Chapter 1279: Gold-Coin Mice

Chapter 1278: Gold-Coin Mice

Mo Hua could feel those coin-shaped “Gold-Coin Mice”–like demonic creatures clinging to his body, gnawing at his flesh. They even chewed through his body into his Divine-Sense, leaving faint damage upon his Dao-Body itself.

At the same time, their mouths carried a potent venom.

By some unknown method, that venom seeped into his Sea of Consciousness, softening his Divine-Sense and magnifying his pain.

Only now did Mo Hua realize that the agony of engraving the Taotie Runes was not solely due to the Taotie Formation itself.

These “Gold-Coin Mice” were harming him as well.

They gnawed at him, causing his Divine-Sense to become “poisoned.” With toxin and pain stacking atop one another, the savage torment of the Taotie devouring one’s body would escalate to a level the average cultivator could never endure.

During the process of forging one’s Life-Bound Formation, once the pain exceeded the tolerance limits of Divine-Sense, madness would arise, and grave errors would inevitably follow.

At best, the formation patterns would collapse into mistakes, causing all prior effort to be wasted.

At worst, one’s bones would be damaged, vital essence scattered, and the grand Dao forever lost.

In the most severe case, the Life-Bound Formation might self-destruct, killing the cultivator on the spot.

If not for Mo Hua’s inherent, overwhelming “Divinity,” and the inhuman calm and ruthless self-detachment it granted him… the consequences would have been unthinkable.

He would never have been able to carve out the Taotie Twelve-Meridian Spiritual-Skeleton Life-Bound Formation.

Even now, though he succeeded, he had been forced to draw upon too much “Divinity” to suppress the pain.

His Divinity had exceeded its limits; even he no longer knew how much “humanity” remained within him.

A cold wave of fury rose within Mo Hua.

It was anger stripped almost completely of “human emotion”—a chill that did not hinder rationality.

It was the pure “Wrath of a God.”

Sensing this divine fury, the sneaky “Gold-Coin Mice” that had been secretly feeding on his Dao-Body froze, then bared their fangs. Their eyes grew vicious, their teeth lengthened, their forms turned grotesque, and they lashed out at Mo Hua—gnawing even more fiercely.

Golden light flashed in Mo Hua’s eyes as the Divine Sword cleaved through illusion and reality alike.

Where the sword-light passed, divine might blazed like fire. The ferocious “Gold-Coin Mice” were instantly crushed to powder, dying violently on the spot.

In the realms of the Divine Dao and Heavenly-Secret causality, such sinister tricks and wretched vermin were no match for Mo Hua.

Had he not discovered them, fine.

But now that he had, a single glance meant death.

After erasing the Gold-Coin Mice, Mo Hua fell into thought.

“What are these Gold-Coin Mice…?”

“Is someone trying to kill me?”

Mo Hua’s gaze darkened.

He had chosen this cave at random on the way to the Divine-Shaman campaign. He had performed extensive divinations beforehand, obscuring the Heavenly Secrets and sealing off all causality. In theory, no one could possibly know of this location.

Yet somehow, the Gold-Coin Mice had found him.

At the most critical moment of engraving his Life-Bound Formation, these mice appeared to damage his foundation, intending to kill him…

Who possessed the ability to track his causality, pinpoint his location?

Who had the means to send these Gold-Coin Mice to him without him noticing?

And how did they manage to strike precisely during the moment when he was forging his Life-Bound Formation—when internal and external dangers overlapped, and his vigilance was at its lowest… his most “vulnerable” moment?

“Gold-Coin Mice…”

Mo Hua’s gaze grew increasingly dangerous.

After a moment, he surveyed the area with the vision of a god.

The Gold-Coin Mice had all been slain; their causal threads “self-immolated” and severed. The Heavenly-Secret methods hidden within were exceedingly advanced.

This was the only method capable of “harming” him.

Aside from that, no other threats remained within the cave.

Mo Hua finally manipulated the formation apparatus, unfastened the shackles, and pulled the blood-soaked needles from his body.

His pale skin was torn open, flesh curling outward, pain sharp and intense.

But compared to the deeper, more ancient torment of carving a Life-Bound Formation—a pain so overwhelming it drowned out the world—this mere physical pain was insignificant.

Mo Hua slowly stood, condensed water vapor to wash the blood from his body, then applied medicinal paste across his skin.

The external wounds gradually healed.

Within him, the lingering “post-surgery” trauma left by bone-carving was gradually healing as his Life-Bound Formation circulated and the Yin-Wood Rejuvenation Formation nourished his flesh.

Mo Hua’s slender, alabaster, almost celestial body gradually returned to its pristine state.

He donned his Divine-Shaman robe once more, becoming the dignified, handsome Divine-Shaman Lord again.

At the same time, deep authority gathered in his golden eyes.

Then he stored all tools used for engraving the Life-Bound Formation into his Storage Ring.

What could not be stored, he incinerated completely with Fireball Technique, leaving behind no trace or causality.

Once everything was dealt with, Mo Hua stepped out of the cave.

At the entrance, the massive coffin rested quietly.

The “Undying General” Shi-Gu stood guard.

Beside him were Lu-Gu, Dan-Zhu, and Big Tiger.

Seeing Mo Hua emerge, Dan-Zhu and the others brightened—then immediately stiffened upon seeing him clearly.

Mo Hua’s aura had changed.

His cultivation had advanced, reaching the peak of Foundation Establishment, even showing faint signs of transitioning toward the Golden Core realm.

His presence had grown stronger.

It was the noble, towering presence exclusive to a true “god”—unassuming, restrained, yet tyrannically overwhelming.

Especially those eyes: golden, deep, devoid of anything “human.”

They resembled the gaze of a deity who regarded all beings with indifference—one glance birthing instinctive fear.

Even Golden Core late-stage Lu-Gu felt immense pressure, panic squeezing his heart.

Even Dan-Zhu—who once admired Mo Hua greatly—felt a faint trace of fear.

This was simply the instinctive reaction of flesh-and-blood beings when facing a godlike existence.

“Sir… are you all right?”

Dan-Zhu’s eyes were heavy; Mo Hua suddenly felt unfamiliar to him.

“No matter,” Mo Hua replied. His voice carried a detached majesty, almost devoid of emotion. “The Divine-Lord’s grand work remains unfinished, the Great Wilderness yet ununified. We must not slacken. Proceed… to the next mountain realm.”

“Yes, Divine-Shaman Lord,” Lu-Gu said, bowing.

Dan-Zhu also bowed. “Yes, sir…”

“Go.”

Lu-Gu and Dan-Zhu gave Mo Hua one last look, cupped their fists, and departed.

Once they left, Big Tiger padded over, step by step, lowered its head, and nudged Mo Hua’s shoulder—its large eyes filled with concern.

Mo Hua mechanically patted Big Tiger, and, following the subconscious hints he had planted in himself during “Dao-Heart Demon-Seeding,” he muttered habitually:

“I am…”

“I am…”

His memory jammed. For a long moment, he couldn’t recall his own name.

Mo Hua’s expression was as still as water, without a single ripple. After a long silence, he finally remembered that somewhat unfamiliar name:

“I am… Mo Hua.”

“Mo Hua…”

His voice drifted. Even the name “Mo Hua” seemed to grow distant from him.

…

The Divine-Shaman War continued.

As the Vermilion Bird Mountain soldiers and the Divine Slave Tribe surged like wildfire across the Great Wilderness… The Divine-Lord’s renown spread over the vast lands, and more and more wilderness cultivators witnessed the glorious achievements of the Divine-Shaman Lord…

Half a month later, yet another second-grade mountain realm was conquered by the Divine Slave Tribe.

All the enslaved tribes within the realm were liberated.

The Divine-Shaman Lord’s prestige climbed ever higher…

Yet inside the grand Divine-Shaman Hall at the center of this mountain realm—

Mo Hua’s cold face showed no joy.

He looked at his pale hand, and at the faint deep-blue Taotie Rune on the Lung Meridian of his Hand-Tai-Yin, falling into deep thought.

His Life-Bound Taotie Formation was nowhere near as strong as he had expected.

At least compared to Shi-Gu, it was far inferior.

With the support of the Taotie Formation, Shi-Gu was a true monster—killing endlessly, killing without pause. When exhausted, he would dig out Golden Cores to devour, then resume killing, then eating…

A tireless, unending, perpetual “killing machine.”

But Mo Hua himself felt nothing like such a thing.

Clearly, what he bore was the Original Twenty-Four Runes Twelve-Meridian Taotie Spiritual-Skeleton Formation.

Shi-Gu only had an “experimental version.”

And yet now, his felt like the knock-off version—

While Shi-Gu, the “test product,” seemed more like the genuine Taotie spiritual-skeleton monster.

“Is it because I haven’t died?”

“Would I become stronger if I died like Shi-Gu?”

“Or is this physical vessel simply too frail to fully unleash the true might of the Taotie Spiritual-Skeleton Formation?”

“Or… has the formation simply not finished its nurturing?”

Mo Hua frowned slightly.

Indeed, this spiritual-skeleton formation had not yet finished being nourished.

In fact, it might not have even been fully activated yet.

Since it bore the name “Taotie,” it naturally required an immense source of power to drive it.

And that power source was simple—spirit stones. Nothing else.

But the number required was absurdly colossal.

These days, Mo Hua had continually refined spirit stones, drawing the spiritual energy into the Taotie Spiritual-skeleton etched within his body.

Yet it only consumed, never produced—an endless drain.

It was like tossing stones into a bottomless abyss. Who knew how long it would take to fill?

Back in Qianxue Prefecture, Mo Hua had never lacked Spirit Stones. Backed by his sect’s abundant resources, Aunt Wan and Master Gu of the Gu Family Artifact Forging Hall often sent him “dividends,” along with elders offering gifts to curry favor with a formation genius…

Mo Hua’s purse had always been comfortably full.

In the Great Wilderness, he first became a Shaman, now a Divine Shaman Lord—still never lacking spirit stones.

And having grown up a poor rogue cultivator, he was naturally frugal, never wasting even a single unnecessary stone.

So it had been a long time since Mo Hua experienced the feeling of lacking spirit stones.

But now, even with “ample spirit stones,” Mo Hua stared at his Taotie Spiritual-Skeleton with absolutely no confidence.

He had a vague, uneasy hunch—everything he’d frugally saved over the years was going to be swallowed by this bottomless “black hole.”

He had no idea how many spirit stones it would take to truly “feed” this Twelve-Meridian Taotie Spiritual-Skeleton Formation.

His Celestial Evolution Art was already a bottomless pit for Divine-Sense.

Now his Life-Bound Formation was a bottomless pit for spirit stones.

Even in this cold, Divine-nature state, indifferent to worldly concerns, the thought of these two bottomless pits made him inhale sharply and crease his brows.

But this matter couldn’t be avoided.

This was his Life-Bound Formation—his Life-Bound artifact.

No matter how many spirit stones it consumed, he had to fully load the Twelve-Meridian Taotie Spiritual-Skeleton.

Mo Hua could only hope that once he poured in all this effort—and all these stones—his Life-Bound Formation would show its true Taotie might without disappointing him.

At that thought, a sudden sense of “spiritual hunger” arose.

Mo Hua instinctively popped a spirit stone into his mouth, chewed the empty air, and swallowed.

This was the “bad habit” he had developed after forming the Taotie Spiritual-Skeleton Formation:

Eating spirit stones.

Although it was more “proper” for a cultivator to crush them into spiritual energy and absorb them through the meridians—

Mo Hua simply couldn’t help it.

His bones were etched with the Taotie Absolute Formation. In some sense, he had integrated the “law of Taotie” into his flesh. His instincts tugged him toward the Taotie’s nature—if he lacked something, if he craved something, he wanted to eat it in the most primal way possible.

Now he lacked spirit stones—so he couldn’t stop eating them.

He ate spirit stones like snacks.

Biting them apart with his teeth, swallowing them, digesting them with his organs, drawing the spiritual power through the Twelve Meridians into the Spiritual-Skeleton.

To any cultivator, eating spirit stones whole was certainly a bizarre habit.

But with Divinity overflowing, Mo Hua no longer cared whether he was “human,” let alone cultivator etiquette.

He followed divine instinct—the “law” within him.

If the law told him to eat, he ate.

If he didn’t, his whole being felt uncomfortable—his divine-nature felt uncomfortable.

Thus he sat on the high seat of the Divine Shaman Lord, like a flesh-and-blood puppet of divinity, expressionless as he crunched on spirit stones, contemplating how to “eat” more stones to fill his Twelve-Meridian Taotie Spiritual-Skeleton Formation.

He could, of course, “seize” all the spirit stones from the Great Wilderness tribes to feed his own formation.

But the Great Wilderness was already desperately poor in spirit stones.

These precious resources were needed to build the Profound-Earth Great Formation, to improve the land’s livelihood, and to fuel the divine war to unify the Wilderness.

Spirit stones were lifeblood for both the people and the war effort—Mo Hua could not misuse them without disrupting the greater situation.

Since that was the case… he could only look elsewhere for spirit stones.

Crunching another stone, Mo Hua’s thoughts suddenly sharpened; his gaze hardened.

“The Hua Clan…”

The Hua Clan, a major aristocratic family of the Dao Prefecture—deep foundation, and making a fortune off the war in the Great Wilderness by selling Fasting Pills at obscene profit. A plump, glistening, overfed “fat sheep.”

If he were to slaughter that fat sheep…

Like a god in mortal flesh, Mo Hua coldly licked the stone dust from the corner of his lips.

…

Three Thousand Wilderness.

The final region surrounded by famine.

In a third-rank mountain realm outside the Divine Shaman Lord’s control—

In a dimly lit secret chamber, the wavering light of a lamp flickered.

A middle-aged, slightly plump Golden Core cultivator stared at a shattered golden-jade rat sculpture on the floor, brows tightly knit.

“Even the Old Ancestor’s technique didn’t work…”

“This so-called ‘Divine Shaman’… to think he is that powerful? Just what… is his origin…”

Elder You—usually mild-tempered and a believer that harmony brought wealth—now wore an utterly grim, unsightly expression.