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He looked over it a few times more and confirmed that the Pale-faced Man’s Fireball Technique indeed had some subtleties, differing from the common Fireball Technique.

Mo Hua wanted to study it further.

Scarface and the Pale-faced Man had already stopped fighting.

This was the Black Mountain Stronghold, and they were responsible for guarding the gate. If they caused any trouble over a petty squabble, it could cost them their lives.

So, even if they did fight, it was a half-hearted affair; they didn’t dare to really go at it.

Mo Hua was somewhat disappointed.

He had been hoping the two would have a fight to the death so he could take advantage of the situation.

But it turned out to be all bark and no bite; after a few moves, the conflict was over.

Scarface and the Pale-faced Man hurled a few harsh words at each other and then sat down together to drink cheap liquor, as if nothing had happened.

However, in the glances they exchanged, there was a hint of murderous intent.

Mo Hua thought it over and was still very much interested in the Pale-faced Man’s Fireball Technique.

He now had defensive spells to protect himself, but his offensive spells were lacking.

The Fireball Technique was fast and accurate, but its power was indeed mediocre.

If he could learn the secrets of the Fireball Technique from the Pale-faced Man, he wouldn’t need to learn other spells, and he could strengthen his arsenal.

With this in mind, Mo Hua paid close attention and began to track the Pale-faced Man after daylight.

The Pale-faced Man, after finishing his night watch, went straight back to his room.

The Pale-faced Man was just an ordinary Evil Cultivator; his room was no different from the others—spacious enough but messily furnished, not particularly bloody, just an oversized trunk in the corner.

Having been up all night, the Pale-faced Man appeared tired. He rested for a while, then got up and started to meditate and cultivate with his eyes closed.

Mo Hua found this odd.

It seemed that the Pale-faced Man did not use Spirit Stones while cultivating.

Without Spirit Stones, what could he possibly cultivate? Air?

After a while, the Pale-faced Man opened his eyes, a flash of irritation in his gaze.

He went straight to the corner and opened the large trunk.

Mo Hua, lying on the roof beam, looked down and saw that the trunk actually contained a living Cultivator!

The Cultivator was thin and sallow, cowering in the trunk, silent and afraid.

The Pale-faced Man ordered, “Come out.”

Upon hearing the command, the Cultivator looked around vacantly before stepping out.

“Kneel!”

The Cultivator didn’t resist; he knelt as told.

Seeing the man kneeling in front of him made the Pale-faced Man excited. He then pressed his palm against the Cultivator’s forehead.

The Cultivator’s Spiritual Power began to flow in reverse and then gathered in the Pale-faced Man’s Qi Sea through his palm.

The Cultivator seemed to have become used to being treated this way. His expression was dull; he neither resisted nor made a sound, like a piece of wood or some dead thing accepting his fate of having his Spiritual Power drained.

In the time it took to brew a cup of tea, the Pale-faced Man had fully absorbed the Spiritual Power, his satisfied heart adding a flush of color to his pale face.

He patted the Cultivator’s face, speaking in a tone of benevolence, “The Cultivation Technique I taught you, you’d best practice diligently.”

“You have to remember, it was I who saved your life. Making you a ‘Spirit Slave’ is a gift to you. Otherwise, you would have been drained dry by other Evil Cultivators already.”

“You owe your life to me!”

After speaking, the Pale-faced Man pointed to the trunk and said, “Go back, and don’t make a sound.”

The Cultivator, now a ‘Spirit Slave,’ walked back to the trunk with a blank expression and silently curled up inside without emitting a single sound.

Mo Hua watched with a chill in his heart.

He now understood that ‘Spirit Slaves’ were Cultivators used like slaves, their Spiritual Energy completely wrung out of them.

These Cultivators could be said to be more like moving ‘Spirit Stones’ than people.

To treat people like Spirit Slaves and Spirit Stones…

Mo Hua’s slender eyebrows knitted together.

As Elder Yu had said, the Cultivators here were indeed beasts.

After absorbing the ‘Spirit Slave’s’ Spiritual Energy, the Pale-faced Man began to meditate and refine it.

The Spiritual Energy in Spirit Stones was pure, but that of Cultivators varied.

Refining the Spiritual Energy of other Cultivators was easier and more convenient, but it clashed with one’s own Spiritual Energy, leading to anomalies and could easily lead to a drastic change in temperament or demonic possession.

Therefore, techniques that absorb Spiritual Energy were considered Evil Skills and not tolerated by the Taoist Court.

This was what Zhang Lan had told Mo Hua.

The Pale-faced Man absorbed the Spiritual Power of the Spirit Slave and sat in meditation to refine it, his facial features shifting unpredictably.

At times he looked ferocious, at times ecstatic, at times mad, and at times a mix of agony and pleasure showed on his face.

A moment later, after the Pale-faced Man had finished his cultivation, he reverted to his initial weak and pale appearance, although the aura of his cultivation indeed seemed somewhat stronger.

Feeling pleased, the Pale-faced Man took out a book from his storage bag and began to read intently.

Mo Hua took a furtive glance and felt a jolt in her heart.

The cover of the book was partially obscured by the Pale-faced Man’s hand, but two characters that were visible read “Fireball.”

Fireball Technique!

Indeed, the Pale-faced Man was practicing a special Fireball Technique!

If it were an ordinary Fireball Technique, there would be no reason for him to treat it as a treasure, carrying it with him and studying it from time to time.

But since the Secret Manual of the Fireball Technique was with him, it was not something Mo Hua could simply steal.

It seemed she would have to wait for another opportunity to come along.

Before Mo Hua left, she cast another glance at the wooden box in the corner, which contained a Spirit Slave.

The Spirit Slave appeared quite young, but was emaciated with a drained countenance, looking much older than his years.

Now his expression was vacant and without emotion, but perhaps he once was a cheerful and kind-hearted youth.

Did his parents even know he had fallen into the hands of the Black Mountain Stronghold?

With this thought, Mo Hua sighed.

Currently, with her limited cultivation, she was far from capable of saving him.

But if one day she gained sufficient power, she vowed to slaughter all these Heretical Demons one by one!

Mo Hua thought angrily.

In the following days, Mo Hua continued to focus on drawing the Map.

One day, finding herself hungry, she went to the Black Mountain Stronghold’s dining hall for something to eat.

The dining hall of the Black Mountain Stronghold was huge, and in a somewhat remote location.

It was somewhat dirty and chaotic inside, stains of blood everywhere, with chunks of meat strewn all over the tables.

Mo Hua did not recognize the meat, so she dared not eat it.

She could only steal some wild fruit and pastries to fill her stomach.

Before her arrival, she hadn’t expected to stay so long in the Black Mountain Stronghold, so she hadn’t brought much food in her storage bag.

The supplies in her storage bag were already consumed, and now she had to settle for the food of the Evil Cultivators.

The wild fruits were a bit sour and astringent, not tasting good.

She guessed the thick miasma of the deep mountains was likely to blame, the soil there ill-suited to producing good fruit.

The pastries were even worse to eat.

Mo Hua took a bite and almost spit it out.

It fell far short of what her mother made.

Mo Hua began to miss her mother’s cooking and suddenly thought of her parents. Having stayed in the Black Mountain Stronghold for several days with no news reaching them, she realized they must be worried sick.

Mo Hua inwardly sighed, “Had I known, I would have informed my parents beforehand to spare them the worry.”

But regret was pointless now.

She needed to finish the Map as quickly as possible, gather the necessary information, and then return home sooner rather than later.

To avoid causing further worry to her parents.

Mo Hua nodded to herself, then continued to force down the pastries despite their odd taste.

Though the pastries were unpalatable, they at least filled the stomach.

There was no room for pickiness in such times.

As Mo Hua went on eating, she suddenly heard people talking.

The speakers were an old man working in the kitchen and another voice that sounded familiar to Mo Hua.

She lifted her head from under the table and covertly observed that the other person was the fat Cultivator.

The fat Cultivator had killed the skinny one, used the latter’s head to find his way to the Black Mountain Stronghold, and ended up with the menial job of delivering meals.

The old man instructed the fat Cultivator, “Take this meal to the ‘young master,’ don’t let him starve to death.”

The fat Cultivator nodded in agreement.

Chewing on her pastries, Mo Hua suddenly paused.

“Young master? What young master?”

Mo Hua furrowed her brow.

“Could it be… the young master of the Kong Family?