Two hours later, Mo Hua caught sight of the Dragon Spring Waterfall. Si Water cleaves the landscape, with green mountains and black cliffs. The turbulent river water, like white silk ribbons, cascades and hangs inverted, forming the waterfall, which is then torn by rocks, spilling down like scattered silk. Exquisitely spectacular. Mo Hua and his two companions stared in amazement, their eyes shining brightly. Tongxian City is relatively dry, with more mountains and fewer rivers. Mo Hua had never seen such a large waterfall before. Although Bai Zisheng and Bai Zixi came from noble clans, they were raised within their families as children, and when they went out, they took main roads and traveled quickly, so they rarely saw such natural wonders. Water droplets splashed on the rocks from the waterfall, round and smooth like jade. The clouds between the mountains and the mist from the waterfall blurred into one, interweaving the sunlight into a gorgeous spectrum of colors. Mo Hua was mesmerized, but soon a question arose: "Master, why is this waterfall called the Dragon Spring Waterfall?" It was just a waterfall, with neither dragons nor springs to be seen. And it didn’t look like a dragon, either. Mr. Zhuang’s gaze skimmed across the waterfall, looking towards the colorful mists, his expression somewhat wistful: "There was once a sword hidden here, named Dragon Spring, so the waterfall was called after it." "The Dragon Spring Sword..." Mo Hua quietly repeated the name to himself and then asked, "Is it a good sword?" Find exclusive stories on freewebnovel.com Mr. Zhuang was momentarily startled, his gaze inscrutable as he murmured: "It is a good sword, well suited to its master..." It seemed he was recalling some past events, his gaze filled with both distant longing and unspeakable regret. Mo Hua’s eyes lit up, instantly understanding. There must be a story here! But he didn’t ask; even if he did, his master certainly wouldn’t tell. "The Dragon Spring Sword..." Mo Hua silently noted down the name of the sword. ... After passing Dragon Spring Waterfall, the group continued southward. The Dali Mountain State boundary was still far away. The Cultivation World was vast, divided into the Nine States. Each of the Nine States was expansive, stretching as far as the eye could see. Within the Nine States, boundaries were also delineated according to ranks. Each state boundary had different mountains and rivers, and cultivators built cities according to the terrain, their diets and customs varying, each with its own characteristics. As Mo Hua traveled, he broadened his horizons and increased his knowledge. When encountering some special ingredients, Mo Hua would buy them, ask the local cultivators how to prepare them, and then try cooking some dishes for Mr. Zhuang and his senior fellow disciples to taste. Though not all were delicious, they certainly had distinct flavors and were quite special to eat. Old Kui didn’t like these meals. He only enjoyed nuts like pine nuts and hazelnuts. Sometimes, when Mo Hua found them, he would buy some and roast them for Old Kui. Or, if Mo encountered unknown pine nuts, seeds, or fruits on some ancient trees in the mountains that weren’t poisonous, he would pick some and roast them for Old Kui to taste. In return, Old Kui often gave Mo Hua pointers on his spells: "Your Fireball Technique is well-learned, and you use it well, but it’s a bit impure." Mo Hua also had this question. The Fireball Technique he used in the real world was dark red, showing signs of becoming denser. But the Fireball Technique he visualized in his Sea of Consciousness was bright red, with the Spiritual Power like threads, layered upon each other, forming a flame tangle intertwined with Spiritual Threads. After explaining this to Old Kui, Mo Hua asked: "Grandpa Gui, which direction should I choose for my cultivation?" Whether to deepen his Spiritual Power or pursue Spiritual Power Silkification. Old Kui shook his head: "When two choices are presented before you, don’t rush to pick one. Instead, consider if you can choose both." "If you can choose both, then do so." "If you can’t, then make a choice." "Cultivators who think about choosing one or the other from the start are blockheads." Mo Hua opened his mouth in surprise. He hadn’t expected Old Kui, who was usually so serious, to say something like that. "What if I can’t choose either?" Mo Hua asked quietly. "Then there’s no use in dwelling on it. Things that can’t be chosen, even if you consider them, are meaningless and just waste time," Old Kui replied. Mo Hua nodded, finding these words to be very true. He then remembered something else and frowned: "Grandpa Gui, what if someone forces me to make a difficult choice?" Old Kui replied straightforwardly: "Then you just kill that person!" Mo Hua was stunned. Old Kui continued: "Kill that person, and no one will force you to choose, and then you can have it all." "What if I can’t beat him, what if I can’t kill him?" "Then you can only blame your own incompetence," Old Kui said hoarsely, "In such a situation, being forced into it, it really doesn’t matter how you choose." Mo Hua nodded, "So you really need to be strong, that way you can choose what you want in the future..." After pondering deeply for a moment, Mo Hua suddenly realized he had strayed off-topic and brought the conversation back to the matter of spells: "Grandpa Gui, can I choose both forms of the Fireball Technique?" Old Kui nodded, "A deep red fireball represents the state of Spiritual Power, and a thread-like fireball represents the form of Spiritual Power. They are not in conflict and can both be chosen, but..." Old Kui glanced at Mo Hua, "it’s difficult." Mo Hua asked, "What should I do?" Old Kui was hesitant; he didn’t want to say much initially, but considering the empty pine nut shells he had cracked, he felt a bit obliged and said: "It’s a bit early for you to learn this, but you can start getting an idea." Mo Hua immediately sat up straight, listening attentively. But instead of speaking, Old Kui took out a tuft of cotton from nowhere. This tuft of cotton was just ordinary cotton. With a clench of Old Kui’s palm, the cotton was pressured, compressing and twisting on its own into a cotton thread.