Chapter 551: Myriad Demons
Chapter 553: Myriad Demons
The gaunt old man suddenly felt an inexplicable wave of terror.
But just as quickly, it vanished, leaving no trace, as if it had been a mere illusion.
He relaxed, weariness washing over him. The night was late, and tomorrow would surely be another exhausting day of scheming and toil. He thought to close his eyes for a short rest.
Yet, in a daze, just as he was about to sleep, a sudden pang of hunger struck his stomach. Instinctively, he reached into his storage pouch and popped a few Fasting Pills into his mouth…
But Mo Hua, watching closely, grew increasingly alarmed.
Because he could see clearly that the gaunt old man wasn’t chewing Fasting Pills at all—he was chewing his own fingers!
He was putting his fingers into his mouth and gnawing them!
Blood already stained his lips.
His fingers had begun to reveal white bone.
At the same time, the middle-aged cultivator, mind absent, was drawing a knife and placing it against his own neck.
Young Master Yun drew his sword, pressing it against his own chest.
It was Dao-Heart Demon-Planting!
“Senior Martial Uncle wants to kill these three!”
Mo Hua’s mind raced. Drawing on all he had learned about Dao-Heart Demon-Planting, his gaze darkened. With a flick of his small hand, he altered the runes of the Warm Fire Formation on the ground.
The formation immediately conflicted with itself and self-destructed in an instant.
With a thunderous “boom,” the array exploded, letting out an ear-piercing sound.
Simultaneously, a surge of crimson fire shot up, glaring violently against the night and momentarily blinding the Strange Daoist, breaking his concentration and halting the Demon-Planting.
Startled, the three—especially the gaunt old man—came back to their senses, eyes filled with confusion.
The gaunt old man suddenly felt excruciating pain in his hands. Looking down, he saw his fingers, mangled and bloody, white bone exposed. Terror surged in his heart.
“What’s happening? What just occurred?”
He looked around and caught sight of the small boy opposite him, anxiously watching them, lips moving as if to speak—but silent, as though wary of something.
Through careful observation, the gaunt old man finally discerned what the boy’s lips were forming:
“Run!”
“Run!”
Run?
He froze for a moment, then his eyes widened.
He recognized him!
This little boy was the young formation master from Nanyue City—Mister Zhuang’s little disciple!
And now, with an anxious expression, he silently warned them: run?!
A chill surged through the gaunt old man’s heart like a tide. He immediately recalled the Daoist hidden in the shadows when they first entered.
He wanted to look back—but instinctively stopped himself.
Years of calculating cause and effect had taught him: this person was treacherous; one must not look!
He reflexively reached into his storage pouch for the Three Talents Divination Coins. But when his hand touched them, they felt scattered. As he rubbed them, his pupils dilated in shock.
Shattered?!
The Three Talents Divination Coins… completely broken?!
Even these coins could not withstand the life-and-death crisis they had just faced!
“Run!”
The gaunt old man’s trembling hands grabbed the middle-aged cultivator and Young Master Yun tightly, his eyes still filled with fear.
The other two didn’t understand and were about to ask questions, but the gaunt old man shook his head.
Alarmed, they realized something was off. The dilapidated temple was full of danger and strangeness. They solemnly nodded in understanding.
Without delay, the three suppressed their breath, rose silently, and slipped away.
The Strange Daoist’s eyes flickered, but he made no further move as they left—only casting a meaningful glance at Mo Hua.
Mo Hua scratched his head, embarrassed, and smiled: “Senior Martial Uncle, my formation skills aren’t fully mastered… I slipped up.”
The Strange Daoist’s expression remained indifferent, clearly not buying Mo Hua’s excuse.
But he said nothing and closed his eyes to rest again.
Mo Hua breathed a sigh of relief.
Fortunately, Senior Martial Uncle had only used the simplest, most superficial form of Dao-Heart Demon-Planting, so the Demon-Planting on Young Master Yun and the others was shallow.
Had he used an advanced method, it would have been trouble. Even if Mo Hua had wanted to save them, he would have been powerless.
Once the three had moved a safe distance away, Mo Hua relaxed. Yet he recalled the old man’s words…
“Gui Xu Heavenly Burial…”
Gui Xu—what kind of place was that?
Heavenly Burial—what did that mean?
Did it involve a great opportunity, an ancient secret, a legacy, a technique… or perhaps a formation?
Mo Hua shook his head, utterly confused.
“Never mind, better not overreach…”
His master had warned him: such opportunities carried immense karmic consequences. One wrong move could be fatal. For now, it was better not to know.
He nodded to himself.
Then he glanced down at the Warm Fire Formation, feeling a twinge of regret.
The self-destructed formation had burned all his roasted sweet potatoes, wild fruits, and even a large fish to charcoal…
That fish was almost done, the aroma wafting in the air, yet after all that roasting, he hadn’t gotten a single bite…
“My fish…”
Mo Hua sighed, a pang of regret in his chest.
He redrew the Warm Fire Formation and, ignoring everything around him, took out the remaining sweet potatoes and continued roasting them…
…
The gaunt old man and the two companions hurried away from the dilapidated temple, ignoring the darkness. After an hour of walking, far enough away, they finally stopped.
Cold sweat soaked the gaunt old man’s back.
The middle-aged cultivator caught his breath and asked, “What exactly happened back there?”
The gaunt old man’s hands were still bleeding.
He applied medicinal powder and swallowed a few pills, finally looking a bit better.
Recalling the events in the temple still sent chills down his spine. He looked at the other two and trembled:
“The Three Talents Divination Coins shattered…”
“The three of us… almost died…”
Young Master Yun was shocked.
The middle-aged cultivator frowned. “It can’t be that sinister…”
“Do you remember that little boy roasting a fire in the temple?”
“The little boy by the fire?”
The middle-aged cultivator paused, frowned, and recalled. Suddenly, his expression changed:
“He… he’s that little formation master?!”
Young Master Yun remembered too, eyes lighting up. “It’s Little Mo!”
He muttered, puzzled, “Strange… why didn’t I remember him before?”
The gaunt old man sighed:
“This little boy is very likely his disciple. Small in age, but definitely extraordinary…”
“In the temple, unknowingly, we fell under the influence of a heart demon…”
“It was this boy who caused the strange disturbance and woke us.”
“Later, it was he who told us to ‘run’…”
“Otherwise, I fear we wouldn’t have survived…”
…
The middle-aged cultivator looked both shocked and suspicious. “What kind of danger could there possibly be in that ruined temple?”
The gaunt old man’s face was also full of doubt.
What exactly was this danger?
Why had someone fallen to a demonic influence?
Was it the work of that Daoist assassin?
Why had none of them noticed anything?
The old man pondered back and forth, and suddenly a jolt ran through him. He realized—it was the Daoist sitting in the corner of the ruined temple, hidden by shadows, unclear to the eye.
A forbidden title surfaced in his mind.
The gaunt old man trembled all over.
“It was…”
“What was it?” the middle-aged cultivator asked, curiosity piqued.
The old man swallowed the two words “Strange Daoist” and only said, “That person… is a Daoist…”
“A Daoist?!”
A “Daoist” of the demonic sect was no ordinary practitioner.
Every single one was a true, ruthless, and notorious great demon!
The middle-aged cultivator’s expression stiffened, but curiosity still burned inside him. “Which Daoist, exactly?”
The gaunt old man glanced at him coldly. “If I were to speak his name, all three of us would die—and the deaths would be horrendous!”
The scene in the ruined temple reappeared in their minds.
The middle-aged cultivator slashing his own throat, Young Master Yun ending his life with a sword, the old man devouring his own flesh…
At the thought, all three went pale.
The middle-aged cultivator didn’t dare ask further.
The gaunt old man furrowed his brow in thought, then suddenly, as if struck by insight, exclaimed, “That’s it!”
The middle-aged cultivator was startled. “What’s the matter?”
The old man’s emotions surged as he hurriedly said, “Remember when we entered Nanyue City and sensed corpses blanketing the mountains, and after my divination, I said those words?”
The middle-aged cultivator thought for a moment and shook his head. “You rambled on so much, mumbling about this and that—I don’t remember. Which words?”
Young Master Yun seemed to recall something. “Senior Wen, do you mean… the good karma?”
He vaguely remembered what the old man had said back then:
“During those days, I occasionally felt sudden fear…”
“It seemed that the road ahead held great terror, extraordinary danger, life and death unpredictable.”
“But if one could suppress the corpse mines, save the cultivators of Nanyue City—or even of an entire prefecture—perhaps a good karmic connection would form. In the future, in a life-or-death crisis, a glimmer of hope might appear…”
The old man’s eyes hardened. “It seems that this cause and effect now falls on this little one!”
“If back then, in Nanyue City, we hadn’t acted to help, hadn’t quelled the corpse chaos, hadn’t formed this karmic bond, and hadn’t met this little one…”
“Then today, without this little one saving us…”
“We would all die without a burial place!”
Both the middle-aged cultivator and Young Master Yun were deeply shaken.
The old man sighed. “Cause and effect, good and evil, every sip and peck counts. Mister Zhuang, back then, gave us a choice—also, in effect, giving us a sliver of survival…”
Mister Zhuang…
In their hearts, the three felt both mysterious and complex.
After a moment, Young Master Yun suddenly remembered and said urgently, “If that Daoist is a great demon, then little Brother Mo…”
The gaunt old man shook his head, smiling bitterly. “Don’t think about it. We can barely protect ourselves, let alone save that little one…”
Young Master Yun’s face showed guilt.
The old man comforted him. “Don’t worry. He’s Mister Zhuang’s disciple; he should be fine…”
In the ruined temple, Mo Hua’s eyes had sparkled, his little face flushed as images of roasting food—fish, sweet potatoes—floated through his mind.
The old man sighed in admiration.
Indeed, he was Mister Zhuang’s disciple; his temperament was strong…
Even walking alongside a great demon like the Daoist, he still had the leisure to roast food…
Moreover, even though he violated the “Daoist’s” taboo by saving the three of them, the Daoist didn’t get angry—he even let them go…
The old man found it incredible.
Their sect was skilled in heavenly-calculation algorithms and well aware of that Daoist’s fearsome reputation.
That Daoist had never been easy to deal with.
And he had never shown such “forgiveness,” let alone “leniency,” to anyone…
The old man sighed. “Fortunate people have heaven’s protection. Let’s just… return.”
Young Master Yun remained deeply worried.
The middle-aged cultivator was puzzled. “Return? Return where?”
The old man snapped, “From where we came, to where we go!”
The middle-aged cultivator panicked. “What about the opportunity? All this trouble we went through…”
The old man sneered. “Don’t you get it? This matter is no longer for us to meddle in…”
“Or rather, it never was!”
“We were only pawns gathering information. Now the message has been sent back. Next, those above will naturally plan this matter.”
“The realm of Dali Mountain will eventually become a slaughterhouse.”
“If we stay any longer, we’ll have no chance of survival!”
The middle-aged cultivator frowned. “Because of the Xuan Demon Ancestor?”
The old man sighed. “Not only that…”
He glanced back at the ruined temple, his gaze tinged with shadow and fear.
“The Daoist’s arrival means that the true demons of the demonic path are coming as well…”
Although the demonic sect had been suppressed by the Dao Court and had lain dormant for years, its power was formidable—it was never just the Xuan Demon Ancestor, a Nascent Soul-level old demon.
The three understood this clearly.
But facing fate, the middle-aged cultivator hesitated.
The old man snorted coldly. “Whether you leave or not is your choice. I’m leaving, anyway.”
The middle-aged cultivator was stunned, then frowned. “How can you leave? We agreed! I gave you quite a few spirit stones…”
“I’ll return the spirit stones.”
The middle-aged cultivator’s expression twisted, struggling for a long while before sighing. “It’s not that I can’t part with the spirit stones…”
“Fine, let’s go.”
He knew that with the old man’s divination, they could safely navigate this journey.
Without him, he wasn’t sure he could survive Dali Mountain.
He let go of the spirit stones—it would count as forming good karma.
The middle-aged cultivator muttered, “I had hoped to seize an opportunity to change my fate. Now… sigh, better return to Qian Prefecture and obediently continue as an instructor…”
He followed the old man back.
After a few steps, the old man suddenly stopped, turned to the ruined temple, and solemnly bowed deeply, sincerely thinking:
“May this young friend turn misfortune into fortune, and have boundless Daoist paths!”
“If the day comes, I will surely repay this life-saving grace!”
Young Master Yun bowed sincerely.
The middle-aged cultivator sighed. Though reluctant, he also offered a respectful bow.
After this, the three gradually walked farther away, leaving Dali Mountain and the place of turmoil…
…
Mo Hua, on the contrary, could not leave.
He had to follow the Strange Daoist, step by step, toward Lishan City, into the heart of this bloody chaos.
After leaving the ruined temple, several days passed, and Mo Hua finally reached the outskirts of Lishan City.
From dozens of miles away, he could see the sky-darkening blood banners and the overwhelming sea of blood.
It was exactly like the scene he had witnessed when leaving the city before.
“Master…”
Worried, Mo Hua turned to the Strange Daoist. “Senior Martial Uncle, are we going into the city now?”
The Strange Daoist’s expression was wooden and emotionless.
Mo Hua wasn’t surprised; he was used to his Senior Martial Uncle being taciturn, especially toward him.
He didn’t mind.
When you cannot change others, you must learn to adapt.
He had already learned to roughly understand what his Senior Martial Uncle wanted to convey from his hollow, cold face and jet-black eyes.
Just now, his Senior Martial Uncle’s dark face meant:
“We’re not entering the city.”
Mo Hua asked, “Not entering the city? Then where are we going?”
The Strange Daoist’s black eyes glinted at him.
“Into the mountains?” Mo Hua tried.
The Strange Daoist’s expression froze.
Mo Hua continued, “What are we doing in the mountains?”
The Daoist’s pupils darkened, his face even darker.
Mo Hua understood.
His Senior Martial Uncle wanted him to keep silent.
Mo Hua nodded obediently and followed quietly.
Sure enough, the Strange Daoist led him into the mountains, arriving at a cliff.
This cliff lay outside Lishan City.
Rocks were jagged, vegetation withered.
Checking the map, Mo Hua noted that this place was marked as “Withered Wood Cliff.”
Although green mountains and grass surrounded the area, this spot was barren.
Mo Hua extended his divine sense to scan the surroundings and discovered that the area was sealed, hiding a sinister aura—hence the bare rocks and lifelessness.
“Why did my Senior Martial Uncle bring me here?”
Mo Hua glanced at the Strange Daoist.
The Daoist ignored him and walked straight to the cliff’s edge.
Mo Hua’s heart leapt. “Senior Martial Uncle wants to jump off?”
Then he saw the Daoist step forward, and the world seemed to invert, mountains and rivers suspended upside down.
The cliff beneath their feet twisted and floated into the sky, forming a massive stone hall. Inside, the hall was fortified, shadows of demons looming.
Mo Hua was shocked. “An illusion formation?”
And almost indistinguishable from reality—surely a second- or third-grade array.
Beneath this illusion was a demon palace?
An old den of demonic cultivators?
It seemed this demon palace had existed for a long time; someone had constructed this lair on Withered Wood Cliff outside the Five Elements Sect long ago.
The Strange Daoist glanced at Mo Hua.
Mo Hua understood: this meant, “Follow me…”
He nodded obediently, climbing the stone steps with the Daoist into the demon palace.
Inside, it was bloody and ominous.
The oppressive aura pressed down.
Mo Hua felt uneasy, but more astonishing was the sheer number of demonic cultivators.
They were grotesque and numerous, all highly powerful, with demonic energy swirling around them—clearly practicing advanced demonic techniques.
Their insight was also evidently higher.
Some of the outer demonic cultivators looked at the Daoist with disdain, even hostility, and sometimes attacked proactively.
But those deeper inside the palace grew solemn at the Daoist’s presence, showing clear signs of fear and recognition.
The Strange Daoist remained indifferent, ignoring their gazes.
And their eyes—whether filled with suspicion, curiosity, or cold detachment—fell entirely on Mo Hua…
They seemed puzzled: why was there such a child, so low in realm, , non-demonic, upright, and utterly innocent-looking cultivator be with the Strange Daoist?
Surrounded by so many great demons, Mo Hua felt a bit uneasy.
But after thinking for a moment, he realized he couldn’t embarrass his Master, nor his “Martial Uncle,” so he forced himself to appear calm, lifting his head and straightening his posture, though his body still instinctively moved closer to the Strange Daoist.
He felt that being near the Strange Daoist would be safer.
The Strange Daoist met the crowd’s gazes head-on and walked straight into the main hall, finding a seat. Mo Hua stood beside him and quietly asked:
“Martial Uncle, why are we here?”
The Strange Daoist’s expression remained cold.
Mo Hua secretly studied his face for a long time but couldn’t read what he was thinking.
Probably, it was too complicated to explain quickly, so Martial Uncle simply chose not to speak.
But even if the Strange Daoist stayed silent, the other demonic cultivators continued their whispered conversations.
Mo Hua listened quietly. After a long while, he finally caught a few key words:
Something about the Nether Ancestor, Demon Lords, some Revered Ones, Founders, and…
The Ten-Thousand-Demons Assembly!
“Ten-Thousand-Demons Assembly?”
Mo Hua’s heart skipped a beat.
A gathering of the old demon lords?
The Strange Daoist had come to the Inverted Demon Hall on Withered Wood Cliff to participate in the Ten-Thousand-Demons Assembly?
Mo Hua’s mind stirred, a little fearful. He whispered:
“Martial Uncle… is it appropriate for me to attend this ‘Ten-Thousand-Demons Assembly’…?”
I’m a righteous cultivator.
Not a little demon lord.
And just at Qi-Refining.
Attending such a gathering of great demon lords—given my age, realm, and status—wouldn’t it be improper?
The Strange Daoist’s pupils darkened.
Mo Hua quietly fell silent.
Yet his mind continued racing:
“What is this Ten-Thousand-Demons Assembly… for?”
“Could it be… targeting Master?”
“Who exactly will attend? At least Golden Core-level? Would that Nascent Soul-level Xuan Sanren also come?”
“Are there even more powerful demon lords?”
“What does the Strange Daoist… my Martial Uncle… plan by attending this Ten-Thousand-Demons Assembly?”
“Does he intend, through this assembly, to collaborate with some scattered figures, some Revered Ones, or even demonic ancestors, to oppose the Dao Court, scheme against Master, and seize that so-called ‘heaven-defying opportunity’?”
“Could he… kill Master?”
At this thought, Mo Hua’s heart sank with worry…
Inside the Demon Hall, the air was oppressive, bloody, and suffocating.
Bones formed the beams, human skin formed the murals.
As time passed, more and more demon lords entered the hall, and the atmosphere grew increasingly heavy…
Mo Hua gradually shifted from tension and unease to numbness and drowsiness.
Finally, leaning on the Strange Daoist’s stone chair, he began to nod off.
After an unknown length of time, a cold wind swept through. Mo Hua shivered awake, and his sleepiness vanished.
By now, many were seated in the Demon Hall.
They were called “people,” yet none seemed truly human.
Some were half-corpse, half-demon; some were beast-like or monstrous.
Even those who looked human, on closer inspection, were not.
Some were pale as the dead; some were exquisitely beautiful, lips and teeth bright red; some had bloated heads and large ears, serpents entwined around them; some were skeletal, with demonic runes carved into their backs…
The entire hall was gloomy and solemn, so silent that even a pin drop could be heard.
Deathly silent.
“Has the Ten-Thousand-Demons Assembly… begun?”
Mo Hua’s heart jolted. He saw on the high, white-boned, fang-adorned seats of the main hall, several figures slowly manifesting.
Their auras were terrifying.
Vast as an abyss, deep as the sea.
Even a trace of their aura pressed down on Mo Hua, leaving him gasping for breath.
Among them, one figure was familiar—he was the Xuan Demon Ancestor who had used the Bloody Banner and Suspended Demon Sword to trap Líshān City in a blood-sea, confining Master in the Five Elements Sect:
Xuan Sanren!
A chill ran through Mo Hua’s heart, and his gaze shook.
Could it be that those seated on the white-bone honored seats, capable of standing on equal footing with Xuan Sanren, were all Nascent Soul-level Demon Ancestors?!
(End of this chapter)