Chapter 1230: Entering the Game

Chapter 1229: Entering the Game

Mo Hua stood there in a daze for a long time, then let out a long sigh.

Those who pry into the secrets of Heaven—they steal from the Heavenly Dao for their own gain, even if it means bringing endless suffering upon all living beings.

So this is what it means… to be one who plays the game?

So this… is the true use of the Heavenly Secrets?

The emotions in Mo Hua’s heart were a tangled storm of complexity. Then, suddenly, he thought of his Martial Uncle.

“Could it be… that even Martial Uncle was seen through and used by the Hua Clan?”

Emotionally, Mo Hua found it difficult to accept.

(TN: Same here)

Yet when he thought about it carefully, it was not all that surprising.

His Martial Uncle, a Daoist in his own right, had stirred up the winds and clouds for so long—how could the upper echelons of the Dao Court possibly have ignored him?

The foundations of the Dao Court, and of those great clans, were deep beyond comprehension.

No matter how powerful his Martial Uncle was, he was still but one man—how could he possibly contend with the many ancient ancestors of such mighty forces?

Those family ancestors had lived for unknown ages, their cultivations were at least of the Hollow Void Realm, perhaps even higher. While Martial Uncle was powerful, he was after all, only at the Nascent Soul Realm…

All the means of a cultivator ultimately rest upon the foundation of cultivation itself. Thus, his Martial Uncle’s schemes had likely been foreseen, from the very beginning, by those even more cunning and terrifying old monsters.

Mo Hua exhaled deeply. His fear of his Martial Uncle lessened slightly—but the shadow looming over his head grew only heavier.

This time, that shadow wasn’t just one figure, but countless hidden players like the Hua Clan Ancestor, each manipulating the board from behind the scenes.

Mo Hua looked again at the map before him—the famine chart of the Three Thousand Barbarian Great Wilderness.

Many things that he had not been able to understand before, now became crystal clear.

What was the purpose behind his Martial Uncle’s great famine?

Roughly speaking, it was just as he had previously guessed—a force born of Taotie power, a formation, a disaster cast upon the Great Wilderness.

But more specifically, his Martial Uncle had another intention—he was using the famine to “shrink the circle.”

On the famine map, the spread of famine moved inward step by step, from the outer edges of the Great Wilderness, gradually closing in toward the center, until, at the heart of it, a large “safe zone” formed.

That “safe zone” was the Martial Uncle’s true objective.

The famine was like a “poison circle.”

Those unlucky or foolish would die within the poison.

Those fortunate or clever enough would naturally be driven inward by it.

As the famine spread and the “circle” tightened, all surviving cultivators would be forced toward the “safe zone” in the center—the final remaining land of survival in the Great Wilderness.

There, the majority of tribes and countless barbarian cultivators would gather together.

Such concentration would inevitably lead to massive conflict, and massive conflict would bring massive death.

The accumulated resentment from that death would give birth to even greater Dao-Sin.

This was the line of thought behind his Martial Uncle’s “game.”

The Great Wilderness was too fragmented—tribes scattered, people dispersed—so he intended to herd everyone together like “livestock” for one grand slaughter.

The Hua Clan Ancestor’s intent, on the other hand, was also shown clearly upon the map.

His Martial Uncle sought to kill—to harvest the lives of the Great Wilderness.

The Hua Clan sought profit—the cultivation resources.

Their ancestor had calculated the progression of the famine, and, taking advantage of it, slipped into the chaos to flood the Great Wilderness with inferior Fasting Pills, ruthlessly harvesting its foundation.

Those within the game are blind; those outside see clearly.

Previously, Mo Hua had been one of the pieces on the board. Now, after seeing this chart, he stood above it like an observer overlooking the board—and from that height, he caught a glimpse of the entire game.

The Great Wilderness was like a vast “test paper.”

His Martial Uncle and the Hua Clan had each written down their answers, each seeking their own ends.

Now it was Mo Hua’s turn… to “answer the question.”

Mo Hua sighed softly.

He was not his Martial Uncle—he lacked such unfathomable, deceitful Daoist powers, and he possessed none of that awe-inspiring authority.

Nor was he one of the ancestor patriarchs—he had no Hollow Void cultivation, nor any vast clan behind him.

All he could do now… was survive.

To avoid dying in his Martial Uncle’s “poison circle.”

He couldn’t leave the Great Wilderness. His only option was to reach the “safe zone” shown on the famine map before the circle closed completely.

Otherwise, Dan-Zhu would die, the six thousand barbarian soldiers would die, and he himself would not survive either.

Even if the so-called “safe zone” wasn’t truly safe, Mo Hua had no choice.

In the Great Wilderness as it now stood—there was only this one path left.

If not for his sharp sense of causality, his mastery of formations, and his meticulous nature, he would never have found this Hua Clan famine map, nor discovered this single thread of life hidden within the game.

As for what came after—he would think about that once he reached the “safe zone.”

Mo Hua’s gaze dimmed.

He carefully put away the famine map, destroyed all remaining traces, and then left the secret chamber.

Meeting with Dan-Zhu and the others, he spoke solemnly:

“Last night, a star fell upon the Great Wilderness. The Divine-Lord came to me in a dream, bestowed me with revelation, and pointed out the path we must take next.”

“From this point on, you will follow me. Only those who follow the Divine-Lord’s guidance can escape the sea of suffering. Those who defy it will drown in calamity, hungering for flesh and blood, forever denied reincarnation.”

His tone was grave and reverent.

Dan-Zhu and the others straightened, then all cupped their hands in unison:

“Yes, Sir.”

“Yes, Mister Wu.”

“Yes, Lord Shaman!”

The Vermilion Sparrow Tribe, the Wutu Alliance, and the Shugu Tribe among them—a total of six thousand barbarian soldiers—restocked their supplies in the oasis, rested for a day, and then, under the guidance of the “Lord Shaman” who could hear divine oracles, set forth once more upon their journey.

…

Meanwhile, on the other side of the desert.

In another secret oasis chamber, an old man in black-green robes was whispering to a plump, wealthy-looking middle-aged cultivator:

“Lu-Gu must’ve discovered something—that’s why he’s attacked us again and again… probably seeking revenge.”

“He should also know what I did to his brother…”

“And the message sent back by the Young Master was accurate—the Shugu Tribe and the Vermilion Sparrow Tribe indeed have a secret alliance…”

The black-green-robed elder rambled on and on.

But the plump, prosperous cultivator only shook his head and said coldly:

“None of that concerns me. You tribes killing each other—that’s your own affair. I just do business. I take no part in any grudges.”

The black-green-robed elder bowed his head. “Yes.”

Though his own cultivation was at late Golden Core stage, and the man before him was only early Golden Core, he spoke with visible respect, not daring the slightest hint of rudeness—proof that this man’s identity was extraordinary.

If Mo Hua had been here at that very moment, he would have immediately recognized the plump, wealthy middle-aged cultivator—an old acquaintance of his:

Elder You.

Elder You was checking the ledgers as he spoke to the black-green-robed elder: “There must not be a next time…”

He lifted his head, eyes sharp.

“This shipment lost nearly forty percent of our Fasting Pills—that loss is too great. You know how precious these pills are now.”

“One Fasting Pill might save a life. Calling it worth its weight in gold would not be an exaggeration. If used correctly, a few hundred pills could buy even a small tribe’s ancestral inheritance.”

“And as the famine worsens, these pills will only grow more valuable.”

He sighed.

“All the outer roads are blocked by the famine. No more pills can be brought in. Every Fasting Pill sold is one fewer in our stock—every one eaten is one gone forever. They must be used to their fullest.”

“This oasis being taken was an accident. I don’t blame you—business has its risks. But…”

Elder You’s eyes darkened dangerously.

“There must never be a next time. I hate losing spirit stones. Even if you’re the Great Elder of the Bi-Fang Tribe…”

“Remember this—spirit stones are the most precious thing in this world. If you make me lose them—you’re making me lose my life.”

The black-green-robed elder felt immense pressure under Elder You’s sharp, almost inhuman gaze. He hurriedly bowed his head.

“Rest assured, Elder. It won’t happen again. Rarity makes value—we’ll safeguard the remaining Fasting Pills carefully and sell them at a fine price!”

At the words fine price, Elder You’s expression finally softened a little.

“Good. Pack up and leave early. This place can’t be stayed in for long. The famine is still closing in—we must transport our goods to the safe zones before the wilderness becomes completely barren. That’s when the real business begins.”

The black-green-robed elder nodded, but then frowned in concern.

“The oasis was taken… will that expose anything?”

Elder You asked, “The famine map—did you destroy it?”

“Destroyed.” the elder replied.

“And the rest?”

“Everything important was taken. Only some Fasting Pills remain.”

“The ones in the white bottles?”

Elder You thought for a moment, then said, “That’s fine. The map is gone. A few Fasting Pills and bottles—nothing traceable.”

“Will anyone notice?” the black-green robed elder pressed.

Elder You sneered.

“Notice from a few bottles? That’d be divine sight indeed. If someone could tell from that, they might as well join my Hua Clan as a ancestor patriarch.”

The black-green robed elder mulled it over, then nodded. “True enough.”

“All right, no more talk. Big business waits for no one. Go prepare,” said Elder You.

“Yes, I’ll see to it immediately.”

The black-green-robed Great Elder of the Bi-Fang Tribe bowed deeply and withdrew.

Elder You continued poring over the ledgers, calculating the routes and profit margins ahead.

But after a while, a sudden unease crept over his heart—an ominous chill, as if some unseen creditor was waiting for him just beyond the horizon.

A… creditor?

Elder You frowned in thought.

He was a businessman—where would a creditor come from?

Every spirit stone he had was earned by skill—whether by trickery, robbery, borrowing, or having others work for free. Once it entered his hand, it was his profit.

There was no such thing as “debt.”

Anyone he could deceive, borrow from, or exploit were fools, nothing more.

And besides, this was his first time in the Great Wilderness. How could there possibly be some long-forgotten “creditor” waiting for him here?

Elder You sneered and dismissed the feeling.

…

On the other side, under Mo Hua’s guidance, the group packed their belongings, gathered the supplies, and stored the large quantity of Fasting Pills before setting off—stepping into the boundless yellow sands.

The route had already been marked by the Hua Family Ancestor Patriarch on the Famine Map.

Mo Hua simply had to follow the karmic path deduced by the Hua Family Ancestor Patriarch, heading deeper into the Great Wilderness.

As they traveled and were about to leave the desert, Mo Hua couldn’t help but glance back.

He seemed to sense a familiar aura lingering in the wasteland—someone deeply connected to him, as though owing him something.

He frowned, unable to recall who in the Great Wilderness could owe him anything, and thus set the thought aside.

The road ahead was perilous; he needed to focus on leading the way.

Whoever truly owed him would not escape in the end.

In the days that followed, the six thousand barbarian soldiers of the Vermilion Sparrow Tribe and Shugu Tribe marched without rest under Mo Hua’s guidance.

The famine had spread, making the Great Wilderness environment extremely harsh.

Fortunately, Mo Hua could divine karma and steer clear of calamity.

And with the abundance of Fasting Pills they had seized, none lacked sustenance for the time being.

Thus, though the journey was fraught with danger and disaster—encounters with killing fields and perilous lands—they suffered no casualties under Mo Hua’s direction.

Still, confusion clouded everyone’s hearts.

They knew not where the path led, nor where Lord Shaman intended to take them. In this age of famine and ruin, they couldn’t imagine where life could still exist.

After half a month of travel, crossing a mountain range, the scene before them suddenly opened wide.

Before their eyes spread a vast land teeming with vitality—a massive basin enclosed by several towering mountain ranges of the Great Wilderness, spanning dozens of mountain realms.

Those dozens of realms—second-grade and third-grade—lay side by side, each marked by distinct tribal totems scattered among the mountains. From afar, one could see the bustling vitality, far surpassing any region of the wilderness they had seen before.

It was like a “paradise beyond the world” amid the apocalypse.

Everyone’s faces lit with joy, cheers and hope rippled through the crowd.

But Mo Hua could not smile.

Because he understood better than anyone else: this “paradise” was deliberately left for them by his Martial Uncle.

It was his Martial Uncle’s means of proving the Strange Dao—creating a spark of vitality amidst the famine, gathering all remaining cultivators of the Great Wilderness together.

Letting life gather to its peak—then turning that immense “life” into a boundless “death.”

That was…the way of a Daoist proving his Dao.

And behind it were not only his Martial Uncle’s designs, but also the Hua Family’s—and even other noble clans’.

The survivors of the Great Wilderness would first be exploited for profit by the Hua Family—then starve to death amidst the famine.

Even after death, they would find no peace.

For only in death would they become his Martial Uncle’s true “playthings.”

“The Dao is without compassion; all beings are but straw dogs.”

Standing atop the mountain, watching it all unfold, Mo Hua could not help but sigh with this realization.

And “Heaven and Earth as the chessboard, all living beings as its pieces”—that truth now lay vividly before his eyes.

All those lofty cultivators—whether high above the clouds or hidden in shadow—used the lives of mortals to prove their Dao and pursue their gain.

“The current game of the Great Wilderness… the Dao Court plays, the noble clans play, the Demon Sect plays, and my Martial Uncle as well…”

“And now…”

“I, too, shall enter the game.”

Mo Hua drew a deep breath. His gaze was as deep as the sea.

Then he turned and said softly: “Let’s go.”

Leading Dan-Zhu and the others, along with six thousand barbarian soldiers under his command, he stepped into the final battlefield that would decide the fate of all life in the Great Wilderness.

(End of this Chapter)