Immortality Through Array Formations (The Quest for Immortality)

Chapter 935: Woodwhite and Goldenjade

Mid- to low-grade spiritual roots—by definition, they're not that bad… but that depends on the era you're living in.

"Nowadays, in the 20,000th year of the Dao Calendar," said Venerable Elder Xun, "after countless generations of cultivation, those without spiritual roots have long been weeded out. Even mid- and low-grade roots are now mostly only found among rogue cultivators."

"Among the true aristocratic clans—and even some mid-tier families—they've long since adopted 'spiritual root inheritance' when arranging marriages. Family and sect disciples intermarry, and with each generation, the roots get stronger."

"So now we have this saying:

'There are no poor kids with top-grade roots, and no noble clans with low-grade ones.'"

This was simply the way the cultivation world had evolved—but Elder Xun spoke of it without the slightest sense of pride.

The Sect Master of the Great Void Sect nodded solemnly.

"Indeed… Someone like Mo Hua, with a low-grade root—among rogue cultivators, it's still decent.

But in an average family, he'd barely count as mediocre.

But this is Qianxue Province, and he's joined a top-tier sect. His peers are all direct descendants of noble clans… Compared to them, his mid-to-low-grade Five Elemental Root makes him look, well… pretty second-rate."

He shook his head and sighed:

"Poor spiritual roots mean low-grade cultivation techniques, fewer spiritual orbits in the body, and naturally—weaker spiritual power."

Elder Xun mused:

"Still… despite his low spiritual power, the boy clearly has quite a few cards up his sleeve."

"I haven't seen him in action myself, so I can't say for sure. But just judging from what we do know—his formation skills are extraordinary, his movement arts are precise, his stealth techniques are refined… and I'd wager he has a few hidden kill moves as well."

"Who?" the Sect Master blinked. "Mo Hua?"

Elder Xun gave him a look.

"Haven't you gone through his case file? Just how many covert operations has that kid stirred up over the years?"

The Sect Master paused and thought.

From what the sect's records showed—he'd hunted down rogue cultivators for bounties, participated in the execution of the Fire Buddha, infiltrated and destroyed Myriad Demon Valley, helped hunt Water Yama, burned down Rouge Boat, escaped from Dragon King Temple…

And most recently? Stirred the pot in the destruction of the Demonic Sect.

The more he thought about it, the more shocked he became.

Unconsciously, Mo Hua had gotten himself involved in a ridiculous number of major incidents over the years.

Granted, the records always said he was "involved"—the heavy lifting was handled by the Dao Court or the sect elders. Still—

"Involved..."

The Sect Master froze. Then realization struck.

A normal Foundation Establishment disciple—how could they get "involved" in this many dangerous affairs?

Once or twice? You could blame luck.

But so many times? That's not luck—that's capability.

If Mo Hua didn't have real skill, there's no way he could've survived those missions.

In fact, some of those rogue or demonic cultivators... might've died by his own hands.

Suddenly, he pictured Mo Hua's usual harmless, delicate face—and shivered.

"That little white-faced brat conned me..."

After a long moment of silence, the Sect Master sighed:

"Then it's settled. The Sword Debate Conference really isn't the right fit for Mo Hua."

Elder Xun nodded.

"The first issue is his spiritual power.

The Sword Debate isn't a one-and-done match. It's a grueling tournament, full of long, draining battles. If you don't have enough spiritual energy, you'll burn out fast.

And worse—he might end up facing off against elite heirs of the Four Great Sects, true aristocratic prodigies."

"These people? All of them have top-tier roots. Occasionally, a Heavenly Root shows up—it's not unheard of."

"That kind of gap… is just too great."

"Yes, the Sword Debate is team-based and values tactics and strategy, but—those strategies only work if your cultivation and spiritual power can back them up. There's no real shortcut."

"Not to mention—Mo Hua's got tricks up his sleeve he has to keep hidden."

"If he exposes them all just for this competition, he'll paint a target on his back. That kind of exposure is practically asking to be schemed against later."

Elder Xun's face was serious.

And there was one more reason—one he didn't voice aloud.

Mo Hua was "that man's" disciple.

His whole skillset clearly carried that man's imprint.

But the Sword Debate? It was the most public, most watched event.

If Mo Hua showcased even a hint of that legacy, he'd instantly attract massive karmic backlash.

Countless plots and calculations would descend on him.

And such karmic weight was far beyond what a Foundation Establishment cultivator could withstand.

So sending Mo Hua into the Sword Debate?

Would be a disaster. More harm than good.

The Sect Master asked:

"Have you told him all this?"

Elder Xun replied:

"The child's smart. He'll figure it out himself."

The karmic dangers? He should already be aware.

Spiritual roots? He knows where he stands.

And spiritual roots—well, you're born with them. There's no point belaboring it.

The Sect Master nodded and let the matter drop.

As they drank their tea, Elder Xun suddenly remembered something:

"By the way—how's that matter I asked you to look into?"

"You mean the one about the lifebound artifact?" the Sect Master asked.

"That's the one. From what I've seen, your side is the only one with this inheritance."

"I've made inquiries, but…" the Sect Master frowned. "Woodwhite as skin, goldenjade as bone…"

"That body-forging lifebound method… it's useless for Mo Hua, isn't it? He doesn't have the right bloodline, his physique isn't strong, and he doesn't have the necessary inheritance."

"Useless," Elder Xun nodded.

The Sect Master blinked, baffled.

"Then why ask me to get it?"

"To me, it looks useless too," Elder Xun admitted, his expression uncertain.

"But when I cast the divination… the hexagram showed that Mo Hua might actually use it. But how, I can't say…"

The Sect Master gave him a look.

"Didn't you say you don't do fortune-telling?"

"This… isn't fortune-telling."

"Isn't it?"

"It's complicated. Let's just say—it's one of those cases.

You never studied the laws of fate, so you wouldn't understand anyway."

"…Sure. You're the ancestor. Whatever you say."

But something still puzzled him.

"Is it really that hard to choose a lifebound artifact for this kid? Even you can't figure it out?"

Elder Xun quietly sipped his tea.

As if I could.

No one really knew whose disciple Mo Hua truly was.

His cultivation style was unconventional, eclectic, utterly bizarre. Who knew what he'd learned—or from whom?

Even as a Hollow Void Realm ancestor, he couldn't fully grasp it.

But of course, he couldn't say that out loud.

"I know what I'm doing," he simply said. "You don't need to worry. Just get me that Woodwhite-Goldenjade lifebound forging method.

You're the only one with the connections to obtain it."

Naturally, the Sect Master didn't refuse Elder Xun's request.

Even though the inheritance was prestigious and hard to acquire, he was the Sect Master now—and had to weigh it against the sect's interests too.

And besides—it was for Mo Hua.

He truly liked that boy. Even putting aside thoughts of forging a future alliance, he was still happy to help.

"Don't worry, Elder. I've already sent a letter asking about it. We should get a response soon."

Elder Xun nodded with satisfaction.

"Much appreciated."

"You're too kind, Elder. This is simply my duty as Sect Master."

And so, the two continued drinking tea and discussing sect matters.

Preparations for the Sword Debate Conference quietly advanced step by step.

...

A few days later, at Demon-Taming Mountain…

Mo Hua had once again returned to Demon-Taming Mountain to hunt monsters.

Ever since the incident at Myriad Demon Valley, he had rarely visited this place. This time, the mountain expedition had been specially organized by the sect elders.

The goal: to have disciples enter the mountain, hunt demon beasts, and hone their Dao techniques.

In addition, a new component had been added—duels and sparring between disciples.

Though the elders didn't spell it out, Mo Hua could easily guess:

This was likely in preparation for the Sword Debate Conference.

They wanted to see:

Who among the disciples had real strength?

Who had talent and intuition for combat techniques?

Who could carry the weight of the sect's honor at the Sword Debate?

After all, it was called a Sword Debate, not a "spiritual root ranking contest."

Cultivation level was one thing—actual combat was another entirely.

Some disciples looked powerful on paper, but would freeze up in a real fight, unable to unleash even half of their power.

Others, who seemed average, turned out to be gutsy, clever, and aggressive—shining in the heat of real battle.

These qualities?

You could only see them once fists and spells started flying.

Only through sparring and real combat could the elders find the right candidates for the Sword Debate.

And not just Mo Hua—all the other disciples understood this as well.

The Sword Debate Conference wasn't just about personal prestige—it carried the weight of the sect's honor and survival.

More importantly, disciples were only allowed one shot at the Dao Debates in their nine years of study.

So everyone cherished this chance deeply.

—

On a wide slope halfway up Demon-Taming Mountain...

The elders were organizing one-on-one matches—testing both physical techniques and spellwork.

It was just sparring—no need to win or lose—simply a way for the elders to observe the disciples' real-world strength.

Mo Hua didn't participate.

There was no point.

On paper, his strength was way too low.

Aside from close friends like Cheng Mo and Situ Jian, most disciples had never seen Mo Hua fight—or even cast a serious spell.

At best, they'd seen him toss out a couple of fireballs.

To them, their "harmless little senior brother" was a strange genius: freakishly talented in formations, but with a body and spiritual power that were laughably weak.

A weird prodigy.

Sparring with him? Nothing to gain.

And honestly, no one dared to fight him anyway.

If he hurt them, it was whatever—a few fireballs, a light burn, walk it off.

But if they injured him?

That was big trouble.

Mo Hua, as the beloved "Little Senior Brother," was gentle, kind, always helpful—and had excellent relationships throughout the sect. Most disciples had, in one way or another, benefited from him.

Hurting him would basically make you public enemy number one. Might as well dig your own grave.

Besides—Mo Hua's skin was white and soft, and his body weak. Even a scratch on him would feel like a crime.

The elders? Even more terrified.

This was the sect's formation prodigy, their precious treasure. Even if he wasn't literally the Patriarch's grandson, he might as well be.

If he got hurt in a formation sparring match, who could possibly bear that responsibility?

So while the mountains echoed with clashing blades and blasting spells…

Mo Hua sat alone on a big tree, watching the chaos from above like a calm spectator.

The elders even placed protective formations around the tree, afraid that a stray spell might fly over and hit him by accident.

Mo Hua sat there, all alone, sighing helplessly.

Just as boredom was creeping in, someone approached from the distance.

His eyes lit up.

"Xiaoxiao!"

It was Linghu Xiao.

To outsiders, he was a cold and aloof sword genius, rarely seen with even a hint of a smile.

In the entire sect, only Mo Hua dared to call him "Xiaoxiao."

Linghu Xiao could only sigh at the nickname.

Mo Hua waved at him from the tree, and Linghu Xiao moved with swordlike grace—flashing across the air and landing beside him in a few quick steps.

"Done with your duel?" Mo Hua asked.

"Yeah, finished." Linghu Xiao nodded.

Now in the late Foundation Establishment realm, he had begun nurturing his Chongxu lineage sword into a lifebound weapon. His cultivation had advanced again, and his sword aura had grown even sharper.

After the ordeal in Myriad Demon Valley, his sword heart had undergone great tempering, and he now radiated an even more intense sword dao presence.

His Chongxu Sword Style had finally begun to step into true mastery—its edge unmistakable.

During sparring, ordinary disciples couldn't even withstand a single strike before losing.

So naturally, Linghu Xiao finished his duels quickly. With nothing else to do, he came over to join Mo Hua up on the tree.

The two of them watched the sparring below for a while, until Linghu Xiao suddenly asked:

"The Sword Debate Conference—are you going?"

Mo Hua looked conflicted.

"Hard to say…"

To claim he didn't want to go would be a lie.

Yes, he'd already won the Formation Debate Championship, but Sword Debate was a completely different beast.

In terms of intensity, spectacle, challenge, and visibility—they weren't even on the same level.

The Sword Debate was where heaven's proud sons clashed, where heroes rose and fell. Anything could happen. Until the final moment, no one knew who'd come out on top.

But… his situation was complicated. And he knew it.

Sure, he could participate. But how much effort to put in—and how far he should go—wasn't easy to decide.

He already had more merit points than he could ever spend.

His fame? Actually kind of a liability now.

At the moment, the Sword Debate didn't hold that much appeal to him.

At best, if the sect was in trouble, he'd consider stepping up to secure a decent placement. But that was about it.

To throw himself into a life-or-death struggle, risking exposure of his hidden cards, all just to fight for a top rank?

Honestly… not worth it.

Because in cultivation...

Everything has two sides.

To compete for fame in the Sword Debate—standing atop the mountain might look glorious,

but being watched by too many scheming eyes could just as easily plant the seeds of future disaster.

Mo Hua, at this moment, still hadn't made up his mind.

Linghu Xiao nodded quietly, then after a moment said,

"If you decide to go... I'll go with you."

Mo Hua was taken aback and turned to glance at him.

Linghu Xiao's expression was calm—but his gaze was firm.

Mo Hua felt a wave of gratitude.

Participating in the Sword Debate Conference wasn't a solo affair.

It required five people working in sync.

If they wanted a good ranking, it had to be "strength joining with strength."

No one could be weak. No one could be the obvious weak link.

Mo Hua knew:

Though he wasn't exactly weak, when it came to head-on combat in a competition like the Sword Debate, he wasn't all that strong either.

But Linghu Xiao—he was the real deal.

Ever since reaching the late Foundation Establishment realm, his swordsmanship had grown sharper by the day.

He was clearly offering to carry him—even if this was his one and only chance in life to compete.

Even knowing Mo Hua's spiritual power was low, and that he might be a burden.

Mo Hua smiled and patted Linghu Xiao on the shoulder.

"I appreciate it, really. But let's talk about this later."

Linghu Xiao simply nodded and said no more.

Silence returned to the treetop.

Mo Hua focused his attention on the disciples sparring below.

As he watched, he realized: the other disciples of the Great Void Sect had clearly improved.

Both in cultivation and Dao techniques, they had made noticeable gains.

Especially in spiritual power.

Their spiritual roots were better than his to begin with,

and most had reached late Foundation Establishment earlier than him—meaning they'd had half a year or more to improve.

Mo Hua compared carefully—and found that his own spiritual power

was now the lowest among all the disciples.

And the gap… had grown wider without him even noticing.

Back in early Foundation Establishment, it wasn't so obvious.

But now, past the mid-stage, and into the late stage—the difference in roots and techniques had started to amplify.

Mo Hua ran a rough comparison:

Back in early Foundation, his spiritual cycles (周天) were about 20% weaker than his peers.

Now? It was more like 30 to 40%.

And that was just compared to the average.

When he compared himself to someone like Linghu Xiao, a top-tier prodigy,

he realized his spiritual power cycles were barely half as many.

Half.

And this was only Foundation Establishment.

If it continued into Golden Core, the gap might become even more vast.

—

After all, with such a huge base disparity, the further along one went,

the more exponential the power growth—and the larger the difference would become.

Mo Hua had known this truth before, but it had been more theoretical.

Now, he felt it deeply.

He inhaled sharply.

The spiritual gap between cultivators was as terrifying as the gap between rich and poor in the mortal world.

"I need to figure something out..."

A sense of urgency rose in his chest.

That night, in the disciples' quarters.

Back from Demon-Taming Mountain, Mo Hua was once again hunched over his desk, diligently practicing formation arts.

He felt he needed to improve his strength again.

But the weakness in spiritual power was almost a dead-end—he couldn't break through it for now.

So he could only look for another route:

Strengthen his divine sense.

If his divine sense grew stronger, then his formations, spells, and sword techniques would all become more powerful as a result.

And with the Sword Debate set for next year,

even if he was only going as a supporting player, it was still better to have more strength than none at all.

Yet after practicing formations for a while, he performed an internal scan… and shook his head helplessly.

"No good… I can barely feel any growth in divine sense at all."

Ever since reaching Foundation Establishment,

while formations still helped refine his divine sense,

the growth itself had become minimal.

Formation arts now mostly honed his comprehension of laws and precision of control,

not the raw strength of divine sense.

This might've been due to the way his divine sense had started transforming into Dao.

It could also be due to the fact that…

he had consumed too many demonic and evil creatures in the past.

Now that he'd stopped eating those—or simply didn't have any good ones to eat—

his divine sense improvement had nearly stalled.

Especially at this crucial threshold—the 20-rune level.

"Everything's stuck again…"

Divine sense, formations, sword arts, lifebound artifact—all jammed.

Mo Hua let out a sigh.

"The path of cultivation… really isn't easy. Obstacles everywhere."

But of course, that was normal.

The long road of Dao cultivation was meant to be full of hardship.

Mo Hua forced himself to calm down and returned to practicing formations.

The ones he'd practiced a thousand times, he repeated a thousand and one.

Bit by bit, he tempered his divine sense,

hoping to grasp deeper truths of cultivation.

He didn't know how long he practiced.

He didn't know why, but something unusual happened— for the first time in a long while, Mo Hua began to feel sleepy.

A heavy fatigue slowly crept in, making his eyelids droop.

He struggled for a while… but couldn't resist it. His spirit just wouldn't lift.

Eventually, he collapsed forward—eyes closing, head hitting the table— and one arm knocked over the jar of spirit ink.

The ink slowly spread… staining the formation papers black.

And Mo Hua began to dream—a nightmare.

In the dream, there was nothing but darkness.

And in the dark stood a monstrous, "demonic fetus"-like creature, its eyes filled with brutal malice, staring straight at him.

(End of this Chapter)