Chapter 310: Fireball Secret Manual

Was there truly a mastermind behind Heishan Stronghold?

In the following days, whenever Mo Hua had time, he would ponder this question. Yet no matter how long he thought, he couldn’t find any clue. Even if he wanted to investigate, there was nowhere to begin.

So, Mo Hua could only focus on his own cultivation — strengthening his Divine-Sense, deepening his mastery of formations, and learning as much as possible.

If some unforeseen trouble arose in the future, at least he would have the confidence to face it.

Formations needed no special mention — Mo Hua practiced the Spirit-Reversal Formation every day.

But aside from formations, what else could he study?

After a bit of thought, he suddenly remembered — he still had that Fireball Technique Secret Manual.

He had obtained it from the pale-faced evil cultivator who guarded the night watch in Heishan Stronghold.

That evil cultivator practiced a sinister energy-draining technique; his spells were otherwise mediocre — all the power in his Fireball Technique came from this manual.

Mo Hua had lured a tiger to devour a wolf and tricked that pale-faced man to his death, conveniently picking up the manual afterward.

But with so many things happening since then, he had nearly forgotten about it.

At his small desk, Mo Hua took out his Storage Ring and fished out the old Fireball Technique manual.

On the cover were four handwritten characters: “Fireball Technique Insights.” The binding was rough, and the edges were worn and creased — clearly not a formal inheritance, but the personal notes of some cultivator.

Mo Hua flipped through a few pages and quickly grasped the gist.

The manual hadn’t been written by that pale-faced man — he must have taken it from someone else he killed.

The original owner’s surname was Yang, an ordinary spiritual cultivator.

His talent was poor, and his spiritual root mediocre; his cultivation art was weak, and the only spell he could properly learn was the humble Fireball Technique.

Yet he did not despair. Instead, he practiced tirelessly, studied diligently, and even sought out other cultivators skilled in the Fireball Technique to exchange insights. After spending most of his lifetime on this art, he finally devised a special method for casting it.

This method could greatly enhance the Fireball Technique’s power, transforming this low-level, commonly dismissed spell into one with remarkable destructive strength.

The key to this method lay in the meridian pathways of energy circulation.

All spells, in essence, are born of Divine-Sense guiding spiritual energy through specific meridians to form particular phenomena.

Even when the same spell yields identical effects, the meridian diagrams handed down by different traditions often vary — sometimes in the major channels, sometimes in the finer branch meridians.

The manual’s original author had spent decades collecting every version of Fireball meridian diagrams he could find. He categorized, compared, and summarized them — ultimately constructing the most complex yet most potent Fireball meridian map.

Alongside it, he included all his personal insights into channeling and refining the technique.

But somehow, this manual eventually fell into the hands of that pale-faced evil cultivator.

After reading it from start to finish, Mo Hua couldn’t help feeling deeply moved.

How much effort and dedication had it taken to write this slender volume?

The cultivator who wrote it must have possessed extraordinary perseverance, meticulous thought, and unwavering focus — qualities that made Mo Hua feel inferior in comparison.

He couldn’t help but sigh inwardly.

In this world, there were surely many cultivators of such will and talent, yet constrained by their birth, spiritual roots, or lack of heritage, their gifts were fated to be buried and forgotten.

What a pity.

This manual’s author should have been a brilliant genius, yet his name was lost to time, his death unnoticed.

At the end of the manuscript, a single line was written:

“The Dao has no size, nor art true strength; even the smallest spark may ignite the plains.”

Mo Hua’s spirit stirred.

For this manual to have ended up with an evil cultivator — used for wicked deeds — was indeed a pearl cast into the mud.

Mo Hua made a silent vow: he would master this Fireball Technique to its peak and let the whole cultivation world know its true power!

He began studying the complex meridian pattern described within.

At first glance, it seemed difficult. Yet after only half a day, he had already mastered it — far faster than expected.

When he cast it, the fireball that appeared was different: its color deepened to a dark crimson, and its size shrank notably.

It looked… strange.

Mo Hua wasn’t sure whether he had succeeded, failed, or somehow gone astray.

As for testing its power — he didn’t dare. His home was no place for spell experiments.

After thinking for a bit, he headed to Mister Zhuang’s mountain residence. Passing through the bamboo grove and across the pond’s edge, he decided to practice as he usually did — on the unsuspecting fish.

The foolish fish swam lazily in the pond, utterly unaware of the impending disaster.

Mo Hua calmed his mind and circulated his spiritual power. Before long, a small, dark-crimson fireball formed at his fingertip.

He flicked his finger, sending it into the pond.

A deep muffled boom followed.

In an instant, the pond’s water vaporized, its plants charred, and only blackened fish bones remained floating atop the steam.

Mo Hua froze, mouth agape.

The Fireball Technique’s power… was this terrifying?

Completely beyond what he had imagined!

Then another thought struck him: “Wait… if the pond’s like this, won’t Mister Zhuang be angry?”

Just as he was wondering what to do, he turned and saw Grandpa Kui standing silently behind him, gazing at the pond with mild surprise.

“Grandpa Kui… this…”

“It’s fine,” the old man said calmly.

With a wave of his sleeve, ripples shimmered across reality — and the pond instantly reverted to its pristine state: clear water, lush reeds, and fish once again swimming foolishly about.

Mo Hua exhaled in relief.

“Where did you learn that Fireball Technique?” Grandpa Kui asked.

Mo Hua handed him the manual. “I got it from that evil cultivator.”

The old man glanced at it briefly and nodded. “Not bad.”

Mo Hua’s heart brightened — praise from Grandpa Kui was rare indeed.

“But…” he said hesitantly, “my version of the Fireball Technique seems a bit… improper.”

“Improper?” Grandpa Kui raised a brow. “Show me again.”

Mo Hua hesitated, eyeing the freshly restored pond.

“No need to hold back,” Grandpa Kui said.

Reassured, Mo Hua once again cast the spell.

The dark-red fireball shot forth — but this time, there was no explosion.

Instead, the pond’s surface distorted, twisting space itself, until the fireball simply vanished, leaving no trace.

Mo Hua was dumbfounded.

What kind of spell could do that?

Seeing Mo Hua’s astonishment, Grandpa Kui’s eyes glimmered with faint amusement. He said lightly,

“It may be unorthodox, but it is still the Fireball Technique.”

“Will there be any issues using it?” Mo Hua asked.

“No,” Grandpa Kui replied.

Mo Hua relaxed. But curiosity nagged him again.

“Why did the color darken, and the fireball shrink?”

“The reason is simple,” Grandpa Kui said without hesitation. “You condensed it with Divine-Sense.”

“With Divine-Sense?”

He nodded. “That meridian diagram you followed — it describes the method of using Divine-Sense to refine a spell. The more intricate the meridians, the greater the Divine-Sense consumption — and the more refined the spell.”

Mo Hua was struck by the realization. “That’s… just like formation arts.”

“The paths of Heaven differ, yet all lead to the same truth,” Grandpa Kui said calmly.

“But that pale-faced cultivator’s Fireball looked different — bigger, and its color wasn’t so deep…”

“Your Divine-Sense and his are not the same.”

“So… because my Divine-Sense is too strong?” Mo Hua asked tentatively.

Grandpa Kui nodded. “A Foundation Establishment Divine-Sense will naturally produce a different result.”

At that, Mo Hua finally felt completely at ease.

Once he grew more skilled, with Concealment Arts for stealth, Flowing-Water Step for evasion, Water Prison Technique for restraint, and now the Fireball Technique for offense — his combat repertoire would be far more complete.

“Thank you for your guidance, Grandpa Kui.”

“I gave no guidance,” the old man replied impassively.

Mo Hua only smiled, taking the sentiment to heart.

As Grandpa Kui turned to leave, he suddenly paused and asked,

“Care for a game of chess?”

Mo Hua was surprised — Grandpa Kui rarely invited him to play.

He nodded. “Gladly.”

Under the whispering bamboo, upon the modest chessboard, they played another long, even match — neither gaining an edge.

By the time the sun dipped below the horizon and twilight fell, Mo Hua rose to leave.

As he bid farewell, Grandpa Kui’s usually expressionless face showed a rare hint of reluctance.

He wasn’t the only one. In recent days, even Mister Zhuang occasionally seemed absent-minded, somewhat wistful.

Mo Hua faintly guessed the reason.

Mister Zhuang… might be preparing to leave Tōngxiān City.

And when that time came—he might never again have the chance to learn under him.

(End of Chapter)