Chapter 77

Mo Hua had assumed Zhang Lan's remark "I'll come find you when I'm free" was just polite small talk, but he hadn't expected him to be serious.

After that day, Zhang Lan kept coming to the eatery, ordering a pot of wine and a dish of meat, watching the crowd pass by on the street, eating all morning. Occasionally spotting Mo Hua, he'd complain:

"You're just a kid—where do you vanish to every day? I've come several times and never seen you."

Mo Hua's small face turned serious. "I'm not like you. I'm very busy."

"What could you possibly be busy with?" Zhang Lan didn't believe him.

Mo Hua held up his fingers, counting off one by one:

"Daily cultivation, sketching arrays when I have time, reading array books when I'm tired, slipping over to deliver food to Mr. and asking questions, helping neighbors fix their arrays…"

Zhang Lan's head spun. "Alright, alright, I give up—I'm beaten by you."

A little cultivator of eleven or twelve, busy every day like this—while he, a Dao Ting Si cultivator, spent his daylight hours drinking here—Zhang Lan even felt a pang of guilt.

He remembered how his father had scolded him, pointing his finger and raging until he was drenched in blood and bile, yet Zhang Lan had felt nothing inside.

"By the way, are there any fun places in Xiancheng?" Zhang Lan asked.

"I'm a good kid. I don't like playing around. How would I know?"

Mo Hua refused to answer—he didn't know what kind of "fun" Zhang Lan meant. He was still a child; he couldn't touch anything unsuitable for minors.

"Then what about lively places?" Zhang Lan lowered his expectations.

"The east side of Nandajie is livelier."

"I've been there. No cultivators, few market stalls—boring." Zhang Lan wasn't interested.

"Of course it's not lively during the day—you're the only one slacking off. Everyone else has to earn a living." Mo Hua said.

Zhang Lan had no reply. After thinking it over, he realized Mo Hua was right—he really was slacking off. Well, slacking off then.

"So when is it lively?" Zhang Lan asked.

Mo Hua thought a moment. "The day after tomorrow. It's the Hunter's Festival—once a year, the liveliest of all."

"What's the Hunter's Festival?"

Mo Hua explained: "It's the festival where hunters celebrate their harvest. October is peak hunting season; after that, demonic beasts grow less active and hunting yields drop. Hunters usually hunt more in October, then sell their spoils during the festival, rest for a while afterward. The market's full of everything—it's wild."

Zhang Lan was surprised. "You know a lot."

"Naturally," Mo Hua patted his chest. "I'm practically a local little boss."

Zhang Lan laughed, but now he was intrigued. "Fine, I'll go check it out the day after tomorrow." He brushed his sleeve and turned to leave.

Mo Hua watched him curiously. "Aren't you going to settle your bill?"

"I left dozens of spirit stones at the counter—just deduct them." Zhang Lan looked very suave.

Mo Hua clicked his tongue, thinking Zhang Lan had the air of a total sucker.

He returned to his array book, deciding to learn a few more arrays these two days, then rest during the Hunter's Festival and play with Brother Da Hu for a couple days.

Bai Bai heard Mo Hua was going to the Hunter's Festival and nearly drooled with envy.

The Bai family had strict rules—even outside the clan, Sister Xue demanded they train daily, and added alchemy, arrays, and artifact forging without exception, all scheduled clearly.

Perhaps precisely because they were outside the clan, Sister Xue feared they'd fall behind other disciples, so she imposed even stricter demands. Many alchemy, artifact forging, or cultivation books Mo Hua glanced at seemed impossibly profound and obscure—he couldn't understand a word.

Fortunately, the array books Mo Hua could still understand, and they didn't seem too hard.

But Mo Hua had always wondered: why did the Bai siblings become Mr.'s provisional disciples?

So far, Mr. hadn't taught them anything special, had he?

Everything they studied, Mo Hua could study too. Everything they asked, Mo Hua overheard. Some things were obscure, but not so profound they needed Mr.'s guidance.

Even if Mr. taught them nothing, their cultivation was perfectly arranged by the family—no need for Mr. to intervene.

Only Mo Hua often visited Mr.'s bookhouse, bringing food and asking questions.

The Bai siblings only trained and studied in the small pavilion. In Mo Hua's memory, beyond their routine greetings and questions, they'd never privately sought out Mr.

This puzzled Mo Hua deeply.

Or perhaps Mr. wouldn't teach certain things to provisional disciples—only to direct disciples?

Were they persistently clinging to him, hoping he'd take them as disciples and teach them deeper arts?

The difference between provisional and direct disciples was huge: provisional disciples called him "Mr.," but direct disciples could call him "Master."

Cultivators took teacher-disciple lineage extremely seriously—"One day a teacher, forever a father" wasn't an exaggeration. Chen Dazhu had been taken as a disciple by Master Chen, who raised him like a half-son, intending him to care for him in old age and bury him.

Because the bond between teacher and disciple was so heavy, betraying one's sect was considered one of the gravest sins in the cultivation world.

Mo Hua rubbed his chin, suddenly wondering: "Will Mr. ever take me as a direct disciple?"

Mo Hua briefly compared his own cultivation level, spiritual roots, talent, and family background with the Bai siblings—and instantly cooled down.

It was better not to reach too high.

Mo Hua thought, and quietly dismissed this unrealistic thought.

Two days later, the Hunter's Festival arrived.

The Hunter's Festival was one of Xiancheng's largest festivals, even bigger than the Lotus Festival.

In Xiancheng, whether poor hermits or wealthy clan cultivators, all had prepared early for the Hunter's Festival. From morning on, the city buzzed with festival energy; by nightfall, it blazed with lanterns.

During the Hunter's Festival, crowds swarmed, so the eatery would be busy—Liu Ruhua stayed home with Aunt Jiang and several temporary aunts to manage the business.

Seeing Mo Shan had to contact buyers to sell the pelts, bones, and core stones of the hunting team's kills over the past month, since the coming months were the off-season—many cultivators relied on this spirit stone income to survive until next year.

Mo Hua could only go shopping with Brother Da Hu and the other three.

But Brother Da Hu and the others had another task: participating in the Hunter's Rite.

Every year during the Hunter's Festival, the Hunter's Rite was held—a ceremony for young cultivators of Qi Condensation Sixth Layer and above to become hunters.

Qi Condensation Sixth Layer was a watershed for Xiancheng's hermits: the peak of Qi Condensation Mid-Stage, and the threshold toward Qi Condensation Late-Stage.

Qi Condensation Mid-Stage cultivators could learn basic spells or martial arts; their spiritual energy and physical strength were no longer weak, giving them some ability to defend against demonic beasts.

One step forward from Qi Condensation Mid-Stage was Qi Condensation Late-Stage—in Xiancheng, where most cultivators were Qi Condensation stage, Qi Condensation Late-Stage was the goal of many.

But this step involves many variables; many cultivators never take it due to issues with spirit stones, spiritual roots, or cultivation techniques.

Thus, for lone cultivators, Qi Condensation Sixth Layer is enough to become a true Demon Hunter; becoming a Demon Hunter means earning a living by hunting demonic beasts.