Chapter 365: The Celestial Rune

The grand array collapsed, and the great demon perished.

The Fengxi that was born from the Black Mountain Stronghold also met its end upon the very Five-Element Demon-Slaughtering Array constructed atop that same stronghold. In the end, both were annihilated together as the formation disintegrated.

Tōngxiān City gradually returned to life.

The artifact forges and pill furnaces were intact, the smithing and alchemy guilds still stood, and most other trades within the city were untouched.

Though the deep mountains were nearly obliterated, the outer and inner regions remained largely unaffected.

The demon hunters could still enter the mountains to hunt, the artifact smiths could still refine treasures, the alchemists could still concoct pills, and the merchants could still trade their goods.

Before long, everything began operating as usual.

In fact, within the Black Mountain, a new, wide and convenient mountain road now existed—dug out by the combined efforts of countless cultivators during the grand array’s construction.

This road not only made it easier for Tōngxiān City’s cultivators to enter and exit the mountains, but also for traveling merchants to bring their wares into the city.

Gradually, vitality returned to Tōngxiān City.

The streets grew lively again, filled with the bustle of cultivators coming and going.

In time, the city might even become more prosperous than before…

…

Elder Yu was extremely busy, overseeing the city’s reconstruction, restoring production, and handling the aftermath of the Fengxi incident.

Many places around the city required new formations.

However, Mo Hua’s Sea of Consciousness was still damaged; he could not yet use his Divine-Sense, much less draw arrays himself.

Thus, other array masters handled the actual drawing, while Mo Hua stood by their side, giving guidance.

He would point out what was correct, what was mistaken, and when they encountered difficulties, he would offer insight.

Before long, the other array masters began addressing him as “Little Mister.”

They gave him half the respect of a disciple and treated him with genuine reverence.

They knew the grand array had come from this very boy’s hand—and even after its self-destruction, he had survived unscathed.

That level of mastery was beyond their comprehension.

Mo Hua was kind and approachable, without the slightest arrogance.

When asked, he would answer freely; a few words from him often left them enlightened.

It was the grace of “imparting the Dao, transmitting the teachings, and dispelling confusion.”

They were all deeply grateful in their hearts.

With his hands clasped behind his back, Mo Hua guided them patiently—though truth be told, these arrays were too simple, and he soon grew bored.

He wanted to draw something more difficult, something deeper, more profound.

After several days, his Divine-Sense had mostly recovered.

Though he couldn’t overexert it yet, he could begin cautiously attempting more complex formations again.

That day, Mo Hua drew a few Reverse-Spirit Arrays to warm up.

Then, when midnight arrived, he could no longer resist—his consciousness sank into his Sea of Consciousness, before the Dao Monument.

Upon that monument lay the mark that haunted his thoughts—the single stroke of the Celestial Rune he had glimpsed within the heavenly tribulation!

Mo Hua wanted to see if he could learn it.

The Celestial Array was far too vast, too incomprehensible—his current cultivation couldn’t grasp it at all.

But he could start from a single stroke.

A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step: one stroke, one rune, one array, one system of formations—building up, step by step, until one day he might comprehend the whole.

It was a fine plan… but reality swiftly poured cold water on it.

He couldn’t even look at the rune properly.

Though the Celestial Rune was etched upon the Dao Monument, the instant he so much as brushed it with his Divine-Sense, his spirit power began draining away violently.

Mo Hua froze, then grumbled: “I didn’t even look at you yet, and you’re already draining my Divine-Sense? How stingy!”

Then he sighed. Even if it was just a single stroke—it was still a Celestial Rune, after all.

It contained the creation principles of Heaven and Earth, far beyond what a mere Qi-Refining cultivator could comprehend.

If he forced himself to look, his Sea of Consciousness might collapse again.

Even with the Dao Monument’s protection, he would be injured—and over time, that could leave lasting damage.

The Sea of Consciousness of a Qi-Refining cultivator… was simply too fragile.

The Dao he sought lay right before him, yet he could not study it, not even glimpse it.

Mo Hua sighed helplessly.

It seemed he could only set it aside for now, until his cultivation grew stronger.

“I must cultivate diligently and reach Foundation Establishment soon!”

he told himself quietly.

Then a question arose—what level of cultivation, what degree of Divine-Sense, was required to comprehend this Celestial Rune?

Foundation Establishment? Golden Core?

Or something far beyond?

And if he could learn it… what then?

Mo Hua frowned deeply.

That stroke was connected to the crimson Heavenly Tribulation Lightning.

If he could master it—wouldn’t that mean he could control the power of annihilating tribulation itself?

The thought made him shiver.

He remembered that dreadful red lightning—the suffocating silence, the deathly aura that devoured all life.

At the time, he’d been too focused on the array’s collapse to truly feel it.

Now, recalling it, fear slowly crept into his heart.

“Thankfully my cultivation was so low,” he muttered to himself.

“Otherwise, I’d have been smited out of existence…”

He definitely didn’t want to see that kind of lightning again.

Well—unless, of course, the lightning was his to command.

Then that would be an entirely different story.

The thought stirred a faint excitement within him.

Still, regarding the Celestial Rune, he remained utterly lost.

What made it different? Could it be learned? How should one learn it?

Surely, with Mister Zhuang’s knowledge, he would know something—but since the matter involved the Dao Monument, and Mister Zhuang had warned him never to speak of it to anyone, Mo Hua couldn’t ask.

Not just about the Celestial Rune—from now on, there might be many things he could no longer seek Mister Zhuang’s help for.

That thought made him melancholic.

Mister Zhuang would be leaving soon.

Mo Hua dreaded the day he might visit the mountain residence, only to find it empty forevermore.

The thought alone chilled him.

So these days, he went to see Mister Zhuang every single day.

Mo Shan and Liu Ruhua had also learned that Mister Zhuang was leaving.

Though they had never met him, their hearts were filled with gratitude.

Liu Ruhua said to Mo Hua: “Mister Zhuang accepted you as a registered disciple and taught you the art of formations. That is a great favor to our family. Someday, we must repay it properly.”

Mo Hua nodded solemnly. “Mm!”

Liu Ruhua wanted to show her thanks—but spirit stones, Mister Zhuang had no need of; as for low-grade artifacts or pills, he surely wouldn’t care for them.

So after much thought, she decided to cook instead.

Using the recipes Zi Xi had given her, she chose several dishes and began preparing.

Mo Shan went into the mountains to hunt demons, and even asked fellow hunters to help him gather one of each type—then brought home the most tender, flavorful cuts for his wife to cook.

The result was a grand feast of the Black Mountain’s finest—a “Full Demon Banquet.”

From chicken and duck to fish, cattle, sheep, and even hound, each dish had its own distinct flavor: some fresh, some spicy, some numbing, some savory—a feast of color, aroma, and taste.

Mo Hua was dumbstruck.

From then on, every time he visited Mister Zhuang, he would bring some along as a gift of gratitude.

Mister Zhuang wanted to reject, but after a moment’s thought, decided… why not?

He ate with a clear conscience.

The happiest of all, though, was Bai Zisheng.

He had eaten countless delicacies in his life, but never so many delicious ones at once, each with a different flavor and never repeating.

He was awestruck, and leaned toward Mo Hua to whisper: “Mo Hua, go ask Aunt Liu if she needs another godson?”

Mo Hua rolled his eyes at him, speechless.

Bai Zixi’s crystal eyes glinted with annoyance, she glared at her brother.

…

In the bamboo house among the mountains.

Mister Zhuang reclined in his chair, sipping wine, nibbling meat, watching the sunset dye the clouds in gold and crimson.

The forest shimmered in ink and light.

All his recent worries and burdens melted away.

Grandpa Kui looked at him. “So… you’ve made your decision?”

Mister Zhuang nodded. “Everything’s decided. Only one problem remains.”

Grandpa Kui’s gaze sharpened. “What problem?”

Mister Zhuang glanced at the table laden with meat and sighed.

“With all this food…” he said, rubbing his chin ruefully, “I think I’ve gotten fat.”

Grandpa Kui: “…”

(End of Chapter)