Chapter 1167: Fire

Just a hair's breadth away from twenty-two divine threads; this progress is quite impressive.

It even surprised Mo Hua.

He had originally thought these barbarian gods were all "minor deities," barely qualifying as "gods" in the strict sense, lacking divine essence entirely, their physical forms merely mountain spirits, ghosts, or demonic beasts of low rank.

The strongest among them, the Ulu tribe's barbarian god, was merely at the peak of second grade, not yet third grade.

But he hadn't expected that, though their cultivation was low, their "flesh" was remarkably rich.

Only after pondering did Mo Hua understand.

Though their physical forms were merely mountain spirits and demonic entities, they had nonetheless touched upon a sliver of divine status, consumed incense offerings, and received worship from devotees—thus forming the embryonic shape of a divine path, making them vastly superior in quality to ordinary malevolent spirits.

Consuming them provided strong nourishment for the divine consciousness.

Low cultivation, easy to hunt, and immensely nourishing after consumption.

These "barbarian gods" of the Great Wilderness are undoubtedly "fine delicacies" among divine consciousness dishes.

Mo Hua deeply felt the Great Wilderness was a wonderful place, his own blessed land.

Yet occasionally he felt as if "shallow waters breed many Wang Ba," and "even mud chickens and tile dogs could call themselves gods."

But upon reflection, Mo Hua felt such a comparison was unfair.

His situation was unique.

How could these native "barbarian gods" compare to him—a half-god who had cultivated his divine consciousness to enlightenment, transformed his divine threads into Dao, practiced the Sword of Divine Severance, followed the Heavenly Demon Dao, mastered Heavenly Mechanism Calculations and Heavenly Mechanism Deceit, consumed divine essence, endured the Wild Heaven Blood Sacrifice, devoured countless demonic beasts, and even captured the living embryo of a malevolent god?

Whether in divine consciousness foundation, divine thread cultivation, combat experience, or depth of inheritance, they were not even in the same league—if not for him, any other cultivator, even a Jin Dan, venturing into the heart of the Three Thousand Great Wilderness and facing the countless invisible, treacherous "barbarian gods," would likely fall victim to their ways without realizing it, dying upon their altars.

"It's not that the barbarian gods of the Great Wilderness are too weak—it's that I am too strong."

"It's not their fault—"

In his heart, Mo Hua quietly restored a bit of dignity to these barbarian gods.

Since he was only a hair's breadth from twenty-two threads, Mo Hua's motivation grew even stronger.

He accelerated the pace of his "barbarian god hunting" plan.

All of this was carried out in secret.

Many tribes had no idea their venerated "gods" had already been slain and devoured by Mo Hua.

But as he kept killing, the number of killable barbarian gods grew ever fewer.

On Elder Zhamu's list, most names of tribal barbarian gods had been crossed out.

After all, no matter how numerous the barbarian gods of the Great Wilderness, they couldn't withstand Mo Hua, this "omen of calamity," cutting them down like grass.

And Elder Zhamu was merely a minor tribe's elder.

He rarely traveled far, and his knowledge of barbarian gods was limited to the vicinity of Wutu Mountain, with a very small number.

Mo Hua had already killed and consumed all the killable, worthy, and easy targets.

Some remained—none particularly evil, truly fulfilling their role as barbarian gods, diligently protecting their tribes with favorable winds and rains.

Mo Hua found it hard to eat such gods, so he merely glanced at them and left.

Others were neither good nor bad, but extremely alert and well-hidden.

There were also some barbarian gods whose nature could not be called good or bad, but who were extremely sharp and alert, hiding themselves very deeply,

Mo Hua lay in wait in the tribes for a long time but caught no trace of these gods.

Later, by eavesdropping on tribal elders' conversations, he learned these gods had appeared in their dreams, warning them never to offer sacrifices.

Even to refrain from placing offerings or allowing anyone to worship—pretending their tribe had no barbarian gods at all—so as to avoid unseen calamities and unknown misfortunes.

Such "frightened birds," "turtled-headed" barbarian gods, Mo Hua had no way to deal with.

His time was precious; he couldn't abandon vast forests for just one or two lone specimens, so he let them go.

His time was precious; he could not abandon an entire forest for the sake of one or two lone seedlings, and so he let them go.

Any barbarian god he could encounter was, in essence, deserving of death, having already earned his doom.

Those he couldn't reach meant their fate had not yet run out; their karmic threads could not be forcibly severed.

In a sense, this was also following the Dao of Heaven, adhering to cause and effect.

Mo Hua's understanding of heavenly mechanism and karmic threads grew increasingly effortless.

But with fewer barbarian gods to replenish him, his divine consciousness's advancement slowed once more.

Mo Hua could only consider expanding his ambitions, venturing beyond Wutu Mountain to hunt barbarian gods outside it.

But doing so required careful preparation.

For, according to Elder Zhamu, beyond Wutu Mountain lay many "great tribes."

These "great tribes" contained numerous Jin Dan cultivators, and perhaps even legendary Wang Hou of the Liu Yuhua realm, and Dragon Lords ruling over ten thousand souls.

All of these were beings Mo Hua could not afford to provoke.

In the Three Thousand Mountains of the Great Wilderness, his connections were even scarcer than in Damao City.

At Damao City, at least there was the Dao Bing Si Yang family.

But in the heart of the Great Wilderness, he was truly alone, with not a shred of background or support.

Any slip-up would leave him with no one to cover for him.

Moreover, he had no base of power.

In Tongxian City, though there were few high-level cultivators, at least among the "common cultivators," Mo Hua enjoyed high prestige, excellent rapport, and strong support.

The Dao Ting Si, small families, small sects, lone cultivators, demon hunters, artifact crafters, array masters—all in Tongxian City stood with him.

He could do anything he wished, and countless people would willingly help him.

But here in the Great Wilderness, he truly had nothing.

Whatever he wanted to do, there were plenty of people willing to help him.

But here in the Great Wastes, he truly had nothing at all.

The only thing he had was the tiger who shared his life with him.

Therefore, in everything he did, he must be even more cautious.

At the very least, he needed to gather clear intelligence on the situation, learn the general state of the barbarian gods beyond Wutu Mountain, and then act.

It would be twice as efficient if he could also obtain another copy of Elder Zhamu's list.

This matter required careful planning and thorough preparation.

Before preparation was complete, Mo Hua's task was to sweep through Wutu Mountain and the surrounding tribal territories once more, checking for any survivors.

Thus, Mo Hua simultaneously conducted his sweeps to fill gaps and planned his outward expeditions to hunt barbarian gods.

Time passed slowly, and Mo Hua's plan gradually advanced.

In his spare moments, he still visited the tiger.

Now, the most dangerous and demon-beast-infested peak in the deep mountains of Wutu had become the tiger's private territory.

The several second-rank demon beasts that once held the peak had either been killed by the tiger or fled in terror, never daring to cross the line again.

Wutu Mountain was now entirely the tiger's domain.

It had truly become the mountain king.

The tiger had begun hoarding demon-beast meat, solely so Mo Hua could roast it for him.

It had grown finicky: unless conditions absolutely forbade it, it refused to eat any demon meat unless Mo Hua roasted it first.

Mo Hua had also set up a Three-Nine Cold Ice Array inside the cave for the tiger.

Ice-element arrays were among the Eight Trigram Odd Arrays, complex in transformation, rarely transmitted, and known to few cultivators.

Fortunately, the Grand Void Gate possessed abundant array scriptures, and Mo Hua, having studied under Mr. Xun, had learned some basic ice arrays during his wide-ranging studies.

The Three-Nine Cold Ice Array was one such technique—though not profound, it was sufficient.

When the tiger killed a demon beast, it placed the corpse atop the Three-Nine Cold Ice Array to chill and preserve the meat, preventing spoilage.

Then, when Mo Hua returned from hunting barbarian gods, he would roast it for the tiger.

While Mo Hua roasted the meat, the tiger would stare wide-eyed, lying beside him.

When the meat was done, the tiger would open its mouth with a "Mrrr," and Mo Hua would toss the meat inside; the tiger would chew slowly, savoring it fresh off the fire.

Mo Hua also kept a portion of the meat he roasted for the tiger.

He brought these roasted meats to the Wutu Tribe and gave them to Xiao Zatu.

Zatu was the grandson of Elder Zhamu of the Wutu Tribe,

the child Elder Zhamu had once intended to sacrifice to the barbarian god.

Like other barbarian children, Zatu bore beast tattoos on his body.

But unlike other barbarian children, he was thin and small, lacking the fierce, brutish vigor.

The Wutu Tribe was poor; even as the elder's grandson, he received little special treatment. Seeing the roasted meat Mo Hua brought, he was both surprised and hesitant, asking timidly:

"Mr. Witch, can—I eat this?"

Mo Hua nodded. "You're injured. You need to restore your strength."

Though Zatu had improved somewhat, his weak constitution still required meat to recover.

In barbarian lands, meat was generally the staple diet.

But perhaps due to war and famine, meat had become scarce.

Moreover, the barbarians' "meat" was hardly good.

They had no proper cooking methods, used few spices, and their meat was foul-smelling, dry, tough, and chewy like dried ox tendon.

The most troubling issue was that in the Great Wilderness, no distinction was made between carnivorous and herbivorous demon beasts.

All demon beasts were treated equally—and all were eaten.

Herbivorous demon beasts didn't matter.

But carnivorous demon beasts were different: they killed humans and fed on them; their flesh carried human blood-qi and nutrients, and their demonic qi was far stronger.

Thus, when a cultivator ate carnivorous demon meat, severe side effects occurred:

such as increased rage, bloodlust, loss of reason, and bloody hallucinations.

The demonic qi would also pollute the meridians, shorten lifespan, and easily cause qi deviation during cultivation.

Yet in the Great Wilderness, these seemed hardly problems at all.

Because the environment was harsh, barbarian cultivators died young anyway, so they didn't care about lifespan.

With limited resources, having anything to eat was enough—they didn't care what kind of meat it was.

Some savage tribes even practiced the barbaric custom of eating humans—they truly consumed human flesh.

Thus, eating carnivorous demon meat, which was somewhat like "indirectly eating humans," even seemed relatively "civilized."

These were ingrained customs of the Great Wilderness, spanning millennia; Mo Hua could not change them, so he could only "respect" them.

But the meat he gave Xiao Zatu was strictly selected herbivorous demon meat.

He had burned off the demonic qi with array-fire, removed the stench, and sprinkled spices—clean, delicious.

Zatu took a bite, widened his eyes, then hesitated, wanting to save it—but halfway to putting it away, his hand froze.

Mo Hua asked: "What's wrong?"

Xiao Zatu

fell silent for a moment, then spoke in a low voice:

"This meat is so delicious—I wanted to save some for Da Da, A Li, and Na Zhen… but I forgot—they're gone now. I'm all alone."

Xiao Zatu's expression grew hollow.

Mo Hua felt a pang in his chest.

The irretrievable sorrow of life and death—this child, so young, had already felt it.

Mo Hua changed the subject and asked, "Your name is Zatu?"

Little Zatu nodded.

"What does 'Zatu' mean in the barbarian tongue?"

Little Zatu said, "It means the rising of flame."

Mo Hua nodded slightly. "Your grandfather is named Zhamu—does that mean 'wood'?"

Little Zatu nodded. "It means sturdy firewood—"

He explained, "My grandfather is named Zhamu, so he named me 'Zatu'—meaning I am the flame kindled by his wood, to burn and become the hope for the future revival of the Wutu tribe."

Little Zatu sighed. "But I'm useless. My grandfather has become wood, and my flame won't catch."

Mo Hua's gaze grew subtle.

Little Zatu's spiritual root was actually quite good.

Moreover, this child had great kindness—rare in the savage lands of Dahuang.

Mo Hua asked again, "Where are your parents?"

Little Zatu spoke sadly, "My mother is gone. My father was conscripted to fight the Dao Court."

Mo Hua's expression turned solemn.

The barbarian armies of Dahuang were not entirely composed of the Dahuang Wang Hou tribe or its subordinate clans.

Many young men seemed conscripted from smaller and mid-sized tribes.

These barbarians from smaller tribes, especially, would surely suffer poor treatment.

Most were likely sent as cannon fodder.

It was even possible that, during the night of the Dahuang Gate mutiny, when the barbarian army ambushed the Dao soldiers, the common barbarian troops charging ahead and fighting the Dao soldiers included Little Zatu's father.

On the battlefield, they were perhaps just an insignificant soldier.

But in their tribe, they were the pillar of a family.

They were a child's only father.

And Little Zatu's father was very likely already dead, slain that night in battle against the Dao soldiers, never to return.

Mo Hua sighed inwardly and asked, "Have all the adults in your tribe been taken to war?"

Little Zatu nodded. "Most uncles and older brothers with higher cultivation and stronger strength have been conscripted away."

"Much of our supplies—food and drink—have been requisitioned too."

"As a result, the Wutu tribe's strength has weakened further."

"We can't hold back the beasts on the mountains, so we abandoned our old camp and came here to survive."

"Without supplies, without adults to hunt, we have less to eat."

"On top of that, this year there were strange omens—fire rained from the sky, hotter than ever before, and the wild millet and wild grain in the mountains—"

"All dried up. We have even less to eat."

"The Wutu tribe has already starved to death many people."

"That's why Grandfather had to find a way to pray to the Barbarian God, hoping to bless us—so our millet and grain won't wither, hunting will yield game, and at least our tribe can survive these years, until—…"

Little Zatu's voice sank further. "Until my father and uncles and older brothers return from war."

Though he knew deep down, this was likely impossible.

His father and uncles and older brothers might never return.

Even if they did, these old, young, sick, and weak might starve to death first.

Mo Hua's expression was solemn. "Are other tribes the same?"

"Yes," Little Zatu said. "Most are like this. Some are even worse than the Wutu tribe—entire tribes have starved to death. Others, driven mad by hunger, have resorted to cannibalism."

"Around here, there used to be other small tribes. Now they're gone—all their people dead—"

Mo Hua frowned. "With such desperation, why not leave the tribe and seek livelihood elsewhere?"

"We can't leave the tribe," Little Zatu said solemnly. "Leave the tribe, lose the tribal totem, and you become a 'barbarian slave.' Barbarian slaves aren't human—they're captured and treated like livestock, and die even worse."

Mo Hua sighed deeply inside.

This was war—the cruel other side.

Whether on the front lines or the rear, all were being bled dry by "war."

The poverty and suffering of Dahuang's barbarian cultivators were far beyond what he had anticipated.

It seemed that, no matter where one went, the lower-class cultivators suffered the same.

But for now, he remained powerless to change any of it.

Mo Hua sighed again and looked at Little Zatu.

Little Zatu was eating the roasted meat he had given him—slowly, reverently, as if afraid that once finished, he would never eat again.

Mo Hua felt a pang of sorrow, and suddenly his heart jolted—he wondered how many times he had seen such heartbreaking scenes before?

How many times had he sighed, helpless, just as he was now?

Would he remain forever "powerless"?

Was he truly powerless?

Was he truly powerless—or was he merely making excuses for his unwillingness to act?

For what purpose had he learned this cultivation, this mighty spiritual sense, these myriad arts?

Mo Hua suddenly froze, his heart surging like a storm-tossed sea.

Cultivators seek the Dao, and they must practice the Dao.

No matter how grand the "Dao," it must begin with small deeds—and sooner or later, it must be lived.

If it must be done eventually, why not begin now—with what you can do today?

To defy heaven and alter fate—to change one's own fate, and the fate of every lowly cultivator under heaven—

It begins with the Great Wilderness before us.

From altering the fate of one person, to a tribe, to many tribes, and ultimately the fate of all three thousand tribes of the Great Wilderness.

Thus completely reversing the entire situation of the Great Wilderness.

Amidst this chaotic age, in this war-torn, savage, and impoverished Great Wilderness of three thousand tribes, establish the power and foundation for one's own Dao, and defy the destiny of all living beings!

Mo Hua's heart surged, and his blood instantly surged in response.

Beside him, Xiao Zatu was still carefully eating roasted Bao. Seeing Mo Hua's spirit stirred, his expression shifting repeatedly, those deep eyes revealed an aura as vast and unfathomable as heaven and earth—unfathomable yet stirring within him awe and longing. He asked softly:

"Master Wu?"

Mo Hua smiled faintly, slowly withdrew his gaze, and set aside all grand ambitions and aspirations, severing the threads of karmic connection.

Then he turned his head, glanced at Xiao Zatu, and couldn't help but reach out to stroke his forehead, smiling gently:

"You have a good name."