Chapter 1255: Divine-Sense Dao Lineage
Chapter 1254: Divine-Sense Dao Lineage
After that, the decisive war between the Vermilion Bird Mountain Tribal Alliance and the Wujiao Tribe’s army officially began.
Dan-Lie, the Great Chieftain of the Vermilion Sparrow Tribe, served as the Grand Alliance Leader, commanding the battle and coordinating the barbarian warriors of all tribes. Upon the boundless and desolate earth of the Great Wilderness, countless large and small battles erupted between the two sides.
Endless slaughter bloomed and withered upon the land like blood-soaked lotuses.
This was not something Mo Hua wished to see.
War brought casualties. The spreading miasma of blood rose into the heavens, and the deathly aura of the Great Wilderness grew ever heavier.
Mo Hua could see vast omens of death forming above; his worry deepened. Yet, he had no good way to stop it.
Dan-Zhu’s matters—those he could guide as a “teacher.”
The Shugu Tribe’s affairs—those he could decide as a “Shaman.”
But the war before him involved the entire Mountain Realm of the Third Grade, entangled with several major barbarian tribes, and even drew in two true Golden Core late-stage Shaman Priests from the royal courts.
This was far beyond the strength he currently possessed—something he could neither control nor influence.
He could only play the role of a “tool-man,” aiding the war effort from behind the scenes.
The grand strategy was decided by the Alliance Leader and the great chieftains.
Matters at the divine-shaman level were handled by the true Shamans—Flame Shaman Yan-Zhu and Azure Shaman Qing-Zhu.
Mo Hua, the “counterfeit” Shaman, had no right to intervene.
Of course, the more practical reason was that Yan-Zhu and Qing-Zhu simply wouldn’t let him join their circle.
Still, Mo Hua wasn’t idle. What he could do was return to his old craft—formation arts.
Even in the cultivated, genius-filled Qianxue Province, his formation skills could suppress three generations, stabilize four sects, and outshine eight schools and twelve lineages—causing the hundred sects of Qianxue to look up in awe.
Placed here, in the remote and backward Great Wilderness, his skill was simply unmatched.
Even drawing with his eyes closed, his arrays would outclass everyone else’s.
He merely needed to disguise them as “Divinely-bestowed,” altering their structural patterns and integrating variations of barbarian sacred runes to obscure their true origin—so none could trace his Dao lineage from the Nine Provinces.
This sort of deception might seem complex, but for Mo Hua, it was child’s play.
When it came to weaving trickery into formations—at least in those below the Third Grade—Mo Hua was a “master” at the pinnacle of subtlety. Back when he tampered with the Arhatian Blood-Sacrifice Grand Formation, even the cunning Mister Tu never noticed; much less these barbarian cultivators with their crude formation understanding.
Yan-Zhu and Qing-Zhu did have some attainment in sacred rune arts, but compared to Mo Hua, their foundation was laughably shallow.
Thus, Mo Hua naturally became the de facto Chief Formation Master in the war against the Wujiao Tribe, overseeing all formation constructions. Outwardly, no one acknowledged his title—but given his seemingly “divine” formation prowess, none could object.
No matter how difficult or hopeless the problem, Mo Hua would simply say, “I’ll consult the Divine-Lord,” retreat to his room for a brief “prayer,” and soon return with a perfect solution.
From then on, every formation problem found resolution.
No one could comprehend how.
Even Yan-Zhu and Qing-Zhu, watching him draw complex sacred runes with the ease of eating or drinking, said nothing—but their hearts trembled in awe.
In the cultivation world, strength was the root of all things.
When one’s power reached the point of absurdity, no one dared question one’s place.
People didn’t speak of it, but they all understood.
In a sense, Mo Hua’s formation work was aiding every tribe, every chieftain, and even the two royal Shamans themselves. His contribution was vast and undeniable.
Thus, no one stood in his way.
Within just a month, Mo Hua had secretly—and effectively—seized control over all the formation design and construction for the allied forces of the Vermilion Bird Mountain tribes.
It wasn’t that no one wanted to contest this authority; it was simply that too few could even understand his work. Those who could were wise enough to recognize their limits.
Besides, amid chaotic warfare, the tribes had more urgent matters to handle. As long as his formations worked, none would nitpick.
So, as the war progressed, Mo Hua’s formation network steadily evolved, and he diligently fulfilled his role as the alliance’s “formation tool-man,” paving the path toward victory, little by little.
One day, after completing another array, Mo Hua looked down from a high platform at the group of shamanic-cultivators below, busy drawing formation lines like “ants.” His eyes gleamed as he pondered.
(TN: Shamanic Cultivators equivalent to Spiritual Cultivators.)
The Great Wilderness’ formation inheritance was primitive—especially among the smaller tribes, where anyone who could draw even a few sacred runes was already deemed a prodigy.
They weren’t even on par with Tōngxiān City’s wandering cultivators.
However, the great tribes such as the Vermilion Sparrow Tribe, Flamewing Tribe, and Bifang Tribe were different.
They had indeed nurtured a number of shamanic cultivators with real skill in formations—capable of understanding Mo Hua’s diagrams and implementing his designs accurately.
To be fair, they were genuine experts.
At first, some among them were unconvinced by Mo Hua. But after he personally demonstrated a few arrays before their eyes, they fell silent.
One drawing—and all were speechless.
Words can deceive, but formations cannot.
To those who sought the true essence of formations, the array itself was the most persuasive proof.
Thus, Mo Hua gained the “respect” and “admiration” of these shamanic cultivators.
No matter their tribe, any who witnessed his formation drawing would address him reverently as Mister Wu.
What they revered was not Mo Hua the “Shaman,” but Mo Hua the Formation Master.
Meanwhile, Mo Hua continued observing, quietly identifying potential “seedlings” worth recruiting in the future.
Were it not for this tribal war and alliance against the Wujiao Tribe, he would never have had the chance to meet so many shamanic cultivators from different tribes at once—let alone gather them under the pretext of an alliance to work for him.
Nor could he have subtly earned their trust and admiration.
It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity—one Mo Hua would never waste.
His future ambitions would inevitably involve grand-scale formations.
And great formations required great numbers of formation masters working in concert.
Such preparations had to begin early.
To achieve great things, one must unite every possible force.
No matter which tribe or which deity a shamanic cultivator served, if there was a chance to draw them to his side, they would all become useful—talent and manpower both.
From the high platform, Mo Hua gazed down, silently committing every formation-drawing shamanic cultivator to memory.
As he watched, his expression suddenly changed. He straightened and turned sharply—
Someone had appeared behind him.
A tall, imposing figure, with flames tattooed across his body—radiating might and strength.
It was Flame Shaman Yan-Zhu.
Seeing Mo Hua turn, Yan-Zhu looked slightly surprised. “You actually sensed me?”
Mo Hua’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t reply.
Ordinary cultivators—even those at late-stage Golden Core—could never approach within ten zhang without him noticing.
For one of their level, ten zhang was already a lethal range.
Yet Yan-Zhu had managed to get within three zhang without triggering any alarm. That meant not only was his Divine-Sense profound, but his spiritual concealment methods were formidable as well.
Of course, there was another possibility—he bore no malice.
Due to his anomalous fate, Mo Hua was extraordinarily sensitive not only to the aura of life, but especially to malice, and to killing intent. Yan-Zhu’s ability to approach him unannounced meant his heart held no murderous will.
Mo Hua silently met his gaze.
Yan-Zhu was slightly taken aback, but quickly composed himself. His tone grew solemn. “Who taught you these sacred runes?”
Mo Hua answered calmly, “They were bestowed upon me by the Divine-Lord.”
Yan-Zhu frowned. “Your… Divine-Lord has granted you so many divine bestowments?”
Mo Hua nodded.
(Well, since I bestowed them upon myself, of course there’s plenty.)
Yan-Zhu glanced around, then said, “This place is secluded. There’s no one else here. Tell me honestly… are you truly a Shaman?”
Mo Hua nodded. “Naturally.”
Yan-Zhu’s eyes sharpened. “You’ve never been to the Royal Court, nor received the inheritance. How can you be so certain you’re a Shaman?”
Mo Hua replied, “Didn’t I already tell you? The Divine-Lord came to me in a dream and told me so Himself.”
His tone was so calm, his gaze so resolute, that Yan-Zhu froze.
Could this boy really not have been lying before?
Could it all have been true?
He studied Mo Hua’s eyes and saw in them a clarity that could not be faked.
With centuries of experience as a Shaman Priest, Yan-Zhu knew—those were not the eyes of a liar.
And remembering how this seemingly clueless boy had once blocked his Divine-Sense killing strike at the alliance meeting…
Yan-Zhu’s vast knowledge of the Divine Dao led him swiftly to the only possible conclusion:
A God’s Favored One.
And not a cultivated one—but a wild-born God’s Favored One.
One whose divine favor ran deep.
Surely, this youth must have stumbled into tremendous fortune and been chosen by some wandering deity beyond heaven and earth, becoming that god’s favored follower and recipient of abundant blessings.
Such a god was likely not a recognized deity of the Royal Court—perhaps a solitary or forgotten one with few believers—thus lavishing immense grace upon this single mortal.
“To say his prayers are always answered wouldn’t be exaggerating,” Yan-Zhu thought.
Indeed, the chronicles of the Great Wilderness recorded many such “wild” God’s Favored Ones.
Their patron deities would not only grant them revelations and inheritances but also shield their divine-sense from calamity and harm.
That explained why his own late–Golden Core Fire Divine-Sense could not damage Mo Hua’s Sea of Consciousness.
After all, even Shamans were but mortals—they could not contend with gods.
Yan-Zhu glanced at Mo Hua again, jealousy flickering in his heart.
A wild God’s Favored One… what heaven-defying luck this boy has.
Yet soon his jealousy transformed into quiet delight. To think I’d encounter such fortune myself!
His face grew serious as he asked, “So… do you plan to continue like this?”
Mo Hua blinked. “Continue… what?”
Yan-Zhu explained, “You lack official recognition. Though it’s possible you received divine blessing, you are not acknowledged by the Royal Court… you have no formal Shaman identity, no Blessing Name. Even if you achieve great deeds one day, you’ll never stand on the grand stage. Are you… content with that?”
Mo Hua forced a calm smile. “What’s there… to be discontent about?”
Yan-Zhu silently watched him.
Mo Hua’s inner turmoil could not escape his notice.
Sure enough, after a moment Mo Hua asked, “The Shaman identity… what is it exactly? And what is a Blessing Name?”
Yan-Zhu smiled faintly, arrogance showing on his face.
“The title of Shaman is the highest honor bestowed by the Royal Court—it marks one who serves the gods, exalted far above the common.”
“The Divine-Lord is the ancient and only true god of the Great Wilderness.”
“Yet that Divine-Lord has long since fallen silent. When the Whale perished, myriad gods arose. Now, the Great Wilderness is divided among countless deities—each mountain realm, each tribe, worshiping its own.”
“But these are all lesser gods.”
“The truly great ones either protect the Royal Court or are enshrined by ancient clans like the Wujiao Tribe.”
“Only the backward, ignorant tribes still worship something they call the ‘Divine-Lord.’”
“This is the real state of the Divine Dao in the Great Wilderness today.”
“And remember…” Yan-Zhu’s tone hardened as he warned, “The god you serve is, in all likelihood, but a lesser deity—not a Great God, and certainly not the Divine-Lord.”
“In the Royal Court’s laws for Shamans, no god of the current era may call itself ‘Divine-Lord.’ To do so is to either spread heresy or to be a false, evil god—both punishable by Divine Retribution.”
Yan-Zhu himself had intended to invoke such retribution earlier—but since it failed, he had changed his approach.
Mo Hua nodded.
Yan-Zhu’s words differed somewhat from the information Mo Hua had received from the wilderness’s own deities.
Still, since Yan-Zhu hailed from the Royal Court, his words were closer to the truth—though only closer.
For Shamans, though they claimed to serve the gods, were ultimately still human.
They had never truly seen gods—so how could they possibly know the truth?
“And this Blessing Name you mentioned—what is it exactly?” Mo Hua asked again.
Yan-Zhu grew solemn.
“A Shaman who serves the gods cuts ties with mortal origins—he has no worldly name. Only through unwavering faith and meritorious devotion may he rise step by step. Once elevated to a High Shaman, he may receive his Blessing Name.”
“This Blessing Name is granted by the god himself—it embodies the Dao from which that god was born.”
The Dao from which a god was born…
Mo Hua’s heart suddenly trembled. He looked at Yan-Zhu.
“Your title is ‘Yan-Zhu’(Flame Shaman)—does that mean the god you serve was born of the Dao of Fire?”
Yan-Zhu frowned at Mo Hua’s irreverent tone but ultimately nodded. “Correct.”
Mo Hua furrowed his brow, deep in thought.
Gods are born from the Dao.
That was what Lord Huangshan had once told him.
And now, according to these Shamans, the Divine-Lord of the Great Wilderness had fallen silent; the various gods each embodied different “Daos.”
Could those Daos actually be… Laws?
Dao, gods, Laws, Divine-Sense, formation arts…
Cultivators normally excluded “Divine-Sense” from their path of cultivation.
Yet Mo Hua faintly sensed that things were far from so simple.
The power of Divine-Sense was invisible, intangible, impossible to cultivate directly—hence most cultivators ignored it or misunderstood it.
But within it lay unfathomable mysteries.
The traditional cultivation system of the Nine Provinces had effectively amputated the entire lineage of Divine-Sense cultivation.
From childhood to adulthood, ordinary cultivators are raised within this rigid system of cultivation, constantly indoctrinated by this ossified “Daoist education.” Their “view of cultivation” becomes increasingly rigid — and naturally, they accept the concept of a “de-spiritualized” inheritance, never once glimpsing the true mysteries at the level of Divine-Sense.
Yet the inheritance of the Great Wilderness stands apart from the Dao Court.
Although it once submitted for a time, it was never fully “tamed” by the Dao Court’s cultivation system.
The Great Wilderness—long regarded as “barbaric”—still preserves a certain degree of faith.
Though they themselves may not realize it, they are in fact striving to reach toward—and to understand—the power of “Divine-Sense.” From the fragments Mo Hua had thus far observed in the Great Wilderness, the power of Divine-Sense seemed deeply intertwined with Deities, with Dao, and with Laws themselves. “Divine-Sense” had never been separate from the complete cultivation system.
In truth, Divine-Sense may well be the very aspect of cultivation most closely bound to both Dao and Law.
And yet… the orthodox inheritance of the Nine Provinces had forcibly severed it…
Mo Hua’s pupils trembled as a storm of thoughts surged through his mind.
(End of this Chapter)