Chapter 292: Gains and Losses
On the way back, Mo Hua silently reflected on the gains and losses of this trip.
This infiltration into Black Mountain Stronghold, all in all, was perilous yet fortunate—though when he thought carefully, he realized how many times he had brushed past true danger.
Especially when eavesdropping on Foundation Establishment–stage demonic cultivators, spying beneath their very noses, and finally even stealing the Third Chief’s Visualization Diagram—only to be caught red-handed…
Every act had been like plucking a fang from a tiger’s mouth, or retrieving a chestnut from the fire.
Although he had managed to bluff his way through each peril and turn danger into safety, one should always avoid harm and seek benefit—such high-risk gambits were best kept to a minimum. If truly unavoidable, he must plan more thoroughly next time.
Mo Hua sighed softly.
His actions had not been sufficiently meticulous; his thinking not yet comprehensive; his methods, still lacking precision.
Most importantly—he had made everyone, including his parents, worry for him.
He etched this in his heart as a lesson.
The cultivation world was vast and boundless, and the Daoist path long and endless.
He was still young, his experience shallow, and there was still much he lacked. Many more trials awaited him, and much remained for him to learn.
Whenever he made mistakes, he must reflect deeply—only then could he gain true insight, and act more prudently thereafter.
Mo Hua nodded to himself.
Having summarized his shortcomings, he then considered what he had gained from this venture.
First, he had uncovered the truth about the deep mountains, discovered the routes to Black Mountain Stronghold, and grasped its structure and layout almost completely. He had even drawn a topographic map, and gleaned some of its deepest secrets.
Black Mountain Stronghold was the greatest hidden tumor festering within the Great Black Mountain.
If not eradicated, the entire Tōngxiān City would face immense peril.
When that time came, every cultivator in Tōngxiān City—his parents, as well as the demon hunters, artificers, and alchemists he knew—could all fall victim to those demonic cultivators’ cruelty.
That was something Mo Hua could not allow.
Thus, the destruction of Black Mountain Stronghold was inevitable; conflict between them could not be avoided.
To know oneself and one’s enemy is to emerge unscathed from a hundred battles.
When open confrontation came, the intelligence he had gathered would prove invaluable.
Knowing the enemy’s strengths and weaknesses would allow for careful planning and effective tactics.
Otherwise, engaging them blindly would make the insidious and unpredictable Black Mountain Stronghold seem many times stronger—and casualties would increase severalfold.
Mo Hua wished that everyone could live, that none would die if possible—and if death could not be avoided, then at least let losses be minimal.
Apart from intelligence on Black Mountain Stronghold, there were also Mo Hua’s personal gains.
He had tricked the fat cultivator to death and obtained Kong Sheng’s jade pendant.
That pendant was a token of the direct Kong lineage—symbolically significant. For now, it could merely be traded for spirit stones, but someday, perhaps, it could be used to “scam” the Kong clan itself.
Next, he had obtained from the white-faced demonic cultivator a secret manual of the Fireball Technique.
He had merely tucked it into his Storage Bag and hadn’t studied it yet.
If his guess was correct, that manual hadn’t originally belonged to that white-faced cultivator—it was either stolen, seized, or acquired through luck.
Such specialized, refined manuals were rare; ordinary cultivators had no access to that kind of inheritance.
A faint smile formed on Mo Hua’s lips.
Comprehending this manual could surely increase the power of his Fireball Technique, compensating for his weakness in direct offense—for though he was nimble and resourceful, his attacks lacked force.
But there was no need to rush; he planned to study it carefully once back home.
And more importantly—there was the Visualization Diagram.
For the first time, Mo Hua had seen one, glimpsed its mysteries, and experienced its lurking danger.
He had his own speculations about it, but his limited cultivation knowledge made it hard to confirm anything. He would need to consult Mister Zhuang.
Still, thanks to the Visualization Diagram, Mo Hua’s Divine-Sense had surged, now rivaling that of a Foundation Establishment cultivator. He had even drawn a first-grade, ten-pattern Spirit-Reversal Array—a phenomenon defying the Heavenly Dao itself.
Even Mister Zhuang likely hadn’t foreseen that.
Mo Hua felt a secret sense of pride. He wondered whether, upon returning, he might give Mister Zhuang quite the shock.
Finally—and most crucially—there was the Dao Monument.
Mo Hua had long used the Dao Monument to practice formations and temper his Divine-Sense.
That monument, more like a blackboard than a tablet, could be drawn on and erased endlessly—everything could be drawn, yet nothing would remain.
However, after his encounter with the Visualization Diagram, the blue-faced ghost, and the peril that turned into fortune,
Mo Hua began to realize that perhaps he knew nothing about the true nature of that monument.
He could still recall the look of sheer terror on the blue-faced ghost’s face — as if it had faced a horror beyond life and death itself,
a terror of utter annihilation, both body and Dao.
The Dao Monument hadn’t even done anything—no light, no aura, no phenomenon — yet a few wisps of its presence had burned the blue-faced ghost into smoke and ash.
Mo Hua felt a chill in his heart.
That Dao Monument was likely far more powerful than he had ever imagined—and its origin, undoubtedly terrifying.
He couldn’t ask Mister Zhuang yet.
Though he trusted Mister Zhuang deeply, the Dao Monument’s background was far too peculiar and significant.
The fewer who knew, the better—ideally, only he should know.
As for its mysteries, he would unravel them slowly in time.
The miasma around them gradually thinned, the fog dispersed, and the oppressive aura eased. Even the beasts they encountered were weaker now.
Before long, they had left the inner mountains and reached the outer trails.
Mo Hua turned back, gazing at the depths of the mist-shrouded mountains.
Thick fog veiled everything in hazy obscurity, but he knew Black Mountain Stronghold lay hidden within that fog — a den of blood and corpses that had existed for two or three centuries.
Within it, mountains of bodies and seas of blood, demons running rampant.
Spirit slaves, emaciated and skeletal; furnaces of dual cultivation, living worse than death; captured cultivators tortured beyond imagination.
Mo Hua had grown up in Tōngxiān City—poor but peaceful, surrounded by kind neighbors and helpful fellow cultivators.
Only now did he truly see the other side of the cultivation world—bloody, cold, cruel, and evil.
For every righteous cultivator devoted to the Dao and moral virtue, there were lawless monsters, steeped in sin and depravity.
Some not only killed—they drank blood, devoured spirit power, and treated humans not as people, but as spirit slaves, blood slaves—living spirit stones.
It was a world where the strong devoured the weak.
Mo Hua understood: mastering formation arts alone was not enough.
If his cultivation were stronger, he could have saved all those innocent cultivators from Black Mountain Stronghold, instead of merely watching helplessly as they perished.
If his power were great enough, he wouldn’t need schemes—one Fireball Technique would have been enough to burn those evil cultivators to ash.
And if his cultivation reached even higher, he could comprehend grand formations of Earthfire, and send the entire Black Mountain Stronghold straight to the heavens.
In the end, cultivation was the root of a cultivator.
Formations were the foundation upon which one stood.
Spells were the weapons by which one survived.
The three were indispensable.
He must comprehend the Heavenly Dao through formations to benefit the world —and cultivate strength and mastery in spellcraft to eradicate evil.
His thoughts grew clearer, and his eyes, firmer.
Liu Ruhua, walking beside him, noticed his shifting expressions—joy, contemplation, resolve—and though she didn’t know what he was thinking, she could sense the change.
Even simply watching him in silence made her heart feel settled.
Liu Ruhua smiled softly, her gaze gentle as flowing water.
(End of Chapter)