Chapter 800

Ku Shan, deep and silent.

Sunlight filtered through the dense forest, sliced into shards of shadow, scattered across the ground, bright and cool.

On the mountain steps, fallen leaves piled up, soft underfoot.

In this mountain, rarely trodden by humans, there lay a peculiar quiet charm.

Mo Hua stepped on the fallen leaves along the mountain steps and returned to the ruined temple.

Inside the ruined temple, as always, it was still dilapidated.

The roof still leaked rain, the walls still let in wind, the altar held nothing—not even a stale bun—only years-old rainwater, settled at the bottom of the bowl, filthy.

The clay statue of Huang Shanjun wore a look of suffering.

When a man is poor, life is hard.

When a mountain god is poor, life is just as hard.

The moment Mo Hua entered, the smoke-like form of Huang Shanjun drifted slowly from the clay statue, bowed to Mo Hua, and forced a smile:

"Young friend…"

Mo Hua smiled brightly and waved at it:

"Huang Shanjun, long time no see. Did you miss me?"

Miss you? A big-headed ghost.

Not at all…

When you don't come, I get rare peace.

Huang Shanjun thought this, yet his smile grew even wider, cheerful:

"Naturally, it's been so long since I've seen you, I've missed you very much, missed you very much…"

Mo Hua nodded, very satisfied.

Huang Shanjun silently sighed inside.

No wonder since a few days ago, he'd felt unsettled—this "little plague god" was coming again.

But there was no help; the temple stood here, and he couldn't run away—he had to accept his fate.

Mo Hua's gaze swept over the ruined temple, feeling pity for Huang Shanjun's hard life, and placed the offerings he had prepared—chicken, duck, fish, meat—on the altar.

Though Huang Shanjun disliked Mo Hua's visits, he couldn't refuse these offerings of chicken and duck.

Ku Shan had almost no people; no one made offerings, and he'd starved down to nothing but a wisp of shadow.

Even knowing Mo Hua's "intentions were not good," he had no choice.

Mo Hua set down the offerings and asked: "By the way, does a mountain god need incense?"

"Yes…" Huang Shanjun said, relieved.

"Then good," Mo Hua said, "I brought you an incense stick. Wait, I'll light it for you."

Huang Shanjun's incense burner was in ruins, once copper-colored, now coated in black mud.

Mo Hua washed the burner, then laid fresh grains at the bottom, sprinkled a layer of incense ash, lit a stick of incense, and stuck it into the burner.

Just as Mo Hua personally inserted the incense into the burner.

Huang Shanjun felt as if a giant iron hammer had slammed into his chest, his heart leaping into his throat.

He immediately cried out in panic:

"No!"

Mo Hua's motion of offering incense halted; he turned his head, looking at Huang Shanjun strangely: "Don't you want incense?"

Huang Shanjun's chest still trembled, his eyes lingering in shock.

In that instant, he'd been terrified—his spirit nearly scattered.

It felt as if this wisp of incense smoke weighed as heavy as Taishan, crushing him, unable to bear it.

What does this mean…

This young friend's incense… he can't consume it?!

Huang Shanjun stared deeply at Mo Hua, then pulled at his lips, forcing a smile:

"Young friend's kindness, little god deeply appreciates it, but please, let's skip the incense. I've been starving too long—just the offerings will do. Incense can't be eaten, or I'll burst…"

"Burst?" Mo Hua frowned, muttering, "Can a god even burst?"

But fine, if he won't eat it.

Probably used to being poor—suddenly getting a full meal, so he can't handle anything too rich.

Mo Hua nodded.

"Then eat the offerings."

Huang Shanjun bowed: "Thank you, young friend."

Thus, inside the ruined temple, the clay statue slowly released Huang Shanjun's form, descending upon the altar, beginning to feast on the offerings Mo Hua had placed.

As he ate, Mo Hua couldn't just watch.

He also took from his storage pouch the "snacks" he'd prepared for himself, leapt onto the altar, sat beside Huang Shanjun, and ate with him.

Huang Shanjun ate the offerings while secretly observing Mo Hua.

Only now did he realize Mo Hua had changed again.

His aura was restrained, his spiritual sense seamless—making Huang Shanjun feel drawn to him, yet faintly radiating a sense of "majesty" that stirred fear.

Huang Shanjun was inwardly startled.

If he remembered right, it had only been a year…

In just one year, this little boy had undergone another transformation as profound as rebirth.

Even more absurd: Mo Hua's spiritual awareness was clearly stronger.

But just how strong… Huang Shanjun was momentarily uncertain.

A person's Primordial Spirit is mostly sealed within the Mind Sea; only a small portion is projected outward.

Foundation Establishment cultivators cannot send their Primordial Spirit out of the body; to glimpse its true form, one must either lure them into a dream or invade their Mind Sea.

Huang Shanjun stole a quick glance at Mo Hua.

"Lure him into a dream, or invade his Mind Sea?"

The moment this thought arose, he immediately snuffed it out.

Anyone who courts death will surely die.

Even a god is no different.

"To be human is to be humble; to be a god is the same—I am no longer what I once was. I must be even more 'law-abiding and cautious'…"

Huang Shanjun murmured inwardly.

Then, calm and composed, it began eating the offerings.

Mo Hua ate quickly, wolfing down his food; Huang Shanjun, as a mountain god, had to maintain dignity, so he ate slowly, deliberately.

After finishing, with nothing else to do, Mo Hua turned to Huang Shanjun:

"Huang Shanjun, may I ask you something about Primordial Spirit Sword Formation?"

Huang Shanjun, delicately nibbling a chicken leg, looked surprised. "Didn't you already ask me that before?"

Mo Hua nodded. "I did—but recently, I've thought of some other questions."

Previously, he knew nothing about Primordial Spirit Sword Formation—he was a complete outsider.

But now it was different; he had learned a little of the Sword Transformation Technique, one foot barely across the threshold, with basic understanding—his questions naturally changed.

Huang Shanjun did not want to answer.

Especially about "Primordial Spirit Sword Formation"—it was a lifelong wound for it.

But having eaten his food, it could not refuse.

Moreover, Mo Hua's aura of authority had grown heavier; it dared not refuse.

"Young master, ask—this humble god knows nothing if not spoken."

"Hmm." Mo Hua nodded, then posed the questions he had long pondered to Huang Shanjun:

"Huang Shanjun, must Primordial Spirit Sword Formation use a sword?"

"Naturally—how else could it be called Primordial Spirit Sword Formation?"

"I mean, once the Primordial Spirit is transformed into 'sword intent,' must it still be channeled through sword qi or a spiritual sword to be used? Can it be used directly?"

"This…" Huang Shanjun hesitated, troubled.

"I never studied it myself, so I don't know clearly—but the sword cultivator I fought indeed used a sword to carry his sword intent."

"Besides, even if it were possible to wield sword intent without sword qi or a spiritual sword, one would need to master the Primordial Spirit Sword Formation technique to an extremely profound level…"

"If you're just starting out, learning everything for the first time, still struggling with the sword technique, and already consider bypassing the sword entirely—aren't you trying to run before you've learned to crawl?"

Mo Hua understood. "That's true…"

Sword qi and spiritual swords are like crutches.

With crutches, one can better control sword intent and activate the Primordial Spirit Sword Formation technique.

Only when one reaches profound mastery, when the sword Dao is perfected, can one consider discarding the crutches and relying solely on Primordial Spirit sword intent for combat.

And even then, when facing true enemies, one cannot rely solely on sword intent.

One must fuse spiritual sword, sword qi, and sword intent into one to unleash the full power of the Grand Void Primordial Spirit Sword Formation Technique.

"Grand Void Primordial Spirit Sword Formation requires a 'sword' as a medium…"

Mo Hua murmured softly, then asked:

"Then what would Primordial Spirit Sword Formation be like without a sword as a medium? Would it be like this…"

Mo Hua extended two fingers and made a swift, elegant gesture through the air.

"…Point a finger, 'whoosh,' and the Primordial Spirit Sword Formation flies out like sword flight?"

Huang Shanjun rubbed his chin. "Probably not… but I can't recall clearly."

"Think hard," Mo Hua said. "Recall more—when you were cut down by Primordial Spirit Sword Formation, what exactly did you see?"

Huang Shanjun: "..."

This child always liked to rub salt into others' wounds.

So, enduring the pain, it forced itself to remember, dredging up the unwilling battle from its nearly forgotten memories.

Fragments of the past surfaced in its heart.

Huang Shanjun's aura shifted; it was no longer just a fallen mountain god—its brows and eyes now carried an unfathomable aura of authority.

Huang Shanjun spoke slowly:

"In that battle, I was corrupted by dark thoughts, lost my sanity, and fought the sword cultivator to the death—almost purely by instinct."

"That sword cultivator's power, back then, truly came from an ancient sword he had cultivated with his life."

"His sword intent was vast and boundless, like Grand Void itself, fused within the ancient sword, its edge so sharp that with nothing but mortal flesh and mortal sword Dao methods, he wounded me—a god."

"I am not familiar with this sword technique, but from my experience fighting him, the Grand Void Primordial Spirit Sword Formation Technique is still a special kind of sword technique—only, it attaches Primordial Spirit-generated 'sword intent' to the sword, and even then, it must still involve a 'sword' to be used."

"From the outside, it looks exactly like an ordinary sword cultivator using sword techniques."

"Only gods or cultivators who deeply understand the Primordial Spirit Dao can perceive its true power…"

Mo Hua sighed, disappointed. "So in the end, it still can't escape sword techniques…"

This was his weakest weakness.

Though his sword flight was formidable, Mo Hua knew well—his "sword flight" was merely superficial; in essence, it was not sword technique at all, but a "Primordial Spirit control of objects" method, only appearing like sword flight.

"Not quite…"

Huang Shanjun frowned.

Mo Hua blinked. "What do you mean?"

Huang Shanjun strained to recall again, his gaze solemn, then exclaimed in surprise:

"I remember now—when I fought that sword cultivator back then, I lost control and slapped his ancient sword out of his hand."

"Without his sword to rely on, he immediately fell on the defensive. I moved to finish him off, lunging at him—just then, his eyes suddenly flashed…"

Mo Hua startled. "Eyes?"

"Yes," Huang Shanjun nodded. "His eyes flashed, as if sword light had coalesced within them—deadly sharp. I only glanced at them, and my eyes burned with pain; my entire spiritual sense felt as if pierced by ten thousand swords."

"Taking advantage of that opening, the sword cultivator used his spiritual awareness to recall his ancient sword, regained his stance, and resumed fighting me."

"But he used that technique—sword light coalescing in his eyes—only once, at that critical moment. After that, we fought to the death, exhausting ourselves completely, and he never used it again."

"So that means…" Mo Hua's eyes lit up. "The True Scripture of Spiritual Awareness Turning to Sword—can it be used not with a sword, but with the 'eyes' to unleash sword intent?"

Huang Shanjun shook his head. "I don't know. I only saw that man use it once—and only once."

"I'm not even sure if it's truly part of the True Scripture of Spiritual Awareness Turning to Sword…"

But Mo Hua ignored what Huang Shanjun said and continued following this line of thought on his own.

Eyes. Sword light. Killing intent…

Yet he still didn't fully understand, so he asked Huang Shanjun:

"Why the eyes? Why not the mouth, nose, or ears? Is it because the eyes are the window of spiritual awareness?"

Huang Shanjun nodded. "Correct. A cultivator's spiritual awareness resides in the spiritual sea and can be projected outward to perceive the surroundings. The strongest point for projecting spiritual awareness is the eyes."

"A person's eyes are the gateway and window of spiritual intent."

"Conversely, the weakest point in a cultivator's spiritual awareness lies in the eyes."

"Some ghosts and malevolent spirits enjoy luring souls—some use demonic sounds to bewitch the ears, others use bewitching fragrance to entice the nose—but the most insidious method is visual illusions."

"Some ghosts—you look at them once, and your soul is stolen."

Mo Hua suddenly understood. "So that's how it is…"

He silently noted it down, deciding to try when he returned—could he cultivate sword light within his own eyes?

If he could project sword light, he wouldn't even need a sword.

Mo Hua wanted to ask more about other aspects of the True Scripture of Spiritual Awareness Turning to Sword.

But no matter how hard he pressed Huang Shanjun to recall that painful memory, he could extract no further clues.

Huang Shanjun looked pitiful.

Mo Hua didn't press further, and instead asked about something else:

"Huang Shanjun, what path do gods follow?"

Gods are born of the Dao; though long-lived, they cannot achieve true immortality.

Since they cannot achieve immortality, they must surely seek the Dao and ascend to immortality to truly match the heavens and earth in longevity.

So, do gods also cultivate the Dao?

"What kind of 'Dao' do gods cultivate?"

"Is it the Dao of spiritual awareness ascending through constant transformation?"

Huang Shanjun said: "I don't know the cultivators' terminology, but according to the gods' tradition, spiritual awareness transformation refers to the process of spiritual awareness ascending by continually 'uniting with the Dao'—that is, 'Dao Transformation.'"

Dao Transformation?!

Mo Hua's expression shifted sharply.

He suddenly remembered: when he had previously devoured the divine marrow and fused divine nature with human nature, he had received some kind of "insight" from the void—his mind had instinctively surfaced this word:

"Spiritual Awareness Dao Transformation!"

These four characters seemed carved into the "divine marrow," emerging naturally as he comprehended the Great Dao.

It felt like…

A divine inheritance?

And it wasn't just that…

Mo Hua faintly recalled something much earlier—in a desolate mountain, he had buried alive a black-robed human trafficker leader.

On that leader's body, a horned demon, connected to the Great Wild Evil God, was parasitic.

This demon appeared to be a divine corpse, and it had spoken to him these words:

"... You have the foundation for Spiritual Awareness Dao Transformation, yet why is your divine marrow so faint?"

"Why are there no signs of 'Feasting on Worship'?"

"Why is your humanity abundant, yet your divinity negligible?"

"This is impossible…"

At the time, he knew little of the path of gods and didn't understand these terms, so he dismissed them.

But now, connecting everything, Mo Hua began to understand…

The path of the gods is the process of transforming their own spiritual awareness through "Dao Transformation"?

And had he, without realizing it, already subjected his spiritual awareness to Dao Transformation?

Mo Hua frowned and murmured:

"... Spiritual Awareness Dao Transformation?"

Huang Shanjun heard him and shook his head to correct: "Not 'spiritual awareness' Dao Transformation—'spiritual intent' Dao Transformation."

Mo Hua blinked, confused. "What's the difference?"

Huang Shanjun said: "Cultivators' spiritual awareness is called 'spiritual awareness.' All other forms of mental force in the world are called 'spiritual intent.' Among all spiritual intents, those of the gods are supreme."

"Only the gods' spiritual intent can undergo Dao Transformation—that's why it's called 'Spiritual Intent Dao Transformation.' Cultivators' spiritual awareness cannot."

Mo Hua asked quietly, "No exceptions?"

Huang Shanjun shook his head firmly, "Man is man, god is god. If there were exceptions, wouldn't that blur the line between mortals and deities? That violates the Dao's principles…"

After speaking, it glanced at Mo Hua—and suddenly froze.

One by one, strange signs about Mo Hua rose to its mind…

Huang Shanjun's heart lurched, "You aren't…?"

Mo Hua wore an innocent expression. "What?"

Huang Shanjun blinked.

What?

A mortal? Achieved Divine Mind Dao Transformation?

No… that should be impossible. Such an astonishing thing—it had lived this long and never heard of it.

Fundamentally, how could a mortal cultivator possibly undergo Divine Mind transformation and complete "Dao Transformation"?

It requires not only vast amounts of Divine Consciousness, but a qualitative shift in the Divine Mind, deep comprehension of the "Dao," and also the exceedingly rare "Divine Essence…"

Even deities find further "Dao Transformation" immensely difficult.

How much less a mere cultivator?

Huang Shanjun relaxed, sighing, "Nothing."

It had imagined too much…

Mo Hua blinked, dared not ask further, afraid that another question might expose him.

Even though Huang Shanjun had fallen on hard times, it had lived long and possessed immense experience—say too much, and it might guess.

Mo Hua himself did not know the dangers of "Divine Mind Dao Transformation."

What if it was some terrible taboo, so profound it could not be revealed—not even to any god?

If leaked, it would bring catastrophic, life-ending peril.

And now Huang Shanjun had guessed…

Then he had no choice—he'd have to silence it!

Mo Hua sighed.

He didn't have many divine friends.

Unless absolutely necessary, he truly didn't want to lose this "good friend."

Huang Shanjun suddenly felt a cold wind brush past, its neck chilling.

It couldn't help but glance at Mo Hua, nervously saying:

"Young friend, you aren't…?"

"Nothing," Mo Hua smiled reassuringly, then looked up at the sky and added, "It's getting late—I must go. I have other matters ahead…"

Huang Shanjun felt as if a great weight had been lifted.

As if the blood-dripping guillotine hanging over its head had just been withdrawn.

"Young friend, take care!" Huang Shanjun smiled.

Mo Hua nodded and stepped toward the door—but as one foot crossed the threshold, he suddenly turned back, gazing at Huang Shanjun.

Huang Shanjun's heart tightened, forcing a nervous laugh. "Young friend, is there something else?"

Mo Hua glanced around, then asked, "Huang Shanjun, your temple is in ruins—should I find someone to repair it?"

Huang Shanjun's expression hardened slightly. "I appreciate your kindness, young friend, but though this temple is broken, leaking wind and rain, I've grown accustomed to it."

"As the saying goes: great temples house great gods, small temples house small gods. This ruined temple suits me perfectly—a fallen little mountain god."

"Oh…" Mo Hua nodded, his gaze on Huang Shanjun suddenly sharpening. He spoke slowly:

"Huang Shanjun… are you hiding from something?"

At these words, Huang Shanjun's face changed instantly.

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