Chapter 1018: The Yellow Springs

Feng Family’s cave-dwelling.

At night, Elder Zhang and Elder Feng sat facing each other, drinking in silence, their expressions grave.

“Brother Zhang, you’re saying… Yellow Springs?” Elder Feng’s brows knitted tightly.

The moment the two words “Yellow Springs” were spoken, the atmosphere in the room grew noticeably colder.

Elder Zhang nodded, his voice deep: “It seems someone wants to open the path of Yellow Springs… in Kanzhou.”

Elder Feng frowned. “Who?”

Elder Zhang shook his head. “Not even the ancestors can divine it…”

Elder Feng’s face grew even heavier. After a pause, he asked solemnly, “Does such a thing as… ‘Yellow Springs’ truly exist?”

Elder Zhang’s expression darkened. Slowly, he said:

“In the ancient records of Kanzhou from a hundred thousand years ago, the words ‘Yellow Springs’ do appear—described as a great calamity that annihilated an entire state.”

“But what exactly is this ‘Yellow Springs’?”

“Is it some great demon, ghost, or corpse?”

“Is it a demonic abyss, an ancient Daoist, or perhaps Heaven and Earth’s slaughter calamity, a karmic disaster…? No one knows.”

“How to open the Yellow Springs’ path, and what it truly signifies—I too am in the dark.”

Elder Feng said, “Since no one knows anything… Brother Zhang, how did you learn there are signs of the Yellow Springs’ path opening in Kanzhou?”

Elder Zhang’s tone grew cold: “The ancestors came to me in a dream. Within it were ill omens—the Canglan state perished, and eerie Yellow Springs water flowed through the earth-rivers, flooding the entirety of Kanzhou, twisting all living beings.”

“All of Kanzhou became a land of Yellow Springs, where yin and yang were muddled, and humans and ghosts indistinguishable…”

The image alone made Elder Feng shiver uncontrollably.

Elder Zhang sighed: “The calamity of the Yellow Springs is recorded in the ancient chronicles of every state.”

“The cultivation world is divided into nine states, with Daozhou at the center. The other eight states, following the principles of the Eight Trigrams, encircle and protect it.”

“My Zhang clan resides in Kanzhou. Kan corresponds to water.”

“And Yellow Springs too, is water of the Nine Nether.”

“By the logic of the Eight Trigrams, the disaster of the Yellow Springs must arise from Kanzhou. It is the very source of the Nine Nether—the origin of the Yellow Springs.”

“If Kanzhou suffers this calamity, my Zhang clan will bear the brunt. Our ancestral foundation has been here for generations—we cannot but devote our utmost effort…”

Elder Feng pondered a while, worry clouding his gaze, though confusion also lingered:

“Brother Zhang, there’s something I don’t understand.”

“Please, Brother Feng, speak,” said Elder Zhang.

Elder Feng said: “You and I both see this Qianxue state—teeming with people, mountains and seas thriving, a flourishing scene. The world is peaceful, the Nine States prosperous, brimming with vitality…”

“But…” Elder Feng frowned, “As you said, Kanzhou faces the threat of Yellow Springs, Lizhou has the turmoil of the Southern Wilderness, and elsewhere, there are occasional stirrings of…”

He hesitated, unwilling to voice it. At last, he braced himself and lowered his voice:

“Dao Corruption wreaking havoc…”

“So, is this world truly peaceful and flourishing, or is it in fact rife with unrest and calamity?”

His voice carried deep doubt.

Elder Zhang was silent for a long moment, then raised his eyes, fixing Elder Feng with a deep gaze. “Brother Feng, do you truly not know?”

Elder Feng’s eyes flickered, but he shook his head.

Elder Zhang spoke slowly, enunciating each word:

“The great clans are flourishing. You are an elder of such a clan, so you believe the cultivation world is flourishing.”

“But the prosperity of the clans comes at a price.”

“And those who bear that price, are the ones enduring unrest and calamity…”

Elder Zhang’s eyes grew profound, his tone heavy with meaning.

Some flourish, while others suffer the price. Thus the cultivation world is rife with chaos, and Kanzhou shows signs of Yellow Springs’ awakening.

Elder Feng looked thoughtful, though he clearly did not fully understand.

Elder Zhang had no wish to delve further into the matter. What weighed on his heart was still Kanzhou’s crisis.

He sighed earnestly:

“To be frank, Brother Feng, I came to Qianxue for three reasons. One, to attend the Sword Debate Assembly, so my clan’s disciples might witness the brilliance of Qianxue’s geniuses, and learn the truth that there are always greater talents in the world, lest they lose their drive to pursue the Dao.”

“Two, to visit old acquaintances.”

“And three, for the matter of the Yellow Springs.”

Elder Zhang looked seriously at Elder Feng. “Qianxue is a fifth-grade great state, with long-standing clans and sects. Its Daoist repositories must hold many ancient records.”

“If possible, I wish to consult them.”

“Some elders and learned Daoists in Qianxue—if there is a chance, I would ask you, Brother Feng, to introduce me.”

“I want to trace the root of these two words—‘Yellow Springs’…”

“If this calamity is but empty illusion, then all the better.”

“But if it is real, it will be a great disaster. My Zhang clan has lived in Kanzhou for generations. We cannot shirk this duty—we must find a way to suppress it, to avert calamity for our state.”

The Nascent Soul–realm Elder Zhang rose, bowing solemnly to Elder Feng. “I ask Brother Feng for your help.”

Elder Feng quickly stood, dodging the bow. “Brother Zhang, you flatter me—I truly don’t dare accept such courtesy.”

After thinking carefully, he spoke honestly: “To be frank, with my cultivation and connections, I cannot help you with such a grave matter as Yellow Springs.”

“But if it’s merely consulting ancient records and introducing a few elder Daoists—that, I will gladly do without hesitation.”

Elder Zhang felt relieved, and bowed in thanks. “Many thanks!”

The two spoke further into the night, discussing details, until it grew late, and they parted.

Returning to the Zhang clan’s guest quarters, Elder Zhang as usual conducted a roll call.

By now, it was the hour of the boar. Most clan disciples had returned, save one.

Elder Zhang’s eyes darkened. “Where is Zhang Lan?”

The Zhang clansmen glanced at each other, none daring to speak.

It wasn’t that they meant to hide it—but before Elder Zhang, their petty tricks were as nothing. The moment they spoke, he would see through them.

Better to tell the truth.

If they lied, all would suffer.

Just as the disciples were growing uneasy, a blue-robed cultivator hurried in from outside, bowed deeply. “Great Elder.”

Elder Zhang looked at him. “Where did you go?”

Zhang Lan lowered his head. “I went to visit… a Daoist friend…”

Elder Zhang, burdened with heavier thoughts, did not press further. He waved his hand. “Enough. Next time, return earlier, so as not to stir trouble.”

“Yes.” Zhang Lan let out a quiet breath of relief.

Soon after, everyone dispersed to rest.

Back in his room, Elder Zhang sat in meditation, but could not calm his mind. At last he rose, lit a candle, and pored over old tomes and fragmented jade slips, searching for answers.

But the calamity of Yellow Springs—its truth elusive, its records buried in legend, rare throughout history.

No matter how he searched, he found little. No origin, no means of suppression. He sighed, murmuring:

“Ancestors, bless us. May this trip to Qianxue yield clues to suppress the Yellow Springs, and save Kanzhou from disaster…”

Yet he knew the hope was slim.

Shaking his head, he kept reading, his thoughts churning. The more he pondered, the more weary and restless his spirit became.

At that moment, scenes from the day’s Sword Debate Assembly surfaced unbidden in his mind.

On the projection, a lone figure—graceful as a startled swan, agile as a swimming dragon—moved like flowing water amidst Feng clan’s impenetrable sword-light, untouched by a single blade…

He remembered the name clearly:

Mo Hua.

Elder Zhang stared blankly for a moment, sighing inwardly:

“Truly worthy of Qianxue’s genius. Such a young man, yet unparalleled in bearing—his movement technique even surpassing Feng clan’s prodigy of the Xiaoyao Sect. Unbelievable…”

Especially his footwork.

Elder Zhang was a Nascent Soul cultivator, with a family heritage in movement arts.

He saw better than anyone the extraordinary subtleties in Mo Hua’s water-style footwork—the refined, exquisite transitions.

Such refinement could never be achieved without immense effort, countless trials, and painstaking cultivation.

Gifted, insightful, diligent, and with peerless movement.

“What a genius youth. If only he were a child of my Zhang clan…”

Even Elder Zhang could not help but admire and envy.

Yet, in the next moment, his expression froze.

Elder Feng’s words from earlier returned to his mind.

In the stillness of night, Elder Zhang calmly recalled Mo Hua’s movements again and again, scrutinizing every detail.

Every motion, he analyzed deeply.

Every pause, he examined thoroughly.

The more he thought, the more uneasy he became.

At last—hiss—he drew in a sharp breath.

“This boy’s movement technique… seems a little like… my Zhang clan’s Flowing Water Step?”

But his execution was far too refined.

More refined than Zhang clan disciples themselves.

Many of his moves relied on powerful divine sense to control every fine detail—beyond what ordinary cultivators could achieve.

And mixed within were traces of other strange footwork styles.

Along with veils of water mist.

So at first glance, it was nearly impossible to identify.

But now, after breaking it apart and reassembling it dozens of times in his mind, Elder Zhang finally discerned faint traces of the orthodox Flowing Water Step.

“But… that’s impossible…”

“How could a Great Void Sect genius, who has nothing to do with my Zhang clan, know our untransmittable art—the Flowing Water Step?”

Elder Zhang frowned deeply.

“It makes no sense…”

“Unless… my Zhang clan truly produced a renegade who betrayed the ancestral oath?”

His gaze grew increasingly dangerous.

…

Next door.

Zhang Lan, lying lazily in bed, suddenly felt a chill surge through his body, his heart pounding in fright. He nearly jumped up.

“Danger?”

His expression changed drastically. Yet when he looked around—the night was tranquil, moonlight serene, nothing amiss. He calmed slightly, pondering the cause.

“Mo Hua, that child… is in danger.”

“And right now, he’s drawing a lot of resentment.”

“Perhaps because I interacted with him today, some of that hatred is spilling over onto me…”

Zhang Lan nodded to himself, finding it plausible, then lay back down lazily.

But this time, he did not sleep so soundly.

…

Great Void Sect.

Venerable Elder Xun too, was sleepless through the night.

In Qianxue Prefecture’s Sword Debate, the patriarchs normally would not appear, but that didn’t mean he could sit back and relax.

Ever since the Sword Debate Grand Assembly began, undercurrents stirred in Qianxue Prefecture, endless affairs entangled him, and as the sect’s patriarch, he hadn’t truly rested for a long while.

And now, the matter that troubled him the most was still Mo Hua.

Things had developed somewhat beyond his expectations.

He never thought that this child, with such a handsome face, could stir up so much hatred.

Relying only on the most basic low-level Five Elements techniques, he had managed to make a crowd of sect prodigies grind their teeth in resentment.

So many rounds of the Sword Debate had been held, so many peerless geniuses had appeared—yet Mo Hua was truly the first of his kind.

Even Venerable Elder Xun had not foreseen this.

What’s worse, the situation was gradually slipping out of control.

He furrowed his brows, and after a long silence, couldn’t help but sigh:

“Perhaps… this is fate?”

Back then, that boy surnamed Zhuang had been dazzling beyond compare, looking down on the world, provoking jealousy and hatred from countless prodigies, ending up surrounded by enemies.

Perhaps some trace of that lineage’s inheritance remained…

Mo Hua had started off well enough, but somewhere along the way, his path had veered aside.

“Repeating the same mistakes,” he had strayed onto the very same road as his master.

Despised, just like his master.

Of course, there were differences.

Zhuang Daoling was hated because his talent was unmatched, and he regarded all others with disdain.

Mo Hua was hated because he was crafty, peculiar, and endlessly infuriating.

The present Mo Hua resembled… another “Zhuang Daoling,” painted in a different style.

Venerable Elder Xun was helpless.

He pondered for a long time, but there was truly nothing he could do. In the end, he could only sigh.

“Enough. ‘The whole world as enemy’—perhaps this too is the destined path for this lineage of master and disciple…”

“Some fates, within the unseen heavens, cannot be escaped…”

Fortunately, Mo Hua was not yet truly “the enemy of the world.”

Plenty hated him.

But just as many liked him and cared for him.

Although his path resembled that of another Zhuang Daoling, he was not truly Zhuang Daoling.

He was…

“Mo Hua.”

Venerable Elder Xun murmured softly, recalling Mo Hua’s sincere face and childlike Dao heart, and gradually felt at ease.

The next day, the Sword Debate continued.

The Assembly steadily pressed forward.

More and more cultivators began to focus on Mo Hua.

Some cared for him.

Some hated him.

But most were simply infuriated by him, waiting for him to stumble so they could gloat and strike him down.

While Grand Elder Zhang investigated the origins of Huangquan, he too began keeping an eye on Mo Hua.

Almost every match of Mo Hua’s, he would watch.

He wanted to see whether the movement technique Mo Hua used was really the Zhang clan’s Flowing Water Step.

Naturally, Zhang Lan also wanted to watch Mo Hua’s battles.

Thus, he and the Grand Elder were “of the same mind.”

Of course, Zhang Lan’s heart was uneasy.

The Grand Elder’s eyes were sharp as blades.

Without clues, he could guess nothing.

But if he caught even the slightest trace, and unraveled it thread by thread…

That would spell certain disaster.

So, to avoid arousing suspicion, Zhang Lan dared only to sit quietly in the crowd, silently watching Mo Hua’s battles.

He didn’t speak, didn’t comment, and certainly didn’t betray the slightest hint that he knew Mo Hua.

He was just a passerby, an outsider, an anonymous spectator.

As for Mo Hua?

Of course he didn’t know him.

…

On Dao Debate Mountain, the atmosphere among the spectators grew ever more tense.

Hatred was piling up, more and more prodigies sharpening their blades, eager to cut Mo Hua down.

Yet the Xuán Character Division’s Sword Debate was already nearing its end.

Most matches had been decided.

The situation was all but settled.

Their chances to target Mo Hua were nearly gone.

What’s more, Mo Hua’s remaining opponents were not especially strong.

After a few exchanges, he defeated them all—winning smoothly, without suffering much targeted suppression.

The overall mood was indeed heavy, but beneath it lingered a deceptive calm, like the stillness before a storm.

In this strange atmosphere, the Xuán Division’s Sword Debate drew to a close without upheaval.

The Great Void Sect unexpectedly secured third place.

This third place was thanks not only to Mo Hua and Linghu Xiao, who remained undefeated.

Other disciples of the sect had also given their utmost.

Some originally unremarkable disciples even experienced a “transformation” through the tempering of the Sword Debate.

Several of them even advanced into the Dì Character Division.

Even Mo Hua was astonished.

The sect elders and higher-ups were overjoyed.

With the Xuán Division concluded, after a short rest and adjustment, the Dì Division’s Sword Debate officially began.

The prodigies of the Four Great Sects finally made their move.

The true strong ones had at last revealed their sharp edges.

(End of this Chapter)