Chapter 686: Three-Colored Carp

Mo Hua's pupils shrank slightly.

"This is… the aura of a demon god?"

Did this small fishing village harbor a blood-demon god?

Mo Hua's pupils deepened further, his eyes utterly black, with white celestial patterns interwoven across the darkness, scanning outward.

But blood mist shrouded everything, obscuring celestial fate, devouring cause and effect.

The blood-colored fishing village was grim and desolate, its interior hazy, utterly unknown.

"Should I go deeper and take a look?"

Mo Hua's spirit felt drawn—just as he took a step, his heart lurched, and he snapped awake.

"Wrong."

Mo Hua's gaze sank.

"Something is luring me…"

Don't go!

The blood mist is hazy—there must be deadly danger inside; what lurks there is unknown.

Is there a "divine corpse" of the demon god? What level is it?

Are there cultivators possessed by the demon god? How many believers and lackeys are there? What are their cultivation levels?

I know none of this—I'm alone. I must not act rashly.

Besides, I'm only a Foundation Establishment cultivator. It's not shameful to be cautious when I should be.

Mo Hua restrained his curiosity, stepping backward slowly, one step at a time, away from the fishing village.

Only when he had retreated beyond the village and stepped onto the soil outside did he look back—and found the blood mist had vanished.

Beneath the night sky, the fishing village glowed with scattered lantern lights, quiet and peaceful, utterly ordinary.

Yet Mo Hua's brows tightened further.

"What exactly happened in this village…?"

The night was still deep, but Mo Hua no longer dared step into the blood-demon's darkness.

Demon gods should still be terrifying.

Cultivators' knowledge of the Dao is vast and varied; the divine knowledge of gods is equally profound.

Huang Shanjun's words about the gods' teachings—Mo Hua understood them, but not entirely.

After all, he was merely a "human," not a born "god," and knew very little of divine taboos.

To believe, from mere fragments heard from Huang Shanjun, that he could scorn demon gods and slaughter them freely—that was absurd.

So caution is still needed.

Never fight unprepared.

Mo Hua nodded.

This is the basic principle of a demon hunter pursuing beasts—and it will be my first rule for hunting demon gods from now on.

Mo Hua climbed a tree, taking in the entire fishing village, then suppressed his doubts and closed his eyes to rest.

His spiritual sense sank into his consciousness sea, as always practicing arrays upon the Dao Stele.

Guo Jiang Long entered the village; the blood mist was hazy, concealing his trail.

But no matter what he did, he would surely emerge again.

I'll wait at the village entrance—I won't miss him.

Mo Hua waited patiently.

But until dawn, when the eastern sky turned pale and morning clouds bloomed, Guo Jiang Long's figure remained unseen within the fishing village.

"Strange…"

Mo Hua muttered.

He studied the fishing village again.

The sky was gradually brightening; sunlight, breaking through the clouds, now pierced the damp mist and entered the village.

The village was dilapidated and poor, but as dawn broke and a new day arrived, the humble huts slowly came alive.

Cultivators rose; fisher-cultivators mended nets; children played and cried.

Smoke from cooking fires rose gently.

This was a poor but ordinary fishing village.

There was no trace of the eerie aura from last night's blood mist.

Mo Hua did not rashly enter; he remained hidden, crouched on the great tree, watching the villagers' daily lives for a long time, and sighed.

The life of a fisher-cultivator is truly hard.

Fisher-cultivators are cultivators without sects; no matter where they are, their lives are always the same.

They struggle desperately just to survive.

Beyond survival, they have no energy to think of anything else.

They cannot even secure livelihood—let alone immortality.

Mo Hua's heart ached slightly.

And within this fishing village, besides ordinary fisher-cultivators, there was no trace of any other cultivator—including Guo Jiang Long, disguised as a burly man.

"Where did Guo Jiang Long go?"

Mo Hua was puzzled.

He waited another half-day, still found no trace—but noon had arrived, and smoke from cooking fires rose again in the village.

Most low-tier cultivators are body cultivators, who trained their bodies since childhood and do physical labor as adults; generally, they eat well at noon to maintain strength for survival.

So lunch was more formal than breakfast.

Though the food wasn't particularly good, the scent of meals rose from every household, still wonderfully enticing.

Mo Hua rubbed his stomach—he was a little hungry.

His eyes flickered, then brightened—he spotted an acquaintance: the elderly fishing cultivator who had invited him home after he helped draw the array that day.

The fish cultivator was simmering fish soup at home, with seven or eight family members gathered around, lively and noisy.

Heaven and earth may be vast, but eating is the greatest matter.

He could also use the chance to ask a few questions.

Mo Hua leapt down from the tree, and while no one was watching, revealed his form and walked boldly into the small fishing village.

Guo Jiang Long had never seen him.

On that day, when they dragged him into the small grove to beat him, he had not shown his face; later, when he intercepted them on the road, though he had appeared, he had covered his face.

So Guo Jiang Long did not recognize him.

If he walked in boldly, coming to the fishing village to mooch meals, even if Guo Jiang Long saw him, he would hardly suspect this young cultivator was tailing him.

Mo Hua entered the small fishing village with calm composure and light steps.

He wore no Grand Void Gate robe, only simple everyday clothes—pale and handsome, with kind eyes and brows—and strode into the village as if returning to his own home.

The fishing cultivators along the way saw him, saw his boldness, and harbored no suspicion.

They merely, drawn by his striking beauty, glanced at him a few extra times.

Thus, Mo Hua openly "mixed" into the village; when he neared the elderly fish cultivator's home, he slowed his pace.

The elderly fish cultivator was boiling fish soup; soon he looked up and saw "just passing by" Mo Hua—he froze in surprise, then beamed with delight, and warmly called out:

"Young brother!"

Mo Hua pretended not to hear.

The fish cultivator called again: "Young brother, it's me!"

Mo Hua finally turned, feigning astonishment: "Old man?"

The fish cultivator beamed and gestured: "Come, come—the fish soup is just boiled, fresh as can be, come taste it."

Mo Hua blushed modestly: "That would be too much trouble."

The fish cultivator frowned: "What trouble? You helped us—offering you a fish is only right!"

He immediately turned to his entire family:

"This young brother is a disciple of Bairuda Sect, a remarkable array master—he repaired the array on our fishing net that day…"

At these words, his entire family looked at Mo Hua with reverence.

These fishing cultivators came from humble origins, with limited spiritual roots; hardly any of their children could enter Bairuda Sect.

None among them had ever become an array master.

Another man said: "Young brother, don't be shy—the soup will lose its freshness if it cools."

This man was the elderly cultivator's son, who had also seen Mo Hua that day.

Mo Hua smiled warmly: "Then I shall not refuse your kindness!"

So Mo Hua mooched a meal in the small fishing village.

The fish soup was fresh; though simply prepared with few seasonings, it was freshly killed and slow-simmered, its original flavor quite good.

But it contained little spiritual energy.

These were, in fact, the lowest-grade spiritual fish—cheap, used by lower-tier fishing cultivators just to fill their stomachs.

They offered only a taste; eating them wouldn't satisfy hunger.

The fishing cultivators' true staple for filling their bellies was a grayish-white flour food—bitter and hard, but filling.

Mo Hua took just a small bite and stopped eating—it tasted terrible.

Yet these fishing cultivators had to swallow this unpleasant food with their fish soup.

No matter how bad it tasted, they had to eat it—otherwise they'd lack the strength to go into the river and fish.

Mo Hua sighed inwardly.

Later, through conversation, he learned this family's surname was Yu—the most common surname in the small fishing village.

The elderly fish cultivator was known as "Old Yu," at Foundation Establishment early stage.

His eldest son was called "Yu Dahe," at Foundation Establishment mid-stage realm—Mo Hua had met him before.

Yu Dahe was married and had two sons; though the three-generation family was poor, they did their best to live.

"By the way, young brother," Old Yu suddenly asked curiously, "why have you come to our village?"

Mo Hua was still drinking the fish soup; he replied with an excuse:

"I want to buy a few more nets—the last one tore when I caught a big fish."

"No problem," Old Yu said without suspicion. "I'll give you a few later—they're all handmade by us. The materials may be a bit inferior, and the weave rough, but they're extremely durable."

Mo Hua smiled: "Thank you, Master Yu."

Then he asked, slightly puzzled: "Master Yu, do you all make your own nets?"

Old Yu shook his head: "There are alchemy shops in town that sell them, but they're too expensive—not worth wasting spiritual stones on."

"Since net-making isn't complicated, we just make them ourselves."

Old Yu sighed: "We fishing cultivators are poor—there are too many places we need spiritual stones; every one we save counts…"

He added with self-deprecation: "An old beggar like me—don't look down on me, young brother."

Mo Hua shook his head: "When I was a child, my family was poor too—just like yours."

Old Yu paused, then assumed Mo Hua was merely comforting them, and smiled kindly.

"By the way," Mo Hua asked, "Master Yu, do outsiders ever come to your village?"

Lao Yutou had no suspicion and, after a moment of thought, said:

"It's not that frequent…"

"Occasionally, someone comes to collect fish, or to ask prices; some houses stand empty, and other cultivators come to live in them for a while…"

"Houses stand empty?" Mo Hua asked, puzzled.

"Mm." Lao Yutou had finished eating; he pulled out a roll of bitter tobacco from somewhere, took a silent puff, and spoke casually:

"When a person dies, the house stands empty."

Mo Hua's gaze darkened slightly.

Lao Yutou clicked his tongue and shook his head:

"Fishing cultivators aren't in a good line of work—when the storms are big, people die; when they're small, people still die."

"Last year, a father and his two sons braved a fierce storm to fish in the Yan Shui River—then a massive wave overturned their boat, and all three sank to the riverbed and were eaten by water demons…"

"Their house was left empty after that…"

"This happens several times a year: some old fishing cultivators live on, but their children and grandchildren all die; some newlywed couples lose the husband to a whirlpool, leaving the wife a living widow; others starve to death at home after months of relentless storms that make fishing impossible; and some fishing cultivators, unable to bear the hardship any longer, pack up and leave to seek other livelihoods—no one knows if they're alive or dead now…"

"So every year, some houses stand empty…"

Lao Yutou took another puff of tobacco, his expression utterly unmoved—he had grown numb to it all.

"Even when the storms are small, people still die?" Mo Hua asked again.

Lao Yutou coughed softly and sighed, "When the storms are small, the fish you raise and catch are plentiful; when fish are plentiful, prices drop naturally—you don't earn much more than when the storms are big…"

"You're still just as poor."

"And the families who run the dining halls come down to suppress prices, offering shockingly low rates—if you agree, fine; if you refuse, you'll get beaten."

"The unlucky ones get killed outright, and the other side denies it."

"At least this way you're selling fish—sometimes, when desperation drives them mad, people sell their own children."

Mo Hua frowned. "Does Dao Ting Si do nothing?"

Lao Yutou shook his head, a bitter expression on his face:

"Young brother, you don't understand—we cultivators who don't live inside Xiancheng, scattered outside, have no 'cultivation registration.'"

"Unregistered cultivators are loosely managed by Dao Ting Si—if someone goes missing or a few die, no one notices."

"Even…"

Lao Yutou's gaze grew cold and distant, "If the entire village died, Dao Ting Si might not find out for months…"

Mo Hua's heart turned cold; he hurriedly asked:

"Has something like that ever happened before?"

Lao Yutou froze. "What do you mean?"

Mo Hua whispered, "The whole fishing village died…"

Lao Yutou gave a forced laugh. "I was just saying that—you're too serious, kid…"

"Oh."

Mo Hua exhaled softly.

But then Mo Hua grew puzzled again: "Spirit fish should be expensive—why are the fishing cultivators still so poor?"

Mo Hua remembered how, back in Qingzhou City, Master Gu had treated him to a meal at Xianhe Pavilion, where a dish of spirit fish cost a considerable amount of spirit stones.

Lao Yutou waved his hand. "That's the nearby families selling them—one spirit fish delivered to the dining hall can earn them ten or even a hundred spirit stones."

"But here, for a first-grade spirit fish, we make only one-tenth of a spirit stone; for a second-grade, we're lucky to make one spirit stone…"

Lao Yutou sighed.

"Why not sell them yourselves?"

Lao Yutou shook his head. "It's not that simple—selling one or two is fine, but hundreds or thousands? If you don't sell them quickly, they rot in your hands."

"Besides, the nearby big and small families have long colluded—they set the prices and harvest conditions every year."

"We have no say."

"If anyone tries other methods to earn more spirit stones, they're secretly retaliated against…"

After speaking, Lao Yutou looked at Mo Hua with solemn gravity:

"So, young brother, you must study hard in your sect—when your cultivation reaches a high level, no one will dare to bully you."

Mo Hua looked at Lao Yutou, his emotions complicated.

When a cultivator reaches high cultivation, he won't be bullied—but naturally, he'll then want to bully others.

He'll bully people like you…

After a while longer of chatting, noon passed, and the fishing cultivators returned to work.

Yu Dahe went down to the river; Lao Yutou, it seemed, had some business in the afternoon but stayed behind.

Since Mo Hua had to wait in the fishing village for Guojianglong, he didn't leave either, sitting in the courtyard chatting with Lao Yutou.

Lao Yutou had lived a long life and seen many storms.

"Life now is hard, but it's not bad—at least the family stays together, and there's still food to eat…"

"In the past, when the Yan Shui River flooded wildly, with daily storms and torrential rain—that was truly no life for humans…"

"Oh oh." Mo Hua listened intently.

As they chatted, a group of cultivators approached from afar.

Leading them was a man of middle age, dressed neatly, likely at Foundation Establishment early stage, walking with his head held high—he seemed to be a family cultivator.

Behind him followed six others: one Foundation Establishment early stage, five Qi Condensation ninth layer, all large and imposing.

The cultivator walked straight into Lao Yutou's home.

Seeing this, Lao Yutou immediately put on a servile smile, rushing forward, bowing deeply: "Manager Wang, thank you for coming."

The family cultivator called Wang Guanshi stood with his hands behind his back, head held high, as if too disdainful to speak to Old Yu Tou.

Someone beside him asked, "Where's the fish?"

Old Yu Tou nodded. "Here, here."

He returned inside, bent down, and pulled out a coarse hemp fish basket, then reached in and lifted out a carp, a forearm's length, golden in hue, shimmering with a luminous sheen, its scales like lotus petals.

Wang Guanshi glanced at it and nodded in satisfaction.

Someone beside him chuckled, "Old Yu Tou, not bad! At your age, you still managed to catch this 'Golden Lotus Three-Color Carp'…"

Old Yu Tou grinned, his face creased with smiles. "Lucky strike. I risked my life, braved the gales and waves, just to catch this one."

Wang Guanshi also nodded. "Good. With this fish, Young Master won't lose face at tonight's banquet for the noble families."

The Wang family servants took the basket from Old Yu Tou's hands and carried it out.

Old Yu Tou watched helplessly as they took the precious Three-Color Carp he'd gambled his life for, his heart aching with reluctance.

Wang Guanshi turned to leave, and the others followed.

Old Yu Tou's expression shifted slightly, but he still forced a smile, speaking humbly: "Wang Guanshi, the spirit stones…"

Wang Guanshi frowned.

One of the Wang family disciples behind him said, "Go to the Wang estate in three days to collect them."

"But—"

"But what? Our Wang family is a third-grade noble house—do you think we'd cheat you out of spirit stones?"

Old Yu Tou gritted his teeth. "Eight thousand spirit stones—that's no small sum! I—"

Wang Guanshi ignored him and walked straight out.

Old Yu Tou took a deep breath and stepped in front of Wang Guanshi, but dared not anger him—only kept smiling desperately. "Guanshi, please, have mercy…"

"I truly need these spirit stones urgently."

"My two little grandsons—I want to send them into a sect, so they can train properly and never suffer as I have."

"That's why I risked my life for this one…"

"I can't wait any longer for these eight thousand spirit stones…"

Wang Guanshi's face darkened, his tone dripping with contempt. "Eight thousand spirit stones? Does the Wang family not have them?"

"We have them, we have them," Old Yu Tou said.

"Go to the Wang estate in three days to collect them yourself."

They said the same thing again.

But Old Yu Tou stepped forward, gripping the fish basket tightly—as if clutching his own life—and shook his head.

"Give me the spirit stones, and I'll give you the fish."

Wang Guanshi frowned, growing impatient.

"Damn it, ungrateful old fool!" A burly man behind Wang Guanshi lunged forward and slapped Old Yu Tou across the face.

Old Yu Tou didn't resist. Five bloody finger marks appeared on his cheek, blood trickled from his lip—but he held the basket tighter, refusing to let go.

His face held no smile now—only numbness.

Only in his eyes remained a faint glimmer, as if this basket were the only hope left in his lifetime.

Wang Guanshi spat. "Damn old man, we're not refusing to pay you—why are you so stingy?"

He turned and ordered, "Take the fish. If he blocks with his hands, chop off his hands; if he blocks with his body, cut off his body—don't delay Young Master's banquet…"

One of the Wang disciples drew his sword.

Mo Hua's gaze turned cold with fury. He nearly hurled the bowl in his hand—but paused before doing so.

The bowl in his hand was intact.

So he picked up another bowl, chipped at the rim, and smashed it on the ground!

"Crash!"

Wang Guanshi and the others froze, turning to see a young cultivator in the courtyard.

Mo Hua slowly stood, head held high, wearing an arrogant, defiant expression.

"Who are you, a bunch of petty thugs, daring to steal my fish?"

Wang Guanshi's face flushed with anger, but seeing Mo Hua's plain clothes yet commanding aura—especially his brazen arrogance—he realized such behavior couldn't be faked by a commoner. He bowed respectfully.

"May I ask, which noble house do you belong to, Young Master?"

Mo Hua thought for a moment, then replied with unshakable confidence:

"The Gu family!"

Wang Guanshi's eyes narrowed. "Which Gu family?"

Mo Hua sneered. "Short-sighted fool—how many Gu families are there in Qianzhou?"

Wang Guanshi hesitated. "The Gu family of Qingzhou City?"

Mo Hua nodded. "Good. For a fool like you, that's some insight."

But Wang Guanshi suddenly laughed scornfully. "Liar. You think just because I mention Qingzhou's Gu family, you can claim to be from them?"

"Noble heirs never travel alone—how could you be one, wandering by yourself?"

Mo Hua sneered. "Do I need to explain my conduct to you?"

Wang Guanshi's gaze darkened.

Mo Hua didn't waste words—he pointed at him rudely and ordered: "Leave the fish. Get out."

He remembered how arrogant noble heirs behaved.

Abuse power. No explanations needed.

Wang Guanshi was uncertain.

This brat's origins are unknown; logically, it's best not to act rashly.

But if we don't take the fish back, how do we explain it to Young Master?

Wang the steward suddenly conceived a plan and bowed:

"Kindly tell me your noble name, so that when I give the fish to you, I may report back properly."

Mo Hua thought this made sense, and said:

"I'm Gu…"

But the words caught at his lips—he paused.

How does the Gu family rank their generations?

If I use the "Chang" generation, won't that put me on the same level as Uncle Gu? Then I'd have to call him "Brother Gu"?

Besides "Chang," what other generations are there?

Mo Hua was puzzled.

Yet in that moment of hesitation, Wang the steward deduced that Mo Hua was lying—he didn't even bear the surname Gu, and was certainly no scion of a prominent clan.

"This little fraud! Audacious to the extreme! Seize him!"

Wang the steward barked.

Several Wang clan cultivators, hearing this, grimaced and lunged at Mo Hua.

Mo Hua sighed.

His experience impersonating an arrogant, domineering scion was still lacking—what noble heir starts by reasoning?

Just attack outright…

Mo Hua reflected inwardly, then pointed a finger—Fireball Spell erupted instantly, blasting a Cultivation Base Ninth Layer cultivator clean away.

Wang the steward's gaze darkened.

This brat… is a Foundation Establishment cultivator?

No wonder I couldn't read his true level.

He then said sternly: "Be careful!"

So he's Foundation Establishment—what's a mere Foundation Establishment child going to do against a group of our family cultivators?

Yet within moments, his expression changed drastically.

Mo Hua stood motionless, his fingers tapping repeatedly—spell after spell: first disabling the Cultivation Base youths, then Golden Blades, Water Prison, Fireballs, Quicksand, Water Arrows—all unleashed at once.

Another Wang clan Foundation Establishment cultivator, barely a glance, was blasted to the ground by Mo Hua's spell barrage, humiliated and broken.

Such powerful spells!

He's a Spirit Cultivator!

Wang the steward's pupils shrank—he moved to rush forward, to close in and restrain this Spirit Cultivator—but instantly found himself frozen in place.

Mo Hua's gaze was icy as he pointed at him from afar.

Spells poured forth without end.

Wang the steward's scalp prickled; soon enough, he too collapsed without resistance.

Thus, the Wang clan cultivators were felled by Mo Hua's spells, like chopping vegetables.

Mo Hua nodded.

He was now a true disciple of a major sect, trained in the Grand Void Gate's lineage, and had absorbed hundreds of spells from fallen criminal cultivators.

His heritage stood on an entirely different plane from these arrogant, bullying minor clan cultivators.

Old Yu Tou, standing nearby, finally snapped back to awareness—he stared at the sprawled Wang clan cultivators, dumbfounded.

He never imagined that the brat who came to his house just for a meal could wield spells so devastatingly.

So many Wang clan cultivators, all incapacitated in moments, without Mo Hua even shifting his stance.

(End of Chapter)