The Quest for Immortality - Chapter 1156 (Patreon)

Chapter 1156: Tiger’s Stride

The Great Wilderness, the sun like a furnace, a rocky slope on some stretch of Gobi.

Mo Hua and the big tiger lay on the ground to rest.

The first rush of excitement had long since ebbed. The big tiger was tired and hungry. It flopped on its back, belly to the sky, paddled its four paws in the air for a while, then turned its head toward Mo Hua and opened its mouth, letting out a plaintive “meow-woo.”

Mo Hua could only sigh. He took out a strip of dried fish and tossed it into the tiger’s mouth.

The big tiger licked at the fish, perfectly content.

Mo Hua, however, felt bitter. He raised his head and looked around.

Desolation everywhere. Gobi stretching endless, a brown earth and a red mountain range melting into the blaze of the noonday sky—one vast, bleak sweep with no sense at all of where he was.

“Where in the world did this tiger drag me?”

Mo Hua’s heart was a blur of confusion.

By rights, with the Dao soldiers ambushed and the suppression campaign in trouble, the situation was perilous—exactly the time for him to show his mettle and earn military merit.

But plans never keep up with change.

The oaf of a tiger had bolted the moment it could, and his neat little plan had been knocked clean off its track.

All his schemes were now in tatters.

His path to merit and fame? Soaked and sunk.

Annoyed, Mo Hua couldn’t help patting the big tiger’s skull.

He wasn’t a body cultivator, though, and his pat had no force at all.

The big tiger took it as a head rub, a little game. Chewing its fish, it bumped Mo Hua’s hand with its forehead.

Mo Hua had no temper left to show.

By then the tiger had finished the fish and once more gaped at him for more.

Mo Hua had no choice but to toss it another strip.

It had savored the first one slowly, licking for a long time to tease out the taste—only to end up hungrier. So when the second came, it didn’t stand on ceremony: two or three chomps and down it went.

After swallowing, it stared at Mo Hua again, hopeful.

Mo Hua realized that feeding it like this wouldn’t do.

This tiger was a big-bellied rice bucket.

He did have a few dozen strips of dried fish in his storage pouch—his mother, Liu Ruhua, had specially bought big fish, brined and sun-dried them with care; it had taken real effort.

If he fed the tiger, one sitting and they’d be gone.

He also had jerky, candied fruit, and Fasting Pills as his emergency rations.

Those couldn’t go to the tiger either.

Otherwise, in a few meals it would “devour” the lot and he’d be left drinking the northwest wind.

Besides, with a beast this large and a stomach this big, these snacks would never fill it.

Yet the world around was empty—no sign of a person or even a demonic beast. Where was he supposed to find food…

Mo Hua rubbed his temples.

He’d never imagined he’d one day be fretting over how to feed a tiger.

But there was no getting around it. He couldn’t just watch the tiger starve.

He threw it another dried fish and said, “Come on. Let’s find something that can actually fill you up.”

The big tiger carried the fish in its mouth. Whether it understood or not, it set off at a trot.

After a few steps, it suddenly looked back at Mo Hua.

Mo Hua blinked, not sure what it meant.

The tiger tilted its big head toward its back, inviting Mo Hua to mount so the two brothers could go together.

Mo Hua hesitated.

The tiger dropped to its belly. It seemed that unless Mo Hua climbed on, it wouldn’t budge.

It looked afraid that, if it ran on ahead, it would turn around and find Mo Hua gone again.

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

Mo Hua sighed, smoothed the tiger’s ruff, and sat astride.

The tiger rumbled a soft “awoo,” then rose and set off at an easy lope.

…

A red sun rode high. Heat shimmered everywhere.

No maps. No way to fix his position. He didn’t know where he was, or where the Court’s army was.

He didn’t know which way to go, nor how to return.

Had Commander Yang Jishan and his elder brother Yang Jiyong dispelled the “omen of death” and survived the soldiers’ calamity?

With the Great Wilderness Gate’s treachery and the barbarians ambushing the Dao Court’s army, how had it all ended?

What should he do next? And how was he ever going to form his core?

Mo Hua knew none of it; he couldn’t even calculate it out.

But at this point, there was nothing to be done.

All he could do was ride the tiger and drift across the lands of the Great Wilderness.

…

At the same time, in Dao Prefecture.

Central Dao Court, Tianshu Pavilion.

High in the pavilion, the Elder’s chamber stood empty.

The curling incense haze had dispersed.

The stones on the chessboard were still in mid-game, frozen for who knew how long.

The jade slips and papers once sent to this chamber for the Elder’s instructions were now all diverted to the other side—to the far more spacious Supervisor’s Office.

There, the richly dressed, middle-aged Supervisor of Tianshu Pavilion was reading jade slips from the front lines, his face so dark it might drip water.

“Great Wilderness Gate mutiny.”

“Barbarian ambush.”

“The Dao Court’s army routed. The remnants scattered across the Great Wilderness, forced into a patchwork of skirmishes with the barbarians.”

The army had marched for barely half a month, and the situation had flipped, rotting to this point.

For one who stood just beneath a single man and above ten thousand, this dignified Supervisor found it almost unbelievable.

He couldn’t help turning his head toward the Elder’s chamber.

It stood empty now.

The Elder—white hair, dozing before the board, seeming muddled and idle—had retired into seclusion.

Only after the Elder left did the Supervisor understand how heavy this seat truly was.

He hadn’t even fully sat in it yet. He was still only a Supervisor, an “Acting Elder,” and already it felt like standing on the edge of an abyss, treading thin ice.

Only now did he catch a hint of the meaning in the Elder’s parting words.

Only now did he know that the seat of “Elder” was not one to be taken lightly.

That seemingly old and drowsy Elder was, in truth, unfathomable.

The Supervisor even suspected that the Elder had foreseen this very situation—hence why he had deliberately defied the Dao Court high command over the affair at Qianxue Prefecture’s border.

And later, at the conclave of the seven pavilions, even when targeted and framed by the Old Ancestor of his own Hua clan, he offered no counterattack.

In the end he “lost,” withdrew, and retired to seclusion—preserving his wisdom, stepping clear of the inferno that was the Great Wilderness.

Those turbid, abyss-deep eyes rose again in the Supervisor’s mind.

His scalp prickled. After a long breath, he murmured,

“No wonder… in the Elder’s contest back then, even our Hua clan’s Old Ancestor couldn’t best the old gentleman…”

The Adjudicator beside him lowered his voice respectfully. “Supervisor, matters of the clan’s Old Ancestor should be spoken of with care.”

The Supervisor fell silent.

After a moment he asked, “What movements from the Dao Soldiers Division?”

The Adjudicator’s voice dropped further:

“With defeat in battle, the Dao Court’s prestige has suffered. The Dao Lord is furious. Several of the Division’s Chief Controllers have been reprimanded. For the Dao Soldiers Division, this is a great disgrace. They will not hold back any longer.”

“Some conscription orders have even been issued to the great clans.”

“They mean to gather the Dao soldiers again and, with thunderous force, butcher the Great Wilderness—slaughter its marquises and the puppet royal house to the last, leaving no future trouble.”

“They will use the blood of the barbarians to honor the fallen.”

The Supervisor nodded slowly, his expression only growing more grave.

He knew that meant a bigger board—and a messier one.

If he couldn’t handle the pieces, he would have no way to answer to the Hua clan’s Old Ancestor, much less to the Tianshu Pavilion and the Dao Court.

Then this “Acting Elder” would simply be replaced.

That was Dao Prefecture: ancient clans, endless lineages, geniuses thick as carp crossing a river.

If you don’t do it, there are plenty who will.

If you can’t, there are plenty who can.

Only…

He looked at the chaotic sand table before him and the heaps of jade slips and papers, thought of the Great Wilderness drenched in blood and upheaval, and couldn’t help but wonder:

Aside from a figure like the Elder, could anyone truly handle this?

Could anyone really plot and thrive amid a chaos like this in the Great Wilderness? …

Some lone mountain in the Great Wilderness.

Evening. Sunset like fire.

Mo Hua had a fire going and was roasting meat.

The meat came from a demonic beast that looked like a jackal, but with deer antlers—perhaps a touch of goat. Mo Hua was a demon-hunter, but he’d never hunted in the Great Wilderness and knew little of its bestiary, so he had no idea what it was.

Judging by its habits, it should be a herbivore.

With the Great Wilderness so barren and empty of people, a carnivore—or one that preyed on humans—would have starved long ago. It wouldn’t have survived to now.

The beast was only early second grade, weak in strength.

The tiger had chased, pounced, and bitten—killed it in a few exchanges.

Mo Hua used an array to kindle the fire and roast the meat.

The big tiger, meanwhile, hugged a blood-dripping haunch and gnawed.

It had been penned up in the Great Wilderness Gate’s camp these days, then broke out during the mutiny and fought and fled all the way—too much consumption, too much hunger. With flesh and blood in its jaws now, it naturally feasted.

Gnawing away, the tiger suddenly sniffed and turned to look at Mo Hua.

Mo Hua’s meat had finished roasting, seasoned with spices. The heat and the charred aroma mixed with the spice and drifted out, rich and mouthwatering.

Mo Hua was cutting it with a small knife, eating slice by slow slice.

The tiger stared, really staring at the roasted meat, copper-bell eyes full of curiosity.

Seeing this, Mo Hua cut off a big hunk and tossed it over.

The tiger yipped happily, caught it in its mouth, chewed a few times, and swallowed.

It smacked its lips, deeply satisfied.

Then it went back to its own bloody, raw demon meat.

But after a few bites, the meat suddenly seemed less tasty—certainly nowhere near Mo Hua’s.

It craned its head toward him again.

Mo Hua had to give it another piece.

It ate, licked its mouth, and looked down at the bloody haunch in its paws. Now it tasted like nothing at all.

It thought for a moment, then pushed the half-gnawed raw leg to Mo Hua.

Apparently, it wanted him to roast it too.

Meeting those clear, bright tiger eyes, Mo Hua had no choice. He took the leg, sprinkled spices, and patiently roasted it.

He had inherited his mother Liu Ruhua’s cooking. He’d always had a hand for food, and he carried all manner of spices with him.

Back when he roamed with his master, he handled the cooking.

After entering the Great Void Sect at Qianxue’s border, food and drink had been plentiful; he hadn’t cooked in a long while.

Out here in the Great Wilderness, where people were scarce, he could only roast his own meat.

He hadn’t expected he’d one day be roasting for a tiger…

Then again, this tiger was a true oddball.

Other carnivorous beasts eat people. It didn’t.

Other tiger demons prefer raw meat. It liked roast.

Maybe it was because he’d raised it on dried fish since it was little and spoiled its mouth…

Mo Hua grumbled inwardly, but his hands didn’t stop. After a while, the meat was done, and he handed it over.

The tiger barked a grateful “aw,” clutched the roasted leg with both paws, and gnawed contentedly. Its tail swished nonstop—utterly at ease.

…

From then on, Mo Hua spoiled the tiger’s palate.

Unless it had to, it wouldn’t touch raw meat.

Whenever they had meat, it would bring it to Mo Hua first and wait for him to roast it with an array before eating.

Sometimes Mo Hua didn’t feel like roasting, but he couldn’t bear the way the tiger circled him with that greedy look. He kept humoring it.

Meat wasn’t always easy to come by, though.

The Great Wilderness was truly desolate. He saw no one, and even demonic beasts were rare.

That didn’t match his prior impression.

In his mind, the Great Wilderness was wild and savage—surely crawling with beasts.

He guessed war had spread and barbarians had tramped through.

The beasts along the way had either been slaughtered or had fled ahead of the wind.

Even fierce beasts could not stand against the barbarian armies led by the Great Wilderness’ marquises.

With war rampant, even gregarious beasts had to avoid the spearpoint to cling to life.

Mo Hua sighed softly.

Since he couldn’t find his bearings at all, he stopped caring and simply followed the traces of demon beasts, riding the tiger forward.

“Hunting beasts” was the only thing he could do now.

The only thing he had to do.

Catch one beast and the tiger ate for a meal.

If it had food, it would live.

Under this blazing sun, on this vast earth, Mo Hua could subsist on Fasting Pills, but the big rice-bucket of a tiger would starve.

So Mo Hua rode the black-and-white tiger, hunting as he went, wandering across the Great Wilderness without destination or direction.

By day they traveled and killed.

If the night was calm, they went on a while longer.

If the wind blew cold, they stopped to rest.

The tiger curled up on the ground; Mo Hua wrapped himself in a blanket and pillowed his head against the tiger’s belly, using its thick fur for warmth.

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

So it went, on and on, for who knew how many months.

At last Mo Hua passed beyond the red-brown Gobi and saw a landscape that was different.

A vast mountain range, peaks jagged and perilous, dotted with reddish-brown scrub.

The demonic aura between the ridges was thicker. Mo Hua even faintly sensed the breath of living people.

After so long, he had finally found people.

He felt a flicker of excitement.

Without hesitation, he rode the tiger into the deep mountains.

The forests were steep, but every tree and plant seemed largely intact—apparently this range wasn’t on the barbarians’ line of march and so had escaped large-scale destruction.

The beasts were far more varied here. The tiger’s eyes shone.

Mo Hua spread his divine sense, scanning the environment for signs of people.

Beasts couldn’t talk. Only people could tell him what this place was and where he was, so he could decide what to do next.

Man and tiger strolled through the woods. No beast dared bar their way.

A tiger is king among beasts; all animals give way. Ordinary demonic beasts wouldn’t provoke its majesty.

All the more so because this tiger was a peak second-grade great demon.

After a while, Mo Hua’s sense stirred. He picked up the auras of two cultivators.

He thought for a moment and said to the tiger, “Wait for me here.”

The tiger was too imposing, too conspicuous. Bringing it along would make moving inconvenient—and asking questions awkward.

But it refused to listen, still trailing after him, afraid he would vanish again the moment he stepped away.

Mo Hua sighed and tried to reassure it. “I’ll be right back.”

The tiger cocked its head, plainly doubtful.

Mo Hua had no choice. He took off his storage pouch and set it before the tiger. “I’m leaving my pouch with you. Guard it for me. I’ll definitely come back for it.”

The tiger lay down, clamped the pouch between its paws, and finally nodded.

Helpless, Mo Hua thought that this tiger really was as good as enlightened.

Then his body blurred and he slipped away, hidden.

The tiger panicked on instinct and nearly sprang up, but after a moment it drooped and lay back down, resting its head on the pouch, waiting like a hunter by his stump for Mo Hua to return.

…

Elsewhere, hidden, Mo Hua reached a cliff edge and looked down. On the steep trail below, two cultivators were walking shoulder to shoulder.

Their hair was matted, their arms bare, beast pelts on their shoulders. Beast-patterns were carved into their faces, the backs of their necks, and their arms.

Plainly not cultivators of the Dao Court’s Nine Provinces—and not like sinister corpse-path cultivators either. They should be barbarian cultivators.

One was a stooped old man at early Foundation Establishment, wrinkled but with a forceful air.

The other was a boy of ten-odd years, only at the fourth or fifth level of Qi Refining.

They looked like grandfather and grandson.

As they walked toward the deep mountains, they talked—the old man mostly instructing the child.

Though their speech carried a thick barbarian accent, what they spoke was largely the Dao Court’s official tongue.

Mo Hua could mostly follow.

As to why this barbarian pair could speak the Court’s tongue—he knew the answer.

The three thousand barbarian clans of the Great Wilderness had their own script and language.

After the royal house rebelled and the Dao Court put them down, the Court issued decrees forcing every clan to learn the Dao Court’s script and speech.

To wipe out a people’s culture, first abolish their script and tongue.

So now most clans of the Great Wilderness grew up speaking the Nine Provinces’ common speech, albeit with a barbarian lilt.

On the mountain path, the two chatted idly.

Their talk was fragmented, bits and pieces.

Mo Hua listened in silence—until his expression suddenly changed.

From the scraps of their words he had just caught two characters: “sacrifice.”

“A sacrifice… to what?”

Mo Hua’s eyes narrowed a fraction.

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this chapter’s cozy man-and-tiger road trip, drop a comment—it keeps me grinning while I translate. If you can, please consider supporting me on Patreon; even a small pledge helps me buy time (and coffee) to keep these chapters flowing. And if you’re following along on NovelUpdates, a rating or short review would be a huge help so more readers can find this series.

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