Chapter 1201: “Betrayal”

Chapter 1200: “Betrayal”

The desire for power is rooted deep within the human heart—impossible to eradicate.

Hierarchy may well be humanity’s very nature.

Everyone, given the slightest opportunity, will climb upwards—striving to seize more cultivation resources, gain greater strength, grasp greater authority—so they can enslave others, oppress others, stand above others, and from this dominance, savor the satisfaction and pleasure of status.

Here in the Great Wilderness, this truth is especially evident.

Mo Hua’s gaze grew profound, sinking into contemplation.

“Sir,” Dan-Zhu noticed the unusual expression on Mo Hua’s face and asked, “shall we send troops to conquer this small mountain realm?”

Mo Hua was silent for a moment, then shook his head.

“No need. This place was once where the Divine-Lord preached. Only, some here have strayed from His ‘command.’”

Chi-Feng and the others exchanged glances.

Mo Hua ordered: “Wait here for a while. I’ll go see the situation.”

Dan-Zhu thought for a moment, then nodded. “Very well, sir.”

The group of five to six hundred men set up camp in a small valley nearby.

Mo Hua, alone, entered the Wucha Mountain Realm.

Once inside, he activated the Concealment Technique—his figure vanished without a trace—as he walked upon the land of the Great Wilderness.

Though there was no famine, the people’s livelihood had withered. Everywhere he looked, the state of things ran counter to his will.

His instructions to Wucha had not been kept in mind.

His efforts to educate the people’s hearts had likewise ended in failure.

The human heart is perilous, the Dao-heart delicate.

Even when persuaded, the human heart may appear “kind” for a time, but the moment vigilance lapses, it returns to indulgence, extravagance, oppression, and exploitation—until step by step, it marches toward ruin.

“All evil originates in the human heart.”

“And from the heart’s wicked thoughts, there will hatch…”

—an Evil God.

In that instant, Mo Hua seemed to suddenly grasp something.

After a moment of thought, he did not seek out Wucha, but instead passed through the Wucha Mountain Realm into the Wutu Mountain Realm, heading first to the Wutu Tribe.

Wucha’s life or death did not concern him.

What he cared about… were the children he had once taught.

He wondered whether they had been influenced—what they were like now.

Mo Hua slipped unseen into the Wutu tribe’s gates. The formations around were ones he himself had set, and naturally they could not stop him.

Inside, all seemed as usual. The atmosphere was harmonious enough—everyone had clothes to wear, food to eat. Houses and tents had been built sturdier.

This proved that at least in the Wutu Tribe, Elder Zhamu was still diligently following his instructions.

Mo Hua felt a trace of relief.

With a sweep of divine sense, he found a group gathered in the main hall.

Mo Hua’s eyes moved slightly as he slipped inside. The hall was broad, its furnishings simple, and at that moment it was crowded with people—they were quarreling endlessly, as if the dispute had gone on long, the atmosphere tense.

At the highest seat was a chair… empty.

That was the place Mo Hua once sat.

When he had presided over the Wutu Tribe, he sat there as Lord Shaman—devising strategies, issuing orders, uniting Wutu, Wucha, and several surrounding second-grade mountain realms—ever striving to improve livelihood and spread the Divine-Lord’s renown.

In his absence, no one dared touch that seat.

Without a sound, Mo Hua crossed the crowd and returned to his old place. Calmly, he sat down—propping his arm, looking down from above—watching the people argue.

None of them noticed that their “Lord Shaman” had arrived; they kept bickering, voices clashing.

Only young Zhá Tú, standing behind Elder Zhamu, seemed to sense something—he glanced at the seat.

But it was empty. His teacher had not appeared.

Zhá Tú looked a little disappointed. Then he recalled his teacher’s guidance, and his emotions steadied. His eyes grew a little firmer.

At this moment, the tense atmosphere in the hall suddenly turned confrontational.

Elder Zhamu of the Wutu Tribe was speaking sternly to a barbarian general from the Black-Horn Tribe:

“Absolutely not!”

“These barbarian armors were forged under Lord Shaman’s command by Elder Jiao Hu. Without Lord Shaman’s permission, they cannot be given to anyone.”

The Black-Horn general’s face was stern. “I come under Lord Jiao Li’s orders to claim the armor.”

“Now that Lord Jiao Li and Wucha are at odds, without enough armor, it will be impossible to ensure the safety of the Wutu Tribe—or the entire Wutu Mountain Realm—against Wucha’s aggression.”

There was a veiled threat in his words.

Elder Zhamu flared with anger.

“Wucha dares attack my Wutu Tribe? My Wutu Tribe was the very first place where Lord Shaman descended! Lord Shaman even named this mountain realm ‘Wutu’! Wucha dares to invade Wutu? Does he wish to betray Lord Shaman?”

The Black-Horn general said, “Precisely because of Lord Shaman’s ties with your Wutu Tribe, Wucha has been so tolerant. Otherwise, he would have long since seized the Wutu Mountain Realm.”

“But…” His gaze turned cold. “Lord Shaman has been missing for over a year now. No news, no trace. No one knows where he went, or if he will ever return. Wucha has long been restless.”

“If not for Lord Jiao Li’s loyalty to Lord Shaman’s grace, following Lord Shaman’s orders, and continuously sending troops to protect you, Wucha would have already crushed you.”

“Lord Jiao Li, to protect you, has spent endless effort. Even if not merit, it is still toil. And now, for just a few sets of armor, you still delay and refuse?”

Elder Zhamu said coldly, “So after all, Jiao Li just covets this batch of armor? How is he any different from Wucha?”

The Black-Horn general frowned. “How can Wucha be compared with Lord Jiao Li?”

Elder Zhamu sneered.

The general sighed. “But Wucha has armor bestowed personally by Lord Shaman—armor inscribed with sacred runes drawn by Lord Shaman himself. That is Lord Shaman’s ‘blessing.’”

“No matter how strong Lord Jiao Li is, he cannot defeat Wucha, who holds Lord Shaman’s ‘blessing.’”

“That is why…”

The Black-Horn general pressed further:

“That is why I came to ask Elder Zhamu for newly forged armor. With it, Lord Jiao Li will be like a tiger with wings, able to contend with Wucha—and protect the Wutu Tribe.”

But Elder Zhamu clearly did not believe him. He pushed back:

“If you want armor, ask Elder Jiao Hu. After all, your Lord Jiao Li is Elder Jiao Hu’s son.”

The Black-Horn general’s expression darkened. “Lord Jiao Li is now chief of the Black-Horn Tribe. He has no relation to Elder Jiao Hu. Elder Zhamu, watch your words.”

Elder Zhamu only sneered again.

Now that he had achieved fame, he found his bastard origin shameful—so he wanted to cut ties and wear a new face.

But Zhamu did not voice these thoughts aloud, lest he provoke the general.

“Fine. If you say there’s no relation, then there’s no relation—” Elder Zhamu sneered again. “But Elder Jiao Hu is the forging elder. If you want armor, why don’t you ask him? Why come to my Wutu Tribe?”

The Black-Horn general said coldly, “Elder Jiao Hu hid all the armor he forged in the Wutu Tribe.”

Elder Zhamu shook his head. “Utter nonsense.”

The Black-Horn general said flatly, “Then we’ll search.”

Elder Zhamu’s eyes blazed. He shouted, “How dare you! This is where Lord Shaman prayed to the gods—how dare you search it?”

The other elders of smaller tribes were indignant as well, denouncing the Black-Horn Tribe for their ingratitude and audacity to offend Lord Shaman.

The general hesitated.

Lord Shaman had been missing a year, but his prestige remained. To rouse public fury would be disastrous.

Yet he could not disobey Lord Jiao Li’s order.

Amid the noise, another group stormed in.

Elder Zhamu looked up—and his face changed drastically.

The newcomer wore blood-red barbarian armor, his cultivation at Foundation Establishment peak—he was a close general of Wucha, chief of the Wulu Tribe.

The Red-Armored General barged in fiercely. Upon seeing the Black-Horn general, he grinned.

“What, Black-Horn Tribe—you covet Lord Shaman’s legacy too?”

The Black-Horn general’s face darkened. “You want to snatch the armor from us?”

The Red-Armored General sneered, patting the bloodstained, battle-scarred armor on his body—its murderous aura bristling.

“My Wulu Tribe’s armor was bestowed personally by Lord Shaman. How could your newly forged armor compare to what Lord Shaman granted?”

“I did not come today for armor. I came to take people.”

“Take people?” The Black-Horn general frowned.

The Wulu general looked at Elder Zhamu.

“Lord Wucha commands that all of Lord Shaman’s ‘students’ be ‘invited’ to the Wulu Tribe. Lord Wucha will put them to good use.”

Elder Zhamu’s anger surged.

Jiao Li wanted to seize armor.

Now Wucha wanted to seize people.

Armor could be reforged.

But those children carefully nurtured by Lord Shaman were the tribe’s most precious treasure. If they fell into Wusha’s hands, it would cut off the very root of inheritance.

So that was Wusha’s shameless scheme!

Elder Zhamu roared: “Let Wusha keep dreaming!”

General Wulu’s expression turned cold.

Elder Zhamu pointed at his nose and cursed: “Aren’t you afraid of angering Lord Shaman by doing this?”

General Wulu sneered: “I’m only carrying out Lord Wusha’s command.”

“Then why doesn’t that bastard Wusha dare come himself?” Elder Zhamu snapped. “Is he afraid one day Lord Shaman will bring divine punishment down on him?”

Hearing this, General Wulu’s heart skipped.

But he still coldly said: “What Lord Wusha does is also in line with Lord Shaman’s will. These children are all Lord Shaman’s disciples. They deserve better treatment, greater respect, and should contribute to the tribe’s growth.”

Elder Zhamu’s expression was stubborn and icy.

General Wulu tried to restrain himself, persuading: “Your Wutu Tribe is too weak. You can’t protect these children.

If anything were to happen to Lord Shaman’s disciples, could you bear the responsibility?

So hand them over—the ones personally taught by Lord Shaman. I’ll take them back to the Wulu Tribe and deliver them to Lord Wusha, so he can protect them personally.”

Elder Zhamu remained unmoved.

General Wulu lost patience. His face twisted fiercely, and his eyes darted toward young Zhatu, who had once followed closely at Lord Shaman’s side.

Little Zhatu’s face went pale, clutching tightly at his grandfather’s sleeve.

Elder Zhamu shielded him behind, shaking his head with a heavy voice:

“These children are Lord Shaman’s students—the hope of the Wutu Mountain Realm. I will never hand them over. If you want them, you’ll have to step over my corpse.”

General Wulu nodded mockingly:

“You? A mere early Foundation Establishment old man, half-buried already, talking nonsense? With your brittle bones, who could you possibly stop? If not for Lord Shaman’s face, I’d crush you with one hand.”

“Well then—since you won’t hand them over, I’ll take them myself.”

General Wulu, his blood energy surging, strode toward the rear of the hall.

He could sense behind the hall, somewhere, a cluster of tender, youthful auras.

Elder Zhamu roared: “You dare?!”

The Wutu Tribe, along with a few allied elders and Foundation Establishment generals, stepped forward to block him.

But their cultivation was far inferior to this peak Foundation Establishment Wulu general.

In just a few exchanges, they were all defeated.

The Black-Horn general hesitated for a moment, then his figure flashed to block General Wulu’s path.

This hall had once been used by Lord Shaman to hold council. Neither Chief Jiaoli nor Wusha dared to intrude here lightly.

Thus, the two generals stood as “representatives.”

And it wasn’t their first meeting—having clashed many times during past conflicts between their tribes, they were already “familiar enemies.”

General Wulu said: “Why block me? You take your armor, I take my people—we don’t interfere with each other.”

The Black-Horn general’s eyes flashed. “The armor is mine. But the people—I won’t let you take them either.”

General Wulu sneered: “Your Black-Horn Tribe also pays lip service to Lord Shaman. You’re no better.”

“Courting death!”

“The one courting death is you.”

Mo Hua had set the rule: no weapons were allowed inside Lord Shaman’s hall.

So the two generals fought bare-handed, qi surging, fists landing with full force.

After several hundred exchanges, the Black-Horn general—only at late Foundation Establishment—was ultimately weaker. General Wulu struck him in the eye, making him stagger. Before he could recover, a kick slammed into his chest.

The Black-Horn general staggered back ten steps, spitting blood.

General Wulu snorted coldly: “Overestimating yourself.”

Then he continued forward. After only a few steps, he saw Elder Zhamu—like a withered old tree—standing before him, gaze hard as iron:

“If you want them, step over my corpse.”

General Wulu’s face darkened. “Old fool, do you think I won’t kill you?”

Just as he raised his hand, a tender voice shouted:

“Stop!”

Little Zhatu spread his arms, shielding his grandfather, summoning all his courage as he glared at the peak Foundation Establishment general:

“You’re so brazen! Aren’t you afraid of Lord Shaman’s punishment?”

General Wulu sneered: “Such bold words for a little brat, daring to invoke Lord Shaman’s name…”

But suddenly his thoughts shifted. This boy, Zhatu, was Elder Zhamu’s only grandson, once the closest to Lord Shaman’s side.

If he seized this child, Elder Zhamu would have no choice but to submit.

And this boy might also be the one who had inherited most of Lord Shaman’s teachings.

General Wulu immediately extended his massive palm to grab Little Zhatu.

His cultivation was too high, his strength overwhelming, his speed unmatched. Elder Zhamu could only watch helplessly, far too slow to react.

Little Zhatu’s face turned ashen, his heart freezing. As only a Qi Refining cultivator, he could not escape. He shut his eyes tightly, trembling.

But the next moment—nothing happened.

Startled, Little Zhatu slowly opened his eyes.

The once-fierce General Wulu now stood pale as death.

Utter terror flooded his face.

His body trembled uncontrollably, until at last his legs buckled, and he collapsed to his knees, kowtowing desperately toward the high seat.

Little Zhatu was bewildered, then suddenly startled. He turned—and saw, upon the once-empty high seat, a familiar and revered figure.

Little Zhatu’s eyes widened, faith reignited, tears spilling from the corners of his eyes:

“Teacher!”

At his cry, everyone turned. On the high seat, the long-absent figure of Lord Shaman had silently appeared—sitting high, gaze unfathomable, watching them all in silence.

It felt as if he had just returned.

And yet—it also felt as if he had never left.

Terror filled everyone’s chest. One by one, those in the hall dropped to their knees, shouting with reverence:

“Lord Shaman has returned!”

“Greetings to Lord Shaman!”

“We respectfully welcome Lord Shaman!”

Most present were filled with awe, their hearts overflowing with ecstasy.

Only the two barbarian generals of the Black-Horn Tribe and Wulu Tribe knelt on the ground, their bodies ice cold.

They were the most terrified in the entire hall.

For they knew—the Shaman Lord, sitting above, had from beginning to end seen clearly their selfishness, their pettiness, and their offenses. Their faces drained of all color.

No one could imagine the crushing pressure they endured on the level of divine sense, nor the sheer terror looming over them.

Yet the Shaman Lord remained silent for a long time.

It was like a blade poised above their necks—never falling, yet tormenting them endlessly.

After what felt like an eternity, Mo Hua finally spoke calmly: “You two, return and bring Jiaoli and Wusha here.”

The two barbarian generals of the Black-Horn and Yuansha Tribes felt their hearts sink with dread.

Was the Shaman Lord… sparing them?

Or was he demanding to see their chieftains, only to deliver judgment and settle the matter altogether?

Their hearts were burdened as if crushed by a mountain of stone. But they had no choice and could only bow their heads:

“Yes, Shaman Lord.”

Then, the two tall and burly generals hunched their backs and respectfully retreated.

Once they had left, Elder Zhamu finally spoke:

“Lord Shaman…”

Mo Hua nodded slightly. “I already know.”

Elder Zhamu’s heart trembled with reverence.

The Shaman Lord’s divine power rivaled that of the gods—truly omniscient, truly omnipotent.

Everything would be decided by him.

Elder Zhamu no longer dared to say more.

Mo Hua then turned to look at Little Zhatu. Seeing that the boy had grown a bit taller and more resolute since last they met, yet still looked at him with the same admiration, Mo Hua couldn’t help but smile warmly:

“Take me to see the other children.”

Little Zhatu nodded repeatedly. “Yes, Teacher!”

He led Mo Hua through a hidden passage at the back of the grand hall. After the time it takes to burn one stick of incense, they arrived at a large mountain cave. Newly dug, rough and crude, yet very well concealed.

The cave was simple, but the atmosphere within was good.

Many children were there—some reading, some drawing array patterns.

Though chaos raged outside, these children seemed almost untouched by it.

Little Zhatu said: “Things weren’t safe before, so Grandfather told all the students to live together in this cave.

I also always followed Teacher’s instructions—practicing every day, studying formations, and urging them to diligently learn, never forgetting Teacher’s teachings.”

As he spoke, his face shone with pride.

Mo Hua took in the scene before him, and his heart finally relaxed a little. He couldn’t help but gently pat Little Zhatu’s head.

Indeed, education had to begin with the young ones.

Once grown, if a person turned rotten, no amount of teaching could fix them.

(End of this Chapter)