The Quest for Immortality - Chapter 1123 (Patreon)

Chapter 1123: The Eerie Path of Causality

The cultivator wrapped entirely in a black robe had an odd aura about him. His voice was hoarse and indistinct, his identity impossible to discern. He rasped, “The great affair is at hand—do not rashly divine cause and effect.”

The Gray Wolf Sect Master spoke in a low, heavy tone.

“Two of my elders and six of my disciples have vanished without a trace. Most likely, they were silenced—murdered to cover someone’s tracks. Among those elders, one was my own nephew.”

“The one who struck from the shadows has no ordinary cultivation, and his methods are extraordinary.”

“I suspect this person’s target is not only my Gray Wolf Sect—but me.”

“If this matter is not investigated clearly, the murderer’s identity left unknown, I fear…”

His eyes darkened. “…a great calamity will follow.”

He did not specify what kind of calamity, but the black-robed cultivator clearly understood.

His expression grew solemn; after a moment’s thought, he slowly nodded. “So be it. Before a grand undertaking, one must naturally act with caution. Carelessness is forbidden.”

“I will cast a divination.”

He looked toward the sect master and asked, “Do you have anything that belonged to your nephew?”

The Gray Wolf Sect Master was well prepared. He produced a jade pendant and a small brocade pouch. Inside the pouch was a lock of hair, which he respectfully offered.

“Your blood—leave a bowl of it.”

Without hesitation, the sect master drew a dagger, slit his palm, and filled a bowl with his own blood.

When all was ready, the black-robed cultivator nodded. “You should step out for now.”

The sect master, tall and broad-shouldered like a feral wolf, nodded slightly. Without a word of protest, he retreated outside the hall.

He knew that “Mister Wu” was about to begin the divination.

This was a secret technique of profound depth.

Once a divination began, no one was permitted to disturb or even observe it—not even the Gray Wolf Sect Master himself.

After he departed, Mister Wu pointed a finger toward the brazier. Green flames erupted.

Within the flames, faint shapes writhed—restless souls and howling spectral wolves. Their cries were shrill and bone-chilling.

When the flame’s heat turned icy, Mister Wu drew out a tortoise shell and tossed it into the fire.

The green fire surged, etching crack after crack into the tortoise shell.

Taking the chance, Mister Wu threw in the jade pendant and the brocade pouch, letting them burn together. Then he poured the sect master’s blood into the brazier.

The blood—bound by kinship—turned green under the ghostly flame. From it emerged threads of karmic light, winding backward through time toward the past…

Mister Wu’s eyes sharpened. He began to chant incantations rapidly, then slit his own palm and thrust his hand into the green fire, gripping the tortoise shell.

His blood mingled with the green blood of the ritual.

Thus, his divine sense could follow the threads of karma—peering into what had transpired, and learning who the “murderer” truly was.

Amidst the hazy green light, a young man in wolf-patterned robes appeared.

His face was frozen in shock and disbelief, as if he had not expected, even at the moment of death, that he would die.

Mister Wu frowned and demanded, “Who killed you?”

The youth was shrouded in green fire. His lips moved, but he dared not speak.

Mister Wu’s gaze deepened.

Since the youth would not answer, he would see for himself.

He forced more blood into the tortoise shell, diving deeper into the web of causality—reversing the youth’s life, tracing it backward.

Before long, he locked onto a single figure.

That figure was vague—clad in black and gray, wreathed in faint firelight. Strange and unsettling.

Mister Wu frowned. For the first time, unease crept into his heart. He wondered if he had overstepped—

Had he perhaps divined someone he should not?

He tried to pull back, but it was too late. He had already glimpsed that eerie figure.

He had already touched the “karmic thread” of the one behind it all.

In an instant, dense mist surged.

Mister Wu seemed to stand amidst mountains veiled in fog, white and endless, his hand unseen before his face.

“This is… the Heavenly Mystery Veil?” His heart trembled, his expression one of disbelief.

“What a powerful veil of destiny… so thick and vast…”

“Whose handiwork could this be?”

He was shaken.

He walked onward through the fog for a long time, unable to discern direction.

The scope and depth of the mist, the brilliance of the Heavenly Dao contained within—it all far surpassed his imagination.

The more he looked, the more dread he felt.

He was certain that within this fog lay something of tremendous, priceless significance. Otherwise, no sage of such caliber would go to such lengths—to weave so profound a mist to obscure the truth of fate.

This was the work of a true master of destiny!

Grave-faced, Mister Wu wandered aimlessly through the fog.

But this veil was not something he could ever pierce.

When the green flame finally waned and the tortoise shell’s power dissipated, he had found nothing. With furrowed brows, he withdrew from the web of karma.

Back in reality—

The brazier’s flames had died out. The tortoise shell lay shattered and blackened.

Mister Wu stood still, dazed for a long time before speaking. “Come in.”

The Gray Wolf Sect Master entered. “Mister Wu, what did you see?”

Mister Wu shook his head. “Only mist. The cause and effect are hidden. I could not discern the truth, nor the killer.”

The sect master frowned. Even someone as formidable as Mister Wu could not uncover the truth?

“Then what should we do…?” he muttered.

Mister Wu’s tone was calm. “It matters not. Causality is ever obscure. To fail once is normal.”

“I will consult the ancestral tomes for a method to pierce the veil and unravel the fog. Once I find it, the truth will naturally come to light.”

The sect master bowed. “Then I’ll trouble Mister Wu.”

Mister Wu nodded slightly. “I am weary.”

The sect master took the hint. “Then I shall not disturb you further.” He quietly left the hall.

After resting with his eyes closed for a moment, Mister Wu retrieved several ancient, yellowed scrolls from his wolfskin storage pouch and began to study them intently.

He had to find a way—to break through that mist.

…

At that same moment, within a quiet guest room—

Mo Hua’s expression turned strange.

“Someone… was trying to divine me?”

“Who?”

It was the first time he had ever so clearly felt someone calculating his fate.

Of course, he knew this wasn’t the first time others had tried.

He was Mr. Zhuang’s personal disciple, a name of great significance. In Qianxue Province, he had caused no small commotion. Countless people had surely attempted to divine his karma in secret.

But back then, he had never sensed it.

He had been well protected.

Elder Xun cherished him deeply—even giving him the Great Void Yin-Yang Lock.

And though Mr. Zhuang’s life was fading, the mist he left behind still lingered—shielding Mo Hua’s fate from prying eyes.

That residual fog within Mo Hua’s destiny acted as an immensely powerful barrier, hiding every terrifying omen within the depths of its haze.

Ordinary diviners could never pierce it.

Moreover, back in Qianxue Province, those who had tried to calculate his karma were cultivators of the late Golden Core stage, or even of Ascension and Void levels.

Such figures—so powerful, so subtle—were nearly undetectable.

But now, things were different.

Beyond Qianxue’s borders, with the chaos gone, his karmic threads had grown quiet.

And ever since the baleful energy had entered his body, his fate had become even more sensitive—his perception of cause and effect increasingly precise.

Just now, he had distinctly felt someone divining him.

That person’s cultivation wasn’t much higher than his own.

His mastery of causality was decent but still immature—a novice, really.

And judging by the faint pull, the person wasn’t even far away.

A karmic novice, nearby, attempting to divine him—how could Mo Hua not notice?

“No wonder Elder Xun warned me never to calculate another’s karma lightly…” he murmured.

“When you peer into karma, karma peers back.”

If one’s divine sense and karmic strength are weaker than the target’s, to divine them is to feed oneself into their jaws—courting death.

“Causality truly is dangerous.”

Mo Hua sighed inwardly. Yet, he failed to realize—he himself was the most dangerous cause and effect of all.

Soon, he frowned in thought.

Now that he could sense others divining him… what was he supposed to do about it?

After thinking it through, he realized—with some frustration—that he could do nothing.

All the “defenses” woven into his fate were passive.

They were the work of Elder Xun, his master, and other strange forces hidden deep within him—none of which he could control.

He hated that feeling of helplessness.

He couldn’t always rely on others to guard his destiny.

He had to protect himself—to seize his fate, to change it, even defy it.

“My destiny must rest in my own hands. My fate must be my own to control.”

But how?

Without his master, without Elder Xun, without those mysterious safeguards—how could he counteract karmic intrusion on his own?

He pondered long and hard. His divine sense was formidable; he had inherited two supreme algorithms of Heavenly Mechanism. His foundation in causality was incredibly deep—yet his basics were lacking.

He knew how to calculate, to infer, to deceive—but not how to defend.

Once, in Qianxue Province, he had quietly asked Daoist Situ of Mysterious Mechanism Valley to teach him a karmic defense technique.

But Daoist Situ refused—first because of sect rules, and second because he feared Mo Hua’s karmic burden.

If Mo Hua ever fell to demonic corruption, the Valley would bear the blame for aiding him.

Thus, Mo Hua had never learned any method of karmic countermeasure.

That was why, when someone calculated him now, he could only endure it passively.

He realized this could not continue.

Power without control was meaningless.

“I must counter it myself,” he muttered. “How?”

He lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, combing through everything he had seen and learned. Was there anyone’s method he could “borrow”?

His master’s—no. He had never actually seen his master perform such divinations.

Then only his senior uncle remained.

“Shibo is terrifying,” Mo Hua thought. “So terrifying that even speaking his name invites calamity.”

To speak, see, or even think of him was to trigger karma, summoning his eerie thoughts upon oneself—bringing disaster.

Such an ability must have countless restrictions—time, distance, cultivation, divine sense strength. Mo Hua didn’t fully understand it yet.

But the idea of an ‘Eerie Thought Descent’… that he could perhaps learn.

After all, his own divine sense was strong, and he too had learned a little of the Heavenly Mechanism’s eerie calculations.

If his senior uncle was a supreme expert, then learning from him should at least make Mo Hua a capable one.

He pondered deeply.

“Senior Uncle’s eerie calculation allows his divine sense to split into countless projections…”

“I can’t do that. I can only form a ‘shadow of eerie thought’—a reflection attached to my divine sense, enhancing my calculation but not independent.”

“Without full separation, I can’t manifest an independent projection to descend through karma…”

“That won’t work…”

He frowned, lost in thought—then his eyes lit up.

“No… my approach is wrong.”

“I don’t need to match Senior Uncle’s level. I don’t need my thought to descend upon others just because they think of me.”

“What I need… is simply a way to counter those who divine me—to guard my fate, to make them regret it.”

“How to counter? Divine Sense Sword?”

He shook his head.

That was a weapon of the divine sense realm—a mental strike, not karmic.

Karma followed different laws—a blend of mind and matter, of illusion and reality, of will and consequence.

So the Divine Sense Sword was useless.

“What about the Heart-Demon Seed?”

He thought for a moment, eyes narrowing.

“The principle of the Heart-Demon Seed is to plant a ‘seed’ in another’s heart through words—to influence their thoughts.”

“But in the web of karma, I can’t speak to the intruder. There’s no bridge of language—no seed can be planted.”

He frowned again. Then, imagining what his terrifying senior uncle might do, his eyes slowly brightened.

Two words surfaced in his mind—

“Baleful Qi.”

If his senior uncle were in his place, he would surely use the killing aura refined from endless slaughter as a medium—to forge a demonic seed.

It was an unspoken resonance between master and disciple.

After all, within Mo Hua’s fate lurked corpses and evil embryos beyond his control.

But the baleful qi born from his own killings—that he could control.

It was the only power of his destiny he truly commanded.

“To merge my baleful qi with the Heavenly Mechanism’s eerie calculation, to shape it into a Heart-Demon Seed—an eerie path of karma to counter those who divine me…”

His eyes gleamed.

He immediately began to test it, step by step.

“First, use the Heavenly Mechanism to divide a thread of eerie thought…”

“Then, use the Heart-Demon Seed to convert it into a ‘demonic seed’…”

“Fuse that seed with my baleful qi…”

“Then use… no, not the Demonic Path Transmutation—it’s external. I should use the Blood Prison Eye Technique to rouse the baleful qi and let it rebound…”

“With only a little baleful qi, the backlash will be tolerable.”

“When the baleful qi reverses, it will naturally flow back into my fate.”

“In this way, the baleful qi becomes the bridge—carrying my demonic seed into my destiny.”

“And anyone who touches that baleful qi while divining me… will be infected by my Heart-Demon Seed.”

It sounded simple, but the technique was monstrously complex— Heavenly Mechanism, Heart-Demon Seed, Heavenly Derivation Technique, divine sense control, karmic flow, and two kinds of baleful transformations…

Mo Hua had to deconstruct them all, then rebuild them according to his own design.

Even for him, it was arduous.

He secluded himself for three days and nights, experimenting without rest. Finally, he succeeded—refining a single eerie “demonic seed.”

He exhaled in relief, eyes full of anticipation.

Then he lay back on the bed, waiting.

And sure enough, when midnight came, his fate stirred again. Someone was once more prying into his karma.

By his guess, it was someone from the Gray Wolf Sect—likely the sect master’s hidden adviser.

As planned, Mo Hua activated the Blood Prison Eye Technique, stirring the baleful qi, letting it reverse—and fusing into it his eerie thought.

That thought carried one single message:

“I’m worthless… I should just die…”

Looks like Mo Hua’s walking the fine line between self-preservation and damnation again. His creativity never ceases to amaze me.

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