Chapter 520: Ninth Layer of Qi Refining.

Chapter 522: Ninth Layer of Qi Refining.

An hour later, Mo Hua finally saw the Dragon-Spring Waterfall.

The Sishui River cut across the land, flanked by green mountains and black cliffs.

The rushing river water fell like a white ribbon, suspended in midair, forming a waterfall, then ripped apart by the rocks, cascading down like silk.

Beautiful and magnificent.

All three of them stared in astonishment, their eyes shining.

Tōngxiān City was relatively dry, more mountains than rivers.

Mo Hua had never seen a waterfall this large before.

Though Bai Zisheng and Bai Zixi came from prominent families, they were raised within their households as children, and when traveling outside, they often rushed along the main roads—so they had rarely seen such natural scenery.

Water splashed onto the rocks, scattering droplets as smooth as jade.

The mountain mist combined with the waterfall spray, hazy and dense, weaving sunlight into brilliant colors.

Mo Hua was mesmerized, but a question suddenly came to mind:

“Master, why is this called the Dragon-Spring Waterfall?”

It was just a waterfall—no dragon, no spring.

And it certainly didn’t look like a dragon.

Zhuang’s gaze swept past the waterfall to the rainbow-colored mist, his expression tinged with emotion:

“There was once a sword hidden here. Its name was Dragon-Spring, so the waterfall was named after it as well.”

“Dragon-Spring Sword…”

Mo Hua repeated the words quietly, then asked, “Was it a good sword?”

Zhuang paused, his gaze clouded, and murmured:

“It was a good sword, worthy of its owner…”

As if recalling some past event, Zhuang’s eyes showed a mix of melancholy, subtle regret, and indescribable longing.

Mo Hua’s eyes lit up, immediately understanding.

There had to be a story behind this!

But he didn’t ask; even if he did, his master certainly wouldn’t tell.

“Dragon-Spring Sword…”

Mo Hua quietly committed the sword’s name to memory.

…

After passing the Dragon-Spring Waterfall, the group continued south.

They were still far from the border of Dali Mountain Prefecture.

The cultivation world was vast, divided into nine provinces.

Within each province, the territories were enormous, stretching as far as the eye could see.

Each province was further divided by rank.

Every territory had its own mountains, rivers, and landscapes. Cultivators built cities by the mountains, their food and clothing had distinctive traits, and customs varied.

As Mo Hua traveled, he widened his horizons and gained much insight.

When he came across unique ingredients, he would buy them, ask local cultivators how to prepare them, and then experiment with dishes for Zhuang and his senior brothers and sisters.

Though not all were tasty, they were undoubtedly unique in flavor and special to eat.

Grandpa Kui didn’t enjoy these meals.

He preferred nuts like pine nuts or hazelnuts.

Sometimes, if Mo Hua found some, he would buy them and roast them for Grandpa Kui.

Or if he discovered ancient trees in the mountains with unknown seeds or fruits, he would pick some, and if non-toxic, roast them for Grandpa Kui as well.

In return, Grandpa Kui often guided Mo Hua in spells:

“Your Fireball Technique is well-learned and executed, but it’s a bit messy.”

Mo Hua had noticed this too.

In reality, the Fireball Technique he used appeared deep red, with a hint of condensation.

But in his Sea of Consciousness, the manifested fireball was bright red, and the spiritual power formed fine threads, layered like silk, entwined into a mass of fiery strands.

After explaining this to Grandpa Kui, he asked:

“Grandpa Kui, which direction should I cultivate? Deepening spiritual power, or refining it into threads?”

Grandpa Kui shook his head:

“When you face two choices, don’t think about which to pick first. Think about whether you can have both.”

“If you can have both, take both.”

“If not, then make a choice.”

“Those who always think in terms of either-or are blockheads.”

Mo Hua opened his mouth in surprise.

He hadn’t expected Grandpa Kui, always so serious, to say something like that.

“And if I can’t have either?” Mo Hua asked quietly.

“Then don’t waste your mind on it. Some choices aren’t meant to be made—thinking won’t help, it’s just wasting time,” Grandpa Kui said.

Mo Hua nodded, fully agreeing.

Then he frowned, recalling another question:

“But Grandpa Kui, what if someone forces me into a dilemma in the future?”

Grandpa Kui replied bluntly, “Then just get rid of that person.”

Mo Hua froze.

Grandpa Kui continued, “Get rid of them, and no one can force you to choose—you can take both.”

“And if I can’t beat them?”

“Then blame your own weakness,” Grandpa Kui rasped. “In that case, being forced is unavoidable; no matter how you choose, it doesn’t matter.”

Mo Hua nodded. “So I must become strong, then I can take what I want in the future…”

He pondered for a moment, then returned to the topic of spells:

“Grandpa Kui, can I take both variations of the Fireball Technique?”

Grandpa Kui nodded, “The deep-red fireball is a state of spiritual power, the threaded fireball is a form of spiritual power. They don’t conflict—you can have both. But…”

He glanced at Mo Hua, “It’s very difficult.”

Mo Hua asked, “How do I do it?”

Grandpa Kui hesitated, not wanting to explain, but seeing the pile of pine nut shells, he relented:

“It’s a bit early for you to learn, but you can start by understanding it.”

Mo Hua sat up straight, listening intently.

But Grandpa Kui said nothing, instead producing a mass of ordinary cotton.

He concentrated, compressing the cotton into a thread.

Mo Hua’s eyes brightened, intrigued.

Grandpa Kui repeated this, making ten or more threads.

Then his gaze hardened, and his divine sense moved.

The threads twisted and intertwined instantly, forming a ball of thread.

It was the same size as the original cotton, but structurally different.

He looked at Mo Hua and asked, “Understand?”

Mo Hua frowned, honestly replying:

“A little… sort of…”

“No matter, just remember it.”

Grandpa Kui raised his hand, and the thread ball turned to ashes instantly, leaving no trace.

“Complex spell principles are often hidden in the simplest, most ordinary things.”

“Like this ball of thread.”

“Or the mountains, rivers, clouds, rain, grass, and trees of this world…”

Mo Hua nodded:

“Grandpa Kui, I’ve remembered it, though I still don’t fully understand.”

Grandpa Kui’s lips curved slightly, forming a faint, uncommon smile:

“It’s fine. Observe, study, and think. One day, you’ll understand.”

“Yes!” Mo Hua nodded earnestly.

Grandpa Kui continued:

“I’ll demonstrate this technique once; watch carefully.”

Mo Hua’s spirit rose.

Grandpa Kui spread his palm, and a fireball appeared, pale red in misty form. Under his divine sense, the spiritual power compressed into a deep-red fiery thread.

The fire thread contained incredible spiritual power, floating in midair.

He repeated this ten times, leaving ten deep-red, scorching fire threads in his palm.

Then, with a movement of divine sense, the threads entwined into a small fireball.

This Fireball Technique, threaded and interwoven, looked less like a fireball and more like a woven bundle of spiritual power.

Multiple compressions, spiritual power reconstructed.

Though it seemed simple, it radiated terrifying force.

With a flick of his hand, the fireball shot into the raging river.

A shrill, unnatural sound rang out.

Like cold water hitting oil, the river boiled instantly.

Mo Hua followed the sound, mouth agape.

The fireball had evaporated a huge portion of the river and lake, creating a massive void.

Steam rose, forming clouds.

Moments later, the river rushed back in.

A giant whirlpool formed on the previously calm surface.

Mo Hua’s heart raced like the turbulent water.

Grandpa Kui had used only Qi refining-level spiritual power, a first-grade Fireball Technique.

Yet a single fireball caused such massive destruction?

Mo Hua stared at him, shocked and full of admiration.

Grandpa Kui felt satisfied, but his expression remained calm.

He patted Mo Hua’s shoulder. “Remember, study and practice more.”

Mo Hua nodded, slightly dazed.

Grandpa Kui left contentedly.

Nearby, Mister Zhuang scolded him: “Why are you teaching him this?”

“If he can learn, why can’t I teach?”

“He doesn’t even know what this is, and you just teach him?”

Grandpa Kui said nothing. After a while, he said quietly:

“I feared if I didn’t teach now, there wouldn’t be another chance…”

He looked at Zhuang. “Weren’t you thinking the same?”

Mister Zhuang paused, then sighed helplessly.

…

Mo Hua, however, was elated.

What a powerful Fireball Technique!

Its force exceeded his imagination.

He eagerly tried it himself, but failed completely.

The principle seemed simple—compress spiritual power into threads, weave them into a bundle…

But in reality, it was far more complex.

Even with his strong divine sense, peak Foundation Establishment, Celestial Evolution Art, and mastery of the Spiritual-Pivot Array, Mo Hua couldn’t condense spiritual power into threads.

He was surprised, a little disappointed, but realized it was normal.

If such a powerful technique were easy to learn, it would be a fairy tale.

He memorized every detail of Grandpa Kui’s demonstration.

Whenever he had time, he would study it, hoping that one day he could perform such a terrifying Fireball Technique.

His eyes gleamed with anticipation.

Be it formations or spells, there was still much to learn.

If he persisted, one day he would master advanced formations and powerful spells.

…

The rest of the journey passed mostly uneventfully.

Although they traveled day and night, eating and sleeping outdoors, it wasn’t too arduous.

Mo Hua sourced local ingredients creatively, preparing various dishes, and his culinary skills improved day by day; the dishes he prepared became increasingly rich in color, aroma, and flavor making them increasingly appetizing.

The carriage moved at a leisurely pace.

Mister Zhuang napped inside, while Mo Hua and the other two sat around a small table, either drawing formations, reading, or practicing cultivation exercises.

Occasionally, when they stopped to rest and had time, Mo Hua would play a few games of chess with Grandpa Kui.

They played simple Five Elements Chess.

The two of them enjoyed it immensely.

Although Mister Zhuang had seen it all before, he was somewhat surprised. He hadn’t expected Mo Hua to be able to match Grandpa Kui in chess.

Bai Zisheng and Bai Zixi didn’t understand.

Sometimes, when Mo Hua went to buy vegetables, exercise Big White, or attend to formations, they also played a few games with Grandpa Kui.

But without exception, they were all criticized.

Grandpa Kui thought Bai Zixi was too clever; even in Five Elements Chess, she was meticulous, letting no move go unnoticed.

He disliked Bai Zisheng because he was too reckless, eating pieces without any sense of strategy.

Mo Hua was better.

When he played, it was natural.

He neither overthought nor greedily captured pieces.

Of course, the main reason was that the two were evenly matched in skill. There was no desire to win or lose—purely for fun.

Mo Hua played chess with Grandpa Kui.

Grandpa Kui would also carve puppets for Mo Hua.

At first, it was just small and large tigers, but after Grandpa Kui developed more coughing fits, he began accommodating Mo Hua’s various requests.

Wolves, insects, tigers, leopards, and other strange and rare beasts.

Whenever Mo Hua saw one, he would pester Grandpa Kui to carve it.

After carving, Mo Hua would draw a Spirit-Pivot Formation on it.

Then he could control a group of beast puppets, chasing, playing, and sparring on the grass—novel and lively.

Since Grandpa Kui had carved them for Mo Hua, he couldn’t play favorites.

He also carved some puppets for Bai Zisheng and Bai Zixi.

For Bai Zisheng, it was a mighty azure dragon. Though imposing, it couldn’t fly. Even with a Spirit-Pivot Formation, it could only crawl on the ground.

For Bai Zixi, it was a colorful phoenix.

Besides the Spirit-Pivot Formation, Mo Hua painted a Five-Color Formation on the phoenix’s wings.

When it spread its feathers, it looked like a peacock’s tail—brilliantly multicolored, radiant, and stunning.

Whenever they had free time, Bai Zisheng would play beast combat on the grass with Mo Hua, maneuvering his azure dragon against Mo Hua’s tigers and other beasts in a lively battle.

Bai Zixi, meanwhile, held the magnificent phoenix, watching Mo Hua and Bai Zisheng play, her gaze like clear autumn waters, holding a shallow smile.

…

Thus, they traveled together.

Over mountains, across rivers, watching sunrises and sunsets, clouds drifting and rolling.

Along the way, they encountered many people and events.

Some were narrow-minded bandit cultivators, vicious criminal cultivators, or misguided evil cultivators.

But most were not highly skilled, and their Dao arts were weak.

Bai Zisheng alone, with his spear, could hold a pass.

Mo Hua watched, occasionally using Water Prison Technique to control the field or Fireball Technique to assist, easily defeating them.

Most of the rest were poor or unfortunate wandering cultivators.

Just like in Tōngxiān City, Nanyue City, and other ordinary small immortal cities.

Life for wandering cultivators was seldom easy.

Those at the top only saw the blooming flowers.

Only by truly standing on the ground could one understand that life is often harsh and people suffer.

Formation masters should comprehend the Heavenly Dao and benefit all living beings.

Mo Hua remembered these words, helping the poor or troubled with his formations whenever he could.

The journey continued, horse hooves softly striking the ground.

Half a year later, Mo Hua finally arrived at the Third-Rank Dali Mountain Prefecture.

At this time, fourteen-year-old Mo Hua, through continuous cultivation and persistent effort, had reached the ninth layer of Qi Refining.

He was only one step away from Foundation Establishment.

Tomorrow he planned to take a day off.

He had been writing for seven months without a day off, hardly resting.

So he rewarded himself with a day off.

Mainly to organize the detailed outline, which had grown a bit extensive.

He also needed to summarize writing-related issues.

And take a good rest, adjusting his mindset slightly.

There was still much to write, so he couldn’t rush. He needed to persist steadily, like a slow, constant stream.