Immortality Through Array Formations (The Quest for Immortality)

Chapter 684: The Three-Colored Carp

Mo Hua's pupils narrowed slightly.

"This is… the aura of an Evil God?"

Could it be that this tiny fishing village harbored a blood-corrupted Evil God?

His gaze grew even deeper.

His eyes turned pitch black, and within that darkness, white Heavenly Pattern lines began to shimmer and intertwine as he scanned the surroundings.

But the blood mist covered everything—

Obscuring fate and swallowing cause and effect.

The blood-colored village was eerie and desolate, shrouded in murk.

He couldn't make out a single thing within.

"Should I go deeper and investigate?"

Just as Mo Hua felt himself drawn in, stepping forward unconsciously, a jolt of alarm shot through his heart.

He snapped out of it immediately.

"No… something's wrong."

His expression darkened.

"Something is luring me in…"

I can't go!

That blood mist was thick with danger. Who knew what lay inside?

Could there be a divine corpse of an Evil God?

What level was it? Was it a husk or something worse?

Were there cultivators already parasitized by the Evil God?

Its followers? Henchmen? How many of them? What level?

He knew nothing. And he was all alone—there was no room for reckless heroics.

Besides… he was just a lowly Foundation Establishment cultivator.

Knowing when to chicken out isn't cowardice—it's wisdom.

Mo Hua smothered his curiosity and slowly, step by step, retreated from the fishing village.

Once he crossed out past the boundary and stepped onto the muddy ground outside, the crimson mist vanished before his eyes.

Under the night sky, the village lay quiet and peaceful, flickering lanterns dotting the dark like fireflies—no hint of anything strange at all.

But Mo Hua's brows furrowed even tighter.

"Just what in the world happened inside that village?"

It was still deep in the night, but Mo Hua no longer dared to casually stroll into that ominous darkness.

The Evil Gods… were probably still terrifying.

Cultivators' Dao paths were diverse, but the divine knowledge of gods was just as vast—and far more obscure.

Back then, Lord Huangshan had explained things about divinity that Mo Hua understood—mostly. But some of it went completely over his head.

After all, he was human, not a born "god."

He knew little about divine taboos.

To think that he could defy an Evil God and sweep through its domain with a few vague divine trivia quotes from Huangshan... now that was just plain delusional.

So, caution—was the only path forward.

No battle without preparation.

Mo Hua nodded to himself.

That was the basic rule for monster hunters when tracking beasts,

and now, it would be his own first principle in hunting Evil Gods.

He climbed a tree where he could overlook the village, suppressed the many questions in his heart, and closed his eyes to rest.

Meanwhile, his divine sense entered his Sea of Consciousness as usual—

Practicing formation patterns on his Dao Tablet.

Guo Jianglong had entered the village, and the blood mist had concealed his movements.

Whatever he was doing in there, he would eventually come out.

Mo Hua simply waited by the entrance.

He had patience.

But the entire night passed, and as the east began to pale with the first morning light, not even a shadow of Guo Jianglong could be seen in the village.

"Weird…" Mo Hua muttered.

He looked carefully again.

The mist had lifted with the sun. Golden rays pierced the clouds, filtered through the wet river air, and shone into the small village.

The village was old and poor, but as dawn broke and a new day began, life began to stir inside those shabby little houses.

Some cultivators got up.

Some fishing cultivators began to mend their nets.

Children cried and played.

Smoke curled up from chimneys.

It was a poor, but normal fishing village.

No trace of last night's eerie crimson mist.

Mo Hua didn't rush in. He stayed invisible, squatting in a tree, watching the daily lives of these fishing cultivators unfold.

After a long while, he sighed softly.

Life for the fishing cultivators was… really hard.

They were all rogue cultivators, and no matter where you went, life for rogue cultivators was always the same—

Struggle.

All their energy went into surviving.

They had no room in their hearts to think about anything else.

They couldn't even secure a livelihood, let alone pursue immortality.

Mo Hua felt a faint ache in his chest.

And in this village, aside from these humble fisher-cultivators, there were no other traces of any cultivators—

Not even Guo Jianglong, who had changed his appearance into that rugged fisherman guise.

"Where the hell did he go?"

Mo Hua frowned.

He waited half the day longer. Still no trace.

By now it was noon, and the village was once again filled with smoke from cooking fires.

Most rogue cultivators from humble backgrounds were body cultivators. They trained from a young age and relied on physical labor, so lunch was their most substantial meal—they needed it to survive the rest of the day.

Even if the food wasn't fancy, every household was now giving off a tempting aroma.

Mo Hua rubbed his belly.

He was getting a little hungry.

Just then, his gaze swept over a familiar figure.

His eyes lit up.

It was the elder fishing cultivator who had invited him to dinner last time, the one Mo Hua had helped repair a formation.

That man was cooking fish soup at home, surrounded by a lively family of seven or eight.

"In a world this vast, eating is still the greatest priority."

And Mo Hua could use the opportunity to ask a few questions.

He leapt down from the tree, made sure no one was around, then revealed himself and boldly strolled into the village.

Guo Jianglong had never seen his face.

The day Mo Hua and the others dragged him into the woods for a beatdown, he never showed his face. And even when he ambushed him later, he had worn a mask.

So Guo Jianglong wouldn't recognize him.

With that confidence, Mo Hua walked casually into the fishing village—

Like he was just a wandering cultivator looking for a meal.

He wasn't wearing his Great Void Sect robes, just simple, plain clothes.

His fair skin and handsome face made him look approachable and kind.

He strode in as naturally as if returning home.

The fishing cultivators he passed didn't question him.

He looked confident, not sneaky.

Though many gave him a few extra glances, simply because—well, he was cute.

Thus, Mo Hua strolled brazenly into the village.

As he neared the elder fishing cultivator's home, he slowed his steps.

The elder was still brewing fish soup.

A moment later, he looked up and spotted the "coincidentally passing by" Mo Hua.

He froze—then smiled broadly and called out warmly:

"Little brother!"

Mo Hua pretended not to hear.

The elder called again,

"Little brother! It's me!"

Mo Hua turned back in mock surprise.

"Oh! Uncle?"

Grinning ear to ear, the elder waved him over.

"Come, come! The fish soup's fresh. Come have a taste!"

Mo Hua scratched his cheek, pretending to be embarrassed.

"Ah… wouldn't that be too forward of me…"

The elder's face turned serious:

"What forward? You helped us. Serving you a fish is the least we can do."

Then he turned and declared to his whole family:

"This young man is a disciple from a major sect—an array master!

The formation on our fishing nets? He fixed it!"

Immediately, the whole household turned to look at Mo Hua with admiration.

For lowly-born fisher cultivators with limited spiritual roots,

it was rare for anyone in their families to get into a major sect.

Becoming a formation master? Not a chance.

Another man chimed in,

"Come on, little brother. Don't be shy. Fish soup's no good once it cools."

It was the elder's son—he had met Mo Hua the other day too.

Mo Hua smiled sweetly.

"Then I humbly accept!"

And so—Mo Hua scored himself a free lunch.

The fish soup was quite fresh.

Though simply cooked with few spices, it had a raw, original flavor. Not bad at all.

But it didn't contain much spiritual energy.

These were the lowest-grade spirit fish—cheap, just enough to fill bellies for struggling cultivators.

Even then, they weren't filling.

The villagers' real "food" was a kind of grayish-white bread: bitter, tough, and barely edible—but it kept you going.

Mo Hua took a small bite and stopped immediately.

It tasted awful.

But these villagers? They had no choice.

They had to choke it down with fish soup, or else they wouldn't have the strength to fish the next day.

Mo Hua sighed faintly in his heart.

From their conversation, he learned that the whole family's surname was Yu, one of the most common surnames in this fishing village.

The elder fishing cultivator was called Old Yu, a Foundation Establishment stage cultivator.

His eldest son, Yu Dahe, was at mid Foundation Establishment stage—Mo Hua had met him before.

Yu Dahe had a family of his own and two sons. Three generations under one roof.

Though they were poor, they did their best to live on.

"Right, little brother," Old Yu suddenly asked curiously, "What brings you to our village again?"

Mo Hua, still sipping fish soup, casually replied with an excuse:

"I wanted to buy a few more nets. The one I used last time caught a big fish, but it got torn."

"Oh, that's easy." Old Yu didn't question him. "I'll get you a few later. We make them ourselves. The materials might be a little cheap, the craftsmanship a little rough—but they're sturdy."

Mo Hua smiled.

"Thank you, Grandpa Yu."

Then he asked in mild confusion:

"Grandpa Yu, do you all make your own fishing nets?"

Old Yu shook his head.

"The refining shops in the city sell them too, but they're too expensive. Not worth wasting the spirit stones."

"Luckily, fishing net crafting isn't too complicated, so we just make our own."

He sighed.

"We fishing cultivators are poor. Too many things demand spirit stones. Every one we save is a blessing."

Then he gave a wry smile, self-deprecating:

"This old man's a bit stingy—hope you don't mind."

Mo Hua shook his head.

"My family was poor when I was young too… pretty much the same as you."

Old Yu paused, then assumed Mo Hua was just trying to comfort them, and gave a kindly smile.

"Oh, right," Mo Hua asked, "Do cultivators from outside often visit your village?"

Old Yu didn't suspect anything. He thought for a moment, then said:

"Not often…"

"Sometimes people come to buy fish or ask about prices. A few empty houses get rented out by cultivators staying for a while…"

"Empty houses?" Mo Hua asked, puzzled.

"Mm." Old Yu, now full, pulled out a roll of bitter tobacco from somewhere, lit it, and took a puff. His tone was casual:

"Someone dies. Then the house is empty."

Mo Hua's gaze darkened slightly.

Old Yu smacked his lips, shaking his head.

"Being a fishing cultivator was never a great livelihood. Stormy seas kill people. Calm waters… still kill people."

"Just this year, a family of three—father and sons—braved the winds to fish in the Yan Shui River. A huge wave hit, capsized their boat… and all three drowned, eaten by water beasts."

"Their house became vacant."

"These things happen every year. Some elders survive, but their children and grandchildren die. Some newlyweds—husband drowns, wife becomes a living widow. Sometimes there's no fishing for months due to constant storms, and people starve in their homes. Others just can't take the hardship anymore, pack up, and leave to find a new life… No one knows if they lived or died."

"That's why every year, a few houses go empty."

Old Yu puffed his smoke. His tone didn't waver—he was already numb to it all.

"Even when the waters are calm, people still die?" Mo Hua asked again.

Old Yu coughed lightly and sighed.

"When the waters are calm, we catch more fish. But when there's more fish, prices drop. It doesn't earn us any more than stormy seasons."

"Still poor either way."

"And the families who run the inns and restaurants in the city come to press down the prices. Dirt-cheap offers. If you agree, fine. If not, you might get a beating."

"If you're unlucky, they'll beat you to death and deny it ever happened."

"And that's just fish. Sometimes, when folks get desperate enough… they start selling their own children."

Mo Hua frowned.

"Doesn't the Dao Court take care of this?"

Old Yu shook his head, face bitter.

"Little brother, you don't understand. We cultivators who live outside the immortal cities don't have a 'cultivation record.'"

"Without official registration, the Dao Court barely manages us. Disappear or die—nobody notices."

"Sometimes…" Old Yu's eyes turned dull, "Even if an entire village dies, the Dao Court might not find out for months…"

Mo Hua's heart turned cold.

He asked quickly:

"Has that ever happened before?"

Old Yu blinked.

"What do you mean?"

Mo Hua lowered his voice.

"The whole village… dead."

Old Yu chuckled awkwardly.

"I was just saying. Don't take it so seriously, kid…"

"Oh."

Mo Hua let out a quiet breath.

But then a new question gnawed at him:

"Spirit fish… should be worth quite a bit, right? So why are fishing cultivators still so poor?"

He remembered back in Qingzhou City, when Master Gu treated him to spirit fish at the Immortal Crane Pavilion—one plate cost a hefty amount of spirit stones.

Old Yu waved dismissively:

"Those are sold by the nearby big clans. One top-grade spirit fish sent to a high-end inn can net them ten or even hundreds of spirit stones."

"But here, for us? A grade-one spirit fish might get us a tenth of a stone. Grade-two fish? One stone if we're lucky…"

He sighed again.

"Can't you sell them yourselves?"

Old Yu shook his head.

"If it's one or two, maybe. But hundreds? Thousands? If we don't sell them quickly, they'll rot in our hands…"

"Besides, the clans around here already made secret deals. What prices to set, what quotas to buy—it's all decided by them."

"We have no say."

"Try to find another way to make more, and you'll get punished for it behind the scenes…"

Old Yu looked at Mo Hua meaningfully, and said earnestly:

"That's why, little brother, you must cultivate well in your sect. Once you're strong enough, no one dares bully you."

Mo Hua stared at him, heart tangled.

Yes… once a cultivator grows strong, they won't be bullied.

But sooner or later—they start bullying others.

People like you…

The two chatted a bit longer. After midday, the fishing cultivators went back to work.

Yu Dahe returned to the river. Old Yu had some business in the afternoon but chose to stay.

Mo Hua needed to wait for Guo Jianglong anyway, so he didn't leave either. He sat in the courtyard, chatting idly with Old Yu.

Old Yu had lived a long life—he had seen many storms.

"Life now is hard, but not too bad. At least the family's together, with food to eat…"

"In the old days, when the Yan Shui River flooded all the time, with constant storms—those were truly inhuman days…"

"Mmm," Mo Hua nodded seriously.

As they spoke, a group of cultivators appeared in the distance.

At the front was a middle-aged man dressed well—about Foundation Establishment early stage. He held his head high, clearly a clan cultivator.

Six more followed him—one Foundation Establishment, five at ninth-layer Qi Refining. All of them were burly.

They marched right into Old Yu's home.

Old Yu immediately put on a smile and bowed deeply.

"Steward Wang, thank you for the trouble."

The clan cultivator—Steward Wang—stood with hands behind his back, nose in the air, not bothering to speak.

One of his men asked,

"The fish?"

Old Yu nodded quickly.

"Yes, yes, it's ready."

He went inside and carried out a coarse hemp basket, pulling out a shimmering golden carp about the length of a forearm.

Its scales sparkled like lotus petals—it was a Golden Lotus Three-Colored Carp.

Steward Wang took one look and nodded in approval.

Someone nearby laughed:

"Old Yu, not bad for your age. Still able to catch such a rare Golden Lotus Three-Colored Carp."

Old Yu beamed, face wrinkling with joy.

"Just lucky. Risked my life in those stormy waters for this one."

Steward Wang nodded.

"With this fish, Young Master won't lose face when entertaining clan guests tonight."

A servant from the Wang Clan took the fish basket and prepared to leave.

Old Yu gazed at the rare and valuable carp he'd risked his life for—his eyes filled with reluctant sorrow.

Just as Steward Wang turned to leave, the others following him, Old Yu's expression changed slightly. But he still forced a smile and said humbly:

"Steward Wang… about the spirit stones…"

Steward Wang frowned.

A Wang clan disciple beside him said:

"Come collect it from the Wang residence in three days."

"But…"

"But what? You think the Wang Clan of a third-grade noble house won't pay you?"

Old Yu gritted his teeth.

"Eight thousand spirit stones isn't a small sum, I—"

Steward Wang ignored him and kept walking.

Old Yu panicked and stepped forward to block him—but still didn't dare get angry. He just smiled and pleaded:

"Please, Steward Wang… I really need those spirit stones."

"I want to send my two grandsons to a sect… let them truly cultivate and not live this kind of life like me."

"That's why I risked everything to catch this fish."

"This eight thousand—really can't be delayed…"

Steward Wang's face turned cold, voice full of disdain.

"A mere eight thousand spirit stones—are you saying the Wang Clan can't afford it?"

"No, of course not!" Old Yu said hastily.

"Come to the Wang Clan in three days and collect it yourself."

That was still their answer.

But Old Yu stepped forward, clutching the fish basket like his very life depended on it. He shook his head firmly:

"Give me the spirit stones, and then I'll hand over the fish."

Steward Wang frowned, clearly annoyed.

"Damn it! Don't know what's good for you!"

One of the burly men behind him lunged forward and slapped Old Yu across the face.

Old Yu didn't dare fight back. A clear, bloody handprint appeared on his face, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth—but he ignored it. He just hugged the fish basket tighter and refused to let go.

The smile had vanished from his face—now only numbness remained.

Only a faint light lingered in his eyes, as if that fish basket was the last hope keeping him alive.

Steward Wang spat on the ground.

"Damn stubborn old fool. It's not like we're not paying—so stingy…"

Then he barked out a command:

"Take the fish. If he blocks with his hand, cut off the hand. If it's his body, cut that too. Don't make the young master wait for his banquet…"

A Wang Clan cultivator began to draw his sword.

Mo Hua's eyes turned icy. Anger surged in his chest. He was just about to smash the bowl in his hand—but paused.

The bowl he held was still intact.

So instead, he grabbed a chipped one—and smashed it on the ground.

"BANG!"

Everyone froze, turning around—finally noticing the young cultivator in the courtyard.

Mo Hua slowly stood up, chin held high, putting on a face full of arrogant pride and disdain.

"Where'd this bunch of petty thugs come from? Daring to steal my fish?"

Steward Wang's face darkened. But when he got a better look at Mo Hua—plainly dressed, yet exuding a certain noble air, and most of all, perfectly mimicking the arrogance of a true young master—he hesitated. No one could fake that kind of entitled swagger.

So he cupped his hands and asked politely:

"May I ask, young master—what family are you from?"

Mo Hua thought quickly, then replied boldly:

"The Gu family!"

Steward Wang's expression shifted, asking cautiously:

"Which Gu family?"

Mo Hua snorted.

"Short-sighted fool. How many Gu families are there in all of Ganzu?"

Steward Wang's eyes narrowed.

"The Gu family of Qingzhou City?"

Mo Hua nodded smugly.

"You might be a fool, but at least you've heard of them."

But Steward Wang suddenly sneered.

"If you're gonna lie, at least make it convincing. I mention the Qingzhou Gu family, and you immediately go along with it?"

"Which noble young master travels alone, with no entourage?"

Mo Hua rolled his eyes with contempt.

"Do I need to explain how I conduct myself to the likes of you?"

Steward Wang's eyes darkened.

Mo Hua didn't bother with more words. He rudely pointed at him and ordered:

"Leave the fish. Get lost."

That was how young masters acted, after all.

No reasoning. Just raw arrogance and orders.

Steward Wang hesitated.

This brat's background was unclear. Normally, it'd be safer not to provoke him.

But if he didn't return with the fish—how would he explain it to the young master?

Then an idea came to him. He cupped his hands again:

"May I ask your esteemed name, young master? That way, I can report back after delivering the fish."

Mo Hua thought that made sense and began,

"I'm Gu…"

Then he paused.

Wait… how did the Gu family's generation names work again?

If he used the "Chang (長)" generation like Uncle Gu, wouldn't that make him the same generation? Would he have to start calling Uncle Gu… "big bro"?

What other generation names were there?

His mind blanked for a moment.

But that hesitation was all it took for Steward Wang to confirm—this kid was lying. He wasn't from the Gu family. Might not even be a noble at all.

"You little fraud! How dare you! Seize him!"

His roar echoed out.

The Wang Clan cultivators all glared and lunged at Mo Hua.

Mo Hua sighed.

Playing an arrogant noble son… clearly he still lacked experience.

Since when do young masters explain themselves?

They'd just start throwing hands!

Lesson learned.

Then, with a flick of his finger—Fireball Technique, instant cast—a ninth-layer Qi Refining cultivator was blown straight off his feet.

Steward Wang's pupils contracted.

This brat… was actually Foundation Establishment?

No wonder he couldn't see through him.

But he quickly growled:

"Be careful!"

So what if he was Foundation Establishment? A rookie like him couldn't beat an entire group of trained clan cultivators, right?

Wrong.

Because in the blink of an eye, his expression completely changed.

Mo Hua didn't even move from his spot. His fingers pointed, spell after spell flying out.

He first cleanly disabled all the Qi Refining cultivators, then followed with:

Golden Blade. Water Prison. Fireball. Quicksand. Water Arrows.

A torrent of spells rained down.

The other Foundation Establishment cultivator barely lasted a moment before being blasted to the ground, battered and scorched.

Such powerful spells!

He was a true spiritual cultivator!

Steward Wang's pupils shrank. He tried to rush forward, planning to restrain Mo Hua at close range.

But the next moment, he realized—he couldn't move.

His body was locked in place.

Mo Hua's cold gaze fell on him, and his finger pointed once more.

A barrage of spells surged forth like a tidal wave.

Steward Wang's scalp tingled with fear, and before long—he too hit the ground.

In the end, all of the Wang Clan cultivators were knocked down like weeds—flattened by Mo Hua's barrage of spells.

Mo Hua nodded in satisfaction.

He was now a disciple of a true great sect. He followed the Great Void Sect's teachings.

He had also absorbed countless techniques from defeated demonic cultivators.

In terms of inheritance, power, and versatility—he wasn't even on the same level as these bullies from backwater clans.

Old Yu stood frozen on the side, finally snapping out of his daze.

Looking at the Wang Clan cultivators strewn all around, he was utterly dumbfounded.

He never imagined that this little guest who'd just dropped by for a meal—was this terrifying with spells.

So many clan cultivators… and in just moments, all were injured and downed—without Mo Hua even needing to move his feet.

(End of this Chapter)