Immortality Through Array Formations (The Quest for Immortality)

Chapter 1143: Body Cultivator Mo Hua

The one in charge of hiring for the shipping company was a steward with two thin mustaches and shrewd eyes. He scrutinized Mo Hua and asked: "You… want to be a guard?"

Mo Hua nodded.

The steward asked again: "Are you a body cultivator or a Spiritual Cultivator?"

Mo Hua replied: "Spiritual Cultivator."

The steward flatly said: "We don't hire Spiritual cultivator."

Mo Hua raised an eyebrow slightly. "Why not?"

The steward replied: "We hire body cultivators because they're tough—thick-skinned, muscular, able to charge into battle, endure hardship, and survive injuries. Their blood qi is strong, so even if they're badly hurt, they don't die easily. If they're lightly injured, they recover quickly, and we lose fewer spirit stones on medical payouts."

"As for Spiritual cultivator? Get seriously hurt—dead. Afraid to charge in—always hiding in the back—spending half a day casting one spell that misses entirely."

"Hiring one is just asking for a useless waste of spirit stones."

The steward's face was full of disdain. Clearly, he had suffered from this before.

Mo Hua: -_-

He could only reply mildly: "My spells are very strong."

The steward said: "Every Spiritual Cultivator tells me that."

Mo Hua added: "My casting speed is very fast."

The steward responded: "Funny—so do they."

Mo Hua continued: "My movement techniques are excellent. I'm not easy to kill."

The steward nodded knowingly. "The Spiritual cultivator who got eaten by sand demons last month said the same thing—'great movement skills.'"

Mo Hua was speechless.

All these half-baked Spiritual cultivator had dragged down the entire image of "Spiritual cultivator," and now even a true expert like him was suffering because of it.

Mo Hua sighed and said: "My cultivation is very high."

The steward asked: "How high?"

Mo Hua whispered: "Late Foundation Establishment."

The steward pointed to his own oily face and said: "Look Here—"

Mo Hua stared at him.

The steward said, "—Do I look like a fool to you? Look at yourself. How old are you, barely in your twenties? Maybe thirty at most? Late Foundation Establishment? Why don't you ascend while you're at it? If you're really at late Foundation Establishment, I'll twist my head off and let you kick it around like a ball."

Besides, late Foundation Establishment cultivators cost more to hire. With that many spirit stones, they could just hire more mid-Foundation body cultivators.

The steward waved dismissively. "Next"

Mo Hua was helpless. "I really am strong. Why not have someone spar with me?"

The steward replied: "Young master, I'm not trying to make things hard for you—it's just reality. Spiritual cultivator just aren't up to the job. The boss already said, when it comes to guards, avoid Spiritual cultivator if possible. That's just the rule."

"If I hire a body cultivator and something happens, it's not my fault. At least they've got brute strength. But if I hire a Spiritual Cultivator who gets eaten by a beast before even casting a spell, the boss'll fire me on the spot."

"Besides..."

The steward gave Mo Hua a sharp once-over.

"I've seen all kinds of people. You, young master, your presence is plain, nothing impressive. Your spiritual aura is shallow—among Spiritual cultivator, you're probably scraping the bottom. Just let it go, don't make this hard for me."

He waved Mo Hua away.

Mo Hua sighed. If this guy weren't just a regular cultivator, he'd slap him with a Heart-Demon Seed and correct his entire worldview.

But unfortunately, he was just a regular guy. Stubborn and snobbish, sure—but not evil.

Mo Hua didn't bother arguing.

After leaving that shipping company, Mo Hua tried several others, all of them family-run sandship businesses.

Without exception, all of them rejected him.

He was too young, had no background, no local connections—and wanted a job? Nearly impossible.

Worse still, his "major" was wrong. A fragile "Spiritual Cultivator" with no job market at all.

Even late Foundation Establishment cultivation didn't help.

In fact, it worked against him—too expensive to hire, so local companies were extra cautious.

Mo Hua even tried lowering his asking price.

But that just made it worse. A late Foundation cultivator asking for less pay? Either he was lying about his strength or he was up to something shady.

Only now did Mo Hua realize—just finding a simple job as a regular Spiritual Cultivator was this hard?

If being a Spiritual Cultivator doesn't work, then maybe an array master?

Mo Hua tried again, visiting another shipping firm. He didn't boast—just said he was a beginner Tier-2 array master, looking for a position aboard a ship going to Desert City.

The steward's face immediately bloomed like a chrysanthemum, bowing and nodding to Mo Hua with utmost respect.

But when it came to the actual job? The steward still brushed him off, not daring to agree.

Mo Hua tactfully asked why and finally understood.

At Gale Crossing, every industry was basically monopolized. The formations on sandships were all handled by in-house array masters from local families.

They didn't care how good the formations were—only that they were completely confidential, secure, and under their full control.

Even if a foreign array master was highly skilled, they'd just treat him like a decorative Buddha—respected, but never allowed near the ship's core formations.

Monopoly trumped everything.

Before the war, if Mo Hua had revealed he was a Tier-2 array master, these shipping companies would've at least given him a free ride just to save face and curry favor.

But now? With war spreading and the situation unstable…

Sailing was dangerous, routes were shrinking.

Local companies didn't aim to profit—just to avoid mistakes. Toward cultivators passing through Gale Crossing, they didn't dare offend, but neither would they flatter. Playing it safe was the name of the game.

Given the circumstances, Mo Hua could only take his leave.

Trying to find a boat across the Sand Sea to Desert City was proving far more difficult than he imagined.

He wandered around Gale Crossing for another two days and realized one thing:

Everywhere only hired body cultivators. Spiritual cultivator? No chance.

Especially now, with the world in chaos, the bias against Spiritual cultivator was even worse.

This way, he couldn't even get on a boat.

Mo Hua frowned, thinking deeply, and muttered inwardly:

"Should I just switch to body cultivation?"

But his natural blood essence was weak. Since childhood, he had never once trained his body. How would he even begin to be a body cultivator?

And even If he really switched to body cultivation… what technique would he use to fight?

He'd probably charge in and get killed with a single punch before he could even blink.

Mo Hua pondered for a long time before gradually forming an idea:

"If Foundation Establishment-level body cultivation won't work… then I'll pose as a Qi Refining-level body cultivator."

After all, his late Foundation Establishment cultivation was real. Even if his physique was weak by Foundation standards, it was still strong compared to most Qi Refining cultivators—even those at the ninth level.

So, while he couldn't compete with other Foundation Establishment body cultivators, he could at least outclass Qi Refining ones.

At this thought, Mo Hua couldn't help sighing.

He never imagined that one day—he, a proud disciple of the Great Void Sect, a late Foundation Establishment genius, High-Tier 2nd-grade array master—would be comparing his physical prowess to that of mere Qi Refining cultivators.

But when under someone else's roof, you've got to bow your head.

Reality had forced his hand.

And so, Mo Hua began his transformation into a "body cultivator."

Of course, he couldn't actually become one—he just needed to look the part, just enough to sneak onto a boat and cross the endless Sand Sea.

Since he was now a "body cultivator," he couldn't appear all pale and scholarly.

Mo Hua found a light brown ink and smeared it all over himself, giving his skin a bronzed look. He now resembled a tough, weather-worn youth—poor, but full of grit, with firm eyes and a steely expression.

His frame still looked a little too thin, but there was nothing he could do about that.

You can't fake blood and flesh, nor build real muscle overnight—so there was no point trying to cheat that part.

With his appearance settled, he now needed a few martial arts techniques to match.

After all, just having Qi Refining–level physical strength wasn't enough—without techniques, it was useless in combat.

"But what techniques?"

Mo Hua racked his memory and realized: since childhood, aside from dedicating himself to array mastery, nearly all his cultivation had been focused on spell techniques. He'd barely touched martial arts.

The only martial technique he'd ever kind of learned… if he remembered correctly, was taught to him years ago by his little senior brother, Bai Zisheng, during a visit to the Five Elements Sect: "Soaring Dragon in the Heavens."

It was a martial art Bai Zisheng had invented himself: light-footed, leaping into the sky, then stabbing down with a spear—graceful, majestic… and incredibly dumb.

Jumping into the air just to pose made him look cool, sure—but it left his whole body open. A walking target.

Even now, Mo Hua found the move embarrassingly ridiculous.

But a moment later, his expression grew melancholic.

In the backlash of the Life-Severing Curse, many of his memories had begun to fade… Yet this move—he could recall it clearly, as if it were yesterday.

His little senior brother...

Scenes from their days in Tongxian City resurfaced—his cheerful, chivalrous, nosy, lovable idiot of a senior brother...

Where was he now?

Mo Hua was silent for a moment, then couldn't help but begin practicing Bai Zisheng's self-created move, "Soaring Dragon in the Heavens."

After a few tries… Mo Hua quietly gave up.

It was too dumb.

All flash, no substance.

And way too many openings.

As someone who pursued fast, precise, deadly spells—clean, sharp execution with no wasted motion—Mo Hua just couldn't tolerate it.

So he abandoned the flashy "Soaring Dragon in the Heavens" and went to the markets of Gale Crossing to buy some cheap, widely circulated martial technique manuals commonly used by Qi Refining body cultivators.

Titles like "Sandstorm Fist," "Blazing Punch," "Earth-Cracking Kick," and the like.

These martial arts were nothing fancy—but they were simple, practical, and to Mo Hua, leagues better than that idiotic "Soaring Dragon" nonsense.

He practiced these martial arts briefly until he got the hang of them. Then, dressed in plain linen robes, he returned to the shipping companies to "apply" again.

This time, he didn't apply as a guard.

Only Foundation Establishment cultivators could serve as guards.

As a Qi Refining body cultivator, he could only apply as a laborer.

Fortunately, with his natural fog-like concealment and powerful divine sense, ordinary cultivators couldn't detect his true cultivation level.

Mo Hua first visited a few major shipping firms.

In these larger companies, hiring guards and hiring laborers were handled by different stewards.

He'd also changed his entire look and used some disguise techniques.

Now, as a bronzed, ragged body cultivator, he looked nothing like the fair and elegant Spiritual Cultivator from before—so he wasn't worried about being recognized.

But the results?

Exactly the same.

Body-cultivator Mo Hua was also rejected.

Large shipping companies had strict standards for hiring laborers too.

And Mo Hua… looked too thin.

Standing among the burly, muscular body cultivators, he stuck out like a twig in a forest. One glance, and the steward tossed him aside.

At this point, Mo Hua was getting frustrated.

He was this close to using his Heart-Demon Seed to mess with someone—but thankfully, he held back the dark impulse.

These were just ordinary cultivators.

They couldn't withstand his Dao Heart Demonic Seed.

And once infected, who knows what twisted person they'd become? Mo Hua wasn't confident they'd ever be normal again.

So he settled for the next best thing—trying his luck at some mid-sized shipping firms.

They were still picky.

So he tried again, going even lower.

This time, he visited a tiny shipping company—one so poor they couldn't even afford a proper plaque, just a simple cloth banner.

The place was shabby, obviously impoverished.

A few boatmen bustled around, doing miscellaneous chores. Each person wore multiple hats and had to do everything themselves.

There wasn't even a steward. Instead, a hunched, elderly boatmaster personally handled the hiring.

The old boatmaster looked Mo Hua up and down, puzzled, and asked: "Young man, you want to be a laborer?"

Mo Hua nodded.

The old man asked again: "You, a body cultivator?"

Mo Hua nodded again. "Yes."

The boatmaster snorted and shook his head with a sigh: "You're doing body cultivation… and you don't eat more meat? Grow some muscle?"

Mo Hua could only reply helplessly: "I may be skinny, but I'm strong."

"Strong?" the boatmaster looked skeptical and pointed at a stone post nearby. "Go punch that."

Mo Hua walked over and punched the post.

His fist sank in—leaving a deep imprint.

The old man's eyes lit up in shock.

And the surrounding workers burst into chatter.

"This kid's got strength!"

"Skinny as a stick, looked weak as hell, but that punch? Damn impressive!"

"He's got talent, no doubt about it. If he sticks with body cultivation, he'll go far!"

Mo Hua kept a serious expression and remained silent.

The old boatmaster was stunned for a moment, then asked again: "You—how exactly did you train your body? You don't look like someone with a solid foundation in body cultivation. Where's all that strength coming from?"

Because I'm a late Foundation Establishment cultivator.

—but of course, he couldn't say that.

After a brief pause, Mo Hua slowly replied: "I was born with divine strength. I've always been strong since I was a child."

"Born with divine strength?" The old man looked amazed, then frowned and asked suspiciously: "Judging by your look, you're not from around here, are you?"

Mo Hua nodded. "I came from the northern borders, the Canglang Prefecture."

"Canglang Prefecture?" The old man frowned. "That's quite far from Gale Crossing. You came all this way alone? Where are your parents?"

Mo Hua shook his head. "My hometown was very poor. We barely had enough to eat. My parents sent me out young so I could survive on my own. I've been cultivating and scraping by ever since… and finally ended up here."

The old boatmaster glanced at Mo Hua's slightly sallow complexion, his thin body, and the clarity in his eyes. He felt a wave of sympathy and gave a small nod.

"Alright, you can stay and work as a laborer."

A nearby boatman hesitated, "Boss, this—"

But the boatmaster waved him off. Then he turned back to Mo Hua with a grave expression.

"This is a small ship, worn and battered. It breaks down all the time. Traveling the Sand Sea is incredibly dangerous. If sand demons attack the ship, it could be fatal. And there are sand bandits too—killers who won't blink an eye."

"The Sand Sea is merciless. We boatmen live with our heads hanging on the sails. Just coming back alive, in one piece, is already a blessing."

"If trouble comes, we might not even be able to protect ourselves—let alone protect you."

"If you die in the Sand Sea, we can't afford compensation."

"That's why we're always short-handed. People quit all the time. Sometimes, I don't even get the luxury of being picky."

"If it were some poor old man who'd lived a rough life, I'd say nothing—just turn a blind eye and let him work."

"But you… you're still young, and you were born with divine strength. That kind of talent is rare. That's why I'm laying it out for you clearly."

"Think it through before deciding to get on the boat."

"Don't step aboard in a daze… and never come back."

The old man's voice was heavy with sincerity.

Mo Hua was a bit surprised, but after a brief moment of thought, he nodded solemnly and said: "I want to get on the boat."

"You've really thought this through?" the boatmaster asked again.

Mo Hua nodded. "I don't have any food. I need a way to survive. Even if it's just to eat."

The old boatmaster sighed deeply and nodded. "Alright."

He gave Mo Hua some time to prepare. Three days later, the sandship set off.

Across the vast Sand Sea, on a rickety little sandship…

Mo Hua blended in among the boatmen, just like an ordinary Qi Refining body cultivator.

As the boatmaster had said, this really was a small vessel—barely a tenth the size of the massive sandships. There were only about fifty to sixty people aboard.

Of them, five were guards, fifteen were laborers.

The rest were passengers.

Aside from passengers, the ship carried a bit of cargo—but not much. They had to avoid weighing the ship down too much or risk sinking into the sand mid-journey, which could lead to total disaster.

Mo Hua's position was a laborer. He basically had to do everything: serve tea, steer the ship, keep watch, stand guard—he even had to take on some duties usually assigned to guards.

It was exhausting and utterly lacking in dignity.

Ordinary Foundation Establishment cultivators wouldn't be caught dead doing this kind of work.

Even outer disciples from noble clans or major sects—so long as they had any status—would never mingle with "rough" laborer cultivators, let alone lower themselves to actually become one.

But Mo Hua didn't mind.

Even now, he was a prodigy of a top fifth-grade sect, the beloved junior brother of his peers, the champion of the Qianxue Array Path Assembly—his status was certainly "honorable."

But he had never forgotten that he came from humble beginnings, a poor rogue cultivator.

Under the Dao, all beings are equal. In his heart, Mo Hua had little concept of high or low, noble or base.

He held great respect for cultivators who lived through honest labor and sheer effort.

So even as he worked as a laborer, he felt no shame in lowering himself.

In fact, working like a body cultivator—laboring hard, sleeping deeply after exhaustion…

Not thinking, not worrying, not calculating—for a short while, forgetting his identity, forgetting the many burdens: no thoughts of his martial uncle, of the Life-Severing Curse, of the Great Wilderness, of war, of karmic secrets and hidden schemes—

It made Mo Hua's mind unusually calm, in a way he hadn't felt in a long time.

The other workers treated him very kindly.

Seeing that he was young and far from home, struggling to survive, they spared him the heaviest, most grueling jobs.

When there was downtime, they let him rest.

If any passenger gave him trouble, they'd speak up on his behalf.

Even at meals, they would ladle an extra scoop of porridge into his bowl.

Mo Hua's emotions were complex.

From these impoverished, low-ranking cultivators, he could feel a kind of resilient, sincere, and kind-hearted humanity.

And in some vague, quiet way—his own humanity seemed to grow a little sturdier, too.

(End of this Chapter)