Chapter 281: Fury

The tall evil cultivator was startled by the words and shook his head.

He didn’t dare provoke the Fourth Chief’s misfortune.

“Then let that fat one die and be done with it.”

After a moment, he asked, “Should we just feed him to it directly? Save ourselves some trouble?”

“If that beast wanted to eat people, it would’ve done so long ago. No need for us to feed it. It’s picky—doesn’t eat human flesh.”

“That’s strange,” the tall one muttered in surprise.

“Isn’t it though.”

The two evil cultivators tossed the fat man’s corpse out and began cleaning up the blood inside the hut.

Before long, they noticed that the formation on the chains binding the beast seemed dimmer than before.

The tall cultivator frowned. “Did the formation break? Or did someone tamper with it?”

Up in the beams, Mo Hua’s heart gave a jolt. He hesitated—should he get rid of these two as well?

He’d tinkered with quite a few formations inside Black Mountain Stronghold.

Normally, once an array master finished drawing a formation, they wouldn’t bother to check it again unless it failed entirely.

After all, there were so many formations throughout Black Mountain Stronghold—no one could possibly inspect them all.

But if these two realized the formation had been tampered with and reported it to the Third Chief, the evil cultivators would investigate carefully. Then, they’d find traces of Mo Hua’s meddling.

Even if they couldn’t see him, they would heighten their vigilance.

Then it would be much harder for Mo Hua to gather information.

He quickly assessed the two’s strength, weighing if he could take them out here and now.

Alone, he couldn’t. But with the Big Tiger’s help…

If the two of them worked together and struck from the shadows—kill one first, then gang up on the other—it might just work.

The short evil cultivator stepped up to look at the formation and asked, “You know formations?”

“No.” The tall one shook his head.

“Then what are you talking about, pretending to sound like you do?”

“But the formation does look a bit different, doesn’t it?”

“What could be different?” the short one scoffed. “A formation’s a formation. Looks the same to me.”

“How can it be the same?” The tall one was still hung up on it.

The short one muttered irritably, “Use that thick skull of yours—if the formation was broken, would that tiger demon still be lying there so quietly?”

The tall one paused, then nodded. “That’s true.”

He glanced at the tiger demon.

The beast had its head lowered, lying still and weak, looking docile.

“This thing seems pretty tame,” the tall one said. “So why’d it suddenly bite that fat guy to death?”

“Probably that fat fool did something to anger it. Lost his life for it. Happens all the time—newbies who don’t know their place.”

The tall one nodded.

After that, the two said nothing more, focusing on wiping the blood from the floor.

Seeing that they’d dropped the topic of the formation, Mo Hua relaxed.

Fortunately, these two were “formation-blind”—completely ignorant about arrays. Otherwise, he’d have to put in a lot more work.

He glanced once more at the Big Tiger. You’ll have to rely on yourself now, he thought. I’ve done all I can. Whether you live or die—it’s up to you.

The tiger lowered its head and let out a faint grunt, as if it had really heard Mo Hua’s thought.

Mo Hua shook his head. That tiger was far too clever for its own good.

Another day passed. Mo Hua had done almost everything he needed to do. He began considering whether it was time to leave.

The fat cultivator was dead, Kong Sheng’s jade pendant was in his hands, he’d mapped most of Black Mountain Stronghold, and gathered all the intelligence he could.

The more secret information was likely beyond the front camp’s knowledge, and he didn’t dare venture too deep into the rear camp.

This was probably as far as he could go.

But before leaving, there was still one thing he couldn’t let go of—

The white-faced man’s Fireball Technique manual.

He had been stalking that man for days, trying to steal the manual, copy it, and put it back without anyone knowing.

But after several days, not a single opportunity arose.

The white-faced man always kept his storage pouch on him, treating the Fireball Technique like a priceless treasure.

As for Kong Sheng—killing him was easy, but doing so without leaving traces would be difficult.

Mo Hua sighed.

It seemed he’d have to find another chance later.

That night, Scarface and the white-faced man were again on night watch, sitting by the campfire, roasting meat, drinking foul wine.

Mo Hua was nearby, hidden, listening.

He planned to return home tomorrow. Tonight, he’d eavesdrop one last time—perhaps he’d catch something useful.

The two men drank and chatted—gripes, dirty jokes, meaningless talk.

Nothing new.

Mo Hua started to feel drowsy. Just as he was thinking about leaving tonight, he heard them start discussing their demonic cultivation techniques.

The white-faced man sighed. “My spirit slave died. What bad luck. I’ll have to raise another one.”

Scarface sneered. “Did you drain it too hard?”

“No harder than you,” the white-faced man said darkly. “What about your furnace cauldron—what state is she in?”

“Still alive, isn’t she?”

“Alive, maybe—but better off dead.”

“What, getting soft-hearted?” Scarface smirked.

The white-faced man chuckled. “I’m not like you. I know how to cherish beauty. If I practiced dual cultivation, I’d treat her well—”

“Cut the act, you bastard,” Scarface snapped.

The white-faced man ignored him, grinning lewdly. Then he frowned suddenly.

“Wait… that woman had a Dao companion, didn’t she? How’d you make her willing?”

Scarface laughed. “I threatened her husband. Told her if she didn’t submit, I’d make him die miserably.”

“She gave in for his sake, let me do whatever I wanted. Every time afterward, she’d beg me not to hurt him.”

The white-faced man laughed. “You really are a beast.”

Scarface’s eyes gleamed with greed; he gave a cruel grin.

The white-faced man took another swig of wine—then suddenly said in surprise, “Hold on, didn’t you already chop her husband in half?”

Scarface burst out laughing. “Exactly!”

“Damn, you’re something else…”

…

Mo Hua’s expression grew colder and colder. He couldn’t listen anymore.

He stood and slipped away, walking through the dark alleys of the stronghold until he reached a corner filled with ramshackle huts—where innocent cultivators were imprisoned.

There weren’t many female cultivators left alive in Black Mountain Stronghold. After checking several rooms, Mo Hua found the woman Scarface had mentioned.

She was alone in a small hut.

The room was bare, with a bit of food. She wasn’t chained, nor magically restrained, just forbidden from leaving.

Moonlight poured in through the window, cold and pale.

She lay on the bed, hair disheveled, clothes torn, her body covered in bruises—frail, pitiful.

Her eyes were dry—she had no tears left.

After a moment, she slowly sat up, picked up a wooden hairpin from the bedside, and aimed it at her heart. But then she hesitated, trembling, unable to do it.

Moments later, she seemed to give up, lying back down blankly—but clutching a small embroidered sachet in her hand, her knuckles white.

On it was a pair of mandarin ducks stitched in silk.

Mo Hua remembered his mother telling him that such sachets were tokens between Dao companions.

She was likely still worrying about her husband’s safety.

Even after such torment and humiliation, she was holding on—just to live.

But her husband was already dead. What awaited her now was nothing but endless suffering.

Her will to live was only prolonging her pain.

Mo Hua wanted to save her—but he couldn’t.

His cultivation wasn’t strong enough. His spells were good for stealth and restraint, not killing.

If he went to get help, it would take too long.

She wouldn’t last that long.

He sighed softly, his heart heavy. “Your husband… is already dead.”

The woman froze. “Really?”

Her voice was hoarse, but she didn’t sound surprised. A husband and wife’s hearts were connected—she must have felt it long ago, only refusing to believe it.

“The scar-faced one said it himself.”

“I see…”

Tears she thought had dried up welled once more.

“So… he’s gone…”

Silence filled the room. Her weeping made no sound.

“…Thank you.”

She spoke softly. She didn’t know who had spoken to her—the voice sounded young, like a child’s.

A child, in this vile place?

Perhaps, she thought faintly, a celestial’s attendant had descended to tell her the truth out of pity.

Are there truly immortals in this world?

If there are, she prayed—not for her own salvation, but that the damned would be cast into hell.

Then, clutching the sachet in her left hand, she drove the wooden pin deep into her heart with her right.

Blood bloomed across her chest, a crimson flower in the night.

Her expression softened—peaceful, freed—as her eyes slowly closed.

“Husband… this life was too bitter. If there is another, let’s become Dao companions once more…”

Those were her final thoughts.

Mo Hua stood silently, his young face shadowed with sorrow—and then, burning anger.

In this world, those who deserve death still live, while the innocent die in misery.

The moonlight was cold, and Mo Hua’s gaze grew colder still.

He had made up his mind…

Before leaving, he would kill that Scarface.

…

Author Notes: Thanks to “Flying Sword Strike” for the reward!

A few quick notes about the plot:

This story leans toward traditional xianxia—so there will be both immortal and heroic aspects, not just hiding away to cultivate.

As for Black Mountain Stronghold—dangerous, yes, but Mo Hua isn’t exactly weak.

He may lack attack power, but his stealth, control, and movement techniques are all top-tier for the Qi-Refining stage.

So it’s not quite as perilous as it seems.

Lastly, this isn’t a formulaic story. The plot is interconnected—sometimes people complain halfway through, but trust me, it all ties together.

There will be three chapters today—I’ll post them all early.

The last recommendation boosted subscriptions a lot—thank you all for the support!

Wishing everyone health and happiness.

(End of Chapter)