Chapter 49: Sunset Glow
As dusk approached, Mo Hua first returned home and asked his mother to make some food, two bowls of steaming noodles, some braised beef, refreshing pickled vegetables, several plates of pastries, and a few flasks of sweet osmanthus wine brew.
After packing everything neatly into a food box, he placed it into his storage pouch and headed up the mountain.
Halfway up the slope, the two children—a boy and a girl—and the veiled woman were still standing there, straight-backed and unmoving.
Mo Hua slung his storage pouch over his shoulder, walked up to them, and said directly,
"You've disturbed Mister Zhuang's peace. Best return now, Mister Zhuang doesn't wish to see you."
The two children looked dispirited at his words, but the veiled woman spoke politely:
"Would the young friend please announce our visit? Say that old acquaintances have come on urgent matters, and we earnestly request Mister Zhuang to grant us an audience."
Mo Hua replied, "If you've come for a reason, how could Mister Zhuang not already know? Since he doesn't wish to meet you, waiting here will be in vain."
The boy lifted his chin stubbornly.
"So long as I can see Mister Zhuang, I'll wait—however long it takes."
The girl beside him said nothing, but her gaze was equally resolute.
Mo Hua asked curiously,
"And if Mister Zhuang never meets you—will you truly wait forever? Ten years? A hundred?"
The boy stiffened his neck and stayed silent.
He looked rather handsome and clever, just a little too stubborn. Mo Hua couldn't help but complain inwardly.
"Then what will you eat while you wait?"
"I have Fasting Pills."
"Too many Fasting Pills will harm your health," Mo Hua said.
Fasting Pills were a type of pill refined by alchemists from common ingredients mixed with preserving herbs. They were easy to store and could stave off hunger while replenishing vitality—a necessity for long journeys or closed-door cultivation. Yet long-term use would damage a cultivator's blood and energy.
Besides, most rogue cultivators avoided them for another reason: they were expensive and not worth it as mere food.
The boy snorted,
"Hmph! Mind your own business."
But he still cast a furtive glance toward the veiled woman.
The woman said gently,
"We appreciate the young friend's concern, but we must see Mister Zhuang. Without that, we cannot leave."
Mo Hua shook his head.
"You're here to see Mister Zhuang, but no matter how long you stay, you won't. The longer you linger, the less inclined he'll be to meet you."
The veiled woman hesitated slightly. Though she had never met Mister Zhuang, she had heard enough of his temperament to know this boy was likely right.
If Mister Zhuang did not wish to see them, even if they waited until their bones turned to dust, they would never succeed.
Seeing her wavering, Mo Hua pressed on:
"Cultivators follow fate. Mister Zhuang doesn't meet you because the destined moment hasn't come. Since fate has yet to arrive, forcing it only goes against Heaven's will."
The woman couldn't help but ask,
"Then when will the time come?"
Mo Hua said,
"That depends on Mister Zhuang's mood. You may visit again on a clear, auspicious day. Just bow before his gate, if the doors open, he wishes to see you. If they remain shut, then fate has not yet come, and you should depart."
The woman still hesitated.
"But my lady commanded that I must bring the young master and young miss to meet Mister Zhuang. If we leave now…"
Mo Hua countered,
"If you wait here for years, harming your cultivation, sleepless and weary, your vitality ruined, even if you one day meet him and become his disciples, your foundation will be damaged, and you'll never glimpse the Grand Dao. What meaning would that have?"
The woman nodded slightly, then frowned.
"We never said we sought to become Mister Zhuang's disciples. How did you know?"
Mo Hua thought to himself, You brought two children of apprentice age and have lingered seven days—what else could it be but seeking a master?
Outwardly, he remained calm and said,
"As I said, everything is already within Mister Zhuang's knowing. You should return. When he wishes to meet you, he will."
Having said that, Mo Hua judged the moment right. He opened the food box, letting a rich aroma spill into the air.
"Would you like something to eat?"
The girl held her composure, but the boy swayed slightly, trying hard to look calm while his eyes darted toward the food.
Fasting Pills were never tasty; too many made one queasy. The smell and color of Mo Hua's noodles, pastries, and wine were irresistible in comparison.
Seeing her young master and young miss pale and wan, lips bloodless, the veiled woman's heart softened. They had always been pampered—when had they ever starved like this?
She had watched them grow up. Even if she must face punishment from her mistress, she could not bear to see them suffer.
Besides, what the young boy said was true—prolonged fasting would ruin their foundations and harm future cultivation.
"Then we must thank you, young friend."
She inclined her head, then turned to the children:
"Young master, young miss, have something to eat. Since Mister Zhuang won't see us, the time isn't right. We'll come again another day."
The children thanked Mo Hua politely.
They began eating from the food box—noodles and pastries—though hungry, their manners were perfectly proper, clearly well-bred young nobles.
The boy tasted the spicy beef, wrinkled his nose at first, then as he chewed, the rich aroma spread through his mouth.
"What meat is this?" he asked.
"Demon Beast meat," Mo Hua replied.
The boy's eyes widened.
"You can eat demon beast meat?!"
Mo Hua rolled his eyes.
"You already did."
"But people say eating demon beast meat harms one's essence and clouds the mind."
"This is wild bull demon meat, it feeds on grass and trees. It doesn't harm blood or mind. Only the flesh of carnivorous or man-eating beasts is dangerous."
Mo Hua looked at him as though he'd never seen the world before.
The boy glanced down at the meat, hesitant, but not wanting to appear timid, he took another bite… and another. The more he ate, the better it tasted, until he couldn't stop.
The girl, meanwhile, looked toward the pastries.
"These pastries…"
"My mother made them herself! They're delicious!" Mo Hua said proudly.
"Your mother… makes pastries for you?"
"Not just pastries, all kinds of tasty things." Mo Hua nodded earnestly.
A faint envy flickered in the girl's cool eyes. She picked up one pastry and took a small bite.
It was crisp and sweet.
Her lashes lowered, hiding her expression. After a while, she looked up and said softly,
"It's very good."
Her voice was clear and melodious—as if celestial music played by immortal hands.
Mo Hua grinned happily, eyes crinkling.
"Mm! My mother's food is the best!"
After they finished eating, the veiled woman—Aunt Xue—took out a jade pendant shimmering with spiritual light and offered it to Mo Hua.
"This is a first-grade Clear-Heart Pendant. It helps focus the mind during cultivation. Not precious, but please accept it as thanks."
Though she said it was nothing rare, its glow alone showed it wasn't ordinary—to Mo Hua, a mere outer disciple, it was very valuable.
He wanted it, but knew he shouldn't accept.
They were only being courteous out of respect for Mister Zhuang. Without that connection, they likely wouldn't have spoken to him at all.
He already owed Mister Zhuang much for teaching him Formation Arts, he couldn't use the man's name for his own gain.
So Mo Hua declined politely. When Aunt Xue insisted, he said,
"If you must give something, just pay for the meal, five spirit stones will do."
Aunt Xue blinked, clearly never having heard such a request before. Still, she took out a pouch containing forty or fifty spirit stones.
Mo Hua took only five, returned the bag, and before she could protest, waved goodbye and headed down the mountain with his food box.
Aunt Xue stared after him, dazed. Just as Mo Hua was about to disappear from sight, the little girl suddenly called out, her voice ringing clear as spring water:
"What's your name?"
Though soft, Mo Hua heard it.
He turned and smiled.
"My name's Mo Hua."
At that moment, the evening glow spread like spilled ink; the mountain scenery became a living painting.
Bathed in brilliant light, Mo Hua stood upon the mountainside—as though he himself were part of the painting.
His name, Mo Hua—"Ink Painting"—remained etched within her Sea of Consciousness, alongside that radiant sunset.
(End of Chapter)