Chapter 1202: A Certain Wusha

Chapter 1201: A Certain Wusha

Mo Hua had returned.

The students were all overjoyed, stepping forward one after another to bow and greet him: “Greetings, Teacher.”

Their faces bore less of the wild savagery of Great Wilderness cultivators, and more gentleness instead. Their eyes shone with liveliness, their spirits full and vigorous.

The turmoil outside had been blocked by Elder Zhamu and hadn’t affected these children.

Mo Hua also checked their lessons.

Cultivation, formations, basic pill methods, theoretical knowledge of artifact forging—Mo Hua had taught them all.

Every child had different talents and interests, progressing at different speeds. The bright ones learned quickly, while the slower ones lagged behind.

But Mo Hua could see they all studied diligently. Even the dull ones never wasted time; they were slowly improving.

This was not only due to their innate toughness born from poverty, but also thanks to little Zha Tu, the “little instructor,” urging them on.

Mo Hua praised Zha Tu with a few words.

Receiving praise from his teacher, little Zha Tu’s face flushed red with excitement.

Afterward, Mo Hua gave the children further pointers in cultivation and studies. Then Elder Zhamu came over and said:

“Lord Shaman, Jiao Li has arrived.”

Mo Hua nodded, left the cave, and returned to the main hall—where indeed Jiao Li was standing.

He was tall, his expression grim and murderous, with a trace of determination and unwillingness between his brows.

Having long fought in formation battles and held a high position, he carried a commanding bearing, along with an arrogant pride that rejected being controlled.

And the one restraining him was precisely this Lord Shaman—Mo Hua.

Jiao Li had even faintly entertained murderous thoughts. After all, Lord Shaman was only at Foundation Establishment. If he gambled, perhaps he could rid himself of the “binding hoop” above his head and do as he pleased thereafter.

But upon seeing Mo Hua’s not-so-tall figure, the familiar face, and those penetrating eyes that struck directly into the heart, Jiao Li’s rebellious intent dissolved into deep reverence.

Grinding his teeth, suppressing the pride of a chieftain, he slowly knelt down: “Jiao Li… is guilty.”

Mo Hua cast him a faint glance. “What crime have you committed?”

Jiao Li kowtowed. “While Lord Shaman was away, Jiao Li harbored disloyalty, failed to obey Lord Shaman’s commands, and did not protect the Wutu Mountain Realm.”

Mo Hua gave no reply, his silence like a heavy weight.

And the more silent he was, the more terrified Jiao Li became, as though a mountain pressed upon his back, suffocating him.

A few stabs in the chest would have felt better than this torment.

No one knew how long this agony lasted, before footsteps sounded outside the hall.

Jiao Li knew—it must be Wusha.

Wusha was stationed in the Wusha Mountain Realm, farther from Wutu, so his arrival would be later than Jiao Li’s.

As Wusha approached, Jiao Li’s heart secretly sighed with relief.

Because he knew—Wusha had betrayed Lord Shaman far more deeply than he had.

He had merely “disobeyed” some instructions, but Wusha had nearly “departed from” Lord Shaman’s will entirely.

Yet the footsteps entering were not Wusha’s. Instead, it was that red-armored barbarian general of the Wulu Tribe—the one who, under Wusha’s order, had tried to seize Mo Hua’s students.

The moment he entered the hall, the red-armored general fell to his knees, not daring to raise his head.

Mo Hua asked: “Where is Wusha?”

“Lord Wusha, he…” the general’s voice trembled, clearly knowing his words might displease Lord Shaman.

But he had no choice, and forced himself to say:

“Lord Wusha… he said he was busy with important affairs, and had no time for now to meet Lord Shaman…”

At once, a cold and eerie pressure filled the hall.

It was so silent a pin could be heard falling.

Jiao Li dared not speak.

The Wulu general pressed his head hard against the icy floor, not daring even to breathe.

They didn’t know what exactly had happened, but they knew—Lord Shaman was clearly displeased.

The general stammered on:

“Lord Wusha has always been loyal to you, Lord Shaman… once he completes his urgent matters, he will certainly come personally to beg forgiveness…”

Realizing his words might offend further, he quickly kowtowed repeatedly:

“Please, Lord Shaman, forgive me!”

“Please forgive me, Lord Shaman!”

The chilling, eerie pressure in the hall receded slightly.

Yet neither Jiao Li nor the general dared relax. They had no idea what the young-looking yet unfathomable Lord Shaman was truly thinking.

After a long while, Mo Hua’s voice came from the high seat:

“Go and ‘invite’ Wusha again. Tell him… I am waiting here for him, and will wait until he comes.”

The words were calm and clear, without joy or anger.

But to the general, each one fell as heavy as a thousand pounds.

He kowtowed rapidly: “Yes—yes, I will go invite Lord Wusha right now. Please, Lord Shaman, wait a moment.”

Even then, he dared not rise, but backed away on his knees until he exited the hall.

Inside, silence reigned once more.

Jiao Li—the chieftain who held unshakable authority in the Black Horn Tribe—remained prostrate on the ground, not daring to move a muscle.

Once, he would never have tolerated kneeling like this.

But now, he wished he could remain kneeling forever—so long as no one disturbed him, so long as Lord Shaman did not speak to him.

And so he knelt on, quietly, peacefully.

Until the silence was again broken by footsteps.

This time, they were louder and more chaotic, many people approaching—yet most halted outside the hall.

Only two entered.

Jiao Li dared not lift his head, but from their auras he could tell: one was the red-armored Wulu general, the other was stronger—His dead rival, the chieftain of the Wulu Tribe—Wusha.

The red-armored general entered and, by habit, dropped to his knees.

Wusha did not kneel. He only bowed deeply and said:

“Lord Shaman, Wusha has come late. Please punish me.”

Mo Hua, propping an arm on the chair in thought, lifted his gaze at the words, and looked at Wusha.

Wusha had indeed changed.

His cultivation had improved, his bearing more regal. He wore a splendid tribal chieftain’s battle robe.

And Mo Hua could see—this robe was originally even more lavish.

But to come before him, Wusha had begrudgingly stripped away some of the golden tassels and jade ornaments, presenting a slightly humbler appearance.

Truly, he had gone to some trouble.

Mo Hua’s expression remained indifferent.

Wusha held his bow.

After a pause, Mo Hua asked: “Do you still remember what I instructed you?”

Wusha cupped his hands: “Of course I remember.”

Mo Hua asked: “And what exactly did I instruct you?”

Wusha froze. His mind went blank; he couldn’t recall.

Had Mo Hua ever given him instructions? Or had he simply forgotten them all?

Mo Hua’s gaze grew colder.

Panic surged in Wusha’s heart, and he blurted out:

“Everything I have done follows Lord Shaman’s orders! I ruled the Wusha Mountain Realm well. The tribes submit, none dare rebel. In every tribe I set up statues, with morning and evening worship. Each month, they pay tribute—”

Mo Hua asked: “Was that what I instructed you to do?”

Unease struck Wusha’s heart. Suddenly, he understood.

The statues! I should not have erected only my own statues!

He quickly said: “Wusha was wrong! I will order them at once—all statues will be changed to Lord Shaman’s. It was you, Lord Shaman, who gave them everything. They should worship you, offer tribute to you—Lord Shaman, you are the true master of the mountain realm. Everything within it belongs to you…”

Mo Hua sighed inwardly.

As expected—he understands nothing.

The human heart is like this. Some see the truth at a glance.

But those who cannot see are as though blinded by lard, unable to understand no matter how they think.

Mo Hua looked at Wusha, his tone icy:

“From this day forth, you are no longer the chieftain of the Wulu Tribe, nor the ruler of the Wusha Mountain Realm.”

The words fell like a blade upon Wusha’s head.

Even Jiao Li, kneeling on the floor, shuddered involuntarily.

As a chieftain himself, Jiao Li understood too well. He had struggled bitterly to climb to his position as Black Horn chieftain.

And the thing he feared most was precisely this one sentence from Lord Shaman.

This sentence would strip him of all honor, shatter every effort he had ever made.

Wusha’s heart sank cold.

He had vaguely guessed that Lord Shaman might say these words, and for this reason, his heart had long been uneasy.

But now that Lord Shaman had truly spoken them aloud, his heart instead steadied, replaced by a trace of disdain and mockery.

Wusha straightened his stance, anger swelling in his eyes:

“Lord Shaman, I’ve fought battles for you, I’ve bled for you, I’ve conquered realms on your behalf, subjugating mountain realms one after another. And you…”

Wusha dropped all honorifics, staring straight at Mo Hua:

“You feared I would seize too much power, so you raised up Jiao Li to balance me. You feared my growing forces, so you forbade me from touching the Black-Horn Tribe’s barbarian armor. To guard against me further, you even had that old dog Zhamu keep watch over me, never letting me use the students you left behind.”

“Lord Shaman, with you doing this, how can I remain loyal to you? How can I still bow to you?”

“As expected, the moment you return, you target me, stripping me of my chieftainship, removing my rulership.”

Wusha sneered coldly. “Do you think it’s that simple?”

Mo Hua said calmly: “And what would you do?”

“Lord Shaman…” Wusha’s expression was indifferent.

“You should know, times have changed. I, Wusha, have reached the peak of Foundation Establishment, only a step away from Golden Core. Beneath me, barbarian soldiers flourish, I command several mountain realms, with two thousand troops at my command.”

“Now, all know that I, Wusha, am the master of the Wusha Mountain Realm, dominant on all sides, with tens of thousands submitting.”

“With such power and authority, do you think it can be erased by a single passing word of yours?”

“Lord Shaman?” Wusha gave a mocking laugh.

“Out of respect, I call you Lord Shaman. Without that respect—what are you? Do you really think this ‘Shaman’ title makes you some divine holy being?”

Mo Hua’s face remained unchanged. “So what you mean… is that you intend to rebel?”

“Rebel?” Wusha laughed derisively. “Rebel against who? What of you is worth rebelling against? I don’t intend rebellion, rather…”

Wusha straightened, eyes boring into Mo Hua, declaring openly:

“I want you, Lord Shaman, to personally bestow my title, to publicly acknowledge me, Wusha, as the mountain lord appointed by the Divine-Lord Himself, ruling unchallenged.”

At these words, the Red-Armored Barbarian General was shaken, and Jiao Li’s expression changed.

They had never imagined Wusha harbored such grand ambition.

Mo Hua shook his head with a sigh.

As expected, his judgment of men was accurate.

Some white-eyed wolves could never be tamed.

Mo Hua asked, “And if I refuse?”

Wusha grinned cruelly. “That’s not up to you.”

Since masks were off, there was no need for courtesy. At this point, Lord Shaman would have to agree—whether willingly or not.

If he refused, they could seize him, torture him, or kill his students one by one before his eyes. Surely he would not endure such a sight.

As long as a man had a weakness, he had a handle. Lord Shaman was no exception.

Wusha’s mind raced—should he strike first?

But suddenly, a sense of danger surged. He looked up to see Mo Hua pointing a pale finger at him.

Witchcraft?

Wusha’s pupils shrank, instinctively surging his spiritual power.

In the very next moment, a black-edged fireball shot from that finger, flying strangely fast straight toward his chest.

That fireball again…

Wusha frowned, then sneered inwardly, channeling the power of his barbarian armor, concentrating his full strength at his chest.

An instant later, the fireball exploded.

Fire spiritual power, controlled by divine sense, writhed chaotically like worms.

Wusha staggered back five or six steps, his armor cracking, chest burning with searing flame and chilling fiendish aura. His expression twisted.

Impossible!

“I’ve already reached the peak of Foundation Establishment! My cultivation has soared—how can Lord Shaman’s fireball still hurt this much?”

“No… worse than before, it’s even stronger!”

Enraged and unwilling, Wusha raised his head, ready to attack—when he met Mo Hua’s eyes.

They were black, unfathomable, terrifying.

For the first time, Wusha saw Lord Shaman’s true eyes.

No one knew what horrors he beheld within them, what terror struck him.

But in that instant, all Wusha’s confidence, courage, and swollen ambition—nurtured by cultivation and power—shattered utterly.

His face drained white, he collapsed to his knees like a worm stripped of its spine.

Wusha kneeled.

The black in Mo Hua’s eyes faded, returning to normal.

Jiao Li and the Red-Armored General had kept their heads bowed, but from the corner of their eyes, they saw Wusha’s pitiful state.

They could not fathom how this weak, worm-like man was, a breath ago, the domineering mountain lord. Their hearts trembled, and they bowed even lower.

Mo Hua looked at Wusha, voice calm: “Do you admit your fault?”

Wusha, trembling, lost all defiance, kowtowed:

“I know! I know I was wrong! Lord Shaman, please don’t kill me! I’m still useful—you cannot kill me!”

Mo Hua’s eyes narrowed. “What use?”

Wusha rushed: “I’m the chieftain of the Wulu Tribe, the heart of the Wusha Mountain Realm! I command two thousand barbarian soldiers! I can serve you! If I die, the tribe will fall into chaos, the realm into turmoil, the two thousand troops will rebel—”

Mo Hua frowned, turning toward the Red-Armored General.

“You. What is your name?”

The general shuddered, realizing he was addressed, hastily replied: “Reporting to Lord Shaman, this lowly one’s name is Yuan—”

Mo Hua cut him off: “No need.”

Mo Hua said slowly: “From now on, you will be called Wusha.”

The Red-Armored General froze.

I’m… Wusha?

“But…” he couldn’t help but glance at his chieftain. “Our chieftain, he…”

He too was Wusha.

Mo Hua nodded. “There can be only one Wusha.”

The general hesitated, then understanding dawned. He dared to lift his head and meet Lord Shaman’s eyes.

Mo Hua’s gaze weighed him.

A spark of courage rose in the general. He slowly stood, and walked toward his chieftain.

The Wusha who had lost his name knelt, eyes wide, face stricken.

“No… no—”

He wanted to resist, but he had no strength, no courage left. His ambition, his defiance, had been shattered by those black eyes.

If Lord Shaman willed his death, he could not escape it.

Clenching his teeth, he glared at his subordinate. “You… you dare…”

The Red-Armored General stepped before him, face cruel, pulling the iron chain from his armor. He wrapped it around Wusha’s throat, strangling his former chieftain to death.

Wusha lost his name—and his life.

The general then twisted off Wusha’s head.

He carried it forward, knelt, and offered it to Mo Hua.

Mo Hua nodded. “From this moment, you are Wusha. You are the chieftain of the Wulu Tribe, and the overlord of the Wusha Mountain Realm.”

The new “Wusha” knelt, kowtowing thrice:

“Thank you for your recognition, Lord Shaman.”

“Wusha will forever obey your commands, Lord Shaman, even if it costs me my life!”

Thus, a barbarian general gained a new name.

A tribe gained a new chieftain.

A mountain realm gained a new overlord.

And yet, outwardly, nothing had changed.

After this, Mo Hua gave the new “Wusha” his first order:

“Take this letter. Go to the northwestern valley of the Wusha Mountain Realm. Invite my ‘guest’ over.”

The new Wusha did not know who this guest was, nor dared ask.

He could only take the letter reverently in both hands and bow: “Wusha obeys.”

Then he departed.

He carried Mo Hua’s letter and arrived at the valley Mo Hua had spoken of.

And then he saw a scene he had never seen in his entire life—and people he would almost never have had the chance to meet in his lifetime.

Golden Core!

A full five Golden Core cultivators!

In a second-grade mountain realm, he actually saw five Golden Core realm tribal cultivators!

Moreover, the one at the front had peerless features and unmatched heroic spirit, like a divine child descending from the heavens, radiantly dazzling, impossible to gaze upon directly.

“Wusha” was utterly shaken.

What was even harder for him to accept was that behind these five stood a troop of five to six hundred barbarian soldiers.

Among these barbarian soldiers, the vast majority were Foundation Establishment.

Quite a number of them were even at the peak of Foundation Establishment.

In other words, of his own cultivation level, there were no fewer than two hundred in this force.

“Wusha” only felt his scalp go numb, his very liver and gallbladder trembling.

In other words, this newly appointed “Wusha,” within his own small second-grade mountain realm, might be a tribal chief, a mountain leader.

But within this force, he was nothing more than a single, insignificant “barbarian soldier.”

There could be thousands upon thousands of “WUSHAs” like him.

(End of this Chapter)