Chapter 1207: Heavenly Dao’s Suppression

Chapter 1206: Heavenly Dao’s Suppression

In the withered Great Wilderness, the first fusion of formation and law—the Profound-Earth Reconstructed Absolute Formation—was sketched upon the boundless land by Mo Hua, who borrowed his divine sense to guide the ink. This was a very peculiar formation.

Within the traditional framework, ordinary formation masters simply could not comprehend what kind of system this formation belonged to.

Even those of broad knowledge, who could recognize that it contained fragments of Absolute Formations, and certain kinds of formations rooted in the Five Elements or Eight Trigrams, would still be unable to perceive the underlying principle of how these laws were being constructed.

Nor could they fathom the subtle variations Mo Hua painstakingly wrought, using formation runes to transmit laws—transformations only Mo Hua himself could truly understand.

It was a double-layered structure.

The surface—runes, pivots, cores—was already difficult to grasp.

But beneath it, the operation of the laws was even harder.

Laws are formless, elusive. Even if others wished to learn or copy, they would have no place to begin.

This formation did not belong to any system of the Dao Court, nor to the sacred runes inherited in the Great Wilderness. It was Mo Hua’s own creation—a formation system born from years of study, endless drawing, contemplation, and comprehension. A “metamorphosis” of his understanding of formations. And the Profound-Earth Reconstructed Absolute Formation did not betray his expectations.

The formation began to circulate, interweaving green and earthen-yellow spiritual power.

This was the visible layer, perceivable by the naked eye.

Yet in the unseen realm, within Mo Hua’s golden-glowing divine eyes, forces of the Laws of “Life” ceaselessly manifested.

These laws, guided by the formation he had designed, flowed along set paths—branching, merging at fixed nodes—following his will, producing wondrous transformations.

This was the formation guiding the laws.

In a sense, it was also controlling them.

With the Profound-Earth Absolute Formation’s earthen Dao-rhyme as its core,

it arranged around it the Laws of grass and wood’s growth, water and soil’s nurturing, earth and wood’s emergence, and earth’s burial and decay—all aspects of “Life.” Ordered yet harmonious, they complemented one another.

Finally, within the “furnace” of the Profound-Earth Reconstructed Absolute Formation, they fused together into a vast, mighty Law of Vitality.

A surging aura of life spread outward from the formation.

The withering famine-energy, upon contact with this force of life, boiled violently, dissipated, and smoked white as before. Yet this time, it did not devour the vitality.

The two stood opposed, and within small areas, the famine-energy was even suppressed by Mo Hua’s formation.

This meant his design had worked.

He had taken his first step in restraining famine.

And it also meant, for the first time in his life, he had truly comprehended and mastered the fundamental logic of formation: birthing laws through formations, and guiding the cycle of overcoming and engendering through laws.

Not far away, Ba-Chuan—who guarded Mo Hua with full vigilance—now saw before Mo Hua an extremely complex sacred rune glowing with verdant luster.

Under its radiance, the decaying earth ceased to wither; faint traces of renewed vitality appeared.

In the blink of an eye, grass and trees began sprouting anew from the cracks of the barren ground…

Ba-Chuan understood nothing of it, but he was utterly shaken.

“Lord Shaman… is finding a way… to resist the eternal calamity of the Great Wilderness?”

“Lord Shaman seeks… to save the Great Wilderness from the flames of famine?”

His eyes widened.

In that instant, his heart trembled. His reverence for Lord Shaman surged like a towering mountain, inexpressible.

Meanwhile, Mo Hua, undistracted, continued his research.

This was only the beginning.

Now, with a deeper recognition of the relationship between “Formation” and “Law,” and through practice, he had built the Profound-Earth Reconstructed Absolute Formation as a medium to guide the Laws of vitality against famine.

But reconstructing formation and law was only the first step.

The second step was to observe their “confrontation.”

The Profound-Earth’s power represented “Life.”

The famine’s power—essentially the Taotie’s power—represented “Death.”

When Life opposed Death, they blocked one another, clashed, tore each other apart, and perished together. Within such struggle and destruction, the laws transformed.

When Death slew Life, Life turned into Death.

When Life saved Death, Death turned into Life.

Life and death, though distinct, depended on one another, penetrated one another, transformed into one another—until ultimately, they became one.

This was a supremely profound transformation of law, akin to a “law-model” resembling a “natural law.”

And not only Life and Death.

Mo Hua, by intuition, judged that all laws of the world likely followed this principle—within engendering and restraining, they permeated and transformed into one another, forming a unity.

This could even be said to be the basic model of the Dao.

Yet the evolution of Dao was far more difficult.

Mo Hua could not yet fully comprehend it.

But that did not prevent him from using this “Dao-model” to study the transformations of laws.

Even without fully understanding, he could make use of it.

That was his current purpose—his third step:

To use the engendering and restraining of laws to “dissect” the famine-energy—that is, to study the Taotie’s power.

For Mo Hua, this principle was not hard to grasp.

When there was no opposition, the Taotie’s power was complete in itself, whole.

Naturally, he could not perceive its essence.

To glimpse its essence, he needed to apply another law-force, creating contradiction through their struggle.

Once the Taotie’s power encountered resistance, contradictions would arise within, revealing its essence.

That moment was the best time to “dissect” the Taotie’s law.

Not only the Taotie’s law—everything in the world followed the same reasoning.

A cultivator whose path was ever smooth seemed “perfect and flawless.” Only when struck by failure, hardship, and suffering did their inner weakness and essential contradictions show.

Such “contradictions” determined their true nature.

Whether they overcame them determined their measure and their Dao-path ahead.

So too with tribes.

When a tribe grew and prospered, it appeared strong, with no problems.

But once expansion was blocked, when they met strong foes or disasters, their internal problems surfaced.

Contradictions between classes grew sharp.

The Wulu tribe’s Wucha was once loyal because he could lead conquests, expanding their territory.

But once expansion stalled, wars ceased, his inner ambition swelled, his lust for power deepened, and his true nature was revealed—leading to his self-destruction.

The Wulu tribe still exists, but Wucha’s Wulu tribe is already dead.

So too with cultivators, tribes, Dao Court families, sects, factions, even the Dao Court itself, and the Nine Provinces world.

All things follow the same “law.”

And because it encompassed everything, perhaps it was… a model of the Great Dao’s unity.

Mo Hua felt a resonance within.

Then he pressed on, continuing his plan—using this “Dao-model” concept to study laws. With formations birthing law, creating oppositions, he let Profound-Earth’s power and the Taotie’s power engage in their cycle of engendering and restraining.

To engender and restrain meant to clash, permeate, and transform one another.

In this struggle, the Taotie’s power itself underwent violent shifts of law.

And at such moments, he could dissect the logic and essence of the Taotie’s power—the famine’s embodiment.

Of course, saying it was simple, doing it was not.

For this entire process contained layer upon layer of transformations of Laws.

It involved the mutual deconstruction and reconstruction between formations and Laws.

It involved the engendering, restraining, permeation, and transformation of laws.

And it involved dissecting the inner contradictions of another type of Law itself.

Mo Hua, “like a newborn calf unafraid of tigers,” didn’t think too much about it, nor did he have any inherited framework of rules or constraints in his heart.

Since these Laws were entangled together, presenting a state of “coexistence and interconnection,” he simply studied and comprehended them all at once.

He followed his heart—what he saw was what he took, what he grasped was what he understood.

With a heart single-mindedly seeking the Dao, truthful and without pretense—that was enough.

Of course, the price was a far more intense consumption of divine sense.

And his comprehension of Laws was even harder.

Mo Hua’s sea of consciousness never stopped spinning, never stopped thinking, never stopped comprehending.

Day after day, what he did was endlessly draw the Profound-Earth Reconstructed Absolute Formation, to offset famine, to observe the engendering and restraining of Laws, to dissect the power of the Taotie. Repeating, over and over, mechanically.

It seemed dull, seemed draining, seemed painful.

But to Mo Hua, it was as though he had opened the gates to an entirely new world—he delighted in it.

In others’ eyes, he was merely drawing formations on barren ground, nothing more.

But apart from Mo Hua himself, almost no one knew what astonishingly subtle transformations he saw beneath the monotony of those formations and the surface spread of famine.

Nor what profound mysteries of Laws he grasped, mysteries unfathomable to ordinary men.

This was the vast gulf between the surface of the world and its essence.

Mo Hua now had a vivid sensation of piercing through appearances, touching the essence of myriad Laws, and grasping them.

Though the sensation was faint, like fireflies’ light.

And to deepen that comprehension, Mo Hua still relied on the “stupid method.”

Again and again, tirelessly, he repeated the deconstruction and reconstruction of formations.

Again and again, he observed the engendering and restraining of Laws, dissecting the Taotie’s power.

The Dao, in truth, was simple:

Find one correct thing, then keep repeating it—over and over, without stopping.

As long as the repetitions were enough—as long as one could perform these controlled acts of deconstructing and reconstructing formations and Laws, of observing and analyzing Laws, thousands upon thousands of times…

Then one day, comprehension of Laws would come as naturally as breathing.

The mastery and application of Laws would be as simple as eating or drinking.

No matter how abstruse or esoteric the Law, before him it could be seen through in an instant.

By doing what was “hard,” and making the hard become easy, he himself would naturally become strong.

In a sense, this too was a transformation of the “Law of Difficulty and Ease.”

And in that endless cycle of deconstructing, reconstructing, comprehending…

Mo Hua was wholly immersed, never tiring, even forgetting everything at times—forgetting the passage of time, drowned in the “ocean” of formations, Laws, and even the Dao itself, unable to extricate himself.

Not knowing who he was, where he was, or what he was doing.

He only repeated, endlessly—drawing formations, watching formations, studying Laws…

This appearance of utter focus, bordering on “madness,” even made Ba-Chuan shiver.

But he dared not disturb Mo Hua, fearing one rash interruption might disrupt Lord Shaman’s communion with the Divine-Lord, spoiling the great plan against the heavenly calamity.

Just when Ba-Chuan, anxious to the point of despair, didn’t know what to do…

Mo Hua suddenly closed his eyes and collapsed straight into the dirt.

Ba-Chuan was so shocked his heart nearly leapt from his chest.

If Lord Shaman came to harm, he could never atone, not even with a thousand deaths.

He rushed forward, gently and respectfully lifting Mo Hua, testing his breath, feeling his meridians, before slowly letting out a sigh of relief. “No problem… just fainted from hunger.”

Ba-Chuan didn’t know what to say, but in his heart he was deeply shaken.

For a cultivator to actually “starve” himself into fainting—how long had it been since he last ate? Or rather, how long had his mind been locked in such extreme concentration?

Ba-Chuan sighed.

He carried Mo Hua back to the camp, fetched some medicinal pills and meat broth, fed him, and served him with utmost care.

Mo Hua’s complexion visibly improved, but he still did not wake.

It wasn’t just hunger—his divine sense was also overdrawn. Yet his comprehension of Laws left him in a wondrous “flow state,” such that even in depletion his divine sense continued to circulate for a long time.

And this immersion in Law comprehension sharpened his focus to the extreme.

Even the Fate-Bane fiend was suppressed, not daring to counterattack.

Thus, Mo Hua slept soundly for a whole day and night.

When he woke, his mind was blank for a moment—remembering nothing, the world a vast, empty whiteness. In that void, only faint flows of the power of Laws moved slowly.

For an instant, Mo Hua felt as though he were no longer human, but had unconsciously become a vessel for the Dao, his sea of consciousness transformed into a “Dao-field” where Laws sprouted.

Startled, cold sweat broke out all over him.

He hurried to recall who he was, but his mind was blank, “short-circuited,” remembering nothing. Luckily, this danger was not unfamiliar.

When cultivating Supreme Severing Emotions, he had already suffered such backlash from the Fate-Bane.

Mo Hua gradually calmed himself, comforting: “Even if I’m no longer human, so what? The most important thing is peace of heart. No tension. Tranquility brings safety.”

Sure enough, moments later his heart steadied.

A steady heart brings peace; peace brings stillness; stillness brings harmony.

And gradually, all his memories resurfaced within the mirror of his heart.

He remembered who he was, remembered his parents, his master, his Little Senior Sister, his Little Senior Brother, the teachers and peers of the Great Void Sect… and so on. Once everything returned, Mo Hua finally let out a long breath.

At the same time, reflection came. After a long while, he realized: he had been too deeply immersed in profound comprehension of the Dao’s Laws, almost drowning, almost being assimilated by the Dao, losing his human heart.

Ordinary people would never face such a situation.

The main reason was that Mo Hua had been too excessively immersed.

And soon, Mo Hua realized why.

Because most people comprehend Laws through “chance,” through “inspiration.”

He himself had been the same—occasional flashes of enlightenment, lasting briefly, never a real problem.

But now, his enlightenment was self-controlled.

He drew formations himself, evolved Laws himself, created conflicts between Laws himself—and then enlightened himself.

Once wasn’t enough—he just kept doing it, tirelessly, day and night, until his whole mind was nothing but “Laws.”

Naturally, the Dao had no tolerance for that.

He had nearly been assimilated into the Dao itself, nearly turned into a vessel of Laws, stripped of his humanity.

Luckily, frail as he was since childhood, he fainted from hunger first.

And luckily, his “tempering of the heart” had reached a high enough level that he could pull back his humanity in time.

Otherwise—who knows what he’d have become?

At this thought, cold sweat trickled again.

No wonder they say, “Extreme wisdom brings harm.”

Too much talent, too much cleverness, is not always a blessing—it courts disaster, endangering one’s very life.

Yet immediately, Mo Hua felt a spark of anger.

His master had said: “Fame brings trouble, the tall tree invites the wind”—indeed true.

A person too outstanding invites resentment.

But that’s from people!

Was it necessary for him to be targeted by the Heavenly Dao itself?!

Mo Hua couldn’t even be bothered to count the times anymore…

When he built his foundation, by plan his divine sense should have doubled—at least eighteen or nineteen marks at Foundation Establishment.

Yet it was suppressed by Heaven’s will.

When his divine sense rose, it was forcibly pressed down again.

Later, because his divine sense was too strong, the Heavenly Dao targeted him once more.

A seal was placed on his sea of consciousness, forcibly locking his divine sense for a long time, unable to break through.

And now, needless to say.

Just by comprehending a little of the Laws, this petty Heavenly Dao flared up again.

This time even worse—nearly turning him into a vessel outright.

Had his divine sense not been so refined, he might have perished.

Thinking of it made his teeth ache with fury.

Yet after fuming for a while, he sighed.

The Heavenly Dao was targeting him—but what could a mere little Foundation Establishment cultivator do except “endure”?

Besides, the Heavenly Dao was simply the collective will of the myriad Laws of Heaven and Earth, not some person he could quarrel with. Mo Hua thus consoled himself until he felt better.

He was magnanimous, he would not stoop to blame the “errors” of Heaven.

But that being said…

Should he continue the deconstruction and reconstruction of formations?

Should he continue to comprehend the Laws of the Taotie?

Should he continue observing the engendering and restraining between Laws?

What if, while comprehending, he let his guard down and Heavenly Dao “brainwashed” him again—turning him into a vessel for Laws?

Mo Hua’s expression grew grave.

To him, this was an extremely serious issue.

After pondering a moment, he decided that the path of seeking the Dao was one where one must charge forward without hesitation—the bold live, the timid starve.

It was impossible to quit just because Heavenly Dao had tripped him up once.

His understanding of Laws wasn’t wrong.

It was just that, in terms of “quantity,” something had gone awry.

Perhaps his cycle of self-dissolution, self-construction, self-control, and self-comprehension had been a little excessive, crossing slightly beyond the bounds allowed by Heavenly Dao.

If that was the case, then he simply needed to rein himself in a bit.

As long as his comprehension didn’t go overboard, Heavenly Dao probably wouldn’t target him.

Mo Hua nodded to himself.

Of course, this was only his own “wishful thinking.” Whether he would face “punishment” still depended on how exactly Heavenly Dao chose to “sentence” him. Once his body recovered a bit and his spirit felt replenished, he set off again toward the front lines of the famine disaster.

Ba-Chuan wanted to stop him, but didn’t dare—so he followed behind Mo Hua with a face full of worry.

Reaching the front lines, Mo Hua hesitated for a moment, then carefully began repeating his earlier method.

He drew the Profound-Earth Reconstruction Absolute Formation, guiding the Law of “Life” to resist the Taotie’s power, experiencing the clash, and dissecting the core of the Taotie’s might. The process was profoundly deep, exquisitely mysterious—the transformations of various Laws were mesmerizing.

Before long, Mo Hua was “immersed” again.

Roughly an hour later, the sudden sound of metal ringing against stone echoed out.

It was the “sundial” Mo Hua had set, reminding him: enough, stop observing for now.

Mo Hua snapped back to himself, reluctantly stood up, walked around a bit to stretch his limbs, and when his divine sense was replenished, he continued observing formations and comprehending Laws.

This way, he studied little by little, watched bit by bit, and the instant anything seemed amiss, he immediately stopped.

By doing so, he tested the “punishment” stance of Heavenly Dao.

Mo Hua had a constant premonition that, with his “character,” he might very well be punished by Heavenly Dao again and again in the future.

Since that was so, he had to start adapting early—learning how to get along with Heaven’s Dao.

To deftly grasp the “sentencing” of Heavenly Dao, and master the art of walking along the very edge of its “punishment.”

(End of this Chapter)