Chapter 1193: Famine Calamity

Chapter 1192: Famine Calamity

This aura of cause and effect—ordinary people could not perceive it.

What they saw was merely the desolate appearance of withered grass and trees, and the bleak spectacle of living beings starving to death.

Mo Hua, however, could see it clearly.

And this famine calamity was nothing like what he had expected.

It did not resemble a “natural” disaster at all. Rather, it felt like… a living, invisible scourge—like a “miasma-form” monster. It spread through the Great Wilderness, devouring the vitality of the earth, draining the flesh and blood of its creatures, leaving them to starve and die.

That monster, the very embodiment of a “Great Famine Calamity,” was slowly, yet visibly, crawling toward Mo Hua, inch by inch, bringing with it decay and death, hunger and despair—closer and closer.

Mo Hua’s expression changed.

“Go! Back to the stone hall.”

Dan-Zhu could not see what Mo Hua saw, but he knew this was no trivial matter, and he nodded.

The group returned to the stone hall and shut the doors tightly.

Mo Hua’s brows were tightly furrowed.

Dan-Zhu, his expression grave, asked, “Mister Wu, such an inconceivable anomaly… has the Divine-Lord given any revelation?”

Mo Hua had half a mind to lie and say “of course.” The Divine-Lord was omniscient, naturally knowing all things.

But when the words reached his lips, he held them back.

The Divine-Lord might be all-knowing, but he, a Shaman, was not. Faced with this unforeseen and eerie calamity, he dared not spout careless flattery, lest a flaw be exposed. Instead, Mo Hua spoke solemnly:

“The Divine-Lord only foretold that a great calamity would befall the Wilderness. But what calamity it would be, the Divine-Lord never made clear. I believe it must involve profound karmic entanglements, and Heaven’s secrets cannot be easily divulged.”

He sighed softly. “Moreover, in the recent battles with the Bifang Tribe, I have invoked divine oracles again and again, exhausting much divine power. Concerning this calamity… I, too, cannot yet grasp its roots…”

Hearing this, Dan-Zhu felt both gratitude and heartache.

Mister Wu had spent divine power time and again, divining the enemy’s movements, all to protect him and the Vermilion Sparrow warriors.

“Sir, please take care. Guard your health.” Dan-Zhu cupped his fists with concern.

Mo Hua nodded, appearing somewhat “weak.”

After some thought, Dan-Zhu could not hide his worry. “Sir, with famine descending, what should our next step be?”

This was wholly beyond anything they had foreseen.

Mo Hua, for the moment, had no clear answer.

Just then, shouts of killing erupted outside the stone hall once more.

Mo Hua frowned, and together with Dan-Zhu, went out to look. In the distant forests, shadows of men stirred; gleaming blades and halberds reflected cold light—the Bifang Tribe was attacking again.

Such skirmishes had become routine.

Dan-Zhu prepared to meet them in battle.

Mo Hua hurriedly stopped him.

Dan-Zhu was puzzled.

Mo Hua thought for a moment, then his expression shifted. “Do not go. Have Chi-Feng and the others all withdraw as well.”

“Everyone is forbidden from engaging.”

Dan-Zhu’s face grew solemn, and he nodded.

The order spread. The entire Vermilion Sparrow Tribe retreated into the stone hall.

It was not a good decision.

With the enemy at their gates, abandoning the outer defenses meant handing them to the Bifang Tribe. Once surrounded, they would be trapped. Yet none questioned Mo Hua.

Not even Chi-Feng objected.

After these past days of battles, Mo Hua’s seemingly miraculous foresight had elevated his words to the level of divine decree.

The Vermilion Sparrow Tribe’s retreat left the Bifang warriors baffled.

Bi Jie, too, frowned. He could not fathom the purpose behind Mo Hua’s “foolish” move.

But opportunity was before him. Without hesitation, he ordered an assault.

The Bifang horde surged forward.

Halfway down the slope, however, a current of unseen red-yellow vapors arose, and vast swathes of vegetation withered.

The Bifang warriors and shamans were startled. Yet as they stood within the mists, they felt no great danger—no poison, not even the oppressive weight of miasma.

They dismissed it, and pressed their attack on the stone hall.

The Bifang young master had promised: once the stone hall was taken and Dan-Zhu slain, they would receive fine barbarian armor, plentiful slaves, and even a fertile tract of land carved from Bifang territory.

He had sworn it before the Barbarian God himself.

The pact was true beyond doubt.

Thus, the shamans hurled themselves into battle, reckless of life, eager to seize first merit.

Mo Hua still forbade anyone from striking out—only defense.

The clash raged, chaos mounting.

Bi Jie and several Golden Core shamans from allied tribes besieged Dan-Zhu and Chi-Feng.

The rest of the Vermilion Sparrow warriors were hard pressed, their defense crumbling.

The stone hall’s line of defense wavered on the brink of collapse.

But Mo Hua remained calm, his gaze penetrating.

He was using Bi Jie and his allies as “lab rats.”

They were drawing in that red-yellow vapor of famine even as they fought.

Mo Hua observed them closely, seeking to understand what changes the vapor wrought within the human body—what underlying law drove this breath of calamity.

Such changes of Heaven’s qi and karmic law were invisible to ordinary mortals, but not to Mo Hua’s eyes of divine sense.

To Bi Jie and the rest, it was only withering grass and trees. But to Mo Hua’s pure golden vision, there was something deeper.

His Dao-transformed eyes could clearly see: once inhaled, the red-yellow qi coursed through meridians and merged with flesh. To his shock, it was not “poisonous.” It caused no harm to the body.

Indeed, it was not what it appeared to be at all.

The qi carried no law of “decay” or “desolation.”

What it carried… was “vitality.”

Mo Hua’s pupils contracted. It defied intuition, yet reality was undeniable.

The essence of this famine-breath was not decay, not withering, not death… but vitality.

Infused into the body, it heightened vitality, stirred the spirit, quickened the blood, sped digestion and absorption. Even cultivation and strength surged briefly.

One brimmed with energy, tireless.

But the result was obvious.

The body burned through itself, metabolism racing, blood and qi exhausted, plunging the body into a profound “hunger” at terrifying speed.

This was not poison.

Not even illness.

It was merely the natural process of hunger—blood and qi consumed.

Only this vapor accelerated it drastically.

It was “vitality” that led to “decline,” to “withering,” to famine.

Just as…

Prosperity leads to ruin.

Wealth leads to poverty.

This famine used “life” to bring about death.

Mo Hua’s expression froze, his pupils quivered, and a chill couldn’t help but creep into his heart.

He could no longer tell whether this famine of the Great Wilderness was truly a law of Heaven and Earth, or if someone was deliberately engineering such a catastrophe behind the scenes.

If it was intentional, then for that person to understand how to bring death through life—such comprehension of the ‘Dao’ was terrifyingly profound.

Reversal…

This was the change of the Dao.

As he pondered, in the Bifang ranks, a warrior’s eyes went bloodshot, his body trembling with manic vigor. His meridians swelled, heart hammering, qi burning away, and from deep within arose an unspeakable hunger.

Saliva dripped from his lips. He suddenly tore into an allied warrior, ripping away a mouthful of bloody flesh.

The act ignited outrage.

“Traitor?!”

“What’s happening?!”

But soon, more and more fell to frenzy.

Hunger drove them to madness.

With plants withered, only flesh remained to eat.

The battlefield of killing became an abattoir of eating.

Both sides froze in horror, weapons still in hand, staring at the carnage.

Mo Hua’s voice cut cold: “Back to the stone hall!”

Dan-Zhu and the others obeyed at once, retreating inside.

Bi Jie roared with rage, pressing the attack.

But Chi-Feng blocked him, and Mo Hua’s array on the hall’s gates stopped the Bifang charge. They could not break through.

Behind them, the red-yellow mist spread. The Bifang warriors continued to tear into one another.

Blood and flesh flew; bones gleamed white.

Even Bi Jie felt a gnawing hunger.

His face went pale. Disaster loomed.

Yet he could not give up.

The Shugu Tribe still held what he most desired.

Something no one else knew of, that only he could seize. He had to obtain it before Dan-Zhu.

But in his hesitation, the famine’s symptoms worsened.

More and more warriors turned on each other.

The Bifang fell in droves, gnawed to the bone.

Bi Jie himself swallowed hard, hunger burning in him.

He knew the battle was lost.

The Wilderness was perilous by nature. Against such bizarre calamity, no one could contend. To defy Heaven’s calamity was to seek death.

Gritting his teeth, he roared: “Retreat!”

The Bifang fled under his lead. Frenzied, man-eating warriors were beheaded and left behind.

But even those who escaped “alive” might not be spared.

Precisely because they were “alive,” the vigorous famine aura still flowed within them, keeping their blood in a boiling, restless state, pushing them deeper and deeper into a frenzy of hunger.

On the retreat, one after another succumbed.

Bi Jie had no choice but to kill them one after another—killing until no one else succumbed to the “Famine Calamity.”

This seemingly ordinary famine disaster had, in just one encounter, nearly annihilated Bi Jie’s forces.

Bi Jie’s heart bled with grief, while cold dread spread through his whole body.

Inside the stone hall, however, some of the Vermilion Sparrow Tribe’s warriors also fell victim to the “Famine Calamity.”

They had fought against Bi Jie just fine, but once they returned to the hall, some of the barbarian soldiers suddenly “fell ill” and began craving to “eat.” Dan-Zhu immediately ordered that those stricken be tied up.

Kind at heart, he would not slaughter his own men. Instead, he had dry rations and jerky brought out for them to eat.

These soldiers weren’t strictly craving “human flesh.”

They could eat anything—but no matter how much they ate, they were never full.

Yet food within the stone hall was already scarce. Feeding them endlessly would only spell disaster.

Dan-Zhu could only look toward Mo Hua.

Mo Hua frowned tightly as he watched the barbarian soldiers nearly driven mad by their gnawing hunger.

More than anyone, he understood—this “Famine Calamity” was extremely hard to cure.

The difficulty lay in that it wasn’t really a “poison,” nor an “illness,” but pure, ultimate “hunger.”

Since it wasn’t a sickness, naturally there was no “medicine” to cure it.

The only method was… to eat.

Mo Hua’s heart jolted—he immediately thought of the Yin-Wood Rejuvenation Formation.

The famine disaster drained blood and vitality.

The Yin-Wood Rejuvenation Formation could replenish blood and restore vitality.

Famine disaster turned “life” into “death.”

The Yin-Wood Rejuvenation Formation used “life” to delay “death.”

In a sense, they were opposing yet complementary logics and laws.

Mo Hua at once ordered the famine-stricken Vermilion Sparrow soldiers to be placed within the formation.

A green mist of Yin-Wood qi spread, flowing into their meridians and replenishing vitality.

The soldiers still twisted in agony, tormented by the gnawing hunger in their hearts.

That hunger was rooted deep in their consciousness—impossible to erase for now.

But at least their blood and vitality were preserved by the formation, sparing them from immediate death.

Mo Hua slowly let out a breath of relief.

Then, his face grave, he told Dan-Zhu: “Immediately have everyone pack up. In half an hour we leave the stone hall, before the famine spreads here.”

The famine was still expanding. In less than an hour, it would engulf the hall.

If enough of them inhaled the red-yellow miasma, their entire force would be annihilated.

Dan-Zhu knew the stakes and nodded. “Yes.”

Everyone quickly gathered their belongings.

Most supplies had already been packed into storage chests, so little time was lost.

Even the shattered barbarian god’s head statue was stored away.

Mo Hua also made preparations.

When ready, he closed his eyes, meditated briefly, then released his divine sense, charting a route through the valley. Finally, he ordered:

“Everyone, hold your breath and minimize breathing as much as possible.”

“I will give each of you a mask. On the mask, I’ve drawn a Divine Rune granted by the Divine-Lord. It can partially ward off the famine aura.”

“But it was inscribed in haste, so its effect is weak. You must still be cautious.”

“From here on, obey my commands. Where I say to go, you go.”

“The Divine-Lord will protect you.”

“If you ignore orders and lose your way, not even the Divine-Lord can save you.”

Mo Hua’s tone was heavy with solemnity.

The tribe clasped fists to their chests, bowing: “Thanks for the Divine-Lord’s blessing. We will obey the Lord Shaman’s command.”

Mo Hua gave a slight nod and ordered: “Move out.”

“Yes, Lord Shaman.”

Mo Hua led at the front, Dan-Zhu followed behind, Chi-Feng guarded Mo Hua’s left, while Elders Ba Shan and Ba Chuan managed the ranks and rear.

The whole group set out from the stone hall, entering the valley.

Within, vast swathes of forest had withered.

Yet it was not complete withering—more like leprous patches, blotches of death.

Where famine aura tainted, the plants “starved” to death.

Where untouched, they could still cling to life.

In Mo Hua’s eyes, the border between life and death was starkly visible. He knew exactly which areas were “living” and which “dead.”

Such perception belonged only to him.

He lifted his head toward the heavens, feigning a prayer to the Divine-Lord. Then, as though guided by unseen will, his expression turned devout.

“The Divine-Lord has answered my prayer—He will show me the path.”

“Follow me.”

As a shaman, Mo Hua walked at the front, guiding them.

The tribe followed in reverence, faith burning, stepping in his footprints.

Together, they entered the famine-stricken mountains.

This time, no pursuers dared chase them.

The famine was disaster, yes—but Mo Hua made it a “barrier,” severing them from pursuit and danger.

And within this disaster, only Mo Hua could see the way forward.

Thus, he led them southeast.

Carefully, they marched for a full day and night, finally leaving the valley of the Shugu Tribe’s secret grounds, escaping the mire of bitter battle.

Outside the valley, famine still spread, but symptoms grew weaker.

Mo Hua dared not relax, pressing them southward, away from the spreading disaster.

His eyes shone with divine light, discerning life and death, guiding the path ahead.

Most of the Vermilion Sparrow Tribe avoided the calamity.

But some unlucky ones still caught the “Famine Calamity.”

Mo Hua had no time to heal them. Dan-Zhu ordered those stricken knocked unconscious, bound with iron chains over mouth, nose, and limbs, then dragged along.

Fortunately, there were few such cases, and no major disturbance.

After another two days of travel, the surroundings opened up. The desolate and eerie aura gradually faded.

Mo Hua knew that, for the moment, they had escaped the “Famine Calamity.”

But he still dared not grow careless. Once touched, this calamity meant nothing less than total annihilation.

Afterward, Mo Hua pretended to “pray” to the Divine-Lord, invoking the Yin-Wood Rejuvenation Sacred Rune. He used it to briefly treat the sick barbarian soldiers, barely keeping them alive. Then, without pause, he continued leading the group forward.

The farther he got from the famine, the better.

After advancing several hundred more li, they entered a mountain valley. Just as they were settling down for a brief rest, they were suddenly ambushed by a band of barbarian cultivators. Their faces were painted with pale yellow bone-markings—it seemed they too were from the Shugu Tribe.

However, these weren’t wanderers, but a proper “branch division.”

Seeing Mo Hua’s group travel-worn and in disarray, dragging along several large storage chests, they took them for “fat sheep.” Greed welled up in their hearts, and they set an ambush.

Three Golden Core cultivators of the Shugu Tribe, likely at the early stage, led roughly two hundred Foundation Establishment barbarian soldiers, lying in wait to slaughter Mo Hua’s group and seize their supplies.

But they didn’t know their movements had long since been detected by Mo Hua.

Mo Hua was inwardly amazed.

He hadn’t expected his luck to be this good—having just escaped the famine, he immediately ran into such a “dog catching a meat bun” opportunity. Before the Shugu branch soldiers in hiding could strike…

Mo Hua was already deriving causality and arranging formations.

Thus, the ambush turned into a counter-ambush.

The Shugu branch suffered a crushing defeat. Of the three Golden Cores, Chi Feng slew one, Dan Zhu slew another, and the last fled. The rest were utterly routed. Mo Hua didn’t let Dan Zhu kill them all; instead, he deliberately left survivors and chased after the “deserters,” following the trail straight to their lair.

It was a sizeable Shugu branch encampment.

A very fine place.

Mo Hua’s eyes lit up. He raised his hand and pointed forward:

“Take it!”

At the command of the Lord Shaman, the Vermilion Sparrow Tribe’s warriors launched their assault.

Dan Zhu charged at the forefront, like the Vermilion Bird incarnate, unstoppable. In less than an hour, the Shugu branch camp was completely overrun and captured.

…

(Author Notes:

No Chapter tomorrow. Taking a day off to sort out the plotlines, worldview, characters, and various settings.

Will strive to speed up progress afterward.)

(End of this Chapter)