Chapter 336: Different Daos

The Qian Family’s Old Patriarch suddenly came to a realization, yet still couldn’t quite believe it.

“How could it possibly be you? You’re just a child…”

Mo Hua shamelessly denied it. “Not me.”

But denial was useless.

The Old Patriarch looked at Mo Hua, his gaze already certain—but, strangely, not angry.

Mo Hua, though tense, was also confused.

He had tricked Black Mountain Fortress and now even the Qian Family’s Old Patriarch, yet the old man’s eyes showed no hatred at all. Was his temper really that good?

“You’re wondering why I’m not angry, aren’t you?” the Old Patriarch asked.

Mo Hua nodded.

The Old Patriarch’s gaze deepened. “If you were just an ordinary cultivator—whether a Demon Hunter, a Dao Court officer, or a clan disciple—destroying my century of hard work, I would’ve torn you into eight pieces.”

“But you’re different.” His eyes glimmered faintly. “You’re merely a boy of ten-some years, yet you’ve accomplished all this. Your courage and cunning are extraordinary—beyond my imagination.”

“More importantly, you’re a formation master. Your attainments in formations surpass even my Third Chief, who’s at the Foundation Establishment stage.”

“It’s just a pity… you’re not of the Qian Family.”

There was a faint note of regret in his tone.

Mo Hua frowned. “And what if I were?”

“If you were a member of the Qian Family,” the Old Patriarch said, his eyes sharpening, “even if just a collateral branch—so long as you carried even a drop of Qian blood—I’d make you an Elder.”

“Or even better—if you wished it, I could override the others’ objections and make you Patriarch of the Qian Family!”

Mo Hua twitched his lips. “If you’re going to lie, at least make it believable.”

The Old Patriarch said flatly, “In the Qian Family, my word is law. If I name you Patriarch, then Patriarch you shall be.”

“Being Patriarch doesn’t seem so great.” Mo Hua pointed at Qian Hongdao’s corpse on the ground. “That Patriarch—didn’t you just kill him?”

The Old Patriarch froze briefly, then shook his head. “You are not him.”

“Hong’er—no matter his talent, temperament, or methods—was far inferior. The only thing of worth he had was his bloodline. My blood flows in his veins.”

“So that makes him the perfect medicinal guide, doesn’t it?” Mo Hua said dryly.

The Old Patriarch didn’t get angry. Instead, he smiled faintly. “Everyone and everything should be used where it is best suited.”

Even your own grandson isn’t human to you…

Mo Hua looked at the Old Patriarch with open disdain.

After a pause, the Old Patriarch’s eyes lit up. “No… it doesn’t matter if you’re not of the Qian Family. With your abilities, bloodline no longer matters.”

He stared at Mo Hua. “You can join me. Work under me. We can rebuild Black Mountain Fortress. I’ll make you the Grand Elder!”

“I won’t show myself—you’ll be the head of Black Mountain Fortress, standing above countless people. All those demonic cultivators will obey your command and follow only your lead.”

Mo Hua opened his mouth but couldn’t find words.

This old man… really dared to dream big.

“Black Mountain Fortress is gone,” Mo Hua reminded him.

“The Black Mountain Fortress in the Great Black Mountain is gone,” the Old Patriarch corrected calmly. “But there’s more than one Great Black Mountain in this world—and more than one Black Mountain Fortress.”

“Anywhere there are people, there can be a Black Mountain Fortress. Names are just tricks to fool the world.”

Mo Hua felt a chill.

This old monster’s ambition was far greater than he’d imagined—his schemes, truly deep and far-reaching. He didn’t care about temporary defeat or personal grudges.

If allowed to succeed, this man would one day become a great demonic overlord.

Mo Hua couldn’t be bothered to pretend politeness any longer. He said flatly, “There’s no way I’ll stand on your side!”

“Why not?”

Mo Hua thought for a moment, then found a suitably heroic line:

“Our Daos are different—we cannot work together!”

The Old Patriarch sneered. “So young—what do you know of the Dao?”

“I don’t care what it is,” Mo Hua said, “but whatever yours is, mine isn’t it.”

The Old Patriarch’s expression cooled, his tone distant.

“When you grow older, when you leave Tōngxiān City and see the world’s chaos, its injustices, and the despair of cultivation, you’ll understand—I am right.”

“Then I’ll see for myself when that day comes,” Mo Hua said coldly. “I don’t believe what I haven’t seen.”

The Old Patriarch saw persuasion was useless, so he shifted tactics.

“These matters you can ponder later. For now, you can at least work for me. Whatever you want, I’ll find a way to get it for you.”

He spoke sincerely.

With the Third Chief imprisoned in the Dao Prison, he desperately needed a formation master. Compared to Mo Hua, the Third Chief’s knowledge of formations was pitiful.

If Mo Hua agreed to help, the Third Chief’s life or death wouldn’t matter.

“And if I refuse?” Mo Hua asked coldly.

“Then you won’t have a choice,” the Old Patriarch said mildly.

Mo Hua’s eyes hardened. “You mean to kill me?”

“I won’t kill you,” the Old Patriarch said. “But you must have parents, friends…”

Mo Hua’s brow arched sharply. “Don’t you dare!”

The Old Patriarch didn’t want to anger him further. He softened his tone.

“As long as you help me, I won’t harm them.”

Mo Hua sneered inwardly.

“You don’t believe me?” the Old Patriarch asked.

Mo Hua gave him a look of pure disdain. “What do you think?”

A man who killed his own kin had no trust to offer. Every word he spoke was a lie.

Even if Mo Hua helped him, he’d just end up like the Third Chief—useful until discarded.

Seeing Mo Hua unmoved, the Old Patriarch’s patience wore thin.

Once he broke through in cultivation, he could simply use Mo Hua’s parents as leverage—he didn’t believe the boy would stay defiant then.

With Mo Hua’s skill in formations, rebuilding another Black Mountain Fortress would be trivial. It would just take a little time.

Time erodes resolve. Mo Hua was young—his Dao-heart couldn’t yet be firm.

All men have desires.

He only needed to tempt Mo Hua onto the demonic path—just a single step—and he would never return.

Then Mo Hua would serve him willingly, a perfect tool.

With Mo Hua’s help, he could rebuild Black Mountain Fortress, gather demonic cultivators, and use formations to conceal their presence forever.

There could never be another little cultivator like Mo Hua—one who could both hide and scheme, master formations, and dare infiltrate the darkness itself.

Mo Hua saw right through him and said sharply,

“Those who commit too many evils will destroy themselves. Be careful not to meet your retribution.”

The Old Patriarch only sneered. “If retribution truly existed, I’d have met mine long ago. I wouldn’t still be alive.”

Mo Hua was about to reply when the Old Patriarch smiled faintly.

“Still stalling for time, aren’t you?”

Mo Hua met his gaze. “Haven’t I been doing that all along?”

The Old Patriarch looked at him with even greater appreciation—and a strange amusement. “Guess what I’ve been doing while we talked?”

Mo Hua’s heart skipped. He released his Divine-Sense—and felt his chest go cold.

The Old Patriarch’s aura was rising—steadily growing stronger!

“I know you rang the bell to summon help,” he said calmly, “but this lair is a maze. By the time they reach us, I’ll have finished refining the medicine’s power and broken through to late Foundation Establishment. Then, I’ll slaughter every last one of them—to repay the ambush they dared set against me.”

Mo Hua’s mind reeled. Everything—everything—had been calculated by this old monster.

He had been refining the Life-Transmutation Pill’s medicinal power all along! All that talk—it was just toying with him!

Cold dread swept over Mo Hua as panic threatened to rise.

He forced himself to think—fast—but no idea came.

Then suddenly, he froze. His eyes widened in horror as he looked past the Old Patriarch—staring at something behind him.

The Old Patriarch thought it was another bluff and didn’t turn.

But Mo Hua really was terrified.

He saw the dead pig—stand up silently.

It was dead. Its eyes were rolled white. There was no trace of life.

The Old Patriarch didn’t sense a thing.

The corpse, carrying the chill of death, crept soundlessly up behind him.

Only when he saw Mo Hua’s terror—too real to fake—did the Old Patriarch feel something was wrong and begin to turn.

Too late.

The white-eyed pig demon opened its massive, blood-red jaws and bit off half his body in one gulp.

Shock froze on the Old Patriarch’s face. He didn’t even know what had happened.

When he turned—barely breathing—he saw the once-dead pig staring at him with cold, hollow eyes.

“How… how could this be…” he whispered.

The pig demon chewed twice, swallowed the half-body down whole—and then opened its maw again.

This time, the cunning, ruthless Old Patriarch of the Qian Family was swallowed whole.

He who once fed people to pigs—was, in the end, fed to one himself.

(End of Chapter)