The Quest for Immortality - Chapter 1152 (Patreon)

Chapter 1152: Mutiny

Night veiled the land; silhouettes melted into the dark.

Mo Hua sped toward Desert City.

Along the way stood scattered camps with cultivators stationed on both sides of the road.

These cultivators weren’t Dao Soldiers, but Great Wilderness Sect cultivators who had come south with the Dao Soldiers Bureau to put down the rebellion.

Now they too had pitched their tents with the marching Dao Soldier columns.

Within the Great Wilderness Sect’s encampment, powerful auras seeped out—many were Golden Core.

There might even be Ascension-realm true persons among them.

Mo Hua thought, “I guessed right. With the army on the move, the Great Wilderness Sect is tagging along. Desert City’s defenses must be hollow…”

“Faster.”

He pushed his movement technique to the limit, ghosting through the night in black, skirting the Great Wilderness Sect’s camps and steering clear of their Golden Core and above, then sprinted another two hundred li toward Desert City.

At a fork in the road, a karmic thread twisted.

Mo Hua’s heart lurched and he halted on the spot.

“Something’s off… Why do I have such a bad feeling?”

He frowned, slipped into a secluded spot, and used a Demon-Bone Divination with monster blood he’d taken from the big tiger some days prior. The augury showed that within Desert City… the big tiger’s aura was gone.

“Gone?”

“Dead…?”

His heart trembled, then his expression tightened. “No. The karma is still there—it hasn’t snapped.”

“If the big tiger’s aura has disappeared from Desert City, that means it isn’t in Desert City right now?”

“If not there… then where?”

His gaze sank. After a moment’s thought, he couldn’t help looking back toward the Great Wilderness Sect’s camps.

He cast Demon-Bone Divination again to test his guess.

Then, erasing every trace of the augury, he turned around and headed back the way he’d come.

This time he didn’t avoid the Great Wilderness Sect’s encampment. He studied the campsite’s arrays, found a flaw, and slipped inside.

There were Ascension experts in the camp, and more than a few Golden Cores.

Mo Hua didn’t dare make a ripple.

Fortunately, the encampment was sprawling; the Ascension experts’ divine sense couldn’t carpet everything, the Golden Cores were spread out, and all the arrays were freshly set—full of gaps.

If he was careful, it would be fine.

In the dark, a blood-red karmic filament, reeking of ferocity, uncoiled through Mo Hua’s karmic sight.

He followed that bloody thread to a sealed compound.

Steel walls hemmed it in on all sides. Iron chains ringed it tight. Arrays layered over it, sealing sound and even smell.

Mo Hua’s eyes stirred. He swept it with divine sense, letting the calculations spool on their own.

In moments he had pried out weaknesses in the mesh of array lines.

He tapped a finger. Ink curled over the ground, threading along the flaw to form counter-patterns that dissolved the seals.

As the lines quenched, a slit opened noiselessly between the iron locks.

Mo Hua pressed his right eye to the crack.

The interior sprang into view.

It wasn’t so much a marching “compound” as a miniature “beast-taming yard.”

Iron cages lined the four sides, each holding a different demonic beast.

At the center, eight golden-iron chains bound a ferocious tiger demon, black-and-white with a “王” character on its brow.

It was Mo Hua’s big tiger.

Realization struck, laced with a trace of surprise.

“This Young Master Tuoba—he even brought the big tiger to the front?”

“How much does he like that tiger?”

Right now, eight burly Foundation Establishment peak cultivators were hauling the chains, straining against the big tiger.

A few Golden Cores stood by, lashing it with whips.

It looked like a beast-taming regimen: exhaust the tiger’s strength again and again to grind down its savagery until it submitted.

The big tiger raged, roaring and straining at the men around it.

The Great Wilderness cultivators were cold-faced, tirelessly wearing it down.

Mo Hua’s gaze went frosty. He was about to act—then forced himself still.

This was the Great Wilderness Sect’s camp.

They had Ascension experts and numerous Golden Cores on guard. If he made a move now, he would never escape their grasp.

The big tiger would be in even greater danger.

On top of that, sneaking into their camp had already violated military law. If he stirred up a mess, even the Yang clan couldn’t cover for him.

Another dead end.

He could only plan again, slowly.

Mo Hua’s face was grim; for the moment he really had no better way.

Time was slipping by. It was getting late.

He still had to hurry back to the army camp—otherwise he’d have no way to explain himself to Brother Yang.

Mo Hua sighed inwardly, gave the big tiger a long look, and turned to leave, helpless.

In the yard, as if sensing something, the big tiger suddenly grew violent. Demonic power blasted from its body; it flung the eight Foundation-peak handlers aside—only to draw a far more vicious suppression from the Golden Cores.

Even Golden Core suppression couldn’t quench its ferocity.

It roared and thrashed, demonic qi howling, its might shaking the yard.

The beasts in the surrounding cages cowered, shivering before the tiger’s kingly aura.

Three or four Great Wilderness Golden Cores went solemn, shivering as they muttered:

“This beast is only second-grade, yet it has such dread power?”

“Truly, it’s Young Master Tuoba’s great fortune…”

“Enough talk—pin it down. If the demonic qi leaks, we’ll have trouble…”

Whips and spells fell harder on the big tiger.

Bloodied all over, it still refused to yield.

But after it roared and struggled for a long time and no one came—when even that familiar aura vanished—the big tiger’s spirit dimmed. It lowered its head and sprawled on the ground. The Great Wilderness cultivators cursed and struck it, but it didn’t react.

The Golden Cores looked at each other.

“What’s gotten into it? Why the sudden change?”

“Who cares? Quiet is good.”

“Maybe it’s realized there’s no way out… lost heart.”

“Give it time and that savagery will be ground away. The Young Master will have his explanation…”

…

Outside the Dao Soldier camp.

Mo Hua found a quiet place, changed into a Dao Soldier’s uniform, and walked back openly to find Yang Jiyong.

Seeing Mo Hua return was expected, but Yang Jiyong still let out a long breath.

“Did you find it?”

“Mm.” Mo Hua nodded.

He just hadn’t been able to bring it back…

“Good,” Yang Jiyong said, not knowing the details. “Before dawn, get some rest. We march again tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

Yang Jiyong left.

Mo Hua went back to his tent and lay down, mind still on the big tiger, turning over how to get it out.

But no matter how he thought it through, this was a dead game.

If he forced a rescue and angered the Great Wilderness Sect, he couldn’t contain the fallout.

Even if he pulled the tiger out, they wouldn’t get away.

Right now the big tiger was inside their camp, surrounded by Dao Soldiers.

If he showed himself and the demonic qi spilled, the Great Wilderness Sect wouldn’t spare the tiger, and the Dao Soldiers Bureau would execute it on the spot.

Either way, the big tiger would die.

Mo Hua sighed helplessly.

Plans can’t catch up with change.

He’d hoped to hurry back to Desert City and spring the tiger, but unexpectedly Young Master Tuoba had brought it along.

The good news: the big tiger would be marching south with the army into the Great Wilderness.

The bad news: saving it would be even harder now.

Mo Hua lay on his pallet, eyes turning.

…

Over the next few days, the Dao Court’s army kept advancing toward the Great Wilderness, moving faster and faster.

Mo Hua’s thoughts were nearly all tied up in saving the big tiger.

He thought for a long time and still found no good way.

Seven full days passed like that. The Dao Court’s mighty host pressed up to Windwave Ridge, one of the Great Wilderness passes.

Windwave Ridge—gales for three thousand li, a sea of sand like rolling waves.

Endless savage mountains and ghostly ridges sprawled on either side of the Great Wilderness like specters, gloomy and uncanny.

It was a pass—and a peril.

The Dao Soldiers reached Windwave Ridge near dusk. Night thickened, and they made camp outside the ridge.

The camp bustled. When everything was set in order, it was already deep night.

Mo Hua lay on his pallet, listening to the wind keening like ghosts, feeling the desert’s searing-by-day, frigid-by-night swing. Thinking that he was “soldiering,” he felt a strange, new surge of boldness.

Of course, when the boldness faded, worry for the big tiger welled up again.

But no way meant no way.

He was only Foundation Establishment. “Stealing a tiger” under the Great Wilderness Sect’s Ascension and Golden Core noses was too hard.

“Big Tiger…”

As he weighed and weighed, a stab of dread suddenly pierced his heart.

This jolt was fiercer than ever.

Which meant…

“The big tiger is in danger?”

Uneasy, he secretly got up and cast an augury—but nothing came out.

He rubbed a copper coin—still nothing.

Mo Hua frowned. Something was wrong.

“How can I not divine it?”

“Has the karma been cut off? Or… has the big tiger truly had an accident?”

After a moment’s thought he still couldn’t rest easy. He decided to go himself and confirm the big tiger’s condition.

If it really was in peril, he wouldn’t care about consequences—he’d smash the pot and see, one step at a time.

He donned his black robe, hid his presence, and slipped out of the Dao Soldier camp.

The night was heavy; the desert wind was bitter, slicing like knives.

Mo Hua leaned into the wind and melted into the dark, threading ridges like ghosts until he reached the Great Wilderness Sect’s camp.

Its arrays—especially the second-grade structures—were strict.

But to Mo Hua, a formation grandmaster of deep attainment, they were riddled with holes.

He moved like he had a map, circled the alerts, and slipped in again.

Soon he found that iron-bound tent once more.

He tapped a finger, undid a corner of the array, and peered in with a tight chest.

The big tiger lay in the center, crisscrossed with blood marks—injured, but its massive head rose and fell with even breath.

“Not dead…”

He let out a long breath.

It was hurt, yes, but alive; the air in the tent was quiet and held no immediate threat.

Outside, a few Golden Cores were just drinking to ward off the cold; they weren’t tormenting the tiger.

Bits of talk drifted in—the Golden Cores chatting.

They were discussing trivialities, not secrets, and didn’t bother to lower their voices, unconcerned about eavesdroppers.

“Hot and cold by turns…”

“Without wine, I can’t stand it…”

“This damned Great Wilderness—no place for people.”

“Good thing the beast’s calmed down. If it kept acting up, we brothers would suffer.”

“Don’t keep calling it a ‘beast.’ If it’s truly tamed, it’s a king-beast. Not for the likes of us to offend.”

“If the Young Master heard you say ‘beast,’ he’d make you pay.”

“Exactly…”

“But he hasn’t tamed it yet.”

“Soon, I’d say. Its ferocity’s mostly worn down. These few days it’s been much meeker.”

“Shame we’re late. If we’d caught it earlier, we might’ve earned bigger rewards.”

“Drink.”

“Drink.”

After that, they stopped saying much—just cultivation routines, personnel shifts in the Great Wilderness Sect, griping about the harsh land and how they didn’t want to linger.

Mo Hua listened no more. He looked up at the big tiger, confirmed it was fine, and headed back to the Dao Soldier camp.

All the way back, doubts churned in him: The big tiger was fine… then what had sparked that dread? And another thing he’d been ignoring dawned on him:

Why was Young Master Tuoba so set on taming the big tiger?

Yes, the big tiger was mighty and striking—black-and-white, plush, both sacred and domineering, obviously extraordinary. Anyone would like it at first sight.

But wasn’t the Young Master a bit too obsessed?

Mo Hua frowned in puzzlement until he lay back down, listening to the wind’s whimper outside, still baffled and unable to sleep.

After a while, Yang Jiyong came to inspect the camp.

His focus was Mo Hua.

The other Dao Soldiers didn’t matter; he just feared Mo Hua would run—or meet misfortune.

A formation master like Mo Hua was a talent you couldn’t find even with a lantern.

If something happened to him, Yang Jiyong would regret it to the bone.

He entered the tent and looked at Mo Hua first thing.

Once wasn’t enough—he stepped closer to see if Mo Hua was really asleep, really breathing.

As he leaned in, he met a pair of big eyes glinting in the dark.

The two locked gazes.

A bit embarrassed, Yang Jiyong chuckled. “The wind’s strong at Windwave Ridge, sand everywhere, cold at night. Getting used to it?”

“It’s fine,” Mo Hua said.

“Good.” Yang Jiyong smiled. “Turn in early.”

He didn’t want to disturb Mo Hua further and turned to go.

But as he turned, Mo Hua’s face changed and he grabbed Yang Jiyong’s arm.

Yang Jiyong blinked. “Wh-what is it?”

Mo Hua stared at his brow.

It was too dark at first to tell, but when Yang Jiyong turned, the lamplight brushed his face—and there was no glow at all. It was ashen, his brow hall dark, like it was veiled in… a death omen.

Yang Jiyong… would die?

Mo Hua’s heart clenched.

“Brother Yang, what did you just do?” he asked quickly.

“Patrolling the night,” Yang Jiyong said, baffled.

“And in the day?”

“Nothing special. Marching. Making camp…”

“Anything else?” Mo Hua pressed. “Anything out of the ordinary—anything or anyone unusual? Be thorough. Don’t leave anything out.”

Yang Jiyong couldn’t make sense of it, but Mo Hua’s gravity made him think hard. In the end he shook his head.

“Same as always.”

Mo Hua’s brows knit.

When he saw that death omen, his first thought was that Yang Jiyong had run into something “unclean” at Windwave Ridge.

But that wasn’t it.

If he’d done nothing special, then the “death omen” was indiscriminate.

Indiscriminate meant… war among the Dao Soldiers?

Were the barbarians going to raid the camp?

But thinking further, he felt it wasn’t so simple.

This was the Dao Court’s grand army—barbarians couldn’t raid it so easily.

Besides, the Yang clan’s unit was in the rear. Even if there were fighting, they’d be the last to clash.

Yang Jiyong was a second-grade sub-commander, a veteran of a hundred battles—he wouldn’t die easily.

Unless… the threat came from behind?

Behind was…

Mo Hua’s pupils shrank. “The Great Wilderness Sect?!”

But that… didn’t make sense…

Not that they couldn’t rebel—but why would they?

Yes, the Great Wilderness Sect dominated a region; its power was great, comparable to a fifth-rank sect—true. But even so, they were just a sect. How dare they bare fangs at the Dao Court?

Tired of living?

Yet the karmic signs pointed exactly there.

In a flash, he thought of the big tiger…

Why was Young Master Tuoba hell-bent on taming it?

Because… he wanted it as a “mount”?

Mo Hua remembered Elder Ji’s words back in Little Post City:

“The ‘tiger’ descends from the White Tiger, one of the Four Symbols divine beasts, and is a symbol of the Great Wilderness royal clan.”

“It’s said every adult of the Great Wilderness royal clan, when vying for power, must tame a mighty ‘tiger’ as a mount to prove their bloodline.”

The Great Wilderness royal clan… power struggles… taming a mighty tiger for a mount…

Mo Hua shook his head.

But that didn’t track—Young Master Tuoba was the Great Wilderness Sect Master’s son.

And a sect master wasn’t Great Wilderness royalty…

Then—what about Young Master Tuoba’s mother?

He searched his memory. At the marching feast he’d seen the sect master with his own eyes—his form and features were those of a Jiuzhou cultivator.

But Young Master Tuoba was taller, more handsome, with a hint of wildness.

That wasn’t wrong—grow up in the Great Wilderness, and some of its air will rub off.

At first, he hadn’t thought much of it.

But if… his mother was from the Great Wilderness tribes? Even… of the royal clan?

Then Young Master Tuoba would indeed carry the royal clan’s blood.

So he would go to any length to tame the big tiger—this king among beasts—as his royal “mount.”

If that was true, then… the Great Wilderness Sect, directly under the Dao Court, had long since, through blood ties, become the royal clan’s “Great Wilderness Sect.”

Cold crept up from his core.

Mo Hua drew a sharp breath.

All these thoughts spun in a flash.

Yang Jiyong, still puzzled, was about to ask what was wrong.

Mo Hua clamped his arm and said in a low, grave voice, “Brother Yang—do you trust me?”

Yang Jiyong started, then slowly nodded.

Mo Hua’s face was set. He lowered his voice further. “The Great Wilderness Sect may… have rebelled as well.”

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