Chapter 98: Expressing Gratitude

Hearing Mo Shan say only five spirit stones, Zhou Cheng couldn't help opening his mouth, then sincerely said:

"Big Brother Mo, this won't do—how about I give you another five?"

He wanted to give more, but he truly had no spirit stones left.

He had quietly inquired in Xiancheng: painting a Iron Armor Array usually cost fifty spirit stones; only newly initiated array masters lacking confidence would charge thirty, and that was already the lowest.

Last night, he had worried for a long time, unsure how much Mo Shan would ask. But today, when he asked, Mo Shan only wanted five spirit stones—it left him deeply uneasy.

Mo Shan patted his shoulder. "Use the extra spirit stones to buy better Jin Shi spirit ink. It's all for the child—don't refuse."

Zhou Cheng felt deep gratitude and said no more.

In the afternoon, he took time to buy Jin Shi spirit ink and brought it, along with the vine armor, personally to Mo Hua's home. Mo Hua finished painting the Iron Armor Array in less than an hour, then handed the vine armor to Mo Shan.

Thus he earned five spirit stones, plus half a bottle of unused Jin Shi spirit ink.

Mo Hua thought this deal was acceptable.

"Should I tell others I'm already an array master, so they come to me for array paintings?"

Mo Hua thought for a moment, then shook his head.

He was still young; doing so would be too showy. He remembered Mr. Zhuang's words: cultivators must conceal their light; the beam that sticks out rots, the fat pig gets slaughtered. The cultivation world held too many dangers; with his current cultivation and experience, Mo Hua couldn't possibly guard against them all.

Moreover, his array skills were still far from sufficient—he still had much to learn. He couldn't sacrifice his Dao-seeking heart for fleeting profit.

The matter was settled. The next day, the hunter who had commissioned Mo Hua to paint the array suddenly came to the door, followed by a simple-looking young man.

"Daping, thank Big Brother Mo and Uncle Mo."

The boy didn't hesitate—he bowed deeply. "Thank you, Uncle Mo! Thank you, Brother Mo!"

Mo Shan introduced Mo Hua: "This is your Uncle Zhou, single name Cheng. This is his younger son, Zhou Daping. That array was painted for your Uncle Zhou's request."

"Hello, Uncle Zhou! Hello, Big Brother Daping!"

"Good, good," Zhou Cheng laughed repeatedly. "No need for such formality—just call me Daping."

Zhou Daping rubbed his head. "Just call me Daping."

Zhou Cheng handed over a pile of gifts: some wine and food, vegetables, fruits—all fine—but the most valuable was a bottle of spirit ink.

Mo Hua had accepted only five spirit stones to paint the array. Zhou Cheng had already felt guilty, but after seeing the vine armor, he noticed the array's patterns were precise, the brushwork elegant, faintly glowing golden.

Though he didn't understand arrays, the brushwork was clearly masterful—only immense effort could produce such results.

Zhou Cheng had assumed Mo Hua, being young, would produce a barely functional array. Now he saw that even compared to array masters in Xiancheng with twenty or thirty years' experience, Mo Hua's work was no less impressive.

Zhou Cheng tested the vine armor's effect—it was far better than he'd expected. In an emergency, it might truly save his son's life.

Now he felt even more guilty. He scraped together more spirit stones, bought special gifts, and came personally to express his thanks.

Mo Shan firmly refused. "Keep these for yourself. Earning spirit stones isn't easy."

But no matter how Mo Shan refused, Zhou Cheng was determined to give them.

The two stood in deadlock—it looked like they'd reach no resolution by nightfall.

Mo Hua finally said: "Father, Uncle Zhou means well—just accept them. If you ever need any arrays painted, just come to us."

Zhou Cheng beamed. "Brother Mo is right—don't refuse anymore."

Mo Shan, helpless, finally accepted.

Afterward, whenever Zhou Daping went hunting demons in the mountains, he wore the vine armor Mo Hua had painted. He was wounded a few times, but thanks to the armor's durability, none were serious.

When Zhou Cheng learned this, he finally sighed in relief. He thought all his effort hadn't been wasted—the spirit stones saved on healing alone were substantial, and if danger truly struck, the array on the armor could save his son's life.

As cultivators without sect backing, they lived in hardship, struggling to raise their son. If he died hunting demons, they'd have no tears left to cry.

Zhou Cheng had been a demon hunter for years—every year, young cultivators lost their lives to demon attacks.

Even seasoned veterans like him could be devoured if careless—how much more so for greenhorns?

Each time he thought of this, Zhou Cheng felt profound gratitude toward Mo Hua. But he was poor, had no spirit stones to give—so he could only speak well of him, to show his heart.

From then on, he praised Mo Hua to everyone: Mo Hua was young, but his array painting was excellent—once painted on vine armor, it became impervious to blades and spears; his son no longer feared entering the mountains.

His words were exaggerated, even false, but people who loved gossip adored hearing them.

Some didn't believe a ten-year-old could be an array master—but others did.

Every few days, someone invited Mo Shan to dinner or drinks, then subtly asked if his son truly could paint arrays, and whether vine armor with such arrays was truly impervious to blades and spears.

Mo Shan, helpless, explained: "My son can paint arrays, true—but even with arrays, vine armor can't be truly impervious. It's just a bit tougher than before."

"I thought so—if it were truly impervious, that'd be incredible."

"I've seen that armor. After the array, it's definitely harder—but still not enough. Fine for Qi Condensation mid-stage, useless for late-stage. Can't withstand a single claw from a Rank One late-stage demon beast."

"Useful for Qi Condensation mid-stage?" someone asked.

"Yes, quite effective—at least protects vital areas."

"Then I need one for my son. Every time he enters the mountains, I'm terrified. When I was young, I never felt this anxious. Me? Thick skin, tough flesh—I'm not afraid if a demon beast bites me. But I fear those beasts biting my son. One misstep, and I'll be burning paper for him before he even buries me…" a big man chuckled bitterly.

"Still just Qi Condensation mid-stage stuff—useless really…" someone scoffed.

"You don't even have a son, so of course it's useless. I have three sons! Mo Shan, we've been friends for years—you've got to let your son paint me a few. Three… no, six! I'll keep some as spares…"

"Oh, count me in too."

"I want one as well…"

"You don't even have a son—why do you need one?"

The man protested: "I don't have one now—does that mean I can't have one later?"

"Not necessarily."

"Shut up. He wants one—he wants one! Maybe he's got secret bastards out there."

"You bastard, what are you saying?!"

The men, drunk, began wrestling.

Mo Shan laughed and sighed in exasperation.

Thank you for the tip, Yao Yuan!