Chapter 317: The Clue

When it came to the chance to eat and drink openly and for free, Mo Hua naturally didn’t refuse.

The next noon, he went to attend the banquet.

Commander Yang had invited quite a few people — those from the Dao Court Division, the Dao Soldiers Division, and many Monster Hunters besides.

Mo Hua’s father, Mo Shan, had gone early with Elder Yu, likely to discuss some matters beforehand.

Mo Hua practiced a few formation sequences, deduced a bit of a composite array, and only then set off — arriving slightly late, but still just in time for the feast.

On his way there, he unexpectedly ran into Zhang Lan.

Zhang Lan looked reluctant, dragging his feet as he walked — coincidentally heading in the same direction.

Mo Hua greeted him. When Zhang Lan turned and saw who it was, his mood lifted somewhat, and the two walked together.

Mo Hua asked,

“Uncle Zhang, are you going to freeload a meal too?”

Zhang Lan corrected sternly,

“It’s called attending a banquet out of courtesy — not freeloading.”

Mo Hua grinned.

“Well, that works too.”

Zhang Lan didn’t agree, but thinking it over — “attending a banquet” and “freeloading a meal” didn’t seem that different.

It was noon, and the streets were lively.

As they walked, Mo Hua suddenly remembered something and quietly asked,

“Any new word about Black Mountain Stronghold?”

Zhang Lan looked surprised.

“What do you want to know?”

“The Second Commander was captured, wasn’t he? Did he say anything?”

Seeing the street crowded and noisy, with no one paying attention, Zhang Lan lowered his voice and said,

“The Second Commander is bloodthirsty and insane — he only reacts to a few names, knows nothing else. We’ve questioned him for over ten days and learned absolutely nothing.”

Mo Hua looked disappointed.

Zhang Lan arched an eyebrow and asked in a low tone,

“Are you still suspecting something?”

Mo Hua extended his Divine-Sense, confirming they were safe, then whispered:

“I suspect there’s someone behind Black Mountain Stronghold…”

Zhang Lan’s gaze sharpened slightly, though he didn’t seem surprised.

Mo Hua blinked.

“Uncle Zhang, you think so too?”

Zhang Lan nodded.

“The Stronghold’s influence was far too large, entrenched for too long. Without local support, that’s nearly impossible.”

Mo Hua said bluntly,

“Could it be the Qian Family?”

Zhang Lan asked,

“Do you actually know what the Qian Family has done?”

Mo Hua frowned in thought, then shook his head.

He had pondered it many times these past few days but still couldn’t find any direct connection between the Qian Family and the bandits of Black Mountain.

There were no spirit-stone trades, no hired killings, no Qian clansmen hiding within the Stronghold.

Zhang Lan said,

“In situations like this, anyone can be a suspect — even the Dao Court Division, Elder Yu, or me, Zhang Lan. You have to test every possibility.”

“But when it comes time to draw a conclusion, you must be cautious — have solid evidence. Otherwise, it’s easy to make a wrong judgment.”

Mo Hua understood Zhang Lan was instructing him. He nodded earnestly.

“I’ll remember that, Uncle Zhang.”

This child really understands things quickly…

Zhang Lan nodded, feeling both gratified and faintly melancholic.

At this rate, there was little left he could teach the boy — or show off in front of him.

He really needed to establish his Foundation soon. Otherwise, not only before Mo Hua, but even that brat Yang Jiyong, he’d soon lose all face…

Zhang Lan sighed inwardly.

Mo Hua, unaware of Zhang Lan’s thoughts, was still mulling over the Black Mountain case.

“If it’s not the Qian Family, then who else could it be? What dealings would they have with the Stronghold? What exactly did they help them with…?”

He pondered as they walked, until they arrived at the Spirit-Meal Pavilion.

Setting aside his questions, Mo Hua followed Zhang Lan upstairs.

The farewell feast was lavish, with many guests — most of them familiar faces.

Mo Hua relaxed; once everyone began eating, he happily joined in.

Commander Yang sat beside him and leaned over quietly:

“Mo Hua, have you decided? Would you like to join the Dao Soldiers Division?”

Mo Hua glanced at his father, Mo Shan.

Commander Yang continued,

“I’ve already asked your father. He said it’s entirely up to you — he won’t interfere.”

From the side, Zhang Lan muttered,

“Still scheming, aren’t you? Thick-skinned bastard.”

Yang Tongling countered,

“This is a fine opportunity for him—”

“What kind of ‘fine opportunity’ is the Dao Soldiers Division?”

“Better than your Dao Court Division!”

The old Supervisor from the Dao Court Division looked straight ahead, pretending not to hear — though he couldn’t resist coughing once.

Commander Yang realized he’d overstepped, and quickly apologized,

“I meant Zhang Lan’s the bad one, not the Division. Please don’t take offense, Supervisor.”

The old man said nothing. Zhang Lan sneered,

“Yang, I’m giving you face only because the Supervisor’s here. Push me again and I’ll air your dirty laundry right here.”

“Think I don’t have dirt of my own? Who’s afraid of who?”

The two started bickering again.

Fortunately, the room was lively — full of laughter and clinking cups — so the overall atmosphere remained cheerful.

At first Mo Hua listened, but soon realized they were arguing over trivial nonsense. His stomach was growling, so he simply focused on eating.

After a while, Commander Yang suddenly remembered his original goal — he’d nearly forgotten while trading insults.

He fixed his burning gaze on Mo Hua again.

Mo Hua, happily chewing, caught that look. Feeling it would be impolite to reject him outright after eating his food, he said tactfully:

“Uncle Yang, I still have much to learn about formations. Once I’ve mastered them, I’ll think about joining the Dao Soldiers.”

He thought Yang Tongling might be disappointed, but instead the man’s eyes lit up.

“Excellent! That’s the right mindset — a formation master must devote himself wholly to the Dao. Joining the Soldiers can wait. Even if, once your formations mature, you choose not to join, that’s fine too…”

Commander Yang smiled kindly, and then dropped the real offer:

“You could just join my Yang Family instead.”

Zhang Lan snorted.

“Drunk already, are you? Dream on! If anyone’s joining a clan, it’d be mine — not yours.”

“The Yangs are a great house—”

“And the Zhangs aren’t?”

“I won’t argue with you.”

“As if I wanted to argue.”

…And off they went again.

Mo Hua sighed helplessly and returned to eating.

By the time the feast ended, he was full to bursting.

Downstairs, everyone exchanged farewells.

Commander Yang would depart in a few days, leading his troops away. On the endless path of cultivation, who knew when they might meet again?

At such partings, even Zhang Lan stopped bickering.

Elder Yu, representing the scattered cultivators of Tōngxiān City, presented Commander Yang with gifts and bowed.

“This time’s victory was thanks to your leadership and the valor of the Dao Soldiers. Only thus could Black Mountain Stronghold be destroyed, preserving the city’s peace.”

“A mere trifle — Elder Yu is too kind.”

Commander Yang returned the bow, then added,

“Actually, it was truly thanks to Mo Hua…”

Zhang Lan rolled his eyes.

“Enough already…”

Still trying to lure the boy with flattery? Shameless.

Commander Yang remained serious.

“I’m not exaggerating. In battle, formations are crucial. Without Mo Hua the formation master, this campaign would’ve been far harder.”

Supervisor Zhou thought for a moment, sighed, and nodded.

“Commander Yang is right. Without this child’s help, we’d never have found the mountain path through the abyss, seen through the mist forest’s illusion, or located the Stronghold’s hidden gate — let alone breached its layered formations.”

He too praised Mo Hua heartily.

Elder Yu nodded proudly; Mo Hua was the son of a Monster Hunter, after all. He refrained from boasting but his smile betrayed his pride.

Mo Shan, slightly embarrassed, bowed.

“You two flatter him.”

Still, hearing his son praised by two Foundation Establishment cultivators filled him with quiet pride.

After their farewells, Mo Hua followed his father home.

The streets bustled with life; market stalls stood row on row.

As he walked, replaying Commander Yang and Supervisor Zhou’s praise, Mo Hua smiled contentedly.

But suddenly, a chill rippled through his heart.

Something felt wrong.

It was as if he’d realized something — but couldn’t quite put it into words.

He went over their words again, carefully.

“Without Mo Hua the formation master, destroying Black Mountain Stronghold would’ve been far harder.”

Without a formation master… impossible to destroy the Stronghold…

Without a formation master… they’d never have found the hidden path, never seen through the mist, never located the gate…

Without a formation master—

Mo Hua’s heart trembled. A sentence surfaced in his mind:

“Scattered cultivators have no formation masters.”

Among unaffiliated cultivators, those who studied formations were exceedingly rare — a first-grade formation master, almost unheard of.

Mo Hua himself was an exception: born with extraordinary Divine-Sense, blessed with the Dao Monument, taught by Instructor Yan, and later by Mister Zhuang, working tirelessly day and night on formation diagrams until he finally reached first-grade mastery.

Ordinarily, no rogue cultivator could ever become a formation master.

“If there were no formation master among them… what would happen?”

Mo Hua frowned, thinking carefully — and his heart turned cold.

Without one, no one could have seen through the Concealment Arrays that hid the path above the Abyssal Marsh, or pierced the Mist Formation shrouding the mountain.

No one would have discovered the Stronghold’s invisible gate, or known that deep within the mountains lurked such a vile nest of demonic cultivators.

Black Mountain Stronghold had survived in secrecy because of formations!

As long as the scattered cultivators knew nothing of array-craft, unable to perceive those illusions, the Stronghold could thrive — killing, cultivating forbidden arts, refining human pills — forever unseen.

Mo Hua sucked in a cold breath.

He forced himself to calm down, to think.

Someone didn’t want the scattered cultivators to learn formations…

He remembered — in the beginning, Tōngxiān Sect did teach array arts.

But after Instructor Yan left, the teachings stopped. No one taught formation patterns anymore, and Mo Hua, unable to progress, eventually withdrew from the sect…

From then on, the rogue cultivators of Tōngxiān City had no access to formation study. The path was severed.

If not for Mo Hua himself, there truly would be no formation master among the scattered cultivators.

“Instructor Yan left… the formation classes ended…”

And why had Instructor Yan left?

Mo Hua’s expression hardened—his eyes glinted cold.

It was the Qian Family!

(End of Chapter)