Chapter 1225: Gold-Squandering Den

Mo Hua and his three companions concealed their auras and approached the oasis. From several li away, even under the veil of night, they could see the interior ablaze with lights—a scene of prosperity blooming like a night-blooming flower in the famine-stricken desert. All of them felt a flicker of surprise.

They did not rashly enter, but watched from afar for a time.

Within the oasis were all manner of tents and stone palaces.

Many barbarian cultivators walked about inside, varied in dress and marked with different totemic demon tattoos on their skin—clearly from different tribes.

This was evidently a desert encampment for survivors amidst the famine.

Moreover, those who could enter were of no ordinary standing—each seemed to be a person of status within their respective tribes.

Within some of the chambers, goblets clinked, jade-like bodies reclined, and endless laughter rang out.

Outside, famine reigned, corpses littered the wilderness—yet here, they drowned in wine and dream, a decadent absurdity.

At this time, the oasis gates were tightly shut.

Outside the gates, a crowd had gathered.

These people were travel-worn, clearly refugees fleeing from some calamity. At the brink of despair, stumbling upon this oasis in the desert was like glimpsing fireflies in the night. All of them gathered here, hoping to enter for refuge.

But at night, the gates remained closed.

The refugees could only wait anxiously outside, faces lined with worry.

Mo Hua thought for a moment, then had Dan-Zhu and Lu-Gu quietly line up among them.

They had all disguised themselves.

Dan-Zhu, handsome and refined, appeared as a young noble. Lu-Gu and Chi-Feng looked like his guards, while Mo Hua played the role of the noble’s attendant. With their auras restrained, no one doubted them.

In such famine years, everyone was too preoccupied with survival to care.

Thus, they waited until dawn.

At daybreak, voices stirred within the oasis. The gates creaked open, and a gatekeeper stepped out.

The crowd grew restless, about to surge forward, but the gatekeeper’s gaze turned cold as he released a wave of pressure, forcing everyone still.

“Golden Core!”

The people trembled— even the gatekeepers were Golden Core cultivators! None dared act rashly now.

Those who had harbored schemes of robbery immediately abandoned the thought.

The gatekeeper declared:

“In these years of calamity, my master, out of compassion, allows you to enter.

But there are two conditions:

First, you must hold proper status—at least a tribal steward or elder.

Second, you must pay a considerable admission fee.

Failing these two conditions, entry is still possible…

But then, you must submit to becoming barbarian slaves. Slaves may also enter the oasis, though their treatment… requires no explanation.

If you meet neither condition and refuse slavery, then you must leave. My master cannot entertain you.

These are troubled times. My master has no choice but to set such rules. I beg your understanding.”

His words were polite, yet the tone was firm.

And since even the gatekeeper was Golden Core, no one dared create trouble.

The crowd began queuing, presenting tokens of identity, offering wealth or treasures as “tickets.”

When Mo Hua’s turn was near, a commotion broke out ahead.

A burly man loudly insisted he was chieftain of a tribe.

The gatekeeper demanded proof. The man retorted that as chieftain, he needed none.

The gatekeeper replied flatly: “Without proof, you cannot enter.”

The man grew agitated, trying to force his way in. The gatekeeper struck, shattering his leg, then tossed him into the desert.

Reiterating coldly: “Words mean nothing. Proof is required.”

Faces in the crowd paled, and some lost their resolve.

Just then, a youth ahead shouted in haste:

“I have proof! I do! I am the young master of the Gongtu Tribe—I have proof!”

The gatekeeper, hearing his loud claim and seeing his pampered look, beckoned him forward: “You, come.”

The so-called Gongtu young master hurried up and presented a token carved of white jade.

Most tribe tokens were carved from beast bone. A token of white jade was rare indeed.

The gatekeeper studied it for a long while.

Fearing rejection, the youth discreetly slipped him a small pouch.

His movements were subtle—others might not notice, but Mo Hua’s divine sense caught it clearly.

From the pouch emanated faint spiritual energy—it was filled with spirit stones.

In the Great Wilderness, spirit stones were exceedingly scarce.

The few spirit mines lay under the royal court’s control or in the hands of the largest tribes.

The royal court monopolized the lifeblood of cultivation in the Wilderness.

Ordinary barbarian cultivators trained using fragments of stones, or tainted, inferior ones.

Many, to avoid reliance on “spiritual energy,” walked the path of “demon cultivation.”

They devoured beasts to replenish blood qi, refined demonic energy to draw what little Dao power they could, to activate their arts.

In the Dao Court’s orthodoxy, spiritual energy and demonic energy were strictly divided.

Spiritual energy was righteous; demonic energy, evil.

But after long in the Wilderness, Mo Hua’s view had shifted. That rigid division was arbitrary and dogmatic.

Spiritual energy was simply the pure, untainted energy of heaven and earth.

Demonic qi, too, was “spiritual energy”—merely tainted by beastly power.

Evil qi was the same.

All cultivation arose from transforming the myriad breaths of heaven and earth into power.

Cultivating spiritual energy was the purest, safest path—orthodox Dao.

Cultivating demonic or evil energy was faster, stronger—but almost always led to madness, falling into the demonic path.

Thus arose the division of righteous and demonic.

This distinction was not wrong. Without such a foundation, one would soon stray and fall.

But in the Wilderness, such notions had little weight.

Survival and cultivation forced them down half-demonic paths.

The distribution of spirit stones across the realm was deeply unfair.

Some were born in poverty of stones—how could they be faulted for straying from the orthodox path?

Still, not all in the Wilderness lacked spirit stones.

At least this Gongtu young master was lavish.

Mo Hua observed him thoughtfully.

The gatekeeper fingered the pouch of stones and looked at the youth.

The youth smiled obsequiously.

After a cursory glance at the jade token, the gatekeeper nodded:

“Gongtu Young Master—very well. Please, enter.”

Even his tone bore respect.

The youth basked in satisfaction, helping along a heavily robed woman with a veiled face—clearly cherished like a treasure.

Behind them, five or six guards pushed carts as they entered.

When the gatekeeper turned back, he barked: “Next.”

It was Mo Hua’s party’s turn.

But Mo Hua was only an “attendant”—this was Dan-Zhu’s role to play.

Dan-Zhu stepped forward, presenting a token.

The token identified him as young master of a branch of the Vermilion Sparrow Tribe.

Claiming the main line would draw too much attention, so he chose a branch identity. Even so, the gatekeeper treated it seriously.

After all, the Vermilion Sparrow Tribe was a great tribe.

And Dan-Zhu’s bearing and appearance were exceptional.

He also presented a Vermilion Sparrow treasure as his “ticket.”

The gatekeeper’s attitude turned reverent. With both hands, he returned the token and said:

“Young Master, please.”

Dan-Zhu inclined his head, leading Mo Hua into the oasis.

Mo Hua glanced back.

The line still stretched long, people yearning to enter.

Those with tokens and wealth could pass.

Those without faced rejection—unless they chose slavery, for the sake of survival in these desolate times.

In the face of life and death, who could cling to dignity?

Mo Hua sighed softly.

…

Passing through the gate and walking down a street guarded by barbarian soldiers, they entered into the oasis.

Buildings and palaces stood in rows, streets were orderly, the markets bustled, and streams of people wove through the noise and clamor.

From some upper floors, half-naked barbarian women leaned out, smiling and waving toward the crowd.

Immersed in this scene, even Mo Hua felt a moment of trance, as if he were not in the desolate Great Wilderness, nor in a year of famine, but within a lavish pleasure den of the Central Plains where gold flowed like water.

Dan-Zhu and the others exchanged glances, each frowning slightly.

Since the situation was unclear, Mo Hua planned to find a place to settle first.

This oasis also had inns, many of them, both expensive and cheap.

But in a famine year, prices were high.

Mo Hua, used to frugality, intended to choose a cheap one and stay temporarily.

Dan-Zhu didn’t object, but Lu-Gu disagreed.

As the grand general of the Shugu main tribe, he was particular about appearances everywhere he went, and naturally could not stand a cheap inn.

Mo Hua didn’t want himself, as the Shaman, to seem “stingy,” so he said nothing—after all, Dan-Zhu was the one paying.

Thus, they stayed at the most expensive, most luxurious inn in the oasis.

And there, they encountered that youth again—the young master of the Gongtu tribe.

The Gongtu young master lacked neither spirit stones nor the airs of a wealthy son; he was particular wherever he went. Staying at the most expensive inn suited him well.

Mo Hua ignored him.

But the Gongtu young master took the initiative to greet Mo Hua and the others.

At the gate earlier, while everyone was in line, they had crossed paths once.

Though it wasn’t exactly “acquaintance,” in a famine year where so few living people remained, it was enough to call each other “familiar faces.”

Outside the oasis, everyone was cautious.

Inside, with crowds and clamor, the environment was more at ease, so the Gongtu young master found some leisure and even had the intention of befriending them.

After all, Dan-Zhu was undeniably the Vermilion Sparrow young master, carrying a noble aura by birth.

So Dan-Zhu spoke with him a little.

Having spent much time with Mo Hua, Dan-Zhu had become more thoughtful, even learning to probe with words.

When speaking of himself, he brushed lightly over it; when speaking of the Gongtu young master, he added praise. Delighted, the young master poured out everything like beans from a bamboo tube.

The Gongtu were a tribe outside the Vermilion Bird Mountain Realm.

Not only Mo Hua, but even Dan-Zhu and the others had never heard of them before.

This tribe was also third-rank—not powerful, but with a special position: they handled procurement and trade exclusively for the Great Wilderness royal court, acting as its brokers.

As for why they fled here, it was said that the famine had cut off the royal domain of the Wilderness King, forcing the surrounding tribes dependent on the royal court to migrate eastward.

During the migration, this young master was separated from his tribe. After much wandering, he somehow ended up here.

Dan-Zhu proved to be a good listener.

Having suffered in silence on the road, the Gongtu young master, now encountering a noble of his “own station,” naturally spoke with fervor.

As they chatted, servants brought in dishes.

Though simply prepared, the food was precious in these famine years.

The Gongtu young master turned from Dan-Zhu to the woman at his side, holding her shoulder tenderly:

“This journey has been hard on you. Eat a little.”

The woman nodded, lifted her veil, and revealed strikingly fair and beautiful features—radiant all the more in the desert.

The surroundings fell silent; many eyes turned toward her.

In that instant, countless gazes were snared by her beauty.

Yet the Gongtu young master didn’t mind at all—on the contrary, he looked smug, proud to display her.

He personally fed her, the two whispering close, an image of passion.

Mo Hua only watched silently, saying nothing.

…

By afternoon, Mo Hua instructed the group to split up and gather information.

Over six thousand barbarian soldiers were still waiting. The purpose of their trip was to see whether they could obtain supplies from this oasis, lest hunger among the troops spark unrest.

Cultivators had means of “storage,” and given the size of this oasis, it was entirely possible that they had stockpiled resources sufficient to feed six thousand men.

But since the oasis’s origins and power were unknown, they had to investigate first.

Mo Hua also cautioned Lu-Gu: “Just gather information—don’t cause trouble, don’t raise your hand.”

Among the four, Lu-Gu had the strongest cultivation, highest rank, and was the most “unruly,” so Mo Hua emphasized it.

Lu-Gu only gave a cold snort: “I know.”

They split up, each investigating through the afternoon, then reconvened at the inn by dusk to share findings.

The oasis indeed contained many merchant halls and warehouses, clearly stockpiled with supplies—especially meat, grain, and even some Fasting Pills of unknown origin.

Though the exact amount was unclear, it was enough to ease their immediate crisis.

But to “trade” for these supplies would surely require a steep price.

Lu-Gu’s opinion was simply to seize them.

As a Shugu general, he understood only the “transaction” of force, never the idea of spending spirit stones to buy.

Mo Hua found it improper.

To rob others without cause was wrong—and besides, it wouldn’t be easy.

In the end, they agreed to wait one night before deciding.

That night, Lu-Gu and Chi-Feng shared a room, while Mo Hua and Dan-Zhu shared another.

Dan-Zhu sat cross-legged in cultivation.

Mo Hua lay on the bed under a blanket, training formations with his divine sense.

As he practiced, his consciousness suddenly stirred—he sensed something amiss.

Opening his eyes, he saw Dan-Zhu also staring back, having noticed it too.

Mo Hua gestured for silence, pressed to the wall, and spread his divine sense—sure enough, he detected a disturbance from the neighboring room.

That room belonged to the Gongtu young master.

And now, several intruders had broken in, binding the young master and his beautiful concubine before carrying them away.

Though they moved stealthily, they still made some noise.

Not only Mo Hua, but many cultivators in nearby rooms sensed it.

Yet, preferring to avoid trouble, no one acted.

Dan-Zhu looked to Mo Hua.

After a moment’s thought, Mo Hua said: “Let’s go take a look.”

He then took out two cloaks of beast-hide, imbued with concealment. One he donned, the other he handed to Dan-Zhu.

Seeing the robes, Dan-Zhu glanced at Mo Hua.

Fearing he might overthink, Mo Hua added: “These were spoils, taken from another tribe not long ago.”

Dan-Zhu nodded—whether believing it or simply used to it, unclear.

The two cloaked themselves and left the room—only to meet Lu-Gu and Chi-Feng outside.

Mo Hua thought them burdensome, but considering the oasis’s unknown dangers, extra muscle could be useful.

So he handed them two more cloaks.

Hidden, the four checked the Gongtu young master’s room—empty save for some broken furniture.

But Mo Hua remembered the young master had a Golden Core guard.

Puzzled, he checked the guard’s room, only to find him collapsed over a table, vomiting green fluid.

On the table lay a wine jug—poisoned.

Mo Hua frowned.

He wasted no more time, immediately setting off in the direction the captors had taken.

After a stick of incense, he spotted several black-clad men ahead, carrying two human-sized sacks.

Mo Hua didn’t strike, but shadowed them at a distance.

Soon, the men slipped into an inconspicuous house, opened a hidden door in the back, and descended into a basement.

Once they shut the door, Dan-Zhu stepped up to try it, but it wouldn’t budge—it was locked.

He looked to Mo Hua.

Mo Hua placed a finger on the lock; runes unfurled, and within moments the door clicked open.

The others were inwardly astonished.

Breaking a door was simple, but to open it so neatly, leaving no trace, was extraordinary.

They entered, Lu-Gu in front, Chi-Feng behind, Dan-Zhu and Mo Hua last.

The passage was long, dark, stone-walled—they walked nearly half an hour before reaching the end.

It opened into a vast prison.

Inside were many chambers, clearly meant for confinement and torture, stocked with all manner of implements.

But the Gongtu young master and his concubine were nowhere in sight.

Mo Hua was about to extend his divine sense when the sound of a woman’s sobbing and pleading reached his ears.

In the deathly still dungeon, it rang clear.

They followed it to the far end, to the last chamber on the right.

Unlike the others, which were cells, this one was arranged like a “bedchamber”—red candles, draped curtains, furs on the floor, lavish in its way.

The air was thick with fragrance.

Mo Hua sniffed—it contained aphrodisiac elements.

He recognized it from the late lustful Elder Ji in Canglang City, who had loved such incense.

Inside were three people.

The Gongtu young master was gagged and bound to one side, eyes wide with grief and rage.

His fair and stunning concubine was also bound, pressed onto the bed, her clothes being torn away piece by piece.

The one tearing was a burly barbarian man, bare-chested, at Golden Core stage, face twisted in pleasure.

Mo Hua needed no guess—this man had seen her beauty by day, his lust was stirred, and by night he ordered her taken.

But why seize the young master too?

By now, most of her garments were gone, exposing stretches of pale skin.

The man grew more excited, suddenly turning to the young master.

The young master, unable to bear watching, squeezed his eyes shut, tears leaking out.

Unhappy, the barbarian grabbed his throat and snarled:

“Who said you could close your eyes? Open them! Watch! If you won’t look, what’s the point for me?”

He sneered: “A woman this beautiful must be taken before her man—see her shame and regret, see his rage and helplessness. That’s what makes it worth it.”

“Keep your eyes open. Watch your beloved yield.”

The young master still refused, eyes shut tight.

The barbarian roared: “If you don’t watch, I’ll gouge out your eyes and then dismember your woman.”

Trembling, he opened them, gaze filled with fury and despair.

The barbarian grinned, satisfied.

Mo Hua frowned.

The degeneracy of the Great Wilderness truly ran deep.

Once men shed moral restraint and surrendered to desire, depravity knew no bounds.

People curse others as “beasts”—but beasts lack such cunning thoughts.

When men become beasts, they surpass beasts in cruelty.

Dan-Zhu’s face was twisted with anger.

Lu-Gu and Chi-Feng looked on with cold indifference.

As generals, long accustomed to death, to them even the fairest skin, once cut, was just raw flesh.

The scene bored them.

The barbarian, however, reveled in it, ripping more fabric, savoring her beauty, her pleas, and her man’s impotence.

The young master’s eyes nearly bled.

Dan-Zhu glanced at Mo Hua again—his kind heart couldn’t bear to ignore this.

Mo Hua sighed inwardly. To act now meant drawing trouble—but to let it pass was impossible.

He nodded.

Dan-Zhu clenched his hand, summoning a chain of mystic fire to coil around the man’s neck.

Chi-Feng flashed forward, slamming his fist into the man’s skull from behind.

The barbarian reeled, pain lancing through him. He roared in rage.

But as a mere early Golden Core, he was no match for Dan-Zhu and Chi-Feng together. Struck hard at the start, he was soon beaten down.

Lu-Gu merely watched, too lazy to act.

Once subdued, Dan-Zhu draped a robe over the woman.

The woman was saved, her eyes brimming with tears, on the verge of sobbing. She lifted her head to look at Dan-Zhu, her gaze dazed, almost entranced.

Mo Hua pointed a finger, unlocking the young master’s chains.

The Gongtu Young Master, now freed, didn’t utter a word of thanks—he rushed straight to his beloved concubine, clutching her tightly in his arms as tears streamed down his face.

“Zhu’er, are you all right? It’s my fault, I’m useless… I failed to protect you.”

The woman only pressed her lips together, saying nothing.

Mo Hua, seeing this, understood clearly, shaking his head inwardly.

Although the battle that had erupted here was brief, it was still a clash involving Golden Core cultivators—the fluctuations were fierce.

Before long, it had already drawn others’ attention.

Soon, another man charged inside—a burly barbarian in a brocade robe, radiating Golden Core aura. The moment he saw the scene, his expression twisted in rage, and he shouted:

“Bastards! Who are you people, daring to cause trouble here?!”

Before Mo Hua could speak, Lu-Gu, who had been coldly watching from the side, suddenly froze. Then his face changed drastically as he exclaimed:

“It’s you?!”

The brocade-robed barbarian stared at Lu-Gu in shock, dumbfounded for a moment, before his face went pale with terror.

“Lord Lu-Gu?! Y-you… how could you possibly be—”

Lu-Gu’s gaze was icy, his voice cuttingly cold, each word dripping with killing intent:

“The Shi-Gu Tribe has been annihilated. You were my elder brother’s subordinate—why are you still alive?”

The Golden Core barbarian panicked, his face contorted in fear. In the next instant, he turned and fled desperately, throwing everything into his escape.

(End of this chapter)