Chapter 83: Dazhu
A disciple from the Qian family recognized Dazhu and cursed, "Chen Dazhu! Go swing your hammer somewhere else—this isn't your business!"
Dazhu gave a cold laugh. "None of your damn business!"
Mo Hua's Divine-Sense was exceptionally keen. The moment the Qian disciple's fist came swinging at him, Mo Hua sensed that Dazhu had already stepped in behind him—so he didn't bother to dodge.
Of course, it wasn't like he could have dodged anyway.
A body cultivator at the sixth layer of Qi-Refining was still quite fast. Mo Hua's powerful Divine-Sense gave him plenty of time to react, but his weak physique couldn't keep up with his mind.
Thankfully, Dazhu took that punch for him.
In Mo Hua's memory, Dazhu had always been that honest, simple-minded blacksmith apprentice—kind, broad-hearted, always grinning, and fond of coming over to eat noodles. But right now, Dazhu's expression was cold, and there was a hint of dangerous fierceness in his eyes.
"Chen Dazhu, step aside!" the Qian family disciple threatened.
Instead of stepping aside, Dazhu grabbed Mo Hua by the collar and set him behind him, standing protectively in front. His face was full of defiance. "I'm not moving!"
Dazhu was ten years older and much taller than Mo Hua. Once he stood in front, he completely blocked Mo Hua from sight—the Qian disciples couldn't even see his shadow anymore.
Seeing that Dazhu wouldn't yield, one of them tried to reason with him. "Chen Dazhu, that kid's got nothing to do with you. Why risk yourself for him?"
"I feel like it. None of your damn business!"
Dazhu wasn't much for words. He wanted to insult them more but couldn't think of anything, which made him feel like he'd lost some momentum. So, he turned his head slightly and looked at Mo Hua for help.
Mo Hua got the hint and poked his head out. "So what if we're not related? You lot are connected to Qian Xing by blood, and he still treats you like dogs!"
Dazhu immediately nodded hard in agreement. "Yeah! Treats you like dogs!"
The Qian disciples turned red with anger but couldn't refute it.
After all, they knew full well how Qian Xing treated them—calling them dogs would've been a compliment.
Seeing the situation turn against him, Qian Xing's expression darkened. "You want to go against the Qian family?"
Dazhu was about to retort, So what if I am?—but felt Mo Hua tugging at his sleeve. He instantly understood that Mo Hua didn't want him to speak and shut his mouth.
Mo Hua poked his head out again and said calmly, "Qian Xing, if your father finds out you've been bullying people under the Qian family's name, dragging its reputation through the mud—do you think he'd regret giving birth to you? Or maybe… you're not even his son? Maybe your father isn't your real father, and your mother isn't your real mother either?"
Qian Xing froze—then realized: this little brat was calling him a bastard. Not even the Qian family's bastard.
Qian Xing, spoiled and pampered all his life, had never suffered such humiliation. His face twisted in rage. He waved his hand viciously.
"Beat him to death! Skin him! Tear his tendons! I'll talk to the Dao Court Division myself—you don't have to worry about consequences!"
Seeing Qian Xing's eyes go red, Mo Hua whispered to Dazhu, "Brother Dazhu, they've got numbers on their side. Let's take this chance to run."
Dazhu's face didn't show a trace of fear. "It's fine. We've got people too."
As soon as he finished speaking, noise erupted behind them. A group of young men came rushing over—some carrying hammers, others gripping metal rods. They stood in formation behind Dazhu.
"Brother Zhu! We brought the gear!" one of them shouted.
Mo Hua looked over and saw they were mostly apprentices from Master Chen's smithy. Their "weapons" were all hammers, clubs, or similar tools. Some even glowed faintly red—freshly forged spiritual-weapon embryos, still hot from the furnace.
They stood behind Dazhu, instinctively forming a protective circle around Mo Hua.
The Qian disciples hesitated. Most of them were only at the sixth or seventh layer of Qi-Refining—slightly higher in cultivation, sure, but they'd grown used to bullying the weak and fearing the strong. True fights weren't their specialty.
The smithing apprentices, on the other hand, were built like oxen—thick arms like hammers, fists the size of soup bowls. None of the Qian disciples wanted to find out how that felt.
And more importantly, these working-class cultivators were desperate enough to fight to the death. The Qian brats definitely weren't.
"Young Master, the situation's bad," one of them whispered to Qian Xing. "Maybe we should retreat for now and deal with them later."
"What did you just say?"
Qian Xing's bloodshot eyes locked on him.
The disciple stammered, "We… we're just worried for your safety, Young Master. If things get violent and you're injured, we won't be able to explain ourselves to the Patriarch…"
"It's me who feeds you, not my father," Qian Xing sneered, slapping the man's face lightly. "You should be worrying about how to explain things to me. The best explanation? Kill that brat! Otherwise—think about how you'll explain yourselves later."
Cold sweat drenched the man's back.
Qian Xing continued, "Relax. I've already called for reinforcements. Just stall them. Once it's done, each of you will get a hundred spirit stones. And whoever kills Mo Hua—I'll personally tell my father to grant him a position as a direct-line member of the Qian family."
The disciples exchanged shocked glances.
A direct-line position? He was really offering that?
Even if it was a lie—it was worth the gamble.
One of them clenched his teeth. "I'll do it—for Young Master's sake!"
He turned to Dazhu and shouted, "Dazhu! I've got something to say!"
He walked forward slowly. But when he got close, his hand suddenly drew a blade and slashed at Dazhu—spiritual power swirling with a cold, eerie green light.
Dazhu's brow twitched. He snorted coldly, his blood surging through his body as he swung his massive hammer to meet the strike.
But at the last instant, the Qian disciple twisted his wrist, dodging the hammer and redirecting his strike toward Mo Hua behind him!
It was a calculated move—he knew taking a hit from Dazhu's hammer would cripple him, but not kill him. And if that slash hit Mo Hua, the kid would die instantly. A minor injury for a direct-line position? A deal worth taking.
Though it happened in an instant, Mo Hua had already sensed it—his Divine-Sense clearly tracked the spiritual energy's arc. But the shift from one strike to another was too quick; he couldn't even warn Dazhu, let alone dodge with his frail body.
Just as the blade was about to hit him, one of the smithing apprentices yanked Mo Hua backward by the collar. The blade missed by a hair's breadth—he could even feel the sting of spiritual energy graze his forehead.
Dazhu saw everything—the sudden turn, the strike aimed at Mo Hua. But his hammer was too heavy; he couldn't adjust mid-swing. He could only watch helplessly. Fortunately, Mo Hua escaped unscathed.
Rage flared through Dazhu. The moment relief passed, fury took its place. Blood energy surged through him and into his hammer as he brought it down with full force.
The Qian disciple was struck squarely in the back, his body smashing into the ground with a sickening crack. Blood gushed from his mouth; he heard the crunch of his own bones snapping before everything went dark.
"Despicable coward! Fighting dirty!"
"Even sewer rats are cleaner than you!"
"Get them!"
The smithing apprentices roared in outrage, brandishing their hammers and clubs as they charged. The Qian disciples had no choice but to fight back.
On the empty street, chaos erupted—two groups of cultivators clashing in a violent melee.
(End of Chapter)