Chapter 1199: The Curtain

Chapter 1198: The Curtain

Under the spread of famine, chaos surged everywhere, and human hearts were as murky as mud.

Even Mo Hua, after employing the Heavenly Secret Derivative Algorithm, found it difficult to see the situation clearly.

The failure of his attempt to civilize and reform the Shugu Tribe also left him with a faint sense of discouragement.

Clearly, if they only united as one, helped one another, life could be better—at the very least, they could survive the disaster, not die of hunger. Yet there were always “clever men” driven by greed, disrupting from within, seizing personal gain, until the atmosphere rotted, the situation collapsed step by step, and finally morality perished, hearts became benighted, and all together walked toward destruction.

It was just as the saying went: those who are doomed to die, will die.

People were like this, tribes were like this, and all worldly powers, without exception, rose from decline, reached prosperity, turned to decay, and in the end, perished without exception.

Mo Hua gazed at the Shugu Tribe before him, sighing in his heart.

He and Dan-Zhu had gone out to campaign, devoured a few Barbarian Gods to strengthen their divine sense—it had only been a few months.

But in that time, the Shugu Tribe’s territory under his governance had already “changed in nature.”

Mo Hua wished for “equality for all,” where every barbarian cultivator would hold equal status.

Yet still, some wanted to be chiefs, gathering followers, usurping power in secret, seeking to rely on force to become “superiors,” lording over clansmen, indulging in their hunger for power.

Mo Hua wished for “equal resources,” that every barbarian cultivator would have roughly the same cultivation resources.

Yet many still schemed to seize what belonged to others, robbing resources, until unfair spoils led to larger-scale infighting. He wished to grant them “gender equality”—one husband, one wife, no abusing strength to oppress women, no hoarding concubines.

But men, upon seeing a beautiful woman, still sought to seize, to plunder, even if they already had a spouse.

And some women even preferred to become concubines of the strong. Though “concubine” was no different from slave or servant, nothing but a vessel for venting, subject to beatings and curses, with not a shred of human rights, they still accepted it sweetly, even took pride in it.

Mo Hua wanted them to accept education, to unite and live in harmony, to see the tribe’s interests as their own, to pursue long-term prosperity, to value the tribe’s survival. But all this became “empty talk.”

Not a single barbarian listened.

Instead, what persisted was shortsightedness, selfishness, indulgence, greed—ugliness and depravity in all forms.

For a moment, Mo Hua could not help but feel a deep disappointment.

Even more disappointed than Mo Hua was Dan-Zhu.

“Equality for all,” “unity as one”—these principles had been taught by Mo Hua, but Dan-Zhu had been the one to actually put them into practice.

Kind-hearted at heart, this was his first attempt in life to “reform” a tribe, to make life better for everyone.

But he failed.

Failed so naturally, so utterly.

In the face of reality, many kind-hearted ideals were nothing more than naïve “fantasies”—the moment they touched the wall of reality, they shattered instantly. Dan-Zhu’s confidence cracked apart, plunging him into despair and self-doubt.

He did not think Mo Hua had taught him wrongly—more, he felt grieved by his own lack of ability, feeling he had let down “Mr. Wu’s” guidance.

The road ahead was lost in mist; he no longer knew what to do. Whatever he did seemed useless, seemed fated to end up like this.

Mo Hua saw the pain in Dan-Zhu’s heart. He sighed softly, then said in a warm voice:

“Do not take it to heart. In this world, nothing is simple when you truly set out to do it.”

“This time failed. Summarize the lesson, and do it again next time.”

“And next time… if it fails again?” Dan-Zhu’s pale face turned to Mo Hua.

Though he was a Golden Core cultivator, in this moment, before Mo Hua who was only Foundation Establishment, his eyes were full of confusion, his heart tormented.

Mo Hua said slowly: “It will be the same. If it fails again, you simply continue.”

Dan-Zhu stared blankly.

Mo Hua continued: “The true road to success is forged from failures, one after another.”

“Many geniuses, with great ambitions, wish to accomplish great things—but at the first taste of failure, they shrink back, dare not move forward, fearful of further setbacks. Such people, no matter how high their talent, no matter how strong their ability, in the end will waste their lives with nothing achieved.”

“On the road to success, failure is what you meet most often.”

“And each failure becomes a step—you must step upon those steps to grow stronger, to climb higher. To achieve the Great Dao, not only requires talent beyond the world, but also indomitable will and unyielding perseverance…”

Mo Hua fixed his gaze on Dan-Zhu, black and white clear within his eyes:

“Remember—what you seek to accomplish is a great endeavor! A task that your elder brother, your royal father, your ancestors, and countless heroes across the Great Wilderness all failed to achieve.”

“Such a thing—how could it ever be simple? To encounter countless obstacles, setbacks, and failures—that is nothing strange.”

“Do not fear failure. Do not care about failure.”

“You must climb upon those failures, to reach final success, and prove your own Dao…”

Mo Hua’s voice was steady, not passionate, yet it carried a power that stirred the heart, even made the blood boil.

Dan-Zhu felt boundless strength surge in his chest, as though no difficulty or danger in this world could stop his great ambition.

At the side, Bashan and Bachuan’s expressions changed upon hearing.

Even Chi-Feng, looking at Mo Hua, held a shock beyond words in his gaze.

These words were absolutely not what any ordinary man could say. Just what kind of person was this Mr. Wu…?

Dan-Zhu pondered for a while, silently digesting Mo Hua’s words, then bowed deeply to him.

This bow, in the Great Wilderness, was the standard “student’s salute.”

“Dan-Zhu will firmly remember sir’s teachings.”

Mo Hua accepted Dan-Zhu’s bow with a gentle look.

But in his heart, he himself was not so calm.

Those words—he had spoken them to Dan-Zhu, but also to himself.

Those who achieve the Great Dao, not only have extraordinary talent, but also indomitable will, unyielding perseverance…

A single failure or setback was nothing.

Every failure would forge the steps upon which he would climb toward the Great Dao.

Mo Hua’s eyes were steady and resolute.

In the days that followed, Dan-Zhu and the others’ situation grew ever harsher.

The core issue was famine.

Famine rendered the land barren; all barbarian cultivators affected were plunged into starvation. Countless small and medium tribes could barely survive. The Great Wilderness descended into widespread chaos.

On top of that, the Shugu Tribe’s captured territory was wracked by rebellion and civil strife. It was no longer a safe place to stay.

They had to relocate.

But where to go became another problem.

The famine spread everywhere—no one knew which direction in the Great Wilderness was safe. If they became encircled by famine, then all the forces Dan-Zhu had painstakingly gathered would face annihilation.

And even if they avoided famine, they would still clash with other tribes, wasting strength in meaningless conflict.

Such outcomes were not what Mo Hua wished to see.

Thus, after half a day of discussion, only one conclusion remained:

Return to the Vermilion Sparrow Tribe.

With the sudden change of events, chaos rampant, and the future unclear, returning to the main tribe of the Vermilion Sparrow was the best choice.

Even Mo Hua had to admit it.

Back at the Vermilion Sparrow’s main tribe, under the shelter of a great tribal power, at least there was safety.

First find stability, then plan for development.

Beyond that, he also needed a quiet place to study that mysterious “Taotie Absolute Formation” of twenty-three runes. The Taotie Absolute Formation would certainly not be easy to master.

But now, battles raged everywhere, dangers loomed on all sides, many affairs demanded his attention, and he still had to divine Dan-Zhu’s fortunes.

He could not gather even a stretch of quiet time to focus on comprehending this ancient formation.

Thus, returning to the Vermilion Sparrow’s main tribe was imperative.

Even if it meant halting, for now, his plan of “abducting” Dan-Zhu, making achievements, and seeking development.

Circumstances left no choice.

Mo Hua agreed.

Dan-Zhu had no objection—he always listened to Mo Hua.

Chi-Feng breathed a sigh of relief; he had long wanted to persuade Dan-Zhu to return to the main tribe.

As the talented young lord of the Vermilion Sparrow Tribe, staying outside was unsafe.

Bashan and Bachuan had no reason to oppose either.

But surprisingly, the loudest opposition came from Iron Shugu.

He looked as if the sky had collapsed, exclaiming in shock:

“Lord Shaman, how can you withdraw the army? You must continue attacking the Shugu Tribe! Continue seizing altars! Continue… continue… why would you suddenly… give up halfway?”

If you don’t attack the Shugu Tribe, how am I supposed to trick you to death?

How can the real Barbarian God kill you?

How can I prove my loyalty to the Barbarian God?

Iron Shugu was anxious—desperately anxious.

Mo Hua’s expression turned a little odd.

Dan-Zhu and the others also wore strange looks, wondering what medicine Iron Shugu had eaten.

Had he forgotten he was the leader of the Shugu Tribe?

Why was he anxious that they weren’t attacking the Shugu Tribe?

Could it be this man was born with rebellion in his bones, a natural “traitor”?

Mo Hua sighed softly, feeling somewhat helpless.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to keep striking at the Shugu Tribe, didn’t want to keep “devouring” Barbarian Gods—but the circumstances no longer allowed it.

Besides, he had already temporarily “devoured” his way to twenty-three runes, and now needed time to settle and refine.

The twenty-fourth rune was definitely not something that could be reached overnight.

After all, the threshold between twenty-three and twenty-four runes was the same as the leap from early Golden Core to mid Golden Core in terms of divine sense.

And early-stage and mid-stage Golden Core—they were worlds apart.

It wasn’t as simple as adding one more rune.

To truly reach twenty-four runes, he would likely need more grinding and tempering.

At the very least, he had to prepare in advance: thoroughly comprehend the principles of the Taotie Absolute Formation, familiarize himself with it.

He even had to start considering the method of “Bone Engraving.”

The Bone-Shaping Technique of Wood-White-Gold-Jade Dharma Body also needed to be planned.

And after Bone Engraving, the problem of life force draining away had to be solved too.

After all, his path of forming the Golden Core was far too complicated, far too unorthodox, and far too difficult.

As the saying went: prepare beforehand and you stand, fail to prepare and you fall.

If he could prepare everything that could be prepared now, then once his divine sense broke through to the twenty-fourth rune, he could advance toward the Golden Core stage much faster.

Devouring Barbarian Gods was no longer the most urgent matter.

This decision could not be changed.

Iron Shugu’s face twisted in visible agony.

That Mo Hua refused to join him in devouring Barbarian Gods—it was sheer torment.

Yet he had no ability to force this skin-wearing “demonic shaman” to obey his command.

Iron Shugu’s expression was utterly desolate, as if life had lost all meaning, like living death.

Afterward, Dan-Zhu quickly reorganized, and the group left the Shugu Tribe’s territory, following the guidance of Mo Hua, the Shaman, skirting the range of the Famine Disaster as they made their way eastward toward the Vermilion Sparrow main tribe.

When they had set out, there had been just over a hundred barbarian soldiers.

Now, on their return, they numbered five to six hundred.

Among them, fewer than a hundred were surviving Vermilion Sparrow warriors.

The rest were a mix of rescued Vermilion Sparrow common barbarian cultivators, barbarians enslaved but now submitted to Dan-Zhu, and nearly one hundred and fifty former Shugu warriors.

These Shugu warriors, having followed Dan-Zhu through campaign after campaign, were won over by his valor and wisdom. They now felt that charging into battle under such a young lord’s banner was the highest of honors, and willingly cast aside their identity as Shugu warriors.

Of course, Iron Shugu himself served as a “model” here.

If even a Golden Core leader of a Shugu wandering tribe could submit to Young Lord Dan-Zhu, fight at the front, and devote himself wholeheartedly, what reason did ordinary Shugu soldiers have to hesitate?

Naturally, they misunderstood. They did not know Iron Shugu’s true feelings, nor did they grasp the fervent “loyalty” burning in his heart.

Iron Shugu suffered in silence, unable to explain.

And so, the group departed from the Shugu Tribe’s station.

Before leaving, Mo Hua glanced back once.

The famine disaster and the chaos of war were spreading everywhere.

Those tribes he had wished to save but could not, those he had hoped to grant an equal future but who instead were consumed by selfish desires, endlessly fighting for power, wealth, and women—one after another, they were tainted by the aura of famine, turning to cannibalism, descending into deeper madness, and ultimately collapsing into ruin… Some deaths were inevitable.

It wasn’t something you could stop just because you wanted to save them.

Mo Hua gazed at the ghastly scenes of cannibalism before him. The disappointment in his heart gradually faded, his eyes becoming pitch-black and tranquil.

Within that tranquility, however, there was a trace of indifference.

A respect—and an indifference—for the fates of certain living beings.

Mo Hua turned away, cast it all from his mind, and stepped forward.

The road ahead was still perilous.

The famine was spreading more widely than he had expected, and the turmoil in the Great Wilderness was broader than he had imagined.

Their group moved in a mighty procession toward the Vermilion Sparrow main tribe, but the journey was inevitably filled with dangers and unexpected crises.

There were treacherous mountains and miasma, the miasma tainted with the aura of famine.

There were packs of maddened, bloodthirsty beasts.

There were starving, deranged barbarian cultivators, mindless like zombies.

There were entire tribes that had become puppets of “evil gods,” steeped in bloody demonic practices.

And there were also powerful great tribes who took advantage of the chaos, waging war to expand their territory and plunder slaves.

Some of these great tribes feared the Vermilion Sparrow Tribe and dared not offend Dan-Zhu. Others, seeing his forces were not weak, did not strike rashly. Still others chose to give Dan-Zhu face, coexisting peacefully.

But such “reasonable” ones were, after all, the minority.

In this turbulent landscape, far more often were those who, upon seeing Dan-Zhu, were overcome by murderous intent, wishing to snuff out this once-in-a-millennium genius before he could rise.

Thus, along the way, Dan-Zhu encountered ambush after ambush, assassins and pursuers, peril upon peril.

Each day before traveling, Mo Hua would cast a divination to test Dan-Zhu’s fortune.

Seldom did the auguries show “auspicious”—most were “neutral,” “minor misfortune,” or “moderate misfortune.”

Even so, they had no choice but to press on.

Mo Hua could only use the hexagrams to guide their path, steering Dan-Zhu toward fortune and away from disaster, doing his utmost to safeguard his life.

Occasionally, when the hexagrams revealed “great misfortune,” Mo Hua would order the group to camp where they were, waiting until the omen shifted to auspicious—or at least downgraded to “minor misfortune”—before moving again.

In this way, Mo Hua quietly helped Dan-Zhu avoid many dangers.

Though Dan-Zhu didn’t fully understand, he could faintly sense that this “Mister Wu” was exhausting himself, sparing no effort for his safety, and he was deeply moved.

The barbarian general Chi-Feng, too, was completely awed by the Shalam-Lord’s “divine calculations.”

Yet a few days later, Mo Hua’s divinations began to falter.

No matter how he calculated, the result was always “great misfortune.”

For three consecutive days, the omen remained unchanged, the foreboding unrelenting.

This meant that if they kept moving forward, Dan-Zhu would face an extremely grave life-and-death crisis.

Mo Hua frowned, puzzled, and had Chi-Feng guard him as they scouted ahead.

For half a day, they saw no real danger—until they came upon a valley.

Sensing something strange, Mo Hua told Chi-Feng to stay put, while he concealed himself and ventured deeper.

Crossing the barren ridges, he lifted his gaze and saw—amid the towering mountains—rows upon rows of massive bone-hafted banners.

Upon each banners perched flocks of dark, blue-black ferocious birds: Bi-Fang birds.

It was the Bi-Fang Tribe—and their numbers were vast.

Mo Hua swept his gaze across—the entire valley, along with many surrounding mountains, was filled with Bi Fang warriors.

These warriors all wore the Bi Fang Barbarian Armor of green plumes and black feathers. Without exception, every one of them was elite.

This was the Bi Fang Tribe’s main force of high officers.

Within them, just a sweep of Mo Hua’s divine sense revealed no fewer than ten Golden Core–realm barbarian generals.

Mo Hua’s heart tightened.

No wonder…

The main force of the tribe locking down the mountains, Golden Core generals encircling to slaughter.

For Dan-Zhu, this was indeed a “great calamity”—perhaps even a “certain death” situation.

As soon as Dan-Zhu’s six-hundred-strong force entered the Bi Fang Tribe’s field of vision, they would be spotted instantly.

Large-scale battles between Dao Soldiers and barbarian troops were nothing like individual duels between cultivators.

Without the aid of concealment methods, once forces numbering in the dozens, hundreds, or thousands drew near each other, they would inevitably be detected.

By then, it would be too late to flee.

The two sides would be forced into direct confrontation.

The Bi Fang Tribe’s main force would charge out of the valley, unleashing a crushing onslaught upon Dan-Zhu’s side, with an overwhelming disparity in strength.

The difference in numbers was simply too vast.

Escape was not an option either—in such moments, once one side attempted to flee, formations would collapse, backs would be exposed to the enemy, and in the chaos of trampling, even more would die. Even if Dan-Zhu himself managed to escape, the barbarian soldiers who had rallied under his banner and followed him through battles would inevitably be annihilated.

Mo Hua frowned.

For the Bi Fang Tribe’s main force to be stationed here, sealing off every mountain path, clearly, their intent was to “intercept and kill” Dan-Zhu.

And for the Bi Fang Tribe to mobilize its main forces in such a grand display, laying siege to the young master of another third-rank tribe—

This likely meant that the Great Wilderness was truly about to descend into chaos.

With the famine as the spark, the curtain of a far larger tribal war might now be about to rise…

(End of this Chapter)