Chapter 1204: The Taotie Law

Chapter 1203: The Taotie Law

In a small corner of the cave, Mo Hua found an open spot, drew a Blazing Fire Formation, lit it up, and began roasting meat for Big Tiger.

The flames danced across the tender meat, sizzling with oil.

Big Tiger drooled at the side, its pair of bronze-bell eyes fixed intently on the roasting meat, utterly focused.

When the meat was about seventy percent cooked, Big Tiger gave a howl to remind Mo Hua: “Done!”

Mo Hua then stopped the fire and “offered” the roasted meat to Big Tiger.

Before such deliciousness, Big Tiger cared nothing for the heat—within moments, it devoured the entire chunk of roast meat in one gulp, eyes squinting into happy slits, clearly enjoying itself.

Having accepted Mo Hua’s “offering,” the resentment it held in its heart—that Mo Hua hadn’t visited it for over a year—dissipated with the fragrant roast meat.

Only then did Big Tiger truly “forgive” Mo Hua.

There was nothing that couldn’t be forgiven, as long as Mo Hua roasted meat for it.

Even soft rice couldn’t compare to the meat roasted by Mo Hua.

Though in truth, the “meat” Mo Hua roasted was itself the soft rice Big Tiger had scrounged.

Watching Big Tiger eat so happily, Mo Hua couldn’t help but feel tempted himself. He curiously cut a small piece, put it into his mouth, and chewed slowly. Of course, he wasn’t a beast—he didn’t dare eat meat that was only seventy percent cooked.

He ate it fully cooked instead. Though the texture wasn’t as tender and it lacked bloodiness, the demonic aura had been roasted clean away, the charred fragrance was richer, and the meat was tender, fresh, and aromatic as it entered his mouth.

Mo Hua was a little shocked.

He had never eaten such good “demon meat” before.

This demon meat was so delicious it could almost rival spirit beast meat, yet it carried a wildness and toughness that spirit beasts lacked, along with faint traces of demon qi that added a unique flavor.

“As expected… only a third-grade demon beast would eat like this…”

In the “flesh vault” of this third-grade Golden Core tiger demon, there was actually such fine meat. What kind of meat was this?

Mo Hua couldn’t help but turn his gaze toward the depths of the cave.

Deeper inside resided that ferocious third-grade One-Eyed Tigress.

The cave was eerie and dark, nothing visible.

Who could tolerate another dwelling beside its lair—much less a third-grade tigress?

Mo Hua knew well that this tigress was sparing him only for Big Tiger’s sake.

But how long would Big Tiger’s “face” last?

Thus, when roasting meat, Mo Hua stayed far from the tigress, lest the ferocious beast lose control and decide to “eat” him instead.

At the same time, doubts swirled in Mo Hua’s heart.

This was a second-grade mountain realm. Why would a third-grade One-Eyed Tigress—its demon qi extraordinary, its presence swallowing clouds and exhaling mist—choose to settle here?

It couldn’t possibly have come here just for Big Tiger, could it?

And what about those other tigresses?

Surely they hadn’t come specifically to deliver “soft rice” to Big Tiger, had they?

Mo Hua’s expression turned peculiar. A trace of “admiration” arose for Big Tiger, but also deep puzzlement:

Why could this Big Tiger eat soft rice?

And even eat the soft rice of a third-grade Golden Core tigress?

That was far too outrageous…

Because of its special bloodline?

Mo Hua recalled how, deep in Great Black Mountain at the Black Mountain Stronghold where evil cultivators gathered, Big Tiger had been captured by the Fourth Boss and drained daily of blood—precisely because its bloodline was unusual, akin to an exotic beast.

Clearly, Big Tiger’s bloodline was extraordinary.

Was that why it could “eat soft rice”?

Mo Hua looked at Big Tiger again and felt it wasn’t just that.

Big Tiger’s physique was robust, its stripes distinct, the black profound and mysterious, the white pure and bright—very beautiful. Its golden-brown eyes shone brilliantly, carrying an imposing majesty.

Among tigers, this was undoubtedly a “handsome fellow.”

Even the Young Master of the Great Wilderness Clan, Tuoba, adored it—let alone tigresses.

It was only natural they liked it.

But of course…

Mo Hua’s expression grew serious.

He suspected another reason:

War.

The war between Dao Court and the Great Wilderness had far-reaching effects. Not only were the elite barbarian warriors of countless tribes drafted,

but even the strongest tiger demons of the three thousand barbarian mountains were almost all “taken away.”

Naturally, those tiger demons were males.

Thus, in the chaos of war, tigresses spread everywhere.

A tiger like Big Tiger—bloodline superior, appearance majestic, bearing innate talent—naturally became a “delicacy.”

At this thought, Mo Hua’s expression turned strange.

He hadn’t expected matters to develop like this…

In times of turmoil, by riding Big Tiger into the Great Wilderness, he had actually brought along a “stallion.”

Mo Hua even couldn’t help thinking: if he, as a Shaman, were to “conquer” the Great Wilderness and bring Big Tiger along, wouldn’t all the tigresses be “conquered” as well?

Would this be… the “Beauty Tiger Plan”?

Mo Hua’s thoughts stirred.

Big Tiger was gnawing on meat when it seemed to sense Mo Hua’s somewhat “impolite” ideas and growled angrily twice.

Mo Hua chuckled, rubbing its neck, but mischievous schemes kept bubbling up in his heart.

If Big Tiger truly used its charm to win over the tigresses of the Great Wilderness and birthed countless cubs…

Then one day, wouldn’t this Big Tiger he had raised from a cub become the “ancestor” of all tiger demons in the wilderness?

Wouldn’t it be the very “source” of the tiger demon bloodline?

The thought left Mo Hua astonished.

The war between Dao Court and the Great Wilderness had given him opportunities for maneuvers in the rear—and given Big Tiger a chance to become the true King of Ten Thousand Tigers.

But if so, the tiger he raised… wouldn’t it become a bit too much of a playboy?

He, such a pure and upright person, was raising a playboy tiger?

Mo Hua felt a bit awkward.

A playboy tiger…

Thinking this, a thought flickered.

Why not name Big Tiger “Da Hua” (Big Flower)—still with the “Big” generation name, bearing stripes, and rather “playboy”?

But then Mo Hua reconsidered: “playboy” was a human concept.

Big Tiger was a demon—it wouldn’t care about such human notions.

Indeed, even Big Tiger itself was vague and unconcerned—it probably didn’t care whether other tigers were male or female.

As long as they were “its kind,” living together was natural.

Big Tiger was innocent—it wasn’t its choice to be playboy, nor did it even know what “playboy” meant.

To call it that was unfair.

But Mo Hua still decided: from now on, it would be called “Da Hua.”

Someday, he would bring Da Hua forth, battle across the lands, and let it sire countless cubs, forming an invincible “Father-and-Sons Tiger Hill.”

Mo Hua joyfully patted Big Tiger’s head.

“From now on, you’ll be called Da Hua.”

Big Tiger snorted, clearly displeased with the name.

Mo Hua roasted more meat and fed it by hand; only then did it reluctantly accept being called “Da Hua.”

Before roast meat, what did names matter?

Names were only human words—what did that have to do with a tiger?

After staying a while longer with Big Tiger in the cave, Mo Hua prepared to leave.

Big Tiger grew reluctant again, grumbling twice as if to remind Mo Hua to come visit when he had time.

It wanted to eat roast meat with Mo Hua, not play with tigresses.

Mo Hua was both amused and touched.

In this entire wilderness, only Big Tiger counted as his “family,” whom he had known since childhood.

Mo Hua rubbed its neck, then turned and departed.

Leaving Wutu Mountain, he returned to Wutu Tribe.

He summoned Elder Zhamu first, warning him that the deep mountains contained something “dangerous,” absolutely not to be approached—for any who entered would surely die.

This was no lie.

Big Tiger was friendly only toward him. To others, they were merely walking “two-legged beasts.” As for the tigresses, especially that third-grade One-Eyed Tigress, all the more so.

They would definitely eat people.

To enter Wutu Mountain rashly was certain death, even for Golden Core cultivators.

Elder Zhamu’s face went pale with fear.

“But as long as no one enters the deep mountain, there will be no great harm. The danger is confined within—it will not come out,” Mo Hua added. Only then did Elder Zhamu sigh in relief.

With Big Tiger’s matter settled for now, Mo Hua had to turn his mind to the future of Wutu Mountain Realm and the Dan-Zhu faction. The greatest looming threat was still the “Famine Disaster.”

Not just in Wutu Mountain Realm—this might affect the entire Great Wilderness.

But this “Famine Disaster” was beyond Mo Hua’s control for now, with no clear way to address it.

He could only station people at the borders of Wutu and Wusha Mountain Realms. Once grass withered and flesh decayed, they were to report to him immediately.

This matter was more important than anything else.

The “Famine Line” could very well become the “death line” of the Great Wilderness in the future.

In addition, Mo Hua sent men to nearby prefectures to gather intelligence on the Bi-Fang Tribe, as well as other third-grade mountain-realm tribes. Once famine spread, tribal wars would erupt, and chaos would multiply.

Countless barbarian warriors would roam, fight, raid, and slaughter.

All these were hidden dangers that could not be ignored… they were inevitable.

And Dan Zhu, as the young master, was deeply worried about the future of the Vermilion Sparrow Tribe.

He did not know whether the Bifang Tribe was gathering its forces solely to target him, or if they intended to launch a large-scale war against the Vermilion Sparrow Tribe.

Therefore, he wanted to think of a way to return to the Vermilion Sparrow Tribe to provide support.

But Mo Hua advised him: “This matter—worrying about it is useless. You are only at the early Golden Core stage…”

Here Mo Hua paused, his mood complicated, but he still kept a grave expression and continued:

“You are only at the early Golden Core stage. In a decisive battle between great tribes, you cannot be of much help. Even in small-scale conflicts, your help would not make much difference.”

“The most urgent task is to first establish yourself, preserve your life, seek survival, and strive for strength. Only when you yourself grow strong and your influence becomes powerful, will you be able to accomplish more.”

Knowing that Mr. Wu had always been accurate in his foresight, Dan Zhu felt much more at ease and nodded: “Yes, teacher.”

Mo Hua thought for a moment, then called for little Zha Tu, instructing him to follow Dan Zhu as a small attendant, handling minor tasks for him.

With someone by his side, Dan Zhu would feel less alone, and Zha Tu, following Dan Zhu, might also gain a good future. It was a win-win situation.

When Elder Zhamu learned of this, he was moved to tears with gratitude toward Mo Hua.

The one he worried about most was his grandson, Zha Tu. Now that Zha Tu had found a “bright path,” Elder Zhamu felt he could die without regret. Even if he were to die right now for Lord Shaman, it would be worth it.

All the related matters were arranged properly.

Despite the famine running rampant outside, within the Wutu Mountain Realm—because of its remote location and period of recuperation—there appeared to be signs of peace and harmony for a time.

And Mo Hua finally had both the time and the stable environment to focus on his own matter—

the most important matter for him at present:

Comprehending the Taotie Formation.

In his possession, Mo Hua had two Absolute Formations of Taotie.

One was the unknown 23-rune Taotie Absolute Formation, retrieved from the skull of the Barbarian God Statue of the Shugu Tribe.

The other was the 24-rune Taotie Twelve-Meridian-Spiritual-Skeleton Absolute Formation.

What Mo Hua now needed to learn was the 23-rune Taotie Absolute Formation.

Previously, while out campaigning with Dan Zhu, he had intermittently pondered over it during the breaks between divinations, and had managed to gain some fragmentary insights.

He was already quite familiar with the runes.

But runes were only the form, the superficial lines.

For Mo Hua—who drew formations day and night, and whose foundation in the Dao of Formations was exceedingly solid—basic rune structures posed little difficulty. The true challenge lay in the circulation of the formation hubs, the design of the formation eyes, and above all, the comprehension of the inner laws contained within the formation.

Especially so with Absolute Formations.

Studying, drawing, and practicing formations were all clear, concrete actions.

But “comprehension” was far more elusive.

One might suddenly gain enlightenment in an instant, seeing the truths of formation theory as clear as day.

Or one might spend ten days, half a month, or even a year or two without making the slightest progress—never knowing what, if anything, had actually been comprehended.

Mo Hua had tried comprehending before, but gained nothing from it.

The Taotie runes were ancient and powerful, their patterns primitive and ferocious, far beyond the Five Elements and Eight Trigrams formations Mo Hua excelled at. They even differed greatly from the Four Symbols Formations.

Mo Hua had studied them for a long time, yet still failed to grasp their essence.

He was even uncertain which direction he should take in his comprehension, completely at a loss.

It had been like this before, and even now—when he finally settled his mind—after much deliberation, he still could not determine what principles the Taotie Formation truly contained, or how he should proceed in comprehending it.

Thus ten days passed, with progress almost at zero.

Mo Hua once again fell into that vicious cycle of endless contemplation, where long hours of thought led to nothing but doubt about whether he had grasped anything at all.

He even began questioning whether he should continue on this path of mere pondering.

After consideration, he realized that such empty speculation was too “idealistic.” Relying purely on imagination made it difficult to find the right direction. Mo Hua sank into deep thought.

He reviewed in his mind his past experiences of learning other Absolute Formations, like the Reversed Spirit Formation, the Thick Earth Formation, and the Spirit Hub Formation. From this he found a method: draw more.

If no clever method could be found, then he would begin with the simplest, most straightforward one.

“As the saying goes, draw the formation a hundred times, and its meaning will reveal itself.”

If one’s comprehension was shallow, it only meant one had not drawn enough.

Draw enough times, and like grinding an iron pestle into a needle, eventually one would grasp the truth.

Sometimes the simplest method was the best.

The truths of the world were often very simple.

The hard part was in doing, and in persisting.

Mo Hua gradually returned to the mindset he had when first learning formations.

Regardless of what the Absolute Formation truly was, or what laws it contained, he would first focus solely on drawing the runes—again and again.

Only after the runes became second nature would he consider anything else.

Mo Hua abandoned all stray thoughts, keeping only a single intent, a single word in mind:

“Draw.”

He kept drawing formations.

Drawing by day, drawing at night upon the Dao Stele—doing nothing else, caring not whether he would ultimately master the Taotie Formation or comprehend its mysteries. He simply kept drawing, treating the Absolute Formation as any ordinary formation, in order to reach an extreme state of single-minded focus.

Thus he drew, and drew, and drew…

Forgetting food and sleep, day and night, not knowing how much time had passed, how many times he had drawn, how many times he had practiced…

Mo Hua eventually reached the point where every rune was engraved in his mind, flowing effortlessly from his brush as though from memory itself.

These ancient, ferocious runes no longer felt unfamiliar. In Mo Hua’s eyes, they had become like his own blood, his own hands, his own bones—part of himself.

When the runes spread across the paper, it was as natural as breathing.

And at last, the runes began to “respond” to Mo Hua.

Heaven rewards diligence.

They finally revealed to him a glimpse of their hidden mysteries.

The Taotie runes faintly connected into a vast web, no longer appearing as rigid glyphs but instead writhing with life, as though they had become carriers of a certain Dao, undergoing subtle and wondrous transformations.

In that moment, Mo Hua suddenly fell into a state of “flow,” dreamlike and hazy, half real, half illusory.

Within this state, when he gazed again upon the Taotie runes, an entirely different vision unfolded before his eyes.

He saw a desolate land, stretching endlessly, littered with mountains of corpses, a scene of despair.

Countless bodies filled heaven and earth.

They had all starved to death—skin clinging to bone, flesh blackened, their unending hunger, resentment, and bitterness surged into the skies, saturating the world. Corpses and resentful qi brewed, fermented, and tangled together, as though even the laws of heaven and earth were being warped.

The corpses of those who died from hunger began to fade, dissolve, and transform into dense, black lines that stacked and intertwined. Heaven and earth twisted, abstracted, distorted, merging into one…

The corpses were formation patterns.

And the formation patterns were also corpses.

All corpses, under the extreme resentment of starvation, had their flesh and blood reduced to dust, merging with heaven and earth.

And all the black formation lines, under the distortion of the laws, ultimately fused into a certain Great Dao of heaven and earth.

Corpses, earth, sky, runes, laws, Dao…

Like a furnace, they were smelted into one.

A terrifying roar burst forth—a convergence of countless voices, heart-rending, soul-tearing, enough to shatter one’s mind—echoing between heaven and earth.

Thick black miasma spread across the world.

Pitch-black lightning split the heavens, like the descent of the apocalypse.

And within that overwhelming sea of resentment, that heaven-covering black haze, within that furnace-like purgatory, there faintly emerged an immense figure.

The figure was vicious, tyrannical, terrifying beyond measure—like the embodiment of the supreme calamity of heaven and earth, driven by countless starving resentful wills, yearning to devour everything beneath the skies, to return all beings and the entire world into primal chaos…

(End of this Chapter)