Chapter 319: The Present Is Not What It Once Was

The Qian family disciples looked terrified, while Mo Hua remained calm and unruffled.

He now possessed Foundation Establishment-level Divine-Sense, Concealment Technique, and Flowing-Water Step. Against ordinary Qi-Refining cultivators, he could both advance and retreat freely—already standing in an invincible position.

Not to mention his mastery of both spells and formations.

The Mo Hua of today was no longer that fledgling formation apprentice who knew no martial arts, neglected spell cultivation, and could barely even run for his life.

So when Qian Xing came picking a fight, Mo Hua didn’t even need to call for help—he could deal with it himself.

Just a few arrogant Qian clan brats, bullies who preyed on the weak and feared the strong.

They weren’t bloodthirsty Criminal Cultivators, nor the sinister, corrupt Evil Cultivators. They had no coordination and no proper formation. Dealing with them was simplicity itself.

And Mo Hua wanted to test the power of his new Fireball Technique.

Ever since he’d learned it, he hadn’t used it once in real combat.

Now that he tried, its power was… quite impressive.

Mo Hua nodded slightly, quite satisfied.

But then he frowned in mild puzzlement—the spell shouldn’t have been that powerful.

The ninth-layer Qi-Refining idiot from the Qian family hadn’t even tried to dodge—he just stood there and took the fireball to the chest, earning himself a serious injury and a trip to the ground.

Mo Hua had held back—he hadn’t killed him.

He didn’t want to cause a death and make trouble for Zhang Lan, or for himself.

Still, these Qian disciples weren’t good people.

If they could gang up on a “small cultivator” like him today, who knew what wickedness they’d commit tomorrow?

Even if he didn’t take their lives, a little lesson was in order.

Mo Hua raised his hand and pressed two fingers together—condensing more fireballs.

His spellcasting speed was fast; his hand speed, faster still. In moments, fireballs shot out one after another with sharp whoosh sounds.

Some disciples hadn’t even realized what was happening before being struck down by fireballs.

Some noticed too late, tried to flee—but couldn’t escape, collapsing unconscious under fiery blasts.

Some tried to charge him in desperation—but their movement couldn’t compare to Mo Hua’s attacks. Flames smashed into their faces, and they fell miserably to the ground.

Even those who managed to run quite a distance were caught by his Water Prison Technique, frozen in place, and then flattened by a follow-up fireball…

Fireballs filled the air; cries and groans echoed endlessly. Qian disciples fell one after another.

In the blink of an eye, only Qian Xing remained standing.

He stood frozen in place, staring blankly as if caught in a nightmare.

What had just happened?

That brat Mo Hua hadn’t even moved—he’d just raised his hand a few times, thrown a few fireballs—and all the family cultivators he’d brought along had fallen like dominoes.

Couldn’t get close. Couldn’t escape.

Qian Xing’s expression twisted in horror.

When had this little ghost become so terrifying?!

“Am I… still mad? Not awake yet? Was all that just an illusion?”

“Maybe that’s not Mo Hua at all, but some monster wearing his skin?”

His pupils trembled violently; his mind spiraled into self-doubt.

Dazed, he lifted his head—and saw Mo Hua smiling faintly at him from afar.

That smile was bright and innocent, yet carried a trace of devilish mischief—so pure it was chilling.

Qian Xing screamed, fell backward, scrambled on hands and knees—but couldn’t even get up.

By the time he staggered to his feet, Mo Hua had somehow appeared silently right in front of him.

“You—you stay away from me! Don’t eat me!” Qian Xing stammered, trembling.

Mo Hua blinked, confused.

It seemed Qian Xing’s madness had improved, but not fully healed—he still suffered from hallucinations, blurring dream and reality.

Mo Hua was about to speak when his brow furrowed. In one motion, he drew his Thousand-Catty Staff and swung it down with tremendous force.

The strike smashed into Qian Xing’s arm, breaking his forearm and knocking the talisman from his grasp.

“Playing little tricks in front of me?” Mo Hua’s tone was almost amused.

Qian Xing grit his teeth through the pain, cold sweat streaming down his face. His voice trembled: “You’re… Mo Hua?”

He couldn’t believe it.

He’d been insane for barely a year, and upon waking, found Mo Hua utterly unrecognizable.

The brat he used to throttle by the neck could now toy with him like a cat playing with a mouse!

He couldn’t beat Mo Hua; his followers couldn’t beat Mo Hua; and even his petty schemes were seen through at a glance.

Impossible. Absolutely impossible.

Mo Hua tilted his head. “Didn’t your father tell you not to provoke me?”

Qian Xing’s face turned from blue to purple in fury.

Yes—his father had said that.

In fact, the very first thing his father told him when he recovered was:

“Don’t provoke Mo Hua.”

That warning had only deepened his resentment.

He was a Qian family scion, his father the patriarch. In all of Tōngxiān City, he’d always done whatever he pleased.

And yet time after time, he’d been humiliated by a low-born rogue cultivator.

Worse still, his father—Patriarch Qian Hong—hadn’t sought vengeance for him, but instead warned him to stay quiet.

To Qian Xing, it was incomprehensible.

They were the Qian family—since when had they ever endured such humiliation?

The more his father forbade him from provoking Mo Hua, the more he wanted to kill Mo Hua to vent his rage.

Now, though, he finally understood why.

Because he truly couldn’t afford to provoke Mo Hua anymore…

Mo Hua’s expression was unreadable, his methods terrifying.

And that smile—innocent with a hint of wickedness—made Qian Xing shudder every time he thought of it.

Mo Hua hefted his staff, studying Qian Xing with a thoughtful gaze.

Qian Xing’s face went pale. “I’m a direct heir of the Qian family! You can’t kill me!”

“Oh? Really?”

Qian Xing stumbled backward, ignoring his broken arm, muttering, “Don’t come any closer!”

Mo Hua darkened his expression. “I’ll ask you a few questions. Answer honestly, and I won’t kill you.”

(He never intended to kill him anyway—just scare him, and ask a few things.)

Qian Xing clenched his teeth and nodded. “Fine!”

Mo Hua thought for a moment. “Can outsiders enter the Qian estate?”

“What kind of outsiders?”

“Non-Qian clan members.”

“As long as there’s blood relation or marriage ties, yes—but they’ll only be treated as branch members.”

Branch members were essentially peripheral cultivators of the clan.

“Have you ever seen strangers inside your estate?”

“The Qian family’s big—I can’t possibly know everyone.”

“I mean someone who obviously didn’t belong.”

Qian Xing frowned. “Why are you asking this?”

Mo Hua gave him a cold look. “Are you questioning me?”

Qian Xing’s heart froze—he remembered his life was in Mo Hua’s hands. He had no right to ask anything.

He swallowed bitterly. “No… I haven’t.”

Mo Hua’s eyes narrowed. “You just said you don’t know everyone. So how can you be sure there are no outsiders?”

Qian Xing quickly explained, “I might not recognize every face, but I can tell who belongs. Whether someone lives there long-term, whether their behavior fits clan customs—you can always tell. Even if an outsider wears Qian family robes, their mannerisms will stand out.”

Mo Hua’s expression didn’t change, but inwardly he felt a pang of disappointment.

If Qian Xing wasn’t lying, then the Qian family rarely hosted outsiders—so no Evil Cultivators had likely infiltrated, at least not openly.

“Do any Qian cultivators practice strange techniques?” Mo Hua asked next.

“Strange?” Qian Xing blinked.

“Like ones that drain others’ spiritual power or blood—dual cultivation, blood absorption, anything like that.”

Qian Xing sneered. “I may be foolish, but I know those are forbidden demonic arts. The Dao Court bans them outright. How could our Qian family practice such filth?”

The tone was laced with mockery.

Mo Hua rapped him on the head with his staff. “Watch your tone.”

He hadn’t infused the blow with spiritual power—it only hurt a little.

Still, Qian Xing winced and, though resentful, answered more obediently:

“The Qian family rules strictly forbid demonic arts. Violators are erased from the genealogy, stripped of the surname, and permanently exiled.”

Mo Hua raised an eyebrow. That didn’t sound like the Qian family he knew…

But perhaps it was just for show—to appease the Dao Court. What happened behind closed doors was another matter.

“Has your family done anything… wicked?” Mo Hua started to ask, then stopped himself.

That was a stupid question. Of course the Qian family did wicked things.

He shifted tactics, asking several indirect questions. Qian Xing answered them all truthfully—or so it seemed.

But Mo Hua still learned nothing. No proof that Evil Cultivators had entered the Qian estate, nor that Qian family members had gone to Black Mountain Stronghold.

He sighed inwardly. It seemed there was nothing more to learn.

Qian Xing might be a direct heir, but he was a useless dandy. Even if the Qian family were colluding with the Black Mountain bandits, they’d never tell him.

With nothing else to gain, Mo Hua decided to let him go—but not without a warning.

“I’ll let you go this time. Cross me again, and you’ll lose your life.”

Qian Xing’s face lit up with joy. He hadn’t expected Mo Hua to actually spare him.

He nodded frantically, then ran toward Tōngxiān City—ignoring his injuries and the unconscious Qian disciples lying all around.

Mo Hua shook his head as he watched him flee.

That man really didn’t see others as people.

Not outsiders, not even his own clan’s disciples.

They’d been injured fighting for him, yet he didn’t spare them a glance—just ran for his life.

Arrogant, cowardly, utterly useless.

How had the Qian family produced such a waste?

Mo Hua sighed softly—then suddenly remembered Qian Xing’s old, crazed threat:

“I’ll take him to the mountain… let the beasts eat his flesh, piece by piece, till he dies in agony…”

Mo Hua frowned.

Black Mountain was perilous. Qian Xing didn’t seem the type to dare enter it.

And the Qian family weren’t beast hunters. They might kill people—but feeding them to monsters? That wasn’t their usual style.

As Qian Xing was running, he suddenly froze—his body bound by pale blue chains that materialized out of thin air.

Mo Hua appeared before him in a flash.

“You said you’d let me go!” Qian Xing shouted angrily.

“I just have one last question…” Mo Hua’s eyes darkened. “When you first came after me, didn’t you say you’d feed me to beasts in the mountains?”

Qian Xing’s expression flickered, but he gritted his teeth. “I did!”

“Have you ever actually done such a thing before?”

“No.”

Mo Hua’s brows rose slightly. “Then someone else in your family has?”

Qian Xing’s heart trembled—he shook his head again, but his eyes darted guiltily.

Mo Hua’s gaze sharpened. “You saw them do it.”

“I—I didn’t!” Qian Xing stammered, but his trembling eyes betrayed him.

“Who was feeding people to beasts?” Mo Hua pressed.

Qian Xing looked everywhere but at him, mumbling, “No one… no one…” Even when Mo Hua threatened to kill him, he wouldn’t name names.

Seeing that, Mo Hua changed tack.

“Fine. You don’t have to tell me who. Just tell me—what kind of beast was it?”

Qian Xing’s face twisted with fear. He didn’t dare reveal the person—but he feared Mo Hua’s wrath more.

This place was remote; no one would see what happened here.

After a long silence, fear won out. Trembling, he whispered:

“It… it was a pig.”

Mo Hua’s eyes gleamed. “What kind of pig?”

Qian Xing stammered, unable to describe it.

Mo Hua spoke slowly: “Was it… a huge, fat, dim-witted pig… covered in scars?”

Qian Xing’s eyes widened in horror.

“H-how do you know?!”

(End of Chapter)