Volume One, Chapter Fifty-One: The Scabbard and the Path of Magic

While resting in the oasis yesterday, Mo De attempted to begin refining the Voidstone scabbard, which had been stripped of its camouflage seal. At first, he'd intended for Mu Qing to try it out, but she simply took out the Voidstone ring from her pocket, indicating she already had a storage ring. Besides, the scabbard sealed away black flames—something that made Mu Qing reluctant to touch it.

The initial refining process went smoothly; it seemed the previous owner of the scabbard had not left any significant imprint behind, allowing Mo De to use its storage abilities freely with little effort. Once he confirmed that the scabbard was the handiwork of Li Changsheng, Mo De was no longer surprised by the secrets it held. Thus, he spent the previous day exploring the scabbard’s structure and functions.

Apart from the vast internal storage, Mo De discovered an unexpected surprise when he established a simple mental link with the Voidstone scabbard. The moment a layer of black barrier shattered, a fire-control technique seemed to flow along that connection, surfacing in his mind. By using this method, he found he could control the eruption and suppression of the black flames on the scabbard.

However, the various barriers and the thin membrane on the scabbard still eluded his full command; for now, he could only alter and compress their size in a rudimentary way. Perhaps only after further refinement would he be able to master all the restrictions and techniques contained within.

After acquiring the fire-control method from the scabbard, an irrepressible urge surged within Mo De. Raising his right wrist, he fixed his eyes on the black cord tied around it, gathering his concentration to employ the fire-controlling technique, attempting to reshape the black string with his will and power.

It was like an ant trying to shake a tree or a child dashing against a wall—Mo De felt the black string in his vision magnify and rise, turning into a towering peak of fire, himself standing tiny at its base, foolishly trying to move a mountain. In the next instant, a slap to his forehead broke the illusion, and as his vision refocused, Mu Qing stood before him, her sunglasses askew as she roused him from his stupor.

It turned out that while Mo De was attempting to control the black fire on his wrist, he inadvertently triggered the sealed black fire within Mu Qing. When she ran out of the tent, she saw Mo De staring blankly at his wrist, the black cord utterly unchanged, still quietly resting there.

“The black flames condensed in that string are far more than either of us can imagine. If you want to practice the fire-control method, you’d better start with the black fire stored in the scabbard,” Mu Qing advised, patting Mo De’s shoulder, signaling for him not to rush. Black fire was never a simple thing, and even with a control technique, it couldn’t be wielded lightly.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Mo De opened his eyes after regaining his composure, intending to teach Mu Qing the fire-control method as well.

But when Mu Qing heard that the method had surfaced directly in Mo De’s mind via the mental link, she shook her head with a wry smile. “That barrier must have projected the complete technique straight into your consciousness. Learning something in that way means you can’t explain it to others until you’ve fully mastered it. Right now, you know the steps, but you can’t articulate the underlying mysteries.”

After struggling for words, Mo De had to admit she was right. All he could say was “first do this, then that, and finally this”—useless instructions. He could use it, but not explain it.

Now, in the hollow of the sand, Mu Qing lay sleeping at his side, while Mo De caressed the scabbard, eyes closed, silently reviewing the fire-control method.

As he activated the method, another realm of perception gradually unfolded before him. In this perceptual realm, it was as if he could “see” two clusters of flame—one small, lying nearby (likely the remnant black fire in Mu Qing), and another, slightly larger, which must be the black fire sealed within the scabbard.

Wait—where was the black string around his wrist?

In the next moment, Mo De realized that the entire ground of this “perceptual world” was the embodied form of the black string.

---

Taking deep breaths, Mo De calmed himself this time, avoiding any mental connection with the black string. He carefully steered clear of Mu Qing’s flame as well, beginning to practice fire control with the black fire inside the scabbard.

Yesterday in the oasis, Mu Qing had also suggested that Mo De use the fire-control method to assist in transferring the fire, but although it made the process faster, it put more strain on Mu Qing’s body. After some discussion, they decided to stick to their original method and pace—better to be steady than fast.

The black flames on the scabbard’s surface gradually coalesced into dark patterns, while the external membrane and barriers were compressed into a thin luminous film enveloping the scabbard. For now, keeping the black fire on the scabbard continuously active and maintained was the best way for Mo De to practice.

The fire moved at his will, the black markings changing shape under his guidance until they formed a pattern he found satisfactory.

Upon the scabbard, the boundless ocean surged, waves rolling.

Once the fiery pattern was fixed, Mo De raised the scabbard, admiring the abstract design he had created.

...

The sun had set in the west, crimson clouds stretched across the sky, and the strange moons overhead seemed stained blood-red by the afterglow. Elsewhere in the desert, new moon projections quietly formed, their black cores drawing in the scattered powers between heaven and earth. One such moon projection appeared right in the oasis where Mo De and Mu Qing had rested.

By now, all the desert tribes outside the oasis had finished drinking and dispersed. The oasis fell silent once more.

On the lake’s surface, a full moon gradually grew larger, nearing the water’s edge.

Without wind, waves arose—the still water rippled, the disturbance spreading across the entire lake before calming again.

But the moon hovering above had vanished.

...

“What’s this? A mess of black with scattered white spaces—is this supposed to be a postmodern vision of a wasteland?” Mu Qing turned the scabbard over in her hands, trying in vain to make sense of Mo De’s drawing. Mo De, who had been rather pleased with his creation, was now disheartened, squatting in silence. Mu Qing yawned and stretched, handing the scabbard back.

“What were you trying to draw, anyway?” Mu Qing asked, peering over his shoulder as Mo De attempted to redraw the pattern.

“The sea,” Mo De replied, rubbing his nose, somewhat abashed.

---

“You should have said so! Drawing the sea is easy,” Mu Qing brightened up, sitting down beside him and tracing lines in the sand.

“Gather streams into creeks, creeks into rivers, rivers into the sea. If you can draw water, you can draw the ocean,” she declared, her fingers dancing over the earth, graceful and carefree.

Mo De looked at the dense wave lines she’d scrawled in the sand and suddenly felt his own abstract work wasn’t so bad—at least it had more artistic spirit than this childlike doodle before him.

In the end, under Mu Qing’s chattering guidance, Mo De settled on the simplest grid pattern for the Voidstone scabbard. With two such “artistic” souls at work, even the simplest design could become overly abstract, so it was better to stick to plain straight lines.

After fixing the pattern, Mo De looked up—the sun had sunk below the horizon, the flawless moon now rising on the other side. Yet the moons above remained blood-red, eerie in the distance. He reached out of the sand hollow, touching the ground nearby; the temperature had already dropped to about thirty degrees. Mo De stood and called to Mu Qing to pack up so they could travel quickly under the cool night sky.

Because the sand’s heat capacity was low, nighttime temperatures in the desert plummeted, sometimes even dipping below zero. Compared to the seventy-degree heat of the day, traveling at night was certainly preferable.

Mu Qing packed away the mats and parasol into her ring, and Mo De fastened the Voidstone scabbard at his waist. With staffs in hand, they set off once more.

As the heat faded, the desert cooled rapidly, and the moons above seemed to release the afterglow they’d absorbed, bathing everything in pale red, painting the world in blood hues. But the glow soon faded, silver light chasing away the crimson. Rustling sounds rose from beneath the sand—other desert tribes, like Mo De and Mu Qing, emerging for their nocturnal activities.

Swinging the Voidstone scabbard, Mo De knocked aside a shadow that lunged for his face, quickening his pace to cross the cactus forest. By day, these towering cacti were nearly the only greenery in the yellow wasteland besides the oasis; by night, the forest became the hunting ground of the desert tribes.

Unlike last time, when the terrifying tribal chiefs appeared, there were no such powerful predators tonight. Mo De easily repelled a few venomous desert scorpions that attacked him. In the distance, behind a tall cactus, pairs of reddish-brown eyes glimmered, but the clever desert foxes, recognizing the strength of their prey, slunk away in search of easier targets.

Mu Qing followed, curiously observing the life within the cactus forest. Besides the foxes and scorpions, she noticed other small creatures that fed on the giant cacti.

Another shadow darted in; Mu Qing casually reached out, swatting away a scorpion with its venomous stinger raised, her gaze never leaving a plump desert rabbit nibbling on a cactus tuber in the distance.

So adorable, she thought. If cooked with chili, it would surely taste a hundred times better than those canned rations.