Chapter 382: Formations

Old Man Ding’s little grandson lay across the table, taking small sips of thin porridge without a single grain of rice in it. He tried his best not to look at the chicken on the table, but every now and then he couldn’t help sneaking a glance.

The boy was five or six years old, named Ding Miao’er.

The name “Miao’er” (meaning “seedling”) was likely chosen in hope that, like the rice seedlings in the fields, he would grow up safe and strong.

When rice grows well, it means a bountiful harvest.

When a child grows well, it means peace and safety.

Mo Hua finished his bowl of porridge, ate a piece of chicken, then pushed the entire plate of meat toward Miao’er.

“I’m full. Let Miao’er have the rest.”

Old Man Ding quickly protested, “How could that be proper?”

Mo Hua replied, “I’ll ask you a few questions. If you answer them, that’ll count as payment for drawing the formation.”

Old Man Ding said hurriedly, “Little sir, if you have questions, just ask. I’ll tell you everything I know. That’s only my duty—but this…”

Mo Hua didn’t let him refuse. “It’s settled then.”

Miao’er, however, shook his head and said in his childish voice,

“Big brother, eat.”

Mo Hua patted his head gently. “You eat.”

Miao’er wanted to refuse.

Grandfather had taught him that when guests came, they must be treated properly.

But his stomach was truly empty, and it had been so long since he’d even remembered what meat tasted like.

He couldn’t resist—he took a bite of the chicken.

And in that moment, surrounded by the rich aroma of meat, he completely lost himself—one bite after another, he devoured the whole plate.

Mo Hua smiled and patted his small head again.

Miao’er looked up, mouth full, eyes sparkling bright.

Old Man Ding’s heart ached to watch it.

That was his own grandson, and not to mention meat—even plain rice was often a luxury for them.

While the boy ate in quiet bliss, Mo Hua turned to Old Man Ding.

“Grandpa Ding, the formations in these fields—are they all drawn by the Sun Family?”

Old Man Ding nodded. “Yes. They’ve been repairing and maintaining them since their ancestors’ time—hundreds of years now.”

“Their ancestors?”

Old Man Ding sighed, his gaze distant.

“The ancestor of the Sun Family—especially their founding patriarch—was a famed grand formation master, and a truly kind man.”

“He was originally a cultivator from another region. Somehow he drifted here, and when he saw how the cultivators of Qianjia Town struggled, he took pity on them. Out of compassion, he inscribed formations into the spiritual fields.”

“These formations made the earth fertile, the water rich, and the spirit rice abundant. Thanks to him, we never starved again.”

“The cultivators of Qianjia Town were endlessly grateful. They begged him to stay, and even built him a mansion…”

“That mansion is now the Sun Family estate—but they’ve renovated it many times since, and nothing of the old home remains.”

“What happened afterward?” Mo Hua asked.

“After that…” Old Man Ding sighed deeply. “The Sun Family ancestor passed away. Some say his Sea of Consciousness shattered from overexertion in studying formations—but that’s just a rumor. The truth, I don’t know.”

“After his death, we still honored the Sun Family for their ancestor’s kindness. Every harvest, we’d send them spirit rice in gratitude.”

“But over time, their descendants began to take it for granted. They came to believe we owed them tribute for life.”

“When a harvest was bad and we offered less, they’d scold us—calling us ungrateful wolves.”

“Later, they grew greedier. They wanted not just our harvests but also our daughters—to serve as maids in their household. That, of course, we could never accept.”

“And so, gratitude turned into resentment.”

“Since then, the gap between us loose cultivators and the Sun Family grew wider. They relied on those formations to bully us. Every year, most of our yield goes to them.”

“But we can’t refuse. These lands are close to the mountains—barren and poor. Without the formations, the spirit rice withers quickly.”

Old Man Ding sighed again, long and heavy.

Mo Hua listened silently, his heart stirred. Then he asked,

“The formations in the fields—are they still the ones the Sun ancestor left behind, unchanged?”

Old Man Ding scratched his head, thinking.

“Not quite…”

“The old cultivators in town used to say that the ancestor’s formations had no visible marks and needed no repair—they could last for years.”

“The ones now are drawn by his descendants. They break often, need frequent patching.”

He couldn’t explain much more than that.

The Sun ancestor’s era was too far gone, and Old Man Ding only knew what had been passed down. As for formation theory, he was completely clueless.

Mo Hua frowned.

Something didn’t add up.

If they were truly formations, how could they be “without trace”?

The Sun descendants should’ve known what kind of formations their ancestor drew—why replace them?

Could it be they were using the formations as a pretext to extort the farmers?

Did they even understand what their ancestor had created?

Unable to make sense of it, Mo Hua thought of another question.

“The Sun Family forced you to sell your sons and daughters—but never your fields?”

Normally, the spirit fields were what mattered most.

If the Suns didn’t seize that “fat meat,” there had to be a reason.

“The Sun Family has an ancestral precept…”

“Ancestral precept?”

Old Man Ding nodded. “Yes. The Sun ancestor decreed: any descendant of the Sun Family who dares seize even a single field of Qianjia Town shall have their surname stripped, their name erased from the ancestral records, and be cast out forever!”

Mo Hua was taken aback, sighing in admiration.

“The Sun ancestor was truly a broad-minded and righteous formation master… what a pity.”

A pity his descendants turned out so unworthy.

By then, Miao’er had finished the last of the chicken. He looked at Mo Hua, a little embarrassed, cheeks flushed.

That chicken was meant for their guest—yet he’d eaten it all.

Mo Hua smiled.

“I’d like to take a look at the fields. Will you take me?”

The well-fed Miao’er nodded eagerly. “Mm!”

So Old Man Ding and his grandson led Mo Hua around the spirit fields.

Mo Hua asked question after question, and Old Man Ding answered all he could.

But still, Mo Hua found no clues of an Absolute Formation.

Everywhere he looked, there were only six-pattern Soil-Nurturing Arrays.

When dusk fell, Mo Hua bid farewell and returned to the Sun estate.

After greeting Mister Zhuang, he went back to his room and exchanged findings with Bai Zisheng and Bai Zixi.

Bai Zisheng said,

“The Sun Family’s patriarch, Sun Yi, is an idiot!”

“How so?” Mo Hua asked, puzzled.

Bai Zisheng glanced around, then whispered,

“He’s studied formations for seventy or eighty years, already at Foundation Establishment—but still not even a first-grade formation master. His Divine-Sense hasn’t reached ten runes!”

Mo Hua gaped. “Is his head made of wood?”

Bai Zixi looked at him silently, then said calmly,

“Not everyone learns formations as fast as you.”

Mo Hua froze, muttering softly, “Still… that’s too slow. What does he even do all day?”

Bai Zisheng smirked. “Eat, drink tea, watch women dance—and he even invited me and Zixi to watch.”

“He doesn’t study formations?”

“He does,” Bai Zisheng said. “Just one array a day.”

Mo Hua fell silent.

No wonder…

At that pace, it would take him several lifetimes to reach first grade.

It wasn’t a lack of talent—it was indulgence and laziness.

“How about the rest of the Sun Family?” Mo Hua asked.

Bai Zisheng sneered. “The general’s a fool, and his soldiers worse. The whole nest is rotten.”

“The patriarch’s already like that; the others are hopeless. His son, Sun Ze, can only draw four-pattern arrays even now.”

Mo Hua sighed deeply.

The Sun ancestor had been a true second-grade grand formation master—one who could bless a region with prosperity.

He might even have grasped Absolute Formations.

Yet his descendants wallowed in luxury and arrogance.

Even with Foundation Establishment cultivation, they couldn’t become first-grade formation masters.

“What about you? Did you find anything?” Bai Zisheng asked.

Mo Hua relayed everything he’d learned: the story of the ancestor, the Sun Family’s monopoly over formations, the farmers’ suffering.

Bai Zisheng grew angrier the more he heard.

“Not only an idiot, but a scoundrel too!”

Mo Hua asked, “Doesn’t the Dao Court Division care about things like this?”

Bai Zisheng didn’t know and looked toward Bai Zixi.

Bai Zixi thought for a moment before saying softly,

“Usually, they don’t intervene.”

“The Dao Court Division is based in Immortal Cities. Their jurisdiction mainly covers those cities. Areas beyond are managed by local clans, sects, or elders, as long as they pay their annual spirit stone tax.”

“In small, remote places like this, the Dao Court has the authority but not the reach. As long as nothing major happens, they rarely bother.”

Mo Hua nodded in understanding.

The Dao Court was highly hierarchical, but lower regions were fragmented and tangled in local interests—oversight was lax.

As long as stability wasn’t threatened, the higher-ups simply turned a blind eye.

Mo Hua looked at Bai Zixi and said admiringly,

“Senior Sister, you really know a lot.”

Bai Zixi nodded calmly, but her long lashes fluttered slightly—there was a trace of quiet pride beneath her serenity.

“So you still haven’t found any clues about the Absolute Formation?” Bai Zisheng asked.

Mo Hua shook his head regretfully.

“What will you do next?”

“I’ll visit Dongshan Village and the fields again when I have time. I’ve calculated it—there should be clues there.”

Those hundred acres of spirit fields, even if now ordinary, were very likely once inscribed by the Sun ancestor with an Absolute Formation.

Just like Old Man Ding had said—“without trace, without mark.”

Over the next few days, Mo Hua continued visiting Dongshan Village whenever he could.

The Sun Family soon noticed his movements and reported to Sun Ze.

Sun Ze, in turn, reported to his father, Sun Yi.

“Father, what exactly is that little brat up to?” Sun Ze said irritably.

Sun Yi frowned, silent.

“I sent people to check,” Sun Ze went on. “That brat went to the fields a few days ago, repaired a Soil-Nurturing Array, then ate at some old man’s house. After that, he kept wandering the fields.”

“These past few days, he’s been there almost daily.”

A sharp glint flashed in Sun Yi’s eyes. “You said he repaired a Soil-Nurturing Array?”

Sun Ze nodded.

Sun Yi’s expression shifted in disbelief. “A boy that young can already repair a six-pattern Soil-Nurturing Formation?”

He turned a glare on his son, scolding bitterly,

“If you’d spend even a little effort on real work, you wouldn’t still be stuck at four-pattern arrays! You shame our Sun Family!”

You’re one to talk, Sun Ze thought bitterly. You’ve already reached Foundation Establishment and still aren’t a first-grade formation master…

But he didn’t dare say it aloud. Instead, he muttered,

“Father, what do you think that brat’s planning?”

Sun Yi’s expression grew grave. Suddenly his eyes gleamed.

“Formations… could it be he’s after our Sun Family’s formation inheritance?”

Sun Ze was startled, then hesitated and said with a disappointed face,

“But Father… what inheritance? We don’t really have anything worth stealing.”

All they had were common, mediocre arrays—barely good enough to trick ignorant field cultivators into thinking the Sun Family was indispensable.

Everyone who knew formations could tell they were just simple Soil-Nurturing Arrays.

“Father, it’s fine to fool others—but don’t fool yourself…” Sun Ze said helplessly.

Sun Yi snapped, “What do you know?! Our Sun Family has a secret legacy passed down from the ancestor himself—one that must never be revealed!”

(End of Chapter)