Chapter 1186: Yin-Wood Rejuvenation Formation

Outside the stone hall, shouts of killing and bursts of fire alternated.

The clash of barbarian blades and spears shook the mountains, spiritual forces of all kinds surged, unnaturally distinct against the night.

One after another, the wounded were carried into the stone hall.

At this moment, Elder Ba Chuan also arrived, directing people to tend to the injured.

Mo Hua asked Elder Ba Chuan: “Is it the Bi Fang Tribe?”

Elder Ba Chuan, calm in temperament, nodded, and cursed with hatred:

“These bandits of the Bi Fang Tribe—taking advantage of the night, they suddenly launched an attack, slaughtering us like madmen.”

Mo Hua looked at the wounds on the chests of the fallen soldiers—dark, bluish-black slashes—and frowned:

“These men… were all cut down by Bi Jie?”

Elder Ba Chuan nodded. “Yes.”

“And Young Master Dan-Zhu?”

“He is with Elder Chi-Feng at the mountain front, fighting Bi Jie and the Bi Fang Tribe’s Golden Core cultivators. I… am not their match.”

Shame clouded Ba Chuan’s face.

Ordinary Golden Core cultivators, he could face.

But against someone like Bi Jie, he had no way. His background was humble, his treasures lacking.

So now, he could only follow orders, deal with the aftermath, and guard the rear.

Mo Hua gave a small nod, left the stone hall, and lifted his gaze to the distance—there, in the night sky, crimson and bluish-black lights intertwined.

The crimson radiance was dazzling, like the splendid feathers of a Vermilion Bird.

The bluish-black blades were ominous, like an omen of Bi Fang’s calamity.

Besides them, a figure radiating flames, even his hair blazing fiery red, was slashing out streaks of blade-light with great force. Golden Core spiritual power condensed into brute force, solidifying like crystalline substance. In an instant, trees turned to ash, rocks collapsed.

This was the battle of Golden Core experts—their destructive power terrifying, utterly beyond comparison with Foundation Establishment.

Mo Hua hesitated for a moment, but in the end, did not head to the battlefield.

In the dark, with the situation unclear, he could not provide much help—worse, he could easily be swept up in the battle of Golden Cores.

His frail body would not survive even a single punch from a Golden Core cultivator.

As the saying went, “A noble son does not sit beneath a dangerous eave.” Watching from afar was enough.

The battle raged on in the distance.

Dan-Zhu was gifted, with strong treasures, but his realm was lower by a stage, his experience in slaughter scant—gradually, he fell into disadvantage.

The vermilion feathers of his treasure were pressed down by Bi Fang’s vicious blades.

Fortunately, a mid-Golden Core barbarian general, Chi-Feng, was there to stabilize the formation. Only thus did the Vermilion Sparrow Tribe manage to hold Bi Fang’s side in check.

So the killing dragged on for a long while.

Again and again, Vermilion Sparrow warriors were defeated, carried back into the stone hall for treatment.

Not until dawn, when the sky turned pale, did both sides finally withdraw their troops.

Dan-Zhu and Chi-Feng returned to the stone hall, both wounded, Chi-Feng’s arm covered in fine blade scars.

Blood stained the corner of Dan-Zhu’s lips, his handsome face pale.

After a battle of slaughter, he seemed to have matured, his youthful innocence faded somewhat, replaced by a cold sharpness.

“The edge of a treasured sword is revealed only through grinding.

Without sharpening, a treasured blade is nothing but hollow ornament.

But once tempered, it gleams with unstoppable brilliance.”

Dan-Zhu, too, now carried a trace of such brilliance upon his formerly gentle aura.

Of course, his brows still carried more worry than sharpness.

This night raid had caused grievous casualties for the Vermilion Sparrow Tribe.

Kind-hearted, Dan-Zhu had not used “barbarian slaves” as cannon fodder. It was always the elite of his tribe that met the enemy head-on.

But Bi Jie spared no scruples.

Slaves, minor tribes, outer tribes’ cultivators—all were thrown in as expendable fodder to wear down Dan-Zhu’s strength.

Meanwhile, Bi Fang’s elite lay in wait, striking midway with ambushes.

Thus, the Vermilion Sparrow Tribe suffered great losses.

Thankfully, Dan-Zhu led from the front, relying on his deep cultivation and the Vermilion Sparrow’s supreme treasure—the Vermilion Bird’s Mystic-Flame Feather Robe—to block Bi Jie’s direct assault. Otherwise, the casualties would have been even worse.

Because of this night raid, the Vermilion Sparrow warriors became more loyal to Dan-Zhu.

But heavy losses naturally dampened morale.

And worse—the matter of healing became a pressing problem.

Most of the barbarians were body cultivators—tough-skinned, high attack and defense. Their natural recovery was strong; once injured, treatment was relatively easy.

Many could simply chew herbs to heal.

So in most tribes, the path of “pill medicine and healing arts” was not valued.

There were “pill-shamans” and “witch-doctors,” but they were seldom relied upon.

The true Dao of witchcraft lay in gods and faith.

The real danger of the barbarians was their divine sense and belief.

That was something pill-shamans could not resolve, so “medicine” was seen as a lesser way.

Typically, only children too weak to fight or the elderly unfit for battle studied alchemy and medicine, as auxiliary skills.

The true young and strong witch-cultivators revered martial might—they would never “study medicine.”

The Vermilion Sparrow Tribe was slightly better.

As a great tribe, they did keep a few pill-shamans specializing in alchemy.

And fearing for Dan-Zhu’s safety, the Great Chieftain had even assigned two pill-shamans to accompany his hundred-man force.

Now, those two pill-shamans were frantically treating the wounded.

Under normal circumstances, they would have been sufficient—for the barbarian warriors were strong. As long as they were not killed outright, simple treatments could sustain life, and their bodies would quickly heal.

But this time was different.

The wounded Vermilion Sparrow warriors had gashes festering purple, bleeding endlessly.

Their natural recovery was nullified, and the pill-shamans’ methods were far too limited.

Thus, the situation deteriorated rapidly.

Many lightly injured warriors bled until they became gravely injured.

Some gravely injured ones grew cold in their limbs, slipping toward death.

Chi-Feng approached a wounded man, dipped his fingers in the blood, sniffed it at his nose, and his face grew grim:

“Bloodfang Poison.”

Bloodfang Poison—an extremely rare venomous herb in the Great Wilderness. Its toxicity was fierce. Once in a cultivator’s body, it was like being bitten by a beast’s fangs—bleeding endlessly. Hence its name.

Blood would not stop flowing until it was drained dry.

Elder Ba Shan roared in fury:

“Damn it, these Bi Fang bastards are beasts!”

Between tribes, unless there was deep blood hatred, few would go so far as to smear such vile poison on their weapons. Moreover, Bloodfang Grass was incredibly rare, not something easily obtained.

Even if one acquired it, few would dare waste it recklessly.

To use Bloodfang Poison meant only one thing—deadly resolve, a fight to the death.

Chi-Feng’s eyes burned with wrath.

“Bi Jie… the boy’s gone mad. He’s determined to fight us to the bitter end.”

Dan-Zhu’s expression was grave, yet his compassionate heart worried more for the wounded warriors.

This was his first campaign.

These warriors were also the very first men he himself had personally led.

He could not bear for them to die here.

Blame weighed on his heart as he turned to Chi-Feng.

“Lord Chi-Feng… is there any way to cure Bloodfang Poison?”

Chi-Feng’s face was grim.

“Only constant blood replenishment—feeding blood to make up for what’s lost. Otherwise, they must endure it. But the problem is… there are too many wounded. Not enough medicine. Deaths will only rise…”

Chi-Feng knew clearly: Bi Jie’s goal was to cripple the warriors’ natural recovery with poison.

And the Vermilion Sparrow Tribe’s elite numbered only a hundred or so. With time, the lightly injured would bleed out, the gravely injured would die. Sooner or later, all would be drained to death.

Once too many perished, they would become fish on Bi Fang’s chopping board.

“Young Master Bi Jie—vile and ruthless, sparing no means for his ends. No wonder the Bi Fang Great Chieftain values him so highly. If one day Bi Jie becomes Great Chieftain, the Bi Fang Tribe will surely become Vermilion Sparrow’s mortal enemy.”

Chì Feng’s expression was grave, and he slowly sighed.

Dan-Zhu also furrowed his brows tightly. Lacking experience, he thought long and hard, but could think of no solution. Instinctively, his gaze shifted to Mo Hua.

“Mr. Wu…”

Mr. Wu possessed vast divine powers—perhaps he might have a way.

Mo Hua let out a quiet sigh in his heart.

Seeing the Vermilion Sparrow Tribe’s barbarian soldiers, each one bloodstained, with casualties mounting, Mo Hua felt a pang of heartache.

These hundred elite barbarian soldiers were indeed Dan-Zhu’s “personal troops.”

But in other words, they were also the living force Mo Hua relied upon to carry out his plans.

These were his people. Now, watching as thirty to forty of these elites bled incessantly, their wounds worsening, Mo Hua grew anxious. If all of them were to bleed out and die, the loss would be tremendous.

All of his prior arrangements would have to be overturned and redone.

Moreover, if casualties mounted further, the Vermilion Sparrow Tribe would be unable to hold the Shugu Tribe’s military supplies.

Once these supplies were seized by the Bi Fang Tribe, forged into superior barbarian armor to strengthen their forces, then all plans for outward campaigns would have to be shelved.

Even his Golden Core advancement would be further delayed.

That was something Mo Hua absolutely could not tolerate.

But he was no alchemist, nor had he ever dealt with “healing and saving lives.”

Back in the Great Void Sect, his best alchemy grade had only ever been a mere “C.”

His pill furnace had even exploded several times.

If it were injuries to divine sense, he might still be able to think of something.

But wounds to the flesh and body—Mo Hua was truly helpless.

Mo Hua sighed: “I, seve—…”

Before he could finish, he suddenly froze, recalling something.

Dan-Zhu stared at him blankly.

Mo Hua glanced at Dan-Zhu, then slowly said: “I… must ask for instruction from the Divine-Lord before I’ll know whether this can be treated.”

Everyone was stunned.

This sort of matter—could it really be reported directly to the Divine-Lord on the spot?

Was the Divine-Lord showing this Shaman far too much favor?

“Wait a moment,” Mo Hua said.

Everyone nodded.

Dan-Zhu solemnly added: “We trouble you, Sir.”

“Mhm.” Mo Hua nodded slightly, then withdrew from the group, entering a nearby sealed stone chamber. From his Storage Ring, he took out a box.

On the box were inscribed the words: “First Place in the Qianxue Sword Debate,” “Bestowed by the Dao Court,” “Commended by the Heavenly Authority Pavilion.”

Inside the box was sealed a jade slip.

Within the jade slip was recorded a set of array diagrams, the array known as:

Yin-Wood Rejuvenation Formation.

This was the Dao Court’s Heavenly Authority Pavilion’s reward to the sect that placed first in the Qianxue Sword Debate.

The ancient jade slip contained the complete inheritance of Yin-Wood healing formations, from first-rank up to fourth-rank.

In the Dao Court’s Nine Provinces inheritance, this type of ancient healing array, due to its narrow usage, single application, and inconvenient construction, had gradually been replaced by the flourishing Dao of Alchemy, falling into obscurity as a marginal branch of array arts.

Yet under the current circumstances, this medical formation could prove invaluable.

Here in the Great Wilderness, conditions were harsh and alchemy was backward.

The Bloodfang Poison caused one’s blood essence to continuously drain away.

And with so many wounded, there weren’t nearly enough blood-replenishing pills—nor even enough healing herbs.

The Yin-Wood Rejuvenation Formation could just fill in these shortcomings.

It was a medical array—it required no fine pill furnace, no pills, no herbs, no spirit liquid, no flame refining, nor even brilliant alchemy skill.

What it required was simply a vast amount of divine sense, wood-element spirit ink, and high-level mastery of formations.

Moreover, since the one drawing the formation was Mo Hua, even the array medium could be substituted by “the earth” itself.

That was the marvel of formations—and the strength of a Formation master.

Mo Hua had learned the Yin-Wood Rejuvenation Formation long ago.

By nature, he was an “array fanatic,” with strong curiosity and thirst for knowledge.

Any formation he came across, he wanted to obtain. And once obtained, without exception, he wanted to learn it.

This Yin-Wood Rejuvenation Formation was no exception.

Though an obscure healing array, to Mo Hua, who practiced with “Absolute Formations” daily, it was hardly difficult.

He had in fact mastered it long before.

But since he never treated the sick or injured, this Yin-Wood array had never been put to use, so Mo Hua had no idea whether it truly worked or not. Still, under the current circumstances, there was no other choice.

Mo Hua selected a few clean spots on the ground, sat cross-legged, and from his storage pouch took out several bottles of faint green wood-element spirit ink. He rarely used wood-element ink.

His most frequent choice was still fire-element ink, for drawing Groundfire Formations to blow up enemies—one blast and an entire group would fall silent.

Blasting people with Groundfire Formations was, in fact, rather addictive.

That kind of joy—only those who had tried it would understand.

But ever since incurring the Fate-Bane, he had to “keep himself pure.” Mo Hua hadn’t used Groundfire Formations to blow anyone up in a long time, nor experienced that delight.

He felt a tinge of regret.

Then he focused fully, and began to draw the Yin-Wood Rejuvenation Formation.

This was also his first time earnestly, with a mindset of “learning for practical use,” drawing this obscure and neglected “medical array.”

The pale green spirit ink, under Mo Hua’s control of divine sense, writhed in the air, then flowed into the ground, winding like a spirit serpent, condensing into an ancient array imbued with the aura of wood and grass.

This was merely a second-rank, nineteen-rune array.

For ordinary Foundation Establishment Formation Masters, this was considered the peak of second-rank formations.

But to Mo Hua, it was rather ordinary—before long, he had finished drawing it.

Mo Hua examined the array carefully, then frowned.

He had indeed drawn the formation.

Yet in his heart, there was an inexplicable, strange sense of self-doubt.

Though the array was complete, each of the nineteen runes correct and intact, he still felt as though he hadn’t truly drawn it at all.

As if he had left something out.

No…

Not that something was missing, but rather that what he had drawn wasn’t what it was supposed to be.

This subtle, dissonant sense of misplacement left Mo Hua puzzled.

But that was only intuition. In reality, a complete Yin-Wood Rejuvenation Formation now lay fully formed before him.

Mo Hua thought for a moment, then lay down within the array himself.

Spiritual power began to circulate, flowing through the array, transforming into Yin-Wood energy that seeped into his meridians, nourishing his blood essence and vitality.

The gentle, fresh aura of wood and grass even gave Mo Hua a feeling of refreshing clarity and delight.

“No problem at all…”

Mo Hua frowned and muttered.

He examined the entire formation again, stroke by stroke, carefully comparing it against the jade slip diagram, yet still could not find anything wrong.

Shaking his head, Mo Hua temporarily stopped thinking about it.

Afterward, he used his divine sense to control his brush and drew five more Yin-Wood Rejuvenation Formations on the ground. For a while, the entire stone chamber was saturated with Yin-Wood Qi. Mo Hua ground spirit stones into powder, infused them into the formations, then laid blankets over them.

He then sat cross-legged in front of them with a solemn expression, putting on a show of praying to the “Divine-Lord.”

Once he confirmed that the formations operated safely and without error, Mo Hua finally stood up with a serious face and left.

Dan-Zhu and the others had been anxiously waiting for a long time. When they saw him come out, they immediately asked:

“Mr. Wu, the Divine-Lord…”

Mo Hua’s expression turned benevolent as he said:

“The Divine-Lord above, merciful to all beings, has already descended divine power to communicate and preach, bestowing upon me holy sigils to heal the wounded. However…”

Mo Hua’s face grew somewhat solemn. “My skills are shallow, and these holy sigils are less than one ten-thousandth of the true divine might granted by the Divine-Lord. Whether they can truly save everyone… is still uncertain.”

He made sure to say this upfront.

The “Divine-Lord” had indeed passed down teachings to him, instructing him to save lives.

But if someone could not be saved, it would be due to his own lack of skill, not because the Divine-Lord lacked power.

He was prepared to take the blame on behalf of his “Divine-Lord.”

A shaman could be doubted, but the Divine-Lord could not.

Dan-Zhu, unaware of these twists and turns in Mo Hua’s mind, was only deeply moved. He said sincerely:

“No matter what, this is still the Divine-Lord’s grace. We trouble you, Mr. Wu.”

Mo Hua nodded slightly, then said: “Bring the injured inside.”

The first six wounded were carried into the stone chamber and, according to Mo Hua’s instructions, placed onto the Yin-Wood Rejuvenation Formations.

The formations activated, array lines glowing one after another.

Emerald-green radiance enveloped the wounded.

As time passed, wisps of fresh vegetative aura turned into streams of green light, merging into their meridians, replenishing blood and vitality, repairing their bodies, and even to some extent suppressing the scarlet poison of Bloodfang Grass.

The wounds of these soldiers visibly improved.

The effects of the Yin-Wood Rejuvenation Formation were almost instantaneous.

Even Mo Hua was somewhat surprised.

Everyone felt overjoyed.

Dan-Zhu, as if relieved of a heavy burden, looked at Mo Hua with even deeper admiration.

Righteous in heart, expelling great evil, merciful and compassionate, saving lives and healing the wounded.

Though only at Foundation Establishment, he wielded divine power as if from the heavens—worthy indeed of the title “Mr. Wu.”

The two Golden Core elders, Ba-Shan and Ba-Chuan, along with the Vermilion Sparrow Tribe warriors, upon witnessing this near “resurrection” miracle, were filled with even greater gratitude and reverence toward Mo Hua, this so-called “Lord Shaman.”

Chi Feng stared at the scene before him, finding it almost unbelievable.

In less than an hour, without relying on any rituals or sacrifices, this “Mr. Wu” had truly communicated with the Divine-Lord? And had even received divine teachings on the spot, inscribing holy sigils that saved lives?

What kind of profound divine power was this?

What kind of deep divine favor?

Would a lofty god truly show such care for mere “mortals”?

Could it be that this “Lord Shaman” was one sent down into the world, bearing the will of the gods themselves?

Chi Feng’s heart was shaken, difficult to calm for a long time.

Meanwhile, Mo Hua fixed his gaze on the Yin-Wood Rejuvenation Formations, lost in puzzled thought.

The formations continuously generated Yin-Wood power, nourishing the blood and vitality of the Vermilion Sparrow warriors.

These warriors, pale-faced with blackening foreheads, began to improve.

The “deathly aura” around them gradually dissipated, replaced by faint traces of…

“Vitality.”

Mo Hua’s eyes widened suddenly, his expression changing drastically.

Deathly aura and… vitality?

Death… and life?!

(End of this Chapter)