Yuhua elder.

All three understood this.

Yet before the opportunity, the middle-aged cultivator still hesitated.

The emaciated elder snorted. "Whether you go or not is your business—I'm leaving."

The middle-aged cultivator stared. "How can you leave? We made a pact—I gave you plenty of spirit stones..."

"I'll return your spirit stones."

The middle-aged cultivator's expression twisted; he wrestled within for a long while before sighing. "It's not that I'm unwilling to give up the spirit stones..."

"Fine. Let's go."

He knew that with the elder's divinations, he had survived every danger on this journey.

Without the elder, he truly might not survive leaving Da Li Mountain.

He would not take the spirit stones back—consider it a karmic debt settled.

The middle-aged cultivator muttered bitterly, "I'd hoped to seize an opportunity, to change my fate. Now... sigh. I'll just return to Qian Province and go back to being a humble instructor..."

He followed behind the elder, walking back.

After a few steps, the emaciated elder suddenly halted, turned, and gazed deeply at the ruined temple. He bowed deeply, sincerely praying:

"May the young friend turn misfortune into fortune, his Dao path boundless!"

"If ever I have the chance, I shall repay this life-saving grace!"

Young Master Yun also bowed wholeheartedly.

The middle-aged cultivator sighed, though reluctantly, and performed a respectful bow.

Thereafter, the three gradually faded into the distance, leaving Da Li Mountain—and this place of turmoil—behind...

Mo Hua was the opposite.

He could not leave; instead, he had to follow the Weird Daoist, step by step, toward Shancheng, into the heart of this blood-soaked chaos.

After leaving the ruined temple, another dozen days passed before Mo Hua finally arrived before Shancheng.

At this point, he was still dozens of li away, yet he could see from afar the blood-red banners blotting out the sky and the raging sea of blood.

Just as he had seen when he left Shancheng that day.

"Master…"

Worried, Mo Hua turned and asked the Weird Daoist: "Uncle, are we entering the city now?"

The Weird Daoist's expression was blank.

Mo Hua was not surprised; he was used to it. His uncle rarely spoke, especially rarely spoke to him.

Mo Hua did not mind.

When you cannot change others, you must learn to adapt to them.

He had already learned to read, from his uncle's hollow, cold face and pitch-black eyes, what he intended to say.

Just now, with his uncle scowling and looking displeased, it meant:

"Do not enter the city."

Mo Hua continued: "Not enter the city? Then where are we going?"

The Weird Daoist's pitch-black eyes glanced at Mo Hua.

"Enter the mountains?" Mo Hua ventured.

The Weird Daoist's expression froze.

Mo Hua said: "What are we doing entering the mountains?"

The Weird Daoist's pupils darkened further, his face turning even blacker.

Mo Hua understood.

His uncle wanted him to shut up.

Mo Hua nodded, obediently following behind without saying another word.

And indeed, the Weird Daoist led him into the mountains, arriving at a cliff.

This cliff lay outside Shancheng.

Around them, jagged rocks and withered vegetation.

Mo Hua checked the map and found that, according to its markings, this place was called "Kumu Cliff."

Around it, green mountains and lush grass, yet here, not a blade of grass grew.

Mo Hua extended his spiritual sense to survey the surroundings and discovered the area's energy was sealed off, as if concealing dark, sinister qi—hence the barren rocks and lifeless soil.

"Why did my uncle bring me here?"

Mo Hua glanced at the Weird Daoist.

The Weird Daoist ignored him, walking straight to the base of the cliff.

Mo Hua's heart leapt—"Does my uncle intend to jump off the cliff?"

Then he saw the Weird Daoist step forward—and heaven and earth inverted, mountains and rivers hung upside down.

The cliff beneath their feet suddenly rotated, floating into the sky, forming a massive Shi Dian, within which pavilions stood stern and dark shadows loomed.

Mo Hua was stunned—"Is this a phantom array?"

And nearly indistinguishable from reality—certainly a second- or third-grade array.

Beneath this phantom array lay a demonic palace?

Was this a long-standing den of demonic cultivators?

And judging by its appearance, this demonic palace had existed for a long time; someone had clearly built this demonic lair on Kumu Cliff, beyond the Wuxing Sect, long ago.

The Weird Daoist glanced at Mo Hua.

Mo Hua understood: his uncle was saying, "Follow me…"

Mo Hua nodded obediently and followed the Weird Daoist up the stone steps, entering the demonic palace.

Inside the demonic palace, it was bloody and sinister.

And dark qi surged in waves.

Mo Hua felt uneasy, but what surprised him more was the sheer number of demonic cultivators inside.

These demonic cultivators were monstrous in appearance—not only numerous, but their cultivation levels were extremely high, their bodies wreathed in demonic qi, clearly practicing superior demonic cultivation arts.

And their discernment was clearly far superior.

Some outer demonic cultivators, upon seeing the Weird Daoist, mostly sneered, even glaring with murderous intent and launching attacks.

But the demonic cultivators within the palace, upon seeing the Weird Daoist, mostly looked solemn, showing signs of wariness—as if recognizing his identity.

The Weird Daoist remained expressionless, ignoring their gazes.

Yet their gazes—whether startled, probing, or cold—fell entirely upon Mo Hua…

They seemed deeply puzzled: why would the Weird Daoist be accompanied by such a child—low in realm, not practicing demonic arts, possessing a pure and upright aura, and still so youthful?

Under the stares of these demonic lords, Mo Hua felt a twinge of guilt.

Yet he thought: he could not disgrace his master or his "uncle," so he forced himself to appear calm, lifting his head and straightening his posture—though his body still instinctively edged closer to the Weird Daoist.

He felt safer beside the Weird Daoist.

The Weird Daoist walked straight through the crowd's stares to the center of the hall, found a seat, and sat down. Mo Hua stood beside him and whispered:

"Uncle, why are we here?"

The Weird Daoist's expression was cold.

Mo Hua secretly watched his face for a long time, but could not decipher a single thought.

It was probably a long story, too complicated to explain at once, so his senior uncle chose not to speak of it.

Yet though the Treacherous Daoist remained silent, other demonic cultivators still whispered among themselves.

Mo Hua listened secretly, listening for a long while, until at last he caught a few key words:

Things like the Dark Ancestor, the Demon Lord, the Venerable, the Ancestor—and then…

The Ten Thousand Demons Assembly!

"The Ten Thousand Demons Assembly?"

Mo Hua's heart tightened.

A gathering of the old demonic masters?

Was his senior uncle coming to this Hanging Demon Hall on withered tree cliff to attend the Ten Thousand Demons Assembly?

Mo Hua's thoughts stirred slightly; he felt a small fear, and whispered:

"Senior Uncle, am I really suited to attend this 'Ten Thousand Demons Assembly'…?"

I'm a proper cultivator.

Not some little demon brat.

And I'm only Qi Condensation.

Attending a gathering of great demonic masters—of this age, this realm, this status—doesn't that seem impolite?

The Treacherous Daoist's pupils darkened.

Mo Hua fell silent.

Yet inside, he kept pondering:

"What exactly is this Ten Thousand Demons Assembly for?"

"Could it be aimed at Master?"

"Which demonic cultivators will attend? At least Jin Dan? Will the Nascent Soul Xuan Sanren come too?"

"Will there be even stronger demonic masters?"

"What does Treacherous Daoist—my 'senior uncle'—plan to do at this assembly?"

"Is he trying to ally with some scattered master, some Venerable, or some ancient demonic ancestor, to join forces against the Dao Court and scheme against Master, to seize that so-called 'heaven-scaled opportunity'?"

"Will he… kill Master?"

As Mo Hua thought of this, he grew deeply troubled…

Inside the demon hall, it was dull, bloody, and oppressive.

Bones of the dead formed the beams; human skins served as paintings.

As time passed, more demonic masters entered the hall, and the atmosphere grew ever more solemn…

Mo Hua gradually grew numb and drowsy, his tension and unease fading.

Finally, leaning against the Treacherous Daoist's stone chair, he stood and dozed off.

After who knew how long, a cold wind swept through—Mo Hua shuddered, opened his eyes, and his drowsiness vanished.

At this moment, the demon hall was filled with many figures.

They were called "people," yet none truly looked human.

Some were half-corpse, half-demon; others half-beast, half-phantom.

Even those with human forms, upon closer look, were clearly not human.

Some had pale faces like the dead; others had beautiful features with lips and teeth stained crimson; some were fat and bloated, coiled by python-like serpents; others were emaciated, their backs carved with demonic runes…

The entire demon hall was eerie, solemn, and silent enough to hear a pin drop.

Dead silence.

"Has the Ten Thousand Demons Assembly begun?"

Mo Hua's heart tightened—he saw several figures slowly materialize atop the towering throne of white bone and fangs.

These figures radiated an utterly terrifying aura.

Deep as an abyss, vast as an ocean.

Merely a hint of their presence pressed upon Mo Hua, making it hard to breathe.

And one of those figures, Mo Hua recognized—he was the one who had unfurled the Blood Banner, hung the Demon Sword, and sealed off Shancheng with a sea of blood, trapping Master within the Wuxing Sect—the ancient demonic ancestor—

Xuan Sanren!

Mo Hua felt a chill, and his gaze trembled.

Then these figures seated upon the white bone throne, who sat as equals to Xuan Sanren—were they all Nascent Soul demonic ancestors?!

Today another 6k~

(End of Chapter)