Chapter 1235: Elder She

Chapter 1234: Elder She

A voice suddenly spoke beside him.

The mysterious, sinister black-robed cultivator was startled out of his wits. He raised his head—only to see, within the darkness, a pair of eyes bright as the stars, gazing at him with unfathomable depth. That gaze made him feel as insignificant as an ant.

Terror sprouted from the depths of his heart.

His hand trembled, his brush slipped—and the formation he had painstakingly drawn halfway was instantly ruined.

The black-robed cultivator’s heart ached with fury. Just as he steadied himself and sensed the aura of the one who had spoken, he found that although the aura was strange and deep, the spiritual power leaking from it was weak—merely Foundation Establishment!

His anger surged even higher.

“A mere Foundation brat dares to ruin my grand work? Courting death!”

He flicked his right hand, releasing a ball of green light that coiled toward Mo Hua, thick with venomous fumes meant to melt flesh and bone.

Mo Hua tapped his foot lightly, sliding back three steps, then pointed at the black-robed cultivator.

“Catch him.”

The black-robed cultivator froze, then sneered.

“Who do you think you are? You think you can just say ‘catch me’ and—”

Before he could finish, a tall figure shot out from the shadows—long spear blazing like fire—charging straight toward him.

“Golden Core—mid stage?!”

The black-robed cultivator’s face changed drastically. He hastily took out a green Poison Cauldron, urging it to release tangible clouds of toxic vapor to envelop himself.

But Chì Fēng was faster. The flaming spear tore through the poisonous miasma, piercing straight into the black-robed man’s arm. With a muffled groan, the Poison Cauldron fell to the ground—its power broken.

“Damn it!” the black-robed cultivator cursed through clenched teeth.

He chanted a spell to recall the cauldron, then crushed a bone talisman in his left hand. As evil winds swirled, he turned to flee… and slammed right into someone’s chest.

The man before him was tall, his body hard as steel. The black-robed cultivator looked up in terror.

“Lu-Gu?!”

Lu-Gu seized the opening and threw a punch—crashing down like a collapsing mountain.

The cultivator had no time to activate his treasures; he instinctively raised his arms to block—but with two sharp cracks, both were shattered.

He roared in agony.

Lu-Gu gripped his throat, then slammed another heavy punch into his abdomen, knocking him unconscious.

Once the man was captured, Mo Hua finally relaxed and swept his gaze around.

He saw that all around the idol lay offerings of blood and flesh; the statue itself was drenched in human blood, and a divine formation was half-drawn on the ground.

A Divine Dao formation—to imprison a barbarian god.

Using living flesh and blood to taint its divinity and lure it into corruption.

Sometimes, it was hard to say which was more evil—humans or the gods they tried to defile.

Mo Hua ordered Chì Fēng to dismantle the ritual setup, while he smeared away the half-drawn formation lines himself.

With the corruption ritual halted and the array erased, the air’s evil miasma slowly thinned.

As for the barbarian god of this little tribe…

Mo Hua eyed the crude, rough-hewn idol before him. Judging by its size, such a “little barbarian god,” even if eaten, wouldn’t fill the gaps between his teeth.

Besides, he hadn’t brought Iron-Shugu with him—no one to dance the opening rite.

And since the god hadn’t truly fallen into corruption, it couldn’t create nightmares or open the gate by itself.

Eating it would be too much trouble.

“Forget it…” Mo Hua thought silently.

There were more important matters to attend to anyway.

He glanced at the black-robed cultivator, who was now dangling in Lu-Gu’s grasp like a scrawny chicken, and decided the man must be hiding plenty of secrets.

“Withdraw first,” Mo Hua ordered.

“Understood,” Chì Fēng nodded.

Lu-Gu said nothing, but followed the command without hesitation.

After the trio left, the barbarian cultivators of the small tribe still slumbered soundly, evidently drugged by the black-robed man’s concoctions. Even the noise of Golden Core-level battle hadn’t roused them.

Within the idol, the tiny barbarian god bowed faintly in Mo Hua’s direction—in thanks for not being eaten, and for being saved.

…

In a nearby grove, Mo Hua flicked his fingers, setting up a simple formation to block sound and sight.

“Wake him,” he told Chì Fēng.

Chì Fēng approached and yanked off the man’s hood—then his face darkened slightly.

Mo Hua asked: “You recognize him?”

Chì Fēng nodded.

“He’s a Golden Core elder from the Bifang Tribe. Many of their poisons come from his hand. Sir, you should’ve seen him before—when we fought Bi Jie in the Shugu Tribe’s secret lands, he was there…”

At that, Mo Hua suddenly remembered.

Back when he had fought Bi Jie several times, whenever Bi Jie lost his temper under Mo Hua’s provocations, there was always an elder in the crowd who calmed him with just a look. That elder had blended in among the others, his face dark and weathered—one of those typical Great Wilderness visages Mo Hua couldn’t be bothered to remember.

And now, in the dark, with the man cloaked in black, Mo Hua hadn’t recognized him earlier.

Mo Hua asked, “What’s his name?”

Chì Fēng replied, “The Bifang Tribe calls him… Elder She.”

“Elder She?”

Mo Hua’s brows rose slightly. Something about that name—especially the word She—felt oddly familiar, as if he’d heard it somewhere before…

Just then, Elder She slowly regained consciousness. He lifted his head, and by moonlight, recognized the young Foundation Establishment cultivator who had ruined his plans.

“You’re… that fake shaman?!”

Mo Hua’s expression darkened.

Chì Fēng slapped him across the face.

“Impudent! How dare you show disrespect to Sir!”

Several of Elder She’s teeth flew out. He clutched his face in disbelief.

A Foundation Establishment shaman? Seriously?

Did people actually believe that nonsense?

He could understand others being fooled—but Chì Fēng, a mid-stage Golden Core general of the Vermilion Sparrow Tribe, war-hardened and renowned, also brainwashed this thoroughly?

Had someone hexed him with a brain-melting curse?

And then there was Lu-Gu.

He glanced toward the silent powerhouse.

He’d heard rumors of the Shugu Tribe and Vermilion Sparrow Tribe “collaborating,” but collaboration was supposed to mean alliance, not servitude!

In any alliance, the strong lead the weak.

Yet Lu-Gu—a late Golden Core general—was clearly obeying this Foundation Establishment youth’s every command.

Wasn’t this… absurdly unnatural?

Elder She couldn’t comprehend it. His mind spun in confusion at the madness of it all.

Mo Hua, however, was done with patience.

He said coldly: “I ask. You answer. Nothing else. Or I’ll have your Golden Core crushed.”

Elder She glanced at the two towering warriors—Chì Fēng and Lu-Gu—and, knowing when to yield, nodded reluctantly.

Mo Hua paused to think, then asked: “Why are you here?”

A flicker of bitterness crossed Elder She’s face. He sighed. “I was defeated. I fled here.”

“Defeated?” Mo Hua was surprised. “Your Bifang Tribe lost?”

Elder She nodded.

“Lost to the Wujiao Tribe.”

“Wujiao…”

Mo Hua froze slightly.

Chì Fēng and Lu-Gu exchanged grim looks.

Mo Hua recalled that he’d once ordered the execution of a barbarian general, slaughtered his troops, and seized more than a hundred and fifty barbarian warhorses. He asked: “Is the Wujiao Tribe that strong?”

Under the pale moonlight, Elder She’s face looked ashen.

“Very strong…”

“The Wujiao Tribe commands vast armies and formidable generals. Their forces are immense, their barbarian armor thick and unyielding. They have shamans to rally morale, demon cavalry to charge through battle lines—calling them ‘royal troops’ wouldn’t be an exaggeration.”

“And their young master… is also very strong.”

Mo Hua raised a brow. “The Wujiao young master? How strong?”

Elder She hesitated to speak.

Mo Hua understood at once.

“So your young master Bi Jie also lost to the Wujiao young master?”

That question visibly struck a nerve. Elder She’s face contorted with pain and humiliation. After a moment, he sighed bitterly.

“Lord Bi Jie fought that Wujiao young master for only ten or so exchanges before he was struck from his horse—defeated.”

Mo Hua asked: “That Wujiao young master—late Golden Core?”

Elder She shook his head. “Mid-stage Golden Core as well.”

Mo Hua frowned.

Mid-stage versus mid-stage—and yet Bi Jie was crushed within ten moves? That meant overwhelming power.

Bi Jie wasn’t some minor character—his talent was high, his battle experience rich, his means ruthless. Perhaps slightly inferior to Dan-Zhu in aptitude, but overall not much weaker.

And yet such a man was completely overpowered in mere moments?

Mo Hua’s brows knitted tightly.

He asked again: “What kind of ability does this Wujiao young master have—to outmatch Bi Jie so thoroughly?”

Elder She’s expression turned sour.

“I truly don’t know… The Wujiao young master didn’t even use any treasures. He relied solely on his physical body to suppress Lord Bi Jie’s strength. He caught Bi Jie’s treasured vicious blade with his bare hands. It was… simply unbelievable.”

Even recalling it now made Elder She shudder.

Mo Hua’s expression grew heavy.

To block a treasure weapon with flesh? To catch a killing blade bare-handed?

Were all the prodigies under heaven monsters now?

Just who was this Wujiao young master?

“And afterward?” Mo Hua asked. “Was your Bifang Tribe completely destroyed?”

Elder She gave a bitter smile.

“Not entirely… My Bifang Tribe, at least, is a third-rank great tribe. One defeat in battle wouldn’t wipe us out completely. But… we did suffer terribly. Young Master Bi Jie was gravely injured, and after a few main divisions were broken, they scattered and disbanded—each searching for their own place to survive…”

Elder She sighed heavily.

Mo Hua, however, kept his gaze fixed on him. “And you?” he asked slowly.

“I…” Elder She’s eyes flickered. “After our defeat, to avoid the Wujiao Tribe’s pursuit, I had no choice but to flee south… and temporarily seek refuge in another tribe.”

“If it’s just to find a place to settle,” Mo Hua said quietly: “Then why… did you harm another tribe’s Barbarian God?”

Elder She’s face twitched slightly, but he forced himself to say: “I don’t know what you’re talking ab—”

Mo Hua interrupted coldly: “The formation you drew just now—who taught you that? Those… divine formations.”

Lu-Gu and Chi-Feng didn’t understand what he meant.

But Elder She’s face changed drastically as he cried out: “How do you know about Divine Formations?!”

Mo Hua replied calmly, “I am a Shaman.”

“No,” Elder She shook his head, “Impossible. Even a Shaman couldn’t recognize a Divine Formation unless…”

“Unless what?” Mo Hua’s eyes narrowed.

Elder She pressed his lips tightly together, too afraid to speak.

Mo Hua threatened, “If you don’t speak, I’ll have Chi-Feng crush your Golden Core.”

Chi-Feng stepped forward, looming like a demon god, but even trembling all over, Elder She kept his mouth shut.

Mo Hua looked surprised. “You’re not afraid of death? You’ve spent all these years cultivating a Golden Core—it’d be a shame to see it burst, wouldn’t it?”

The man causing harm was Mo Hua; the one speaking pityingly about it—also Mo Hua.

Elder She hated him to the bone, but powerless before him, he could only smile bitterly.

“Of course I fear death, but this matter—I truly cannot speak of it… If I did, my end would be worse than death.”

Mo Hua frowned. Worse than death? What kind of punishment could that be?

But seeing Elder She’s pale face, he decided not to truly push him that far.

After a pause, Mo Hua spoke again, “You said even a Shaman couldn’t recognize a Divine Formation… Then what about you? You’re not even a Shaman. How did you learn to draw one?”

Elder She shook his head. “I can’t draw it.”

Mo Hua’s gaze sharpened. “You were drawing a Divine Formation right in front of me a moment ago, and now you say you can’t? Are you trying to lie to me?”

Elder She smiled bitterly. “I really can’t… That terrifying thing—how could I possibly know it? I was just… using a lit—”

“Using a little what? Trick?”

Elder She fell silent again, as stiff as a stone.

Mo Hua pondered, then said: “The matter of Shamans and Divine Formations might touch on some orthodox legacy of the Great Wilderness. If you dare not speak, I won’t blame you. But if you refuse to explain your own method, that little trick of yours… don’t blame me when your Golden Core gets crushed.”

Mo Hua’s face darkened.

He was casually throwing around “crush the Golden Core” as if it were small talk.

Elder She sighed helplessly. “I… learned this from a certain ‘senior’…”

Mo Hua asked, “A senior? Which senior?”

Elder She said, “I don’t know his name. He was tall and thin, his whole body shrouded in a robe, skin and bones, aura strange—I couldn’t see his face or skin. He only said he shared some old connection with my ancestors. Seeing me working for the Bifang Tribe and striving for the barbarian cause, he bestowed upon me some ancient inheritance to aid me.”

“But my aptitude is dull—I couldn’t truly master it.”

“So that senior said he had a secret method: as long as I kept a devout heart and unshakable faith, I could borrow power from… from the ‘Heavens’ themselves, and thus draw divine runes that bind spirits and suppress ghosts…”

Mo Hua frowned deeply.

This rhetoric… sounded far too familiar.

And moreover—A tall, thin figure, cloaked in a robe, skin and bones, eerie strange aura…

Borrowing external will to draw Divine Formations… to bind Barbarian Gods and drag them into corruption…

That figure, that rhetoric, that method—it was just like…

Mister Tu?

The moment that thought struck, the fog of causality seemed to part slightly.

Mo Hua’s pupils constricted sharply, his mind almost certain…

“Mister Tu!”

It really was Mister Tu?!

He’s still alive?!

Even after being struck by tribulation lightning… he survived?!

(End of this Chapter)