Chapter 1194: Eating Again

Chapter 1193: Eating Again

Mo Hua led Dan Zhu and the others to “move in and take over,” seizing the Shugu Tribe outpost.

The highest cultivation among this outpost’s Barbarian cultivators was only at early Golden Core.

Its strongest leader and one battle general had already died in the earlier ambush. One elder managed to escape.

This outpost had two Golden Core cultivators stationed. One was killed by Dan-Zhu.

The other surrendered.

But with just one glance into those sinister eyes, Mo Hua knew the surrender was false. No doubt the man planned to secretly contact others, attempt an ambush on Dan-Zhu, or rise up in rebellion.

So Mo Hua found an excuse and had Dan-Zhu execute him too.

With that, nearly all the Golden Core experts of this Shugu outpost were “wiped out.”

Meanwhile, Mo Hua’s side had four Golden Core cultivators.

With four Golden Cores leading several hundred elites, it was more than enough to suppress an entire outpost of nearly tens of thousands of Shugu tribesmen.

There were still Shugu who resisted, but Mo Hua had them killed, their bodies hung at the tribal gates as a warning to the rest.

Mo Hua sighed.

Back in the Dao Court, he had been a law-abiding cultivator, kind to others, never one to indulge in such “wanton killing.” But here in the Great Wilderness, he had no choice.

Tribal war was a matter of life and death.

In troubled times, harsh measures were inevitable.

Even so, rebellions continued. Groups of Shugu clansmen kept rising up, openly defying his orders.

Mo Hua could only have them all executed.

Of course, he never dirtied his own hands.

As a Shaman, his role was to set the rules, give commands, and decree death for disobedience.

The actual slaughter was carried out by the barbarian general Chi Feng.

Chi Feng was a seasoned mid-Golden Core general, forged in battle. He killed without so much as a blink.

Mo Hua had seen it—Chi Feng’s beheadings were like chopping melons. One stroke, one head, blood splattering him as if he were bathing. He was ruthless to the core. After slaughtering wave after wave—nearly a hundred in all—the Shugu outpost finally fell silent.

None dared disobey Mo Hua’s orders or Chi Feng’s blade.

Then Mo Hua began his “soft approach.”

First, kill a group to instill fear and establish rules.

Afterward, ease up, allowing the survivors to feel gratitude for their spared lives.

The details he left to Dan-Zhu.

Mo Hua, the Shaman, stayed behind the scenes, issuing divine decrees and setting laws.

Chi Feng, the barbarian general, maintained order through bloodshed and fear.

Dan-Zhu, the young lord, embodied kindness and compassion, soothing hearts.

Together, the three-pronged approach soon pacified the tens of thousands of Shugu tribesmen, leaving no one daring to stir up rebellion.

The reputation of Young Lord Dan-Zhu was considerable.

And in this wilderness, for most barbarian cultivators, a Golden Core was an existence far beyond their reach.

Normally, none would dare resist a Golden Core.

When their tribe was first broken, at the brink of life and death, they may have fought with burning blood, hoping for a last stand against the Vermilion Sparrow Tribe. But with time, their blood cooled, and they no longer dared to act on impulse.

They knew full well: a Foundation Establishment cultivator facing a Golden Core meant certain death.

And their tribe was not even facing true annihilation.

The Vermilion Sparrow Tribe had not slaughtered indiscriminately, nor did they even oppress them heavily. Their lives continued much as before.

Moreover, Mo Hua’s pure, dignified bearing and Dan-Zhu’s handsome, benevolent demeanor radiated a natural authority that commanded respect and left no room for rebellion.

The Shugu soon abandoned thoughts of bloody struggle.

Before long, they even began to adapt to the new order.

They didn’t know exactly who ruled them now.

But daily life continued, and as long as they lived, it didn’t matter much who was in charge.

Thus, Mo Hua had effectively “subdued” his first force within the Vermilion Sparrow Mountain Realm.

Yet he did not rush into sweeping reforms. He knew that was not the most urgent matter.

The famine plague was like maggots on bones.

The danger had not passed.

Once it spread here, this Shugu outpost would not only fail to help, but might even become a burden—or worse, a bloody medium for its expansion.

Dan-Zhu and Chi Feng remained stationed to hold the outpost.

The other Vermilion Sparrow warriors rested and reorganized there as well.

Mo Hua, escorted by Ba Shan and Ba Chuan, retraced his path to personally observe the extent of the famine’s spread.

After a day and a night, he reached a cliff. Looking down, he saw withered vegetation and rotting corpses. Among the desolation, imperceptible to ordinary eyes, half-red and half-yellow famine energy writhed and drifted.

Mo Hua frowned.

This monstrous aura had grown stronger, constantly devouring and breeding.

Yet it no longer spread forward, but instead lingered within a fixed range, circling and prowling.

Stopped?

No—more like… resting, or gathering strength.

Mo Hua’s gaze hardened.

Why?

Did the spread of famine require some kind of “fuel”? Had it run dry and thus slowed its pace? Or was it waiting for something?

He could not be sure. His knowledge of the Great Wilderness famine was too shallow, and he had never read related records.

After a moment’s thought, Mo Hua placed several command flags at the boundary of the famine’s spread. He ordered Ba Shan and Ba Chuan:

“Send warriors to keep watch here in turns. If the line of withering vegetation passes beyond these flags, report to me immediately.”

The two elders quickly answered: “Yes, Lord Shaman.”

Then Mo Hua returned to the outpost.

For now, the famine had halted. Though he could not know when it might spread again, at least they had a brief respite. Otherwise, they would have been forced to retreat immediately, abandoning the outpost entirely.

As for the tens of thousands of Shugu tribe members here—of course they would not follow. And when the famine will resume, they would all perish. And if enough of them died within it…

What would happen afterward, Mo Hua could not say.

Signs of rise and fall always have their beginnings.

Omens of fortune or disaster always mirror the nature behind them.

Mo Hua only vaguely sensed—this could not be a good sign.

Very likely, it was the seed of some greater catastrophe, the prelude to a vast calamity.

But whatever came, he still had to do what must be done.

Back at the outpost, Mo Hua began passing on the system he had studied and practiced in Wutu and Wulu Mountain Realms, teaching Dan-Zhu bit by bit.

This included: reverence for the gods, prohibiting wanton slaughter, balancing power, sharing wealth, caring for the elderly, treating slaves with kindness, educating children… and more. Simple, not lofty, but highly practical.

Practical measures were more useful than perfect “theories.”

Sometimes, simply doing one’s best—even if clumsy or imperfect—was already far better than most. And by acting, one deepens understanding: through “doing,” one attains “knowing.”

Through these actions, Mo Hua was also “instilling” into Dan-Zhu certain ideals—true benevolence for the common people, and alignment with the “Great Dao.” He wanted Dan-Zhu to learn how to “reshape” the barbarian tribes.

He hoped that one day, Dan-Zhu would live up to his “expectations,” becoming the wise ruler of the Vermilion Sparrow Tribe, and even the Vermilion Bird Mountain Realm.

Perhaps even further—becoming a true “hero” who could change the entire Great Wilderness.

If that day came, Mo Hua, as his teacher, would feel deeply gratified.

Dan-Zhu also gladly accepted Mo Hua’s “teachings.”

Even though he was the young chieftain, a Golden Core cultivator, a once-in-a-millennium genius of the Vermilion Sparrow Tribe, he still respected and trusted this Shaman teacher deeply. Many doubts he once could not understand, the Shaman explained.

Many things he once wished to do but had no strength or direction for—the Shaman told him exactly how.

Even in moments when his heart wavered, it was the Shaman who steadied his faith, and showed him the road beneath his feet.

He taught him that “revitalizing the tribes and bringing prosperity to the Great Wilderness” was not some impossible “daydream,” but something that must begin from small deeds, step by step, with real practice and reflection.

That dream he once heard in his sleep had not been false.

The Shaman was indeed sent down by the Divine-Lord to guide his path.

And he was indeed “guiding” him.

Dan-Zhu, like a true “student,” faithfully believed in and practiced everything Mo Hua said. With his remarkable comprehension and kind heart, this moved Mo Hua greatly.

Dan-Zhu truly might be a peerless genius born with a “Dao Heart.”

Others often assumed Dan-Zhu’s innate “Dao Heart” was merely a thirst for the Dao, a natural talent for cultivation—but that was not the whole truth.

Dan-Zhu’s “Dao Heart” was above all a heart of great compassion—the will to “cultivate his own Dao and bring benefit to all beings.”

Yet from childhood, with no one to “guide” him, bound on every side, dismissed as “naive and hypocritical,” this Dao Heart gradually became confused and clouded.

If it had continued like that, he would only have squandered his innate “Dao Heart,” falling into selfish struggles for power against his elder brother. His Dao Heart would have become faint and frail.

And once such a faint Dao Heart was extinguished, it would almost never sprout again.

In the Great Wilderness, even across the Nine Provinces, such a heart of great compassion was rarely recognized.

For one of extraordinary talent, destined for great deeds—if their Dao Heart weighed more, they became a hero; if their selfishness weighed more, they became a tyrant.

Yet the world, blind as fish’s eyes, praised only the cruelty of “tyrants,” never recognizing the worth of “heroes.”

They exalted tyrants for their decisiveness, and belittled heroes as hypocritical and weak.

But they did not understand: those who walk the righteous path and still accomplish great deeds—those are the ones truly “strong.”

For walking the righteous path is a hundred times harder than walking the crooked one.

And Dan-Zhu possessed precisely such a heroic “Dao Heart.”

Its worth was something only Mo Hua could perceive.

Because Mo Hua, born with extraordinary divine sense, long-tempered by arrays, his spiritual insight incomparably deep, now enlightened in cause-and-effect and the secrets of heaven—he could pierce through appearances to see the soul and heart-image within, discerning the truth and kindness, the beauty and ugliness in people’s essence.

Dan-Zhu was like an uncut jade.

What Mo Hua had to do was prevent that jade from being stained, and carefully polish it.

That was what a “teacher” should do.

Even if this teacher was still only at Foundation Establishment.

Even if this teacher was younger than Dan-Zhu himself.

And while Dan-Zhu matured step by step in governing the Shugu sub-tribe, his Dao Heart growing ever firmer, Mo Hua was quietly busy with another task.

He planned to “eat” the Shugu sub-tribe’s barbarian god.

Cultivators did not cultivate divine sense; thus the vast majority of them knew nothing of the “world of divine thought.”

The Shugu Tribe was the same.

They had faith, and fervent faith at that, but no real knowledge of what their god actually was.

They were not even clear if they all worshipped the same barbarian god.

The more ignorant they were, the more superstitious.

And the more superstitious, the more ignorant.

This made Mo Hua’s work easier.

As a Shaman, whatever tricks he played in the realm of divine thought, no one could ever know.

This Shugu sub-tribe was large in scale and population, and naturally had a temple, where their “barbarian god” was worshiped.

Mo Hua had long since found their temple.

The sacrificial rituals of the Shugu Tribe—Mo Hua had already coaxed or pressured some tribesmen into explaining them.

Before, when the situation was chaotic, Mo Hua had no time to act.

Now that things had stabilized somewhat, he naturally turned his attention to this barbarian god.

In the vast Shugu temple stood a towering statue of a bull-headed skeleton.

And within the entire temple, there were only Mo Hua and Iron Shugu.

Following the usual Shugu rites, Mo Hua set up the altar, then ordered Iron Shugu:

“You. Dance.”

Iron Shugu was truly at a loss for words.

Who on earth makes a crippled man, with broken arms and legs, dance every day?

But Mo Hua was the high and mighty “Lord Shaman.” Iron Shugu dared not offend him in the slightest, and could only accept his fate, bowing his head and muttering softly.

In the spacious temple, the candlelight was bright, and the three sacrificial offerings were laid out upon the altar.

Following the “dance manual” given by Mo Hua, Iron Shugu began performing the ritual dance passed down in the Shugu sub-tribe—used to please the barbarian god and welcome its descent. Even within the same great tribe, each main division, sub-division, and even wandering branch had its own different “sacrificial dance.”

In the eyes of the Shugu clansmen, this was simply a difference in “custom.”

But Mo Hua knew the truth: the gods they worshipped weren’t even the same entity. Naturally, the dances of worship were different as well…

Iron Shugu’s limbs had been broken—by Mo Hua’s order.

And their recovery, too, had been by Mo Hua’s arrangement.

Now that Mo Hua demanded he dance, Iron Shugu could only drag his crippled body, moving stiffly but with sufficiently eerie gestures, to complete the ritual.

When the dance ended, a mist of divine confusion began to spread through the temple.

The surrounding world twisted.

A strange suction force pulled Iron Shugu’s consciousness out of his sea of awareness, dragging it into some illusory dreamscape.

This was not Iron Shugu’s first time experiencing such a thing.

Nor was it his first time tasting such terror.

He pressed his head to the ground, trembling, eyes tightly shut, not daring to look at anything—afraid of committing some taboo and dying without burial.

The next moment, a thud echoed.

It sounded as if some head had fallen to the ground.

From the sound, this head seemed a little different from last time.

But in the end, perhaps… not so different at all.

(End of this Chapter)