Chapter 1242: The Shugu Ancestor

Chapter 1241: The Shugu Ancestor

A towering figure—half skeleton, half rotting flesh—groped its way through the darkness until it reached an ancient altar.

This altar, like the one outside, mirrored it in structure—two halves of a parent-and-child altar formation.

And this “Undead”… was none other than an ancestor of the Shugu Tribe.

It lit the altar, the flickering ghostly-green fire revealing a familiar object—a compass made of white bone, carved with intricate bestial patterns.

A hint of nostalgia surfaced on the ancestor’s decayed face, though it was hard to read any expression through the rotted flesh.

Then, it activated the compass, anchoring its karmic threads, ensuring no trace of vitality leaked out to provoke heavenly backlash.

When it next opened its eyes, it stood within a vast White Bone Mausoleum.

This hall had been forged from the souls of generations of Shugu ancestors—refined into a grand Divine-Sense Mausoleum.

Its physical body had long perished, temporarily sealed within a bone coffin of death.

If it wished to act again, it could only do so through the dream realm—manipulating karma to affect the living world.

It didn’t want to do this. Its existence itself was taboo—best kept hidden, untouched.

The less done, the fewer the mistakes. The dead should stay dead.

For meddling too much would upset the balance between life and death… and might attract the Great Terror.

But it had no choice.

The bloodline oath of its descendants still bound it.

Now that the Grand Chieftain had died, his heart offered, and a sacrificial descendant had summoned it with his life—It had to respond.

This inheritance depended on descendants.

Without them, the bloodline could never awaken it; but once awakened, it must aid them in return.

The Shugu Ancestor entered the Bone Hall—only to see Tie Shù-Gu kneeling before it, a dagger still buried in his chest.

Now bound by white bone chains, Tie Shù-Gu had willingly offered his life as a living sacrifice to awaken his ancestor.

“So you knew this old ancestor, buried so long, must be hungry,” the ancestor muttered dryly. “Delivering yourself as food… I suppose that’s filial piety.”

The Shugu Ancestor nodded approvingly.

Then it turned to a “Blood Curse Contract” nearby—offered as tribute by Tie Shù-Gu—inscribed with details of the intended target.

A single glance froze the ancestor mid-motion.

“Mister Wu… looks twenty-something, actual cultivation age unknown—late Foundation Establishment stage?”

The Shugu Ancestor turned its hollow gaze toward the dead Tie Shù-Gu, silently fuming:

A Golden Core descendant sacrifices himself… to have me, an ancestor, kill a mere Foundation Establishment cultivator?

Has my Shugu Tribe truly fallen this far?

For a moment, it couldn’t tell whether its own eyes had rotted too much to read straight—or its descendant’s brain had.

It genuinely wanted to pry open that skull and check if there was still anything inside.

“A Grand Chieftain dead, a Golden Core sacrificed, and you awaken me… for this nonsense?”

Its fury rose like wildfire, but the blood contract was absolute—it had to proceed.

Suppressing its irritation, the Shugu Ancestor began the ritual by the book.

“Mister Wu…”

It recited the name, tracing the karmic lines to cast the curse. Yet after searching for a long while, it frowned.

“Not his real name?”

Even the surname and identity didn’t align—the target couldn’t be precisely located.

At a glance, the ancestor knew its descendants had been played—and played badly.

They didn’t even know the target’s real name or title.

Fortunately, the blood contract contained more—descriptions of this “Mister Wu’s” appearance, demeanor, and speech.

Since Tie Shù-Gu had spent much time under Mo Hua’s torture, he knew him well—though unsure if “Mister Wu” was his true name, he’d provided plenty of clues.

Names mismatched, but the rest was enough for karmic positioning.

The Shugu Ancestor, skilled in karmic arts, easily handled such issues.

The words on the contract dissolved into crimson lines of karma, spreading before him.

After lengthy calculations, he finally found several death threads.

He chanted, manipulating the karmic lines; bone-white hands plucked the threads of life, severing them, and bound all threads of death together.

By cutting off the “life lines” and clustering the “death lines,” the victim’s every cause would now lead to one inevitable effect—death.

Whatever fate awaited “Mister Wu,” it would now always spiral toward fatality.

At first, it went smoothly.

The karmic threads aligned.

Several life lines were severed.

But when he drew the death lines toward the target’s fate, he froze.

Because… that person’s fate was already wrapped in countless death threads.

Though invisible to the eye, the ancestor could feel it—dense, innumerable, suffocating.

Compared to that, the few threads he’d added were utterly insignificant.

His rotted eyeballs trembled.

“What… is this? How can someone burdened with so many death causes still be alive?

Is this even a living person?”

If so, what was the point of his curse?

He hesitated—then felt the karmic lines tremble violently.

Someone… was pulling on the other end.

The Shugu Ancestor stiffened—then his expression twisted.

“Something’s crawling along the karmic thread toward me?!”

Wait—what?!

He tried to cut the thread, but before he could—

A small, pale hand had already reached through the void.

That delicate hand gripped the karmic line—and began to pull.

The ancestor’s spirit nearly fled in terror.

Before he could react, the dream warped, and a figure emerged from the far end of karma.

It was a child—skin like jade, lips rosy, eyes shining with golden brilliance.

The Shugu Ancestor felt his doom approaching.

Such beauty, such perfection—that was no mortal child.

Sensing danger, he expanded his bone-clawed hand, slamming it down.

But halfway through the strike—it stopped.

A single small finger had caught it.

That tiny finger felt heavier than a mountain.

No matter how much power he poured into his divine will, he couldn’t move it an inch.

The child simply clenched his fist—

Crack!

The ancestor’s entire arm was ripped off and crushed to dust.

It happened so fast, he didn’t even react—just stared blankly, pain forgotten, as if trapped in a nightmare.

The child examined the severed bone, took a bite—then spat it out.

“Bleh. Tastes awful.”

The Shugu Ancestor’s soul turned cold.

He glanced toward the self-sacrificed Tie Shù-Gu and muttered inwardly:

My descendants… truly the most “filial” of all.

They offered their lives not to save me—but to deliver some horror straight to my face.

They’ve made their ancestor the world’s biggest sucker.

He cursed furiously inside.

Meanwhile, the eerily beautiful child didn’t kill him—just looked around, found a high perch, sat down, then turned back with a bright, crisp voice:

“Shall we talk?”

The Shugu Ancestor forced a smile, tucking away his rage.

“Yes, yes—let’s talk. Let’s definitely talk.”

…

White Bone Mausoleum

Mo Hua’s Divine-Sense form sat cross-legged atop the Shugu Tribe’s ancestral shrine, looking utterly at ease—like the master of the place.

Below him, the Shugu Ancestor sat stiffly, like a guest.

Mo Hua asked calmly: “You are the ancestor of the Shugu Tribe?”

“You could say that,” the ancestor replied.

Mo Hua studied him—a half-bone, half-rotted mess—and grimaced inwardly before asking:

“How old are you?”

“This old one’s lifespan was eight hundred years,” the ancestor answered honestly.

“Only eight hundred? And you call yourself an ancestor?” Mo Hua quirked a brow.

“Eight hundred years of life,” the ancestor clarified, “but I perished in the ancient era. How many ages have passed since then… I cannot say.”

Mo Hua nodded slightly.

Then the ancestor glanced up, lowering his voice.

“Might I ask… Daoist friend, how old are you?”

Mo Hua hesitated for a moment, then said solemnly:

“I’m two—”

(he paused, adjusting his tone)

“—over two hundred years old.”

“Two hundred…?”

The ancestor’s withered face twitched in shock as he looked at Mo Hua’s flawless divine form.

“To achieve such a flawless golden body and pure-return Divine-Sense in barely two centuries—Daoist friend, you are truly… a peerless genius.”

Mo Hua’s expression turned awkward.

He waved modestly.

“It’s… alright, I suppose.”

The Shugu Ancestor carefully glanced at him again and softly asked, “May I ask, how should I address Fellow Daoist?”

Mo Hua did not reply. He only looked silently at the ancestor.

The Shugu Ancestor suddenly felt a chill crawl up his spine.

Mo Hua finally said, “You may address me as ‘Mister Wu.’”

The Shugu Ancestor smiled gently. “Yes—Mister Wu.”

Mo Hua no longer allowed him the privilege of prying further and instead countered, “Your cultivation—only at the peak of Third Grade?”

Those two words, “only at,” made the Shugu Ancestor feel rather uncomfortable.

Still, he humbly replied, “Yes, merely the peak of Third Grade.”

Mo Hua pondered for a moment, then asked, “Surely, the ancestors of your Shugu Tribe aren’t all capped at Third Grade?”

“This…” The Shugu Ancestor hesitated, then slowly explained, “The Barbarian Wastes is the ‘commoner region’ of the Great Wilderness. Though vast and populated by many tribes, the upper limit of the Heavenly Dao grade here is low.”

“The great majority of mountain realms are at Second or Third Grade—Third Grade is already the ceiling.”

“Fourth Grade realms only exist within the Royal Courts—those ruled by the various Kings—and the surrounding capital regions.”

“And only the most ancient ancestral courts of the Great Wilderness reach Fifth Grade.”

“Thus, if one cannot enter the Royal Court, one can at most reach Third Grade.”

The Shugu Ancestor finished slowly.

Mo Hua was slightly surprised.

He truly hadn’t known this before.

Now that he thought about it, the upper limit of the Great Wilderness was indeed far lower than that of Qianzhou, not to mention Daozhou (Dao Province).

The Three Thousand Barbarian Wastes were the commoner lands, capped at Third Grade.

The Royal Courts were Fourth Grade.

The Ancestral Courts—Fifth Grade.

Even lower than he had originally guessed.

He didn’t know whether it was due to the scarcity of resources in the Great Wilderness, which hindered the cultivation of the barbarian cultivators, or because the grand Heavenly Dao formation itself had imposed that ceiling, keeping the Great Wilderness trapped at Third and Fourth Grade for so long.

However…

Mo Hua looked at the Shugu Ancestor. “You still haven’t directly answered my question. Does your Shugu Tribe have any ancestors of Fourth Grade, Nascent Soul and above?”

The Shugu Ancestor felt his skull tighten. Seeing he couldn’t dodge the question, he sighed. “There were…”

“Dead?”

“Dead.”

“Buried where?”

The Shugu Ancestor hesitated. “Some served the royal bloodlines and rendered merit; after death, they were interred within the Royal Court lands. Others were buried—”

He pointed downward. “In this White Bone Mausoleum.”

Mo Hua said, “So this White Bone Mausoleum, though located within a Third Grade mountain realm, truly holds the remains of your Shugu Tribe’s Fourth Grade, Nascent Soul cultivators.”

The Shugu Ancestor nodded. “Yes.”

Mo Hua’s gaze flickered. “Then why haven’t they awakened?”

Those were Fourth Grade Nascent Soul Divine-Senses, after all.

The Shugu Ancestor felt a chill for no reason, then gave a bitter smile.

“This is a Third Grade mountain realm. Once one at the Nascent Soul Realm dies and is buried here, it’s nearly impossible to ‘awaken’ again. Otherwise, if one carelessly violates the taboos of the Heavenly Dao, the entire ancestral mausoleum would be annihilated in an instant.”

Mo Hua nodded in understanding, then asked calmly, “So—you were the one chosen to awaken and curse me, weren’t you?”

The Shugu Ancestor fell silent.

If he still had sweat glands, he’d be drenched right now.

Mo Hua continued, “So tell me—are you dead, or alive?”

The Shugu Ancestor slowly replied, “You could say… half-dead, half-alive—”

Mo Hua’s tone grew cold. “Give me a clear answer.”

The Shugu Ancestor felt tremendous pressure and could only answer:

“I am not truly alive—only preserved by a trace of karmic connection, holding onto a sliver of vitality. My Divine-Sense is kept here, occasionally awakened through the blood contracts of my descendants to perform minor tasks—but I may not see the light of day.”

Mo Hua nodded, suppressing the turmoil in his heart. With a calm tone, he asked: “Then… can you truly live again?”

The Shugu Ancestor pondered for a long moment and sighed. “Far too difficult… Besides, I have been buried for ages. My flesh has rotted, all vitality gone. Once I leave this tomb, with no vessel to sustain life, I would inevitably perish.”

“The greater horror, however—lies with the Heavenly Dao itself.”

“All beings of the world live and die—that is the Dao. Once the Heavenly Dao discovers that someone has used deceit and trickery to extend their lifespan beyond their destined limit, its backlash will be unimaginably terrible.”

The Shugu Ancestor’s tone grew grave.

Mo Hua fell silent. After a long pause, he looked at the Shugu Ancestor and slowly said:

“Suppose—just suppose—someone has died, yet his karmic threads remain locked, his vitality hasn’t dissipated, and his body remains intact. If I… find a way to deceive the Heavenly Dao…”

Mo Hua tried his best to steady his voice. “…would that mean…”

“…that he could still come back to life?”

The Shugu Ancestor froze, turning his head toward Mo Hua.

A horrifying realization surfaced in his mind, his face twisted in shock, eyes wide with terror.

(End of this Chapter)