The Quest for Immortality - Chapter 1141 (Patreon)

Chapter 1141: The “Eerie” Scheme

Within the array-sealed cave, the air was thick with that familiar, chilling, and sinister cold.

Mo Hua held his breath, hardly daring to move. He forcibly stilled his own thoughts, cutting off all mental flow, leaving his mind blank — all to avoid triggering certain threads of causality that might invite an eerie presence to descend upon him.

Time trickled by. That sinister chill flowed slowly through the void.

Mo Hua was like a silent mouse, hiding deep underground.

No one knew how long had passed before the eerie aura finally thinned and gradually dissipated.

Still, Mo Hua dared not relax. Even his breathing was careful and restrained. He remained motionless, vigilant and patient, not daring the slightest lapse.

The sun rose and fell, and three full days went by.

The oppressive feeling in the air had vanished. Even the subtle, intangible sense of “fate disturbance” was gone.

Only then did Mo Hua finally exhale in relief.

Yet even so, he didn’t dare speak, nor even think, of that particular name.

He could only refer to the man as “Shibo.”

The name Gui Daoren — “Eerie Daoist” — was a unique title.

In this world, whenever the Eerie Daoist was mentioned, the causal threads would point to one person only — the terrifying cultivator who had walked the path of eerie fate, and with merely a Feathering-stage cultivation, ascended to the highest seat of the demonic path.

But there were many “Shibos.” Too many, in fact.

Everyone had a “Shibo.” Everyone could become one.

The title was so broad, its causal web so vast, that it was shrouded in confusion and noise.

And in confusion lay safety.

So, when Mo Hua thought the words “Shibo,” no one — not even Heaven’s causality — could easily discern whom he truly meant.

That word was relatively safe. At least, far safer than “Eerie Daoist.”

“So… this matter…” Mo Hua pondered carefully, piecing everything together, his expression grave. “Was this scheme secretly arranged by Shibo?”

“The baleful aura on me — could it be that he tampered with it himself?”

“What is Shibo planning?”

“What means… did he use?”

Mo Hua frowned deeply, starting from the most basic concept — Shaqi (baleful qi).

Righteous cultivators rarely studied Shaqi; that was the domain of the demonic path. Only the Water Prison Sect was an exception.

But even they studied “righteous baleful qi,” a supposedly pure form of it — though in the eyes of orthodox cultivators, it was already borderline heretical. Otherwise, that sect wouldn’t have fallen to ruin.

Even so, their studies weren’t truly authoritative. The ones who truly understood Shaqi were always the demonic sects.

For many of them, Shaqi was their foundation.

Shaqi was a killing aura — a murderous, ominous energy that could terrify the soul. When fused into demonic techniques, it greatly amplified their power.

Killing bred Shaqi.

The more one killed, the heavier it became.

In the eyes of demonic cultivators, the denser and stronger their Shaqi, the better. It was a mark of power.

But that was for the demonic path. For the righteous, it was entirely different.

Shaqi, born of slaughter, carried severe side effects. The more one killed, the more numb one became to the value of life — until “people” ceased to be people in their eyes.

Others became tools. Slaves. Livestock.

And eventually, they themselves ceased to be human — losing empathy, losing warmth, losing all that was humane.

Their reason would warp; their hearts would freeze. They’d fall into madness, losing their Dao hearts, and become demons.

For the demonic path, this mattered little — most had long abandoned their humanity.

But for the righteous path, it was a taboo.

Thus, even when slaying demons and evil, cultivators of the righteous way restrained themselves. The Dao Court even advocated capturing demonic cultivators alive whenever possible, sending them to the Dao Prison for execution — where Daoist execution formations would bear the karmic burden of killing for them.

All of this was to preserve their humanity — to safeguard the Dao heart.

Yet Mo Hua’s Shaqi was exceptionally strong. Because in an instant, he had annihilated far too many demonic cultivators — not just Qi Refiners and Foundation Establishers, but even Golden Core cultivators and four Feathering-stage demon heads.

The quantity was vast. The quality — terrifying.

And he was but a Foundation Establishment cultivator.

His divine sense was strong, yes — but not strong enough to bear such a massive karmic backlash.

Still, even that shouldn’t have been enough to cause this degree of Shaqi counterattack.

Because those he killed were demons. Beasts, practically. Their deaths carried little karmic weight.

And he hadn’t slain them directly — the array had. Those demons didn’t even know that he was the one who killed them.

The karmic link should have been faint, distorted, and indirect. So the backlash should’ve been mild — nothing like the mountain-crushing, sea-like flood he suffered.

Now, after his ordeal, Mo Hua understood. Someone had interfered.

A terrifying master of fate had forcibly revealed his karmic ties — exposing him to the spirits of the slain, making him their killer.

All those souls, all those wronged deaths — were anchored to him.

The resentful ghosts, the killing aura, the karmic debts — all bound together and chained into his fate.

And that master of fate… was most likely his Shibo.

The Eerie Daoist.

Once this formation was set, each time Mo Hua killed again, even a little, the faintest Shaqi would ignite that chain — drawing forth the sea of murderous ghosts bound to him.

The baleful qi would gnaw at his heart. The ghosts would devour his memories. His reason would shatter; his humanity would fade.

And once he lost himself — once he forgot who he was — the Eerie Daoist could descend through that link… and take his body.

Transforming him into a “Little Eerie Daoist.”

A puppet of blood and flesh.

Mo Hua’s face turned pale. His limbs went cold.

Such a trap — so deep, so horrifying — could only be his Shibo’s work.

But then he hesitated. “Would Shibo really go so far… just for me?”

“I’m only a minor Foundation Establishment cultivator. Would I truly warrant such effort?”

“Am I overthinking this?”

Then another thought struck him.

What was he, in Shibo’s eyes?

A disciple of the Great Void Sect? A genius of formation Dao? A disruptor of an evil god’s ritual? Or simply… his little junior nephew?

“Wait,” Mo Hua suddenly froze. “Does Shibo even know that I’m his little nephew?”

Back then, in the Li Mountain region, they had traveled together — shared meals, shelter, roasted sweet potatoes. Shibo had even taught him Dao Heart Demon-Seeding.

At the end, he’d tried to kill him — yet still helped him break through his bottleneck.

Their bond, strangely, was not shallow.

But that was the problem.

If Shibo truly remembered him — knew who he was — he would have killed him immediately, utterly, without hesitation.

And yet, since that time… there had been nothing. No pursuit. As if he had been forgotten.

Why?

“The Shibo at Li Mountain must’ve been just an avatar,” Mo Hua thought grimly. “His main body never received the memories.”

“So the real Shibo doesn’t know who I am.”

“Or… isn’t sure.”

“Then this Blood-Sacrifice Array…” he muttered. “If he forged this to burden me with karmic ghosts — does that mean he’s discovered my identity?”

“Or does he still not know, and I’m merely a pawn?”

He considered that possibility — and then froze again.

“Wait… am I really trying to guess Shibo’s thoughts?”

“If I think I can truly fathom the mind of the Eerie Daoist… then that must mean he wants me to think so!”

The realization chilled him to the bone.

“No — stop. Don’t think. Not another thought.” He forced his mind to still.

If he thought too much, if he touched that karmic thread again… Shibo might sense him.

He dared not risk it.

Even so, a heavy weight pressed on his heart. He knew — one day, inevitably — they would meet again.

And that day, it would not be an avatar, but the true body of the Eerie Daoist.

How powerful was that true self? Mo Hua dared not imagine.

With his current cultivation, even with his mastery of arrays and divine sense, he would have no chance.

Not even to resist.

“Core Formation,” he murmured.

He had to advance. He must.

Only by forming his core and strengthening his divine sense could he survive.

He also needed to master the profound arts of fate — karmic and causal techniques — to dissolve the curse his Shibo had left upon him.

Otherwise, he wouldn’t dare kill again.

Because each time he killed, even once, even by accident — the Shaqi within him would flare, and the cursed karmic web would tighten.

Each flare would draw Shibo’s attention closer. Each ripple in fate would pull him nearer.

Until one day, that gaze fell directly upon him.

Just thinking of that moment made Mo Hua’s scalp tingle.

“I must form my core — as soon as possible…”

After ensuring the fierce Shaqi within was dormant, his fate stabilized, and his divine sense remained unharmed, Mo Hua quietly erased all traces of his array in the cave.

Then, with one last look around — and a deep breath — he turned into a stream of waterlight and fled toward the Great Wilderness.

Thank you for reading!

If you’re enjoying this journey, please support the translation on Patreon — every pledge helps keep the story alive (and keeps me caffeinated!).

And if you have a moment, please leave a review or rating on NovelUpdates — your feedback means the world and helps new readers find The Quest for Immortality.

Next Chapter >