Chapter 1216: Trade and Death-Curse
Chapter 1215: Trade and Death-Curse
The battle in the Wusha Mountain Realm raged until nightfall. The Bifang Tribe and the Shugu Tribe fought bitterly into the evening, leaving many dead and wounded.
From then on, Bi Jie bore a grudge against Lu-Gu.
He remembered how Lu-Gu had colluded with Dan-Zhu to scheme against him.
The Shugu Tribe and the Vermilion Sparrow Tribe—even their ancestral battle armor could be “borrowed” and worn between them?
Two tribes with no ties whatsoever, on the surface competing against each other, yet secretly already wearing the same pair of trousers.
Bi Jie sneered coldly in his heart, looking down even more on Lu-Gu, cursing inwardly:
“To think Lu-Gu is still a general of the Shugu Tribe, yet he betrays the ancestral inheritance, curries favor with the Vermilion Sparrow Tribe, and wallows in filth with Dan-Zhu—a cowardly villain!”
On the other side, Lu-Gu listened to his subordinates’ embellished reports.
Hearing that Bi Jie had secretly ambushed Shugu troops, seized supplies that originally belonged to the Shugu Tribe, and even tried to silence witnesses once things were exposed.
Lu-Gu’s rage exploded. He cursed loudly:
“That brat Bi Jie, shortsighted as a rat! To think he’s the young master of the Bifang Tribe, yet such a despicable bastard! A mere child unfit for strategy!”
In the Great Wilderness, alliances were hard to form, but grudges? Those were far too easy.
Especially with that “demon” Mo Hua stirring trouble from the shadows.
The Bifang and Shugu Tribes did indeed fight fiercely, with many casualties on both sides.
From then on, the two tribes split apart.
Lu-Gu and Bi Jie became mortal enemies.
The two tribes set aside the Vermilion Sparrow Tribe and Wutu Tribe, turning instead on each other, fighting no less than seven or eight battles.
Mo Hua also instructed Dan-Zhu to strike when convenient—but not to kill Shugu clansmen. Instead, they were to secretly “cooperate” with the Shugu Tribe to surround Bi Jie.
Hemmed in on both sides, Bi Jie no longer had a shred of doubt.
From start to finish, it was a blatant trap!
The Shugu Tribe’s ancestors carried the blood of “sinners” and “wanderers,” betrayal etched into their very bones.
Their oaths weren’t worth a single word.
Their honor was worth less than dog shit!
Bi Jie hated them deeply, but was powerless. He could only lead the remnants of the Bifang main force to temporarily retreat to the edges of the Wusha Mountain Realm.
He didn’t leave, but instead crouched like a hungry wolf, waiting for another chance.
Thus, within the Wusha Mountain Realm, only Mo Hua and Lu-Gu’s forces remained.
The balance of power shifted once more.
Mo Hua thought for a moment, then secretly sent someone to deliver a letter to Lu-Gu.
The messenger was none other than the “traitor” Iron Shugu.
Iron Shugu didn’t know whether Mo Hua had discovered his little schemes or simply chose him because of his former position as a Shugu commander. Either way, he dared not refuse.
He handed the letter to Lu-Gu.
Its content was simple:
Mo Hua said he was willing, on behalf of Dan-Zhu, to reconcile with Lu-Gu and the Shugu Tribe’s main force, to form an alliance and advance or retreat together.
At first, Lu-Gu thought Mo Hua was joking.
Not long ago they were crossing blades, and now suddenly a peace letter, even proposing an alliance?
Such childish, bluffing tricks—only fools would believe.
Lu-Gu had no idea what schemes Mo Hua harbored, but after thinking a moment, he still agreed to “meet.”
Whatever this demonic Shaman was plotting, they had to talk face-to-face.
Moreover, after everything that had happened, Lu-Gu had grown extremely wary of Mo Hua. He very much wanted to see this mysterious “Lord Shaman” up close—the one some even suspected was a demon reincarnated.
They arranged to meet at Wufeng Ridge.
Three days later, at Wufeng Ridge.
On a windswept cliff, the leaders of the Shugu and Vermilion Sparrow Tribes met for talks.
Lu-Gu saw the valiant Dan-Zhu, and behind him, the formidable retinue: the barbarian general Chi Feng, Elders Bashan and Bachuan, Iron Shugu, and other powerful Golden Core protectors, as well as over a hundred mighty barbarian soldiers clad in Abyssal-Bone Heavy Armor, surrounding Mo Hua.
The display was overwhelming.
Lu-Gu’s face grew solemn, but his heart sank.
This demonic Shaman—was he truly only at the Foundation Establishment Realm?
Lu-Gu stared at Mo Hua again.
This “demon-like” Foundation Establishment cultivator outwardly looked like a handsome, fair youth, even exuding a solemn and sacred aura. But knowing his deeds, Lu-Gu naturally couldn’t see him as such.
To him, this Foundation Establishment “shaman” seemed righteous on the surface, yet radiated an unspeakable aura of evil. Both demonic and divine…
As Lu-Gu studied Mo Hua, Mo Hua was also observing Lu-Gu.
The man’s appearance matched his expectations.
Most barbarian cultivators were tall and muscular, but Lu-Gu was even larger—like a small giant.
His features were resolute, his eyes like hawks, his hands calloused and cracked—a veteran of countless battles, a formidable tribal general.
His cultivation was at late Golden Core.
A late Golden Core general’s personal strength was immense.
Were it not for being in a second-grade Mountain Realm that suppressed his power, Mo Hua would have had little way to restrain him.
Mo Hua’s thoughts moved, and he spoke directly: “We should reconcile.”
Lu-Gu’s expression was hostile. “Why should I reconcile with you?”
Mo Hua skipped the nonsense: “Let’s make a deal. Your ancestral heavy armor—in exchange for our alliance.”
Lu-Gu’s eyes narrowed. “So you did steal the forging method of my tribe’s ancestors’ armor?”
Mo Hua shook his head firmly: “If you had it, and I took it, that would be called ‘stealing.’ But if you yourselves don’t even know the forging method, and I do—how can that be stealing?”
Lu-Gu was choked silent.
Their ancestral forging method—unknown to them, yet learned by another. Just mentioning it was humiliating.
After a moment’s thought, Lu-Gu nodded. “Fine. If you trade me the forging method of the Abyssal-Bone Armor, we can reconcile.”
But Mo Hua shook his head.
“I can give you the heavy armor, but not the method.”
Lu-Gu’s face twisted with fury.
“You mean to monopolize my tribe’s ancestral inheritance?”
Mo Hua remained calm.
“It’s not that I want to swallow your inheritance. It’s simply that I actually don’t know what your ancestor’s forging method truly was.”
“All of this—was the gift of the Divine-Lord.”
“It was only because the Divine-Lord revealed it to me that I know it. If He doesn’t reveal it to you, I can’t make you know…”
Lu-Gu felt he was spouting nonsense.
But Mo Hua’s expression was so serious, so solemn, that Lu-Gu began to waver. Could it be… that a Divine-Lord truly had bestowed this inheritance upon him?
Otherwise, how could he speak such outrageous things without blushing, without faltering?
Lu-Gu frowned.
Mo Hua asked: “Abyssal-Bone Heavy Armor, in exchange for alliance. Do you accept or not?”
Lu-Gu sneered. “Wars between tribes end only in life or death. The blades of your Vermilion Sparrow Tribe drip with Shugu blood, your spears have pierced Shugu hearts. Between us lies a blood feud. Such sins cannot be washed away with a few suits of armor!”
Mo Hua replied: “Not a few. Ten suits.”
Lu-Gu fell silent.
“Will you trade or not?” Mo Hua pressed.
Lu-Gu said nothing.
“Then forget it.” Mo Hua rose to leave.
Lu-Gu quickly called out, “We can discuss further!”
Ancestral heavy armor—this was treasure passed down for generations. Over the years, when one was damaged, it was lost forever.
Its inner structure was near-divine, impossible to repair or remake.
Such an inheritance—even if one had to steal, kill, or rob—it had to be obtained.
“Ten is not enough,” Lu-Gu said. “Make it twenty.”
Mo Hua shook his head. “Ten only.”
Lu-Gu calculated, then said, “Eighteen.”
Mo Hua countered:“Eight.”
Lu-Gu froze, thinking he’d misheard. He shouted angrily: “You’re lowering the number?!”
Mo Hua said, “That’s how I bargain.”
Lu-Gu was helpless, grinding his teeth. “Fifteen!”
Mo Hua: “Five.”
Lu-Gu nearly exploded, scalp tingling with rage. He wanted to argue, but then thought of something—and forcibly swallowed his words, afraid that if he said more, Mo Hua would cut the offer further.
Mo Hua repeated firmly: “Five.”
Lu-Gu’s face darkened. Clearly he didn’t want to agree.
Seeing this, Mo Hua casually turned to leave.
“If you won’t, then forget it. You’re not the only commander in the Shugu Tribe, nor the only main force. If you don’t accept, others will. If you won’t trade, others will…”
This struck right at Lu-Gu’s heart.
His expression turned frigid. “Stop!”
Mo Hua stopped, turned back, and after a moment’s thought said:
“This is my final offer. Six suits. If you agree, we ally.”
“All my bargaining only ever goes down, never back up. Six is already a huge concession, given only because you are a general. That’s me showing you great respect.”
His tone made it sound as though Lu-Gu was getting an enormous bargain.
Lu-Gu inhaled deeply, then slowly said, “Fine…”
Mo Hua nodded. “Then it’s settled. Your tribe provides the forging materials.”
Lu-Gu’s face stiffened. “We provide the materials too?”
Mo Hua said matter-of-factly,
“Of course. I’ve run out of bones. With famine raging outside and tribes at war, I’ve no way to gather them. So it must be you.”
Lu-Gu asked, “How much?”
Mo Hua replied: “Heavy beast-spine bones—like those of bears—twenty sets. Medium-sized beast-shin bones—like wolves or leopards—thirty sets. Plus assorted arm bones, claw bones… fifty or sixty will do.”
Of course, Mo Hua had inflated the numbers.
The beast materials of the Wutu Mountain Realm were already exhausted, and forging of Abyssal-Bone Heavy Armor had halted.
He could only rely on trading with Lu-Gu, skimming materials for himself to continue forging.
With this, if he made six suits for Lu-Gu, he could still secretly forge twelve more for himself.
Naturally, he was skimming quite a lot.
But Lu-Gu didn’t suspect a thing.
He understood well the difficulty of forging ancestral armor. The success rate was certainly not high, especially when it came to engraving the sacred runes, where the margin for error was so low it was maddening. Inevitably, huge amounts of bone materials would be consumed.
Mo Hua’s “price” actually wasn’t unreasonable.
Lu-Gu nodded. “Alright.”
Mo Hua read his expression and immediately realized he had underquoted.
Even though he had already been quite “black-hearted,” he had still lost out.
“My skin is still too thin… Next time I encounter this kind of situation, I must report a higher price. Otherwise, there’s no room for negotiation, and I end up taking too much of a loss…”
Mo Hua silently reminded himself.
Although he regretted it, Mo Hua didn’t raise the price again.
After all, this was his first business with Lu-Gu, so he had to offer a “discount.”
Moreover, as Lord Shaman, he had to maintain some dignity. Words spoken publicly must be kept; if he changed them arbitrarily, it would make him seem undignified.
Mo Hua nodded. “Then it’s settled.”
He then laid out the specific terms:
“From the date the materials are delivered, within six months, I will forge these six sets of your Ancestral Heavy Armor for the Shugu Tribe, one set per month on average. During this period, the Shugu main tribe under your command, the Vermilion Sparrow sub-tribe under Young Master Dan-Zhu, and the small tribe alliance of the Wutu Mountain Realm shall form a temporary alliance. Day-to-day, we shall not infringe on one another. If external enemies invade, we shall watch over each other and fight side by side…”
Mo Hua spoke with eloquence, every word clear.
Lu-Gu listened carefully, and after considering, found nothing wrong. He finally nodded.
“Okay.”
Thus, under Mo Hua’s orchestration, the Shugu Tribe—having just broken with the Bifang Tribe—formally allied with the Vermilion Sparrow Tribe and the Wutu Tribe.
And the very first thing the two sides did after forming this alliance was to strike against the Bifang Tribe.
This was to witness their “friendly” alliance and show sincerity to one another.
This time, it truly wasn’t “an act.”
Nor was it Mo Hua sowing discord.
The Vermilion Sparrow and Shugu Tribes had truly “joined hands in villainy.”
What had been fake now became real, making the question of truth or falsehood irrelevant.
“Dan-Zhu, Lu-Gu… those two wretches!”
Bi Jie’s heart burned with fury. He wished he could flay them alive, pull their tendons, crush their bones into dust, and scatter their souls into the endless abyss.
But he could only rage helplessly.
Under the combined assault of the Vermilion Sparrow and Shugu Tribes, especially under the crushing weight of both sides’ Abyssal-Bone heavy troops, Bi Jie’s Bifang main tribe had no power to resist. After suffering over a hundred casualties, Bi Jie lost all hope, forced to retreat in bitterness, fleeing the Wusha Mountain Realm in disgrace.
He now regarded Lu-Gu and Dan-Zhu as mortal enemies.
From then on, any possibility of alliance between Bi Jie and Lu-Gu was virtually gone.
Mo Hua, meanwhile, had learned much:
“First, sow discord, stir up trouble, and let the enemy fall into internal strife and division.”
“Then, ally with the distant to attack the near, use threats and temptations to draw in some enemies, strike others, until the strong enemies split apart, even disintegrate, and finally vanish into nothingness…”
It seemed simple, but in practice it required finesse—and the results were excellent.
Mo Hua nodded with satisfaction, feeling he had gained much.
With Bi Jie defeated and Lu-Gu “won over,” the threat to the Wutu Mountain Realm was eliminated.
The temporary alliance between the Shugu and Vermilion Sparrow Tribes also brought greater harmony within the realm. The previous tension and bloodshed faded; at times, the tribes even exchanged supplies.
The Wutu Tribe traded grain for bone materials from the Shugu Tribe.
The Wutu Tribe lacked no food, but the Shugu Tribe desperately did.
And to deal with food shortages, some of the Shugu Tribe’s “excess” barbarian slaves were traded to the Wutu Mountain Realm, supplementing Mo Hua’s shortage of manpower.
Everything seemed stable.
But Mo Hua knew well: “In hardship we thrive, in comfort we perish”—an eternal truth.
If things stayed this peaceful, disaster would surely strike in no time.
Mo Hua had no choice but to seek a breakthrough.
After careful thought, he concluded that under the current circumstances, it was time to attempt a counteroffensive into the Vermilion Bird Mountain Realm.
To not retreat when one should, to not hide when one must, but only to rush and fight blindly—that was recklessness.
Likewise, to not advance when one should, to not strive when one must, but to cling to a small corner—that was foolish “conservatism.”
The Vermilion Bird Mountain Realm was a third-grade great realm, with more land, more tribes, greater chaos, and far greater dangers.
It was the domain of Golden Cores. With the fate-bane curse binding him, unable to use large-scale formations like “Mountain-Crushing Extermination,” it was somewhat beyond Mo Hua’s control. Trying to manipulate causality and fortune there was far more difficult.
The entire process would surely be fraught with setbacks.
But if he didn’t at least attempt it step by step, the current situation would never change, and his power would never truly grow. Moreover, at this point, Mo Hua had to seriously think about how to “eat” his way to twenty-four runes.
He had once faintly felt that relying only on “eating” to strengthen divine sense wasn’t the right path.
This constant devouring of foreign spiritual will to amplify his own divine sense seemed like a crooked path.
Divine sense gained this way was ultimately not solid. His foundation wasn’t as firm as when he had once honed himself bit by bit with formations. But Mo Hua truly had no choice.
The path of cultivating divine sense was obscure to begin with, and clearly, Mo Hua had already strayed from it.
This led to his need for an extraordinarily large amount of divine sense to advance realms.
So high it was simply beyond human standards.
Without “eating,” he might truly never form a Golden Core in this lifetime.
Thus he had to first exhaust every means to form his Core, and only later worry about the foundations of his divine sense.
It was a choice made out of helplessness.
“I just wonder if, in that third-grade Vermilion Bird Mountain Realm I once could only ‘dip a toe into,’ there might be some hidden ‘big fish’ to fill my belly…”
Mo Hua silently hoped.
If he could directly consume his way to twenty-four runes, it would be ideal.
He might even directly form his Golden Core…
A month later, having roughly finalized his plans, Mo Hua wrote a jade slip and had it sent to Lu-Gu in the Wusha Mountain Realm. Along with the slip were two newly forged sets of Abyssal-Bone Heavy Armor.
This was the agreed payment—and a “sweetener” for Lu-Gu.
Mo Hua wanted to pull Lu-Gu along back into the third-grade Vermilion Bird Mountain Realm.
Lu-Gu was the great general of the Shugu main tribe, a late-stage Golden Core cultivator. In a third-grade realm, his strength would be even greater. If Mo Hua could truly “win him over,” he would be a tremendous ally.
With Lu-Gu’s aid, his plans in the Vermilion Bird Mountain Realm would certainly yield twice the result with half the effort.
When Lu-Gu saw the Abyssal-Bone Heavy Armor, he was delighted, and readily agreed to Mo Hua’s proposal.
But after receiving Lu-Gu’s reply, Mo Hua, though relieved, frowned. Lu-Gu had agreed far too easily—something felt off.
After some thought, Mo Hua slipped into Iron Shugu’s tent under cover of night.
Inside the elder’s tent of Iron Shugu, under the dark of night.
Iron Shugu was furtively “sending messages” to Lu-Gu.
Mo Hua stood silently behind him, peering over his shoulder, watching him chat with Lu-Gu.
This wasn’t Mo Hua’s first time doing this.
Lately, he often spied on Iron Shugu’s midnight “private talks” with Lu-Gu.
The two communicated using a special bone slip called the “Bone Transmission Talisman.”
Iron Shugu would write with blood on the slip; Lu-Gu would receive the message and reply.
Iron Shugu hadn’t originally possessed such a talisman.
But ever since Mo Hua split and pulled factions, allied with the Shugu Tribe, and improved relations between the Shugu and Vermilion Sparrow Tribes, the two sides grew closer. At some unknown point, Iron Shugu had secretly “met” with Lu-Gu, made an agreement, and exchanged bone slips to conspire and communicate in private.
Mo Hua quite enjoyed watching them collude, occasionally sneaking in to “peek” and keep track of their plotting.
Iron Shugu had suspected before that his actions might be discovered by Mo Hua.
But after many secret exchanges with Lu-Gu without a single reaction from Mo Hua, his guard had gradually lowered. In his mind, Mo Hua was only a Foundation Establishment cultivator—and a ferocious demon at that.
A Foundation Establishment cultivator could never silently detect the movements of a Golden Core.
And if Mo Hua had truly discovered his “betrayal,” then as a cruel “demon,” he would surely have flown into a rage, killing him, skinning him alive, pulling out his tendons, and even devouring his innards.
Since he wasn’t dead, it clearly meant the “demon” hadn’t found out.
So thought Iron Shugu.
But he had clearly underestimated Mo Hua’s abilities—underestimated his tolerance toward this “traitor.”
And underestimated his insidiousness and dark sense of humor…
In the white bone slip, the two were now chatting “in secret.”
“Are you really certain this Foundation Establishment Mister Wu is a demon?”
Lu-Gu was again confirming Mo Hua’s true nature with Iron Shugu.
Apparently, his interactions with Mo Hua in recent days had given him new impressions, raising doubts about Mo Hua’s true nature.
Iron Shugu, however, replied firmly: “This man is deceitful—he must, without a doubt, be a demon!”
Though deep inside, he had wavered before.
Especially after witnessing Mo Hua’s “justice” and “compassion” toward the barbarians, as well as his seemingly divine, miraculous “powers,” Iron Shugu had once even suspected that Mo Hua might not be a “demon” at all.
But stirring such doubts in people’s hearts was itself a trait of demons.
Through harsh self-criticism, Iron Shugu quickly re-affirmed his belief.
All that justice and compassion were only a mask of human skin.
Those so-called “divine powers” were merely demon powers clad in golden raiment.
On this point, there was no room for doubt.
The struggle against demons was a long, perilous road, one where not even the slightest negligence or hesitation could be allowed.
Lu-Gu sent a blood-written message: “Then have you found a method to slay this demon, to cast it into eternal damnation, dead beyond rebirth?”
Mo Hua’s brow arched, irritation rising.
This Lu-Gu—he had just received two sets of heavy armor as “gifts” from him, and yet now he was plotting his death, even wishing him to be damned for eternity?
Sure enough, in this Great Wilderness, there were hardly any “good folk.” It was crawling with ingrates.
Iron-Bone’s brow furrowed deeply—clearly faced with a grave dilemma:
“I have closely observed this demon for long. His body of flesh and blood is riddled with flaws: weak spiritual roots, frail and feeble flesh, seemingly fragile as if a mere Foundation cultivator—one palm strike would suffice to kill him.
But if one truly tries to kill him, those flaws seem to vanish. I cannot discern how to kill him, nor how it could ever be done. What’s more, at this point, there may not even be an opportunity to strike.
This demon is exceedingly skilled at beguiling hearts. The entire Vermilion Sparrow Tribe reveres him like a god, the young master respects him as a teacher, the Golden Cores heed his commands, and over a hundred Abyssal-Bone heavy troops seem as though his personal guard. Under such layers of protection, there is simply no way to strike…”
“I pondered again and again, and found only one… no-solution of a solution…”
By the time Iron-Bone wrote this, his face had grown pale.
On the other side, Lu-Gu too carved with his blood, one word at a time: “You mean… the Death-Summoning Art?”
Iron-Bone’s hand trembled as he wrote with his own blood:
“…to go to the Bone-Ancestors’ tomb, the White Bone Mausoleum, and awaken one of the deceased ancestors of the Bone Tribe. Then, have that ancestor employ the Grand Shaman’s art of communion with the underworld—to ‘curse’ this demon to death…”
By the time he wrote this, Iron-Bone’s lips were drained of all color, as though steeped in unbearable dread.
Mo Hua’s gaze quivered.
The White Bone Mausoleum.
The Grand Shaman’s Art…
(End of this Chapter)