Chapter 1163: Tiger

In the Great Wilderness, under a blazing sun, on a slope of a desert plain.

Mo Hua and the giant tiger lay on the ground resting.

The initial excitement had passed; the giant tiger was tired and hungry, so it rolled onto its back, pawing the air for a moment, then turned its head toward Mo Hua, opened its mouth, and let out a "miao-ming" sound.

Mo Hua sighed, took out dried fish, and tossed it into the giant tiger's mouth.

The giant tiger licked the dried fish, thoroughly satisfied.

But Mo Hua's heart turned bitter; he lifted his head and looked around.

All around was desolation—the desert stretched endlessly, the brown earth, the crimson mountains, and the sky blazing with sun fused into one vast, boundless expanse, leaving him utterly lost.

"Where the hell has this giant tiger brought me?"

Mo Hua felt utterly lost.

Logically, now that the Dao Army had been ambushed and the suppression campaign had stalled, the situation was dire—this was the perfect moment for him to prove himself and earn military merit.

But plans never keep pace with change.

This idiot giant tiger had bolted off, completely derailing his plans.

His entire strategy was now in ruins.

His chance to build merit was gone.

Mo Hua felt a pang of anger and couldn't help but tap the giant tiger's skull.

But he wasn't a body cultivator—he had no strength in his hands.

The giant tiger thought Mo Hua was stroking its head, playing with it; it chewed the dried fish while nudging Mo Hua's hand with its head.

Mo Hua had no anger left.

At this moment, the giant tiger had finished the first piece of dried fish and opened its mouth wide again toward Mo Hua.

Mo Hua had no choice but to toss it another piece of dried fish.

The giant tiger had eaten the first piece slowly, licking it for a long time, savoring the flavor—but it only made it hungrier.

Now, with this second piece, it made no pretense—gulped it down in three or two bites.

After eating, it stared expectantly at Mo Hua again.

Mo Hua realized this feeding routine was unsustainable.

This giant tiger was a "big eater."

His storage pouch held some dried fish, but only a few dozen pieces—all carefully made by his mother from large fish, salted and sun-dried, requiring great effort.

If he fed them to the giant tiger, one meal would wipe them all out.

The other supplies—dried meat, fruit preserves, and Bigu Pills—were his own emergency rations.

He couldn't give them to the giant tiger.

Otherwise, in just a few meals, it would devour them all, and he'd be left drinking northwest wind.

Moreover, with this giant tiger's size and appetite, these foods wouldn't even fill it.

But all around was empty—no human or beast in sight—where could he find food—

Mo Hua's head ached.

He never imagined he'd one day worry about what the giant tiger would eat.

But he had no choice—he couldn't just watch it starve.

Mo Hua tossed another piece of dried fish to the giant tiger, then said: "Let's go. We'll find something that can actually fill you up."

The giant tiger carried the dried fish in its mouth; whether it understood or not, it trudged forward on its own.

After only a few steps, it suddenly turned its head and looked at Mo Hua.

Mo Hua blinked, unsure of its meaning.

The giant tiger tilted its massive head toward its own back, signaling Mo Hua to ride up and travel together.

Mo Hua hesitated—the giant tiger lay flat on the ground, as if it wouldn't move unless Mo Hua got on its back.

It seemed afraid that if it ran ahead, Mo Hua might vanish again in an instant.

Only with Mo Hua on its back could it feel at ease.

Mo Hua sighed, patted the giant tiger's mane, then climbed onto its back.

The giant tiger let out a low "ao-ming," rose, and began trotting forward on all fours.

The red sun blazed overhead, the land a vast, scorching expanse.

No map, no way to pinpoint his location—he didn't know where he was, nor where the Dao Army was.

He didn't know which way to go ahead, let alone how to return.

Had Commander Yang Jishan and Brother Yang Jiyong dispelled the "omen of death" and survived the military disaster?

How had the Dao Court's army fared after the Great Wilderness Sect's betrayal and the barbarian ambush?

What should he do next?

And how could he even form a Golden Core?

Mo Hua knew none of this—he couldn't calculate it, couldn't divine it.

But there was no other option now.

Mo Hua could only ride the giant tiger, wandering across the land of the Great Wilderness.

Meanwhile, in Daozhou.

The Central Dao Court, Tian Shu Pavilion.

On the upper floor, the Elder's chamber stood empty.

The smoke from the nitrogen box had dissipated.

The stones on the chessboard remained in their stalemate, untouched for a long time.

The jade slips and documents once sent to this room for the Elder's approval were now all routed to the other side, to the larger Chamber of the Supervisor.

At this moment, the Supervisor of the Tian Shu Pavilion, a middle-aged man dressed in luxurious robes, was flipping through the jade slips forwarded from the front lines, his face dark as storm clouds.

So dark it seemed ready to drip.

"The Da Huang Gate has mutinied."

"Barbarian forces ambushed us."

"The Dao Court's army has collapsed; the remnants have scattered into Da Huang, fighting a chaotic guerrilla war against the barbarians."

The army had only been deployed for half a month, yet the situation had deteriorated to this ruin.

This left the Supervisor, second only to the Elder and above ten thousand others in the Tian Shu Pavilion, with a sense of disbelief.

He couldn't help turning his head to glance toward the Elder's chamber.

The Elder's chamber was now empty.

The Elder—who once sat before a chessboard, his head full of white hair, dozing off, appearing confused and idle—had retired into seclusion.

Only after the Elder left did the Supervisor realize how immense the pressure of this position truly was.

Even now, he had not yet fully taken his seat—he was still merely a Supervisor, a "Provisional Elder"—yet he already felt as if standing on the edge of a precipice, walking on thin ice.

At this very moment, he finally understood a fraction of what the Elder had meant before departing.

Only now did he realize that the position of "Elder" was not something one could easily assume.

And the Elder, who appeared aged, dozed daily, and seemed dull and vacant, was truly unfathomable.

The Supervisor even suspected whether the Elder had foreseen this very situation, and thus deliberately defied the Dao Court's high command regarding the matter of Qianxue Prefecture.

Even afterward, when betrayed and targeted by his own ancestral patriarch during the Seven Pavilions Assembly, he made no countermove.

In the end, he "failed" and withdrew, retiring into seclusion to preserve himself and escape the inferno of Da Huang.

The Elder's murky, abyss-like eyes reappeared in his mind.

The Supervisor felt his scalp prickle; after a moment, he let out a deep sigh and said slowly:

"No wonder—in the old struggle for the Elder's seat, my Hua family's ancestral patriarch could not surpass him—"

The Assistant Supervisor beside him whispered respectfully: "Supervisor, speak carefully of your clan's ancestral patriarch."

The Supervisor fell silent.

After a moment, he asked: "What is the Dao Troops Bureau's current movement?"

The Assistant Supervisor's voice grew even lower:

"With the military defeat, the Dao Court has lost prestige; the Dao Lord is furious, and several Grand Supervisors of the Dao Troops Bureau have been reprimanded. For the Dao Troops Bureau, this is a great humiliation. Thus, this time, they will show no mercy whatsoever."

"The battle was lost, the Dao Court lost its prestige, and the Dao Lord was furious. As a result, several of the Grand Zhou Zhangsi of the Dao Soldier Division were reprimanded. For the Dao Soldier Division, this is an immense disgrace. Therefore, this time the Dao Soldier Division will hold back no longer."

"The Dao Troops Bureau intends to reassemble the Dao Troops, using Lei Ting's power to crush Da Huang, exterminating the Wang Hou of Da Huang and the puppet imperial clan without leaving a single threat."

"With the blood of the Da Huang barbarians, they will honor the fallen soldiers."

The Supervisor nodded slowly, yet his expression grew even more solemn.

He knew that with this, the board had grown larger—but also that the situation had become even more chaotic.

If he failed to manage it properly, he could not answer to his Hua family's ancestral patriarch, nor to the Tian Shu Pavilion, nor to the Dao Court.

Then this "Provisional Elder" would be replaced.

In Daozhou, the ancient clans endure for ages; geniuses and high cultivators abound like fish crossing a river, countless in number.

If you don't act, someone else will.

If you cannot, someone else can.

Yet as the Supervisor gazed at the chaotic sand table before him, the piles of jade slips and documents, and thought of Da Huang's current bloody chaos, he could not help wondering:

Aside from someone like the Elder, is there truly anyone who can handle this?

Is there truly anyone who can navigate such chaos in Da Huang and thrive?

Da Huang, a solitary mountain somewhere.

At dusk, the afterglow burned like fire.

Mo Hua had lit a fire and was roasting meat.

The meat came from a beast that looked like a jackal-wolf, yet bore antlers and had a hint of goat-like features.

Although Mo Hua was a Beast Hunter, he had never hunted in Da Huang before and did not recognize the species of Da Huang's beasts, so he did not know:

Although Mo Hua was a demon hunter, he had never hunted demons in the Great Wasteland, and was unfamiliar with the breeds of Great Wasteland demon beasts, so he did not know that

He could only judge from its habits that it was a herbivorous beast.

Da Huang was desolate and sparsely populated; if this beast were carnivorous or fed on humans, it would have starved to death long ago and could not have survived until now.

Moreover, this beast was only at the early stage of the Second Rank—its power was weak.

The Great Tiger chased it, pounced, and bit—it took no more than a few rounds before the beast was slain.

Mo Hua then used an array to ignite a fire and roasted the beast meat.

The Great Tiger, meanwhile, held a bloody beast thigh in its paws and gnawed on it.

These past days, it had been trapped in the Da Huang Gate's encampment; during the mutiny, it had fought its way out, fleeing through battle, exhausting itself, and growing desperately hungry—so now that flesh was in its mouth, it naturally devoured it with relish.

As it chewed, the Great Tiger suddenly sniffed the air, turned its head, and looked at Mo Hua.

At that moment, Mo Hua's meat was done, seasoned with spices; the pungent aroma mingled with the smoky scent of roasted meat, thick and rich.

Mo Hua was slowly slicing the meat with a small knife, eating methodically.

The Great Tiger watched Mo Hua with satisfaction—though primarily, it stared at the roasted meat, its copper-bell eyes filled with curiosity.

Seeing this, Mo Hua cut off a large piece of roasted meat and tossed it to the Great Tiger.

The Great Tiger let out a joyful "Ming!" caught the meat in its jaws, chewed it quickly, and swallowed it down.

The big tiger let out a joyful roar, caught the roasted meat in its mouth, chewed it a few times, and swallowed it down.

After finishing, the big tiger smacked its lips, very satisfied.

Afterwards it continued gnawing on its own share of bloody raw monster meat.

But as it gnawed, it suddenly felt that the meat in its mouth didn't seem as fragrant, at least not as fragrant as Mo Hua's portion.

The big tiger stretched its head over again, looking at Mo Hua.

Mo Hua could only give it another piece.

The big tiger ate it again, licked its chops, lowered its head to look at the bloody raw meat in its own claws, and felt even more that it had no flavor.

It thought for a moment, then took the monster beast's raw leg it had been gnawing on halfway through,

the meat, and pushed it in front of Mo Hua.

It seemed to want Mo Hua to roast it for it as well.

Mo Hua met the big tiger's pair of clear big eyes, really had no choice, could only take it, sprinkle on spices, and patiently roast it once for it.

He had inherited his mother Liu Ruhua's cooking skills, and had always been very handy at preparing meals, carrying all manner of spices on his person.

Back then when traveling with his master, the meals were also his responsibility.

Later when he arrived at Qianxue State and entered the Grand Void Gate, with food and drink no longer a worry, he hadn't cooked for a long time.

Now in the Great Wasteland, vast and sparsely populated, he was all alone, so naturally he could only roast meat himself.

He just hadn't expected that one day, he would still have to roast meat for a big tiger to eat.

But speaking of it, this big tiger was indeed a weirdo.

Other carnivorous monster beasts ate people, but it didn't.

Other tiger demons liked raw meat, but it preferred roasted meat.

He didn't know if it was because he had fed it dried small fish since it was young, and spoiled its palate—

Mo Hua muttered in his heart, but his hands didn't stop, and after a while, he finished roasting the meat and handed it to the big tiger.

The big tiger let out an "Aow" at Mo Hua, then its two tiger paws clutched the roasted demon leg, and it gnawed away sweetly, its tail swaying nonstop, looking at ease and leisurely.

From then on, the big tiger's mouth was spoiled by Mo Hua.

Unless necessary, it wouldn't eat raw meat.

Whenever it had meat, it would bring it to Mo Hua first thing, let Mo Hua use a formation to roast it for it, and only then would it eat.

Mo Hua sometimes didn't really feel like roasting, but looking at the big tiger circling around him, looking greedy, he couldn't bear to refuse,

so he could only indulge it like that.

But meat wasn't something that was available often.

This Great Wasteland was truly desolate, not a single person in sight, and even monster beasts weren't often seen.

This didn't match Mo Hua's previous impression.

In his understanding, this Great Wasteland was desolate and barbaric, and monster beasts should have been quite plentiful.

Mo Hua guessed that it was probably because the flames of war had spread, and the barbarian troops had passed through.

The monster beasts along the way had either been slain by the barbarian soldiers, or had fled elsewhere at the sight of them.

After all, no matter how strong monster beasts were, they couldn't contend with the great army of barbarian soldiers led by the Great Wasteland's Wang Hou.

Under the spread of war, even swarming monster beasts had to avoid its sharp edge to preserve their lives.

Mo Hua sighed softly.

Because he really couldn't identify the direction, he didn't care anymore, so he simply followed the monster beasts' tracks, riding the big tiger, and pressed on.

"Hunting monster beasts" was the only thing he could do.

It was also something he had to do.

Catching one monster beast was enough for the big tiger to eat a meal.

With food,

the big tiger could live.

Otherwise, under this scorching sun and vast earth, Mo Hua could get by on Bigu Pills, but the big tiger, being a "big rice bucket," would definitely starve to death.

Just like that, Mo Hua rode on the back of the black-and-white big tiger, hunting monster beasts as he went, wandering aimlessly through the Great Wasteland without knowing his destination or bearings.

During the day he traveled and killed monster beasts.

At night, if there was no wind, he could also walk for a while.

If the wind was strong and the night cold, he could only stop and rest for the time being.

The big tiger coiled up on the ground, while Mo Hua wrapped himself in a blanket, pillowed on the big tiger's belly, using the fluffy tiger fur to keep warm.

The sun rose and the moon set, and then the sun rose again.

Repeating like this, he didn't know how many months had passed.

Mo Hua finally crossed the brownish-red Gobi and saw some different scenery.

It was a large mountain range, with rugged and treacherous terrain, covered in reddish-brown shrubs.

The monster qi between the mountains was thicker, and Mo Hua seemed to faintly sense the aura of some living people.

After walking for so long, he had finally seen living people.

Mo Hua's heart couldn't help but feel a trace of excitement. After that, Mo Hua no longer hesitated, rode the fierce tiger, and entered the deep mountains.

The mountain forest was steep, but every blade of grass and tree was relatively intact, seeming that this mountain wasn't on the Great Wasteland barbarian army's marching route, and thus hadn't suffered large-scale destruction.

The variety of monster beasts in the forest was also much richer, and the big tiger's eyes lit up.

Mo Hua, however, released his divine sense, observing the surroundings, searching for traces of people.

After all, monster beasts couldn't talk. Only by finding people could he ask clearly what place this was, and where exactly he was, so as to decide what to do next.

One person and one tiger strolled through the forest. No monster beast dared to offend them,

for the tiger is the king among demons, all beasts give way, and ordinary monster beasts simply didn't dare to challenge its majesty.

What's more, the great tiger was a peak second-grade great demon beast.

After walking through the mountain for a while, Mo Hua's divine sense stirred, and he sensed the auras of two cultivators.

He thought for a moment, then said to the great tiger:

"Wait for me here."

The great tiger was too fierce and too conspicuous; bringing it along would be inconvenient, and it would also be hard to gather information.

But the great tiger simply wouldn't listen, insistently following Mo Hua, as if afraid that once Mo Hua left, he'd disappear again.

Mo Hua sighed and could only comfort it: "I'll be back soon."

The great tiger tilted its big head, clearly doubtful.

Mo Hua had no choice but to take off his storage bag, set it in front of the great tiger, and say, "I'll leave my storage bag with you. You watch it for me. I'll definitely come back for it."

The great tiger lay on the ground and used its two paws to clutch Mo Hua's storage bag tightly, only then nodding.

Mo Hua really couldn't do anything about it, thinking to himself that this great tiger was truly like it had become a spirit.

After that, Mo Hua's figure faded as he left using invisibility.

The great tiger instinctively panicked and was just about to get up, but thought for a moment, then lay back down, resting its big head on the storage bag,

waiting by the stump for Mo Hua to return.

Elsewhere, Mo Hua, keeping himself hidden, arrived at a cliff. Looking down, he saw two cultivators on the steep mountain path below, walking side by side.

These two cultivators had braided hair, bare arms, and wore beast hides. Their faces, the backs of their necks, and both arms were all tattooed with beast patterns.

At a glance they were clearly not cultivators from the Dao Court Nine Provinces, but they didn't look like sinister demon cultivators either—they should be cultivators of the Barbarian Tribes.

Moreover, one of the two was a stooped old man at the early Foundation Establishment stage, his face full of wrinkles, his bearing far from ordinary.

The other was a child of about ten, only at the fourth or fifth layer of Qi Refining.

They appeared to be grandfather and grandson.

At this moment, the grandfather and grandson walked deeper into Shenshan while talking, with the old man mostly instructing the child.

Though their words carried an obvious Barbarian accent, for the most part they spoke the official tongue of the Dao Court.

Mo Hua could roughly understand them.

As for why this Barbarian grandfather and grandson pair would speak the Dao Court's official tongue, Mo Hua also roughly knew.

The three thousand Barbarian Tribes of the Great Wasteland had their own written script and language.

But later, after the Great Wasteland royal clan rebelled and was quelled by the Dao Court, the Dao Court issued a decree forcing every clan of the Great Wasteland to learn the Dao Court's written script and language.

To destroy a people's culture, one must first abolish its written script and language.

Therefore, nowadays the vast majority of Great Wasteland clans spoke the unified language of the Nine Provinces from childhood, merely mixing in some Barbarian accents.

On the mountain path, grandfather and grandson walked and chatted.

Their chatter was disjointed—bits and pieces, here and there.

Mo Hua listened silently on the side, but as he listened, his expression suddenly changed.

He had just caught, from the fragmentary words of the grandfather and grandson, the two characters "sacrifice."

"Sacrifice—what?"

Mo Hua's eyes narrowed slightly.