Chapter 318: Provocation
The Qian Family’s pressure forced Instructor Yan to leave, and as a result, the Tōngxiān Sect ceased teaching formation arts.
With that, the Qian Family could monopolize formations, while the Black Mountain Bandits could exploit those same formations to conceal their atrocities.
The rogue cultivators of Tōngxiān City, ignorant of formation arts, would never be able to uncover what the Evil Cultivators were doing with them…
The more Mo Hua thought about it, the colder his heart grew—an uneasy dread creeping in.
Could the Qian Family’s conspiracy truly run this deep?
As they walked, Mo Shan noticed Mo Hua had suddenly stopped, his face growing graver by the second—almost as if struck by fear. Worried, he asked,
“Hua’er, what’s wrong?”
Mo Hua came back to himself, thought for a moment, then said solemnly:
“Father, let’s go find Elder Yu.”
Mo Shan didn’t know what his son had realized, but he could tell it was important, so he nodded.
“Alright.”
They soon arrived at the Yu residence.
Elder Yu had just returned and was leisurely drinking tea in the main hall. Hearing that Mo Hua had come, he smiled warmly and stood up—only for his smile to fade when he saw Mo Hua’s grave expression, with Mo Shan looking equally stern.
Startled, Elder Yu asked,
“What happened?”
After some brief thought, Mo Hua voiced his suspicion.
The Qian Family had forced Instructor Yan out, cutting off the Tōngxiān Sect’s formation teachings, thereby allowing the Black Mountain Bandits to hide deep in the mountains using formation arts, committing countless crimes undetected.
Elder Yu frowned, his thin fingers tapping rhythmically on the table. After a long silence, he finally said slowly:
“It’s possible… but a little far-fetched.”
The Qian Family monopolizing formation arts could simply be for profit—it didn’t necessarily mean they were shielding the Black Mountain Bandits.
It was, at best, a clue—not solid proof.
Mo Hua nodded.
“I know it’s a bit of a stretch—that’s why I came to ask you.”
Elder Yu asked,
“What is it you want to know?”
“When you fought the Evil Cultivators during the attack on Black Mountain Stronghold, were there truly no Qian Family cultivators among them?”
Elder Yu’s gaze sharpened. After carefully recalling, he shook his head.
“At least the leaders weren’t from the Qian Family.”
Mo Shan added,
“And among the other Qi-Refining cultivators, I didn’t sense anyone from the Qian Family either.”
“What about the main leader? Do you know his identity?”
Elder Yu shook his head.
“He wore a black cloth mask—his aura was utterly unfamiliar, and frankly, it didn’t even feel like someone from Tōngxiān City.”
Mo Hua scratched his head, uncertain.
“So I guessed wrong?”
“That’s the tricky part.”
Elder Yu sighed.
“If the Qian Family truly were the masterminds behind this, connected with the Black Mountain Bandits, there’s no way there wouldn’t be Qian cultivators among them. One of those leaders would have to be a Qian Family Foundation Establishment cultivator.”
“No exceptions?” Mo Hua asked.
Elder Yu sighed again.
“I’ve dealt with the Qian Family for many years—I know their ways well. If they were in league with the bandits, they would’ve sent people to infiltrate, to worm their way in and take control bit by bit.”
“And if the Black Mountain Stronghold had been founded by the Qian Family, that main leader—if not Qian Hong himself—would’ve been one of their elders.”
“Could he have disguised himself?”
Elder Yu shook his head.
“No matter how well someone disguises themselves, their spiritual aura doesn’t change. I know those Qian Family Foundation Establishments inside and out—one breath, and I can tell who farted. I wouldn’t mistake them.”
Mo Hua slumped, deflated. He had thought he’d uncovered a link between the Qian Family and the Black Mountain Bandits…
Elder Yu patted his shoulder encouragingly.
“Your reasoning is good, but you’ll need more evidence. I’ll have my people keep a closer watch on the Qian Family—see if they make any unusual moves.”
“Alright.” Mo Hua nodded.
On the way home, he asked,
“Father, do you think it really could be the Qian Family?”
Mo Shan nodded.
“It does seem like them.”
“But there’s no trace of evidence at all…”
Mo Hua sighed in frustration.
Mo Shan said calmly,
“No paper can wrap a fire, and no wall is without cracks. If the Qian Family truly has ties to the Black Mountain Bandits, they’ll slip up eventually.”
He then ruffled Mo Hua’s hair, smiling softly.
“Some things take time to unravel. Just keep your eyes open—you’ll see the truth one day.”
Mo Hua felt a little better and nodded silently.
In the following days, between cultivation and formation practice, he kept mulling over the issue—without progress, but without discouragement either.
He held fast to his father’s words: Be observant, and clues will reveal themselves.
Then one day, Zhang Lan came to see him, saying straight away,
“You’d better be careful these days.”
“Why?” Mo Hua asked, surprised.
“Someone might be coming to cause you trouble.”
“The Qian Family?”
Could it be they’d learned he’d been investigating them and wanted revenge?
“Not exactly the Qian Family… but also the Qian Family,” Zhang Lan said vaguely.
Mo Hua frowned.
“Uncle Zhang, are you drunk? You’re not making sense.”
“Nonsense! I haven’t even started drinking yet!”
Zhang Lan scowled, then downed a big bowl of wine in one go before saying,
“It’s Qian Xing.”
“Qian Xing?”
Mo Hua was taken aback—it had been a long time since he’d heard that name.
“Didn’t he go insane?”
“Insane for a time, not for life,” Zhang Lan replied. “He’s the Qian Family’s direct heir. They’ve been trying to cure him, and it seems they finally succeeded.”
Mo Hua propped his chin thoughtfully.
“He shouldn’t still be looking to pick a fight, should he?”
Zhang Lan smirked.
“What do you think?”
Mo Hua frowned deeper.
Yeah… that was hard to say.
Qian Xing had always been arrogant and vengeful—he might really come after him again.
Spoiled brats like him had tempers, not brains.
Mo Hua thought for a moment, then his eyes gleamed mischievously.
“What if… I just kill him?”
Zhang Lan coughed sharply, looking exasperated.
“I’m a Dao Court Division officer—you really think that’s something you should be saying to me?”
“I said what if.”
“No ‘what ifs.’”
Mo Hua sighed.
“Uncle Zhang, you’ve changed. Back then, when you told me how to trick Qian Xing…”
Zhang Lan clamped a hand over his mouth, panicked.
“I never told you that!”
“Alright, alright, you didn’t.”
Zhang Lan rubbed his temples helplessly and sighed.
“If he really comes after you, just have someone rough him up. As long as you don’t kill him, the Qian Family can’t do much.”
“Got it.” Mo Hua nodded.
In the days that followed, Mo Hua waited for Qian Xing to show up.
If his guess was right, the fool would come looking for him—and sure enough, he didn’t disappoint.
One evening, at the foot of a hill along a quiet side path, Qian Xing appeared again—with several followers in tow.
He’d grown thinner, his complexion paler, cheekbones sharp, and there was a mad glint in his eyes.
His demeanor had changed, but the venom in his gaze—the burning hatred for Mo Hua—remained the same.
Without a single word, Qian Xing barked to his lackeys:
“Get him! Cripple him first!”
To be safe this time, he’d brought five men: one at the ninth layer of Qi Refining and four at the eighth.
Against Mo Hua’s seventh layer, it was more than enough.
He’d even picked a remote spot—no monster hunters, no wandering cultivators—so no one could interfere.
This time, he’d wash away his humiliation and make that brat kneel and beg for mercy.
As soon as he spoke, his followers attacked. The ninth-layer disciple charged first, lunging straight for Mo Hua.
Mo Hua stood still, face expressionless. He didn’t dodge—he simply raised his hand and cast a Fireball Technique.
The fireball was small and dark red, but incredibly fast.
The ninth-layer cultivator didn’t even bother to dodge—he didn’t need to.
A mere Fireball Technique? Please.
He was a body cultivator with an earth spiritual root—thick-skinned and durable. At most, it’d sting a bit.
And with Young Master Qian watching, this was the perfect chance to show off his valor.
So he puffed his chest and took the fireball head-on.
The deep-red sphere exploded with an eerie ripple.
The warped, searing spiritual force shredded his chest armor, tore through his flesh, and vaporized the blood around his heart.
The agony hit before he could even react.
The ninth-layer disciple’s eyes rolled back—he dropped like a stone.
He’d charged quickly—and fell just as fast.
The other disciples froze in place, horror dawning on their faces.
Silence fell over the mountainside.
That… was a Fireball Technique?
One fireball—just one—and he was down?
The quiet of the evening turned into dead silence.
(End of Chapter)