Chapter 282: Chain Reaction

The next day, when the scar-faced man went to perform his dual cultivation, he discovered that the furnace cauldron he used for it had died.

Scar-Face was stunned—utterly incredulous.

She’d been fine before—how could she suddenly lose the will to live and kill herself?

Fury and agitation surged in him.

He was at a critical juncture in his cultivation. He had to perform dual cultivation every day; otherwise, his demonic art would backfire.

For a short while, he could suppress it—at worst, the demonic fire would surge and make him irritable.

But if delayed too long, the backlash would worsen—at best, his spiritual power would go haywire; at worst, he would lose his mind entirely.

He needed to find another woman to serve as his furnace cauldron!

But this Black Mountain region was barren—where could he possibly find a woman to replenish his cultivation?

To make matters worse, the First Chief had recently sent word that everyone in Black Mountain Stronghold was to keep a low profile and refrain from causing trouble outside, lest they draw unwanted attention.

They’d already been short on furnaces before; now it was hopeless.

With no alternative, Scar-Face could only find a way to quell his demonic fire—suppress his desire—so he wouldn’t lose his sanity.

On the right side of Black Mountain Stronghold, there was a waterfall.

The water cascaded down from the mountain like white silk, splashing into the stronghold below before flowing into the abyss beyond.

The water was bone-chillingly cold.

Seeing no one around, Scar-Face removed his Daoist robe and placed it along with his storage pouch to the side. Naked, he sat cross-legged beneath the waterfall, using its icy chill to suppress the raging demonic fire within him.

But such a method was merely a temporary fix.

The burning heat in his heart remained unbearable, his desire blazing like fire.

As his mood grew ever more irritable and violent, he failed to notice that someone—Mo Hua—was secretly retrieving his belongings.

Mo Hua quietly stowed away Scar-Face’s storage pouch, then tossed his Daoist robe to the cliff’s edge beside the waterfall.

Below the cliff was a deep abyss—one slip meant certain death.

Afterward, Mo Hua waited patiently in hiding.

About half an hour later, Scar-Face opened his eyes. The demonic fire in his chest had subsided somewhat, and he rose to leave—only to find his robe and storage pouch missing.

He frowned, scanning around, and spotted his robe near the waterfall’s edge.

“Was it washed away by the water?” he muttered irritably.

He walked to the edge and bent down to pick it up.

At that instant, Mo Hua’s gaze sharpened. Forming a hand seal, he released three Fireball Spells in rapid succession.

The first struck Scar-Face’s face—meant to catch him off guard.

The second hit his chest—to unbalance him.

The third struck his knee—to make him slip and fall into the abyss.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

The fireballs exploded in sequence—Scar-Face was caught completely off guard.

As Mo Hua had expected, Scar-Face’s face twisted in shock; he stumbled backward repeatedly—then slipped.

He fell toward the waterfall below!

Just when Mo Hua thought the man was surely dead—

Two hands suddenly appeared, gripping the cliff’s edge.

At the last instant, Scar-Face had jammed his fingers into the rock. Though he slid down some distance, he did not fall.

He was a body cultivator—his physique was extremely powerful. With one explosive heave, he leapt back up from the waterfall’s edge.

His eyes were now bloodshot, his expression livid with fury.

“Which damned rat dared ambush me!?”

“Get the hell out here!”

He bellowed in rage, but Mo Hua didn’t move from his hiding spot.

He only sighed inwardly—what a pity the trap hadn’t killed Scar-Face.

But that was only the first step. If this didn’t work, there would be another.

Mo Hua silently slipped away, carrying Scar-Face’s storage pouch.

Scar-Face, still fuming, unleashed his Divine-Sense, sweeping across the waterfall, the rocks, and the forest—but found no trace of anyone.

“What the hell? Where’d he go?”

The more he thought, the angrier he became.

“Who’s plotting against me!?”

Then, a thought struck him.

Fireball Spell?

Among those he knew, only one person specialized in the Fireball Spell—

That pale-faced man who stood watch with him!

“That bastard—he wants to kill me?!”

Why?

His fury boiled—but his mind turned quickly. A moment later, he understood.

The dual cultivation technique!

That pale-faced man had pestered him several times for the dual cultivation method, but he’d refused every time.

Out here in the desolate Black Mountain, it was no easy feat to capture a female cultivator to use as a furnace.

And Scar-Face wasn’t the only one cultivating that art—there were many others fighting over few available women. Each rival gone was one less competitor.

There was no way he would hand over his cultivation method.

Now that the pale-faced man’s spirit slave had died, he likely wanted to switch to dual cultivation—and thus plotted against him.

He must have used the Fireball Spell to ambush him, hoping to make him fall to his death, then steal his storage pouch—inside which was the dual cultivation technique!

Everything clicked perfectly in Scar-Face’s mind.

“That son of a bitch wanted me dead!”

The demonic fire in him flared once more, and blinded by rage, he failed to notice that the Fireball Spell used on him earlier was faster and more precise than the pale-faced man’s—but far weaker in power.

Snarling, Scar-Face cursed, “He dares covet my method? The bastard’s tired of living!”

Suppressing his fury with difficulty, he stalked back toward the stronghold.

Ahead of him, Mo Hua quietly placed the stolen storage pouch at the pale-faced man’s door—then knocked.

The pale-faced man was meditating inside.

Without his spirit slave, his cultivation had slowed terribly. Annoyed by the interruption, he called out, “Who’s there?”

Mo Hua knocked again but didn’t reply.

The pale-faced man frowned, stood up, and opened the door—only to see a storage pouch lying there.

“Whose storage pouch is this? Why is it here?”

A cultivator’s storage pouch was an important possession—always carried close, never left unattended.

Could it be a trap?

He looked around cautiously but saw no one.

Then he glanced back at the pouch—and noticed it was open, revealing a few spirit stones and a book whose cover bore two characters: Dual Cultivation.

He froze—then his eyes lit up in wild delight.

His spirit slave was dead, and finding another would take time. He had long wanted the dual cultivation method—but could never get it. Yet now, it was lying before him effortlessly.

A gift from heaven must not be refused.

Feeling fully justified, the pale-faced man picked up the pouch, drew out the booklet, and was about to read—when he looked up to see Scar-Face approaching, his expression dark and murderous, his gaze fixed on the pouch in the man’s hand.

The pale-faced man blinked, thought for a moment, then asked,

“This storage pouch—is it yours?”

Scar-Face nodded—but inwardly cursed,

“Still pretending, you cowardly bastard?”

Barely restraining his fury, he said coldly, “Why is it in your hands?”

The pale-faced man replied honestly, “It was at my door. I just picked it up.”

Scar-Face’s eyelid twitched violently.

What a pathetic lie. You think I’m a fool?

“Give it to me,” Scar-Face said flatly, extending his hand.

The pale-faced man smiled. “I can give it back—but I want to take a look at this dual cultivation method first.”

Scar-Face nodded. “Fine.”

As he stepped forward to take the pouch, the pale-faced man, unsuspecting, tucked the booklet into his robes and handed over the pouch.

The instant Scar-Face’s fingers touched it, he suddenly exploded into motion—his claws struck like lightning.

His fingers, sharp as steel and shrouded in sinister green spiritual light, pierced straight through the pale-faced man’s heart meridian—then ripped downward savagely, tearing flesh and splattering blood.

The pale-faced man’s eyes widened in disbelief.

He tried to retaliate, but before his spell could form, Scar-Face seized him by the throat.

“W-why… kill me…?” he rasped.

Scar-Face roared back, even angrier, “Still pretending even at death’s door!?”

With a savage squeeze, his fingers punched through the man’s neck—snapping it.

The pale-faced man died instantly.

(End of Chapter)