Chapter 550: Planting Demons in the Dao Heart
Chapter 552: Planting Demons in the Dao Heart
Can I learn it?
Mo Hua pondered for a moment, then shook his head.
No… it won’t do.
“Planting demons in the Dao heart” — just the name alone screams Demonic Dao.
He was a proper cultivator; he could not follow a crooked path, learning the illicit arts of the Demonic Sect.
What if he learned it, went astray, fell into the demonic path, and became a little demon lord himself…?
“However… if I can’t learn it, perhaps I can study it?”
Mo Hua reconsidered.
He recalled what his master had said that night about the Strange Daoist:
“He has already fallen into demonic cultivation, and his art… is the ‘Strange’ Dao…”
“His nature is cold, his methods formidable, and extremely arrogant. But he is a master of divine-sense arts; his use of divine consciousness is unparalleled…”
“If you ever meet him, be sure to guard yourself carefully…”
…Ever meet him, guard yourself carefully…
Mo Hua frowned.
Could there be another meaning to his master’s words?
Had his master foreseen—or calculated—that he would encounter the Strange Daoist, which was why he warned him to be careful?
But how should he guard himself?
Mo Hua thought for a moment, then muttered uncertainly:
“Know yourself and know your enemy?”
Understanding “Planting Demons in the Dao Heart” was the only way to guard against it.
If he knew nothing, he could fall under his “Senior Martial Uncle’s” Dao, become a puppet, losing control of himself without even realizing it.
And his master said the Strange Daoist’s use of divine consciousness was “unparalleled…”
If even his master said “unparalleled,” the Strange Daoist’s techniques must be terrifyingly perfected.
He had to study carefully and learn what he could.
As for righteous Dao or demonic Dao…
Mo Hua stroked his chin, thinking deeply.
Righteous or demonic, both were forms of the Dao—manifestations of the Great Dao.
Like formations.
Righteous formations and demonic formations appear distinct, yet both follow the fundamental principles and frameworks of formation arts.
Righteous formations aim to comprehend Heaven’s Dao, to grasp the flow of spiritual energy.
Demonic formations seek shortcuts, using human blood as ink, bones as pivots, flesh as medium, blood seas and qi seas as eyes, to enhance power quickly.
Opposites generate one another, difficulty and ease complement, righteousness and evil contradict yet confirm.
Could “Planting Demons in the Dao Heart” be the same?
Learn its method, understand its principles, grasp its Dao.
Even if he could not use the method, he could grasp the principle behind it, and master divine-sense techniques.
At minimum, he could understand it, guard himself against his “Senior Martial Uncle” in the future.
But he must preserve his own Dao heart, not lose his original mind.
Falling from righteousness into evil is easy; correcting the path from evil is difficult…
Mo Hua nodded subconsciously.
He must not be seduced by “Planting Demons in the Dao Heart.”
He must not become a little demon lord!
Resolved, he began following behind the Strange Daoist, craning his head to secretly observe how he used “Planting Demons in the Dao Heart,” manipulating hearts and slaughtering cultivators…
The Strange Daoist acted without restraint, killing freely, using the Dao-Heart Demon technique frequently.
After watching for a while, combined with his own understanding of divine consciousness and his experience in divine-sense combat, Mo Hua gained a rough understanding of the method.
It was a Demonic Dao divine-sense technique: sounding ordinary, appearing strange, terrifying upon reflection, yet cold, cruel, and nearly unsolvable in practice.
Blood-qi harmed flesh.
Spiritual energy harmed meridians.
Dao-heart demon planting harmed the divine consciousness itself.
It transformed the cultivator’s own divine consciousness into demonic thought, which then divided and spread like a plague, parasitizing others’ Sea of Consciousness.
Similar to the ghostly beings in visualization diagrams, but far stronger.
Ghostly beings parasitized slowly, limited, their effect delayed.
Dao-heart demon planting acted fast. Within a few breaths, cultivators seeded with the demon thought by the Strange Daoist would be irreversibly corrupted.
Ghostly beings were external invasion.
Demon planting was internal corruption, directly twisting the cultivator’s Dao heart.
It wasn’t that the Strange Daoist controlled them.
Rather, they could not control their own demonic thoughts.
Though controlled by another, it seemed as if they acted according to their own will and desires.
Inside the Dao heart, a demonic thought was planted…
In this sense, “Planting Demons in the Dao Heart” consumed and corrupted the Dao heart itself.
Mo Hua shivered slightly. He looked at the Strange Daoist, a thought forming:
“Planting demons in the Dao heart, splitting demonic thoughts… where is the true ‘Strange Daoist,’ the original demonic thought of the Strange Daoist?”
“If that demonic thought isn’t killed, would the Strange Daoist himself not die?”
“Perhaps, even if the original demonic thought is killed, unless every trace is eradicated, the Strange Daoist might still survive?”
“So… he could truly be… immortal?!”
Mo Hua was shaken.
His “Senior Martial Uncle” seemed far more terrifying than he had imagined…
He thought again:
“With such a terrifying Senior Martial Uncle, such a powerful Dao-Heart Demon technique, I must study it carefully…”
He nodded slightly and continued to secretly observe the Strange Daoist.
But this time, he watched more closely and discovered more…
First, Dao-heart demon planting required a medium.
The six senses—eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, mind—could all serve.
Color, sound, scent, taste, touch, dharma—any of the Six Dusts could be a conduit.
Some cultivators only needed a glance from the Strange Daoist; some only needed to hear him speak;
Some smelled the blood of the Strange Daoist in the air; some tasted his blood;
Others had touched him, even his pale, slightly decayed flesh, and their Dao heart collapsed, becoming puppets.
Hence, one must not look, listen, smell, touch, or even think.
Otherwise, unknowingly, a medium forms, and the Sea of Consciousness becomes soil for demonic thought to grow—leading to death under Dao-Heart Demon planting…
The fate of cultivators killed by Dao-Heart Demon planting varied.
Low-level cultivators merely needed a glance for their Dao heart to be defiled, causing them to slaughter each other.
All the minor demons encountered along the way were killed like this.
Higher-level cultivators suffered parasitism through close contact.
For example, the twenty or so Golden Core cultivators killed earlier—they had been implanted with demonic thoughts, driven by the desire to become a “Daoist,” and ended up slaughtering each other.
If the cultivator was stronger—like the old man beside the Holy Son, the one who had wielded the bell, donned the blood robe, and held the Black Demon Sword, with steadfast will and high cultivation, not easy to deal with—then Senior Martial Uncle would have to act.
Using words, he would disturb their minds, break their defenses, shatter their Dao hearts, and let their demonic desires run wild.
If the old man couldn’t withstand it, he would bring about his own destruction…
But what about cultivators even higher than that?
With the demonic thoughts Senior Martial Uncle currently possessed, would he be powerless?
Mo Hua thought about it, but couldn’t figure it out.
The Golden Core late-stage blood-robed old man was the highest-level cultivator Mo Hua had ever seen die under Dao-heart demonic implantation.
He had never seen Senior Martial Uncle act on someone of an even higher level.
Without a reference point, he couldn’t analyze it.
But that was far beyond him anyway, so Mo Hua didn’t dwell on it.
For now, the priority was to start from the basics and real examples, analyzing Dao-heart demonic implantation bit by bit.
The more he observed, the more familiar Mo Hua became with its application.
Though its surface seemed complex and unpredictable, its essence lay in the manipulation of Divine Sense.
Mo Hua had a sudden insight but still vaguely felt he hadn’t crossed the threshold—hadn’t truly grasped the principles of Dao-heart demonic implantation.
He needed to see more, learn more, think more…
Each time the Strange Daoist killed someone using Dao-heart demonic implantation, Mo Hua’s understanding deepened.
At first, the Strange Daoist didn’t notice.
Later, after killing a few demon cultivators with Dao-heart demonic implantation, he noticed Mo Hua’s unusually calm demeanor and looked back—only to see Mo Hua staring at him with wide, dark eyes.
It was as if he were simultaneously memorizing, calculating, learning, and summarizing…
At first contemplative, then seemingly enlightened, his eyes gradually brightened…
The Strange Daoist’s dark pupils trembled in shock.
This little thing… what is he secretly learning??
Secretly learning Dao-heart demonic implantation?
Where on earth did Junior Brother find such a crazily ambitious little disciple?!
The Strange Daoist’s expression shifted, then finally returned to calm.
He said nothing, but from then on, his attacks became far more restrained.
He no longer killed recklessly.
Even when using Dao-heart demonic implantation, he employed only the simplest, shallowest techniques.
Mo Hua noticed and quietly asked:
“Senior Martial Uncle, these demon cultivators are plotting against Master. Aren’t you going to kill them?”
But the Strange Daoist remained indifferent, ignoring him entirely.
Mo Hua sighed, realizing that the Strange Daoist was deliberately holding back—hiding it from him.
Mo Hua was a bit annoyed and muttered, “Senior Martial Uncle is really stingy…”
He wasn’t allowed to observe.
But there was nothing he could do.
“Fine, if I can’t watch…”
He could only recall the previous Dao-heart demonic implantation scenes in his mind, reviewing them over and over, carefully pondering, trying to glean some principles of Divine Sense manipulation, and learn a few superficial tricks from Senior Martial Uncle, who had reached the pinnacle of Divine Sense…
…
The two continued on the road to Lishan City.
A few days later, one evening,
Mo Hua followed the Strange Daoist to a dilapidated temple.
The temple’s deity was unknown; it had long fallen into disrepair, the doors and windows broken.
For some reason, the Strange Daoist insisted on staying the night in this ruined temple.
That night, the moonlight was cold and clear.
A mountain breeze brought waves of chill.
Mo Hua drew a warming fire formation on the ground to keep warm and roasted the wild sweet potatoes, wild yams, and a few fish he had caught along the way.
As the food cooked, he heard footsteps approaching.
It seemed a few people were entering the temple.
At the same time, faint voices could be heard:
“…Maybe we should go back…”
“…Are you willing?”
“Can’t be helped…”
“Near Lishan, the situation is chaotic. We can’t stay, and Master Yun must not be endangered…”
Master Yun?
Mo Hua was momentarily stunned.
The voices drew closer.
They sounded familiar—an old voice, a middle-aged voice, and a young voice.
It seemed to be the three people he had encountered in Nanyue City—Master Yun and his companions.
“Senior, don’t worry about me, I…”
“What are you saying? Your father entrusted you to my care. If you die, how would I explain it to him…”
“In my opinion, if we act cautiously, there may still be a chance…”
That was the middle-aged cultivator speaking.
“Aren’t you good at divination? Surely you could avert misfortune…”
“Exactly why I don’t want to stay here.”
“Lately, I’ve felt constantly on edge, as if some great calamity is approaching, unable to sleep day or night. That’s why I want to leave…”
“If we leave, the opportunity will be gone…”
“Don’t be foolish. The true demon in Lishan hasn’t even appeared yet…”
“Are there no great cultivators in our Dao Court?”
“Is that the same? You…”
The three entered the ruined temple. When they looked up and saw Mo Hua and the Strange Daoist, all three froze.
The Strange Daoist sat in the shadows, indistinct and hard to see clearly.
Mo Hua tended the warming fire, roasting food, his face glowing red in the firelight, cheeks puffed with sweet potatoes in his mouth.
The gaunt old man, whose surname Mo Hua remembered was likely Wen, looked at the pair with suspicion but bowed respectfully:
“We are old men passing through and wish to stay the night. Apologies for disturbing you.”
After speaking, he glanced at Mo Hua with puzzlement.
In the dark, cold night, with the broken temple and flickering lamp, the sight of this child casually roasting food and eating alone seemed strange.
Yet at the same time, he felt the child looked familiar.
He must have seen him somewhere, and the impression should have been deep…
But no matter how he tried, he couldn’t recall where.
Mo Hua was a little surprised as well.
These three hadn’t recognized him at all.
But it didn’t matter—under the current circumstances, it was better to pretend not to know them.
Mo Hua remained silent and simply nodded.
The emaciated old man cupped his hands and thanked him again, while the middle-aged cultivator, full of pride, sat down without a word.
It was actually Young Master Yun who looked a bit confused at Mo Hua, but after a short moment, he still didn’t recognize him. Finally, he cupped his hands as a gesture of thanks.
Mo Hua remembered Young Master Yun clearly.
A second-rank array master, thin-skinned, somewhat shy, but kind-hearted and helpful, never holding back in formations. Their relationship had always been good.
Mo Hua turned his head secretly to glance at the Strange Daoist, a trace of worry in his heart.
Would his “Martial-Uncle” kill these people…?
He held the sweet potato in his hands but didn’t eat it. Instead, he focused on observing the Strange Daoist and found that his aura was steady. His color, sound, scent, taste, and touch were all restrained, with no sign of planting a devil seed in his Dao-heart. Only then did Mo Hua exhale slowly.
He finished the sweet potato while it was still warm, then dimmed the glow of the warming fire formation.
The night grew deeper, further shrouding the Strange Daoist’s figure in darkness.
Mo Hua nodded slightly.
This way, Young Master Yun and the others would no longer see “Martial-Uncle’s” presence.
Elsewhere, the three Yun family members found a clean spot, sat down, and began speaking quietly.
Seemingly cautious that Mo Hua and the other outsider wouldn’t hear, their voices were low and words cryptic.
Mo Hua’s Divine-Sense was sharp; he could hear a bit, though only vaguely.
It seemed the emaciated old man wanted to leave, but the middle-aged cultivator disagreed. Young Master Yun wavered, wanting to leave yet hesitant, somewhat reluctant to part.
The middle-aged cultivator mocked the old man, “The older you get, the smaller your courage.”
The emaciated old man countered, “It’s precisely because I’m cautious that I’ve lived so long.”
He glanced at the middle-aged cultivator and sneered, “You may not even live to my age…”
They bickered a bit, then discussed matters of the Dao Court and the demon sect, talking at length about impressive-sounding names. Mo Hua’s knowledge was limited, so most of it went over his head.
Some titles: Revered Ones, Immortals, Rakshasas, valley masters, ancestors…
Who these people were, their status, their grudges—Mo Hua didn’t recognize them.
They babbled on for quite a while.
Mo Hua, unfamiliar with these people and bored by talk of family marriages, sect promotions, ancestral birthdays, and funerals, felt sleepy.
Half-asleep, he suddenly caught a phrase:
“What exactly… is that person carrying?”
Mo Hua jolted awake.
That person…
Were they talking about… Master?
Mo Hua subtly raised his head to look.
The emaciated old man’s expression was grave, hesitating to speak.
The middle-aged cultivator’s gaze sharpened, “You actually know?”
The old man remained silent.
Impatient, the middle-aged cultivator urged, “At this point, speak!”
Young Master Yun was also curious.
The old man struggled internally for a long moment, then sighed, “I… only heard about it. You may know, but don’t mention it to outsiders…”
The middle-aged cultivator reassured him, “Don’t worry.”
The old man exhaled and continued carefully:
“The previous head of our branch was a master of derivative calculations, highly experienced. Unfortunately, before he died, his Sea of Consciousness had weakened, his mind sluggish, so his words… sometimes lacked thoughtfulness…”
Wanting to speak respectfully of his predecessor, the old man chose his words carefully.
“One day, he inadvertently let something slip, and I happened to hear it…”
“He said that person bore a secret, concerning… the Burial of the Returning Void…”
Burial of the Returning Void?
What did that mean?
Mo Hua frowned.
Suddenly, the surrounding aura shifted. Mo Hua froze and turned toward the Strange Daoist, eyes wide in shock.
In the pitch-black night, the Strange Daoist had opened his eyes. His pupils were darker than the night itself, his aura fluctuating, and the six senses had changed.
He… had moved with killing intent!